Fate

by TheTrueSpartan

When Ron discovers that he can see the future, his entire fate is thrown off of its course. A story about adventure, friendship, growing up, and pushing forward through hardships. This story will get darker as it progresses, just like the original Harry Potter novels. It will cover all Seven Years of Hogwarts, but mostly from Ron's perspective. No Mary Sues, no Character bashing.

159. Chapter 159 - Shaper of Destiny

AUTHOR'S NOTES: My fucking house got flooded! Don't ever tell Allah your plans!

Enjoy!

DISCLAIMER: I do not own Harry Potter, and I do not intend to make any money off of this. Harry Potter is the intellectual property of J. K. Rowling , and I take no credit of it whatsoever.

I was also inspired by Demon Eyes Laharl's: THE RED KNIGHT! and also from Random-Fruitcake04's: CHOICES! I hope you check them out as well because they are genuinely very good stories.

There's also a few more Ron fics out there that are on point! They're called 'There and Back Again' by Chuchi Otaku, 'Stay Standing' by Windschild8178, 'Scala ad Caelum' by GRND (criminally underated story, so go give it some love), and 'Cooking Like a Bachelor' by Avatar Vader. Please, go check 'em out! You won't regret it, spread the Ron love, people!

P.S: Starway Man is a chad! (I'm never removing this)

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Fate

Chapter 159 – Shaper of Destiny

Daphne Greengrass' POV

Saturday 15th May, 1994 (Boys' Dorm – Midday)

She knocked on the door strongly, before drawing in a deep, calming breath. "You've got this, Daphne. You promised your best, and that's what you're going to deliver."

The door opened, revealing Theo. "Hello, beautiful. What brings you here?"

"Is Ron inside?" Daphne asked, an amused smile gracing her face. He's in a jolly mood, again. What sort of letters is he exchanging with Tracey, exactly?

"He is, but wouldn't you rather talk to me, instead?" Theo leaned against the door, smirking. "I promise, I'm much more interesting! And handsome!"

"Hm… I don't know… You're a bit scrawny for my taste, I'm afraid," Daphne winked, and the weedy boy feigned hurt. "I know a girl who's into scrawny boys, though. I can send her an owl for you, if you like."

"Let's not get hasty here," Theo chuckled nonchalantly, making Daphne laugh. "That girl, whoever she is, is probably really busy. Best not bother her, you know?"

"Oh, I know," Daphne rolled her eyes playfully, giving him a scratch under his chin as she stepped into the room. "But you'd better 'bother' her soon, before some other boy decides to."

"You're not talking about Malfoy, are you?" Theo sniggered, and the blonde boy looked up from his book. What's he reading, now? He must be the most well-read student in Hogwarts by now.

"I've no interest in Davis, you halfwit," Malfoy sneered, getting up to draw his curtains. "Stop spreading rumours about me."

"See how defensive he gets?" Theo whispered, making Daphne laugh, again. "He's got his eyes on her, I know it."

"She's famous, now, Theo, so you'll have more than Malfoy as your competition when she comes back," she rightfully pointed out, fighting the urge to grin when a hint of nervousness flashed across his face. "Just giving you a heads up, that's all."

"Wise words," Theo nodded to himself, after which he pointed towards Ron's bed. "You'll find him behind the curtains. He's… not feeling like his usual self."

This time, it was Daphne who felt a pang of nervousness.

"He's not?" she raised an eyebrow, while Theo's lips twitched upwards erratically. "He wasn't at breakfast. Is he feeling sick?"

"In a manner of speaking, yes," Theo wheezed, surprising her. "Go and save him from Blaise's poetry, will you? Before he decides to hold his breath indefinitely?"

With that, Theo marched back to his bed, jumping on top of it and opening up a magazine with a scantily-dressed witch on the cover, whereas Daphne made her way to Ron's curtained bed, lingering for a moment to collect her thoughts before opening a small gap to pass through.

"…He who thought wisely on this foundation, and pondered deeply on this dark life, wise in spirit, remembered often from afar many conflicts, and spoke these words," Blaise read from a thin, small book, shooting Daphne a glance before continuing on. "Where is the horse gone? Where is the rider? Where is the giver of treasure? Where are the seats at the feast? Where are the revels in the hall? Alas for the bright cup. Alas for the mailed warrior. Alas for the splendour of the prince."

Blaise closed the book, looking to Ron for any comments. The heavy-lidded redhead shrugged with a carefree grin, making Blaise roll his eyes and let out a vexed sigh. He then looked to Daphne, shifting on the edge of the bed.

"Well?" Blaise asked. "What did you think, Daphne?"

"I haven't heard it before, but it was… inspiring… in a strange sort of way," Daphne answered, smiling softly. "Is it one of yours?"

"No, this one is an ancient Anglo-Saxon one," Blaise gave an approving nod. "I've been translating it in my spare time. It's not a perfect translation, of course, but the message remains."

"And what is the message?" Daphne asked curiously.

"That earthly glory, wealth, and even joy, become lost to time… That life is full of hardship, suffering, and loss, but we must press on, regardless. Those who lament the past are slaves to it, while those who learn from it are the ones who shape the future." Is that how he feels about himself? Or, Ron? Or, both? "That's my interpretation so far, at least."

Daphne smiled more fully, wondering why she had given up reading poetry herself. "I'd love to hear more, Blaise. Maybe tonight, even? If you have some time to spare?" We can also put our fight truly behind us while we're at it.

"For you, always," Blaise gave another nod, rising from the bed. "I'll give you two some privacy. Let me know if you need anything, Ron."

"I'm fine, mate, don't worry so much," Ron waved a dismissive hand, sitting up. "The worst has passed… I hope…" The worst? Of what? Blaise left without another word, closing the curtains behind him. "Sorry, Daphne, but it looks like you'll be going to St. Mungo's alone. I'm not in the best shape right now."

"What's wrong?" Daphne asked, taking the spot Blaise had recently vacated. "Stress? Or, something else?"

"Something else?" Ron chuckled tiredly. "My brain, you mean? No need to step on eggshells with me, all right? And no, it's not my brain. It's my stomach."

"Your stomach?" Daphne's eyes widened a little. "Another ulcer?"

"…A terrible case of the trots, actually," Ron replied, and she couldn't help but grimace a little. "I spent the entire night on the bloody throne, Daphne. Pretty sure one of my kidneys fell out too… My hole is looser than-"

"I get it, Ron, please stop," Daphne pulled a face, making him chuckle, again. "Was it something you ate?"

"…Something I drank, I reckon," he whispered under his breath, narrowing his eyes. "…That greasy cunt… If he wants a war, then that's what he'll get…" Ron then drew in a sharp breath, focusing back onto her. "You'll have to convince St. Mungo's to help the Centaurs on your own. I'm worried if I move about too much, the brown rain will start anew." Brown rain?! Ew! Why, Ron?! How do you come up with such filth?! "You'll be fine, though. You've been trained to negotiate by the best."

"My father?" Daphne asked in a whisper.

"Who else?"

"It's true, but I… didn't expect you to compliment him, I suppose. Not after-"

"Don't get me wrong, he's still a twat, but only fools dismiss their enemies' strengths. Your father didn't reach the top of the Wizarding World by luck alone, and a lot of what he's taught us both will be invaluable to us in the future." He said enemies… So, he's decided that conflict with father is inevitable, now. I'm not sure how I feel about that, or where I will stand… All I know is that I don't want to turn out like Lord Sebastian Greengrass, no matter what. "While you're at St. Mungo's, there is another matter that you must attend to. Look under my bed, please. There's a gift there for Tracey. Give it to her for me, will you? Tell her I'm sorry I couldn't visit, today."

"What sort of gift?" Daphne asked, moving off the bed and pulling out a green package bound by silver ribbons from beneath it. "Oh, it's a bit heavy. What's in here, Ron?"

"It's a painting kit, with brushes and all sorts of colours," Ron told her. "The box is bigger on the inside. Extension Charm, you know? Everything she'll need is in there."

"Painting? I didn't know she was into painting."

"It's for her recovery," Ron explained, surprising her. "I've noticed that she struggles with holding smaller, thinner objects. Her wand, for example. Painting with a brush might help her with her recovery, so I figured why not. Plus, it's a fun activity, so she won't whine as much as she does during her rehabilitation exercises."

"Wow… Ron, this is a truly thoughtful gesture," Daphne muttered, smiling from ear-to-ear without realising it. "And it's incredibly sweet of you." He's always looking out for other people, and it never ceases to amaze me. Even when he's in his darker moods, he still thinks about others before himself. I sometimes forget how much I adore that about him, but he's always quick to remind me, isn't he?

Ron stared at her, his eyes darting down towards her stretched lips. "…It's nothing…"

"She'll love it," Daphne sat back down, placing a hand on his shin. "I'll leave out the part about her recovery, of course. She's likely to ignore her gift if she thinks it's going to require effort."

"…Smart," Ron agreed, shifting his leg until she removed her hand. "Go on, then. I need to rest." I ought to tell him what I noticed about Astoria this morning.

"Before I go, I think you should know that Astoria was acting… different… this morning," Daphne whispered, looking around to make sure that the curtains were properly closed.

"Different how?" Ron raised an eyebrow.

"At breakfast, I saw her eat enough for three people," Daphne continued. "She just kept piling food onto her plate, as if she'd been starving for days. Eggs, beans, toast, fruit-"

"That's fine," Ron smiled knowingly to himself. "My plan is working, that's all."

"It is? Are you sure?" Daphne couldn't help but feel worried. "I've never seen her like that before."

"Tracey's also become a bit of a pig, and I imagine the leaf is behind this new-found hunger," Ron told her. "It must need extra nutrients in order to heal the body, and the only way to get those nutrients is to increase the amount of food the person eats. It's making them both hungrier so it can do its job. This is a good sign, Daphne, so don't be alarmed. Astoria will be all right-… Actually, no, she'll be more than all right. She'll be brilliant."

"…Okay…" Daphne let out a relieved sigh, shifting in her spot as she tried to think of a way to begin thanking him in earnest. Where do I even start, though? He's given her a new lease on life, even though it was meant for him. I mean, the sheer size of the sacrifice… And for someone who'll never even know that it was him who saved her-…

"What is it?" he suddenly asked. "Do you doubt me?"

"No, it's not that, Ron," Daphne looked him in the eyes, drawing in a long breath. "What you've done for my sister, what you've sacrificed for her, I can't ever repay it-"

"Repay it?" Ron interrupted, frowning. "I don't need you to repay a thing, you understand? I didn't do it for you. None of this is about you. I gave Astoria the leaf because I wanted to, it was my own choice. Neither of you owe me anything. That bloody Curse that's trying to claim her… It shouldn't even exist in the first place. It's unjust to punish people for the crimes of their ancestors, so I interfered." Daphne just stared at him, dumbfounded, and eventually, his expression slowly began to soften in the face of her confusion. "People need to stand for something greater than themselves, all right? Ideals, beliefs, faith, whatever… It doesn't matter. What matters is that you fight for what you stand for. I've made a vow to protect those I deem innocent, and punish those I deem guilty. So, no, Daphne, you don't owe me anything for choosing to live my life as I see fit. Honouring my vow is reward enough for me." With that, he turned on his side, resting his head on his pillow. "Go out there and find out what you want to stand for, Daphne, and make sure the cause is worthy of the witch I know you are."

---

One Hour Later

"A few more minutes, young lady," the old receptionist spared her a glance, and Daphne gave a gentle nod in response. "The Director had an unexpected guest, but he'll be done with her shortly." Whoever this guest is, she's wasting my time. Time that I can't afford to waste. London leaves for the camp this evening, and I still haven't met a single Healer. This isn't what I'd describe as delivering my best, not at all.

She'd been waiting to meet the Director of St. Mungo's for nearly thirty minutes, now, despite having sent him a letter and making a booking with his staff. She'd been assured yesterday that her appointment was fixed, but here she was… Sitting alone and pondering Ron's words, all the while fighting the urge to barge into Reid's office as Ron would have done in her place. Patience is the life-blood of negotiation. I have to remember that, and act accordingly. Any minute now, he'll be done with-…

Director Reid's door opened suddenly, and a slender, dark-haired, East-Asian witch stepped out of the office. She was adorned in simple, yet elegant, black robes, but it was her orange, cat-like eyes that caught Daphne's attention. Who is that? And what strange eyes she has… Hm, she looks like she's from Chinese descent, but I could be wrong. The Director himself followed her outside, giving the strange witch a dark glare as he pointed down the hallway.

"Leave," Director Reid commanded, piquing Daphne's curiosity. A lover's spat? Or, maybe, something more serious? "You are not welcome within these walls, Shu-chen. You, or your mad father. If I see either of you lurking near this hospital, or my staff, I will contact the Aurors."

The cat-eyed witch bowed her head, her expression indifferent, before she walked away without any argument. Reid let out a long sigh once she was out of ear-shot, rubbing his forehead similarly to Ron whenever he was overstressed. I've clearly picked the wrong day to do this.

"Um… Director Reid," the receptionist called, and when he looked to her, the old woman jerked her head towards Daphne. "Miss. Greengrass has been waiting for you."

Reid turned his gaze towards Daphne, adorning an apologetic smile. "Of course. Forgive me, Lady Greengrass, but an old acquaintance barged into my life without invitation. Please, follow me inside." He then looked back to his receptionist. "If she returns, Bridgette, seek the Aurors at once." Who was that woman? He sounds… scared…

The old receptionist raised an eyebrow, giving a short nod. "I understand, Director. I'll keep my eyes open for her."

"Good," Reid said, gesturing Daphne to follow after him. Time to focus, Daphne. Forget about that woman, you have problems of your own to worry about.

She made her way into his tidy, but rather bare, office, her eyes quickly becoming glued to the numerous, framed certificates lining the walls. Are these… awards? For his work as a Healer? Merlin, there's over thirty in here! Reid took a seat behind his modest desk, which had nothing on it save for a single stack of parchments, a silver quill, and an old inkpot, his blue eyes following hers towards the proof of his many accomplishments.

"I've had a long time to collect these, Lady Greengrass, so please, don't be overly impressed by them," Reid chuckled softly as she sat down, and Daphne couldn't help but feel more at ease thanks to his dashing good looks.

The bone-white wizard had swept-back, black hair, and a thick, well-maintained beard, both of which perfectly framed, and highlighted, his sharp features. I'm surprised there isn't a line of admirers outside his office. I'd love to have a meeting with this man every day-…

"Lady Greengrass?" Reid smiled politely.

"Sorry, I was just… thinking about how to start," Daphne sat up straighter, putting on her best smile. "And you can call me Daphne, Director Reid. There's no need for formalities."

"Very well, Daphne," Reid gave a nod, leaning back in his chair. "Feel free to collect your thoughts."

"Thank you," Daphne hoped that she wasn't blushing out of embarrassment. "I'm sure you're curious as to why I arranged this meeting, seeing as I didn't elaborate on my motives in my letter." Stop speaking so formally! Just be calm and casual! Act normal!

"I am curious, certainly. It's not often that I receive cryptic letters from young witches who stand to inherit an empire." My name got me through the door? That's fair, I suppose, but I need to make it clear to this man that it's me he's dealing with, and not my father.

"I am here only as Daphne, not as Lady Greengrass," Daphne spoke with all of her resolve, and Reid raised an eyebrow. Was that too aggressive? "I know my father's reputation precedes him, but I would prefer it if you treat me as… me. Not the heiress of Sebastian Greengrass, nor someone you feel compelled to entertain. I am here to humbly ask you for your help, Sir, and if you wish to refuse, then I will leave without making a fuss."

Reid stared at her, his smile growing more and more amused by the second. "You Pureblood children are too serious, Daphne." …What? "I know who your father is, that's true, and I am indebted to your saint mother, however… I did not grant you this meeting because of them. I was curious as to why someone so young would take the steps to seek me out. If it is help you want, then you've come to the right place. Here, at St. Mungo's, we are oath-bound to help those in need, regardless of their background." That's good to hear! Wait… Did he just say that he's 'indebted' to my 'saint mother'? What's that supposed to mean? "Tell me what you need, and if I can be of assistance, I will do my utmost for you."

Daphne smiled gratefully; his words provided comfort that she sorely needed. "There is a Tribe of Centaurs that is in dire need of a Healer, Director Reid. A terrible plague has taken hold of them, and it won't be long before it destroys them. My friend, Ronald Weasley, and I are trying to ease their pain, but we are not-"

"Ronald Weasley?" something akin to excitement shifted behind Reid's eyes as he leaned forward. "Say no more, child. I will personally help in this matter."

"Y-You will? Just like that?" Daphne blinked, visibly taken aback. His name alone is enough, now, isn't it? One mention of it, and everyone turns their head.

"I have worked with Centaur-Kind before, and it takes an expert Healer to tend to their needs. They are very different from us, both in customs and anatomy. There are only two other Healers here besides myself who have the necessary experience needed to tend to this matter, and seeing as they are working overtime already, I will step forward in their place."

"That's… brilliant!" Daphne beamed, feeling as though a mountain had been removed from her chest. "Thank you, Director Reid! This Tribe needs your help like you wouldn't believe! Are you available this evening?!"

His eyes darted down towards the stack of parchments on his desk, and after a few moments of silent contemplation, he smirked mischievously. "I am available, yes. Where shall we meet?"

---

Saturday 15th May, 1994 (Prosperity Farm – Evening)

"My word… Look at this place," Reid muttered in awe, gawking at the extensive lavender fields and the shimmering blue lake. "I never thought I'd see something like this in all my life. The Werewolves finally have a home, a place where they can find acceptance and peace." He then sighed in relief, shaking his head to himself. "Outstanding!"

Daphne smiled to herself, she'd found the perfect person to look after the Centaurs. "Times are changing, Director Reid. I've heard that the Australian Ministry is currently building its own sanctuary for Werewolves, and that it's going to be twice the size of this one."

"That's usually how it goes, yes," Reid looked back with a jolly smile, making her blush a little. "A single rock can start an avalanche."

"I'm not sure that Ron would appreciate being called a rock, but you're right," Daphne laughed, departing for the path that led down into the village. "Come along, Sir. Your tour will have to wait until we have time to spare. London, and her people, will be departing soon, and I doubt she's considerate enough to wait for us." She'd best keep her vile threats to herself. If she ruins this with her ghoulish behaviour, I'll spend every waking moment plotting her downfall.

"These mercenaries… What do they call themselves?" Reid asked, following after her.

"Um… The Death's Hand, I believe," Daphne answered offhandedly, hoping the name didn't alarm the renowned Healer.

"Ah… Rebel militants turned into gold-hungry murderers. I know of them."

"You do?"

"When you get to my age, Daphne, there's not much that escapes your attention," Reid chuckled, and she shot a curious look back at him.

"Your age, Director? I don't mean to overstep, but you don't look a day over thirty."

Reid stopped, giving her a bemused smile. "Oh, child… Don't tell me that you didn't notice?"

"Notice what?" Daphne stopped as well, losing all her mirth. What did I miss?

Reid bared his perfect set of teeth, revealing four incredibly sharp canines. "I told you, didn't I? I've had a long time to collect all those trophies." He's a Vampire?!

Daphne gaped as she looked him up and down; his bone-white skin, the ancient wisdom behind his young eyes, his black, double-breasted frock coat, a piece of fashion that had seen its heyday during the Victorian Era, and, of course, his rather brave choice of crowning himself with a top hat. I'm an idiot! How did I miss all of that?! Tracey was right when she said that Director Reid was a 'strange one'!

Daphne cleared her throat, quickly regaining her composure to the best of her ability. "Well, I guess I don't have to worry about you falling sick to the plague."

Reid laughed, much to her mortification. "Very good! You are correct! As a Vampire, I have the privilege of being particularly resistant! Even to the most dangerous of diseases!" He then walked over and placed his cold hand on her shoulder. "Don't be embarrassed, child. Most wouldn't expect the Director of St. Mungo's itself to be a Vampire. I know that my kind rarely wins over the trust of others. I promise, however, that your trust in me shall not go unrewarded. I will do all I can for this Tribe."

"…Thank you, Director Reid," Daphne felt her face heat up. He's really tall too. "Um… Let's keep going?"

"Lead the way," Reid took a step back, smiling encouragingly.

The remainder of the journey was undertaken in silence, but it wasn't long before Daphne brought Reid to the barracks, where London was ordering those under her command to finish packing up the supplies in large, square crates. When she noticed their arrival, she turned to face them with a look of utter disregard, but that look didn't last long when she finished inspecting the Healer that would be joining them.

"Name's London," the dark-skinned witch stepped forward, smirking at Reid. "Second-in-command of this company here. I'll also be your chaperone, tonight." Ugh… If I were Ron, I'd fire her and find someone a little more professional.

"Jonathan Reid," the Vampire Healer smiled politely, studying London's green mohawk and her numerous facial piercings. "Director of St. Mungo's."

"The Director himself?" London's smirk grew, like the cat that had devoured the canary. "The boss will be pleased to hear it."

"Is Ron here?" Daphne spoke up, her voice cold as ice. "Take us to him."

London looked down at her, raising an eyebrow. "The boss isn't here, no." What? Why not? "He'll be arriving later, but only to train with the captain. He has no intention of joining us on this trip. Let me guess, though, he didn't tell you any of this."

Daphne frowned; she was beginning to genuinely despise this murderer-for-hire. "…No, he didn't."

"Why would he?" London added, visibly amused. "You're just his errand girl, after all, much like my beautiful self. Now, be quiet and go wait by the crates. I have questions from the boss that this handsome gentleman needs to answer. Important questions that are not meant for your ears." What important questions? What are you up to, Ron?

---

Thirty Minutes Later

She was being extra-mindful of where she stepped this time, the last thing she needed was to trip and become a laughing stock for London and her band. Still, it was proving rather difficult to maintain her balance, as the forest floor was both uneven and horribly wet. Does it ever stop raining in this place?! How desperate was Chief Zotair truly to bring his people to this dismal, perpetually wet, freezing death-trap?!

"Are you sure you don't want a cloak, Director Reid?" London asked from the front, shooting a pleasant smile back at the man. Don't you want a cloak, Director Reid? Ugh… Look in the mirror, and ask yourself whether a man of his standing should even bother looking in your direction. You're beneath him, and you'd do well to understand that.

"This weather does not bother me much," Reid smiled back, moving through the muddy, wet forest as if he weighed nothing. "Thank you for offering, however. You are most… hospitable."

London's lips quirked upwards, before she turned her gaze forward, again. Daphne grumbled ill-wishes under her breath, wondering why Reid was even entertaining the cruel-minded witch. He's just being polite, I think. He wants to help the Centaurs, so he has to put up with the likes of her-…

"Are you all right, Daphne?" Reid suddenly asked, offering her his arm. "You've been awfully quiet since we entered the forest."

"I just… don't like this lot very much," Daphne admitted as she took his arm for support, a spectacular idea coming to her. Threaten to kill me for fun, will you? Time for some payback. "That woman, London, or whatever her actual name is… She's threatened my life before, and she meant it."

"Is that so?" Reid raised an eyebrow, frowning a little.

"It is," Daphne whispered, glad that he disapproved already. "She said that it would be 'fun' for her to murder me, and that I'm a 'spoiled little tart'. That's why I'm being quiet, Sir. I'm not wanted here, but I won't let that stop me from doing my part."

"…I see," Reid whispered back, subtly looking around them. "Stay near me, then. Should anything happen, I will protect you. You have my word." Try making moves on him, now, you vile bitch.

"You are kind to offer, Sir, but your focus should be reserved for the Centaurs. They need you a lot more than I do."

"They might not accept my help," Reid told her. "Wizarding-Kind has hurt them, driven them into the shadows, and now, once again, it is at their doorstep. Forget pride, they might send me away simply because they are scared."

"I know, but we have to try."

He gave a nod, smiling, again. "Tell me, why are you so determined to help them? I can sense that this is personal for you. Am I incorrect?"

Daphne tensed slightly, not wanting to get into the details of her involvement. I should tell him, though. He's bound to find out eventually, and if it's from me, then I can ask him to keep the truth to himself. But… What if he refuses to? What if he goes to the Aurors? What if he decides to confront father himself? It's too dangerous-…

"You don't have to tell me, of course," Reid said, having noticed her discomfort. "I was merely curious, that is all."

"My family is immensely wealthy, wealthier than even a man such as yourself can imagine, and I'm beginning to realise why," Daphne stated, the guilt slowly creeping back into her heart. "We have too much, while there are people out there who have nothing. That's why I'm here, why this is personal to me. I want better for others, and I want better for my family."

"That is very mature of you, Daphne Greengrass," Reid said approvingly, easing some of the guilt with just a few words. "You are very much like your mother." My mother?

"You mentioned that you were indebted to her," Daphne started, and he gave another nod. "May I ask why you feel that way?"

"A third of our potions are brought to us, free of charge, through her many organisations," Reid explained, surprising Daphne. "Through her generosity, my Healers have saved many lives, and she has never asked for so much as a thank you in return. I, personally, am not indebted to her, but St. Mungo's definitely is."

"And since you're the Director, now…"

"Exactly. Your mother, Lady Longbottom, Lord Rowle, and even your friend, Ronald Weasley… Without such people, we would not be able to give care to so many for free. We only ever charge for cases that are out of the norm, that require long stays, and expensive treatments, within our walls. Most people come in, we patch them up, and they go on their merry way, and we can only do that thanks to the kindness of people such as Mary Greengrass." He then exhaled frustratedly, shaking his head. "But, now, that will all end, I imagine. Our new Minister seems determined to alienate the Purebloods, to pin the blame of every wrong upon them, and if she succeeds, institutions such as St. Mungo's will be forced to change how they operate. We will become privatised, no doubt… And many who need us will be forced to go without."

Daphne nodded slowly, she hadn't given much thought to the consequences of Minister Bones' new movement. "What if the Ministry begins to support St. Mungo's, instead? When it burned down, it was the Ministry that hosted a fundraiser for its reconstruction."

"And the funds were mostly provided by Pureblood families," he reminded her. "Until the Ministry reaches out to me, I can only assume that they are going to ignore St. Mungo's for more… ambitious projects. We will simply have to wait and see, but I lost hope in the Ministry a long time ago. It is an institution that serves itself at the cost of those it claims to serve." He must've been persecuted against in the past, I imagine. Vampires are, arguably, treated with even more disdain than Werewolves.

"The Greengrass family will always help St. Mungo's, Director Reid, you can have my word on that," Daphne promised. "Whether it's through my mother, or myself." How can she ignore father's crimes, and yet, still go out of her way to help the needy? I know her enough to know that she genuinely cares, but father… Father has never cared, and he has never attempted to hide behind false kindness. They are so different from one another, but neither can live without the other. I never really thought about it before, but their relationship is… strange…

"We're almost there, you lot," London called out, gesturing the other mercenaries to get a move on. "Billy, you're in charge of setting up. I'll talk to the Chief, and then come join you. Remember to keep your eyes on your work, and to not approach the Centaurs unless they approach you. If you embarrass the boss in any way, there'll be hell to pay. Just because he's not here doesn't mean he's not watching. Director Reid, you're coming with me. You too, girl. Get up here, now."

---

Chief Zotair limped out of his yurt, a large, thick branch serving as his crutch. Daphne braced herself, but unlike their last meeting, she was eager to hear his words. He studied London, and then Reid, and then, finally, Daphne, before he took a couple of weak steps forward.

"You have returned, as promised," Chief Zotair addressed London, who gave him a strong nod. "But the Phantom is not here. A shame. I had hoped to meet him, again." The Phantom… He said some strange things about Ron the last time, as well.

"The boss has seen what he needs to see," London shrugged, making Daphne frown because of how nonchalantly she spoke to the Chief of this Tribe. "He's a busy lad, but be assured, he's not forgotten you. And who knows? He might drop by on our next visit."

"I would be most grateful for that," Chief Zotair admitted, leaning heavily on his crutch. "My time is nearly upon me, I fear. The stars call to me in my dreams, my father's voice haunts my every step." That's horrible…

"I'll see what I can do, Chief," London said sombrely, standing up straighter. "But I can make no promises."

"Thank you, owl witch. I do not wish to ask more of you, but the boy has piqued my interest. Even the stars bend to his will, and I must know why. It is a tale my father would enjoy, I believe." The stars bend to Ron's will? Um… Okay, then… London, Reid, and Daphne exchanged looks, but said nothing in response. "Now, enough about my wants… What can I do for you?"

"I wanted to let you know personally that we've begun setting up within your camp, Chief," London started, nudging Reid forward. "The boss has also arranged a Healer to see to your people. He hopes that, at the very least, some of the young can be spared your fate. Would that be all right with you?"

"A Healer?" Chief Zotair looked to Reid, who bowed deeply. "A Blood-Drinker… The Phantom keeps strange company, indeed." He can tell just by looking?! Am I just an idiot, then? "You have my permission, of course. I have convinced the others to trust you, but be warned… They are still fearful, and not because of ignorance. Break their trust, and I will not allow you to return."

"I will give you only my best, Chief Zotair," Reid promised. "Once I have worked through the camp, I would also like to examine you. I can't save you; I can tell just by the smell of you, but I can make your passing more bearable." He truly is doomed, then. And yet, he still had the strength to forgive father. He… is a greater man than father could ever hope to be. He may not be as wealthy, as influential, and as powerful as the wizard who's condemned him and his people, but he has a certain sort of dignity that gold simply can't buy.

"I would be a fool to refuse you, Healer, for the pain has begun to conquer my spirit," Chief Zotair whispered, before turning his gaze to Daphne. "You should not be here, child. The sickness could latch onto you, after all, as it seeks children, above all others, to prey upon. The seed of guilt growing within your heart… You must expel it. What has happened to us is not of your making, and so, you must not allow yourself to become another victim of this calamity." He wants me to just forget about all this? I can't do that! I don't want to!

"You're right, Chief Zotair, this calamity is not of my making," Daphne started, stepping forward. "But, regardless, I wish to play my part in combating it. Please, do not turn me away. I can fight sickness, but I can't fight my own conscience. I am meant to be here, I know it. This is the cause I've chosen to stand for, and I will not let the threat of danger sway me so easily."

Chief Zotair gazed into her dark-sapphire eyes from behind his iron mask, eventually lowering his head, as if he were disappointed. "…You have a strong, kind heart, child, but your voice is not your own." What's that supposed to mean? "Very well, then. You may remain, but you must practice caution. Do not touch the other children, and do not share food, or drink, with any Centaur. This pestilence will not claim another child, never again."

With that, he turned around ever-so-slowly, limping back to his yurt in silence. Daphne had to admit to herself that she was disappointed, as she had hoped to speak more with Chief Zotair. His words, and actions, during their last meeting had left their mark on her, and she was eager to sample more of his wisdom. I shouldn't disturb him, though. He's in pain, and as he said, his time on this Earth is coming to an end. He has more important matters to entertain than a silly girl like me.

"What will you do for him, Director Reid?" Daphne asked as they headed towards the supplies. "Pain-Relief Potions? Wiggenweld Potions? What would ease his pain?"

"Centaurs do not partake in potions as readily as wizards do," Reid informed her. "I will need Willow Bark. Eucalyptus oil. Cloves. I will also need clean towels and hot water, for his boils. However, until I examine him more closely, I can't say for certain which treatments will be most effective, but be assured that I will ease his pain tenfold." He then sniffed the air, grimacing. "It is not only the plague that is killing this Tribe, their poor hygiene is speeding up the process."

"Actually, about that…" Daphne began, reaching into her robes and pulling out her diary. This is the perfect time to show this to London. She wants to impress Director Reid, so she's more likely to agree to my ideas. "Look at this, Director Reid. Will these ideas help?"

"Fresh water, removing waste, lavatories, incense, bathing area…" Reid went down the list, trailing off. "These are your ideas, Daphne?"

"I have more, but we ought to start with these."

"Here," Reid handed the diary to London, who took it and had a look for herself. "These are good ideas, and they will improve the lives of these people. Your group can manage them, can they not?"

"The boss already told us about her little diary," London handed the book back to Reid, shooting Daphne a bland look. She caught on, then… And did Ron really talk to her, already? When? "We're to follow her instructions." You are?! "But only if she helps carry the weight. I hope you know how to dig, girl, because you're going to be working in the mud with the rest of us peasants."

Daphne blinked, whereas Reid looked thoroughly displeased. "She is a Lady of noble birth; you cannot ask this of-"

"The boss doesn't care about that, and if you don't believe me, ask the princess herself," London interrupted, losing her mirth where Reid was concerned. "I like you, Director. You're a fit, pretty lad, and I wouldn't mind having you on your hands and knees before me, but the boss is the boss. He speaks, and I obey. He wants this 'Lady of noble birth' to put her Galleons where her mouth is, and she'll bloody do it. He speaks, and she obeys. Understand?"

Daphne glowered to herself, she needed to have a chat with Ron about him making plans behind her back. "…I'll do it."

"Daphne, you don't have-" Reid started.

"I will do it," she said more firmly, raising her head high. "If it helps these people, I'll dig all night long." It's bad enough that he doesn't share his plans with me, but now, he's ordering me around like I'm one of his mercenaries? Like I'm his personal Elf? Oh, I can't wait to hear what he has to say for himself this time!

---

Two (Gruelling) Hours Later

The entirety of her wand arm ached, but she managed to lift another patch of soft dirt with a focused Levitation Charm. It hovered lazily above her head as she raised it out of the hole, before dropping it unceremoniously onto the larger pile. Stretching and massaging her arm, she looked down at her work, feeling rather proud of herself for sticking to her convictions. This should be six feet deep, right? That wasn't so bad, after all. The hard part is breaking up the soil, but after that, a simple Wingardium Leviosa does all the work.

"Not bad," came London's voice from above, and Daphne immediately frowned to herself.

"Come to laugh some more, have you?" Daphne bit out, turning around and looking up. "Go on, then. I don't care."

"Don't pout, princess," London smirked, holding a glass of water. "The lads only laughed at the start, but tell me, have you heard them laughing since?" No… I guess not… "It took you a while, but you didn't stop. We were wrong about you." Daphne stared at the older witch, noticing that there wasn't any malice behind her eyes, anymore. "Do you need help getting out?"

Daphne looked around, before giving a nod. London placed the glass down, after which she offered Daphne her hand. The young Slytherin took it, and with a strong pull, and a yelp from Daphne, London had pulled her out as if she weighed no more than a toddler. London then proceeded to pat the dust and mud off of her, while Daphne stood about awkwardly. This… is so weird… First, she threatens to murder me, and then, suddenly, she's offering me a helping hand? Is she insane? Am I insane for being here with someone like her?

"Is that water for me?" the Greengrass Heiress asked, finally realizing how thirsty she was.

"Here," London picked up the glass and handed it to her, and she wasted no time in gulping it down. "Slow down, princess, there's more. You'll choke."

Daphne let out a shaky breath as she finished, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. "…Thanks."

"C'mon, food is being served, and you need to eat," London gestured her to follow. "C'mon! The more time you waste, the longer we'll all be here!"

Daphne moved at that, following after London as she studied the 'owl witch' from behind. What's her game, now? I should just ask her. "So, I dug a hole, and now, we're being friendly? Is that normal in your line of work?"

"You didn't just dig out a hole, princess, you dug out a hole for a bunch of Centaurs to shit in," London corrected, and Daphne rolled her eyes. "And you lost me five Galleons in the process."

"Five Galleons? What are you talking about?"

"The boss… He said you'd do it, but I told him you wouldn't," London shrugged, taking Daphne by surprise. "He said I didn't know you like he did, that you don't stop when you set your mind to something." He said that about me? "I guess, he was right, after all. You've got a heavy pair on you, and I can respect that." A pair of what? Testicles? Do I look like a man to you?

"I don't have 'a heavy pair on me'," Daphne chastised, vexed with the imagery. "I am still a Lady, and you will speak of me with due respect." Have some class, you cow.

London shot a bemused look back, before laughing wildly. "You're a strange lass, you are. A bit pompous, but that's just how you were raised, I suppose." I was raised as a human being. The same, clearly, cannot be said of you. "Oh, and you do have a heavy pair on you, but not between your legs." Daphne bristled, narrowing her eyes in contempt. "How many boys at Hogwarts try to get your attention, hm? Quite a few, I imagine." Only one is worthy of it, the rest don't concern me.

Daphne decided not to answer, such vulgar talk with a stranger was beneath her. Instead, she quietly followed London to the gathered mercenaries, they had erected a small fire on the outskirts of the camp so they could eat around its warmth.

"A couple of bowls, Billy," London ordered, taking a seat on a wet log. "Sit down, princess."

Hesitantly, Daphne did as she was bid, placing herself at arm's length from London. Her eyes travelled amongst the rest of the company, and surprisingly, no one was even looking in her direction. They were too busy laughing and talking amongst each other, which strangely made Daphne feel a little more comfortable. They've been hard at work by the looks of it. Where is Director Reid, though? Is he still examining the Centaurs?

"Here," London called, offering Daphne a wooden bowl of steaming chicken soup. "It's not as flavourful as you'd like, but it'll warm you up."

"Thank you," she took the bowl carefully, setting it in her lap. "…This spoon is made of wood… As is the bowl…"

"Wood is cheaper, and lighter, than steel," London shrugged, handing her a roll of hard bread. "Dip and eat. Easy, right?"

Normally, Daphne would've refused such an unappealing meal, but right now, her stomach was grumbling for sustenance, and so, she silently began appeasing it. Ugh… No salt, no spices… At least, they had the good sense to put some vegetables in. Do they really enjoy eating this gruel?

"Lizzy, what's the count?" London asked, while Daphne fought the urge to audibly gag. This bread is made of stone…

"Fifteen latrines, but we're yet to start building the outhouses," the witch named Lizzy started, chewing as she spoke. "We've diverted a bit of the river so it moves closer to the camp, which will be their source of fresh water. Dog and Tim are working on the bathing area right now, but it's going to take a while. These Centaurs aren't exactly small, are they? Oh, and Olly's gone to Diagon Alley to purchase some materials. Most of these yurts are in poor condition, but we can patch them up easily enough."

Daphne stared at Lizzy, before slowly turning her head towards London. "You did all this in two hours?" The dark-skinned witch smirked, shrugging. "That's… quite something…" I managed to dig one hole, that's all. Just the one.

"We're used to it, you're not," London said reassuringly, further surprising Daphne. "I'll take the girl back to Hogwarts, but we'll be staying until the work is complete. I'll speak to the Chief about it, and hopefully, he'll let us camp nearby. Any word from Reid?"

"He's still at it," Lizzy replied. "We asked him to join us, but he told us not to disturb him."

"I'd better go check on him," London put her own bowl away, standing up. "It's getting late, but I doubt he'll go home until he's finished." Daphne put her away her own bowl, following after the mercenary. "What are you doing, princess? Go and eat." I'd rather starve, honestly.

"I'm not hungry," Daphne lied. "And I want to hear what Director Reid has to say with my own ears."

"You already know what he's going to say," London said bluntly. "These people are done for, and there's nothing to be done about it."

"You don't know that."

"I do, and so do you. This isn't a fairy-tale, princess. People die, and then, they get forgotten. These poor sods are not going to be any different."

"If you believe that, then why are you even here?"

"Because I'm getting paid for it," London replied, much to Daphne's chagrin. "Because this is how I make a living. Because the boss has a soft heart. Because I'd rather do some good for a change, instead of being a thug and a fool. What about you? Why are you here? You really think that you can make up for what your father has done? You think that, if you're stubborn enough, you can ward off the Reaper?"

"No, I don't believe that, but there's nothing wrong with hoping for good news," Daphne answered. "And, no, I can't undo what my father has done. No one can, not even Ron. But does that mean that I should ignore these people? That I should stay at Hogwarts and plead ignorance? No. I was raised to honour my responsibilities, and I feel a responsibility to this Tribe. Whatever you're implying about my character, that I'm naïve and presumptuous, you couldn't be further from the truth. You don't know me, but from the moment you laid eyes on me, you've acted as though you do."

London stopped, looking Daphne up and down critically. "…I can't deny that, but I reckon you're not so different from me in that regard."

"You started it," Daphne said icily, making London chuckle.

"Fair enough," the older witch raised her hands in surrender, before suddenly ruffling Daphne's hair. How dare you touch my head, mercenary?!

"Don't do that," Daphne hissed, recoiling. "How rude."

"Couldn't help myself, princess," London grinned, continuing forward. "Now, be a good lass and keep your eyes open for the Director. He's bound to be here somewhere."

It didn't take them long to find him, as he was standing at the centre of the camp, outside Chief Zotair's yurt, lost in his thoughts as he opened and closed a flask without ever bringing it to his lips. He looks upset, which can't be a good sign.

"There you are," London called out to the man, who looked to her with a dark expression. "Is something wrong? Why are you giving me that look?"

"What is going on here?" Reid demanded, looking between the two witches. "This is no ordinary sickness, is it? I've seen these symptoms before… In an African village that was besieged by a man-eating Nundu. The boils, the ravaged lungs, the stench of rot in their bowels… What the hell is going on here?"

"You didn't tell him?" London asked Daphne, who averted her gaze in response.

"Tell me what?"

"They were poisoned by Lord Greengrass nearly a decade ago," London said, and Reid frowned menacingly. "Over some land dispute, of all things. It's a sorry story, but there you go."

"And this is why you feel compelled to be here?" Reid asked Daphne, who sighed tiredly.

"It plays a part, sure, but mostly, I'm here because I want to be here," Daphne responded. "Is there anything you can do for them, Director? Or, are they all doomed like Chief Zotair?"

Reid looked around, his eyes as hard as steel. "The children can be saved, still. The poison has not had enough time to damage them irreversibly." Really?! That's brilliant news! "But they must be separated from this Tribe without delay."

"That is not going to happen," London shook her head. "Even if the Chief agrees, why would the parents allow us to take their children away? And where exactly do we take them? They can't stay at the Werewolf Sanctuary, not in their current condition, and the boss doesn't have a 'Centaur Sanctuary' set up. Even the Ministry won't take them, given their wretched record with Centaur-Kind."

"We could move them further into the forest," Daphne suggested, not wanting to waste this gods-given chance.

"And what? They live out there alone?" London questioned. "And, no, before you two even suggest it, I'm not exposing my men any more than necessary. We're needed at the Werewolf Sanctuary, and I won't risk this shit spreading through our numbers."

"Take this to Ronald Weasley, then," Reid said, pocketing his flask. "He's the 'boss', right? If he wants to save them, then he can figure out where they can stay."

"What about St. Mungo's?" London asked.

"We don't have the rooms needed to keep them isolated from each other, nor will our benefactors allow us to house potentially contagious Centaurs amongst witches and wizards." So much for Pureblood kindness, then.

"Ron and I will figure something out," Daphne promised. "He has… connections. We will explore them together, and find the most suitable solution."

"Well, none of this will even matter if we can't convince the Tribe to part with their young," London pointed out.

"They will not only allow it, but they will beg us to take their children away," Reid said, and the two witches looked to him for elaboration. "Neither of you know what it's like to be a parent. They will gladly entrust their children to our care, no matter the heartbreak, if it means that they will have the chance to live." He sounds like he's speaking from experience. "We can isolate them from the rest of the camp while we treat them, but the sooner we find them a new home the better."

"Then, let's start by talking with the Chief," London advised, leading the way. "This will all go easier if he talks to the Tribe himself."

"Agreed."

"Is it just the children that can be saved?" Daphne asked, following after them. "No one else?"

"A handful of the adults too, but it's too early to say," Reid replied. Too early to say? "They may respond well to my treatments, or they might not. If they do, then there's a chance for them as well."

"We'll get you whatever you need, Sir," Daphne smiled from the sheer relief, glad that not all was lost.

"Time is what I need, Daphne, and sadly, that's in short supply. At most, I can take a couple of weeks off from St. Mungo's-"

"You're planning to stay here?" London interrupted, shooting an inquisitive look back.

"I see no other option," Reid answered, a determined glint in his eyes. "I cannot ask anyone from my staff to be here, it's too dangerous, so it has to be me. I am oath-bound to help these people, and in all my many years, I have never broken a promise."

London looked impressed with his statement, whereas Daphne looked downright awed. He's so brave too! It's a shame Ron's not here, because they'd really get along!

"I'm glad she found you, handsome," London smirked, looking back ahead. "You're the perfect man for this job."

---

One Hour Later

Undoing the Disillusionment Charm, Daphne creeped into the Room of Requirement, eager to share the good news with her partner. Director Reid was right! Chief Zotair immediately agreed with his plan, and now, all we need to do is to find a suitable home for those who can be saved!

Ron's sanctuary was eerily dark, and the only lit up part was the circle of sand in which he stood, towering over the broken remains of the P-12 Auror Trainer. Daphne cleared her throat as she approached, hoping to gain his attention, however, he remained perfectly still. It wasn't until she was at his side that she saw the vacant look on his face, and the trickling drops of dark blood covering his left knuckles, appearing as though he were in a trance. Circe's Breath, that's a bit disconcerting. What is he doing?

"Ron? Are you there?" Daphne whispered cautiously, and life swiftly returned to his body.

He looked to her with a blank expression, his hollow eyes studying her dirtied cloak. "You're back."

"Um… Yes, I'm back," Daphne muttered, gazing down at the P-12's cracked, chipped face. "He must've angered you terribly, I suppose." He did that much damage with just his fists? That's barbaric…

"It's not him who's angered me," Ron whispered darkly, pressing his boot against the P-12's throat. "He's just my punching bag." With a sudden motion, Ron removed his foot and kicked the dummy's side, sending it rolling through the sand as Daphne flinched away. Merlin's Beard! "Judging from the state of you, I can safely assume that you and London are going to be more friendly to each other going forward, and that neither of you will be whining about the other in my ear."

"Is that why you told her that I needed to do manual labour?" Daphne asked, remembering that she was unhappy with his secrets and schemes."I have dirt in places where dirt should never be, Ron." I'm proud of myself, but still… It's not fitting for a Lady to do what I did today.

"You'll live," Ron said, sounding bored.

"A warning would've been appreciated, that's-"

"A warning? Against what?" Ron interrupted. "A bit of hard work? London, and the others, needed to see that they were wrong about you, and had I told you about my plan, it would've felt… fake. You can't trick someone like London into respecting you, trust me. She needed to see that she was wrong to presume the worst about you, and I myself wanted to see the extent of your resolve. Two birds, one Spell. Oh, and don't forget… You yourself told me that you were worried she wouldn't listen to you. Well, now, she will. You're welcome."

"I get it, I do, and yes, she was… different after I did my part… More pleasant company, in her own way, and more willing to listen," Daphne started. "But I thought we were doing this together, Ron. I can't help but feel like I'm just your 'errand girl', no different from your mercenaries. I want us to be partners on this, to consult with one another before we make a move. Together."

Ron looked into her eyes, his cold gaze piercing her very soul. "Partners? Equals?"

"…Yes…" Daphne muttered, feeling the hairs on the back of her neck rise up. He's so different up here, when he's away from prying eyes and inquisitive ears. Maybe, it'd be wiser of me to approach him when there are people around?

"Why don't you focus on learning from this experience, instead?" Ron asked, though it sounded more like a suggestion than a question. "Let me worry about what moves to make, hm?" He then turned towards the P-12, walking over to it and raising it up with little effort. "What happened out there? Give me the important details only. My blood's already starting to cool."

"Didn't you train already with your bodygua-?"

"That was a different sort of training," Ron cut her off, vexed. "Start talking."

"…Right," Daphne whispered dejectedly to herself, unable to hide her disappointment. I really am an errand girl, then. That's just… humiliating… "Um… Well, I managed to convince the Director of St. Mungo's himself to help the Tribe."

"Jonathan Reid."

"You know of him?" Daphne blinked, and he gave a nod. "Did you also know that he is a Vampire?"

"A Vampire? Serving as the Director of St. Mungo's?" Ron quirked an eyebrow, sounding more intrigued than alarmed. "Ironic."

"He's nothing like what one might expect, though," Daphne said quickly, feeling a strange compulsion to defend the man.

"I expect him to be a good Healer, given that he's the Director of St. Mungo's itself," Ron chuckled mirthlessly. "I don't care that he has fangs, Daphne, not unless those fangs have found innocent throats. If they have, then… Well, he won't be able to heal himself, let alone others, once I'm done with him."

"…He's not like that."

"He showed you his memories through a Pensieve, did he?" Ron asked, eyeing her critically. "No? Then, do yourself a favour, and look past the fact that he's handsome. Now, continue on."

Daphne barely bit back a retort, it was unfair of Ron to look for the worst in someone as brave and kind as Director Reid. "He examined the Centaurs, including Chief Zotair… It's too late for most of them, but he's certain that the children, and a few of the adults, can still be saved. They've already been moved into isolation for treatment, but unless we can find a new home for them, they'll be forced to re-join the rest of the camp."

"The Director is certain of this?" Ron asked, turning to face her fully.

"He is," Daphne answered, still managing to smile a little at the happy news.

Ron, however, looked entirely indifferent. "Write to the Director, and tell him that he'll have whatever he needs for his treatments. Cost is no obstacle."

"He's staying with them, Ron," Daphne informed him. "His Vampiric Curse gives him immunity from the sickness, and he doesn't plan to return to St. Mungo's until his work is finished. It'll be difficult to get a letter to him, now."

"Then, I'll go see London tomorrow, and she can pass on my message," Ron said, waving her off. "Goodnight." What? Just like that?

"Don't you have any questions?" Daphne asked slowly.

"What sort of questions?"

"How is Chief Zotair faring? How do the Centaurs feel about our help? How-… How I feel after such a long day…?"

"He's dying. They feel insulted, but have no choice but to accept our help. And you feel exhausted, but also proud." Damn, he's right… "Goodnight."

"…Goodnight, Ron… Sorry for interrupting your training… I'll be more mindful next time…"

"Be sure that you are."

---

Severus Snape's POV

Saturday 15th May, 1994 (Snape's Office – Night)

"That'll be enough," he broke the silence, his remaining eye scanning the redhead before him. "A full hour, and not a peep from you. Good work." Ron stared through him, the malice behind the boy's eyes brought an icy smile to Snape's lips. "Is something the matter? You seem… upset."

"You fucking poisoned me," Ron grumbled, shifting in his seat. "I haven't eaten all day because I'm scared I'll shit myself on the spot!"

"This is welcome news, boy," Snape's smile grew evermore spiteful. "Your stomach issues are now resolved, just as I promised. You should be thanking me."

Something shifted behind Ron's eyes, and he drew in a deep, calming breath. "You're right, Sir, I'm being ungrateful." …What? What is he up to? "As for thanking you… Well, I've already taken the liberty of doing just that. I refilled your stock for you out of my own pocket this very afternoon, during lunch." He then rose out of his chair. "Goodnight, Professor."

Snape watched the boy leave with a narrowed eye, wondering what he was on about. My stock… My potions stock? Did he-…? Oh, he wouldn't dare! Snape shot out of his seat, limping hurriedly to his storeroom. His eye darted from bottle to bottle, from one ingredient to the next, painstakingly making sure that nothing was out of place. It took almost ten minutes until his mind was laid to rest, he had found nothing missing or tampered with. What was his goal? To try and get on my nerves? To give me a fright? A poor response from a dull mind. I'm disappointed in him, to be honest.

Snape made his way back to his desk, stopping short when he saw his cane leaning idly against his chair. He quirked an eyebrow, remembering that, usually, by this time of day, he was utterly reliant on the cane to support his weight. Odd… He looked down at his damaged, Curse-wounded leg, reluctantly shifting a little more of his weight upon it. A dull ache spread through the accursed limb, but it was entirely bearable, much to his surprise. That's even more odd. I suppose, I spent most of the day sitting down without even realizing it.

Carefully, Snape walked back to his chair, testing the strength of his right leg with each step. For the first time in months, Snape managed to move as he used to, involuntarily letting out a chuckle as he sat down. I've begun to limp on instinct, haven't I? Like an actual bloody cripple… Damn the Dark Lord, and damn Lucius! He stared down at his legs, and then, down at the cane sitting by his side, and finally, he looked to his prosthetic, gloved hand. Why didn't he just kill me? Is it because kindness disgusts him so much?

Grumbling to himself, Snape brandished his mother's wand, flicking it and Conjuring a wine bottle and a silver goblet from his personal collection, which was kept safely within his room. Mother's wand has been responding well to my commands over the last month. Is its grudge for being sealed away, and forgotten for so long, finally beginning to weaken? Or, is there another reason for its sudden compliance? I probably won't find the answer at the bottom of a bottle, but it's worth a shot.

Snape reached for the wine, but stopped halfway when he noticed that the seal was broken. Have I tried this one before? No, I haven't… I would remember if I had. Then, who could've opened this before me? His eye grew to the size of a dinner plate, Ron's strange words echoing in his mind. NO! Snape shot up to his feet, uncorking the bottle and pouring its contents into the goblet. NOOOO! Instead of refreshing, gorgeous red wine, the bottle spewed out a bluish-black substance. Is that ink?! It fucking is! In a panic, now, Snape Conjured several more bottles from his collection, and to his horror, all of their seals were broken.

"WEASLEY!" the Potions Master roared, shooting a murderous glare towards the door. "YOU LITTLE PSYCHOPATH!"

---

Albus Dumbledore's POV

Saturday 15th May, 1994 (Headmaster's Office – Night)

"I don't think she has the bollocks to go through with her threats," Ronald said, moving his knight to take Albus'. "She's just trying to scare the Pureblood into backing off."

"Too often, dark words can become dark actions, my boy," Albus said sagely, moving his bishop into place to checkmate his opponent in the next three moves. "Amelia is playing a dangerous game with dangerous people. If she is not careful, she will destroy much more than just her career."

"If you're so worried, then why not stop her?" Ronald suggested, his lips twitching upwards. "Go down to the Ministry, and make them submit to your illustrious judgement." Is that what he wants? To push me towards change? Are we playing Chess out there as well, dear boy? "Do what you never did with the Purebloods, even as they spent a decade after losing their ruinous war murdering the innocent behind closed doors."

"Let's say that I do as you suggest, Ronald," Albus started, leaning back in his chair. "I travel to the Ministry, and I command that the Minister put an end to her revolution. She will, most certainly, refuse, as will those who support her. I would then have to exercise force, and many would get hurt, including the innocent. What then? Do I become Minister? Do I reinstate the Purebloods to the Wizengamot? Because, like vultures, they will fly in for their fill. And what would be achieved by all this destruction and wrath? Nothing. I would then have to fight the Purebloods, and then whoever comes after, and on and on and on. The wheel of hatred would simply keep turning, with me now serving as the hamster."

"Don't forget that the people would also turn from you," Ronald pointed out, nodding to himself. "Your well-earned reputation would be in tatters, which would give Voldemort the hardest stiffy of his miserable life."

"Then, you see my point, don't you?"

"I do, but you're the one whining about Bones, not me. If you don't like her actions, then do something about it. Why are you complaining in my ear?"

"Because you have pushed her to this point."

"No, not just me," Ronald grinned, shaking his head. "We did." Pardon? "You, the Purebloods, the corrupt Officials, and her dead friend, Rufus whatever-his-last-name-was, and in the end, me. Just because I was the last to push doesn't make this all my responsibility. This woman had to swallow her pride and ideals for over a decade, serving under those she deemed unfit and unwise. And then, they put her in power, after the previous Minister made a dog's breakfast of the country, and when she began to struggle, as they knew she would, they start putting the screws to her. They start demanding more power, more land, more opportunities for them to uplift themselves, rather than simply aiding the country they claim to love and uphold. I mean, I had to beg these people to help the poor sods from Knockturn Alley, and they only agreed to do it because they wanted to divide whatever they fixed amongst each other." Ronald then sneered, scoffing in disgust. "They don't want her to do anything right, because it would make them look redundant. And Bones… She's just ambitious enough to want to leave her mark on the Ministry, so she'll never let them butcher her career for their gain. So, tell me, Headmaster, am I really the one you should be blaming for this? Where were you when such a divide was forming? Sitting in here and having a drink with Professor Snape? Where were you when Fudge was bending over for Lucius Malfoy? Thinking of empty platitudes to share with your precious Boy-Who-Lived?"

Ronald let out an exaggerated long sigh, staring down at the board between them with a dull expression. "It's not the pieces that are the problem, I've learned. It's this fucking board that we all run around on. It's rigged… The wealthy created it so no one could ever challenge them, and now that someone finally is, they're threatening to flip the damn thing over. Who do you think is more willing to start a war? Bones? Or, the likes of Aunt Muriel? To me, it sounds like Bones is the one who's giving her enemies a chance to reconsider. To walk away. To not go down a road that leads to a bloody end. If her 'dark words' do turn to 'dark actions', it will be because the Purebloods didn't heed her warnings. Mark my words."

"Then, it is up to us to stop such a calamity," Albus said, his expression turning stern. "You are not helping matters, Ronald. You are fanning the flames of war, and for what purpose? To establish yourself as the king on the board? Tell me, what happens if your glorious schemes come to fruition? What do you do when you're in charge? And, pray tell, what happens to people like you?"

"People like me?" Ronald raised an eyebrow.

"The troublemakers," Albus said bluntly. "The rebels. The revolutionaries. What do you do with them? What do you do in the face of the next person who thinks they should be running the show?"

"I'll just beat them," Ronald frowned. "I'll win."

"Perhaps, but believe me, nobody wins forever," Albus advised, drawing in a long breath. "You mean well, I know you do, but this is not the way to bring about positive change. You can't beat tolerance into people, just as you can't threaten to oppress the innocent for their own good. Amelia is an honest woman, but she is misguided in her actions. Anger, and grief, are blinding her to the damage she is doing to her own Ministership, and, by extension, the people of Magical Britain."

"And the Purebloods?"

"They have suckled too long on the teat of power. This I cannot argue against, nor will I attempt to."

"Yuck… And people think I say gross things…"

"It is true, though," Albus chuckled softly. "When the powerful threaten war against one another, it is always the innocent who suffer. Always. Innocents like my beloved Ariana." The young wizard averted his gaze, shifting in his seat. "Promise me that you will try to dissuade your alliance from all forms of violence tomorrow, dear boy. Lord Voldemort is our true enemy, and should he return to a country ravaged by war and strife, he will stand victorious over all." Ronald nodded softly, a million thoughts dancing behind his eyes. "It is your move, I believe."

The redhead tipped his king over, clicking his tongue. "No point in prolonging this game. You've won, again." Yes, I have. "…I'll try, but I can't make any promises. These people don't care about who gets hurt, not really. They just want to keep suckling on that tit you mentioned."

"The pursuit of power is in itself an addiction, my boy," Albus spoke from his own experiences. "Learn from the mistakes of those who've come before you, so you can make wiser choices than they have. The Purebloods, Amelia, myself… We are all your teachers, willing or otherwise."

"I understand," Ronald smiled a little, nodding. "Thank you, Headmaster. These chats of ours always give me-"

The fireplace roared to life, interrupting the redhead. They both looked to see who had decided to drop in past curfew, and much to their surprise, it was a furious Severus Snape, brandishing his cane as a weapon. What is the meaning of this? Why-…?

"There you are, you miscreant!" Severus barked, whilst Ronald let out a high-pitched squeal. "I'll kill you tonight, I swear it!" Severus?!

"What has happened, my friend?" Albus shot up to his feet, whereas Ronald ran around the table and hid himself behind the old wizard's chair. "What are you doing?"

"Come here!" Severus hissed; his murderous eye focused solely on the young Slytherin. "Stop hiding behind Albus' skirt!"

"No!" Ronald refused petulantly. "Headmaster, defend me! I'm just a little boy!"

"I'll go through him if I have to!" Severus rounded the table, forcing Albus to jump between the two. "Out of my way, old man! You've shielded this fiend for too long!"

"What has brought about this madness?" Albus demanded, ignoring Fawkes' excited shrieking. "Severus! Enough! Explain yourself this instant!"

"He replaced all my wines with ink!" Severus growled like a wild beast. "WITH INK, ALBUS! A carefully chosen collection worth hundreds of Galleons! Some of which were gifts from my clients!" What?!

"Ronald, how could you?" Albus shot a disapproving look back. Wasting good wine is a sin, my boy!

"He tricked me and gave me the shits!" Ronald fired back, sticking his monstrous tongue out at Severus. What?!

"Severus, what is he talking about?" Albus looked back to the frothing Potions Master. "What on earth have you two been up to?"

"I'll rip that disgusting thing out of your misshapen skull, boy!" Severus threatened, swinging his cane past Albus in an attempt to hit Ronald over the head.

"Oi! Watch that fucking thing, will you?!" Ronald shouted back, grabbing onto the cane. "HAHA! Now, what?!" Severus thrust the cane forward, causing Ronald's own hand to smack him in the face. "Fuck! OW! My nose!"

Albus struggled pathetically between them, trying his hardest to separate them. "Will you two stop it?! Severus, enough of this! Please!" By the Gods, forget about Tom, these two will be the death of me! "Whose hand was that?! I asked whose hand was that?!"

---

Albus rubbed the side of his face, wondering if the errant cane had left a bruise. "Apologise to each other, both of you. Now." Severus grit his teeth, turning his head away from them both. "Ronald, you can start, then."

"Can I get something cold to put on my head, first?" Ronald asked, rubbing the top of his skull. "What is that bloody thing made of? Titanium?"

"Apologise."

"Fine… Fine…" Ronald muttered, looking rather grouchy. "I'm sorry that I scared you into thinking I destroyed your wine collection, all of which, just between us, tastes like a moist arse-crack on a humid day."

"What did you say?" Severus looked to Ronald, narrowing his eye. "Scared me into thinking what?"

"You heard me… You think I really dumped all that wine? I'm not an ingrate," Ronald huffed. "I used the Doubling Charm, Geminio, to fabricate copies of each wine bottle. I filled those with the ink and replaced your collection with them. You used Conjuration, again, didn't you? I knew you would, so all I had to do was to leave the ink-filled bottles where you always keep your wine, stashed away in a trunk in the corner of your dirty room. It was easy, if a little time-consuming."

"Then, where are the originals?" Severus asked, still looking furious.

"Under your bed, you git," Ronald hissed, before looking to Albus. "Now, make him apologize for giving me the trots. I haven't eaten all day, and it's put me in a right foul mood." He then looked back to Severus. "I'm never coming to you for anything ever again."

"Severus, do you have something to say for yourself?" Albus asked, frowning. I told you to look after him, and this is what you do?

"Do not speak to me as though I'm a child, Albus."

"Then, perhaps, you ought to not act like one."

Severus drew in a sharp breath, looking away from them, again. "…Sorry."

"That's it?" Ronald asked, offended. "Sorry? That's all you have to say for yourself? I shat all night long!"

"You vex me often enough. Think twice before you do it the next time."

"How was that an apology?" Ronald asked Albus, throwing his hands up in the air. "Headmaster! Tell him to mean it!"

Albus pinched the bridge of his crooked nose, fighting the urge to give them both detentions with Minerva. "Severus, give him a proper apology. He came to you for help, and you used that against him. I expect better from you, and not only as the Headmaster of this school."

"This is beyond condescending," Severus mumbled darkly. "I am sorry. There… What else am I supposed to say?"

"Ronald?" Albus looked to the boy, who was now staring at Severus' leg. "What is it?"

"You were quite energetic just then, weren't you?" Ronald asked the Potions Master, his tone shifting from scathing to curious. "Very, very energetic. That's… good."

Severus raised an eyebrow, whereas Albus studied the man's injured leg. Where's Ronald going with this? The young Slytherin suddenly reached forward and grabbed Severus' leg, giving it a strong squeeze. RONALD! The Potions Master flinched and slapped away Ronald's hand, raising his cane with the intent of smashing it over the boy's head, again.

"Did that hurt?" Ronald asked, grinning. What's wrong with you?!

"Of course, it-" Severus stopped abruptly, slowly looking down at his leg. "What…? What new madness is this, boy?" What? It didn't hurt? Really? You can barely put any weight on that thing without wincing.

"You're welcome," Ronald laughed, winking.

"What did you do?" Severus asked, sounding rather alarmed.

"Ronald?" Albus inquired.

"Harkin gave me an extra leaf, for my brain-damage, but I kindly donated it to Professor Snape," Ronald explained, jarring both men into silence. "I knew he wouldn't accept it if I offered it to him, because he's the king of angst, so I slipped it into his wine. It's already doing its Magic-"

"You slipped something into my drink?" Severus hissed, frowning deeply. My word… Does this mean that Severus can stop being in pain, now? "How dare you?!"

"Oh, I'm very daring, and you should be grateful that it's healing you," Ronald smirked. "You could've woken up with no memories, your trousers around your ankles, and a sticky substance leaking out of your bunghole." Merlin… "But, no, instead of that, you will become strong, again. And, before you two even start, I don't need it. If Fate wanted me to die from brain-damage, I'd be dead already."

Severus looked to Albus for answers, but the old wizard could do little but gawk back at him in response. This is quite the twist, isn't it? He never mentioned a second leaf, let alone what he planned to do with it.

"I did not ask for-" Severus started, anger returning to his voice.

"I don't care," Ronald cut him off, shrugging. "I am the Champion of Fate, the Shaper of Destinies. I don't need your permission, Sir. I deemed you worthy of such a gift, and you don't get a say in that." What a strange way to say that you care about him, my boy. "The world needs you to be strong, again, Professor, as do I."

"As do I," Albus added, feeling a familiar warmth growing inside his chest. Ronald, you continue to outshine my expectations of you!

Severus just sat there, in silence, his hand absentmindedly massaging his right leg. Ronald stood up and stretched, groaning rather loudly, before turning to leave. "It's time for you to move forward, Sir. You are not the man you once were, because the man you were, the man you want to keep punishing, he didn't have a couple of fools who hold him in the highest regard. If you can't be kind to yourself, then it's up to those two fools to do it for you. Goodnight."

With that, Ronald left the office, leaving Severus and Albus behind to share the silence. The old wizard felt his eyes sting from his rising emotions, but he refused to look away from Severus, who, for many moments, sat motionless. And then, suddenly, he hung his head and stood up, his body exuding melancholy. Without a word, Severus placed his cane upon the chair, before cautiously walking towards the fireplace, taking each step as if he were a newborn. Albus did nothing to hold back the cheerful smile that broke out on his face, for watching Severus walk without the need for extra support, after months of constant pain, melted his heart. Sleep well, my friend. You've earned it.

Once Severus had departed, Albus sat down and tipped his own king over, beaming. "Well played, Ronald. Well played."

---

Sebastian Greengrass' POV

Sunday 16th May, 1994 (Longbottom Manor – Evening)

"Something must be done about her," Muriel droned on, slathering a hefty sum of cheese onto a small piece of bread. "That woman has been driven mad with power, and before long, she'll be demanding our heads instead of our obedience." I very much doubt that.

"Did you hear what she said about the Americans?" Chloe Abbot piped in. "Wretched warmonger! That's what she is!" The Americans… They could become a headache, for certain, more than Bones could ever hope to be, and, given my history, they'll have their eyes set on me. I must be doubly careful to cover my tracks from now on.

"And you, Fawley…" Muriel continued, stuffing the bread into her wrinkled mouth. "I didn't realize that your boy ran the house. Have you no shame? No courage?! How could you stomach sitting in that greedy whore's presence?!"

"I stayed because Adam was right," Oscar answered simply, not even looking in Muriel's direction. "My pride is not as important as stopping You-Know-Who. Dumbledore is the only man the Dark Lord fears, and he believes he can control Bones." He believes that about everyone, but Oscar is right. Dumbledore is no fool, and him bringing the Potter boy along was not simply for theatrics. The old man is making a move, and none of us can even begin to guess what it is.

"Control Bones?" Augusta scoffed. "Did you not see what we saw? How he fled rather than uphold his duty?" He doesn't want to start a war for the likes of you, and I don't blame him. I'd have abandoned you as well.

"He stopped the situation from escalating," Tiberius chimed in. "Now, I'm not happy about losing my seat, but we can manage without-"

"You wouldn't understand, Ogden," Muriel interrupted. "You are new to all of this, so you don't understand what this means."

"It is true that I'm the first to hold such a lofty position in my family's pathetic history, Lady Prewett, but I assure you, I understand the implications quite well," Tiberius said monotonously. "And yet, I was making plenty of gold before joining the Wizengamot, and I'll be making plenty of gold long after Bones' Ministership comes to an end." He then looked to Sebastian, who raised an eyebrow in response. What is it? "War is not good for business, is it, Lord Greengrass? Why risk our profits over such a trifling matter?" I'm inclined to agree, but Bones is setting up a dangerous precedent when it comes to people like us.

"Profit does not concern everyone at this table, Ogden," Sebastian said simply. "I am with you, however. The Wizengamot does not concern me. What concerns me are these 'new tax policies' she wishes to implement. She will only become bolder with each passing year, and her boldness won't end with her. Once the Ministry starts getting our gold without needing to curry favour from us, our vaults will become their vaults." And my vaults belong only to my daughters, no one else.

"We can afford to pay any of her taxes easily enough," Mary said icily, and Sebastian shot her a cool glance. I get that you're angry with me, but don't speak against me in public. Do your duty as a wife, or I'll have to force you-…

"What am I hearing?" Muriel glowered. "Are we dancing to her tune, already?! Have her empty threats conquered your hearts so easily?!"

"You seem especially aggrieved by Bones' actions, Lady Prewett," Enid pointed out, frowning. "Is there any particular reason for that?"

Muriel narrowed her bloodshot eyes at Enid, looking downright menacing. "My family has not been as blessed as yours, girl. My heirs were murdered in the Great War, and my niece married a pathetic excuse for a man so she could abandon her duties. I stand alone, as I have for many, many years. The Prewett name will not be tarnished in my lifetime, no more than it already has. If Bones is left unchecked, she will snatch our power for herself, and I'll be damned if I let that happen. I know women like her… Women of low birth, and low character, who come into your house and try to steal the silverware. She disgusts me."

"Bloody hell, there's a lot of deep-rooted trauma behind those words, isn't there?" came Ron's voice, full of mirth, and they all looked to see him enter the room with Selwyn and Pansy by his side. "Good evening, you lot! How's life treating you all?!"

Sebastian stared at the young wizard, unsaid feelings of regret and guilt bubbling up from deep within him. We haven't spoken in what feels like forever. I've missed that mischievous, defiant smile of his more than I can ever admit. Ron made his way further into the room, taking a seat on the opposite side of Sebastian, as if wanting to be as far away from his former mentor as possible.

"What are you wearing in my house, girl?!" Augusta broke the silence, pointing a bony finger at Pansy.

"Oh, this?" the young witch giggled playfully, doing a quick spin for the room. "Bold, isn't it?"

Pansy was wearing a dark leather jacket with spikes on the forearms and shoulders, and below that she wore a disturbingly short, black skirt, her legs 'covered' only by fishnet stockings and her high-heeled, steel-toed boots. Does she think she's impressing anyone in here by dressing like a lunatic? How did this foolish girl beat my daughter in a Duel? Sebastian subtly looked to his wife, noting the horror that was visibly etched upon her face. You wanted us to take in this thing? Thank the Gods she refused your offer. No woman in my house will ever dress like that, not unless she wants to be beaten regularly.

"Get out, you harlot!" Augusta hissed in disgust. "I will not tolerate your debauchery-!"

"Lady Longbottom, relax," Ron sniggered, gesturing Pansy to sit next to him. "This is the latest fashion according to Witch Weekly. What did they call it, again, Pansy?"

"Punk," Pansy beamed, moving her seat closer to Ron's and taking his hand in hers.

"Oh, I like that name… Punk," Ron laughed, brazenly pleased with the look of utter revulsion on Augusta's face. "If you were her age, my Lady, you'd be wearing it too."

"What a terrible day that would've been to have eyes," Tiberius whispered to himself, grimacing.

"I would die of shame before being seen in… in that!" Augusta was now shaking with anger. "What is achieved by you advertising yourself as a cheap whore, girl?! What does my grandson see in you, exactly?!"

"My open-minded, free spirit, I reckon," Pansy teased, making Ron laugh, again. "Shall we get down to business? Or, are you going to keep slinging obscenities at me?"

"We women must protect our modesty, our dignity, above all else, child," Apolline Macmillan advised, while her husband nodded in agreement. "Grace and virtue must be our constant companions-"

"Who said that? The men in your life? Your husband? Your father?" Pansy questioned matter-of-factly. "What do they know about us women? About our wants and desires? About our lot in life? Nothing… No man will ever tell me what I can and can't wear, no matter who he thinks he is." She then shot Ron a saucy wink. "You can make requests, though."

"Lord Black is not here," Selwyn suddenly spoke up, and Ron promptly looked around the table. "Is he running late?"

"He will not be attending, I believe," Mary answered, giving the seventh-year Slytherin an approving smile. "It is good to see you, again, Lady Selwyn."

"As it is to see you, Lady Greengrass," Selwyn returned politely, but Sebastian couldn't help but detect a hint of disappointment in her voice. "And thank you, Lady Longbottom, for hosting us in your beautiful home once again. It is my privilege to be here, in this honoured company." The difference a few years can make. 'Lady' Parkinson would be wise to learn from this girl.

"Some manners, at last," Muriel huffed, shooting Pansy a withering glare. "Now that we are all here, save for that fool, let us commence. How do we get rid of Bones?"

"Get rid of Bones?" Ron 'gasped', tutting his Great-Aunt. "That's treason, Auntie."

"Take this seriously, boy."

"I am!" Ron assured her, but the roguish glint in his eyes did little to convince anyone. "What you're suggesting is treason, and seeing as you're no longer on the Wizengamot, such decisions are not yours to make." Careful, Ron. Don't prod the bear, not unless you're ready to face its wrath. "Now, what the Minister did was… heavy-handed, certainly, but I've heard that people around this table gave credence to her fears at the recent Order meeting." Dumbledore must've told him. Potter, Ron, and Merlin knows who else… The old man has too much influence on the future of the Wizarding World. "My Lords and Ladies… To turn your backs from the real enemy in the pursuit of a fancy job is… madness."

"Madness, is it?" Augusta demanded. "You and I have spoken at lengths about the shortcomings of the Ministry, and now, things will be worse than ever. Without us there to keep some semblance of sense and wisdom, the entire country will suffer. The Dark Lord must be stopped, but if there's no country left after Bones, then what's the point?"

"You think she's going to destroy everything?" Ron asked curiously. "Why? What's your proof?"

"She just threw out some of the most respected members of Magical Britain because they dared chastise her," Augusta answered. "I have lived a lot longer than you, Ronald, and I know a tyrant when I see one. That woman… She's only getting started. First, it was us, but before long, it'll be the Heads of Departments, and then, those on the lower end of the bureaucracy. Any who dare question her decisions, she will oust as traitors. She will not stop until she is surrounded by those who agree with everything that spills out of her mouth, no different from Fudge." She speaks with many assumptions, but I've not known this woman to be a poor judge of character.

"And none of this even comes close to her bringing foreign Aurors into our country," Henry Abbot added. "You should've heard her, young man, at the Order meeting you pretend to know so much about. She threatened to start a war that would end with our children hanging in the streets!" She'll die before she gives the order, as will all the Americans.

Ron nodded to himself, adorning a more serious, thoughtful expression. "That is troubling, to say the least."

"Troubling is putting it very mildly, Ronald," Enid shook her head. "She will not touch my boys, not as long as I draw breath."

"I won't let her, Lady Fawley," Ron promised swiftly. "None of us will."

"Hear, hear," William Macmillan added.

"She is not capable of going through with such a threat," Sebastian broke his silence, and Ron looked to him with a dull expression. "To sentence children to death… It takes a truly black heart to commit such evil." I would know, wouldn't I? Zotair may have forgiven me, but his people… Those children… I have broken laws more ancient, and more sacred, than the laws of the Wizarding World. "She was bluffing, baring her teeth at us, in the hopes of avoiding a conflict she cannot hope to win."

"Lord Greengrass is correct, I believe," Tiberius said, nodding at the man. "I essentially own the liquor market, now. Lord Fawley manages more farms than I can count. Lady Longbottom's factories produce the majority of the raw materials needed to keep basic infrastructure in working condition. Mr. Weasley has come to dominate the media, and is easily the most famous young man in Magical Europe, not counting Harry Potter himself. And Lord Greengrass could outright buy the country tomorrow, if he decided to. She is hopelessly outmatched, and she knows this, hence the vile threats you've mentioned. If we all decided to run the country into the ground, there's very little she can do, even with Magical Law on her side, to stop us."

"Then, we have our plan of attack," Muriel said strongly. "We stop production, and when the people starve, we point the finger right at her." I'm not shutting down my businesses because you feel slighted, you vindictive Harpy.

"…What the fuck?" Ron muttered, massaging his forehead. "That's mental, that is."

"I will not take part in such a cruel scheme," Lord Fawley frowned deeply, much to Muriel's chagrin. "Not only do I condemn hurting the people of this country, but I also condemn the act of putting thousands of my own people out of jobs. Muggles, wizards, Elves… I cannot do this, nor will I respect any man, or woman, who could."

"Neither will I," Tiberius shrugged. "I enjoy power, but not at the expense of my soul. As you mentioned earlier, Lady Prewett, I wasn't always this wealthy. I won't starve others just so I can feast. Plus, if my factories close, someone else will jump in to take my place. I don't own land throughout Magical Britain, nor a family fortune, to keep me safe from the repercussions of poor business strategies."

"This scheme would delight my mother and father, cruel-minded and petty as they were," Pansy said, repulsed. "I won't become like them, not for anything."

"The Wizengamot is not for my husband and I," Mary joined in. "You will not have our support, Lady Prewett."

"You and Lady Longbottom speak true, I cannot deny that, but this hurts us just as much as it will hurt Bones," William Macmillan sighed out. "The Dark Lord demanded similar actions be taken to support his mad cause, and we refused him as well. We spilled our own blood to stop it, even."

"A few months of suffering won't destroy this country," Muriel clicked her tongue. "But that wretched woman will. I expect this sort of naïve softness from my Great-Nephew, not you experienced Lords and Ladies."

"No one is taking part in this plan," Ron commanded, frowning darkly. "If you do, I will put your face on the cover of every Quibbler that gets published until the end of days. This discussion is not happening. Drop it."

Sebastian's lips quirked upwards, the boy spoke with authority not so different from his own, now. Naïve softness, she says… If she only knew how dangerous her Great-Nephew is, she wouldn't dare speak in his presence, let alone insult him.

"So, the rumours are true, then," Augusta scowled at Ron. "You've made a deal with her behind our backs." Deal? What deal?

They all looked to Ron, who shrugged in response. "It's more of an understanding between two intelligent individuals, that's how I would describe it. I mean, I attacked the Head-Auror of Magical Britain. I'm lucky a Dementor isn't French-kissing me right now." That was beyond foolish. How could you make such a mistake? "But, since we're on this topic, let me tell you what's really going on, instead of whatever nonsense your little spies have whispered to you. The Minister wishes to counteract the Daily Prophet's attacks on her character with my Quibbler, attacks that you lot have paid for. She wants my magazine to report on what's really going on in the Ministry, to shine a light on her coming policies and changes in a fair manner. And, unlike you lot, she is willing to publish her fuck-ups, as well." Is she really? That sounds… too good to be true. "That's right, you heard me. You say that she will oust anyone who disagrees with her, and yet, she has shown me that she's willing to fess up to her mistakes before the public. Tell me, do any of you allow the news to ever speak ill of you? Despite your shady practices? Despite your scandals?" A fair point.

"She has fooled you-" Muriel started.

"I am not so easily fooled, anymore," Ron interrupted, eyeing Muriel as if she were meat. "She needs me a lot more than I need her, and she knows this too. If I tell her to fuck off, the Daily Prophet will continue its attacks, and eventually, the people will grow tired of the drama. She'll lose her office, and you lot will slither back into that ugly courtroom. This is why she's given me complete autonomy to report whatever I see fit, and I passed that power onto a woman with more integrity than all of us put together."

"So, you confess that you can help us regain our rightful power, but you are choosing not to," Muriel pointed out, sneering. "You treacherous little bastard."

"Don't speak to him that way," Pansy narrowed her eyes, whereas the others watched in silence. He made a mistake by admitting that he has power over Bones. It would've been smarter to pretend to be her hostage, instead.

"Ronald, we have been good friends to you, each of us, and yet, you would choose this tyrant over us?" Augusta asked, looking rather disappointed. "Are you and I not Eternal Friends? Have I not been a staunch enough ally to you?"

"I am not choosing her over you, Lady Longbottom," Ron started. "I'm simply giving her a chance to change this country's priorities, because I'm not happy with what you've all achieved thus far. It isn't good enough for me." He then looked to Oscar, who had been watching him with a furrowed brow. "The Werewolves, who are now your friends, will never be given a fair chance under the current system, because no matter what you all say, your prejudices hold this country back from what it could be. The Centaurs…" Sebastian fought the urge to grimace, lowering his gaze. "The Merpeople… The Elves… Anyone who is not a Pureblood wizard, or witch… They will always come last, and I don't think that's right. You, and your predecessors, have done everything in your power to alienate, to belittle, those not like you. So, I'm going to see if she can change that, and if she can't, then I'll find someone else to put my faith in, but it won't be you." That… was not very clever, but I don't think he cares. He's done with us, it sounds like. He's forgotten that no man is an island, or he's made other allies already. Neither scenarios bode well for this alliance. "If you want me to leave, now, I will, but I won't turn my back on my beliefs because you feel like I owe you something. If you lot truly cared for this country, and not just the power you hold within it, you wouldn't use kindness as a weapon to exploit those less fortunate than you."

"You don't want us as your enemies, Ronald," Muriel warned, having gone red in the face. "We helped you get this far, and we can just as easily tear you down." …She's going to get everyone in this room killed…

"Is that how the rest of you feel?" Ron asked, looking around the table.

"Not one bit," Pansy answered immediately. "Wherever you go, I go." She's loyal, at least.

"This is getting out of hand, now," Oscar sighed out. "Ronald speaks harshly, but there is truth in his words. Not so long ago, I would have voted to stop any chance of Werewolves finding sanctuary within Magical Britain. I was intolerant of them, I'm ashamed to admit, because of the horrible stories my parents, and their parents before them, passed along. Bones' disrespect will come to haunt her, but I won't let it turn me against the young man who opened my eyes, who promised to keep my son safe in Slytherin, who alerted me of the coming danger when no one else did. We Fawleys do not abandon our friends so quickly."

"As long as you continue to advertise my products in the Quibbler, as was our deal, we have no quarrel," Tiberius added, giving Ron a nod.

"So, we're to just ignore that this boy is willing to stab us in the back whenever it suits him?" Henry asked, glaring at Ron. "I thought you wiser, and more honourable, than this."

"You hardly even know me, Lord Abbot," Ron returned. "And that word, honour, has very different meanings to us." You honour only your own ideals, and you damn the rest, don't you? You've learnt my lessons well. A man does not compromise when his home is under attack.

"Times are changing, and perhaps, we should change with them," Mary suggested, shooting her husband an unsympathetic glance as she did so. "What say you, Augusta?"

The old witch continued to stare at Ron in silence, and if Sebastian was correct, there was genuine hurt behind those time-hardened eyes. "You saved my grandson's life, and for that, I will never bring harm to you, nor those you hold dear, but it is also clear to me that my friendship means very little to you. Leave my home, and never return. Go serve your tyrant."

Ron stood up silently, fixed up his suit, and then, he left the room without uttering a single word. Pansy was quick to follow him out, and surprisingly, Selwyn joined her, leaving the rest to stare at each other with dismayed expressions. It's over, then. The Order is now my best chance at keeping my family safe from the Dark Lord. Mary shifted in her seat, before rising and rushing out to follow Ron and the girls. What is she doing?

Drawing in a sharp breath, Sebastian trailed his wife all the way to the Greeting Room, where he found her speaking to Pansy in hushed whispers. "…to Daphne for me, Pansy. Give it straight to her, and only her. Please."

As Mary passed a sealed letter to Pansy, Sebastian spotted Ron waiting for the young witch by the fireplace, both wizards locking eyes. The redhead's eyes flashed red, his face twisting into a hateful sneer. …I know, Ron. I know. What I've done can never be undone.

"I don't know what's going on between you two, but I'll make sure she reads this," Pansy promised Mary, tucking the letter away.

"And tell him that tempers are hot right now, but they will settle in due time," Mary whispered, shooting Ron a quick glance. "Muriel isn't particularly liked by the vast majority of people, so whatever she's planning, it won't come to pass."

"I don't think he cares, honestly," Pansy shrugged, smiling innocently. "He just wants to be rid of you all." Mary blinked, visibly taken aback. "Goodnight, Lady Greengrass."

"…Goodnight, Pansy…"

---

Sunday 16th May, 1994 (Greengrass Manor – Dinner)

"You shouldn't have spoken against me at that table," Sebastian broke the heavy silence, and immediately, he heard Mary's cutlery clang down on her plate. Here we go. Another fight.

"I didn't speak against you," Mary hissed. "I spoke the truth. Whatever taxes she implements, we can easily afford-"

"That gold is meant for my daughters, not for Bones and her cronies."

"Oh, your daughters?! One of whom has run away from home-"

"Daphne will come back."

"Will she?" Mary demanded; her voice full of accusation. "I warned you, Sebastian, but you would not listen! You never listen!"

"What else was I supposed to do?" Sebastian asked, struggling to keep his own tone in check. "She was adamant about coming with me, and had I refused her-"

"I've heard it enough times, so don't you dare repeat it! You are her father! All you had to do was to order her to stay behind!"

"She is not a toddler, anymore. She felt unheard, unappreciated, and she was right to feel that way. I could not deny her, again-"

"So, you chased her out of the house, instead."

"That is not what happened!"

"It might as well have!"

Sebastian inhaled sharply, tossing his own cutlery away. "What do you want from me, Mary? You want me to go back in time, is that it? Well, I can't! If I could, I'd have done it, already!"

"I don't want you to do anything, Sebastian," Mary whispered, looking thoroughly put off by him. "I'm just done making excuses for you." She then stood up, marching away from him. "My trunks were packed while we were at the meeting. I'm leaving for Magical Germany come the morning." WHAT?!

"What are you talking about?!" Sebastian roared, chasing after her. "Answer me, woman!"

"My mother needs me, and I won't abandon her." But you'll abandon me?! The man who's been there for you like no one else ever has?!

"Stop!" Sebastian commanded, taking her by the arm and yanking her back. "You don't just pack up and leave without speaking to me, first!"

"Let go of me!" Mary yanked herself free, shoving him away. "Don't you dare put your hands on me!" I'll do more than that, you bitch!

It took all of his strength, all of his will, to stop himself from striking her for plotting to abandon him for a woman who had spat on her face the last time they had spoken. "Your mother spat in your face because you wanted to be free! I gave you that freedom! I gave you everything!And, now, you're turning your back on me?! You're abandoning me?! After everything we've been through?! After everything I've been through?! For you?!"

"Did I say I was abandoning you?!" Mary shouted back. "My mother is being abused, defiled, and you think I care that she spat on me?! That she couldn't bring herself to respect my choices?! That's your problem, Sebastian! That's always been your problem! Your pride matters more to you than your humanity! That's why Ron left! That's why Daphne left! And that's why Astoria will leave!"

His hand moved faster than his mind, and all of Mary's vitriol came to an abrupt end. It was only after witnessing her reddening cheek, and the terror in her eyes, that Sebastian realized what he had done, and now, all he could do was stare at her. Mary… I-… I didn't-…

He opened his mouth to speak, to beg for forgiveness, but no words came out. What have I done?

Mary raised her head high, her eyes holding back her tears, before she simply turned around and walked away, carrying herself with the majesty he had always admired. Sebastian stood motionless, as if frozen in time, save for his right hand, which trembled despite his best efforts to regain control. What. Have. I. Done? I've lost it… I've completely lost it…

---

Harry Potter's POV

Wednesday 19th May, 1994 (Black Lake – Early Morning)

Harry watched Ron from the corner of his eyes, the redhead had been staring at the lake with a rather strange expression for the last five minutes. What is he staring at? He looks very anxious.

"Harry, stop it," came Hermione's disapproving voice, and he swiftly turned his head in her direction.

"Stop what?" Harry asked, feigning innocence.

"You've been watching him for over a week, now," Hermione said bluntly, shaking her head. "Stop it. Whatever you're thinking, forget about it."

"Mind your business, Hermione," Harry said hotly, frowning. I've caught you glaring at Neville and Parkinson plenty of times, and you don't see me telling you what to do.

"You crossing the line with Ron, again, is my business," Hermione huffed, frowning back. "If you have something to ask him, then just go do it. Why are you spying on him?"

"I'm not spying on-"

"You are, and if you think he hasn't noticed you, then you're fooling yourself," Hermione stood up, dusting off her clothes. "I'm going back to Gryffindor Tower, and I suggest you come with me." Harry refused to budge, and, eventually, she let out a long sigh. "…Fine. Suit yourself, but don't say that I didn't warn you."

Once Hermione was gone, Harry couldn't help but think back on Dumbledore's advice. Why was he so adamant about me learning from Ron? And, even after a week, I still can't think of a single thing I can teach him in return. I hope Remus is having better luck getting answers than I am…

Deciding to take Hermione's advice, Harry stood up and walked over to Ron, ignoring Zabini's cold gaze along the way. Ron's friends were never fond of us approaching him, but Zabini… It feels like he hates me in particular, now, and I can't really blame him. I still feel like I cheated by winning that stupid tournament.

"Hello, Ron," Harry greeted the redhead, who continued to stare at the lake. "Um… Ron? Are you all right? Hello?"

Ron closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath, before looking to Harry with a tired smile. "Sorry, I was… lost in a memory." A memory? It couldn't have been a good one, judging by how you looked. "So… You've finally decided to talk to me, eh? Instead of watching me from afar like I'm the prettiest lass in Hogwarts." He did notice, then. Damnit. "It's all right, mate, I'm just teasing you. What can little old me do for you?"

"Share your wisdom with me, or something like that," Harry muttered under his breath.

"Pardon?"

"…It's nothing," Harry cleared his throat. "I was just curious about what you were staring at, that's all." I'll have to do this slowly, and very carefully. He can't figure out what I'm up to.

Ron quirked an eyebrow, looking him up and down. "The old man and his games, I swear. Let me guess, he told you that you could learn something from me, right? But you're more curious about why he would send you to me? What's really going on between me and the Greatest Sorcerer of all time?" Um… What just happened? "You're not very good at this, are you? That's… refreshing, honestly. Too many schemers all around me, so it's nice to talk to someone who's upfront for a change."

"I-… That's not-… No, Ron, you've got it all wrong," Harry stammered, jarred by how quickly he'd been discovered. Did he read my mind?! Why did I listen to Hermione's advice?!

"It's fine, Harry, I'm not bothered," Ron shrugged, looking back to the lake. "You're like a dog with a bone, you are. When you believed I was the Heir of Slytherin, you took every chance to confront me. When you thought I was keeping some dark secret from everyone around me, you went as far as to uncover the truth about my health problems. Tenacity, Harry. You have it in abundance." Um… Thanks? "It won't be enough to stop the Dark Lord, of course, but it's a nice start."

Harry blinked, before swiftly frowning. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"You think you can beat him? Tell me honestly," Ron looked back to him, his expression impossible to read. "If he were to attack Hogwarts tomorrow, would you be able to defeat him?"

"I don't know," Harry admitted slowly. "But I'd try, regardless. I wouldn't go down without a fight."

Ron's lips quirked upwards, his eyes becoming softer. "I believe you."

Harry gave a faint nod, not sure what was going through Ron's head right now. "Would you fight him? Even if it meant you could die?"

"Even if I was certain I would die, I'd still take a swing," Ron smiled more fully. "Give him a bloody nose before I go." He then shot a quick look back, losing his smile. "The others, though… Daphne, Blaise, Theo, Pansy, Neville, Draco, Ginny, Luna, all of them… They'd run for their lives. They would flee like rodents before him."

Harry also shot a look back, noticing that Zabini was, once again, frowning in his direction. "Why do you say that, Ron? I know Neville, and he'd never-"

"He can't even stand up to his grandmother, Harry, so what hope does he have against You-Know-Who?" Ron interrupted, giving him a meaningful look. "They're not like us, Harry. They've known nothing but softness, comfort, luxury, love, weakness… You and I, however, we know what it's like to lose. We know what's it like to be on the outside looking in. We know what happens if we don't fight for what's ours. This lot… They can't imagine a world where they could lose everything, but we don't have to imagine it, because we've lived through it." He then leaned in, whispering. "That makes us powerful, Harry. More powerful than they could ever hope to be."

Harry felt his scar ache dully, alarmed that the madness coming out of the Slytherin's mouth made sense to him. "I don't want them to have to imagine such a world, Ron. Neville, Hermione, Ginny, Luna… They're my friends, and I never want them to endure what I endured. I don't care if they're 'soft', because I don't want them to be anyone else."

"A touching sentiment, but also very foolish," Ron hissed, smiling, again. "You know… If you weren't such a righteous prick, and I wasn't such a shady bastard, we'd be the best of friends." Really? You sound a little too certain about that. "What do you reckon?"

"I'm trying to be less righteous, now, if that counts for something," Harry hissed, feeling embarrassed by his previous mistakes. I'm never going to stop feeling guilty, am I?

"Shame… Because I'm shadier than ever," Ron grinned, making Harry snort. "Jokes aside, you have to understand that you're just one person, Harry. You won't always be there to protect your friends, so don't be afraid to occasionally give them a push in the right direction. Knowing you, loving you, that's already made them the Dark Lord's enemies, and he has no mercy in him, especially not where you're concerned. He will come for them in ways that you can't even fathom, just so he can hurt you. The only person who calls you friend, and understands the coming danger, is Hermione. Learn to listen to her, and get Neville to do the same. These happy days… They won't last for much longer. Prepare yourselves while you still can."

"Is that why you come out here with your friends every morning? Is that why you keep inviting us to join you lot?" Harry asked reluctantly. It can't be that simple, right?

"What do I gain from you becoming a stronger wizard, Harry?" Ron asked in response. "What is Theo going to do for me that I can't do for myself? What do I stand to achieve by making Ginny a witch that no man can ever abuse, again?"

"Peace of mind, I suppose."

"A true friend will always dread the day you will fail, but a truer friend will do everything in their power to make sure that such a day never comes," Ron stated, looking back to the lake. "Remember that, mate, when you have to deal with the tantrums and the rejections and the complaining… Remember how much you love your friends, and just keep pressing forward."

Harry gave another nod, pondering Ron's words silently. I always found Hermione's nagging about our homework annoying, but I never really considered that she gains nothing by Neville and I scoring higher on our assignments. She… just wants us to do well, nothing more. A truer friend, as Ron said-…

"And be careful with the old man, Harry," Ron suddenly whispered, making him blink. What…? "He cares about you more than you know, but just like everyone else, he has plans for you. Don't ever make the mistake of thinking that he knows everything, because I can promise you that he doesn't. He has made many mistakes, and those mistakes have gotten innocent people killed. Be careful with him, because if you aren't, he will author your destiny without you even realizing it."

With that, Ron turned on his heel and walked away, leaving Harry to gawk at his receding back. What the hell? What mistakes? And why would he say something against Dumbledore? I… don't understand… God, I really can't bring myself to even begin understanding Ron, can I? He's just… too damn weird…

---

Amelia Bones' POV

Friday 21st May, 1994 (Department of Mysteries– Near Midnight)

"Professor Saul Croaker," Amelia greeted, stepping out of the elevator and, for the first time, into the Department of Mysteries. "I received your summons. All twenty of them." How dare you flood my office like that? Who do you think you are?

"I reached out two weeks ago, Minister, but you ignored me," Croaker reminded her, he was a grim-looking man with a lopsided, vacant smile that immediately made her uncomfortable. "I had to take… drastic measures."

"Next time, just come up and fetch me, instead of asking me to sneak down here in the dead of night," Amelia ordered, moving past him. "Well, what is it that you need to show me? What is so important that the Department of Mysteries has finally remembered that it's a part of the Ministry?"

"You must not have paid attention in History of Magic, Minister," Croaker caught up to her. "It is the Ministry that is a part of the Department of Mysteries, not the other way around. The Ministry was built around this structure you now stand in, which has existed for longer than memory."

Amelia stopped, looking back with a frown. "A rumour, nothing more." One started by you lot, no doubt.

"It is no rumour, I assure you," Croaker chuckled ominously, his grey eyes seeing through her. "I, however, did not summon you here to educate you. I summoned you here to warn you."

"Warn me? Of what?" she asked, her brow furrowed.

"Of a force more powerful than any we have yet encountered," Croaker said cryptically, leading the way forward. "You must see it to believe it."

Amelia stared at the man's back, before drawing in a soothing breath and following him deeper into the dark. Eventually, they came upon a black, handle-less door, which Croaker opened with a whisper, revealing a large, circular room. Everything inside was black, including the floor and ceiling. Identical, black, unmarked, handle-less doors were set at intervals all around the black walls, interspersed with branches of candles whose flames burned blue, their cool, shimmering light reflected in the shining marble floor so that it looked as though there was dark water underfoot. This place is already making my skin crawl. Why is it so dark in here? What secrets lie beyond these doors?

"These doors… Where do they lead?" Amelia asked, her curiosity getting the better of her.

"Enlightenment," Croaker whispered in response.

"Enlightenment?" Amelia repeated. "That's a bit vague, don't you think?"

"It is the truth," Croaker chuckled creepily. "Down here, the truth is all that matters. No lies. No schemes. No politics. Only truth." Why do I get the feeling that he's not all there?

"So, if I walk through that door, I'll be enlightened?" Amelia asked, pointing to the door to her left.

"If you walk through that particular door, you will never return," Croaker told her, surprising her with how certain he suddenly sounded. "None who have crossed its threshold have ever returned." What?! People have died down here?!

Amelia looked to the door warily, and for a moment, she saw pink lights flashing from underneath the thin gap at the bottom. Her mind grew increasingly dull the longer she stared at the black door, as if an unseen force was putting her at ease, perhaps even calling out to her.

"…Amelia," her long-dead mother whispered to her, making her jump back in fright. "Come through, love. Let me see you, again-"

"Do not listen!" Croaker suddenly took her by the arm, pulling her away.

"My… mother… She's behind that door…" Amelia muttered, shaken. I've missed her so much-…

"No, your mother is gone, Minister," Croaker warned. "Your memory of her, your love for each other, however, remains. Come, let us move on before you get hurt." …Right… No wonder they don't let anyone down here. This place is dangerous, indeed. Perhaps, Croaker is right, after all. Perhaps, this place has been here longer than any of us can even remember.

Leading her further towards the centre, Croaker raised his hands and mumbled incantations under his breath, and soon after, the black walls began to rotate. Amelia heard old gears begin to turn and creak, the ground rumbled beneath her feet, until eventually, a black door lined up directly ahead of them. Merlin's Beard! What a marvel of engineering! Who built this place? The Wizards of Old? Or, a group even more ancient and powerful? It was definitely not the Ministry, of that I'm now certain.

"Follow, and do not wander," Croaker ordered, and this time, Amelia did exactly as she was told.

"Professor Croaker… Are you the only Unspeakable working, tonight?" Amelia asked as they neared the black door.

"I'm not sure, Minister, for I rarely leave the Hall of Prophecy," Croaker answered in a hollow tone, alarming her. What the hell does he mean by that? Is he the only one who works there?

The short, thin man pushed the black door open, revealing yet another marvellous room. Amelia followed him inside, now finding herself within a vast, cold chamber with a ceiling as high as that of a cathedral. It was filled with row upon row of towering shelves. On these shelves were hundreds of small, dusty, glass orbs, each with a yellowed and dusty label affixed below. Candle-brackets set at intervals along the shelves held blue-flame candles, which emitted no heat whatsoever. I can barely see anything past ten feet. How do they not trip over themselves in here?

"The Hall of Prophecy," Croaker introduced, leaving the already stunned Amelia even more impressed.

"You wish to show me a Prophecy?" Amelia questioned. "I thought that only those who the Prophecy refers to can hear it?" Unless, the Prophecy is about me directly? I hope not. I decide my own fate, not some Seer.

"That is because of the countermeasure we deploy," Croaker answered, moving onwards. "The contents of this room could tear the Wizarding World apart overnight, after all, and as such, we must do everything in our power to protect the Prophecy Records." He then paused, his pale face growing even paler. "…None of that matters, now, of course… None of these Prophecies will ever come true…"

"What do you mean?" Amelia asked, taken aback. "Prophecies always come true, in one shape or another."

"That is what we all thought, until five years ago," Croaker looked to her, his expression unreadable. "Timothy Waldeck, a shoe merchant prophesised to 'die at the hands of his own creations on the eve of his fiftieth name-day' broke his Prophecy. He is now fifty-five, and still selling shoes through Madam Malkin's."

"One shoe merchant? That is all you have?" Amelia asked.

"That's the first one we recorded," Croaker said, making her blink. "Look around, Minister. There are thousands of Prophecy Records in here. Timothy Waldeck was most likely not the first to have his fate altered, he was simply the first one we discovered. And, in the time since, every single Prophecy in this room has become null and void." …What?

"How do you know? Should they all have come to pass, already?" Amelia looked around, baffled. "Aren't some of these Prophecies made for those not even born yet?"

"When Mr. Waldeck was discovered still breathing, we returned to his Prophecy Record," Croaker started, his eyes becoming distant. "We removed the protections in order to listen to the Seer's words, however… Something beautiful, and terrible, happened… The Unspeakable in charge of the investigation was pulled into a dark abyss within his own mind, a void so empty that not even colour could exist there." Amelia leaned away from Croaker, disturbed. "No colour but crimson." What the fuck…?

"I… don't understand," Amelia swallowed thickly, what new devilry was this?

"Something out there is undoing destiny itself, thread by thread," Croaker whispered fearfully, making her skin turn cold. "As the years progressed, we found more and more Prophecy Records become like Mr. Waldeck's, and now, all of them will take you to that dark abyss."

Amelia looked to the shelf on her left, she hadn't felt this nervous in a long time. If what he is saying is true, then the Dark Lord is the least of our worries. What could be so powerful as to overthrow destiny itself?!

"Why did you never bring this up before?!" Amelia demanded, grabbing Croaker by his collar. "Five years, you said?! In five years, you couldn't have come up that elevator to let us know?!"

"We chose to study the phenomenon on our own, as we have always done, though we knew we had to share the truth eventually with someone who would appreciate the gravity of the situation," Croaker explained, unfazed by her anger and still staring through her. "Fudge was not that person, and neither were those under his command. We did think of going to Albus Dumbledore, but we have not trusted him since he tried to keep Harry James Potter's Prophecy to himself. If not for Sybill Trelawny writing to us, asking us to immortalise her within this hall, as we did her ancestors, we would have never-"

"Harry Potter's Prophecy… Did it have something to do with the Dark Lord?" Amelia asked, and Croaker gave a nod. Damn that old man! Of course, he tried to keep it secret! Wait… Oh, fuck! "What happened to it?" Don't tell me-…

"Same as the others, I fear," Croaker replied, making her knees buckle. "Minister?"

"…Circe's Breath!" she hissed, taking a step back and steadying herself. "What could be behind this madness?!"

"The Crimson Sun," Croaker whimpered reverently, his shoulders sagging as his eyes glazed over. The what? What's wrong with this man? "It is there, in the deep, dark place. Watching. Waiting. Starving. It has always been there."

"Speak sense, you fool," Amelia muttered, taking another step back. …He's lost it…

"Look for yourself, Minister," Croaker gestured to the Prophecies all around them. "Look, and know that I have done my duty to warn you of what's coming. A force capable of turning fate into its plaything. A power mightier than any this feeble world has ever seen." He then trembled, looking like a boy who had become lost in the Forbidden Forest. "…God."

---

She awoke in darkness, her head throbbing painfully. W-Where am I? Oh, I feel sick… She sat up and rubbed her temples, feeling even more lightheaded than before. The last thing she remembered was her holding a Prophecy Record, and then, the world had started to fall away. She had been 'pulled' into the small, glass orb, and now, here she was. Where is here, exactly? Is this the 'dark place'?

Amelia stood up to study her surroundings, her jaw dropping open when she realized that, no matter where she looked, there was only blackness. This… is new… When she looked down at her own body, she was further shocked to see that it was quite visible, as if she were standing outside in the middle of the day. The only difference, however, was that she was colourless, made up of only shades of black and white. Croaker was right… No colour… By all the Gods, what is happening here?

"Hello?!" Amelia called out, walking forward with great trepidation. "Is anyone out there?!" No one answered, not even her own voice echoed back. "My name is Amelia Bones! I… come as a friend!"

Again, there was no answer, and so, Amelia pressed forward. She walked, and walked, and walked, until time itself became distorted in her mind. It felt like she'd been here for years, and yet, it also felt as though it had been only a few seconds. The throbbing in her head got worse with each step, and although she gagged from the nausea, nothing came out of her. I… can't fucking breathe… Merlin, have mercy… What is this horrible place? How do I get out of here? I can't see anything but the darkness.

She continued onwards for several hours, or seconds, or days, or years, and then, she fell to her knees when her legs could carry her no longer. "…Please… Help me… Someone… Croaker… Get me out of here…"

She stared helplessly up at more darkness, her head hanging back as her eyes rolled into the back of her skull. The abyss around her was taking her away, she could feel it, now. It was dragging her away from reality, from life, from existence itself, and she was powerless to stop it. Cold, invisible tendrils creeped up her arms and legs, holding her in place for a purpose beyond her understanding.

"Son, come home," she heard her own distorted, corrupted voice call out, her mouth moving of its own accord.

The darkness was suddenly blown away by searing crimson, bringing her back to her senses like a train crashing against a mountain. What the fuck?! What is happening to me?! LET ME OUT OF HERE! PLEASE!

She jerked in her spot, screaming at the top of her lungs, but the tendrils kept her in place. "LET ME GO! YOU BASTARDS!"

Amidst her struggles, she managed to catch a glimpse of what was behind her, of what had banished the darkness away, and the sight immediately sapped all the fight out of her. The… Crimson Sun… It's real… Croaker isn't a madman… Its rays left her feeling colder than ever, as if she herself was devoid of warmth to begin with, and now that she had seen it, she couldn't bring herself to look away.

It was… divine.

The most beautiful thing she had ever seen, and also the most horrifying.

It was like looking upon… God!

---

Amelia jerked out of her slumber, sweating and wheezing.

"Minister," Croaker kneeled beside her, taking her by the arms and helping her sit up.

"W-W-What was t-that? Where w-was I?" she trembled, clinging to the man desperately. Why am I so cold?!

"What do you remember?" Croaker asked, shaking her when she didn't answer. "Tell me! Did you see it?!"

"I… saw something…" Amelia muttered; her head felt like it was about to explode. "It was… red, I think…" I can't remember… It feels like I have a concussion, or worse…

"Not red… Crimson," he hissed, shuddering. "You're no different from the rest of us, it seems. We couldn't remember it, either. Couldn't make sense of it. So, we entered that place again, and again, and again, and soon, a picture began to form. A picture that…" he paused, swallowing thickly. "… began to consume our very minds…"

"Consume your minds?" Amelia paled, leaning away from the man. "Croaker… Where are the other Unspeakables? You mentioned that others helped you look into this 'phenomenon', so where are they?"

"They left, and those who didn't I banished for their own safety," Croaker whispered, looking around with a fearful expression. "I… had no choice… They were in danger, and I had a duty of care…"

Amelia grit her teeth and pulled herself to her feet, gesturing Croaker to keep his distance from her when he moved closer to help. "There's something wrong with you, Croaker… Something is off with you, and I can feel it all over my skin…"

"…I know," Croaker nodded, standing up straighter. "At times, my mind… slips from me… And, there have been voices… Voices I've never heard before, whispering secrets to me about myself that I didn't know existed… I… am not well…"

Amelia took a wary step back, her eyes moving from Prophecy Record to Prophecy Record. "This place… I'm shutting it down, tonight! You need help, Croaker, as do the others who have been exposed to that-… Whatever it was!" I must warn Dumbledore of this! Whatever this is, the Ministry can't face it alone!

For a brief moment, something akin to rage flashed across Croaker's face, making Amelia reach for her wand, but it passed as swiftly as it had come. "…This… is not the first time we've had to destroy knowledge… I know you are right, and yet, I…" he trailed off, rubbing his face harshly. "No, this is why I called you here. The Hall of Prophecy has been compromised, and we must shut it down."

"…You've done well, Professor Croaker," Amelia decided to use a different approach, the man was clearly in shock. "Come with me, and I'll get you the help you need." He needs to be in a room at St. Mungo's-…

"The other Unspeakables… Those who don't operate in the Hall of Prophecy…" Croaker mumbled, and Amelia raised an eyebrow. "They do not know of this, and no matter what happens, they cannot know. They will Obliviate us both so they can continue my research, such is the hubris of all Unspeakables. They cannot be allowed to see this place, not for any reason, so I must destroy it for all our sakes."

"They would go as far as to attack other Ministry Officials?" Amelia asked, shocked. "To Obliviate them from the shadows?"

"We did, didn't we?" You've Obliviated people over this? Damn it, Croaker… "Five years, and we learnt nothing. Instead, it felt as though the only thing that was learning was the Crimson Sun." He shuddered, again. "…It knows us, now, doesn't it? What fools we have become-"

"Professor Croaker, come with me, please," Amelia offered the man her hand, despite her ever-growing mistrust of him. "You need to get out of this place before it does any more damage to you. Come, I'll help you find your way out. Give me your hand."

Croaker looked around almost nostalgically, as if he could not stand to be parted from this unnerving place, before taking her hand in his. "I have done my duty."

"You did, Professor, now let me do mine," Amelia began to lead them out, her eyes darting from Prophecy Record to Prophecy Record. I will have this place sealed for the good of the public. Some knowledge is better left untouched. As for Croaker, he needs to see a Healer as soon as possible. My head is still aching, so I can only imagine the damage he's done to himself by choosing to stay here for so long.

As they reached the end of the room, Croaker came to a sudden stop. Amelia looked back just in time for him to pull his hand away from hers, turning to face the towering shelves.

"Professor?" Amelia called out, subtly brandishing her wand. If I have to stun him and drag him out of here, I will. "What are you doing, Professor? Speak to me."

Croaker raised his hands in the air, whispering strange, unfamiliar incantations under his breath. As Amelia aimed her wand at his back, the ground began to shift as groaning gears came to life beneath the black floor. What is this?! The shelves swayed back and forth, before they all began to tumble, causing the mass, and swift, destruction of the tainted Prophecy Records. Merlin's Beard!

"What have you done?!" Amelia demanded over the sounds of shattering glass, grabbing the small man and dragging him out of the room by force as the shelves near them began to collapse. He couldn't have waited until we were outside?!

The moment they crossed the threshold, the black door slammed shut of its own accord, causing Amelia to go wide-eyed. What was that?! Did he tell the room to self-destruct?! Who built this place, exactly?! And why would they include such a function?!

"It's done, then," Croaker muttered, letting out a pathetic chuckle as he bent over. "…It's finally over…"

Amelia let go of the man's arm, looking towards the other black doors with genuine dread. I never want to step foot in this Department, again! What other horrors are they hiding down here?!

"Come along, Professor," Amelia managed, forcing herself to focus on anything except for what she had just endured. "The sooner we get you out of here, the better. Come." Dumbledore… I must seek him out once Croaker has been admitted, and then, I must find the other Unspeakables who worked under him. Whatever that place was, it was dangerous. More dangerous than even they realized, the fools.

"I… need to sit down, Minister-"

"You'll have plenty of time to do that, Professor, at St. Mungo's," Amelia urged, taking him by the arm, again. "Please, this is for your own good. Come with me." What terrible power could be behind those Prophecies becoming null and void? Is… this the power of a God? I can think of no other explanation…

---

Ronald Weasley's POV

Friday 21st May, 1994 (Diagon Alley – Near Midnight)

He stood at the front of Solomon's Bakery, his crimson, toad-like eyes illuminating the door. Solomon better have a good reason for summoning Us here so late.

"Master?" Marty squeaked from behind him, and Ron's eyes slowly returned to normal. Keep a cool mind, old boy. Anger without discipline is a weakness, as Madam Roberts once said.

"Keep your wits about you, mate," Ron advised, turning his head and cracking his neck. "This man is not to be trusted. If this is a trap, we might have to fight our way out of here."

"Marty does not like this, Master."

"Neither do I, but this could be important," Ron said, taking a step forward and knocking on the door.

After a few seconds, the door creaked open a little, and Solomon himself stuck his ugly head out of the crack. "Ah! You got my letter, did you? Not easy to get in touch with you, not one bit."

"Owling me at Hogwarts was stupid," Ron frowned. "Well? Aren't you going to let me in?"

"What's the password?" Solomon grunted, and Ron rolled his eyes.

"Open the fucking door, cunt," he hissed. "How's that for a password?"

"Works for me, that does," Solomon gave a nod, pushing the door open and turning around. "Keep up, lad, I'm interrupting my own sleep for you."

"What is this about, Solomon?" Ron asked, following the Half-Troll into his 'shop'. "What was so urgent that you felt the need to send your owl to Hogwarts itself?"

"You didn't crack my code?" Solomon shot a look back, tutting. "Not the brightest bulb, are you?"

"Your code? You mean the gibberish you scratched all over the letter?" Ron asked in response. "No, I didn't crack it. If you hadn't signed 'Bread-maker, love-maker' at the bottom, I wouldn't even know it was you."

"You figured out the timing, though."

"You wrote the fucking time-…" Ron started, but stopped to draw in a sharp breath. "Just tell me what this is about. You're starting to irritate me, and that never ends well for anyone involved."

"Oh, that I know," Solomon grunted, shaking his head. "Still haven't forgotten what you did to Fudge, I haven't. Fuckin' vicious little bastard, you are. Absolutely vicious, and damn fuckin' scary."

"Then, start talking," Ron ordered, following him through the back door into the 'bakery' itself. "Why am I here?"

"To be saved," Solomon chuckled. …What? "That's right, lad, I'm doing you another solid. There's a man here who wants to save your life, and the idiot has no idea that you can't be killed." Hold on… Does he think me immortal? Well, isn't that just perfect? He won't cross me so lightly, then. "It's a bit funny, so I thought I'd humour myself. Baking bread is hardly entertaining work." He looked back, adorning a very serious expression. "We bake all sorts here. White. Brown. You name it, we bake it." …Right…

"Who is this man who wants to save me?" Ron asked, intrigued. "And save me from what?"

"Can't go spoiling the surprise, now, can I?" Solomon wagged his fat finger, his other hand stroking his bushy beard. "No, it's better if you see it for yourself." That's not suspicious at all.

Ron shot Marty a subtle look, who gave a shaky nod in response. "Fine. Lead the way, Solomon."

The burly Half-Troll led them to the very back of the bakery, where Ron had put an end to a pathetic coward's miserable existence, where he had first laid eyes on his golden tormentor, and there, a lean man with unkempt, black hair was waiting for them. Ron quirked an eyebrow at his would-be-saviour's back, coming to an abrupt stop. That's close enough. Who is this twat? I don't recognize him.

"Here you go, you fuckin' lunatic," Solomon called out to the man, laughing to himself, already. "When he flays you, don't say that I didn't warn you to fuck off."

The man turned around, and Ron's eyes shot wide-open. You?!

"I had hoped never to lay eyes on you, again, Mr. Weasley," the tanned man with the distinct scar across his nose whispered, looking quite on edge. "But you and I… We're each other's only hope, now." Ajax Chloros! You fucking wretch!

"Was me chopping off your hand not enough?" Ron started laughing, his eyes gleaming red. "Oh, you stupid little cunt… I'm going to fold you in half, and rape you to death with your own broken feet!"

"Told you he wouldn't be happy to see you," Solomon chuckled, before coughing loudly. "Fuck me… Need to stop using that damn pipe…"

"Your life, and the life of my boy, are in grave danger," Chloros took a small step back, raising his hands in surrender. Your boy? "Hear what I have to say, at least. Then, you may do with me as you please. After all, I'm already a dead man."

Ron ground his teeth, an inhuman growl emanating from the back of his throat. "…Your boy… I'll listen for his sake, but after you're finished, you die." Tracey, this is for you!

Chloros' expression fell, and he gave a shaky nod. "…I figured as much… Robert Bulstrode wants you dead, and he's hired me to do the deed…" Robert Bulstrode? That fat fuck sent you? "He's made it clear that Julian's life is forfeit should I fail. Please, I know I have no right to ask anything of you… But Julian… He's just a boy… It's not his fault that he's under my care…"

Ron's eye twitched, remembering the small, blonde boy who was using his coloring book as a pillow. For fuck's sake… "Start. Talking. Now."

---

AUTHOR'S NOTES: Praise be to Slaanesh!