Harry Potter with Technology System

Ch325- My Lord!

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Harry reached down and yanked Bellatrix to her feet with little effort, keeping his eyes on the swirling chaos of the alley around them. “Gather around me,” he commanded sharply. 

The Death Eaters hesitated, exchanging confused glances. They had no idea who this man was, but the air around him crackled with an undeniable aura of authority. It was oppressive and commanding in a way that left them little room to question. Slowly, one by one, they began to move closer, drawn in as if by some unseen force.

Bellatrix, still dazed but visibly energized by Harry’s presence, clung to his arm like a lifeline. Her reverent gaze followed his every move as though he were a divine savior sent to deliver them from this chaos. “My L- What’s the plan?” she asked breathlessly, her voice trembling with awe and desperation.

Harry activated his Astral Sight, the world around him shifting into a tapestry of glowing runes and magical constructs. The wards woven tightly around the alley glimmered like intricate spiderwebs. The wards preventing Portkey use gleamed in a faint bluish light.

He quickly identified the issue: Dumbledore’s handiwork. The ward that blocked Portkeys was buried within the larger structure, designed not only to prevent escape but to resist tampering. Harry’s lip curled slightly. Of course, the old man wouldn’t make this easy. Breaking it required finesse, the kind he gained dismantling the curse on the Defense Against the Dark Arts position.Nôv(el)B\\jnn

Leaning in close to Bellatrix, who was staring at him with open reverence, he whispered, “Prepare the Portkey. When I give the signal, hold onto me and take us out of here.”

Bellatrix nodded eagerly, her fingers slipping into her pocket as her hand closed around something. “And the others?” she asked, glancing briefly at the scattered Death Eaters still standing amidst the chaos.

Harry chuckled, his tone low enough that only she could hear. “They’ll sacrifice themselves for us.”

Bellatrix giggled, her fingers tightening around the object in her pocket. Harry could feel her excitement radiating, but he ignored it, his focus returning to the glowing wards around them.

He analyzed their structure, noting the faint connections to Dumbledore’s magic. They were intertwined with the surrounding area, anchoring themselves into the very stones of Knockturn Alley.

Breaking Dumbledore’s magic wouldn’t be quick or clean, but he only needed enough of a gap to slip through. The key was precision—pulling at the right threads to unravel just enough without collapsing the entire construct and drawing more attention.

He raised his wand, murmuring a sequence of parseltongue-infused spells. The runes nearest the anchor point flared brighter, resisting his attempts to tamper with them. Harry adjusted, layering his magic over the wards like a second skin, matching the cadence of their energy. Slowly, he began to pull at the spellwork, piece by piece, loosening the weave.

Moody barked, "He’s breaking the wards! Stop him!" His voice drawing the Aurors’ attention immediately. Wands snapped to Harry. 

But the Death Eaters reacted first. Realizing their only escape hinged on the man working behind them, they surged forward, forming a defensive line. They didn’t need orders from Bellatrix or anyone else—it was survival. Spells began flying as the Death Eaters hurled hexes at the advancing Aurors, forcing them to pull back or shield themselves.

Harry realized Dumbledore wasn’t intervening. The old man stood at the edge of the chaos, his sharp gaze fixed on Harry, deflecting Rookwood's curses without even looking. Not a single spell left his wand aimed at Harry. It wasn’t apathy, though—it was calculated observation, like he was waiting to see how Harry would handle the wards. The lack of action made Harry’s jaw tighten. Dumbledore wasn’t stopping him—he wanted Harry to succeed. For what reason, Harry couldn’t begin to guess, but the silent scrutiny irritated him.

He didn’t have time to care about the why. His focus returned to dismantling the anti-Portkey ward, his wand moving quickly as he unraveled the spell layer by layer. It was delicate work, threading his own magic through the intricate web of charms Dumbledore had placed.

Front of him, the Death Eaters were still holding their ground against the Aurors, though their efforts were growing more frantic by the second. Without Rookwood and the few competent fighters who had already slipped away, the remaining loyalists were little more than cannon fodder.

Bellatrix clung to Harry’s side, her breathing shallow but her grip firm. Her wide eyes darted around, and her fingers twitched against her wand. “They’ll break through any second,” she hissed, her voice a low, frantic whisper.

The ward’s core finally gave way with a soft hum, the bluish light dissolving into nothing. Harry let out a breath, his wand lowering slightly. He turned to Bellatrix, who was clutching a small, tarnished ring—her Portkey. “Now,” he said sharply.

Bellatrix didn’t hesitate. She clutched his arm tightly, her knuckles white as she activated the Portkey. The familiar pull at his navel yanked them away just as the Aurors surged forward, spells slicing through the space they just vacated.

The pair landed in a dark, dilapidated room. Dust coated the surfaces, and faint moonlight streamed through cracked windows. Bellatrix stumbled slightly but kept her grip on Harry’s arm. She immediately dropped to her knees, her head bowed low. “My Lord,” she rasped, her voice trembling with reverence. “You saved me.”

Harry scanned the room first. Dust covered the floors, and faint moonlight seeped in through the cracks of boarded-up windows. It looked abandoned, its shabby furniture tilted and broken. His wand remained in hand as he quietly checked for threats or wards. Bellatrix had brought them here, but he had no idea where here was.

Her words, however, were far harder to ignore.

Lord?

Harry frowned, casting a quick glance at Bellatrix. She was still kneeling, head bowed as though she were in the presence of Voldemort himself. The reverence in her voice, the way she clung to his every movement—it didn’t add up. His appearance as “Albus Riddle” was calculated, sure, but Bellatrix had never seen this face. She shouldn’t have connected him to Voldemort.

‘Is it the aura?’ Harry thought, his eyes narrowing. The presence he projected when playing this role mimicked Voldemort’s, especially with the touch of parseltongue he used earlier. Still, this reaction was extreme, even for someone like Bellatrix. She practically radiated devotion, her very breath hitching as she knelt before him.

“Where are we?” Harry asked sharply, his eyes scanning the room for any signs of danger. He didn’t bother clearing up Bellatrix’s obvious misunderstanding. If she believed he was Voldemort, it worked in his favor. Letting her assume otherwise would only complicate things. Better a delusion than dealing with her volatile paranoia.

Bellatrix lifted her head slightly, her breath uneven. “An old safe house, My Lord,” she whispered, voice trembling with reverence. “It was abandoned after the war. I thought it suitable—hidden from the Ministry.”

Harry didn’t immediately respond. He glanced at the room’s walls, the peeling wallpaper and the faint smell of damp wood giving away just how long it had been abandoned. “Functional,” he remarked, keeping his tone neutral. “And no one would think to look for you here?”

She nodded quickly, looking eager to please. “No one knows of this place anymore. It’s… it’s hidden from those blood traitors and fools.”

“Good,” Harry said, stepping away from her to inspect the room. He needed a moment to gather his thoughts. Her reaction to him had been more intense than he expected, and while her devotion was unsettling, it might also be the key to getting answers.

Bellatrix, emboldened by his apparent approval, stood slowly, her knees shaky. Her eyes, however, burned with fervent energy. “My Lord,” she began hesitantly, wringing her hands, “forgive me, but… how? How have you… recovered?”

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