The odds were never in my favour Chapter 78: Plans and Firepower, a harry potter fanfic

Chapter 78

Plans and Firepower

10 June 1994, Hogwarts Express

The red wagons and the crimson-gold steam engine of the Hogwarts had begun moving, and the Exiled watched as they left Hogsmeade station behind them. In the distance, the towers of the school-castle where they had spent the better part of nine months were shrouded in an aura of fragility and loneliness before they rapidly shrunk and disappeared from view.

"Well," Alexandra began, "that was an interesting year."

"Hogwarts was completely boring before your arrival," Morag told her in a fake mournful voice that fooled no one in the compartment.

"Before Longbottom and my arrival," the green-eyed Champion corrected, only to be interrupted by a chuckle of the red-haired Ravenclaw.

"Forgive me if I'm wrong, but who was the target of the Light fanatics during the Battle of Hogsmeade?"

"Me," reluctantly conceded the Basilisk-Slayer.

"Who was present when two of the DADA teachers died this year? Who went to speak with not-so-dead legends, sued Dumbledore for several millions of Galleons, and won the Tournament preliminaries?"

"Yes, yes," Alexandra replied, leaving her seat to open the compartment's window and let Atalanta enter. The snowy owl had gone outside to stretch her wings and profit from the summer-like weather Scotland had enjoyed in the few last days. "You've made your point."

"But I was just beginning!" the Irish girl pouted.

"That's one more reason in my book to tell you to stop," Alexandra yawned and began to pet her snowy owl. "But frankly, in the case of the DADA teachers, I'm of the opinion my presence or lack thereof wouldn't have changed anything."

"Why?" asked Nigel, raising his head from a small mountain of newspapers.

"I can't have full confirmation unless we have a certain Dark Lord's confession," which would probably never happen, "but my guess is that Voldemort," the wizard-born magicals of the compartment minus Lyre shivered, "tied the curse he unleashed against the DADA department to his life. Therefore, every time he is extremely weakened, the Dark Magic he conjured will force the Professors chosen for that year to leave the castle with merely a slap on the wrist like a public humiliation or an allergic reaction, but if he regains strength, it will be death or crippling injuries for the wizards and witches acting as our Defence experts."

"That isn't a bad explanation," Hermione agreed reluctantly after two seconds. "We don't know what happened during the confrontation between the Boy-Who-Lived and Quirrell in first year, but Voldemort was certainly involved."

"In second year, it was his younger self who haunted the halls of Hogwarts," Scylla gloomily declared, keeping the outward appearance of her Weasley lineage for now. "But while Bellatrix Black-Lestrange escaped Azkaban last year, she didn't do anything to support him and yet Professors Lupin and Podmore died."

Alexandra winced.

"I don't know if the Exchequer had something to do with it, but judging by the behaviour of Longbottom yesterday, Voldemort," cue the new shivering, "has certainly regained a body or is very close to achieving it."

"You don't seem terrified by this prospect."

Alexandra rolled her eyes. She had not met Voldemort, but the same couldn't be said about the Queen of the Exchequer, and unless the Dark Lord vanquished by the Boy-Who-Lived was three times more dangerous than her worst estimates, he wouldn't be even a shadow of the threat represented by Morgana La Fay.

"Let assume for a second that The-One-Who-Flies-Away-From-Death is as good as the Daily Prophet trumpeted when he was at the height of his powers," Alexandra spoke sarcastically. "He was never able to best Dumbledore and a certain number of elite Auror squadrons, and while support for blood-purism is still sadly present in British society, his former lieutenants have stolen the thunder of it from his claws. From our interesting and lively meeting, I can tell you Bellatrix Black has no intention to return to her former's master side, and the same is certainly true for House Malfoy and plenty of Conservative and Traditional Houses. I won't deny Voldemort is dangerous, but if he is bankrupt and without wealthy supporters..."

Tom Riddle, when it came down to it, had begun his life in abject poverty and had most certainly returned to it, because the Malfoys didn't seem the type to leave vaults of gold unclaimed.

"Yes, his little revolution is going to meet a lot of difficulties gaining ground," Hermione approved.

"And there's another factor to take into account," Lyre intervened in a voice where the French accent had mostly disappeared. Alexandra wished she could say the same for her English accent when she spoke French. "Whether that version of Halloween night of 1981 is true or not, the Dark Lord Voldemort got himself blown up when there wasn't anyone more dangerous than two adult wizards and one toddler nearby."

"You're saying Dark Wizards will refuse to join the Death Eaters' ranks because of his previous failure?" Morag was doing a nice job of being very unconvinced.

"No offence," the blonde witch smiled, "but on the southern shores of the Channel, your British Dark Lord is widely seen as a joke. The German capital was levelled when Dumbledore and Grindelwald fought their first duel in 1945, and most of this Dark Lord's spiritual predecessors went down hard too. And they had conquered kingdoms and empires beforehand. Voldemort...he didn't manage to conquer the British Isles, and he disappeared in ridiculous circumstances."

"It's unlikely he will try anything with the Tournament next year, either way" Hermione said after a moment of reflection. "The security measures are extensive, right Alex?"

The raven-haired witch nodded.

"No security measure is impossible to breach, of course, but the Scuola Regina will have extremely high standards of security due to the presence of many European powerhouses, Ministers, and hundreds of persons of interest, plus of course the delegations of Beauxbatons, Durmstrang, and Hogwarts. And in the unlikely case you manage to find a flaw in the wards and try something stupid...the Headmistress of the school is a Lady-level Dark Witch, and her organisation will likely be ready to intervene if there's a problem...an attack upon the Champions participating or the school is nothing but suicide for the Death Eaters and their ilk."

"I would find it more reassuring," Nigel murmured, "if this Dark Lord hadn't done very ugly and unnecessary crimes over a decade ago..."

Alexandra imagined for a few instants the sight of an aged Tom Riddle being thrown into an arena to be devoured by Morgana's ancient crocodiles. The lover of snakes would find a very inglorious end under the fangs of bigger reptiles than himself. Ah, the irony...

"All right!" Morag exclaimed. "Enough with Alexandra's insane and dangerous enemies! Let's speak of more interesting things."

"She's going to speak of Quidditch, isn't she?" Hermione raised her eyes in direction of the ceiling, and Crookshanks profited from the moment of inattention to jump on her lap and eat some of the sweets. Unfortunately for the hungry feline, the sweets in question were Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans, and at a guess, Crookshanks had not chosen to eat something with the taste of chocolate or marmalade. "Bad Crookshanks! Bad!"

"Come on guys, we're speaking of the Quidditch World Cup!"

"Where the English players are going to show us that it is possible to be more ridiculous than the Chudley Cannons on a broom, you mean?" Nigel answered back.

"The Heliopaths have eaten their luck," added serenely Luna, reading as always her copy of the Quibbler in reverse.

"England is doomed, sure," Morag agreed, "but I have tickets for Ireland versus Argentina in one month. Interested?"

"Yes," Alexandra admitted. She had never seen high-level international games, and with the Firebolt and other elite-class brooms having recently entered the market, the reserve Seeker of Ravenclaw was very curious how skilled in the air the best world players were. "It will be interesting to see how Moran and her teammates are doing."

"Already trying to get out of your Tournament training?" Nigel teased her.

Alexandra stuck out her tongue.

"I will only go to this game, oh great journalist," the Champion of the Morrigan informed her friend. "And with the performance the Irish team has shown during the European qualifiers, I sincerely doubt this game is going to last more than a few hours. At worst we will spend the day there. I think I can enjoy life for twenty-four hours without exhausting myself physically and mentally."

"So controlled and disciplined," Morag chuckled, "I've heard the other Champions of Hogwarts are nowhere near as responsible as you are."

"Even Diggory?" the Hufflepuff boy was very much the picture of the hard-working student, being Prefect and at the top of the rankings in his year.

"Even Diggory," the Irish redhead repeated. "You didn't ask Cho?"

"Morag, as far as I'm concerned, what Cho Chang does in her private life with Diggory and how much time they intend to spend at the Quidditch World Cup isn't my business," Alexandra yawned exaggeratedly again. "I suppose Cedric got his tickets by his father?"

"Correct. Unless Amos Diggory bragged a lot about something he didn't understand, his hard stance on Magical Creatures earned him several seats for Scotland versus Luxembourg, Uganda versus Wales, and a couple for the final itself."

"Some people have all the luck..." Scylla groaned theatrically.

"Your brother Ron was particularly vocal telling everyone in the Great Hall that your father would manage to grab some tickets," Morag countered.

"My brother," the grimace was seen by everyone, "has a mouth full of prejudices. But yes, our father managed several times to find tickets for the World Cup. Except this year, Fudge has lost a lot of prestige and influence thanks to Dumbledore, and our father is among the top Dumbledore supporters at the Ministry. I don't know, maybe he will manage to convince Bagman to free the last remaining tickets...I just won't spend my summer evenings dreaming on it."

"Dreaming may be the wrong word," Lyre de Male-Foi scoffed. "I...went for one of the half-finals four years ago, and the supporters are just...it's utter madness."

"It's Quidditch." Morag raised her hands in the air like she was holding the Quidditch World Cup.

"Can you please repeat the qualified teams?" Hermione inquired, shaking her off dreams of aerial triumphs.

"Sure, and I will even add whose opponents they have in the eighth-finals: England versus Transylvania, Norway versus Russia, Japan versus Bulgaria, Scotland versus Luxembourg, Ireland versus Argentina, France versus Germany, Peru versus Spain, and Uganda versus Wales. What's the problem, Hermione?" the MacDougal Heiress asked as the bushy-haired Ravenclaw had stopped smiling.

"Do you think...she will be at the Tournament?"

Russia. Yes, Alexandra could see why the former Gryffindor was afraid.

"I think it's...extremely unlikely." The Champion of the Morrigan shook her head negatively. "Unlike at the Tournament, there is no amnesty or tolerance for those who are violating British laws, and Romanov has never tried to hide she's a Black Mage. She would have to come under Polyjuice by International Portkey, and stay under disguise for several hours minimum, all for the pleasure of watching a Quidditch game." The Potter Heiress scratched her head. "I won't say it is completely impossible, but I met her twice in person, and she didn't give me the image of a Quidditch addict."

If it was a monster-hunting competition which was organised, it went without saying Alexandra wouldn't be that confident.

"Too bad," Morag chuckled, "I would pay quite a few Galleons to see the Dark Queen exploding during one of Ron Weasley's 'the Chudley Cannons are the best' rant..."

Alexandra laughed with the rest of the Exiled. Yes, that would be fun alright. Too bad, the Chaos Champion has far more murderous designs than the most violent of the Quidditch games...

Neville hadn't expected something in particular to happen when he entered the compartment the Twins always kept to themselves – aside from fireworks, the usual pranks, freezing gel, the colour-shaping objects.

But if he had expected a particular event to be the privileged spectator of, it wouldn't have been Ron and Percy locked into aggressive stares with Fred and George.

"I think no more needs to be said," the Head Boy of Gryffindor House said in a tone colder than ice before marching so quickly out of the compartment Neville had to promptly get out of the way to avoid a collision. Ron followed him less than four seconds later, though at least he threw him an apologetic look.

"That could have gone better," George said in a disabused tone, his cheerful expression in abeyance.

"It couldn't have gone much worse, my ugly brother," Fred commented while twirling his wand between his fingers at an impressive speed. "They could have tried to curse us, but..."

An unfamiliar sigh arrived to the lips of the two red-haired pranksters-in-chief before four eyes turned towards him.

"Our apologies, your Most Honourable Excellency," the Twin Terrors chorused, "we should have locked the door for a few minutes, we were taken by surprise."

Neville tried very hard not to snort...and failed.

"You? Surprised?"

"We are over-prepared, not omniscient," Fred swaggered, presenting a very offended expression while smirking.

"We are merely mortals aspiring to the godhood of pranks and jokes, faithful follower," George added, managing a few grimaces that would have given facial cramps to the inexperienced. "And like poor mortals, it seems we can sometimes be taken by surprise...occasionally."

"I suppose this means Percy's behaviour isn't getting any better, then?" Neville couldn't say he had ever been close to the eldest of the Weasleys present at Hogwarts. In the last months however, it had not been required to be omniscient or a gossip-king to realise the Twins' eldest brother was behaving more and more like a petty tyrant. There had been no outright abuse of his position, but plenty of issues which should have been handled with nothing but a few words of warning had been 'rewarded' with losses of House points and detentions.

"As we said," Fred threw him a few sweets that Neville caught instinctively. "It could have been better. His ambition is getting the better of him."

"That's...err...idiotic?" the future Longbottom had little idea how to manage the chaos that were the Wizengamot and the Ministry right now, but he knew the way Percy was going wasn't going to make him any friends. "He is aware a lot of boys and girls who heavily disliked him at Hogwarts have parents and relatives in the upper levels of each Department?"

"We think he is aware of it, deep inside his large and overdeveloped brain," George answered, "but the rest of his head is convinced his academic results will allow him to rise to the top and make himself a name. Which as you have yourself pointed out, is idiotic. He broke up with Penelope months ago, and she was one of the few students to not have given up on him."

"We aren't surprised he was hired as an assistant under Crouch," Fred mused.

"Crouch? The Head of the Department of International Cooperation?"

"The very same," confirmed the Twins in their combined voice. "Also known as the man who never smiles, former DMLE Director, blah, blah, blah. We can already see the common points those two have a thousand miles away."

As much as Neville wanted to say they were wrong, he really couldn't. Bartemius Crouch, last of the Most Ancient House of Crouch, was infamous for being extremely ruthless at everything he did. He was also infamously humourless, friendless, and hated by a lot of wizards and witches. It wasn't hard to see how Percy had managed to get the job.

"That's...fascinating, but it doesn't explain why Ron was glaring at you too." Neville had hesitated before stepping upon the subject, but finally decided to go ahead.

"In these...fascinating times," Fred smirked, "the opinion of certain Ministry and Dumbledore-sponsored honourable wizards is that it's better to not be associated in any way with Dark Wizards and their affairs."

"And this despite the fact we are selling extremely funny vomit-inducing 'Dark Marks'!" George rolled his eyes. "Test one, they're sure to make you sick one hundred percent of the time!"

"And prevent you from going to History or another boring class?" The Boy-Who-Lived replied.

"Surely not!"

"How outrageous!"

"We would never, Gred, I say never, try to decrease attendance to some of the least loved teachers' courses!"

"Quite right Forge! We would never...err...what were we talking about?"

Neville shook his head. Truly the Twins were completely unrepentant pranksters and mischief-creators.

He wasn't too worried about the 'dark relations' Ron and Percy had most likely voiced their protests against. As far as the Hogwarts rumour mill went, the Twins were rumoured to have accepted a considerable sum of money from the Exiled Queen in the last years. As it had literally no effect save increasing the frequency of their pranks and the new stuff they invented, the son of Frank Longbottom didn't see why it was a problem.

He would not think about Voldemort. He would not think about Voldemort...

"Do you have some of your fireworks with the animal themes left? My grandmother's birthday is near, and I want to create a bit of animation when it's time to give the presents..."

"Of course, dear customer! Everything for a fellow pyromaniac-prankster!"

As long as the Twins didn't blow up themselves and Hogwarts during their experimentations, all would be well...

11 June 1994, Rome, Italy

The phylactery of Rook Imposter was a work of art; that much Knight Treasurer was ready to acknowledge.

While most wizards attuned to the Dark chose heavily-enchanted objects of their own creation to protect their immortal soul, the master spy of the Exchequer had selected a partially hollowed statue of Bacchus, the Roman equivalent of Dionysus, and as if that was not enough, it was a three metre-tall sculpture and the substance used to create it was Orichalcum, one of the rare eleventh-class Alchemical components. Given that a few kilograms of the stuff was enough to buy a magical palace and several alleys of luxury shops and residential manors, this made the phylactery one of the most expensive artworks in the known world, magical or non-magical.

Of course, it was also rather likely most of said planet's inhabitants would ignore that the statue existed in the first place for centuries to come. Placed several hundreds of metres below the ancient city of Rome, far below its legendary catacombs, and protected by uncountable lethal wards, the private quarters of Knight Informer's subordinate were not opened to the public at large.

And it wasn't the only thing which would remain in the shadows for as long as humanly possible. Against every wall of the vast underground chamber, semi-transparent cocoons pulsated, each one containing familiar and unfamiliar bodies of men and women.

These were the body doubles of Rook Imposter, created by Dark Alchemy, various prohibited rituals, and a minuscule portion of the body-changer wizard's blood. Non-magical society would have labelled it as 'cloning', and they wouldn't have been completely wrong. As past history had proven, they were good enough to fool the overwhelming majority of the magical and non-magical humans that Imposter was targeting. It wasn't absolutely perfect; genetic testing and several highly sensitive rituals could reveal the deception. The Champions of the Light and the Dark also rarely stayed ignorant for long of this usurpation trickery; their patron Powers were prompt to give away the secret if Imposter represented a threat to their objectives.

And obviously, the creation of the bodies was not exactly the cheapest innovation to ever be invented by someone of their organisation. Incidentally, it was the very reason for his presence.

Tasting the wards around himself, Pedro de Borja descended the steps of black marble. He was the Lord Treasurer of Magical Spain, survivor of countless political and economic crises, and unofficially one of the wealthiest wizards in existence, but in an atmosphere like this one, prudence was a necessary quality. To be granted an invitation wouldn't mean much if he was incinerated, electrocuted, or had a barrel of acid transferred into his body. His colleagues would likely punish the creator of the wards and the lethal traps for having caused his doom, but it would be cold comfort to him.

Just as his right boot was touching one of the rare stones of white marble present in the room, the centre of the lab seemed to sink upon itself and a river of a black liquid began to fill the newly appeared hole.

The air began to be soaked in Dark Magic, and more and more of black liquid emerged, until there was enough of it to rise and coalesce into a vaguely humanoid shape.

The Knight Treasurer did not doubt for a single second he was before the real appearance of Rook Imposter. This was what happened when you severed all soul-ties with your original body and life-essence. You weren't really a man or a woman, a witch or a wizard, you were...Other. You lived, but you had far more in common with the Powers of Darkness and the Summons of other planes of existence than the average human.

"Knight Treasurer," green light robes were summoned from the void as the humanoid black body stabilised and the 'head' bowed. "My apologies for not being there to greet you at the door, my recent death was more...taxing than I wanted it to be."

"It is nothing," the golden-robed Spanish wizard answered, "so long as you were able to make your 'final stand' a convincing fight, your weeks of recovery are more than compensated by the intelligence taken from the Order of the Phoenix and the sabotage of the Hogwarts' ward stone."

A noise between a hiss and the click of a tongue was heard.

"I can't promise Dumbledore and his lieutenants reacted like I wanted them to, since I wasn't there anymore to observe their reactions," the Rook told him neutrally, "but in my opinion, there are excellent chances my 'death' will be accepted. They will have the corpse of 'my' Sinistra, the Army of Light or the Trinity will confirm it worked like some of the former bodies I used in the past, and the fact it was a Champion of the Light who was given the secret at the beginning of the information chain will help in convincing them I am not among the living anymore."

"And you are confident that if the orders of the King demand it, you will be able to infiltrate Hogwarts again?"

"Absolutely confident, Knight Treasurer," there was a dose of confidence and pride in this reply, but Pedro ignored it. After several centuries, all the masters of their fields currently part of the Exchequer had developed some ego. It would be more surprising that the contrary happened; countless operations successfully completed while leaving the Light in the dark required elite skills and nerves of steel. As long as the confidence didn't transform into unbound arrogance, it was tolerated.

"To be honest, I do not fancy my chances of successfully usurping the identity of the current Head of Houses or Dumbledore himself. I have acquired enough materials to create perfect copies of them, but managing to neutralise them and keep the population of the school in utter ignorance would be...a massive challenge. Several other teachers would also need plenty of preparations. Babbling, the Runes teacher, has plenty of esoteric wards and protections coming from Africa and beyond."

"Astronomy Professor Sinistra was perfect from that point of view," the Spanish pure-blood nodded in agreement. Aurora Sinistra had never mastered Occlumency, unlike some men and women of the Order of the Phoenix or their spies – the name of Severus Snape came to mind. She wasn't a veteran duellist, a spell-creator, or someone living surrounded by thousands of dangerous plants and mushrooms. And the Astronomy practical classes were scheduled at night, which allowed a spy to keep an erratic day-night schedule without attracting undue attention. "The best possible target?"

"Trelawney," the distaste was manifest in Imposter's voice, "however since she's a drunk madwoman living as a hermit in her tower, I would only take her place until all other alternatives have been exhausted."

"Yes, that would be for the best," and for not the tenth or the hundredth time, Pedro de Borja wondered what Dumbledore was thinking letting an incapable Seer teach Divination at his school. The ability to give out prophecies did not make you suited to explain a magical class to the younger generations. "Now let's not dance around it any longer, Rook Imposter. Tell me how much gold your next exploits are going to cost me..."

15 June 1994, MacDougal Manor, Ireland

"So...how does it feel to be a big sister?"

"Alexandra, don't say one more word." Morag growled.

The green-eyed girl stayed quiet for three seconds, just enough to give hope to the other Ravenclaw...and then she went to the kill.

"Come on, just think, in eleven years, it will be an older version of you who will lead your baby brother before the Hogwarts Express at King's Cross..."

"You really want to be hexed, don't you?"

"I will remind you that you are far, far from mastering silent casting. And uttering a spell right now would bring a lot of attention..."

The two witches were currently at the top of the main stairs of the Manor, looking at the rather considerable crowd of MacDougal cousins and village neighbours below them. In spite of having spent a lot of days there last summer, Alexandra had never seen so many people. But then, there had been no new birth in the main branch of the Irish House for over a decade.

"All Hail Elwyn MacDougal," Alexandra spoke solemnly, before taking a step backwards to evade the brilliant yellow hex that someone had decided to send her way, "future little Prince of House MacDougal. Your uncontested reign is at an end, your vile Majesty!"

"Big words from someone who didn't manage to get first rank this year," the red-haired 'Queen of the Manor' taunted her back, sending her a new hex, but this time Alexandra was ready and cast a shield in time. Morag had to evade her own hex and placed her wand back in her holster.

The last of the Potter line rolled her shoulder and kept her bored expression.

"Come on Morag, do you really think I care about that? It's not like the rankings truly mean anything..."

Sure, Hermione had taken the first place in the end; good for her, Alexandra was happy for their favourite bookworm.

But it didn't mean anything in real life. Not when a considerable number of third-year grades had been boosted if not doubled by the points earned in Care of Magical Creatures and Divination. When Ancient Runes and Arithmancy, two classes which should be fundamental subjects by their importance, were counting as much as the nonsense sprouted by Trelawney...well, comparing academic performance wasn't exactly a fair endeavour.

"Yes," the Ravenclaw who had finished sixth reluctantly admitted, "no one got worse than an 'A' in Divination, and assuming you bother opening your book and going to the classes, Care is also an easy 'E' or 'O'."

"Add to this that for some reason, the marks in Astronomy on the final exam were...particularly strange, the nonsense of Binns and his accomplice in History..."

"Yeah," Morag approved. "Except the grades of Crabbe and Goyle, the final rankings were...a bit wrong this year."

"Glad to hear you say it," Alexandra smiled before returning to the subject which had been dismissed. "So...a little brother for the big sister of House MacDougal."

"You aren't going to let it go, don't you?"

The black-haired girl decided to take a thoughtful pose for several seconds, before revealing a more carnivorous grin.

"No."

"I should warn you, I really am going to go all the way in my big cat's training!"

The comment was innocent sounding, since there were plenty of people in hearing range and many more could use magic to eavesdrop on their conversation.

"Good for you," Alexandra said cheerfully. "But not enough. A big cat is a big cat."

To be honest, if Alexandra wasn't the Champion of the Morrigan, Morag's inner animal would certainly have dominated the contest of the Exiled's Animagi forms.

There were several non-magical animals which could handle a Bengal Tiger on this planet, but they were few and far between. It was a great feline, and it could kill its prey in one strike after a monumental jump.

But when magic came into consideration, all the tiger species, even the Bengali one, were completely outmatched.

Morag would be very dangerous to be sure in an ambush scenario once she became a true Animagus. But the moment Alexandra transformed her skin into scales, there wasn't much the fangs and claws of a tiger could do.

"This big cat has fangs and claws."

"I'm shaking in my boots, big sister..."

Morag growled again.

"Good, very good, you don't need much training to sound like a big cat. Did Crookshanks give you lessons?"

"My vengeance is going to be terrible."

"Bring it on," and if her friend managed to trick her into something untoward, her counter-vengeance would be deeply satisfying.

The next two hours were spent commenting upon the clothes of the witches and wizards who came at Morag MacDougal on this rather sunny and windy day of summer. After spending months at Hogwarts, the Irish wizards and witches were a really fresh breath of novelty and colours, the complete opposite of the strict and conservative black robes of Hogwarts. The atmosphere was far nicer as a result.

"By the way, Morag, if it's not too indiscreet, why did your parents wait so long for another child?"

"Plenty of reasons," the Irish pure-blood replied, "their work was one of the main issues; after the fall of You-Know-Who, there were a lot of economic and societal changes in the Isles, and they already had me as a suitable Heiress. It's not a subject which is talked about in a normal conversation, but giving birth is heavily taxing for a witch. The longer you wait between two pregnancies, the better your chances to have healthy children and the lesser the risks for the mother, assuming of course you don't try like certain Houses to marry your first cousins and close family. It helps that witches can live longer and give children for a far longer period of their life than non-witch women."

Those sounded like good reasons...and raised a few questions about the Weasley family.

"Do you think it's the same reason why the Malfoys and other Dark Houses have a single Heir to continue their line?"

"I'm sure they had these issues in mind too," Morag grimaced, "but I asked my parents this question last winter, and they told me that where certain Houses are concerned, they wait until the first child is an adult and able to defend himself or herself to avoid 'accidents' and 'inheritance rivalries'."

"Charming," Alexandra wasn't going to say it painted these Houses under a positive light. And the Morag's use of 'certain' didn't exempt the Light-aligned Houses at all.

"But of course, I won't ever have a cause to complain about my little brother," the Heiress told her in an innocent and virtuous voice.

"Not even if he set your favourite Quidditch posters on fire while you're away?"

17 June 1994, Diagon Alley, London, England

"Now that we've gone over the basics of first and second-year, we are going to speak of a must-have skill I tried to instil in my post-OWLs students: identifying the core ingredient of a Potion before any substance is dropped into the cauldron."

The eyes of Professor Horace Slughorn were definitely mischievous when they looked at her.

"Can you guess why it's such an important skill to have, Miss Potter?"

"I suppose...I suppose it's important when a brewer only has incomplete instructions to arrive at a given result?"

"Indeed, indeed! Another usage?"

"Alterations of an already existing Potion formula, I guess," the Champion of House Ravenclaw said after a few seconds of reflection.

"Very good!" Slughorn approved just as he levitated several stacks of parchment in her direction. "Yes, identifying the core ingredient will be vital if you want to change a Potion recipe, be it to increase or decrease its potency. Evidently, older and most experienced Potion Masters require it at an extremely advanced level when they try to create entirely new formulas. I will add that while identifying the core ingredient is an ability every brewer should have, it doesn't translate into giving you the permission to meddle with the official instructions that proud wizards and witches have followed for centuries. Doing so in the middle of a Tournament task is seen in an extremely negative way by my colleagues."

Alexandra reflected on the Potions preliminary which had been organised this very year in the Great Hall, and understood that it had not only been the ineptitude of the Gryffindors in brewing which had generated the violent reaction of the judges.

"I understand...I think. At our current level of Potions, we are supposed to try to learn the approved methods of brewing and recite by heart the list of instructions, not improvise in the middle of an exam or a trial."

"Yes," the old Potion Master caressed his large moustache. "My advice is always to minimise the risks when you're trying to brew something. Potions can be a very dangerous field; why try to ruin a perfectly good cauldron and your health when the judges are not going to give you any points for this poorly thought-out decision? When in doubt, always take the path of brewing an existing Potion rather than trying your luck with an unknown substance."

The green-eyed witch swore to herself she wasn't going to forget this advice anytime soon...and not just where Potions were concerned. After all, Horace Slughorn had made an excellent point that the European Magical Tournament was a competition where the judges, not the Headmasters and Headmistresses, gave the points and presented their verdict to the public. And what Alexandra or her friends would find fantastic and worthy of praise may not be shared by a jury of veteran wizards and witches.

"It is rather late today, so we will limit ourselves to a single example I love to present to my students: Felix Felicis. Given the circumstances of this year, I suppose you looked up some Potion manuals explaining it, Miss Potter."

"I did," Alexandra admitted shamelessly. A magical substance nicknamed 'Liquid Luck'? Any person intelligent enough to tie their shoelaces could see the advantages of a Potion like that! "If drunken in small doses, Felix Felicis alters the magic of the wizard or the witch that enters him to resonate with higher levels of environmental symbiosis, giving to the outside observer the appearance that all objectives and aspirations of the drinker are successful beyond imagination. But taken in higher doses, the Potion becomes more and more toxic for human organs, and induces feelings of recklessness and aggressive overconfidence. There are also a lot of problematic aftereffects when the euphoria fades back."

Needless to say, it had calmed her enthusiasm quickly when she had read the explanations of the book in the Hogwarts Library. The Ravenclaw witch was all for increasing her chances to win, but not to poison herself for a few hours of luck.

"And last but not least, it is a Mastery-level Potion which needs to brew over six months," Slughorn beamed. "An extremely useful Potion even given the harsh limitations, Felix Felicis," the whimsical tone and the fond expression on his face were evidence enough Slughorn had brewed and tasted the golden-coloured 'Liquid Luck'. "I took one spoon of it at breakfast twice in my life. These were two perfect days for me."

The parchment containing the list of ingredients and the instructions unrolled before her.

"Now tell me: which is the core ingredient of Felix Felicis?"

Alexandra took long minutes before settling on a single name. To her dismay, there were a lot of things that had only been mentioned once or twice this year, and the black-haired witch had certainly not discussed their properties with Snape or Whitehead.

"Malaclaw venom," the Ravenclaw Champion said, "it is pure bad luck in liquid form, and boiled with Murtlap, it inverses its potent effects to create the positive luck the brewer wants."

"A good guess," Slughorn caressed his moustache again, "but wrong, I'm afraid. The core ingredient is Occamy eggshell. Yes," he added as her eyes widened in surprise, "you are not the first or even the hundredth person to make this mistake."

"But..." Alexandra looked at the instructions again. "Occamy only brings a tiny amount of luck into the Potion."

"But it stabilises and builds upon the seven powerful reactions the Potion Master is charged to keep in equilibrium for several hours," the former Head of House Slytherin explained gently. "As I said, it's a perfectly reasonable mistake to make. For thousands of Potions, the potency and the stability of the Potion go hand in hand. Not so much for Felix Felicis."

"In this case...wouldn't it be more correct to say there are two core ingredients instead of one?"

The bald wizard chuckled at her proposal.

"A very good argument, and not totally incorrect," the Potion Master replied. "But a careful study of the intra-reactions would explain that without Murtlap, the Malaclaw would outright be lethal to any drinker, and that makes it completely unacceptable to play the role of foundation in the Potion. The other examples I ask you to see for our next session will be simpler, a short essay for each explaining your reasoning will be enough, though I ask you do it without trying to search for the answer in older students' textbooks."

At least she hadn't been wrong: for all the homework, one learned far more in a few hours with Slughorn about Potions than you were lambasted endlessly by Snape for three years.

19 June 1994, somewhere in Scotland

Before some super-magical virus changed him into a wererat, Dudley had known there were some things truly badass in life.

To his sorrow, the young boy had long since realised what he had done for the last years...it was not particularly impressive. Going after old ladies, younger children, and destroying some cars with baseball bats with a large group of his friends...it was not badass. It was not going to be cheered for or applauded. It wasn't nice too.

Watching his cousin levitate a damned larger-than-life Dreadnought only by the power of her mind and doing strange gestures with her hands? That was badass.

If it wasn't, what would it take to earn this level of awesomeness?

"Behold SMS König," Piers said respectfully as tens of thousands of long tons of steel and metal advanced towards the dry dock which had been prepared next to the other Dreadnought already in repair. "It was the leading ship in the German line at the Battle of Jutland, a fourth-generation Dreadnought, and commissioned on August 10th, 1914."

"And it is one hundred and seventy-five metres-long," Dudley murmured as the colossal warship was moved carefully towards its new lair, much like a child led an expensive toy to a favourite hideout. Unlike his cousin, he had decided to not learn the European system of measures and weights.

"One hundred and seventy-five meters-long yes," Malcolm said before whistling the beginning of a tune which sounded suspiciously like God Save the Queen. "When it was in service in the High Seas Fleet, it could sail at twenty-three knots. Of course, now that the goblin engineers are working night and day on the engines, these Dreadnoughts are likely going to be faster."

"It's awesome," the young wererat declared before correcting himself. "Awesome and terrifying. How is Alexandra paying for all of that?"

"She doesn't pay for everything," James intervened, distributing some sweets which looked like they were wizard-made. "The goblins are funding some of the repairs and the docks, against the promise the Hydra Queen won't turn the guns against them once the Dreadnoughts are ready to be unleashed again."

"Just a promise?" He didn't mean any offense, really Alexandra largely respected what she told you, especially when you pissed her off, but when it involved magically-repaired Dreadnoughts, err...

"The contracts are signed in blood, D.," Malcolm told him. "We were forced to sign a few of them last summer if we wanted to be in the know. I'm sure you will have to sign a few more too. Everyone does."

That was wicked. Wicked and threatening. But then every part of this world dominated by wizards was, so nothing new under the sun.

Finally after several minutes, the battleship stopped moving, and Dudley had one more question to ask.

"Has Alexandra informed you what sort of targets she has in mind that requires the firepower of two Dreadnoughts?"

31 June 1994, Zabini Manor, England

One of the many advantages of the Bayard-DeLain method over the 'Merlinian' Animagus transformation process was that it was far less painful for your body and your mind.

As often where magic was involved, this translated into a non-null number of drawbacks. Gaining full control over your Animagus form even after the first full change was a long difficult process. And it was unique to each wizard or witch.

By the time you reached the final stages of Animagus mastery, there wasn't a textbook or a guide to tell you how to proceed. You had to follow your animal's instincts, trying at the same time to fight it for every inch of control, and to satisfy its reasonable desires.

Alexandra's inner animal was the Lernaean Hydra.

As such the 'demands' of her Animagus form were to eat a lot of different fishes' species...and to drink countless poisons.

"No, Fingolfin, those aren't for you." The Potter Heiress seized the no-longer tiny dragon by the neck using her unnatural magical strength and pushing him away from the vials, be they empty or full with lethal mixtures.

"I want to play too!"

"Atalanta."

Knowing what was expected of her, the snowy owl took flight and went to land directly on the back of the Golden Britannian dragon, resulting in a shriek and the flying reptile half-running, half-flying away trying to get rid of the white bird using his scales as an improvised perch.

"Let's see...Cyanide, done. Arsenic, done. Mandrake, done. Belladonna, done. Scorpion venom, done."

It was kind of obvious to say, but no wizard or witch could really survive drinking that many dangerous substances, even with his or her magic protecting him or her.

But as the blood of the Lernaean Hydra was one of the most dangerous poisons in existence, and one which tolerated no competition in its domain, Alexandra had been able to absorb them and only be disgusted about the taste.

Yes, the taste had been the worst part. Next session, she would accompany them with some fruit juice.

Alexandra closed her eyes and tried to meditate and calm her thoughts.

This time, she felt the Hydra feed itself of the last poisons she had drunk and assimilate them. Soon, her inner animal would be able to add all of them to its already-considerable arsenal of weapons.

But this time, it was deeper. The line between her human part and the inner animal was blurry.

Her body felt warmer, more energetic.

Her arms began to shake, quickly followed by her legs.

Not hesitating, Alexandra gave the order to the House Elf bringing the vials to her to return all the glass-made objects and the Animagi books to the Manor. Her next step was to get rid of her clothes.

Then it was like some barrier had suddenly been broken in her mind, and as she desired it, from head to toe the green-eyed witch covered herself in black and gold scales.

Her eyes had already turned serpentine. Her hair disappeared under another tide of scales. As her will pushed for it, enormous claws substituted themselves to her nails.

Second after second, Alexandra changed, but this time she was in complete control. Where the Lernaean had wished to replace everything with a tail and heads, this time the creature she was becoming definitely had four limbs to walk, run, and fight. Since it should have been impossible, the Champion knew this change had been made possible by the Morrigan.

These reflections ended as her body exploded in size, and the young witch screamed in joy as magic coursed through her veins and the world around her was far smaller and fragile.

A gigantic tail had formed. No longer was she limited to a mere two eyes; this time she had eighteen of them. It was...fantastic. There was only her will in control, and she was dominating everything.

Watching her reflection into the nearby pool only increased her satisfaction. The scales were black-dominant all over her transformed body, but the minor golden motives were altering the shade and creating a perfect contrast.

She was Hydra. And she felt, really, really good.

Concentrating, one of the nine heads raised its maw to the sky and focused magic like she did when she prepared to cast a Fulmen Imperator.

The blast of lightning which was generated had ten times the power and the brightness Alexandra had managed to create during her training. Certainly everyone in the park of Zabini Manor and in the domain of her magical guardian had seen it.

Oops.

Author's note: There is no such thing as overkill. But between an Animagus form of Lernaean Hydra, a dragon, and two Dreadnoughts...it is entirely possible the definition of 'overkill' may need to be slightly redefined. Just saying.

Happy New Year, hope everyone will have good health, plenty of good news, and a happy reading of fanfiction and plenty of other awesome things! 2020 is over, let's hope 2021 will be a good year to remember!