Mercy Anne stumbled a little coming through the floo, nearly tripping as her shoe caught awkwardly on the rug. As powerful of a mage as Albus was, his presence was immediately identifiable, she turned to face him — sitting in one of the puffy felt armchairs near the fire, his head tipped limply over the back, one hand idly stroking the fluffy orange cat splayed across his lap. "What happened, with Potter? What do we know?"

Albus let out a heavy sigh. "Good morning to you too, Mercy Anne. I suppose you haven't gotten any more sleep than I have."

That was a damn stupid question, of course she hadn't slept. "Albus, what happened?"

"Very little, I'm afraid. Would you care for a drink? I could certainly use one."

"I would care to know what's going on."

"I have hardly any new information at all — it can hold a moment for us to settle in."

The next couple minutes were absolutely agonizing. Albus couldn't simply remove the cat from his lap, so negotiating his release took some seconds — Anne standing a few steps away, her arms crossed firmly over her chest, trying not to glare — and then took unreasonably long at his drinks cabinet waffling over what they wanted. She didn't care, whatever he was having was fine. Yes, honey whiskey was... Wait, what the hell did he mean by that? whiskey that was flavored with honey? or mead that had been distilled to more of a hard liquor? She didn't think she'd ever heard of that before, but, similar idea to brandy or applejack, she guessed...

There was some more stalling figuring out mixers or whatever, which she also did not care about — and then he dipped over into the kitchen to get a snack too while they were at it, Christssake...

After far too damn long, they were both sitting with their drinks, a plate of cookies sitting on a table Albus had conjured between them. Despite how tense and irritated as she was, Anne found herself snatching one of the cookies right away — and oh, these were surprisingly good, actually. The dough was spiced, maybe cinnamon and nutmeg, and there were bits of...caramel? no, Albus said that was toffee. (Maybe it was caramel, Anne had noticed that British mages didn't consistently use the words the same way they did back home.) Interestingly, they were salty, which, she'd thought salting caramel was a recent thing started by muggles? Like, she didn't know exactly, but maybe as recently as the 80s? She wouldn't expect mages to have necessarily picked that up yet. Though apparently the woman who'd baked them was a relatively young muggleborn woman, which could explain it. The "honey whiskey" (whatever that meant), mixed with the sweet fruity floral notes of the liqueur he'd added in, actually went surprisingly well with the spiced salty cookies...almost like he'd planned that, and had only been pretending to flutter about like a tired, indecisive old man.

She didn't really have the heart to be annoyed with him about it, honestly. When she'd gotten here, she'd been very on edge — she'd been waiting for news for hours, practically grinding down a ditch through the floor of her hotel room — and between Albus distracting her with figuring out the drinks, his cat sniffing at her legs and blinking up at her, and talking about the damn cookies, she'd managed to cool down a little bit. She expected Albus must have been doing that on purpose, and it'd more or less worked, at least some of the tension dribbling away, Anne feeling tired and warm and comfortable, the armchair practically swallowing her whole...

Besides, she realized British mages could be very old-fashioned in some ways — it was only appropriate to offer something to a guest before getting down to serious conversation.

"I had wondered," Albus said, changing the subject from his still-developing attempt to learn to cook for himself, "have you heard any news concerning your Mastery? I understand you submitted your project...was it last month?"

"Oh, yeah, uh... I just had my oral, um...Christ, nearly two weeks ago?" Travelling back and forth between America and Europe and staying up all night was messing with her sense of time. "I should be hearing back any day now."

"I see, I see. And are we expecting good news?"

Chewing on another cookie, Anne let out a hum, nodding her head. "Yes, one of the Masters on the panel suggested I could start looking for work. There's just paperwork they have to set up, you know how it is."

"I do indeed!" Albus said, voice wavering with a low chuckle. "When I tried for my first Mastery, it was over a month before I heard that my submission had been accepted — though that was some time ago, I understand the process has been somewhat improved over the decades since. And I would expect it is simpler in the Americas, part of the delay here in Britain has to do with guild procedures, politics."

There were professional organisations analogous to the British guild system back home, but they operated differently — the British system where they were effectively integrated into the daily operation of the government was particular to this country — and tended to be less calcified in Old World fields like enchanting, so, the point stood.

"Then it seems congratulations are in order. Achieving a Mastery at your age is quite an impressive accomplishment, Mercy Anne, very well done."

"Unfortunately, I'm not in the mood to celebrate."

His big bushy eyebrows drooping, Albus let out a sigh, relaxing back into his chair. "No. No, I suppose not. If only all of the night's news were so welcome."

"Are you finally going to tell me what's going on?" She managed to keep any of her frustration off her voice. Or, mostly, anyway, she still heard a bit of sharp snappiness to it, but at least she hadn't yelled at him — given how stressed she'd been when she'd arrived, she was going to go ahead and pat herself on the back for managing even that much restraint.

Albus sighed again. His voice low and grinding, he grumbled, "I have already informed you of the worst of it. Lord Voldemort has returned."

She had already known that, of course — or Albus had gotten word to her that he suspected as much. She'd come to Britain to watch the Final Task, and... From the beginning, Albus had suspected that Potter had been entered into the Tournament by agents of the Dark Lord, but she had to admit, she'd been skeptical. It was hard to see what, exactly, the Dark Lord had to gain from it. While the Tasks had been quite violent at times, between the wards and the elves and who knew how many healers held in wait, Potter had never been in any true danger. Anne could see the argument that, perhaps, the Dark Lord had meant for Potter's performance to demonstrate that she was nothing special, that his defeat a dozen years ago had been some fluke. And if that had been the goal, it'd been failing — Potter might not have shown any miraculous skill, but that she had performed so well against students some years older than her was still impressive. Hardly some semi-divine hero out of an old legend, the way some people had talked about her in the past (and others did still), but not an average girl either.

But when Potter had reached the Cup first, only to disappear into thin air... Well. She'd remembered Albus's theorizing then. And when she'd received a short note from him later — delivered by phoenix, which was curious, Anne had thought Fawkes was loyal to Hogwarts and not Albus personally — warning her that there were signs...

She hadn't truly believed it. Not that she'd thought Albus had been lying to her, but, even the greatest of men could be mistaken — and Albus himself would admit he'd made plenty of mistakes over the course of his life. It hadn't felt quite real, like, sure, Potter had disappeared, and Hogwarts had been buzzing and scrambling like a disturbed beehive, but something like that should... It seemed disconnected, it— Something like that was such a momentous event that, almost instinctively, she felt like...things should be different, that she should be able to feel it.

Somehow, hearing it straight form his own lips — confident in the truth of what he was saying, worried, tired — it felt real, anxious, fearful uncertainty collapsing into dread in the space of a blink.

Luckily she wasn't holding her drink at the time, the glass set on the side-table next to the cookie plate. She might well have dropped it and spilled all over herself.

It took a moment to find her voice again. She felt stiff, and numb, her lips and her neck and shoulders tingling as though from a harsh winter wind. She had to take a breath, but even that was difficult, her body hardly seeming willing to accept the air, resisting even that much motion, cold and thick in her chest, her tongue numb and clumsy, uncooperative.

{Simulating the emotion was as simple as a self-directed compulsion — somewhat unpleasant to experience, but it should be convincing enough from the outside. Theoretically, even a mind mage might be fooled, but Tamsyn only needed to deceive Dumbledore's eyes.}

"Um... Are y..." Her voice came out thick and whispery, she paused to clear her throat. "Are, are you sure? What did Potter tell you?"

"Not much, I'm afraid." Albus set his drink aside, a flick of wandless fingers summoning a quilt folded over the back of the sofa to himself. Once he'd unfurled it and draped it over his legs — it felt plenty warm in here to Anne, but she supposed Albus was old and quite delicate — the cat came leaping up into his lap, as though summoned as directly as the quilt. "She claims she was unconscious for the duration of her captivity, and was only awoken to be promptly sent back."

"She claims? You think she's lying?"

Idly scritching at the side of the cat's neck, it took a moment for Albus to answer, his forehead creasing with a thoughtful frown. "I'm uncertain," he said, finally. "It can be difficult to judge Elizabeth's sincerity, even at the best of times — she is a very cold, peculiar child. I did find her reaction to being told of Voldemort's return to be quite...odd. I understand she was tired, and confused. And it is possible that the number of people in the room for the interview was somewhat overwhelming, in her condition — Severus and Rufus were both struck with entirely unreasonable bouts of paranoia, which complicated matters. But even given the circumstances, I did find her unwillingness to cooperate with a proper investigation rather... I am uncertain whether I would call it suspicious — no, I don't wish to go that far — but I don't know what to think of it regardless."

"What do you mean Potter didn't cooperate? She was just literally kidnapped, wouldn't she want to..." Forget for the moment that this was the actual Dark Lord they were talking about, she had just been personally harmed. Not even trying to help the authorities find who did it, well, yeah, Anne could see why Albus might be a little suspicious!

"Oh, she answered our questions well enough — and she identified the individual directly responsible for her abduction. Though I suppose we would have discovered that shortly without her help, but the Aurors were able to start that arm of the investigation a couple hours earlier than they might have otherwise. And, perhaps you are not familiar with these matters, but even a few hours' head start can make a significant difference, at times."

Anne tensed a little, blinking over at Albus. {She scrambled to think, trying to remember — could Liz identify Barty? Tamsyn couldn't remember whether Melanion had ever used his full name, but it was possible that, with his first name and his description, someone might have recognised him. It was hardly an emergency — they planned to entirely alter his appearance regardless — but they would need to be more careful until then.} He must mean the person who had changed the destination of the portkey, sending Potter to...wherever they'd wanted her. "Who was he? How did a Death Eater get so close to the Cup? I assume it was a Death Eater..."

"Excuse me, I misspoke. An agent of the Dark Lord impersonated Maximillian Ollivander, a new History Professor starting last year — in that role, he would have been in a position to ensure Elizabeth's selection by the Goblet in the first place, as well as to adjust the portkey spell on the Cup to redirect her tonight. Elizabeth informed us that he had been impersonated, but not who had done the impersonating. I heard hardly an hour ago that the true Maximillian has been found, but he is in no condition to be interviewed as yet. He may or may not be able to identify his abductor — we will learn more of the story in the coming days, but it is hard to say whether we will ever see the full picture."

{Ollivander was fine, there was no reason the Aurors shouldn't be able to interrogate him immediately. He might feel a little slow and unfocussed until the metabolites of the potion fully exited his system, but they'd been careful to keep him healthy during his captivity — there was nothing physically wrong with him. And they shouldn't learn anything from him either, unless Tamsyn or Melanion had made a mistake he shouldn't remember either her or Barty's face. He might remember Melanion's automaton, but that was hardly valuable intelligence. Barty's identity should still be secure.}

"Elizabeth may have answered our questions, but she did refuse to provide a copy of her memory."

Taking a careful sip of her drink — Anne still felt a little numb and shaky, she didn't want to spill — she considered that for a moment. "Honestly, I can't even blame her. From the articles and stuff about her, it sure sounds like Potter is a bit...psychologically fragile, maybe. The flash of having a memory copied isn't as intense as the experience itself was, but, well, under the circumstances..."

Albus sighed. "Yes, her refusal was not unreasonable. I argued any distress in the short term would be worth the intelligence we might gain, but... Well. Elizabeth would not be convinced, and Rufus refused to pursue the matter any further."

{And so Liz had managed to play on their sympathies for the poor traumatised little girl to avoid passing on information to the Aurors, out of respect for her agreement with Melanion — devious little thing, nicely done.}

"That it seems Voldemort decided to simply let Elizabeth go is also curious. The Dark Lord is not one to leave an enemy alive when he has them at his nonexistent mercy — either he believes her continued presence will somehow suit his plans, or the decade he spent disembodied has resulted in some changes to his character. At present, we simply don't have enough information to make more specific guesses. I truly wish Elizabeth would have consented to having her memory taken, ignorance of his intentions puts us in a vulnerable position..."

"So, what do we do? I mean, he's out there now, we can't just—" Anne noticed the high edge on her voice, cut herself off. Pausing a moment to catch her breath, she reached for her drink — taking a sip was awkward, her hands were shaking, just a little. She drew in a deep breath, let it out in a sigh, trying to stay calm. "Sorry."

"It's quite all right, Mercy Anne," Albus said, his low, aged voice thick with a bit of warmth, "you have nothing to apologise for. It is perfectly understandable to fear the war to come — we must all come to terms with it, in our own fashion."

{He bought it, of course — show Dumbledore an emotional young woman, and that is all he would see. This whole endeavour had been, just, pathetically easy, at times.}

Anne cleared her throat, took another sip of her drink. "What happens now? Do we know?"

"For certain? No, nobody can ever know what is to come for certain. But we can make guesses." Albus paused a moment, eyes directed unfocussed into the hearth, one hand idly stroking his cat and the other tapping at the side of his glass. "I have spoken to a number of friends and contacts, as many as I could reach in the late hour — we agree that events will proceed slowly, at the start. Neither the Ministry nor the Death Eaters are equipped to leap straight into outright war. Both parties will wish to keep the news quiet as well, for as long as they can. For Voldemort's part, his organisation has dissolved in his absence, and it will need to be rebuilt before his campaign can resume. That will be easier to accomplish if it may be done in secrecy. While the Ministry is unprepared as well, Rufus was additionally concerned of the indirect consequences. It will take time for the sectors of society which may be sympathetic to Voldemort's cause to hear of his return — and once they do, it may become far more difficult for the Ministry to move in those circles, prevented from policing certain communities or maintaining the normal operation of the economy among a potentially hostile populace. But, it they are careful, the Ministry may build relationships with contacts in preparation for that time, lay down an infrastructure that may prevent them from entirely losing control of certain communities. Too, he is concerned of what Saoirse Ghaelach and Teulu Prydein may do if the Ministry comes to appear weak.

"I understand the reasoning, but I don't agree with it — it is all the more difficult to prepare for a storm if people do not realise it is coming. And if the Ministry does not acknowledge the situation it is in, they will be restrained from using every device at the D.L.E.'s disposal to slow the Death Eaters' support base from being reassembled. One can hardly restrain the rights of common citizens without just cause to do so, and so people and property will be left undefended against Voldemort's subversion. There will be panic at Lord Voldemort's return, yes, but panic has a function, that fear may be a motivation to properly prepare, for our people to unite with a common purpose. Unfortunately, Rufus could be not convinced — and I am no longer in a position to publicly announce Voldermort's return in a manner that it may be taken seriously. So we will have to follow the Ministry's lead on this matter, for the time being."

As disappointing as it was, Anne couldn't even say she was surprised. After all, Britain had hardly dealt with the Dark Lord's rise to power very well the first time — it was only natural that they'd make similar mistakes the second time. "You don't think... Building a base of support, he'll be concerned with finding allies and resources here."

"You are concerned for your mother," Albus guessed. "At this early stage, I don't think it likely he will feel secure enough to look for allies overseas. I can't imagine he would visit Massachusetts again before the situation here has stabilised. She should be safe, for now."

"I've been thinking of relocating Mom to Anishinābēwaki."

"Ah, that's what you call the country your school is in, yes?" That was the informal name, Anne doubted Albus would be able to pronounce the official one but he might recognise it better. "North and west of Massachusetts, further toward the interior?"

"Yeah, around the Great Lakes. I've been trying to talk her into it for a while, but... Well, there aren't no Congregations there, but, fewer. I've been looking into it."

"Of course. That may be wise — Melanion couldn't possibly expect much support from the old American nations, he shouldn't ever have cause to visit there. Though, I don't suppose I could convince you to bring her to a safehouse here."

Anne gave him a flat, irritated look. "That's not exactly getting her further away from danger, is it?"

"True enough, you're right, of course." His eyes lingered for a moment, thinking, before reaching for another cookie.

{Tamsyn was aware that the reluctance 'Mercy Anne' had to put Dumbledore in contact with her mother was one of the strongest suspicions he still had toward her persona. He didn't disbelieve that it might have been a difficult time in her life that she wouldn't want to revisit, that 'Mercy Anne' might want to protect her from being retraumatised by getting interrogated over it — and he even agreed that she was unlikely to have any useful intelligence regardless. But not having direct access to her did make it very difficult for him to independently confirm 'Mercy Anne''s story. Without her mother, the only thing he had to go on was her word.

{Though, she was aware that Dumbledore had confirmed the parts of the story that he could. At one of their previous meetings, he'd off-handedly mentioned her marks at Salem — he must have asked a contact in Massachusetts to get him a copy of her record. Of course, Tamsyn hadn't actually gone to Salem, but she had mocked up appropriate documentation and slipped them into the academy's archives, which anyone would find if they looked. If Dumbledore had investigated closer — in person, perhaps — he should have quickly found that none of the staff or the older students remembered her, but he simply didn't have the pull anymore to arrange that kind of visit. He'd also written Chimiwāsikāning for information, one of the administrators there had alerted her of that some time ago — the Anishinābēg being rather more hostile to figures like Albus Dumbledore than Massachusetts, he'd asked her how she wanted to respond, fully willing to tell Dumbledore to piss off, had only cooperated after she'd asked him to.

{But that was the best he could do, he couldn't even so much as confirm her existence with the Massachusetts government. Personal records of the sort he would need weren't kept by the central government, but by each Congregation — he would need to know exactly which enclave she was from, and exactly which church her family attended, which wasn't something he could ask without making it obvious what he was doing. She did have an official presence in Anishinābēwaki, but that would only have begun when she started at Chimiwāsikāning, it didn't go back any further than that. She suspected he'd already investigated the parts of 'Mercy Anne''s background that he could, but there simply wasn't much to be found — and none of it would back up her claims of being Melanion's bastard child, conceived without his knowledge.

{He didn't disbelieve her story, necessarily, but even Dumbledore wasn't so much of a fool that having so little go on wouldn't leave him with any doubts whatsoever. She was aware that he was still a little sceptical...but at the same time thought she was potentially a very useful ally to have. Being reminded of those doubts, like when 'Mercy Anne' again refused to introduce him to her mother, could have his suspicions sharply resurfacing, but for the most part he didn't give it much thought anymore.

{Which was good. Tamsyn couldn't simply deal with the problem by introducing Dumbledore to 'Mercy Anne''s mother — she didn't exist, obviously.}

"We."

A bite of cookie in his mouth, Albus hummed, a big bushy eyebrow raised in a question.

"A moment ago, you said we will follow the Ministry's lead. Who's we?"

"Ah, the Order of the Phoenix, of course. I have already begun to send out word, though it may be a week or two before we can arrange our first meeting. You have heard of the Order?"

"You've mentioned it before." And it came up looking back through news articles from the time of the war, or in historical works dealing with the period — that wasn't the sort of detail that often made it all the way across the Atlantic.

"Good, good. As much as I may personally disagree with the strategy of working in secret for the time being, it does give us the opportunity to rebuild our numbers and resources as well. I imagine we will be focussed on recruiting, and preparing safehouses for muggleborns and enemies of the Dark Lord marked for death, gathering what intelligence we can, doing whatever may be possible to sabotage the enemy's own preparations. Stockpiling healing supplies, potions, protective amulets, improving the wards over the homes of our allies, some duelling practice. Whatever can be done, before the war proper begins."

"...Right." Anne was skeptical of exactly how much they could do as private citizens, but she guessed even a little bit of help was better than nothing. "Good luck with that."

Again, Albus gave her a lingering look, his eyebrows dipping — thinking, obviously. After taking a slow, deliberate sip of his drink, he said, "I was wondering if I might convince you to stay in Britain, long term. I'm certain the Order could find a use for the talents of an omniglot enchantress and budding cursebreaker."

"Well, I would like to help, but..." She hesitated, glanced around the room. The first time she'd visited Albus's home she'd expected...more — this was the famous Albus Dumbledore they were talking about, she hadn't thought he would live so modestly. She knew now that he never had made all that much money — fortune didn't necessarily come along with fame — and he did come from a humble background, so... "I've spent so much of my savings on my visits in Europe already. I know you've said before that you have friends that might put me up, but... Well, I would feel bad about it, you know? Imposing."

"What if I could arrange employment for you?" As Anne just blinked back at him, Albus gave her a crooked grin. "I may have lost much of my direct power, but I have been around for a long time now — I have friends all over this country, in nearly any field you can think of. There are advantages to having been the Headmaster of Hogwarts and the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot for so long, you meet people. Assuming you are conferred your Mastery, I'm certain I could find someone who would be interested in hiring a talent such as yours."

"Well, sure, that'd make it a lot easier. And I'd appreciate it, honestly — I wasn't planning on moving here full-time, but, I was worried about finding something I could support my mother and myself on, you know." She didn't exactly have a lot of contacts she could lean on in Massachusetts...though her prospects in Anishinābēwaki were better. She had built up some academic and professional contacts, and, she could probably get a job in academia without any trouble — but those didn't tend to pay very well, especially when you were just staring out. Old World enchanting wasn't a saturated field in America, part of why she'd decided to get into it, but she'd never been entirely confident she'd get anywhere. If Albus could help land her something decent, ideally even paying enough to send some money back home to Mom, that'd be a big relief. "Assuming whatever job you set me up with isn't going to have me so busy I can't help you with...whatever it is you wanted me doing. What'd you have in mind, exactly? I could help with the amulets and wards, I guess..."

"I had a very particular project in mind, in fact." Albus set his glass aside, and leaned forward in his chair. His elbows resting on his thighs, skeletal fingers folded in front of his chest, his eyes on her deep and intense and vividly blue. His voice low and deep and heavy, serious, he said, "Tell me, Mercy Anne: have you heard of a magical instrument called a horcrux?"

{In the space of a breath, the general outline of a plan clicked into place in Tamsyn's head — it took every bit of self-control she had to prevent herself from breaking into a grin.}

"Um, no, I don't think so? Maybe we call them something else in America, that happens sometimes. What is it?"

"Perhaps you know them by another name, or perhaps the New World has been so fortunate as to have never encountered them. The horcrux is an ancient magic of the eastern Mediterranean, and one of the most vile evils that mankind has ever devised..."

Boom, double-post. Short one for you.

The original plan was to swap over to First Contact for a couple scenes, but I think I'm going to cut those last couple scenes, and retroactively make the most recent chapter the end of that fic. There's still some prep-work I need to do for the next part, I'll alert you guys to the sequel coming out with an update on FC. That prep-work includes a rundown of the major events between Episode VI and the time of the fic, for people who aren't familiar with the pre-Disney EU novels — that isn't finished yet, I'll mention it somewhere when it's up.

As for this fic, there are two scenes left in fourth year — depending on how they work out, I might actually end up smooshing them into a single chapter, we'll see. I've already worked out a preliminary outline for fifth year up to the beginning of winter break, so hopefully I'll be able to jump straight into it without taking a break for prep.

Anyway, that's enough for me. See you all next time.