Some say the world will end in fire,

Some say in ice.

From what I've tasted of desire

I hold with those who favor fire.

But if it had to perish twice,

I think I know enough of hate

To say that for destruction ice

Is also great

And would suffice.

- Robert Frost

July 1996,

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

Albus Dumbledore took a deep breath and reflected upon the past few months.

Everything that could go wrong, had gone wrong. And unfortunately, It looked to only get worse. The Order was in shambles after Sirius's death; the turmoil had convinced the Macmillians and Bones to withhold their already stingy funding. Between the feeble contributions of the Weasley's and the depleted vaults that had been seized, the Order's financial state was far from desirable.

He'd briefly considered siphoning more money from the Potter and Black Vaults, but he suspected that the Goblins would take notice. He had been drawing from them rather liberally in the past few years. Those damned money grubbers were always last time he'd gotten into a scrap with the Goblin nation it hadn't been pretty; It'd ended with three dead goblins and one obliviated Ludo Bagman.

But now he sat at his desk, running out of time, resources, and options. Amelia had been killed weeks ago, leaving him with no influence in the ministry except for his own authority as Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot. Under normal circumstances the position would have been invaluable.

But now, the title was effectively useless. Voldemort was capable of executing any dissenting member of the Wizengamot at this stage in the war, and his lonely position wasn't enough to stop it within the Wizengamot.

His plans were collapsing around him.

And he hated it when things didn't go the way he planned.

The elder wand slid from his wrist holster, his analytical gaze following it and studying it as he had so many times before. The history behind the object had always been troubling for a multitude of reasons. The main one being it's propensity to attract daring and ambitious wizards who seeked the wand for their own likely nefarious purposes.

Albus could understand the allure. An ancient weapon crafted by death himself, that massacred it's way through history passing from the hands of wizard to wizard. It was all rather epic, wasn't it?

But in the recent day's Albus had pondered the question of the Elder Wand and had finally solved the conundrum of the so called "Deathstick". He'd realized within a month of owning the wand, that his magic was barely amplified. He'd been disappointed that the wand wasn't working for him all those years ago, and he'd carried that disappointment for a long time, using it because of the destruction of his own.

He'd always wondered what about the Elder Wand had caused so many wizards to produce terrible, but absolutely extraordinary feats of magic.

That was, before he came across the answer. Frankly he'd been dismayed by his own lack of perceptiveness for a problem that really wasn't very difficult.

He'd come to the conclusion that the elder wand was no more powerful than the average Ollivander creation. But, that was not to say the stick had no powers. He hadn't recognized it fifty one years ago, but he was old and experienced now, enough to recognize the touch of extremely subtle passive legilimency.

At first he thought that a death eater had infiltrated the castle, and was attempting to see into his mind. But one, does not own a wand for half a century without familiarizing themselves with it. Wands themselves, were inanimate objects, but most magical items had a… certain flair to them, a distinct and unique presence that most wielders of magic familiarize themselves with.

He could feel the impassive touch of the so-called "Wand of Destiny'' burrowing into his mind, and attempting to influence his decisions. And for a few select moments, Dumbledore had reveled in the dark fantasy that the Elder Wand had crafted in his mind. A seductive, and opulent vision that perfectly embodied all of his dreams and hopes into one exquisite painting.

And he could hear the whispers that emanated from the wand.

Take it.

You could change the world.

You could have anything and everything. And they were so, very tempting.

And therein lay the true power of the Elder Wand. The moral of "The Tale of Three Brothers" aligned itself with the trope of one meeting their demise as a result of greed. Antioch asked for the most powerful wand in all of existence and he was the first to die. Cadmus was also greedy but not as much as Antioch, he was the second brother to die. But Ignotus, who was a humble man, asked for a thing that he could use to live a long and happy life. And thus because of this he attained a great age and passed The Cloak of Invisibility to his son.

Well that was, as the youth said, "bollocks". Whoever or whatever Death had been, he or she had no intention of teaching a lesson. They were sadistic beings, who had loosed three artifacts, or at least two (Albus couldn't discern the true purpose of the Cloak of Invisibility) that would kill and torture thousands through their lifetime.

The elder wand influenced it's wielder into doing terrible things, fulfilling their deepest and darkest desires, and inflicting as much damage as it possibly could while doing it. All while simultaneously looking for its next owner. It was a parasite.

He shook himself out of his musings; There would be time for that later.

Albus flicked the wand, and a cabinet opened, a dusty wine bottle accompanied by a gold-encrusted goblet floating to him from it. He stood up and uncorked the bottle with a sigh, as he poured the crimson liquid into the bejeweled chalice. Now he had to dedicate his considerable mental prowess to finding a way to stop Voldemort. Again.

Over the course of the years, he had dedicated himself to discovering how Tom had become what he was now. The boy had always been a strange and unfriendly child, sullen and irritable as opposed to his more agreeable classmates. He'd never really liked the boy, ever since their first meeting at the orphanage. Other teachers raved about Tom's prodigious magical talent Albus could still remember the day he'd decided to investigate the sixth year dormitories after the death of Myrtle Warren.

As a rule, Dumbledore tended to avoid the Slytherin Common Room and it's adjacent dormitories; The wretched house was chock-full of future Dark wizards, and, if he could, he would abolish the bloody place. Unfortunately Pureblood Slytherins still enjoyed a comfortable seat on the board of Governors and the Wizengamot. Abolishing Slytherin House would never be allowed.

But on that particular day, he had forced himself to go down to the "Snake Pit". The entire school was forced to take part of mandatory safety drills, given the recent tragedy, leaving the dungeons entirely empty.

He remembered stepping into the dorms and wrinkling his nose in disgust. Potions ingredients everywhere, and Playwizards strewn around. Then there was a bed, tucked into the corner of the room. Strategically placed to draw as little attention as possible. Unlike the others, this one was neat and ordered. The bed was immaculately done, the chest perfectly aligned with the foot of the bed and the cupboard above the headrest, filled with tidily kept books that gave the impression of being old and weathered.

He'd stepped forwards, before noting the distance between all of the beds and the singular one. Strange he'd thought as he'd taken a step forward before drawing his foot back and casting a relatively small Revelio. It never hurt to be cautious.

Looking back on it, he'd been lucky he'd had the foresight to cast the detection spell, for if he had finished the step, Albus was fairly certain he'd have lost his leg to the Dismemberment ward that Tom Riddle kept around his bed. He'd looked further before realizing that the ward wasn't alone and was accompanied by two Decapitation wards and an Entrail Expelling curse cleverly merged with the headrest of the bed.

He'd been disturbed by that experience for many reasons. It wasn't uncommon for student's to keep wards on their chest and bed's to stop peers from stealing their things, but not only was keeping a Decapitation ward around one's bed extremely excessive, but Albus wasn't even sure where the boy had even found out how to make those kind of spells.

It was extremely dark magic, and it was not the first, but perhaps the most indicative sign of the path that Tom Riddle had begun to embark on.

And now Tom Riddle was forcing another similarly troubled young man down that path that only would lead to pain. Draco Malfoy.

Albus wasn't sure what to think about the boy. He wasn't as independent, or self sufficient as Tom had been. He was cruel and cold to those he deemed inferior but yet… the boy possessed a spark of fierce intelligence that Dumbledore would have loved to cultivate.

Severus had informed him about Draco's task, and Albus had shrugged it off, the boy was nowhere near his full potential as a wizard and he had no doubt that the young Malfoy could be easily manipulated into engineering a situation where the mantle of defeating Voldemort would be placed on Harry's shoulders.

Unfortunately, his time was running short. He would need to find one of Tom's horcruxes soon. The manor would be the best place to start, but more research would be required. That was for sure.

He raised the goblet in a toast to Fawkes who was perched upon his stand, watching him with his usual impassive fiery countenance, before bringing it up to his lips and taking a sip.

The wand fell to the stone floor and the world immediately began to spin in every which way as he was forced to steady himself on his desk. A sudden strong wave of melancholy hit him like a lorry barreling down a highway as his leverage on the table collapsed. He fell to his knees and looked towards the ceiling, like a sinner who had suddenly found himself in church.

Something was wrong. Very wrong.

His occlumency barriers had mysteriously collapsed, and the tide of regrets and pain that he had kept locked away for so long had finally breached his mental defenses. He was drowning, drowning in memories of long forgotten crimes and regrets.

Blood poured out of his nose and ears, a noise akin to a thousand tribal drums being beaten in a raucous cacophony pounded his ears. He was in utter, and total agony; a feeling of all-encompassing pain that overwhelmed and silenced all other feelings and senses.

He stood up shakily under the mental onslaught and stumbled towards Fawkes who was strangely silent. A fact that he would have found extremely abnormal under usual circumstances. But Albus didn't - couldn't think about it. He staggered in front of the incandescent red bird and choked out a cry for help.

There was no answer. Fawkes merely stared at him, his usual calm and serene eyes narrowed coldly, a term that Dumbledore would never have thought to associate with Fawkes before. He reached out, to touch the bird in an attempt to perhaps , and recoiled back as if he was stung at the sight of the phoenix's flames disappearing and re-igniting with a dramatic "WHOOSH".

In place of it's usual golden-red plumage was an ethereal blue corona of flames that was so cold Albus could feel the biting air from almost three meters away. He stretched his hands out in an attempt to shield himself from the almost searing light, but to no avail as it bled through the cracks in between his hands.

Suddenly, the light dimmed. Albus lowered his hand cautiously to see an rather dusty and extremely feeble Fawkes who looked rather miffed that he was in his pre-rebirth stage almost two years before schedule. The phoenix opened its mouth to presumably say something but never got the chance to make a noise before it exploded into a supernova of gold and red light.

On the other side of the room a cloud of what could be best described as oil coalesced into a fiery outline of an eye, floating vertically with a dark slit down its length. Unbeknownst to Dumbledore, the thing looked almost identical to a certain fictional muggle symbol of another dark lord.

He scrambled for his wand before it could do anything. "FINITE …" Before he could dispel the strange entity, he found himself taking a step back involuntarily as the shape began to pulse.

Then there was a voice.

A voice that Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore had not heard in a very long time.

"Albuuus ," it croaked in a voice like a knife scraping against stone.

"What is… this?" Dumbledore asked shakily, "Who are you?"

"You know who I am," It rasped.

Dumbledore shook his head in denial and slashed the elder wand throughout the air, creating a wave of purple energy that was merely absorbed by the floating miasma of fire and darkness.

Then it's tone changed. It's whole voice gained a light and lilting hint that was unmistakably male.

"You've grown weak," it said gleefully.

"No," Dumbledore said. "You are not real." He attempted to reset his carefully crafted persona of genial wisdom as he furiously cycled through options in his head.

"No. No, no, no, no. I am very much real," It laughed. "And you- you are not even weak, you are a mere fraction of your former self," It pulsed angrily.

"And yet … here I am. After all of these years… I set my return years back to gloat. I gather enough strength to level a mountain only to see… this."

"Yes, well I'm sorry I'm not as strong as I was fifty-one years ago," Albus dismissed easily. He'd given up on the pretense of the wise old grandfather. He could never lie to him. "You can't defeat me, and you won't ever find them, so I really don't know why you have come here tonight."

"Albus, come now," The specter chuckled, "I return after so many years… And this is how you treat me.."

"You got what you deserved."

"I deserved to be banished to Hell?" it asked.

Dumbledore sighed as he discreetly cast a diagnostics charm on the shade "Surely you don't believe that you were the so-called 'Good Guy' in our conflict?" Strange, he thought. The charm had revealed to him that whatever the entity was, it was living.

The spectral entity shifted into a more triangular form and laughed deeply. "My dear Albus… I must confess, I find myself disappointed. All these years… still so close-minded.."

Dumbledore heaved out an irritated sigh and raised his wand, "I find myself tired of this facade. You are a spirit and little more than a faceless, nameless ghost of a distant past. Begone."

The shade laughed again, "Did you really think you could banish me from this realm permanently? Muspelheim may be the most isolated of those on the Great Tree, but you couldn't possibly think… that I hadn't put any contingencies in place, in case I became… indisposed."

"Frankly, there was no chance of me ever finding your little caches anyways. Your Lieutenants are safely locked away meaning that no one on earth except me, could use whatever you stored in their anyways." Albus explained.

It scoffed spitefully "The fallacy of thinking that all I had kept in storage were weapons is reprehensible. But let us not dwell on that… I have come here tonight to ask you a question that has plagued me for a very long time."

Dumbledore leaned forward "Ask away spirit."

The spirit scoffed again "Imagine deluding yourself into thinking that you could defeat me…" It jeered "I've come to ask... Did you know what imprisoning me entailed?"

"What" asked Dumbledore confusedly.

"Did you know what the effect of imprisoning me would be? Forcing a portal open to another realm has side effects, you know." The spirit mocked "All those terrible things you did in our battles. Eventually you could no longer delude yourself into believing Light magic so you summ-"

"Enough. That was a different time."

"Some colors don't wash off."

"No, I don't believe that," Dumbledore said firmly, even though they both knew the words had shook him. "Redemption is possible for even the most lost souls."

"Still, so fucking predictable..."

The eye pulsed again this time changing its color from a fiery chaotic red to a cold blue light.

"The time is coming, Albus. You have allowed yourself to grow complacent, and in my absence another took my stead. You have hand crafted your own doom, Albus; Thomas Riddle, Cedric Diggory, Hadrian Potter. You will tear yourselves apart only to face me and fail.'

"Cedric Diggory?" Albus thought. It would be a thought for a later time, but now he had to call upon his long lost power.

"It's too late Albus," the shape was speaking almost gently now, "You cannot fight me. You are just a lone dying light among the shadows. Fifty one years is a long time, and I have not been idle. The time of the Light is over, the age of magic is soon to come… And when it arrives we will walk freely again. "

Dumbledore shifted, he could feel the power welling inside of him. The purifying cleanliness of the Light filled him, saturating his skin to the point where he looked and felt clammy and cold like a cadaver left under water for days on end.

Albus raised the Elder Wand against the eye," I have hidden them in places you know not. You will never find them, you will never escape, and you will never return..." His voice slowly turned old and strong like an ancient god speaking through a funnel.

"Begone wielder of darkness, for you have been banished once before."

The shape's voice began to pitch and morph into something else.

"You are faceless."

It began to glow, brighter and colder like a dying star.

"You are nameless" Dumbledore 's were no longer the same brilliant blue but an iridescent white color that no mortal soul naturally possessed.

"And you are formless."

Light began to burst out from the wand and it crashed into the darkness of the entity as the two primal magicks began to devour and dispel each other ravenously.

The entity began to pulse rapidly and angrily. Then it began to shriek incoherently.

"I AM COMING! I WILL RETURN! OUR TIME GROWS NEAR! MY CHAINS ARE BREAKING!I AM COMING FOR YOU!" It shrieked as it began to dissipate and disintegrate.

"BEGONE!" Dumbledore roared in a voice that wasn't quite his own as he slashed the wand darkness disappeared before reappearing for a brief second and imploding into a corona of fire that blew him back into the wall and knocked him out.

He awoke, hours later, bathed in the light of the breaking dawn inside the burned out shell of his chambers. Half of the beautiful room was gone, destroyed in the aftermath of an explosion not unlike a muggle bomb.

He stood up hastily and raised the wand. "Reparo," he tried, but he had already expected the spell to be unusable. The room had been tainted by the Dark, and would not be repaired easily. Albus reached out with his mind and sighed in relief as he felt the comforting presence of his wards. If his private wards had held, then no one would have felt, heard, or seen his battle with the spectre.

He scrambled forward towards the wreckage that had once been his desk and searched among the rubble.

His hands burned and stung as he sifted through the still hot cinders furiously until he finally saw his prize. A shining gilded key inscribed with the words "tenebris, tantum gloriam dabit vobis."

He picked it up, holding it in front of his face so it could catch the light of the rapidly breaking dawn and smiled properly for the first time in half a century. Not the foolish genial smile of an old man resigned to his fate of teaching idiotic children basic magic, but the grin of a young man possessed by the glory of adventure and war. He knew that the Elder Wand was influencing him, but frankly at that point he didn't care.

The dream was alive. His enemies were alive, which meant that his plan wouldn't work. If what the spectre had said was true, then Albus could not die at the hands of Voldemort. In fact if the shape was telling the truth, then Voldemort was a mere distraction compared to what would come next.

He would change the world, he would be the savior! Not Harry Potter, not Nicolas Flamel, not Gellert Grindelwald. Him!

He would lead Wizardkind out of the shadows so that they could take their rightful place among their muggle brethren, so that they could create a world of equal and fair opportunities. A world of freedom and prosperity. A world without the dark.

A golden world bathed in light.

November 1997,

Somewhere in Britain

Harry and Ron glared from either side of the transparent barrier as though they were seeing each other clearly for the first time. Harry felt a corrosive hatred towards Ron; something had broken between them.

Permanently.

"Leave the Horcrux," Harry said quietly, his soft voice trembling in scarcely controlled fury.

Ron wrenched the chain from over his head and cast the locket into a nearby chair. He turned to Hermione.

"What are you doing?"

"What do you mean?" asked Hermione shakily. She was trembling. Why was she trembling?

"Are you staying, or what?"

Hermione spluttered like a fish out of water. "R-Ron we promised to s-stay, remember? We –"

"I get it," said Ron roughly. "You choose him."

"No!" Hermione cried, panicking. "No – please listen – Ron, come back!"

Harry stood perfectly still and silent as he listened to Hermione begging Ron not to leave. His eyes were closed, heart thumping in his chest. He waited for a heart-stopping as he heard the familiar crack of Apparition, Hermione's voice was suddenly gone. Green eyes snapped open when the eerie silence washed over him.A single tear slid down his face; she was gone, they were both gone - they had left him, and he was all alone. Harry slowly moved towards the mouth of the tent and frankly wasn't surprised to see that there was no one outside. The forest clearing was eerily silent, devoid of any signs of life.

Harry flicked his wand and whispered, "Homenum Revelio!"

Nil; Sirius had left him alone, Dumbledore had abandoned him, and both Ron and Hermione had deserted him.

He was alone; just as he had always been his entire life.

Five Years Later,

October 26, 2003

Ilvermorny School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

Green eyes snapped open as the relentless buzzing finally won its battle against the beautiful silence that was sleep.

Invictus Perseus Grace rolled over with a groan and fumbled blindly in the dark for his wand. He dragged it off of his desk haphazardly, causing a book to crash on the ground somewhere off in the darkness, causing Malcolm to mutter in his sleep.

He took a moment to focus, as the hold of sleep left him, and his Occlumency barriers kicked in. Any annoyance that he was or had felt was replaced by a cool layer of mental defenses.

He slashed his wand raggedly through the air before muttering a spell under a breath and watched as the pearly, semi-translucent grey screen materialized in front of his head. Slowly colors began to bleed into the frame, eventually forming one bleary eyed, hastily dressed Jason Grace.

"Perce?" the blonde asked tentatively.

"Jason? What time is it?" he asked, adjusting his position, so he could rest against the backboard.

"It- It's two in the morning."

Percy blinked rapidly, as Jason who had predicted th is quickly said, "I know- I know, Fuck..."

"Jason," Percy said coldly, "I'm gonna ask you a question, and if I don't like the answer, I'm going to slap the shit out of you tomorrow."

"I already know-"

"Why are you calling me at 2 in the morning?"

"Yeah- I got it, it's just- it's just you remember how a few weeks ago I found Clarisse, dunking some firsties head in the toilets?"

"Yeah..."

"And then after that, you remember how I asked you if you wanted to prank her, and you said 'That's a great idea Jason! You should do that'?" he said unconvincingly.

"Uh-huh," Percy frowned, "BecauseI remember saying that 'you should most definitely not do something like that' because that would be a definitively terrible idea that would guarantee you a date with Lupa. That ring any bells?"

"Maybe," he answered evasively, "But, assuming that I didn't hear you, and all I heard was your full support for my plan-"

"Which I never gave," Percy ground out through his teeth.

"Semantics."

"I'm gonna stop you right there. Either you tell me what you did, or I'm gonna go back to sleep."

"Alright, alright. So you know-"

"Cut to the fucking chase,".

"Me, Mike and Hazel charmed the Wampus shower water to transfigure into toilet water with a two week delay runic array that I built." he finished in a single breath, before wincing like he expected a punch in the face.

"So..."

"So, approximately an hour and forty-five minutes ago, Clarisse La Rue, and the rest of Wampus house woke up smelling like they'd been showering in sewage for two weeks." he grinned.

Percy looked at him for a moment, before smirking slightly "All right, I gotta admit, that was a good one," his smirk faded away. "That doesn't answer the question though. Why are you calling me at two in the fuckin morning." Jason bit his lip. If the New York accent was coming out, then that meant he was really irritated.

"Lupa."

Percy groaned audibly, eliciting a sleepy "Shut the fuck up!" from Malcolm.

"Shiiit. Really?" he asked

"The one time you pull some dumb shit like this, Lupa finds out?" he said suspiciously.

"I- nevermind- I-I don't really know how she found out- look just get to the Wolf House in ten."

"Alright, alright, I'm coming," Percy huffed, getting out of bed. "You need Mal?"

"Yeah, it's probably better he's here for this." Jason said before finishing with "Cause she recognized his rune scheme."

Percy's head snapped back. "You used that rune scheme?"

"Yeah..." Jason said anxiously

"You fucking imbecile, that array was designed for decoy's, Malcolm built it with the purpose of framing someone, Dakota's girlfriend. The thing practically sets off a magical flare." He cussed colorfully.

Jason swallowed "Shit."

"Jason, using this scheme is like using a Croissant as a fuckin dildo."

"I thought that-"

"No, no, no, let me be more clear. It doesn't do the job and it makes a fuckin mess" he snarled.

"Look can you help me out?"

"Fuck you, Grace!" Percy yelled at the screen, waving his hand through the screen, causing it to dissipate.

Percy flicked his wand again and muttered a charm igniting the fireplace and filling it with flames as he stood up and stretched his legs experimentally. He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes as he picked up an unnecessarily thick book that was aptly titled "Thick Book: An Incomplete History of Thick-Ass Books." Without looking, Percy chucked it behind him approximately somewhere in the direction of Malcolm Pace.

His aim was true. He was answered with a strangled yell as he rummaged through his closet before grabbing a dark green football hoodie.

"Get up!" he called over his shoulder.

"Hey man, fuck you." Malcolm yelled back. Carolina accent loud enough for Percy to hear, but soft enough so that he wouldn't care.

He pulled a sweatshirt emblazoned with Chris Martin's face over his head as he asked "What did they do?" to Percy who was brushing his teeth in the bathroom.

"I'll tell you on the way, come on." he growled "I'm just pissed off right now."

Percy cast a warming charm on himself while he stood outside of the house waiting for Malcolm to leave.

"Christ, It's been six years and I'm still not used to this weather," Malcolm muttered to Percy as they set off into the frigid Alaskan Autumn night.

They trudged through the forest before summoning a small canoe to get them off their little island as Percy relayed the information Jason had given to them.

August 26, 2003

New Orleans, Louisiana

Nedward Mullen finished fastening his tie before giving himself a once over in the mirror, nodding confidently at himself before swallowing nervously.

He grabbed his jacket from his coat rack, took his last look for a long time at his now yellow and black pristine apartment, and appararted away.

Nineteen Hours Later

Ministry of Magic, London

"Welcome, to the British Ministry of Magic, Mr. Bridges!" Ron greeted brightly, smiling at the Assistant Director of the Department of International Magical Relations. Minister Fudge was late, and with his own boss on sick leave, that left Ron as the highest authority available to greet the Deputy of the American Department of International Magic Relations and the Head of the The Department for Protection of Magical Species.

"Thank you, Mr...?" The man was looking at him expectantly, frowning a little.

"Weasley, sir. Ron Weasley. I'm a junior assistant in the office of the Minister of Magic. The Minister will be here shortly." He extended a hand for the man to shake.

"I was under the impression that we were supposed to meet Mister Fudge," A curt female voice came from the left and for the first time Ron saw that the Assistant Director was not alone. Accompanied by two masked Aurora wearing long dark coats and a tall woman with strangely entrancing eyes. They had been standing in a group of shadows that Ron could swear hadn't been there before, silent and unnoticeable.

"You'll have to excuse Marie, Mr. Weasley. She's a busy a single Wampus Cat is a rather difficult task, let alone three."

Ron nodded. However, when he looked up and met her eyes. He let out an involuntary gasp as he saw in front of him stood one of the most beautiful women he'd ever seen; adorned startling gold eyes.

Of course he would be remiss not to think about the woman's delightfully fat arse, and her rather large boo-. There would be time for that later. And besides reflecting upon her unusual eye color lead him to a shocking conclusion.

With horror, he realised she wasn't the only one. There were two others with burnished bronze eyes in the Auror cohort.

"Vampires!" he hissed, stepping back and pulling out his wand. He hadn't paid much attention in school, but Dumbledore had drilled the distinct characteristics of dark creatures into his head.

Unfortunately, that was when Cornelius Fudge, Minister of Magic, and his Undersecretary, Dolores Umbridge, entered the Atrium with their own Auror guard causing all hell to break loose.

"Vampires!" The British Aurors drew their wands, prompting the American's to do the same.

"Ladies and gentlemen, please!" Bridges shouted. "These men and women are part of my Auror guard!"

"Impossible! creatures like them in the Ministry! Atrocious!" said Umbridge, face red with fury, but at the same time frightened.

"What are you playing at, Mr. Bridges?" asked Fudge, clearly making an effort to sound authoritative. One wrong move and the British Ministry could find itself at odds with MACUSA. (Nevermind, that they'd been at odds for the greater part of seventy years).

"I'm not playing at anything, Minister Fudge. They are part of my Auror guard. In fact, Selene Rivera is one of the best Aurors our academy has produced in years."

"But vampires? In society? They are Dark creatures, Mr. Bridges; dangerous Dark creatures," said Umbridge, her tone rising. "And to bring them here, into the Ministry! They deserve to be banished or even better, exterminated!"

Mikal Bridges frowned, and Ron could see his eyes darkening. From what he knew of the man, from Dumbledore's little instructions and his own research, he'd worked as an Auror before transferring to International relations, so Ron supposed he'd worked hand in hand both with and against vampires.

"I'd like to ask you, Madame, not to speak such things about our companions. I do not know how things work here, but they are our equals in the States," Mr. Bridges demanded, fury radiating off him in waves.

Fudge realised this and tried to salvage the rapidly deteriorating situation. "Ahem, of course. So, you see...Mr—"

"Bridges," whispered Ron, but it appeared that Bridges and his guard heard him say this and they didn't like what they were hearing.

"Bridges, yes, Mr. Bridges, you see vampires are Dark and dangerous creatures. We do not allow them inside our Ministry Building, nor in our society. Relations between their kind and ours is strictly forbidden."

Ron wanted to correct the Minister, but he didn't want to risk being reprimanded and drawing attention to himself. It wasn't that relations were prohibited, simply socially unacceptable.

Fortunately, one of the other two vampires, a tall man with his face covered by an ornate mask leaving only his eyes as evidence of his true nature, spoke up.

"Forgive me, Minister," he said, and he said the word with such contempt that it made Ron shiver, "but I believe that relationships are what is forbidden here, not relating to, as you say, our kind."

Ron frowned. He'd heard that voice before.

Fudge paled and rushed to correct himself. "Yes, yes, relationships, that is what I meant," he paused. "Well how would you know the intricacies of our laws." he indignantly asked the masked auror.

Bridges cut in quickly "Mr. Mullen immigrated to the States during your," he coughed snidely, "internal struggles."

There was a gasp from the british side, as wands were leveled at heads. Ron himself had let out a little snort of anger. He would have exploded in rage, but Dumbledore had taught him how to suppress his volatile temper, so all his thoughts about Fucking yanks making jokes about one of the most devastating conflicts in magical history" and These Americans are a bunch of arrogant filthy bellends.

"Well, you'll simply have to make an exception. Selene Rivera, Nedward Mullen—" ,he gestured to the man who'd corrected the Minister, "—and of course my colleague Marie Levesque are some of the best and most competent aurors and public servants that we have. While we do agree they are not human, they are beings with human levels of intelligence and agency, and they deserve to be treated as such. In addition, relationships between vampires,witches, and wizards in the United States are completely legal."

Ron couldn't believe what he was hearing, but in a way, he understood. Looking at Maria, one couldn't tell she was a vampire except for her eyes and even then, one might think they were charms or Muggle contacts. She emanated a dangerous aura, but no more than any skilled Auror, and that commanded respect too. It was a weird feeling considering that he had been brought up to fear and avoid vampires all his life. To find that another country saw them not only differently but as equals, trusting them in positions of power, disconcerted him. He had no doubt the ministry in it's everlasting incompetence kept vampires out of the public's good graces on purpose, but for the most part he had believed them when they talked about how disgusting and terrible vampires really were. It was also strange that Dumbledore hadn't seen fit to inform about the rather benign nature of the dark creatures, but he was Dumbledore; the greatest wizard in magical history. He had his reasons.

The official narrative was that vampires were highly dangerous creatures; one need only remember Count Dracula, the dangerous vampire-wizard who had enslaved their women population and burned his way through Britain until he was expelled by Scorpius Malfoy I.

"This is madness!" Umbridge spoke again, and like always Ron wished she hadn't. "We cannot allow monsters in our country and especially in our presence! They ought to be killed!"

To Ron's surprise, it wasn't the vampires who reacted, though he noted that their expressions and body language showed they were on high alert. No, their colleagues and Mr. Bridges were the ones who drew their wands and stepped forward, ready to attack.

"Now you listen here, Madame," said Bridges, his voice barely restrained, "You will not threaten or insult my team again or you will suffer grave consequences." Seeing that the British Aurors had their wands in their hands too, he sneered, "Hell, just being in the same room with you all, reminds me of our annual summit with mundane counterparts down in Washington...".

While it was obvious that the insult passed over Fudge's and Umbridge's heads, Ron and the other Aurors gasped. They'd just called the entire Ministry of Magic, no better than the American Government, which based off what Hermione said was ineffective and stupid. What sort of moronic country would elect a man named Bush to be their leader? What a ridiculous name.

Besides comparing them with muggles. Ron had to admit that the MOM had done a relatively good job dealing with the aftermath of the war. After the battle of Godric's Hollow, the ministry had placed strict and harsh sanctions on dark objects, they'd re-imprisoned the surviving death eaters and banished the dementors, leaving Azkaban a slightly less depressing place. Dumbledore had regained control of the Wizengamot and with a majority of the dark faction imprisoned (but somehow that slimy, slippery, bastard Lucius Malfoy had stayed free) the Light was the majority power in Wizarding Britain, and created laws that rightfully banned any magic outside of light magic.

But those were merely the official changes, the best and perhaps most important difference from before the war was probably the purges. A year after the Battle of Godric Hollow, Dumbledore had introduced a bill known as the "Purification Act of 1999" that would allow Dumbledore's private army, the Order of the Phoenix, to hunt down the last remnants of potentially dark creatures in Britain. The Order of the Phoenix had been deployed to the wilderness of Greater Britain on a full scale operation.

Dumbledore had titled it The Cleansing and it had lived up to its name in more than one way. There were three parts to The Cleansing. The first one was to absolutely exterminate potentially dark creatures. They'd hunted kelpies, trolls, Dragons, nearly wiped out Giants from Britain and had even discreetly attacked a goblin conclave which belonged to Clan Ashtbreakas. They'd hoped to recover the secrets inside the golden tombs as Goblin Magic was incredibly rare and powerful but when Ron had executed the outpost leader, he had unknowingly triggered a failsafe ward which would lock the vaults in a different plane of reality. Dumbledore had been angry when he'd heard the news and had used his newfound wealth and resources which he had liberated from the Death Eater vaults to assign a talented group of wizards to try to reverse engineer the spell. Last Ron had heard they'd had no success.

The second objective was to eliminate any opposing forces in Britain. The more isolated houses like the Mcdougals of Scotland, the Griffiths of Wales and the O'Briains of Ireland had not pledged their support to Voldemort, but it was common knowledge that most elder houses leaned dark. Ron and his team had been dispatched to eliminate them.

Killing the children had been the hardest part.

The third (and easiest in Ron's opinion) part was Hermione's job. Before the war there had been three political forces in Britain. The first one had aptly deemed themselves the liberals and they were by all intents and purposes the good guys, and seeked to slowly assimilate magical and muggle society together, until they were merged, preferably with the wizards at the top to guide the muggles towards their full potential.

The second faction was known as the neutrals. The lot of them were a bunch of self serving criminals that gave little to no fucks about the well being of society, and only focused on acquiring more and more money for themselves.

Slytherins, predictably. Notable names that Ron knew included the Engrams and the Appleworths, both families ran large chains of apothecaries that catered to the general public and not-so-discreetly worked with La Familia Mercurium which Dumbledore informed him loosely translated to the Sons of Mercury; the Roman god of thieves. An apt name for one of the biggest magical criminal organizations on The Continent.

The final faction was known as the traditionalists. They made up the majority of the Wizengamot; the cowardly lot. A bunch of bigots who weren't courageous enough to join the death eaters and instead had resorted to preserve the so called "the pure wizarding society" with total and utter obstructionism. Every bloody liberal-led bill was met with a filibuster that could potentially take a year to be resolved at most and there had been no way to stop it until now.

After the fall of Voldemort power had shifted. Conservative Purebloods were public enemy number one in Great Britain, and more and more people were embracing the Light. Not only was Dark magic banned in any aspect or form, but it was openly vilified by wizarding society, and rightfully so. People were abandoning their prejudices and were slowly warming up to the idea of reintegration into muggle society. Of course they would have the International Statute of Secrecy and in the ICC to deal with, but Ron trusted in Dumbledore's plan to deal with them.

With the great war with Voldemort over and their country barely allowing Dark creatures to exist, everything was safe. But change was coming. It was coming soon.

Cornelius Fudge may have possessed the intellectual capacity of a rock, but he realised that based on his auror's reactions something was going wrong and that there was trouble, and if there was anything he hated. It was trouble.

"Please, Dolores, they are our guests , even if we hadn't been informed of their guard's...peculiarities." He tried to say it in his most pleasant voice, but no one was fooled.

"I personally informed your office about this several months ago when it was decided that I, and not my boss, would come here to meet and discuss the cooperation between MACUSA and the British Ministry, so that as two nations we could cooperate together to work on the Triwizard Tournament. Several respected Senators who were in office during Grindelwald's reign of terror approached me and informed me that while you had different ways of doing things, I assured them that there would be no problems. Clearly, I was wrong."

Ron couldn't believe this. He was right of course, the Ministry was shit, but there was some level of respect that was to be afforded to a government even if it was the Ministry of Magic. Right?

Merlin, sometimes he wished Dumbledore hadn't given him this assignment. He missed hunting dangerous creatures, living in mansions and dueling death eaters on freezing mountaintops. Now he had to live in that shitty hole, Grimmauld Place living on the shit that Kreacher was cooking, so he "wouldn't arouse suspicions." That was all fine and well, but it irked Ron to no end that this was all because of that utter twat, Harry Potter.

That fucking cunt hadn't accepted his gracious apology and as soon as the war ended, he'd emptied his vault at Gringotts and fucked off to god-knows-where. Dumbledore had spent a week looking for him and unfortunately as much of a prick he was, Harry was more than crafty enough to evade Dumbledore. He'd been present for the aftermath of the search, when Dumbledore had returned to Hogwarts after unsuccessfully searching for him. He'd blown apart his office and almost killed Neville with a stray curse in rage.

They'd raided Black Manor, Potter Manor, Black Castle, Grimmauld Place, the Black Chalet, the Potter Fortress and even the Potter Library which was chock-full of ancient tomes on light magic that Hermione quite literally had spent a month reading and learning from.

"I'm sorry to cut through this delightful conversation," The golden eyed women interrupted bluntly shaking Ron out of his thoughts "But I have some business in the states, and unfortunately I won't be able to stay for… whatever the hell this is, so if you could direct me to the Department of Foreign Affairs..."

Ron seized the moment and spoke as fast as he could before the Minister or Umbridge said something even more inflammatory. "Mrs. Levesque- If you'll follow-"

"I'm perfectly capable of walking to my destination, all you have to do is tell me where to go. "

He had two jobs. To infiltrate the ministry and keep the wool safely over their eyes. The ministry may just have been useless at that point, but Dumbledore had stressed the importance of keeping up the facade of normalcy towards the rest of the world. His other task was to help set the Tournament of Doom up (The name had been changed given the new additions to the tournament ). Ron wasn't sure why it was necessary and Dumbledore had given him no clues, except making sure that all of their plans hinged upon this year. Regardless of the importance, the job for the most part had been relatively easy.

Except for the occasional Yank making his job, so much more fucking difficult.

His mask didn't crack

Ron's cheeks reddened and he opened his mouth to retort furiously, before stamping on his own foot discreetly. He took a moment to breathe in deeply before looking back up at the woman who he now noticed was remarkably tall, at the height of almost two meters.

He turned towards the end of the atrium towards one of the three hallways past the statue commemorating the losses at the Battle of Godric's Hollow and pointed towards a dark staircase tucked into the side of the wall.

"If you go up that staircase, and follow the hallway you'll come across an elevator exclusively for the use of the Department of Foreign Affairs and Sports." he elucidated mildly.

She gave him a more condescending look than any human being could conceivably muster, before walking away; her heels making harsh clicks on the black marble.

Ron turned back to Bridges who looked decidedly uncomfortable which was preferable to his earlier state of intensely irritated.

"Mr. Weasley, I am being honest when I say I do not want to remain in a country where not all my companions are welcomed and where some will even threaten them with death. However, for the sake of international cooperation, we will remain here and work together to make this tournament happen"

Fudge nodded, turning to Ron.

"Weatherby! You know what to do!" Then he promptly left, followed by Umbridge who gave the vampires a last scathing glare, and finally, the Aurors followed.

"Alright." Ron tried to make his voice as pleasant as possible. "If you would just follow me, I will lead you to the hotel where you will be staying." He forced his demeanour to appear braver than he felt. He was looking anxiously at the three vampires who seemed to look even more dangerous now that he was left alone with the group in the Ministry Atrium.

"Very well, Mr. Weasley," Bridges said, accentuating his name. "But first, let me give you a bit of advice."

Ron looked at him, startled.

"You are young and still have time to see differently. Do not let others' opinions influence yours. Use your eyes and your ears, and let experiences show you the truth of things." Ron was snarling internally. Fucking Yank! Who does he think he can lecture?

"The Minister just has a lot on his mind at the moment and—" Ron tried, but the man didn't let him finish.

"The Minister was late to an official meeting, didn't know my name, apparently doesn't even know yours, and he let his secretary throw out death threats without the slightest reprimand. If vampires are so dangerous, as I've been told several times, why did the Minister not provide you with any protection, hmmm?" All the American Aurors nodded in agreement. "If you were truly in the presence of dangerous creatures as they perceive my colleagues to be, wouldn't they be worried about your safety? It is clear that they don't care about anyone but themselves. Actions speak louder than words, after all. One can tell what sort of person he is by how he treats those he perceives as his inferiors, not his equals."

Ron frowned but said nothing. He gave one last long look at the americans before looking down.

Not for the first time, Ron cursed that arse Harry. It was all his fault. Every bit of it was that part's fault.

Well, it was only a matter of time, Ron assured himself. He and Harry would reconcile, like they had in their fourth year; and if they didn't then Ron would kill him. The love potion would once more take effect, and Ginny would marry Harry and if he didn't then Ron would kill him. One day he would get everything he had ever deserved and on that he would be free of the oppression and the world would finally notice him, Ronald Weasley, for who he was – a great wizard, not just the side-kick of the famous Boy-Who-Lived.

He mustered up a smile and said "Well if you'll follow me?"

Percy

"So… Let me get this straight." Malcom said in the voice of someone who hadn't gotten things straight yet.

"Because Jason and Michael were idiots, I have to-" the dark skinned boy turned to Percy who was casually flipping through a book, Jason who was beginning to look like he had schizophrenia, and Michael who was intently not looking at anything "We have to," he amended "go to England, to participate in a dangerous tournament that has a long history of fatal and debilitating injuries for what reason again?"

No one knew how old Lupa was. Some students said that she was born during the Revolution and was the daughter of a Delaware Medicine woman who had fought against the British. Some said that she really was Lupa; the Roman wolf goddess who trained demigods to fight for Rome. Percy didn't know what to think, given that the last time he'd researched Lupa's history she'd let him know what she thought about his activities very physically.

He rubbed his obliques cautiously, as he looked up to see Lupa bearing the same expression that she always had; a cold, disinterested mask that never cracked, never shifted and barely moved to accommodate the movement of her lips.

"Your concerns about the tournament, are warranted Mr. Chace, but unfor-"

"Lupa don't tell my concerns are warranted, just tell me that I don't have to go to fucking England and drink tea and eat crumpets!" he said a little louder. Malcolm's eyes flicked to Percy for a second who nodded imperceptibly before flicking back. Neither of them doubted that she'd seen the exchange, but Percy was of the opinion that Lupa preferred it when her student's tried to outsmart her.

Her voice hardened "Mr. Chase that is enough. The Triwizard Tournament is an excellent way to prove that all of your extra-curricular activities have not been in vain. I could offer you endless platitudes about bringing glory and honour to your country, but I get the sense that neither you or your friends," she tilted her head a single degree in the direction of Percy "care much about that. So instead I offer you an explanation."

Percy looked up sharply at her sudden change in tone of voice. She sounded…

Nervous. If she was nervous then that meant…

"What?" asked Malcolm.

"Our lord has spoken. The time is coming," Everyone in the room stiffened.

"Preparations are being made but the final step is… not an easy one." she said, her voice audibly becoming heavier. "Both of you have sworn yourselves to him and have-" she groaned as if she was in pain before slamming a fist down onto her desk.

"Prepare yourself!" she choked out, her eyes glowing like molten silver.

Malcolm took a step back and summoned his wand from his sleeve to hold it in front of him in a cautious manner.

Lupa screamed; a keening noise that split through the air and promised those who heard it, that pain would follow. She fell to her knees and seemingly fell unconscious.

"Bro, I'm finna bounce." he said to Percy seriously as they looked at their unconscious Dean.

"Don't be a dumbass," he admonished lightly before looking at Lupa "It's him."

As if on cue, Lupa's head snapped up sickeningly causing Malcolm to flinch back. In place of her cold silver eyes was a pair of blue fiery, churning orbs. The body of Lupa stood up and robotically sat back down into her chair before speaking in a voice that was certainly not hers.

"The time has come." she growled gutturally.

Percy stood up from his chair and pushed it aside knelt without hesitating, before lowering his head submissively. Malcolm mirrored his actions with a seconds delay. Jason and Michael were already on the ground.

"My lord." he said quietly and reverentially.

"Perseus… Malcolm… Iason… Michael "I offer a reward."" the voice said almost gently.

Jason looked up "A… reward, my lord?" he asked skeptically.

"A gift." the voice amended. Suddenly the lights went out, leaving the only source of light in the room; Lupa's eyes. Sparks were fizzling out of her fingers. Power -tendrils of hot, sizzling, electrifying power snaked their way around them putting themselves in position to enter their ears.

"Are you ready"

"Ready for what my lord?" Malcolm asked nervously.

"See for yourself" the tendril seized them, entering their brains feeding them flashes of vivid images. Splashes of bright colors, and roars of incredible noise and spectacle.

Pure emotion, Rage, Hate, Glory, Love, Lust. All combined to paint a vivid picture.

A raised throne of gold and marble elevated on a dais. On it sat Jason, a wreath of gold barely visible in his golden hair, resplendent in wizarding armor of imperial purple and gold. Flanking him on both sides stood Percy clad in dark blue and gold, and Malcolm in Silver and Gold. Behind them was Michael, still smiling casually as always in robes of Crimson and Gold. They stood under the night sky silently. Slowly the perspective shifted, so that one could see what the statuesque men were looking at.

Ranks upon ranks of armored wizards, bearing all manner of magical weapons, knelt in submissiveness. The air was practically burning with magic. It crackled and popped under the stars, which painted against the stars looked so much like diamonds. The moon glowed, and dragons and phoenixes glided through the night sky.

They were jolted out of the vision.

Jason coughed "What- what was that?"

The body of Lupa chuckled deeply "That. Was your destiny."

A/N: If you haven't read Percy Jackson, just treat most of the Americans that you don't recognize as OC's.

Please let me know what you think, reviews really help.