A/N: Your heart might break, but the show goes on.

Disclaimer: I OWN NOTHING, property of respective owners etc.

Chapter Three

Jasmine thoroughly enjoyed the next few days of school. Not two days after her removal of the stone herself, in the middle of the night she received the trigger warning that her little box of tricks had been opened, and Dumbledore looked extremely morose at breakfast the next morning.

Within hours, the faculty all shared similarly worried looks, and Quirrel had up and left. Not before, of course, he could discover a card upon his desk; her own personal version of The Magician, just like the one she left in the box. With an 'M' on the back, and the image slightly altered. The man, instead of being dressed in a white robe overlaid in red, was instead dressed in a black cloak, overlaid in green and hiding the face. The white wand was replaced with a black one, though the infinity symbol above his head remaining. The rest of the picture was blank except for the table, upon which rested a dagger and a crown.

Granger eyed her the next day from across the hall, and Jasmine merely returned the stare with a smirk, and continued to eat her meal while looking over the reports from her holdings. The two businesses were nearly finished and almost ready to open, she really needed to go there in person and see them for herself-her presence, or lack thereof, was being noticed.

Later that day, she was summoned up to the headmaster's office, and Jasmine spent the walk up to the entrance debating how she should approach this. Calm indifference? Offended innocence? Or perhaps that little idea niggling at the back of her mind in order to get ahold of that one thing…

Because that image still haunted her mind, and her sleep.

As she reached the gargoyle guarding the stairs, she paused, finally deciding on a course of action. It might rest a tad on the side of overplaying her hand, but she needed to have it.

"Jasmine Potter to see Professor Dumbledore," she stated to the gargoyle, not bothering with one of the silly passwords of sweet names that Dumbledore pretended to use. Honestly, to anyone who had read Hogwarts: A History, the idea was silly, as it was documented therein that the gargoyle merely relayed messages to the current head of school, which meant the headmaster amused himself by making people stand outside saying the names of various sweets until he felt it time to let them in.

After about thirty seconds of staring resolutely at the statue, the gargoyle jumped aside to show the staircase up to Dumbledore's office. With careful, measured steps, she climbed up the twisting stairway to the heavy oaken door of his office. Without knocking-since effectively, she already had-she pushed open the door.

"You wished to see me, Professor Dumbledore?" she stated innocently as she looked around the eclectic space. Bookshelves, paintings of old heads of school, various odd instruments and knick-knacks the old man had collected, and the man himself seated at his desk, next to which rested a stand upon which his phoenix familiar rested.

"Ah, yes, Miss Potter. Please, take a seat," he gestured at one of the chairs in front of his fine desk, much lower down than what was practically a throne that he resided in. A frown currently marred his troubled face, and his blue eyes were not as sparkling as was his norm. "I am going to be frank, Jasmine. What have you done with the Philosopher's Stone?" His eyes were looking down at her over the top of his glasses, disapprovingly in a clichéd grandfather look that doubtless had managed to guilt-trip many a person in past.

"I don't know what you mean, sir?" she replied innocently, her smile angelic. Tentatively, at the edges of her mind, she felt a prodding of legilimency, and the smile disappeared, "I might remind you sir, that violation of a student's privacy is a serious offence, as detailed by the school rules, and the sanctity of my mind most certainly falls under that jurisdiction." Dumbledore visibly recoiled, clearly surprised at her skill in occlumency.

"Those rules were designed for the students," he said dismissively, not denying that he had attempted to invade her mind.

"Actually they refer to 'All who walk within these hallowed halls' I believe, sir. Isn't that right, Professors?" she addressed the question to the various heads of school in portrait frames behind Dumbledore, several of whom nodded or looked disapprovingly at the current headmaster.

"Miss Potter, this is all beside the point. As is also detailed in the school rules, theft is an incredibly serious offence, and the Ministry may become involved in high-profile cases, which this most certainly is," he replied sternly, attempting to bring the conversation back around to his advantage, he clearly wasn't used to a student speaking back to him so plainly.

"Has the stone been stolen then, sir?" she inquired, once more playing up the innocent act, "why on earth would you suspect me of all people? I'm just a student after all."

"I have been given reason to believe-."

"You mean Miss Granger has given you reason to believe," she interrupted, and by the look on his face she knew it to be true. "Well, I believe, that in a court of law, one girl's opinion-as that is all it is, neither she nor you has any evidence against me-is not enough to incriminate me. But then again, it's not as if that matters, as this will never go to a court."

"And why are you so sure of that, Miss Potter? If you refuse to co-operate, I will be forced to use all the powers at my disposal to ensure that justice proceeds and the stone is returned to its rightful owner," he leaned forward steepling his fingers.

"I am sure, because you can never allow this to become public knowledge. Because if it was to become as such, you would have to admit that you kept an item being sought after by he-who-must-not-be-named in Hogwarts. That you set a trap, specifically designed to lure in the most powerful and feared dark lord of the last half century, in a place filled with the nation's children. And how do you think that will go down?" Dumbledore looked slightly ill at her words, no matter how hard he tried to hide it. He knew just as well as she did that he would not do well if such information were to become public knowledge. "And then, after all of that, you actually let in Voldemort himself for weeks, possessing a man under the posting of Defence against the Dark Arts of all things, now really. The public would crucify you."

"Yes, well, there is no reason for it to become public knowledge," Dumbledore countered weakly.

"Oh there's every reason, I stand to make a great deal of money selling that story to, oh I don't know, Rita Skeeter perhaps? She would pay dearly for such a thing, I'm sure," Dumbledore scowled at her words, giving up any pretence of civility. "But, like all things, there is a price. For my silence, mine is relatively simple."

"And what would that be?" the grandfatherly tone did not extend beyond his voice.

"A certain mirror, that used to be held in an unused classroom on the fourth floor," she responded, enjoying seeing the old man's eyebrows furrow. "That is my price, I want the mirror." She stood at this point, straightening her robes casually, "I expect it to be deposited in my Gringotts vault within twenty four hours, or else I contact Miss Skeeter. Your call." With that said, she turned and walked from the room, leaving a gobsmacked old man who was currently thoroughly readjusting his opinion of one Jasmine Potter.

She allowed herself a triumphant smile as she walked back down the stairs. Victory was a sweet, sweet thing.

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"I need a way out of the school," Jasmine stated, watching as the pair of twins glanced at each other, then at her.

"Now why," George began.

"Would an ickle Ravenclaw firstie," Fred continued.

"Want to sneak out of school?"

"And of course you act as though my brother and I."

"Would know a way to leave undetected."

"What an allegation."

"And completely unfounded."

"Personal business," she stated simply, "and you're the Weasley twins, of course you have a way out."

"Maybe we do."

"Maybe we don't."

"Why would we tell you?"

"Because you love your mischief and mayhem, but such extensive plans as you have require funding," the twins scowled at her statement, likely believing it to be a dig at their family's lack of wealth. "I know you want to start a business, and I also know that you have already started designing a range of products; your mischief making in school is beta-testing." She eyed them carefully, sizing up their reactions to her knowledge. "I'm a Ravenclaw, boys, when I saw the Potter fortune lying around in a vault, I started investing it in businesses, mostly in the muggle world since we have such a favourable exchange rate." That was a lie, as although she had invested in a few muggle enterprises so far, the majority of her money was being spent in the magical world. "And frankly, you're good at what you do, getting what I need in a way out of school is a nice bonus, but I could obtain that myself if I had to. No, I came to you because you are innovators who are able to create interesting things, which will sell."

"What are you proposing," George said slowly, levity gone from the pair.

"Two thousand galleons," she replied, noting how much the pair had to restrain themselves over mentioning that sum of money. "Should be more than enough for you to get off the ground. In exchange, I will receive a twenty percent share of the eventual company you form, and of course access to the passages out of school and perhaps a discount on eventual merchandise; we can work out something formal at a later date."

"How do we know we can trust you?" Fred inquired.

"Because I'm the one with the lower end of the deal, since I'm handing you two grand with nothing but your word and the hope that you make a successful business of it," she pulled a bulging sack from within her robes, containing the exact amount of money she had specified. "But like I said, I'm a Ravenclaw; I'm good at predicting things, and character. You'll keep your word-you're Weasleys, probably one of the few decent pureblood families around-and you have a drive to succeed. So take the money, and go do some cool stuff with it. Apart from anything, I can't wait to see Filch's face when he sees all the things you're going to do, that's certainly worth a few pieces of gold." Her language was deliberately childish towards the end, and appealing to their sense of being a 'light' family was equally deliberate. She had them hook, line and sinker.

The twins looked at each other for a long few moments before reaching a silent decision.

"Alright Miss Potter," George said.

"You have yourself a deal," Fred continued.

And with that they shook hands, and Jasmine smiled at having a perfect 'light' name under her thumb.

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The Diogenes club was very impressive, certainly compared to her other business she had visited earlier that day.

Though the rooms were empty, it was clear no expense had been spared in the rich wood panelling, and the luxurious leather armchairs lining one of the main rooms. By each chair was a table, upon which rested a box with a button which summoned a servant-there were to be no filthy house elves on the public side, only well-dressed butler-style staff-and a request could be made, the only time that one could speak outside of one of the private rooms.

And there were several of those, smaller versions of this room where private meetings could be held, or rooms with long tables for similar purposes of a more official nature. And there were even a few offices available to be hired for a space of months-under a hefty fee of course. And all of this, her own design, and due to open to the public tomorrow.

Interest had already peaked among the pure-blooded elite, as Jasmine had been sure to make a certain Malfoy patriarch receive a free membership for a year, and that his son knew about it. All it took after that was Draco to gloat to his various friends, who told their parents, and the problem of funding was already taking care of itself, they were already halfway to initial investment on membership alone-though many of the patrons so far only secured a single month's membership, wishing to test the waters first. Naturally, said first month was also half-price, just to ensnare as many as possible.

Malfoy, Nott, Zabini, Selwyn, Fawley, Yaxley, Parkinson, Abbott, and even old Bartemius Crouch had expressed interest. Come tomorrow, people whose families had been enemies for years, or who opposed each other daily in the Wizengamot, would sit face-to-face in companionable silence, not saying a single word. A stroke of brilliance, if she did say so herself.

"Very good, my employer will be very impressed," she remarked to Alexander Fox. The man was set to be the one who ran the business, and was aware of what would be happening behind the scenes. However, he was neutral enough politically for the place to appeal to all she wished to ensnare-not just those on the shadier side of things, gold was still gold after all. The man's father had been Edward Fox, the Head Unspeakable in his time, but his son had never amounted to as much, and this was a major opportunity for him. He was majorly indebted to an employer he had never met. 'Perhaps,' she reasoned, 'at some point he will have a mirror call, and learn the name. All the better for him to fear a known yet still unknown entity.' "Take me to my office," she commanded, and the man immediately bowed, gesturing to follow him.

He led her back into the main hall, and up the grand staircase to the fourth floor, and just along the corridor past his own office and at the far end of the ones available for renting, the mahogany door with its silver plaque simply said 'I.A,' not her full name of course, that would be a bad thing for such a public place, but her initials should be fine.

"It has been fitted to your exact specifications Miss Adler," Fox said opening the door for her as he did. Jasmine smiled as she walked through, marvelling as it was exactly that.

The dark wood panelling with silvery metal highlights made for a very traditional space, and two tiered effect almost left it as two rooms. To the side on the lower level, was a grand fireplace of artful stonework, around which were two chesterfield sofas and a similar armchair, of a dark green shade. Up a small dais, could be found the solid, imposing desk-inspired slightly after the Resolute Desk, though with her stylised 'M' symbol present on the front in the beautifully carved woodwork. In front of the desk rested two more, dark green chesterfield club chairs, and behind the desk a high-backed version of the same, slightly higher up as well.

Of course scattered around the edges of the room were end tables with old books and a globe drinks cabinet among other things, and to either side of the desk the walls were covered in bookcases, stacked with numerous tomes of varying rarity-though mainly not things one would find on an average bookshop shelf. There were no paintings of course; Jasmine did not trust that when people could move within them, that conversations would remain private.

And finally, there was the simple panelling behind the desk that should…

"Leave me," she commanded, and the middle-aged man backed out of the room, bowing as he went. Flicking out her wand, she felt for the panel which slid to the side to reveal a white crystal, brimming with magic and ready to accept her signature. With a flick of the knife always held up her sleeve, a spatter of blood from her finger was smeared on the crystal, which immediately absorbed it and changed colour to a rosy red, the protections now linked specifically to her.

Closing the hidden panel, she gave a flick of her wand, watching as the entire back wall retracted and slid off to the side to reveal a space the size of a large walk-in wardrobe. There were various shelves and racks lining the walls, and an island in the middle with various drawers waiting to be filled, and another chair like the one behind her desk beside it. But the far wall was blank, and in front rested a tall object covered in a black sheet.

Here, it had been surreptitiously taken from the Moriarty vault she had set up in Gringotts, and it had been placed in there by way of the Potter vault, and before that from Hogwarts by one Albus Dumbledore.

With a flourish, she pulled the sheet off by hand, revealing the artfully intricate mirror. For a fraction of a second, she saw her own reflection, as she was, before the image blurred, and there was a different scene.

It was slightly different, yet again, to the last time she had seen it, most likely due to change in location. Now the image of herself was seated in the green chair in front of the mirror, Hermione Granger sitting on her lap as they duelled with their tongues.

With the adult hers face leaning to the side slightly, the emerald green eyes occasionally flicked up from her lover to stare knowingly at Jasmine before returning to her current actions.

Jasmine sighed as she sat down in the real chair, and took in the scene, committing every last detail to memory; every fibre of their clothing, every out-of-place hair on their heads, the imperfections in their skin.

And so she sat, and watched, and thought.

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"So, what would Jasmine Potter want with the Philosopher's Stone?"

Jasmine smiled at the question, she had been waiting for a while, up here, on the same window seat as last time. She enjoyed their sparring in class and on grades, but she just needed that little bit more.

"I wouldn't know, I don't have said stone," she replied nonchalantly.

"Are you really going to remain so cool? Flamel and his wife depend on that stone to live, they will die soon without it," Granger returned.

"Nicholas Flamel is centuries old, methinks it's about time," Jasmine countered drily, "Death doesn't like being cheated of her fee, you know."

"Her?"

"Oh she's definitely a woman," Jasmine replied with a smile, "there's something so haunting about the legends of the Lady Morrigan, of the Gaelic woman of red hair and a raven upon her shoulder. The reaper of souls, as a child, a battle maiden, or an old crone."

"Myth and legend are not fact," Hermione returned simply.

"Ah, but they're so much more fun," Jasmine argued. "And there are hints of truth. There are gods among the men who walk this earth."

"Are you referring to yourself?"

"Are you sure that's not a Freudian slip?" Jasmine turned to look at the bushy haired girl. "I was referring to us. Is someone incredibly superior to others not the definition of godly? I've seen you keep that Nadia girl with you, and tell me this; how often must you explain how you have reached a conclusion achingly slowly and she will still not understand? We are not normal children, my dear Miss Granger; we are above their petty squabbles and childish endeavours, we are capable of understanding nuances they could spend their whole adult lives trying to grasp, we can see the twists and turns of reason and divine purpose from the smallest of things." She gesticulated with her hands as she attempted to explain her point of view. "We are gods to them in much the same way a shepherd is to his flock; we are above them."

"You think yourself better than them," Hermione summarised.

"Of course," Jasmine replied, as if it were the simplest of facts.

"Then you've missed the point," the girl stated firmly, before turning and walking away. Jasmine frowned at her retreating figure, trying to think of something to say or even to understand what she meant. Was this some socio-political parable about the strong having a responsibility to look after the weak?

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The Christmas holidays were quickly upon Jasmine, and she was still left confused by her last meeting with her fellow genius. However, she resolved to put that out of mind in favour of the work that needed to be done. Officially, she remained within Hogwarts over the holidays. Unofficially, she was leaving the castle for most of the day to deal with business in the real world.

It was on one such day that she had a meeting scheduled, at 2pm in her office at the club. Apparently, it would seem a certain someone had requested to meet with her.

She reclined back in her seat, swirling a crystal glass of a brown liquid disguised to look like alcohol-of course it was not in reality, she had no liking for the stuff as of yet. However, it was a necessary illusion, and that was what mattered.

Her musing on drinks was interrupted by a knock upon the door.

"Enter," she called out, and watched as Mr Fox stuck his head around the heavy frame.

"Lucius Malfoy to see you, ma'am," he stated.

"Send him in, then," she commanded, to which he swiftly nodded, opening the door to allow the well dressed, platinum haired man to enter. He eyed the room appreciatively, doubtless taking in the various refinements of aristocracy she'd been careful to include. "Mr Malfoy," she said in greeting, standing up from her chair, "a pleasure to meet you."

"And you as well, Miss…Adler I believe," he returned smoothly.

"Yes, although I'd appreciate it if you didn't spread the name around too much," she replied, walking over to him. "Please, sit down," she gestured to the sofas by the lightly crackling fire, "drink?"

"Please," he replied, gracefully alighting upon one of the green sofas. She opened up the globe in response to his acquiescence, visibly searching amongst the bottles within before snagging a decanter of brown liquid.

"1875 Cognac," she said as she poured out a healthy measure, "picked it up the other day. You'll be the first besides myself to sample it." She handed over the crystal glass before sitting down on the sofa opposite him. As he took a sip, he made a face of grudging acceptance.

"You have good taste," he stated, taking another sip.

"I like to think so," she replied with a smile.

"I'll confess, you play a good game," he commented, and Jasmine raised an obscured eyebrow in return.

"Oh? And what game is that?"

"You, the shadowy owner of this establishment, and the business you run behind it," Malfoy replied, "I knew there was something more to this place when I first entered. It was a clever idea, the main section, but there was more to things, not least that no-one seemed to know who actually owns the business. And then of course I discovered from a few…associates, of the other services that you offer for a fee. I of course surmised the rest and read between the lines and eventually when I do get a meeting with you, I still cannot see your face." He leaned back gesturing to her obscured visage. "And I'll presume that 'Irene Adler' is an alias, as I've certainly never heard of your family name before."

"It's a pseudonym, given to me by my employer," she answered, sipping from her glass and regarding Malfoy's confusedly furrowed brows with amusement, "ah yes, you were under the impression I was in charge here. Well, as far as the majority of people go, I am. In fact, the only man in the building, other than yourself, to know this is Mr Fox, and he has still never met or talked to my employer, nor does he even know his name."

"Quite the cloak-and-dagger routine," Malfoy stated, "to what end is all of this?"

"Secrecy is a powerful thing, or so he always tells us," she replied, "he is a shadow, always there but never visible. He is…I believe he called himself the consulting criminal, if you will. He has built up a power base, and now when someone requires something doing, say, an estranged lover removed from the equation, or a politician thrown out of office for misconduct, or any one of a number of things, big or small, he will get it done. For a price of course."

"And what are his prices?" Malfoy said carefully.

"Depends on the situation; money, an item, a favour, any one of a number of things, I can't profess to know all the details, I just deal with the business side of things." The Malfoy patriarch stayed silent for a long few moments, staring at her resolutely.

"I want a meeting with him; I deal with those in charge, not their staff," he growled, waving at her dismissively.

"He is no ordinary man, and that is not how he operates, Mister Malfoy," she returned.

"Well you can tell him from me," he said anger suddenly clouding his visage, "I will speak to him, if he is oh-so bloody powerful, but I will not speak to his pet concubine as if she were my equal!" He slammed his glass down onto the coffee table and stormed from the room.

Jasmine gave a sigh. To be fair, she had expected something similar, and had prepared accordingly, it was just a bit of a pain. With finality, she withdrew her pocket watch and prepared to make a call.

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The secretary barely looked up as Lucius Malfoy stalked through the highest offices of the ministry two hours later.

"The Minister is in his office, Mister Malfoy," she said absently as he walked brusquely past her and the two aurors guarding the office and through the door.

He did finally pause when he entered the office, it being darkened with no lights lit. He even flinched as the door closed behind him, seemingly of its own accord.

"Mister Malfoy," said an unfamiliar voice that had the platinum-blond pulling his wand from his cane. "I believe you requested a meeting."

As the man's blue eyes adjusted to the low light, he finally saw a dark cloaked figure sitting behind the Minister's desk.

"Bloody Merlin," he said, realising who was sitting there.

"Actually the name's Moriarty, not Merlin. James Moriarty," the figure replied. "Please, sit, have a drink," Lucius noticed the chair positioned near the desk, upon the armrest of which rested a glass, "my, ah, what did you call her? Oh yes, pet concubine," he drawled out the words scathingly, "said you appreciated the brandy before you left."

Lucius sat down, somewhat in a daze automatically taking the glass in hand and taking a heavy gulp, noting the same fine taste from not two hours before. How was this possible? He half-heartedly tried to peer at the shadowed face beneath the hood in vain, only managing to make out that the black fabric was lined in dark green.

"Speaking of which, you should be glad she is not the sort to hold a grudge or this would be a slightly less pleasant meeting. I do not appreciate insults to my most valued of employees, though I'm sure by the next time you meet her you will have formulated an appropriate apology." 'Or else,' was silently implied, and Lucius resisted the urge to shiver. "In the mean-time, let us discuss the business you have to bring up."

A/N: And so another chapter ends, this story's reached a relatively high word count for such a short period of time for writing time.