Ascension-34

It was the morning next to the match between Gryffindor and Slytherin, yet Quidditch was the last thing on anyone’s mind. Sitting at the Sly

It was the morning next to the match between Gryffindor and Slytherin, yet Quidditch was the last thing on anyone’s mind. Sitting at the Slytherin table, Persephone stared over at the other end of the Hall, her eyes on Longbottom and Weasley. Professor McGonagall calling them personally had quickly told everyone what the issue was, and if that didn't, then Granger’s absence at the Breakfast table certainly did.

A student had been attacked—and it was an attack, the Heir leaving another message by her petrified body, painting the library’s walls in crimson lettering. “Suffer”, it read, below which Granger had been found by House Elves, who had then reported to the Headmaster and McGonagall. Granger was currently in the Hospital Wing, and classes had been suspended for the day.

“-ast the mudblood came of some use, I need some rest after yesterday’s match.”

However, not everyone was as shaken up or sad about the girl’s condition, she thought with a suffering-filled sigh, casting a nonverbal silencing charm on Draco with a flick of her hand. It had taken quite a while to deduce just why a silencio hadn’t worked on the Malfoy Heir in their first year, a trip to the library telling her that usually, higher-end robes were inlaid with repellents against such spells, giving the wearer some protection to a degree.

Of course, it meant she had to put more power, and not use silencio. Watching the Malfoy Heir keep on speaking and thanking Circe for some silence until a finite was used, Persephone shook her head and turned towards the Head Table. Dumbledore and Snape both were absent, leaving the Deputy Headmistress to handle the questions and queries from the students swarming her—and somehow, the Daily Prophet had already done a cover story on the attack…somehow making Granger just a footnote in a page long article that turned from attack on a muggleborn to a smear campaign against Dumbledore and the failing administration oh Hogwarts.

“I guess the mandragoras are going to be useful after all,” Tracey whispered—and she nodded at the brunette’s words, her eyes lowering to the paper beneath her. ‘Another bloody message left on Hogwarts’ walls? What is the Headmaster doing?’, it shouted in bold, a smiling picture of Dumbledore printed above the text, with comments from the Minister and Lucius Malfoy guiding the narrative along.

“Where is Harry?” Daphne asked suddenly, and Persephone looked up at the blonde, finding her leaning away from Bulstrode as the girl somehow shoved a whole potato into her mouth..at once.

“Nott said he was sleeping in, since today was declared a holiday,” she answered, her eyes flicking towards the said wizard. Ever since the day Nott had first approached them at this very table, the boy had become an acquaintance of sorts. He definitely didn’t sit or study with them like Daphne or Tracey, and to be honest, neither did she want such friendship with him until she was more sure of his intent. But once in a while, he would come and talk about one thing or the other, and Harry had said that Nott had been talking to him in the dorms as well, telling him about Quidditch teams and magical animals of all things.

“Hope he wakes up in ti-”

“Attention students!” Professor Lockhart’s voice echoed through the hall, silencing the conversations all over the place, and all three of them turned as one towards the head Table, finding the flamboyantly dressed man standing at the forefront. Giving them all his customary smile, the blond wizard leaned back against the table and waved his wand once, and Persephone blinked as hundreds of parchments materialized all over the hall, floating down to land in front of each student. “Based on the rather phenomenal response coming from the remedial batches regarding the increase in practical demonstrations—as well as the onset of the Wand of Ares championship in Germany in three months, the Headmaster has granted me the opportunity of training you children up for the competition, as well as give you some practical pointers regarding dueling.”

“It is a very prestigious opportunity,” Professor Flitwick continued the second Lockhart paused, stepping up to stand beside him as he pointed at himself with a grin. “I won it three times while I was competing in the circuits, and trust me, there is no shortage of motivation, as well as rewards for you if you win this competition. The Championship is divided into two parts, one for students, and one for emancipated adults. Of course, you will be competing in the students bracket, within the further subdivisions. Ages eleven to thirteen come in one bracket, ages fourteen to fifteen in one, and sixteen to seventeen and above come in the last category. There is prize money to be won, sponsorships and contracts with some rather stellar companies and groups—as well as the opportunity to take on the next category’s champion, if you so desire.”

“Hogwarts of course, shall compensate for your traveling and daily expenditure up to a set stipend of sorts,” Lockhart resumed, waving a hand towards them. “The rest of the details are frankly speaking, too boring for me to drone on about, so read them from that parchment on yourself if you wish to participate. However, let me be clear on this, people have died in this tournament. Usually adults only, but it is not unheard of for a student to get hit with something nasty and suffer onstage. There will be world-class medics on site, but still, participate only after weighing your risks and rewards.”

“Ahem,” Professor Flitwick coughed loudly, breaking the silence that was left in the wake of Lochart’s morbid warning, giving them all an uncomfortable smile. “Right well, now that that’s out of the way…interested students may submit their names to their Prefects within forty-eight hours, after which we shall hold the trials as well as the practice sessions. Brochures and books detailing the tournament’s history, as well as the formats and other general information have already been distributed to the common rooms, as well as made available in the library in abundance. If there are any queries that you may have, you are welcome to ask Professor Lockhart or me about them. Have a good day everyone!”

With that, both Lockhart and Professor Flitwick walked off into the antechamber, and instantly, shouts and murmurs sprang up across the Hall. reading through the parchment, Persephone felt her eyebrows climb up as she reached the part where it showed the prize money for their category.

“Two thousand galleons and a Nimbus 2000, that’s a lot for a twelve-year-old,” Tracey goggled at the parchment before her eyes turned towards the other tables, “Mayb-”

“Three spots are already taken by Longbottom and these two,” Daphne interrupted her, and Persephone cringed at that a little. While she knew that she was far better than Tracey at spellcasting and combat magics, it still was a little uncomfortable to hear that fact thrown around like that. “It says that only six students will be selected, decided by the faculty chosen as our trainers and guides—with two as substitutes. You will need to work a lot on your speed if you want to make it.”

“You are not going to take part?” Tracey asked in turn, raising an eyebrow at the blond, “A vacation in Germany is not your thing?”

“Hardly, I’d rather watch duels from the stands.”

“You are just afraid you would get your butt kicked!”

“I am not!” Daphne scowled, raising her wand and pointing it at Tracey, “Take that back or I will paint your hair pink for the day!”

“Nah nana nah na~ Daphne is a scar-OW! That hurt you hag!”

Silently shifting her bowl of honeyed fruits away from the two, Persephone continued to enjoy her breakfast.

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“Bloody hell!” Neville swore, staring at his destroyed sleeve, and the slight cuts on his arm Taking his wand into his hand, he waved it over his arm once, closing his eyes as he exhaled. “Episkey, Reparo!”

Anger coursed through his mind like molten stone, and Neville breathed in deeply as the frozen face of Hermione once again flashed before his eyes. One of his only friends, someone who had accompanied him into Voldemort’s traps without fear, was currently petrified in the Hospital Wing. All because she had wanted to learn the impedimenta, because he had wanted to show off at the match when that bludger had come for him. McGonagall had reassured him and Ron that the teachers and the Headmaster himself were looking into it with utmost urgency, but what use was that when Hermione was turned to a living stone. Already, he had had to restrain himself from breaking Malfoy’s teeth a dozen times since morning, the arrogant asshole leaving no moment to remind him or the others ' that's what was coming to the muggleborns and half-bloods’.

Shaking his head to dispel the thoughts, Neville looked down at his destroyed sleeve, and saw the spells go to work. The red marks on his skin and the few scratches faded away as his robes knit themselves back into shape, bits of cloth flying up from the ground to join his reforming sleeve. Shaking off the momentary numbness in his arm, he placed his wand back on the table and pointed his bare hand at the desk at the other end of the room. Breathing in slowly, Neville focused upon the feel of his magic, guiding it with intent as he imagined what he wanted it to do, a warm sensation rushing down his arm—just like it had a hundred times before.

But yet, at the last possible moment, he felt a prick at the tip of his fingers, and a vortex of biting energy and winds swallowed his arm, once again ripping his sleeve to tatte–

“Why do you do that continuously?” a soft whisper from right behind him echoed in the room, and Neville nearly jumped out of his skin, picking up his wand and turning around, Lacero’s incantation at the tip of his tongue. However, his hand relaxed as he saw just who, or rather what had intruded upon his silence. Displeased eyes stared at the lowering wand, and Neville watched the woman float a little backwards, giving him some space. “Did you not get taught it is impolite to aim your wand at a woman?”

“Which o-nevermind,” Neville started, only to pause his crass words as he too stepped back, “How may I assist you, Helena Ravenclaw?”

“You are the Boy-Who-Lived,” she whispered, turning her head to the right, and he followed her gaze, finding a portrait of the four founders on the wall, buried beneath centuries of dust and webs, “You are the reason he was defeated years ago.”

“I had forgotten,” he sighed, “Thank you for reminding me.”

“Do not act smart with me,” she cut back, frowning at him as she brought her face close to his, “You did not kill him. Merely turned him into a specter that still lives, haunting this world and castle.”

“You knew about him last year?”

“I knew something was wrong with the turban-wearing man,” she answered, closing her ghostly eyes as she lowered herself to be level with him, her braided hair—did they still count as hair?---shifting slightly to expose a wound on her collarbone. “But the fact that it was him, that became known to me only once I heard Quirrel collapse and start raving in a corridor on the Seventh floor.”

“And you did not tell Professor Dumbledore?” he asked, voice rising in astonishment and anger both, “Do you know how clo-”

“I had my reasons for not doing so!” she retorted fiercely, cutting him off midway as she scowled, pointing her finger at him, “and those reasons are none of your concern!”

“Then what in the name of Merlin are you doing here? Let me practice in peace!” he said back just as hotly, deciding to research spells that would work on ghosts as soon as possible—especially the warding ones. Turning around, he raised his hand again towards the desk, “I ha-”

“I can help you learn,” she interrupted him, and Neville paused at those words, turning around to meet her translucent blue eyes with his brown ones. His mouth opened to question her words, but something in her expressions, in her demeanor stopped his throat, her eyes staring into his with a determination and anger, “Spells, books, knowledge…whatever you need.”

“Why?” He asked after a pause, hearing the desperation in her voice, something he had thought the Grey Lady to never show—and with good reason, for Helena seldom talked, her stoicism as legendary in Britain as the Baron’s bloody tale, “Why do you wish to help me?”

“I-I shall tell you, but not today,” Helena seemed to sigh with relief and sadness at the same time, drawing herself up and floating backwards, her eyes shifting towards the portrait of the founders, uncomfortable and morose. But then, a spark seemed to reignite in her, some of that stubborn, stoic manner returning to her as she straightened and gave him an appraising glance, “For now, take comfort in the fact that I wish for Riddle’s downfall as much as you do, and that I perhaps know about him more than your esteemed Headmaster. I do not have the means to teach you anything, Neville Longbottom, but I have something far better.”

“What?” he hedged, carefully filing away the name—most likely Voldemort’s real name, and definitely not a pureblood name he knew.

“My Mother’s greatest creation.”

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Two days passed relatively quickly, the castle slowly quieting down from the buzz that Granger’s petrification had created, and Harry watched as everyone returned to their normal lives—well everyone except Neville and Weasley. He had seen Weasley a couple of times, flying on the school brooms, or sitting quietly at the house table and stirring his food quietly.

Longbottom on the other hand, had been absent from anywhere except classes, disappearing into the wind even before they had the chance to realize he was there. Persephone had wanted to talk to him, but both of them had not known what to say, and more importantly, what to do…and thus, they had kept silent. Classes had resumed the day before, but yet, there was an undertone of danger in the castle now. While no one had been caught, and no one except for her two friends missed her presence, Granger’s petrification had still shaken the students with one realization.

That whatever had happened to Filch’s cat, could happen to wizards too.

And privately, Harry thought that the Wand of Ares was just an excuse for Dumbledore to create this dueling and combat class—to fill the students with some confidence and take the Castle’s mind off things. Standing in the Great Hall with a dueling platform erected before him, Harry looked at the hundreds of students around him, each and every first to third-year crowding around on the temporarily created stands to get a better view of the stage. Looking at Persephone and Tracey next to him, his eyes turned towards where the sparse few Slytherins who were not participating had taken their seats, Daphne’s blue eyes meeting his as she waved lightly with a small smile. “Not much for fighting, is she?”

“Not really, Princess Greengrass is far above us mortals,” she scoffed, her eyes turning towards the antechamber as Professor Lockhart and Professor Fl-, “Snape?! Professor Snape is going to teach dueling?”

“He was a Death Eater,” Persephone muttered quietly, and Harry tilted his head in agreement as Tracey’s eyes widened and she turned towards him as if to seek confirmation. “Would be bad for his CV if he didn't know how to fight.”

“Fuck,” the brunette breathed and looked towards Snape, a new fear in her eyes as though seeing him for the first time. “Holy Circe, Dumbledore hired a Death Eater.”

“He was a spy for Dumbledore’s Order back during the Blood War,” he whispered, remembering the picture of Snape’s trial that he and Persephone had found in a book in Kástro Mávros, “Apparently.”

“You don’t believe it?”

“I have been here for little more than a year,” he shrugged at Tracey’s question, “I don’t know enough to make assumptions about someone’s loyalty to the Dark Lord or Dumbledore.”

“That’s a Slytherin answer,” Tracey narrowed her eyes at him, stabbing a finger in his chest, “I liked you better when you were not so sarcastic and the younger one.”

“Attention! Alright, that’s enough talking everyone!” Lockhart’s voice boomed throughout the Hall, and they all turned towards him as on the stage, he and Snape came to a stop in the center—and by Merlin did they look like day and night Lockhart with his naturally bright complexion, blonde hair and richly colored robes, while Snape clad in his customary black ones, sallow skin, and coal black hair falling to his shoulders. “I hope everyone who wanted to come has arrived, because for the next four hours, the door to the Great hall shall be shut, understood?”

“Yes Professor,” they all chorused back, and Lockhart nodded at their words, his eyes moving over every one of them before he turned towards Professor Snape.

“Professor Flitwick was caught up in an unavoidable obligation of his, and thus, I have enlisted Professor Snape to help me with today’s session,” he chuckled, waving a hand towards the stoic Potions Master, and at the dubious looks being exchanged between the unaware students, he laughed and walked closer to the Slytherin head. “Oh no need to fret dear children! I assure you, your beloved Potions Master shall be in one piece and unharmed. Besides, I remember Professor Snape to be a competent duelist back in the day when we both were students.”

The next second, Snape’s wand flashed up, erecting a pale blue barrier before him and blocking the bright stream of fire that had appeared out of nowhere. Students screamed and jumped back, while Lockhart laughed heartily, unclipping his cloak and throwing ti to the side as he brandished his wand, “Marvelous, Professor Snape. I see that toiling over cauldrons has not dulled your speed in the slightest.”

“That was.. unnecessary,” came the slow reply from the man, and Harry watched with bated breath, rooted to his spot despite the way everyone around him save for Persephone had moved back. His fingers twitched, and he felt the distinct rush of adrenaline begin as he saw Snape turn, the protego dissolving away into nothingness as the fire abated.

“On the contrary, I think the students saw how laying traps usage of charms come in handy,” Lockhart grinned, bringing up his wand sharply to hold it perpendicular to the ground in front of his face, “Students! This is how you salute your opponent—not the fire, the way I am holding my wand right now. Initiating the salute means that you see yourself as the challenger, and regard your opponent’s skills as superior to yours. Now, if Professor Snape does not raise his wand in return, that means he considers my challenge a waste of his time, and displays how he thinks my skills are far below his notice.”

“What happens if he raises his wand?” Tracey asked, “He acknowledges the challenge?”

“Hn,” He nodded back, watching Snape do exactly that, his hand snapping up sharply to mimic Lockhart’s stance before they both lowered their hands.

“Now, in the British and French schools of dueling and the format followed here, you take a distance of twenty paces from your initial positions,” Lockhart continued, as he and Snape both began to walk backwards, hands still poised by their sides and their steps slow and deliberate, “However, in Germany and the Eastern nations, this step is mostly ignored, and instead, you just bow. Again, like saluting with your wand, how much your bow shows how much you respect your competition, and not bowing at all conveys a clear lack of respect and interest. And now that you have seen the rituals of a duel’s start… it's time you see what actual magical combat is like”

“Stupefy,” Snape calmly intoned, wand flashing a bright crimson, and even before Harry realised what had happened, the spell stuck Lockhart’s raised arm, a golden clypeus glimmering on it. However, that didn’t stop the Potions Master from flicking his wand towards Lockhart’s feet with a muttered bombarda.

The students shrieked and pulled back even further, but yet, he stayed rooted to his spot, watching how Lockhart flicked his wand and erected a barrier over himself, stopping every bit of wood from reaching his robes, before they were transfigured into shining spears that shot towards Snape. “Protego,” Snape chanted, stopping the spears in their tracks, and with a swish of his wand, turned them into a flock of cawing crows that swarmed Lockhart within an eyeblink, “Diffindo! Lacero! Ossis Fractura!”

“Confringo!” Lockhart shouted, a blazing blast of fiery oranger energy escaping hsi wand and clashing against Snape’s first spell, while the other two were taken by the flock of crows still clawing at the shield around his body, “Transfiguration, charms, Offensive and Defensive Spells..everything is allowed in the duels. Anything that may augment or alter your natural capabilities in any way or form however, is strictly banned. For example, a regenerative potion, or if you are rich enough, the energy-replenishment draught.”

“Now, even for your category, anything that isn’t lethal directly—for example, a blood-boiling curse, or something along the same lines is allowed,” he continued, shooting a dozen spells at Snape within eyeblinks, all of which were calmly blocked by the stone-faced wizard at the other end of the platform, “Transfigurations and Charms that aren’t lethal, but can be lethal are also allowed. Hogwarts curriculum covers almost the same spells and charms as the other schools, in functionality if not in incantations. The only two schools in this continent that have a more offense-based syllabus and actual practical training are Durmstrang and Grundir Valhallar—which is the official German academia. Now that this little demonstration has shown you the kind of speed and spells you can expect, form up according to the pairs on the boards, and no, don’t rush! There are four of those things around here!”

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Despite months having passed since the term had started, Persephone still hadn’t been able to decipher the meaning behind Arcturus’ and Cassieopeia’s cryptic words about Gilderoy Lockhart. By their reactions and words, she had come to Hogwarts half-expecting him to be a charlatan. But yet, Lockhart had shown himself to be a capable teacher, and a knowledgeable wizard who could cast magic as proficiently as he posed for pictures.

Even now, as she watched him bask in the attention heaped upon him by the students—girls especially…she could still see him guiding them as well—correcting incantations, postures, etc. “Protego”, she muttered, eyes still not moving from Lockhart even as she felt the—frankly weak—diffindo clash against her shield. She didn’t know the third-year Gryffindor she was partnered up against, but he was really pathetic, especially after he had gotten attacked by Arcturus and Cassieopeia over the summer. 

Her eyes moved towards her brother, and she sighed, seeing him paired against Hannah Abbot of all people His face was a mask of stone, staring down at the scared and timid Hufflepuff girl as she lazily shot spells at her, slowly weathering down her shield with quiet incantations. Ever since their sorting when their surnames had been revealed, Bones and Abbott had kept their distance, forgetting all of that train ride in a moment, and even after a year had passed, they had not exchanged words once. She saw them daily in the Hall or in the classes that they shared, the judgement, the scorn, the fear in their eyes making roll hers every time.

But yet, that didn’t cover the anger inside her heart.

Anger at this world.

Anger towards James and Lily Potter.

Towards Sirius Black.

Anger at Augusta Longbottom.

Arcturus’ name sure protected them from Azkaban and Augusta’s madness, but it didn’t protect them from the whispers, the slurs, the threats. Despite the hate mail being warded off after the first two tor three days, she and Harry were still aware of the kind of filth that was directed at them. Dead snakes, venom, poisonous food, curses and jinxes—and sometimes quite colorful descriptions of what should be done with them To learn what kind of life had been snatched away from them, just because an old hag and some people couldn’t digest them being different from their parents.

To this day, she couldn’t help but think about just what would have hap-

“All students, return to your dormitories. Students in the Great Hall, be seated quietly Professor Lockhart and Professor Snape shall remain with you.’