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Ascension 28
🕑 Added 2024-05-21 18:55:43 +0000 UTC“Lady Longbottom,” the bug-eyed blonde simpered, acting all surprised and flowery as the camera turned towards the woman and her grandson—and Cassiopeia groaned mentally as she realized that Skeeter was also recording this drama. Tittering her laugh that was faker than her father’s love for her, the woman glanced at Neville as the Boy-Who-Lived was her nephew, “Neville dear! My my, pictures with the Gilderoy Lockhart before the second year even starts? Planning an adventure together at Hogwarts for the public to enjoy, Heir Longbottom?”
“He is going to be my teacher,” Neville answered, his voice firmer and more…short on patience than when Cassieopeia had last heard the boy-hero. A small smile danced on his lips as the boy nodded his head in Lockhart’s direction, “As for any adventures, we would have to see.”
“With Hogwarts admitting children like these, I am rather pleased that someone like Lockhart is going to be in that castle with our children,” Augusta scoffed, and this time, Cassiopeia couldn’t control her groan anymore. Silence descended upon the crowd that had gather around them as the harridan scowled at her, “Can’t expect anything else from the Blacks and Potters both. I am surprised that you have the guts to show your face in public after the ruins your wands and your insanity have brought to our country.”
“You are the one shouting at two children and their grandmother taking them out for shopping, and I am the insane one,” she scoffed in turn, crossing her arms as she looked down at the much shorter woman, “or was trying to send two eleven-year-olds to Azkaban some brilliant Order of Merlin worthy charity of yours?”
“Would have been a sound decision, considering a troll entered the castle right on the day Neville defeated their Dark Lord,” the woman replied, contempt coloring every syllable that left her lips as Augusta’s eyes latched onto Harry and Persephone, “Mighty convenient that they are somehow able to come across it, and kill it too…that too as first years.”
“Transfiguration was never the strong suit of Longbottoms,” she rolled her eyes, remembering the day when Arcturus had blasted apart Francis Longbottom’s creations into rubble, right before disembowling the man in full view of the public. And given the tightening of Agugusta’s fist over her cane, the woman remembered her widowing just as well, “We are here to take their books, and buy their supplies. Something which everyone can do, whether the great Dowager Longbottom likes them or not. So, move aside Lady Longbottom. I am sure you have better things to do than accost two orphans and an old witch.”
“Acco-” Augusta’s blustering was cut off as a commotion from the back drew their eyes, and with the sound of a woman’s scream, they all turned around to watch as a blonde man was punched across his face. ‘Ouch,’ she grimaced at the crack that was heard in the sudden silence, recognizing her grandniece’s husband as the Malfoy was slugged by who was definitely Cedrella’s son, Arthur Weasley ‘Thank Merlin that they always have to measure dicks in each other’s vicinity.’
“-don’t ever talk about my family, especially my daughter,” Arthur snarled out as his fist once again crashed against Lucius’s nose, the crunch of the ligament breaking unnaturally loud amidst the hysterical pleadings of his wife as she tried to pull him back. However, the next moment, a giant hand caught the heaving man by the back of his robes and pulled him back like Arthur was nothing but a child. Though, in front of Hagrid, he might as well be one. The Hogwarts Groundskeeper grunted quietly as Arthur appeared to push against his hold, and that seemed to break through the man, while Hagrid's other hand was pointing his umbrella at Malfoy. Breathing heavily as he shook the blood off his fist, the balding ginger took a step back and nodded at the half-giant, before turning to glare at the dazed blonde before him, “You keep whatever vendetta you have against me to the Ministry. If I see you deriding my children once again due to your bigotry…I will break your face in like the muggles you so despise. Let's see what your vaunted wealth does then.”
“It can do quite a lot Weasley, but of course, how would one expect you to know that,” Lucius taunted, stumbling back to his feet as his nose healed with a wave of his wand and the blood vanished off his face, leaving him unblemished once more. Malfoy’s grey eyes glinted with cool, unflinching mockery as he regarded the brood of gingers before him, “There is a reason even the muggles don’t attack their superiors Weasley. Especially ones who can pull out the rug from under them so to speak. Come Draco, we are leaving. This store has clearly…been infested.”
‘Still don’t know what Cedrella saw in that fleabag’ she thought, catching the rugged, slightly patchy clothes of a couple of his children. But whatever his stupid, muggle-loving habits may be, Cassiopeia couldn’t help but respect Arthur Weasley for punching Lucius across his pretty, pale face. It had been a while since she had seen the man publicly humiliated, even though he covered it with a veneer of haughtiness and disdain as he stalked out with his progeny in tow. By her side, the Longbottom Heir suddenly walked past towards the Weasley, a shout of “Hermione! Ron”. As expected, Rita too hurried after the young wizard, the camera and the crowd following her within seconds. Seeing their escape for it was, Cassiopeia turned towards the scowling Augusta behind her and gave her a mocking grin, pushing Harry and Persephone towards the side exit, “Should keep a tighter leash on this Augusta, or you didn’t learn anything from the last two times?”
Putting a bookshelf between them before the witch could retort, she quietly chuckled to herself, giving one more look in the Weasley’s direction, where Rita was conducting a surprise interview of the entire family, right at the door of Flourish and Botts. “Harry dear,” she began, looking down at her confused grand-nephew, as she patted his head and smiled softly, do take Scylla with you this year, okay?”
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“You have kept up your practice,” a pleased voice spoke from the edge of her garden, and Andromeda’s fingers stilled upon her painting, the brush almost snapping in two under her sudden grip as she felt her wards pulse in her mind, finally able to feel the foreign magic prodding at her house’s protections “But you still leave a hole too many for someone of our family.”
“Your family, not mine,” she replied cooly as her breath returned to her, and she dropped the palette on the table as she picked up her wand, keeping it lowered by her side, “Why are you here?”
His grey eyes flicked down to her wand, and he clicked his tongue in annoyance, narrowing his eyes. “Don’t mock me, girl,” he spoke, nodding at her wand hand, and even though she was loathe to do it at that moment, Andromeda knew that taking up a wand was foolish of her, especially when she knew that if Arcturus wished it, there would be nothing she would able to do to stop him. She wasn’t weak or unskilled by any means, but even Bellatrix had struggled against her grandfather back when they had dueled him together…and she was no Bellatrix. As her wandtip turned towards the ground, Arcturus’s eyes seemed to soften as he took a step forwards, “I am not here to raise wands or voices, Andromeda. I am here only to talk and make amends, which is long overdue. You were wronged, dear grandaughter…and I…apologize for failing you, as your grandfather, and the Lord Black.”
As Arcturus lowered his head with his cane planted before his feet, Andromeda felt as stunned as the day when she had decided to elope with Ted, and her life had changed forever. She knew how prickly and proud her former family was, her grandfather even more so, who had butchered his friend publicly for making a drunken pass at his wife, and even the years of comradery and friendship had not saved Francis Longbottom from the wrath of her grandfather over the slight at his wife and their name. But yet, with that came the anger she had suppressed and forgotten over the decades. The mockery, the resentment, the anger, the curses—both verbal and magical, that had been directed at her, returned with vengeance. The memories of her once loving sisters breaking ties with her, the sight of her mother silently removing her photos and shattering them, and how Arcturus had been living his life away at his castle…she remembered and lived it all in that moment, and it took a lot of patience to keep the vitriol from her face as she permitted him entry.
“You have done well for yourself,” he muttered as the wards parted enough for him to enter, his eyes lingering on the glowing blue edges of the shields for a moment before he walked past the boundary, looking at the quaint little house, “Theodore…was it?”
“Theodore Tonks,” she answered, moving towards the chairs as she shook her head, “Why now? You had all the time in the world to apologise, if that's what you want to do.”
“If it were up to me, you would have never been betrothed to Selwyn’s son in the first place,” he replied, sitting down on the garden chair, leaving his cane to lean against the table as the umbrella shifted to cover him from the overhead Sun. ‘Lies’ she thought, remembering the how he had vanished without a word“However, I couldn’t control Cygnus anymore I could control Walburga, and they both had already been in the Dark Lord’s influence for a long while by then.”
“You were the Lord of the House of Black,” she ground out, seating herself in front of him as she summoned two glasses of Ironbelly—and Andromeda wasn’t sure she liked the feeling of pride that went through her at Arcturus’ approving look. Letting some of that long-buried resentment and anger drip through her words, she glared at him and nodded at the ring on his finger, “There was nothing Cygnus or Walburga could have done had you done your part instead of leaving the House and us to their whims while you stuck your head in the sand and hid in Kastro Marvos. Bellatrix and Narcissa had long decided to support the Dark Lord, either indirectly or directly, being good little Blacks. But Sirius and I? We were left without any support in that house you ran away from, leaving the reigns to those fanatics. Do you know how many times we fucking cried, begging Cygnus and Walburga to stop the curses, to let us go?!”
“Andro-”
“NO!” she nearly shouted, slamming her left hand on the table and pulling up her sleeve, pointing her wand at fingers, touching it to the tip of her middle one, the tip glowing a soft yellow, “You wanted to talk right? To apologize?! Well, apologize for this then!”
The unblemished skin seemed to melt and evaporate away as the intricate glamour she had applied upon herself was practically forced to shatter by her. A feeling like ants crawling up inside her skin went up her spine, and Andromeda forced herself to remain still as she glared at Arcturus, watching how his eyes tracked every inch of the scarred, twisted, burned skin that was being revealed. Out of the corner of her eyes, she saw his fingers tighten upon the head of his cane, and she delighted viciously in causing him a fraction of the pain that she went through due to his mistakes. “See this? This was long before I decided to run,” she breathed out, clenching her fingers, and feeling the scarred skin pull taught at the wounds, “I had refused to go to the bloody initiation being hosted at the Nott Manor, where the Dark Lord had decided to meet the children of his supporters. Your son did this because you couldn’t be bothered to raise your children right, or protect your own family! I and Sirius had faced more cruciatus curses than our age in just a year, our hands were burnt, our backs were flayed, and even when that was not enough, I was ordered to marry Antonius Selwyn like a cattle to slaughterhouse!”
She breathed heavily by the end of her rant, feeling the sting of the wounds that had never fully healed, the magical nature of the curse lingering in her destroyed flesh even after so many years had elapsed. She had only managed to bury it under a glamour that hid the wound even from her senses, physical or mental, but now that it was gone, she was able to feel the burn, the agony of her scarred hand once more. She had never managed to find a cure for her hand, despite contacting hundreds of medi-wizards and cursebreakers, an-,”What are you doing?” she frowned, watching Arcturus raise his cane towards her hand, her eyes widening as she felt a spark of hope blossom in her heart, “Don-”
“It is a curse of our library,” he muttered, tracing the pink, scarred flesh on her hand with his cane’s tip, the dull green magic seeping into her wounds, and she nearly wept at the cooling, soothing sensation that began to spread throughout her arm. It felt as if she had soaked it into ice water after a long day of work, and Andromeda watched with wonder as some of the more extreme scarring began to slowly change, the brown and puckered skin turning clearer and paler as the green healing energy seemed to unravel the damage done to her. Minute lacerations opened up on her skin, and Andromeda hissed as dark brown blood seeped out of them, wisps of greyish-black magic escaping the wounds with the smell of rot and burnt flesh, “It will take time, for the magic to be sucked out of your body. We can do it in small amounts only at once, since it has stayed inside you for so long. If you want, I can teach it to your daughter.”
“I ca-can’t perform it on myself?” she mumbled out in a small voice, barely smothering the tightness in her throat as Arcturus pulled back his wand, the light green motes of light disappearing into the wind as the numerous small cuts closed up, leaving behind a skin that looked as if it had been a week since her injuries instead of a couple of days. As the coolness slowly went away to leave behind the familiar sting of the curse’s magic—albeit highly reduced, Andromeda clenched her fingers, almost wincing despite herself as she expected the discomfort that came with the action…but yet, the pain and the tightness of her joints was nowhere to be found.
“It was a spell made by Dorea,” he answered, sighing as he leaned back and took a sip of the Ironbelly, his eyes closing as he seemed to savor the taste of his favorite wine, “it utilizes some parts of the curse itself, and according to her notes, the caster can’t use it on himself, Something about conflicting magical natures causing unregulated mitosis and necrosis at the same time, and causing magical rupturing of our cores. It is family magic, and thus only your daughter can learn it aside from you.”
“...thank you,” she muttered after a few moments of silence, slowly re-applying the glamour back on, the prickling sensation and the ugly scarring disappearing underneath the intricate spell. As the magic was finished, Andromeda picked up her own flute, looking at Arcturus through the glass. All of her aggression had simply drained away within seconds, her vitriol and boiling hate disappearing with the simple act he had performed. It wasn’t to say she had forgotten, or forgiven him for his mistakes…but maybe she was more amiable to listening to him for the moment?
Yes, that sounded right.
“You wanted to talk,” she reiterated, much more calmly than the moments prior as she sipped at the wine, shuddering at the sweet, but musky aftertaste that lingered upon her tongue.
“Melania and I were poisoned,” Arcturus shook his head, and just like that, Andromeda felt her world come to a stop for the second time that day, her eyes blowing wide as her grandfather pulled upon the buttons of his coat, pulling it open to reveal the grisly, rotten green scar beneath, “and I barely survived, at the cost of her life.”
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“I always hate these routine checks,” Bart grumbled as he practically dragged himself up the mossy, dreary steps. Behind him, his partner hummed in agreement, and the silvery blue shield at their back floated over to his front. Kicking a loose piece of rock down to the side, he watched it enter a cell through the gap in the bars, smiling at the half-dead, pained groan that came from the woman, “Though I guess there are a few good things to do here, eh Albert?”
“How many this year? Twelve right?” the diminutive wizard cocked an eyebrow as they passed by an inmate, the sunken, marbled white eyes shining in the light of their Patronus as the skeletal man rocked on his knees, rotten, splintered nails digging into his gouged-out cheeks. Shuddering at the sight, Albert walked after his fellow auror, his eyes flicking everywhere for a hint of those specters that haunted this place, “I heard something about a new prison being constructed, for those with lesser sentences.”
“Bah!” he scoffed in response, as they came to the topmost floor of the ancient fortress, and through the gap in the ceiling, Bart looked past the falling water at the storm rolling above, the moon somehow visible despite the heavy clouds that continued to rain cats and dogs, “There are no lesser sentences. Especially not for these animals! Fuckin’ same the lot of them I tell ye! I dunno why DMLE hasn’t caught this bitch yet too! Witch ahs her whole fucking family rotting here anyways.”
“Which bitch are you cursing about now?” Albert raised an eyebrow as they passed by Selwyn’s cell, the wizard pressed into the corner of his cell as he stared out of a crack in the wall, lashing rain falling upon his shivering form from the side, but yet, the mad Death Eater showed no sign of noticing his tattered, soaked through rags or the puddle of piss and shit he was sitting in.
“Cassiopeia Black,” Bart cursed out, spitting out the woman’s name like it was the foulest thing on Earth—and considering the cells they were nearing, Albert couldn’t really disagree with his partner.
“Auntie Cassie is aliiiive?!”
And there it was, the voice of the most batshit insane witch Albert had ever seen or heard of; Bellatrix Lestrange, the Scythe of the Dark Lord. the once beautiful witch had lost all of that famed beauty from her younger years, and now she was nothing more than a decrepit, raving animal with her wide sunken eyes and her gaunt, diminished figure clamoring against the bars of her cell day and night. As if on cue, the sound of chains rattling echoed in the darkened corridor, and her hysterical cackles filled hte air as the witch pushed her face against the bars of her cell. “Auntie Cassie decided to come out of her castle?! Is she beating up your poor baby Auror arses?”
“Shut the fuck up, Lestrange!” Bart shouted, back, gritting his teeth as he marched upto the woman, only to pause right before the wardline, the barely visible transparent barrier glimmering in the patronus’ light. However, the next moment, a taunting smile took over his face as he raised the newspaper in his hand, “However, if you wanna know. Your bitch of an aunt was just humiliated in public by Augusta Longbottom and the Boy-Who-Lived…ye know, the same boy who killed off your ickle fickle Dark Lord as a baby!”
“...heh,” an amused, rough voice rasped out from the cell beside Bellatrix, and that seemed to set the witch off as she screamed and banged her hands against the cell bars, promising to gouge out Bart's eyes and feed them to hsi kids before making him drink their blood. Casting a silencing charm upon the witch, Albert gave her one last look before they looked at the next cell, tangled, greying hair and pale, papery skin greeting them first as Sirius Black crawled into the light.
His grey eyes had begun to show the sign of slight blindness that Azkaban brought upon its inmates, the lack of light getting to the wizard finally after years of imprisonment. “That wa’ a good one,” he chuckled, only to cough a moment later, and even though he spat upon the man’s name, Albert winced at the blood that dripped down the man’s lips. Licking his lips clean of the spit and the blood, Black looked at the newspaper in Bart’s hands before turning his eyes towards them, “Min’ if I have a read, Aurors? Been awhile since I got any news.”
“Whatcha gonna read Black?” Bart jeered, dangling the Daily Prophet in front of the Death Eater’s face, “Your Grandpa and his sister getting owned by the Longbottoms? Or how about you see the rags your best mate’s kids are wearing, cause you two were too busy licking the Dark Lord’s balls?”
“Kids?” the man mumbled back, his eyes flicking to the newspaper in the Auror’s grasp, “Boy Who Lived and Lady Longbottom accosted by Cassiopeia Black and the Potter-wait…what?”
“You mean like you didn’t know that Potter’s bastards were alive and kicking,” Bart laughed, throwing the newspaper at Black and turning to the cell opposite to them, “Hey Potter?! Hear that?! Your wife managed to save your children, and they got sorted in the correct house too. Slytherin! Bet you are proud of it.”
Albert snorted at Bart’s taunt, giving Black one last look before he summoned the newspaper out of his hands and walked off, silently signaling his partner to do the same. It was time for the Dementors to come back, and he had had his fill of the darkness and despair that their presence brought as it was. Kicking a dead vulture out of his path, Albert gave the line of catatonic, raving inmates one last glance before beginning his descent, Bart pulling up on the rear this time with his patronus covering their backs.
“Hear that James, they are alive!” a whisper echoed behind them, and Albert glanced back over the edge of the stone stairs as the Dementors began to float down from the parapets and towers above, their eyeless faces staring at them for a moment before they turned towards the cells, torn, frayed cloaks dancing in the air as their foul, cold magic began to frost the water around them. The Death Eaters and the Werewolves began to moan and beg for help instantly, a cacophony of cries begging for relief or death bouncing off the dark walls of Azkaban…and in that rising clamor, Albert heard a voice he had not heard since his Hogwarts days, and though it was scratchy and barely legible from disuse, there was no mistaking it.
“...Lily?”
