The Letter Writers

Wind swept across the snowy graveyard as a cloaked figure drifted past burdened and faded gravestones. Darth Gladiolus could not say why she had come to this place, but it was New Year's Eve. The end of the year that witnessed her transformation. Her ascension. Perhaps she had desired a fitting time to sever an unknown tie with her past. She had destroyed that weak girl Edelweiss Potter months ago, on the very day she cast down her enemies and assumed the mantle of Dark Lord of the Sith.

Yet somehow, she had found one last, final task to attend to related to Edelweiss Potter.

Gladiolus stopped upon reaching a large headstone. It bore two names. Two familiar names. On the left-hand side, it said JAMES POTTER. And on the right, it said LILY POTTER. Beneath the names was a quotation. One that sounded peculiarly like something Dumbledore might have said before his death by her hand: The last enemy to be defeated is death.

How distasteful, Gladiolus thought with a sneer. Of course, he would disgrace them with one of his arrogant platitudes. Yet for their gravestone to proclaim death could be defeated… She reconsidered their sacrifice. The life it had bought her. She smirked. Perhaps not as distasteful as I thought. Their sacrifice gave me life. Yet not what I would have expected from all I was told of them.

For a sudden moment, she considered destroying the headstone and permanently destroying the Potter legacy. But Gladiolus reconsidered. To do that would mean that the name of Potter still possessed a hold over her. That it could affect her at all. Better she abandon the last remnant of her bloodline. No longer would the Potter family grace magical Britain.

There was only Darth Gladiolus and her new order. She turned from the graves and treaded away, content to leave the past of Edelweiss Potter behind.

The future lies before me. One ruled by the Sith, for the Sith. One that shall answer to me, and me alone.

On the seventh day of 1997, a proclamation was issued from the Ministry of Magic. It spread across the land, carried by owls and Floo and the ever-trustworthy power of rumor that permeated small communities. In homes across the land, families froze in their holiday merriment to gaze upon the sudden arrival. They strove to make sense of what was being imposed on their nation:

FROM THE DESK OF DARTH GLADIOLUS

WITCH-QUEEN OF BRITAIN

To all subjects of magical Britain and Ireland, along with all dominions, provinces, and territories;

As of this day, the Seventh of January in the year 1997 Anno Domini, I have abolished the Wizengamot body as it has been structured since its reformation in the wake of Lord Protector Cromwell's death and the later implementation of the Statute of Secrecy. It is vital in these trying times that the Ministry for Magic be allowed to better adapt and react to events as they come to pass. More so, the Wizengamot lost the meaning and value once poured into it by the reformations. Instead of being a body whose sole purpose is to ensure the longevity of our community and curtail the excesses of Ministry administrations, it instead has become a source of decay, willing and able to fall into line with whatever madness any Minister desires to inflict on the people.

Thus, it falls under my purview as Witch-Queen, directly subordinate to only Her Majesty, the Queen of England, Scotland, and Ireland, to dissolve the present body. In the coming months, reforms will be made within the Ministry to minimize the bureaucratic monstrosity that holds back our society. And once that Herculean task has been accomplished, a new Wizengamot shall be summoned. This body shall not be comprised of those from the old families, along with Order of Merlin holders and Ministry officials. It will instead be comprised of those specifically summoned by my person due to their wisdom and capability, along with an undetermined number elected from the various shires that comprise our kingdom.

I seek to include those of various backgrounds, such as newbloods—those considered at present muggleborn—and members of families that have arisen in this nation in the centuries since the Wizengamot solidified late in the Eighteenth Century.

All present members of the Wizengamot shall be permanently barred from the future body, receiving neither summons nor approval from my person to attend any future elections. Any who dare resist this reorganization shall suffer a traitor's death—drawn, quartered, and hung by their entrails.

This is my will. It shall be done.

For days and nights, a horrible blizzard slammed the grounds of Hogwarts. Hermione Granger pensively watched the snow pour from the skies, comfortably sat in the library. She had been working on an essay meant not for any class, but for publication in the Daily Prophet under a pseudonym. One, admittedly, that she had yet to select. She knew blatantly criticizing the recent proclamation put forth by "Darth Gladiolus" could lead to her imprisonment—or worse, a traitor's death—but she could not stand by and watch as the world twisted on its head and was ruined by her former friend.

Her research into the Wizengamot and its origins, along with the structure of magical Britain's Ministry and comparisons between it and the muggle government, had left her with little to be happy with, though. Once she had believed the body to be a combination of Parliament and the courts, granted powers to ensure the Ministry could not overstep the boundaries laid down long ago when all of England was united under the Crown. After all, the developments necessary to forge the muggle state she knew began prior to the Statute of Secrecy.

Hermione sighed as she straightened and rubbed her forehead. Her head ached something fierce. Her eyes burned with slight strain. Her nature tempted her to continue working, but she had lost track of time. Worse, researching and writing this essay had cut into her studying and homework time. A recent potions essay had returned with an "Exceeds Expectations" instead of her usual "Outstanding". An Exceeds Expectations! The new potions professor—professional and Australian, capable of actually teaching—had rejected her request to rewrite her paper, calling it "good enough for sloppy, early morning work". She had wilted under those words.

"Granger. A surprise to find you burning the midnight oil in the library."

Hermione masked her grimace as she glanced over her shoulder. Draco Malfoy loomed behind her. She almost regretted bringing him into the refurbished Dumbledore's Army. But unfortunately, he had proved to be an increasingly valuable ally. Not only did he have connections she could not imagine possessing, but he also knew how to use them. The death of his father at Edelweiss's hands had forced him to grow up. And annoyingly, something resembling a decent man had lurked under his noxious exterior

"Malfoy. I was unaware you knew where the library was."

He snorted and then smirked. "I've always known. Malfoy Library has a high-quality collection. It's easier to send home for books and return them as needed than to bother with this one."

She resisted her impulse to glower. Hermione knew if she had a library the fraction of Hogwarts back home, she would be hard-pressed to surface beyond meals. She knew Number Twelve Grimmauld possessed a library. But being on the out with Edelweiss meant she was barred from the old Black house. And despite having killed her godfather, Edelweiss inherited the entirety of his fortune, along with a questionable quantity of spoils from those who perished by her hand.

"Of course. Someone as spoiled as you would never dare spend time around the peasantry."

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "If I truly required something from this library, I would seek it out. I haven't… until now." He then smiled at her as though her existence did not insult his grotesque beliefs and sensibilities. "That would happen to be you, Granger."

He then sat down across from her.

"What do you want, Malfoy?"

"I wanted to share some news from London. Something that won't be printed in the Prophet."

"And what would that be?"

"Patience, Granger." Malfoy peered at her essay, his brows furrowing slightly. "What is this?" he asked as if his eyes did not work.

"I'm going to write something for the Prophet under a pseudonym," Granger said, proud of herself. "It's in response to Edelweiss's power grab."

Malfoy hummed. "I would be shocked if they publish it in the current climate. But feel free to keep writing it. The Prophet has a limited history of protecting anonymous writers regardless of the ideas they express."

Hermione assumed he genuinely meant it when he implied she would be protected despite arguing against 'Darth Gladiolus', no matter how the Ministry might threaten them. She was pleasantly surprised to hear so. She suspected the Prophet likely found it easier to reject anonymous writing than to edit that which opposed or contradicted whichever narrative they were commanded to push.

"I understand. But I still need to put my opinion forward. Others will agree with my opinion. And as you said, the Prophet will protect me from her wrath."

"You're hoping Potter still possesses enough sentimentality to not murder you for daring to question her will," Malfoy said, almost sneering. "You're a fool to think a shred of the girl we knew exists in the monster we oppose."

Hermione frowned. "What do you know that I don't?"

For several seconds, she feared Malfoy would not respond. He surprised her by releasing a long, almost pained breath. "Mother finally got unsealed records about what happened in the Department of Mysteries. Three Blacks were killed that night. My aunt, Bellatrix… Sirius Black… and Nymphadora Tonks. All by Potter's hand.

"And while one of those murders could be justified," Malfoy continued before Hermione could speak up, "the other two less so. Tonks was an auror associated with the Order of the Phoenix, while her godfather, Sirius Black, was involved in Dumbledore's little vigilante club as well."

"How do you know about the Order?"

Draco sniffed. "Other than the fact you told me?" Hermione flushed, already recognizing her slip. "My mother knew. She learned of them from my father, and I don't need to explain why he would know."

And there was the greatest sticking point in their alliance of convenience. Malfoy wanted to avenge his Death Eater father. As far as Hermione was concerned, Lucius Malfoy received what he deserved. He probably should have stood trial before being sentenced to life in Azkaban. But she could no longer justify keeping a man like Lucius Malfoy in society, especially with how he wielded his wealth and influence.

"Your mother," Hermione said. "I've never heard anyone talk about her."

"For the best," Malfoy said. He did not grumble as Ron might have done. Malfoy sounded proud of his mother, despite the fact she apparently worked away from the prying eyes of magical Britain. "When your sisters are Bellatrix Lestrange and Andromeda Tonks, it's easy to be overlooked and forgotten, even as you pull the strings of society."

"Is that what she actually did? Your father's influence was clearly felt, but—"

"But my mother's influence wasn't. I know." Malfoy huffed and shook his head. A soft, almost fond smile had found its way to his lips. "It's funny that you and the other muggleborns talk all about how backward and regressive magical society is. Yet you only perceive power as that wielded by the Ministry and those visibly at its pinnacle. It's probably why Potter acts the way she does. She might have been born to a family almost eight hundred years old, but she acts out like any muggleborn given more power than sense."

Hermione nodded, pretending to accept Malfoy's explanation. His words did not reflect the madness polluting Edelweiss's mind. It was a terrible darkness that plagued her friend. One that deluded her, destroying the kind, heroic girl she had been. It had given birth to the monster she had become. Hermione could have lived with a hero who killed when necessary. Hermione might possess the strength to be as forgiving as Dumbledore, but she had finally come to terms with the reality that Edelweiss Potter did not possess that same strength. Instead, she possessed an iron will necessary for acting as she saw fit.

Perhaps that's why she was easy prey for whatever evil that has claimed her and given her a new name.

Hermione's gaze returned to her essay. Her brows furrowed. She suddenly felt incompetent. She had gone into writing her essay thinking it would only take carefully crafted arguments to sway Edelweiss's mind. Yet if she were to believe the words Malfoy uttered, her friend was no more. She had been consumed by the fiend who named herself Darth Gladiolus.

And that fiend could not be allowed to retain her power.

As she began to consider the matter seriously, Hermione began fearing the only means for righting magical Britain was to seize the Ministry from that monster, Darth Gladiolus. They had to reject the limited democratic norms that had made the Ministry of Magic recognizable to her just long enough to ensure they could be saved and preserved for future generations.

She glanced up and caught Malfoy's gaze. "Say…" Hermione began warily. "What would it take to… overcome the Ministry?"

Malfoy paused. He then raised a considering eyebrow. "Don't tell me you're willing to plot treason."

"It isn't treason if it benefits the nation," said Hermione defensively. "What Edie has done is the real treason! She's trampled all over what people have fought and died for. She decided that just because she could kill Voldemort and Dumbledore she deserves to rule over all of magical Britain, instead of gaining legitimacy from where it truly comes from—the people."

Malfoy scoffed. "Most people will support anyone who promises to punish their enemies and reward their loyal followers." He then paused. "Punish their enemies… Reward their loyal followers…" He tilted his head slightly while holding her gaze. "Has 'Darth Gladiolus' rewarded her followers? You can argue she's punished her enemies."

"That's if you consider death to be a punishment," Hermione grumbled. She then sighed. "I don't think she's rewarded anyone yet. All she does is punish and punish, increasingly grasping power for herself. You've read her declaration. She's dissolved the Wizengamot—a flawed institution, yes, but one that countered the power of the Ministry."

"Yet she says she'll install a new one."

Hermione scoffed. "I would be shocked if she follows through on that promise. The way she's going, by the time she reaches that promised day of a new body, she will have already betrayed the trust which led to anyone to willing allow her the power to dictate how the world should work."

To her surprise, Malfoy's lips curled into a cruel smile. "You have not even spoken of her greatest evil. Our gracious Lord Gladiolus has declared herself a Dark Lord. Not publically. But everyone in the Ministry knows it. My mother knows it. It's half the reason she's done everything within her power to prevent Potter from coming to Malfoy Manor, despite requests worded to all but command compliance."

She paused. Hermione had not expected Malfoy to reveal any secrets. He held plenty to the chest, despite all he said during meetings. He had a talent for filling the air with meaningless words and phrases. It would be impressive, if it did not infuriate her.

"Is she willing to help?" Hermione found herself asking. "Your mother. Will she—"

"I'm afraid not," Malfoy said. He sounded sincere, which took Hermione by surprise. "My mother will not bow to Potter's power, for she will not support one who has shed the blood of House Black. If there is anything my mother is, it is faithful to that which matters."

"Blood," said Hermione, less judgmental than she might have been in the past.

"Indeed," Malfoy replied with a smirk. "Blood has controlled the fate of magical Britain since before the Statute. Even before my ancestors came across with William the Conqueror, who himself was a squib. Some claim he's a muggle. But that is a lie."

Hermione blinked. She resisted the temptation to embrace the chance to learn more about magical Britain's history from someone who would have had it stuffed into his head as a small boy. Instead, she paused to take in a deep breath before asking, "Then do you have anything useful to provide me, Malfoy? Or did you just come by to give me grief?"

He did not answer immediately. Malfoy spent the better part of a minute thinking through possible answers. Hermione suspected she would receive nothing but deceit and being stonewalled.

So when Malfoy said, "Yes. I am willing to help you," Hermione was taken aback. She had hoped her alliance with Malfoy might prove fruitful. But never had she thought he would be willing to aid her. "Once you finish your little 'letter to the editor' for the Prophet, I'd like to read it over. Edit it. There are things I know—ideas only I possess—that will make your writing more effective with those in the populace willing to support opposition to Potter."

Hermione feared for a second he spoke of blood purity before tossing that fear aside. The concern of her letter was the Wizengamot and Edelweiss's mad destruction of magical Britain's institutions. Despite families holding seats on the body for generations, many had changed hands often enough that any fixation on blood purity would read strangely within the rest of her writing.

"Fine. But I will have final approval."

Malfoy smiled widely. "I would ask for nothing less, Granger."

And with that, he rose to his feet and walked away. Hermione sighed and returned to her work. A burst of inspiration struck her. She put quill to parchment. The sooner she finished, the sooner she could be published.

And the sooner I can affect the country for the better.

A letter concerning the declaration of abolition for the old Wizengamot, and the decision to create an allegedly more modern legislative and judicial body,

I write filled with doubt and uncertainty about the future. Already an institution, which has served magical Britain well throughout the centuries despite its many well-known issues, has been torn down and destroyed by the 'Lord Gladiolus' who has brazenly and unlawfully accepted the title of 'Witch-queen'. With the abolition of the Wizengamot, the greatest and most long-lasting counter to unrestricted use of power by the Minister for Magic has been cast aside, all because a single witch who thinks herself a dark lord has decided it must be so.

It would be most proper to call this 'Lord Gladiolus' a dark lord. Since she has demanded the title of 'lord' instead of 'lady', then I shall respect it—and declare her to be what we all know she is. A dark lord. Perhaps cowardice or terror holds most back, but I cannot remain silent. To remain silent would be to betray the promises made by those who came before myself, and my generation.

We were not the ones who failed following the previous Dark Lord's first defeat. We are their inheritors, left to pick up the pieces of a broken and shattered generation.

And unfortunately, we failed. We failed the one meant to be our champion, allowing her to evolve into an agent of evil. For that is what she has become. Lord Gladiolus is welcome to posture and postulate about her alleged reasons for the actions she takes. But at the end of the day, all she seeks is power. This new Wizengamot shall be bound to her, and any within that body—be they from lines centuries old or newly come to magic—shall be disposed of, should they not fall in line with that which she desires.

So it must be that magical Britain rejects the Dark Lord who has seized power. She has stepped over the corpse of Albus Dumbledore to claim power over all. She has even destroyed one of her own, the very Dark Lord who slew her parents and made her famous enough to dare seize power in the first place.

Sincere in my pursuit of justice and liberty,

Cassius

"And what about this… Cassius?" asked Minister Fudge with a shiver. "Will you not do anything?"

Gladiolus turned her sulfuric gaze upon him. Two weeks had passed since The Daily Prophet printed a letter written by one 'Cassius' that rejected her proposal to rebuild the Wizengamot. She would not allow whomever it was under a pseudonym to stop her. Already some questioned her plan. But it did not matter. The old Wizengamot was already abolished. Among those who attempted to protest her action posthumously, some had been secretly shipped off to Azkaban while others had been sent off to re-education facilities scattered across the hinterlands of Wales and the Scottish highlands.

"What about them?" she asked with a sneer. When Minister Fudge offered nothing valuable, Gladiolus continued. "It matters not. The public shall fall in line, no matter what others attempt. Having one who questions my plans could be useful." A sly smile came to her lips as a plot formed in her mind. "Indeed. I could use this 'Cassius' fool to develop the argument in favor of my new Wizengamot. They will rove their use to me so."

"…'your new Wizengamot'?" questioned Madam Bones. She was the only department head who remained behind after Gladiolus dismissed them. "You forget why we agreed to your proposal in the first place. The Wizengamot could not deal with either Dumbledore or You-Know-Who which led to us approving your declaration of abolition."

Gladiolus clenched a hand, focusing her anger there. She resisted the temptation to draw on the dark side's power. Madam Bones had surprised her in recent months, slowly working to fill a position that made her a linchpin in much that Gladiolus plotted. Should Bones turn against the Sith Lord, then so would the DMLE. She did not fear the prospect of fighting the aurors, the hit wizards, and even the patrolmen. But slaughtering the men and women who ensured peace and order in magical Britain would weaken her position should rebellious elements dare arise.

They were necessary for imposing her will on all of magical Britain. That was how it remained in the present. The sooner she changed that, the sooner she would be freed of this new chain cast around her neck. The Sith Code promised freedom through power, strength, victory, and above all—the Force.

She only needed to see them through to her glorious end.

"I understand why you see it so," Gladiolus replied. "But the public will see it otherwise. The legitimacy of this future Wizengamot relies upon my legitimacy. And while I know you distrust my methods, Amelia, you must admit that my plan is better than any put forward in a century."

The redheaded witch glowered. Amelia's expression amused the Sith Lord, especially with how her monocle muddled that otherwise fierce look. Still, Gladiolus treated her seriously. She chaffed at having to maintain Amelia's post among her inner circle.

But it was necessary.

All I do is necessary.

"Unless you have any serious criticism of how I help to run this government or the plans I have laid forth for the future of magical Britain, you are dismissed for the day, Madam Bones. I imagine your department has been busier than normal recently."

Madam Bones rose to her feet with a cold look on her face. "I will go, then. But be careful, Lord Gladiolus. You draw closer and closer to upsetting the balance in magical Britain so far you can never restore the peace everyone jealously desires."

Gladiolus waited until Amelia left before smirking to herself. It was amusing that the woman was willing to subtly threaten her. She enjoyed the byplay, even if she would prefer for the woman to expunge her anger and frustration by another means. None could be allowed to suspect something was amiss among the uppermost ranks of the Ministry. Darth Gladiolus needed all to believe she was as powerful as she said. While it was true she was tremendously powerful, Gladiolus knew she could not claim all of Britain solely by her power alone. One day soon, she would possess that strength. But it was not hers yet.

Just you wait, Britain. One day, you shall all be mine.

FROM THE DESK OF DARTH GLADIOLUS

WITCH-QUEEN OF BRITAIN

A response to 'Cassius',

Hello, daring writer. I know you are writing under a pseudonym, taking on the moniker of the one who led the assassination plot against Caesar, who did all he must to secure the freedom and security of Rome's people. How daring, how brazen you are, to claim that you and he are one and the same. Perhaps you are his kin, by a fashion. And if that is true, then you are a traitor to Britain and all she stands for. You are the one who shall betray all who dare to trust you. And by doing so, you shall see not your goals fulfilled, but my vision come to fruition.

I have returned to your letter a few times in the weeks since it was first published in the Daily Prophet. I find it quite curious how you write of me and of the threats that I work to dismantle, now that the Dark Lords who threatened Britain's peace and security are dead. And yes, I do say 'Dark Lords' for a purpose. While Albus Dumbledore did not forward the typical causes associated with the dark lords of the past and of other lands, he acted in the manner of one. He gathered loyal, unthinking followers to his banner. He made promises impossible to fulfill, and he played games with the systems designed to maintain our magical society. And let us be frank: the purpose of these systems is to serve the long-term interest of that very society: the proliferation of it and its inhabitants.

But Dumbledore showed weakness where another dark lord would show strength. He allowed his enemies to escape justice, following Voldemort's first fall. Several slain by my hand within the confines of the Ministry of Magic were granted pardons or even exonerated of their crimes entirely. These were not innocents. They deserved their fates, and so were gifted the mercy of a clean death.

As for you, I would advise you to rethink what is in your best interest. I suspect you are not one of the purebloods who sought power through Voldemort. Perhaps you were one of Dumbledore's lackeys. If so, please desist with trying to restore whatever movement he tried to form. They were powerless before Voldemort. You are powerless before me. And while it pains me to admit a commonality with that foul monster, it is necessary for this argument.

All who stand against the peace and prosperity of magical Britain shall be laid low—or laid to rest.

I look forward to your next letter, for no doubt one shall come. It is as certain as the setting sun, Cassius.

Neville Longbottom entered his grandmother's solar and pursed his lips as he glanced around at the few dozen invited for whatever affair she wished for him to attend. He had only come home for the spring hols, thankful to be away from the increasingly cloistered atmosphere at Hogwarts. Not that this is much better, he thought, gazing around the solar one more. It was a large room for its purpose, with several plush chairs and a great window that allowed sunlight to wash through and illuminate all within. In the past year or so, his grandmother had begun to decorate the room with the plants he loved most. It was a subtle display of her pride in him and a reminder that she had recognized where she failed in raising him.

The greatest concern among those gathered, in Neville's mind, was the two remaining Malfoys. Narcissa Malfoy, born to the infamous Black family, glanced around with a bitter, almost estranged expression marring her face. Though Neville guessed there was a reason why. Narcissa Malfoy's gaze continually lingered on and fled from Andromeda Tonks, who his grandmother said was Narcissa's estranged sister and the mother of Nymphadora Tonks, one of two aurors killed during the Battle of the Department of Mysteries. They had been the sisters of Bellatrix Lestrange. And while part of Neville wished he could have been the one to finish them off, he did not resent the fact he had been unable to enact justice on Lestrange.

His gaze went to Malfoy, who was busy arguing with Hermione. He still found it bizarre to watch them interact without trying to hex each other. They had grown strangely close over the past year. Ever since Hermione brought Malfoy into the fold, Neville had begun to suspect something was entirely amiss. He could not say exactly how things were amiss, but that particular feeling was unshakable.

After all, Draco Malfoy was Lucius Malfoy's son.

Of course, the former patriarch of the Malfoy family had perished at Edelweiss's hand last May. He would not call her 'Darth Gladiolus' unless she demanded it from him face-to-face. She would remain Edelweiss Potter to him, no matter what she did.

He sighed, thinking of Edelweiss. She had been his friend, or so he continued to believe. She had believed in his capacity to be a great wizard. She had not decried him as weak or mocked him behind his back. Always she had been kind, seeing the potential hidden within him.

Perhaps that was why she saw such potential within herself. He had seen censured documents about her role in the Battle of the Department of Mysteries. Over a dozen Death Eaters had died by her hand, along with Auror Tonks, Mad-Eye Moody, and her godfather, Sirius Black. That last one had not seemed odd, yet trying to bring it up with either Hermione or Ron Weasley led to trouble. Neither was willing to speak about whatever existed between Edelweiss and her godfather. All he knew was that there had been something special and it was betrayed in the end.

His thoughts halted as his grandmother finally returned to the solar, the Greengrasses following in her wake. Daphne caught Neville's gaze and nodded once. She had stepped up within the group known as Dumbledore's Army now that they could expand and were no longer under Edelweiss's supreme authority. Where Hermione led, Daphne ensured all followed. Whether it was politically or magically, Daphne Greengrass worked to ensure all among their number maintained a capacity to keep pace.

"What a fascinating gathering," Neville's grandmother drawled as she gazed around. "Allies and friends, enemies and foes… We've all gathered here for a single reason: Something needs to be done about this 'Darth Gladiolus' madness, and needs to happen soon."

Several nodded and many more muttered their agreement.

"Now, I hope all of you have taken the time to look over the new and revised plan for the Wizengamot," Neville's grandmother continued. "I was surprised with the thoroughness the girl has placed into her plan. But then to assume what had once been Albus's purview within society requires a capable mind able to see what we are all blind to."

"That almost sounds like you approve of her actions," said a merchant Neville did not recognize. From what he knew, some of the special privileges particular merchant families had held for centuries were being eliminated. 'Economic liberalization', Edelweiss had called it in the announcement of the new policy. "That stupid bitch has nearly impoverished my family! I'm lucky she hasn't decided to chop me down like she did that fool Dumbledore!"

Shocked silence followed the outburst. Neville glanced around. Many held grim expressions, clearly sharing the merchant's opinion. He could not entirely agree with how they viewed his old friend. He had hoped some would remain somewhat open to what Edelweiss sought to achieve. Neville believed she genuinely cared about Britain. The trouble was that she had no trouble seeking and seizing power in order to make her vision a reality.

She risks becoming like the men she's hated, thought Neville. Edelweiss might have hated Dumbledore, but she had never acted power-thirsty around him. Not until she seized power in a single night, and slowly they were becoming strangers.

"I do not think she will wantonly murder those opposed to her," Neville said carefully. He stiffened upon receiving shocked and angry gazes. "Yes, Edie—"

"The bitch wants to be called 'Gladiolus'! Call her by that blasted name."

Neville turned to the pureblood who interrupted him. "Did you ever speak of Voldemort by his chosen name? Or did you speak about him by another epithet?"

"I…"

"That's what I thought," Neville snarled. He turned and scanned those now standing around him. "Edie has her plan. Yes, it is unfortunate that we're forced to engage with her on her terms. But that's how we've all had to live with Dumbledore and Voldemort. That's what she would tell us. And she truly believes that."

"So why are you defending her?" asked another.

"Because she's my friend. And because I do not wish to abandon my hope in her. She might be this 'Gladiolus' person for now, but I cannot believe it is permanent. Not even if some fool got lucky assassinating her."

Neville noticed a few wealthier purebloods on the far side of the chamber turn to each other with suspect looks. Nobody else minded them. It was as though they were not present.

"That's a very inspiring speech, Longbottom," said Draco Malfoy. He sauntered forward, gathering attention to him. "But I know as well as the rest that we cannot allow her to remain in power. Gladiolus must be removed. She must be… quarantined from society. Perhaps Azkaban. Perhaps exile. But either way, she must be removed.

"And I am not alone in this belief. I am confident everyone present knows of 'Cassius', the one who wrote a letter earlier this year in contention to Gladiolus's plot to turn the Wizengamot into her little fiefdom. We agree that something must be done. Some of us can act politically. Others can act economically." Malfoy paused and straightened, suddenly looking grown up. "And some of us might need to take up arms. If necessary, and only as a final resort."

"Would you be among that latter group?" asked a broad man with a thick brow. Neville had a feeling that man came from a family sympathetic to the Death Eaters, if not outright complicit. Several former Death Eaters had been arrested. Yet many who secretly believed Voldemort's doctrines persisted within society. Not even Edelweiss could sweep them all up. "Will you take up arms, Malfoy? Are you your father's son? Or do you remain a coward to the end?"

"My father died by Potter's hand. I will admit he wore a Death Eater's mask and had a blackened Dark Mark upon his arm. But he had been the Dark Lord's pawn before. He became that again, and I lost my father for that very reason."

The other man huffed. "Sounds like you're a coward as well, Malfoy—"

Before the man could finish his thought, a wand sprung into Draco Malfoy's hand. His lips moved, but Neville heard no incantation. A violet spell shot forth and hit the man before he could draw and raise his wand.

"No fighting!" shouted Neville's grandmother. Malfoy paused to raise an eyebrow. "We are here to speak peacefully, not to behave like egotist children!"

"You're right, Madam Longbottom," Malfoy said. He slipped his wand back into his sleeve and took a step back to where his mother stood nervously. "I am only tired of being named a coward. If that were true, neither my mother nor I would be here. We would have hidden behind the wards of Malfoy Manor, hoping they would be enough to protect us against Darth Gladiolus."

"You speak as if she'll have cause to strike against your family," Greengrass's father declared. "Any reason why?"

Draco Malfoy offered a small smile. "I know Potter well enough to guess that she will not sit still forever as people question her and her vision for our society. Give it enough time. She will act. And given the changes with her, she will act violently enough to poison the people against her."

Little else of importance was said before people began to depart. Neville watched them go, troubled by what transpired. He had a feeling that any peaceful path toward resolution with Edelweiss—with Gladiolus—had been lost forever.

And he could not say why.

A critique of the new Wizengamot's workings and declarations,

Once more I write to the public on the matter of the Wizengamot. It was January when the old body was dissolved. Now that it is May, there has been enough time since the body's reformation for observers to begin making early judgments. Do note my opinions are bound to change in some regard. Whether that change will be minor or major cannot be foreseen in the present. All I can state with grim confidence is that 'Lord Gladiolus' has not made good on her promises.

Firstly, I have noted that three of the sixty-seven-member body happen to be related to families who held seats on the old body which were passed down their bloodline. This kind of aristocratic primogeniture was promised by Lord Gladiolus to be completely and utterly abolished. While I do recognize that she has made good on this point with the other sixty, that any slipped through is a reminder that she cannot be trusted. For all she calls herself a 'Witch-Queen', Gladiolus is fundamentally no different from the dark lords of old—or even recent years. If one were to mind the obituaries of the past seven months, one would see a decidedly slow trend of disappearances—a trend which continues to persist. Not only that, but it persists enough that one could predict a disappearance during the next thirteen days. Whom it shall be is unknown, for there is no trend as there had been with Grindelwald and You-Know-Who. Only a pattern that can be detected.

Of their fate, none know.

Secondly, of those accepted from backgrounds previously excluded by the old Wizengamot, only seven are of muggleborn origin. While this may not seem like much, almost a quarter of our population is muggleborn. As such, one would expect over fifteen members of the Wizengamot to be muggleborn. Could this lack be due to background? It is well known among muggleborns that discrimination has prevented many from achieving posts beyond the bottom rung of the managerial core that comprises the Ministry's true power. Only in the DMLE does one find anything approximating equality in terms of 'blood purity', that foolish and outdated mode of thinking from the previous decades of this century.

And a point I find most important and dear to my heart is that of elected members of the Wizengamot. While there was representation from the government in the form of seats for the Minister and the Department Heads, only one—the Minister—was elected, and even then the popular vote had little influence on the outcome. Proposed districts have been laid out, yet in accordance with the seats that have been established for the Wizengamot, it will be difficult for the massive populations around urbanized centers to influence this body—whereas more rural members of our community, almost exclusively pureblood—will maintain a strong influence even though many have had their family seat stripped from them.

Unless 'Lord Gladiolus' finds a means by which to address these points, then the public must put forth enough pressure to force her hand and put forth a change that shall truly benefit the public as a whole. Otherwise, she shall prove herself a liar and betray the trust of those who have sought to put their hope and faith in her, despite their inability to influence any choice or decision she makes. Imperfect the prior system may have been, but it lasted for a reason.

Because, at the end of the day, the old system worked for the majority. That was the best we could ask for from a system of governance.

I await your response, 'Gladiolus',

Cassius

Darth Gladiolus was caught between seething and grinning as she reread the newest letter of 'Cassius'. She already suspected the identity of the writer. More than merely suspect, for the writing style felt intimately familiar. But for some queer reason, she had no desire to expose the one responsible. Perhaps she wished for her to come forward, to reveal who she was and why she truly opposed Gladiolus. For if 'Cassius' was whom the Sith Lord suspected, then Darth Gladiolus imagined that the cause was petty anger.

This was one more betrayal. The most recent in a litany that went back to the days following the deaths of her parents.

Her hands suddenly clenched around the copy of The Daily Prophet she held. Paper crinkled and tore. She restrained her wrath so that the paper she held would not burst into flames. It would be all too easy to give in to her frustration and hatred, and in doing so destroy evidence of Hermione's betrayal.

It would be safest to deal with this threat now, Gladiolus thought. If she cannot awaken to the truth that my rule is just and good for Britain, then she should be cast aside. Once I counted Hermione as my dearest friend. Even amidst my Sith training, I held on to the prospect she would be vital to my future rule. But I was mistaken. She had long become Dumbledore's creature. A girl whose face hid the rot within.

And yet, would the public readily accept her crimes as being worth treason? I can declare it so. The dark side would allow me to sway hearts and minds. And yet…

And yet her true crime is to reject who I have become. To hold on to the memory of that weak, insipid girl.

And that explained the heart of her anger with her former friend. Hermione rejected Darth Gladiolus and all she stood for. Gladiolus knew Hermione would rather call her 'Edelweiss' instead of acknowledging the Sith Lord her friend had become. The reason she did not was simple: the act of improper naming would welcome reprisals from those who truly believed in Darth Gladiolus. And for her part, Hermione required the good graces of the public to continue putting forward her subversive arguments.

As she considered reprisals against Hermione, Gladiolus began to ponder whether they would succeed in cowing the population as she desired, or if she would accidentally create a martyr, someone whose punishment could galvanize the remnants of Dumbledore's followers and those blood supremacists who would seize any hope to avenge their failed, fallen dark lord. That combination could almost be a threat. But for that to come to pass, they would need to find common ground. Gladiolus did not believe she posed that great a threat to their desires to achieve that status. But then, she could be wrong as unlikely as it was.

I should destroy those who oppose me before they can strike. But could they strike against me? Could they bring together enough strength and clarity of will to threaten my rule?

Darth Gladiolus was certain that the answer to both questions was a firm, resounding no. She had little to worry about now, and soon she would have nothing to worry about.

She sensed an approaching presence. The very one she had been waiting on when she returned to the recent Cassius letter. She tossed aside the crushed article as Auror Proudfoot entered her office.

"Lord Gladiolus," the old auror said, masking any distaste he held in his heart. "You wished to join us for training?"

"Yes, I did." She rose from her seat and pushed it in with a small wave of her hand. The auror did not react. "Thank you for coming as I requested, Auror Proudfoot. I am pleased your colleagues finally agreed."

He shot her a darkly amused smile. Gladiolus sensed his desire to fight her, to measure his strength against hers. Many aurors had determined seniority not off of experience, but strength. Magical power and ability could mean the difference between life and death in a sticky situation. She sensed how he considered himself less capable compared to Mad-Eye Moody. But then the infamous auror died for the crime of trying to sneak up on her. She had crushed him like an insect, for he had acted like one.

A shame he could not have perished in a proper duel.

"Lead the way, auror. I may know many secrets, but the location of the auror's training site is not one of them."

Not yet, anyways, she thought with a blank face. Through Proudfoot, whether by his feelings or his feet, she would learn where they trained.

And that would place them in Gladiolus's hand. They just did not know yet.

Proudfoot led the way from Gladiolus's office, placed next door to Minister Fudge's suite of rooms. She understood Cornelius wanted her close, yet not so near she could reach him without warning. Feelings of distrust lurked under the man's skin. It was unsurprising, given she forced him to bow with Voldemort's corpse at her feet and Dumbledore's lying several yards away. But he could not risk placing her at the far end of the floor. Else people would begin to whisper, and that course of events would bring about the end of his career. Fudge, as her ministerial puppet, was useful as long as he remained loyal.

The time to cut him loose grew closer. Gladiolus felt it in the Force, weak and faint as it was. She did not know the when. She only knew it would come to pass, like winter into spring.

They entered an elevator. Proudfoot considered Gladiolus with skepticism and concern before saying, "Auror training hall. Clearance amber."

The doors closed. But instead of rising as Gladiolus expected, the elevator shifted down, deeper into the ground. She glanced at the auror. Amusement rippled off him in thick waves. If she did not know better, she would suspect he was attempting to prank her. Fool him, thinking he could fool her. She focused her mind and parsed out the ball of emotions at Proudfoot's core. Too much of what she sensed churned uselessly, so she ignored that. What she desired was his honest feelings toward taking her to the place where aurors trained. Gladiolus sensed a shred of disapproval, layered with curiosity, fear, and a drive to prove himself.

The descent stretched on and on. Gladiolus's patience dragged. She was sorely tempted to use the Force and compel the elevator car to descend faster. Her power with the Force was all but an open secret within the Ministry; everyone knew she possessed powers greater than even Dumbledore or Voldemort. They only failed to understand what those powers were and how they worked.

And then the car slowed to a stop. It shivered before stilling long enough for the door to open.

"Come along, Lord Gladiolus," said Auror Proudfoot as he stepped out. "The car won't linger long."

She followed and the door closed behind her. Gladiolus glanced back to discover exposed frameworks behind them. The elevator car shifted before returning to the Ministry above. She raised an impressed eyebrow before following Auror Proudfoot. He had continued walking, knowing she would follow. Part of her wanted to strike him down for the perceived insult of not waiting, but she understood that a pawn like him was too valuable to be sacrificed at the present.

Auror Proudfoot guided her down a narrow corridor that slowly descended further and further into the earth. Gladiolus recalled the chamber beneath Grimmauld Place, where she once trained with her late godfather. She blinked. Had she thought of Sirius Black since he perished by her hand? She had not intended to take his life, but it happened nonetheless. It mattered not. The past had happened. It was done. The future was hers to rule as she saw fit.

Eventually, they reached a tall door. Auror Proudfoot tapped a plain copper panel with his wand. The door unlatched but did not open.

He turned to face Gladiolus. "The moment we pass through that door, you will be privy to one of the Ministry's best-kept secrets."

Gladiolus bit her tongue and nodded before she could utter anything that might reveal her skepticism about the Ministry of Magic and keeping secrets. So few had the strength of will and mind to keep her out that she had begun to gather and categorize all of the many, many secrets and rumors that kept the Ministry afloat. After all, power and privilege were traded at leisure. If the aurors wished to believe they maintained great secrets from her, then let them. She would extract their secrets one by one, gathering all they knew until she could peer through the lies they told.

Auror Proudfoot entered the room and Gladiolus followed him across the threshold. She passed through a cold wave of dark magic. She grinned. Funny how the ones entrusted to hunt down dark witches and wizards relied on dark magic to defend their secret training facility.

The chamber was ten times the size of the one beneath Grimmauld Place. The ceiling rose high above them, ribbed with bronze chains. Several massive chandeliers swung high above, each bearing a hundred flickering candles with pounds of melted, dribbling wax. Several aurors were busy sparring, shooting spells at each other around particular set-ups no doubt built to emulate the situations they often found themselves in. One pair shot at each other from around corners while another appeared to be fighting her way up a stairwell.

"What do you think, Lord Gladiolus? Does this garner your approval?"

She shot Auror Proudfoot an annoyed frown. He smiled proudly, hands resting close enough to his hips to remind her of American muggle superheroes.

"It's suitable," Gladiolus said. She then shrugged off her cloak, revealing her tattooed arms and her battle garb, boots and gauntlets included. "I wonder…"

She summoned her lightsaber from her belt. There was a secret dial on her weapon, which managed the blade's intensity. She drew down on it before activating her lightsaber. Auror Proudfoot flinched at the snap-hiss, while Gladiolus judged the blade's intensity. She had a feeling that if she struck the man beside her right now, she would only disable his limbs, not carve them off.

"Care to entertain me?" asked Gladiolus, smiling cruelly at the auror. "You did promise a duel."

He glanced at her lightsaber, then at her face. His gaze hardened. "As long as I can get a few others to join me. You handled Dumbledore and You-Know-Who at the same time."

"That I did," Gladiolus declared with a wide, toothy grin. "Go ahead, Proudfoot. I doubt even ten aurors would be enough to fight me at once."

Auror Proudfoot shot her a look as though he were already imagining what it would be like to force her to eat her words. He was welcome to try.

Questions concerning a lack of response,

I had not intended to write this letter. But the hour for the students of Hogwarts to board the Express and return to school is now at hand. The summer has come to an end, and I find it appropriate to write now, for Lord Gladiolus, who has all but subverted the Ministry of Magic to her will, has failed to respond to the questions and concerns from my prior letter. Why not respond over the summer, when the attention of the country was upon the Ministry and the new Wizengamot?

Is Lord Gladiolus afraid to respond to my questions? Or does she think them so insignificant that she can ignore them? Perhaps she assumes, that since I write under a pseudonym, that I am not serious in my criticisms. That my opinions are not widespread through society. As though they are not kept from her out of fear of what she might do.

And some may wonder what there is to fear from Lord Gladiolus. After all, she did free magical Britain from a resurgent Voldemort, whose very return she warned of a year before she stepped forward and slew that monster.

But that was not the sole great man she slew that night. And note that when I use "great man", I use it in the historiographical sense. While the concept of the great man is, more or less, foolhardy and incorrect, there are rare moments when men or women arise to the occasion within their society and fundamentally, alter its course through history.

For good and ill, that was exactly what Voldemort and his counterpart, Albus Dumbledore, did for magical Britain throughout the 20th Century. Perhaps Darth Gladiolus believes herself worthy to join this lofty group.

But then the blood of both men is on her hands.

And there lies the rub. The power Gladiolus bears over the Ministry and thus magical Britain emerges from how she murdered her rivals. Albus Dumbledore, the long respected and beloved Headmaster of Hogwarts, not only died by her hand, but the events that removed him from Hogwarts occurred because of her plotting and planning. She sought to seize that which was his: his influence, his life, and his power. That she has not also brought Hogwarts under her control is a surprise—but only to those who did not know her before her transformation into Darth Gladiolus.

Fundamentally, the issue at hand with Gladiolus and her changes to society is not whether or not they are good, but the truth that all she does is to ensure more and more power is consolidated in her hands.

For the good of Britain, she must be removed from power.

Cassius

Every morning when owls soared into the Great Hall, Hermione expected a letter from Edelweiss—from Gladiolus—or at least a response to her letters in the Prophet. Some days she feared aurors would march into Hogwarts before remembering that Edelweiss tended toward acting of her own volition. The thought of witnessing Darth Gladiolus, with her glowing sulfuric eyes and foul aura enter the castle sent fear and awe alike up Hermione's spine. Despite the fact they had been friends for almost five years, Hermione could not say she understood her old friend now. So much had happened and changed that Hermione struggled with the belief, real yet not, that Edelweiss Potter had died over a year prior at the end of their fifth year.

And now here we are at the beginning of our seventh…

A creature existed in her friend's skin. All Hermione could do was convince the people to turn away from Gladiolus, to reject the Ministry's illegitimate rule, and seek a proper and just system of governance. She doubted many would be willing to rise against Gladiolus these days. And fewer would dare aim their wand at her.

Hermione sighed and rubbed her brow. She took her meals alone now. Ron and Lavender had grown close, while Ginny and Dean continued going strong from last year. She knew about their lives, but she was not involved. Not when she plotted and planned treason with Draco Malfoy in secret corners of the castle. She knew, by the letter of the law, they were traitors to the nation. But deep in her heart, she knew what they planned was the moral action to take. They could not allow the monster that killed her best friend to continue her rule. And somehow, she had acquired support from the Queen. The Queen!

"You look troubled, Hermione," said Neville as he sat across from her. "Thinking about Edie?"

She smiled, surprised he would join her. "I'm just concerned about the future, Nev. This is our last year here at Hogwarts, and I'm worried someone might leak my personal opinions."

To her surprise, Neville smiled fondly. "You don't need to worry that much about it, Hermione. People are growing… dissatisfied with how Edie manages the Ministry."

"…are you not worried someone might report you for not calling her 'Gladiolus'?"

Neville shrugged. "If I lose my liberty for something that insignificant, then I've already betrayed the memory of my parents." His smile weakened, as though whatever prompted the expression pained him too much to speak of. "If I had known…" He sighed and shook his head.

"Nev…"

An eagle owl suddenly landed before Hermione. She flinched back, even as it offered the letter strapped to a leg. Her gut twisted at the sight. The only person she had ever known at Hogwarts to send or receive mail via an eagle owl was Draco Malfoy. She resisted the urge to look his way while she accepted the letter and opened it up.

The eagle owl took flight as she read:

Miss Granger,

You are cordially invited to the Samhain celebrations at Malfoy Manor in Wiltshire. A portkey will be prepared to transport you from Hogwarts School should you acquiesce to attend.

Please send a reply before the end of September.

Sincerely,

Narcissa Malfoy

Lady Regent

Hermione blinked. From time to time, she had wondered what Malfoy's mother would think about her son's closest companion of late being a muggleborn witch. And while they would never date or engage in more amorous actions like other fellow travelers might, a kind of affection had formed between them.

"Who's that from?" asked Neville.

Hermione glanced from Neville to the rest of Gryffindor table. Most seats were filled, but nobody nearby paid them a lick of attention. She pursed her lips as she considered whether or not Neville could be trusted with the truth. After several seconds, she decided to trust her gut and said, "I was invited to Samhain celebrations at the Malfoy's."

Neville did not appear surprised. "Gran informed me yesterday that she'll be attending their celebration as well."

Hermione frowned. "I thought you were involved with the effort to resist her."

"I owe Edie a lot," Neville confessed. "And I cannot in good consciousness stand back and allow her to run ramshod over our society. I won't fault her for approaching the Ministry as she has, but she betrayed the trust of many since she seized power in June of last year. And yet…"

"And yet?"

He sighed. "I've noticed an increase in militancy among those opposed to Edie. I cannot bring myself to raise a wand against her, regardless of the wrongs she has committed."

Hermione nodded, for she understood Neville's position. She had noticed the same, but she thought that maybe—just maybe—she could do it. To fight against her old friend. In another life, she knew she would have backed Edelweiss's reforms at the Ministry. But she could not bring herself around to that position. Her old friend had become a tyrant and Darth Gladiolus held no fondness for that old, forgotten friendship. Hermione wished there could have been a sign one way or the other before that terrible day when Edelweiss Potter was shed like a chrysalis of a demented butterfly.

"Then I hope you won't take it personally when nobody continues communicating about actions to resist her," said Hermione. "I only wish…"

Neville nodded, accenting to her position. They then turned to their breakfasts, saying nothing further.

Draco watched Dumbledore supporters and former Death Eaters brush shoulders from above. This was the first proper Samhain celebration in a hundred years, and it was only being held as cover for a secret meeting to plan the removal of a monster more dangerous than either the former Headmaster and the Dark Lord. One day soon, he hoped, they would expel Potter from her position within the Ministry. Darth Gladiolus was a parasite, a cancer devouring the fabric of British society. He would happily see her removed, and even more happily take revenge for his father's murder by ending her wretched life.

His gaze found Hermione Granger as she cut a beeline to the stairs up to where Draco hid. She had been trying to hunt him down all night, or so he assumed. She had learned how to mask her more potent emotions, though Draco doubted Granger would ever develop the subtly and graces necessary to climb high in magical society.

A shame she's so simple and of poor stock. She's truly talented and her memory is stronger than just about any witch or wizard I know.

He remained bitter that Granger managed to draw undesired emotions from him. But he surmised some fondness had to form after a year of being conspirators. Granger had not realized exactly what they were until he had gotten her deep enough into his plots. Yet to his surprise, she had not been furious about his plotting. Annoyed, yes. But not furious. She had accepted the need to remove Gladiolus from her position; even if her heart was weak enough she preferred rehabilitation to execution.

"There you are!" the devil hissed, finally catching him. "I've been trying to find you all night!"

"I know," Draco said. "And I happened to find it amusing." Her mouth opened, but he cut her off with a raised hand. "I understand you're annoyed with me, Granger, but I want you to hear me out."

"Then make it worth my while hunting you down," Granger snarled. She then crossed her arms. "You've been avoiding me since I received your mother's invitation. Is there a cause for that?"

"Secrecy, naturally. Davis has been slinking around my business more and more. Everyone knows she's the sole supporter Potter has in Slytherin. The Greengrass's are sitting back and watching. Nott is content to handle matters as his family always has—by doing nothing."

"And Zabini?"

Draco blinked. He had almost forgotten the Italian had been involved with the cabal in their fifth year. "He's taking his NEWTs over the winter hols. Back to Venice with him, I'd bet."

"A shame, but I doubt he'd stand against Edie." Granger paused and considered him head-on, as though they were equals. "That's what you're going to propose. Revolution."

"That word disgusts me, but yes."

He had not thought Granger would ever realize what the true plan was. It seemed she finally proved him wrong.

"You've been using me to gather others to fight and die."

"You caught me," he said with a sly smirk. Granger crossed her arms, one last moment of indignation away from puffing up like a furious kitten. "I do value your contributions to our movement. Your presence has drawn many who might have sided with Gladiolus because of those with my… sympathies. And the fact that she has yet to respond to your recent letters as 'Cassius' has led others to question whether she truly desires the best for our nation."

"Has there been a single honest moment between us these past several months? Or have you been using me from the start?"

He sighed and rolled his eyes. "You've been using me as well, Granger." She puffed up, just as he expected. "Don't act as if you accepted me into your group last year purely because you wanted like-minded individuals of all stripes involved. You knew my presence would influence those who'd never listen to you otherwise."

Her cheeks flushed bright red. Granger turned away with pursed lips. Draco nearly grinned at how he struck a nerve so deeply. She amused him, attempting to act like a Slytherin despite detesting them.

"And I was amused by your willingness to ask for my aid," he continued. "You certainly learned underhanded tactics from Potter. She was certainly more adept than you in behaving akin to a Slytherin, and has only grown better at wielding influence and power since she seized it."

Granger's anger burned bright, overriding whatever logical sense usually drove her. "I am nothing like her!"

"Then you'll fight her?" asked Draco, offering enough rope to bring Granger to his position—or give her enough rope to hang herself with. "You already realized what's afoot, Granger. Will you fight for the future of Britain, no matter what you must do? No matter whom you must work with?"

Granger wavered for only a second before her brandy brown eyes hardened. "I'll do it, Malfoy."

"Then call me Draco, Hermione."

He smiled then, barely hiding its vicious edge.

Soon, Father. You will be avenged.

Gladiolus looked up from her notes seeking to make sense of the theories developed by some Dark Jedi long dead when the Sith stepped forth into the galaxy. Grimmauld Place's fireplace burned green as someone passed through the Floo. She wondered who would dare be so brazen as to speak with her at home. Even Amelia knew not to trouble her so.

Tracey Davis—who should be at Hogwarts—stepped through the fireplace, wiping soot from her black, unmarked robe. Increasingly those who favored Gladiolus's rule over magical Britain had taken to wearing strictly black.

She bowed to Gladiolus with a slight curtsey.

"Why have you sought me out, Davis?"

"My lord. I have learned of a plot against you. One that seeks to attack you soon, and to take the power you have—"

"That's enough," Gladiolus said, raising a hand. "A plot, you say?"

Davis hesitated before nodding.

Gladiolus set her notes down and rubbed her chin thoughtfully. "What do you know of this plot?"

"Little, I'm afraid. Daphne's family has been supporting those who question your rule. But they've remained away from anyone who might dare to overthrow you."

"Yet you speak as that a revolt might be imminent."

Davis shrugged awkwardly. "All I know is that there are whispers of rebellion. Nothing about when or by whom— Ah, that reminds me." Davis straightened and met Gladiolus's sulfuric gaze. "Malfoy and Granger began spending time together ever since he got recruited into what remained of 'Dumbledore's Army'. I only learned recently. I was not invited back. Too loyal to you, or so I was told."

"And how did you learn?"

Davis glanced away, cheeks flushing brightly. "They were seen together at the Malfoy's Samhain celebration."

"I'm surprised Malfoy would deign to be around Hermione, let alone join a group named after a man he often derided."

"He'd love to kill you, my lord. Everyone in Slytherin knows that he holds a grudge over you killing his father."

Gladiolus smirked. The Malfoys became persona non grata across all of society. The isolation had not been her doing. The Malfoys had even distanced themselves from the levers of power.

And she finally understood why. They knew I would detect their plot, so they had to take it into secrecy. Away from my gaze, and my powers. And they even twisted Hermione to their cause. I'd be impressed if were it not so easy.

She knew she could reach out to Wiltshire and sense what they planned. But where was the fun in that? The Malfoys desired to usurp her. Maybe even to kill her out of revenge. They would try and rally any within the Ministry foolish enough to oppose her. Some, too valuable due to their skills, might even take the chance to throw off her yoke.

But the aurors would not support the Malfoys. They were hers. They did not know it yet. But the moment she ordered them into battle, their hearts and minds would be hers. The Auror Corps would soon be nothing more than the Fist of Darth Gladiolus.

And the first her Fist would crush would be whatever pathetic rebellion Malfoy and Granger built together.

"Thank you for informing me, Tracey," Gladiolus purred. "If you learn any more of their plot, send word. Otherwise, return to your normal life."

"…and if they ask me to join them?"

"Reject them however you can," Gladiolus said, now bored of her conversation. "I will show no mercy. Not even to spies loyal to me. There will be no hesitation in punishing those who wrong me."

"Of course, my lord," said Davis, bowing low enough her dark blonde hair covered her face. "I will not ask for mercy for Daphne, should she be involved. I know you won't show her mercy."

"Greengrass knows my power. She would be a fool to join."

Davis did not respond. Gladiolus could sense the girl's uncertainty—and something more. Something… unique.

Something she had been secretly searching for, for some time.

"Oh, and Tracey?" she said as Davis went to leave. The girl froze, no doubt fearing she would be reprimanded for departing without a warrant. "When this is over and we have peace, seek me out. I believe you could one day be worthy of my power."

Shock, awe, and uncertainty flared within Tracey Davis. But no doubt. No. The girl believed Gladiolus's words, and that would be all she required to command the girl's loyalty until she knelt before the Dark Lord of the Sith and swore fealty to her teachings.