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2nd of May, 1971 – Temple of Celestis, Beltane Ball

He stared at the great sculpture that stood before him, enjoying the brief silence that came from being alone in this part of the temple after extricating himself from the Ball. The sculpture was in honour of Lady Magic in the form of Gaia, the mother Earth…the mother of all.

This part of the temple, this floor, was largely devoted to magic and its role in nature, the symbiotic relationship that existed between them that fostered a greater synergy that was unrivalled in all of existence.

It felt…apt, to find reprieve here.

And in that reprieve, he allowed himself to consider Beltane and contemplated the symbolism of what the Ball truly meant, was meant to mean, and the far-reaching links that would stem from it, links that were akin to rebar in concrete foundation.

Beltane, as much as Samhain did, espoused the essence of Gaia in its rituals and its celebrations, though on a brighter and happier note. Renewal and rebirth, an awakening that would bloom into fertility and strength.

An awakening that he and Emily were replicating in their own little way that would yield the greatest of harvests, he thought to himself with silent solemnity, his eyes set on the sculpture before him as he took in every last little detail of the Mother.

The female sculpture was elegance and dignity personified. A circlet of tweed woven on a head with a face that bore perfect symmetry, perfect feminine softness and yet never frail looking.

A great scale hung from her right hand, a hand that bore fingers encrusted with dried earth, and one end of the scale had a blooming tree and a tri-horned giraffe eating its leaves whilst on the other end there was a nundu feasting on the carcass of a gazelle with a sapling shown by the side of the carcass.

The great protector and the great destroyer, the balance that existed in nature that cared for them all and loved them all but nevertheless maintained the order of life to ensure it is flourishing. A collection of ideas that ran deep in many cultures of man.

Muggle or magical.

It was a beautiful symmetry that defined death and life as it ought to be, of rebirth and renewal, uninfected by the corruptive and hungering reach of them, he thought grimly before he returned his mind towards his earlier contemplation, his gaze refocusing on the sculpture.

And, as he stared at the sculpture, knowing that it was the beginning of the end of their future on Earth, their plans towards the Celestis system moving apace, he couldn't help but contemplate silently how much humanity's need for answers – and that it entailed – and inability to simply accept as things as they were would prove to be the final spark that would see him and Emily steal the magical world away.

Humanity's insatiable drive would see it split into two.

A few moments passed as he fell into a kind of reverie, his eyes looking up at the symbolic sculpture. Humanity…humanity had always looked for answers.

Answers that seemed impossible to answer but were answered anyway for unanswered questions were almost as if it were heretical, unimaginably so.

Even those uncountable distant pinpricks of light that shone in seas of blackness, lights that were always there without fail at night even if the clouds had decided to hide them away for a period of time. Humanity had come to know them as permanent, as fixed in their lives as the hunger they would feel if they had not eaten.

No matter how far they walked. No matter how much they aged and their parents died. No matter how old the songs were. The pinpricks of light were always there.

Why...?

They began to wonder.

Stories were crafted, imagination made to run wild…

Must be the seat of Gods, they began to believe.

For all things died, they had observed but not these lights. Like the sun and the moon, these were permanent. Like the sun and moon, for whom stories and songs were written for by ancestors of yesteryears and given purpose, surely there was a reason for them being so permanent, for being unchanging even if they moved sometimes.

And so, humanity made their own answers, their own reality of how things worked and why things worked as they did. Always shifting and changing, moving forward.

For unanswerable answers could not exist, were not permitted to exist for humanity…humanity must always have its answers. Even after humanity settled in fertile lands that seemed scarcely believable, even more so when humanity learned to change the world to suit their needs but had begun to offer new questions it needed answers for, new considerations that needed explanation.

Fortune and tragedy that seemed to be random, that seemed to be unknowable and without answers were made to have answers and so fortune and tragedy were made to be of the whims of gods and terrible consequences due to actions committed by their leaders who must have displeased their Gods so. Why else…

Rituals and sacrifice and prayers for forgiveness were given and when the tragedy, disease or famine or war, had passed, the depth of answers they had grew.

Of course your farm did poor this harvest. You did not sacrifice enough goats

Of course we needed to replace the King…he was not favoured by the Gods!

Humanity must always have its answers.

Answers and tales grew in depth as time moved forward, heroic and tragic stories of men were forged around the fires of hearths and homes and temples to showcase folly, bravery or other such virtues capturing the soul and hearts of man exemplifying the conquering of the impossible because man always found the answer it needed. That it wanted.

Humanity must always have its answers.

Time moved forward and humanity moved forward, entire systems of beliefs and reasons of existence created for there must always be answers, there must always be something to reach and understand. Why, why, why…

It was in their nature to reach up and build towards greater understanding, towards the very seats of the Gods. Priests, holy men and leaders had tried to suppress this aspect of their make-up, denying and decrying this need that made up the core of their existence as blasphemous but they never succeeded despite their efforts.

Humanity must always have its answers.

Even if they were told they were not to seek it. Even if they agreed it was wrong.

After all, he mused to himself…

Had they not likened the Gods in the image of man?

And the Gods knew everything, could see everything.

Didn't that mean humanity must also know everything, must also see everything?

This ancestral desire of man, this need to have all the answers was what made their family great yet it also made them terrible for man's obsessive need to have answers had its own darkness.

For what would be wrought when answers were given that were not liked, if not hated? That cast doubt about their own self worth and provided a target for their ills, perceived and actual, one that threatened their worldview, an ordered worldview, where they were the masters of the Earth, God's favourite and most powerful?

History had plenty examples of such disliked answers, such breaches of worldviews.

Humanity must have its answers…and once it received answers that it could not bear, answers were made to change to fit in their ordered worldview like humanity had always done time and again…

He and Emily were no different from the rest of humanity. They had answers, some answers and they could not bear it, would not bear it and would do all they could to change the worldview as much as they could…no matter the pain caused or cost.

And in the instance of Exposure…they knew the muggles wouldn't be able to bear it either. And…and that meant only one thing.

Would always mean the same thing.

Paranoia and fear, backed by trickles of truth, would work together to find an answer, to a solution to magic when the magical world refused to bend the knee to their demands fueled by paranoia and fear about magicals, beings who did not fit in the reality they thought they knew.

They would not succeed.

But instead of outcompeting the muggles for dominance and supremacy, they would simply leave.

And humanity, he thought as he stared at the sculpture, would be split into two, this time greater and more absolute than ever before, free to grow in their own ways.

Until they met again in the distant future. He could not see that far, not yet, but he could sense it in his bones that humanity one day would meet again.

Perhaps by chance, likely by necessity.

The Covenant were but a stone's throw away from Earth's region of space and the regions around Celestis were not well mapped at all. Both civilisations of humanity would one day meet other civilisations and space was not a place of peace.

It was a dark forest with predators both large and small.

His eyes shifted towards the balanced scale. Chances were, they would need each other. As different as they were, the other was more alien…nonhuman.

In truth, he didn't think they would need the muggles' assistance if his people met other alien civilisations, no, he doubted that very much. After all, the summation of magic and technology equalled to a thousand on a scale of one to a hundred.

Even the Covenant with its reported thousands of worlds did not greatly concern him. Especially not if the greatest threat, these Sangheili, were as prone to magic as the muggles were as his mother found out.

But he did believe he needed the muggles' help – and their numbers – for when they came. His expression darkened. When they would come for them all.

Atticus sighed and just like that, his mind went back into rare idleness, his attentions focused on the sculpture for a good few minutes. It didn't last nearly long enough.

He could sense her coming and he decided to get on with it. Little had changed over the past few years when it came to the likeliest timeline that would come to pass.

The matter of knowing the timeline along with his Seers at the Office of Far-Sight who peered into the lens of Living Time was enough to, at times, to slightly pull and push possibilities.

And now with the Ball nearing its end, he wanted, needed to see if it was still as monumental as he had foreseen.

With a silent sigh, reality around him began to fade away almost akin to a man on his deathbed falling into blissful and final sleep, a final breath equal to a final fall.

Colours grew in might and glory, their hues made physical as they formed into cloudy mists that hummed in sync with him. Time dissociated itself from him and the world around him whilst a fraction of its possibilities flooded into his perception.

Immediate futures of greatest likelihood poured into him, his consciousness exploring and reading threads of timelines with the kind of gentleness and fervour as that of a devout priest reading ancient text of long lost scripture.

Years flew by like how pages flew by for those engrossed and captured by the writings of those who crafted worlds in ink though for him, he lived those years.

He felt the burgeoning nature magic of Celestis, he could smell the perfume of the wife of the Irish Minister of Magic in eighteen months, he could feel Emily's soft lips on his neck and the warm caress of the sun's rays on his skin three years from now just as easily as if it was happening in the present and he could feel the anger and guilt he would feel in six years' time.

Ten, thirty, fifty years passed, were lived as he pulled along the axis of Time.

He Saw and he Felt as if he was seeing and feeling in the now, future and present were only concepts in this state of his, concepts that the others felt and knew were nothing but akin to unproven theorems made to make sense of the universe.

Like flowing roots deep below the depths of earth, he was tapped into the interconnectivity of Living Time, choices and events and life itself echoed into the past, the present and the future at all once, looping and ending and starting again without ever being able to tell what was a True Start and what was a True End.

Like energy, nothing about time or consciousness could be destroyed.

Only transformed.

Renewal and Rebirth.

And transformation…

Transformation was sought in this Ball, a rebirth of interests into interests that were in alignment of that of Illos' own. Like crabs moulting as they outgrew their carapace, little by little the magical world was transforming even as the dark cloud over Europe threatened to subsume the rest of the world because of the Raven's pain.

Growing and changing, old and seemingly immovable pillars of society were no more immune to the tides of change and growth and progress as a spec of sand was to the gentle but encroaching tide.

This was a changing world, he Saw and he Felt.

A world sparked into rebirth and renewal.

A spark that he could Sense beginning to alter the path, the story that written within the membrane of consciousness that guided infinite choices towards an unchanging end goal, a path that reaching hands and cold consciousness had always planned.

It was a change that he could feel within the structures of Living Time itself, a change that saw the slightest, near infinitesimally small vibration on the surface of Time whose surface was unchanging since Time Immemorial even as below its surface, life and power raged and thrashed against the sweeping cycles that yet washed over them easily and snuffing the fight out of them before absorbing it all into itself along the sounds of marching drums of inevitability, never once affecting the still surface.

Yet, the spark, his and Emily's spark, was like a stone, a boulder thrown in the face of this faceless and infinite surface, the hopeful first of many, and he Saw and Felt and Sensed the beginnings of a ripple growing, a hopeful beginning of the end of the sweeping cycle that turned this universe unending in perpetuity, fixed in cruel cycles.

A ripple he feared and rejoiced at, a ripple that needed them to stay the course and a ripple that forewarned those Shapeless Ones who lie in the dark and waited for Life to grow ripe and tested before consuming it whole, no matter what form they took, satiating and enriching themselves before starting over again and again and again…

Now that the gears were moving, gears built over millions of years by those who once were more than simple echoes within the Domain and later pieced together by Ancient Humanity, it was only a matter of time before a confrontation was to happen.

The shards of uncountable beings – tiny fractional nuggets of experiences of those that had the fortune of escaping the abominable endless torture – of civilisations that had fallen to them made that clear through the few times he'd reached out into the Domain over the past few years, a consequence had them feverishly working on solidifying the foundations of a singular magical world before the journey through the stars was made.

He pulled himself out of the depths of Time, his gaze swimming in a misty explosion of magic and echoes made of filaments of Time before it settled away, his eyes and his mind clearing and like a saviour, Lady Magic stood central in his sight.

He let the heavy thoughts of distant terrible confrontations and near impossible missions eke out from him, the magic that coursed through Illos profoundly assisting in settling his nerve, magic that bore the remnants of Beltane still in its essence.

He let of a breathless sigh, grateful for the lift that Illos had given him and a small wistful smile struck away at a face had been wracked with an expression of gloom.

It was easy to be stuck in the Truths of the Universe once you were at the fringes of understanding it and end up consumed by it. Even Emily, in their explorations of consciousness and the nature of existence in this universe, was afraid by it all.

He stared at the sculpture of Lady Magic that was in the form of Gaia before looking past Her.

But…they had magic.

And…and they had each other.

Perhaps that would be answer enough…

"Perenelle." Atticus greeted quietly, his gaze still fixed on the sculpture before him, the soft paddling sounds of her steps coming to a half when she stood by his side.

"Taking a breather?" she questioned lightly, her voice akin to the sounds of chimes carried through the air by the soft breeze of evening autumn.

It was refreshing.

Atticus allowed a small smile to form on his face, his gaze still on the sculpture.

"You could say that."

He finally broke his gaze away and glanced at her for a half a second before returning in to the sculpture. "There is only so much politicking I can endure in a day."

That at least was true.

It was like a little United Nations in the main hall of the Temple with more dignitaries arriving after Beltane. There were even dignitaries from ICW Protectorates who he knew were pressured into seeking out an invitation so that the ICW were at least kept abreast of what was going on…who was here.

Conversation was never idle with any of them…save those few conversations he had with Credence or other non-political people who he'd ensured were invited.

Invitations to visit their communities, comments about investments or trade agreements or vague hints towards 'doing something' about this or that – more than a few times referencing the Raven and his cabal – could only be endured so much after a little while even if it was the reason for having the Ball in the first place.

An informal place where power mixed and where agendas could be furthered, Illos' own agenda towering over all of theirs. Wealth and influence mixed, deals and marriages were made by families half a world away from each other when interests were found to be aligned, at least in the short term with scope for it to be longer term.

Much of it being hardly clean but nevertheless it was necessary to facilitate it if only for the knock on effect it had, a knock on effect that would persist and grow for decades to come changing the fabric of the magical world even more than it was changing now and the truth was…

With how interconnected the magical world was, more than had ever been and yet only a fraction of what it will be later, there was very little that he or Emily would have to do beyond staying the course and facilitating people to meet.

Both common and powerful alike.

They had done most of the work already – bar the final hammer that would be brought down on the Raven and his followers – and Magicom did the rest.

Under the slight influence of Alice.

Magicom made communication across the magical world seem as easy as sticking your head in the floo generations ago with less than a fraction of the cost incurred and more comfortable too. Friends and societies were linked with ease and flow of information and interests was made easy.

Where the 'West' in his old world were bound by history, ideals, economic ties and ethnicity, here…magic was the great commonality that transcended it all.

Where communication may have opened the flow of information, trips across the magical world made easier by Gates allowed people to experience the magical communities around the world with at most requiring one trip through the Floo before making it to a Gate since the Gate network had at least one Gate on every continent.

Schools had international competitions where students could experience cultures, ideas about magic and other students frequently – in some instances yearly – increasing tolerance and acceptance of others gradually as time went by.

Nobles and wealthy families saw that there was little difference between other noble and wealthy families and connected their family lines – and in time would notice stronger scions from those unions, unions that had not happened since the times of antiquities or perhaps even since the days of Atlantis, causing other families to follow suit – and would come to have sympathies in the 'Pan-Magi' move that was set to grow.

Still, as much as every small detail that happened in that hall served a greater purpose, he didn't feel guilty at all to at least have a few moments to himself. He could lean on Emily to grab their attentions at least for a little while.

Perenelle's laugh was tickling, drawing him back in.

"I can understand. Poor Nicky even more so."

Perenelle's laugh died off and he sensed the frown that made its way on her face, a frown he could feel emanate from her magic despite how subdued and under controlled her magic was. There was little he could not sense if he wished to.

"He might start cursing in a hundred different languages soon if his buttons get pushed a few too many times." Perenelle peered at him, a coy smile on her face.

"He might curse you too for inviting him."

Atticus smile was wry "He does that every other day anyway"

When the situation with the ICW had come to an end, Atticus had been more free to be involved with SIMS and with the Flamels as a whole.

It made the school even better than it was after he'd worked with the Irish Ministry to institute SIMS as Ireland's foremost secondary and tertiary school.

It also meant that SIMS was much much larger now, almost equal to the Pandrosion in enrolled secondary school students with Nicolas serving as the Headmaster practically full time.

Nicolas often decried having so much responsibility and blamed Atticus for 'forcing' him into becoming a glorified childminder but his complaints were little more than stale air.

He could resign if he wanted to but anyone who knew him at least somewhat knew that he did enjoy being Headmaster, particularly when it came to being part of the research that was being conducted by those in tertiary education or conducting research.

Above many other things, Nicolas was a man of science and magic and SIMS was almost perfect for him…the only downer he truly had was that Perenelle had resigned from a teaching position at SIMS instead electing to take an ambassadorial position between Illos and Ireland – the real reason was to be part of her many times great-grandchildren who had children of their own now – which meant they weren't in each other's company as much as before.

Atticus had little sympathy for the man in that regard.

Perenelle and Nicolas saw each other practically every day still, something that was far too much of a luxury for him and Emily.

Perenelle's coy smile bloomed into a fond one. "That's true" she acknowledged "It's from a place of care really" she said a little airily and Atticus for the first time in the evening laughed as he raised one of his eyebrows in amusement.

Perenelle good-naturedly rolled her eyes. "A very, very deep place" she said wryly, both of them smiling at each other. Both he and Nicolas did still consider each other friends but it was a little distant friendship in truth.

A lot of his and Emily's actions did disturb him – doubtlessly horrified if Nicolas truly knew the scope of their crimes – even if he saw the logic behind it and the reasons they had for it.

Both Flamels knew of his goals to take the magical world off to Celestis and as the muggle world grew ever more dangerous, especially after how dangerous the Cuban Missile Crisis had been, most of Nicolas' resistance had fallen away even if he disagreed the way he and Emily went about 'fostering' relationships with the weaker magical communities and the subsuming of Avalon into their control.

Not to mention his disapproval of letting 'The Raven problem' go on as it was at present. Even if it didn't serve their purpose, he would have been reticent to help dig out the nobility of Europe out of the hole they would soon find themselves in…

The same hole they had condemned everyone else in Europe to.

In any case, it couldn't be helped, he merely thought with an internal shrug. He had long ago let go of trying to win people over completely. There was always kernels of doubt, of disagreement, even in his most loyal let alone someone like Nicolas who would always have his own way of seeing things.

It was simply human nature, he thought to himself quietly and it would not be something he would see suppressed or removed in the magical world if he could help it.

Atticus tilted his head at the sculpture, a fleeting thought took hold of his mind. "Do you think if Gaia could speak, she would ask us not to go?" he posed to Perenelle.

Three quarters of a millennium of life experiences, likely even forgotten more magic than she had learnt, had her prepared well for the kind of abstract question he was asking. "As much as I'd like to say no, I believe she would yes." Perenelle admitted.

She paused for a few seconds before she continued on "Magic would live on, on Earth, nothing could ever change that, but I imagine it would feel like an injury." She said and he mulled it over whilst she continued

"In my many years of life, I have found that the natural world is stronger with the presence of magicals, be they sentient or not, and I have found that a belief reinforced more so once the Statute went up. Forests and Jungles that once bore many magical creatures were moved or hunted down for fear of breaking the Statute seemed to have lost lot of their essence over time and disappeared within two muggle lifetimes…partly because of muggles but also because of the loss of its native magical beings and creatures." She paused briefly, a small sigh escaping her delicate lips before she looked up at the sculpture.

"I fear such collapse of the natural world would only hasten once we leave." She said a little quietly "Perhaps it would have been inevitable anyway, the muggles are destructive in their way of progress, but I would have liked to think we would make a great deal of difference in preserving her and her nature."

"And…" she continued, this time a little nostalgic "Even without considering what we would have done for her, I would like think of her as a mother and no mother would want their children to leave home and no mother could bear never seeing her children again."

"I doubt it will be forever." Atticus added though it was without much belief.

Perenelle looked at him, a sad look on her face, one that he wouldn't have needed his Sight or magic to decipher. "It won't be home then. We'll be guests."

If the muggles progressed at the rate they were, it was doubtful they could call Earth home ever again once they left.

No magical would want to live under a muggle government, there was too much history and fear between them, and they all knew the muggles well enough that it was simply an impossibility that they would peacefully allow any magical government to take root on the homeworld.

There was a comfortable silence, one that both allowed to sit for a while.

"I believe it is at this point I say something philosophical." Atticus said, breaking the silence after he felt enough time had passed.

Perenelle laughed loudly, almost giggling before she spoke, her bare and elegant neck craning, her head tilted like a cat attempting to figure out something unknown bearing a lady like Cheshire grin "You could do what Nicky does."

Atticus looked at her with a faint smile as he turned towards her "Oh?"

"Wishy-washy sentences that make no sense but are accepted as wise words." She eyed him with mischief "Normally it takes a couple of centuries to get to that point where people don't question it but given your position, it could work."

Atticus chuckled softly. "Who says I don't do that anyway?" he said with a smile.

And technically, he supposed, he had the experiences of centuries in a way, especially since his Sight improved to the point it was pretty much like he was there in the first place.

That along with the amount of time he spent using Time-Turners, he was a fair bit older than his near forty-seven years of age despite his body being in effective frozen at age twenty-seven.

"Now come, you've spent long enough recovering." Perenelle coaxed and he stuck out an arm which she elegantly took. She would hear no complaints from him, the orchestra was playing at this moment in time reducing the number of people who'd demand his time.

She eyed him curiously, hints of mischief but certainly mostly curiosity.

"How did you get the guards to stay away?"

He smiled wryly at her as they moved towards the stairs that would lead them down towards the main hall of the Temple "I threatened them with disappearing for a week without saying where I was going" he said in a dry tone, a tone that had a kind of exasperation latched on it.

"There are many things that make me regret agreeing to be King but the guards are very much near the top of my list of complaints" he said in a morose tone, one that Perenelle did not seem to sympathise with at all.

"Poor you" she said sarcastically, her eyebrows raised in disbelief.

"and also 'Agreeing to be King' is downplaying it a lot, don't you think?" she questioned sceptically and with squinted eyes.

"I don't know what you mean" he said innocently as he looked away from her gaze in very suspect-like way and she snorted very unladylike.

"Right." Perenelle muttered "You have very little complain about, Atticus." She said as she tapped his arm. "Even those guards do it more from a place of love than they do it in duty and complaining about it is very unbefitting of you." Perenelle said and it was clear she was quite enjoying telling him off. Probably because she hadn't told off a King or two in a few centuries, he mused to himself.

"Everyone kisses your arse, even that abominable Raven doesn't dare offending you too much, and you know it too." She raised her nose very dramatically.

"Everyone kisses my lovely tush too and you don't hear me complaining about it."

Atticus' lips twitched "Well, you had a long time to get used to it"

Perenelle craned her neck, faux outraged "Are you making fun of my age? How ungallant of you" she said in a playful scowl.

The banter went on for a little while longer until they returned to the main hall…much to the relief of the guards. Atticus suspected they probably asked Perenelle's help in getting him back under their eyes. Pesky little buggers.

A light orchestra was playing and he saw quite a number of people dancing at the centre of the hall. Sandra and Derek were there as were Harfang and his wife and many others. Even Lucius Malfoy and his wife-to-be Narcissa Black.

It was rather curious, he mused to himself.

He did next to nothing when it came to people's romantic lives yet pairs that he knew from fiction happened nonetheless. It meant very little in the grand scheme of things when it came to the path the Shapeless Ones wanted, after all, it was not completely deterministic, so he believed this match was completely done with free will and chance.

In a way, he found that to be endearing.

Despite Lucia who, instead of being cast out or worse killed for being a squib at birth but instead was treated and fully magical and a firm fixture in Lucius' life, along with a host of other changes to the magical world done that affected the teenager, it still seemed that Lucius and Narcissa were meant to be.

Nicolas came over once he'd seen them enter the hall looking far too eager to escape the small crowd that had been around him "Perry" he said with a faint note of relief and Perenelle smiled indulgingly at her husband.

Perenelle unwrapped her arm around Atticus' and took Nicolas' offered one.

Nicolas turned towards him "Your wife might need a bit of rescue herself." Nicolas informed him. Atticus nodded to the man before he made his way towards her.

A few people tried to speak to him but he brushed them off politely as he made his way to Emily who was conversing with a few people, including Lord Malfoy, Lord Delacour and other such notables, and a faint uptick of his lips made its way onto his otherwise neutral face.

Her hair was free flowing like fine silken threads dipped in a bath made of shadows and atop her head there was a thin diadem made of Mithril that flowed like running water with its jewels moving in a Ouroboros pattern.

She was dressed in a long dark green dress that was split allowing her greater free movement if she needed it and tastefully hugged her exquisite form. Her exposed neck adorned Slytherin, Pendragon and Sayre styled jewellery.

She looked every bit a Queen. His Queen. He sent deep affectionate love through their bond and she turned towards his direction as he approached.

She smiled at him as she returned the love through their bond, a similar faint barely noticeable smile on her face despite the depth of her love that shone through the bond they shared.

"My love" Atticus said as he gently placed his hand on her back and leaned in to place a kiss on her cheek. She angled her head slightly towards him as her right hand was placed onto his forearm and he kissed her gently before standing by her.

She sent him a minor Legillimency probe 'Fatiman wants to meet tomorrow as expected. I agreed.' Atticus sent a feeling of affirmativeness through their bond as he set his gaze upon those Emily was speaking to without particularly focusing on anyone, all of this happening within less than a second.

"Husband" she said with a trickle of affection before she pulled him in a little closer.

Atticus smiled at her before he turned his gaze towards the men that she'd been conversing and inclined his head in greeting to them, all of them reciprocating it with polite decorum.

"Your Majesty." The Dutch lord Van der Schoen said respectfully with a dip of the head after Atticus turned towards the blonde haired middle aged man "We were just speaking about the artistic merits of Gallardo."

"Robert here believes he might be able to dislodge Mrs Fisbililah from her perch" Lord Delacour, Jean said before he placed the rim of the glass of champagne on his lips. Atticus raised an eyebrow in response, his eyes sweeping across faces of the crowd before fixing them onto Van der Schoen.

"Quite the belief to have. It's wrong but it's quite something." Atticus lightly said to the man with a faint smile and soft chuckles rang around before a dull debate about art and what style was more reflective of magical culture took hold.

Thankfully it hadn't lasted too long and after speaking briefly to Jean Delacour about his heir, his grandson – his wild son had foolishly killed himself in the Pyrenees mountains – he and Emily did final rounds of conversation at the Ball before they retired for the evening.

"Fatiman will be brought to us early in the morning. I've asked Sandra to join us" Emily said whilst she began to remove her jewellery from her neck. Atticus threw his over-embroidered royal jacket to the side before he made his way to her.

He stood behind her and gently clutched her hands that were on the back of her neck attempting to unclip the small chain. Jewellery like this were finicky to remove, even with magic. The kinds of charms that Emily had placed on them made it all but impossible for it to be removed but by her own – or his – hands.

She stopped and moved her hands aside letting him remove the chains for her. "I prefer her away from this side of things." Atticus said to her.

Sandra, after resigning from Chancellorship to focus more on her family, had instead became one of three Chief Judges that presided over supreme court cases.

"I know." Emily said with a sigh "But she was involved in the original terms." She peered at him with a side glance "And it's not as if it changes anything" she half stated, half asked. Atticus shook his head as he unclipped the first of the three chains.

He shared with her his visions quite often.

Not always, that would be impractical and unnecessary but enough times for her to know the general trend of how things would go.

"No, it doesn't change anything." And Sandra wouldn't know the dirtier side of what they would do afterwards anyway. Sandra was a smart woman but she would try to refuse understand and he'd rather not put that kind of weight on her shoulders.

"Still believe we need to cut their numbers down?" Atticus posed to her as he unclipped the second of three chains. "To at most two clans if not one?"

"Of course." Emily merely stated. "The Haitians and the other Afro-Haitian magical communities are too much of a problem otherwise. No matter how unfortunate the loss of most of their magic would be."

That was true. Normally they tended to be as magnanimous as they could be when they wanted to foster relations with more disconnected magical communities.

The Haitians however…

Well, there was a reason why the ICW had taken great pains during the Statute Wars to wipe out as many of them and the African tribes that they had originally hailed from.

Their expertise in certain kind of magic was practically supreme, magicks like animancy, blessing magic, effigy dark arts, necromancy and other such obscure magicks made them a magical group difficult to deal with and it was no little surprise that most of their tribal magicks were made illegal under international law.

Not that it helped in ridding the world of those kinds of magic. Still, he had to admit, he was a little relieved that the necessity of 'borrowing' from nature and needing samples was there. It limited their threat level to something far more manageable.

And the fact that while the ICW hadn't been completely successful in wiping out those tribes, they did however set the conditions for most of voodoo magic to be constricted to about seventeen clans.

Seventeen clans that soon would become two clans indebted to Emily and Atticus.

"Do you still want even those two? Despite what we'll have to do to manage them?" Emily asked in a light moan when he unclipped the last of the chains, his hands now beginning to kneading her neck and shoulders.

The Haitians were a difficult problem. Their magic was unique and it would be a shame to see it gone from the universe even if it was as dark as it was. But the Haitians were also far from easy people to control.

The ICW provided enough historical evidence about that. Even amongst themselves, they were difficult especially now given the current situation.

As of right now, there was a power struggle between all of the clans that effectively ruled like warlords over large swathes of territory in both worlds.

Funnily enough, this time they had little to do with it. At least directly.

He hummed silently.

He was tempted to do away with them just as they had done with other dark enclaves of magicals that the ICW had conveniently ignored since they hadn't been a threat to the Statute of Secrecy but his Sight did provide a solution.

It was also a level of control that he greatly disliked, the same kind of control they'd used to subjugate the Goblins, methods that'd provide the foundation to transition them into inclusivity within magical society.

"Yes." Atticus said to her after a few moments had passed "I would like to preserve as many distinct magical cultures and unique talents as possible…even if we have to make the chains as tight as possible." Atticus said to Emily in a distracted way.

The Fatiman and Salikoko clans were allied and at present, they were close to losing against one of the larger alliances. Their numbers had already been cut down by more than half and it wouldn't be long until they lost the struggle.

With the underworld of the magical world outside of Europe now effectively gutted into non-existence as agreeable dark wizards fell under Illos' control and backing in return for wealth and monopolisation, the market for Haitian services was rendered close to nil making the existing more legal business ventures far more priceless.

Which kick-started the Haitian civil war in the first place.

The Fatiman clan had links to Gutierrez, the Mexican dark wizard turned legal businessman who once had been a hitman-for-hire, and it was through him they learned enough of the need to pull the pieces together.

They'd tried to extract the information from Gutierrez and his men but he was not able to tell them anything because he physically could not.

With the use of Osteomancy, a method of reading the future and the past using bones as a focus – they managed to get a hold of bones of targets the Illosian Guards eliminated – they found out about the Geas that existed.

A Geas that prohibited anyone not keyed in from learning who exactly was responsible for the sweeping changes that were and had happened in the underworld.

It was then that the Head of Fatiman clan, Pierre Fatiman, was approached and made an offer. An offer that had been rejected but will be accepted soon.

Their situation was dire enough to necessitate it.

Had they been like the other clans or families like those in South America who were reasonable when it came to accepting the new status quo, that agreement would have been enough. But they wouldn't be. The conditions in which the Haitians were born into created a group of magicals that were relentless. Even these two weaker clans.

The Fatiman and Salikoko clans had not been the most powerful of the clans but they were most certainly equal to the rest of the clans when it came to ruthlessness.

Magicals and muggles alike were almost akin to pets to these clans, used to further their abilities in their branches of magic and used as weapons against the other clans.

The Haitians had unofficial status of pariahs – partly because of historical fear left over from the Statute Wars which yielded severe casualties on the side of the ICW and Europe – and it wasn't undeserved even if you moved past history.

They held little compunction of taking away free will from others and they would see this agreement indebting them to Illos as a similar kind of free will removal.

They would never stop seeking to loosen the so-called chains that Emily and him placed onto them. They would be relentless in this pursuit.

In the end, they came to conclude 'Fine then. Have it your way.'

How ironic that in their inevitable ruthless drive towards their so-called independence they would actually find themselves tighter bound to the point that they could do little without his and Emily's say.

Emily made a noise before she turned around, the jewellery floating away once it was off of her neck. Her hands moved across his arms, her dark blue eyes gazing up at him. "You looked handsome in that Rosi" Emily said in a sensual tone, her hands gradually moving towards his crotch.

"Hmm" Atticus made out as he brushed the back of his hand against her cheek, his eyes roving towards her figure that her dress tastefully hid and he contemplated if he wanted her in or out of the dress. She made to move to remove the dress but Atticus placed his hand on her arm.

"Leave it on." Atticus said seductively and her eyes grew a hungry and pleased glint as his hands moved to her hips. She yielded into his control and he twisted her around with her back against his chest.

His hands moved towards the split section of her dress and onto her legs, his hands slowly moving upwards and hiking up the dress.

He moved his head towards the back of her neck and trailed a string of kisses from top to bottom. Pleased moans escaped from her lips as she backed into his crotch and all the worries about distant evils and ruthless actions fell away as two became one.

-Break-

9th of May, 1971 – Avalon, Avalon Heights

Anne POV

The temperature of the morning breeze was chilling, the light of dawn a sleepy presence at this time of morning. She let of a shuddering breath, less because of the chill and more because of the frigid nervousness she felt, and sucked in a deep breath of the salty sea-air, her eyes set on the detached cottage at the end of the road.

It looked warm, the home – she hoped it felt like home – surrounded by a well-kept front garden and an old oak tree that had a swing hanging from a thick branch.

She felt a comforting hand on her arm. "Mother…" Sophia began and Anne placed her hand on top of her daughter's hand before she turned her head towards her daughter, an affectionate and reassuring smile on her face.

"I'm alright." Anne said a little quietly but Sophia's concern didn't abate so Anne only squeezed her daughter's hand a little as it rested on top of it.

Sophia's expression softened slightly, the concern reduced to a pittance but it was still there and Anne was heartened by it.

Sophia, now a woman of fifty-three years and perhaps the most powerful woman in MACUSA, was still the caring daughter she had always been.

"Anne" her brother called gently and she turned towards him.

Short salt and pepper hair crowned his head, more pepper than salt, and wore a firm but caring expression on his face. He looked much like their father had in their youth. He was older than father had been too she thought to herself before she shook her head. He stood a little further ahead and there was impatience in his body language.

Her brother was a saint, truly, she thought guiltily. This…reunion was taking longer than he had wanted once she told him and the rest of their family about their sister.

Had they not made a pact to go see her together, he'd have already met with her.

"I need to do this." Anne said with a breathless exhale, more to herself than to Sophia. "I've waited long enough."

Though it couldn't really be said it was waiting.

She lost count how many times, she retracted on her commitment to meet her sister, even so far as arriving in Morfay intent on making the trip here only for her to simply leave, never able to find the bravery she needed.

Even now, she was perilously close to leaving.

"Alright mother." Sophia acquiesced "But I don't have to wait here. I can come with you" Sophia added quietly.

Anne smiled sadly at Sophia before she shook her head.

"No…Lukasz and I need to do this alone." Anne didn't want Lucille and her family to feel crowded or worse feel threatened by them. She didn't know how much Lucille had told her family about her past. If she told them about her past.

It was why she wouldn't want even hear of Atticus or her nieces and nephews coming with her and Lukasz today.

Only her children's argument about at least Sophia going with her and keeping her company from afar had won out from her coming alone with Lukasz today.

"Alright" Sophia said with a sigh and Anne closed her eyes briefly when she felt Sophia putting her other hand on top of hers. Anne reopened them and met her daughter's bright emerald eyes.

"Time is too swift for those who fear but for those who love, time is eternity" Sophia quoted gently to her, her hand tapping on top of Anne's.

It was enough for her to scrounge up every speck of courage and Anne took in one deep shuddering breath before she extracted her hands from Sophia's and walked, a walk that seemed as daunting as a perilous trek on frozen mountain paths with one slip being enough to tumble down towards jagged rocks.

Her mind veered back to when Atticus told her about her sister.

She'd never felt so angry, never so furious with him. She felt betrayed.

She'd not even been this angry when Atticus had hidden her and Sophia against their will during the war. Because she had understood. Markus had died and Grindelwald was sure to never rest until either they were all dead or under his control.

But this…

This was nothing like that.

Lukasz locked step with her before he placed his hand on her shoulder, a gentle squeeze in support and she turned to him, a grateful look on her face before she looked to the cottage, frightful as it was as it drew ever closer.

Neither of them said anything.

All that had could have been said about today, about meeting Lucille, had been already been fretfully said to exhaustion.

'Was she happy?' 'Would she remember us?' '..Will she forgive us?'

They arrived at the small wooden gate that was fenced by old mossy stone walls, her gaze peering towards the unassuming burgundy door, her hand moving towards the small metal lever that would let her pass but her hand stilled on the cold lever.

'This was meant to be, mother. Not sooner. Not later. I would have told you sooner if I could have.'

Those words played into her mind, again and again ever since. She didn't think he was telling here the whole truth. She knew that his Sight allowed him to see far more.

But she hadn't question it further.

The sincere look on his face, the slightly pained glint in his eyes when she'd raged at him and broken down more than a few times in front of him told her enough that Atticus hadn't wished to keep this from her.

She lifted up the lever, her heart pounding, and they walked through the gate and inched closer to the burgundy door, her hands, now cold, shaking, trembling, each step felt heavy and tired as if she had run thirteen marathons consecutively.

The wards washed over her and she could feel it was judging her intent.

Briefly, she wondered if she would be ejected out but it was a concern that seemed to pass by her just as the intent ward passed her through.

She glanced at the rows of flowers that were by the front of the home and she could see Penstemons, Goldsturm, Jacob's Ladder and a host of other types of flowers.

Even what had been Lucille's favourite "Petunias" she whispered as she stared at the large purple blooming flowers. Lucille had been so fond of flowers as a child.

Later in her childhood, when she still hadn't performed accidental magic, she had only grown more interested in their small greenhouse. She often smelled so earthy.

Lukasz made a noise before he spoke quietly "This is so her". There was a note in his voice, a note that felt tight. She only nodded silently as they arrived at the door.

Lukasz knocked on the door and she felt like time had ceased to move much like how her body resisted to move, her muscles tightly coiled into stillness.

The door opened slightly and Anne felt like she was hit in her chest.

Bright emerald wide eyes darted between Anne and Lukasz, bright emerald eyes that belonged to a young girl no older than ten, perhaps eleven, crowned by a mane of bright red hair that made it seem as if it was the only thing in the vicinity that had colour.

"Um…hello" the young girl said awkwardly as she looked a little confused and quite a bit more tentative "…who are you?"

"Who's at the door, Lily?!" an older male called out and the young girl swivelled her head around and shouted

"I don't know! There is a man and a woman at the door!" before she turned back around to face Anne and Lukasz.

"We're here to see Lucille, Ms…?" Lukasz thankfully stepped up to speak. She doubted she could at this moment in time given the way she was staring at the young.

She could see Lucille in the young girl's face. Her nose, her lashes. Her eyes

"Lily Evans." The young girl said warily before the door opened completely, an older taller gentleman with brown eyes and brown hair standing by the young girl.

Both she and Lukasz recognised the man's build and his facial features. He was fairly stocky and his jawline was that of the Provydetsi family.

"There is no Lucille here." The young girl piped up before she looked at the older gentleman who certainly recognised the name judging by the gradual shift in his expression "Dad, is there is a Lucille in the neighbourhood?"

"Who are you?" the man – her nephew, Jack – asked calmly but with a hint of steel in his voice. The sounds of footsteps in the background grew louder.

"I am Lukasz Provydetsi and this is my sister, Anne." Lukasz gestured towards himself and Anne as a woman with blonde hair and blue eyes arrived by the door.

"I see." The man said slowly, his eyes darting between Anne and Lukasz and it was obvious he knew exactly who they were. "She goes by Lily."

He said after a few moments and that was enough for their niece-in-law, Rosaline, to realise what was happening. Lily the younger still looked confused but she was corralled away by their nephew's wife who was protesting slightly.

Their nephew stepped out of the house, the door slightly closed and his expression couldn't hide the concern he was feeling. "We're not here to cause trouble" Anne blurted out, finally able to find her voice. Their nephew still looked doubtful.

"We only want to see her. To speak with her. Please believe us." Anne said quietly and she cast her eyes towards their nephew with all the sincerity she could muster.

Neither she or Lukasz wanted to push.

They wanted to meet with Lucille – Lily – only if she wanted to. The doubt faded away from Jack's face and his expression softened but there was still a hardness there.

"You know…" Jack began in a way that seemed as if he was chewing on his words to make them softer. "She never liked to talk about her side of the family." Jack's eyes hardened slightly.

"Even after she had to talk when the magical world came for us, she gave us the bare minimum information." Anne winced slightly, a feeling of guilt washing over her. Did they know that it was her son that helped begin it all? That it was her daughter-in-law that the one responsible for taking them away?

She hadn't thought about it then and now…now she wanted to run away again.

It was bad enough that they'd abandoned her to the muggles but after this? She clearly found herself a family and settled in a world she probably came to love…only for it to be ripped away by the magical world and the family that abandoned her?

"It was a different time." Lukasz said with note of regret and she wanted to strangle him for even saying it. It seemed it wasn't the right thing to say to Jack either.

"It's never any time to abandon one's children." Jack said firmly.

"No it isn't" Anne hastily said "And nothing excuses it. But it wasn't our decision back then." Anne said sincerely.

Jack stared at her for a moment before he nodded lightly "I know it wasn't. We wouldn't be talking if that had been the case." Jack said with a shake of the head before he eyed them both.

"I make no promises." Jack said warningly and Anne felt her heart race. "It will be her decision and her decision alone if she wants to speak with you."

"We accept." Lukasz said with a dip of the head and once Jack's eyes were on her she only bowed her head in acceptance.

"Wait here." Jack said before he retreated back into the house and closed the door.

Anne let out a shuddering breath.

"She raised him well." Lukasz said after a few seconds of deathly silence. She turned to him and saw him simply gazing at the door.

"Even knowing he could do little against us, he is firm." Lukasz said before he spared her a glance and she smiled slightly at him.

"And he seems like a good man." She said to Lukasz who returned a smile of his own.

The wait seemed almost unbearable and it was wrecking her nerves.

Finally, the door opened and Anne felt like she was on the precipice of fainting.

Emerald eyes saturated with emotion stared at them and Anne's eyes were shining with tears. "Lucille…" Anne whispered.

She had more grey hairs than she had brown, her face wrinkled and loose. Her little sister looked so old but it was still her little sister.

Once Anne whispered her name it seemed to have made the moment real and a choking sound escaped from Lucille's throat. "Anne…Luka…?" her voice was broken with soulful emotion and Anne chokingly laughed and bobbed her head like a little girl and Lucille whimpered.

"It's really you…" Lucille's eyes were shedding tears and Anne couldn't help it anymore. She slowly approached Lucille, her arms slightly wide

"It's us…it's really us…"

And that was enough for Lucille's resistance to break away and the hug that they both fell into, had latched onto…

Well, it felt like home.

-Break-

Emily POV

They descended down the hill that overlooked the forbidden forest and continued on their way towards the depths of the forest on this misty late morning.

"Brings back memories." Atticus mused as they made through way towards the dark forest. Emily hummed slightly. It did bring back memories.

It was along this path that they first ventured out to Beltane and begun their journey together in earnest. It was near here that they first managed their animagus transformation. The forest been the sight of many momentous moments…and many forgettable ones. She wasn't quite sure which kind of moment today would be.

"Did you ever venture into these woods during your days at Hogwarts, Jacobius?" Atticus asked one of their two guards. Said guard shook his head.

"No, Your Majesty. I did not." Jacobius said dutifully before he hesitated for a moment, seemingly deciding whether or not to say anything further.

He decided to continued "I was too afraid at the time of the dark beasts that were rumoured to roam in the forest." Jacobius said with slight embarrassment.

Atticus smiled at Jacobius "Most animals here are harmless." He said as they followed a trickling river that snaked downhill through an opening of trees.

"Though werewolves did roam this forest during a full moon even during my time at Hogwarts and probably quite a bit after that." The two guards startled at that.

Yes…that was irritatingly true. She'd almost lost a student to their own stupidity during her reign as deputy headmistress.

To say she wasn't pleased that it made some students brave enough to go alone into the forest during the dark of night after she'd opened up a significant proportion of the forest to the students of Hogwarts in her later years of being deputy headmistress would be understating it.

It seemed she didn't account for the idiocy of the student body at the time.

She wanted to expose students to the ingredients as they grew in nature outside of greenhouses. She established a small amendment to Potions – and COMC – that made students pick and identify ingredients suitable all kinds of potions.

It would help them learn how and what to look out for and in the end it was almost making them better wizards and witches practically as a by-product as they learned more of the intricacies of reactions and control.

"Not anymore of course." Emily interjected, drawing attention to herself. "The Lycans have their own lands to roam in their transformed state if they wished to."

Eileen's final cure, with her help naturally, changed the werewolf curse drastically to the point it was no longer a curse and more akin to what the Veela were.

A near-human race of beings.

They could no longer infect other beings – which was the greatest contribution to the tentative acceptance of werewolves in general society – and they retained their minds in their transformed state which they could more or less control.

Nearly all of the werewolf population of Britain, France and the South Americas had taken the cure and other smaller magical societies made it a mandatory requirement or face expulsion.

The North American werewolves were refusing the cure on the ridiculous basis that it was 'genocide' and had the support of a number of influential Native American tribes resulting in the issue being practically postponed within MACUSA.

It was pathetic.

Even the staunchest defenders of werewolf rights had come on board with the cure and these people were catering to the hysterics of yowling wolves?

In any case, she did not care a whit in truth.

She got what she wanted with the cure anyway. She had her fingers in the newly Lycan community with her words being valued above all others…

With the exception of Eileen perhaps.

Killing an alpha like Greyback as brutally as she had of course made an impression.

Once they arrived at the designated meeting spot, they simply stood and waited.

The guards were slightly tense though they didn't draw their wands. Their coming guests wouldn't have appreciated that. Speaking of guests…

She could hear them coming long before the sounds of broken branches in the distance was audible to normal human ears. Hooves pattering on wet earth grew louder and louder and the sounds of rustling leaves drew near and it wasn't long before a tall four legged figure breached out and through the bushes.

Her magic coiled around her, stirring but tightly coiled ready at a moment's notice.

Having met and talked to the Grecian Centaurs, her opinion on the race of beings had more or less been solidified. They were a prideful cranky sort with long memories and even longer grudges. It took near certain total destruction at the hands of the Ravenites for the Grecian centaurs to ask for asylum.

These centaurs were the same and if it wasn't for their divination abilities letting them know what was going to happen, she doubted they would have been as respectful as they were to her that one time she'd met with them years ago when one of the centaurs guided her to the wayward student.

Instead of xenophobic overly prideful beings she received respectful centaurs that called her Herald. A name that they'd also used for Atticus.

Then another centaur broke through and another and another. Their movement was languid but it was fluid, almost graceful in the way they moved, their braided hair – silver, blonde and black as midnight – were flowing in sync with each step they took.

Their skins were equally as varied, some soft hew green and others earthy dark green but all had a kind of glow, a vibrancy of magic that normally would only be seen in those that were practically magic made manifest like phoenixes, unicorns or threstrals. But then, weren't centaurs closer to those magical creatures, at least when it came to vibrancy, than any other sentient magical being?

Their very human faces held bright and silvery eyes, eyes that boasted a dim luminosity that almost seemed unseeing with the way they slightly looked past them, and one by one they slapped their tails against their bodies before the one with silver hair stepped forward.

"Heralds." The centaur rumbled and his silvery eyes lost their unseeing qualities and the centaur craned its head towards their directions.

"Why are you come? It is not yet time to board the Ark."

She felt a flash of irritation at the presumptuousness.

But then, it wasn't presumptuousness if it was going to happen regardless if they helped or not, was it? Not that the centaurs were able to do anything they wouldn't be able to do anyway.

Even the request they'd ask today could be done without them but Atticus was determined to bring these centaurs into the fold in the same way Grecian centaurs were being enticed into greater interaction in Illos.

"You know why we have come." Atticus said calmly, his arms behind his back as he slowly moved toward which caused one of the younger seeming centaurs to stamp their front leg in agitation.

The leading centaur, the one with the silver hair gestured the younger centaur which seemed to calm it down but the centaur still looked uneasy.

She let the reigns of her magic loose ever so slightly, so much so that it was barely noticeable in the magically rich forest and she began to probe towards the younger centaur who she suspected wasn't quite as attuned to sensing magic. Not yet.

She was right and she could feel emanating from him feelings of resentment and wariness. Curious…she thought to herself.

Atticus stopped in front of the centaur, his head inclined as he met the centaur's gaze.

"Jupiter shines." The silver haired centaur seemed to reluctantly admit, agreeing to Atticus' observation. The centaur's tail was twitching and it was clear that the being wasn't enthused by the idea.

Jupiter was associated with philosophy but also wanderlust. To say Jupiter shines meant that meaningful journey was on the cards.

"It does." Atticus agreed before he tilted his head.

"You have thus far refused entreaties to associate with the rest of magical-kind beyond the living beings of this forest" he said as he waved nodded towards the forests before he eyed the centaur with stern gaze.

"Even so far to refuse to meet with your Grecian kin." This seemed to agitate the centaurs even further. Apparently there was quite a bit of bad blood between the two groups of centaurs that dated back to the Olympian age.

"No more." Atticus said firmly.

This seemed to be taken very badly by the youngest centaur who stampeded forward, a look of fury on its face. She could see the pronounced musculature of the being, a musculature that bore cords of muscle as strong as steel.

The guards raised their wands but both she and Atticus remained at ease.

Not because they weren't prepared if it turned south but because they knew the centaurs would intervene.

The silver haired centaur rose to its hind legs "YOUNGLING" the shout was thunderous and it echoed through the forest. The young centaur came to a stop and lost the look of fury and instead looked chastised.

One of the other centaurs dragged the young centaur away and the centaurs seemed to communicate for a few moments before one of the centaurs took the young ill-tempered centaur away.

The silver haired centaur returned to Atticus who remained in the same position as he was and began to speak as if nothing had happened. "You would ask payment?"

"When you hunt, do you hunt alone?" Atticus returned to the centaur before he shook his head "Would you ask for the labours of others without once labouring yourself?"

The silver haired centaur seemed almost offended by the comment but it didn't respond for a few moments. "Very well. Ask."

"I will soon journey to our home to foster the spirits in the forests, in the jungles and in the oceans. Your people have an attunement to these things greater than even the Skinwalkers. I request you allow a few of your elders to come with me. The Grecian centaurs have already agreed to our request."

The silver haired centaur slapped its tail against the back of its legs, a contemplative look on its face. "It is not all you seek. You speak of Mercury rising but you also seek to brighten Neptune."

Atticus allowed a faint smile to grow on his face. "Yes." Atticus confirmed before a more serious expression grew on his face. "This is an opportunity for there be the beginnings of greater harmony. What better way for it to begin when we nurture the essence of sleepy spirits?"

The contemplative look on the silver haired centaur lessened and the brightness of its silver eyes grew sharper, as if it was seeing Atticus for the first time.

The centaur turned its gaze towards the sky, as if seeking reassurances from the stars hidden by the clouds and the midday sun. Finally, the centaur looked back at Atticus.

"I will take this request to my people, Ark Builder." The centaur rumbled.

Atticus merely nodded. "Thank you." And soon enough the remaining two centaurs vanished silently into the black of night.

"You never said if it will make a difference." Emily commented as they made out of the forest, her eyes curious. Atticus smiled at her before he looked passed her and up towards the skies.

"It won't make a great difference. Not at the beginning. There is centuries of bad blood between the centaurs and wizarding-kind." Atticus said with a sigh.

The Romans had hunted the British centaurs for centuries with wizard accomplices.

So much so the centaurs had to seek refuge this far north in Scotland. When the Romans left, there was practically no centaur-wizarding relations, each side shooting or cursing first.

According to her ancestor Salazar's journals, it took years for the Founders to reach an accord with the centaurs. An accord that was tested over and over again by wizarding-kind. She understood the centaurs immense dislike for wizarding-kind.

What the wizards did to them was similar to what the muggles had done to the wizards but they were making overtures that would see them as part of the greater magical community as they should have been part of.

Hmm, she thought to herself. Atticus had thoroughly infected her with his ambitions to bind the magical world tightly together.

Atticus turned his gaze towards her, his emerald violet eyes almost gleaming with anticipation. "But it's a start and a start is all we need."

-Break-

15th of May, 1971 – Norway, Grønlotter Island

Cullaica POV

Cullaica hummed a fun little tune, his feet tapping lightly against the boat as the charmed boat begun to paddle at a slower speed as they neared the docks.

He was having a swell old time, he mused blissfully as fairly decent wards washed over them before receding away moments after it was confirmed they had the requisite permission to the abodes of their soon-to-be hosts.

They rarely did anything like this anymore.

The boat came to a stop and the Raven jumped out of the boat a few metres away from the dock in one swift motion and Cullaica sighed dramatically.

He wanted to tie the boat to the pole and finish the whole experience!

He followed suit and jumped onto the docks "So impatient" Cullaica tutted to the Raven who didn't deign him a response choosing instead to start walking.

Cullaica chuckled before a sharp grin slashed across his face and begun to walk.

He placed his hands behind his head and continuing the fun little tune, this time a little more fast paced, his shoulders dancing and swaying to the tune.

Slabs of thick square metre stones fashioned as steps as they made their way uphill on this tiny island. Well, tiny being relative. It was large enough to host half a dozen mansions, he mused as he glanced at the towering red stoned manor surrounded by a wide terrace and pinch of trees.

The manor seemed to gleam in a crimson hue under the light of the morning sun. How opulent, Cullaica thought to himself as the tune grew in volume, the sounds deeper, more animalistic.

Nobles, he thought with hungry amusement. Like peacocks, they couldn't help but show off, strutting and flashing their colourful plumage as if it made them important.

His fingers itched.

"Do you have to hum that?" the Raven asked him without any inflection in his voice and Cullaica turned to see him looking at Cullaica with a cocked head, his expression as blank as always, his black eyes that seemed soulless boring into him.

Cullaica bobbed his head slightly as he added a more complex twist to the little tune.

Cullaica only got slight pressed lips in return before the Raven turned away from him and Cullaica came to a sudden stop, his smile dropping into downward frown – and never a pout – and the Raven stopped a little ahead of him and gave him a side glance before his head forward and started to walk again.

"It's been a while since I hummed that tune." Cullaica said a little defensively before he sighed long-sufferingly "Reminds me of better days."

His tone was wistful as he began to walk again and caught up to the Raven.

The Raven didn't respond though there was a little twitch of his fingers on his right hand as it hung by his body and Cullaica's expression grew into a face splitting grin.

Yes, my friend…I know you miss those days too before…everything, he thought as his grin turned less of a grin and more into a manic bloodthirsty smile.

The fact that they were here was proof enough that they might actually start what they promised each other all those decades ago.

The door to the manor opened and a stern faced man stood by the door, his wand aglow and raised in their direction. The sternness of the man's expression fell away as fast as trees falling moments after they were pushed to fall and the colour of his expression turned ghostly white.

The light at the tip of his wand petered out into nothingness and it reminded him very vividly of the sound a balloon makes as air escapes from its lips and it made him restrain the fit of laughter with clenched teeth.

Curiously, it made Bjorn Otterdahl even paler if that was possible but it seemed to jolt him into full awareness and the wand swiftly went back into its holster.

"My Lords." Otterdahl said as he bowed deeply and tensely, his voice stiff with undertones of fear. "I…I apologise for pointing my wand at My Lords. I believed it may have been a ruse by my enemies for I did not think you would honour me with a visit."

"That's quite alright" Cullaica dismissed sunnily before he clasped his hands and rubbed them together, a manic grin on his face "Do you happen to have any chicken? Or duck?"

Otterdahl looked startled before he recovered. "We do. We also have pheasant."

His grin now threatened to split his face. "Excellent. I'm positively famished"

Juices dripped onto the plate as he bit into the leg and he strangely moaned in ecstasy. The taste was rich, savoury, somewhat earthy and the meat simply melted in his mouth. It was heavenly.

His next few bites were even more slobbery when he moved onto the breast slices before he finished with the last leg. "Ah…" Cullaica sighed satiated breaking the deafening silence as he leaned back in his chair, his hand gripping the pint of milk before he swept his gaze across the dining table.

The five Otterdahl adults stiffened under his gaze and Cullaica blinked slowly "Is there anything wrong?" he asked curiously before he moved the pint of milk towards his lips though he sniffed it first which yielded a giggle from one of the children.

Cullaica winked at the darked haired girl that sat by the elderly Otterdahl woman.

"Nothing is wrong" Bjorn Otterdahl said with a smile that looked accommodating. He seemed eager to draw attentions to himself instead to the youngest little girl at the table "Just…surprised at how hungry you were."

"You shouldn't have been surprised." Cullaica said with a careless shrug before he turned to the Raven who looked at him with a faint uptick in the corners of his lips.

Cullaica eyes glinted in anticipation before he smothered it when he turned away from the Raven and back at Bjorn Otterdahl. "I did say I was hungry"

"Did you think I was lying?" he asked innocently though the smile on his face was apparently not-so-innocent with the way his lady-wife sharply scraped against the plate.

"I did not, My Lord. Forgive me if it seemed that way" Otterdahl said humbly, his head bowed like the submissive little pheasant that he was.

Cullaica's smile sharpened. Disgusting. His fingers curled around the glass of milk and it took effort to restrain his strength.

They were all disgusting.

Disgusting. Disgusting. Disgusting.

All of them.

The adults, the children.

All of them and their disgustingly perfect little safe lives.

He wanted to peel their perfect scented skin off with agonising slowness.

He ached to see them bathe in a pool of acid, to watch their flesh melt off like candlewax does under a lighted wick. He wante-

"Fathe-" a smack sung into the room and his eyes darted to the source of the smack and saw the lady-wife grip the youngest Otterdahl male, about eight years of age, by the jaw, her eyes filled with terror and the frustrated entitled boy seemed to finally understand the precariousness they found themselves in.

There was a beautiful deathly silence which was broken when Cullaica hummed a bright little tune. "You wouldn't happen to have cake, would you?"

The adults looked relieved at the question and Bjorn Otterdahl almost seemed to jump out of his seat when he made to speak.

"Molsie!" *POP*

"Master" the elf dressed in tattered clothes addressed after it bowed.

"Fetch the cake. The fancy one."

"Ah!" Cullaica raised his index finger and it stilled the elf and Otterdahl alike.

The elf looked uncertain as Cullaica smiled at the little creature. It should be illegal for a creature to have such big lovely eyes. It was adorable.

"My Lord?" Otterdahl hesitantly questioned, stiffening when Cullaica turned his gaze towards the tense man.

"I'd like to visit the kitchens myself, if that is quite all right" Cullaica said with a whistle. Bjorn Otterdahl looked hesitant, his eyes darting between Cullaica and the Raven and to the other Otterdahls and Cullaica's grin grew in response.

Bjorn Otterdahl lost his hesitancy and he dipped his head "Of course, My Lord. Molsie, take the Lord with you to the kitchens."

"Of course Master" the elf bowed but before they could move, a feeling of nothingness sunk into the dining room, an absence that drew instinctive terror to the forefront in their hosts.

"Let the boy speak." The Raven spoke, his words said calmly but his voice was remindful of nothingness and Cullaica almost shivered in delight as the game was afoot!

He glanced at the Raven and saw him seated there looking away from all of them, his pitch black hair obscuring most of his face.

His plate of finely cut meat was untouched, and Cullaica idly wondered if he wouldn't mind if he ate it in his stead. 'Probably best to ask later' he thought.

The elderly Otterdahl male, likely some uncle of Bjorn or some such, made to speak in protest but a blur of a line flashed through his neck and the elderly Otterdahl looked momentarily confused before his eyes turned glassy and blood began to trickle from a fine perfectly horizontal line across his neck.

Strangled and pained noises escaped from elderly woman who moved swiftly and clasped onto the mouths of the two little girls who sat on either side of her and moved their heads into her sides.

Cullaica pouted.

The good part was just happening when the old man's eyes rolled towards the back of his head and it was less than a second later that the trickle of blood became a fountain of blood as it spurted onto the table soiling the barely touched breakfast.

The head thudded to the ground and Cullaica curiously watched Bjorn's expression who seemed deathly still, his gaze fixed at the headless corpse before he very mechanically turned his gaze towards his wife who was terror struck.

Cullaica smiled before he took the glass of milk on the table and brought the glass of milk to his lips and he savoured the taste of it. It wasn't bad at all. Slightly better tasting than Bulgarian milk which was a little odd but then, he supposed, the taste all depended on what you fed the cows.

"Olga." Bjorn managed to say in a tight voice and it was enough to bring a hint of life in the woman's eyes who richly understood but was incredibly hesitant.

Cullaica placed his hand on top of the elf's head and the elf flinched out of the horror that it seemed stuck in "Come on, little elf." He said in a delighted tone as he swivelled the elf's head towards the exits "There's cake waiting!" he began to hum and whistle a happy little tune as he followed the elf towards the kitchens.

He hoped the fancy cake was chocolate!

Fifteen or so minutes later…

He was still whistling when he left the kitchen with half a cake in one hand and his companions in the other. He made his way towards where he could feel the magic after finding the dining room abandoned. Well, except for Headless Otterdahl.

It was a little rude. They could have waited. Anyway

When he entered the spacious living room, he sighed in blissful exultation.

The air was thick, restrictive, suffocating, as if the large living room was saturated with burning ash that could spark into an all consuming black inferno at any moment.

And if the air was suffocating, the darkness that filled the room was murderously strangling. He peered lazily at the source of the darkness that exuded a kind of haunting dread that would see muggles push themselves into suicide.

His old friend was in the mood.

He looked away and made a beeline towards the comfortable seat by the table that was in the furthest corner of the living room to where their hosts were and entertained his old friend though the distress and pleading were but a distant hymn.

He sat down in the seat that practically had his name etched into it and he made himself comfortable seat before munching down slice after slice of cake.

"You should be proud of yourselves" Cullaica said with a full mouth before he shoved another slice into his mouth. He moved his hand towards one of the elven heads and picked it up and stared at it with his mouth full.

He swallowed the mouthful and said "Are you proud?" the elf head bobbed eagerly, its large eyes glassy and tearful. "I'm glad you're proud." Cullaica said pleased before he set the elf's head back on to the table with the four elven heads.

The sounds of distress grew into whimpers and Cullaica turned in mild interest towards the source of today's entertainment.

He was sat there across the room in a drooping posture on a wooden chair, his hands hanging loose in between his thighs, surrounded in an ominous haze of magic that distorted reality around him like a lens would only…only it seemed as if it was a lens made from crystals harvested from the depths of hell, the hopelessness he exuded strong enough to despair even those who physically could not feel emotions.

On the other side of that haze the Otterdahls were kneeling before the Raven, their terror filled whimpers filling the room, breaking frightful whimpers, tantalising whimpers that were on the precipice of shattering into pitiful cries for mercy.

Cullaica leaned back into his chair wishing he had more of the cake and he scraped his finger across the plate, a plate that once bore quite a few slices of cherry chocolate cake that had been absolutely divine, accumulating the last bit of runny cherry flavoured syrup on it and he devilishly stuck it in his mouth, savouring it like it was his last bit of food on Earth. "Delicious" he muttered after he smacked his lips.

"Should've gotten the recipe from the elves" he muttered disappointedly to himself as he removed his boots from on top of the table and sat back up from his inclined slouching position in the chair and placed his feet on the ground.

This was the last bit of cake their hosts had left after having eaten half of the cake in the kitchens and now that the elves were dead, he doubted he would have it ever again. He sighed aggrieved as he eyed the elven heads remorsefully.

"Better to have had than not to have had, I suppose" he muttered before he began to walk, a soft hum breaking out of him.

He glanced to the wall on his right, his eyes lazily trailing across the horrified looks of the portraits of pompous long dead ancestors, the smirk on his face, the smirk that was sharp and intimidating as a ravenous shark, never once lessening.

Pride…

These people

Pathetic

These parasites were sat for centuries perched high above the rest, counting their coins, drinking their spiced wines, weaving their webs across the magical world that fucking catered to them because they were wealthy, because they had the right blood?

A low rasping chuckle that sounded like nails manically scraped along a blackboard escaped from his lips.

CRRRACK

The sound of his index finger snapping under the pressure of his thumb, the dull pain electrifying him into a kind of wicked arousal, his chuckles descending down in pitch – down the stairs to the pits of hell – until it settled into a sinister deep echo that drew terrified subdued wails from the children.

He came to stand by the Raven whose gaze was pointed towards his hands, hands that were no longer masked by enchantment. The scars on his hands were old, so very old. They were grizzly, jagged scars that left no part of the skin unmarked.

Cullaica massaged his broken finger, pushing and pulling, the ache a welcome addition to what was proving to be a splendid night and he turned his gaze to the Otterdahls who were bowed and practically kissing the marble floors.

"You may speak." The Raven said, his voice toneless, emotionless, bereft of warmth and coldness. Bjorn Otterdahl raised his head, his skin pale and sweaty, his eyes shining with terror and confusion and loathing.

"What have we done to offend you, My Lord?" Bjorn Otterdahl's question was desperate, his words said with a pleading wheeze that sounded like a cat in its dying throngs.

"Nothing." The Raven merely answered.

"You have done nothing wrong. You did as asked every time without fail."

"Then why?"

The Raven clenched his hands slightly before he turned it over and stared at his hand for a good long minute and Cullaica broke into an anticipatory grin.

The Raven's hand began to transform into a swirling mass of wispy strands, the density of magic growing even more stifling, the dread exuded reached a crescendo of awfulness. The swirling mass of wispy strands travelled up his arms, the dread gaining a hungry essence to it and the darkness began to feel ravenous.

The women were as bad as the children now, their panic threatened to overwhelm them. "Ple-" the swirling mass of shadowy and grainy wisps shot forward with blinding speed and gripped around the neck of the lady-wife of Otterdahl.

Grandmother or grandaunt Otterdahl fainted moments after Lady-wife Otterdahl began to choke and the children began to wail in earnest, the magic that subdued them all this time no longer able to counter the sheer terror they felt for their mother.

She was pulled up from the ground by her neck until her tippy toes dangled just above the marvellously polished marble floor. She began to swing her feet and he thought it was as if she was dancing. Cullaica brought his arms up and began to sway slightly in line with the way she was dangling her feet.

After all, no one should dance alone. They weren't monsters.

"Choose" the word was said with gentle deadness of tone by the Raven.

The Raven picked up his head and his pale snow-white face bore eyes with grey-white irises that seemed to swim in pitch black seas.

"Choose one of your children to die."

The wails of the children grew in volume and Cullaica sighed fondly as his eyes drooped low. It reminded him of home…sweet, sweet home.

Well…at least at the beginning anyway. Everyone stopped making noises within the first few days of arriving. Towards the end, those noises were all that was there to remind them that they were all still alive.

Bjorn had been engrossed in helplessly staring at his wife, his agonising helplessness had been written across his face but that soon disappeared as he snapped his head towards the Raven in abyssal fear. "Y-You can't! No, no, no, no, no, no!"

The man seemed to lose himself in his despair but he was brought out of it when the sound of a shattering crack echoed in the living room before the body crashed with a thud. It stopped the wails and the man's denials cold.

"Let the next word be a name or all three die."

The shadowy and grainy wisps of manifested pain slithered across the marble floor and split into three tentacles, slowly but surely making their ways towards the children.

The face Bjorn was making was delicious. Oh so delicious.

The despair, the misery, the guilt, the pain.

The hate

Yes…oh this man hated them.

Good

Otterdahl now knew a sliver of the hate they bore for the world.

The pain that was their reality.

"Hanna." The name was said with a thick voice, a name said in a way that tortured souls would love to channel into a painting. It would be a masterpiece.

The said girl, the dark haired girl that Cullaica had previously winked at began to wail as her older sister began to move away from her and Cullaica broke out in a gasping laughter that sounded like the stuttering laughter of that of a hyena.

"Papa, please! I don't want to die, please papa, please!" she begged and cried and begged but her father was silent, shamefaced with tears running down his face.

Bjorn Otterdahl did not look to his daughter who called for him instead electing to look away from her like the coward that he was.

The Raven's grainy wisps of magic slithered across towards the dark-haired girl whose wails ran out when she began to understand that no one would come to her defence. Not her siblings, not her father.

"Heir Otterdahl." The Raven called out as the strand of magic began to lick at the face of the youngest girl, the second strand moving over towards the boy of eight and lifted the boy's chin up. "I will spare her if you take her place."

The boy of eight still had his eyes closed and the boy lost control of his bowels. The boy only shook his head fervently as he whimpered, with his eyes still closed, "No…I don't want to die"

Cullaica looked at the dark haired girl who looked at the ground, her hands clenched and sniffling all the while. She stopped making any sounds. She accepted her fate.

Within a blink of an eye, two strands of grainy wisps of magic raced forward and pierced through the hearts of the two older children and Bjorn Otterdahl wailed in agony and attempted to stand.

Cullaica sauntered in a mildly quick pace and swept his foot and tripped up the man who temporarily managed to overcome the constrictive magic that terrorised the family.

"You promised! You monster, you abominable monster!" Bjorn brokenly cried out, his face hugging the cold marble floor. His cries died out in only a few minutes, his near silent mutterings of his children and wife's names were all that remained.

The dark-haired girl was deathly still, her eyes focused on the blood that seeped out from her now-dead siblings.

The Raven stood up from his chair, the soft creak that emanated from the chair akin to the sound of an exploding shell in the midst of a near silent living room.

The Raven placed his finger underneath the six year old child's chin. Cullaica saw her eyes were hazy, almost as glassy as the eyes of her mother and her siblings.

"They never cared for you, child. Your siblings. Your father." The Raven's voice was hypnotic and it sent a shiver down Cullaica's spine, the distant memories of similar hypnotisms pulled to the forefront of his mind.

"You see that now, don't you?" the Raven's voice was enticing, like a cold shower after a steaming hot day under the desert sun.

"Y-y-yes…" the dark-haired girl croaked. "T-t-they w-w-wanted m-me t-to d-die."

"They did." The Raven said soothingly, the back of his scarred hand caressing her cheek. "It's only fair they all die instead, don't you think?" the Raven said gently to her, his other hand going inside his pocket and brought out a knife.

The Raven stood up and brought the dark-haired girl to her feet. He took her hand and gently guided her towards her broken father.

The Raven presented the knife to her. "Let him join the children he loved more than he ever loved you, Hanna." The dark-haired girl mechanically took the knife and stared at her father with glassy eyes.

The Raven turned to Cullaica. "We've waited long enough." The words were like gospel to Cullaica and the grin that grew on his face was terrifying enough that it would make even the most muggle-hating pureblood praying to the Christian god.

"Don't take too long. We have much to accomplish."

Cullaica nodded eagerly much like a child would. He began to walk around and passed the Raven and his little Ravenite and towards the unconscious old woman.

CCRRACK

Another finger broke as he stared hungrily at the collapsed form of the old woman dressed in fine Acromantula silk robes.

He was going to have fun peeling it off of her.