Chapter 311: Voldemort, Beautiful [bonus]
After the dome shattered, Fiendfyre's light surged through the gap and scorched the sky hundreds of meters above Lestrange Manor.
The entire estate looked like a cracked-open volcanic crater, its orange-red glow staining the surrounding treetops a deep copper.
The conjured beasts emerged from the collapsing roof. The serpent coiled around the half-ruined west tower, fire pulsing between its scales. The dragon spread its wings and swept along the north side's last remaining wall, stone melting and sagging wherever the wingtips passed, whole sections gone in seconds. The chimera lumbered from the wreckage on six legs, crushing the columns underfoot, each step accompanied by the dull crack of splitting earth.
The guests were long gone.
The fighting earlier had been loud enough, but at least it had stayed inside the banquet hall. Walls up, roof intact, sound carrying but debris staying close. Now the dome had fallen, the walls were down, and fire-beasts were climbing out of the building. Two centuries of structural-reinforcement charms failed layer by layer under those temperatures, magical wards stripped away like tissue paper.
Even someone who had never encountered Fiendfyre, never read about it, could piece together what was happening now.
The scent of annihilation itself.
Fiendfyre wasn't fire, strictly speaking. Fire was merely its expression. At its core, it was a cursed creation imbued with the drive to destroy. Once it slipped its leash, it developed its own consciousness, or at least instinct. Devour and spread. Burn everything until nothing remained, or until it consumed itself.
A few of the bolder guests glanced back from the gates at the manor's entrance. Then they ran faster.