Chapter 239 - History of the Houses! Part-2

{15th July 1991} 

{Rigel's POV}

"Status."

The word hung in the cave a moment, gathering its own echo, before Padma picked it up again. "You might think it's silly," she said, voice steadier with each syllable, "but a surname—your surname—carries power whether you claim it or not. You are descended from one of the old houses, the kind that can trace itself to the foundations of your country. If you decided one day to run for Minister—or anything less—you would not be asked to prove you belong there." Her eyes stayed on the warded door. "Imagine a Muggle-born standing there instead. Do you truly think there wouldn't be a public outrage?"

I nodded, because the shape of that truth was familiar and ugly, even wrapped in different robes. "Isn't that redundant?" I asked, but her answer didn't make sense to me. "The Patils have influence in your Ministry."

'From what I can tell, that seemed like the way anyway.'

A scoff cut the air through like a lightning bolt. Nalini had turned back, the torchlight striking a hard edge along her cheek. My question seemed to have offended her. "Do not mistake those fools in power for the ones with power," she said. "Ministers, directors, councils—most are puppets the Guardians set in place. Some are only mouthpieces for ghosts of houses like your Malfoys." The last name tasted of iron when she spoke it.

Her mana twitched sharply with distaste. Interested in her view, I kept my own views still and listened.

She drew a slow breath and leashed the temper before it ran. "Did you know," she said, quieter, "that India was once counted among the richest lands in the world? Do you believe that was a fluke? That wealth exists without structures to defend it?" Her hands closed into fists, the first time her body betrayed what her voice did not. "And when armies came, the true power—the Old Ones—did not move. We were not worth their interference. The descendants of 'gods'—" she spat the word with such distaste that it lingered "—were busy with their own games while your ancestors massacred through our lands."

Her anger was heat and pressure—controlled, not wild—but I felt myself shift, wand-hand relax and then tighten, a reflex I did not indulge. Occlumency cooled the room inside my skull, as I focused.

Nalini saw the motion, and with a small shake of the head, stepped back from the edge she had walked herself to. She looked at the shield of mana locking the wooden door. "Behind that door is knowledge left by a myth," she said. "Perhaps a minor one, but myth enough. Remember, Mr. Black: knowledge is power."

Her words settled in the torches' breath as she walked away. The tension stayed a beat longer, then Padma filled the space it left. "Don't think less of her," she said quickly, the first glance she gave me sliding away as if the floor were slightly sloped. She bit her lip, then let it go. "She is trying to protect us. She is…doing what she can."

I didn't say anything as I looked at the retreating woman. I guess no one is evil without a reason.

"Status," Padma said again, softer now, as if to herself. "In our world, it isn't only titles and coins. It's who watches your back when the Guardians knock. It's who doesn't knock at all because your name sits inside their rules."

"Guardians," I repeated, to put the word in my mouth the way they meant it. "They are different from the Old Ones. The enforcers, right?"

She nodded. "They carry the edicts…and they have their own ambitions. We've lived under that shadow too long to ignore it. Dhanvantari may not have descendants, but the work he left would change the balance. Even rumors draw attention. If we get this wrong, the Guardians will come and make it their right."

"And if we do it right?" I asked.

"Then they will never notice until it is too late," Nalini cut in again, walking back, already striding toward us from the ritual circle, which was finished. "And you will live to be angry with me another day. Perhaps another feud, one that I would like to settle between us rather than harm my descendants."

"That implies I plan to come back to enact revenge," I said, simply gauging her reaction. It earned the smallest tilt of her mouth. "Oh, you will, Mr.Black, you just need to gain the strength to look me in the eye." She looked into mine as she continued, "But that's the story for another day. Let's begin the ritual circle is ready."

I let my senses fan out to what the Patils were building. The circle was elegant without being ornate—working geometry, not theatre. Chalk and ash mixed lay in tight curves, triangles nested in arcs, twelve runic points marked by low bowls. Steam rose from a few; others smoked as if remembering fire. Tulsi, sandalwood, camphor. At the center, a clearing no wider than a hearth-rug—space for two, maybe three, to stand within the lines without touching them. No candles or anything else were marked within the circle itself.

"This ritual circle is different from the one I had used before," I said, eyeing the chalk. I was used to blood for the rituals. "I can not recognize these runes. You do know that if the Ritual does anything else other than what you implied, it will be considered a breach of contract, and you would lose your magic, along with Padma?"

Padma flinched at the word loose your magic but Nalini nodded anyway. "Yes. This is the same ritual circle in principle, just not using any of the runes you are familiar with. This also ignores the restriction of the Core expansion Ritual that it could only be done if performed by someone who had never done it before."

'Wait, what?' I thought and cast a quick inspect at the Ritual circle.

...

[Core Confluence Ritual Circle (Rare): An old ritual using the runic language of pelgru, the ritual is based on the principle of the Core expansion Ritual, while allowing a minor boost to total Mana, it can only be done by two people once in their lives

+ 5% to Mana]

...

'Wow, the boost is very small, but it adds up. And I have never heard about this language before...' I thought as Nalini spoke, "Come, it's time..." and began walking into the ritual circle as she disrobed.

'Well, that was unexpected.'

---

{15th July 1991} 

{Sirius's POV}

I hit the floor of the Leaky Cauldron like a sack of gobstones dumped from a tower. I nearly got one knee under me, just enough control to keep from bowling over the nearest table as my sleeping and bound hand made it difficult to maneuver. Harry didn’t fare any better in this attempt as he skidded, clipped a bench, and slammed shoulder-first into a tray of steak and pie. Plates rang, tankards jumped, and gravy went airborne.

The room was silent as everyone backed away.

“Easy,” I snapped at myself more than the crowd, forcing the old Auror reflexes to settle—hands open, I began counting heads. Ron was coughing, twins swearing in harmony as they scrambled to get to their feet. Ginny was on her feet already; it seemed like she already had an impressive amount of control on magical travel, rope burns still looped in her fists like a saint’s relic. No blood, just bruised pride and gravy.

“Fred—gather everyone,” I barked, freeing my wand from the slit in my tattered robe. He was already moving; of course, he was, being a chaos incarnate, having learned to live in it. George mirrored him, sweeping arms, apologies, a bow here, a quip there to bleed the tension from the crowd. Tom gaped, then remembered he owned a bar and started shooing gawkers as he approached.

I lifted my wand, drew breath, and let the old warmth rise. “Expecto Patronum.”

Padfoot burst from the wand in a rush of silver moonlight—tail high, tongue lolling. He circled once, bright paws leaving no mark on Tom’s scuffed floor, and I bent to his ear, whispering urgency, “Arthur, Molly, come quickly, Leaky Cauldron. Now. Ginny’s is safe, and so are the boys. Bring enough Floo powder to take Harry back. Don’t panic in public and don't ask them questions until they are home.”

Padfoot barked once and tore away through the nearest wall, a comet diving upstream.

I turned to the only redhead who hadn’t yet tried to apologize to the crowd. “Ginny—round them up. Arthur and Molly will be here by Floo in a minute. Keep Harry upright and Ron from punching anyone who says the word ‘celebrity.’ I’m going to get to Dumbledore.”

She hesitated—Rigel had asked for six hours, and we both knew it—but she swallowed, nodded once, and set her jaw. “Go.”

The pub began to find its voice again—questions, mutters, the clatter of someone righting a chair. I shouldered through the crowd and shoved out into the cold street of London, the evening slapping me full in the face: buses wheezing, shopfronts throwing rectangles of light across rain-damp pavement, the city busy being itself.

No time for subtlety. I cut left, boots hammering the alley’s slick brick, and spooked a couple entwined in the shadows; their yelp of panic dissolved back into the night like they’d imagined me as I didn’t slow down. One breath to picture the main gate, the scent of polish on the iron doors. Twist. Crack.

'Hang in there, Rigel...'

---

AN: And the plot escalates...