Ascension 32

“Neville?” “Persephone?!” Neville jerked his head to the side, finding the twins standing at the entrance to the dungeons, and besides him,

“Neville?” “Persephone?!” Neville jerked his head to the side, finding the twins standing at the entrance to the dungeons, and besides him,

“Neville?”

“Persephone?!” Neville jerked his head to the side, finding the twins standing at the entrance to the dungeons, and besides him, Ron and Hermione too jumped in their place, “What are you doing here?”

“We are Slytherins.” Harry raised an eyebrow, and Neville flushed in a little embarrassment. Right, yeah. He was standing in the dungeons wasn’t he?, “You didn’t go to the feast?”

“There was a Halloween party here, hosted by the Gryffindor ghost Sir Nicholas,” Hermione answered, nervously meeting the Sytherins’ eyes—and Neville understood why. Beyond telling them the bare minimum about what had transpired after Hermione had taken Ron back from the hidden chambers, the only thing they knew was that Harry and Persephone had helped him take down Quirrell. That fact that it had been the Dark Lord in disguise, well he had kept it hidden from them.

Still, Ron's and Hermione’s opinion of the twins had improved—slightly, that is. It wasn’t enough for them to trust them or even call them acquaintances, but at least Ron wasn’t spewing venom at their very name now. Continuing on from Hermione’s words, Neville took a step forwards and raised his wand, creating a couple of light balls with a muttered Lux, as he took the Potter twins properly, “What are you guys doing here? Looking for another troll? Or are graduating to a Giant this year?”

“I’d rather not,” Persephone shook her head, while Harry’s face twisted in a grimace miming that of Snape looking at Ron’s cauldron, “I have had my fill of troll odour. Let alone how worse a Giant would be. We didn’t go because we didn’t want to.”

“More like nobody wants you there,” Ron mumbled to himself, but the words carried well enough in the silence of the dungeon, and Neville sighed—because Ron was speaking the truth. While there were no attempted lynchings or cursemail being sent at the Potters after Arcturus Black had humiliated the Minister and his grandmother in a single span of five minutes, the animosity against them wasn’t gone. It was just muted. Simmering in everyone’s minds as they cursed and spat at the Potter name. 

“That’s also true, but they can’t do anything if we go there, can they?” Harry asked, almost seeming amused at Ron’s words, before he turned his eyes towards him, “Ghost Halloween huh? What did they serve you? Maggot soup from the graveyard?”

“Nothing that extreme,” he rolled his eyes, and a part of him was almost…surprised by the friendly banter going on between them. Since the second year had started, they had not really had many chances to talk, not with no Dark Lord hosting extra classes for them, “Anyways, have fun you two. If you want to eat, the Kitchens are by the Hufflepuff dorms. Just tickle the pear and the Elves will open the door.”

“Thanks…Neville,” Harry replied after a pause, and he saw Persephoen nod at her brother’s words, a small smile on her face. Shrugging at the uncomfortable praise, Neville just shook his head with a muttered welcome and started to walk towards the exit, intent on attending the feast and at last eating real food, with proper music instead of the ghastly wailing and screeching that had filled Nicholas’ party.

‘...’

Instantly, his hand stilled in his hair, a menacing chill spreading throughout the corridor and the silence seemed to turn unnatural, his hair standing on its end. Besides him, he saw Ron shudder while a choked whimper left Hermione as something seemed to grip their very bodies, a primal, deathly fear seeping through their bones. Gritting his teeth, Neville pushed his brain to work as he created a dozen more light balls, flooding every nook and cranny around them with light. Ahead of him, Harry and Persephone too seemed to have noticed something, their eyes flitting all over the place, wide and alert as their wands appeared in their hands.

“COLD...SO COLD.”

“What did you say?” he turned his head to the right, looking at Hermione.

“I didn’t say anything,” the brunette shook her head, her eyes narrowing slightly, “Maybe its Sir Nocholas’ party? Ghosts have been known to elicit such reactions fro-”

“It's not your ghosts,” Persephone whispered, more to him than Hermione, her emerald eyes meeting him over the dimly glowing balls of light, “There is something here…we need to go Harry. Whatever it is, I’d rather not get caught by it, or the Castle when something happens.”

“Wait what?! You are just going to leave us here?!”

“We aren’t the Gryffindor Trio Granger, you will be fine,” Harry rolled his eyes, but even then, Neville saw the panic in the boys eyes, similar to when Quirrell had revealed himself. Whatever was happening…Potter knew more than he was letting on, Neville realised, watching the twins walk towards the Slytherin Commons, passing him by slowly. However, right at the moment Harry was by him, hi-

“FREE…AT LAST”

“Oh fuck,” Harry whispered, his eyes widening at the absolutely monstrous whispers that bounced off the walls into their ears, and once again, Neville felt that heart-stopping fear deep in his bones, as if his heart had stopped beating all of a sudden, and if he even took a breath…then he would die. His eyes met Harry’s hazel against emerald, a single thought echoed between them in that moment.

“RUN!”

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

‘The Chamber of Secrets has been opened-Heir of Slytherin’

Dumbledore stared at the words, painted in blood upon the walls of Hogwarts, and for a moment, he felt the tight shackles he had casted upon his magic loosen just a bit, allowing a trickle of his power to be felt throughout the corridor. Besides him, Minerva shivered and looked away, while Filius gave him a worried glance.

Understandable he supposed, reigning in his magic. After all, both Filius and Minerva had been at Hogwarts the last time the Chamber had been opened, Minerva just a student, and Filius an apprentice to Cerelia Selwyn—the then Charms Mistress at the school. Both of them knew what it meant to have the chamber opened, for there was only one who had done it in the last four hundred years.

“Albus?” Minerva’s worried voice shook him out of his spiralling thoughts, and he turned to look at his apprentice. Her normally kept together appearance was frazzled, as she looked at the bloody writing upon the wall, as well as the petrified form of Mrs. Norris, “Do you think this is real?”

“The blood is,” Snape intervened, kneeling by the wall and tracing his wand through the air, his eyes staring at something past the wall, “Rat blood…fresh.”

“I suppose that is a relief,” he spoke up, his eyes turning towards the cat, frozen stiff upon the floor while FIlch bawled his eyes out. Off to the side, three students stood quietly, eyes staring at the scene with barely contained apprehension and fear. Neville met his eyes for a moment, before looking away to stare at the wall instead, and Dumbledore felt his lips twitch slightly. The boy knew something, of that he was sure, “What reason might three second years have for not attending the Halooween feast? Surely the standards of our kitchens have not fallen so low?”

It was a rather…bad attempt at humour, Dumbledore knew. But it was all he had to offer at the moment, to the children, to his staff and to himself too, he realised with irony.

“They were with me, Headmaster Dumbedore,” NIcholas’ voice came from behind him, and he saw the relief in the Gryffindors’ eyes, as he turned around and faced the ancient spirit. Sir Nicholas bowed, his head almost falling off its place before he pushed it back, rising and nodding at the three concerned children, “I was having a feast in the dungeons, Headmaster, and thus, I had invited young Longbottom and his friends to the occasion of my demise. They were there till the end, when Myrtle and Peeves got in a confrontation and things…went downhill. I myself saw them out of the chamber, and even the twins can attest to their presence.”

“The Weasleys?” Minerva’s vice contained an unmistakable sense of anger, and he could understand it well himself. If this all turned out to be some prank—far thought the chances of it were. This was the opposite of what the twins did for laughter. This was not bright, not flashy, and certainly not funny in any stretch of the definition. 

“The Potters, M’lady McGonagall,”

“Ah,” he whispered, sharing a glance with her, before he turned towards Severus, his dark eyes staring back into his own, “That will be all Sir Nicholas. You may return to your festivities. I assure you, young Neville and his friends shall face no consequences on your word.”

“Many thanks, Headmaster Dumbledore,” the ghost nodded, before waving lightly at the children and phasing through the walls to their right.

“Now, is there anything you three might want t tell me, or any of the staff members about just how you went from the Dungeons,” Dumbledore paused for a moment, turning around to look at the trio, and for this night, he became the Headmaster he was, instead of the grandfather he tried to be, as he stared down the three children. Hermione was almost catatonic with fear and trepidation, while Ronald looked at anywhere but him, his ears burning the trademark Weasley red. But it was Neville who captured his attention, the young wizard staring him in the eyes for a moment, his mouth opening as if was going to say something.

Were he the man he had been before, Dumbledore wouldn’t have hesitated in the least in slipping by the boy's eyes to his mind. Even now, in the privacy of his mind, he debated upon the action…because it was the sanctity of Neville’s mind versus the probable return of the monster that had plagued Hogwarts half a century ago. It was Mrs. Norris today…but it could just as easily be another Myrtle Warren, or one of the others tomorrow. A memory rose in his mind then…of the day it had all been destroyed. Him, Gellert and Aberfort-

“No Headmaster.”

“Off to your dorms then, dinner shall be awaiting you on your beds,” he spoke softly, burying every thought of that day, and the days after. As the three children nodded and swiftly moved towards the Gryffindor tower, Dumbledore turned back towards the bloody words, feeling the gazes of everyone upon him.

For all of his experience and skill at the mind arts, he couldn’t quite bury that thread of regret swimming through his thoughts.

Whether for not knowing Neville’s thoughts, or his own…Dumbledore didn’t know.

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

‘Horror at Hogwarts—The Chamber of Secrets has been reopened’

‘Second incident in Second year, is the Boy-Who-Lived safe?’

“I am surprised half the Ministry didn't show up for an investigation here, especially after Longbottom’s name was mentioned.”

“You have your Grandfather to thank for that,” Daphne answered, “After…well the whole Boy-Who-Lived bit was made public, Augusta Longbottom capitalised on it very well. Everyone was against the Dark Lord’s supporters, and their ideology after the sheer shock of him being brought low by a one year old. Entire Departments and Houses catered to her whims and demands, wanting to have a grab at the lory of being in the Boy-Who-Lived’s and his Regent’s good graces.”

“There were those who opposed her sudden and rapid rise to power of course,” she continued after a pause, her eyes turning towards the Heir Longbottom, who was once swamped by owls and students alike, clambering over each other to get his attention, “Much of the…Traditionalists, and where it was beneficial, my father and his associates. But yet, for all of that politicking and work by not one but two factions….Augusta Longbottom was still running the house. For no reason but a simple fact that Neville’s pubic appearances, his persona, his presence…all was crafted and controlled by her to sway the public and the witches and wizards wishing to curry favour. However that all changed with Arcturus Black coming out of solitude.”

“Yeah, banishing the old bat in the middle of Aurors and the Minister certainly changed things,” Nott snorted, and Harry blinked as the tall, lanky, and mostly quiet boy interjected, Even Daphne seemed surprised by his words, and Theodore rolled his eyes before meeting theirs, “What? I have got a working pair of ears…and your conversation is certainly more stimulating than Malfoy’s boasts or Zabini’s silence.”

“Hn.” the only son of Ophelia Zabini grunted out, his eyes not moving from the letter he was reading, and Nott gave them a pointed look as if saying ‘See what I mean?’

“He talks!” Tracey beamed, and Nott rolled his eyes hard enough that Harry was half sure they were going to fall out of his head.

“Going on,” the Nott Heir mumbled, giving Tracey a filthy look before he turned back towards them, “Many of the current Lords and old Ministry officials remember Arcturus, and since he had been the only one to challenge Augusta…much of her support has muted down. She still has a number of supporters and well-wishers within the Ministry, but Lord Black’s very name holds a weight and fear that has shook the political field for a while. And I am sure you know more about his aggressive dealings and meetings that have been going on ever since he took you two on that day. To summarise, the Ministry is not here, because at the moment, this looks like a prank to them, so even if Augusta wanted an investigation, currently she doesn’t have the political weight to throw around for it—and I doubt they will waste galleons and manpower on a cat, that too of a batty old Squib.”

“That still doesn't expla-”

“Why am I talking to you all of a sudden?” Nott asked with a smile, continuing before Harry or Persephone could say anything, “Because…now you are worth talking too. As simple as that.”

“That awfully blunt of you,” Daphne commented, “Sure you are a Slytherin Nott?”

“Enough to see when it is acceptable to approach the two biggest national pariahs…villains really,” he remarked flippantly, before continuing in a much jubilant voice, “Besides, I wasn’t really keen on approaching them like you did last year, Greengrass. And I ddidn’t really have a measure of them, or their future for that matter. For all I knew, they were going to be shipped to Azkaban—which, I was right about by the way. Draco certainly didn’t leave any quarters in showing Harry a good initiation either, and at the moment, I wasn’t going to do anything that would put me in a bad light. Sad as it was, Lord Malfoy held sway in the older students of our House either through their parents, and things could have turned difficult for me. Plus, I myself wasn’t sure of what to make of you…not until I saw you scoring Outstandings across the board…and well, I thought us snakes should be familiar with each other, shouldn’t we Harry? Get out for nighttime strolls, talk to a couple of portraits.”

Harry paused, his eyes staring into Nott’s own. That choice of words…that knowing smile sent his way…his eyes almost widened into saucers as he realised what the boy was talking about, and it took all of his fledgling self control to not strangle him right then and there. As it was, Harry barely avoided the urge of wiping that smirk off the wizard’s face. But still, he needed to know what the Nott Heir knew, because if he went to anyone with what he was talking about, Harry and Persephone would be lynched, Arcturus Black’s name be damned. A panic rose through his thoughts, and distinctly, he was aware of Persephone gripping his hand beneath the table…but in that moment, all he was aware of was Theodore Nott’s smug eyes staring at him, and his own mounting need to learn what the wizard had seen.

The world around him dissolved, swirling into a pinwheel as he felt himself…become light, and the last thing he saw before it all turned dark was Nott’s widening eyes. The next moment, he was watching himself through a muddled, murky lens, standing with Persephone in front of the portrait of the snakes…they had talked to back in first year! 

A feeling of shock and intrigue swam through his thoughts, before the fear and apprehension took its place, finally converting into satisfaction as the sounds of hissing started to fade. The next moment, he was watching himself once again, stunning the Dreki into slumber with wordless magic, a feat that many sixth years were incapable of. Surprise rose within his mind, followed by a bit of glee and curiosity both…which turned into shock as Draco started to scream, falling to the floor with numerous bruises and small cuts upon his body…injuries that looked vaguely simila-

‘GET OUT! NOW!’

It felt like Vernon had taken a swing at his head, clubbing him with the full force of his meaty fist…but somehow on the inside. Suddenly, the sounds and shouts of the Great Hall returned to him, and he almost fell backwards from the seat if not for Persephone and Daphne grabbing his shoulders.

 “Dammit Potter!” Nott cursed quietly, swaying in his place as he grabbed his head, glaring bloody daggers at him, “and just after I tried to be nice?!”

“Harry!” Daphne hissed, her own eyes filled with surprise as she looked between him and Nott, “Did you jus-”

“Nott,” Harry began, cutting her off and looking the still wincing boy right in his eyes, which he quickly avoided by shifting his gaze just enough, “Keep that to yourself…otherwise, whatever happens to Persephone and me it would be a dozen times worse for you.”

“Threatening the Heir of an Ancient and Noble House?” Nott groaned out, removing hsi hand from his head and giving him a small smirk, spearing an egg with more force than necessary, “Have you lost your marbles Potter? Or maybe I was too quick to judge the brains between your ears. How Gryffindor of you.”

Rage rose through his thoughts like an erupting volcano, especially as he knew that Theodore was mocking him. But yet, with that rage and desire to show the boy just what he was messing with, came the words Arcturus had said to him back during the break.

‘If it can't be traced back to you, then never bow down. Show them a taste of your power, but never the full extent,’ Arcturus said, showing them the memory of the first time he had attended a Wizngamot session, where the then Carrow Lord had been humiliated publicly by the Selwyn Patriarch, while getting a million and half galleons in compensation…just by threatening a blood feud and a Duel to Death. Three hours later, Myrrdin Carrow was found dead in his manor, all of his family lying burnt and blackened, with only a son surviving to continue the line. Everyone knew it was Icarus Selwyn, but yet, without any proof despite the days of investigations, it was all speculation at the end of the day. ‘Not everyone is as capable as you two, and certainly not in wielding magic…use that. The more you cow down, the more they shall trod upon you…but the more you rise up, the more they shall plot in your shadows. Find a balance, until you are damn sure that nothing they can do is going to affect you, and then you strike to hurt, and remind them of what you can do.’

“It is not threatening, merely a promise so that your own self-preservation kicks in,” he refuted, shaking his head and clenching his fingers a little, and he saw the moment Nott realised what he meant, as little indents appeared on his neck, and for a moment, the dark skinned boy gasped audibly, choking on his breath before he let up on the magic, “Be a Slytherin Nott. If you haven’t told anyone about us for one year, then I doubt you are in a hurry to do so now, are you?”

“I wasn’t planning on it from the start,” he grumbled, but despite the sulky tone of voice, Harry saw the wariness in the Nott heir, the fear of what he could do without anyone ever knowing about it. And then he saw the realisation come through, the thing he had been waiting for. Instantly, Theordore seemed to lean away from him, his eyes flicking between him and the spot where Draco usually sat with his posse, “Merlin’s balls! It was you! Circe’s fucking tits! You are the one who…bloody hell.”

“It's good to have you as my friend, Theodore Nott,” he smiled, and as Nott smiled back hesitantly—for the second time in his life, Harry felt powerful.

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“You are the one who cursed Draco.”

“I didn’t curse him,” he shook his head, and Daphne felt like tearing her own hair out in frustration at the way he was dragging this out, “I just…wanted him injured the same way he and his goons had injured me on the night we were sorted.”

“But you were fine when we work up the next day,” Tracey frowned, uncharacteristically serious as she sat besides her, her eyes staring at Harry as if seeing him for the first time, and even Daphne was…not terrified, but certainly scared of what she had seena the breakfast. She had known Harry ad Persephone were quite caable at magic, and powerful too. That had been the whole point behind Tracey suggesting her to make friends withteh Potters, first behind the scenes and in closed classrooms, and then after Arcturus’ emergence, a little more openly.

Over time, she had also come to learn a little about their home life, or prison sentence more like. She had debated asking her father to raze their whole damn locality to the ground, but in the end, forgotten about it.

She had expected Harry and Persephone to have some issues, and some secrets. But whatever she had expected, it was not this. Legilimency?! At this age, and based upon how calm Harry was about it, it was not even the first time. Who had he used it on before? Not her. Rudimentary though it was, her mother had trained her in Occlumency…but then who? Tracey?! Astoria?!

And then there was the way he had used his magic on Draco, and healed himself on the very first morning of Hogwarts too, if Nott’s words were to be believed. And Daphne had every reason to believe him, given the fear she had seen in the wizard's eyes at the breakfast. The papers burning could be attributed to accidental magic…but not everything that had happened.

Which left only one option.

Harry and Persephone…both were capable of using magic consciously…without a wand.

“Why didn’t you tell us before? About Draco, your injuries…and that you can perform wandless magic?”

“I wasn’t sure that you could be trusted or not,” he answered, and even Daphne was surprised by the clinical tone of voice, as well how much it hurt. While she may have befriended the twins for her own benefit, she had come to love their company, and even without that, she would not have misused their trust. Ignoring and burying that thought, she waved at him to continue, and he shrugged, “Plus, we kinda realised that no one would help us in this castle, not publicly. And certainly not against someone who was the son of the most powerful man in the country. And then the next day Augusta Longbottom too appeared, with the Minister and the Aurors ready to jail us in Azkaban. While Arcturus saved us that morning, we weren’t too keen on his words until the break in actuality, so for that duration…we knew we were alone.”

And even though a part of her wanted to refute his statements. Let the voice of anger and distrust inside her scream at him…Daphne could do nothing but agree with his statements.

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“What happened yesterday Neville?”

“I told you, I heard a voice!” he whispered back, sitting in the library with Hermione and Ron, pouring over the numerous history books, each a compendium of events that had transpired in Hogwarts ever since the Founders laid the first wardstone. And each was one that wasn't censored by the Ministry, because Neville had as much faith in them as he had in Snape last year…which was to say, not very much. He had been unable to sleep the whole night, the terrifying, chilling voice hanting his every waking moment. Even the roasted chicken the elves had provided him with felt bland in his mouth, his eyes still seeing Mrs. Norris frozen upon the floor, her eyes wide and her hair standing on the end, with that ancient, rough, grating whisper echoing in his ears, “There have been hundreds, thousands of attempts at finding this chamber. Ther-”

“Exactly,” Ron cut in, pointing at the massive books between them, “The Chamber of Slytherin is an ancient myth, Neville. For a thousand years, if nobody could find anything, then why do you think the monster suddenly came out yesterday night?”

“Hogwarts has many secrets…and I don't think the Professors would have been so shocked and fearful if it had been just a hoax,” Hermione shook her head, passing them a newspaper clipping dated around the end of of the 1950 school year, “The Chamber of secrets was opened back in 1950 too, where a dozen students were petrified, three centaurs were found dead…and at the end, four students died. The culprit was caught, but never named and in the light of these events, Headmaster Armando Dippet left his position, making Professor Dumbledore the Headmaster.”

“Then he must know about whatever has happened,” Ron spoke up, and instantly, a stinging hex slammed into him from one of the Ravenclaw seniors behind their desk, the older wizard glaring at him and daring him to say something again. GIving the boy a glare, Ron rubbed his shoulder and turned around, continuing in a much more quiet whisper, ”He has seen it before, hasn’t he?!”

“Well, at least we have Professor Lockhart here now,” Hermione offered, smiling happily and leaning back, crossing her arms over her chest, and unseen by her, Nevile shared an exasperated look with Ron. While Lockhart’s skill wasn’t under question, but Neville genuinely thought the man was more ponce and pomp than action…his female friend was little more…zealous in her admiration of him. A statement that Hermione proved again by continuing, almost gushing in her rush, “He will solve this case just like that haunted village in Albania, you wait and see. Oh God, I wish I could get a front row seat to see him in action!”