Everything is J.K. Rowlings. I only claim the plot. Everything else is hers, all the characters and the magic, all of it. Please let me know what you think, though. I encourage feedback of all kinds; just be nice about it!
Still here. I promise.
This chapter was rough. Like really hard to write. And it's long. I was trying to get the proper balance between Marvolo and Harry when meeting other important people together. Marvolo couldn't act like a Dark Lord, but I also didn't want him just to sit there because that wasn't true to his character either. I still don't think I got the balance right, but I hope you still enjoy it. But I've been righting this chapter since I posted the last one- so, six months? The longest I've spent on any chapter so far. The more I read over and edited this chapter, the more I started to hate it and get frustrated with it, so I needed to post it and move on, or I never would, and I couldn't have that.
Thank you, everyone, for not giving up despite the long time between chapters. I still have plans for this story, and new ones sprout every time I write. So hang in there with me, and I hope to make the journey worth the wait.
Anyway, something to look forward to in the next coming chapters will be another Wizengamot session, an update with Neville and the twins, and then a visit to Hogwarts. That's the current plan, anyway.
Also, here is a short Time Line refresher since it has been so long.
December 22 - Hogwarts Released
December 23 - Claiming Neville's Parents
December 24 - Christmas Eve/Full Moon
December 25 - Christmas
December 26 - Marvolo Yule Ball - Multiple POVs
December 27 - Dueling Hogwarts&Guard / Confront Marvolo about Horcruxes.
December 31 - Marvolo's Birthday. Marvolo/Harry Talk
January 2 - Neville Parents / Privet Drive Attack
January 5 - Wizengamot - State of Emergency Vote
January 9 - New Moon/Death
January 11 -Yaxley Turns Self in
January 18 - Ladies Tea Party / Yaxley Dies
January 23 - Dementor Meeting
January 26 - Creature Meeting
January 30 – Wizengamot Emergency Meeting
Well, I hope you enjoy the newest chapter!
I Guarantee It
"Breath, little lion, don't fret needlessly," Marvolo chided as he stood next to Harry in the Floo Room of Peverell Manor. Harry glared at the man, but it was ignored.
"I don't understand how you're always so calm," Harry muttered and ran a hand over the sleeves of his dark red robes. Given that it was still within a month since his relatives' deaths, Harry wore the white band of mourning around his arm again. Harry thought his robes looked gaudy, but Marvolo assured him it paired well with his skin tone. Of course, compared to Marvolo, with his dark blue robes that perfectly matched his glamoured blue eyes, Harry felt highly inadequate – like a child playing dress-up.
"You sure you're going to be good? I mean, you can't just curse them if you get upset."
Marvolo twisted his lips in distaste. "Do you truly hold such a low opinion of my temper? I'm perfectly capable of acting as the consummate politician. I relish the opportunity, in fact. Besides, I only torture those who deserve it."
Harry rolled his eyes but let it drop. "Okay, the dignitaries are aware and are okay with everything," he said, murmuring to himself to soothe his nerves over this whole meeting. "It's all going to be fine. They are aware and are okay with it."
"More than merely okay," Marvolo contradicted with a disgruntled sigh. Harry knew Marvolo had anticipated a more challenging fight to convince the representatives to agree to pretend in front of Amos. "All of them seem to find great amusement in getting better benefits for their races while also being involved in a ruse to pull one over on the wizarding world."
"Spite is a powerful motivator," Harry agreed. Considering how the wizarding world treated the other races, Harry wasn't surprised at the dislike the others felt for wizards.
"Of course, this is mainly a formality," Marvolo continued. "I've been in talks with these dignitaries for almost a year now. There is very little left for discussion."
"But there is enough that things could still go badly," Harry countered, staring at the fireplace, feeling a constriction in his chest at the realization that something was probably going to go wrong because that was just his luck.
Marvolo sighed beside him. "Aren't you supposed to be the optimistic one? Why do you insist on forcing me into this role today?"
Harry smirked and glanced at Marvolo, who was giving him a sardonic look. "Thought I'd give you a chance, you know, opportunities to expand and improve yourself."
"It's unpleasant. You are far more equipped for the role."
"I never actually forced you to be optimistic, you know."
"It is not prudent for both of us to be pragmatic realists." Harry snorted, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly with the banter. Marvolo opened his mouth to say more, but Harry never found out what because just then, the Floo flared.
The first of their guests arrived, and before Harry could even open his mouth in greeting, the Floo repeatedly flared until all four creature dignitaries were standing in his Floo Room. Harry blinked. He hadn't expected such eerie punctuality and wondered if they had all gathered together before coming here.
Marvolo briefly explained the differences between the governing groups during the preparation for this meeting. Harry ran through what he remembered now as their guests brushed soot from their clothes.
The Veelas were divided by region and then country, with the Regional Charm reigning over each Country's Charms. Given the United Kingdoms' unfavorable treatment of Veela, there wasn't a Country Charm, so the Veelas sent the Regional Charm Queen instead. At the annual Charm Queen Gala, the ten Regional Queens, their entourage, and other notable guests met, danced, and politicked for the coming year. Each Regional Charm Queen was elected in a process that still baffled Harry. From what he gathered, it was a bizarre mixture of the popular vote, who was most magically and politically powerful, and then an influence of ancestral heritage and marital status. No unmarried Veela had ever been a Country or Regional Queen. Still, each elected Regional Queen held the position for fifteen years before re-elections. Each Regional Queen chose their Country Queens, and that post was held for seven years.
The vampires, however, didn't have as rigid a structure and were far more solitary than Veelas and werewolves. However, there were Covens in each country ranging in size and structure. Still, the only recognized leadership was the Coven Council, which made decisions regarding acceptable behavior for vampires worldwide. Given the age and longevity of vampires, the Coven Council leaders – essentially vampire royalty – hadn't enacted a new decree in decades. There weren't many vampires residing in the United Kingdom either; if they did, they stayed out of sight from most wizards.
The werewolves were the largest group currently residing in the United Kingdom. Each pack had an Alpha, which could range in size from five to almost one hundred individual wolves, like Fenrir's pack. The Alpha with the largest pack was deemed the Great Alpha of that area and adhered to as the de facto leader of all the packs until another bigger Alpha came along. According to Marvolo, Fenrir had the longest-standing record of being a Great Alpha, not only in the United Kingdom but in the world, by holding the title for almost thirty years, which gave him greater influence on the other Great Alphas in other countries. Or it would if the Great Alphas bothered to interact with each other. Apparently, when multiple Great Alphas were in close proximity, it just led to fighting. The fact that Marvolo had a Great Alpha's loyalty was apparently an incredible feat.
Harry would be more impressed if the Great Alpha wasn't Fenrir.
"Hello, thank you for agreeing to meet with us," Harry said. It took more effort to refrain from offering his hand to shake than he thought it would if only to do something with his hands. Still, Marvolo had been insistent that only Western Wizarding culture shook hands upon meeting, and it was best for them to follow the customs of the others. Peverell Manor had been chosen and agreed upon by all members involved as the most neutral ground available. Being a Necromancer held respect in all of their cultures, and Marvolo would never allow them all – especially Amos– to enter his own heavily guarded home. "Marvolo and I really hope that we can continue to lay a foundation for future peace between our races that he initiated through his correspondence with you."
"Ah, yes, the infamous Dark Lord who is not to be named today," Lady Marie Toussaint, the Veela Charm Queen, said in a purring tone that sounded both husky and cloying. "The opportunity to speak with you in person was most alluring. Your letters were so eloquent and persuasive, a contrast to the horror stories of your alternate self. I find your reputation rather stretched and at odds."
Marvolo offered a charming smile, his posture straight and authoritative. Harry bit his tongue and tried to push aside the anger that flared in his stomach. "I think you'll find, Lady Toussaint, that both aspects of my reputation are accurate. However, yes, the third-party member is unaware of my alternate identity."
"This duplicity is highly suspect," Carmilla commented with a twist of her painted blood-red lips. "It is troubling when those who wish to do business are unable to be honest with their own members."
"The time for duplicity is unfortunate," Marvolo agreed. "However, it grows short. Everyone in the British Isles will know and acknowledge my true title by summer's end. I guarantee it."
"Then why hold this meeting now? Why not wait until your identity is revealed?" Sanguini asked. He had a surprisingly soft voice, accented and hypnotic. He stood a pace behind Carmilla and seemed the most removed of the four standing in the Peverell Floo Room — freshly cleaned and decorated for this specific occasion by Dobby and Kreacher.
Carmilla and Sanguini were the two representatives of the Vampire Coven Council. The vampires were the only group who had sent two members, but apparently, they always sent more than one, no matter the occasion, to get a more accurate report of events. Both Carmilla and Sanguini were centuries old and looked dangerous despite the facade of youth they wore on their pale faces. They were almost as pale as Marvolo naturally was. Currently, Marvolo wore an additional glamor to make his skin appear more human and warm, even a little tan, not its standard ghostly porcelain pale.
"The peace we hope to foster should not be postponed," Harry said with a smile he hoped was as charming as Marvolo's. "The revelation of Marvolo's identity should have no impact on the matter at hand, for no matter the name he answers to, his goals and mine are the same. We want peace and see no reason to delay this."
"Those of us in this room have faced severe prejudice and the dangers of gossip-mongering hoards worse than most. I believe this commonality will lend to a strong partnership," Marvolo continued smoothly.
"Why the hell is the other one coming then?" Fenrir finally snarled. Harry was surprised by how quiet he'd been up to now. He bit his lip to hold back his sneer at just the sight of the werewolf. "You want peace with us. Fine. Why the hanger-on? Never thought you'd allow stupid posturing, my Lord."
Marvolo pursed his lips, and his glamoured blue eyes were hard as steel, the only outward sign of his distaste. This was a political meeting with some of the most influential ambassadors of the current age. He couldn't curse Fenrir even if Harry knew he wanted to, but Harry expected a more thorough rebuke to occur in privacy later.
"In the future," Marvolo said with cool disdain, "when my ascension into control is finalized, it will not be permitted. However, for the next handful of months, it is a necessary obstacle to be tolerated."
"Handful of months? You can guarantee your ascension in such a short time?" Lady Toussaint asked in surprise, her blue eyes jumping between Harry and Marvolo.
"With absolute certainty. Dumbledore will be dealt with and finished before summer is over," Marvolo replied.
The representatives could take that as just Marvolo being highly confident, cunning, and powerful or some amalgamation of such things, but that was just Harry's deadline set by Death. Whether the Light was adequately dealt with would be irrelevant when the deadline arrived, and Harry Claimed Dumbledore.
Harry sighed. "If you will all follow Marvolo, he will guide you to the sitting room we will be occupying. I'll stay and wait for our last member. I'm sure you're all eager to sit and relax. My elves have been preparing refreshments all morning."
The four dignitaries gave him small nods in acceptance of his polite request and followed Marvolo out of the room. Harry could hear Marvolo's charming tone in response to something but couldn't hear the exact words. They had to balance this afternoon perfectly. Amos Diggory was the only one out of the loop, but his report back to the rest of the Ministry and, worse, Dumbledore hindered a lot of influence that Marvolo could wield in Amos' presence.
Marvolo hadn't commented much on his younger years, so Harry could only speculate. Still, something told him – pieced together from glimpses of late nights in the library – that the political route had been Marvolo's original goal before he became derailed and deranged. Harry couldn't help but wonder what life would have been like if Marvolo had clung to legality and politics. Harry wondered if he would have been born into a world where Marvolo was the Minister.
Shaking his head, Harry tossed the spiraling what-if questions out of his head. It wouldn't do any good, and there was no point going down that rabbit hole. Still, Marvolo suited the politician's role. Harry knew he was already pouncing on the unknown free minutes before Amos' arrival to charm and manipulate the dignitaries to fall further under his enchanting thrall.
Harry took another breath now that he was alone, trying to set his mind right for the upcoming meeting. It was strange and uncharacteristic of Amos to be so late, even if it was only by – Harry glanced at his watch – ten minutes. He shifted on his feet as he waited.
As he waited, he swept his eyes over the Floo Room for lack of anything better to do. He made a mental note to request a bench or chair in this room. Dobby and Kreacher had already placed potted plants in the corners, which helped the plainness of it all, and a large landscape painting of the sea hung on the wall directly opposite the sizeable fireplace. It was a pretty picture, and Harry contemplated how realistic it looked as he waited. He also made a note to visit the sea at some point to compare the portrait to the real thing.
It was fifteen minutes now, and his frown deepened. Harry was tempted to lock down the fireplace and leave because this was getting ridiculous. Something told him Amos was probably with Dumbledore going over plans and plots regarding this meeting, which heightened his irritation. Harry would give it another five minutes and then send a letter to Amos informing him that, due to his tardiness, he had been blocked from the Manor's Floo out of respect to the other dignitaries' time. Harry drafted the letter in his head as he waited, planning to send copies with a more thorough explanation to the Light and Dark Faction Leaders, the Minister, Amos' Department Head, and even Dumbledore just to be spitefully polite.
Before he could summon Dobby, the Floo flared. Amos Diggory stepped out of the fireplace, brushing ash off his shoulders. "Lord Diggory," Harry said with a strained smile, "welcome to my home, Peverell Manor. I appreciate your willingness to meet but must ask if you are feeling well, considering your delayed attendance."
This was Harry's first time within five feet of Amos Diggory since he woke up in the Hospital Wing after the Graveyard and had to tell the man how his son died. Amos was still tall, though his shoulders showed the effects of being hunched more often than not, his beard was no longer scrubby but fully grown in, though well trimmed, and his face had lost a bit of its ruddy color and looked thinner. Compared to the boisterous personality Harry remembered during the Quidditch World Cup, he seemed withdrawn now.
Amos did at least have the decency to look embarrassed. "I do apologize for my tardiness, Lord Potter-Black-Peverell. It is unlike me to be late, and I can offer no appropriate excuse." Because you were with Dumbledore trying to plot how to make me look bad, Harry thought bitterly. "Have the others arrived?"
"Yes, they are already in the sitting room." Originally, Harry planned to be charitable against Marvolo's wishes and tell Amos to expect another person at the meeting. But, the man's lateness hadn't left him feeling very charitable. "Come, I'm sure the others are eager to begin." Harry turned on his heel and walked out of the room. Amos followed in his wake, and Harry took a few deep breaths before speaking again. He had to speak with Amos privately before things really went underway. His feelings toward the man couldn't hinder his offer. "Lord Diggory, I believe that during these talks, you should address me as simply Lord Potter for simplicities sake."
"I concur, Lord Potter," Amos replied, matching Harry's slowed stride. Harry watched him out of the corner of his eye as the man looked around the hall as they walked.
"Also, Lord Diggory, before we continue, I wish to make an offer to you," Harry stopped in the hall and turned to the man. Amos stopped as well and looked wary, his eyes glancing around the empty hall with landscape paintings instead of ancestry portraits that were traditional among family manors. However, Harry thought it interesting that Slytherin Manor had no ancestry portraits either. "I wish to offer you the opportunity to speak with your son." Amos froze, eyes wide; he looked petrified. "I'm sure you're aware from my discussions with the press that I can commune with the dead. I plan to open this ability to the public; however, I wish to make the offer to certain individuals that I feel have had a great impact on me first." Amos continued to stare at Harry, and Harry honestly couldn't tell what the man was thinking. Amos licked his lips, opened his mouth, shut it, and repeated it a few times. "Look, I'm not expecting anything in return for this offer. You don't have to accept it. However, I deeply respected Cedric, and his death was a tragedy. So I just wanted you to know that if you ever want to speak to him again, say your goodbyes properly. I'm willing to provide that."
Amos finally looked away from Harry and clasped his hands tightly in front of himself before promptly moving to clasp his hands behind his back. "That is Dark Magic, Lord Potter," he said, his voice sounding rough and quiet, even a little tight. He stood straight, but he wouldn't meet Harry's gaze.
Harry shrugged. "Technically. I prefer to think of it as simply using my Inheritance. What does it matter how the magic is classified if it means seeing Cedric again?" Amos looked very uncomfortable now. Harry sighed. He'd offered; that was all he could do. "Anyway, think about it. Now, we've delayed the other dignitaries long enough." Harry turned, walked down the rest of the hall, and stopped in front of the door to the sitting room. Amos moved slowly towards him. It was apparent he was still trying to get his thoughts in order, and he was about to be thrown for another loop. Harry did feel bad about that, but he wanted to put the offer to the man before politics got involved. Amos kept glancing at Harry as though he was trying to solve a puzzle or like he'd never seen Harry before. It was strange.
The sitting room Harry had chosen to host the meeting was not the same dark blue and cream one he had used to entertain the Factions during his school discussions. However, he was fond of that one. Instead, he had chosen a room that felt both imposing and warm, which was the message he wanted to present during these talks. Marvolo had agreed with the impression when he came to assist Harry in planning the whole meeting two days ago. It reminded him of the Gryffindor Common Room, and the nostalgic familiarity comforted him.
Once Amos was beside him, Harry pushed open the door and stepped inside. The room wasn't large; actually, it was fairly small compared to other sitting rooms Harry had visited since his entrance into the world of politics, but it was opulent in its quaintness. Only a single large window took up most of the back wall, edged by heavy maroon curtains tied back by golden ropes. The hardwood floor was dark colored and offset against the honey wood of each furniture piece, but the matching maroon rug mostly covered the floor. The rug probably cost more than most houses; it was maroon and cream-colored with gold accents, blending together in a swirling geometric pattern just short of hypnotic. There were no couches but seven armchairs of dark gold coloring all set around a single long, broad coffee table. There had originally been five chairs, but Marvolo had conjured two additional duplicates for everyone expected to attend. It looked like a strange rendition of King Arthur's table – if the old Kings Table had consisted of ridiculously plush armchairs and a table engraved with Necromancy Runes.
He had started learning the Necromancy Runes two weeks ago – alongside learning Hindi Runes with Marvolo – and was still learning what each rune meant in its basest form. But now that he had started memorizing them, Harry noticed them all over Peverell Manor, artistically carved into the furniture or along the picture frames or weaved into the carpets; so that they looked more ornamented than purposeful. He could only identify a small handful, but the ones he did identify were for protection, strength, deceit, poison, and power. Against the left wall, which had been recently painted a warm off-white color, was a liquor cabinet mostly tucked away into the corner. Aside from the liquor cabinet and the large window that overlooked the miles of grassy fields and wildflowers — or it would if not for the many feet of snow — there were no other items in the room. This room was made for conversation between those occupying the chairs and did not allow for additional distractions.
Marvolo swept his glamoured gaze over Harry, obviously trying to detect potential harm, and Harry offered him a small smile. No one had claimed a seat yet, waiting for the Head of the House to take the customary first seat.
"Thank you for your patience," Harry said genially as Amos stepped inside behind him and shut the door quietly.
"Oi, Potter, you got snacks to go with this pretty parlor?" Fenrir asked with a groan, leaning against one of the armchairs, his arms crossed. "What about some whiskey? I need some alcohol if I'm going to put up with this bullshit politics."
"Yes, you can get your whiskey," Harry replied, clenching his teeth to keep his temper. Merlin, Fenrir set him off so easily. "It is customary to serve it after everyone has been introduced. It's called manners, Greyback. Certainly, even you are capable of them."
Fenrir gave a shark-like grin, his teeth sharper than an average human's. Marvolo was glaring at the wolf, too, who didn't seem to care. "At least I arrived on time," Fenrir replied smugly.
Everyone glanced at Amos at the comment, and the man looked uncomfortable. Harry would think he was uncomfortable at being called out for being late. Still, Harry thought it might be more in regards to being uncomfortable with those present, given his shifting gaze, unable to linger on any one individual for long.
"The wolf is right, Lord Potter," Lady Toussaint said, pursing her lips, glancing with disdain at Fenrir's lack of manners regarding posture. As if to right the balance, she stood even straighter and fixed her shimmering green robes so there wasn't a wrinkle to be seen. Her silvery hair was like a shimmering curtain she tucked behind her ear. "We have wasted enough time waiting. Let us drink and talk, oui?"
"Of course," Harry said with a small dip of his head in respect. "Lord Amos Diggory, representative of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. Lady Marie Toussaint, the Western European Regional Charm Queen. Fenrir Greyback, the Great Alpha of the United Kingdom. Carmilla and Sanguini representatives of the Coven Council. And Lord Marvolo Tomás." Each person gave a dip of their head. Amos didn't offer to shake hands, but Harry wasn't sure if he was just aware enough culturally or if he simply didn't want to touch Dark Creatures. Harry offered a smile to the group. "Now drinks. I hope everyone enjoys firewhiskey," he said, walking towards his liquor cabinet.
"It is entirely dependent on the vintage, Lord Potter," Sanguini commented, standing a step or two behind Carmilla.
"I've been enjoying the tutelage of Lord Tiberius Ogden, and he has provided a bottle or two of each year. Which year would you prefer to sample today?" Harry asked graciously, opening the cabinet with a flourish.
The vampire looked intrigued, gliding closer to Harry to peer into the cabinet. "Ah," the vampire said, selecting a bottle with a surprisingly well-manicured hand, "the year 1863 was such a good year for firewhiskey, was it not, darling?" Sanguini asked over his shoulder.
"Oh yes," Carmilla agreed, pulling her attention from the window where she and Lady Toussaint had stood, pretending to admire the view as they whispered together.
Harry focused on pouring the chosen vintage into the seven glasses, making sure not to spill a drop.
"Who exactly are you?" Amos asked.
"I believe Lord Potter provided my introduction already," Marvolo said. Harry bit back a sigh, Marvolo sounded poised and cold, but Harry could hear the undertones of biting savagery lying in wait. "I am Lord Marvolo Tomás."
"Yes, I heard the introduction. What's your purpose here?"
"Marvolo is my dear friend and the one who helped establish the connection and bridge for myself and our distinguished guests," Harry said, interjecting smoothly before Marvolo could become too cruel. No need to tempt a Dark Lord with an opportunity to curse and torture someone. Harry moved his hand over two of the drinks and cast the de-alcoholization spell. Sanguini stared at him intently, and Harry whispered, knowing that the man's enhanced vampire hearing would catch his words. "It just takes the alcohol out of the drink. I'm a lightweight, and Marvolo doesn't enjoy it." Harry offered a small self-deprecating smile injected with a touch of boyish charm. And Sanguini rewarded his divulgence with a slight quirk of his pale lips.
Harry hoped he wouldn't come to regret that admission or that Marvolo wouldn't be too angry with him about offering up a potential weakness to a sort of ally, but Harry thought the offer of trust would go a long way with forging lasting ties. Without turning around, Harry could sense Marvolo stepping closer. He turned and saw that everyone had gathered close by. Harry offered a genial smile and handed Marvolo the second glass of whiskey, taking the first for himself.
His lessons with Tiberius flooded back to him as he kept hold of the first drink. The second drink was dedicated to the most prominent person in attendance. Everyone but Amos was aware of Marvolo's true persona, so he doubted they could argue with the most feared and powerful Dark Lord in history being considered the most prominent figure. Next, Harry handed Lady Toussaint a glass, followed by the two vampires, then Fenrir. Harry smiled brightly at Fenrir's glare and low growl at his order placement. And then lastly, Amos received his drink.
Harry wondered briefly if Amos was aware of the tradition or if it was like Seth Fawley had said that most wizards didn't bother with the subtleties anymore. If he wasn't aware of the political nuances of drink order, what did he think of how the drinks were handed out? Maybe Amos thought it was because Marvolo was closest to him, or because they had a prior connection, or maybe he didn't think about it at all. Harry glanced at the man as he handed out the other drinks; his uncomfortable posture hadn't diminished.
It was strange. This man was the Wizarding Representative of Magical Creatures; why was he so uncomfortable and uneasy around them? Harry assumed Amos would actually know these people, but from the looks of it, he'd never interacted with them. What did that Department do if they didn't actually interact with Magical Creatures? Or maybe it was Harry that made him uncomfortable; the history between them, on top of being a Necromancer and practicing Dark Magic, wasn't great for a trusting foundation. Or maybe it was something else entirely, but it annoyed Harry that the man couldn't at least act like he was invested. Couldn't he put aside his own misgivings and feelings for the betterment of societal progression?
Drinks distributed, Harry led the group towards the chairs and took a seat. The rest quickly claimed theirs, and Harry tried to relax into the plush armchair. Marvolo sat directly to his right and Amos to his left. Next to Marvolo, Fenrir reclined with his legs spread, taking up more space than necessary. He was the only one not wearing formal robes but had obviously attempted to clean himself up. His hair was pulled back in a ponytail tied at the nape of his neck, his pants and shirt bore no holes and looked new, and his open robes paired nicely against his amber eyes. Given the werewolves' habit of living in the wilderness and shunning human comforts – in addition to being banned from most places of employment so they couldn't work to earn money – it made sense that Fenrir didn't own a political wardrobe. Harry thought of Remus and how shabby his robes always seemed with a bitter twist to his stomach. Sanguini sat between Fenrir and Carmilla, with Lady Toussaint between Carmilla and Amos. Amos sat stiffly, clutching his drink and avoiding looking at any of them directly beside Harry, who he kept giving lingering stares before glancing away again. Once everyone was sitting, Dobby appeared with two trays of refreshments. Fenrir set to the food with a singleminded intensity.
"Your elves are good, Potter," the werewolf said after devouring five finger sandwiches in what seemed like two bites.
"I'll pass along your praise," Harry replied. At least of everyone in the room, he could trust Fenrir to be upfront and blunt about things. It was a bit refreshing to have another like-minded individual who didn't care about wordplay, but damnit, Fenrir still irked him.
"Really, Fenrir, just because you are moon-blessed does not excuse you from acting like a heathen in polite company," Sanguini commented with a frown.
Harry wondered how often these four interacted; they seemed surprisingly familiar with one another. Fenrir sighed but did slow his eating. "Right, sorry, but food's tight during winter," Fenrir said as a way of apology and explanation.
"My elves can send you with something afterward, something for your pack," Harry offered, thinking of Remus and how he might be suffering this winter. Fenrir met his eyes and gave a slight nod but didn't comment.
"Lord Diggory," Marvolo said smoothly, his tone deceptively polite as he sat in his armchair like it was a throne, "I'd like to offer my sincere condolences regarding the loss of your son. I understand it's been a few years, and while I have no intimate knowledge of the experience, I understand pain like that never truly diminishes."
Harry blinked, the rim of his glass touching his lip as he stared at Marvolo. Harry knew it wasn't sincere by any means, and he also knew Marvolo had only addressed Cedric's death because Harry had mentioned it the other day. Harry's stomach flipped at the realization. Marvolo held Harry's gaze instead of looking at the man he was supposedly offering condolences to, the blue was wrong, but Harry fancied he could see the crimson red beneath the glamor.
"Thank you, Lord Tomás," Amos said, his voice strained, but his thanks sounded genuine. Harry tore his gaze from Marvolo's, feeling his face heating up, and took a larger sip from his drink than was necessarily proper.
"I must say, Lord Potter, I enjoy your renovations on the manor. I'm sure once the warm season returns, the gardens will be returned to their former glory. I do hope to earn an invitation to experience the sight," Carmilla commented, her blood-red lips curved in a polite smile.
"You've been here before?" Harry asked in surprise. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Marvolo shift almost imperceptibly in an indication of interest.
"Oh yes," Carmilla said with a smile that could almost be called fond if it didn't look so creepy on her porcelain face. "In the times of Deaths' Speakers, we were often invited as guests. Oh, the parties that were held in these halls. Do you remember, darling?" she asked with a light hand placed on Sanguini's forearm.
"Yes, most memorable. I remember the feeling of the Dark Magic even now. It coated every fiber of the halls deliciously. It is sadly much fainter now," Sanguini commented, his red eyes glancing around the room as though lost in the memory of the room in an earlier time.
"Ah, yes, your predecessors," Lady Toussaint said, joining the conversation. "Do you plan on continuing the tradition of such festivities? I find myself intrigued by these gardens Carmilla mentioned. I do love a beautiful garden."
"No doubt in a vain attempt to find something comparable to your own beauty," Marvolo said smoothly. It was a cheesy line that should have sounded fake, but he spoke with such charm that it sounded genuine. Lady Toussaint responded with a flattered smile, tossing her blonde curls over her shoulder.
"Vous êtes un charmeur à coup sûr, mon Seigneur. La beauté de la nature est quelque chose que nous devons tous recherche,(1)" she replied in French.
"Parlé comme un véritable artisan et philosopher,(2)" Marvolo replied in French. It sounded like smokey velvet, and Harry's gut tightened at the sound.
He swallowed thickly and forced himself to remain still, cursing himself for not learning French himself. He glanced at the others, but only Fenrir seemed to be out of the loop as he was. Even Amos seemed to understand. It was probably Pureblood etiquette to learn.
"Stick with English," Fenrir bit out roughly. "Proper manners and shit, stick with the language all know."
"It's to your own detriment, Fenrir," Marvolo chided. "I've provided opportunities to instruct you." When had Marvolo offered to teach him? Harry thought with a rush of frustration.
"My apologies Lord Potter –" Harry flushed at the call out; he hadn't realized he'd displayed his own ignorance so blatantly "– I was unaware you did not know French. It was my understanding that those of the Noble Houses are trained in the language. Is this no longer the case in the British Isles?" Lady Marie asked, looking properly contrite.
"Many of my peers probably are taught French and other languages, Lady Toussaint. However, my upbringing was abnormal, and I missed much of the tutelage they received. However, when I learned of my family ancestry, I decided to learn Hindi as my next language. I shall make it a priority to learn French next," he added with as charming a smile he could manage.
"Hindi is a beautiful language to learn," Carmilla said. "Have you gotten far in your studies?"
"Not very far. Admittedly I've barely brushed the surface of pleasantries and..." Harry offered an abashed, boyish grin, "I've grown proficient in the curse words."
This brought laughter from the group, well, minus Amos and Marvolo. Amos made a strangled tittering noise, and Marvolo merely smiled with amusement, though Harry could count how often he had heard Marvolo laugh on one hand. Selfishly, Harry didn't want to share the sound with the group. Plus, Marvolo was already well aware of Harry's language progress.
"Perhaps this summer, when I extend the invitation to see the gardens, I will be further along, and we can converse then?" he offered.
"An invitation eagerly awaited," Carmilla said, and she actually looked like she meant it. Harry replied with a grin of his own.
"The invitation is extended to you as well, Lady Toussaint. With the incentive of your arrival, I'll be certain to begin my French studies soon."
The Veela offered a beautiful smile and a nod in acceptance. "I very much look forward to this invitation, Lord Potter."
"Please, call me Harry," he said as smoothly as he could. "If we are to have summer plans, I feel it's only appropriate."
"Marie, then," she said sweetly with a tilt of her head as her eyes looked him over more appraisingly. Marvolo scowled as he drank a large mouthful of whiskey. Harry glanced at him in concern. What was his problem? Harry thought he'd be pleased with the progress of winning over the dignitaries. Fenrir looked delighted, though, so that couldn't mean anything good. "Do you not enjoy this vintage, Lord Diggory?" Marie asked suddenly. For all appearances, she seemed to be attempting polite conversation. Still, something in those dark blue eyes of hers drew Harry's attention to the undercurrent of tension in the conversation.
Amos blinked and glanced down at the tumbler of whiskey in hand as though surprised that he held it. The man glanced at the others, and Harry noted Fenrir taking a pointedly loud gulp of the amber liquid. Amos shifted. "Not at all; it's quite delightful. A spectacular year, as the good Sanguini said," Amos said with a chuckle that was just on the wrong side of too cheerful.
"Yet you have not tasted it," Carmilla commented silkily. Harry frowned slightly; why were they pressing so hard about drinking? He didn't particularly care if Amos drank it or not. It wasn't some great offense if a person didn't drink, so long as they didn't refuse the offer of the drink. If the man didn't care for drinking alcohol, then Harry didn't want to force him.
"I believe Lord Diggory is facing hesitancy regarding our gracious host's intentions," Marvolo said, interjecting into the conversation like melted butter. Harry glanced at Marvolo, but the man was staring at Amos with disdain and rage, smothered under a mask of indifference and boredom. If this was an Inner Circle meeting, Harry knew Amos would be a screaming, bleeding mess on the floor.
Amos flushed a red that he couldn't seem to hide, and Harry felt a wave of anger ignite in the pit of his stomach, both at how everyone else seemed to notice while he'd missed this apparently blatant distrust and at the distrust itself. "It's not poisoned," Harry said harshly.
"If you doubt and mistrust so evidently, simply place your glass on the table. The runes engraved will detect poison," Sanguini said with a distasteful turn of his bloodless lips.
"You know Necromancy Runes?" Harry asked in surprise and saw Marvolo's jaw tighten.
"Your ancestor, Langston Peverell, taught me and a few of my fellows how to identify a select few Runes during one of my visits. I recognize the one for poison on the table. Recognizing a few is the most that I am capable of. Only a Necromancer can read and utilize the entirety of the language."
Harry caught Marvolo's intense stare and gave a slight nod to the unasked question, but the one that Harry knew Marvolo was brimming with. Harry knew the ability to learn forbidden arts was an intellectual weakness of Marvolo's. Receiving Harry's nod, Marvolo settled back into the chair, giving the impression of a smug and satisfied cat despite his face remaining impassive. Harry doubted any of the others could pick up on the change in his demeanor. Harry took another drink of his dulled firewhiskey to hide his smile.
"No, of course not," Amos replied, taking a small sip, barely wetting his lips before offering a smile. Harry wished the man had just said he didn't drink; he wished Amos had lied rather than further displayed his distrust. Harry's grip on the tumbler tightened.
"Of course not," Marvolo said saccharinely sweet that Harry's teeth ached from the sound, but Amos didn't seem to hear the mockery in his tone and sent a grateful look at Marvolo. "However, regarding the topic of trust, why don't we focus on the topic of the day, yes? The trust and peace we wish to establish between our races."
"Pardon me?" Amos asked, looking surprised. "I thought today we were convincing our guests not to side with the You Know Who."
Harry took another drink to stop the smile tugging at his lips. Luckily, the others seemed to hide their reactions better with smooth faces, except for Fenrir, who released a sharp bark of laughter but quickly fell silent at Marvolo's sharp look.
"Such a short-sided goal," Marvolo admonished Amos with a charming smile. "Why, what better incentive offer than peace and trust? During a time of war, it is vital to establish a foundation for afterward. Otherwise, what is there to fight for if there is no hope for the future?" With a guilty twist in his stomach, Harry watched Amos Diggory fall under Marvolo's charm and silver tongue.
"My Faction can speak to my plans, Lord Diggory," Harry said, "but I've intended on forming a Council of sorts so that all our races may cooperate and have a voice in shared affairs. Luckily Marvolo and I share a mind on this, and he'd already been working towards a similar goal when we met."
"As the Representative for the Magical Creature Regulation and Control, surely you can agree with this line of thought," Marvolo continued with an innocent tilt to his head, his glamoured blue eyes glittering.
Amos blinked and shifted in his seat, glancing at the representatives, and he gave a smile full of false charm. "Of course, peace and cooperation is something that my office and the Ministry would support."
"It is nice to know that the wizards can agree on peace at least," Sanguini commented dryly.
"However, Lord Potter, did you not promise to get the Dementors on our side as well?" Amos asked, looking genuinely confused. "During the last Wizengamot session, you swore that your control of the Dementors would keep them from siding with You-Know-Who and that they'd support the Ministry. In addition, you promised you would convince our esteemed guests of the same."
The dignitaries all looked at Harry with a mixture of looks. Fenrir looked highly amused as he ate another pastry. The vampires looked disappointed, and Lady Toussaint looked disapproving. Marvolo didn't look concerned, so he must trust that Harry could talk his way out.
Bolstered by Marvolo's apparent trust, Harry shook his head as nerves pierced his chest. "I made no such promises. The Dementors obey me as their Lord, which is what I told the Wizengamot. They will do as I command them. The Minister asked if I could speak with our guests, and I agreed. I made no promises about the outcome of the talks, just that I would speak with them."
Amos looked perplexed but fell silent. Harry took another sip of his whiskey. God, he hated all of this tiptoeing. He'd been honest, but he felt like a liar all the same.
"Really, Lord Diggory, I feel it rather rude of you to disregard our guests so blatantly," Marvolo said smoothly. "To speak of them as though they are not present and to openly divulge matters of the Wizengamot is highly unprofessional."
Amos turned red, and Harry frowned at the man. What was wrong with him? This wasn't the Amos Diggory he remembered at all. This man was a well-known member of the Ministry, and he seemed to be blundering through this entire meeting.
"Now, what exactly would this Council require?" Carmilla asked, her focus turning serious.
Harry allowed Marvolo to lead the conversation. It was their shared goal, and they had discussed it at such great length that Harry trusted him to get the necessary points across. Personally, Harry wished the whole day was over. He was so tired of the politics and the distrust. He took another sip of the dulled firewhiskey and glanced out the large window at the back of the room. It was a beautiful day, the snow-covered grounds were tempting, and the sun shined off of it, making it a blazing white. A perfect day for flying. Something he wouldn't manage to do today because he was in meetings to lay the foundation of the Magical Worlds' future. He fleetingly thought of his friends. They'd be done with classes now. He wondered if any of them would be taking advantage of the beautiful day to start a snowball fight or maybe a pickup Quidditch game. He'd always enjoyed days like this in years past, with the cold, laughter, and camaraderie filling the air as snowballs flew through the air.
An ache pressed against his chest at the memory. He wondered if he'd ever have the chance to enjoy a beautiful snowy day like that again. Would he always be pulled into meetings? Would he always have to suffer politics and heavy-weighted discussions? Would his time ever really belong to him again?
"Harry," the call of his name dragged Harry's focus back to the present, and he offered Marie a warm smile, "I've heard rumors of a magical primary school that you are implementing. Are these true?"
"They are, Marie," Harry said, happy to talk about one of his passion projects. "We should be breaking ground on the construction soon and opening our doors for all magical children from the age of seven and up by next year."
"When you say all magical children, do you mean this literally?" Carmilla asked with the kind of tone that was too practiced in its polite disinterest to be authentic.
Harry blinked at the question and cast a side look at Marvolo, who sent a look that shared his unawareness regarding this conversation shift. "Yes. I don't see why any child of the magical world should be denied an education, and starting at a younger age, before Hogwarts, I believe will help cement friendships that can cross even House rivalry lines." Carmilla pursed her lips and hummed.
"And what of those magical children not destined for Hogwarts?" Marie asked.
Did she mean squibs? Or children who planned to attend Durmstrang or Beauxbatons? Harry wondered but made sure to keep his face smooth as he tried to catch her line of thought since, obviously, both women were of the same mind. Or did they literally mean all magical children, even those not strictly human? That line of thought made far more sense, given who they were and who they represented. Either way, the answer didn't change.
"I don't see why any magical child's education should be hindered and based on the acceptance into a single school. If a child is part of our world, they should receive similar opportunities. Currently, the school is set to teach from seven to eleven; however, after it is established, I have plans to elongate its curriculum to encompass those through the age of seventeen."
"You mean to teach squibs?" Amos asked in surprise.
Harry glanced at him, but it was Marvolo who answered. "The concept of banishing squibs to the muggle world is not only needlessly cruel but dangerous to the continued secrecy of our society. A snubbed child has no reason to hold a secret for a society that has deemed it unworthy. I'm surprised there hasn't been a full uprising from the muggles already."
"Muggles would never believe the tales of a child to create a full uprising," Amos denied confidently.
"The tale of a single child, no," Marvolo conceded. "However, when multiple children across the country all tell the same tale? The same tale repeated year after year after year? Why, even muggles would start to listen."
Amos looked surprised at this statement, and then he looked alarmingly concerned.
"It is something I hope to rectify. Allowing the squibs an education in the magical world, allowing them an opportunity to remain in the society they were raised in, I hope to alleviate the potential secrecy leak. Just because they can't wield magic doesn't mean they have no purpose in our society. However, the school's full term would not occur for a handful of years. I fear I wouldn't have the available staff immediately."
"Your school concept, I believe, has the potential of being a rather critical point of persuasion," Carmilla said. Harry glanced at her, trying not to shift in his seat. "You wish for vampires to attend this Council. However, in order to bring us to the table, we require attendance at your school."
"Why would school attendance be such a priority?" Amos asked, thankfully so Harry wouldn't have to. He had started to expect a request along the line of admissions but not for it to be such a critical point.
"Talks nice, but we need some actual action and give on the wizards part. If you don't give us something, then it's us doing all the work like always," Fenrir said before draining his glass of whiskey. "I'm getting more of this. You don't mind, do you Potter?" Fenrir asked, standing and moving to the liquor cabinet without waiting for Harry's reply.
Carmilla and Marie exchanged a look, but it was Sanguini who spoke. "As Fenrir said, talks of integration with a Council are all very nice. But that's all it is, talks. If you were to allow all magical creatures to attend your school, it would go a long way in demonstrating to the magical community that you are serious in your intentions."
"I'm sorry, but this request will require some deliberation," Amos said quickly. "The safety aspect alone would be enough to deter most families."
"Actually, it doesn't require deliberation at all," Harry interjected. "As it is my school, whether the Wizengamot votes it in or not, I have the final say in who attends." Amos looked at Harry in blatant shock. Harry looked at the dignitaries and gave a welcoming smile. "I have no discrepancies regarding the admission of anyone. I welcome all of your young to attend my school. In fact, I encourage it."
"The only flaw," Marvolo said smoothly, "would be the lack of educators available. Would this swing requirement need to be fulfilled in the school's first year, or will there be a time frame in which to fulfill it?"
The four dignitaries exchanged looks. "In our many years of interaction with wizards, we have noted your race to be particularly slippery," Carmilla said, her posture stiff as she crossed her ankles and rested her hands on her knee. "Given this history, we will require a more immediate demonstration of your intention. We will expect invitations for our young alongside the rest of the wizarding community for the first term; only then can we formally accept your terms of an integrated Council."
Harry took another drink of his whiskey, finishing his glass in the process, to give himself a chance to think. Fuck, he thought as his panic rose. Marvolo looked furious and seemed to be only just able to contain his fury, given the white knuckle grip he had on the armrests. "I understand your desire for wizards to prove our sincerity," Harry said before his thoughts caught up with him. The words came out without his conscience effort. "As I've said, finding adequate educators for the upper years is the major breaking point. Perhaps," Harry said slowly as his thoughts sparked and jumped off each other guiding him to his end point, "if you had some members of your community you think you could offer to the cause, then it would alleviate that point of friction."
"Yes, providing your own instructors would enable you to guide the education of future generations of wizards," Marvolo added, pushing Harry's half-conceived thought further. Harry glanced at the Dark Lord and tried to convey his gratitude for him picking up his train of thought. Marvolo held his gaze for a few seconds, his blue eyes concealing the red that Harry had grown so fond of, and Harry hoped his feelings were adequately conveyed. "Provide us with the number of students you anticipate sending to the school, and we will inform you of how many educators we will still require. We may not require additional educators," Marvolo allowed with a small smile, "but we won't know for sure until we have the final numbers."
"Of course, we will provide you with those numbers within the week," Marie replied.
"I already know one of mine who would be a great teacher at your school," Fenrir said. Harry met his amber-eyed gaze, knowing immediately that he meant Remus. Harry's heart swelled with a wild giddiness at being able to offer his pseudo-uncle another job opportunity, especially at the chance of concealing the offer into something that would benefit the magical world.
"Wonderful," Harry said, "just send that information within the week."
"Lord Potter, this seems a rather hasty decision," Amos said with a polite smile, leaning closer to Harry.
"Not at all, Lord Diggory, merely shifting the conclusion forward," Harry replied with an equally polite smile.
"Lord Diggory, surely you can see the benefits," Marvolo said smoothly, his voice mimicking silk. "The most efficient way to overcome prejudice and establish long-lasting bonds is through childhood. Your department focuses on the regulation of magical creature interaction. Surely you can see the benefits of regulating that from the very precipice on which it begins?"
Amos fell silent and stared into the full glass of firewhiskey he still held in his hand.
Albus pulled himself from the pensieve with a frustrated sigh and felt every single one of his years.
There was so much to dissect from that meeting.
It had taken some serious persuasion on his part to convince Amos not to attend the meeting and to allow Albus to send someone polyjuiced as him. It had taken more effort than Albus liked to admit, more than it would have taken if he had made the request a year previously. It seemed Amos wasn't as sold on Albus's ideals as he once had been. The death of his son seemed to have tainted the man's impression of Albus. For whatever reason, the man had stumbled across the idea that Albus could have done something to prevent Cedric's death. Still, Amos had conceded in the end, and Tonks had gone instead.
Usually, a metamorphmagus wouldn't need polyjuice potion, but Albus hadn't trusted that she would be able to keep her cover for the entire time otherwise. And he'd been right. The girl had been instructed to attend but remain silent, to not give any indication that she might not be Amos Diggory. She hadn't obeyed, but Albus was confident the damage was minimal. Thankfully, Amos had not had any interactions with any of those in attendance – outside of Harry, and even that was minimal – so he was sure no one had noticed.
Tonks's disobedience wasn't even the worse part. Tom Riddle was there! Tom sat in that meeting under a different name but the same face of his youth, his natural face, a face that Albus thought he'd never see again. It was unnerving and had Albus rethinking all of his plans.
In the five years he had had to study Harry Potter in person, he found himself bewildered by this year's turn of events. Harry wasn't behaving like the docile, submissive hero Albus had hoped to cultivate. It didn't make sense. Harry shouldn't be this confident in political situations, he shouldn't be so authoritative, and he most definitely shouldn't be so aware of political subtext.
What did it mean? Harry and Tom were interacting in such a blatant, public display. How was Tom able to be so level-headed? He shouldn't be so sane with so many Horcruxes. Harry must be wielding some degree of Necromantic magic over the Dark Lord to keep him calm in public, Albus mused. It was the only explanation. But how long would Harry's power last? Surely Tom wouldn't agree to such a submissive state constantly. He must be constantly fighting it. Albus wondered how long it would take for the Dark Lord to break free. How weak would he be when he did? And how close were Harry and Tom now? They were supposed to be allies of convenience, plotting to kill the other as soon as the opportunity arose, not hosting meetings together over whiskey and cakes and exchanging looks. It had to be Harry's power of a Necromancer influencing Tom. Having so many Horcruxes obviously made him weaker to Necromantic submission. It was the only explanation.
Albus paced his office. He'd sent Tonks home – or at least her current safe house – as soon as she delivered her memories and her interpretation of the meeting. An interpretation that made Albus worried and concerned. She'd been unwillingly charmed by the unknown Lord and surprised at Harry's command of the room, and though she didn't say it, she seemed to agree with the decision to allow other races to attend that blasted primary school. She didn't say it outright, but she hadn't immediately supported Albus's words against it like she usually would.
Worse, when Albus told her that Lord Marvolo Tomás was Lord Voldemort, she looked…doubtful. It was infuriating. Albus knew it seemed ridiculous, but why hadn't she believed him, taken him for his word? Maybe he had spent too long hyping up the monstrous version that Tom had displayed upon his reincarnation at the graveyard and the Ministry last summer. The Order had expected a raving lunatic of a tyrant, not a behind-the-scenes political player with a handsome face.
Albus cursed and paced some more. What was he to do? His own people were starting to doubt him. His plan with the Dursleys hadn't worked precisely as he'd anticipated, and now he was floundering again. Thankfully he'd been able to tie up that loose end with Yaxley. How had he even lived to make it to the Ministry? Tom should have killed the man for disobeying orders, or Harry should have for killing his family.
He needed to spread the word about who Harry was with, the real identity of the man who attended the meeting. And what was that Harry had said about not actually promising to persuade the creatures to side with the Ministry? Albus frowned, sure Harry had said he couldn't make promises, but he should have known the expectation. Maybe he could use that?
Albus stroked his beard in thought. Twist this somehow. Harry said he'd spoken with the Dementors, but he'd given no word of notice to the Ministry that Albus was aware of. And then, he invited a stranger to attend a meeting ordered and authorized by the Ministry—a blatant disregard for the trust the Ministry placed in him.
Harry needed to be reined in. He was operating with too much freedom and independence, using his age and his unearned power to get away with it and slip through the cracks. Albus hummed at the thought. Yes, maybe if he could place that doubt into enough ears, get them to wonder at the wisdom of entrusting a teenager with so much, he could gain traction that way.
Albus moved to his desk and pulled out a quill. He'd send a few harmful inquiries to the necessary people. Simply instigate the seeds of doubt, and then he'd suggest a Progress Report meeting. Simple, innocent, and harmless, a logical step to take. He'd also send a letter to a few of his former students who worked at the Prophet. Once upon a time, he would have contacted Rita Skeeter, but it seemed Harry had won that insipid woman over.
He also wrote a missive to Neville. They needed to up his training. He'd started on dueling training, and the boy left much to be desired. He was abysmally clumsy and struggled with the higher-level spells that Albus tried to teach him. Albus supposed he should be grateful that Harry had managed to train the oaf of a boy in the basics last year, but Albus had a lot of work cut out for him to get the fool child ready to fight a Dark Lord. On top of that, he needed to start showing Neville the pensieve memories he'd intended to show Harry.
Writing out ten harmless inquiries, Albus sent them off – having summoned the owls from the owlery to save himself the trip. Being Headmaster did have its perks sometimes. In the past, he would have settled for maybe four inquiries and trusted that his plan would go as planned but given the lack of support Albus faced from his own people, he was willing to bet he'd face similar distrust from those not under his command.
How could these people be so blind and superficial? Albus had held their loyalty and trust for decades; why now did they waver? Harry was a child celebrity who'd been hand-held through his five years at school. He'd accomplished no actual acts of greatness to rally behind. Not like Albus, who had defeated Gellert and instructed so many during their school years. Albus had put in the time to gain and earn the trust of the Wizarding World. It should not have taken Harry less than a year to tarnish that stellar reputation. It just shouldn't be possible for an upstart teenager to crumble decades of work.
Albus sighed, watching the owls fly away into the night sky. Things looked dismal now, but Albus would recover. He'd prepared for an upfront war, not political maneuvering. But he could redirect his plans and refocus his attention. He had a late start, but he wasn't out of the running yet. Albus had been in this world of politics for far longer than Harry or even Tom, and he'd always come out on top. He didn't expect that to change now. They had a headstart, but they were young and power-hungry and wouldn't last together for much longer. Despite Severus becoming exceedingly unhelpful as an informant – the Potioneer seemed to be busy constantly but was also never being summoned by Tom; what else did the man have to do in his miserable life?
It didn't matter. Harry might have shifted into more of a wild card, but Albus knew Tom Riddle. And Tom Riddle was the most power-hungry, ambitious individual Albus had ever met, even more than Gellert. He would never tolerate the sharing of power.
No, Tom Riddle and Harry Potter would kill each other as prophecized; Albus knew it.
1. You are a charmer for certain, my Lord. The beauty of nature is something we must all strive for.
2. Spoken like a true artisan and philosopher.