NEW BLOOD INTERNATIONAL ACADEMY
Disclaimer: I own only the original characters in this story. All other characters belong to their respective owners.
Chapter Twelve
The Offer: Part 3
"People do good things out of purely selfish motives, just like they do bad ones. At its core, humankind is selfish." ~ Harry Potter, 'In This Balance of Time' by Eirenei
According to the Pureblood history textbooks no one knows where or exactly when the Farms originated. It is, however, generally agreed upon that they emerged before the establishment of any Magic school in Western Europe. As distasteful as some of Wizarding society found them, The Families knew, understood and agreed with the reasons for the Farms existence. Even the supposed Light.
The cold hard truth was that Family Magic emerged only in those pure of blood for magic could not be fooled by a new foal. Family Magic consisted of the most ancient of Magicks. Blood saturated with magic that was aged like fine wine was necessary for the ancient rites and rituals, the worshiping of the gods and the continuation of the very fabric that kept Magick itself alive.
Most of the old Families had found this out the hard way. Many, even before the days of Merlin, had lost their Family Magic with the introduction of Muggleborns or Sparks as they were mostly called back then. Others had instead been forced to watch their Family Magics suffer a slow, humiliating death as they were greatly watered down upon the introduction of these new bloods.
Such was the unfortunate case with House Weasley.
And yet, the Magical community was truly too small to refuse new blood. Even with the constant betrayals of the community by these unworthy heathens, Magic society hesitated in banning them. How could they refuse the Sparks inclusion when refusal equaled eventual extinction? It is believed that the Muggleborn Cleansing Centres (or Mudblood Farms as they were called by those that frequented them) were introduced by the elites of society as a solution to the problem. Reserved only for the most powerful of the incoming new bloods, it was a way of finally utilizing these upstarts into the magic cycle without the taint of muggle in the mix.
A Mudblood went in and a Pureblood came out.
That didn't necessarily mean it was the same person that left.
Mudbloods 'applying' to 'work' or willingly undergo blood cleansing at these Centres quickly learnt that whilst it was rather easy to get into these 'programmes' or 'contracts', one did not leave. Ever. Upon entering, the Mudblood's Magic was sealed so as to prevent mixture and possible contamination to a Pureblood's Family Magic. So many years at a magic school, all their hard work, all their ambitions destroyed within an instant. Such was the reward for being at the pinnacle of power of their fellow new bloods.
A Mudblood can never leave the Farms.
It was hence hardly shocking that Silvia Stone's line's magic spark came from a young Mudblood milkmaid called Julienne Evans. Julienne had been scouted during Hogwarts castle's debut year for her beauty, intelligence and power by one of the school founders, the then Heir Gryffindor. He had marked her as unusually powerful for a Spark and had tracked her school years with a keen eye. When Julienne completed her education she had then proceeded to behave like the Mudblood she was and got engaged with some muggle that worked as a butcher. Heir Gryffindor, quite disgusted at this clear demonstration of a Spark's inferior mental capacity, had simply killed the dirty thing and dragged the crying, terrified Spark to the upper power-level section of the breeding barns on his family's Mudblood Farm. The upper power-levels of any Farm were only meant for breeding by Pureblood males. The middle power-levels were for Half-Bloods and the lower power-levels for Mudbloods.
Heir Gryffindor had five offsprings with Julienne, two males and three females. Unlike in most circumstances, Gryffindor had no use for the males and sent them off to be bucks to the middle power-level Sparks and Half-Bloods on the Farm. Of the females, Gryffindor gifted two to his father and uncle as entertainment. The most powerful he kept for further breeding.
By the time Gryffindor, now Lord, had his argument with another founder, Lord Slytherin, he had bred that specific Spark line up to its third generation. Since he had bred the original Spark himself, and continued to personally breed the most powerful female of each subsequent generation, all offsprings were very powerful Half-Bloods indeed. Lord Gryffindor was exceptionally pleased at the results of this particular investment. The blood cleansing requirements for Half-Bloods were only five generations rather than the ten given for straight Spark-on-Spark mating.
The birth of the fourth generation of Julienne Evans' line would concoinside with My Lord Gryffindor's marriage to the Lady Amélie Malfoi, a French Pureblood beauty from the old French Magical Malfoi family. The Lord Gryffindor gifted his wife the most powerful (and consequently oldest) buck of his favourite Spark line as a marriage gift to do with as she will. Lady Amélie quickly sent the Half-Blood to her small fledgling Farm in St-Guilhem-le-Désert as the sole buck. Rider, as a 2nd generation, would never leave the Farm. He died three years and more than four hundred offsprings later from overwork.
By the time Lord Godric Gryffindor was killed in battle, the most powerful female yet to be born of the Evans line had two weeks earlier given birth to a girl. Little Amethyst would be the last of the line with any muggle taint.
Lady Amélie, quite put out that her Lord Husband had gone and gotten himself killed, turned over his English Farm to her eldest son and moved back to France to be with her more sensible family. Her son, never strong of heart, became fearful that his father's enemies would come looking and hence took no wife from his blood equals. Instead, the new Lord distributed all the Mudbloods to other Farms except little Amethyst and went into hiding, changing the family's name to Stone.
Two score and six years later, Jade Stone entered Hogwarts as a first generation Pureblood. He would be followed two years later by his younger sister Iolite.
Voldemort
When Thomas Marvalo Riddle, the soon to be Voldemort, had first stepped foot in Britain's Magical World he could be forgiven for believing that he had stepped into Magicks true society. Everyone he spoke to or surrounded himself with spoke of the Magical World and the Wizarding World as if they were one and the same. This was false for no Magical World on the planet equaled the Wizarding World. The Magical Worlds consisted of every being and creature that harboured planetary reiryoku within them. Hags, Goblins, Elves, Centaurs, Dwarfs, Wizards, Witches, Earthlings, Mutants, Elementals. Any born of Earth and blessed with her planetary reiryoku were a member of their region's respective Magical World. Though Magical Worlds may call their societies by various names, it was but another label for a power that all came from the same source though expressed in a variety of ways. The Wizarding World however was very different for it was exclusive and by invitation only.
The Wizarding World comprised only of Pureblood Witches and Wizards of the world...and all whom served them. There were no countries represented, no ministries, no laws protecting those of mixed blood. There were none with mixed creature blood unless they were in direct servitude to a Pureblood family.
The entire structure of this society was a master-servant one. Half-Bloods born on the Farms but too low in power to be of use were sent to a small, run down trade school. Store keepers, cleaners, cooks, clerks, animal trainers. Any profession that leaned towards serving their betters were almost strictly issued to these Half-Bloods. Among the Purebloods themselves the hierarchy was split into the level of blood purity, class, money, type of Family Magicks and level of contribution made towards the development of their society.
The newly risen Dark Lord strolled down Jansen Avenue enjoying the evening breeze without fear of reprisal. Here, Britain's magical laws truly held no power. Here, it was The Ten, a group of the Highest ranking Pureblood Families, that created and enforced laws.
Voldemort chuckled to himself as he recalled his spy's report all those years ago. Dumbledore's theory concerning his heritage never ceased to amuse him. It never occurred to the old Headmaster that his mother, a witch, could have simply lied to her 'husband' concerning the parentage of his supposed son. A quick blood test would have certainly proven otherwise. That a family such as the Gaunts would have ever allowed a Half-Blood to come from their line was truly laughable. No, 'Thomas' was a name given in mocking jest after his mother's untrained Mudblood toy. A toy that after she grew tired of, 'broke the spell' and fled.
What the Dark Lord found the most amusing was that the very next month, Tom-the-untrained-Mudblood, disappeared. In truth, the arrogant fellow was picked up and deposited on a Gaunt Farm in the Wizarding World, not too far from his 'wife' own 'rundown' home. When the then Slytherin student finally met his mother's 'husband', the Mudblood was so used and broken that putting him down had been an act of kindness. Whilst he felt exasperated disgust at his mother's humour in naming him after a toy of all things, he did find amusement in leading lazy fools like Dumbledore around by the nose. The truth wasn't hard to find out afterall.
The smile eased off the Dark Lord's face and rage blazed through him as he thought of the other part of the story. His mother had somehow found herself at a muggle orphanage in the middle of the night, dirty, pregnant and dying. Digging into her past had revealed nothing in Magical Britain's records but in the Wizarding World….
Someone had murdered Lord Grant Selwyn, his mother's true husband and his real father, and had kidnapped her and her unborn child from their home. That someone would pay.
Lord Voldemort stepped off the pristine, cobble road and through a heavy red oak door into the softly lit reception area of the La Falcon. La Falcon was a small, quiet, private restaurant that catered only to the elite. It was quite often used for business meetings as it's privacy wards were second to none.
Approaching the young Half-Blood male behind the desk, Voldemort barely glanced at the servant as he placed his appointment card on the dish specially made for such. The Half-Blood, careful to avoid eye contact, pressed a button on the dish to activate the spell. This would scan the card for information and authenticity. The information would then reflect on the reservation sheet. After a moment, the information on the card changed to the room number of his meeting. Collecting the card Voldemort walked away from the desk without a word and into the restaurant's long corridor. Several doors in gold lined each side with neatly written numbers brushed on. Stopping in front of door number 5, the Dark Lord pressed the card onto the number. The door opened. Entering he greeted the man lounging with a bored expression on one of the two velvet seater chairs.
"You took your time."
Gellert Grindelwald smirked at him in answer to his greeting.
Ivor Lonnath
His scar itched.
Harry Potter sat on the other side of the world at a bright orange and blue cafe with black and white checkered floors. The owner, Grandmere, had taken a liking to the young lad and always gave him an extra slice of her famous peach pie to go with his meal. The table in front of him was almost entirely covered in books so it's a wonder that there was any room at all for the plates of food.
His scar itched.
Gazing outside his little rectangular window with the wooden shutters, Harry found himself people-watching instead of focusing on his half written essay for Ethics class. He had quickly learnt that people on Ivor Lonnath came in all shapes, sizes, nationalities, races, species, religions and personalities. The sheer variety in the population was almost a culture shock in itself.
Harry's lanky frame had finally begun to fill out from the consistent workouts in his physically demanding classes. Firm lean muscles had accompanied an additional three inches in height and a sharper, more pronounced jawline. He would never be one of those guys with bulging muscles and a tall stature, but Harry was happy to realise upon looking in the mirror this morning that he was finally leaving behind his coltish days.
His scar itched.
It had been a full year since he had taken his leave of Hogwarts. He did not regret it. Harry had grown in leaps and bounds both in his understanding of reiryoku, his own skill at using it and his understanding of himself. For the first time in his life he could honestly say he felt somewhat comfortable in his own skin.
My scar itches. What's making this bastard so happy?
The quiet background buzzing of the cafe around him and the cool breeze coming in from the window made for a rather sleepy, at peace feeling within Harry. The Boy Who Lived enjoyed these little moments. He enjoyed being just a normal teenager sitting at a cafe trying to do his extensive homework whilst boredly drinking his milkshake and staring out a window. Harry could never explain to anyone just how much such a simple thing meant to him. He would treasure it for as long as it lasted.
He sighed. Something is coming. His scar is never wrong.
Nurmengard
When the Professor was discovered with his soul shattered Nikita had been immediately suspicious. There were only two soul benders in existence. One had been under constant surveillance whether he knew it or not, & the other was supposedly neutralized in a high security prison.
But this was Gellert Grindelwald. Prison had not stopped the man from sending a message to her all the way in Ivor Lonnath. A feat the prisoner should never have been capable of. Hence, she suspected the one to hold the answers would be Grindelwald but...nothing had prepared any of them to discover something like this. Instead of answers from an imprisoned Dark Lord they found a massacre.
Blood, pieces of flesh, bones and organs covered the inside of the prison like overly done christmas decorations. Sirius gagged as he beheld what he belatedly realised was part of a head, the eye out of the socket and hanging on by a thin strip of bloody, slimy skin. He didn't even realise he was about to vomit until it was up his throat and he just about moved his head to the side and down in time to not hit Remus in the back with it. Blood rushed through his head and his throat burnt as he heaved everything he had eaten today and the previous. Even when bile was all that was left the sheer stench of blood, gore and death had him dry heaving again. He was only marginally aware of Remus rubbing his back and then apparating him out of a building whose apparating wards should never have allowed it.
Shikaku ignored the distraction of Sirius getting his first true face-to-face meeting with death to gaze down at the halved head with the hanging eye. The hair remaining on the head was put into little colourful ribbons. There was a foot complete with an ankle in the right corner and a few fingers with the nails removed on the desk in front of the window. A plate of what at first looked like food turned out to be a chopped up penis and balls with the skin carefully removed. Each seat in front of the desk had organs neatly piled on them with blood slowly dripping down to the floor. The organs all looked boiled. He spoke to the blank faced Nikita as he looked around what had to have been the man's office.
"This one seems to have gotten special treatment. The other two wardens' deaths seemed far more tamed." he muttered.
"He was the arresting officer after Dumbledore dragged Grindelwald in."
"Ahh. He was rewarded for his audacity then."
"Hmm." Nikita answered before a slight light coming from the desk drawer caught her eye.
"Shikaku."
"Yeah I see it." came the cautious reply.
Making the appropriate hand signs for a more advanced version of his Clan's shadow technique, Shikaku pulled the shadows underneath the desk into a far more concentrated form that could actually interact with the physical world. Moving the now hand shaped shadow, he opened the drawer slowly, an escape jutsu ready. A glowing heart dripping in blood slowly rose from the drawer. A voice, Grindelwald's, suddenly came from the organ.
"Hello Nikita, how do you like the results of my going away party? I assure you everyone there had a lot of fun. So sorry about the mess."
Nikita gritted her teeth and stared at the talking heart with a blank expression. She had dealt with this man before so knew this was an attempt to unsettle them. Grindelwald enjoyed being theatrical and playing mind games. The entire state they found this prison in was all just staging for the bastard's show.
"But nevermind you're not here about my party. You're here to find out about that short Asian fellow. The one with the odd hat. What do they call him again? Professor? Ah yes he really was no fun you know. He just refused to scream."
Shikaku's vision practically went white as fury coursed through him at the mocking statement. Very few outside of his village knew of the Professor's, Shikaku's village leader, actual status. Not even Remus. It would not be wise to advertise such a thing.
A slow blink and the anger was gone, replaced immediately with calm. Shikaku knew he couldn't afford to lose himself in his emotions right now. He couldn't afford to make the kind of mistakes such anger would cause. There would be time after this for anger and mourning. He was now very wary of this man. The Nara head hadn't been around when Grindelwald was terrorizing the world and didn't expect the man to be so good at getting under his opponents skin. That made him very very dangerous.
"Why did you kill him." Nikika asked, her tone almost bored and Shikaku admired her professionalism.
"I told you to come here. You didn't so I ensured you will. Really my dear you should come when you are told to. I don't like disobedient people."
The heart suddenly gave an intense glow and then started pulsing. Shikaku's eyes widened, his escape jutsu halfway activated as he grabbed his partner.
"Try not to die my dear. I'd hate to see you end here."
The two barely got out via teleportation before the explosion razed one of the greatest prisons in Wizarding history to the ground.
Britain
Gellert leaned against the reception desk as he watched young Voldemort walk out the door. The meeting with his fellow dark lord had been fruitful. Very fruitful indeed. Their little alliance would certainly catch Albus off guard but finding out Harry Potter was a soul bender had forced Gellert to rearrange his plans and allies.
The Soul Bender once again played with the little glowing golden balls on his fingertips. It had become easier to access and mold his power. Another few months and the binding placed on his abilities by the Clans would be gone and he would once again be at full strength. It was an event he was looking forward to after which he, of course, would be confronting the missing Harry Potter. Two Soul Benders were one too many for this planet. Gellert had no intention of sharing such a prestigious title with some young upstart and a Half-Blood at that. Although...he had heard Potter exhibited a lot of passion and youthful exuberance when experiencing high emotions. Perhaps he'll have the lad entertain him before his death.
A sound caught his attention and he glanced down at the card just placed in the dish with the total for the meal, then up at the receptionist. Gellert found himself observing the receptionist, a Half-Blood of course, more closely. Blond wispy almost white hair, delicate features and a sharp, delicate bone structure. Based on the bone structure alone Gellert would place this far too pretty Half-Blood as coming from a Malfoy Farm and a high generation at that. Maybe very close to Pureblood. Possibly from a line bred by either Abraxas or perhaps his son Lucius. This boy was around Lucius brat, Draconis or Drangon or whatever his name is, age. Must have pained that arrogant peacock when this boy was born with such little power after the Malfoys' long investment in his line.
Gellert felt amusement as a friction of discomfort briefly passed over the boy's face at his blatant observation. Grabbing his chin Gellert shifted that far too aristocratic face this way and that. Observing it at all angles, he noted the Half-Blood's unique lilac-coloured eyes before running his hand through the short, soft, silky blond hair and down the smooth velvety jawline to stroke those small but full lips. Only the boy's tensing of his shoulders and the slight widening of his eyes showed just how distraught he was at Gellert's rather physical show of admiration. Those eyes...did this brat's line have Fey blood? It would certainly explain how they caught the Malfoys' attention. Fey were among the very few acceptable non-human blood to possess and were considered magic in physical form. Upon their deaths their bodies simply dispersed into reiryoku. Watching the tense teenager helplessly accept his caresses a slow, cruel smirk emerged on the Dark Lord's face.
"Go to my chambers."
The boy's shoulders hunched, fingers tightening on the board in his hands.
"Yes my Lord."
Gellert watched as the boy put the board down with hands slightly trembling, pressed the button to be replaced and headed towards Gellert's rented room towards the back. He wondered if the boy would cry or scream. Or even beg. He so enjoyed breaking pretty things.