Ares quickly moved back by a single step, feeling air rush across his chest before a small thud was heard to his lower right. Passing a quick glance over the slashed cloth of his Wizengamot robes across the chest and the dagger embedded in the floor to his left, he moved into a battle stance, body standing on its side to present a smaller target and hands moving into a defensive posture as killing curse eyes focused the outstretched hand and the brown haired moron attached to said hand.
For the past hour, the Wizengamot had played host to a myriad of events. Some of them had merely shook a few bricks loose. Some had people scrambling to understand what was going on, and some were simply so astounding that the minds of the members, minds honed over playing the political game for decades against worthy opponents, had been brought to a screeching halt.
And yet, many did not fail to adapt to the changing field. Many rules that had to be followed to date were immediately discarded as the players began weaving new plots; plots to reinforce their positions, plots to mould the playing field to their advantage and plots to survive what appeared to be a new storm on the horizon.
However, none of them, not one single member of the most prestigious wing of the British Ministry of Magic, in the midst of all their scheming failed to notice the dagger which nearly pierced the boy standing on the platform and was now embedded hilt-deep in the cracked floor of the Wizengamot. Not even the most ruthless and blood-thirsty of them had expected an assassination attempt on the Heir of a Most Ancient House in the middle of the Wizengamot.
Every single pair of eyes in the chamber turned towards the seats of the tier of Noble Houses, focusing on the location from which the dagger was thrown. Several Lords and Ladies blinked in surprise at the identity of the individual, a non-descript brown-haired individual who stood behind a seated Lord of a Noble House, his hand outstretched and eyes widened in shock.
The brown-haired man was wrestling with several emotions, fear and anger being primary. Fear at his life which was now coming to an end without achieving his objective and anger at the brat who had the nerve to steal his master's birth right. He cursed vividly at the situation, blaming the brat for side-stepping the dagger trajectory. Only one coherent thought was floating through his mind. I should have carried an extra.
"Marcus Bulstrode?" Edward Nott uttered the name with complete shock. He could not hold his tongue, not when the man in question had followed through with a most foolish course of action. Edward knew ever since the Dark Lord had returned, plans were being made to quietly remove a few members of the opposing Houses and people who were highly vocal in their opposition against him. Once the Dark Lord was appraised of the events of this session, Edward had no doubts that Ares James Black would be the target of highest priority for all Death Eaters… if the attempt that would be made today ended in failure; and Edward hoped to the high heavens that it would. But this took the cake. A vassal of the Noble House of Rowle had attempted to end two Noble and Most Ancient Lines. Rowle was going to be lucky to leave the chamber alive…
Realising the members were focused on the would-be assassin, and knowing his father would now be prepared against further attempts, Ares turned to properly the examine the blade that had nearly ended his life. The strangely decorated dagger was buried hilt-deep into the stone floor of the chamber, a feat of considerable difficulty considering that the stones paving the chamber were said to have been enchanted by Emrys himself.
Scrutinizing the hilt, Ares frowned in confusion. The hilt was far too straight and narrow for a dagger, and the design did not match any specific culture he had studied. At the very least, the design appeared to be a fusion of two or more cultural designs. The hilt appeared quite plain, despite being solid gold and an engraving of Antipodean Opal-eye wrapped around it. Frown deepening, he wondered why his mind niggled in familiarity. Aunt Cassie did share quite a few tales of cu-
Wait.
Golden hilt. Antipodean Opal-eye? Could that be…? Shit. That's the-
Turning around slowly, killing curse eyes blazed with fire as they glared at the soon-to-be-dead idiot who still stood in shock. Deciding that daft cochons of the British Ministry needed a clear, concise warning, he shed his mask. Gone was the young man who had smiled mischievously at the pranks on the politicians. In his place, now stood a mage who knew his magic was strong and was not afraid to wield it. Glaring at the Bulstrode man, Ares released the shackles on his power. His immediate surroundings shimmered as a green mist swirled around him in waves of potent magic.
A moment later, raw killing intent flooded the chamber, all members unconsciously flinching back on their seats. Shivering at the cold, cold magic surrounding them, they looked at the bo- man whose magic was now permeating the entire chamber. Many unconsciously shivered at the fire in his eyes, trying to squeeze as far back on their seats as was possible, hoping to avoid the wrath of the powerful mage standing below them.
"You… tried to kill… me?" Ares spoke slowly, each word uttered without emotion as a sibilant hissing sharpened the edges of his voice. A part of his mind, a distant part, marvelled at the members of the Wizengamot including the Chief Warlock shivering in fear at his words and feeling quite happy to see several Death Eaters sit still in terror.
"You tried to kill my son?" Sirius spoke calmly, cold fires of rage threatening to burst at the seams of his mind. Fortunately, his instincts which protected him all his life kicked in, barely stopping him from casting the organ pulverising curse Cassiopeia was so fond of. It was only the sight of his completely unharmed son that stayed his son, his Lord Black persona rising to the fore. Sneering at the dead man walking, rage-filled eyes shifted slightly down, focusing on the perpetrator truly responsible for the act.
"Lord Rowle," Sirius sneered, "Your vassal attempted to end the life of my Heir, the Heir of the Most Ancient House of Black and the Head of House Slytherin who is also the Heir of the Noble and Ancient Houses of Potter, Ross and McGonagall. He has attempted to end the line of the House of a Founder, a House that was considered extinct for over eight hundred years, and the House responsible for saving us from Lord Voldemort at the end of the last Wizarding War. I demand immediate satisfaction, or the Houses of Black, Potter and Slytherin shall declare a blood feud upon you and our own."
Thorfin Rowle stood up shakily from his seat. Marcus Bulstrode, the younger brother of Anthony Bulstrode, the Head of Family Bulstrode, had always been a rather impatient man. Rowle had always known that the man's tendency to react without thought in situations would someday come to bite the man. But he certainly did not expect the man's shortcomings to damage the Noble House of Rowle. The portly man glanced at Marcus for a moment, turned to stare Lord Black in the eye and considered his options. Knowing full well what Sirius could demand of him, he needed to ensure the House of Rowle retained what power and dignity it could. Gulping, he spoke haltingly, "I- What I mean is-"
"I demanded satisfaction, Rowle and I shall have it immediately."Sirius repeated, staring at his son from the corner of his eye. The murderous intent emanating from Ares gave him comfort and yet made him wish to step back in horror. Two opposing feelings, and he could not bring himself to choose one over the other. He had end to this before any more chaos occurred in this farce of a circus.
Ares….
Steeling himself, Sirius glanced at Rowle to find the man sweating in fear. Nose wrinkling in distaste, he glanced at the Chief Warlock.
Tiberius Nott had been a part of the Wizengamot for over a hundred years. He had presided over trials, watched members betray each other, order assassinations on their detractors and even perform open murder by manipulating the rules governing the Houses to their own end. But, never in his life had he seen anyone foolish enough to attempt a murder within the chamber. It was horrifying, and the magic pouring from the young man standing below him was not helping the situation. Finally, regaining a measure of calm, he opened his lips to address the situation when Ares Black cut him off.
"I challenge you to an honour duel, Bulstrode."
Marcus Bulstrode flinched. "I am not going to fight against a boy." He sneered, trying to intimidate the teenager. Heir of a Most Ancient House or not, he was a kid and the challenge posed minimal. He had pride and was not about to lower himself to kill a kid in a duel meant for men.
"If you do not accept, I shall end your life this instant." Ares replied, voice devoid of emotion. "I will not ignore the insult on my House. Either fight me in an honour duel, or forfeit your House and your will to the Most Ancient House of Slytherin."
"Mister Black, I hardly think that such a measure i-" Dumbledore spoke, body running on automatic at the change of events.
"These are matters pertaining to the Most Ancient House of Slytherin, Headmaster Dumbledore. It does not fall under the purview of Hogwarts. Keep your crooked nose out of our business." Sirius shut him up instantly, his eyes locked on the formidable stance his son was displaying. There was a once a time when he felt that saving people was the most important thing a wizard could do, a lesson taught to him by the man who had treated him like a son. Charlus Potter, the father of James, was a true hero, a man who stood for his principles. He had taken Sirius in after his mother, Walburga Black, had banished him from the House of Black in his sixth year. The man had taught him many things, lessons which Sirius still held dear to his heart, others he knew did not belong in an imperfect world. It felt like a lifetime ago that Sirius was an auror, a profession he had chosen due to the value of life instilled in him by Charlus.
All of that changed when Sirius visited his grandfather, Arcturus Orion Black, in the latter half of the year 1979, those few weeks spent in the company of the now deceased Lord Black had changed him. His grandfather had removed the blinders Sirius placed on himself and shattered his illusions with a few words, and a wand when required.
October, 1979…
"Who sent the letter, Padfoot?"
Sirius Black turned to look at his face of his best friend. James Potter had been his brother in all but blood. The first person in all of Hogwarts to accept him despite his name and who had stayed by his side through thick and thin and taken him into his family when Sirius's own abandoned him. Lips twitching in an imperceptible smile at the thoughts, the Senior Auror held the letter, face up, towards James whose eyes widened at the name of the sender.
"Uncle Arcturus?" James said, surprise colouring his words. Surprise quickly turning to confusions, he asked "Why is he contacting you after all these years? I mean, he let your mother banish you from the House…"
"Go ahead," Sirius sighed. "Read it. I don't mind."
James took the letter, holding it like it was the Monstrous Book of Monsters. Once he was sure there was no curse affecting him, he opened the letter. It was rather short, and written in neat calligraphy, on vellum, expensive material and used for formal communication by Lords and Ladies. But Sirius was banished from the family by the mother, and the event was publicized heavily by the media. There was no way anyone would forget about it, certainly not Lord Black himself. But for him to write to Sirius as an equal, obeying all the protocols of communication between Lords was quite vexing. Holding the vellum with both hands, he read the words, eyebrows shooting into his hair line at the second line.
To Sirius Orion,
Heir of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black.
There are certain pressing matters at hand I should like to discuss with you in private. These are matters relating to the line of Black and are not for the ears of outsiders. To ensure both security and privacy while we engage in discussions, I formally welcome to the Ancestral Manor of the Blacks. If you are still the child I remember you to be, place three drops of your blood on this letter. It shall deliver you to your destination.
If you do not wish to further associate with the House of Black, feel free to burn the letter. No matter your choice, my blessings be with you.
Arcturus Orion,
Lord of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black.
"What are you going to do, Padfoot?" James asked finally. The contents of the letter were quite… surprising, and judging by the look on Padfoot, he was confused too.
Sirius felt conflicted, parts of him warring against each other. Sighing, he said, "I don't… I don't know, James. All modesty aside, you know me better than anyone. You know I don't want to have anything to do with my family." He felt the familiar stab of grief as he spoke the words.
"Then destroy the letter." James suggested. "Uncle Arcturus specifically stated you didn't have to accept if you didn't want the offer."
Sirius turned away, nostalgic eyes looking up at the sky, looking at the heavens for an answer in vain. The sky was always beautiful at this spot. James and he had always loved their little private spot between the village of Hogsmeade and Hogwarts, mainly for the view at night. He always felt more at peace underneath the stars. "I wish I could, James. I really wish I could simply ignore it. But I can't, James." He paused, not sure how his brother would take it. Hell, he wasn't sure how to react to the conflicts that arose in him quite frequently.
"Why not, Padfoot? What's stopping you from simply moving on?" James asked, squeezing his shoulder in affection. He knew Sirius still missed his family… well, the saner part of it anyway. Andromeda still talked to him, but James understood Sirius still valued his family, no matter the disparaging remarks of his insane mother and arrogant father and cousins. But none of them held the love and respect of Sirius like Arcturus Orion Black.
"The Blacks have always been named after constellations. While I might not like my family now, a long, long time ago… it feels like decades… I was proud to be a Black." Sirius laughed. "Grandfather told me he named me Sirius Orion, the brightest star in the sky and the constellation of the hunter. He told me that I was a born fighter and loyal to a fault, just like my namesakes. He said I'd make a proud member of the House of Black one day." He chuckled at the memory of his grandfather's smirk. "He was especially amused when my animagus form was a grim."
James nodded, choosing not to comment at all.
"Grandfather once told me that he had chosen me as his Heir, despite the fact that it should have been my father to take up the mantle. Before I started Hogwarts, he recused himself from politics and moved to the manor in Bulgaria, leaving the family in the hands of my father, and my mother became more fanatical, more obsessed with the idiocy running rampant all around. Her… stupid beliefs in blood and two-faced monsters… I couldn't take it. Sometimes, I wonder if that's why the hat chose Gryffindor for me. Not because I was some brave kid, but because I hated what my family became and I wanted nothing to do with them." Sirius traced a constellation with his right index finger. "Grandfather always told me I was born to be in Slytherin."
"What do you want to do, Padfoot?" James pressed. Sometimes, his best friend needed a good push to get him moving. "Know that, no matter what you choose, I will always stand with you."
Sirius turned back at him, a small sad smile on his face. "You would?"
"Of course," James laughed it away. He recognised the look on his friend. "Unless, of course, you decide to come back with a veela chick on both arms. Then, I reserve all rights to prank you for the next month."
Sirius felt a relaxing smile grace his features. Trust his friend to make him smile. He always wondered how he got so lucky.
James handed the letter back to him with a smile. "Go ahead, go and talk to him. Besides, you do have to cash in your leave. Take it."
"I have a feeling that this might be worth it, Prongs." Sirius replied softy. Conjuring a knife, he made a small incision on his right index finger, squeezing three drops of blood onto the vellum. The vellum glowed blue for a second before he felt the familiar tug at his navel signifying portkey activation.
The sound of a cracking whip disturbed the serene atmosphere of the grounds of the Ancestral Manor as Sirius appeared a few feet above the grass. His instincts kicking in, Sirius rolled with the fall, dissipating the extra momentum. Passing a quick glance at his surroundings to ensure he was in the right place, he stood up and waved his wand, removed the dirt and grass stains on his robes. He stared at the wooden doors of the manor, hesitated for a second before taking a firm breath and began walking forward.
Opening the door, he entered the foyer, looked around and closed the doors behind him. He began walking down the hallway, feet following the familiar path to the parlour. As soon as he walked in, a familiar voice passed through his ears.
"You still look like the same kid who got lost in the Black vaults."
Sirius stood still, staring at the face he would never forget in his life. Despite the long years, the man looked like he had barely aged a day. Long black hair framing his face and tied back in a ponytail, steel grey eyes oozing power and a posture of supreme confidence, the manner of a man who knew he was powerful and the world was his to control. For a fleeting moment, he remembered why Lord Arcturus Black was his icon, the man he aspired to be.
"Still the child lost in the library, I see." The deep, cultured voice of Arcturus brought Sirius out his reverie. Leaning back on the armchair he was seated on, he said, "I must say, I am quite happy you chose to accept my invitation and not live in your… illusions."
"What do you mean?" Sirius asked, body automatically shifting into a defensive stance. His mind returning to the present, he asked, sneering at the words, "Have you invited me to join the Dark Lord?"
Arcturus waved his hand negligently, the denial plain for anyone to see. "You know I hold blood in high regard. Why would I support a mudblood, especially to let the bastard gain power over the House of Black?"
"What do you mean?" Sirius asked, caught off-guard by his comment. What was his grandfather talking about? There were no muggleborns fighting on the side of the Death Eaters.
Arcturus laughed heartily at his grandson's ignorance. "Is that true? Has the great Albus Dumbledore been holding his secrets to himself? Has he failed to inform the members of his little club? What was it that you called yourselves? The Order something…"
"Order of the Phoenix." Sirius replied defiantly.
"Yes, yes." Arcturus waved him off. "Led by your noses, all of you and at the heel of a man who considers himself the Merlin of our world." Ignoring his grandson's bristling, he asks, "Tell me Sirius, why exactly…do you fight?"
"What do you mean?" Sirius asked, unsure of his grandfather's intentions. Whatever expectations he may have had were now well and truly blown out of the water, and the questions keeping him decidedly off-balance.
Arcturus shook his head in a combination of anger and annoyance. Looking Sirius in the eye, he spoke with a measure of steel. "Despite his forceful personality and political acumen, Charlus Potter is a healer at heart, a man who wishes to save people. He does not possess the disposition necessary to take a life. Despite his brash exterior and the attitude of a dragon, my nephew, James, is a believer in the ideals of his father. My sister, his mother, is far too much of a pacifist to be of any help."
Sirius sighed. He hated it when his grandfather gave explanations without the context necessary to understand the underlying meaning of his words. "Explain."
Arcturus smirked in amusement. "This… Dark Lord of yours is no Heir of Slytherin. He is the result of an unfortunate union between the muggle and a squib descendant of the despicable Gaunt line."
Sirius widened his eyes in shock, before his auror instincts took hold. Staring at the Lord seated in the plush armchair, he asked shrewdly, "If what you say is true, why you allowed Regulus, a son of the House of Black, the same House you believe is better than the best, to follow in the footsteps of the mudblood you seem to hate?"
Arcturus shrugged. "Because he had his reasons. I am pretty sure that if you ask him, he would say that he joined the mudblood because you're supporting James Potter. He has always seen young James as the reason why you chose Gryffindor. Regulus believes that you always favoured my nephew over your own brother and resents James for taking his brother away, and you for abandoning him when you left home to settle with the Potters."
"But that's… that's…." Sirius stuttered, not quite able to speak his mind. The words had struck deep in him.
Arcturus sneered. "I am sure even Bellatrix has reasons of her own, no how childish they may be. She has always been obsessed with the darker aspects of magical combat. I am quite sure The Dark lord-" He sneered, "- recognised her potential and enticed her with the knowledge she sought, and she decided to accept his offer, especially when your piss-poor excuse of an uncle married her off to that useless son of the Lestrange House." His eyes darkened at the words leaving his lips. "Andromeda chose to follow her own path and Narcissa… well, let's call her collateral damage and leave it to that."
Sirius stepped back slightly, unwilling to accept the truth at him. His grandfather's gift of finding a person's weakness and twisting the knife had always served him well. Too well. He thought bitterly. Mind in turmoil at the heart wrenching truth he knew but could not accept, he stared at his grandfather with hateful eyes.
"So tell me Sirius, What motivates you? Why do you follow the path you are on?" Arcturus paused. "I do not believe you have followed the path of James Potter without a good reason. Of them all, you were the only one to always follow your heart." He shook his head. "The one quality that stopped you from being a true Slytherin."
"I have a reason." Sirius ground out. "I do what I do because it is the right thing and it must be done."
Arcturus raised an eyebrow. "Indeed? Are you sure it is not because James Potter and your adoptive family Are fighting against Voldemort?" He smirked at the young man's expression, knowing very, very well that he struck a raw nerve. "I know Charlus has always been a man of peace. Albus Dumbledore, despite my dislike for the man and his policies, is the only one both powerful and willing to take an active stance against the mudblood."
He paused for a moment, knowing Sirius would not ignore the truth when it stood before him. "Tell me, grandson, would you still fight in the war if, say, the Potters decided to abandon the war and leave England? What if they decide to change sides? What if they ended up dead?"
"Shut up."
Arcturus ignored him. "This is a war, Boy. In war, people die. Just like the McKinnon's did last month. I do recall hearing rumours that you were quite smitten with the Heiress."
"Shut. UP." Sirius gritted his teeth. How dare he…?
Arcturus's lips curled into an expression that could not be described. "If what I have said comes to pass, would you still fight alongside Dumbledore and the Order? Have your Gryffindor sensibilities addled your brain so badly that you ignore the whispers surrounding you? Whispers that ignore all you have done, and only focus on your lineage, unable to look beyond?"
"What's... your point?" Sirius wanted to tear the place apart. He clenched his fists, lest his hands tighten around his grandfather's neck.
Arcturus scowled. "That my heir is living in an illusion of his own making. Tell me, Sirius Orion, why do you fight?"
Sirius glared at him, anger burning through his blood. "Because I do not believe in the ignorant beliefs of those who would kill in the name of blood. Bacause this damned war has taken away those I love from me. Because…" He felt his knees weaken at the words tumbling from his lips. Months of pain, grief and anger flooding out of him, his eyes staring at the floor. "Because my brothers James and Remus, my sister Lily and the rest of my friends might not survive this flood." Grey eyes looked up, a look of steel in them. "I am not ignorant about the whispers surrounding me, the looks accusing me of being a traitor, despite the fact that I fought alongside them, saved them, shed blood, sweat and tears besides my fellow aurors. Like my uncle Charlus always says, It is the right thing to do."
Arcturus laughed. "Idealist. Go figure."
Sirius gnashed his teeth at the remark. "What's… your… problem?"
"Ideals drag you down to your graves, Sirius." The man spoke after a minute of chuckling.
Sirius stared at Arcturus in confusion.
Arcturus had a steely glint in his eyes. "If you want to fight, fight for yourself. If you care for the Potters, fight for them; the family that granted you protection and cared for you after your birth parents abandoned you. Though," He paused, "I would have protected you, Sirius. If you had chosen to come to me all those years ago, I would have."
Grey eyes widened in shock, and not a little hope. "You… would?"
Arcturus nodded. "I would have, and I will, without hesitation. However, if your primary desire is to never hurt a soul, clinging to foolish ideals, choosing to let your enemies live, then you may do as you wish. But if you do follow this path, remember that it must be of your own will, not following the footsteps of another…"
Sirius blanched at the words.
Arcturus gazed at his grandson shrewdly. "Know that following your own desires, whether they be good or bad, is a far better path. As long as you follow them of your own free will, not the borrowed ideals you cling to, you can live a life free of regrets." Steepling his fingers, he leaned forward. "After hearing the truth, and knowing that your path will only lead to the ruin of you and yours, do you still wish to follow the ideals you now live with?"
"But…" Sirius tried, not willing to admit the truth.
"Salvation at the hand of the others is like currency, Sirius. These are not trite words taken from a random book, but borne of decades of experience, boy. If you continue to cling to these… ideals, they will destroy you."
Sirius collapsed to his knees like a puppet without strings. All of his worries, his pain-fuelled alcoholic binges, his nightmares… all of them came to the fore, forcing him to acknowledge the truth his grandfather was trying to show him. Looking at Arcturus, he spoke haltingly. "I… I told them… many, many times… to just get away from it all, from the… monster clamouring for their lives. I begged them to leave… repeatedly. I've argued with them for days." He grit his teeth in frustration, tears streaking his cheeks and dripping from his chin. "But why won't they just listen?"
Arcturus's lips formed a true smile. "I always knew I made them right choice when I named you my Heir, Sirius, and you go out of your way to prove that I was right, no matter what the rest of the family said about my decision. Irrespective of your stance in the war, the ancestral manor of the Blacks, the manor we stand in, is offered as a safe house if you ever need it. I need not remind that the fortifications are second to none."
Stunned at his grandfather's change, Sirius stood up, wiping the tears off his face. Taking a few moments to compose himself, he asked, "Why would offer the ancestral manor to me? I am not the heir."
"Don't you pay any attention to my words, boy?" asked Arcturus scathingly.
"But mother threw me out-"
Arcturus sneered at Sirius. "You are speaking to the Lord of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black. If I say that you are my heir, then that means you are my heir, no matter what your parents or that French goat might think."
"But…." Sirius stopped as the realisation hit him. "You changed the will."
Arcturus scowled. "My idiot of a son had always bowed to the insanity of your mother, a fact which is utterly disliked by me. How such a cowardly spawn was born from me, only Merlin should know."
"So… why am I here?" Sirius asked finally. A part of his mind was jumping with glee, imagining the reaction from his family when they finally realise the truth.
Arcturus frowned. "I believe my intentions were made clear. Nevertheless, allow me to repeat the words. Every Heir of the House of Black must undergo the training regimen and rituals necessary to command the familial magics of our House. None but the Lord and the Heir may know the arts. As such, during the entire period of your training, I shall be the only company you have."
"Uh," Sirius replied intelligently.
"If you decide to leave, you are free to do so. However, if you decide to stay, then I shall teach you what it means to be the Heir of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. You will learn the true meaning of the blood that flows through your veins, and you will take my place on the watchtower."
Sirius closed his eyes and sighed. He had returned to England after six weeks, a changed man. No longer was he the jovial auror who simply followed his best friend James. He had become far too composed, wielding magic more powerful than ever. The Sirius of old had vanished, the future Lord of Black now walking among those he considered prey.
Shaking himself from his thoughts, he looked at Ares, his son, at his stance against everything the world threw at him. A part of hi could not help but worry about the consequences of his son's aggression, worried Ares was painting a bigger target on himself. However, he remembered words spoken by his grandfather.
If you keep fighting for your ideals, then your ideals will be the only thing you save. Not yourself, not your loved ones, and certainly not the world.
A slow smile spread across his lips. "If my son wants an honour duel, then the due shall be paid. If the Bulstrode family refuses to pay the due, then its magic shall become a part of House Slytherin."
"I am not going to fight that boy." Marcus Bulstrode raged, before the sound of the gavel attracted his attention.
"Aurors, arrest Mister Bulstrode immediately." The Chief Warlock ruled. The magic permeating the room sent quiet shivers down his spine.
"I will not accept that, Chief Warlock." Sirius intervened angrily. "That man tried to assassinate my son, and he shall pay for his crime. He will pay his due in blood."
Ares felt the breath vanish at the declaration of his father. Padfoot had never acted in this manner before. Padfoot had given his express permission for the duel, when Ares expected him to refuse. He nodded towards his father, and was surprised when it was returned.
"Are you saying that you think yourself above the rules of the Wizengamot, Lord Black?" Dumbledore challenged.
"On the contrary, I think I am defending the Wizengamot, Mister Dumbledore." Sirius contradicted, "Unless of course, you wish to step over the rights allotted to the Ancient nobility."
That shut Dumbledore up.
"Now Chief Warlock," Sirius addressed Odgen, "Does my son have your permission to continue?"
Tiberius Odgen hesitated for a moment, before he gave in and nodded.
"Right," Sirius smirked as he looked up at the Noble tier. "Decide."
Surprising everyone, Rowle answered the challenge. "As the Liege Lord of House Bulstrode, I will not allow the House to fall into destitution because of the crime committed by a single member. Marcus Bulstrode shall accept the honor duel." He cleared his throat a little exuberantly, before taking his seat, not a single indication of regret or guilt that he had thrown his vassal to the wolves.
Ares could not help the smirk growing on his lips. "So… Mister Bulstrode, do you accept my challenge?"
"You will not even have the chance to regret your words, boy" Bulstrode snarled. "And you even made your murder legally acceptable. Where do you want to die?"
"Here," Ares said, pointing to the platform he currently stood on. "In the middle of the Wizengamot without delay. A duel to the death."
The words shocked everyone out of their wits. There was no doubt that the boy was politically sharp, but to take on a duel to the death against a far more experienced opponent was utter madness.
"…Are you sure you wish to duel him, Mister Black?" Odgen asked not without hesitation.
"I would not have stated otherwise." Ares refuted calmly.
"Just a moment." Yaxley stood up, trying to stop the incident before it escalated any further. "This is the auspicious Wizengamot chamber. Not a playground for you to duel."
"Of course. It is the auspicious Wizengamot chamber, the same auspicious chamber that did not hesitate to help Lord Malfoy attempt line-theft of my House and throw me in prison, the same chamber which has no issues in someone trying to assassinate me with a dagger, but I suppose upholding the rights of Ancient nobility is taboo." Ares drawled sarcasm oozing through his tone. "Forgive me, Lord Yaxley. I must forgotten that the laws were changed few minutes ago, were they not…?"
A very embarrassed Yaxley sat down, tongue-tied at the biting remarks. Sirius chuckled softly. Ares did have a temper, no matter how composed he liked to act.
Sneer etched on his face, Bulstrode walked down the stairs and stepped onto the platform, taking a position on the end opposite to Ares.
With the nod from the Chief Warlock, Dullard stood up and drew his wand. Pointing his wand towards the platform, he muttered a few obscure words, causing the runes on the platform to glow, and a powerful transparent barrier to enclose the space, trapping Ares and Bulstrode inside.
Odgen spoke gravely. "As Chief Warlock, I acknowledge the honour duel demanded by Ares James Black-Slytherin and accepted by Marcus Bulstrode. If either one does not wish to continue further, they may speak now."
As expected, there were no words from either duellist. Bulstrode tightened his fingers around his wand, glaring at his opponent with hatred. Ares held his white wand in a loose grip.
Sirius felt sorry for the idiot who would fall at the hands of his son.
"Very well. The duel begins… NOW!" The Warlock ordered.
Bulstrode instantly raised his wand, a powerful severing hex flying from the tip. With a casual flick, Ares deflected the spell, the barrier glowing from being struck.
"Is that all?" Ares asked, raising an eyebrow.
With a snarl, Marcus began weaving his wand, sending a quick succession of bludgeoners, cutting hexes and borderline dark curses towards the boy.
Said boy looked to be quite bored with the situation, only to crouch at the very last moment, the curses flying over his head. Standing up, Ares asked with a cocky smirk, "Do you mind if I take a spell at you now?"
The words only served to further enrage the other man, who shouted to the heavens before shoving his wand towards his opponent, raining blasting curses as he began moving forward. The strategy was quite sound. Since the barrier trapped his opponent and the wide area of the blasting curses would keep him in place, Marcus could utilise the smaller distance to quickly finish the boy off. He never expected a shield to block all of his curses. Snarling, he said, "I will kill you, you bas-" Bulstrode stopped midway, both in words and steps, as he realised that something felt strange. While he was unable to pinpoint the source, his instincts were screaming that something had gone very, very wrong.
A few seconds later, he felt the flesh of his abdomen tear a very familiar blade flew out and into the hand of the now smirking boy. Looking down, his eyes widened at the open wound, fresh bleed spurting from the gash. A second later, an entirely unwelcome sensation washed over him.
And then Marcus Bulstrode knew pain.
Within seconds, the features of the man twisted in pain before he collapsed forward, wand clattering from his now loose fist. A moment later, his breathing stopped and the Wizengamot started in shock, horror, vicious satisfaction and a whole other host of emotions.
"Humph!" Ares remarked. "I suppose that ends it. The idiot could not even block a simple dagger." He brushed off imaginary lint from his robes as he stood over the dead body of his opponent. "I suppose that settles it. The slight of honour is considered paid in full."
Not a single person made a sound following his declaration.
"You do know right that this will have far-reaching implications?" Daphne asked with a raised eyebrow.
"I recall you said something similar back then before the House Assembly." Ares returned with a lop-sided grin, making the girl roll her eyes in exasperation.
The Wizengamot session had ended and the members had begun leaving the floor via the elevator twenty minutes ago.
"Did you really have to start a body count at fifteen, Black?" Theo pipped in from behind, as Ares glanced back at him. " You could not have waited a few months. Honour duel or not, you killed a guy in the middle of the chamber. I am no expert, but that will not endear you to the Houses."
"I assure you Nott, I did not start a body count at fifteen." Ares replied genially, Daphne's features twisting for a mere moment before his right arm snaked around her waist, making said girl elbow him in embarrassment. "How many problems did you guys encounter after my trial?"
Theo's eyes widened at the unspoken answer from Ares. The reaction from Daphne told him the rest. Composing himself, he answered, "Nothing Blaise and I could not handle."
"Oh." Ares raised an eyebrow. "So you were attacked. And pray tell, who was the moron?"
"No one important," Daphne interjected, not wanting to continue the line of discussion, and certainly not willing to give her boyfriend a new target for his ire.
The trio had reached the end of the corridor they were walking down stood in front of the elevator.
"Get ready Black. The hounds are will go after you once we reach the atrium." Theo replied meaningfully, as Ares nodded.
The boy had, in his own precocious way, intimated to Ares about the prospect of a possible ambush. While Ares did not have a high opinion of any member of the Dark Alliance, he knew better than to be complacent about potential danger. "I know. I hope I can avoid them without creating a scene."
"You cannot do that." Daphne chided Ares, unwilling to remove his arm from her waist. "If you bypass the reporters, it gives them free reign to write all the speculation they want."
A mirthful expression spread across Ares's face. "Of course, how could I even think of doing so?"
Theo smirked at the response.
Sirius and Jonathan approached the trio at the elevators with the unfortunate addition of the Minister of Magic. Cornelius Fudge, it seemed, was insisted on being a part of their conversation, despite their attempts to deflect the attentions of the man.
Jonathan was the one who suggested to Sirius that it might to his benefit to develop a rapport with the minister. After all, despite all the mistakes committed by the man, he was quite useful to their plans.
While Sirius wanted nothing more than to throttle the Minister for putting his son in a cell, never mind that it was his plan in the first place, he knew he could not simply afford to ignore the Minister of Magic. He could grudgingly accept that Fudge was a hard worker, to those who lined his pockets, and it was a good idea to keep the Minister in good graces, no matter how short a term he had left.
Ever since the moment the session had ended, the Minister of Magic had all but leapt towards Sirius, trying to reinforce the fact (with what the man thought was subtlety) that he was the Minister and it would serve the purposes of Lord Black to form a working relationship with him.
"As I was saying Sirius, we must have a private discussion regarding the new agenda of the Houses of Black and Slytherin. Besides I do feel regret for my mistake against the House of Black. Lucius Malfoy produced fake evidence about the inheritance, deceiving the Ministry into detaining your Heir for a short period. I assure you that I feel very guilty in my complicity of the event and would like to help you in any way possible." Cornelius put on a fake expression of apology, causing a snort to erupt from Sirius.
"Jonathan," He spoke the words slowly, "do you mind if going ahead? I need to discuss personal matters with the Minister." Sirius uttered. Said man nodded silently, joining the trio of teenagers at the elevator.
Sirius turned towards Fudge, and cast a privacy ward. "Let me be perfectly candid, Minister Fudge. I was a Senior Auror around the same time you held the Undersecretary post of the DMLE under Barty Crouch. Yet, that knowledge did not stop you trying to my son to the wolves. Do not think for a moment that I am blind to your true intentions. I am not an idiot, Fudge."
Fudge looked gobsmacked for a second, before he tried to compose himself. His assumptions had just been proven wrong. Sirius Black was no politician. Unlike his son, this man was a blunt hammer, designed to wreak as much havoc as possible. Fudge knew quite a few such mavericks and he understood very well the danger posed by such people. Between the blunt approach of Lord Black and the precision of his Heir, the House of Black would become truly unpredictable. That was a danger to the current political landscape, especially since none of them knew who made the final decision in the House. The fools might think the Lord always made the decisions for the House, but Fudge was experienced and savvy enough to understand the complexities of real politics.
"Very well," he replied at last, knowing any subtle ploys were useless with the new Lord Black. "Yes, I am aware that you understand what my motivations are. They are the same motivations that suited Lucius when he came to power using his false claim on the inheritance which you command and wield with formidable presence. Your son is now the Heir to several powerful Houses, not to mention the surprise dealt to the entire chamber when he announced his Headship of the House of Slytherin. I admit that it was a mistake to try your son in front of the entire political world, and I am still paying the price." He seemed to gain some spine from the words. "However, you, Lord Black, and your son, Heir Slytherin, have been absent from the British wizarding world for the past fourteen years." A smile spread across his lips. "Despite the abilities House Black has displayed during the past two sessions, you have yet to gain the necessary power to make changes as per your desire. I can help you there. I have not been idle for the past fourteen years, Lord Black. I do know where the skeletons are buried, people to talk to, those who avoid, people who would oppose you and their weaknesses. I even possess quite a bit of control over the Daily Prophet and the Wireless. If we were to cooperate, it could… hasten your plans, allowing you to surpass Dumbledore in the political arena."
Sirius raised an eyebrow, face eerily blank. Inwardly, he was disgusted with the man and his eagerness to sell out his allies. No wonder Britain was in the state it was. When the leaders were cut from the same cloth as Fudge, what could you expect? Although, that emphasis on Dumbledore… "Why the emphasis on Albus Dumbledore, Minister?"
Cornelius scowled. "I am neither foolish nor blind, Lord Black. Your son has rejected the help of Dumbledore several time before and during his trial. Today, your House and your allies have demonstrated a near… indifference to the old man. The fact that your son is here because of the law passed by Dumbledore is no secret."
Sirius gazed at the man. No matter the rumours and opinions surrounding the man, the conversation made it clear that Fudge was no fool. "I will consider your offer. But, indulge my curiosity. How am I supposed to trust a man who has ignored the threat brewing on the horizon, and has actively worked towards discrediting any person who sought to tell the truth?"
Cornelius looked like a naughty kid who had just pulled off a prank without being found. "If you are interested in my offer, Lord Black, let us meet soon and I shall give you the answer you seek."
Sirius observed the man keenly. It was obvious that Fudge was baiting him. If he agreed, Cornelius would have secured another meeting to try and impress him (intimidation was out of the question). If he did not… there was nothing to lose from a meeting with the man.
"Very well," Sirius replied neutrally, "I will consider your… offer. You may await my owl." With a rather pointed stab of his wand, he dispersed off the privacy ward.
Cornelius gave a rather malicious grin. "I shall wait for your reply, Lord Black."
"What are you discussing about, Father?"
Sirius spun back to see his son standing behind him, accompanied by Daphne and the Nott heir. Despite the assurances he received from Ares, a part of him could not help but feel wary about the Nott Heir's presence near his son. "Nothing that cannot be discussed in private, Ares. The Minister and I were merely…. reintroducing each other."
Cornelius nodded quickly to show his own enthusiasm.
Ares ignored the man and stepped into the no arrived elevator along with his girlfriend, her father, Theo and Sirius.
Knowing he would not progress any further today, Cornelius bit back a sigh and entered the elevator and the doors closed behind him.
The moment the doors of the elevator slammed open, Ares and the rest of his group found their world inundated with bright flashes of light. A vindictive part of him wanted to cast the tenebris charm, and see how the reporters liked it when their world goes dark for a long time. Or even better, the cogitatio charm which would reflect the flashes with three times their normal intensity. His fingers twitched in preparation, but his girlfriend squeezed his fingers lightly, an action he reciprocated.
Standing in front of them, a few feet from the elevator doors, were a sea of reporters, cameras and dozens of dictation-quills scribbling on levitating notepads and parchment. Most, if not all, of them were shouting questions that the group still standing inside the elevator.
Out of the corner of his eye, Sirius noticed Fudge puff up noticeably at the sight of the reporters. He shared a glance with Jonathan, the duo rolling their eyes simultaneously.
Theo squinted at the bright flashes, eyes flying around the entire atrium. Daphne, standing next to Ares and ahead of Theo, whispered to her boyfriend, warning him to not pull one of his pranks. His girlfriend whispering in his ear, Ares spotted Dumbledore standing to the left and just beyond the swarm of reporters, standing in front of his own media circle, answering questions with a smile on his face and twinkle in his eyes.
Once the flashes had reduced slightly, Ares finally realised the reporters were not what he expected. He did expect the British wizarding media, but from the looks of it, it seemed that the swarm contained the presence of international media as well.
"Ready to throw yourself to the hyenas, son?" Sirius urged his son, making Ares elbow him in exasperation. Daphne cleared her throat, warning the father and son duo to stop playing around while Jonathan and Theo smirked at the action.
"When in Rome…" Ares muttered to himself, as he forced himself to exit the elevator beside his friends and family. He could not complain, considering he knew the full consequences of his actions and the fact that he would have to face the vultures' sooner or later. Stepping in front of the reporters, he briefly entertained the idea of cementing a dark lord image. It would be hilarious, if nothing else. Although… He sighed, knowing his father, mentors and girlfriend would kill him.
Ignoring the question shouted at him, Ares glanced around the rather crowded atrium. Too many people… He clucked his tongue at the number of obstructions, if an attack did occur. Would Voldemort attack now, even after he did everything he could to hide himself? Looking around, he thought I certainly would not do that.
A part of him, the one raised by Pad and the memory of his parents' sacrifice, bartered him for placing himself in the shoes of the man, but, at the end of the day, there was a part of Ares that truly respected the Dark Lord. The man had not only returned to a better physical form than he previously possessed, but had quickly begun rebuilding his forces while discrediting his opposition.
There is a reason why he is regarded as one of the worst dark lords of all time, Black. Never forget why.
His introspection was cut short by a subtle jab in his ribs, Sirius and Daphne discreetly pulling back their hands. Biting back a sigh, he shouted, "If you want your questions answered, ask them. ONE at a time. Until then, I shall remain silent."
It took a few minutes before the reporters finally ceased shouting and a single question was posed by a wiry-looking reporter.
"Mister Black, how did you become the Lord Slytherin?"
Ares took a deep breath, looked straight at the reporter and said, "My House, the House of Slytherin, is a Most Ancient House which was considered extinct for over eight centuries. As such, the House has not adopted the rituals of inheritance followed in this era. Due to the absence of a Lord for all these centuries, the inheritance of House Slytherin is in accordance with the ancient rites of inheritance."
"Ancient rules of inheritance?" A blonde haired man, one Ares recognised from the trial, asked. "If you would be so kind as to explain the meaning of the term for our readers…"
Ares smiled. He had spent quite a bit of time preparing for the question, knowing full well it would correct the misconceptions of many foolish people. "Before Hogwarts was founded by the four greatest wizards and witches of the era, the continued existence of a magical house was a daunting task. There were cases the descendants would fight over the Lordship or the Heir would not possess the necessary temperament, causing the family magics to reject them. Fearing their Houses might simply cease to exist, the Lords would place several conditions on the inheritance ritual, conditions generally being magical power, affinity for the family magics, blood relation and even deeds being the measure of a person's apparent worth before he or she could rise to the position of Heir Apparent. For instance, Salazar Slytherin was the third of five sons of his father, Lord Atticus Slytherin, and yet, he was chosen to be Lord Slytherin."
Ares paused for a moment, observing the dictation quills scribbling away furiously. Inwardly, he smirked at the reactions his words would soon generate.
"For example, Parseltongue is an ability that has always been a part of the Familial magics of the Slytherin bloodline. However, as I have just stated, it not the only condition necessary to become the Heir of Slytherin."
"What were the conditions met in order for you to become the Heir Slytherin, Mister Black?" asked Skeeter, eyeing Ares like a particularly juicy piece of meat.
"Ones that are known only to the Lord and the Heir Apparent, as per the traditions of my House." Ares answered smoothly.
"Mister Black, what about the new-" The rest of the reporter's words went unheard as Ares felt the Black Family magic spike around him. Something had garnered his father's attention, and whatever it was, it had put him on edge.
Shifting slightly, he cast a wandless privacy ward around himself and his father. "What is wrong, Pad?"
Sirius withheld a grimace. Sometimes, he hated his son's sensitivity to the magics around him. Still looking at the swarm before him, he spoke in a low tone of voice, despite the privacy ward around him. "It's the atmosphere… It feels too… charged, like before a raid. It fells just like that night-"
The rest of his words remained unsaid as the swarm of reporters were forcibly thrown aside by a great gust of wind. Ares took a step back and Sirius drew his wand as two men stood before them, wearing the distinct cloak and skull mask. Wands pointed towards the father and son, one of them shouted, "Die, Harry Potter!" and they simultaneously yelled, "Avada Kedavra!"
Jonathan Greengrass had always been a man of few words. The Lord of the Ancient House of Greengrass had never really known Sirius Black despite their shared years of schooling at Hogwarts, but his wife, Victoria Wilkins Greengrass, had been a close… acquaintance of the man. A chance meeting with the apparently infamous and highly illusive Sirius Black alongside the younger Boy-who-lived during a trip to France was the rather odd start to what was now a strong friendship between the two Lords, their love for their respective families and incredibly fierce protective nature binding the two men far closer than alliance ever could. The years that passed revealed a budding of a sweet relationship between his eldest daughter and Ares Black; it was apparent, even then, that the relationship would blossom into love. Both families had seen the intimacy shared by the teenagers; his wife had already begun planning for a wedding that was years away.
That said, Jonathan knew the boy held many secrets. Ever since their first meeting, the Lord understood Ares Black was not a regular teenager. While most people would say that it was an obvious deduction, he knew better. There was something about the boy that set him apart from his peers, an almost inhuman intelligence dancing in those green eyes. Sometimes, Jonathan feared the boy, wondering what could have turned him into a near-sociopath; he had seen the signs during their visits. When Sirius revealed the status of Ares as the Heir of Slytherin, he was both ecstatic and wary. Living in Britain, he knew what revealing the information would do to the boy and those associated with him. When the Dark Lord – and Jonathan knew it was only a matter of time – and Ares announced his Lordship, the Dark Lord, not to mention his followers, would be baying for his blood.
While he would never wish to step between Ares and his daughter – Daphne would hex him back to Merlin – there were days he wished he had never met the father and son. At the very least, it would prevent the danger surrounding his daughter from escalating.
Case I point, the present situation. Jonathan's eyes widened at the two killing curses streaking towards Ares. Just as he drew his wand to try and protect the boy, the spells were stopped by a wall stone.
Ares watched transfixed as the two killing curses flew towards him, promising instant Death upon contact. All thoughts of politics, alliances, reporters and Houses flew out of his head. Any thoughts not associated with survival and battle were shoved to the back of his mind. Hardened instincts and trained reflexes took over, his black wand flying into his left hand, arcane spells and ancient forces flooding his mind and magic. He flicked the black wand up, conjuring a wall of stone to intercept the two curses. Ignoring the now ineffective curses, his eyes moved to assess the situation.
The reporters who were shoved aside, crowds milling about the atrium fountain, ministry workers, visitors, several Lords and Ladies and others had begun running towards the ministry Floo's lining the two walls of the entrance corridor and the three apparition points situated at the beginning of said corridor. Unfortunately, the Floo's appeared to have been deactivated and none were able to apparate away.
Convenient…
During the split second it took him to assess the battlefield, save Sirius and Jonathan, everyone behind him had retreated back and to the side, ensuring that no stray curses might strike them should the two men and one teenager dodge.
"Damn it!" replied one of the death eaters, sending another volley of killing curses towards the still steady wall reinforced by a quick Duro cast by Jonathan. At that exact moment, several figures dropped beside the death eaters, holding kukri daggers of fine make.
"Bloody Black Death…"Ares gnashed his teeth, his white wand spinning into his right hand, green eyes glowing in pure rage.
Daphne watched with wide eyes as her mind recognised the new assailants reinforcing the death eaters. She was assaulted by memories of a battle fought over a year ago, the closest she had ever been to dying.
She knew the Black Death, knew them very well. The most sophisticated assassins in all of Europe, although the term terrorist would be more appropriate. They operated under a dizzying array of secrecy oaths, suicide spells and several degrees of separation between themselves and their contacts. The magical governments of Europe had spent the past few decades trying to the workings of the group with little to no success, their leader being far too elusive and known only by the code name 'Lazarus'.
During the summer after her third year, the Black and Greengrass families were touring the Romanian magical town of Oltenia, when the Black Death attacked the community killing over seventy people. She would have died by a dark severing curse if her sister had not tackled her out of the way. It was also the day she truly realised that she had never really known her boyfriend at all.
"Ares…" She began, before Theo clamped a hand over her mouth.
"Don't," Theo muttered, "you will just distract him from the fight." Still watching the spell fire being exchanged, he began muttering the incantation for a powerful barrier, a set of skills the Nott family were known to possess superlative aptitude for.
Daphne's eyes flashed with rage for a moment before the truth of his words hit her, as she nodded slowly, crouching low and clutching her wand in a bone tight grip.
A few steps away, Albus Dumbledore was waving his wand in fast, intricate patterns, large semi-transparent walls of magic manifesting around the atrium. A flick of his wand sent three of the walls to cover the floo and apparition corridor and another flick quickly arranged the remaining walls to cover any bystanders. "Stay behind the walls!" He used a sonorous to amplify his voice while simultaneously creating two domed shaped barriers around himself and the group of Cornelius, Theo and Daphne, his immense control the only thing keeping the shields and barriers from exploding like balloons.
The people had begun running behind the walls before Dumbledore could even shout his warning, subconsciously trusting the headmaster's magical prowess and skill.
In the middle of the chaos plaguing the atrium, the death eaters, assassins associated with the Black Death and Sirus, Ares and Jonathan stood in battle stances, wands pointed at their opponents.
His white wand pointed at the assassins, Ares seethed in silent rage, mind conjuring images of torn muscles, obliterated bones, liquefied organs and dismembered bodies. The men were dressed exactly as he remembered – jet black duelling robes of what appeared to be dragon hide, faces hidden masks etched with a white skull etched within a triangle, cruel eyes staring out of thin slits and their primary identifying feature being the kukri daggers they carried, the foci used to cast spells and also imbued with a highly potent venom
Barely focusing on his father and future father-in-law beside him, killing curse eyes glowed with pure hate as he began controlling the flow of magic in his body, pumping the magic into the nervous system and muscles to boost reflexes and agility.
"Walden Bonnevie?" Jonathan whispered, as he glared at the death eater he faced. "What the fuck do you think you are doing!?"
Bonnevie sneered at Lord Greengrass. "This is the reward for those foolish enough to side with the mudblood." His free had indicating Ares, he continued, "He stole our Lord's birth right. For that crime alone, he, his family and all his allies deserve death. You can be happy for dying at our hands. Our Lord will not be so merciful."
Ares continued to ignore everything but the shifts in the attackers as he activated a skill taught by his tutor causing the world around him to move slowly.
Extrasensory cognizance.
An incredibly rare and obscure lost to all but the most accomplished of Occlumency masters. It was designed to increase the processing speed of the mind of the practitioner, drastically reducing their reaction time to supernatural levels. As long as the practitioner maintained the highly draining ability, they seemed to move faster while the world around them slowed down.
Mind now running at unnatural speed, Ares loosened his grip on the twin wands as a cruel smirk adorned his lips. Last time, I let the bastards get away. Not this time. This time, I am going to kill them all. He flicked his white wand.
And Hell came to the Ministry atrium.
Almost in unison, the three assassins fired one of their characteristic dark severing hex at Ares, a hex he was quite intimate with. Magic flooded out of Ares materialising a bright blue solid shield before him. The shield deflecting the three curses towards the floor as he retaliated.
What followed next could only be described as a true magical battle, three experienced assassins fighting against a lone wizard. The three assassins jumped, weaved and dodged, trying to overwhelm the young wizard with progressively darker spells while dodging the hexes and curses thrown towards them. Two assassins had tried to flank him, only to dodge the stray spells from Sirius and Jonathan. Ares's superior reflexes allowed to weave through most spells, dodge few and shield against the rest. His black wand continued to conjure shields and stone while the white wand launched some of the most destructive spells in his repertoire.
Ares moved to the side, barely dodging an organ pulveriser but a severing hex cut into his leg, severing cloth, skin and muscle. He hissed in pain, eyes changing to slits as the primal self of his animagus, Spectre, took over. A green aura rose from his body and the intent to kill flooded the entire atrium.
Meanwhile in the DMLE…
Located on the second level below the Ministry Atrium, the entire floor was divided into several sections. The three largest divisions were the Auror division, the Hit Wizard division and the last division comprised of the departmental curse-breakers who were usually brought in during raids on warded buildings and dealing with dark artefacts. Each division was led by a Head of the department and the Heads answered to the Director of the DMLE. Compared to the rest of the ministerial departments, the DMLE was known to be the most organised and efficient of all, a fact which Amelia Bones, Regent of the House of Bones and Director of the DMLE prided herself on.
Hence why the current situation - aurors running around like headless chickens, people shouting at the top of their voices, hit wizards talking to each other holding portkeys – did not sit well with her. Did not sit well at all.
"What's wrong?" She barked, standing at the open door to the Director's office. Her stern tone got through to the entire force in the auror bullpen, many freezing on the spot at the sight of the formidable witch. One of her senior surors, Kingsley Shacklebolt, approached her with swift steps.
"The Floo network is down, Director." Shacklebolt answered. "It seems that the Ministry anti-apparition and anti-portkey wards at full strength. None of our attempts to get through the blocks have succeeded. The senior members believe something must have gone wrong with the ward stones."
Amelia narrowed her eyes. This is not a coincidence. Once the surveillance charms had alerted the DMLE of the assassination attempt, aurors and hit wizards had scrambled to reach the atrium. She knew there was no possible way in which all transportation systems on the floor were not working at the same time.
"Call the curse-breakers." Amelia ordered.
"But Director, wouldn't that mean tampering with the-"
"Just shut up and do as ordered, Kingsley." barked Amelia. "I will not allow a person to be killed, especially in the heart of the Ministry. Do I make myself clear?" At his nod, she asked, "Did you contact the Department of Transportation?"
"Several patronus messages were sent to the members of the department" Kingsley answered. "No response thus far."
Damn it! Amelia grit her teeth. Yaxley? Could it be?
Mentally berating herself to think faster, she barked out orders to the senior auror. "Kingsley, Call in the best men from the Aurors, Hit Wizards and Curse Breakers. I now declare the situation Delta-Green."
Kingsley widened his eyes. Delta-Green was the code employed by the DMLE during times of grave emergency, or a rebellion. It was one of the very few situations which enabled the Director to contravene and supersede existing Ministry regulations for a limited period.
However, once the situation was dealt with, the Director had to face a Court martial before the Chief Warlock and the Minister of Magic, given a single chance to explain herself and provide evidence to corroborate her claims. If the Chief Warlock and the Minister found the evidence to be unsatisfactory, the Director could face anything from a simple resignation to incarceration in Azkaban.
"Have I not made myself clear, Kingsley? Do it, now." Amelia spoke slowly, ice coating her words.
Kingsley flinched at the tone but immediately moved to carry out the orders.
Walking into her office, she closed the door behind her. With quick steps, she approached the wall behind her desk, removed her left glove and placed her now free hand on the wall. Closing her eyes, she called on her family magics.
The Ancient House of Bones had always produced excellent Wardmasters. For centuries, the members of the House honed their warding and ward breaking skills, skills that would have made any curse and ward breaker green with envy. However, family tradition demanded that the skills must not be misused or propagated for profit, resulting in every lord, lady and heir practising their skills in private, no matter the incredibly high skill they possessed. It was no coincidence that even Lord Voldemort was unable to break through the wards surrounding Bones Manor.
Not that it did any good. Amelia seethed silently. Calling on the totem, the Scorpion, she let it flow across the wall. A few minutes later, the walls shimmered for a second before lighting up in a multitude of colours visible only to her. She moved the Scorpion through the wards, each one represented by a single colour, analysing the ward scheme to find the one she sought. Ten seconds later, the Scorpion bit on the anti-apparition ward and dragged the strand to the wall, pushing the other wards aside.
"Director," The voice belonged to Rufus Scrimgeour, the Head of the Auror division. She spun back to find ten other men, Aurors and hit-wizards alike, and a single curse-breaker standing behind him in her office. Deciding to berate him later for not knocking on the door, she cleared her throat and said, "The situation is now Delta-Green." Ignoring the gasps, she continued, "The Floos are not functioning and we cannot fix them at the moment, and certainly not from the DMLE offices. We need to bring down the anti-apparition ward surrounding the Ministry. I need all of you to fire the Killing curse at this-" A finger pointed to a specific part of the wall. "-point together."
"The killing curse?" Rufus asked, his eyebrows raised.
"Nothing short of that would be able to break through the anti-apparation ward. Do it."
After a second of hesitation, every single wizard in the room spread out and pointed their wands at the part of the wall specified by Director Bones.
"Now." Amelia hissed, as ten voices yelled the same incantation, ten killing curses striking the ward. A wave of magic passed through the room as she felt the ward deactivate.
"APPARATE NOW!" She yelled, apparating alongside the wizards with a silent crack.
Rita Skeeter had been scared out of her wits during the attack, and the killing curses thrown around did not help her heart. That coupled with the situation and being unable to use her animagus form served to make her angry.
But as she continued to watch the fight from behind the safety of the barriers, Rita realised this was a once in a lifetime opportunity. An attack like this deserved to be embellished. The danger, combined with the Boy-Who-Lived using DARK curses to fight would not just be another juicy story. No! It would serve as a true highlight to her career, and she would be damned if she allowed a grand opportunity to slip through her fingers.
A wicked grin floated across her lips.
At first, Sirius had been shocked out of his wits when the cloaked figures first appeared. While he was certainly not a seer, his magic had always, always warned of imminent danger. He had anticipated an ambush either before or after the session. He knew the Death Eater organisation would want the heads of him and his son on a pike. What he had not expected, even in his wildest speculations, was the presence of the infamous assassins of the Black Death in the middle of the Ministry atrium.
Malfoy…. The name appeared unbidden in his mind. Once he survived this fight, he was going to tear strips, both verbal and literal, of hide from the man. He and Ares had had the unfortunate providence to meet these killers the previous year. While the fight had been hard, they lived thanks to the Bulgarian battle-mages who fought alongside his family. To his everlasting regret, it was also the first time his son had taken a life. Forced to take a life. He mentally corrected himself.
These monsters were the reason why his son had to stain his hands with blood at such a young age.
Sirius let out a vicious growl, the grim inside him enraged at the situation, at the assassins who were obviously after his blood and, more importantly, the fact that his son was facing three of those monsters while he was forced to stay away, fighting his own battle.
Damn.
He had been a Senior Auror fifteen years ago, but contrary to what people would think, Sirius Black had not been idle. He had perfected his stance, improved his skill and enhanced his knowledge with a tenacity that would have made Arcturus Black proud. He had spent years training in magical arts and spells he never wished to use. Yet, when faced with these- these… monsters, all that forbidden knowledge was at the forefront of his mind, his wand glowing an angry purple.
The death eater in front of him moved, and so did he. Before his opponent could land the Cruciatus on his person, Sirius moved with supernatural agility, his years of animagus training reinforcing his strength and speed, moving his wand in a wide arc and yelling…
"Musculus Ruptis."
"Caro lacrimam", Ares whispered, his words flowing in Parseltongue, and continued to move in one fluid motion as he uttered his next spell. "Sanguiniferveo."
The combination of the flesh-eating curse and the blood-boiler overwhelmed one of the assassins. The man jerked back and his body fell to the floor, although his compatriots had chosen to exploit the opening.
Ares felt a severing hex cut his left arm, flesh torn as precious blood oozed down causing him to hiss in pain. The shock of the attack had rendered his arm temporarily immobile. Feeling his power being siphoned to repair the damage and knowing the fight could not be dragged on, he yelled to the heavens as he cast a curse that he had promised never to use in public. "Corpus Perdere."
The curse struck its intended target, the assassin screaming from blinding pain as unnatural black flames engulfed his entire body. Ten seconds later, there was nothing left to say he ever existed beyond the traces of ash on the floor.
"Two done. One to go." Ares sneered, panting in exhaustion and feeling his body move closer and closer to complete exhaustion. An effect of the ritual that he did not truly understand until this moment. The greater the injury, the greater the draw on his magical reserves as his body scrambled to repair the injured cells. The effect was magnified by several orders when the injuries were of Dark origin, and his willingness to throw all his power into the offensive spells did not help matters either. To an outsider, he might just have put down two extremely lethal assassins with powerful curses and still stood on his feet, but he knew that it was only sheer will that kept him from collapsing to the floor.
"Bloody cause and effect…" Ares sneered, his left hand still stiff and hurting, lances of pain hurtling through his nerves as his ritual-fuelled body rushed to repair the wounds.
The third assassin dropped his stance in shock and horror at the fact that a fifteen-year-old kid had just used a redacted curse successfully and was still standing. The two assassins fighting Sirius and Jonathan had been taken off-guard by the demonstration, allowing Jonathan to land a killing blow on the assassin facing him. The other assassin, enraged by the loss of one of their own, and finding Sirius Black slightly distracted, rushed forward to stab the man.
An excruciating scream reverberated through the Ministry atrium.
But the scream did not belong to the target of the dagger. Rather, the scream had originated from the lips of Ares. The young wizard, noticing the dagger flying towards his distracted father, had forced his left arm into the path of the assassin, his magic rushing through his arm to obey his will, causing the dagger to embed itself in his wrist, and a scream erupting from his lips at the pain caused by the wound and venom.
For a mere fraction of a second, the entire atrium stood still.
The first second passed before anyone realised what was happening. Another second passed.
Sirius felt his brain was too sluggish, trying to comprehend the events that had just occurred, the soul-lurching scream of his son still ringing in his ears. By the end of the third second, his eyes focused on the dagger in his son's wrist, blood flowing down the hilt and dripping onto the floor. Blood.
His. Child's. Blood.
The grim took over.
In less than a fraction of a second, Sirius' right hand moved, like it had gained a mind of its own, towards the assassin holding the dagger responsible for his son's blood staining the floor. His hand shifted into a huge paw, a paw of a grim, and literally chopped the head off the assassin from his neck with silver claws, a characteristic that differentiated a grim from a dog.
The severed head fell to the floor, blood sprouting from the neck as it rolled over the stone before coming to a stop.
The one remaining assassin gaped, at the decapitated form of his fellow teammate, but the maimed hand of Ares Black. The Black Death had a single motto - Lethal to the very end. They had procured several toxins and venom from all around the world to create something that would, not just kill, but also rot the victim in a matter of minutes.
But what we saw made him question if the dagger either missed or did not have any venom. Where there had been a gaping hole in a wrist – He could have sworn to it - now lay fresh muscle, the wound regenerating itself at a rapid pace.
Impossible…. He muttered to himself.
"Lacero maximus!" Jonathan intoned, as a wide area severing hex shot towards the last assassin.
The assassin leapt into the air, avoiding the hex, activating a portkey mid-air and disappearing in a blue flash.
The last death eater, leg maimed by Sirius, pointed his wand at Ares and yelled, "Avada-"
"Ossis fragmen."
A powerful bone-breaker flew from the direction of the floos, hitting the fallen Death-eater in his wand hand, pulverising every bone. The man fainted from the overwhelming pain.
The audience finally turned to the point from which the spell originated.
Amelia Bones stood at the main entrance gate, her wand still pointed at the unmoving target. Resting her hand, she walked past the registration desk and towards the fountain beside which the battle had taken place.
Noticing her arrival, Dumbledore let the magical walls and barriers dissipated as did Theo Nott.
Finally, finally, everyone breathed a sigh of relief, many collapsing to the floor.
"None of you are to leave the floor. Unless you need medical attention, you are to stay where you are until an auror has taken your statement." Amelia said in her usual stern, business tone. Turning her attention to the main participants of the attack, she walked forward with quick, sure steps. Standing before them, she said, "Lord Greengrass, Lord Black, Mister… Black."
"Director Bones." Jonathan nodded briskly, holstering his wand and pulling out a handkerchief to wipe the splashes of blood on his fingers. He turned towards Sirius who was on the floor, holding the unconscious form of his son and had yet to look at the new arrivals. His eyes roved over Ares and quickly widened in surprise. Even from a distance, it was distinctly visible that the wound from the dagger's puncture was already sealed by fresh tissue.
That cannot be normal… He observed. Meanwhile, Daphne ran forward and knelt beside the boy. Ares seemed to have woken up, although the boy looked like he needed a month's worth of bed rest. He watched Theo Nott moved around and collect the two wands of Ares and hide them before anyone could truly look.
Letting the family have their moment, Amelia observed the area around her. There was one decapitated assassin on the floor, his head a few feet way. Another lay dead with rotted flesh and blackened blood. A third lay beyond Lord Greengrass, a wide, deep gash across the torso. There was some ash on the floor which was completely out of place and-
Wait.
Her eyes widened at the realisation. She turned back and saw the two unmasked men on the floor, one dead and one barely alive, the latter the recipient of her bone-breaking hex. "Someone will explain what happened here."
"Now Amelia-" Albus Dumbledore interrupted, but Amelia stopped him with a hand gesture. "I will not have any interference in this matter, Headmaster Dumbledore." Turning towards Fudge, she noticed with a silent glee that he was still trembling. Suppressing her mirth, she said, "The Department of Magical transportation did not respond to any summons. I need an arrest warrant against Yaxley to question him, Minister."
"Of - of course, Amelia." Cornelius replied, still shaken at the events that took place in front of his eyes.
Rufus Scrimgeour walked towards Amelia and said, "Director, the team we sent to the Department of Magical Transportation has responded. The entire department was compromised. Eleven of them stunned and bound on the floor, including Yaxley himself. The magical signatures do not match anyone from the Ministry records. The men have secured the floor and are now looking for clues."
Damn… Amelia cursed. "Very well, I need the entire area cleaned right now. Move all witnesses to the second level and," she gestured towards the three. "Get the bodies picked up and checked for any matches with our records."
Rufus nodded and stepped back, before proceeding to go ahead with the orders.
"Why was the DMLE delayed, Amelia?" Dumbledore questioned. Unlike the genial tone he always used, his voice was now stern, a hint of the man who had fought the Dark Lord Grindelwald.
"The Floo network was down. We had to break the anti-apparation ward, apparate out and then flood in through the outer entrance gate. I had to-" she hesitated for a moment, "-declare the situation Delta-Green to authorise the use of the killing curse."
"We will… discuss about that later Amelia," Fudge answered, his voice still shaken. "Right, I think Misters Black and Lord Greengrass should visit Saint Mungo's immediately. I will arrange-"
"That will not be necessary." Sirius finally spoke up, the remark surprising everyone. "We will just use our own private-"
"I insist, Lord Black." Amelia stressed. "You are in no condition to apparate or portkey, and neither is your son." Recognising the stubborn tilt of his jaw, she decided manipulation would work better. Turning around and facing a visibly angry auror, she said, "Auror Tonks! Get them to Saint Mungo's as fast as possible. I believe your mother, Andromeda, is a healer at the hospital."
Nymphadora quickly nodded her head. "She is."
"Very well, proceed." Amelia dismissed her. "Lord Black, I will require the statements of you and your son as soon as you have recovered. The same from Lord Greengrass. Please send me a note before the sun sets."
Before Sirius could even protest, Nymphadora had walked up to him. "Cousin Sirius." she whispered. "Mum would like to see you, so we must go now."
"But-" Sirius tried to protest, still unable to think clearly.
"Ares needs help, Sirius." Daphne stressed, standing up and trying to get the now conscious Ares to stand up, his right hand over her shoulder. Ares trembled for a moment before getting to his feet and leaning heavily on his girlfriend.
Looking at the condition of his son, Sirius finally gave in.
Nymphadora nodded. "This way."
"What an entirely unwelcome surprise, Sirius." were the first words that Andromeda Druella Tonks had to say on seeing her lost-estranged cousin standing in front of her, blood splattered over his robes.
Ares still had trouble standing, one arm each over the shoulders of Sirius and Daphne as Nymphadora, Jonathan and Theo stood behind them. The entire group currently stood in the middle of the emergency ward of St. Mungo's.
"What an entirely unsurprising welcome, Andromeda." Sirius drawled in return.
Nymphadora, who was standing behind him, smirked at his pitiful attempt at a comeback. "Well, now that you have exchanged words as family…" She cleared her throat before continuing, "Mom, Ares needs medical attention."
Her daughter's words pierced her vision as Andromeda finally focused on her other cousin. "Right! Get him on the bed. Healer Michaelson!" She all but yelled the name at the end. "You two-" she gestured at Jonathan and Sirius, "should get your wounds checked with Michaelson. Everyone else, OUT!"
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Finally! A new chapter. Took us quite a bit of time to get this up, mainly because we were distracted and have plans for a new story, which you may or may not see. But no matter what, PEVERELLS has priority. WE WILL FINISH IT!
SEMPER FI!
Now, THANK YOU for the sheer level of response we received for the previous chapter. Neither I nor my co-author expected it. Thank you for appreciating the story, and taking the time to review. Hope you enjoy the upcoming chapters as well.
PeculiarOrphan: Would you be willing to beta the story?
(A special reply from Arcturus Peverell: Let me just tell you that I have a bloody insane posting schedule and leave it to that. if I told you any more than what you already know, you would run away in terror!)
Additions to our Roster:
THORFIN ROWLE – ROD HUNT
MARCUS BULSTRODE – SCOTT CAIN
TIBERIUS ODGEN – CARL REINER
The Show of Today
Xanathar: Behold fleshlings, I am Xanathar. Lord of Waterdeep. There is nothing I do not s-
Hermione: Oh, please. You beholders are all the same. Yammering on about your supposed godhood.
Xanathar: Silence, puny insect. You are a mere bookworm with no imagination whilst I am capable of spinning scores of new plans in the time you read a single line. I cannot be-
*Xanathar kills himself due to a Confundus Charm*
Hermione: Barty! How did you do that?
Barty: I managed to confound an ancient magical artefact. That thing can't be any more difficult than that.
Hermione: But that was impossible. Do you have any idea about the spatial-rotation runes, the dilation runes, alteration enchantments, intent wards, highly powerful soul charms, advanced mithril etched futhark letters and hundreds of enchantments coupled with a guardian spirit. There was no way you could possibly confound the cup in the first place.
Barty" Oh! But I did.
Hermione: How?
Barty: Same way you solved all those riddles through the years.
Hermione: HOW?
Barty: A Secret Weapon….
Hermione: WHAT. IS. THAT?
Barty: J K R
Hermione: ….. I think I'm going to lie down now.