Author's Note: Book 1 is almost finished - I hope you forgive me the ridiculously long break since the last update. Thank you, smsubramaniyan, MirSafeat,Mamba24 (nice to see that there are also German readers!) and EliasM91 for reviewing. To your question: Kingsley was minister for several years, but don't forget, that by now almost twenty years have passed. Hermione is Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, but Ernie had more ambition to become minister.

I like Mamba24's idea to write an overview of the new characters on my profile page, so keep checking it! Book 2 is already in progress. Please review!

Life at Hogwarts had returned to relative normality. Charms and Potions were now taught by two Ministry wizards, who would only stay for the rest of the term, which were only a few weeks. In consequence, both subjects were now considerably more boring than before (although Albus didn't mind not being unknowingly taught by an insane murderer), but Professor McGonagall hadn't been able to come up with better replacements in the short time.

Albus had fully recovered from his adventure in the Forbidden Forest. He was actually even in quite a good mood. Albus was a bit surprised by this himself; after the recent disasters and Quentin gone, he had expected to be completely down for the rest of the term. Of course, Scorpius had a large share on this; in fact, his ability to cheer up people was almost scary. In addition, Albus had received a letter from Quentin, who missed Hogwarts, but was well apart from that. Currently he was being home schooled in France; his father was still very busy with his election campaign, so it was not yet decided which school he would attend in the future.

Anyway, Albus didn't have any time to be depressed, because the exams at the end of the term were approaching quickly. Albus, being a true Ravenclaw, was determined to do well and spent a lot of time preparing for the exams, in addition to his regular extra lessons in Transfiguration and Duelling with Professor Arrington twice a week.

Professor Flitwick, on the other hand, still hadn't recovered. His basic brain functions were working perfectly, but there seemed to be no way to awake his consciousness. The healers still didn't have a clue what exactly Pyrites' spell had done to the Charms Master, but especially Augustus Pye didn't lose his optimism that he would eventually find a solution.

"Why did Pyrites actually make it so complicated? I mean, couldn't he just have used 'Avada Kedavra' if he wanted to kill him?" Albus asked Professor Arrington during one of their lessons.

The Transfiguration Master raised an eyebrow. "That's quite a direct way of thinking…" he said carefully.

"I mean, only theoretically," added Albus quickly. "From his point of view."

Professor Arrington sighed. "We can only guess. But you would do well to remember that not every person you consider evil is automatically a mass murderer. Pyrites might just not have seen a reason to kill Professor Flitwick. Or maybe he just wanted to unsettle us by using a completely unknown spell."

Albus wasn't convinced at all by that explanation, and apparently Professor Arrington recognized this, as he sighed once more.

"Of course, there are other possible reasons. But I don't really have the intention to explain the nature of an Unforgivable Curse to a first year. Only this much: You must understand that it needs a lot of anger - no, anger is not the right word. But it's a basic requirement for an Unforgivable Curse to really loathe the victim. The attacker's mind has to be in an exceptional emotional state. Now think about it - did Pyrites seem especially irate to you?"

"I - not really - he seemed to know what he is doing, didn't he?" stammered Albus.

"Yes. Pyrites was - in my opinion - not at all in an emotional state. He was cool and calculating. That's how your mind state should be in such a duel - if you are too emotional, you lose. Thus, he couldn't just cast an Unforgivable Curse. Of course, skilled Dark Wizards know techniques to bring themselves in the required state, but this would have taken Pyrites a few seconds. That's why 'Avada Kedavra' is not even that popular among Dark Wizards in duels, and I think that's why Pyrites used this other spell. He was just able to cast it much faster."

"Oh," was all Albus managed to say.

"I should hope that you are happy that Filius is not dead," added Professor Arrington.

"Of course!" shouted Albus hastily. "So speed is everything in a duel?"

"It's certainly an important factor," said Professor Arrington. "It's not so important which spell hits your opponent in the end; important is that you get him before he gets you. That's why I never use, for example, 'Petrificus Totalus' in duels. The incantation is just too long. Even if you only think it and don't speak it out loudly, it still takes much more time than 'Stupefy'. That's one reason why Stunners are so popular."

Albus just wanted to continue the questioning, when suddenly Professor McGonagall personally marched into the classroom. She didn't seem to be surprised by Albus' presence at all.

"Good afternoon Professor Arrington, Mr Potter. I apologize for interrupting your lesson, but I thought I'd inform you that Professor Flitwick is awake. You may visit him now, if you want."

"Me too?" asked Albus, eager to meet his Head of House. After all, Professor Flitwick's state of health was partly his fault.

"Yes," said Professor McGonagall crisply. "Follow me to my office, you can floo to St Mungo's from there."

O

Francois Simiol was in an excellent mood. He had won the election by a large margin; finally, he had arrived at his great goal. He was President Magique, by far the most powerful person in France. And he would revolutionize everything.

After the press conference, where he had been hailed like a hero by almost all of the journalists, he apparated home. Simiol gave his wife a quick kiss and went straight to his son's room. It was time to decide about the further education of the boy.

In Simiol's opinion, Hogwarts had a very bad influence on Quentin. Sure, he had always been a bit fearsome, shy, and weak. He had never been the strong heir Francois had wanted. But at least he had been obedient.

Francois was worried that this might be changing. The boy had, against his clear order, befriended the Potter brat. Who knew, which insolent muggle scum he might have around himself at Hogwarts? For the last two weeks, Quentin had talked back at him more than once. This was not acceptable, even less as he was the President now. A terrible fear seized Francois.

What if the boy one day plucked up the courage to speak out against him publicly? His own son, opposing him! His political career would be in serious danger. Francois knew that he couldn't let this happen.

Incidentally, he had wanted to send Quentin to Beauxbatons, as it seemed appropriate for the President's son. There he could have learned to stand up for his father's ideas, maybe even recruited new followers. But this was out of question now; it was far too risky to let the boy go there. He was far too rebellious, and the Beauxbatons Headmistress, the half-giant Olympe Maxime, wasn't to his taste at all either. No, Beauxbatons was no possibility, and neither was Hogwarts, where too much muggle scum was around and rebellious attitudes were obviously encouraged.

Francois entered the room. His son was sitting on a chair and reading a book. When Francois came in, he looked up at once, a worried and slightly frightened expression on his face.

"Good evening, father," said the boy cautiously.

Francois looked at his son. No, home-schooling was not the way to go, either. Quentin was already way too bookish and weak; it was about time he learned discipline and obedience, but also to seize and handle power about other people. The decision was now absolutely obvious to him.

"I have decided about your further education, son," said Simiol. Quentin straightened at once. Without waiting for a reaction, Francois continued "From now, you will be going to Durmstrang. You will spend the rest of the summer learning Russian, because most lessons at Durmstrang are held in this language. We will be visiting the Headmaster tomorrow, so prepare yourself for the journey."

"No! Father, please, why can't I just go back to Hogwarts, it's much closer either!" exclaimed Quentin.

"Don't try to argue with me!" snapped Francois. "You will do exactly as I say!"

"But -"

Francois lashed out his wand quickly and brutally. His son was thrown violently to the floor and cried out in pain. Simiol quickly ended the spell; he had only wanted to achieve a quick, painful shock.

"You will leave tomorrow to see the Headmaster. Your mother will take you there. Don't dare to make any problems, or you'll wish that you were never born, boy."

Quentin, who was still cowering on the floor, whispered a soft "yes, sir", but Francois had already left the room.

O

Professor Flitwick had - apart from a remaining physical weakness - recovered very well. When Albus and Professor Arrington arrived at St Mungo's, he was already trying out different walking sticks he would have to use from now on. When he spotted them, he smiled and waved.

"Potter! Aaron! How nice of you to visit me!" squeaked the Charms master cheerily.

"Seriously, Filius?" asked Professor Arrington. "'Who is the good guy here?' I was your student in Ravenclaw!"

Albus and Professor Flitwick laughed, but the tiny wizard quickly got serious again. "Sorry, Aaron, but I wanted to go sure. It could have been an impostor. But tell me, Aaron… How could Philandros move so quickly? I've never seen anyone duel with such speed. It's a mystery to me how you managed not to get hit…"

"We don't…" began Professor Arrington.

"…know, yes, Minerva told me so," interrupted Flitwick. "But as I know you, you have at least a theory."

Arrington shrugged. "The only thing I can think of is that he used some spells to alter his body and maybe also his mind. But to this extent this would probably be completely unprecedented, of course."

"And Minerva mentioned he just vanished in the end. Did he maybe invent a new way of magical transportation?" asked Professor Flitwick.

"Regarding this, I am absolutely clueless."

"Well, then. The only thing that matters for now is that young Mr Potter is fit and well, isn't it?"

"Thank you, sir, for helping to save me," said Albus politely. "I'm so glad that you recovered. Did Scorpius and Quentin alert you?"

"Yes, young Mr Malfoy and Mr Simiol were very upset when they woke me up in the middle of the night. They were most worried as you didn't return from the Forbidden Forest, and I decided not to lose any time. And, by the way, Potter," Professor Flitwick added, his cheery expression becoming more stern, "the Headmistress told me everything about your trip, and as your Head of House I must severely admonish you not to do something like this ever again."

"Will you be able to return to Hogwarts and continue teaching?" asked Professor Arrington.

Professor Flitwick looked almost offended. "Of course, Aaron. Tomorrow I will leave St Mungo's and go straight back to Hogwarts. Somebody has to look after the Ravenclaws after all."

O

"Stay calm, Peter. How many of our people are dead?" asked Harry.

Proudfoot was standing in front of his desk, completely out of breath and distraught.

"Five Aurors are confirmed dead," he panted now. "The goblins killed them with some kind of muggle bomb, as I understand it. The goblins claim to hold the other wizards working at Gringotts hostage."

"How are our chances to take Gringotts back by force?"

"Near zero," answered Proudfoot. "There are goblins everywhere. Diagon Alley was in chaos, everyone fled precipitately. We suspect that the goblins set up a whole field of those bombs around Gringotts. They will probably transfigure the bank into a fortress. And they outnumber us by far."

Harry took a deep breath. It was a disaster. The goblins seemed to be preparing for an open war. Or was this already war? He didn't know.

"What do they want? Have they demanded any concessions or something?" he asked.

"Not yet."

"Try to find out more. And think about a way to free the hostages. I will have to speak with Ernie and Hermoine," said Harry and left the room.

O

"Ah, Mrs Simiol. Welcome at Durmstrang. And this must be your son."

"Thank you, Professor Prasnikar. Yes, this is Quentin. We would like to register him for the next term at your school."

Quentin said nothing. He felt sick from the exhausting journey to Durmstrang. His father had arranged a portkey series for them, but travelling with portkeys definitely wasn't his favourite way.

Durmstrang was, from the outside, much like Hogwarts. A dark, intimidating castle. Inside, however, it was very different. The subtle, powerful magic, which could always be felt at Hogwarts, was missing totally. Instead, everything was somehow repellent, almost as if the castle itself didn't want anyone inside. And it was cold. Very, very cold.

Quentin looked up to the Headmaster, Professor Prasnikar. He was looking at him questioningly, as well as his mother. Obviously, Prasnikar had just asked something, but Quentin hadn't listened.

"Er, sorry, sir?"

Prasnikar's face darkened. "Yes, Mrs Simiol, I see what you mean. This behaviour is typical for Hogwarts students. Rest assured, however, that he will learn respect soon enough. This attitude is not tolerated at Durmstrang."

He eyed Quentin sharply. "I was asking you, boy, if you understand Russian."

"No, sir," said Quentin.

"You will have to learn it. Until then, we can give you a Translation Ball. Everything the teachers say, will appear for you, written in the air, in English."

Quentin frowned. "Er, thank you, sir, but I think I will be able to understand Russian until the start of the next term. I'm going to practice during the holidays."

"Holidays? I know that Hogwarts term is almost over, but there is still a month until the holidays start here at Durmstrang. Our summer break is a lot shorter. Surely, you want to use the rest of the term to settle in and get to know your new classmates?"

"That is an excellent idea," said Quentin's mother at once. "You'll just stay here. We'll send you your stuff."

"What?" asked Quentin horrified. "You're leaving me here? I'm not even speaking Russian!"

"You heard the Headmaster," said his mother indifferently. "The translation ball will help you. Is there anything else to discuss, Professor Prasnikar?"

"I don't think so," responded the Headmaster. "When your son returns, you won't recognise him. This I promise you. We will make a man out of him."

Mrs Simiol gave a satisfied nod. "Well then, Quentin, don't put your father to shame." With this, she left the office and left Quentin standing there.

O

"A war must be prohibited at all cost. We must meet with goblin representatives at once and broker a ceasefire," said Hermione.

Ernie sighed. "It's not that easy. With Gringotts, they practically control our complete economy. At the very least, all depositors must be granted access to their vaults. If this cannot be ensured, I cannot see how violent measures can be stopped."

Harry swore. Did it really have to come to that? Since the end of the Second Wizarding War, the Ministry had done much to improve the relationships to all other magical creatures, especially the goblins. Did they really want war? And why? Were all of them involved, or was it only a group of radical goblins?

He was jolted out of his thoughts by a panicked voice.

"Harry! Harry!" The door flew open, and Teddy stormed into the room. "Down in the Atrium! You have to come at once!"

"Calm down, Teddy," said Harry, jumping on his feet. "What is it?"

"The goblins," gasped Teddy. "They have - left a message. You must see it by yourself."

Harry stormed out of the room, with Ernie, Ron and Hermione close on his heels.

The Atrium was alive with people. Everybody seemed to try to get a look on somebody sitting on the floor near the entrance. Harry pushed his way through the people.

Donald Cresswell, the head of the Goblin liaison office, was sitting on the floor. Harry almost had to vomit. His eyes had been scratched out, and his forehead was branded with the Gringotts logo. Cresswell was grinning madly and cackling the same words, again and again:

"This is just the beginning."

END OF BOOK ONE