The Last Protection: Harriett Potter's Legacy

Chapter 20: The Ritual of the Black

The full moon hung high in the sky, its pale, silver light casting an ethereal glow over the sprawling Black family estate. The house, with its towering walls and ancient stones, stood proud and ominous beneath the glowing orb above. It seemed as though the very air around the mansion was charged with an otherworldly energy. The grounds, bathed in this pale light, were silent, save for the occasional rustle of leaves, as though the trees themselves were holding their breath.

Inside, in the center of the grand drawing room, Harriett stood alone, facing what felt like an inevitable fate. The room was dimly lit by the flickering light of several candles, their flames casting long, dancing shadows on the dark stone walls. The space was vast, yet it felt smaller somehow, the weight of centuries of history pressing down from all directions.

Harriett was not truly alone, though. Standing just beyond her, like silent sentinels, were members of the Black family. Sirius, her guardian and uncle, watched her from a few paces behind, his usual confidence replaced by something more akin to concern. Narcissa Malfoy, cold and regal as ever, stood at the altar, her eyes never leaving Harriett. Draco, with his blond hair and piercing eyes, hovered nearby, his expression unreadable, though a faint flicker of apprehension passed across his face as his gaze met Harriett’s.

The ritual was about to begin. The weight of the moment settled heavily in the room, and Harriett felt a knot tighten in her stomach. This wasn’t just another family tradition—it was something far more personal, far more binding.

The ritual would cement her place in the House of Black, marking her as the true heir to their legacy, their power. To take this step was to embrace not only her birthright but also the darker legacy of her ancestors—the choices they had made, the blood they had spilled, the power they had accumulated. She had spent her entire life in the shadow of this legacy, but tonight, she would either accept it or reject it. There would be no middle ground.

“Harriett,” Sirius said softly, his voice carrying a quiet plea. He stepped closer, his hand resting on her shoulder. “You don’t have to do this. We can leave. We can go somewhere far away from all of this. You don’t have to be part of their legacy, not if you don’t want to.”

Harriett’s heart ached as she turned her head to meet his gaze. She could see the depth of his care, the love he had for her, but she also saw the deep-seated fear in his eyes. Fear of what she was about to do, fear of what it might cost her. But he didn’t fully understand, not yet. The pull of the Black family, the connection to her bloodline—it was a part of her, whether she liked it or not. There was no escaping it.

“I don’t have a choice, Sirius,” she replied quietly, her voice tinged with resolve. “This is who I am. The Black legacy runs through my veins. It’s a part of me. I can’t turn my back on it now.”

Sirius opened his mouth to argue, but the words died on his lips as Narcissa’s cold, commanding voice interrupted the moment.

“It’s time,” Narcissa said, her gaze unwavering as she looked at Harriett. “The ritual must begin.”

Harriett took a deep breath and nodded, stepping away from Sirius. He gave her a final, lingering look before stepping back, his face full of silent understanding. Narcissa motioned for Harriett to come closer to the altar, and Harriett obeyed, her feet carrying her forward without hesitation.

The altar, made of dark stone and etched with ancient runes, seemed to glow with a faint light. Atop it rested a silver chalice, its surface reflecting the flickering flames of the candles, and beside it lay a dagger, its blade sharp and polished, its dark magic palpable in the air around it. The room seemed to hum with an ancient power as the ritual began.

Narcissa raised her wand with precise elegance, murmuring incantations that sent shivers down Harriett’s spine. The magic in the air thickened, swirling around them like a living thing. Harriett felt her heart rate quicken as she stepped up to the altar. Her hand trembled slightly as she reached out to touch the silver chalice. The cool metal felt oddly warm beneath her fingers as though it had been waiting for her, expecting her to claim it.

“Place your hand upon the dagger, Harriett,” Narcissa instructed, her tone cold but steady. “And accept your place in the House of Black.”

Harriett’s breath caught in her throat. She had known this moment would come, but now that it was here, now that the ritual was in motion, the enormity of it all was almost overwhelming. She hesitated for a moment, her fingers hovering just above the dagger’s hilt. For a brief, fleeting moment, she considered walking away, refusing to go any further. But then, she thought of her family—of Sirius, of Draco, of Narcissa—and she knew that this was not just about her. This was about the Black legacy. About their future. Her future.

Taking a deep breath, she pressed her hand to the dagger. The cold blade met her skin, and a sharp pain shot through her palm as it cut into her flesh. A gasp escaped her lips as the blood began to flow, but it was not just blood—it was power, ancient and unyielding, spilling into the silver chalice below.

The room seemed to hold its breath as the ritual took hold. Harriett could feel the magic stirring deep within her, coiling around her bones, wrapping itself around her heart. It was a living thing, this magic—a part of the Black family’s legacy, older than she could comprehend, more powerful than she could ever imagine. She felt it surge through her, filling her with its dark power, binding her to the family in ways she could not yet understand.

The runes etched on the altar began to glow, their light growing brighter as her blood filled the chalice. The power in the room seemed to intensify, pressing in on her, suffocating her with its weight. She could hear the whispers of her ancestors in the back of her mind, their voices urging her to accept the power, urging her to embrace her place in the family.

But with the power came a responsibility—one that was not so easily accepted. Harriett had heard the stories of the Blacks—of their dark magic, their ambition, their thirst for power. She had seen the shadows that loomed over their legacy, and she knew that accepting this power would mean inheriting those shadows as well. The Black family was not one to be taken lightly, and with their blood in her veins, Harriett would have to decide whether she would continue their path or forge her own.

Her breath was coming faster now, the magic pulsing in time with her heartbeat. The pain in her hand intensified as more blood flowed into the chalice, and she felt a strange warmth spread through her chest, filling her with a strange sense of power. She could feel her connection to the family, to the history, to the bloodline that had ruled over generations.

Finally, the ritual began to slow, the magic retreating slightly as her hand was removed from the dagger. The chalice, now full of her blood, pulsed with a dark energy, its glow dimming only slightly. Narcissa stepped forward, her eyes cold but satisfied as she looked at the now-completed ritual.

“You are now bound to the House of Black, Harriett,” she said, her voice low and final. “You have claimed your birthright. The legacy is yours.”

Harriett stood tall, though she could still feel the weight of the ritual pressing down on her. She had done it—she had accepted the Black family legacy, but now she could feel the power coursing through her, mingling with her own magic. The legacy was hers, but at what cost?

Sirius stepped forward, placing a hand on her shoulder. His face, though filled with pride, was still tinged with sadness. He knew what this meant, knew that Harriett was now bound by a family legacy that she would never fully be able to escape.

“You did well,” he said quietly, his voice filled with both pride and sorrow. “But remember—this power is yours to command. You don’t have to follow in their footsteps.”

Harriett nodded, though she wasn’t sure if she truly believed it. The power she had just accepted was vast, ancient, and dark. The Black legacy was hers, but what would she do with it? Could she change the course of her family’s history? Or would she be consumed by it?

As the room fell silent, the magic in the air still swirling around them, Harriett knew that this was only the beginning. The ritual had bound her to the Black family, but her journey—her true test—was only just beginning.

The family was watching her now, the weight of their expectations settling on her shoulders. What would she do with this power? What kind of Black would she become? The answers were still unknown. But one thing was certain—she would face the future with the strength of the Black family behind her, whether she embraced it fully or not.