𝕸𝖔𝖓𝖔𝖈𝖍𝖗𝖔𝖒𝖊
Act I - The Trials of Summer
Chapter 27 - Nobility
Albus Dumbledore was surprised.
The situation with Harry Potter had rolled out of proportion ever since that unfortunate night of the Third Task. First that inexplicable monochromatic barrier, sucking out life and colour out of reality itself. Seeing the boy lying on the ground, his heart beating valiantly as he lay amidst dead bodies— it had crafted a certain image in his mind. An idea that he had considered from time to time, but chose to ignore. Seeing the boy lose control during the interrogation, while magic darker and far more twisted than anything he had chanced upon over his hundred and fifty years of experience had loomed over the boy like a protective shadow.
That aura. It was not… natural.
Tom Riddle had done several ghastly things to bolster his rise to power, some of them absolutely terrifying to even consider. He had used his brilliant mind to delve into the dark and the profane, crafting an existence for himself that Albus would die but not consider, even at his weakest. And yet, that aura—
That aura made Lord Voldemort's actions feel like a cheering charm.
For days after that, Albus had often wondered if he had imagined the whole thing.
Then, Tom had sent him that memory.
A memory of what had transpired that night.
And it had brought his worst nightmares to life. Harry Potter might be the one destined to face Lord Voldemort, but would that be a triumph of the Light over the Dark? Or the ascension of an abomination over the bones of a dark wizard? Albus had been totally unsure. What was right? What was wrong? What was true and what was illusion? Was the boy that Sirius Black paraded as his godson really the Harry Potter he knew, or was it a hideous monster, wearing the boy's skin like a cloak?
He was not sure.
He was not sure.
Until now.
A third reason had entered the equation, one that Albus had never even contemplated before this. How could he? There was no way he, or anyone for that matter, could have seen this coming. He still had his suspicions as to why someone like Joshua Greengrass was taking an active stance in Harry's favour, but none of the revelations had shaken him like the one the boy had unleashed before the Wizengamot.
The Peverell Family Magic.
And Harry James Potter, its Lord and Master, granted through his status as a Vessel.
It blew the mind. And with it, brought a tsunami of memories shattering against his mind. Memories of a life so long ago, that it almost felt like something from someone else's life.
The Peverells. Originators of the Deathly Hallows. A trio of powerful items that could bless the wielder with the Power of the Master of Death, a term that a young Albus had associated with invincibility. Gellert had taken the world by storm and nearly ushered in a different era, just by claiming one of the Three. Back then, he and Gellert had believed that collecting the Three was the key to activating the long-lost Peverell bloodline. They had done atrocious things in pursuit of that power. And now, after all these decades, a Vessel appeared.
A Vessel of a Clan that was dead for fifteen hundred years.
He and Gellert had been wrong about the Hallows. That much was certain. But it begged the question— was he wrong about Harry Potter too? Could it be, that the power he had sensed in that cemetery, the shadow he had witnessed in his office, and the monstrosity he had seen in Tom's memory, they were neither abominations nor the effects of the horcrux, but the invincible, incomprehensible power of the Peverell Magic?
The power of the Master of Death?
Was this the secret behind Harry's immunity against the Killing Curse? Could the Curse of Sundering, sunder the soul of that who could not die?
He continued to stare at Harry Potter for a time before he began to laugh.
It started out small, soft breaths that could hardly count as laughter, but then it quickly grew. His shoulder began to shake as the sound of his laughter began to grow faster before he simply threw his head back and laughed. It was the laughter of a man that had just been caught off-guard by horrendously good news. The laughter of a man that had just got the meaning of the most hilarious joke he had ever heard in his life. The laughter of a person that was absolutely elated about a surprise gift.
The entirety of the Wizengamot watched stupefied as Albus Dumbledore's entire frame shook from the force of his laughter and still it went on until he seemed to run out of breaths and his laughter began to taper off to the soft breaths for laughter that he had started out with. By the time he had gotten a hold of himself, everyone, including Harry himself, was giving him strange looks.
"Poetic," he said, flashing the remarkable boy a wide smile. "Tom achieved impossible feats of magic, traversed through paths of no return, transformed himself into a creature so foul that he cannot even be called a human being anymore, all because of his fear of death and now…."
He looked at Harry and grinned in a most un-Dumbledoresque fashion. "Death has come for him. The power he—"
Then he laughed again.
"Uhm, Chief Warlock—" Dullard tried.
"I'm fine, I'm fine," Albus waved him off. "Yes, this was a most pleasant surprise." He beamed at Harry. "I am most interested in where you take House Peverell, young Lord. I witnessed your ascension to Lord Peverell. You may now claim your seats."
"Does this mean you're claiming that what happened at the cemetery was a result of this Peverell family magic?" asked Joseph Macmillan.
"Lord Macmillan," Albus reprimanded softly. "I will repeat what I said. Harry Potter's trial has not started yet. Please limit your questions, statements and objections to the subject of his notices."
The man looked suitably chastised. "Apologies, Chief Warlock!" He said, and sat down.
"Hem-hem!"
That rankled. What now? He wondered. The first stirrings of annoyance were rising in him. No doubt this woman— Cornelius's secretary, had something particularly nauseating in mind. This— this was why he hated being in politics.
"Yes?" He turned towards the woman. "Madam Umbridge?"
She gave him a sickeningly sweet smile. "My apologies for the interruption, Chief Warlock. You see, before my upliftment to the position of the Senior Undersecretary to the Ministry, I used to work for the ICW Archives."
"I don't see how that has any value to this proclamation," Amelia Bones snapped.
Umbridge did a portly bow. "Oh, I'm sorry DMLE Director," She laughed nervously, "but you see, the issue I want to raise is regarding the reactivation of House Peverell. To the best of my knowledge, it was not listed as one of the Founding Houses of the Wizengamot."
…
Albus exhaled. He couldn't put a finger to it, but he had this feeling that she was going to stir up trouble by her words next.
"As per Clause 21A of the Inheritance Act of the Wizengamot Charter, last revised in 1931, the failure for a Noble House to pay their annual Wizengamot dues— eight thousand galleons, adjusted for inflation— over three consecutive years in a row would be considered a severe breach of protocol, and have their Seat rendered dormant, or otherwise, forfeited." The woman gave Potter a biting look, before she continued, "Article 133 of the Charter also describes Noble Houses as being members of the Wizengamot from the very Founding Day."
"Where is this going?" asked Augusta Longbottom.
"Hem!" Umbridge responded, "This is me pointing out that House Peverell is held defaulter on both grounds. It is a thousand years too late for joining this august body."
The woman made a jerky bow to everyone else. "I mean no offence to this Body, but if House Peverell wishes to acquire a seat, one that it never had in the first place, it will have to pay its annual dues to the Wizengamot— all of it— right till the Founding day. A thousand-year fine. While there is no greater honour than to be a Noble House registered with the Wizengamot, I find myself wondering if House Peverell is wealthy enough to pay for it."
"…!" Albus cursed.
Whispers echoed throughout the courtroom as Dolores Umbridge made her accusations.
It was to be expected, given the gravity of the statement, on several levels.
Even Harry was surprised. He had not thought that someone in the Wizengamot would have this level of meticulous research work done in this particular field. Especially since no one should have seen the surprise that was House Peverell coming. Just who was this woman?
Ascension to Nobility status was the greatest honour that any House could aspire to become. The political power, the diplomatic immunities all across Magical Europe, the social status and respect, and most importantly, the nigh carte blanche facility at keeping their collective works of magic segregated from the World under the banner of Family Magic.
The Nobility were hoarders, hoarding their magic just like the elder dragons in stories hoarded gold.
The irony that he would have to give away wealth, several magnitudes greater than House Black's collective worth to the Wizengamot to become a hoarder was not lost on him.
"A thousand years of dues?" asked a feminine voice from the jury, "isn't that a bit… too much? Surely there must be some consideration for such extreme circumstances?"
"Unfortunately, Lady Brown," Umbridge went on in her wheezing tone, "there is none."
"I do not question your authenticity, Madam Umbridge," came the slippery tone of Lucius Malfoy. Harry tried his best to not grit his teeth. "— but perhaps you can inform us of any such precedents?"
Yeah, He thought bitterly, Why not throw salt at the wound while pretending to nurse it?
"Why of course," The pink-clad woman replied, her expression overdosed with saccharine. "There is such, Lord Malfoy. In 1803, the Noble and Most Ancient House of Crouch had to pay its defaulted annual dues for fifty-four years for which the House Seat had remained dormant. And if we talk about more recent events in this century, there is the rejected application for the reactivation of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Gaunt by a certain mu…muggleborn, disqualified on grounds of blood status and an inability to pay the overdue payment for eight-seven years."
Harry blinked. Did she just—
Yes.
Yes. She did.
He smiled. Well now, maybe he could twist things in his favour.
"Madam Umbridge," he called out, "Pardon me for asking, since you're likely the expert on such laws. Just… who was this muggleborn?"
"I don't see how that is relevant to this trial," the woman scoffed.
"Oh it might be. One never knows. Please. I request."
The woman narrowed her eyes in suspicion. If Harry had to wager a guess, she was not let in on the finer details of pureblood hypocrisy.
"Thomas Marvolo Riddle," She replied stiffly, suddenly aware of the whispers in the courtroom around her. She looked at Harry challengingly, as if to say— 'what of it?'
Harry grinned and met Dumbledore's eyes. There was a strange mirth behind those half-moon spectacles. The old wizard had caught on to his plans and was approving of them.
"Tom Marvolo Riddle," He said, eyeing the curious jury, "son of the muggle Thomas Riddle, and Merope Gaunt, squib daughter of Marvolo Gaunt. Spent his initial years growing as an orphan until Albus Dumbledore, then Transfiguration Professor of Hogwarts. Sorted to Slytherin House, despite his muggleborn status. Received a trophy for Special Services to the School in 1943, and ultimately became Headboy in 1944."
"Is this going somewhere?" Amelia Bones asked.
Harry smiled. He had to pay seventeen galleons to Gringotts to acquire a copy of the ancestry test records taken by Tom Riddle in 1943. He had been sure that after discovery and eventual access to the Chamber of Secrets, Tom would have gone out of his way to undertake an ancestry test. Griphook had been rather confused why he was so insistent about the records of some muggleborn related to the miserly Gaunts, and had been shocked when Harry had eventually let him know. As far as he was concerned, those seventeen galleons had been well-spent.
"It is, Madam Bones," he said with a soft smile. "Because of his muggleborn status, the Gaunt Charter rejected him as a Gaunt Heir, despite him being a powerful wizard and most importantly, a parselmouth."
"No…No that couldn't be…" breathed Rosier. From the whitening of his features, Harry wondered if the man had guessed what was about to come.
"I'm afraid it is, Lord Rosier," said Harry, "and now with the Chief Warlock's permission, I wish to demonstrate something in front of you."
At Dumbledore's approval, Harry took out his wand. The wand was thrumming with power ever since he had summoned the Peverell thestral. Casually closing his eyes, he remembered the spell the fourteen-year-old Tom Riddle had casually demonstrated before him, there in the Chamber of Secrets.
His hand moved up, a thin tinge of bright fiery light exuding out of the end of his wand.
Flagrate! He thought and began writing fiery letters in the air.
TOM MARVOLO RIDDLE
With a sharp jerking motion, he forced the letters to shuffle around, creating new words.
I AM LORD VOLDEMORT
"YES!" He said loudly, his voice ringing above the growing whispers in the crowd. "It is a made-up name that he started using at school, back then only known to his most intimate friends, none of whom are, quite interestingly… alive. To quote him, why would he, in whose veins runs the blood of Salazar Slytherin himself, use his filthy muggle father's name? No, he fashioned himself a new name, a name that he knew witches and wizards everywhere would one day whisper in fear, when he had become the greatest sorcerer in the world."
…
…
Everyone's head seemed to have jammed. Harry watched as the crowd looked at him in unblinking horror and silence. Finally, someone spoke up.
"This… this is a lie! This has to be a lie!" said a red-haired man that the Court Reporter announced as Lord Gibbon. "The Dark Lord—"
"Is a muggleborn, and pretends to be the Champion of muggle rights," Sirius voiced. "My godson has the proof. A certified copy of an Ancestry test conducted at Gringotts in 1943."
"It's counterfeit!" said another. "The Dark Lord is the heir of Slytherin!"
"Is?" Madam Bones caught on. "Is that an affirmation of the Dark Lord's return, Travers?"
"Uh… no," The man identified as Travers spoke quickly. "I mean, I heard that a lot, you know. When I was imperiused in the last war."
Harry rolled his eyes. He had gone through the list of 'potential' Death Eaters during a session with Sirius, as well as the sheer number of people that had gotten off with the Imperius defence. Upon asking how such a flimsy excuse had been enough to skip imprisonment, Sirius said that it was true that they had Imperius curses applied on them, commanding them to focus on completing whatever mission they had been given, without resorting to chaos. It was why the Death Eaters behaved so orderly, instead of being an unprofessional rabble.
Still, he couldn't let it go without a parting shot.
"You can believe whatever you want, Lord Travers. Take my own trial for example. People in death-eater robes tried to murder me, and yet, here I am, accused of being the bad guy."
Travers glared at him but said nothing. Judging from the stupefied looks, Harry wondered just how many of them were utterly unaware of this little tidbit. It made him wonder why the Headmaster had kept his knowledge of Riddle's history a secret instead of sharing it out with the general public.
Though, the pained look on Lucius Malfoy's face made it worth it.
Justice didn't exist in the Wizengamot. It was simply a mask used in power plays. An excuse to get someone into trouble. A ploy to weaken and destroy enemies.
It was both intoxicating and repulsive at the same time.
If Harry had simply cried foul at the Umbridge woman's words, it would have gotten him nowhere. He would just have looked like a child with his hand caught up in the cookie jar. The momentum he had gained from the House Peverell issue would have been instantly punctured by the woman's unreasonable demands.
Instead, he had gone with a second option. To go with the narrow opening that Umbridge's statement had given him. He had forgone any and all defence and went directly for the attack. His blood still might be in the water, but there was far more than just his floating around. And judging by the reactions of the people around him, he was pretty sure that he had secured a very strong hit on Voldemort's forces with this one move.
Especially in the light of his trial.
"THE BRAT IS LYING!" cried out a bald, boisterous man in the crowd, "THERE'S NO WAY THIS RIDDLE MUDBLOOD—"
"KRAKOW!"
Albus Dumbledore had hit the gavel so hard that it sounded like an actual thunderclap, throwing the room into instant silence. The bald man in the jury slowly sat down.
Then, Harry felt the Headmaster address him.
"Mr. Potter, you have made your point. But, I would like the court to return to the point of order. As Madam Umbridge has clearly stated, the laws are clear, and there is provision for the demands she has stated. Is House Peverell willing to pay the appropriate dues and take up its place on the Wizengamot?"
"That will not be necessary," Joshua proclaimed.
"Lord Greengrass," The Minister offered, "this is House Peverell's business. You, I'm afraid—"
"I'm representing Lord Harry Potter's interests as his solicitor and defence counsel," Joshua defended. "I was about to state my position right before the trial, but these events forced my hand."
That shut the Minister up.
"Madam Umbridge," said Joshua in his most polite tone, "You're absolutely right. Had House Peverell been an absolutely new House, with a Lord unaffiliated with any Houses existing under the Wizengamot's Charter, one could argue over the thousand-year-old fine. However, the same does not apply for this situation because House Potter is already a part of the Wizengamot, and despite the unfortunate demise of its Lord back in 1979, it has paid its annual dues and stayed from dormancy. What my client wishes to do is elevate House Potter to House Peverell, not gain an extra House under his dominion."
"But that would mean—" began Lady Brown.
"The subsumption of the House of Potter into the House of Peverell, yes. You will note that the word 'Nobility' is not part of Clause 21A, which deals only and only with the Sacred Twenty-Eight, the Founding Houses of the Wizengamot. The word 'Nobility' traces its roots back to the Wizard's High Council, and before then, to the Arcana Cabana, the Gathering of sorcerers, presided by none other than the Emrys himself. The ability to forge a 'Family Magic', described in our earliest testaments alongside phrases like 'gaining Divine Providence' and 'achieving True Magic', is what allows an entity, and his bloodline to be called 'Noble'. And as Lords and Ladies well know, none of the Houses of today are called by their original names. The Noble and Most Ancient House of Greengrass has been called House Brisingamen, and Clan Folkvangr before it."
Every single person was hanging on the man's words.
"In short, the House Name does not matter. As Mr. Potter, excuse me, Lord Peverell, so nicely surmised earlier, it is one's accomplishments and one's legacy that held greater value than the blood we carried, back in the old days. If you do not wish to welcome House Peverell into your ranks without demanding a… forgive me, most outrageous and unfair penalty," — Umbridge scowled— "then my client can simply use his authority as Vessel to subsume the Potter name into the Peverell identity, because unlike some, he does believe in, and respect the traditions of old."
Several people stood up and started clapping. Harry met Joshua's eyes and grinned from ear to ear.
"Told you," Joshua muttered, "it's all about control."