Chapter 461 - Acolytes (1/2)
The following evening the shadows in Reginald's study were long, and dark as the grandfather clock in the corner of the study began to loudly toll. The clock hands on the grandfather clock met exactly in the middle signaling the witching hour had begun. The twelve tolls' finally cease to ring signaling to Reginald that it was time.
Reginald rose to feet and paused in front of the east corner of the study. Tracing a rune like pattern onto the east wall to reveal an enchanted, hidden closet. Prying the closet doors open, he removes a fine, silky black cloak from within. The cloak is rather heavy, but still with ease he manages to slide the cloak on in a smooth practiced motion.
The cloak is a thing of beauty as it almost seems to sparkle in the light appearing like the pitch-black scales of some sort of creature. And in fact, it was dyed dragon hide interwoven with Acromantula's silk to protect the wearer from spells. The cloak itself worth a small fortune and was incredibly rare to be found much less be purchased by any common wizard or witch. The creation of such a cloak required not only an immensely powerful, but a talented magical tailor to do the stitching. And rarely if ever was their enough dragon hide to forge such a cloak.
And the various Ministries across the entire wizarding world tightly regulated the use of dragon hide, and as such, such large pieces of dragon hides were almost impossible to buy except through unorthodox methods. But that was not the only impediment as Acromantula's silk is exorbitantly expensive to purchase by the yard given the vast difficulty of acquiring the silk of such a dangerous creature. As such, very few wizards or witches ever dared to face a dragon or collect the silk of such a terrifying magical spider for neither of these creatures took prisoners.
There is a pause as Reginald buttons the top of the cloak shut with a pin. The brooch itself was not extraordinary, it was a simple diamond shaped pin. Yet a glint of light from the fireplace glinted across the brooch to reveal the inscribed symbol on the diamond shaped pin. It was that of the Deathly Hallows.
Briskly striding away, Reginald emerged from the study and made his way down and into the front hall. He froze at seeing the seated figure calmly reading a book in her lap, his sister. Without glancing up from her book, Georgine carefully places her dragon bookmark between the pages, before saying, ”You were very distant these last few days, brother, despite the children's return. And much to my surprise even Tadbey came to me with his concerns. Naturally, I just had to wait and see, what would come of it.”
Putting her book aside to rest on the small table stand next to her, Georgine raises her gaze as her eyes widen in shock. There standing before her was not her brother, but something out of her past nightmares. A chilling icy figure that resembled their father far too much to be of comfort, Rancor Prince in his prime, a monster.
Georgine's eyes flicker to the cloak which she had seen in her eleventh year, the summer just before Hogwarts. She had never forgotten that day nor what her brother became that summer. Pausing to stop the trembling of her lips, she finally hisses, ”Brother, what are you doing?!”
”What is necessary,” Reginald calmly retorted.
A wild burst of laughter emerges from Georgine's throat as she frostily spits out, ”Let me guess for the Greater Good, was it?! Have you finally gone mad, Reginald! What sheer insanity are you blathering on about now of all times?!”
”Step aside, Georgine,” Reginald matter-of-factly stated. ”I will not ask again.”
Georgine's eyes widen in shock for a moment before a fierce expression crosses her face in defiance. Rising from her seat, she plants herself right in her brother's path. ”I do not claim to understand your thoughts, brother,” Georgine coldly said. ”But asking the Acolytes for aid will not protect the children, but only serve to destroy them.”
Reginald's expression seems frustrated by his younger sister's defiance, but nevertheless his expression softens just a smudge. ”Georgine, have faith in me,” he finally replied.”