Chapter 48

Magical Guardians

"In my opinion, the biggest mistake of Albus Dumbledore was keeping the ghost of his History Professor as a teacher. When students for several decades don't learn anything about their past, how can they avoid the mistakes of their predecessors?" attributed to Knight Herald of the Exchequer, 1994.

5 August 1993, London, England

Albus had hoped the destruction of Nurmengard had been the last crisis he would have to face this year. A forlorn hope, he knew, but a hope nonetheless. It hadn't lasted long.

The destruction of Nurmengard had just been the beginning of the summer's disasters. After Gellert's escape, he had to now deal with the result of a massive break-out organised by the wererats and the vampires.

To be sure, the attack on the prison had been a near-total disaster for the invaders. But that was the problem: near-total. The Dark Creatures had been annihilated. By the latest counting, the reinforced garrison and the Dementors had killed one thousand and seventy-four wererats and captured twenty-two. Two hundred and ninety-four vampires had been burned to ash, with seven more captured. One hundred and nineteen wizards – mercenaries in soul and name – had their souls sucked out by the demons of the island. Moreover, forty-six common prisoners had been slaughtered or killed as their friends triggered the protections surrounding the cells. Ten Death Eaters of the Inner Circle had also been butchered. Rabastan and Rodolphus Lestrange, Antonin Dolohov, Aiden Mulciber, Randall Travers, Augustus Rookwood, Bartemius Crouch Junior, Julian Ardoch, Blake Ardoch, and Ian Jugson had met their ends, bringing solace to the families having suffered from their crimes.

It was by all accounts a great victory.

But by Merlin, the Ministry had paid a huge price in blood to achieve it. Seventeen Aurors and one Senior Auror were gone. Six Hit-Wizards had perished against the fangs and the weapons of the 'Monster Alliance' as Rita Skeeter had immediately labelled them. Thirty-seven wardens had fought and died, and replenishing their losses was going to be a big problem for guarding Azkaban and it rarely attracted a lot of volunteers in normal times. Twenty-five recruit enforcers had died too. These were dreadful losses...Britain's wizards and witches were far from recovered from the battles of the previous war. They had lost less than a hundred wizards, but there were less than a hundred and forty thousand wizards living in the British Isles. They could not afford a battle like this every year.

And they most definitely couldn't tolerate the problem represented by the three dangerous prisoners now free on their own soil: a Vampire Lord, one of the most formidable and insane witches of Britain, and one of the traitors from his own Order.

Entering the great courtroom twelve of the Wizengamot, Albus Dumbledore began to reflexively greet every person he met. The Lords and Ladies of the Noble and Ancient Houses had all come today. If only they could be convinced to attend the 'normal' sessions when they were convened...these last months' uncountable debates had turned sour because there were not enough members to reach the two-thirds quorum.

Courtroom twelve was not disposed like others Wizengamot meeting places. In this one, the Minister – who currently was a certain Cornelius Fudge – was on top a large column with his Department Heads and his supporters below him. The rest of the assembly was facing him; the Light was on the Minister's right, the Grey was in the centre and the Dark was on the left.

The composition of the Wizengamot in full was of one hundred and seventy-eight Houses, one Minister, one Chief Warlock, and one hundred and thirteen Ministry seats. The latter were including the various Department Heads, nine Order of Merlin First Class recipients, Fudge's unconditional supporters, and several Common Houses which by influence or gold could not be ignored when the nation's security was at stake.

By all rights, this should have meant two hundred and ninety-three men and women were going to their seats. One glance could tell someone the count wasn't there.

When the Statute of Secrecy had been enacted and wizardkind allowed to grow and prosper free of Muggle persecution, approximately three hundred Houses had formed the first Wizengamot. Today there were one hundred and seventy-eight, and by the end of this meeting there would be one less, for the Noble and Most Ancient House of Lestrange was at last extinct. Lucius Malfoy and his friends had searched for various cadet lines in the last decade, but Rodolphus' cousins had all died before him and his brother.

The Chief Warlock was not going to grieve for the Lestranges, but their disappearance was not good for the stability of Britain's legislative branch. The Houses and the current government had added Houses Strabane and Sackville after a long process of seven and nine years respectively, only to lose Houses Rosier and Wilkes shortly after. And now Lestrange was added to the tally. With the dormant families and those unable to pay the one thousand Galleon-tithe, it was a lot of seats unoccupied and their votes held by Regents.

It made him think he would have to go to the Potter guardianship audience in ten days. Since the Basilisk affair, the Potter vote was not available anymore for the Light and he had to remedy this situation.

One more headache he was going to have to deal with, though fortunately it was the Department of Education who was receiving the burden of the administrative duties there. He already had enough problems guessing political agendas and counting the votes he could rely upon. A Muggle parliamentary had one vote and everyone was equal in this system. Albus wasn't that lucky. A Noble House, an Order of Merlin First Class, or being one of the great Ministry officials gave you one vote. The Minister, the Chief Warlock, an Ancient House, or a Most Noble House got two votes. The Lords and Ladies of Most Ancient Houses had three votes, and the same was true for Noble and Ancient Houses. A Noble and Most Ancient House had four votes. The Most Noble and Ancient Houses had been granted five votes.

"The Minister of Magic," announced the magical voice serving as herald for the room, and every Lord or administrator who had not yet reached his place did now in a hurry. Albus took his seat on the first rank. Today he was not on his classic perch, he was leading the Light Houses and the hour was dark.

A bell rang in the distance and the sound was one of incredible sadness, bringing sorrow and tearful feelings to his heart. From the corner of his eye, he saw some in the Dark section sob in distress.

"By blood and magic, the House of Lestrange is now extinct," announced darkly Fudge. Fortunately, Cornelius had decided today to abandon his horrible hat and wear the black robes circumstances imposed. "As there are no Heirs or Heiresses to continue the line, their seat is to be removed from this august assembly. By their murders and betrayals of ancient oaths, the will of Lord Rodolphus Lestrange and his brother Rabastan Lestrange is null and void. Their vaults, their lands, their heirlooms, and the rest of their possessions are thereby transferred to the custody of the Minister of Magic."

Many Ministry appointees outright salivated after this official judgement. House Lestrange had already lost their two Manors and all their businesses, connections, and privileges when their last members were thrown into the cells of Azkaban, but there was still their ancestral vault to raid. House Lestrange had fallen on hard times and had abandoned the title of 'wealthiest House' a century ago to House Goldstein, but they had to be ranked twenty-fifth or twenty-sixth, and their fortune in gold was rumoured to be in the vicinity of ten million Galleons. Given the Ministry's recent difficulties to stabilise the budget, this was a golden boon they weren't going to refuse.

"The escaped prisoners of Azkaban, the murderers and traitors Bellatrix Black, James Potter, and Victor Aemillius, will be tracked relentlessly and mercilessly," declared the Minister, unleashing a wave of applauses in the courtroom.

"Their sentences are commuted from life sentence to the Dementor's Kiss, effective immediately," Dumbledore frowned; this wasn't what Cornelius had told him mere hours ago. What was the idiot playing at? "Our Aurors, our Hit-Wizards, and the Dementors have been informed the capture and elimination of this threat is now our second greatest priority."

There were some murmurs after this sentence. If the escaped criminals from Azkaban were the second priority, then the perpetrators of the attack had to be the first.

"It is evident our nation can't live peacefully with the vampires and the wererats." Two-thirds of the Light Houses, a third of the Grey, and almost all Ministry representatives applauded eagerly. "These beasts have attacked Azkaban and killed many good wizards and witches. Dozens have given their life to protect us from the Dark Forces desirous to destroy each and every one of our achievements. On my own authority as Minister of Magic, I demand a vote from the Wizengamot! We have been attacked and emergency measures need to be taken if we want to get rid of this infection! No longer will were-beings and vampires be tolerated on our shores! The Dark Creatures will flee to the other side of the Channel or die at the wands of our DMLE forces!"

Albus clapped his hands slowly, but in his head he was fuming. What sort of bug had bitten the Minister? The man was supposed to accept his directives or those of the opposite Noble Houses. Judging by Malfoy's frigid expression, the orders had not come from him, and Amelia Bones certainly had nothing to do with it: her Aurors and her personnel were now under-staffed and they were now asked to find the escaped prisoners and fight a war at the same time.

By Merlin's staff, he was not going to tolerate the delusions of power of the man. They had already suffered from Bagnold's incredible ability to convince herself she was on top of the situation while Voldemort was close to overthrowing the Ministry. Maybe if Fudge had something worthwhile to say, he would listen to the man. But there was nothing smart in his poor brain and if he had not received advice, his tenure as Minister would not have lasted a year.

"We will not succumb to despair! Britain will remain a fortress of security and prosperity!"

The numerous spectators in the galleries upstairs cheered loudly.

Albus Dumbledore, Chief Warlock, Headmaster of Hogwarts, Grand Sorcerer, and one of the rare wizards to have survived two Dark Lords, did not.

Whatever Fudge may sprout to the public, Britain was definitely not safe with so many potential threats at large.


5 August 1993, MacDougal Manor, Ireland

"The Ministry is in chaos today," said Morag after reading the message a brown owl had just transported to their table in the middle of the MacDougal library. "Dad and Mum will not be able to dine with us tonight. The Emergency session of the Wizengamot is not going to be over soon."

"Fantastic," Alexandra replied. "May I assume they've not recaptured the escaped prisoners?"

"I think it's a good guess," the Irish Heiress had an angry expression on her visage. Her blue eyes were not the ice-cold of Daphne Greengrass, but they were very close to that level of frostiness. "You might think a mad witch mounted on an animated construct would be easy to track, no?"

"I'm not betting my life on the skills of the Ministry Aurors, Morag," not after a single Basilisk had removed them in ten seconds. One second to petrify them, and the nine others to hiss mockingly at their unmoving bodies.

"And unfortunately I think you're right," approved her friend. "When it comes to threats like XXXXX-class creatures, you're far more efficient than them."

Alexandra closed her eyes in consternation for a second or two before reopening them. The Battle of Azkaban – the Daily Prophet had not been long in shouting high and loud this unoriginal name – was more and more a disaster as further information was revealed. Bellatrix Lestrange, second-in-command to Lord Voldemort, was now free to rampage at will. James Potter, her disgraced father, was somewhere in the wild. Lord Victor Aemillius, Leader of the Shadow Blades Coven, was no longer imprisoned and thus the angry vampires had someone to rally to after twelve years. It looked like Peter Pettigrew's visit to Hogwarts had been done for more ambitious reasons than she thought.

"We can't do anything about it for the moment," Alexandra sighed. In a fair and logical world, Fudge would have been immediately sacked and the entire Auror Corps would be retrained until they reached decent standards of wizardry. Judging by the idiocies of the Daily Prophet, the Potter Heiress didn't think the government of Magical Britain was particularly rational. "Let's talk about things we have a chance to influence somehow."

"The selection for your next magical guardian," she said.

"Indeed."

Honestly, Alexandra would have preferred to stay at MacDougal Manor for the rest of her summers until seventh year and adulthood, but with the uncountable problems raised by the Azkaban breakout, the chances of the Ministry of Magic leaving her alone and free to do as she wished were infinitesimal. One more thing to thank James Potter forthe next time they met. Seriously, her genitor would really need to speak fast if he wanted to keep all his fingers and ears. Alexandra had a lot of questions...and she was in a really bad mood.

"Which guardian do you want to begin with?"

"I suppose we best start with the ones who have no chance," of the eight final candidates the Ministry had accepted, there must be a few okay ones, right?

"Very well," Morag drew ten or twelve papers from the impressive pile of parchment on the table. "Then I suppose Sirius Black is first."

"The devoted Dumbledore supporter," just for this, Alexandra was ready to dislike the man, but unfortunately it didn't stop there.

"Yes," her friend's lips thinned in distaste. "Father has not been able to find a single instance during the last decade where 'Lord Black' has voted against our great Headmaster. He's a Light Libertarian, constantly supports pro-Muggle legislation, sprouts a lot of anti-creature rhetoric but for some reasons is not against the werewolves. You already know he is the Lord of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, Leo is his sole heir and only son. He was married to Marlene Black nee McKinnon, but Bellatrix slaughtered her during a battle in July 1981."

Alexandra grimaced.

"This is so going to help the relationships between Gryffindors and Slytherins."

"Maybe the warning you gave them will stick?"

"Maybe..." But as terrified as the Snakes had been after the death of two Basilisks, they might find again their courage if a senior Death Eater was at the gates. "Any other information about the man who should be my godfather?"

The Ravenclaw witch winced.

"Yes, there is more. Don't take it badly, but Lord Sirius Black is not afraid to break regular minor Oaths and promises if they go against his 'Light agenda'. He broke the godfather oath with no more renewed enmity from the Dark Houses and it seemed it encouraged him to do more in the following years."

"So he's an idiot," breaking minor oaths was not immediately followed by a punishment or a disaster, but the Powers and Magic really didn't like it. Lord Sirius Black had not known any tragedy since his wife's death...Alexandra intended to be far away from him when the magical punishment caught him.

"He's also the eighth fortune of Britain. The Black vaults he inherited from all the dead members of his family have given him roughly a fortune of thirty-six million Galleons. He has also invested heavily in Zonko and the Nimbus Broom Company. He shares the co-ownership of the latter with House Goldstein."

Alexandra promised herself to sell the Zonko parts she owned at the first opportunity. She really didn't want to have something in common with Sirius Black.

"But most of the Dark loathe him and a lot of the Grey factions refuse to speak with him. His disrespect of almost every tradition is not a secret and if he had wanted my guardianship in the last decade, Dumbledore would have had no choice but to acquiesce."

"Exactly" and Morag added in a scheming tone: "he has also insulted Dolores Umbridge last week. His chances of gaining the guardianship are lower than him winning a duel against Lestrange."

The first papers were put aside and new documentation replaced it.

"The second candidate is Maurice Flint. Unlike Lord Black, he sits at the Wizengamot because he's a former Ministry official, not by his ties to a Noble or an Ancient House. You are a relative of him because Dorea Black's paternal grandmother was Lady Ursula Flint."

"Is he related to Marcus Flint, the Captain of our unlamented Slytherin Quidditch team?" The boy had the characteristics of a troll, and Alexandra was sure she hadn't inherited these traits.

"Not that I am aware of...House Flint is big and has many cadet branches. Maurice is twenty-fifth in the Flint line of succession."

"This is the moment I tell you I want to hear only the good news," Alexandra warned in a joking manner.

"As you wish, Mistress," retorted her unruly subordinate. "Maurice Flint is older than sin and senile. He's one hundred and thirty-years old and if his political stance is Neutral, it's because he has sold his vote and his support to whoever pays the most. Light and Dark have taken their turns bribing him for half of his entire life."

"I told you I wanted the good news," Alexandra shook her head with a reproving face.

"And I gave it to you," said Morag, looking completely unrepentant with her virtuous smile. "This man is a shady character and he holds his position because he spent ten years at the International Magical Trading Body stopping the efforts of foreign companies to sell new goods in Britain. But he is hardly rich: he was known for his gambling problems in the sixties."

"Okay, this is definitely not someone I want to live with," she admitted.

"Who would?" mumbled her friend. "The guy is a living fossil; Dumbledore is in his prime compared to him..."

"Who's the third possible guardian?" asked Alexandra before they started finding more trivia and degrading information on an old man who was not worth it.

"My father," the Ravenclaw witch revealed. "But you know the problem."

"No family ties, I know," a fact she regretted dearly. When you saw the shining heroes of sanity and loyalty in House Black and elsewhere, Alexandra wished her ancestors had married elsewhere. "By sheer curiosity, where is House MacDougal ranked in the fortunes of Britain?"

"Tenth or eleventh." Alexandra raised an eyebrow. "Hey, Comet brooms are selling well and we have a lot of lands, shops, and properties in Ireland. But I can't get more pocket money for the moment..."

Alexandra had a good laugh...she wasn't the only one of the Exiled who was going to receive marriage proposals by the time OWLS arrived.

"Next candidate."

"Andromeda Tonks born Black," announced her friend. "If Azkaban hadn't just happened, her chances to obtain your guardianship would be pretty good."

"Really?" Her voice was a bit incredulous. "She does not sit on the Wizengamot and was thrown out of House Black for marrying a Muggle-born..."

"Yes, but she's an excellent lawyer and is considered fairly apolitical by both Light and Dark. Her influence is fairly limited outside her work, but she's not playing the games of the Ministry and she isn't to be bribed. You are one of her close cousins, so her guardianship would be viewed as perfectly legitimate. Unfortunately..." and this time it was Morag's turn to grimace. "She is Bellatrix Lestrange's eldest sister."

And that pretty much killed the idea instantly. Fudge and his friends told the Daily Prophet to rant four times per day against the infamous Dark Witch. It was unlikely they would give her guardianship to the escapee's relative.

"Doesn't the same apply for Lady Narcissa Malfoy?" she wondered. The wife of Lucius Malfoy was Bellatrix's sister too, and her husband had escaped the trials with the 'Imperius Defence'. House Malfoy was leading the Dark Traditionalists and had never denied it was a pillar of the Dark. Their past was deeply associated with the Death Eaters and the shadowy manipulations of the last civil war.

"Perhaps, but the Malfoys are rich. Second fortune of Britain, remember?"

"How could I forget?" The Potter Heiress smirked. "It's not like a certain blonde Slytherin has not repeated it a hundred thousand times in Hogwarts' corridors. Oh wait, that's exactly what happened."

"If you go to Malfoy Manor, you will need to keep your tongue in check." She deliberately decided to ignore the advice.

"I prefer another strategy. With Lyre to my side, we will make sure to arrange a fatal and tragic accident for one Draco Malfoy. I'm sure three-fourth of Hogwarts will send me thank-you cards by owl the next morning."

"And his mother will kill you for this." Morag was still looking amused, despite the gravity of her words. "She has over one hundred and thirty million Galleons to avenge the...great Seeker of the Slytherin Quidditch Team."

Alexandra giggled. The Malfoy heir had not caught the Snitch once this season, and in all likelihood Flint was going to fire him by September. Whatever influence and credit Draco Malfoy had once had when entering Hogwarts, it was obviously gone by the end of his second year. That was what happened when you opened your mouth and irritated every student.

"I will keep that in mind. Who's next?"

"Lord Weston Bulstrode, he's a distant cousin of Dorea Black's mother, Violetta Bulstrode. He's Millicent's father."

"Any idea why he would want to obtain my guardianship?" Alexandra could not really say she liked or disliked the Slytherin girl; they had simply not spoken enough in two years to judge.

"No, not really," Morag shrugged. "He's Head of the Noble House of Bulstrode, part of the Dark Conservatives, and is involved in the market of owls and minor dangerous pets."

"That is Greengrass' faction, no?"

Her friend nodded but in a not-convinced manner.

"The Grey knows of him as one of the Moderates for the Dark. He is wealthy, but not outrageously so."

"He may be attempting to present the Dark in a more positive light at the audience."

"That's certainly possible."

Alexandra turned her tongue three times in her mouth. Plots, plots, and more plots: that was what she received in her life. Sometimes, the brutally direct methods of the Gryffindors were almost understandable.

"The next candidate is Lord Liam McLaggen."

"Make this one the next possible choice for an assassination."

"Come on" Morag was grinning a lot this time, "give me a chance to make my speech."

"What do you have to explain? I don't like Cormac McLaggen... that Gryffindor idiot is the perfect picture of what is wrong with the Lions. Heir of the Noble House of McLaggen, several properties and businesses in Northern England, fierce supporter of Dumbledore, blah, blah, blah."

When Morag and she had caught the Lions tormenting Lyre and Astoria, many of those involved in this bullying had stopped beating younger students and rule-breaking altogether. Cormac McLaggen had not been among them. The older Gryffindor was a bully, good at presenting a nice appearance but incredibly pretentious, arrogant and ready to fight the moment his opponents were weaker than him.

Draco Malfoy was annoying but ultimately unable to do much damage due to his lack of skills and talent. Cormac McLaggen was far more dangerous. If there was anything like it, Alexandra would affirm he was the Light-side version of a Junior Death Eater...but neither Longbottom nor Black appeared to be friends with him.

"Do we know if the Lord is a member of the Order of the Phoenix?"

"Unconfirmed," was the uninspiring answer. "He is certainly supportive of the Chief Warlock during Wizengamot sessions, but he was never seen taking the field during the war against the Death Eaters." Blue eyes met her vision. "Not everyone fought on the frontlines, Alex."

The Potter Heiress made a small noise to indicate maybe this had been the problem. If they weren't ready to fight against someone so obviously insane like Voldemort, when were they going to cast battle-spells?

"As an aside, his relationship with House Potter is the marriage of Euphemia McLaggen to Fleamont Potter, Charlus Potter's youngest brother. Liam is her grandnephew...I think."

"That isn't giving me great vibes of friendship," she said while looking at the wooden ceiling.

"And that leaves the eighth guardian, the crown jewel of the candidates."

"Please tell me you're joking," Alexandra deadpanned.

"Of course I am joking!" Morag stuck her tongue out like she was wont to do. "Lady Stella Zabini, Head of the Most Noble House of Zabini."

Alexandra rolled her eyes.

"The dear mother of our oh-so-quiet associate Blaise," she faked a tear before continuing in a false commiserating tone. "Poor woman, she was married seven times, and all seven died in most tragic circumstances..."

"The seven husbands are just the tip of the iceberg, Alex. According to the rumours, between twenty and thirty men didn't survive long enough to get to the altar."

"Damn," Alexandra bit her lower lip. Was it wrong she had the sudden urge to laugh? "It's like an impossible survival quest. You know you're going to be murdered, but you don't know when..."

"Glad you find it so amusing. Vittoria Zabini married Henry Potter in 1920 and she had another sister who continued the family name."

"Yes, my paternal grandmother must be the reason for my middle name...'Vittoria' is Italian for Victoria, no?"

There was no Alexandra in her genealogical magical tree, but her mother's father was named Alexander Evans. She assumed this was how they had been chosen.

"Sure," agreed Morag. "And Lady Zabini has the double nationality like everyone in her branch of the family."

"Italian too?"

"Venetian," corrected Morag. Ugh, the magical nations of the Wizarding World were so different from their non-magical equivalents.

"Lady Stella is the fifth fortune of Britain, and has control of one of three branches of House Zabini, the two others being located in Venetia and Greece. Contrary to what the Lions like to boast, the murder of her seven husbands has not boosted her fortune that much. She already had one hundred million Galleons to her name when she was first wed, and the increases of gold were thanks to her legal affairs, not the inheritance issues."

"What is the source of her wealth?"

House Potter had been a bit below House MacDougal in income when her grandfather had been alive. They had never been that rich...

"Diamonds," her friend simply explained. "House Zabini owns the mines, extracts the gemstones, and enchants them. They are also involved when other gemstones like rubies or emeralds are exploited, but they don't have a monopoly there."

"But in this case...why in the name of the Morrigan is she killing all her husbands?"

"This is a good question," Morag's smile was reminding her of Crookshanks once Hermione had fed the big orange cat. "But except for Lady Zabini, nobody alive knows the answer."

Alexandra repressed the urge to slam her head against the table. The wooden surface had not done anything to receive her wrath.

"Is it wrong of me to be glad most of these people were far away during my childhood?"


5 August 1993, the Orkney Islands

It was official, Dudley hated swimming. No, forget that. He hated swimming, especially when he was starved and there were demons in pursuit.

It was pure luck that after a few hours the current had carried him away from the abominable island of screaming demons.

When he reached the beach of brown and white stones, he kissed the ground and promised himself to never, never do what he had done again. The storming of a fortress, taunting the demons, attacking trickster wizards...it looked fine in a video game, but in reality it was horrible.

He wanted to go back to school. The thought made him laugh. He had been expelled and he had never liked studying.

Now he was going to transform into a furry beast for three nights per month, the freakish wizards and witches were very real, and an army of vampires and wererats had fought and died against them.

What had his life become?

"Hey, boys, I found one!"

Dudley raised his head from the ground and to his despair there were three men in weird clothes looking him with big smiles. The sticks in their hands told Dudley these men were definitely not his allies.

"The five thousand Galleons are ours, guys!"

A red ray hit the stones five feet away and with it his hopes of liberty died. Dudley was too tired to stand up. It was very much the morning and he had nothing in his belly; he could not transform and defeat them.

"I told you bounty-hunting was a fun and easy job, eh?"

Dudley thought the man should have tried bath-hunting first. He was so filthy and stank so much that his improved nose could not bear it.

"Let's play a bit with him and then we can call the Aurors!"

There was a flash right behind the three wizards and against all hope Dudley prayed for an ally...but the being which materialised on the stone beach was wearing a long orange cloak which hid everything save his boots and the wand he held in his hand.

"Hey, asshole! This is our prey! Go and find another spot, the bounty is ours!"

There was a pressure in the air and deep inside Dudley heard the beast which was now a part of him panic and scream.

"I have no time for the imbeciles and the weak."

Two seconds later, three green death rays had the three bounty-hunters collapsing to the ground. Dudley did not need to check to know they were dead. Then the orange-cloaked guy advanced in his direction and he tried to convey how defenceless he was. It had not worked on the professors at Smeltings but perhaps...

"It seemed the compulsions worked, but the bait was not taken. This is amusing." The wizard pointed his wand at him and Dudley felt very sleepy. "I am Rook Sentinel, Dudley Dursley. You have been volunteered for certain tasks of illegal nature and your opinion isn't required..."

Each word seemed more difficult than the last to listen to and Dudley felt sleep claim him at last.


5 August 1993, Geneva, Switzerland

Roland Meyers didn't like the International Confederation of Wizards. It was somewhat humorous, really. He was, after all, the only man in the vast hall gathering the delegations of every continent to have lived through the historic moment of its creation.

It had been in the year of 1689, yes.

It had been five years after the arch-wizards and other warlocks of the Light had revealed their last trump card to prevent the Dark from winning.

Roland was speaking, of course, of the Statute of Secrecy.

It was arguably the most powerful ward-ritual-spell the Light had ever imagined. Where before wizards and non-wizards had lived side by side, there were now two entirely separated communities. The non-magical society had seen its allies, economic challengers, sworn protectors, and enemies disappear like they had never existed. Forgotten the noble titles of King's Wizard, King's Alchemist, and other influential positions bestowed upon them, the reigning monarchs and their advisors did not remember there were other forces in the world besides their science.

There had been people who protested. By the end of the seventeenth century, the hunt for witches and wizards had long stopped and thousands of wizards and witches had been firmly integrated in their social classes. Liechtenstein had been the first nation, but not the last, to oppose this tyranny.

If someone looked at a European map today, you realised quickly the Kingdom of Liechtenstein had paid a terrible price for this.

The Statute of Secrecy had broken everything. A lot of the Dark economy, military forces, and resources had been broken in the space of a single night with no counter. Many sorcerers had had contingencies in place, but the blow had been so unexpected, so devastating, that there was no point pretending the Light had not won this round.

The Light wizards had erased the existence of magic from the surface of the earth, forcing the magical species into small shadowy communities where they had to hide lest the bad and intolerant non-magical parties hunt them for sport.

By 1692, the laws were signed and the process of separation was total. The dragons had been captured and placed into reserves where they were drugged lest they endanger the Statute with their existence. Mermaid and other maritime species were sent to lakes they would not have lived in before as if this was a question of life or death. Vampires which had built magnificent courts of the night had to tear open the throats of criminals in dark alleys.

This had been the year Roland Meyers had joined the Exchequer – though the organisation had been called by a different name and he had held a different identity. At the same time, he had begun his long and well-distinguished career as the ICW representative of Luxembourg. He had become Rook Confederate, and by his magic the foundations of the International Confederation of Wizards would fall...eventually.

Three hundred-plus years later, and he was still around. For the last two years, he was playing the role of a junior assistant of the ICW Luxembourg delegation. Officially, he was a protégée of Kinnel Becker, the real powerhouse of the delegation. Unofficially, he had put so many compulsions and other mind-alterations on the man that Becker was his puppet and did exactly what he wanted.

He could reassure the ghosts of his former friends, the ICW had not experienced an increase of efficiency and rationality in the last decades. In fact, the delegates seem to become stupider and stupider as new generations arrived to take their place. Take the man who he was speaking right now.

"Our community is on the rise and will not be ignored!" bellowed Robinson, an ugly ginger who should really consider a diet before his weight challenged a mountain troll. "In the name of the Australian Directorate, I maintain my candidacy for the vote of Supreme Mugwump!"

Scattered applauses were heard, but the majority of the wizards and witches politely stayed silent. Joe Robinson had obtained eighteen votes, barely avoiding the elimination threshold. Everything was possible in politics, but the Australian was not considered a prime candidate.

Today would see the sixteenth vote of this insipid election. It was really a pathetic affair. Roland remembered how in 1945 Dumbledore had triumphed without trying, obtaining the majority vote on his first try. But then the man had been a war-hero and a sworn enemy of the Dark. Today no man or woman had something like the defeat of a Dark Lord to boost his curriculum vitae. Dark Powers, they had not a quarter of the reputation of the silver-bearded Defeater of Grindelwald. Sure, the European ministries were rearming as fast as they could after the destruction of Nurmengard, but it had no major consequences on the lack of adequate leadership. The French had progressed better than others on that front, since they had started after Brise-Roc exploded in their faces.

"The court recognises the Honourable Delegate of Japan!"

A small but muscled Japanese man stood and replied in perfect French an answer he must have prepared for the last hour.

"The seas are agitated, but the winds are favourable. The Ministry of Japan votes for the Honourable Delegate of Transylvania."

There were many whispers to comment on this declaration. Japan had become a strictly Light-enforced country after their catastrophic defeat during the Grindelwald War. For them to vote for Transylvania, it was quite a change of opinion indeed.

"The court recognises the Honourable Delegate of Prussia!"

There were no insults, but you could tell the bearded man wanted to return to anonymity fast. The evasion of Grindelwald had reminded a lot of persons Grindelwald had heavily recruited in the old Prussian elite.

"Prussia votes for the Honourable Delegate of Timbuktu," and the delegate didn't add one more word.

The next interventions appear to confirm this growing trend. More nations were voting for Timbuktu than in the previous days. Some of it was the consequence of Spain and Portugal being ejected from the election, but there were others like Morocco and the UMAS which shouldn't have changed their opinions that quickly.

Still, Timbuktu remained in a very distant third place, the votes being dominated by Russia and Peru. France was coming in fourth place for the moment, followed by Transylvania. There were five other possible choices, but like Australia they would be dismissed in a few days at worst.

"The court recognises the Honourable Delegate of Britain!"

Lucius Malfoy stood and for a moment Roland wondered how much time the man was spending in his bathroom each morning to have his shining hair. In all honesty, Lord Malfoy was in all likelihood buying more cosmetic products in a month than the average witch in a year. It gave him a semi-effeminate appearance.

From a pure ICW perspective, the former Death Eater was the complete opposite of his predecessor. Votes, influence, and gold: everything was negotiable with Lord Lucius Malfoy...Rook Confederate would lie if he said this was a surprise.

"The arguments of every candidate have merit, but I believe the Honourable Delegate of Timbuktu deserves my vote," and that made another one. Since the African representative had not a hint of true charisma, it was almost certain someone with big pockets had decided to enter the race and it wasn't his organisation.

"Well, I will have to make sure all this money is wasted, no?"


6 August 1993, Blackpool, England

There were many things unfair in life, in Peter's humble opinion. A vampire's capacity for regeneration was one of the prime examples he would give if he had to make an exposé in front of a large audience. Yes, wizards had thousands of Potions which could allow you to heal the worst wounds and illnesses possible.

But there were a couple of problems with this. Wizards, and generally everybody using a wand, were not necessarily competent at brewing Potions. More often than not, a liquid to cure boils was manageable, but not the more difficult Blood Replenishing Potion. More importantly, all the brewing had to be done in advance. The near-totality of the Potions curriculum at Hogwarts required no more than a few hours to brew and the really interesting recipes often demanded days of waiting. If a wizard arrived to Saint Mungo's in critical condition but the Potion wasn't available, the wounded had a non-negligible chance of dying unless another hospital on the continent could send the cure in time.

Vampires had not this kind of problem. Blood for them was the answer to everything. Lord Victor Aemillius had been bathed in acid by Bellatrix mere days ago, but he certainly didn't look like it. The Vampire Lord looked old, absolutely. But it was not an effect of his imprisonment. Peter had heard rumours the vampire they had assaulted Azkaban for had been at the end of his mortal life when he was transformed. Judging by his current appearance, the rumours had been true.

The leader of the Shadow Blades was not a fan of shining Dumbledore-class robes and grandiloquent clothes apparently. His white hairs were short and military-like. There was no jewellery to improve his looks. He was wearing a black toga with the symbol of his coven in blood red and sandals which could have been bought in any Muggle store.

Naturally, everyone kneeled as the Vampire Lord took his seat before being told to stand again when the appropriate hand gesture was given. His pale blue eyes watched over the entire assembly and you could tell by his gaze that this was truly an ancient being viewing you. No one had any idea how long the Coven Elder had walked this earth, but the conservative bets were at one thousand years old.

"Blood and blade, Shadow Blades," declared their commander.

"Blood and blade, Lord Victor," answered his subordinates.

The abandoned underground hall they were meeting in was of sufficient size to welcome them all. The Shadow Blades had never been a large group, but their considerable losses had offset the recruitment of the orphans from the covens the Ministry had destroyed. There could not be more than one hundred and twenty vampires, four wizard-Animagi, ten wererats, and six human servants gathered here. Of course, everyone in this room was experienced and had fought during the last war, himself included, but this gave a deep sense of the sacrifice Tiberius had ordered when all the newly-transformed vampires had been sent for Operation Alcatraz.

"As much as I want to compliment you for your actions in the war a decade ago and the sacrifices necessary for our continued survival, such a speech will wait," Victor affirmed. "The Aurors and Hit-Wizards of the Ministry will not be long in finding our new headquarters and we lack the numbers to fight them. Our investments, our weaponry, and our new bases are all in the hands of non-magical contractors with sealed Blood Oaths. It is time for us to leave Britain and rearm in the lands of our Transylvanian benefactors. We will have our revenge in due time."

This was not a tone which invited discussion and the vampires and other participants bowed before leaving the meeting grounds. Peter imitated them, wondering what sort of support the coven had managed to establish in Eastern Europe. He would pack some warm clothes in his trunk...something told him they were going to stay longer than summer and autumn under foreign skies.

Despite the hour, his thoughts turned back to James Potter. The other Marauder had disappeared with the broom he had loaned him the moment they had reached the Scottish coast and Peter had neither the time nor the flying skills to pursue him.

It pained him more than he wanted to admit. He had helped Prongs escape Azkaban, a thank-you and some explanations would have been greatly appreciated. But no, one moment the two of them had been flying together, the next he was alone in the grey sky. It had not made him happy, and not just because buying a Nimbus 2000 was a serious expense in spite of his large income.

"I just hope you're not going to cause a new incident James...your daughter is far more dangerous than all the Marauders put together..."


6 August 1993, MacDougal Manor, Ireland

"You know, the more I think about it, the more I am convinced defending Hogwarts adequately is not feasible," said Alexandra as she was stretched out on the grass watching the small white clouds in the sky.

"Oh? So you don't believe this is the safest location in all Britain?" remarked Morag.

"Well, if your idea of security is one or two Basilisks, several Dark Lords, murderous students, and hundreds of dangerous traps..."

The two Ravenclaws laughed for a good fifteen seconds before resuming the conversation. The sun was slowly warming the grass around them, the sky was mostly blue and the lands around them were bustling with a gentle breeze. It was an atmosphere of calm and serenity.

"Hogwarts has powerful wards, but from what the newspapers are reporting, Nurmengard had those too."

"Yes. Dad told me they used a Dark-powered spell to drain the Ley Line under Nurmengard and make everything explode."

Alexandra nodded her head slowly.

"Is there any reason they can't do the same to Hogwarts?"

"No," answered Morag after a moment of silence. "Not at all, Hogwarts has two major Ley Lines...they 'just' need two Lord-level wizards or witches to do the deed. Still, Nurmengard is a very recent fortress and never had the time to accumulate a lot of magical surplus energy."

"Doesn't matter," retorted Alexandra dismissively. "If the Exchequer has the means to breach Hogwarts' walls, the school will fall."

"I find your assumption a bit pessimistic. The wards aside, our school has many enchantments and protections imbedded in its stones and its foundations. Several Dark Lords in past history failed to scratch the paint of the Great Doors. At the command of the teachers, statues and armours can be animated to defend the ramparts. There are also many curses activated when Hogwarts is under attack. And that says nothing of the Head of Houses, the Headmaster, and the other Professors supported by four hundred students. The school can also be reinforced by Floo and Portkey if Dumbledore gives the authorisation to the DMLE." Morag shrugged. "I won't say this is foolproof, but if the big bad Dark Wizards want to attack Hogwarts, they will need to bring a huge army. Even with the wards broken, they will need thousands to storm the outer defences..."

"The Exchequer has proved they have the resources to muster half a million Inferi," Alexandra shrugged. "But I remain convinced Hogwarts will fall in the end. It is ultimately a school and even though it is built like a fortress, there are a lot of dispositions and defences which have fallen into disuse. The wall protecting us against the Black Lake is too small in my opinion."

"You fear an amphibious attack."

"I fear that four or five dozen wizards taking a position on the other side of the Black Lake and combining their strongest shockwave spells to create a mini-tsunami."

Morag paled considerably after a few seconds, realising her scenario was far from impossible.

"Ravenclaw Tower could possibly collapse."

"Ravenclaw and Gryffindor tower," amended the Potter Heiress. "And now that I think about it, the Slytherin Common Room could be destroyed by the water breaching the walls and sink it with the Chamber of Secrets."

One unexpected strike and whoever attacked would have eliminated three-quarters of the students residing at Hogwarts. By that point, it didn't really matter if the Ministry arrived in time or Dumbledore managed to give a spanking to the enemy: most of the children would certainly be dead and the infirmary of Madam Pomfrey unable to deal with the ugly flow of injured and dying.

"I think War Plan Osgiliath is our best bet if there is an assault breaching the wards," the green-eyed witch said calmly. "We make a fighting retreat and we let the Professors command the defence of the castle."

"Hypothetically, if we do this, the Gryffindors will accuse us of cowardice," said Morag in a thoughtful tone.

"That assumes they survive long enough to accuse us of anything," Alexandra reminded her. "Whatever army launches an offensive in Scotland, we must assume any attack will have a good effect of surprise and whatever contingencies we prepare won't be enough."

"Speaking of contingencies...how many of them do we have to show to Hermione and Nigel?"

"For the moment, six. Three are passive and should be easy to do without alerting anyone: Alexandria, Lost Ark, and Rune. If we take a few precautions I doubt anyone will realise what we did if no problem materialises this year."

"I suppose Alexandria is for Hermione and Lost Ark is for me?"

"Yes," replied Alexandra. "I will probably be busy with Contingency Rune. Then there are the active: Ent, Helm, and Dagorlad."

Morag turned her head to face her.

"If Dumbledore learns of them before there is a problem, we will be lucky to only be expelled."

"Now you sound like Hermione," Alexandra sighed theatrically. "Any other objections?"

"Yes, one," added seriously her red-haired friend. "Do you really think Operation Davy Jones-"

"I told you, the correct name is Operation Belfalas," The future third year grumbled. "Damn Malcolm..."

"Yes, yes. Do you think Belfalas is really necessary? Just to begin Phase one we will have to recruit hard, violate every article of the Statute of Secrecy, and in all likelihood spend more gold than we have on hand."

"Let's put it this way: the nation who controls the waves, rules the world. Once upon a time, it was the British Empire. Today, it's the United States. Tomorrow I don't want the Exchequer to take their place."


6 August 1993, London, England

A spy had no easy missions. It was in the evidence itself. If your boss could learn the information you sought by opening your newspaper and reading page three, the intelligence services of this world would not employ secret agents.

Consequently, Lockhart was quite familiar with perilous missions. Teaching at Hogwarts where it was possible Dumbledore could put his hands on him the moment he got suspicious and Basilisks roamed the corridors had definitely belonged to that category.

His present assignment was less dangerous. It was also unfortunately far more difficult. Everybody knew vaguely where Hogwarts was located and finding a way to navigate the ever-changing corridors of the school was possible.

Finding the British vampire covens, on the other hand, was revealing itself to be a monumental chore.

In countries like France, Poland, Transylvania, or Hungary, vampire covens were quite integrated with the society of witches and wizards. Their addresses were common knowledge, and while demanding an appointment with a leading figure was not the shortest of processes, it was presenting fewer issues than demanding to speak with an influential politician. It had not always been that way, of course. For the first half of the twentieth century, European vampires had been isolationists. The war against Grindelwald had changed this for the majority of the covens. The Dark Lord had exterminated vampire opponents like he had crushed the old aristocracy: mercilessly.

But Britain, untouched by this earth-shattering conflict, had not had to endure these changes. In the short-term, the obvious results had been the rise of the Muggle-born movement, quickly followed by the British Civil War pitting Death Eaters and their non-human allies against the forces of the Ministry and the Light.

The vampires had lost this war, the survivors leaving for the continent or joining the last two covens. Bagnold and her successor had voted more and more intolerant laws after the Dark Lord's defeat and the British vampires had not become less isolationist. Instead, it was quite the opposite that happened. The Shadow Blades and the Soul Drinkers had cut all ties with wizards and witches.

A pure-blooded wizard who understood nothing of vampires would probably tell Gilderoy that since he had met some vampires in Luxembourg and elsewhere, understanding British vampires should not be too difficult. Of course, the British Ministry was also full of men and women who voted anti-vampire laws and then were suddenly panicking because after a decade, they found out their surveillance measures over the vampire population were bloody useless.

Vampire covens were practically nations unto themselves. Each had its own system of governance, its own rules, its own traditions, and its specific allies. There were also different breed of vampires. The species was millennia-old, so an Indian representative and a Transylvanian bloodsucker were not going to have the same skills, strengths, powers, and weaknesses.

As a result, what he knew on the Shadow Blades and the Soul Drinkers wasn't much at all. The Shadow Blades leader, or one of their leaders – the Ministry propaganda couldn't be trusted – was Victor Aemillius. His was the power to rule over different types of rats: whether they were the normal rodents, the wererats, or other uncommon transforming types didn't seem to matter. The talent had been shared with the powerful descendants of his line. The Vampire Lord was also reputed to be a formidable fighter with swords and many other weapons, modern or antique.

The Soul Drinkers were even more enigmatic, due to their neutrality in the previous conflict. Rumours said they had a close association with leopards and panthers, but his sources had been unable to confirm or deny it.

And so here he was, in the middle of the night, surveying several ancient houses which may or may not be owned by the covens. The official properties where the bloodsuckers were supposed to live were all empty or loaned by non-magical families. Tracking Charms were of no use since he had no genetic material from one of their members. Blood banks, often the most promising way to track them, had yielded nothing in this investigation.

The more he searched, the more it was like the vampires had vanished from the surface of Britain. It had not been something done recently. Gilderoy Lockhart was more or less certain they had evacuated their ancient strongholds and known lairs more than five years ago. Given Fudge's hateful speeches disseminated in the first pages of the Daily Prophet, he could say the two covens had made a wise decision.

Tonight was a new failure. Like yesterday had been, and the day before that. Gilderoy had taken many precautions in his investigations in the major cities of England: colouring his blonde hair black, abandoning his shining clothes of fraudulence for an unremarkable set of non-enchanted trousers and jacket. He was also walking and not on a broom. Not knowing the sensory skills of the vampires, he was not using his wand when he could avoid it...which meant that when you knew the size of London, he was really searching for a needle in a warehouse full of haystacks.

Gilderoy yawned. It was so late he didn't honestly know if it was late evening or very early in the morning. The long investigations were hardly a glamorous job. It was boring. This entire mission was a chore. He just wanted an appointment with a vampire...

Crossing one of the addresses off his list, the UMAS-employed spy read the next location he had written hours ago and resumed his walk in the shadows. He was about to turn the street's corner when a sound and the familiar echo of a spell urged him to turn back. Sure enough, there was someone in front of the house he had just found abandoned. With the distance, all he could say was that it was a woman dressed in black.

Taking cover, he waited the half-minute it took for the newcomer to arrive to the same realisation he had: this house was empty and long abandoned. As she ran in the opposite direction, Gilderoy Lockhart hurried to follow. The small streets of this part of London were badly lit and deserted at this hour, and following someone when a simple exclamation or the noise of your footsteps could attract attention was not easy.

The run rapidly left him out of breath. The woman was quite evidently gifted in athletics, which sadly wasn't his case. He had not run so much for a good decade, and his lack of training when it came to sports was painful. His lungs felt like they were ready to explode and he almost missed his target changing direction three times.

After over thirty minutes where his muscles and every part of his body screamed pain, he almost shouted in relief when the shadowy woman stopped her infernal race and knocked at the door of a large mansion. Unlike other houses, this one was not showing signs of decay. His heart beating faster –and not because of the strenuous effort he just had to make – Gilderoy was searching for a good observation point when a loud female voice echoed in the street.

"Open, Artemis! I know you're here!"

A window opened...and in an inhuman move, someone jumped from it faster than should be possible before landing on two feet on the paved ground. A wand threw some sparks and Lockhart at last could see the figures of the beings in front of him.

By the time he realised who was in front of him, he was ready to scream. On one side was a really tall and beautiful vampire. She had dark hair, inhuman brilliant blue eyes colder than ice, ivory skin, and from neck to the boots wearing clothes of black leather. On her back, she carried a weapon. Lockhart could not say he was an expert in non-magical weaponry, but this looked awfully like a sniper rifle. There were also gun holsters tied to a belt and various sharp metal objects. The vampire female had a muscled body most women would sell their souls for and thanks to the vampire centuries of experience, in all likelihood the skills to use it to maximum effect.

Compared to the other woman, she was no threat at all.

For the witch who had used her wand and called the vampire seconds ago was Bellatrix Black-Lestrange in person.

"Bellatrix," the voice of the vampire reminded him of the enormous purring felines at the zoo. "Why am I not surprised?"

"I have something for you and a message," the escaped prisoner said, throwing what looked like a big ruby that the vampire warrior seized in mid-air with incredible reflexes. It was with some fear thatGilderoy noticed the recent pictures the Ministry published to warn the public were completely inaccurate. The deprivations over a decade in Azkaban had inflicted on her flesh had largely been removed. She was also not wearing a Death Eater robe or her usual battle-witch attire which had made her so infamous but jeans and a T-shirt with a green jacket over the latter. The Dark Witch was certainly not looking like a madwoman or a long-detained asylum prisoner. In the streets, she could certainly pass for a thirty-year-old attractive woman without issue. "The six must be gathered on Beltane."

The female answering to the name of Artemis opened wide her mouth, revealing the two big fangs which had so inspired writers in the last centuries...but the rest of the maw was one of a large predator.

"Lilian always loved her little games. Very well, you have my protection for this night." The door of the mansion opened without a whisper and the two women disappeared through it. Gilderoy took a step, he absolutely had to know what the Death Eater was going to...he stopped.

On his right side, a figure in a blue and green cloak was pointing a wand straight at his heart.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Lockhart, but this conversation was not for your ears."

The former DADA Professor of Hogwarts evaluated his chances as fast as he could. They weren't good. The man had a wand pointed at him while his was in his cloak and by the offensive position he had taken, this was a professional. To make it worse, he was tired from the race and the man must have followed his moves for several minutes.

"May I know your name, good Sir?" he asked politely trying to gain time for a genial idea to come to his brain.

A chuckle came to the lips of the wizard but the wand didn't move.

"You can call me Rook Shadow."

Exchequer.

He had to escape and bring the news to-

"You are too curious, Mr. Lockhart. I think it is time for our organisation to teach you there are affairs you shouldn't meddle into."

Gilderoy tried to grab his wand. One second later, there was a bright red flash and he fell unconscious.


8 August 1993, Somewhere in the Egyptian Desert

Today was a great day in magical history, of this Gellert had no doubt. After decades, if not centuries of experiments from several research groups, the first Time-Turner worked.

Time Magic, long decried as fantastically useless by the plump wizards of Europe, had been proved useful. It was a glorious day. In his right hand, he held the miniscule hourglass which had allowed him to return two hours into the past. In front of him, even Knight Priest looked impressed and if that wasn't something, nothing was.

This great achievement had not come cheap, however. Gellert Grindelwald had been only invested in this project for fourteen years, but in this period the development of the Time-Turner had cost thirteen million Galleons, killed fifteen senior researchers, including one Bishop, and the number of humans, goblins, and were-animals sacrificed as lab rats had to be in the high thousands. The Dark Powers only knew how much money the Exchequer had sunk into this endeavour between 1940 and 1992.

"There are weaknesses in your Time-Turner," despite this sentence, Knight Priest looked pleased.

"I'm afraid this was unavoidable," the former Dark Lord admitted. "We are still experimenting with the most basic Time-Arithmancy. For now, going further than twelve hours into the past is guaranteed to end in disaster. We have also placed safeguards against someone trying to travel forwards in time. Travelling to the future may look good in theory, but in reality the best we can do for the time being is providing a one-way trip. None of the subjects unlucky enough to try it have come back, though sometimes we find their skeletons appearing in the experiment rooms..."

It was not random luck that Time Magic was widely considered as a Dark Art by most ICW-signatory countries. Curses and spells manipulating time had a lot of unpredictable effects and those were rarely easily healed by a competent Medi-witch.

"How many times can the user go to the past within the same day?"

"We have set a maximum of three for this version," Gellert answered, handing the Time-Turner to his interlocutor for proper examination. "We didn't want to risk a repeat of the 1900 incident."

Both men grimaced. The event in question had been particularly bad, even by the standards of disastrous experiments, and the Pensieve memories were used as a warning for the young Exchequer recruits to this day.

Everything had begun with a new Time-Turner prototype. A Pawn had volunteered to test it and go back in time for an hour. The runes had been checked multiple times, several teams had commented on the work and finally the experiment had officially started.

It had been something horrifying to behold. The young man with the Time-Turner had travelled back in time indeed. But the team who had built the prototype had made a mistake: there had been no runes to protect his mind. One hour in the past, and the wizard had collected in his journey six different persona, all completely eager to murder everyone they deemed responsible for their torment. And he had a Time-Turner around his neck.

The chaos had been incredible and it taken a personal intervention of Knight Summoner to put down the dozens of time travellers multiplying without limit. As a result, security measures had been multiplied by five after this disaster, but no one had protested. It was not paranoia when the nightmare arrived in front of your door.

"I suppose there is already a larger prototype in construction?"

Gellert nodded, wiping the perspiration off his forehead with a handkerchief.

"We are working on a twenty-four-hour model and a forty-eight-hour test model at the moment, plus of course we made five other models of this twelve-hour version." And since the King had demanded this project to be given the highest priority, they were working as fast as they humanly could. It was fortunate he had been offered two more rejuvenations and was looking more like a fifty-year old man, because the rhythm was hard to endure. "The problem is the Sands of Time. We don't have a large enough supply."

"I heard Knight Treasurer was not happy at the costs involved."

"And I understand his point of view," in case somebody believed otherwise, Gellert and the rest of the Exchequer research teams could not grab some sand from a beach and work with it. The 'Sands of Time' had to be created from the pulverisation of a certain type of rock existing only in the African Sudan. Despite the efforts of Knight Explorer, no other mines of it had ever been found in the whole world.

This was just the first step. By that point, the sand was magically inactive. The next step was to add powder created from a highly-magical species. Dragons generally worked best, but there wasn't exactly tens of thousands corpses of waiting to be harvested and the reptiles were useful in other ways besides this. The third step was to purify the combination with Alchemy and the fourth was to apply innumerable protective Enchantments on each grain.

It was extremely time-consuming and by the third step, the substance was so dangerous half of the poisons in the world looked like an amusing joke by comparison. Damnation, the Muggle nuclear weapons were perfectly safe toys by the fourth step.

"If there was a way to make the time-devices cheaper and easier, I can assure you we would change our methods in a second."

"And I believe you," said the white-robed Knight looking at the dunes to the east.

For a moment, he watched the same place...but there was nothing but sand and the blue sky.

"I thought the Queen was going to join us."

"Her Majesty had another detour to make before joining us." Grindelwald raised an eyebrow. What could be more important and more critical than the Time-Turner? "An opportunity has presented itself to damage Britain's political scene. A family among Dumbledore's most loyal supporters is visiting tombs in the Valley of the Kings."

"Hmm...you want to create another unwilling agent, then."

"Oh, no," contradicted him the Master of Rituals. "Why would we use drastic measures like the Imperius when a few Compulsions can cause far more damage?"


8 August 1993, Lestrange Vault, depths of Gringotts, London

Like every good goblin, Senior Accountant Grimjaw was a firm believer every artefact, heirloom, or coin must have a determined price.

But he had to admit that watching the aghast expression of the Ministry official was absolutely priceless.

For about fifteen seconds, the human watched the empty vault like he hoped the gold was going to appear from the void. It didn't work, obviously.

"Where is it?" babbled the wand-wielder, some of his arrogance returning as his face was reddening. "Where is the gold? Where are the heirlooms? Where are the spell books, the weapons, and the jewels?"

"The contents of the Lestrange vault were automatically transferred to their next beneficiary on August 4th," replied the elderly accountant in charge of this vault. Grimjaw admired his posture; his survival to this day was based on the desire Gringotts had to annoy the Ministry. It was quite likely the Senior Accountant wouldn't survive the next hour... but he was delivering a perfect performance right now. For this, Grimjaw had to raise his halberd in salute.

The words considerably infuriated the pathetic wizard sent by the Ministry.

"There is no next beneficiary!" screamed the human. He was so loud Grimjaw was really glad they had moved the Ukrainian Ironbelly defending this vault to another section of the Bank. "House Lestrange is dead. Rodolphus and Rabastan Lestrange had no children to continue their lines and the murderous bitch they invited into their family is no Lestrange!"

"Error," countered the Lestrange Accountant opening a voluminous ledger and completely ignoring the wand which was pointed right at his head. "In his will of June 19th 1981, it was Lord Rodolphus Lestrange's explicit demand that the contents of his vault were to be placed in the custody of his brother or his wife should he die without children. While Heir Rabastan Lestrange didn't survive Azkaban, Widow Bellatrix Black formerly Lestrange is very much alive."

"Bellatrix Lestrange killed him and is an escaped criminal!" It was very impressive how the human managed to shout louder and louder after each sentence. Maybe they should organise contests in the future.

"That is your interpretation; Gringotts has its own."

"You accuse me of lying, goblin?"

The wand-wielder looked a bit threatening. Of course he had only two followers behind him and there were two hundred goblins on each side of the vault with the ability to call six hundred more in the next minutes. And it didn't count the rune-curses, the wards, and other traps – which were legion – included in the outer defences of this vault.

"I'm openly saying your Minister Fudge and Head of the Goblin Liaison Office Cuthbert Mockridge have constantly refused to deliver the proof of her culpability," patiently replied the goblin banker. "We have no evidence but your word and I find it particularly interesting these accusations are removing from the will the sole person able to claim the Lestrange fortune."

The wand-wielder was now red-violet in the face. Maybe he was going to have a heart attack in the next minute.

"But...you have blood wards! You know when the owner of a vault is killed!"

"Yes, we knew when Lord Lestrange was killed. Gringotts doesn't know the identity of his killer..."

Left unsaid was that the goblin race wouldn't care anyway. Lady Lestrange – now Lady Black again – had gifted a generous sum of ten thousand Galleons to their bank under the condition the Ministry never touched her possessions.

Gringotts was very interested in free gifts like this one, yes.

"Who else could have killed the prisoners of the high-security wing?" the human said in an exasperated tone.

"Oh, I don't know...the vampire and wererat attackers, a warden eager to avenge his friends and kill some Death Eaters, an escaped prisoner with a vendetta against House Lestrange...use your imagination!"

Fudge's messenger exploded after the last provocation.

"YOU ARE GOING TO BRING BACK ALL THE GOLD AND THE HEIRLOOMS YOU TOOK FOUR DAYS AGO WITHOUT A SINGLE OBJECT MISSING! THIS FORTUNE BELONGS TO THE MINISTRY!"

There was only one answer which was acceptable under the circumstances.

"No."

It was like someone had cut the wand-wielder's voice. Ultimately, one of the humans waiting next to him had to clear his throat to let him resume the conversation.

"This is a violation of the treaty between Gringotts and the Ministry."

"Not at all! Not at all! I advise you to read the third volume of the 1430 Manchester economic convention. You will see there is a clear precedent in our favour!"

This time the Ministry's envoy was not finding his words.

"The Minister will not be happy. Sanctions may be applied if Gringotts is obstinate in this matter."

"Ah, but we're not exactly happy with him too." For a reason which escaped him, most humans seemed frightened when they saw a goblin's grin. "You can tell your Minister that at the first sign of economic retaliation, the axes are coming out. We're long due a little rebellion..."


10 August 1993, Privet Drive, England

For this little meeting she had chosen a park several streets away from the houses of Piers and Malcolm. It may have been paranoia, but in these uncertain times Alexandra had decided to be careful. Technically after all, these conversations violated the Statute of Secrecy. The topic of the wererats was in this grey area where treason accusations could be made. It was best not to give the Ministry or one of Dumbledore's agents the chance to hear her talk.

"The Ministry is fishing new corpses of wererats out of the North Sea every day," she commented while distributing copies of the Daily Prophet. She didn't like the Ministry-approved brand of journalism, but their images of the dead were presenting the awful reality this time.

"But the name of Dudley has not been mentioned," the fervour in Piers' voice was unmistakable.

"Not yet," she amended. "By the look of things, the investigators are trying to discover hundreds of wererats identities and it looks like they built their army from missing people over the last six or seven years. It's entirely possible they have him but have failed to identify him."

In fact, this was the likeliest option in her mind. Dudley had not exactly been the symbol of the young English sportsman dreaming to participate in the Olympic Games. TV, video games, violence against young kids unable to defend themselves...those had been his strong points. As Dudley's cousin, Alexandra was not convinced Dudley had what it took in him to survive a life-or-death situation.

"I will keep an eye open, but I can't go myself to Northern Scotland," she admitted to the Gang. "The Aurors are on high alert and one of the escaped prisoners is my father. I don't want to be dragged in front of the Wizengamot and sentenced to Azkaban."

The images every newspaper had shown of this horrid castle had convinced her it was better to die than to go to this prison. With death, you didn't know what was waiting for you on the other side. With the Dementors and Azkaban, your soul and your sanity didn't survive.

She stood up from the bench where she was seated.

"Continue your lessons and no bullying," Alexandra insisted. "I will contact you again before September and I will bring you an owl for rapid communications. If Dudley comes back, hide him and be careful that the absolute minimum of people see him. The Ministry offers five thousand Galleons per wererat's head and the bounty-hunters won't hesitate to kill when there are rewards like this at stake."

"The Galleons are the bronze coins, right?"

Yeah, the Gang was perfect for the role of minions.

"No Malcolm, the Galleons are the gold coins..."


16 August 1993, Ministry of Magic, London

The fatidic day had arrived. Or rather a new fatidic day had arrived. This was hardly the first life-changing situation she had to deal with after all.

Lord Glenn had woken them at dawn, Alexandra and Morag had been clothed in robes that looked the height of fashion three centuries ago, and after a rapid breakfast they had used the Floo network to travel directly to the Ministry of Magic.

Alexandra's first impression of the place was...not good. Sure, she had not expected an ode to the Celtic or the Roman culture after seeing the competence of Fudge and Dumbledore, but she had not expected the absolute absence of taste English wizards took for granted.

Their little group had arrived in an atrium whose floor was polished dark wood, the ceiling was dark blue with golden symbols and the walls and the fireplaces were golden.

In all honesty, if the architect of this horror was still alive, Alexandra's opinion would be to murder him horribly for this. The lack of taste was utterly appalling.

It didn't get better as they walked in direction of the lifts. A golden fountain was spouting water in a large pool. When Alexandra watched the statues, she knew there was really, really something wrong with the Ministry. House-elves may look with adoration to a witch or a wizard in real-life, but Alexandra was sure the goblins would prefer roasting a rude client rather than kneeling at someone's feet. No idea about the centaurs, but the fact no one saw them at Hogwarts indicated clearly they weren't exactly subservient to the Ministry. The Fountain of Magical Brethren, they called it.

Really the only way the Ministry could have been less subtle in disparaging the 'Muggles' was to exhibit two wizards on a seat-throne like the ones Dumbledore used and present them crushing a mass of 'inferior' non-magical people.

"When was this ugly fountain built?" she asked in a whisper to Morag as their wands were examined by a couple of Aurors.

"I think it was a couple of years after 1981," answered her friend.

By the White Tower, they had not even the excuse of age and tradition to keep this abomination around, then.

The security of the Ministry was absolutely atrocious, by the way. She had not taken Fragarach with her today, but assuming she had wanted to hide her blade, she could have gotten away with it. The Aurors were doing their job without really trying and the moment her name was revealed, they began to glare at her.

It was nice to see they still had enough brain cells to realise that between a certain escaped prisoner and herself, their reputation was decreasing by the month with no sign of stopping. Maybe Basilisks had been a bit too much to handle... but apparently so were the wererats and the vampires.

Alexandra really hoped it meant all the good fighters had been massacred by Voldemort and the Death Eaters or retired after Neville Longbottom vanquished the Dark Lord. The alternatives were not exactly worth contemplating.

The descent in the lift was long and interrupted at every level by wizards and witches with smug or drugged looks. There were also hundreds of purple paper aeroplanes used by the employees to send messages to other Departments.

They descended to 'Level two, Department of Magical Law Enforcement, including the Improper Use of Magic Office, Auror Headquarters, and Wizengamot Administration Services'. Of course they weren't there for any of these things, but the guardianship audience needed a courtroom and this level had two-thirds of said locations. The other courtrooms on level nine were only used for grave occasions, like treason trials and severe breaches of the Statute of Secrecy.

At first they walked in a pleasant corridor before arriving at a sort of crossroads where dozens of doors opened and closed as new wizards arrived or departed.

"This is it," announced Morag's father. "Courtroom four," he designated a door which was painted half in silver and half in gold. "Wait a good minute Alexandra after we have entered," Alexandra nodded and Lord MacDougal entered with his Heiress on his heels. While the Ministry –and by deduction Dumbledore – had been informed at some point she was living at MacDougal manor, arriving alone would fool no one in magical or non-magical world, there were appearances to preserve.

Ultimately, Alexandra waited two good minutes before opening the door of Courtroom Four, the reason for the slight delay being a foreign wizard wearing a turban and speaking a language like Arabic trying to slam a vegetable in the face of a Ministry employee repeatedly. Since there were at least fifteen minutes before the official beginning of the audience, the lost minute wasn't terribly important.

Breathing deeply, Alexandra opened the door. As she entered the courtroom, she saw that preparing for this moment had not been necessary. The Courtroom was still mostly empty. There were eight elongated desks and eight chairs in the middle of the courtroom, but only two were occupied.

Courtroom four was rather large: the judges' area had the room to seat forty wizards without issue. On the periphery, there was seating for the public to watch whatever was happening in the courtroom. They were almost empty right now: no excited crowd to observe her. Not counting Morag, there were two elderly wizards and one elderly witch who were debating with each other, and they didn't bother turning their head when she descended the steps to arrive in front of the three officials who were going to play the role of judges today.

"Hem hem. Heiress Alexandra Potter of the Most Ancient House of Potter," the only woman of the trio declared in a tone which was frankly really awful to listen to. To make things worse, her face was ugly. Yes, ugly. Certain Slytherins looked like an advertisement for the ravages of inbreeding and the reasons why you shouldn't mate with trolls, but the poor woman looked like she had been the outcome of a crossbreeding experiment between a toad and a human. At least the long purple robes, long and outdated, were hiding most of her body. "Welcome to the Ministry."

"Thank you, Senior Official Umbridge," technically the woman's promotion was still unofficial, but Lord Glenn had insisted a little flattery never hurt things. A point of view confirmed by the fact her stony expression seemed to soften.

"This table," the plump woman designated a short table on the right of the courtroom with a lone seat, its position ten feet away from the nearest guardian's desk, "is for your personal use during this audience. You are a bit in advance; the audience will begin in... fourteen minutes."

"Thank you," Alexandra repeated and went directly to the lone chair.

She would have liked to use the opportunity to observe the possible guardians, but unfortunately there was not much to say. Alexandra knew Lord Glenn MacDougal, obviously. And the other candidate unfortunately was either sleeping or he was doing a very good imitation of drooling in his sleep. The noises he made were a guarantee he wasn't dead, that was a positive sign, right? But Maurice Flint –there was his name on top of the desk – was looking terribly old. Intellectually, she knew the old Flint was not an Alchemist like Dumbledore and had certainly lived a far less pleasant life but seeing it with your own two eyes was another thing. Maurice Flint's hands and visage were wrinkled by decades of life and the white hairs were abandoning him, leaving him half-bald.

It took five minutes for another person to enter the courtroom. The young witch had never seen the man before, but his blonde hair and his blue eyes were the same shade as his son Cormac and Dolores Umbridge greeting him as 'Lord Liam McLaggen' confirmed it. When the door opened thirty seconds later, she thought Cormac had accompanied his father, but her prediction was wrong.

Morag had warned her the Black sisters had many common points, but for a second or two Alexandra thought Bellatrix Lestrange had coloured her hair a light brown and come to the Ministry of Magic today. Judging by how one of the elderly wizards jumped when she greeted him, she was not the only one in this case. But the woman was clearly no escaped prisoner...the young woman with deep violet hair and an Auror trainee uniform following her on her heels rapidly killed this idea.

Andromeda Tonks greeted the officials, Alexandra – something she appreciated given that McLaggen had ignored her and Flint was dead asleep – and the rest of the people present in the room. Alexandra watched Andromeda's daughter with curiosity. For all she had learned about the Wizarding World, she had rarely met young adults who had just left Hogwarts a couple of years ago. Plus 'Nymphadora Tonks' was her cousin... and when she turned her head, she was looking at someone with red hair, the nose of Professor Snape, and the corpulence of Professor Sprout.

Damn. How the hell had she done that? Alexandra could change her hair colour and a few other details in less than a minute, but the process was slow and demanded full concentration. She certainly couldn't do it like the trainee Auror just did. By the time she had thought this, Nymphadora Tonks had changed her visage five times and her hair seven times, returning to the purple she arrived with.

The rest arrived quickly after that. First, was a large dark-haired man presenting himself as Lord Weston Bulstrode. Solid, Alexandra would describe him. Judging by his behaviour, certain old scars, and his assurance, he must have been a Beater in the Slytherin Quidditch Team when he was a student. His daughter Millicent was here too, and walked to the right of the ever-changing Tonks in the spectator's wing. Lord Bulstrode preceded Lady Narcissa Malfoy by thirty seconds.

If the newspapers had shown in high and large Bellatrix was black and by her own eyes she had observed that Andromeda was brown-haired, then the wife of Lord Malfoy was the perfect blonde. Granted with magic it didn't mean a lot: Potions, Charms, Illusions, the means to alter your appearance weren't limited to one or two options. But somehow, she didn't think it was the case for the youngest of the three sisters: Narcissa Malfoy looked like she had been born blonde and would stay that way until her death. Unlike Lord Bulstrode, the pure-blood witch was not wearing black or any official clothing but a dark blue robe which had certainly not been cheap when the moment came to open the wallet. She was not the only Malfoy to be summoned for the audience: Draco was honouring them all with his presence and unfortunately was still presenting his usual arrogance. Lyre, who was present too, deserted him seconds after her entrance to stand next to Millicent Bulstrode.

Thirty seconds before the official start, Lady Stella Zabini made her presence known. If the Malfoy Lady had dressed like the conservative aristocrat she was, the Black Widow of the British Wizarding World had far... bolder clothing preferences. Her dress was a deep Slytherin green and showed a lot of things: cleavage, legs, back...and Alexandra was going to stop there before she reddened like a tomato. Blaise had come too. Surprising detail, the skin of Lady Zabini was far darker today than when she had met her at the book shop a year ago. She was close to her son in skin colour at this moment, and the familial relationship was far easier to notice. Around her neck the seventh candidate wore a necklace of emeralds and similar gems were dangling from her ears.

The Ministry employees greeted her, and while she could hear some angry murmurs about the indecent robe, there was some hint of prudence and calculation when they looked at the fifth wealthiest person of their society.

A bell rang in the distance and Umbridge hit the wood in front of her with the traditional judge's gavel. The sound woke up Maurice Flint from his lethargy...sort of. The ancient wizard still looked like he was in a comatose state.

"Hem hem. Nine o'clock, the audience for the guardianship of Heiress Alexandra Potter is now in session," Umbridge talked in a no-nonsense voice, and Alexandra's opinion of the woman rose steadily. Whatever you could say about her ugly appearance, it took a good dose of courage to begin the conference on time and on the hour when the desk of Lord Sirius Black was devoid of his presence in front of you. Moreover, it was practically a guarantee that Albus Dumbledore was going to come at some point – former guardian and all of that.

Judging by the unhappy faces of the two other judge-officials, not everyone was so determined to begin but there was a discreet sign from the hand of Lady Malfoy and suddenly the two wizards were the definition of cooperation and alacrity.

"Hem hem. By the rulings of 1764..." began the toad-woman and after that Alexandra's understanding of the discussion stopped abruptly.

Alexandra was honest, she had learned the introducing courses of society and the laws which interested her – especially when it was a question of precedents destined to screw her previous magical guardian. But the laws, the precedents, and the techniques used in the courtroom between the different candidates were all far above her head.

In five minutes, she was lost. When she looked at the spectators, it was somewhat a consolation to see she wasn't the only one. Nymphadora Tonks was changing her appearance every five or six seconds, chewing bubble gum, and trying to dishevel Draco Malfoy as soon as he had his back turned. Morag and Lyre looked as lost as she was; for the fifth member of the Exiled it probably wasn't helping that English wasn't her first language.

Carefully watching the expressions of the men and women speaking was not useful. All wore Slytherin faces – with the exception of the Flint who was either a corpse or a terminally-ill patient - and their emotions were firmly under lock and key. It was somewhat humbling. For all Alexandra had experienced and learned, she was just a novice in politics. These people before her knew how the system worked. They were maybe not doing a good job of governing the country, but there was a reason Lady Zabini and Lady Malfoy were not in a cell at Azkaban. Of course, they were adults and certainly had not the minor problem of a father who squandered the familial fortune before being imprisoned.

There were still a few things that could be affirmed without risk of error. First, Marcus Flint should never have applied to be a guardian. The man was answering too late and not the correct questions. Most of the time he drooled and his sentences were impossible to decipher. It took fifteen minutes for the non-amused Umbridge to declare him unfit to be Alexandra's guardian. Flint nodded and then collapsed on his desk, taking an undignified big nap in front of them.

It was worrying the man still had a Wizengamot vote – and a Ministry one at that. Was there not an age limit for the officials?

The selection continued for the next half-hour. It was absolutely boring. Alexandra forced herself to sit straight in her chair and not yawn. Dumbledore's incompetence as a guardian was mentioned several times by Narcissa Malfoy, supported by Lord MacDougal, Lord Bulstrode, and Andromeda Tonks. There were no references to the Azkaban breakout, though there was a discussion about needing high-level wards which came close to it. But minute after minute, the candidates exchanged documents on obscure laws she'd never heard before and in all likelihood, would never have to invoke herself.

Weston Bulstrode was the second candidate out of the 'race', roughly forty-five minutes after the start. It was a far more civil affair, and Umbridge made a short note that it was not in any way a slight against his character. Glenn MacDougal received the same compliments five minutes later, along with Andromeda Tonks.

She did her best not to show any sign of disappointment, but yes, she was not exactly happy. It was nothing against House Slytherin and its alumni... the Zabini and Malfoy children simply weren't her friends at Hogwarts and their Houses had extremely shady reputations. Yes, Lyre was one of the Exiled, but Lyre's stay in House Malfoy could end the moment her father reawakened from his coma or another influential member of her family in France took an interest in her. This guardianship, on the other hand, had a good chance of lasting until her seventeenth birthday.

Alexandra had hoped for only a few minutes more of waiting, but the debate raged for twenty-six more minutes before Dolores Umbridge announced in a voice so sweet it was giving her bad vibes before anything important was said.

"Hem hem. Lady Stella Zabini, you are granted the guardianship of Heiress Alexandra Potter of the Most Ancient House of Potter. As your ward is over thirteen years-old per the 1847 Guardianship Laws, you will need her sealed approval to use the Potter votes in the Wizengamot. The finances of House Potter fall under the same guardianship laws."

Well, this was a positive point. The esteemed Headmaster of Hogwarts has used the votes for eleven years without bothering to ask for her opinion and the Potter vault was maybe going to be accessible after twelve long years. On the downside, she had slept her last night at MacDougal Manor for a while it seemed.

The judge's gavel struck the wood and she stood up, wincing after nearly an hour and a half of near immobility on this not-quite-so comfortable chair – why in the name of whatever past Dark Lords they did not have the right to use their wands in the heart of the Ministry to cast Cushioning Charms, she couldn't understand. Alexandra was going to approach Morag's father and thank him for his efforts when the door of the courtroom opened in full and a massive ruckus assaulted her ears.

The Ministry courtroom had been near-empty and quite silent until now. This atmosphere was killed in a second.

A crowd was now pouring into the room, and the green-eyed Ravenclaw recognised many of the pictures she had examined in Daily Prophet and Dancing Farfadet articles. A lot of them were Order of the Phoenix members or at least sympathisers. There were journalists too: the flashes of their ancient cameras betrayed them.

Leading this mass of witches, wizards, and other beings was none other than the famous, the incredible, the undefeated Albus Dumbledore himself, Headmaster of Hogwarts, Grand Sorcerer, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, Order of Merlin First Class, and former Supreme Mugwump.

As usual, the Defeater of the recently escaped Dark Lord Grindelwald had decided he was going to be the person wearing the most shocking robes of the British Isles. The colour was difficult to describe...at first glance it looked like a magical pink-and-brown zebra had decided to associate himself with a light blue peacock. There were also countless brilliant flakes, and a ridiculous high hat shining like a watchtower.

To his right was Lord Sirius Black, wearing a red-gold suit. It was far less aggressive on the eyes than the eye-blinding clothes of Dumbledore. It was also obviously a clear sign of his Gryffindor-Light allegiance and rejection of his old family ties, and she could already guess Umbridge and many others of the Lords and Ladies present were not liking this at all.

"I'm afraid the owls which were supposed to inform us of the new location for the audience were unable to deliver their messages this morning," the voice of the Chief Warlock took control of the assembly without really trying.

Alexandra frowned and it was something repeated here and there. Morag and she had known of the location and the hour five days ago and it had never changed. Plus Lord McLaggen was here and he was one of the Light supporters, no? What was Albus Dumbledore playing at?

"I apologise deeply for the problems it caused, but Sirius is here to defend his rights to the guardianship..."

The man who should have been her godfather made a roguish smile and the Potter Heiress thought there was still a lot of the Gryffindor prankster in him. He had deep black hair, black eyes, and a body breathing life although there were signs he was not exercising a lot.

Nine out of ten people right there would have jumped in approval of Albus Dumbledore and his ally, forgiving everything and 'forgetting' the last two hours. Albus Dumbledore was in his 'benevolent grandfather' mode and Sirius Black was the 'best uncle who can't do any wrong'. Witches and wizards were ready to jump into the political arena for the chance to earn their favour.

Dolores Umbridge was clearly not one of those people who bowed to this.

"Hem hem. The guardianship audience is over, Chief Warlock. I don't know what game you want to play, but the owls were sent five and three days ago according to the traditional procedures. The information was also part of the announcements in the Atrium you couldn't miss."

The smile of the Grand Sorcerer went missing faster than chocolate bars when Dudley was in the vicinity.

"I'm afraid I will have to insist," and power began to flare from the powerful wizard and his silver beard.

"Hem hem. And I will insist you stop wasting the time of the Ministry, Chief Warlock," replied in a sweet little voice Dolores Umbridge. "This audience is over and the guardianship is decided. My decision is final."

Chaos erupted in the courtroom following this declaration.

"Then you will leave me no choice but to cancel the entire procedure and name Lord Sirius Black as the Heiress' guardian."

Dumbledore's voice was superbly calm and there was absolutely no hint of triumph either in his mannerisms or his behaviour. The godfather who had abandoned her when she was one year oldwas far more demonstrative: he raised his fist and several of their supporters cheered.

This was really sickening. And the Light wondered why certain Death Eaters chose to bribe their way out of their crimes when the Chief Warlock and his friends cancelled the legal procedures. Fine, it was time to kill the mood of these Gryffindors professional sidekicks, then.

"NO!" She shouted and suddenly there was a silence of death in the courtroom. Between Lady Zabini and Lord Black, it was sad to say this, but Lady Zabini was winning every day. By Sauron, between Sirius Black and Narcissa Malfoy, Lady Malfoy was winning all the time too. Every other candidate was winning, in fact, for they had not abandoned her at the non-existent mercy of the Dursleys. That was something she would never forget.

"My dear girl..."

Never.

"No."


Author's note: As you can see, the Exchequer is very busy this summer...and it's only the beginning. As for Alexandra, the end of her guardianship audience will be revealed next chapter, along with several other changes. The end of August is near, and by chapter 50 it's going to be time to return to Hogwarts...where a very interesting year awaits.

Links for the story:

On P a treon: ww w. p a treon Antony444

On TV Tropes: ww w. tvtropes pmwiki / pmwiki .php/ Fanfic/ TheOddsWereNeverInMyFavour