Figgy Pudding

by RoseWhispers6

After the first wizarding war, Arabella Figg's life changes forever when her memories fuse with those of a future Self Insert, creating a new, complex persona with knowledge beyond the Potter-Verse. With spycraft skills she's picked up, Arabella navigates the intricacies of the Goblin Nation, the Mer, and explores diverse magical cultures as she tries to save Harry and the world.

17. Denial, Cruise

Chapter 17

Denial, Cruise

oOoOoOo

15 February 1985

Somehow the wixen had become convinced that all goblins must live below ground and it is those living amongst them on the surface that are the odd ones out. Perhaps Gringotts is partially at fault for this mistake. They require all Masters of Bank Services to live within the cities below Gringotts Banks and many of the higher level banking officials that were not yet Masters would often live amongst them as a measure to gain greater prestige. Indeed the idea that goblins are available at all times within Gringotts Bank came partly from this protocol, and partly from the fact that daylight does not rule over hours of work for goblins. Goblins work when there is work.

Over centuries of war and combative interactions with humans, more and more of the Goblin Nation had gone to ground – literally. Though many still did live outside, it was becoming a rare occurrence. A well known family, that lived in Nottingham amongst the wixen, faced the attitudes of their neighbors stoically. Not all goblins wished to deal with such things though, and world over they had become more likely to live below the embassy like areas of the Nation's banks. This had slowly created larger and larger city states for the Goblin Nation below the surface, where once Goblins had gathered in forests or carved homes into the faces of the mountains.

As it was, the current situation was exactly why Masters of Bank Services lived within the cities below Gringotts, because it was barely passing the midnight hour when the alert was sent.

Petunia Dursley had opened her letter.

Though many goblins worked at all hours of the night, at that precise moment Master Clinkscale was in a deep sleep. A dream of pounding footsteps as they charged through the black pines, stars of magic creating halos of light as it hit upon a thousand swords. Glinting silver light of his Falchtuck –

Twip

Twip

Twip – Twip

There was a bird in the dream. It was enormous and bore down on the guard. They were fighting valiantly, but –

Twip – Twip – Twip

"Chizpurfles," I groaned as I tried to turn in my bed to silence the alert. With a great sigh I hefted myself over and smacked the alert silent.

It wasn't necessary for me to check what the alert actually said, there was only one reason to alert me like this and that was those chizpurfles that had so abused their authority as adults that they made young suffer had finally done what they were supposed to do and opened the letter. I was aware that the wixen also suffered from the indignities of the chizpurfle, a lice that was attracted to magic, but in the wholly magical dwellings, businesses, and even farming of the Goblin Nation it was a pest that every goblin would gladly set on fire.

It often affected the rather adorable chui. It's name comes from the sound this fluffy little creature makes when it is happy, though I had always believed it should be spelled zshoo in English. I had been considering getting a che to gift the young Potter. The che, should be spelled zi but no one asks me how to translate things into English, is an infant chui. It is fairly cat like, but with additional legs. And antenna. And fluffy feathery moth like wings. Maybe it isn't as close to the cat as I had previously believed.

Often, chui was used as an affectionate term or a term of endearment and the che were given as pets to our young. They helped in the pollinating of our crops, but their fluffy and magical nature attracted chizpurfle that fed off of their magics. Potions could remove the infestation, but only fire would truly get rid of the little parasites.

It was approaching six weeks since Madam Figg had introduced herself and the situation with the child. It had been nearly three weeks since she returned the letter to Gringotts. We had used our magical human kin to safely insert the letter into their toiletries bag while they made a nightmare of a fuss at the airport. It had been nearly five days since the letter would become visible to Petunia Dursley. One wonders why it took her so long to notice. Did she not bother to bathe in that time?

In the time since the severity of the young Potter's problem had been revealed, a great deal of work had been done. After the intensity of the medical exam, myself, Master Erlast and Master Rayner had been working towards further integrating him into the Goblin Nation as kin of my kin. Directly afterwards, when we had realized that there was a soul leach trapped within the scar, we went to the Council and called for an emergency medical mediation. It was a very good thing that Madam Figg and I had decided to declare the young Potter kin of my kin. If he hadn't already been declared we would not have been able to do all that we did that night, or was it morning by that point?

Sighing, I scrubbed at my face and turned to lay on my back once more. I knew eventually it would all pay off. The plans that Madam Figg and I had come up with would lay low an impressive number of people while ensuring the protection of the young Potter. And, perhaps, others would be spared from a deplorable section of the human population. Who truly knows what changes these schemes would wrought when all was said and done?

Just in the time that the Dursleys had been gone, Madam Pillai had finished off all of the changes to the houses in Surrey and started on everything that the late Madam Potter had hidden from the world. It had taken a rather long letter from Madam Figg to convince me that she had not meant this hidden endeavor as an insult against myself and Gringotts. That she had used completely muggle means, some of them not quite legal, to create safe havens during the war that no one knew about and that needed to include the Nation.

According to Madam Pillai, the houses included a large variety in sizes and placements. Some were set in the country, some in the middle of great cities, others were along the coasts of countries far from here. All of them had significant magical protections that, we assume, Madam Potter had woven into them by herself. It was because of these protections that instead of legally being considered a muggle property, they could be taken in as a magical property for the young Potter's inheritance. Master Wardsmith Rayner was practically salivating as her team ran through the protections.

Under Madam Figg's direction, as the young Potter's representative, we had created the ArchAngel portfolio as a mirror to the Silver Hynd portfolio that had been initiated by his parents. Where Silver Hynd looked into muggle products, companies, and properties the ArchAngel portfolio would look to encourage muggleborn and half blood magical businesses and products. Our discussions in the creation of ArchAngel had been what initially led to the talk of Avira Pillai, a technical half blood. It seems that while her parents, grandparents, and many others did not have magic, Madam Pillai's cousins were all magically capable. An intriguing family, such a thing does not happen very often.

She had been trained by the finest masters in the world at Kamara Bada Karo with senior masters Kavita Chaudhry and Veeru Devgan being her advisors. Gringotts had her file completed years ago, but there was nothing within the Nation that required her services and the wixen that would call upon goblins for such services on the outside often expected goblins to do the work. We had learned to keep our human kin away from such projects, the wixen became aggressive otherwise. She had not made much progress since returning to British soil, despite her excellent credentials, most likely due to laws and unwritten social rules enacted and enforced by purebloods.

During Madam Figg's trip through the alleys with the young Potter, Madam Pillai had been recommended to her when the pureblood run store had been less than helpful. After going through her file, we were both impressed enough to add And Relative Dimensions In Space to the new portfolio. Making it the second business to be added to the all magical investments for the Potter Estate. The first was still attempting to create the product that Madam Figg had commissioned in January, though things were looking promising.

The Spectacle was run by Otto Fick, a half blood who's family escaped Germany during Grindelwald's aggressions, and his Welsh born business partner Ayesha Ayola who was a muggleborn. They sold eyewear with enchantments attached to them. There were potions that could help wixen to have better vision, but as they got older their eyesight still deteriorated. Not to mention that the potions were terribly expensive. The business was acceptably profitable, but could be doing so much more.

Madam Figg had requested that they create defensive spectacles, if they worked well for her then the young Potter would have a pair as well. She said that it was essential to have something to create an Occlumency like barrier since Albus Dumbledore was a skilled Legilimens. Neither of us wanted him to read her traitorous intentions should he decide to meet her in person. Not to mention what all those loyal to the ways of Voldemort might do with such information. She also requested that they start looking into a fairly interesting concept of the muggle eye specialists called contact lenses. Though, I'm uncertain what wixen would be willing to touch their own eyes.

Hopefully, they would be successful in making Occlumency eyewear before we finally meet with Lord Black. It would be wonderful if we could ensure her mental protections before she attempted anything to do with the Most Noble and Ancient House. Master Shatterpic and Master Copper Claw had been creating drumming rumbles since the family tree for Harry Potter had been completed. All of the Masters for the Estates mentioned in his tree had been notified per the established protocol. Normally this would not create a problem, but no one had realized that Madam Potter was a half blood.

In our letters since the tree had been completed, neither myself nor Madam Figg could decide if Madam Potter was aware of her blood status. There were some advantages that she could have used, but I was personally of the opinion that she was better off without the rest of wixen society knowing. It was a violent time, her true bloodline might have made her an even greater target by the Dark Lord and his followers. Even worse, he might have kept her alive and captive instead of giving her an honorable death that protected her only child.

The Most Noble and Ancient House of Black was such a vast and old estate that it had two Masters of its clan assigned to ensure its success. The house was sprung from another almost a thousand years ago. Master Shatterpic was the Manager of Estates and Master Copper Claw was Master of the Black Accounts. With the near destruction of the House during the recent wars, they had little direction or interaction with their family. Lord Black had turned over Head of House duties to his son Orion when he started to become ill, though it is whispered he did not approve of all Orion's decisions.

The House of Black is one of the few to continuously take up their lordship titles, unlike most wixen who let such things stay "unofficial" since the time when they fought to appear less like the muggles. The title is passed down automatically by the death of the previous holder, but that heir must officially take up the title by being tested through family magics and then filling out some standard clerical paperwork. If they do not do this, then they are not legally permitted to be called Lord and not given the privileges associated with it. Most simply do the clerical paperwork to become Head of House when the previous Head passes beyond the veil.

Groaning, I give in to the understanding that I will not be getting back to sleep now. Being far too awake with these thoughts and plots running through my mind, I pull myself out of my comfortable bed and check the alert. I was correct, the chizpurfles have finally opened the letter. We had accomplished so much in a short period of time, but there was more to do. If I am to be denied my sleep, I might as well pay attention to the missives I had been ignoring earlier.

Master Quickiron had agreed to Madam Figg's idea to use the empty vaults in her schemes against those loyal to Voldemort, but only in principal as the young heir would be required to open the vault and inspect it first. At least the incessant rumbles of Master Shatterpic and Master Copper Claw were balanced by the elderly Master Quickiron.

He was a fresh wave upon smooth stones in comparison. Most of his clan had moved away from these accounts as they were not profitable and the family had not been seen within a Gringotts Bank for several generations. This was not exactly true, but the last one who could claim the vaults had not wanted to give blood to confirm their identity and lineage. Only Master Quickiron had stayed on, completely loyal to the family and hopeful that the vaults would see gold moving once more.

Adding Quickiron's statements to the list of things to tell Madam Figg in my next letter, I looked over towards the large framed photo on my desk. It would be inappropriate to have such a thing in my office within Gringotts, but this was on my desk within my own home. It had arrived in a letter sent by the young Potter, kin of my kin, he had obviously written it in his own hand. I framed it and put it in this place of honor as a reminder. Moving in the photo was a small child with pink hair and sparkling green eyes, a wide smile gracing his face, he made new odd poses for the camera every few seconds. A happy child. A safe child. A child to fight for.

oOoOoOo

15 February 1985

Tik

Tik

Whir

Hummm

Tik

Tik

Whir

Hummm

The early morning light seemed almost lazy as it drifted through the window and glinted off the bright instruments. There was a small orchestra in the office made up of various gadgets and doodads. Most of them actually did things, those that didn't… simply added to the music.

A small bowl of chocolate candies was on the corner of the desk. He normally preferred hard candies, but in deference to the holiday season he had switched them to chocolates. The candy of love. Few people seemed to enjoy hard candies like he did, perhaps they would be more accepting of this new variety.

It was far too early for chocolate, however, so he kept himself from nibbling on a piece as he sat in the chair behind his desk and thought.

He had been catching himself in deeper thoughts more often this month, as though he was being pulled into an undertow. Drowning in them.

This month hadn't bothered him so much before. No, in fact, he loved the outpouring of love that happened during February in the lead up to Valentine's Day. But not so much this year.

Oh, but he had worn his most colorful and dazzling robes with matching hats to help infuse the season with even more delight. It was only in the privacy of his own mind that the thoughts and feelings swarmed him.

This was part of why he had a mastery of the mental arts, as he could compartmentalize these thoughts and feelings to be dealt with later.

Now being later.

It had been five years ago this month that Albus Dumbledore had learned there would be an end to the bloody and vicious war Tom Riddle had thrust upon magical Britain. Five years ago that there was finally some hope for relief. He had never been a true believer in the arts of divination, simply because so many did not have the necessary gifts to be even proficient in the art. Having seen it happen right in front of him had, at the very least, made him a true believer in Sybil Trelawney's abilities. Whether or not the rest of the magical population got any use from the subject he was unsure, but it didn't hurt to continue the classes under someone who could not be denied as having the talent. And it certainly ensured that the woman was kept safely away from those who would cause her harm.

He glanced over at a very particular spinning, whirring contraption on a high shelf. Many of the instruments were simply reminders or watchers of things, places, magics, etc. This particular one used a single drop of blood he had pricked from young Harry Potter's finger before the family had gone into hiding. He couldn't stand looking at the twin instruments that used to rest beside it, so silent, and had reverently moved them to a keepsake box. It wasn't possible for him to break his own heart more by destroying the instruments or using them for some other purpose. He simply couldn't do it. Hence, the small box that held them. Perhaps a future gift for their son.

Prophecies can feel like doom to so many. To him, he felt only hope. It had not occurred to him that day, or even several days after, that there would be yet more blood shed before Tom was felled by a power he knew not. It did not occur to him in his joy of an end, that the end might come at too great a cost.

Others believed they were in a stalemate, but that would require more recruits to join both sides. When the reality was that many of the neutral and light members of wizarding Britain would rather not believe that they could be next. Even as more and more citizens disappeared, they denied it was a real issue. They believed that the ministry would make it better. They refused the evidence of the civil war that was tearing the country asunder. They would not fight against the rising tide of darkness.

Gellert, in all his devastation, had an aim. He had a reckless belief and a plan. Tom Riddle was a madness that insidiously infected the population and spread like a plague. Attracting the worst and darkest parts of society before unleashing them like a maelstrom upon the defenseless and the light.

All Tom wanted was Death. And yet, from Death he ran.

It was a cold sort of poetry, Albus thought as he looked at his wand.

Over the years and the battles it had become clear that Tom hadn't simply done a few dark rituals too many, he had found some way to ensure he would not die. There was nothing solid to be found on the matter and that still vexed Albus terribly.

There were scant few who would or could be relieved of first hand memories regarding Tom Riddle, even if it was just memories from his school years. Albus had started trying to find people willing to help, or those he felt capable of tricking into such help, when rumors had started to reach Hogwarts of what the young man was up to in his travels after graduation. He still hoped that some of it was exaggeration. But then Tom had returned after over a decade of completely enveloping himself in dark magics, of building his branded army, and claimed he had pushed the boundaries of magic. His face, his magic, his very soul seemed tainted by his arrogance.

By the time Tom had returned in his farce for a teaching position, Albus had collected barely any memories that could be directly connected to Tom's misdoings. Where now stood a wall of glowing memory, hidden from prying eyes, at that time there was only bottles. A drink of welcome had been offered from those bottles during a conversation where Tom went so far as to insist on being called by the epithet he had created for himself, Voldemort. It was a game of chess that they had already been playing in the deep shadows, coming forward.

The darkest of shadows already held wizards called Death Eaters, part of his marked army. Four of them had loyally traveled with Tom, waiting in the Hog's Head. Before exposing his knowledge of these four, Albus had thought perhaps Tom had his friends waiting in his brother's pub on purpose. To strike at his family, or just to show that Voldemort could threaten and do as he wished. Rather humorously Tom didn't seem to know who the bartender was though, the idea it was a threat was dropped.

That was the start of their war come forward. It was a painful thing to see, he had so woefully failed his student.

One of the bad habits of being a teacher and school master for so long was that time stood still for the students that passed through the halls. They never grew beyond, never became adults. They stayed forever children.

Albus had never had such a luxury. In all the time he had worked as teacher and headmaster, he had forced himself to see the trajectory of the childrens' lives. To try, in earnest, to create a better world through teaching and direction specific to each of those precious lives.

It is an unfortunate truth, however, that Albus lived during a time of wars that were each of them crueler and more bloody than the last. It often meant making the heartbreaking decision to encourage his students in greater amounts of defense to keep them safer. Minerva was so disappointed in that, she amounted it to training children to be soldiers. To Minerva they would always be forever children.

She wasn't the only one with a soft spot for the Potters, though. But Albus wasn't there when James Potter decided not to push himself in Quidditch, deciding not to become a professional at the game he loved so much. He wasn't there when she had worked with James on his prospects since his fourth year, only to listen as he said there were more important things than the World Cup. Albus wasn't there when Lily Evans asked for combat training from Minerva to combine her natural talents in Charms with Transfiguration elements she still struggled with in her sixth year, when she should have been looking forward to the research and experiments she was so fond of scribbling in her books.

Albus wasn't there. Albus didn't notice.

The problem with building up the idea, the mystique, of being all knowing is that people expect you to be all knowing. And Albus didn't know.

He felt it now. The crushing weight of failure. He cradled his head in his hands, his elbows resting on the headmaster's desk.

He had been fighting for so long now.

His whole life was a war.

It would never end.

Shining blue eyes looked back up to the bright silver that whirred away on a high shelf.

He had been teaching soldiers.

He had been a soldier.

He did not wish to make another.

Their son, the hope of the wizarding world, lived on. Outside of the world of magic. Outside the influence of dark magics and politics. Outside the authority of Albus Dumbledore.

Harry Potter would be his own person.

His loving mother had studied arcane rituals to give him a shield that would protect him until adulthood. She had literally sacrificed herself to give Harry an opportunity to safely and innocently grow and it should not be twisted or taken from him.

It was wonderful that she had used a blood bound ritual, so smart Lily Potter. With blood relations in Petunia Dursley née Evans and her young son, Harry would have further protections from any of Tom's friends who wished to do him harm as he grew. It was unfortunate, though, that Petunia would be less than receptive after so long spent arguing with her sister about magic. Lily had obviously forgiven her of what strife was between them for her to have prepared such remarkable magics. Petunia did not seem so forgiving. But Albus had ensured that she and her son would also benefit from the safety of her sister's sacrifice. His letter had thoroughly explained all of this and ensured she would want to take him in to her home, sealing the charm.

In time, Albus knew, those small pitfalls of families would smooth themselves out.

Shortly after Harry was ensconced in the home of his aunt, Albus had used Lily's process for buying muggle safe houses in order to secure Arabella Figg near to the Dursley house. She would be able to report back on any magical issues while keeping a low profile. He had hoped it would help ease her own grief now that the war was at an unofficial détente. There was time to heal and regroup, time to grieve.

Of course, Arabella was appalled at the muggle idea of discipline. She had sent him pictures of young Harry with bruising without understanding that it was standard practice for most muggles to enforce good behavior with physical punishment. Such a thing was unheard of in the magical world for at least a century due to increased awareness in what creates the obscurial.

Then she also thought sending a child to bed without his dinner was an egregious thought. Albus and Arabella had argued over that several times. In his hopes to ease both their worries, Albus had set foot in Little Whinging for the first time since delivering Harry Potter to his aunt.

He had avoided it. Not just because he did not want to force the boy to be other than he would be. He also did not wish to draw even more attention to a muggle area regardless of Harry's protections. When he arrived he had cast several spells on himself to be better able to see the wards around the house. They were, of course, in perfect working order. No where could be safer for Harry Potter.

But when the Dursley family had won a holiday for a prize, Arabella had renewed her insistence that they were unsuitable guardians. It was ridiculous. Even though the boy might need to withstand the pressure of a disgruntled aunt and a seemingly spoiled cousin, it was significantly less than what the so-called upstanding members of wizarding Britain would do to Harry. Not to mention what would have happened if Sirius Black had managed to abscond with the boy before Albus had secured him. Who knows how long the boy would have lived then? Or if the blood bound protections would still have worked? Albus had seen hundreds of children who were muggleborn or half blood that had been disciplined in the way of muggles. Harry would be fine.

It was Arabella he had started to worry over.

That happened with some people as they worked through their grief. She had become overly attached and thought every little thing was something to worry over. The small charm Albus had attached to his letter would help her to get over that bump in her road to recovery. Very few people could understand the wretchedness of grieving for love. It was the most powerful of emotions, of intents. And what was magic if not willful intent?

Poor Arabella. Her lot in life had been a slow and lonely path. She had found love just before the war had begun in earnest. Her wife was a brilliant potions mistress and Arabella was able to assist her in lesser ways. Arabella's contacts had also helped to bring in some information for the cause. It wasn't much, but it did provide context to many other things. It might have helped save an asset or two who would have stepped into a trap. But the dear couldn't fight, and she would never be able to hold any kind of political office to assist the Order. She did her best, despite her limitations.

Albus believed that the prize would help both Arabella with her grief and Harry with any lingering issues there were with the Dursleys. Arabella was going to be coddling the boy for a month in her home. She would get all this nonsense out of her system. The Dursley family would return home and could begin anew with young Harry.

There was no way that Albus could confide in Arabella about the prophecy. Perhaps it would give her some comfort, but it might also give her the same headaches he experienced. After all he had been told by magic itself, through a mouthpiece, that there was one who could vanquish Tom and that it could not possibly be Albus.

Born as the seventh month dies…

And he had to learn how to balance that. Did the prophecy include Albus going out to get yet more information about Tom and his dark rituals? Did the prophecy know that he had ensured Harry and his guardians would be safer? It was a knife's edge to live on. At least it was clear that Harry would be whole and alive for as long as Tom existed, there was very little that could probably damage the boy at all. The bruising from his punishment had been a surprise, but he had no lasting damage.

Growing up in the muggle world would make sure he was humble. He would need to be humble to survive the upcoming war. He would need to be strong and independent, to do what needed to be done. He needed to trust in Albus absolutely so that he could be guided to his destiny. He was the only one that could end this war.

Tik

Tik

Whir

Hummm

Tik

Tik

Whir

Hummm

oOoOoOo

15 February 1985

It was late in the evening, the Forest was heavy with snow and darkness. There was nothing here that would best the potions master, but he did not wish to be startled during his collecting. He set about some proximity alerts in strategic places before he settled into his work.

The cold had dropped in the extreme tonight, making it perfect to collect snow from the snowdrops. If kept cold by special vials, the snow would make a useful additive in a healing potion that induced a restive sleep. If it melted, the snow could cause a cursed sleep in a different potion. At least that was what his arithmancy work pointed towards. The potions were still in their early experimental stages.

The dark figure carefully knelt in the soft piles of snow before the flowers, a glow coming from them under the blanket of white. He gently removed each scoop of now magical snow with a pure silver tool and methodically settled it into the vial that would keep it cool. The task took concentration. Too much force could bend the flowers and make the snow useless. Too little force and the scoop would not capture any snow at all.

The potions master preferred these tasks. Something that he could pour his entire concentration into. No one near by to blunder into something that could kill them. No one who would force his concentration to split. Just him and the task.

There was nothing else.

There was no reason to think on anything or anyone else.

Especially not this month, of all months.

It took hours to carefully remove and collect his newest specimen. It was a quiet meditation, uninterrupted.

The classroom was never a kind place for Severus Snape.

There were too many tasks and too much stupidity. It seemed each new year had at least five new troublemakers and one new thorn in his side. Like a bloody metamorphmagus.

The damnedable children thought they were indestructible. The wrong ingredient, an off timing, too high a flame, and they could be maimed or die. They could take their classmates with them. Not that the little dunderheads ever seemed to consider such a thing.

The walk back to the castle was less pleasant.

Amidst grumbles over suicidal morons, Severus was reminded he was not so spry anymore. His knees and hands suffered during his collections more now than they had before. He was a young man and, though his pains could be attributed to having gone through war and torture, he was a believer in the theory of magical aging.

The theory stated that those who went through harsher emotional upheavals would age prematurely. Severus knew he had seen that in muggles, but with magic the destruction of one's own body would be more devastating. One look at the Headmaster would support such a theory. He was barely at what magical people would call middle age, yet he looked so much older.

The torments Severus had gone through physically, the crucios, dark spells, the beatings, had nothing on the emotional pain that he had gone through. Chained to one master, turned psychotic. Chained to another master, who was the same manipulator Severus had known all his life. What choice did he have? All others that had tried to leave died–

Regulus…

The precious vials safely put away, Severus settled himself next to the fire in his quarters with a warm glass of amber liquid. The deep notes of a somber, angry song reverberating around the room from the record player.

What avenue of escape was there for a lowly half blood, when the purest of purebloods were slaughtered by their leader?

There wasn't even a body that he could bury. Nothing but another cold, black mark on his already marred soul. More reason for his own magic to destroy his body.

What he had thought was the final tear on that damaged, scarred inner self had happened five years ago this month. He had not thought of anyone else when he had overheard the prophecy. Why would he? He had thought prophecy a stupid bunk. The Dark Lord had demanded he follow the Headmaster whenever possible, however, and that included listening in on this job interview with Trelawney. Even if he had thought that the Dark Lord would believe in such tosh, he would never have imagined that the person in the prophecy would be the son of his only childhood friend.

Who could predict that he would only destroy more and more of his soul every moment after that?

Trapped. Imprisoned with his tormentor. With his memories of this castle and all that had happened here. Led around and verbally cut by an old manipulative twazzock. Waiting for a child that would be the end of his misery. Or the beginning of worse.

Severus took another sip from his glass.

oOoOoOo

15 February 1985

Curled up in the corner, shivering even with the mass of fur that should protect him, Sirius Black did not know what month it was. He was not even sure how many months had passed since he was locked in this frozen Hell to pay for his sins.

Were he in the right mind to observe it, he would have noticed that the ever present frosting along the walls and floors was more ice than frost. He might have been able to guess the time of year from this alone. But Sirius Black had no true coherent thoughts.

Just pain.

Just sorrow.

Just cold.

He hid himself as his animagus grim as often as he could. It felt better. A bittersweet escape from the worst of the torture.

It was all his fault.

His only true understanding was that thought.

It was all his fault.

He was the one that denied Remus the position of Secret Keeper.

He was the one that couldn't string together all the problems they were having, too many leaks.

He should have known it was the Rat.

It was all his fault.

He made them do it.

He was a grim, bringer of Death.

The broken, near frozen grim cried in his sleep as he curled up even tighter against the never ending cold.

oOoOoOo

16 February 1985

Spinning in place, faster than was literally humanly possible, Shatterpic let go the war sphere. The ring and long chain staying firmly in her grasp as she crouched to see her score. She and the account manager had started this exercise when their account holder had first appointed his son, Orion, as Head of House. As if that pile of rubble could properly direct his way out of a lit cave.

"Just past the emerald line," smirked Copper Claw, "I'm sure I will have great troubles in defeating such an awe inspiring throw. Our ancestors would be proud."

"Shut your maw and throw, you old limestone lick. I'll have you know I am still aggravated over the state of our account's affairs."

"tSk, tSk, tSk. You shouldn't let it cloud you during the throws, that was the whole point of starting up with this sport. To not think about all the stupidity the human outsiders are pouring down on us like so much debris."

Copper Claw stepped into the chalked circle to throw her war sphere. While their technique was similar to their partner, it was thrown with greater strength. The sphere flew from the chain it was loosed, going far beyond the other.

"Ah, a copper line for Copper Claw. How fitting," she smirked at her disgruntled colleague. "Perhaps you can make up for it in your next two throws, Shatterpic. You only need to get two gold line throws to potentially meet my skill point."

"How can you be in such a distastefully arrogant mood? Especially when you know who they will involve in the affairs of the Blacks? You know they don't tolerate outsiders–"

"– interfering with Black family business. I'm well aware. But I also know that there is finally a good chain of ownership. So what if they involve–"

"Hust-hust, don't say it."

"Holcomb."

"Must you be so foul? Involving other humans is bad enough, to involve that one? Treachery! How will we explain it to Lord Black?"

Copper Claw handed her crumbling friend a new war sphere and then shoved her into the throwing circle.

"If he wanted to have a say in things then he would answer our missives. We have to keep the knowledge of the child quiet so that the others get what they deserve, but if we don't get the ins we need through him we have no choice but to involve–"

"Don't you dare."

A rough sigh escaped her, "– that person. No one else has the power to do it without involving the very people we are trying to avoid. And don't you forget that the only reason this is even an avenue for us is because the family has ensured they carry on their title by facing the family magics and filling paperwork out in triplicate."

Harrumphing as she got more properly into the circle, Shatterpic held the ring firmly in her hands before she began to spin. Her form was good, but her strength was still deterred by the events that were heavy stones settling on her mind. It was too much even for sport to overcome.

"Ah, well. At least it was better than last time."

The snarky comment was the last straw for the other goblin and she let loose a torrent upon Copper Claw in retaliation.

"My clan has served the Most Noble and Ancient House of Black since before the Norman barons carved up their kingdom, before Mathrafal was destroyed, since before they fought alongside the French against the English. I have served this post as it's Manager of Estates since Arcturus became the titled Head of House," Shatterpic snarled. "I would rather slit the throats of our enemies and watch as their blood falls across the stones in a glistening stream, knowing it would mean yet another war with the outsider humans. I have no wish to involve," she grimaced, "the sorcerer."

"And I," Copper Claw softly replied, "have been in my post as Master of Accounts since the Head was Headmaster Phineas Nigellus. Before he even claimed his title. It has been a great honor for our clans to serve the ever forward moving House of Black, but now there are too few of them. They have been ravaged by wars and removed from the tree for politics, there may come a time when the Blacks are no longer the Blacks."

Looking furious, Shatterpic went to interject but was halted as her colleague continued in their low soft tone.

"We must decide if we will still be the keepers of the accounts if that is to happen. The accounts and estates are so large and numerous that it takes two Masters to uphold the honorable duties. But if there were to be no Blacks left? The Lord Arcturus and Head of House Orion have both made it clear as crystal that they do not wish for the sisters to inherit, especially the youngest girl. Without Lord Arcturus' intervention the House is collapsing, if we are to change that then we need to involve the sorcerer."

Slowly, as though she were weighed down with all the thoughts and feelings she had tried to let go of earlier, Copper Claw moved to take her place in the throwing circle. Attaching a new sphere to her ring and chain, she took deep breaths hoping to find her center. It was a good throw, but not her best.

"I am sorry for my outburst, Copper Claw. It was a heavy frame to put around us and it was clear that this is not the time to think on such things."

"I know it troubles you, it troubles me too. We must acknowledge the potential issues that may yet come, but with this new information we have greater hope than we have had for many years."

"Indeed," Shatterpic replied with a toothy smile. "The next time that quartzy chrysaor comes through looking for more Black gold, it will be good to tell him no in new and exciting ways."

"If only we could," came the happy reply, "we need the representative's permission to even mention it. She and the Master of the boy's account have plans within plans. Can't wait to see what she will do with the quartzy chrysaor, it will be spectacular."

"Oh, yes. She will do terrible things to him, more glory to her. But I do wonder how the wixen will handle his great grandfather being so unusual. Did you hear the latest from the Archives? They are thinking of making it a mandatory requirement for all new account holders to be tested."

"That will cost a significant amount of gold. If they don't wish to go through with it they might go over to the dwarves and use their services."

"Pfft 'services' pfft. As though they offer anything other than a hole in the ground. But if we can consolidate some of the accounts, or wake some like the child has done for Quickiron, then the gold moves more."

"Poor Quickiron."

"Poor Quickiron," Shatterpic agreed. "Hopefully, he does not diminish our own accounts attempting to sooth Quickiron or reward his loyalty after so many disappointing years. It would only lower our own prestige."

"It would seem the representative is already taking great initiative with magical side investments for the child's portfolios. They would not lose any prestige taking from those accounts to fill the barren vaults of an old name. The denial of which has long been an empty stain for Quickiron's clan."

"True," she said as she picked up a new war sphere, "but let us do as you have recommended. Let us leave it behind and focus on our sport."

Both of them grinning, Shatterpic stepped back into the throwing circle.

_‗_
―==(oIo)==―
ˇ

17 February 1985

A good spy remains invisible.

It was something that I had lived by since the beginning of the seventies. A decade had passed with me invisible. I had reveled in my invisibility. In all that could be accomplished with an invisible network. We had saved more than a dozen missions. Saved people a hundred times over on both sides of the divide. All because we were invisible.

It was like a super power.

Except– Except that I had let my whole self get swallowed in the invisibility. Denied myself outside of that cloak and dagger. Especially after the death of my wife. Even here, as I tried to be in more of the pictures, I still felt trepidations in being so visible.

That's the funny thing about Denial, it follows you wherever you go.

I still needed that invisibility, but I needed to live too. I needed to have something for me. Being responsible for children can take over a person as well. My life will revolve around those responsibilities and I need to not get lost in that either.

We were traveling by rigid airship again tomorrow, this time on our way out to the magical enclaves of Italy. Very, very early tomorrow morning, Harry and I would leave our dahabiya Nile cruise and take a hot air balloon rider over the West Bank of Luxor before we moved on. I was a bit nervous to be in a rickety basket held up by hot air, but I thought on how my siblings had so easily learned to fly on brooms and pulled myself together for this adventure.

Before we settled in for the night, I went down to check my post in the suitcase. There was yet another letter from Clinkscale. We had been rolling with the changes for our plans, they were becoming more and more complex. The best ways to protect innocence while ensuring that neither side would be able to cause great harm, it would mean I had to step out of my comfortable invisibility. I had to be more courageous than I believed myself to be, but how could I not? How could I not go further when I know what the consequences would be for everyone?

Harry still had living family. His great great uncle was still alive.

There were so many unknowns, that my head was spinning. How could I trust my knowledge or plans to an unknown? He could help, by god could he help. But he could also hurt. What would happen if he decided to claim this lost line? Would I fight for the responsibility if he seemed competent and – well… not evil?

Up until a few weeks ago Harry even had a cousin on his line that had been living, close by marriage if not by blood. I was certain that I would not let him near her, but because she had passed away did that make his great great uncle safer?

I was having trouble breathing.

I was struggling to stay on my feet as I stopped breathing properly.

I was having a panic attack. Haven't had one of those in ages.

Dear god, just breath. Just breath.

The goblins aren't even sure how it happened. They have theories, but until we speak to his great great uncle we will only have theories.

Corvinus had only shown up on Harry's family tree because I had wanted to make sure that all of Lily's muggle family were included. But magic doesn't care so much if someone makes a legal change to a name when it is asked to work by blood and magic. When "Corvinus White child of Sirius Black and Hesper Gamp Black" appeared on the tree, there was an uproar at Gringotts. The roar was echoed by the Nation. Havoc ensued.

The youngest son, going by the dates on Harry's tree, had never made it onto any official record or tapestry. That meant that Corvinus had never had a breath of magic. He was so completely muggle, that he just never registered on anything.

They found him in muggle paperwork going by Corvinus White, a teacher at an all boys school. There were even pictures they were able to dig up. From there, the goblins were able to trace his schooling from the young age of 7 in the muggle world all the way to his death in 1957.

He had one child, Hazel White, with his muggle wife Viola Taylor. Hazel later married Alfred Evans and they had two daughters, Petunia and Lily. I remember that Lily had been inconsolable when Alfred and Hazel had been in a horrible car crash and died in 1979.

The goblins think it is safe to assume that at least Petunia was never aware of her actual lineage. It was more difficult to discern what Lily Evans Potter knew of her magical heritage. Did she know and just not trust anyone enough to speak of it? If she did trust someone, have they simply died with that secret as well?

And it was a secret that just kept getting bigger.

Because it wasn't only on the distaff side that she had a weighty magical heritage.

It was amazing to think that they didn't know who the next heir would be for such a famous line, but the family had so distanced itself from wixen society that Balin's great great grandson came as a bit of a surprise to the goblins. There were no significant cadet branches of Gaunt left. Generations of inbreeding and paranoia had lost the family their elevated status, their money, and eventually their legacy. The archives only automatically tracked those that had enough magic, this was a case of squibs getting lost in that shuffle.

Harry's great great grandparents were Balin Gaunt and Althea Runcorn, both squibs who were cast out of their families. From what little the goblins were able to uncover Balin Gaunt was the son of Bruno Gaunt and Oda Orpington Gaunt. Making Balin the brother of Mabon Gaunt.

It is awkwardly true that many of the pureblood families are interrelated. It is intensely awkward to know that Harry Potter is the great great grandson of Tom Riddle's great great uncle. This is because Mabon Gaunt married Eura Selwyn and had Marvolo Gaunt, Tom Riddle's grandfather.

When Harry's great great grandparents left the magical world behind, Balin and Althea changed their surname to the common muggle name Evans. This was perhaps to further avoid detection by at least the Gaunt family who were well known to not be tolerant. They had one child, Harry's great grandfather, Grover Evans, who they raised completely on the muggle side of the divide. Not much was found on either of them, just death dates. Balin died in 1938 and his wife Althea died in 1956.

By all proper accounts Grover Evans was an upstanding government man. He worked in the agricultural sector and would spin the most boring tales of farming if anyone tried to press him. In reality, the goblins found that he had worked for their majesty's service on highly classified projects that even they couldn't get any solid information on decades later. Grover had died in a classified mission that was covered up as a fire in 1978.

His dear wife was a muggle nurse named Hyacinth Moore Evans. She passed several years before Grover in 1973 from pneumonia complications. Hyacinth was known for her brilliant green eyes and fiery red hair, traits that she passed on to their son Alfred. In turn, Alfred would pass along her coloring to his daughter Lily. Grover and Hyacinth were, by all written accounts available, completely muggle in every way.

It had been something like ten days since Master Clinkscale had written that letter detailing out a heritage that had been completely unknown to – well, to anyone. At the time I took it very well, even sent a few ideas on how to use such information to the benefit of our schemes. The magnitude of everything seemed to be hitting me all at once, after having been set aside in favor of our adventure through Egypt.

It was an overwhelming amount of complicated information.

It all boiled down to Harry being able to become account holder for Potter, Black, Slytherin, and Gaunt vaults. He could also take up their votes in the Wizengamot by proclaiming himself Head of House officially, but taking up so many names was considered crass. All but the Gaunt line were individually titled, though there was very little use in having such a thing.

Though it did seem there was one odd and obscure use for it, what the Black Manager of Estates and the Master of Accounts wanted to do, maybe for that it would be worth it to have be titled. I had been thinking about this type of involvement all the way back in December, but hadn't been able to find a way to do it subtly enough to avoid Albus. Perhaps the goblins could do such a thing, but I was still worried about making too much noise and attracting too much attention.

As far as the goblins have been able to tell, there was never any legal or ritual rending of Lily's ancestors from their pureblood families. Such a task is only done by the most extreme of families with squibs, but we were talking about the Blacks and the Gaunts so checking was an absolute must. Squibs were considered secondary in laws for inheritance, passing them by if there was a magical relative available but not completely removing them. It would not have meant much in the old days that the squibs were still a part of the family tree, as there were so many active users along the main branches. This may have influenced their decision about not rending them from the family. However, there were very few left in the main family lines now and even fewer than normal for cadet branches.

There was no one at all who had officially claimed the merged Slytherin or Gaunt accounts and inheritances for almost a hundred years. Perhaps due to the prejudice against goblins or anger against the softness the Gaunts' perceived in the magical government. They had stopped sending their children to Hogwarts long ago too. The last of the line, Tom Marvolo Riddle, had gone to Hogwarts. But he had not attempted to claim either inheritances through the goblins or through the clerks in the Ministry. There was one recorded visit when it was noted he had asked about such things, but never went through with the giving of blood and magic to confirm heirship.

He would have been disappointed if he had tried to go through with the test. Tom Riddle's mother was the younger Gaunt. It was actually his uncle that was the true heir, not him. His Uncle Morfin was also not murdered with the rest of Voldemort's family, instead he was sentenced to Azkaban after having admitted to killing the muggle Riddle family. It wasn't until Morfin died in Azkaban that his nephew could claim such titles.

Even if he had, Lord Voldemort had been declared dead by magic and the government on 31 October 1981. The standard protocol protections on all Gringotts vaults is to wait for three full days after the presumed death. This three day waiting period is to make sure the alleged deceased won't return to life through any means or can prove themselves to be a part of one or more undead groups. If this period expires any heir by magic, blood, or will could take claim of the vaults. Meaning that all Harry has to do is go to Gringotts and proclaim the titles and heirship as his own.

Not that even taking those accounts would mean very much.

The goblins have already confirmed that all vaults under Slytherin and Gaunt have no money in them. There are also no known properties that are linked to the vaults. It is likely that no one has tried to claim them for that reason. We believed that the claim for the seat on the Wizengamot was not attempted by any distant relation for the worrying reason that people believe the Dark Lord Voldemort is the rightful holder and he would do awful things to anyone who tried.

None of the titles from that side of his mother's heritage would do any good and it wasn't as though Harry really needed empty vaults. Though, we were going to use some as part of the plans against his enemies. We were just going to rent another vault originally, but this vault was deep within the Bank and would help greatly. The goblins were still digging, but the real problems – the panic inducing worries– those came from the other side of things. The Black side of things, the side with still living and dangerous members.

The Black family had also been trimmed from war and mismanagement. Lucius Malfoy had been trying to access the main vaults of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black for a very long time under the assumption that his son would be the rightful inheritor. Lord Arcturus had passed on the duties for Head of House to his son Orion some time ago, but Orion had died prematurely. Orion's eldest son should have taken on the duties, but wished to have nothing to do with the House of Black. Leaving Regulus to fill the role of heir unofficially, but he had died just before his father. The last heir of Arcturus was presumed to be Sirius Black and he was locked away in Azkaban never to return.

Malfoy believed that his wife, Narcissa Black Malfoy, should be the next in line though she was not from the main branch. Narcissa was related to Walburga Black, and while her sisters were older, she was the only one not disinherited and not in Azkaban.

Before now, however, no one had known about the magical wand waving Harry Potter being descended from Arcturus' youngest brother Corvinus. In addition it clearly listed Harry as Sirius Black's heir in his will, which was formally lodged with Gringotts, as was appropriate for such a claim. Both of these things together gave Harry the greater claim to the heirship of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black. We were hopeful that this could be used to press for Sirius to have a real trial, among other things, without having to deal directly with the Wizengamot as it was filled with rivals.

The biggest issue with utilizing anything to do with the House of Black, though, was that Arcturus was alive and Lucius thought he was due the fortune. Probably, because he was running through massive amounts of gold bribing everyone or taken on their debts so they would feel beholden to him.

We had no way to know how Arcturus would react to having a great great nephew who could inherit from him. Not to mention Slytherin and Potter. There was simply no way to know. He never left his home. He rarely answered mail or floo. If we couldn't get a direct response from him, we would need to go the very difficult route around him. A route which would attract even more outside attention.

I couldn't get this wrong, the consequences were too severe and it would all be my fault.

I would have to meet with Arcturus Black at his own home.

I was scared to death.

oOoOoOo

18 February 1985

The back of Ruvyn's head hit the wall with a dull thump. It was all just sooooooo boring. Surely there shouldn't be school on a day like today? They didn't have to go through the agony of school tomorrow because of the big party, but Ruvyn was of the opinion that there shouldn't be any school at all this week. The uppers had started arriving in larger numbers over the past couple of cycles, but today they were coming in swarms to Erdra. There was so much to see, why couldn't his parents appreciate that?

And who schedules a test the day before Celebration Night?

Ruvyn Rophyra had finally finished swallowing the whole knowledge of Lesson One Weaving and now had to prove he could make at least three different baskets from baleen. There had to be patterns on one but they hadn't even given him pigments, uurrrggghhhhhhh, so unfair. It seemed pointless to test the knowledge when he had swallowed it! What was the point of lusters if they were going to force him through a test anyway?

His family owned the largest luster and runic vessel shop in the entire city, had for a few generations now, so Ruvyn knew what was what about lusters. As long as the person they copied the skills and memories from actually knew what they were doing, and used the right runic bead the way they were supposed to, then the only way that it could get messed up was if the person eating the knowledge didn't use the right bead for transferring it. He supposed that there could be an issue in the vessel that held the memory before it got to the person who wanted to eat the luster, but that would be super obvious.

Thump

Why did he have to take this test?

Urrgh

They didn't even let him pick the better baleen or use pigments or anything. He swished his tail a bit in frustration. If they really wanted to test his skills, he should have been given better materials.

"Have you completed your task, young Ruvyn Rophyra?" asked Teacher Aneirin Brynan.

"Nearly, good teacher. These baleen are a bit shorter than I would like for this project."

"You are doing well, young one. This is your first test of knowledge, the first one can seem… finicky. But you will find one must teach the body as well as the mind, eating your knowledge does not do both. It is a trap to think otherwise."

"Yes, good teacher."

She nodded her head wisely and glided gracefully out of the room, leaving Ruvyn alone once more. As soon as she was gone he rolled his eyes and groaned again. He had to get this test done so that he could go see all the uppers as they got ready for the party tomorrow. Not to mention all the food stalls that had been set up through the city.

It took a while, but finally he could say that he was done. Luckily, the scoring was done without him there and he could see what it was later. He had to head home first, but he was so gonna go and see what everyone was up to and if there were any interesting upper worlders out there already. He knew that Tassarion Elawraek had set up her stall for Spresso and was hoping to get a free mim. Ruvyn had tried the lat sized Spresso before, but his parents said he was never allowed to do that again. But, well, two mims equal one lat and they never said he couldn't have more than one mim, did they?

And Nakiasha Perran said they were going to have a good selection of nugen. They were going to let Ruvyn see all the different colors and patterns that were available on the slugs. Everyone had one and surely his parents would let him have one as a reward for all the hard work he had done helping get ready for the Celebration Night.

It was going to be the first Celebration Night he would be allowed to attend without constant supervision. He was all of five revs already. And he was responsible enough to finish his lesson one courses even though he hated it. That was definitely deserving of a pet.

When Ruvyn finally finished his test he got home fast enough that it didn't seem like anyone else was there. Speeding off to his room he looked for his clasp and checked his ink. He was just learning to make shapes along his tail, but the older kids could do much more. The older girls he saw by the school had already figured out how to texture their tails and make the tips bright colors. He thought his circles were pretty good even if they were all basic black in color against his teal tail. For a moment he thought about trying to add a basic shape to his chest or arm to show off for Celebration Night, but most times only adults could make their ink stay in shapes on their upper bodies. Besides, one good flush of anger, or embarrassment, or excitement in today's case, and all that work would fade away.

Oh no, he had taken too long. That was definitely his mother coming home. She would want to talk to him about his first test and then rattle on about safety and whatever because of the crowds and tourists. Was it possible to try and sneak out?

"Ruvyn? Are you home yet?"

No, it was not possible to sneak out.

He grabbed his clasp, making sure it had his money disc in it, and adjusted the beads he put on his ears before heading out to greet her.

"Hi maahm, I was just heading out."

"Of course you were," she bubbled. "But first you will tell me how your first test went, I know you were so nervous."

"I was not, I was bored. It's stupid to test on stuff that I already know!"

"Now Ruvyn Rophyra you listen to your maahm, someday the shop will be yours and you will need to understand how important it is to do these tests. The lusters are just copies of knowledge and skill, you need to shape them into your own mind and body until they are aligned. The tests are to help with that building. Do you understand?"

He was trying really hard not to roll his eyes, but he was able to nod.

"Good, so how did it go?"

"I did fine. They gave me the worst pieces to work with though, and no pigments."

"Which means that you had to work harder to make something worthy. A good test of your skills is never going to be having the best available to you. Trust in your teachers," she sighed, the beads in her braids clinking together. "I can see you practically vibrating Ruvyn, go on then. Go have fun. Be careful. Check in. I love you."

"Love you too maahm," Ruvyn hastily called over his shoulder as he swam off. There was so much to do and so little time to do it in.

The way to the city center of Erdra was through the old housing domes. The older houses like his hadn't been restructured when the center had and so it was a little duller. The city was now a bright maze of so many colors of coral it could make your head spin. Corym Enrora was the master builder that had designed it when the Chief had decided to take the uppers offer and renew the bond between the magical humans and the merpeople in what they called the Adriatic Sea. The old domes had been made of coral encouraged into shape and then filled with SEAment, though that was the brand name for it. That wasn't very attractive to most humans, apparently, as the upper world must be very bright.

Passing by baba Fylson Nerisalor, he took a short cut through the algae fields. He didn't have to wear algae yet, he was too small, but every family in the old district had their own field to grow it. Even with the runic beads for strength and endurance, the woven living algae could break down with the slightest cut. Turning the clothing a mer had worked so hard on into goop.

The newer homes closer to the city had little pockets of space to grow the seaweeds and algae that were woven into clothing, but he had heard that the living spaces inside the city center didn't have anywhere to grow them at all. That's probably the younger generations fault, not his but the one above his – so wasteful. They didn't even grow and weave their own clothing.

Because of them there were now places that prepared clothing in bright colors, available and already woven at the shops, making them a popular cultural phenomenon. At least that's what the baba, jaja, and maha said when they gathered near his house. Those same elders think it possible the home grown and woven clothes will become so unfashionable to the new generations that the art would be lost entirely if kids stopped eating the right knowledge. But Ruvyn would rather just learn to shape his ink into proper art and wear that like the great great elders did, but maahm said that wasn't okay for growing mer anymore and he would have to get used to wearing clothes.

When they were over at the house, Nakiasha Perran had said that when they get old enough to be maha, that they wouldn't talk about how the next generations cause so much of the problems. One of Nakiasha Perran's partners, Dain Gilxalim, said that he was sure every elder for all of time always blamed the new generations for things because they changed things and the elders wanted everything to stay the same. Dain Gilxalim said when he becomes old enough to be called jaja he will complain only about silly things, like music. But then Nakiasha Perran and Dain Gilxalim's other partner, Saleh Lialamin, said that when she was old enough to be a baba the three of them would be a trinity of elders and could each complain about something different that was wrong with the younger generations. They all laughed for a long time about it, so it must have been very funny. Even maahm and daah had laughed.

"Oi! Ruvyn! Where you going in such a hurry? Get down here," shouted Siveril Crasandoral. He was nearly ten revs older than Ruvyn and had kind of been a jerk to him lately. It used to be that Ruvyn looked up to him, but now all he wanted to do was play SpahLoo with the other teenagers. Apparently, turning 15 revs makes you an idiot.

"Loo, Siveril Crasandoral," Ruvyn said as he slowed down enough for the other boy to catch up. He wasn't going to stop completely, not today, even if it was kinda rude. "I'm going to see Nakiasha Perran at their stall for nugen."

"Your parents finally going to get you a proper pet like everyone else your age? Must be hard not even having a nugen. Guess that's what happens when there's only two and they have to work so hard, can't even get you a good pet."

Ruvyn closed his eyes for a moment and tried not to lose his inks, which was one of the older boys' favorite things to do with younger kids. They think they're big deals because they can hold their ink in clear patterns even if they lost their tempers. Ruvyn wasn't gonna pick on kids younger than him when was finally a teenager. Even if he did figure out how to texture his tail by then, it didn't give him the right to be mean to smaller mer. And it was a low tide to bring up the fact his parents were a duo instead of the normal trinity.

"I have to go Siveril Crasandoral," Ruvyn said before swishing off, creating as much turbulence as his little tail could manage. He went as far as he could, as fast as he could before he looked around to see if the teenager had followed him. When he saw he was alone, he continued towards the colorful city center at a more normal speed. He wasn't quite as excited now as he was earlier, but he thought about how he would get to see the tourists in the center as they tried on their Loo Ba.

Maahm and daah hadn't let him come so early before, and when they did get there they wouldn't let him out of their sight for even a moment. Parents. But he had heard from some of the other kids that it was super funny to watch the uppers as they tried to work the Loo Ba.

His parents had told him about how one of his ancestors was on the special project to craft the Loo Ba when the Mer had created the agreements with the upper worlders with magic almost a thousand revs ago. The Mer needed to figure out a way to make the gillyweed effect last longer so that the uppers could visit more. The first Loo Ba made it so that their weak eyes could see in the watery dark and that they had gills to breathe, just like gillyweed, but it wasn't enough for the Chief at the time. He said that the uppers all had different languages. He said that they needed to be able to move with more grace than a human in the depths of the Mer world. And so the Loo Ba that's used today was crafted.

It was super difficult to make, though, so the uppers couldn't keep it when they left the waters. Even master crafters had trouble making a net with so many layers of runic carved beads, the magic had to all line up just right or it would all fall apart. Then they had to make sure that the magic to keep the net clasped around the waists of the human wouldn't interfere with the other magic. Daah said that was important with runic vessel crafting at the shop too, making sure the magic in one part didn't mess up the magic in a different part.

Deciding that he could talk with Nakiasha Perran about a nugen later, Ruvyn made his way towards the main dome. There was a resort there that catered to the uppers with air pocket spaces. A great ship would let people off at a special space just above the waters and then humans that lived with the Mer full time would bring them down to the resort. Ships had been around forever, such an old thing to use, it was a wonder that the uppers didn't use gates like the Mer did when they wanted to get to far waters.

That had only happened during Maahm and Daah's time though, when the canal waters were stopped and the Chief decided they would have the rings crafted so that the Mer could travel further. With the help of a few uppers, we were even able to get some in strange spots that didn't seem to connect to the oceans. Now we didn't have to worry about if the upper worlders decided to close off access to other waters.

Sneaking up close to the the dome, Ruvyn attempted to make out where the uppers were going to try and learn to swim with their Loo Ba. Unlike the gray domes of SEAment out in the old districts, the domes of the inner city were big bright corals gathered together and forced to branch out. In between the limbs of the coral was a magic shield that could be seen through, it was powered by all the runes carved along the whole of the coral. Further inside there were little rooms that couldn't be seen from outside the clear dome, but it was vastly different from the old district and it's thick walls.

There!

There was a line of people moving together and in front was a human with a whole bunch of Loo Ba. It must be one of the classes. Ruvyn followed them closely before settling in to watch as they spun out of sorts. Laughing as the Teacher attempted to keep some order. But there was a little upper with wild hair in there that was having a good laugh at the elders who couldn't swim too!

Ruvyn moved around so that he could see the upper better. He had an elder nearby, but was looking all over.

Whoooops!

He had spotted Ruvyn!

Ruvyn knew from his lessons that uppers often showed teeth as a sign of friendliness, which seemed odd to him, but he gave it a good try. The little upper just sort of blinked at Ruvyn and his exposed teeth, before showing his own teeth.

Maybe Ruvyn could find this little upper when their lessons were done? It might be fun to explore with it. That definitely sounded like a good idea.

oOoOoOo

18 February 1985

Divination was not a subject for the weak. To have the capability to divine with the degree of accuracy that those at the highest level could, it brought about difficulties that those outside could not understand. Always being open to the interpretations of the signs, listening to the magic as it speaks in any number of ways. It was not an easy life to be so talented.

In Magical Great Britain the understanding and support for talented diviners had eroded to the point that the young woman had been nearly destitute by the time she had interviewed for this position. It was five years ago this month, an auspicious anniversary. One meant for patience, the good of humanity, and traveling.

The woman sighed and shifted the bundle in her arms. She had patience, to a reasonable degree, but it was already wearing thin. For the good of humanity, for her own good, she was not to travel. A single prediction could take all of her life away, all her freedom gone. That was why she now ensured that half the things she said were nonsense. It was better to never be taken seriously, unending imprisonment or worse could await the diviner that everyone knew spoke the truth always.

The corridors seemed to stretch out today, perhaps the school wanted to make her walk longer. She had noticed the other prisoner had taken this month particularly badly. The students spoke of his quiet, cutting ways. It seemed as though everyone always forgot how close they were in age. As if being a professor caused the students to exist as one age forever and the year that they began or ended their schooling slid together and into each other until no one could recognize the adults that had once been schooled at the same time.

She remembered him back then, he was only a few years below, Slytherins and Ravenclaws didn't usually have animosity between them like the Slytherins and Gryffindors. He and Lily were inseparable for a long time, people talked about it. They were going to break the interhouse relationship odds. She remembered James Potter and his gang as well. Well cut and swaggering James Potter and Sirius Black were the kind of boys that made teenage girls swoon. But as an adult, looking back, they were kind of arseholes.

Having taught for years now, especially while projecting the image that would safekeep her, she'd had her fill of students like them. Luckily, Divination was not a core subject. Long before her time as a student the class was always filled. During the time of her great great grandmother Cassandra, an OWL in the subject was required by multiple professions. Curse Breakers for Gringotts, Healers for St Mungos, the Auror Academy, and even the Construction and Engineering Guild required an OWL of Exceeds Expectations at a minimum. But somehow there had been a breakdown in British Divination, it was considered a wooly subject. Most of the professors here did not even believe it was possible to divine anything using any tool or object. It was being forgotten, left behind to waste away into obscurity.

She had hated that when she was a student, that the Art of Divination was considered a folly subject. A stupid thing that looked good to have, something to give a student an extra OWL. It had infuriated her when she was in school. Then she went out into the real world and the only thing that she was good at was considered such horse shit that she didn't have two knuts to rub together by the time she that took the interview with Headmaster Dumbledore. It seemed like magic was telling her to go, that she could teach students the Truth about Divination. And then her life fell apart. Then she was entrapped in this castle until one defeated the other, jumping at shadows.

Now she was wisely thankful to whomever had started the breakdown of her wooly subject. With time and space, not to mention a powerful wizard who would not let her leave, she realized that this would help keep others safe. Maybe it being a folly subject had already helped others avoid similar fates. So she taught the truth, but she hid in hysterics and dramatics. She didn't fight to make Divination a core subject, because then it would get too much attention. She let it continue into obscurity.

As such she did not have to deal with the more ridiculous students until they decided that her class was the easy OWL they were looking for and fell asleep during her lectures. Or loudly proclaimed false divining in order to get a laugh. Or to scare someone. Or they laced the incense with hallucinogens.

The less said about that last one the better.

Suffice to say, she would never look at toads the same way ever again.

It's amazing how much time can change how someone is seen. How one's perception can change so much with just a little distance. While Potter and his gang did get less destructive across the school, it seemed they had focused on several particular Slytherins and honed their skills on those students instead.

Oh, but the Slytherins gave back as good as they got.

Huffing at her own joke, the woman rolled her eyes and continued on her journey. Her bundle clinking a bit as she shifted it, her arms were starting to tire. As if the victims should just turn the other cheek when they are assaulted. That kind of boys should be boys, lads culture, nonsense that the muggles put up with doesn't work well in the magical world. Not when the women have been honing their magical skills for centuries.

He wasn't doing well this month. She understood, sometimes the start of something was the more weighty anniversary. Most didn't know– why would they? But the three of them knew the changing tide happened five years ago. It started the moment that she predicted someone who would end the Dark Lord. It started the moment she doomed a child to a life of death, or perhaps Death. It was never really clear on that distinction whenever she divined for the poor child.

Thank goodness, the castle had finally allowed her to reach her destination. Now how to open the door? Shifting things around and leaning just so, the young woman opened the door to the crowd of students. She had started up this workshop after her second year teaching and, looking around the room, she could clearly see the gloom and sadness that had compelled her to put it together in the first place. It was held outside of her normal classroom to encourage even students that did not have Divination to partake in this uplifting venture.

Sigh, teenagers. The fallout from Valentine's Day is always worse for teenagers.

"Good, good. So glad to see you all here. I have here," she hefted the bag carefully onto the desk, "tea cups from a random of selection of students that drank tea in the Great Hall in the past two days. Now, while I get this sorted up here, can anyone tell me why it is important to be within two days?"

oOoOoOo

19 February 1985

A dusty little shack in the middle of the woods swayed a bit in the harsh wind. The snow was piled up and untouched all around the shack. The bare branches of the trees creaked and snapped.

There was a cracking sound louder than the branches and suddenly there was a man in the middle of the pristine snow.

He wore a thick wool jacket that might once have been another color, but was now a washed out grey. There were patches on his trousers, much too thin for such cold weather. The white landscape seemed to grey around him, as though the weight he carried could affect the nature that was surrounding him. He trudged to the door of the little shack in his shoes, not boots, slogging through the snow. Finally working the door open, the sad man made his way inside.

Sneezing, Remus took out a handkerchief to blow his nose. There was a thick layer of dust that lay over the whole of the inside. He waved a wand of cyprus and the dust quickly vanished. He took a moment to wonder why he bothered. It wasn't as though the wolf cared about dust.

He sat on the little bench, before thinking better of it and just laying down.

The day of the full moon was always the worst, even before the wolf came out, his body felt exhausted. He cycled between chills and feverish. He was nauseous at all times and could never keep any food down. But the worst part was the memories, because every full moon brought to both man and wolf the best memories. The times when he had friends who believed in him and would always be there for him. The times when there were others to run with him, others he would not be able to hurt.

The memories hurt. God how they cut through his soul.

He had no one left. He had nothing left. And it was all his fault.

If he hadn't been a werewolf, then they would have trusted him. They wouldn't have ever lost faith in him.

The sun slowly lowered itself behind the branches in a glow of reds and oranges. The man whimpering in the shack felt worse and worse, tortured by happy memories and the ghosts of friends that slipped through cracks of pain. When the moon rose above the empty landscape there was snapping of bones and howls of misery.

The wolf panted as it regained balance. Snuffling around the one room shack it found no interesting scents. There were no others here.

Perhaps there were others outside.

Crisp snow met pawed feet as the wolf finally worked the door open.

There were many scents out in the snow and around the trees, the wolf followed them for some time. Howling all the while. He wanted to share his fun with his friends. Where were they? They should be here. They were always here.

The wolf ran a while longer in great circles around the shack, but could not find his companions. His howls became wounded, sad sounds that clawed their way out of his throat. Then his sadness became anger.

In a snarl the wolf attacked the shack. The shack was the reason this was happening. They would be here if it wasn't for the shack. In moments the last of the thin wood was in pieces and strewn across the snow, now little more than muddy slush.

Its anger not sated in destroying the man's building, the wolf began to claw at itself. Tearing long gashes across itself. The iron scent of his own blood spurring him further.

He howled a long, low sound that reverberated across the still woods.

oOoOoOo

19 February 1985

He had been at this crossroads for what felt like ages, but was in reality only a few hours. It was a challenge. He could choose either side and deal with the consequences, or he could patiently wait here for however long it took. Shifting, he looked around again and marked the ways out while he noted just who was making their way through this dark area.

He had destroyed his bookcase again today. They always loved that, made him look just a bit more paranoid. He couldn't do it too often or the effect might dim a bit, but he got the best results from bibliomancy for this sort of thing. These kids, they were so soft on the subject of Divination that they wouldn't know it if they saw it happen right in front of them. In fact he could bet that they usually fell for the fake stuff like a muggle.

Sighing and shaking his head at the thought of a grown arse wizard being so bloody stupid, he surveyed the people again.

Today's kids might not have much sense when it comes to the ancient Art of Divination, but the old families certainly knew what was up. There was no use scrying for anyone who still had those big old houses with the thrice damned impenetrable wards. The wards ran off old school magics, following around the inhabitants of the house for awhile even when they were far away from the actual building. You couldn't scry for anything happening in the house, you couldn't even follow up on the smug wankers when they left the house to do despicable things.

He could admit it was clever.

That didn't make him like it though.

There was always a loophole somewhere, even in these old magics. That's why he was standing out here freezing his nibs off at a crossroads in Leeds, middle of Merlin be damned February. He'd focused his intent on the good for nothing that the wanker was to be meeting up with and then blasted apart his bookshelf. He'd given a few good unintelligible yells for effect, no one would argue on him being bloody dramatic. Then carefully feeling through his magic he selected a word from one of the books that was open on his office floor. He did it again. And again. He chose word after word until his magic told him to stop, that the divining had come to an end.

The little shits that didn't have the warding protections of the old families, but worked with them on dark dealings, could be scried for though. And from there he could gather the information he needed to take down the biggest, smuggest, darkest sons of bitches that were polluting society. Which was why he was waiting at this seemingly normal intersection in a seemingly normal muggle neighborhood in Leeds, freezing even through his extra layers and the invisibility cloak he was wearing. He'd cast a charm to help him warm up, but he knew that the sneaky twats would have something to detect active magical use. That damn thing was too common amongst the worst sort, something had to be done. But now he just had to wait for his target to show up and lead the way to wherever this secret meeting place was in Leads.

Waiting at Cockshott Lane and Armley Ridge Road.

That was one hell of a reading. It wasn't like he could tell anyone how he had come by this intel, but he was doubly glad he didn't have to explain that his lead took him to such an interestingly named crossroad.

He didn't divine for leads all of the time. He did have good connections and a decent head on his shoulders, but when things got sticky because of Politics – that's when he pulled out the divining skills. Smug wankers thought they could get away with it, but he would follow up on every piece of intel he had. Even if it didn't stick, he had the satisfaction of being the thorn in their backside. Repeatedly.

That was the worst part of the war. It never really ended. So the Potter kid managed to take out Voldeshit, what about the hundred plus that went around torturing people and setting fire to things? Towards the end the Shit Eaters had started to be confident enough to go outside the bounds of Magical Britain. They targeted places that were especially accepting of muggles, muggleborns, even squibs. Never understood the squibs thing, to be honest. Wasn't their whole theme to be against muggles and muggles becoming magic? Wasn't a squib the opposite of that?

Though it might be because many squibs proved that they could do just fine in the magical side of the world with little to no magic capabilities. His cousin was a kinda famous squib, not many wizards could speak to animals. For a squib to have an animal speak ability, but not use a wand? Oh, boy – she was definitely a target. She knew it too.

Quietly, slowly, with minimal movement and noise, he huffed a few breaths into his hands and rubbed them together. It wasn't difficult to interpret his reading, but it didn't really give an exact time and it had been a few hours already. He might freeze before they decided to show up.

His cousin was something else though. Albus had already started putting together an informal group to keep an eye on dark wizard activity that had started getting a little too common. But even Albus hadn't realized the squibs were going missing, some would turn up dead but most just disappeared. It was his cousin that had figured out it was connected to the rolls made for those little coin thingies the squibs got so they could get into places like Diagon or call the Knight Bus and the like. The rolls had started out in the sixties after a lotta protests and riots, what one might call "political upheaval" in polite company. The dark wizards were using it like a shopping list.

Albus was good at the big picture stuff, and he was a damn good fighter, but he didn't realize how important it was to have all the information for the big picture. Sometimes Albus had acted on guesses or suppositions too much for his tastes. Always have more intel than you think you need before you act, as his pa would say. As far as he could tell, he and his cousin were the ones bringing in most of the intel up until the very end of the war. Oh, he knew who the person was that was probably bringing in new intel towards the end. He didn't care, but he knew. Once a Shit Eater, always a Shit Eater in his opinion.

And it wasn't even his intel that had brought a halt to the greater hostilities.

Most people say the end of the war, but he wasn't going to delude himself like that. Only about a third of the people involved in Voldeshit's little army were actually put away. And the ones left just… went back to being pricks who hid how evil they were, for the most part. Some of them didn't bother to hide it. Using old money, and money they stole from good wizards, they made things worse all while enjoying dark luxuries that would make most sick.

Some had tried to fake their deaths after the war, not many just a couple, but that hadn't worked out well for them. At least two had forgotten that they would still show up alive in the Goblin Nation's Archive even if they passed their titles on to their kid with an acceleration writ. That was a mess of paperwork to get to that information from the goblins. But there was one in particular that he always found a bit funny.

The Shit Eater had set it all up to have a few witnesses to his "death" so that they could confirm everything in his confunded books that said he was dead. What he hadn't counted on was the damn thestrals! They might have all had their memories modified in a most masterful way, but that didn't matter to thestral magic. When one third of the witnesses, who had supposedly watched him die without being able to do anything, couldn't see the bloody things the whole case blew open.

He relaxed and sighed a bit, breath fogging in front of him before it was caught by the invisibility cloak, that case always managed to put a smile on his face.

He'd snuck a bit of divining in on that one too. They were out in the wilderness though, so he couldn't just start throwing books around. He wasn't that funny. The "deceased" would have still been subject to the old wards and couldn't be scried on, but that didn't apply to the witnesses. So he took a few moments to himself a little ways from the scene where he and the others had been questioning the witnesses to this supposedly violent death.

There were a couple of things he could try with a few sticks, some rhabdomancy, but they often needed a great deal of prep or were more about finding things than finding information. He settled on trying nephomancy, it was a clear day with a few clouds here and there. His Aunt Thyia had loved to lay out on the grass and read the clouds. She was capable of reading so much from such an astounding variety of methods, but her favorite was always nephomancy. When he had read and interpreted a need for thestrals, admittedly, he had struggled a bit. Did the need for horses of death mean that everything was as it appeared in this case? Eventually, though, he had convinced himself and a buddy who owed him a favor that a thestral was needed. When he brought it out to show the witnesses it was yet another moment that solidified his legacy. Bloody good, but fecking mad.

Ah, finally. There it is. What a twist.

The opening to the shady underground den is actually underground. His target, finally showing up, was opening a hatch with his wand to go under the nearby golf course. Wasn't that a bitch? If they could catch enough people going in, they'd be able to figure the key and go in themselves. But they couldn't just go in arresting people for existing under a muggle golf course.

Laughing to himself, he turned on the spot. This was going to be a fun undercover operation.

_‗_
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