Ascendancy - Book I of the 𝔅𝔩𝔞𝔠𝔨 𝔖𝔢𝔯𝔦𝔢𝔰

XIV. 28th December 1931 - the assembly (1/3)

The Black mausoleum was in the south of the country, where the family had originally settled. Harfang had never been there, but it was said to be the most spectacular of all the pureblood mausoleums. The power of its architecture was unmatched by any other. He had heard that it was shaped like a raven rising into the sky. He couldn't wait to see it.

The Longbottom family had come up a chimney system that led directly to a shop next to the building. The shop manager greeted them without much interest, immersed in reading her novel. This must have been the umpteenth time she had seen purebloods come into her shop, and she had lost the urge to greet them. Her mother took this as a lack of politeness and was openly outraged. Harfang rolled his eyes and walked past his parents, ashamed to be seen with them. The other purebloods were already laughing at his family, he didn't want to be part of the circus company.

Fortunately, Avery had told him that he was also part of it. It made him feel better to have a friend by his side. At least he could comment on the show with someone.

In truth, he didn't know what to expect. They had just been told that the purebloods were being called to the mausoleum, inviting those who thought the list had forgotten them. Others, on the other hand, sought to make a strong statement about their Muggle ancestry. The Weasleys were inevitably part of this group. Harfang wished more than anyone that they would be eliminated from the list, since they seemed so proud of having impure blood.

"Harfang!"

He turned at the sound of Asler's voice. The surprise caught him off guard.

"What are you doing here?"

"Not happy to see me?"

"Yes, yes, of course!"

They embraced like brothers, patting each other lightly on the back. Harfang had apologised for his behaviour before the holidays, and as Asler was anything but vindictive, the two boys were quick to forget the whole thing.

"My father wants to claim his rightful place on the list," he said. "We thought at first that this meeting was just for the Sacred Twenty-Eight, but we misunderstood."

"Well, I'm glad! Avery should be here soon."

"Are you sure he's not back already?"

Harfang looked at the time and noticed that they were already a few minutes late.

"It's possible. Let's go then."

They took a gravelled path flanked on either side by an avenue of bushes. In front of them, tall oak trees hid the view of what must be the famous mausoleum. For the moment, the only thing Harfang could comment on was the very low cloud level. The weather was heavy and cold. A sort of grey layer had settled over the whole country since the beginning of the holiday. The fog cast a grey bubble over the city of London. Harfang hoped that the sun would break through again, or his sanity would be impaired.

He looked behind him and saw his family walking behind.

"Move faster."

Asler understood and let out a laugh. He could laugh. Harfang refused to appear with them.

They walked around the line of trees that hid the spectacle and onto the path that led directly to the mausoleum. Immediately they saw the building.

What was said about the Black Mausoleum was not rumour.

The structure dominated the grounds, with its high facades decorated with baroque statues. Among them, women wept, men killed and raptors ate the bodies, all with dramatic expressions and positions. The grey stones had turned black over time, something that went well with its name. The height made him dizzy. He felt crushed by the power of the architecture. The faces of the statues stared at him with gravity, and the pupils of the raptors seemed to glow with eternal cruelty. The shape of the mausoleum was unique. A wide, high tower seemed to touch the sky. The cloud cover hid even the tip. On each side, the roof fell straight down, except at the end where it curved slightly. The position of the tiles with the black traces of moisture reminded one of a crow's plumage. If one followed the comparison, the middle tower could be likened to the bird's beak.