A/N: Welcome! Let me begin by saying if you have not read Albus Potter and the Sylvarum, please visit my page and read that story first, or else you will have very little idea of what is going on here.

Now then, I am pleased to present the second installment of my Next Gen saga, Albus Potter and the Stultifera Navis (Ship of Fools). I hope that all of you who enjoyed my first story will enjoy this one even more.

Disclaimer: Any characters, background, etc. that you recognize from Ms. Rowling's series and other Harry Potter sources belongs to her. Anything that originated in my previous story or is new in this chapter is mine.

And, without further ado...

Chapter 1: Cloaks and Dresses

Secrets are never as safe as their possessors like to think they are. Take, for instance, the house at number twelve, Grimmauld Place, in London. Hidden by very powerful magical protections, it was believed to be a safe and secure location for the headquarters of a secret order dedicated to fighting evil. However, on one particular night, nearly twenty-three years to the day after the current owner, Harry Potter, first stepped into the house, a pair of figures, cloaked and hooded, made their way down the street towards the very same location. They walked with no uncertainty, not the slightest doubt, as to the significance of the location. In fact, they had been in the house many times before, more times than Harry himself had set foot there.

Through the windows of the surrounding houses, the figures were seen by people who were very different from them. And if those people had known who these two were, they would have seemed quite extraordinary and fascinating, in a rather horrifying way. As it happened, though, the witnesses were perfectly ignorant of whom the two were, and as they had by now seen countless dark figures walk up and down this street over the past two decades, these particular two held absolutely no fascination for them at all. Instead, the people simply saw them through the windows as part of a constant stream of ordinary sights, and no gaze lingered upon them for any unusual length of time.

The house did not appear until the two figures were directly in front of it. Opening the door, they stepped inside and confronted, with no fear whatsoever, the old man in strange clothing who stepped towards them menacingly.

"Severus Snape?"

"We didn't kill you." The voice that answered was low and raspy, but decidedly feminine.

The old man disintegrated, for he was not in fact a man but rather a replica of a man, made of dust.

"You're late." Behind the disintegrating phantom stood a woman, cloaked head-to-toe in white. Her features were hard, dominated by a scowl that was obviously a very frequent expression on her face. Her eyes were bright green, and stood out in sharp contrast from the pale face and blonde hair that surrounded them.

"Hardly," replied the raspy voice. Its possessor removed the hood from around her face, revealing features very different from those of the woman who confronted her: dark hair surrounded a tan face with dark eyes, and a relaxed, confident demeanor, dominated by a small smile. There was something decidedly animalistic about her, a savagery beneath the confidence, that showed in her eyes and in the way her hair curled wildly around her face.

"I asked you to be here fifteen minutes ago."

"Right, a whole fifteen minutes. Because, no doubt, so many calamities occurred in these fifteen minutes that we are missing out on."

"If Potter shows up..."

The dark-haired woman made a noise that sounded like a cross between a laugh and a gasp. "Let's not pretend to be ignorant, Sylvia. You and I both know where Potter is right now." Her eyes flashed, the concealed savagery becoming more apparent for a moment. "Besides, if Potter were to show up, we would simply kill him."

"The seer said it would not be so simple."

"You put too much faith in the words of a seer."

"She has not been wrong yet."

"She has not said anything significant to be wrong about."

"She was right about my brother-in-law."

This time, the dark-haired woman laughed outright. "Anyone could have been right about your brother-in-law. We all knew Roal was weak, and that his loyalty would be his undoing. We knew perfectly well that he would defend your son with his persistent lies. Speaking of which, are you going to repay the great debt which you owe him?"

Sylvia Zarin winced, unwilling to be reminded of her son's folly. "I haven't decided yet. Now tell me, is your task complete?"

The dark-haired woman gave a wide smile, which revealed unnaturally large and pointy teeth. "My task is never complete while pure humans walk beneath the moon."

"Spare me the Lycan rhetoric, Tanya."

"The small part of my task which you asked me to perform today is completed."

"Good. Were there any witnesses?"

"A few unfortunate hitchhikers that were in the wrong place at the wrong time. They have been disposed of. Their bodies as well."

Sylvia grimaced, not wanting to think of the possible implications. Upon seeing her expression, however, Tanya frowned.

"Do not think me quite so savage. I am just as civilized as you are most of the time. Sometimes, more, I think."

Sylvia raised an eyebrow at this. The idea of being civilized did not seem to fit at all with these creatures. Turning her attention to the other one, who had thus far remained hooded and silent, she addressed him. "Volfir, what of the new cub that has appeared?"

The other finally removed his hood, revealing a face that appeared less human and more creature. Thin black hair ran down his dark cheeks, and his thick eyebrows hung low over a pair of yellow eyes. The long black hair that ran wild around his face looked like a mane, not so much that of a lion as that of a massive canine creature. "We know not where he came from, nor who turned him." The man's voice was very deep, and also somewhat raspy. "He is not keen to join our pack. We do not believe he can be trusted."

"Will you eliminate him?"

"Why? He is one of us, even if he will not join the pack. We will ignore him. Our enemies are the pure humans."

"Your enemies are most pure humans," Sylvia corrected him.

Though the man didn't move visibly, a sound like a low growl came from him. "Only while we have common goals. When those goals are complete, I expect you to run."

"When our goals are complete, I will be under the protection of the Dark Lord. And you, my friends, will be free to feast on whatever humans choose not to serve him. Now, both of you, leave."

Drawing their hoods up, the werewolves turned and left the house. Noting that they had left the door open, Sylvia sighed, and stepped over to close it.

"Aw, my poor dear, how terrible it must be to have to walk a few steps and close a door."

She turned to glare at her husband. As usual, she hadn't heard him come down the stairs. "Why don't you get out that wand of yours and be a gentleman?"

"I had just been about to, but you beat me to it."

"Sure."

Sebastian Zarin looked like a more handsome version of his brother. He was just as pale, but his features were rounder and more pleasant, except for the pointy ears that were signature of his family. His eyes were also jet-black, but he had acquired a pair of Muggle contact lenses that dulled their sharpness somewhat, so that they didn't stand out so hideously like Roal's did. His shoulder-length black hair was pulled back neatly in a pony-tail, a style which Sylvia never failed to adore, often to her annoyance.

His long-fingered hands were contained in sleek white gloves that stuck out from his dark robes. Each glove bore a gold emblem: a dagger wrapped in silk, with a large Z curving fluidly behind it. As he moved his hands, the emblem seemed to shimmer like the surface of a liquid. Sylvia's attention was always drawn by this strange effect.

"My darling Muggle wife." The voice completed the image perfectly. It was smooth and gentle, and the words seemed to flow out of him like water along a riverbed. He stepped towards her with elfin grace, his movements silent.

She halted him with her words. "We have business." Striding down the hall towards him, she stopped at the ugly troll-foot umbrella stand, which stood beside a moth-eaten velvet curtain that covered a portion of the wall. As Sebastian knelt before the curtain, she casually kicked aside the stand and then knelt beside him.

"It's about time." The cold, high-pitched voice of the Dark Lord emerged from the life-size portrait.

"The werewolves were late, as usual." There was no apology in Sylvia's voice, nor any fear in her expression as she stared up at the portrait.

"Is everything prepared?"

"It is," said Sebastian. "I met with the newcomer, and he reacted to everything I said exactly as I expected him to. There will be no interference from the Ministry."

"Excellent." The Dark Lord clenched his fists and smiled. "Soon, very soon, Harry Potter will at last be dead, and I will be free of this portrait."

Sebastian smiled. "Indeed, my lord."

After a moment, the Dark Lord relaxed his arms and leaned forward. "And what of my other request?"

"Lawrence is keeping an eye on him. We did not think you would want to see him before your return."

"You are quite right." There was laughter in the Dark Lord's voice now, and he was undoubtedly thinking of what was to come. "When I greet the traitor, I will be at full power, and adjusted to my new body. And then I will make him know greater fear and torment than he could ever have imagined, even from me. Twenty years he has lived a tranquil life, far longer than he should have. But no matter, soon he will pay for it all at my hand."

The Zarins waited while the Dark Lord played out the revenge in his mind, smiling widely. Only when he looked back at them did Sebastian speak. "My lord, there is one thing."

"What is it?"

Sticking a gloved hand into a pocket of his robes, Sebastian withdrew a wand that was not his own. "This is a gift from our son. He wished to present it to you himself on your return, but given... certain circumstances, I deemed it best if I present it to you on his behalf, before your return."

"In the hope that I will deal more graciously with him when I return? Is a wand meant to make up for nearly ruining my careful plans with pure foolishness?"

"This is not just any wand. This belonged to James Potter. It is the wand he got at Ollivander's. The one that chose him."

"James Potter? The younger one, I presume? I vaguely recall destroying the wand of the elder Potter."

"The younger one, yes. This is his true wand."

The Dark Lord smiled. "Excellent. Perhaps I should not deal so harshly with your son after all."

"He is learning, my lord." Sylvia did not usually use the title when speaking to the Dark Lord, but this was a rather delicate matter.

"He has much to learn yet." The Dark Lord leaned forward again, and Sylvia knew another vengeful plot was about to be unveiled. "I want Alexander to get to know his classmates better this year. One in particular. I am certain young Albus Potter will be most crushed by his father's death. He will need a close friend, one more understanding and reliable than his foolish blood-traitor relatives. Alexander will be there for Albus, will help the boy cope with his grief." The word "grief" sounded remarkably ironic coming from the Dark Lord's mouth, even as it was fitted with a tone of mock-sympathy.

"We will tell him," said Sebastian.

The Dark Lord stood straight again, looking exceedingly imposing in the large portrait. "I will tell him myself, once I have returned. You will prepare Alexander to meet me in person."

Sylvia didn't think her son was ready for this, but she allowed herself no visible reaction.

"And, once Alexander has gained the trust and friendship of young Albus Potter, once he believes him ready, he too shall meet me in person."

"Albus?"

Harry Potter glanced over his shoulder as his wife looked for their younger son, who had gone off somewhere with his cousin.

"We've got ourselves a couple of little adventurers. Sound familiar?" Harry turned and looked back at Ron, who was giving him a knowing smile.

"They can't possibly be getting into the same kind of trouble that we got into," said Hermione, getting up from the couch to help Ginny search for their children.

"You never know," Ron replied. Hermione cast her husband a glance over her shoulder.

"Not our little Rosie."

"Need I remind you she's your daughter?"

"Exactly. That's why she's perfect."

"Hey!"

Harry laughed. The conversations between his two best friends never changed, even after thirteen years of marriage.

A pair of squeals sounded from outside. Harry knew that that was Lily and Hugo racing around on their brooms. Lily had recently turned ten years old, meaning that the jinx that Harry had placed on her broom to keep it from going too high had finally worn off. He was a little worried, but knew she was a good flyer.

Catching Harry's glance toward the window, Ron said, "Those two are going to be great quidditch players. I see championships in their future."

"I never knew you were a seer."

"You don't have to be one to see that."

Harry nodded. "You just have to dream." Getting up from his couch, he walked over to the window and looked over to where the two young ones were playing, watched by James on his own broom. Harry was very grateful for his older son's vigilance. He would never let anything happen to his sister or his cousin.

Looking around, Harry also spotted the two missing children, sitting on the grass a little ways off and talking. "There they are."

Ginny and Hermione had also seen them, and were walking across the lawn. Harry turned to Ron. "It looks like the whole party is outside now."

"Then I suppose we should be, too," said Ron, getting up. They walked outside as their families gathered. Lily and Hugo flew down, landing with no difficulty, but neither with any semblance of grace. James followed.

"We should be going," said Hermione, looking at her watch. "You and Harry have to get ready for the party tonight."

Ginny nodded, glancing at her husband. "Yes, I suppose we do."

Ron addressed his children as well as his nephews and niece. "You all ready to go, then?"

The children all nodded.

"Alright then." Ron glanced up at Harry. "Have fun tonight."

"I'll try," Harry replied skeptically.

"You should," said Hermione. "It is your birthday, after all."

"Not my idea of how to spend a birthday. But it'll help with the investigation."

"And making connections for future investigations," added Ron. Kingsley had emphasized heavily the potential value of Harry's appearance at this event, since they expected that Mr. Black had invited a number of powerful wizards and witches from around Britain to attend his formal self-introduction to the community. It would be good for Harry to show up and show them all that he was still around and still fighting the good fight, and gain potential allies for the Auror Department.

Harry glanced down at his niece. "You make sure to have a better birthday evening than I will, Rosie."

Rose beamed at him, and nodded. Harry had enjoyed sharing his birthday with her over the past twelve years, partially because it relieved him of some of the excessive attention.

"We're going to have cake, right?" Lily asked, looking eagerly up at Ron.

Ginny raised an eyebrow. "You want more cake?"

The little girl nodded. "The first cake was for Dad. Now we need one for Rose." Hugo, Albus and Rose all agreed with enthusiasm.

Ginny and Hermione shared a long look.

"We'll see," said Ron. "Let's get going." He and Hermione proceeded to usher the five children around to the side of the house. There, leaning awkwardly against the white stone, was an old, dirty bicycle that was in ill repair. The children gathered around it.

Ron winked at Harry, then said, "On three. One, two..."

At three, the five children as well as Ron and Hermione all touched the bicycle and vanished, being carried by the portkey back to Ron and Hermione's house.

With a quick glance at the pair of watches on Harry's arm, Ginny turned and started back towards the door. "We haven't got much time."

"Assuming we arrive on time," said Harry, hoping that might not be such a necessity. A glance from his wife dashed those hopes.

Upstairs, she increased his dismay by going into their large bathroom to change, and locking the door behind her. With a sigh of capitulation, he changed into a set of dress robes. Upon hearing the door open behind him, he turned to see her standing in a green dress.

"That's better," she said, upon seeing him in his formal wear.

"If you say so. You look beautiful." There was no tone of awe or flirtation accompanying this statement. After nearly sixteen years of marriage, it was simply a statement, spoken customarily at the appropriate times.

"Thank you." She walked over to the bureau to gather some jewelry. It was then that he recognized the dress she was wearing.

"Didn't I tear that dress the last time you wore it?"

She smiled at the memory. "And the time before that as well. Good thing I'm a witch."

He smiled at this, then noticed that she was putting on a necklace. "Wait, Kingsley gave me something." Returning to the jeans he had been wearing earlier, he reached into the pocket and withdrew a silver necklace with a small amulet hanging from it. "He said you should wear this tonight."

She frowned, surprised. "Well... that's... nice of him."

"It's charmed to be able to detect Polyjuice Potion," Harry explained. None of Kingsley's gifts were ever purely aesthetic. "The amulet will grow cold if there's someone disguised by the potion nearby."

"Is it really necessary tonight?"

"Kingsley believes so. There will be a lot of recognizable faces at this party, and many people who could easily be emulated." Harry agreed with the precaution.

Ginny sighed. "Alright." Harry stepped forward and placed the necklace around her neck, letting his arms rest on her shoulders as he clasped it.

"So, is there a particular reason why you are wearing this dress tonight?"

Her smile returned. "Of course." Then she leaned forward and kissed him. "Happy birthday."

"Do we really have to be on time for this?"

"Yes."

"I hate dresses," Michaela muttered, frowning at the image of herself in the mirror. In the reflection, she caught her twin rolling his eyes, and punched him.

"I think you look beautiful." Her best friend, Sarah, came up on her other side. Michaela didn't agree, but Sarah certainly looked beautiful in her blue dress.

Looking back at herself, Michaela frowned again at her dress. "I hate wearing black. Dad likes it. He says it's the family color."

"It kind of is," said Marcus. He was also in black, though he at least had some white and gray in his suit, and a red tie.

"Then I should run away and get adopted by a family named Blue."

Sarah laughed at this. "If you want, I can lend you this dress sometime."

Michaela looked up at her friend's face in surprise. "It would be too long on me."

Sarah shrugged. "I'm a witch, remember? I can shorten it magically." She looked Michaela up and down, and a sly grin crossed her face. "And increase the width around the bust, of course."

Michaela felt herself go red in the face. "Hey!" She swatted at the other girl.

"Sarah," said Marcus, his voice a little strained, "warn me next time you're going to say something like that, so I can leave the room first."

"You've heard worse," said Michaela, though her blush was fading only slowly.

"Don't remind me."

Finally, Michaela stopped frowning at her reflection, and walked over to the large, semi-circular window in her room. The Sun had set, and the sky was passing rapidly through various shades of indigo. Below, the green earth sloped downwards away from the house, towards a shadowy forest. "I'm glad we're leaving tomorrow."

Sarah had invited them to spend the month of August at her house before they returned to school. Michaela was eager to go, and she had a feeling Marcus was, too, though he was far less vocal about it.

Sarah stepped up beside her, less interested in the darkening landscape outside than in sticking close to her friend in this large house. Even in Michaela's room, which was brightly lit and more comfortable than the other rooms in the house, she still felt a little uncomfortable. Michaela could sense it in her friend's expressions and motions.

"It'll be nice to get away from here," Marcus agreed, joining them by the window. "A less business-y environment, a little more color."

"Actually, Marcus, I think the business-y environment is exactly where you should be." All three turned at the deep voice that came from the open doorway. The large man that stood there looked every bit as regal as a king, right down to the fancy gold-trimmed suit that he was wearing. His thick black hair and mustache were carefully groomed, and even his thick eyebrows looked neater than normal.

Michaela stared at her father. "Are we representing the royal house of New York now?"

Her father frowned at the sarcastic remark. As he stepped into the room, another man appeared beside him. Michaela recognized the other as Michael Corner, her father's business partner, who had invited them over for dinner on the last night of Christmas Break.

"Mr. Corner, how do you do?" Marcus asked politely. Michaela took some satisfaction from the fact that he had chosen to greet the other man rather than their father.

"Fine, thank you, Marcus." Standing next to their father, Mr. Corner looked tiny, and his voice sounded quite weak.

"Marcus," said their father, "Mr. Corner has graciously offered to have you spend a few weeks at his house, working for him and learning the business."

Michaela felt her brother tense beside her. "What?"

"You will be returning to Mr. Corner's house with him tonight after the party, and live there for a few weeks. You will help him run the business, and learn in the process."

"If you so choose," added Mr. Corner. Michaela saw her father's expression harden slightly, and she knew that Marcus did not really have a choice.

Marcus knew that as well. "That sounds great, Mr. Corner. I would love to help you."

Mr. Corner smiled, and their father nodded. "Excellent. Well, your mother and I expect you both downstairs now. The guests will be beginning to arrive." He turned, smoothing imaginary creases in his suit. Then he spoke slightly less loudly, and it appeared that he was speaking to himself. "It is time for Britain to learn my name."