Updated: 01/05/2019
Disclaimer: This universe belongs solely to J.K Rowling, based on the Harry Potter franchise.
A/N: So, a little later than anticipated – hope you don't mind. Thank you for all the lovely reviews! Here's a fairly long chapter to celebrate the new year.
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Tom put away his cutlery, picked up the fifth draft of their very necessary arrangement and read.
He couldn't help but stare.
Albus had been sitting with said dark wizard for several hours now and discussing their issues with the vow for longer than he'd initially thought any negotiation ought to last. A grey little house elf had eventually thought to bring them their lunch, beseeching them to eat lest they forget to do so entirely.
One might say that the situation was oddly civil, especially considering how their meeting had started out.
While Tom looked every part the student he remembered, he also didn't. His movements were more confident, as if the wizard had nothing to hide – though Albus was most certain he did. The man's posture and mannerisms were refined in a manner that signified ingrained habits learned over a lifetime of repetitions.
Speaking with him, his countenance paired with his appearance made him seem strangely ageless. Albus knew Tom was – now – in reality, seventy-one years old, surpassing his sixty-two years in a convoluted way that Albus wasn't sure he agreed with.
Albus Dumbledore was well aware that he wasn't a young man anymore. His beard was losing its previous brown-red tinge, the hairs were beginning to be interspersed with silver streaks and wrinkles and laugh lines were becoming increasingly more pronounced every year. Being a wizard, one kept well and enjoyed a good long life, which meant Albus was only touching the half-way mark of his life expectancy.
However, while his body couldn't be said to exist in its prime any longer, his magic most assuredly did.
Magic grew with age. In capacity, but also in relation to how it was utilized – and who controlled it. The power was intimately connected to the soul, which was why Tom Riddle's status of a Dark Lord was still very much an actuality – unwittingly prompting Albus' mind to stray to theories of magic he'd long thought fruitless to contemplate.
Sadly, it made sense to him. It was simply too late for Tom Riddle.
From the time when Tom grew into the person he became, his magic followed his soul every step of the way – even into the past. Soul and magic were difficult entities to separate and were generally considered to be harmonious in their balance.
Their order.
Reflecting upon the Dark Lord's experiences, Albus thought Tom immensely lucky to have somehow regained his sanity at all. Tom seemed unwilling to expound upon the exact circumstances of his preliminary loss, and though Albus was keen on the details, for future references if nothing else, he also suspected the knowledge would be dreadfully useless to him. Dark magic held no place in his heart, and that was how he preferred it to be.
He resumed listening as said wizard spoke up once more.
"Will not kill, torture or permanently injure students or staff with the menacing intent to harm – or purposefully incite others to do the same.
Will not practice the Dark Arts with consequences for others or draw others into practising it.
Will not leave the premises without consulting Albus Dumbledore beforehand.
Will not participate in the smuggling of dark artefacts into the school that could cause harm to students or staff.
Will not inform any students or other teachers that I am a Dark Lord.
Will not inform anyone that I am from the future.
Will not open the Chamber of Secrets again," Tom finished, his eyes lingering on the parchment.
Albus took a pointless sip of his tea. He had the distinct feeling that his proposition was about to be shot down once again.
Tom was oddly fond of nit-picking, he mused. While it was exasperating beyond measure, it was also in no way surprising.
"I will concede to most of these points, but one sentence worries me," Tom said, not sounding worried at all.
"Which one?" Albus asked him calmly, unruffled in the face of his discontent.
Tom Riddle regarded him as one would a particularly challenging politician. "Your insistence that I refrain from teaching the Dark Arts."
Albus tapped a finger against his teacup. "How can that cause you worry? The Dark Arts can be damaging. Admittedly, I've agreed to let you handle your own practice, applied to your unfortunate proficiency, but I would like you to refrain from teaching any others."
Tom surprised him by letting out a mild chuckle. "And let the few unfortunate souls who experiment kill themselves as they desperately grapple to understand what they're dealing with? How delightfully cruel of you," he grinned viciously at him, and Albus was eerily reminded of Gellert.
He saw the manipulation for what it was, but the words resonated with him nonetheless. The insinuation that his students were surely making grave mistakes in the absence of proper guidance concerned him.
"You cannot stop young witches and wizards from pursuing power if they're determined to do so. You know this."
He did.
"Furthermore, I've heard that prohibition only magnifies the allure," Tom added, looking way too pleased for Albus' peace of mind.
He sent the Dark Lord an expression filled with a heavy mixture of anger and resignation. "I don't like this. Is it your intention to teach?"
"I feel I have some responsibility, you could say. Additionally, I just hate to see potential wasted. This is a school after all."
Albus scowled. "The potential for the Dark Arts, you mean? Cultivating such talent doesn't sound particularly appealing to me."
"Every branch of magic, Albus. Why should anyone limit themselves so?" Tom inquired as he crossed out the sentence. The implied altruism behind his intentions was nearly laughable, and in no way believable.
"As to avoid becoming insane."
Tom looked exceedingly unimpressed with him.
"Therein lies my point. Without proper guidance, young dark wizards and witches make unbearably poor decisions and the likelihood of them maintaining any sort of mental health is therefore minimal," Tom countered, finishing his tea.
Albus put down his own empty cup and sighed in frustration, refilling both their cups from the pot on the small table between them.
"These discussions, while annoyingly backwards, have somehow also managed to be bizarrely informative," Albus concluded.
"Shall we go over the list again?"
The professor sighed once more, took off his glasses, polished the lenses with the hem of his sleeve and prepared himself to rework the vow once again.
They hadn't even gotten to Albus' part of the deal, yet.
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"I want justice for the death you caused, Tom."
It was a testament to his control that he didn't roll his eyes at his life-long nemesis. The way Albus Dumbledore was looking at him, eyes filled with such familiar resolve, was pulling at strings in his subconscious he didn't want to reacquaint himself with.
His instincts were telling him to – react? A lifetime of seeing Albus as the main obstacle for his success had left him with a distinct feeling of displeasure and rage whenever he looked at the barmy wizard.
But Tom had more control than that – now.
He knew what mattered at the moment. At this time. Albus Dumbledore was undoubtedly an enemy, not because he'd committed any actions against Tom – yet – but because of his complete opposition to Tom's existence in general.
Albus didn't trust him on principle. Tom was a dark wizard, and shamelessly indifferent about it, but Tom was also simultaneously everything Albus hated and disagreed with.
Albus' open disdain would surely provide a nice contrast to the monotony of his daily life here, and he wondered where their newfound affiliation would ultimately take them.
Regardless, they both knew that in order to achieve what they wanted, they had to survive the next couple of years in each other's company, one way or another.
Tom idly wondered what Albus intended to do with all this time.
"Ah," he responded, making another note on the parchment. "Suppose you mean little Miss Warren?"
Albus didn't deign to respond – the answer was obvious. He looked notably frustrated by Tom's apathy.
Tom twirled the quill dexterously between his fingers, slowly growing restless.
"I take it you don't think justice has been served? I've received several death sentences, as you know," Tom reminded derisively. Albus put down his cup and looked at him seriously.
"Do you regret your crimes, or only your mistakes?"
Tom raised an eyebrow, mildly incredulous. "You're insinuating that a punishment shouldn't fit the crime, but the corresponding lack of remorse," he stated, pointing the quill in the direction of his transfiguration teacher, who leaned back and crossed his arms self-righteously.
"A punishment isn't very effective if it doesn't produce any results," Albus asserted.
"What you're describing is torture, Albus."
Dumbledore looked insulted that Tom would in any manner imply that he would torture anyone, but Tom wasn't buying it.
The Dark Lord knew what kind of person Albus Dumbledore was and recognized that even if his roads were always paved with good intentions, they were often painful to walk. Albus might yet be unaware of this pattern of his, but Tom knew the wizard had acknowledged and embraced it fully in the future.
Tom's other eyebrow joined the first, staring at the virtuous fool in front of him.
"It is punishment until the person breaks and gives you what you want."
Nothing else needed to be said, because Albus' collar-length beard twitched tellingly, signalling Tom's small victory of the hour.
Albus massaged his forehead, looking at him with exasperation.
Tom continued, undaunted. "While very satisfying – believe me, I would know – that isn't what you want, is it?"
A moment went by while Albus glowered at him.
"You carry a certain kind of wisdom with you, Tom… in a way exposing your real age. While your insight is exceedingly morbid – you are wise nonetheless," Albus told him, sounding pensive. "I won't pretend to take all your advice to heart, but I'll bear it in mind," he promised graciously.
Albus twirled his wand at the pot and replenished its contents with fresh hot water. A small bag of citrusy-tasting tea from the muggle world floated into the pot, whereafter their teacups were refilled, Albus adding his customary four sugars.
Tom thought adding any additional ingredients to a tea ruined what the herbs were supposed to accomplish on their own, but he'd already tried and failed to win that discussion. The deputy headmaster was resolute.
They both resettled and Albus continued. "I will – concede, that you are, to a certain extent, correct. I cannot force you to repent your crimes… and spending virtually your whole life in a sea of madness and death is a fate I wouldn't wish for my worst enemy," he finished, tone regretful.
Tom taunted him idly with a toast. "How kind of you, Albus. I'm both flattered and touched at your sentimentality."
The fool had the nerve to twinkle his eyes at him. "I also see that I have to get used to your new flare for sarcasm. Age suits you, Tom."
Tom studiously ignored him.
"To summarize, you will agree to not having me arrested for the murder as long as I am a student of this school," the dark wizard continued, and Albus sighed in disappointment.
The professor reluctantly nodded. No doubt he'd be waiting for the chance to do so as soon as it presented itself, however.
"Also – you will let me use your Floo in your office if I have errands outside the castle, provided I can take care of my own alibi and that I don't knowingly commit any crimes in relation to what we have specified in my part of the vow. No smuggling dark artefact into the school, no homicide with the intent to murder and no 'causing significant harm' to students or staff for no reason," Tom continued undeterred, reading off their list of Albus' concessions.
The Gryffindor head of house agreed unenthusiastically to the last point on the list, doubtlessly lamenting that he could only bargain for the safety of his students and colleagues. Fortunately for Albus, Tom had no intention on committing any murder sprees – the mere thought of the foolishness having him wince internally. Even so, he'd refused to allow the restrictive limitation of committing harm to extend beyond Hogwarts. Albus had agreed with palpable hesitancy.
He had to, or else Tom refused to agree with the imposed ban on smuggling dark artefacts or Albus' insistence that he required prior notice of his departures.
Both were aware that Tom could leave at any time he pleased, so this worked out for both of them. Tom would receive an easier exit and Albus would be made peripherally aware of his movements. Tom wouldn't be obligated to inform Albus where he went or what he did, but he would be required to tell him for how long he planned to stay away, for practicality's sake.
"And if I am to keep The Chamber closed, then you'll need to provide me with a substitute place to conduct my research." Albus nodded. He'd explained his desire to further his research and Albus, as the avid alchemist he was, had expressed his interest.
"What of the beast?" Albus suddenly asked, blue eyes looking to him inquisitively.
The corner of Tom's mouth quirked up. "Ah… Yes, I suppose you would be curious. I'm afraid you cannot meet her."
"Why is that? It is trapped in The Chamber, isn't it? Unless you release it – her?"
Tom hummed agreeably. He saw no reason to withhold this information, since only he had access to The Chamber. "Salazar's beast was the Queen of Serpents, Albus. One look in her eyes and your life is forfeit," he informed him. His lips then formed a wide smile. "Unless you're adamant, in which case we can take our chances."
"…A Basilisk! Of course," Albus muttered in realization, clearly disturbed and fascinated. "How old?"
Mildly disheartened, Tom dropped his smile and considered his question. "I am not quite sure, to be honest. It might've been Salazar's original beast, or a descendant thereof. Though considering a Basilisk is made from a toad nesting on a chicken's egg, which I've been told is justifiably illegal in Europe, their breeding habits might be insufficiently investigated."
Tom sighed nostalgically. "I believe she was approximately fifteen meters…? It's been fifty years since I've laid my eyes on her. She was a magnificent creature indeed," he praised. "It is quite the shame that I will have to wait," Tom bemoaned. Albus let out a hum.
"Would you concede to slaying her?"
"It would be such a waste. You are aware that she's there as a defence for the school?"
Albus' expression was flat. "You are the only person capable of commanding her – and so you have."
Tom smiled predatorily. "Then I suppose you have even greater use of my talents, do you not? What if Gellert comes here, Albus? Wouldn't a Basilisk come in handy?"
The man looked at him apprehensively, probably wondering if Tom was hinting at an eventual attack from said Dark Lord based on his knowledge of the future or was merely attempting to scare him.
"But at what price?"
"Now you're asking the right questions," Tom stated.
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As it were, Tom discovered that Albus valued moments of rest – a monumental waste of time considering the circumstances, but the wizard had been obstinate in his persistence.
And so it was that they put away their quills and attempted to ignore each other for a time. An endeavour indisputably destined for failure, but effort was made regardless and maintained for the sake of courtesy.
A mere seventeen minutes lapsed as Tom perused his diary in an illusion of peace, the other wizard resting his eyes as he leaned against his chair. The distant hum of the rain falling on the tiles lining the windows filled the office that had otherwise been the place of raised voices and caustic remarks.
His eyes roved over the notes he'd taken on the way to Hogwarts. Simple corrections to arrays and equations his younger self had thought perfect. As his eyes perceived the symbols, his mind perused the information gleaned from books long since read and studied. So deep was his concentration, that Tom was surprised to find himself jostled into reality by a pointed mention of his name.
He removed his gaze from his unfinished Horcrux, closed it and replaced it in his robe.
"Has your need for respite at last been satisfied?" Tom inquired rather scathingly. Albus raised a greying eyebrow at his attitude, knowing it hadn't been that long at all.
"I have found myself during constant duress these past many hours. Forgive me if I desire just a smidgen more time. Your magic doesn't exactly inspire any kind of tranquillity."
"It is not supposed to."
Albus hummed vaguely in agreement, studying him from his fairly relaxed position in his chair. The tiny bells hanging from the strings on his hat jingled as he tilted his head – a question on his tongue.
"Your motivations towards this candidness puzzles me, Tom," he admitted finally. "I fail to see what you've gained from explaining the full scope of your situation to me."
Tom let out a light scoff. "Full scope? The wishful thoughts of a foolish man," he derided.
"I'd like an answer and not a diversion, if you please, Tom."
"It's a rather boring answer," he half-heartedly attempted.
"I'd hear it all the same," Albus insisted calmly.
Tom studied his adversary for several seconds in silence, intent on his thoughts, yet receiving nothing more than expected. Impenetrable defences and a distinctly unimpressed frown.
Sensing Albus' impatience bleed through his carefully built walls, Tom thought it prudent to cease his games for the time being. There was nothing to be gained from his silence. A measure of transparency was needed to maintain Albus' civility, and Tom would provide as he saw fit.
"Very well," he conceded. "First of all, comes the reasons we've discussed before. My clear inability to hide clashed with my want to be here."
Albus nodded serenely. "Understandable. You can imagine my worry though, knowing a Dark Lord infiltrated the school so seamlessly."
"As a matter of fact – I can," Tom confessed simply. "And another Dark Lord is at the centre of why I've decided to tell you of my incomprehensible travel to my wayward past."
"Gellert?" Albus asked as he frowned at him, clearly unhappy with his words.
"Yes, that one," Tom clarified sardonically. "Do keep up through your senility."
Albus failed to resist an eye roll.
"As I was saying," Tom continued, undaunted. "The Dark Lord Grindelwald became my main reason for revealing this to you – so you might focus on him instead of me."
"Clever, but I can't help feeling that your logic carries certain fallacies. You could've simply let me attack you and been done with me entirely, sparing you of my presence as I'd be lounging rather cosily in Azkaban."
"I could've," he admitted, fully aware of that. "But must I always repeat myself, Albus? Who would take care of Gellert?" he mocked.
Albus frowned in frustration. "I'm not entirely following – do Gellert's dealings bother you, Tom? And if so, why not fight him yourself?"
"Ah, but there lies the heart of the matter," he said, spreading his arms. "I have absolutely no intention of fighting with Gellert Grindelwald, unless he directly provokes me to do so. I've said as much before."
A brief flash of confusion stole across Albus' face before it disappeared.
"I see... but why are you adamant that I fight him, instead of just letting him do as he pleases? Chaos is a rather compelling mistress of yours, isn't it?"
"I compel chaos, not the other way around. It is when you give yourself into the madness that is complete and utter uncontrollable chaos that you lose grip with the tenuous string representing everything you are. Dark Magic courts chaos, but we are the seducers – not the seduced. That is how it must be."
Albus let out a hum as he stroked his beard, the crow's-feet around his eyes crinkling further. "Fascinating... But you neglected to answer me once again, Tom. Why can't you let him be?"
"Would you like me to?" Tom inquired lazily.
"I would prefer if you left everything be," Albus told him with absolute honesty. There could be no doubt about the sincerity of this particular statement and the words caused Tom's expression to darken considerably, though a devilish smile stretched his lips.
"That rather sounds like an invitation for suicide, Albus. I'll have to decline, as the very thought of death disgusts me on a fundamental level, most of all the ridiculous notion of suicide."
Albus' expression turned affronted. "I would never!"
"I'm sure," he drawled blandly. "Nevertheless, to answer your question; I realize that your old friend is a nuisance in the most basic meanings of the word and if I let you be carted off to Azkaban – even if I let him be for now – he would eventually graduate from a nuisance into a problem. My problem – and I'd rather like to avoid unnecessary problems if at all possible. I have quite enough of that as it stands."
"You don't think he's a problem now?" Albus asked incredulously.
"Not my problem, no," Tom heard himself repeat, the smile falling off his lips.
"So, if I understand you correctly – and do forgive me my suspended disbelief – you need a willing hero to pave the way for you," Albus concluded, crossing his arms tiredly and not with a little bit of impunity. Tom's lips turned downwards at the corners, the question mildly offensive to his ears.
"Don't put words in my mouth, Albus. You're taking out the garbage, nothing more. Grindelwald will amount to nothing and you will assure it."
"For you."
"For yourself. For your students. For the wizarding world. Take your pick of the bunch – I do not care for your reasons."
"And so, you've told me of your situation to force me into an agreement, knowing I'd only consent to cease my hostility if I understood the impossibility that is your presence. To keep me – admittedly both of us – out of Azkaban. To redirect Gellert's attention where you believe they ought to be. Exposing yourself to conceal yourself more thoroughly," Albus analysed contemplatively.
"I'll admit I'm vaguely impressed by your forethought, though your choice of diversion and your continued frankness doesn't exactly fill me with confidence regarding your hypothetical sanity. We're enemies, Tom. Perhaps not in the same sense as my position with Gellert, but enemies nonetheless. By exposing yourself to this degree and limiting our agreement to a paltry few years, you've allowed for this information to be public in the future."
"Hm," Tom agreed absently, his gaze moving to the windows once more.
"People will hound you regardless of what crimes can be pinned on you, once I reveal what you are, where you come from."
Tom spared him another look, his lips forming the beginnings of a smirk.
"And they will be as confounded as you are," he said, causing Albus to scowl slightly in response. Tom's smirk widened at the reaction. "All I need is time, Albus. That's all I've ever needed."
Silence ensued and nothing more was said on the matter. They steadily resumed their negotiations.
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After finally agreeing on a draft, the time was approximately five p.m. and they'd been involuntarily sequestered in Dumbledore's office since seven a.m. that morning. Both were tired beyond belief after nearly ten hours of heated debates and countless hectic revelations.
People were no doubt wondering where they were, not that Tom particularly cared, but Albus insisted he needed to reappear in person sometime that day.
Albus mentioned he'd postponed a meeting with headmaster Dippet without providing a reason for his absence, so attending the evening meal had become their end goal to avoid suspicion.
Tom finished applying the spellwork to the parchment under Dumbledore's watchful eye, his hand performing a final loop with his wand to tie in the remaining enchantments of the contract.
After much debate on rationale and security, they'd decided that the simplest way to conduct the vow was to make a secrecy contract to contain it, as well as conceal it. Neither of them would be able to talk about the vow and the details of their compromises would therewith be protected.
If any of them needed to mention their agreement at all, the largely harmless contract would suffice – the Unbreakable Vow effectively obscured.
Cleverly, the contract itself wouldn't impose any penalties beyond a mild bout of pain. This enabled the contract to aid them by providing a critical warning system for whenever they'd be close to breaking one of the clauses of the contract, before the vow itself would punish them. Both Tom and Albus were aware that this allowed them the elbow-room needed to test the limits of the vow, but inflexibility agreed with neither of them and for the sake of both of their magical cores – it had to be done.
To succeed on a short-term basis, Albus would have to hold off alerting his contacts in the ministry and ICW of his existence, and Tom would need to refrain from attracting any more untoward attention.
Naturally, this depended on Tom keeping a really low profile.
But that had been Tom's intention from the beginning. Albus was, in truth, the one with the genuine issues in this deal between them. Tom had made sure he wouldn't be agreeing with anything that went directly against his short-term plans, but Tom was sure Albus' own plans and expectations were undergoing radical changes.
As of this moment, Tom considered himself a couple of steps ahead of his old teacher.
On paper, the list of Tom's limitations seemed more severe. Albus had thought the quantity of the limitations he could impose was key to restraining him – the more shackles, the better. However, even though Tom had made a show out of his nit-picking, he'd still managed to maintain and create certain necessary loopholes, that the fool hadn't seen through.
If he had, he would've surely stopped it.
Albus' inability to read his mind made predicting Tom's objectives an uphill battle – and he'd undoubtedly known that entering the discussions.
Truthfully, it had all been about picking one's battles.
But Tom was not under any circumstances going to underestimate Albus Dumbledore. If Tom could create ways around their vow, so could he. Of that – he was absolutely certain.
It was evident in the way neither of them had ever proposed any clauses of honouring the intentions behind the vow itself or specifically promising not to deceive the other. Adding such a thing would've limited them both unbearably and neither of them had the power to enforce it.
Again, this situation wasn't ideal, but it was the best possible outcome for him. If Tom wanted to reside at Hogwarts and research in relative safety, considering his very mortal state, then this had to happen.
They signed the contract.
Albus called a house elf once again, but this time to officiate the vow. Tom wasn't exactly thrilled by this, but he supposed an elf would be less challenging to convince. Moreover, Albus agreed that the critter would be Obliviated, so Tom swallowed his consternation and held out his hand, the small being observing them nervously.
They grasped hands and Tom noted absentmindedly that he'd never been in direct contact with Albus Dumbledore in any life before this moment. With luck, it would also be the last time.
Albus gently coached the trembling house elf – prompting it to commence the bonding. The elf nodded at the wizard and its interim master, stammering out the incantation.
A glowing golden tendril of magic slithered out between their fingers and started to entangle their grip, tight in its severity.
"…S-Sirs can begin…" the elf, Pinkey, announced tremulously.
The wizards' grip tightened considerably as the Unbreakable Vow began to demand its completion – the strings of magic extending like barbed vines around their forearms.
Albus looked him in the eyes, fearlessly – as always, and Tom didn't hesitate.
"I, Tom Marvolo Riddle, solemnly swear to uphold the directions of this contract, signed by myself and Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore on this day, until noon the 25th of June 1945."
Tom's mouth twitched as the tendrils' restriction increased, leaving a strange kind of stinging ache in its wake.
"I, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, solemnly swear to uphold the directions of this contract, signed by myself and Tom Marvolo Riddle on this day, until noon the 25th of June 1945."
"So mote it be," they spoke.
Their eyes were locked on each other as the elf finalized the vow, snapping its fingers and dispersing the golden tendrils. The lines dissolved into their skin, the discolouration from the pressure slowly fading thereafter – but not completely.
A reminder of their bargain today.
As he observed Albus obliviating the poorly creature, Tom let his feelings of satisfaction course through him.
'Finally – something went according to plan.'
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It was late at night in Horizon Alley Friday the 3rd of September – the law office of M. X. Nott currently closed for business.
Sitting in his customary seat was Marcellus Nott, the host of the meeting. The well-dressed, albeit rather stocky magical lawyer, looked on edge – a likely consequence of his present company.
'He's never been comfortable during meetings with Tiberian,' Perseus Parkinson thought in explanation, faintly amused. He took a moment to study said wizard, craning his neck slightly for a better view of his old friend.
Tiberian Malfoy had his blonde head resting against the back of his seat, seemingly at peace.
Perseus smiled internally at the notion.
The thought that Tiberian could ever be at peace with anything sounded ridiculous, even to him.
The door to the room opened suddenly and Alcander Nott himself walked through, his outer robes folded neatly on his arm as he approached them, a thoughtful look on his face – but nonetheless healthy.
"Good evening, brother," the man greeted Marcellus first, receiving a wide grin from said brother.
It would seem Alcander had managed to overcome his recent bout of sickness, Perseus noted as the Nott patriarch made himself comfortable in the only armchair at the table available to him.
Alcander looked around him, his narrow eyes taking in Perseus, Marcellus and Tiberian, who seemed to have resumed his interest in the happenings around him.
"Is there any particular reason that you've neglected to invite the Blacks, Dolohovs or the Rosiers to this little soiree of ours?" Alcander inquired, looking specifically to Perseus, as he'd been the one to convene the meeting.
Surprisingly, Tiberian was the one to answer.
"The topic of this discussion is too controversial for their ears." Which yes – was quite unusual, considering that their internal group since the beginning of their forays into politics had always consisted of a coalition between the Malfoy, Black, Rosier, Nott, Dolohov and Parkinson families, with secondary support from other families on occasion.
Alcander scoffed sceptically in response, the former pleasantness effectively evaporated.
A couple of house elves were fluttering about, bringing in fine china, candles and small bites of food and fruits.
Perseus gestured vaguely for the house elf to his right to fill his teacup, barely looking at it as it did so. The elves didn't say a peep, and soon they were out.
Perseus picked up his teacup, took a sip and then nodded to Marcellus. "Thank you for letting us make use of your office, Marcellus."
Marcellus Nott realigned his robes as he grinned, looking quite proud of the gratitude. He glanced shortly to his elder brother and back before answering. "You are most welcome!"
Tiberian Malfoy's hairline was steadily escaping his forehead, but the strict looking man still managed to look appropriately dangerous just sitting there.
The Malfoy family held an inordinate amount of power at present, their influence stretching farther than most realised – and few appreciated. Furthermore, the wizard heading the family possessed an astounding seven seats in the Wizengamot. Not to mention his wife, that currently acted as the undersecretary to the head of the Department of Justice, privy to information that was most precious to them.
Tiberius' formidable political ability went without saying, though it was repeated often enough. He'd carried the torch for many Isolationist legislation movements since he'd taken over from his own father, most of which had been implemented – if carried successfully past the Integration party.
Nowadays, it was known that if one desired a certain position, promotion or otherwise, then establishing a favourable connection with a Malfoy was a guaranteed benefit. Their fortune, power and legacy carried far in their society, which indeed made them a fickle lot to please.
And though Perseus acknowledged this, he did not summon Tiberian to fortify his favour.
He was in need of critical input.
Perseus had studied his son's findings during the last couple of days and had cross-examined them with muggle newspapers his house elf had pilfered from around London– and had, absurdly, found that there was ground for his analysis.
The Dark Lord Gellert Grindelwald was most certainly looking for something, but what that was wasn't important. That wasn't what was had prompted his interest.
No, what mattered was that a discernable pattern had finally emerged.
A pattern that hadn't been possible to clearly discern since no one had thought to investigate the possibility that Grindelwald was cooperating with his own – allegedly – worst enemy.
The filthy muggles – of all things.
Perseus was right to question this because it hardly made sense in regard to the Dark Lord's infamous goals.
Nonetheless, it wasn't difficult to conclude that the Dark Lord was looking for something. That much was certain. It wasn't even that much of a chore to deduce what kind of targets he favoured.
What was really tickling his mind, and what he needed his associates' input on was; how come the ICW hadn't involved themselves?
The German and Russian ministries especially would be crying for their intervention – but nothing. No one knew of this.
Obviously, the ICW had allocated endless resources towards apprehending the dark wizard, but all of their aims in connection to said arrest were usually made public knowledge. This wasn't.
The number of dead muggles this had already resulted in was staggering. It was beyond puzzling.
The ICW wasn't acting in the interest of the muggles, which was usually their method of operation aside from wizarding welfare.
Why?
"Some of you already know what I'll be talking to you about," he started, sending a significant stare at Tiberian. "But I'm here to fill in the rest of you."
He looked to Alcander, addressing his earlier concerns. "The reason the Rosiers specifically have been excluded from this meeting is due to their relation to the Dark Lord Grindelwald."
Marcellus squinted at his brother. "I don't remember hearing that that family supported him."
"They don't," Tiberian spoke, severely. "But their eldest son does. He's currently participating as his henchman," he snarled disdainfully.
"I see…" Marcellus nodded, understanding the implications of this. If the family wasn't behind the decision, then publicly the family wasn't behind the son. But nevertheless, to avoid biased commentary and possible leaks due to their involvement, the Rosiers weren't optimal for this discussion.
"And the Blacks and Dolohovs?" Alcander asked.
Perseus sighed lightly, eating a small pastry. "Catarina Dolohov couldn't make it, and as for the Blacks? – I simply don't trust their judgement in this," he said simply, taking over for Tiberian who resumed glaring at everyone in the room – as was his style.
Alcander gave him a sideways look that bespoke his need for elaboration, so Perseus indulged him.
"They don't support Grindelwald – but they support his ideals. You could consider them neutral, in a sense. They simply desire that everything runs its course, which is a philosophy that I can't get behind."
The general principle that drove Grindelwald's campaign was the notion that the Statute of Secrecy stifled the global magical community, and that it, therefore, should be abolished completely. In addition, the Dark Lord was convinced that wizards were made to rule over the muggles as their superiors, and while the thought of global wizard supremacy was a tantalizing thought, most pureblood wizards in Britain considered the notion completely absurd. Their party was the Isolationist party, which implied complete separation. Dedicating time and effort on muggles was out of the question.
Alcander seemed satisfied with that explanation, but Marcellus looked quizzical.
"Marcellus," Perseus started, "I have need of your legal expertise." The man nodded in answer, crossing his arms confidently. Tiberian was observing the portly man as one would a particularly poor spy who somehow still managed to accomplish his goals.
Perseus regarded them all, before swishing his wand lightly, causing pieces of parchment to float towards the other men in the room. They grabbed them and started reading.
The parchments were a compressed version of Pericles' work, with Perseus' edits in relevance to today's topic of discussion.
Silence consumed the fireplace-lit room for a while, until Marcellus coughed uneasily, glancing at his brother once again. Perseus wished the man would stop relying on his brother's guidance for once in his life.
"And you believe this?" Alcander suddenly asked Tiberian, who, looking sourly, nodded very shortly. Alcander hummed contemplatively, then glanced to his brother.
"What do you make of this, brother?"
Marcellus squinted at the parchment. Everyone knew that the man needed a moment to collect his thoughts, as he was far from slow – just exceedingly thorough. They'd worked with him often enough to recognize the difference.
A couple of minutes went by before Marcellus spoke. "This suggests a level of complacency I hadn't expected…" he paused. "Or possibly an act of deliberate prevarication?" he muttered, his eyes narrowed thoughtfully behind his reading glasses.
Marcellus' voice adopted a more serious tone, one that was always reserved for his work. They paid attention.
"If your findings are indeed correct – and I wouldn't presume otherwise – then the International Confederation of Wizards must be hiding one of three things," he started, closely studying the details.
"The ICW doesn't, in reality, care about the muggles, and therefore find the apparent muggle infestation in our war, and their subsequent slaughter, a negligible factor. "
Perseus himself grimaced slightly at that theory. While certainly a possibility, it wasn't a very plausible one.
Tiberian waved his hand impatiently, prompting Marcellus to continue.
The man hurriedly did so. "Considering the improbability of that – it is possible that the ICW is, in fact, unaware of this correlation," he said, but even Marcellus sounded sceptical.
The stout lawyer shook his head, frowning at the parchment. "No. I don't think the largest alliance between wizarding nations in our history could be so blind. They have access to intelligence from every member states' Auror offices, including select guilds and magical facilities, making their ignorance an impossibility."
A pause ensued. Tiberian's hand rested on his chin as he regarded the lawyer in the room. "So tell me, Nott, what is your conclusion?"
The man once again eyed his brother for a split second, before looking back to the Malfoy patriarch. "I believe the ICW is purposefully withholding this information as to not hurt their propaganda efforts."
Alcander nodded, looking at his teacup. "Dozens of wizards and witches all around mainland Europe have perished in these attacks of his… if the people found out that muggles made it possible, then their pro-muggle agenda would suffer a fatal setback," he noted, taking a sip of his tea.
"Not to mention the muggle casualties. The mudbloods would riot against them. Their families are after all more affected by this war of theirs," Perseus added dismissively, his lips forming a heartless smile. "If the ICW published this, then there'd be a cry to meddle in the war – and it would be the ordinary magical citizens who would take point in the demonstrations," he said.
"The ICW doesn't allow magical interference in the world of the muggles," Tiberian voiced, his icy eyes spearing Marcellus, making the man visibly redden.
"Indeed…" Marcellus muttered. "However, that is not all," he added.
"In order to withhold this information, the ICW must've cooperated with several ministries, the German, Polish and Netherlandish ministries to name a few. Censorship of this magnitude requires immense dedication – and considering the very possible warfare that could break out if this became public, not to mention the level of corruption inherent to this, I wouldn't be surprised if the concealment of the current situation is their very first priority."
The Malfoy nodded curtly, sipping his tea. "It would require immense resources. And it would be a waste of resources if someone were to expose them." The others nodded. To the Malfoy, resources were everything.
"Their plan is hanging on a thread as it is," Perseus said, holding the parchment up for show. "If it can be displayed this easily, I'm quite frankly surprised it's not public knowledge already."
"Yes, it seems that way. No doubt several ministries, our own included, are bidden to censor these attacks so no connections can be made. From your edits, it seems a total of 4 out of 12 incidences have been covered in actual newspapers in the wizarding world," Marcellus agreed, then looked to Perseus.
"Did Pericles smuggle this information out of the archives on your orders?" he asked, but Perseus denied it.
"No," he said. "I didn't ask him to. He started the investigation without my say-so."
Tiberian let out a sound of idle curiosity. "For what purpose?"
Perseus sighed and sipped his tea, looking at his Malfoy colleague and friend of many years.
"I didn't believe him, initially. He'd somehow gotten hold of a muggle newspaper, which he then claimed was relevant. Naturally, I thought it was utter nonsense," Perseus explained. Alcander scoffed in agreement.
"But then he insisted on making his case – and so he did. And he succeeded. I was convinced."
"Impressive," Tiberian commented, not sounding particularly impressed, but Perseus appreciated the sentiment.
Perseus gestured to the parchment once again. "He didn't see the full picture, however. He was more occupied by the implications of Grindelwald cooperating with muggles, than with the venues that this could open for me – us."
"He's still young," Marcellus pointed out affably.
"Wasn't he a Ravenclaw? Not ambitious enough, then?" Alcander questioned, sounding slightly distracted.
Tiberian said nothing.
"His only ambition should be to do what I say," Perseus stated uncompromisingly, and Marcellus grimaced.
"Back to the topic at hand," Tiberian said then, taking control of the meeting.
"Using this information that Perseus was able to gather, we now have a choice to make."
The atmosphere in the room suddenly felt rather stifling.
"We've long been aware of the ICW's imposition on our ability to legislate according to our agendas, and for the good of wizarding Britain." They all nodded.
The Malfoy scowled at them. The man never looked happy, but Perseus knew this to be Tiberian Malfoy's more-than-not satisfied scowl.
"If we want any hope of reclaiming our independence, and to rid ourselves of the outrageous pro-muggle laws that have been passed the past twenty years, then we need to force the ICW to change them… or leave the ICW and become self-reliant on our own system, like MACUSA."
"Brilliant," Marcellus commented, grinning widely. Alcander looked vaguely excited as well, and Perseus nodded, having proposed the possibility to Tiberian earlier, who'd agreed.
"But one doesn't simply leave the ICW. They wouldn't allow it – the sanctions alone would impede us insufferably. Politically, it would also be immensely embarrassing for the magical state of Turkey – who still, after seeking acceptance into the organization for past 124 years, still isn't applicable."
Alcander snorted unattractively and Tiberian shot the man a look that said he found the disturbance entirely undignified.
The magical state of Turkey was – unfortunately – not living up to the ICW's strict standards of magical safety regulation, specifically concerning the use of dark magic – necromancy in particular. However, due to ingrained cultural issues, the state couldn't manage to do away with the problem, and in some cases outright refused to act, despite the ICW's encouragement.
"Holding our intel against the ICW is risky, but with a big enough coalition in our ministry, and the ICW's interest in maintaining their agenda in the rest of their member states, we can hopefully come through without too much drama," Alcander then commented, maintaining an easy smile.
"Some information would have to be revealed, however," Marcellus insisted, before commencing a short discussion with his brother on the procedure of negotiating with and/or exiting an international confederation and the limitations it could also bring. It was highly speculative at this point, without research having been made on the topic.
"Gentlemen," Perseus interrupted, gathering their attention again. "I recommend we think about this, and then conduct another meeting in a month or so. It'll provide me the time I need to compile a complete list of transgressions, and it'll allow Marcellus to research which allowances we have if we follow through on this."
Every wizard nodded, but Tiberian chose to speak up once more.
"I agree that this is promising," he paused, looking at Perseus. "But I recommend bringing in several more families soon, to amass the support we'll need for a positive receival in the Wizengamot chambers."
Perseus sighed heavily.
Tiberian was referring to the other twenty-five sacred families, those with the most seats – of whom some were sadly dormant.
He agreed it was necessary, but he also wondered how Tiberian planned on convincing the Integrationists, or the Assimilationists for that matter, of the legitimacy of their case.
He supposed time would tell.
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A/N: I'll be updating again at the end of the month if I've survived my examinations. As always – reviews are encouraged!