Fate

by TheTrueSpartan

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

164. Chapter 164 - Mask

Enjoy!

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

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

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

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

---

Fate

Chapter 164 - Mask

Theodore Nott's POV

Sunday 27th June, 1994 (Yaxley's Secret Manor – Late Night)

"Millie!" Theo hissed, lightly knocking on her door. "Millie, it's me! Open up!" He was met with silence from the other side, but he wasn't deterred. "Millie, please! I need to speak with you! C'mon! We haven't seen each other in months! Open the door, will you?!" Again, there was no response. "…Mills… I know you're awake… Please, just open the door. I'm begging you, okay?"

He pressed his ear against the door, and he heard absolutely nothing. Merlin be damned… Why won't she answer me? I know I spent dinner gawking at her, but I can't be blamed for that! She's changed so much in just three months! What happened to her up there?! I need to know!

Theo pressed his forehead against the door, drawing in a sharp breath. "Millie, whatever happened to you in Durmstrang, it doesn't change anything between us. You're still my friend. Please, let me in." He was disappointed when he was met with silence, yet again, but not entirely surprised. "…Okay… I'll go, but you can't avoid me, you know? We're both trapped here against our wills, which means we've got to stick together. Not just for protection, but for comfort too. Goodnight."

He dragged his feet as he walked away, rubbing his neck defeatedly. She looked sick. Genuinely sick. She must weigh as much as Tracey, now. Did they starve her? Those fucking bastards! And that scar?! Which sick fuck gave her a scar across her face?! She looks like she's been through-… The sound of her door clicking open stopped him in his tracks, and he turned around with astonishing speed. MILLIE!

She stood by her door in her dark, baggy pyjamas, her disinterested gaze dousing his excitement almost immediately. "…Why are you here, Theo?"

The weedy boy blinked, taken aback by her cold tone. "…My father brought me. I had no idea he was planning to, not until I came home from Hogwarts." He swallowed thickly, taking a timid step forward. "Mills, what happ-?"

"Not out here," she cut him off, heading back into her room, but leaving the door open for him.

Theo rushed to follow after her, not wanting to give her a chance to change her mind. The moment he'd shut the door behind himself, he lunged forward and hugged her. She stiffened at their sudden joining, but didn't push him away. Merlin, it doesn't feel like I'm hugging Millicent Bulstrode at all, but I know I am. I've so many questions for her, but I've no idea which order I should ask them in.

He pulled back, but still held onto her arms, afraid that she'd disappear if he let her go. "What happened to you?"

"I lost weight, at last," she answered blandly, causing his stomach to sink. "I'm sure you're disappointed." What…? This isn't a fucking joke!

"…Lost weight? Disappointed?" Theo repeated, not hiding his distress for a change. "You look ill, Millie!"

"Well, I'm not," she told him, walking away from him and heading for the window. "How's Tracey? I heard she woke up. Is she okay?" Not really, but I shouldn't bring that up right now.

"…She's recovering," Theo mumbled, deciding to change the subject. "…Your hair…"

"I cut it," Millie shrugged, staring at the grounds below. "How are the others? How's Pansy?"

"…She misses you." Why won't you look at me? "We all miss you."

"Even Ron?"

"It's my turn to ask-"

"Turn?" she looked back at him, her frosty expression startling him. "Are we playing a game, Theo?"

He shook his head, feeling intimidated by her. "…Um… Are you angry with me? Because I feel like you're angry with me…"

"No," she replied, cocking an eyebrow. "Is there any reason I should be?"

"…We didn't part on the best of terms-"

"You mean how you boys distanced yourselves from me just because Ron was angry with me? We weren't fighting, sure, but you kept me at arm's length."

"…Yeah…"

She stared back at him, eventually rolling her eyes. "You and Blaise… You feel the need to stand by Ron more than anyone else, because you two walked away from him once. You feel like absolute loyalty is what you owe him for your poor decisions. I get it, trust me, now more than ever. So, no… I'm not angry with you. And, frankly, I've bigger problems to deal with, now." …That's good… He nodded weakly, fidgeting with his hands. "Does Ron miss me? You didn't answer my question."

"He does, yeah, but… Well, he hasn't been the same since Tracey took that Curse for him. He's closed off, most of the time, and he never mentions you, but when we got your letter, he said he respected your decision to look after this 'Ruta' girl."

"Really?"

"I've no reason to lie to you."

Her lips twitched upwards, but only for a heartbeat. "…I'm glad, then."

"The rest of us, especially Pansy, don't really understand what you're-"

"Ron understands, that's all I care about." …Oh… Okay, then… "She's the sweetest person, Theo, but many in Durmstrang view sweetness as a weakness. They want to burn that sweetness away, but I won't let them." He was lost for words, so he just numbly nodded along. What about your sweetness? Did they burn it away, already? "I do miss you lot, though. I miss our banter, our games of Wizard Poker and Gobstones, studying together, shouldering each other's burdens, even your constant whining… I miss you all so much."

Theo felt his throat tighten, but he forced himself to smile. "I'm here, now, so you can stop missing me, at least."

"I wish you weren't here," she whispered, leaning against the window sill.

"…What? Why?" Theo muttered, taking a step forward. "You just said-"

"If you're here, then it means they're planning to use you for their disgusting cause," Millie interrupted, drawing in a long breath. "Theo, you're the cleverest of us, so you already know that you're in terrible danger here." …Yeah. "Your father is a sick man, just like my own parents. They're all sick. And twisted. And vile. And they want us to be that way too."

"What if we can change them?" Theo had to ask. "My father wasn't always-"

"Yes, he was, and your mother's murder only served to bring out his worst traits, but make no mistake, they were always there," Millie sighed out. "He won't change for you, just like my parents won't change for me."

"You can't know that until we try!" Theo blurted out, feeling terribly stung by her bringing up his mother without his permission.

"I did try," she told him plainly. "I asked my father to stop for me, for his 'pumpkin', but he shipped me off to Durmstrang, instead. He vowed that I'd never speak to Ron, 'the Blood-Traitor bastard', ever again. His love for me is nothing compared to his hatred of the 'Impure', and your father is no different. But, go ahead, try to change his mind, anyway. There is no better teacher than failure, as they say."

Theo was just about to tell her that she was wrong when a shadow suddenly moved on her bed, making him jump. What the fuck is that?! Misty hopped off of the bed, stretching lazily before strutting over to Millie's side, where she was promptly picked up and cradled by the gaunt-faced girl. They're still together. That's honestly such a relief.

"…Hello, Misty," Theo cleared his throat, waving at the black cat. "Do you remember me?"

Misty ignored him, purring in a satisfied manner as Millie cuddled her lovingly. "You'll understand soon enough, Theo, that some people are simply not worth the effort. My parents, your father, Flint, Lord and Lady Yaxley… One day, they'll be 'paraded through the streets in chains', but it won't be Ron, or Minister Bones, or even Headmaster Dumbledore, who'll be parading them, as they so fear. It'll be an Auror. It'll be me." Theo felt his lips seal themselves shut upon hearing that, his eyes fixed on Millie and Misty as the moonlight enveloped the duo like a warm blanket. "I've had a very, very long day, and I have to be up in six hours for my run." What did they do to her? Seriously, who is this person? "Goodnight, Theo."

"…I'll um… I'll join you…" Theo pinched his eyes, shaking his head clear. "If that's all right with you, of course."

"Would you really not join me if I asked you not to?"

"No, I'd still join you," Theo managed a pathetic smile. "I was just being polite, but you know that I don't really care much for politeness. Never have." Millie mimicked a fraction of his smile, walking to her bed without uttering a word. "Goodnight, then." I want to ask her about that scar on her face, but I shouldn't push my luck. If she wants to discuss it, she'll bring it up.

---

Monday 28th June, 1994 (Yaxley's Secret Manor – Crack of Dawn)

"Oh, Merlin's bollocks!" Theo came to a sudden stop, bending over as he wheezed for air. "Oh, fuck me! It's so fucking cold!" Isn't it supposed to be summer right now?! "…It's getting hard to breathe…"

"Tired so soon?" Millie walked back to his side, somehow still in control of her breathing.

"So soon?" Theo shot her a frown. "We've run around the manor nearly sixty times."

"Forty-nine." Of course, she's keeping count. "The grounds aren't that extensive. The shores of the Black Lake are significantly wider-"

"Yeah, but we don't run around the Black Lake forty-nine times, so piss off with that," Theo grumbled, standing upright. "Seriously, aren't you cold? You're not even wearing a sweater." I still can't get over how skinny she's become. I'm convinced they starved her, now.

Millie stared at him blankly, as if she was thinking of a reason to explain her apathy towards the cold. "…The Undying Fire warms me." The fucking what? "It warms my blood, my very heart. I don't need a sweater, nor a cloak, to stay warm."

"…What are you on about?" Theo shot her a quizzical look. "The Undying Fire? What's that?"

"It's too hard to explain," Millie shrugged, turning to leave. "I'm going around, again. I want to reach sixty, now that you've brought it up. You coming?" Oh, I hate you so much right now.

"…Are you going to take the piss out of me if I don't?"

"No." Really? Why not?!

"Fine, let's just get this over with."

---

Thirty Minutes Later

"…Hello, beautiful…" Theo groaned from the ground, turning his head just in time to see Millie come to a stop.

"Done."

"Sorry you had to do the last five on your own."

"Fifty-five is nothing to apologize for," she smiled ever-so-slightly, sitting by his side. "You didn't slack off, despite Ron leaving Hogwarts for a bit. I'm glad."

"You can thank Blaise, I suppose," Theo chuckled tiredly, sitting up. "He's become incredibly committed to becoming stronger, and I can't have him showing me up in front of the girls." What would Tracey say?

"Who won the C-Ranked Tournament?" Millie asked, running her hand through her messy, short hair. "You, or Blaise?"

"Ha!" Theo laughed scathingly. "Neither! Fucking Harry Potter won!"

"Potter?" Millie was visibly surprised. "Um… He lost to me, didn't he?"

"He did, yeah."

"So, why was he even competing?"

"Because he's Dumbledore's special little boy," Theo sneered in disgust. "He went up against the weaker ones, whereas Blaise and I got pitted against each other. Blaise beat me, but just barely, so when he went up against Potter, he was too exhausted to put up much of a fight." He still did, though. He gave everything he had, but it just wasn't enough. Potter's no joke, there's no debating that.

"That's a shame," Millie said, drawing in a long breath. "Was Ron angry with you two?"

"Not outwardly, but you know how he is," Theo shrugged. "I could see it in his eyes, sometimes. The disappointment… I won't lie, it hurt."

"Even though you deserved it?" Millie asked, taking him by surprise. "Why should failure be rewarded? He put in a lot of time and effort teaching us. He expects results, and you both failed to deliver." All right, ease up there, will you?

Theo stared at her for a bit, before moving his head just enough to catch a glimpse of her scar. "You've changed so much."

"Good."

"No, Mills… I'm not sure it's good…"

She turned her head to face him directly, not looking pleased. "I'm stronger, now."

"Who did that to you?" Theo asked outright, pointing at the discoloured scar.

"This?" Millie asked, tracing her fingers across the entire length of it. "…Leon Rask." Rask? I know that name. "I deserved it." What? "I knew his reputation, but I challenged him, nonetheless. He easily bested me, fair and square, but when he offered me his hand to raise me back up, I spat on it. It was… dishonourable of me. Cowardly and spiteful. He thought so too, so he struck me across the face with his Magical Staff. A 'reminder of my place', he called it." Leon Rask, huh? I'll be sure to remember that name. "Don't give me that look, Theo. I fought, and I lost, but the next time I challenge him, I'll be ready."

"…What the fuck?" Theo muttered, shaking his head. "Challenge him? Look at what he did to you! Was he punished for it, at least?! By the Professors?!"

"Professor Kemppainen disciplined him, yes," Millie replied, looking back ahead. "I got off easy compared to him, trust me." Really? Because he scarred your face! Your bloody face! I'm sorry, but no amount of discipline is good enough! "I'm going back inside."

"…Wait…" Theo quickly took her hand, stopping her. "…I'm sorry."

"For what?" Millie asked. "You didn't give me the scar, Theo."

"I wasn't going to bring it up, but-"

"Curiosity got the better of you?"

"That, and you're… just so different…" Theo muttered, feeling uneasy. "I don't know… I just miss my friend, I guess."

"You said that, regardless of what happened in Durmstrang, it changed nothing between us," she reminded him. "That was you I heard creeping outside my door last night, wasn't it?"

"Yeah, that was me," Theo sighed out. "I just want to know what happened, so I can help."

Millie went silent for a bit, before she eventually lowered her gaze. "…I'm sorry, but I only just left Durmstrang behind a day ago. I don't want to discuss it."

"Yet?" Theo negotiated.

"…Yeah, yet…"

"All right, then, but when you're ready, I want to know everything," Theo said determinedly. "You've clearly been through a lot of shit, Mills, but you're not alone here. I'm with you."

She smiled properly for the first time since her arrival, squeezing his hand. "Looks like I'm not the only one who's changed these past few months." I don't think Tracey, or any of my friends, like it when I'm always out for myself.

"Me?" Theo cracked a grin. "Nah, I was always the soft one, remember? The kind one? The encouraging one?"

"Yeah, and Ron was the smug narcissist who constantly ran his mouth," Millie joked, rising to her feet. "C'mon, let's get inside before you freeze."

"I agree," Theo shot up, stretching his legs. "Mills… What was that tripe about some fire before? What did you call it? The Undying Fire?"

"It's not tripe," she said defensively, and he quickly raised his hands in surrender. Yeesh… Sorry… "It-… No, you wouldn't understand. And, it's not my place to tell you. I shouldn't have brought it up at all." …Okay, now I definitely want to know more about it. She sounds like she's hiding something important.

They made their way back inside in comfortable silence, only to be met with the beaming face of Anastasia Yaxley. "I saw you two from my window! What a healthy way to start your day!" Theo and Millie exchanged looks, but neither of them said anything. "Are you thirsty? Hungry? I'll have the Elves prepare your breakfast."

"I only eat supper," Millie said coldly, her expression vacant. "I'm trying to lose weight." Wait, what?! She's starving herself?! What the fuck, Millie?!

Lady Yaxley lost her alarmingly bright smile at that, her eyes cautiously scanning the younger witch. "But you're already quite thin, my dear. If you lose any more, you'll float away."

Millie said nothing in response, merely walking past Lady Yaxley so she could return to her room in peace.

"I'll be down in a bit, my Lady," Theo shot Lady Yaxley an apologetic smile, before hurrying after his friend. "Mills, are you serious? You're starving yourself?"

"Starving myself?" she whispered back, scoffing. "No, I'm dieting."

"This isn't dieting," Theo jumped in front of her, concerned. "I don't want to be rude-"

"That's new." Okay, I deserved that. Fair enough.

"You look weak, not strong," Theo said honestly, preparing himself to get punched in the face.

"What exactly makes you think you have a say in what I ought to look like?" Millie asked, her brow furrowed. "First, I was fat and gluttonous, and now, I'm starving and weak? Do you see me making comments about your body?"

"I'm not trying to be a prick here-"

"I don't want to hear it," Millie frowned, moving him aside with a harsh shove. OW! You know I bruise easily! Why?! "I'm a smaller target, now, and I prefer it that way. That's the end of this conversation." Smaller target?

"Does this have something to do with Leon Rask?" Theo demanded, frowning back. "It does, doesn't it?"

She scoffed, again, before marching up the stairs without answering. Fucking hell… She's even more fucked up than I thought. Robert and Anne Bulstrode, you stupid bitches! Look at what you've done!

---

Corban Yaxley's POV

Monday 28th June, 1994 (Yaxley's Secret Manor – Early Morning)

"Forgive my daughter, Corban, but she's being… difficult," Robert apologized, putting down his coffee cup.

"Difficult?" Corban repeated, tilting his head. "Durmstrang has clearly been unkind to her. Some rebelliousness is to be expected, is it not?"

"Karkaroff!" Robert growled. "My daughter was scarred, and he didn't even send a letter! He'll pay for that most dearly!"

"So, you've no idea who the culprit is? She hasn't told you?"

"Not yet, but I will find out, and there will be justice," Robert vowed darkly. I should offer him my support. If Lysandra had returned from Hogwarts with her face forever marred, I would rain down my fury upon that entire institution. I mean, what man of substance would tie the knot with damaged goods?

"You will have my help, my friend," Corban promised in response. "This insult cannot, and will not, be tolerated. Someone must pay, starting with Karkaroff."

Robert nodded furiously, grinding his teeth. "The rat has chosen his hiding hole well. How will we find him?"

"I will set Felix to task," Corban replied, noticing that Robert seemingly approved. Good. There was a time when Robert would've protested to Felix taking point, but not anymore. Felix is beginning to prove himself. Excellent. "He will find us Karkaroff, and then, we will find our culprit. Now, onto other matters… Have you met with our jailor, yet?"

"No."

"That's probably for the best," Corban sighed, leaning back in his chair. "His presence here concerns me deeply, Robert. You know of his desires for 'untainted flesh', don't you?"

"Even he wouldn't dare touch our children," Robert scoffed, before adorning a thoughtful expression. "And, yet, it is a risk we cannot take. Not with him."

"My thoughts precisely."

"He must be convinced to seek out the Dark Lord," Robert suggested. "If he's in Magical Russia, he can't hurt any of us."

"He thinks we plan to betray our Lord and Master."

"He has a grudge against us, and it is clouding his judgement."

"Regardless, he will not leave," Corban said, feeling tense all over. I still haven't found the time to visit Valeriya… Every time I think I can, another catastrophe unfolds. It's driving me mad.

"What of the Vampire? Gaspard?" Robert asked. "Why don't we ask him to take Dolohov elsewhere? Away from our children? I hear that he has a soft spot for the young."

"That… could work," Corban stroked his smooth chin, nodding slowly. "Yes. Thank you, Robert. I will get in touch with him."

"Finally, that creature proves itself useful."

"It's too soon to count our chickens, my friend. Gaspard's only true concern is his own amusement. We're toys to him."

"He will regret thinking of us in such a manner."

"Perhaps… Or, perhaps, he may kill us all for a laugh," Corban frowned to himself. "The Dark Lord should've stayed away from such a dangerous individual."

"Is that criticism I hear regarding the Dark Lord, Corban? From you?" Robert asked, smirking icily. "Didn't think you had it in you."

"It's not criticism, it's fact. Gaspard does not care for the Pure World. We're all just meat to him. He has no business leading us in our own war." And yet, the Dark Lord thinks otherwise. What am I missing that my Master is not? I always prized myself for knowing his mind, but now, it is unknowable to me. "I will owl Gaspard, tonight. Let us pray that he answers." With Dolohov gone, I might finally have the opportunity to pay Valeriya a-…

There was a knock on the door, followed by Anastasia and Lysandra making their way inside. Ah! The report card is here! Let's see what a mess Lysandra has made of her first year at Hogwarts, shall we?

"Forgive me, husband, I didn't realize you had company," Anastasia apologized, smiling fondly at Robert. "We can return later-"

"There is no need for that, my Lady," Robert stood up, smiling back. "I was just about to join Anne for breakfast."

Giving Corban a parting nod, the large man left the study post-haste. All right, let's have it, then.

"Take a seat, daughter," he ordered, and Lysandra smirked in response. "I'm in no mood to be defied this morning. Sit down."

"I'm merely smiling, father," Lysandra played innocent, vexing him. No, you aren't. You're being a brat, as always.

"Young Lady, you will mind your manners," Anastasia scolded, pointing at the chair opposite Corban. "Go on, now."

Once their daughter was seated, Anastasia moved around the desk and presented Corban with the unopened letter from Hogwarts. He wasted no time in using his letter opener, pulling out the report card and scanning it. …What? What is this? Astronomy; Exceeds Expectations. Charms; Outstanding. Defence Against the Dark Arts; Exceeds Expectations. Herbology; Exceeds Expectations. History of Magic; Exceeds Expectations. Potions; Exceeds Expectations. Transfiguration; Exceeds Expectations. She wasn't lying when she said she might impress-…

"Is something the matter, you two?" Lysandra asked in an overly polite tone, smirking, again.

"…Husband…" Anastasia whispered in awe, just as pleasantly surprised as Corban himself. I know.

The Yaxley patriarch cleared his throat, looking up from the report card. "You've done well, Lysandra. I am pleased." Her smirk turned into a proper smile, and she even sat up straighter. "We will celebrate this achievement."

"Shopping?!" Lysandra's eyes gleamed with excitement.

"Anything you want," Corban promised, smiling lightly. Sometimes, it's nice to be proven wrong.

"I'm so proud of you, Lysandra!" Anastasia laughed, running over and hugging their daughter's neck.

"Mum! You're choking me!" the girl cringed, but it didn't stop her mother from peppering her with kisses. "Stop it! I'm not a little girl, anymore!"

Corban smiled more fully as he silently watched them, pocketing the report card so he could have it framed. How did Weasley manage to tutor her so well? I started hiring the best tutors in Magical Britain for her the day she turned three, and none of them ever managed to get through to her. Actually, it's just us Yaxleys here right now, save for Felix, so I can ask her more questions about what's happening in Slytherin without being interrupted.

"An Outstanding in Charms," Corban started, which finally made Anastasia stop in her affections. "Weasley was right about you having a talent for them."

"I know," Lysandra gloated, which he found endearing this time around. "I didn't realize it myself, at first, but he was quite adamant about it." He has an eye for talent, does he? And not only that, but he knows how to nurture said talent too.

"He encourages you often, does he?" Corban asked.

"In his own weird way, yeah," Lysandra answered casually, while Anastasia began fixing up her daughter's dishevelled hair.

"Weird way?"

"Well, for one, he makes all of us first-years do bonding exercises," Lysandra began, piquing his interest even more so. "We play tag, Gobstones, and other games, together, and somehow, he always has some life lesson tied to them. I don't know. He's a bit strange, but I like him. He's really smart, and strong, and he's super kind too." Corban and Anastasia exchanged knowing glances. Our daughter is a fan, I believe. "Oh, and he's scary too. But only sometimes. Not always."

"Scary?" Corban raised an eyebrow.

"He doesn't tolerate failure," Lysandra pulled a face. "Back in October, he burned the flesh off of Flint's hand because Flint was trying to start a fight with him, and after that, he told us first-years that, if any of us got a result lower than Exceeds Expectations in any of our subjects, he'd make us 'sorry'." That explains that oaf's hatred of Weasley. "So, yeah, he can be really scary, sometimes." After what he did to Moody, I'm scared of him too. He nearly killed the Head-Auror of Magical Britain in a fit of rage, and somehow, he managed to get away with it. Vicious, but cunning. A dangerous combination.

"Dear Heavens, poor Marcus," Anastasia murmured, alarmed.

"He deserved it," Lysandra sniggered, further alarming her mother. "He's a total prick, mum-"

"Language," Corban warned, and she immediately pouted. He is a prick, though. Worse, he's an imbecile. What I wouldn't give to trade him for his late father. "Has he ever put his hands on you?"

"Oh, no! Never! We do our best not to anger him!" Lysandra said quickly. "I told you, he treats us with respect, unlike Flint and his moronic thugs. All we have to do is work hard, and be kind to others, even those who aren't in Slytherin. He's actually very easy to manipulate, if you know how!"

"Kind to others? Like the Gryffindors, you mean?"

"And the Ravenclaws, and the Hufflepuffs," Lysandra nodded. "He always wants us to make more friends. Says that it's smarter to have friends than enemies."

"Well, he's not wrong, daughter, but you must remember that your friends reflect upon you, and as such, you should make friends with those who are worthy of your friendship."

"You mean, only the Pure, don't you?" Lysandra questioned, and he gave a decisive nod. "Well, I'm not so sure about that. I have a lot in common with my year-mates, even those who aren't Pure." What?!

He opened his mouth to chastise her, but one sharp look from Anastasia stopped him short. …Right… She's only twelve, as you keep reminding me. Fine… We'll revisit this conversation when she's a bit older, and a bit wiser. Corban leaned back in his chair, pondering Weasley's character for himself. He's kind, yet ruthless when he needs to be. He's strong, but does not lord his power over those beneath him. He rewards success, and he punishes failure. Oh, and he has my daughter wrapped around his gloved finger, and I am certain the other first-years are no different. By my daughter's account, he sounds like an effective, and popular, leader, and he is far more capable than any Pure child on our side. The Gods are unjust, aren't they? I get stuck with the likes of Flint, who insults me at my own table out of sheer stupidity, whereas Arthur Weasley, that waste of a man, is blessed with a prodigy like Ronald. …Truly unjust…

"What's his reputation around the school?" Corban asked, barely masking his frustrations.

"Pretty much everyone admires him," Lysandra smirked, gloating, again. "Even the Professors admire him, except for McGonagall, but she's a jealous old Hag." So, he's not only influencing our children, but everyone's children? Is he… trying to smother the Pure World in its crib? That little shit-… "You seem very interested in him, father. Why?"

"Because he is our enemy," Corban replied before thinking, disturbed by the younger wizard's foresight and strategy. He's attacking us from multiple fronts! And he's succeeding, damn him! Where does his hatred of the Pure stem from?! His father?! His mother?! Dumbledore?! I must learn more!

Lysandra stared at him, before frowning deeply. "Your enemy, perhaps, but not mine." What? What did you just say to me?

"Lysandra!" Anastasia warned.

"What? Ron's lovely to me, and not only when I bring him a good report card," Lysandra huffed, hopping out of the chair.

"Daughter-"

"I don't think I'll be answering any more of your questions, father dearest," Lysandra stated in her most cynical tone, having caught onto what was happening. "Oh, and I expect you to uphold your promise. Anything I want, you said." I pushed too far, I see.

Corban drew in a long breath, before giving a soft nod. "…You may go."

"Gladly," Lysandra grumbled, storming away. …Damn… We were actually getting along, for-…

"Why did you do that, Corban?" Anastasia demanded, glaring murder at him. "You couldn't show her that you were proud of her without an ulterior motive? Just this once?!"

"Upsetting her was not my intent-"

"Then, what was your intent?" Anastasia interrupted, narrowing her eyes. "She's your daughter… Our daughter… Why can't you just let her feel like it once in a blue moon?!"

"That Blood-Traitor she has a crush on is out to destroy-"

"I don't care! This isn't about him! This is about Lysandra trying her hardest to please you, to get your attention, and you refusing to give her what she needs because she's not good enough for you! She's never been good enough for you!"

"I have given her everything-"

"All the dresses and toys in the world will never compare to a hug and a kiss from her Lord Father, and you know it," Anastasia turned to leave. "Even when she meets your ridiculous expectations of her, you just can't bring yourself to be proud of her, can you?"

"…Anastasia…" Corban tried, but she was already on her way out. "Love, please-"

The door slammed shut, causing him to slump in his seat. Salazar, give me strength. He stared at the closed door for several moments, the deafening silence in his study closing in on him. In hindsight, I should've picked a better time to question her. I ruined her triumph with my impatience. He pulled out the report card from his pocket, staring at it intently. …I am proud of her, Anastasia… I really am… But I'm also terrified for her… Our kind has never been in more danger, and as her Lord Father, I have to protect her from the likes of Ronald Weasley. I have to protect us all.

---

Ronald Weasley's POV

Monday 28th June, 1994 (Le Crapaud Cramoisi – Midday)

"We are late," Artyom pointed out, the pair of them making their way towards the hotel's meeting hall. "Snape will be displeased."

"We're fashionably late," Ron corrected, grinning. "And, he's always displeased."

"And Travers?"

"Oh, yeah, she won't be happy with me," Ron pulled a face. "Look, mate, I wanted them to spend some time together, all right? The Headmaster put Professor Snape in charge of our little murder-squad, and it's important for everyone involved to… get along. To find common ground."

"Travers and Abadie will never get along," Artyom reminded him.

"I don't expect them to become friends, but I do expect them to cooperate, and people can't cooperate unless they have, that's right, common ground. Trust me, I know what I'm doing."

"So, you keep saying."

"Which means it must be true," Ron laughed, much to Artyom's chagrin. "Oh, cheer up, you glum giant! We're about to start a new chapter in our war against the Death-Eater plague! Why aren't you more excited?!"

"Because this is not game." Of course, it is! It's chess, and I'm kind of a prodigy at it, in case you've forgotten!

"I suppose, I'll just have to have enough fun for the both of us," Ron shrugged, pushing the doors open and entering the meeting hall. Everyone's here! Brilliant!

Snape, Emilia, Marty, Abadie and Cromwell, as well as Solomon and Chloros, were all seated around a rectangular, mahogany table, with Snape sneering down at Ron from the furthest end. Displeased, indeed! Fucking with him is genuinely one of my life's great pleasures! How did the 'Lord Voldemort is back' chat go, eh? Did you have fun? Hehe.

"Sorry, I'm late!" Ron made his way towards the table, taking a seat opposite of Snape. "I trust that everyone's caught up with why we're here?"

His eyes scanned the faces around him, noticing that Abadie, Cromwell, and Chloros were all looking rather apprehensive. Knowing Professor Snape, he didn't even ease them into it. Good. They need to be scared, otherwise they'll be careless.

"Your Elf couldn't have picked a spot in Magical Britain?" Snape broke the silence, contemptuous. He's going to yell at me once the meeting is over, isn't he? "…Let's just get started, already. We've wasted enough time as it is."

"Dumbledore isn't joining us?" Emilia asked aloofly.

"The Headmaster has a reputation to uphold," Ron answered, leaning back and planting his well-polished shoes on the table. "Plus, he's a bleeding heart, and he'd only slow us down. No, we'll keep him in the loop, but we won't be answering to him. Isn't that right, Professor?"

"I am the only one you will need to answer to," Snape looked to Emilia, and she did very little to hide her contempt of the former Death-Eater. "Is that going to be a problem for you, Travers?"

Her eyes darted towards Ron, who shot her a wink. "…No. I will do my part." Thank you.

"We haven't exactly agreed to join you," Abadie spoke up, and Cromwell gave an approving nod. "The Dark Lord yet lives… This changes everything."

"You mean, your plots and schemes no longer seem important?" Emilia asked snidely. "Don't think for a second that your rising influence in Magical France has gone unnoticed by me, Half-Breed." …There it is.

"I want there to be peace between us, Lady Travers," Abadie retorted, eerily calm. "However, if you insist on insulting me so brazenly, there will be consequences."

"Such as?" Emilia challenged. "Go on. I'm listening." For fuck's sake, she can't help herself, can she? Maybe, I ought to say-…

Solomon suddenly slammed his fist on the table, causing the entire thing to tremble. Oi! What the fuck?! "You're a right pair of cunts, hm? We get it, we get it… You wanna fuck, but keep that shite behind closed doors, will you? I didn't travel all this way, away from my fuckin' bakery, where we bake breads of all sorts, to watch you two court each other for an hour, right?" He then looked to Snape, grunting. "If you want me travelin' up to Russia, then you can fuck right off, mate. Do I look like someone you want on the vanguard?" You look like you could rip a man's head off with your bare hands, so yeah.

"Yahontov will need a steady stream of supplies, if he is to continue his fight without starving to death," Snape answered. "You will assist him in that endeavour, for that is what we brought you into the fold to do."

"…Supplies cost gold-"

"You'll be paid," Snape frowned darkly. "After you've proven your worth." Cromwell leaned in and whispered something in Abadie's ear, looking deadly serious. "Do you two have something to share?"

"My man here says that this is not our fight," Abadie replied. "And I'm inclined to agree-"

"Did you look in the mirror this morning?" Ron cut in. "This is your fight, whether you like it or not. You wanted to be my friend, right? Well, it's time to put your money where your mouth is. You can join us willingly, or I can force your hand." The High Mother knows what's coming, and she'll send you to me against your will if I ask her to. You're stuck with me, now, pretty boy, and I won't be letting you go until I've used you up entirely. "Everyone at this table has one thing in common, all right? If the Dark Lord wins, we're fucked. The Veela are fucked. Blood-Traitors like me and Emilia are fucked. Solomon is most definitely fucked, he tried to poison the prick not too long ago. And, as for Professor Snape, the Dark Lord has a personal grudge against him. We're all in the same, leaky boat, and the shark is circling us."

"What of him?" Cromwell jerked his head towards Chloros. "He's not said a word since he arrived. Why is he here?"

"He works for me, and he'll kill anyone I ask him to," Ron answered for Chloros, who silently stared at Cromwell. "Oh, and he has a little boy he wants to protect from the likes of Robert Bulstrode." Cromwell's interest seemed piqued by that, as he began to study Chloros more keenly. "Abadie, I don't want to bring the High-Mother into this, but I will. You're working with us, one way or another, so just do it willingly, will you? I already took one Portkey, today, so I don't want to take another." It's too risky. Abadie looked towards Emilia, a hundred thoughts dancing behind his eyes, before he eventually gave a hesitant nod. "Good! This is good! Now, we're all on the same page! Professor Snape?"

"I want you all back here tomorrow evening, so you have a day to get your affairs in order" Snape started. "I have a Portkey that will take us to Yahontov's camp. Once there, we will work with him to establish a resistance against the Dark Lord's growing influence. The goal is to weaken his hold on the country, and if possible, to eliminate any who have sworn fealty to him."

"And the Dark Lord himself?" Emilia asked. "What if we cross paths with him?" Then, you'll probably die.

"He is not to be engaged under any circumstances," Snape ordered. "Am I understood? The Order spent a decade fighting a guerrilla war against him, but any who were unlucky enough to face him directly were never seen again. I will not tolerate any heroics, or any unnecessary risks, not where he is concerned. Now, do any of you have any questions?"

"Minister Ivanov… You said that she's his puppet Minister," Abadie began, and Snape gave a curt nod. "So, if any of us are caught, or even spotted, then we will be branded as outlaws, yes? Not just in Magical Russia, but also at home?"

"She will, no doubt, use her influence to have you arrested," Snape drawled, unconcerned. "Or, worse… Assassinated."

"Why not remove her, then?" Abadie questioned, and everyone looked to Snape to explain himself. Because the Headmaster can be a right ponce.

"Albus believes that she could, if given the right incentive, become a powerful ally."

"…Fool," Emilia scoffed, and the redhead couldn't help but agree.

Snape looked to Ron, the pair of them speaking without uttering a word. If she becomes too much of a headache, we'll do her in. The Headmaster can bitch and moan all he likes, she's too damn dangerous to simply ignore. Plus, I don't really care for her reasons for joining the Dark Lord. If you side with him, you die. It's really just that simple to me.

"The first order of business is establishing our roots," Snape looked back to Abadie. "However, should she make that task too difficult, we'll find a way to… remove her… from power. She does not lack for enemies, so I doubt any suspicion will fall onto a young Veela Lord. Do you understand?"

"Perfectly," Abadie 'smiled', his eyes darting towards Chloros. Oi, he's mine! Get your own assassin!

"Any other questions?" Snape asked, his dark eye moving from person to person. "Then, until tomorrow. Ron, a word?" Shit! I'm in for it, now!

"Wait for me, will you?" Ron whispered to Emilia as she walked by, and she gave him a parting nod in response. You and me are going on a date, tonight. I've already made a reservation, and it took some serious planning.

Once the room had been emptied, Snape adorned his usual scowl. "Where were you?"

"I wanted you to get to know them without my presence," Ron answered, pulling his feet off the table. "I mean, I've brought everyone together, but you're the one the Headmaster put in charge of this operation. You need to bond with them."

"Bond with them?" Snape whispered menacingly.

"Camaraderie is important, Sir."

"I don't need lessons in waging war from you, boy," Snape hissed, causing Ron to raise his hands in surrender. Touchy, touchy. "Either be punctual, or don't show your face at all." I'd better change the subject before he starts ranting at me.

"How's Draco doing?" Ron asked abruptly, smiling innocently when Snape drew in a sharp breath. "You seem frustrated, that's all, so-"

"Draco is fine," Snape cut in, centring himself. "He's warm, fed, and clothed. Everything a child needs is being provided for him." Right, he's miserable, then.

"Is it okay if I occasionally pop in to say hello to him?" Ron asked.

"Do you think me incapable of caring for him?" Snape narrowed his black, menacing eye. I think, he needs more than warmth, food, and clothes, to be happy, but I won't say that aloud. I like my teeth in my head, after all.

"You do understand that he's my friend, right? And friends visit each other during holidays?" Buy it. Buy it. Buy it.

"…Oh… Then, yes… You may visit, but only if you alert me in advance." Brilliant!

"Speaking of visiting friends, I was thinking of inviting the Headmaster over for dinner at mine soon. Want to join?"

"No."

"Why not?! It'll be fun!" Ron laughed, not surprised by the swift rejection. "C'mon, stop being so unsociable, will you? With Hogwarts closed, we need to make sure that we stay in contact with each other. Clear communication is vital in warfare, after all. Oh, sorry, I didn't mean to lecture you on waging war, again-"

"Get out," Snape pointed towards the door.

"I will, but only after you agree-"

"I will think on it."

"Good enough for me!" Ron shot up from his seat, pocketing his hands. "Marty will be in touch. Goodluck tomorrow." Now, I just need to ask the Headmaster to pester him nonstop, and he'll definitely come over.

Ron left the meeting room with a satisfied smile, wondering if he could get Marty to teach him how to cook. He'll probably be offended by the idea of me preparing my own meals, but a man should know how to cook. The Headmaster knows how, so there's no reason why I shouldn't. As he turned the corner, he was jarred out of his thoughts upon unexpectedly coming face-to-face with Abadie. Merlin's Beard!

"…Seriously? Were you waiting to frighten me?" Ron grumbled, losing his smile.

"Can we talk?" Abadie requested, gazing deeply into the redhead's eyes. Um… Sure… Just stop eyeballing my soul, will you?

"What do you need?" Ron asked, taking a step back. "Also, personal space, mate… It's important to me."

"What do I need?" Abadie cocked an eyebrow. "I want to know if the High Mother is aware of the Dark Lord's return, and, if she is, were you the one who informed her? Is that what you two discussed during your dinner?"

"She knows," Ron confirmed, and, for just a heartbeat, anger flashed across Abadie's handsome features. "As for what we discussed, or didn't discuss, during our dinner, that's between us."

"I beg to differ," Abadie countered, clenching his jaw. Odd. He's usually far more… composed. "I did not want to believe it, but there is no denying it now. You are the cause of her erratic behaviour, as of late." Erratic behaviour?

"What are you on about?" Ron asked, pulling his hands out of his pockets. "What's she done?"

"The Oracles… She had them executed, despite the protests of her entire court," Abadie told him, causing him to draw in a long, calming breath. She blamed them for not foreseeing the future I showed her? Harsh, but I'm not to blame for their deaths. She never hid her contempt of them, and this was her opportunity to get rid of them.

"Anything else?"

"She's sealed the mountain away from the world," Abadie added. "Those outside cannot enter, and those inside cannot leave." Paranoid, but understandable. The Imperius Curse was the bane of all Ministries during the last war, and she's a student of history. "I cannot believe that the news of the Dark Lord's return, as calamitous as it is, would warrant such an overreaction from someone as wise and as prudent as her. So, I will ask you again, what did you two discuss?"

"I'm not going to share that with you, just as I wouldn't share our conversations with her," Ron shrugged, matching Abadie's gaze.

Abadie studied him carefully, before easing off. "…Honourable, as ever." Don't start being weird, again. "Very well, I will not press the matter. However, I do have a favour to ask." …Of course…

"Go on."

"The High Mother informed me that you now have a Portkey in your possession, one that will transport you directly to her bedchambers."

"I do."

"Use it," Abadie said strongly. "She can ignore the court, but she will not ignore you. Whatever you two discussed, it has left her changed for the worse." I did warn her, but her curiosity overpowered her good sense.

"You want me to undo the damage our 'discussion' did to her psyche? Well, sorry, but that won't happen," Ron said bluntly. "I warned her, Abadie. I really did. She opened Pandora's Box, regardless of what I had to-"

"I don't need you to wipe her mind, I just need you to convince her to reopen the mountain passes," Abadie interrupted, a hint of desperation in his voice. "I have made investments, Ronald, and I need access to the court for those investments to pay off." You mean, you want to move up in the Ivory Court, as well as Magical France, don't you?

"I respect your ambition, but if I do this for you, you'll make me a promise in return," Ron smirked, seeing an opportunity to further his own agenda.

"Aren't we friends, yet?" Abadie asked. "Or, do favours from you always come at a cost?"

"I want you to promise me that, no matter what Emilia says to you, you will not give in to your anger and retaliate."

"I promise." Bloody hell, that was quick.

"Then, give me a few days, and I'll see if I can't change her mind."

"A few days? You're not coming to Magical Russia with us?"

"I'm an underage wizard," Ron 'gasped', before grinning. "A child has no business being on the battlefield, you know? No, you lot are working under Professor Snape, not me." Plus, I've got my own shit to deal with. "A bit of advice? Don't push your luck with him. Follow his orders to the letter, and if you have any ideas to share, make damn sure they're brilliant. He does not suffer fools lightly." Except for me, but I'm special like that. The redhead patted Abadie on the arm, moving forward. "Let's get out of here, eh? I'm sure you've got loads to do before tomorrow evening."

He continued his journey to the lobby alongside Abadie, where they found Emilia, Artyom, Marty, and Cromwell waiting for them. Is it just me? Or, is there a lot of tension between Cromwell and the others? He's a Master Duellist, isn't he? Not sure I want Artyom and Marty getting on his bad side.

"Mr. Cromwell, come," Abadie wasted no time in breaking off from the group, while Ron joined Emilia's side. "We have work to do." The High Mother… I was hoping to ignore her for a little longer, let her grow more fearful and desperate, but I've given Abadie my word. I'll have to figure out the best time to drop in on her.

"Marty, you and Artyom can head back to the Sanctuary," Ron said, turning his attention towards Emilia. "I'm going to spend the day in Magical France."

"You are?" Emilia asked, curious. "Why?" To help you with your 'equilibrium' problem, obviously.

"What if you die a horrible, disgusting death in Magical Russia?" Ron tapped his chin. "I'd feel less guilty if we'd spent some quality time together beforehand."

"…How considerate," Emilia said mirthlessly. "Come along, then."

---

Blaise Zabini's POV

Monday 28th June, 1994 (Parkinson Manor – Afternoon)

"What do you think, Blaise?" Pansy turned to him, ecstatic. "It looks great, doesn't it?!" He eyed the large, ornate fountain sitting at the heart of the ballroom, genuinely lost for words. "Well? Say something… Don't you like it? Why not?! What's wrong with it?!" It's utterly pointless, for starters.

"Is a Butterbeer fountain really necessary for your party?" he asked, and she immediately pouted. "…You know what? It's your gold. You can do as you like."

"This is important to me!" she whined. "Why aren't you taking it more seriously?"

"I don't know what you want from me, Pansy," he sighed out. "You ask for my opinion, but as soon as I give it to you, you get upset. I mean, look at this thing… It's a crime against responsible spending habits."

"Responsible spending habits?" she grimaced. "Nonsense! It only cost a couple of thousand Galleons to commission and install! Super cheap!" Blaise just stared at her, wondering if she was always this insane. "Don't give me that look! It's all for a good cause!"

"Boosting your popularity at Hogwarts is hardly what I'd call a good cause," Blaise muttered under his breath.

"What was that?"

"…Nothing," Blaise shook his head clear. "I'm going to go practice my Spells for a bit."

"Again?" Pansy asked, grabbing onto his arm. "No! You promised to help me set up!"

"Your Elves are-"

"I want to spend more time with you!" she half-pleaded and half-demanded. "Stop being so antisocial, Blaise! We don't need another Ron!" Why is she being so clingy, today? She was practically sitting outside my bedroom this morning, waiting for me to come out so she could ambush me. "Oh, why don't you help me with food selection?! You love food!" She's not going to leave me alone, is she? Even if I say no, she'll just follow me wherever I go.

"…Fine…" he grumbled, pulling his arm away.

"To the kitchens, then!" Pansy beamed, grabbing onto his arm, again, and dragging him along. For the love of-…! "I'm so excited! Pretty much everyone I invited has confirmed that they'll be coming! This is going to be the liveliest party anyone's ever been to! No decorum! No rules! No adults! And I'll be at the centre of it all!"

"…That sounds dreadful…"

"If you hate fun, sure, but I don't!" she laughed, hugging his arm. "You'll change your tune after a few drinks, I'm certain of it!"

"Promoting underage drinking could land you in trouble," Blaise warned. "Our new Minister is not fond of Purebloods, Pansy… You need to be more careful-"

"Ugh! I don't care about being careful on my birthday! Don't be a spoilsport, Blaise! Minister Bones is a grouchy old bitch! Why should I care about what she has to say?!"

"…You know why."

"I'm not scared of her!"

"You should be."

"Well, I'm not, because I have Ron!" Pansy winked, smirking. "She needs him, and as you always point out, he has a soft spot for me! If she tries to come after me for daring to enjoy my life, he'll put her in her place!" I can't believe this! He buys her a jacket, and she goes right back to using him?!

Blaise stopped, frowning disapprovingly. "Pansy, Ron has enough problems as it is. He doesn't need you having a go at the fucking Minister herself."

"I don't want to have a go at her, but if she decides to take her frustrations out on me, a child, because I dared to throw a party, then fuck her!" Her smirk then turned into a coy smile. "Plus, her niece will be here, remember? Drinking with us, dancing with us, and, if the rumours are true, snogging the first boy who shows her a bit of attention."

"Is that why you invited Susan? To use her as insurance?" Blaise asked, secretly impressed.

"No, I invited her because she's really cute," Pansy shrugged. …What? "But that doesn't mean I'm going to ignore the fact that the Minister cares for her."

"…Hm."

"See? I'm not entirely stupid."

"…I never said that you were," Blaise said standoffishly. "I made you a promise, and I've kept it."

"I'm only teasing you," she giggled, poking his stomach. "By the way… The Patil twins will be coming, too." And? "This is a golden opportunity for you to reconnect with Padma!"

"What makes you think I want that?" Blaise cocked an eyebrow.

"You two only broke up because you were scared of discussing your mother with her," Pansy reminded him, much to his displeasure.

"It was more than that."

"Really?"

"She and I didn't share a lot of interests, and she refused to respect my wishes."

"You mean, she wanted to get to know you better," Pansy gave him a dull look. "Fine, don't date her, just fool around with her, instead. She's still attracted to you, it's clear as day. I've seen the looks she gives you whenever you're not watching." What looks? There haven't been any looks. I'd have noticed if there were.

"I'm not interested."

"You are, but you won't admit it," Pansy rolled her eyes. "No, you'd much rather brood and skulk around, right? Honestly, Blaise, it's starting to get boring. What's the point of running away from your demented mother if you're still going to let her linger in your thoughts?"

"…I don't want to talk about this," Blaise said warningly.

"You know I'm right," Pansy turned around, walking away. "But I'll respect your wishes, unlike Padma."

He drew in a long breath, before following after her. Is Padma still interested me? Why? We haven't really spoken since we parted ways, and-… No, I don't have the luxury of even entertaining this idea. Like Ron, I've got plenty of problems, and like him, I need to focus on sorting them out. Plus, Padma isn't the type to 'fool around', not really. No, she'll expect me to court her, to win her back, and I've better things to-…

Carbey suddenly appeared ahead of them, bowing deeply. "Mistress! There are Aurors in the greeting room!"

"Aurors?!" Pansy went wide-eyed, looking to Blaise. What? I don't know why they're here! What did you do?!

"How should Carbey respond to this insult?" the Elf asked, not hiding his contempt. "Shall Carbey fetch the hounds?" Hounds?! Do you want her thrown in Azkaban?!

"…No, Carbey, no hounds…" Pansy mumbled nervously, patting down her dress. "Um… Take me to them. We'll um… We need to find out what they want, first."

"Find out what the Aurors want?" Carbey questioned, almost defiant. "This is Mistress' domain… Mistress must banish these interlopers at once-"

"Banish them?" Pansy cut in. "Carbey, that would just make them angry. Take me to them, now."

Carbey stared at her for several moments, eventually giving her a stiff nod. Why doesn't she send this one away? Something is seriously wrong with him. Gives me the creeps just looking at him. They followed Carbey through the mansion, and upon arriving in the greeting room, they found Pansy's small mercenary force circling a dozen Aurors, who didn't appear intimidated in the least.

"Ahem! At ease!" Pansy moved up ahead, not sounding half as decisive as she should have.

The mercenaries, despite her weak presence, did as they were told, letting the Aurors pass through with amused smirks. This lot… They're not the British Aurors, they're the Americans we've all heard about. What the fuck are they doing here?

"Quite a welcome you put on, little miss," the raven-haired, tanned witch at the centre of the Aurors sniggered, dressed in a sharp, grey suit. "Lucia Bellator, Chief of the American Aurors." Chief?! Isn't that the equivalent of a Head-Auror?! Why would someone so far up the chain of command be here?! Pansy, what did you do?!

"Pansy Parkinson," the younger witch gave a polite curtsy, earning herself the disapproval of both Blaise and Carbey. Don't give them an inch… What are you doing? "Might I ask why you're here, Auror Bellator?"

"Inspection," the American grinned wolfishly, Conjuring a parchment out of thin air. "This here is a warrant, signed by Bartemius Crouch Snr. We are to search for any Dark artefacts, or anythin' nefarious in general, within all your listed estates." What?! That's a huge invasion of privacy!

"By what right, Auror?" Carbey growled, stepping up to his Mistress' side.

"Right?" Bellator laughed, as did her cronies. "We're Aurors, Elf, any right we need to turn this place upside down is right here on this bit of parchment. You can comply willingly, or you can refuse and open yourself up to bein' prosecuted."

"May I see that?" Pansy asked, holding out her hand.

"Here, take your time."

Pansy took the parchment and looked it over, before passing it on Carbey. "Have I done anything to warrant this… warrant?"

"Have you?" Bellator asked in response. "We'll see, won't we?"

"You need cause to issue a warrant," Blaise decided to speak up. She's letting me stay here for free, so it's time I start pulling my weight. "Is she under suspicion of committing a crime?"

Bellator looked to him, eyeing him up-and-down. "Your mother in town, boy?"

"…Pardon?"

"She's on my list," Bellator told him, leaving him speechless. She is? Really?! "And, you're not wrong, we do need cause, and we have it."

"…Mistress' late parents…" Carbey hissed, tossing the warrant at Bellator's feet. "The Minister overreaches."

"She didn't sign it," Bellator reminded them. "Crouch did, because he knows which 'noble families' are dirty. Now, can we get on with our work?"

Blaise looked to Pansy, who was clearly doing her best to keep her composure. "Of course, Auror Bellator. I've nothing to hide, whatsoever."

"Good," Bellator clicked her tongue, turning to face her Aurors. "You heard her! Get to work! I want every inch of this place searched!"

---

One Hour Later

"Mistress' foresight has been rewarded," Carbey whispered, glaring at the Aurors as they went about their work. "Carbey was a fool to question the Lady of the house."

"You really had every artefact your parents kept destroyed?" Blaise asked, and Pansy shrugged with a smirk. "Pansy… That's our people's history…"

"And that history is filled with violence and death, neither of which are endearing qualities," Pansy scoffed. "I burned everything those two touched, or commissioned. Their clothes, their books, their jewelleries, their paintings… Everything. This is my house, now, not theirs. They can rot in hell."

Blaise couldn't deny that he was a little taken aback by the vitriol in her tone; he'd always known that she wasn't exactly fond of them, but she'd gone so far as to erase their very existence from her life without uttering a peep to her friends, and that was… concerning. At some point, I want to bring this up, again. I had no idea that she was capable of being so vindictive.

"Well, colour me surprised, little miss," Bellator walked over, a cool smirk on her face. "This place is clean. Too clean, even… Like you knew we were comin'."

"I didn't," Pansy said, smirking back. "I don't know what your parents were like, Auror Bellator, but mine were cruel and hateful. I'm sure you're aware of how my father died, and what he was doing prior to his demise? And, my mother? She was worse than him by far." She then stepped up to the Auror, looking up to meet Bellator's gaze. "The day all of this became mine, I got rid of anything that was out of fashion, including creepy books and broken toys. I've no interest in anything that isn't cute."

Bellator stared into Pansy's eyes, as if searching for the truth within them, and then, she laughed. "I like you! I'll let Crouch know that we found nothin', and that you're one of the good ones. But promise me that you'll stay good, yeah? I'd hate to come back here."

"Are your Aurors going to put everything back in its proper place?" Pansy asked.

"Not a chance!" Bellator grinned, turning on her heel and marching away. "Onto the next, you worms! We've got a lot of names to cross off our list!"

Blaise watched with a terrible sense of dread as the American Aurors departed, wondering what in Merlin's name was going on at the Ministry. They're targeting Purebloods, that much is clear, now, and it sounds like they're not making any exceptions. Theo and Daphne… Their parents will be on that list Bellator just mentioned.

Pansy let out a shaky breath, placing a hand over her thumping heart. "…That was frightening…"

"Mistress was exceptional," Carbey reassured her, and she managed a weak smile in response. "Carbey will travel to the other estates, and remove anything that could incriminate Mistress."

"…Thank you, and please, hurry," Pansy ordered, and Carbey Apparated away without making any sound. "Blaise, did you hear what she said about your mother? She's on their list!"

"…I heard," Blaise whispered, thinking. "This is… good."

"Good?" Pansy repeated.

"She's escaped justice for too long," Blaise explained. "If the Aurors are finally going after her, then I can offer them nothing but my best wishes." He rubbed the back of his neck, sighing. "Daphne's parents, though… They're with the Order, now, aren't they? We have to warn her."

"And Theo, too!"

"No, not him," Blaise whispered, averting his gaze just so he didn't have to see the disbelief on her face. "Pansy, Theo's father is a known Death-Eater. We shouldn't take the risk of visiting him. Plus, the Aurors don't want Theo, so if you're worried about him, don't be. His father is-"

"How are we going to look him in the eye after he finds out that we didn't warn his father?" Pansy cut in. "No, we're warning him."

"Pansy, don't!" Blaise bit out, making her flinch. "The Aurors are not playing around, all right? Theo knows who his father is, even if he chooses not to face that truth. Right now, our only concern should be warning Daphne. If Cornelius Nott is dragged off to a cell in Azkaban, then… it's for the best. Theo might not be happy, but it will save lives. Do you have any idea what I would give to go back in time and speak out against my mother? To have her shipped off to Azkaban?" Lord De Luca would still be alive if I hadn't been such a coward!

Pansy just gawked at him, her mouth hanging open. "…This is cold, even for you."

"Perhaps, but I'd rather be cold than naïve," Blaise said plainly. "What your father was doing before his death… That's the sort of shit Cornelius Nott gets up to in his spare time. Now, let's stop arguing, and go warn Daphne. If we're lucky, the Aurors haven't paid her manor a visit yet."

---

Daphne Greengrass' POV

Monday 28th June, 1994 (Greengrass Manor – Late Afternoon)

What was she doing here? She had vowed not to come back until she had found her own path, until she was her own person, rather than a reflection of her parents. And yet, here I am… Breaking Magical Law so I can protect them. This feels so wrong, but what choice did I have? I don't want Tori to watch them being dragged off to Azkaban, and as revolted as I am with them, I don't want to see that, either. For all their faults, they are still my parents, and I can't just ignore that, can I?

"The work is almost complete, Mistress," Spinny reported. "What is to be done with Master's collection?" If we place it into the Greengrass vaults, it'll be safe. Or…

"Destroy it," Daphne ordered, surprising Spinny and her friends.

"Destroy it?" Spinny repeated, shrinking. "B-B-But… M-Master-"

"Daphne, your father will be livid," Blaise spoke up. "And most of his collection is harmless." What it represents isn't.

"…Look at what we're doing, Blaise," Daphne looked back, feeling ashamed. "We're hiding evidence from Aurors, because my father deems himself above Magical Law. His collection is filled with tomes containing the most profane Magic, Muggle objects harbouring the vilest Curses, not to mention his obsession with the Wizards of Old, who committed-"

"Just look at her," Blaise pointed towards Spinny. "She's terrified of your father. No Elf here is going to destroy what's his." He then addressed the Elf directly. "Move everything into Lord Greengrass' vaults. Make sure you don't put everything into a single one. Scatter it about."

Daphne grit her teeth, but maintained her silence. He's right. I might be my father's heir, but I can't hope to challenge the power he exercises over his household.

"Mistress?"

"…Just go…" Daphne waved Spinny away. I didn't think I'd have to compromise myself when I woke up this morning. Thank you, father, and well done… You've turned your own daughter into an accomplice.

Spinny cracked away, leaving Daphne, Pansy, and Blaise behind. I'm going to have to tell Ron about this, aren't I? And he's going to be-…

"For what it's worth, Daph, I agree with you," Pansy broke the silence. "What's even the point of collecting such morbid trophies?"

"They're not trophies," Blaise clicked his tongue. "People like Lord Greengrass are the only reason why our history isn't purged from memory. All these laws against collecting antiques… They're absurd. Made by people who have no appreciation of how Wizarding Kind became the dominant power on this world."

"We became the dominant power by murdering and enslaving others," Daphne turned around, wearing an icy mask. "Is that something to be proud of?"

"Yes, it is, because those we fought against tried to murder and enslave us too," Blaise frowned darkly. "Just because we won doesn't make us any worse than them. Conflict will always exist, Daphne, and the winner shouldn't be made to feel ashamed. If the Elves, Centaurs, Goblins, whatever… If they were in our position, they'd subjugate us within a heartbeat."

"That's depressing," Pansy said dully.

"But it's true."

"Perhaps, but what's so wrong with trying to break the cycle?" Daphne challenged. "What's so wrong about wanting to forgive and forget?"

"Those who forget history are doomed to repeat it," Blaise countered. "No one is stopping you from trying to make amends, but it shouldn't come at the cost of our culture and history. The Ministry… They're just doing what they always do. Hiding everything under the rug, hoping that no one finds out the truth. This is a publicity stunt by Bones, nothing more." A publicity stunt? Probably… There are a lot more Muggleborns and Half-Bloods in Magical Britain than there are Purebloods, and she needs their support now that she's scorned the Purebloods. Still, I can't help but feel that we'd all be better off without the shadow of the Wizards of Old haunting us.

"This Bellator woman… What was she like?" Daphne asked, looking to Pansy.

"Intimidating, but sexy," the raven-haired witch replied. …What?

"What was she like?" Daphne looked back to Blaise, who was giving Pansy a deadpan stare.

"Arrogant, but I could tell that it was warranted," he eventually responded. "She's too young to be the Chief of all Aurors in America, who have the largest Auror force in the world, so, clearly, she's not someone you want to cross." His brow then became creased, his lips pursing. "…The thing that's really bothering me about her, though, is that she openly talked about this list of hers. Seems careless, doesn't it?" Careless? Or, clever? It's probably the latter.

"I don't think you become Chief of all Aurors by being the careless sort," Daphne drew in a sharp breath. "I'm going to tell the Elves, and my father's goons, to hurry things along. If she shows up here right now, we'll all be spending the night in the Ministry's dungeons." It's one thing to protect my parents, it's another to take the fall for them. I need to finish this up and get back to the Burrow. This is the last time I risk my own freedom to protect theirs, I swear it.

---

Sebastian Greengrass' POV

Monday 28th June, 1994 (Rask Manor – Late Afternoon)

He studied his surroundings most keenly, as he knew a man's home spoke volumes about his character. And Conrad Rask is clearly a man in love with himself. Just his greeting room is enough to deduce that. Gold-gilded fireplaces, marble columns, portraits of himself, and his ancestors, painted by the greatest German artists, even the name Rask is branded in ivory upon the floor… What a garish sight all of this makes.

"We should get more marble columns installed at the manor," Mary hummed to herself. More? Really? And what are they to support, exactly? German nobility and their love of marble-… "And we need a few more paintings with the girls, now that they've grown up a bit." I like the second idea a lot more. "We just have to figure out a way to make Astoria stay still for a couple of hours."

"Not even I possess such power and authority," Sebastian joked, smiling softly. "We'll just need to-"

"Bribe her?"

"Precisely."

Mary smiled, reaching out and taking his hand in hers, but just before he could fully enjoy the sensation, she pulled away. Right… Slow and steady, as they say. This last week hasn't exactly given us a chance to talk about the state of our marriage. Moving from one place to another, trying to stay ahead of Rask's people and gather information on Elias, all the while wondering about our daughters… There is so much to do, but we will get through it. Together. As we always do.

"It's true, then," came a soft, composed voice, and the Greengrasses looked to see Conrad Rask himself approaching them. "Sebastian Greengrass stands unattended within my home." Yes, yes, do your little powerplay, and let's get on with this. "Forgive me, my Lord, I will have my Elves whipped till sunset."

"That will not be necessary," Sebastian said icily, eyeing the blonde man from head-to-toe. The King of Magical Germany, hm? He hasn't changed a bit in all these years. "It is good to see you, again, Lord Rask. It has been too long."

"The ball hosted by Lord Atanas Dobrev," Rask remembered, his smile was almost believable. "Shame his wife passed shortly after… The man has become a recluse since her unfortunate passing." Thestrals can kill when provoked. Who knew?

"The woman wished to raise wild Thestrals-" Sebastian started.

"Sebastian, my dearest," Mary 'laughed', subtly telling him to keep his cold commentary to himself with just her eyes. Right.

"Welcome back, Mary," Rask looked to her, bowing his head. "Regina has been hounding me about you, asking me to bring you over for dinner. Unfortunately, locating you became difficult, given your constant, erratic movement around Magical Germany."

"Just taking in the sights, old friend," Mary smiled innocently. "I'd forgotten how beautiful this country is, how vibrant and full of life."

Rask chuckled, looking between husband and wife. "I hope I didn't make either of you uncomfortable. I just like to know what's going on in my country." My country? You really think you're a king, don't you?

"Your men weren't difficult to confuse," Sebastian said, staring through Rask. "Can we move on from the niceties, now? I'm not one to mince words."

"Niceties are a part of the game, my Lord, and one mustn't break the rules of the game," Rask said, gesturing them to follow him. "However, given your reputation, I'd be a fool to push my luck." And, given your reputation, you don't play games, because you detest playing by rules that you haven't set up yourself.

"Where is Regina, Conrad?" Mary asked. "And little Leon? Has he returned from Durmstrang? I'm most eager to speak to your son!"

"He's not so little, anymore," Rask chuckled, shaking his head to himself. "There's another Duelling Tournament taking place… somewhere. Honestly, I've lost track of his victories. The boy is insatiable. Always looking to bathe himself in more and more glory. Regina has taken him to participate, but they should be home in time for dinner. You'll just have to stay, if you want to speak with them."

Sebastian felt uncharacteristically jealous of Rask, having been reminded of another insatiable young wizard. …He was set to become the first young wizard to win three consecutive championships in the Junior League-…

"Will you?" Rask asked, shooting a look back at him. "Stay until dinner?"

"We will," Mary answered for him, having noticed that he was distracted. "Husband?"

"…Certainly," Sebastian gave a curt nod, refocusing. No point in mourning over spilled brandy. Life goes on. Before long, he will be gone, and after some time, both Daphne and Astoria will forget him. We will all forget him.

Rask led them further and further into his manor, reminiscing with Mary along the way about their childhoods, but both Sebastian and Mary could see through his 'childhood friend' façade. He probably knows that we know he's full of shit, but he doesn't care one bit. This is his theatre, and he's prepared a play for us.

"What do you think, Lord Greengrass?" Rask asked, breaking Sebastian out of his thoughts. Did he ask me something?

"I wasn't listening. Can you repeat the question?"

"Wasn't listening," Rask laughed, whereas Mary looked a bit embarrassed. "You're breaking the rules of the game, again, my Lord. If you don't stop, I'll be forced to take drastic actions." Such as? "I asked you if you prefer brandy, gin, bourbon, or-?"

"Brandy."

"Excellent!"

They entered the study after Rask, taking their allocated seats and waiting for him to hand them their drinks. This is getting irritating. He is wasting our time in a bid to show us that he's in control. Maybe, I should have Jürgen pay his wife and son a visit-… He grimaced, banishing the dark thought from his mind. Don't let this maggot frustrate you. For all his wealth and power, he is still just a German Lord. A spawn of inbreeding, one that is unworthy of your time and effort.

"So… Elias Maier…" Rask took his own seat across from them, taking a sip of his brandy. At last! "He is all that stands in your way, Mary. I've spoken to the other prominent families in Magical Germany, and we all agree that we prefer Anna to her wayward husband."

"None of them are in his corner?" Mary asked, finding that hard to believe. "What of Otto Grünberg? They went to Durmstrang together, and have been close friends ever since."

"Otto's son, Egon, is a proud, and vocal, Blood-Traitor," Rask explained, his lips twitching upwards. "You know the sort, don't you? 'Muggleborns are our equals, we're all human, we ought to share this world with the Muggles…' Disgusting, foolish notions, but Otto has begun to agree with them. This did not sit well with Elias, and they had a terrible falling out. Terrible, and very public."

"So, he truly is alone, now," Mary sighed out, not hiding her mixed feelings. "A shame… As a young girl, I used to prefer him to mother. He had so many friends, and was so full of life, and I loved the attention he bestowed upon me. Am I to blame for all of this, Conrad? Did I turn him into a monster?" By marrying me? Why would she ask Rask this question? In front of me, no less?

"You followed your heart, and were blessed with a beautiful family," Rask smiled sympathetically. "You were his daughter, not his mule to sell to the highest bidder. No, Mary, you did not turn your father into a drunken wretch. He did that all by himself."

"When you say that you all prefer Anna to Elias…" Sebastian started, swirling his brandy. "What you really mean is that you all covet his lands and businesses, and the moment Mary and I distract him, you plan to pick his bones clean. Am I wrong?"

"A bit vulgar, but no," Rask openly admitted. "You both understand how the game is played. Elias stopped playing a long time ago, and he's made many enemies with his outlandish insults and accusations. We've all reached our limit with him, but the old man is no fool. A drunk, and a gambler, but no fool. He protects what's his like a greedy dragon, breathing fire at any, and all, trespassers."

"He doesn't know that we're here, yet," Mary looked to Sebastian. "His 'whore' daughter, and the 'dead-eyed bastard' who stole her away. If we were to reveal ourselves, he would be terribly distracted."

"And we would incur the risk of being burned, whereas Lord Rask and his friends would pilfer all the dragon's gold," Sebastian finished with a sneer, he would sooner feed himself to an actual dragon than be their puppet.

"It's not my mother he's holding captive," Rask shrugged. "If you want her back, Mary, you'll need to take the risk." And we're not allowed to take the risk unless you're in a position to profit from it, is that it? Because this is your kingdom?

"I don't care much for the games of German Lords and Ladies," Sebastian put his glass away, his drink untouched. "But this matter is important to my wife, so I will give you a fair warning, Lord Rask. I don't intend to be your puppet, nor do I intend to leave Magical Germany without Anna Maier."

"Then, we are at an impasse," Rask said, losing his mask of civility. "You will learn that, in this country, nothing of note can be achieved without my blessing. You are a proud man, Lord Greengrass, I know this, but you are far from home. My fondness for your wife won't stop me from turning the Lords of Germany against your cause. So, put your pride away, and play the game by my rules. Otherwise, you'll indeed return home empty-handed, and you won't have anyone to blame but yourself."

Sebastian looked to Mary, discerning the unspoken plea behind her eyes. …Fine… We'll do this your way, then. Your husband will play the fool to save the mother who cast you aside. I ought to just kill these inbred dogs, the lot of them. Germans… They're even more foul than the fucking French, who, for all their degeneracy, don't marry their own blood.

He picked up the glass and took a long sip, before leaning forward. "Attempt to trick me, Rask, and you die. Do you understand?"

The blonde Lord stared into Sebastian's corpse-like eyes, giving a short nod. "As I said before, I know of your reputation, and I would be a fool to push my luck."

---

Emilia Travers' POV

Monday 28th June, 1994 (Travers Manor – Evening)

She stared at her bizarre reflection with a mounting sense of discomfort and unease; her physique was not meant for displaying dresses of any kind, let alone one as elegant as the one she was currently wearing. At least, Godrey had the decency to buy one that covers me completely, and yet, just look at me. Her attention drifted towards her sleeved arms, her taut muscles bulging through the fine fabric. …There is no doubt that if I wear this in public, I will become a spectacle for their amusement.

"…This isn't me," Emilia surrendered, reaching back and undoing the zip.

With great struggle, born from inexperience, she stripped out of the burgundy dress and kicked it away, disheartened and vexed at the same time. Why would he insist on me wearing a dress if not to humiliate me? I don't understand him. She exited the bathroom and entered the adjoining master bedroom, where she swiftly began donning her armour. The white, silk shitagi, the red uwa-obi, the Dragon-Leather straps, the red and black jinbaori, the Blackened-Iron pauldron, and lastly, her late father's mantle cape. This is me. Once again feeling comfortable and at ease, she attached her Oni-Blade onto the uwa-obi, her fingers curling around its silver hilt as she marched out of her room.

"Mistress!" Godrey was waiting for her on the other side of the door, head already bowed in respect.

When he finally looked up, his excitement was swiftly replaced by disappointment.

"The dress is in the bathroom," Emilia said coolly. "Burn it."

"…Mistress…" Godrey muttered, but her intense gaze was more than enough to silence any objections. "…At once, Mistress."

She walked past him without uttering another word, marching down the corridor, and then, the stairs, at the bottom of which she found Ron loitering about. Why has he been following me around all day? Even when I was writing letters to uncle Logan and my business partners, he was in the room. Is this his idea of helping me conquer my fears? Well, it's not working.

"Tsk, how disappointing," Ron said dramatically, pouting at her. "I really wanted to see you in a dress, tonight."

"To mock me?" Emilia frowned, unable to hide her exasperation with him.

"Mock you?" Ron sniggered, vexing her further. "I've seen those rippling muscles, remember? The idea of them stuffed into a tight dress… Mhm! Sexy, classy, and scary! Just my type!" She blinked, unsure of how to respond to such demented comments. …Lunatic. "I figured you wouldn't wear it, though."

"Is that so?" she asked scathingly, and he pulled back his sleeve in order to show her one of his Goblin-Steel bracers. …I had those made for him. Does he wear them everywhere he goes? A practical choice.

"You and I are way too similar, Ronin," Ron laughed pleasantly, and she felt her anger dissipate in the face of his contagious smile. …He really wasn't trying to humiliate me? Then, what was the point? "Hopefully, one day, we can both just go out to dinner without expecting the worst to happen, eh? Wouldn't that be nice?" …Oh…

Emilia stared at him, eventually giving a curt nod. "It would be, yes." I see, now. He's right, I did expect the worst to happen.

"Shall we?" he offered her his arm, beaming.

Emilia breathed deeply, deciding to take his arm until they reached the fireplaces. "Lead the way."

---

Two Hours Later

"…So, there you have it," Ron finished, his gloved fingers relentlessly tapping against the table. "The story of why I'll never see my childhood home, again."

Emilia averted her gaze, taking a sip of the mulled wine they were sharing. His father really said those things to him? I know he's pretending as though he's not bothered by his father's rejection of him, but he clearly is. Strange… I can't help but wonder what my own father would say to me if he witnessed the path I've chosen to walk. Would he be angry? Disappointed? Disgusted? Or, would he be pleased? Proud? Reassuring? I suppose, I'll never know, because I don't have the faintest idea about who he was, and I never will. All I know is that he was murdered, and if I don't avenge him, then no one will.

"I know very little about… parents…" Emilia started, taking another sip. "However, I do believe that your father cares. If he didn't, he wouldn't become so… emotional."

"Emotional?" Ron chuckled mirthlessly. "He told me to stop helping people. 'Madness', he called it… Madness. What little love I had left for him died right then and there. He doesn't understand me. He doesn't want to understand me. To him… I'm just insane. The worst thing that ever happened to his 'perfect' family." He sneered down at his wine glass, his eyes flashing red. "…A bloody disappointment, that's all I'll ever be to them."

Emilia shifted in her seat, before awkwardly reaching forward and squeezing his gloved hand. I… don't know what to say. I hope this simple gesture shows you that I won't turn my back on you, not for anything. Ron smiled knowingly, squeezing her hand back. He understands. I'm glad. They sat in comfortable silence for a few minutes, both of them thinking about where they had come from, and, of course, where they had ended up. Perhaps, this is twisted, but part of me is relieved that my parents are gone. I can't even imagine who I'd be if they were still alive, and that's terrifying. Would I be like the other Ladies my age? Would the mere sight of blood turn my stomach? Would I be soft and gentle? Would I be married to some handsome Lord? Would I be normal? Would I be happy? I know these questions are pointless, and yet, they linger in-…

"Are you still seeing things?" Ron suddenly asked, and she immediately tensed.

Her eyes scanned the empty restaurant, relief washing over her when she saw no one but her friend. She's not here, thank the Gods. "Not right now."

"You never mentioned what it is exactly that you're-"

"It's my mother," Emilia revealed abruptly. "I saw her on her deathbed, rotting away in the darkness, and…" she trailed off, her throat tightening up. "…The poisons had driven her mad, Ron. She screamed at me. She hurt me."

A terrible sadness filled his eyes, his hold on her hand tightening. "…I'm sorry."

"Her… ghost… followed me for years," Emilia continued, swallowing thickly. "For years, Ron… Always lurking in the corner of my vision… Berating me, shrieking at me, demanding vengeance for her murder… I couldn't escape her, no matter how far I ran."

"Until you learned to embrace her? To make her an integral part of your resolve?"

"…Yes."

Ron nodded to himself, thinking. "Well, embracing that twisted version of her… It was a temporary solution, seeing as she's back. You have to conquer your fear of her, Emilia, so she can finally rest. You have to make peace with her death."

"Could you make peace with your mother's death?" Emilia asked in response. "If she was murdered by the very people she sought to protect, the very people she sheltered from danger and persecution, could you make your peace with that?"

"I would mourn her, I'd definitely avenge her, but then, I'd move on," Ron answered, the certainty in his voice took her by surprise. "My duty is to this world, Emilia, not to any single individual. I understand that, now. I have to fight because there are so many people out there who can't. My mission… It's not about me, or my family, or even my friends. It's about taking a stand against injustice, against avarice, against cruelty, against the end of the world itself." He leaned forward, holding her gaze. "You avenged your mother, Emilia. Those who plotted against her, who murdered her, you destroyed them. So, tell me, why is she still haunting you?"

"Because my father's killers still roam free," Emilia figured, sounding uncertain.

"No, it's because you're stuck in place," Ron told her. "I know, because I've been there too. Hell, I still am, in some ways, but I'm trying to move forward, and you need to do the same." …I can't. I don't know how to be anything beyond what I am. "I didn't ask you to wear that dress to mock you… I wanted to see if you were even capable of it."

"…Well, I wasn't…" she pulled her hand away, frustrated.

"Even though you wanted to wear it?" Yes, even then.

"…That's a bit presumptuous of you, isn't it?"

"It isn't," Ron stared at her, smiling apologetically. "Your Ronin uniform, my gorgeous suits… They protect us, sure, but they also separate us from the world around us. The world that's hurt us without mercy… The world we've grown to fear and resent. You and I are scared of being vulnerable, but you can't truly live until you are. You want to conquer your fears, Emilia? You want to stop being haunted? You want your equilibrium back? Then, start opening yourself up, again. Find a reason to live beyond claiming vengeance. Be a human being, instead of being a sword." He took a long sip of his mulled wine, shuddering. "Bloody hell, this wine is fucking delicious! It's so much better than the piss the Headmaster likes to drink!" You mean, it's full of sugar.

Emilia pinched her eyes, deciding to focus on his advice rather than his childish outburst. Open myself up? Be vulnerable? That's not the Ronin way. Sentimentality, friendship, love… These are distractions that weaken the mind and dull the blade. But I don't want to go back to being lonely, to a time before Audrey and Ron. I know I don't, just as I know Sensei would be ashamed of my newfound doubts.

"…I need to clear my mind," Emilia whispered, chugging her glass. "I must meditate."

"Um… What about dessert?"

"Dessert?"

"Emilia, I didn't just rent this place out for a couple of hours… They're going to bring out more food when I give the signal!"

"You're still hungry?" Emilia couldn't believe it. "You had two steaks! With four sides!"

"Two tiny French steaks, … These people don't know how to eat!" Ron argued defensively. "Just stay in your seat, yeah? I was going to surprise you, but… fuck it… The desserts are all from Japan, all right? I'd say their names, but I've already forgotten them."

"Desserts from Japan?" Emilia muttered, intrigued. "…You arranged that? For me?" This entire evening, actually… He's put so much thought into it.

"Well, I can't deny that I'm curious myself," Ron shrugged, smiling. "I've never had sweets from there. So, shall I give the signal?"

"…I um… I normally don't-"

"I know, and neither do I, but let's make an exception for today, eh? C'mon, Emilia… Live a little, will you?" Another lesson masked as a sweet gesture? He really is quite manipulative, isn't he?

"Very well, then," Emilia agreed, managing a half-smile. "I refused the dress, so I won't refuse the desserts."

Ron raised his hand and snapped his fingers, grinning from ear-to-ear. "I don't know about you, but I'm getting more of this wine too! I just found my alcohol of choice, I reckon!"

---

"Give me your hand, Ron," Emilia instructed as they approached the stairs.

"My hand? I'm not drunk," Ron sniggered like a mischievous child. "I'm a bit tipsy, I'll admit it, but I can go up these stairs just fine on my own."

"Is that so? Well, prove it, then." This should be amusing.

"I will," the redhead stuck his nose up.

With a fool's confidence, and a lot of swaying, Ron conquered step after step, until he reached the halfway point, where he clipped his shoe and tumbled forward. Emilia burst into laughter, which she promptly subdued as the 'demon' slid down the steps on his belly. He really can't hold his liquor, can he? Who gets drunk off of mulled wine?

"…Ow…" Ron groaned as he reached the bottom of the stairs, face-down. "…They're steeper than they look…"

"Should've given me your hand," Emilia teased, taking him by the arm. "Let me help you." With ease, she lifted him up to his feet. "We'll go slowly, all right?"

"Can't you just carry me up?" Ron smiled cheekily. "Whatever happened to chivalry?"

"Ronin don't believe in chivalry," she countered, tugging on his arm. "Come along, now, and watch your steps."

"You know, I only fell over to make you laugh," he lied, leaning against her.

"I know."

As they made their way up the stairs, some of her mercenaries passed them by, all of them eyeing Ron with a great deal of apprehension and bewilderment. Ah, yes. The unspoken truth of this manor. Everyone here knows that it was Ron who led the raid on the Carrow Twins' estate, but none ever dare speak of it. Emilia smirked to herself, subtly eyeing the dazed and happy boy clinging to her for support. His family may consider him a disappointment, but there are thousands out there who are in absolute awe of him, including myself. I hope he knows that.

"Mistress, you have retur-…" Godrey started from atop the stairs, but stopped abruptly when he saw Ron's flushed, goofy expression.

"It's Godrey!" the redhead all but shouted, grinning maniacally. "My third favourite Elf! Actually, no, you're tied for second place with Kreacher! You've been promoted, you leathery cunt!" …Merlin… "Congratulations!"

"Godrey is positively elated by this news," the old Elf said blandly, looking to her for an explanation. "Mistress?"

"Mulled wine," Emilie tried her best to mask her amusement, but Godrey caught onto it immediately. "He'll be spending the night here. Prepare the main guestroom for him."

Godrey smiled at the duo, before bowing deeply. "At once, Mistress."

As soon as he cracked away, Ron turned his grin in her direction. "Thanks for letting me stay here. I don't want to have another seizure, nor do I want to disturb Fawkes." Another seizure… It's all too easy to forget that, despite how powerful he is, he's still just a sick child.

"You don't need to thank me, my friend," Emilia said reassuringly, continuing forward. "I owe you a great deal more than a bed."

"It's just nice to have people who I can rely on," Ron hummed. "You're brilliant, you are, and I really look up to you." You do? Why? You're the one who's always going out of his way to help me, remember?

"You're even more drunk than I realized," Emilia chuckled, feeling warmed, and honoured, by his words.

"I'm not drunk, I'm-"

"Tipsy?"

"Exactly! You get me!" I try to, but you don't make it easy. By the time they reached the main guestroom, Ron was struggling to keep his head upright. "…My stomach hurts, Emilia…"

"I'm not surprised to hear that," Emilia said. "I will have Godrey fetch you something to help you digest the mountain of food you consumed."

"Those sweet dumplings were so gooood."

"Dango, and yes, they were," Emilia said, knocking on the door with her foot. "Godrey?"

The door clicked open, and she guided the redhead inside. Godrey was waiting by the bed, while the other Elves were laying the finishing touches to the room. I see that Godrey picked out the softest sheets and pillows, the ones we keep solely for family members.

"Help him out of his clothes, then tuck him in," Emilia ordered the Elves, letting go of Ron.

"I can take off my own clothes, it's fine," Ron mumbled, dragging his feet to the bed and collapsing on it. "…I'll do it in a bit, though."

"Goodnight, my friend," Emilia smiled fondly, leaving the room with Godrey at her heel.

"Shall Godrey prepare a bath for Mistress?" the old Elf asked, closing the door behind him.

"Yes," Emilia gave a nod, but just as Godrey was about to leave, she stopped him. "What did you do with the dress?"

The Elf blinked, before clearing his throat. "Godrey burned it, as commanded."

"…I see," Emilia whispered, disappointed. It was a lovely dress. "Ron's stomach is feeling upset. Help him, first, then prepare the bath. Oh, and leave a bottle of sake behind. I wish to relax, tonight."

"Relax?" Godrey repeated, visibly surprised.

"You heard me correctly." Don't give me that look.

"…Is Godrey dreaming?" the Elf's wrinkled lips quirked upwards. Funny…

"He will be if he doesn't get to work," Emilia promised, rolling her eyes. What did Ron say? Start being a human being, instead of being a sword? Well, tonight's as good a night to start as any.

---

Lord Voldemort's POV

Monday 28th June, 1994 (Mount Tsakhvoa – Late Night)

"It's a bit late for training, isn't it?" the Dark Lord whispered, surprising Rodolphus.

"My Lord!" the Death-Eater turned to face his Master, promptly kneeling. "I didn't sense you behind me." Because I didn't want you to. "Forgive me."

"There is nothing to forgive," Lord Voldemort hissed, his shadowy form gliding closer. "Rise." Rodolphus stood up, wiping the sweat from his brow. "You have been restless, as of late. Day or night, I find you out here… Sparring with air."

Rodolphus averted his gaze and grimaced, something was clearly bothering him. "…I fear that my time in Azkaban has dulled my edge, my Lord."

"You are more powerful than ever."

"Because of you, my Lord, and yet, my own skills have diminished," the dark-haired wizard admitted. "There was a time where I could hold off several Aurors alone, but at Volkov's manor… If not for your gift, I would be dead. That Ronin… Emilia Travers… She managed to cut my throat." Ah, I see. "I could not match her speed, nor could I overwhelm her allies. I was slow, sluggish… Ill-prepared… I won't let it happen, again."

Lord Voldemort assumed his corporeal form, becoming flesh and blood. "I have missed your resolve, Rodolphus. You are everything the Pure men of this world should aspire to be."

"You honour me, my Lord."

"Come, then," Lord Voldemort brandished his wand. "Spar with me."

---

With a flick of his wrist, Lord Voldemort blasted Rodolphus away, sending the Death-Eater flying several feet through the air. Slow, indeed. Still on his back, Rodolphus fired a Disarming Charm at his Master, who caught it with his spare hand. Rejicere! Rodolphus' Disarming Charm shot out of the Dark Lord's hand, twice as volatile, slamming into the Death-Eater's side and sending him rolling several feet further. His Spells feel heavy, full of conviction, yet his technique has suffered greatly this last decade. The same must be true of the others, though they'd never admit it. Rodolphus grit his teeth, dragging himself back up on shaky legs. Impressive. My concoction has strengthened his body beyond human imagination. No ordinary wizard could rise after so many direct blows from Lord Voldemort himself.

"That is enough for tonight," the Dark Lord commanded, lowering his wand. "You were correct in your assessment, Rodolphus. Even with my aid, you remain slow and predictable."

Rodolphus collapsed onto one knee, breathing heavily. "…Damn Azkaban… Damn those Dementors… Damn the Ministry…"

"I must re-educate you all, I see," Lord Voldemort hissed, a tinge of anger seeping into his slippery voice. Useless. "Eat and sleep. We shall continue this tomorrow. Bring your wife and brother with you."

"And Malfoy, my Lord?" Rodolphus asked. "…I know he has angered you, betrayed you, but has he not been punished enough? Bella… She's going to kill him, at this rate." The Dark Lord sneered, the contempt he had for Lucius could not be put into words. The fool cost me a Horcrux! And not just any Horcrux, but my most powerful one! Not to mention the fact that his poor security cost me my vessel! "…Forgive me, I overstep-"

"Bring him," Lord Voldemort agreed, waving a dismissive hand. "And tell your wife that she is not to pay him any more visits in the night. If she does, I will be most displeased."

Rodolphus bowed deeply, leaving before his Master could change his mind. Him and Corban both… Their dedication to their fellow Purebloods is nauseating, though it does make them easy to control. Bellatrix will just have to find herself another puppy to kick. He stared up at the moon, allowing the silence and the cold to comfort him. None of them have shown any side-effects from ingesting the Unicorn Blood within my concoction. It's only a matter of time until they do, I know, but so far, the results are very promising. I must find a way to further strengthen the concoction, so that I can create a body powerful enough to face Dumbledore.

Lord Voldemort felt more powerful than ever in his current vessel, and yet, his humiliating defeat at Malfoy Manor had given him more reason than ever to fear the old fool. He was murderous… A different man altogether. A force of nature, even. Was he always holding back against me? Me?! The pinnacle of Wizarding Kind?! Does he truly think himself so far above me?! When next we meet, I will flay the flesh from his bones! I will tear Potter in half right in front of-…! A new presence within the caves halted his thoughts, a presence that he swiftly recognized. Phillip… The wretch has returned, at last! Exploding into a shadowy mist, Lord Voldemort sought out his errant servant. His disobedience will not go unpunished! Not this time! To keep me, his Lord and Master, waiting for so long?! He must be taught that I am not interested in his games, nor will I tolerate them!

"Not much further, now, my dear," Phillip's voice could be heard from just ahead, full of callous mirth.

The Dark Lord slowed in his advance, the mist settling low to the ground as it lurked closer and closer. He has brought Arina Agapov here? Why? Does she wish to offer me her allegiance in person? No… I remember her quite well, and she is far too proud to label herself a servant of any man. She, like last time, will offer me a 'partnership'. Amongst the Five, her family is the oldest, and she considers herself the unspoken queen of Magical Russia. These delusions end, tonight. I tried appeasing them before, and they all proved themselves false in my decade of need. This time, I will have their obedience, or I will have their lives. I will not compromise. They are ants, and I will treat them as such.

"Why would the Dark One choose to lurk in these caves?" Agapov asked, trailing after Phillip. "Is it not beneath him?"

"He's more practical than people realize," Phillip chuckled, shooting a glance back, though his eyes were focused on the approaching mist rather than Agapov. He sensed me? In this form? …He always was good at sensing danger, the cockroach.

"It is practical to live in isolation? Inside a mountain?" Agapov questioned, scoffing. "The ambitious, handsome man I knew had standards. High standards. It seems time has not been generous to him." No, it has not, and I in turn will not be generous with you.

"When was the last time you spoke with him?" Phillip questioned, amused.

"During the war," she answered. "Near the start of it, actually. Once he left Magical Russia, he forgot who gave him the power to start his crusade." You gave me money, yes, and, in return, I let you keep your skin. I let your daughters keep their skins. A fair deal, wouldn't you agree? "You men are all the same, I've found. Once you have what you want, you forget your manners." Phillip laughed in a high-pitched voice, like a naughty child waiting for his misdeeds to be discovered. "Have I said something amusing, Philip?"

The Death-Eater stopped, turning around with a wicked smile. "Do you want to know what I've found out about you women? You're only tolerable until you open your mouths."

Agapov didn't even get a chance to retort before Phillip struck her across the face, surprising even Lord Voldemort with his speed. What is he doing?! He brought her here just to murder her?! The old witch was left dazed upon the ground, until Phillip grabbed her fur-cloak and began tearing it off. The blow to the head had left her mute, apparently, as she didn't scream, and only managed to put up a pathetic, weak resistance against him. Within moments, he had rendered her naked, pinning her head against the stony ground with one hand and punching her in the stomach with the other.

"Come here, gash!" Phillip cackled, seizing her by her grey hair and dragging her off the ground. "You've no idea how badly I wanted to do this the past month! Listening to you, watching you, act like my superior! Like your shit doesn't stink! Your reputation means nothing to me, bitch! Nothing! I'll find your daughters after this, make them drown their little kiddies-!"

"Enough!" Lord Voldemort decided to intervene, the mist rising and taking on a humanoid form. "Philip, let her go."

"Why?" the maniac questioned, turning her bloodied head to face the Dark Lord. "She has no respect for you, my Lord! No respect at all! She thinks you're just some beggar who's after her gold!"

"Let. Her. Go." Lord Voldemort hissed, unsheathing his wand. I should've left you to rot in Azkaban!

Phillip lost his twisted glee, sneering openly at his Lord and Master. "…Fine… Here… Take her." He tossed her forward, but before she could hit the ground, the Dark Lord used his robes to catch her. "She kept me under house arrest, because she was insulted you'd sent me, rather than approach her yourself." Is that so? "These Russians… They think they're something special, and I don't really like that. No, I don't like it one bit. As a matter of fact, it really pisses me off."

"Get out of my sight," the Dark Lord ordered, his eyes gleaming with malice. "I will deal with you later."

"Am I in for a scolding, papa?" Philip asked flippantly. "…I did as you asked. Spent over a month kissing this tart's arse, even let her fuck me when the mood took her. You owe me, 'my Lord', and don't you forget it." He then turned on his heel, walking away. "Anything good to eat in this shithole? Or, do I need to go shopping, again? Lucius! Honey! I'm home!"

---

Corban Yaxley's POV

Tuesday 29th June, 1994 (Yaxley's Secret Manor – Morning)

"Damn her!" Corban roared, swiping everything off his desk. "That fucking bitch!"

Felix flinched, whereas Robert and Cornelius merely exchanged glances. She dares to invade our homes, now?! Amelia Bones… You go too far! Too fucking far! He fell back into his chair, drawing in a shaky breath. …We can't go back, because the Aurors will be waiting for us. This is it, then. We are well and truly banished from Mother Britain. Outlaws… Undesirables… Criminals…

"I left my mask at home," Robert broke the silence. Then, you are a wanted man, again, as am I. "…I didn't want the children to see it."

Corban pinched his eyes, nodding meekly. "…Me too."

"Cornelius?"

"I brought it with me," the old wizard replied. "It gives me comfort."

"Did you have any Cursed Muggle-?"

"Yes, too many," Cornelius grumbled. "Arthur Weasley must be dancing with joy."

"He's just a tool in the Minister's employ," Corban told them, looking to Felix. "Your apartments?"

"Searched, no doubt, but they'll find nothing," Felix reported. "I've never been one to keep such mementos."

"…Smart lad," Robert commended, his expression thoughtful. "The Butchers are the least of our worries, now, Corban. It appears that every family associated with the Dark Lord during the Great War is under investigation. Crabbe, Goyle, Nott, Rosier, Flint, Bulstrode, Yaxley… She's coming for us all."

"We must find Thorfinn," Corban stated. "Felix, go and find him. Now."

"He could be anywhere, my Lord," Felix said, looking uncertain. "We've not heard from him since he dropped off his-"

"I don't care, just do it," Corban ordered, and the young wizard gave a resolute nod. "…And… be careful, please." I can't lose you too.

Felix left without another word, leaving the older wizards to stew in their misery. The Dark Lord will be most displeased. I was distracted with safeguarding the Pure, while Bones made her move out of the blue. Does she suspect that we have someone feeding us information? Is she onto Thicknesse? The former Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement now sits in the Minister's chair… What a fucking catastrophe! She knows how to bypass our security measures-…

"We have lost our homes, now," Robert said, as if trying to twist the knife in Corban's gut. "And where is our Lord and Master? Why does he not contact us? Give us guidance?"

"These questions can be answered later," Cornelius waved a dismissive hand. "Right now, our focus should be on securing our gold. If the Aurors can get warrants to search our homes, then it's only a matter of time before they force the Goblins of Gringotts to open our vaults." He's right. We can't trust those greedy, disgusting creatures, not when the Ministry is on the warpath.

"Parchment…" Corban rose from his seat. "Grab a quill, we have letters to send." My home lost… My country in the hands of a power-mad woman… Weasley whispering in my daughter's ear… Perhaps, it's time to stop being a Lord, and start being a Death-Eater. Perhaps, it's time to teach our enemies that we have fangs.

---

Sebastian Greengrass' POV

Tuesday 29th June, 1994 (Magical Berlin – Late Morning)

"We should be alone, now," Sebastian said, his arm linked with Mary's as they travelled down the busy street. "If we were being followed, Jürgen would have alerted us by now."

"Where is he? I don't see him," Mary whispered, casually looking around them.

"Well, his job is to follow us without being seen," Sebastian smirked. "I'd say you not seeing him is by design, my love."

"Then, we can talk, at last."

"It appears so."

"The Death's Hand, Bernard Koch, Klierukz the Absolver… My father has made many dangerous friends these last few years," Mary sighed out. "We cannot hope to challenge them all, husband, not so far from home." She's right. The Death's Hand is especially dangerous, and I don't want to damage my own relationship with them.

"This Goblin King… Klierukz… Rask said that he'd deal with him personally," Sebastian started. "That leaves us with the Death's Hand and Bernard Koch… One is an enigmatic organisation filled to the brim with killers of the worst sort, and the other is a thug with an ego. I think, we both know where to start."

"Bernard Koch is no mere thug, Sebastian. He's the father of organised crime in Magical Germany. Nothing nefarious, and of note, happens in these streets without his knowledge. Don't let Conrad's lowly opinion of the man confuse you. Koch was Magical Germany's Undesirable No. 1 back when I was still a child, and I doubt time has dulled his edge."

"Then, it seems that we won't be returning home for a while," Sebastian didn't hide his disappointment. "Elias, for all his drunkenness, was not foolish enough to leave himself open for attack. Even after we deal with his protectors, he'll not let Anna go without a fight."

"Perhaps, we should simply approach him?" Mary suggested. "Maybe, I can talk him out of this madness?" Unlikely.

"He's your father, Mary. If you think you can talk him into handing over your mother, then I trust you." She raised an eyebrow at that, surprised by his words. "What is it?"

"You have faith that my father will listen to reason?" Mary asked, a knowing smile gracing her face. "Or, are you trying to curry favour with me?"

"The latter," Sebastian admitted, causing her to laugh. What a sweet sound. I've missed it dearly. "Whatever you decide, I give you my word that we'll return home with your mother in tow. No matter how long it takes."

She tightened her hold on his arm, leaning into him. "I believe you, beloved." They walked in comfortable silence for a while, passing all manner of shops and cafes, until Mary suddenly broke the silence. "I enjoyed meeting Conrad's son."

"Did you, now? Why?" He came across as a petulant boy to me, one that's obsessed with himself.

"He was polite, handsome, and more honest than his father," Mary replied. "At least, that's the impression I got."

"A snake-oil merchant is more honest than Conrad Rask," Sebastian said blandly, making her laugh, again. "But, yes, despite his ego, the boy was… impressive. Ambitious, disciplined, and charming. The perfect heir, by all accounts."

"Remind you of anyone we know?" Mary asked, causing him to tense up.

"Ron is a different breed," Sebastian merely stated. "There is no comparison to be made between the two."

"I was talking about Daphne, love," Mary blinked, quickly regaining herself. …Oh… "They'd make a beautiful pair, wouldn't they? Leon and Daphne?"

"What?!" Sebastian stopped, looking disgusted down to his core, much to his wife's amusement. "…Is that what you and Regina were whispering about during dinner? Are you planning to sell my heir as if she's mere cattle?" Like your father wanted to sell you?!

"No, but she is getting older, Sebastian. I believe it's time for her to get to know her fellow Purebloods. Beyond Hogwarts, I mean." He grimaced at the idea, but, deep down, he knew his wife was right. "Children grow, love, that's what they do. She won't be just your heir in a few years, she'll be a woman looking to start her own family. She needs to start thinking of her future, with our guidance."

"…Why Leon Rask?" Sebastian asked, suspicious. "Is he your way back into German society?"

"No, I simply want a suitor worthy of my eldest daughter, and few can fit that description." A suitor… No, enough of this. I don't want to have this conversation.

"She can decide when she needs a suitor," Sebastian said bluntly, as if giving a command. "When she does, we'll help guide her, but I want her to focus on her responsibilities until then. Responsibilities like finishing her education. We will speak no more of this."

"…Very well, husband."

"And Leon Rask is out of the question," he added. "Before long, the Rask family will be kissing the Dark Lord's feet, and you and I, my love, have already sided against them. Their name will cease to exist, but ours will endure. After we have your mother, and this Eric Schwarz, I want to forget that this wretched country even exists. I'll be damned before I let her marry a German Lord, who will see her as nothing more than a brood mare." Let's not forget that there's a good reason why you married me, rather than your parents' choice.

---

Ronald Weasley's POV

Tuesday 29th June, 1994 (Prosperity Farm – Midday)

He strode towards his cottage with a bright smile, despite how he felt inside. Some part of me knows that it's wrong to push Emilia towards being more 'human', when the truth is that I myself want to be anything but. Why, then? Why do I feel this urge to pull her away from the darkness? Is it because I don't want to kill her? Because I see myself in her? Artyom, London, Chloros, Abadie… Someday, I'll take their lives, for the unforgivable choices they've made, but Emilia… Emi… I can still save her… Never has she acted out of self-interest, out of greed… Unlike them, she is worthy of the world I intend to build. But her rage… Her bloodlust… She enjoys killing, just like I do, and I know I'm a monster, so what does that make her? He shook his head clear; he had no idea he could feel so connected to another person, and that scared him witless. Not even Daphne can understand me the way Emilia does. When she looks at me, she sees past the mask. She doesn't just see Ronald Weasley, nor some wizard larger than life, but Us… All of Us… The hundreds of eight-year-old boys who had their fates ripped away from them… And she cares… She's not disgusted by Us… She doesn't reject Us… And that means so much! So fucking much!

Ron stopped walking, pinching his eyes. "…I'm such a hypocrite."

"Definitely," came Ravenclaw Ron's voice, teasing. Fuck… Not now! "What? Not happy to hear from me?"

"What do you want?" Ron looked to his left, scowling when he saw his counterpart floating above a bed of orange lilies.

"I felt a terrible turmoil within you," Ravenclaw Ron said sagely. "What's wrong, dear boy?" Don't you fucking dare, cunt…

"What. Do. You. Want. Now?" Ron grit his teeth, his eyes flashing red. "My head hurts, and that Portkey certainly didn't help. I'm in no mood for your games, all right? Not today."

"Shame, I live for them, seeing as the World-Eater can do little but drool, now," the ghostly apparition rolled his eyes. "Just here to give you a warning, nothing more." A warning? "The blonde bitch is waiting for you on your porch. She looks… anxious. If I were you, I'd get ready for more whining." Daphne is here? Why? Just visiting? No… He said that she looked anxious. Ugh… What now?

"Mum probably sent her," Ron drew in a calming breath. "I need to do something about her." She won't stop, not until I'm living under her roof, again.

"Slap her across the face?" Ravenclaw Ron suggested, grinning. "Kick her dried-up ovaries into her throat?" …Well, I can't honestly say I haven't thought about smacking her before.

"She brought us both into the world," Ron reminded the evil bastard. "Our differences aside, you and I wouldn't even exist without her-"

"And what a 'miracle' that is," Ravenclaw Ron chuckled mirthlessly. "…What a grand prize it is to be stuck here, being a slave to everyone." Ron averted his gaze, feeling painfully stung by his counterpart's words. A slave… A servant… "What has Molly Weasley done to deserve a protector like you? What has her idiot husband done? Out of all of them, Ginny is the only one worth protecting. Sweet, devoted, innocent Ginny… The rest of them, including your precious Daphne, are nothing more than parasites. You and I both know they're bleeding you dry." …That's not true… Shut up…

"You've delivered your warning," Ron said icily. "You can fuck off, now."

"…Nooooo, my feelings…" Ravenclaw Ron howled in 'agony', slowly vanishing from sight. What a fucking prick.

The young Slytherin drew in another calming breath, rubbing his forehead. Don't let him get to you. He's always trying to make you just as twisted as he is. Daphne… Daphne cares about you, and you most definitely care about her. Just being around her makes you happy, and that's not something you can deny. She is… the light to your darkness. A little sappy, but it's true. Ron smiled when he remembered their last private conversation, how she'd agreed to be his date for Bjorn and Tabatha's wedding. I'll wear a tie that matches her dress colour, I reckon. She really loves sweet gestures like that. He pressed forward on the path, and when his cottage finally came into sight, he put on his best smile. Just as Ravenclaw Ron had 'warned', Daphne sat on the porch with a steaming cup of tea, and as soon as she saw him, she put the cup away and rushed down the steps, hugging him for dear life. Woah, what's the matt-?!

"You're here!" she exclaimed, sounding awfully relieved.

"…Daph…" Ron muttered, gently stroking her back. "Hey, what happened?" Anxious, indeed! This doesn't have anything to do with mum, does it? "Daphne, talk to me. What's wrong?"

She pulled back, a mixture of guilt and nervousness on her face. "…Where were you? Marty said that you were away on business, but when I asked him for details, he refused to answer." He's loyal like that, yeah.

"I was in Magical France," Ron told her. "For the Quibbler."

"The Quibbler?"

"Don't worry about it. Tell me, what's wrong?"

Daphne pulled away completely, shifting in her spot. Okay, I'm starting to worry here. "…Can we go inside, Ron? I don't want to talk about it out here."

Ron gave a slow nod, taking her hand in his gloved one. "Did Marty not let you inside?" Good. I can't have her exploring my room without me there. What if she looks inside my closet?

"I needed air," Daphne replied, tightening her grip on his hand. "Marty was sweet as ever, but… He's not always easy to talk to, you know?" He isn't?

"Sure," Ron opened the door, guiding her inside. This doesn't have anything to do with her parents, does it? I hope not.

---

Ravenclaw Ron laughed hysterically, slapping his ghostly knee whilst pointing a mocking finger in Ron's fire-lit face. "You really ate up her horseshit, didn't you?! About wanting to be her own person?! Oh, you stupid bastard! She's a GREENGRASS! You fucking halfwit! She'll always be a Greengrass! Oh, this is too much! Too much! Look at your fucking face! You utter clown!" …This is… humiliating…

"Are you angry with me?" Daphne asked from the sofa behind him. Angry? Am I angry? I should be, shouldn't I? I should be livid, and yet-… "Ron, please, say something. I don't like it when you ignore me."

"I'm not angry," Ron spoke to the fire, shrugging.

"…You're… not?"

"Disappointed, sure, but not angry," Ron clarified, still not looking back. "You… did what you were always trained to do. It's hard to break a habit, especially one that you've had your whole life. I understand why you did what you did, even if I don't agree with it."

"That's it?!" Ravenclaw Ron gaped, his hands clutching his messy hair. "Are you fucking kidding me?! She helped them! She saved them! She-!" Begone.

His counterpart vanished immediately, allowing Ron a chance to recollect his thoughts in silence. Right, where was I? "You stumbled, Daphne, just like everyone does. No one ever reached the top of the mountain without losing their footing, right?" Instead of losing my temper, it'd be smarter to pick her back up, dust her off, and push her onwards. She's trying her best, I know she is, and even I'm not above making poor decisions. What really matters now is that she learns from this mistake.

There was a long silence between the two, one that Daphne eventually broke. "…The Aurors never came to Greengrass Manor, in the end."

"Your parents weren't the target, you were," Ron figured. "The Americans can bury your parents whenever it suits them, and they're not the sort to fuck around. No, they were testing you. And Pansy. And Blaise. I've no doubt that they had people watching Gringotts, and now, they know that you're willing to break Magical Law. They won't forget that, believe me." Still, I have to note that Crouch is poking the hornet's nest, and he's not exactly stupid, so what's this really about? They go after Pansy, with a warrant and all, but never show up at Greengrass Manor? Did they not have a warrant to do so? Why? Is Crouch sparing the Greengrass' because they're in the Order? That doesn't sound like him, not in the slightest. Fuck… I'm missing pieces of the puzzle, and I despite that.

"…They set me up…" Daphne murmured, anger seeping into her voice. "…Those vile, vindictive blackhearts!" Don't play the victim here. You're no innocent, not this time.

"You stand to inherit everything from your parents, Daphne, including their sins," Ron finally looked back, his expression stern. "The Ministry's dirty tactics aside, you did hide evidence from them with the knowledge that you were protecting a pair of murderers."

"They're my parents, Ron!" Daphne shot out of her seat. "My mother and father! They brought me into this world! What was I supposed to do?!" There it is, again. The Daphne Special. Shouting as a way to control the conversation, and, in the process, deafening me.

"Don't raise your voice, or I'll raise mine," Ron warned, causing her mouth to seal itself shut. "I think, it's time for you to go. I don't want to have another row with you, and you obviously need some time to cool off."

"…Ron-"

"I can't have the Aurors sniffing around me because of you," he added. "Zotair's people still need me to fight for them. Argenope could attack at any moment-"

"Wait, are you cutting me out? Just like that?" Daphne asked, rushing over to his side. "Ron, please! You can't! You just let me in! Don't cast me out over-!"

"I didn't say I was doing that, did I? I said that I don't want the Aurors sniffing around me, and I said that you need time to cool off. No one is casting you out, but I am putting you in the corner until you understand your mistake. You can't have it both ways, all right? You can't keep playing the loyal daughter, and fight to undo your parents' crimes. You need to choose, before the choice gets made for you. The Americans will be watching you, now, and I don't think you appreciate how dangerous they really are." I need to talk to Bellator. I need to explain to her that my friends are fucking morons, but they are not their parents. Their hearts are, for the most part, pure. "Go back to the Burrow, Daphne. My mother gets worried when one of her chicks goes missing for too long."

Daphne gave a sombre nod; she clearly had more to say, but knew better than to overstay her welcome. "…I'll go, then… Sorry…"

Ron ignored her, not particularly eager to give her the chance to tug at his heartstrings. Actions have consequences. I ought to let Bellator hound her, but I know just how dangerous that woman is, and Daphne is not ready for that sort of trouble. Her own guilt will have to suffice, whereas I need to find out where Bellator sleeps.

---

Luka Yahontov's POV

?

The tremors were uncontrollable, now, it felt as though the blood in his veins was made of ice. Jagged, sharp ice, tearing him apart from the inside. No amount of blankets helped, no fire was hot enough, even Svetlana's potions were useless… He was dying, slowly and painfully, and there wasn't a damn thing anyone could do to help him. …This is it, isn't it? This is how I die? Frozen solid in my own bed? What a pathetic end…

"Captain," Svetlana whispered, using the back of her hand to check his temperature. "…The fever is getting worse."

"W-Where are w-we?" Luka managed, wincing in agony when his stomach began to cramp. "…Fuck… Everything hurts…"

"We're at the camp, same as before," she told him, placing a warm towel on his forehead. "…Captain-"

"I know," he slurred. "I-I'm… dying… The Drago-… Dragon's Breath… It's k-killing me…"

"You won't die," she promised, but he knew she was lying. "I won't let you."

"…I'm cold…"

"I know, but it will pass. You just need to hold on, Captain. Don't stop fighting, now." …Fighting… That's how I wanted to go out… My axe in my hand…

"W-Where is it? My axe?" Luka opened his eyes, with great effort.

His vision was blurred, for the most part, save for his father, who stood towering over the kneeling Svetlana. You… Figured you'd be here, you evil bastard… His father sneered down at him, utter disgust written all over his face. Fuck you, I'm more famous than you ever dreamed I could be.

"You need the box, boy," the vision said, his deep, gravelly voice causing Luka to shrivel up. "It took sweat, blood, and tears, for you to escape it. It warmed your blood, made you a man."

"I… I was te-… ten…" Luka whimpered, shaking harder than ever. "…I was ten…"

"You were weak!" the vision roared. "Always making excuses! Without me, without my iron hand, you'd be just another low-life! I made you a man! I made you an Auror! I made you Mrakogubci!"

"…No… I did that… I fought… I k-killed… I made me-…"

"And who taught you how to fight? How to kill?" his father questioned, and Luka closed his eyes in resignation. "Look at you, now… You're a disgrace to my name. I should've known you'd fuck everything up the moment I died. You're just like your bitch mother, fragile and hollow." …I don't care, anymore… Just fuck off… Let me die in peace, at least… "Wake up, boy! I didn't rear you to watch you die in a fucking bed! Wake up, now! That is an order!"

Someone suddenly shook him, causing his eyes to flutter open.

"Captain, please, you need to stay awake," Svetlana pleaded, holding a steaming bowl of stew. "You need to eat-"

"…No…" he exhaled, managing a meek smile despite the pain. "…I think, I'll just s-sleep, now… I want to sleep… Always knew it w-would k-kill me… Just didn't care… It n-numbed me, and t-that felt… g-good…"

"Cap-… Luka… Don't do this, we need you!"

"…I'd kill f-for just another line… Just one m-more-"

There was a loud clap, followed by his cheek stinging painfully. "You're not giving up, do you hear me?! I won't let you! Open your mouth! As hard as it may be, you need to eat something!" Luka turned his head away, groaning in frustration due to the difficulty of it. "This isn't you, Captain! It's that damn poison! You can survive this, but you have to fight back!" Why isn't she listening to me? I'm cold… I don't need food. I need another blanket.

"…Why isn't there a f-fire in here?" Luka coughed, his stomach cramping, again.

"There is, and you're sweating all over." I am? "I didn't want to do this, but you've left me no choice. Andrey will just have to hold you down while I feed you."

He heard her shuffle out of the tent, leaving him alone with the ghost of his father. "Keep your m-mouth shut, old man. I want q-quiet in my l-last moments." He pulled his blankets closer, curling up. "…She l-left us, because of you… Left me… I'll finally s-see her, again… I'll see you both…"

---

Severus Snape's POV

Tuesday 29th June, 1994 (Taiga Forest – Evening)

They all landed within a camp secreted away from the world, hidden by tall trees and thick bushes. A forest? They're living in the woods to avoid detection. Smart. Before he could further inspect the camp, the Mrakogubci flew into action, rushing towards the large group with their wands drawn. Ron's mercenaries brandished their own in response, looking more than eager for a fight.

"Who are you?! Name yourselves!" one of the Mrakogubci demanded, a wild man with even wilder hair.

"Andrey, wait," another one said, dark-haired with a piercing gaze. "Travers? Artyom?"

"Auror Misha," the Ronin greeted, giving a curt nod. "We're here to fight alongside you once again. All of us."

The Mrakogubci exchanged looks, before slowly lowering their wands. Snape could almost feel their relief in that moment, their morale returning as they studied the large group Dumbledore had sent to aid them in their fight. How touching.

"Where is Luka Yahontov?" Snape asked, moving to the front. "I don't see him."

"Look at this fuckin' shithole," Solomon grunted, pulling a face. "They don't need a smuggler, they need the Shedim!"

"Where is Yahontov?" Snape asked, again, ignoring the Half-Troll.

"He's… in his tent," a witch answered, her hair mousy-brown and worn in a ponytail. "You're Severus Snape. The Potion Master." Not the former Death-Eater? "Come with me. Now."

Snape cocked an eyebrow, before looking to Travers and Artyom. "Start setting up."

He then followed after the Russian witch, going further into the camp, where they eventually entered a large tent. Inside, he found Yahontov, curled up into a ball under several blankets and shaking like a leaf in a hurricane. Merlin, it's hotter than Hell in here!

"What's wrong with him?" Snape scowled, smelling faint traces of vomit.

"Withdrawal," the witch answered. "You ever heard of Dragon's Breath?" Unbelievable.

"A frequent user?"

"Too frequent," she sighed out. "We all indulged, but only before the hardest missions. The Captain, though… He was almost always-"

"Move aside," Snape pushed himself past her, placing his hand on the side of Yahontov's face. He's burning up. And look at his skin… White as bone. "When was the last time he-?"

"Ran out two weeks ago, been getting worse ever since. First week, he was agitated and restless, couldn't sit still for more than a minute."

"Until he collapsed?"

"Yes, and he's been bedridden since."

Snape drew in a sharp breath, reaching into his dark robes and extracting an Enchanted pouch. "Are you the Healer here?"

"I've had training, yes. I patch up everyone, including myself."

"Good, you'll be helping me, now." Shame… I wanted to have supper with Draco, tonight, but now, I'm saving a drug-addict. This is who Albus wants in charge on the Russian front? "Your name?"

"Svetlana Belova."

Snape gave a short nod, sinking his hand into the pouch to rifle through it. "Get these blankets off him, then strip him down. I have a vial of Fireseed Oil in here."

"Fireseed Oil? From Magical China?" She knows her plants.

"It's rare, and costly, but it'll break the fever. We need to rub it all over him, especially on his joints. Any other symptoms?"

"He can't keep anything down," Svetlana started, getting to work. "Can't sleep, can't leave the bed, slurs his words, and I'm certain he's delirious." That's bad news for him. "Will he survive?"

"Now that I'm here, he will."

---

Lord Voldemort's POV

Tuesday 29th June, 1994 (Mount Tsakhvoa – Night)

"He's out of control, my Lord," Rabastan said, staring down at the unconscious Lady Agapov. "We need her support, not her condemnation."

"I too questioned his attack on her, but, now, I believe he's done me a service," the Dark Lord whispered, smiling a lipless smile. Like Bella, Phillip's sadism can be used for my benefit.

"How so?" Rabastan asked, curious.

"Have you not heard the rumours about her, dear Rabastan?"

"That she kills young women, and bathes in their blood? I always found them too fanciful-"

"They're true," Lord Voldemort revealed, surprising the younger wizard.

"…Truly?"

"She has killed many, it's become a hobby of hers, and that makes her feel powerful. Untouchable, even. Philip bided his time, earned her trust, and then, he broke her delusion when she least expected it. He's reminded her of something that she's forgotten… Her own mortality." And I can use that fear against her. "Leave us. I wish to have words with her." Rabastan bowed his head, leaving the chamber promptly. "Rennervate!"

Agapov gasped for air, her eyes shooting wide open, before she sat up and looked around in a panic. When she saw his shadowy figure looming over her, she threw herself away from him, clinging to the wall behind her. Ah, the fear… Well done, Philip. I was too quick to doubt you.

"He is not here, Arina," Lord Voldemort whispered, his smooth, almost tender voice causing her breath to hitch. "It's just you and me, now."

"…M-My Lord…? Is that truly you?" Agapov whimpered, shaking all over. It's 'My Lord', now, is it?

"It is," the Dark Lord slithered closer, his hood hiding his scarlet eyes and monstrous appearance. "Forgive me, Arina."

"Forgive you?" she asked, sounding just a tad calmer. "F-For what?"

"For my servant's wanton cruelty towards you," he smiled maliciously under his hood, though his voice remained sympathetic. "Philip has been punished for mistreating you. He was always a sick, sick man, and his time in Azkaban has deteriorated his mind further. It was my mistake to send him to you, when I should've courted your support myself. I ask for your forgiveness, once again."

She drew in a shaky breath, her posture becoming a lot less rigid and cautious. "…He was so courteous, until he suddenly wasn't…" She looked to him, her eyes examining his tall figure. "You were there to stop him, weren't you? I heard your voice…"

"I could not abide his treatment of my old friend," Lord Voldemort said, moving away from her makeshift bed. "I tended to you personally, and I promise you, he will never touch you, again. If he does, I will destroy him."

"Why? Why did he-?"

"As I said, his time in Azkaban has left him damaged. Exile, my dear Arina, is a painful burden to bear, as I myself was forced to understand."

He felt her tense up, again. Yes, you too abandoned me, and I will hurt you for that.

"We all thought you dead, my Lord," she swallowed thickly. LIES! You only care for yourselves, not your Lord and Master!

"It is in the past, now," the Dark Lord whispered coolly. "We must focus on what happens next, wouldn't you agree?"

"O-Of course, my Lord!"

"Then, can I count on your support? The Pure World, Arina… We can still build that utopia, even now. Paradise… It's still within our grasp, and we need only reach for it." She stared at him, no doubt trying to think of a way to get herself out of this situation. "Why do you remain silent, my dear? Have you lost faith in our cause? Have you lost faith in me?"

"No! Never, my Lord," she moved off the bed, kneeling in her ragged robes. "I never lost faith!"

He smiled, again, at the insect before his feet. "This pleases me immensely, Arina. Amongst the Russian nobility, I always considered you the wisest."

"…You honour me…" she spoke to the ground, not daring to look up.

"With you on my side, four of the Five are united once more," Lord Voldemort informed her.

"Four?"

"Lord Volkov, Lord Sokolov, and Lady Dolohov, have already pledged allegiance to me. This leaves only your son-in-law."

"Lord Morozov."

"Yes… He is a hard man to find, I must admit, but you must know where your daughter and her children rest their heads," he moved closer, again, leaving his threat unspoken. "Matvey Morozov is vital to our success, Arina, and I want you to convince him to join us. Remind him of what he has to gain, and what he has to lose, depending on his answer." What you both have to lose.

"…I understand, my Lord," she agreed, and he reached down and placed his long fingers under her chin.

"Do this for me, and you will always have a place in my inner circle," the Dark One promised, raising her head. "I will not only extend your life, as I have extended my own, but I will place a crown upon your brow." Her eyes widened, her tongue wetting her cracked lips. "None are more generous than Lord Voldemort, you will learn this if you please him." I can spare a few drops of my concoction, and when she feels young, again, I will have her at my disposal until the very end.

---

Alastor Moody's POV

Wednesday 30th June, 1994 (The Leaky Cauldron – Morning)

"Malik Hussain?" Alastor asked, stopping by the man's table.

The bronze-skinned wizard looked up from his porridge, his dark eyes studying the Head-Auror most keenly. "Alastor Moody. As-salamu alaykum."

Alastor grunted and gave a greeting nod in response, placing himself across from the Duelling Master. "Thanks for coming. Wasn't sure you would."

"It's not often I receive a letter from someone with your fame," Malik said, moving his porridge aside. "What can I help you with, Head Auror?" Right, straight to it, then. I like that.

"You can come work for me," Alastor said bluntly, surprising the man.

"Excuse me?"

"There's a shortage of Aurors in Magical Britain."

"Is there? I've heard differently."

"Aurors that I can trust," Alastor clarified. "The Americans are helpful, but I don't trust them. Not yet."

"And you trust me?" Malik questioned.

"I want to," Alastor answered. "I looked through your records. You're a powerful wizard, Malik, and greatly respected in many circles. I also read that you helped during the Great War, in both Germany and Turkey. Dangerous places, filled with supporters of You-Know-Who. That took bollocks, the kind that an Auror needs."

Malik shifted in his seat, looking a little uncomfortable. "…Those were dark days. I helped wherever I could."

"Those dark days are coming back, and sooner than you think," Alastor grunted, leaning forward. "Do you understand what I'm saying?"

Malik stared at him for a few moments, before his expression turned fearful. "…You don't mean-"

"He was biding his time, regathering his strength," Alastor confirmed, leaning back. "The higher-ups would have my hide for telling you this, but I want you. A few more like you, and we stand a chance at stopping the bastard before he turns the next decade into a bloodbath."

"…Astaghfirullah," Malik whispered under his breath, shaken. "The Ministry-… Your Ministry said that he was-"

"Wishful thinking, and a lot of ignorance. Can you really blame people for wanting to close that chapter of the book?"

"…I am deeply honoured that you've come to me, but I've already accepted a teaching position at a local Swedish school. I start in September."

"I'll owl them personally," Alastor said, he wasn't here to take no for an answer. "The sooner we get you into the program, the better."

"What program?"

"It takes two years of training to become an Auror, to learn procedure and whatnot. Aurors aren't just soldiers, they're also detectives and peacekeepers. Luckily for us, the Minister has signed off on a legislation, reducing the training time to just one year."

"You're asking for a lot, Mr. Moody," Malik sighed. "Can I have some time to think about this?"

"I'll give you three day," Alastor said, rising out of his chair. "You helped during the last war, even though no one asked you to. Well, this time, I'm asking, and I hope you won't let me down."

With that, Alastor began limping away, only to stop when Ronald Weasley stepped into the Leaky Cauldron through a fireplace. There he is, again. Like clockwork. Heading for the Quibbler office to meet with Gornuk. He's a hard one to keep track of, but I'm figuring it out. He'll be going to his friend's birthday party tomorrow, and that's when I'll investigate his cottage. Weasley stopped mid-step, looking straight towards Moody. Sensed me, boy? Who taught you that skill? Was it Albus? They stared at each other for a few seconds, and the longer Alastor stared into the younger wizard's eyes, the more creeped out he felt. Evil little bastard. Albus has no idea who he's dealing with. You're not some errant student who needs guidance, some poor child who's seen horrors no child should see, you're a mass murderer at fourteen. I ought to bring you in, throw you in Azkaban, but if Albus is right, then I'll be the one who dooms us all, and I can't take that risk.

Weasley continued on, while Alastor watched him, and his green-haired bodyguard, leave the establishment. Tomorrow… I'll get more answers tomorrow.

---

Wednesday 30th June, 1994 (D. M. L. E. Offices – Afternoon)

The sounds of laughter, and congratulatory words, filled the offices, as the Americans, along with Crouch, had struck a blow against the 'suspected Death-Eaters' like never before. Even Alastor found himself caught up in the moment, smirking as he gazed upon the three Death-Eater masks the Americans had recovered. The skull with a jagged, bone crown; Yaxley. The skull with silver-gilded boar tusks; Bulstrode. And the misshapen skull representing a Draugr; Rowle. We have the bastards, now!

"The Americans keep showing us how valuable they are," Gawain said, approaching Alastor from behind. "Ugh… These fucking masks…"

"I know," Alastor said, still staring at them. "Bad memories."

"The worst."

"They'll have to craft new ones," Alastor said, finally looking away. "That means three more Muggleborn deaths."

"Hopefully, we can find them before that happens," Gawain tried. Unlikely. "Crouch wants a word with you."

"Get these into the evidence room for me," Alastor ordered, getting out of his chair.

He limped across the offices, acknowledging his American counterparts as he went. Fine work, Aurors. Fine work. Trust issues aside, you've done Magical Britain a great service. He entered Crouch's office without knocking, finding the man hard at work writing arrest warrants.

"You wanted to see me?" Alastor asked, and Crouch put away his quill and looked up.

"Come in," Crouch beckoned, and Alastor closed the door before making his way over to the desk. "Big victory, today, hm? With the Muggle Protection Act as our sword, we'll skewer the Dark Lord's followers."

"If we can find them," Alastor grumbled. "Not a single one of them were in their homes. They've fled, Crouch, because of these Butchers." Because of Weasley.

"It doesn't matter," Crouch smirked icily. "Look at these, will you? Bulstrode Crabbe, Goyle, Nott, Malfoy, Rowle, Yaxley… Every Auror in this Department will be after them, now. Wherever they've fled to, that's where they'll stay, which is exactly what the Minister needs. Now, she can keep consolidating her power, raising her popularity, and by the time the Dark Lord is powerful enough to return to Magical Britain, he will find himself facing a Ministry that's more than ready for him."

"Don't take him so lightly," Alastor warned. "Whenever he was pressed in the last war, he pressed back twice as hard." Even alone, he could wipe this Department out. "We'll still need Dumbledore to keep You-Know-Who in check."

"…Bah…" Crouch scoffed, frowning. "You speak true, but I'm tired of that old loon. The Ministry has to win this war, Alastor, not Dumbledore."

"It can't win without Harry Potter, the Chosen One, who Dumbledore controls. We have to work with him, Barty, there's no choice in the matter." Him, and Weasley… I'm still not sure if I believe Albus, but if he is telling the truth, then greater powers than all of us are at play, and Weasley is their weapon.

"What's the matter? You look like you've sucked a lemon," Crouch pointed out. My old friend isn't who I thought he was. That, or I failed to notice his true character. I don't know which is worse, and which hurts the most.

"Nothing's the matter."

"No, something evidently is," Crouch leaned forward. "You've been distracted, Mad-Eye. Distant. Ever since Weasley struck you over the head. Did you ever go back to St. Mungo's for a check-up?"

"I don't have brain damage, if that's what you're implying," Alastor grimaced. "I'm fucking busy, Crouch, with a backlog of cases a mountain high. What do you want?"

Crouch leaned back in his chair, an ice-cold look gracing his bony face. "The escapees have been rounded up, save for the Loyalists. They're with their Master, surely, which puts them out of our reach. However, their vaults are still here…"

"Don't even think about it," Alastor laughed mirthlessly. "The Goblins will show you the door, just like they have every time the Ministry's tried to seize those vaults. Do you know what runs the Goblin World? What they worship?"

"Gold."

"Contracts," Alastor corrected bitterly. "Say what you will about them, but they never break their contracts. If they do that, if they set that precedent, then they lose their power."

"True, but we've never had this many Aurors before," Crouch stated, shocking Alastor with the implication.

"Are you serious?"

"Deadly," Crouch answered. "The Americans forced the Goblins in the States to hand over all the gold from the vaults of You-Know-Who's supporters."

"They murdered over fifty Goblins before that," Alastor reminded the man. "Walked in, dragged those desk-workers out into the street, and beat them to death for the world to see. Is that what this Ministry does, now? Murder anyone who says no?"

"Those Goblins are putting the Wizarding World at risk for their own amusement," Crouch hissed, aiming a finger at the door. "The Americans had the right idea, but their methods were wrong. We need to twist Gringotts' arm on this, Moody. We need those vaults handed over, or, at the very least, sealed off."

"And you want me to achieve this impossible task?" Alastor figured.

"Your reputation has reached even their world, and if anyone can explain the danger the Loyalists pose, it's you," Crouch said. "This isn't a negotiation. It's an order. Find dirt, come up with your arguments, whatever… I want those vaults, Moody. Go and get them." Goblins migrated to America, they're not natives to that vast land! The ones there are those who are working in the American Branch of Gringotts, or MACUSA itself! But here?! Here, they're everywhere! They own land, they own mines, have their own kingdoms! It's impossible to do what the Americans did; the Goblins could sink Magical Europe's entire economy if we threaten them! Which will then force the surrounding Ministries to charge up our arseholes wand-first!

"They've already said no to you, haven't they?" Alastor asked, and Crouch immediately frowned. "…This is a waste of time."

"Get. It. Done." Shall I also bring you the Dark Lord's head while I'm out?

Alastor turned around and limped out, grumbling curses under his breath. I'll deal with the Goblins after I look into Weasley. He's actually a lead worth investigating.

---

Ronald Weasley's POV

Wednesday 30th June, 1994 (The Capital Hotel – Night)

Bellator unlocked the door and stepped into the dark apartment, making her way straight towards the fridge. It was empty, save for a carton of Muggle beers, which she giddily tore into. Long day? Or, is this a habit? Some poison to drown out the horrors she sees every hour of every day?

"Long time, Red," Bellator said, not looking back. As expected from the Chief of the American Aurors. "You know it's a crime to break into other people's homes, don't you?" Ron smirked in the shadows, watching her as she opened up a cold one and began chugging it down. "Ah, that's the stuff… The highlight of my day, every day. Want one?"

"Not interested," Ron refused, and she finally turned to face him.

"Mind if I turn on the lights?" Bellator asked.

"Go ahead."

She wasted no time in doing so, revealing the young Slytherin lounging on the couch. "How did you find me? How did you get in here?"

"Don't ask stupid questions," Ron tutted, wagging his gloved finger. "You're in my kingdom, now, Auror."

"Fair enough, was only curious," Bellator shrugged, finishing off the bottle in her hand. Where's the smirk? Where's the sense that she's got all the cards? "If you wanted to drop by, you only had to ask."

"I don't ask," Ron lost his mirth, tilting his head. "When you ask, people can always say no. I don't like that. None of you have any right to deny me." I am your Champion, aren't I? Without me, you'd all be lost.

"…The ladies must love you," Bellator remarked, walking back to the fridge. "What are you doin' here? This is bold, even for you."

"You scared my friends," Ron snarled, fighting the urge to let the Champion loose. "They are off-limits, do you understand? You've no idea what you jeopardized with your grudge."

"Off-limits?" Bellator laughed, grabbing herself another beer. "Red… No Pureblood is off-limits, now."

"I decide that, not you," Ron sneered. "Not Reyes, not Wilkinson, not even Harper… Me! Only me. If that doesn't sit right with you, I'll kill you right here and now."

Bellator took a long sip, not fazed in the slightest. "Who are you, really? What are you?" He stared at her to elaborate, wondering just what Reyes and Wilkinson had revealed to her. "What did you do them?"

"Them?"

"The bosses," Bellator clarified, her gaze becoming rather intense. Ah… I see that she's in the dark, still. "They send me here, and they tell me to obey your every command? What the fuck? You?! Some arrogant fuckin' dickhead who hasn't even finished puberty yet? I want answers, Red, and I want them right the fuck now!"

"Don't they trust you?" Ron asked in response, grinning when the intensity of her gaze weakened. "No… You're just the muscle, aren't you? A powerful witch they keep on their leash, to use you as they see fit-"

"Shut your mouth," Bellator hissed, slamming the fridge shut. "Don't you ever speak about them that way! Without them, I'd be just another-!" she stopped, grinding her teeth. Another what? "What did you do to them?! Tell me, or you'll learn why they call me 'The Bull'!"

"Do you really want to know what I did to them?" Ron asked, gesturing her to come over. "Do you really? You won't believe it, trust me." I've got her. She cares for those two decrepit cunts, and they're already in my pocket. Still, I ought to be careful. If they didn't trust her with the truth, then neither should I. "Well? Don't you want to know? Come over, then."

Bellator studied him, eventually approaching with a guarded posture. "Talk."

"I saved the States from total destruction," Ron revealed, causing her to scoff.

"I'm not in the mood for jokes," Bellator warned, her grip on the cold beer bottle tightening. "You want to eat glass, do you?"

"The Sacred Tree, or, to be more specific, the Site of Power inside Mount Greylock, was poisoned with Dark Magic," Ron continued, much to her annoyance. "It was the Dark Lord's doing-"

"You-Know-Who? He poisoned the Site of Power?" Bellator drawled. "What else? Did he also break into Ilvermorny and steal the Headmaster's thong?"

"No, but he killed the Dryad the Headmaster was in love with," Ron found his patience beginning to wane. "I don't need you to believe me, Bellator, I really don't. You asked why Reyes and Wilkinson sent you to aid me, and I've told you. I saved your entire country from turning into a crater. You're welcome."

Bellator stared at him with an unreadable expression, searching his eyes for the truth. "…If I ask Wilkinson about this, he'll confirm it?"

"He will."

"…Fuck me," Bellator sighed out, shaking her head to herself. "…If what you're sayin' is true, then-"

"I don't need your gratitude, only your obedience," Ron cut her off. "Remember our chat in front of that elevator? I told you then, didn't I?"

"That I'd be answerin' to you? Yeah… I remember…"

"I'm a man of my word," Ron smirked. "Unlike Reyes, who was meant to stay in contact with me, but I've not received-"

"Don't blame the old man for that," Bellator muttered, putting her beer down on the coffee table. "Give me a minute."

She left the lounge, going into her bedroom and returning with a bundle of letters. You've got to be kidding me?! You fucking idiot!

"Give those here, imbecile!" Ron barked, standing up and tearing the letters out of her hand.

"…I thought you'd put them under some Spell, all right?" Bellator frowned back at him, before massaging her forehead. "…Why didn't they tell me about what you did…?"

"You're clearly not a thinker, that's why," Ron chastised, counting the letters. "Fourteen fucking letters, all unanswered! Reyes must think me the biggest cunt in Magical Britain! Did you read these?! Huh?! Spying on your own bosses?! Is that what an Auror is supposed to do?!" …Calm down, old boy. Calm down.

He drew in a long breath, clenching his jaw so hard that it hurt. I swear, there is a conspiracy out there to drive me mental! And the entire human race is in on it!

"I couldn't read them," Bellator told him, picking up her beer. "It's gibberish."

Ron opened one of them, scanning through it quickly. Reads fine to me. Oh… Oh, I see! Reyes, you clever prick! You wrote them in Parseltongue, so only I could read them! Salazar would be proud!

"You ever pull another stunt like this, and I'll tear your face off and eat it," Ron promised, stuffing the letters into his jacket's inner pocket. "Oh, and you're going to tell Reyes what you did, or I will." She gave a simple nod, taking a seat opposite him. "…Chief Auror, my freckled arse…"

"Can you really blame me?" Bellator asked. "I saw what you did to those criminals, remember? Tore them apart… Like some fuckin' animal, omethi' the whole damn time. And, then, the two wisest men I know go from bein' disgusted by you, to treatin' you like you're an old friend. They tell me, a grown witch who's worked her fuckin' ass off for years on end, to start doin' your biddin'." She chugged down the entire bottle, grimacing. "I know evil, Ronald Weasley, and when I look into your eyes, that's exactly what I see. You're one bad day away from murderin' some innocent, and I'm supposed to answer to you? Without even an explanation? No… Reyes and Wilkinson can chew me out all they like, but I'm not some mindless Elf they can order around." Yeah, I don't care about anything you just said.

"They're considered wise for a reason, and you're not for a reason," Ron said plainly. "Stay away from my friends, or the States will need another Chief Auror."

Just as he began to leave, she stood up and moved into his way. Really? Fine, let's do-… "We only investigated one of your friends. Officially. Pansy Parkinson. Crouch figured she'd make for an easy mark, given her parents' reputation." Is that so? Crouch is starting to royally piss me off, now.

"But she'd already cleaned house." I'll have to commend her for that when I see her next. In some ways, she's got her head on straighter than Daphne.

"Smart girl, that one," Bellator gave a nod. "Sit back down, Red. I fucked up, okay? Let me tell you what's really goin' on, now."

"Go on, then," Ron returned to his seat, as did she.

"The escaped convicts from Azkaban… They've been dealt with," Bellator started. "Most we recaptured, some we put down. The Loyalists, though… We found no traces of them. None. It made no fuckin' sense. Weak as they were, how could they just vanish?"

"They're with the Dark Lord."

"We figured as much, but it still pissed Crouch off omething' awful. So, he decided to attack the Death-Eaters still in our reach. He wrote up warrants for every Pure family associated with You-Know-Who-"

"Only them? Not the Longbottoms, or the Prewetts?"

"He might not like them, but he respects that they stood against You-Know-Who. No, the warrants were only for known Death-Eaters."

"And Pansy."

"And her, yeah, but I think he was just tryin' to scare her straight," Bellator continued. "He was pleasantly surprised when he found out that she'd burned her parents' collection."

"Then, why the theatrics about this 'list' of yours?"

"Unlike Crouch, I have a record of Greengrass' crimes, remember? He can pretend to be a changed man, but I don't buy it. He's scum, and I plan to drag him in first chance I get. Is that goin' to be a problem, Red? You still care for him?"

"No," Ron answered. "Either you throw him in a cell, or I kill him. One way, or another, he and his wife are finished."

Her lips quirked upwards, giving him an approving nod. "I know you're close with his daughter, the eldest one, but I had people watchin' Gringotts-"

"I know what she did," Ron frowned to himself. "She is trying to find her own path, but it's not easy to make the right decision when familial bonds cloud your judgement. Like you and the letters… We both know your real problem with me is the fact that Reyes and Wilkinson didn't trust you enough to tell you the truth."

"…Fair enough."

"Daphne is special to me, but far more importantly, she has a vital part to play in my plans for the future," Ron confessed. "Under her, the Greengrass family could become a force of staggering good, but not until her mother and father lose their hold over her. I'm working on that, but these things take time."

"We'll stay away," Bellator promised.

"Other than scaring my friends shitless, did the warrants achieve anything of note?"

"Oh, yeah," she grinned, leaning back in her chair. "We found plenty of incriminatin' evidence, including three masks."

"Death-Eater masks?" Ron blinked. "Really?!" That's beyond careless! Why would they leave their masks behind?!

"Yaxley, Bulstrode, and Rowle," Bellator nodded. "Had them on display, the sick fucks. Not to mention the hundreds of Cursed Objects they kept in their collections. Your father's legislation, the Muggle Protection Act, is going to let us put out arrest warrants on the bastards. Crabbe, Goyle, Nott, Bulstrode, Rowle, Yaxley, Malfoy… They'll be wanted men come the mornin'." Yes! Fuck yes!

Ron laughed, clapping his hands excitedly. "This is amazing! The kind of news that makes my prick hard!"

"Easy, tiger," Bellator chuckled. "It ain't all good news. We didn't find a single one of them in their homes. They've fled, it sounds like."

"To Magical Hungary, I know."

"What? How do you know that?" Bellator was visibly surprised.

"My kingdom, remember?" Ron waved his gloved hand about. "You won't find them, not unless they're stupid enough to come back, but still… Those arrest warrants will keep them on the run, and that's definitely a good thing." He composed himself, though the smile lingered. "You didn't mention Carrow, and Flint, and Rosier, and Selwyn. What about Samantha Selwyn? She's nothing like her parents, you can have my word on that."

"Crouch didn't put a warrant out on her, so I'm guessin' she's aligned herself with Dumbledore," Bellator said, and Ron gave a nod. "Another smart girl. Must be the black hair, huh? We didn't find Flint, he's probably with the Death-Eaters. Carrow and Rosier were clean, couldn't find a single reason to arrest them."

"Carrow is clean? Carrow?! Are you kidding me?"

"He must've wised up after you 'butchered' his brother and sister," Bellator shrugged. Hm… Maybe… "Rosier is Yaxley's ward, so we can assume he's dirty, but without evidence-"

"Your hands are tied, I get it," Ron nodded to himself. "Still, this is a victory, and I thank you for sharing it with me. There's going to be a lot of pissed off Purebloods tomorrow, and I'm going to toast to it, tonight."

"Want a beer, then?" Bellator offered, again.

"I'll toast with Coca-Cola, thanks," Ron refused, again.

"You drink that Muggle beverage?" Bellator asked, bemused.

"That 'Muggle beverage' is the nectar of the Gods." Sweet, sweet nectar.

"You're a weird kid," Bellator smiled, looking him over. "So, are we good?"

"We are, as long as you remember to play your part," Ron stood up, fixing up his suit. "Oh, and you're still telling Reyes about what you did. A tongue-lashing, at the very least, is warranted."

"Fair," she stood up, as well. "I'll be in touch when the bosses send word for you."

---

Ginny Weasley's POV

Thursday 1st July, 1994 (The Burrow – Midday)

"Oh, look at you four!" Molly beamed, taking a picture of the girls. "Such beauties! Ginevra, smile properly, will you?! I'll take another one!"

Ginny forced herself to smile, it had been getting harder and harder to act normal when everything was so abnormal. Despite everyone's best hopes, Ron hadn't returned, much to the family's dismay. Her father rarely left the shed when he was home, and whenever he did, he barely uttered a word. Her mother was trying to be strong for everyone, but they'd all caught her wiping away her tears when she thought she was alone. Her brothers were… her brothers… Bill was being overworked, as always, Charlie was trying to get his life together, the twins had each other for support, and Percy… Percy had buried himself in old newspapers and books relating to the Ministry, acting agitated and discontent at every meal.

The old camera flashed, causing her eyes to hurt. "We should probably get going, mum." No more pictures, please.

"Remember, Daphne, you're in charge of their safety," Molly looked to the eldest girl, who gave a polite nod. "Oh, just look at you all! Wish I could come with! I always loved slumber parties!" Gods, no!

"I'm sure Pansy would be happy to have you, Mrs. Weasley," Daphne smiled, making the older witch blush. Don't say that!

"Nonsense, dear," Molly waved a dismissive hand. "You four have fun, tonight, okay? For me."

"We will, Mrs. Weasley," Astoria gave a curtsy, causing Molly to coo. Ugh… She's so besotted with them. The perfect girls, she calls them. What am I, then? Part of the furniture?

"I will prepare the floo," Daphne said, leaving Ginny, Astoria, and Luna to talk amongst each other.

"Are you excited, Luna?" Astoria asked, grinning from ear-to-ear. "Pansy has Unicorns in her stable! If we ask, I'm sure she'll show us!" She has a stable? With Unicorns?

"I'd like that," Luna smiled dreamily. "They say that petting a Unicorn brings good luck." Only your father says that.

"You didn't tell your parents about what's really happening, did you?" Astoria asked, and Luna shook her head profusely. "This is going to be the best night ever!"

"Shhh," Ginny shushed. "Mum hears like a bat."

"Right," Astoria composed herself, before looking the redhead over. "Are you going to mope all night? Or, are you going to have some fun with us?"

"I'm not moping," Ginny grumbled, she definitely preferred the older Greengrass.

"She misses Ron, they all do," Luna hummed. "You should be more empathetic, Astoria."

"I am empathetic," Astoria said defensively. "I asked her to have fun with us, didn't I?"

"Girls, it's ready," Daphne called, her eyes lingering on Ginny.

They made their way over to the fireplace, entering the green flames in quick succession, with Daphne being the last. As soon as Ginny stepped into Parkinson Manor, her jaw dropped open in awe. The greeting room alone was larger than her entire home, with gold and scarlet drapes, gold statues of roaring lions with rubies for eyes, suits of knightly armours from throughout the ages, and a beaming portrait of Godric Gryffindor overlooking the dozens of opulent fireplaces. This is… a palace! This is really just her greeting room?! And why does it look like Gryffindor Tower?! Woah! Fucking woah! Look at this place!

"She's been busy," Daphne said from behind the awe-struck Ginny, chuckling. "So, she settled for Gryffindor for the greeting room, in the end. I like it. It's quite welcoming."

"So much red!" Astoria pulled a face, looking to the sole Gryffindor amongst them. "Is this really what Gryffindor Tower looks like on the inside?"

"It's… pretty close, yeah," Ginny muttered, still looking around in utter disbelief.

"It's warm," Luna commented. "I feel safe in here."

Ginny cautiously approached one of the lion statues, touching it warily. "…Is this made of actual gold?"

"It is," Daphne answered. "Pansy likes to indulge herself." Merlin's Beard, this one statue is more expensive than my entire home. Are they all this rich? Ron's friends? That's… mental…

"You're all here!" came Pansy's voice, and Ginny immediately pulled her hand away from the lion. "Aw, Luna! Look at you! Such a cute dress!"

"We're not too early, are we?" Daphne asked, whereas Ginny found herself gawking at Pansy. She's the luckiest girl in the world, to have all this and have to answer to no one.

The raven-haired witch was wearing pink, silky pyjamas, her long hair done up in a bun with several needles sticking through it. "No, you're perfectly on time. I got you each a bunch of extra dresses, if you want a wider selection for the party. There's also hair and make-up artists here, to prepare us and make us look gorgeous! My only rule is that only I can wear black, tonight. No one else."

"Black? On your birthday?" Astoria asked, puzzled.

"It suits me," Pansy winked, looking to Ginny. "Oh, you're already so beautiful!" I am? "Trish is going to love you!" Who? "Let's go, ladies! We're going to knock them dead, tonight!" Knock who dead?

---

One Hour Later

"I think, we'll give your hair some curls, give them a bouncy look," Trisha hummed, running her hands through Ginny's locks. "Such a beautiful colour! Is this natural?"

"Um… Yeah, it's my hair," Ginny answered, shifting in her seat.

"Lucky girl!" Trisha laughed, grabbing a comb. "This won't take long, dear, I promise."

The brunette witch began combing the redhead's hair, humming a tune to herself as she became singularly focused on her work. So, I just sit here silently, then? Seems a bit dull, but she made Luna look really pretty, so it'll be worth it. Ginny stared at her reflection, she was feeling more and more out of place with each passing minute, but she was willing to endure the uncomfortableness simply because she'd get to see Ron, tonight. He was certain to make an appearance, Daphne had promised, and this was Ginny's chance to talk him into coming home. He probably won't listen, though. The last time we spoke, he looked so bored and annoyed with me. Even Harry noticed, it was so embarrassing-…

"Everything all right?" Daphne's voice broke her out of her thoughts, the blonde witch had positioned herself beside the mirror.

"Of course," Ginny lied, smiling awkwardly.

"You look a little overwhelmed, that's all," Daphne pointed out, smiling sympathetically. "It's okay. I remember when Ron first came to Greengrass Manor. He felt-"

"Like he didn't belong?"

"Yes, exactly so," Daphne's smile widened.

Ginny looked at Trish in the reflection, not eager to share her feelings near a stranger.

"Don't mind me, girls," Trish said absentmindedly, as if having read her mind. "Talk your talk, I need to focus on what I'm doing."

"It's quite all right, you know?" Daphne said, recapturing Ginny's attention. "Pansy, myself, Blaise, Theo… We're the odd ones, not you. We grew up thinking all of this is normal, when the truth is that we're really, really privileged."

"That's one word for it," Ginny muttered, making Daphne chuckle. "Are you okay?"

"Me?"

"Yeah… I've noticed that you've been a bit quiet, lately," Ginny said, and Daphne waited for her to elaborate. "You left with Spinny in a rush, and after that-"

"There was trouble at Greengrass Manor, nothing serious," Daphne said reassuringly, but Ginny didn't quite buy it. "It's a part of my responsibilities, that's all."

"Not your sister's?"

"She isn't suited for responsibility, as you might've noticed," Daphne joked, making the redhead smile a little. I've noticed, yeah.

"She's been helping mum in the kitchen." And making me look like a terrible daughter, as a result.

"She's a cunning one, my sister," Daphne said fondly. "Though, she's noticed that it's helping your mother cope. Astoria can be sweet, in her own ways."

"Cope with Ron being gone, you mean?" Ginny deflated. "Why isn't he coming back? We always fight, my family, but we always reconcile too."

Daphne averted her gaze, as if thinking of what to say. "Sometimes, fights can last much longer than any of us want them to. Your brother needs space, Ginny, and he's always been the sort to get what he wants. Your parents, lovely as they are, don't agree with a lot of things your brother does-"

"What? Like helping people?" Ginny frowned. "Dad's just jealous-"

"Stop saying that, please. It's not that simple, truly. Your father loves all of you, he really does, but he and Ron are very different people, and that can make it hard for them to see eye-to-eye." …Maybe… "Your father misses him too, just like you do." …I know. It's why he doesn't talk, or laugh, or make jokes, like he usually does. It's why he won't come out of his stupid shed.

"Does Ron miss us?" Ginny asked. "You've talked to him about us, haven't you? Does he… miss me?"

"He misses you, and Percy, and Luna, and Lysander," Daphne promised, filling Ginny with relief. "He even misses the twins, but only sometimes."

Ginny snorted. "I wouldn't miss them in his shoes."

"Me neither," Daphne smiled brightly. "We'll have fun, tonight, Ginny, I promise. Get excited."

Ginny smiled back, sitting up straighter. "Thanks, Daphne, and I will."

---

Daphne's POV

Thursday 1st July, 1994 (Parkinson Manor – Afternoon)

Daphne slipped into Pansy's room, her excitement jumping through the roof at seeing Tracey. She's here! "Trace! What took you?!"

The brunette smirked and winked, walking over and hugging Daphne close. "…Brunch with… mum and dad… You look beautiful…"

"As do you," she pulled back, inspecting Tracey's navy-blue dress. "Modest, but classy. Perfect."

"Pansy's hair," Tracey whispered, and Daphne nodded in understand. She had it grown, and, suspiciously enough, it's the same length as mine.

"She thinks Ron likes long hair," Daphne whispered back, shrugging. It's her birthday, so I'm not going to say anything.

"Does he?"

"…Yes."

"You've got com-… competition, then," Tracey joked, pinching her side.

"Oi! That tickles!" Daphne sniggered, jumping back. "Wait… You're not wearing a bandage?"

"With this… dress?" Tracey rasped, bewildered.

"What if your throat starts to hurt, Trace?" Daphne lost her mirth.

"Don't worry!" Pansy called out from her wardrobe, having overheard the blonde's fussing. "I bought two tubs of Numbing Balm! Tracey can ask any Elf if she starts hurting, they'll apply the ointment straight away!" Oh, that's handy.

"See?" Tracey grinned. "All… sorted…"

"Tracey, are you sure you don't want a dress that shows off your legs?!" Pansy asked, and Tracey promptly shook her head.

"She's fine, Pans," Daphne answered, heading towards the wardrobe. "What are you doing in there?"

"Picking out your dress?" Pansy stepped out with a grin, holding a glittering silver dress that was alarmingly revealing. Oh, fuck no! I'm not wearing that! A prostitute would blush in that!

"No, thanks," Daphne said bluntly.

"What?! It's perfect!" Pansy wagged her eyebrows. "You've got amazing legs! Everyone will love it!"

"Everyone but me," Daphne grimaced. "Don't you have something that will cover me fully? It can be form-fitting, I don't mind that too much."

Pansy blew raspberries, before returning to her massive collection. Mum, Astoria, and I put together don't have so many dresses. She's been very busy, indeed. "You like metalwork on your dresses, right?"

"I do," Daphne admitted, it made her feel powerful.

"Tada!" Pansy jumped into view, holding a strapless, burgundy dress with gold plates lining the stomach. Ohhhh!

Daphne rushed forward, eyeing the intricate details carved onto the golden plates with an 'O' shaped mouth. Each plate is hand-carved, for sure! "Where did you buy this, Pans?!"

"From a boutique in Bulgaria, it just arrived yesterday," Pansy gloated. "Your shoulders and arms will be bare. Also, it'll be really hard for you to dance, given the length." I don't care, I'm definitely wearing this!

"I'll take it," Daphne smiled excitedly.

"If your tits can fit, it's yours," Pansy giggled, smacking Daphne's arse. OW!

"You're such a perv!" Daphne laughed, heading into the wardrobe. "No peeking! Tracey, make sure she behaves!"

---

Ronald Weasley's POV

Thursday 1st July, 1994 (Ron's Cottage – Evening)

"This is a waste of your time," Ravenclaw Ron stated the obvious. "Go there, give her the stupid letter, then come home. We can practise more ways to kill people." That does sound like fun. "You know you want to!"

"Appearances must be maintained," Ron sighed out, deciding to go tie-less. "She's invited half the school, and if I'm not there, people will talk. Just be grateful that you can fuck off to Dream Hogwarts. I'm the one who's going to be stuck there for hours on end." And it'll be so loud. Oh, Merlin… Kill me… I'll be surrounded by drunk people stomping their feet and screaming their lungs out.

He drew in a long breath, reminding himself that he had reason to celebrate himself. The Americans have pleased me, and I got Bellator to back off of my friends. The Headmaster would tell me to enjoy myself, tonight. I know I should listen to that advice, but the noise… He slapped his face, putting on his game face. Be a man, damn it! Go out there, and have a good night! You can do it! You know how to party! You're Ronald motherfucking Weasley, my son!

Grabbing the letter off his desk, Ron made his way out of his room. "Marty! I'm off! You sure you don't want to come with?!"

The Elf came out of the kitchen, looking him over. "No tie, Master? Feeling bold, tonight?"

"I want to look more approachable," Ron smirked, showing off his tan suit.

"Master should wear the tan vest, then," Marty commented.

"Really? A vest?"

"Vest, Master," Marty nodded, beaming. "Marty shall also prepare a printed pocket square. And redo Master's hair, something more modern, perhaps?" Um… What…?

"I um… I need to get goin-"

"Come, Master, Marty will also pick out a more suitable pair of shoes," the Elf beckoned, heading towards the room. "Come, come!" …Brilliant.

---

Draco Malfoy's POV

Thursday 1st July, 1994 (Tonks' Abode – Late Evening)

"Nice!" Nymphadora grinned, clapping her hands as he descended the stairs. "Mum, come look!"

His aunt rushed in from the adjoining kitchen, grinning just like her daughter when she saw his formal, high-collared, silver robes. "Oh, my! You're such a handsome young wizard, Draco!"

The platinum-blonde blushed, not knowing how to respond in the face of their overwhelming excitement. "…Thanks."

"You'll be needing your wand just to keep them away," Nymphadora laughed.

"Keep who away?" Draco questioned, which only made her laugh harder. She has an annoying laugh. Sounds like a donkey on fire.

"You've got your present?" Andromeda asked, she had been the one to take him shopping, in the end. Godfather left for Order business, and he still hasn't returned. I hope he's safe, wherever he is.

"I do," he nodded, pulling out the Forever-Frozen black rose.

"A bit ghastly, that," Nymphadora muttered, staring at it. "You sure she'll like it, Draco?"

"She will," he was certain. "She is… a peculiar girl." And I want to show her that I know her. That I can be her friend. That I've changed. "I should get-"

The fireplace roared to life, and Ron, of all people, stepped through. "There you are, you little bitch!" Andromeda and Nymphadora Tonks looked thoroughly alarmed by the redhead's deranged, and unexpected, entrance, but Draco wasn't even surprised, anymore. "Whoops… Ladies, you look lovely this evening." …Nice save, idiot.

"Another killer suit," Nymphadora recovered faster than her mother. "Nice hair! Very stylish!" He got a haircut.

Ron's hair was now short on the sides and back, again, but he had a fringe down to the top of his eyes. "It just happened, mostly against my will."

"What?"

"…Nothing," Ron muttered, looking to Draco. "Met your Elf, by the way. He's a weird one, eh?" Oh, yes, most definitely. "Let's go, mate. Pansy's waiting, and we're late. The manor is probably already filled."

"Will he be returning, tonight?" Andromeda asked, looking between the two young wizards.

"Not if I get lucky," Ron grinned, making Nymphadora wheeze. Fuck off and die, please.

"I will return in the morning, Auntie," Draco said icily, he planned to get drunk.

"Cheer up, I was only joking," Ron sniggered, but Draco was hardly amused. It's a sickness of the mind to want to lie with other men, or to make constant jokes about it.

"Let's just go."

"Actually, wait, not just yet," Ron stopped him, looking towards Nymphadora. "Tonks, you still looking for work?" The Metamorphmagus blinked, taken aback by the suddenness of the question. "Some of the Werewolf kids start at Hogwarts in September, but their education is a bit… lacking. If you're willing to teach them for the next couple of months, I'll pay you four hundred Galleons for your time." A hefty sum!

Nymphadora's jaw dropped open, but it was her mother who spoke. "Yes! She'll take it!"

"MUM?!"

"Hush, girl! She'll take that job, if you're serious about it!" Andromeda said, gesturing her daughter to remain silent. "Are you serious about it?"

"I am," Ron gave a strong nod, looking back to the still-stunned Nymphadora. "You start Monday. Nine to three. Don't be late. I don't tolerate tardiness." Just like that, huh? He's a hurricane, truly. Just blows in, stirs everything up, then vanishes.

"I um… I still need to-" the Metamorphmagus stammered.

"Need to what?" Ron cut in. "You have nothing going on, I know." You do? How? "If you want work, I've given you the time and place. Show up, or I'll find someone who will." He then looked to Draco, smiling, again. "Come on, mate. We've a party to get to." Terrifying, but the power, and respect, he commands… It makes me envious. I can admit that, now, without feeling inferior, because I finally understand that he's not like the rest of us. There's no competing with him.

Ron began preparing the fireplace, and Draco took the time to look back, watching silently as mother and daughter argued in hushed whispers. Just take the job. It has to be better than drinking and upsetting your parents, doesn't it? When Edwards returns from work, I'm certain he'll agree with his wife. They're both worried about Nymphadora, even if they won't say it aloud, but she doesn't seem to care one bit.

"We're going," Ron whispered, stepping through the green flames.

Draco drew in a sharp breath, putting on a friendly smile as he followed after the redhead. Be on your best behaviour, Draco. You don't want to go back to being despised and ignored, do you? As soon as he entered the greeting room, he lost his smile. What happened in here?!

"This is a surprise, eh?" Ron looked to Draco, who nodded dumbly.

"You're here! Finally!" Parkinson called out, and they looked to see her approaching with the rest. Remember to use first names, even if they don't use yours. Wait… What the fuck is she wearing?!

Pansy was dressed in a sophisticated black, velvet dress, with a black veil covering her face. Why is she dressed for a bloody funeral?! At her own birthday party, no less?!

Ron nudged Draco forward, much to the platinum-blonde's chagrin. Shit! Just ignore it and wish her! "…Happy Birthday, Pansy. This is for you."

He swiftly held out the Forever-Frozen black rose, surprising the bizarrely-dressed witch. Daphne, Blaise, and Tracey exchanged looks; no doubt surprised by his change in attitude. Too forward? Pansy, however, studied the rose, before lifting her veil and revealing her pleased, black-lipped smile.

"This is beautiful!" she exclaimed, her rosy-cheeks stretching more and more. "Thank you!" Draco exhaled in relief as she accepted the rose, holding it close. "This is very thoughtful, Malf-… Draco… This is very thoughtful, Draco. Thank you, again." He gave a nod, stepping aside to let Ron have his turn. First step; accomplished. "…Hi, Ron."

The redhead stared at her critically, his silence weighing heavily on all of them. He's still upset, isn't he? Honestly, I can't tell. His mood shifts too often to keep track.

"What are you wearing?" Ron asked, eventually. "Is this your birthday? Or, someone's funeral?"

"Both," Pansy answered, surprising Draco. "My birthday, and my parents' funeral." …What?

Draco looked to the others, but he saw that they were just as shocked as he was by her grim words. Ron, however, smiled. It was an evil smile, full of cruelty and malice, sending a cold shiver up Draco's entire body, and then, he started laughing, which pleased only Pansy. …Sometimes, he scares the life out of me. I hope he never smiles at me like that.

"Come here," Ron opened his arms, and Pansy wasted no time in clinging to him, burying her face in his chest. "…My Pansy." She giggled, whereas the rest of them just watched in silence. "Happy Birthday."

"I'm so glad you're here! I wasn't sure if you-"

"You stumbled, that's all," he stopped her, squeezing her. "I've stumbled too."

"You forgive me, then?" Pansy asked, pulling back slightly and looking up.

"I do, but I won't forget," Ron pulled away completely, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a letter from his jacket's inner pocket. "Your gift."

"Um… What is it?" Pansy asked, accepting it, nonetheless.

"An offer from the Editor of Witch Weekly," Ron smirked, causing Pansy to yelp in response. "An exclusive interview with the youngest, and wealthiest, witch in Magical Britain."

"No way," Tracey murmured, the others sharing her sentiment.

"I'm going to be on Witch Weekly?!" Pansy shrieked, gaping down at the letter. "Irma Atkinson! It says it right there! It's really her! It's her!"

Daphne and Tracey hurried forward, looking over Pansy's shoulders. They too shrieked, causing Blaise and Draco to jump in their spots. My ears! I thought Tracey, and especially Daphne, weren't fans of that garbage, but clearly, I was wrong. Girls… They're a damn mystery, and always will be.

"How did you pull this off?!" Pansy asked, throwing herself at Ron, again. "Thank you, thank you, thank you!"

"Gornuk, a good friend of mine, set up the meeting yesterday, and when I showed up, they were so busy gushing over me that I got what I wanted with no issues," Ron chuckled, lifting the raven-haired witch up and twirling her in circles. "I knew you'd love it."

When he put Pansy down, she ran back to the girls, opening the letter so they could all read through it. Again, they shrieked, exchanging the parchment between each other as Ron made his way over to the boys.

"I win, lads," the redhead sniggered, causing them to roll their eyes. What a surprise. You could've brought a brick as a present, and they'd still be all over you.

"What was that, just now?" Blaise asked harshly. "Pansy tells you that this is a funeral for her parents, and you like that?" Right, let's not forget that, shall we? What the fuck was that?

"Her parents deserved death, Blaise, just like your mother does," Ron shrugged, speaking so casually that other two boys were left speechless. Is that what you think of my parents? My mother? That she deserves nothing but death? "Pansy, in her own way, is much smarter than you. She knows when it's time to cut the cancer out."

Draco said nothing, merely looking to the scowling Blaise. Don't get involved. You're here to enjoy yourself, and to re-ignite old friendships. Blaise won't say anything back to him, he doesn't have the bollocks. No one-…

"You're definitely fucking mental, Ron, but don't you dare push her down that road," Blaise warned, shocking Draco. …Woah… "She needs help, not encouragement. What the fuck were you thinking?"

Draco looked between the two, unsure of whether to praise Blaise's courage, or to run in the opposite direction. If Ron loses it, I'll run. I'll run as fast as I can.

"We can talk about this later," Ron merely said, losing all his mirth. "Don't make a scene here." …Thank the Gods.

"Theo's still not… here…" Tracey walked over, appearing worried. "Ron, I've sent him… letters, but he won't… respond. Something has to be… wrong, right?" She then looked between Ron and Blaise, noticing the tension. "Is everything… okay?"

Ron drew in a deep breath, looking to Tracey with a sorry expression. "…I've some bad news to share with all of you. About Theo, I mean." Bad news? "Daph, Pans… Come over here, will you?" Once their group was reunited; the redhead took Tracey's hands in his own. "Last night, I spoke with an Auror, and according to them, certain Purebloods have gone missing. Purebloods like Cornelius Nott."

"…What?" Daphne muttered, her brow furrowed. "Missing? What do you mean?"

"They've gone into hiding, and the Aurors can't find them anywhere in Magical Britain," Ron explained. "Theo's with his dad, now, wherever that old prick has decided to hide. At least, that's what I think."

The blood drained from Tracey's face, as if she'd seen a ghost. "Theo's in… trouble?" Would they go into hiding? It's most likely that they're with the Dark Lord, just like father. I probably shouldn't say that. It would just make Tracey even more upset, and I don't want any trouble, tonight.

"I don't know, yet, but I'll find out," Ron promised, squeezing Tracey's fingers. "I didn't want to say anything, but I know how much he means to you. I'll find out where he is, and the moment I do, I'll tell you."

Tracey stepped back, utterly horrified. "He's not like… his father. He's still struggling… with…" she trailed off. With what? His mother's murder?

"I'm working on it, Trace," Ron said reassuringly. "I'll figure this out, I promise."

"We should keep this between us," Blaise suggested, his eyes lingering on Ron. "I don't think Theo's father would expose him to any danger. After all, the man is ancient, and Theo is his sole heir."

"Blaise is right," Daphne said. "Everything will be all right, Trace."

Tracey, however, wasn't exactly convinced, though she did compose herself.

"You should all go back to the party," Blaise told the girls. "Ron, Malfoy, and I, will greet the last of the guests to arrive." Why me?

"I'll go put these in my room," Pansy said, giving a grateful nod. "Thank you, again, you two. I'll be back in a bit."

Ron smiled, whereas Draco gave her a parting nod. The girls left the boys behind, and after a minute or so, Blaise turned on Ron, again. Here we go.

"Well?" Blaise demanded. "Care to explain yourself?" Did he keep me behind to act as a witness, or something? "She's not well, Ron, can't you tell? The way she's been acting… It's only a matter of time before she gets herself into some serious trouble. Why are you encouraging her?"

"What's crawled up your arse, exactly?" Ron asked in response. "I don't like Death-Eaters, Blaise, and just because Pansy slithered out of Violet Parkinson's cunt doesn't change my feelings towards them." Draco blanched, feeling his stomach churn. "Same goes for Draco's mother, and yours. I'll celebrate their deaths too, no matter how much pain either of you are in." …Merlin… "Now, drop it, or I'll fucking drop you."

Blaise opened his mouth to argue, but by the grace of Merlin, he thought better of it and decided to stay silent, instead. This caused a terribly awkward silence to grow between the trio, which thankfully was interrupted when one of the fireplaces roared to life. Ernie Macmillan and Justin Finch-Fletchley entered Parkinson Manor, and were in immediate awe of the Gryffindor-styled greeting room.

"Wicked!" Finch-Fletchley exclaimed. "We're back in Hogwarts!"

Ron pinched Draco's side, making him jump in his spot. Don't do that!

"Go on, greet them," Ron grinned teasingly. "Until Pansy comes back, we have to do her duties as the hostess."

"Why me?" Draco grumbled, scowling.

"Because it'll be funny," Ron shrugged. "Go on." Ugh! Fine… But I'm not smiling, nor will I tolerate them getting friendly with me. Just look at them. Bloody Hufflepuffs… No sense of fashion whatsoever.

---

Alastor Moody's POV

Thursday 1st July, 1994 (Prosperity Farm – Late Evening)

It had taken him well over an hour to get past all the Wards without raising an alarm, and then, he'd been forced to tiptoe under his Invisibility Cloak all the way to Weasley's cottage. Along the way, he'd seen a lot of happy, scarred faces, Werewolves who'd gone from living in the wild to being part of a thriving community. It was… a terrifyingly effective cover, for who could doubt the character of the sick child who'd brought so much goodness into the world? Fortunately, it didn't work on Alastor, because he knew that evil had many faces, and most often, those faces were designed to lower good people's guards. This is it, then. I'll have to deal with his Elf, which means that Weasley is certain to find out that someone dropped by his home when he was away. I could take the time to alter the Elf's memories, to make it think that it went to sleep, but that's risky and time-consuming. No, I need to get in, find what I need, then get out, before someone realises that the Wards are down.

Alastor approached the door, his Magical Eye looking through the walls and spotting the Elf in the kitchen. Eating dinner, huh? Good, it's distracted. Carefully, and with great patience, the Head-Auror unlocked the door, tiptoeing into the cottage. Hm, let's see. Clean. Too clean, almost as if no one lives here. The Elf must be a dedicated servant, indeed. He drew in a deep breath, before slamming the door shut. The Elf shot out of his seat, running out into the lounge to check for the disturbance. Alastor aimed his wand at the Elf from underneath the Invisibility Cloak, waiting for it to get closer. Remain calm, so he doesn't Sense you. Control everything, from your breathing to your thoughts. Steady, now.

"Who is there?" the Elf asked, stepping closer and closer. "Marty will use lethal force, invader, unless-" Stupefy!

A bolt of red fired out of his wand, smashing against the shocked Elf's chest, sending it reeling through the air and slamming it into a wall. Done! Time to hurry! Alastor cast off the Invisibility Cloak, locking the door behind him before limping about in search of anything that stood out. Books, books, books… He likes to read, and some of what he reads could be considered dangerous. Still, nothing incriminating, though. If I want that, I'll need to search in his room.

Alastor rushed down the corridor, finding a bedroom on the opposite end. "Lumos!"

With an illuminated wand, he entered the monster's lair and examined every corner. Again, very clean. Almost as if he doesn't want anyone to think that he sleeps here. Alastor closed his good eye, clearing his thoughts so his intuition could kick in. He'd always had a talent for piecing together puzzles, no matter how difficult they proved. What am I dealing with here? There is… order. The books outside were alphabetically arranged, and in here, every object is in its proper place. No clothes on the floor, even the bed is made. Is he the tidiest fourteen-year-old in the world, or is it that he can't tolerate disorder? Hm… Is this compulsion, I see?

His Magical Eye spun in circles, before becoming fixed on the closet behind him. Wards? On a closet? Why? He limped over, tracing his glowing wand along the wood. Not on the closet, no, but on something inside. He opened it, and what he saw surprised even him. There wasn't a single piece of normal clothing in sight, only suits hanging from hangers. Why can't I see through these suits? What exactly are they made of? He felt the fabric, noting that it was of high quality. Beige, Black, Blue, Brown-… Wait a minute… You've got to be shitting me… Even his suits are organised in alphabetical order, the name of their colour determining where they hang. Okay, this is definitely compulsion, not tidiness.

"And they call me mad," Alastor growled, taking a step back. "Oh, Albus, you really have no idea what you're doing, do you?"

His Magical Eye locked onto the two chests underneath the suits, both had an aura of Magic around them. What are you hiding in there, Weasley? Wasting no time, he began to determine what sort of Wards were placed upon the chests, and much to his annoyance, they consisted of House-Elf Magic. Fuck! I can disarm them, but I can't recast them. Weasley will definitely know that I looked inside. Or, rather, the intruder who broke in here did.

"You've come this far," Alastor whispered to himself, focusing.

It took several minutes for him to get past the various Wards, none of which were lethal, surprisingly. Once he was finally finished, he dragged the chest on the right out of the closet, opening it in a rush. What's in here? What are you hiding? He was taken aback when he found the chest half-filled with folders, stacked neatly in three piles. Paperwork? No… There are names on them.

He grabbed the top folder from the middle pile, reading the name aloud. "Greengrass." His mentor's name?

Flicking it open, Alastor began reading, and the more he read, the darker his expression became. It's a list of crimes. Bribery of Ministry Officials. Land disputes that ended with the other party going missing. Stealing businesses from young wizards and witches through intimidation and violence. Merlin, Greengrass is quite the piece of shit, isn't he? More so than even I realised. He's been preying on people since he came into power, and we've never been able to stop him. Alastor flicked through to the end of the folder, and on the final page, he found nothing but Weasley's own handwriting.

"Sebastian Greengrass: Fire," he read aloud, baffled. "Mary Greengrass: Dogs. Daphne Greengrass: ?. Astoria Greengrass: ?." …the fuck? I don't understand. "Why do you even have this, Weasley? In the right hands, this could end your mentor's life." Unless… No… Alastor put the Greengrass folder aside, grabbing another from the chest. "Ancar. Let's see, let's see… More crimes, huh? Bribery of Ministry Officials. Lady Ancar has raped over fifty men in the last five years, all of whom were never found after being seen in her company." I know that name! That's a French Veela family! All these folders… Where did he get these? There's no way he gathered all this information by himself, not unless he's got eyes and ears in every corner of Wizarding Europe. "Who the fuck are you, Weasley? A Seer? A revolutionist? A mass-murderer? A fucking Hogwarts student? So many masks… What's your real face look like?"

Alastor spent several more minutes going through the chest, there were over fifty folders filled with information his Department would give anything to have, and, again, everything was alphabetically organised. Save for Greengrass' file, which he keeps at the very top. That does not bode well for the degenerate. Every folder has Weasley's handwriting at the end, listing the manner with which he plans to execute the victim. Crucifixions, bonfires, beatings, Killing Curses, and a lot of women he wants to feed to dogs… Or, at least, that what I think he means by 'Dogs'. Fucking hell, Albus, this is who you're placing your hopes on?! This fucking psychopath?! You've lost it! This mad fuck needs to be put down! Nothing more!

Alastor looked to the other chest, grinding his teeth before dragging it out as well. He opened it, and the first thing he saw was a curious, silver mask sitting atop a pile of more folders. What is this, now? His fingers grazed the expressionless mask, noting that it was just a face with nothing special about it. Is this… your real face, Weasley? Hidden away with all your secrets? He picked up the mask, staring into its empty eye-sockets. …A human face, made of silver with no imperfections. A perfect disguise, one no one can see through. Yeah… This is his real face… A complete fucking mystery, through and through. Has Albus seen this thing? Does he realize that his protégé is eerily similar to the Death-Eaters he hunts?

Putting the mask aside, Alastor looked into the chest, scouring through the folders. These names… All of these Purebloods are dead. They were killed at the Carrow Massacre, with some exceptions, like Violet Parkinson. She didn't just disappear, did she, Weasley? You got her, as well. Orphaned your own friend, and I doubt you even care. As Alastor put her folder away, he was hit by a disturbing revelation, one that turned his blood cold and his knees to jelly. Trophies… I found his trophies… He stood up, taking a step back as his good eye grew wide in horror. The chest on the left are the trophies he's already claimed, and the chest on the right are the ones he's still hunting. This is-… I've never-… Of all the killers I've hunted down in my life, Ronald Weasley is the most successful one. A mass-murderer loved by the masses… A walking, talking horror story…

His mind made up, Alastor closed the chests and slid them back inside the closet. He then grabbed the blue suit, deciding to take it with him so he could have it torn apart and analysed. We might need you for now, Weasley, but the moment our victory against the Dark Lord is in sight, I'm taking you down. Your days are numbered, monster.