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Chapter 24: Reactions.
🕑 Added 2025-01-30 09:23:46 +0000 UTCAuthor's note: Hey everyone, here's a little reaction from our esteemed headmaster. I hope this feels like something he'd think in his POV. We get to learn a bit from someone who's more aware of the world and what he's noticed.
As I mentioned earlier, I think it's going to be necessary for our heroes to get a glimpse of the supernatural world sooner than I originally planned. Even if the Hexxenatch can’t send manpower, a Voldemort who’s learned from them—especially with some supernatural artifacts in his possession—would be a real challenge for them. So yeah, I think it’s about time our favorite Devils make an appearance in the story soon!
Celestial Ascendancy
Chapter 24: Reactions.
Hogwarts.
Albus Dumbledore.
As I finished clapping politely for Miss Delacour’s ingenious use of her allure against the dragon, I let myself a quiet sigh, knowing what would come next.
The champions had each performed admirably in their own way, though their approaches varied greatly. Mister Krum had displayed a commendable ability to adapt. However, his use of the Conjunctivitis Curse was ill-advised, particularly when his failure enraged the dragon further. While I do not condone such magic, his willingness to think on his feet was, in its own way, admirable.
Dragons are not adversaries to be taken lightly, and these young witches and wizards had been presented with a challenge that demanded ingenuity over brute force. That was, after all, the actual test of this task. None were expected to defeat their dragon in open combat; instead, we had hoped they would seek alternative means to retrieve the golden egg. A simple combination of a Disillusionment Charm, Muffliato, and a Notice-Me-Not spell sufficed. Yet, not one of them had thought to attempt such an approach.
They were young, of course. And I had little doubt that, after today, they would learn to measure risk more carefully. Mister Diggory, too, had overlooked the heart of the test. His transfiguration was well-executed, and his animated hounds had been a clever choice. Yet, a dragon is no common beast. It does not engage with distractions for long, nor does it view lesser creatures as true threats. These were nesting mothers; their sole concern was the protection of their eggs.
And in the end, Miss Delacour alone seemed to grasp that brute force would not win the day. Her allure, a natural gift of her heritage, was not a weapon in the traditional sense, yet it proved a most effective tool. For all its might, a dragon is not immune to the subtler arts of magic like it was against spells. That she had the presence of mind to wield her talents so deftly spoke well of her intelligence. However, I wondered if she fully understood the implications of relying upon such an ability. Charm and influence are powerful, but they are fickle allies, and one must not lean upon them too heavily.
Still, I could not help but be pleased. Each champion had faced their trial and, in doing so, had revealed something of themselves. They were young, yes, and their choices were imperfect, but growth is rarely found in perfection. It is in struggle, failure, and the dawning realization of what could have been done better that true learning takes place.
As the crowd roared its approval and Miss Delacour made her way off the field, my gaze drifted toward the stadium entrance. The part I was more interested in was about to begin.
Elias Blake… A most exceptional student, though not, I had thought, to the extent he now demonstrated. Even from this distance, I could feel the sheer weight of his magic pressing against the air like a gathering storm. It was subtle, imperceptible to most, but I had long grown accustomed to the ebb and flow of magical auras. And his… his was shifting, growing at an alarming rate.
I frowned, though not out of displeasure. No, it was curiosity tempered with unease. Power such as this did not simply appear overnight. It could be cultivated through diligence and effort, but not at such a pace. Filius had been insufferable these past few weeks, practically bursting with pride over his protégé, and now I understood why. But understanding did little to ease my concern.
He had been honest with me, or at least, I had found no deception in his words when he assured me he had undergone no ritual. And yet, I knew of no other method within the bounds of wizarding magic that could explain such rapid growth. No, not within our world.
And therein lay the problem.
Elias Blake had no known ties to the supernatural world, no connections that would explain this sudden increase in power. Before this year, he had shown nothing that would warrant the attention of those beings that lurked beyond our understanding. And yet…
If not for the simple fact that wizards could not possess Sacred Gears, it would have been my first suspicion. The thought was vexing, even frustrating in a way, but also, if I were being entirely truthful, the most intriguing development I had encountered since the war against Gellert.
It was then that I had first glimpsed how vast the world truly was.
Were it not for the evident depth of his affection for Miss Potter and Miss Granger, I am likely more troubled by this development. Elias Blake now wielded a reservoir of magic that rivaled my own when I had been but a seventh year.
I am not one for boasts, but by most accounts, I am one of the most talented wizards to emerge after the Pact was signed. While not strictly limited, our strength faced barriers that few could ever hope to surpass. Ascension to what some called the Ultimate Class was not beyond possibility, but it was an arduous, nigh insurmountable feat.
A fragile human body could not sustain the magic needed to reach such a level. Unless you were a freak of nature, or your body was strong enough to sustain that magic, you would simply burst. That was why the only humans using magic were those so-called magicians, not us, who had to bottle up magic inside our core.
Even I had failed to reach it.
My former lover, for all his brilliance, had struggled fruitlessly in his pursuit of that power. And Tom had mutilated his very soul in his desperation. Yet, even he had never managed to step beyond those bounds. Once, before the Pact, there were more such beings. Many were of mixed blood by today’s standards but had existed nonetheless.
And so, a rather pressing question presented itself: was young Elias truly, fully human?
Admittedly, I knew little of his parentage beyond his father’s lineage. I had no doubt that he was a Black; he bore too striking a resemblance to young Regulus in his school days for it to be otherwise. But his mother? A mystery.
Could he possess some diluted trace of supernatural blood? It would certainly account for his rapid increase in strength.
“What do you think the lad’s chances are, Albus?”
Madame Maxime’s deep voice broke through my musings, drawing me back to the present. There was a thread of concern in her tone. Though she naturally wished for her champion’s victory, she was not so callous as to wish harm upon an unwilling participant.
I offered her a gentle smile.
“Young Elias is quite advanced for his age,” I admitted my tone light but assured. “The students believe we are unaware of a certain dueling club that has existed since well before my own time. They fail to realize that many of us, in our youth, were once members ourselves.”
Maxime let out a booming laugh, shaking her head fondly.
“Ah,” she sighed, amusement twinkling in her dark eyes. “The foolishness of youth.”
“Quite right, my dear,” I chuckled, eyes twinkling. “He is a part of that club; from what I understand, he has been among its finest duelists since his third year alongside Miss Potter.”
Madame Maxime hummed thoughtfully, her keen gaze settling on the strapping young man standing before the gathered visitors for the first time.
It was rather amusing, in a way, that so few had truly noticed the depth of magic young Elias commanded. But Maxime had. Her eyes widened, the weight of his magic pressing against her senses.
Karkaroff, however, remained blissfully unaware, openly scoffing at the sight of Elias.
“I did not know you had a student like this one, Albus,” Maxime murmured, almost to herself, entirely ignoring poor Igor’s theatrics.
“Surprising, is it not?” I chuckled lightly, my eyes twinkling. “I must confess, I felt much the same when I saw him in the tent this morning. He has advanced quite remarkably in a very short span of time.”
“This is no laughing matter, Albus,” Maxime said, her voice sharpening. “Just who is he?”
“A student of Hogwarts, and for now, that is quite enough,” I replied, my tone growing serious as I met her gaze.
I did not often threaten, but I found myself doing so now as I caught the flicker of something unpleasant in her expression, greed... and fear.
She hesitated, then shook her head. “A fine duelist, yes, I can believe that,” she conceded, her voice quieting. “But we both know that even the finest duelist cannot parry dragonfire, non?”
My gaze softened as I watched some of her earlier feelings fade. “Quite so,” I admitted. “But I do hope young Elias will not attempt to fight the dragon directly. I have reason to believe he is more resourceful than that.”
That being said…
A faint crease formed on my brow as I studied the young man below. There was something about the way he was gathering his magic. If he intended to rely on his wits, why was his magic coiling around him like a blade waiting to be drawn?
What surprised me the most was the crow's reaction to young Elias's entrance. It was unlike the rest of the champions by a large margin.
The Gryffindor section, unsurprisingly, was the most spirited. I could not suppress a slight smile upon noticing the source of the greatest commotion. Flanked by her loyal friends, Miss Potter was at the heart of it, their voices carrying above the rest. A remarkable feat, considering the kind of students my dear Gryffindors tended to be.
The Slytherins, on the other hand, were less enthusiastic. Their boos rang clear and sharp, almost threatening to drown out the cheers of the house of the brave. At the head of their discontent, young Malfoy sneered, his posture exaggerated as if performing on a stage.
A troubled child, that one.
And yet, something in their hostility felt… forced. Not all of them joined in so readily. The more astute among them remained silent, their expressions unreadable. It seemed young Elias had, at the very least, earned their respect.
Bagman’s voice boomed across the arena, his commentary as flamboyant as ever.
“The youngest of our champions, but don’t let that fool you, folks! He’s already made waves at Hogwarts! But will he rise to the occasion, or will the dragon prove too much for him? Let’s find out!”
The crowd roared in response, but their cheers were soon swallowed by a much deeper, far more menacing sound.
A guttural snarl rumbled through the air, reverberating in the very stone beneath us.
The Horntail.
I did not need to look at the creature to feel the shift in the mood. Excitement faltered, giving way to hushed whispers and sharp intakes of breath. Even the boldest students seemed to shrink as the great beast coiled protectively around her clutch, golden eyes locking onto Elias with unmistakable fury. The very stands trembled under her power.
“He won’t last more than a minute,” Karkaroff scoffed.
But his knuckles were white where he gripped the armrest of his chair.
A magnificent creature, the Horntail. And her strength was not to be denied.
The trick against such a beast was to use elements against it instead of regular spells, or bludgeoning weapons. I could deal with one easily enough, as most professors in my school, but for people like Igor who relied on curses... I can understand the fear.
Elias moved the moment the whistle blew, not with hesitation or reckless bravado, but with calm confidence. The air shimmered as ice-blue magic shot from his wand, spreading a layer of frost across the entire arena.
The crowd gasped. A Ravenclaw in the front row leaned forward so fast he nearly fell over the railing. A group of Slytherins, previously jeering, stared wide-eyed.
“Blimey,” murmured a Pomona, sitting at the back table. “He just iced over the whole field.”
The Horntail hesitated, its claws scraping against the slick surface. Elias did not.
The battle that followed was unlike anything Hogwarts had witnessed. Even I found it hard to name battles of this level after the war with Gellert.
He did not rely on luck or brute force, nor did he simply evade and wait for an opportunity. Every move was purposeful, every spell crafted to manipulate the battlefield itself. He controlled the flow of the combat, if you could even call it that. A wall of frost blocked the dragon’s attack. Shards of Ice cut through the air with precision. A wave of mist obscured his position, confusing even the most watchful eyes.
Beside me, Karkaroff’s sneer had vanished, replaced by a look of growing shock. “What—” he started, but cut himself off when Elias conjured an ice clone of himself, baiting the dragon into striking the wrong target before leaping onto its back in a fluid motion. His body had a surprising amount of strength, adding to my questions.
How marvelous, I did not know what spells young Elias was using. Oh, I could do something similar if I wanted to, but for someone so young, his performance was nothing but magnificent. It reminded me of Dmitri Volkov. The Russian wolf, who fought against Gellert alongside Charlus and Arcturus. He was a master of elemental magic and focused on Ice the way young Elias was doing.
That being said… young Elias took an interesting approach. Ice Clones, how quaint.
Gasps rang out across the arena. The tension reached a fever pitch as Elias unleashed another wave of Ice, freezing the dragon’s wings and momentarily grounding the beast. Cheers erupted from Gryffindor. Even some Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs couldn’t contain their excitement.
“He’s toying with it,” Madame Maxime murmured, her brows furrowed.
“No,” I corrected softly, his gaze never leaving Elias. “He’s controlling the fight. Ice is a good counter against a dragon; it is a shame that elemental magic is used so little.”
“It is because of how hard it is to learn,” Maxime scoffed, “I tried in my youth. It did not work well. It is surprising how someone so young learned it to this level.”
And that, he realized, was what unsettled the others. Not just the students, not just the headmasters, but everyone. Filius had leaned so far forward in his seat that he was gripping the table's edge. Usually reserved, Minerva pressed a hand over her mouth, her sharp eyes locked onto the boy she had grown so fond of.
The Horntail roared one last time, struggling against the thick frost encasing its limbs. A final pulse of magic sealed its fate; the beast was finally forced into submission. Elias stood tall, breathless but rigid in his stand, and the entire arena exploded into deafening cheers.
I did not look at the crowd. I had to see how Elias acted after such a magnificent show.
Elias turned his gaze towards the stands, drinking in the reactions. His expression was relaxed, but the twinkle in his eyes mirrored something I had seen before—something I had seen in a mirror when I was younger. It was pride of knowing you were better than the rest.
--Elias Blake--
Basking in the crowd's roar, I couldn’t help the grin that stretched across my face. It felt… good. Freeing.
To have all eyes on me, not of disdain, but in awe.
I understood, at least in part, why Iris hated her fame. She never felt like she had earned it, and that discomfort festered within her. But right now? Right now, I allowed myself to revel in it.
I knew I couldn’t get lost in this feeling, that indulging too much could be dangerous. But it was more complicated than I expected. I had been painfully average in my past life, someone who didn’t warrant a second glance, forgettable in every way that mattered. Lazy, even.
But this… this was different.
At least I was self-aware enough to know that taking down a dragon, as spectacular as it was, meant little in the grand scheme of things. In the future, it wouldn’t matter. A dragon was nothing compared to the monster Voldemort had become.
I had no illusions about what I would need to survive. At a minimum, I would have to match the strength of Hogwarts’ professors. And even then, that would only be enough if the Dark Lord underestimated me.
As I neared the champion’s tent, a smirk tugged at my lips.
Fleur stood there, mouth slightly open, clearly caught off guard. She had seen the show. Unlike me, who had been locked away before my trial, she and the others had been free to watch.
I slowed my steps, enjoying the moment before finally breaking the silence.
“What do you think, Fleur?” I grinned at her. “Still confident in your first place?”
Fleur blinked as she tried to hide her shock, an unimpressed look as she crossed her arms. “Hmph,” she scoffed.
It was funny; I could see her lips twitching.
““You ‘ave not even seen my performance, non? How can you assume you did better?” she asked neutrally, her act forced, which made me smirk.
I chuckled, shaking my head. “I don’t need to see it,” I grinned. “I can tell by the way you’re looking at me.”
Fleur was different from what I expected. She was sharp, confident, and had a sense of humor that wasn’t laced with the usual arrogance I’d seen from most people who looked like her. More importantly, I could see her fitting in with my group—at least if the girls were open to it.
I wasn’t too worried about Iris. She had always been easygoing when it came to making friends, and as long as someone wasn’t an outright bastard, she tended to welcome them with open arms. Hermione, though? That was harder to say. She wasn’t insecure enough to feel threatened by Fleur’s looks, or at least, I liked to think she wasn’t. But I’d seen how she overanalyzed things, and the last thing I wanted was for her to believe there was anything to worry about. Fleur’s allure had no effect on me, and as long as I kept myself in check, I doubted it would be a problem.
Fleur rolled her eyes, but there was no real bite to it. If anything, she observed me, as if she was reevaluating what she thought she knew. And I could tell she had just realized there weren’t three champions in this tournament. There were four.
A grunt from the side drew my attention.
Krum shifted on his cot, fixing me with a look that, for once, wasn’t his usual unreadable stare. There was something else there, respect.
“The healers didn’t vant me standing,” he said, voice rough, “but after hearing the crowd, I had to see for myself. Mighty impressive, Blake. I don’t know anyone your age who could do the same.”
I raised a brow, surprised by the straightforward compliment. “Thanks, Krum,” I said with a small smile. “I might not have entered this tournament on purpose, but now that I’m here, I plan to give it my all. It would be offensive to all of you if I didn't give my best.”
“What about Cedric?” I asked, glancing around and noticing his bed was empty.
Fleur’s expression darkened slightly. “Madam Pranitha is still checking on ‘im. ‘Is dragon did a number on ‘is body.”
I frowned. “That sucks. But will he be okay?”
Krum shrugged, wincing slightly at the movement. “Madam Pomfrey seems to think so.”
I let out a breath. “That’s reassuring to hear.”
The tent flap rustled before I could say more, and a familiar mess of black hair pushed through.
“There you are,” Iris breathed, a broad smile on her face that didn’t quite match the look in her eyes.
She didn’t slow down until she was right before me, her hands moving immediately to check me over.
“What about your shoulder, Eli?” she asked, her tone slipping into something dangerously close to worry.
At the same time, Hermione burst in, slightly breathless, her eyes scanning me for any sign of injury.
I smirked, rolling my shoulder to show I was okay. “Good as new.”
“But I saw you get hit,” Fleur frowned. “And you were groaning after that.”
“I’m good with healing spells,” I shrugged, genuinely pleased with how well Healing Hands had worked. It saved me from being swamped by Pomfrey, which made it worth it.
Before Fleur could argue, Hermione suddenly threw herself at me, nearly knocking me back as she kissed my lips deeply.
“You did amazing, Eli,” she murmured, her eyes shining with pride. “I’m so proud of you.”
I smiled, brushing a hand through her wild curls. “Thank you, love. You helped me a lot to prepare.”
Then, turning back to Fleur and Krum, I grinned. “Pardon my manners. I want you both to meet my beautiful girlfriends, Iris Potter and Hermione Granger.”
Iris smirked at the two champions, while Hermione blushed bright red, offering a shy wave.
Krum grunted, uninterested in whatever drama I had just dropped into the tent. He turned his attention back to brooding while resting his leg.
Fleur smiled softly, not precisely at us, but at something else, something only she could see.
“It is a pleasure to meet you both,” she said sweetly. “Elias speaks of you fondly.”
Hermione let out a small squeak, burying her face in my chest. At the same time, Iris arched an eyebrow, amusement filling her eyes.
“Oh?” she drawled. “Talking about us already, Eli? You just met.”
I rolled my eyes. “I’m good at making friends,” I said simply. “And she asked. Apparently, the Hogwarts rumor mill knows everything.”
Iris groaned. “They have nothing better to do.”
“Oh, that’s not even the best part,” I said, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “Cedric told me there’s been a betting pool about our relationship for two years. All three of us.”
Iris, the unflappable, sharp-tongued legend of Hogwarts, actually blushed.
And it was glorious.
The flap rustled once more before I could enjoy such a rare sight. This time, it was Percy, looking as stiff and proper as ever, followed closely by none other than our headmaster.
Percy cleared his throat, his chest puffed out with all the self-importance he could muster. “Ahem! Champions, Headmaster Dumbledore has arrived to personally congratulate you all on completing the First Task.”
The headmaster stepped forward, his eyes twinkling in amusement as he looked around the room. “Splendid work, everyone,” he said cheerfully. “Each of you faced your task admirably, and I want to say you handled yourselves quite well.”
“That being said,” he chuckled mirthfully, “Only Miss Delacour completed the task in a way we expected. As we said, the day you were chosen was a test of bravery and cunning. None of us expected any of you to fight the dragon and win.”
Fleur puffed her chest out in pride. “Thank you, Headmaster Dumbledore,” she said humbly.
“So, imagine our surprise seeing someone manage to do not only that but in a way that the eggs were safe from the fight.” He chuckled after nodding at Fleur. “You all have done your school proud.”
His gaze drifted to me, lingering momentarily as he smiled proudly before shifting slightly to the two girls clinging to my sides. His expression didn’t change, but the amused glint in his eyes intensified.
“Ah,” Dumbledore said, his voice humorous, “I see young Elias has some dedicated supporters.”
Iris, to her credit, only smirked, standing a little straighter. “Of course, Professor. We had to show our support for this idiot.”
Hermione turned her head as she clutched my hand with a small smile.
Dumbledore laughed lightly before focusing on the champions. “Now then, you must all be eager to learn your scores. The judges have deliberated, and your points will be announced shortly. Would you all be so kind as to follow me back to the stadium? I’m afraid we cannot wait for Mr. Diggory to accompany us.”
Fleur and Krum nodded, both shifting to make their way toward the exit. I moved to follow, but not before catching Percy’s slight look of disapproval as he eyed Hermione, still latched onto my arm.
“Miss Granger, Miss Potter,” Percy said seriously, adjusting his glasses. “I believe only the champions are required at the moment.”
Iris huffed and rolled her eyes at the pompous git. “Relax, Percy, we’re leaving. We were making sure he was okay.”
“I’m fine, Iris,” I smiled at her. “We can meet later. I had an idea and wanted to let you know before I ask the headmaster.”
Iris searched my eyes and nodded, pushing my shoulder playfully now that she knew I was all right. Then she leaned in and gave me a peck on the lips before separating from me, leaving only Hermione, who still clutched my hand.
“Do I deserve a kiss from you too?” I smirked at the chocolate-eyed girl. “You would make my day with that.”
Hermione looked around before steeling herself and nodding. Standing on her tiptoes, she pecked me. “We will wait for you, Eli. Don’t take too long.”
“You got it,” I smiled goofily.
Dumbledore, still enjoying the exchange, smiled brightly at the scene. “Ah, how to be young.”
“Come now, Elias,” he said with a wink. “Let’s not keep the crowd waiting. The sooner we finish, the sooner you can reunite with them.”
I chuckled at him, enjoying how normal he acted with me. He may allow us to leave the school, as I planned to ask of him.
--Five minutes later--
The crowd went wild as we entered the stadium together. It was a shame Cedric would lose the opportunity, but we could not help it. His health was more important than this; his injury looked really bad.
Dumbledore stood up from the podium, pointing the deathstick into his throat.
"A magnificent display from all our champions," he said, his voice carrying effortlessly across the arena. "Now, see how our esteemed judges have scored them."
Krum was first. Bagman grinned as he raised his wand, conjuring a 7 in the air. He was quickly followed by Percy, who took Crouch's place since he was unavailable and gave the same. Dumbledore nodded in approval before giving Krum another 6, while, though thoughtful, Madame Maxime seemed less impressed and raised a 5. Then came Karkaroff. He didn’t hesitate before flicking his wand, conjuring a 10 without a pause. The favoritism was blatant, but no one had expected anything different. The crowd murmured in mild displeasure, but Krum barely reacted, accepting his 35 points with his usual stoic expression.
Next was Cedric. Bagman sighed, his enthusiasm dimming as he waved his wand to display a 6. Percy followed suit with the same score, his face unreadable. Dumbledore hesitated a fraction longer before giving a 7. At the same time, after a moment of consideration, Madame Maxime settled on a 6 as well. Then there was Karkaroff. He scoffed before flicking his wand dismissively, conjuring a 0.
The crowd erupted in outrage. Boos rang out from every corner of the stadium, the Hufflepuff stands the loudest of all. Even some of the Durmstrang students looked uncomfortable with the display. 25 points.
I had not seen his performance, so I didn't know if he deserved it. But it was an abysmal score.
Fleur was next. As expected, Madame Maxime wasted no time conjuring a 10 above her head, her expression proud. Bagman nodded approvingly before giving her a 9, and Percy followed. Dumbledore, smiling slightly, gave a 9, but Karkaroff, unsurprisingly, barely lifted his wand before lazily conjuring a 3. The boos returned, though Fleur merely tilted her head, watching him with an expression of vague amusement. 40 points.
Then it was my turn. The crowd had been loud before, but now, a hush of anticipation spread through the stadium. Madame Maxime raised her wand first, conjuring a 10, quickly followed by Bagman’s enthusiastic 10. Percy scowled before he gave another 10, and Dumbledore, a twinkle in his eyes, followed with the same. Then, at last, Karkaroff.
The man barely concealed his sneer as he flicked his wand, conjuring a 5 as if it were the most generous score he could bring himself to give.
The crowd cheered loudly, and I smiled. It was nice feeling their stares. They were a mix of awe and, in some cases, fear, especially coming from the Slytherin side.
Dumbledore chuckled softly, clearly entertained, before raising his hands to settle the crowd. "And there you have it! Our first task has ended, and our champions have proven themselves worthy contenders."
I honestly felt… overjoyed. I had done something difficult. Few wizards could boast of having beaten a dragon, much less at a young age.
