**Possible Trigger Warning, Reader Discretion is Advised**
CHAPTER 32
31 October 1780 - The Hearth Crypt - Potter Manor, 11:49PM
With considerable effort a breathless Nathaniel hauled himself up, taking care to not allow the blood joining his and Cassandra's hands together to further spill.
Granted, said effort would seem futile given that their blood coated the raised dais upon which they laid, their naked forms, and the ancient rock hewn into the subterranean crypt that laid at the heart of Potter Manor, anchored to a powerful ley line. Mixed with the freely given blood of a unicorn, Re'em, and Demiguise, the blood of Lord Potter and his Seeress Mistress was fashioned into several alternating symbols of times past and best forgotten, forbidden symbols stored deep within the pages of the Potter Anathema Codex.
Wild Runes fashioned into the True Sigils of the First, Fifth, and Seventh of the Eldest Gods, first inscribed within the pages of the Potter Codex with a blood quill by Leander Potter under the watchful eyes of the conceding Druidic mystagogues.
"D-d-did we succeed?" It took great effort for Nathaniel not to wheeze from the exertion at asking that question, feeling simultaneously hot and cold as he shivered within the confines of his burning skin. The room seemingly spun on its axis, the effects made worse by the nose-withering scent of burnt ozone and copper that permeated the entirety of the space.
The faintly discordant whine coupled with the distinctly feminine sound of neverending whispers certainly didn't help matters.
Cassandra didn't respond at first, her breathing a touch more shallow than her lover would like as she mumbled under her breath. Like Nathaniel her pallid skin shone with sweat though she shivered as though she were cold. She looked as though she were dreaming as her eyes moved rapidly under her closed lids.
Growing more worried he repeated the question in increasing volume, frantically running his hands over her face and person as she failed to open her rapidly shifting eyes.
He was just about to summon his valet Gia when Cassandra jerked to consciousness with a sharp intake of breath, whitened irises slowly returning to their normal sparkling hazel.
"Merlin's beard woman, I nearly sent for the cavalry!" She snorted out a startled laugh in response, amused at the man's panic.
"S-s-sorry…lost myself for a bit there." There was an uncomfortable rasp to her voice, but not enough to overwhelm Lord Potter's palpable relief at finally seeing her awake.
"It's alright dear."
She smiled gratefully as she leaned more of her exhausted body into her lover's own, who clutched her like a lifeline as the last uncomfortable sensations of their makeshift ritual cleared away. The discordant whine faded into merciful silence, as did the maddening whispers.
Nathaniel was hopeful that they hadn't summoned something else into their world, given how precariously thin the Veil could be on All Hallows' Eve.
"To answer your question Nat…I…I am not certain. We used the right invocations and all but…we can never be too sure. We will know if we have succeeded once Hardwin marries, bears an heir, and said heir is…Sorted. And said Heir chooses the right witch as his wife and bears another Heir…and so on and so forth. All we can know for sure is that we've bought ourselves and your House some time by ensuring that future Potter Heirs do not Sort into Slytherin. We aimed for all the days House Potter will exist, but given that is not equivalent to eternity..." She trailed off uncomfortably as she struggled to sit upright, flashing a grateful smile to Nathaniel when he fully tucked her into his form.
For once, the man was not inclined towards touchy flirtatiousness given the circumstances for their nudity.
"And what happens if…Circe forbid…said-Heir and his chosen wife don't work out?"
Cassandra shuddered. "I can imagine he would be driven to madness to some degree - paranoia…distrust…rage…I cannot say to the degree, my love."
Sighing his troubled thoughts away, Lord Potter dismounted from the dais before scooping Cassandra in his arms bridal-style, slowly but surely exiting the Crypt. Just outside the entrance sat their robes and their wands, and both quickly redressed before venturing back into the ritual room to remove all evidence of their ritual.
Cassandra allowed her mind to go blissfully blank, not wanting to think more on the actions she'd just taken with her lover as a means to divert the will of Goddess Fate. It was even more poignant given that as a Seeress, she served as the ultimate conduit the Third of the Eldest Gods used to impart her will unto the mortal world. To willfully take such action would be considered an act of defiance against a primordial mystical force who loathed being cheated from her rightful due, even if it was to stave off an impending Apocalypse.
And naturally, she would be right.
Because Goddess Fate would twist certain aspects of the ritual, mainly the connection between the Seeress and her lover. Though Trelawney had an inkling of her and Potter's status as star-crossed lovers (and thus inspiring her to push the love of her life into Antigone Croaker's arms), she really hadn't understood the breadth of apocalyptic disaster their union would've wrought on the world.
Goddess Fate did, and she was perfectly happy twisting that circumstance to bring forth her intended desire upon House Potter.
As for Nathaniel, all he could allow himself to think of were the words of the True Prophecy his lover had uttered as he robotically cast Scourgify and Tergeo at the cavern's walls. He could feel the portentous weight of his House's future on his shoulders, nigh unbearable knowing that the fate of the world and mankind also depended on the would-be path of his son and his sons after.
Almost on cue, he heard his lover's voice rattle around in his mind once more:
This is how our world will end
In a cold yet all-consuming flame.
In the Last of our Days, a Dark Lord, the Darkest of Lords,
Shall reveal himself as both Savior and Betrayer
By proclaiming his forbidden lineage to all.
At that exact moment,
Fate's Final Question will be asked,
and Death's Ultimate Decision will be made.
He-Who-Remains will break All Chains of Unity that bond us and bind us.
He will defy all conventions of sanity and compassion,
shattering the foundations of our First Covenant.
And in doing so,
shall the Darkest Lord enslave the might
of the First and the Third of the Eldest Gods.
The Dark Lord will rise to become a Dark God,
The last of Those-Who-Lay-In-Darkness.
And so shall his arrival be proclaimed by the Four Heralds of his Apotheosis -
Betrayal. Blood. Terror. Destruction.
With a stretch of his Wand shall every wand snap,
every incantation be Silenced,
And Hecate herself will forsake us as the Watchtower falls,
Turned to ash under the light of the Moon above.
Yet that shall not be our ultimate undoing.
For when the Cold Flame has consumed the World of the Living,
The Last Enemy to be conquered shall be Death.
And the Victor of that great battle shall claim
Final Dominion over all that is and will ever come to pass,
Be it Oblivion… or Damnation.
For should the Dark God win that final battle,
Then our world will be reborn in his image.
A Wild World out of Time, unbound by Fate, and unchecked by Death.
And we shall all be reborn into this Nightmare World
Again…and again…and again.
Trapped forever throughout all our lives
In the Dark God's HELL!
And you shall know by these portents
That the time of the Dark God approaches
And the Destruction of our World
Is close at hand:
When the Two two who would be as One
Are set against each other in reckless hate.
And the Last Potter rises as the Prince of Slytherin.
29 October 1854 - Courtroom 5 - Wizengamot - Ministry of Magic, 10:37AM
"And are you going to stand there - in what I assume are magically-altered lifts - and dictate to me what actions the DMLE should abstain from taking when you haven't the foggiest about anything resembling a defense protocol?!"
Sylvan Lord Nott's face turned puce at Leonidas Lord Bones' furious exclamation, acutely feeling the weight of snickers directed at him for his smaller-than-average stature and his noted preference for heeled dragonhide cap toe boots. Lord Potter's snicker was more of a hearty chortle, Josiah's disdain for Sylvan very well known. Like his father Benjamin Potter glared head-on from his position seated with the Aurors, taking great care to not lunge at Sylvan. He'd once made a highly lascivious and completely inappropriate pass at his fianceé Isla Greengrass in front of an audience of their peers, rather explicit in his intent to "pollinate her fair flower".
Oh how Heir Potter bayed for the man's blood.
"Is…is this how you allow a fellow peer to be spoken to?!" sputtered Lord Nott, finally finding his voice as he turned to glare at the Chief Warlock. Jasper Lord Abbott merely quirked a brow before turning to address the still-fuming Leonidas:
"Director Bones, I must concede to Lord Nott's point. This is a formal Wizengamot session after all. Might we direct conversation to the actions the DMLE is taking to address this concern?"
With great effort Leonidas calmed as he retreated behind the calm of his Occlumency shields, his respect for Jasper the only reason he complied.
"Of course Chief Warlock. If I may grant the Chief Auror the floor?"
Jasper nodded magnanimously before gesturing for Sylvan to resume his seat. Not one to be so easily dismissed, Lord Nott sneered as was appropriate before sitting, huffing imperiously as he did.
Gratefully, Bones signaled Helen Thistlewood to give her briefing. Elegantly rising and nodding respectfully towards her boss, she began a thorough summarization of the ongoing investigation regarding a series of strange events that strongly suggested that British magicals affiliated with the Ministry of Magic were the cause of the schemes. In addition to it being a direct violation of the Statute of Secrecy, it posed a great potential risk to the national security of Wizarding Britain.
As Helen diligently continued, Leonidas took care to make note of the reactions (and non-reactions) of certain key members.
He briefly glanced in the direction of Mortimer Lord Gaunt before quickly blinking away, lest the man turn his unsettling crystalline blue gaze onto him.
A testament to the House's prodigious fall from grace, the Gaunts were hanging on to their Seat by a mere thread as their coffers had dwindled significantly.
Though they'd weathered the storm of the Inheritance Act Crisis of 1588 with surprisingly little blowback, the implementation of the Statute of Secrecy in 1692 served as the ultimate straw that broke the camel's back. House Gaunt turned inward, developing an unsettling dedication to "protecting the sanctity of their purest blood" with then Atropos Lord Gaunt leading the charge to revive the Order of the Unbroken Chain with great fervor.
So intense was their newfound obsession with blood purity that they abandoned their sociopolitical responsibilities within the Ministry and wizarding society-at-large, choosing to align with the more…extremist of wizarding society whilst abandoning any manner of propriety.
There were whisperings that Mortimer's wife Desdemona wasn't really his third cousin but rather his sister, whose real identity had been kept magically occluded from record. Even more disturbing was the rumor that his niece Noctua was really his daughter, born of an unholy union between Mortimer and his aunt Yvaine. It didn't help that the last public marriage announcement between a Gaunt and a non-Gaunt had occurred in 1717 with Cliantha Rosier marrying Azrael Gaunt - third-born great-great-granduncle of Mortimer.
Shaking off those keenly perturbing thoughts, Lord Bones turned to the Selwyn Section. All were content to merely observe, all looking entirely nonplussed. While that wasn't suggestive in and of itself, their status as liege to House Carrow provided due cause. Like the Gaunts, the Carrows were fervent acolytes of the Order of the Unbroken Chain, and Leonidas was suddenly reminded of the group's past plan to manipulate the muggles to such a degree as to subjugate them as wizard-gods, destroying the Wizengamot and reestablishing the Wizards' Council of olde.
It was alarmingly similar to the current state of affairs.
On instinct Lord Bones' eyes cut to Sylvan, who sat glaring daggers through his and Jasper's heads. Resisting the urge to sneer and cause yet another spirited row, the DMLE Director turned his head to continue his assessment. Lord Malfoy watched the proceedings placidly, though he did cut a sneer to the back of Sylvan's head when the man wasn't looking. Rigel Lord Black watched with a keener eye than one would expect given his House's reputation.
It was the same for Lords Longbottom, Shafiq, Shacklebolt, Macmillan, and Lady McKinnon, though the latter took her turn shooting daggers in Sylvan's direction. It was doubtful that he noticed, given his propensity to overreaction.
"And thus concludes our current report." Thistlewood deftly flicked her papers away. "Per eyewitness testimony, memory assessments, and use of Veritaserum on one captee provides further confirmation of our suspicions." Concerned murmurings rose at that.
"If I may, Chief Warlock?" Jasper nodded at Lady Brown to grant her permission. "I should hope that we are not using the inconclusive reports of potential British wizarding intervention in the muggles'...activities…to warrant interfering with their warmongering affairs. The Statute of Secrecy exists for a reason, and I am certain that the Chief Warlock and the DMLE aren't suggesting that we break with established tradition to interfere!"
Murmurings of agreement rose in response.
Unperturbed, Thistlewood pressed on. "I understand your concerns, Lady Aster. But please do understand that this intel isn't mere conjuration of the DMLE's collective imagination. We have demonstrative proof that certain someones are interfering in the muggles' affairs, and implicating the British Ministry to do so! Should they lose their war the landscape of Great Britain would change dramatically, and the existence of the Statute won't serve as any protection, least of all for us."
Aster clenched her jaw. "And did it ever occur to the DMLE that our government is being falsely implicated to goad a response that would violate the Statute? Great we may be but even we are not immune to suffering punitive consequences from the ICW should we break our oaths in upholding the Statute."
"Hmph," replied Sylvan snootily. "I'm certain our Chief Delegate Lord Bad-Faith would love that opportunity." He sneered at the fuming blonde.
"You dare?!" hissed Brutus angrily.
From his position observing the newest row, Number 12 took great care to not groan in annoyed frustration. As the Director of the Ethics Division and the senior court stenographer, witnessing such disagreements between the esteemed Lords and Ladies of the Wizengamot was commonplace.
Today's exception lay in the fact that he knew exactly whom and what were the cause of the ensuing fracas in the muggles' Crimean War; the occupants of the Brain Room, who'd finally succeeded in rousing themselves from their slumber to wreak vengeful havoc against not just the Ministry of Magic, but all of Wizarding Britain.
They were known in the DoM as 'The Mentanomalies' - the minds of witches and wizards who simultaneously posed an imminent danger to Wizarding Britain's national security and possessed too rare and keen of a gift to be allowed the mere rot of death.
Some of the number included The Dissenters; four of the ancient Druidic mystagogues who'd strongly opposed surrendering to the invading Roman settlers by making them the Keepers of That-Which-Was-Forbidden in exchange for a permanent ceasefire. They'd gone as far as to stage a rebellion, but alas, they'd been brutally crushed by their comrades.
A few others were natural Legilimens who'd sought to use their prodigious abilities to enslave their fellow magicals and muggles. The brain of Emilianius Rookwood - the first documented Ventriloquist Legilimens - was among their number, having nearly succeeded in upending the royal court of Æthelred the Unready. Constantine Dippet - the second documented Syncopist Legilimens - was another, responsible for inducing bouts of somnambulism within the House of Lords in the 1200s, before Ellery Croaker and Abernathy Potter realized his schemes and succeeded in stopping him.
Two of their number were Obscurials, very dangerous as the nature of their corrosive magic made them particularly…unpredictable.
The status of the others were Level 13 Classified, and thus made them exceedingly dangerous.
Twelve still wasn't sure how the bloody hell they'd escaped from the Brain Room, but by the time Chime #26 had finished sounding, the brains had already succeeded in their escape. They'd staged a coup in the following weeks that saw them supplant key members of Evangeline Orpington's ministerial administration - including the Minister herself - by consuming those individuals' brains to create room for their own.
His eyes cut to the Minister on cue, looking away before she could make contact.
That disaster had been followed by yet another disaster of well-executed schemes that saw these agents manipulating key events in the ongoing muggles' war, spelling disaster for them all should the brains succeed in their schemes.
In another unexpected turn, Chime #4 had sounded, signaling the activation of the Cryptohedron and the selection of a Time Traveler who could go back in time and subvert the disaster.
Heather Rosier had snidely declined, refusing to risk her "precious blood for the sake of those filthy uncivilized mudbloods!" The Voice had taken care to properly Obliviate her as Number 3 attended to the Cryptohedron.
A spirited yell from Lord Nott broke his reverie, just in time to see the furiously snarling man almost coming to blows with the DMLE Director as the Chief Warlock repeatedly banged his gavel screaming at them to "CALM DOWN THIS INSTANT!"
'Well, this is going to take bloody forever.'
Seven Hours Later…
"So…I can assume we're not going to let that ludicrous decision stand?"
A series of snorts sounded in reply to D'Artagnan Dagworth-Granger's question, causing the man to bellow a lively laugh. Ethan Abbott - brother of Jasper - was thankful for the myriad of security and silencing charms he'd cast over the meeting room in Hogsmeade, rendering them practically Unplottable.
Fletcher McLaggen frowned as he took a swig of his butterbeer. "Ah dinnae think tis richt whit they're daein', damn Wizengamot." His naturally thick brogue was even thicker in his irritation, causing Gabriel Rowle's expression to crinkle in slight confusion as Albury Weasley chuckled to himself.
"Me either," sighed Reuben Bones. His brother Leonidas was still fuming at the Wizengamot's decision to not interfere with the muggles' war. Ladies Brown, Marchbanks, and McKinnon had delivered rousing and very convincing arguments for them to abstain, convincing the considerable bulk of the Houses to agree. Josiah Potter, Tannenbaum Longbottom, and Ramsay Dearborn had been the strongest dissenting voices, but alas, it hadn't been enough to sway the vote to their side.
"So who do you think is causing all of this?"
"Ah reckon tis that damn Gaunt, 'n' they blasted Selwyns tae!" None could disagree with Fletcher's assessment, strongly suspecting those families as well. While it seemed counterintuitive to weaken Wizarding Britain and set the stage to fully take control, it was well within said Houses motives to create chaos and set themselves up as the fulcrum upon which to mold wizarding Britain to their rigid purist standards.
"I'd add the Lestranges and Rosiers to that list too, buggering nutters the whole lot of them." Murmurs of agreement arose at Benjamin's interjection.
"You reckon House Black is involved?" asked Rowan Prewett quietly.
"No," was Victoria Bulstrode's curt response, who turned pink as all eyes turned on her.
"Oh?" replied Gabriel. "And how would you know that?"
"Because Carina would have told me, we don't keep secrets from each other." Her blush deepened as Fletcher burst into raucous laughter whilst teasingly elbowing her. Rowan and Ethan snorted into their butterbeers whilst Benjamin and Gabriel rolled their eyes in fond amusement.
"Hem-hem" All quieted down as they turned to the head of the table. Liam Flint nodded at their attention. "We can all agree that the recent decision of our esteemed government is complete bollocks."
"'Ere 'ere!" bellowed Fletcher.
"So what are we going to do about it?" asked Victoria.
"Why, we bring back the Silver Spears of course."
Silence reigned.
"Tell me ye'r joking!"
"I second that Liam…what the hell are you playing at?"
Flint harrumphed. "What I'm playing at, Ethan, is that we honor our commitment in protecting Britannia, as our forebears did. Each one of us is descended from a family that served under the Knights of Albion and ensured our lands were defended and kept safe from any and Idanger. Our families once more took up their sacred mantle when the Statute of Secrecy saw the Knights disbanded. Clelia Weasley, Harley Abbott, Philip Bulstrode, Chadwick Rowle, Kincaid McLaggen, and every last one of that great lot who chose to still honor their duty, hiding under the cover of some exclusive and scary duelling club. And they did all that in spite of any legal or bureaucratic impediments put in their way."
"You do realize that some of us are Aurors, correct? While part of my oaths are to protect Wizarding Britain, I can't do that as part of a vigilante group." Victoria, Ethan, Rowan, and Fletcher murmured in agreement to Ben's statement.
Liam waved them off. "Easy; you can easily report when the crime has been committed, anonymous reports and all that. You can even incorporate any intel into your leads, thereby satisfying your Auror oaths!" The group didn't look entirely convinced, but none could disagree with that logic, creative as it may be.
"Weel, whit ur we a' waiting fur? Haven't git a' bloody day if we wantae catch thae bastards!"
"Here here!" shouted Rowle and Weasley as Bulstrode and Dagworth-Granger chortled. The others exchanged loaded glances, but ultimately acquiesced.
"So," said Abbott. "How do we do this?"
Flint smiled. "Easy." With a sharp snickt he unholstered his wand - 12½ inch aspen with unicorn hair - and pointed it perfectly perpendicular to his body. "Praemonitus, Praemunitus."
Abbott rose and repeated Flint's actions with his wand - 14 inch aspen with dragon heartstring. "Diligite Justitiam."
Rowle followed - 11¾ inch aspen with dragon heartstring. "Nullus Hostis Transeat."
Prewett's turn - 17⅓ inch aspen with unicorn hair. "Nostra Furor Est."
McLaggen rose - 13¼ inch aspen with dragon heartstring. "Noli Me Surgere."
Bones stood - 10⅞ inch aspen with unicorn hair. "Mori Quam Foedari."
Weasley followed - 16 inch aspen with unicorn hair. "Manus Qui Ducit."
Bulstrode rose - 18 inch aspen with dragon heartstring. "Numquam Non Paratus."
And finally, Benjamin - 11¾ inch aspen with dragon heartstring. "Per Manus, Per Mente."
Together, their wands formed a nine-point star. As one, they chanted the Initiation Rites and thus, the Silver Spears were reborn.
30 October 1949 - Summerisles, 11:58AM
"You ought to try the roasted pheasant Tommy-boy, sssimply delightful!"
Tom quirked a brow in amusement, allowing a small smile to lift his lips. He was grateful for the multitude of privacy charms he'd erected around their table, ensuring that the purposeful slip of Erasmus' tongue hadn't been seen or heard.
The newly-minted Lord Wilkes was in one of his notoriously mercurial moods; intensely and inappropriately effervescent with absolutely no regard for setting. He'd grown out his pencil-thin mustache into a hefty handlebar style, complimenting his sleek pomaded chestnut hair. His chosen attire also reflected this particular disposition; an eye-wateringly bright magenta smoking jacket made of rich velvet with decadent acid green embroidery. A Slytherin-green brocade cravat sat at his neck, patterned serpents shimmying about with the softest chorus of ki-ki-ki-ki of delighted laughter. A silver pin fashioned into the crest of House Wilkes adorned his right lapel, whilst a massive daisy flower sat at the left.
Its overly neon petals all but confirmed to Tom their poisonous nature.
Soon their waiter came and took their orders and left behind a bevy of delicious appetizers and beverages, compliments of the chef.
"So…what finally brings you back to merry old England?"
The latent bitterness wasn't hard to miss in Wilkes' tone. He'd been deeply upset when a then Seventh Year Tom had announced his plans to travel the world and pursue several Masteries in lieu of remaining in England. He'd insisted that the excursions were a necessary step in fulfilling the Vision he'd created to ascend the Throne. All in his Administration save Erasmus had been immensely pleased for him, with Cassie - cheeky as ever - throwing him a surprise congratulations party in the Lair, sneaking away from her Healer apprenticeship to do so.
The erstwhile Heir Wilkes had been deeply agitated as he'd thrown a rather violent tantrum, screaming at Tom for "ruining the dynamics of their great game!" whilst firing choice curses his friend had easily blocked. Tom was the only person in all of Slytherin House who could manage Erasmus' mood swings and homicidal tendencies, keeping the victim count of Wilkes' experiments at a comfortable low. That Tom would always come around to healing the other Parselmouth's 'test dummies' amused the mercurial boy greatly, taking it as a challenge to push his research into more innovative heights.
Needless to say his explosive reaction had left the runespoor, boomslang, and python appalled as the others could only stare in horrified concern. All except Nidhogg, who'd growlingly offered to eat the disrespectful boy whole once Prince Riddle had succeeded in calming him down and sending him to his room.
"Well," said Tom after a few bites of cheesy gougère. "I've completed my final Mastery, taking some time to get resettled into England. I should be closing on a flat at the start of next month, and I've gotten a few interviews at the Ministry lined up. I've got some galleons saved up, so it ought to keep me covered through the end of the year."
Granted that was only half-truth; while he had completed his final Mastery (DADA - no small feat), he'd actually completed his Final Quest for the Unspeakables and would be starting as a Junior Unspeakable by the year's end. As far as galleons were concerned, the once-in-a-lifetime deal he'd struck with the goblins would ensure his wealth centuries - if not millenia - over.
Though admittedly, a part of Tom was rather amused at discovering that the Gaunt Account Manager's true identity was as delightfully twee as Mr. Camembert.
"Interesssting," hissed Erasmus between sips of his Boulevardier. "I'm surprised you're not Interning at Borgin and Burke's." He wiggled his eyebrows cheekily, doing little to dull the teeth on that overly snide statement.
His friend merely chuckled, not rising to the provocation. "That was a one-time thing to help out Tassos and besides, I gained quite a bit in exchange." Not only had he reacquired his ancestor's Locket, he'd learned nearly everything one could know about Dark magical artifacts and the unique (or nigh redacted) runes and charms it took to maintain them.
"Uh huh." Finishing his cocktail in one sure gulp, Wilkes signaled the waiter over to take their orders. Their food arrived less than a minute later, perfectly prepared to their desired request.
"Ssso," hissed Tom after a few bites of bouillabaisse. "How have thingsss been on your ssside of merry old England?" Erasmus' eldritch green eyes sparkled in delight at the use of Parseltongue, before excitedly hissing all of his good news. While Tassos and Milburga kept him abreast of all the comings and goings of wizarding society (the latter especially given her obsessiveness with wizarding culture and etiquette), Erasmus was plugged in to the less…savory of their peers.
A touch of guilt bubbled in Riddle's chest.
One of the main reasons he'd recruited Erasmus into his Inner Circle (besides being the only other Parselmouth in Hogwarts during their tenure) was the wizard's sheer intellectual brilliance. He was already an expert in NEWT-level Arithmancy, Ancient Runes, and Transfiguration by his Fourth Year, with a grasp of their respective parselmagic counterparts. Obsessed with their Slytherin ancestry, House Wilkes possessed many rare (and outright illegal) texts regarding Parselmancy, Parselrunes, and Parselfiguration, along with several other titillating subjects.
Fueled by his voracity for knowledge Tom had, admittedly, taken advantage of Erasmus and the unexpected boon he represented, often engaging in vigorous philosophical and intellectual discussions as they both learned from and challenged the other as Ka gushed in the background.
His selfishness had strengthened Erasmus' prowess in kind, a fact Tom would never forgive himself for.
"And then, SSScabior transssformed into a dung beetle, and literally ssshit himssself in the processs!" A snort erupted from Tom's mouth as his friend chortled in delight at the success of the latter's prank. Neither cared for Wyatt Scabior, a belligerent cur on his best days. He also had an unsavory 'peeping tom' habit, having already earned three citations from the Aurors.
Settling into chuckles, the two friends ate in silence for a few more moments.
"I…I wasss sssorry to hear of your father'sss passsing… I realize you two never got along during his lifetime (Erasmus sneered), but…you have my condolencesss all the sssame."
"Awww," was Wilkes' sarcastic reply though his expression became shuttered. "Asss sssweet asss ever old Tommy-boy. Thanksss."
The Emeritus decided to press a bit more of his luck. "The Prophet indicated that he died in his sleep, so at least he didn't suffer."
His friend shrugged though a vicious glint entered his eldritch eyes. "He wasss alwaysss a heavy sssleeper. SSSuffered from nightmaresss and all sssortsss of sssad little thingsss. At leassst he finally got sssome relief on hisss final day. And, I got to keep thisss!" He flashed his Lord's ring, wiggling his fingers teasingly.
Riddle smirked though he didn't take his eyes of his friend's own, allowing a small tendril of his legilimency to ever so subtly brush against the man's mind. It was brief, but he caught a flash of a brilliant emerald potion in a teacup being poured down a gasping mouth magicked to stay open.
The Drink of Despair.
A mad creation of Antigonus Wilkes, it was akin to drinking a liquid version of a dementor's aura. It induced intense pain, fear, delirium, coupled with extreme thirst. It could not be penetrated by hand, Vanished, parted, scooped up, siphoned away, Transfigured, Charmed, or otherwise made to change its nature in any way. It was undetectable when consumed, dehydrating the body in a way that would merely represent a corpse.
'And he used it to murder his father.'
And in further analyzing his emotional response, Tom realized he wasn't as bothered by it as he should have been. (It also didn't help that his Advocatus Diaboli - a 16 year-old Erasmus - tittered with snakey glee in his mind).
Rasmus Wilkes had been a cold and unfeeling shell of a man, a tyrannical taskmaster more so than a true father, and a staunch blood purist to boot. His wife Evelyn (née Gamp) had died during childbirth, and both Tom and Erasmus were well aware that the man deeply resented and hated his own son for the loss. Rasmus had lost himself to his hatred, his resentment feeding his sadism. In the tradition of all the Ancient and Noble Lords before him, Rasmus raised his son to be just like him.
The irony was damning, especially when Riddle knew how it felt to hate one's father.
But even he didn't have the stain of patricide on his soul.
With his usual skill Tom deflected the conversation into lighter topics as their third course was served. Getting Erasmus excited about his 'pet projects' was a welcome respite, despite the man's preference towards the morbid.
"Oh you won't believe it Tommy-boy I've finally cracked it!"
A brow quirked in amusement. "Cracked what?"
"The sssecret to the fountain of youth! It took a little more finagling than I would have liked, but I've finally cracked the cassse!" His emerald eyes sparkled with boyish madness.
"Jussst tell me."
"Baby'sss breath!"
Tom froze. "Are…are you referring to Gypsophila?"
Wilkes rolled his eyes. "Of courssse not old friend, don't be ridiculousss! I am referring to the dying breath of a baby! Holdsss all of the potential of the little brat'sss life forccce in one final croak, how ingeniousss! The sssecret you sssee, is to collect all of their breaths in one charmed jar so it can all properly pickle all at onccce. I wasssted ten babiesss in ten ssseparate jarsss and now they've bloody expired."
A keen ringing had started in Tom's ears as the other wizard continued to speak - without a single care - about the innocent babies he'd murdered to collect their dying breath.
For a morbidly wretched experiment.
Dead babies.
Snickt.
"You wretched sssonovabitch!" The yew wand pressed deeply into Erasmus' pulse point as an enraged Tom loomed over him like a vengeful entity. The baby-murderer looked equal parts startled and amused. "Babiesss?! Innocccent babies?! You murdered defenssselesss children in every sssenssse of the word?! I ssshould fucking SSSLAUGHTER YOU WHERE YOU SSSTAND!"
Emeritus Riddle's fury compounded as he was waved off. "Don't be ssso dramatic, they were just orphansss! Wartime leftoversss and all that." His emerald eyes widened as though the Consiliarius had discovered a great secret. "Oooooh…are you upssset becaussse you're an orphan too?"
Tom snarled in response as his yew wand grew warmer, vibrating in tandem with its master's wrath. "What the hell isss wrong with you?! I thought you actually wanted to change. To rid yourssself of thisss sssick madnesss, of your father's expectationsss, the FUCKING BLOODLUSSST!"
Eldritch eyes flashed as Wilkes sneered . "Yeah Tommy-boy, I guesss I did. But then you fucking left, and I finally became what I wasss alwaysss meant to be. Praeteritum Essst Praesssensss Futurum old boy."
That had been the wrong thing to say, because Riddle actually shook him as his crystalline blue orbs blazed with the promise of violence. "Heed me when I sssay thisss Erasssmusss Dougal Wilkesss." He leaned in close to his ex-friend's eyes, which actually widened as a frisson of fear ran through his form. "If we ever crosss pathsss ever again, I will evissscerate you from the face of thisss fucking earth. There will be nothing left of you, not even the whisssper of your dying breath to be pickled. SSSemper En Potentia Mortisss!"
And with that daunting warning, Tom Riddle swept from the restaurant in a whirl of robes as he psychically chained his Advocatus-Erasmus and banished him to the deepest dankest bowels of his mind. He soundly ignoring the myriad of reactions sent his way from the restaurant patrons. Though they hadn't heard a word of that heated exchange, it would undoubtedly be the hottest gossip for the next few weeks at least.
Fleamont Potter would certainly be one of those individuals, very curious to know about the nature of the exchange between the two Slytherins as he observed the two men from his balcony-level seating. Especially considering Wilkes'...exploits around Europe that had caught the attention of the ICW and earned him a 'Person of Interest' status.
28 October 1964 - Catacomb 4 - Malfoy Manor, 8:39PM
"SAY THAT AGAIN!"
Bowing elegantly in the direction of the furious bellow, Dobby once more repeated his statement:
"The Lord Abraxas has been convening with an associate that has expressed a rather…perturbing amount of interest in ancient and accursed magicks. Though said associate utilizes a most complex glamor when meeting with Abraxas, neither is a stranger to the other. There have been whisperings of acquiring greater power and I quote: finally cementing the rightful place of pureblood-kind atop the wizarding strata end-quote. They have made direct reference to using and exploring the magicks of…That-Which-is-Forbidden."
The portrait of Danica Malfoy spent a few seconds choking in horrified outrage, before leveling a scathing glare in the direction of her descendant's own frame.
"Hephaestus Brutus Malfoy III…tell me you were not so utterly remiss in your duty to your Heir and to our House as to not teach him the severity of MUCKING ABOUT IN THE BLOODY ANATHEMA CODEX!"
"Of course not!" The erstwhile Lord Malfoy looked keenly offended. "Abraxas was taught the secrets of anathemagic and the vital importance of never dabbling in those wretched spells!"
Danica sneered. "Is that right? Well it seems the idiot boy completely missed the point, because he is currently dallying about with a dark wizard seeking to do just that!" Her form seemingly filled the entirety of her frame, crystal blue eyes flashing as they would in real life. "My word, do you know of the sacrifices our family endured to keep those bedeviled spells properly locked away? Uncle Nicholas forsook his life and magic so that Merlin-forsaken Bane of Sicily spell wouldn't transmute every living being into the eternal undead!" She jumped from her seat and began pacing the length of her frame, the setting a perfect facsimile of the Perennial Arbor in the Malfoy Gardens.
Dobby hid his amusement, pleased to see the Homunculus Charm had so captured the willfulness she possessed in her waking days. The elf was also pleased that the frames within this catacomb - aptly named the Meeting Chamber - were charmed to prevent subjects from crossing into another's frame, especially in a pique of anger.
The witch whirled in anger at her reddening descendant. "You really did spoil the boy. I warned you about bending to his puerile whims at every which turn and now look! Your heir treats his wife horrendously and maligns his youngest in every waking moment. But now, now, your foolish Heir has abandoned his primary duty and-"
"THEY ALMOST DIED!" roared Hephaestus, whitened knuckles tightly gripping his armchair. Danica froze. "Cynthia…the pregnancies were difficult for her. She lost our first…then our second…and almost lost our third. Cynthia spent almost a week in a healing coma and Abraxas-" he choked. Danica's expression wrinkled sympathetically. "Abraxas almost didn't survive. But then he did. And my son…my son and wife were whole and we were a family again." An expression of profound sadness overcame his face.
Danica fidgeted uncomfortably. "My apologies dear boy. I knew the pregnancy had been difficult but I didn't realize-"
"No…no my dear Lady, you are correct. In my hope of having bore a son - my Heir - I allowed him far too much largesse and afforded him every privilege, even those he'd neither earned nor deserved. Abraxas hasn't lived in a world that doesn't cater to his every whim, and that is entirely my fault. The way he treats Myrine…" he trailed off uncomfortably as Dobby visibly winced. He'd reinforced the protective magicks on Myrine's personal suite and parlor, along with those of the young master Lucius. While he wasn't Abraxas' valet elf (Lobby was currently filling that mantle), Abraxas had never actually removed or demoted Dobby's status as Head Elf whilst he cared for Hephaestus when he'd gotten sick and had to retire to Le Nid Malfoy.
As it stood, Dobby still had access to whatever part of the Manor he desired.
Hence the conversation he'd eavesdropped in the Lord's Study.
"This must be corrected." The erstwhile Lady Malfoy had resumed her seat, expression stony and final. "You have made your mistakes - terrible mistakes - but it is not too late to fix them before ruin and damnation comes to our House, if not all of Wizarding Britain."
Hephaestus took a deep breath…before steeling his expression. "I concur."
"Good. We must prepare for another Malfoy to take the mantle. Is Claudius salvageable?"
"Unfortunately not."
"Hm. And what of young Lucius?"
A beat passed. "Lucius may be Abraxas' son…but he is a Malfoy. A true Malfoy."
Danica smiled. "Good. You know exactly what to do." And with that, the Prince Emeritus exited her frame.
With a deep centering breath, Hephaestus turned to his dutiful elf. "Dobby?"
"Yes Master?"
4 December 1976 - Section 5 - Janus Thickey Ward, 9:43PM
"Arcturus Rigel Black III, heed me when I say that I am in absolutely no mood for anything less than what befits the gravity of this situation!"
The man-in-question flinched at the harsh rasp of Dorea Potter's voice, dark mahogany eyes burning in tightly-controlled rage. Lord Black had made a feeble attempt at humor to dispel the tension thickly hanging in the room (and as a means to soothe his deeply frazzled nerves), but of course, said attempt fell flat. The only thing he'd succeeded in doing was further stroking his sister's ire as she gripped her wand in a vice, the 14-inch black walnut apparatus beginning to glow an ominous red.
Lady Potter, given the current circumstances, was absolutely furious.
"Rea," said Arcturus tiredly, suddenly looking every bit of his age. "I more than understand the seriousness of the situation at hand."
He turned to stare at Sirius, connected to all manner of Monitoring Orbs that beeped intermittently. While his breathing was level the boy was considerably paler than normal, a sharp contrast to his inky black hair. His brows were lightly scrunched, as though his tumultuous thoughts were bleeding past the barrier of the extra-potent Dreamless Sleep Dorea had dosed him with. As a Mistress Healer for St. Mungo's, she'd taken lead on caring for her beloved grandnephew.
"Do you?" she sniped in response. "Hecate's sake I caught Sirius in the middle of performing the Euthanatos Curse on himself!" Her voice broke as she choked back her tears, recalling the horrifying moment in her mind's eye. "And the only reason he didn't succeed with the incantation was because I was quick enough to stun and bind him!"
Lord Black flinched, equal parts angry and horrified that his Heir had attempted to use a spell from the Black Anathema Codex to end his own life. His guilt compounded at the fact he'd been the one to teach him the secrets of that accursed text, though in context, the Euthanatos Curse was the most humane of spells entailed within the pages of the forbidden book.
Eyes softening, Dorea took a deep calming breath before placing a gentle hand on her elder brother's shoulder.
"Sirius…has been through some seriously traumatic events these past weeks. His beloved Marlene was devoured by a bloody acromantula just after her poor family had been slaughtered by those filthy Death Eaters. Only to have one of his best friends suffer the same fate! I…" The formidable witch's eyes shone with tears as she gazed at Sirius' sleeping form. "He's been suffering so much lately and I feel so…powerless to help him. James and Charlus have been just as out of his depth as I have been, and I cannot begin to imagine if one of them..especially James…had found Sirius-"
She choked back tears, taking a few moments to calm herself whilst Arcturus gripped her hands to offer some comfort. Only she and Cassie (and his beloved Melania, Hecate rest her soul) could ever evoke such a kind and caring reaction in him.
Succeeding in getting herself together, Lady Potter stared intently at her brother. "Fix this Art, please fix this. I couldn't bear to lose Sirius, I just can't. I care for him as I do my James and…I just can't."
The man nodded with complete conviction. "I will Rea, I swear on my honor as Lord Black and all Lords Black before me." A beat passed before the witch nodded in satisfaction. A few quick swishes of her wand cleared her tears and straightened her robes to their impeccable form. As gently as she was able, she squeezed her brother's shoulder once more before swiftly exiting the room.
Deflating in his chair, Lord Black took a deep inhale from his specialized mask as his mind tumbled through his troubled thoughts.
Though he would never admit it, a small wave of relief passed over the man. His sister was very scary when she was angry, and those who found themselves at the wrong end of her wand almost wished they hadn't lived to tell the tale. The sole exception was Cousin Walburga, whom Dorea had nearly fried to a crisp with repeated use of Baubilious for the wretch's use of the Cruciatus against Sirius. It was only by her brother's intervention in his stead as Lord Black did Lady Potter not succeed in eviscerating the madwoman. He'd allowed grandson to remain with the Potters indefinitely, banning his parents from ever having any contact with him again.
"Oh Sirius…" He stared intently at the resting boy's form. Melania had adored the boy, lavishing him with attention and all manner of toys and trinkets. At the tender age of three his Heir had succeeded in using his accidental magic to reanimate a defunct 'Tempest in a Bottle' joke-toy Melania had purchased in Zonko's. His excitable magic had amplified the charmed stormy waters into a veritable monsoon, absolutely flooding his grandmother's parlor to the witch's delight.
Arcturus had found the pair drenched and laughing at the top of their lungs, the boy twirling his beloved grandmother around. "He's powerful Arty. Exactly how your Heir should be. Promise me you'll protect him."
He'd promised, and it seemed he'd failed - several times over.
A soft rustling of fabric announced the arrival of two new guests - Messrs. Y and Z. Ministry-licensed and bonded Mind Arts professionals, Arcturus had requested Ewald send them over to his grandson's ward when a frantic Rea Floo-called him at his study in Chênenoir. Both had their identities hidden by an advanced Anonymous Glamor Charm as was standard.
Wasting no time, Lord Black swore to the necessary oaths before submitting to the Memory Lock Spell. Task complete, Mr. Y took his leave to wait outside the room.
Mr. Z approached Sirius form and began waving his wand in hypnotic patterns, casting a plethora of spells Arcturus didn't recognize.
"Well, what's the verdict?"
Mr. Z didn't respond at first, just cast a plethora more spells. Satisfied, he turned to answer the older wizard:
"He is suffering from severe PTSD, triggered by the deeply traumatic event of having his girlfriend and best friend killed. He blames himself, fueling his guilt which is driving his self-loathing. That was the driving cause for his suicidal attempt." If he noted Lord Black's flinch as he breathed from his mask, he chose not to comment.
"The solution, then?"
"Targeted psychic surgery. I can isolate the crippling feelings of self-blame and self-loathing, so that he may properly grieve his loss. I can, if you're amenable, lessen the intensity of his grief cycle so that he is not crippled by the whirlwind of emotions he will face. I don't recommend eliminating his emotions completely as that would sever his empathetic foundation. It wouldn't do to have your grandson turn into a psychopath, or worse, suffer another break that may lead to a repeat of…this."
A beat passed as Lord Black processed the man's statement whilst breathing deeply from his anesthetic mask.
"Do it."
Mr. Z simply nodded and began his task.
Current Time…
'Well, this is right awkward…wonder what that bit about Brazil is about?… Though not the most awkward situation I've been in, blimey there's been way too many to count! Liverpool is definitely in the Top 10, and that was before finding the vicar frolicking about in the belltower trapped in a déjà vécu loop! And without his cassock no less!'
Those were the main thoughts rambling around in Number 3's head, though she was careful not to voice it out loud. Last time she'd done that (accidentally of course), she'd been punished with a month of Early Warning Office duty and a Limited Writ of Reprimand on her record with Number 11.
Though in her defense, the muggle aide-de-camp did have the proper clearance to hear about Project T.A.R.D.I.S. as it did overlap with the muggles' affairs. It was only a matter of technicality that he really shouldn't have known of the project's existence in the first place given that the prototype hadn't yet been…released to the non-magical public.
Shaking off her thoughts, 003 turned her attention to 002 and Harry Potter, both of whom were currently engaged in an intense stare-off. Penelope and Astoria were also confused, though the former's expression had become much more penetrating at Harry's mention of some boys who apparently came from Brazil.
What should have been a quick excursion to Hogwarts to confer with the would-be Time Agents had turned out to be an even greater marvel! The Ravenclaw and Slytherin had succeeded in activating the Cryptohedron to release the Time Turner, and that was after confirming that they already knew of the objects' existence! Naturally, the Slytherin Potter had chosen that exact moment to show up (knocking rather dramatically on the Room's door), shocking his audience by reaching into the light of the Cryptohedron to cause a second Time-Turner to appear! The two objects had then converged into a single Time-Turner which gently floated back down into the bowels of the Cryptohedron, before the cube-like object went dormant once more.
"A secondary self-contained tangential timestream caused by the primary diversion in the principal timeline! Bloody incredible that is!"
Three had clapped her hands like an excited schoolgirl, causing Two to roll his eyes as Harry and Astoria gawked at her exuberance. Only Penelope seemed to understand her bizarre statement, causing the two to launch into a brief discussion wherein the Ravenclaw had revealed her ingenious experimentation with time-travel Portkeys! Granted she hadn't been successful, but still, it was most impressive to the Director of the Time Division. She'd all but promised the brilliant girl that she could expect a recruitment overture from the DoM, as she would absolutely be pestering Number 11 in his sanctum sanctorum to expedite that order.
The group of five had then delved into the horrifically dire circumstances of the original Time Agents that caused them to be chosen by the Cryptohedron, and the secondary terrible events that had led to Potter being chosen to use the time device a second time. All of which had ultimately led to the Third Year Slytherin revealing Obediah Prewett of all people as a secret Death Eater not only in league with Fenrir Greyback's pack, but had also succeeded in absconding with another werewolf!
Remus Lupin, a.k.a. Subject W.
Saul Croaker had spent several seconds sputtering in sheer outrage about 'Subject W' as Three wondered out loud what in Merlin's name a 'Subject W' was.
Given that she hadn't been granted the clearance to know of the joint research project between the Mind and Creatures Division, the witch had been thoroughly perplexed.
Her confusion had ratcheted as Potter's tone had turned accusatory, suggesting that the DoM had played some kind of convoluted role in Prewett's treachery.
"...Ira Levin, Potter?" whispered Number Two after a few tense moments. "How…well-read you are."
Harry smiled with all his teeth. "Like my mother before me. Though it is rather interesting that you would know of the reference."
"Muggleborn mother, like her mother before her. I do my best to keep abreast of our brave little world and all the wonderful new things in it." Croaker's expression turned more shrewd. "Though it is much more interesting that you chose to evoke that in an attempt to make an utterly baseless claim against my organization. More baseless considering an utter lack of anything resembling evidence."
"Oh Mr. Croaker…long have I spied with my little eye…" Harry trailed off suggestively, causing Saul's expression to harden to steel as his arctic blue eyes flashed dangerously.
"Did you now?" he hissed, voice taking on a much sharper lilt. Three grew noticeably nervous whilst Penelope and Astoria tightened their respective grips on their wands, instinct tensing them for a potential offensive response. "I wonder how well that little tidbit will hold up in front of the right audience, especially with the vagueness with which it was given. I mean," he scoffed dismissively. "Was there even a name?"
It was quite subtle, missable really, but Harry's nose flared a touch in time with a nigh bob of his throat.
Two (a Level 6 Occlumens) had called his bluff.
'Bassstard. Guess you win this round, old man.'
He sneered on instinct, scowling when Croaker smirked vindictively.
"Um…can someone explain-"
"RIGHT! NE'ER MIN'!" Croaker allowed his brogue to grow thicker as he dismissed Three's statement. The witch scowled, vowing to thoroughly bother him about it later. "We're done here! The Time-Turner has been returned to its container, and we have enough information on the crisis – or crises, I suppose – that triggered its bloody activation. We can go now, and I can go drink enough bloody firewhiskey to make myself forget the Cryptohedron exists. And so help me Hecate that damnable Chime better never sound again UNTIL LANG EFTER A'M DEID!"
Everyone jumped at his sharp volume, before 003 scrambled to gather up the Cryptohedron into her mini-pouch modified with an Undetectable Extension Charm. Looping her arm through Two's (who rolled his eyes in response though his lip twitched), she waved goodbye to the two flabbergasted (and one thoroughly annoyed) students.
"Well, we're off now! Hopefully you won't see us ever again, at least…not in this timeline." She chuckled as though she'd told a most funny joke, completely missing the matching expressions of bewilderment leveled her way. "Anywho, we're off to go get that drink now, though I think it's a bit too early for whiskey, 002. I wouldn't say no to a sangria however!"
"002?", interrupted Penelope with noticeable amusement. "Let me guess, you're 007?"
"Ha! I wish!"
With a bright smile and yet another chipper wave the Director of the Time Division exited with a grumbling Voice, though the latter moreso stormed out of the room as the three students stared at them with varying degrees of incredulity.
"That…was possibly one of the strangest exchanges I've ever had with anyone. Ever."
Harry snorted at Tori's statement but didn't disagree, still peeved that he'd allowed himself to be so easily goaded and summarily deflected by Croaker. He'd been hoping to leverage his admitted crumbs to get more intel on exactly whom within the DoM had helped pave the path to the rise of yet another Dark Lord nutter. Tom strongly suspected that the Dark tosser was an acolyte of Grindelwald who'd succeeded in emigrating to Britain before the end of the war.
In fact, Tom believed that the heavy-handed use of lupine symbology and Fenrir Greyback's extensive involvement in Death Eater raids strongly suggested that the Dark Lord was a devout protégé of Gustav Kleinwuchs - Grindelwald's right hand and more formally known as Der Todeswolf.
Though neither knew what the whole 'Rex Norvegicus' thing had to do with wolves, since rats would realistically serve as a snack for a lycanthrope.
"I know I didn't mention it before," said Harry after a few moments. "But I wanted to thank you both for saving my life. Twice over it seems."
The witches smiled gently. "You're quite welcome," they replied in unison.
"Seriously." he turned to address Penelope. "You saved mine and my brother's life on the Express. My mother never told me who my rescuer was per a promise she'd made to said rescuer, but given everything that's happened, I can correctly assume it was you." He stared directly into her eyes as earnestly as possible. "Thank you."
The Ravenclaw's eyes crinkled warmly. "Glad to have done so I am, young padawan."
He laughed in delight before turning to address Tori: "You too. You saved my life on that mad broom chase with those bloody werewolves." His emerald eyes shone with gratitude. "Thank you."
The witchling smiled. "You're very welcome Harry, truly. And quite frankly, you saved both of our lives with whatever you did to get us away from those rabid dogs."
"Hmm…touché." He wiggled his eyebrows cheekily, causing her to snort out a laugh. The three unlikely new friends chatted about a myriad of other topics, the Room reconfiguring itself into a much more comfortable and cozy setting to suit their needs. After an hour, Tori's loud yawn broke the mood.
Laughing, Harry stood and brushed the pasty crumbs from his lap. "Well, it's been a bloody long night. Technically two long nights if you count the previous timeline and all that. I'm in need of a hot bath and some me time."
"Second that," groaned Penelope tiredly, stretching the kinks from her legs and shoulders.
"Third that," replied Tori, eager to reunite with her bed for some well-deserved sleep.
Two Hours Later…
"There you are! I was beginning to think that I'd been stood up!"
Rolling his eyes at his friend, the Bloody Baron elegantly floated to the Fat Friar's side. He'd spent some hours prior giving the newly ascended Prince Harry Potter a thorough orientation briefing regarding the expected protocols of being a Throne-Bearer, including some choice secrets of the Founder and some of his heirs that the boy was now oathbound to keep - even from his own Administration.
"Well, you needn't worry any more old friend, I have arrived." Chortling at the Baron's sarcastic retort, the Hufflepuff ghost took a hearty sip from his tankard. While the object and the liquid contained were as much ether as he was, old habits tended to die hard.
As one, the two specters gazed out at the early morning sky, appreciatively basking in the soft golden glow of the encroaching dawn. They were currently in a sixth-storey abandoned Astronomy classroom hidden under a dozen or so security wards, charmed to keep them hidden from any wandering eyes or ears - even those of the other Hogwarts' ghosts. While they'd been friends for centuries, the two couldn't look more diametrically opposed.
The Fat Friar was a delightfully jovial rotund man who hardly looked the part of a ghost at all save for the fact of his translucency. The Bloody Baron, on the other hand, embodied the very pinnacle of the Restless Dead with his jangling chains that made no sound at all unless he wished them to be heard, coupled with the garishly bloody wounds which covered his immaterial form. Any of the other ghosts would have shrunk away in apprehension (if not outright fear).
But the Friar had always been the exception.
"So…how goes your conversation with the newly ascended Prince Potter?"
"It came and went as was appropriate," was the curt response. The Friar burst into a delighted laugh before taking a swig from his mead-cup.
"I am glad, old friend. It couldn't have happened at a better time, since something is moving out there in the Wild." The jovial man's expression turned sharper than one would have ever thought possible. "You know that as well as I. We who are Dead cannot yet see the shape of it, but we know that it is there, even if the Old Laws bar us from sharing freely what we do know with the Quick."
The Baron blinked. "Indeed. Only a strong Prince can purge Slytherin House of the rot at its core, and only when Slytherin House is purified can all four Houses stand together to meet that which draws nigh. Harry Potter has ascended and proven his worthiness, and as such, can begin the long overdue process. He has selected a wise council, and they will help him fulfill his Vision."
"And you think Harry Potter's the one? Moreso than his last three predecessors?"
The Bloody Baron sighed, though it was purely affectation as he was incapable of actually breathing.
"Indeed I do, as I believed in his predecessors. Regulus kept the House from destroying each other by taking on the mantle of the Dark Lord. A sheep in wolf's clothing so to speak, before he was betrayed by his kin. Lucius sought to modernize Wizarding Britain into a cosmopolitan Golden Age so it may stand as a shining light to the rest of the magical world, but he also suffered a deep familial betrayal. Tom desired to reunify the bloodlines of the wizardborn and muggleborn so like Lucius, he could usher Wizarding Britain into a Golden Age of true strength and power by healing the wounds born of willful ignorance, pride, and greed. Out of the three he has been the most successful with the seeds he has sown, but even he has realized that the festering of old stubborn roots will always seek to stifle the growth of new ones."
He took a pause, peripherally noting his friend's speculative gaze. "I will say that it's rather…fortuitous…that these Prince Emeriti have taken to mentoring Prince Potter after a fashion. Even better that he accepts and appreciates their joint counsel. In time, he shall rise to be better than those who came before him."
The Fat Friar smiled coyly. "Honestly the entire point of the Prince of Slytherin always seemed so…convoluted. None of the other Houses need anything like that."
"Do not play the fool, monk. You above all others know perfectly well why a Prince of Slytherin is needed, even if Hufflepuffian…geniality forbids you from saying it aloud. The great virtue of your House is Loyalty, while its great vice is Passivity, a refusal to act when doing so risks those you care about. The great virtues of Gryffindor and Ravenclaw are Courage and Reason, but they share the vice of Arrogance, the belief that either courage or reason is all that matters. But in Slytherin, our virtue is Ambition, and our vice ... is also Ambition. Alone among the Houses of Hogwarts are we the ones most likely to be brought to ruin by our greatest strength. That is why a Prince is needed. Someone with the power and intellect and resourcefulness to rule the House, but also with the wisdom and cunning to do so only from the shadows and only for the greater good of both the House and the entire wizarding world at the expense of his or her own prestige."
He turned back to the Friar and looked down upon him imperiously. "I would think that the humility demanded by the role would appeal to a Hufflepuff."
The Friar laughed mirthfully at that and raised his tankard in salute. "Well then, here's to Harry Potter! May he find just enough Hufflepuff inside himself to do the job right!"
The Bloody Baron growled, but the Friar didn't miss the telltale twitch of the old ghost's lips.
A few moments passed in relative piece before the monk spoke once more:
"When the time comes old friend…do you believe Fate will…whisper… to the Chosen One?"
The Baron closed his eyes, as though seeing the very paths the primordial entity could create beneath the shadows of his lids.
"Aye," he replied after a few moments.
The monk fidgeted. "And what will she say?"
His friend closed his eyes as his chains rattled ominously. "A storm is coming."
The Hufflepuff ghost shivered, less an affect than he would have liked. "And will the Chosen One…whisper back?"
The Baron's eyes closed before opening in a sharp flash:
"Aye…for he is the storm!"
AN 1: The Silver Spears will make future cameos for sure!
AN 2: My version of the Potter Prophecy may or may not be featured in other maybe Prophecies ;)