Celestial Ascendancy
Chapter 70: The Answered Prayer.
Fleur Delacour.
Ministry of Magic, London.
Pain flared in my ribs as I rolled onto my side, the world around me consumed by screams and fire as the entire Ministry collapsed. Debris struck the ground nearby, disintegrating against the barrier Iris had cast.
Elias had sent us flying.
I couldn't remember how far we'd landed or what spells I'd instinctively used to avoid breaking something. All I knew was that when I looked up, the sky inside the Ministry Atrium wasn't a ceiling anymore. A translucent barrier shielded us from the outside, likely made under Eli's instructions.
Probably a circumference of a couple of kilometers, if I had to guess. It was a good thing he'd sent that message the day before. I didn't want to imagine the destruction a spell like that would've caused to London if it hadn't been contained. The fact that the Ministry was still obliterated by the aftershock, even after Eli's shield took the brunt of it, said everything.
A dome of golden light pulsed like a star across the ruined chamber, barely visible to the naked eye. But I saw it clearly, and I felt it clearly. The pressure inside that barrier made my throat tighten.
I was probably one of the only ones who could feel what was happening in there, me and maybe the new Iris. And it wasn't pretty.
He was still fighting.
My heart ached at the thought.
A groan to my right snapped me out of it. Hermione pushed herself to her feet, her temple slick with blood that she wiped away and healed with a wave of her wand.
Iris was already standing, steady despite the fresh gash running down her shoulder. Her magic swirled unnaturally around her before the wound sealed shut. Then her aura burst outward, a dark wave wrapping around her and some of our fallen allies.
We regrouped quickly, no words needed. Our glances were enough.
Sirius limped toward us with Remus supporting him, both bloodied and singed but still upright. Bones and Tonks arrived moments later, dragging three injured Aurors. More survivors followed behind. Some in official robes, others in business suits or street clothes. Not fighters. Not really.
But beggars couldn't be choosers.
They had come to witness a turning point, but instead, they watched a war erupt around them. A part of me pitied them, but… this was war. I couldn't afford to falter.
"There are too many," one man whispered in panic. "Why did he send us away? We could have helped!"
"To save us," I said sharply. My voice came out colder than I intended, but I didn't regret it. "He's shielding us from them."
I pointed toward the dome.
And all of us turned to look.
It was a shocking sight, only faintly obscured by the translucent barrier. But through my Veela senses, I saw, and more importantly, felt, far more. The dome wasn't just to keep the enemy magicians out. It was to protect us from Elias himself.
I glimpsed the figures attacking him. Around fifteen of them, maybe more. All of them were in panic as Eli tore through them like a storm.
And Elias… he fought like I'd never seen before.
But it was hurting him. We knew about the backlash his Aetherius provided, the more light he called, the more it consumed him from the inside out. The more magic he used at the intensity he needed in this fight, the more it hurt him.
It was a conceptual damage, not something he could heal with his magic or the orbs that spawned from his felled enemies. It was simple, a mortal wasn't meant to use Divine magic, and while his body had adapted a fair bit, he was mortal still.
I felt it in my bones. Every time his sword moved, every time that light burst from him, a piece of him dimmed... like he was burning through something he couldn't afford to lose.
Spells rotted his skin from the inside, his body and magic working overtime to heal, but the effect continued. It wasn't cutting spells, or fire, no. They were pure curses that stayed in his being, planted deep inside, and even when he cleansed them with his light, another magician put another one in its place.
"They're all Ultimate-Class," I blurted, barely realizing I'd spoken aloud.
Hermione turned to me, eyes wide. "What?"
"They're stronger than Voldemort," I said, the words catching in my throat. "Or close enough that it doesn't matter. And he's still holding them off. Alone."
"Then trust him," Iris said, her voice cutting through the panic like steel. "He knew what he was doing. We focus on what's in front of us. Our man made that choice. Trust him to see it through."
And just like that, her eyes glowed ominously as she turned and walked toward the enemy lines.
Scene break.
It was pure destruction everywhere we advanced.
We faced what was left of Voldemort's army. Death Eaters, a few remaining vampires, and feral werewolves. The dregs of his remaining followers. After the chaos in Diagon Alley and Ottery, he didn't have much support left, even less after Eli snapped and killed most of the prisoners.
The sheer sickly feeling of the magic being used inside Eli's dome made it hard to breathe. The pure wrongness from the spells made someone like me who was a Veela feel dizzy just by being close. I didn't want to imagine the effect it had in someone particularly Holy like Elias. I didn't know any angel, but I wouldn't be surprised if they would puke their intestines out at the feeling of desecration the magical essence had, or worse, fall.
They were strong. They used magic we'd never even consider. But… they were nothing. Not compared to Iris or us.
While Hermione and I weren't on her level, and much less Eli's, we were still far above the majority. Training as hard as we had, with the brightest professors Britain could offer, and our boyfriend had pushed us forward at a ridiculous pace.
Before coming to Britain, I never imagined I'd reach this level at my age.
But even if we were stronger… we bled.
Tonks lost her foot fending off a swarm of werewolves. Remus nearly fell to a vampire's jaw before Hermione blasted it apart with a burst of purple flame that hurt to look at. Just speaking the incantation left her pale and shaking.
I honestly didn't want to know where she learned that. The vampire's husk looked tarred and dried out, like a mummy.
I moved on instinct, drawing Elias's bow and firing at a cloaked figure trying to flank us.
The arrow struck home… and screamed. The sound was horrendous. I bit my tongue to stop myself from vomiting and pushed harder into Occlumency to keep focus.
The Hydra's venom hissed as it spread through his veins. He convulsed and collapsed, dead before he hit the floor.
"Fleur! Right!" Hermione yelled.
I spun and fired again, dropping another.
We pressed forward. Iris carved through everything ahead of her like a scythe, all blazing magic and raw will. Her movements were sharp and completely ruthless. And yet she kept glancing toward the dome.
She felt it too. She just didn't want to say it.
Then the Hexennacht reinforcements arrived.
I didn't see how they got in. One moment, we were advancing. Next, sigils cracked the floor, and new figures stepped through.
Ten. No, more. Twenty? Thirty?
Probably closer to fifty.
It didn't matter. They wore different robes from the Death Eaters. They didn't bother hiding their allegiance. After this mess went public, they'd be hunted to the ends of the earth, assuming anyone still cared about the pact.
But even then… this didn't make sense. They shouldn't have these many numbers left, especially not the ones battling Elias.
Hexennacht simply didn't have that many Ultimate-class magicians.
No…
Someone else was moving in the shadows.
According to what Eli was told, they'd been in hiding after a group of Valkyries hunted them down across the world like the rabid dogs they were.
One of them raised a hand. The magic he summoned warped the air around him before freezing three witches in place. Reporters unlucky enough to be here.
Bones retaliated instantly, and a streak of red lightning hit the floor beneath her. Her spell cut one magician down.
But then, more spells came.
Screams followed. Two civilians disintegrated into ash. A third turned into dirt before collapsing into the broken statue. Remus cast a shield over two injured Aurors and barely saved them.
"Merlin," Tonks muttered. "There are too many."
And then Iris raised her wand and cast her Patronus.
To everyone's surprise, instead of the usual stag, a white, almost pristine lamb burst from her wand. It trailed silver light as it passed through the walls and vanished beyond the Ministry.
A call for help.
"Did you tell the others?" Hermione began to ask, before stopping mid-sentence to heal Remus, who had a hole in his leg from a stray curse.
"No," Iris said softly. "Only the professors. Eli wanted them away, and I agree with him. There's no need to lose more people today. There's been enough bloodshed."
Scene break.
The floor cracked again.
But this time it wasn't thanks to offensive spells, no. It was from footsteps.
They arrived slowly at first, some apparating with a faint pop, others storming down from the lower levels of the Ministry, probably thanks to the Floo network.
Soon, it became almost impossible to track.
Then, through the smoke, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley stepped into the fray. Molly's wand was already alight, blasting a Death Eater's feet off with a silent curse. Arthur followed her, eyes burning with hate as he cast a wide shield over three wounded fighters as curses rained down like arrows.
More figures emerged.
Lord and Lady Greengrass, dressed in full dueling robes, barreled through a destroyed wall. A flick of her wrist turned a vampire to stone. A gesture from her husband shattered it into dust.
Professor Flitwick sprinted past them, barely waist-high but casting faster than anyone could follow, shouting spells in Gobbledegook that morphed the battlefield. Bluish runes shimmered beneath enemy feet before detonating, launching two Death Eaters into a pillar.
Augusta Longbottom marched forward like a veteran, her emerald robes untouched by the fire, her face blank. She didn't hesitate. Her first spell dropped a feral werewolf mid-pounce. Her second sent a rain of silver needles against the magicians who shielded, much to everyone's surprise, McGonagall swished her wand from the back, making the needles as large as pillars that broke the shields like a hot knife through butter.
Even bloody Trelawney, wide-eyed and wild-haired, arrived with her wand trembling in her hand. She screamed something incoherent and unleashed a jet of magic so unstable it sliced a jagged crack across the floor, forcing a pair of Death Eaters to retreat.
I choked. I've seen plenty of miracles in my life ever since I met Elias.
But this? This was hope.
Elias hadn't wanted this. He was tired of war. He wanted them safe.
But they came anyway.
For him.
For what he represented. For our freedom.
A curse flew past me, I deflected it on instinct and watched Charlie tackle the caster to the floor, slamming his fist into the man's face until his hands were bloodied.
Flitwick leapt onto a ledge and redirected a volley of fire toward a Death Eater squad trying to flank us.
We had momentum on our side.
People were fighting back. The air was filled with light, fire, and screams. Bones barked orders, and Tonks disarmed a cloaked assassin mid-spin. We were winning.
Then the dome shattered.
The sound was like glass breaking inside my bones.
Light exploded outward, flinging spells and corpses alike. All heads turned.
And there he stood.
No longer glowing. No longer my sun.
A spear of cursed metal impaled straight through his chest. So wrong that I fell to my knees from just the feeling. It smelt like death, rot. Corruption of what was holy.
Elias was kneeling.
Blood pooled beneath him. His hand trembled, reaching for the spear and grabbing it with clenched teeth as his hands blistered and the skin peeled.
Then he collapsed.
No scream. No last words.
Just silence.
My soul cracked.
I couldn't move. I couldn't breathe. Hermione let out a broken sob and dropped to her knees beside me.
Iris stood still as a statue.
Then Voldemort laughed.
"The monster has fallen," he sneered, his voice louder under the fog that clouded my thoughts. "His light is extinguished. Walburga will be sad that she missed this."
I reached for something… anything inside me. But I couldn't find my rage, not even my magic, moved under my control.
There was just pain.
"I didn't even…" I whispered, shakingly. "We hadn't even started…"
Hermione sobbed again beside me, her knuckles white around her wand.
"He died," I whispered, eyes locked on Elias's broken body. "He died before we even…"
"SHUT UP."
Iris's voice snapped like thunder.
She turned to face us, her eyes burning with unholy magic, the look cold even as tears fell.
"He wouldn't want this," she hissed. "You think he fought and bled and died just for us to give up now? He trusted us. So fight like he's still here."
"This is not his end," she whispered, as if she was assuring herself more than us.
I stood on shaking legs.
My heart was gone. My body burned. But she was right.
I let the pain rise.
Let it consume me.
And my magic answered.
My vision blurred as fire erupted across my skin. My body shone, shedding flame and ash. My Allure, usually restrained, snapped its chains and roared.
Feathers erupted from everywhere in my body, crackling like a bonfire as they ignited. The ground cracked beneath my feet.
Everything stopped.
Enemies and allies alike turned toward me.
And I let go.
With a shriek that split the air, I launched forward toward the closest enemy.
Hermione Granger
Ministry of Magic, London.
He's gone.
I didn't want to believe it. I couldn't. But no matter how much I tried to focus on the spells around me or Fleur's scream of fury echoing through the Ministry, my eyes kept finding him. The love of my life.
Collapsed into a pool of his own blood.
That cursed spear was still sticking through his chest, a dark aura around the shaft flowing constantly into his body.
My hands trembled. I felt despair enveloping me.
Then someone shouted my name.
"Granger, move!"
A wave of flame roared past us, deflected at the last second by Bill's ward. I flinched and stumbled backward, barely catching myself as the Weasleys moved into position. Bill, Charlie, Arthur, and Molly, all coordinating like they'd trained for this moment.
Professor McGonagall arrived from the rubble like a force of nature, her eyes rimmed red as she looked at Elias' body. Her transfigured steel golems moved alongside her with brutal elegance.
They surrounded me.
Not because I was weak.
But because they knew what I was.
The healer.
I took a deep breath, forcing myself to push the grief down just for now, and raised my trembling hands.
"Sanare Cordis," I whispered, and my magic responded.
A golden-white shimmer flowed from the tip of my wand like water, cascading over the fallen. Bones snapped back into place. Burns hissed as they healed. A dozen people stopped groaning and stood again, wide-eyed as the magic knitted their wounds with blinding speed.
It wasn't just healing. It was lifeforce, forced back into people who should've been unconscious or worse.
I wept silently as I worked. The tears wouldn't stop. Every flick of my wrist reminded me of the man who gave me the strength to be this person. The one who believed in me. Trained me. Loved me in his own quiet, infuriating way.
He was still there. Still there in my magic, guiding my instincts. I felt him every time I pushed my limits. Every time, I refused to give up.
I heard Fleur's scream again. Saw the blaze of her Allure exploding outward. Saw enemies freeze and flinch before they were ripped apart in fire and feathers.
But the battle didn't allow me to break down; it didn't care about my grief.
I had to hold it until it finished.
Two vampires broke the outer ward and lunged straight for me.
Arthur Weasley stepped into their path and decapitated one with a silver-edged conjured blade. McGonagall blasted the second into a statue of glass with a transfiguration curse that left her panting.
The remaining ceiling caved in, and the falling rubble transformed into butterflies as tens or maybe even a hundred brooms became visible… Our schoolmates, from my year and up, appeared in hordes, Ginny clutching her broom with Asia on her back.
Ginny, Finnigan, Macmillan, Daphne, Neville. All of them lowered into the ground and made a circle around us.
The blonde appeared beside me, looking worried. "I-I came as fast as I could! I'm sorry, I…!"
"You shouldn't be here," I cut her off, hugging her quickly even as I glared at the rest. "But… Thank you all. I'm going in."
"What? Hermione, no! You're the healer!" Ginny shouted.
"Not anymore."
I grabbed the bow Fleur dropped before she went nova. My hands shook as I strung a venom-tipped arrow.
And then I ran towards the commotion.
The battle had turned.
Iris was winning.
I watched as she and Voldemort clashed back and forth across the broken Atrium like two monsters in my favorite stories growing up.
But she wasn't losing… In fact, he was.
Her sword, if you could call it that, was a weapon of ruin.
Blacker than black, it pulsed with the weight of inevitability, of death.
Every time it cut him, the wound remained. Voldemort couldn't heal.
I saw it clearly as his face twisted, his movements slowed, and his breathing more labored.
And Iris? She was healing faster than anyone I'd ever seen. Cuts sealed before the blood hit the ground. Magic flared around her with every beat.
Fleur kept the flanks clear. Fire and death radiated from her like a hurricane, enemies bursting into ash or sinew when they dared get close. Her feathered hands looked like they were made of steel as she cut everything in her reach.
And me?
I fired.
Arrow after arrow, aimed at the heads of Hexennacht magicians. They moved quickly, but not quickly enough to avoid the Hydra's venom. They weren't frontline fighters; they were magicians, just like the majority of us. They were slower than what I was used to.
I landed a shot in the throat of one who tried to cast something massive near Bones. Another at a summoner weaving constructs behind Voldemort.
I covered Iris. I gave her room to finish this.
We lost people. I couldn't pretend otherwise. Some Aurors fell. A few of the Hogwarts professors were injured. I saw rot spread through Susan's leg from a distance under a curse. I heard the sheer agony in Amelia's voice as she apparated toward her.
But we were fighting.
And we were winning.
Then Voldemort laughed.
It was low. Cruel.
I felt dread coil in my stomach before I even turned to look.
He wasn't laughing at Iris.
He was looking past her. Behind our battle. Back toward the ruins of the shattered dome.
At them.
Four figures. Cloaked in Hexennacht colors, bloodstained and smug. They hadn't joined the fight. They didn't need to.
They had already won their part.
They were surrounding Elias's body.
Desecrating it.
One of them kicked him over casually. Another was tracing a blade across his carved chest and gathering his blood into multiple vials. A third was laughing, holding the cursed spear aloft like a trophy.
My stomach twisted.
I wanted to go.
I wanted to scream.
But Iris kept moving. She hadn't turned. She hadn't flinched. She was still fighting Voldemort like nothing else existed.
Something had changed in her after last night… I didn't recognize the woman who cruelly ignored the death of our boyfriend in front of me, even if it made sense.
And I… I forced myself to look away. To fire another arrow. To whisper a prayer to whatever god that was listening. To hope for a miracle.
We finish this.
Then we bring him back. No matter what we had to do.
Even if we have to burn the world to do it.
Iris Potter
Ministry of Magic.
I couldn't look.
Not at them. Not at him. Not now.
Elias's body lay shattered and broken behind the lines, and the bastards were touching him. Defiling him. Laughing as they desecrated the body of a man who had already given everything.
I felt something break the longer I avoided looking in that direction.
My sword shivered in my grip like it could feel it too. Like it wanted to act.
The blade burned cold. Death wasn't fire. It wasn't light. It was absolute.
Voldemort's voice was still somewhere nearby, echoing inside my head, but I didn't hear him. Not really.
All I could hear was the pulse in my ears.
He's dead.
My hand trembled. My lip bled from how hard I bit it.
And still… I didn't cry.
Tears were for after the work was done.
Now?
Now was the time for wrath.
Voldemort tried to run like the coward he was, running in the direction of Elias, but I didn't let him. I ran after him, faster than he was. A wave of my wand created a wall of metal blocking his path before I appeared in front of him.
I kicked his chest and smirked almost feral when I felt something crack under my feet.
He brought his wand down in a wide arc, releasing a pulse of blood-magic that tainted the ground itself. It reached toward me like claws. I vaulted over it, landing hard on fractured stone and slashing through the curse with a burst of raw magic.
"Avarex." The word left me like a growl, and my blade twisted, reshaping in my grip.
It changed its form.
The haft extended, metal shifting into bone-white wood, just like Voldemort's wand. I spun once and hurled it forward.
Voldemort flicked his wand.
The spear exploded in midair, but not before tearing a chunk of flesh from his shoulder. He grunted in surprise and pain.
I held out my hand, and the spear snapped back into it with a gust of wind.
My magic had no limit now. I could feel it.
Not in power.
In reach.
The Hallows weren't gone. I wasn't using them.
They were part of me.
Voldemort threw six spells at once.
I sidestepped the first, caught the second with my off-hand, and shattered it midair. The third, I ducked. The fourth hit, but melted against my skin, absorbed and dissolved into fuel for my own spells. The fifth curved, trying to distract me by targeting Fleur, who was looking in the other direction.
Didn't matter.
My wand appeared in my hand and shifted again.
A bow.
The spell hadn't even finished curving before I notched a string of arrows, each one humming with a welcoming energy.
I fired three times in less than a second.
The third exploded at Voldemort's feet, sending him flying backward with a snarl.
He was bleeding now.
And for the first time, I realized something.
He was afraid. He should be frightened.
He knew who I was. He had always mocked it. The Girl Who Lived.
But now?
Now he realized I was something more.
Scene break.
"Iris…" Hermione's voice reached me faintly from behind.
I didn't turn.
If I looked back, I'd see Elias. Or worse… I wouldn't. And if that happened, I wasn't sure I could keep moving.
So I focused.
Voldemort rose from the rubble, his wand glowing sickly green. "Do you think this changes anything? I already won, Iris Potter! Your savior is dead, I WON!"
"No mortal was meant to carry what he did. Not without consequence!" he hissed in jealousy, "I showed the world their failed Idol!"
I didn't answer.
I ran straight toward him.
He tried to teleport, but I collapsed the space around us with a flick of my will.
He cast Fiendfyre in his panic. I opened my palm and devoured it with a flash of black light. Then I threw the light against him, vaporizing his arm and everything behind him.
He tried to possess me… my soul bit back.
I saw his eyes widen as he stumbled back, clutching his head.
"You…" he breathed. "You're not a girl anymore."
I kept silent.
I broke through every barrier he conjured.
Every spell he cast, I countered with something ancient, something that came not from learning, but from being. I didn't know what I was doing anymore; I just willed it into existence.
At some point, my wand stopped appearing at all.
I didn't need it anymore.
My hand formed shapes, and the world responded. The ground twisted. The air cracked.
I rewrote the battlefield.
He couldn't touch me.
But I couldn't reach Elias either.
And that hurt more than anything.
I caught Voldemort with a tendril of shadow around his neck. I dragged him into the air, slamming him into the broken statue behind him. The stone cracked. He slumped, but didn't fall. The bastard was durable, I'd give him that.
"You think killing him makes you a victor?" I hissed, stepping over blood and ruin. "You think taking him from me makes you safe?"
He laughed again, even as blood trickled from his lips.
"You haven't won. You've delayed the inevitable. You'll see, little girl. Death always…"
"I AM DEATH!" I hissed in his ear.
I stabbed my spear through his leg.
He screamed.
And I felt it. Alarms blaring inside my head as I felt something MORE.
The world grew bright.
Pure white.
It was him.
My Elias.
His body, once limp and broken, now floated above the cracked stone, glowing like something from outside this world.
The cursed spear that a magician had melted away, its magic screaming in protest before vanishing into vapor. A faint outline of a demonic serpent or maybe even dragon hissed in pure agony before it disappeared from the face of the earth.
His wounds were sealed, not with flesh, but with light.
It hurt so much to look at him.
A halo of pure white flame burned above his head, just above the crown that materialized near instantly.
And the world responded.
The remaining Hexennacht magicians turned to flee... and were burned.
They didn't even scream.
Their eyes bled black. Their skin turned pale white. Their souls ignited. I could see it clearly, the faint outlines behind them shouting in agony as they were dragged somewhere else.
Those closest to his body fell first. Writhing, sobbing, clawing at their own eyes out as something greater than death reached inside them and judged.
The one holding the vials got the worst of it.
Elias's blood didn't simply react. It rejected.
The reinforced crystal cracked, then shattered, not from an impact, but from purity.
The blood turned black for a moment, as if mourning the loss, before bubbling into molten gold, too radiant to look at without pain.
Then, as if insulted by the act of theft, the ichor moved.
It surged, pressing against the man's hand, then slipping under his skin, crawling through his veins with unnatural hunger.
He screamed.
Not in pain at first. But in awe, then in horror, and finally in realization.
The golden light spread under his skin like cracks in a vase. His eyes turned white. His body trembled, then split.
In pure gore.
His body collapsed, first his limbs, then his torso, melting down into a glistening puddle of ichor that hissed like oil on fire.
And when the last bubble popped… the ichor rose again.
And it returned to Elias.
As if it had never left.
The holy made whole.
Voldemort recoiled, crawling backward like a rat, his expression twisting into something primal. Pure, unadulterated fear.
"No," he whispered. "No, no!"
The sky cracked.
A pressure unlike anything I'd ever felt washed over the battlefield.
Everything dimmed as the barrier created from the magicians protecting the muggles exploded into shards of light.
Because it wasn't just magic.
It was creation.
Elias hovered, his arms outstretched. His eyes still closed.
A circle of scorched stone formed beneath him, stretching outward, pulsing with life. A lifeforce so pure that it burned my retina as fast as it healed. Plants sprouted under him, filling the ministry in lush green.
His uncountable golden wings flapped peacefully.
The hallows inside me stirred. The Resurrection Stone went still, the Cloak curled tighter around my back in respect.
And the Elder Wand?
It bowed.
He opened his eyes… His three, soul-crushing, light-filled eyes.
And I couldn't help but cry. Because a prayer had been answered.
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