Note: This chapter was betaed by MasterQwertster.

Chapter 41

Hail the Basilisk-Slayer

12 April 1993, Hogwarts, Scotland

Albus felt tired. In fact, the tiredness in his bones was perhaps the worst he had ever felt in his life. This was not the fatigue of having fought a long battle, oh no. If he had been exhausted by something like that, a good night of sleep would have resolved the problem.

No, this was the result of the aftermath of the Chamber of Secrets disaster. Because once the Heir had died and whatever method Tom Riddle had used to put Hogwarts in lock-down had faded, the situation had gone to hell and that wasn't an exaggeration. There was no one left to fight. The two Basilisks were dead. Tom Riddle, or at least his briefly reincarnated souvenir, was killed. The Slytherins who had followed him had been decimated. Lewis Wilkes, Thomson Carrow, Jared Miller, Oliver Nairne, William Rosier and Byron Vaisey of the 'Heir Conspiracy' had fallen, and in two cases it meant the end of their Houses as they were the last members of their lines alive. Cassius Warrington and Graham Montague had participated in the whole tragedy but had been captured alive. Professor Kaitlyn Reed, the useless Junior DADA Professor, had been sacrificed in a very dark Blood Ritual. Ginny Weasley, the youngest of Arthur and Molly's child, had been possessed and the influence of the young Voldemort had transformed her into one of his servants. Several wings of the castle had seen terrible exchanges of spells. Many students, Professors and Aurors had been petrified, wounded or both. Dozens of Unforgivables had been used inside Hogwarts walls. Students had killed students.

Perhaps calling it a disaster was too weak a word after all. Thank Merlin, he had been suspended when this small war had been fought. Otherwise he was quite sure his tenure as Headmaster of Hogwarts would have been over before sunset. As it was, he had been reinstated in a hurry...but nothing could stop the political storm which had struck him today. Between the Board of Governors, the Ministry and all its departments, angry parents, angry students, the press and pretty much everyone who wanted to scream, Albus had received this morning hundreds of Howlers, thousands of demands and threats, and he had been literally buried under the paperwork.

This was the worst scandal which had struck Hogwarts in all his years as Headmaster, and the Chief Warlock included the atrocious attack of Hogsmeade by Death Eaters fifteen years ago. Most of the students were now looking at him with faces of betrayal and the Grand Sorcerer knew their parents had to regard him with suspicion too. They knew a couple of Basilisks had roamed the corridors of the castle since Halloween. In hindsight, the Supreme Mugwump knew he should have just broken the bank and used secret funds from the Order of the Phoenix to hire a combination of Hit-Wizards, Monster Hunters and professional investigators.

The vermin of Lucius Malfoy would have asked many questions, but questions he could deal with. This entire debacle had already cost him over a decade of favours, dozens of secret dealings, over sixty thousand Galleons and forced him to discard dozens of his plans. The influence and the political power lost were more difficult to estimate, but it was happy happenstance that the Dark factions had just received the equivalent of a Muggle atomic bomb because his control over the Light was terribly shaky at the moment. The Wizengamot had been compared to a sea of hungry sharks many times these past months, but now it was more a stormy ocean with leviathans coming out of the depths. On the foreign side, the ICW was still under the shock of the news but that was not going to be pretty either.

The Headmaster of Hogwarts was running everywhere trying to extinguish the fires. Despite his best efforts, he was not naive enough to believe he was doing more than mitigating the damage. Tom Riddle had planned too well with this scheme – although with one base impossible to locate below the castle and a limited control of the wards, the advantages the Heir of Slytherin enjoyed had been great.

And now here he was, in his own office, facing three of the highest-ranked Ministry appointees. Albus did not hold the upper hand for the moment, a troubling thing because he had carefully and methodically decorated the place to be the one in control. His workplaces in his Wizengamot and ICW offices had been purposely built to accomplish the same goals.

"What in the name of Merlin were you thinking, Albus?" snarled Cornelius Fudge. The Minister of Magic's tone was quite loud for a man unable to see past the 'Imperius Defence' of many Death Eaters and if they had been alone Dumbledore would have forcefully reminded him why it was a bad idea to shout at him. He was the Chief Warlock, the Supreme Mugwump and the Defeater of the Dark Lord Grindelwald. Fudge was just a minor bureaucrat, a very average wizard whose highlight in his career before his ascension to the post of Minister had been a junior position in the Department of Magical Catastrophes. When the favourite candidates of the 1983 election had been for one reason or another made unsuitable, Albus and several of the most prestigious Houses of the Wizengamot had decided to fund the campaign of this non-entity. It had not been that bad when they were at peace but at the first sign of a crisis...

"I was thinking I had to uphold my vows to preserve Hogwarts sovereignty and I had no idea the problem was so deeply rooted in Hogwarts' foundations. There was no wizard or witch in my opinion who could claim the title of Heir of Slytherin since all the members of that dreadful line are long dead. The Dark Artefact which has caused so many deaths should have been detected or destroyed by the outer wards...the fact that they didn't tells me someone very familiar with our security system has found a way to fool them. I could have intervened quickly when the Heir launched its final attack but as you can remember Cornelius, I was suspended." This was the version of the events he would defend...it had the advantage of being close to the truth.

Fudge's anger seemed to abate and he nodded, but the witch and the wizard to his sides were not so easily convinced. Not surprising, Bartemius Crouch and Amelia Bones had brains in working order unlike their moronic superior.

"The Board of Governors is far more severe with your performance," the Regent of House Bones affirmed. The Headmaster forced himself to stay unreadable and locked his emotions behind his most powerful Occlumency shields. Unlike Fudge, Amelia would not be convinced by platitudes and excuses. The Head of the DMLE had never been his ally, and her niece had been in danger because of Riddle machinations. "Lord Catterick, Lord Kensington and Lord Smith are incredibly troubled by the illegal knowledge the students of House Slytherin have of the Dark Arts."

It showed how short-sighted they were, in Albus' humble opinion. Those Lords had allowed themselves to be blackmailed by Malfoy and had not been shy accepting Death Eater gold when Voldemort had been defeated.

"Lucius Malfoy for his particular troubling behaviour this year has been removed from the Board," declared Bartemius Crouch Senior. As always, the Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation was humourless and able to relay a political decision without looking like he was speaking of one of his sworn enemies. This strict stance had only broken once in decades of career. "Several of the laws he proposed will be examined again. The threats he formulated against his colleagues of the Board are greatly troubling."

That was...relatively good. With Malfoy out of his way, his influence on the Board should be able to recover faster. Of course this assumed he would be in a position to exploit this opportunity. Judging by Crouch and Bones' determined expressions, a few of their decisions were not going to be pleasant for him.

"My Aurors have examined all the evidence available to us concerning the 1992-1993 year with the help of the Goblins of Gringotts," declared the formidable witch leading the DMLE. Truly Amelia would have been a priceless recruit for the Order of the Phoenix but her determination to uphold the law made that impossible. Besides, she was Grey, not Light. "And we have confirmed the culpability of every Slytherin killed. Had they lived, they would all have been condemned to a life-sentence in Azkaban. We will convene several courts but I would not be surprised if we end up seizing House Wilkes and House Rosier's main assets."

"Many students swore their allegiance to the Heir," Albus commented absently. If he could expel a few more sons of the Dark, this would go some way to restore order in the ranks of the Light...

"Yes but unfortunately the proto-Dark Marks this 'Heir' gave to his followers were not permanent," Crouch told him. "These creations lacked the Concealing Charms the true Dark Marks had in the war, but they are easy to remove with some specific Potions and unfortunately by the time the investigators of Amelia entered Slytherin House, the survivors had erased all evidence." The former DMLE Head did not look enthusiastic about the idea of Junior Death Eaters escaping the sword of justice.

"We think between one and three Heir supporters have not been discovered," commented Amelia Bones. "As House Slytherin has a high number of Heirs, Heiresses and Wizengamot Lords' children, we can't dose them with Veritaserum without their parents' consent." The Regent of House Bones did not waste her breath telling them the odds of such a proposal being accepted. No sane Slytherin would accept revealing the secrets of their House voluntarily.

"You have Mr Warrington and Mr Montague." Thanks to young Neville and his friends, Albus didn't add. Those were the only Heir supporters confirmed and alive. The psychopath daughter of James Potter had left no survivors from her battles.

"But they did not cast any illegal spells and the proto-Dark they had on their arms do not require the murder of someone." Crouch's opinion on the two fourth-year Slytherins was evident: the man would have directly sent them to Azkaban for a life-sentence if he had had evidence to support their guilt. "They maintain they never went to the Chamber of Secrets and only lit a few fireworks in the Quidditch stadium. We think they are telling the truth." The 'we' included Amelia of course. Fudge was a buffoon in Crouch's eyes and it had been that way for a long time. "The only thing we can blame them for is their refusal to name the accomplices we missed."

"Punishments?" The evidence was flimsy and they had not killed someone so Albus figured he would have to give them a second chance.

"The Board has decided to suspend Mr Montague and Mr Warrington for the rest of the year," announced Fudge like it was an excellent point and not the least they could do. "They will repeat their current year next September and will be banned from the Quidditch team for the rest of their time at Hogwarts. Due to the gravity of their actions, they won't be eligible for the Prefect title and will pay a moderate fine to the students petrified by the Heir."

"I approve." There was not much point going against the Board at that point. All it would achieve was a loss of influence for two Dark Purebloods who weren't worth it. Anyway, Graham Montague and Cassius Warrington were in the lower part of the rankings for their year. According to Severus' own reports, their chances of doing well in their OWLS were already seriously compromised. Perhaps one more year would allow them to catch up academically. "Have my recommendations for Miss Ginevra Weasley been accepted?"

The poor girl had been the worst victim in the entire affair but the actions she had committed while possessed were a political headache by themselves.

"They were not." It took all Albus' skill in the Mind Arts not to fume in anger at the DMLE's Head. "Let's be brutally honest, Albus. The girl was possessed many times and the Unspeakables are amazed she is still alive considering the number of Dark Rituals she was subjected to. The Mind Healers of Saint Mungo's have managed to restore her mind but the Heir did his best to create a Dark Witch. The girl will need Mind Healers every day for the rest of the year because I refuse to let her dark persona run free in the streets."

"And there are the political implications." After so long without speaking, Fudge's voice had returned to its hesitant and very familiar tone. "The illegal Blood Rituals practised by the members of House Slytherin have come very close to entirely destroying the magical identity of Miss Ginevra Weasley. Lord Brent Yaxley is furious because according to the lineage tests, the 'Scylla Yaxley' persona is an inch or two away from belonging in his family."

It was why Albus and many other Houses had done their best to ban forever these nasty rituals. Usurpations, line thefts and various illegal machinations were too easy to accomplish when the materials were available. And as delicious as the irony of a notorious Death Eater being caught in this trap was, the Chief Warlock did not want Miss Weasley to disappear. Lord Brent Yaxley was the last of his line and the Grand Sorcerer wanted this state of affairs to continue. 'Scylla Yaxley' would not only provide an Heiress to House Yaxley, it would break Arthur and Molly's hearts and give Voldemort an additional supporter should he manage to gain a body again. This was of course unacceptable.

"As long as Miss Ginevra Weasley does not participate in a sabbat or other banned magical rituals, Lord Yaxley has no power over her. I propose to cast an extremely advanced glamour on her and erase this abominable persona she is forced to host in her body."

By the looks of it, his proposition did not make unanimity but this was fine. He had many friends and wizards in debt to him at Saint Mungo's. It would not be difficult to convince them of the rightfulness of his views.

"We will see." The sentence uttered by Bartemius Crouch was extremely evasive. "In the mean time, we have a bigger problem on our hands. Albus, what in the name of the Founders were you thinking when you took the guardianship of Alexandra Potter?"

The Defeater of Grindelwald opened his mouth to answer but the man who could have been Minister of Magic if not for his Death Eater son spoke before him.

"This was a rhetorical question." By the icy look, Crouch was well aware of the...questionable actions the Light had used to break the Potter shops and investments. "You did not bother confirm to the Wizengamot the Heiress was alive for a decade, when she attends Hogwarts there is not a single word from you about how you have sent her to live with Muggles! And if that wasn't enough, your pet Phoenix left her alone to face a sixty-foot long Basilisk! What in the name of Morgana were you thinking?"

"I have many duties Lord Crouch and the very reason Fawkes did not act to save the Potter Heiress was her possession of an incredibly dangerous weapon able to hurt Phoenixes." Dumbledore replied. Once again, it had the advantage of being the truth. Clarent the Slayer of Kings was a weapon forged by Death and the Phoenixes were Eternal Life. These two powers were never able to coexist in the same location. "And at least by living with Muggles, I was thinking the Potter Heiress would not follow the same Dark path her father did!" The Supreme Mugwump put sadness and reluctance in his voice. "But it seems I am mistaken. Alexandra Potter is a murderess and a Dark Witch, ready to slaughter her fellow students at the first opportunity. She will be expelled and I will demand-"

"Chief Warlock..." The words coming out the Regent of House Bones were telling how furious she was. "You never checked over your ward for a period of a decade. When she came to Hogwarts, you did not meet her or even officially inform her you were her magical guardian. The DMLE has enough evidence to know you tampered with her mail and the letters of many other students you were supposed to support. To sum-up, you are completely unfit to be a magical guardian."

Despite his iron control, this time the magic of the Headmaster flashed out of his body. Fudge jumped in his seat but Bones and Crouch only regarded him in contempt.

"And you forgot the 1963 law on this particular guardianship." Crouch satisfaction was clear. "Any crimes an underage Heiress commits while under your sphere of authority would see yourself sued in front of the Wizengamot."

"This is your interpretation of the law! My interpretation would be to send this girl to Azkaban immediately!"

"Should we send the Boy-Who-Lived by the same Portkey then?" The sarcastic answer froze the Headmaster. "Miss Potter and her study group have been very useful by providing mountains of evidence of all the actions you swept under the carpet. It seems there are a lot of illegal activities at Hogwarts that you never bothered to inform the DMLE of."

Damn. If they had enough evidence...this was bad. Albus cursed Alexandra Potter and vowed the spawn of James Potter was going to regret this.

"What is your decision?" He resolved to say after a few seconds of mutual glaring.

"Your guardianship of Miss Alexandra Potter is henceforth revoked," said Cornelius in his hesitating tone. His poor hat was contorting under the pressure of his hands. "A new audience will take place as soon as possible to determine a new magical guardian."

This...this he could deal with. The guardianships were under the Department of Magical Education authority and they were all very traditional, favouring blood ties over any other type of relationship. He would have to see if he could convince Sirius Black to assume his godfather duties for the next year. But even in the contrary case, Lord Liam McLaggen and Andromeda Tonks would have impeccable credentials to obtain the guardianship of this new ward. The latter was not a member of the Order of the Phoenix proper, but she hated the Dark with a fierce passion. Not that there should be problems. After all, no one had batted an eyebrow in the Wizengamot the last time when he had declared he would take the custody of the Last Potter.

"The great bat Miss Potter used to destroy the eyes of the first Basilisk will be sent back to her reserve in South America," Albus had to admit he had never thought to fight the King of Snakes like this, "and she will have to be tested by the Department of Magical Transportation for an Apparition licence." Usually it was not offered until a wizard or witch was of age, but Albus in this case agreed it was prudent to know exactly what Alexandra Potter was capable of. Merlin only knew what sort of activities the young Potter would do if she was able to escape the vigilance of authorities.

Yes, a good start but not sufficient. Albus was not going to let this Ravenclaw murderess restore her House to her pre-war wealth and status.

"These are good measures." Cornelius beamed at him. "But I would not be fulfilling my duties as Chief Warlock if I do not insist the conditions of the Right of Conquest to be respected. The Galleons Miss Potter will earn from the corpses of the Basilisks will be placed in a separate vault as it is proper for the dowry of an Heiress. The Inheritance Act of 1750, I believe." No, the Ravenclaws were not the only ones to know obscure and esoteric laws. The Chief Warlock had to admit it had taken him two hours to find the relevant paragraphs but at least James Potter's little psychopath would not be able to use this fortune until an eventual marriage. And at twelve years old with a Muggle education, any potential union would be far in the future.

Cornelius Fudge nodded very fast, perhaps because he did not want a child free to buy half of Diagon Alley on a whim. Bartemius looked stone-faced and it was difficult to guess what the man was thinking without Legilimency. Amelia on the other hand was not hiding her irritation.

"This is of course your privilege...Chief Warlock." The venom in her voice was powerful and he knew he had just made a political mistake. This was not irritation. This was pure loathing. "But as the Regent of House Bones and a woman I can tell you bluntly your actions against House Potter are petty and worthy of the politician you have become."

Then Crouch spoke and Albus Dumbledore realised the real hammer was about to fall. "You have been overworked a lot these last months, Chief Warlock." The mockery of the title was impossible to miss this time. "The ICW this morning has accepted graciously your resignation from your positions of Supreme Mugwump and ICW delegate." The Headmaster of Hogwarts gritted his teeth. One of the three most important positions he held, lost just like that. This was going to play hell with his plans of organising the Triwizard Tournament at Hogwarts.

"Who will replace me as Britain's representative?"

The answer of the Minister of Magic gave him nausea.

"Since he is one of our best diplomats and is currently free of any obligations...Lord Lucius Malfoy."


12 April 1993, Azkaban Fortress

The fortress-prison of Azkaban was an awful place. At least this was Auror John Dawlish's opinion and he knew it was one shared by most of the Auror Corps. But then the place had never been intended as a holiday residence.

The origins of Azkaban were shrouded in myth and legends. Some wizards thought it had been the refuge of an ancient and extinct magical race. One of the alternative ideas often resurfacing was that it had been one of the first goblin fortresses ever built, one abandoned after their terrible wars against the Giants of old. A German expert of renown had published a work on the possibility it had been the place where a coven of necromancers had played with forces they absolutely didn't control.

But while nobody could agree who had built the damned place, everybody agreed this was a place where the Light had long been defeated. Dark Lord after Dark Lord had made the citadel their lair, surrounded by the horrible Dementors. Azkaban had seen many battles between evil wizards and monstrous creatures. Ultimately, the Ministry had had to intervene, but by then the effects of tens of thousands Dark Rituals and incantations making the Unforgivables look like small fry had been thrown around.

Despite half of the island being sunk under the level of the sea, Azkaban was still a formidable fortress. It was also shrouded in darkness and its location in the middle of the North Sea made the climate a dangerous enemy even with magic at one's disposal. Between the murderous wards – over two-thirds of the protections were making curse-breakers scratch their heads in consternation – the soul-sucking Dementors and the real nutcases they were supposed to guard, Azkaban was the one place in this world closest to your worst nightmare...and the only serious challenger worldwide was the fortress of Nurmengard.

No Auror loved to be assigned to Azkaban. Contrary to other postings, there were no volunteers. No one in the elite force of the DMLE was mad enough to volunteer for this sort of duty. Since they were at the moment some two hundred-plus Aurors in active duty and the peace-time garrison was of fifty warden-guards and twenty Aurors, this meant a one-month tour of duty roughly every ten months. It went without saying it was miserable month, where the rain, the cold and the dark presence of hundreds of Dementors were forcing every DMLE employee to face a part of their soul they were content to ignore in their everyday lives.

The screams, the cries and the imprecations of the prisoners made the situation worse. As bad as the Aurors had it in the lower levels with the minor criminals, they were at least protected by powerful wards and a Patronus could be cast when the dark thoughts grew too pressing. The presence of a single Dementor was sufficient to suck all happiness in a room for hours. In the upper levels where the You-Know-Who senior Death Eaters were imprisoned, there were at least half a dozen of the monsters in the vicinity. And in the foundations...John tried to think about something else. There were places in Azkaban no human had ever visited and for excellent reasons.

Fortunately, his stay in this dark place was nearly over. Two more days and he would be free to sleep in a bed with no XXXXX-class creature in a radius of several hundred miles. Free to patrol Diagon Alley, lead raids on the houses of law-breakers and train to stop novice Dark Wizards. But before that, he had this patrol to finish, which given the hour of the day, unfortunately meant giving the prisoners their lunch. He had been unlucky at the last card game and this meant he had to go to the upper levels at the light of his dog Patronus.

As he pushed the food chariot down the sinister corridor, Dawlish wondered why they weren't killing all these bastards in the cells. The thugs, renegades of the Durmstrang Institute and mercenaries from the Balkans were bad enough. Those were the rank and file of You-Know-Who's army and they had been convicted of uncountable crimes against the wizards and witches of Britain. But the inhabitants of the upper cells were far worse. Take the one he threw the food to for example. Julian Ardoch, one of the infamous Ardoch twins, a specialist in Dark Arts and Alchemy and one of the many members of his House imprisoned in the fortress. With his brother Blake – who was in a cell five feet away – this Dark Wizard had tried his best to emulate the works of Grindelwald lieutenants and crossbreed humans with other magical species. Years ago, the Ardoch wizard had been a pretty face but now he presented the face of a monster and his mutterings proved beyond doubt that Azkaban had transformed him into something far more abominable than he had been before his arrest.

In some prisons funded and maintained by the various Ministries of Europe, Julian Ardoch would have been the most infamous prisoner. Here he was not even close. Passing the Ardoch twins and the cell of Bartemius Crouch Junior, the Auror arrived in front of Bellatrix Lestrange's cell. A small threnody was coming out of her black lips. John Dawlish had no idea the signification of these words...and he didn't want to know them. He threw the food and got away quickly. The witch was chained with wards supposedly preventing her from using magic, but it had not stopped her from killing five guards in the first week she was brought here.

Yes, these captives were all monsters. The upper levels contained thirteen members of the so-called 'Inner Circle' of You-Know-Who and apart from one all had to be fed regularly. After Bellatrix Lestrange it was the turn of Rodolphus and Rabastan Lestrange.

The inhabitant of the next cell was also infamous in his own way. Good thing he finally had something fun today. After throwing the food to the prisoner, he added a copy of the Daily Prophet between the bars.

"Potter! Read the newspaper, your hellspawn is making the front page!"

Truth to tell, John Dawlish had not expected much of a reaction. The fallen Lord of House Potter was fairly apathetic compared to the regular screams and moans uttered by the Lestrange brothers, Ian Jugson or Randall Travers.

Therefore John jumped in surprise when a roar of anger shook the dark walls of Azkaban.

"NO! NOT HER! NOT MY DAUGHTER!"

Auror Dawlish could not help but chuckle as the prisoner grasped the newspaper like it contained his damnation announcement. "What's wrong Potter? You don't like that your daughter is killing junior Death Eaters?"

There was no sound from the other prisoners but Dawlish knew they were hearing every word of this conversation. His ears were good, but he almost missed the whisper pronounced by James Potter.

"The gears of fate start to turn...one by one. Alexandra...I'm sorry."


13 April 1993, Rochester, England

Peter Pettigrew watched the fortress of Rochester and sighed. The twelfth-century stone tower was one of the best preserved fortresses of that period in England and France and he generally was fond of visiting old places for the fun of it. It was probably his fondness for Hogwarts which had passed on to similar constructions.

On the other hand, he had visited many times the keep that John Lackland had besieged for seven weeks during the First Baron's War before hunger forced the garrison to surrender. The old fortress was more like an old companion now than a true novelty. Moreover, there wasn't much to see in the middle of the night. At this hour, the pubs, the museums and pretty much everything selling drinks or something to eat were closed.

Usually this wasn't much of a problem. Peter was a rat Animagus, a wizard who had through force of will, a lot of training and an unending amount of pain managed to gain a rat form. If he really wanted to enter a pub and get himself drunk with a few beers, closed doors wouldn't stop him for more than a few seconds. But if he wasn't at the meeting point when his contact arrived, there would be hell to pay. Despite being four hours past the agreed meeting time, the beings he was working for were not exactly renowned for their gentleness and understanding. No, Peter was being paid very nice sums and unfortunately this meant accepting the...eccentricities of his superiors.

The fourth member of the Old Marauders sat on an old bench and drew a copy of the Daily Prophet from his coat's expanded pocket. On the first page, the photo of a teenage girl drawing an impressive sword next to a gigantic snake was eye-catching. When he had discovered the news, he had almost had a stroke. Alexandra Potter had done the impossible: killed two Basilisks in the same day. Truly James and Lily's daughter was something special...and she was not yet thirteen years old. Yes, paying his debt to House Potter had been a wise decision.

"Hail the Basilisk-Slayer..." Peter supposed that if the girl didn't find a job at the end of her Hogwarts scholarship, she could always get a job as a Monster Hunter. That was if the Hit-Wizards didn't try to recruit her beforehand, of course. By the published list of students having died in this little bloodbath, several lines of Death Eaters were nearing extinction now. Wilkes and Rosier for sure had been totally extinguished. A lot of veteran DMLE personnel had to celebrate after this purge of Slytherin House.

It was only after half an hour of reading – by then he had reached the Quidditch section and was laughing at the last calamitous defeat of the Chudley Cannons –that he felt the first tingle of his own magic reacting.

The Ministry-approved newspaper was folded and put back in his pocket. Just as he stood from the bench, a sort of cold wind was felt against his skin and his arms slightly trembled. This was just for show, naturally. Had his contact wanted to surprise him in the middle of the night, he wouldn't have seen it coming before it was too late.

From a street badly lit a woman marched out. If anyone had seen her at this precise moment, the general remark would have been the woman had just come out from a very upper-class party. She was wearing an expensive dark blue robe with blue gloves coming up to her forearms and a finery of sapphires around her neck. Brown hairs flowed nicely past her shoulders in a fashionable trend. Her shoes were high heels blue and silver that most women would have been unable to walk with. And maybe she had been at a party hours before, for all Peter knew. But as she closed the distance, her pale visage was revealed and her lips still had traces of blood.

"Lady Agnes." Pettigrew bowed largely and then kissed lightly the hand she held out.

"Dear Peter." The black eyes of the vampire woman were dull for the present time. Good. It meant she was not angry or hungry. Not that he was too worried about the last part, Animagus were highly prized servants for a vampire coven and his blood was disgusting to them. Still, he had not survived until then by being careless. "I suppose congratulations are in order."

"Thank you, my Lady." Peter took the small golden coffer around his neck and activated the runic Engorgement Charm. Once its size had been multiplied by three the Marauder opened it to reveal a small golden key.

Delicately, Agnes Calpurnius took it and raised it to her eyes.

"One of the Boreas Keys, my Lady. Fresh from Albus Dumbledore's secret vaults."

"Impressive."

Peter Pettigrew did his best to lower his gaze, a task far from easy given the hypnotic abilities of the she-vampire's eyes. And the call was getting more insistent, after so many months far away from any vampire. Lady Agnes Calpurnius was not a Coven Elder of the Shadow Blades unlike her husband, but like the eldest vampires sired in this line she could call rats of all kinds. Wererats and common rats were especially vulnerable to this power, but it worked on Animagus rats too.

"To be honest my Lady, the real difficulty was finding the box in the middle of the mess the Headmaster calls his 'collection'."

Peter wished he was joking but it was the truth. The Orpheus Vault was a place where the Headmaster could store whatever things he wanted away from the curious eyes of the students. It was only accessible by a secret tunnel below the Headmaster's office and the Marauders had only discovered it in an audacious raid in the middle of their fifth year though they had not been able to put it on the Map.

With Dumbledore suspended, accessing it had been way too easy. The problem had been finding what he searched for without leaving traces of his passage. In forty-plus years as the Headmaster of Hogwarts, Albus Dumbledore had not classified anything in that room and it had taken him over three days to find the Boreas Key. Only to emerge in the middle of a war zone but that was another story.

"Good." Agnes made a bewitching posture and Pettigrew had to remind himself hard that this woman was married and was only playing with him like cats play with mice. "The four Boreas Keys are ours and none are the wiser. After twelve long years, the release of our leader is finally at hand."

The smile the vampire woman made showed teeth that were definitely not those of a vegetarian creature.


13 April 1993, Hospital Saint Mungo's, London, England

Hospitals were boring once you had visited one. Visit one, and you had visited enough to know all of them. There was white on the walls, the floors and the ceiling. The food had not much in quantity and quality. And there was not much to do between the interviews of the DMLE and the shot sessions with the Healers and Medi-Witches of Saint Mungo's. In the absence of books and magazines to while away the time, Alexandra was bored. Although honestly, being bored and at a magical hospital for a mid-level magical exhaustion and wounds suffered by Basilisk blood wasn't that terrible. There were far more unpleasant places to be. Azkaban, just to name an obvious example. A few of the magical investigators had not been exactly shy on the fact they would have arrested her if they had the opportunity. But then it was not her fault that the five Aurors stationed at Hogwarts had been useless, bigoted and been petrified in the first ten minutes of the grand attack.

Seriously if she one day became Head of the DMLE, there would be some changes.

To be sure, there had been some advantages for this short visit to the greatest magical hospital of Britain. Since her magical guardian and the Dursleys had had better things to do during her childhood, Alexandra had not received the basic potions immunising against various magical diseases. Now this issue had been corrected. And tomorrow, she would be able to pass her teleportation licence – or Apparition licence as it was called – five years before it was normally legal.

Someone knocked at the door. Alexandra frowned as she consulted her watch. It was too early for a visit. Perhaps another Auror or a Healer wanting to ask her questions about the whole Chamber of Secrets incident?

"Enter!"

The door opened and the person on the other side was not employed by the Ministry. Not to her knowledge, Alexandra amended. Wearing flashing gold and pink robes, there stood Gilderoy Lockhart, Senior Professor of DADA, blah, blah, blah. Also the man who was pretending to be a buffoon while spying on the whole Hogwarts population.

"Professor."

"Miss Potter."

The supposedly famous author smiled but it was not the usual grandiloquent expression which had enthralled half of Hogwarts in the first days of September 1992. No, this time it was something honest and embarrassed. The wounds on his visage were almost healed –magic healing was so far above the non-magical hospitals it wasn't funny – but smiling awards were probably over for him. Lockhart had been struck by Dark Magic and it had left scars on his face.

"Thank you for saving my life." The blue eyes were not brilliant with joy. In fact, they had the shade and the feeling of someone having passed very close to death. "If you had not been there, Mr Carrow would have certainly killed me outright or-"

Lockhart didn't need to finish the sentence but he didn't really need to. The curse - and it had to be a curse because bad luck couldn't be that murderous - had made sure the Junior DADA Professor Kaitlyn Reed had died in a horrible manner. Alexandra had studied lengthily the files of the Slytherins she suspected to be associated with the Heir. Carrow and his friends had not the reputation of killing in one spell their victims.

"I did what every normal student would have done." Alexandra said in a low voice. "I may not like you very much for sabotaging our Defence class, but nobody deserves being tortured by a Death Eater."

Lockhart nodded gravely. "I know and you have my thanks...and I suppose my apologies too." The expression of his mouth turned to a half-smirk. "I have failed my reputation by being rescued by a twelve-year old. I fear the Dark Force Defence League will revoke my Honorary membership."

"Wait a minute..." The Potter Heiress said bewildered. "That isn't a fictional organisation? I had a bet with Morag you had invented the whole thing!"

The blonde-haired wizard chuckled. "Oh, no I didn't invent the organisation...but the League was created two hundred years ago by a...charming American wizard who had certain romantic ideas about what was considered Light and Dark. Today the Dark Force Defence League is more or less bankrupt and for a moderate fee it is really easy to gain membership."

The dark-haired girl stayed silent for a moment before deciding on her next question. Lockhart wouldn't reveal who he was working for; the spy-fraud had not cracked when they had him disarmed and bound, he was not going to spill his secrets now. So instead, she referred to another piece of troubling news.

"Why did you call me a Lady in your office? I am only the Heiress of my House for the time being..."

At these words Lockhart took a far more prudent expression. "Lady of Magic is a title many nations of the ICW are giving to a witch having a magical core twenty times the size of an average practitioner. Lord of Magic is the male equivalent. The squibs have not enough magic to use a wand; the Lords and Ladies have too much and if they learn how to fully develop their gifts, they can be real powerhouses for the defence forces of any government."

"Dumbledore and Voldemort are both in this category, I suppose?"

"Naturally," The green-eyed witch had nevertheless remarked how Lockhart had flinched when she had pronounced the name Voldemort. Whoever he was working for, this was indeed the British wizard who had once been sorted into Ravenclaw House. "But they aren't the only ones. New talents emerge in every generation...you are just one of many."

A bell rang in the distance, announcing the beginning of the visits. Lockhart cast a Tempus spell and sighed.

"Well it was a pleasure to have you as a student Miss Potter...try not to burn Hogwarts to the ground while I'm gone." Clearly the surprise must have been seen on her visage because the man made one of his so-annoying 'Lockhart smiles'. "Oh yes, Dumbledore fired me the moment the Healers let me out of their custody. I apparently failed to uphold the duty of the DADA teacher. What a hypocrite."

On this point, Alexandra had to nod in approval. If someone deserved to be fired for not doing his job, the Headmaster of Hogwarts would be dismissed in a day before going to Azkaban for sheer incompetence and endangering recklessly the students. But somehow, Alexandra doubted they would ever be that lucky.

From his suddenly enlarged trunk, the former Professor extracted a book and handed it to her. Alexandra held it and read the title on the expensive blue and bronze leather.

THE FALL OF SLYTHERIN'S HEIR

By Gilderoy Lockhart

"The last book I've had the pleasure to write." The grimace of the blonde wizard was half-ironic, half-sincere. "It details the various events of this year...I leave it to you Miss Potter to decide whether it should be published."

It was a very generous proposition. But Alexandra had the feeling that in these pages, Lockhart had put a lot of truths which were not all good to tell. That was what she got for complaining she had no available reading.

On this last farewell Gilderoy Lockhart departed in a swirl of gold and pink robes. A few seconds later the Ravenclaw remembered Lockhart was the only DADA teacher out of four to leave his post at Hogwarts alive in the last two years. Truly it was a great achievement given the madness of this school.

Alexandra had every intention of reading Lockhart's new best-seller – it could hardly be worse than Break with a Banshee – but a new knock against the door forced her to abandon this idea. The Fall of Slytherin's Heir was hidden under her pillow and Alexandra sat on the bed, silently grateful she had had the opportunity to be wearing the Hogwarts robes.

"Enter!"

For an instant she had the hope Morag and Hermione had gotten the permission to visit but this unlikely chance was dashed at first sight. Headmaster Albus Dumbledore walked into the white hospital room...and trailing his footsteps came Senior Accountant Grimjaw.

The Chief Warlock was in a disturbing robe combining light blue, greyish green and rose. Not that Alexandra really cared about this awful choice of clothes. No, all the Potter Heiress felt was a fire of hate towards the Defeater of Grindelwald. Once she had recovered, the second-year Ravenclaw had gotten the confirmation that the phoenix which had saved Longbottom and his consorts had been indeed Dumbledore's. With such a powerful Light creature at his control, the Headmaster should have been able to neutralise the Heir and its Basilisks months ago. But no, this senile old fool had done nothing. And in the Chamber of Secrets, his bird had left her alone and unsupported.

Dumbledore had tried to kill her. He had failed. The moment she was able to, Alexandra had sworn she would return the favour.

"How are you feeling my dear girl?" For a second, the young witch was stupefied by the audacity of the man. 'My dear girl'. She had half expected 'Miss Potter' instead of 'Heiress Potter', but the man had utterly broken the conduct code between two members of the nobility.

But two could play this game. Thus when she replied, her words were not for Dumbledore and she did not look in his direction.

"Senior Accountant Grimjaw. May the steel of your halberds stay sharp."

The old goblin had not chosen to come in his banker clothes today. Instead of his respectable clothes – respectable for a goblin of course – Grimjaw was in battle-armour decorated with gold and silver runes.

"And may your enemies perish in blood and despair, Heiress Potter."

Behind him, two young goblins set down a small mountain of paperwork and Fragarach in her scabbard. The sight of the later was cause for rejoice because it meant the goblins had decided to let her keep the sword. The sight of the former made her groan in consternation. That was a lot of parchment and by the mere sight of this documentation, it was going to be as boring and annoying as one of Binns' lectures.

Turning her head to the other side, Alexandra curtly acknowledged curtly Dumbledore.

"Chief Warlock." After the events of this year, it would be a dire day when she called this wizard Headmaster or added the habitual salutations behind them.

"Miss Potter, I don't think you realise how grave your actions were." When she had started Hogwarts, maybe Alexandra would have taken these words seriously. This had been before understanding how messed up the entire school was. "Your actions may have been considered legitimate defence, but killing leaves a stain on the soul..."

Wait what?

Before she could contain herself, Alexandra exploded.

"So I was supposed to beg the Slytherins to be nice and let them get away with their murders? That's what you are saying, Chief Warlock?" Her half-roar half-shout appeared to amuse Grimjaw a lot. Dumbledore's facial expression on the other hand, revealed nothing and after a moment Alexandra diverted her gaze. According to the rumours of Hogwarts mill, you did not look a Master Legilimens in the eyes.

"Of course not!" The grandfather persona was back. "But I wanted to impress on you that the next time, the DMLE will not be so forgiving. Murdering another student is not something either I or the Board take lightly..."

Dumbledore continued his long elocution, droning lengthily on the values of Light, love and forgiveness. Alexandra listened, but most of the things the man discussed were way over her head philosophically and what she understood, the green-eyed witch didn't like. How nice of Dumbledore to tell that the Houses of Hogwarts had been created to unite the student body when Gryffindor and Slytherin were fighting at every occasion. How great of the Defeater of Grindelwald to demand an exemplary behaviour when he was five days out of seven away from the school. How hypocritical to put the blame on her when it was his actions and those of the Ministry which had resulted in countless Death Eaters escaping Azkaban with minimal excuses.

"If I were you, I would make sure there is no 'next time'. Because I will think twice 'next time' about playing the heroine and save your school."

It was like there had been a button released. A sort of magic pressure soared in the room and for a few seconds Alexandra had difficulties breathing. And then it disappeared like it had never existed. But for the first time, Alexandra had felt it, the sheer amount of power available to the old wizard. It was a hurricane of magic, one which rendered her most powerful spells tiny and ridiculous. Dumbledore wasn't the Leader of the Light because he had good ideas in the political arena or concerning the education of students.

He was the Leader of the Light because he was the most powerful wizard of the British Isles. He had been given these positions because save the Dark Lord Voldemort, there was no one in these last decades able to stop him.

"I will keep an eye on your actions, Miss Potter." And on this ominous promise, the Chief Warlock left the room, his awful robes floating in a fashion which was not inducing the same respect every arrival and departure of Professor Snape made.

"I am going to regret this, am I not?" Alexandra declared once the footsteps of the Headmaster had faded away and she had cast two privacy Charms.

"Possibly," grunted Grimjaw. "But Albus Dumbledore has far more important things to do nowadays than pursue a grudge against you. The battle you were involved in cost him his place as Supreme Mugwump and the various posts he had among the International Confederation of Wizards. His control over the Wizengamot is also...unstable and he is not your magical guardian anymore."

The young witch smiled at all the excellent news before asking the main question in her thoughts.

"Who will replace him as my magical guardian?"

"Unknown," was the not very encouraging answer. "There is to be an audience at an undetermined date but given the chaos you have unleashed by your actions, I don't expect the date to be set before July."

"I see."

She would have to ask Morag's parents if they were willing to be her magical guardians then. True there were no blood ties between House Potter and House MacDougal, but the Irish family was a Most Noble House and Ancient House of the Grey. Alexandra did not want to stay at the Dursleys more than was humanly necessary, and she certainly had no intention to be watched by one of Dumbledore's lackeys...

The goblin accountant whispered something unintelligible in his own tongue before grabbing the first parchment of the voluminous pile.

"To business, then," Grimjaw raised progressively his eyes. "The Chief Warlock has invoked a rather obscure law voted in 1750 requiring that all the gains you make of the Basilisk spoils will be kept in one of our vaults and only be released when you will marry."

Alexandra instantly felt her doubts about the manner she had answered Dumbledore dissipate into the air. The wizard had tried to screw her over once again. Unfortunately for him, she had read the law when she had searched the Act of Conquest precedents in Hogwarts library.

"I wonder if he really read the law in its totality?" The Potter Heiress said aloud. As Grimjaw did not appear to know what she was speaking about, the young Ravenclaw elaborated. "Unless the Chief Warlock has a two-thirds approval of the Wizengamot, he must transfer to my trust vault two thousand Galleons per year as a compensation."

Grimjaw chuckled loudly. Dumbledore was rumoured to be incredibly rich – between the income of an Alchemist, the countless political positions and his militia called the Order of the Phoenix, two thousand Galleons were unimportant. But it was a start.

"How much were the two Basilisks worth?"

This time it took fifteen seconds for Grimjaw to shuffle through in the numerous papers before replying.

"As we speak, the two Basilisks have been entirely processed by our teams and the different parts put into stasis. The only substance we sold was the Basilisk venom as per Ministry regulations." The accountant made a rude gesture with his right arm. "The DMLE and the different departments were very firm on their decision the venom had to be distilled and rendered into Potions as fast as possible."

"I read something on it." The Ravenclaw girl commented. "Diluted Basilisk venom can serve in a lot of counter-poisons, antidotes, vaccines and truth Potions. But with its rarity, its use is not common."

"Astute observation," agreed the old goblin. "Of course it will be a bit less rare to use it from this week onwards. Between the two Basilisks, our teams managed to extract roughly twenty litres of venom. The Ministry taxed the transaction of course. Gringotts also took its usual fees, but at sixteen Galleons per millilitre the sum remaining is still considerable."

Alexandra did a rapid calculus in her head and arrived at fantastical sums with a lot of zeros. "More than two hundred thousand Galleons?"

"The Ministry took six percent and Gringotts four. Once everything was paid, the sum stored in your new vault was roughly of two hundred and eighty-eight thousand Galleons."

Well at least killing the Basilisks had gone a long way in restoring the family fortune. Assuming she survived long enough to be married of course. And that she managed to find a book on dowries because she hadn't had the time to study this specific custom of the Wizarding World.

"It is only of course a small part of the profits the corpses of two Basilisks will give you," continued conversationally Grimjaw. "Everything is valuable on a Basilisk for certain parties. The scales interest many military organisations for their defensive applications. The blood is a delicacy for the vampires and can be used for many Healing Potions. Many goblin clans have commissioned weapons with their bones and their teeth in the past and I do not doubt our warriors will want to buy their own." Alexandra shivered at this one as she remembered the terrible fangs of the Kings of Snakes. "The only parts of the Basilisks we can't sell are the eyes. Your bat and your spells blinded the monsters."

This didn't make her sorry at all. The power to kill anything with your eyes was too dangerous. It was better that it disappeared forever. As far as she knew, Salazar Slytherin had left no diaries explaining how he had bred these Basilisks so hopefully this secret was lost.

"I will leave you a few days to decide, but if you decide to sell entirely the two Basilisks Gringotts should be able to negotiate a price between one million three hundred and one million six hundred thousand Galleons."

Okay, time to correct her words. Rich was too undermining. The appropriate adjective seemed 'filthy rich' or something on that level. But if she sold too much, there was a high risk of receiving hundreds of Marriage proposals, no? Decisions, decisions...

"I will think it about it. In the interval I suppose you want my report on the slaughter of Brise-Roc?"

After all, there was no sense delaying the inevitable. The Potter Heiress somewhat doubted Grimjaw would have taken the risk of antagonising Dumbledore if he didn't want something in return.

"Certainly," affirmed the armoured goblin in a tone that what far too friendly. "Will it include a twenty-foot tall monster of flames and darkness by any chance?"

Alexandra in general wasn't easily caught with her mouth wide opened, but in this case the sentence of her accountant made sure she did exactly that. One second later, her heart froze in terror as there was only one way Grimjaw could know about it. The hellish Salamander had resurfaced again.

"It does." She could not help but trembling and her voice was not assured at all. "If you know the description of this Summon, I suppose it means this demon has attacked again?"

"Three times," grunted the old goblin in a sinister tone. "One of our expeditionary forces in South America was ambushed in an ancient temple. A Chinese delegation visiting one of our Polish fortresses was the second. The third was a wizard bank funded by the Magical Sultanate of Java. In all three cases, there were some survivors to tell us the entity in question was responsible."

"And no magic or any weapons could injure it."

"No," confirmed Grimjaw. "Summoning is an ancient art of magic lost to wizards and goblins alike. The knowledge has been erased or destroyed...we don't know how to counter it anymore. Like Fragarach, it is a souvenir of days where magic ruled this earth and powers beyond our imagination were unleashed."

Two pair of eyes turned in the direction of the silver sword. Murmuring a sort of incantation in goblin language, Grimjaw handed the sword to Alexandra.

"According to our ancient war songs, only the Champions of the Morrigan can draw this sword safely." The Senior Accountant of the Potter vaults grinned. "Three Ministry employees got their hands rather severely burned when they tried to touch the pommel...the rumours of curses protecting it were not completely imaginary."

"You are letting me keep it? Just like that?"

This time the raven-haired girl could hear a true goblin laugh.

"The Answerer always returns to the hand of the Champion She chooses." The raised eyebrows suggested there still had been some...animated conversations between the high instances of Gringotts. "And since you have given it the properties of Basilisk venom, no reasonable goblin will want to fall on this blade. The sword of Mordred is yours Heiress Potter...use it wisely."


13 April 1993, Hogwarts, Scotland

"Morag, is our friend dangerous?"

Morag MacDougal chuckled at Hermione Granger's naive question. Sometimes, it was good to see that the most academically-inclined member of their little group was still a good-little Gryffindor.

"Yes, Alex is dangerous." The red-haired witch told the bushy-haired Muggle-born. "But not to us."

"I don't think House Slytherin shares your opinion at all." The voice of Hermione was a bit testy. The pure-blood witch was not surprised. Hermione may have befriended Alexandra before her but apart from the troll incident of first year Hermione had never been on site to witness their raven-haired friend fight.

"House Slytherin can go to Azkaban for all I care." Morag declared. Unlike Nigel and Alex, she had never thought when they had seriously begun their researches that a large number of Slytherin students would be involved. Well, she had been dead wrong. It had cost her weeks turned into stone waiting for a restorative and Morag wasn't sure at all the Basilisk hadn't been sent to kill her and Hermione. They had watched the mirror after all, not the Monster's eyes directly. What would have happened otherwise was impossible to know, but given the fate of Professor Reed and Byron Vaisey...

Hermione looked a bit nauseous. Perhaps the same thoughts had arrived to her brain.

"I am proud of her..." The second-year bookworm told her. "She killed two Basilisks and saved the school. For us," This was actually a good point. Alexandra certainly hadn't done it for Dumbledore or because she loved the castle. "But I worry for her. She killed Devkins, she killed the troll...she kills and kills...don't tell me it's natural for someone. Alex is twelve, she shouldn't have so much blood on her hands..."

"My parents are going to pay a couple of Mind Healers for several months." The MacDougal Heiress informed her Gryffindor friend. "And I've spoken with Flitwick. He has agreed to modify the bedroom dispositions in Ravenclaw tower: Alexandra and I will share a dormitory from then on." Normally, it should have waited the beginning of third year – they had both given their accord in January – but to exceptional circumstances, exceptional changes.

The second Ravenclaw of the Exiled didn't add however that as long as Hogwarts was a battlefield like it had been this year, there was little chance for things to get better. Not with Dumbledore at the helm.

"Are there other things you have planned for her?"

"I've asked my father to be a candidate for Alex's magical guardianship." After what she had done for them, it was the least she could do on that front, really. The chances of success were more problematic. House MacDougal and House Potter had no blood ties and that was what the Ministry regarded first. "And we bought Tisiphone from the South Americans before she was sent to the menagerie."

The gigantic bat had accomplished its heroic mission, Morag was not going to abandon her like that.

"Are you sure it's a good idea to have this bat on British soil?"

The second-year Ravenclaw snickered.

"The bat should be the least of your troubles. Alex was always more dangerous than Tisiphone..."


14 April 1993, Hogwarts, Scotland

Draco Malfoy, Heir of the Most Noble House of Malfoy, was fuming in anger as he walked towards the library to search for the Potions Book he would need for his latest homework. The day was almost over thankfully, but it had been bad.

No, not bad. The day had been a disaster. Since the day the Daily Prophet and the rest of the British newspapers were calling 'the Battle of the Chamber of Secrets', whatever power and influence the Slytherins had been able to wield over the non-Slytherins had disappeared in less time than it took to unlock a door. The Slytherin Auror squad had been removed. Dumbledore was back, though there was still a commission watching his moves. The fear which had been increasingly present in the corridors, halls and classrooms had disappeared. Most of the Prefects supporting the cause had been suspended. House Slytherin's reputation had not survived the events of the battle. The peerless Boy-Who-Lived had opened his mouth the moment he was out of the infirmary, then Black and the Weasleys had confirmed each of his words. The domination of the pure-blood cause had suffered a tremendous hit.

But it had not stopped there, had it? Longbottom and his cohorts hadn't known everything. The alibis Lewis Wilkes and his band had prepared, how they had attacked at the Gryffindor-Hufflepuff match and why. But Potter and her little group of Exiled did. The psychopath of House Ravenclaw had amassed an incredible amount of information and the fact she was at Saint Mungo's had not prevented information from leaking. Her friends, the blood-traitor MacDougal, the Mudblood Granger and the Wolpert squib had given many interviews to the Irish and foreign papers. There had been far more than enough evidence to show Wilkes, Carrow, Miller, Nairne, Rosier and the others had been guilty of crimes sufficient to send them at Azkaban until the end of their lives. And the blonde-haired Heir was sure not all information had been published. Potter's friends had to know not every Slytherin involved in the conspiracy had been killed. Draco knew, because Rosier had borrowed from him a few texts which were quite illegal. Theo Nott had also been involved. There had been 'gifts' of Death Eater robes and masks brought to Hogwarts by diverse secret tunnels no non-Slytherin had ever discovered.

It had gone quite downhill from there. Potter was going to get away with her crimes, the Slytherins she had murdered having all casted at one time or another Unforgivables in Death Eater robes. Draco hadn't known about this series of laws from the last war...but Alexandra Potter evidently did. He had believed it was only a momentary reverse. His father had encouraged him to maintain a low profile as he was forced out of his post from the Board of Governors by Dumbledore and his cronies.

But he had not expected Daphne Greengrass and Blaise Zabini to intervene this morning in the Common Room. The two of them had apparently spoken with the blood-traitor MacDougal last evening, and now there were new marching orders. House Slytherin was going to cease its open allegiance to the pure-blood cause...or else. Draco had laughed and told Greengrass she wasn't serious. The Heiress of House Greengrass had answered by hexing him and delivering a diatribe where she insulted the entire cause and told him to stop being an imbecile. 'Alexandra Potter will kill us all' had been the main argument of her speech...and to his horror it had worked. Flint had agreed and in ten minutes all the upper years had more or less agreed they would stop bothering the Mudbloods and the Blood-Traitors. It was unconscionable. It was treason against the Dark Lord. And unfortunately as the son of Narcissa Malfoy knew in his heart, it was the right move. The Ravenclaw witch was perfectly able to come back and massacre them in their sleep. She would probably be sent to Azkaban afterwards but the Slytherins would still be dead.

It was a bad day and it hadn't improved. Greengrass had prepared well her affair and taken the leadership of the second-years. The Carrow Twins –which now were far closer to the Ladyship after their elder brother's demise - Bulstrode, Crabbe and Goyle had decided to follow her and she had already Davis and Zabini to her side. The first years were also drinking her assurances like Butterbeer and he was disgusted his cousin Lyre was among them. With Vaisey dead, that left only Theodore Nott, Pansy and him to form an opposition. The Nott Heir had proven he was more an enemy than he was an ally this year and Pansy was growing increasingly distant after the Heir's death had been announced.

Draco tightened his fists in genuine anger. Pure-bloods were the superior wizards and witches. Magic was their birthright, their legacy and their due. Half-bloods and Mudbloods had to be shown their place! It was the natural order of the world! Why weren't these idiots of teachers and students able to understand it? Dumbledore was ruining everything! He was destroying their customs and their culture!

Draco was so busy raging against the unfairness of the whole situation he didn't see the three figures coming out a secret passage behind a painting.

"Malfoy, we need to talk."

The son of Lucius Malfoy cringed in frustration. The day was getting worse and worse. Longbottom, Black and Weasley were blocking his way and he had not Crabbe and Goyle with him. The Golden Trio had not drawn their wands, but since he was alone there was no need to.

"We haven't anything to talk about, Longbottom."

"Oh, I disagree." The visage of the Boy-Who-Lived was very smug. "Is the name Dobby familiar to you?"

The first thought of the second-year Slytherin was what an idiot he had been to speak with his father of the Chamber of Secrets with his father while his father's House Elves were present. The second was how stupid Longbottom was to reveal his source of information from the start. Knowledge was like power; you had to keep it well and use it when it hurt your enemy the most.

"It is one of my mother's House Elves I think." Draco feigned disinterest. Really the small creature was not to be trusted at all and sold at the first opportunity. "It is one of the young ones we got from Aunt Walburga. He is completely mad...he wants to punish himself at every opportunity. Why? What did he do this time?"

The answer did not come from the Longbottom Heir however but from the Weasel. By Merlin and Morgana, Draco always wondered how two prestigious Heirs tolerated this idiot. It was further proof of the decadence of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black and the Most Noble and Ancient House of Longbottom.

"Don't play games, Malfoy! We know it was your father who provoked the entire Chamber affair!"

And here it came. It was a straightforward accusation from the red-haired loud-mouthed menace, like his father had warned him.

"Where is the evidence, then?"

"We have Dobby's testimony." Leo Black told him as the Weasel fumed in anger next to him. "We know it was him who blocked the gate at King's Cross and enchanted the Bludgers during the Quidditch Match. We know it was your father who put the Dark Diary in Ginny's cauldron."

Draco was instantly relived at those words. They had nothing. But it was logical indeed. If they had something against Father, Dumbledore would have already presented it in front of the whole Wizengamot.

"In other words Black, you have nothing. House Elves' testimonies are not accepted in court and even if there were, Dobby would never be considered a reliable witness."

"We have seen the Diary in the Chamber!" Seriously the son of Arthur Weasley should try the basics of Occlumency, if only for anger management. Mother had not wanted to teach him last summer because he was too young, but the Weasley looked like he really needed it.

Draco fought back a pinch of jealousy at the idea a Weasley had seen the secret hideout of their Great Founder before replying.

"And where is the Diary now?" The three Gryffindors expressions were amusing to contemplate. Ah, the whispers of the Hogwarts rumour mill were accurate then. According to the goblins experts, the terrible fight between the Exiled Queen and the second Basilisk had destroyed the wards protecting the Chamber and sunk it beneath the Black Lake. And the Diary had disappeared with it. "Somewhere in the Chamber of Secrets, I take it."

The Weasel opened again his mouth, his face redder than a tomato but the Black Hair spoke faster than him.

"This is not a game, Malfoy. Your father used a very Dark artefact and we have enough evidence to convince the rest of the Light Houses. Maybe Malfoy Manor will see a few Auror investigations in the foreseeable future..."

It was a bit pitiful, really. Malfoy Manor had been searched from the vaults to the roof by entire squads of Aurors five times this year alone according to Mother – and they were not yet in June. Did they really think House Malfoy was keeping valuable things in the manor after these raids?

"Is that all?" asked Draco, letting disinterest show over his face. "I have a Potions essay to write and a Library book to give back."

"Do you really think you are going to get away with these excuses with Potter and the rest of the Grey?" The way the Boy-Who-Lived snarled these words made Draco take a step back. It was nothing on the other hand compared to the fear he felt at the idea of explaining to the murderous Ravenclaw his House's culpability. "Sell Dobby to me, pay a large reparation to the students who were petrified and I will protect you from Potter's wrath."

The question had had Draco terribly worried. The half-order half-proposition amused him and he chuckled. Did Longbottom really think he was that stupid? Dobby knew too many secrets to be freed from House Malfoy's service like this. But it was the last part which was completely ridiculous. In two years, it had become quite obvious Albus Dumbledore himself had failed to control the Potter Heiress. The Headmaster was Potter's magical guardian and despite his well-known reluctance against shedding the blood of wizards and witches, Potter had killed five Slytherins. The Basilisk-slayer would listen to the three members of her group and maybe Flitwick because the half-goblin was her Head of House. No one else would have a chance and the old fool was never patrolling in the corridors. His 'protection' was worth nothing.

"Only MacDougal, Granger and Wolpert can protect someone from Potter's wrath, Longbottom. You have no influence with her and I think the Exiled Queen might be a bit mad at you for letting her fight alone against a Basilisk. Now get out of my way before Professor Snape comes and begin to remove the thousand points Dumbledore gave you for exploits you did not do."

The two Gryffindors Heirs seethed with anger but stopped blocking the way. The Weasel however stayed in the middle of a corridor.

"This is not over! We will find proof and your father will pay!"

"Good luck." Arthur Weasley rarely managed to find anything to convict a minor House in the Wizengamot and as long as the Weasel warned him like this, Draco was not exactly worried. "But you should try something easier for the rest of the year. Like supporting your Quidditch team and hope they won't lose the Cup again..."


15 April 1993, Durmstrang

The brown-haired witch was trying to cram a few more pieces of sweet bun in her stomach when the mail came and didn't turn her attention to the packages the other tables were receiving. In a few hours there was a Dark Arts and Duelling session combined in one class, and she had a feeling she would need all her forces. Plus it wasn't like there was a need to caress her owl or give her a treat.

Unlike in some European schools of lesser standing, Durmstrang High Masters had long decided it was neither intelligent nor healthy to welcome owls and other birds to the tables where the students were eating their breakfasts. After a few months of animated debate, a decision had been made close to a century ago. The owls arriving with their mail would be received in a special room close to the Owlery, with one of the Professors regularly monitoring the wards to ensure the letters and the boxes were not tampered or altered in any way. At least with this method, the risk of cursed material provoking a disaster in the presence of hundreds of young witches and wizards was completely averted. If things went bad, only the owl transporting the problematic item would be incinerated by the defences of Durmstrang.

It solved the problem of sanitation but not the mail distribution. Durmstrang was mostly an underground castle – a direct consequence of their Nordic location. The student quarters, the classes and the Hall of Onyx where the students took their meals were several hundred metres below the Owlery. Students did not wait long before protesting that the current arrangement was not practical, as they lost one hour every day to check whether their parents had written or not to them.

Diverse alternatives had been put in place, until the Dark Arts Professor of the time, an ill-tempered Professor answering to the name of Igor Makarov, had proposed that the last student of every year's rankings received the 'honour' of being the courier every morning to his fellow students. Punishments, penalties and diverse loss of privileges were nothing new at Durmstrang, and the measure had been rapidly implemented and become very popular. Well, except for the students who received awful grades but it wasn't possible to please everyone.

When the 'volunteer' postman arrived to the place Astrid Sverre was devouring a large slice of bread and apricot jam, a middle-sized envelope larger than the averages one was respectfully placed before her. The dark-haired student looked dead on his feet, but at least he had remembered the Duelling session was today. He didn't wish to anger her and earn himself a vengeful beating on the duel platforms.

As the dead last continued his assignment, Astrid regarded the large envelope with suspicion. It was her mother's writing all right but her parents had already sent her their congratulations for her first place in the Transfiguration project five days ago. Why would they send a new letter now? She dearly hoped it wasn't one more invitation to one of those balls and dancing-political matchmaking sessions...

But no as the content of the brown envelope was revealed, the heiress of House Sverre discovered it was just a newspaper and not the high-quality ones she used to read when she was back home during the holidays. The Daily Prophet. The British government-controlled paper also known as a sad excuse for a joke and something no wizard or witch at Durmstrang would be caught with. Why had her mother-?

Her eyes fell on the first page...and Astrid could not stop a gasp.

TERROR AT HOGWARTS

STUDENT KILLS TWO BASILISKS

The picture following the large headline was making commentaries rather superfluous. Next to the bleeding corpse of a Basilisk, a dark-haired girl was holding a sword, acclaimed by a group of goblins. A girl Astrid had met not so long ago at a Black family meeting.

"Lady Cassiopeia was quite lucky that day, wasn't she?" She whispered to herself. She had not the time to finish reading. Magic tore the paper out of her hands.

"Hey!" Snarled Astrid before stopping when she realised who had used the Summoning Charm on the table next to her. Long and superb blonde hair, green eyes, pale lips and a complexion beautiful to the degree that many thought she had Veela blood in her veins.

This girl was Lyudmila Romanov, also known by the nickname of Dark Queen amongst the students body. Protesting or fighting back against her was a lost cause. This girl was crushing seventh-years with five times Astrid's power in ten seconds.

"Interesting," The pale visage of the most powerful fifth-year did not show any emotions after reading the first page. "She's your cousin?"

"Distant cousin, yes,"

"Hogwarts may not be a complete lost cause." The little chuckle had no joy behind it. "Send a letter of congratulations to...Alexandra Potter. Tell her I will follow her next exploits with attention."

Whispers spread around the table and Astrid shivered. Lyudmila had never congratulated anyone in public before at Durmstrang. Perhaps her closest rival last year had been given a nod or two of respect...just before she sent him permanently to a long-term hospital ward six months ago.

"Sure."

She would send the letter; she was not stupid enough to disobey the Dark Queen's wishes. And Astrid would add a word or two of warning to her cousin. For better or for worse, Alexandra had managed to gain the kind of fame it was best to achieve when you were on your death bed.

But if the rumours of inter-school challenges are true, the next years aren't going to be boring.


16 April 1993, Hogwarts, Scotland

Annabeth Blackford was deathly afraid. Two weeks before, her status in House Slytherin had been all but assured. The third-year Slytherin girl had been included in the ranks of those deemed worthy by the Heir of Slytherin to cleanse Hogwarts from the Mudbloods and the Blood-Traitors. With time, the Heiress of House Blackford had been convinced her family would be able to restore their power, wealth and influence.

All of this had been shattered in a single day. No, not a single day. A single minute. Wilkes and Miller had been so confident they could handle anyone, even Alexandra Potter. Well, they had been completely and utterly wrong. No matter how long she would live, Annabeth would remember the tide of red-green lightning embracing the DADA corridor, the sheer amount of power burning the air and the screams of agony of Lewis and Jared as magic destroyed them.

Annabeth had run away. Second year or not, their opponent was just not in her league. Maybe the Monster would deal with the Exiled Queen. Or the Heir would kill her. But not her. Annabeth had fled to the Slytherin Common Room, burned the Death Eater robes of her grandfather, removed the initiation Dark Mark and tried to ignore the accusing looks coming from half of Slytherin House.

Hours later, the teachers had come and her cowardly attitude had proven to be the correct course of action. The Heir of Slytherin was dead. The Herald had been revealed to be a possessed girl who was examined by the Healers of Saint Mungo's. The Heir's monsters – two millenary-old Basilisks no less – had been slain. Cassius Warrington and Graham Montague were detained by the DMLE. Lewis Wilkes, Jared Miller, William Rosier, Byron Vaisey and Oliver Nairne had not survived. In fact, Dermot Ardoch and she were the only followers of the Heir to have escaped with their reputation and lives more or less intact.

The Chamber of Secrets was gone, destroyed forever. The cause they had spent so many hours championing had crumbled like a castle with rotten foundations. Annabeth had to wake up each night from nightmares of lightning where eyes the colour of the Killing Curse stalked her. And she had to live with the certainty her continued freedom was in the hands of her fellow Slytherins. One word, one accusation and Annabeth would be dosed with Veritaserum. From there, it would be a one-way ticket for Azkaban.

She had begun to lose weight these last days. Her food tasted like ashes and she winced every time a Gryffindor, a Hufflepuff or a Ravenclaw met her eyes with disgust. House Slytherin had never had the best reputation before the attacks started but now it had become worse. Considerably worse.

They had been promised a political scheme which would ridicule Dumbledore and restore the power of the Dark. In the end, it had been all lies. The rest of the school did not want their ideas. Nine-tenths of the non-Slytherin students did not want to speak a single word to them. The Lions were spitting and demanding to change place when they were sharing a class with them. Even Professor Snape had ceased defending them. Their Head of House had been petrified by one of the Basilisks and had seen their participation in this disaster as an utmost betrayal. The Potions Master had not denounced them, but they had been warned his protection and his guidance were over, since apparently 'these dunderheads of Lions are geniuses compared to my Snakes'.

The arrival of Marcus Flint on the opposite seat forced her momentarily to stop brooding.

"You look awful, Blackford."

"And you look like a troll, Flint." She replied acidly. The Quidditch Captain had never been one of the fiercest supporters of the Heir and now that the affair was over, Marcus was left as one of the leaders of Slytherin House, for all the good it did to him after so many deaths and such a loss of prestige.

"You should eat something," advised the big sixth-year. "Starving yourself is not going to help things."

"Perhaps," It was difficult to eat however when she knew she could be dragged to prison at any moment. Watching Flint read some diagrams he had taken from his bag, Annabeth tried to have a normal conversation to preserve the illusion nothing was wrong. "Quidditch strategies?"

"Yeah," Marcus looked in deep thought. "Most of them are completely useless now of course." The Blackford Heiress felt a point of guilt. Montague had been one of the three Chasers and Warrington had been the Chaser replacement. With both suspended for the rest of the school year, the team had received a serious blow. And it didn't factor in the fact that Draco Malfoy had proven unable to win against his 'rival' the Boy-Who-Lived with a superior broom.

"You have thought about organising new try-outs?"

"I have, but there are not many candidates-"

The conversations died in an instant in the Great Hall and Annabeth turned her head towards the entrance to see what was provoking such agitation. Then she blanched. Marching in long strides between panicked students, was the girl who was tormenting her in her nightmares since their last confrontation.

Alexandra Potter, the Exiled Queen.

The second-year Ravenclaw looked in good shape. If she had any scars or permanent damage from her confrontation against the Kings of the Snakes, it sure by Morgana wasn't visible. Her black robes were flowing freely and she had a sword fixed on her back. According to the rumours, this was the cursed blade of Mordred.

The silence was deafening. Apparently no one knew how to react. The Potter Heiress clicked with her tongue and drew her wand, pointing it directly at the great banner of Ravenclaw House. And before their incredulous eyes, the symbol of a raven tripled in size before animating and engaging a fight against a colossal representation of a Basilisk. And after ten seconds, the raven tore apart the head of the snake.

"Hey Hogwarts...I'm back!"

The Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff Houses burst into applause and cheers. At the Head Table, Flitwick, Snape, Sprout and many Junior Professors applauded too. Yes, they had completely lost.


17 April 1993, Somewhere in the Desert, Egypt

The temple had long been abandoned and its memory lost to time. The wizards who had built it had intended it to be their main stronghold but an ambitious rival faction had organised their collective assassination and declared it a fitting mausoleum for their greatness. Alas for their grand plans of world domination – a world which was at that time reduced to the Nile valley – they had gone to war less than ten years later and perished there. Their heirs had battled each other for whatever scraps of power and lore they had been able to recover but this place wasn't part of it.

Far from the trade roads, under wards the common wizard would scratch his head in consternation should he discover them, no wizard, witch, goblin or intrepid adventurer of the Antiquity really had the wish to cross the terrible sandstorms surrounding it the better part of the year. During the Crusades, some unscrupulous knights and their enemies had enquired on possible treasures but here again the temple-mausoleum had been ignored. There were monuments closer and less difficult to access. After all, if you wanted to pillage something, you had to take it back with you and the first part of the trip was hard enough to kill camels and most of the local fauna.

In the last decades, things had started to change. Several goblin clans had joyously started their own enterprises of tomb-raiding and the human governments, magical or non-magical, had followed or preceded them with enthusiasm and greed in their eyes. Between 1970 and 1993, the temple buried under the sands had been visited six times by precisely twenty-eight humans, nine goblins, a cat and a mongoose. The cat and the mongoose had managed to survive the first series of traps and flee. For the wizards, archaeologists and goblins, this place had been their tomb. The ancient Egyptian wizards and witches had not been shy on security.

The seventh expedition had not that kind of problem. Though to be accurate, it was not an 'expedition' to begin with. A cloud of darkness surrounding a shadowy figure, an unnatural event absorbing the light of the terrible sun, had appeared from nowhere in the middle of the dunes. From there nothing had been able to stop the progression of the intruder. Lethal wards having waited for hundreds of years were dismantled by a click of fingers. The arrows, boulders and various projectiles dispensed to reduce raiders into paste were levitated away. The runic traps and enigmas forming a labyrinth of themselves were resolved in six minutes while its creators had hoped to trap enemies for hours in it. Bridges and paths which had collapsed under the weight of the years or collapsed to entomb intruders were restored to their initial state. Pits where the most dangerous snakes, scarabs and crocodiles had survived by eating themselves were avoided despite formidable tornado-creating wards.

At no moment had the King of the Exchequer bothered using a magical wand.

The walk-over was finished when the darkness-covered figure entered a hall. A simple glance was enough to realise this place had been far more prepared to resist the assaults of time than the rest of the complex. Great pillars carved with temporal wards and stasis experimental processes. Stone of the highest quality had been used, with superb decorations painted by artists worthy of working in the Pharaoh's service. But it was obviously incomplete. Between the pillars and the arcades there was no tomb, no great throne fit for a monarch or anything to indicate the function of this place.

The wizard raised his hand and incanted a powerful revealing spell able to dispel every illusion and glamour in a range of kilometres. It had no effect whatsoever. The figure of darkness sighed in frustration. It was another dead end.

A swirl of bright darkness came in front of him as he continued to magically scan the building. It was a fully corporeal Ecclesial, the Dark version of the Patronus, one having taken the shape of a gigantic and magnificent Imperial Indian Cobra. An amused female voice came out of its maw.

"I had warned you this temple was a waste of time, Osiris."

"I think I told you it was a private matter, Isis," replied the being of shadows. "This is my quest..."

A fresh laughter echoed in walls having received no human presence for the last couple of millennia.

"And I respect it. But you have to admit...your collection of Egyptian heirlooms and antique weapons has no rival. A tenth of what you have stored in your vaults would suffice to fill all the museums from San Francisco to Cairo. You have also the true Eye of Horus, the Shroud of Anubis-"

"You can give me back the Ankh of Sobek, if you're tired of Egyptian heirlooms, you know."

A chuckle was the only answer.

"What is the reason of your call?"

"The Basilisks which were hidden by Salazar Slytherin under Hogwarts are dead. You know what this means."

"We can begin agitating red flags for Dumbledore's imminent downfall?" The cobra animation wasn't perfect when it came to translating human expressions, but the formidable hiss gave a hint this was not a good answer. The air trembled under the ancient power of the King. "Fine. Take the resources you need and execute Operation Dantès. Tell Knight Summoner to keep the pressure on the goblins and begin training the operatives we need for Operation Paradox, Unity and Bloodbath."

The snake of bright darkness dissipated in black sparks. The cloud of darkness stayed in a perfect state of immobility for a full minute. Then the figure turned around and marched towards the exit. But not before materialising an orb of dark flame and laying a complex trap all over the walls of the ancient temple.

"The Morrigan's Champion has returned...this should be interesting." The chuckle of the oldest being of this world was heard once more. It was not a pleasant sound.

"Come Day of Battle, O Angel of Death. Cast thy lightning and reign over the ashes. Ragnarok."

The King of the Exchequer paused for a few seconds, remembering the Seer who had uttered these words.

"I remember."

And he disappeared in the shadows.


18 April 1993, The Himalayan Redoubt

Few goblins were aware of this fortress' existence. Officially and unofficially, their race had never tried to make their imprint in this part of the world. The local wizards had been too powerful, too determined to keep the underground race out of their enclaves. Economically, there had already been several banking businesses established here. The goblins had taken one hard look at the current rapport of force and decided to go elsewhere. The rest of the world wasn't exactly lacking places to wage war, rob wand-wielders humans of treasures they didn't deserve and spread their love of gold.

But this fortress existed, though the few humans who had managed to reach the treacherous cliffs where it was built thought it abandoned. Powerful ramparts, fierce towers over the abyss and forges able to equip a legion were devoid of goblin presence –or any living being presence for that matter.

Before the Statute of Secrecy, the humans of the area had regarded it as one more unexplained mystery. Magic could explain a lot of things, and this certainly was one of those.

Their judgement was wrong, although they could be excused for their mistake. The sole and only occupant of the fortress had done its best to convey this very impression.

On a marble seat which looked prodigiously uncomfortable, an old goblin opened his eyes. If any of his race could have seen him, they would have been astonished he had lasted that long. Goblins could live longer than the longest lived wizard, but being long-lived did not mean immortal. And being a warlike species who loved launching conflicts at the flimsiest insult to their honour did not help. In the Great Book of Ultarik, the oldest goblin recorded was Tulkrok the Insatiable and he had died at the venerable age of six hundred and ten years. An anomaly if there ever was one, concluded the sages of the goblin clans.

This particular goblin was far older than the Insatiable at the moment of his death and he still had vitality left in him. Powerful muscles tensed. Merciless eyes watched their surroundings with a resolution rarely seen in this age. There was something different this time, however. There were runes powering up, energy coursed again in the foundations and the ancient ley lines were changing in nature. There was a hint on his tongue, a souvenir of an ancient time he was now the sole surviving guardian of. Something he had never been able to forget in his body and his spirit in a thousand years.

"The Slayer of Kings walks again the earth." A sardonic smile came upon a face which had not showed such feeling for hundreds of years. "At last, my duty will end in a glorious battle."