Mel rose at seven as usual to fix a pot of tea and a piece of toast. After that, she sat in her spot near the window. It was high above her head, but she could still hear the birds. Spring was no longer wavering, blessing London with a full week of sunshine.
Mum and Dad were both at work, so the flat was quiet. At half-past, Mel was joined by Auntie Bertha, who was on medical leave after twisting her ankle at the factory. The pair rarely spoke, but Mel was pleased to be in the presence of her aunt. Auntie Bertha was calm, only speaking when necessary. She'd assured the McCreadys that her memory had returned entirely, so Mel couldn't work out where she'd gotten this new personality. Nevertheless, there were traces of her old self, especially when she was agitated.
As for Walden, he was in Azkaban, so he would not be joining them at the table anytime soon.
Mel sipped from her cup of earl grey and rehearsed all of her tasks for the day. Being one of the four secretaries in the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad, her days often felt like one giant stack of paperwork. However, she worked alongside a bouncy, cheerful witch straight out of Hogwarts who liked to share jokes and stories from the castle, helping pass the time with chuckles.
There was a tapping on the window, snapping Mel back to reality. As Auntie Bertha looked on, she stood and accepted a newspaper from Dad's owl.
"I wonder what's going on in the world today," she mused as she moved her plate out of the way and opened The Daily Prophet.
Auntie Bertha hummed noncommittally, none too keen on finding out what was going on in the wizarding world. Mel suspected she was wary of it, untrusting.
The top story was the verdict of the McElroy case—guilty and sentenced to twenty years in Azkaban, the outcome Mel had been hoping for. Let that Grindelwald-lover rot, she thought, turning to the next page, where very familiar dark eyes met her own. A photo of a bashful-looking Harper was under a headline titled TRAINEE HEALER BREAKTHROUGH.
Flattening the paper against the table, Mel dove into the article:
London, 30 May 1951—St. Mungo's Hospital will begin employing a new treatment to those afflicted with damage to the brain whether naturally-occurring or through magical means. The treatment, tentatively known as 'mind-mapping,' was created by a Trainee Healer by the name of Harpalyke Messier and developed with the help of Senior Healer Evgenia Samusenko. It combines the use of an old branch of magic called Legilimency and discussing openly the findings with patients.
"Legilimency was labeled as a Dark spell due to the prevalence of misuse," says Miss Messier, 22, when asked from where she took the idea. "It's a powerful way into the depths of the mind and I thought, what if it could be used for good?"
After many trials and express permission from the Ministry of Magic, Healer Samusenko is set to begin memory-mapping in practice later this week. Miss Messier is preparing to finish Healer Training this September.
Mel looked at the picture again. Underneath the shyness and the still expression, she could make out the faintest spark of pride in her best friend's eyes. She grinned from ear to ear, heart lifted in joy and admiration. If anyone deserved recognition for altruism, it was Harper Messier.
"Auntie, look," she said, voice high with excitement. "Harper's made the news!"
"Huh? Let me see."
She slid the paper across the table, and Auntie Bertha squinted down at it. After several minutes—she didn't read too well in English—her face melted into a smile matching Mel's. "Ah, excellent! Bright girl. We must send her our sincerest congratulations."
Mel nodded. "I think I'll send her those origami birds. Last time I sent her robins, but perhaps I'll spring for the doves this time."
"Let me pitch in," said Auntie Bertha at once. "Fetch my handbag on the coat stand there."
"It's alright, Auntie, I've got it." Mel shook her head and smiled. During her Hogwarts years, Auntie Bertha hadn't cared for Harper too much, dismissing her as a privileged highbrow. That was until June of 1947, when Harper had found her and removed the Ministry's memory charm. For that, there was no origami arrangement sufficient enough to express Mel's gratitude.
After Grindelwald had been locked away in Nurmengard, the wizarding families were discouraged from finding their muggle relatives, since they hadn't been tracked after their memories were altered and bodies transported somewhere else. Mel and her parents added Auntie Bertha's name to the list to be tracked down by the Ministry, but they had resigned themselves to simply keeping her in their own memories until one day she was back on Meeker Street, weeping with joy at the sight of them.
Blinking away the sudden mist forming over her eyes, Mel stood and took their teacups to the sink and rinsed them. She could tell her aunt was recalling the same incident, for they exchanged warm grins. "Until this evening, Auntie," Mel told her before slipping her purse over her shoulder and feet into high heels.
She took a detour through Diagon Alley to one of the last shops, a nondescript pink building with a red and white sign reading CATRINE'S CREATIONS.
"Good morning, dear," said old Catrine when she walked in. "How can I help you?"
Frantic, somewhat distracting paper birds and butterflies whizzed above Mel's head. An old fan was swaying nearby, blowing warm, fragrant air.
"I'd like to send a congratulations, please," she said to Catrine after a look around. Shelves of paper flowers in every shade of color imaginable surrounded her.
"Alright, then. Birds, flowers, something else?"
"Birds, please," Mel answered. "Doves, if you've got them."
"Alright, then," Catrine repeated, her knobby fingers busy folding parchment tinted in blotches of blue and pink, forming a bright purple where they overlapped.
Mel watched her patiently before asking, "How much will it be, then?"
"Eighteen galleons, please."
It was more than Mel anticipated, but she handed over the money without hesitation. After filling out the record, printing Harper's name, address, and the McCreadys' message, she went back outside.
A warm breeze blew her curls off her shoulders as she headed to the Ministry. The sun shone down on her hat, warming her scalp. Her mouth was quirked up, her eyes surveying the hustle on the streets. Since it was nearing nine, there was a harried tinge to the atmosphere, but the sun had a way of lightening the footsteps. The 1950s were starting off kind, batting away the heavy fog of the '40s. Good spirits were prevalent.
Mel's own footsteps were full of pep, her shoulders relaxed. The morning was good; perhaps the rest of the day would be, too. Maybe if she was particularly lucky, she'd run into Alphard at the Ministry, since he collected the weekly reports from all the departments. At the very least, she'd be happy catching a glimpse of him.
-x-
Olga brought two items to Aphard's kitchen table. The first, The Daily Prophet, he'd been expecting, but the other was a plain white envelope with black letters stamped upon it. CYGNUS, they spelled.
At first, Alphard set it aside to drink his tea and read the newspaper. Once he was through with that, he set down his cup, stood, and picked up the envelope, ready to give it to his sleeping brother. It was time to rouse him for work anyway.
But Alphard found that, for a reason unknown, he could not move. He stood rigid, turning the envelope over in his hands. A layer of dread coated his lungs, kicking up his heart. What on Earth was it about this plain envelope that was bringing up feelings he hadn't experienced since '47? Perhaps because he'd just read the news about his former classmate he hadn't seen since then. But that was good news, nothing to warrant this dread.
Stop it, he scolded himself, that's all over now. He willed his feet to carry him down the short hallway to his guest bedroom, his brother being the most frequent guest.
As expected, Cygnus was sprawled on the bed face-down, deep in dream-land. Alphard hated waking him, for he was always a sour, insufferable arse in the mornings. Cygnus was rarely in a good mood to start; he showed up at Alphard's, usually unannounced, when he couldn't find a girl to bring to Aphrodite's Lounge and Hotel to spend the night. Druella had just given birth to a daughter and, according to Cygnus, "both scream day and night like bloody banshees," thus into the arms of a willing witch he ran. Alphard learned to simply let his brother shut himself in the spare room and leave him alone.
"Cygnus." He shook his shoulder until the elder rolled over, grumbling and rubbing his eyes.
"What is it?" he muttered, sitting up and looking around. Disappointment crossed his face when he saw that he was in Alphard's flat and not next to a naked witch. The scent of rancid firewhiskey assaulted Alphard's nostrils.
"Come on, it's half-eight," he prompted. "Here, Olga brought this." He flung the envelope into Cygnus' lap and left the room.
After clearing up the breakfast mess, Alphard decided to get going to the Ministry on his own, since Cygnus apparently planned to sit in the bath for the next hour. However, once he arrived in the Atrium, his brother caught up with him, doused in Parisian cologne with eyes only slightly tinged red.
"I won't be needing your bedroom tonight, brother," he told Alphard, mood exponentially lifted. "So you can go on and invite a witch over." He winked and continued before Alphard could think of a reply. "I've got an important meeting that's likely to keep me."
"Er...alright," Alphard said slowly, but Cygnus was already trotting ahead, calling to someone in the Wizengamot.
The Atrium was bustling with wizards swinging briefcases and taking harried footsteps in all directions. Alphard was caught in the mob headed toward the lifts, nodding to an acquaintance here and there.
The first three lifts were instantly filled well above capacity, so he waited for the fourth, thinking of his brother's words, his excitement about this "meeting." What was so special about it? Cygnus had never expressed such enthusiasm over a witch before. A prickling in his stomach nagged him about that envelope. No doubt the sender was who Cygnus was going to meet with this evening.
"So what of it, then?" he muttered to himself as the lift finally arrived and swung open the gate.
Despite logic telling him Cygnus' affairs were none of his concern, the prickling persisted until a bright voice said from behind him, "Hello, Alphard!"
He turned and the layer of dread in his chest abated as his eyes fell on the gorgeous blonde witch standing behind him. "Hello, Mel. What a pleasure to see you again so soon."
She smiled, showing her teeth. A warm flush crept to Alphard's neck. "Indeed. I should pick this lift more often. I usually go for the right one, see."
He could only nod dumbly. They'd seen each other not two weeks ago, but she'd been on the other side of the lift with about 30 people in between them. Her close proximity was stealing some of the air from his head.
"Have you read the paper?" she asked, grinning broadly now. "Harper's invented some sort of mind-trick!"
Alphard chuckled, feeling slightly drunk. "Yes, I've read it. I've known since our Hogwarts days she would do something magnificent."
Mel was positively beaming at him now. "I'm so proud of her! I sent her a congratulations, but perhaps I'll invite her to tea one of these days—oh, here's my floor. See you around, Alphard! Pardon me…"
She made her way through the others and out of the lift. Alphard watched her go, stopping his arm from reaching out and his mouth from opening to ask her to wait. He wanted more of her, but he knew she was not ready yet. Her family was still recovering from the previous decade and she wished to be there with them.
He'd take what he could get. Just that brief encounter with her was enough to lift his spirit as he entered the seventh floor. He had a mountain of paperwork on his desk and at least five meetings to coordinate for the Minister, but he'd get through it gladly if he could keep her smiling face and lilting voice in his head all day.
Hopefully one day he'd see that face every day, waking up in bed in the morning, after work, out on the town, or simply over tea. Alphard would wait patiently for that.
For now, he would settle for a brief encounter in the lift here and there, as long as she smiled and greeted him with the cheer she still held onto, despite it all.
-x-
Three o'clock after six hours of training and Harper's day was only half over. She had a shift this evening in the medicinal potions lab and a stack of protocol sheets waiting for her second arrival home late this evening.
She noticed on her walk down Diagon Alley that she was receiving more looks than usual. Her lime-green St. Mungo's robes sure helped, but many were recognising her face from the morning paper. A block away from her building, she bumped into Beatrice Bones, formerly Winter. "Congratulations, Harper!" she cried, throwing her arms around her.
"Thank you, Beatrice," Harper replied, patting her on the back before pulling away. "How are you and yours?"
"Just wonderful! Gerald is speaking in sentences now. Oh, the things he puts together! And Michael's at the Ministry all the time, you know how it goes. Say, you should come round sometime! We live on Gemstone Alley." She pointed down a tiny street around the corner.
Harper privately doubted she'd ever find the time to visit Beatrice or anyone else, really, but she nodded anyway. "That would be swell."
"Too right. I've got to run! Goodbye, Harper!"
"Goodbye." Harper pulled out her keys and went to her building. She lived on the top floor in the only flat she could find with two bedrooms—one for her, one for Annie. The Selwyn inheritance, along with Harper's wages from the potion lab, paid for the flat and Annie's day-companion.
When she entered the flat, she was greeted with silence. "Annie?" she called, turning toward the far bedroom. As soon as she took a step forward, something white on the kitchen counter broke apart and burst into a flutter of wings. She let out a gasp, dropping her bag on the floor as she instinctively shielded herself from the unknown.
Slowly, Harper lowered her arms and looked up. The white mass turned out to be a flock of doves flying overhead. A pair of them held a white ribbon, holding it between their beaks as they flew in opposite directions. When they were about three feet apart, the ribbon morphed into a silken banner, dropping open. CONGRATULATIONS, HARPER, it read in silver script, LOVE, THE MCCREADYS.
Harper grinned, heart filling, as the banner broke apart and rolled into silk flowers, growing stems and gathering into a bouquet. The doves carried it to a crystal vase on the fireplace mantel before flying out of the kitchen window.
Still smiling, Harper inspected the flowers, bringing them into the kitchen. On the way there, she spotted an envelope on the tiled floor with her name on it. The doves must've left it behind, for she recognised the script as Mel's.
She tore it open and pulled out a short letter:
Dear Harper,
Congratulations on your mind-trick! It's truly brilliant. I'm so proud of you! So are my parents and Auntie Bertha; they send their well wishes. I can't think of anyone who deserves success more than you.
Love always,
Mel
Her last sentence tightened around Harper's heart. She wondered if she really did deserve it, for she'd kept the memory charm on Mel intact for all these years. Many hours of sleep were lost in debate as to whether she should lift it or not.
In the end, Harper decided that not only would it be safer for Mel not to remember the behavior book, it would be better. Those years had been hard enough for her best friend; she did not need to relive them. Harper was half-satisfied with her choice but sometimes, like right now, she questioned if it was the right one. According to the St. Mungo's code of ethics, a wizard had the right to access their full mind, but Healer Samusenko emphasised that moral decisions didn't always have a clear answer.
Thus, Harper had done the next-best thing she could think of, which was to track down Mel's Aunt Bertha and lift that charm so she could remember and return to Meeker Street.
Shortly into 1948, after Grindelwald's defeat, order had been restored and many of the decrees rescinded. The Minister, Leonard Spencer-Moon, warned the relatives from which the muggles were removed that it might be impossible to restore their families to the way they were prior to the Regime. The muggles had been strongly Obliviated and sent to the countryside as laborers for wealthier muggle families.
Spencer-Moon urged their wizarding relatives to think hard before adding their names to the list of memory charm reversals. The lists led to a lengthy process rife with hurdles and resistance; it often took months just to find the muggle. Shortly after finding out the McCreadys had placed Bertha on the list, Harper went out to accelerate the process.
She'd found her on a farm in a quaint town some 100 kilometers away from London. Bertha had seemed happy enough, but Harper had bore witness to how much Bertha cared for the other McCreadys. If she'd ever found out they'd existed without her, missing her all this time… Well, it wasn't fair.
It had taken quite a bit to break the charm and even longer for it to fully dissipate. Bertha had, understandably, expressed some doubt, but Harper had managed to coax her on a London-bound train. As the train glided through the fields, more and more of Bertha's memory came back until she recognised the girl sitting beside her, and believed her. There had been a lot of crying that day from both Bertha and Harper.
Recalling it now, Harper's eyes stung as she set the letter on the kitchen counter. To abate the tears, she picked up her bag and pulled out The Daily Prophet. There she was, her development spelled out around her for all of Magical Britain to see. It was surreal, to put it simply.
She checked her watch—half-past. Her shift started at five, but she had to prepare supper and get Annie to the fourth floor for treatment before then. Where was Annie, anyway? She'd never leave the flat on her own.
Harper found her in her room reading, apparently ignorant of the orchestration in the kitchen. "Hello there, my prodigious sister," Annie teased, looking up.
"Mm-hmm. Have you eaten?"
"Camille brought me some treacle tarts earlier," Annie told her, placing a bookmark between the pages of a thick text and setting it on the table. "But I ought to eat before treatment, yes?"
"I suppose." Harper had eaten a late, heavy platter for tea, but she fixed up a light supper for two. After they ate, they changed into their respective robes and headed out.
Diagon Alley was much busier now, since more and more wizards were released from work. On instinct, Harper took Annie's hand as they waded through the masses. Thankfully, by Florean and Fortescue's, the crowd died down a bit, allowing the pair of witches to stroll idly. They had at least 45 minutes to get to St. Mungo's, more than enough time.
She was still noticing quite a few glances her way, more than before. Normally, the Healer robes and Annie by her side caught enough attention as it was, but now her face from the newspaper added to the pull of interest. Fighting hard to keep her back straight and eyes ahead, she felt her cheeks flushing; she never did like to be the center of attention. She reminded herself how she got in the news and let a wave of pride ripple through.
"I can't believe I'll be Healer Messier soon," she mused out loud. September seemed so far away, but it was only a few months more. Of course, there was still the heavy round of exams to get through in August.
"And Healer Murdoch shortly thereafter," Annie pointed out, eyeing the emerald ring on Harper's hand.
Harper immediately let go of her sister and clutched the ring. She'd forgotten to take it off. Aside from wanting to prevent it from any harm in the lab, she also felt a bit callous wearing it in front of Annie. She glanced at her sister, but Annie was looking the other way, seemingly unbothered. She'd taken the news gracefully when Felix had proposed in December, but her behavior after had slightly wavered. Now she had adjusted, hopefully.
It was odd for Harper to think of herself as Healer Murdoch, but she'd also get used to that, she supposed. With Felix rising to his father's place in the Floo Network and she in St. Mungo's, they had potential to become quite the pair.
"Harper," Annie said suddenly, her voice high-pitched and hesitant. "I think…"
Harper clasped her sister's hand again. "Are you alright?"
Annie nodded, thinking hard. Harper searched for traces of madness in her eyes, not spotting any. "I think...I want to try going on my own today."
"Oh!" Harper blurted in surprise. This was new; Annie refused to go anywhere without her sister or the day-companion. "That's a great idea, but...are you sure?"
"I reckon," Annie replied uncertainly. "I've got to try eventually, right? Might as well be now." She nodded as if convincing herself.
"Well, I fancy a spot of tea," Harper told her, "so I'll be over there if you...need to come back." She pointed across the way to a small shop called Tildy's Tea and Treats, which sold expensive but delicious tea in all flavours.
Annie nodded and turned away. Harper watched her back disappear into the Leaky Cauldron, filled with a mixture of pride and apprehension. It was far too early to hope for Annie's independence, but this was a giant first step.
She walked toward Tildy's, lost in thought. What an exciting day it had been so far. Was Annie truly ready for the London streets? Now, though, the pressing question was what kind of tea Harper should treat herself to. The selection included green with vanilla, earl grey with a hint of raspberry, or she could stick with green but with lavender—
"Hello there, Harper," said a familiar voice behind her. "What a pleasure to see you again."
She turned and found herself face-to-face with a tall, dark-haired wizard in black robes. Though his cheeks were slightly hollow, shadows around his eyes, he was still handsome and recognisable as Tom Riddle.
"Oh, hello," Harper said, unsure of how to address him since he wasn't her professor anymore. "It's a pleasure for me as well."
He smiled at her, but his eyes were cold and empty, even more so, it seemed, than the last time she'd seen him. "It's been quite an eventful four years for you, has it not? Soon to be Healer, discoverer of new treatment—so many accomplishments. Congratulations."
"Thank you, sir," she responded, lowering her eyes to the cobblestone street. Clearly, Riddle wasn't losing his charm anytime soon.
"I can't say I'm too surprised," he continued, "seeing as you were one of my brightest and most ambitious students." As she raised her eyes to his, he reached out, took her hand, and brought it up, inspecting the gleaming emerald. "This is more unexpected. When's the wedding?"
He lowered her hand but didn't release it. She gently tugged it out of his grasp, her fingertips enclosing the ring again. "We are planning for next summer."
Now she was glad to be wearing the ring, for a quick clench of desire tightened her abdomen when he'd held her hand. The corner of his mouth lifted as he watched her; he'd likely noticed. Deciding a change of topic would be best, Harper asked, "How was your sabbatical? Are you here for good, then?"
"For now," Riddle replied. "I suppose I'm staying in London indefinitely."
"Not returning to Hogwarts?" she prompted, noticing he hadn't answered her first question.
He shook his head. "Not in the plan right now. I'd love to discuss it more, if you wouldn't be opposed. Perhaps you'd like to join me for supper at Mariani's?" At her hesitation, he added, "Felix surely wouldn't mind if you caught up with an old acquaintance, would he?"
Knowing full well Felix would mind if she went anywhere with this particular acquaintance, she simply shrugged. "It's not that, sir. I've got a shift tonight at St. Mungo's medicinal potions lab, see. In fact, tonight I'm working with another of your former students, Theobroma Tauriello. Do you remember her?"
"Of course. She was almost as memorable as you. Almost," he emphasised pointedly, holding her eyes captive. Again she felt his fingers close around hers, lifting her hand.
"Perhaps next time, then," he said before planting a soft, slow kiss on the back of her hand, his eyes never leaving hers. "Farewell, Harper. I hope I do see you again soon."
A surge of arousal overtook her as she licked her lips. "You as well, Professor," she answered, fighting to keep the surge at bay.
Riddle squeezed her hand before letting go. "I'm not your professor," he reminded her, giving her a small grin as he turned away. "To you, I am Tom."
"Farewell, Tom," Harper said, frozen still. She watched him walk into the crowd. Just before his figure was overtaken by the bustle, he turned back to look at her, smiling when he saw that she was still standing there. A second later, his dark-haired head vanished from view.
To ground herself, Harper fingered her ring once more and checked her watch. The encounter had taken up her spare time before making the journey to St. Mungo's. Ah well, she didn't need to spend galleons on fancy tea, anyway. She realised she'd been honest with Riddle—she was glad to see him again.
A pang of regret passed through her chest as she headed to the Leaky Cauldron. She would've liked to accept his offer, though she would never betray Felix like Riddle had apparently intended her to. But her former professor had taught her so much, and she'd be lying if she said she wouldn't jump at the chance to receive his instruction, especially now at this turning point in her life.
Alas, it would be impossible without a physical relationship no matter how loyal she vowed to be to Felix. Riddle might needle his way in like he'd done at Hogwarts. If so, she'd have to give in or reject him. No, better to keep away, though she wouldn't mind running into him from time to time.
Won't Theobroma be thrilled to hear he's back in London, she thought as she stepped into the muggle world, smiling to herself.
-x-
Half-past ten: the group of wizards were due to congregate in this old hotel room in about 30 minutes. The barman, who to Tom's distaste shared his name and always liked to point it out, had been nonplussed at the request of nine wooden chairs. If one of his Knights decided not to show up, his absence would be glaringly obvious.
Other than the chairs, the room was bare save for a narrow bed, bedside table and lamp, a smaller table with a bottle of firewhiskey and goblets, and an old rocking chair, in which he sat now, looking down on Diagon Alley. In one hand was a goblet he suspected had been watered down. In the other, he held Rowena Ravenclaw's diadem.
Her besotted daughter had not led him astray: it had indeed been in an Albanian forest, and it had taken Tom an agonising two years to find out which. It turned out to be one of the smaller ones, the hollow tree next to a country lane. He'd gotten to know that spot rather well, as it had taken him a week to recover and move on. The ritual had been much more difficult to perform than with the diary and ring. Nevertheless, he had returned to normal with one more horcrux under his belt.
He ran his fingers over the eagle made of silver and pearls and blue gemstone in the center. Perhaps he should wait a bit to make another horcrux. Most likely, he wouldn't have a say in the matter, since it would take time to track down another of the founders' treasures worthy of his soul.
He tucked the diadem into his robes. He had yet to think of a safe place for that and the diary. The idea with the cave kept cropping up, but that was to be reserved for the locket. That was the one he had to get his hands on next.
Quarter to eleven—they were due in fifteen minutes. Tom was curious to see if the minions kept their word. The important ones, Cygnus Black and Abraxas Malfoy, would. The rest were disposable, though Murdoch's growing influence in the Floo Network would simplify affairs as well.
Tom took a sip of firewhiskey and looked around the room. His plan for the first half of the evening had been to have Harper Messier here or somewhere else with a bed, flat on her back. However, his attempt had been half-hearted at best, since he knew she wouldn't betray her beloved Felix so early into their engagement. No matter; the time would come, after years of putting up with Murdoch's idiotic behavior and a couple of brats, when Harper would come crawling to him. He smiled at the image, picturing the hesitant lust in her eyes that afternoon. He'd have her again eventually.
Ten to eleven—no time for sexual fantasy. No time for drinking, either. He set the goblet down and stood, smoothing out his robes. To bide time, he stood in front of the window and gazed down at the pub-goers, dressed to impress, acting like little puppets on marionette strings. From the third floor, they were small like ants, which was essentially what they were.
CRACK! The first arrivals were, as expected, the wonderfully eager Black cousins. "Ah, Cygnus and Orion," he said, approaching them and shaking their hands. "It is delightful to see you again."
"You as well, my Lord," they chorused, bringing a brief grin to Tom's face.
"Please help yourself to some firewhiskey," he offered, gesturing to the small wooden table. "And take a seat."
Once the Blacks sat down, more cracking filled the air as wizards Apparated into the room left and right. His old Hogwarts mates, Lestrange, Avery, and Mulciber, greeted him first, followed by Yaxley, Rosier, and Grisham.
Murdoch arrived a few minutes later, of course. The git would be late to his own funeral. "My Lord!" he cried enthusiastically, waltzing right up to Tom, ignoring everyone else. "I have eagerly awaited your return."
"Good to hear, Felix. Congratulations on your engagement. I can think of no better witch for you to spend your life with."
"Thank you, sir," Murdoch replied, unsure whether Tom was goading him or not. "I look forward to being married."
"Don't, it's no walk in the garden," advised Yaxley before draining his goblet. Tom heard Yaxley had taken a sixteen-year-old bride from one of those war-ravaged countries, looking for money and English citizenship. Merlin knew what Yaxley expected to gain from the union, but he clearly wasn't getting it.
Tom let the wizards chat and refill their goblets before calling them to attention. "Please take your seats, gentlemen." With satisfaction, he noted that they assumed more or less the same formation as the final meeting before he left for Albania.
He remained standing for another minute, absorbing their mixed admiration and anticipation. An empty chair sat between Yaxley and Rosier: Delmont had not shown up. Tom would find his whereabouts and take care of him later.
"Gentlemen, my loyal Knights, it is a pleasure," he said. "I have returned even stronger and willing to ascend only the most noble and prosperous to the top of the hierarchy. From what I've heard thus far, you are all doing a fine job of carrying out your duty to the superior pureblood race. Now that I know who all is here, please raise your hoods over your heads."
Only Grisham's eyebrows wrinkled in confusion. The rest diligently pulled up their hoods until their faces were in shadow. Hurriedly, he followed suit.
"Excellent. This is how we must operate from now on: in shadow. Under Grindelwald's Regime, we were allowed to make open moves. The current administration will not grant us that right—but that does not mean we will be any less victorious in restoring proper order."
He took a seat at the head of the group and raised his goblet. "Remember, gentlemen: magic is might."
"Magic is might," they echoed, raising their own goblets.
Under his own hood, Tom let the corner of his lips turn up for half a second behind his goblet. With these powerful wizards still under his influence to this degree, he would only grow stronger. The Ministry wouldn't stop the force of Lord Voldemort. Nor would Dumbledore, nor would anyone else, nor anything else, not even Death itself.
-x-
The End
-x-
AN: Thanks for reading!3 Hats off to you for getting all the way here!