Ascension 26

“Gryffindor wins the House Cup by sixty points,” Dumbledore’s voice echoed in the hall, as the green and silver banners above changed into gold and red, the lounging snake transforming into a roaring lion. The Gryffindor table erupted into raucous cheers, but this time, even the Ravenclaw and the Hufflepuff tables stared confused at the Slytherins and the Headmaster.

“Tch,” Malfoy scoffed a few seats down, his pale face staring at Dumbledore and the Gryffindors as if they were insects beneath hsi boots. “Once again he goes and shows his favoritism towards those stupid Gryffindors! Points for Chess? For being a bloody bookworm with no friends? What in the hell makes that good enough for a hundred points?! He just didn’t want the Slytherins to win!”

For once, Daphne agreed with the pompous heir, her eyes flicking towards Tracey as they both remembered the bare minimum Harry and Persephone had told them. While Dumbledore had given points to Harry and Persephone alongside Neville for Special Services, he had then gone and given the same amount of points to Granger and Weasley, turning the tables on the House of Green and Silver.

“Forget his points,” one of the senior girls a few seats down scoffed, before Daphne felt her eyes come to rest upon Tracey and her. “Why would the Potters get any points? And that too fifty each on the same night as Longbottom? Did they say anything to you both?”

At once, the attention of everyone switched over to her and Tracey, and Daphne groaned mentally—and a part of her couldn’t help but curse Lord Black for taking away her friends so early, leaving her behind to deal with all this! “After they were discharged from the infirmary,” she began after a few moments, taking a deep breath and keeping her voice down as the students around her listened carefully, “Harry and Persephone told me that it had something to do with Professor Quirrell and some secret artifact he was trying to steal from Professor Dumbledore…if you people want to know more in detail, you can talk to them directly by letters.”

“And where do these mudbloods live?” Malfoy sneered, pointing a fork at her as if to remind her of her association with said ‘mudbloods’. “In a muggle dump somewhere, no doubt? I doubt even an inn would put up with those two af-”

“They are in Kástro Mávros,” she interrupted pleasantly, and gasps rang all around them as the name of the famed Black ancestral seat passed her lips. Her blue eyes danced with mirth and vindictiveness as she saw Draco’s face redden rapidly, no doubt remembering his own status as a presumptive Heir to the Black name, yet not having been granted an audience with the esteemed Lord Black, nor having seen his own future home—while the two ‘mudbloods’ did that. “I am sure Lord Black won’t mind a few letters coming for his beloved wards.”

“A confundus,” Arcturus muttered, spearing a carrot with his fork as he stared at the children before him, his grey eyes flocking from one pair of emerald irises to the other identical ones. Harry and Persephone sat before him, clad in clothes befitting the scions of House Black instead of the rags they had worn the first time he had brought them home. Harry’s thin body was a little more filled out, and Persephone’s condition had also improved a lot under the care of Hogwarts. But with the most recent attempt at revival by the Dark Lord…it was clear that they couldn’t be left as they were. “What happened next? I doubt that scar on Harry’s shoulder, and your internal injuries came to be because he spared you on the account of your names.”

“He made to attack us himself,” Harry replied, looking down at his untouched plate as the scar on his shoulder stung, his mind flashing back to the sensation of getting carved up. “He demanded Neville find the Philosopher’s Stone and give it up to him, otherwise he would have killed us both, and then proceeded to the whole of the castle since Neville himself was standing behind Dumbledore’s wards.”

“He couldn’t have moved past either Flitwick or Severus,” Arcturus snorted, leaning back on his chair to observe his sister’s grandchildren—and hadn’t Bellatrix been this little when he had first taken her to meet Cassiopeia? “How did you three fight him?”

“We were all shooting spells from different sides,” the redheaded girl finally spoke up, murmuring softly as she grabbed her brother’s hand slowly, clasping it tightly within her fingers, “We shielded each other when possible, but most of the time, we barely avoided or shielded the spells sent at us. It was just our luck that he didn’t use anything more powerful than a blasting spell, and his strength was already sapped due to possession.”

“Ah yes, the unicorn blood,” the Elder Black sighed. “And from what I heard, he had also cast quite a few enchantments and charms to keep the teachers away from the chambers.”

“We just got lucky,” Harry muttered, remembering just how fucked they had been in that chamber. While greatly weakened and fighting the three strongest first years, Quirell had trashed them handily, with only Persephone’s wandless magic and Neville’s literally destructive touch killing the man in the end. If he had wished so, Voldemort could have easily dispatched the first years and taken the stone once Neville came out of the shield set up by the Headmaster. Bile rose in his throat, and Harry once again felt the phantom sensations of getting punted by small, pudgy fists and vomiting over the floor as his mind flashed back to his life at Privet Drive. Powerless, a sibilant whisper echoed in his head, reminiscent of the Dark Lord’s voice as he realized how close he and his sister had come to death in that chamber.

“I wouldn’t curse out good luck like that,” Cassiopeia’s voice echoed in the hall as she walked in, clutching a rabbit plushie of all things in her hand. The woman was clad in just a nightgown, an amused smile on her lips as she pulled a chair by Persephone, ruffling the girl’s hair. “I always think that even the strongest and most knowledgeable are nothing without a hefty hand of good luck on their shoulders. Look at the Dark Lord, or even Grindelwald. Strongest in their generation, undefeated for decades…yet brought down by the slimmest, most improbable methods.”

“Her attempts at levity aside, my sister is right,” Arcturus shook his head and pushed a plate towards Cassiopeia. “Starting tomorrow, we shall start with the basics of Occlumency for you both. For two hours each day before breakfast, you both will meet me outside on the grounds for this. After breakfast, you will study the books I have already kept aside for you, and practice your spellwork. You will also study the history of our world, unmuddled and free of the many foolish biases that permeate the world these days. Your third task will be using everything you learn to spar with either her or me, and each day, you shall use a different method. One day it will be transfiguration, the other it will be charms, and the day after, curses and jinxes. Similarly, you will resume the Hogwarts curriculum in your free time, and use the books from the earlier publications. While your teachers may give you a better understanding of the newer concepts that have come up, your father’s generation had fewer restrictions and censorship on knowledge, so use those while you are in Kástro Mávros.”

“Come tomorrow, you shall realize why the Blacks produced the most feared witches and wizards of their generations.”

Harry slashed his hand through the air, feeling the power travel through his arm before bursting out of his fingertips in a blazing trail of soft pink. The arc of magic traveled through the air, scything through a mannequin as quickly as his wanded spells did, leaving the top half to topple behind. It had been a week since he had been back at the Black Castle, and each day, he had poured more and more of his being into practicing spells, both old and new.

Each day, he would follow the schedule Arcturus had set up, fighting off the compulsions from the wizard the first thing in the morning right after waking up. The first day, the older wizard had made him slam his head down on the floor, right before rolling on back and doing a rather passable imitation of a wriggling worm. Persephone, on the other hand, had been made to run around the room until she couldn’t feel her legs.

That day, they had been completely unable to muster up a smidgen of resistance against Arcturus’ magic, the confundus so seamless that even the stupid idea of banging his head on a table seemed doable to his addled mind. By the time the session had ended, his forehead had swelled to a noticeable degree, and he had barely avoided slamming himself into unconsciousness. And Persephone had been made to run even after knocking her knee on a chair, making her whole leg swell up with pain.

If they had thought that Arcturus had trained them extensively during the winter break, the man was downright brutal now. He had refused to heal the injuries they had gotten through the confundus training. And he had refused to let them heal themselves using their own wands.

The whole day, they had groaned and moaned their way through the day, and when finally the time had come for them to go to the sparring room…it was only then Arcturus had healed them. Evidently, the pain was a reminder not to let their minds slip in the morning, or their whole days would be a pain in the ass.

Right now though, he had a bit of free time since Arcturus had decided to just up and go to the Ministry for the day. Cassiopeia had taken Persephone with her, so he was left alone for the time being. Scylla lounged in the soft sunlight behind him, and Harry once again wondered just what the massive snake was eating on the grounds—in all his time here, he had never seen a single animal, and he knew that Scylla didn’t like dead meat.

‘Focus on your magic,’ her voice came over, and Harry rolled his eyes, bringing his attention back to the dummy, ‘I don’t understand why you don’t heal yourself, now that the wizard is away.’

‘Because he has forbidden us the use of our wands until he comes back,’ he replied, once again swiping his hands through the air, imagining two blades instead of one as he spaced out his index and middle fingers a bit, making his energy flow separately into both of them at the same time. He fed his anger into it, desiring to see the blood spray in the air and the flesh to be cut as he felt the spell form. Twin arcs of pale pink energy flashed out of his fingertips, travelling through the air as swiftly as the first one, cutting the throat and the abdomen of the dummy before they fizzled out. ‘And if we heal ourselves, then it would mean that he would know about our ability to cast magic without a wand.’

Scylla just hummed in response, and he heard the sound of her scales shifting against the ground as she moved away slowly. Grunting silently as he watched the mannequin patch itself up, Harry looked at the books beside him, wondering which spell should he go for next, now that he had gotten Lacero down to a good level.

Reducto looked like a good one, but Bombarda was said to be a building base for it according to the book. Though he could go for something more…elemental than a simple blasting curse, Harry thought as he moved back to the index, running his finger down the entries until he paused at the heading ‘Fire’. The next moment, his eyes flicked down to the Water and Ice ones, and two of them caught his eyes instantly. Aguamenti and Glacius.

While Ignisarvus was definitely not a spell capable of offense, he already knew Incendio, and could use it to great effect. But Aguamenti and Glacius were far better suited in a duel or fight for him right now, since he didn’t really have the power to create a fire hot or large enough to burn someone away.  Deciding on the water conjuration spell first, Harry turned the pages of the book, wondering just what his sister was learning under the guidance of the Valkyrie of Death.

“I’ll be blunt, little red,” Cassiopeia commented as she rained down spells upon Persephone, standing on the fucking air itself as she inspected her nails, cutting and piercing magics leaving her wand continuously, “Your condition is a lot worse than your brother’s. I hope that the newest Greengrass told you a bit about it—otherwise, you should really reconsider your friendship with her.”

“She has told me enough,” came the reply as the redhead shielded against a cutting curse, wincing as a thin crack spread out on the pale blue surface of her protection, “Is this why I am being made to spend more time on spellwork with you than Harry?”

“Partly, yes,” Cassiopeia nodded, flicking her wand and sending a blast of flames at her. Confringo, she recognized, reinforcing her shield again as a fiery blasting curse slammed against it. Dispelling the protego, she looked at the older witch warily and continued, “Harry…Arcturus will take care of him. While you both may think that you are the same when it comes to your strengths…my brother and I know the differences between you. Now, enough break for you. Move to the other end of the room, and use aguamenti to try to reach the markers set on the floor. By the time the day is up, I want to see you reaching at least twenty feet.”

“I still don’t understand whether aguamenti is a conjuration or a transfiguration,” she muttered, turning around to walk away from the floating woman, looking down at her wand. “It creates water in the air, but does it conjure it or change the vapor in the air into liquid?”

“It bridges the gap between the two concepts,” came the reply as Cassieopeia's wand rose in the air, and with it, hundreds of droplets formed around her, “There are some spells that can do both depending upon the will, magic, and skill of caster, and aguamenti is amongst the first of such you are to learn. It can conjure torrents of water strong enough to smash stone, and it can also transfigure the water around in the air into a steady stream. Moreover, it is like ignisarvus in a way, as it also is an entryway into the water and ice-based magicks.”

“I read in a book yesterday that Grindelwald used a lot of water and ice magic,” Persephone said, her eyes flicking over the shimmering, swirling droplets before her as they suddenly whirled into frozen icicles, thin and sharp as needles. Cassiopeia laughed at that, and she flushed at the mocking undertone in it, knowing that while she certainly didn’t mean something demeaning by it, the woman was still laughing at her.

“Grindelwald didn’t just use magic, my dear,” she rolled her eyes, lowering herself to the floor as she waved her wand, conjuring a series of images in the air, all showing the pale-skinned Dark Lord casting magic. In one he was raising several boulders over his head, and in the other, it was a great blue dragon made out of fire swooping down over a group of wizards. Every image showed impressive pieces of magic, and yet no two showed Grindelwald using something even remotely similar. Nodding in the direction of the one where the man summoned and lightning bolt and combined it with the water of the rive nearby to form a golem, she continued, “He was a Master. A prodigy the likes of which are seen once in centuries. There was no magic that he couldn’t perform with utmost perfection and ease. No realm of arcane he had not dipped his wand in, and no limits on the monstrous power he commanded—at least not for the normal witch and wizard.”

“You were there, were you not?” she mumbled, her eyes flicking over the bisected triangular eye Grindelwald had claimed at his sign branded across the robes his soldiers had worn, “One of his generals.”

“Aye, I was one of his Generals, and amongst the ones who learned directly from him whenever possible,” she smirked, slicing her hand to the side as her finger glowed a bright golden. In the wake of her hand, a glowing golden space was left behind, shimmering in the air like molten gold before it slowly closed up on itself, the world around it seeming to force it close. Tapping the air where the last sign of the magic she had cast had been, she continued, “He had unearthed hundreds of magics thought lost to ages and Ministerial purges, and he shared the knowledge with us if he deemed us worthy and capable. He was not just a Dark Lord who liked to kill and slaughter for his own amusement, Persephone. He was a visionary, a teacher, a fighter, a scholar…a nightmare. Tell me Persephone, what do you know about my time under Grindelwald as Valkýrja dauðans.”

“Only that you supported him for about two years openly, under the influence of your uncle and Grindelwald himself, and that the ICW has acquitted you of all association with him by imposing a House Arrest on you.”

“Everyone worth their wand knows that it was no influence,” she snorted in turn, as the images faded away into nothingness, “I supported Grindelwald out of my own will, because I believed in his vision, and I still do.”

“You want the Statute to be torn down?” Persephone’s eyes rose up to her hairline as she regarded her Grand-Aunt, “For wizards to rule over muggles? And isn’t Grandfather Arcturus kind of opposed to that, as he fought on the side opposing you.”

“Well…I do think that Grindelwald could have, and should have, gone about it in a subtler, better way,” she chuckled, spinning her wand as she floated up in the air again. “And as for Arcturus, he doesn’t care much for things beyond his family and his name. Siding with Grindelwald would have gotten me killed or imprisoned for life, so he fought from the ICW’s side so that he could be the one to control my fate, instead of some jackass. Now, for the complete history lesson, strike my shield with anything you want, so long as you can even crack it.”

“Harry,” Arcturus’ voice echoed in the silence of the library, and he looked up at the aged wizard walking towards him. He looked at the small smile on his Grand-Uncle’s face, before his eyes moved to the book he was carrying in his hand, “There are a couple of things we need to talk about.”

“Okay,” he nodded slowly, closing the book in front of him as Arcturus pulled up the chair on his right, sitting down with a quiet groan. He dropped his book on the table, pushing it towards him as a platter of tea and biscuits appeared before them. Taking a glance at the man, Harry turned his eyes to the book, and a gasp of surprise left him as he saw the name emblazoned upon the leather.

“Your Grandfather maintained a diary of sorts, not daily—but he wrote in it periodically about different things he found interesting enough,” he began, pausing for a moment to take a sip as he relaxed further into his seat. Nodding absently at the words, Harry picked up the book, tracing the weathered leather softly before his eyes focused on the golden lettering at its top. ‘Charlus’, it read, and for a moment, he just looked at the name, trying to imagine the face he had only seen in photographs and memories giving this diary to him by himself. Arcturus cleared his throat a moment later, bringing Harry’s attention back to him as he continued, “There are events in there, as well as spells, enchantments and whatever he deemed of importance enough to be noted. Once you and Persephone were conceived, he had decided to gift it to you on your eleventh birthday…but he died in the attack that happened on your ancestral manor.”

“Did you get this from there?”

“No, Charlus had managed to get this away with Dorea to the Godric’s Hollow residence James had taken up,” he shook his head, taking another sip before he closed his eyes and leaned back. “After the Dark Lord attacked that place in ‘81, there was no Potter to take possessions of that property and all the items within it, thus the Ministry turned it into a memorial of the Potters’ treachery and confiscated all the things within its boundaries in the name of punishment and reimbursements to the public.”

“And you got this through the Ministry,” Harry mumbled, making Arcturus hum for a moment as he looked back at his grandfather’s diary. “I am surprised Augusta Longbottom didn’t take this too to burn it down.”

“Charlus made quite a few friends during his life,” the wizard chuckled out quietly, pointing at the boon before them. “One of them, Bert Ardeck, works in the Acquisition and Auctioning Department, and has been working there for quite a long time. He managed to hold onto some of the less noticeable things that the Aurors brought in by distributing them across the lockers. I have gotten back almost all of the things they had taken.”

“Thank you for this,” Harry said after a moment, his voice uncharacteristically low as he looked at his grandfather. Even though it had been months,but the generosity, and the care Arcturus had provided them with—and continued to do so every day—still felt so foreign sometimes, that he couldn’t help but be overwhelmed, “Did grandmother have something like this?”

“She did, but there are certain conditions which must be met by you and Persephone before I hand it over to you,” Arcturus tapped a finger on the table, and the tea and biscuits vanished silently as he opened his eyes, “Namely, both of you shall have completed your fifth year, and I and Cassiopeia shall have deemed your Occlumency adequate enough. Now, let's come to the second thing I wanted to talk to you about.”

“Is it regarding the letters we have been sharing with Daphne?” He asked, his eyes flicking to the latest one kept right beside him before he looked back at the man, “We didn’t want t-”

“It is not your letters, Harry,” Arcturus shook his head. “Talk with your friends all you want, provided your work doesn’t suffer. However, from tomorrow onwards, I want you and Persephone to live in separate rooms, bathe at different times, and sleep in different beds..”

With that, he stood up and walked away towards the exit, his cane materializing in his hands as the lanterns floating in the library came alive with a soft, yellow glow. And as the doors closed behind the aged wizard with a silent thud, all Harry could do was hear the words said by Arcturus again and again, unable to understand just why in the name of Merlin were he and his sister being separated.