Third Edition Writer's Notes: I don't think I'm overpowering my main narrative with references to Ilvermorny and MACUSA. At least I hope I'm not. Given that Jamie was raised in the US and the problematic relationship I see developing between the Congress and the Ministry in my story, they do need to be referenced in several of the scenes I've already written.
For the rest of the edits, I see one or two references here, a major reference in Chapter Nine and possibly a visit to Ilvermorny in Chapter Ten. I don't see any real changes to Chapter Eight and don't foresee any references in Chapter Eleven which is the new chapter I'm currently working on. I haven't plotted Chapter Twelve yet, except to decide it will include Jamie and Ron's return to Hogwarts and their delayed detentions for Halloween.
Chapter Seven: "Wheels within Wheels"
The next six weeks passed quickly at Hogwarts as the fervor over Halloween died down. Rumors regarding what actually happened that night and how Jamie got hurt, as well as what happened to Professor Quirrell, originally abounded. The school tried to explain the truth as honestly as they could without traumatizing the students. Everyone soon knew Jamie was injured fighting a troll, which wound up with everything above the waist disintegrated. Professor Quirrell, who they were told let the troll in, died in a fight with the Avengers two days later.
A couple of students with Ministry contacts even heard about the custody hearing, but Jamie insisted that was a non-story and only Draco tried to make an issue of it. "Your guardians are as much freaks of nature as you and your parents. Maybe you should make good on your threat to head back to America and go to Ilvermorny. A second rate school like that deserves a second rate freak like you."
When he woke up the next morning with green hair, he tried to place the blame on Jamie, but there was no evidence. Whoever was responsible, however, was very good. It took Madame Pomfrey a week to figure out how to turn it back to its familiar platinum. She finally had to shave his head and let it grow back naturally. Any attempt to magically enhance growth resulted in green locks.
Meanwhile, Jamie had more than enough other problems to deal with. For one thing, her injuries caused her to miss a whole week of classes. Fortunately, Hermione and Parvati were there to help her catch up. She also had daily physical therapy with Madame Pomfrey and daily training sessions with Aunt Agatha; now Professor Harkness. The combination had her too busy to get into too much mischief. Cursing Draco notwithstanding.
At least Defense against the Dark Arts class was a lot more interesting. Virtually every student in the school hovered between being in love with Agatha and being in awe of her. Not even the Slytherin kids could question her pedigree and her power was on par with Dumbledore. When Agatha showed up uninvited, but most welcome, for the first Marauders meeting after Jamie's recovery, however, and decided to invite any Marauders who wanted to come to share in Jamie's training sessions, things became even more interesting . . . in some very good ways.
"With so many of you learning natural magic," Agatha told them, "I'd be willing to open training to any who wish to attend. My main purpose is to train Jamie so she doesn't hurt herself or blow any more holes in the school, but I believe she will learn more quickly with others around her and I do enjoy being surrounded by the young. It helps me stay young myself."
"I can only teach you what little I know," Jamie told them. "She's an absolute master of the art."
The Weasley twins and over a dozen First Years took her up on the offer and in the first class, she took the time to get to know each of them a little better. "So, Jamie tells me you've gone over how natural casting works. How many of you have discovered your strengths?"
The Weasley twins and a half dozen others raised their hands and she smiled. "Excellent. Fred and George, she already told me that you're both Trickster specialists. That's very close to chaos, but not quite as dangerous."
"And that's a good thing," the twins responded in stereo and George added. "Besides, being Tricksters is a lot more fun."
"My strength is Knowledge, or the Sage," Hermione responded when asked. "That's hardly surprising. I've always loved learning things . . . almost anything, really."
"She's a regular bookworm, she is." Ron laughed.
"What's your specialty, Ronald?" Agatha inquired.
"Earth," Ron told her. "I just figured it out a couple days after Halloween."
"And a strong specialty it is," Agatha told him. "Stable and supportive; life giving and reinforcing; a good basis for a great many things."
"I'm Light," Parvati Patil announced.
"I'm Shadow," her sister, Padma added. "Why is that, Professor? Fred and George are the same, why aren't we?"
"Oh," Agatha told her, "but you are closer than you realize, child. Light and Shadow are forever intertwined. You can't have Shadow without Light, after all. They are opposite sides of the same coin, if you want to use the old cliché."
"I hadn't thought of it like that," Padma said in a voice filled with awe.
"In many ways, but with many exceptions, you have different facets of the same strength," Agatha continued. "You'll find that you can do much of the same things, albeit in different ways. You should consider ways to combine your spells. The synergies between your strengths should be quite impressive."
Hannah Abbott discovered early that her strength lie in Healing magic, while Neville's strength was Nature.
"At first," he told Agatha, "I thought it was only Plants, but Jamie thought it might be more than that."
The rest of the group had yet to determine their personal strengths, but Jamie figured that would change, now that they had a real teacher.
"Magic," Agatha told them from the rocking chair the room had supplied her, as the students gathered at her feet, "is first and foremost an exercise of will. It requires your will to be stronger than the limits imposed on you by reality. Wands and incantations are useful for focusing your magic, but without the will, you can do nothing. You have to believe you can bend your environment to fit your desire. That is why natural magic is built from strengths. Find what you love; what you're passionate about; what you do best. That will likely guide you to your strength."
"I don't know that I'm all that passionate 'bout anything really," Seamus noted, sadly.
Jamie hit on an idea. "You're good at pyrotechnics. You made that feather in Charms class Halloween morning burst into flame. Of course, you were trying to get it to levitate, but . . . ."
Seamus originally blushed at being reminded of that fiasco . . . by a girl, nonetheless. He soon turned thoughtful, however, as he considered the possibilities. He had yet to try to ignite anything without a wand. He decided to give it a shot and succeeded far beyond his wildest imagination. Even Agatha was impressed; once she put the flames out, of course.
It was an interesting start for what would be a most interesting class. On other fronts, Jamie's life was beginning to return to some semblance of normalcy. The attachments from Tony arrived as promised and performed even better than expected, enabling Jamie to participate with her house. The game against Slytherin was just short of a blowout. Jamie even caught the snitch, albeit in her teeth, but a win is a win.
One important thing did happen about a week before the American holiday of Thanksgiving. Jamie and Agatha were alone in Agatha's quarters. Ebony, Agatha's "cat" and the kitten, Ororo, who had become fast friends, were curled up on the floor, napping after some spirited play. Jamie's mind had been weighing a question for some time and she finally brought it up to Agatha.
"Aunt Agatha," she asked over tea, "why didn't you or Dr. Strange stop Voldemort ten years ago? I thought the Ministry had some way to keep you from coming to Britain, but that's obviously not true. Why didn't you . . . ?"
"Why didn't we save your parents?" Agatha smiled sympathetically.
"Yeah."
The old woman sighed. "I wasn't on Earth during that time, child. I didn't leave New Salem until a few years afterwards. Stephen, on the other hand, informs me that he was in the Dark Dimension fighting to keep Dormammu from invading our reality. If either of us had known how much of a threat Voldemort posed to the world and been in a position to respond, we would have at least tried to deal with him. I don't know that I would have been able to do much. I have a great deal of knowledge, but I'm by no means the most powerful sorceress in the world."
Jamie smiled. "You'd have kicked his butt."
Agatha smiled and touched the child's cheek affectionately. "That's nice of you to say, dear."
Nick Fury paced the width of the conference room. He was never comfortable when it came to dealing with magic. Alien tech, super science, doomsday devices; that stuff he could deal with. Even if he didn't understand how it worked, it followed the rules of physics and nature. Magic thumbed its nose at his universe. He knew it was real and even had several reasonably powerful practitioners in his employ and worked regularly with MACUSA. That didn't mean he liked it or trusted the art.
He liked dealing with the man before him even less. If magic was a weapon, Dr. Stephen Strange was the equivalent of a walking nuke. Very little scared Nick Fury. Stephen Strange was on a very short list.
"How many artifacts did you say are missin' again?" Nick resisted the urge to bite through the cigar in his mouth.
"Nine." Strange was obviously worried and that worried Fury even more. "That I'm aware of. One from my own sanctum."
"Ain't that s'posed t' be impossible?"
Strange shook his head. "Nothing is impossible, Director, but my security measures are formidable. Whoever did this was extremely gifted or exceptionally lucky."
Nick slumped into the chair at the head of the oval table and put his cigar in an ashtray. "What'd they take . . . from you, that is?"
"It's called the Staff of Damballah," Strange informed him. "A powerful artifact in the religion you would know as voodoo. It bequeaths to its wielder the knowledge of a great many spells; many of which are best left to the realm of legend and myth. It's also said that the wielder of the staff cannot die or be killed so long as it's in his hand."
Fury pinched the bridge of his nose. The headache that started the second Strange appeared on his bridge was progressively getting worse. "An' th' other eight are on par with this staff?"
"When it comes to artifacts of this power, it is difficult to make comparisons. Two were stolen from locations in China: the Crown of Longmu 'Mother of Dragons' and a jade figurine representing the Chariot of Doumu 'Mother of the Heavens'. A collection of pages copied from the Darkhold and a set of robes believed to have been worn by Merlin were stolen from Great Britain. The Amulet of Kukulcan was stolen from a museum in Southern Mexico. An artifact believed to have belonged to Vlad Tepes, the Impaler's Cross, was stolen from Doom's Castle in Doomstadt. The Pelt of the White Gorilla and the Headdress of the Lion God were both stolen from the royal museum of Wakanda. It was only after the thief was interrupted during the theft of the Pelt, which had only recently been returned to the museum, was the theft of the Headdress even discovered."
He paused. "It was this last robbery that alerted us to the thefts. Here, the thief was seen leaving. Four guards were killed and not even King T'Challa was able to defeat the thief. By the descriptions of witnesses, I'm led to believe that we're dealing with some kind of powerful poltergeist."
Fury raised an eyebrow. "I thought poltergeists were generally pranksters and not necessarily malevolent."
"Some are," Strange corrected him, but knew full well that the leader of SHIELD comprehended a great deal more about magic than he admitted to. "Some are not. Simplified, poltergeists are ghosts or spirits that can directly affect and interact with the physical world. Most ghosts are audio and visual, often even possessing the ability to mimic smells, but very rarely able to move or touch things. This one seems to have a penchant for theft and murder rather than pranks."
Fury still had some questions. "How'd these powerful artifacts just vanish without anyone bein' th' wiser?"
"With the exception of the last," Strange admitted. "Each was replaced with an extremely convincing replica. The pelt likely would have been replaced as well had the thief not been caught in the act. Only when T'Challa sent out word through the magical underground did most of us take closer looks at our collections. We've since confirmed the nine thefts. There could be more; artifacts whose owners aren't on the network, or don't want to admit were stolen or even in their possession."
Fury nodded. "And you think these thefts are linked to what happened to Jamie Potter on Halloween. Any chance this poltergeist was the man himself?"
"Voldemort?" Strange shook his head. "I doubt it. According to Dumbledore, he's not the sort to do his own dirty work. He saves his energies for bigger targets. Besides, even assuming he did survive his death, which is looking more and more likely, there's no way he's regained enough power in just a decade to pull something like this off. Without a body, just remaining on this plane of existence would have to take practically everything he has. With even some of these artifacts in his possession, however . . . ."
An orderly brought a mug of Irish coffee for Fury and a cup of tea for Strange as Stephen continued. "No, this thief is likely just another of his operatives. We know he had alliances with the giants and werewolves, among a great many other unsavory sorts. I have resources looking into the thief's identity."
Fury took a sip from his mug and relaxed ever so imperceptibly. "Just in case you're wrong about this being some kind of spirit, I'll have my people look into some of the super criminals we have on our radar. This sounds like something the Ghost or Foreigner would be interested in. If the Black Cat hadn't gone mostly legit the past few years, it would be right up her alley.
Strange nodded as Fury continued. "I've been in touch with SHIELD's British counterparts. Their Weird Happenings Organization has a huge file on Voldemort and his lackeys. Their Director, Baroness Jacqueline Falsworth, is an old friend from the War. She agrees that the Ministry of Magic has its collective heads up its collective asses. She keeps an eye on onetime Death Eaters and has seen an uptick in activity in the past year. She thinks they've been in contact with her own family black sheep, a vampire called Baron Blood; the new one. Her uncle was destroyed almost a decade ago. Her own son seems to have stepped into his shoes."
"I'm familiar with both of them," Strange told him, "and with Baroness Falsworth. I wouldn't have expected that particular alliance, however. Despite their name, the Deatheaters have traditionally steered clear of things like vampires, necromancers and the undead."
Fury nodded. "Report from W.H.O. is that Voldemort felt necromancers and bocors and the like were poorly trained charlatans. He's not in charge of the old gang at the moment, though. By all reports, they've broken into two camps. Lucius Malfoy is in control of the one believed to be allied with the Baron. Seems he's takin' a more enlightened approach than his old boss did."
Strange frowned. "I've crossed paths with Malfoy before. He's as dangerous in his own rights as Voldemort ever was; not as powerful, maybe, but definitely craftier and probably saner. Still, he may only be a figurehead. There's an extreme likelihood that Voldemort is the one pulling his strings . . . at least to a point."
"So, where does this leave us?" Fury watched Strange over his steaming mug.
"I believe Halloween was a sacrifice play." Strange finished his own cup of tea. "Voldemort used Quirrell, then threw him to the wolves. I don't know what he gained or hoped to gain from the play, but he had to know that Dumbledore would eventually link the attack to Quirrell. Whatever else he wanted to accomplish, Halloween was a statement. It's not for naught that it came on the tenth anniversary of his fall."
Fury laughed without humor. "You noticed that too, didya? One thing we know f'r sure is the man plays a long game. He's got schemes in schemes an' wheels in wheels goin'."
Strange was in full agreement. "Fortunately, for the next few weeks at least, Jamie will be out of his reach. We have until the beginning of the year to figure out what Voldemort's up to before she returns to Hogwarts. I believe my next step is to have a long conversation with Dumbledore. There's something he's not telling us."
"Ya think the old man's keepin' secrets?"
Strange shook his head. "Of course he is and with good reason. I simply need to determine which of those secrets is Voldemort's target."
By the time the Christmas holidays arrived Jamie was more than ready to go home. The Weasley boys were going to be spending Christmas at Hogwarts. They didn't say so, but Jamie figured it had something to do with money being as their parents and sister were spending the holidays with one of their older brothers. The twins had a friend whose family lived in Hogsmeade and had been invited to spend the holidays there. That just left Ron and Percy. Jamie figured Percy could look out for himself, but she felt sorry for Ron. The solution was simple. She invited him to come to New York with her.
"The Avengers are great," she told him, "but it's kind of nice to have friends my own age around. I was home schooled, so those are in small supply in New York. There are the Powers kids, but they all go to public school. Alex and Julie are both older than me; Jack's a brat and Katie barely started kindergarten this year. Franklin is the closest thing I've had to a friend my own age. He's really cool. I think you'll like him. His kid sister Valeria is okay, but she's only like four or something. They're home schooled too."
"Don't I need a passport or something to go to America?" Ron asked, amazed that he was even being invited.
Jamie had that figured out. "Only if you were staying there for more than ninety days and you won't be. Besides, we'll be flying Avengers Air; no customs to go through. I already called Dr. Strange. He cleared everything with the Congress of Magic. Aunt Wanda and Padfoot gave me a thumbs up as well. I even checked with your folks before I invited you. I told them it would be a 'great educational opportunity' for you."
Ron had to laugh at the snooty tone Jamie used at the end. "You almost sound just like Professor McGonagall."
That settled it. Sirius, however, was more than a little concerned that Minister Fudge might try to interfere with their plans, so he took precautions. For the second time in as many months, an Avengers quinjet landed on the Hogwarts lawn. This time they brought Thor. The school made sure the Ministry knew who was coming well in advance, so Jamie wasn't expecting any trouble and there wasn't any.
Clint was flying and Dr. Banner was in the co-pilot seat. Although they weren't Avengers, Moonie and Tonks were with them. Jamie wasn't quite up to walking yet, but she still half dragged Ron aboard, introduced him to everyone and helped him get belted in. As soon as she was seated next to him, the powerful craft lifted and began the two hour low orbit return trip to New York.
"The rest of the team is dealing with a problem in outer space, but we expect them home well before Christmas." Clint told her, knowing what her first question was going to be before she even asked it. "Widow and I were on a mission for SHIELD when they left. She was still debriefing when we lifted for here. Thor was in Asgard."
Dr. Banner smiled self-deprecatingly. "Of course, the Hulk and space travel can make for a dangerous combination. The last thing they needed was the big guy punching through the outer hull of the ship or something. I know from past experience; he doesn't handle space travel well."
"Sirius is holding down the fort at the Avengers Tower," Tonks told her.
"Spiderman, Wolverine and Beast are on call if they're needed," Clint added. "They're all currently on reserve status for various reasons."
"I can't wait to get there." Jamie was practically bouncing with energy. "There's so much I still have to do before Christmas."
She started counting off on her fingers. "There's shopping, and I want to go ice skating, and shopping, and I want to visit Cousin Jean, and shopping, and . . . ."
Moonie turned to Thor. "I can't be sure, but I think there could be a theme in there somewhere."
"Verily." Thor smiled sagely.
Ron was sat in his seat in absolute awe. He wanted to pinch himself, but was almost afraid to do so. He couldn't believe he was sitting on an Avengers quinjet, flying across the Atlantic Ocean and sitting across the aisle from Thor. He'd even shaken the man's massive hand. If this was a dream, he didn't want to wake up.
The awe didn't last long, of course. Jamie knew what to do to break it. She asked Thor to tell a certain story. It involved an eating contest between the Hulk and Thor's friend, Voltstagg. Before long, Ron was breathless with laughter; particularly at some of the amusing side comments Bruce threw in to highlight his side of the tale.
"I daresay," Bruce wrapped the story soberly, "it's the only time Voltstagg ever took second in an eating contest."
"Of that you can be assured, friend Banner," Thor informed him. ""He has sworn to return to Midgard during the Yuletide in order to reclaim his lost honor."
Bruce sighed. "He doesn't really stand a chance, you know. He may have a prodigious appetite and an Asgardian metabolism, but the big guy's digestive system is virtually a nuclear furnace."
Thor smiled mischievously. "Aye, but it makes for an impressive contest and it serves the big oaf's ego good to be taken down a notch or two upon occasion. Besides, I made a wager with my father. The jewel necklace he ventured will look particularly lovely around Jane's neck at Anthony Stark's Annual New Year's Ball."
Jamie laughed. "Looks like we're in luck, Ron. We'll actually get to watch the rematch live. This is going to be the best Christmas break ever."
"Wicked," was all Ron could think to say that would even come close to doing what he was feeling justice.
With most of the students and more than half of the staff gone for the holidays, Albus Dumbledore was finally able relax in his favorite easy chair for more than a few minutes at a time. As much as he loved the children in his care, the first few days after they went home for Christmas or the summer were always a wonderful time at Hogwarts. He knew that in less than a week he would begin to miss the hustle and bustle that students brought to the venerable old castle. For the moment, however, he had a large mug of mulled cider and a good book to read. Life was good.
When the astral figure appeared before him, he wasn't exactly surprised. The castle had wards against such intrusions, but they were never designed to repel someone with the power of the Sorcerer Supreme.
"Well, hello, Stephen." Dumbledore smiled. "To what do I owe this unexpected visit?"
Strange smiled back. "My visit should hardly be unexpected, Albus. We've needed to have this conversation for a few months now; even more since Halloween."
"True," Dumbledore admitted sadly.
"He had to have a reason to come here." Of that Strange was certain. "It couldn't simply be because of Jamie. If it was that, he had ample opportunity to act during the first two months she was here. Nor do I believe his attack on Halloween was merely in commemoration of his attack on the Potters ten years earlier."
"No," Albus admitted. "Symbolism is one thing, but Tom wouldn't permit that to be his only motivation. You recognize the names Nicholas and Perenelle Flamel, don't you?"
Strange nodded. "I never met them, but yes, I'm familiar with their work."
"It is possible that in the wake of an attempt to steal a certain object, they may have asked me to protect something for them. Given his likely condition and the abilities of said object, I believe that is what he's after. I assure you, however, that if such an item were here, it would be quite safe and so would the students. My staff and I would have gone to great lengths to insure that."
"I was afraid of that." Strange sighed. "I'm aware of nine stolen items, including the recent thefts from Wakanda."
"I heard of that incident, of course," Dumbledore confirmed. "I'm only aware of six other, all from Britain, for a total of eight. I know of the theft of Merlin's Robe. The Maiden's Sword, believed to have been wielded by Joan of Arc, vanished over the summer. The Stone Skull of Madagascar was taken from a private collection last spring. A ring on loan to the British Museum from the Louvre and believed to have belonged to Count Cagliostro was replaced with a replica but has been kept out of the news for diplomatic reasons."
"I knew about Merlin's Robe," Strange told him. "I also heard rumors about the possible theft of Cagliostro's Ring, but had yet to confirm it. The other two are new to me. Do you know anything about the Spear of Destiny? I've been informed that it was liberated from the Nazis by British agents in the last days of World War 2 and supposedly stored in a top secret vault somewhere in London."
Dumbledore sighed, but nodded. "It was confirmed as stolen just this morning. They have no way of telling precisely when it was taken, but are fairly certain it's been gone for at least several months. We believe the most recent theft, however, was a bound collection of pages copied from the Darkhold. We know that theft was recent, because the manuscript was last verified by aurors under orders from the Ministry in the first week of October."
He found himself in the rare position of praising Cornelius Fudge. "When word of the thefts reached the Ministry, Fudge rather wisely ordered an inspection of all magical artifacts in government custody. It's a lengthy process, which is why the Spear was only checked this morning. Due to a clerical error, however, the Darkhold pages were inspected twice; the second inspection coming two months after the first and confirming the documents to be fake."
"With the other five I'm aware of, that makes a total of thirteen items. The Amulet of Kukulcan was taken from Southern Mexico, the Impaler's Cross from Castle Doom, two artifacts from China and the Staff of Damballah from my own sanctum sanctorum."
"I heard rumors that the Crown of Longmu was taken off display in Hong Kong," Dumbledore mused, "but not of any others."
"The Crown was stolen," Strange confirmed. "So was a jade carving representing the Chariot of Doumu."
"Each of those items contain a great deal of magical potential." Dumbledore considered thoughtfully. "The Staff of Damballah and the Chariot of Doumu are believed to even be able to return the dead to life. He would just need a body and we both know of an item capable of doing that. The question is what plans does he have for the other items. He's never shown interest in that kind of power before; only in personal power."
Strange had already considered that. "He's had ten years to think about his failure. If I was in his position, I'd start looking for anything that might tip the odds in my favor. We know he's afraid of you, believing you're the only wizard powerful enough to defeat him. Now, he's got to be afraid of Jamie as well, given what happened when he tried to kill her. He's also never faced Wanda or Agatha or me and now has to know that we'll be on hand to stop any threats to Jamie. Any of these artifacts could make him a threat to any of us. A combination of several of them could potentially defeat all of us."
Dumbledore wasn't sure he wanted to dwell on that possibility. "Do you have any ideas on who the thief is?"
"We suspect a powerful poltergeist is involved," Strange told him, "but know little beyond that. It killed several Wakandan guards and escaped the Black Panther himself. His description could be little else. Director Fury is looking into other options among the metahuman criminals SHIELD has files on. I believe your Director Falsworth of W.H.O. is doing the same thing."
"These crimes would require a powerful poltergeist indeed to commit them." Dumbledore was thinking. "I once did a study on the world's most powerful ghosts. There's only one spirit I know of with the kind of ability and personality required for this. I know not what name he went by in life, but he's now known as Cassius, after one of the assassins of Julius Caesar; probably taking from the Shakespearean play. He's a skilled thief and sociopathic killer with hatred and disdain for the muggle world. One unconfirmed story I heard claims he was a scion of one of the more aristocratic pure blood families who was killed by a muggle security guard while robbing a museum."
"The study of ghosts is not one of my strong suits," Strange admitted. "I'm not ignorant of it, but no man can know everything, not even the Sorcerer Supreme. I'd like to have a read of this study of yours if you don't mind. It never hurts to educate yourself about potential opponents."
"I'll send you a copy of it by owl first thing in the morning," Dumbledore promised. "I believe I shall also have a conversation with some of the ghosts here at Hogwarts. They may have more up to date information on this poltergeist. The population of the spirit world is large, but they tend to keep track of each other."
"Do that." Strange prepared to leave. "I'll let Director Fury know this information and we will stay in touch. My personal suggestion is that you take that object that may or may not be hidden within this castle and get it as far from here as possible before the students return."
Dumbledore nodded. "If I had such an item and thought it presented even the slightest risk to my students, I would. Although I can neither confirm nor deny its existence, I can assure you that if it were here, it would be extremely safe and would pose no greater threat to the students here than living in this community in this era already does."
Strange nodded back, then vanished as quickly as he appeared. Dumbledore cast a quick spell to re-heat his mulled cider, then took a sip in deep contemplation. He needed to speak with the Flamel's and he needed to do it soon. He was beginning to regret agreeing to keep it while they made their decisions. The Philosopher's Stone was far too powerful an item to take lightly.
"I obtained thirteen of the fourteen items on your list for you," the poltergeist told Lucius. "Unfortunately, after much research, I've determined that the last is currently beyond even my skills. I'm the best in this very small profession. If I tell you it can't be done; it can't."
He paused, bitterly hating having to admit there was something even he couldn't steal. "Had your rival for control of the Deatheaters not bungled his attempt to steal it and keep you from getting it, thereby alerting the Flamel's that it was imperiled, causing them to give it to Dumbledore in hopes of keeping it safe, I could have obtained it without a problem. It being stored in Hogwarts now makes any attempt at theft a suicide mission. I already died once. I don't intend to do so again."
Malfoy held the piteous creature before him with highest disdain, but it did have its uses. "No matter. You've received payment for the items you successfully obtained for us. We've made other arrangements to get the Stone. Our business is therefore concluded."
"Please indulge a dead man's curiosity." Cassius held Malfoy and his allies in at least as much disdain as they held him. "Why these specific artifacts? True they are all items of great power, but there are many such items in this world. What attraction do these specific ones hold for your master?"
"That's not your concern . . . ghost." Malfoy said the last word like it was a vile insult. "You've done your job and been paid, now be gone. If we have further use for your skills at a later date, we know how to locate and contact you."
Truth was, not even the great Lucius Malfoy knew what Lord Voldemort wanted with these specific fourteen artifacts. No matter. His duty in this case wasn't to question the Dark Lord's orders, but to carry them out. That had been made extremely clear to him when he'd dared to ask. He didn't like it, but even given his reduced state of being and level of power, one did not question the will of Voldemort and live.
The unicorn was quite young; its coat only recently turned from vibrant gold to even more vibrant silver. Sheltered in the Forbidden Forest as its herd was, it should have had centuries of life yet to look forward to. Sadly, its life was about to be cut tragically and brutally short.
The shade that once had been born Tom Riddle floated across the land. He hated the state in which he'd been forced to survive, but even if he had a choice he wouldn't have let go of even this vestige of life. Unicorns were creatures of immense magical power. It was centered in their horns, but processing the energies therein was too involved than he was capable of accomplishing in his current form. Its blood, however, was a different matter. The blood of a unicorn was rich in power and it was his for the taking.
The poor unicorn barely let out a cry of fear and pain as Voldemort fell upon it, tore its throat open and gorged on its silver blood. If he had a salvageable soul left, this act would surely have condemned it. He cared not, of course. All Tom Riddle cared about was power; power and survival.
Unicorn blood would sustain him for quite a while, but he was after far more than sustenance. His dream of controlling the magical world, purging it of the impure and incompetent and culling the muggle community burned as brightly in his blackened heart as it ever had; more brightly even.
He had to reluctantly admit he'd made mistakes and those had led to his near-destruction. These made his road back even more difficult now, but no matter. He would NOT be denied his personally chosen, designed and self-written destiny. Ten years ago, not even the small British hero community had become involved. This time, he had no doubt that not only they, but the much larger and more powerful community of American heroes would definitely stick their unwanted noses in matters that were none of their businesses.
The American heroes, in particular, with their ties to Wanda Maximoff and through her to the Potter brat, would be problematic. Even Doom took them seriously and that fool feared nothing. The artifacts he'd chosen had been carefully researched over the last ten years. It had been foolish to reject their potential before. True, they weren't the kind of power he'd sought since that fool Dumbledore first revealed his potential. That didn't mean they couldn't be powerful tools. Used in the proper combination, they could enable him to defeat any foe.
His followers would put this to a preliminary test soon using but one of the artifacts in their possession. The plan was already being put into action, but would take a few more weeks before it came to full fruition. He could wait. Last time he'd rushed certain things and they had cost him.
Another mistake he made was rejecting certain . . . not allies or even assets, but tools; ghosts, vampires, bocors and other fringe magicians and lesser monsters. Maybe being trapped in the diminished form had given him a new perspective. The poltergeist, Cassius, had certainly proven valuable within his limits. The one known as Baron Blood was about to have a chance to do so as well.
Yes, mistakes had been made. Lessons had been learned. Someone once told him that the measure of a man wasn't in never making mistakes, but in not repeating them. He hadn't realized it at the time, but it was good advice. He almost regretted killing the man; almost.
