Part II
Into the Black Yonder
End of an Era
A fire emerald green and spewing bloomed to life in one of many fireplaces decorated with gold leaf columns. A young woman in black stepped out of the flames, her heavy cloak dragging behind her. Her hood hid her marked face from casual view. Metal boots clicked on black tiles as she strolled down the center of the Ministry of Magic's atrium. Golden sulfuric eyes gazed about the atrium, scanning the witches and wizards arriving just as she had. Only a few dared meet her gaze. But all knew who she was. Those rare few were either brave or brazen, and none worth her time.
For she was Darth Gladiolus, the Dark Lord of the Sith and once Edelweiss Potter, the Girl-Who-Lived. The Daily Prophet had granted her another title, declaring her their Witch-Queen. It was a crude title, but Gladiolus had come to embrace it. Anything that boosted her power was welcome, even if she did not possess the power of a true queen.
She passed the security desk without issue or challenge. There had been an attempt to challenge her passing on her first proper day at the Ministry. Gladiolus silenced the attempt with a Force choke and a later word to Madam Bones. That auror now served the Ministry on Azkaban Island, helping to guard the prison as they prepared to liquidate the dementors.
Gladiolus nearly chuckled as Ministry workers scurried from her path. A few gasped and several stumbled away. Months ago, they would have sneered at her and gossiped about her impending descent into madness. Some still gossiped about her madness, but they were wise to bury those thoughts when she was nearby. She had made an example of the one who dared speak those thoughts aloud in her presence. The rest swiftly fell into line.
The main path down the atrium gave way to the golden fountain used during her duel with Dumbledore and Voldemort. Gladiolus glanced at the witch and wizard, standing above the lesser races. She sneered at the sight, but gone was her urge to see it replaced. A cause for a replacement would come in due time. She just knew it.
She entered an empty elevator and said, "Floor One." A pair of flying messages skittered in before the door closed. The car shifted before rising, jostling slightly as it passed the many floors between the atrium and the Minister's floor. She frowned. Ziost Hangar possessed an elevator operated using the repulsorlift technology of the galaxy beyond Earth's local system greatly superior to those of the Ministry.
Maybe I could pursue incorporating galactic technology with magical power, Gladiolus considered. Though if I am to pursue that avenue, then I will need to see about subverting my agreement with Hogwarts's Board of Governors and speak with Croaker about which Unspeakable I can use. Their memories will need to be modified at the end.
Her frown deepened thinking of the Department of Mysteries and the man selected to be their public face. Croaker was a strange man. From what she had learned, he was somewhere between the ages of thirty and sixty. Gladiolus had yet to pin down his true features, for his face shifted between meetings. Annoyingly, Fudge had said, "Oh, that's normal," when she questioned him about Croker's varying appearance. She had ignored how he forgot her title that time, flustered as she was by the mystery Croaker presented.
The elevator shifted as it came to a stop. The paper airplanes above her head shivered and twitched. The door opened and they zoomed forward, splitting into two groups as they raced down the main corridors of the first floor.
"FLOOR ONE: OFFICES OF THE MINISTER FOR MAGIC AND STAFF," a delayed, feminine voice announced as Gladiolus stepped out of the elevator. She turned right and strode down the hall. Crimson carpeting stretched out before her, bound by golden molding at the base of white walls bearing framed portraits and paintings. Doors lined each side, set at intervals that increased as she continued along. She passed them all, each mounted with a plaque declaring the occupant behind them. Gladiolus had been forced to meet most of them in the months since her ascension. They were spineless creatures, easily bent to her will.
She sneered, thinking of them. Gladiolus almost wished she could have Ministry servants with a shred of backbone just so then she could feel like there were those worthy of her trust. Their weakness could be exploited, should she lessen her control over them.
At the end of the corridor was Minister Fudge's office. Gladiolus did not knock. There was no need since she was both expected and could not be refused. Cornelius had tried to argue with her about impromptu arrivals at her pleasure. She reminded him of the power she wielded. And though she offered to release him from his oath and post, he enjoyed the privileges of being the Minster for Magic too much to agree.
Though some days she thought he might surprise her. Gladiolus understood now that Fudge had become the Minister thanks to his capability to administrate, and the fact he was pliable when faced with stronger wills than his. No wonder he had attempted to foist his post off onto Dumbledore's shoulders when she had been younger. It was pathetic, and that led her to retain his service.
And given Fudge's utility to her, Gladiolus decided to retain large swaths of the Ministry of Magic. It and magical society were intertwined enough that to destroy one risked the destruction of the other. And while she wished to have all of Britain in the palm of her hand, Gladiolus had learned through her ascension that reckless action risked plots and plans more than patience and care.
The room immediately beyond the door was the small office his secretary used, along with three doors into other offices. With Umbridge dead and forgotten, the Minister had hired a plain muggleborn girl with a name similar enough to a long-dead pureblood family that few gave her more than a second, slightly confused look. She had a polite demeanor and seemed oblivious—or impervious—to insults, whether blatant, subtle, or backhanded.
"Lady—I mean, Lord Gladiolus," the girl suddenly said, rising to her feet. Gladiolus paused and stared at her. The girl shivered and swallowed before saying softly, "Thank you. I know it's because of you that I have this job."
Gladiolus smiled softly. "I have no clue what you speak of, but I will accept your gratitude. Is the Minister in?"
"Along with the rest of his cabinet." The girl straightened and shifted away from her chair. "Would you like me to announce you?"
Normally Gladiolus would storm into the office without care. But an opportunity to remind the leaders of magical Britain to whom they all owed their loyalty could not be relinquished. She smiled broadly and said, "I would greatly appreciate that. Go on."
The girl—Miss Grey, Gladiolus finally recalled— nodded and opened the meeting room door as Gladiolus approached it. She stepped up to the threshold and announced into the suddenly silent room, "Presenting Lord Gladiolus, Witch-Queen of the British Isles."
Miss Grey drew back from the room, smiled appreciatively at Gladiolus, and scurried back to her seat. The Sith Lord smiled faintly and flowed into the room like fog across the land.
Everyone sitting around the central table rose to their feet. At the far head of the table was Minister Fudge. In the months since her ascension, he had lost weight and began going grey where he had not lost hair. His bowler caps had grown larger as a result. He smiled faintly, though she sensed his irritation at her arrival. Had he thought she would allow him to act freely? Should he act so again, she would remind him just why he answered to her. And if he failed to understand, Gladiolus would do away with him.
Across the table were the Department Heads for Magical Transportation, Magical Accidents and Catastrophes, and Magical Games and Sports. All were older men, with grey in their hair and a few wrinkles on their once distinguished faces. She knew their names, but they were insignificant. It was much easier to recall them by their department name than by their personal names. Allegedly, familiar faces had once been among their number. But their time came to an end over a year ago, after the disastrous finale of the Triwizard Tournament.
Closer her sat Madam Bones, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and the Head of the Department of International Magical Co-operation. Curiously, the chair between them for the Head of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures sat empty. Rumor had it there was an effort within their department to replace the current head. She almost applauded the effort, since the current occupant of the seat enjoyed being annoyingly stubborn. Were it not for the accord Gladiolus struck with Fudge and Bones on the night she ascended, the Sith Lord would have crushed that fool's neck by now. Instead, she would need to wait until he overstepped enough for Fudge to sack him.
"Pardon my tardiness," Gladiolus said as she crossed to her reserved seat. Once it had been dedicated to the Royal Mage, but the implementation of the Statute of Secrecy removed that old post, bound as it was to the muggle monarchy. "I had a personal matter to attend to this morning. Otherwise, I would have not been delayed."
None dared question her lie. She sensed doubt from a few. Gladiolus had spent the morning hours in meditation, exploring the currents of the dark side of the Force. Something had shifted within the Force as a whole, and she was not completely certain what it was. Part of her suspected her ascension spawned disconcerting ripples and eddies throughout that ethereal weave binding all of life together.
Her meditation had taken longer than she expected. And while her ego prompted her to be furious they dared begin without her, she needed to focus on the matter at hand: governing magical Britain. That should be her primary focus until a time where she could safely step out into the galaxy beyond her local system.
"I think we should address the matter you mentioned concerning Lord Gladiolus earlier, Fudge," said Madam Bones. She gave Gladiolus a wary look before continuing. "About the muggle Crown and their request."
Gladiolus regarded Minister Fudge with faint curiosity. He blanched when he met her sulfuric gaze. They still disturbed him. "Yes, well, I recently spoke with their Prime Minister. He mentioned that their Queen wishes to have an audience with you. Invited you to tea at a place called 'Buckingham Palace'." He turned to Madam Bones. "That was the right name, yes?"
Madam Bones nodded. Gladiolus's brow furrowed. She sensed Amelia's frustration; both with the man who remained her boss and with the fact she could do nothing about him. Not without earning the wrath of Darth Gladiolus. And while Madam Bones still thought highly of the girl she met in August of last year, the Sith Lord knew Amelia remained disturbed by the girl she was required to obey.
Gladiolus felt surprised hearing the Queen wished to meet her. She knew little of the woman beyond that she had been queen before her parents were born. While her instinct was to deny the request, she paused. The Queen could be an ally with the inevitable future Earth would face. A day would come when the Jedi and their Republic learned which world she came from, and they would arrive to purge her dark influence.
Earth needed to be prepared. A time would come in the years ahead when the humanity of Earth learned they were no longer alone in the cosmos. They would learn aliens existed, and that humans occupied a thousand other worlds. And those other humans would not be friends. They would be enemies, a threat to their ways of life.
And once that time came to pass, Darth Gladiolus would emerge as Earth's champion. This world was her domain. It belonged to her. Thus, its security depended on her power in the dark side of the Force and the technology she had possession of.
And as the saying goes, the best defense is a strong offense.
"How fascinating," Gladiolus murmured. "I agree to the audience, though I would prefer to meet with her later this month. I may seek to establish spies in the muggle world and thus monitor events as they come to pass." She then sighed and said, as though she felt genuine sorrow, "I'm afraid with the death of my muggle relatives, I no longer have a reliable means to access rumors and gossip. They would have been an easy source of information concerning the Queen and various muggle governments."
Only Madam Bones reacted to Gladiolus's reference to the late and unlamented Dursleys. The woman had come to visit her at Hogwarts following their deaths. While Gladiolus escaped suspicion, speculation about what happened that night arose at the edge of the woman's mind.
If she becomes an issue, then I'll eliminate her. Unfortunately, her competency remains too valuable to sacrifice.
The heads grimaced at being reminded Gladiolus once possessed muggle relatives. She struggled with amusement over their discomfort. She knew that after so many generations with little or no contact between muggles and wizards, it was natural they would react poorly to reminders another Britain existed.
"Excellent," Fudge said, unable to suppress how little he disliked muggles. "I will inform my muggle counterpart. He'll be pleased to have this business dealt with swiftly."
Gladiolus nodded. She leaned in her seat as though it were a great throne and listened as the department heads reported to Fudge about their departments. It was tedious. She could extract information from their pliable minds. None possessed defenses she could not overcome.
But alas, rulership required those beneath her to believe all would be well as long as she lived. She required a level of trust between them, and listening helped provide that. She would create an illusion that her power resided beyond animalistic violence. Gladiolus was slowly becoming schooled in the art of ruling, despite her young age and how recently she had become a Sith Lord.
For now, she would work within the system the fools before her had made. One day, hopefully soon, she would shed these fools and govern alone, unchallenged and beloved over a system of her own creation.
Hermione Granger stalked the halls of Hogwarts. She had only returned for her sixth year, and already she itched to be in her final year of education. She itched to sit her NEWTs and to move on from her childhood. And that itch began thanks to the choices of one Edelweiss Potter. Or, as she demanded to be called now, Darth Gladiolus. Every other day, those horrible piercing yellow eyes and those disturbing mysterious markings appeared on the front page of the Daily Prophet. She had grown tired of seeing them and thus canceled her subscription to the paper. She still read about events, thanks to Lavender. Her fellow Gryffindor was more than happy to hand over the sections of the paper she never read.
Her parents still received a copy as they had since the summer before last. They wrote her almost weekly, walking a thin line between supporting that questionable creature her best friend had become and questioning what she would do in under two years when she finally graduated from Hogwarts.
Without a good answer and uncertain about the Ministry's future, Hermione had thrown herself headfirst into her prefect duties and studies. Ron's Quidditch obsession prompted him to neglect the former. And she knew that if she dared retract her aid with their schoolwork, Mrs. Weasley would no doubt send her a howler. It did not help that the Weasleys had made a point of being uncomfortably friendly with Darth Gladiolus. Mr. Weasley's position in the Ministry had been reinforced by the relationship. They had even reconciled with Percy! The Twins had their booming business on Diagon Alley, boosted by Gladiolus's appearance on opening day. And even Bill and Charlie, who had graduated before Hermione began at Hogwarts, appeared with her in public from time to time.
At least Ginny sees through her illusion.
Hermione thus poured her time and energy into the resurgent Dumbledore's Army. She had gathered many who had been involved in the group the previous year. With Umbridge dead and a competent professor installed in the Defense position, they did not need to gather for training or practice. And yet they did meet, for they had all witnessed Edelweiss's decline the previous year. It was difficult to not reflect on the past year and wonder if she could have stopped Edelweiss from becoming a monster.
Assuming we're still friends. No word. No letter. Nothing since she seized power.
And that, before any other qualm, was the stickler. Hermione had neither personally seen nor personally spoken with Edelweiss—Gladiolus—since that last, fateful day when she left breakfast with Umbridge. She tried to write a few letters, but Hedwig never returned after the first. She even placed spells on a pair of letters. The one written to "Edelweiss Potter" vanished while the letter for "Darth Gladiolus" remained unopened. Susan Bones had mentioned speaking with her aunt several times about Gladiolus over the summer hols. But she had failed to report anything concrete. Either Madam Bones did not wish to speak of her new overlord or something foul had taken root within the Ministry of Magic.
Regardless of which, Hermione knew she should be patient. She grappled with the growing belief that her friend had given her soul over to evil. Why else would Albus Dumbledore be dead? His funeral had been an afterthought in early July. Albus Dumbledore! An afterthought! Had it not happened at all, she would have thought her life transformed into a cruel Monty Python sketch.
What a sorry state magical Britain is in, thought Hermione. She continued on her way, trying to not think of the future. The further ahead she looked, the gloomier her mood—and her prospects—became. For if she thought of the future, she would begin to think about what might need to be done.
And that made Hermione feel like she had become Darth Gladiolus.
Croaker entered the meeting room as the department heads rose to leave. He held a stack of vanilla-smelling papers pressed against his chest, organized so haphazardly Gladiolus knew they could be easily dislodged with the bump of a shoulder. The face of the Department of Mysteries did not approach Fudge, who remained seated. Instead, he approached Gladiolus. She watched as a few heads paused and stared. A flicker of her sulfuric eyes sent them on their way.
"You should stay, Minister," Croaker said when Fudge moved to stand. The man slumped into his seat while Croaker sat on Gladiolus's left. "You should hear what I have to report to Lord Gladiolus as well." His gaze bounced momentarily between the Minister and the Sith Lord before settling on her. "I still find it peculiar to call you 'Lord' and not 'Lady'."
"Even after my explanation?"
"Yes. Even after that. I find it fascinating how Salazar Slytherin came to this world from another, possessing technology beyond what muggles possess even now." He paused. Something genuine appeared on his formless face. "Are you certain we cannot explore and inspect his secret chamber beneath Hogwarts?"
"I am. The Chamber of Secrets has been resealed in accordance with the agreement I struck with the new Headmaster of Hogwarts and the Board of Governors. It's a troubling agreement, but it retains the school's traditional independence from London. They were insistent on that particular matter, and I saw no cause to continue Cornelius's old policy. The Department of Magical Education proved to be filled with incompetents, judging from the OWL and NEWT results over the summer."
Gladiolus had been suspicious of the board when they summoned her to lift her command over the portraits in the Headmaster's office. Entering the office, it was clear most of the governors feared her. She had wanted to wield that fear and ensure her continued access to the Chamber of Secrets, and thus Ziost Hangar, went unrestricted. But to regain her trunk and all within—her master's holocron chief among them—she had been forced into an agreement to seal off the Chamber and stay away from the school for a year.
It matters little, in the end. With Lady Bastila's holocron, I can continue all my prior studies except for Sith alchemy. And though I gained much from it, I have neither the time nor the patience for that practice.
The agreement had remained secret, beyond her banishment from the castle. It had been her "punishment" for slaying the interim headmistress, even if nobody mourned Umbridge's death. Only that murder was held against her. She found it amusing, but then the board and the professors wished to maintain Hogwarts's sanctity.
Gladiolus would preserve the castle's peace. Lord Salazar had helped build it. The strength of the British nation emerged from that school. It was one more tool for her to use.
That was a bitter thought, though. Darth Gladiolus sought distinction from Dumbledore and Voldemort, for the public harbored comparisons between her and those two men in their hearts. They had both used Hogwarts to their ends, regardless of the differences in their motivation. And so she gave lip service to mercy and second chances and avoided wasteful, wanton murder. The power to dictate who lived and who died was a mighty one, and one she would exercise to ensure she grew stronger. To act like either of her dead enemies would betray all she sacrificed to become a Sith Lord.
It would risk her fragile kingdom.
"A shame," replied Croaker. "But unsurprising. Many are spooked when Unspeakables are mentioned in conversation. More so now, since everyone knows you have greater influence over us than any minister in the past two hundred years."
"Some think you are an Unspeakable as well, Lord Gladiolus," added Minister Fudge.
Her lips quirked up at his comment. Her. An Unspeakable. Gladiolus had aided them with improving their security shortly after her skirmish in their department. They had been displeased by how easily she came and went. Somewhere in there, they sought to prevent her astral travel from working. Croaker, she suspected, knew not of the project. Secrecy was tantamount when forging a new weapon. And she knew all about secrecy. It had been her salvation as a Sith apprentice. Already Gladiolus suspected it would remain so, now that she was a Sith Lord.
"How fascinating. Now, Croaker. I believe you have something you wish to inform me about."
The man nodded. "A few, actually. Most were salvaged from files thought to have been either destroyed or lost during the Blood War."
"Your spy problem," Gladiolus remarked. Croaker nodded stiffly in lieu of a response. She had used that very Death Eater to lure Voldemort to his death. How amusing it had been to learn that. "I assume whatever you've found would have caused trouble for Voldemort had research into it progressed."
Fudge squeaked from his spot at the far end of the table. Croaker remained unmoved, though Edelweiss sensed a trickle of discomfort ripple off him. The man was very schooled at masking his emotions. But not schooled enough to deceive a Sith Lord.
"So they would have," Gladiolus remarked, already knowing the truth. She leaned forward, an elbow on the table and her chin resting on the back of her hand. "Tell me about them. I wish to hear all that pretender dark lord wished to bury."
Croaker nodded. He then sorted through his stack of papers until he established three stacks before him. He slid in front of her. "In there is the culmination of research concerning 'the olde ways', as some colloquially refer to them." At Gladiolus's blank look, he sighed. "They're the traditional religion, for lack of a better term. Muggles would call them 'pagan rites' and then dismiss them out of hand as foolish superstition."
"Because they are!" shouted Fudge. He had suddenly risen to his feet. He quelled under Gladiolus's unimpressed gaze. "They are superstitions! Only the most traditional of families practice them and always in secrecy! They won't even reveal who is involved whenever they're caught!"
"How can their actions be secret if they are caught?" asked Gladiolus. Fudge's face bloomed red. "If you have a list, I would love to see it. Sooner rather than later."
Several seconds passed before Fudge rose to his feet and muttered, "I will see that you get that list, my lord." And with that, he stormed from the meeting room. Shouting echoed from the office, muddled enough she did not understand anything said.
"I'm surprised you keep him around," remarked Croaker. "I had expected him to be removed before your sixteenth birthday, Lord Gladiolus."
"He kneeled before me and has remained pliable beyond the odd, almost silly outbursts." Gladiolus gave Croaker a pointed look. "Be mindful of how you speak before I begin to suspect that you act to influence me."
"I'm only here to act as a liaison between yourself and the Department of Mysteries. I'll leave the political machinations to the department heads daring enough to try and play the usual game of politics under your watchful gaze."
"They will follow my will, or else I will replace them. Now, I wish to hear more about these 'traditions'. Why would Voldemort wish to suppress your research about them?"
"Because they could undermine his positions concerning blood purity. The olde ways were, in part, meant to bring outsiders into the fold. While most outsiders were foreigners—first the Anglo-Saxons, followed by Danes and then the Normans—some came from muggle backgrounds. That was mentioned repeatedly in the report, and thus it had to be suppressed."
Gladiolus hummed thoughtfully. She found no utility in spreading these 'olde ways' among the general public. There would be a terrible backlash, internally and without, when their world reunited with the muggle one. Given the many other troubles to come from reconnecting with the muggles, she did not need one to emerge from reintroducing paganism and its practices into the population she ruled.
An inevitable day would come when the Statute of Secrecy would need to be rescinded. It was undeniable.
"What else do you have?" Gladiolus asked.
"Would you rather hear about house elves or muggleborns?"
"Let's begin with the muggleborns. I think I can guess what you're about to tell me when it comes to house elves. But with muggleborns, I confess myself curious about what you have for me concerning that topic, Croaker."
He smiled. "There are no true muggleborns. One must possess a magical ancestor to inherit magic. The research was halted before it could conclude anything further. But we have developed several theories about how muggleborns come about. With your approval, we'd like to research them all."
"All of them?" Gladiolus raised an eyebrow. "How many theories do you have?"
"Several, though the most prominent in the department as of now is that muggleborns are descended from squibs forced into the muggle world."
"That makes sense," Gladiolus admitted. "I do not know what assistance I can provide the Unspeakables. My mother may have been a muggleborn, but all of her blood has perished."
Croaker's expression was unreadable. Only her mastery over the Force could pry through his blank feelings. "I understand, Lord Gladiolus. Those muggles would have been valuable for this project. A shame they passed away so suddenly, and all on the same night."
Gladiolus fought down the urge to kill Croaker. The problem with killing the man was twofold: she was the sole suspect, given Fudge was elsewhere, and he was the sole member of the Department of Mysteries anyone knew. Without him, that particular department could decouple itself completely from the Ministry. And without that bond, they could vanish into the wind. They remained too useful for her ambitions to be allowed free reign. She would not mind placing them all under compulsion, but that would threaten their capacity to experiment with magic.
I will end their independence should Croaker grow bolder.
"I understand. I will leave your department to their research on that front."
"And the house elf issue?"
She sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. "I care not about them, Croaker. Handle it however you see fit—but only as long as it does not distract from my revitalization plans for the country. Their treatment is abhorrent. Jail a few who abuse their elves. Society will reorient toward proper behavior as a result."
"And if our research does interfere with your plans, Lord Gladiolus?"
"Then shut it down, Croaker. Sacrifices must be made." Gladiolus bit her tongue before she could utter, "for the greater good." Those words were Grindelwald's, and later Dumbledore's. She had no desire to speak or think in the same manner as those men, whether consciously or through a slip of the tongue.
Croaker nodded again and rose to his feet. "I understand, Lord Gladiolus. I hope you enjoy your meeting with the Queen."
He departed, uncaring how she glowered at his back. Gladiolus then spent five minutes searching the meeting room for any means of spying. She found nothing. Once finished, she left the meeting room. Fudge was nowhere to be found. Either he was seeing to the pointless task she assigned him, or he had realized she had no real interest in the 'olde ways' Croaker spoke of.
Hopefully, Cornelius knows he needs me more than I need him. She granted Miss Grey a soft, appreciative smile, and then departed the office. But I doubt he'll know until I finally dispose of him.
Draco Malfoy stalked the halls of Hogwarts, searching for an outlet for his anger. Back in spring, he had been one of the most powerful and influential students at Hogwarts. He led the Inquisitors who exposed the conspiracy of Dumbledore's Army, comprised of those following that insufferable bint Edelweiss Potter. He had even gotten the better of her a couple of times, though she had a frustrating ability to repel his verbal attacks with mockery. Just thinking of her then filled him with anger.
And then she murdered his father. The Ministry declared her butchery to be "anti-Death Eater activities". But he knew it was rank murder. Two dozen witches and wizards died by her hand that night. Not only his father, but his Aunt Bellatrix and his estranged Uncle Sirius, Potter's godfather, his halfblood cousin, Tonks, and even the Dark Lord and Dumbledore. Those last two had shocked him. The Dark Lord was not meant to die. Invincible and immortal, he had been fated to purge magical Britain of the muggle plague rotting their society. Instead, Potter had cut him down, just as she had done with Dumbledore. Nobody openly acknowledged how Dumbledore died, but everyone knew the truth. Worse, most people feared Potter. In a single night, she destroyed her competitors for control and domination over Britain.
Thinking of that abominable wretch drew a snarl from him. There was a precedent for her title of "Witch-Queen", but that had been in the ancient days of Morgana, the foul witch who dared overthrow the warlock king Arthur and his great mage, Myrddin. The famous Merlin, the one who had attended Hogwarts in its first century as a Slytherin, ensured all of magical Britain knew the glories of his namesake and the great king he served. To allow a Witch-Queen to live and breathe was to spit on Merlin's legacy. It was to spit on Salazar Slytherin's legacy, already stained by Potter.
Footsteps approached. Draco paused so he could clear his mind of anger and frustration. He retained his prefect badge, thanks to Snape's departing influence. But the new headmaster—some Irish fool barely able to string ten words together—placed every prefect on probation for the entire year. Draco hoped to clear his probation after Yuletide instead. But for now, he had to remain patient. And most regrettably, patience was not one of Draco's virtues. His parents strove to teach him patience. Perhaps now, months after his father's murder, he would learn that virtue.
He watched as the footsteps turned a corner before him. Draco smirked when they turned their back to him. He then blinked, for he recognized that back. After years of arguments, curses, and a rather bitter assault, he could not mistake that cascading wave of bushy hair.
"Granger," he said, just loud enough to reach her. "We need to speak."
Hermione Granger, while an obnoxious mudblood incapable of understanding and accepting her natural place in society, happened to be the sole person Draco knew of at Hogwarts willing to speak against Potter. Unlike Draco, she did so carefully. But they had been friends for years. It would look peculiar to many if Granger openly opposed Potter. Then again, the girl had been left to squander and waste away at Hogwarts while Potter flitted about the Ministry as though it were all her fief. The wretched bint had yet to do anything severe, beyond eliminating opposition, engaging in some reorganization, and small little things that made plebeians barely worth the blood in their veins think her greater than either Dumbledore or the Dark Lord.
"Malfoy," snarled Granger. "What do you want?"
"We need to speak about Potter and her tyrannical delusions."
Granger snorted. "Your family was happy enough to fall in line with Voldemort's madness."
Draco flinched, hearing the name of his family's dead lord. He met the Dark Lord once during the summer before his fifth year. The man had been everything his father claimed. Yet Draco could not help but be relieved the Dark Lord was gone.
If only he hadn't been replaced by Potter.
"I know my father's position concerning the Dark Lord," Draco said bitterly. "But he's dead, thanks to your friend."
"I… I don't know if I would call Edie my friend anymore."
"Oh? So you don't call her 'Lord Gladiolus' like all of the scrapers and fawners?"
Granger glowered. "Don't call her by that foul name."
"Why not?" asked Draco, unable to hold back a slight sneer. "Everyone else is complicit in using that name. She's almost—"
"I'm tired of hearing the name of the monster wearing Edie's face!" Granger paused as her words echoed through the corridors around them. Thankfully, they were both prefects. They did not need to worry about curfew. "If I start calling her that," Granger eventually continued, "then I might as well join all the cowards who follow her without question. And I would never do that. 'Death is preferable to dishonor,' thank you very much."
Draco nodded. His mother had said similar after Potter's ascendance as "Darth Gladiolus" to the peak of British society. That the Malfoys were slowly and increasingly slighted by families who would have longed to even get their attention months ago was a reminder of the ruination being forced on his family thanks to Potter's influence.
"Still…" continued Granger, looking away from Draco. "It is nice to know that there are others unwilling to bend over for Edie's megalomania." She glanced at Draco with a careful yet quizzical expression. "The enemy of my enemy…" Granger whispered to herself. She then reached into a pocket. "There are others who agree with us. I am taking a risk, providing this to you"—and she drew out a galleon—"but I would like to see if you would be willing to work with my allies. This coin will heat up when the time and date for the meeting is decided."
Draco took the coin as if her skin would burn him. "And what aims would those be?"
"Restoring the proper order of magical Britain," declared Granger, despite standing in opposition to that aim. "And the removal of Darth Gladiolus from the public eye."
Draco clenched his hand around the galleon. "I'll give this a try, Granger. But if this proves to be a bust…"
"It won't. I won't ask you to trust me, but I think there are some among our number who you can trust."
Malfoy nodded before parting ways with the mudblood. He clenched his hand tightly around the galleon Granger had given him. A malicious smile bloomed across his face.
You will be avenged, Father.
Tourists stopped and stared as a figure in black glided to the black gates of Buckingham Palace, gilded with the golden crests of the British monarchy. She did not pause to wait for someone to open the gates on her behalf. They swung open as she approached, just wide enough to permit her entry before sealing right behind her. Darth Gladiolus sensed confusion and interest from the muggles who noticed her arrival. But she cared not for them. Her interest rested solely upon the old, powerful woman who currently called Buckingham home. Or a residence. She was uncertain what relation these royals had to their palaces, but she had no doubt there was a specific reason the summons called her to Buckingham instead of Windsor or another, more secluded site. She had expected the Tower of London, if only to reaffirm the ancient binding between magical and muggle Britain as it existed before the Statute of Secrecy.
A tall man with gaunt cheeks and a slight bit of skin hanging from beneath his jaw stood waiting for her several feet from the palace doors. His light-colored eyes watched her with a veiled mix of curiosity and disdain. Gladiolus sensed he knew of her titles and powers; the Queen must have told him, and she must have learned through her prime minister.
"Welcome to Buckingham, Lord Gladiolus," the man said, voice grave and firm. "My name is Hendrick Sanderson. I am curious why you demand the title of a man and not a woman. Those who know of your coming have gossiped about it ever since word came from the Prime Minister's office."
"It is a tradition of my order," said Gladiolus, unsurprised by what was said about the muggle minister. She felt a touch of surprise others within the palace knew of her. Though this man—he was most certainly someone beyond a common aide—decided it would be appropriate for some odd reason. She expected little beyond her meeting with the Queen. "There shall never be a Sith Lady," she continued. "Only Sith Lords."
Hendrick smiled thinly. "How quaint. Still, Her Majesty has required that you turn over your weapon before you shall be granted access to her person." He held out a hand. "Your… lightsaber, was it? The Prime Minister seemed confused about the information your minister passed along. He claimed you no longer possess a wand." His smile tilted up. "Quite peculiar for a witch, not having a wand."
"Were you aware of the magical world before this was scheduled?"
He nodded and puffed out his chest slightly. "Was trained at Hogwarts, actually. I fell out of the magical world shortly after I finished up. I eventually found my way into the Queen's service. The royals think it important to have at least one witch or wizard serving them. An old tradition, following the implementation of the Statute of Secrecy."
The Sith Lord considered the man before her with a new eye. He was old and weathered, yes, but Dumbledore appeared so as well. That man must have been near or past one hundred when she struck him down. He had taught Voldemort, who attended Hogwarts back in the '40s and became the Headmaster sometime after.
"You must be capable to maintain your post directly serving the Queen."
Hendrick smiled proudly. "Aye, I am. One of the finest from my class. But I was muggleborn and was young at a time when muggles like the boys I grew up with were being sent to the trenches in France." He sighed and shook his head. "What a waste."
Gladiolus remained quiet. She knew of the Great War, but it meant nothing to her. For this man to be of an age with those who died in those trenches, he had to be around ninety if not older. Not a hundred yet, but old enough to possess memories of a world she could not fathom.
"If that is the end of the pleasantries, then follow me." Hendrick's gaze moved past Gladiolus to the gates she passed through. "You are bound to be part of the national gossip for several days. It is not often we receive strange visitors here and most certainly not in as public a manner as your arrival."
She nodded. Hendrick guided her up the steps to the massive doors into the palace. They swung open and shut closed without any soul catching her gaze.
Gladiolus paid little heed to the rooms, hallways, and chambers they passed by or through. She noticed familiar colors as they crossed their path: red and gold, white and blue. Common colors. Colors with power and influence. After all, her blade was a vibrant, bloody crimson and her eyes a sulfuric yellow. They were almost a match.
They climbed two separate stairwells with marble railing. Beyond that, Gladiolus only minded their route through the palace. Forward through two halls, a left followed by a right, and eventually she was brought to the room where the Queen of the United Kingdom of Great Britain awaited her.
Hendrick knocked on the door. "Lord Gladiolus to see Her Majesty," he called.
A moment passed and a buzzer sounded.
Hendrick opened the door. Gladiolus nodded to him while ignoring his words and entered a small solar. The decorations were remarkably unsettling. There were no blatant, obvious signs of wealth and power. Everything was of a quality that only nobility could aspire to. She sensed the limitations of her ascension to Sith Lord. She could name herself a lord, but she was not born to a title. Not like the woman before her was.
The Queen gestured to the seat across from her. "Please sit, Lord Gladiolus."
"As you wish, Your Majesty."
A strange feeling passed through Gladiolus. It was as though she had been granted some great privilege by exchanging basic pleasantries with the Queen. She fought down astonishment at how easily the Queen could influence a Sith Lord, despite being an elderly muggle. That, Gladiolus realized, was the inherent power of effectively wielding soft power.
Her tools for influence were almost entirely hard power. Death and pain were the tools of trade for most Sith Lords. Even Sith alchemy and Sith sorcery were blunt, harsh tools in the end. Darth Gladiolus would need to learn all she could from the Queen. Soft power could ease the stress of controlling the Ministry, and thus magical Britain.
"So you are the disturbance in my magical realm," the Queen said after a few seconds. "When I was told that Albus Dumbledore had been killed in combat, I had feared the worst. That upstart Tom Riddle, for one. But instead, I have been left with you, and from all I have heard of your actions since June, I confess myself… impressed. Concerned, but impressed with how you have behaved, despite only being sixteen."
"Thank you, Your Majesty," Gladiolus said carefully. "I imagine my title of 'Witch-Queen' disturbs you, yes?"
"I assume you use that title so you can impose your will on the government my magical realm developed."
Gladiolus smiled. "It does make my life easier. But then I suffer Cornelius Fudge. His sole value is that of continuity, linking my rule to the past." She shrugged slightly. "He is a useful fool."
The Queen chuckled. "I have dealt with plenty of fools in my time. Older men, usually, though a few younger ones with more energy than sense." She smiled fondly. "Some proved their worth later on, while others remained fools."
"And some are naturally foolish," said Gladiolus. She shifted slightly in her seat, trying to mimic the Queen's easy poise. "Was there any other reason you wished to meet with me, Your Majesty? Or was the purpose of this meeting for you to learn enough about me to be comfortable with my… presence acting within your magical realm?"
Gladiolus could not help the slight tinge of scorn that worked its way into her final words. Her hatred for Dumbledore remained hot and stoked, despite the man having been in the grave for months. Had the Queen possessed any influence over magical Britain, then Dumbledore would have been stopped from gathering all the power and influence he wielded.
"I was curious to meet you, Lord Gladiolus. Given your actions last June, I assume you hold Albus Dumbledore in low regard."
"I do, and I cannot help but wonder why you did not seek to remove him from his influential seats."
"By the time I was formally crowned and informed about my magical realm, he had already established himself completely within yours, politically and culturally. Given my oaths to not interfere in my magical realm just as I do not interfere in non-magical politics, I was left to watch and advise whenever Albus thought to call upon me."
"I doubt that was often."
The Queen nodded, even as her weathered lips twitched slightly. "Four times he met with me. Only once in your lifetime, and that was shortly after your parents were murdered."
"So you know who I once was."
"You are still Edelweiss Potter, as far as the Home Office and other non-magical ministries are concerned," the Queen said, unimpressed. "You are welcome to seek out a meeting with the head there. I doubt he will be as receptive to your transformation as the magical realm has been. Though with the platform the Prime Minister and his party ran on, you might find an ally in my government."
Gladiolus hummed thoughtfully. She had given little consideration before the Queen's summon as to how she would pursue her goals in the muggle world. But now that she had the ear of the most influential woman on the planet, she could begin her work toward preparing Earth for its inevitable future. And perhaps she could entrust Lord Salazar's shuttle to worthwhile scientists if any existed.
"There is another matter I wish to speak of," Gladiolus said before the Queen could dismiss her. "One that requires a great deal of secrecy and discretion, though I cannot say if a soul exists on this world who can accomplish all I desire."
The Queen's brows furrowed, yet interest bubbled brightly in her hard eyes. "And whatever might this be for? Is there some other great secret you've been keeping?"
"That is certainly one way to phrase it," Gladiolus admitted wryly. "It concerns Lord Salazar Slytherin's secret legacy and the conditions which first brought him to Earth."
"…'the conditions which first brought him to Earth'," the Queen repeated calmly. "You speak as if he is not from this planet. I happen to know his family line stretched into the present."
"I understand your confusion. My tale of Salazar Slytherin begins on a world called Ziost on the far side of the galaxy, over a thousand years ago…"
Gladiolus was greatly pleased when she finally departed Buckingham Palace. She had spoken long and deep about Lord Salazar and the strange devices and technological mysteries left behind beneath the Chamber of Secrets. It did irk her, giving up part of what made the Chamber of Secrets her greatest refuge and some of the secrets she had gathered over the past year. But she had neither the skill nor the background to manage the technological equipment so it could be replicated. She had also found an odd kinship in the Queen. Enough that she enjoyed their extended conversation.
She made her way to a shaded spot in nearby St. James Park. Gladiolus drew the dark side around her so any wandering muggle gazes would slide off her. Once she would have relied on her father's cloak, but that was an artifact belonging to a dead girl. Darth Gladiolus did not need relics of that nature.
Her power over the Force was enough.
In one moment, she stood in St. James Park. In the next, she stood in the foyer of Number Twelve. There was no telltale pop like with magical apparition. Her power of astral travel and projection was greater than any traveling ability available to common mages. They could not ward against her coming nor against her leaving. She had discovered accounts from the previous war of how Death Eaters would throw up palings to prevent their prey from fleeing. Gladiolus had made a point of testing her powers against such palings and was pleased to discover they did not work against her.
"Mistress Gladiolus has returned," drawled Kreacher, appearing at her side. The house elf stood taller these days, thanks to being freed from the enslaving dominion cast upon him by the Blacks. The dark side overcame the magic surrounding the strange house elf. To Gladiolus's amusement, he had gleefully destroyed the painting of Sirius's mother. The harlot had screamed and begged until her portrait and its frame were reduced to ash.
"That I have," Gladiolus replied. "My conversation with the muggle Queen was quite enlightening."
Kreacher's face scrunched. Some prejudices could not be circumvented "Should I draw up a bath for mistress?"
"No need, Kreacher. I appreciate the thoughtfulness. I will want my meal in my solar shortly after seven. I shall be busy well into the night."
Kreacher bowed low before vanishing.
Gladiolus smiled at where he had been. It was a shame that the closest she had to a proper servant was a strange, mismatched creature. Perhaps she should seek out an apprentice.
If only I were not so busy, she thought, striding deeper into her residence. Ruling, planning for the future… It makes one long for a threat to overcome.
Draco Malfoy ignored the glares he received upon entering the Room of Requirement. Many around the room had been a part of Potter's little cabal the previous year, though he recognized a few whose names had not been on that list Pansy confiscated. Chief among them was a pair of Slytherins he knew were in the same position as him: their Death Eater relatives had perished within the confines of the Department of Mysteries. They looked uncomfortable around the swill and swine of magical society. But if they desired retribution for the crimes committed against their families like him, then they would require allies and use them however they could.
And once the threat to their ancient society was dealt with, their allies would be reminded of where they belonged: at the bottom of society.
"The hell is Malfoy doing here?" asked a brawny Hufflepuff. The boy looked between Granger and Draco, a confused tilt to his eyebrows. "Why'd you invite him?"
Granger graced Draco with a disgusted look before admitting, "We need more allies than those present. Malfoy might be a vocal blood purist whose father died with a skull mask on his face and a brand on his arm, but he's willing to help us with the problem of 'Darth Gladiolus'. We all know she must be dealt with."
"And how will we do that?" asked another. "She killed You-Know-Who and Dumbledore! The Ministry says she fought them both too!"
Granger's face flushed a delicious shade of embarrassed red. "That's only hearsay. The Ministry has lied about plenty. I would not be surprised if they told even a fraction of the truth about that night. You truly think a fifteen-year-old, partially trained witch could face them both and win?"
"She's not partially trained, though," said another. She wore the blue and bronze of Ravenclaw, yet something about her face screamed fellow to Draco. "My uncle works directly for the Minister. He says Lord Gladiolus has strange powers. Greater than any magic either Dumbledore or the Dark Lord knew."
Draco scoffed loudly. "Potter's always been lucky. We all know it." He took a step forward, drawing eyes to him. Time to make you proud, Father. "I don't know what strange witchcraft she found in the bowels of the castle, but it was enough to hoodwink the Minister and seize control of the Ministry. How can we stand by in good conscience as she tears apart all our forefathers built up?"
"Not all of us have magical ancestors, Malfoy," said Longbottom, of all people. "You and I can trace our ancestry back through the generations, but some present here—and across society—can barely go back five generations, if even that far. They're as welcome in our society as those of us who can trace their lineage far back." He then smiled cheekily. "Though I guess some of us have to trace our way back across the Channel."
Draco felt heat rise in his cheeks. He sniffed and muttered, "At least my ancestors made and shaped history. Yours were content to sit on the sidelines and watch, Longbottom. Best you remember that before you speak."
Longbottom glowered as he reached for his wand. But before he could draw, Granger stepped forward and said, "Enough, you two! We do not have the luxury of fighting among ourselves. Edie will use that against us if we give her the chance."
"And how would you know that?" Draco sneered.
"Because I read the Daily Prophet. It might still be the Ministry's mouthpiece, but their writers cannot help but of her new 'powers'. I doubt even half of the ones described are real, but if they are—"
"Then we're doomed," a hidden voice moaned. Draco sneered as the voice repeated: "We're doomed!"
"Oh shut up!" shouted the Weasley girl. "You're just here because you want to—"
"Ginny," hissed Granger. "Enough."
The Weasley girl huffed before crossing her arms. She glowered in the direction of the moaning voice. Draco failed to recognize the voice. He cared little about who it might be as long as they remained silent.
"As I was saying before I was interrupted," continued Granger, "we must remain vigilant. The agreement struck between Edie, the Headmaster, and the school governors only lasts so long. That she has kept her word is due to how busy the leviathan of the Ministry has kept her. But once the summer arrives, she will be free to act as she wishes. And she has something precious beneath the castle."
The room fell silent at the reminder that Potter had found something in the Chamber of Secrets that allowed her to acquire undue power. Draco almost wondered if the Dark Lord had used that same power before casting that errant thought aside. Had the Dark Lord known it, he would have destroyed Dumbledore long ago. Nobody would know the name Edelweiss Potter, nor would they have ever heard of a "Lord Gladiolus".
"You don't think she would act against Hogwarts," someone else said, their voice quivering. "She might be power hungry, but she isn't mad."
"I don't know about that," said Susan Bones, suddenly stepping forward. "I've continued to write my aunt about 'Gladiolus', as Potter renamed herself. Everything I've learned recently has been disturbing. She possesses a power that allows her to overcome the normal boundaries of magic."
Whispers rippled through the room. Nearly all were fearful. Some even reacted as though Potter might appear among them and slaughter those who failed to bow quickly enough. Draco nearly scoffed. But to do so would draw undue attention his way. He needed to integrate himself into this group carefully, not draw their ire and hatred. Several already hated him—and those feelings were most certainly mutual—but they would serve his interests if he had his way. Even Granger would be a tool for his revenge.
And best of all, she wanted revenge of her own. Granger wanted to reward betrayal with another betrayal. The girl did not know it, but Draco saw through her. His mother had taught him how to quickly read intentions and more over the summer.
"When you return to Hogwarts," Narcissa Malfoy, the last of House Black, had said days after the end of Draco's fifth year. "There will be dangers behind every corner. We must pretend to be loyal to this 'Lord Gladiolus', else we risk our family's destruction." Her passive expression became severe. "Your father, may his soul rest in peace, did not prepare you adequately for the trials ahead. This summer, I will ensure you are ready to handle our enemies properly."
Draco had devoured everything his mother sought to teach him. And he believed he would extract great utility from using those lessons here. They would permit him to twist all present to his aims.
They would be his pawns in his quest to kill Edelweiss Potter, or Darth Gladiolus as she now named herself.