He wouldn't ever admit it to anyone, but Hogwarts was where he felt most at home. He swore he'd never love anything, but the castle was on top of the very short list of things Tom Riddle, Head Boy and heir of the noble Salazar Slytherin, was fond of.
Especially now with that old, love-blinded fool Dumbledore absent from the professor's table. Hopefully he'd never return. Old Grindelwald was doing a thorough job of fueling hatred of muggles and instilling fear within Magical Britain. Now if he could just remove Dumbledore permanently, or for at least a few years, Tom would have a significantly easier time of making Hogwarts his—
"Tom?" Someone was tapping his shoulder. He turned to see the slightly anxious face of Alphard Black. "Where, erm…where are we supposed to be standing at the start of the ceremony?"
This Black, unlike his brother, sister, and cousin, was timid and passive, preferring to keep to himself. He had obviously caught wind of the Chamber of Secrets rumors at some point in the past two years, because he was at his most nervous around the Head Boy. Tom couldn't understand why, as the boy's pureblood status exempted him from any harm.
"Didn't Messier go over it with you?" Tom asked him, trying to keep the impatience out of his voice.
"I, er…I haven't seen her…"
Across the table, Felix Lestrange and James Avery were shaking their heads. They thought the youngest Black a bit of a dolt despite the boy's academic performance. Neither of them, however, would say anything to him outright out of respect for his brother and cousin, Cygnus and Orion.
Tom stood and scanned the Slytherin table for the other fifth-year prefect. He saw Messier One, the elder sister, trying to catch his eye, but he was looking for the younger. There she was next to the Fawley girl, scribbling away on a piece of parchment.
"She's over there." He pointed. "I've explained it all to her." Though she probably hadn't listened to a word of it. Another academic achiever, but Messier Two was rarely here on Earth.
"Thanks, Tom," said Black, relieved to scuttle away.
"What a ponce," Lestrange muttered to Avery as Tom took a seat. Avery only nodded.
Lestrange continued to speak but Tom tuned him out, ruminating over the letter he'd sent to Dippet that morning. He'd simply requested a meeting, but had he come off desperate? Was it polite enough, or perhaps too polite, so much so that Dippet wouldn't place it as a priority? Tom had to know the answer now but he mustn't get himself wound up. No, the letter was fine. For someone who loathed asking things of other people, Tom sure had a knack for getting his way.
He still had to have a backup plan if the meeting did not end in his favor. All that was for sure was that he was never stepping foot in that orphanage again. Now that he was eighteen, he wouldn't ever have to. But where would he go? No, he had to convince Dippet—
"Excuse me, Riddle? What time's the ceremony?" A Ravenclaw prefect now, shy sixth-year prefect Edwina Boot. Tom preferred her over all the others, because she spoke even less than Messier and actually listened. She, like Black, was nervous around him, but it was not limited to him. She took a breath and let out a long, rambling sentence:
"Longbottom's saying it's at half-seven, but I could've sworn Dippet said seven forty-five, and since we've got to be there a half-hour early, should we come at seven-fifteen or seven? Or quarter to, to be on the safe side, because if—"
"It's at seven forty-five," Tom cut her off pleasantly. "Please be there at seven-fifteen and pass along the message to Longbottom."
"Yes, will do," she squeaked. "Thank you, and sorry again for bothering you."
"Now there's a girl with some respect," Lestrange remarked as she dashed off. "Her face is rather unfortunate, though."
"Eh, we can just blow out the candle," Avery chuckled. "Wouldn't make a difference in the dark, would it?"
"She's a half-blood," Tom reminded them, just to get them to shut up. That lasted all of ten seconds until Victor Mulciber leaned in and started in about the most recent game of Quidditch, which was at least easy to ignore.
Tom looked around the Great Hall. What would it be like to have all these younger-years under his instruction? Perhaps like Head Boy duties except more responsibility. He could handle it; it was worth it if they were all under his control. Whether through fear or admiration, they would all submit to him—
All conversation, internal and spoken, ceased at once at the appearance of Head Girl Lysandra Bell.
"Riddle, did you tell Boot the ceremony starts at seven forty-five?" She was furious, but she didn't dare fully express it to him. To others, she was a force to be reckoned with, but not to Tom. She was not afraid of him but rather ashamed after his dismissal of her after their encounter two months ago.
Now, however, she'd temporarily forgotten it. "It's at seven-thirty. The prefects have got to be there at seven. Perhaps I should tell them quarter to? Since I've got to fetch them all again anyway."
"Not to worry, Lysandra, I will tell them," he said, smiling at her, knowing she still fancied him but that she couldn't do a thing to catch his interest. She'd only been useful to him for one thing, and he'd gotten it already.
"I—oh, alright then." She was predictably flustered, unable to resist his charm. "Well, I'll help. Please tell yours if it's not too much bother."
She strode away with her head held high, but her freckled cheeks were still pink. Witches are so easy, Tom thought with a smirk. "Until later, gentlemen," he said, rising from the table.
He looked out for Alphard Black, but he must have left the Great Hall. However, Messier Two was still seated, scanning the tables. He watched her write something down on her parchment, biting her lip, as he approached. A second before he reached her, fifth-year prefect Melody McCready appeared out of nowhere and clasped Messier's arm.
"Oh, Merlin, Harper, I'm sorry!" she gasped. "I've gotten the time wrong! The ceremony is actually at seven-thirty, so we've got to be there at six forty-five."
"Oh, alright," Messier replied, clutching her parchment to her chest. Tom briefly wondered what she was always scribbling about, but he didn't much care. Doubtless nothing important, and it kept her out of his hair.
"Oi—er, excuse me, Tom," McCready said to him. "According to Antonia Longbottom, erm, the headmaster wants to see you."
She blushed and looked away, but Tom was already walking out, eyes on the corridor. "Thank you," he called, trying to keep his strides slow and his posture calm.
Dippet had to say yes. Who could refuse brilliant Tom Riddle? No, he hadn't a thing to worry about, but still he could not keep his fists from clenching in anticipation.
-x-
"Merlin, he's growing more handsome by the day," Mel was saying, taking a sip of Harper's pumpkin juice.
"Who?" Harper asked distractedly, taking notes again. She'd been watching Lysandra Bell, who seemed ready to wig out. Stressed about ceremony but also something deeper, Harper wrote, exacerbated by communication with HB. There was a rumor circulating around Hogwarts that Riddle had rejected Bell's romantic interest, but since there wasn't proof, Harper didn't add it.
That's who Mel was referring to, she supposed—Riddle. Many of the older-years in other Houses were beginning to fancy him.
"What are you always writing about?" Mel asked, trying to peek at the parchment.
This was hardly the first time the question was raised, as she wrote scroll after scroll for all five years of Hogwarts thus far, but over the 1944-1945 school year there had been an increase. After being forced to take a break to study for OWLs, she was now rarely without a quill in her hand. For her sixteenth birthday the past April, Mel's family had given her a refilling quill. Now next to nothing held her back.
"When is your family coming?" she asked, dodging the question as usual.
"Well, see, I'd told them seven-fifteen, but that was when I'd thought the ceremony started at quarter to eight! I really hope they won't arrive too late." Mel grimaced, as if the worst occurrence imaginable was if her family arrived at the start of the ceremony.
Harper beamed at her with fondness. She liked how Mel was overreactive to everything. Her ability to feel everything so viscerally was fascinating. "It'll be fine, dear. I'm sure there will be many latecomers."
"When…are yours coming?" Mel asked tentatively, knowing Harper didn't like to speak or even think of her parents unless absolutely necessary.
"I think Annie told them half-past," she said, rolling up the scroll. She didn't care if they were late; in fact, she was counting on it. The less time spent around them, the better. She wished this was simply a regular graduation ceremony, where they wouldn't come at all since neither she nor her sister Annie were finishing this year.
"I've got to get packing," she said, standing up and stepping over the bench. "I haven't even started yet."
Mel nodded and headed back to the Ravenclaw table as Harper left the Great Hall.
On the way to the dungeons, she ran into a group of Slytherin boys: sixth-years Cygnus and Orion Black, flanked by their followers Icarus Yaxley, Sequitur Delmont, and Felix Murdoch, all of whom were fifth-years. The group's leader, Abraxas Malfoy, had preceded them to the Great Hall to catch a seat by the seventh-years.
They all ignored Harper as expected except Murdoch, who grinned and winked at her. Not quite friends, he and Harper had collaborated a couple of years ago, so they had a general fondness of each other. Known as the King of Pranks, Murdoch's devilish, clever stunts and good looks excused his half-blood status.
Once in her dormitory, Harper found only Druella Rosier, who was not packing but sitting at her desk in front of her silver-pated mirror, brushing her thick blonde hair. "Oh, Druella dear, Beryl is in the Great Hall waiting for you."
The other placed her hairbrush daintily in her desk drawer, eyeing Harper out of the side of her grey-brown eyes. The two witches never quite knew how to interact, because Druella viewed Mel and Annie as competition even though she was wealthier than the two put together. However, since Harper herself didn't attract much attention, Druella knew it wasn't a point to being hostile toward her. "Thank you, dear."
On precarious high heels, she tottered out of the dormitory. Beryl Fawley hadn't said a single thing about Druella Rosier, but neither of them were bright enough to question Harper's motive, which was to be in the dormitory alone with her book.
She set the scroll on the desk, took a seat at the creaky, wooden chair, and pulled out a thick suede journal, another gift from the McCreadys a few years back.
Flipping to the section marked B, she carefully unrolled the scroll, stuck the parchment against the seam, and pointed her wand at it. Tracing the seam with the tip, she muttered an incantation, watching as the edge of the parchment sewed itself in. This way was easier than carrying around the whole journal, and she didn't have to worry about allocating enough pages for each person.
The journal was plain black, well-worn, and Harper's most prized possession. Although she'd charmed it to say something else if the book opened, she'd written on the first page:
Behavior Analysis of Students and Faculty at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
© 1945 Harpalyke C. Messier
After adding the page, Harper slid the journal back under her Potions textbook. She didn't want to pack it quite yet, in case she had more to add later, which was likely. She wouldn't be able to write in it while staying with Mel, so she had to jot any notes before leaving Hogwarts.
There was, however, another book that Harper had to bury in the bottom of her trunk immediately. She hadn't written this book herself, but much of the content in her journal was based on concepts described in it. It was titled Civilization and its Discontents, written by a muggle "neurologist" by the name of Sigmund Freud. Harper hadn't an idea what a neurologist was, but after reading the book, she'd gleaned that Freud had studied the human mind and how people behaved, unlike any Healer she'd ever heard of.
Though the studies weren't completely far-fetched to the wizarding world, Harper could face a large headache at minimum if another Slytherin found her in possession of a muggle book. It was for this reason she kept it strictly under her mattress or in her trunk. As risky as it was to have it at Hogwarts, any reaction of a Slytherin would pale on comparison to her father's if he found it at their house.
After burying it safely in a pair of robes in her trunk that no longer fit, she pulled out her dress robes and changed into them. Swiping Druella's hairbrush—so far Druella hadn't noticed any straighter, darker hairs between the teeth—she fixed her hair and debated on whether to put on the berry stain Beryl Fawley had given her, proclaiming it looked better against porcelain skin than olive. Harper eventually decided not to, as she didn't wish to draw any more attention to herself than necessary. Makeup was more Mel's concern anyhow.
The beauty ritual had taken only 20 minutes, so Harper was rather early to the Great Hall. The ceremony didn't start for another hour, so she approached Lysandra Bell and asked what she could do to help prepare.
"Oh, erm…" Lysandra said distractedly, her eyes on the list of families assigned to each table. The tables had been slightly enlarged along with the Great Hall itself; the benches had been transformed into individual purple velvet chairs lined neatly at the white-clothed tables. "You can help Edwina decorate."
She pointed to the tall figure of Edwina Boot, who was conjuring brightly-colored, heavily perfumed flowers. "Oi, Edwina! This is not a garden. Try lilies and roses, will you?"
Edwina mumbled a response that Lysandra paid no attention to, for Tom Riddle had waltzed in, an unusual satisfied grin on his face. "My, Lysandra, you sure have a knack for decoration," he said smoothly as he passed them, heading toward the Black brothers.
Lysandra blushed and let out her own pleased smile, although he already had her back turned, giving Alphard Black instructions on where to direct the younger-year boys.
Feeling a bit like she was intruding on something, Harper excused herself to go help Edwina, who was now joined by Florence Bones, the fifth-year Hufflepuff prefect.
Only a wave of her wand later, Harper spotted out of the corner of her eye her sister Annie, and she wasn't alone. On either side of her, their parents, Charles and Euporie strode in, dressed far more regally than the occasion called for.
Euporie was even more stunning than usual in a mint-green gown of silk and lace that complemented her olive skin and black spiral curls that she'd passed straight to Annie. Harper had her father's fair skin and pin-straight brown hair, which wouldn't hold a curl if she pinned it up for a week. Charles was dressed in hunter green robes, not a hair out of place.
Harper could afford a few moments of pretending to be busy, fussing with the bouquets and adding more bows and glitter until Lysandra tried to gently suggest that perhaps there was too much, though it came out as more of a bark. This, unfortunately, caught the attention of Annie, who waved her over.
"Ah, Harpalyke!" her sister cried in that falsely sweet voice she used around her parents. No matter how hard she tried, Harper could never muster up enough enthusiasm for that pitch. "Mum and Dad are here!"
I have eyes, dear sister, Harper wished to say but of course she did not. "Hello, darling," Euporie simpered, giving her a wide smile.
"Merlin, girl, you're getting big," were the first words out of her father's mouth. "You've got to get your figure under control. Ananke, why aren't you teaching your sister to stay active? All of that sitting and reading is sure catching up to her bottom."
Annie opened her mouth to reply, but luckily, Charles kept talking. "Did you hear I've gotten promoted to Head of the Treasury Department?"
"Yes, Annie told me," Harper said, forcing a smile, hoping that would turn the attention back onto her sister. It worked, but a look of annoyance passed over Annie's face.
"My name is Ananke," she said smarmily, and Harper knew she was only placating her father, since she didn't care about being called Annie on a typical day at Hogwarts. "We must remember our proper wizarding names, dear sister. Annie is a common muggle name."
"That's right," Charles cut in. "Remember your place at the top of the hierarchy."
Harper was saved from having to form a response by the sudden appearance of Mel by her side. "Oh, hello, Melody!" Euporie cried, grasping her hands, relieved at the abatement of tension.
Behind Mel were two rosy-cheeked, blue-eyed faces that Harper was as happy to see as her best friend: Donald and Angela McCready, Mel's parents.
"Hello, Messiers!" Angela greeted exuberantly, pulling Euporie in for a kiss on the cheek and disregarding Charles' sudden unease.
-x-
The relief on her best friend's face was palpable. Mel knew that Harper's father was about to lay into her about something and was grateful for her parents' intervention. Mum was good at using her foreignness to her advantage, doing away with stuffy English formality. Mel had a feeling that Charles Messier only tolerated them for this reason.
After everyone was properly greeted, Dad turned to Harper. "Mind showing us where we're sitting? Mel says you're in charge of that."
Mel had said no such thing, but after five years of interacting with the Messiers, he was well-trained in diversion. "Yes, follow me," Harper said quickly, stepping away from her parents.
As she led them to the far side of the Ravenclaw table, Mel could hear the quieting of voices on the right side of the Great Hall, where the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff families were starting to take their places. With a knot of dread forming deep in the pit of her stomach, she hoped her parents would be too delighted with the abundance of food to notice.
No such luck—Mum let out a sigh as they took their seats, looking at the cutlery with a glum expression. "Everyone knows now, I reckon."
Mel couldn't disagree; it had been in the Daily Prophet the previous week. No one had said anything to her directly, but she'd felt a slight chill coming from half the student body and even Professor Merrythought. Not many wanted to associate with a family that clearly churned out followers of Grindelwald's Magic Army.
None of the other McCreadys had known of Walden's desire to join the Army. He'd never spoken of it Mel had though their relationship was close enough that he wouldn't keep such a close secret, but apparently she'd been mistaken. She hadn't a clue of his political views until he ran off with a group of boys that were notorious Grindelwald supporters: Sergei Dolohov, Percival Reilly, and, now the leader of the Magic Army, Alexander McElroy.
That damn Daily Prophet, Mel thought grumpily as she rose and excused herself from her now subdued parents to help Edwina, Lysandra, and the sixth-year prefect Achilles Longbottom guide the first and second-year Ravenclaws to their designated spots. Henry Higgins, Mel's counterpart, passed around candles and urged them to touch the wicks together to spread the fire. Those with unlit candles were using them as pretend wands, forbidden to use their real ones. Garret Finch was heavily reprimanded for using his candle as a drumstick against the edge of the staff table.
Over at the Slytherin table, there was a slight spot of bother: third-year Otylia Masiakiewicz had told her family to sit in Felix Murdoch's family's seats. Herbert Murdoch, a high-ranked Ministry official, was patiently explaining to her family, who evidently spoke no English at all, that he belonged there and their seats were further down, while Masiakiewicz stood next to the Slytherin flag with her hand over her mouth, suppressing laughter. Felix Murdoch gave her an approving glance; she was moving up in the ranks of first-class pranking.
Sitting next to Druella Rosier's swotty family were the Messiers. Druella was glaring out of the side of her eye at Annie, who was first-ranked of pretty girls at Hogwarts, depending on who was asked. While Druella was a wealthy Sacred 28, Annie was better at lessons. Harper often scoffed at the competition.
Harper, who didn't seem to give a toss that Walden McCready followed Grindelwald, caught Mel's eye, smiled, and jokingly pulled a face as if saying get me out of here. Lysandra dismissed the rest of the prefects to their seats, joining Riddle at the front. The pair stood on each side of the podium. She signaled for the choir to begin as Headmaster Dippet, who was over 250 years old and looked it, ambled gingerly across the stage.
When he arrived at the podium around ten minutes later, he began his speech. Apparently vocal chords remained steady for centuries, for Dippet's voice rang clearly though the Great Hall without need for an amplifying charm.
"Good evening students and families," he said, raising his arms. "Welcome to the first Farewell Ceremony in three years. Unlike previous ceremonies, we've opened it to all Hogwarts families, not just those of graduates, to celebrate what we hope will be the end of the Great Wizarding War."
He gave a slight cough and reached for the goblet on the podium but it must have been empty, for he frowned at it, peering inside.
Without a word, Tom Riddle stepped onto the stage and pointed his wand inside the goblet, conjuring a splash of water from the tip before assuming his place. Lysandra threw him an open look of resentment as he stared straight ahead, ignoring her.
"Thank you, dear boy," the headmaster said, licking his lips. Gripping the podium for support and leaning in, he continued his speech.
"After the Manchester Massacre, Albus Dumbledore has decided that Magical Britain must take a stand against Gellert Grindelwald and has vowed to defeat him, and end his rule of terror. We at Hogwarts have complete faith that Dumbledore, and by extension all of Magical Europe, will come out the victor. Grindelwald and his army must be stopped. They are ruthless, dangerous, and intent on seizing power."
Sensing her parents' discomfort, Mel reached across her lap and took her mother's hand. She wished she could somehow absorb all the pain and shame and deal with it on her own. Her parents had been given enough strife by this war.
"We light these candles in honor of the victims of the Manchester Massacre. Please give a moment of silence for the 15 wizards and 32 muggles that lost their lives on the 22nd of April 1945."
Now it was impossible to ignore the glares before everyone silently inclined their heads. Mel hadn't an idea if Walden had been involved in the Manchester Massacre—she hoped with all her heart he hadn't—but it had occurred not even a fortnight after his departure. Most of the Magic Army had evaded capture.
Thankfully, after the moment of silence, the cheerful phase of the ceremony began: the seventh-years lined up on both walls of the Great Hall—Slytherins and Ravenclaws on one side, Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs on the other—to receive diplomas. The cheers for Riddle were noticeably the loudest, earning him another glare from Lysandra. Felix Lestrange and Victor Mulciber were close runners-up, despite the pair of them being, in Mel's opinion, insufferable prats.
Then, blessedly, the food appeared and all ill feelings subsided, replaced by excitement. Mum withdrew her hand to push one of Mel's loose curls over her shoulder. "Another year finished. Perhaps the next is when you'll fall in love."
Mel smiled and shrugged. She hadn't an idea of anyone she'd ever fall in love with. She was attractive and had decent marks, but Walden's departure had sunk the McCready reputation in the mud. "Perhaps I'll work for the Ministry," she said, though truthfully, she did want a husband or at least a relationship by the end of seventh year.
Mum beamed at her and squeezed her arm. "Do what your heart says, my dear girl." Without further ado, they dug into their plates and savored the rich flavors, for it could be a while since they'd enjoy such a hearty meal again.
-x-
Alphard didn't understand why his entire family had to show up, considering none of the Blacks at Hogwarts were graduating: Lucretia and Walburga had finished the previous year, Cygnus and Orion's turn would come the next, and Alphard still had another two years.
He did suspect, however, that this ceremony was yet another outlet to show off their status, along with the Avery, Lestrange, Malfoy, and Mulciber families. Situated between Orion, who was miserably stuck next to Walburga, and Cygnus, who was flirting with Druella Rosier, Alphard was resisting the urge to sink his face into the bowl of crab chowder in front of him and drown himself in it.
"The old coot, trying to tell us the war's over," Abraxas Malfoy said in reference to Headmaster Dippet. "He thinks Dumbledore will defeat Grindelwald? Please."
Blonde, wealthy, and pompous, Abraxas was the son of Cassius Malfoy, Head of the Magical Education Department. Despite that, Abraxas took his own education as a giant joke, preferring to romance Slytherin witches instead. How he managed to get all Es and As in his lessons, Alphard would never understand. He resented Malfoy for studying one-eighth the amount he did, but it was fortunate that Malfoy was a year ahead of him, so contact was minimal.
"Can't believe that half-blood McCready joined up with him," Felix Lestrange was saying. "Evidently had to compensate for his own inferiority."
Alphard turned his head slightly toward the Ravenclaw table. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Melody McCready, the prettiest witch in their year, sitting with her parents. Her mother, a muggleborn, was from Austria or somewhere, an outcast in Wizarding Britain. The family looked miserable; Walden McCready, former Ministry worker, had joined the Magic Army not three months ago.
"Wouldn't mind spending some time with his sister," James Avery remarked as Alphard tried not to glare at him.
"She's a half-blood," Lestrange hissed, pulling a disgusted face. There was an empty seat between him and Mulciber. Alphard wondered vaguely for whom it was reserved.
This was answered about ten minutes later when Tom Riddle appeared and took the seat. Immediately the expressions of the surrounding boys save for Alphard changed into that of admiration.
"Welcome back, mate," Lestrange said fondly as Avery emptied a bottle of mead into Riddle's goblet.
Riddle, who was neither wealthy nor a pureblood, was the unspoken leader of all the Slytherin boys. Handsome with prodigious magical skill, everyone fell over themselves trying to earn his attention. That hadn't always been the case—for the first five years of his Hogwarts education, Tom Riddle was simply a filthy mudblood orphan. The central question was, how on Earth did he get sorted into Slytherin? Then, two years ago, the rumors about the Chamber of Secrets had begun…
Riddle's dark eyes met Alphard's, and Alphard realized he'd been staring at him with an undoubtedly unflattering expression. Quickly he looked down at his plate and shoved a spoonful of chowder into his mouth.
"What do you plan on doing after Hogwarts?" Malfoy asked Riddle. "My father can get you in the Ministry with a snap of his fingers." Next to him, Cassius Malfoy was laughing with Alphard's father, Pollux, as they shared stories of dolts in their respective departments.
"Hmm, I've got an idea already," Riddle replied with a secretive smirk. Despite following his every move, Malfoy and the rest of his cohorts never knew what he was going to do next. Perhaps he was going to join the Magic Army and aid Grindelwald in defeating Dumbledore. Every Slytherin knew of the Transfiguration professor's bias against Slytherins, particularly of Riddle even before the Chamber of Secrets incident. Riddle had claimed it was because Dumbledore was intimidated by him, but a valid reason for that had never reached Alphard's ears.
Alphard leaned over and asked Cygnus, "You reckon Dumbledore would beat Grindelwald?"
"Merlin, no," Lestrange butted in, mouth full of food. "He's got no chance."
"I'm inclined to agree," Cygnus added. "Grindelwald is much more powerful."
"Yes, but Dumbledore is brilliant, too," Alphard pressed. "Surely that plays a role in dueling?"
He realized Riddle was looking at him with narrowed eyes but he didn't speak. Lestrange shook his head. "You think Grindelwald isn't? One doesn't take over almost all of Magical Europe with an empty head."
"I know that," Alphard replied hastily. "I'm only saying—"
"Don't worry about it, brother," Cygnus interrupted, clapping him on the back. "No matter who wins, the purebloods will remain on the top."
That was not what Alphard was concerned about. He knew those who held the gold and galleons always came out on top. His question was, what would happen to everyone below? Grindelwald's plans were concerning as well: the "cleansing" of muggle-relations. The Daily Prophet painted a gruesome picture of what was happening on the Eastern front. So far, largely due to Dumbledore, the Magic Army had left Great Britain alone, excluding the Manchester Massacre. What if Grindelwald did defeat Dumbledore? What would stop him then?
Alphard suspected that his summer was going to start off on tense footing as he scoured The Daily Prophet each morning for news of Dumbledore's outcome.