Omens
Nicholas Flamel
"So much pain. So much war." Perenelle gasped as pain flared through her body. "The more mortals evolve, the more they stay the same."
"Calm, my love," Nicolas murmured as he rapidly mixed golden glowing fluids in a flask. He held them at eye level, the diagnostic flask projected glowing red numbers that indicated a margin of error well beneath micrograms.
"War! War! War!" Perenelle said in shock. "A God of ashes in the scarlet queen's court. Two bloodlines, forever torn apart!"
With a grim nod, Nicholas took the mixture out into an injection and plunged it into Pernelle's veins. The elixir immediately got to work and Perenelle's haggard visage immediately started turning into that of a youthful woman. Unfortunately, the madness plaguing her eyes didn't seem to abate. If anything, the renewed color of her eyes made it seem even more grim. Nicolas took his wife's hands in his own.
"Calm, Perenelle. You have survived much worse than this. You can easily overcome this." Nicolas said.
"Oh, foul son of man!" Perenelle chanted, "Will you never cease to disappoint me?!"
Perenelle violently shook her head and Nicholas sighed. When Perenelle had sealed herself inside the pyramids, Grindelwald's black hand had spared nothing to break down the barriers. They had conducted horrifying rituals consisting of human sacrifice and worse to magnify the malignancy of their spells. Fortunately, Perenelle had stood strong to keep herself sealed. Unfortunately, that had sapped much of her vitality that not even the philosopher's stone was able to restore. And then something had happened, something much darker. When the Petrov boy and the Gaunt girl with their meddling in ancient archives had forced Grindelwald's hand, the death hand had given up.
That is where the accursed wretch, Croaker, had come in.
Using some foul magic he had done something to Perenelle. Hurt her immortal being in a way human magic had been unable to do so since they were created in Eden. Such a horrid development had caused Perenelle to suffer a panic attack from which she had yet to recover. There was also the ordeal of being held hostage at the Department of Mysteries. He had scoured the battlefields looking for Croaker, leaving much of the fighting to be decided by Black, Epcott, and Minister Bones. Unfortunately, it seemed like Croaker had vanished from the face of the Earth after the scouring of the department.
A hand gripped his own and Nicholas looked to see Perenelle staring at him with an unusual ferocity in her eyes.
"I see …. Through time…..Great metal machines colliding with flesh in an orgy of blood and genocide…" Perenelle said with her eyes rolled back. Nicholas gently brought his wand near her and whispered a few spells. This seemed to break her out of her stupor and her eyes returned to normal.
His brows furrowed. "What are you talking about? The Great War is over. People are rebuilding, finding peace—"
"Peace?" Perenelle's voice was hoarse, "It won't last. Mankind… they're restless. Always chasing some phantom of perfection, some utopia of endless growth, endless change. They think they can create paradise with their hands, but they don't see. They don't see what they have… it's enough. What they've been given, it's enough."
Nicholas shifted uncomfortably. "They'll learn. With time, they'll learn to be content."
"They won't," she said firmly. "Nicholas, they'll revolt. They'll tear down everything, convinced it will lead them to a world that doesn't exist. And you… you, with all your wisdom, ….."
She looked at him again. "And you!" Her nose flared in anger.
"You who trained several such revolutionaries and let them out in the wild, baying for blood and carnage. What do you intend to do, Lord Flamel?" She said.
Nicholas looked away, not willing to meet her and stand up to her judgment. Seeing her love in distress, Perenelle softened up again. "You must protect what's left, hold the line when the revolutionaries come with their promises of endless progress."
Her smile wavered, her lips trembling. "No, Nicholas. I won't be. They've… hurt me."
"What do you mean?" Nicholas asked sharply.
"The mortals," Perenelle said, her voice growing faint but steady. "In their hubris, they've touched something dark. Dark magic that even I don't recognize. It's twisted through me. My body, once so resilient, is failing, Nicholas. I've nearly lived a millennium, and my penance on this earth… it's come to an end. My soul must return to Nibiru….."
"No!" Nicholas wrenched his hand away from her and paced the room. "I won't accept it! You can't give up. You can't!"
Getting teary-eyed for the first time in centuries, Nicholas plopped to the bed and gripped her knees. "You can't. If not for anything, but for me?!"
"I was never meant to live here, my love. I betrayed the All-Father when I abandoned the spaceships to reside here on Earth. My daughter, my grandchildren, my grandchildren's grandchildren…. Are forever secure. The dark ones won't ever threaten this world again." Perenelle said and moaned in pain as bright light started emanating from her. Her spirit would no longer be held back by her current mortal coil. "The All-Father beckons me towards his halls."
Nicholas wept openly now, his body trembling with grief. "I can't lose you, Perenelle. Please… hold on."
She smiled, her eyes soft, though the pain in them was unmistakable. "You'll never lose me. I will wait for you, just as you waited for me all those years ago."
"I'm not ready," he whispered, his voice breaking.
"I know," she replied, her voice barely a whisper. "But you must be. You have a duty, Nicholas. Protect them… protect this world… from themselves. Be the vanguard, my love."
Her hand slipped from his cheek, and her breathing grew fainter. Nicholas gripped her hand, holding on with all his strength.
"Perenelle…"
Her eyes fluttered closed, the last traces of a serene smile on her lips.
"I love you," she whispered, so faint he almost missed it.
And then, she was gone.
Ministerial Balls
They were clad in elegant robes and dresses now that were the envy of all. Now that the draft was over, several fashion houses had started again in a bid to return life to magical Britain. Since Morrigan and Harry were the hottest ticket in town, they were assailed by many such houses to wear their best dresses to the ball. Of course, Harry had politely accepted all such "gifts". He didn't have Morrigan's enthusiasm for dressing up or as she liked to call it, "theatricality and presentation". Personally, he just thought it was a cover for Morrigan liking something feminine and trying to portray it as regular Slytherin cunning. Still, he didn't mind. The clothes did make him look dashing.
They were in the atrium before being announced. As usual, Morrigan had insisted on being fashionably late. She appeared before him with a pop in a scandalously elegant black dress with feather shoulders. The dress had a slit opening near her legs and trailed down below. The fabric was encrusted with gleaming charms near the end that constantly changed patterns and the flowers near the shoulders were gleaming rubies.
She twirled in front of him, letting the dress fly. "Well?"
"Truly scandalous. As all things Morrigan, Miss Gaunt." Harry remarked as he embraced her. "My, you keep this up and more noble ladies will die of shock than they did in the war."
She kissed him and nibbled at his bottom lip before breaking away. "Good. Let them die. The more they die, the greater room they leave for us to play."
She locked her arm with his, "And remember dear, we are the radicals here. We don't set the new status quo. We are the status quo."
"Always," Harry replied as the doors opened to reveal a luxurious ballroom. The crowd erupted in applause as soon as the couple entered. A house elf scurried nearby offering them champagne in a tall glass. They each took one and raised them to acknowledge the crowd's applause.
An orator's polished voice rose above the din of the crowd to formally introduce them.
"And now introducing Lady Morrigan Gaunt. One half of the slayer of the dark lord. Lady of the most ancient and noble house of Gaunt. Heir of Salazar Slytherin. Chosen of the Founding Four. Major in the magical army of the British Isles."
Morrigan walked forward and politely nodded towards the awe-struck who regarded her as Merlin's second coming.
"And introducing her companion, Harry Petrov! One half of the slayer of the dark lord. Vanquisher of the heretical Department of Mysteries. Apprentice of Albus Wulferic Brian Dumbledore. Named friend of the Houses Black and Potter. Recipient of the Order of Merlin twice over. Shadow warrior in the Great War. Chairman and Founder of MystiTech Ventures. Lord of the Cabal of The Rising Sun." The orator announced.
There was some confused murmur at the last proclamation, but protocol demanded that they be quiet. There was a polite applause which Harry returned with a short bow. The duo walked down the stage and mingled with the crowd.
Morrigan spoke to him from behind her champagne glass in parseltongue. "You didn't tell them about the wand?"
"Too much attention," Harry replied as the Elder Wand gently buzzed in anticipation of being acknowledged.
"Wicked," Morrigan replied before she was assailed by Cassiopeia Black and other ministerial aides and led away. Meanwhile, Minister Bones approached with her aides to show her off to the other crowd.
Everyone here was the who's who of the magical elite. Ambassadors from as far as Russia, America, Persia, Canada, Australia, France, and India had visited. They brought several dignitaries with them, wealthy nobles, politically astute muggle-borns, new money elite, and magical geniuses from every corner.
Reporters scurried about trying to take as many pictures as possible of the couple before an auror squad huddled the press outside. This was to be a private affair after all.
Harry, old friend? Remember me? It's McKinnon from Slytherin!
Harry pretended to know the boy and shook his hand enthusiastically. No doubt the boy would use this in his next campaign.
Mr. Petrov! It is an honor meeting you! The French Republic sends it greetings and gratitude!
Harry warmly shook the woman's calloused hand. A knowing look passed between the two as Harry recognized the woman. She was one of the partisans who helped Team Piranhas when they were operating in France. He embraced the woman in a hug while the crowd looked on in admiration.
Madame, honor is all mine. Just like it was when we fought together. Harry replied with whatever broken French he could muster. Meanwhile, on the side of the line, several dignitaries gathered around Morrigan.
Miss Morrigan! What spell did you use against the immortal legion!
"Well now, a good witch never reveals her secrets!" Morrigan chided.
Miss Morrigan! What are your plans for postwar reconstruction? Do you intend to petition for a seat in the Wizengamot!
"All in due my dear ladies and gentlemen," Morrigan said.
Several others passed in a quick row before Harry's attention was caught by something else entirely. A moth was hopping onto one onlooker after another in a bid to stay close to Harry and Morrigan. It wasn't that the moths jumped that Harry found odd, it was the persistent attempt to get as close as possible. Casting his enhanced senses towards the moth, Harry sniffed the air and grinned.
A cheeky little spy. Harry thought. Dodging aides by excusing himself urgently, Harry saw the moth try and follow it. When he had broken from the crowd, Harry cast Notice Me Not charms before instantly mobilizing the moth and said, "Finite Incantatem!"
The moth immediately transformed into a harried young lady who sputtered about and panicked as her brain tried to reaccumulate to her human proportions again. She looked up to see Harry staring down at her with an eyebrow raised and tapping a foot.
"Well, madam, are you going to get into or am I going to have to call the Aurors?" Harry asked.
She sat stunned for a moment before sputtering profuse apologies. "My Lord Petrov! You could most certainly hand me over to the Aurors. But why do something so… ordinary." She made a puking gesture at that before leaping to her feet. "You are the one-half slayer of Grindelwald. The mightiest mage in town! You should do the extraordinary thing at all times?"
"By all means, do enlighten me, what will be the extraordinary thing to do here?" Harry asked.
"An alliance!" She said.
"Come again?" Harry asked.
"An alliance, my Lord Petrov! Just imagine, what you could accomplish by allying yourself with the best journalist in town who doesn't back down from the hard truth?" She exclaimed.
"And does the best journalist in town have a name?" Harry asked and she blushed at that and stammered.
"Rita, my lord. Rita Skeeter." She said and did a god-awful curtsy that Harry was sure a troll could've done better.
"Or I could just hand you over to the Aurors for spying on a private function. And most likely being an illegal animagus." Harry said, delighting in the woman's warring emotions.
"Oh, pish posh. All is fair in love and war, my lord. I'm sure a shadow warrior like yourself lives and dies by that ethos. Why do such things when I can do so much more for you?" Rita said. "Undoubtedly you have political aspirations, no? Old Rita can ensure that your name is on all the right columns, pages, and headlines."
"In case you haven't noticed, there is a legion of media reporters that wish to get a piece of me," Harry said.
"Ah!" Rita cackled. "But those are all legacy media reporters on the payroll of popular pureblood factions. Old money. Good Ol' Rita here is out here to break the monopoly of the Daily Prophet on our information market."
"Don't you write for the Prophet?" Harry asked.
"Of course I do!" Rita snapped, now visibly irritated. "They are the only ones who employ journalists. But I ran a shadow blog post at night. But I need money to run it. Money comes from readers. Readers who come to read exciting stories about exciting people."
Rita emphasized the last bit by poking repeatedly at his chest.
"Exciting individuals such as me?" Harry said and Rita nodded.
"Hmm….not interested," Harry said and turned to walk away.
"If I don't get this interview, my blog will be bankrupt," Rita said. "I will be forced to be the prophet's mouthpiece and nothing more. Don't you care about the truth?!"
"Good luck, Miss Skeeter, on all your future endeavors," Harry said.
"And what about your future endeavors, Lord Petrov? Do you think all this light, glitz, and glamour will last once all the Pureblood nobility finds out about all the Muggleborns you have employed at MysticTech? Some of them have gotten awful rich from their jobs. Also, what about all the bills you have been talking about with the members?" Rita said and that made Harry pause.
"You aren't supposed to know about that." Harry quietly said.
"I am a broke fresh graduate from Hogwarts drafted into the military press, my lord. Trust me, getting this morsel wasn't the hardest thing I have had to do." Rita said and held her hands in the air. "All I ask is for one shot. Just one interview and let the sales figures do the talking."
Harry pretended to think for a moment as he cackled with glee inside. This is way easier than I expected.
"On one condition," Harry said and Rita perked up, hope returning to her eyes. "I get to have the final editing rights."
Rita took a deep breath at that before saying, "As you wish, my lord."
The Local Quill
Exclusive Interview with Harry Petrov, One Half of the Team that Slayed Grindelwald!
By: Rita Skeeter
In a world still reeling from the aftermath of the Great War, the Local Quill is thrilled to present an exclusive, groundbreaking interview with none other than Harry Petrov, who—alongside his famed companion—brought down the darkest wizard of our time, Gellert Grindelwald. For the first time, Petrov opens up about his life post-war, his mysterious education, and his bold plans for the future.
How is Harry Petrov today?
It was the first question I asked when I finally sat across from the man who had captivated the world. Harry Petrov, looking remarkably composed for someone who once stood at the epicenter of magical warfare, smiled modestly.
"I'm doing well, thank you," he said, "It's been a long road, but I've found a sense of peace in the aftermath."
The First and Only Apprentice of Dumbledore
When asked how he came to possess the knowledge and skill to defeat Grindelwald, Petrov dropped a revelation that left me momentarily speechless.
"I was Albus Dumbledore's first and only apprentice," he disclosed with quiet pride. "The knowledge he entrusted me with was invaluable. Without his guidance, I wouldn't have been able to face Grindelwald."
Dumbledore's connection to the downfall of Grindelwald has long been speculated, but this is the first confirmation of such an intimate relationship between the two. Petrov spoke of his former mentor with reverence, but also a solemn understanding that Dumbledore's legacy carried as much burden as it did brilliance.
Looking to the Future: Philanthropy and Muggleborn Equality
After defeating one of the greatest threats to the wizarding world, one might expect Petrov to enjoy a quiet retirement. Yet, his ambitions seem to reach far beyond merely living out the rest of his days in peace. Petrov revealed that now that his military service is behind him, he intends to turn his focus toward society's injustices.
"I want to tackle inequality, especially when it comes to muggle-borns," Petrov declared with passion. "During the war, muggle-borns shed a great deal of blood-fighting against Grindelwald's poisoned lies and temptations. It's time they are given their just flowers in our society."
Such a bold statement is sure to stir the waters of the Wizengamot, where muggle-born rights have been fiercely debated for decades. I, too, couldn't help but voice my surprise at Petrov's directness on the matter, but he remained firm.
"I'm confident that through my efforts, people will begin to see things in a new light. Change is overdue."
MystiTech Ventures: A New Dawn in Business?
In a stunning twist, Harry Petrov also revealed that his newly formed company, MystiTech Ventures, is part of his grander vision for Britain's future. When asked whether his business ventures align with his philanthropic aspirations, Petrov confirmed the connection with enthusiasm.
"Absolutely," he said. "For far too long, business and commercial opportunities have been locked within a fixed clout of mage families here in Britain. Meanwhile, banking and investment opportunities have been tightly controlled by Goblins. MystiTech Ventures is an attempt to revitalize the markets through honest free-market capitalism and ensure a redistribution of wealth. It's time for some fresh air."
The sheer audacity of such an undertaking left me momentarily flabbergasted. I couldn't help but point out the centuries of tradition he seemed intent on disrupting. Petrov, however, appeared unfazed by the enormity of the task.
"It's precisely those entrenched systems that need to be shaken up," he said calmly. "If we want to see real progress, we can't be afraid to challenge the status quo."
The Cabal of The Rising Sun: Unveiling a New Vision
As our conversation unfolded, I couldn't help but ask about the cryptic "Cabal of The Rising Sun," which caused quite a stir when it was mentioned at Petrov's medal ceremony. Wizarding Britain has been abuzz with speculation ever since, with no clear understanding of what it truly signifies.
Petrov's eyes gleamed as he smiled knowingly.
"The Cabal of The Rising Sun is not what people think," he said. "It's not a secretive elite society, as some might assume. It's something far more meaningful."
Petrov then opened up about his own experiences, revealing that he grew up as an orphan with no knowledge of his magical heritage until he received his Hogwarts letter at age 11. "That lack of early magical education put me behind," he admitted. "It's a reality that many muggle-born students face. On average, they score lower academically compared to purebloods and half-bloods, simply because their families don't emphasize a magical education from day one. That gap must be closed."
Bridging the Divide and Empowering the Disadvantaged
Petrov went on to describe how the scars of Grindelwald's war continue to haunt wizarding society—often in unexpected ways.
"Grindelwald's war wrought great poverty, even within pureblood communities," Petrov explained, shaking his head. "Not all purebloods are rich or live in luxury. Many are orphans themselves, with few wizarding orphanages to take them in. And those who are sent to the Muggle world often suffer mistreatment, and physical and mental abuse, simply because Muggles fear what they don't understand. It's a tragic cycle."
He pointed out another forgotten group: veterans of the Great War, many of whom now find themselves unemployed, traumatized, or wounded. "These are people who fought and sacrificed everything for the freedom we enjoy now. And yet, they're cast aside by society, struggling to readjust."
A New Kind of Family: The Cabal's Mission
Petrov's answer to these issues is the Cabal of The Rising Sun, an advocacy group unlike anything seen in the wizarding world. He described it not as a traditional organization but as "a family whose members don't share blood but are united by ideology and a shared vision."
"The Cabal is a place where magical knowledge is not hidden in dusty libraries, guarded by gatekeepers," Petrov explained with passion. "In the Cabal, grimoires are shared with all. Muggleborns and purebloods empower each other, learning and teaching side by side. It's about creating a new kind of community."
For muggle-born children, the Cabal offers early education in magical exercises to strengthen their magical cores, addressing the academic gap from the very beginning. For war veterans, it provides a pathway back to society, teaching life skills that allow them to find purpose once again. In turn, those veterans become mentors, guiding the next generation and helping them grow.
Challenging Centuries of Tradition
It's a bold, almost revolutionary concept, and I couldn't help but express my surprise at the ambition of the project. The wizarding world has always been steeped in tradition, with strict boundaries between magical families, bloodlines, and education systems.
Petrov, however, was unfazed by the potential backlash.
"These traditions have helped maintain stability for centuries, but they've also entrenched inequality. If we want to build a better future, we must be willing to break down those barriers and create something new. The Cabal of The Rising Sun is just the beginning."
A New Light on the Horizon?
Harry Petrov's vision is nothing short of revolutionary. With his track record, it's difficult to doubt his ability to affect real change, both socially and economically. But in a world where tradition often holds sway, how will Britain react to such bold moves? Only time will tell.
For now, Petrov remains the man who not only slew a dark lord but may also be on the brink of shaking the very foundations of our world once again.
Stay tuned for more exclusive updates from The Local Quill!
Plots and more plots
"This is going to be a damned problem." Crabe Sr said as he tossed the newspaper to a table.
"Damned straight." Lord Goyle said from beside him with a mouthful of beef steak.
"He has all the momentum behind him." Monty Lestrange said as he took stock of the situation. "The plague doesn't affect the sheep alone. People in my house are singing bloody praises of this lunatic."
"At least we still have a semblance of loyalty. Some of our friends have deserted us entirely." Henry Bulstrode said.
"Damn, these treacherous Blacks and Malfoys. Curse them all to Tartarus." Goyle said.
"How did they get this rag out anyhow? I don't ever remember hearing anything about The Quill from the Prophet." Crabbe growled.
"Lord Avery is already looking into it. Hopefully, we will succeed in filing an injunction against these morons for unlicensed business and distribution practices." Monty said and further grumblings were heard.
"If I may have your attention my lords," Henry said, bringing the grumblings to a halt. "I have received the strangest correspondence from an unlikely source who wishes to aid our cause. I believe at the very least, they deserve a hearing from us?"
"Who is it?" Monty asked.
"Nicholas Flamel," Henry said, causing the entire table to be engulfed in pin-drop silence from the shock of the revelation.
Old Scores
A splash of cold water hit Rupert's face, jolting him awake. Before him stood his other captor, the one who had bailed him from Azkaban. One prison for another, however, the conditions were infinitely better compared to Azkaban.
He looked up to see Nicholas Flamel staring down at him, wand in hand.
"I am going to ask you a series of questions. Blink once if you understand." Nicholas said and Rupert very slowly blinked once.
"Tell me, when did you first meet Harry Petrov," Nicholas asked and Rupert internally howled in rage. Must all his captivity revolve around that brat?!
Meanwhile, in another secret dungeon under much more brutal conditions, Croaker hung from meat hooks hooked high above into the distant roof. His legs were gone, torn off by his captor to prevent him from escaping. Despite the obvious agony, Croaker grinned when his captors entered the dungeon.
"Welcome, my lord and lady," Croaker said in the most sincere voice he could conjure given the circumstances. "How can I be of serv-"
A cruciatus hit him mid-sentence and Croaker roared in agony as pain engulfed him inside out.
"Thank you, Morrigan," Harry said and the curse subsided, leaving Croaker gasping in relief.
Harry flicked his wand at him, jolting him upright and in place. He locked eyes with the madman and demanded, "Tell me everything you know about the Anunaki."
Fin
Author Notes: Read and Review? There is a poll on my profile regarding this story. Please don't forget to fill it out!
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