Chapter 42
The Ransom of Glory
Names have powers.
I must admit that in my first months inside Hogwarts walls, names and how they influence our world are not something which concerned me greatly. Our first and last names are important of course, but the intricacies of a name is hardly an easy subject and unless your interests lies in obscure combinations of Arithmancy, History, and Astronomy, it is quite likely you will live and die before someone has managed to exploit a weakness in them.
But they are other names. Whether they are friendly or antagonistic, they help us divide our surroundings between the people we like and the people we love to hate. On average, you will be called ten thousand names in your life and maybe less than a dozen will stick for more than a week before they are forgotten. In all honesty, they are completely unimportant. Whether you are insulted because your hair is too blond or too dishevelled, your nose is too big or you are not pretty enough will not change anything magically.
There is, however, an exception. I am speaking of course, of the Names of Power.
Unlike the previous examples, those are incredibly dangerous. I am sure many people will ask undoubtedly the fatal question: Why? After all, calling someone the 'next Merlin' isn't likely to resurrect the aforementioned wizard from his grave.
In a way, they are right. Merlin won't suddenly walk into the Ministry because someone is called his equal – it would have happened a few thousand times if it was true.
Names don't function that way. They are far more insidious.
One of the most infamous Names of Powers by a large margin is without contest the title of 'Dark Lord' - or 'Dark Lady' for witches. In appearance, it is merely a title which proclaims the wizard or the witch in question is ready to commit various abominable crimes to satisfy his thirst for power, blood, and Dark Magic. But minds of wizard and witches are different. When you hear the name 'Dark Lord' being pronounced, the images conjured in your head are those of an incredibly evil and powerful Dark Wizard, leading a horde of lesser Dark Wizards and Witches, followed by countless numbers of monsters and creatures which by no rights should walk in the light of day.
Our nightmares and darkest thoughts create these images of Dark Lords. And when one hundred thousand wizards and witches are terrified of a single being, the magical backlash is by no means tiny.
The Dark Lord will earn his titles by his awful and horrifying deeds, but it is the minds and hearts of the Wizarding population that will truly give him the crown of Darkness he craves. It is not going to make the Dark Lord more powerful, but by its very nature the Dark Lord will be far more difficult to vanquish.
Because in the blazing fires of magic, the Dark Lord will have become something evil with no hope of redemption, a monster to be defeated and the great villain of this story.
It will take someone very special to defeat him. Someone having internalised the very values the Dark Lord never had or abandoned at a young age in a quest for power, murder and evil domination.
The people will need a Hero of the Light.
Prophecies will maybe announce him. Dispirited but valiant warriors will rally to his banner. And in the end, the Dark Lord will fall, defeated by the Just and Fair Hero.
Because like in every good story, the Dark may have a few fleeting victories, but the Light will always triumph in the end.
Now see the situation at Hogwarts before my eyes. Replace the words 'Dark Lord' with 'Heir of Slytherin' – a Founder which in many stories is best known for his excessive passion for Dark and Evil Magic. Substitute 'Hero' by 'Boy-Who-Lived', a title given to a young boy for his defeat of a powerful Dark Lord at the tender age of one year old. The Professors are unable to stop the attacks, the Leader of the Light is suspended due to low political feuds and the situation seems desperate.
Does it not sound like the prelude to a climatic fight in the Heir's Lair, the infamous and never discovered Chamber of Secrets?
Call it the will of magic, protest it as a coincidence and the result of events nobody could have predicted; the result is the same.
Names of Power and Fate are playing their game.
Hogwarts teachers may have forgotten to teach their students the most elementary precautions in the last century, but magic doesn't care. Like Gellert Grindelwald became the Dark Lord of Nurmengard despite his heavy propaganda to portray himself as the Master of Death, this entire affair became a tale of young Heroes fighting the Darkness threatening their school.
A question remains however. If the Boy-Who-Lived is the Hero and the Heir of Slytherin the Villain, what is the role of the Exiled Queen in the story to come?
Extract from The Fall of Slytherin's Heir, Chapter 32, by Gilderoy Lockhart.
24 April 1993, Hogwarts, Scotland
If she had known how much paperwork this entire affair was going to create, Alexandra swore on everything she possessed that she would have seriously considered fleeing Hogwarts after the first attack and let the rest of the Wizarding World deal with their little Basilisk problem. The amount of parchment she had to deal with had grown to a small mountain in the last few days and it was showing no sign of stopping.
As a result, while she wanted nothing better than to go watch the Quidditch rematch between Gryffindor and Hufflepuff this Saturday afternoon, the black-haired second year was staying in her study room, dealing with the uncountable letters and official issues killing two Basilisks and several Slytherin students had made. To be honest, this was worse than a day full of History classes.
Morag and Nigel had rushed out to see the Quidditch match, wishing to avoid this monumental chore for a few hours. Consequently, it left Grimjaw, Hermione and Alexandra in the room, along with the hundreds of letters, Ministry papers and thank-you packages. From time to time, a goblin came to take the forms and the new letters which had to be sent elsewhere. And hour after hour –they had started very early in the morning and had only stopped for lunch – the piles decreased in height and width. Perhaps they would deal with this eternally-damned paperwork before the weekend was over. Or perhaps not. There was more arriving each morning. By the looks of things, apart from a few hermits on Pacific islands no one had visited in a decade, every wizard or witch in the world had heard rumours of what had happened inside Hogwarts walls.
The 'simple' letters were the easiest to get rid of. The common magical people were writing to thank her of killing the Basilisks, she was writing back a polite letter thanking them for their support. The main issue with those was that there were hundreds of the damned things.
The second category of the torrent of correspondences could be classed under the name 'Ministry and Gringotts bureaucracy'. For reasons which were evident to anyone understanding the relationships between humans and goblins, the Ministry and the London branch of Gringotts were not fond of each other, and it seemed the goblins were extremely happy to bury the authorities in a sea of useless information. Unfortunately for her, Alexandra was in the middle of this and Grimjaw was not eager to spare her this fate. Several months passed avoiding her Senior Accountant were now coming back with a vengeance.
Thirdly, there were the persons she had never met before today but for some strange reason wanted something from her. It went from marriage contracts – despite the fact that being twelve years old, it was completely illegal – to the support of new Ministry laws. The hypocrisy and arrogance contained in these letters gave her the urge to vomit. Plenty of names she had no idea existed before today, but in a few sentences they had earned a place on her 'do-not-befriend or ally with' list.
Fourth, there were the awards and the gifts. Grimjaw and a company of Gringotts curse-breakers had already destroyed the cursed artefacts, poisons, and other traps sent her way – surprisingly only half were anonymous, meaning there was going to be a huge ruckus in the future – but the sheer number of presents was so big it was like Dudley's Christmas had come for her a bit in advance.
A month ago, Alexandra's main and only title had been 'Heiress Potter'. Now the succession of imbecilities Lockhart had presented for himself in his 'fraud persona' seemed small in comparison to her official address.
Alexandra Victoria Potter, Heiress Potter, Order of Merlin Second Class, International Wizarding Order of Merit Platinum Standard (International Confederation of Wizards), Order of Bayard First Class (France), Order of the Wand-Cross First Class (Germany), Order of the Fiery Bear First Class (Russia), Silver Shooting Star (UMAS), Honorary member of the Dark Force Defence League, Junior Honorary member of the Monster-Hunter Guild of Durmstrang, Grand Basilisk-Slayer (ICW), Slayer of Death (Transylvania), Battle-Master of the Eternal Army (Mongolia) and these were just for the titles standing out. There were probably more waiting in the unopened messages.
On the financial side of things, she had received scores of books on a variety of topics, many of them quite illegal to own in the British Isles, two sets of armour in dragon scales, three broomsticks, several daggers, ten mini-cauldrons and two large ones, four hats, a horrid sweater, three sets of antique robes and countless things she probably would never use in her day-to-day life. The illegal goods were going to Vault 72, the Potter's family vault, before the Ministry had a clue they were in her possession. The rest...the useless things she would probably give to charity organisations and the useful gifts would be shared with her friends.
Killing two Basilisks had given her a mountain of money. In gifts, she had received two thousand and six hundred Galleons four Sickles and three Knuts, all going to Vault 869, her Trust Vault. But this was nothing compared to the sums filling Vault 517, or as she had started to call it, the Conquest/Dowry Vault. The venom of the two Kings of Snakes had given her two hundred and eighty-eight thousand Galleons. The blood, the flesh, the scales and the bones Alexandra had authorised to be sold –nearly four-fifths of the quantities available – was worth seven hundred and thirty-three thousand Galleons after Gringotts and the Ministry had taken their fair share of taxes. According to Grimjaw, this was fairly common as in this life nothing was certain but war, death and payments extorted after the looting. The green-eyed Ravenclaw had no choice but to bow to the goblin's long experience.
This battle against the XXXXX-class creature had created a huge number of problems and in all likelihood made her dozen of enemies. But at least she would have no gold issues for the rest of her life, assuming she managed to get her House seat and get married in the future. Vault 517 alone contained over a million Galleons. She would never be forced to throw herself at the feet of an employer because she had no means to pay an apartment's rent. In fact, she had probably enough gold and silver to build her own Manor once she was of age.
"This one is from the Great Priesthood of Kemet, the Custodians of Ancient Egypt treasures," spoke Hermione in a tired voice. The Gryffindor had been excited like her in the morning, but all traces of enthusiasm had fled hours ago as the parchment mountain diminished at a snail's pace. "Their leader, a certain Semerkhet of the Osiris Cult, congratulates Heiress Potter for her most impressive victory and gives her...an ankh of gold?"
Grimjaw left his seat to open an average package, revealing indeed one of these ancient symbols of Egyptian royalty. By the weight of it once she had it in her hand, Alexandra figured it was probably pure gold...and it had been blessed in a complicated ritual to give good luck and prosperity. An incredibly generous gift, of this there was no doubt. Sighing, Alexandra took her best quill and began to write an answer on how she appreciated this magical present.
Once she had finished, the big vulture which had brought the letter took it and flew away. Satisfied one more was out of the way, she read the next message.
"From the Potioneer Guild of Greece...blah, blah, blah...a necklace of snake fangs," evidently the wizards had not collected Basilisk fangs for this one, but it really wasn't something she was going to wear in public. For all she knew, the senders had wanted to get rid of their old things. These were not exactly like the kind of gifts one offered to a girl.
And it was like this, over and over again.
"From the Academy of the Unseen Antilles..."
Whatever banal introduction formula had been about to be told would remain a mystery for a couple of minutes as the door of their refuge opened in full to reveal Morag MacDougal. For a match where Ravenclaw wasn't one of the teams playing, her red-haired friend had a large smile.
"Still not finished?"
"We could have finished earlier," Alexandra grunted. "But half of my minions decided to flee cowardly and abandon me against the endless tide of parchment..."
Her Ravenclaw friend just laughed, showing no sign of culpability. Nigel entered the room seconds later, followed closely by Lyre de Male-Foi. Judging by the satisfied smile of the young Slytherin, it didn't take great Seer powers to know the final result of the match.
"Gryffindor lost, didn't they?"
But Morag nodded negatively.
"It was a draw," chanted the Ravenclaw with the happiness of someone who had just won an important bet. "Diggory caught the Golden Snitch, final score was 180-180."
The dark-haired Ravenclaw snickered.
"Oh, how the mighty have fallen..."
For the last couple of days, the entire Gryffindor House had behaved like their victory was assured and were openly wondering if they could win by a margin of four hundred points. Well, this haughtiness had been punished in a splendid manner. The red and gold 'heroes' may have won the House Cup thanks to the thousand points Dumbledore had given them, but they had certainly destroyed their chance to win the Quidditch Cup here.
"Longbottom was disadvantaged by the force of the wind and the Hufflepuff team had imagined a fine strategy to prevent him from taking the Snitch," affirmed Lyre in her soft and cultured voice. "Diggory was less hampered by the gusts and his Chasers were supporting him."
In hindsight, it was logical for Hufflepuff to adopt this kind of tactic. Gryffindor had been able to destroy them in mere minutes before the match was interrupted due to the attack of the Heir. The Lion trio of Chasers were too good and too experienced. On the other hand, it had almost failed and she had the feeling this playing scenario would happen only once in an entire scholarship.
"Diggory must have caught the eye of the recruiters with this game," the Ravenclaw absently commented, replying at the same time to a committee of guildsmen based in Canada.
"More than Wood did, for sure," approved the MacDougal Heiress. "He could do nothing for the three goals the Badgers scored and everyone heard him yelling at the end of the match."
"How tragic," gritted Hermione between her teeth. The words she spoke implied exactly the contrary. The bushy-haired Gryffindor had never been –and probably never would be – a Quidditch enthusiast, but her distaste for certain members of Gryffindor House had intensified in the past few days.
Morag, Nigel, and Lyre took their seats around the table, and Alexandra finished the documentation posed on it before speaking to her Senior Accountant.
"We are going to take a break now, Grimjaw," she informed the old goblin. "Could you please bring me the rings?"
"Of course, Heiress Potter," grunted the representative of Gringotts. A small wooden box was grabbed from behind a pile of letters and was placed on the table, before the small non-human marched out and closed the door.
"What is in this box?" asked Nigel with curiosity.
"Why don't you see for yourself?" replied the Potter Heiress, briefly standing and moving the box in front of him before retaking her seat. As the Gryffindor opened it, a gasp came to his lips.
"These are..."
"Gemstones with rings of Basilisk bone."
Nigel turned the box for the rest of her friends to watch, showing the five rings to their eyes. Ordinarily, Alexandra could not have paid for them but since she had received many jewels as gifts and the only supply of Basilisk bone this decade, the second-year witch had concluded she might use it to her benefit. A little help (and a large fee) from Gringotts, and the rings had been ready. Two of the rings were embedded with rubies, one had a large emerald, the fourth had a sapphire and the last shone with a magnificent diamond.
"These will be the proof that we are the founders of our organisation."
"So the Exiled Army is really going to come into existence..." murmured Lyre, her pale fingers touching the sapphire ring.
The blonde-haired French witch had changed a lot from the day Alexandra and Nigel had met her inside the book shop of Diagon Alley. Lyre had progressively abandoned in private her haughty arrogance and her allusions to pure-blood superiority. But then she was forced to spend hours each day in the presence of Slytherins who didn't know which side of their wand had to be pointed in the target's direction. After the fall of the Heir, Lyre had become happier and calmer. The fact that the Snake's Den was becoming a less dangerous place to live in was a factor in this.
"Let's face it, our alliance has already faced its first battle," declared Alexandra in a sombre tone. "The Heir and his Monsters could have really killed us but we won thanks to a good plan, a resourceful intelligence network and of course plenty of luck." In the meantime, Hermione and Nigel took the two ruby rings, Lyre took the sapphire and Morag the diamond, leaving Alexandra with the emerald ring. She placed it on the middle finger of her right hand, the left already possessing her Heiress ring.
"That and two of us are really going to be exiled by the end of the year." There was no amusement in Morag's voice. Given Hermione and Nigel's gloomy faces, there was no need to ask who was at risk.
"Longbottom and his friends really voted a Motion of Dismissal, then." Lyre's eyes were incredibly cold. "After how many points you won for them, Hermione..."
"I don't think House Points were considered when they made this decision," growled Alexandra, trying to resist the temptation of crushing the quill she had in her left hand.
It was in great part her fault, she had to admit. Nigel and Hermione had been severely ostracised by the rest of the Lions during first and second year. They didn't conform to the brainless charge-first mentality of the Gryffindors, and they had friendships outside the Lion Common Room. Accusations and petty bullying had happened so many times it was not a coincidence.
But this deplorable behaviour had been nothing compared to the new situation after the Basilisk affair. Alexandra had killed many students along with the Basilisk, and suddenly an overwhelming majority of the Gryffindors were convinced anew she was the next Dark Lady and potentially a rival for Voldemort himself. Needless to say, anybody associated to one extent or another with her was vilified and insulted. The Boy-Who-Lived and his accomplices had begun a very threatening campaign to convince their own House she was a mortal danger to their well-being. And the worst part was that it was working.
"I should have let Longbottom die against the Basilisk..." The green-eyed witch growled before sighing when met with the four amused pairs of eyes of her friends. "Oh, fine. I do not think our Lord and Saviour, the Boy-Who-Lived, deserves death, but he's an ungrateful and spoilt imbecile who needs a good lesson of humility. As far as I am concerned, the debt between House Potter and House Longbottom was paid in the Chamber of Secrets."
She did not add the point that Neville Longbottom had not liked this at all when she had let the rumour spread at breakfast days ago.
"Alex, there would have been a Motion of Dismissal one way or another," Hermione said in a sad but determined voice. "We have no friends and Neville is just one of our most vocal opponents, not the only one."
"Have they managed to obtain the required votes?" The question came from Lyre. Hermione shrugged to convey that she had no idea.
"There were plenty of signatures on the roll they presented us last morning..."
A Motion of Dismissal to expel a student from his House was not an easy act. You needed the approval of two-thirds of the Prefects and three-quarters of the House students. There were long and ancestral procedures to complete. There were the power-makers of the Lions to listen to, the politics and the doctrine of the Houses represented to take into account.
But with the future Lord of House Longbottom leading the charge and the pride of the Lions eager to pardon themselves from the whole accusations 'he is a Parselmouth and the Heir of Slytherin', it was the votes which mattered. Four Prefects and over eighty students needed to vote in favour of the Dismissal Motion. Alexandra knew Percy Weasley had voted against, as did the Weasley Twins and Lee Jordan. But this was not enough to form a valid counter, oh no.
"They must have the votes," concluded Morag. "The outcome is in McGonagall's hands."
No student, after all, could be dismissed without the assent of the Head of House. It was something that had in all likelihood saved her in first year from her fellow Ravenclaws. Flitwick would not have taken this lightly, favourite student or not. But this was Gryffindor. McGonagall – she hesitated to qualify the woman as a Professor after her monumental incompetence during Dumbledore's suspension – was a pathetic Head of House. The Deputy Head was never taking the defence of her students, visited the Common Room, or made appointments to ensure their academic performance was adequate for their job aspirations.
Worse, Neville Longbottom, Ronald Weasley, and Leo Black had had free reign for the better part of two years now. Maybe the Transfiguration Professor would express her disapproval. She might remove a few points and give some detentions. But oppose the leaders of this little coup? The chances of this were infinitesimal.
"I will speak with Flitwick this evening." Judging by the way ink was dirtying her fingers, Morag had not had any restraint when it came to tearing apart her own quill. "I don't think there will be a problem transferring you two into Ravenclaw."
"I will go with you." She had some excuses to present when it came to the entire Basilisk disaster, after all. And when it came to it, Alexandra was more and more convinced transferring Hermione and Nigel to Ravenclaw would benefit her friends. Gryffindor Tower was not a place where the top students thrived. How her mother had managed to get outstanding grades in this madhouse, the daughter of Lily Evans had no idea. "But I don't think Professor Flitwick will refuse." She turned her attention to the Slytherin member of the group. "Any chance you want to transfer too, Lyre?"
There was a second of hesitation before the blonde-haired witch answered.
"No, not for the moment," The left hand of the French girl touched mechanically the snake emblem of her robe. "For better or for worse, Slytherin is a place of power and influence. I need these contacts and you need someone to keep an eye on the Heirs and Heiresses of Dark Houses."
"It will be extremely dangerous." Hermione did not look particularly thrilled by the entire idea. In fact, no one was around the table.
"And fighting two Basilisks and several older students isn't?" Lyre mockingly gasped. Alexandra raised her hands and tried to show an innocent visage, making everyone chuckle. "I will deal with the issues as they come. The Junior Death Eaters have lost much of their influence, prestige and their leaders; there shouldn't be any problems for the rest of this year. Daphne Greengrass is keeping her word for the moment."
"Fine, Fine." Honestly, Alexandra was going to keep one eye on Greengrass, Zabini, and Davis. The two girls and the boy were true Slytherins, which meant they would go with the winning side if another battle occurred.
Gryffindors, Hufflepuffs, and Ravenclaws could be trusted to a point. For example, Alexandra had bribed a Prefect to falsify a few authorisations and give the Weasley Twins instructions to bring Tisiphone in by one of the secret tunnels linking Hogwarts and Hogsmeade. No one had talked, proving there was honourable conduct among thieves. But she couldn't have done this if a Slytherin (who was not Lyre) was involved in the transaction. At the first sign of a storm coming on the horizon, the Snake would have sold them to the Ministry or Dumbledore.
"The usual issues aside, I declare this first war council of the Exiled Army open."
'Exiled Army'. A grand name for a little group, but had not the Fellowship of the Ring provoked the fall of Mordor? In definitive, the strange name could prove a distraction. Enemies would search for an army, while there was in reality nothing of the sort.
"I will retain overall command, the title of Battle-Commander and General of the 1st Division. My responsibilities for the upcoming months will be to kill the threats opposing us, recruiting new members, and training them."
Fortunately, the short-term menaces had been largely reduced with the fall of the Heir of Slytherin – assuming he hadn't been a fake and that a word of what Riddle had said could be trusted, of course. Thinking of new members, there were two candidates at the top of her list: Percival Weasley and Luna Lovegood. The former was serious and was the favourite of the polls for the title of Head Boy next year. The latter was either a crazy girl or a witch with divination aptitudes...either way she would have her place here.
"Morag, you will be the General in charge of the 2nd Division." The red-haired pure-blood parodied a military salute. Alexandra groaned, she really was a bad influence on her friend. "Your focus will be on Wizengamot and Houses politics, Quidditch and once we will have a Treasury worthy of the name, you will be in charge of it."
"Hermione, you will be the General of the 3rd Division. You will be our Research and Development commander. You will also be in charge of our library resources and the lore we obtain, borrow, and steal."
The girl who would soon no longer be a Gryffindor nodded in agreement without a protest. Her task was more or less perfect for her.
"Nigel, you will be the General of the 4th Division. Your official title will be...Master of Propaganda and Education. Your task, if you accept it, will be to convince the sheep of our world to believe we're the nice guys and the rest are bad people."
A few weeks ago, she might have not thought about this. But then by that point former Aurors and DMLE personnel hadn't started sharing their 'reservations' to the journalists of the Daily Prophet. She was now often compared to a young Bellatrix Lestrange, the next reincarnation of Morgana La Fay, and a female version of Voldemort and several other killer Death Eaters of the last war. For their sake, she hoped they would not ask her to save the day again. She was not a heroine one could insult one day and beg for help the next.
"But we are the good guys!" protested the new Propaganda Head.
"Yeah, but the wizard and witches of Britain aren't convinced of it..."
And finally Alexandra turned to the girl who soon enough would be the only non-Ravenclaw member of the Exiled.
"Lyre, you will be General of 5th Division. Foreign Affairs and Intelligence gathering will be your primary duties, though it is possible you will help Morag with the politics issues."
Since she had already sounded everyone on the idea for two days, there were no objections. It was no guarantee the task repartition would hold for months, but at least each division commander would have an idea of what the others were supposed to do.
"Please recall for me all the orders of the day, Hermione."
"First, we have the issue of Ginny Weasley, or should I say Scylla Yaxley." The brown-haired girl made a large grimace. "Secondly, we have the possible rebirth of Lord Voldemort." Morag and Nigel both shivered when the Dark Lord's name was pronounced. "Thirdly, there are the escape from Hogwarts plans we must prepare in case we must face an invading army. Fourth, our knowledge and the evidence we have of the organisation calling itself the Exchequer. Fifth..."
27 April 1993, Ministry of Magic, London, England
Lord Lucius Malfoy was not in a happy state of mind this morning when he entered his office. From the moment he stepped out of the Floo, he had been hounded by a dozen assistants of various departments who wanted him to convince the Minister that his latest decisions were unwise, economically perilous, or outright stupid. While it was flattering that these parchment-crushers believed he had the influence and the power to command Fudge and be obeyed in the next seconds, maybe they should have done their job in the first place. The majority were giving back their reports when it was far too late to change anything or assuring the Minister of their undying support when they were in the same room.
It wasn't his fault the entire Ministry was crumbling under the weight of the bureaucracy and rules nobody truly remembered why they existed or how many generations of Ministry workers had lived with them. It wasn't him who had decided Fudge was going to be a good choice for the job of Minister of Magic. When Fudge had been elected, Lucius had been busy bribing all the officials he could to stay away from Azkaban and in no way able to influence an electoral outcome.
Removing his cloak and his gloves, the Malfoy patriarch glared wrathfully at the mountain of paperwork over his desk. Becoming the ICW representative was already severely curtailing his free time: twice per week he had to take an International Portkey to Geneva and those were days where he was unable to properly meet his Wizengamot 'allies' and organise the opposition to Dumbledore and his self-righteous 'Light'. But he also had to deal with the infernal and inefficient mechanisms of the Department of International Magical Cooperation. Given who was the Department Head, Lucius had few people he could rely on – he had already hired two assistants and he would probably hire more before the end of the year. As a result, he was diverting more and more of his Wizengamot duties and the inter-House negotiations to Narcissa. His beloved wife was going to be his deputy for the Wizengamot seat and many necessary activities – not all concerning politics – House Malfoy had to assume the leadership of.
Normally taking the place of the senior ICW representative should have been easier. But these were far from usual circumstances. Half of the twelve-strong ICW British delegation had resigned in protest when Dumbledore had been fired from his position of Supreme Mugwump – the Chief Warlock could trumpet he had resigned of his own will, everyone knew the truth – and they were protesting loudly in the Daily Prophet that the entire endeavour was a "sordid manipulation" and a "dangerous conspiracy" to blame the Defeater of Grindelwald. The other half of the representatives he had fired himself, as it was clear they were Order of the Phoenix cronies. Long he had suspected that the ICW salaries were filling the vaults of the Light-aligned militia; now he was sure of it. It would have been bad if they were competent, but none really had the languages skills or the diplomatic connections to be of any use. The problem was how to fill the vacant positions now. Lords and Ladies among the Conservatives and Traditionalists were isolationists and the Lord of House Malfoy could list the names of three dozen wizards and witches who would deny his offer when asked. British sorcerers' distrust of the ICW had increased after the Grindelwald War and Geneva was rightly considered as a place where a young British wizard or witch's ambition would lead nowhere. Lucius was forced to hire delegates with little experience in international politics and he didn't like it. Oh, and he had to deal with the chaotic outcome of House Rosier's destruction.
The first minutes of his work were spent getting rid of all the day's problems. One member of the cleaning staff had been surprised trying to access Nott's office, in all likelihood the man was a spy for the Order of the Phoenix. He would be fired with extreme prejudice of course. The expenses of the upcoming Quidditch Cup demanded sixty thousand more Galleons to be found, the ICW inspectors having found several critical security issues. This was dreadful but not unexpected. Decades ago, Britain had been able to build state-of-the-art Manors and fortresses, but this was no longer true. These days they were forced to rely on foreign experts as the Enchanters, Ward-Masters, Alchemists and Artificers were extremely rare...but Fudge had proclaimed the great stadium and the rest of the constructs would be built by 'British experts'. The result was such that they may have to contract German and Norwegian teams before summer because said local builders were not able to work properly...
Lord Lucius Malfoy had just finished reading a long roll explaining how Dumbledore's minions had conceded without a fight twenty-two new measures on cauldron thickness – which meant he could already hear in his head the cries of outrage from the Potioneer Guild – when he saw the large black folder. Levitating the parchment which had half-buried it, the blonde-haired wizard seized it to place it in front of him.
Unlike many official Ministry correspondence and archives, there was just a simple title on it in golden letters.
HOGWARTS TRIWIZARD TOURNAMENT
Lucius had known fear more than once in his lifetime – when you were part of the Inner Circle of the Dark Lord in the last months of the war, it could hardly be otherwise – but this simple name gave him shivers. Like every boy or girl having studied at Hogwarts, he had known about this bloody tournament of death. Who didn't? Under the guise of 'befriending students of foreign schools' the Headmasters of the greatest academies of Europe – Durmstrang, Beauxbatons, and Hogwarts plus a few others schools depending the centuries – had organised spectacular events where teenagers killed each other or were butchered by XXXXX-class creatures. The Tournament had become a way for the different countries to settle their differences and increase their prestige in an undeclared war. Sometimes it made things worse. The last 1792 Tournament had become legendary (and infamous) for its cockatrice rampage. Hundreds of wizards and witches had died and it had started a monumental conflict on the continent.
Why in the name of the Dark Powers would someone want to bring this abominable bloodbath back? Each time Hogwarts had organised it, the number of deaths had been so high that the recent "Battle of the Chamber of Secrets" he had so unwisely started was a minor incident by comparison.
Fighting against the dread he felt in his bones, the Lord of House Malfoy began to read the files contained in the folder. Several were written by people he knew were working in the Department of Magical Games and Sports, including Ludovic Bagman, the Department Head. But dozens were not and it was from them the entire idea had come from. Respectful requests and pleads abounded, some dating as early as 1990. Officially, the idea was coming from Elphias Doge. But the red and gold phoenix seal affixed at the bottom of one low-key parchment gave away the identity of the mastermind behind it. Not that he would have believed anyway that Doge would have acted on his own without clear orders from his master.
That was for the wizards and witches who had at one point participated in this plan. One the Grey and Dark factions had never been communicated the content of. And for good reason, Lucius had to admit. The next yearly budget was already going to be a very ugly beast to say the least, but somehow finding thousands of Galleons for a Tournament they had never been aware of would be the last straw. Hogwarts' treasury was not going to pay for this Tournament; the old Muggle-lover would put all his supporters against this measure.
The further he read, the worse it became. Bagman had dreamed big when the Leader of the Light had demanded him to plan for a resurrection of the Triwizard Tournament, but the former Beater was more renowned for his enormous game debts than his organising talents.
If the Tournament happened like in Bagman recommendations, it would be a very bad joke. There were to be three tasks, a champion for each school and no other competition during the year. The Quidditch season was to be cancelled, since they would use the pitch for two of the three tasks. As the tradition obliged, the champions and the schools would participate in a Yule ball – whose cost alone was sure to empty the Department of Sports budget for several months.
The champions would train for their tasks, but what about the Hogwarts children and the foreign students? By experience, Lucius knew how bad an idea it was to leave young wizards with nothing to do and old feuds to avenge.
And it ignored the fact the three tasks chosen by Bagman were completely unsuitable. The first part with the dragons was acceptable public-wise, although the price of protections able to withstand a dragon assault were not cheap at all. The second and third tasks were not. Magical means existed to watch the exploits of someone by interposed image, but they had never been tested in underwater conditions with multiple wizards and witches. In the end, the public would see exactly nothing.
The Patriarch of House Malfoy sighed and called his lead assistant with a modified music spell his wife had invented a decade ago.
"Call Ludovic Bagman, please. I want to see him in my office as soon as possible."
"Yes, Sir."
The last dozen parchments in the folder were even more concerning, if it was possible. They were the result of various polls and various inquiries in the other schools towards a re-introduction of the Triwizard Tournament. And it was not reassuring at all. Beauxbatons and Durmstrang were officially still debating, but an agreement to open negotiations was sure to come in the next weeks.
Dumbledore may very well affirm in front of the Wizengamot this was in the spirit of friendship and international cooperation, but Lucius read the truth in the documentation in front of him. The French had never liked Hogwarts – how could it be when British wizards had waged more conflicts against them than the rest of Europe? As for Durmstrang, the actions of Dumbledore in the last decades had not amused the pro-Grindelwald factions. The High Master of Durmstrang and the Headmistress of Beauxbatons were not interested in international cooperation or any idiocy sprouted by the Light. They smelled weakness. They believed Hogwarts was weak and decadent, unable to maintain its place in the circle of the Great European schools. High Master Karkaroff in particular, the traitor who had sold so many Death Eater lives to save his own skin, would want to humiliate the Leader of the Order of the Phoenix. The two other schools which had manifested an interest, the Scuola Regina of Italy and the Magia Universidad de Cordoba in Spain, had never been noted to manifest deep ties of friendship to the London Ministry either.
To say the 'advisor' of Fudge was not happy when the door opened was a big understatement. Hogwarts attendance had just begun to increase again after the losses of the last war; the last thing they needed was to kill their best and brightest because Dumbledore had had a mad thought and none of his minions had dared contradict him. Not to mention that a significant defeat in the Tournament would be a signal to everyone that Britain was easy prey.
"Ah, Ludovic Bagman." To his credit, the Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports understood very quickly how badly he had erred when he saw the opened folder. "I believe you have neglected to tell a few minor things to the Wizengamot." The alarmed expression on Bagman's visage told him the former Beater was definitely not been supposed to let him see their Triwizard projects this year.
29 April 1993, Hogwarts, Scotland
There were places at Hogwarts where wizards and witches just didn't walk in without invitation if they valued their stay inside the school. The office of Professor Snape and Headmaster Dumbledore firmly belonged in this category and unless a student was dumber than a stone, he was aware of it.
There were other places however that were best avoided if you had no invitation, but which location's discovery demanded far more efforts and investigation. The secret lair of the Weasley Twins was such a place.
Finding it was not easy. Filch was always trying to discover where the Twin Terrors planned their devastating pranks, and as such its location changed every month or so. The caretaker was persistent like in many things...well, he was an idiot too. Filch had no magic at his disposal and Fred and George used multiple traps to protect their secrets. At best, these hilarious defences gave them enough time to empty the room and flee before the unclean and horrid man arrived. At worst –worse for Filch that is – the attacking party would emerge from the incident with a great number of tentacles and a barely human appearance.
For this reason and plenty of others, the only student able to claim he was regularly invited inside by the pranksters-in-chiefs (Neville Longbottom and the rest of the Golden Trio had not yet managed to usurp the title) was Lee Jordan. Other Gryffindors regularly frequented the place – she had heard from Hermione how there were some clues in the Gryffindor Common Room to find it – but in general you had to know very well the labyrinth of Hogwarts corridors and hope luck was with you. Or you could ask for an invitation, but it was at your own risk and peril. The Weasley twins did not like wasting time they could have used for their prank research and more than one boy or girl had left looking like a monster after serving as lab rat.
Alexandra could admit freely she had not entered a Weasley lair before today. When she had paid for the services of Fred and George to bring Tisiphone inside the castle in secret, she had met them once in person and it was in an abandoned classroom. By the laws of the Hogwarts rumour mill, anyone who met Fred and George in the location they had chosen for their headquarters would probably be known tonight by the inhabitants of Gryffindor Tower. It was attracting too much attention. That said, the 'invitation' she had received by a brown owl had been phrased more as a summoning and refusing would lead to prank consequences. Better to not delay the unavoidable.
"You don't respect the proper procedures to handle Potions." It was the first thing the Potter Heiress managed to utter when she closed the door of the secret room after avoiding an amusing magical wire which would force her to speak for three hours in riddles.
What had been an abandoned classroom was completely unrecognisable. There were...things...everywhere! Nearly forty cauldrons were boiling with different potion recipes. Mini-fireworks were exploding in brilliant flashes. Animals were transforming themselves into sweets before reverting to an animal form. There was metal and carpets covered in runes brimming with magical power. Brooms and diverse housecleaning charms were surrounded by shields or danced in strange rhythms. The atmosphere was full of smoke, sparks, incantations, and weird odours. It was sheer chaos.
"Ah, Forge, the Exiled Queen is gracing our humble selves of her terrible presence!"
One of the Weasley Twins – maybe George – appeared from nowhere and threw a pinch of a red substance Alexandra didn't recognise in the second cauldron to her left. For a second a fire column mounted from the potion.
"Right you are, my dear brother."
The second twin came out of a tent that hadn't been there a moment before. As usual, there was no way to know who was who. They were covered in the dust, ashes and diverse results of their chaotic experiments. Professor Snape and the rest of the Professors would certainly have a heart stroke if they knew what the two terrible pranksters spent their free time on.
"Of course, I am George."
"I thought you were George for the day."
"No that was yesterday. Today, I am Fred."
The disturbing banter was so rapid and so disturbing Alexandra preferred ignoring it for the moment and instead watched the closest cauldron. It was a faint shade of blue and had a smell of rose...minute, had not Whitehead spoke of this Potion in February? It was a general antidote and counter to body alterations, the Olympian Elixir. But it should not be here in this room, at least not brewed to perfection. This was a very advanced Potion, at the very limit between OWL-levels and sixth year. Fred and George were at the bottom of their classes in fourth year. In theory, it should be beyond their ability to brew.
They are really underplaying their skills, aren't they?
The second-year witch stopped watching the blue surface when Fred and George stopped talking between themselves. It was the right twin – he might be Fred - who spoke first. Since their faces looked so serious – an expression almost illogical for the twins – the subject was going to be grave. Fred or George didn't disappoint.
"Dumbledore told us he had done the necessary for Ginny to be okay. As long as she never participates in another blood ritual, there will be no lasting consequences for what happened during this year. Do you agree?"
The last words were pressing and urgent...close to begging in truth. If it had been Longbottom or one of his associates, Alexandra would have lied shamelessly. But the Twins didn't deserve this. They had gone to the Chamber with her and they had not criticised the lethal measures she had been forced to take.
"No," the Ravenclaw girl answered coldly. "Ginny was the puppet of Riddle for several months and subjected to rituals so dark most of the families practising the Dark Arts would never dare use them like the Heir did."
"Dumbledore said he used a combination of Alchemy and Legilimency..."
The very unconvinced tone of the left twin made them rise up in her mind. Unlike the Boy-Who-Lived and dozens of students, Fred and George had not swallowed the Headmaster reassurances. Not when the life and sanity of their little sister was at stake.
"Dumbledore can say what he wants; it will not change the facts." Lyre, Nigel, and Morag had been totally horrified by the rituals used by the young Voldemort. Apparently no matter the background, there were rituals which should never be done, no matter the circumstances or the political justifications. "Your sister's magic has been attuned to darkness, her blood has been changed to reflect her Yaxley inheritance, and she has, for all intents and purposes, a Death Eater-in-training inside her head."
The first was not too problematic; plenty of Ancient or Noble Houses had it. If you did not cast dark-oriented magic, you were likely to be fine. The second was...arduous. Ginny and the rest of the Weasleys currently studying at Hogwarts had Yaxley blood in their veins. Not a lot – their great-grandmother on the paternal side had been Lysandra Yaxley – but it had been enough for the blood rituals. She had no idea what sort of nightmare it would have caused in politics if a blood-identification had refused to identify her as a Weasley, but it surely wouldn't have been 'good'. And the personality of Scylla...Alexandra had no idea how to deal with that. Morag and the rest of the Exiled were similarly at a loss. Riddle had gone into domains of magic wizards and witches did not go and for good reasons.
"What's your advice?" The question was asked as a cauldron erupted in violet bubbles which indicated nothing good.
"Your sister must not participate in any ritual for the rest of her life, period." This was the outcome of their little debate during their first war council. "Minor or major, Old Powers, Light or Dark, Solstice or Samhain, no ritual. The risk is too great." For the students of Hogwarts, who would have to face a girl not reluctant at all to massacre them. For her, as she had been the one to kill Tom Riddle. For Ginny, who certainly would not survive the experience and recover control of her body in the end. "I would also avoid all disciplines having links to the Mind Arts like Occlumency or Legilimency. If you see her doing something susceptible to break whatever the Headmaster has done, stop her."
"That's going to be difficult. Ginny is not stupid...and she is not powerless." The two twins continued to complete their own sentences, a style which brought a smile back to her lips.
"No she isn't." Life would far simpler if the youngest Weasley was at the level of intelligence of Crabbe and Goyle. Power-wise, Ginny may be more powerful than Alexandra. She was the seventh child of a seventh child, born from two 'blood-traitors' pure-blood lines unwilling to marry their cousins for the joy of it and thus avoided the inbreeding and insanity problems. With a bit of help from Riddle, the possessed Ginny Weasley had aced her entire first year with remarkable scores, leaving Lyre in very distant second place. It perhaps explained why the young version of Voldemort had chosen to corrupt her rather than kill her. "But it's her life at stake."
Alexandra had thought she would see resignation or sadness in Fred and George's eyes. The expressions she received were instead empowered with defiance. Like the moments where older years told the Twin Terrors they would never be crazy or skilled enough to unleash a particular prank against Slytherin House.
"Is there no way to avoid it? What Dark blood rituals did, Light powers can-"
"No!"Alexandra shouted by reflex. After a few seconds where she realised how loud she had screamed, she continued in a more clinical tone. "I'm really sorry but the rituals you speak of are incredibly dangerous and simply studying the one you seek would send you straight you to Azkaban. Please don't go this way. There is no guarantee the final result will help your sister...and the Ministry will arrest you if they have proof. Light and Dark rituals practitioners must face the same consequences."
Azkaban, if they were lucky.
"Fine, fine, we won't do it." Gryffindors were truly horrible liars. Perhaps it was why they had no self-preservation instincts? There was no contrition or renouncement in their behaviour. There was no sign they had changed their minds. Too bad, Alexandra liked the Twins...but she wouldn't intervene if things went to hell. Wielding Fragarach and killing two Basilisks had already raised the suspicion of the authorities and she was the Champion of the Morrigan. "Thanks for your help."
"It was my pleasure." A mini-dragon exploded out of a firework in the back of the room and George – or Fred – ran out to deal with it. The visit had given her many ideas. Maybe she could convince Morag to brew some Potions once or twice per week? With the proper security measures, they would improve their Potions skills and have a supply on hand when the school situation became uncontrollable. "Have a nice day."
It took her ten minutes after evading the dozens of traps and pranks guarding the approaches to the secret laboratory to notice the pranksters had turned her hair a livid blue colour.
30 April 1993, Geneva, Switzerland
The main ICW courtroom had many common points with the chambers of the Wizengamot these days. It was richly decorated and ostentatious. It was noisy. It was full of squabbling children, unable to see how self-interested and petty they were. The ICW was the greatest magical organisation of the wizard and witches. It should have been a model of international cooperation and friendships between the different Ministries.
At the moment, it was anything but. Under white and gold banners, the different representatives were nominating their candidates to choose who would replace him at the post of Supreme Mugwump. They were in the second hour of sessions, and there were already twenty-eight candidates. In all likelihood, the debates and the votes were going to take the rest of the month of May.
Frankly, Albus Dumbledore thought he could have gone to wait in one of the auxiliary rooms where less important motions were vigorously debated. The reintegration of these American troublemakers was one, but it was the reform of the classification for extremely dangerous creatures sponsored by the Greek Ministry that he had a deep interest to banish into non-existence. If they arrived to their end, Basilisks would be recognised as on par with the most dangerous creatures like the hydras as 'legendary creatures' in the six-X category. The fines and questions for Britain and Hogwarts would be...damaging. But he had told his contact to meet him here and given the usual crowd in the alleys accessible to the public, it was not a good idea to go gallivanting elsewhere as they would never find each other.
In the mean time, the Transylvanian senior delegate took his place on the spokesman' seat and began to recite a short speech exhorting the values his country: resistance and sheer stubbornness. The eastern allies of Transylvania - mainly consisting in the Bulgarian representatives - applauded, but the answer was far more muted in the rest of the assembly. Transylvania was infamous in the world for its long alliance with several extremely dangerous vampire covens. That they had fought bravely and viciously against Grindelwald was practically the only reason they were as tolerated and respected as they were these last decades. But elevating one of their own as Supreme Mugwump? That seemed a bit too ambitious for them...
"My Lord?"
Albus diverted his attention aside from the depressing spectacle of narrow-minded politicians fighting for their non-existent values and smiled at the middle-aged witch who had just called him. Violet Pettus was brown-haired and blue-eyed, and a loyal ally. She had been one of his ICW subordinates before his dismissal but still held a post in the Department of International Cooperation, despite Malfoy best efforts to purge all his allies from the jobs they deserved. Since, she was a member of the Order of the Phoenix, Violet had been aware of his plans concerning the Tournament and the different competitions he proposed to champion.
"Ah, Violet," The Defeater of Grindelwald didn't feel inclined to a large smile, but he did it anyway to reassure his agent. The Pettus witch was loyal to his cause, a true Hufflepuff to the core, and such loyalty deserved to be rewarded. "I trust your mission was successful?"
"It was, my Lord," replied Violet, giving him a large red folder. "Malfoy tried to block our plans, but Beauxbatons, Durmstrang and Scuola Regina have given their accord for an international tournament between the greatest schools of Europe. The preliminary talks will begin in July. The Spanish of Cordoba are divided for the moment... Headmaster Gama is favourable but his Ministry is not and they don't have Hogwarts' autonomy."
"Regrettable, but not unexpected," The Chief Warlock whispered. If he had free choice, he would largely prefer hosting a Tournament with the Spanish of Cordoba than the Dark-aligned students of Durmstrang. He didn't like Karkaroff, and he enjoyed even less the brutal education doctrine the Institute had been using for many generations. The northern magical school was routinely 'teaching' – if one wanted to be generous – by doing the equivalent of throwing the students in a pool of sharks. Gellert had explained to him the system in vivid details decades ago. The best students were awarded the advices and tutoring of their Professors, the best group projects and their private training rooms. Those who struggled were beaten, forced to endure cruel punishments or outright expelled when their marks fell too low. It was anything but a calm environment to learn in and it produced Dark wizards by the dozens each year. But Durmstrang had on average a population of a thousand wizards per year, the double of Hogwarts and the triple of the Magia Universidad, welcoming students from Scandinavia, Germany, Russia, and generally every Ministry from Eastern Europe. Or rather they welcomed the wealthy pure-bloods and the very influential half-bloods. Blood status was the first gate of selection for Durmstrang. "And our suggestion to host the Tournament at Hogwarts?"
The forty-year old witch winced and Albus knew it was there they were going to meet the real hurdles.
"All of them are completely against, my Lord," said Violet, holding her hands in a saddened posture. "Beauxbatons and the French have told us that by the historical rules, it is their turn to host the Tournament. The Italians want the honour for their first participation since the seventeenth century. And Durmstrang wants to beat us in front of their castle..."
How delightful, and he couldn't even play the 'Supreme Mugwump' card anymore. Moreover, the parasite named Lucius Malfoy was no doubt going to whisper in the ears of the Wizengamot how international meetings were just a source of trouble. They didn't want to understand that division would be their downfall when Voldemort came back. They weren't willing to set ancient grudges aside and cooperate against the greater threat. He had a feeling it would take all his diplomacy skills to make them accept the correct choice ultimately.
"Don't worry, my dear. Their lack of cohesion offers us plenty of opportunities..."
31 April 1993, Gringotts Bank, London, England
There was human vengeance and there was goblin vengeance. For those wand-wielders unable to understand the difference, Senior Accountant Grimjaw was only happy to explain. A wizard tried to kill his enemies with magic and words, beginning with enemies who couldn't correctly defend themselves and fleeing when they were unable to defeat their enemies. A proud goblin fought to the end, burying his enemies in a sea of blood and paperwork, taking mercilessly the gold of his opponents, eradicating clans and lines.
When a goblin waged war, he did it with his heart and his body totally committed to it. Either he won or he died, but either way a warrior would feel no shame when his corpse would be cremated in a grand ceremony by the dragon fire.
This was the ancient custom as dictated by the glorious ancestors who had followed Mordred at the Battle of Camlann and it had served Gringotts and its holdings well for centuries. The goblins had emerged victorious over the wand-wielders in six out of seven wars on the soil of the British Isles, finally taking total control of their economy and banking system by the end of the nineteenth century. How the pathetic Ministers had managed to convince themselves they were victorious in these 'goblin rebellions' Grimjaw had no idea. Goblin territory was sovereign territory and they controlled the flow of gold. Gringotts ruled the British wizard economy and had large shares in the non-magical one.
Recently, however, it seemed the wizards had chosen to forget that goblin revenge was a serious thing. Minister Fudge and Chief Warlock Dumbledore's actions spoke louder than words, as the old proverb said. Hogwarts and inheritance issues had grown totally out of control. Senior Accountants had died, his friend Toughclaw among them. Grimjaw didn't blame the Potter Heiress from removing the Rosier threat from her list of enemies – he would have done the same thing in her place and her survival was tied with his. You didn't blame your employer and benefactor. On the other hand, he could very well curse the name of those who had allowed the bloody incident in the first place. Aurors, Minister Cornelius Fudge, Headmaster Albus Dumbledore, William Rosier and the Death Eaters; those were the factions and the names of those he was going to destroy. That some of them had tried to stop the very lucrative trade of Basilisk parts he had engineered was going to make it all the sweeter.
The first act of his vengeance was going to strike the Ministry with the momentum of an avalanche tomorrow. Carefully and methodically, he had amassed back his power and influence since his client had proved the equal of a legendary goblin warrior and slain the two Basilisks of Salazar Slytherin. Then he had humbly convinced High Executive Goldaxe it was time for a direct application of Article 542 Section 666. It was an obscure rule and Grimjaw did not doubt the wand-wielders had long forgotten it since the treaty in question had been signed in blood.
Basically, it called for the Ministry officials to fill all the forms he was about to send them. Without magic of any kind, they would have to write their replies in triplicate and they had a month to do it before the goblins declared war. Given that the number of forms he had managed to complete with the Potter Heiress and his assistants was near the thousand mark, the Ministry was about to be drowned in a sea of parchment and receive a rather important lesson.
Don't anger a goblin banker.
It was likely it would lead to a renewal of hostilities between the Ministry and Gringotts in the next years. The tensions had been on the rise for the last five years and the narrow-minded views of the wizard authorities made things more difficult every year. When one added the detestable massacres of the 'Exchequer' in the last months, it was not a question of if a war was going to be fought. It was a question of when, where, and with whose allies.
Too bad Fudge and his administration had been busy angering the rest of the species they were supposed to coexist with. Vampires, skinchangers like the werewolves, centaurs...they would all support a good opportunity to bloody their claws in wizard's blood. It would be a good skirmish before sending troops to their cousins on the continent...
Someone knocked at his door, interrupting his thoughts of battle, glory, and vengeance.
"Enter!" He barked.
The heavy door opened to let pass a young goblin with the clothes of a very junior messenger. In his hands was a roll of parchment he placed on Grimjaw's desk after bowing profusely.
"The information you requested from the wand-wielder sources, Senior Accountant."
"Your service was quick and efficient," he thanked his subordinate before dismissing him from the room. The door of his office closed with a loud crack and the old goblin began to read the document he had just been handed. It did not take a long time: the content was limited to a list of names.
The Ministry in its unbearable slowness and incompetence had not yet decided when the guardianship of Heiress Alexandra Potter would be decided, but the time to depose the applications was over. There had been dozens of demands, of course. The Basilisk incident had been too spectacular for it to be otherwise. The Wizengamot administrative services had evidently made a first selection beforehand, because there were only eight names left.
Lord Sirius Black
Lord Weston Bulstrode
Maurice Flint
Lord Glenn MacDougal
Lady Narcissa Malfoy
Lord Liam McLaggen
Andromeda Tonks
Lady Stella Zabini
The former godfather was completely unsuitable for Grimjaw's plans and ambitions...House Potter vaults had too often been forced to fund the Order of the Phoenix. The rest of the names he would have to investigate on his own, but the Senior Accountant was optimistic. None of them were Albus Dumbledore...they could all be removed by the Heiress herself if they proved unsuitable.
Grimjaw smiled widely, a scary image for non-goblin eyes. Too long he had feared to die in a bed or be executed when House Potter finally met its end. But recent events had proved this was unlikely to happen.
A time of reckoning was coming...and Grimjaw would wait for it with a large halberd in hand.
