"The only people that can change the world are the ones who want to. And not everybody does."

Hugh Macleod

"What in Merlin's name," Rhaegar said irritably. Willamar looked slightly bored.

Rhaegar was upset. The letter from his little sister had been taken in for inspection- as ordered- but it was still irritating to know private letters between family members were being read and inspected.

Rhaegar knew he could spend little time with his youngest sister before Hogwarts. He was in his seventh year. By the time she was old enough to enter school, he would be long gone, and thus able to worry about her all he liked because he could never be there to look out for her.

But then again, she was far from stupid. And he wouldn't even know if she would be in the same house. All his siblings were sorted into different houses. Willamar in Hufflepuff, Athelinda in Slytherin.

They hadn't had a Ravenclaw yet, he thought with a smile. And Philomena was a prodigy. There was no denying. In fact, the four of them were considerably more advantaged over their fellow students. Their mother was a teacher in Durmstrang- before she decided to resign in protest over the use of Dark Magic conducted by students who admired Grindelwald. And the harsh punishments the teachers imposed on them, which she called sadistic.

Rhaegar sighed. "My year as Head Boy," he said sourly. "I could celebrate."

"Oh, stop being so sour," Willamar said cheerfully. "Everyone looks up to you. And you did have a choice."

Casting an irritable glance Rhaegar was tempted into disobeying orders and pulling out his broom for Quidditch.

"Speaking of which, did I mention that I heard from Professor Merrythought, that the duels would be a series of competitions?" Willamar said. "Not simply to test us, but the one who would be winner over the whole school will be selected to compete in the Duelling Circuit."

"What?" Rhaegar was startled. "How does this help?" he said, overcoming his astonishment.

"It helps because it might be the doorway to your qualifications to being accepted into the clan's forces," Willamar said patiently. "It is what you want after all, isn't it?"

Rhaegar was unable to speak. He was stunned. "Truly?" he said. Willamar nodded. "Well, you are in your final year," he pointed. "And you are of age. So why not start preparing, so they would be happy to accept you in training? Duelling champion isn't a bad way to start."

"No," Rhaegar said slowly. "Do you think the clan leaders will accept me?"

"Do you want to help?" Willamar asked. "Or do you simply want the glory?"

"I want to help, of course," he said, sounding shocked. "Well…" Willamar gestured. "It's not a bad way to start your preparations."

He snorted. "I doubt the preparations of Hogwarts would be enough." The clan had an almost-brutal ways of preparing their troops. Training could cost a life as easily as a battle or a mission can.

"Well, we start at the dirt before we can reach the stars," Willamar said. "It's a saying, isn't it?"

Rhaegar was silent, and he didn't even listen to the last part. He knew what he wanted to do.

Athelinda re-read, re-did and perfected her transfiguration homework to new heights. She was not pleased for long. She re-did it again, thinking she could do better which she did.

She could hardly be satisfied. And surely Dumbledore deserved better?

Eventually, after re-doing her various pieces of homework time and time again, she finally, grudgingly accepted that she could do no more, and picked up a heavy text-book on Magical History. It was a favourite subject, and she could always improve herself. She wanted to do better.

After all, she wanted to improve the world.

Wait until they all see the plans she had, she thought as she delved into the book.

But she had read and re-read this so many times that she got easily bored. There was nothing new this text-book could give her. Perhaps she should get another text-book. Owl-order, of course. She hated not being able to go to Hogsmeade.

Her mind wandered. She then heard students whispering.

"What clans?" one of them asked.

She was a first-year by the looks of her.

"The Atlantean clans." Another whispered. "The people from Atlantis."

The first student laughed. "It's a myth, surely, a silly, stupid old legend."

Athelinda could smiled. She knew it wasn't a myth. Silly and imaginative as it sounded, she knew the truth: she was one of them.

"It's not a myth," the student sniffed. "Only someone who is truly ignorant or unaware would think that. Who do you think is fighting the war against Grindelwald?"

The girl shrugged. "The aurors overseas of course," she said. The other students in her group laughed out loud, save for a few first-years who were just as puzzled as she.

"Of course not, Silly," an older girl laughed. "How many aurors do you think are in Britain alone? And how many of Grindelwald's followers come around to drop explosives onto our houses? Do you really think a paltry handful of aurors are enough to fight against mass armies that a Dark Lord such as Grindelwald has on his side?"

A boy bristled. "My father's an auror."

"My apologies," the elder girl shrugged carelessly. "But you know what I mean- no matter how skilled, they're not enough. No, aurors operate on domestic grounds alone. Grindelwald is invading Europe and Asia at the moment. Aurors can only operate on their home soil. If they leave their countries, they no longer have any authority to do anything- even law-enforcement. No, we need real soldiers for the fight. People who have been trained as warriors since birth. They are the survival of our race." There were murmurs of agreement.

Athelinda didn't usually listen in conversations, but now she needed encouragement. Her clan needed encouragement- she wanted to know people were supporting them.

"Long ago," the girl started. "There was an island called Atlantis. And it was unique because it was the only entirely wizarding nation in the whole world. Not like what the Muggles say. It was the greatest human civilisation. Think of Ancient Greece and Rome. They were babies compared to Atlantis."

There were murmurs of agreement.

"It was a society where the greatest of the great lived. Protected by barriers that prevented hostile forces and kept Atlantis hidden from Muggles and their ships. The greatest arcane library was found in Atlantis. Scholars, musicians, artisans of all kind- it shone. Nothing could compare, think of the greatest centre of culture- Atlantis was more than a thousand times it's better. The people flourished. They were the richest nation and had the most advanced magic and technology. Some people even claimed they managed to combine mechanics with magic- something which many witches and wizards have tried to produce but failed to re-create."

If only they knew, she thought, that the secret was never lost.

"Atlantis' own people were different; they aged slower and they transfigured their own genes so they would be born stronger, faster, sharper in senses and even more attractive than ordinary humans. But the golden age didn't last. Atlantis was destroyed, nearly one-and-a-half thousand years ago, by a great cataclysmic Tsunami."

Yes, Athelinda was bitter. That was the real tragedy. The greatest civilisation- the very epitome of what wizards and witches should be- was extinguished.

"But the people didn't die," the girl continued. "Many of them fled. Hundreds of years later, a boy named Merlin and his young sister Igraine arrived in Britain."

There was a huge drawing of breath. "Merlin?" a boy said excitedly. "The Merlin?" "How many other Merlins do we know of?" the girl laughed. "Yes, that Merlin. He was taught and trained in Hogwarts and was sorted into Slytherin- his teacher was none other than the great Salazar himself." The Slytherin's pride, Athelinda thought. Merlin, undisputedly the greatest sorcerer in history, was trained by none other than Salazar Slytherin himself.

Unfortunately it was almost all they had.

"Soon after Igraine married a Muggle king," the girl explained. "And had two children with him. The elder was Arthur Pendragon, High King of Britain. And the younger was Morgana."

"The dark witch?" a first-year girl sounded puzzled. "No, don't believe those stories," another older student sniffed. "Morgana has often been mistaken for Morgause, her elder half-sister. For a fanatic magic-hating Muggle, Uther Pendragon the king, had a strange attraction for witches. So much so that before he married Igraine he had a child with a Dark witch who had Morgause. The names are similar, so the two are often mistaken. And we know that Muggles tend to forget Morgause and put Morgana in her place in many adaptations. Hence the confusion."

"Yes," the other older student replied. "Morgana was loyal to her brother. Together the three of them ushered a golden age, where witches and wizards actually co-existed in peace, and where no mage actually had to fear for his life. Of course when Arthur died or left for Avalon, according to whatever story you choose to believe, everything fell apart. And Muggles started hunting witches and wizards again. And the other way around.

"But the Atlanteans survived," she continued. "And many of them re-grouped and settled in various parts of the globe- mostly in Europe and Asia. They live in lands where no Muggle knows of their existence and in cities where no witch or wizard can ever enter, except those who were invited. The clans have their own scholars, inventors, powerful mages, artisans and so forth. And yes, they have the military power that every Ministry of Magic is depending on to save them from Grindelwald."

"Who's fighting for us?" a girl whispered. "The Volsunga." The older student replied. "Clan Volsung. You may recognize the name from Sigurd or Siegfried the Dragon-Slayer. But it's where the Pendragon family and Merlin trace their origins."

There was an awed silence. "You know," the girl whispered conspiratorially. "There's one of them in this room." She gestured towards Athelinda.

There was an awed, shocked silence and then whispers. Athelinda knew it all. It was her family's history. And she would continue it. One day, she vowed, the Age of Arthur, Merlin and Morgana would return. And this time it would last.

It was her dream. And she would have a part in its making.

Rhaegar stared determinedly. The duelling club was the best part of the new school term- well, they couldn't do anything else.

Students had been roaming restlessly, bored and discontent at the rules disallowing Hogsmeade visits. Several times he had had to break up several fights and bullying miscreants who harassed the younger students and even each other. Parents would be waking up to owls bearing letters of complaint against their offspring, and it didn't matter if many of the old pure-blood families spoiled their children and were lax on discipline- Rhaegar would never be.

On top of it all, he was a NEWT student and like his sister, he was a fanatic in doing the best he could. School examinations were unpleasant, but NEWTs were particularly nasty. He always erased and re-did his homework, like his sister, thinking that better could be achieved, but his ambitions weren't that enormous. In fact, he did not see an immediate need for a worldwide Camelot, the way his sister dreamed.

He knew it was going to happen anyway, the International Statute of Secrecy couldn't last forever, and sooner or later Muggles would, in fact, discover they were more than myth and old superstition. He only hoped they would remember Merlin, the sorcerer even Muggles revere.

The duels would take place in the armoury. He was eager to see. First-years would duel with each other, second-years as well, third, fourth and so forth. The top student winners- excluding the first years- would compete with one another regardless of year, until only one champion remained. That champion would enter the International Duellers' Tournament.

They could also very well mean, that if the student was Atlantean in descent, they could be accepted into the Clan's Armed forces as a cadet.

Taking a deep breath, the students were organised into pairs.

Rhaegar's duelling partner was a spoilt snotty-nosed boy with limited talents whom he disliked. He blasted him easily, but was severely disappointed in the lack of competition. If he wanted to impress the clan's leadership and gain a gateway into entering the Armed forces, he needed to do better.

Athelinda had been piling on her studies until the time came for the Duelling club.

Excited, she was about to show them just how well she had been trained before she even came to school.

Blasting her opponent with a stunning spell was easy. The repertoire of charms, jinxes and hexes she had piled up were extensive and varied immensely. She knew she was not allowed to do permanent harm, or to shed the slightest bit of blood, but she did very well nonetheless.

Oliver Wormwood, came up to her and tried to attack her with a silencing charm. She smirked. She didn't even need to cast her spells verbally. She dodged it- even though she could easily have blocked it, she wanted the element of surprise- and shot a Stick-fast hex towards him. It pinned his feet on the ground and she didn't even pause, shooting a Smokescreen spell around him. While he struggled to magically unstick his feet and clear the air, Athelinda threw a Stunning spell at him, knocking him out easily.

But she couldn't use Stunning spells all the time in real life.

Her next partner came up.

It was Florence Balcroft. She was a pretty golden-haired girl with curls and sparkling blue eyes. And she was smart.

Florence took a deep breath. They simultaneously approached one another, whipped out their wands and bowed their heads. Then they marched back to their places.

"One," Professor Merrythought boomed. "Two," he boomed again. "Three," he announced.

Florence shot a spell towards Athelinda. It came in a jet of red light which she easily blocked with a Shield-charm. Smirking to herself, she cast another spell, the Everte Statum, and it threw Florence backwards. She landed hard but scrambled back up and threw another spell at Athelinda- a freezing-charm. Athelinda caused flames to erupt in a wall in front of her and before anyone could find out what was happening, Athelinda cast another spell, the Aguamenti and drenched her with water. Spluttering, she couldn't even cast another spell before Athelinda cast the Entomorphis and Florence was an insect. She transfigured her back and dried the girl, by way of apology.

Athelinda cast a glance at Rhaegar. He was doing extremely well, she thought, better than she had done. Rhaegar had, by the looks of it, blasted three opponents with exploding charms, stunned one of them, froze three more, transfigured eight jinxed nine and threw a number of hexes and jinxes at countless others- and the morning was still young.

This would not do. She was not doing well enough.

Athelinda got out her wand for the next opponent, then frowned. She knew something wasn't right. They all had duelling practice first thing this morning, and Tom Riddle was not there.

She did her duties, half-expecting Tom to be there at the armoury already. But now that she thought about it, Tom Riddle was not present.

The next opponent shot fire at her, and Athelinda had to concentrate if she wanted to impress anyone and excel.

Athelinda pushed the clothes into place and tucked the loose ends neatly. Her father was home. The winter had arrived and the snow blanketed everything, so that it was almost a white-out.

She was severely disappointed when she had heard; not because her father had returned safe, but she had expected him to arrive, laden with praises, medals and promotions- furthermore, she had long since wished their family name would regain the glory it once had. She had hoped her father would gain some standing or at least a name that Grindelwald could fear and view as a threat, but no. He had arrived in his usual post- which, admittedly, was higher than most, and with one medal for bravery. That was it.

So with a sour taste in her mouth, she accepted the news- what other choice did she have in regards to him? But it tore at her, not being able to do anything about anything. In the meantime there was a Dark Lord that was becoming more and more powerful than any Dark Witch or Wizard had ever been. Europe was being devoured and ground up, and Britain, and other countries that had escaped Grindelwald's notice so far, were simply waiting for the same fate.

Sighing exasperatedly, angrily, she threw another robe in. It wasn't that she wasn't glad that her father was alive and safe, home for Christmas, no less, but it would have been a chance of joy, enthusiasm and above all hope, if her father had returned a legend.

It was too much to ask for.

Groaning mentally, she went about her prefect duties. Slytherin House was in good hands, she knew that much. She may not have known Tom Riddle very well, and barely ever spoke to him, or looked at him, but she did not doubt his competence in the least. Not all students were returning home for Christmas. Many of them had been persuaded to stay as they did not know if their homes would still be standing, or their parents still living, during this period. Hogwarts was safer. Riddle would be staying with the staff at school.

But her mother wanted them home. It was Christmas and a chance for the family to be reunited once more. It was something she looked forward to.

During breakfast, students chatted, trying to keep an atmosphere of excitement, free of worries. But it was barely worth the effort. Athelinda forked and piece of egg on toast into her mouth. Truly, one could even taste the fear in the food.

What a world they lived in.

"Good morning," a voice sounded pleasantly above her. She looked up.

Tom Riddle was standing over her smiling benevolently down at her. She stared at him blankly. What was he doing here?

"I saw you in Duelling practice," he said, sitting down beside her. She could only stare. "You were amazing."

She blinked. "I didn't see you in Duelling practice."

"That is because your brother won against me with a trick spell and a disarming one," he laughed slightly. "I was out in no time." There was something not right.

"I won against three seventh-years, with blasting hexes, two with a variety of jinxes, used a freezing-charm on one, stunned another, but ultimately, your brother managed to use his brilliant mind against me," he laughed.

She narrowed her eyes in suspicion. "I thought you were in sixth-year."

"I am," Tom said smoothly. "Which was why after I won, Professor Merrythought pitted me against the seventh-years."

Athelinda felt a strong tang on envy. This boy had won against all his classmates, moved onto the next year group, and won against many, in spite of the limited time period? Even if he had ended up losing, he had done something she could not do- she didn't even get past three-quarters of her year before the time ran out.

But there was something else: it hit her and made her wary. Why would he be watching her? Rhaegar was the most spectacular duellist she had ever seen- even Professor Merrythought and her own father had said so, themselves. And he was closer. Why watch her instead?

"I thought you would have watched my brother," she said slowly, suspiciously.

Tom shrugged. "My eyes wonder a lot when I'm not concentrating. I saw you, and watched instead."

Now that was unlikely. Possible, but unlikely. Rhaegar was so spectacular and fantastic, no one would be able to take their eyes off him, especially if they weren't doing anything. As to watch his younger sister over him- well she might have been good, and like him, she didn't lose, but there was not a single person on earth that would not have watched Rhaegar but her instead.

"That's very kind of you," she said coolly. "Well, I know Slytherin House would be in good hands, after all only a fool would doubt your abilities- no, not even. Even if Professor Slughorn isn't here, I am certain you would do very well in managing all the students left behind." She tried to sound as dismissive and disdainful as possible.

What was he trying to do? She didn't know Tom Riddle well at all. As aforementioned, she barely even spoke to him, never took a good look at him- even if she did, her eyes never lingered. What did she care? He had a large group of people flocking to him, but he was one of the school's brightest and most promising along with her brother- there was talk that he would replace Rhaegar as Head Boy once the latter had left.

Tom Riddle had a large group of friends and admirers- that, and his talents and ingenuity were all she knew about him. She never paid much attention due to the whole idea of it not being her business in the least, but she also disdained them. They ranged in different kinds; some were intelligent and bright- with promising futures ahead of them. Others were considered dunces, even by some teachers. A number were wealthy with old names, the others were poor or middle-class. And a reasonable amount was what she considered to be trouble-makers and bullies. She vaguely remembered Griselda Penrose dragging a number of them to Slughorn, or even to Dippet. She knew they had a habit of harassing the younger students, although they seemed to be on their best behaviour when Tom Riddle was around. That may be a good thing, but it made her very suspicious, now that she thought about it.

Athelinda would say that he was trying to claim the glory helping such brilliant students- if they were all bright. In that case, he might have been like Slughorn, but a number were stupid, some were even cowardly. Tom Riddle, however, held tutorials for students, like her brother, so perhaps, he wanted to claim that he helped the next generation of brilliant wizards and witches and aimed them to greatness.

So what, was he trying to recruit her? She scowled. She was not his sycophant. Furthermore, she needed no one's help. Her marks were soaring higher than she had ever imagined.

Riddle's people, as she disdainfully decided to call them, revolved around him and depended on him like planets to a sun. They needed him. They were less like friends and more like devotees who worshipped him, she thought. That was the difference between him and her brother who was utterly warm and at ease with everyone. Tom Riddle, however, now that she saw him, was disgustingly charming with everyone and seemed to pull the strings.

She helped the other students with their trunks and boarded her sleigh after her own trunk went in. She felt the winter wind whipping her face as the sleigh rode forwards and felt the heat in her cheeks counter it, flaming with anger.

He wanted to claim responsibility for her achievements.

She hated that. No one would claim responsibility for her achievements or failings, not even her parents. Everyone just had to accept that.

Never would she walk in anyone's shadow.

Not even her brother's.

Never.

It was good to be home.

The lights glowed and Christmas was certainly on the way when Athelinda, Rhaegar and Willamar arrived home. Philomena squealed and ran to greet them. Rhaegar caught her and spun her round in the air, while she cried for joy.

Athelinda entered the manor. It was the family home in England and she had a number of others. Wrapped in an ermine mantle, she was grateful for the warmth when she stepped indoors. The large atrium glowed with its chandelier- carved from crystal, not candles unlike other witch and wizard homes. It was handsomely decorated, the walls panelled with warm wood, ornately carved and above it the walls were painted the colour of honey. The furnishings were elegant and tasteful, and it was decorated in undeniable taste and beauty: art hung from the walls, and in statuettes and sculptures in certain areas, magical objects, jewelled eggs made of gold and silver, porcelain and crystal vases and lamps set with semi-precious stones, flowers. Not too much, but most certainly wonderful and impressive.

She smiled, and in the living and drawing rooms, warm fires were burning. A tree had been set up and she smiled recognizing her sister's touch in decorating.

She removed her leather and down-trimmed gloves, putting them on a table and sighed blissfully. She was home.

Then a figure she recognized came into the room. "Father!" she exclaimed, running and jumping into his arms in delight.

Laughing with delight, he caught her and spun her around, much like Rhaegar had done with Philomena.

"You're home!" she exclaimed. "And are you alright?" she looked wary.

He smiled and stroked her cheek. "You know I'm perfectly fine, my darling. Your mother patched me up- she's better than all the healers in Saint Mungo's but don't tell her that- they'll be down here in days and demanding her presence in that chaotic place they call a hospital." He theatrically shuddered and she giggled, like a child.

Her father Andreas was a tall man, and had slightly bronzed skin and a chiselled aquiline nose, high forehead, sculpted cheeks, angularly defined cheekbones and nicely-arched brows beneath smoky silvery-green eyes. He smiled warmly at her.

"You're home," her mother smiled, entering from another room. She went over to hug her.

Her mother clung to her, breathing in her scent. At last, the family was together.

Until her husband had to go back to the front.

Pulling back from their embrace, her mother studied her carefully. She had clearly-cut features, good to be placed upon a cameo and deep blue eyes, slightly icy in tone, like her brother's. Her hair was deepest black and curled slightly at the edges. She smiled.

"I'm glad we can be home for Christmas," she said. Her mother turned. "We have all our presents, but of course you'll have to wait."

Athelinda rolled her eyes. "I'm not a child, Mother. It's Philomena who'll have to wait. And where's Winny? I haven't given her, the present!"

"It's not a hat, is it?" her father joked. "I'll miss her!"

Athelinda rolled her eyes and went off to find the House-elf. Winny was in the kitchen cooking up a storm.

"Winny," she sang opening her arms wide.

Winny turned and in surprise. "Miss Athelinda!" she squeaked, flying into Athelinda's arms. She knelt to hug the elf. "I've missed you," she said warmly.

Winny pulled back, huge eyes shining. "Come sit, Miss," she said happily. "Winny has baked Christmas cake and apple pie, crumpets, scones, chocolate cake and much, much more! Winny is going to make even more after this, just in time for the Christmas party!"

"What party?" Athelinda asked sharply. "What party is this, Winny?" She had thought they were going to spend the Christmas alone with each other, as a family.

The House-elf looked up at her innocently. "The party the Master and Mistress organised for Miss Athelinda's debut."

"Debut?" she was alarmed.

"Miss Athelinda's father wants her to meet society wizards," Winny squeaked. "He wants to invite wizards and witches for Christmas and everyone can celebrate and have pudding and cake and turkey.

Athelinda drew back in alarm. "Why would my father want to meet them? He hates those society elitists, who think they're better than anyone else. A number of them are Grindelwald supporters, that's what he'd said."

She ran out of the kitchen, determined to meet her father. He was in the atrium, hugging Willamar and Rhaegar.

"Father," she demanded hastily coming into the room. Her winter cloak swirled behind her, she didn't bother taking it off. "Is it true?"

Her father frowned. "Is what true?"

"That you're inviting society wizards here!" she was working her way up, close to a rage.

"Father?" Rhaegar bewildered looked back at him. "It's not like you."

"No," her father said grudgingly. "But it's what needs to be done."

"Father?" Rhaegar sounded even more bewildered, exchanging looks with Willamar.

Their father sighed. "We are standing at a precipice." He admitted. "Grindelwald is gearing up to invade Britain. And we need to be sure people in this country are on our side. This means the powerful elite with a great deal of money that could determine whether we win the war."

"The clan's might is what may win the war," Athelinda flared. "It has nothing to do with those snobbish elitists and pure-blood maniacs!"

"And who could stop Grindelwald if he marches upon Britain without us knowing? With the clan's back turned, fighting his forces in another part of the world? What about his spies, and infiltrators? No, we need to make allies, and we need to be sure that they are all on our side. I would very much like to see for myself. And a wise man once said: 'Keep your friends close, but your enemies, closer.' He was right. Your 'debut' is just a pretence, my dear. I want to see and talk to them, to find out what's really happening, within their heads and how they're reacting to the news that Grindelwald is gaining ground."

"What?" Athelinda was startled. "But the Daily Prophet hasn't reported-"

"The Daily Prophet reports what the Ministry wants them to report," her father interjected. "Propaganda. It also boosts the nation's morale and eases their worries on Grindelwald's approach. Yes, we won a great victory in Bosnia, but we are paying the price in Austria, Hungary, Southern Germany, France and Denmark." He sighed heavily. "So much death." His eyes were haunted.

Rhaegar looked at the space ahead, not really seeing what was there. This was what needed to be done.

The Volsung Clan needed soldiers.

Her father opened a carafe of brandy and poured a glass. He downed it. "I am weary," he said. "But I cannot rest unless I know you children can be safe at in Britain and abroad. This Dark Lord has cost us so much- now he creates mass armies of inferi."

Her mother gasped. Athelinda felt ice flood her entire body. No, not even that much, possibly…

But her father knew. "The numbers of inferi he created numbered ten thousand when they attacked us in Southern Hungary." His eyes were hollow. "Not just Muggles and magical civilians, but his dead soldiers which had been transformed by his orders and our own dead comrades, good soldiers that shared our meals and stories, laughed and defended us in life, costing their own, animated to attack us. He wants to spread fear and chaos, but he knows against the Volsunga it is a puny effort. So he's increasing his power.

"I don't want to use you," her father said, looking up. "But this is for your own safety as a whole. I'm getting tired, my darling, and I want this war to end soon, with as little casualty as we can hope for. But we cannot afford to lose this war, as it will mean the loss of everything we know of and hold dear."

Rhaegar was silent, contemplating. The clan needed more. They weren't the only clan fighting Grindelwald but…

He looked up and he strode off.

Their mother was a statue. "I knew Gellert Grindelwald," she said. "He was a few years above me in school." She was frozen. "He was mischievous, I never guessed…" she choked off. Her father took her hand. "What kind of monster creates such armies?" she gasped. Willamar held her tight as her tears spilled onto his shoulder.

A monster. That was the only explanation. And Nurmengard, her father told her, had been completed- a prison for Grindelwald's enemies. Now they were already packed filled with his opponents, Muggle-borns and Blood-traitors.

Athelinda didn't know what to say. Could she even react? She just stood stunned as her mother sobbed and needed comfort.

She knew she had to play her part- and she knew the world needed changing- for the better.