A slight change of format for this chapter. The first part will be letters.

Letters from Afar

Christmas Day 1927

Dear Newt

I pray that you are well, and this owl reaches you in whichever part of the world you are at. I understand fully the situation with Nagini. Allowing her a place to live is the least we can do. Will your esteemed professor have any ideas regards to her curse? I have written to my own professors in Ilvermorny about Nagini's situation, but no replies as yet. How is your brother doing? The Auror grapevine has it that he has been put on absence. Is there any truth to that? If so, it is a disgrace.

I miss having Queenie around for Christmas carolling. We used to do bake gingerbread for the neighbourhood children. I am still trying to come to terms, as is Kowalski, with her decision. I have dropped by the bakery for their cinnamon buns and found the owner all out of sorts. They have stopped selling the Demiguise and Niffler-shaped pastries as the apprentice could not quite master the knack of shaping them yet. It rankles that Queenie would fall so easily to his lies. As for Credence or Corvus or whatever his real name is, I cannot help but feel sorry for him. He is so starved for affection and approval, he would swallow whatever lies he is being fed. I fear for his safety and my sister's.

I suppose you would have learned that all we ever found of the real Director Graves was a jar of pickled toes. His family's furious – they were also caught up in the Paris debacle. I understand they lost one of their own there. Now the current family head has gone missing. Madame Picquery is still trying to salvage the mess he left in MACUSA. We do not know how many Aurors he has turned.

Please come visit some time? I miss you.

Tina Goldstein

New Year's Day 1928

Dear Dumbledore

I have received your letter and must say that I am shocked by your recklessness in forming a blood pact as a youth – current legality issues aside. I understand that at the point of the formation, your beloved might not have embarked on this dark wizard business yet. Still, this is not the standard magic taught or practiced in most schools, including Durmstrang.

This harks of ancient family magics, which are not to be trifled with lightly. I will also question not only the depths of both your magical prowess at that age to pull off this stunt, but of your affections towards each other. Alas, there is no easy solution for this as the pact will hold until death – barring a drastic shift in your feelings. For one bound by a blood pact, this would be nigh impossible to recreate feelings of that same intensity required to override the pact's limitation.

I note that you make no mention of this other party in the pact. You, sir, are known to be the most powerful wizard of our generation, not only in Britain, but possibly in the whole of Europe and beyond. I do wonder which witch or wizard could have beguiled you into this step. I have my suspicions and would like to have my curiosity satisfied if it suits you.

Silverfoot

Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor, Ilvermorny

Epiphany 1928

La Malinche

The Council of the Wise has sent out the Adeste Fidelas call in the Americas. Your kinswoman will soar to the greatest heights of power with their blessings and support. Dark forces are gathering in Europe. The storm-clouds are brewing for another war in both worlds – Non-Magique and otherwise. We cannot sit and wait. I know you distrust the Serpent Queen and rightly so. She will not last long now her Chosen has started to decline in the halls of power in New York. I despair that no one caught onto the imposter until the damage is done. Like Fenrir of Norse myth, I will not be chained any longer to the Council's whim. Let Ragnarök come.

I know you are furious with the Coyote for his heedless treatment of your own. Condolences on Dona Severina's loss. With prayers, La Llorona may yet come to her senses. News has reached the Council and they are displeased as well. The trickster Coyote has been defanged and cut off from his pack. If you wish to collect your debt of blood, there is no better time. The Council will not intercede. We do not know where he has been taken by a certain dark wizard. I understand only Brother Raven stands with him now. Still, I will coax patience in this case.

I have approached by the elder son of Silent Thunder's departed kinswoman. He has been chosen as a Champion by our allies across the water, but he will not act. Not when he has already tied himself to his nemesis – fool that he was. Yet I can't fault him for the impetuousness of youth. The little crow Kama set out to kill was a cuckoo in the Lestrange nest. An Obscurus of that age is rare. It is unlikely he is No-Maj born. The Council is interested, of course, as to which lineage could spawn such an odd creature. Does the vaunted Champion of Light have a kinsman in the shadows?

Have you found anything in the Old World? Be watchful. I will hate for you to find Valhalla.

This letter is thrice sealed and charmed, be wary that you do the like should you choose to reply. The bird will know to find me.

Valkyrie

Honeymoons are overrated. Severine glanced with a twinge of sadness at her new husband asleep in bed. Louis was breathing easily for now, heavily dosed to ease his lungs and the pain. The sweet, naïve boy was only a foil. His uncles were who her true business dealings were with. Perhaps she might grow to love him as a son, to be mothered and cosseted. It would be a novelty for her. She put the finishing touches to her letter and handed it to the nondescript post-owl perched on the sill.

"Go seek the Valkyrie." The owl bowed and took off into the night.

They would need to move again, to catch up with the rest of the Alliance once Louis was well enough to travel. The Blacks, Princes, Malfoys and so many other pureblood clans have cast their wands with the Alliance after the rally. With a smile, Severine shut the window against the night, donned her robe, and summoned a bottle of red wine. It would be a short stroll over to the room Louis' uncles shared. The night was still young.

Albus Dumbledore hovered outside the Hog's Head, torn between entering or turning to go. His last meeting with his brother had not gone well. Old Flamel had finally come clean about Aberforth's tragic love affair and the fruit it bore. The Flamels had sent the child across an ocean to be fostered and believed it lost – until now. It was a simple matter to have Kama pull a few strings to uncover the passenger manifest. There was only one other male infant the same age as the ill-fated Corvus Lestrange on the ship when she sank. Nicolas recognized the false names he had given both the boy and his aunt to make the crossing.

Albus had been so enthralled with Gellert, Aberforth's visits to Dowager Malfoy's place to court her niece had gone unnoticed. His brother was just a boy, not even of age then. Ah, his mind supplied, Gellert was not of age when they embarked on their torrid affair. That sweet blond with his pliant lips… Albus firmly stuffed all thoughts of his youthful lover away into the deepest recesses of his mind and shut the door firmly on them.

"Berk! Are you turning yourself into a snowman or coming in?" Aberforth's voice bellowed. It had started snowing and he had not noticed. With a shrug he dusted the smattering of snowflakes that had gathered on his garments and stepped into the tavern. There was much they needed to discuss considering what he had learnt from his old master.

His little brother had taken on Comte Rosier's eldest and lived. Alex Rosier was a ruthless duellist, magical and otherwise, even for one trained in Durmstrang. There were whispers that as a prefect in Durmstrang, Alex had been implicated in duelling deaths that were hushed up by the school. The story went that the younger Rosier overstepped by challenging the Monseigneurs and paid the price, but not before turning the French pureblood elite society upside down. Many were still clinging onto the power they had lost. Others had fled across the Channel or over to the States. More European wixen fled the chaos and destruction of the Muggles' Great War. Great families scattered to the winds.

A nephew – sorely mistreated, easy prey for one as persuasive as Grindelwald. What does he want?

In distant Ilvermorny, Silverfoot studied the runes on her wand as she perched on the icy windowsill. Thunderbird feather and cypress, crafted by Shikoba Wolfe. It was a custom piece, crafted specifically at Silent Thunder's request for her. Runes to limit her power and reinforce her loyalty to the Council. She smiled and traced the slightest of cracks running though the sigil for obedience.

The staff common room Floo flashed green.

"Lally, what is the news from New York?"

"Nothing good. The boy was passed off as No-Maj. Had he been placed anywhere other than the Second Salemers and we would have had him in Mother Ilvermorny," Lally scowled. "It's a wonder he did not explode sooner given how long he must've been keeping all that magic in." She plunked a bag of bagels on the table.

"So Grindelwald has his weapon…"

"I hear Dona Severina got married again for the- well, I lose count," Lally settled herself into an armchair. "Close the window and sit by the fire. It's blasted cold out!"

"Seven times, officially. Possibly more if we account for her claiming Witch's Benison. Some days I look at my class and wonder if any are hers. That business with her daughter… Poor thing is now in Marie di Lourdes in New Orleans. They cannot do anything for Lenora in San Salvatore."

"A tragic business," Lally conceded. "Losing her children…"

Severina had her first child when she was not quite of age, rumour had it the father was No-Maj – a one-night stand after too many drinks. Others claimed a darker truth. Whatever it was, the witch would have raised Lenora herself without a husband, if her grandmother had not had her way. Witch's Benison was now a catch-all euphemism for witches who find themselves with child in less than favourable conditions – be it from ill-advised liaisons or rape. No Majs blamed the phenomena on incubi or shapeshifting dolphins. The original Benison spell was notoriously hard to cast. When miscast, the results could be disastrous for both mother and child. It would be more straightforward to find an unwitting male to be the sire.

"If the sons she gave Don Diego da Silva are his by blood, I will eat my hat…" Lally shook her head and poured out a cup of black coffee. Silverfoot declined both bagel and coffee when offered.

"I hear he died a very happy wizard. Hung on long enough to watch the twins christened before that last curse did him in. The boys went into the custody of their godfather who resembles the boys enough to pass for their father," Silverfoot smirked. The twins' Ilvermorny admission letters were written when they were still toddlers, such was their magical prowess.

Not all were so fortunate. Severina had produced at least one squib child – quietly sent to a No-Maj couple in the father's family to be raised No-Maj. The Jaguar Queen was for slitting the child's throat as part of a magical ritual. The old harridan still spoke fondly of the bygone days when blood sacrifices were commonplace. Lally shivered. Severina had hinted at those rituals – how the chosen would be primed such that they willingly walked to the altar to offer their throats to the blade or for their hearts to be cut out with nary a struggle. The former professor had even suggested that she had personally witnessed one such rite conducted by her grandmother.

"Muugin and Huugin. Memory and Thought. There is something I cannot quite reach… deep in my past…" Silverfoot mused to herself. "Twin sisters… a mother perhaps."

There were still gaps in her memory – blank spaces where something should be. Three. There were three of them. It galled her that she could not recall after all this while. Silent Thunder had reassured her that her memories would return as her magical core healed. Even without the full complement of her memories and magic, she must play this game.

"I have a class to prepare," Lally finished her coffee and bagel.

Author's Notes:

Staffroom gossip at Ilvermorny. Some clarification – Severine and Severina are referring to the same witch, the names are in the French and Spanish form. I am dropping a lot of references to North American, Norse and Mesoamerican myths as well as history.