Black Manor, Bulgaria
The Black Manor in Bulgaria had once been a fortress built by the Norwegian druids during their attempts to conquer the magical byzantine community. A century or two later, the land had been conquered by Sagittarius Ares Black in the year 1342. Since that day, the newly captured and renovated manor had become the main seat of the Family that had grown to gain infamy across all of Magical Europe through the late 1500's. Later, in 1659, Lord Cygnus Black bought the Number 12, Grimmauld Place, noticing the rather queer muggle building standing above a confluence of three magical ley-lines. He rebuilt the building into a full sized wizarding townhouse; the house becoming the primary residence of the Blacks, the manor in Bulgaria being reduced to the status of their country house. It had frequently hosted retiring Lords of the House of Black in their old age and had become their stronghold and safehouse.
Built over several hectares of lush grassland, the manor and its grounds were unplottable and possessed some of the most advanced wards in Europe, invisible to anyone, muggle or magical, not keyed or invited into the wards. The manor occupied a position in the centre of the grounds, the majority of the space was heavily forested, home to many magical creatures.
The air in front of the foreboding gates of the manor rippled for a split second before the sound of a cracking whip was heard. Portkey journey complete, Ares Black stood in front of his home of fourteen years. Slightly disoriented, he smiled at the thought of meeting his Pad in a few minutes.
As Ares moved forward, the wards made a scan of the approaching wizard. Recognising him as a master of the manor they guarded, the allowed access, the large metal gates opening with nary a sound.
As he moved past the gate, Ares keenly felt the power of the wards wash over him. Ever since he had learnt to truly sense magic, the sheer complexity and power of the wards amazed him. Living under their protection for years, he sometimes forgot these same wards kept him and Sirius safe for over a decade and were capable of withstanding a full scale siege.
Walking across the straight path through the woods leading to the manor, a smirk settled on his youthful face. While he would agree that the trial went better than expected, much better, the aftermath had been even better, especially considering the fact that he had dealt with Albus bloody Dumbledore.
After the Trial…
The doors of the Wizengamot chamber opened and the Lords, ladies and dignified authorities walked out of the chamber towards the lift that would take them up to the Ministry Atrium. It was almost a blessing that the chamber was on the second floor, rather than through an entrance from the atrium. If it was, they would have already been mobbed the hordes of reporters vying for news like a dragon went after prey. At least, these few moments of peace would help them prepare for the upcoming horde. With any luck, they would completely focus on the Boy-Who-Lived, allowing them to escape quickly.
The moment the lift had stopped, a ding sounding through the wizard spaced elevator, the doors opened to the atrium and Ares, being at the front, found himself facing dozens of flashes and questions being shouted at him by a swarm of reporters who were waiting to hound him after the trial.
Ignoring the cacophony of noises, a result of all the reporters speaking at the same time, Ares cleared his throat loudly. Surprising him, the move seemed to have worked as the reporters slowly fell into silence. He walked forward, followed by Dumbledore and the Minister of Magic, who was looking quite out of place in a public arena – something that Ares thought looked a fish struggling to wade through water it that spent its entire life in.
"I will do my best to answer your questions, as long as they are appropriate." Ares replied smoothly. "I only request that you pose them calmly."
"Mister Potter. Rita Skeeter from the Daily Prophet." Rita said, dressed in a garish red robe, with excessive makeup and a Quick-quotes quill already writing across a piece of parchment floating above her. "What do you have to say about Sirius Black, the man who kidnapped you from your homeland all those years ago?"
Ares stared at the notorious reporter in front of him and smirked. What he actually wanted to was not for display in front of polite company. Besides, Pad would give a long lecture before planning his own prank. "That he is perhaps the greatest father I could ever have had."
Rita grit her teeth, and asked with a false smile. Brat! "You are known to publicly denigrate your identity as a Potter. You also loudly proclaim yourself as a Black. Any comments on that?"
Harry smiled, much to Rita's scorn. "Baseless rumours, I am afraid. I am proud of the sacrifices my family has made, both for wizarding Britain and myself and I am striving to live up to their achievements. With that being said, my father, Lord Sirius Black, took me in, adopted me as part of the Black family and has done his utter best to care for me. My self-acknowledgment as a member of the House of Black is merely a small acknowledgement of all my father has done for me."
Before Rita could counter his statement with another question, she was interrupted by another reporter, a tall blonde haired man dressed in a three-piece suit, from her side. "Kurt Clove from the Herald, Mister Black." The man said as Ares flashed him a smile. "What are your feelings about the attack on your reputation and the attempt at Line-theft on your family?"
Snickering inwardly, Ares gave a long, fake suffering sigh. "This is the first time I have set foot in Britain since the death of my parents in 1981. The only reason I have arrived here is because of the law that forces me to acquire my OWL's and NEWT's from Hogwarts, instead of taking through a private exam at the WEA. I certainly did not expect the travesty I was put through. I had never imagined that the Ministry of Britain was so ignorant as to arrest an Heir without due process and drag him in front of the entire Wizengamot for a trial that barely procedure." He gave a significant pause as he discreetly glanced at the Headmaster, who was surprisingly silent through the interview, a feat that Ares did not think was possible.
He paused once again, pulling off his best look of resignation, perfected after years of dealing with three house elves, a childish father and an instructor who was the devil incarnate. "I was vilified by the Daily Prophet for a mere ability, dragged through the mud for stating my legitimate inheritance and outright abused by some auror named… Draw-leash?" Heaving a put on sigh, he continued speaking. "But I found people who are willing to help navigate the troubles I encountered. I wish to pass on my gratitude to Director Bones for following what procedures she could, despite the obstacles in her path and for performing admirably under coercion; My cousin, Auror Nymphadora Tonks for ensuring my safety; Regent Longbottom, Lord Greengrass, and Lord Nott for their support of me; and the members of the Wizengamot for quickly identifying and correcting the gross miscarriage of justice that has occurred today."
Rubbing his eyes in apparent fatigue, he said "Right now, all I wish is for an extended leave of absence to go home and spend some time with my father."
"Headmaster," Another reporter clawed her way to the front of the crowd. "Erica McDonalds, The Mage Post." She stated as she pushed the microphone towards Dumbledore who seemed to be caught in the headlights. "What do have to say about Mister Black's request for a leave of absence?"
"I…" The older man cleared his throat, took a deep unnoticeable breath and said "I am sure that, owing to the circumstances, an extended leave could be arranged for Mister Black to spend time with his family provided-"
"I would like to leave for my home immediately, Headmaster." Ares stated boldly to the other man. He could see the flash of irritation deep behind the deep blue orbs.
Showing none of his inward irritation, Dumbledore said "Of course, you may. However, please return to your school as soon as possible. After all, it would not do to delay your studies for your upcoming OWL exams."
"Of course," Ares replied gratefully, "Thank you, Headmaster."
"Mister Black," The international reporter turned from Dumbledore to Ares, pen running quickly on her pad. "Considering you have been privately educated for the better part of your life, what are your opinions on Hogwarts, however brief it may have been so far?"
Ares smiled inwardly. The Americans had never liked Britain and would look for any excuse to one-up them. Luckily, he was inclined to go along with their interests. For now. "Well, I have my concerns about the History of Magic class." The reporter had a near-look of glee on her face. "I am satisfied with the classes I have attended thus far."
The reporter seemed to catch his inflection and nodded discreetly in thanks.
"Will Lord Black take up his seat in the upcoming Wizengamot session?" asked another reporter, a small portly man with a well-groomed moustache and bowler hat.
"I'm afraid only my father can answer that." Ares answered with a smile. "Thank you for the questions. But I must now leave."
Smirking to himself, Ares reached the front door of the manor. The official Wizengamot session would be held on the twenty second of September. That was two weeks away. It gave him ample time to take care of a few things he had put on hold due to his travel to Britain. There was no way he was returning to Hogwarts until after the session.
Ares opened the door, stepped into the entrance hall of the manor and closed the door behind him. Looking at the blue décor, he was reminded of the time his father was attacked by a man he considered a friend. His finger twitched at the thought, his magic rushing a bit faster.
Walking further into the hall, he began planning for the next two weeks. Got a visit to make. A few experiments to take care of. And I need to borrow a book or two…
He stopped for a second, considering the situation so far. Thinking on it, he knew he had matters to deal with in Britain too. One of his major priorities was Daphne. He was pretty sure his extremely irritated girlfriend would, as soon as she got her hands on him, hug the life out of him before hexing his ass into next week. He would have to meet with her, but a letter would have to suffice for now.
Sorry Daph. I will have to make it up to you.
However, there were significant reasons for him to not be at Hogwarts until after the session. Since it was publicly proven that he was the legitimate Heir of Black, the reaction of the student population would shift dramatically, in Slytherin house at the very least. He could see the plotting in their heads, offers of alliances, friendships and betrothals. He shivered at the thought of Parkinson batting her eyelashes at him.
It would be… dissentious to the plans he and Padfoot had cooked up for the session.
Speaking of his father, where was he?
It was… strange. There was no way his father would not have felt his entrance into the grounds and manor. The wards would have alerted him. He had half-expected his father to rush out of the manor before he was halfway across the grounds. Maybe it was just the child in him, refusing to grow up.
Must be busy with a visitor.
Deciding on his course of action, he cleared his voice and yelled, "Matty!"
The rather excitable, hyperactive female elf popped in front of him, her mouth widened in surprise and glee. "Master Ares is back! Kreacher was sure Master would not return soon. Matty is happy that Master is back so soon."
"Where is Pad?" Ares did not return the greeting. He knew exactly how much the elves hated him… well, hated his experiments. They weren't big fans of burnt rooms and broken furniture.
Matty gave a long-suffering sigh. "Master is… quarrelling with old Master Black."
What the fuck was that? Ares blinked at the statement "With who?" he stressed the word.
"Master Arcturus's portrait, Master Ares. Master is quarrelling with Master Arcturus's portrait."
Grandfather's portrait? But… wasn't it a muggle one?
Ares stared at the elf. "Take me to him."
A couple of hours earlier…
In the spacious Lord' study of the Black Manor, Sirius Orion Black, the Lord Black, paced the room like a father waiting for his teenage daughter to arrive before curfew. It was contrary to the controlled calm persona he showed the rest of the world. He had been a mess since he had received his copy of the Daily Prophet (magic certainly made distances unimportant) and first-hand read the articles shaming his son and Heir in derogatory terms. The prankster part of him wanted to jump in joy for his son pulling off the plan without a hitch, but another part of him, the father in him, wanted to burn the cell in which his son was imprisoned. Sure, it would serve to strengthen their cause and provide Ares with a better position on the field, but his parental instincts protested the treatment of his son vehemently. It was all he could do to not walk into the Ministry and knock out all of Fudge's teeth from his smug, smarmy mouth.
The familiar sound of house-elf apparition distracted him from his thoughts. Halting his uneasy pacing, he looked up to see Kreacher standing near the desk.
Not caring to mask his irritation at the interruption, he asked "What can I do for you, Kreacher?"
While he and Kreacher had never had an amiable relationship during his childhood, and they had started off on the wrong foot when they first arrived at the manor, they had developed a working relationship over time, with Kreacher becoming more loyal to Sirius, especially since he had begun to claim the Black heritage. The favourable comments from Cassiopeia during her stay had certainly mellowed the old elf.
"Mistress Cassiopeia sent a letter, Master Black." Kreacher answered.
Sirius raised an eyebrow. "Aunt Cassie? After all this time?" Curious at the unexpected message, he said "Show me."
The elf quickly produced a tiny piece of parchment which was banished to the desk.
Walking to the desk, he took up the parchment and flipped it. His eyes widened in surprise at the single line written in vivid green ink. He read it twice to ensure his eyes were not deceiving him. He cast a few detection charms to check for enchantments. The tests were negative. He looked at the paper and uttered the words written on it. "A PRANK WELL DONE?"
No sooner had he uttered the words when he felt magic radiate out of the parchment turning his robes into a vivid, Slytherin green with silver linings. Hearing throaty giggles, he glared at the blasted elf giggling like a school-girl while he tried, and failed, to dispel the enchantment off himself. Glaring at the still giggling elf, he barked, "What's with the prank, Kreacher?"
"I must say… You look like a walking advertisement for the Slytherin Quidditch team. You've even got the matching hair style." The deep, cultured voice that accompanied the amused tone could have belonged to only one person on earth.
Arcturus Orion Black.
Spinning around to face his grandfather's magical, no-longer-muggle, portrait, Sirius felt his jaw drop. He had always wondered why his grandfather had a muggle portrait of himself placed in the study. Realising it was simply a ruse, he continued to stare at the one member of the Black family who had treated him right, and brought him back into the family after his banshee of a mother had evicted him from Grimmauld place.
Arcturus Black smirked at his grandson's stupefied voice. "Hello my grandson, it is nice to see you in my position. Although I must admit, you could do without the extra green and silver. There is such a thing as overkill." The portrait exclaimed in amusement.
"Wha- H-Ho- Who-?" Sirius stammered.
"Very elucidative, Sirius." Arcturus admonished, amusement still ringing in his voice. "Despite all the years and your education in our heritage, you still remain the same bumbling Gryffindor as always"
"I thought you were… you know; the portrait was a muggle one." Sirius replied, his mind still unable to warp around the sudden surprise.
"And here I was, thinking that you had finally become a Slytherin" Arcturus grumbled. Adopting a formal tone, he continued, "I charmed this portrait to appear muggle. I could still watch and listen but could not communicate. The enchantment in the parchment broke the charm."
Realisation finally hit Sirius. His aunt had always evaded his questions about her source of information. "It was you! You told Aunt about my need for a Dark Arts tutor." It was an accusation; a mere statement of fact.
"I did." Arcturus agreed. "Your son, my future heir, needed help. What kind of a grandfather would I be if I did not do all I could to help my grandson?"
"Of course." Sirius countered in a snarky voice, remembering how much he disliked the fact that Cassiopeia had taught Ares more knowledge than he was comfortable with. It had not helped that his son had taken to the teachings like a Veela to fire.
"Don't be an idiot, Sirius." Arcturus admonished. He had always disliked Sirius's narrow view of magic. "The boy is a natural at the Dark Arts. I am confident that he will wield the Family Magic far better I ever did."
Sirius fidgeted under his grandfather's disappointed gaze. Looking at the portrait after a moment, he asked "Aren't you… you know, disappointed in… well, that I didn't continue the line?"
Arcturus gazed at Sirius. "Tell me, are you?" His tone did not betray any emotion.
Sirius looked his grandfather in the eye. "I don't." His tone held nothing but pride and joy. "He is my son, by blood and by magic."
"A rather good son." Arcturus praised. "He carries the blood of three great houses. He will make a formidable Lord Black someday."
Sirius smiled at the praise for his son. Smile turning cheeky, he said, "I knew you would agree. Ares reminds me a lot of… well, you really."
Arcturus beamed.
Expression turning serious, Sirius asked "Why reveal yourself after all this time? I am sure you and my aunt shared one too many laughs over me." He nearly grumbled. After over a decade of being the responsible and elder one, it felt refreshing to be a teenager in front of his grandfather.
Arcturus answered, his voice completely serious. "Several factors. My original reason for the charm was to ensure you learnt to make your own decisions, without relying on my advice. You were far too used to taking orders. You had to mature and become a True Lord. Having me around would not have achieved that." Expression darkening, he continued, "As for why I decided to awake this portrait, take a guess."
"Voldemort." Sirius replied with a scowl.
"Yes," The portrait agreed. "Ares has finally stepped into the world, pitting himself against those who would seek to harm him and his. You have grown as a Lord, both in strength and experience, and our House will be great once again. I decided that I could be an advisor, provide you the perspective you sometimes lack."
"Of course," Sirius beamed at his grandfather. He had always respected the skill and intelligence of Arcturus Black, both in magic and politics.
Arcturus scowled at his grandson. "Now, why did you let my Heir suffer such indignities as part of an immature prank."
Sirius groaned.
Back to the present…
Ares and Matty popped in front of the Lord's study. He was quiet thankful for the house elf not popping him into the garden again.
The elf popped away immediately and Ares opened the door to the study, only to hear his father yelling loudly at, and openly quarrelling with, a deep cultured voice. He assumed it was Arcturus Black's portrait. Since he was a muggle portrait could not suddenly turn magical, he deduced it must have been enchanted to appear as such.
"Pad?" He spoke loudly, entering the Lord's study.
"And for the last time I am telling you that-" Sirius yelled, before stopping midway, spinning around, his face lit in happiness, "Ares!"
"Pad!" Ares returned softly, allowing his father rush forward and hug him. Padfoot was great at hugs.
Pushing himself away, Sirius held his son by the shoulders, gaze roving his features. "Are you alright? They didn't trouble you, did they? If they did, just tell me and I-"
"Relax, Pad." Ares laughed. "It was comfortable. Besides, I even met family at the DMLE. Tonks."
"Little Nymphadora?" Sirius asked, his tone amused. "How was she?"
"A fire-cracker." Ares admitted. "Totally awesome." He really did like her. Her playful personality, combined with her metamorphmagus ability, made her a really cool person. The fact that she was the only auror, besides Shacklebolt and Bones, to talk to him without any insults helped endear her.
Sirius chortled at the description. "That she is." Patting his son's shoulder again before dropping his arms, he said, "I am just happy that you are alright. I was just-"
"Ahem!"
The voice of his grandfather's portrait alerted Sirius to the other's presence in the room. He, felling a bit of guilt, turned towards the portrait and apologised sheepishly. "Right, sorry." Clearing his throat, he turned to his son and said, in a voice reserved for official meetings, "Ares, meet your late grandfather, Lord Arcturus Orion Black."
"Just grandfather will do." The portrait replied in an amused tone.
Ares took a much closer look at the portrait. The man had a rather regal look to his face, and he could imagine other Wizengamot members cringe at his presence. What he had not expected was the tone of amusement he usually heard from Aunt Cassie. She and Sirius had made remarks that made his grandfather sound like a stern, no-nonsense man with no sense of humour.
"How are you, Ares?" Arcturus asked fondly.
"I'm fine." Ares answered. Glancing at his father, he wondered how he was supposed to behave. Following his usual manners in front of strangers, he decided his lessons would help. Adopting a formal tone, he said "Thank you for asking, Lord Black."
Arcturus chuckled. "Formality is for lesser witches and wizards. You are my grandson. You shall call me grandfather."
Ares nodded slowly.
Arcturus smiled widely and asked "So tell me Ares, how did your… experiment go?"
Ares stared at him in surprise, before shifting his gaze to his father.
"Apparently, he's been active since the beginning" Sirius grumbled, not happy about the prank his grandfather pulled on him. "Today, he decided we need his help."
Arcturus laughed, knowing what Sirius was thinking. "Oh come now, Sirius. Where do you think you got your pranking skills from?"
Sirius groaned once again.
Sometime later…
"Three favours, huh?" Arcturus asked proudly. "You will be a formidable Lord Black, Ares. Learn from your boy, Sirius."
Sirius muttered incomprehensibly under his breath.
Gazing shifting to Sirius, Arcturus asked, "What have you planned for the upcoming session at the Wizengamot."
Sirius replied, "I am activating the Black seat. I will also activate the Potter and Slytherin seats and assume regency." Imagining the reaction that would cause, he chortled. "That will put those doxies in a tizzy."
"Some of them are our allies too, Pad." Ares reminded him.
"All doxies except them." Sirius pronounced without missing a beat. "I can guess what the Dark Alliance must be going through. Ole' Lucius must be pissing himself."
Ares shook his head in disbelief. For all his apparent maturity and status as a Lord, Pad was the ultimate child at times. Remembering a surprise from his trial, he said, "We might have another ally, Pad."
Both Lords, human and portrait stared at him in complete attention.
"Lord Edward Nott demonstrated support during my trial."
"He's a Death eater." Sirius replied offhandedly.
"And his heir is my friend." Ares returned. "And apparently one of Daph's closest friends."
Sirius raised an eyebrow. "A sensible Nott?"
"Pfft!" Arcturus sneered. "Stop seeing people through rose-tainted glasses, Sirius. Do I need to remind you how the werewolf turned up?"
Sirius sneered back. "Nott is a Death eater."
"Actually," Ares countered, "Theo says that his father was a financial supporter. Considering the entire Dark Alliance was playing into Voldemort's hands, it was the only move available. That, or be killed along with family."
"He could have…" Sirius returned, before realizing the futility of his argument. It wasn't like the Order of Phoenix would have helped him. It was barely able to save itself. "Never mind." He answered. Looking at his son, he asked "What about him?"
"Well," Ares considered his words. It would not do to give his father any reason to antagonise Nott without a meeting at least. "From what I gather, Nott cannot support without being killed immediately. I was wondering if we could come to an agreement, gentleman to gentleman."
"You want me to meet with a Death Eater?" Sirius asked.
Ares scowled – his father could be clueless at times - and said, "No. If I read the situation correctly, Nott will approach you for a meeting within a week or so."
Sirius sighed. "It's settled. I am declaring you my proxy. I cannot wait for you to finish your NEWT's and take up the seats yourself."
Ares smirked, but scowled inwardly. He'd rather fight a dragon than bother with politics voluntarily.
The next day…
Ares arrived in the courtyard of Manoir Flamel via portkey, the same portkey he was issued four years ago. Four years of training and he had yet to understand how his tutor had created the reusable portkey that did not need a recast and worked flawlessly. All his questions on the subject were met with an amused smirk.
"Ares."
Hearing the familiar female voice, Ares turned to his right, facing the flower gardens and the woman seated at the tea table, a newspaper in her hand, a tea set with a single cup and a plate of cakes on the table.
Perenelle stood up from her chair, folding the newspaper and placing it on the table.
Ares crossed the gate to the garden. Just as always, he saw his tutor standing at the tea-table, and once again, there was a single cup of tea. Four years of spending time in Manoir Flamel and he had never once caught a glimpse of the elusive Nicholas Flamel. There were no pictures in the manor to help him either.
"I'm surprised that you are back so soon," Perenelle commented softly, still standing at the table as Ares approached her. "I wasn't expecting to see you for another month, at the very least." She paused for a moment. "Then again, knowing you and your… penchant for trouble, I should have seen this coming."
Standing close to his tutor, Ares shrugged at the comment. "I thought I could use the extra time to proceed with the final stage."
Perenelle narrowed her eyes. "Ares Black, I very well remember warning you about it. Amalgamation is not to be taken lightly. This is not one of your insane schemes."
"But it is working." Ares almost whined, only to control his tone at her irritated expression. "I have been testing myself since the beginning of the year. All the tests have been positive."
"Your attitude is not of one who has spent their time studying the ancient arts." Perenelle chastised him. "If you are indeed so sure," She drawled her words. "then we will proceed."
Ares's face shifted into a large grin, before his tutor spoke again.
"However, remember that proceeding with this would mean that you will not be able to use… any magic… for the next week. For all intents and purposes, you will be a squib."
Ares choked. "For a… week!?" It was beyond his imagination. "Couldn't I- I don't know- drink up a vial of the Draught of Living Death? At least I would sleep through the week."
"You could always delay it until the summer..." Perenelle offered mischievously. The boy was quite amusing, which offset the irritating and migraine-inducing stunts he usually pulled.
Ares shook his head. "Not an option. I suppose I could ask Pad to teach me magical theory, if nothing else, and if that doesn't work, then I will just have to bunk in the library." It wasn't the best way to spend the week, but beggars could not be choosers.
"Tell me Ares, why are you trying so hard?" Perenelle asked, expression and voice serious. "I'm sure it's not the fear of living at Hogwarts."
Ares replied, "Pad and I are going to activate the Slytherin seat at the Wizengamot on 22nd. I'm… not sure about the aftermath, and want to be prepared for the worst case scenario. Can't put anything past those idiots."
Perenelle raised her eyebrows. "And, pray tell me, why is it that you think,that going ahead with this insane idea is the best path? Especially since the Dark Lord is back? I am pretty sure there are easier ways to make yourself a high-priority target."
Ares winced at her biting remark. "I know, but this is the perfect time. The public are on my side at the moment and I only have a small window to take advantage of it. Any later, and it would only cause a negative reaction"
"I… see." replied Perenelle. If she felt anything about, her face and voice did not betray her.
"So when can we get on with the first step?" Ares asked.
Perenelle groaned. The boy could be a handful at times. "You have a one-track mind."
Ares snickered.
Most witches and wizards were of the belief that rituals were extremely complex and evil magic that Dark wizards used to gain all sorts of miraculous powers. They could not be blamed for it, since less than one in a thousand even knew the basic principles of rituals and the magic surrounding them. The loss of knowledge over the millennia and the fear of the unknown only served to drive practitioners into obscurity.
The true nature of rituals was either too simple or too complex to be put into words.
Rituals relied on harnessing ambient magical energies through highly complex or highly simple pieces of foci, whether they be objects, geometrical shapes, runes, ingredients, elements or sacrifices. The ritual would utilise the foci to manifest the purpose it was designed for and the intent of the user further shapes the end result.
They are considered highly dangerous because of the close tie between the result and the user's intent. Unlike a wand which may or may not follow the user's intent, rituals are more in tune with the user's thoughts than any other piece of magic ever created. Hence, a stray thought could completely derail the ritual, causing the end result to not match the user's requirement, drive the user insane, kill him, destroy everything around them or causing consequences that nobody would expect. The extremely high danger of rituals going wrong, combined with the hundreds of accidents over the past millennia, drove many governments to outlaw their use.
Today, Ares had decided to go ahead with the ritual he and Lady Flamel had been planning for quite some time. However, unlike his experiences, this was no mere ritual, if you could even actual a ritual as such.
The ritual-chamber located deep below the mansion had been prepared for months, the runic chains and matrices drawn to perfection, checked again and again to ensure nothing was out of place. The ritual used three runic chains surrounded by twin triangles and a wide area matrix of runes drawn across the ground and air. The first runic chain was drawn using Phoenician runes representing resurrection. The next chain, the twenty-four alphabets of the Elder Futhark, representing power. The third chain, Parseltongue, the language of the ancient Serpent Lords, representing Ouroboros, the symbol of immortality. The three chains were enclosed within twin triangles of Sanskrit alphabets, representing flesh. The matrix was drawn with a combination of all above runes, representing stability.
Ares stood in the centre of the three circles, naked as the day he was born, as he mentally prepared for the ritual that would take place. Most wizards with sufficient knowledge on rituals tended to use one too many of them, driving themselves insane with the feeling of intoxication generated by a ritual. On the other hand, Ares relied on the principle taught by his tutor: Always use the most minimum of resources, but ensure the result would be optimum. It was the reason for choosing Amalgamation in the first place.
February 17, 1993.
"Madame Flamel," Ares countered. "this is my life we are talking about. I would just be… happy if we can get that… thing out of me. Bollocks to optimum results."
"And therein speaks the Gryffindor." Perenelle muttered under her breath. She stared at her student for a full minute before speaking. "The optimum path would be to not only get rid of the soul-shard, but also gain an advantage from it."
"How?" Ares challenged.
And then Perenelle gave him the answer.
Ares Black frowned for a moment, as he digested the idea in his mind. It seemed disgusting at first, but, as she had trained him to do, he observed it from a coldly analytical perspective. Looking at Perenelle, he asked "But… how? From what I understand, it will take far too many rituals to even reach the halfway point on this path. And you have always mentioned that I must limit myself to either three or seven rituals, but no more. You told me it was too dangerous to exceed them, especially since rituals tend to keep a magical core in a constant state of flux."
Perenelle stared at Ares.
Ares recognised the look on her face. It was her 'I-know-something-you-don't' look. Cocking an eyebrow, he asked "Well?"
Perenelle smirked at her apprentice. "There is an unconventional approach… one which would be of great use to you. However, the practice is frowned upon due to the heavy risks involved even more than most rituals. However," Her smirk held both mischief and condescension. "the rewards are worth it."
Ares knew what that meant. They were going to do it, whether he liked it, or not.
Expression turning serious, Perenelle said "I will need your help for this, since the ritual involves the use of Parseltongue."
Ares's ears perked up in curiosity. His tutor rarely let him help with anything. Something about a 'hyperactive-overreaching-brain' that his tutor kept muttering about from time to time.
Inwardly, Perenelle was wary about the look on Ares's face. It was the very same expression he would make before starting one of his crazy schemes. Making a note to keep track of his future activities with more scrutiny, she said "The process is known as Amalgamation. It is a combination of rituals performed in sequence to form a greater ritualistic effect. The benefit is that it will be far more stable than a single ritual."
"And the catch?" Ares asked shrewdly.
Perenelle looked at him with an amused expression. "Rituals were not meant for the process used in amalgamation. To divine a single ritual is a task of immense will, intent and complexity. To combine multiple rituals raises the effort exponentially, since the chance of the rituals reacting unfavourably with each other is far greater."
While he did feel trepidation, Ares's face held a hopeful expression as he stared at his tutor. "But you will be… I mean, It's you. Perenelle Flamel. If you can't do it, I don't think anyone else can…"
Perenelle fell silent at the words. After a moment of awkward silence in which Ares wondered if he had said the wrong thing, she spoke quietly, her tone strange. "I am… me." She trailed off.
Ares raised an eyebrow at his tutor's uncharacteristic behaviour, but he held back his comments. This was one of the rare instances in which he could get a tiny glimpse of the person behind the mask. There were a few such moments over the years, but none of the pieces fit together. It drove him mad.
Snapping out of her reverie, Perenelle spoke in her usual tone, one of steel and mischief. "Right. You will first need to undergo through a cleansing ritual. It will clear any impurities from your core and system. It will also clear your system of any unstable or unwanted pieces or links that you may have collected over the years."
Ares sighed at the pompous tone of his tutor but refused comment.
"Re'em blood for strength." Perenelle muttered, as she placed a tiny amount of the blood on one of the three sectors of the outer chain. "Salamander blood for rejuvenation." She poured three drops before moving to the final sector. "Asphodel root for rebirth."
The woman looked at her student and said, "These three substances will augment the effects of the Futhark, Phoenician and serpentine runic circles."
"What do I do next?" Ares asked.
Perenelle stared hard at him for a moment. "Remember. Once I start the ritual, the twin triangles will drain your magic. You must not resist. If you do, it will only prolong your suffering."
Ares raised an eyebrow, but nodded quickly.
At his nod, Perenelle moved beyond the range of the ritual and waved her softly glowing hands, the runes within the room glowing softly before returning to their usual state.
Ares felt the pressure in the room increase as the magic surrounding him grew in strength. After a few moments, he was dragged to the floor by an intangible force. He barely held himself using all four limbs.
The pressure continued to grow in intensity, causing immense pain to Ares as he barely held himself up. A moment later, he felt his magic being ripped out of him at a blinding rate as he felt the runic chains glow with an eldritch energy.
Ares knew what would come next.
Pain.
It was nothing he had ever felt before. He could swear that every single bone in his body was being shattered into dust, but reforming at the same time. His nerves were burning with such intensity that the Cruciatus felt like a tickling charm. Killing curse eyes glowed with unbridled power as his magic was ripped out of him, faster and faster, exacerbating his pain.
And then Ares Black screamed.
Perenelle looked at Ares with something that was almost, but not quite, apprehension. She knew that the pain would be unfathomable. However, she knew that if someone could do it, it would be her student. After all, he was destined for greatness. The plan had been rather simple. Three rituals, the first for the physical shell, the second for the mind, and the third for the soul. Three amalgamations, which would in turn, give her student all that he wanted. Three rituals, after which, she would be able to….
A smile formed on her face as the ritual neared completion.
Ares tightened his fists as the ethereal glow from the ritual radiated out an immense explosion of light and magic, as he felt his hold on his body slowly cease. The ball of light surrounding Ares expanded outward to cover all the chains and the very edge of the matrix before it rolled back into him, knocking him out.
Five hours later, Ares Black slowly regained his consciousness. Gingerly, he tried to push his aching body up, but his fatigued muscles gave away and he dropped unceremoniously. He tried again only to fall faster than his first try.
After what seemed to be a dozen tries, he finally managed to move into a seated position. His mind felt like it was filled cobwebs. Once he obtained a modicum of perception, he tried to stand, only to fall flat on the floor. It took him a few minutes before he finally managed to stand upright. His mind had recovered significantly by this point.
Slowly, he walked towards the north end of the room. Arriving in front of an ornate glass mirror, he took a moment to recover his breath. I'm going to hate this week.
He looked up to his reflection on the mirror's crystal clear surface. At first glance, there did not seem to be any great difference. A closer look revealed that his body had filled up quite a bit in the muscle department. His eyes seemed to glow with a slight increase in brightness. But, overall, he could not see any true difference.
"You are looking for the changes in the wrong place, Ares."
He spun back and found himself looking at his tutor, who held his robes in her hands. "Your robes," She offered, "you have been unconscious for over five hours."
Five hours?
Ares slowly walked towards her and gingerly took hold of his robes and dressed himself.
Perenelle stood at a distance, waiting for Ares to finish. When he was finally done, she walked up to him and waved her hand over him.
Ares felt like he was hit with a freshening charm.
"You know, Ares, it was incredibly naïve of you to submit to a ritual without knowing all its effects in the first place." Perenelle remarked condescendingly.
Ares grinned, rubbing the back of his head. "I thought that, 'trust your teacher, and never lose your way,' was one of the rules."
Perenelle smirked, patting his head. "The ritual increased your rejuvenation ability by a significant degree. Your injuries will now heal faster, and your endurance to injuries caused by Dark magic has been augmented."
"I could feel my bones shatter and reform." Ares mumbled. That was one experience he really did not want to repeat. On the other hand, he felt his tolerance for pain might have improved.
Perenelle waved her hand. "An effect of the ritual. To create a stronger form, it needed to destroy the previous shell. In a manner of speaking, you have been reborn in a newer and significantly better human form."
"But I don't feel all that different." Ares countered.
"You should not, and I hope you never have to find out." Perenelle replied warmly. "Besides, do you know why Lord Voldemort is regarded as one of the worst Dark Lords in magical history?"
Ares shook his head.
Perenelle smirked. "It is because his rejuvenation abilities are nothing short of miraculous. The man had been held captive inside a powerful locking ward containing free Fiendfyre. After several minutes, he singlehandedly tore down the entire ward, walking out, his body untouched by the flames."
"Un-touched?" Ares stuttered in shock. "He is immune to Fiendfyre?"
"Not literally. His rejuvenation powers are simply that powerful. There are accounts of the Dark Lord losing an arm or a leg during his battles with the hit-wizard and Auror forces. However, the appendages would just grow back."
Ares blanched. "How the hell can someone kill an entity like that?"
"You are asking the wrong question." Perenelle returned softly. "The question you should be asking is, how did he become like that."
"You mean," Ares realized, horrified at the prospect. "he gained that, through rituals? I cannot even… hypothesize the sacrifice involved."
"Hmmm," Perenelle drawled. "It is always advisable to know your enemy. For the record, do you consider him as an enemy?"
"If I have to." Ares mumbled.
Perenelle raised an eyebrow. "I am surprised. I would have thought that you would want to avenge the death of your parents."
Ares looked away. "I know. I know I should feel like that, but I… well, I don't. Not really."
Perenelle did not comment.
"I mean," Ares continued, his face a blank mask. "I know my parents sacrificed their lives for me. But at the same time, they sacrificed their lives so that I could live. Throwing myself into avenging their deaths, especially against a man who is, magically, my superior, seems like throwing away their sacrifice. Besides, it was a war, and my parents, no offence, were hardly anything more than young adults. They had no reason to fight on the war-front, especially when their so-called leader, Albus fucking Dumbledore, sat back and did nothing."
Perenelle stared in silence, gesturing for Ares to go on.
"My father took me away from Britain, and has spent his entire life making sure I am safe. Going after Voldemort also means demeaning his own efforts."
"So… you are not going to fight." Perenelle replied softly.
"I am going to stand as a neutral." Ares replied, staring back at her, almost daring her to look into his mind. "Besides, with me holding the Lordship of Slytherin and my quest to become the best damned wizard I can be, it is inevitable that our paths will cross. When push comes to shove, I will fight him. But…" he emphasized, "I am not going to go looking for him."
"Very Slytherin." Perenelle commented. "Your thoughts are admirable, far too mature for your age. Rather… refreshing, I must say."
Ares's expression stayed blank.
Perenelle continued speaking. "Besides, while your knowledge and skill are beyond most people, it is not enough to defeat someone like Voldemort. I would say that, in terms of sheer magical strength, you are his equal, but he holds a lot of knowledge and more importantly, experience. Fifty years of experience in fact."
Ares nodded. "I was thinking of levelling the playing field, by gaining political leverage."
Perenelle nodded. "A good possibility. Although I am quite sure that Albus Dumbledore is not going to take it lightly."
Ares grinned. "Yes, well he can try."
Perenelle raised an eyebrow. "Your enthusiasm is good, Ares. However, make sure that it doesn't lead you to your greatest defeat. The greatest titans of the world are defeated, not by armies, but by hubris."
Ares's grin fell at his tutor's admonishment. "I will… keep that in mind."
"See that you do." replied Perenelle. "What are you going to say to your father about your… health?"
He shrugged. "Severe magical exhaustion, probably. Pad never asks too many questions."
Perenelle smiled, a quiet, mischievous smile.
Meanwhile at Hogwarts…
"Did you read the paper?"
"I heard Harry Potter threatened the entire Wizengamot"
"My mother told me that he escaped Azkaban because of old laws he used."
"When I left home, my father was drinking a lot. He did not like the trial. At all. Now's he's worried about Lord Black's retaliation."
"Did you know Harry Potter tried to murder Lucius Malfoy in the middle of all those ministry blokes?"
"Yeah! I heard that he nearly tore his arms off."
Pathetic traitors! was the thought flitting through Draco's mind as he walked through the ancient halls of the school. The words he was hearing nearly made him hex the fools who said them.
It had been nearly two days since the trial. Two days since Harry bloody Potter had humiliated his name in the middle of the Wizengamot. The traitorous son of a mudblood had cheated him and his father out of Draco's inheritance and then he was arrogant enough to display it in front of their allies.
When Draco had first seen the ring on Potter's finger, he had immediately realised that the fool had committed line theft. He had stolen Draco's inheritance. Immediately leaving the fall, he had run to the owlery with a hastily written letter to his father, telling about the theft and the attitude of the ponce. He had hoped his father would ensure that a stay in Azkaban would be in the traitor's future.
He had gloated to his underlings about his move when the aurors came to arrest the thief. He had boasted his achievements to the fools he called friends. Once the trial was over, he was going to talk to his father about forcing Greengrass into a betrothal contract. Then he would send a message about her marriage to Potter in Azkaban. It would have been glorious.
Instead, Potter had publicly, somehow, shown that he was the true Heir of the House of Black. He stole the family magicks and displayed them like trophies. His father had been publicly humiliated in front of the entire British government, their allies, the public and Dumbledore.
The day after the trial, the news had been published in the prophet. The entirety of Hogwarts had read the news and now, rumours were flying through the corridors faster than a firebolt. The rumours had ranged from Draco being thrown out of his own family to his father being assassinated outside the Ministry.
The rumours weren't even the worst part. After Ares had verbally beat him down in the Great Hall and the demonstration of parseltongue, Draco had lost much of the power he previously held in Slytherin house and the school. After the trial, people had begun to avoid him like the plague. People who usually worshipped his feet had begun brushing off his attempts at a meeting or even a few words. Pansy had publicly declared that Draco would not be her future husband and had not spoken to him since.
All of it, combined with the smug looks Greengrass and her friends threw his way made him want to fling curses at the lot, especially Harry Potter who was responsible for his humiliation. But his father had sent him a letter, expressly forbidding him from any form of contact with Potter and his associates with a thinly veiled threat of what would happen should he disobey the command.
Draco had shivered at the words. His father could be scary when he wanted to. Even his mother had written him a letter, stating the same and telling him, in no uncertain terms, that consequences would be dire for their entire family if he should act on impulse.
He was seething at the injustice. Not only had he lost all the respect he had gained over the past four years, he was not even allowed to take revenge on the criminals responsible for the miscarriage of justice.
As he passed a couple of Hufflepuffs who were stage whispering about him, a sudden thought struck Draco. He was forbidden from direct contact. It did not mean he could persuade others to do his job for him. After all, what use were underlings if he did not even use them. Glancing at Crabbe and Goyle walking at his heels, he shook his head. He needed more muscle.
And someone with obliviation skills.
He smiled at the plan forming in his mind, He was a Slytherin, after all. And Slytherins always had plans.
While not the most heavily decorated, the Hufflepuff common room had always been the largest of the four common rooms at Hogwarts. Even at full capacity, it could and would have a few tables or study desks left over. The room was lit by the late afternoon sunlight falling through the windows. This was supposed to be impossible at the floor and angle the windows they were located on. It was just one of those Hogwarts eccentricities taken at face value and people rarely, if ever, gave thought to the enchantment responsible for it.
It was a free period for several of the students and the Heirs had occupied one of the tables to convene their meeting.
"What do you think, Susan?" asked Hannah.
"I don't know what to think, Hannah." Susan leaned back in her chair.
Ernie cut in before Susan could expand her answer. "Right now, it doesn't matter what we think. What we do know is that he played the Wizengamot for fools and had Lucius Malfoy dancing to his tune."
"I'm still surprised he managed to pull it off." said Susan. "My aunt told me he was completely calm through the session. Said it was like he knew what was happening and was letting them dig their own graves."
"The paper says he cheated his way through the trials." Hannah commented in a quiet voice.
Ernie snorted. "Rita Skeeter would not know truth if it stood in front of her lit with a hundred Lumos charms. Hannah, Malfoy was wrong and Harry… Ares demanded his due."
Hannah chewed on her words before asking "It says he asked for some favours. Is that bad?"
Susan opened her mouth, closed it, considered her aunt's words and answered "Not really. My aunt told me Ares demanded satisfaction through the laws of the Ancient Houses. So, unless Malfoy screws up again, he will probably be fine."
Ernie scoffed. "You think Malfoy won't screw up? That's like Hagrid thinking XXXXX creatures are dangerous."
Hannah had pondered her question for quite some time, Unsure if it was polite to ask, she whispered her question. "Is Line Theft that bad?"
"Well," replied Ernie. "According to our laws, it's way beyond using the unforgivable. An unforgivable, even if it is the killing curse, just puts you in Azkaban. A Line theft is so much worse."
Susan decided to elaborate her answer. "Hannah, think of it as someone trying to steal your Family Magic."
"But you can't steal Family Magic!" Hannah said, horrified at the aspect.
Susan patiently clarified her answer. "Yes, you can't. I said it was like trying to steal it. Since you are basically trying to rob the family of its magical heritage, it is taken extremely seriously. That's why it is considered suicidal to accuse someone of Line theft without proof."
Justin finally gave his input on the situation. "What Susan's trying to say is that Malfoy accused Ares without proof. And since he tried to steal a Noble and Most Ancient House from its rightful heir, Ares could have taken all the properties and gold, stripped them off their titles and declared them blood traitors."
"Is that what will happen?" asked Hannah quietly.
"Nope." Ernie replied. "The favours were taken under the ancient laws. Malfoy might lose a lot but he won't completely be a pauper at the end."
In his mind, Justin went over the four years of education in magical laws and traditions his friends had taught him. Spotting a technicality, he asked "That doesn't mean Ares, or Lord Black, couldn't do it."
"I doubt it."
Hannah asked "Why?"
Susan replied "Because if they wanted to, they would have done it already. It would have been as public as possible. And you can't get better than the middle of the Wizengamot.
"So what about the alliances?" asked Justin.
Susan and Ernie shared a glance being she answered "We don't really know. Either Ares or his Regent of the Potter House would have to contact our current Heads of House. If the talks go well, the Heirs in Hogwarts would be informed to make contact with Ares and renew the Alliance."
Justin and Hannah got the unspoken message. Susan and Ernie had already received instructions from their families. Hannah opened her mouth to ask before Justin stopped her with a look. This was out of bounds for anyone not of the Alliance.
The atmosphere had become tense since not one of them knew how to continue the conversation.
To break it up, Ernie said "Any chance Malfoy might go bankrupt? It'll probably Draco from strutting around like a peacock."
The other three snorted in response, causing the awkward atmosphere to disperse.
Susan said "That'll be the day."
A smile on his face, Justin asked "You sure he wouldn't strut even if he doesn't have the money?"
"Well, without the money, he'd start strutting like a ferret."
Susan, Ernie and Justin stared at Hannah. Her humour was a bone she rarely exercised. A second later, the four of them broke into laughter.
"Anybody ever wonder how people could be stupid?"
"Every day, Daphne. Everyday."
Blaise just smirked at the two girls. "This just occurred to you now, Daphne?"
Daphne just shook her head, a smile on her face. "No. But I am continuously surprised by how stupid people are. Every time I think I have a grasp on wizarding Britain's idiocy, they set the bar even lower."
Theo and Tracey laughed at the words while Blaise's smirk widened.
The four of them were sitting on conjured furniture or occupied the bed in Theo's room under advanced privacy wards. Contrary to popular belief, Slytherins did not have rooms filled with luxury. The rooms had two beds, two study desks with chairs and a small bathroom. Any extra pieces had to be either conjured or brought in by the students.
Theo shared his room with a Fawley, a boy he barely spoke to. Both boys had taken to warding their belongings against intruders, since nobody in Slytherin trusted anyone to not ransack their rooms.
Smiling at her best friend, Tracey asked "Did you hear the rumours about Ares turning into a snake and attacking Malfoy and his friends?"
Theo smiled and Daphne rolled her eyes. "Sure. I think the fools forgot his animagus form was a lion."
"Well, he is the Boy-Who-Lived. Vanquisher of the Dark Lord and all that." Blaise was smirking in amusement. Britain never failed to amuse him and his family. His mother's regular comments about the gullibility of the common folk had not endeared the country to him.
"Speaking of Ares," Tracey cut in before Blaise could start a fight with Daphne. They were friends but, if she were honest, the two of them loved to rile each other up far too much. "What will happen to the Potter and Black Alliances?"
Tilting her head, Daphne straightened herself on the chair and looked at Tracey. "There are quite a few problems on that front. Ares and Sirius are unknown entities to the current political atmosphere. No telling how most of them, besides my father and a few others, would react."
Seated on the bed, Tracey turned to Theo. "What about your father, Theo? You did tell us he was looking for options."
Daphne looked nonplussed at the news while Blaise narrowed his eyes at the news.
Theo shrugged. "He will do what's best for our House. That's what he's always done."
Blaise's eyes narrowed further.
Tracey grumbled at the non-answer that was her boyfriend's usual response. Trying to kick his shin and missing due to the leg moving out of range, she whined "Theo! I would like an actual answer. Something that is more definite than a 'maybe'."
Theo looked at his girlfriend like a particularly interesting specimen of low intelligence, causing her gaze to narrow dangerously. Smirking at the look on her face, he said "Like I said, my father wo-"
"Argh!" Tracey cut off his words. Turning to her best friend, she asked "Daphne, please explain it to me. I don't think I can look at my prat of a boyfriend without killing him."
Daphne smiled at the words, sharing an amused look with Blaise. Fully turning to face her friend, expression serious, she explained "Edward Nott is a progressive traditionalist. He has always been a member of the Traditionalists, or the Dark Faction as people tend to call it. While not a fan of muggles or muggleborns, he is not against them either." Face darkening, she said "Other than being a Death Eater," Theo flinched, but stayed quiet. "which was a foolish choice, he is surprisingly reasonable. With the right incentive, he could probably provide tentative support."
Keeping one eye on the boy beside him, Blaise asked "You think he'll actually be amenable to such move?"
Daphne shrugged. "Perhaps."
Theo shrugged off the concern in Tracey's eyes and said "Besides my father, there are quite a few unmarked without the means to leave."
"Means?" asked Tracey. She knew the topic of Death Eaters was a sore spot for her boyfriend.
Theo had once confided in her about a very particular memory from his second year. During his Christmas at Nott Manor, his father had told him about his experience as a member of Voldemort's cronies. Theo told her that he could never forget the look on his father's face. It combined grief, anger, bitter contempt, pain and something that he could not identify to this day. The death of his friends, many of them purebloods and half-bloods, in the initial salvos of the war had removed any blind spots he had about the true nature of Voldemort. But he had already been marked like cattle, and he could never turn back from the path he had set himself on. Theo could still remember the silent tears on Edward Nott's face as he spoke of his sorrow.
It was the day when Theo had decided that when all was said and done, and the lines were drawn, he knew, without a shadow of a doubt, where his loyalties would lie. He had told her that his father must have known what the talk would do, that he must have known Theo would pick his side. He could not conclusively say, but since that day, there was what he would a look of pride on his father's face.
"They don't' have anywhere else to go." said Blaise.
At Tracey's confused look, Daphne clarified his answer. "While the Wizengamot is divided the general population into three factions, it's a lot more complicated than that. Remember the talk I gave you about the Alliances?" A nod from her friend and she continued "The lines in the Wizengamot are divided along both Alliances and beliefs. Right now, the Dark Faction, or the Traditionalists, hold the most power in the Ministry. The Light faction, or Dumbledore's faction, hold the greater political power owing to the Most Ancient House of Longbottom and allied vassals amongst its ranks. The Neutral faction, led by my father, is the deciding factor, for now."
Blaise and Theo caught her phrase, but Tracey appeared to mull it over. Looking at her friend, she said "That still doesn't explain anything to me."
"Be patient." Daphne replied. "What I just told you is the overview. Now, the factions themselves are made up of many alliances, some with members across several factions. This means that a 'Light' member-" she rolled her eyes at the term. "-could have an ally in the Dark or Neutral faction. Right now, the biggest issue for many of the members who want to change sides is the lack of a choice. There are currently two leaders in Britain: Dumbledore and Voldemort. Two men of incredible power, skill and charm; Men with a legion of loyal followers and assets. People capable of changing the fate of the country with but a word."
"But, they are not optimal choices. Dumbledore is a pacifist with an obsession with maintaining the status quo. His obsession with declaring any revolutionary or powerful magics as dark has alienated most pureblood supporters and his near obsession with the Dark Lord has caused many death eaters to be thrown into jail, without even a courtesy trial. Reason why people don't notice his actions for what they truly are is because the man is a master of misdirection and subtle manipulation."
"Voldemort is a revolutionary with grand and delusional ideas of ruling the world. He may have started his campaign with the support of purebloods, but he is a genocidal mass-murderer with serious psychological issues and an obsession with death. Even his name is a French word that means 'flight from death'. An individual who takes his principles to the extreme, not afraid of killing anyone who disagrees with him, but still possessing the power and charisma to bring others under his command, no matter the rumours that surround him."
"Both are men who take their principles to the extreme and are unforgiving of anyone who does not toe their line. Considering his return and Dumbledore leading his forces again, the reluctant participants, the people who want to keep their families safe, do not have anyone to rally behind. There is no one in the current atmosphere capable, or willing, to challenge these two madmen. Even my father knows nobody can stay neutral in this atmosphere. Sooner or later, everyone will be a part of this stupid war."
Tracey asked, rather shrewdly, "Does that Ares will be the rallying point for them?"
Daphne scoffed while Blaise suppressed his snort. "No. He'd much rather spend his days experimenting than even bother showing up in a political arena."
Theo pre-empted his girlfriend question. "Sirius might not be a rallying point either. We don't know his intentions to give an assessment either. He may have fought Voldemort before, but remember he left Britain for fourteen years and only came back because of a stupid law that the white whiskered wanker passed."
Tracey wanted to tear her hair out. Politics were not her cup of tea, adding all these complicated factors and not a single straight answer and the lack of an actual good person was driving her nuts. "At least, the Hogwarts rumour mill is a good laugh. Theo, if I ever express an interest to become a politician, do remember to get me checked for spells and potions." And fell back on the bed.
Daphne's lips twitched in amusement, despite the atmosphere. Trust her friend to always lighten the situation with humour. Turning to Blaise, she asked "Any sniffers?"
"Just Granger and her usual questions." Blaise replied. "Although her questions are a bit more precocious this time around. Nothing I couldn't handle."
Daphne nodded. "What about the attack?"
Blaise and Theo shared a brief look that Daphne did not miss. Neither did Tracey.
"What attack, Daphne?"
Daphne cocked her eyebrow. "The one which you, Blaise, stopped before the plan even got off the ground. Don't look so surprised. I do have my sources."
Tracey seemed ready to burst her bubble when Theo sighed and Blaise scowled. "Who's your source?"
Daphne smirked. "You guys."
At their confused look, she explained her answer. "Ever since I told you about Ares and his arrival here, the two of you were coiled like a snake. You did not relax over the next few days either. Ares's display in the common room only seemed to increase that tension. It wasn't until afternoon on the day of Ares's trial when the two of you returned to the common room. You guys were far more relaxed than I'd seen you since we arrived at school."
"Thought about it. School politics would not bother Blaise and Theo doesn't care about the current crop of idiots masquerading as strategists. You don't care about the gossip running rampant and you guys did not receive any pressing news from your families. It narrowed my options down to a few things. Then, I remembered the small drop of blood on your inner sleeve, Blaise. Now, who was the moron?"
Theo laughed, a full throated laugh proclaiming his amusement to the entire room. Tracey thought they were quite lucky to have muffling charms or the entire common room would have heard him.
Blaise scowled at the answer. Stupid! He knew better than to leave clues. No. He thought he knew better. He would make sure such a mistake would not be repeated. Still scowling, which Daphne knew was directed towards himself, he said "It was a she. Clarissa Shaw."
Daphne's smile lacked any mirth. "Well, I have to deliver a personal message to her. Soon."
Tracey suppressed a shiver at the phrase. I must have been insane when I became friends with these… people.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: A new addition to our roster.
ARCTURUS ORION BLACK – RUSSELL CROWE
All work and no play makes Ares a dull boy. Don't worry about action. Coming soon.
Once again, thanks to all those who have fav, followed, read and reviewed. We thank you for the encouragement and we shall continue to write and bring his story to an explosive finish.
Now, both my fellow author, AP, and I have a special answer to one specific reviewer.
xNaruHina: One, Perenelle is THE pre-eminent ward master in the world and is offering to teach you for a future favour, with a magical oath that prevents from harming you in any way, shape or form. i.e., magically, physically, emotionally or psychologically. Read the line again. It's in the chapter.
The Slytherin line is known for Mind Magics. It does not mean that every person has the same affinity. That would be like the child of the Amazon CEO and his/her children and their children being experts at commerce, no matter what. Think!
And to your last comment, in case you missed that paragraph, she found everything she could and gave him the complete findings and a way to get rid of it that does not involve killing him. How does that make her Dumbledore?
Argh! Find yourself a pair of new eyes because what you have are defective.
Rant over.
Our Daily Show with Rebecca.
Rebecca: I am here in the British Ministry of Magic with Lord You-Know-Who, the leader of the British and French magical countries. My Lord, people all over the world are wondering how you captured two countries without any casualties and even beat your own prophecy.
Voldemort: Psshh. It was easy once I figured out there were ways to win a war without violence.
Rebecca: That is astounding, My Lord. Most people label you as a mass-murderer.
Voldemort: I was not a mass-murderer. I was simply killing a few sheep. Besides, I have found a new and much better path.
Rebecca: If I may be so bold, could you inform me of this method, My Lord?
Voldemort: Certainly. I wish for my fellow dark lords and ladies to rely on this as well. *Leans Forward* It's…
Rebecca: My Lord *Leans forward* It is...?
Voldemort: *Stage whisper* LOVE POTIONS!
Rebecca: Lo-Lov-Love potions?
Voldemort: *Grins maniacally* Yes. I simply instructed my death eaters to make a long-term love potion and key it to themselves. Then I instructed them to lace all the sources of food the British and French ministries used.
Rebecca: …. It actually worked!?
Voldemort: Of course. People who consumed it immediately began working for my side. Within a month, I had both the countries under my grip. The chosen one and his friends, including Dumbledore and the rest of Hogwarts students, now regularly fight over bedroom rights to Ginny Weasley.
Rebecca: … Your followers?
Voldemort: *Grin widens* Once I told them to add a lust potion into the mix… Well…, let's just say I never have to be worried about being overthrown. Ever.
Rebecca: *Looking around in fear* May I know how this idea came about?
Voldemort: My lover inspired it. They relied on it quite extensively and taught me the most effective use of it.
Rebecca: *Gulping nervously* Who is this wonderful partner?
*A red-haired female falls into Voldemort's lap*
Red-haired woman: Volly, you were late for our date.
Voldemort: I'm sorry. Let me make it up to you, Molly-wobbles!
*Rebecce faints*
Voldemort: Oh dear! Very well! Bella, you have a new harem partner here. Use he- I mean, treat her well.
Bellatrix: *Mad and lustful giggling*