Chapter 23
Harry had left early from their gathering that evening at Hermione’s insistence. Her intention was for him to go home and get some much-deserved (and needed) sleep, but there was just too much to do before his expedition to the forest the following afternoon. Most notably, Draco and his mother were to move in by the following morning, and Harry hadn’t even thought of starting packing yet – not to mention the horcrux of Narcissa’s sister hanging in the basement.
Fortunately, half of his problem had been solved already through the combined efforts of Kreacher and Roslyn.
“Master Harry,” Kreacher croaked. “You is hungry?”
Harry smiled fondly. Kreacher had only been gone for a few days, but already he missed the elf – a sentiment that no doubt had Sirius turning in his grave. Without Kreacher’s annoying yet well-meaning reminders, Harry had only eaten twice in the time since he’d left and hadn’t slept once. “Is there anything going?”
Kreacher popped away and re-appeared with a tray of sandwiches and a large mug of coffee. “Kreacher and Roslyn is finished the packing.”
“Brilliant!” Harry said enthusiastically, taking a grateful sip from the mug. “I don’t know what I’d do without you two.”
“Suffer greatly,” Roslyn said helpfully, snapping her fingers as the final boxes disappeared. Harry wasn’t entirely sure how all of these things had accumulated – he only really wore a rotation of three shirts, one pair of jeans, and a jumper Molly had given him for Christmas in his sixth year – although, he supposed Hermione had “borrowed” a fair few books from the Black family library, and it seemed Draco was determined to completely transform his and Teddy’s wardrobes.
The elves left only after he’d finished the sandwiches and after several promises that Harry would attempt to sleep for more than five hours. Roslyn passed him a few small bottle of dreamless sleep before she cracked away.
Harry sighed and drained the last of his coffee, before making his way to the kitchen and touching the door to the basement. Bella was waiting for him.
“My lord,” she said, bowing deeply. Harry felt a stab of guilt. The portrait believed that Harry would protect her, or, that he wouldn’t destroy her, and yet, Harry had all but just signed her death sentence. He mentally shook himself. The witch had murdered hundreds – tortured and orphaned thousands more; he couldn’t possibly feel sorry for her.
“Bella,” Harry greeted her quietly. “We’re moving to the Malfoy Manor,” he said, skipping formalities.
The witch blinked in surprise but smirked. “You really are cleverer than the Dark Lord gave you credit for,” she said thoughtfully.
Harry shrugged. He didn’t think he was particularly clever, just often underestimated. “Do you have any other portraits?” he asked.
Bellatrix pouted. “Several, but none that I can access. I thought I might be able to go between them, like a normal portrait, but it seems that the horcrux is contained to this frame.”
Harry frowned. It sounded plausible, but Harry had no way of ensuring that she was telling the truth, beyond the threat of violence, and he thought she might be less willing to cooperate if he acted on those particular urges. He nodded absently. “Your husband and his brother escaped the aurors today,” he said, choosing not to highlight that he was one of the said aurors.
Bella rolled her eyes. “Foolish men,” she shook her head. Harry raised an eyebrow in surprise. He hadn’t known how she would react to the news, but he certainly hadn’t expected that. The witch folded her arms across her chest. “Their master is dead. They’d gain far more advantage if they attempted to align themselves with the new order, instead of making futile attempts to flee or resist. Regardless, by right of conquest, they are yours. They should beg forgiveness of their lord, as I have done.”
Harry wasn’t entirely sure when Bellatrix had begged his forgiveness, but he acquiesced with what he hoped was a regal nod. “Tell me more about that – the right of conquest.”
“According to tradition, a Lord’s vassal must obey and serve their master, and follow them into battle. If their Lord is defeated, they become the vassal of the victor,” Bellatrix said matter-of-factly, almost sounding bored. “They must either swear allegiance to their new Lord or be disposed of in a manner of which the Lord sees fit.”
Harry’s heart flipped. All anyone had talked about for months had been the proposed bill for all convicted Death Eaters to have a Dementor’s kiss. He made a mental note to follow up with Hermione on the matter. Did he have a legal right as the “victor” of the war to request a different sentencing? He paused at that: what on earth would he counter-propose? He couldn’t ask for them to be held indefinitely at Azkaban; for one thing, as George had pointed out, the prison was far too easy to break out of, and he was sure the Ministry’s budget didn’t need such a large strain. He rubbed his scar. “Why would someone sign up to be a vassal anyway? Voldemort had plenty of followers that weren’t bound to him in that way. And people used to follow him for his charisma and power, not just out of fear. You were in love with him, and you believed he loved you too. Why did you volunteer to be his vassal?”
Bellatrix looked sad then. “A Lord accepts obedience and servitude in exchange for his protection and a share in his power, whether that be politically, financially, legally or magically. The Dark Lord was … lacking in this part of the exchange.” She laughed bitterly. “I was foolish to think he would protect anyone other than himself.”
“He told you about horcruxes,” Harry offered gently, before realising he was not only attempting to comfort Bellatrix Lestrange, but also defending Voldemort. He shook his head slightly to rid his mind of that particular path of thought. It made more sense now, why Draco was determined to keep making Oaths and Vows to him, and why Narcissa had so quickly acquiesced to coming under Harry’s protection. He frowned. Why hadn’t Draco mentioned the right of conquest? Harry found it hard to believe that he simply didn’t know – he was far too clever and calculating for that. Did he think Harry would be like Voldemort, if he knew of his power? Harry sighed and rubbed his scar again. He needed a drink. “How do I find Rabastan and Rodolphus?” he asked. “There must be a way for a Lord to call on his vassals.”
Bellatrix smiled at him in a way he was sure was not meant to be threatening. “Why, of course. A vassal is an extension of his lord’s magic. In the same way one can find objects and wards of their own casting, so too can a lord find a vassal.” She paused and looked at him critically. “For you to succeed in this, you must first become a true lord – you must accept within yourself that you are your vassal’s rightful lord and that they belong to you. Is my lord Potter up for this task?”
Harry shuddered at the thought of the Lestrange brothers ‘belonging’ to him. “What about your life source, then? Can I locate it in the same way?” he asked curiously. “You told me it was in the Forbidden Forest, but I’ll need more information than that.”
“Yes, my lord,” Bellatrix said in what was no doubt an attempt to sound demure and imploring, but her eyes grew wider at the reminder that Harry intended to access her life source. “You are a wise and fair lord – you would not harm a loyal servant?”
Harry clenched his jaw as he took out his wand. “Let’s go, Bella,” he said quietly, and cast a strong muffliato on the painting, before shrinking it and putting it in his jacket pocket. Accioing the remaining darke objects from the cells, he took one final look at his basement before making his way up the stairs and into the kitchen. The door swung closed behind him. “Abscondaris,” he cast, and the door disappeared.
Harry took the stairs three-at-a-time until he reached Sirius’ old room, which, despite the new furnishings and a rudimentary dusting, courtesy of Kreacher, still had several inappropriate muggle posters permanently stuck to the walls. Wrapping his godfather’s jacket tighter around him, Harry collapsed into the large four-poster bed (jarringly Gryffindor-red and contrasting greatly with the moss-green carpet), downed two bottles of Dreamless Sleep, and let the darkness swallow him whole.