CHAPTER 36

28 March 1994 - Main Meeting Hall - Department of Mysteries, [Time - REDACTED]

The hum of chatter ebbed and flowed through the spacious room, though the unique application of Muffliato within the hall ensured that no one conversation could be overheard by another for whom the conversation was not meant.

The amphitheater-style room was quite similar to that of the Wizengamot Chambers on Level 1 of the Ministry; circular in shape with a high vaulted ceiling along with eleven wedge-style sections with tiered seating. Each Division had their corresponding section, with each seat carved with the specific number for the appropriate Unspeakable. The seats closest to floor-level were reserved for the Division Directors, the seats behind them for their Associate Directors, and the remaining seats - in ascending numerical order - for their respective Associates.

At the center of the room was a long spire-style podium reserved for Control, flanked by a smaller podium for the Chief Aide. Seventeen looked as chipper as ever, Dicta-Quill and parchment at the ready.

Directly in front of Control were two identical yet smaller podiums for would-be presenters. Today's picks were Number Two and Three, the former of whom bore his standard scowl and the latter of whom hummed a jolly ol' tune under her breath as she nibbled on the head of an inert Chocolate Frog. The entirety of her team were present in their appropriate section, as was fitting for the Time Division's direct involvement in the events that necessitated the current meeting.

Likewise, the Director of the Prophecy Division was present, elegantly sipping her tea whilst softly chatting with her Associate Director Thirty-Six. Nine and Eighteen were of a similar manner, as were Ten and Twenty. Unlike his Division's namesake, the Director of Love was usually quite snarly and snarky, rather ironic given that his area of study involved fanciful love. It helped that his Associate Director - whose area of expertise laid in matters of the filial - was considerably more bubbly and accommodating than her superior and thus served as her sub-department's primary point of contact. Though, it was worth noting that Ten was considerably engaging and affable with his own sub-department's team members than naught.

Four - Director of Space - was content to imperiously sip his orange blossom tea and soundly ignore the room's occupants, scribbling in a small personal notebook with his custom eagle owl quill. Twenty-Four did the same, though she was hunched over hers as she mumbled advanced arithmancy formulas under her breath.

The remaining Directors of Death, Muggles, Records, and Ethics were all solo, content to chat amongst themselves. Also present was Thirteen, silent and stoic in his section as the man looked to be sleeping upright. It may have been a trick of the ensorcelled lights in the space, but it looked as though Thirteen's section was obscured in slight shadow, which made the perfectly nondescript face conferred by his advanced Glamor Charm all the more…uncanny.

None knew exactly what he or his team did as members of Division Thirteen, the only DoM sub-department without a formal name.

Well, without a name known to the rest of the Unspeakables.

Thirteen only liaised with Control and Saul Croaker without use of Seventeen, another oddity that compounded the mystery. Of course, they all had their theories. Three and Seven were convinced the entire Division was composed of the original Druidic mystagogues who still lived to preserve the truly unspeakable of the DoM's secrets, utilizing some form of arcane magic to sustain their forms for centuries. Five, Nine, and Eleven believed that Thirteen oversaw the various mysteries of Wild Magic, which was a much more accurate theory.

Eight and Ten didn't care so long as Thirteen's work didn't negatively interfere with their own, a sentiment shared by Eleven who found the presumably older wizard very intimidating.

Given the nature of the security and secrecy magicks that occluded and protected each Unspeakable's identity, only Control and the Voice could see all of their true faces and true names - Thirteen's included. As was standard, each Director knew the true face of their team members, as well as knowing the face of their fellow Directors given their collective seniority. Knowing the identity of the Associate Directors and respective Associate Unspeakables depended on security clearance and a strictly need-to-know basis, mainly during collaborative research projects and the like.

Of course, this information wasn't readily accessible to the mind. The very second an Unspeakable exited the entrance of the Department of Mysteries, any and all information pertaining to their team's and fellow colleagues' identities would be completely wiped from his or her mind. Said memories would be reasserted when and only when they crossed the threshold of the Department's entrance hall, hidden deep within the subterranean caverns of Level 9 in the Ministry.

If one of their Number were to be unfortunate enough to fall victim to an Imperius or a powerful Legilimens outside of the Department's walls, nothing pertaining to the DoM, Unspeakable, or any classified research would be found. The memories of their true lives would seamlessly blend into each other to account for what would be the missing chunks of time. 001 and 002 were under the same cognito-security spells, even as it pertained to each other.

Pressing a runic groove to cancel the room-wide Muffliato, Control lightly banged his gavel to bring the room's members to attention.

"I hereby call Session 27 to order. Two, Three," he turned to nod at each of them. "Please give us your comprehensive report pertaining to the Matter-At-Hand."

Nodding, the Voice and Time Director gave their joint summary on the events pertaining to Harry Potter, Penelope Clearwater, and Astoria Greengrass and their whirlwind journeys through time as ordained by Fate. As always, Three would begin excitedly rambling in a tangent, only getting back to the point at the softest clearing of Saul Croaker's throat. Soon, they completed their report, looking up to gauge the reactions of their colleagues.

"By Hecate, that's bloody fantastic!" exclaimed the Director of the Death Division, expression bright in boyish glee and amazement as the hall's other occupants stared at him in varying degrees of shock and disbelief.

"Fantastic?! Did you hear a single word of what they just said?!" Records looked utterly scandalized, as did Love, Ethics, and Muggles. Death merely brushed them off with a practiced roll of his eyes.

"Seriously Lucky," replied Three with a huff. "It sounded like all three went through literal hell, quite certain none of them would call it 'fantastic' or anything else of the sort."

"I concur," Twenty-Four replied, though her expression looked curious. "I am, admittedly, fascinated at the prospect of two uniquely-contained beta timelines… I wonder if there's enough spatio-thaumaturgical energy to still be quantified…" She trailed off, hunching back over her notebook to resume her furious scribbling as the others looked on in varying degrees of amusement at the Ravenclaw's eagerness.

"Dunno…" 007 looked rather cheeky. "Perhaps Dee here can take that Eye of Agamotto out for a proper spin." He wiggled his eyebrows, snorting out a laugh at his friend's outraged expression as Ten rolled his eyes at their antics.

"Blimey Lucky, have you gone mad?! You really want me to activate an Alpha-level artifact to recreate not one, but two unique instances of Forgone Temporality using the secondary divergent timeline as a prime anchor?! Just so Hours here can crank out a few more arithmancy equations?! Who the hell do you think I am, Doctor-bloody-Strange?!"

"Ugh don't even get me started on that wanker!" sneered Seven irritably, teasing mood entirely forgotten. "Buggering 'Sorcerer Supreme', as if he's the only bloke who's ever mastered wandless magic!" And with that, he made a series of occultish wiggles with his fingers, summoning a kaleidoscope of extinct Persephone butterflies that fluttered around his less-than-amused colleagues.

"Would you knock that off?" grumbled Five, unholstering his wand to cast Evaneso at the creatures as Seventeen mimicked his actions. "Last time you did that, I got stuck with a non-Vanishable and non-Silenceable Shade of Ood that I have to bloody supervise! Bloody thing won't stop singing, worked its bloody way up to Verdi's Requiem!"

Seven barked out a delighted laugh. "Oh relax, these pretty little insects are perfectly harmless, just like our little Ood friend! That buggering 'Sorcerer Supreme' wouldn't know that, would he? Not to mention that ridiculous accent of his-"

"He said, with a Northern accent," interrupted Four's posh London tones as he glared at Seven.

"OI! Lots of places have a North!"

"Here we bloody go," muttered Ten, looking keenly irritated as Four and Seven got into one of their usual petty spats.

"Hem-hem!" Control interjected, accompanied by the firm BANG! of a gavel. "Do stay on topic." He leveled a look at each of them, pleased to see them go silent.

"I do find it curious that Mr. Potter's traversing through time did not succeed in staving off Prewett's treachery." The concern in Eight's tone wasn't hard to miss. "Granted he's in Auror custody along with Thorfinn Rowle which is a boon for us all, but still…I am incapable of not feeling a sense of discomfort at his continued existence given Misses Greengrass and Clearwater's recollection of...past events he helped orchestrate, said events that nearly brought Wizarding Britain and out muggle counterpart to its knees."

"That is assuming that he was meant to meet his demise in this current timeline," said Six quietly, leveling a penetrating gaze at Eight's responding stare.

"Let me guess; it was obviously written in the pomegranate tea leaves, all of which were also gone this morning when some of us wanted a cuppa," growled Croaker, not budging at the scathing glares both Prophecy Unspeakables sent him. Their interactions were always tense at best, as the two witches considered Saul entirely too boorish and blunt for his own good.

Sniffing in disdain, Six replied: "As I was saying Eight, it is entirely possible that Prewett's path is not meant to end in this timeline. It may have been his destiny to be arrested and spend the rest of his days languishing in the bowels of Azkaban with nothing but the Dementors to keep him company. Given his reveal as a high-ranking Death Eater, I imagine the memories of all the horrors he's perpetrated and witnessed will be enough to keep him more than company."

008 digested her words as 002 softly grumbled under his breath about "wasting perfectly good tea".

"Did that traitorous wanker reveal what he did with Subject W? Considering he had his bloody werewolf goons ambush Forty-Five and I to get him?!" As all of the room's occupants had been read into the issue of Subject W, 005 could speak freely.

"From my correspondence with Director Bones," replied Saul. "No. They're working their way through a lot of Veritaserum and advanced Auror interrogation techniques, but the man is a solid Occlumens, at least a Level 4, and thus can evade the influence of the former and bear the force of the latter. Whatever he chooses to share is utter gibberish that has nothing to do with the topic at hand. He's toying with them, and they know it. Same with Rowle too." The Voice's trademark scowl grew even tighter.

"Perhaps Yards here can get more out of him when it's our turn to get custody." Three nodded in Nine's direction, who snorted out a laugh.

"Trust me, it will be my pleasure when the time comes." A giggling Three started to make a temporal-related joke, before blushing in silence at the look Control gave her.

"If I may," Eighteen softly interrupted. "You two mentioned that Potter insinuated the Department's involvement with 'creation' of the current Dark Lord. Can we assume he was referencing the Untouchable's involvement with that matter? He turned traitor, forsook his oaths, and took up league with the Dark Lord."

"Precisely so, Eighteen," replied the Voice. "Rather presumptuous of him to assume that we had anything to do with that nutter Rookwood turning coat." It was less than subtle, imperceptible really, but Eighteen's Legilimency registered the ever so slight tightening of Control's eyes as Croaker blinked rapidly.

Twice.

Even more surprising was Nine's reaction, who subtly shifted as he recrossed his legs.

They were lying.

'Very interesting.' Eighteen merely nodded while filing their reactions away to be more thoroughly assessed at a later time.

"Speaking of the Untouchable, has he turned up anywhere? Hopefully as a bludgeoned corpse?" Seven sneered at the thought of the traitor.

Two snorted. "Unfortunately no, we're not that lucky. Seventeen and I have been keeping close tabs on any reports of sightings from the Aurors and civilians, nothing new so far." He turned to Eight. "Any updates on your end?"

The Director of Muggles sighed. "Nothing on my end either; the aide-de-camp has increased surveillance and other applicable security resources significantly since the Burford Crisis this past Yule. No sightings whatsoever of any of the Death Eater escapees anywhere. His French, German, and Swiss counterparts have no new updates concerning the escapees either." His expression tensed. "We have to contend with the very real possibility that they have left the continent entirely and are just…laying in wait."

Control nodded tightly. "Update our allies as needed 008, ensure they increase the threat-level. Provide updates as they are readily available." Eight nodded.

"Pardon me." The dulcet-toned statement ground all activity to a halt. Thirteen leaned forward on steepled hands, his nondescript face catching the soft glow of the overhead lights. "I am…curious…about the formula Miss Greengrass utilized to calibrate the Cryptohedron. Can you further elucidate, Number 3?"

The witch lightly jumped at being addressed before quickly rifling through her notes. "Um…sure…one sec… Ah! Here we are! The formula was actually created by Miss Clearwater using a series of predictive Galilean formulas combined with Brahean astro-arithmantical equations. She used Mr. Potter's natal chart as the arithmetical foci so she could maintain at least 75-80% accuracy. She has a natural eidetic memory amplified by her Occlumency training, so she was able to recall the exact configuration of the activated Cryptohedron from her timeline and used it as a frame of reference. She then used those calculations to create derivative versions along with pictograms for Miss Greengrass to comfortably use and follow along."

"That is most impressive," murmured Eighteen quietly, as the remaining Master Arithmancers in the room repeated his sentiments. Three's Fam scribbled some notes as Four looked utterly amazed, a rare feat indeed given his proclivity towards snobbish superiority on account of having four Masteries.

Though in truth, being the Heir to a pureblood Noble House had more to do with his trademark demeanor.

"I concur, Eighteen." Turning to Eleven, Thirteen softly asked: "I can assume a Recruitment Overture will be made?"

The man lightly gulped at the weight of the (presumably) older wizard's gaze. "Yes. It will be activated at the beginning of the following month."

Thirteen nodded. "Inform me when she accepts."

"Hang on a mo' Doomsday!" interjected a scowling Three at the wizard, who merely quirked an amused brow at her nickname for him. "I'm the one who told Banker to send her the Overture! How come you get dibs on her?!"

"003…" said Control warningly, eliciting a grumble from the witch and snickers from some of her colleagues. "As you already know, should Miss Clearwater accept the Overture and consent to undertaking her Primary Quest, she will be a Trainee and thus not assigned to any Division. Upon completion of her Final Quest her performance will be evaluated, and then we will vote to decide which sub-department she will join."

Somewhat mollified, Three haltingly nodded.

"Just to confirm," said Eleven. "Potter, Greengrass, and Clearwater will be classified as Persons of Extreme Interest per their interaction with an Omega-level Artifact, in conjunction with their status as Time Agents per the aforementioned. Is there anything else I need to add to the official record?"

"That should suffice," replied Control. "We will need to confirm an Oversight Agent to keep any eye on Potter and Greengrass for the remainder of their Hogwarts tenure, especially in light of the former being a subject of a True Prophecy."

"Isn't that what Seventy-Two is for?" asked Seven.

"In any other context, yes," replied Six. "However, given the circumstances of her employment, any responsibilities she shoulders as part of her Conscription are directly under Headmaster Dumbledore's purview."

"Sure you're not up to it Sunday?" asked Three cheekily.

The witch snorted, though her lips lifted upwards in amusement. "My school teacher days are happily behind me."

"We'll address the matter of an Oversight Agent in a future vote to coincide with the end of the current Hogwarts term." Control nodded to Seventeen, who made a quick note to schedule the necessary session.

The Unspeakables spent the next half hour discussing other relevant matters of import, before an alert on Control's master communication mirror halted all discussions.

"Chime #36 sounded, a serious incident of accidental magic in Feldcroft. A pair of magical twins spontaneously transformed into their Animagus geese duckling forms after being spooked by a rogue Quintaped which somehow made its way from the Isle of Drear. All three are on the loose, and the former are in grave danger of being supper for the latter."

"A literal wild goose chase," snorted 005. "I'll inform Twenty-Five, and we'll venture to address the situation." Nodding to Control, the Director of Creatures took his leave.

"Well, it seems like we're all done here!"

"Ah-ah-ah, not so fast 003." The witch froze. "Chime #12 also sounded." Three groaned in agitation. "A group of overly curious muggles somehow got themselves into the clock-tower proper of Big Ben and succeeded in activating the hidden Temporal Rewind Runes, activating a déjà vu zone that is slowly spreading from the tower."

It was Twenty-One's turn to groan as he ventured down from his seat to come stand beside his boss.

"How is that even possible if they're muggles?" asked Seventeen curiously.

"Squibs," answered Eight confidently. "The magic is in their blood though they may not be able to access it. Must be quite strong enough to bypass the Notice-Me-Not and Muggle Repelling Charms." He turned to the Time Unspeakables. "I'll accompany you two to London to deal with any muggles caught in the crosshairs. I'll ensure an Obliviator Squad is on hand to lend the necessary assistance."

"Thanks Wonder," Three said gratefully.

"Well, think of it this way Dee," said Seven, ambling down to wrap a long arm around a grumbling Three. "Least this time, there's no randy vicar ambling about!"

30 March 1994 - La Crypte Caché - L'Inconnu - Ministère des Affaires Magiques, [Time - REDACTED]

Pleased for the soundproofing magicks in the interrogation space, Gabriel Delacour watched with a blank expression as L'Aliéniste stared unblinkingly into the eyes of Pascal Saucet who screamed bloody murder.

The Chevalier of Le Département de Esprit of L'Inconnu retained his blank expression, pine wand deftly gathering and flicking the memories he legilimized to the surface of the screaming man's mind into Unbreakable phials levitating alongside them. As always, Le Garde-Chiourme appreciated his colleague's efficiency.

A particularly brutal scream tore from Pascal's lips, but L'Aliéniste didn't cease. A powerful natural Legilimens skilled in mindscape hijacking and memory acquisition, the Chevalier was used to drawing screams from detainees as he invaded their psyche to draw out their deepest and darkest secrets from whatever self-induced obfuscation they utilized to escape their trauma.

In the case of Pascal, said trauma was particularly violent as it had involved suffering hours-long torture at the hand of La Paillaise for his treachery. As one of the most vicious and magically powerful enforcers for Le Milieu, she hadn't held any punches with her choice of curses. The only reason he wasn't dead was because of La Mouche's intervention, successfully absconding with Saucet under her 'Marta Morel' disguise.

Part of the Spécialistes called Les Alchimistes, Pascal and his cohorts were responsible for creating magically-altered items that could be sold to the muggles without arousing too much suspicion from the Bureau of Aurors and the ICW. Said items were of the narcotic variety, specifically diluted versions of mood-altering potions imbued into muggle stimulants, hallucinogens, and other such similar substances.

The process required a precise and practiced hand coupled with extensive knowledge of Potions, Herbology, and Chemistry. Pascal held 'Outstanding' NEWTs in the two former, while his sister Anaïs held a degree from the Sorbonne in the latter. Together, the two siblings and two fellow associés performed the necessary alterations before handing them off for sale to Les Coursiers, the smuggler team who'd replaced the Frumps on the advent of their brutal murders.

In line with their enduring raison d'être, Le Milieu created and sold the specialized antidotes to the hospitals in the cities their products circulated. Naturally, the magical Pitié-Salpêtrière Institute purchased the bulk of the product, discreetly disbursing it to their muggle counterparts as needed.

Unfortunately, like any mortal, Pascal was not immune to greed. He'd secretly been selling his potions formulas along with a member of the Tkachenkokaya Bratva, the largest magical mafia operating in Eastern Europe. They were looking to expand into both magical and muggle Western Europe, using the handful of French and English connections they possessed to do so. Le Milieu was not appreciative of any of their overtures, recognizing the would-be decline in their influence should they allow the Bratva to establish roots and grow unencumbered.

Additionally, Le Caïd and his Conseillers were well aware that the Bratva didn't share their ideology of 'En haut comme en bas', and would irrevocably tip the scales in favor of the upper echelons of society - specifically of the pureblood supremacist variety.

It was doubly ironic considering L'Aliéniste - real name Stéphane Tremblay - was the maternal nephew of Volodymyr Tkachenko - the sitting Pakhan of the Bratva and one of the most ruthlessly dangerous wizards to cross Delacour's radar.

Though it helped considerably that Stéphane (and his mother) abhorred his uncle's brutality and influence in equal measure.

'Family…' thought Gabriel sardonically. 'What can you do?'

Some more noisy minutes passed before Stéphane corked his last phial and ended his probe. Tucking the phials into his pocket, he retrieved healing potions he magically uncorked with a deft flick of his wand, pouring them into Saucet's open and drooling mouth. His terrified expression smoothed over, before a Sleeping Draught was administered and caused him to keel over unconscious. Taking their cue, the two Junior Chevaliers looking in on the opposite side of the room came forward and, casting a joint levitation, floated the man away.

Exiting the room, L'Aliéniste came to Delacour's side, handing him the memory phials.

"I can assume this information will be shared with the Aurors to begin the necessary dismantlement of this…organization?" Though his tone was soft, there was a keen bite of disdain that wasn't hard to miss from colleague's tone.

"In a manner of speaking."

"Sir-" Gabriel held up his left hand, immediately silencing a scowling Tremblay.

"I understand your concerns regarding this organization, as you have shared many times over. But, as I have told you repeatedly, Le Milieu lies on the lesser end regarding matters of Truly Serious Concern. We know every player on the board, and they do their part in providing intel on the truly dangerous and deranged lurking in the shadows of our society. It is due to their refusal to bend to the whims of Grindelwald and the recent Dark Lord that France was not completely overrun by those degenerate scum and their equally demented acolytes."

The vicious disdain wasn't hard to miss given the sneer that overtook his handsome features.

"Should we get rid of Le Milieu," Gabriel continued. "It would leave a vacuum, and you and I both know how much nature abhors that."

"They are violating practically every tenet of the Statute by selling magically altered drugs to the muggles!" Stéphane hissed angrily. "Is it not our wizardly duty to stop that from happening?!"

"Indeed it is, and they will be reprimanded as is appropriate for that flagrant indiscretion." As the third most powerful agent of L'Inconnu, Gabriel possessed the means to ensure their punishment would be swift and decisive.

"...You are certain?"

Delacour smirked. "Wizard's honor." Tremblay frowned whilst staring unblinkingly into his superior's eyes. It would seem as though he were attempting to legilimize the older wizard, though given Gabriel's status as a Level 7 Occlumens, it was highly unlikely.

Nodding tightly, Stéphane turned and marched away to his offices. Taking his cue, Delacour did the same. After going through a series of winding maze-like hallways that moved and changed, Le Garde-Chiourme finally reached his office, granting an answer to the Sphinx portrait's riddle and entering the room.

Comfortably settling into his chair, he retrieved the memory phials and Banished them to a blood-locked cabinet, vowing to attend to them at a later time.

Reviewing his daily itinerary, he frowned at the top of his list.

The comings and goings at the Crazy Unicorn Cabaret were venturing from 'sensuously entertaining' to 'egregiously illegal'. Owned by Jerome Fletcher - first cousin of Mundungus Fletcher - the cabaret typically employed Squibs with limited prospects who needed money and a means to remain in the wizarding world. But lately, non-consenting Squibs were being trafficked to Jerome's club, whom he then 'loaned' to high-end muggle clubs for a very steep profit.

It was utterly repugnant in every sense of the word, and spoke to Jerome's shameless greed and utter lack of dignity. Per his inside agent La Nénette, Delacour knew that Le Milieu was not involved with this particularly vile scheme, and for that he was grateful.

According to Nénette's current intel, Jerome was away on business in Monaco, thus leaving his home and office empty. The Chevalier had succeeded in planting a bug in the latter, but had never gained access to the former despite her many blatant overtures. Unfortunately, she was also accompanying Jerome on his business, leaving an open opportunity.

Ordinarily, such an infiltration would be perfect for La Fou. But, she was currently in the middle of Charms class and La Dompteuse would be utterly furious at her daughter's studies being interrupted. Plus, she herself was busy tending to her youngest daughter.

Her predecessor would more than do.

"EXPECTO PATRONUM." Silvery light poured from his pine wand, resolving into his buzzard messenger. "Je supplie La Demoiselle en cette période de grande détresse." Coeus turned on swift wings to deliver his missive.

Some minutes passed before a gorgeous corporeal swan waltzed in and spoke in a cold yet lilting voice: "La Demoiselle répond à votre appel. Dis moi ce dont tu as besoin."

Present Time…

"As requested, Gareth. Three wanted magical criminals who fit the bill for the Ministry's needs."

Steven Baxter handed the man a small Rubik's cube-sized box covered in all manner of containment runes Mallory had originally given to him. It'd come directly from Number 8 for this exact purpose. Steven had originally expressed some trepidation utilizing such a blatantly magical object given his history, but he couldn't allow his pride to come in the way of efficiency.

"Are they conscious in there?"

"By God, I certainly hope not!" Steven snorted in amusement. "I pumped them with enough sedatives to knock out a herd of elephants. As discussed, all are wanted criminals on…magical English soil. There's Talbot Adler, Johnny Donovan, and Gustavo Fierro, all of whom's combined charge sheets could fill the length of the American Constitution. Johnny and Gustavo were relatively easy enough to grab, but I had to trudge through a bloody vampire domain to get to Talbot!"

Gareth's eyes widened. "Surely you jest!"

Steven snorted. "Only after whiskey. Though admittedly, I caught Adler on the outskirts of the vampire town in some cozy little cottage. Some blonde bombshell had properly worked him over, the man was in an absolute daze. I waited until she stepped out for a mo' before extracting him." His expression turned cheeky. "You'll owe me extra for that one."

Gareth smirked whilst tucking the prisoners' box into his inner pocket. "I don't disagree at all." Reaching into his other pocket, he retrieved a slim and discreet envelope he handed to Steven. "As promised, immunity deals on French and Albanian soil, signed off by myself and the relevant parties. Yours is the master copy, each government has a copy on file."

"Much obliged."

"You will also have access to off-the-grid safehouses, should you need it."

"I may very well take you up on that."

The two men exchanged a few more bits of pleasant conversation before they bid each other goodbye, simultaneously exiting from the abandoned old cottage that served as their meeting point.

Gareth was glad the entire business was over. It'd been a rather stressful few days at Sandringham with his quarterly summit with Her Majesty, and the cold, damp, and gusty winds of Aberdeenshire were wearing on his already thin nerves. Avoiding the topic of Dementors was easy enough with the Queen was easy enough, but it was still more stress than it was worth.

'But once I deliver this package to Number 8, the bulk of my stress will be alleviated.' His magical contact had informed him of the Death Eaters recapture, which meant the criminals he was offering up were purely gratuitous.

Entering his armored vehicle, he turned at Moneypenny's urgent voice: "For you, sir. 10 Downing." She handed him the large cellular phone prototype made exclusively for him.

"Go for M." A nervous Moneypenny watched his face cycle through anger and disbelief whilst growing increasingly red. "What do you mean a blue police box just…appeared in the basement?! And it took you lot two hours before you noticed it was there?!" Not bothering to wait for a response Gareth terminated the call and handed the phone back to a gobsmacked Moneypenny.

"What should we do sir?"

He unfastened his seatbelt with a snarl. "Get the helicopter ready for London. And send a car for Mr. Bernard Leeds, immediately."

Seemed he'd be meeting with Number 8 sooner than he expected.

8:11AM

It was quite the full house in the Lair as recently ascended Prince Harry Potter and his coterie of counselors settled into their new positions. It was near mid-April, and thus one of the few moments wherein Harry and all his allies could all reunite before end-of-year exams.

Luna had been surprised and rather trepidatious given the world-ending prophecy Professor Trelawney had dream-dumped on her should Harry go through with claiming the Throne. The Hydra hadn't missed her nervous glances, eliciting their collective amusement.

But alas, the former Claimant had informed her prior to this meeting that he'd formally withdrawn his name from consideration but the Hydra had denied his request and voted him in anyway, regardless of the world-ending implications.

'Guess we'll have to do like Rajah says and figure out some way to stop the would-be apocalypse wrought by all this.'

Though she had confidence in her best friend, Luna was still reasonably nervous.

"Not that I'm complaining," said Ginny coyly. "But why are you here Tori?"

The youngest Greengrass giggled good-naturedly. "Because I saved Harry's life, isn't that right my liege?"

Laughing, Harry launched into an explanation on the events of Hallowhain and his and Tori's jaw-dropping escape from a pack of rabid werewolves, an event he'd initially been very cagey about sharing with his friends on account of discovering - whilst recovering in the Hospital Wing - that the real Amy Wilkes had been found unconscious under a pile of transfigured debris with her seriously injured auntie. As Lily and Sirius were the only ones who'd bore witness to faux-Amy being ferried to safety, they'd agreed to keep that part omitted whilst Harry investigated.

In hindsight, the younger Potter had found it odd that he'd neglected to doggedly pursue that decidedly odd occurrence, until realizing it was one of the subtle manipulations of the Cryptohedron and Time Turner working in Tori's favor to prevent her discovery until, well, the right time.

Prior to Harry's explanation of the Hallowhain events, both he and Astoria had agreed to omit any reference to Polyjuice, as that would inevitably invoke a reference to time travel. As they were oathbound by the Unspeakables to never reveal any details pertaining to the Cryptohedron and Time Turner, it made their entire explanation considerably less bizarre.

That also included references to the actions she and her Ravenclaw co-conspirator had undertaken to prevent the tragedies of the past timeline coming to fruition. Such included Penelope's use Portkeys to ferry out the Potter Twins in the wake of the Express exploding, Astoria making multiple anonymous sighting reports to the Aurors to ensure they kept an eye on Citadel Rowle, and Astoria sneaking in Penelope's magically enhanced cockroaches, termites, and flesh flies into Madame Milburga's school, thereby forcing its temporary closure and thus saving the lives of Libra Gaunt and her then-unborn daughter.

"Well I'm very glad you saved Harry's life, Tori. Imagine how weird things would be around here if you hadn't?" Though Draco's tone was teasing, Astoria couldn't help her slight wince, a reaction not missed by the room's Occlumens. Harry winced too, but he did a considerably better job of hiding his reaction from all, save Luna.

"Well we're glad to have you," Miranda said softly. "It's mine and Marcus' final year, so Potter here will need all the help he can get." Flint snorted in agreement as the other chuckled.

"Gee, thanks Miranda." She winked cheekily. "If you don't mind me asking, what are your plans after you graduate?"

"...Well…depending on how well I do on my NEWTs…Professor Snape's offered me the opportunity to begin a Potions apprenticeship with him."

A chorus of congratulations filled the Lair, causing the witch to blush as she shyly uttered her thanks.

"Have you accepted?" asked Eurus eagerly.

"If my Potions and Herbology NEWTs come back with an 'Outstanding', then yes, that was the agreement. My other subjects aren't as relevant, but I know Professor Snape won't accept anything less than 'Exceeds Expectations'. Finger-crossed, yeah?"

Another round of congratulations sounded, with Harry giving a subtle nod of approval. The Selwyns had been pushing for her to take a Junior Undersecretary role with Ludo Bagman in the Department of Magical Games and Sports, a deal Antonius Warrington - owner of the Montrose Magpies and personal drinking buddy of Ludo - could have easily made happen.

However, with Harry's coaching, Miranda had succeeded in convincing Seneschal Selwyn that her utility would be better served as an apprentice to Lord Prince, close friend of Lily Evans and Lord Gaunt. It would be the best means to 'keep tabs' on the Slytherin Potter and all his allies while providing Harry with whatever useful intel she could scrounge from The Family.

"You excited for full-time Aurorship?" Ginny asked Marcus.

He smiled. "Definitely, finally get the formal training, full nine-yards. You didn't hear it from me, but Scrimgeour's going to be providing extensive assistance since the Auror Corps is such a mess at the moment." He winced in spite of himself, causing the others to mimic his actions. The absolute chaos and carnage wrought by Prewett and Rowle during their mad escape would take months to overcome. There simply wasn't enough personnel to handle the sheer load, but newly-minted DMLE Director Kingsley Shacklebolt was up to the task.

The group chatted about a bevy of far more pleasant topics, before Miranda, Marcus, and Astoria took their leave. The former two cited NEWTs study sessions, the latter cited spending some time with her sister and Tracey. "Daphne always gets rather… intense around exam season, best to catch her now before she descends into utter madness." With a fond roll of her eyes, she bid the others goodbye.

As soon as the Lair's door shut, Harry turned to his friends with a considerably more somber expression.

"Uh oh…I know that look."

Harry jerked. "What look?!"

Theo snorted. "The 'I have LIFE-CHANGING news to share but don't make it a big deal even though you should' look."

Harry could only sputter indignantly as his friends snickered at his reaction. Annoyingly enough, Theo was very much correct in his assessment, as the news he was about to share with them was, in fact, very life-changing. He'd grappled with even disclosing this much information to his fellow Slytherins, but, in light of his recent ascension and the role of the Advisors in relation to the Prince, he was prepared to take the plunge.

"Fine," Harry sighed. "Theo's right, I do have some 'life-changing' news to share with you all, and I am choosing to share because I need your help." His friends' amusement died down at their seriousness of his tone. "Thankfully, I know the Lair has special security measures to prevent what I'm about to tell you from being discussed with anyone, so I can divulge all what I'm able to given the…severity of what I'm about to share with you."

"Bloody hell Potter, you didn't kill someone did you?" Draco's tone held a teasing lilt.

To the blonde's shock, the Prince's expression turned guiling as he leaned forward and whispered: "...Define…someone…" Malfoy sputtered as the others gawked. All save Luna, who stared above Potter's head and giggled in amusement.

"Stop being silly Harry, you're scaring them." She rolled her eyes fondly, causing the others to relax as he wiggled his eyebrows cheekily.

And with that, Harry began his tale by divulging Sybil Trelawney's First Prophecy pertaining to Jim and You-Know-Who. At the end, he noticed the skeptical expression Draco levied his way.

"That whole Boy-Who-Lived Prophecy is real?" Heir Malfoy's face wrinkled. "Father always thought that to be propaganda, something Dumbledore cooked up and spread to whatever source he had at The Prophet who then spilled the beans to that blabbermouth Rita Skeeter so it could make the front page."

"Your dad really believed Dumbledore had a secret source at The Prophet?" Ginny looked incredulous.

Draco shrugged. "Father always says that the Headmaster is considerably more shrewd and clever than most would give him credit for, and the reason for that is all purely by the Headmaster's design. It would be entirely within his reach to create a somewhat plausible story that would drum up enough public sensation to justify a one-year old baby vanquishing a decades older Dark Lord. But if there really is a prophecy…" he trailed off contemplatively. He wasn't the only one, as GInny, Theo, and Eurus wore similar expressions.

Blaise's was perfectly blank, the opposite to the penetrating gaze Luna leveled above his head.

"And this prophecy is why You-Know-Who has been trying to kill you and your brother since your First Year, and won't stop until he succeeds or until Jim does…whatever he did to get rid of the wanker the first time. Which definitely didn't involve killing him, considering he's still alive by some horrible miracle. How in Circe's name do you even survive the Killing Curse?!"

Harry winced before answering Ginny's question.

"You…you believe he did that?!" Eurus looked horrified as Draco audibly choked, barely succeeding in muttering a 'Thanks' at the glass of water Tweaked popped in front of him.

"You've heard of a horcrux before?" Harry asked Eurus, not bothering to ask Draco considering he was the Heir of an Ancient and Noble House tasked with safeguarding the secrets of anathemagic.

"Only in passing," she whisperingly replied. "I was around nine, playing in my mother's parlor. I caught the tail-end of her conversation with one of her colleagues at Al Ghayb, that is, the North African equivalent of the Unspeakables. Apparently, they'd discovered a collection of canopic jars in Saqqara that did not contain the organs of the Pharaoh for whom the jars were entailed. One of Al Ghayb's agents came in contact with the jars…began draining his life force…they thought it was possession…" She physically shuddered as her face grayed, nodding gratefully as Luna comfortingly grasped her hand.

"...Ron…", choked Ginny, mentally connecting the dots regarding her poor brother's prior misfortune. "Is that what happened last year?!"

Prince Potter winced. "Yes. But!" he continued, hoping to allay the witch's mounting panic. "Whatever it was wasn't a complete horcrux, so it ultimately failed. Ron is fine, and isn't in danger of becoming re-possessed or anything of the sort." It took a few moments and, surprisingly enough, soothing gestures of comfort from Malfoy, but the youngest Weasley calmed.

"Tell me the Dark Wanker doesn't have more of these…horcrux things that are keeping him alive!"

Harry replied in the negative. "But, given the fact that he does continue to exist and has had me in his crosshairs for the past three bloody years, it'll be part of this Administration's goals to stop him from achieving his goal. Which…brings me to our next topic…"

And with that, the younger Potter described Professor Trelawney's Prince of Slytherin Prophecy.

"Bloody hell mate!" exclaimed a wide-eyed Theo, oscillating his shocked gaze between his best friend and the visibly amused Hydra.

"Seriously, do the Trelawneys have some kind of vendetta against your family?"

Harry snorted at Draco's question. "As wild as it seems Drake, no. I even checked to see if there's some variation of the Enmity Oath between our families, and none exists. I honestly think I've just got rotten luck."

"I'm more so concerned that she came to you in your dreams," said Eurus concernedly. "And that she knew to come to you in your dreams and deliver a bloody Prophecy. Most seers haven't a clue when they're about to deliver a prophecy, much less seek someone out who can share the prophecy for its intended subject. You…you think she knew to do that because…you know?"

Luna nodded. "I believe so. I think those of us with…mystic inclinations can be Dreamwalk and Dreamtalk with more ease than others. With her being a Seeress, I can imagine she's even more sensitive than most would be.

"Um…sorry to interrupt," Ginny interjected. "But what in Merlin's name are either of you talking about?" Looking to Harry for permission, Luna turned to Ginny and Draco and informed them that she'd be able to tell them everything so long as they swore the necessary oaths.

"We've all sworn it," Harry stated. "It'll make it much easier for us to talk about…well…that."

Exchanging a flummoxed glance, Draco and Ginny withdrew their wands and swore the necessary secrecy oath to Luna. Satisfied, the witchling divulged everything she knew about heliopathy.

"...Blimey… that's why you're so good at telling what people are feeling, though it's hard to make heads or tails of the words you use to describe things…" Draco looked keenly pensive. "Honestly, I thought you were some kind of Legilimens and were just being coy."

Luna looked momentarily amazed, as did Harry. The latter also realized that Heir Malfoy was much more perceptive than he let on, and not for the first time, he was pleased to have elevated the blonde from his enemy to a trusted ally.

"Um…sorry to interrupt here," said a very concerned Theo. "But you just told us that you becoming Prince means that the world is going to end. You're Prince. Ergo…the world is going to bloody end?!"

"Oi, don't look at me!" Harry held his hand up in supplication. "The Hydra believed my Administration and I could overcome a pending apocalypse, so in addition to keeping the Dark Lord off my back, that's what we're going to do!" Theo cut a glare at the serpents, who all stared back with varying degrees of imperiousness.

"But…why you though?" Heir Malfoy tilted his head curiously. "I mean, why would you off all people be the catalyst to bring about the end of the world? Granted, your dad is kind of…erm…a nutter when it comes to you being in Slytherin if the stunt he pulled First Year is any indication, but it just doesn't make sense why it'd be you and not the Git-Who-Lived, considering he already has one prophecy bounty hanging over his head."

Harry shifted uncomfortably at that surprisingly astute statement.

Blaise blinked twice in rapid succession, an action noticed by Eurus who frowned curiously. Likewise, Luna noticed a flurry of wrackspurts spring into existence around his shroud-like muskrills, which were slowly beginning to spin on their axes and flashing red instead of their usual cool blue.

He was alarmed and growing distressed.

"Well Drake, I really really really want to answer your question since I know exactly why I may be the very real catalyst that brings about the end of the world, but it involves yet another prophecy foretold by yet another Trelawney."

"Merlin's beard!" exclaimed Ginny incredulously. "Are you sure they don't have it out for your House?! How can one bloody family give three separate prophecies that involve the same person?! That should be bloody impossible!"

Potter snorted. "Trust me, it feels impossible, but no more than his bloody oath I took to… Huh." His expression wrinkled curiously, causing the others to frown as they asked him what was wrong.

The kaleidoscope of Harry's mind was whirring. The Potter Oath he'd sworn to safeguard the Prophecy was very powerful. It doesn't just punish him for revealing the Prophecy, it physically prevented him from doing so. Whenever he even thought about the Prophecy, he could feel the oath's effects tugging on his magic, waiting to bind him from saying too much out loud. It was supposed to stop him from revealing it in the presence of a hidden eavesdropper. He should have felt the oath's tugging on his magic now as he actively attempted to find some means to share the secret with his friends. But he felt no such thing! His eyes cut to the Hydra as a possible reason for not feeling the binding effects since he'd revealed the Prophecy to Tom, Snape, and Malfoy Sr., but then he remembered the previous night chatting with Astoria in the Lair and the Prophecy crossing his mind, having felt the effects of the oath's binding on his magic from speaking too freely.

He was just about to share his theories with his friend before he registered Blaise fidget.

Heir Zabini never fidgeted.

He then noticed the accusatory look Luna leveled at the top of the boy's head, no doubt seeing his astral beings throwing a fit.

It all clicked.

"Tell me, Blaise Zabini. Why do I not feel the oath affecting me now, even though you're here and you shouldn't know anything about the Prophecy it protects beyond the two lines I've already told you?"

He flinched at Harry's tone, just as he realized that everyone within the Lair was staring at him in varying degrees of shock or scrutiny. Theo's whole body tensed slightly as though he suddenly suspected it might be necessary to attack the other boy in defense of his Prince.

"Well Zabini," prodded a sneering Harry. "How is that possible?!"

Blaise licked his lips. "I don't know Harry, I cannot explain it."

Luna's glare intensified. "Stop. Lying." The room's occupants gawked at the harsh rebuke in her tone, silvery gray eyes flinty as they stared above Blaise's head. "You've been lying since you entered this room, and you've been lying to Harry several times over. Starting with when you conveniently didn't know what a 'Deathly Hallow' was despite think-speaking that exact term into Harry's mind." She leaned forward with a sneer, causing Blaise's eyes to widen at both her expression and her wand trained directly on to him. He noticed Theo do the same, as Draco and Ginny's forms tensed in equal measure, seeing the former subtly unholster his wand. Eurus only glared in open suspicion and something akin to disappointment.

"All this time," whispered Harry darkly, eldritch green eyes glowing with anger and accusation as his voice trembled at the revelation of Blaise's betrayal. "You knew the depth of…This Thing…knew its importance in relation to my entire bloody life, and you never said anything?! All while pretending to be my friend?!" Prince Potter leaned forward, eyes beginning to flash Avada green. "Give me a reassson why I ssshouldn't end your missserable exxxissstenccce!"

Zabini flinched at the furious hiss whilst resisting the urge to quiver in the face of Harry's wrath, the likes of which had never been directed towards him. Theo and Luna looked equally furious as the remaining could only gawk at the sudden turn of events. Draco, interestingly enough, was briefly reminded of the frightening visage of then-Claimant Potter he'd faced during his First Year and admittedly embarrassing (and sobering) censure.

"Well?!" Harry demanded angrily. "Do you have anything to say?!"

"No," replied Blaise quietly.

"No?!" Harry sputtered. "What the bloody hell is that supposed to mean?!"

"I mean, no. As in 'no, I will not answer your questions.' At least, not today." Then, he slowly and cautiously rose from his chair as if to reassure all the room's occupants that he wasn't a threat.

"My mother explained to me once that true conversation can only take place between equals. Between two people operating on a basis of mutual trust with neither having a reason to lie and neither having a reason to distrust the other. I will not answer your questions because for some of them, I cannot answer your questions despite how badly I really want to. And for others, I could answer but not in a way you would accept as the truth." He briefly lowered his gaze, and to Luna's surprise, she noticed his nargles begin to slowly sway to-and-fro.

Contrition.

She reholstered her wand before laying a gentle hand on Harry's arm, allaying the boy's furious rebuttal as he visibly calmed. The others registered that action and calmed as well, though neither Theo nor Draco loosened their wand grips.

"You are still planning to attend the European Junior Dueling Tournament in Paris this summer?"

"Well there's a non-sequitur," snarked Ginny with narrowed eyes.

"Yes," Harry answered suspiciously, in complete agreement with the youngest Weasley's assessment.

Zabini nodded. "Perfect. I'd already invited Justin and Anthony. You will be attending Harry, and the invitation extends to you Theo, and you Draco."

"Thanks, I guess," said Theo with a perplexed expression. Draco merely snorted at his presumption.

"That doesn't sound like an invitation, Zabini," Harry said frostily. "It sounded more like an order."

The boy gave a small smile. "Let's compromise and call it an invitation you would do well to accept," Blaise replied. "It'll be a great time for us all, and I am certain your mother would enjoy a bit of a holiday. I'll give you both a tour of Marseilles, and, should you want your godfather to come along, I imagine he'd be chuffed to take you on a tour of Château Black. I've heard it is exceptionally stately."

Not waiting for a response he strode towards the door, before slowly turning back to face Harry directly. "And sometime during your stay, my mother will read your destiny in the cards a second time. And if she likes what she sees, she will answer all of your questions."

Blaise smiled knowingly. "And believe me, Harry Potter. You have more questions that you need answers for than you could possibly realize!"

With that, Blaise Zabini turned and left the Prince's Lair.

"Blimey," Eurus whispered dazedly. "And here I thought 'The Count of Monte Frump' was the maddest thing we've seen this month!"

2:53PM

"LUMOS MAXIMA!"

A powerful burst of bright white light erupted from 009's beech wand, repelling the snarling super-pack of Gytrashes away from his rapidly descending person. He continued his assault, succeeding in dispersing the dog-like spectres.

'Of course, the damned things can attack midair too.'

Resisting the urge to snort indignantly, the Chief Mind Unspeakable continued his task, keeping his downward falling body as streamlined as possible. He'd come tumbling through a trapdoor almost an hour earlier, cleverly evading a lush tropical-themed maze-trap that would have kept him chasing his proverbial tail for hours and ultimately trapped him within the Untouchable's mind.

As a Syncopist Legilimens, Nine would have had a slightly easier time than most. The nature of his skill kept his targets in a constant hypnagogic state, dulling their Occludic offensive reaction time and allowing for successful penetration through the deeper shells that hid the target memories. Inducing somnambulism was also an option, though the prospect of granting Rookwood any autonomy - even in sleep - was something 009 was not willing to entertain.

Almost three hours of a muddled foray of weakened psychic traps had marked the first eight levels into the Ventriloquist Legilimens' mind, all surprisingly easy to overcome. Despite the psychic degradation that was to be expected with almost a decade's worth of Dementor exposure, Rookwood had still been able to maintain an active 9-mind array that hadn't deteriorated under constant assault of the Dementors' accursed aura.

It was as disturbing as it was sobering.

The last time Nine had performed an evaluative venture into the Untouchable's sanctum sanctorum, he'd been a Junior Unspeakable with a 4-mind array, each equipped with their unique Occludic defenses, concurrent thoughtstreams, and other cognito-structures that would prove difficult to navigate for a comfortably skilled Legilimens.

Even more disturbing had been the ever-present tickle curling against his mind, like ephemeral threads attempting to take root. As impressive as it had been, Nine had recognized that Twenty-Seven was still young and thus had years for improvement with access to the Unspeakables' knowledge.

Who knew what impact two decades of time sniveling under a Dark Lord before subsequently rotting in Azkaban could have?

Soon, his downward descent slowed, allowing him to finally 'land' on a surface. His illusory senses flared sharply, slightly calming when sensing no immediate cognitohazards.

'Huh.'

It was a long series of stairs, stretching beyond the visible horizon and looked to be at least three miles in length. The steps were hewn of pure basalt rock, glimmering like stars in the lowly lit space. A massive body of dark and forebodingly still water surrounded the stairs, emitting a low thrum of sentient malevolence.

'Well…won't be going through there.'

There was something at the end of the stairs, something which glowed with a pale blue light along with a unique psychic signature that strongly hinted at the source of the entrance of the Untouchable's memory palace.

Now, Nine's primary task would be traversing the stairs to reach the endpoint. He could very easily begin climbing the stairs, treating what were mere mental constructs as reality, and thus submitting himself to what was no more than a hostile idea.

Knowing the Untouchable's propensities, the stairs would probably turn into a downward slide that would dump him the dark waters to be eaten by some Merlin-forsaken creature conjured from the traitor's twisted imagination.

Thinking fast, Nine traced his wand in the air whilst whispering "SPECULUM IMAGO". An identical facsimile of the stairs sprang into existence, curving into an arch that would deposit 009 at the necessary endpoint. A few non-verbal spells wove additional protective magicks into the facsimile he'd created, providing enough of a buffer to retaliate should Rookwood manifest an offensive countermeasure to his plan.

With a sigh, he set off on his journey.

Seven Minutes Later…

Successfully disembarking with surprisingly no defense injuries, 009 took a moment to assess his newest surroundings.

It was a large pensieve on a raised dais, aglow with the swirling whitish-blue mists of memories. The basin was massive, enough to fit four heads comfortably. Of course, he wasn't stupid enough to stick his head in, as Rookwood was perfectly capable of setting up an elaborate trap that would keep him stuck in the apparatus, if it didn't end up draining all of his memories before killing him.

With a keen eye, Nine softly cast a slew of detection spells, mentally cataloging each diagnostic result.

Suddenly, he froze as his psychic perception flared in alarm, signaling imminent danger.

Something was behind him.

He sharply turned with wand at the ready…

Before freezing in abject horror at the sight that greeted him.

Inferi.

A horde of inferi.

The sight of so many of the undead was horrifyingly chilling enough (not to mention that they'd snuck up on him almost undetected), but nothing could top the sight of their leader.

He was significantly taller than the rest, form surprisingly spry. He resembled the current Rookwood, older and oozing a keen malevolence that would make lesser men shudder. Rotted and decayed flesh tightly stretched over a partially-exposed skull, parts of his open eyes burning as they gazed into Nine's horrified own. Putrefied flesh was adorned in filthy and decayed rags, while his partially mottled fingers were wickedly curved into deadly sharp claws.

Perfect for tearing apart human flesh.

Shaking off his momentary shock at Rookwood self-manifesting as a bloody Inferius avatar, Nine's wand flashed as he bellowed "MALEDIGNIS!".

Unfortunately, it wouldn't be enough.

Ducking sharply to the left then down, the creature skillfully evaded the spell as he lunged at 009.

"AAAARRGGHH!"

Inferius-Rookwood slashed at his chest, immediately sending Nine downward with a pained scream. Some of the remaining creatures swarmed as they grasped the screaming man's limbs, sinking their claws into his flesh to keep their prey steady.

Leering hatefully at the Unspeakable, Inferius-Rookwood spoke in a chillingly rasping tone.

"You…truly believed…that you could…invade… my sanctum sanctorum…and not suffer…consequences?!" He then laughed, an empty rattling sound that was at once too quiet and loudly echoing everywhere. "Oh…my dear friend…I will truly…enjoy…TEARING YOU APART!"

And with that frightful declaration, the monster presented his right hand and willed the claws of said hand lengthened into ultra-long, thin barbed needles.

Perfect for burrowing through his would-be victim's head and implanting the necessary psychic strings for ultimate control.

Nine realized he was completely and utterly trapped. Despite being a psychic projection in Augustus Rookwood's own hellish mind, the depth of his probe meant that any damage incurred on his projection would manifest as corresponding stigmata on his physical person. He had no means of ending his Legilimens' probe now, too far deep in the Untouchable's mind. Any other self-defense mechanisms would be utterly useless and he didn't have the time to think of anything else.

As the barbed tendril-claws of Inferius-Rookwood brutally plunged through 009's mind to implant themselves as psychic strings, the Chief Mind Unspeakable initiated the Self-Destruct Sequence.

His primary mind began the frantic and terrifying process of rapidly identifying and locking up the key memories in unassailable psychic lockboxes and banishing them to the secondary mind, leaving nothing but a blank space in its wake.

The secondary mind repeated the process, consolidating the lockboxes into a more singular structure that was summarily banished to his tertiary mind. Said mindscape was summarily wiped completely blank.

His quaternary, quinary, and senary minds repeated the process, this time identifying all of the memories of Nine's Multiple psychic Personality backups, packaging them in protective mental lockboxes that were banished deeper into his sanctum sanctorum. It repeated the process for 'Philoctetes Dippet', 'Phil Dippet', or any other variation of his true name and their respective Personalities, obscuring them in the safety of unassailable lockboxes and banishing them all septenary level.

At the seventh level, the words 'Unspeakable', 'Mind Division', 'Research', and any and all other terms - however obscure - tying to Nine's research projects were stripped from his conscious, subconscious, and unconscious vocabulary, as though they'd never even existed. Said slate was wiped perfectly clean, a blank palette of nothingness.

In the seeming blink of an eye, any and everything related to Nine/009/Philoctetes Dippet/Phil Dippet/and all other relevant and related topics was permanently locked deep within the bowels of his nonary mind in five impermeable psychic lockboxes which 003 would have likened to the non-activated form of the Cryptohedron, shrouded in what a mystic would have likened to The Great and Endless Void. All that remained was an 89 year-old man who, beyond basic human functions of feebly eating, drinking, talking, walking, sleeping, and performing basic commands and spells, was incapable of doing anything else.

And thus, was completely useless to Augustus Rookwood in any way, shape, or form.

A scream of pure rage echoed through their joint minds as the Untouchable bellowed his wrath, commanding Inferius-Rookwood to remove the barbed needle probes from the catatonic wizard's form.

With a simple mental command, Rookwood terminated their mental connection as his projected world faded to black.

Five Minutes Later…

"IMPERIO PATERS."

Nine's limp form went rigid as the Unforgivable took hold, causing his eyes to glaze as his expression slackened peacefully. Unbeknownst to him, Rookwood had succeeded in undoing his restraints, and using the sharp-end of a transfigured lockpick to slice a path through his palm and that of 009. Linking their palms together allowed their blood to mingle, establishing a sympathetic connection that would allow the magic of the Imperius-variant to recognize them as one individual bearing the same blood, thereby allowing it to work.

If not for that, the use of an unauthorized Unforgivable within the DoM would have registered in the Early Warning division and the backup security measures exclusive to Control's own office.

Snatching 009's wand from where he'd dropped it on the floor, Rookwood stared at the Chief Mind Unspeakable for a beat as he squeezed their joint hands tighter, before raspily commanding him to "Get me out of here."

On autopilot, Nine led them out of the interrogation room down a dark maze-like hallway past a slew of other interrogation rooms, all of which were seemingly empty. Rookwood gripped his stolen wand tightly, preparing himself for the prospect of a violent confrontation. A part of him yearned in anticipation for such an event, while another part of him burned in seething outrage at being denied the boon of being an Unspeakable.

'They took it all from me…'

The discovery of his betrayal - and thus the direct violation of his commands from his superior officer - saw him stripped of his Unspeakable duties and banished from the vaunted institution, with every single memory pertaining to every bit of research he'd undertaken as an Unspeakable completely wiped from his mind.

All his minds.

Any attempt to restore those blank black hole-like spaces left Augustus with nothing more than a burning rage-filled frustration, and it took every bit of his considerable Occlumency to not lash out in violent retribution.

And now, thanks to Nine's cleverness at initiating a psychic Self-Destruct Sequence, his plans at stripping the Unspeakable's mind bare had escaped him with no means of retrieval, at least not one he knew off. Rookwood sneered at the thought of being cheated again.

They soon arrived at a blank marble wall. Realizing that his captive required use of his wand to activate the emergency exit. Handing Nine back his wand, he watched with a gimlet eye as the man efficiently traced a distinct runic pattern that caused the smooth marble wall to recede. A dark chute was revealed and snatching the wand from the Unspeakable, Rookwood cast a slew of detection charms to ensure it wasn't some ruse. Satisfied he asked Nine:

"Do you have an emergency Portkey?"

He robotically reached into his innermost pocket and retrieved an empty box of Bertie Botts Every Flavor Beans. Smirking, Rookwood snatched it out of his hand and quickly reprogrammed the end-destination to one of his own, pleased to see the object glow a bright lavender at his success

"OBLIVIATE!"

The most recent memories cleared from Nine's mind, before Rookwood terminated the blood connection and healed their mutual wounds.

Peering deeply into the mentally declined man's mind, Augustus smirked in satisfaction.

"LACERO HORRIBILIS!"

Deep bloody gashes bloomed across Nine's chest as he dropped to the ground. Laughing in boyish delight Rookwood jumped down the chute with an exuberant "YAHOOOOO!", successfully activating the Portkey to his safe house when he reached the chute's end.

Three Minutes Earlier…

Buzz-buzz-buzz.

Pausing in his note-taking, 001's brow quirked at the sight and sound of Cailleach's activation, the carved wood owl statue that represented the surveillance magicks that tracked every entryway and exit within the Department of Mysteries.

"Alert, Alert. Emergency Exit Chute 6 activated by 009. Alert, Alert. Emergency Exit Chute 6 activated by 009."

Eyes widening as he registered the significance of that message, 001 bellowed "Q!"

POP!

"Take me to Emergency Exit Chute 6, immediately!"

Grabbing Control's arm, the Chief DoM House Elf apparated them to the given destination, only to recoil backwards in horror at the sight of 009's blood-soaked and near lifeless form.

Immediately casting stabilization and healing charms, Control instructed the elf to bring him Two, Sixteen, Eighteen, and Sixty-Three. Less than a minute later all four appeared, with the Mind Unspeakables expertly repressing their horrified shock as they began their mental assessment protocols. Likewise, Sixteen began emergency triaging alongside Control.

"Whit th' hell's bells is gaun oan 'ere?" snarled Croaker dangerously. After One's quick debrief, a grim-faced Saul retrieved his communication locket and summoned Twenty-Six, commanding her to meet him at the coordinates that marked the other end of the emergency chute. Rapidly casting Vestamentarum and a bevy of other self-protective magicks, Saul bravely leapt down the chute with wand at the ready.

"He's physically stable," said Sixteen after a few minutes. "But we need to get him to the Infirmary for further treatment and observation." As one, the Mind Unspekaables ended their probe so Q could safely apparate them altogether.

As he gazed at 009's catatonic form and the sight of his own blood-soaked hands, 001 only had one thought in his mind:

'This is all my fault.'

A Little Over Thirty Years Ago…

Basking in the soothing scent of burning sage permeating his office, Number 1 slowly reclined in his chair whilst repeating calming mantras in his head.

It was one of his favorite stress-relieving pastimes, and given the current situation, he needed as much stress-relief as he could get.

Project Romulus was at a very serious impasse.

The Unspeakables' attempt to cure lycanthropy was failing abysmally, and all involved were nearing their wits' ends.

Bodvar, Hera, and Freki - the animagus forms of 005, 025, and 052 respectively - were finding it increasingly difficult to distract the increasingly agitated creatures so 009, 018, and 081 could conduct their necessary evaluation on the infected beings within the confines of the Sherrinford Sanctuary in the Baskerville Facility.

Though admittedly, Freki - a Wild dire wolf animagus - had an easier time of managing the lycanthropes than naught given the similarity of their forms. Despite his prodigal ability that could see him command any and every wolf within his vicinity under his supernatural Alpha's Call, his influence was incapable of thoroughly subduing the lycanthropes, be they transformed or untransformed.

It strongly (and disturbingly) suggested to the Unspeakables that the Lycanthrope Curse was a unique affliction wherein control and or subjugation of a werewolf could only be accomplished by another werewolf. And the only means one could become a werewolf was to be infected by the Lycanthrope curse.

While frustrated, none had reached the point of desperation to allow themselves to be infected to test that theory.

As for the werewolves in-question, they were sole-surviving 'rescues' from Gustav Kleinwuchs death camps, a pack of five salvaged from their hell during the Bombing of Dresden. The Bombing had served as the perfect cover for the invasion of Der Todeswolf's death camps, a mission undertaken by a faction of the ICW Auror Corps led by Chief Auror Hartigan McLaggen, alongside an elite squad of the Srebristite Streli led by Glavnokomandvasht Jaromir Zedescu.

The horrors they'd witnessed had been so heinously gruesome that many, after submitting their mission reports and providing the relevant testimony, had consented to targeted Obliviation of the grisly memories.

In the case of Gustav, he'd been apprehended in Burg Kleinwuchs in Bautzen by an elite force of ICW Aurors nicknamed 'Special Branch', under sole command of Fleamont Potter. Kleinwuchs had put up quite the brave fight at first, definitely befitting the Left Hand of the Dark Lord Grindelweld. However, he'd ultimately had to surrender upon realizing that he was completely beset on all sides by competent and powerful Aurors who were itching to cast overpowered Laceros.

Preferably at his neck.

Once captured, Commander Potter had personally handed Kleinwuchs over to Control, with the magically sworn understanding that in lieu of rotting in the bowels of Azkaban for the remainder of his Merlin-forsaken days, Gustav's penance would involve aiding the Unspeakables in curing the victims of his Merlin-forsaken experimentations. After the necessary oaths were exchanged, Fleamont and the rest of Special Branch had then consented to a Memory Lock Spell, personally cast by 009 on each individual.

Of course Gustav hadn't known any of this at the time, and believing he was to be tortured into rambling insanity if Fleamont's fury had been anything to go by, had immediately offered a trade - his copious research in exchange for his life. The Unspeakables had been more than amenable, though together with Special Branch, had torn Burg Kleinwuchs for any and every item they found to be of 'reasonable interest'. It'd taken less than a week for Gustav Kleinwuchs to become Martin Pettigrew, holed away in Upper Appleby under the strict watch of Control and the Voice.

Admittedly, Kleinwuchs notes had proved helpful. The Unspeakables were able to magically diagnose the lycanthrope curse in an untransformed werewolf, made possible by the unique identification spell Kleinwuchs provided. It was how they'd confirmed the recent crop of Fenrir Greyback's untransformed victims. As for Fenrir, he was presumed to be in hiding in Albania, rebuilding his strength after his recent clash with the Aurors. A victim of a rogue werewolf attack as a Seventh Year Ravenclaw, he was one of the driving forces behind the Unspeakables desire to control and cure lycanthropy, lest more suffer under the brute's unrelenting violence as a result of embracing the curse.

Another helpful tidbit in the ex-Left Hand's notes was the use of orichalcum and the Flesh-Eating Fire Curse as protective measures against a werewolf. The former was difficult to acquire given that the limited amounts available for purchase were all controlled by the Goblins. As far as the latter was concerned, all it required was a wand and the necessary focus to control the size and intensity of the cursed flames. Originally created as an anti-Inferi measure, it proved equally effective at penetrating lupine flesh and rendering them unconscious for the duration of almost two hours.

Damocles Belby - an auxiliary Unspeakable designated Number 53 - was in the process of creating an anti-werewolf potion based on a specialized sleeping draught recipe outlined in Kleinwuchs' notes, capable of inducing at least one hour of lethargy in a transformed lycanthrope.

Despite those considerable strides, it still wasn't enough. Project Romulus would have to go on hold if not outright shut down if they were unable to conquer the task of curing Lycanthropy. Though he had seemed forthcoming, an increasingly growing part of 001 was convinced that Gustav had not been nearly as forthcoming with his research as they'd been led to believe.

Granted, the man had done a considerable job in 'blending in' with his new community in Upper Appleby. He'd gotten married to Edwina Gamp a few years' prior, the two having met and seemingly hit it off in Tomes and Scrolls, employer of Martin Pettigrew and frequent haunt of Saul Croaker. Ediwina's pregnancy and subsequent birth had raised alarms that the daughter of Caligula Lord Gamp potentially bearing an Heir descended from the Left Hand of Gellert Grindelwald. However, after conferring with Number 55 - who specialized in Wizengamot Charter Studies - they'd been able to breathe a sigh of relief.

Martin Pettigrew was presented as a Muggleborn wizard, and thus any offspring would be legally considered a halfblood. Per the Gamp charter, said child would be ineligible for Heirship, though should his future grandson - if he were a pureblood - would be eligible to inherit. Martin seemingly didn't seem to care, content to lavish the boy with books and attention and for all intents and purposes, seemed to be a doting father.

As nice as that was, it didn't suit the Unspeakables' goals.

It was time to have Kleinwuchs under their complete and absolute control.

And, much to Control's trepidation, there was only one in their number who would be capable of achieving such a feat.

On cue, his door softly dinged, signaling the arrival of his guest.

"Come in Twenty-Seven".

Augustus Rookwood entered and quietly sank into the seat before the senior-most Unspeakable, politely accepting his offer of tea as the two engaged in polite conversation.

Despite the weight of his uncommonly penetrative gaze, Control didn't feel the keen tickle against his mind that he associated with the Ventriloquist Legilimens.

He'd been considerably more brazen with his attempts during his recruitment, surprising every Occlumens he came in contact with. His ability had aided him considerably during his Questing Years, successfully acquiring three Masteries while expanding the breadth of his considerable ability. He'd nearly succeeded in enslaving the will of his DADA Teaching Master Quentin Trimble, but Control's intervention had successfully staved off that attempt.

As a natural psychic puppet master, Twenty-Seven was capable of implanting psychic strings within the minds of his victims, rendering them into his personal stooges. One would believe that his successful experimentation against the least suspecting of his Hogwarts classmates had been the cause of the Recruitment Overture, but it was really his status as a natural Ventriloquist Legilimens.

Like the General Conscription List, the Unspeakables kept their own copy of individuals who possessed magical abilities that constituted a risk to national security should they not be under the purview of the Ministry, and more specifically, the Department of Mysteries.

Natural Legilimens, like Heliopaths and Metamorphmaguses, were on said Lists.

It was rather ironic in Augustus' case, considering his ancestor Emilianus Rookwood - the first documented Ventriloquist Legilimens - had nearly succeeded in upending the royal court of Æthelred the Unready by turning a key players into his own personal puppets, almost causing an institutional crisis. His other ancestor Charles Rookwood I had also been a Ventriloquist Legilimens, though he'd been loyal to the Unspeakables and risen to become one of its Controls.

"So sir…I am assuming that you have a special project for me?"

"Indeed I do." One's eyes narrowed. "And do not confuse this 'special project' as a request when it is very much a command. Your recent snafu nearly brought this entire Department to its knees when you foolishly legilimized a senior-ranking member of the Gringotts Bank and all of the bloody goblin nation!"

Twenty-Seven merely sniffed. "I do recall getting approval for my project studying the minds of Inhuman Entities, of which goblins are considered to be."

"Your approval was tentative, as 005, 002, and myself still needed to review the specifics of what methods you used and which individuals you intended to target! Now the Department has a 175,000 galleon hole in its budget! And this isn't the first time your actions have nearly cost this Department, what with you openly legilimizing the muggle Prime Minister and almost - rather brazenly - implanting a psychic string to make him your own bloody puppet!" His eyes narrowed dangerously. "Consider yourself very lucky that the aide-de-camp isn't a reactionary sort, else you'd be locked up in the Tower of London swinging from your bollocks!"

Infuriatingly, the Junior Unspeakable sipped at his tea whilst having the nerve to look innocent.

Brutally beating back every foul insult that sprung on his tongue, Control repeated his calming mental mantras, feeling his Tendency to Anger simmer down to a more professional 15%.

"As I was saying, this mission is of the utmost importance and I am choosing you to undertake it because you are the only one of this Department who could succeed in doing so given your natural ability."

Though he wasn't one for preening, Augustus' countenance became noticeably prouder. "May I know what it is?"

"Only after you swear the necessary Agreement Oaths."

Twenty-Seven stared intensely at Control, his face lightly registering surprise at the older wizard's equally intense stare. Though he'd tried it once (because Rookwood could never help himself), he didn't attempt to legilimize his superior officer.

Slowly unholstering his pine wand, 027 swore the necessary oaths with 001.

Only then did Control reveal the mission: infiltrate Gustav Kleinwuchs' aka Martin Pettigrew's world, implant any and every psychic string needed, and bring him and all of his research completely under the Unspeakables' heel.

Current Time…

"What are we going to do about this?" Saul's voice lacked its characteristic gruffness, though it was no less urgent.

He stared intensely through the glass screen displaying Room 1 of the Department's medical bay, watching as Sixteen and Sixty-Four performed additional medical triaging as Eighteen and Sixty-Three conducted their joint psychic tests.

Control sighed, looking every but his age. "From henceforth 018 will be the Interim Director of the Mind Division. We will have an official Inaugural Vote to confirm in the upcoming Solstice, but I am certain Eighteen will secure the votes necessary. Once that occurs, he will be updated to 009 status so he can select and promote his 018 replacement."

"And for 009…I mean…what is going to happen to Phil?"

"You saw the report, Saul. Per 018 and 007, there isn't enough left of Phil to constitute the advanced sentience required to perform his job. Or to do much of anything beyond the bare minimum of what's required from an almost-nonagenarian. The psychic self-defense measures he initiated to fend off Rookwood's attack wiped his mind entirely. If he's lucky, he'll die a peaceful death as a peaceful old man." Control paused to take a deep breath, looking every bit his age.

"We'll have to inform the Minister and the Chief Auror of Rookwood's escape. We really have no other choice in the matter."

"Indeed 002. But we must stress to Madam Bones that due to it being…Rookwood, she utilizes every bit of discretion she possesses to keep it…in-house while our team works with hers and Shacklebolt's to recapture the Untouchable. The upcoming Wizengamot session will be brutal enough despite most of the Azkaban escapees being back in DMLE custody. As to not inspire public panic…"

Croaker sighed. "We keep news of the Untouchable's escape quiet while we work with the DMLE to retrieve him. Got it." His expression tightened severely. "And what do we do when we catch the bastard?"

Control growled. "What I should have done the first time - KILL THE TRAITOROUS SHIT!"

AN 1: The French translations are as follows: "I beseech The Damsel in this time of great distress"/"The Damsel answers your call. Tell me what you need." Obviously a play on the whole 'damsel-in-distress' trope, and that which Le Garde-Chiourme aka Gabriel Delacour uses in an emergency, considering La Demoiselle (aka Aurelia Delacour, mother of Apolline and grandmother to Fleur and Gabrielle) is retired. More on her and La Famille Delacour in Book 4. She is/will be played by Nicole Kidman as Ava Monroe in Cold Mountain. Stéphane Tremblay is played by Daniel Brühl in his role as Dr. Laszlo Kreizler in The Alienist. Le Garde-Chiourme/Gabriel Delacour is played by Aidan Gillen in his role as Petyr Baelish (Game of Thrones)

AN 2: Of course Rookwood escaped, Rex Norvegicus' circle must be forged anew! 009 basically performed a psychic equivalent of Tabula Rasa on his person.

AN 3: I find it delightfully ironic that Fleamont Potter spared the life of the would-be Dark Lord that would threaten his descendants and thereby set the stage for the fulfilment of two Trelawney prophecies as it pertains to House Potter. Funny how Fate works :)

AN 4: The Unspeakables are hilarious, Three especially. Her nicknames for her colleagues are all plays on their numerical designations, i.e. Lucky (Seven), Twenty-Four (Hours), Eight(h)(Wonder), Six (Ways to Sunday), etc. She's played by Jodie Whitaker in her tenure as the Thirteenth Doctor. All the Unspeakables are played by the Doctors, with the exception of Eighteen (Tom Riddle), Eight (Arthur Weasley), Sixteen (Mary Cattermole), and Twenty-Seven (Augustus Rookwood)