Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

All The Stars In The Sky	By : lemonsqueeze13 Category: Harry Potter > General > General Views: 5428 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 5
- 6
- 7
Thunderous cracks sounded as the Black contingent apparated at their destination. Moving together they passed the wrought iron gates proudly displaying the Lestrange family insignia, and made their way up towards the opulent mansion.

The mood was subdued during the trek. Ara had made no effort to hide his trepidation in any way and it affected those around him just the same. With the exception of Walburga, of course - who was more than expressive with her bubbling excitement while leading the pack towards the main door.

Reaching the entrance, the door opened automatically before anyone even had a chance to grab the knocker. Everyone looked down to find a beleaguered house elf ushering them in.

“Wands.” The little elf rasped out, extending its gangly arm. Although disgruntled at having to forego their wands for the evening, it was a stipulation the Lestranges insisted on. If he wasn’t already on edge, having to surrender his main weapon just before heading into what was most assuredly hostile territory would have done the trick all on its own.

Having a back-up wand was out of the question as well, there’s no messing about with old family wards in place.

Receiving each of their wands, the elf shuffled back and led them into the large, ostentatious ballroom where the party was being held. The group broke up, as each made their way over to their own acquaintances. Sparing a glance towards the women, Ara saw them heading towards a sequestered area that had a large group of the wives and daughters all huddled around each other.

Ara stood stiff as he carefully surveyed the party. Not spotting Voldemort, he breathed a small sigh of relief. ‘Thank Merlin for small mercies.’ His attention was soon caught by an uncomfortable looking Slughorn, waving him over from behind a barricade of other men. Ara strode forward, taking a tumbler of firewhiskey off of a floating tray as he approached them.

“Professor.” He said lifting the glass of alcohol in greeting towards the older men before draining his drink in a single gulp.

“Whoa! Easy there, lad!” One of Slughorn’s companions jumped at the teenager’s behaviour. Ara’s face stained red as he refused to let a cough through, blowing out a trail of smoke after swallowing.

“Don’t worry, I’m just catching up.” Ara responded, he stuck out his hand to the other person. “Ara Black, I don’t believe we’ve met before.” The handsome, blond haired, blue eyed man hesitantly clasped hands with Ara.

“Nice to meet you, son. I’m Marlon McKinnon.” He gave a reassuring smile to the obviously tense teen and introduced himself.

“Don’t you mean Lord McKinnon?” A dark haired man with his face almost completely disappearing behind a forest of thick beard and moustache sarcastically scoffed out. He was scowling at the rest of the room with arms crossed.

McKinnon looked sternly at him for a moment, and then continued with introductions. “The surly gentleman next to me is Gaston Gamp. And the quiet gentleman here is Sever Selwyn.” Marlon gestured to the third man with light blonde hair and a gentle look on his face. Selwyn shot Ara a smile and lifted his glass towards him in greeting.

Ara nodded at the men in thanks. “So. How’s the party so far?” Ara asked, Slughorn was about to chime in with a standard polite response for the sake of appearances before Gaston Gamp cut in.

“A real fucking bore.” He spat out none too politely, yet quiet enough that none of the surrounding attendees would hear anything untoward being discussed in their conversation. The two other men chuckled at Gamp’s vicious response.

Slughorn immediately started, almost chocking on his drink. “We-well I wouldn’t necessarily say that.” Slughorn hastily threw in. Nervously peering around to find out if anybody had heard, or worse, taken offense at the statement.

“He’s right though, this entire thing is about as fun as trying to get an extra knut off a Goblin.” Selwyn rebutted Slughorn.

“Just look around Black. It’s a complete circus.” Marlon McKinnon gestured behind them towards the rest of the attendees. Ara looked around, and spotted two men who looked suspiciously like Crabbe & Goyle bowing to each other and gesturing elaborately – exclamations of “My lord! My lord! My lord? Hahaha My lord!” were heard coming from the pair, and not just a few in the surrounding party seemed to be mimicking similarly.

Ara turned back to his companions with a baffled look on his face, that seemed to be silently asking ‘What the fuck is this?’ McKinnon shrugged and took a long pull of his drink, mirroring Ara’s confusion.

“They’re acting like a bunch of damn caricatures out there! Calling each other my lord, and unnecessarily spouting all that nonsensical, outdated, ridiculous, old-world pureblood drivel. They’ve all gone and lost their damn minds if you ask me.” Grumbled Gamp gruffly.

Using the silence the statement caused as an opportunity, Sever Selwyn snuck in with his own speculation. “I myself am rather astounded that you aren’t a part of the festivities Mr. Black.” He addressed Ara, his face affable yet his tone suspicious.

All four men were focused in on Ara now, anticipating the response from the young man who belonged to one of the most decidedly dark households, and should reputedly be falling in quite comfortably with the aforementioned ilk. Ara merely shrugged off the response. “I don’t particularly fancy being a boot-licker.”

Gamp snorted at his simple riposte. “Aye, I bet you don’t. I’ve heard tell ‘bout you from old Sluggy here, and my own lad also.” He said pointing to the increasingly shifty Slughorn.

Ara’s eyes lit up in recognition. “Oh! You’re Casper’s father, sorry for not realizing sooner.”

Gaston waved off the apology. “No worries, wouldn’t expect you to. Slug here’s floundering too much to help out with proper intros. But do tell me how you’ve got my boy so charged up, Cas hasn’t left the dueling room this entire summer.”

“My own Selena has taken quite zealously as well.” Selwyn spoke up once more. “Not with you though, more with Bellatrix I believe. Although, you’re not without mention either.”

Ara managed to make another connection; apparently Sever was the father of the first year Bellatrix had taken ‘under wing’ this past year. “You’re fairly calm for a man who’s eleven-year-old daughter is suffering from Stockholm syndrome under a complete maniac.”

Selwyn chuckled dryly into his drink at Ara’s facetious remark. Before he had the opportunity to continue the verbal spar McKinnon managed to cut in. “What do you mean by that? Boot-licker?”

“The guest of honour’s. That’s what he’s eventually going to require from everyone here isn't it? Just by us being here he’s already started on getting us to do what he wants. I don’t even want to be here but I’m forced to be here anyway on the invitation of some unknown bloke.” Selwyn seemed affronted at this response.

“He’s not just some unknown, he’s Slytherin.” Selwyn pointed out almost petulantly.

“So? You just go wagging your tail off for any Tom or Harry who calls themselves Slytherin?” Ara rebutted immediately. Selwyn looked immediately put upon by the rude response.

“Maybe not the right wording there lad, but you do have to admit to at least having some level of interest here. It’s not everyday you get to meet the descendant of a founder now is it?” McKinnon broke in diplomatically.

“And that’s exactly my point. This stranger just drops a founder’s name and you all come flocking, you’re all already playing into his hand.” Both Selwyn and McKinnon were considered the implications of Ara’s point of view. Meanwhile, Gamp came to his own conclusion.

“You know who he is. Not just who says he is.” It wasn’t so much a question, rather a statement. Ara turned his attention back to Gamp. Unsure of what to do he dropped a quick questioning glance at Slughorn.

Sensing his students question - Can we trust them? - Slughorn pondered for a moment and followed with a small, resolute, affirmative nod.

“I do. I won’t go into specifics, not here at least. But I will say this: he’s lying to you. Everyone here’s being fooled.” All three men conferred silently with each other at Ara’s declaration, none of them missed the exchange between him and Slughorn; so while Ara could be brushed aside as some troublemaker schoolboy, Slughorn’s information was not to be taken lightly.

Selwyn turned spokesperson for the trio. “Let’s say the three of us - and maybe a few other friends of ours - wanted to know more. Would you be amenable for dialogue sometime?”

“Give me a time and a place. I’ll be there.” Ara answered instantly. Suddenly Slughorn let out an uncomfortable whimper.

“He’s here.” All heads snapped to where Slughorn indicated. A low murmur set over the crowd, as they parted to make way for a collection of five wizards and witches. Ara wasn’t able spot who he was looking for immediately.

At the head of the parade was an extremely severe looking older gentlemen, hair a clean white – Randolph Lestrange. Following immediately behind him were his two sons Rodolphus and Rabastan, both oozing smug satisfaction at being part of the attention, and trailing behind them was Renata Lestrange simpering with superiority as she did her level best to catch the eye of every single witch in her line of sight.

There. There he was, on her arm as she steered him down the passage. Thomas Slytherin, Tom Marvolo Riddle. Lord Voldemort.

Ara tensed noticeably; not that anybody noticed – too busy beholding the guest of honour. Every fiber of his being screamed at him to lunge. His muscles, his hormones, they fought rabidly against his consciousness to pounce at the man – no, the monster. But he remained still, his fists clenched, and he ground his teeth, but he did not move from where he stood.

He watched Tom strolling alongside the woman. Her arm tucked snugly beneath his own, with his free hand pressed gently atop hers. He watched Tom, basking in his own presence; a cordial yet confident smile furnished his face. For that was what it was – simple decoration masking the true face of the beast that hid underneath. He watched Tom, a far removed visage from the pale monstrosity Harry had encountered at the climax of the Tri-Wizard tournament. In his place stood the older, gracefully aged version of the phantom he met in the Chamber of Secrets.

Suddenly, almost as if sensing the malice pouring out, Tom glanced over at the teenager staring at him with a steely glare. He smirked as their eyes met, and for a short moment, the world went mute. Tom – No! Voldemort! He reminded himself, seemed inexplicably drawn to the young man, he could almost taste the familiarity. But funnily enough couldn’t place the boy – but the boy certainly seemed to have been able to place him. Voldemort was just about to probe the young man’s mind, but was drawn away when Renata motioned him forward to take his place.

All eyes were on him now, or at least those that could see. Squaring his shoulders, he kept his easy demeanor as he glided to a more central area to stand. Keeping both hands where they were entirely visible to those who were watching, he waved an empty palm at the floor – and where once there was nothing, an ornate podium materialized. Without braking stride, he climbed on to it, and once more gazed at the sea of awed faces. Taking a deep breath, he begun his monologue.

“There are many of you here who have met me before. Not all. But a good number of you I’ve spoken to previously, so as to give you a good measure of who I am. For the rest of you, who’ve no doubt heard tell of me but not yet had the opportunity to witness me in person – it is by the good grace of the Lestranges that we have that occasion today. As I stand here before you, I am Thomas Slytherin.”

He paused to let that sink in, a hush of whispers spread. “As I look down upon you all, I see the undeniable features of proper, pureblood breeding. I see the poise, the bearing, and the composure you have all learned at the feet of my ancestor within the hallowed halls of the Slytherin dungeons. Everyone sees it! It seeps out of each one of you: the attitude, the style, the pride. If only my dear ancestors could see you now.” The purebloods couldn’t help the pleased expressions and the sweeping murmurs of assent. There is absolutely nothing like a validation of their core beliefs, to successfully stroke someone’s ego.

Voldemort’s previously charming façade faded into abject disgust at their self satisfaction. “They’d see just how pathetic you all have become!” Stunned, disbelieving silence followed by ripples of affront and outrage.

Losing his patience with the jeering crowd almost immediately, Voldemort loudly hissed out. “SSSSSSILENCE!” Through a combination of his sheer vitriol, and the revelation of his parselmouth abilities, Voldemort once more masterfully dominated the room. Ara was one of the only not to flinch; already aware of the skill. The others were the heads of the Lestrange, Malfoy, Avery, Mulciber, Nott, and Rosier, Ara carefully surveyed – due largely in part to their complete absence of shock.

“H-he’s speaks parseltongue! He’s really Slytherin!” Someone screeched out in shrill panic.

“So the bleedin’ hell what! Slytherin or whatever, no one dares call me pathetic! Fuck you, you hissy slab of steaming erumpent shit!” A very angry, and very drunk man roughly bulldozed his way through the press of bodies, till he stood right in front of the podium.

To say Voldemort was irritated would be an understatement, but instead of erupting in anger he chose this moment to issue a lesson to all watching. He didn’t respond immediately, waiting till the questioning whispers picked up in momentum, and the few potential dissenters started looking braver at the perceived hesitance of the guest of honour. And just when another stream of venom was about to spill from the drunk’s lips Voldemort made his move.

Moving unnaturally swiftly, Voldemort shot quickly forward and had the collar of the drunk’s robes firmly in his impossibly strong grip. He pulled down hard and he twisted the robe around the drunk, wandlessly transfiguring it into something much heavier, and much more alive.

A loud gasp of panic passed through the bystanders as they hurriedly backed away from the ensuing confrontation. Suddenly the drunk was wrapped tightly in the embrace of a very large and terrifying snake. It’s iridescent green scales coiling tightly around the now madly screaming man, who had just managed to realize what had happened, and began thrashing around desperately, yelling his increasingly pressured lungs out to ‘GET IT OFF!’.

Hissing loudly once more for all to hear, Voldemort instructed the snake to coil another length of it’s body around the drunk’s face to muffle his incessant wailing. “When I say silence, I mean it.” He said conversationally to the stunned audience as a drunk man being constricted to death by a snake thrashed frantically at his feet.

Voldemort strode closer to the struggling form on the floor, his expensive dress shoes almost tickling the man’s ear, and stared down at him dispassionately. Tears streamed from his bulging eyes, chest heaving in massive effort as he futilely attempted to draw breath. With a loud snap, the sound of his bones succumbing to the pressure of the serpent’s muscles reverberated throughout the quieted hall. Voldemort stared into the man’s eyes, ensuring his point got across - a moment that lasted a lifetime for the drunk. And then with a dismissive wave and a final hiss, Voldemort vanished the snake.

He shifted his gaze to focus on the observing crowd in front of him, ignoring the harsh, wheezing, greedy breaths that dissolved into quiet sobs beside him.

“Is that it then? A single tantrum?” he goaded, baring his teeth in animosity towards the assembly. Turning his back towards them he again glided up the podium. Spreading his arm wide he began his speech anew.

“Is this your vaunted pureblood supremacy? I’ve entered your homes. I’ve spat in your faces. And what have you done in retaliation? NOTHING! Merely sent over a useless fool to do your work for you, while you sat back and watched as I put him down like muggle filth!” Like chastised children, the ‘elite’ of the wizarding world could do nothing but bow their heads and swallow their anger.

“Is it any wonder that mudbloods and blood traitors run roughshod over us? We see them enter OUR world. Year after year they come in droves, and being the good people that we are we share with them our magic. But that isn’t enough for them. Like rats on a fresh corpse they devour everything. They eat away at our resources. They step on our traditions - call us ‘barbarians’ because we live our lives separate from the corruption of muggle madness. THEY SSSTEAL OUR MAGIC!” Voldemort poured power into his words he spoke, the end of his sentence echoing loudly off the walls.

Nearly all in attendance entirely forgot their outrage at the man before them. Voldemort smirked internally at their shocked and appalled expressions. It really was rather easy sometimes. You take a gathering of people; point out their insecurities in the most demeaning way possible - really take them right up to their breaking point; and finally, point the finger at someone else to watch the sparks fly.

“And we shan’t blame them either, for it is in their nature to be voracious beasts. No! The blame lies with all of you who simply bend over and bare your necks for slaughter! You have all deluded yourselves. You no longer have power! Just children led astray by your arrogance.” Steadily and with complete control, Voldemort lowered his volume and softened his tone, choosing to reflect resigned disappointment where there was previously anger.

“I believe it is now finally time for the parent to take responsibility for the child. This is why I am here. This is why I have been called upon by your peers and siblings. To finally return you all to the bosom of Slytherin, and once more guide you to the destiny you all so richly deserve.” He crooned to the crowd in deep dulcet tones. And slowly, ever so slowly, he brought his arms up. Uncurling his long, sharp fingers one by one, he extended his palms out to the crowd.

And like a mother beckoning her child for embrace after a scolding, the crowd moved forward. They reached out, an ocean of hands, they reached for him with tears in their eyes, and hearts free. And Voldemort welcomed them, he basked in the frantic rush, the pleading and yelling to save them, to help them. Hands spread all over his body as if ready to tear every inch of him entirely to shreds, but with unnatural care he was handled as if he was the most fragile, precious ornament.

“We stand here all with purpose now! To redeem ourselves and redeem OUR World! But we must be careful, cautious. We need to wholeheartedly absorb what it means to be Slytherin. Our faces, our names cannot, must not, see the light until the sun that we stand under is of our very own making. So in that endeavor I am no longer Thomas Slytherin. I will become what we need. I am a moniker. I am a symbol. I. AM. LORD. VOLDEMORT!” A resounding cheer of triumph spread through the hall. Pompous, pristine purebloods devolved into rabid fanatics frothing at the mouth for blood.

But all that raucous noise was lost to Ara. Only the incessant high pitched whine of shock squealing in his ears. He saw the maddened crowd scrambling for Voldemort, and in that crowd he saw them as well. His own family had fallen under the spell. Even his own mother and grandparents were giving considerable looks towards Voldemort. Andromeda was visibly nervous, but Ara saw no anger, no disgust, none of the reactions he was truly hoping for. And Bellatrix stood transfixed, cheeks heated red and chest heaving, an unmistakable sparkle in her eyes.

Immediately he felt sick. The bile in his stomach rose up, the acrid fluid burnt its way up his chest and throat. Swallowing it all down painfully, he brought the sleeve of his robes to wipe the profuse sweat collecting at his hairline.

He was having trouble breathing. Short, sharp, shallow breaths struggled to escape his lungs. He took halting steps, his eyes swimming disorientated, looking for any indication of a loo anywhere.

Finding the lone corridor across the hall, he adhered to the wall and stumbled his way ahead, careful to avoid catching anyone’s attention. As he miserably trudged on he missed the concerned stare of Andromeda following him. Turning to her side and grabbing Dorea’s attention, she quickly called out in a hushed whisper that something is wrong with Ara and she’s off to make sure he’s alright. Lifting her robes ever so slightly to reduce any obstruction, she hurriedly followed his hobbling form.

Just as she rounded the entrance to the corridor, she saw a flash of bright light as Ara disappeared behind the solid wood door that led to the bathroom. Slowing her pace, she approached the door. Gently she placed her hand on the wooden surface and leaned into it with her ear to hear what was going on inside.

She heard the unmistakable sound of someone vomiting violently, loud sloshing as the sick hit the water in the bowl. Immediately concerned she lifted her fist to knock at the door and call out to him. But just as her knuckles were about to impact the wood, a hand tightly clasped around her wrist and yanked her to the side.

“Well ‘Ello there poppet!” Rabastan LeStrange roughly pulled her across the corridor, he pushed her back against the marble wall hard, her hip clipping the side of an ornate Victorian pedestal causing it to shudder and almost topple the gilded Roman vase on it. Pressing himself up tight against her, trapping her in between him and the wall. He leaned in close, and in the darkness Andromeda managed to get a better look at him. Flushed cheeks and ruddy nose, half lidded eyes, with the burning stench of whiskey on his breath. He was drunk as a sailor on shore leave.

Ara looked down into the bowl covered in his mess, his eyes were irritated and red from the strain of vomiting and the acidic fumes of his puke. His hands were clutching the rim of the bowl and his head hovered over the opening. His back arched, core and throat tensing he gave one last silent heave, but nothing came out. He spat out the last bits of vomit still in his mouth. Taking a breath to steady himself, he pushed up from the bowl, reaching ahead he flicked the flush lever and immediately the mess was vanished - no water just magic - leaving the porcelain immaculate.

Staggering over to the unnecessarily large sink, he tapped the the rune for water carved into the purposely rough granite counter top. A steady stream of perfectly tempered water flowed out of the elaborate gold faucet. Cupping his hand and reaching into the stream, he scooped water into his mouth, rinsing out and spitting until he felt fresh again.

He took a moment to stare at his tired, disheveled form in the mirror. His reflection imitated him for a moment before sending a meek smile back. “Didn’t think it’d be so hard seeing him again huh?” The real Ara just sighed and nodded resignedly back.

Turning - the once again - gilded knob to step out into the corridor, he heard the sounds of a nearby scuffle. The distinct impression of shifting clothes, and whispered grunts signaled the less than pleasant nature of whatever meeting was happening. Unable to stem his curiosity, Ara stuck to the shadows while inching his way towards the noise. Anything to avoid having to go back outside to face him.

He didn’t see what was immediately happening in the darkness. He saw a decidedly feminine figure being roughly held against the wall by a much larger male figure, whose free hand held the girl at wand point. Given that the only people allowed to carry wands within the wards were Lestranges, Ara was sure it was either Rodolphus or Rabastan. He was unconcerned about the identity of the man for now, what he was trying harder to determine was who the woman was. Whoever she was, she was extremely unhappy with her current position. He crept closer, sticking like tar to the darkness to not give away his position.

The nearer he got, the more details he began to notice about the scene. He saw the male’s burly hand pressing down hard on the the girl’s shoulder, sticking her to the wall. She was using both her hands to desperately grab on and push away the offending hand on her shoulder. Lestrange had his chest pressed hard against hers with the glowing tip of his wand pointed at her temple. His leg kicked out and he shoved his thigh and knee in between the struggling girl’s legs, causing her dress to ride up slightly and her stance to spread. It was clear to see his intentions with the girl.

Ara’s plan was to simply startle Lestrange into realizing he wasn’t as hidden as he thought, and go about his way without either party figuring out that Ara was interfering. But he squashed that idea as soon as he saw that Andromeda was the one being held down.

“Let go of me!” Andromeda growled out with all the anger she was currently feeling. She winced as he squeezed the tender flesh on her shoulder harder. Rabastan just smirked at her as he drew the wand even closer to her head, Andromeda could only jerk her head away from the offending spell on its tip.

“Stop squirming you! Just do as your told, it’ll be easier that way.” Rabastan hissed at her playfully.

“I don’t know who the bloody hell you think you are, but you aren’t going to get away with this! You think my family won’t notice that I’m gone? And even if you do get your jollies now, what do you think is going to happen to you later? You’ll be lucky to have your life at the end of this!” Andromeda bit at him in an effort to both threaten and reason with him.

Rabastan stalled his advance and looked almost sober for a moment as he stared at her in utter surprise. But almost immediately, he broke into a fit of whispered giggles, forcing him to duck his head and rest it on the side of Andromeda’s head to halt himself from laughing out loud. “Yo-you don’t know?” he got out breathlessly from in between his silent laughs. “I thought you were just playing coy with me! You’re actually struggling genuinely! That’s jumpin’ hilarious!” He resumed his hushed laughter.

Andromeda grew increasingly frustrated, lost at what he found humorous in the situation. She once more tried pushing him off, feeling his grip slackening as his belly undulated in his guffaws. “What the fuck is so funny!” She spat, recognizing there was no way of getting out of the much stronger boy’s hold.

“You think you’re family’s looking for you? They’re the ones who sent me your way! Our families have been in betrothal talks Andromeda. For Merlin’s sake, do you not pay attention to what’s going on in your own home?” He said calmly in a mirthful cadence.

“Bellatrix for Roddy, and you for me. That’s the gist of the deal. And while Rodolphus is happy kissing the ground your sister walks on, I’m more the type to take a test flight before buying the broom.” He explained jovially, renewed in his vigor to get on with the task.

Andromeda stared at him in stunned disbelief. “That’s not possible. They wouldn’t!” She bargained with herself. “Mummy would never. Father he- he’d only do it if there was something to gain, but this? Dorea? No. Not Granny or Arcturus. Orion-only if someone told him to, like Wal…Walburga would. Walburga did.” Andromeda stared up at Rabastan, pleading with him as her ability to resist fell away and her fortitude crumbled. Tears finally overflowed.

Rabastan was thoroughly enjoying her devastation as the reality of her position sunk in. His tone amused he responded. “Come now Andromeda. No need for tears. Or keep crying actually. Might enjoy myself even more that way!” She felt the sickening tendrils of his oily breath on her neck. He took a deep breath through his nose, inhaling the sweet perfume Andromeda was wearing.

“Please don’t” she plead one last time in a severely quieted voice. She heard only another deep chuckle. She turned her face away from him, eyes shut tight and lips quivering. Her tears pooling at her chin and finally falling down on to her shaking chest as she mutely sobbed.

Abandoning all notion of stealth Ara ran up to Rabastan and wrenched his head from Andromeda by chocking him on his collar. Rabastan gagged at the sudden pressure on his throat and let go of his grip on Andromeda. Before he could finish wheezing, Ara reared his fist back and struck Rabastan as hard as he could on the face.

Rabastan reeled back from the pain of the blow, he lost his footing and stumbled backwards while painfully clutching his bleeding nose. He finally lost his battle with his balance and fell through the threshold of a darkened room at the end of the corridor, yelping like a dog on the way down.

Startled by the scuffle, Andromeda also fell to the ground. Realizing she’d been set free, she looked towards the figure who’d managed that. She felt a huge wave of relief flood her as she saw Ara standing above her.

Bracing herself on the wall she stood up and was about to rush for him, but before she could cross the very short distance Ara held out a hand for her to stop. She opened her mouth to call for him. She wasn’t given a chance when with an angry shout and a bright flash a blasting curse was fired their way. Ara dove to the side and covered Andromeda’s body with his own as they fell to the floor again. The curse flew over their heads and shattered the portrait of a Lestrange ancestor.

Ara’s arm shot forward and grabbed the leg of the pedestal they landed next to. With herculean effort he rose to his knees, twisting his torso and launching the table in front of him as hard as he could. He was rewarded with destroyed splinters as another curse from the raging Rabastan was intercepted by the piece of furniture.

“Stay down!” he barked at Andromeda. Without missing a beat, he shuffled on to his feet and ran through the cloud of powdered wood and glass. Seeing the red flash of a stunner barreling at him, he threw himself to the side to dodge it. Dipping low, he reached to the ground and picked up the spinning gold vase, took aim, and chucked it at Rabastan.

Refusing to move out of the way, the Lestrange cast a Protego, stopping the vase from hitting him, and consequently allowing Ara to gain ground. Seeing the absolutely livid Black almost upon him – even without the access to his magic – Rabastan fired a bone breaker.

Too close to avoid the curse in the narrow hall, Ara quickly raised his left forearm and took the curse. Ignoring the loud snap and spurt of blood, Ara refused to relent his mad dash to the person who dared threaten his family.

The light of the last curse illuminated Ara’s furious face to Rabastan. Seeing the young man completely rebuff his undoubtedly painful attack threw the drunk, and pain addled Lestrange into a panic. Rasing his wand high, he incanted “CRU-!” But Ara was too quick, he was already within range. Using his good arm, he snatched Rabastan’s wrist, curled it inwards and pointed the wand back at Rabastan himself just as he finished off the incantation for the torture curse. It struck. In a single moment Rabastan was left crumpled on the floor, twitching from his own Cruciatus.

Acting quickly Ara kicked away the wand into the darkness somewhere. Rabastan tried to feebly reach out as it passed him, but to no avail as it flew past his reach and sight. Rabastan took one last forlorn look to where his wand was sent and reluctantly turned up to the person who downed him.

Ara was breathing hard through his nose from the sprint. He just stared down at Rabastan. The adrenaline still coursing through his system Ara paid no mind to his grievously injured arm, numb to any sensation. It hung limp at his side, blood soaking into the fine threads of his robes and flowing down his fingers, dripping and pooling on to the floor. He glanced behind him to see the results of the scuffle, the expensive hallway was blown to smithereens, he looked past the bits of rubble to find Andromeda. She was cowering but looked alright.

Seeing his foe distracted, Rabastan took his chance and tried crawling towards where his wand might be. But it was futile. He whimpered in pain as a hard boot was brought down on his elbow, halting him in his tracks. His other hand shot up to try and pry the offending foot off.

Ara looked down at the sniveling insect crawling on his belly beneath him. He slowly felt the adrenaline fueled focus dissipate, and in it’s place his seething temper began to take hold. The stress of having to deal with his family, the belief that he just wasn’t doing enough to stop this war, the proof of Voldemort alive, healthy, and powerful fueled his aggression. And to top it all off this pathetic wastrel tried to have his way with Andromeda. Andromeda who had been taken advantage of by her own family. One more person he failed.

Rabastan was clawing at the boot in a frenzy now. Sounds of pain and aguish continuously spilling from his lips as the pressure on his elbow built. He had chanced a look up at – who he had now realized was – Ara Black. When he first saw him he looked eerily calm, almost aloof. But as time passed and Ara kept watching him his face gradually morphed into sheer fury.

“H-hey look Ara… I was just – It’s already between the families now! I was just playing mate – It’s really not your place anyway – only Andromeda and I are involved… You can’t -OOF!” Rabastan’s rambling excuses were cut short by a vicious kick to his ribs. Ara had forced him on to his back, planted both his feet on the crook of his outstretched arms and took a hard seat on Rabastan’s broken ribs.

“Shut. Up!” Ara spat angrily through his teeth and slammed a hard cross to his left cheek. He yelped as his skin split and bled. “You were laughing weren’t you? Thought Andi’s tears - her cries for mercy were funny. Just thought you were playing with her? How about I play with you instead? Then we’ll see how much fun you’re having!” Each sentence Ara punctuated with another hard punch to the left side of his weeping face.

Andromeda was doing her best to get up and get herself under control. She felt disorientated and not a little emotional at the current situation. Her lack of focus was quickly quashed by the sounds of meaty, squelching thumps followed my increasingly garbled pleas to stop. In a panic she ran that way, she came upon Ara in a berserk rage hammering away at - that bastard – Rabastan’s face. Or whatever was left of it. She saw the blood pooling around his head and shoulders, with shocks of white and pink within it. Bits of his gums and teeth.

Swallowing down her revulsion at the scene, Andromeda imploringly tugged at Ara to stop before he actually wound up killing the boy with his bare hands. Seeing her distraught expression, Ara stopped himself after he took one last parting shot at the beaten Lestrange. Rising up and immediately cradling Andromeda in his arms, his knuckles staining the shoulder of her dress red with a combination of both boy’s blood, he guided her back towards the main hall, leaving the weeping Rabastan alone.

As they disappeared around the last corridor, another lone figure stepped out of the shadows. The lone witness to the events of the night. Reaching the defeated Rabastan, Voldemort observed the teen with dispassion. He moved on into the dark room, found the discarded wand and lit the fireplace with a spell. He strode back to the fallen boy. “You’ve certainly made yourself a ruthless enemy, haven’t you boy? I guess I’ll have to tell your parents that you’ve rather mangled yourself in your drunkenness. Playing with spells beyond your caliber isn’t smart now is it? Or I could tell them the truth if you’d prefer. Although that would come with the added risk of having that monstrous young man come back and seek retribution.”

His only response was a pained whimper. “That’s a smart lad. I’m rather lucky I noticed the commotion first and silenced you’re little spat Mr.Lestrange. It was quite entertaining to watch, even if I couldn’t hear anything over your crying.” Voldemort viciously grinned. “Come let’s get you off to St.Mungo’s. No amount of home remedies is going to fix you in your state.” Flicking the borrowed wand, the battered Rabastan was jostled painfully and launched to the lit fireplace, just as his hair was about to catch aflame, he was swallowed by green embers and carted off to the magical hospital.

Uncaringly chucking the wand aside, Voldemort dusted his hands, and hastened his way towards the exiting teens. “Now. Let’s see if I can’t get myself another bloodthirsty little soldier.” He said to himself in anticipation. ‘The crazy one are always so useful!’

Ara, with Andromeda tucked in his embrace, mercifully found Arcturus and Melania talking to themselves at the edge of the party. The pair noticed the approach of their grandchildren, and smelled before they saw the unmistakable, metallic perfume of blood. Ara gently passed Andromeda over to Melania, the older lady clutched the devastated girl to her chest and threw a questioning look to Ara. Arcturus found Ara’s piercing gaze going through him. If he didn’t know any better he’d think the lad was reading his mind like a toddler’s picture book. Ara kept on his livid stare for another moment. Arcturus gulped in apprehension. His grandson was pissed!

“Get everyone. Everyone. And get out. We’re leaving. Now!” Arcturus could only nod, agree, and go do his marching orders. The pain was coming full force now, baring down more and more on his patience. He glided his way through the crowd and reached Slughorn and his other companions.

Slughorn and the others were immediately alarmed at the suddenly disheveled Ara. They saw him only a minute ago perfectly groomed and now he returned looking as if he’d been in a quidditch fall.
Ara was curt in his address “I’m sorry gentlemen, but it’s time the Black family made our exit. I just wanted to let you know that I’m still on for our meeting. I’m sorry for being so hurried.” He managed to get out through gritted teeth. The other men could only assent uneasily.

“I wonder if I might earn myself an invite to this meeting.” Slughorn eye’s swelled comically and Ara swiveled suddenly. Voldemort had his hand around the startled Black’s injured shoulder before he could fully turn around. A tense silence fell over the small group. Voldemort continued smirking at the young man, who in turn glared with all the heat he possessed at the would be tyrant. “Dear me, it seems that your meeting must be quite the private affair. You are a rather strong lad aren’t you!” Voldemort dismissed the lack of invitation and immediately switched the subject to Ara. He squeezed the firm muscles in his grasp, squeezing and caressing his way down Ara’s arm inch by inch, until he reached the edge of his forearm and rested it there.

“No matter my Lords, I’m sure you will make time for me sooner rather than later. However, you Mr. Black I expect to meet much, much sooner.” Ara was about to rebuff Voldemort’s demand and pull away his throbbing arm, but Voldemort was quick to claw a sore spot on the shattered arm. Ara winced, but showed nothing else of his agony. “We have quite a bit to speak about boy.” The threat was clear. Ara just growled under his breath, unable to escape Voldemort’s grasp. Voldemort kept smirking but finally relented and roughly released his hold.

Ara held his tongue, threw one last scowl at Voldemort and slunk his way out the door on the tails of the rest of his family. Voldemort’s amused demeanor dropped, he side-eyed his old potions professor who shied away from the look and hid himself in his cup once more. Turning around he headed back in to his party.

Ara exited the house and the wards to find his family waiting around for him, Arcturus held all of the wands to his chest. Half of them seemed terribly confused while the other half were irritated at their abrupt exodus. Andromeda was still holding on to Melania, shying away from her mother as the rest of the women – sans Walburga – were trying to console the distressed girl.

He blew past everyone, forcing them all to chase behind him as he stomped his way down the path out the wrought iron gates. There were calls for him to stop and slow down, demands to know what the hell he was doing, but he ignored everything and kept up his march.

Walburga had enough of the spoilt brat’s attitude “What in the hell do you think you’re doing filthy beggar!?” She screeched while lunging at him and grabbing – unknown to her – his abused arm.

Ara immediately snapped. He pushed her off, reared his hand back and laid a firm backhanded slap across her face, tossing her bodily to the gravel beneath.

Pandemonium broke out with the family. Dorea gasped at her son’s appalling behavior, Orion rushed for his wife while the rest reeled in surprise at Ara’s jarring performance.

Ara didn’t let Orion complete his journey. Safely out of the restrictive and harmful Lestrange wards he let his magic burst and banished Orion to the feet of the rest of the family. Walburga held her hand to her bruised cheek, and stared in abject horror at the now very dangerous Ara.

He stuck his arm out and summoned the downed Walburga right into his outstretched hand. His bloodied hand clawed at the underside of her face, painfully cutting into her cheeks. “The next time you open your hole before I tell you to I’m going to sew it the fuck shut!” He snarled at her, and with an explosive crack, force apparated them both back to the manor. The rest were left in varying levels of shock at the scene, and what was no doubt going to escalate the moment they reached home.

Arcturus looked around at the rest of his family, took a deep steadying breath and voiced their collective thoughts. “Fuck!”
- 5
- 6
- 7
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

All The Stars In The Sky