Fate

by TheTrueSpartan

When Ron discovers that he can see the future, his entire fate is thrown off of its course. A story about adventure, friendship, growing up, and pushing forward through hardships. This story will get darker as it progresses, just like the original Harry Potter novels. It will cover all Seven Years of Hogwarts, but mostly from Ron's perspective. No Mary Sues, no Character bashing.

147. Chapter 147 - Armies

AUTHOR'S NOTES: Tried thinking of something witty, but it's almost 3 AM, so...

Enjoy!

DISCLAIMER: I do not own Harry Potter, and I do not intend to make any money off of this. Harry Potter is the intellectual property of J. K. Rowling , and I take no credit of it whatsoever.

I was also inspired by Demon Eyes Laharl's: THE RED KNIGHT! and also from Random-Fruitcake04's: CHOICES! I hope you check them out as well because they are genuinely very good stories.

There's also a couple more Ron fics out that are on point! They're called 'There and Back Again' by Chuchi Otaku, and 'Cooking Like a Bachelor' by Avatar Vader. Please, go check 'em out! You won't regret it, spread the Ron love, people!

P.S: Starway Man is a chad! (I'm never removing this)

---

Fate

Chapter 147 – Armies

The Champion's POV

Wednesday 31st March, 1994 (Four Seasons Hotel – Morning)

"This is amazing!" Mafalda's eyes gleamed with excitement, her head jerking from one direction to another. "Do you always eat at such fancy places?"

"No, I prefer eating at home," the Champion responded, he missed his mother's cooking dearly. "I don't know much about the States, truth be told. I haven't really had the time to explore it. This is the only restaurant I've been to."

"Are you sure they'll let us eat here?" Mafalda asked, staring at a blonde, pudgy woman adorned in jewellery and a bedazzling dress. "It looks like this place is reserved only for those staying at the hotel. Wait, are you staying here?! Oh, my God! You must be so rich!" This place disgusts me, and I'd rather choke on my vomit than sleep here. Full of fat cunts getting fatter and fatter, every one of them weaker than the last.

"I'm not staying here, but don't worry, no one will turn us away," the Champion assured her, his cold eyes staring right through her. "Order whatever you like, it's my treat."

"You're too kind," Mafalda giggled, eagerly scanning the menu. "I wonder if they serve waffles with ice-cream. Have you had waffles before? They're the best!"

"If you can't find them on the menu, order them regardless," the Champion said, shooting a quick glance at his Rolex. What a waste of my time. "The Wizarding staff here will use Apparition to find whatever ingredients they need to serve us. Anything you want, they'll get."

"What's Apparition?" she asked, looking up from the menu.

"To vanish from one place and appear at another, all within an instant," the Champion answered, and her eyes widened as she grinned.

"We can teleport?!" she squealed, and the Champion shushed her.

"Don't yell," the Champion warned, frowning a little. "There are Muggles here too, and so, we have to be careful. The most important thing you need to remember as a witch is that you never reveal yourself to Muggles. They don't know that we exist, and it's best kept that way."

"Why?" she asked, leaning forward and whispering. "What are they going to do to us? We have Magic, don't we?"

"Exactly, we have Magic, and they don't," the Champion answered. "People fear what they can't understand, and what do people do when they're afraid? They become stupid, which always ends badly for everyone involved. We live in our own world, and they live in theirs. It's best kept that way."

"I understand," she gave a nod, smiling at him in admiration. "I love your accent, by the way. British people sound so cool! I can't wait to attend Hogwarts!"

"Speaking of Hogwarts… Do you want to explain yourself to me?" the Champion asked, and her smile turned coy.

"Explain what?" she asked innocently.

"Why you ran away from home?" the Champion clarified, not in the mood for games. "How you ran away from home? I need to know-"

"Good morning!" a waitress suddenly stopped by their table, smiling down at them both. "Are you two here with your-? Oh, my… You're Ronald Weasley!" Is there anyone left within the Wizarding World who can't recognize me?

"Good morning, Miss," the Champion put on his best smile, looking to the waitress. "We're here alone, and we're ready to order."

The waitress continued smiling down at him for several more seconds, before shaking her head clear and pulling out her small notepad. "What can I get for you, Mr. Weasley?"

"I'll have the bacon and eggs, with sausages and some toast," the Champion ordered, his smile struggling to reach his eyes. "And a cup of tea, please. With milk and no sugar."

"Got it," the waitress beamed, before looking to Mafalda. "And what about you, little miss?"

"I'll have waffles with vanilla ice-cream," Mafalda answered, putting down the menu in favour of ordering whatever pleased her most. "And I want strawberries and blueberries on the side. Oh, and a chocolate milkshake too!" That's a lot of sugar. Oh, well, it's her teeth that'll suffer, not mine.

"Got it," the waitress jotted it all down, before looking back to the Champion. "I'll have that out to you in a jiffy!"

She remained in her spot, however, staring at him expectantly. Let me guess…

"Do you need me to sign anything?" the Champion asked pleasantly, and she quickly offered him her 'ballpoint' pen and notepad.

"Sorry," she chuckled nervously. "It's not often we get British celebrities in here…"

"It's no worries, Miss," the Champion signed his name, before handing the pen and notepad back to the waitress. "Take care, it was nice meeting you."

"You too!" she giggled; no doubt amused by his foreign accent as well. "I'll be right out with your orders!"

Once the waitress had left, Mafalda rolled her eyes and groaned. "She was annoying, wasn't she? I bet she's stupid too, which is why she's working as a waitress." What a wretched thing to say about a stranger.

"You don't know her circumstances," the Champion said simply, not feeling annoyed by her ill-mannered attitude due to the Calming Draught. "She was polite to us, and that's all that matters to me. Now, answer my questions."

"What questions?" she smiled innocently once again.

"Why did you run away from home?" the Champion repeated, his tone monotonous.

"What does it matter?" Mafalda attempted to deflect the question. "I'm here, now, and you've agreed to take me to England. The rest isn't important."

"I don't remember agreeing to anything of the sort," the Champion said dully.

"Sure, you did!" she blatantly lied. "I remember it clear as-"

"Stop playing games," the Champion interjected, frowning a little. "One word from me, and whatever dreams you have about Hogwarts will be over. If you want my help, you'll do as I say. Otherwise, I'll drop you back at Ilvermorny after we're done with our food, and I won't bother looking back. My time is precious, and you are wasting it already."

Much to his surprise, Mafalda remained unfazed by his threat, even going as far as to smirk at him. "Aunt Muriel wants me as her Heir, she said so herself. You don't really get a say in where I go to school, no one but me does. So, please, keep the tough guy act to yourself, it's not going to work on me." Ah, now, I see.

"No one gets a say in where you go to school, eh?" the Champion started. "Is that why you ran away from your parents? They're against you attending Hogwarts?" Mafalda blinked at that, but remained silent. "So, this is all just a tantrum? Your parents must be worried sick, have you even considered that?"

"I don't care if they're worried," she scoffed, crossing her arms and slumping in her chair. "They're stupid, and they don't have Magic. Why should they get a say in what I want, huh? They don't even know a single thing about the Wizarding World! I've told them that Hogwarts is the best Magical School in the world, but all they care about is keeping me here! They're being needy and selfish!"

The Champion drew in a deep breath, bored out of his mind. "Running away from home won't change their minds, Mafalda. If anything, it'll make them even more possessive of you." Trust me, I've walked this road myself, and it went nowhere.

"I just have to get to Aunt Muriel, that's all," Mafalda ignored his advice. "Once I'm with her, they can't do anything about it. She's rich and powerful, whilst my parents are just nobodies." She's a bitter old cunt, not that you'd know any better.

"They can do plenty, I promise you, and they will," the Champion assured her. "You're under the impression that our Great Aunt is untouchable, but she's not. No one is. The political climate within Magical Britain has shifted, and if she tries to take a child who isn't hers, she'll be in Azkaban within a week."

"Azkaban?" Mafalda cocked an eyebrow. "What's that?"

"Hell on Earth," the Champion answered bluntly. "A prison so horrible that most people would commit suicide before being forced to live there. Is that what you want? For things to escalate to such a point? You really think Aunt Muriel will let you put her in such a difficult position to begin with? No… She'll send you right back to your parents, and then, there'll be no chance of you attending Hogwarts. You haven't fully thought this through, and it shows." And here I thought that she was some child genius. What a disappointment.

Mafalda frowned deeply, looking terribly annoyed by his unfeeling tone. "You're mean and nasty, just like all other boys."

"Oh, I'm far worse than mean and nasty, believe me," the Champion remained indifferent to her petty insults and childish attitude. "But right now, I'm trying to help you, and I can't do that if you hide information from me." The Champion then leaned back in his chair, staring into her narrowed eyes. "Aunt Muriel told me that she and your parents had come to an understanding? One involving me looking after you? What changed?"

Mafalda hesitated, and then, her shoulders sagged.

"Dad suddenly changed his mind… Ugh… I hate him!" she lost her frown, pouting instead. "He's always doing this! One day, he was all for it, and then, out of nowhere, he just comes home and says that I'll be going to Ilvermorny instead! He doesn't care about what I want! He only cares about what he wants!" I wonder what changed his mind… If I had to take a guess, I'd say that he learned of Magical Britain's troubles, and decided that his daughter would be much safer in the States. Smart man.

"Why do you want to attend Hogwarts so badly?" the Champion asked. "Ilvermorny is a great school-"

"I want to study under you," she interrupted, adorning a more resolved expression. "You're a genius! Like me! And we're related! I don't know anyone in Ilvermorny, and as great as it might be, it's still not Hogwarts! I want to learn from the best of the best, it's the only thing I care about! And…" she trailed off.

"And?"

"I want to be super rich…" she whispered, but the Champion heard her quite clearly. I can't fault her for pursuing wealth, because I was no different at her age. And Aunt Muriel, no doubt, has put some stupid ideas into this girl's head for her own gain. That woman is desperate for an Heir, and it's not like she can produce one at her age.

"There's more to being an Heir than being rich, Mafalda," the Champion told her. "Yes, you'll have Aunt Muriel's money, but that money doesn't come free from responsibility. Once you become her Heir, she will have complete power over you. You'll spend the rest of your life looking after the Prewett Name, just as she has, and that will take its toll on you. What if, when you're older, you decide to pursue a career within the Ministry? Or, to train as a Healer? Or, to even become a teacher? All those doors will become closed to you once you take this step."

"Why? I can do two things," Mafalda scoffed, too young to understand the many duties of the Head of a Prominent Family.

"It won't just be two things," the Champion promised. "For one, it'll be up to you to bring more Prewetts into the world-"

"What?!" she blushed, looking disgusted by the idea.

"And not just that, but you'll have to take care of all the Prewett businesses," the Champion continued. "The boutiques, the restaurants, the shops, the buildings… You'll be running them all, which means that you'll have no time for anything else. Being an Heir to such a powerful family isn't a privilege, it's a proper job. A dangerous job, I might add. Many like you will come after you, trying their very hardest to take what's yours. You will have to fend them off, either through diplomacy, or, through force. And I'm not trying to discourage you here, you are free to make whatever choice you fancy; I'm just giving you the facts. This is something you should really think about, before you make a decision that will alter the course of your life forever."

Mafalda looked a lot less sure of herself, now, conflict dancing across her face. "Aunt Muriel never mentioned any of this…"

"Because she desperately needs an Heir, and she's willing to manipulate you and yours parents to get one," the Champion informed her. "My uncles, Fabian and Gideon, were supposed to take over her responsibilities, but they were killed in a war-"

"The Great War, right?" Mafalda interrupted, and the Champion gave her a nod.

"You've been doing your research," the Champion commended, and she smiled a little. "Good, you will need to do a lot more, especially if you still plan to come to England. Now, as I was saying, after my uncles died, my mother was next in line as Heir, but she chose to leave it all behind for my father."

"Why? I've read that the Weasley Family is notoriously poor," Mafalda said, not mincing her words. "I mean, like dirt poor! So poor that they-"

"Yes, we're not exactly swimming in gold," the Champion stopped her. "From what I've gathered, we lost our wealth due to a series of stupid investments and poor planning."

"But you've changed that, right?" she asked quickly, once again staring at him in admiration.

"A little, yes," the Champion shrugged. "But the truth is that I don't care much for gold, anymore. It's just a shiny metal that helps me carry out my work, nothing more. Real power doesn't come from having a lot of money, Mafalda, it comes from within. I'm practically a pauper when compared to some of the Lords and Ladies I know, and yet, I stand above them regardless. Including Aunt Muriel."

"How come?" she asked, leaning forward and listening intently. She's hungry for true power; I can see it in her eyes. Is that why she's so focused on Aunt Muriel's gold? Do I have a little Slytherin on my hands?

"Because I understand that their gold means nothing in the face of someone like me," the Champion replied. "Money can't buy you cunning. Money can't buy you real friends. Money can't buy you a sense of purpose. Money can't buy you the strength you need to persevere against all odds. These are all achieved by putting in the work, and if you can do that, then money will follow after you, rather than you following after money. Don't focus on becoming 'super rich', all right? Focus on becoming a powerful witch, one that commands respect and fear in equal measure."

Mafalda nodded slowly. "That does sound pretty cool… Mafalda, the most powerful witch in the world! Ooh, I like the sound of that-"

"Sorry for the interruption, you two," the waitress from before suddenly cut in, carrying a large tray with their breakfasts on it. "But I've got your orders right here!"

"Thank you, Miss," the Champion put on another smile, immediately noticing the extra bacon on his plate.

"You're very welcome," the waitress chuckled, before placing Mafalda's food in front of her. "I got you an extra scoop of ice-cream! Oh, and the Chef sends his regards, Mr. Weasley. He told me to tell you that he's a big fan of your Quibbler. He called it 'actual news'." Really? Merlin, my influence has spread quite far thanks to The Quibbler. It was definitely a worthwhile investment.

"Please, tell him that I'm most grateful for his patronage," the Champion said, and once again, she giggled.

"…So posh," the waitress whispered to herself in-between giggles. "I will let him know, Mr. Weasley. Enjoy your breakfasts!"

The moment she left them, Mafalda rolled her eyes again and frowned to herself. "Stupid and annoying. Could she have been more obvious with her flirting? Ugh… So gross!" I'm still a teenager, you moron, she was just being nice. You couldn't sound more jealous even if you wanted to.

"She got you extra ice-cream, didn't she?" the Champion pointed out.

"I'm sure that's just a part of her plan," Mafalda shrugged, taking a long sip from her milkshake. "Girls are stupid like that." Girls are stupid, and boys are mean and nasty? Sounds like someone doesn't have any friends. Whatever. Her lack of respect and basic decency isn't my concern. Not yet, at least.

"Just enjoy your food," the Champion said, bringing his teacup to his lips. "After we're done here, I'm taking you back home."

"What?! So soon?" Mafalda whined, but the Champion couldn't have cared less. "I thought we were getting along… I want to see more of New York!"

"Again, this is for your own good," the Champion said plainly. "If you listen to me, you might yet convince your parents to change their minds. Isn't that what you want?"

"…Yes…"

"Then, eat up," the Champion instructed. "The longer you take, the less likely it is that your parents will forgive you for this stunt."

---

Wednesday 31st March, 1994 (Newton – Late Morning)

"Hello, Mrs. Winters! I'm back!" Mafalda called out, looking around the spotless living room. "Mrs. Winters?! Are you home?!"

"Oh, deary me, at last!" an old witch rushed in, but was immediately startled to see the Champion standing next to Mafalda. "Who is this young man, Mafalda?" Merlin, this woman is ancient. I'm guessing that she had no idea that Mafalda was running away from home.

"This is my cousin from England, Ronald Weasley," Mafalda introduced, and the Champion gave a respectful nod to the old witch.

"A pleasure, my good Madam," the Champion greeted, glad that she didn't recognize him. "You have a beautiful home, just as Mafalda described."

"Oh… Why, thank you," Mrs. Winters relaxed a little, smiling fondly at the Champion. "I like your suit, young man. Is it the latest fashion in Magical Britain? You people certainly have style, I'll give you that."

"No, I simply enjoy standing out from the crowd," the Champion joked. "Thank you for allowing Mafalda to use your floo, she couldn't have found me otherwise."

"Oh, no… She's a clever little thing, I'm sure she'd manage just fine without my help," Mrs. Winters chuckled, before suddenly remembering something important and looking to Mafalda with a frown. "Mafalda, you failed to mention that your parents didn't know anything about you visiting Ilvermorny! They were both here after you left! I had to tell them everything and apologize for teaching you how to use my floo… How could you be so irresponsible, young lady?"

"…I'm sorry, Mrs. Winters," Mafalda apologized, looking immensely guilty. This manipulative little-… You've got to be kidding me. "I didn't want you to stop me, that's all. I wanted to meet my cousin, but they wouldn't let me."

"Is this true, young man?" Mrs. Winters looked back to the Champion.

"Yes," the Champion lied, deciding to help Mafalda out further. "But as you can see, Mafalda's come back. I'll drop her off at her parents, now."

"Good, you go do that," Mrs. Winters gave a nod, before looking back to Mafalda. "You shouldn't lie, young lady, it's very impolite. Your poor mother… She was very worried about you!"

"And my dad?" Mafalda asked, sounding more curious than concerned.

"Beyond angry! He yelled at me!" Mrs. Winters huffed, shaking her head. "They won't let me babysit you ever again, that much I can promise you. I'm very disappointed in you, Mafalda." I don't think she cares. I have a feeling that she only got close to you so she could use you.

"She's quite ashamed, I assure you," the Champion lied again, taking Mafalda's tiny hand in his gloved one. "Come along, cousin. I'll take you home."

"I'm sorry again, Mrs. Winters," Mafalda 'apologized', following the Champion with her suitcase in tow.

They promptly left the old witch's home, and stepped out into a suburban neighbourhood, one that reminded the Champion of the neighbourhood Harry was being held captive in. There were Muggle houses sitting side-by-side on both ends of the street, with a couple of cars cruising along at a slow speed. Silently, the Champion helped Mafalda cross the street, before looking to her for directions.

"It's the white one over there," Mafalda pointed towards a modern, double-story house. "I guess I won't be seeing Mrs. Winters, again. Ugh… I got all my books about the Wizarding World from her."

"Why is she living with Muggles?" the Champion asked, not interested in her whining. "Do you know?"

"She's 'Muggleborn' like me," Mafalda shrugged, both of them heading for the white house. "She said she likes the quiet, whatever that means."

"And how did you find out that she's a witch?" the Champion asked.

"I caught her growing her roses with her wand after dark," Mafalda sniggered.

"You spy on your neighbours?" the Champion asked, and Mafalda immediately stopped.

"What?! No!" Mafalda denied, clearly lying once again. "I just noticed that she never watered her plants, but her garden was still better than everyone else's. So, I investigated her. It's totally different." She's sharp, I can't refute that. I'm certain I wouldn't have noticed such a tiny detail at her age.

"Remember what I told you," the Champion said, stopping at the front door. "Let me do most of the talking. Just be apologetic, and bloody mean it. Got it?"

"I know how to lie to my parents, cousin," Mafalda rolled her eyes at him, and the Champion drew in a deep breath. "Okay, okay… I'll do as you say. God, you're a bit of a control-freak, aren't you?"

"Yes, I am," the Champion admitted bluntly, not bothering to deny it. "Now, shut up, and look guilty over your actions."

With that, the Champion turned to the red door, knocking on it twice. He immediately heard rushed footsteps from the other side, and the door swung open to reveal a raven-haired woman in her mid-thirties.

"Mafalda!" the distraught woman pulled her daughter into a tight hug, not even noticing the Champion. "You're safe and sound, thank God!" Thanks to me, but whatever.

"I'm sorry for running away, mom," Mafalda muttered, hugging her mother back. "I didn't mean to scare you and dad-"

The woman pulled back, suddenly adorning a furious expression. "Of all your shenanigans, missy, this one has to be the worst one yet! Do you have any idea how worried I was?! Your father couldn't leave for work with you missing! He had to call in sick! Come inside right now! You are grounded forever! Forever!"

"Hello, Mrs. Prewett," the Champion spoke up, and she looked to him with genuine hatred behind her eyes. "I'm Ronald Weasley-"

"I don't care about who you are," she hissed, pulling her daughter into the house before moving into his way. "Leave. You're not welcome here." Okay…

"Mom!" Mafalda whined, but her mother shushed her harshly.

"Upstairs, now!" the woman ordered, staring into the Champion's blue eyes with her dark ones. "And you… Go back to wherever you've come from, magician!" Magician? I'm a wizard, you ignorant-…

"Jennifer?!" came a man's voice from inside the house. "Is it Mafalda?! Is she back?!" Hearing more footsteps, the Champion saw a red-haired man step into the corridor, stopping in place when he saw Mafalda. "Oh, thank the Lord! You're safe!" He rushed over to her, kneeling down and pulling her into a tight hug. "My baby girl! I was so worried about you!"

"I'm sorry, dad," Mafalda apologized once again, even sounding like she meant it. "I'll never do something like this again, I promise. It was stupid and reckless… I'm very sorry-"

"Yes, it was stupid and reckless," the man pulled back, frowning now. "Mafalda, how could you?! Do you have any idea how scared we were for you?! The Wizarding World is not a safe place for little girls! I thought you were smarter than that! You're grounded! Am I understood?! No more television! No more Wizarding books!"

"Aw-!"

"No complaining, either!" the man stood up, pointing towards the stairs. "Upstairs, right now! You will stay in your room and think about what you've done!"

Mafalda shot a desperate look back at the Champion, but when their eyes met, the girl's mother moved into his way again. This bitch is asking for a beating. The Champion drew in a calming breath, deciding not to make a scene as to not make things worse for Mafalda. Instead, he stared into the woman's eyes as he heard Mafalda skulk off, until the man joined his wife at the door.

"Hello, Sir," the Champion greeted, studying the short and stocky man from head-to-toe. Nice suit. "My name is Ronald Weasley. It's a pleasure to meet you both."

"Jacob, tell this boy to leave immediately," Jennifer urged, but the man remained silent, studying the Champion with cold indifference. "Jacob?"

"So…" he started, peering into the Champion's eyes. "You're Molly's son, are you?"

"The youngest one, yes," the Champion gave a nod. "May I come inside, please?"

"No," Jennifer refused, but Jacob simply drew in a deep breath before giving a nod. "Jacob, you can't be serious! He's one of them!" Them?

"He's just a boy, Jenni," Jacob sighed out. "He wasn't even born when they cast me out. What did you say your name was, again?"

"Ronald Weasley, but you can just call me Ron," the Champion answered. "I know you're both upset, but I promise you, I had no idea about what your daughter was up to. And I'm the one who convinced her to come back home, so the least you can do is talk to me." The Champion then looked to Jennifer; his eyes cold. "Where I come from, manners are very important."

Jennifer shot her husband a disapproving look, before letting out a loud huff and storming away. Jacob, on the other hand, stepped aside and gestured the Champion to enter, pinching the bridge of his nose with his spare hand.

"Thank you, Mr. Prewett," the Champion said politely, crossing the threshold.

"The living room is this way," Jacob closed the door and led the way through the house. "I'm sorry about my wife, Ron. She's… still coming to terms with all of this."

"It's quite all right," the Champion said coolly, his eyes scanning the family pictures and crosses on the walls. "You've done well for yourself within the Muggle World."

"I get by," Jacob said dryly, both of them entering the modest living room. "Take a seat anywhere you like. I need to go soothe things over with my wife…" Brilliant. More of my time is going to be wasted. That's exactly what I want to hear. "And thank you for bringing Mafalda home. I know she can be a handful…"

"Think nothing of it, Sir," the Champion said, taking a seat on a leather couch. "I'll be right here. Best of luck."

"Thanks… I'll need it…"

---

Thirty Minutes Later

The Champion drank down his glass of lemonade in one go, his eyes fixed on Jennifer Prewett the entire time. She was standing by the door, eyeing him suspiciously and fiddling with the cross around her neck. Some part of her was afraid of him, the Champion could tell just by looking into her eyes, not that such a thing bothered him. She was wise to fear someone with his power, the power to bend reality on a whim to suit his needs.

"That was delicious," the Champion said, putting the empty glass down on the coffee table. "Thank you, Mrs. Prewett-"

"You can't have her," she spoke with resolve, tightening her hold on her cross. "What you're doing is wrong, and I won't let you get away with it. You won't steal our daughter from us!" What is this Muggle on about, now?

"I'm not here to steal your daughter from you, Mrs. Prewett," the Champion said plainly, already bored of this conversation. "Quite frankly, I couldn't care less where she goes to school. She found me, all right? And I brought her home. It's the only reason why I'm here. And… I was curious."

"Curious?"

"About your husband," the Champion clarified, and she frowned immediately. "I find the treatment of Squibs within the Wizarding World to be abhorrent, and I was hoping to ask him some questions about his banishment."

"What's there to know?" Jennifer asked, sneering. "He was born different from you people, and that was enough for you to throw him out like he was garbage. He was just eleven, for God's sake… You people make me sick." You're not alone in that boat, I assure you.

"The Wizarding World is not perfect," the Champion agreed, before adorning a dark expression. "But be careful, Muggle, because from what I've learned, you people are just as vile as us. You too find reasons to hate one another over petty differences, and unlike us, you lot have killed each other by the millions in the last hundred years. Am I wrong in my assessment?"

She said nothing in response, her jaw clenching as if she were holding back some horrid insult. The Champion just stared at her with a blank expression, however, unfazed by the daggers in her eyes.

"Sorry about making you wait," Jacob said as he entered the living room with Mafalda in tow, stopping and looking between the Champion and his wife. "…What's going on here?"

"Your wife blames me for how you were treated by the Prewett Family," the Champion stated, before looking to Mafalda. She seems unbothered by all of this drama, despite being the cause of it. If she does come to Magical Britain, she's going to become the source of many of my headaches. I just know it.

"Jennifer, like I've already said, he's just a boy…" Jacob sighed out. "He wasn't even born when I was sent away-"

"When you were exiled, you mean," Jennifer cut in, shaking her head. "I don't want Mafalda growing up with these people, Jacob, especially not that disgusting, old crone-!"

"Mom!"

"No, you don't get a say in this!" Jennifer silenced her daughter, raising her voice. "You're lucky I haven't locked you in your room after what you did this morning!"

With that, Jennifer marched forward, grabbed the glass off the coffee table, and then marched out of the room, leaving the Champion, Jacob, and Mafalda absolutely silent. So much drama… It's a good thing the Calming Draught hasn't worn off yet, I might've killed this wretched family otherwise. What a bunch of annoying twats.

"…Again, I'm sorry about her…" Jacob eventually broke the silence, nudging his daughter to take a seat before doing the same himself. "Mafalda, do you have something to say to Ron?"

"I'm sorry for dragging you into this, cousin," Mafalda apologized, though the Champion was certain that she didn't mean a single word. "I was irresponsible and selfish, and I'm sorry for everything." No, you're not, but if you do end up attending Hogwarts, you will be. I have zero tolerance for this sort of behaviour.

"As long as you understand what you did wrong," the Champion said, eager to get this over with. "Mr. Prewett-"

"Jacob is fine," the man interjected.

"Very well," the Champion restarted. "Jacob, your wife mentioned something about me 'stealing' your daughter? What is that about?"

"It's Muriel…" Jacob replied, sounding exhausted. "She hasn't changed a bit, the miserable old bat… She showed up here out of the blue, and all but demanded that we hand Mafalda over to her. I knew exactly what she wanted the moment she showed up, but instead of sending her away, I chose to listen to her. This is all my fault…" It wasn't out of the blue, mate. Your daughter sent her a letter, probably through the old lady across the street.

"She needs an Heir," the Champion said. "And it sounds like she's more desperate than I first thought. This is good."

"Good?" Jacob blinked. "How is any of this good?"

"You have the leverage here," the Champion explained. "Aunt Muriel, by Magical Law, can't take Mafalda away without your consent. You hold all the cards, Jacob, while she can only make empty threats and hope your ignorance of the Magical World plays in her favour."

Mafalda shot the Champion a subtle glare, as if ordering him to stop whatever he was up to.

"Wait… It sounds like you're on our side in all of this," Jacob said, clearly taken aback. I'm not on your side, nor am I on hers. If it were up to me, you lot would have never involved me in this shitshow in the first place.

"I know Aunt Muriel, and I know that she is not above bullying those who can't fight back," the Champion stated. "I don't like bullies, plain and simple, and so, I want you to understand that this decision is in your and your wife's hands, not in Aunt Muriel's. And certainly not in Mafalda's, no matter how much noise she makes. You are the parent here, are you not?"

Jacob nodded, looking more self-assured before giving Mafalda a stern look. "Go back upstairs, Mafalda. I want to speak with Ron alone."

"But, dad-!"

"Upstairs, you're still grounded," the man commanded, and Mafalda groaned as she shot up to her feet.

"I hate you!" her mask of sincerity cracked, stomping her foot and rushing out of the room in tears. "Nobody cares about what I want!"

Jacob let out a long sigh once she was gone, massaging his forehead. "She's acting more and more like a brat these days, ever since she got her Magic… I don't know where we went wrong with her, honestly…"

"You don't discipline her properly," the Champion said bluntly. "She knows she can get away with whatever horrible thought that comes into her head, because she knows you and your wife are both soft on her. I remember one of my brothers, Fred, screaming the same nonsense to my mother when we were little… She nearly tore his ear clean off, and after that, he never raised his voice near her, again." Shame that such tactics can't work on me, but then again, I'm a proper piece of shit, unlike Fred, who just plays at being one.

"I'm not going to hit my daughter, if that's what you're suggesting," Jacob frowned at him.

"Then, stop your whining," the Champion shrugged. "And learn to live with a daughter who doesn't respect you."

"Are you touched in the head, boy?!" Jacob seethed, and the Champion gave a dull nod. "How dare you?!"

"I do have brain damage, yes, and currently, I'm on a Calming Draught because a friend of mine died yesterday," the Champion said plainly, and Jacob's jaw dropped open.

"…What?"

"I was leaving her funeral when Mafalda found me," the Champion continued. "I'm sorry if I come across as rude, but the truth is that I simply don't care at the moment. The potion is numbing the pain I'm in, but it's also numbing my filter. You said you don't know where you went wrong with her, and so, I informed you. It was not a personal attack, just an observation."

Jacob just stared at the Champion in disbelief, his jaw still hanging open. Several seconds flew by, and both men continued staring at each other in utter silence. And then, suddenly, Jacob rose out of his chair, rubbing his face.

"I need a beer," he said, heading towards the adjoining kitchen. "Are you hungry? Thirsty? Can I get you anything?"

"I'll have more of that lemonade, please," the Champion replied.

"…Right…" Jacob muttered, leaving the room.

Almost immediately, the Champion heard hushed voices from the kitchen, and he figured that Jennifer had been listening in on their conversation the entire time. He waited patiently for a couple of minutes, his mind wandering towards Octavia on its own volition. He knew he wasn't ready to process what had happened to her, how cruelly she had been murdered by those she had trusted most in this uncaring world, but the effects of the Calming Draught were already beginning to weaken, and as such, his mind was beginning to unravel. Soon, he would be overcome by his grief, without even having had the chance to meet with Reyes with a clear mind. It's all that little brat's fault, showing up out of the blue and throwing her problems at my feet. I'm so tired of being everyone's errand boy. I should've just left her there-…

"Here you go," came Jacob's voice, and the Champion looked to his right and saw that the short man was holding a glass of lemonade out for him.

"Cheers," the Champion accepted the glass, drinking it down in one go and putting the empty glass back on the table. "Did your wife make this? It's really good."

"She did, yes…" Jacob sat down across from the Champion, taking a sip from his Muggle beer. "I'm sorry about your friend… What was her name, if you don't mind me asking?"

"Octavia," the Champion answered, hearing her happy voice in the back of his mind. "She was the Dryad who guarded the Forests of Ilvermorny and the Grey Mountain. I didn't know her long, but I grew very fond of her very quickly. She was a good, kind lass."

"How did she pass?" Jacob asked, looking genuinely concerned for him.

"She was murdered," the Champion replied honestly, and once again, Jacob was taken aback. "I would rather not discuss her, if that's all right with you. I don't want to think about it. She's gone, and nothing will change that."

"That's fair," Jacob nodded slowly, taking another sip. "Still, I'm sorry for your loss. It sounds… horrible, if I'm being honest… Murdered, you said… May God rest her soul." What God would even care?

"Were you really only eleven when you were banished from Magical Britain?" the Champion changed the subject, using his Occlumency to further numb his mind. "And who was it that cast you out, exactly?"

"It was Muriel," Jacob frowned a little when he said her name. "Like all children, I was expecting a letter from Hogwarts before my eleventh birthday, but… Well, I'd never shown any signs of Magic, and everyone in that damn family made sure that I knew it. Your mother included. We used to play together, you know? Quite often, even. Me, Fabian and Gideon, Molly… But they all had stories of Accidental Magic, whereas I didn't. As we grew older, they began bullying me, especially those horrible twins, and when I turned eleven, they stopped talking to me altogether. As if my affliction was contagious…" He took another sip, a longer one. "And then, Muriel came into my bedroom one night, and told me that I had to leave. She ordered me to pack my things, and within a couple of days, my own parents shipped me off to the States. None of them ever contacted me again, not even my own mother."

"I'm sorry to hear that," the Champion said, deciding to torment his mother for her shortcomings when he returned home. "How did you manage to survive? Let alone thrive?"

"Oh, I wasn't shipped to the streets, no," Jacob reassured him. "I was sent to a Muggle Boarding School, and my teachers taught me how to access my bank account, which always had money in it thanks to Muriel. Until my seventeenth birthday, that is. As for thriving… I studied, and I studied hard. I was an angry young man, but I was also skinny and sickly, so I focused my anger on my schoolwork. I built a life for myself, met Jennifer, got married, had a daughter… I moved on, but now, Muriel's returned to take my daughter from me. She's the one who cast me out into the cold, commanded my parents to cut off all contact from me, but now, she's marched back into my life like nothing happened… Like she didn't-"

Jacob stopped and took another long swig, his thick fingers tightening around the bottle, as if he were picturing Muriel's throat. He's still that angry boy, but he wants to hide it from his family. From his daughter.

"Aunt Muriel told me that you all came to a compromise," the Champion said. "One involving me?"

"We told her what we had to," Jacob frowned to himself. "I wanted her gone, told her so myself after she said her piece, but she just placed her wand on the table and kept going… What was I supposed to do? Let her turn Jennifer into a toad? Or, worse?!"

"Knowing Aunt Muriel, you did the right thing," the Champion nodded to himself, deciding to torment Muriel as well. "I'm sorry for what happened to you, Sir. No one deserves to be alone like that, especially not a child. What they did to you, my mother included… It was criminal. I can't speak for Aunt Muriel, but on behalf of my mother, I'd like to apologize."

"You don't have to do that," Jacob exhaled, staring at the floor. "It was all a long time ago…"

"That doesn't make it any less wrong," the Champion stated, coming to decision. "I can't promise you that Aunt Muriel will stop her attempts to secure an Heir, but I can promise you my help." And in turn, you'll help me.

"Why? You're not even a Prewett, and you're only involved in this because of my daughter's obsession with your supposed fame," Jacob said, hints of disapproval in his voice. "That girl, I swear… She has cut-outs of you taped on her walls, tricks our sweet, old neighbour into ordering new ones for her whenever she gets the chance… I can't help but wonder if other ten-year-old girls behave like this…" Jacob rubbed his forehead again, shaking his head. "Don't have daughters, Ron. All they do is make you age faster." Cedrella…

"She's made it quite clear that she wants to attend Hogwarts, and Muriel has made it clear that she's not going to back off," the Champion started, thinking of own goals and how all of this could benefit him in the long run. "My advice is that you let Mafalda attend Hogwarts-"

"What?! No!" Jennifer stormed back into the room, unable to continue eavesdropping. "I knew you were up to-!"

"Just listen, Mrs. Prewett, please," the Champion stopped her, and she frowned deeply at him. "The Prewett Family is one of the oldest and richest in Magical Britain, and whether you like it or not, Mafalda wants to be a part of it. Wouldn't it be wiser if she joined Muriel on your conditions, rather than running off when she comes of age? Aunt Muriel is offering her the life of royalty, whereas you are getting in the way of that. That's how Mafalda sees this situation, with Aunt Muriel as some benevolent witch who's come to pluck her out of a mediocre, Muggle life and place her in an extraordinary, Magical one. Believe me, she will grow to despise you both if you deny her this. Your daughter is very shallow and greedy -"

"Careful," Jacob interrupted, frowning as well.

"Again, not trying to be rude, it's just an observation," the Champion continued. "She wants wealth and power, and she wants it the easy way. I wasn't so different at her age, but I learned the hard way that my choices have consequences. I didn't want her going through the same, so I told her of the many difficult responsibilities that come with being an Heir to someone like Aunt Muriel, but my warnings seemed to have made little to no impact on her. Her mind is already made up, I'm sure of it." If I could go back in time, I'd have never accepted Sebastian Greengrass' offer to mentor me. I'd have found someone decent instead, no matter how much gold that arrogant twat waved in my face.

"What if we just leave, Jacob?" Jennifer looked to her husband. "Start somewhere else-"

"Aunt Muriel will find you," the Champion promised. "No matter where you go, you'll never be able to escape her notice. And don't even suggest not sending Mafalda to a Wizarding School, because that's never going to work out. She's a witch, she's one of us, and she belongs with her people. The Magical Congress of the United States of America will take her from you if you deny her a Magical education, and then, they will remove your memories of her so you can't even remember having a daughter in the first place."

"…What?" Jennifer went pale in the face, looking terrified.

"You're a Muggle, Mrs. Prewett, and no Magical Government will ever risk the Statute of Secrecy being broken by an untrained witch, so they will remove you two from the equation altogether and send Mafalda to Ilvermorny themselves," the Champion informed them. "You are not wrong to fear us, and I truly mean that, because we have done far worse for far less in the past. Wizarding Kind, I personally find, are the worst of the worst. We look down on all others inherently, and those who don't have Magic are especially beneath our notice and care. Just look at your own daughter as an example… You yourself have just told me that she's been acting out more and more ever since she got her Magic, and it's because she believes herself to be your better, now."

Jennifer sat down on the arm of her husband's seat due to shaky legs, shaking her head in disbelief and muttering to herself under her breath. Did I go too far? I went too far. Oh, well. It's better they understand this now rather than it coming back to bite them on the arse later.

"This chicken has already laid its eggs, and there's no point in trying to stuff them back in," the Champion told Jacob, who was now listening silently with a concentrated expression. "Give her what she wants on your own terms, let her attend Hogwarts but ask her to spend her holidays with you. Mafalda's a smart girl, and she'll see that old witch for the bitter twat she really is sooner rather than later. And before you send her off, you should also tell Mafalda everything about your exile, about how poorly you were treated by your own family, and the Wizarding World as a whole, just for being born different. She might not be able to understand your hardships currently, but as she gets older, she will. You, Jacob, have the chance to get the perfect revenge on Aunt Muriel, by turning her legacy into something she'd be horrified by. Imagine a Prewett who is understanding and caring towards Squibs. A Prewett who doesn't believe herself to be everyone's better simply because of her birth. Now, imagine her running the Prewett Family and changing centuries worth of bigoted traditions to suit her more tolerant ideals." My ideals. Piece by piece, I'll take the whole board, even if it takes decades. "This won't just change your daughter's lot in life for the better, Jacob, it'll go very far to help others like yourself. Mafalda could one day command a lot of power to be used for good, even if that power comes from someone you despise."

"I… need time to think about this," Jacob said, looking to his wife. "We need time to think about this. All of this is happening too quickly… We just want what's best for her, Ron, nothing more, but we're scared of losing her… She's everything to us." That's fair, I reckon. I've said my piece, and they listened. Now, it's up to them to make the next move.

"You're good parents, both of you," the Champion gave a nod, rising to his feet. "Think about what I've said, please. I can only give you advice, I can't force you into making a decision. Magical Britain is a dangerous place, I won't hide that from you, but Hogwarts is far removed from the world's problems. And unlike Ilvermorny, I'll be there to look out for her at Hogwarts and keep Aunt Muriel's influence at bay."

"Thank you," Jacob rose up as well. "For the advice, and for bringing my daughter home safely. Molly's raised herself an intelligent, responsible young man. I'm happy for her, despite everything."

"Is it all right with you two if I speak to Mafalda before I leave?" the Champion asked, looking to Jennifer.

She appeared to be lost in her thoughts, no doubt still terrified by the idea of people taking her daughter from her, and so, the Champion turned his attention back to Jacob, who gave him a subtle nod.

"First door on the left," Jacob whispered, before sitting back down and taking his wife's hand in his.

The Champion left them to comfort each other without another word, walking up the stairs and knocking on Mafalda's door. There was no response, and so, he knocked once again, louder this time, and after a few silent moments, he heard her small feet stomping over to the door.

"Leave me alone, dad-!" Mafalda snapped as she yanked the door open, but froze when she saw him. "You?! What are you doing up here?! You can't be here!" Why not?

"I just wanted to say goodbye before I left," the Champion explained. "Mind if I come inside?"

Her eyes widened as her face turned slightly red, and without another word, she closed the door in his face. "Wait right there! I just need a second!"

"For what?" the Champion frowned a little. "What are you doing in there?"

"Nothing!" she answered, even though he could clearly hear her running around. "Just wait, please! My room's dirty! I'm just cleaning it up a little!" For Merlin's sake…

Eventually, Mafalda opened the door once again, out of breath, and gestured him to follow her inside. Rolling his eyes, the Champion followed after her, scanning the untidy room with a blank expression. There were books all over the floor, both non-fiction and fiction, there were three shelves just above her bed which were stacked with even more books, and her study table was overflowing with Muggle schoolwork and Magical History books. There were no toys in the room whatsoever, and not a hint of anything 'girly'. If the Champion didn't know any better, he would've thought that he had walked into a scholar's study rather than a ten-year-old girl's bedroom.

"I take it that you like to read," the Champion commented, slightly surprised by what he was seeing. "Where did you get all of these from?"

"Oh, mom bought most of them for me, and I borrowed the others from the school library," Mafalda replied, planting herself on her bed. "Do you want to sit down?"

"No, I'm fine," the Champion replied, eyeing the barren walls. "No cut-outs of me?" I take it that she removed them in a hurry, because I can still see some pieces of tape that got left behind.

"What?!" her face turned even redder. "W-why would I do that? Don't be weird!"

"It's fine, your father already told me about them," the Champion assured her, he couldn't have cared less.

"He's a liar-!"

"I advised him to send you to Hogwarts," the Champion ignored her outburst, and she went very still. "I also promised him that I'd look after you if he does decide to send you over, and I meant it."

"Really? I… I don't get it…" she looked quite taken aback. "It sounded like you didn't want me to come…"

"I never said that," the Champion reminded her. "I told him that the decision was in his hands, which is true, whether you like it or not. After you left, we had a chat about Aunt Muriel and how she 'showed up out of the blue'… Honestly, Mafalda… You've no idea what you've put your father through by inviting that woman into his life again. Did you know that she threw him out of Magical Britain at eleven? Made his mother and father cut all ties with him? Can you even imagine being orphaned at that age? Knowing that you're all alone in the world?" Mafalda said nothing in response, staring down at her hanging feet with a miserable pout on her face. "Not to mention the shit you pulled this morning… You have to think ahead, all right? You have to anticipate what people will think and do when you act out against them. I didn't hurt your chances of attending Hogwarts, cousin, nor did your parents. You've done that yourself by refusing to earn your parents' trust. And I'm telling you this right now, for you own good, that when you do end up attending Hogwarts, I won't tolerate this sort of shite. If you want me to mentor you, then you need to be willing to listen. Is that fair?"

"…Yes…" she mumbled, clearly not used to being scolded.

"All right, then," the Champion gave a nod, staring through her. "I'll give your parents some time to think about my offer, and hopefully, they'll come to a decision soon. If not, I'll keep trying on your behalf, while you make sure that you're well-behaved and respectful towards them at all times. You need their trust and consent if you want to live abroad, got it? No more troublemaking."

"Fine," she didn't sound particularly pleased with the idea. "But what if they say no, anyway?" No one says 'no' to me. I always get what I want, no matter what.

"I'll deal with that too," the Champion promised. "You'll go to Hogwarts, cousin, I promise, but you have to play your part and play it well. Trust me, you have good, loving parents, and you'll miss them more than you think once you're with Aunt Muriel. She's not a kind person, especially not to those who cause her trouble."

Mafalda gave a slow nod, looking a little less miserable thanks to his promise. "…Thanks for helping me, cousin… I know I caused you-"

"Spare me your false apology," the Champion stopped her, eager to be on his way now that he'd informed her of his plan. "Just remember what I told you. Be good, and don't pressure your parents into making a decision. I'll see you soon."

With that, the Champion turned and left the room, heading down the stairs and finding Jacob by the front door. He was bringing in Mafalda's suitcase, but when he saw the Champion, he straightened up and gestured towards the open door.

"Take care of yourself, Mr. Prewett," the Champion said as he exited the house. "If Aunt Muriel gives you any more trouble, ask your neighbour to send a letter addressed to me at Prosperity Farm in Kent."

"The Weasleys own a farm, now?" Jacob asked, and the Champion shook his head.

"It's a safe haven I've built for Werewolves," the Champion explained, making Jacob blink. "My family's home is hidden by a powerful spell, so it'll be easier to contact me through the farm. Remember… Prosperity Farm in Kent."

"I will," Jacob gave a nod, offering the Champion his hand. "And, again, I'm sorry for your loss. Take care of yourself as well, Ron."

The Champion shook the man's hand, before leaving without another word. I'm going to have to go back to the safehouse, first. I need another Calming Draught before I go speak with Reyes. I can't let myself be distracted by my feelings. At least, not yet.

---

Severus Snape's POV

Wednesday 31st March, 1994 (Death's Hand Safehouse – Near Midday)

Snape stepped into the living room with a distant gaze, his trunk floating behind him. He no longer saw any need to remain in the States, seeing as the Sacred Tree was dead and Ilvermorny's mystery resolved, but mostly, he was eager to return to Magical Britain in order to tidy up Spinner's End for Draco's sake. He wanted his Godson to spend at least a handful of days by his side before the Easter Break ended, feeling an urgent need to let the boy know that he wasn't alone in this cold world. The thought of raising Draco to become a better man than himself had been on his mind for a long time, now, and it was well past time that he began his work.

Snape, of course, had never truly cared for such outward displays of affection in the past, but recent events had made him look back upon his own childhood, and how loneliness and bitterness had haunted his younger days, and eventually, forged him into a man he despised more than any other. He didn't want Draco being subjected to such harmful feelings, as he knew that his Godson was not strong enough to endure them. Much like Snape himself, the boy would grow up to become a cruel, hateful wizard, and that was not something Snape could abide by. I don't even know where to start, though… Crafting Spells and concocting Potions is one thing, but to raise and nurture another human being? A child who's lost everything? That is another monster, entirely, and it's one that might end up besting me.

"Severus, a moment?" came Albus' voice just as he reached the fireplace, and Snape froze in his spot. Damn… Almost made it out…

"What is it, Albus?" Snape asked coolly, not looking back. "I'm in a hurry, so if it's not important, it can wait."

"We need to discuss what we do next," Albus said simply, there was a calmness in his voice that greatly irked Snape. "About Harry and Ronald."

"…You already know the answer to that," Snape said, frowning to himself. "We figure out a way to undo the Dark Lord's Magic. We save them both. What else needs to be discussed?"

"You know it's not so simple as that," Albus replied, and Snape turned to face the old wizard. "It never is with Lord Voldemort."

Albus looked calm, now, but behind his brilliant eyes, Snape could see a tempest brewing. The old man was already plotting his next move against the Dark Lord, as if it was business as usual, and that angered Snape more than he cared to admit.

"We've thwarted him before, and we can do it again," Snape said, but Albus didn't look convinced. "What do you want, Albus? Just tell me your plan and be done with it. I don't have it in me to play your games right now."

"…I don't have a plan, Severus," Albus answered, averting his gaze. "I fear that this is beyond even me." Don't bother, you can't fool me.

"You always have a plan," Snape knew the man too well to be deceived so easily. "You just don't want to voice it, because it's too terrible." Snape's expression then hardened, his black eye piercing through Albus. "Say it, old man. I'm not going to let you play the saint this time. You have to say it."

Albus looked back into Snape's remaining eye, appearing as though he hadn't slept in days. "I believe that only Lord Voldemort can unmake his Horcruxes, the Spell cannot be reversed by any other, and he will never do us such favours… They must die, Severus-"

"No," Snape refused, feeling the urge to Curse his mentor. "I will not take part in whatever plot is fermenting in that senile old mind of yours, Albus. Potter, arrogant fool that he is, is still Lily's son. Her only son. He's all that remains of her, and I will not destroy him as I destroyed her. I will not. And Ron… We promised to protect him, and unlike you, I'm not so quick to go back on my word."

"You speak as though I want this outcome," Albus all but whispered. "I do not, but given what we have both seen, the forces that are at play, what other option is left to us? If they live, so does he, and as long as he lives, no one is safe. That's why I've come to you, Severus… I can see no alternative, but perhaps you can. Tell me… What do we do next?"

Snape drew in a sharp breath, how was he supposed to know? He had spent most of last night unable to sleep after Ron's words, thinking of a potential solution, but he had found none besides the one suggested by Albus. I can't do it… I can't destroy what's left of Lily, and I can't destroy what's left of Ron. I don't care about righting my wrongs if this is the only way to do it. I'd rather remain damned till the end of my days.

"What of Fate?" Snape asked eventually, and Dumbledore blinked. "She's a God, is she not? Surely, she has the power to undo the Dark Lord's Magic?" She's not going to do it, so why even suggest it? I'm a fool grasping at straws.

"Ronald claims that she has plans for him, but what those plans are, no one can say," Albus answered thoughtfully. "Perhaps, Ronald can be convinced to ask her for aid?"

"What if that's exactly what she wants, though?" Snape had to ask. "She must've known the truth all this time, and yet, she never once thought to reveal such vital information to her 'Champion'? What if this is another move by her? For Ron to willingly go into her service in exchange for freeing Potter and himself from the Dark Lord's clutches?"

"My thoughts exactly… These Higher Beings have rules they must abide by, rules that don't make any sense to us… For all we know, she's moving us around without even interacting with us, and we're playing right into her hands this very moment," Albus sighed out, aging several decades. "Merlin… When I first saw Harry and Ronald's ability to speak with snakes, I… I had my theories, but none of them were close to this-"

"Wait…" Snape interjected, surprised for a change. "You had theories? What theories?"

Albus hesitated, before adorning a sorry expression. "There had to be a reason as to why Harry and Ronald can speak with snakes, Severus, despite neither of them having Gaunt blood in their veins. The three of them even appear to be linked together by destiny itself, by signs that cannot be ignored in our world. Harry shares Lord Voldemort's past, both of them orphaned Half-Bloods who grew up alone in the Muggle World. And Ronald… Ronald might share his future, both of them capable of bringing about untold changes to the Wizarding World. I did not want this to be true, nor did I think it was possible, but now, we know exactly what links them. We cannot ignore this, Severus. We must-"

The fireplace suddenly roared to life, and Severus quickly turned to see Ron step into the living room, as if voicing his name had summoned him.

"Tsk, why are you in the way, Sir?" the boy frowned, skirting around Snape. "Keep the floo clear, that's common bloody courtesy." He then looked between Albus and Snape, cocking an eyebrow. "Am I interrupting something?"

"No…" Snape replied, turning to leave. "We were just finishing up." I'm not killing what's left of Lily, and I'm not killing you. That bastard has taken enough from me.

"Severus, please," Albus stopped him by Magically smothering the fire within the fireplace. "Ronald, we were discussing you. You and Harry."

"Oh, I see," Ron said slowly, eyeing Snape as he turned to face them again. "Well, good luck with that, I've got places to be-"

"It was unwise to reveal such vital information in front of Artyom, Ronald," Albus interjected, not sounding disappointed, however. "He has been asking questions about Horcruxes, which is dangerous to our cause. What if he crosses paths with a powerful Legilimens on Lord Voldemort's side?"

"We three are not immortal," the Champion shrugged, his tone off and unfeeling. "Our knowledge is useless if it dies with us, isn't it? I think we should let more people know about the source of the Dark Lord's immortality. People like Mad-Eye-"

"I have already shared this knowledge with the other Heads of Houses, and should anything happen to us three, they will continue hunting the Horcruxes in our stead," Albus reminded the redhead. "But seeing as Artyom is your man, I will leave it up to you to decide how much you share with him."

"I'll only tell him the basics, I promise," Ron agreed, while Snape silently studied his pale features and slightly dilated pupils. He's on the Calming Draught, again. "Now, if you'll excuse me-"

"Actually, we could use your input," Albus said, looking to Snape. "Severus and I are struggling to think of our next move, given what the Sages have revealed about you and Harry-"

"The Sages said nothing about Harry, only me," Ron told them. "It's just that I've noticed some similarities between us, mainly our shared ability to speak with snakes. I still don't understand how Harry could've been turned into a Horcrux, though; he's had no encounters with the Dark Lord save one."

"Two," Snape corrected. "Don't forget their very first encounter, the one that left the Dark Lord without a physical form."

"Ah, of course," Albus muttered, stroking his beard. "Knowing how mutilated and unstable Voldemort's soul has become, a piece of it must've been severed from the whole when his body was destroyed."

"That can happen?" Ron asked, raising a sceptical eyebrow.

"It's just my best guess," Albus answered, his mind faraway. "The severed piece must've attached itself onto the only living thing it could find in order to survive… What heinous Magic… He has done more damage to himself than all of us combined."

"Well, I don't know about Harry, but I'm willing to take one for the team if it means putting an end to the Dark Lord," Ron said, heading towards the stairs behind Albus. "I'm sure Harry would feel the same way."

"And what makes you so sure?" Snape demanded, not pleased that Ron was siding with Albus on this.

"If someone killed my parents, I'd do anything to avenge them, even if it cost me my life," Ron answered plainly. "Love is more often a curse than a blessing, despite what the old man preaches."

"Ronald-" Albus started, obstructing his way, but Ron grabbed the man by his arms and lifted him up like a child before planting him aside.

"You're blocking the stairs, while he's blocking the floo," Ron tutted the startled Albus. "I'm being plagued by those with bad manners today, and it's really starting to lose its charm."

With that, Ron headed up the stairs and vanished from sight, leaving Snape and Albus alone to continue their difficult discussion. Now's my chance to leave as well, actually. This wretched conversation can wait a few more days, and hopefully, in that time, Albus and Ron will both regain their senses.

"He's on that vile potion, again," Albus broke the silence, while Snape waved his hand at the fireplace and restarted the fire. "Severus?"

"Albus, I am tired…" Snape said simply, reaching his limit. "We can speak more about this once I've had time to digest it. I know you're worried, I can see it all over your face, but rushing to a decision is always unwise. You taught me that."

Not wasting another second, Snape began preparing the floo, but once again, Albus smothered the flames. Is he-…? Does he want me to Curse him?! Blasted old fool!

"Don't go to the American Ministry, Severus," Albus advised, whilst Snape turned around with a murderous glare. "Let me call Fawkes, instead. The American Aurors might take advantage of you being alone. We can't trust them after what they did to Ronald and the others."

"…Fine…" Snape grit out. "Just hurry it along. I have work to do."

Albus gave a nod, before summoning Fawkes, who burst into the room in a brilliant storm of flames. "Take Severus to Hogwarts, my friend, and then return to me swiftly. I also have need of you."

---

Albus Dumbledore's POV

Wednesday 31st March, 1994 (Death's Hand Safehouse – Midday)

Albus sat in the living by himself, stroking Fawkes' fine feathers whilst lamenting recent events. The death of the Sacred Tree, the death of Octavia, Asmodeus' broken heart, the revelation regarding Harry and Ronald… He was so tired of the relentless horror associated with fighting a man such as Lord Voldemort, a man without morality, so much so that he suddenly found himself wishing Gellert had bested him in their legendary duel long ago. Merlin, what am I thinking? I can't let my darker thoughts best me, not when there is so much at stake. And yet…

Albus frowned to himself, he felt as helpless as the day his mother had passed, leaving him to care for his belligerent brother and sickly sister. He felt cornered… He felt trapped… And most of all, he felt powerless. The thought of losing Harry and Ronald to Lord Voldemort scared him, but it was the thought of destroying them himself that truly shook Albus to his core. He loved them, he was not afraid to admit this, but he also loved the world and all of its wonders, all of its peoples and beasts. What was the value of two individuals when compared to the rest of the world? And as Ronald said, he would gladly give his life so that others may live. I do not doubt his resolve, not after all I've witnessed. And Harry, I think, would also make such a sacrifice, the brave boy, especially if it brought his parents' murderer to justice-…

"Headmaster," came Ronald's voice from behind him, and Albus was abruptly pulled out of his thoughts.

"Ronald…" Albus turned his head, facing the young Slytherin and Artyom. "Where are you off to, now?"

"To see Reyes," Ronald answered, his voice cold, but not as cold as his eyes. "Are you heading back to Magical Britain with Fawkes?"

"For the time being, yes," Albus replied, studying Ronald subtly. I can't bring myself to scold him for abusing the Calming Draught once again. Only Merlin knows how he must feel right now. "I wish to give Asmodeus some time to recover from his loss before I broach the subject of another Great War-"

"I already told him about the Dark Lord," Ronald cut in, and Albus blinked in surprise. What? Without approaching Severus and myself, first? "I offered him a chance to get even with the Dark Lord, and I'm sure he's mulling it over even as we speak."

"He just lost his daughter, my boy-"

"That is not my concern," Ronald stopped him, expressionless. "We need every powerful witch and wizard on our side, and Harkin fits that bill. With his help, and the help of the American Aurors, we will greatly outnumber the Dark Lord's forces." But at what cost? How could you be so insensitive at a time like this?

Albus frowned deeply, unhappy with the thought of Ronald placing his own goals ahead of the grief of a mourning father. "Artyom, may I have a word with Ronald alone? I am afraid this cannot wait."

Ronald cocked an uninterested eyebrow, while Artyom gave a nod and headed for the fireplace. "I will go ahead. Don't take long."

"Be careful, Artyom," Albus said, while Ronald remained as silent as stone.

Once the Russian mercenary had left, Albus gestured Ronald to take a seat across from him, which the redhead did without a word. They stared at each other in silence for a few moments, and Albus had to admit, it was becoming more and more difficult to predict what Ronald was thinking these days. He was growing evermore erratic, cold-hearted, and even downright cruel, and Albus couldn't help but fear what his limitless ambition was capable of when mixed with these alarming traits. I no longer see any innocence behind those eyes, only pain and rage.

"Asmodeus deserved the chance to mourn properly, my boy," Albus broke the silence. "I've known him for a long time, and he is not like you, Severus, and I. He is a gentle soul, even after all he's been through, and you telling him about Lord Voldemort's continued existence will only serve to cause him great pain. What you did, just a few hours after he buried his daughter, was nothing short of monstrous. I am most disappointed in you… Most disappointed." Ronald remained silent, simply staring through the man with cold indifference. "I know you're in pain, pain that I can't even begin to imagine, but it doesn't excuse your behaviour as of late. The Ronald I grew so fond of would never attempt to twist a man's grief into a weapon to be unleashed upon others, instead he would empathise with said man and bring him peace. Taking advantage of people when they're at their lowest is Lord Voldemort's favoured tactic, and you will not beat him by becoming him. I thought you understood that, my boy."

Ronald remained silent, however, despite Albus' harsh words, just staring at Albus in a manner that unnerved even the Grand Sorcerer. It was as if the boy couldn't hear him, nor could he see him, and soon enough, Albus realized why he felt so unnerved. He knows what he did was wrong… But he did it regardless…

"Ronald, speak to me," Albus tried, not planning to give up on him. "Please."

"What do you want me to say?" Ronald asked, his tone devoid of life. "I can't apologize, because I'm not sorry. I can't argue with you, because you're right. So, what do you want me to say, exactly? That I'm a bad person? That I'll try to do better? I know that I am, and we both know that I won't. This conversation will go nowhere, and you're smart enough to know that."

"And yet, here I am," Albus said, his resolve unshaken. "Still trying to reach you."

"I wish more people could be like you, Headmaster, kind and always eager to do what's right, but I can't be one of those people," Ronald said in response. "I respect you more than any other man, and I want to learn from your wisdom, but I can't be you. I don't want to be you. And no, it's not because I think you're weak. You're not weak. You're stronger than I'll ever be, both in Magic and in character. I don't want to be you because men like you keep failing to put an end to men like him. Doing the right thing is not always the right thing. Sometimes, it's the selfish thing, because you put your principles ahead of lives. I may have hurt Harkin with my actions, yes, but I've also shown him that his students and staff are in grave danger. What he chooses to do with this information is entirely on his shoulders, I will not force him into a fight he wants no part in, but to wait around because his feelings might get hurt? I have far bigger worries on my mind than the emotions of one man, no matter how 'gentle' he is."

"Is that why you went to him so soon, then?" Albus asked. "You wished to show him the danger looming on the horizon?"

"Oh no, I definitely went to him because he was angry and hurt, and I wanted to channel that pain towards our enemies," Ronald assured Albus. "I don't want to force his hand, but I definitely want to help guide it. Him marching against the Dark Lord to avenge Octavia and the Sacred Tree is in our best interest, and so, I planted the seeds necessary for that future to come to pass. It was a manipulative and unkind move, but I deemed it necessary. I'm not sorry, and I'm going to make many more moves like this one before the end. You won't be happy about them either, I know, but it's not my job to please you. It's my job to put an end to this, one way or another." With that, Ronald stood up and fixed up his suit, his lifeless eyes staring down at Albus. "Is there anything else you wish to discuss, Sir? I have a lot to do in the coming days, and I've wasted enough time as is." He was right, it's pointless to have this conversation with him when he's under the Calming Draught's effects.

"No, Ronald…" Dumbledore sighed out, feeling even more powerless. "Just be careful around Reyes, please. He is not your friend, nor is he a friend of our countrymen."

"I know," Ronald said, giving a parting nod before making his way to the fireplace and preparing it for a floo jump. "Headmaster?"

"Yes?"

"Stop brooding about what you can't change," Ronald said without looking back, surprising Albus. "If it comes down to it, do what's necessary. The lives of billions may depend on you one day. Don't let them down for Harry and me." Ronald… "If you do, I'll never forgive you."

And just like that, Ronald was gone, leaving Albus alone with Fawkes. He sat motionless for what felt like hours, staring at the fireplace as he contemplated Ronald's words. It was hard not to admire the younger wizard's relentlessness, even in the face of such terrible circumstances, however, it was also heartbreaking to see such a bright light dimmed to near extinction by the darkness surrounding it. But it still burns, even now, and that has to count for something.

In the end, Albus decided to listen to Ronald's advice, rising from his seat as Fawkes hopped onto his shoulder. "Take me to Grimmauld Place, my friend." Mundungus must have found some clues about Alexander Argo's whereabouts by now, it's been over two months. I won't let the world down, Ronald, but as Severus aptly pointed out, I also made a promise to protect you and Harry. If there is even a glimmer of hope for you both, then I'll stake my life on it!

---

The Champion's POV

Wednesday 31st March, 1994 (MACUSA Headquarters – Midday)

The Magical Congress building was vast and overly grand, covered in gold, emerald, maroon, and black. The main hall was several hundred feet tall, with over two hundred levels, brimming with golden balls of light that emanated a soft, sweet hum. Thousands of wizards and witches moved about their days in a hurry, as if reaching their destinations was a matter of life and death, most of them too busy to even bother sparing the Champion and Artyom a glance. Just by looking, I'd say that this place is far more efficient than our own Ministry, but then again, the United States is far larger than Magical Britain. More workers doesn't necessarily mean more efficiency.

"Why are we standing here? In the open?" Artyom suddenly asked, frowning at the Champion. "We are being watched."

"That's the point," the Champion said distantly, staring up at the columns topped with statues of the 'Original Twelve Aurors'. "Soon enough, one of Reyes' minions will show up and take me straight to him. Just be patient."

Artyom gave a curt nod, his dark eyes moving about the hall like a gazelle looking out for lions. Several minutes passed until the Champion was proven right, with Artyom whispering the name of the witch who was fast approaching them; Lucia Bellator.

"Afternoon, Red," Bellator stopped by his left, smiling down at him in a friendly manner. "You should've owled us if you wanted to visit, we'd have a tour guide ready for you." She then followed his gaze towards the columns. "These are the Original Twelve Aurors. Heroes, every single one of them. Only two of them lived to see old age, though. Damn shame, because we've never seen their like since."

"That one in the glasses…" the Champion pointed towards one of them, at the golden plaque attached to his column. "Abraham Potter… Any relation to Harry Potter?"

"As a matter of fact, yes," Bellator's smiled widened. "He came to the States to help settle this wild land for Wizardkind. Instead, he got pulled into a battle for justice against the damn Scourers, and he died fightin' them, outnumbered twenty to one. To think that his distant relative destroyed the Dark Lord himself centuries later… The Potters must be somethin' else, entirely."

"Who were the Scourers?" the Champion asked, looking to her. Tsk. She's got her tits out, again. Nice suit, though. It looks tailored to fit only her.

"My eyes are up here, Red," she chuckled, seemingly not bothered whatsoever by his critical stare. "As for the Scourers, they were scum. Absolute scum. A band of wizards and witches who acted as bounty-hunters, and later, as racketeers, before any form of Wizardin' Government was set up in the States. They hunted down fellow wizards and witches, turned them in to the Muggles for meagre rewards. And, when they couldn't find themselves some poor Magical bastard to sell off, they sold Muggles to Muggles and lied about them bein' Magical. After the Salem Witch Trials, however, everyone had had enough of them gettin' rich from murderin' and kidnappin' their own, and so, the newly formed Magical Congress trained its first Aurors, the Original Twelve, who systematically tore down the Scourers wherever they were found. Though, sayin' that, there are still some Scourers left, survivin' in the gutters like the rats they are. Always tryin' to find some new way undermine the Congress. Some of them even sprang up durin' the Great War, tryin' their bloody trade once again, but they got piled on by both sides for their efforts."

"They sound like Snatchers to me," the Champion commented, and Bellator gave a shrug in response.

"Wherever there's war and lawlessness, there's dishonest scum ready to make some gold," she told him. "Snatchers, Scourers, mercenaries…" she looked to Artyom, losing her smile. "Scum will always exist, no matter how hard we try to wash them out of our world."

"I agree," Artyom rebutted calmly, staring right back at her. Really? Can we not do this, now?

"Artyom is a good, honourable man," the Champion turned to face her fully. "He's helped protect me, and he's put down his fair share of Death-Eaters. You're being needlessly rude to a fellow soldier."

Bellator cocked an eyebrow at the Champion, looking him up and down. "What's wrong with your voice, Red? Not tryin' to be rude, but you sound off to me."

"Calming Draught," the Champion tapped his temple with a gloved finger. "It helps give me clarity."

"Ah… I'm sure it does," Bellator said, shooting Artyom a quick glance. "But you should be careful with that stuff, Red, especially at your age." No. "C'mon, I'll take you up to see Reyes. That's why you're here, aren't you?" Well, I'm definitely not here to stare at your tits, you slag.

"Yes," the Champion gave a nod, before following after Bellator.

"Where have you been, by the way?" Bellator asked as they neared the black elevators. "It's not easy to hide from Reyes' eyes, but none of them could find you." Good. It's nice to know that the Death's Hand has managed to remain hidden even from Reyes.

"I was around," the Champion answered nonchalantly, not eager to give away the safehouse.

"Around where?" Bellator asked, clicking the button.

"That is not your concern," the Champion told her plainly. "I will come and go as I please, and you will never question me about it. Soon enough, you'll be answering to me, and I expect you to remember that."

"Is that so?" Bellator raised an eyebrow, her tone losing its false friendliness.

"It is," the Champion promised. "You'll see." I still remember my vow, Bellator. I'm going to kill all of you. You don't deserve to exist in the world I'm going to build.

Bellator sighed and shook her head at his response, before entering the elevator and gesturing him and Artyom to step in. Once they had, she clicked the '178' button, and the elevator began moving upwards at an alarming speed, before coming to a sudden stop at the selected floor. Strange… I expected that I'd go flying up into the ceiling, but I barely felt anything in here. These elevators are far better than the ones at the British Ministry.

Bellator led the way out without a word, guiding them past dozens of separate Auror offices, each assigned to a different state, before bringing them to a tiny broom closet, much to the Champion's intrigue. She aimed her wand at the small door, muttered some incantation under her breath, and then tapped her wand against the wooden frame several times.

"C'mon, it's through here," Bellator broke her silence, sheathing her wand and opening the door.

The Champion and Artyom followed her inside, with Artyom having to bend down just to fit through, and they found themselves standing within a large hall with over a dozen employees going about their work. There were about thirty desks in total, half of them unattended, which were all facing a large, coloured map of the United States of America at the front of the hall. Let me guess… This area belongs to Wilkinson's and Reyes' 'special' group of Aurors. The ones who ambushed me and got me to execute those prisoners.

Artyom and the Champion exchanged silent glances, before following after Bellator once more. The Aurors who were currently in the office all stared at the Champion, including Cassandra and Leonard, while the Champion himself made sure to memorize any face he looked upon. Most of them seemed surprised to see him, while the others looked terribly displeased, especially Leonard. Hm… Maybe I'll just kill this lot? They were the ones behind my imprisonment, and it does seem unfair to punish the innocent ones, especially when they didn't even know that I was here in the first place. All right, then… That's what I'll do. I'll kill everyone who works in this office, instead. I just have to wait for my moment, which will no doubt present itself in good time. Until then, they can help me in my efforts against the Dark Lord.

Bellator led them to a small, cube-like office in the corner of the hall, its windows tinted black and its door made of solid metal. It looked more like a large safe rather than an office, and due to its appearance, the Champion figured that Reyes kept his most guarded files inside.

"Fair warnin', the bosses are actin' off today," Bellator told him, whilst gesturing Artyom to remain outside with her. "If I were you, I wouldn't try bein' rude to them, yeah? Not this time." Acting off, she says… I wonder if Reyes sensed that his leash has been broken. If he has, then did he tell Wilkinson about it? I've learned more about Reyes through the Sages, but Wilkinson is still a damn mystery.

With that said, she knocked twice on the metal door and waited for a response, which came only moments later. "Send him in."

Bellator pushed the heavy door open, revealing Heitor Reyes and Jerimiah Wilkinson hovering over a mahogany table, both of them engrossed by whatever they were staring at. The Champion entered the room, staring at their backs, while Bellator closed the door behind him. I was hoping to find Reyes alone, but it is what it is. I get the feeling that there are no secrets between these two, anyway.

"Where have you been, Mr. Weasley?" Reyes asked, neither men even looking back. "Did you return to Magical Britain without informing me?" Informing you? If you genuinely believe that I answer to you, mate, then I'll kill you right here.

"No, I was here in the States," the Champion answered, moving around them and placing himself across from them. "I guess your spies aren't as good at finding people as you think." What are they staring at? Oh, another map?

The Champion studied the map of the States that was laid out on the table, it had several red circles marked upon it, all of them in various locations.

"Where were you?" Reyes looked to him, his polite demeanour nowhere to be found. "You took sensitive documents from us and then vanished… Surely, you can see why that would worry us."

"I don't care about what worries you, Reyes," the Champion shrugged, smirking when Wilkinson looked up with a dark frown. "What? Is that look supposed to intimidate me?" It would work on most, no doubt, but I've faced Gods. What are you compared to the Entity? "Please, stop. It's embarrassing."

"You arrogant little-!" Wilkinson's brilliant, blue eyes flashed dangerously, but he stopped when Reyes placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Easy, Jerimiah," Reyes all but whispered, his dark eyes never leaving the Champion. "Mr. Weasley here clearly doesn't understand the situation he's in, so allow me to enlighten him."

"Oh, please do," the Champion chuckled coldly.

"We have you for over forty counts of murder, and although it would be a shame to lose an asset such as yourself, we will throw you out into the cold should we deem you hazardous to our work," Reyes informed him, his face expressionless. "We hold the cards, Mr. Weasley, not you, and if you want to keep playing at this table, you'll follow our rules."

"And here I thought that you promised to keep my 'misdeeds' to yourself," the Champion remained unfazed, both thanks to the potion and the fact that he knew he had a trump card up his sleeve. "You liar… I'm hurt! Aren't we on the 'same side'?"

"I don't know if you're brave, or, goddamn stupid," Wilkinson growled, his eyes clashing against the Champion's. "Either way, I'm starting to think that you're a liability, boy, and you don't want that. You really don't."

"What will you do? Kill me?" the Champion challenged, leaning forward on the table.

"I'm considering it."

"Well, I'm right here, so what are you waiting for-?"

"Mr. Weasley, what do you want?" Reyes demanded. "First, you vanish into thin air, and then, you suddenly waltz in here like you own the building. What is it that you're after?"

"I heard a funny story and I wanted to share it with you, that's all," the Champion shrugged, pushing himself off the table and planting himself on Reyes' chair. "A story about a little, Muggleborn boy from the south, who, as it turns out, is the last remaining descendant of Isolt Sayre herself! And, you won't believe this bit, but much like Isolt, he too was a Parselmouth! One of only a handful left in the world!" Reyes eyes widened the more he listened to the Champion's monotonous voice, while Wilkinson remained motionless. "And this naïve, Muggleborn boy, being a greedy whore for knowledge, found himself in the lair of some Magical snakes, who trained this boy to become their eyes and ears within the Magical World. He traded his own freedom for their knowledge, and the price he paid…" the Champion's eyes landed on Reyes' missing fingers. "Two fingers, which the Magical snakes devoured in a ritual to bind him to them. Does this story ring any bells for you, little Heitor?"

Wilkinson moved suddenly, drawing his wand and silencing every corner of the room, before aiming his wand directly at the Champion's heart. "Who are you?! Who told you this story?!" So, you do know! You two truly are as close as brothers, then!

"Ohoho," the Champion raised his hands in surrender, smirking. "Hit a nerve, did I? The Sages told me your sorry tale, that's where I disappeared off to."

"…Impossible…" Reyes muttered, it felt good to see him thrown off of his game. "It can't be…"

"But it is," the Champion hissed, his eyes flashing red as both Wilkinson and Reyes took a step back. "And as it turns out, you and I have a lot more in common than our lust for Death-Eater blood, Reyes-"

A flash of red suddenly fired out of Wilkinson's wand, smashing against the Champion's chest and exploding, sending the chair, and the Champion with it, wheeling into the shelf behind. And yet, despite the powerful stunner, the Champion remained conscious, laughing maniacally at the thought of bringing the two most powerful men in Magical America low with just a few words.

"Is that all you've got?" the Champion sniggered, the Calming Draught working quickly to subdue even his mirth. "Please… Don't insult me like this. Oh, I have an idea! Try the Killing Curse, next! See if that works!"

"Who the fuck are you?" Wilkinson pulled the stunned Reyes behind himself, his grip on his wand tightening. "Your eyes, they-… Answer me, damn you!"

"I'm Ronald Bilius Weasley," the Champion said his true name, tilting his head back in pride. "And I'm the only hope you lot have at a future that isn't ash and dust."

Reyes slowly moved forward, lowering Wilkinson's arm gently, but keeping his wary eyes fixed solely on the Champion. "…How did you find the Sages? How can you speak…? You can't be a Parselmouth… You're a Weasley…"

"I found them much like you did, when they invited me into their mountain," the Champion started, putting on a smile despite his excitement having died down. "They might not have told you this, but the Sacred Tree was dying thanks to a Curse cast by the Dark Lord himself. They wanted my help in ending that Curse."

"And did you?" Reyes interrupted, not sounding surprised. So, he knew about that too, eh? He really was their most faithful servant, the fool.

"In a way," the Champion replied, rolling the chair back to the table and planting his feet over the map of the United States. "The Sacred Tree is dead, and with it, the calamity it would've unleashed upon this country. I put an end to it all. You're welcome!"

"…What?" Reyes whispered, exchanging glances with Wilkinson. "The Sages would never-"

"They're dead too," the Champion told them bluntly, relishing the pain that flashed across Reyes' face. You'll join them soon enough, cunt! Don't you worry about that! "In my defence, they betrayed me first and tried to use my life-force to heal their home, but unfortunately for them, they made the same mistake as you did when we first met. They underestimated me… They underestimated what cornering me leads to. So, the next time you think about threatening to oust my 'forty murders', remember your masters… Remember what I do to those who dare to stand in my way."

A dreadful silence filled the room, with none of them making a move, but the Champion was prepared for anything. If they attempted to attack him, he'd kick the table and send it flying into them, before unleashing his claws and physically overpowering them with Cutis Terra. In such a closed space, he'd be onto them within a heartbeat, and it would only take one swipe each for their throats to be slashed open. Go on… Make Our day… Don't just stand there like a couple of nonces!

"…Leave…" Reyes suddenly broke the silence, stepping aside. "Leave, and don't ever come back." You fucking ponce… All that intelligence, but it's Wilkinson who's got the balls to run this operation, right?

"Reyes?" Wilkinson frowned deeply, snarling in disagreement. "We can't just let him-!"

"I'm not going anywhere," the Champion promised them. "You've given me a taste of your power, and now, I want it all at my disposal. You don't invite a man like me into your home and then demand I leave, that's not how it works." The Champion then rose up from the chair, fixing his suit into place. "And believe me, once I show you what I came to show you, you'll be begging me to stay." C'mon, Reyes, take the bait. I know you can't help yourself, you greedy little whore.

Reyes and Wilkinson exchanged another glance, and then, Reyes took a step forward, narrowing his eyes. "You sound very sure of yourself… What did you come to show us, exactly?" Got you.

"You lot own a Pensieve?" the Champion asked, tapping his temple. "There's a memory in here that you definitely need to witness for yourselves in order to believe it. It'll be unlike anything you've ever seen before, and once you experience it, there'll be no turning back. Are you in?"

---

One Hour Later

Reyes and Wilkinson sat across from him, neither of them had said a word since returning from the Pensieve. They had had their doubts at first, of course, but the more they had explored the 'golden' memory, the more unnerved they had become. The Champion didn't blame them for their silence, either, as men such as these two were not often shaken to their cores. They haven't been powerless in a long time, but now, they know that there is someone who stands above them. They know that my war is far more important than theirs.

"You're a Seer…" Reyes suddenly whispered, giving the Champion a wary look.

"No," the Champion shook his head.

"Then, how could you have seen… that…?" Reyes asked. "Did the Sages show you?"

"No," the Champion repeated. "I was granted this vision by a far higher power."

"A… higher power…?" Reyes muttered, looking to Wilkinson, who continued staring down at the map of the States in silence. "Are you saying that the Gods sent you this vision?"

"One of them, yes," the Champion revealed, and Reyes jaw dropped open. "If you still have doubts about that memory being real, then let me ask you this… Was it like anything you've ever witnessed before? Did it even look like a normal memory?"

"No… No, it was golden, and without any flaws…" Reyes whispered, speaking more to himself than the Champion. "But this can't be our future… It can't…"

"It is," the Champion felt no need to be soft on them. "We're all going to die… Our mothers, our fathers, our brothers, our sisters, our children… Every single thing we hold dear will be ripped away from us."

"By what?" Reyes asked, swallowing thickly. "What could've unleashed such… destruction?" I have to tell them about the Dark Lord, even if it might piss off Professor Snape and the Headmaster. I need their resources, I need their Aurors, I need their spies… I need them to fight my enemies, so that both sides grow weak enough from the conflict for me to destroy them both.

"A monster that you think is long gone," the Champion started, and Reyes leaned forward. "Lord Voldemort."

Much to the Champion's surprise, neither Reyes nor Wilkinson displayed shock and horror at the reveal, but rather, they both looked resigned. They… know… How the fuck do they know?!

"You're not surprised by this?" the Champion asked, looking between the two. "You know he's alive, don't you? How? Who told you?"

"We have… eyes… even in the far East," Reyes replied elusively. "Eyes that have seen him for themselves." A spy? Amongst the Dark Lord's own?

"Whose eyes?" the Champion inquired.

"I… cannot tell you that," Reyes leaned back in his chair, averting his gaze. "Jerimiah and I took a Vow of Silence, so that our agent would be safe even if one of us was captured. Anyone else who knows of this agent also took a similar vow, it's one of our most guarded secrets." These Vows of Silence are starting to piss me off, but whatever. Clearly, they have someone in Voldemort's inner circle, and that narrows the list down for me. Whoever this agent is, I'll find them soon enough.

"It's not Lucius Malfoy, is it?" the Champion had to ask. "Because if it is, then I'm sorry in advance, but that cunt is going to die, no matter what."

"No, it's not him," Reyes replied, and the Champion smiled a little to himself. Good.

"You Americans are not as stupid as I thought you were," the Champion remarked, genuinely a bit impressed. "Well, at least, you two aren't… Your people are rather unimpressive, though, if I'm being honest. Regardless, I'll take what I can get in this fight, seeing as it might be our very last."

"Did the God who gave you that vision also tell you about the Dark Lord?" Reyes asked, there was curiosity behind his tone that couldn't be ignored. "Gods… They're actually real… Who could've guessed?" I'm going to ignore the rambling.

"I ran into the Dark Lord back in my first year of Hogwarts," the Champion waved a dismissive hand, before pulling back his left sleeve. "He left me in a coma, and with plenty of scars to remember him by."

"I thought you got those from a-…" Reyes started, but stopped. "Dumbledore… He must've lied in order to stop the masses from panicking." Smart man.

"And I played along with it," the Champion nodded. "However, I know for a fact that it's the Dark Lord who's behind the end of the world, because the God who gave me that vision made it abundantly clear. Your precious Sages also knew what was coming, and who was bringing it about."

"The Masters knew…?" Reyes blinked, looking genuinely taken aback. "But they never-… Why would they not share this with me? What possible reason could they have to keep such important information to themselves?" You were their puppet, not their equal. That was reason enough.

"Because you were their errand boy," the Champion 'smiled', once again relishing the hurt on Reyes' face. "They knew about the horrors that lay ahead this entire time, which is why they invited the Dark Lord into their mountain. They were arrogant enough to believe that they could control him, as they controlled many others, but he proved them wrong. He cannot be controlled, nor can he be reasoned with. He'll be the end of us all, unless we band together and stop him."

"You're not killing Purebloods for political gain," Wilkinson finally spoke, there was something other than anger and disgust behind those brilliant eyes of his, now. If I didn't know any better, I'd say that he's calmer than he was before I showed him the future. That's fucking weird… Reyes might be the smart one, but I can't forget that it's Wilkinson who's running the show here. He's going to be a bigger headache for me than Reyes could ever hope to be, I just know it.

"No, I'm not killing them for 'political gain'… Such petty reasons are beneath me, as I serve a far higher purpose," the Champion replied. "I've been fighting this war since I was eight, since before I got embroiled in politics and other people's problems. I killed those Purebloods because I knew that, one day, they'd rally to the Dark Lord's side, just as they did in the past. None of them realize what he really is, because they're blinded by their hunger for more power, but whether you're a Pureblood or a Halfblood or a Muggleborn, it makes no difference to his madness. He only cares about his own life, and that mad selfishness will destroy the rest of us. Just look at the Sacred Tree as an example… The Magical Site was growing so unstable thanks to his Curse that it threatened to level this entire country, and he couldn't have cared less simply because this country defied him. I imagine that, eventually, he'll grow so tired of the world resisting him that he'll destroy it completely. A king of ash is still a king, is he not?" And then, he'll find his way off this rock and begin destroying other worlds too, but they don't need to know that. That'll be too much for them to handle right now.

"Gods be good," Reyes sighed out, rubbing his face. "I don't know whether to thank you for revealing this to us, or, to damn you…" Trust me, I know the feeling well.

"I had little choice," the Champion shrugged. "You two have devoted your lives to ending Blood Supremacy, which is a worthy cause, but I've devoted mine to saving the world itself. Once I learned of how the Sages drove you to become the man you are today, I realized that we're very much alike. We're both cursed with knowledge, Reyes, which is why I knew that I could trust you to do the right thing when I showed you the destruction to come."

"And the right thing is us giving you whatever you want? Money? Soldiers? Our trust?" Wilkinson asked, and the Champion gave a nod. "…Very well, then. You'll have it. Who am I to deny a messenger of the Gods?"

"Jeremiah, we can't be hasty-" Reyes spoke out, but Wilkinson simply raised his hand and silenced his friend.

"I made up my mind when I was walking those desolate streets, Heitor… Searching for any mistakes just so that I could remain ignorant of such a future, but I found none," Wilkinson said softly, rising to his feet. "I took an oath to protect Wizarding Kind, an Auror's Oath, and I will not turn my back on it, now. Give the man what he wants, and remain in contact with him on a weekly basis. We have to coordinate our efforts if we're to fight this war together."

"Where are you going?" Reyes asked, while the Champion simply watched Wilkinson in silent awe. He's… different… from Reyes. Not full of schemes and ploys, but rather, a desire to serve his people, I think. Is it weird that I admire that about him? Despite what he put me through?

"To get a drink, and then, I must attend my meeting with the Utah Aurors," Wilkinson answered, already at the door. "Tell him about the President's plan, will you? He needs to know what we're trying to accomplish if he's to help us. What we saw just now… It remains between us three. No one can know. No one." My thoughts, exactly.

With that, Wilkinson was gone, sealing the metal door behind him. The Champion looked to Reyes and put on a smile, which seemed to bother the older wizard greatly.

"Just us, now," the Champion hissed, relaxing in the chair.

"Yes… Just us…" Reyes hissed back, and the Champion's eyes gleamed red. "Are we kin? Is that why you can speak our tongue?"

"No, we're not kin," the Champion replied, and for a moment, he was certain that Reyes was disappointed.

"Then, how is this possible?"

"The Gods didn't choose me because I'm some ordinary lad, Reyes," the Champion lied, playing up his importance in order to appear all-powerful. "You said it yourself, didn't you? I'm unique! There are things I can do that would amaze and terrify you! Believe me, you've seen nothing yet."

"I've no trouble believing that…" Reyes gave a weak nod, looking down at the map. "This world continues to surprise me… And not for the better…" Save me your existential crisis, old man. I couldn't care less right now, even if I tried my very hardest.

"What is President Harper up to?" the Champion asked, and Reyes looked back to him.

"We've informed him of the Dark Lord's return," Reyes started, his eyes somewhat vacant. "Jerimiah and I have an understanding with the President, you see. He allows us to operate as we see fit, as long as we don't abuse our power, whereas we protect him from the darker deeds that are required for a safe and prosperous rule. We take great lengths to protect him from his enemies, including keeping him ignorant of our more ruthless actions. Actions like the ones we took when you were in our 'care'. There are many who covet the President's position within these walls, but Jerimiah and I make sure that their fangs remain dull." So, what he doesn't know won't harm him? I suppose, given that there are people who can literally read the minds of others, it does make sense. He must have a lot of faith in these two, though, to allow them to act so freely.

"How loyal of you," the Champion hissed. "To murder in secret so that your President can keep playing the hero."

"As I said to you before, good men must do terrible things so that brilliant men can write history," Reyes continued. "The President is a brilliant man, a benevolent man, but his optimism and altruism often blind him to the evil in men's hearts. He wants to build a better world, and after much convincing, Jerimiah and I saw that for ourselves. We both promised to see that world come to pass, even if it meant giving up our lives. Truth be told, however, what you've shown us makes our promise seem… pointless…"

"Hoping for a better tomorrow is never pointless," the Champion told him. "Tell me, what is the President up to? What did Wilkinson mean by 'If he's to help us'?"

"The President has approached your Minister with a large sum of gold," Reyes started, and the Champion blinked. He has? Why? "She is desperate for funding, and we this as our opportunity to weaken Pureblood influence within Magical Britain. With our gold, your Minister will repair Knockturn Alley and strengthen her claim, without ever needing to rely on the Purebloods. I know this hurts the alliance you've put together-"

"I couldn't care less about that," the Champion interjected, surprising Reyes. "All I care about is those poor sods finally being looked after, and if this is what it takes, then so be it. My alliance will bitch and moan, no doubt, but I'll keep them in line." A few broken bones and teeth go a long way.

Reyes gave a slow nod, and then, he smiled a little. "You're really not after power, are you? How strange… I don't often make such errors when reading people… I was certain that, despite your clear disgust with the Carrows, you only attacked them in the first place to strengthen your own position."

"I doubt you could've predicted my true motives, mate," the Champion chuckled icily. "If you had, then maybe the Gods should've picked you, instead." If only…

"We're also sending some of our best Aurors to Magical Britain once your Minister takes up our offer," Reyes informed him. "The plan is to help capture the escaped convicts of Azkaban, but at the same time, set up a foothold within Magical Britain for the inevitable war to come. During the last one, we struggled to help because of the uproar our own Purebloods created, but since they've been completely subdued now, we can better help Magical Britain stand against tyranny."

"As long as you remember to keep your ambitions in check, you and I will have no problems," the Champion said, knowing full well that he planned to wipe out Reyes and his crew once they had outlived their usefulness. "The Dark Lord cannot be allowed to take Magical Britain, as many smaller nations will swiftly surrender to him out of fear. I take it that your President will eventually enter into an official alliance with Minister Bones?"

Reyes stared at the Champion, before speaking slowly. "In a way… He plans to wed her…" Huh?

"…the fuck?"

"The President is… a strange man. Brilliant, but most strange… Some would even say that he's deranged, actually…" Reyes shook his head, as if he were embarrassed by association. "Either way, yes, he plans to enter into an alliance with her. The West must become united if it is to keep the East at bay, after all." What? What's he on about? "You understand that many of the Dark Lord's followers were from the East, don't you? Those who supported him from the shadows?"

"You mean Russia?"

"Yes, and many others… He did not become the threat he was by his lonesome. In the East, Purity is still very much celebrated, and just like the last war, he'll go to them for support. If we're to dismantle Blood Supremacy, and in doing so, save this world from You-Know-Who, then the East's beliefs must be torn down. We have to weaken them to the point of destroying them, and then, educate them to be better. We can't take the risk of another Dark Lord rising thanks to these elitists, we simply can't." Fuck me… I'll need to tell the Headmaster about this plan of theirs. What they're planning is a war that will engulf the whole fucking planet!

"The files you gave me were filled with names from Magical Germany," the Champion remembered. "Is Magical Germany a part of this 'East'?"

"We need Magical Germany, Magical France, and Magical Austria under our control if we're to keep the Dark Lord's support cut off from Magical Britain," Reyes replied. "Magical Germany is riddled with Blood Supremacists, so much so that they marry their own blood just to keep themselves 'Pure'. Outright incest is legal for many of these Pureblood Families, by Magical Law." Fucking gross…

"In moments like these, I think the Gods fucked up by approaching me at all," the Champion commented, sneering in disgust. "Whatever… I'll start work on those countries once I'm back home, while you keep doing what you're doing. We'll stay in touch from here on out, coordinate and whatnot as Wilkinson said."

"Does Minister Bones know of the Dark Lord?" Reyes asked, and the Champion gave a nod. "I see… She's hidden it well, then. We were growing certain that she had no knowledge of what's coming."

"Don't let her reputation as an honest politician fool you," the Champion advised. "She was willing to let hundreds freeze and starve in order to free herself from Pureblood influence within the Ministry. She's tough, and she's definitely ambitious." The Champion then walked around the table, stopping at the door. "Also, for what it's worth, I wanted to help the Sages, but they showed themselves to be treacherous and gluttonous. You're far better off without them."

Reyes said nothing in response, and after a few silent seconds, the Champion decided to be on his way.

"Wait… Before you go… Tell me about the Gods," Reyes asked, just as the Champion was about to open the door. "I must admit that I still don't quite believe you… W-what are they like? When did you first meet them?"

"They're… horrifying…" the Champion felt his innards grow cold at the mere thought of standing before Fate once again. "If I were you, I would remain ignorant about them. You'll be better off for it."

"…Oh…"

"Is there anything else?" the Champion asked, shooting one last look back.

"Dumbledore and Severus Snape… They know, don't they?" Reyes asked, and the Champion frowned to himself. "They came all the way here to find you, and now, I know why. I'd have done the same in their shoes." Good to know.

"Take care of yourself, Reyes," the Champion opened the door and walked out, gesturing Artyom to follow him. "We're heading home, Artyom."

"Finally," Artyom grumbled, shooting Bellator a dark look before following after the Champion.

"Lucia, organize a Portkey to Magical Britain for Mr. Weasley," he heard Reyes say as he walked past the staring Aurors. "And start selecting a team for yourself. I want you in action the moment we get the go ahead from Jeremiah." Looks like my army's gearing up for war, Voldemort… What about yours? Where are you hiding, you fucking cretin? Well, wherever you are, I'm coming for you!

---

Lord Voldemort's POV

Wednesday 31st March, 1994 (Mount Tsakhvoa – Dusk)

It had been a trying month since the Dark Lord had left Magical Britain behind with his Loyalists under his care, but at last, he had safely brought them all to Russia. They had been too weak to travel via Apparition, and their Master had to stop often to tend to them, but their wills had proven stronger than Death's own, and for this, they would be rewarded aptly. Lord Voldemort would give them an entire world, and they in turn would serve him faithfully, as would their children and their children's children. I've lost most of my Death-Eaters, and those that yet remain are in no position to help me. I must create more, and where better to start than where it all began. Lady Agapov, Lady Dolohov, Lord Morozov, Lord Volkov, and Lord Sokolov are the most powerful Purebloods in Russia, and they rule through Kraterocracy. Might is right… They must be the first to hand me their allegiance. With them on my side, the lesser Families will quickly follow.

"It's a pretty night," came a sweet, poisonous voice from behind him, followed by dancing footsteps.

"Bella," the Dark Lord smiled a lipless smile, turning to see her swaying towards him, her black robes dancing alongside her every movement gracefully.

"My sweet Lord," she continued spinning, enjoying the breeze upon her pale skin. "I haven't felt so alive in years!"

Behind her, the other Loyalists followed silently, with Rodolphus leading the way. They hadn't returned to their full strengths just yet, but they were still more than enough to subdue this nation and its Pure Families. At the back of the pack was Lucius, his gaunt face unshaven and his dirty clothes torn from another beating Bella had given him for 'losing her sister'.

"At last, we bloody made it," Philip groaned, shooting the Dark Lord a frown before staring off into the distance. "Can I kindly fuck off, now? You lot are wretched company, and it's been a long time since I took a Muggle life! I'm having withdrawal here, people… I've been having withdrawal for over a decade!"

"Not yet, Travers, you will have your entertainment once we've established a base of operations," Rodolphus growled, always quick to temper and slow to show leniency. "My Lord, where do we go from here?"

"For now, we find refuge within the nearby caves," Lord Voldemort answered, turning back around and gazing at the horizon. "You must eat, and then, Lucius and I will administer your potions."

"More fucking caves…" Philip complained, looking to Lord Voldemort. "Are we Trolls, my Lord? I'm certainly starting to feel and smell like one!" Disrespectful as always, but at least, he's loyal. I must remember that. And I must certainly remember what he's capable of if angered.

"You will cease questioning our Master, Travers-" Rodolphus started, but stopped when his brother placed a calming hand on his shoulder.

"We are all tired from our journey, brother dearest, that's all," Rebastian smiled politely at Philip, who completely ignored him. "Let's not fight amongst ourselves. We must remain united, or, we'll fall once again. That includes you, Lord Travers."

"Rebastian speaks true," the Dark Lord whispered, ignoring that Bella was spinning wildly in circles around him. "We will not be welcomed with open arms by Russia's Pure, and so, we must meet them as one. Philip, you may depart for the night, but return before dawn. Am I understood?"

"Oh, thank Merlin," Philip grinned in a twisted manner, making even the Dark Lord curious as to what he was planning to do. "This is why I love you, my Lord! You get me!" I get that if your appetite isn't sated, you will kill one of us in our sleep. Probably Lucius, not that I'd mind being rid of him, the drunk.

"Do not get caught," the Dark Lord said warningly. "Lord Voldemort will not save you a second time." Travers was gone within a heartbeat, Apparating to Gods-know-where to do Gods-know-what. "The rest of you, come. Let us find shelter for the night, for tomorrow we begin our work in earnest." When I return to Magical Britain with an army at my back, I will find whoever forced me to leave my home, and I will unleash all of my wrath upon them! They will regret crossing Lord Voldemort! They will all regret it!

---

AUTHOR'S NOTES: Voldemort is back, baby! And he's ready to kick some ass!