The odds were never in my favour

by Antony444

Ten years of life at the Dursleys have healed Alexandra Potter of any good feelings she might have towards her aunt, uncle and cousin, leaving her friendless and sarcastic about life. On her eleventh birthday, a letter sent by a school of magic may give her a providential escape. Except, of course, things may not be that simple for a girl fan of the Lord of the Rings...

21. The Aftershocks of Brise-Roc

Chapter 21

The Aftershocks of Brise-Roc

14 July 1992, Unknown Location

"So by all accounts, you Majesty, the operation was an outstanding success. Brise-Roc is no more. The Goblin Expeditionary Force has been utterly demolished. Our organisation has taken possession of several priceless magical artefacts and a comfortable quantity of gold. We have dealt a heavy blow to the branch of the Gringotts Paris, which is going to offer interesting opportunities for the middle-term plans already activated. Best of all, the bankers have been unable to realise we gave them back alchemical gold. One of the great plans has been validated."

There was no evil laughter at the end of the red robed figure's announcement, but no one could have missed the satisfaction in the way the words were pronounced.

"You have done well Knight Summoner." The dark figure on the throne emitted an almost imperceptible nod in the halo of darkness. "Are there any survivors able to talk about what happened inside the citadel?"

"Unfortunately, yes, your Majesty. When the French arrived with their chasseurs and their curse-breakers, I was forced to bring back the Summon back to its plane of origin and overload the wards system of the fortress. Alas, there were four beings still alive inside it when it happened and I have good information two of them are detained in the Magical Hospital of Paris."

"Regrettable." Said the grey-masked figure on the right of the throne.

"Not really, my Queen." Said one of the figures wearing light green robes.

"Explain."

"The first, a goblin, is not expected to last the week due to the terrible injuries he suffered against the Summon of our esteemed colleague. As for the other, the curse-breaker Louis de Male Foi is still in a comatose state. He may never wake up to tell what he saw."

"And if he does?"

"I have placed an explosive runic circle nearby." Said the figure dissimulated by red robes. "If he wakes up, I'll send him back directly to his ancestors."

"And the two other beings which were inside the citadel at the moment of the explosion?"

"Regretfully, we have no idea of their whereabouts." Admitted the Knight Summoner.

"I would not worry about it too much, your Majesty." Said the green-robed individual. Seeing the attention focusing in his direction, the being continued. "Knight Summoner has transformed the citadel into a crater where nothing alive can possibly have survived. The most probable explanation is that the two other living magical signatures which were detected perished when the wards exploded. That, or they were buried under the mountain when it exploded. To be honest, I'm astonished they found two survivors out of four!"

"And if someone survived?" Insisted the grey figure.

"Frankly, my Queen, it might be to our advantage. The fools of the ICW have been extremely efficient in wiping out the magical knowledge they judged too dangerous for their weak powers to handle. Assuming they found a Summon was used to destroy these miserable vermin we call goblins, they will soon realise they have nothing to oppose us. In this case, there is the delicious possibility they will surrender immediately when we will come out the shadows!"

"Perhaps." Said the dark figure on the throne. "Or perhaps not. I'm not willing to base our plans on such hopes, rumours and speculations, Knight Informer. If you find any goblin or human has survived to tell the world what happened, you eliminate the survivor and make sure to pass it for a tragic accident."

"Yes, your Majesty."

"Now, let's pass to another subject. How goes our efforts to explore the ruins of the Han dynasty?"

"Not very well." Answered a being in azure robes who had until then stayed silent. "I've lost two squads of local curse-breakers in the last month, and so far we have only managed to recover third-rate artefacts from it. Much less I want to admit it, it does look this quest is more and more a dead end."

"Continue your work for one more month, Knight Explorer. If there is no major achievement at that date, terminate the project. Now, let's discuss our involvement in the Middle East..."

14 July 1992, Hogwarts, Scotland

Albus Dumbledore had decades of experience in political infighting, backroom dealings and negotiations with characters the majority of the wizarding world was happy to kill first and ask questions later. The number of times he had lost his temper in this last decade could be counted on one hand.

However, as the door of his office closed on his latest visitor, his self-control broke, the dam of his calm forged by a century of life exploding under the fury of his emotions. Taking the pile of books which had been just left on his desk, the old and venerable headmaster proceeded to launch them one by one on the opposite wall, ripping their pages, blasting them with his wand, cutting the covers with original curses most of witches and wizards had forgotten their very existence. All the while, the self-proclaimed 'Leader of the Light' screamed a torrent of insults which would have made many Death Eaters stare open-mouthed in stupefaction. With a swiftness and an agility every person of his age would have envied, Albus proceeded to kick the last book like a ball of football all over the office, only pausing mere moments to throw more curses at the different books and trampling them.

This surge of fury lasted no more than five minutes, but the pile of books which had just been the target of Dumbledore hadn't survived it. There were now no more than confetti of paper, pulverised by the wrath of the man who was undoubtedly at present the most powerful wizard of the British Isles.

His fury abated and satiated for the time being, Dumbledore posed his wand on his desk and then sat in his comfortable chair, the weight of the years heavier than ever after having unleashed his rage.

"Each year, finding a new teacher for the post of the Defence Against the Dark Arts is getting more difficult." Sighed Albus Dumbledore. "Tell me Fawkes, why do I keep this class when I know very well Tom has cursed the position?"

The phoenix, who had remained silent when the Headmaster vented his frustration, trilled in sorrow.

"You're right. Cancelling the class would be admitting defeat to Tom and all the wizards and witches who followed him."

There were more practical considerations, of course. First, the Board of Governors, allergic to everything which more or less looked like an innovation or a tool to break the status quo, had outright refused to modify the name of the class or to create another course which would deliver the same teachings. So much of his efforts had already been consumed by the need to find funds for the school brooms and Quidditch was the popular pastime by excellence!

The second reason why the class of Defence against the Dark Arts still existed was stemming from his incomplete knowledge of the curse the Dark Lord had used. It might be possible changing the name of the course or altering the curriculum would end the problem once for all. But it was far from certain, and Tom Marvollo Riddle had been one of the most brilliant students in Hogwarts long and distinguished history. In spite of, or perhaps because the dark rituals and research that had given birth to the Dark Lord Voldemort, Albus Dumbledore was ready to bet his left hand the person who had engineered the opening of the Chamber of Secrets on his fifth year would have anticipated such an obvious move.

And finally, there was a more personal reason for Albus: pride. Labelled a genius and one of the most brilliant minds of Magical England in his youth, he had found for the first time in decades a challenge in trying to break the curse Tom had created. Changing the class would be an admission of defeat, and Albus Dumbledore was not feeling vanquished at all. There were more mysterious paths of magic he had not explored, more combinations and enchantments which had not been tested. Sooner or later, Albus would find the solution. And then his triumph over Tom Riddle would be complete. Hiring a Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher and one assistant every year was well worth the potential award.

Or at least it had been until this morning. With the death of Senior Professor Quirell at the hands of Neville Longbottom and Junior Professor Devkins at the hands of Alexandra Potter, Dumbledore had been in need of finding two new teachers to fill the DADA slots. In spite of the fact the deaths of the two men had not been publicly announced, the rumours of their brutal demise had spread everywhere, making the applicants a rarity. There had been three demands for the job of Junior DADA Professor, perhaps because the position had in some occasions left its titular teacher last more than a year. There had been none for the job of Senior Professor, which had left very little latitude for Albus to refuse meeting Gilderoy Lockhart when the famous author had requested an appointment for today.

After one and a half hour with him, Albus knew he should have tried to delegate somehow this task to Minerva. With so many students at Hogwarts, he vaguely remembered Lockhart as a Ravenclaw youngster who had one day tried to create a school newspaper. His academic record was best characterised as unremarkable: seven OWLS and four NEWTS. After his graduation, he had travelled outside the country like many wizards and witches today and had not garnered any attention before publishing his first book Break with A Banshee, which had quickly become a bestseller.

Albus had not personally read any of the nine books Lockhart had published so far, his numerous positions leaving him too little time for sensational reading. In his mind, he freely admitted he had been completely unprepared for the monster of narcissism and arrogance that had passed the gates of Hogwarts. As Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards and Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, Dumbledore had met a lot of politicians in love with their own image, but Lockhart was beating all their efforts of self-magnification without much effort. He had greeted Dumbledore like he was doing him a favour by the simple act of being in his presence, and thorough the meeting had literally bombarded Albus with pointed suggestions how he would be able to do a more efficient job than him, if the fight against the forces of evil didn't take all his time.

What had happened to you, Gilderoy, thought Dumbledore. You were sorted in Ravenclaw, when did you develop this thirst of power and fame which are the priced qualities of Slytherin House?

Albus didn't know the answers to these questions, but he had ended this meeting with the knowledge Gilderoy Lockhart had to be stopped. No need to read any of his books to know they would be utter and complete nonsense, a fertile material to poison the minds of the young and the old of the British Isles. As Grand Sorcerer, it was his duty to act before it was too late, and Gilderoy had provided him the stick to beat him.

Albus was realist enough to know Lockhart had demanded an appointment in order to glorify himself in his next interview with the Daily Prophet, not because he wanted the Defence job. But he had officially made the demand, and Albus was going to grant him his wish. It would be the perfect means to demolish his fraudulent reputation and this extra-dimensioned ego. Moreover, it would provide to young Neville Longbottom the perfect example of how fame and celebrity could destroy someone. Kill two owls bearing bad the news with the same stone, to use a popular expression. Perhaps, even a third, as the Houses typically aligned with Ravenclaw at the Wizengamot had been far from pleased with him when their children had reported to their parents he had awarded unilaterally the House Cup to Gryffindor. Dirtying the name of Lockhart by revealing how far the rot had spread, one alumni of their own House, would force them back into far more pleasing dispositions.

Yes, concluded Albus. This plan was good, and would place his pieces in good position for the future events he had planned in the years to come. With Arthur Weasley about to pass with his faction several pro-Muggle laws, Albus was going to strike down a heavy blow to the pureblood cause. Defeat by defeat, the Dark and Grey factions were going to lose ground, until they had no choice but to stop their ridiculous attachment to obsolete traditions.

"The things I do for the Greater Good," smiled Albus. "Lemon drop, Fawkes?" The phoenix trilled in alarm, agitating vigorously his beak in a negative manner.

"Phoenixes not liking lemon are one of the things I will never understand." Sighed the Headmaster of Hogwarts.

After the last school year, Albus had hoped he would soon have sorbets of Elixir of Life instead of lemon, but the Philosopher Stone secret requirements had proven too Dark to handle it safely. Too bad. It was only a temporary reverse anyway, soon the men in his employ in the Netherlands would find a way to create one in service of the Light.

Standing up, Albus Dumbledore decided to communicate his decision to Minerva McGonagall as soon as he came back from this extraordinary ICW summit at Geneva. It seemed the French had a breach of the Statute of Secrecy on their hand, courtesy of the Exchequer, and Dumbledore was salivating at the idea of fuelling the flames against his most tenacious political opponents. The French, not the Exchequer.

The Chief Warlock was not worried about the latter for completely logical reasons. While individually skilled, after such an open action, the Dark Organisation would go back to the shadows and not move for the next decades. They always operated the same way. In time, they would pay for the death of Nicholas and his wife, of course. But it was a problem that would be dealt in due time. The French and quite a few other political enemies came first.

Rubbing his hands together in anticipation of the one-sided political match that was about to occur, Dumbledore took his wand and promptly made disappear the remnants of Lockhart books under the inquisitive eye of the former headmasters and headmistresses.

Then Fawkes flew over his head and Dumbledore seized him by the leg. Both phoenix and Headmaster disappeared in a column of fire.

14 July 1992, Gringotts Bank, London

"Gringotts is as silent as a tomb, these days." Affirmed Senior Accountant Grimjaw, posing his cup of ale after having gulped a sip of it.

"Can you blame our colleagues, Grimjaw?" Asked Senior Accountant Toughclaw. "After what happened at Brise-Roc, every clan we have in Europe fears he is next on the list!"

"No." Grumbled Grimjaw. "No, I don't blame them. We lost close to ten thousand members of our race in less than a month and two entire clans were wiped out. Anybody, even humans, would feel a bit shocked in these circumstances."

Both goblins exchanged amused looks. Humans did not value the lives of their own species, that was a fact the bankers of Gringotts had learnt centuries ago.

"And the girl?"

"Has still not given any sign of life." Sighed Grimjaw. "She's still alive, I'm certain of it; otherwise her ancestral vault's blood protections would have been deactivated and the Ministry would be camping in my office to take the money of her family. But I have no idea where she is, and the ten times-damned treaties with the Ministry forbid me to send owls or hire any mercenary help to search her."

"At least she's alive." Said Toughclaw. "I have heard enough rumours about Ironrage being on the warpath and passing his wrath on a dozen of his subordinates. He didn't take the loss of so many curse-breakers in one expedition very well."

Grimjaw found himself nodding despite himself. He did not like Ironrage very much, the Senior Manager responsible to recruit and assign the human Curse-breakers had a very nasty temper and crossing him had resulted too often in the loss of a limb for the unfortunate who had been at the wrong place at the wrong time. But even him had to recognise losing an entire curse-breaking team, through it had been only a poor one, tended to generate an amount of paperwork close to a small mountain. Not to mention he would have to hire the replacements.

"I would not have expected him to act so concerned." Remarked Grimjaw. "We suspected these humans to be thieves and to pass critical information on the Ministry and other parties, remember? With them dead, the problem has been buried. Permanently."

"But them dead, we will never know who the other parties and their contacts in the Ministry were, "remarked Toughclaw."Ah, well. Nothing to do but wait they try again to place their spies in the bank."

"And hope we catch them in the act." Approved Grimjaw. "Still, I doubt you invited me in your office just to share the latest news of what happened in France."

"Indeed not. There have been some discrete inquiries about House Potter's status on marriage contracts."

"Interesting." Said Grimjaw. "Do you know which families made the demand?"

"I do not." Admitted bitterly Toughclaw. "You know as well as I how weakened the Rosier family is. In fact, if I did not have sources of mine in the Inheritance Department, I would have never learnt of it!"

This was a particular sore point for both of them, thought Grimjaw. After the humans had finished to slaughter themselves in 1981, the aftermath had been terrible in Gringotts. About three dozen major pure-blood families had been completely annihilated, and major Houses which had been around since the sixteenth century had been declared extinct. The possessions of several Houses had been seized or joined with other minor Houses, and several prominent Senior Accountants had been challenged by ambitious youngsters for their jobs. Many of the old generation had perished under the blades of the young.

Grimjaw and Toughclaw had both survived, but it had been a very near thing, especially in Toughclaw's case. In fact, if not for the fact Alexandra Potter and William Rosier were still alive to take the mantle of their respective families lordships in time, it was highly likely the duels would have been much more numerous to fight... and the survival chances of the Senior Accountants much slimmer.

That was not to say their influence and position had not suffered over the years. Alexandra Potter had been unreachable until her arrival at the entrance of Gringotts last year, and she was the last of her line. William Rosier, a boy who would enter Hogwarts on September, was the last male descendant of the main line, living with an old and half-insane aunt. There were a few cousins in the Malfoy, Lestrange and other pure-blood families, but they didn't carry the name. Thus no way to regain any prestige.

"I will try to make a bit of inquiry on my own. Not that I would worry much. Dumbledore has not advertised it, but everyone in the Wizengamot knows he's the magical guardian of the Heiress. And he has constantly tried to pass laws in order to break the custom of marriage contracts this last decade, so I do not think he will give any agreement for the foreseeable future.

As for the Heiress herself, my impression of her is not one who will tolerate being melded in the character these pure-blood fools expect of their women."

A large grimace on Toughclaw's face indicated Grimjaw had touched a sensitive subject.

"Don't tell me..."

"The boy came three days ago." Grumbled Toughclaw. "You know, I had so much hope for the last of the Rosier line! But his aunt has trained him well. The perfect little monster, seeing anybody but his and his relatives as beasts. No skill in finance, I could see that when I opened him the ledgers. Only interested in the point he will never lack any money no matter what he does. He withdrew two thousand galleons for his shopping in Diagon Alley! Two thousand galleons!" Toughclaw shook his head. "Knowing I survived because of this pathetic and miserable imbecile makes be grateful none of my children chose to follow my path. When I die, I do not want them to be at the mercy of this human's survival!"

"Assuming he lives that long." Remarked Grimjaw.

"Yes." Acknowledged Toughclaw. "And what are the chances of that?"

16 July 1992, Oxford, England

Sitting on a comfortable chair, Gilderoy Lockhart savoured his glass of wine in the warmth of the July sun on the glass of his comfortable mansion. With two floors and a large propriety, he congratulated himself to have bought this former propriety of the McKinnon family. The price had been extravagant, but while it was about sixteen miles away from the centre of Oxford the calm and the beauty of the place were without equal. Muggle repulsive Charms helped though, as did Space Expansion wards.

Over his head, the sky was a perfect blue so rarely seen in England and the large park around his home was bristling with various shades of green. Really a perfect time to be outside and profit from the superb weather.

A loud 'POP!' out of the wards announced the arrival of the visitor he had waited for the better part of the morning.

"Well?" Lockhart asked.

"See by yourself." Replied his interlocutor, sending him the edition of the Daily Prophet of today. Unfolding it, Gilderoy Lockhart did not miss a flamboyant picture in front of him in the first page, along with the major headline: "Lockhart accepts DADA's post at Hogwarts!".

Gilderoy smiled. "So Dumbledore has taken the bait? Excellent."

"For all his experience and influence his politics, the great Albus Dumbledore has many weaknesses which can be exploited in certain occasions." Replied the other man in an ironic tone. "Not showing him any respect is in general a good way to rile him up."

"I'm so glad you find it amusing, Jones." Said Lockhart. "It's not you who will be next to him ten months of the year!"

Curbing his head in mockery, Hendryk Jones let a small smile come to his lips. It did not fool Gilderoy Lockhart, though. Fifth in the hierarchy of the Magical Intelligence Bureau (more commonly known as the MIB), Jones was responsible of all the official and secret operations made by the Union of the Magical American States (or UMAS) in Europe. He was Lockhart's chief... and a very dangerous man, as several dozen rogue wizards languishing in the Americans prisons could have very vigorously attested.

"In all seriousness, Gilderoy, I know this mission can be incredibly risky." Admitted Jones. "It's likely your cover identity will be one of a fraud and a liar by the end of Hogwarts school year. Our informers have already signs Dumbledore will move in this direction. Not immediately perhaps, but by February or March he will address the British Wizengamot on the issue."

"Him destroying my cover persona doesn't bother me." Admitted Lockhart. "In fact, I would be ready to thank him for this! I always disliked writing this nonsense about magical creatures, perfuming like a woman every day and spending a quarter of the book money in beauty products! I'm more worried about him deciding to resort to a direct magical offensive and finding me tied up in his office waiting for his pet Death Eater to administer Veritaserum."

Gilderoy knew his turn had been considerably bitterer towards the end, but he didn't really care. Having been sorted in 1975 in Ravenclaw as a half-blood student, he had been more often than not on the receiving end of the curses of several pure-blood Slytherins and their friends, including one Severus Snape. The fact that so many of his former tormentors had then gone growing the ranks of the Death Eaters, committing slaughters and massacres for their horrible ideology had convinced him fleeing to America was the best solution. That so many of these killers had then gone away without any trial had convinced him Magical Britain was a place which it was best to stay away.

"I understand. And yes, before you say otherwise, your American citizenship may be not enough to protect you if you're taken. "Said Jones."But there will be portkeys in several secret locations around Hogwarts and Hogsmeade if things turn badly. I know it might not be enough, but..."

"That's already a lot." Thanked him Lockhart. "Has there been any modifications in my mission orders?"

"As a matter of fact, yes." Told Jones. Noticing Gilderoy was not at ease, the MIB agent quickly added: "Not in the major points. Your goals are still to infiltrate Hogwarts and figure the real state of the school. I must insist: the real one, Gilderoy. Most of the paperwork and the academic achievements which arrive to the ICW services are so badly filled and altered it has probably no relation with reality. We need to know the real level of Hogwarts students and the atmosphere inside the school. We need a reliable person to give us knowledge of the events Albus Dumbledore passes each year under the table with his great friend the Minister Cornelius Fudge."

"Understood." Said calmly Lockhart. He had been formed to accomplish this kind of missions, after all, and he would hide in plain sight the totality of the time. "And the secondary objectives?"

"Find the ward stones and the most accurate plans of the castle you can. Observe but do not try to act against the most obvious extremists factions of the school."

"And the change in orders?"

"We would like you to take an Aura Reader with you at Hogwarts." Lockhart blinked at that. He really had not seen this one coming, not at all.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, I am." Was it a tone of regret in Jones voice?

Gilderoy Lockhart paused to think about it. In itself, an Aura Reader was not a dangerous artefact or any kind of enchantment used for nefarious purpose. Conceived by the mutual efforts of French, Italian and American magical prodigies, it was a fairly recent development which allowed its owner to estimate and record the potential power of a witch, a wizard or any type of magical being able to generate a magical aura. It did not work well for the beings who had not their magic under control (like young children), but over the age of ten, the results approached a success-rate of 99% in correctly estimating the raw magical power of someone.

Like everything in the real world, it had its own defaults. The Aura Reader read your magical potential; it did not calculate if the subject was using it. A lazy wizard who lacked the motivation and the will to use his magic could very well register on the Aura Reader having the magical power of a God, but Lockhart himself would defeat him handily if his motivation was to pass from the bed to the table half of the day. Having potential was one thing, knowing how to use it was an altogether different matter.

But Magical Britain had not appreciated at all the initial press releases of the magical invention. If Lockhart had to guess, the possibility of detecting Squibs (who had been definitely proved to release extremely small amount of magic the Aura Reader could detect) and those being extremely weak magically had been extremely unpleasant for the pure-blood elites of Britain. Anyway, a law had been voted by the Wizengamot at the near-unanimity to forbid the use of the Aura Reader in the British Isles. Any offender would be punished by ten years at the dark prison of Azkaban. For each use.

"You want to know if there are Lord-Level witches and wizards studying at Hogwarts." Said Gilderoy.

Jones did a simple nod. "Indeed. Albus Dumbledore is one, but he has never hidden it. Voldemort was another." Lockhart shivered at the mention of that name, though his superior did not speak against his reaction. "But Dumbledore is old and no one has yet risen alongside him to emerge as his successor. I want to know if the rest of the world has reason to fear something coming from Hogwarts in the next years. In good or in bad."

Said like that, it sounded almost reasonable. In 1991, four hundred and thirty-two witches and wizards all over the world were considered as Lord-Levels, but Albus Dumbledore was widely considered as one of the top ten. If one had any doubt of it, the defeat of Grindelwald which had destroyed half of Berlin in 1945 was evidence enough. There were plenty in the ICW today who feared the Headmaster of Hogwarts because of it. The possibility of another wizard, more powerful than him, coming out in the Light to replace him had to be worrying.

"Okay." Said Lockhart. "I will play the idiot for the time being and bring your detector with me. Speaking of which, do you think Dumbledore has used one inside the walls of Hogwarts?"

"I can't exclude it." Replied Jones in a contemplative mood. "The man likes to have an advantage over everyone in his strategies so it would not be out of character. Take care of yourself, Gilderoy. I will contact you for a meeting on December 23rd."

Hendryk Jones walked away in long, hard strides and then disappeared once he had passed the outer boundaries of the wards around Lockhart's home.

Finishing his glass of wine, Gilderoy Lockhart began to construct his new strategy. First, a triumphant parade in Diagon Alley was in order. After that...

17 July 1992, Ministère de la Magie, Paris, France

"What are we going to do, Armand?" Said René de Ségur, Minister of Magical France.

The Minister of Magical France was usually a good-natured man, reflected Armand Delacour. He was as well a dear friend. Seeing him broken like this in his own office was unbearable. But saying this would not improve the situation. Words were cheap, after all. Well that and it was probable nothing short of Joan of Arc and Napoléon Bonaparte both resurrecting plus half a dozen miracles could avoid the storm of problems coming for him.

Throwing a glance at the window, Armand watched the multicoloured lights signalling the enchanted shops and the residences of Magical Paris. It was an explosion of colours and sense, a marvel that usually never failed to raise his spirits. It was the proof France had recovered from the disastrous Grindelwald War to become once again the first European economy. Forgotten the dark masses of Inferius and abominable creatures dirtying the earth of their presence. France had taken the reins of its own destiny once again, and overcome all its challengers in prestige, culture and beauty.

Until today.

"We could do nothing, I suppose." Armand said finally. "Alas, I don't think it would go very well with our own citizens."

"An understatement if there ever was one." Sighed the Minister.

"Exactly. Having said this, my department is finalising the new security plan we have discussed yesterday. We are going to double our force of chasseurs, put formations of curse-breakers and ward-masters the utmost priority, as well as reinforcing the security of every high-valued location in our territories. We have already planned to raise the level of every minor school and Beauxbatons Academy in the classes of Defensive Tactics and Battle Formation."

"That will help." Answered René de Ségur. "But will it be enough?"

"No." Answered Armand. "But if my fears about what happened to the goblins are confirmed, nothing will be enough. The beings who organised this massive slaughter knew what they were doing, René. Brise-Roc and every goblin inside it are gone. Destroyed to the ashes. If these people wanted to overthrow the Ministry tomorrow, the best thing my chasseurs and the rest of the elite forces could to stop them would be activate the self-destruct command of the Ministry ourselves. At least they wouldn't raid the Ministry vaults like they undoubtedly did with the goblins."

"How did they make the mountain explode? By pure curiosity you understand."

"We have two plausible theories at the moment. Both suppose the attackers had someone inside to help them. The first explanation is they used an alchemical process named the Magma's Crystal." Seeing the lost look of the Minister, Delacour laughed without joy. "I have not understood half of what the Arithmancers experts of my department explained, but the basics are fairly simple: accumulate the pure energy of a volcano inside a crystal, connect it to the wards and then place a detonator to make it unstable at will."

"You do not look convinced." Remarked René de Ségur.

"Every expert I spoke with was unable to tell me why there were too little flames after the explosion. And the goblins had a ward against such crystals. It was old, but it was working at their last inspection three months ago."

"And the second explanation?"

"A wizard having elemental capabilities. A fire affinity to be precise. The problem with this theory is that having this type of power does not make you invincible, and there were thousands of goblins inside the fortress. That a wizard managed to eliminate all of them, make an asteroid-sized crater and escape is ...not very likely."

"There is no wizard or witch having manifested this ability in the last fifty years in Europe, and it is one truly difficult to hide and master." The minister closed his eyes, before reopening them, a light of resistance in them.

"All right. Do what you can Armand to reorganise our military forces. In the mean time, I'm going to talk with the opposition. This disaster offers us an opportunity to purge the pure-blood supremacists and get rid of their incompetence. I'm going to seize it. This disaster stems from the Goblin Liaison Office: I don't care if Charles de Male Foi has his cousin half-dead at the hospital; this time he is going to be fired. He and his cronies have flirted with treason for too long, it's time they learn to do their job honestly or go to prison."

"Do you think Hélène de Broglie and the rest of the opposition are going to let you dismiss the man? He was one of their go-between when they wanted unofficial talks."

"I think so." The Minister let a nasty smile show on his face. "Dumbledore's speech at the ICW Assembly of Geneva managed to put them into a white rage." Delacour shivered internally at the image, as Hélène de Broglie was a Lady in terms of power, and being near her had surely been not pleasant.

"The Supreme Mugwump made himself an enemy this day."

"He made an enemy of every French this day." Corrected the Minister. "Given the dark rumours circulating about the direction taken by Hogwarts and the rest of the British Isles under his rule, I was surprised at his willingness to treat our country like dirt. But I will not forget it. France will not forget it. And if there's a justice in this world, Dumbledore's comments about our 'inexcusable neglect of France's most critical wards' will come to bite him back. He deserves no less."

"Well," said philosophically Armand Delacour. "What did you expect from the man who intervened against Grindelwald only when half of Europe was burnt to ashes?"

21 July 1992, Manoir des Anges, France

The young girl contemplated a long time her home manor. She knew the portkey in her hand, a small bronze trinket, had a limited time to activate, but...this was her home. It was the last time for many months she would see it.

The white marble, the warm sun, the joyous song of the birds were going to be sorely missed. More than ever, she wished there wasn't a way to stay.

But it was impossible.

Her father was in a hospital, with no Healer able to say when he would regain consciousness. Her mother had died years ago. All the cousins and relatives had refused to take her, like she had suddenly caught all the diseases in the world. Even the Board of Beauxbatons, greatest and supposedly impartial Magical School of France, had refused to admit her in their ranks.

Her long blonde hair flowing in the air, the young girl tightened her fist. She would come back. The list of humiliations her so-called family had reaped on her head had been endless, and being forced to study in a foreign country was just the most recent.

Lyre de Male-Foi contemplated a last time the splendid towers of the Manoir des Anges before grabbing her trunk, speaking the activation password and disappearing into a whirlwind of magic.

23 July 1992, MacDougal Manor, Ireland

Morag MacDougal breathed a long sigh as her three cousins walked away from the ancestral circle of stones, regretting once more the tradition of absolute honesty in this magical place.

Admitting to her close family, and the young MacDougal family was very close with her cousins, that she had made no friends of any sort in her Hogwarts year...it had not been one of her proudest moments. But it was the cold truth. Hogwarts had never felt like the Irish home she loved, and the end of the year exams had destroyed what little friendship they were among the first-years of Ravenclaw House.

The Gryffindors had some right to call the Ravens bookworms and know-it-alls. It was one of the rare Lions valid remarks, but it did not make it less true. And in the end for what? Of the four Houses, there were about one of two really studying like they should and trying to win the House Cup loyally. The last Feast had showed how the hard work was valued.

About as much as the Old Ways.

Magic was declining, half of the students were a shame for wizardry and witchcraft.

If it had been possible, Morag would have transferred to another school. Impossible of course, and not just because she would have to admit to her parents everything.

No, it was not the solution. Exiting Hogwarts would leave a serious mark upon her name when the time came to enter the Wizengamot. And perhaps there was a possibility to make friends in other Houses.

Stranger things had happened. Once in a time, they were competent DADA Professors...

25 July 1992, Somewhere in the French Alps

Alexandra Victoria Potter watched the sun setting on the mountains in a crepuscular colour. So high in altitude, the sky and the panorama were breathtaking, far more spectacular than everywhere else she had formerly been.

As light disappeared in the horizon and night came, the Potter Heiress stayed immobile on a massive stone, even knowing she would have to go back in the valley soon. Even in summer, the night so high in the mountains could really be cold for her taste, not to mention she had not taken with her a lot of warm clothes.

But the night meant sleeping, and sleep was definitely an activity which on this July month brought her little comfort. Alexandra had believed she was about to die, in the armoury of Brise-Roc. The Summon had been about to roast her, and only a miracle could have saved her.

At the last moment, though, the miracle had happened. The salamander had roared in anger and pain, before being seemingly absorbed back into a gigantic vortex, like one in the video games Dudley was so fond of. Alexandra had not waited to know why or how she had been granted such a reprieve. The reality had shivered, and suddenly teleportation was available again. In a last effort, she had visualised the mountain overbearing the place where the first Gringotts portkey had brought her more than a week ago, and tried with all her will to teleport herself away.

It had worked, but the effort had nearly killed her. Alexandra had teleported herself on short distances before; this teleportation had been in miles or kilometres depending the measure system of the country you were referencing. Arrived to her destination, she had completely been emptied of energy and she had assisted in a semi-unconscious state to the explosion of the mountain in the far away distance.

Once sufficiently recovered, Alexandra had gone to the point where she had hidden her spare clothes (for once her prudence to create a secret hideout beforehand had been fairly justified), and left. She had not had the will to explain to the authorities the circumstances of her presence, and she wanted to be far, far away from Brise-Roc. This place had been a gigantic trap, and the furthest away she was from it, the better.

She had erred in the French mountains ever since, using the French money she had converted from the Galleons of her trust vault to buy food and drink. She may have been emerged unharmed from the disaster, but the demon was still pursuing her in her sleep. Every moment passed sleeping was seeing her dreams transform in nightmare with a certain salamander of flames and shadows appearing to annihilate her.

Damn the Exchequer. Damn the goblins for charging in the melee without a Plan B.

Beginning her long descent towards the next town, the young witch saw a white light approaching her in the rapidly diminishing light.

"Atalanta." Alexandra smiled, the first time she had done so for a long time.

"HOOT!" Replied the snow owl, which then proceeded to pose on her right shoulder and vigorously pinch her everywhere she could find.

"OUCH!OUCH! It's okay, I won't leave without news for so long, girl."

The snowy owl hooted again with a threatening glare, then dropped a letter carrying the Hogwarts seal in her hands, along with a few large packages from Hermione and Nigel.

Wondering how she had taken the dominated role in the owl-witch relationship, Alexandra broke the seal and opened the letter first.

HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY

Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore

(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)

Dear Miss Potter,

We are pleased to inform you that you have achieved sufficient marks to enter your second year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.

Term begins on 1 September. Your ticket for King's Cross is included in this letter.

Yours sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall

Deputy Headmistress

"I was wondering when reality would come back ticking again." Alexandra sighed." After all, all those wander are not lost." She added to herself.

"Well, girl." She said to Atalanta. "Are you ready to return to Hogwarts?" Her owl emitted an offended hoot in answer.

"Of course you are ready. Plenty of male owls to court you there." Atalanta hooted loudly in indignation." Fine. Next stop, Diagon Alley."

Alexandra watched the mountains in the distance. While everything was peaceful, the young witch was not able to forget that behind this green and grey, the ruins of Brise-Roc laid. The thousands of souls of those slain by the Summon were still pressing her like an invisible burden.

"This is not over, Exchequer. I will become powerful...and then you will pay. This a promise."

An instant later, there was no one there anymore. Save a marmot wondering what all this noise was about before going to sleep.