Harry slammed her hands down in frustration, causing a loud, ungodly roar of protest to bounce around the sparse room. She might have winced at the jarring noise, if not for the short, sharp tsk of her music instructor, which pulled her attention to the deep frown lines that mapped across his face. She could almost hear his words before his mouth began to form them; no doubt they would consist of another reminder to respect one's instrument.

"It's impossible!" She whined quickly, effectively precluding his reprimand.

"As a Briahna Master of over fifty years, I can assure you it is entirely possible. Now, where is your right fourth finger supposed to be?" Mr Grantham tried to press on, but his calm, patient demeanour only stoked Harry's frustration, and so even though she knew she was just being petulant at this point, she couldn't help but take her hand from the ivory keys altogether and lay them pointedly on her lap.

"It's impossible for me!" She snapped. She felt like slamming her hands again, but the resulting sound truly was awful, so awful in fact that she idly wondered why Tom didn't use it as a form of punishment.

"It certainly will be with that attitude." Again the man didn't raise his voice, or respond with anything more than words and somehow, a deepening of those folds across his aged face. Harry was feeling so aggravated after the last half an hour trying to tease out any kind of pleasant sound from her instrument, that she felt on the verge of angry tears. She didn't know how he could just stand there so unaffected.

Mr Grantham had been teaching the Briahna for over thirty years. It was a notoriously difficult instrument to master, and so he was utterly desensitised to fits of temper and tantrums from wizards much older than the famous Potter child. He'd lost count of how many times his pupils had drawn their wands on him during lessons – as though their own lack of skill was somehow his fault. He had never taught anyone this young before though, because the instrument required a certain level of control over one's own magic that didn't usually manifest until well into adulthood, if at all. The Briahna was much like a Piano in appearance, and one of its sounds came from the same application of keys and strings as its more common counterpart. However unlike a Piano, the ivories were infused to draw out and conduct a person's magic in the same way as a wand, though to a much gentler, subtler degree. When played correctly, the direction of magic and even the type of touch to the ivories created a sound similar to the muggle Theremin (the loss of which was the only thing Mr Grantham found himself mourning after the events of the 1st September). The two sounds played together from a single instrument were hauntingly beautiful, but it was so difficult that whenever he agreed to teach, most of his time was spent wishing for temporary deafness.

He had a feeling this would not be the case with the Potter Princess however. She could already play the piano at a level typical for her age, and had made huge strides in only this short month he'd been seeing her, even though she'd tried to quit several times. Lord Black was paying the considerable cost of her tuition, and he'd had several conversations with Lady Malfoy while at Hogwarts in which she'd stressed any protests, or attempts to walk out on Potter's part should be ignored. His professional reputation was pretty untouchable, but gaining the acclaim and, dare he wish, sponsorship of two such powerful families was worth making the effort with this promising child.

"It took me five years to reach a point where I dared play even simple pieces in front of other people. And I was well into my thirties at that time." He decided to try a little encouragement. "You were warned the Briahna was a long term endeavour in our first lesson. If you are not up to the challenge, you should not have taken it up."

Harry scowled. The Challenge. That was the reason she'd asked to learn the stupid, impossible instrument! She'd wanted the challenge. Wanted to feel she could accomplish something impressive. Tom didn't play any instrument, and she was giddy at the idea of accomplishing something he hadn't. She was an idiot! She should have signed up for the piano or violin with her friends – surely they were difficult enough! Now Narcissa was refusing to let her change her mind. Her adoptive mother hated her, she thought.

"Ok." With a defeated sigh, Harry returned her focus to the tauntingly blank keys.

By the time her two hours of hell were up, Harry wanted to blow off some steam, so she walked down to the courtyard and met up with the girls.

The Board of Governors had forced Dumbledore to open up the school for extracurricular studies over the weekends. At first, the cautious old man had been paranoid about what these additional classes would entail. That the request had come around the same time as Voldemort's return didn't sit at all well with him, and he imagined the school being turned into a Death Eater training camp every weekend, which was something he would obviously never allow. He was primarily concerned with the lessons his new staff members had offered to teach for free – a red flag if ever there was one – but so far they seemed harmless enough. There had been no discrimination either. Even the dance classes Narcissa Malfoy was offering twice a month were open to muggleborn students. It was odd, and a little unsettling in itself – surely Malfoy would never condescend to volunteer her time to 'mudbloods' unless there was some outside force compelling her to do so. Even then, Tom must have had some scheme behind this bizarre tolerance.

His only real concerns so far, however, came from the physical education Moore and Gabor were providing. He invisibly observed every lesson so far, and so far it only seemed to consist of aerobic exercise, stamina training perhaps. Stamina was clearly vital during prolonged battles, but given all the other benign clubs, maybe it really was simply about improving fitness. He imagined Tom must be incredible busy arranging the eradication of muggles and domination of the wizarding world, and though the man surely had plans for Hogwarts, arranging simple little extracurriculars was likely beneath his notice, and unworthy of his time. Why would Lord Voldemort care what the students were being offered at a time like this? Maybe he didn't really have any part in this dramatic change. Maybe arranging arts and language etc. classes in order to hide one class that strengthened a bunch of children who may or may not one day grow up to fight for him was a stretch too far. Maybe.

The duelling club might have made him worry if not for the fact it was being run by Flitwick. On several occasions Albus had found himself monitoring the club to see how well his older students were able to fight. He despaired that it had come to this – to assessing risks from the children he was responsible for educating.

"Maybe we should join the PE club too?" Harry suggested, as Draco and Theo joined them on the stone benches.

"Not a chance." Pansy declared surely, and was quickly backed up by Daphne and Millie.

"Yes, why on earth would you want to get so gross and sweaty every morning?"

"I don't even know why you two bother!" Millicent said to the boys. It wasn't like them at all – there was something a little undignified about exercising.

"It's a great way to keep fit." Draco said pompously. In truth, he'd never willingly choose to run around the lake and get so disgusting! It wasn't his choice at all though. As he and Theodore were the students closest to Harry, the Dark Lord wanted them strong, and even on the mornings when he was just about ready to curse Voldemort and accept the consequences, Draco could still begrudgingly acknowledge that being a focus of the man's efforts would work out for him in the long run. His father had been ordered to ensure he knew all he could in the way of defensive and offensive magic before he came to school, and Moore was ensuring him and Harry remained top of their class, as well as providing extra lessons when possible.

Harry's desire to join the boys came from that restlessness she couldn't shake. She did homework assignments before dinner on the day they were given if possible, as Narcissa had always made her do it that way, so most of her weekends provided time to simply relax with her friends, but as much as she enjoyed their company, lately she could only sit for so long before wanting to do something else.

Rodolphus Lestrange walked proudly along Diagon Alley. With his wife beside him and Cassie safely within the baby carriage that hovered a step ahead, they were an almost regal sight to behold. Which was a testament to Bella's self-control, because she was having to use every scrap of will power she possessed to keep her face serene, and not break down cackling the way she so desperately wanted to as she eyed the ants around her!

The alley wasn't too busy, so they were able to make their way easily. Not that they'd have had a problem even if it'd been mid-summer, Bella thought as her mouth threatened to break into a grin: the moment they'd stepped foot into the alley, everyone else had fallen silent. Some stared with wide frightened eyes and ran into nearby shops, while others watched tensely, preparing to defend themselves if necessary. Nevertheless, whatever their thoughts about the presence of Death Eaters at Britain's busiest shopping hub, everyone moved out of the Lestranges' path quickly. It was a good job they did, because Bella's blood vibrated with anticipation at all the wonderfully agonising curses she imagined inflicting on any person that lingered too long around her baby.

The only thing that made Bella behave was the fear of disappointing her master, and marring his brilliance. As far as the public had to know, Rod and Bella were here to visit the bank – to reclaim their accounts and belongings, to amend their wills, and to register Cassiopeia and set up a trust fund. In reality, they had been ordered here to test public opinion.

It had been almost two months since Voldemort made his return known to the world, and the muggles were playing their part in his scheme beautifully. Every country had endless reports of muggle violence. The looting had been impressive in Britain, but the somewhat carefree attitude had quickly morphed into anger towards the authorities for allowing the power to remain off for so long. But then the days continued to pass, and the anger turned to panic. At first the military had tried to distribute food and water to nearby towns, but without transportation it was almost impossible, and there was a run on what little made it to the people. The muggles doubtless had access to enough non-perishable food to sustain them for a little while if they rationed, but they weren't prepared to wait for their stocks to run low, and were already turning on each other. Some had grouped together to care for the vulnerable and share what they had, but the Prophet was only reporting on the worst of humanity, like the man that killed the family of five that lived next door in order to steal their barbeque and supplies, and the gangs breaking into people's homes. The paper was never graphic, but the savagery it reported had made most wizards sufficiently afraid or disgusted with the muggles. And that was just the tip of the iceberg.

Then there was the case of Emma and Nathan Crawford. The half-blood witch and her muggleborn husband had attempted to assist his muggle family, as many of their kind had done, however the muggles caught wind of their witchery. Inspired by the escalating chaos, blame was thrown around and soon a mob formed to deal with those they held responsible. The couple had apparated out of harm's way, before Nathan went back for his family, thinking he could easily stun or incapacitate the muggles, but there were too many and he had been killed. In her grief, Emma had begun speaking out against those without magic, giving speeches about how she'd been misled about their true nature, and rallying people together in support of the Dark Lord, who she now saw had been right all along. So far in England Nathan was the only magical death, but there were reports of more from across the globe, and wizards were demanding that the Ministry do more to protect their citizens. Stories were circulating that the muggles had plans to raid wizarding areas – it was all nonsense, but it did feed the fear and harden the people against the muggles' plight. The lower classes were starting to join their Pureblood friends in openly calling on Lord Voldemort for reassurances. Nothing united people like a common enemy.

And so this little test was to be carried out. Tom wanted to see whether the people would have anything to say about murderers, fugitives, walking the streets in broad daylight. The people would fear his ranks, as they should, but had their thinking been changed enough for them to embrace that fear?

"There were two off duty aurors there!" Molly Weasley cried in disbelief. "Why didn't they do anything?" It was a midday, midweek meeting, and so only a handful of Order members were present in Albus' office at Hogwarts.

"What could they do? Arrest the Lestranges and their infant daughter in the middle of Diagon Alley?" Kingsley argued tiredly.

"Molly, imagine what would have happened had they tried." Remus added, though his heart wasn't in the discussion at all. Fear was being tempered by respect and hope, and Voldemort was winning support every day. Without the people and the government behind them the Order would struggle to make an impact. Maybe that was Sirius talking, he mused. The apparent defeat of his most impassioned and audacious friend had certainly affected his own motivation. "There are already movements to have the Death Eaters pardoned – acquitted, even – how would it look if the ministry attacked them? Never mind that they are now a young family; it would play right into Voldemort's propaganda."

"So we should ignore the law, just because a few disagree with the outcome?"

"It's more than a few, I'm afraid. And every government answers to a higher anarchy." Albus spoke up finally. "The ministry only serves at the pleasure of the people, and unless you wish to instigate marshal law, the people will always hold sway: to attack any Death Eater at this time would be political suicide." A decent Minister would have fallen on his sword and clamped down on Death Eater activity – something that was essential at this critical time – but they already knew Bagshot was a dark wizard, so there wasn't a chance the man would throw away his power and popularity by doing the right thing!

Albus could sympathise with the resignation starting to creep into Remus' eyes. Tom really had played this out better than he'd ever expected. The Order had been caught completely unawares by the initial attack, and things were progressing so quickly that they'd been playing catch-up ever since. Tom had forced the muggles to do most of his work for him: Society had rapidly collapsed, with chaos and anarchy taking hold. It was harrowing, and heart-breaking, and frightening to watch. With the exception of those at Westminster, muggle deaths couldn't even be tied directly to Tom. Having come to rely on technology for so long, the muggles no longer kept horses and oxen in sufficient quantity to farm and distribute food to so many people, so they were looking at a massive population decrease due to starvation alone. The cities that homed people by the millions would be the most effected, because apart from what could be plundered from stores they had no food source. And of course winter was approaching…

Even so, most of the damage in the wizarding world was done long before the attack: the dark leaning media and leadership had been shifting perceptions for years, and Albus despaired to see broad swathes of the population ready to follow Tom's lead following this latest 'nudge'. Out on the streets, the divide between Light and Dark had never been so stark, and the Light side seemed to be shrinking with every passing hour. Those that tried to defend the muggles, those like the Order, were called traitors to their own people who would put magical lives at risk for the sake of outsiders, whereas Voldemort seemed to have been vindicated.

The opinions that had been built up over the years couldn't be changed in a day, and Albus had come to the saddening conclusion that his fight could no longer be a political one. He would continue to speak out, of course, in order to bolster his ranks and ensure both sides of the story were being heard, but he knew further support couldn't be won that way.

His only option now was to kill Tom – to cut the head off the beast and remove that option from the public altogether. In order to wage a physical war however, Tom had to come out into the open, and Albus knew by the time that happened it might very well be him that was seen as the aggressor. History is written by the victor, so if they had enough soldiers to fight and win, he could pick up the pieces and lead the world through this dark time – if not, well, Albus was a good man, and he was prepared to fall on his sword in order to save his people from the dark future they blindly welcomed: let him be remembered as the terrorist who murdered a Champion of Magic if that's what it took.

A new chapter, finally. I'm sorry that it's taken so long. If you read my other stories you'll know I've had a lull, but am not abandoning anything.

Thank you for reading, and for sticking with me.

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