Chapter 32
CYGNUS BLACK
His father's era had come and gone, and theirs had been a life of failure. In their time, they had seen their values decimated by the rise in the number of mudbloods coming into their world and taking it for granted.
They had let those heathens erode away their values and traditions, and now many even felt ashamed of their own heritage as they let their blood mix with those lesser beings. The mudbloods were like a disease, and it was time that those pests were shown their place in this world.
For far too long, they had let men like Dumbledore destroy their children, and that was why the Dark Lord had been like a savior to them. A man unafraid of the Headmaster. A man willing to act on their fears.
His father was a fool to doubt the Dark Lord, yet what else should he have expected of a man who had let his sister marry into those damned blood traitors? He was a relic of a bygone era, and it loathed him to stand there in front of him begging him for aid, yet his own avulsion was overshadowed by the fear and the command of the man who would lead them out of their misery.
"No," the old man answered, as Cgnus felt his blood boil.
"You would vote against your own family?" Cygnus asked in indignation, as his father scoffed at his words, clad in a loose shirt and trousers. They were in his solar, and the vote was set to happen in but a few days.
"Those bastards are no family of mine," his father's words made him grit his teeth.
"They are. Bellatrix is to wed into the Lestranges, and soon enough, Andromeda and Narcissa will tie knots with Rebastan and Lucius as well," and to think that the latter two might be put into Azkaban, all for a little sport.
It was preposterous.
"You must think of their future," for the consequences of his vote could be dire for them and their family.
"Did you think of that when you sold them off to the Malfoy and Lestrange?" and it was not him who had done that.
"The Dark Lord brokered these matches himself. He respects our family. Our heritage," and his father was not listening to him at all as he continued his defiance.
"Lord! Do you feel no shame calling that half breed with such regard," and Cygnus grit his teeth as he heard those words. He feared the wrath of their lord if he were ever to hear such disregard, but he held back his tongue, for he was not here to argue against him.
"You must vote against this farce. If not for family, then for traditions and values," he pleaded again, hoping that the old bastard would see some sense.
"Values? Traditions?" he asked in condescension.
"I never knew rape and murder were our values?" and Cygnus gulped down.
"It was just a little mistake made because of the inexperience of the youth. But the matter is that we cannot let those half breeds and mud bloods taint our good name all because of a few damned muggles," and his father's eyes narrowed.
"Do you think me a fool?" and his voice rose as his eyes widened with rage.
"Do you really think that I do now know what is going on here?" and the Prophet had refused to hold its tongue, as it continued to publish one escapade after another, and though it did not yet name Lucius and Rebastan, those with little information on the matter had already figured it out.
"The Dark Lord has personally asked this of our family. It is our honor to serve him and his cause...."
"There is no honor in serving half breed like that. Not for me!" his father refused to see reason, and so Cygnus bit his lip and met his harsh gaze.
"Then I do hope you are prepared to face the consequences for it. Whether you vote to exonerate them or not, he has pledged his word that Lucius and Rebastan shall not spend a day in Azkaban," and that had calmed down the fear amongst their group, and given Abraxus and Lestrange much confidence.
"But the Dark Lord has a long memory, and he will not let this sleight go," and his father grunted as he coughed into a cloth.
"Is that so? I never thought that you would fall so low as to threaten your own father, you cur," and Cygnus had been left no choice.
"And I never thought that you would turn your back on our family values," and so in that way, they were both disappointed. But his father's era was over, and soon the Dark Lord would lead them into a new era, one where one's blood and heritage would be the measure of their true worth.
Silence hung in the air after that, until Cygnus finally rose.
"What do I say to the dark Lord then? Do I have the vote?" he asked finally, and the vote mattered much for the Black family, which was the cornerstone of the traditionalist faction, and his own father held much sway over the grey faction as well.
If he were to vote against the trial, then the rest of the families would all hold the line. But if he were to go against it, it would be a great blow to them.
"Not like this," and with that, he saw him reach into his drawer as he pulled out a folded letter and threw it towards him.
"What is this?" he asked.
"You and Walburga sold off this family's future when you bound your own daughters through those damned betrothals. And now you and your lord think that you can blackmail me using them," and his father's words made him frown.
"They are lucky that the Dark Lord...."
"I have heard enough of you, you shite!" he cut in as he rose from his chair and came to stand in front of him, and even in his age and frail health, Cygnus could not help but step back in his fear as he looked down at him.
"You may have sold your soul to that half-breed, but I will not let you make a mockery of this family anymore. If you or your so desire my vote, then you will agree to these terms," and the letter contained his terms.
"And what are those terms?" he asked after wetting his throat with saliva.
"I would not be able to step foot in my grave if I were to let this family fall into the hands of that damned half breed. You may be blind to his ambitions, but I see right through him," and he again disrespected the lord, knowing not the consequences it could bring.
"What do you mean by that?"
"If you want my vote, then you will have those damned betrothals annulled by tomorrow. Otherwise, it would warm my heart to see those stupid bastards rotting away in Azkaban...."
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ALBUS DUMBLEDORE
It pained him to see Hogwarts turn into a battlefield. He had tried his best to protect the school from the fires of the war raging outside. He had hoped to provide the younglings with a sanctuary where they could study in peace without worrying about the politics and the war that raged outside these Halls.
But in the end, he had failed, and the embers of the war had made their way into his Halls. Tensions between Houses, or pure-bloods and Muggle-born students, were not new, yet in his many years as Headmaster, he had never seen the situation turn so volatile.
The teachers and the prefects had tried many times to improve the situation, yet the continuous coverage from the Prophet continued to stoke the flames of division and rage, as it reminded them of the heinous crimes of their own classmates.
In the end, hit was a relief that the term was coming to its end within two weeks. Hopefully, the vacations would alleviate the situation, though a part of him feared that it could all get much worse.
And as he was contemplating all this, he heard a knock on his door while his little trinkets alerted him to a presence outside his office.
"Come in," he whispered, and the door was swung open as a familiar face walked into his office. The wizarding world outside these Halls was readying itself for its most consequential Wizengamont session in decades, and he could not remember a vote holding so much importance since the fall of his old friend years ago.
But the lords were set to vote tomorrow on Abraxus's petition, where he had asked that the Ministry treat Lucius and Rebastan as minors in their trial, claiming their crime to be of a rather minor infraction, caused by the vulnerability of their youth.
Despite being the Supreme Mugwump, he could not be sure of the numbers, but it was not looking good for Abraxus and his fellows, and to think that all their misfortune was caused by the boy infront of him.
"You called for me, Headmaster," and in many ways, Alder Evans had been as prodigious a student as Tom himself. Both of them were prodigies and had gained much sway and influence even while being students.
Tom had made himself essential to his more affluent friends despite his heritage, while Alder was one of the most popular and influential voices among the Muggle-born and Half-blood students within his school.
His 'Dueling Club' had helped Muggle-borns close the gap with their pure-blood and half-blood peers, for unlike them, these eleven-year-olds were often stepping into an entirely new world, with its own history and rules.
He offered them guidance and help in their newfound journey, and with that, he had built himself a community that held him in as much regard, just as the Slytherins had done the same for Tom Riddle.
"Indeed, I did," and with that, he motioned towards the chair.
"Come sit, there is no need to be so nervous," and while Albus did not fear him or his ambitions as he had done so for Tom, he did not quite agree with his actions either.
"I just wished to have a polite conversation with one of Hogwarts brightest students," and there was no lie in that statement.
"You flatter me, Headmaster," the boy replied with a stiff smile, as those green eyes of his glanced around the room with a sense of awe and wonder, yet for some reason, he found that gaze searching as if trying to remember something from a time long gone.
"I see that my little projects have caught your eye," he added, and the boy shuffled as he met this gaze once more.
"I am sorry, but I have never seen such unique utilization of runes and wards," and he quite doubted that.
"Well, I believe I could say the same..." and with that, he reached into his desk and took out a little contraption he had taken out of Hog's Head, and immediately the boys' expression shifted from one of shock to relief and then fear once again.
"Truly marvellous work," he praised, and indeed it was, and he had never thought of applying Runes to a voice recorder like this, and to do so while being a fifth year was as impressive as anything he had ever seen.
"The layering of the runes, the balance of the magic itself. I would be impressed to see such work from a student in their NEWTS," and yet he had managed to do it all while being a fifth year.
And then he met his gaze and smiled softly.
"You do know what this is, right?" and he saw the boy hesitate, contemplating his answer in his mind before he sighed and nodded.
"I do," and with that, he pressed the play button as an ominous recording began to play, before a familiar voice cut through the Noise.
'...Preston!'
"You were the one who alerted the Ministry about the attack," and that was not an accusation.
"Yes," he accepted, and a part of him had hoped that it was all a lie, and unlike the rest of his Muggle-born peers, he knew that Alder Evans had a good understanding of their world and its politics.
"Do you have any idea about the implications of your actions, my boy?" and he nodded.
"They were killing Muggles," and that was as good an admission as he was going to get.
"And that is a heinous crime," and he loathed that Voldemort's dogma had corrupted his own pupils here at Hogwarts. Yet, still he knew well that the devastation that was about to come would dwarf the misery of those muggles by many folds.
"And they must be punished for it, yet this could very well lead to a war," and he saw the boy's face shift at his words, though not with surprise but with a hint of guilt and doubt.
"They raped and killed over a hundred muggles," he repeated a bit heatedly as he looked him in the eye.
"The attack three weeks back, before Christmas. It happened a few blocks away from where I live," and that was tragic indeed, for he had witnessed the devastation of that attack himself.
"They killed my neighbours. People I grew up with, they died for no other reason except that a rich blood purist bastard wished to feel some exhilaration," and there was spite in that tone, and it made him realise that perhaps Alastor was right.
That he might have been blind indeed. He had thought that he had done enough to shield his students from Voldemort's attacks, yet he had forgotten that while he could protect them here at Hogwarts, each of them had family and friends in their own world.
"I am sorry," he repeated, yet how was he to choose between his own students? How was he supposed to do that as a teacher? As an educator?
"Did you ask me here to punish me?" the boy asked, and he was quick to shake his head.
"No, but I did hope to have you understand the implications of your actions," yet if the look in his eyes was anything to go by, the boy already did.
"I do," he answered, and Dumbledore did not doubt his words.
"I do not judge you for your actions, but I do think that they were somewhat shortsighted. You could have come to me with this information, for the evil of the man you have angered has no bounds," and he had it on good authority that he was searching for him.
Albus had moved quickly to get rid of all the evidence as soon as he had found that rumor, but even still, there was still a chance that Voldemort would find out about Alder's involvement in the ruination of his plans.
"I had to do something," he defended himself, as Albus sighed, faced with another dilemma.
"I believe you do understand that you are not entirely safe now," and the boy hesitated before he gave him a slight nod.
"He wants retribution," Albus added. It was somewhat assuring that, despite his skill, Alder was not pompous enough in thinking himself capable of facing Voldemort and his army.
"I have been warned. I am trying to make some arrangements," and that was encouraging. Still, just as it was his duty to try to save Malfoy and Lestrange from their worst selves, he had a duty to the boy in front of him as well.
"Good, but I wanted to give you this as well," and with that, he put forward a little lighter that he had crafted a few years ago, one that he had recently charmed into a portkey of sorts as well.
"What is this?" the boy asked.
"A little invention of mine," and he flipped up the cap to reveal the button.
"I shall do everything in my power to protect your identity, but lest I fail and Voldemort or his people try to target you or your family," he warned, and then he clicked it once, yet no sparks were formed.
"All you need to do is push it down three times quickly," and it was a rather brilliant and expensive piece of magic.
"And it will alert me to your location," and the boy seemed surprised by the gesture, as Albus nodded.
"It can only be used once, so be careful with it," he added, smiling, as he passed it to him, and he reached for it and then examined it for a few moments before pocketing it.
"Thank you," he said, genuine relief in his voice.
"That will be all," and the boy rose with some hesitation, eyeing him strangely as he headed for the door.
"And Mr. Evans," he called out, as the boy glanced back.
"Yes, Headmaster," and he raised a brow.
"I am looking forward to your Transfiguration scores. I have heard that you have quite a surprise in store for us," and the boy stilled for a second at those words before he nodded nervously.
For in his efforts to shield the boy from the retribution of his own actions, he had uncovered another rather brilliant secret of his.
"I will try not to disappoint...."
.
.
.
"A student," Voldemort snarled as Bellatrix gave him the report.
"Yes, my lord. I tried to find out more, but there was nothi..." and his wand moved on its own.
"CRUCIO!" and the girl screamed, as he let out his rage.
A boy. A boy had ruined his plans. He could not fathom the thought. He had thought that it was the Headmaster, or perhaps some other powerful and influential figure who had moved against him.
Yet to think that it was but a boy.
"My lord...." and he pulled back his wand, and by now froth ran down her mouth as she twitched on the floor.
"Find him!" he ordered.
"I don't know how! FIND THIS BOY AND MAKE AN EXAMPLE OUT OF HIM!!"
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