Six hours later. Greengrass Manor, beige parlor.
POV Richard Bulstrode
The tall double doors swung open, letting in the tall, massive figure of Richard Bulstrode himself. The wizard looked at his friend with surprise as he sat in a comfortable deep chair in front of the roaring fireplace. Near the armchair was a small table with several bottles, a set of glasses for various drinks, and a large plate with some small snacks.
— Celebrating success? — Richard said, smiling broadly as he poured himself a whiskey.
The man smiled for a few seconds, but then, noticing the strange look in his friend's eyes, his smile faded. Henry looked at him as if questioning his guest's suitability, and then began to consider how to make clear what everyone knew.
Henry Greengrass had not often seen such looks, and today was the first time they were directed at him. Bulstrode walked over to the chair the elves had brought and sat down, not taking his eyes off his friend.
— What's the matter, didn't it work?
— Why not? — the man replied with a bit of sarcasm. — It worked. — He turned back to the fire, leaving Richard completely confused.
— Then what's the problem? What do you want? — the man thought for a moment, and then it hit him. — Oh, so your plan to record the ritual didn't work?
— That too. — Henry nodded and took a small sip of whiskey. — But that's not the main reason.
— I know what you mean: the chance to have such a ritual in the family bank is worth a lot. — Richard nodded in understanding, but he didn't get the answer he had hoped for.
— No, you don't. — The man shook his head and stared into the fire.
— The fact that the recording failed is unfortunate, yes, but I don't think a minor setback would have had that effect on you. So come on, tell me, I'm interested! — Richard grinned, meeting his friend's pensive gaze.
— You're right, my friend, my father worked hard to make me a worthy head of the family, and you know what it takes to be worthy. — Richard nodded, seriously. — You know, when the boy said to look out for bastards and freaks, I thought of sacrifice, and I think you did too. — Bulstrode nodded, listening intently to his friend. — I thought I'd have to bleed personally, in front of my daughters and wife. But as it turned out, the scum died quickly and painlessly from the Avadas: one, and that was it. And the point of the ritual was not, as usual, the bloody "purchase"... — The man was silent, sipping from his glass and staring into the fire, and as the pause dragged on, Richard decided to draw his thinking friend in.
— What is it then? What's the point of this ritual killing?
— Meaning? — Henry grinned wryly, gave his friend a strange look, then looked away again, his gaze distant, detached, as if he was watching again what had shocked him. — The point was to catch sinful souls, keep them in the ritual circle for a while, and then give them a good kick, speeding them straight to hell....
Henry's eyes blurred, the flames swirling, filling his vision, taking him back hours. A flash of green light and a twisted grimace of madness and rage froze what might have been a face, the dead body somehow falling abruptly to the ground like a puppet whose strings had been cut. But a translucent figure of even more repulsive appearance remained standing in the same place.
At that moment, the man mentally thanked his father for teaching his son to stand down in any situation. When Henry had first seen ghosts in his first year at Hogwarts, he had seen one of the most repulsive of them all, Nearly Headless Nick, or Sir Nicholas, or rather his nearly severed neck, held together for centuries by a single flap of skin. Henry had seen more than a dozen ghosts, but this was the first time he had seen anything so hideous.
As if it had come from a historical engraving from the time of the Black Plague or the time of leprosy, the figure was covered with ghastly sores, ghostly flesh, ugly scabs, and wounds oozing ghostly pus. The ghost was held down by several ghostly chains that had come loose from the powdered mixture of hieroglyphics. It was clearly screaming, writhing in a hideous and disgusting grimace, and Greengrass was very grateful that the sounds the spirit made could not be heard. He also decided that he would thank the man separately later for making the girls (including Suellen) wear impenetrable masks over their faces so that they couldn't see what was going on.
The man was sure that if the girls had seen the nightmare, they would have had to erase that part of their memories or even go to a mentalist. But Henry didn't know what to do with what had been burned into his memory for years. But it was still "flowers", because at some point a translucent purple funnel appeared, from which came out terrible chains covered with spikes and hooks, which pierced the passage of souls and attracted them as brutally as possible, just on the way to start a terrible torture.
The man blinked, and the memory of the vision faded, leaving a chilling aftertaste that he'd been trying to wash away with strong whiskey for a couple of hours now, but it hadn't helped much.
— To hell? — Richard asked skeptically. — You're a believer, aren't you?
— I don't give a damn about the cross! — Henry waved his hand indifferently. — But I don't think I'll ever forget the pale shadow cast by the place where we sent the souls of scum and villainy.
— Will you share your memories?
— Hmm, — the man looked at his friend and thought for a moment. — If you want to feel what I feel, no problem. But I wouldn't advise it... — the man couldn't add the last words as a friend, couldn't.
— Well, okay... — The man stretched. — Is there an effect?
— Oh yes, the effect is even stronger than we expected. It turned out that one of these scumbags liked to kidnap young Muggle girls and keep them on chains or in cages in his basement until he got tired of the next victim. Then he'd get rid of them and move on to the next one.
— How do you know this?
— And for that soul came... — Henry's voice was sharply hoarse, and he shuddered. — It came... I don't know what it was, but that soul was literally caught in some kind of octopus-like tentacles and pulled into another rift. And with it, we all felt as if our tight shirts had been torn off and we couldn't breathe freely. — The man paused briefly to take a few more swigs of liquor, refill his glass, and shrug his shoulders. — It seems that even Sue and I, even without such rituals, but just by practicing the clan rituals and celebrating the Great Holidays, will be able to break one clan curse in ten years, and the rest will take another twenty years....
— Amazing... — Richard gasped, amazed at the numbers. — Still, it was too fast....
— The pay was reasonable. — Henry said dryly, trying to forget the experience.
The living room was silent for a while, the crackling of the logs in the fireplace a reminder that there was life here.
— Listen, — Henry said, keeping his eyes on the fire. — I've been curious about everything, but I never got a chance to ask you: Why did you decide to take over Potter?
— That's an odd question, I told you. — Richard looked at his friend in surprise.
— It's fine as the first layer of a nice legend, but I'm curious to know the truth. Or is it a family secret? — Henry turned his head slightly and looked at his friend out of the corner of his eye.
— To a certain extent. — Bulstrode replied after a short pause. — I wouldn't have said anything a month ago, but I will now. — Henry did not ask what had happened in the last month, for there had been more than enough to go around. — My great-grandfather was in the Muggle Colonial Army in India, and when he came home he brought back some very interesting things, including an artifact called the Eye of Lakshmi, Lakshmi being the goddess of well-being, prosperity, fertility, love, and so on. Without going into details, I will say that with the help of this artifact you can see the best partner for marriage, as well as the probabilities of awakening magical heritage.
— A rare artifact indeed. — Henry nodded thoughtfully, watching his friend out of the corner of his eye. — I can see why your family kept quiet about it before. — It's just strange that you've decided to talk about it now, — the man continued mentally. — the man continued mentally.
— Yes, — Richard agreed. — The value of the artifact is great, and fighting those who want to use it every time is not what we need.
— What about Potter? — Henry decided to ask when the pause became longer.
— You remember the history of the Potter family, don't you? — Henry nodded, turning his head a little more, already genuinely interested in the answers. — Do you remember which family the witch who had joined the Potter family when it had just been founded came from?
— Peverell? — Henry's eyebrows shot up.
— That's right.-Richard nodded seriously. — Lakshmi's gaze showed that one or two of Harry Potter's children would inherit the dark legacy of the Peverells, only with the right partner, of course....
— And you deliberately drafted the contract so that you could choose the child you wanted as your heir... — Greengrass grinned, recognizing the cunning and the possible advantage. — How despicable, Mr. Bulstrode... — Henry shook his head, smiling a snake-like smile.
Richard Bulstrode did not reply, only raised his full whiskey glass, mirroring the same serpentine smile. .....