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HP: The Unchosen One-Malfoy SI Ch.45
🕑 Added 2025-05-25 16:05:37 +0000 UTCChapter 45
CASSIUS BLACK
Life at Hogwarts remained fairly unchanged for him, even though he became Cassius Black from Cassius Malfoy. Unlike him, the school’s atmosphere underwent a subtle change, for the attack on the World Cup had turned the Wizarding World on its head.
The once mighty and haughty Slytherins were now all much quieter and fewer, as nearly half a dozen students either dropped out or transferred out as the Ministry of Magic saw Amelia Bones take charge as the Minister of Magic.
She wasted little time in exercising her agenda, and now all the former Death Eaters were either trying to flee the country or trying to put up an innocent image. This all had took a major toll on the House of Slytherin.
The classes continued, and soon enough, he found himself back in his usual rhythm, with the exception of a brown-haired girl. His group of four turned into a trio again as he continued to work on his spells and other little projects.
Though one little thing was added to his busy life, and it was a bit of spying. He still had the Marauder Map with him, and he would use it often to spy on the movements of one Harry Potter. Though he remained fairly unsuspicious in his movements, his behavior otherwise during the few initial weeks of the term only fuelled his fears.
“Any word about Astoria?” his best friend’s little sister had collapsed in her dormitory a few days back, her condition worsening such that she had to be taken to St. Mungo’s.
Daphne had been worried sick about her sister, and one look at her face told him that she had been crying consistently, while barely getting any sleep.
“Not much,” she answered from the opposite side of the library table. Unlike the two Greengrass sisters, the relationship between him and Draco had completely collapsed as his twin refused to acknowledge him at all.
“Daphne,” he called out slowly, knowing that she was lying.
“What happened?” he asked, taking away the book she was trying to cover her face with, and he saw her eyes brimming with tears.
“I thought that you were close to a cure,” he asked, and she had been much hopeful the last time they had talked, for she had found the name of the caster of the Maledictus Curse, a Gaunt of all people.
“It’s nothing,” she lied, trying to push him away and hide her face once more behind that book of hers, but he did not let her as he pulled it back.
“You are crying, so it is clearly something,” he cut in and put down her book rather forcefully.
“There is little, very little that we cannot solve if we put our heads together,” and though he did not like to talk about it.
“So, tell me what is going on?” and she looked into his eyes, as her lips quivered.
“It’s over,” she whispered, and he saw the dam break as she began to sob. Daphne was perhaps the strongest girl he knew. Her crying like this surprised him, as he rose up and walked beside her, casting a silencing ward around them. She clung to him and began to ball out.
“It’s all over,” she whispered again, nearly tearing off his shirt with her nails.
“What happened? Will you tell me anything?” he asked.
“It’s Astoria,” she whispered, tears still dripping down her face.
“They were able to find the cure for her,” and that shocked him quite a bit. Oftentimes, the greatest hurdle in breaking a curse would be the identity of its caster.
“Well, then, why are you crying?” he asked, pushing her away as he looked her in the eye.
“You should be happy. Astoria is finally going to be cured,” but her lips thinned as she shook her head.
“No, the cure it is nearly impossible to obtain,” and he frowned.
“Your family has enough gold, and your business allows you to procure nearly any item in the world. If you need, I could help you out as well,” he added. As bad a father Cyrus Greengrass was, Cassius doubted that he would hesitate to spend some gold to lift a curse on his daughter.
“No. It's not about money. It is simply impossible,” she whispered, looking him in the eye.
“Why?” he asked again.
“Because the cure needs the eyes of a hundred-year-old basilisk, and it can only be brewed by a parselmouth,” and that was indeed a troubling situation.
“Even if we get permission from the Ministry to try and birth a basilisk, by the time it will be a hundred years old, Astoria will be long dead,” and in her case, the typical life of a Greengrass afflicted with the curse was thirty at most, if not even less.
“And with the political climate as it is, there is no hope for us to get permission from the Ministry,” she whispered, giving him a broken look.
“I cannot save her. I cannot save my sister,” she whispered as she clung to him like never before, as his mind raced as he hit upon an idea.
“Stop crying,” he whispered as he caressed her head in his hands.
“I...” but he did not let her speak.
“I can get you both of these things,” he said, a plan forming in his head, as Daphne frowned.
“What?” she gasped, as Cassius nodded.
“Yes, eyes from a hundred-year-old basilisk, and someone who can use parseltongue. I can get you both of these things,” he repeated, as her eyes widened.
“You are lying. Why do you have to be so cruel...”
“I am not lying, Daphne,” he repeated, and she realised that he was being serious.
“But there are no basilisks alive that have lived for so long,” she argued.
“We tried, and even if you could find one in the black market somehow, the Gaunts were the last descendants of Salazar Slytherin who could use Parselmagic, but they are all extinct,” she repeated, and he already knew all that.
“Just leave the details to me,” he said.
“I will get you both of these things. I promise....”
0000
ALBUS DUMBLEDORE
Even for an old friend such as him, it was not easy to make contact with the likes of Nicholas Flamel. The ancient alchemist had taken to living in seclusion as he tried to wind up his affairs before he undertook the ultimate journey.
But Albus was an old friend, and so, after repeated requests, he was granted an audience for one last time as he met with Nicholas in his little refuge down at Devon.
Age had made Nicholas a brittle man, and with his wife, the dear Pernelle, departing early, the little light in his eyes had begun to diminish, as Nicholas asked him in his sharp girlish voice.
“It is rare of you to be so insistent about a meeting,” Nicholas whispered, his tone as jovial and childish, and Albus shrugged.
“I am afraid it was a matter that demanded such urgency,” and that made the genius Alchemist raise a brow.
“And what matter would alarm the great and patient Albus Dumbledore that he would need to come to little old me once more,” and Albus looked at his tea.
“I believe I have found myself another one who bears the same gits as your wife,” and it would have been better if Perenlle was still alive, yet she had went on ahead in this little travel of theirs, and so he had no choice but to depend on Nicholas, whose head snapped towards him with vigor that had no place in a man aged more than six hundred years.
“It cannot be,” Nicholas gasped, and Albus knew but the gist of this strange power for while Nicholas was the creator of the Philosopher’s Stone, the truth was that Perenelle had played an equal part in it.
The creation of the stone was kept a well-guarded secret not only because of jealousy but also because it was not a miracle but a crime—a tragedy that should never be repeated.
“I am afraid it is true. I have met him, and the boy says that he has seen the future. A future,” he emphasised, as Nicholas shook his head.
“He could be a Seer?” he tried, but his argument.
“I can very well tell the difference between a Seer and a Dreamer. The boy has the same gift as Perenelle, and I must know what it means to be a Dreamer,” and Nicholas was silent.
“For six hundred years, we searched for another like her,” he whispered, looking towards the fire burning through wood in the fireplace.
“Hoping to repent for our crimes, yet only we find them with Pernella long gone, while my own life nears its end,” and the man sighed.
“Who is it?” he asked, facing him as he answered.
“A boy at the school. Descendants of the Blacks and Malfoys,” and Nicholas.
“Malfoys,” he whispered, rubbing his chin.
“I thought they were French,” he said, and it was difficult for him to keep track of things.
“The family has French roots indeed, but they immigrated to Britain nearly two hundred years ago,” and Nicholas hummed.
“He speaks of a future where he saw the return of Voldemort,” and the light in the room dimmed at the mention of the Dark Lord, much like Nicholas’s mood.
“He saw that man return,” he whispered, both in fear and rage, as Albus nodded.
“He tried to prevent it...”
“But he failed,” and Albus frowned yet nodded nonetheless.
“Yes, I believe he did. But how did you know that?” he asked, and Nichlas was silent, hesitant, and nervous until he finally began.
“Well, there is no use in hiding it anymore,” and he gave a great sigh as he turned to face him.
“You are one of the most brilliant Wizards I have ever seen, Albus. So you must have an idea about what is needed to make the Philosopher’s stone?” and Albus nodded.
“I do,” and it was something of the kind of magic that was considered taboo.
“It is soul,” he voiced out, as Nicholas nodded.
“Indeed,” and that was why no wizard before or after the Flamels had been able to make the fabled stone despite various attempts. The Flamels were brilliant, savants and yet they were not singular in their talent, drive or resources.
In the six hundred years since they had succeeded, there had been at least a dozen wizards whose talents in the art of alchemy would put them at the level of the Flamels, and yet none had succeeded apart from them.
It was an enigma, one which he had pondered over many times, until he came upon the answer. Perhaps the Flamels had only succeeded in this endeavor because the circumstances had allowed them to prevail. So Albus had dived into history and had found possibly their greatest shame.
“The Sorcerer’s Stone was our greatest pride and our greatest shame,” and the ancient wizard withered in front of his gaze, before he pushed himself out of the chair.
“I had hoped to take this secret to the grave with me, but now that it has come to this, we must entrust you with our darkest secret,” he began, as he invited him to join him.
“But I cannot speak of it alone. For the world may credit me as the creator of the stone, the truth is that I never would have succeeded without the aide of my dear wife,” and Albus rose from his chair, and followed after the old and timid wizard who led him through a series of rooms and halls, until they came upon a small, one which had nothing but a simple portrait hanging on the wall, with an old woman looking down from it.
“Nicholas, Albus,” she greeted him, as she often did whenever he came to visit.
“Lady Pernelle,” he responded respectfully, though as she glanced at her husband of six hundred years she frowned.
“I thought we were supposed to cut off our contact with the outside world,” and Nicholas nodded.
“Yes, but Albus insisted that it was a matter of great importance, and so I decided to meet him once again,” he clarified, making the portrait frown.
“And what matter was it that he had need of you?” she asked, and Nicholas was silent for some time until he answered again.
“He has found a child like you,” and the portrait stilled. The shock was evident even in the black and white and grey, as Albus looked on while those orbs landed on him.
“I see,” she whispered, before he turned.
“Tell me their name?” she asked.
“Cassius Black...”
0000
Days later, in a carriage high in the skies, a brown-haired girl found herself surrounded by a slew of boys and girls, all much older than her, as they bombarded her with questions.
“Tell us about the school?”
“I have heard that the castle there is ancient?”
“Could you introduce us to a good-looking senior there?”
The girl seemed a bit flustered until a singular voice cut through the air. Her English had hints of an accent, much like the rest, though even amongst this well-groomed group, the girl in question was in a class of her own.
“Leave the girl alone,” she whispered, coming to the defence of the young, brown-haired girl.
“We will soon see the castle for what itself...”
0000
Comments
Alistair Stewart
In canon, the Malfoys came over from France 900 years ago: https://www.hp-lexicon.org/event/armand-malfoy-arrives-britain/#:~:text=Armand%20Malfoy%20accompanies%20William%20the,for%20the%20next%20900%20years. . I wonder when the Flames came over. In real life, they lived in Paris
FallenMetalGod
Thank you, and let's see what Pernelle has to say. It looks like Cassius is going to have to do something big to ensure Daphne's sister lives. Let's see how Hermione will do once she gets back to Hogwarts. Great job as always, and I can't wait to see what happens next.
f_2004_nashef
Thx for the chapter
Radiant Tiefling
Thank you for the chapter.
