Harry Potter : Bloodraven-Chapter 127: First Strike (IV) (CH - 147)

"Is he... is the Dark Lord, dead? For good now?"

Lucius sat slumped, clinging to his wife, his chest heaving with long, ragged breaths. Though what he had just done hadn't demanded much physically, he swore he had never felt so utterly drained in his life.

It wasn't the body that had given out. It was the spirit.

"Dead?"

Bloodraven's voice cut through the heavy silence like a blade.

"What made you think he was alive?"

The couple glanced up sharply at his words, confusion clouding their exhausted faces.

"But... my lord," Narcissa's trembling lips formed the words as she gripped tightly onto Lucius. "You said the Dark Lord was—"

"I never said he was alive," Bloodraven interrupted coldly.

"I said that book was a means for him to resurrect. That was a piece of his soul.

And what you destroyed tonight was merely his path back to life."

Lucius and Narcissa exchanged a glance, still too drained to speak. They were still confused, but from what they understood in those words, at least this threat was gone.

Or so they thought—until the next words shattered that fragile hope.

"In fact," Bloodraven continued, "he never really passed on."

The couple stared, eyes wide.

"Wh... what does that mean, my lord...?"

"That night, twelve years ago, Tom Riddle was struck by ancient magic, born from Lady Potter's sacrifice.

The Killing Curse he cast upon the Potter boy backfired, obliterating his body... but his soul endured."

Bloodraven's voice darkened, like thunder rumbling in the distance.

"Tom Riddle was a relentless creature.

His soul, ripped from his body, refused to surrender to death. Instead, it became a wraith—an abomination trapped between life and oblivion.

And to this very day, that cursed spirit endures, neither alive nor truly gone."

Lucius and Narcissa listened, frozen, horror settling deeper with every word.

"Right now, he's nothing more than a starving rat," Bloodraven stated, rising from his seat and descending from the monstrous throne in deliberate, slow steps. "A desperate creature, leeching life force from whatever it can find..."

"But make no mistake. There are ways—many ways—for a wraith to regain a body.

And someday, he will succeed."

The couple's faces drained of color, their eyes locked on Bloodraven as they barely registered his approach.

"I wonder..." he mused, his voice almost lazy, almost cruel.

"What Riddle will do... when he learns a servant of his destroyed a piece of his sacred soul."

He lifted a hand as he spoke.

Inky black flames ignited above his palm, twisting and curling into the shape of a raven made of smoke and fire.

CAW!

The raven let out a sharp cry and flapped its wings once, shooting across the room with deadly speed.

WHUMMMMM!

The battered book was quickly engulfed in an inferno of dark fire, its pages curling and blackening as the flames licked at it hungrily.

It wasn't a normal fire—the heat hit Lucius and Narcissa like a wall, and they recognized it immediately.

Fiendfyre.

They watched, unable to move, as the cursed flames devoured what little remained. In moments, there was nothing left. No ash. No trace.

Bloodraven lowered his hand. Then, the massive table and chairs too, melted away into nothingness.

The couple, still half-slumped on the floor, raised their heads weakly as he stopped before them, towering and terrible.

His crimson eyes gleamed, emotionless and cold.

"You now have two choices," Bloodraven said.

"Submit to me..."

A pause.

"Or..."

His voice dropped. "I erase your memories. And when Riddle returns, he will find you... and he will make you and your bloodline suffer, until death feels like mercy."

---

The Malfoys did not take long to decide. It wasn't a difficult choice—or rather, they had no choice at all.

If their old master returned, they had no doubt Bloodraven's warning would come true. They knew all too well what kind of sick lunatic the Dark Lord was. He enjoyed breaking people—a sadist, who found plesure in the suffering of others.

And standing before them was another monster—different from the Dark Lord, but no less terrifying. More importantly, he was *alive*, a being who had reached the same heights of power as their former master. Perhaps not as cruel, but compared to Voldemort, his magic felt far more unfathomable.

The couple glanced at each other. No words were needed, and only a simple nod passed between them.

Moving stiffly, they wrenched themselves upright from their slumped postures—only to collapse the next instant, knees hitting the floor with a hollow finality.

"We choose... to submit to you, my lord," they said in one voice, hollow and flat.

Bloodraven was silent for a moment.

Then, at last, he spoke.

"I accept your submission."

His voice was cold and detached, as if he were accepting a debt, not loyalty.

"Rise."

The couple stood, heads bowed.

"Show me the mark Riddle left on your body."

Lucius obeyed without hesitation.

He rolled up his sleeve with mechanical movements, exposing the Dark Mark etched into his forearm. It was faint now, little more than a shadow burned into the skin, but it was still there.

Bloodraven reached out, extending a single finger, and touched the mark.

The Malfoys held their breath.

Maverick was no amateur in dark magic anymore. Edward had taught him the foundations, and Morvain's ring had filled in the gaps—the unspeakable gaps that most wizards dared not even glimpse.

He could feel the magic woven into the mark: a binding, a chain, a whispering voice coiled around Lucius's very mind. It was fear, obedience, and agony, stitched into the skin.

A nasty creation.

But not an unbreakable one.

One immediate method came to mind—using one of Voldemort's Horcruxes as a sacrificial tether to sever the connection. But the only one he had was just destroyed. Not that it mattered—he would not have chosen that option anyway.

There were cleaner methods. A much Simpler solutions. Brutal. Direct. Overwhelm it with raw power.

And his magic now, as an Archmage, was more than enough.

He pressed hard against the Mark, locking onto its core.

"This will be painful," he warned, and then, flooded it with his own magic mercilessly.

The moment his magic flooded in, Lucius's body jerked violently. His body arched backward, muscles seizing, as invisible currents ripped through him. Narcissa clutched at him, whispering soft words of comfort, even as her own hands trembled.

The Dark Mark writhed on his skin, fighting back, bleeding out black smoke. Maverick's magic wrapped around it, constricting, crushing, tearing it apart thread by thread.

Lucius clawed at the air, gasping like a drowning man, but Maverick did not stop. His magic gripped the Dark Mark like a noose, tightening, squeezing the life from it.

The stench of burnt magic filled the room.

Lucius collapsed backward, barely conscious and trembling violently—but his wife caught him.

Faint wisps of smoke curled up from Lucius's arm, where the cursed bond had been scorched away. The mark, now cracked and blackened, pulsed weakly—until, at last, with a sharp, sickening snap, it shattered and died.

Silence fell over the room, broken only by the harsh rasp of Lucius's breathing.

Bloodraven withdrew his hand, examining the dead scar that was left. "It is done," he said quietly.

Narcissa pulled Lucius against her, whispering soft, frantic words into his hair as he sagged against her. Maverick gave them a moment to collect themselves.

Lucius slowly regained his footing. His arm throbbed fiercely, but when he glanced down, he saw the mark was no more. Only a patch of angry, burned skin remained—painful, but nothing a good potion could not heal.

Yet what truly staggered him was not the pain.

It was the silence.

For the first time in decades, his mind was quiet.

There had always been something there—an invisible whisper, a constant, slithering presence at the edge of his thoughts. A lingering thread tying him to him.

It had been there for so long, he'd accepted it as part of himself.

Now, with it gone, the void it left behind felt vast and raw. He realized, with a cold twist of horror, that he had lived in unending mental torture for most of his adult life—and he had not even noticed.

He looked up.

Bloodraven stood motionless, observing them with that same detached, unfathomable gaze. Something in Lucius's chest twisted. He staggered forward and dropped to his knees once more—this time with no hesitation, no pride.

"My deepest gratitude, my lord," he rasped. His voice cracked with sincerity. "This subordinate willingly awaits your command."

Then, tilting his head slightly, he looked to Narcissa.

She had not been marked—she could never truly understand the weight that had been lifted—but she saw the change in her husband's eyes. It was enough.

With a subtle nod from Lucius, she too dropped to her knees.

Bloodraven said nothing. He no longer needed to.

His purpose was achieved: the Horcrux was destroyed, and the Malfoys fully, willingly submitted.

In a low voice, he gave a few final instructions. A method of contact was provided—similar to the arrangement he made with the Greengrass family. Unlike Voldemort's cruel bindings, there would be no cursed marks, no forced servitude. Instead, a simple black ring formed on their fingers when they accepted his terms—silent, unobtrusive, and perfectly functional.

A way to call him in an emergency, and a way for him to monitor their movements.

No mind games. No enchantments of fear.

Power and benefit would keep them loyal—and if not, it mattered little.

Snap.

Space around them twisted violently. freewebnσvel.cѳm

The manor walls bent and blurred; the air churned and pressed against their chests.

Narcissa and Lucius barely had time to brace themselves before the world pitched and spun—and they blacked out.

When they awoke, they were lying on the polished floor of Malfoy Manor's drawing room.

They sat up quickly, dazed—but this time, the nausea and panic were far less overwhelming. Around them, everything appeared untouched. The vases and fine ceramics—Lucius remembered them shattering under the onslaught of ravens—stood pristine and unmoved, as if none of it had ever happened.

Click. Click. Click.

The brittle, echoing sound made them glance forward.

Bloodraven stood with his back to them. With a simple wave of his hand, the air before him shuddered—and then split open with a soundless tear. A thin vertical line of darkness appeared, stretching and widening until it became a swirling, black rift.

Lucius hesitated.

Something gnawed at him. A question he dared not ask—but could no longer hold back.

"My... my lord," he called out, his voice hoarse.

Bloodraven slowed, rising slightly into the air as he prepared to step into the rift. At Lucius's words, he paused and turned—facing them once more.

A suffocating pressure filled the room, cold and heavy, pressing down on their lungs.

Lucius swallowed thickly.

"The... the book, my lord," he stammered. "May I know how you came to possess it?"

For a moment, Bloodraven said nothing.

Then, a subtle shift rippled across his void-like face—like static clearing on an old television screen, flickering and blinking, disorienting and wrong.

The black mask of nothingness twisted, and in its place, for a fleeting, dreadful moment, they saw a face.

Young.

Familiar.

Lucius and Narcissa stiffened. Their eyes widened, then narrowed in shock as the truth crashed down on them.

Then they heard him speak—not with the distorted, inhuman voice he had used before—but with the voice of a young man. Yet it was no less terrifying.

Cold. Final.

A voice that left no room for hope.

"Does it matter," he said, "where—or how—I got it?"

Whummm... click.

The rift snapped shut.

The oppressive pressure lifted like a released breath, and the manor felt suddenly still—almost eerily normal.

So it was him all along...

The thought struck them both at once, filling them with a mix of awe and horror.

At such a young age—to have reached such a terrifying level of power... it was almost beyond belief. But—

It didn't matter.

Fortunately, this new master of theirs, monstrous as he was, did not seem to share the madness that had consumed their former master, Voldemort.

Terrifying? Absolutely.

But insane? Perhaps not. They could only pray it was so—and breathed out a long, trembling sigh.

They collapsed onto the couches, exhaustion crashing over them—only for it to vanish a moment later. As if struck by the same realization at once, Lucius and Narcissa snapped their heads toward each other, eyes wide with alarm.

"Draco!" they gasped in unison, scrambling to their feet.

They raced upstairs, bursting into their son's bedroom—only to find Draco Malfoy sleeping peacefully in his bed, utterly unaware of the horrors that had passed through their home.

—————————

Author's Note:

Just one more Chapter to go before we start the second book. As you probably know, it won't be following the original plot anymore. Also, the pacing is going to pick up a lot.

Hope you're ready! As always, I'd love to hear your thoughts... your feedback really does mean the world to me.

Thank you so, so, so much for sticking with me! Thank you, thank you, thank you for all your support!

—————————

Author's Note:

🔥 Drop those Power Stones! 🔥

If you're enjoying the story and wish to support me, you can visit my P@tr3on, where you can read 30+ extra Chapters ahead!

Thank you so much for your support. It means the world! 💙😊

PAT r30n [.] com / RyanFic