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Disclaimer: I do not own anything from Harry Potter.

Chapter 26

One week ago

An ear-splitting sound that resembled the crack of a whip sliced through the air as an acrid scent of burning brimstone and bitter ash instantly filled the room. A millisecond after, a man suddenly burst forth into reality and instantly crumpled to the ground, his robes matted and pinched as if he had just been violently thrown across the room.

The individual's mind was still in control however, as he then weakly raised a hand from his supine position and silently cast a spell with a swishing motion. As one, all the paintings inside of the room flipped around and turned on its back, effectively preventing unwanted eyes and ears.

Pain.

This wizard would have cried for help, but there was no strength in his voice, just a whisper. His breath quivered in short, quick gasps every time he inhaled, his lungs having no choice but to painfully and rigidly take in the chilled air around him. He couldn't seem to stop shaking either as and his consciousness ebbed and flowed like the rise and fall of the tide.

Agonizing pain.

The wizard gritted his teeth as he gathered the remainder of his strength to haul himself up onto his feet. Every inch of his body screamed at him as he clutched a blackened and seemingly injured hand with his other. Sweat drenched his hair and face as he mustered more energy to move his legs as he, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, tried his hardest to ignore the searing bursts of pain that pulsated through his hand, intensifying and spreading with each dragging step, jarring and brutal.

"F…Fawkes…" he whispered weakly, stumbling towards a what he thought was his bed, his eyesight blurred and out of focus, "…h-help."

A black mist began to swirl at the edges of Albus' mind when he reached his destination and collapsed onto the soft bed, the discolouration on the tip of his index finger now spreading rapidly down to his palm as he lay face down, now unable to move, his vision darkening with each passing second. When all hope seemed lost, a burst of light suddenly lit up the room in a flare behind him as a being of power breathed into existence.

The immortal being had sensed its master's distress.

Fawkes gave a screech of panic and accelerated across the room a burst of speed, flapping with its fiery wings as it catapulted itself towards the still figure, crashing roughly into the frame of the bed a second later before quickly recovering and assessing the situation with its beady eyes. Within a split second, it knew the exact location of the curse that was eating away at its master's body and immediately made for it, hopping over and angling its head downwards to release one of the rarest and most miraculous liquids in the world: phoenix tears.

The droplets of water started falling down one after another, without a sign of stopping. A soft hissing sound stained the thick silence in the room as the healing properties worked their magic, doing the best it could to repair the physical damage that was ravaging the aged body.

Strength flowed back into Albus' body as the tears reconnected muscle and arteries, repaired nerves and tendons, and restored motor functions back to his wizened body. Blinking twice to clear the fading fog on his eyes after what seemed like an eternity, he hastily pushed himself into a seating position and brought out the Elder Wand from his folds of his robes. Pointing it towards his injured hand, he started casting spell after spell, incantation after incantation, ritual after ritual, with all the magical power he could provide, issuing forth a barrage of protective and healing spells that only a few in the world had knowledge of.

After a couple of minutes of spellcasting, Albus felt the first strains of magical exhaustion hit him as his body unconsciously buckled. Realizing that his life was no longer in danger from the copious amount of magic that was preventing the curse from spreading further, he realized what he was doing and wearily dropped his knobbly wand onto the bed, turning his head towards his saviour.

"Thank you, my friend," Albus croaked gratefully, his throat feeling as rough as sandpaper as he reached out with one hand to stroke the soft plumage of his familiar, who gently crooned joyously in response at its master's recovery as it leaned lovingly into his touch.

Aware of the fact that he was not out of the woods just yet as he knew that he had only stymied the curses' metastatic-like spread and not completely eradicated it, he quickly decided on his next course of action. Wiggling his toes to test his body before getting out of his bed, he felt another surge of gratitude well up within him, glad that he was still on this mortal plane thanks to Fawkes.

He glanced towards a grandfather clock that stood solemnly by bedside and gave a sigh of relief as he noted that it was four in the morning.

"Good, he should be in his room then," he murmured to himself.

He gave Fawkes one final stroke on its soft head before marching over the fireplace purposefully, grabbing some silvery powder from his desk on the way. He knew very well that certain Floo networks were monitored but this time he didn't care, for this was the quickest way and simplest way to get his message across.

Muttering a short chant under his breath, he tossed the powder into the ever-burning embers in his hearth and promptly stuck his head into a granular heap of ash and soot. After a few loud calls, it didn't take long to wake and summon the person who he just disturbed to his private quarters.

The door to his office soon opened after a brief minute as Horace Slughorn himself entered, still clad in his signature striped pyjamas. Sleepily trotting across the room, he had to prevent a barrage of yawns that threatened to take him back to the sweet land of dreams.

"Albus, what's the matt–,"

"Your face!" the Potions Master suddenly cried out in alarm as he cut himself off, spying a sallow complexion from across the room, the shock causing him to lose his drowsiness as he started jogging towards his colleague, "Do you need some of my Pepper-Up potions?"

"Thank you for your concern, Horace," Albus calmly replied, seemingly relaxed as he sat ramrod straight on the edge of his bed "But this is related to something of paramount importance of which I'll need to discuss with you immediately."

Horace's eyes widened by a fraction as he stopped moving mid-step, immediately registering the hidden urgency in the tone and the implications behind the specific wording.

A serious look crossed the Potion Master's face as he brought out his wand and held it against his breast in a tight clasp, "With magic as my birthright and witness," he chanted clearly and loudly, "No word shall pass my lips of the event that shall occur forthwith lest my life is forfeit, unless Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts, wills it."

Albus smiled warmly as a soft glow of light bathed the Potions Master, the visible proof that his magic had recognized the spoken pact. He was glad that he had trusted Horace, and vice versa, for he had no one other that he could think of that he could turn to as of this moment. The magical oath was merely a deterrent against truth potions such as Veritaserum, should such scenarios ever arise.

Donning a steely gaze and setting a grim but firm line across his mouth to convey the seriousness of the situation, Albus performed no other act but to simply roll up his sleeve and bring his right hand under the illumination of the gentle candlelight.

All levity and facetiousness in Horace's face vanished the instant he saw the blackened fingers revealed by the glow. Leaping forward in a near mad scramble, he ignored the shock on the other wizards' face as he grasped the hand and inspected it in a way only professional Healer or Mediwitch could.

Every action he took as he analysed the defiled hand was precise, purposeful and deliberate.

"This is powerful magic… extremely powerful," Horace muttered darkly after a tense minute before glancing up at Albus, "What was its genesis?" he barked urgently, "Was it an experimental spell? A cursed object? An ancient ritual? An invocation gone awry?"

Albus looked ashamed for a split second before replying, "It came from an accursed ring," he revealed, the characteristic twinkle in his heavenly blue eyes all but absent, "I… I placed it on my index finger and the curse activated shortly after."

Horace growled something under his breath as he deliberated over the new information, "Where is this ring?" he asked tensely after a brief session of humming and hawing, "I will need the original source of magic as a conduit if I'm to completely reverse this."

Albus shifted uneasily, "My apologies," he responded in a weary voice, "But in my panic, I wrenched the ring off my finger and used a… method which resulted in the complete destruction of its magic."

Horace clicked his tongue in annoyance but said nothing, for he currently was lost in his own world. With his wand now out, he then cast a thousand and one spells of a diagnostic nature upon the hand, only for him to grit his teeth in anger as one after another failed to identify the source of the curse.

"Do you know whether it's neutral or dark magic?" Albus finally asked after a good five minutes of tense silence.

Horace unconsciously flinched, "It is… powerful magic, that is the only thing that matters," he replied in a subtly layered voice before a look of confusion crossed his face, "And this web of magic also feels… familiar somehow."

Just before Albus could respond to that alarming statement, Horace stood back up, his face transforming into a serious and calculating countenance, the cursed hand sliding out of his grasp and falling onto the bed with the gravity as its guide.

"Interesting, very interesting," he muttered to himself as he stroked his chin, "The black discolouration of the skin resembles a variation of haematoma; the pliancy of the bone – a strange form of osteomalacia; the biggest clue however, is the pain induced by movement – probably nerve damage… related to hypercalcaemia… because the bone is breaking down, perhaps?" he gave a thoughtful hum, "The excess calcium is somehow…"

Albus' eyebrows furrowed at the vaguely familiar style of wording, "It that… Muggle terminology?" he asked in complete bewilderment.

Horace' ignored his patient's query and lay silent for a full minute as his mind worked overtime, churning out theories and ideas before he eventually came to a prognosis.

"Albus, I think I have an idea of what's going on," he finally spoke, breaking the silence, "All of these points then toward a curse. One which I believe mimics the effects of avascular necrosis."

Albus grew even more confused at the new words, "What–"

"Please let me finish," Horace firmly but gently requested.

After seeing an apologetic nod, he carried on to the crux of the matter, "Simply put, it means that your bone tissue is slowly dying as the magic cuts off your supply of blood," he explained gravelly, "Normally, this condition is localized and is easily treatable with a wide range of potions, but this is the first case I've ever seen of it magically spreading with such vicious malignancy."

"The only reason why you're still alive right now is the fact that you had somehow slowed down the growth to a crawl with your own magic," he continued as he looked out of an open window and into the pitch blackness of the early morning sky, absolute in its opaque blanket as not a single star shone down from the heavens.

"I have a few palliative potions in my cupboards that will deal with the pain that will soon undoubtedly seek to rend you unconscious," he revealed after a slight pause, his voice now turning slightly tremulous, "And, I believe I can concoct a remedy that will deal with most of the symptoms. But…" he trailed off.

Albus' eyes grew wider from the hesitation in the voice of one of the most intellectually gifted wizards he knew, "But what?" he asked almost fearfully.

Horace gave an odd half smile as he looked back at his friend, the idiosyncratic joviality he always carried with him all but absent as he spoke, "Albus, this manner of magic is one that I have never come across before in either my theoretical or empirical findings," he started emotionlessly as he walked back and sat down heavily beside the other wizard.

He paused momentarily as another the odd, pinched look cross his face, as if struggling to find the right words to say.

"If my calculations are right… you have roughly one year left to live."

Albus made an involuntary gagging sound as his throat seized up, the muscles in his body tightening all up as one, "No," he managed to choke out in a quavering voice, "You're… you're lying. It's… it's…"

Fear welled up within him and clamped with mouth shut as only a sorrowful face gazed back at him. There were so many things he and the Order still needed to accomplish, and one year was definitely not enough time to see them through. His eyes grew shadowed as his head hung low, his mind betraying him and flooding him with terrifying images of non-existent futures.

Oh Merlin… what have I DONE?

He felt sweat beginning to drench his wrinkled skin, he felt a throbbing in his eyes, he felt muted screams of those were long dead vibrate in his ears, he felt the rapid thumping of his aged heart within his heaving chest. His world teetered on the edge of blackness.

"You've done well, Albus," Horace whispered quietly as put a comforting hand over the trembling shoulder of his lifelong friend, "You've done so very well."

After a minute of melancholic silence, the Potions Master suddenly retracted his hand and stood up purposefully, a roaring fire now burning in the brazier of his heart.

"Albus, don't worry," Horace suddenly announced with a loud voice, "For I shall salvage everything that you have so worked hard for," he planted his feet firmly on the floor, his eyes blazing with conviction.

Albus lifted his head sluggishly and looked at the other wizard with hollow eyes, "W-What?" he slurred, almost as if drunk.

Horace nodded in absolute seriousness, "I have connections and plans of my own," he divulged as he knelt down before the hunched wizard so they were both eye level, "Listen to me carefully Albus, if you want to win, you have to purposely lose. There is no other way," he finished cryptically.

A perplexed look crossed over the other wizard's tired face, "What do you mean–"

"Leave everything else to me, my dear friend," Horace interrupted gently, "You've earned your rest."

Albus' eyes lit up and his mouth formed a small 'O' before replying, "Fascinating," he softly chuckled as some of the twinkle returned to his sky-blue eyes, "So my suspicious were right after all. You were indeed our unknown benefactor all along," he gave a quiet hum before continuing with a bowed head, "And for all that you have done for us… I thank you."

Albus then felt some strange strength infuse back into his being as he lifted his head back up, "You realize this doesn't change anything, right?" he added, somehow gaining even more energy with each passing word, "I will continue defying Tom Riddle until the day I breathe my final breath."

Horace gave a small chuckle at the predictable response, "Who do you take me for?" he replied softly, "Of course I knew that."

As they shared a nostalgic grin between them, Horace suddenly broke eye contact as his face lit up, almost as if an epiphany had struck him. He then mumbled something under his breath rapidly, the words coming out so fast it seemed as if he was speaking two sentences at once.

"…it might be possible… my master's power… there is still time"

Albus strained his ears, "Horace…?" he asked quizzically.

Horace looked back up and gazed back into electrifying blue orbs that gazed down at him, where regret, pain, sadness, determination, love, and strength all swam together in shimmering pools of cerulean.

"Two… years," he said slowly, almost unsurely.

Albus tilted his head, "Two years?" he echoed.

Horace nodded, "I promise you, in two years, I will solve everything," he vowed solemnly, his voice gaining momentum as he spoke.

Albus lowered his gaze as he felt deep into thought, trying to understand the riddle that was wrapped inside of an enigma of a man in front of him.

"Horace... we need to have a very long talk, that's for sure," he murmured softly as a wave of physical and mental fatigue washed over him, his emotions jumbled and battered from the roller-coaster of events that had just transpired.

Horace gave another nod as he silently agreed, realizing that Albus still needed time to recollect his thoughts. Suddenly, a determined face set itself on the Potion Master's face as he pulled out his wand once gain out of his pyjamas and turned on the spot, magically conjuring his robes onto his outstretched arm.

Before he could take a few steps, a voice called over his shoulder.

"You're leaving Hogwarts… aren't you?"

"Only temporarily," Horace briskly replied in a business-like tone as he bounded towards the office door, a spring in his step, "But not before I make you your potion and we have our talk, of course."

Albus frowned as he watched the back of the retreating wizard. There was something else going on – he was sure of it.

"Where are you really going?" he called out, the cadence of his voice demanding nothing but the undiluted truth.

Horace paused at the door, his hand frozen mid-air on its then turned his head back to reveal a vicious grin, his teeth gleaming under the candlelight as something almost feral flashed across his face.

"To trick the devil himself."


Present time

Lady Potter's sense of style could only be described in one word: extravagant.

At a first glance, the room almost seemed like a festival of lights. Hundreds of banquet lamps floated leisurely in the air, their strong glow illuminating the massive room with their ever-burning candles. Their lazy waltz played the role of miniature suns shining against the backdrop of the dark ceiling – which was magically enchanted to resemble a midwinters night sky. Long oak tables laden with succulent delicacies lay largely untouched as dawn waned into the early stages of the morning.

The people that participated in the scene were just as curious as the decorations.

An old couple lay detached from the rest of the throng, one glass of wine each as they studiously bent over and perused over numerous pieces of parchment that lay scattered before them. A group of young women in their thirties gossiped and tittered away as stern elders looked upon and frowned with disapproval. Men stood where they pleased in the room, their noses stuck in the air with what seemed like permanent disdain and talked only when they needed to – nothing more, nothing less. The teenagers and those younger lay shepherded to one side of the room and out of the way of the adults, their mannerisms mimicking their parents in nearly every aspect.

The costumes however, were not as drab as the atmosphere, for they were as colourful as a summer garden. Bold yellows, magenta, turquoise and emerald green splayed across the room in waves. Butlers and servants clad in frock coats, bowties and all other manner of formal wear weaved effortlessly through the vibrant mass of wizards and witches, their platters offering only the most exotic of foods and the most mysterious of drinks to those who showed any sign of willingness to explore the unknown.

Only the Potter matriarch could turn a simple birthday into an event of such splendour that was to last for an entire day.

Ariana took a deep breath after she finished scanning and assessing the room, slightly nervous from the large amount of blue bloods that were chattering and socializing to their heart's content in the repurposed ballroom. She knew that each guest was fully aware that this was not just a simple coming-of-age celebration, but one with fertile ground for new connections, nefarious political deals, off-the-books economic offers, and unspoken favours.

The very same witch squirmed – but only on the inside – as a single though drifted to the top of her mind.

So… what do I do now?

As if a higher power just strummed their fingers across the strings of fate, her face lit up as the faces of James and Sirius flashed briefly amongst the sea of brightly coloured wizards and witches. Deciding that it should be safer for her if she tagged along with either one the teenagers, she calmly made for the other side of the room as her mind rifled quickly through memories for rules on Pure-blood etiquette she had so studiously learned in what seemed like a lifetime ago now.

As Ariana confidently strode across the room donned with a violet gown that flowed gracefully around her with each step, she soon heard whispers and murmurs erupt across the room. She was about to blot them out – as per the usual in her previous life – but stopped at the last second, as she realized something was quite different. This time, it was neither the nasty name-calling nor fevered praises of hero-worship she was so used to.

This time, it sounded like undiluted wonder.

"…don't recognize that face… a foreign bloodline perhaps?... This…"

"…wonder what is her age… perfect for my son…"

"…what a stunning young lady… I wonder if she is…"

Ariana kept a straight face as she pushed past this new type of shameless and blatant gossiping, keeping her stride perfect and graceful. Keeping her head held high, she wandered around the expansive hall carrying large expressive eyes that looked at anything and everything. She soon found the two teenagers she was looking for.

They were both clad in relatively similar outfits that seemed muted against the colourful outfits the rest of the guests were wearing. James was dressed in casually tailored robes that highlighted his lean and sinewy body, honed from years of experience of playing Quidditch, its mauve hue emphasizing the dressing's brisk and clear cuts. Sirius was wearing one similar but his was highlighted in a shade of dark olive.

Perhaps it was the sartorial simplicity that gave away the illusion of likeness.

Sneaking closer, she stifled a giggle as she caught one of them the middle of telling the other a commonly repeated and rather inappropriate joke – one that she had heard many a time in boy's dormitories.

"…and then she said, 'One slip of the tongue, and you're in–"

James nudged Sirius forcefully and interrupted him mid-sentence as he instantly noticed the new arrival, the resplendent violet dress that seemed to shimmer under the candlelight causing him to rub his eyes just to make sure his eyes were working properly.

Ariana surreptitiously checked her surroundings for eavesdroppers before quickly deeming it safe enough to talk, opting to open up with a rather out of the ordinary greeting.

"Salvete, amicis meis epularer," she greeted fluently in Latin as she performed an elegant and complicated curtsy that was used by antiquated nobilities and was almost lost to time, "How are you gentlemen doing on this fine day?" she continued with a perfect and dazzling smile to two astonished wizards.

James recovered quickly – as always – and raised an eyebrow at the re-enactment of a Pure-blood greeting that reminded him of the Old Ways, "Very impressive," he said dryly, giving a single sarcastic clap, "But… I would have to rate it a seven out of ten."

A petulant look crossed Ariana face as she threw up her hands in the air in disbelief, "Oh come on. I did that move flawlessly," she whined childishly as she broke her stance and motioned to her lower body, "Didn't you see those perfect leg movements?"

Before anyone could get a response in, her face then lit up as she remembered that she still had to show off what she had been working so hard on for the past two hours. She grinned mischievously and put her hands on her hips in a pose.

"So, guys, what do you think of my outfit?" she asked brightly without pause, looked up expectedly at them, nervous for some strange reason as she patiently waited for an answer.

James' eyes widened slightly as he only now realized at the sight he was looking at, "You look… err…" he started as his face started to grow slightly red, his mind stubbornly giving him the right words to say, "I mean… I guess it's–"

Sirius rolled his eyes before cutting his bumbling friend off and taking charge of the situation, striding forward and kneeling down on one knee as he took one of Ariana's hand in his with a most comical look of seriousness on his face.

"I do beseech you – chiefly that I may set it in my prayers – what is your name, my lady?" he cried out dramatically, "Harken unto my pleas, for there is naught a lass fairer in this world than the one I gaze upon," he finished breathlessly, the overflowing amounts of aplomb and panache in his believable act showing the works of a natural-born thespian in the making.

Ariana blinked once at a response she clearly didn't anticipate. She then let out burst of laughter against her will from the bizarre act, one that certainly easily topped her odd greeting. She couldn't stop herself from extending one small hand forward and patting the black-haired wizard's head as if he were a lovable dog. She wasn't exactly sure what compelled her to do it.

Sirius was… well, just Sirius.

"See, James? It's quite simple, all you got to do is make them laugh," Sirius smirked at the other teenager before giving a cheeky wink as he moved out of range of the young witch and stood back up.

"Sod off, Padfoot," James grumbled in annoyance, "I know that."

"Oh, I doubt that you do," Sirius replied with a disbelieving snicker, "You've only ever had your sights on one girl this entire time," he paused, "A girl which prefers violence and threats as a medium to converse, if I might add."

James' eyes briefly flickered towards the young witch beside him as something odd twisted in his chest, "Yes…" he murmured absently in agreement, "…only one girl."

Ariana then perked up and expressively waved a hand in the air as to attract the attention of the Potter heir, recalling something of relative import she had forgotten to ask about the day before.

"Sorry to interrupt but, James, did you buy a new wand recently?" she asked curiously, speaking quickly and all in one breath.

The teenager – well, young man really – gave a delighted smile at the question and reached into the folds of his robes in response, intent on bringing out and showing off his latest purchase.

"You have a keen eye, Miss Peverell," he commended sincerely as he rummaged in the stiff fabric that sought to constrict his body, "My old wand had been acting up for quite a while now so I was forced to buy a new one from good ol' Ollivander himself. It has the most interesting–"

James cut himself off mid-sentence and sucked his breath in sharply as someone new pulled into hearing distance of their conversation, a particular person he had wished to completely avoid in his life if was within his power to do so.

The newcomer was a wizard, looked roughly in his mid-twenties and had perfectly combed shoulder-length blonde hair, its silky and smooth texture surely an object of envy for every lady in the room. Pitch black formal robes stood out amongst the vivid colours as it's wearer moved forward, the crinkle-free and dust-free fabric revealing that it was obviously enchanted in some way.

James quickly took his hand out of his robes and plastered a strained smile on his face as he faced the man who had just strode up before them.

"Salvete, Lord Malfoy," he greeted with a slight nod of his head, unconsciously using part of Ariana's odd greeting as he quickly rearranged his thoughts in order, several warnings that he had gotten from his parents flashing through his head.

A surprised look crossed over Lucius Malfoy's face before he banished it completely, "Salve et tu, Heir Potter," he acknowledged in return with a nod of approval.

Lucius' eyes then flickered briefly towards other wizard and witch his person of interest was previously conversing with, "Pardon my intrusion," he continued smoothly, his jet-black robes swishing as he casually clasped onto an elegant cane that bore the sculpture of a snake head on its top, "But there is a pressing matter that I must speak with you in private, if you're available of course," he added politely, looking at only James and acting as if the other two people didn't exist.

James unconsciously straightened his back as his eyes grew deadly serious. Here was the first of many political deals he would be offered today, for adulthood in the wizarding world had profound implications for a high-ranking Pure-blood. When a scion of a notable Pure-blood family reaches eighteen years of age, he or she would be granted a de facto seat in Wizengamot, the court of law and parliament. Not officially of course, for the pretence of 'democracy' in the Wizarding World meant that rigged referendums and blatant gerrymandering went undocumented and uncontested.

"With pleasure," James replied calmly.

He was ready for this.

And with that short exchange, he steadily walked off after Lucius without looking back nor talking to Sirius and Ariana. Although he seemingly ignored them, he gave some quick hand signals to them behind his back before he disappeared into the sea of wizards and witches.

Throughout that entire scenario, the only thing Ariana could focus on was a mass of magic that emitted from Lucius' neck – only visible to her eyes of course. Disgusting waves of green and black gave her slight nausea as fibrous ribbons that seemed to have a life of their own waxed and waned in a manner that resembled a heartbeat.

Is that... a necklace? She thought intensely as she strained her eyes as much as she could. All she could make out however, was the first signs of silver chain that was evidently linked to carry some green object that hung around his neck. As she ruminated away – not even realising that Lucius and James had already left – she gave a start when someone touched her arm.

"What–"

"Be wary of your surroundings," Sirius murmured as he made subtle shushing gestures, "The walls have both eyes and ears."

Ariana frowned briefly at the cryptic words as she surreptitiously glanced around the room, she herself feeling something amiss as well.

She then noticed tight look that was drawn across the teenage wizard's face and instantly interpreted what the worried countenance meant, "I'll be fine," she whispered suddenly, "Go. Make sure James doesn't do anything stupid. He needs you."

A surprised look cross Sirius' face, "How did you–"

"Go."

Sirius bit the corner of his lip, "But–"

"Go," she repeated gently for the third time, interrupting him yet again, "I'll be fine."

With a grateful nod, Sirius' grey eyes grew steely before he too, vanished amongst the sea of witches and wizards that moved like a shoal of fish in the sea, coordinated and moving en masse.

The very second Ariana was left alone, a middle-aged woman, one that wore a curious dress which design resembled the feathers of a hyacinth macaw, instantly appeared by her side, the movement too fluid to be just a coincidence.

"Excuse me, young lady."

Ariana blinked twice before slowly looking up at the stranger that addressed her. Before she could say anything, the older woman had already continued speaking.

"Forgive me for asking so bluntly," she started brightly with a smile that almost seemed too friendly, "But you are Lady Peverell, the last descendant of the ancient Peverell bloodline, are you not?"

Ariana froze in panic for a millisecond at the sudden question, the cogs and gears in her mind began to engage at the speed of lightning.

How did she know? She thought in panic. How does anyone know about me? I should have never come here. It's way too dangerous for me. What was I even thinking?

She quickly banished her negative thoughts and adopted an amiable look on her face, "That is indeed me," she started politely, getting ready some of the many fake narratives she had rehearsed with Albus the in past, "Since you already know who I am, may I as to enquire who you are?"

The older witch tittered unattractively before giving a wave of her hand, "You must forgive my manners," she simpered, "Lady Isabel Parkinson is what they call me."

Ariana narrowed her eyes and recognized the faint traces of Pansy Parkinson in the facial features woman in front of her – the pug nose and flat forehead a dead giveaway – before forcing a smile onto her face, "Apologies for not recognizing such an esteemed member from the Sacred Families, Lady Parkinson" she replied in a respectful tone, "I hail from Scotland after all."

Lady Parkinson's eyes grew subtly calculating, "Oh?" she exclaimed in faux surprise, "I see you've lost your Scottish accent rather quickly then. Such dedication to assimilate, I say."

Ariana internally squirmed as she quickly thought of ways to end the conversation as soon as possible, "My father and mother, Iapetus and Tethya Peverell respectively, were of British origin and raised me in isolation in the Outer Hebrides," she lied cheerfully, "I never had an accent to begin with."

"But you can speak their language, can you not?" Lady Parkinson suddenly burst out in Scottish Gaelic.

Ariana's eyes widened by a fraction before she quickly returned to her calm countenance, strangely in firm control over her emotions, "Yes, I do. Although not the best, I can get by," she replied confidently in the same language, thanking Merlin himself that she had practiced Gaelic her spare time to prepare for rare scenarios such as this one.

Lady Parkinson gave a harrumph of what seemed like disappointment before peering down and scrutinizing the young girl.

Ariana could see something dangerous shift within the other witch's eyes.

"It's undeniable that the weather here this time of year is simply exquisite, no?" Lady Parkinson said as she abruptly changed the subject, gesturing to the window with an elegant twirl of her hand.

Ariana felt her heart speed up a little from the seemingly innocent question.

"England is indeed lovely in the summer," she agreed slowly, dragging out her sentence as she quickly thought on potential routes this conversation was going to take.

"Is that one the reasons why you have moved here from the frigid mountains of Scotland," Lady Parkinson followed up in an innocent tone, "Or are you just here temporarily for your education?"

"After my parents passed away last year," Ariana replied without pause, a sad tone colouring her voice, "My guardian decided it was best for me to move back to my parent's original birthplace until I reach legal adulthood."

"Oh, poor dear, you have my condolences," Lady Parkinson responded in an equally fake tone of sympathy.

The elegantly dressed lady then gave a loud hum and tilted her head to the side in what seemed like extreme confusion, "Hold on, that's rather odd," she said with a perplexed tone, "My husband is one of many which deals with international transactions for Gringotts and only last week, he told me that there had been no significant financial dealings with the the Pure-bloods from Scotland in the last year."

"A mistake in the paperwork, perhaps?" she added in casually off-hand manner as her eyes glanced back down and pierced through the young witch.

What is this viper even trying to achieve? Ariana furiously thought as the pleasant smile twitched imperceptibly on her face.

"Lineal consanguinity means less to a witch in Scotland than it does in England," she shrugged casually with an air of nonchalance, "I never received any inheritance and I was never told where it went to."

Irritation flashed briefly through Lady Parkinson's eyes as she gave another harrumph of disappointment at the concise yet at the abrupt end in the conversation.

She snatched a glass of champagne from the platter of a passing butler, its liquid iridescent and shimmering as she stylishly swirled it around in her hand. There was something off with the pretty and well-dressed child in front of her. She was clearly an educated adolescent, but spoke and acted far beyond her age – albeit not unusual for the progeny of prominent Pure-bloods.

The elegant lady took a sip of the liquid, moaning in satisfaction when she recognized the taste of the ever-elusive Krug Clos d'Ambonnay, a divine nectar made from the juices of special black grapes found only in the Chaudes Terres and the Clos Saint-Jacques vineyards in Ambonnay, France. As she savoured the ambrosia in her mouth, she realized that was still a route left open that could still yield unto her the answers she was looking for.

"Your parents probably never told you this," Lady Parkinson said with a lowered voice as she leaned in conspiratorially, "But I was extremely close friends with your father in his youth. He probably kept it a secret because…"

Lair, those people don't exist. Ariana thought contemptuously as she kept the warm glued smile glued to her face, half-listening to a fake but beautifully convincing story that was ever so subtly designed to elicit emotionally charged answers.

As the older witch was rambling on, Ariana felt the hairs on her neck stand up as her mind suddenly kicked into overdrive, her instincts screaming as loud as they could at her. The feeling only intensified as she surreptitiously glanced around the room in search of whatever was setting off alarm bells in her head.

This was the exact moment where Ariana knew something seemed very, very wrong. Throughout the entirety of her time in this ballroom, she had been experiencing a rather odd, constricting feeling, a feeling that she was being slowly smothered by a blanket, a feeling that would have never bothered her in her previous life.

She realized that people were staring at her.

No, this type of shameless scrutiny didn't include the usual gazes, the ones of hero worship and jealously, of adoration and hostility, of reverence and derision. While some observed her with the gaze of a stranger, bearing aloof judgement that held no strings, others gazed upon her with impartial affection, smitten by either the new face she possessed or the grace she exuded.

These however, quickly proved to be the exceptions.

The rest of the observers carried only cold eyes that pierced her from every angle like razor-sharp knives, some of them stationary while some circled her like vultures, harbouring a look of strange hunger that was ever-present in their dark irises. This scrutiny continued even though some were caught staring, unrepentantly appraising her budding adolescence as if it were the most desirable item at an auction, a vernissage of flesh and blood.

Ariana throat went dry as she finally figured out what was happening, her breath now coming in short breaths as her oesophagus unconsciously tightened, making every lungful of air felt as if she were inhaling ash instead. Just when she thought the situation couldn't get any terrifying, her roving eyes randomly locked onto a portly middle-aged wizards' that had staring directly at her ever since she had entered the room.

This man was different from all the rest of them. His eyes were neither cordial, cold, calculating nor curious, but instead held something else entirely. An ugly look that could only be described when one gazes down upon an especially delicious piece of meat, a rapacious leer that betrayed one's intentions and promises, of which none were noble.

She wanted to tear her eyes away, but her body was paralyzed in a new kind of fear she had never experienced before. The hideous wizard gave a small start when he realized that their eyes had met, but quickly recovered as he pulled his mouth into a grotesque grin that stretched from ear to ear. Eyes that could only belong to a monster in human flesh beckoned to her as he licked his lips, as a predator would to prey.

Goosebumps erupted across Ariana's body, laminating her pale, naked skin under the soft silk of her dress from the sight. That action was the tipping point, she couldn't take it any longer. Her instincts screamed at her to leave this unholy place and never come back.

Without a word to Lady Parkinson – who was still talking and didn't realize that her audience had become inattentive – she suddenly turned on the spot and bolted the opposite direction of the gazes to the other side of the room as fast as she could, her feet moving by themselves, running past tables, chairs, wizards and witches as she made for a door at the end of the ballroom.

When she reached her destination and forcefully burst through silver-gilded doors – which were thankfully unlocked – a gust of fresh air immediately hit her face and stopped her mad dash. Quickly closing the doors behind her, she looked around and realized that she was standing on a small balcony that overlooked the grounds of the summer mansion, it's semi-circular shape bereft of any furniture or décor apropos to the event.

Ariana placed a hand upon her thumping chest to catch her breath as she leaned backwards heavily onto hard silvery wood, subconsciously barricading the door with her small body to deny anyone entry into her temporary sanctuary. Her head lolled backwards as the murmur of people and the tinkling of glasses all but vanished, her eyes growing glassy as she stared upwards into the blue sky, her mind trying to untangle itself from webs of thoughts that overlapped and crossed each other in a jumbled mess.

What... just happened? She thought with a shiver as she rubbed her strangely cold arms, the goosebumps on her skin refusing to lessen even under the warm rays of the sun that shone from the cloudless empyrean above.

As her mind then did what it did best – ruminate, the mellow sound of chirring crickets and tittering thrushes that flitted about on a midsummer's English morning instilled a sense of catharsis within her, soothing her as the tranquil sounds of nature washed over her in delicate waves.

Ariana was on the verge of completely calming down, but flinched at the very last second as she registered some movement out of the corner of her eyes.

What?! I was sure I was alone…

Turning her head rapidly, she spied a man casually leaning against the balustrade of the balcony, his face hidden by a silver mask on his face that resembled a snarling wolf – clearly a participant of the masquerade. What Ariana's eyes were instantly drawn to however, was the mass of flowing brown hair that curled past the silver vizard that hid his face, and his perfectly sculpted arms that almost glowed in the light.

The mysterious man took a single step forward.

"We finally meet… Ariana."