NABC Ch328- Ritual
Ch328- Ritual
Ch328- Ritual
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Harry watched Bellatrix for a moment longer, then stepped away, pocketing the cup. Bellatrix remained on her knees, visibly trembling as she tried to compose herself, her hair falling forward in wild curls as she clutched the edges of her robes. "Tell me the situation in Albania," he said coldly.
Bellatrix straightened slightly, though she didn’t dare rise. She took a shaky breath before speaking. “We escaped Azkaban with Barty Crouch Jr.’s help,” she began, her voice quivering with an edge of excitement and fear. “He—he posed as his father, used Polyjuice to infiltrate the prison. Brilliant work, truly. Once he had the guards distracted, Rookwood, Wormtail, and I slipped away.”
Harry hummed lightly, his expression impassive as he gestured for Bellatrix to continue. She licked her lips nervously, hesitating only a moment before launching into her explanation. “After we got out, he took us to Albania... to our lord,” Bellatrix continued, though her lip curled slightly as she said the last part. She hesitated, her gaze flicking upward toward Harry’s face. “At least, what we thought was our lord.”
Harry’s eyebrow arched faintly, but he said nothing, urging her on with a slight nod.
“The... the thing we found there,” Bellatrix spat, her disdain evident now. “It wasn’t you, not truly. It was... an abomination. A wraith, barely clinging to existence. It had no power, no strength—it was a disgrace to everything you stand for.”
Harry tilted his head, feigning interest. "And yet you stayed."
Bellatrix flushed, her hands clenching her robes tightly. “Of course I stayed! He—he spoke with your voice. He knew things only you could know. I thought it was temporary, a condition that could be mended. He demanded the cup, said it would help him regain his strength. Rookwood and I left to retrieve it while Wormtail stayed behind to... tend to him.”
“Tend to him?” Harry repeated, his voice calm, but his tone carried a faint bite.
“Yes,” she confirmed hastily. “That miserable little rat remained there, catering to his every whim, setting the stage for a... a ritual, my lord.”
Harry didn’t miss the hesitation in her voice. “What kind of ritual?”
Bellatrix’s eyes widened slightly, and she lowered her voice. “One to restore his body. It required blood. Special blood. He insisted it had to be Potter’s.” She paused, her lips tightening. “The boy was to be used as a key ingredient."
Harry frowned at the mention of his name but didn’t interrupt. Bellatrix continued, her voice trembling with fear and fervor as she explained. “Barty Crouch Jr. laid out a plan, my Lord. He believed the Triwizard Tournament could be the perfect cover for... for luring Potter in. The boy would be forced to participate, naturally, and with careful manipulation, we could ensure it. He intended to place the boy in a position where he could be... used for the ritual.”
Harry’s brow arched slightly. “The Triwizard Tournament?” he repeated, his tone flat, hiding the spark of interest. “An event that hasn’t been held in decades. How did he plan to ensure its revival?”
Bellatrix nodded quickly, eager to prove her knowledge. “Crouch Sr. had been working within the Ministry, laying groundwork. Barty's father—fool that he was—oversaw the Department of International Magical Cooperation. Barty used that position to plant seeds, pushing the idea of rekindling the tournament as a symbol of unity after the war. He was certain it would be approved in time for the next school year.”
Harry’s frown deepened as he considered this. The idea wasn’t without merit. The Triwizard Tournament, with its elaborate challenges and prestigious reputation, would be the perfect stage for a trap. It wasn’t difficult to imagine the Ministry falling for the bait, given their usual incompetence. But something didn’t add up.
What would have happened if he walked into that blind? Could the fragment of Voldemort in Albania have regained enough strength to become a true threat again? The sheer audacity of the plot was enough to make him reevaluate his approach.
“Bella,” he said at last.
“Yes, my Lord!” she responded instantly, her body straightening slightly as if eager for her next instruction.
"Gather the closest allies," Harry glanced around the dilapidated room. "Call those who fled today. I’ll deal with them later." He paused, his gaze hardening. "Keep a low profile. Trust no one, not even among the loyalists. I’ll need time—my power is still fragmented, and there are pieces I need to recover before we can move forward."
Bellatrix nodded quickly, her hair falling in wild tangles around her face. "Yes, my Lord. I’ll summon only the most faithful. Those who would die for you without hesitation."
Harry’s expression didn’t waver. "Good. But don’t rush. If they see desperation, it will raise questions. Take your time, work through the shadows, and ensure loyalty before bringing anyone here."
"As you command, my Lord," she whispered, her voice trembling with devotion. She stood slowly, careful not to rise higher than him, her hands clutching her wand tightly. "Is there anything else you require of me?"
Harry stepped past her, handing her a metal card to communicate with him. "Information," he said curtly. "I’ll need detailed reports on anyone of value—inside or outside the Ministry. I want to know who can be used, who might resist, and who’s too dangerous to leave unchecked."
Bellatrix straightened, her shoulders pulling back as if the task alone invigorated her. "I’ll bring you everything, my Lord. Their alliances, their secrets—whatever I can uncover."
"And Wormtail?" Bellatrix’s expression darkened at the mention of the rat. "He’s still in Albania," she spat, the disdain in her voice evident. "Serving that... thing."
Harry’s eyes narrowed, though he didn’t react otherwise. "When the time comes, I’ll call for him. For now, he’s more useful where he is."
"As you wish," she murmured.
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