Chapter 18

The Reign of Injustice

May 25 1992, Hogwarts, Scotland

Pain. Unrelenting, eternal pain. That was all Alexandra felt when she regained consciousness. Her body felt like she had been bathed in a torrent flames in the dungeons of Barad-Dûr. She groaned in pain, trying to move, but her arms and legs refused to answer. Turning her head, she saw white walls and a white ceiling all around her. The green-eyed witch groaned. Unless she missed something, for the second time of her time at the magical school Alexandra had been transported to the Hospital Wing of Hogwarts unconscious.

After several seconds passing grunting and mobilising her energy, the Ravenclaw first-year managed to make her arms and her legs answer, allowing her to move in a better position on the bed she was currently lying on, confirming this was indeed the main room of the Hospital Wing. That was the extent of the good news. Seeing her right arm bandaged and immobilised in front of her, the memories of her taking a midnight-coloured curse in her right palm did not seem ridiculous after all. Nor was the fact she had broken curfew to save Hermione and a few moronic Gryffindors. In the bed in front of her, Lavender Brown was lying unconscious. By the looks of the bandages on her body, the gossip queen of the Lions had had her arms and legs smashed after a fall. Certainly the work of the flying keys in the trial of Flitwick.

Next to Lavender was Seamus Finnigan, who by his near-carbonised looks, appeared to have been caught in an explosion of epic proportions. A big one, for the Gryffindor to show such burns with his extraordinary precedents during the year. His hair were also worthy of the style 'mad scientist'. Finnigan was unconscious, although the Irish boy was groaning at irregular intervals "not the snare, not the snare" in his sleep. No need to be a genius to know the pyromaniac had tried to burn the Devil Snare only to nearly cook himself in the process.

Alexandra position at the end of the infirmary didn't allow her to see if others first-years were present too. She really hoped not, as it meant more persons had been seriously wounded, but in her heart she was sure the contrary was true. The two rooms where Seamus and Lavender had been in all likelihood hurt had not really been challenging for her on December 31 (or January 1 if one wanted to be accurate). Chances were very high someone had been injured fighting the mountain troll, drunk the wrong bottle and poisoned himself or been crushed by the weapon of an animated chessman. Alexandra just hoped it was not Hermione. The others Gryffindors were unimportant, her first friend was not.

Just as she was imagining all the possible injuries and damages the Golden Trio and the rest of the first-years may have encountered on their stupid quest, someone spoke to her left.

"Good afternoon, Neville."

It was the voice of Headmaster Albus Dumbledore. Alexandra turned her head, but the view to the Headmaster and the Boy-Who-Lived was sadly blocked by white sheet and white panels, letting only their shadows appear in a corner at the other side of the infirmary.

After a moment, the voice of the Boy-Who-Lived, well-alive, exclaimed:

"Sir! The Stone! It was Quirrell! He's got the Stone! Sir, quick –"

"Calm yourself, dear boy, you are a little behind the times," affirmed Dumbledore in his best grandfather-noble and powerful wizard voice. "Quirrell does not have the Stone."

The voice of her magical guardian had been without worry or anything approaching it. Alexandra grimaced. She had often wondered in the last months if the Stone placed in this infernal mirror had been a fake. Well, now she had a clue about the answer.

"Then who does? Sir, I –"

"Neville, please relax, or Madam Pomfrey will have me thrown out."

Judging by the silence which followed, Longbottom was evaluating where he was. It must have been near a pile of presents from fans and admirers, because the happy voice of the Professor explained shortly after that these were "Tokens from your friends and your admirers."

The headmaster continued in this cheerful and beaming voice, like if waking up in the infirmary after being unconscious was no big deal.

"What happened down in the dungeons between you and Professor Quirrell is a complete secret, so, naturally, the whole school knows."

No surprise there, the Hogwarts rumour mill was terribly efficient and there had been too many witnesses.

"I believe your friends Misters Fred and George Weasley were responsible for trying to send you a lavatory seat. No doubt they thought it would amuse you. Madam Pomfrey, however, felt it might not be very hygienic, and confiscated it."

"How long have I been in here?"

"Three days. Mr Ronald Weasley and Mr Leo Black will be most relieved you have come round, they have been extremely worried."

"But sir, the Stone –"

"I see you are not to be distracted. Very well, the Stone. Professor Quirrell did not manage to take it from the mirror, you broke the Erised in your fall. I arrived in time to prevent further damage, although you were doing very well on your own, I must say."

"You got there? You got Leo's owl?"

"We must have crossed in mid-air. No sooner had I reached London than it became clear to me that the place I should be was the one I had just left. I arrived just in time to pull Quirrell off you –"

That was one of the lamest excuses Alexandra had ever heard, and she had been forced to hear the ones of a certain Dudley Dursley during ten years. It was not quite to the level of 'Alexandra distracted me at the evaluation and that's why I have a bad mark, not because I passed my time playing video games', but it was coming close.

But Neville had not evidently noticed this poorly disguised lie, and simply answered.

"It was you."

"I feared I might be too late."

"You nearly were, I couldn't have kept him off the mirror and the Stone much longer –"

"Not the Stone, boy, you – the effort involved nearly killed you. For one terrible moment there, I was afraid it had. As for the Stone, it has been destroyed with the mirror."

Alexandra breathed in relief. No one had managed to examine the mirror for a long period of time, and so everyone believed the Stone was gone forever. Her actions had passed unnoticed. So far, so good.

"Destroyed?" said Neville in a distressed tone. "But your friend – Nicolas Flamel –"

"Oh, you know about Nicolas?" Asked Dumbledore, sounding quite happy the Boy-Who-Lived had discovered the link with the Alchemist, like if not an average wizard could not have done the same in two minutes.

"You did do the thing properly, didn't you? Well, Nicolas and I have had a little chat and agreed it's all for the best."

That, for her, sounded like a second very poor lie. If the Junior Professor of DADA had said the truth, Dumbledore and Flamel were not likely to talk to each others for the next decade. Not unless the conversation also included insults and lethal curses. Destroying an object which granted immortality and ridiculous wealth was more or less the equivalent of magical sacrilege. The books she had read during her free time and discussions with Professor Flitwick had told her that much. Even if Flamel had created dozens of Stones in six hundred years of existence, she rather doubted having one destroyed was going to fill him with joy and gratitude.

"But that means he and his wife will die, won't they?"

"They have enough Elixir stored to set their affairs in order and then, yes, they will die."

Or hunt you to the end of the world and dance on your grave, Alexandra thought. Still, it was possible Dumbledore would survive Flamel's wrath. As Headmaster of Hogwarts, Albus Dumbledore could refugee himself behind the powerful wards of the school. But as the incident with the troll and the baby dragon had proven, no fortification was really perfect when magic was involved.

"To one as young as you, I'm sure it seems incredible, but to Nicolas and Perenelle, it really is like going to bed after a very, very long day. After all, to the well-organised mind, death is but the next great adventure. You know, the Stone was really not such a wonderful thing. As much money and life as you could want! The two things most human beings would choose above all – the trouble is, humans do have a knack of choosing precisely those things which are worst for them."

Alexandra briefly asked herself if the Professor had been slammed against the walls too much when he was a child. While his speech was very much correct for a man as old as he, for children like Neville or herself it was completely stupid. In her own case, ten years at the Dursleys had shown her what lack of money could do: starvation, hunger, beatings and a lot of unpleasant things. This was not resisting to the lure of Sauron's Ring of Power; even Frodo and Sam enjoyed having good meals, a home upon their head and friends to joke with at the end of the day.

"Sir?" Demanded Neville in a hesitant tone. Evidently this words had put him as ill-at-ease as she was. "I've been thinking …Quirell said he had an accomplice in the castle, Sir, and-"

"The accomplice has been dealt with, Neville. Professor Devkins will not be a problem anymore." Said Albus Dumbledore in a soft tone.

But not thanks to you, thought Alexandra with rancour. By the looks of it, either the Headmaster or Neville Longbottom had dealt with Quirell. However, it was Alexandra who had been forced Devkins in a magical duel, and she couldn't see the Headmaster arriving in time to save the Boy-Who-Lived by not passing near her little altercation with the DADA teacher. The fight had taken place in front of the only entrance. Dumbledore should have done the job himself if rumours of his skills had even a fraction of truth in reality.

"– even if the Stone's gone, Vol– … I mean, You-Know-Who –"

The rest of the discussion was immediately muffed, preventing her to hear one more word on what the Professor and the Gryffindor first-year boy discussed. Alexandra frowned.

The Headmaster had told himself everyone at Hogwarts knew everything of the events having happened in the Forbidden Corridor.

Or, a little voice whispered in her head, everything that has supposedly happened.

And what was this question about Who-Know-Who? The Dark Lord Voldemort had been dead and buried for over a decade. Maybe Quirell had been one of his former partisans? But no, the Senior Professor of DADA had been a thirty-plus years old wizard, too young for having participated in the last war...

After a couple of minutes where only muffled sounds were heard from the rest of the room, Alexandra listened the voice of Neville again, and the boy had seemingly been broken by emotion.

"And the Invisibility Cloak – do you know who sent it to me?"

On her bed, the Ravenclaw black-haired girl saw her attention returning rapidly. An invisibility cloak? Since her accountant had told her one had disappeared from her vaults, the Potter Heiress had looked on the subject. These were not exactly unique items, but they were very expensive. Close to five or six hundred Galleons piece depending on the number of enchantments you wanted on it. A few Cloaks went the double of these sums in gold, when a wizard or a witch wanted to really have the next best thing to complete stealth and invisibility.

"Ah – one member of my Order happened to leave it in my possession and I thought you might like it." Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "Useful things … the previous owner used it mainly for sneaking off to the kitchens to steal food when he was here."

How typical of Dumbledore, thought Alexandra with grumpiness. Offering a present like that to the Boy-Who-Lived did not reek of favouritism, no Sir.

"And there's something else …"

"Fire away."

"How was it possible to get the Stone out of the Mirror?"

"Ah, now, I'm glad you asked me that. It was one of my more brilliant ideas, and between you and me, that's saying something. You see, only one who wanted to find the Stone – find it, but not use it – would be able to get it, otherwise they'd just see themselves making gold or drinking Elixir of Life."

Alexandra had to retain a loud burst of laughter. The Supreme Mugwump had really a high opinion of himself! Personally once known the secret looked utterly silly.

"My brain surprises even me sometimes … Now, enough questions. I suggest you make a start on these sweets. Ah! Bertie Bott's Every-Flavour Beans! I was unfortunate enough in my youth to come across a vomit-flavoured one, and since then I'm afraid I've rather lost my liking for them – but I think I'll be safe with a nice toffee, don't you?"

The noise of the golden-brown bean popping into his mouth was heard. Then Albus Dumbledore choked and said, "Alas! Earwax!"

And the conversation ended with that. As the headmaster left the infirmary, Alexandra feigned to sleep. After what she had heard in this last conversation, Alexandra was not sure she could stop looking disgusted if she looked the man in the eyes. Better give the illusion of sleeping, and prepare for some excuses when the moment of confrontation would come with one member of the teaching staff.

The rest of the day was after that marked by Ron Weasley and Leo Black bursting into the infirmary for a bit more than the five minutes Madam Pomfrey had given her authorization. The three boys didn't bother speaking in a low tone, and she learnt to her great relief that apparently everyone who had been involved that night was about to recuperate all their physical abilities. Seamus had been burnt by his own explosion fighting the Devil Snare's, Lavender had crashed in a wall, catching the silver flying key, but these had been the worst injuries in the Lion's pride. Ronald Weasley had played the party of chess (though Dean and Ron had apparently being forced to sacrifice themselves to win), Leo black had been the one to vanquish the troll and Hermione had solved the potions riddle in twenty seconds top. The thing really weird was after that the conversation was part-garbled, part-muffled. Impossible to know the exact sequence of events in the Mirror room.

Oh, and Ravenclaw had apparently beaten soundly Gryffindor, which meant her House had won the Quidditch Cup and that she had stayed more than three days unconscious. Alexandra hadn't thought her wounds were that bad. Not for the first time of the year, the raven-haired witch felt very cold at the idea how close she had come from death.

May 26 1992, Hogwarts, Scotland

The day after, Alexandra had finally her first visitor all for her in the person of Professor Flitwick. Neville Longbottom, of course, had had in the mean time several dozen admirers to enquire on his health since the morning, making Madam Pomfrey of a massacring humour.

Even as a former duellist champion, her Head of House put a low profile in front of the angry nurse which had decided to channel the personality of a full-grown dragon for now.

"Good afternoon, Miss Potter." Said Flitwick in a respectful tone where almost none of his usual good humour was present. "I am pleased to see that despite the pessimistic assurances of the two Saint Mungo's healers which came to inspect you, you remain perfectly alive and in good health."

Alexandra couldn't stop a half-frown half-grimace at that.

"Was it that bad?"

Flitwick emitted a loud sigh, his shoulders slightly lowering.

"To be quite honest, you should be dead, Miss Potter."

Alexandra widened her eyes. That was not what she had expected to hear.

"How?" The Ravenclaw student said slowly. "I remind only being hit by one curse at the end, and Devkins didn't use one of the lethal incantations banned by the Ministry of Magic in 1902."

"Reading a bit in the law section, do we?" Asked rhetorically the small half-goblin, while Alexandra tried to her best, without much success, to appear as innocent and virtuous as possible.

"Just keeping myself informed." Alexandra grumbled.

"For your personal information," continued her Head of House in his teacher mode, "we examined Devkins wand, and I believe you were hit by the Sovereign Curse of Darkness, also known as Merlin's Bane or the Magic Reaper."

"Big names." Alexandra remarked, not overly impressed. Some of the wizards who invented the spells had an overblown ego. "What are its effects?"

"It devours your magical core, Miss Potter." Told Flitwick in a voice where there was no amusement of any sort. "It can also do irreparable damage to your soul if given enough time. All the while, the victim suffers a physical and mental torture which makes most of the dark torture spells in existence looks tame. The sole counter-curse is so long to cast it fails half of the time, few shields are able to protect someone for more than an instant. It is one of the vilest curses in existence."

"Great." Alexandra stated in a sarcastic tone. "And the reason this spell isn't on the banned list of spell is because?"

"It was supposed to be lost to wizardkind." Replied the retired champion duellist. "Devkins," his voice was full of venom, "using it is the first instance recorded someone casting this spell in the last five centuries in Great Britain."

"How could such a spell be lost if it was so powerful?" Asked Alexandra in an incredulous voice.

"It was invented by Morgana La Fay." replied simply Flitwick as it explained everything.

"This is the curse which destroyed Merlin, isn't it?" Alexandra demanded after a moment of silence, the clues finally adding mutually in her head. "You called it Merlin' Bane, so..."

The Ravenclaw Professor smiled in approval. "According to the legend, it is. However the full effects of the spell and its most detailed characteristics have been lost long ago. Frankly, most of what we know today about this curse are rumours, speculations and guesses. After the death of Morgana and her Dark supporters, all traces of this spell and many were erased forever. For good reasons I might add."

"Until today."

"Until today." Repeated Flitwick with a disabused nod."You were incredibly lucky, Miss Potter. The diagnosis of the healers who studied your arm is that your opponent had not the time to fully empower his attack before you killed him."

The eleven-year old girl did not answer. Alexandra really didn't feel like explaining Devkins had not missed the mark with his last spell. She should be dead, if not for the golden light which had protected her. The Golden Light having touched her from her experience with the Mirror of Erised. But that left of course more questions...

"Remind me to never underestimate you with a Bombarda by the way." Added the Charms Master.

"I had not the choice." Alexandra said, a bit defensively. The young witch had not forgotten her Head of House had defended her to use the spell save emergencies. "I didn't want to kill him."

"Good." Flitwick said in an approving voice. "I agree circumstances force your hand, but you shouldn't make a habit of it. The Headmaster won't always bury the affair." The former Duellist Champion cleaned his glasses with a handkerchief before speaking again.

"And let's pray you don't have any opportunity in your life to use it anymore." His posture and tone were hesitant at the end, almost as he didn't believe his own words. No doubt the series of assassination attempts, duels and magic ambushes at Hogwarts this year didn't plead in favour of a calm outcome for the short-term future.

"My arm?" Alexandra asked, choosing to return on a safer topic.

"You will recover the full use of it by the end of the week, though I must advise you to be careful. You have still traces of dark magic on it, and any reaction to a similar power in the days to come could have ... unpredictable effects."

"So better limit my practise of magic for the next days and no abuse of my right arm?" At the nod of her professor, she breathed in relief. It could have been worse, Alexandra thought. She was left-handed, so not using her right hand for the moment would not cause major problems.

That still left the question of where and when the Junior Professor of Defence Against the Dark Arts had found such a dangerous and ancient curse, but she had the feeling Flitwick was as ignorant as her in that particular subject. The only man who could have answered was dead by her hands.

Rising from the chair he was sitting on, her Head of House wished her a prompt reestablishment, although wishing she avoided to create as much trouble for the next year.

The next visitors were Hermione and Nigel. Instantly, the brown-haired witch raced on her and hugged Alexandra.

"I'm so sorry, Alex..." Sobbed the bushy-haired girl.

"Hey, I'm okay..." Protested Alexandra weakly. "Really. I'm fine Hermione."

"No, you're not." Declared the uncontested academic leader of the first-years. "You look really horrible."

Alexandra had a sudden urge to face-palm. Trust Hermione in critical moments to be as blunt as possible.

"Okay, I'm not. But I will be better." It was the truth. The pain had almost disappeared and she could stand on her own. Running might be out of the question for a few days, but walking should be okay.

"Do you want a detailed account of what happened in the Corridor?" Demanded Nigel on the other side of the bed, looking deeply relieved.

Alexandra declined with a negative nod.

"No, thanks. Black and Weasley came before you, thus I had a very loud and detailed report of what happened to your group. Unless you know what happened in the room with the Mirror..."

"Unfortunately not." Sighed Nigel. Then his smile turned...satisfied? "But did the Golden Trio told you what happened to their dorms?"

"What happened?" The Potter Heiress raised an eyebrow. "The Weasley Twins built altars for the sheer number of rules they have just broken?"

"No, but it would have been funny if they did. No, Hermione demolished the boy dorms with mucus, spell fire and a lot of spells I'm pretty sure are not in the first-year books."

Alexandra stared open-mouthed for a moment, believing her ears were playing a joke.

"How in the name of-"

"They pointed a wand in front of my eyes." Commented Hermione in a tone terribly vindictive. "Thanks to the action of this bad of imbeciles, we could all have died. They deserved what they got."

"I appreciate the gesture..." Alexandra smiled." But won't you have to purge a lot of detentions for that?"

"Nope." The grin was similar to the one of a big cat having just swallowed the canary.

"How weren't you punished for that?"

"Professor Snape arrived first on site; Professor McGonagall was busy with the Corridor issues. He said it improved the decoration if anything."

"Naturally." Trust the Head of Slytherin to sow discord and hammer Gryffindor House when it was possible.

A weak pain chose this moment to make her right arm twitch again.

"Are you sure you're right?" Asked Hermione compassionately.

"No. I killed someone and I will have his last moments in my head for a long time." The Ravenclaw black-haired witch told her friends.

"Sorry..."

"It's not your fault Nigel. If you had stayed, the Professors wouldn't have been alerted, and Devkins would have possibly taken at least one of us."

"But now you killed someone."

"Now I murdered someone." Corrected Alexandra. "There is blood on my hands now, Hermione. I'm only eleven, and I've already a body-count. How long until it lies on my heart?"

Her friends had no answer to this. Alexandra had not expected them to, not when she had no start on the answers herself.

Nigel and Hermione talked a bit further, then they had to depart for lunch. The young witch watched them depart with silent thanks for their support and their care.

Then the pain in her right arm woke up again, and a sleeping potion given by Madam Pomfrey sent her back in the lands of dreams.

May 28 1992, Hogwarts, Scotland

After two more nights of sleep and one boring day spent in the infirmary, Alexandra felt almost back in her best form. Almost. Her right hand was still sending her a great deal of pain at irregular intervals, no doubt courtesy of the dark magic which was purged by her system, but she was bored enough to begin plans to escape the Hospital Wing. Hermione and Nigel's visit had been the only noteworthy event yesterday, and having Hermione hugging her again, all the while saying how she was happy Alexandra had not died, had been one thing she was not accustomed to. For as long as she remembered, no one had cared if she lived or she died. Now, she had friends. It was definitely a new and pleasant experience. However, hearing Hagrid speaking to Neville and crying about how the gamekeeper had given the clues to Quirell had been a moral-breaker, and she had been forced to lower her estimates of Quirell's intelligence as he had needed the Keeper of Keys help to pass the Cerberus Trial.

"I want to go to the feast," Alexandra told Madam Pomfrey as she rose in her bed. "I can, can't I?" she added in a hopeful tone.

'Professor Flitwick gave you authorisation to go." The nurse said with a disdainful sniff, as though in her opinion the Ravenclaw House didn't realise how good health could be precious. His past of duellist champion was not playing in Flitwick's favour, Alexandra was ready to bet.

Still, when Alexandra left the infirmary, she was alone and had still her right hand kept in bandages, while her right arm was finally freed. There was no mark or any magical indication she had been hit with a lethal curse, although she could not see her right hand and she thought her skin was quite bit paler than it used to.

Now, however, she had to hurry up.

She was awfully late by her standards, as she had been held up by Madam Pomfrey's fussing-about, insisting on giving him one last check-up, so the corridors were nearly empty while she proceeded to the Great Hall. On the other hand, it was enough to see the effects of Dumbledore "nothing is secret policy": the few students who met her ran in the other direction immediately. Including the Gryffindors. Forcing herself to breath loudly and not erupt in anger at the general stupidity of the average Hogwarts student, Alexandra entered the Great Hall.

It was decked out in the Ravenclaw colours of blue and bronze to celebrate Ravenclaw's winning the House Cup and so breaking Slytherin's record of six successive victories. A huge banner showing the Ravenclaw eagle covered the wall behind the High Table, and smaller ones floated magically above the head of the students.

When Alexandra walked in there was a sudden hush and a lot of whispers began with half of the school looking at her or pointing fingers in her general direction. To her relief, it didn't last, as Neville Longbottom entered the Great Hall just after her and was greeted by the general applaud of the Lions, the noise produced drowning all the conversations going on. Taking her place between two third-years girls, she saw Nigel and Hermione being uncomfortably pushed away from the places at the centre of the Gryffindor table, Longbottom and the rest of the Golden Trio monopolising all the attention. Alexandra felt disgusted once again by this self-interested attitude and the hurricane of shouts mounting from the Gryffindors. Seriously, what sort of manners did they have in their common room? Perhaps Hermione had had the good attitude to thrash their dorms.

Thankfully, Headmaster Dumbledore arrived moments later, the Head Table was filled of all the surviving Professors, and silence gradually fell in the massive Hall.

"Another year gone!" Dumbledore said cheerfully. "And I must trouble you with an old man's wheezing waffle before we sink our teeth into our delicious feast. What a year it has been! Hopefully your heads are all a little fuller than they were … you have the whole summer ahead to get them nice and empty before next year starts …"

"Now, as I understand it, the House Cup here needs awarding and the points stand thus: in fourth place, Gryffindor, with one hundred and five points; in third, Slytherin, with two hundred and twenty-six; Hufflepuff has four hundred and eighty-nine; and Ravenclaw, six hundred and three."

A storm of cheering and stamping broke out from the Ravenclaw table. With their victory in the Quidditch Cup this year, the victory of the House Cup gave the Ravens the two trophies in competition every year, which was quite an achievement. Alexandra heard herself cheering and applauding with the other.

"Yes, yes, well done, Ravenclaw," said Dumbledore. "However, recent events must be taken into account."

The room went very still. Alexandra frowned. Surely he wasn't planning to?

"Ahem," said Dumbledore. "I have a few last-minute points to dish out. Let me see. Yes …"

"First-to Mr Seamus Finnigan..."

The specialist of the explosions looked awfully uncomfortable in his chair.

"...for the most destructive explosion ever witnessed at Hogwarts, which burnt entirely a Devil's Snare, I award Gryffindor House one hundred points."

"Secondly-to Miss Lavender Brown..." the gossip queen of Hogwarts was suddenly trying to be silent for the first time in an entire year."For her great determination and skill in Flying, I award Gryffindor House fifty points."

Lavender burst into a happy conversation with the girls near to her. Alexandra saw several member of the Ravenclaw Quidditch team look white of rage. Understandable since most of the rumours insisted the Brown girl had just crashed in a wall with her broom at high speed.

"Third – to Mr Ronald Weasley …"

The red-haired boy went purple in the face; he looked like a big and very red tomato.

"… for the best-played game of chess Hogwarts has seen in many years, I award Gryffindor House one hundred points."

Ron's head fell abruptly towards his plate, his face redder than ever.

Gryffindor cheers nearly raised the bewitched ceiling; the stars overhead seemed to quiver. The older Weasley present, a Prefect named Percy, could be heard telling the other Prefects, "My brother, you know! My youngest brother! Got past McGonagall's giant chess set!"

The Potter Heiress wasn't that convinced. As the only person to have played the chess game besides Ronald Weasley, she had been able to win. And she had been a novice at chess. Of course, the Gryffindor wizard had had the handicap of protecting several persons. But this wasn't that impressive...

At last there was silence again.

"Fourth-to Mr Leo Black... for his sheer performance against a full grown mountain troll, I award Gryffindor House one hundred points."

The cheers mounted even higher from the Gryffindor table.

"Fifth– to Miss Hermione Granger … for the use of cool logic in the face of fire, I award Gryffindor House fifty points."

Hermione buried her face in her arms; Alexandra strongly suspected she had burst into tears, and that these weren't of joy considering the behaviour of her housemates towards her from September to the end of May. Gryffindors up and down the table were beside themselves and for good reason – they were now four hundred points up where they should have been.

"And sixth – to Mr Neville Longbottom …" Said Dumbledore. The room went quiet in a silence of death which augured nothing good. "… for pure nerve and outstanding courage, I award Gryffindor house one hundred points."

Someone standing outside the Great Hall might well have thought some sort of explosion had taken place, so loud was the noise that erupted from the Gryffindor table. Save Hermione and Nigel, every Gryffindor stood up to yell and cheer as Neville, who disappeared under a pile of people hugging him raising his arms in victory in a supremely arrogant manner.

"Which means," Dumbledore called over the storm of applause coming from the Gryffindor table, "we need a little change of decoration."

He clapped his hands. In an instant, the blue hangings became scarlet and the bronze became gold; the huge Ravenclaw eagle vanished and a towering Gryffindor lion took its place.

Flitwick was looking at Dumbledore with a look of horrified betrayal. Snape was livid and the rest of the teacher staff save Hagrid and McGonagall looked uncertain and disturbed by what had just happened. Then the realisation came in the student's body. Dumbledore had just awarded five hundred points to Gryffindor. It was against all rules, against every convention and the sense of fair-play. Accusations and shouts were mounting from the tables of Ravenclaw and Slytherin, with Hufflepuff being divided between shouting and applauding. This was exactly the opposite of friendship and unity. Anger and contestations could be heard from the Ravens and the Snakes, with the teaching staff silent to their appeals.

"You Sir," said Alexandra raising her cup in direction of the Head Table, "had to choose between war and dishonour. You chose dishonour. You will have war."

Her words were of course ignored in the storm of cheers, applauds, shouts and contestations, but in her opinion, this quote from Winston Churchill she had read in the library of her school seemed oddly appropriate. In a single evening, Dumbledore had managed to destroy a lot of support he might have had in Ravenclaw House. It was not France and England offering Czechoslovakia to Hitler, or Saruman allying with Sauron, but it was a close analogy. Too close.

At least in Alexandra's mind it proved the man was completely senile and good for the asylum. Two teachers and about half the school for certain disgusted by this preferential treatment. Talk about a bad gambit.

It was one of the worst evenings ever in Ravenclaw House after that. Even winning the Quidditch cup (while she was lying in the infirmary, Ravenclaw had annihilated Gryffindor 420 to 80) was not enough to erase the gloom most of the Ravenclaw alumni. Alexandra herself shared some of this frustration. After all, what sort of system was it if you respected the rules and prepared perfect homework all year, only on the last day to be informed it didn't matter? Alexandra had no friendship with her housemates, but she had to admit the situation was terribly unfair. After fighting baby dragons, mountain trolls and evil professors, the Potter Heiress had not expected that. A mistake she would try to not make again.

May 29 1992, Hogwarts, Scotland

Alexandra had almost forgotten the exams results were still to come after that stunning development during the End of the Year Feast. Still, it did not stop them from coming. The morning after Gryffindor had emerged against all odds (and thanks to Dumbledore intervention) triumphant and the House Cup in the bag, the first-year rankings were published in a room next the Great Hall. Unlike the fifth years for their OWLS and the seventh years for their NEWTS, the grades of each student were published here at school before being sent to their house by school owl. No doubt as a safety measure to ensure the children didn't 'forget' to tell their parents they had failed a class or two. Not that it bothered Alexandra very much: the probability that the Dursleys would care about her performance in Transfiguration or Herbology was ranging from the very low to the non-existent, assuming of course that Vernon or Petunia would bother opening a letter coming from the wizarding world. To her satisfaction, she had done very well in the exams. On the roll of parchment, the rankings were published with all the grades and gave this:

1) Hermione Granger

2) Alexandra Potter

3) Morag MacDougal

4) Padma Patil

5) Terry Boot

6) Ernie Macmillan

7) Susan Bones

8) Su Li

9) Mandy Brocklehurst

10) Lisa Turpin

11) Parvati Patil

12) Antony Goldstein

13) Stephen Cornfoot

14) Kevin Entwhistle

15) Neville Longbottom

16) Michael Corner

17) Hannah Abbot

18) Megan Jones

19) Leo Black

20) Draco Malfoy

21) Nigel Wolpert

22) Wayne Hopkins

23) Daphne Greengrass

24) Tracey Davis

25) Justin Finch-Fletchley

26) Thelma Holmes

27) Leanne Malone

28) Lily Moon

29) Blaise Zabini

30) Dean Thomas

31) Fay Dunbar

32) Sally-Anne Perks

33) Lavender Brown

34) Flora Carrow

35) Hestia Carrow

36) Theodore Nott

37) Roger Malone

38) Millicent Bulstrode

39) Byron Vaisey

40) Ronald Weasley

41) Pansy Parkinson

42) Zacharias Smith

43) Seamus Finnigan

44) Gregory Goyle

45) Vincent Crabble

Overall, she had taken the second place behind Hermione (who had been completely untouchable ) and obtained O's in Potions, Transfiguration, Charms, Defence Against the Dark Arts and Herbology, an E+ in Astronomy and an E- in History of Magic. Pretty good for someone who had only a few clues magic existed a year ago. That History of Magic was her worst grade was not a surprise: she had not access to anyone's archive, thanks to her isolation with her housemates, and if there was a thing she had learnt this year, it was Binns and Tiroflan's lessons were the perfect time to catch up some sleep or read an interesting book. Not study History. Hermione had been the best, and Nigel had managed to compensate the 'Dreadful' he had received in Potions and History with 'Exceeds Expectations' in Charms and Herbology. Concerning the global rankings, Alexandra was forced to note her own House had literally crushed the competition in the academic field. Of the top ten students, seven were Ravenclaws. None of the Ravens were beyond the sixteenth place. Only the presence of Hermione (who had managed seven Outstanding) had deprived the Ravens from an overwhelming victory. By comparison, Slytherin and Gryffindor were outright disastrous with some elements tending towards the catastrophic. At the bottom of the list, Weasley, Finnigan, Crabbe and Goyle were living proof it was impossible to fail the first year of schooling at Hogwarts.

After that, everything passed in an instant. The afternoon passed in an instant as their affairs were taken from the wardrobes and packed in the trunks, Nigel's toad was found for the eighty-eight time lurking in some abandoned classroom (Hermione and Alexandra advised their friend he should have left it there) and notes were handed out to all the students, warning the children not to use magic over the holidays. By the signs of laughter coming from groups of Slytherin when they read it, Alexandra had the bad feeling this interdiction wasn't applicable to everybody in the wizarding world.

Not that it really mattered for her either. She had managed the previous year to do magic without a wand, and she had not received any owl to inform her that her presence was required at a magical trial. By the hints Flitwick had given her, as long as she did not used her wand to do magic and remained discreet about it, there was no reason the Ministry of Magic would suspect a thing. Judging by the complaints of the Weasley twins, some Gryffindors had not been informed of this, which perhaps was a wise move of their parents.

The next morning, all the first-years followed Hagrid, who was there to take them down to the fleet of boats that sailed across the lake. Soon enough, under a clear sky they were boarding the Hogwarts Express. Alexandra took a compartment with Hermione and Neville, and their trio was not bothered as long as the travel lasted. They ate many wizarding sweets, discussed their project for the holidays and wondered what they would learn in their second year at school.

As they began to pass non-magical towns (Alexandra still refused to use the term 'Muggle'), all their wizards clothes went in their trunks, being replaced by jackets, coats and jeans. The arrival at King's Cross Station was really difficult: there were trunks, wizards and owls everywhere, and with only one exit hidden behind a magical barrier, it took quite a while for Hermione and Alexandra to go through the magical portal. Nigel was already gone, a very dangerous looking old man with a lot of scars, certainly his grandfather, had come to search him and teleported away in an instant.

"You should come at my home this summer," said Hermione, "both of you – I'll send an owl to Nigel and a letter to you."

"Thanks," said Alexandra. "If the Dursleys prove unbearable, expect to see me next week." The sad part was that she was only half-joking.

People jostled them as they moved forwards towards the gateway back to the normal world. Not that many cared Hermione or Alexandra were there. The exclamations and shouts had another target:

"Bye, Neville!"

"See you, Longbottom!"

"Who are we compared to the famous Boy-Who-Lived?" Asked rhetorically Hermione in an acid tone. Neville and the rest of the first-years Gryffindors forcing her to follow them in the forbidden corridor had left a deep resentment in the normally calm bushy-haired girl. If Alexandra was the Boy-Who-Lived, she would walk on eggs next year.

"Not a lot," sighed Alexandra," but see the positive side: unlike him, we still have a brain in working order."

She and Hermione passed through the gateway together. As Neville had passed before them less than a half-minute ago, the two girls were assailed by shouts of: "There he is, look!", including from a girl who appeared to be the younger member of the Weasley family.

"Neville Longbottom!" The red-haired girl shouted in excitement. Great a fan-girl, thought Alexandra. "Look, Mum! I can see –"

"Be quiet, Ginny, and it's rude to point." Said her mother, a round and plump woman with red hair.

"Ready, are you?"

It was Uncle Vernon, still purple-faced, still moustached, still looking furious at the nerve of Alexandra, carrying her trunk full of magical objects in a station full of ordinary people (although she had sent her owl Atalanta directly to Privet Drive so her perch had no bird coming with it). Behind him stood Aunt Petunia and Dudley, looking terrified at the very sight of Alexandra. Good. At least these two had a limited sense of self-preservation.

"Hurry up, girl, we haven't got all day." He walked away.

Alexandra hung back for a last word with Hermione.

"See you over the summer, then."

"Hope you have – err – a good holiday." Affirmed Hermione, looking uncertainly after Uncle Vernon, apparently shocked that anyone could be so unpleasant, even with Alexandra's warnings beforehand.

"Oh, I will," affirmed Alexandra with a wide smile on her face. "And if they don't, well, I have some money now. And plans to use it. I will go away from Privet Drive the time they calm."

Somehow, after the year she had lived at Hogwarts, the Dursleys didn't look so threatening anymore. Funny how magic changed your fears, wasn't it?