Fawkes's feather guided Dumbledore through the night like a lodestone, pulling him onward.
After several Apparitions to recalibrate his direction, the Headmaster followed the faint pulse emanating from the feather, cutting through the wilderness of the English countryside.
Pushing through one last thicket of tangled brambles, he finally saw it, a vast manor emerging from the darkness like a sleeping beast coiled in the night.
Unlike the ostentatious splendor of Malfoy Manor, with its tamed white peacocks strutting across manicured lawns, the Lestrange estate radiated an austere majesty born of age and lineage.
Soaring Gothic spires pierced the paling sky. Ancient ivy clung to black stone walls. Above the gate, a crest loomed: a raven with wings outstretched, a wand clutched in its talons. Two ruby eyes gleamed with eerie life, as if the creature were watching intruders approach.
From that crest, Dumbledore recognized the place at once, Lestrange Manor.
Powerful enchantments surrounded the estate. He could feel them humming through the air, layer upon layer of protective magic woven together like invisible spiderwebs.
Behind his half-moon spectacles, his blue eyes narrowed. He could discern red traces of Shielding Charms, purple threads of Alarm Wards, and streaks of inky black magic that pulsed with a malignant chill.
Dawn was nearing. The horizon lightened to a sickly gray-blue, the last stars fading into pallor.
Standing among the shadows of the outer trees, Dumbledore flicked his wand and murmured a long, intricate spell.
His body began to shimmer and fade until it merged seamlessly with the night. Fawkes vanished in a ripple of crimson light into the folds of his robe.
Raising the Elder Wand, Dumbledore advanced cautiously toward the gate. It stood shut, motionless, giving no hint of passage.
"Let's see..." he whispered, running his fingertips over the cold iron. Ancient magic pulsed beneath the surface.
He spoke again, this time in an archaic, forgotten tongue.
The gate quivered, and with a muted groan, opened just wide enough for one man to slip through.
Once he was inside, it sealed itself behind him without a sound.
The manor's interior was even darker than its exterior. A deep crimson carpet muffled his steps. Iron chandeliers hung from vaulted ceilings, their candle flames flickering behind glass globes and casting restless shadows on the walls.
Voices, low, murmuring, echoed faintly from the great hall ahead. Dumbledore glided toward the sound without a whisper of movement.
As he drew near, he recognized three familiar voices: Bellatrix Lestrange, her husband Rodolphus, and his brother Rabastan.
Through the half-open carved door, he saw them gathered around a circular obsidian table strewn with parchment sheets and empty goblets.
Bellatrix's dark hair, so characteristically Black, hung in disarray. Near her eye, on her right cheek, was a raw wound, still crimson though no longer bleeding.
", The Master will not be pleased," Rodolphus said, voice low and wary. "We're ten Muggles short of the target. If this continues, "
"Shut up!" Bellatrix shrieked, tossing her mane of black curls in irritation. "Half of those filthy creatures died on the way. They can't even survive Portkey travel, they vomit, faint, collapse like rotting slugs! Disgusting!"
Her hand trembled as it brushed the cut on her face. "Do you think I enjoy bringing failure to the Master?"
"Enough." Rabastan lounged by the fireplace with a mocking smile. "I told you, Muggles are laughably fragile. Even the weakest spells break them. They're like insects. Does the Master really expect anything useful from this trash?"
Just then, a faint pop echoed behind Dumbledore, followed by a dull thud.
A Death Eater in a silver mask had Apparated into the corridor, clutching a Portkey and dragging a group of unconscious Muggles behind him.
Dumbledore slipped backward into the shadows as the Death Eater hauled his captives down the hall, three Muggles bound with glowing ropes: a middle-aged couple and their daughter, pale and limp. The little girl's mouth was stained where she'd vomited.
"Another batch," the Death Eater announced hoarsely as he entered the hall. "That's my fourth today. Two more days, and we'll meet the Master's quota."
"Take them below," Rodolphus ordered with disgust. "Keep them alive, at least until delivery. Don't let them rot this time."
The Death Eater grunted and dragged the Muggles toward a narrow passage. When one stirred, he casually struck again with a Stunner.
As the figures vanished down the corridor, Bellatrix leaned forward, her eyes fever-bright. "Don't you see? The Master is creating an army, an army of corpses!" Her voice quivered with fervor. "An army of the undead!"
Rabastan stroked his chin thoughtfully. "That would suit him. Imagine hundreds of Inferi storming the Ministry, fragile alone, unstoppable together! The dawn of a new era for pure-bloods!"
"The Ministry?" Bellatrix interrupted with a twisted grin. "No, dear brother. I'd rather see the Master take Hogwarts first. That meddling old fool has defied him long enough."
Her fingers brushed her scar again, eyes gleaming with manic hatred. "And besides... I still have a dear friend there." Her lips curled. "Before he graduates, I'd love to become a teacher, just to give him some... special lessons."
She giggled, a high, sharp sound that made even the brothers flinch. "One lesson a day, until he begs me to tear out his entrails and feed them to the giant squid."
Her voice faded into a chilling whisper.
The two brothers exchanged uneasy glances. Since that failed mission to purge the Black family's "traitor," Bellatrix had returned with that mark on her face, and with it, a growing madness she no longer bothered to conceal.
As the Lestranges continued fantasizing about the glorious future under their Master, Dumbledore silently slipped into the shadowed side passage.
The feather in his pocket glowed faintly warm again, guiding him downward.
The corridor sloped steeply until it became a spiral staircase descending into darkness.
Hugging the wall, Dumbledore moved like a shadow. As he passed one of the masked guards, he caught the stench of blood and sweat clinging to the man's robes.
At the bottom lay a damp, torch-lit dungeon. Firelight flickered across rough stone walls.
Two Death Eaters stood at its center, overseeing new arrivals. In the corner, seven or eight unconscious Muggles were heaped like cargo, some lying atop others.
"This one's waking up," one muttered, hitting the twitching man with another Stunner. "Why can't we just kill them? Would save a lot of trouble."
"Because the Master wants them alive," the higher-ranking Death Eater replied coldly. "Your job is to obey, not question."
"I'm just curious," the first said with a shrug. "Why bother stopping here? Why not send them straight to the destination? And where exactly is that?"
"Carrow," the senior Death Eater hissed, turning sharply and pressing his wand to the man's throat. "You're my second partner since I arrived. Do you know what happened to Sean Rivera?"
Carrow froze. "N-no..."
"Sean was curious too," the man, Charles, said softly. "He followed one batch of Muggles through. And then... no one ever saw him again. The Master says curiosity is dangerous. So tell me, Carrow, any more questions?"
"N-no, sir." Carrow shook his head violently, fear widening his eyes behind the mask.
Dumbledore watched, eyes narrowing.
By now, over a dozen Muggles had been chained together with rusty iron links. Once their limbs were secured, Charles drew out a parchment-wrapped object and handled it with care.
Unwrapping it revealed an old, dented tin teapot.
He shoved it into a Muggle's hand. The teapot flared blue.
At the instant the Portkey activated, Dumbledore sprang forward, laying a hand on the nearest Muggle's shoulder.
A sharp hook yanked deep behind his navel, spinning him through the void. His hair and beard whipped around his face in the wind.
When his feet hit solid ground again, Dumbledore moved instantly, releasing the Muggle, rolling aside, Elder Wand in hand.
The air felt wrong. Heavy. Constricting. Apparition was impossible here, and perhaps even Fawkes's magic would fail.
The air was damp and salt-tinged, like sea wind laced with decay.
He stood at the edge of a vast, black lake. The cavern ceiling vanished into shadow above.
From the distance, in the lake's center, a pale green glow pulsed faintly, mirrored in the still, lifeless water. Another, nearer light, orange and flickering, floated toward him.
As it drew close, Dumbledore saw a gaunt wizard clutching a wand, its tip glowing. His robes were tattered; his hands shook as he dragged an unconscious Muggle toward the water's edge.
"More blood for the bodies..." the wizard muttered. "The Master needs more guardians..."
Dumbledore raised his wand. The silver knife in the wizard's hand flew free, caught midair, and landed neatly in Dumbledore's grasp.
The wizard spun around. His face was wasted, his eyes sunken, his skin deathly pale.
"Who, who are you?" he rasped. "Did the Master send you to replace me? I've finished thirty-seven already..."
"Perhaps it's you who should be answering questions," Dumbledore said quietly, stepping into view.
"Professor Dumbledore!" the man gasped, disbelief and relief flickering across his ravaged features. "You remember me... Sean Rivera, Ravenclaw..." His voice broke into a hoarse whisper. "No... you shouldn't be here... no one leaves this place... no one..." Tears mixed with blood at the corner of his mouth.
"Sean," Dumbledore said evenly, wand still raised, "Why are these Muggles brought here? What is your Master creating?"
"It's their honor," Sean cried suddenly, laughing madly. He pointed toward the lake. "Look! They're waiting, to be reborn!"
Dumbledore followed his gaze. Beneath the green glow, pale human shapes floated in the water like corpses suspended mid-rise.
At that moment, a blinding white outline shimmered against the cavern wall, a door forming out of light.
Dumbledore turned.
The light receded, revealing a figure framed in shadow.
Voldemort stepped through, his serpentine face pallid in the greenish glow. In one hand he held a bleeding wizard who still twitched faintly.
Those scarlet eyes fixed coldly on Dumbledore.