Severus frowned at the notes the proctor had taken while administering the Competency examination he had designed. It had, he understood, gone well, for the most part. There were several cases, however, where the student's results had not been one of the very comprehensive list of potential end-points and recommended marks he had provided. Two of them, he was quite certain, were the result of cheating — attempts to correct deviations in their potions by including ingredients they had smuggled in, creating interactions that shouldn't have been possible using the ingredients which had been provided.

This one was, he suspected, an effect of having missed four lines of instruction, skipping negligently from the first time the potion was meant to be left to simmer for two minutes to the second time. Which was a shame, because otherwise the potion had been brewed perfectly competently. Yes, it had exploded in the test-taker's face, but that was a result of following the directions to the letter after unintentionally deviating from them.

If the student had realised that something had gone wrong and made some attempt to correct the mistake, or even simply stopped when they realised they were off track, he might have allowed them a passing written-practical average. If the mistake had resulted in a subtle deviation, the signs of an impending explosion sudden, unusual, or non-existent, he might have given them the benefit of the doubt, provided their theory paper was exceptional. (Even the best could be laid low by stress and sleep deprivation, and it wasn't as though it was standard practice to tick off or cross out completed instructions — most potioneers, Severus suspected, had learned that lesson in exactly this manner.) But they hadn't been. The signs should have been noticeable for at least five steps before the actual explosion.

He could not in good conscience allow this child a qualification which would indicate to anyone else that they could be trusted to brew a potion competently, even with the instructions right there in front of them. Brewing by following the instructions precisely was acceptable. Following the instructions off the edge of a very obvious cliff — demonstrating even less awareness of the consequences of their actions than a thirteen-year-old Bellatrix Black — was not.

"One," he declared. He suspected that no one who had missed such obvious signs could have achieved better than a four on the written, so that should be sufficient to drag the idiot's average score below the passing threshold. "No, one-star," he amended himself, "with an annotation to the effect that the student would stand a decent chance of passing should they retake the exam with more care and attention to the instructions, or if they should happen to grow a brain and a sense of self-preservation over the course of the coming year."

Madam Desmarais, the Examination Administration Coordinating Director for Potions, chuckled, though Severus was only half joking. "Unfortunately, such annotations are disallowed by the examination board. Were they not, our evaluators would doubtless spend twice as long on every exam, expending their vitriol upon the poor children whose work they are obliged to judge, or else showering the rare correctly completed examination with such praise as to turn the head of any sixteen-year-old student.

"Speaking of which, Monsieur Chastain, the directeur for Written Magic, asked me to ask you about, oh, I know I wrote it down..." She shuffled through a stack of papers in the basket which presumably served as her in-box. "Ah, yes. Madame Marchbanks of the British Examination Authority has requested a second opinion in evaluating one student's Runes and Arithmancy competencies." Severus had an unpleasant suspicion that he knew exactly where this was going. "'When you speak to Maître Snape, I would be most grateful if you would ask him whether he is familiar with a Hogwarts student by the name of Lyra Black, and his opinion of her scholarship abilities.' Apparently her responses were so advanced as to suggest that she could not possibly have written them herself, despite no evidence or even circumstantial indications of cheating."

Severus groaned. Clearly it had been folly to believe that, even here, hundreds of miles from the latest mess Bellatrix had caused, and Powers only knew how far from the girl herself, that he would be able to achieve some respite from her persistent presence in his life. "Yes, I am familiar with Miss Black. It would be difficult, I dare say, to avoid her, as Hogwarts still employs only a single Potions professor," he groused, buying himself a few seconds to consider whether he ought to support the infuriating child being granted her OWLs or not.

On the one hand, it was highly unlikely that Black would be able to trace a failing mark and an accusation of cheating back to an unofficial inquiry made of him by the head of an unrelated department of the ICW's examination authority in Switzerland, and it was sorely tempting to sabotage the girl in any small way that he could in repayment for the trouble she constantly caused him.

On the other hand, there was a slim chance that the infuriating child might decide to leave Hogwarts after achieving her NEWTs, making her at least less immediately his problem, and in the meanwhile, if she were in the advanced Runes class, Ashe might be convinced to help him keep the girl too fully occupied to cause any truly catastrophic disasters while at school. Even if she didn't leave the school after her fifth year, he could probably convince Ashe to help Bellatrix design a Mastery project sufficiently complex to keep her distracted for another year or two. Especially if he told her that Bellatrix had actually implemented a successful solution to the ridiculous theoretical problem Dumbledore had posed to Ashe last week. (As part of a prank, on Sybil.)

"I understand that there may be some educational reforms in the works which would correct that issue. Directeur Zabini's department has been in contact with her counterpart here for several months seeking advice on implementing a system more similar to ours."

So, probably since Bellatrix had told her about her plan to kidnap Potter and fake his death, discrediting Dumbledore in the eyes of the entire bloody world, and removing the greatest impediment to any such reforms.

He sighed. This was the reason it was so difficult to do anything to truly oppose the girl — it was somehow always just slightly more appealing to cooperate with her, if only in the hope that she would move on more quickly if he did. And cooperation did generally lead to opportunities which her allies were able to exploit to their own advantage. It hardly mattered that she didn't create said opportunities intentionally.

"One can only hope," he said, in response to Madam Desmarais's news, before addressing her inquiry. "Miss Black would have had no need to cheat in order to produce such anomalous examination results. I have no doubt that, were it not for the fact that the guilds would flatly refuse to consider the application of an unqualified fourteen-year-old, she could take Masteries in Arithmancy, Applied Runic Magic, and possibly Magical Theory— Well, not today, but certainly by Lammastide. I expect it would take her some time to write up a suitable project for publication, you see. And yes, I am saying that she would think it amusing, and entirely possible, to take three Masteries with a single project."

In fact, Severus suspected that the flexible, mobile Portal enchantment she had so casually allowed Zabini to use to check on Potter last week would qualify, because as far as he knew, that actually was impossible.

The corners of Madam Desmarais's mouth twitched into a rather doubtful smile, amused by his resigned, slightly resentful tone, but also not entirely believing him. "Fourteen?" she repeated. "No wonder they suspect her of cheating."

"Indeed. My understanding is that she was raised by a cursebreaker who specialised in runic magic. And she clearly takes after her...mother."

Desmarais raised a questioning eyebrow.

"Black, Rosier, and von Helmsthal, Nineteen Seventy-Seven; Black and de Mort, Nineteen Seventy-Five, Seventy-Two, and Seventy-One; and De Mort, Black, and von Helmsthal, Sixty-Nine." Those five articles, published in the Arthrá, were the foundation of stable modern time magic, loath though anyone outside the international Dark Arts community would be to believe it. "I believe she also used the name Ochiá before Nineteen Sixty-Seven, though those papers are mostly theoretical reflections on the nature of Shadowmagic and the cross-planar arithmantic implications derived from comparisons of the Dark Plane and Apparition Space—" Almost nobody had read those (despite their having been published legally as well as by Miskatonic), and Severus was fairly certain that most people who had hadn't understood them. Lily had said they were brilliant, but he couldn't get through more than the abstracts before becoming hopelessly lost. "—and Hela after Seventy-Six. That would be the Hela behind Some Observations on the Werewolf Transformation and Potential Influences Thereupon."

Desmarais's eyes had gone very wide as she realised exactly who he was talking about, as he listed the time references. By the time he reached the end of his list, her mouth was gaping slightly, almost certainly because she'd actually read Hela's essays. They were rather different than any of Bellatrix's other work — more anthropological than arithmantic — and probably the most popular in the potioneering community, given Belby's extensive referencing of them in his discussion of the development of the Wolfsbane potion in the years after the War.

"Are you telling me Hela is — was — Bellatrix Black?" There were vanishingly few individuals with both the ability and the inclination to spend any amount of time observing werewolves and the process of their transformation. Hela was widely believed to be a vampire. "No, no. Are you telling me your Dark Lady somehow produced a child in the midst of your little War?"

Severus ignored the characterisation of the War as little — to a person who'd lived through Grindelwald's war, and the muggles' simultaneous Second World War, it was. "Yes, and yes, that is the prevailing theory regarding Lyra Black's origin. Surely you didn't think the Death Eaters spent all their time killing people. More to the point, I am also telling you that that child, though she almost certainly could find a way to cheat on the Runes and Arithmancy OWLs, would even more certainly have no need to do so, which you may feel free to pass along to Madam Marchbanks. If she still questions Miss Black's abilities, I'm sure the girl would be willing to sit NEWT examinations in those subjects when she returns from her holiday."

Honestly, he rather hoped Marchbanks would take that suggestion, something to inconvenience the girl for the first few days of the school year, at the very least.

Before Desmarais could formulate a response — her English was very good, but it did take her a moment to work through her sentences before speaking — there was a knock on her open door, drawing his attention to a short, plump man whose neat black goatee did nothing to detract from the roundness of his face. Severus recognised his lapel pin as the symbol of the ICW's Department for International Cooperation (or whatever it was actually called in French, he could never keep these things straight), and he was wearing a rather miserable expression, though his occlumency prevented any hint of negativity from tainting the space around him.

He spoke rather quickly, but Severus was far better at interpreting French than he was at pronouncing it. "Apologies, Madeleine, sir, for the interruption, I simply hoped to request a moment of your time, Maddie, whenever you may be free this afternoon."

"It is no trouble," Severus said, before reverting back to English. "I was just leaving, assuming our business is completed, Madam Desmarais?"

"Of course. And once again, you have our office's gratitude for your efforts in designing the latest exam. If you change your mind about attending the recognition ceremony in Bern, you will let me know, yes?"

"I expect I will be fully occupied by my duties at Hogwarts," Severus said smoothly, though he was quite certain he could escape the school for a single evening. He simply had no desire whatsoever to sit through a tedious political dinner, making small talk and wishing they'd use warming charms on the soup course. (They never did, it was déclassé.)

"Oh!" the diplomat exclaimed, interrupting his attempt to esca– er, to offer a polite farewell. "You are from Hogwarts? But then of course you must stay!"

Bugger. Severus had found that he rarely enjoyed any conversation with anyone who wanted to talk to him because he was a Hogwarts professor. Granted, it was a slightly better reason to seek him out than his renown as a former Death Eater, but only slightly.

Madam Desmarais, who rather unreasonably appeared to have no other appointments on her books this afternoon, smiled broadly, introducing him before he could come up with an excuse to leave. Other than simply not wanting to be there, of course. "Maître Snape, this is Monsieur Régis Delacour, one of the more...shall we say notorious members of our diplomatic corp. Régis, Severus Snape, Maître des Potions."

"You must call me Régis," the man insisted, forcing Severus to offer a similar degree of informality.

"And I am Madeleine," Madam Desmarais added. "Now, we are all friends — what has you so very flustered, Régis?"

Delacour closed the door before answering. "I have only just come from speaking to the Ministre. I have been given a new assignment, and I simply have no idea how to tell Apolline and the girls... The Office is sending me to Britain at la Toussaint, that—" The diplomat reverted to his own language to insult his boss before resuming in English. (Severus had no idea what casse couille meant, but based on the tone, he was guessing something like incomparable bastard.) "—had the nerve to suggest that this would be convenient for my family, to move at the holiday! As though I could possibly bring them with me! To Britain! I really may have to quit this time, Maddie."

It took Severus a moment to realise why it would be so impossible for the diplomat to bring his family to Britain. Delacour wasn't a particularly rare French surname, especially among muggleborns — he'd needed the clue of Britain being a particularly poor place to bring them to recall that it was also used by one of the larger veela clans in Aquitania when they were dealing with humans. Régis must have married in.

"Now, Régis, there hasn't been a significant act of terrorism on British soil since Nineteen Eighty-One, the Supreme Mugwump insists that his home nation is safe enough to host the Quidditch World Cup this summer, and then—"

"—and then the Tri-Wizard Tournament, beginning in the final week of October, yes, I know, that's the excuse behind this– this ridiculous excuse for an assignment! We — the Confederation — were invited to send a representative to participate in the judging of that farce of an attempt at international cooperation—" Wait, what? "—shameless publicity stunt, more like — and Moreau has, in his infinite wisdom, decided that I should be the one to go! To live alone, in exile, for the better part of a year, or else pack up my family and bring them with me — let the girls study at Hogwarts for the year, broaden their horizons, ha!"

"I presume I've been asked to stay to provide an opinion on whether it is, in fact, feasible to bring your children to Hogwarts for the year?" Severus interjected.

"Is it?" There was a certain note of desperate hope in the man's voice. "You must know the sort of things which are said of your country, and I mean no offence, truly, but is it as bad as they say?"

"That depends on any number of factors," he began, only to be interrupted by Madeleine.

"Régis is concerned, Severus, because—"

"Because he married a veela. Obviously. And race-traitors tend not to be looked kindly upon by my countrymen. Especially among the humanocentric Light, whose ideals have shaped our public policy for the past twelve years. I am aware of the problematic situation the Nineteen Eighty-Three revision of our creature–being code has created for the few veela who, for whatever insane reason, wish to come to what I believe you all consider a cultural backwater — not that I disagree. Part of the negotiations for the Tournament included adopting the primacy of I.C.W. laws and regulations at Hogwarts for the duration of the Tournament, in deference to the fact that there will undoubtedly be several veela and lilin among the delegation from Beauxbatons." Presumably Régis had left his assignment briefing early, because Severus couldn't imagine his superiors would have neglected to inform him of that particular detail, given sufficient time. "I also believe Karkaroff refused to allow Durmstrang's participation if Dumbledore insisted on limiting the magics that might be used in the contest to those legally permitted in Britain. As long as your family remain within the boundaries of the Hogwarts wards, anyone who attempts to harm them would be prosecuted to the greatest extent of the Confederation's laws, but whether your children would be safe is another question entirely.

"And before I answer it, I must know, what the bloody hell do you mean, you've been appointed as the I.C.W.'s judge?"

"What do you mean, what do I mean?" Régis asked, sounding rather taken aback.

"I mean, so far as I or Dumbledore or anyone who might have told Dumbledore is aware, the judges for the Tournament are meant to be the Heads of the three schools, the Head of the British Department for International Magical Cooperation, and the Head of the British Department of Games and Sports."

Desmarais's eyes narrowed at that. "I was under the impression that the judges were meant to be impartial. With that panel, I can hardly believe the champion from Beauxbatons or Durmstrang stands a chance."

"In my opinion, Régis was on the mark when he characterised the impending farce as little more than a publicity stunt. However, you will note that nowhere on that list was a representative from the I.C.W., no matter how much more impartial such an individual might make the judges' panel."

The diplomat shrugged. "My understanding is, a representative from the Wizengamot wrote extending an invitation sometime around Easter. My department has been been in communication with the Head of British International Cooperation to discuss the details. Apparently there has been a change of plans."

"A representative of the bloody Wizengamot? The Wizengamot has nothing to do with the Tournament!" It was, in fact, primarily a Ministry project, though Bagman from Games and Sports, a born con man with a serious gambling addiction, had convinced Dumbledore to support his mad plan early on, sold him the idea of bringing the thing back, bigger and better than ever before. Severus thought that winning the bid to host the World Cup this year had entirely gone to his head, but it wasn't entirely out of the question that he had some plan up his sleeve to finally hit it big and pay off his debts to the goblins — he was, according to Ministry gossip, leveraged up to his eyeballs and running out of time before he was handed over to Collections.

"That sounds like something you will have to take up with your Department of International Cooperation, or perhaps the Acting Head of House Black — I understand the initial invitation was sent in her name."

"The...Acting Head...of House Black." It was— Of course it had been, Morrigan take that wretched girl. He could only imagine... "Please tell me she mentioned who else she invited to her panel."

Another shrug. "I have not seen the invitation myself, but I was under the impression our representative was to join the existing judges, not to form a new panel entirely."

"Oh, she wouldn't have stopped at inviting the Confederation to send a representative. I wouldn't be surprised to see the latest Lord of Carthage and the bloody Green Lady show up expecting a seat at the table! Madeleine, I've changed my mind. Please tell Madam Marchbanks that Lyra Black almost certainly cheated on her OWLs. Tell her the girl has been exploiting stable time loops all year, it would have been simple enough for her to pass a copy of the questions to her past self, or that she is actually a centuries-old metamorph impersonating a fourteen-year-old. Hell, tell the W.E.A. that she convinced Bellatrix to de-age herself and take the tests for her, leaving a blood golem in the place of her supposedly comatose body. Anyone who has met her would believe it!"

Régis gave him a confused, nervous little chuckle. "I'm afraid I don't understand."

Desmarais fixed him with another peculiar, mostly-disbelieving half-smile. "Do you mean to say that the girl your Ministry suspects of cheating on her exams is this same...Acting Head, was it, who sent this invitation?"

"That is precisely what I mean. The child is an unholy terror, you cannot possibly conceive—" Severus cut himself off, took half a second to center himself.

There was nothing to be gained from venting about Lyra Black being impossibly infuriating, and a good deal to lose in terms of his reputation with the Confederation's examination authority by going on a rant about a teenage girl they'd never met and whose effect on every significant event around her they could hardly appreciate. He would simply have to deal with whatever chaos the girl had set in motion as best he could. And spending a few minutes detailing exactly how maddening she was to foreign bureaucrats and diplomats wouldn't help in the least.

"I suppose what's done is done. I will investigate the matter further when I return to Britain. Forgive my digression — you, Régis wished to know whether your children would be safe at Hogwarts. I suppose it is too much to hope for that yours is one of the families who have been working with the bioalchemist Lise Delacour?"

The man looked rather startled by the abrupt change of subject, but he was hardly about to complain about having his question addressed. It was rather important to him, after all. "Ah, yes, I'm afraid so. You mustn't misunderstand, I am my daughters' father, but they are fully veela."

"Yes, yes," Severus muttered, waving away the man's concern. He was well aware that there were biological incompatibilities between human and veela reproductive systems, though he couldn't say precisely what they were — the People were understandably leery of allowing a species so very prone to genocide access to information which could potentially be exploited to exterminate them.

The only humans who knew anything about it were those who had integrated into their culture so thoroughly they were hardly more likely to reveal anything than their veela and lilin partners. It was his understanding that Lise Delacour, like Régis, had married into the clan and had, somehow, managed to produce viable human-veela hybrids. That was literally all he, or anyone outside of the People, knew about her work. Well, that and that her children seemed to be human in almost every way, though their magic was more like that of the People. If Régis's children had been such hybrids, it was conceivable they could pass for human well enough that they would have no more problem at Hogwarts than the average muggleborn, perhaps.

Of course, if that had been the case, Régis would likely be far less concerned about their acceptance in Britain. His wife could presumably take care of herself — most veela who had any interaction with humans at all (outside of those who had joined the People, of course) quickly became inured to a certain degree of xenophobia. The children, though... "How old are they? Your daughters."

"Fleur is seventeen. She has been considering travelling with the Beauxbatonnais delegation, I am not so concerned about her. But my Gabrielle...she is only fourteen. A precocious fourteen, she will be entering her fourth year at the Academy this year, but—"

"But she hasn't nearly the degree of control necessary to avoid any and all potential...incidents, shall we say."

The veela allure was notoriously unstable in their early teens — much like most young mind mages, immature veela had a tendency to unintentionally affect the minds of those around them, often leading to a situation which Severus thought should more or less be considered sexual assault on all sides, unintentional though it was. Most humans who had any regular interaction with young veela were aware of this danger, and were able to take certain precautions against being affected — learning occlumency, for instance. But most British mages had never seen a veela in their life, let alone been close enough to one to feel their magic at work; Occlumency was hardly a widely-taught skill; and unwary humans who were able to fight off the allure (or in the wake of such an incident) often took it as some kind of threat or intentional attack, and retaliated. Violently.

And that wasn't even considering the fact that most British mages considered veela to be creatures. Severus was well aware of the sort of things humans were like to allow themselves to do when they thought they could get away with them, if they considered their victims sufficiently other. Most of the Death Eaters, after all, had been sane, largely rational men. They had simply been given permission to treat muggles and muggleborns like animals, indoctrinated into a community where such attitudes were commonplace. And that was more or less the same attitude Britain at large held toward veela and other non-human beings today.

It took Severus a moment to think how to phrase the problem in a more politic way than if you bring a teenage veela to Britain, she's likely going to be raped or lynched. Possibly both.

"And while such incidents are understood, anticipated, and easily dealt with in Aquitania, the same cannot be said for Britain. Were she my daughter, I would not bring her to Hogwarts if it could possibly be avoided. Even with the legal situation temporarily altered... The law cannot prevent scared, stupid children—" (or adults, really) "—from acting on their fear and idiocy, and punishing them after the fact for their xenophobic actions, would, I imagine, be cold comfort."

Régis glared into the middle distance, presumably at his absent superiors. "I suspected as much. And they know I would not willingly endanger my girls, so this is nothing more or less than an attempt to exile me from both family and country for the duration of this bloody Tournament."

Desmarais sighed, her brow furrowing into a skeptical, slightly troubled frown. "Surely even Moreau would not—"

"Britain is a punishment detail, Maddie! I know it, everyone knows it! This is because of my speaking in defense of Emile and Solange Martin last month, I am certain of it." Severus snorted. "You have something to say?" Régis said sharply, more rebuke than invitation.

"Oh, no, only that your Department could not have played more neatly into Black's hands had they tried. Sending an open supporter of populist anti-stautarians like the Martins to Britain? To Hogwarts? Even if you are, by some minor miracle, the only extraneous judge Black invited, you must surely see how it will increase the tensions in what is certain to be an incredibly delicate diplomatic situation to force a Neo-Gemeenschoppist on Albus Dumbledore, of all people. Especially when, I assure you, no one has yet seen fit to inform him of this little change of plans. And doubly so given the recent...misunderstanding, regarding Harry Potter. Which was also organised by Black," he couldn't help but add.

Bellatrix would be thrilled. Both of them, probably. Severus, on the other hand, was fucked.

"Oh, it is far worse than that, my friend," Madeleine said, now starting to look seriously concerned. "Régis, now that Severus mentions more recent political developments..."

"It can't be about her, the Aquitanians wouldn't extradite her to Britain even if they had her in custody, and she's only been out of bed for two days, the only people who know are those we trust not to spread rumors, and the People—"

Severus couldn't stop himself interrupting. "Are you fucking kidding me?" Both of the others turned to stare at him, their attention drawn away from their frankly awful attempt to avoid giving away the fact that there was only one notorious, female criminal who had recently escaped British custody. "Clan Delacour is harboring the Blackheart."

"Harboring is such a...fraught term. The People do not make a habit of turning away anyone who washes up on our beaches wounded and exhausted, in dire need of sanctuary. What could we do but take her in, allow her to recover? She has never committed any crimes against the People—"

"But she has committed crimes against Britain, the I.C.W., and humanity in general. You cannot possibly believe it in any way safe to offer sanctuary to that madwoman. She tortures people for fun, you realise — your people can hardly consider it safe to allow her to stay in one of your compounds, regardless of the political difficulties her presence will inevitably cause."

Régis did not seem sufficiently concerned to have any idea the danger the danger his family was in at this very moment. "So far as I know, she has been...well, not perfectly well-behaved, she was rather rude to Lise, but she certainly doesn't appear to be the savage your Light propaganda portrays her as."

Severus scowled at the implication that he could possibly have been mislead by the Light's portrayal of his own leaders in the war. "I was on her side. Believe me when I tell you the propaganda doesn't do her justice."

Granted, he had seen more of Bellatrix's worst sides than most — she hadn't trusted him, and she'd seen breaking him as an entertaining challenge. She had certainly been more brilliant than the Light had portrayed her, a more complicated character, but they had also underestimated her sadism and savagery in their propaganda. Civilians, non-combattants, simply wouldn't have believed the truth.

Delacour simply shrugged. "The worst thing she's done in the two days since she's left her bed is request to examine one of Lise's children — one of the half-lilin, I believe — which of course Lise did not allow."

"And when Bellatrix's demand was denied?"

"She...left Lise's office?"

"She just left," Severus repeated, entirely disbelieving.

"If I understand correctly, she teased Lise over her former ties to Britain for some time — Lise was rather annoyed that night — but aside from that... She has done nothing that would cause us to revoke her status as a political refugee."

"Political. Refugee."

"What else would you call someone imprisoned with dementors for over a decade for the role she played in a politically motivated conflict, who has escaped and fled the country in fear for her life?"

"I sincerely doubt that she fears for her life," Severus grumbled. He also doubted that all of her actions in the war could be excused simply by virtue of having been at war. The ICW did recognise certain tactics as war crimes, and he was almost positive she had committed enough to be sentenced to death a dozen times over. And it wasn't as though the dementors had particularly bothered her anyway.

"Nevertheless, do you imagine the People have any intention of extraditing her to Britain and their dementors, or Aquitania and lifetime imprisonment in Grindelwald's prison? Bearing in mind the veela attitude toward cages and confinement."

Severus scoffed. "No, I do not. And to return to the subject at hand, yes, I imagine that would be an even larger impediment to successful diplomatic relations with Britain than being branded a Neo-Grindelwaldian sympathiser."

"And an even more urgent reason to replace the envoy to le syndicat with someone less sympathetic to them — someone considered more loyal to the Confederacy."

Wait — Régis was the envoy to the veela from the ICW? Or...possibly Aquitania? Severus wasn't entirely certain how the diplomatic situation worked here, but he would, in any case, have expected it to be the other way around, given that the diplomat had married into a clan. Honestly, Severus was slightly surprised he hadn't been replaced at the first indication that he was going native.

"They can hardly believe that the People will accept a replacement in my absence. Britain is a temporary post, my chargé will of course hold the legation until I return."

"So you are going to go, then?" Desmarais asked, her tone full of sympathy.

"What choice do I have? If I refuse the posting, I will in essence be resigning my post — Moreau would be only too pleased to strip me of any representative authority for any number of reasons, and there is, realistically, no one else who can play my role in maintaining the current stability between the Empire and Aquitania. Pelletier has the makings of a good envoy, but she's only been with us for two years. She certainly does not hold the same degree of trust with the People as I have. If I leave, or am forced out... Le syndicat will not be pleased. With me or with the Confederacy. All I have worked for over the past decade may be shattered in a matter of months. I still have no idea how I will break the news to Apolline, or to Gabrielle."

Desmarais patted his shoulder consolingly. "I'm sure Apolline will understand, and Gabbie... She will miss her father, of course, but she would be at school for most of the time you are away, yes?"

"But not all of the time, and she is already so sad that Fleur might be travelling, you know how close they are..."

Severus scowled at him. "I would be willing to tell them, if you would agree to inform the Supreme Mugwump in my stead." Really, it wasn't as though he couldn't arrange to visit his family on the weekends, or even simply commute to Hogwarts to judge the tasks. His superiors would hardly need to know that he wasn't staying at the school. In his opinion, Régis was entirely over-reacting. And even if he wasn't, breaking bad news to his wife and children was hardly the worst job he could have been faced with.

Régis winced. "I will admit, you do seem to have drawn the worse lot. I do not envy you that task, my friend."

Severus snorted. No one in their right mind had ever envied his lot in life. He was quite certain no such person ever would. "Unfortunately, Régis, if announcing this change of plans is the worst problem I am tasked with resolving over the course of this bloody Tournament, I will count myself lucky, and be more pleased than you could possibly know."

(He was never that lucky.)


Chronologically, this is very early in the summer, about a week after the end of AAtP, a day or two after Bella and Liz catching up. Yes, we're not posting these in order, we realise that's confusing. —Leigha

We are operating under the veela and lilin from my headcanon. Those who haven't read my shit, it's not super important, anything necessary will be explained in fic. Except the references to le syndicat in this one anyway, that's just a word for the semi-official association of clans operating in western Europe, sort of act as a local government. It's complicated, and not that important to keep track of.

Oh, and yes, Gabbie is aged up a few years from canon. For reasons. —Lysandra