A Marauder's Cub

by Starian NightZz

Dumbledore should have learnt that you can't keep a wolf's cub away from him. An angry Remus Lupin learned about the manipulations that have almost destroyed his life and his best friends, and decided that enough is enough. He soon became what he had been all along. A wolf. A guardian. A protector. A Marauder.

30. Fallout

Chapter Thirty: Fallout

The cold mist of the Austrian Alps clung to the jagged peaks surrounding Nurmengard Prison like a shroud—an apt metaphor for the prison itself—an unforgiving relic of war, one built to contain terrors long past.

Originally constructed by Grindelwald himself as a fortress during his global crusade, it had been seized by the International Confederation of Wizards in the aftermath of his defeat and subsequent arrest and imprisonment. Now, it is used by the ICW to house the world's most dangerous criminals, and was designed in such a way that it is almost impossible to escape.

Twisting corridors, rune wards, and layers upon layers of runes, wards, and barriers that were all layered into the very walls of the prison itself, with traps laced with ancient blood magicks. So much so that even those who worked within the prison sometimes get lost when traversing the corridors.

ICW Hit-Wizards too all patrolled and guard the prison as well as the inmates around the clock in a rotating shift known only to the head of the ICW as well as the head of the Protectorate of Magic, with only those with the appropriate pass and permits being allowed entry into Nurmengard.

Adrick Morozov's boots echoed with a sharp, authoritarian click against the smooth stone floor as he walked side by side with Raisa Sokolov through the winding maze of magical and mundane wards.

Their ICW credentials had been checked thrice at the front guard outpost, with another guard running multiple scans to ensure that they are truly who they said they are before the final doors admitted them into the prison, with another guard leading them towards the deepest wing of the prison that leads to the maximum containment wing where the most dangerous criminals were housed.

"I don't think we can get anything decent out of him," Raisa admitted quietly, pulling her thick grey cloak tighter around her shoulders. "I've read the reports. Even back when the ICW first took Grindelwald into custody, his mind just…isn't there anymore. He's locked it away."

"Which fits someone suffering from Mental Trauma," Adrick murmured, his voice almost reverent. "A mind that brilliant…trapped within itself. It's a tragedy and a danger. We need to be sure he hasn't left anything behind that someone could use." He shook his head. "Still, after that article… We need to rule out even the impossible."

"Especially when the names involved include Dumbledore," Raisa said dryly. "If it was sexual assault… Then you and I both know who was responsible. And that also means that the war was that person's fault. But we don't have the necessary evidence. Not yet."

Adrick grimaced.

It had been years—nearly a decade since he had become the head of the ICW, and he had spent most of those years rooting out Dumbledore's allies and supporters within the ICW and even the guilds, along with fixing the mess that Dumbledore had left in the ICW. And even now, Adrick still isn't completely sure that he has gotten all of Dumbledore's supporters.

When Adrick and Raisa reached the deepest wing and headed towards the part of the prison where they housed Grindelwald, they found the guards already engaged.

The familiar figure of Albus Dumbledore, once Supreme Mugwump, stood stiff-backed before the thick rune-warded door of Gellert Grindelwald's cell, attempting to reason his way past two stony figures: Pavel Ludmilov, one of the ICW's most seasoned Hit Wizards, and Andrey Mladenov, Grindelwald's personal ICW-assigned Healer.

"I demand entry," Dumbledore said sharply, his voice echoing with lingering authority.

Pavel didn't flinch.

"And I've told you no, Herr Dumbledore," he said, pointedly not using any of the man's former titles. "You're not on the list of approved visitors. That list hasn't changed in over twenty years. You were never on it."

"I—He—Gellert knows me! He'd speak to me!"

"No, he wouldn't," Andrey said softly, his Bulgarian accent still clipped. "He hasn't spoken a coherent word in decades. He doesn't even know you're alive, or even who you are."

Dumbledore straightened his spine, his blue eyes icy with expectation. "Do you know who I am?"

"Yes," Pavel said flatly, unimpressed. "You're Albus Dumbledore. And it might shock you to learn about this, but outside of Britain, your name means nothing." He sneered.

"Former Chief Warlock," Andrey added without blinking. "Former ICW Supreme Mugwump. And, according to Gringotts and the Protectorate's last investigation, recently accused of attempted line theft, which is a Class 5 Grievance under international magical law. Do you wish me to continue?"

Dumbledore stiffened. "That was a misunderstanding—"

"No," Pavel interrupted. "It was a crime. One involving an underage omega—a sub gender that you made no attempts to hide that you look down on. And with that knowledge in mind, if you think I'm letting you within an inch of Gellert Grindelwald, you have another thing coming."

"I created this prison!" Dumbledore snapped, for once allowing his anger to surface. "When Grindelwald was defeated, I ensured it was turned to good use—"

"You turned nothing," Pavel interrupted. "Nurmengard was created by Grindelwald himself, and the ICW claimed it. The protections on this prison after that were put in place by a combined effort of Gringotts, the Shadowcloaks organisation, as well as the ICW. You were a consultant. Nothing more."

Andrey stepped forward, his expression as tired as it was wary. "You know as well as I do, Dumbledore, that Gellert Grindelwald doesn't speak. He hasn't for decades. His mind…isn't reachable. We're not even certain if it's truly conscious anymore."

Adrick and Raisa approached then, the sound of their footsteps prompting all heads to turn.

"Is there a problem here?" Adrick's voice was cool, but laced with quiet command. The kind of tone that had quelled courtrooms and defused duels.

Pavel immediately stepped back and saluted. "High Commander. Head Sokolov. No problem, merely executing our orders. This individual—" He jerked his chin toward Dumbledore without the slightest pretence of respect. "—was attempting to bypass security protocols to gain access to Grindelwald."

"Without proper clearance," Andrey added. "And with highly suspect motives. I have to wonder how you got past the guards at the front gates." Andrey shot Dumbledore a suspicious look.

Anyone who works in Nurmengard will know of the high security protocols and the number of guards you have to go through to even get past the front gate.

Adrick gave Dumbledore a long, unreadable look. "Albus," he said quietly, "why are you here?"

"I had hoped," Dumbledore said stiffly, "to speak with an old friend. To gain…clarity."

Raisa folded her arms. "Convenient timing. After the article, after the failed contract attempt, after your removal from half your titles." Dumbledore flushed. "We read the article, Albus," Raisa said coolly, her arms crossed. "Emily Macmillan didn't mince words. Hogwarts is years behind every other major magical institution. And now we hear of attempted line theft involving the Potter legacy?"

Dumbledore's face flushed. "That was a misunderstanding."

"No, it was an offence," Adrick countered, his tone now razor-sharp. "And if you think for one second that the ICW will tolerate such behaviour from a headmaster who's already lost nearly every position of influence… You are sorely mistaken. Especially considering you tried to file a marriage contract with an underage minor under the pretence of being his magical guardian." His eyes narrowed. "An omega child, no less."

Raisa's presence became steel beside him. "Attempted line theft, Albus. That's what the goblins are calling it. Gronuk filed official charges with our Gringotts liaison. Do you understand how serious that is?"

Dumbledore flushed, then paled. "I… I was protecting him—guiding him—he doesn't know what's best—"

"That isn't your decision to make," Adrick snapped. "He is not your weapon. Not your student. And not your pawn. And neither are you his magical guardian, which means that you don't have the right to sign his life away like this! And the only reason why you are not brought up on criminal charges is because your name isn't the one on the failed marriage contract. And because the Houses of Black and Krum elected to deal with this as a domestic affair."

"Gringotts already threw you out," Raisa added. "You're lucky they didn't curse you outright. But don't mistake their mercy for ours."

Dumbledore looked like he wanted to argue, but Adrick wasn't done.

"Effective immediately, your credentials with the ICW are revoked. Any access you had as a former Supreme Mugwump is nullified. And as of this morning, I have signed off on a team of ICW Hit-Wizards to perform a full sweep of your properties, offices, and private quarters to ensure you haven't 'accidentally' kept classified materials, artefacts, or—Merlin forbid—any magical bindings. You did, after all, hold the position of Supreme Mugwump for decades."

Dumbledore paled.

Adrick's eyes glittered like ice. "Don't fight them, Albus. It won't end well for you."

"Is that a threat?"

"No," Raisa said smoothly. "It's a courtesy. If you interfere with them, even with a wandless spell, we'll arrest you ourselves. Do you understand?"

Dumbledore opened his mouth, then shut it again.

"Besides that, you've had decades to ask Grindelwald anything," Adrick added coldly. "Why now?"

Dumbledore's face betrayed nothing, but his silence spoke volumes.

Adrick caught the look of absolute loathing Pavel gave Dumbledore and recalled why.

There were rumours in the past about the Ludmilov family being one of those that had supported Grindelwald back during the war, but they were one of the few families that escaped prosecution due to a lack of evidence, as the members at that time were never actively involved.

Though if the article written by Emily Macmillan is true, then the Ludmilov family might just be one of the few who even knew the truth of what had happened to Gellert Grindelwald. Because wasn't the heir of that family at that time best friends with Gellert Grindelwald?

It was no secret that Pavel Ludmilov had personally lobbied for the job as Grindelwald's warden, despite being one of the best Hit-Wizards that the ICW had. He had brought in more criminals than anyone ever had. Pavel's purpose in Nurmengard wasn't entirely to guard Gellert Grindelwald, but to ensure Dumbledore never manipulated his way back inside.

Even back when Dumbledore was still Supreme Mugwump, Pavel had never seemed to like him, and seemed to go out of his way to annoy Dumbledore, or even do the total opposite of what Dumbledore expected.

"Is he… Is Grindelwald truly beyond reach?" Adrick asked, quieter now, turning to Andrey.

The healer nodded once. "His body lives. That is all. He neither speaks nor reacts. He eats only when assisted. His magic, once so fierce, barely flickers now. It's as if he locked himself in a mental prison far worse than this one."

Adrick sighed.

"Still, we need to see him," Raisa said. "For protocol. For the record."

Andrey gestured. "This way."

Dumbledore tried to follow, but Pavel stepped into his path, his eyes glowing faintly.

"You've already done enough," he said flatly. "Leave. You can do so on your own power, or I shall escort you out."

Albus hesitated—then, perhaps for the first time in decades, backed away. The four ICW personnel only watched as Dumbledore stalked away, exchanging looks.

"You shouldn't be provoking him like this," Raisa warned Pavel.

"I'm not afraid of that old goat." Pavel scoffed.

"I believe I know what you both are here for. After Emily Macmillan's article in International Magical Daily, we both have a feeling you'll make your way here sooner or later." Andrey added.

Adrick nodded. "Let's proceed."

Pavel nodded before turning back towards the door of Gellert Grindelwald's cell, pressing his ICW badge against a rune carved on the surface of the door. A large red runic symbol appeared over the door momentarily before there was the sound of a loud click as the lock disengaged.

The highest security protocols that the ICW, in conjunction with Gringotts and the Shadowcloaks organisation, created decades ago when Grindelwald was taken into custody, and Nurmengard Prison was then revamped and remodelled and turned into a prison holding the world's most dangerous criminals.

Inside, the cell isn't what most would expect when the word 'prison' comes up, considering the reputation of Nurmengard Prison. The room is bright and cheery, with pale blue walls and cloud decals. It also looks lived in, with the various drawings plastered on the wall, a window that overlooks the outside, and a bed for the prisoner within, as well as a door that leads to the small attached bathroom within.

And there, seated on the bed, was Gellert Grindelwald.

Or what remained of him.

He was dressed in the prison's standard pale green robes, with magic restraining bangles on his wrists. His once-sharp eyes stared blankly ahead. His now silver hair reaches down to his shoulders, his hands folded in his lap like a penitent monk. His aura, once sharp and dangerous, was dulled like a blade long rusted.

He's an old man now, but Adrick had seen photos of Gellert Grindelwald as a young man, and even he could admit that Gellert Grindelwald was really beautiful when he was young. Even now, he could still see traces of that former beauty.

"He doesn't respond to anything?" Adrick asked, gazing at the broken man who had once almost brought the world to its knees.

Andrey shook his head. "He flinches from light and loud voices. That's all. He hasn't spoken in years. He doesn't even speak to Nikolai Kostov, who visited him yearly. It's like he's in a world of his own."

Raisa stepped forward, watching the motionless figure. "This man nearly conquered the magical world," she whispered. "And now he doesn't even know he exists."

Adrick turned away from Grindelwald.

"Then there's nothing more to gain here. Just another shadow of the past."

As they walked away, Raisa murmured under her breath, "But the past still reaches for the future, doesn't it?"

Adrick said nothing.

XXXXXX

It was a rare sight that morning — all students from every school currently participating in the Triwizard Tournament were present for breakfast in the Great Hall. The enchanted ceiling mirrored the brewing storm outside, but the true storm was brewing within.

Copies of the International Magical Daily fluttered across every table, rustling with excitement, outrage, and horror.

The front-page headline screamed in dark crimson letters:

DUMBLEDORE EXPOSED: ATTEMPTED SLAVERY UNDER GUISE OF MARRIAGE CONTRACT

By Emily Macmillan, Special Correspondent.

The article began with a scathing report.

It has come to light that Albus Dumbledore, current headmaster of Hogwarts School, and former Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, has attempted to file a marriage contract between one Hadrian James Potter-Black, the last living Heir of the Potter line, and also the Heir to the House of Black, and one Ginevra Molly Weasley.

This contract, uncovered through goblin archives at Gringotts, was found to be an illegal line theft document disguised under archaic Dark Age traditions.

Gronuk, senior contracts master and the Potter and Black account manager at Gringotts, revealed in an exclusive interview that the so-called marriage contract would have stripped Heir Hadrian Potter-Black of his financial and magical independence, granting full control of his assets, legal rights, and even bodily autonomy to the Weasley family.

"It was an attempted form of magical enslavement," Gronuk stated. "Had the bond succeeded, Heir Hadrian Potter-Black would have been a prisoner in all but name, a commodity to be traded and used."

The only reason the contract failed? Heir Potter-Black is already contracted to Heir Viktor Krum, Bulgarian Seeker and Heir to the Krum House. This contract, which was drawn up six years ago, was signed by both the heads of the Houses of Krum and Black, with even the signatures of both heirs added to it, rendering all others null.

The hall buzzed with gasps and shouts as students read on.

Outrage has poured in from international corners, most notably from Bulgaria.

Marko Krum, the head of House Krum, publicly condemned Dumbledore's actions. "Hadrian is a son of our house. What was attempted was not only a crime—it was an insult to our family, our country, and our people. The contract that I drew up with Lord Black years ago is to protect both our children from such machinations. We never thought the contract would come in handy this way one day. This only validates our decision."

Sirius Black, the head of the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black, as well as the Regent of the Ancient and Most Noble House of Potter, echoed this sentiment: "What Dumbledore and the Weasleys attempted was nothing short of a magical kidnapping. There is a reason I demanded the blood feud rites be invoked. The Blacks do not forget, and we do not forgive."

Andromeda Tonks, the current proxy for the Malfoy, Potter and Black seats in Britain's Wizengamot, and also a highly accomplished lawyer, added, "It disgusts me that the same man who was the headmaster of a school tried to barter him away like chattel. The idea that Molly Weasley signed off on this… She ought to be tried. What if it was one of her children who was nearly sold off under the guise of a marriage contract? Such actions are not only unethical but criminal. The law must take its course."

Students were visibly shaken.

Lady Muriel Prewett, the longtime matriarch of the Prewett family, has since severed all ties with Molly Weasley and her youngest children, Ronald and Ginevra.

In a public declaration, Muriel named the five oldest of the Weasley children—Willian, Charles, Percival, as well as the twins, Frederick and George, as her rightful heirs and granted them the Prewett name. The change was sealed in Gringotts.

"I will not see my family dragged into infamy. The actions of those three are a disgrace to the Prewett name."

This also explains physical discrepancies in Ginevra Weasley's appearance, as being disowned from the Prewett line had caused her to lose traits and magic from the Prewett side of the family entirely.

The final blow was the declaration.

The House of Black has officially declared a blood feud against the Weasleys, with the Malfoy, Krum, Vasilev, Michaelis, Bones, Longbottom, Potter, Nott, Avery, and Rosier lines all supporting the claim.

The hall erupted.

From the Ravenclaw table, Padma Patil dropped her spoon. "They tried to enslave him?"

From the Hufflepuff table, Susan Bones's hands clenched into fists, her eyes hard. "The Bones will not stand for this. My Aunt Amelia will see them tried in the Wizengamot."

At the Gryffindor table, Ron and Ginny looked pale and cornered. Ron's voice broke through the din. "This isn't our fault! Harry—he belongs with us! Mum said so!"

Ginny stood up, shrieking, "He's mine! That slut Viktor bewitched him—"

That was the final straw.

A loud crack echoed around the Great Hall as Viktor Krum slammed his goblet onto the Durmstrang and Beauxbatons table, his magic flaring hot and fast like a summer blaze. "You dare. You dare claim my bonded as yours?"

If looks could kill, Ginny would have been six feet under. As it is, half the Great Hall flinched with the feeling of Viktor Krum's furious alpha pheromones flooding the chamber.

The entire Durmstrang table had stood in support of one of their own—all of them fixing the two youngest Weasleys cold glares. Draco Malfoy's eyes glinted cold as snow. "Perhaps your mother forgot to teach you what happens to those who spit at magical vows. No wonder even blood won't claim you."

Beauxbatons students murmured furiously in French. Fleur Delacour hissed, "Barbaric. Dark Age scheming in the 21st century. Hogwarts has become a nest of relics."

Further down the table, Hermione Granger was re-reading the copy of International Magical Daily with a furious look on her face, her grip around her utensils tightening to the point that the metal looked as if it would warp. Around her, her Beauxbatons friends and classmates were all giving her wary looks.

Fiona Evans, too, looked ready to breathe fire as she re-read her own copy of International Magical Daily.

Neville Longbottom, from where he sat at the Hufflepuff table with his Hufflepuff friends, stood abruptly, voice shaking with fury. "You think the blood feud from the Blacks and Malfoys isn't enough, Weasley? You want the Longbottoms on that list, too? Because I'll gladly add our name to it. Mum and Dad would agree. As would my gran. Even they are furious with what your family tried to do to our Shield Brethren."

"The Bones, too," Susan added, eyes glowing with magic.

Even Luna Lovegood, soft-voiced and dreamy, murmured from next to Hermione, "The Wrackspurts must be deafening them… No one who can think clearly would believe they have a claim to Hadrian."

A senior Gryffindor muttered, "Two blood feuds in less than a century. What's wrong with your family?"

Ron, desperate, shouted, "This isn't our fault! Harry belongs to us!"

Hands latched out to hold Viktor down even as he rose once more from the Durmstrang table, looking ready to storm over to the Gryffindor table to kill Ronald Weasley.

Neville drew his wand, pointing it at Ron.

"One more word about Hadrian being your property, and I'll challenge you to an honour duel. I won't be as merciful as he was." Neville looked every bit the Longbottom heir that he is, his eyes flashing with fury. If there was ever any doubt that the Longbottom heir was an alpha, there isn't now.

And then, from the Slytherin table, a cool, almost amused voice cut across the growing tension. Theodore Nott leaned back and drawled, "I doubt you'll be at Hogwarts for long—not after you lost the Prewett name and brought shame upon it."

Ron's face flushed an ugly red.

Fred and George pointedly looked away from Ron and Ginny, pretending they didn't exist.

Blaise Zabini, lounging at the Slytherin table next to Theodore Nott, smirked. "Enjoy your time at Hogwarts while it lasts," he drawled. "Now that Lady Muriel Prewett has cut ties, I doubt she'll continue funding your education."

Ginny, her voice trembling, asked, "How do you know?"

"It's tradition for the head of the house to finance the education of its members," Blaise replied scornfully. "Even if it wasn't public knowledge, pureblood families are aware. Your Weasley cousins attended trade schools because they lacked that support. Biting the hand that feeds you—truly idiotic."

Hogwarts is considered an elite institution, even though that standing is starting to come into question. And the tuition and fees aren't cheap. Only the purebloods and the more wealthy muggle families could afford the prices for a school like Hogwarts.

Families that aren't well-off or have children who aren't magically powerful tend to attend the trade schools instead.

The hall fell into a heavy silence, the weight of the revelations settling over everyone. The once-respected Dumbledore now stood exposed, his reputation in tatters. The Weasley family's unity was shattered, and the consequences of their actions loomed large.

XXXXXX

The air around the Durmstrang ship was crisp with the chill of the northern wind, laced with the sharp scent of pine and fresh frost clinging to the grass beneath leather boots.

A clearing had been designated just beyond the ship, cordoned off with enchantments to serve as the duelling field, its boundaries flickering faintly in crimson light. Runes glowed along the periphery, humming with old, layered magic—protective, reactive, yet barely enough to contain the raw aggression in the air.

The Seventh Years of Durmstrang Institute, clad in deep crimson and black duelling leathers, stood in a loose circle around the duelling platform. Their expressions were a blend of wariness and tense amusement. Watching from the edges were students from Beauxbatons—resplendent in silvery blue robes—and a handful of Hogwarts students who dared to linger, their eyes wide with morbid curiosity.

Professor Gavril Galvchev and Professor Rosita Alexandrova stood with arms crossed, faces impassive but eyes sharp, not missing a single flicker of spellwork or falter in posture.

But all eyes, eventually, always drifted back to Viktor Krum.

The air around Viktor seemed to vibrate with restrained energy, his jaw set tight, eyes glinting with something dangerous beneath his furrowed brow. He was breathing hard, though he had barely broken a sweat.

His opponent—a Seventh Year known for his aggressive duelling—was sprawled on the ground, unconscious, robes smoking slightly at the edges. The students in the Healing module were already dragging the third student of the hour off the duelling platform.

Viktor hadn't even moved more than a step for the last two duels.

"Well, at least we know Viktor won't have any problems in the tournament," Natasha muttered, attempting levity even as she crouched beside the fallen student, casting a few diagnostic spells.

"Someone do something before he sends the entire Seventh Year to the ICW's Healer tent," Alec sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

As one, the crowd's attention shifted—somewhat fearfully—toward Hadrian Potter-Black.

Hadrian sat on the carved stone bench set slightly apart from the crowd, flanked by Draco Malfoy and Viviane Krum. Dressed in understated duelling blacks, his dark curls were tucked behind his ears, his green eyes narrowed in quiet calculation as he watched Viktor stalk the perimeter of the platform like a restless predator.

"Fine," Hadrian sighed, pushing himself to his feet, seeing the eyes of his schoolmates on him. "I'd better calm him down before he sends someone to the hospital."

"Like hell any of us would trust Hogwarts or Britain to treat us," Viktor's last opponent groaned from where he lay. "I'd rather go to the ICW Healer tent."

Hadrian stepped onto the duelling platform with the ease of someone who had done it a thousand times before. The crowd parted for him instinctively, and the runes shifted under his boots to acknowledge his presence.

Viktor didn't look at him at first. His shoulders were tense, his eyes locked on some invisible enemy only he could see.

"Come on, Viktor," Hadrian said softly, stepping into his line of sight. "Let's take a walk."

Viktor's eyes flicked to his. Something in them shifted—just barely—but it was enough. Without a word, he allowed Hadrian to take his arm, letting the smaller omega lead him off the platform and toward the forest path that wound around the Black Lake.

The crowd exhaled in collective relief.

Back near the stone bench, Viviane raised an eyebrow. Draco rolled his eyes. Mikhail only sighed.

"How long do you think it'll actually take for them to realise that they're NOT being subtle at all?" Lucas asked dryly.

"Considering Viktor nearly broke the table because that idiot called Hadrian his 'property' just this morning, I'm going to guess 'never'," Viviane replied.

XXXXXX

Down by the lake, silence stretched between them for a while. The water was dark, glassy, reflecting the distant silhouette of Durmstrang's ship.

Viktor's fists were clenched.

The shadows of the towering firs lining the edge of the Black Lake swayed gently in the wind, their dark needles whispering secrets of old as a brisk breeze stirred the surface of the water into a restless ripple. But Viktor Krum was anything but calm.

He stood there at the water's edge, his fists clenched so tightly that his knuckles had gone white, his shoulders taut with a fury that he hadn't been able to release during duelling practice. His breath came in sharp bursts, like he'd run a mile, not duelled a dozen of his peers into the ground in ruthless silence.

His eyes, dark and stormy, were locked on the shimmering lake, but his thoughts—his heart—were a thousand miles away, with the omega who had coaxed him away from the wreckage he'd left in the duelling ring.

Hadrian watched Viktor with that uncanny stillness that had once terrified others, but had always soothed Viktor. The bright emerald of his eyes was cast downward, lashes brushing high cheekbones, one hand absently fiddling with the end of his sleeve. There was no judgment there, only concern—deep, quiet, but unmistakably fierce.

"You nearly knocked Emilio unconscious in the duel earlier," Hadrian said softly.

Viktor growled under his breath. "He should have dodged faster then."

Hadrian sighed, stepping slightly closer, close enough for Viktor to feel the presence of his magic like heat off a fire. Still, the Bulgarian didn't turn to face him. He couldn't. Not yet. Not until he calmed down.

But calming down seemed impossible.

"I could have lost you," Viktor finally spat, his voice thick with emotion. Not anger, not truly—something deeper, something primal and wounded.

Hadrian's head tilted slightly, his brows lifting.

"I'm still here," he replied.

"But for how long?" Viktor rounded on him now, his voice rising. "Do you have any idea—any idea at all—how close they came to trapping you?"

Hadrian blinked. "You're talking about the Weasleys."

"Yes, I'm talking about the Weasleys!" Viktor barked. He began pacing, his hands tearing through his hair. "If… If our families hadn't made that contract years ago—when we were kids—mostly to protect you, because Sirius was constantly being bombarded by marriage offers for you, you would have been trapped by them! They had the papers ready, Hadrian, and actually tried to file it at Gringotts! What if we never had that marriage contract made years ago? And that bitch of a Weasley—she would've gotten her claws in you first!"

Hadrian's mouth tugged into a slight frown. He stepped forward again, calm as ever. "But that contract fell through. Sirius is handling the fallout. Aunt Andy and Aunt Cissy are helping him. And Uncle Marko is in Britain too, I hear?"

"Yes." Viktor ground the word out like it physically hurt to say it. "It's a matter of House Krum honour, as you are my betrothed and I'm the Krum heir. My father had to step in, lest the Minister declare war. Bulgaria takes matters like this very seriously—especially in regards to our omega citizens. From the letter that my mother sent, it is only the fact that the Houses of Krum and Black are stepping in which is why Minister Oblansk had yet to do so." He gave a low chuckle, one devoid of humour. "Forget trade sanctions like how he did years ago when Dumbledore tried to kidnap you. This time, the Minister might very well declare war on Britain."

Hadrian gave a quiet hum. "Mmmhmm."

But Viktor wasn't done. He was unravelling—angry, afraid, mourning something that hadn't even happened, but had come so close to becoming real.

"And that Weasley bastard and that sister of his… I can understand now. I understand why their older siblings all renounced their name. They kept addressing you like you were their property. Like you belonged to them. He said he owned you. Like you were nothing more than a trophy."

Hadrian turned his gaze back to the lake. "Viktor, you and I both know the misogyny of this country when it comes to omegas and women, even before we came to Britain."

"I didn't think it was this bad!" Viktor thundered. His accent thickened, with his voice strained. "So what if you're an omega? You're still a person! Why can't they see that? Why does everyone here think it's normal to own someone just because of their designation?! Then there's Lucas. They treat him like a curse!"

Viktor began pacing again, his boots digging into the loamy earth with every step. "Natasha is furious. I've never seen her this angry before. And what? Just because Lucas is a Parselmouth? Because he's the Slytherin heir? They're treating him like a monster. And you—" He stopped, his chest heaving. "They tried to steal you, Ri. What is wrong with this country? I'm starting to understand why Lord Black took you and Draco to Bulgaria when you were young. And even why Liese uprooted her entire life and came to Bulgaria years ago."

There was a long pause.

The light shifted on the lake as the sun slipped lower. A pair of tentacles surfaced briefly in the distance and disappeared again.

Then Hadrian moved.

He stepped in close, until his hand gently brushed Viktor's. The contact was soft and grounding. For a long, tight moment, Viktor didn't breathe. Then he exhaled shakily, and allowed himself to turn toward Hadrian, to look at him properly.

Hadrian's expression was unreadable at first. Then the corners of his lips curved upward in that quiet, subtle way Viktor had learned to recognise over the years—an almost-smile, meant only for him.

"You're shaking," Hadrian said softly.

Viktor swallowed thickly. "I thought I lost you," he whispered.

"You didn't. I'm not going anywhere."

Viktor choked on a laugh—bitter and wet and broken. "But I almost did. I keep thinking about how close it was. One more day, one more push from them, one more slip-up from Sirius—and they would have bound you with magic you couldn't undo. They were trying to steal you, Hadrian. Not court you. Claim you. Enslave you." He clenched his fists. "I could have killed that Weasley bastard when I found out what happened. And that bitch of a sister of his."

Hadrian didn't deny it. Instead, he said, "That's why I asked you to take a walk with me. I needed to get away before I snapped, too."

Viktor's brows furrowed.

Hadrian lifted a hand and pressed it to Viktor's cheek. "You didn't lose me. And you never will. Our bond is real. Not forged in fear or politics or power—but in choice. I chose you. And you chose me."

The fury bled from Viktor's posture, but the fear remained, etched deep in the lines of his face. "I just… I couldn't breathe when I thought about it. I couldn't think." He admitted. "Despite my parents and Sirius's reassurances that you are safe from them, I just…"

Hadrian leaned in and pressed his forehead against Viktor's chest, with the older boy wrapping his arms around Hadrian's petite frame. "You're allowed to be scared. You're allowed to be angry. But you're not alone."

A long silence passed.

Then Viktor let out a breath and, for the first time that day, allowed himself to cry.

Hadrian held him—silent, steady, and strong.

And the Black Lake whispered beside them, ancient and knowing, a witness to the storm of emotions it had seen a thousand times before.

That alone said more than anything else.

XXXXXX

Back on the field near the Durmstrang ship, Alec sighed as another Seventh Year gingerly stretched a bandaged wrist.

"So what now?" Natasha asked.

"We pray," Alec said solemnly, "that Hadrian distracts him long enough for us to finish practice without casualties."

"Or they finally kiss and Viktor stops taking out his possessive alpha hormones on his classmates," Emilio muttered irritably, even as one of their classmates was tending to his wrist and arm. There were murmurs of agreement from the other Seventh Years.

"I'm still voting for the second one," Viviane muttered, arms crossed.

The Seventh Years wisely decided to take a break.

Just in case.

Not far away, Valko Kovarev narrowed his eyes at Viktor Krum.

XXXXXX

There's a tension in the air that clings to Arthur Weasley like a second skin as he steps into the Ministry of Magic that morning, his head bowed slightly, his shoulders hunched like he expects a curse to strike at any moment.

The usual pleasant chatter in the Ministry atrium dies the moment he walks past.

Not a word is said to him. Not even a glance.

The golden statues of the Fountain of Magical Brethren seemed to look down upon him in judgment as he passed. Where once Arthur might have found comfort in their familiar presence, today, they only magnify his sense of shame.

He doesn't need to read the Prophet's screaming headline to know what it says. Everyone already knows.

ATTEMPTED LINE THEFT UNCOVERED – BLACK AND POTTER HEIR TARGETED!

HOGWARTS' CORRUPTION EXPOSED IN SHOCKING NEW REPORT!

DUMBLEDORE CAST OUT FROM GRINGOTTS!

PREWETT HEIR SPEAKS OUT AGAINST FORMER PARENTS!

The fallout is worse than Arthur could have imagined.

The moment he steps into the lift to head to his department, the four witches already inside glance at him, go still, and then swiftly exit without a word. One of them drops her stack of parchments in her haste. She doesn't even pick them up—almost fleeing from Arthur like he had some infectious disease.

He ends up riding alone.

When he reaches the Department for the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts, Perkins doesn't even meet his eyes. Arthur offers a quiet, "Morning," only to be met with silence.

He might as well be part of the wall or even the wind for all the attention, or lack thereof, that Perkins paid to him.

During lunch, when Arthur tries to sit at his usual spot in the cafeteria, the small cluster of lower-level clerks rises and leave. The food trolley witch, who had once greeted him cheerfully, turns her back and pretends she doesn't see him standing there. Not even the house elves, usually the most neutral of creatures, seem to want to go near him.

Arthur ends up taking the Floo to Muggle London and buys a cold sandwich from a small corner shop. For all Arthur's love of muggles, he dislikes going into Muggle London to buy food, as he always receives strange looks whenever he does.

Arthur doesn't realise that it's his clothing, and his lack of ability to be able to blend in with the muggle population, that is causing the muggles to give him odd looks.

The cashier eyes Arthur's mismatched robes with open suspicion, and Arthur flushes with embarrassment. He mutters something about cosplay and bolts.

As he chews blandly on the too-hard bread, sitting alone on a bench near the Leaky Cauldron's back entrance, Arthur reflects bitterly that he's half-expecting a dismissal letter at any time. And honestly? He's not sure he wouldn't deserve it.

The attempted marriage contract—the contract he signed without reading, just assuming Ginny's happiness and some vague idea of social advancement—was being called what it was by every publication and legal branch: attempted line theft.

A crime. A grave one. One of the most serious crimes in the magical world.

So serious that no one has attempted it for centuries.

And the worst part? Arthur knew about it. He signed it.

He hadn't known it was designed to enslave and entrap Hadrian Potter-Black. But he hadn't cared enough to check either.

And that was the problem.

XXXXXX

Things after lunch got even worse, if that's even possible.

Arthur had just barely gotten settled in at his desk when the paper bird had swooped in.

He caught it automatically, unfolding the crisply enchanted parchment. The moment his eyes skimmed the line, "Please report to Director Amelia Bones' office immediately", his heart dropped into his stomach.

He read it again.

Once more.

Oh, Merlin.

Nothing good ever came from being summoned by the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement—unless you're an Auror. That sort of memo usually came with a warning… Or a wand pointed between your eyes.

Arthur stood slowly, his shoulders sagging as he tucked the parchment into his robes. The walk to Level Two felt like a funeral march. It wasn't hard to imagine being escorted out afterwards, jobless, disgraced, with all his fears finally manifesting.

Why now? Arthur thought miserably. And what else could possibly go wrong?

XXXXXX

The moment Arthur stepped into the DMLE, he knew he wasn't welcome.

Arthur Weasley had never felt smaller in his entire life.

The air in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement was thick with tension, a kind that pulsed against his skin like a second heartbeat as he stepped off the lift and entered the main floor. All around him, Aurors paused in their work.

Some whispered behind cupped hands, while others didn't even bother hiding their disdain. Their expressions were cold and contemptuous. A few openly glared.

A blond-haired man near the far wall muttered, "That's him."

Another scoffed, "No wonder Dumbledore thought he could get away with it, with blood traitors like that hanging around. If the Blacks hadn't decided to make it a domestic affair, I'd gladly help to arrest all those involved."

Arthur's face burned.

He caught the eye of a young woman with chin-length purple hair leaning against a desk, arms crossed tightly over her chest, with a Senior Auror badge visible on her robes. She looked vaguely familiar—perhaps someone he had once seen at a dinner party or family gathering?

It hit him a moment later. Andromeda Tonks's daughter. Nymphadora Tonks. Charlie's best friend from Hogwarts.

He had seen her several times over the years on the train platform whenever he had seen his children off on the Hogwarts Express, or even when he was taking them home after the end of the school year. Molly had never approved of the girl, not just because she was holding a grudge against Andromeda Tonks for what she had done after the Howler incident years ago.

Nymphadora Tonks is everything that Molly doesn't approve of in a witch: strong, independent, career-minded, and she isn't afraid to make her opinions known, or stand up for herself. And yet, strangely enough, Nymphadora Tonks is also the type of witch that Lady Muriel Prewett adores.

The way Nymphadora Tonks was looking at him now, however, carried none of the warmth he remembered from her youth whenever the girl had said goodbye to Charlie at the train platform. Her eyes, a shifting stormy grey today, were unflinchingly furious.

And then, for a moment, Arthur remembered that Hadrian Potter-Black and Draco Malfoy were Nymphadora's younger cousins, and from what he heard from Charlie when they were younger, the girl doted on her younger cousins, especially Hadrian.

It makes sense that she is rightfully furious with him right now.

Arthur only hoped that this entire affair would not affect Charlie's friendship with Nymphadora Tonks. He doesn't need yet another reason why his children will hate him.

Auror Robards muttered something that sounded suspiciously like "gutless fool" as Arthur walked past.

Arthur's heart sank. He felt each step towards Amelia Bones' office like a trudge through thick mud. Even the shadows seemed heavier. Every muttered insult, every glare, weighed on his soul.

Arthur kept his eyes forward, his steps slow and steady. He'd never felt smaller in his life.

The door to Amelia's office was open, but the room beyond felt colder than the corridor. Inside, Amelia Bones sat behind her desk, her expression as grim as a tomb. The head of the DMLE didn't look angry. She looked furious, in that cold, still way that made people sweat.

To her left stood Percy, stiff-backed and looking like a judge delivering a sentence, wearing the Prewett crest on his robes. His expression was blank, but his eyes held fire.

In one of the chairs in front of Amelia's desk was Sirius Black, his arms crossed, his mouth twisted in a sneer. And seated beside Sirius was a man Arthur had only ever seen in photographs: Lord Marko Krum. The head of the Krum family in Bulgaria, a very respected and powerful house on par with the Blacks and Potters. A respected Bulgarian ambassador. And, more worryingly, a man whose family had just been slighted in a way few magical dynasties ever forgave.

Arthur's stomach dropped.

"Arthur," Amelia said curtly. No warmth. No civility. Only sharp professionalism. "Sit."

He obeyed, unsure whether his legs would hold him otherwise.

"You do realise," Percy said softly and coldly the moment that Arthur sank into the chair, "that you've done more to destroy what little standing the Weasley family had than the Malfoy feud ever could?"

Arthur opened his mouth. No words came.

Amelia tapped the stack of papers in front of her. One bore the crest of Gringotts, another the seal of the Bulgarian Ministry, and a third the insignia of the International Confederation of Wizards. It was as damning a trio as any he'd ever seen.

"Terrible business, this is," Amelia said, her voice clipped, her tone colder than the North Sea. "We've received official complaints from not just Gringotts, but also the ICW and the Bulgarian Ministry. Even the French and American Ministries have added to it, supporting their ally. Complaints are also pouring in from everywhere—especially Norway, Russia and Romania, which have some of the harshest laws regarding omega protection and rights—on par with Bulgaria."

"You can add the Houses of Black and Krum to it," Sirius added darkly, glaring at Arthur like he was a particularly offensive stain.

Arthur swallowed nervously. He had never seen Sirius look at him this way before.

"I'm here as not just the representative of the Department of Magical Cooperation," Percy said without looking at his father, his voice clipped and icy, "but also as the Heir of House Prewett."

Arthur's hands trembled in his lap.

"We're talking about attempted line theft, Arthur," Amelia said. "Do you even understand the gravity of that? That's a Class 5 offence. And to make matters worse, it is with a foreign house! The heir of two ancient and noble houses! This is an international incident in the making! Cornelius had been spending days on the floo with Minister Oblansk, trying to calm him down. And in turn, I've been spending days calming Cornelius down!" Amelia looked displeased. "Explain."

Arthur looked up, voice shaking. "It was just a contract. An arrangement Dumbledore suggested—"

"A marriage contract," Amelia snapped. "One targeting an underage omega, who also happens to be the heir to two ancient and noble houses. You signed a contract involving Hadrian Potter-Black, the Black and Potter heir," Amelia said, her tone like steel, "without reading it. You assumed your daughter wanted it and that it would be a good match. You didn't even bother to consult the House of Black or even Heir Potter-Black about it, as is standard when it comes to betrothal contracts! You didn't even read the contract, or you would have known just what it really was!"

"It was arranged with Albus," Arthur said weakly. "He said it would benefit Ginny—"

Sirius's snort was thunderous. "Of course he did. And you just nodded along. My son, the boy you and the rest of Dumbledore's followers left to rot with the Dursleys the moment he did what he's meant to do, and you thought it would be convenient for your daughter to marry him for influence? And that the contract, if it had actually gone through, would have not just enslaved my Bambi to your daughter, but also the entire Houses of Black and Potter? Our entire legacy would have been at the whims of a lesser house!"

Arthur winced. "I-I didn't know—"

"So Dumbledore put a MARRIAGE CONTRACT in front of you," Sirius cut in, rising slightly from his chair, his eyes blazing, "and you didn't even bother to read it before signing it?!"

"I… I didn't think… It's Dumbledore," Arthur tried weakly, but the moment the name left his lips, the room turned positively frigid.

"Don't speak that man's name like it still means something," Marko said sharply, his voice deep with quiet fury. "Outside of Britain, he's known as a meddler. Dangerous. A man who believes the world still kneels to him. The ICW no longer trusts him."

Amelia nodded. "Adrick Morozov has removed nearly every single one of Dumbledore's known allies from the ICW and the magical guilds. His influence is finished, Arthur. And you using his authority to defend your family's actions makes you look even worse."

Arthur had no reply. His throat was dry.

"Congratulations, Arthur. You did more than what the Weasley head nearly a century ago did to destroy the reputation and whatever good standing your House had," Sirius said dryly. "Every single wizarding family—pureblood or otherwise, knew the details about the scandal and why the House of Malfoy declared a blood feud. In just a decade or two, the blood feud would have been over, but you had to go and pull a stunt like this!"

"Truthfully, the Weasley family of that time could have recovered if only the head of the family at that time had disowned the Weasley daughter who cheated on her betrothed," Percy added grimly, knowing the truth behind why the Weasleys were known as blood traitors today. It was part of his Heir training. "The Malfoys of that time are understandably insulted, as not only is Seraphina Weasley making a fool out of the Malfoys, she had the nerve to go and get herself knocked up by some random wizard. But the Weasley head at that time had a soft spot for his youngest daughter and refused, thus resulting in the entire family being disgraced for generations."

"You know what happens when you break a marriage contract in the old families?" Sirius questioned, no mercy in his voice. "Blood feud. Duel to the death. Entire families lose honour for generations. The Malfoys might be bastards, but even they followed the rules. Seraphina Weasley spat in the face of those rules, and she wasn't doing it for love, as you think. You aren't your ancestor, and I was willing to overlook it as I believed that you are a good man. And you are Cedrella's son. But you went and pulled this stunt, and could have enslaved my son to your family and daughter! Mark my words, I will kill your daughter first before I allow my Bambi to be used!"

Arthur trembled. "What… What happens now?"

"It's now an international incident. The eyes of the world are on Britain, and on the Weasley family," Amelia said grimly. "Attempted line theft is a Class 5 offence. Because an underage omega is involved, and because heirs of two great houses were harmed, this has escalated. Bulgaria is preparing to formally declare a blood feud with Britain if this isn't resolved to their satisfaction."

"I convinced the Minister to hold off," Sirius said flatly. "For now."

"There's still one thing we can do that might mitigate the situation, and save our country from going to war with Bulgaria and all their allies," Percy said, speaking in a voice laced with anger and pain. "Disownment."

Arthur looked up sharply. "What?"

"Punish those responsible," Sirius said. "Disown Molly. Disown Ginny. Rebuild your family's name through the children who still have honour. The rest of the world will forgive if you show spine."

Arthur shook his head. "I… I can't. They've suffered enough. Molly's my wife. Ginny's my daughter—"

BANG!

Arthur almost jumped a foot in the air when Percy's hand slammed hard onto the desk—hard enough to rattle Amelia's ink pot. "You have SEVEN children, not TWO. And it seems to me like you've forgotten that!"

Arthur flinched.

But Percy wasn't done. "You never cared about the rest of us. Not Bill, not Charlie, not Fred and George. Especially not me. You let Mum fawn over Ron and Ginny like they were the second coming of Merlin while the rest of us were just extras."

Percy stood now, his voice sharp. "You and Mum pandered to Ron and Ginny like they were the only ones that mattered. Did you even notice when Fred and George started living at Prewett Manor? When Aunt Muriel took over their official guardianship when they begged her at the end of their Second Year? When Mum blamed the twins for everything, even when they were mere toddlers? When they were Sorted into Slytherin, and you let Mum send them Howlers for nearly a month until Professor Sinistra had to step in and threaten to call Wizarding Child Services on you before she stopped? When Bill stopped writing home, when you and Mum make it clear you disapproved of his best friend, Michael Fawley, just because of his family name? When Charlie never returned home the moment he received his Hogwarts diploma, and just skipped off to Romania? When I left Hogwarts and took on the Prewett Heirship? Or were you too busy hoping Ron would win Gryffindor another game, or pushing Ginny toward a marriage she never asked for?"

"It's not like that," Arthur whispered.

"It's exactly like that," Percy hissed. "And you had a chance—just once—to show that you cared about all of us. And you chose them again. Even though they dragged the family through the mud and spat in the face of every name we're tied to."

Arthur felt small. Diminished.

Marko Krum leaned forward, the expression on his face being one of disgust. "I have two children. And I would never favour one over the other. Viktor and Viviane receive equal treatment from me and my wife."

Sirius nodded grimly. "Same with me. Even though Draco isn't my son by blood, he's family."

Amelia didn't let up.

"The House of Black may have moved its seat to Bulgaria, but they are still a cornerstone of wizarding Britain. You dared attempt line theft against them. Your daughter and youngest son are now disowned from the Prewett line, as is your wife. The magical backlash from this will haunt your family for generations. This is worse than when the Malfoys declared a blood feud against your family, Arthur. That feud would end in a decade or two if you are careful. But with the Blacks declaring one against you will make you and your family persona non grata until the Blacks decide they're satisfied! And you know as well as I do how vicious that family is, and they can really hold a grudge!"

Arthur flinched. He didn't know what to say. The pain in Percy's voice, the fury in Amelia's, and even the disgust in Sirius's... It was all deserved.

"I never meant for this to happen," Arthur whispered.

"But you let it happen," Percy snapped.

And that, Arthur thought, was worse than doing it outright. Because it meant he didn't care enough to not let it happen.

Arthur looked around the room. There was no sympathy. Only disappointment. Anger. Disgust.

"Have it your way, then," Sirius said. His voice was like ice. "But mark my words, Arthur—your family's days of protection are over. The world's watching now. And you've just proven you'd rather burn with your wife and daughter than lift the rest of your family from the fire. And I wonder what Reginald and Benedict would say to you right now. I wouldn't be surprised if they've heard about this scandal by now and are currently on the way back to Britain. Knowing Reginald the way I do, I won't be surprised if he disowns you from his side of the Weasley line."

Arthur flinched at the mention of his older brothers, especially his eldest brother, but remained silent, his shoulders sagging.

Amelia looked at the missives again. "I'll be sending official responses to the ICW and the Bulgarian Ministry. I can no longer protect the Weasley name from international scrutiny."

The air in the room shifted. Heavy. Final.

Arthur Weasley stood slowly. His eyes met Percy's for only a moment—and found nothing but steely resolve and heartbreak.

He left the room to the sound of silence more deafening than any scream.

Arthur Weasley had once thought that his love for muggles and his steady hand made him a good man. He had never accepted bribes, and conducted himself in his personal and professional life with honour and integrity.

Now, he wasn't sure if he could even call himself decent.

Outside, Nymphadora Tonks didn't even try to hide the scorn on her face as he passed.

And this time, Arthur didn't blame her.

XXXXXX

The atmosphere within Hogwarts' boardroom was stifling with tension, thick enough to choke on.

Andromeda Tonks nee Black sat with her spine ramrod straight, one elegantly gloved hand curled tightly around the armrest of her chair. Her icy gaze, however, did not waver from Albus Dumbledore, who sat at the far end of the long, polished table.

She was seated as proxy for three of the most powerful wizarding lines in Britain—Potter, Black, and Malfoy—a position that carried tremendous weight, and her presence exuded the cool, calculating fury of a woman scorned by both political idiocy and personal betrayal.

Dumbledore looked older than usual. His robes were a deep navy today, stars embroidered along the hem and collar, and though he tried to project his usual grandfatherly calm, the lines around his mouth were tighter. His twinkling gaze, once capable of disarming even the most sceptical, now failed to soften the burning contempt aimed at him by the majority of the Board.

Griselda Marchbanks, the head of the Educational Department, sat just to Andromeda's right. Though age had bent her back slightly, her voice remained strong and sharp as a whip. She had refused tea earlier, stating she wanted to "keep her mouth dry enough to bite someone's head off."

Lady Helena Boot, the sharp-eyed, stately woman who managed the Scholarship and Tuition Division of the Hogwarts Board, cleared her throat.

"We have here," she began, lifting a letter bearing the wax seal of House Prewett, "an official declaration from Lady Muriel Prewett. It states, and I quote, 'I shall no longer be funding the education of Ronald and Ginevra Weasley, as they are no longer recognised members of the Prewett line. Their conduct, and the actions of their mother, have brought shame upon a House I have long fought to preserve'."

A murmur swept through the room. Andromeda barely blinked.

Dumbledore stood slowly, his hands folded in front of him. "This, in fact, is why I have called for a meeting of the Hogwarts Board," he said, his tone attempting neutrality. "Given their sudden lack of tuition coverage, I propose we allocate two of next year's scholarship placements to Ronald and Ginevra Weasley."

The room fell into stunned silence.

Andromeda's lips curled into a razor-thin smile, though there was no humour in it. Her voice was soft, yet it cut like a dagger. "You propose what?"

Dumbledore gestured calmly, as though speaking to a room of students. "These children, though recently disowned from House Prewett, have been members of a family long associated with Hogwarts. I believe that with proper support, they may yet redeem themselves. Furthermore, I believe they deserve those scholarships more than the original recipients."

"Redeem themselves by robbing two far more deserving students of their rightful placements?" spat Lord Cyril Nott, who had not so much as blinked during Dumbledore's speech. His cold, angular face twisted in disgust. "You want to reward line theft, Headmaster. Do not dress it in altruism."

Lady Boot slammed her hand on the table. "There are two students—one muggleborn, the other an orphaned pureblood—who have earned those scholarships. They've passed the examinations with flying colours and have no financial means to attend otherwise. And you want to strip them of that because you think Ronald and Ginerva Weasley 'deserve' it more?"

"The Weasleys are not without fault," Dumbledore began again, but this time, Griselda Marchbanks rose to her feet, her cane in hand, with her voice practically volcanic.

"Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore," she snapped, each word striking like a hammer. "This is not a charity! We are the Hogwarts Board, not some old boys' club where favourites get a free ride! This proposal is not only unethical, it's disgraceful."

Andromeda rose next, her magic simmering in the air like a thunderstorm on the horizon.

"Let me be very clear," she said, her voice like frostbite. "The only reason this Board has not pursued international prosecution against Ronald and Ginevra Weasley for their mother's attempt at line theft is because the Houses of Black and Potter have elected to treat it as a domestic matter. But that does not extend to this absurd farce you're proposing. The Blacks are a recognised foreign house under Bulgaria's jurisdiction. You are one step away from creating a diplomatic incident with your foolishness."

A few seats down, Lord Avery let out a hiss. "Had this happened to any other heir, Albus, you'd be watching the fallout from Azkaban. And if it's anyone but the Weasleys, would we even be here listening to you trying to rob two rightful students of their hard-won scholarships?"

Lady Boot nodded sharply. "This Board exists to ensure fairness in education, not to shield your pet pawns. The Weasley children do not qualify for the scholarship. Full stop."

"But surely," Dumbledore began again, before Lady Marchbanks slammed her cane against the floor with a sharp crack.

"Enough!" she barked. "Your social capital is spent, Albus. Your interference in the failed slave contract disguised as a marriage contract, your blindness to the abuse in your own school—"

"And let's not forget," Andromeda cut in, "that Hogwarts was nearly sanctioned for its failure to protect foreign students at the Triwizard Tournament. Your pet student attacked the Heir of my maternal House. And when Hadrian defended himself, you tried to paint him as the threat."

"The familiar of Heir Potter-Black saved his life," added Lord Avery. "And your response was to investigate him for dark magic, even though his familiar is merely doing what any decent familiar would do."

"Not to mention that the umbra anguis is an internationally protected species," Lord Nott added. "Any decent wizard or witch knows that. And your response, and even that of your pet students, is to try to claim that the umbra anguis is a Dark creature. If you or your pet students had actually harmed the familiar of Heir Potter-Black, not only would you be sanctioned for harming a wizard's familiar—especially that of a heir of an ancient and noble house, you would also be charged for intentionally harming an internationally protected species."

Dumbledore looked around the room, now entirely aligned against him. Elphias Doge, predictably, looked pale and scandalised on his friend's behalf, but said nothing.

"This meeting," Lady Boot declared, "will not entertain this proposal. The scholarships will go to the original recipients of the scholarships—the muggleborn and the orphaned pureblood—as it was determined months ago. We are not here to coddle traitors and attempted thieves."

Andromeda sat down once more, her voice cold and final. "Try this again, Dumbledore, and the Houses of Potter, Black, and Malfoy will formally file a complaint against you for abuse of authority and attempted institutional bias. We are watching."

Silence reigned.

And for the first time in many decades, Albus Dumbledore looked truly afraid. He, however, refused to back down. He remained standing at his seat, tall and composed, but even he could not hide the tightness around his mouth, nor the glint of frustration in his usually twinkling eyes.

"The Weasley children deserve an education," he said again, his voice calm but with a distinct edge of steel. "You can't rob two children of their magical education!"

A short, squat man with a walrus-like moustache slammed his palm down. "Then they can go to trade schools, like every other family that can't afford Hogwarts! The Weasleys aren't special, Dumbledore. Their grades are abysmal. Their conduct, worse. And now, we hear that the youngest Weasley son has conducted himself abysmally against our international guests time and time again, and wasn't punished?! The Weasley girl isn't any better! Durmstrang had already lodged complaints multiple times about how our students are treating theirs, especially against Lucas Michaelis and Hadrian Potter-Black! Beauxbatons too has backed those claims up. As did the ICW Hit-Wizards and Healers who have witnessed those altercations. And even the Gringotts' representatives. Why should we fund the education of the two youngest Weasleys when they treat it like a joke?"

There was a chorus of agreement, loud and scathing. Dumbledore tried to speak again, but this time, Griselda Marchbanks cut across him.

"I've never in all my years seen a student body so split over two individuals. Ronald and Ginevra Weasley have disrupted house unity more in one year than Peeves has in fifty."

Another voice, sharp and impatient, spoke up. "Their cousins all went to trade academies. No one is entitled to Hogwarts. The Board was clear—we don't fund families who cause this kind of trouble."

The argument was descending into chaos when a firm voice broke through like a bell through fog.

"Enough," said Abner Ogden, his gravelly tone low but commanding. The room slowly fell silent.

Ogden, an older wizard with greying hair and a scholar's demeanour, was known as the Board's neutral party—rarely loud, rarely impassioned, but always fair. He looked around the room, eyes landing briefly on Dumbledore, then on the clenched fists of Marchbanks, and the disdain on the other members' faces.

"We are not here to tear each other apart," Ogden said quietly, but firmly. "We are here to make a decision regarding the education of two students—Ronald and Ginevra Weasley. The issue is not whether their family is respected, or even if we like them. The issue is whether we, as governors of this institution, believe that every child deserves a chance."

There was a pause. No one spoke.

Ogden took a breath. "I propose a compromise."

Dumbledore raised his head, hope flickering briefly.

"Rather than a full scholarship—which I agree might be an inappropriate allocation of Hogwarts' limited funding—we reduce the annual school fees for the Weasleys' two youngest children by half. Furthermore, the school will provide twenty percent of their necessary supplies—books, cauldrons, and even uniforms—until they finish their education. In exchange, the students must meet the same academic and behavioural expectations we require of any scholarship recipient."

The murmurs returned, but this time softer, and more contemplative.

"And," Ogden continued, raising a hand, "if either Ronald or Ginevra Weasley is the cause of any major disciplinary incident that requires the Board to assemble again—if they are responsible for any major disruption, rule-breaking, or assault on other students—the subsidy is immediately revoked. Their continued place at Hogwarts will also be reviewed."

A cold silence followed. Dumbledore's knuckles had gone white around the back of his chair.

"That's barely better than a leash," he said quietly, not hiding the anger in his voice. "They are children. They've made mistakes—yes—but so have others."

Andromeda Tonks, who until then had remained silent, finally leaned forward. Her eyes, dark and tired, met Dumbledore's across the table.

"I, like everyone here, have no love for the Weasleys right now. But you are right about one thing, Albus. We shouldn't rob two children of their education." She exhaled. "We give them this chance. Call it educational probation."

Dumbledore turned to her, eyes pleading. "And if they fall short by even a little? Are we to send them away? Cast them into a system that doesn't understand magic, or worse—leave them to fend for themselves?"

Griselda Marchbanks snapped. "Enough, Dumbledore! This is the only chance they get. Do not insult the Board's patience by pretending they deserve special treatment. You have gone too far in protecting them. We will not indulge it further. You can take this deal—or leave it. But there will be no second vote."

Dumbledore's lips pressed into a thin line. For a moment, it seemed as if he might fight it further. Then, slowly, reluctantly, he nodded. "Very well," he said, his voice tight. "We will proceed as Lord Ogden suggests."

He began to gather his papers, clearly intending to adjourn the meeting, but before he could so much as rise, Griselda cleared her throat. "One more thing."

Everyone stilled. Dumbledore hesitated, then slowly returned to his seat.

Griselda's eyes were not twinkling. They were sharp as steel. "If you hadn't called this meeting, I would have done so myself within the month. Not because of the Weasleys—but because of Hogwarts itself."

There was silence.

Griselda stood now, slowly, her back ramrod straight despite her age. "Our school is behind, Albus. Not by a little. But by decades. Emily Macmillan's article painted a rather brutal picture. Other magical institutions around the world have begun integrating ancient magics with modern disciplines. Their students are graduating with mastery in both wandless and elemental techniques. Some even have magical theory paired with technomagic applications. What is Hogwarts doing, aside from repeating the same curriculum you and I were taught in 1892?"

Andromeda looked away, her expression unreadable. Ogden folded his hands.

"We are supposed to be the premier magical school of the United Kingdom," Griselda continued, voice rising slightly, "and yet we're outpaced by institutions in Africa, Romania, Bulgaria, Nigeria, Japan, and Brazil. Even the trade schools in Britain are overtaking us in terms of academics! Do you know what the latest ICW academic audit said about Hogwarts? 'Traditional, antiquated, and in desperate need of reform.' Those audits are presented to you each year, and nothing has changed."

Dumbledore said nothing. His face was unreadable now.

Griselda pressed forward. "You want to protect students like the Weasleys? Then do better by them. Give them an education that will prepare them for the real world—not just OWLs and NEWTs."

The meeting room was silent again. Not angry this time—but thoughtful. Heavy.

Dumbledore stared down at his parchment, then up at the Board.

There was no final word. No dramatic conclusion. Only the sound of chairs creaking as members slowly stood to leave, the quiet rustle of robes, the murmurs of minds already racing ahead to what must change.

Only Andromeda lingered behind, placing a gentle hand on Ogden's shoulder as she passed. "Thank you," she murmured.

Ogden did not respond. He was watching Dumbledore.

The headmaster sat alone at the end of the long table, his hands folded, his expression tired, as though the weight of a century had finally begun to settle on his shoulders.

This must be how someone feels, Andromeda thought to herself even as she filed out of the boardroom with the rest of the members, when their carefully built dynasty came crashing down around their ears.

XXXXXX

The house was quiet. Too quiet for Arthur's liking.

The ticking of the old kitchen clock—the one enchanted to show where each member of the family was—was the only consistent sound, save for the gentle wind nudging the wooden shutters outside. The hands marked 'Bill', 'Charlie', 'Percy', 'Fred', and 'George' all rested stubbornly on 'Elsewhere'.

Not a single one pointed to 'Home'. Though it is also extremely likely that to Bill and the other boys, home is no longer the Burrow.

Arthur sat at the scrubbed wooden kitchen table, his elbows resting on the worn surface, his fingers tangled in his thinning red hair, with his head bowed with the weight of the day. His briefcase—so battered now it looked like it had survived four wars—lay abandoned at the foot of the chair, and his Ministry robes were wrinkled and stained with splashes of ink from hastily signed documents.

His meeting with Amelia Bones from earlier in the day still echoed in his mind like a tolling bell.

Not for the first time, Arthur kept cussing himself for signing that damn contract without even reading it, thanks to his blind faith in Dumbledore. Even if he trusted Dumbledore—why didn't he at least read it?

His parents have made sure to drill that lesson into the heads of his and his brothers since they were small children.

Molly bustled in from the pantry, muttering under her breath about "insufferable Blacks", and "that boy, Harry, still poisoning our Ronald's name." She slammed down a bowl of peeled potatoes harder than necessary, jostling the table and making Arthur's head lift from his hands.

"I don't know why everyone's taking their side," Molly grumbled, her voice thick with resentment. "Sirius Black should never have gotten custody of that boy. He's a menace! That whole lot—Krums, Malfoys, Longbottoms, Bones—they've corrupted Harry. That wasn't the life Lily wanted for him. Albus said—"

"Don't," Arthur said suddenly, his voice sharp and cutting like a blade against the silence.

Molly blinked. "Don't what?"

"Don't bring up Dumbledore," Arthur snapped, standing abruptly from his chair, the legs scraping harshly against the floor. "Don't you dare use that man's name to justify what's happened."

Molly's face darkened. "Excuse me?"

Arthur's hands curled into fists. "Your insistence on listening to Dumbledore, your blind faith in every word out of his mouth—that's what got us into this bloody mess to begin with!"

"Oh, so now it's all my fault?!" Molly's voice rose as she spun toward him, her eyes wide and furious. "I was protecting our daughter! She was promised—"

"Ginny was never promised anything!" Arthur shouted back. "She was being used! Hadrian Potter-Black is the Black heir, and even the Potter heir—he's tied to old magic and ancient families, and you tried to force a contract binding him to Ginny before he was even of age. Convinced me to simply sign that bloody contract without even reading it or taking it to a lawyer to get it checked!"

Molly's face flushed a violent red. "Albus said it was best—"

"Damn Albus and his manipulations!" Arthur roared. "Do you even hear yourself? You talk about Ginny's future, Ron's reputation, and yet, you don't even see what you've done to the rest of our children!"

"They left, Arthur! They abandoned us!"

"They left because we abandoned them first!" Arthur's voice broke, cracking with grief and anger. Never before, in all his years of marriage to Molly, had he ever raised his voice at her like that. But tonight—all his feelings of guilt and frustration came rushing out. "Percy is right—we coddled Ron and Ginny while treating the rest like they didn't matter. We never supported Bill and Charlie in their chosen careers. Or even paid attention to Percy. We dismissed Fred and George's talents. We ridiculed their dreams. You never supported their inventions, never encouraged their creativity. And when the twins were Sorted into Slytherin, you treated them like they were the devil. The same way we treated Percy when he was Sorted into Ravenclaw. And I—" Arthur stopped himself, his chest heaving. "I didn't even realise the twins had moved out until Lady Muriel's elf came to collect their things."

Molly's hands trembled as she clutched her apron. "You're blaming me now?"

"We failed as parents," Arthur muttered, sinking back into his chair, defeated. "Percy is right. We never cared about the rest of them. What do we even know about our children? What do they like? What do they hope for? What do they want to do? Bill, Charlie, and Percy—are they dating anyone? And if they are, who are they? Even our children's friends… Do we even know who they are? I only know that Michael Fawley is Bill's best friend from Hogwarts, as is Nymphadora Tonks, who is Charlie's best friend. Apart from these two, who are their other friends? What do we know about their friends? Even the twins. Do we know who their friends are? How are they doing in school? What are their favourite subjects? We never bothered to find out."

The silence in the kitchen is deafening.

"At this rate," Arthur muttered, "I wouldn't be surprised if I was struck off the Weasley Family Register entirely. Reginald is going to be furious with me."

As if summoned by the very name, there was a sharp knock at the door.

Arthur froze. Molly tensed. The knock came again—firm and authoritative.

Slowly, Arthur made his way to the door, ignoring Molly's muttering behind him. When he opened it, two figures stood silhouetted against the fading twilight: tall and broad-shouldered, both unmistakably Weasleys despite their age. One had the Weasley hair with streaks of grey through it, and a monocle perched on his hawk-like nose. The other's scarred face was set in a thunderous expression.

"Reg… Benedict…" Arthur swallowed at the sight of his older brothers. "I didn't expect you to be here."

"Are you surprised that we're here?" Reginald Weasley said coldly, his voice low and measured, clipped with disappointment.

"Aren't you going to invite us in, Arthur?" added Benedict, his voice gravelly, with the hint of a Welsh lilt.

Arthur stepped aside automatically, heart sinking. "Of course. Please."

They entered. Benedict's boots thudded on the floorboards like war drums. Reginald's gaze swept the room, sharp and judging.

Molly stood stiffly behind Arthur, her lips pressed into a thin line.

"Well," she said frostily, "what brings you both to the Burrow?"

Reginald turned to her sharply. "Don't be rude, Molly. You may not like your husband's brothers, but we are his family. You'd do well to remember that."

She bristled. "This is my home, Reginald—"

"This is a Weasley home," Reginald interrupted. "And it's time we talk about the damage being done to that name."

Arthur exhaled, his shoulders sinking again as he turned toward the table, silently dreading the conversation to come. Reginald is a kind man, as is Benedict. Arthur loved both his brothers. He knew they cared for him and protected him since they were kids the way that brothers always do.

But Reginald is also the head of House Weasley, and he had to do the duties of the head of house.

The fact that both his older brothers came to Britain from America, where they've been living and working since their parents' deaths decades ago…

The upcoming conversation isn't going to be a pleasant one.

The Burrow, once a place of warmth and laughter, now felt cold as a grave. Arthur never thought he'd ever dread being in his own home. But today, the air in the Burrow felt like a curse had seeped into the very beams of the house.

The sitting room was uncharacteristically silent when he followed his brothers. The clock ticked too loudly. Even the ghoul in the attic seemed to have gone quiet, as though the house itself was holding its breath.

Reginald Weasley stood by the fireplace, clad in a sharply tailored dark blue robe with the crest of the Weasley family embroidered in deep crimson thread near the breast. Benedict Weasley, tall and colder in demeanour, sat with his arms crossed in the patched armchair, his expression thunderous.

Molly stood with her arms folded tightly across her chest, her jaw clenched so tightly that it looked painful. Her eyes, normally so warm and motherly, were narrowed in frustration and righteous fury.

Arthur hesitated at the open doorway, looking between his brothers and his wife.

"Arthur," Reginald said, voice clipped and precise. "Close the door."

He obeyed, though his fingers trembled. He could feel it in the air—this wasn't going to be a polite visit.

"Reg," he started, weakly. "Ben. I wasn't expecting—"

"Clearly," Reginald snapped, ice lacing his voice. "Imagine my surprise when I received the missive from Gringotts three days ago, informing me that the Blacks—our cousins, Arthur—had declared a BLOOD FEUD on your side of the family."

Arthur flinched.

"Then imagine my surprise," Reginald continued, each word clipped like a blade, "when I picked up that copy of the International Magical Daily and got the full story. And then, I received a letter from Lady Muriel Prewett, who told me everything."

"I—"

"What were you thinking?" Benedict's voice was steel. "Sirius may be impulsive, but he wouldn't declare a blood feud unless something unforgivable had occurred."

Molly puffed up like a furious hen. "We did nothing wrong! I was just securing my baby's future—"

Reginald cut across her sharply. "Molly." Her mouth snapped shut. "You are being rude to your brothers-in-law, and I will not have it." Reginald's tone brooked no argument. "You've always been…challenging, but you will not disrespect this family further by dismissing our concerns."

Molly flushed, her fists clenching. "I am family—"

"No, we are Arthur's family," Benedict interrupted, rising to his feet. "You may be his wife, but the way you've dragged our name through the mud with this stunt—"

"It wasn't a stunt!" she shrieked. "It was a marriage contract—"

"A slave contract disguised as a marriage agreement!" Reginald thundered. "Did you truly think no one would notice? That it wouldn't get out?"

"It's not a slave contract!" Molly screamed.

But the Weasley brothers ignored her.

"Not to mention," Benedict added grimly, "you didn't even consult Reginald when arranging a betrothal contract for Ginevra. Do you still recognise him as your Head of House, Arthur?"

Arthur looked like he'd swallowed a Bludger. "I… Dumbledore said we didn't need to—"

Reginald's hand slammed onto the table, causing the dishes to rattle. "I am sick to death of you parroting Albus Dumbledore like he's the bloody Minister!" Reginald snapped. "What kind of enchantment does that man have over you?!"

Benedict stepped forward, his voice lower but far more dangerous. "Our parents never trusted Dumbledore. Have you forgotten that our mother was a Black? That the heir of her maternal house was the very boy you tried to enslave? If she were alive, Arthur, she'd make your death look pleasant."

Arthur sat down heavily on the edge of the couch, his hands gripping his knees as though to ground himself. "I didn't… I never meant for this to happen. It was a mistake, but I thought—"

"You thought what? That no one would notice?" Reginald's voice cracked like a whip. "You thought the Blacks, with all their power and influence, wouldn't retaliate? You thought Sirius would sit quietly while you bound the heir of two ancient houses against his will? Against his son? He'd likely kill your daughter first should this contract ever go through. You can give your thanks to the Goddess that it didn't. Sirius might be different from the rest of his family, but he's still a Black, and as vicious as the rest of them."

Molly's eyes were blazing. "Harry is just a boy—"

"And an omega," Benedict said icily. "An underage omega. Under the Omega Protection Laws, this could be grounds for execution, depending on how the ICW sees it."

Arthur made a strangled noise, his face pale. "No, no… We didn't mean it like that. I didn't mean—"

"Intent doesn't matter, Arthur," Reginald said, quieter now, but still firm. "Perception does. And right now, the magical world sees the Weasley name in the same breath as line theft."

There was a pause. Then Molly, still trembling, said, "I was just trying to do what's best for my daughter."

"And what of Heir Potter-Black?" Benedict's voice was soft, yet lethal. "You tried to enslave him. Did he not deserve a choice?"

"He's my baby's soulmate—"

"No," Reginald said. "He's a person. And you've risked everything. The Blacks, the Potters—everyone is watching now."

"Furthermore, if Heir Potter-Black is really Ginerva's soulmate, the contract he had with Heir Viktor Krum would never have gone through," Benedict added, his eyes narrowing at Molly who snapped her mouth shut. "Now the troubles we had aren't just with the Houses of Black and Potter, but also with the House of Krum. And all their allies. This includes the Malfoys, the Bones, the Longbottoms, the Michaelis family, and even the Vasilevs! All of them either noble and ancient houses or houses with tremendous influence!"

"Both Benedict and I have business dealings with the Houses of Black and Potter," Reginald said, pacing slowly. "This jeopardises everything. Sirius, as Lord Black, hasn't pulled out of our contracts yet, but it's only a matter of time. Even Diantha's betrothal with her betrothed—his family wanted to end it, not wanting to invite a feud with the Blacks, but bless the Goddess, her fiancé refused."

Arthur sank back into his chair, the weight of his brothers' words pressing down on him. He felt the chasm between his intentions and the consequences widen, threatening to swallow him whole. The consequences of that failed contract aren't just against his family now. But also against his brothers' families.

Molly, however, stood her ground. "This is all because of that boy. He's turned everyone against us."

Reginald's eyes flashed. "That 'boy' is the heir to two of the most powerful houses in the wizarding world. And you tried to bind him with a contract that would have stripped him of his rights and autonomy. What did you expect would happen?"

The room fell into a heavy silence, the only sound being that of the ticking of the old clock on the mantel. Arthur looked up at his brothers, the weight of his actions evident in his eyes. "I… I made a mistake," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

Reginald's expression softened slightly. "Then it's time to make amends, Arthur. Before it's too late."

Arthur slumped further, his face buried in his hands.

"You've always been soft, Arthur," Benedict said, almost gently now. "We tried to warn you about Molly. She's too overbearing, and too controlling. We told you from the start."

Reginald nodded grimly. "And this is why I didn't approve of your engagement." Molly gasped like she'd been slapped. "You've embarrassed us for the last time," Reginald continued, steel returning to his tone. "We need to fix this. Now."

"How?" Arthur's voice cracked. "How do I fix this?"

"We start by contacting Sirius," Reginald said. "We apologise. To him. To Heir Potter-Black. We offer reparations—real ones. We need to make it clear that this wasn't a calculated attempt at line theft. We cannot afford a second blood feud. The Malfoy feud is already killing our status. There's a reason why both Benedict and I married foreign witches and have our children educated in foreign trade academies. We're now practically pariahs in half of Europe, thanks to this stunt that you pulled. Having a blood feud with the Blacks would make us persona non grata with the entire magical world, even if the feud is with YOUR side of the family, Arthur."

"We need the Blacks," Benedict added. "Cissy, Andromeda, even Sirius—they're our blood. Family. We don't have much of that left."

The evening sun dipped below the horizon, casting the Burrow in shadows. But within its walls, a light had been shed on truths long ignored, and the path to redemption, though steep, had begun.