"Greatest of the Hogwarts four," Cyrus hissed in parseltounge.
Immediately, the trunk opened with an ancient creak that reminded Cyrus of just how long it might have been before anyone else had stepped foot inside.
"Lumos," he whispered as Sevins slithered off his shoulders and into the entrance.
Stepping forward himself, Cyrus took a glance at his surroundings as he closed the trunk door. His jaw dropped at once.
He had expected a small dusted study with cobwebs and worn furniture scattered about, and instead found himself in awe of the spectacle now in front of him. The room consisted of two stories with a spiral staircase leading down to a lavishly designed library with stone walls, mahogany furniture and antique tapestries of green and silver covering the polished wooden floor. Peering around the second floor he was now on he noticed a magnificent king sized bed, a red brick fire place, and a large steaming bath with several fossetts running of different colored bubbles that emitted a wonderful fragrance that wafted through the air. Even more surprising than the size and splendor of the room was the pristine condition it had been left in. It was as if the Dark Lord had graced his study just yesterday, which strangely made Cyrus feel more and more comfortable and secure in his new surroundings by the moment.
Descending the spiral stair case and entering Lord Voldemort's former study, he found himself in astonishment over the number of books that one man could possibly own as he found his way to the main desk in the center of the room. Sitting down in the same ordinary chair that the Dark Lord had once used, shivers shot down Cyrus' spine as if a lightning bolt had hit a steel rod. It was an indescribable sensation, if only because the insignificance he felt in the shadow of man he was told to be so great.
Unlike the rest of the room, there was nothing fanciful or elaborate about the desk he was now in front of, just a simple yet elegant oak desk with three drawers lining each side along with a center drawer accompanied with a golden serpent emblem in the middle. Checking each drawer for anything Voldemort might have left behind, he only found scraps of parchment with what he assumed to be his handwriting on various subjects. As he stacked them neatly and put them to one side for later use, he noticed that the middle drawer had been locked.
"Greatest of the Hogwarts four," he hissed casually, expecting the drawer to pop right open. However, to his surprise, it remained shut and unmoved.
"That's odd…" he uttered to himself, trying to think of any other password that the Dark Lord would have used.
"Open?" Cyrus hissed in question, not expecting anything at all to happen.
To his surprise though, the drawer shot right open, stopping only inches away from his chest.
"Of course…" he mumbled to himself in good humor.
Searching the contents of the desk, he was left rather puzzled at only finding a single book. What was even more baffling was that the book wasn't on any academic work or subject matter concerning the Dark Arts – of which his library was filled – but a fairy tale that appeared to be hundreds if not thousands of years old. The title read, "The Legend of Lord Tyranicus."
Furrowing his eyes at the name – noticing it was the same name as his familiars', Tyranicus Sevincore – he gently cracked open the book to start reading. Being a fairly short read with very little information given, he managed to breeze through it in less than half an hour. As he finished though, he found himself somewhat perplexed that a children's book had been locked away in Lord Voldemort's desk as if it had been some sort of prized possession, with hardly any mention of the Dark Arts in any academic context. He reread the story over and over again to find anything at all that he might have missed, something of significance to the real world. Still, he found nothing.
Cyrus sat back in his chair and began to ponder of what the story meant exactly, contemplating on whether or not there was any particle of truth behind the tale. Never in his life had he heard of Lord Tyranicus before, and he knew his father – who was a knowledgeable man by any standard – told him everything he knew. Surely he would have told him of such an astounding legend, he thought to himself. After all, it was a legend of the very first Dark Lord after the time of Merlin.
It was said that thousands and thousands of years ago a bastard offspring of Merlin and an unknown, illegitimate dark witch was abandoned and left for dead. However, for one strange reason or another, snakes, dragons, ghouls and all sorts of dark creatures suddenly came flocking to him as if he were one of their own. Somehow, the boy had managed to stay alive and teach himself the ways of sorcery under the protection of these creatures. Eventually, he became so powerful and in-tune with the Dark Arts that he was able to control the shadows of the earth, command all dark creatures at his will, and even raise the dead from their graves. Years later, upon becoming a man, he created a scepter no wand could compete with and eventually garnered hundreds of followers that built a safe-haven for dark blooded witches and wizards larger than the eye could see. Lord Tyranicus came to rule the magical world for over two hundred years until his opposition became so vast that he made a decision that would forever change the course of history. It was either he vanquish the opposition and risk extinction of the magical world, or sacrifice himself so that it could live on. In this, he ultimately allowed himself and his followers to be defeated, but not until he had concealed the scepter and his fortress for his heir, one that he prophesied to come thousands of years later to lend balance to the magical world at a time of great peril – a time when the dark needed him most.
Cyrus looked off into space as he tried to fathom why Lord Voldemort had considered this legend to be so valuable. Could he have possibly believed it to be true?
Shaking his head in wonderment, he was about to put the book back in the drawer when he saw his original name written on the very last page in Lord Voldemort's handwriting. Below the name 'Harry Potter,' was an unfinished prophecy that read: The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches… born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies…"
Below this prophecy was a small and incomplete list of Cyrus' exact physical attributes, the location of his birth, and his birth parents. At the very bottom of the last page he found yet another couple of sentences that appeared to be formatted as a prophecy would. Still, he found himself unable to read the text as he figured it to be some type of ancient language he had never seen before.
Tapping his wand against the book to translate the text – a useful spell he had learned from his tutor, Nestor Kozlov – the words remained unchanged, much to his disappointment.
Sighing in frustration, Cyrus closed the book and placed it back in the middle drawer of Lord Voldemort's old desk. Questions immediately began to blitz his mind in a rampant manner as he leaned back in his chair and began to sort out all the information he had just been given….
BREAK….
"You are absolutely sure of this, Horace?" Nicholas Flamel asked urgently.
"Completely," Professor Slughorn responded unequivocally, knowing Flamel to be the only man he could trust in such a matter. "Yesterday afternoon, this knife was a cotton ball Nicholas. This morning….it remains a knife, and one that I cannot transfigure. I saw it myself! A flash of white magic, just as it is described in your text. Go on… give it a go if you don't believe me."
Nicholas continued to pace back and forth with a hardened expression of intense curiosity, until finally, he whirled his long ruby robes behind him and whipped out his wand with an intricate twirl in less than a half second as he pointed it directly at the dagger in Slughorn's hand, half expecting it to transform back into its original state.
When nothing happened, Flamel looked slightly taken aback before he attempted once more. Yet again, the knife remained unchanged.
"Incendio!" he roared.
Still, nothing happened. Both men stood quite still in Nicholas' study, neither knowing exactly to what to say, nor were they ready to acknowledge the reality of the situation. And yet… incontrovertible evidence lay right in front of them, one of the most basic and fundamental laws of magic had been broken by a mere child.
"What do we do?" Slughorn asked hoarsely after a full minute of silence.
"What can we do?" Flamel replied with a forceful tenor. "You are a dark blooded wizard Horace…as I have dark magical blood running through my veins as well," he continued with a more reserved tone. "You know as well as I do, our families made binding magical oaths during Tyranicus' days… and we are held to it to this very day."
"Why then….he must know! We must tell him!" Horace shouted.
"No!" Nicholas slammed his fist against his desk with a tone of finality. "Our oath is to help and protect him. He must find out on his own…this much is imperative."
"Nicholas…" Professor Slughorn sighed in frustration. "Dumbledore will find out! One way or another…you mark my words, even if he doesn't know of the prophecy now…eventually he will! And even if he doesn't! Who knows what could happen when he discovers his abilities. What happens then? He must either be sent away from Hogwarts at once or be informed of the truth!"
"Don't be a fool!" Flamel roared in anger before calming himself a bit, "We cannot intervene in his path Horace. .. this much is clear in the prophecy. What we can do…is lend a guiding hand…and perhaps a little push. As for Dumbledore… I know I can't keep him from the child indefinitely, but at least long enough until he and his family are aware of the nature of his destiny. For now…. That will have to do."
Slughorn, who now looked as if he had seen someone murder a ghost right in front of him, slapped his callous hand against his forehead as he let out another long sigh. "The Malfoys…" he fumed in an exasperated fashion, "they are the most…most infuriating! Bigoted! Self-serving! Stuck up- !"
"Enough!" Flamel interrupted his rant. "The dark is in shambles, Horace. Unfortunately… I helped see to that. But now we must come together. The dark must either mend its wounds and recreate the balance that once existed ….or sooner or later…face extinction. Our family's oath is our word, and though the order meant to help this child has dwindled greatly, it is still great enough to see this prophecy through."
"The prophecy…." Horace muttered to himself absent mindedly. "But how can it be? A Black? A Black raised by the Malfoys? It just doesn't make any sense, Nicholas. The prophecy states 'raised by darkness, born from the ashes of the light,'… It just…It just can't be! The Malfoy's may fit the bill," Slughorn rolled his eyes, "but there isn't a shred of light blood in the entire Black family tree! How can it be that Cyrus Black –"
Nicholas held up his hand for silence as he drew in a deep breath. It had been a decade now since the dark had fallen, yet he remembered nearly everything that happened the night Lord Voldemort was defeated.
Ending their discussion with a twinkle in his eye, Flamel closed by saying, "I am not sure Cyrus Black is a Black at all…my good friend. The entire wizarding world may have had the wool pulled over their eyes by one man," finishing with an amusing smile rather than the visage of anger that Horace might have expected with these words.