Ascension 30

Disclaimer: I don’t own Harry Potter in any way or form.

AN-1: Having my university exams right now, so this month updates will sadly be delayed, or postponed till next month.

AN-2: I have a PTR*N, where you can read the next SIX CHAPTERS RIGHT NOW

Standing atop the rafters in the Great Hall, Dumbledore observed the students below him as they filed in for their morning classes. His eyes lingered on sixth years, particularly on the Carrow Heiresses, and the Rookwood girl…Eveline, if he remembered correctly. Marcus Flint too was in his gaze for a moment, the dull wizard somehow finally making it past his OWLs—on his fourth attempt.

The stories of Flints being half trolls were certainly not as shaky in his mind as before, he thought with a quiet chuckle. Even the boy’s father had not been this…academically or magically challenged. But still, he was happy to see the boy progress. It was nice that Mr. Flint could finally transfigure his way through small animals and objects. Sighing heavily, Dumbledore ran a hand through Fawkes’ feathers on his shoulders as his eyes shifted towards the other three houses.

While the original plan had been to keep the extra classes for the fifth and seventh years only, several students of the sixth year had come forward, citing their need to be prepared too, especially since there was no guarantee of Professor Lockhart being at his post the next year—a fact that he secretly hoped the elusive monster hunter and curse-breaker would change. A flash of orange caught his eyes, and he turned towards the oldest Weasley in the castle, Arthur’s most…disciplined child talking animatedly with his girlfriend as they both took, he had chosen to be a Ministry employee like his father, only far more ambitious and capable, if his stellar scores and unwavering determination were anything to go by.

“All right students, that's enough talking for now,” Lockhart’s voice echoed in the hall, and every whisper stopped at once as the enigmatic, secretive man walked out of the antechamber—and watching his flashy, magenta robes swirl about the man as Lockhart brandished his wand and dimmed the candles across the hall at once, Dumbledore had to begrudgingly admit that he might have some competition on the fashion side inside this castle, “All right, now since you children wanted an extra class for yourself, I think we should first start with the fourth year syllabus, before moving onto the OWLs. Now, form groups of four please, and space yourself apart evenly.”

Fawkes trilled softly next to him, and Dumbledore fed his fiery companion an almond, stroking its plumage as he stared at the students below. As expected, Slytherins mostly formed groups of their own, with a scant few joining a couple of Ravenclaws. Hufflepuffs on the other hand, mingled with the Gryffindors more freely, and he sighed, watching the muted, but heated glares exchanged across the hall. Out of all of his regrets over his long life, if there was one that struck him the most after Tom was this…House divide. It had existed for years, even before he took the office of the Headmaster, but with the rise of Tom, and that of his followers…it had worsened into a festering, rotting wound on Hogwart’s legacy and walls. Most of Tom’s well-known, and political followers had been Slytherins. Heirs and Heiresses to Ancient, Noble Houses, beguiled by his silver tongue and the lies of reigning in the ‘mudblood influence’, and when the masses had come to see it, the already murky image of Salazar’s house had degraded to utter contempt and distrust.

It wasn’t without fault though, he sighed, remembering the speeches made by the Nobles like Abraxas and Orion back in the day, demanding strict actions against even the most minor mistakes made by muggleborns, while restricting the Ministerial posts and other lucrative business and education opportunities. The laws that had been fast-tracked through the Wizengamot, either through bribery or Tom’s personal visits to the Houses and Manors of his protestors. Muggleborns had been arrested and thrown in DMLE lockups in droves, several perishing in the name of questioning and the cold depths of Azkaban. His eyes turned towards Arthur’s son, and Dumbedloe closed his eyes as he remembered the fates of the Prewitt brothers, as well as those of Arthur’s parents. Atrocities that ran so deep, so heinous that even now he could hear the screams, the explosions, and the cries of those destroyed by Tom’s callous, cruel ideology.

A soft trill came from Fawkes, and Dumbledore sighed again, feeling his soft, dewy feather rub against his cheek as his companion patter his hat with his wing, clicking softly. “Yes, Yes, I am fine,” he muttered, giving one last look at the students below before taking out his watch and looking at the time, “Take me to Paris, would you Fawkes?”

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“Today we are going to make the standard blood regeneration potion,” Snape’s voice came from behind them and Persephone looked back as the cloaked wizard strode past them, his wand snapping up to open the curtains, letting the morning sunlight in, “Ms. Parkinson, what are the three main ingredients for this potion?”

“Water lizard’s heart, Snake fangs, and Mermaid scale,” the girl answered at once, standing up and ticking the items off her fingers, and out of the corner of her eyes, she watched Neville pull down Granger’s hand. Dipping her quill in ink softly, she watched the black liquid climb up the feather, glancing up as Snape turned around, giving an expressionless stare to all of them.

“Ten points to Slytherin, he intoned softly, tapping the board once with his wand, and letting the instructions appear, “You all learned how to skin and cleanly cut out a lizard heart last year for the wound salve, and I hope all of you remembered to restock your potion’s kit. You have 23 minutes to brew this potion, and the rest of the ingredients are in the cupboard. Begin.”

Instantly half the class rushed towards the Potion Master’s cupboards, and Persephone silently picked up her cauldron to put it on the burner frame, tapping on the glowing blue rune and watching the water slowly fill inside her cauldron. A year since she had first entered the wizarding world, and she still found herself spellbound by its wonders, especially the intricacies and downright magical ways of Runes and Potions…even by magical standards.

“Stop gawking at the water and cut the lizards,” Daphne whispered to her, pushing the dead, pearly blue reptiles before her along with the silver knives and scalpels, “and avoid nicking the heart with the blade. It degrades the potion quality and makes it more volatile. I don’t want to be the next Finnegan.”

“Neither do I,” she shook her head with a silent chuckle, remembering last year's near miss with the lizard hearts at the start. Thankfully, Daphne had been brewing potions for a long time, and saw the problem before it could spiral out of control, “Why are we this with a Mermaid scale though? Wouldn’t that make this bitter and unable to be taken in large enough dosages? Why not use Grindylow claws? They too carry the same blood-cleansing toxins, and it is much easier to dissolve into the potion. the brewing time would lessen too.”

“You have been making good use of Kástro Mávros’ library,” Daphne commented, raising an eyebrow as she dropped the mermaid scales into the pestle, “I didn’t expect you to start making corrections and notice things this early.”

“I like Potions, and Cassiopeia taught Harry and me a bit of them over the break,” she hummed, laying the dead reptile flat on the table and casting a descaling charm at it, wrinkling her nose at the sight of the flaky scales that floated off the carcass. Directing them to fall at the bin by their feet, she picked up the knife and grabbed the now sky-blue reptile by its head, cutting along its neck to decapitate it. Ignoring the cold, prickly, sea green blood that oured out on the table and her fingers, she placed the head in a dry, cloth-covered cup. One minute and four lizards later, she pressed the green rune by her fingers, and as the runic magic went to work by vanishing the blood from the tabletop, she grabbed the lizards and turned them over one by one, making incisions from their necks to the start of their tails, “Why did you expect me to make corrections though? Because I scored an O+?”

“That, and because your mother was probably the best pioneer of her generation at Hogwarts,” Daphne answered, and Persephone saw how the blond gave her a measuring look out of the corner of her eye as if expecting some kind of adverse reaction to the information—or the mention of Lily Potter herself? It was at times like this that she was reminded of how the Dursleys had constantly looked at Harry or her after some freak incident, as if expecting them to blow up like some bomb.

“I know, Grandfather told us,” she muttered, gently opening up the lizard’s insides and carving out its heart, watching the dark blue lump of muscle for a moment before depositing it in a bowl, and continuing with the second, “Why do we follow this recipe then, if there is a better version, and that too one that can be thought up by just a second year. Let alone what the Masters can make.”

“Well, for one, Grindylows are much harder to harvest, as they can’t be kept in stasis for some reason. Therefore, you have to harvest them while they are fresh, but usually that is tougher than getting a mermaid scale, as they cannibalize too, “she answered, grinding the shimmering, silver scales into dust, and Persephone watched the first of the bubbles rise from the water in the cauldron, “Plus, Grindylow claws can just as easily poison someone like Thomas or Goyle if they are not careful, ot say nothing of what Finnegan would make out of the explosive venom within those.”

“That's true,” she giggled quietly, remembering the green, blotchy patches that the dark-skinned Gryffindor had gotten all over his and Brown’s arm last year, by mishandling some Buber extract, “I saw the Weasley twins today, in the dungeons by the washrooms.”

“Then we avoid those cubicles for the next week.” she sighed back, turning over the mortar over the slowly bubbling water, as Persephone pointed her wand at the cauldron and cast the temperature regulating charm with a quiet mutter, setting it at the constant temperature of roughly a tenth of a silver, “Tell the Prefects though. I’d rather avoid someone bringing something into the common rooms or the dorms. What those two hellspawns did to the Hufflepuffs last year was miserable enough, let alone that Edwards girl.”

“Didn’t McGonagall burn all their items last year?” she asked, watching Daphne wave her wand twice over the bubbling grey solution as the scales dissolved into it, as the blond girl quietly chanted the incantations of stability and cleansing. Ahead of them, Tracey too was doing the same, while Harry quietly chopped the tails of the lizards into small pieces, his hand moving with practice efficiency, “It has barely a month and a half since the year started, and they are already back at it.”

“Rumor has it that they have ways out of the castle that not even the teachers know about, and that is how they are running their small smuggling operation in the castle,” Daphne answered, “It isn’t hard to think that they might keep some of their items outside in case of something like the last year’s incident. Plus, they can get many of their supplies around this castle itself, no doubt about it.”

“Have you ever created something like what they do?”

“I have,” she chuckled, nodding in Tracey’s direction, “I was once making the hair straightening potion, and Tracey kept irritating me that day. So I turned potion into one that would make her hair bright red and scratchy.”

“I am still going to get you back for that you know,” Tracey’s disgruntled words came from ahead of her, and Persephone stifled her laugh as her shoulder shook, imagining the brunette scratching her shocking red locks while Daphne and Astoria laughed at her misery.

“Ms. Brown, what shade is the potion supposed to look at this moment according to the textbook?” Snape’s voice echoed in the room, suddenly silencing every murmur, and as one, everyone turned towards the sight of the Slytherin Head breathing down the neck of the already whimpering blond and the Indian witch—Parvati or something—beside her, ”Could you please read out the sentence to us all…if you can that is.”

“Uhm-Prof-”

“The sentence, if you please Ms. Brown.”

“On-Once the potion is slate grey in color and the bubbling turns to a simmer, add the chopped tails, and stir three times clockwise while using Ignatius’ chants to turn it…amaranth.”

“Amaranth…” Snape's silent whisper echoed in the classroom as if the sentence condemning Brown to prison time, and with how the girl flinched at the expressionless word and the contemptuous sneer leveled at her, it might as well have been one, “Ms. Patil, does this…state of matter in your cauldron look anywhere close to amaranth?”

“N-No Professor,” the dark-haired girl stuttered out, her eyes flicking towards the blackening, grey sludge in the cauldron. Persephone winced at the tears she could see in Brown’s eyes already, and she quickly turned down the heat to a twentieth of a silver as she saw their own potion turn the said shade of amaranth. The next moment, Snape’s wand flicked once through the air sharply, vanishing the contents of their cauldron as he turned around and walked back towards his desk, “Ten points from Gryffindor for failing to follow clear instructions, as well as talking in my class…each. Start again.”

The next moment, a great bang shook the class, and Persephone jumped in her place as her eyes shot towards where Lavender and Parvati had been, only for the rapidly forming curtains around them to block her view as Snape seemed to apparate by them in an instant. As the screams of the surrounding Gryffindors echoed in the classroom and everyone rushed away from the Professor, she felt Daphne jerk her, the blond already packing their supplies and equipment as she quietly vanished the potion in their cauldron. As she turned towards her friend, Persephone's eyes landed on something on the floor by Lavender’s feet, and her eyes widened as she realized what it was.

It was going to be a bitch to regrow that hand.

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“The session is in order,” he banged and tapped the runes in front of him softly, sealing off the room to all outside the chamber, and warding off any potential espionage or secretive enchantments and devices anybody would have brought with them. Turning his eyes towards the parchment at his left, “The first petition here is from the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts office, Muggle Department, signed by Arthur Septimus Weasley, Senior Accident Handler, and Obliviator. Is the petitioner present?”

“Arthur Weasley, Muggle Department—present, Chief Warlock,” Arthur's strong voice echoed in the Wizengamot as the man strode forward, his ginger hair standing out amongst the other petitioners as the man placed a hand in his pocket, “Permission to use the levitation charm, milord?”

“Granted, Mr. Weasley,” he nodded, watching the man take out his wand and wave it once, floating over the sheets of parchment in his other hand to every Lord and Wizengamot seat present, “I am here to propose an amendment to our Muggle Artefacts and Obliviation handling Act enacted in 1974, specifically, the section that defines the powers and jurisdiction of the Muggle Department of the Ministry.”

“And what is your proposal, Mr. Weasley?” Fudge asked from his chair to his left, and Dumbledore sighed as he heard the slight contempt in the man’s voice. Honestly, he has seen this coming, but just not so soon. Cornelius had been a breath of fresh air after Bagnold’s raving paranoia and wild accusations against everyone, amiable to the interests of the muggleborns as much as he listened to the demands of the traditionalists…but now that balance was shifting.

Lucius Malfoy had poured thousands of galleons in Cornelius’ last election, bribing thousands of ministry workers and the Wizengamot lords to ensure a landslide victory for the man over Henry Abbot. And that was without counting the regular gifts in the form of properties and the foreign connection Malfoy had helped the Minister make. Even now, he could see the subtle smirk on Lucius’ face, the man not even trying to hide his emotions as he seemed to revel in the fidgeting of Arthur on the floor below them, Cornelius spectacled gaze boring down upon the poor man’s shoulders.

“Two months ago you proposed an amendment in that very law, citing the need to have more investigative rights, and to transfer the powers of jurisdiction and policing of crimes regarding muggles from the DMLE to the MD,” Cornelius continued, looking around the chamber once as murmurs of assent came from several people, before turning back towards Arthur, “After this body approved the said law, your department has conducted its work with quiet a zeal…and dare I say impunity. No less than thirty-two raids have been conducted by your department, all led by you…with only five arrests, and ten cases of actual evidence being collected. Am I wrong, Mr. Weasley?”

“No, Minister,” Arthur shook his head, turning over his hat as he raised his eyes and looked Fudge in the eyes. “And that is why I am here again today. Several perpetrators of violence against Muggles through the use of enchantments and curses on their devices and items, are using Ministry-issued portkeys, and even illegal ones to travel and escape before we can locate them. Additionally…some of the raids we conducted were unsuccessful due to the limitations on the search area imposed by the property owners, citing familial magics and wards to prevent access. Therefore, I request access to the Portkeys and Permits Department’s records, as well as the amendment to the law that prevents entrance to so-called Family wings and warded areas.”

“So-called family wings?” Lucius' voice echoed in the silence that ensued at the end of Arthur’s request, and Dumbledore sighed quietly as he saw the blond wizard get to his feet, “What would you know Arthur Weasley? Your father plundered and sold away his entire house and belongings to fuel his gambling addiction. What little wealth Cedrella Black managed to secret away to her failing husband, that too was lost by your muggle-loving fool of a father. For Merlin’s sake, are you in any capacity to lecture us about what the family magic, the family name means? Septimus Weasley lost his prized, Wizengamot seat to a muggle-born of all people in a gambling match, and you dare presume to tell us what we should do with our propeties, our names? Have you lost your senses to those narcotics your muggles seem so fond of Weasley, or is it just your desire to see the inside of some rich man’s house for once?”

Laughs and jeers echoed in the room at Malfoy’s sneering statements, and Dumbledore saw Arthur visibly struggle to hold back his retorts as he settled for just giving the Malfoy lord a heated glare. “My father’s deeds have nothing to do with my desire to see justice met out to the culprits who exploit muggles for their own twisted, bigoted amusement, and dare to tread upon the Statue of Secrecy, one of the founding principles of the ICW itself. Over the last decade, I have seen thousands of muggles experience unexplainable memory wipes, obliviations, transfigurations, and even outright curses. With how passionately you are protesting this amendment, one might think you harbor similar leanings towards muggles, or that Imperius certainly left its imprint on your mind.”

“Hear Hear,” Henry Abbott spoke up, giving a smirk at the suddenly silent traditionalists as he stood up, giving a nod to both Arthur and Fudge, “Respected Minister. Mr. Weasley's words ring true. Clearly some wizards have found the courage to…take up their past habits again with the rise of this muggle batting. And we can’t risk a break in the Statute, not after what we almost lost the last time it happened. I say we let Mr. Weasley and their department do their work, but send an appropriate amount of Auror force along with them to supervise their work, and to prevent any mishaps. Also, this repeated occurrence of possible evidence being hidden behind the guise of family property and magic needs to be adjusted, otherwise, who knows what kind of losses one day we might have to incur as a society as a whole?”

“I agree with Lord Abbott,” Amelia Bones, sitting in her capacity as the acting Lady of House Bones, as well as the Director of the DMLE said, bringing everyone’s attention to her as she weaved her wand once, creating a projection of a chart before them all, “Crimes that involve enchantments and curses used against muggles, indirectly as well as directly have increased steadily since 1984. Our liaison with the Muggle Head of State, as well as their equivalent Auror Department, has regularly reported such cases to us, with ever-increasing frequency. Mr. Weasley’s department and his work have been instrumental in protecting the muggles from such criminals of our kind, but it is clear that…some changes need to be made to better prevent these crimes upon muggles, as well as our own interests.”

“Bah, who cares if some children prank some of those muggles,” Thomas Avery snorted, the old wizard tapping his cane on the floor as he stood up, rolling his eyes and waving a hand towards Arthur, “What use is diverting our money and wands towards their protection when we have our own world to look after? And I for one, am not going to let some muggle-lovers into my home and lands to look for things they have no understanding of. For all I know, Weasley might just grab some trinkets and build a case just because he couldn’t comprehend what use I might have for some silverware!”

“Lord Avery, mind your words, and remember your station before the Wizengamot,” he finally spoke up, staring down the pasty-skinned man down over his spectacles as he frowned, raising a single finger to tap on the desk before him, “The next time you decide to target someone in such an unseemly manner over any sort of financial, ideological or private conditions they might have, I shall banish you from these chambers on the grounds of Contempt. Now, Mr. Weasley’s words ring true, but so does the fact that we don’t want unnecessary, and unwanted breachers into the grounds and lands of the Ancient Houses, or anyone else for that matter. However, we, as the Wizengamot, cannot deny that most of the artifacts and curses are known to have debilitating and harmful effects are usually contained in one grimoire or the other, along with the artifacts mostly being ancient family trinkets too…as Lord Avery so delicately out it. Therefore, I propose the following—accepting Lord Abbott’s suggestion, we incorporate a separate team of Aurors chosen by the Bench especially trained in curse dismantling, healing, and enchantments along with runic magic to accompany the Muggle Department. At the same time, if the properties and warded areas of any Ancient House, or a private property are to be searched, then the DMLE, and the Bench of Lord need to be informed beforehand. Travel and portkeys for that area will be restricted, and apparition monitors shall be provided by the DMLE to keep track of any escape attempts.”

“That sounds acceptable Chief Warlock,” Lucius agreed with a smile, and beside him, Avery’s open mouth slammed shut as the disgruntled wizard sat down stiffly, “But that still leaves the issue of who shall be on this Bench of Lords, considering how the winds blow in this chamber.”

“Minister? Any words?” he hummed, turning towards Cornelius, able to practically feel the impatience rolling off the man in waves. He had a few names of course, but he knew that he couldn’t fill the Bench with all who would agree with Arthur…and it was better to let Cornelius do his thing, lest the man turn over completely to Lucius’ honeyed words.

“I propose Lord Selwyn, Lord Abbott, Lord Cerwyn, Lady Bones, in her capacity as the acting lady of House Bones and the Director of DMLE, and Lord Black,” Fudge intoned after a few moments, adn at his words, the insignias of each spoken House formed before them on the floor, “The Bench and the DMLE have three days to finalize the Auror team and its Captain when we will re-visit Mr. Weasley’s petition. Now, onto the next petition…by Ms. Dolores Umbridge, Secretary to the Minister of Magic, seeking a three-step verification for applications in Ministerial Departments.”

‘It is going to be one fo those days,’ Dumbledore thought with a sigh, leaning back in his chair as he saw the glaringly pink cardigan strut into view, and he closed his eyes as he silently cast a sound-numbing charm on his ears, ‘Merlin’s Beard, I miss being just a teacher.’