CHAPTER 38

30 May 1992 - Yaxley Manor - 9:46AM

It was a damn good day to be Corban Yaxley. Not only were his sons Giles and Albert due to return home from Durmstrang in a few days, he had made excellent progress in his little Potter Project. Mainly, securing the necessary tools to advance to Phase Two. For months since the publication of That Photo of the mudblood and Sirius Black, Corban had done his part to covertly stoke the flames of burning jealousy and insecurity that raged in Lord Potter's heart.

Mainly, planting seeds that Black and the mudblood had been carrying on with an affair long before the divorce, and that his purported 'best friend' had used the proximity of their previous relationship as a means to warm his ex-wife's bed. It seemed to be working too, since James was all but ready to rip Black apart with his bare hands. All that was now needed was a small spark, a tiny flame that would set in motion the inferno of chaos that would rip the mudblood's life apart and finally lead to her timely demise.

"And now," crowed Corban evilly, "I have it!" It, referring to two phials containing a strand of the mudblood and Black's hair. The former hadn't been difficult to acquire; Celestine - the witch who'd serviced James at the Cabaret - owed Corban a debt, and had covertly taken the strand from James' stash of the mudblood's hair that he still kept in memory of her. Corban shuddered in disgust at the thought of keeping the filthy strands of a filthy mudblood as memorabilia, but thankfully he wasn't as hopeless a fool as James Potter. Sirius' hair had been significantly more difficult to acquire. It seemed in spite of his persistent rakishness and general laissez-faire attitude towards, well, everything, Sirius maintained the necessary paranoia only befitting the Lord of House Black. He kept his hair charmed and impervious to natural breakage, which Corban had discovered through his contact at the Auror Academy who'd cited that Black hadn't left a single hair behind during training.

However, the old dog was a touch too careless around women. In preparation for Lord Gaunt's sixty-fifth birthday celebration, Sirius had been treated to a preview of a 'Birthday Special' dance by Celestine and a few of her cohorts. The wily witch had succeeded in snagging a strand of Black's hair (by physically breaking it) and sent it to Corban along with Lily's hair, hoping it would signify the completion of her debt. Corban had assured her it had.

Now, Corban stared at both items with an almost sadistic glee, eager to begin the next steps. He would need to send correspondence to Auntie Camilla immediately. Her Polyjuice Potion was the absolute best.

London - 11:39AM

James Potter fidgeted in his seat, nerves rendering him unable to keep still. He was currently seated in a stately office with a gorgeously panoramic window view of Gringotts Bank and the London skyline beyond it, all in crystal clear detail thanks to the magically-enhanced glass in the window panes. Though he would have preferred to meet with his solicitor in Potter Manor, he wanted to be done with business before Jim's arrival the next day. He didn't want any family-related business to interfere with quality time with his Heir.

"Here are some snacks while you wait, Lord Potter," said the receptionist, a pretty young Beauxbatons graduate named Yvette. She presented him with a tray of tea, watercress sandwiches and biscuits, delicately laying everything out while informing him that her employer was completing an important Floo call and would be with him in a few moments. Nodding respectfully, James thanked her and helped himself to a few snacks, appreciating the view as she sauntered off.

Chewing on a watercress sandwich, James ruminated on his most recent conversation with Albus Dumbledore. Furious had been an understatement; the old man had thoroughly chewed him out for his 'continued disgraceful behavior' towards his second-born son and his ex-wife, finally expressing his disgust at the threatening and slur-laden Howler he'd sent Harry in his (typical) drunken rage. The Headmaster's disgust was palpable, which was only fair because deep within the recesses of his heart, James was equally appalled at his own behavior. He'd sworn he'd never be one of those horrible pureblood parents who mistreated their children simply because they could get away with it. But Harry's sorting made the continuation of such behavior a necessity; the Prophecy had shown that the Last Potter had been sorted into Slytherin, and it was only a matter of time before he inevitably became the Prince of Slytherin (whatever the hell that was) and brought ruination upon them all.

James' revelation of the Prophecy's existence to Albus had rendered a surprisingly (to James anyway) reaction. Frustrated anger at the existence of yet another Trelawney Prophecy, irritation at James for keeping it secret for so long, and deep sadness at the implications of the Prophecy's passage upon the entire wizarding world. However, the Headmaster had absolutely refused to be part of James' schemes to continually antagonize his second-born son. While he'd agreed to remain neutral in the Wizengamot and Hogwarts, he absolutely refused to cooperate with James in disowning Harry. Worst still, he'd all but threatened to tell Harry about the Prophecy if James kept up his appalling actions, once he was certain that the young Slytherin had mastered Occlumency. A shudder passed through James.

He recalled his own Occlumency training at the Auror Academy. He'd reached third level (the minimum requirement for an auror) and stopped, unnerved by the way Occlumency affected his personality, rendering him too cold, too unfeeling. He was uncomfortable with the prospect of Harry learning it (and mastering it!), let alone having Jim learn it as well. Naturally, James was quite aware that he'd pretty much forfeited his right to forbid Harry from studying the field at this point, but he hoped the boy wouldn't delve too far into mind magic.

Suddenly, the door opened, and a dignified man roughly James's age strode in. He wore elegantly tailored professional robes of warm orange and deep yellows that highlighted his trim and athletic figure, and paid subtle homage to his Hogwarts House (Hufflepuff, Class of 1975). His dirty blonde hair was stylishly slicked back, with a stray lock left to dangle rather boyishly across his left eye. Expensive dragonhide loafers covered his feet, complimenting his confident stride. An elegant Muggle pocket watch was tucked into his waistcoat pocket, the silver of which matched his signet ring worn on his left hand. He exuded wealth and success, a complete opposite to his rather humble beginnings. James recalled when Peter Pettigrew of all people had made the recommendation to bring this man on as his solicitor (a pang of deep sadness went through James at the thought of his still-missing friend), citing that he was intelligent, capable, and most importantly a Hufflepuff, and therefore completely incapable of any would-be treachery. As Gryffindor as ever, James had heartily agreed and hired the man.

"Good morning, James!" exclaimed Obediah Prewett, Esq., Solicitor-At-Law, Steward and Proxy for the House of Potter. Upon seeing his client the man smiled in a way that many people (mainly the clever ones) would consider entirely too bright and almost insincere, coupled with the glass-like gleam of his too blue and too bright eyes. "What can I do for my favorite client today?"

Leaving Feast - 7:39PM

Jim clapped politely as Slytherin was announced the winner of the House Cup, not feeling nearly as upset as he otherwise would have been. He looked in his little brother's direction, not all surprised at the cheeky wink he received in response. Chuckling, he raised his goblet in a small salute, causing Harry to give him a small but genuine smile. The House of Serpents had acquired an additional sixty points, thanks to Olivia Kolumbiko's ingenious use (and incredible skill) of utilizing three cheetah patronuses to inform the Professors Evans, McGonagall, and Flitwick of Quirrell's kidnapping of the four Gryffindor firsties. Jim imagined had he not declined Dumbledore's desire to award the Gryffindors House points (thanks to Harry's Slytherin scheming), the House of Lions would be the current winners. But he couldn't bring himself to be too upset at the turn of events.

It seemed the two brothers could come to a somewhat accord after they'd both awoken from their coma in the Hospital Wing. Jim had been surprised to see Lily Evans present, and even more surprised when she'd expressed relief at both of them being alive. Granted she'd given Harry the bulk of attention and affection (Jim was ashamed to admit that he'd been jealous), but she'd made sure to give Jim a small but genuine smile, which Jim (to his own surprise) had returned in kind. Brief flashes of guilt had stabbed at Jim's heart when recalling his appalling treatment of her, feeling more than a touch ashamed that she could so easily overlook it to still spare him some kindness. Nearly losing one's life to a Dark Lord-possessed professor really put things into perspective.

Looking towards the Head Table, he saw his mother eagerly clapping at Slytherin's victory. A beat passed before she turned and locked eyes with him, giving him a tentative nod. Jim gave her a small smile, inordinately pleased when she beamed back, her green eyes crinkled in delight. Tuning out Dumbledore's additional speech, Jim thought of the conversation he'd had with Harry once it'd been just the two of them left in the Hospital Wing. Mainly if Harry would have to rescue Jim and Ron if it had just been them who'd been lured by Quirrell to steal the Stone. Harry had regarded him curiously as many awkward seconds had passed by. But ultimately, Harry had responded that he would have come to Jim and Ron's aid should the situation have required it. 'We may be at odds Brother Dearest,' Harry had said, 'but I do not wish to see you die at the hands of a raging madman.' Oddly enough, Jim had been comforted by Harry's words.

"Nitwit! Oddment! Blubber! Tweak!" Jim was broken from his reverie by Dumbledore's strange proclaiment, before a veritable feast appeared in front of him. Picking out his favorite dishes Jim quietly began eating, though he slowly felt his appetite wane. Because his mind wondered once more to the Dark Lord. And how grossly unprepared he'd been in defeating his enemy. An enemy, it seemed, that he was prophesied to vanquish. A task he now knew and understood that he was wholly unable to complete, his complete inadequacy absolutely glaring. Because the Dark Lord's mere wraith had overcome him and rendered him utterly useless, and it was only by his brother's grace and affection for Neville and Hermione that had saved his life.

'The-Boy-Who-Lived indeed.' A contemptuous snort escaped him, startling Ron. The young Weasley asked Jim if he was alright, only receiving a slight grimace in return. Frowning, Ron returned to his meal, though his concerned eyes never strayed from his best friend.

Forbidden Forest - 10:36PM

"Mars is bright tonight."

"Indeed Firenze, so long as our world is embroiled in the chaos of violence and war caused by the selfish desire of those stick-wielding twits, Mars will always burn brightly. I suppose it is why Jupiter's glow continuously wanes. What good is generosity, optimism, and loyalty in a world such as that?"

A quiet chuckle escaped Firenze's lips in response to his mentor's words, spoken in his gravelly timbre. Magorian was always ruefully realistic when it came to the humans of their world. He quietly trotted over to stand beside Firenze as they quietly looked to the heavens in a comfortable silence, the russet red of Margorian's mane a direct contrast to Firenze's pale luminescence. They stood shoulder-to-shoulder in a small clearing near the outermost edge of the forest, their oak-hewn bows and yew arrows resting gently upon their chest and backs. The thick forage rounded out to make a high arching cocoon that surrounded them, the leaves gently rustling in the quiet night. The peaceful visage was a very welcome break amidst the discord quietly brewing in their world.

Finely tuned to the echoes of Reality and the realms between and beyond, the centaurs were deeply perturbed to have noticed a… disturbance between the boundaries that kept the aforementioned worlds apart. Something had traversed the boundaries, something dangerous and powerful and unyielding in its desire to destroy, its existence an abomination that sullied any and everything it touched. So disturbing had it been that it had forced the centaur leaders Diomos, Hyrmanie, Iolene, and Elios to unite in an uncharacteristic accord to keep greater watch of the Forest, especially for the more helpless beings that called it home. Whatever powerful magicks the stick-wielders claimed to possess would be of no greater help to them.

"Ophiuchus has been unnaturally bright as well. It has resided in darkness since the Founder's legacy was vanquished almost four centuries ago, cut short by betrayal, avarice, and the sheer persistence of the stick-wielders' shortsightedness. But once again, it is growing in lumination.'' Firenze tilted his head as he further studied the twinkling glow of the stars that forged the constellation, his icy blue eyes glimmering in concentration. Magorian gave a noncommittal sigh in response, deep auburn eyes unblinking.

"It's all the more intriguing, given Ophiuchus' particular connection to our people." Magorian leveled a pointed stare at Firenze, who nodded in understanding.

"Yes, Ophiuchus is entailed to Asclepius, who was raised by our great ancestor Chiron. It seems we've been irrevocably linked with serpents since the incarnation of our species." Firenze gave a tiny chuckle which Margorian returned.

"Indeed we have. It's all rather… provocative, no?" Firenze tilted his head curiously. "The growing lumination of Ophiucus corresponded to the rise of Rasalhague, the shining jewel affixed upon the Snake Bearer's head. The star that nearly succumbed to the embrace of the surrounding darkness, but by the strength of its will… or perhaps Fate's hand…did it break free and grow strong, its resilience a testament to whom it is entailed." Firenze smiled as the visage of Tom Riddle flashed in his mind.

"And now, Serpens Cauda and Serpens Caput slowly but surely grow in intensity, though Serpens Cauda burns brighter. They may one day overwhelm Rasalhague as the brightest star in the cradle of the Snake Bearer's hands. It seems, dear friend, that the Children of the Trelawneys' Prophecies will not be denied." Magorian's voice took on an odd lilt that confused Firenze, briefly turning his head to look upon his mentor. As always, Magorian's expression remained resolutely stoic. Firenze lightly kicked his hind hooves in consternation before turning to look at the stars once more.

"It certainly seems so."

"We should hope so, if it should overcome the beast that lies beyond." Firenze followed Magorian's line of sight, pursing his lips when they landed on Lupus, especially on Alpha Lupi and Beta Lupi. It had burned uncommonly bright during the tenure of the most recent Dark Lord, threatening to overwhelm them all with its sickly white glow.

"Indeed. Should the wolf be allowed to regain strength…" Firenze shuddered, but the next words from his mentor forced him to become unnaturally still:

"Not that beast; the other beast…the one who lays in darkness…" Firenze whipped his head towards Margorian, who stared fixedly at Beta Lupi. Leveling his gaze in the same direction Firenze squinted, hoping he too could see what his mentor saw. A few beats passed, before he saw…it. Beyond the ether between the starstuff, beyond the ephemeral boundaries that bound the astralsphere, was something dark and wretched and world-endingly evil. Something that would shred the fabric of Reality into tatters, a nightmare world of never-ending hell.

"Oh…oh no," choked Firenze, his pale skin practically bloodless. In his horror, he felt more than saw Margorian close his eyes and draw a deep breath, as though relishing in a memory (or perhaps a vision) that only he could see. Firenze kicked his front hooves, growing ever discomforted at the pressing intensity of his mentor's silence. In a flash Margorian's eyes opened and he leveled an intense gaze at protégé.

"But I do wonder, dear friend, who shall be the victor in the coming events? Shall we be suspended in oblivion? Or will we all lament in never-ending damnation?" Firenze could only stare back in conflicted silence.

AN 1: And that marks the end of Book 1! Stay tuned for Book 2: Enemies of the Heir, which will be posted relatively soon.

AN 2: Special thank you and shoutout to my informal Beta Neuraxical (on Ao3) aka Miss Flosvinis/Snowflower on the Prince of Slytherin/The Sinister Man's Discord. She's been majorly supportive of my work, and a fount of great discussion and ideas. Thank you lots!

AN 3: Book 2 will begin in Libya, introducing the Kolumbiko family. I am very excited to be writing about them and adding my own level of intrigue and such. Book 2 will have major divergences from PoS-canon, but will still incorporate some plotlines, mainly RegHart and the CoS.

Until next time!