Chapitre 11: Chapter 11
So he reluctantly made up his mind to try meditation. After all the immense focus that was necessary to create the more intricate of his illusions had to help him here, or at least he most certainly hoped so.
So, in his attempt to resolve his vision issues, he took his trusty flashlight to illuminate a section of the cramped wall and then painted the out kanji for the closest approximation of the phrase 'perfect eye' he could remember. It was what he was aiming for after all.
In another 2 hours, his relentless stare marathon at the Japanese kanji paid off. The tingling feeling that he had long memorized and recalled as his personal healing factor had come and gone and he finally took in the rest of the room. Cramped as it was, he could see it. And he wasn't wearing any eye wear. He was elated. A mental victory dance later, he decided that he had to find a way to get plain lenses on his old frames. It would not do for him to miraculously develop perfect vision. It would be downright disastrous, in spite of his inability to pinpoint exactly why it would be so apocalyptic. But, his instincts were quite accurate so far and Harry was not above acting on a mere hunch. He left his room to find the closest establishment that could cater to his needs, relying on his arsenal of genjutsu and 20 quid that Vernon had been conveniently relieved of. He left Privet Drive totally ignorant of the fact that his retinas were now imprinted with kanji, the same set that he had been conveniently staring at for a whole couple hours.
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At the same time in London, another man was on his way for his own all important errand.
Takeda was a negotiator. His job was to talk with very powerful people and ensure that both his and the other parties walked away with a smile and absolutely no bloodshed. The fact that he was 56 proved that he was very good at his job. It meant he never failed, a very endearing trait his superior valued in him. And thus it was that he had been sent to the British isles of all places, to negotiate with some pseudo noble that apparently held the keys to his organizations success here.
Takeda was a simple man. He had reached the age where he had picked one vice and stuck to it, to the detriment of all others. His activity of choice was reading, something he spent nearly all his free time in. It was also a great help to his occupation, as had been proved so many times in the past. This was his first trip outside the eastern territories and Takeda found himself distinctly...unimpressed. As far as he was concerned, the whole place was dead.
Not only was the whole area distinctly lacking in any real heritage and culture (in his humble opinion), the whole place made him feel...unclean. But he kept such thoughts to himself. He was the envoy that had been sent here by Hakumei, and he did not intend to let a couple of uneasy feelings deter him from his duty. The consequences of failure were...unpleasant, to say the least. So he shoved his opinions and his growing irritation with the location of this mission out of his consciousness. His first stop would be the Japanese embassy. It was there that his next stage of transportation to his destination would be found. Honestly, these British people amazed him with their stupidity. Their refusal to use modern forms of transport was rather annoying. Why did he have to take a kami forsaken portkey (" those accursed trinkets!") of all things just to get to this...Malfoy Manor? For the first time in quite a while, Takeda found himself muttering.
"Mendokuse..."
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Malfoy Manor when first seen, always left an impression. And what a powerful impression indeed. To those who fancied themselves inclined to the light, it was a dark and foreboding place, that gave of an aura of sheer power that ensnared the senses, impressing upon all mortals that dared to pass through its boundaries of the magical might that permeated the building. It presented a terrible visage, but nobody would deny that it was a calculated one, an advertisement of the might its inhabitants wielded, and a very effective one at that. Indeed, not even the great Albus Dumbledore could claim immunity from its terrifying charms, and he hadn't even entered the accursed building.
To the wizards and witches who imagined themselves dark though, it was a monument. The dark arts, the forbidden fruit of the ages, black chapters in the admittedly great book that was magic, seemed to call this area home. To them, the building was an engine of malevolence, a gallery of madness, a mausoleum that proclaimed the power and the temptations these practices entailed. And to the lesser mortal, it would have seemed the Malfoys had tamed it, gods above those foolish men who attempted to tinker with the abyss...for how else could they reside in such pure unadulterated evil? But all remembered the tingly feeling, the pins and needles, the rather weird sensation that very few knew to be the ambient aura of the wards which through generations of Malfoys had absorbed the residual magic that could only have come from uncounted uses of the forbidden, the unforgivables three. It was a fortress of malice, a bastion of darkness, one which had a life, all of its own.
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État de l’alimentation hebdomadaire
-- Classement
Power Stone 
-- Power
stone