A/N: Thanks to all those who have reviewed, followed, and favorited this story. I'm glad that people have been enjoying it. And a special thanks to Bonnie and Mainsail for beta reading this and thus improving on the original. If you have questions or concerns about what's going on, feel free to include them in a review or a PM — I'll try to answer.

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, JK Rowling does.

Recommendation: This chapter's recommended fic is "I, Alone" by EJ Daniels. In the books, we don't see much overt abuse of Harry Potter, but it's clear that he's taught by the Dursleys to not have any self-worth. How would such a child react when faced with his status and apparent destiny in the wizarding world. Not very well...

Chapter 39 - Black Magic Woman

Friday, February 4, 1996, Morning.

Educational Decree Number One Hundred Twenty-Nine, "Students must adhere to all new restrictions regarding Library and Common Room access," was the primary topic of discussion throughout much of the Great Hall, and nowhere more so than among the Gryffindors.

"I guess it was too much to hope that she'd never notice that loophole," Ginny said resignedly.

"Unless this new decree was aimed at something else and only closes the loophole as a coincidence," Hermione said, suddenly frowning.

"But what would be the point, if not to shut down the practical lessons in the common rooms?" Ginny asked.

"What about when we brought in the non-Gryffindors right after we came back from hols last month?" Hermione asked. "What if that's what she wants to stop? She's had enough time to make up that list of restrictions that was posted on our bulletin board."

"But how would she know about that night?" Neville asked. "Didn't you say that Dumbledore left it to McGonagall?"

"She'd know if there were someone in Gryffindor who's reporting to her," Jasmine said ominously.

"That might be how she found out about your scar," Ron pointed out. The previous week Umbridge had accosted Jasmine outside the Great Hall, accusing her of violating the decree which banned using magic to change "physical abnormalities." Jasmine always kept her bangs covering her scar, so she had no idea how Umbridge had known that there had been a change; but nothing she said could convince the woman that she hadn't violated any decree.

It was only Professor McGonagall coming by and repeatedly casting Finite and other cancellation spells which got Umbridge to accept that Jasmine hadn't cast any sort of charm or transfiguration on her forehead. When she walked away, however, both McGonagall and Jasmine heard her muttering about "Dark Magic," so they knew that they probably hadn't heard the end of it.

Friday, February 4, 1996, Late Morning.

"Mr. Zabini? Please stay after class. You, too, Miss Potter and Miss Granger."

If Blaise was surprised at being kept back after Defense, he didn't let it show on his face — but then, he rarely showed emotions, and he seemed to be even more tightly controlled ever since he'd half-isolated himself in the wake of Jasmine and Hermione's revelations. Daphne and Tracey had been sticking close so as to avoid giving the impression of a split that might put him in danger, but he'd been speaking to them even less than usual.

He didn't speak to Fleur either; he just stood in front of her desk and waited. She returned the silent treatment and handed him a sealed parchment envelope. Seeing his mother's handwriting on the outside finally elicited a reaction, and when his eyes shot up to her, she said, "Yes, zat is from your mother. No, I do not know ze contents. I am to tell you zat you may speak to me about zem at any time if you wish, but zat you will be speaking to her in Hogsmeade next Saturday morning."

"You... spoke to my mother?" Blaise asked, apparently unsure if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

"Yes," Fleur replied, "but not about zat letter. Now shoo — I must speak to your friends."

Blaise betrayed a flash of embarrassment at her use of the term "friends," but he quickly left, and Fleur silenced and sealed the door after him.

"Is something wrong?" Hermione asked. "You look unhappy."

"It is Blaise's mother," Fleur replied. "She is... a potential problem."

"Oh, no," Jasmine groaned as she sat down again. "What happened?"

"It is not all bad," Fleur assured them. "At least, not yet. My mother, Adrienne, and ze others questioned her carefully on the trip to France. Zey also directed her to ze address of a safe house where zey knew Amazzi would be waiting and... persuaded Mrs. Zabini to stay a while for more... discussion."

"Oh, dear," Hermione said, now sitting down as well.

"You must understand, she stumbled onto something very important and very secret," Fleur insisted, clearly distressed. "She could not just be allowed to walk away without any precautions. You may remember zat she mentioned taking part in a ritual herself? Well, zat was true. It turns out zat she is part of a group zat follows ze old ways in Britain. Zis, plus her lack of fondness for ze Ministry makes her a natural ally. However, a potential ally is not ze same as a friend — a friend who keeps your secrets and stands by you, even at risk to themselves."

"I'm assuming that your mother and the others got some sort of promise or oath out of her?" Hermione asked.

"I do not know all ze details, but she was apparently quite put out at her initial treatment," Fleur said. "She became much more understanding, but ze discussions never became entirely friendly. Regardless, once my mother and Adrienne learned what her interests were, zey persuaded her that she could learn things zat would benefit her, but only under a strict oath. Once she took it, she was informed about ze prophecy and ze rituals."

"What about our relationship?" Jasmine asked.

"Not zat, and certainly not ze soul bond," Fleur responded. "However, the prophecy has surely allowed her to reach certain conclusions. You can tell her directly if you want — my mother has ensured zat any information you give is covered under ze oath, or you can let her speculate. Either way, zough, she is at least partially on board."

"How so? Is she going to help with our rituals or something?" Jasmine asked.

"I don't believe she will, zough she may observe a time or two," Fleur responded. "Ze numbers of witches and wizards in Britain who follow ze old ways are small, but zeir interests align with ours. Zey will have no problems supporting female-only and veela rituals, and Mrs. Zabini is interested in making feminine magic more prominent."

"I suppose we will need the support of British wizards and witches eventually," Hermione observed. "I never thought much about how we'd go about getting that."

"Hopefully zat is not something you would have to worry about for a while," Fleur said, "but with how ze Daily Prophet slanders you, you'll need all ze help you can get. Ze support of Mrs. Zabini is a good first step. If nothing else, having local resources in an emergency can be vital — she proved that to us on ze night of Imbolc, no?"

"Yeah, emergency childbirth is hardly something you can plan ahead for. Although those two probably shouldn't have been out in the first place..." Hermione shook her head ruefully. "Speaking of which, how are the babies?"

"Zey and zeir mothers are doing well, last I heard," Fleur said. "But you need to get going or you'll miss lunch!"

"Yes, Professor!" they chorused as they left.

Monday, February 7, 1996, Morning.

Even though the Imbolc celebration had taken place a week ago, the witches were still benefitting from the infusion of magic they had received, and their spirits were high as they entered the Great Hall for breakfast. It all came crashing down, however, with the delivery of Monday's Daily Prophet, which was emblazoned with a headline designed to incite plenty of negative reaction:

DARK WITCHES AT HOGWARTS! ARE STUDENTS SAFE?

What followed was nothing less than a full-blown character assassination against Jasmine and Hermione. The article began with accusations of them using dark magic back in the summer to assassinate adult wizards (with of course no mention of the fact that Hermione's family had nearly been murdered by Death Eaters). This was immediately followed with allegations of them using more dark magic on the night before the spring term started — and once again, the "victims" were identified no further than being adult wizards. Their attacks on others were not mentioned.

According to the author, who for some reason wished to remain anonymous, Jasmine Potter was an "unstable personality" whose inner demons had "driven her into the arms of dark magic." This conclusion was bolstered with anonymous claims about her being mistreated as a child by her muggle guardians, including being locked up with bars on her window.

Hermione was denounced as a "calculating personality" with a predilection for magics that allowed her to control others. This had enabled her to ensnare The Girl Who Lived, speeding up her slide into dark magic use and creating a team of dark witches who were a danger to those around them — either by seducing others into the dark arts or using those same dark arts against anyone who dared stand in their way.

Finally, the author called on the Ministry to stop Dumbledore from protecting such obviously deranged and dangerous witches, lest more of the country's youth fall victim to their evil machinations.

"I can't believe this," Hermione hissed, her breakfast forgotten. "Where do they get this stuff?"

"I was wondering the same thing," Jasmine said with a scowl. "I'm particularly interested in where they got the information about my childhood."

"They're just using whatever they can to make you look bad," Neville said.

"Of course they are," Jasmine agreed. "But there's one problem: hardly anyone in the world knew about some of this." That comment brought everyone up short. "Mentioning the existence of bars on my windows is what's especially telling. It's not something that someone would have managed to guess by accident while trying to destroy my reputation. The author here got that little fact from someone who knew. And the list of such people is awfully short."

"Who?" Neville asked, eyes narrowed.

"The Dursleys, of course, but they wouldn't have talked. Not willingly," Jasmine said. "Me and Hermione, and we didn't talk either. Ron and the twins. Mr. and... well, Mrs. Weasley."

"I knew," Ginny said in a low voice. "I wasn't there, but I overheard everyone talking about it."

Ron's face went red as he said, "And there was one other person who was around that summer."

"Percy!" spat several people at once.

"I think we still have those bars in the shed at home," Ron went on in a low voice. "I'm going to get them, and then I'm going to shove them so far up Percy's—"

"Jasmine, look!" Hermione cried, interrupting Ron as she pointed up at several owls coming their way and carrying red envelopes.

"Oh, I'm starting to hate how the mail redirection spell on me has weakened," Jasmine muttered as she grabbed some toast and exited the Great Hall just ahead of a small flood of howlers.

Up at the staff table, Dolores Umbridge sat smiling, and no one dared ask her how those howlers had gotten through despite the Ministry ban on them at Hogwarts.

Friday, February 11, 1996, Night.

"I'm so glad this week is done," Jasmine groaned as she lay back in her bed next to Hermione. Every day the two of them had to rush their breakfast in order to avoid the howlers that kept coming earlier and earlier. Dumbledore's annoyed expression made it clear that he didn't understand why she was getting unapproved mail and hadn't figured out how to stop it. Neither witch wanted to admit that they had started feeling a lot of sympathy for his decision so many years ago to block her mail.

"Me, too," her girlfriend said fervently. "I don't think I could stand to see Umbridge's horrid smile one more time." The gleeful look on the Pink Toad Lady's face was making it clear just how personal their fight against the Ministry had become. Umbridge wasn't reluctantly carrying out a task that was merely necessary — no, she was clearly enjoying herself thoroughly and probably wouldn't stop until her two targets had been utterly destroyed. This was reinforced by Umbridge increasing her harassment of them in the corridors and classes, constantly showing up near them and making regular insinuations about how dangerous they were.

Had Jasmine and Hermione not been so distracted, they might have noticed that Gabrielle had arrived at the same conclusion about Umbridge's true nature — and that it did not bode well for the older witch's future good health.

Over the course of the week, two further articles were published on the allegedly dark nature of Jasmine and Hermione. They started from a bare thread of truth — like the fact that Jasmine was a parselmouth, or the leaked revelation that Hermione had used a Time-Turner in third year — and built on that minimalist foundation a tower of lies, innuendo, and misrepresentations that made both young witches look like the reincarnation of Morgana Le Fay.

There was, however, some good news in all that. First, whoever was writing the articles hadn't caught on to some of the actual truths which would see Jasmine and Hermione condemned by many. The fact that they had to stretch what little truth they had and then lie the rest of the time simply demonstrated how desperate Ministry leaders were. Second, the smear campaign hadn't yet extended to anyone in their study group — at least not by name — which meant that they were safe for the time being.

Finally, according to others in the study group, there had been little decrease in Jasmine or Hermione's popularity in the school. The articles had influenced a few students, and would probably influence more over time, but so far most were standing by the two Gryffindors. This support remained strongest among witches, a difference that the study group attributed to the fact that everyone continued to recognize Jasmine and Hermione as the source of certain books which were still incredibly influential, teaching witches about their bodies, about sex, and about why they should never be satisfied with being treated as inferior.

"We're lucky we're in Hogwarts," Jasmine pointed out. "If we had already graduated and were trying to make a living out in the magical community, we'd probably have trumped-up criminal charges leveled against us."

"I hate to say it," Hermione said with a resigned sigh, "but we're lucky that we're in Hogwarts while Dumbledore is headmaster. For all the horrible things he's done, there are people who would do even more horrible things to us both, and he genuinely wants to protect us from it all. "

"Why is it taking our infiltrator so long to create a path into the target?" the recent recruit asked. One of the first to be brought in from Albania, he was prone to ask questions on topics that the rest knew to be silent about.

The other shrugged, wishing for a way to avoid discussing this openly. "His job will take as long as it takes. And if it takes too long, our master will punish him. If he does it quickly and well, our master will reward him."

"Seems to be taking much too long, if you ask me," the recruit said. "He's been working on this for... what? Three months now? More? If he's that incompetent, he should be replaced."

"Unfortunately, replacements for this particular position are not easy to come by," came a voice from behind him. When they turned around, they saw one of Voldemort's inner circle. "You," he said, pointing at the newest recruit. "Come with me."

Once he was alone, the other Death Eater fairly flew in the other direction, wanting to get away as quickly as possible. Up on the wall, one of the portraits scowled.

Saturday, February 12, 1996, Morning.

Blaise approached the door with a great deal of trepidation. His mother had instructed him to meet her in a private room in the Three Broomsticks after breakfast, but she didn't explain why. This was the first time his mother had ever done anything like this, and he knew it had to be important. He simply wasn't sure if it was a good thing or a bad thing.

After taking one last deep breath, he knocked and waited. It was scarcely a moment before his mother opened the door and pulled him into a tight hug. Here, away from the judging eyes of his fellow students, he found it easy to return the gesture and not resent her constant fussing.

"Blaise! Mio passerotto!" she said warmly, "I'm glad you got here so quickly. We have much to discuss, and I have an appointment to meet others after lunch."

"Now," she went on once they were seated across from each other at the room's small table. "What in the world am I going to do with you, hmm?" Blaise frowned in confusion, not having expected that he himself might be the subject of this meeting. "I had a very, very interesting Imbolc ceremony this year," she continued. "We performed our ritual at Hirnant, as I told you we would, and everything was completely normal until the end, when we were all knocked unconscious by a massive wave of magic."

Blaise was about to ask if she was alright, but he stopped himself as he began to realize where such a wave of magic might have originated from.

"The others were afraid, but I decided that I wanted to investigate where it came from. Do you know what I found? Or perhaps I should say, whom I found, mio patatino?" Blaise tried to school his face against showing a reaction, but he knew he hadn't been successful when she continued, "Yes, I can see you know exactly whom I am talking about. As surprising as that was, though, I was even more surprised — not to mention disappointed — when I learned that you objected to what they were doing!"

"Of course I objected!" Blaise retorted with surprising vehemence. "You've taught me all my life about the importance of the god and the goddess in magic. You've always been clear about the need for balance in nature and how we wizards and witches should strive for balance in our lives. Such female-only rituals do the exact opposite!"

"Oh, Blaise," his mother said sadly. "I'm so sorry — that isn't what I intended you to learn. Yes, I taught you our traditions, but that doesn't mean that there aren't other ways of doing things. I taught you in the manner that I was raised. In the manner that your father was raised. I taught you what I tried to teach all my later husbands, even if they proved unwilling to fully embrace the old ways. One of the things that I tried to teach you is that there is no single, right way of doing things."

"I know that," Blaise said. "I know that the exact words and movements aren't critical. But the role of the god and goddess is always key. They are essential aspects of nature and magic which are owed our respect."

"They are essential because that's how we happen to structure things in our traditions," his mother countered. "They are traditional forms that are older than history, so most who follow the old ways continue to use them. They are comfortable and familiar, but it's not as if any gods or goddesses have ever appeared among us and handed us a rule book that we're all obligated to follow!"

Blaise gaped slightly at her, not having ever thought about it that way.

"What you need to understand, and what I apparently failed to teach you, is that our structures and traditions exist as a means to an end, not as an end in and of themselves. They are a means to encourage and communicate respect for Magic and the world around us. To remind us of where we come from — that we are part of nature rather than separate from it. And of course, to encourage and express love for one another. That's what's important. Obviously I think that including both the god and the goddess makes that easier, but I would never say that it's indispensable. And for an all-female culture, what else would you expect but female rituals centered on goddesses?" A thought seemed to occur to her then. "Perhaps the balance they provide has more to do with the larger picture — with keeping alive reverence for the goddesses even as it fades in the broader magical community."

Blaise frowned and looked down at the table in front of him, trying to sort through these ideas. Although his mother had never explained things to him in quite these words, he recognized several things that she had said in one form or another.

"Do these witches show respect?" she asked at last. "Do they show love? If so, then they can't be doing things too wrong, and they deserve a lot better from you than what I hear they have been getting recently."

Blaise couldn't help but feel a bit ashamed. "I... I haven't been sure what to do," he admitted. "They are all good people, and when I first heard about the rituals they were doing, I was amazed. I was so happy that I'd found more people who shared the same beliefs and practices as us, but once the details became clear, I... I felt so conflicted. I knew that they must be doing something right, otherwise the rituals wouldn't have worked. But everything you taught me seemed to say that they were doing things wrong."

"Well, that's something, at least," his mother said as she reached out and patted his hand. "I didn't raise you to be a zealot. It's one thing to not feel entirely comfortable with a different way of doing things, but another to condemn it outright."

"How much do you know about them?" Blaise asked, concerned about how much he could say without violating the trust he'd been shown. Even when he was most upset about what he'd learned, he had remained committed to keeping their secrets.

"Not everything, I am sure," his mother answered. "After helping a couple of the veela there, I was... invited to discuss matters. Whether I wanted to or not."

Blaise instantly tensed at his mother's words. "Did they hurt you?" he asked.

"No," she said as she shook her head. "But their suspicion was understandable. These veela have important secrets that they cannot afford to become widely known. You know these secrets, do you not? The prophecy? The nature of these rituals?" Blaise nodded. "So they have valid concerns, and I had to assuage their fears before they would start trusting me."

"Do they trust you now?" Blaise asked.

His mother shrugged. "Some, but certainly not as much as they would trust you, if you let them. They have absolute trust in Miss Potter, and by extension, in anyone she herself trusts." Blaise looked down, his shame at his behavior rising up again. "I intend to work with them, so hopefully trust will develop. In the meantime, I am under a strict oath regarding the secrets they needed to tell me and any secrets which Miss Potter chooses to share."

"Work with them?" Blaise asked. "How? I can't imagine that they'd find the family import/export business to be useful."

"You'd be surprised," his mother said cryptically, "but that's not what I meant. Once I got their story, it became clear to me that there's never been a better opportunity to bring the old ways back into the light."

"I don't understand," Blaise said with a frown. "Won't they promote their own ritual forms?"

"Of course," his mother agreed readily, "but unless they intend to transform us all into veela, or at least into witches, that won't matter. The more popular their rituals become, the more interest there will be in practices that offer a prominent role for wizards. So the more they win, the more we win as well — but without the extra risk of being out in front where we might attract the most negative attention."

Blaise nodded, understanding the value of letting someone else be the focus of opposition. At the same time, though, such an approach felt like a betrayal of his friends. He wasn't sure that he'd be willing to let his friends take all the heat while he hid in the background as his mother seemed to be advocating.

"Listen close, Topolino," she said as she leaned towards him. "I want you to be careful around those witches. I know they are your friends, but they've changed. They are continuing to change, in fact, and I have no idea where these changes are taking them. The power they are channeling is beyond comprehension — and more importantly, it is beyond control as well. It's not power that any single witch or any coven of witches can hope to control. Such power is incredibly dangerous. You need to watch yourself and be prepared to get away if you need to in order to protect yourself. Do you understand?"

Blaise nodded, even though he didn't really. He knew that they were channeling a lot of power, but he also knew that that power was producing incredibly positive benefits. How could that be dangerous?

Minerva McGonagall had never felt any hesitation upon entering any of the rooms of the Gryffindor tower — not even when she was a student, and certainly not since she had become Head of House. Today that changed, because she was about to have a conversation she'd never expected to have with a person she'd never expected to meet — even if it was as a magical portrait.

"Miss Black?" she asked softly as she entered the fifth year girls' dorm.

"Professor McGonagall?" she heard from a bare corner. "Please, call me Elladora. There's no need to stand on formality."

"Of course, and please call me Minerva," she said. "I... well, I've never done anything like this."

"I understand," the portrait said sympathetically. "We don't have to talk about anything that makes you uncomfortable, but maybe it would be easier for you to start asking me questions. I'm sure you have a few."

Minerva nodded before sealing and silencing the door, then conjuring a chair to sit in. "Did you really... are you really D. Tempest Pureheart?"

"Yes, I am," she responded. "Elladora can be translated as 'gift of the whirlwind,' and I picked 'Dorea Tempest' as a variation on that. I picked 'Pureheart' because it seemed to embody an important part of the philosophy I wrote about. It also related somewhat to the motto of the House of Black: Always Pure."

"How many people know?" Minerva asked. "Or have known?"

"Well, you're the first person I've ever told directly." Minerva felt her eyes widen in surprise. "Oh, yes, it's true. I arranged for publication of the book with a sympathetic publisher via owl post, all anonymously. Same with distribution. Hermione obviously figured it out, which still impresses me. One other person figured it out, too: Violette Bulstrode. She married Cygnus Black, and at some point after she moved into the family home, I think she must have read some notes or letters that I neglected to secure in my desk. She named her second daughter Dorea, which was too much of a coincidence, and when she presented young Dorea to the family for the first time, she winked at me. That's when I knew."

"So no one else?" Minerva asked, surprised at the story.

"Others knew about my... preferences," Elladora said. "In a family with that many children available for marriages of alliance and to carry on the name, someone like me could be tolerated so long as I kept my activities away from public scrutiny. In other, smaller families, a witch like me would have been expected to marry and produce children."

"I wonder if that was how it was for Violette," Minerva mused.

Elladora nodded. "I suspect so. She obviously read my book, and it wasn't something that a witch could easily stumble across accidentally. And she obviously wasn't bothered by it, either, especially if she was willing to name a daughter after my pseudonym. So yes, it's likely." They were silent for a long while before the portrait asked, "When did you first figure it out? About yourself?"

Minerva's brows furrowed in thought. "I'm not sure, really. Looking back, I'm not sure that there was any one, single moment. I never gave wizards a second look, and it never occurred to me that that was odd. Instead I gradually fell in love with my best friend — we did everything together from an early age. We were always so close that I couldn't even tell you when I fell in love with her. One day it was simply obvious to me, and I never looked back."

Bit by bit, Elladora got Minerva to open up about her past, about her relationship with Bonnie, and about how it all fell apart one day when her father caught them together.

"So there hasn't been anyone else since Bonnie?" Elladora asked.

Minerva shook her head. "I tried a few times with wizards, mostly to appease my father, but it didn't take long to realize that it would never work out. I met a couple of witches whom I found attractive and whom I thought might be worth getting to know a bit better, but I never felt comfortable making the first move."

"It sounds like you were developing a special bond with her, a bond you were never able to develop with anyone else afterwards," Elladora observed.

Minerva arched one eyebrow. "I've long suspected that, though by the time I realized it, it was far too late to repair the damage."

"I'm so sorry," Elladora said sincerely. Minerva hung her head and nodded.

Saturday, February 12, 1996, Afternoon.

"Most of what I could get involved rumors about how she killed her seven husbands," Lycoris said. "Each story was more gruesome than the last."

"I'm guessing she's not thought of very highly?" Sirius asked.

Lycoris shrugged. "Some of the witches seem a bit envious of her, but on the whole that's probably a fair conclusion. People seem to fear her, hate her, or both."

"I like her more already," Sirius said softly to himself.

"The Zabini import/export business isn't large, but it does reasonably well," Hydrus said. "There are rumors about having less than savory connections back in Italy, in both business and family matters. Unfortunately no one in the Black family married into any important Italian families, so there are no portraits there that we can call on for information."

"So we don't know anything solid about her family or business connections in Italy," Sirius concluded, "but there are rumors that make her look bad. And we know how reliable all the other rumors about her are."

"True, but the rumors I'm talking about are not the wild sort," Hydrus pointed out. "They aren't repeated very freely or loudly. They strike me as... more likely based on fact."

Sirius raised one eyebrow at that. "Right — that's worth keeping in mind..."

When Alessandra Zabini once again opened the door to the room she'd rented that day, she expected to find two or three young witches whom she needed to talk to. What she found instead was a group of ten witches and two wizards, all giving her suspicious looks. She couldn't help but raise one eyebrow in curiosity as she observed, "I only rented a small room. I'm not sure there is space for all of you."

"Gabrielle and Hannah are here to guard the door," Jasmine said. "Ginny and Ron can go back downstairs to keep an eye on what's happening there. I'm sure the rest of us will fit." She watched as two left, two moved to either side of the door, and the rest entered, taking up positions around the room.

When Alessandra sat down in the same chair she'd used that morning, she looked around at all the faces and realized that this was not likely to go as well as her talk with Blaise had. First things first, though. "When I was younger and still living in Italy," she began, "quite a few different wizards thought they could intimidate me into doing what they wanted. They learned, much to their regret, that I am not so easily cowed. The first to come anywhere close to truly intimidating me were the veela who surprised me when I arrived in Calais. You and your friends, Miss Potter, do not intimidate me."

"We're not here to intimidate you," Daphne said quickly. "We're here to make sure you know that Jasmine isn't alone. We all support her — her and Hermione — completely."

"If we had wanted to try to intimidate you," Hermione added, "we'd have made a point of bringing in Gabrielle at least, if not Fleur as well."

Alessandra thought about that, then said, "Your shieldmaidens?" When the girls both nodded, she continued, "Very well, I withdraw my comment, and I apologize for starting our meeting so negatively. I did not expect to be confronted by such a large group."

"You're the first to find out about all of this without our intending it," Jasmine said. "You're a stranger to us, and while I know you're under oath, we're still not sure about being able to trust you."

Alessandra smiled now for the first time since the group arrived. "You're quite right to be careful, and I'm sure that there is nothing I can say or do right now to completely change your mind. Instead, I'd like to explain what I intend to start doing, assuming it meets with your approval, and thereby earn your trust."

"OK," Jasmine responded, "what is it that you want to do?"

"I assume you know that there are witches and wizards in Britain who try to hold on to the old ways, despite Ministry condemnation," Alessandra explained. "Our numbers are small and we are spread widely in isolated groups. My own only has five to ten individuals who participate, depending on the time of year. None of us are extremely powerful, otherwise we'd have managed to change attitudes towards the old ways already. We do, however, have some influence — political, social, and economic."

"You're trying to build a movement," Daphne interjected. "A movement to bring back the old ways."

Alessandra nodded. "That's been the general idea, though we aren't organized enough to call ourselves a movement yet. It's more a common agreement that we'd all like to see the old ways respected again, and this won't happen without the influence that we've been slowly collecting. Right now, though, I think that our goals would be better served by working with you."

"What do you propose?" Hermione asked.

"At the moment, it seems to me that one of your biggest problems is the smear campaign which the Ministry is waging against the two of you, no?" Alessandra asked. Everyone nodded in agreement. "That campaign has powerful backers — far too powerful for us to oppose directly. However, we can use our influence to begin countering it among the people — in private conversations, in the shops, that sort of thing. We won't be able to make any quick changes, and the articles from this past week will make the job a lot harder, but we can start gradually shifting people's attitudes."

"What do you want in return?" Daphne asked, causing others to look at the Slytherin witch in surprise.

Alessandra smiled and said, "Quite right, Daphne. No one does anything for nothing. What I'm going to need is support from you. I told you that we aren't organized enough to be called a movement, and even if we were, I wouldn't be a leader who could dictate others' actions. What I'm going to have to do is put out a call requesting others' participation in this on the promise that it's in their best interests. Most will probably believe me, but I'm also going to have to promise that they will get the full story later — otherwise, what reason will they have to stick their necks out, even a little bit?"

"So you're going to need us to speak to them," Jasmine said, understanding dawning. "You're going to need us to explain how we'll be able to fulfill the promises you'll be making."

"What I'm going to need is for you to speak to them, Miss Potter," Alessandra corrected her. "Miss Granger, too, perhaps, though I'll tell you now that many followers of the old ways tend to be suspicious of muggleborn." When the students bristled, she hastily went on, "They aren't blood purists! Please, don't misunderstand me, but many fear that the ideas which muggleborn bring to us from the muggle world are contrary to the old ways. Right now we only have one regularly participating muggleborn in our group, and it's mainly because of her husband that she's so accepted."

"Maybe they'll change their minds when they find out what we're doing?" Hermione suggested, clearly trying to hold back her annoyance.

"One can hope," Alessandra said cautiously, "but that sort of change won't happen fast. Regardless, Miss Potter will need to talk to these people and convince them that their desire to see the old ways be widely respected again has a better chance of being realized if they work with her than if they continue with their current strategy."

Jasmine nodded. "I can understand that, and I'll agree to it, at least provisionally; but I don't think I'll be able to do anything until the summer. Not only will I have more time and freedom, but by then there will be a couple of changes in my life that may prove helpful."

"Oh?" Alessandra asked.

"Well..." Jasmine said slowly, looking around at the others. "I hadn't intended to say anything for a bit, but my godfather Sirius will be formally adopting me into the Black family. Officially my name will be Jasmine Dorea Potter-Black, though I'll stick with Potter usually."

"So you'll have the Black name behind you?" Alessandra asked. "Does your godfather know about your... activities?"

"Absolutely," Jasmine said firmly.

"That's interesting," Alessandra responded with a thoughtful expression. "The Black family may not be as powerful or influential as it once was, but the name still commands respect. If he knows about and supports what you are doing, then that will definitely be a great boon to our goals."

"I'd appreciate it if you didn't say anything about this to anyone," Jasmine said. "Not yet, at least. Not until it's been formally announced."

"That is not a problem," Alessandra assured her. "Simply knowing that it is coming will help me, and it will take time to contact everyone. It will take even more time for the others to decide what to do, then to start doing it. There's no rush."

They all talked for another hour, and since Alessandra was already under oath, the young witches were willing to discuss their own experiences of the rituals. The most interesting bit of new information to her was how the rituals appeared to be enhancing them physically, mentally, and magically. It confirmed her belief that they had been changing and reinforced her decision to warn Blaise. She could not, however, deny that it also greatly increased the desire she already felt to participate in at least one of their rituals, no matter how much they differed from her own familial traditions.

Once they had all left, she reflected on what had been said... and even more on what had not been said. She knew that they were keeping some significant secrets above and beyond what the veela had been willing to tell her, but she wasn't sure what they might be. She just hoped that she'd be able to earn enough trust for them to tell her eventually. She was sure that despite her warning, Blaise would almost certainly become even closer to this group. She would not be able to support and protect him unless she was as much of an insider as he was.

And nothing mattered more to her than her bambino. Nothing.