April 23rd 1987… Godric Hollow, Magica Britannia… Muck-About Manor, Jame's Study…

"Albus, this is a surprise." James said pleasantly. He had a miraculous day off from work. The backlog from the war had ended years ago, and for the time being, things were quiet. With Frank having risen to Senior with Kingsley, things were looking up for the department. Allowing him to spend some time with the kids. Though, Jax was being a bit too withdrawn for his liking.

"Yes, I had heard from Amelia that you had the day off, and…" Albus was about to go on his tangent of improbable coincidences. James knew his mentor too well.

"Say no more, Albus." James said, a smile creeping onto his lips. "My home and hearth are yours to command."

James showed Dumbledore into his personal study. Well, more of his and Lilybud's study. Muck-About Manor was still being expanded and built. More funds had gone into constructions and carving of more protective runes and wards than space-expansion charms. Thus, the shared accommodation.

The room was modest, which suited his needs. A desk, a bookcase with notes, maps and more than a few textbooks and grimoires. A table with a few seats for guests or strategy sessions. A liquor cabinet that James pulled out some Scottish Icewine and a bowl of treats that he knew his mentor liked.

"Too kind, my boy." Dumbledore said when he presented such. He himself poured himself a drink, before setting up the bare minimum privacy charms. Enough to keep the governess from eavesdropping on their conversation.

"So, Albus, what's the occasion? You don't usually drop by, if ever." James said, half jokingly. Sipping the overly sweet and fruity flavors of his drink.

"Responsibilities my boy, they multiply like a spring bloom." Dumbledore chuckled, eating a few of the offered treats.

"Don't I know it." James chuckled knowingly. "I heard that you were in Japan not too long ago from the Ministry grapevine."

"... Yes, I was." Dumbledore almost hesitantly, his gaze sliding toward James in new consideration. "What have you heard about it?"

"Bah, nothing much, Albus." Jame said. He had hardly read the newspapers as at the time he was tracking down a lead on a trove of stolen family heirlooms which turned out to have been hidden in a muggle bank vault of all things. "Just that the Japs were backsliding back to villainy and the Chinese were talking about old war grievances. The usual."

"In a manner of speaking that is not too far from the truth." Dumbledore said, stroking his beard. "Though, it misses the heart of why I journeyed there in the first place."

"ICW responsibilities, I imagine?" James asked. Not that there were that many these days anyway. The ICW had effectively shifted so many responsibilities from the supreme mugwump that most of the time, he was effectively figurehead.

"No." Dumbledore paused. "No, it had to do with Harrier."

"What." James said, suddenly feeling like the floor had just dropped from beneath him.

"Yes, I had not expected Fleamont to travel to Japan of all places. Yet in hindsight, I should have looked there instead of America or Mongolia." Dumbledore sighed, scratching his beard. "Or that he had made inroads with the Japanese Ministry."

"Wait, slow down Albus." James replied, himself trying to catch himself. "You found where Harrier is?"

"Was." Dumbledore sighed. "I know I should have let you know when I first learned. Yet, my responsibilities and time restraints couldn't allow the diversion. I assembled a team from the order and headed out immediately. In hindsight, including you or Lily in the team could have avoided so much unpleasantry."

James head swam, Harrier his long lost son had been found. A son that he had given to his father to deliver to Dumbledore for his safe keeping. The son that he had lost when his father betrayed him when he was still recovering in St. Mungo's. A son that he and Lily had no clue where he was, what he got up to, and what state he was in. A son that Lily had considered for all purposes dead. One that he still held out hope.

"I'm guessing things didn't go to plan, Albus?" James tentatively asked.

"No, my dear boy, they did not. Seems the Japanese Empress and their minister were personally protecting the boy and your uncle. Saying whatever my right as appointed guardian was non-existent toward your uncle. Because of 'natural' rights of blood and 'oaths' sworn means anything to thrice damned kidnapper." Albus said severely, his mood darkening.

Dumbledore steadied himself, his breathing resumed the normal calm cadence. James leaned back stunned. How had his uncle convinced a wizarding nation to protect him? That didn't make any sense. Fleamont was a fugitive that was wanted now in over 50 wizarding nations! For the Japanese to give him safe harbour was dire indeed.

Dumbledore continued on. "I've already fast tracked some major sanctions and have asked the High Court to charge the Japanese government ministries with a slew of crimes. If the Japanese think they can hide and protect a fugitive of justice and my kidnapped ward, they should be reminded of my titles."

The Japanese, whatever calculus they had made to accept Fleamont, was going to pay. Considering Dumbledore's mood on the subject. James thought, sipping his Icewine.

"That still doesn't explain why the Japanese accepted Fleamont in the first place." James asked, voicing his thoughts.

Dumbledore's hands shifted in his robes before taking out a photograph. A coloured photograph too! Probably made with a muggle camera. When he saw who was in it, James almost dropped his glass.

"On that I can't say. After the confrontation with the Japanese government put most of my team in the hospital, I bided my time. Waiting for an ICW contingent to end this foolishness. When they arrived, Fleamont had already been alerted and slipped away. Along with Harrier." Dumbledore relayed.

James barely heard him looking at what looked like a younger version of him staring back. Dark black shaggy hair with wireframe glasses stared up at him. The face looked almost like he did in his youth. With Lily's famous green eyes staring back up to him. He looked like he was in good health, wearing some sort of asian black robe of some sort along with a black hair asian girl beside him.

"Have you heard who has been taking care of Harrier, Albus? I can't imagine my uncle has taken care of him alone." James asked, a nervous spasm in his arm increasingly asserting itself as he gazed at the photograph. Harry looked too good in health considering Fleamont's fostering.

If things had worked out like they were supposed to, then one of Dumbledore's many cousins, some of whom were squibs, would have taken in Harrier and raised them like their own. Now, he and Lily were left with a son that was lost. Gone. They both dealt with it in their own ways.

Lily liked to pretend that Harrier never existed. Instead burying herself in work, or managing or perhaps expanding their family. Two more children to expand the Potter's depleted ranks. A small consolation for their other two children, James thought sourly. James himself had never forgotten about his second born son or his first born daughter. James thought about them every time he went to sleep at night. Hoping they could forgive them for being shit parents and giving them away in fear.

Albus, meanwhile, had been stroking his beard in apparent contemplation, his eyes twinkling with genuine good news. "On that front, I'm happy to say that your uncle isn't taking care of him alone. I've discovered that Ms. Ollivander appears to have fulfilled the role of homemaker for him."

"Euphemia Ollivander?" James asked. Seeing Dumbledore's affirmation, James continued. "Huh, I didn't think I would hear that name again. Arthur never had kind things to say about her."

"Oh?" Dumbledore said concerningly. "While Ms. Ollivander does come from an overwhelming Blood purist family. She was one of my brighter students. Ravenclaw, unlike her brothers." Dumbledore gave him a baleful side eye. "When she was in school she was considered one of the more brilliant, kind and hardworking students of her class. Clearly avoiding the deplorous attitudes of her family."

James nodded and leaned back, himself thumbing his icewine thoughtfully. "On the brilliant and hardworking part, yes I agree both for good and ill." Taking a swig of it, he elaborated further.

"From what Arthur has related she was terror incarnate to the Muggles Artifact department. Her experimentation in trying to link muggle power supplies to thaumic rituals are the stuff of enough nightmares. To think she has my son…"

"Hmm… to think she fell so far, what a waste of a potential." Dumbledore mumbled.

"But, why is she with Fleamont?" James asked earnestly. "She's a pureblood witch from the sacred 28! What is she doing consorting with squib."

"James, what do you know of your uncle?" Dumbledore said, his hand retreating from his beard and his good natured voice dropping a noticeable octave.

"Fleamont? Well, not much besides being officially kicked out the house," James replied haltingly. He had attempted to look into his uncle, but his DMLE record was sealed and for some strange reason he needed permission from the Department of Mystery to unseal it. Lord Croaker was not going to give it, given Croaker's rivalries with the department and their failure to prevent the Ministry raid of '81.

Dumbledore nodded sagely, his eyes staring out through the windows at the manor's landscaped green. "At first, I believed Fleamont was a squib. A very accomplished squib if that, considering that he was one of the leaders of the squib rights movements of '63. It's there that Ms. Ollivander and Fleamont met."

James nodded. His family had after all subtly funded the squib rights movements and gave the movement their tacit support. So, him being a movement leader was no big surprise. One more way the Potter's exercise their influence in combating the dark purebloods.

That said something hadn't fit, James considered. Officially, him being squib had been the reason why his uncle had been kicked out of the house. Though, if he was frank with himself that always clashed with how supportive his own family was of squibs. Considering their uses in being able to prepare and brew minor potions for comparatively small sums. Had been the reason the Pottermore Potion Company had become Britannia's, no Western Europe's premier bulk potion company.

"It is with a heavy heart that I related, that I've learned from my French counterpart that Fleamont Potter is a very highly practiced and notorious mage killer. Having killed over a hundred mages on both sides of the Grindelwald war. Many of whom were underaged." Dumbledore elaborated with a sad expression.

James blanched. He never imagined that his father had given his second born son to a murderer! Had his father even known about his brother's crimes? James shifted his seat as he kept the fear and panic from infecting him. "How is it possible that he is able… nevermind that, do you think he is passing the same mindset to Harrier!"

Dumbledore sighed, his face contorting in genuine sadness. "The latter most likely has already happened. Shinobi practitioners are dark-aligned mages that practice arts that all other respectable ICW nations have banned. As for the former…"

Dumbledore paused his head leaning back into his chair. "... James, my boy, do you know what voiders are?"

James felt his stomach drop from under him. "Myths, legends, rumors; Albus. Nothing credible to lend that they actually exist."

Dumbledore scratched his neck before replying. "My dear boy, they exist. But they are incredibly rare. As it is said that for every one sorcerer there are a thousand wizards. For every voider there are a hundred sorcerers. And yet out of every ten squibs, one of them manifests a small token of being a voider."

James' eyes boggled. The implications of which alone explained so much the irrationality of purebloods dumping their squib children on the streets or the grave if it meant that! "If they exist, how is that the statute or wizarding civilization still exists given their mythical nullifier powers?" And if Dumbledore's implication here was that his uncle was a voider, did that mean Harrier was too?

Dumbledore rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Most of the time, voiders themselves are fully integrated into their muggle communities. Their powers passed off as shams, frauds, charlatans or particularly unlucky individuals." Dumbledore grimaced, shockingly! "The few voider communities that are aware of us tend toward isolation and xenophobia. The Shinobi among them."

James was speechless. That lasted a good minute until his brain caught up with the implications laid bare that his own wife would hammer Dumbledore for answers and reassurances. His own eyes flickering to the smile still photograph of his second borne wearing a black kimono. "So, Harrier is likely a voider like his great uncle." James said with finality.

Dumbledore bobbed his head as he rose to put a hand on James' shoulder. "Yes, though I admittedly believed it was the case long before now."

James looked questioningly at his long time mentor and confidant. "How long Albus?"

Dumbledore walked toward the windows, his hands clasped behind his back. "Since the day Harrier was born."

James was lost. He didn't know what Dumbledore was talking about. How did he know? Was there a part of the prophecy he didn't know about? Did Dumbledore detect something?

"I'm not sure I understand Albus." James said slowly and deliberately. "You knew that Harrier was going to possess the gift of the void?"

"Call it a hunch, my boy." Albus said solemnly "One of your triplets or young Neville was expected to be the one who slayed Voldemort. What better malediction than the void?"

Albus turned his head to stare back at James, his half moon spectacles glimmering from the sunlight glinting off of them. "I had imagined the possibility, though I kept such ideas to myself for obvious reasons."

Yes, James thought, considering how most of wizarding society, including him a few minutes before, treated voiders as a mythical concept. The fact that one being proclaimed as defeater of Voldemort would have repercussions. Repercussions that would destabilize the wider precarious geopolitical balance of power. Especially with America and Europe gnashing their teeth at each other again.

"Of course, my boy" Albus continued on despite James' silence. "It was due Jaxon's latent esoteria that spelled Voldemort's doom." James flinched at the name. Taboos were hard to shake. Especially ones tied with so much magic.

"That is indeed good, Albus." James said tiredly. "But, you wouldn't have a clue where Fleamont and Harrier left to? Regardless, if Harrier is a voider or not. He's still my son…"

Dumbledore nodded his head to interrupt him. "Perhaps. An examination of their dwelling revealed they have been traveling through the muggle world. I already have a few order members pursuing that line of inquiry. In regards to Harrier's voider status..."

Dumbledore pursed his lips, and a grandfatherly smile emerged from his craggy face. "That can be fixed with a series of rituals."

James felt like a boulder had been lifted from his shoulders. "That's good, Albus. That's good." James implicitly trusted his mentor. "I assume you have done this before?"

"More than a few times, my boy." Dumbledore said, tenting his fingers in front of his chest. "So, you need not worry on that account."

James leaned back relieved. He had noticed how tense he was until now. He reached for the place on the table that he left the photo. Only to notice that it was gone! "Err… Albus, you wouldn't have taken back the photo when I wasn't looking?"

A mad scramble soon ensued.

April 23rd 1987… Godric Hollow, Magica Britannia… Jaxon's Snake Lair, Throne Room…

"It'sss asss I sssaid my lord-sssssymposiarch, the resssemblance is uncannnny…" the garden snake that Jaxon had named as Gar the Garden Snake reported with typical snake slithers.

Jaxon leaned back on his throne. Well, to be accurate it was more of a chair that one of the nice house elves that his parents used at home had transfigured into looking like the jaw of a particularly angry snake creature. Not that it was particularly nice, or comfortable even. But it suited the theme, you know?

The theme of course, was that secretly the Boy-Who-Lived was Voldemort reborn! That he commanded a legion of garden snakes and was being advised by a brown Adder, who was slowly teaching him parsel magic. That his closest friends were purebloods leading him into the path of blood supremacy! If his loyal fangirls and fanboys would learn of his most dreadful secret he would be thrown into Azkaban at this instant!

Sarcasm aside, Jaxon did acknowledge most of that was true of course. Except the Voldemort reborn bit. Ever since he had learned that he could talk to snakes, he had gathered a large collection of garden snakes that hunted in mum's gardens to be his eyes, ears and friends. Plus, a very old matriarchal Adder that knew a thing or two about parsel magic. Who was always willing to share part of her wisdom she had acquired after living in Godric for many years. These slithering companions were the only boon that he could rely on. As it was terribly lonely to be The-Boy-Who-Lived.

With his mum and dad both busy with working their jobs at the family business and Ministry respectively, and his godfather managing the front office. There was really no one here besides his siblings who were too young, and too stupid to really hold a meaningful conversation with. The governess was just full of boy-who-lived claptrap that Jaxon couldn't stand her. His grandfather was only infrequently here, and even then he and Jaxon couldn't be alone together because of 'reasons'.

The only wizarding kids that lived around here that were close enough to his age were the Greengrasses and Zabinis, who his parents didn't approve of associating with. Less said, the better on the rabid fanatics that worshipped the ground that he walked. Or their insufferable kids. Or the thrice-damned media people that he had learned from an early age not to associate with.

The only time he could interact with anyone was when he got to go muggle school. Which was a relief, as he could pore what the teachers at the school called his 'genius' level intelligence into comparable pursuits. Making friends with muggle kids and reading up on muggle sciences. Of course, the muggles couldn't be his true friends. Because of the statute he couldn't bring them home. Couldn't tell them anything about him. Or even do normal things muggle kids could, without the risk of being censured by the ICW, the Ministry or the Wizengamot for 'muggle' baiting.

Still, his mother encouraged his muggle studies as an alternative to him trying to smuggle grimoires out of the family library. He had already learned more than a dozen jinxes, charms and one or two transfiguration spells before his mother had taken the book from him. All without a wand too!

His mother talking down to him about the consequences of 'improper' magical education was simply infuriating. Please, Jaxon thought, he had been involved in three assassination attempts since he was three. He couldn't rely on the adults to protect him forever. He needed to protect himself. And most importantly, potentially protect his fraternal triplets.

"Well, yesss, it'sss resssemblance iss sssupersssstitious, if you ignore that I have red hair, nnnno glasssses, sssscarsss and am better looking for ssssure." Jaxon replied sarcastically, examining the photo of his erstwhile brother. One of his lost triplets that Jaxon dearly missed, and wondered why. Why had they been split up?

The most logical answer was to protect them from assassination, or kidnapping. Which, Jaxon admitted, made some sense. He was duly experienced in that particular activity. Preventing his brother and sister suffering the same fate he couldn't argue against.

And yet, he didn't see the logic of not allowing us to see each to the degree that there was no record of them anywhere in the wizarding war. Except for the guardianship of his brother in Wizengamot records three years ago that noted he was his 'cousin'. It was now, just him and his two younger siblings. Celestia and Quinten Potter. Three and two respectively. Whatever happened to his sister Ember was a mystery still worth plumbing one day.

Jaxon had learned the truth when he stumbled across a photo of all three of them only a few months before while he was rooting around some of his old baby stuff. At the time it was past the boredom of being forbidden from accessing the library and not having anyone to play with. Then he found it in an old chest. Packed away with baby clothes that were definitely not his.

An old photograph with his name and two others, Harrier and Ember scribbled at the bottom. His two siblings even at that age had great manes of black hair while his bald scalp barely had any red. Yet, they all shared that same distinctive green eye color. The same eye color that his dad's friends and coworkers said reminded them of the color of the killing curve, Avada Kedavra.

Now he had a more recent photograph of his brother. One where his brother was dressed up like an asian person. With those strange silken robes and everything. A head of wild black hair, glasses and green eyes like his. A photo that Gar had stolen from the Great Albus Dumbledore, Grand Sorcerer and Chief Warlock of Britannia's Wizengamot. The former supreme mugwump and head of Britannia's Expeditionary forces. Most of all the Defeater of Grindelwald, had a photograph stolen under him by a grass snake.

He chuckled as the snakes waited patiently for their lord to finish whatever thought he had, before Adds the Adder spoke up. Slithering up onto his armrest. "Doessss my Lord, find sssomething funny?"

"I guessss you could ssssay that Addssss." As he handed the picture back to Gar's mouth. "Ssstill, besssst not have thisss evidenssse around in case dad comesss around." Jaxon cocked his head to the sides, "Sssay, can you copy the photo with parssselmagic?"

Adds bobbed her head, her repitilian eyes judging like an idiot. "Yessss, my Lord, it isss ssssimple." Adds weaved her head in a strange geometric patterns, speaking "Geminiosss!"

Appearing out of nowhere an near identical photograph, it transforming out nothing in the same vibrid colours and shapes. The only main difference was that for whatever reason Harrier's robes had transformed from black to green.

"Doessss this usssually happen, Addssss?" Jaxon asked nonplussed.

Adds seethed a little as she slithered to the photo. Her gazing at with rage only an Adder could display. "No, my Lord. Ssssomething is particular to the photo that impinge on my magickssss."

"Huh" Jaxon said, curious as to what that might be. "What can disrupt ssssnake magickssss?"

"The Jailerssss powersss" Adds seethed. "The Jailerssss"

Jaxon could honestly say that he never heard of the Jailers. Not that it was that surprising. He was a reasonably smart six year old. Yet, there was much he didn't know. Much he needed to learn.

"Who are theseesssss Jailers." Jaxon asked his long time advisor and companion.

"The Enemies of Magickssss, the Wardensss of the Sssshattered Ringsss and Lordssss of Ssspheres!"

Jaxon was going to ask a followup question to Adds what this meant, when he heard the sounds of noises echoing down the cave. It sounded like people talking. Poopheads, Jaxon thought as he directed Gar to take the photo and leave immediately. Before stuffing the copy into robes. Thankfully, it wasn't who he was expecting as he heard the noises crystalize and clarify as Adds wove snake Magicks to enable him to hear more clearly.

"Bah. Spider webs. What is the Boy-Who-Lived doing down here? Shouldn't he be riding a broom or something."

"Shut it Blaise, mumma sent us here to get…"

"You mean our mums!"

"I swear I don't understand what they see in that overinflated dragon dung!"

"He's the boy-who-lived! And shut it, I think I see a light!"

"Jaxon, are you in this cave?" Daphne Greengrass yelled, appearing at the lip of the chamber, clad in a shining white dress and a floating light trinket. "The house elf directed us that you were here, we were wondering… oh."

Jaxon leaned back into his throne as the one hundred grass snakes all turned their heads to stare at the new two intruders. Adds the Adder merely moved itself to be by his side in a protective motherly gesture. He stared at the two interlopers like a snake examined two mice that stumbled into his nest. Hungrily.

"Heiress Greengrass, Heir Apparent Zabini, welcome to my… banquet hall." Jaxon said, showing a sweep of his arms in a mock bow and salute. "Do forgive me for being unprepared for your arrival. My eyes and soldiers were regaling me with… news."

The blonde girl was trembling and had wet herself pathetically. The black skinned boy was built of far stiffer stuff as he merely bent the knee. Delivering a pleasing supplication. "Ou… Our apologies, Heir Potter, we should have sent… ah… messenger, yes, a messenger ahead of time!"

The blonde girl looked still in a state of shock. Her daze sweeping his lair as more snakes poured out of the holes in the walls that served as his lair. Both in the lair itself, and behind the intruders as well. Jaxon supposed these two purebloods would have to serve. It was far too early to murder them. Keeping them in check would keep him busy. On the bright side, if they did talk, it was likely no one would believe them.

"Yes, Heir Apparent Zabini you should have according to the wizengamot customs. But enough of such talk, why don't you come closer so we may talk amongst… equals." Jaxon paused before stressing the word. To carry a message who amongst the equals here was first. His hand came up to beckon them forward.

They came forward, the sea of snakes parting before them and closing in behind them. Getting a closer look at them, Jaxon saw that he had his work cut out for him. Daphne Greengrass, Heiress to the Most Majestic House of Greengrass, was trembling with fear. Her eyes darted everywhere around her. To the walls. The ceiling. To the floors. To him. He wrinkled his nose when he realized she really had urinated herself. A poor showing.

Blaise Zabini on the other hand was showing a much better hand. He was a bit hesitant, but he kept his wits about him. His tan and gold coloured robes made an interesting offset for his darkskin and shortcut hair that made him look like a particularly regal African king. The image of course, completely fell through when the Zabini heir bowed along with Greengrass 5 steps away from his throne.

"Who… what… why are…" Daphne said in a daze as she gazed at his army of grass snakes that had multiplied over two hundred. Watching them like prey.

"I think the question you should be asking is, how? Heiress Greengrass." Jaxon said with sarcastic derision. "How can I control so many snakes? Without a wand too."

"I… I don't know." The Heiress of Greengrass trembled. Her head swiveled around to gaze at the army of snakes at her back.

"Maybe, Heir apparent Zabini can posit a guess?" Jaxon said, his head snapping to the kneeling boy that had begun to show the same nervous energy as his companion.

"Magical conquest." Zabini heir replied in a clipped, monotonic reply.

Jaxon smiled. Zabini's heir was completely wrong. Or at least, Jaxon thought he was wrong. He had heard of magical conquest. From more than a few fictional stories. And his own mother disabused another witch of the same concept. As there were none real attested cases of it happening besides Dumbledore wielding the wand of Grindelwald.

Didn't mean that Jaxon couldn't take advantage of Zabini's stupidity.

Jaxon slowly clapped. "Well done. I see one you have a good head on your shoulders. Instead of just education potion, addled minds." Jaxon leaned forward, "As a matter of course, you understand what this means."

Heiress Greengrass looked at him blankly, her mind still processing what she was seeing in front of her. It was forgivable really. Even with education potions that transformed magical children from snotty ignorant children to very well educated children in a number of areas. Arithmetic. Reading. Writing. Etiquette. Experience was still a damning indictment. An area he still lacked. Thankfully that lacked that too.

"Err…" Zabini said, his eyes looking up, having not thought too thoroughly about his comment.

Lamentable really, but Jaxon was in need of some minions, or maybe friends. Who knows on that score. "If I have through magical conquest acquired Parsel magic. Then I acquired everything…" Jaxon slowly said, a smile touching his lips.

Zabini was still slow on the uptake, but the Daphne was far more responsive to this. As her eyes grew in radius of another magnitude. The stench of urine wafting off her more strongly. Her figure is looking to flee, if not the army of snakes.

"Yessss…" Jaxon said. As a ritual mark flashed underneath their feet. Utterly useless besides glowing but fear would make sure they wouldn't speak.

"You will not speak of this." Jaxon practically slithered. "For one word out of place, and you shall be transfigured into snakes. Forever bound to my service." A look of fear crossed both of their faces.

"Yet, if you continue your silence. I can offer you much. A place at my court. Favored friendships with me, the Boy-Who-Lived and all the fame, influence and power that comes from which. And when the time comes, a fraction of my power." Jaxon said, his face contorting into a rickus of supreme confidence.

"Commit yourselves to me. Or suffer damnation. Your choice." Jaxon said, his voice dropping an octave. Which he internally cringed at how squeaky, and childish that sounded. Yet, the effect.

Both of them now knelt in front of him. Their hands on their chests. Their eyes were full of fear, and a certain amount of greed. He offered an acceptable deal after all, he reflected as he heard Zabini's response.

"I shall serve."

September 23rd 1987… Department of Mysteries, Magica Britannia…

Invisibilia Colloquium, Report on Vikehaurt Matter…

The creature standing before him in chains was a humanoid monster. Its flesh was coloured deeply of reddish-orange that seemed to swirl and flesh-change about it. Deep prickly thorns and spikes covered the body. Many that seem to protrude the remnant of the armor that Sage and Scarlet had destroyed through an ad hoc mixture of elemental spells and glares. What remained looked melted.

Likely the result of Scarlet using her patented white fire spells. Never say that Niveus Maximus Incendio wasn't called for in this case, Croaker thought. His pain in back reemerging as he sat in the Lord's Throne in the heart of the Department of Mysteries. Sitting beside him was Minister of Magic Bagnold, who was alternating looks of silent fear and feigned boredom. DMLE Department head Amelia Bones and her star hatchetman, Alastor Moody were behind her. Looking apathetically at the creature. The horrors of the last war having burned the fear of the unknown from their vistages.

A good dozen or so newly minted Unspeakables stood around the creature, some wielding ancient artifacts of incredible power or others maintaining concentration on the ritual. Others were inspecting the many Dimeritium metal restraints that chained the creature to a vast painted ritual circle. Others merely taking notes. All of them in different colors, robes of the same make and the starlight illusion that masked their appearance. All of them his, Croaker thought, satisfied.

From a mere half dozen to a department now that bulged over twenty-seven witches, wizards, sorcerers and sorceresses, mages and technically two espers. The Unspeakables were once again a department that was feared and whispered about throughout the halls of the Ministry. Taking on responsibilities and management of the aftermath of Dark Troubles as they were being called, had netted the department a larger budget and Wizengamot voice that enabled Croaker to put long dormant plans into motion.

Still, everything was not broomstick to the moon moment, Lord Croaker thought sourly. Dumbledore and his militia, with their supporters in the government, were actively, openly working against his reforms and agenda. With Dumbledore's little stunt in Japan and his machination in the ICW being foremost in his mind. It had taken the quiet transfer of Dark blood heirlooms 'confiscated' in the war to assuage the necessary voters. Including the only remaining heir to the Malfoy family to the Scandinavian Union for the votes necessary to veto the sanction draft that hit the floor weeks ago. He still heard the screams of the Malfoy boy when the Scandinavian wizards had performed that ritual on him. Just the price of keeping his ace in the hole, Croaker thought.

At least he did not have to worry about Malfoys again. Ever since Lucius and Narcissa's confinement in Azkaban the main financial move and shaker of the Dark bloods had been eliminated. Much of Malfoy's wealth had been confiscated or out-right stolen as the boy had been harangued to sign documents of that effect. And those few remaining families of the Darks that remained out of Azkaban simply didn't possess their old financial resources. From the considerable fines that they paid out to Bagnold's administration, and their manors ransacked, if the Dark Lord should return, he'll find his old support network weakened, dispersed, and financially ruined.

Still, the Dark Lord was the least of his worries. For the Dark Lord's true patron still awaited and schemed beyond the veil. This creature standing before him was proof enough that the Dark Lord was at the very end of the day a pawn in some Outsider's scheme.

Croaker began the proceedings. "As per the treaty of the Internationale Confederacy of Wizardary of 1709, under Annex Planar Barriers, Beasts and Creatures, we the Department of Mysteries under the authority of above said organization and the Magica Britannia, condemn the creature below us to Banishment. "

The creature did not stir at all. This, Croaker had considered as abnormal. Croaker had been in more than a half dozen Banishment by now. Dementors that were banished spoke in dark psionic whispers promising death. Devils offered contracts, boons or bargains for release. Daemons offered services in exchange for release. Demons promise hefty retributions, torture or glorious vegeneance. Croaker had to consider that it may not understand English.

Croaker brought up an index to his temple. "Per the treaty, the Internationale allows the planar a few words in defense." A needed ingredient in the ritual banishment after all. "Does this one understand the charges that have been laid at his feet?"

The creature's face if you call oversized bulbous eyes like a squid, two airs like a snake and a mouth full of razor sharp teeth, something even approximately a face. Spoke with a sound that sounded like rocks being ground into gravel. "I do not."

Bagnold held up her hand. "Is this really necessary, Lord Speaker?" Bagnold said, denoting his official title of the department. "Just banish the creature and get done with it."

Croaker gave a dark side eye to Bagnold, before ignoring her and returning to the matter at hand. "You have been caught in yourself, a creature not part of the accepted planars listed by the ICW. You were also found to have immediate access to planar portal of unknown design and providence. When discovered you were found to have murdered several upstanding citizens of the Magica Britannia. While escaping your lawful arrest you have broken the statute of secrecy seventeen times. All major felonies under the ICW directives on planar interactions, necessitating Banishment."

Upstanding was stretching it as many of the murdered victims had been suspected death eaters that even the show trials that Crouch had orchestrated couldn't pin any evidence too. Not that it really mattered in this case. A murder was in the end, still a murder. No matter how convenient it was to him.

The creature grunted. "Self-defense."

"Self-defense as why are you here? Or self-defense for the deaths." Croaker asked.

The creature damned him further by being monosyllabic. "Yes."

"Do you have any evidence of this?"

"Yes."

Bagnold chuckled. "Do you normally interview planars we are about to send back to whence they came from Lord Speaker?" When he didn't get a reply. "Amelia orders the Unspeakables to dispatch this creature, forthwith."

Amelia Bones however knew better, who whispered it into Bagnold's ear. "Minister, the ritual depends on the creature speaking enough to bind it to their planar realm. The creature is still well below that limit."

"What?" Bagnold yelled before throwing up a privacy charm around them. "The ritualistic elements depend on planar talking? Who ever came up with that bloody notion?"

Alastor intervened before Croaker could chastise Bagnold. "Merlin, Minister." Before Magnold could sputter, Alastor's magical eye seized up Croaker. "Constant Vigilance aye, Croaker? How long before the timer goes?" Alastor said, gesturing toward the ritual lines.

Croaker looked at the clock. "43 minutes and 21 seconds, Alastor."

"Timer?" Bagnold asked.

"More than a few planars have realized that by not speaking, they can remain here indefinitely." Something his predecessors, Croaker thought, had unfortunately suffered from. "Since then we have added a modification to the banishment that ports them back onto the main ring."

"Ring? Amelia, what the bloody fuck is he talking about." Bagnold croaked.

Really? Minister of Magic and hasn't been read in anything about Planars. Croaker was going to have to get Sage, Vermillion or Grey to do a briefing to the Minister's staff about this. He certainly wouldn't be able to do it with a straight face. Or sober for that matter.

"We can discuss that another time, Minister", Amelia said. Her eyes locked on the monstrosity below. "I assume the Minister will be locked in place, until the timer runs out."

Croaker nodded. "Originally, the ritual was tied to the High King of Britannia or suitably high ranked sovereign. Since we abolished that little title since Cromwell's little reorganization of magical society, the Minister is the closest equivalent."

"Can't we kill that thing, or I don't know, send it to bloody Azka-fucking-ban?" Bagnold fumed as she realized that she was now stuck here for an amount of time way beyond her plans. The old war hawk, while an unholy banshee during the war and consummate politician amongst her peers, was rather testy about her precious time being wasted.

Alastor intervened on his behalf. "The creature took several killing curses already with no ill-effects. Only the strongest glares and natural magic seems to affect it. All of which is indeed lacking inside Azkaban, Minister."

Bagnold grimaced. "Is there… is there any way to speed it up?" In a tone of defeat.

Croaker leaned back in his chair, the pain in his lower back subsiding for the moment. "There are ways. Though, most would unfortunately violate numerous Ministry and ICW laws and treatises, Minister."

"Bugger." Minister Bagnold replied. "I guess, talking it is."

"Indeed it is, Minister." Croaker said, flicking off the privacy charm. "Ahem. To the creature that stands before us, what thou purpose did you commit on these shores?"

The magical compulsion of course, failed to work as planned. As the creatures giant eyeballs stared menacingly at them in their high perch. "Investigation."

Alastor chuckled darkly at the creature's taciturn answer. Croaker ignored the psychotic auror. "Investigating what may I ask so kindly?"

Again the compulsion failed to work as the creature gave the answer Croaker dreaded. "Voldemort."

Croaker sighed. Amelia and Alastor exchanged looks of curiosity and Bagnold looked confused. "Then I hate to inform you that the one you named is dead."

The creature smiled a smile full of deep jagged teeth that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up from momentary fear before his occlumency training could take hold again. "For the moment."

Damnation. He was hoping the horcrux that Cobalt was able to retrieve from Gaunt's old ancestral manor was the last of them. Besides of course the one on the Boy-Who-Lived that he couldn't access. Maybe in a few years, Croaker considered, examining the frantic reactions of the Minister and her goons, that a family reunion might be in order to remove that particular horcrux from the equation.

Croaker shook his thoughts away. Examining the creature with new found respect. "We are well aware of that." Amelia shot him a look that he ignored. "However, I don't see what interest you or your patron has anything to do with a mere mad Dark wizard."

The massive creature merely cocked its head to the side like it was a dog. "Dark God-maker."

Croaker narrowed his eyes. "Beg my pardon?"

The massive creature merely ground on his massive teeth before speaking words that forever change the unspeakables from that day forward. "The Mort of Vold, the maker of gods."

Before he could ask a follow up question. The ritual activated. Or to be more clear something broke through the ritual site from the other side. As for one moment the white chalk mark of the geometric curved lines and expressive angles disappeared in a flash of white light. Before a massive black shadowy skeleton arm and hand tore through the ground like a kraken's arm emerging from the waves.

And it wasn't the ground that it came out of. Grazing from whence the arm came from. Croaker swore that it looked like TV static! He along with most of the Time and Planar experts of the department were big fans of the show after all. What that signified, Croaker had no clue.

The massive shadowy hand grabbed their captive. The restraints shattering like icicles on a spring day. Disappearing in the static below. The captive cried out in some language that Croaker could not understand. But he heard it all the same. Whatever the creature was saying, it was a warning. A warning he could not understand.

Finally having the frame of my mind to grab his wand, and start casting some very dark planar barriers. The shadowy hand and the creature he was trying to banish, disappeared back into TV static land. The portal disappearing instantaneously. The floor rearranging itself except for one grey tile that looked to be imprinted in strange, black, white and grey swirls that made him feel nauseous looking at that.

Unspeakables at the base of the ritual site began the lockdown immediately. Casting planar reinforcement, gathering evidence, and removing any interplanar corrosion. Croaker leaned back on his throne. Casting a glance to his side, Croaker saw that Minister and her team apparated away already. Considering all the work, investigation, and obliviations that he was going to need to do in the next twelve hours. He can truthly tell the Minister when she was going to dress him down later about what exactly happened.

He can say truthfully. He did end up making it go much quicker. Much quicker indeed.

/* AN: Hey thank you to everyone who has been reading the series so far, the reception so far has been excellent. I don't know how long this series will keep my attention. As my interests vary depending how long a story keeps my interest. But as long as I do, I'll keep pumping these out.

Anyway, as you can tell by now. The first 'arc' of the story is merely setting the scene for 'Harrier' development of skill, tactics and talent necessary to become the unholy terror he'll inspire later on in the story. In addition to setting in motion several subplots, one of which as you found in this chapter is Jaxon and that Horcrux that is very much influencing him. He is far smarter, eloquent, and complex than any six year old has any right to be. Though, we will see years on how the development of his little court will impact Hogwarts when Draco is very much absent.

The rest of the chapter deals with the after effects of the last chapter, and some world building into planars. Some of which I hinted in the last chapter. Some of which is me being influenced by other media, and some of it is my own ideas on the subject. And here you get the hint of who the overarching villain is. Hint, it's not Mr. Riddle. */