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Books > Harry Potter

Basilisk-born

By: Ebenbild

What if the Dementor attack in 5th year had ended with Harry losing?

What if someone had stepped in to save him? And what if Harry ended

up in the past with a chance to be more than he ever was before? A story

about a forcibly time travelled Harry and its consequences...

Manipulative Dumbledore, 'Slytherin!Harry', Time Travel!

Rated: Fiction T - English - Mystery/Adventure - Harry P., Salazar S. -

Chapters: 72 - Words: 630,630 - Reviews: 7,851 - Favs: 13,873 - Follows:

12,185 - Updated: 27.03.2021, 01:48:20 - Published: 22.09.2014,

23:33:21 - Status: Complete - id: 10709411

51. Chapter 50: 1568-1899 AD A

Path

Disclaimer: not mine. All Rowling's.

Information: all in italic is from Rowling's OotP.

xxxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxxx

1568-1899 AD

A Path And Its Consequences

sss

1899

The moment Sal stepped into the room, following his 'healer teachers', he

recognized the woman on the bed. He hadn't seen her for hundreds of

years, and yet, he had never forgotten her face.

She had been the only time-traveller he had ever met who had travelled

back for centuries exactly like him – adding to that that he hadn't been

able to save her, there had been no way for him to forget her face.

Staring at her again after all this time was unsettling and somehow bitter,

considering all the time in the past he had tried to find a way to help her

and hadn't found it.

Sal stepped closer to the bed, watching the other healers weaving their

wands over the unconscious body in the bed.

Then one of the older healers stepped into the room – just seconds after

Eloise Mintumble's eyelids began to flutter.

"What's her status?" The master healer asked.

"It doesn't look good, sir," one of Sal's female teacher healers said.

"Whatever experiment she was part of, something went wrong quite

horribly with it."

In that moment, Eloise opened her mouth and groaned.

"What can you tell me about the experiment, sir?" The master healer

asked the other man who had followed them in. Sal's gaze focused on the

man who stood next to the door, ringing his hands agitated.

"We were testing a new way to time travel," the man told them with tears

in his eyes. "She went back in time and then used a device to return to

the present."

Sal closed his eyes.

The unruly dark hair.

The glasses.

The face.

He knew exactly who the man at the door was.

The man was the splitting image of his ancestors – even if the ones Sal

knew hadn't worn glasses.

Fleamond Charlus Potter – who preferred to be called 'Charlus' since his

third year in Hogwarts.

Ralston Potter's descendant.

The man looked defeated and so different and yet all the same if

compared to Ralston.

"Back in time?" The master healer asked a bit disbelievingly.

It was that question that made Sal remember his first meeting of the

young woman in the bed and his life after meeting Ralston Potter…

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

2nd June 1568

In 1568, Sal finally was able to give up the mantle of power in Hogwarts

again. Antiona Creaseworthy had been made Headmistress, after Sal

'died' in the summer.

Of course, Sal could have quit his place as a Headmaster and simply

moved on, but it was basically an unwritten rule that one was

Headmaster for life. There had been not a single Headmaster before Sal

who hadn't died doing his job as a Headmaster.

So Sal had decided to fake his death and give up his place as a

Headmaster that way. It was never good to stand out, after all…

The moment Sal had been free from his duties, he had changed back to a

young man again and head for London. He planned to leave the Isles and

return to the main land from there.

Regretfully, he was cornered before even thinking to embark on his next

adventure.

"Where are you heading, Salvatio Prince, without even thinking to say

good-bye to us?"

Sal sighed when he heard the voice and turned around to face the couple

who had obviously found him before he could go through with his plans.

"Móna, Ralston," he greeted the two of them.

The two students – now long since grown, smiled at him in amusement.

"My Prince," Ralston greeted, but instead of unsureness, there was a hint

of teasing in his voice when he used the title.

Sal rolled his eyes.

"I'm no-ones prince, Ralston," he reminded the man.

To his surprise, Móna snickered at that.

Ralston just raised his eyebrow.

"I'm quite sure that even if you're not acknowledged by the most of the

Isle, your claim hasn't changed because of that," he said amused.

Sal sighed.

"Can't I go back to anonymity?" He asked half-amused and half-annoyed.

"I think I have earned it after all those decades working with morons to

ensure that the school was kept standing."

Ralston snorted.

"I bet that was truly hard work to do," he said even more amused than

before. "I remember that our son Harold wasn't the easiest child to deal

with."

Sal laughed at that.

"He wasn't," he agreed. "But I knew that much already long before I met

him. Any child with you two as its parents would be a handful indeed."

"Indeed," Ralston snorted amused.

Then his face turned serious.

"I heard that Sal Basiliskson died," he said, not a hint of a smile on his

face.

"He did," Sal answered sighing. "He was old and he couldn't continue like

that."

Ralston just looked at Sal silently and Sal wondered what the other man

saw. Where just days ago had been while locks and wrinkled skin, now

the youthful, black-haired and green-eyed appearance reigned Sal's

features.

"Not a lot of people will recognise you looking like you do now," Ralston

commented. "If it hadn't been for Móna, I would have had a hard time as

well – and I saw you once looking exactly like you do now."

Sal's smile vanished at that.

"I know," he said, nearly quietly. "I'm sorry."

Móna just laughed at his apology.

"Don't be!" She exclaimed. "I was always aware of the eternal Prince. I

don't mind seeing him at all."

Sal raised an eyebrow at that, but in the end guessed that it was her

blood telling her things like that. He was quite sure, she was the

descendant of an elf and gifted with the ability to see more than the

average human.

"So you're here to tell me good-bye?" he asked her interested.

Móna smiled.

"No," she said. "We're here to invite you into our home for a few weeks or

months. Spend some time with us as your friends, Salvatio Prince. We

will not object when you want to leave later on."

For a moment, Sal wanted to decline her invitation, but then he saw the

same stubborn look in Ralston's eyes that Peverell tended to wear

whenever he wouldn't budge one inch from whatever he had decided.

Sal sighed.

He knew that that look meant that he wouldn't win a confrontation with

the Potters today.

He sighed again.

"Alright," he said slowly. "But just for a few days."

He would be cornered into staying for months.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

1899

Charlus didn't seem to notice the scepticism of the master healer after his

answer where Eloise had gone to, because he just nodded when the

healer asked "Back in time?" while tears started to run down his face.

"To 1400," he replied sniffing. "It should have been safe! We calculated

everything!"

Sal closed his eyes at that exclamation.

He had long since learned that even if you thought you knew everything

– even if you tried to do everything to ensure that something didn't

happen – there was always another way for things to come to pass.

In the past, Sal had tried to keep the people safe he had known that were

in danger.

In his original time, the Slytherin family had ended – so Sal had always

kept an eye on his son Myrddin's descendants, hoping to prevent it.

He had even gone so far to create a paterfamilias's ring – something that

had always existed for families of noble birth like LeFay, Grim and even

Pendragon – so that he could monitor the health of that family even from

afar. And yet, with all the precaution, in the end the name of 'Slytherin'

had still ended up lost in time yet again…

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

31st October 1568

After Sal had finally left the Potters the previous day, he was back in

London and on his way out of the country, when he felt the disturbance.

Something was off – and this something had to do with the Slytherin-

family. His paterfamilias-ring – a ring he had gained when people forgot

his original last name Emrys – was humming and telling him that

something was happening to his descendants.

Sal did not hesitate the slightest moment. Concentrating on the ring he

let it lead him to where he had to go. With a soft pop – not quite

apparation but something very similar – he vanished to the place the ring

was leading him to.

It was a house, a mansion, to be precise.

From where he stood it looked peaceful. The lawn was made quite

beautifully, the flowers were blooming and the old bricks of the house

emitted a friendly, warm atmosphere.

The only thing that did not fit was the feeling of dread that his Family

Magick was continuing to send him. It was screaming in his head that

something was wrong, that something was happening to his family in this

very moment.

Sal ran to the door. The wards of the property were fading away under

the pressure of the Family Magick and finally they slid aside, letting him

in without struggle.

When he reached the door he did not even try to open it. He simply

threw a spell at it, pulverizing it to dust. The hallway was empty but the

door to one of the rooms stood open. In it he could hear someone

moaning. He followed the noise and found a man in his mid-fifties lying

on the floor behind a desk. The man was bleeding from thousands of

wounds and he reeked of the darkest of magic.

Sal crouched down next to him.

He took the hand of the man, letting his magic fly free throughout the

body of the other. The man moaned again, then he opened his eyes.

"Who…?" he struggled to say.

"I am Salvazsahar Slytherin" Sal said. "I am the Lord of the House."

The man stared at him, then he coughed slightly. Sal knew that the man

was in no condition to do anything right now. He had to heal him first

before he could get some answers.

"Let me heal you, then you can tell me what happened."

The man just shook his head slightly.

"She's… still… here" he rasped. "My… wife… sons… find them…"

"You will die if I leave you –"

"Sons… please…"

"Alright," Sal answered, standing up again. He knew that the man would

be dead when he left him now – but Sal wasn't just a healer, he was also

a protector. The man had asked him to protect his family – if he was

willingly deciding to die for it, Sal could and would not stop him.

So Sal left the room, heading down the hall to the next. It was a dining

room and it was empty. After that he found the sitting room. Inside there

lay the corpses of an old man and woman. They were lying on the floor,

the man still holding the woman's hand. Sal let them be and headed on.

He found the stairs and entered the second floor. In the middle of the hall

lay a young woman – maybe the man's wife. Her abdomen was slit and

her eyes glassed over.

Sal ignored her when he heard a whimpering sound from somewhere

down the hall. He ran in the direction he had heard the sound from. The

door he had heard the whimpering from was closed. Sal did not hesitate.

He busted it open with a spell, the runes for protection immediately on

the tips of his fingers.

The sight he was met with was gruesome.

A woman was standing over the corpse of a maybe twenty-year-old man.

In front of her were three children – the eldest maybe seven. The eldest

was shielding the younger ones. The boy was missing an arm and

bleeding heavily from the open wound. But he still was standing in front

of the other two, trying to protect them. A tentative shield had been

created between the children and the woman, but it was flickering and

had started to slowly fade away.

Accidental magic, Sal recognised instantly.

Most likely done by the eldest.

Regretfully not strong enough to shield them much longer…

The shield flickered again, then it vanished.

Sal reacted instantly. He threw the protection runes at the boys,

enveloping them with a golden glowing shield.

Then he added a stasis charm to it so that the oldest boy wouldn't bleed

to death until Sal could heal him.

The woman in front of the boys stopped with the curses she had been

throwing at the shield and turned.

She blinked in surprise when she saw him then she spoke up coolly. "Who

are you that you think you can butt into family business?"

Sal just looked at her.

"Family business?" he asked with a voice a lot more frosty than hers.

He knew that the wizarding world had changed and like in the mundane

world some things were seen as 'family business'. How people were

treated within the family was normally the heads right to decide and

nobody had any right to tell them otherwise.

Obviously, the woman in front of him tried to tell him exactly that.

"Yes," the woman said. "The whole family is rotten to the core. The only

one that is still on the right path is me. It is my duty to ensure that the

family will return to the right path."

"So you are family," Sal said slowly, his eyes narrowing before flickering

towards the children who were still standing in front of the woman, eyes

cautiously wandering from the woman to Sal and back.

"Yes," she replied coolly, clearly believing he would let her be. "And now

leave!"

Sal just raised an eyebrow at her.

As if he would stand by and watch while she killed the descendants of his

second son.

For a moment he pondered on his answer, then he decided to take the

easy way out.

"No," he said rigorously.

She blinked surprised.

"Excuse me?"

"No" Sal repeated firmly.

When her eyes narrowed, he knew that he would have to go further to

make her leave.

Of course, considering that she had killed part of his family, he had every

right to kill her on the spot, but as much as he wanted revenge, he would

not kill her if he didn't have to.

There were other ways, better ways to punish her…

He pressed his lips together then straightened. "You are the one who will

leave," he demanded coolly. "From today on you will be banished from

this family. You and you descendants will never be a part of Slytherin

ever again. This I decide as the Head of Slytherin!"

"As if you truly are the Head of Slytherin!" the woman snorted.

Sal just extended his hand. On it was glowing the paterfamilias-ring in a

creepy green light.

"I am Salazar Slytherin, Founder of the House of Slytherin," he said icily,

using that name the first time in centuries for himself. "It is my decision

to banish you as you have broken the rule of family – family does not try

to kill each other."

The woman just stared at the ring. Then she laughed hysterically.

"As if you could really stop me!" she said. "I have born a son – he will be

the heir of Slytherin! I just have to kill these little peasants my brother's

whore birthed!"

And with that she turned and threw a spell at the children.

The spell was absorbed, but Sal wasn't too sure how many spells like that

the shield would stop.

She hissed in wordless anger and raised her hand for another spell.

Sal reacted instantly.

He did not draw his wand – instead he threw one of his daggers, stabbing

her heart easily.

She gasped for air, her hand raising to grasp for the blade stuck in her

pretty corset and painting it red. Her eyes stared at the hilt in her chest

then she raised her eyes to look at Sal.

He looked back at her evenly.

She coughed then she slumped on the floor. Her breathing was shallow

and blood flooded the floor beneath her.

Sal kneeled down next to her.

"Never," he said coolly. "Never try to threaten me again. I am not called

the darkest wizard in history without a reason."

Of course the words were just meant to frighten – but still, Sal definitely

knew more than enough dark magic to be called the darkest wizard in

history. That he also was a healer and because of that definitely not

interested in conquering the world did not count much after all these

centuries.

He stood up again when the woman's eyes glassed over and turned to the

children. Without hesitation he vanished the protection shield and

entered the stasis.

The eldest boy looked warily at him.

"Don't worry," Sal said, raising his empty hands to show his good

intentions. "I would not kill the descendants of my own son if I don't have

to."

The seven-year-old just stared at him.

"You… you are far too young to be Salazar Slytherin," he finally declared,

eyes wide and fearful. He ducked the moment the words were out of his

mouth, clearly unsure how Sal would react.

Sal just chuckled.

"I look like it," he said. "But as I cannot age, my physical age says nothing

about my real one. And now let me see your arm."

The boy stepped a step away from him.

"If you're really Salazar Slytherin, you will kill us," he declared with

conviction.

Sal blinked at that sentence surprised.

"I will?" he asked astonished. "Why would I?"

He wondered what kind of rumours had started to exist about him that

the children were that sure that Sal would kill them if he were Salazar

Slytherin.

"Because we are the children of a mudblood," the boy answered, disgust

in his eyes while muttering the clearly hated word. He stared at Sal,

clearly daring him to say anything.

Sal just blinked.

When and why had those rumours -?

He shook his head.

Sal guessed that it wasn't important right now.

"Well," he finally declared, deciding to go for the easiest understandable

answer. "Then we should definitely be good in getting along."

"Why?" this time it was the second eldest that spoke. "Everyone says that

Salazar Slytherin hated mudbloods and that father has disgraced his

ancestor."

Sal just snorted, disgusted by the rumours already spreading throughout

the magical world about him.

"Let those hypocrites say what they want," he said. "If you really want to

differentiate between 'mudblood', 'half-blood' and 'pure-blood' then you

will have to call me a mudblood as well – maybe a half-blood if you don't

look too close."

The answer were three hanging jaws.

"You're a mudblood?!" The eldest asked astonished. "But… but you… you

are wearing our family-ring! You told us you are Salazar Slytherin!"

"I am," Sal answered. "But being a mudblood or a pure-blood did not

count at all when my relatives and I founded the school."

"Relatives?!"

"I will not explain as long as you are still bleeding," Sal answered coolly.

"Now let me see the wound." His voice had the ring of authority only a

century old healer could have and the boy gave in.

Since the boy had lost the arm there was nothing Sal could do to recreate

it. Even with the best potions there was no way to get back a missing

body part. So Sal just healed the wound like the others the boy had.

"How come that you can heal?" the boy asked while watching him. "I

thought Salazar Slytherin was a dark wizard…"

Sal just snorted.

"The problem is the word 'dark' itself," he answered the boy. "When I was

born there was not much that was called dark magic. Then centuries

passed by and suddenly things I learned and used for years were labelled

'dark' – so suddenly I was using the Dark Arts and was a dark wizard. It is

silly – they labelled it dark just because they could not use it or

something other irrelevant…"

The boy just stared at him.

"So you're not dark?" the second eldest asked.

Sal just shrugged.

"I am a healer," he answered. "And I am a guardian. I do kill if I have to –

but my most important mission is to heal. I do not think about the magic

I use when I heal. When it is labelled dark – let it be labelled dark. I

simply do not care. I learned a long time ago that being a dark wizard is

nothing you should prevent – it is being evil that you should try

preventing."

The boys just stared at him.

"But enough of that," Sal said. "There are more important things to speak

about – like telling me who she…" He pointed at the witch he had killed

with his dagger. "…was and what your names are."

The boys looked at each other. Finally the eldest said: "She was our aunt,

Lady Esther Gaunt, former Slytherin and the sister of our uncle and

father." With that the boy looked at the dead twenty year old man in the

room – the uncle.

"I understand," Sal said sighing.

He was quite aware that it might take years and years for the boys to

forget the massacre that had happened today, if ever. Sal was also quite

aware that it might be quite a while until they wouldn't feel guilty for the

death that had happened tonight.

He didn't look forward to the reassurance he would have to do until the

children would overcome this night…

"The Gaunts have started to call themselves the 'true Slytherins'," the

second born boy spoke up in that moment. The youngest – he was maybe

three or four years old – nodded with huge eyes.

Sal was quite sure that the youngest obviously wasn't old enough to truly

understand what was happening, but old enough to at least remember

the talks of their parents and grandparents.

"Our cousin often promised us to kill us when he is old enough," the

second born added forlornly.

"And no-one would protect us because our mother is a mudblood," the

first-born said, his eyes hard and challenging.

"I understand," Sal said again, this time thoughtfully.

"As if you really do," the eldest snorted, scorn in his voice.

"Believe me, I do," Sal answered with a sigh. He knew that it would take

time for the oldest to trust him, but he didn't have the time to gain their

trust right now. He had to hide them from the Gaunts and the rest of the

magical world – and to do so he couldn't wait for their trust right now.

He closed his eyes and thought about the problem.

There was just one thing he could do right now…

"We have to ensure that nobody will come looking for you," he said

sighing. "And I do understand that that means you cannot live any longer

as members of the Slytherin family. It is too dangerous to carry this name

any longer."

The eldest just snorted.

"So you banish us, too," he concluded, his voice bitter.

Sal sighed and then just shook his head.

"I would never do something like that," he assured the boy. "But I think

it's best to let the Slytherin-name be lost in time. Create a new name and

when you marry take the name of your bride instead she yours. You

might not be Slytherins by name anymore after that – but you still live

and you still belong to Slytherin-family."

"And where do we live until we are all grown up?" The eldest asked

bitingly. "I'm still too young to raise my brothers and there is no-one

left…"

"…except of me," Sal finished the boy's sentence. Said boy stared at him.

"You –"

"I will take you in as my sons until you are grown up," Sal said. "And

don't worry – I actually do know how to treat children. I have been a

teacher for a very long time – and a father."

"You are not our father!" the youngest cried, fear in his eyes.

Sal sighed again and rubbed his tired eyes.

"And I wouldn't like to try to be him," he answered softly. "Just see me as

an additional uncle or grandfather. I will raise you until you are of age –

but I will never try to be a father to you, I promise. I know how it is to

lose a father."

"Well, you might," the eldest answered bitterly. "But I am sure you were

all grown up when you lost him."

For a moment, Sal didn't know to answer that accusation.

Then he decided to go with the truth – at least for the most part. He

definitely wouldn't talk with three children about his time-travel if he

never even had told his wife Andromeda or the other Founders.

"Yes and no," Sal answered finally. "I was born as the son of two fathers.

The first I lost when I counted one winter. The other I found when I was

two times your age – and lost him when I was all grown up. Believe me –

I know what it's like to be an orphan. I have been one fourteen years of

my childhood and even more as an adult."

The boys just gawked at him.

"And now, what are your names?" Sal asked again.

The three boys looked at each other, then the eldest said hesitatingly: "I

am Seraph Severus and these are Salazar Charles and Myrddin Neville."

The eldest first pointed to the second eldest and then to the youngest.

"Well, a pleasure to meet you, Seraph Severus, Salazar Charles and

Myrddin Neville. I am Salvazsahar Serendu Harryjames – better known as

Salazar or Sal – at your service," Sal replied, forcing himself to smile to

look a bit more approachable.

Four-year-old Myrddin Neville giggled.

"I never heard someone really saying 'at your service' before!" he said

snickering.

Sal just sighed at that.

When had those words changed again?

He had been in Britain – and yet hadn't noticed the change nevertheless!

"Well – I was raised more than two thousand years ago," Sal finally

settled on with a sigh. "I grew up with different mannerism than you. I

will try to teach you the modern mannerism though – but I cannot

promise that it still will not be a little old fashioned."

The eldest just shrugged. "I can correct you," he said suddenly a lot

calmer and a lot more grown up acting than before.

Sal smiled a bit at that.

"If you wish," he agreed. "But I still think that we should add some more

people to our little circle. I know a pair or two who will be delighted

helping to raise you."

The three orphans looked at each other sceptically, but in the end, the

oldest nodded. It wasn't as if they had a chance to decide for themselves.

Sal was the head of their house – and the only one of their family still

alive who could take care of them.

"But what about our parents and -?"

Sal looked at the children in pity.

He knew that there was no way to bury them with the children present –

or even without. The family needed to be dead legally to the wizarding

world, so there was no way that he could allow a burial without a

reasonable double for the boys…

But then, maybe…

"I might have an idea," he told them softly. "You won't like it, but it will

be a way to hide you away and ensure that nobody will come looking for

you."

In the end, Sal called his patronus and told it to "Go and bring Móna,

Ralston and maybe the Flamels".

The children just watched, while Sal left to look around for the other

people in the house.

The man he had found alive before, was long since dead. Sal was quite

aware that the man had to have bled to death even before Sal had even

found the children.

Sal refused to have the children walk around the house as well. He had

removed the uncle's body from the room and had told them to stay where

they were. He didn't think it to be a good idea for the children to see

their other dead relatives in the state they were in.

It didn't take long for help to arrive.

The wards on the property, now deferring to Sal, told him immediately

who was outside.

Sal was quite sure that if the woman wouldn't have been part of the

family, not one of them would have been surprised by the attack. Like it

was, not one of them had seen her as a threat until it had been way too

late to stop her…

Sal opened the door to the people in front of it.

"Oncle Nick, Tante Perenelle," he greeted the couple. "You're surprisingly

quick to answer my call."

The Flamels exchanged a glance.

"We were in London already," Perenelle said. "There's a Wizard's Council

meeting in a view days and we planned to attend."

"We were also quite intrigued by the spell you used," Nicholas added. "I

have never seen such a way to send a message before."

Sal frowned.

"It's the patronus-charm," he said concerned. "If you don't know it I

should teach you as soon as possible. It's way too dangerous for you to

walk around not knowing it, considering the neighbourhood we keep."

Perenelle looked at him in amusement.

"Neighbourhood?" She asked him.

Sal sighed.

"Azkaban," he elaborated. "It's the home of the dementors."

This wiped the smile off of Perenelle's face.

"Dementors?" She asked concerned. "There're dementors near the Isles?"

Sal inclined his head.

"They won't enter the Isles if they know what's good for them," he told his

aunt. "But even like this, it would be best to know the charm just in case."

"Oh," Nicholas replied dismissively. "We know the charm."

Perenelle nodded with a smile.

"We were just intrigued how you got it to speak," Nicholas added.

That caught Sal's attention.

"Got it… to speak?" He asked confused. "I didn't try to –"

He was interrupted by the arrival of Ralston and Móna.

"How did you get the patronus to talk?" Ralston ask the moment he

appeared.

Sal opened his mouth to tell him that he had no idea how he managed it

when he remembered the reason why he had called the two couples

originally.

"Not important," he said instead of his planned answer. "I called you here

because I need your help."

Perenelle and Nicholas exchanged a glance while Ralston and Móna did

the same.

"We're here and we're listening," Nicholas finally settled on. "What do you

need?"

It would be a long day, but at the end of it, the once marvellous manor of

Slytherin family would be given to the unforgiving flames. The valuables

on the other hand were packed and then brought to Gringotts.

It didn't take long to actually explain the king of the goblins what they

needed.

"It can be arranged, Morganaadth," the goblin replied, his eyes never

leaving Sal's. "Give us a new last name and we will create a family for

them – one thought to be extinguished for at least three hundred years.

With you as the head, it should be no trouble for us to hide the truth

from prying eyes."

Sal inclined his head in gratitude.

"Tis would be most welcome," he replied. "As for the name –"

"Make it Prince," Móna added. "We already invited Master Sal under that

name to our manor a view months ago and his present and name have

since then travelled throughout our community. Nobody will look twice

if they find out he has some children of his own."

The children with them looked a bit uncertainty at Sal.

Sal on the other hand shrugged.

"I won't take the decision from you," he told the children. "It's your choice

to make. It's your choice to decide on a new last name."

The oldest looked at him gratefully at that and then nodded.

"My brothers and I will talk about it," he said and gestured his brothers

aside to do so.

After that day, all the valuables of Slytherin would be hidden away in a

hidden vault of the Prince family. With goblin magic and a ritual the

boy's ancestry was hidden. Sal was sure that if he raised them to be

druids instead of wizards and would guide them through an awakening,

nobody would be able to connect the Prince children to the Slytherin

children in the end.

"You should leave the Isles for a while," Ralston suggested as well.

"Nobody will go looking for them anywhere else on the country."

Nicholas nodded.

"You can come and live with us," he said. "You know we're always

delighted to have you, Salvatio."

"And the children as well, of course," Perenelle added and smiled at the

three boys. "I'm quite sure we will be able to make some proper French

gentlemen out of you now!"

In the end, Sal took the invite and left with the boys for France. He

wouldn't return until the first of the children was entering Hogwarts.

By then, it would be a well-known fact that the Slytherin family had

perished and that the Gaunt family had somehow lost all their claims to

said family – implying plain and simple treachery even with the Gaunts

trying to deny the truth and spreading lies.

It would be many years until the lies would be believed – by then, the

Slytherin family was long since gone and the Prince family was a fixed

part of the Wizard's Council.

Of course, the fact that the Prince family's head, one Salvatio Prince,

would be a staunch advocate for the International Statute of Wizarding

Secrecy was part of their reputation of an ancient house. Said Head of

House had been partly responsible – together with Ralston Potter who

served the Wizard's Council from 1612 to 1652 as well – for the laws that

woulf govern the wizarding world for the next centuries.

Even if there would always be people objecting to the Statute, in the end,

so many of them agreed, it had been the better decision in the contrast to

the more militant peers, who wished to declare war against Muggles.

Finally, many years later the Prince-brothers started to settle down.

The youngest, Myrddin Neville – going by 'Neville' met a young witch

who was heir to her family name. He married her out of love and took

her name. Like that, the Longbottom family became the third heir of

Slytherin.

The same happened to the second born, Salazar Charles, going by

'Charles'. He would give his status as the second heir of Slytherin to said

family and take on their name of Prewett – a family which many

centuries later nearly perished at the hands of Voldemort. A family that

would resurrect with Charles Prewett née Weasley, second born son of

Arthur Weasley.

The only one who decided to keep the Prince-name was Seraph Severus

Prince, going by 'Severus', the eldest. He was the first true Prince and like

that should have been the actual founder of the house – a house that was

born out of Slytherin and that Seraph Severus hoped would return to that

name when the time was right.

The house would nearly perish at the hands of its own descendants – the

name lost when the last daughter of the house married a muggle. Her

son, the potential heir was refused by her parents and like that would

stay a 'Snape' until his thirties.

Two other houses would be born out of the Prince house over time: the

house of Greengrass, and the house of Zabini. They also would follow the

call of the house of Slytherin the moment it was bound to return…

But that would happen many years in the future. Until then, centuries

passed and Sal would go from being called 'Master Sal' by the children to

being called 'father'. He would go from being the father of three children

to being the father of three adult children, to being a grandfather and

finally having to bury his sons.

There was just one promise that he held onto from the day he adopted

the last heirs of his second son: he had once promised them that one day

Slytherin-family would return. And he knew he would hold onto his

promise – even if it would take centuries to being able to follow through

with it.

And so it came to the rumours that the Gaunt-family were the only heirs

of Slytherin and that they were the last once left of the formerly great

family.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

1899

While the master healer still looked sceptical at Charlus' answer that

Eloise had gone to the 1400s, at least one of the nurses seemed to

understand what the silvery robes, Charlus was wearing, actually meant.

"They're from the Department of Mysteries," she whispered nearly silently

into the healer's ear and the healer's scepticism vanished.

His face smoothened out and instead of voicing his disbelief, he

calculated the time between the time Eloise went to and the current time.

"So she went back about five hundred years," the healer said.

"And she's aging rapidly," the female healer said. "It seems as if she's

aging a far greater speed than she should, and we can't stop it at all…"

"Please!" Charlus pleaded. "Isn't there anything you can do?"

"I'm sorry," the female healer said sighing, and Charlus started to cry in

earnest.

Sal closed his eyes again at the answer.

He knew that it was the truth – even he with the experience of millennia

had no chance at healing her.

He sighed and closed his eyes.

"You know it has to happen," the wind whispered into his ear. "She

decided to leave time and escape her destiny – now she has to suffer for

it."

Sal couldn't object to that assertion.

He knew that the moment Eloise had decided to use the device she had

gotten from the other Unspeakables, she had been lost.

Of course, he had tried to find a way and help her anyway – but some

things simply weren't meant to happen.

Sal had learned that long ago.

"Don't blame yourself, my balance," the wind whispered. "Your destiny is

to guide the others around you. You might have been born for more –

you might have to decide your destiny in the future – but right now,

there's nothing you could have done that could have helped her in any

way or form."

"That doesn't change the fact that I still wished for a way to help her," Sal

answered in a whisper.

The answer was a laugh.

"You will always wish to help," the wind said and caressed his hair even

if it shouldn't even exist within the rooms of St. Mungo's. "Even if you

have to suffer for it."

Sal sighed but couldn't object, after all, he was basically standing in the

one place that confirmed the wind's accession best.

St. Mungo's.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

1665-1666

Sal had been wandering for the last fifteen years. After establishing the

International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy he had finally left the Isles,

feeling quite imprisoned by the land at that point in time. He hadn't been

stuck in one country for such a long time in centuries, after all.

Sal had been sure that he would not return to the Isles for at least a

century after he finally escaped them – so he was quite surprised by

himself when he found himself in London barely fifteen years after his

flight.

On the other hand, it wasn't surprising at all, that he was there. The

plague had hit London and Sal's healer instincts would have protested

more than loudly if he hadn't been there to help.

The plague was infecting wizards and muggle alike – and both of them

died the same way without any chance of healing.

Fever.

Headaches.

Swollen lymph nodes.

Yet, no treatment that mundanes would accept and not call 'witchcraft'.

Yet, no wizard or witch would acknowledge that they were as affected by

the plague as mundanes.

Sal hated it.

Sal hated the middle ages.

Sal hated the people – mundanes and wizards alike.

He hated the mundanes for their narrow-mindedness and fear of the devil

and witchcraft.

He hated the wizards and witches for their beliefs that their magic would

shield them from a 'mere muggle illness'.

"Arrogant! The lot of them!" Sal cursed nearly silently while he cast one

spell after another to treat one of those wizards who had given in and

gone to him for treatment.

The plague was still spreading – and as much as Sal tried to at least reach

and warn the wizards and witches, he was mostly ignored by all of them

as 'just another idiot who had no idea what was going on'.

Sal was frustrated by that fact.

He was a trained healer – he was bound and marked by his oath; yet,

people ignored his warnings as if he was nothing but a little,

undereducated child!

"Idiotic, ignorant children!" Sal cursed nearly silently while trying to

determine what potions could be used for the man in front of him.

He could treat the symptoms with fever-reducers and other potions, but

he had yet to find a potion that actually helped with the plague itself and

not just its symptoms.

Yet, even with the treatment of the symptoms and some experimental

potions he was still in the process of developing and testing, he was able

to do more than all the other, uneducated wizards and witches who had

stopped learning after Hogwarts.

"Arrgant magicals," Sal grumpled. "As if Hogwarts teaches everything you

need to know!"

The wind laughed at him for that exclamation and Sal rolled his eyes.

Sal knew that if others would just listen to his warnings he might even be

able to save some of the infected wizards and witches – but nobody

listened.

Unlike muggles, wizards had a slightly different biology thanks to the

magic and their creature inheritance – even if it was centuries in the past

and nearly dormant – and thanks to that, the chances of healing them

should have been way better than the chances of healing the muggles.

Even the chances of squibs should have been better because even with

fully dormant creature-genes they still had the potential and were

different than normal muggles – and yet, both of them died as fast as

muggles.

"Stupid, arrogant wizards!" Sal cursed nearly silently again while he

forced some of his potions down his patient's throat. "If they just had

bothered to fully train more than one wizard a century in the healing arts

it would have been so much easier to treat all those people!"

Unfortunately, it seemed like they hadn't – or the wizards and witches

trained as healers all had left London already…

"Which would be stupid considering that they're needed here," Sal

thought darkly. "It's not as if I can treat all of London by myself…"

Sal sighed and shook his head.

"I just wish there were other trained healers around here!" He murmured

to himself exasperated. "It shouldn't be too hard to find some who have at

least some training in the healing arts! There have to be at least some in

training around here!"

"But training them needs somebody who can train them, my child," the

wind whispered and Sal stopped in his treatment to look around and find

the voice speaking to him.

There was something familiar, and yet so foreign in this voice that Sal

just had to stop and listen.

"Nay, Peverell, child," the wind had whispered once. "But it's not his time yet.

He can't be claimed by Death until the circle is fulfilled."

"Who're you?" Sal whispered and the wind laughed at him.

"So you remember me, Salvazsahar," the wind whispered in Sal's ear and

caressed his hair. "It just tells me about your strength that you can

remember me even after I shielded your memories from yourself. You

truly are the perfect balance for me, my child!"

Sal looked up, staring into the darkness of the night.

There was something so familiar to the wind, something so soothing that

he automatically bathed in it. It felt like coming home after a long, long

time away. It felt like being soothed by his fathers. It felt like the memory

of being held by his mothers.

He closed his eyes, letting the wind play with his hair.

"I know you," he whispered.

The answer was a whispery laugh from the wind.

"That you do, my balance," the wind said, caressing Sal's hair. "That you

do."

Sal sighed and then opened his eyes again.

"Who are you?" he asked the wind, his eyes searching the empty night for

the reason of the voice.

The voice laughed again.

"It's not your time, yet," the voice said. "You will know the answer when

it's time for you to decide your path."

"Then why are you here if you don't want me to know?" Sal asked

confused.

The answer was another wispy laugh from the wind.

"Because you're in the middle of my current territory," the wind said.

"And I couldn't resist to visit you and ensure that you'll do everything you

can to keep my balance."

Sal frowned at the wind.

"What do you want me to do?" He asked a bit concerned with the words

of the wind.

The wind caressed his hair.

"I don't want you to do anything you don't want to do," it whispered

amused. "I just came to see you doing your work."

"My work?" Sal whispered confused.

Again, the wind caressed his hair.

"You have chosen to be a healer millennia ago," the wind caressed. "You

are my balance. It doesn't matter how you achieve that – it just matters

that you do."

"I don't understand," Sal whispered, but the wind just laughed at Sal

amused.

"Not yet," the wind said. "Not yet, my balance. Don't worry, you don't

need to know. As long as you follow your path, you will not need to

know who I am for a long time yet."

With that, the wind vanished from Sal's awareness, leaving nothing but

the memory of Sal's exasperation about the missing magical healers of

London and the vague feeling of home in Salvazsahar's mind.

"Stupid wizards and their inability to see that there's no way that magic

will protect them from the plague just because they're magical," he

murmured exasperated.

Then he turned his attention to his new patient.

The man was a wizard and as bad off as the one Sal had treated before.

His was shivering thanks to the fever.

He had huge, blister-like swellings under his armpits and on the neck.

Both clear signs of the plague.

Sal sighed, forced the man to drink the potion he invented to treat the

plague – it was still experimental, but better than nothing and it seemed

to help at least a bit – and then used spells to ensure that the man was

not only clean, but also in a bubble that would ensure that he wouldn't

infect others and keep his temperature and body condition monitored.

He wasn't about to drain or incise the blister-like buboes of the plague. It

wasn't the first time Sal was confronted with this particular malady and

he had long since learned that treating the buboes by drainage or incision

the infection had just the ability to spread further and infect more

people.

A lot of healers or quack doctors who had no idea about that and didn't

listen to Sal when he warned them died thanks to trying to do just that.

"And that's the reason why I hate the middle ages," Sal mumbled darkly.

"Stupid arrogant wizards! We've thousands of charms to shield us against

an infection – even going so far to never touch the patients! – and yet,

there they are, not more educated than the mundanes!"

Sal sighed again and rubbed his tired eyes. Since he never touched the

infected people he treated if he didn't have to – and always made sure to

wear dragon hide, charmed clothes so that the infection couldn't spread

to himself, if he had to – he was quite safe to touch his eyes without any

precautions.

"If I continue like that, I will be truly earth-bound to London," he said

darkly to himself, then he rolled with his shoulders. "Well, at least then

doing spells in this area will get a lot easier than it is right now."

Until now, his best spot in London when it came to manipulating magic

through earth like his elder dragon heritage demanded had been Diagon

Alley.

Sal guessed that that would change in the future considering all the

healing he was currently doing all over London.

He sighed again and closed his eye before forcing them open again. He

had no time to sleep if he didn't want his patients to die…

He was already dangerously tired. He had been treating people all alone

for months now and he had been without proper sleep for at least as long

as that.

"This isn't right," Sal murmured to himself. "I'm just one firbolg-born –

one magical – and there are thousands out there! It isn't right at all that

I'm basically the only one who's out there healing people!"

Of course, Sal had the experience of millennia, unlike other healers who

were barely trained, but that didn't make up the fact that even half-

trained healers would be some kind of help while the plague was

spreading in London.

Sal knew that maybe a lot of healers didn't dare to treat something they

knew nothing about.

He knew that some of them were maybe too untrained to even start

treatment.

Yet…

"Some help would be appreciated nevertheless," Sal mumbled darkly. "I'm

not all-powerful, after all!"

"Well," a voice spoke up behind him in that moment. "You certainly don't

look like it."

Sal wiped around, drawing his wand with one hand and the dagger with

the other while turning.

The man's eyes widened.

He raised his hands and stepped further away from Sal's back to show

him that he wasn't a threat.

Now, that Sal could see him, he saw that the man he was confronted with

was actually more of a boy, maybe two or three years older than Sal had

been when he had been thrown into the past.

Nevertheless, Sal continued to watch him warily – he wasn't stupid

enough to believe that just because of his youth the other man was

harmless.

Said young man raised his hands to show he was weapon-less.

"I'm sorry if I startled you," the youth said. "It wasn't my intention."

Sal's eyes narrowed.

"If it wasn't your intention to startle me, tell me what're you doing behind

me, watching me?" He asked distrustfully.

Sal knew quite well that if the young man was a mundane, the chances

that Sal would be suspected of witchcraft or something like that were still

high.

Not too long the whole European mundane world had still been in the

peak of the witch-hunts and Sal wasn't too sure ihe wouldn't be

prosecuted if the youth was indeed a mundane.

"I was interested in your work," the boy rambled, looking suddenly quite

nervous. "I understand that you're a healer and there might be some

secrets I shouldn't see as someone untrained, but… I've always been

interested in healing and… well, I'm just out of Hogwarts and Master

Healer Avery refused to take me in and train me since I'm mundane-born

and actually can't afford training… I… well, when I saw you working I

just thought… you know… just one look…"

Sal was surprised at the longing in the boy's eyes, but it was the boy's

rambling that made him look at the boy with a frown.

"Master Healer Avery?" He repeated.

The boy nodded and ran a hand through his hair.

"He's the Master of London," he said. "Every practicing healer in London

has to follow his lead. You should know this as a healer yourself. You

should have gone to the Master of London and ask for permission to

practice your arts in London."

Sal frowned at the boy.

"I never asked anyone for permission to heal," he said coolly. "I won't

start now."

This time, the boy returned the frown.

"So you've not sworn your healer's oath?" He asked concerned.

Sal understood the boy's concern. Without a healer's oath, it was far too

easy to bind the people you saved to yourself with a life debt.

Sal sighed but tipped his chest to activate a visible form of his healer's

oath on it. The light of the runic circle shone bright even in the brightly

lit the improvised hospital wing.

The boy stared at Sal's chest in awe.

The healer's oath couldn't be faked and even Sal's slightly different

version – he was a guardian healer, not a simple healer, after all – was

recognized even by magicals who had never seen a healer's oath ever

before.

Then the boy frowned.

"But since you've sworn the oath, how can you work when the Master of

London hasn't given you permission to practice in London?" the boy

asked confused.

Sal understood the confusion far too well. He wasn't looking that old and

his appearance spoke of missing experience. A healer was bound by the

oath – and the oath decided their rank within the healers working in the

same place. The more experience, the more important a healer was

because with more experience he would be comanding more healers in a

grave situation and at the same time he would be given more

complicated cases to treat.

Sal knew that his oath would tell the other healers and potion masters

who were also bound by a slightly different oath to obey without asking

if the need arose – exactly like it had done for millennia now.

Sal looked at the boy with amusement.

"The Master of London doesn't have any power over me," Sal said with a

shrug as an explanation for the boy. "He can't order me around, so if I

decide to help, it's my decision, and my decision alone to aid. I'm not

bound by the decision of anybody else!"

The boy looked at him in surprise.

"But how?" He whispered confused.

Sal hesistated for a moment, but in the end decided that speaking the

truth would be the right thing to do for now.

"A healer is bound by experience," he said. "As long as my experience

surpasses the experience of the Master of London, he won't be able to

force me to do anything."

The boy looked at him in surprise, then the boy's eyebrows furrowed.

"If you can defy the Master of London when it comes to healing – are you

able to defy him when it comes to teaching me?" There was hope in his

voice when he asked that and Sal closed his eyes.

He was in the middle of fighting the plague – this wasn't the ideal place

to start with the teaching of an apprentice. On the other hand, the boy

had been refused by the Master of London so the chances of him ever

reaching his wish without Sal were nearly non-existent.

Sal sighed and closed his eyes.

"What's your name?" He finally asked, already half-way on his way to

accept that he would teach the boy his profession.

"Mungo Bonham," the boy replied. "My name is Mungo Bonham."

Sal smiled at the boy.

"I am Salvazsahar Prince," he replied, then he closed his eyes again.

He knew that he wouldn't be an ideal master when it came to teaching

the profession of a healer. He had been trained by Morgana and had

never searched for another master after that. He had created his own

techniques, his own way of healing – there was no way that he would be

able to teach the boy in front of him the way of the healers of his time

and age…

"But maybe that's not too bad," Sal thought to himself while looking back

at his patients. "Maybe it needs something different if the healers of

London sat by and did nothing to help the ill."

He looked at the boy in front of him frowning.

"How old are you?" he asked the boy.

This time the boy frowned.

"Eighteen," he said hesistatingly. "I'll be nineteen in a few months."

Sal sighed again and closed his eyes.

He knew that the boy was too old to actually learn the way of the druid

like he had learned it. The boy was too close to his second maturity to

start learning the old way like Sal had learned once.

The boy seemed to read something in Sal's eyes because he closed his

eyes in resignation.

"You won't train me, will you?" He asked resigned.

Sal sighed.

"No," he finally decided and the boy's face started to fall before Sal

continued with his exclamation. "I will train you. But it won't be easy and

I fear it will be absolutely different to the training other healer

apprentices receive. I've not been taught like them and I can't teach like

your healers do. If you can accept that, I'm willing to teach."

Sal knew that if he taught the boy, he would at least insist on the first

important rituals for druids. He wouldn't be able to teach the awakening

because there was no way to get through all the rituals for a druid before

the boy reached his last maturity, but he would insist on teaching the

protections against the negative effects of rituals.

The boy meanwhile looked at Sal thoughtfully.

"How different?" He asked hesistatingly.

Sal looked at the boy seriously.

"I guess totally different," he said with a sigh. "I wasn't taught like your

other healers at all. My oath might have been basically the same" – well,

it wasn't, but Sal wasn't willing to explain the difference to the boy – "but

my teachings have been very different and if I teach you, I will only

teach you the way I have been taught and not any other way."

The boy frowned, but all in all he looked quite thoughtful.

In the end, he nodded slowly.

"I think," he said slowly. "I will be able to live with the fact that I won't

be taught like those who refused me because I can't pay for the

apprenticeship."

Then the boy's face fell a bit.

"What will I have to pay for the apprenticeship?" He asked, a bit of fear

in his eyes.

Sal just shook his head.

"I won't ask you for money," he said tiredly. "I will expect you to work

with me and listen to me, but I won't force you to pay for my guidance. I

don't need the money and I don't care if you can affort a normal

apprenticeship or not."

The anwer was a smile and Sal had to surpress another sigh.

It seemed that his mental complains about missing healers had actually

affected him enough that he was willing to train his help himself.

"Looks like I'm back to teaching," he thought exasperated. "And there I

thought I was finally rid of that part of my life for a while after I

basically fled Hogwarts…"

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

1899

Eloise forced open her eyes.

For a moment, her eyes and Sal's met.

Then Sal sighed and closed his eyes tiredly.

"I warned you," he said sadly the moment he was sure that she was aware

of her surroundings. "But you didn't want to listen."

Again, his eyes searched her.

He saw her staring at him, scrutinizing him until she finally was able to

place him.

"Sal… vatio," she rasped, and he smiled.

"Actually," he confessed. "You first got to know me as 'Professor

Malfoire'."

Her eyes widened.

"But yes, you are right," Sal continued. "I am Salvatio, the 'seventeen-

year-old child' you met in 1402."

"But…" Eloise rasped out.

"You should have lived through the centuries like I did," Sal said sadly. "It

would have been far better for your health if you had done like I

suggested."

"What… are… you…?"

"Doing here?" He finished for her quitely, looking over at Charlus who

was raging against the other healers. "I'm a healer at St. Mungo's

currently," Sal said. "I gave up my teaching position some time ago and

started anew. Currently, I'm a healer's apprentice."

He rolled his eyes at that while remembering that there was no way

anybody in this hospital would be able to teach him anything new. Sal

had been a healer for millennia – whatever they 'taught' him, he had

actually known for at least a few hundred years already...

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

1666-1702

"The Master Healer of London wishes to speak with you."

Sal sighed and looked up from his patient.

Next to him, Mungo also looked up from his own patient – his face,

unlike Sal's wary of the healer apprentice who had searched them out.

"And why does Master Avery want to speak with me?" Sal asked calmly,

not about to freak out over a child who was throwing a tempter tantrum

– even if said child was the Master Healer of London.

"Master Avery has not said," the healer apprentice said, but his face

showed his disapprovement of the house they were in and that Sal used

to treat his patients.

Sal for a moment said nothing, but in the end nodded.

"Alright," he said. "Give me half an hour and I will be willing to meet

him."

Sal was quite aware that the man might be about to force Sal's

compliance to his insane plan of letting London suffer – but Sal wasn't

truly concerned about that. In the eyes of magic, Sal was of higher

ranking when it came to his oath – his experience and abilities the

measurement of his status.

The healer apprentice's face turned sour, but in the end he nodded.

"If it has to be like that," he said moodily.

Sal snorted in amusement and then turned to Mungo.

"Make sure that all of them are quarantined in the wards and then ensure

that they're safe from attack or whatever else. I'm going to finish this

brew and then help you," he ordered.

Mungo nodded instantly.

"Yes, sir," he said before setting to work.

It didn't take long until Sal noticed that the – at the start sour faced –

apprentice began to take interest in their work the longer he watched.

In the end, the curiosity of the boy won out and he came closer to Sal

who was still finishing up his brew.

"What exactly is your apprentice doing, master?" He asked Sal interested.

"I have never seen someone weaving magic like that."

For a moment, Sal just looked the other apprentice in the eyes, Sal's mind

automatically slipping through the weak defences of the boy and

measuring his worth.

In the end, he answered evenly.

"It's called quarantine," he said. "The magical bubbles surrounding our

patients ensure that they don't spread the illness further. They keep the

patients clean and monitor their health. If the condition of one of them

worsens I will be notified immediately thanks to them."

The boy looked at the bubbles of magic with huge eyes.

"They sound useful," he said and Sal smiled at the healer apprentice.

"They are," he said, not elaborating that they were just a version of his

normal healing dome that he had used for centuries. The bubbles, unlike

the domes were created especially for illnesses. They didn't have the

stasis component his usual wards had and an added component to keep

the one treating the patient safe, but all in all, they were quite similar.

"Where did you learn those, master?" the healer apprentice asked

longingly and Sal rolled his eyes. For all the boy's sour faced demeanour

at the start of their interaction, the boy truly had the heart of a healer.

Sal was sure that if the child got the chance he would make an excellent

healer one day – exactly like his apprentice of a year, one Mungo

Bonham.

"They're a variation of the rituals I learned for healing," Sal replied. "My

mother taught me – like she was taught by her forbearers."

The boy's face fell a bit.

"So there's no way for you to teach me, is there?" He asked a bit

disheartened and Sal wondered when he had turned into a potential

teacher in the other apprentice's eyes.

"Not without you learning the rituals of protection first," Sal replied

kindly. "Even my own apprentice isn't allowed to cast those, yet, and he

has been apprenticed to me for a year now."

The other apprentice frowned.

"My parents already payed the tuition to Master Avery to take me in as

an apprentice," he said frowning. "I haven't learned a lot from him, yet,

since it has only been a few weeks, but I don't think he would be willing

for me to take out time of my schedule just to learn from another healer."

Sal snorted.

From what he had heard about Master Avery within the last year, the

man was stuck up and quite arrogant – and absolutely fixated on the

monetary aspect of his life.

Sal couldn't stand him – and he hadn't even met the man, yet!

"I fear I can't see him accepting your proposition as well," Sal finally

settled on saying before removing the cauldron from the flames and

starting to bottle the still-hot potion.

After he was done, he moved on to help his apprentice before finally

setting the last wards that would give an intruder quite a hard time

entering – if he ever managed to enter, that is – and then nodded to the

other healer apprentice that they were ready to go.

The house they were led to was more like a manor than a house.

The entrance hall was adorned with expensive carpets and tapestries.

Golden candelabras adorned the ceiling and the windows were made of

coloured glass – as if glass for windows that huge wasn't expensive

enough already.

The Master Healer of London was living like a king – and Sal's antipathy

grew a bit more. He absolutely abhorred people who were solely

interested in themselves. That the man was a healer and should have

been bound by the oath to help, yet somehow had managed to not lift a

finger, was just irking Sal some more.

The healer apprentice led them to the man's study, knocked and then

opened the door carefully.

"The healer and his apprentice are here, sir," he said.

A moment later he opened the door and Sal had his first look at the other

man.

The man was fat, with mousy grey hair and a long beard that reminded

Sal of the legends about his second-born son Myrddin.

The man's face on the other hand wasn't at all as kind as Myrddin's was

described. Instead, it was even sourer than the healer apprentice's had

been when he had come to Sal.

"Enter," he said and his beady eyes settled on Sal and Mungo the moment

they stepped into the room. The moment his gaze landed on Mungo, the

boy began to squirm.

Sal instead returned the gaze, his own eyes lit with hidden fire.

"You wanted to see us, Healer Avery?" Sal asked coolly.

He knew that the right conduct would have been to call the man 'Master

Avery', but Sal didn't even need to read the other man's thoughts to know

that the man had called them into his domain to stomp down on their

independence. Sal wasn't willing to even verbally acknowledge anything

that could be taken as deferring to the other man's imagined superiority.

The other healer frowned at him.

"It's Master Avery, healer," he corrected Sal rudely. "I am the Master

Healer of London – didn't my apprentice tell you that?"

Sal just returned the unhappy gaze of the other man.

"He might have mentioned something like that," he replied sweetly

instead.

The other man's face darkened.

"If he mentioned it, you should be aware that I'm the most experienced

healer here in London and therefore should be treated with respect!"

Sal looked at his own apprentice and then towards the door where the

other apprentice was still standing while shuffling nervously from one

foot to the other.

"Considering that the only other healers in London that I met seemed to

be healer apprentices, I don't think that being the master healer is such

an accomplishment," he replied evenly.

The other healer's gaze darkened further.

"Do not dare to mock me, healer!" He exclaimed, nearly hissing at Sal. "I

called you here to ensure your obedience. You will cease from disobeying

me and follow my will like any other healer here in London! Not one

healer will treat mug-danes and those too weak in magic to fight against

a common mug-danes!"

It took a moment for Sal to understand that mug-people were actually

mundanes, none-magicals. In that moment he could feel the other man's

oath reaching out to Sal to force him into obedience – just to shatter and

withdraw the moment it touched Sal's own oath. Sal could feel the same

oath reaching out to Mungo as well – but, since Mungo wasn't yet oath-

bound as a healer, but oath-bound as an apprentice to Sal, the oath had

as much effect on the apprentice as on the master.

Sal's gazes cooled a lot more after feeling the other man trying to use the

oath as a way to bind Sal to his demands.

Normally the oath between the healers was a good thing, but like

everything it could be abused as well if someone found a way like the

man in front of him had.

From the man's sureness of his actions and considering his name, Sal

guessed that the master healer of London was also part of the Wizard's

Council – and therefore felt untouchable.

For a moment, Sal considered eradicating the other healer here and now,

but then he simply inclined his head to the man and turned around to

leave the room.

Mungo, confusion on his face, followed.

The other apprentice followed as well, his shoulders slumped and

defeated.

Sal led the way out of the premises and walked another two streets

before stopping and turning to the two apprentices, a bit amused that the

other boy had followed him as well.

"Sir," Mungo spoke up immediately, confusion still prominent on his face.

"Why didn't you say anything -?"

"Because sometimes you can't take the open fight," Sal said earnestly. "If I

had objected him right then and there, he would have had every power

to destroy us in that moment. We were on his property, under wards

following his command. He could have had us killed or imprisoned the

very moment I would have continued to object."

That made the other apprentice look up open mouthed.

"You could have objected him further?" He asked in disbelief.

Sal inclined his head.

"His oath has no power over me," he said. "And since Mungo is sworn to

me, it has no power over him as well. I could have objected, but we were

in enemy territory, so I choose not to."

The boy looked at Sal in surprise.

"How?" He asked.

It was Mungo who answered.

"It's part of the healer's oath," he said. "Those with more experience are

those with the power over other healers. As an apprentice you are the

one with lesser experience, but Master Sal is older than he looks and he

has a lot more experience in healing as Master Avery. If Master Sal

wanted to, he could take over as the Master Healer of London."

Sal rolled his eyes, but he guessed that Mungo was right.

If he wanted to, he could take over.

"It just wasn't a good idea to challenge that man in his own territory," Sal

said sighing. "That's why I just left."

"So… what are you going to do now?" The young apprentice asked.

Mungo looked at Sal as well.

Sal shrugged.

"I'll continue with what I was doing," he replied. "What else should I do?

The plague is still killing the people of London. I have no time to get in a

political battle and no reason to stop treating the ill."

Mungo grinned.

"Sounds good," he said.

The other healer on the other hand looked quite wistful.

"I wish there was a way for me to take up an apprenticeship with you

instead of having to continue the one with Master Avery," he said.

Sal shrugged.

"Changing masters is quite easy," he said. "Especially since I'm the higher

ranking healer. If you were to swear your apprentice oath to me as you

have done to Master Avery, the one of Master Avery would automatically

counted as void since I am the more experienced teacher."

The other healer apprentice shrugged.

"Be as it may," he said. "My parents paid Master Avery. They won't afford

me another apprenticeship just because I want to change my master."

The next moment pleading eyes settled on Sal.

Sal sighed and rolled his eyes at Mungo who was currently trying his

puppy-dog eyes on Sal.

"You will be the one helping me to teach him," Sal told the other boy.

Mungo grinned.

The other apprentice looked a bit confused at Sal and then at Mungo.

"What -?"

Before he could speak his mind, Mungo already intercepted him.

"What's your name and how old are you?" he asked the apprentice.

"Er… Elamiras Gaunt and I'm eighteen," the boy replied, still quite

confused.

"Well, Elamiras," Sal said and held out his hand. "If you wish to, I will

welcome you as my apprentice."

The boy smiled and took Sal's hand.

If Sal had known that accepting Elamiras would just be the beginning, he

would have thought about it twice.

A month after Elamiras took up his apprenticeship under Sal's tutelage,

on the second September, the Great Fire of London started at the bakery

of Thomas Farynor on Pudding Lane shortly after midnight and spread

rapidly west across the City of London.

Sal took his apprentices and fled to the Potters where he was welcomed

by Ralston's grandson. When the fire finally ceased its destruction on

Wednesday, Sal had gained another apprentice and the support of the

Potters, Princes, Longbottoms and Prewetts.

In the aftermath of the fire, Mungo insisted on adding a hidden building

to the mundane world – the future magical hospital.

They opened the doors about a year later with Sal as the lead healer and

his by then six apprentices as his helpers.

When the Master Healer of London objected and complained to the

Wizard's Council, his wish was swatted away by their new political allies

and Sal himself.

Two years later, Mungo finished his training and swore his oath. At that

time, the Master Healer of London had lost nearly all support and all but

two apprentices. When he tried to force the newly named healer Mungo

under his control, Mungo rebelled.

His rebellion ended with Master Healer Avery's oath going against the

Master Healer himself when he tried to hurt the young healer.

It wasn't a pretty sight. The other healers were in awe for Mungo's

daring.

"Well, St. Mungo," Sal joked when the young healer returned to their

hospital. "I heard you swatted the 'evil' Master Healer of London for the

last time."

Mungo laughed, then he swallowed harshly.

"It was terrible to watch," he confessed tiredly to his master. "I don't think

I will ever forget that ever again."

Sal just nodded and clasped the young man's shoulder.

"At least you can be sure that you will never try to follow his path," he

pointed out seriously, the smile suddenly gone. "But in the end, I fear it

was for the best. I'm still surprised how he managed to not have negative

effects thanks to the oath before that."

"He didn't swear the full oath," Mungo said bitterly. "That's what he

confessed. We will have to make sure that every healer's oath is

monitored when sworn. Like that we will know if something's wrong."

"It would be for the best," Sal agreed with a sigh.

A bit more than two hundred years later, Sal would thanks to that

agreement find out that swearing a healer's oath over a guardian healer's

oath did just one thing: give the person trying to do it a headache. It

seemed that the moment you were a guardian healer, you would always

be a guardian healer – there was no way to change your oath to that of a

normal healer even if you were basically forced to swear that oath.

"So we continue on as normal now?" Mungo asked Sal.

Sal rolled his eyes.

"No," he replied and when Mungo looked at him in surprise, Sal added

annoyed. "I definitely won't continue to train all those so called

'apprentices' by myself! Do you know how tiring it is to look after so

many people? A master should only have one to three apprentices – not

three dozen!"

The answer was a laugh from Mungo.

"At least London will not lack healers after they're all trained," he

reasoned amused.

Barely fifty years later, Mungo and his hospital was well known all over

the Isles. Every graduate from his hospital wore green robes with a wand

crossed with a bone as an emblem – something that hadn't been there

ever before.

Mungo's hospital also had not only gained a reputation but also a name

as well: St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries.

Sal had groaned when hearing it the first time.

Mungo on the other hand had laughed.

"It's all your fault, Master Sal," he said. "You shouldn't have called me 'St.

Mungo' where every apprentice could hear you back then!"

Sal guessed, the other man was right – but then, hindsight…

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

1899

When Sal returned from his memories, he smiled at Eloise who was

looking confused at his face. She clearly couldn't understand his

exasperation with the fact that he had to play the 'healer apprentice' in

St. Mungo's in this time and place…

"Sadly there's no way I can tell them that I've been a healer for far longer

than they've been alive already, so I had to start anew," he added to

clarify for her, amused by his problems instead of annoyed. Then his face

turned serious again.

"If you want to, I can stop the pain," he told her, his eyes grave and

sympathetic.

"The… aging…?" Eloise forced out and Sal shook his head.

"I'm sorry," he said. "There are even things I can't do. I'm no god, you

know."

For a moment he could feel the sorrow welling up inside him, then the

wind caressed his hair and he was reminded of the fact that sometimes

there was no way for him to change somebody's future – especially when

it came to Eloise who had been the one to step on the path that led her

there.

"It's not your responsibility," the wind reminded him. "You did all you

could."

And yet, Sal resented the fact that the only thing he could do was to

stand by and watch…

"This was your choice," he said bitterly. "I researched your predictment

since you left back to the future. I found no way to stop the moment you

destroyed the time-line's pathway with your decision to return to a place

that didn't exist already. I am sorry, so so sorry that I'm unable to do

more for you…"

He meant it – as much as he knew it wasn't his fault, he still truly meant

it.

"No," Eloise rasped out. "I… am… for… not… listening…"

She wasn't the first who hadn't listened to Sal, and she wouldn't be the

last.

In Sal's eyes, she was just one out of many who had never taken the time

to actually listen to what he said.

A lot of things would have been easier if other people would have just

listened – but then, Sal had long since gotten used to stepping in on his

own because other people were turning a blind eye on the happenings of

the world…

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

1826

Sometimes, Salvazsahar Emrys-LeFay hated his life.

He was millennia old – and yet, when the Ministry of Magic started to

exist in Britain and the Wizard's Council was changed to the Wizengamot,

Sal had to be outside of Britain.

Well, it wouldn't have been that bad, if not for the fact that now magical

travel and other magic could be monitored and would be monitored if

the person wasn't registered as a citizen of the Isles. Of course, with Sal

being from the future and in Asia when he would have had the chance to

register, he was now in a small predicament…

"Either I don't set foot on the Isles until I'm born which means I'll have to

tour Europe for the next hundred something years or I'll find a way to

register without being treated like a criminal and locked away in

Azkaban," Sal mused a bit more amused by his predicament then

annoyed – but then, he was millennia old and living without problems

was never that interesting. At least this problem was something new.

But what could he do?

"I don't actually fancy playing a baby and child all over again," he

thought a bit exasperated. "Especially since I don't have any family who

could claim me which would just end up with me being even more

suspicious as I already am for the 'new' government."

Sal wasn't too sure if calling a government 'new' after it existed for over a

hundred years was really the right thing to do… but then, compared to

the length of time the Wizard's Council and the Gathering of the Lords

had existed, the Ministry of Magic with its Wizengamot definitely still

counted as 'new'!

"Well," Sal mused. "If I'd be sure that one of the Potters I knew was still

alive I'd asked them if I could play 'child' or 'relative' to them – but since I

don't know and there's no way but actually step on British soil to find

out… hmm… what can I do?"

Of course, normally it wouldn't have bothered Sal if he could or couldn't

step onto Britain for the next hundred years – he had been away far

longer in the past, after all – but this time around there was a very

important reason why he actually needed to return to Britain…

At that point of time, Sal was in France, staying with his Oncle and

Tante.

It had been Nicholas Flamel who heard the rumours while he was out to

buy potion ingredients and told him that there was a new Dark Lord in

Britain who was dead-set on destroying Hogwarts.

"I could tell them you're my nephew and went to Beauxbatons," Nicholas

suggested in that moment. "It wouldn't even be lying – well, except the

Beauxbatons part..."

"It wouldn't," Sal said with a sigh. "But it also wouldn't stand up to any

inquiry. I have no time to actually attend Beauxbatons and even you

aren't able to get them to forge their records so, one inquiry and it will be

all in the open that I'm not the person I pretend to be."

Nicholas raised an eyebrow.

"But if you go to Britain as Salvatio Malfoire you are the person you

pretend to be," he pointed out.

"Salvatio Malfoire officially vanished without a trace hundreds of years

ago," Sal replied, looking at his uncle pointedly. "It would be odd for him

to resurface now – looking younger than he did the last time people saw

him."

The other man sighed.

"I guess I forgot that little fact," he said, sounding a bit annoyed at having

to be reminded.

Sal snickered.

"Getting a little old there, Oncle?" He teased and his uncle rolled his eyes.

"Hush, you!" He said, sounding as amused as Sal.

Then his face turned thoughtful.

"How do you like the idea of me contacting the current Lord Potter?

While we normally don't talk too much, ever since you dragging both of

our families into the eradication of the Slytherin family, we at least write

the Potters Yule cards every year."

Sal rolled his eyes.

"Figures," he muttered. "Yule cards!"

Nicholas shrugged.

"It's too much of a hassle to remember the birthdays of the current living

Potters and not get them mixed up with the ones of the past, so your

Tante Perenelle and I settled on Yule cards."

Sal decided not to comment on the fact that Nicholas and Perenelle

weren't forced at all to keep contact with the other family.

"Anyway," his uncle continued. "I can write Lord Potter and tell him

about your predicament. If he accepts, we just make sure that the goblins

add you to the Lord's family tree somehow and voilà – one new identity

for you!"

Sal snorted.

"You know that this doesn't change the fact that I'll not be registered in

Britain and that I won't have any schooling records or whatever," he

pointed out half-amused and half-annoyed.

Nicholas frowned at him.

"Aren't you able to adjust your age?" He asked interestedly. "I mean – I

saw you do it and I know that it wasn't a glamour but a true

adjustment… or at least as true as a false age can be…"

Sal sighed.

After his uncle and aunt had gained immortality thanks to the

Philosopher's stone, they had of course started to find out bits and pieces

about Sal's true self. He had never bothered hiding from them, so his

ability to age and de-age was known to them to a certain extent – Sal had

never bothered to tell them that if he wanted to he could basically

change himself to every age, from baby to old man. Not that Sal had ever

deliberately taken the form of a baby either. He preferred to be able to

take care of himself, thank you very much.

"Or is this twenty-something year old body the youngest you can

manage?" His uncle added while gesturing at Sal's body – which was

looking like Sal's preferred age range again.

Sal sighed.

"No," he said not totally happy about having to confess that. "I can turn

younger if I want to."

He just never truly wanted to – especially since things normally decided

to go pear-shaped the moment Sal decided on an age below twenty…

"Well, then we'll make sure that you're just old enough to go to Hogwarts

after we explain everything to the Lord Potter and then smuggle you into

Hogwarts as a student so that you can defend it from that vicious Lord

Morgan or whatever he calls himself," Nicholas said smirking.

Sal just raised an eyebrow.

"You know that it's the parents who register the children at birth and not

Hogwarts," he pointed out unhappily. "Even mundane born are registered

the moment they have their first bout of accidental magic which is way

before Hogwarts…"

Nicholas waved it off.

"We just say that you were born in France and that your parents

obviously forgot to register you," he said, then his face turned pensive. "I

believe that the current Lord Potter even had a younger sister who went

missing about nine years ago. It should be easy to introduce you as her

child…"

Sal grimaced.

"That doesn't change the fact that I don't actually want to play a child,

you know?" He pointed out unhappily.

Nicholas snorted.

"It's not as if you're truly forced to play a child," he said. "The Lord Potter

will know your actual age and your reasons for going to Hogwarts –"

"But the people in Hogwarts won't!" Sal pointed out with an eye-roll.

This stopped his uncle in his tracks.

"Hmm… yeah, they won't," he conceded. "But you said it yourself: there's

a Dark Lord out there who wants to attack Hogwarts. You are the one

with the best connection to the wards, the one who can manipulate the

wards as you have shown before – if that means to play a child so that

you are part of Hogwarts, so be it!"

"If I could go as a teacher –"

"That Morgan… Morrigan… whatever dude would try to take you out

first like he will try with every other teacher he will encounter the

moment he enters Hogwarts. As a student you won't be very high on the

hit-list of that dark wizard or at all…"

Sal groaned.

"In other words you want me to go to Hogwarts disguised as a student,"

Sal sighed.

He just sighed again when his uncle grinned mischievously.

Sometimes he wondered if his uncle would have turned out as

mischievous as he had if he had not lived as long as he had.

In the end he just rolled his eyes.

"Figures that you want to see me suffer," he declared, not truly

exasperated.

His uncle smiled.

"It's my duty to make you suffer as your uncle," Nicholas pointed out.

"And now stop with your objections. I'll contact Lord Potter and make

sure that he knows everything."

Sal sighed and shook his head.

"You can't," he said tiredly. "He'll be held accountable if I'm posing as his

unregistered nephew – and you and I know that it will come out the

moment I use my magic for the first time…"

Nicholas frowned.

"But posing as a child would be the best way to get you into Hogwarts,"

he pointed out. "And you need relations –"

That stopped Sal in his tracks.

Did he truly need relations?

He wasn't too sure what kind of magical innovations had reached Britain

in this century – but he was quite sure that whatever it was, he would be

able to circumvent a lot of the repercussions if he truly appeared on the

Isles as a child…

"Maybe," he said slowly. "I truly should simply appear in Britain…"

His uncle looked at him frowning.

"I'm not too sure if that's a good idea, Salvatio," he said slowly. "The

Ministry won't take it lightly if there's suddenly and unexplainably a

foreign wizard in their mid."

Sal inclined his head.

"You're right," he told his uncle. "But I'm sure that I can twist the whole

thing so that they don't throw me into Azkaban – even if I have to tell

them that I've been living for centuries already…"

"You know that being centuries old won't bring you into Hogwarts," his

uncle pointed out.

Sal groaned.

He couldn't fault his uncle for that reasoning.

"So I need another explanation," he concluded.

"If you want to get into Hogwarts with that ruse to ensure that that

moron of a wizard is definitely stopped by the wards," Nicholas said

shrugging.

Sal pinched his nose.

His uncle was right.

Sal needed to get into Hogwarts somehow – and to get there he needed to

be a child…

Sal grimaced at that thought.

He definitely didn't want to play child – but he guessed that there was no

way around it. As a child he at least wouldn't be prosecuted too much

when they caught him…

"Maybe I should just change to my original age of fifteen," Sal thought

frowning.

But at fifteen he would have learned enough magic that the current dark

wizard would keep an eye on him if the man truly somehow managed to

invade Hogwarts…

"Younger then," Sal grimaced again. "Best would be eleven and coming in

as a new student…"

At least as a new student he wouldn't stand out – and not standing out

would be one of the most important parts if he intended to shield

Hogwarts from the current threat without anybody any wiser about it…

But how could he enter Hogwarts as a child without any records of his

existence?

"Sometimes I wish I would simply use my knowledge and time-travel,"

Sal thought exasperated. "It would be so easy to insert myself into

another life if I just started out as a baby…"

Not that Sal wanted to live as a baby – and even as a baby he would have

the problem of not having parents and –

It was then that Sal found a solution he hadn't thought about before.

"Time-travel," he whispered.

Nicholas frowned in confusion at Sal.

"What do you mean with 'time-travel'?" He asked puzzled.

Sal looked at his uncle.

"Exactly what I said, Oncle," he said. "It would explain everything: I'm not

registered as a time-traveller. I don't have any records as a time-traveller

– and if I'm a child there's no way that my time-travel was actually

planned."

Nicholas raised an eyebrow.

"How by Merlin and Morgana did you come up with time-travel?" He

asked bemused.

Sal shrugged, looking a bit sheepishly at his uncle.

"Because it isn't a lie," Sal said – something that might be a good idea

considering that there had been some different truth-serum invented over

the last two centuries.

Nicholas' eyebrow shot even higher.

"Time-travel isn't a lie?" He repeated and stared at Sal. "Salvatio – what?"

Sal sighed and closed his eyes.

"I wasn't born in the past," Sal finally said, looking away from his uncle.

He knew that it would be a shock to his uncle – but then, maybe it was

time that he finally told somebody else except of Myrddin where he

actually came from.

Nicholas frowned.

"What do you -?"

Sal took a deep breath, but in the end answered the half-asked question.

"Some time in the future one of your descendants will marry into the

Potter family," he said while closing his eyes. "I can't tell you too much,

but it ends with me being born – the descendant of LeFay and Potter. A

phoenix-born child."

His uncle's eyes widened.

"Are you telling me you time-travelled?" He asked in disbelief.

Sal inclined his head.

"I did," he said. "And I've been living in the past ever since."

Nicholas sighed and closed his eyes as well.

"Eloise," he said slowly. "You knew the language she was speaking

because you were raised with that version of our language."

Sal shook his head.

"Not with the same version of our language," he corrected. "But with a

quite similar one."

Nicholas nodded.

"I guess I should have seen that," he said while shaking his head. "At least

after the language incident – if not way before that. There's no way you

should have understood that woman, and yet you did. I should have seen

it for what it was and not thought about it as some obscure ability of a

phoenix!"

Sal laughed, but in the end shook his head.

"Time-travel isn't that common that people would think about it first," he

said amused. "I don't think that you or Perenelle could have figured it out

back then – after all, Peverell knew me far longer and yet had no idea

that this little secret even existed."

Nicholas looked at Sal in surprise.

"This sounds as if nobody knew about it," he said.

Sal shrugged.

"Atr knew," he replied. "But he was the only one."

Nicholas furrowed his eyebrows.

"Attr?" He tried to repeat the word. "Who's that?"

"Atr," Sal corrected. "And it doesn't matter. He was long since dead way

before I was reborn as your nephew."

Nicholas frowned, but in the end he dropped the matter.

"So… you want to go to Britain and tell them you're a time-traveller?" He

asked, looking at Sal a bit concerned. "Don't you think that they might try

and experiment on you or something like that when they find out?"

Sal snorted.

"I won't go there and tell them I time-travelled," he said amused. "I will

simply go there and do what I have to do. If they notice me – and I'm

sure they will – I will use whatever I can to stay out of prison. If that

means to tell them that I time-travelled, so be it. If they want to imprison

me anyway or try to control me, I will force them to let me go. I have

some leeway in Britain, you know?"

Nicholas frowned.

"Leeway?"

Sal shrugged.

"You're my uncle and paterfamilias. If you don't hear anything from me

within the next week, you will simply have to go to the Wizengamot and

force them to release me. If they won't listen, I'll get myself out of

whatever they want to do with me within the next month – don't worry

about that."

If Sal needed to, he would use his power as the lord of the land, the

magical prince of Britain, to force the others to comply with his wishes.

"Salvatio –"

"Don't worry, Oncle Nick," Sal said reassuringly. "I know what I can or

can't do."

For a moment, his uncle hesitated, but in the end he sighed.

"Alright," he said. "But I will write Lord Potter and tell him to look out for

my nephew."

Sal rolled his eyes, but nodded.

"If you wish to," he gave in and his uncle smiled.

"That's what I do," he replied.

Three days later, on the 31th July, Sal entered Britain looking like an

eleven year old child.

He had planned to look around in Diagon Alley before being found out as

an intruder, he definitely hadn't planned on stumbling upon an attack of

Lord Morgan's men.

The men were attacking other people in the alley, downing them with

curses and laughing at the panicking people.

Sal wanted to groan.

He had wanted to take a look at the alley and the changes – not start his

day with confronting Lord Morgan's men…

Yet, it seemed like that was what he would do since the most of the other

wizards and witches in the alley didn't even think about fighting back.

Without bothering to draw his wand – he decided to at least try and act

as if he was too young for a wand – he drew some runes in the air and

threw them at some children and who were trapped between some

people who actually fought back and some of Lord Morgan's men.

It was a simplified rune sequence Sal had perfected over the centuries –

there to shield and normally used by Sal as a shield between exploding

cauldron and student.

This time around, the shield stopped the curses that would have hit the

children just seconds later…

Sal saw the surprise and confusion of Morgan's men when their targets

weren't actually hit.

But before Sal could think about using their distracting to down them,

somebody else had already enacted that plan.

One after another three men of Morgan dropped to the ground, hit by

various curses thanks to the quick wand of a man with silver eyes.

Sal had never seen that man before, but the form of his face and the

colour of his eyes told him everything he needed to know.

The other man was an Ollivander.

Only that family had those eerie silvery eyes – not dreamy like the ones

of the Lovegoods, but absolutely penetrating and eerie.

It was surprising that the current Ollivander had decided to take action –

not because of his abilities to fight since the Ollivander family had

always been good at fighting, but because of the fact that normally the

Ollivanders didn't choose a side. They were far too valuable as wand

makers to enter into battle…

As if Sal's thought had brought forth bad luck, ten of Morgan's men

turned on the wand maker.

Regretfully, Ollivander was anything but an easy opponent so when he

was finally downed, he had already taken five of his opponents with him.

Sal saw the man going down, hit by a spell that had hit him against the

head, and sent out one of his runes just in time to shield Ollivander from

the rest of the enemy's spells.

They all thankfully splashed harmlessly against the shield.

After Sal had made sure that his other shield surrounding the children

still stood strong, he weaved through the panicking and fighting crowd to

the wand maker and entered his rune-shield to take a look at the man's

injuries.

The runes Sal used to find out the other man's injuries clearly indicated

that the spell had broken the bones in Ollivander's head – not such an

easy fix. Sal could just hope that the brain hadn't been hurt as well, since

even with magic, healing the brain was basically impossible.

Sal also knew that the injury could kill the wand maker if it wasn't

stabilized at once – not a good thing considering that they were in the

middle of a battlefield and a bunch of children were depending on Sal to

shield them. He might have been situated in one of the areas he could use

magic a lot better than elsewhere, but that didn't change the fact that he

had to basically keep an eye on three things – the shield of the children,

the healing and the battle itself – and Sal wasn't too sure if he could

manage that.

"Well, no time but now to find out," Sal thought sarcastically and then

started with his work to stabilize the gravely injured man in front of him.

He pulled out his staff to draw the stasis runes and then sat it down

beside him while he ensured that the brain wasn't damaged and the

swelling of the brain would recede.

He was a bit surprised when barely three minutes after he started to treat

the man, said man opened his eyes to look at Sal unfocusedly.

"You should sleep," he told the man and checked on the runes that

shielded the children.

The wand maker's fingers twitched and touched Sal's staff. The man's

eyes widened.

"Go back to sleep," Sal urged.

Unfocused eyes locked onto his own, then the man's eyes closed and he

drifted off again.

Sal sighed and finished stabilizing the head injury of Ollivander before

moving on to the next hurt person on the ground – either an innocent

bystander or one of the defenders.

Sal was quite happy when barely two minutes later the aurors turned up.

He continued to hold the shields for another ten minutes until Morgan's

men were either caught or had fled and then dropped them. Instead of

them, he started to concentrate on healing or stabilizing the defenders

who had fought with Morgan's men.

Ollivander, while still out of it was already recovering and Sal guessed

that with a potion or two – Sal didn't have those with him – he would be

right as rain in another hour or two, so Sal had moved on to other

defenders who had been hurt by spells as well.

All was well now, or so he thought – until he suddenly was at wand point

by an auror.

He raised his eyes without stopping to apply pressure on the arm wound

of his current patient.

The auror stared at him coolly.

"Who are you?" he asked Sal. "And where are you from?"

Sal blinked. He was surprised how rough the auror spoke with him,

considering that Sal was in the form of an eleven-year-old.

"I am Salvatio Malfoire," he answered sincerely. "I am from Britain."

The answer was a sneer.

"Try again, stranger!"

Definitely extremely rough considering whom he was talking to… and even if

he wasn't talking to a child – why didn't he believe Sal? Of course, Sal wasn't

registered – but they didn't have a way to track that immediately, did they?

Confusion showed on Sal's face.

"I told you the truth," he answered finally, unsure of the reason that

showed him to be a liar.

"The signature of your magic is not registered with the ministry," the

auror sneered. "If you truly are from Britain then either you broke the

law by not registering or you are lying and you aren't from Britain. Either

way you will have to accompany us to the ministry."

Sal groaned inwardly. So they had found a way to tell if you were

registered or not even if hundreds of other magicals were surrounding

you…

Nevertheless, there was no way Sal would go with the other man

immediately.

He had an oath to keep right now.

"Forgive me, sir," he said softly. "I will accompany you as soon as I have

helped those people here."

The auror just sneered.

"It wasn't a suggestion, boy," he said.

Sal stared at the auror for a moment then he simply tipped against his

chest and drew out his healer's oath.

"If you don't want to be responsible for the loss of my magic you will let

me do my work before I am brought to the ministry," he said softly,

hoping to shock the auror and also to guilt trip him, after all Sal was a

'child' and to be responsible for the loss of a child's magic should be

something that stopped the even most eager auror.

The auror stared at his healer's oath; he gawked and then he gulped.

"Then treat them – but if you dare to run you won't like what'll happen to

you."

"I won't run," Sal answered sincerely. Of course he had hoped to have

some more time before being confronted about his missing registry – but

then, being found while healing definitely wasn't the worst first

impression he could have made.

Still, it wouldn't do any good if he was brought to Azkaban for something

he had no control over – and not being registered as Sal had found out

earlier that day was indeed punished with six months in Azkaban. But

then, he was currently an eleven-year-old – would they truly throw a

child into Azkaban?

It took another twenty minutes until he was ready. The most of the

people now were either healed or at St. Mungo's – both of it counted as

safe, so that Sal wasn't needed anymore. So he searched out the auror.

"I am ready," he said.

The auror and his partner gawked at him.

"You truly had no intention to run, did you, boy?" the auror finally said.

Sal just shrugged.

"I told you I wouldn't run," he answered. "I don't lie if I don't have to."

I just play with the truth – but that was something the aurors definitely

didn't need to know…

The auror just raised an eyebrow and then held out his arm.

"I will apparate you to the ministry," he said.

Sal hid a grimace and just nodded before taking the arm. He had no

trouble apparating himself – but the moment he was apparated side-

along, well… let's just say Sal hoped the auror was good at conjuring

buckets in milliseconds…

They apparated.

The feeling was as sickening as side-along always was for Sal.

He couldn't stop himself. The moment they landed, he turned away from

the auror and emptied his stomach on the floor.

The auror definitely hadn't been fast enough with conjuring buckets...

A soft hand touched his back.

"Child?" this time the auror's voice was soft as if he suddenly recognised

that Sal couldn't be very old – and Sal thought that maybe sometimes it

was an advantage to have troubles with being apparated side-along.

"Forgive me," Sal whispered, still feeling weak from the apparation. It

always left behind the feelings of nausea and unsteadiness for him.

Basically, he still saw double and his legs were jelly.

"Did you never apparate before with someone else?" the auror asked.

Of course Sal had – but that had ended as well as this time. Sal's Oncle

Nick had turned into a master of transfiguration since apparition had

started to be common and he had taken Sal side-along for the first time.

Of course, there was no way that Sal would tell the other man something

like that, so Sal shook his head and again he felt like retching again...

Oh, how he hated side-along apparition!

The auror sighed and vanished the sick.

"Sit down and put your head between your knees until you feel better,"

he said softly. Sal followed his advice instantly.

Oh, he hadn't felt as sick as in that moment for at least a hundred years!

But then, Sal's muddled brain mused, it had been about a hundred years ago

when Nicholas last had taken him side-along, so it shouldn't surprise him that

it was that long ago that he felt that sick…

The auror sighed next to him.

"I am sorry, child," he said. "I should have brought you to your parents

and should have accused your parents for the lack of your registration –

and not you."

Sal took some gulps of air until he felt sure that he could speak again.

Then he said: "Ve no parents."

"Excuse me?"

"I have no parents," Sal repeated and slowly dared to look up.

Yes, he felt better again – not that it changed anything about his hatred for

side-along apparation…

He still stayed on the floor for another few seconds, but then he stood up

slowly.

"What do you mean, you've no parents?" the auror asked, now sounding

more concerned than angry. Obviously being sick thanks to apparation

was a child's trait in the auror's eyes.

Sal wondered if it was just a belief of the other man or if it truly was a

child's trait and Sal was stuck with it thanks to his body actually still

being fifteen. Maybe the nausea existed because of the not yet fully

matured magic in a child?

Sal guessed that that was something to ponder later on and instead

shrugged as an answer to the auror's question.

"I'm an orphan," he answered sincerely. For the third time – that thought

somehow hurt.

The auror sighed, but his face had softened and Sal was sure that if he

had taken a peak with legilimency into the other man's mind, Sal would

have seen himself going from 'potential threat' to 'maybe just a child'.

"Let's get you to our interrogation room," the auror finally said softly.

"Will I go to Azkaban?" Sal figured that if he had to look like a child he at

least could act like one as well for now – and the question truly

interested him. Would they send an unregistered child to Azkaban as

well?

A callused hand softly touched his hair.

"We will have to interrogate you, child," the Auror said. "But if you truly

are a child, we definitely won't chuck you into Azkaban."

Good to know that Sal didn't have to take over the Ministry for

unreasonable laws as well. It definitely was bad enough that he had to

infiltrate Hogwarts to shield it from Lord Morgan…

Still, the auror's words not only brought relief, but questions as well...

"If I truly am a child?" Sal asked surprised.

"Polyjuice potion," the man said and when Sal forced himself to look at

the man quizzically he elaborated. "A potion to change you into another

person if you take it. If I was a foreign wizard and here to do harm I'd use

polyjuice to look like a child – just in the hope that no one would look at

a foreign child."

So polyjuice potion was finally invented…

Sal wondered if truly someone would go so far and use the potion to

change into a child just to infiltrate a country. A second later, Sal wanted

to roll his eyes at himself.

Of course there were people out there who would consider it!

After all, Sal had also changed into a child so that he wasn't suspicious to

the people.

Maybe, if there truly was polyjuice potion available now, the precaution the

auror had taken with Sal was understandable if not reasonable…

"Oh," he said and decided that he definitely needed to find out what kind

of new things in magic theory and practice had reached Britain in the last

one hundred years. Well, he had to find out as soon as he was able to get

away from here…

Wasn't he lucky that he had ended up in the ministry before he had been able

to gather the intel as planned?

Sal sighed and reminded himself that silent sarcasm wouldn't help him

right now. He would have to wing it without the data he had wanted to

get before ending up in the clutches of the Ministry…

He followed the Auror to an interrogation room. The room was dimly lit

and small. There was a simple table in the middle and a chair on each

side. In a corner a cloaked man stood and looked at them when they

entered. His cloak was grey and his face was hidden by artificial

shadows.

Sal looked at him with interest.

"An Unspeakable," the Auror said explaining, "he's here in case you truly

are a spy from another country."

Sal remembered the founding of the Unspeakables back when he had

worked with Ralston to ensure the safety of the magical world. They

were researchers but also the contingency plan Sal and Ralston had

developed after the Slytherin family had been 'killed off'. They had

started to exist to try and stop the slaughter of whole families just

because they stepped onto somebody's toes. The Unspeakables were there

to gather Intel and warn people if something dangerous stirred in their

midst.

Sal gulped at those thoughts but then told himself that he definitely

wasn't a spy and therefore should be safe. He just had to work out how to

placate the auror and the Unspeakable somehow.

"What will happen now?" he asked hesitatingly. The auror smiled and Sal

guessed that he was right and the doubt of the auror had somehow

lessened since Sal's reaction to the Apparation.

"We'll give you a potion so that you have to tell the truth and then we

will interrogate you," the auror answered. Sal nodded and sat down in

the chair when the auror pointed at it. He watched the man pulling out a

potion and some parchment and a quill.

The parchment was put down on the table and the quill was sat on the

tip on top of it. Sal looked at it in surprise. That was something he hadn't

seen before even in the rest of Europe…

The next moment he found that his curiosity had won and he examined

the parchment and quill with his eyes.

"What does it do?" he asked interested and watched with unintentionally

huge and innocent looking eyes the quill writing down his question. The

auror laughed at his surprised gaze that made Sal's currently young body

look even younger than it was.

"Obviously it documents the interrogation," he said and the quill wrote

down his words.

"Oh."

"Well, let's continue," the Auror said. "Auror Regulus Pollux Black

interrogating Salvatio Malfoy for missing registration with the ministry.

As Salvatio Malfoy apparently is a child instead of Veritaserum a

children-friendly truth serum is administered."

"But what if I'm polyjuiced?" Sal asked concerned and intrigued with this

new puzzle. He knew about Veritaserum and the fact that it shouldn't be

given to a child until the child in question was at least fourteen and

therefore definitely in puberty. To younger children Veritaserum would

more or less often enough act like poison – and killing children just to get

the truth was normally seen as unacceptable for most people.

But how would polyjuice play into the whole age-trouble with

Veritaserum?

"You have the body of a child at the moment so it doesn't matter if you

are polyjuiced or not. Your body can't take Veritaserum at the moment

and the child friendly truth-serum will affect you like it would every

child," Auror Black explained patiently.

"Oh," Sal said and wondered if somebody had to die to get this piece of

knowledge.

Then the Unspeakable stepped forward to Sal.

"Open your mouth," Sal did as he was told and felt the truth serum being

administered.

The seconds ticked by and a hazy feeling started to envelop Salvazsahar.

Sal inwardly mused what the truth serum would make him spill, after all

he had lived for a long time and had been named not just once.

What did count by a truth serum and what didn't?

"What is your name, child?" the Auror started.

Sal felt the potion compelling him to tell the truth but it didn't compel

him to say a specific name. It seemed that 'Salvatio Malfoire' was as true

for the truth serum as 'Salvazsahar Emrys', 'Salazar Slytherin' or 'Harry

Potter'. Well, Sal had already given a name so he decided to stay with the

name he had told them before – even if it somehow had been mangled by

the Auror.

"Salvatio Amethyst Malfoire," he said.

This time the Auror smiled, his doubt obviously retreating further.

"How old are you?" he asked.

Interesting question…

"Fifteen and eleven," Sal's mouth answered.

Sal blinked at the answer.

He wasn't sure if he should be surprised that both ages of his body

counted or not… he also didn't know if he should feel relieved that he

didn't know the millennia he lived as well or not. He was quite sure that

if he had known them he would have been able to choose between the

answers of his body-age and his mental age as well…

Still – why did the damn serum make him name both ages of his body?!

Wasn't one of them enough – preferably the younger one?

The auror raised an eyebrow when he heard Sal's answer.

"Are you fifteen or eleven?" he asked.

This time there was no answer to choose from for Sal.

"Both," Sal said.

The auror blinked.

"How is it possible to be both?" the question was a good one, regrettably

Sal had long since accepted that it simply was like that for him so the

only answer he could give was: "It simply is."

The answer was a sigh then the auror seemed to decide a different

approach because he asked: "When were you born?"

Good question.

This time Sal had just two answers to his disposal; one if he had to tell a

date. After all he didn't know the date when he had been reborn in the

past.

Seemed like his vague plan he made in France with his uncle was the

answer he would go with this time around…

Well, at least he wouldn't have to make up how he ended up in Britain

without being registered anymore. The answer took care of that just as

well.

"31st of July, 1980," Sal said.

"Nineteen eighty?" the Auror repeated, disbelieve colouring his voice.

"Yes," Sal's mouth said.

"Are you telling me you travelled in time?" the Auror's eyes were huge

now.

"Yes;" Sal's mouth said.

It was then the Unspeakable cut in with his own question.

"Unspeakable Croaker speaking. Does this also explain why you are

fifteen and eleven?" he asked interestedly.

Sal guessed that that question was open enough to interpret it like he

wanted, after all, it was the time-travel that got him stuck in his fifteen-

year-old body and taught him how to change his age…

Thankfully, the truth-serum seemed to see it Sal's way, because it didn't

make him explain or answer with 'no'.

"Yes," Sal said.

"How old were you before you left the future?" the Auror asked with a

rasping voice.

"Fifteen," Sal said truthfully.

"And now you are eleven?"

Again open for interpretation...

Sal decided to take the easy way out.

"Yes," he said while wondering what the Unspeakable and Auror Black

would make out of his answers.

How did you interpret it if you find an eleven year old boy who was not only

from the future but once fifteen as well?

Oh, well, it wasn't Sal who had to think up an interpretation of that.

Sal wondered if he had spent too much of his life as a Slytherin

considering that he had taken to twist the truth like a pretzel and was

enjoying to see the other two men sweat…

The auror sighed.

"At least I know now why you stated both," he said.

Sal said nothing. He definitely wouldn't answer something that wasn't a

question. It would just get him into trouble if he tried – at least that was

what Sal guessed out of experience…

Then Auror Black turned to the Unspeakable.

"Is there a way to travel that far in time?" he asked the Unspeakable.

"Obviously there is," Unspeakable Croaker said snorting and then looked

at Sal.

"Did you use a time-turner, Salvatio?"

For a moment Sal played with the idea of interpreting the question more

openly and answer with 'yes' since he had used one when he was still in

third year in the future – but in the end he decided to stick with the other

answer. He definitely didn't want his time-travel to look anything but an

accident, after all…

"No," Sal said.

"Then how did you get here?"

"I was attacked by Dementors. I lost. The next thing I know is golden

light and pain. Then I was in the past," Sal said emotionlessly. The truth –

just not the whole truth. Just enough for the serum.

"And you were eleven," the auror said sighing. Sal decided simply to not

object. It wasn't a question so he didn't have to answer if he didn't want

to, and he definitely didn't want to go into detail about his age-changing

abilities…

"Do you have an idea what happened, Croaker?" Auror Black asked the

other man in the room. The Unspeakable sighed and winked the auror

closer – Sal guessed he shouldn't hear the answer but he always had a

better hearing than most.

"Yes, I might. It is possible that it was the child's magic. It sounds like a

case of strong accidental magic," the Unspeakable whispered.

"You don't sound happy about that," Auror Black stated. "I would have

thought you would be. I mean you Unspeakables are trying to solve

mysteries like that since I don't know when – and the child in front of

you might even solve some of those mysteries and such!"

Oh, Sal was sure that he knew more about time-travel than the

Unspeakables – but that didn't mean he would share. Knowledge like that

was dangerous and Sal wasn't about to give it up to strangers – even if

they seemed to be part of the good guys.

Thankfully the Unspeakable definitely didn't think that Sal had any

reason to hold back the knowledge he had and instead took Sal's

innocence as face-value.

"Accidental magic is just that, accidental," he explained the auror.

"There's no theory behind it and sometimes it can't be repeated by trained

wizards try as they might."

"Oh," the auror said, but the Unspeakable wasn't done yet.

"The true problem in this case is that strong accidental magic like the

boy's is normally done by a child to keep it safe. That the boy didn't

apparate to safety but travelled in time – and not just in time but that far

in time – means that there was more wrong in the boy's life but the

Dementors he faced."

"You mean…"

"I guess abuse – abuse and absolutely no one to turn to and no place

where he had felt safe at. That also means that if he was fifteen that he

not even considered school safe."

The auror sighed.

"You guess bullying, too, don't you?"

The Unspeakable nodded.

"And no teacher to turn to. I cannot believe that they failed a child

enough in the future for it to travel in time."

"But then why did the boy land here, in this time, I mean?"

The Unspeakable shrugged.

"I would guess that this was as far away as his magic could get him," he

said.

Sal wanted to raise an eyebrow at that conclusion. He wasn't too sure if

he should be elated with getting away with the explanation of

unintentional magic or insulted by the idea that he had been so desperate

to flee from his relatives through time!

"But then," Sal thought thoughtfully. "If I remember it correctly, the

Dursleys truly sometimes were people you should have fled from through

time. At least like that there would have been no problem with returning

to them."

Maybe Sal should feel sad that his friends had been good enough to keep

him in his rightful time and space...

Still, while he definitely hadn't been treated well by the Dursleys and

maybe even had been neglected – in the end it definitely hadn't been as

grave as the Unspeakable made it sound.

He had had friends after all. Friends and… well, and a lot of people who

either wanted to kill or manipulate him. Maybe that would be enough to

send him to the past…

Just that it hadn't… after all, Sal knew exactly how he ended up in the

past – and accidental magic definitely wasn't the explanation for it!

That was the moment he was brought out of his thoughts by the auror.

"Then why is he eleven now?" Auror Black asked confused.

Good question. What would the Unspeakable guess this time around?

The Unspeakable shrugged.

"I would guess that Hogwarts was a turn for the worse. At eleven he still

might have held hope that at school it would be better."

The Auror nodded, contemplating.

"So, will he stay in our time or will he return to his in the future?" he

finally asked.

The Unspeakable shrugged.

"There is no known way to return to the future," he said. "Add to that that

the boy's magic definitely wouldn't bring him back into a situation he

definitely wasn't happy in, I think you can be sure that the boy will stay

in this time from now on."

"So, what do we do?"

"We wait until the truth serum has run its course and then I will take the

documentation of this interrogation and instead will draw up all the

necessary papers for the boy," the Unspeakable said. "There's just the

problem with his guardianship. Someone will have to take him in and

look after him, after all…"

Nope, that definitely wasn't something Sal wanted to happen.

Maybe he should have taken Nicholas' idea of contacting the Potters. At

least then he would be sure that he wouldn't have to act like a child in

the presence of his so-called 'guardians'…

"Do you know any relations of you, child?" Auror Black asked in that

moment softly.

Sal hesitated just a second before thinking 'why not' and saying. "The

Potters and the Flamels."

Those two at least knew – or easily could learn about his actual age...

"Anyone else you know off?"

This time Sal hesitated a little bit longer before he added after the truth

serum urged him. "My godfather was a Black."

"You lived with your godfather?" the Auror said, this time softly and a

little hesitatingly.

"No, with my squib aunt," Sal answered instantly.

"And where was your godfather?"

"In prison."

"Why?"

"For murdering my parents," well, that sounded more awful than it had

been.

Stupid truth serum.

The Auror just sighed and looked at the Unspeakable again.

"Now what? Do we contact the Flamels or the Potters and tell them we

have a relation from them in our custody?"

"No," somebody else spoke up. He had entered through the door just in

time to hear the question of auror Black. "Now you give me the child and

I'll take him in."

The Unspeakable and Auror Black looked a bit unhappily at the silver-

eyed man in the door.

"Garvain Ollivander," Unspeakable Croaker said.

"The same," Ollivander replied evenly.

The auror's eyes just narrowed at the wand maker.

"What are you doing here, Garvain?" He asked the older man.

The wand maker smiled.

"I'm here to take the child home," he said as if it was the most natural

thing in the world.

The auror and Unspeakable exchanged a glance.

"Garvain," one of them started to say, but the wand maker waved it off.

"I already know everything about the boy," he said. "I could feel it when

he treated me. Don't worry, I'll make sure he is sent to Hogwarts and I

will take care of him like my own."

While Auror Black still seemed reluctant, the Unspeakable just sighed.

"As you wish, Garvain," he said, obviously knowing that he would lose

against Ollivander anyway if he didn't throw the towel now.

"Croaker!" Auror Black objected instantly.

The Unspeakable looked at the auror in reprimand.

"The boy needs somebody to take him in," he said. "If Garvain is willing

and knows where the boy came from – why shouldn't he be the one to

take him?"

It was then that the truth serum finally outran its course and the hazy

feeling vanished.

Sal blinked and then rubbed his eyes when he still couldn't see clearly.

"Ah, welcome back, child," the auror said while turning his frown into a

smile and Sal suddenly understood that if the potion would have worked

with him like it worked with others he shouldn't have remembered

anything. But then, Sal wasn't a wizard, he was a Firbolg-born, and

Firbolgs always were more durable than wizards – especially wizards

whose Firbolg-inheritance was hundreds of generations away.

So the previous whispering was just a precaution if Sal was an odd one

out – Sal didn't delude himself into thinking that he was the only one

who might remember what he had been ask when under truth serum.

The auror meanwhile went to a table in the far corner that Sal hadn't

seen before and returned to the other table with a glass of water.

"Here, for the taste," he said. Sal took it and sipped on it. It was just

water and not laced with another potion – not that Sal had needed it. He

had had thousands of years to accept and ignore the horrible taste a

potion produced in the aftermath.

He appreciated it nevertheless.

"What will happen to me now?" he asked softly. "Will I go to Azkaban?"

Of course he knew the answer to the second question, but he couldn't

resist adding it. After all, a bit deception never hurt...

"No, don't worry, you won't be sent to Azkaban", the Auror said now

smiling more naturally. "We found out about your time travel and we'll

simply register you in this time so that everything is alright."

"And what happens to me?" Sal asked.

Auror Black frowned.

But before he could say something, Ollivander spoke up.

"You will go home with me and I'll send you to Hogwarts in September,"

he said.

Sal looked at the man and saw amusement in his eyes.

Obviously Ollivander wasn't fooled by Sal's appearance like the other two

were…

Sal's lips quirked in an acknowledgement of being caught out by the

other man.

"Alright," he agreed.

Twenty minutes later he left the Ministry with Ollivander and the

registration he needed.

The moment they entered Ollivander's shop, the man turned and closed

the door, before scrutinizing Sal.

"Speak," Garvain Ollivander said, his face serious. "What do you have to

do with Salvazsahar Emrys' staff?"

Sal smirked.

Obviously Theonel Ollivander, the Ollivander from the time of the

Founders, had left some notes about Sal and his staff…

"It belongs to me," Sal answered, still smirking. When Garvain raised an

eyebrow in disbelief, Sal just shrugged.

"I am Salvazsahar Emrys," he clarified. "Later known as Salazar Slytherin,

later known as Salvatio Malfoire, son of Myrddin Emrys himself."

Garvain Ollivander's second eyebrow joined his first at those words.

Then his gaze intensified.

"Lord Morgan is after Hogwarts," he stated.

Sal returned his gaze evenly.

"That's a well-known fact," he said. "Especially considering that Morgan

attacked Hogwarts three years in a row. It's just luck that he hasn't yet

managed to actually take it."

The answer was an amused smile from Ollivander.

"I wonder what he will say if Slytherin himself will go against him and

defend the castle," he said.

Sal shrugged.

"Nothing much," he replied. "If I do it right, he will never know."

Ollivander's smile widened.

"Good," he said. "And now tell me what I can do to help you with taking

him down…"

It was then that the alliance between Sal and his godfather Ollivanneder's

family would be renewed. The renewal would go hand in hand with the

defeat of another Dark Lord and the appearance of a whole ward-set in

Diagon Alley that could be activated by the Ollivander family in a time of

need.

Of course, a century later Garrick Ollivander would be declared insane when

he started to empty his basement and putter up and down the alley where the

activation sequences of the wards were hidden…

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1899

Sal returned to the presence, when the master healer noticed that Eloise

had woken up and turned to face her.

The moment Sal noticed that they wouldn't be able to continue their

previously unnoticed conversation, he gestured discretely to take down a

runic ward he had placed around them that had kept the others from

hearing them.

"A… Madam Mintumble, you're awake," the healer said, his eyes as grave

as Salvazsahar's.

"I… won't… sur…vive… th'… night," Eloise rasped out the moment she

noticed that the healer now had his attention on her and not on the

information his spell had given him about her condition.

"I'm afraid you won't," the master healer said, obviously seeing no reason

to beat around the bush. "We tried everything, but we can't stop the

aging process."

Eloise grimaced and nodded slowly before lifting her hand and trying to

get the attention of one Fleamont Charlus Potter – better known simply

as 'Charlus Potter' by the most inside the room.

Charlus on the other hand was far too preoccupied with crying and

screaming at the healers to notice, so in the end Sal took over and called

the other man to his best friend's deathbed.

The other man still cried, but stepped up next to Eloise nevertheless, all

the while murmuring to himself.

"This can't be it," he prayed. "Please! Not her! Not now! Please!"

"He might be my descendant," the wind whispered into Sal's ear. "But

even he can't change her fate – so stop feeling guilty, Salvazsahar."

Sal just shook his head at the wind while watching the grieving young

man on the other side of the bed.

He was so young – and yet, he had definitely aged since Sal had last seen

him all those years ago…

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1896

When Salvatio Malfoire stepped into the halls of the Wizengamot, people

stepped aside to let him pass. A lot of people nodded at him in greeting,

and even those who didn't made sure to not be in his way.

Sal hated it.

Every man, every woman was looking at him with something akin to

respect, but Sal hated to be the centre of attention.

"Salvatio!" One of the men called out and stepped out of the crowd.

"Henry," Sal returned the greeting of his old friend with a smile.

He had met Henry on his way to Hogwarts.

"Is the seat taken?" The back then shy youth had asked while entering the

compartment of the train Sal had occupied.

It was the first time ever that the way to Hogwarts was bridged by using a

train. The magical world had watched the mundane world open the first

railway just a year before and had enthusiastically copied the concept the

moment they understood the advantages. Years later King's Cross would be

built around the already existing magical station in the midst of London.

"No," Sal said. "Go ahead and sit down. It'd definitely more fun if I'm not

forced to sit alone for the ride."

The answer was a smile from the other boy and he brought in his trunk and

stowed it away with Sal's. Then he held out his hand for Sal to take.

"Henry Potter," he said. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

In that moment, Henry reached Sal and pulled him out of his memories.

"Look who the cat dragged in," the current Lord Potter joked. "Salvatio

Malfoire has decided to grace us with his holy presence!"

Sal rolled his eyes at his friend.

"I'm not holy," he said.

The other man's grin just widened.

"Hard-working, crafty and stubborn, then," he conceded.

"I'm not –"

"Of course you are!" Henry Potter laughed. "That's what you've always

been – just look at your sorting in Hogwarts if you don't believe me!"

And Sal couldn't suppress his smirk when he was reminded of his sorting

this time around…

The Sorting Hat was rummaging through his mind. Sal found it funny that

even the hat was unable to penetrate all the Occlumency shields Sal had

created over the years.

"Well, you definitely love to learn" the hat whispered. "You have a mind that

Ravenclaw would be proud of. But you are deceiving. You use your knowledge

to your own benefit or the benefit of others if you have to. I am sure, thoughts

like that would make you a good Slytherin… it's just that you are also brave

and would die to protect others – Gryffindor would die to have you in his

house. And then the loyalty, so much like Hufflepuff…"

Sal could nothing but snort.

"But where to put you…" The hat said.

"You should put me where I belong," Sal suggested.

The Sorting Hat sighed.

"Yes," it answered. "But you are difficult. The Founders would have argued

over your sorting. I am sure every one of them would have loved you to be in

their house."

"I am sure Slytherin would not have argued with them," Sal answered. "I am

sure he never would have taken me in."

"That's what you think, child," the Sorting Hat answered. "I think different. I

am sure he would have loved to have you in his house… but I think that

maybe Hufflepuff might have won – you are very interested in working for

your goals… hmmm…"

"Then go ahead and sort me," Sal said amused. "But please be reasonable, my

dear Hat. I will have to live in that House for quite some time, you know."

"Reasonable," the Hat harrumphed. "I can do reasonable if you wish! Have fun

in HUFFLE…"

In that moment Sal decided to open his shields so that the Sorting Hat would

be able to look at his memories of Salazar Slytherin.

The reaction came instantly.

"SLYTH!" the hat shrieked, not even able to finish the word before he fell from

Sal's head.

The whole Great Hall fell silent.

"What by Merlin and Morgana is a Huffleslyth, Hat?" Phineas Nigellus Black,

Headmaster of Hogwarts asked confused.

Sal raised an eyebrow at the Hat.

The Hat returned the gaze and then snorted.

"Moron," it said fondly. "I always knew that being related to 'Ric would one

day influence you in some way…"

"I normally don't play jokes," Sal pointed out.

"And yet here I am, having screamed a name that doesn't exist thanks to you,"

the Hat replied equally amused.

"Hat?" The Headmaster asked the Hat again.

Sal raised an eyebrow.

The Hat sighed.

"HUFFLEPUFF," it cried and Sal's new and confused housemates started

clapping. Then the Hat lowered its voice again. "But that's just because you

promised to go there next to Peverell, you Slytherin!"

Sal grinned, bowed down and picked it up again.

"I knew you would be reasonable," he told the Hat.

The Hat just snorted.

"You're a deceiving, cunning bastard, Slytherin," it hissed but then it started to

smile again. "Welcome home, my child, my father, my guardian."

Sal just grinned at the Hat.

"My parents were married, you know," he answered. "But thanks anyway."

And with that he turned to the Hufflepuff table, aware, that everyone was

staring at him.

Later nearly everybody was convinced that someone had tried to hex the Hat

and had failed when Sal had been sorted…

"I still want to know what you did to confuse the Hat," Henry Potter

mused.

"And I repeat: I didn't do anything," Sal replied amused. "It was its own

fault that it screamed a nonsense word for me."

Henry rolled his eyes at Sal fondly before turning around and looking

back the way he came.

"Ah!" He said the moment he spotted his missing companion. "Charlus,

son, come here and meet one of my best friends!"

"What will you do when you've finished your schooling?" twelve-year-old

Henry Potter asked his Hufflepuff friend.

Sal shrugged.

"I don't know, yet," he said. "Maybe I'll become a potion's master."

He already was one, had been registered since he married Andromeda – SEL,

Salvazsahar Emrys-LeFay was his well-known signature.

"Or maybe a healer," he mused.

He had had his oath for millennia.

"Or a professor here at Hogwarts," he added.

He had been that more than once.

"What will you do?"

Henry shrugged.

"I don't know," he said. "Maybe I should choose my electives blindly?"

"If you don't know, it would be best to take Arithmancy and Ancient Runes.

Those two are needed or useful in a lot of professions," Sal suggested.

Henry smiled at him.

"You just don't want to go alone to those classes," he said amused.

Sal returned the other boy's smile with a smile he normally had always

reserved for his children.

"That as well," he admitted and Henry beamed.

"Salvatio," Henry said when the boy – a splitting image of his father had

reached them. "This is my son Fleamont. Fleamont, this is my best friend

and your godfather Salvatio."

"It's Charlus," the boy mumbled unhappily. "Fleamont is an absolutely

horrible name, Father. I'm going by Charlus now."

Henry frowned at his son.

"It was the wish of your grandmother so that her family name doesn't die

out," he said. "And I think Fleamont is quite a nice name."

Fleamont Charlus' face turned sour.

"Well," he said unhappily. "You aren't the one who has been called 'Flea'

for all his life because of that ridiculous name."

His father sighed and shook his head before turning with an eye-roll to

Sal.

"Children!" He exclaimed amused. "So theatrical…! But, oh well, Salvatio,

this is my son Charlus!"

Sal raised an eyebrow at the other man.

"May I remind you that I'm the Ancient Rune's Professor at Hogwarts," he

said amused. "Your son has been in my class for three years already."

The boy blushed when he finally recognised Sal and looked away, clearly

a bit uncomfortable after he had corrected his father in front of his

teacher.

"Well, yes," Henry said. "But since you haven't been at my home since

mother died I know that you haven't met him yet outside the school since

he was two… it's truly sad that the most of the time we meet, Flea-

Charlus is elsewhere…"

"It is," Sal said and smiled at the youth – one of that generation Sal had

fought for when he had fought Morgan so that they weren't forced to

grow up with a Dark Lord lurking in the background.

When Sal had been in his last year of Hogwarts, Lord Morgan had given up on

the idea of secret infiltration of Hogwarts and had led a head-on assault on

Hogwarts.

The teachers and students had being panicking.

The moment Sal heard about the army in front of Hogwarts' gates, he had

finally shed his 'normal student' persona and had stepped out of Hogwarts, a

basilisk to his left, a phoenix to his right and in his hands a weapon that had

belonged to him long before it had started to be adorned with Godric

Gryffindor's name.

He had stepped out of the entrance to the castle, and his eyes, instead of

showing fear, had shown determination.

"Atr," he said. "Close down the wards. Let's show them what it means to fight a

losing battle."

That was the day Hogwarts would be known all over Europe as the safest

place in Britain – maybe even a safer place than Gringotts…

This was the day, the reputation of Hogwarts would start.

This was also the day, Salvatio Malfoire would change from a gifted student to

someone admired and fawned over. He would gain a reputation that would

only be eclipsed by Albus Dumbledore after said man had defeated

Grindelwald – and even then the older generation held onto their belief that

Salvatio Malfoire would have been the greater man if they had lived at the

same time. Of course, the younger generations objected and over time, Salvatio

Malfoire would be forgotten while Albus Dumbledore's star continued to

shine…

After the battle, it would also be the last time Sal would see his grandmother.

"My mind is slipping," she told him softly. "In a few months, I will be nothing

but a mindless beast. I won't remember my life and anyone I held dear."

"Grandmother," Sal whispered and fear laced his voice when he understood

what his grandmother was telling him.

She just smiled.

"One day, the phoenix will be lost to the flames," she told him. "One day the

elf will be lost to his dreams – and the elder dragon, the dementor and the

basilisk will succumb to the beast inside them. This is how it should be. My

time has come. My mind is slipping away from me and I can't and won't stop

it. Another month or two, and I won't recognise you anymore."

"Grandmother," Sal said again, now with tears in his eyes.

She just smiled at him warmly.

"This is the lot of the immortal, my egg," she said. "One day we will lose our

mind and become the mindless beasts that reside within us since birth. One

day, my egg, you will have to confront that beast as well – and one day, you

will lose yourself to it."

With that she brushed aside his tears.

"Don't grieve for me, my egg," she told him. "And don't try to save me. If you

have to, then kill me, but don't try to save what has long since lost its

memories to time."

"But –"

"No, my egg," she said softly. "It's my time to go. I had a long and wonderful

life. Just promise me, promise me you won't go near my mindless body without

being careful, my egg! You and I know that a mindless basilisk will do

anything to kill off its own offspring and I can't bear the thought of losing you

to my fangs."

"I… I promise," Sal whispered while his mind supplied him with the image of a

blinded basilisk in a dark and dreary Chamber set on killing a twelve-year-old

boy who would once be the basilisk's grandson. "I promise, grandmother. I

won't come near you if there isn't another life in danger."

His grandmother just smiled at him and then turned to Hogwarts, intending to

hide away in its depth.

"I love you, my grandson," she said. "Never forget that, will you?"

"Never," Sal promised. This would be the last time he would ever see his

grandmother alive.

Just a few months later, the only thing remaining of her would be the mindless

beast hibernating in the depths of Hogwarts – a beast that would be used to

kill an innocent Ravenclaw girl just barely a century later.

"Well, then," Henry said while smiling at his son. "Maybe we could meet

again sometime this summer – this time with my son in attendance. I'm

sure it will do him something good to get to know my best friend outside

the classroom as well."

Sal smiled at his friend.

"I'd love that," he said.

Sal would never regret saving Hogwarts back when he had attended

seventh year.

Sal would never regret working with Garvain Ollivander to keep Diagon

Alley safe.

And Sal would never regret to meet up with Henry Potter that summer –

even if he'd known that he'd leave for a new life as an apprentice in St.

Mungo barely two years later…

But that was life, and Sal had long since learned to live it as he pleased.

And it wasn't as if being young again and an apprentice did stop him

from meeting his friends, after all…

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

1899

Fleamont Charlus looked at Sal in confusion when Sal winked him

towards the bed, but stepped near his best friend anyway.

"Char… lus…" Eloise rasped and again hot tears adorned her best friend's

eyes. "'m… sorry…"

And Sal could feel his heart break a bit at the look on Charlus' face. It

wasn't that Sal didn't understand that he couldn't help her, it was more

that he was forced to see his godson suffer because of a mistake the

woman on the bed made centuries ago.

"You don't have to be sorry," Charlus said crying. "We made a mistake.

Our calculations were wrong somehow and we…"

Eloise shook her head.

"I… made… it," she whispered. "I… was warned… I… didn't listen…

sorry…"

And with that she closed her eyes.

Her breathing stopped.

Charlus' eyes widened.

"Eloise?" He asked, fear lacing his voice. "Eloise?"

When she didn't react, he stepped nearer, clearly intending to shake her,

but the healers were faster.

"She stopped breathing," the master healer cried. "Ready your wands to

shock her!"

One of the nurses forced Charlus out of the way.

For a moment, Sal watched the other healers trying to reanimate Eloise,

then he stepped around the bed and up to Charlus.

Unlike the other healers, Sal knew that Eloise wouldn't wake up again.

"I knew you would understand that sometimes you can't do anything but

step away and let me claim them," the wind whispered in his ears.

"You've done well, my balance. Now look after my descendant. He's the

one you can still help today."

With that, the wind left him alone with Fleamont Charlus Potter.

"Time of Death," the master healer declared from the bed.

Sal closed his eyes for a second. Then he reached out to Charlus.

He was just in time to catch the younger man before his legs gave out

and he landed on the floor.

"I'm sorry, child," Sal whispered in his godson's hair. "I'm so sorry, child."

Charlus started to sob into his shoulder.

"I'm sorry."

Regretfully, some things couldn't be changed – and Eloise's death was one

of them…

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I'm sorry that it took such a long time (yes, I noticed the pleading! xD), but

this time I had to write even more than the last time (all in all 56 pages, if you

want to know… xDDD), since I bridged quite a bit of time in this one – I had

to since I would have had trouble to write out more than scenes for these

centuries! xD I hope this chapter explains quite a bit about the presence – and

that I didn't confuse you with all those time jumps in this chapter… T.T xD

Next time: Back to the present, I promise! xD

Anyway, that's it for today. I hope you liked it.

'Till next time,

Ebenbild

52. Chapter 51: Researching

Possiblilities

Disclaimer: not mine. All Rowling's.

Information: all in italic is from Rowling's OotP.

xxxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxxx

RESEARCHING POSSIBILITIES

sSs

It was the evening after the first meeting of the Grand Family, when

Severus Snape finally allowed himself to relax in his quarters. He was

nursing a fire whiskey and on his left hand was jingling a hidden silver

bracelet he hadn't worn until a few hours ago.

His thoughts, on the other hand were elsewhere.

"Severus," the voice of his Head of House echoed in his mind. "You hand."

When Severus had turned and looked at the seemingly younger man, he

shuddered.

Severus couldn't help it.

The man he was interacting with, in Severus' eyes, was quite a lot like

Potter. They had the same hair-colour – even if the man's hair was longer

and a lot more tamable than Potter's ever had been. They had a similar

face – Potter's just slightly different, but that could be explained away by

the glasses. They even had the same eyes – and yet, there was the biggest

different between Potter and the man in front of Severus as well.

While Potter's eyes were green, the man's eyes were of a different green

than Potter's. The man's eyes were lighter, showing knowledge far

beyond that of a normal mortal – and yet, they were darker as well, dark

thanks to the loss of thousands in the other man's life.

So different – and yet, so similar… and while Severus hated the Potter

boy for his innocent and carefree life, he couldn't do the same for the

man in front of him, because unlike Potter, this man wasn't innocent at

all.

Severus couldn't help but wonder what the man would say if Severus

accused him of cold-blooded murder – an accusation, that wouldn't be

wrong at all, so Severus guessed.

When Severus' eyes met the other man's, the seemingly younger one's

face turned grave.

"Severus," his Head repeated. "Your hand."

And Severus knew exactly why the other man wanted it. He swallowed

then unbuttoned his cuffs to free his left hand. When he held it out to his

Head, the Dark Mark was visible for all the occupants of the room to see.

He could see the disgust in the eyes of those that had followed

Dumbledore just previously to the meeting and even the neutral ones

didn't look to happy seeing it.

Severus' new Head of House instead simply took his hand and looked at

the Dark Mark without emotions for a moment.

Then those unfathomable green eyes met Severus' black.

"Are you ready to stop your activities as a spy or do you want to

continue?" Salvazsahar asked him coolly. This time everybody else in the

room sucked in a breath in surprise. Severus wasn't sure if it was that

good an idea to blurt it out like that in front of everybody here – even if

they were now 'family'.

His Head of House seemed to catch on to Severus' concern, because he

waved it off.

"This meeting, like everything else previous to the reveal of the family is

shielded in their minds," he said. "They won't be able to talk about it and

nobody will be able to read their thoughts on it until the secrecy spell

fails when the family is revealed. Until then, everybody in this room will

be trained in Occlumency – so you don't have to fear that your secret

comes out."

Severus nodded curtly.

Oddly enough, he actually believed his Head's word for it.

"I'd like to keep spying, if you please," he forced out instead, forcing

himself to be more civil than he normally was.

Salvazsahar inclined his head and pulled out a simple silver bracelet from

a pocket of his robes.

"I thought this might be your answer," he said unconcerned. "You're far

too fixed on atoning for mistakes you made a decade ago."

Then the seemingly younger man shook his head.

"It's not healthy," he murmured to himself while he fastened the bracelet

around Severus' left arm. Then the grip he had on the opposite side of the

Dark Mark tightened.

With his free hand, Salvazsahar started to trace a few runes onto the Dark

Mark.

Severus could feel the air around him becoming laden with magic. His

skin burned.

Then a golden flash surrounded the Dark Mark at the hissed command of

his new Head of House and something ripped apart inside Severus.

Searing pain cursed through his body and for a moment, he couldn't

breathe.

Then the Dark Mark tingled, burned as if trying to keep its hold of

Severus before it flashed out of existence. The next moment, the silver

bracelet heated.

For a short second, Severus could see a ghost-version of the Dark Mark

above the bracelet, then it also vanished and the only thing left was a

silver bracelet and unblemished skin…

Severus took another sip from his drink, staring at his unmarked forearm.

He had born the Dark Mark for over a decade in shame. To see it actually

gone was… disconcerting and oddly liberating.

But it also made Severus wonder.

"Albus always said that there was no way to remove the Dark Mark," he

muttered to himself. "And yet, my Head of House removed it within a few

minutes…"

Yes, it made Severus wonder if Albus Dumbledore had even tried to look

into it or if he had simply assumed that there was no way…

Severus shook his head.

It didn't matter.

The Dark Mark on his forearm was gone – the Dark Mark on Lucius'

forearm was also gone – and Severus could still spy.

With that thought he finished his drink, before he stood up and clad

himself in his Death Eater robes.

A few minutes later he was at Malfoy manor and in front of the Dark

Lord.

"My Lord," he greeted the man while trying to ignore the vampire that

was sitting in the candelabra, cackling away.

"Ssseverus," the Dark Lord said, his voice clearly annoyed and Severus

made a mental note to avoid any questions that had to do with the insane

vampire in the candelabra.

He actually didn't want to know what the insane Sanguini had done this

time around to annoy the Dark Lord…

"I bring news, my Lord," Severus said instead.

"News?" the Dark Lord asked with narrowed eyes and Severus nodded.

"The old fool Dumbledore told the staff today," he said and continued

immediately when the Dark Lord's eyes narrowed further. "It seems like

Lucius and Narcissa were led into a trap. I'm not sure what happened to

Narcissa, but according to Dumbledore, Lucius died."

The Dark Lord frowned.

"It's not like the old fool to kill anybody," he said with narrowed eyes and

Severus shrugged.

"Dumbledore didn't seem to be happy about it so I guess that it was either

an accident or maybe Moody," he replied.

This time, understanding could be seen in the Dark Lord's eyes.

"Alastor Moody," he said slowly and unhappily. "That man has been

trigger-happy since the first war. I'm surprised that the old fool still keeps

him around considering that he actually killed a few of my men back

then…"

Severus shrugged.

"It's not as if he has that many people to choose from," Severus pointed

out. "Not many believe that you're back, after all, my Lord."

"Too true, Severus," the Dark Lord said, this time sounding satisfied,

before his face darkened again.

"So Lucius is dead," he repeated and Severus inclined his head slowly.

"According to the old fool he is," he said with an emotionless voice.

The Dark Lord frowned again, this time clearly thinking about the

consequences that Lucius' dead would bring with it.

"I am… displeased with those news," he hissed and Severus braced

himself for a round of crucio now that the Dark Lord had the most

important information, but the Dark Lord simply stood up and paced.

"Has the old fool said something about the Malfoy property and moneys?"

"No, my Lord," Severus said slowly. "But I guess that if Lucius truly died,

then Draco will have inherited everything…"

The Dark Lord nodded.

"Of course," Severus added daringly. "If Narcissa is dead as well, the old

fool might still have enough sway in the Wizengamot to get the

guardianship of Draco transferred to him until Draco is of age."

The Dark Lord contemplated those words for a few minutes then he

nodded.

"I will retreat to my house in Little Hangleton until after Christmas," he

decided. "You, on the other hand, will ensure that young Draco will take

his father's place in the January meeting of the Wizengamot to ensure

that he's recognized as a legal adult and Lord of his House."

Severus inclined his head.

"As you wish, my Lord," he said.

"After that," the Dark Lord added. "You will bring the boy here

immediately to receive my Mark."

"Of course, my Lord," Severus agreed stiffly.

For a moment, he feared that the Dark Lord would start cursing him now,

but then the monster only waved him away and Severus hastened to

leave the room before the Dark Lord threw another temper tantrum.

Severus was nearly at the ward line when the vampire caught up to him

and stopped him from leaving.

Sharp glinting fangs were revealed when the vampire smiled at him, then

the vampire pulled Severus forward until Severus feared that the creature

planned to feed on him.

The vampire sniffed.

"Ah!" Sanguini sighed. "I know that scent."

Again, Sanguini flashed his fangs at Severus and the potion master

shuddered.

The vampire, seeing the reaction just patted the professor's cheek as if he

was a child.

"Don't worry, young one," he said. "I'm not much of a kin slayer."

That made Severus nearly choke on nothing.

"Kin slayer?" he repeated disbelievingly and the vampire patted his cheek

again.

"Oh, child of my brother," he said fondly. "What a delightful creature you

are! Don't worry, uncle will make some time for you in the future to get

to know you!"

Severus' eyes narrowed.

"You're not my uncle," he said coolly.

The vampire pouted.

"There might be a few 'greats' missing in there, but I assure you, I am," he

said. "Pater's scent is all over you, clinging to you like a protective cocoon

– exactly like it does to me. The only explanation for that is that Pater

sees you as family and has taken you under his protection."

Severus stared at the insane vampire and then decided that it wasn't

worth fighting over with a clearly insane creature like him.

"Whatever," he said and tried to free himself from the vampire's grip. "I

have to go and return to Hogwarts now."

The vampire just tightened his hold on Severus.

"Only if you tell me a proper good-bye, nephew mine," Sanguini pouted.

Severus frowned.

Then he sneered but said curtly: "Good-bye."

"Mh-mh," the vampire admonished him. "Good-bye, Uncle Ana. Say it."

Severus contemplated if St. Mungo's would be too put out with him if he

delivered them a clearly mentally ill vampire.

In the end, he guessed that trying to drag the creature through the wards

and apparate it to St. Mungo's wasn't worth the effort.

"Good-bye, Uncle Ana," he forced out and the vampire patted his cheek

with an affectionate look again.

"Good boy," he said. "I'm looking forward to see you again."

And with that the vampire let go of him and returned to the manor and

the Dark Lord, leaving Severus to wonder if atonement was enough of a

motivator to keep spying if he had to deal with 'Uncle Ana' on top of the

Dark Lord…

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

"Ah! Severus!" Albus Dumbledore greeted his spy and the man sneered at

the familiarity the Headmaster used to talk to him.

"Headmaster," he greeted the old man with the twinkling eyes.

"I guess that you bring news?" Dumbledore asked his spy in Voldemort's

ranks and Severus inclined his head.

"Indeed I do," he said coolly. "Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy have vanished.

The Dark Lord has no idea what happened but he suspects that your

Order has something to do with it. A trap, he called it."

Dumbledore frowned.

"They vanished?"

"Yes, sir," Severus replied. "The Dark Lord has no idea what happened to

them. They left their manor and haven't been seen since then. The Dark

Lord fears that Moody got his hands on them and killed them."

The Headmaster frowned.

"How high is the possibility of that?" He asked his spy and Severus

shrugged.

"I have no idea where that insane ex-auror has been for at least the last

two days, Headmaster," he pointed out. "It's after all not my duty to

babysit the rest of the Order on top of spying for you."

"Of course not, Severus," Dumbledore agreed, but the frown stayed on his

face. "I will take a look into this. Let's just hope that Alastor hasn't gone

and done something irreversible."

"Of course, Headmaster," Severus replied, not bothering to tell the old

man that he knew exactly where the Malfoys were and that their

vanishing act had indeed nothing to do with Alastor Moody.

"Anything else important, Severus?"

The other man shook his head.

"No, sir," he said. "The Dark Lord hasn't said anything about further plans

or anything else."

Albus Dumbledore stroked his beard then he nodded.

"Then I will leave you to your duties, my boy," he said jovially and the

potion's master bowed stiffly and left the Headmaster's office to return to

his quarters.

"I wonder how the Headmaster will react when he finds out that the

Malfoys are indeed still alive and now following somebody else…" he

mumbled, before shaking his head and deciding to use the rest of his

evening to have another drink. Being a double-spy was hard work – but it

was even harder to lie to both masters evenly…

"Guess that makes me a triple-spy or whatever," Severus thought

sneering. "Just that this time around I actually don't have a master but do

it on my own violation…"

But then, that was the least thing Severus could do to keep his new

family safe – and he was sure that unlike his masters, his family would

actually appreciate his decisions…

With that thought Severus wrote the Malfoys a message that their

disappearance was explained before sitting down to have another drink

to finish up his day.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody meanwhile stood in front of the Order of the

Phoenix's headquarters, staring at the old and dreary looking house.

He hesitated.

Thanks to his data he knew that the only one inside headquarters was

currently one Sirius Black. The man, even with being free now, was still

living in the old house of his parents.

Black had wanted to move out the moment it was known that he was

innocent, but Albus Dumbledore had objected to the idea and had

persuaded the last Black to continue living within headquarters for the

time being, citing that he needed someone who was always there to help

those who came by unexpectedly.

Black hadn't been happy, but in the end gave in to the Headmaster's

demands.

Now, Alastor Moody was standing in front of the dreary house, daring

not to enter as if he was an unruly child returning home after breaking

the rules of their parents…

"You won't get answers otherwise," Moody remembered himself.

While he had contacted the Head of House Delacour to speak to his

uncle, he had been told that the old man was currently somewhere in

Germany and unavailable. Alastor would have to either wait some time

or try to find out the true story of his father's death from somewhere

else…

So Moody had come to Black to ask for the journals of Black's ancestors –

just to stand outside the house in the rain, not daring to enter and

confront Black with the idea of wanting to look into anything that

belonged to Black's family. Black hated his family. Moody had seen how

careless the man had acted when it came to his inheritance and he had

seen the man sneer the moment any family members of himself had come

up.

Moody guessed that he would have a fight at hand the moment he told

Black that he wanted to take a look into the journals of one of his

forbearer.

Moody hesitated for another moment then he took a deep breath and

forced himself to enter the old and shabby looking house.

He stomped through the hallway and entered the kitchen. Like he

expected, Black was sitting at his kitchen table, staring unhappily into a

glass of fire whiskey that stood in front of him on the table.

Moody slammed the door shut behind him and Black looked up from his

drink, his eyes bloodshot and his face drawn with unhappiness.

"Moody," he greeted the old auror. "What are you doing here?"

Moody frowned at the other man.

"I came here to talk to you, Black," he said truthfully and the other man

stared at him blankly.

"Talk to me?" He asked, sounding a bit confused. "About what?"

Moody hesitated for another second then he forced himself to speak up.

"About your family," he said and Black's face darkened into a grimace

immediately.

"Truly, Moody," he said unhappily. "Do you have to destroy my peaceful

evening with a question like that?"

Moody just stared at the other man.

"Doesn't matter if you like it or not, Black," he said gruffly. "I need

answers – and your family can provide them, so I will take a look into

your family history."

Black shrugged disinterestedly.

"Whatever," he said and stared at his glass. "What do you want to know?

But keep in mind that I run away from home after not bearing their

bigotry anymore when I was fifteen."

"I'm quite aware of that, Black," Moody replied while frowning at the

man in front of him.

"The Black-family at the time of Grindelwald – what do you know about

them?" He asked.

This time Black actually looked up to stare at Moody incredulously.

"We're currently in war with a dark wizard – and you want to talk about

the defeat of another dark wizard ages ago?" He asked in disbelief.

Moody just returned his stare with hard eyes.

"I need to know, Black," he said. "Doesn't matter if it makes sense to you

or not. I need to know – so tell me!"

Black just shrugged.

"I've actually no idea what my family has to do with Grindelwald," he

said uninterestedly. "I never knew that they had anything at all to do

with the war back then…"

Moody frowned.

"They were part of the war," he said with conviction. "Your Grandfather,

Arcturus Black, actually came to my home when I was ten years old to

talk to my mother about my fallen father."

This time there was clear disbelief in Black's face for all to see.

"What did my Grandfather have to do with the death of your father?" He

asked before thinking about it and raising a hand to stop Moody from

answering. "Forget my question," Black said a sneer now on his face.

"From what I know about my family, I can actually guess what he had to

do with his death. My family is known for dark magic and joining Dark

Lords, after all."

The sneer grew even more pronounced at those words and Moody

frowned.

"I'm sorry, he died protecting me while I was trying to get my cousin to safety,"

the tired voice of a dirty and grim man in rags echoed through Moody's

mind – a voice he remembered from when he was ten. It had been the

worst day in his life back then – and yet, it had shown him exactly what

a man his father had been. "We had planned ahead… but there were

complications and…"

"I think, Black," Moody said slowly. "You might have the wrong

impression of your Grandfather…"

Black frowned at that, and Moody elaborated.

"My father would have never fought on the side of Grindelwald – yet, as

far as I know he died protecting your grandfather. There's no way that

your grandfather has been on the side of Grindelwald if my father

thought it prudent to die to protect him."

Black opened his mouth then closed it with a snap, disbelief still evident

in his eyes.

"What… what do you mean, your father died protecting my grandfather?"

He finally asked Moody, confusion in his eyes.

Moody shrugged.

"I'm not sure," he said. "That's the only thing I know. Well – that and that

the Malfoire's were also somehow involved in everything. I don't

understand it – but I need to find out… especially if Albus lied to me and

the whole thing with Grindelwald didn't happen at all how he told it the

rest of Britain."

Sirius Black stared at Moody for a moment or two, then he shook his

head and asked just one question.

"Why?" He asked.

Moody frowned.

"Why what?" He replied and Black returned his gaze evenly.

"Why does it matter?" He asked. "It's not as if it's important right now…"

Moody thought about it.

"Maybe," he finally confessed slowly. "It doesn't matter right now for

anybody else – but for me… if Albus truly lied about that… if he truly

didn't defeat Grindelwald… with us knowing that he failed to defeat our

current threat as well… well, I think it might prove to me that Albus is

the wrong man to follow in this upcoming conflict if that's the case."

Black nodded slowly.

"I'm not too happy with Dumbledore," he said truthfully to Moody. "But

who else should I work with if not him? It's not as if the Ministry is

fighting Voldemort…"

For a second, Moody said nothing.

"Potter," he finally decided. "If Albus isn't who he portrays to be, then I

will follow Potter. The boy is far more grown up than I ever thought –

and unlike Albus he at least is known for giving us something akin to

peace for the last ten years."

Black looked at him in surprise.

"Harry?" He repeated a bit thrown by Moody's words. "Harry's not

working with Dumbledore anymore?"

Moody snorted.

"The boy does everything but work with Albus," he said amused. "And

from what I found out he hasn't worked with Albus for quite some time

already – if ever."

Black frowned.

"But why?" He asked, clearly confused by Moody's assessment.

Moody just shrugged.

"I have actually no idea," he said truthfully. "But from how it sounded

like – Potter's decision was definitely influenced by whatever happened

with Grindelwald…"

"In other words if I want to know my godson's reason I'll swallow my hate

for everything to do with my family and research what happened back

then between my grandfather, your father, Dumbledore and

Grindelwald," Black concluded with a grimace.

Moody showed him his teeth in a semblance of a smile.

"Exactly, Black," he said. "And now tell me if there's a way to find out

what exactly your family was doing back then in the fight against

Grindelwald."

Black groaned.

"I hate research," he said. "Why does it have to be my family involved in

the whole debacle? I hate my family!"

Moody was sure they would find some evidence if they looked just long

enough for it…

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

"Harry," Hermione said hesitatingly after their current DA meeting. They

had been learning shield-charms – including one that reflected back the

curses thrown at their opponent. Even if it was quite effective in theory,

if was also clear that the shield was able to kill the people they were

fighting if the curse thrown at the shield was deadly.

Harry looked up from where he was documenting the advances of the

members of the DA.

"Yes, Hermione?" He asked pleasantly.

Hermione frowned at her best friend.

"Do… do you truly think it a good idea to teach us a shield like the last

one you showed us?" She asked him nervously.

Ron, next to her, nodded.

"Yeah," he said. "What if the Slytherin's use it against one of us or when

they're joining Voldemort?"

Harry sighed and sat down his quill.

"If, Ron," he corrected and his friend frowned, so Harry elaborated. "If

they join Voldemort – not 'when', Ron."

Ron snorted.

"They're Slytherins, Harry," he said with a throw-away gesture. "It's just a

matter of time until they join him."

Harry pinched his nose tiredly.

"They're children, Ron," he said tiredly. "Some of them not older than

eleven. You don't want to tell me that even those little children are evil,

do you?"

Ron frowned.

"Malfoy was," he pointed out and Harry rolled his eyes.

"Malfoy was immature and a bit of a bully. He was not evil," he corrected

his former best friend.

Ron stared at Harry.

"That's what you say, mate," he said and shook his head. "I think he's

definitely evil."

That was the moment, Hermione spoke up again.

"It doesn't matter if Malfoy's evil or not," she said. "That shield and its

consequences is far more import-"

She was interrupted by another voice before she could finish her demand.

"You shouldn't criticize the prince," a dreamy voice told her softly. "He

has known what to do for hundreds of years already. He has a lot more

experience than we all together – so if he thinks that spell is necessary, it

is necessary. Don't you think so, too?"

Hermione turned to the owner of the dreamy voice who was standing

behind her.

The girl had light blond hair and dreamy silver eyes as well. She had

something… supernatural surrounding her.

Hermione frowned, trying to remember the name of the Ravenclaw

fourth year in front of her.

"Oy! Stay out of our discussion, Looney!" Ron said with an eye-roll. "This

has nothing to do with your thought-up creatures!"

The girl just smiled a spacey smile at Ron before looking at Harry.

"They are quite blind, aren't they, my Prince?" She asked him with a soft

voice and Harry smiled at her.

"I'm not your prince," he corrected the girl.

Hermione stared at Harry and then at the girl, before looking back at

Harry.

"Harry, what -?"

Harry gestured to the girl.

"Hermione, this is Luna Lovegood," he said before looking at Ron with a

frown. "And her name is Luna – not Looney."

Ron rolled his eyes.

"She's mad, mate," he said. "She's –"

"Still called Luna," Harry interrupted him sternly.

Luna meanwhile shrugged.

"I actually don't mind that much, my Prince," she said.

Harry just sighed.

"I'm not your prince, Luna," he repeated and Luna smiled.

"You might not be my king," she said with a spacey smile. "But that

doesn't change the fact that you will always be my prince."

Hermione frowned at the girl.

"Your prince?" She repeated, clearly thinking along the thoughts of Luna

fancying Harry.

"She's looney," Ron said waving it off. "That's all to it."

"Of course 'my prince'," Luna said. "That's how you address the heir to the

king, after all. Normal prince or immortal prince doesn't matter in that

case."

"I know what a prince is," Hermione said a bit crossly. "I want to know

why you call Harry a prince."

Luna blinked innocently.

"Because he is one?" She asked Harry's female friend. "There are some

princes and kings in the magical world, you know?"

For a moment, Hermione clearly contemplated if the girl truly meant it,

then her eyes narrowed.

"The wizarding world doesn't have royals," she said with conviction.

Luna looked at her with huge innocent eyes, her head to the side.

"Why do you think so?" She asked Hermione, her face even with her

dreamy look, serious. "Every wizarding raised knows that our world has

kings and queens and princes as well. Or what do you think was King

Arthur ruling back then?"

Hermione's eyes widened at that.

"King Arthur?" She repeated in clear disbelief.

Ron scratched his head.

"Yeah, King Arthur was the last magical king of Britain," he said matter-

of-factly. "Don't you know that, 'Mione?"

Hermione blinked in surprise then turned to Ron with a frown.

"The wizarding world truly has kings and princes?" She asked him in

disbelief.

Ron blinked confused.

"Nah… well, we had… and some of us still have…" He said with a shrug.

"A lot of our royals were killed… dunno. Maybe in the last war? Or the

one before?"

Hermione's eyes widened.

"You have royals?" She repeated and Ron frowned at her.

"I thought you saw that stupid tapestry in Sirius' home naming his house

'noble'," he pointed out.

"Yes, of course," Hermione replied. "But I thought… I just thought…"

That was when she noticed that Harry hadn't reacted at the news at all.

"Harry?" She asked confused. "Why aren't you surprised?"

Harry looked at her silently.

"Because I'm not," he finally said. "And you shouldn't be as well. If we had

any kind of half-way decent history lessons, you actually wouldn't be."

He shook his head.

"This is basic history knowledge when it comes to the magical world," he

said sighing. "You should know it – everybody should know it! And yet,

here we are with not even purebloods knowing information like that

anymore!"

He shook his head in disgust.

"What has come this school to that it can't even teach basic knowledge

like that anymore?"

"Nothing good, my Prince," Luna replied. "But I'm not worried. You're

here now, after all."

With that, she smiled at him her dreamy smile full of hidden knowledge

and trust.

Harry just rolled his eyes at her fondly.

"You don't have to call me 'prince', Luna," he said amused.

Hermione's eyes nearly bugged out.

"Wait – Harry is a prince?" She asked with disbelief in her voice.

Ron frowned and his face scrunched up in thoughts.

"Nah," he said. "The Potter's aren't royals as far as I know, so he shouldn't

be."

Harry raised an eyebrow at Luna.

"There you go, Luna," he said fondly. "No 'prince' for me."

The other girl pouted.

"You're still my prince," she said. "My immortal prince!"

This time, Hermione rolled her eyes.

"I think she fancies you, Harry," she declared, but Luna shook her head.

"That's not it," she denied. "Unlike you, I just know whom I'm talking to."

Then Luna's smile broadened.

"And unlike you, I know that the things the immortal prince is teaching

us, might be important for our survival," she added. "The immortal prince

cares for us, after all. We are his children – the people he will protect

with everything he has."

Harry smiled at the girl.

"Exactly," he gave in – that was when Hermione's thought process

returned to the spell she had objected to at the beginning of their

discussion.

Her eyes widened.

"Harry!" She exclaimed. "That spell you taught us! It's immoral!"

Harry shot Luna a betrayed look and the girl looked back at him with an

innocent smile.

Harry rolled his eyes.

"It's not immoral," he said to Hermione with a sigh. "It's effective – and it

might save your life…"

"But it might kill our opponent!" Hermione objected immediately.

Harry frowned at her.

"Only if the spell he cast at us is deadly," he pointed out. "The shield

reflects the spell back at the caster, after all."

Hermione stared at him, uncomprehending.

"It still might kill –"

"It's their fault if it does," Harry interrupted her coolly. "I'm not

Dumbledore. I won't sit by and watch how you work with stunner against

killing curses! It's a shield, by wind and fire! If they don't cast anything

deadly, it won't hurt them – and if they do, it's their fault to begin with!"

Hermione opened her mouth to object, just to close it again when she

noticed that Harry was right with his assessment.

"But Dumbledore," she said anyway, but was interrupted by Harry.

"Killed hundreds of people with his 'stunners-only' policy," Harry said

darkly. "I don't plan to repeat his mistakes – if he sees them as such or

not."

Hermione frowned.

"But killing people is wrong!" She objected unhappily.

Harry just pointed at the door.

"If you don't like it how I conduct my lessons, there's the door," he said

coolly. "I'm not keeping you there."

Hermione gawked.

"But Dumble –"

"I told you I'm not going to follow Dumbledore's way of war," Harry told

her with a sigh. "It's just foolish to wait and watch until the enemy comes

knocking."

For a moment, it looked as if Hermione couldn't object to that then she

frowned.

"But you named this group 'Dumbledore's Army'," she said confused.

"Why would you do that if you're so much against the Headmaster's way

to fight this war?"

Harry shrugged, his face impassive.

"I have my reasons," he replied. "I didn't know that I had to elaborate

them to you."

Ron snorted.

"Well, you're definitely not his mother, Hermione," he said amused.

Hermione stared at her other best friend.

"Doesn't it bother you, Ron?" She asked with a frown.

The other boy shrugged.

"Not truly," he admitted. "It's Harry. He's the best in defence and when he

says we need to know it, then we might need it for our exams."

"But –"

"Also, without him I'd fail defence and that would mean that mum'll scold

me for hours – so if Harry says we learn that stuff, then I learn that stuff,"

Ron added. "It's definitely a lot better than the toad, after all."

Hermione stared at Ron, then turned and stared at Harry.

"This will blow up in our faces!" She finally decided with fear in her eyes.

"This will blow up in our faces and there will be nothing we can do!"

Harry shrugged.

"I thought you added and hexed the list of our members to ensure that

nothing happens," he said unconcerned.

Hermione stared at her best friend.

"The list isn't fool-proved!" She replied peeved.

Harry shrugged.

"So it might blow up in our faces, in the end," he said unconcerned. "But

until then – how about you either let me teach what I think necessary to

teach or you leave if you can't stand it."

For a moment, Hermione clearly looked torn then she sighed and hung

her head.

"I'll stay and stop criticizing," she said unhappily.

Luna patted her on the head.

"Well done, Hermione," she said dreamily. "It definitely takes some

practice to recognize that you can't win against the prince if he's sure that

he's on the right path. It's definitely better to give up before crossing him

– because if you do, he won't forget, and he won't forgive if people under

his protection died because of your foolishness."

"Luna," Harry admonished the girl fondly.

The girl just smiled at him.

"Don't worry, my Prince," she said dreamily. "I will always follow you."

With that she kissed his cheek and hopped out of the room.

Hermione and Ron followed her exit with their eyes.

"I still say she's a bit looney," Ron declared after a second or two of

silence. "And whatever you say, Harry you can't change my opinion on

that."

Hermione nodded slowly.

"Somehow," she said reluctantly. "Ron might be actually right, this time

around."

Harry just rolled his eyes fondly at his two friends.

They had no idea!

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

Amelia Bones sighed. She had had a long day, yet, it wasn't over.

For a moment, she contemplated if she should get herself some tea, but

then her gaze graced the memories left for her by Ollivander instead.

She frowned and looked at them.

Until now, she hadn't had any time to look into them – although she

knew that she should have taken a look just to be a bit more prepared for

what was waiting for her.

Instead, she had had a hard time stopping Cornelius Fudge in his idiotic

plan to shut down not only the Quibbler but the Prophet as well. The

Minister wasn't happy with the articles of one Oliver Twist and had tried

to not only stop the newspapers from printing them but also had tried to

get the newspapers to follow his demands what to write.

Sadly, the stockholders of both newspapers hadn't taken too kindly to

that demanded control and had send their barrister the Minister's way –

which ended with the Minister running to her to stop that man.

Amelia hadn't been too kind when brushing off Fudge. The man had

messed with the law – and it definitely wasn't her problem if he got

bitten by it.

Of course, considering what she knew of the Minister, she guessed that

the January meeting of the Wizengamot would be full of new proposals

that would end up being passed into laws thanks to Albus Dumbledore's

laid-back politics and the aggressive one of Lucius Malfoy who would

back the Minister like always…

Amelia sighed again and rubbed her forehead.

Then she shook her head and put down the paperwork of the auror-

department she had been reading.

"Maybe," she said to herself. "It's time to actually look into the new side

that asked me to join…"

Ollivander.

Amelia was still surprised that the man had decided to enter politics. She

wondered what reason Ollivander had to enter the Wizengamot after so

many years.

Her gaze drifted back to her pensive and the memories swirling inside it.

For a moment, she still hesitated then she stood up and reached for the

pensive to pick it up and set it down on her desk.

For a moment, she let it sit there, while just staring at it then she took a

deep breath and entered the memories.

Just a second later she fell down the pensive and came to a hold on the

wooden floor of a simple flat in Diagon Alley.

A young boy with black hair and oddly silver eyes was standing in front

of a man who looked a lot like Ollivander did now.

The boy looked to be about seventeen and was twirling a wand between

his fingers.

"Father," he said slowly while watching the wand twirl. "I heard that

Allaric Moody is missing."

The old man who had been working on a wand at a desk at the side,

sighed.

"He is," he said without looking up from his work.

"I also heard that uncle is searching for him," the boy added and twirled

his own wand a bit more. "I want to go and join him in his search."

The old man sighed again.

"Garrick," he said, startling Amelia because she wouldn't have recognized

the young boy as the current wand maker if the man hadn't said the boy's

name. "You're not even seventeen, yet."

The boy frowned at him.

"It's not as if I propose to fight a dark lord," he pointed out unhappily. "I

just want to join uncle in searching one of my friends!"

This time the older wand maker looked up from his work to frown at his

son.

"You're far too young to fight anybody – especially a dark lord!" He

objected unhappily.

"You were younger, Father," the boy said petulantly. "Yet you helped to

fight uncle against Lord Morgan."

The Father sighed.

"I helped to create defences in Hogwarts like your Grandfather helped to

create defences in Diagon Alley," he corrected his son. "I never truly

fought with your uncle against Morgan. In the end, it was your uncle and

his protectors who fought – and your uncle is by far old enough to fight."

Garrick Ollivander frowned.

"Uncle is younger than you by two years," he pointed out and his father

laughed.

"That's the official version," he said.

The boy's eyes widened, but his father shook his head before he could

ask.

"I won't say anything else," he told his son. "It's Sal's prerogative to tell

those he trusts. As long as you remember the stories I told you about, you

will do fine."

The boy frowned.

"But I actually don't want to go out and fight, Father," he pointed out in

the end. "I just want to go and help to find Allaric. He's my friend! I

should be with uncle and try to find him – especially with those criminals

killing people all over Europe!"

Amelia raised an eyebrow at the young Garrick Ollivander. She had

actually no idea what the whole discussion was about – but even with not

knowing she was surprised by Garrick Ollivander's demeanor. She had

never pecked the wand maker for someone who even tried to go out and

fight. She had always thought that the man had kept out of every conflict

between the light and the dark, like every other wand maker did as

well…

For a moment, there was silence between those two men in the memory

then the older one sighed.

"You're far too much like me and your grandfather," he said sighing while

shaking his head. "Alright, Garrick – go on and join your uncle in his

quest to find Allaric – if he lets you that is. Just come back when you've

found your friend."

The boy's eyes lit up and he smiled.

"Just one thing before you go," the older Ollivander added and the

younger one nodded eagerly. "Promise me to come home before you go

out and join a war, will you?"

And Amelia wondered if the older wand maker had said the last sentence

as a joke or if he meant it.

The answer was a hug by the boy.

"Of course, Father," he said. "I promise."

With that the first memory ended.

Amelia suddenly had the odd feeling that whatever she would see within

those memories, might turn her world around in the end…

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

Minerva McGonagall had been on her way to the staff-room after her day

in the classroom when she passed-by the library.

She stopped.

Her mind suddenly on the words the young Longbottom had told her just

a few days ago.

"Especially in the current dark times the old houses have to stand strong – and

Longbottom would be looked down upon if I stepped back and hid behind my

grandmother's robes. You should know this, Professor. You are, after all, also

part of the Wizengamot," he had told her. "Maybe you should look up your

ancestry, Professor. You might be surprised when you take a look at the

families in the Wizards' Council."

Minerva of course hadn't believed him… yet she was standing in front of

the library, contemplating to step in and look up the members of the

Wizards' Council.

It was odd, but there had been something in Longbottom's face that had

made her pause – and now she couldn't get rid of the thought what

would be if he was right.

"Albus would have told me," she reminded herself. "He knows that I

believe myself to be common, so he would have told me if that wasn't the

case. I mean, what reason does he have to keep something like that from

me?"

She couldn't imagine one reason.

Minerva shook her head.

"Longbottom must have remembered it wrong," she thought. "It happens

– and the boy has quite a bad memory, after all."

Yet…

"Please be advised that I might be interested in an alliance if you decide to

take up your inheritance," the boy had said, no hesitation, no shyness in his

face.

Minerva shook her head.

"This is madness!" She decided and continued her way down the hallway.

"Utter madness! There's no way that Longbottom could be right about

this!"

Yet, a niggling thought would stay with her for the rest of the day.

What if…?

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

Augusta Longbottom looked over the letter her grandson had written.

She couldn't help it. She was proud of him.

Since the Professor Malfoire had returned, her grandson had started to

change. He had entered a study group in school and had actually started

not only to interact with his peers, but to show interest in his duties and

politics as well.

And now he was actually writing a formal letter to the Lord of House

Black!

Oh! How proud Augusta was!

Just a few months ago it would have been her who would have to write

the letter – now she just had to look it over and sign.

Yes, Augusta was definitely proud of her grandson.

He was turning out to be exactly like her little Frank!

The dowager sighed and then returned to reading the letter her grandson

had sent her for her to look over.

"To the venerable Lord Black," it read.

"The House Longbottom hereby writes to you to formalize the alliance your

heir proposed to us just a few weeks ago. House Longbottom wishes to reaffirm

and officiate this alliance before the first Wizengamot meeting of the new year

in January. At this time, House Longbottom will return into the Wizengamot

under a new Lord and wishes to ensure old alliances and officiate those that

have been proposed to ensure the new Lord's success.

Sincerely,

The House of Longbottom."

Yes, Augusta Longbottom was very proud of her grandson. He was

definitely growing into his own – and Augusta couldn't wait until he was

sure enough of himself to insert himself into the politics of their world.

With the backing of Professor Malfoire, the involvement into the Grand

Family and the alliance with House Black the wizarding world would

quiver under the power of the heir of Longbottom.

And Neville was well on his way to be ruthless enough to actually use

that power…

Exactly like his father.

Augusta couldn't wait.

Albus Dumbledore and the rest of the so called light families wouldn't

know what hit them!

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

When Amelia Bones could see more than swirling colours again, she

thought for a second that she hadn't moved at all from one memory to

another. She was still in Ollivander's workshop, still even standing on the

same place. But something was different as well.

While the older Ollivander – the current one's father was still working,

instead of an empty table next to him, a Daily Prophet was lying there.

The head-line proclaimed the news that another British couple had died

by the hands of some criminals in Europe.

The date of the newspaper was smudged, but Amelia could still guess at

least the month and the year of it. It seemed to be one from January

1914.

In that moment, the memory truly started…

xXx

January 1914

"Father," a young Garrick Ollivander said while stepping inside his

father's shop. "I heard that Uncle is now in France, fighting against those

criminals that are terrorizing Europe."

The older Ollivander didn't even look up from the wand he was currently

forging.

"Haven't you seen him just a few months ago?" He asked his son

distractedly. "I thought you went and helped him with his search for the

young Moody?"

The boy pouted.

"I did," he said. "At least until he sent me home, telling me that it was

getting too dangerous in magical Europe and that he wouldn't let me stay

without your conscience – and then he went and found Allaric before I

could even ask you to return there!"

"Hmm," his father said, clearly just listening with half an ear.

The younger Ollivander leaned forward to inspect the wand his father

was making.

"Cherry-wood and unicorn hair?" He asked.

"Yes," the father replied. "It'll be a very good wand when it's ready."

Garrick Ollivander nodded.

"It will be," he assured his father before returning to the topic they had

discussed before. "So Uncle truly is in France, currently?"

The father hummed and readjusted the unicorn hair a bit on his

workplace before actually merging it with the wood.

"He is," he finally replied verbally. "Your grandfather already wrote him

and got the assurance that your uncle is currently taking on those newly

emerged criminals with Allaric Moody."

Garrick frowned.

"But Allaric isn't older than me," he said. "He's barely out of Hogwarts!"

"So?" His father asked uninterestedly while checking over his newest

creation.

"So… am I allowed to go as well?" Garrick asked seemingly innocent.

His father blinked and looked at Garrick.

"Why?" He asked confused.

Garrick Ollivander frowned.

"Because you helped Uncle with Morgan at Hogwarts and grandfather

helped him with securing Diagon Alley," he pointed out pouting. "I don't

want to sit by and just watch when you got to help him back then!"

His father just stared blankly at his son after that declaration.

Then the father shrugged.

"Alright," he said and turned back to his work. "But no dying – or you will

have to face great-grandfather's wrath, do you understand me?"

Garrick Ollivander nodded eagerly.

"No dying, I promise," he said before running out of the room to pack.

It would take five years until he would be back home again…

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

Hermione was nervously chewing on her fingernails.

"But Ron!" She finally said, staring at the boy she was in the middle of a

discussion with. "Something is clearly wrong with Harry! I know we

decided to let him be, but… we have to do something! We're his friends!

If we don't go to an adult and tell them that something's wrong with

Harry – who will?"

Ron sighed.

"There's nothing wrong with Harry," he said unconcerned. "He's a bit

different, I suppose, but that's not too bad, is it? He's still awful at chess,

he's still interested in flying – so for all his changes, he's still Harry, isn't

he?"

"Ron!" Hermione objected. "There's more to it than just chess and flying!

Look at what he suddenly knows! Look at his changed treatment of

others! Look at –"

Before she could go further, she was interrupted by Neville Longbottom

of all people.

"You two know that Harry can't afford to have rivalries after January,

don't you?" He asked them with a frown. "I think it's just reasonable that

he has changed his ways from the start of this year and hasn't waited for

the change until shortly before Christmas…"

Hermione blinked and then looked totally confused at the Heir of

Longbottom.

"What are you talking about, Neville?" She asked.

Neville stared at her.

"The Potter-Lordship," he said then his eyes narrowed. "What else?"

Hermione looked at Ron.

Ron looked at Hermione.

Then Ron shrugged and Hermione turned to stare at Neville in confusion.

"What do you mean 'his Potter-Lordship'?" She asked him. "What Potter-

Lordship?"

Neville blinked at her in surprise.

"Wait!" He exclaimed in disbelief. "You don't know?"

Ron scratched his head.

"Know what?" He asked a bit confused.

Neville shook his head.

"Harry is the heir of the House Potter," he said. "He like a lot of other

people in this school, has inherited a lordship from his father…"

Ron's eyes widened at that.

"Potter is nobility?" He asked a bit envious. "Why didn't Harry say

something?"

Hermione stared at Ron and then at Neville.

"So…," she said slowly. "Harry… belongs to wizarding nobility?"

Neville nodded.

"The Potters are descendants of the Peverells – and the Peverells are Olde

Ones. That alone makes them nobility. Families like those are at least a

thousand years old, you know? Their magic is interwoven with the land

and even if they're in no way or form royal, being basically bound to the

land like that makes them nobility," he said. "Every child of one of the

immortal ones would be considered such."

Hermione stared at the other boy.

"Immortal ones? Olde Ones? What?" She stuttered.

Ron's face was as confused as hers.

Neville sighed.

"This is all about creatures," he said sighing. "We all inherit our magic

from them. There are creatures like goblins or centaurs or mermaids,

whatever. They're simply ancestors for us. Then there're a few that are

different. They normally don't have a lot of children and they have much

greater power than normal creatures. Those are the immortals. The

phoenix is one of them, like the Elder Dragon, the basilisk and even the

dementor."

Neville and the others shuddered after speaking or hearing that word.

"The most of the immortal have died out or gone insane," Neville added.

"There're just a few still alive and sane – so the only legacy left are their

children with the humans. We – the members of the Wizengamot. We all

have at least some blood of one of those immortals in us – and that blood

binds us to the land and gives us more power over the others than every

other family except of the royals."

Hermione blinked.

"Why," she finally said faintly. "Don't we learn this in History of Magic?"

Neville shrugged.

"I actually have no idea," he said. "Gran has tried to get rid of Binns for

decades now – and yet, as long as Dumbledore doesn't fire him, the Board

of Governors can't do anything about him."

Hermione stared at Neville.

"But… there were no books about that in the library as well," she said

confused and Neville's eyes darkened.

"There are," he said. "But from what I found out, they're in the restricted

section. One Headmaster or another put them there and nobody bothered

to put them back where they belonged."

Hermione looked crestfallen at that.

"So… in other words there's no way for the muggleborn like me to learn

about it, is there?" She asked unhappily.

Neville looked at her uncomfortably.

"The Headmaster has absolute control over Hogwarts – the only

exception is the Lord of Hogwarts if there's still one alive or the

Founders," he explained to her. "The Board of Governors is more a

formality, but according to the charter, it has no influence. The power

lies with the Headmaster as long as the Lord of Hogwarts doesn't take the

castle back."

"So it's the Headmaster –"

"Who prevents the books to return to the normal section of the library?"

Neville finished Hermione's crestfallen question. "Yes. I can't say that he's

doing it deliberately, but it's his duty to educate and ensure that the right

books are in the right sections of the library."

While Hermione still looked as if her world had just gone into shambles,

Ron just shrugged.

"'S not as if it's that important," he pointed out. "The minister has the true

power – and he's not bound by the obligations of the Lords. Even the

Wizengamot isn't fully bound by it any longer, or the likes of Malfoy

wouldn't have a seat there."

Neville shrugged.

"The system has derogated," he admitted. "There are some people in the

Wizengamot that by their blood shouldn't be, and there are some missing

that should – but well… I think the reason for that is that the most have

stopped stating their line in the name of the throne."

Hermione frowned.

"What?"

"There's an obelisk in the chambers of the Wizengamot," Neville said. "A

few hundred years ago you still had to state your name and ancestry to it.

It was the obelisk who accepted you in the Wizengamot or not. Now only

a few families still do it – and some have been admitted to the

Wizengamot even without being originally part of the Wizard's Council."

"But who?"

Neville shrugged.

"Mostly, it was one Minister or another who wanted those families part of

his politics. The seat of those families only exists as long as the Minister

gives it to them – so it's an easy way to ensure that those families will

always vote for the Minister."

"Yeah, like the Malfoys," Ron said sneering.

Neville frowned.

"No," he said. "As far as I remember, the Malfoys have a legitimate seat.

It's others that haven't."

Ron's eyes nearly bugged out.

"What do you mean the Malfoys have a legitimate seat?" He asked

incredulously. "It can't be they –"

"Are the branch family of the House Malfoire. Even if the Malfoy's don't

have a legitimate claim, the House Malfoire has it since somewhen in the

fourteen hundreds," Neville said.

Hermione frowned at him.

"How do you know all this?" She asked confused.

Neville just shrugged.

"I had to learn it," he said unconcerned. "It's part of the duty of the Heir

of Longbottom."

Hermione blinked surprised.

"Oh," she said.

Then her face turned contemplating.

"So," she said slowly. "Harry has to know all this as well?"

Neville inclined his head.

"This and a lot more," he said. "He also will have to present himself in

front of the Wizengamot like every other heir in January. If he fails to

show, House Potter will lose a lot of political clout. It's not taken kindly if

the heir of a House like Harry's or mine isn't deemed mature enough to

take up his lordship with fifteen years of age."

Hermione frowned.

"But why didn't Harry speak to us about all that?" She asked. "I could

have helped him learn…"

Neville shook his head.

"Every family has its own secrets and there are very few who are trained

to know them outside the family," he replied. "No heir would simply talk

about those secrets, even if the people they're talking to are close

friends."

Hermione opened her mouth to object, but Neville stopped her before she

could.

"It's tradition," he said. "And it's even more of a tradition when it comes

to families like Harry's who have been part of our world for centuries," he

told her.

Hermione's face set into a determined mask and Neville cringed.

He somehow guessed that Hermione wouldn't listen to him about his

warning. She looked like a hound on a trail.

Neville just hoped that Harry wouldn't give in and tell her his family's

secrets.

Neville didn't know much about the Potters, but what he knew spoke of a

family of Olde Ones – or worse. Even if it had been just rumours and the

Potters had never said anything about it, there was still the idea that the

Potters were descendants of the first born grim – descendants of Death

himself. Neville didn't want to know what would happen if Harry would

ever divulge the secrets of Death to somebody who had nothing to do

with the family…

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

Moody and Sirius needed a whole week, until they finally found what

Moody had been looking for. In a box, hidden on top of a cupboard in

one of the unused upper rooms, they stumbled upon some leather bound

books.

To their surprise, the books weren't cursed or dark at all.

Nevertheless, Moody used a stick he had conjured to open the first one.

He wasn't willing to touch the book at all if he didn't have to as long as

he didn't know what they were about.

The leather of the book was old and some parts looked as if they had

been soaked in a brownish substance.

Sirius Black stood back while watching the older wizard opening the

book.

The book didn't have a title, instead, it started with a hand-written entry.

Moody slowly crept near the book to be able to read the first words of

the entry.

sSs

6th August 1914

Father was agitated when he returned from the Wizengamot today. There's a

new threat in wizarding Europe – a man who kills of mudbloods, half-Bloods

and those with lost magic – squibs, like everybody else calls them.

Father doesn't care about the others, but to kill of those with lost magic just

because they were born with their magic locked away instead of free like mine

to him is criminal.

That other families joined that mad man and the rest of Britain doesn't care at

all that the criminal Grindelwald is wreaking havoc all over Europe is

something that Father can't bear.

So when he returned home, he asked us children to come to his office to decide

what our family will do now. My brother Arcturus proposed to go to war and

while Father is all for it, he has forbidden Arcturus to go until at least his wife

has had her first child which is due in six months' time.

I was forbidden to go as well, since I am the heir – even if I have already

children of my own who can take over the lordship if I die. My brother Cygnus

on the other hand will leave tomorrow to aid those who fight that mad man on

the country. I just pray that he'll stay alive, so that he can see his two-year-old

son grow up.

I talked it over with my beloved Hesper a few hours ago. I hope, my sons and

daughter will forgive me, but my Archie is old enough with his thirteen years,

to look after his younger siblings if I die.

I will go.

I will leave at night in three days' time.

If you read this after I died in battle, Father, then I want you to know, that I'm

sorry, but I can't sit by and watch my brothers go to war.

Sirius Phineas Black

sSs

Interestingly, it was Sirius who spoke up first after reading.

"Damn," he said. "And I thought I was the first one who went against the

family's wishes…"

Moody snorted.

"I'm more surprised that you're named after a man who defied the

family," he said gruffly. "With such a name's patron, it's no surprise that

you rebelled as well…"

The answer was a smug look from one Sirius Black.

"Seems like I'm at least living up to my name," he said proudly.

Moody rolled his good eye and then reached out for the book. Since it

clearly wasn't about dark arts or otherwise spelled, he could definitely

read it in a bit nicer setting he thought.

Maybe, just maybe, the book would have some answers about what

happened to his father, after all…

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

August - September 1914

"You know," Charlus Potter said slowly while watching the world burn.

"This might make us look as if we are a tad insane…"

Sirius Black frowned and looked at the chaos surrounding them as well.

"You… might be right there, Potter," he said slowly and unwillingly.

Ollivander next to them snorted in amusement.

"Oh, c'mon, you two!" He exclaimed. "Don't look like your cat just died!

You should be happy!"

Charlus and Sirius Black stared at Ollivander with a look that clearly

showed what they thought of that suggestion.

"Happy?" Charlus Potter repeated incredulous. "Happy?!"

Sirius Black looked at Ollivander in disgust.

"I doubt I'd ever feel happy again after what just happened!"

In that moment Allaric Moody left the burning camp in front of them to

join them on the hills.

"Why all those long faces?" He asked a bit confused.

Ollivander snickered like a school girl and pointed at the unhappy

looking men next to them.

"They're… unsatisfied… with the result," he told one of his best friends.

Allaric raised an eyebrow.

"Why?" He asked confused. "The camp is eradicated. The wards are in

shambles. The enemy has lost some valuable intelligence and men today

– and we managed all this with just four people!"

Charlus Potter and Sirius Black both stared unhappily at Allaric Moody

while Ollivander had to hide another snicker with both of his hands.

"Exactly," Ollivander chocked out amused. "That's exactly the problem

they're having right now!"

Allaric Moody frowned and then looked back at the destroyed hide-out of

the enemy.

"I don't understand," he said confused. "It worked! Isn't that the most

important thing?"

Charlus and Sirius grimaced while avoiding to look at each other.

"That it did," Ollivander pressed out while trying not to give into his

laughing fit. "That it did!"

And when the faces of the other two men darkened, he added, nearly

suffocating on his laughter.

"They didn't want it to work," he choked out. "Because if it worked, that

means that they could work together as ward-breakers – and they don't

want to admit that they're compatible! They're a Potter and a Black!

They're always on the opposite in a conflict! It's bad enough that they're

on the same side – but working together as well?"

Ollivander snickered again – at least until he was elbowed into both of

his sides at the same time.

He looked up and saw the Black-Heir and the Potter-Heir both glaring at

him.

Ollivander raised his hands in defeat.

"It's not my fault!" He defended himself. "I just suggested another ward-

master for Black! I had actually no idea that you two would actually

work exceptionally good with each other!"

Sirius pouted and Charlus buried his head in his hands.

"This will be a catastrophe," he mumbled into his hands. "A total

catastrophe! The Lords of the Wizengamot will die in masses from a

heart-attack if this ever comes out!"

Ollivander snickered while Allaric hid a grin.

"Don't worry!" Allaric finally snorted. "We won't say a thing! We're taking

it to our graves, I promise!"

Ollivander chocked on another laughter.

"I won't!" He forced out. "I won't! It's far too funny to tell and watch the

world burn after!"

He was elbowed and glared at again from both sides again.

"Look at you two!" He snickered. "Not only one brain on the battlefield –

but off it as well! Next thing we know, your children will be best friends

forever more!"

"Only over my dead body!" Both Heirs exclaimed at the same time. "And

we're nothing alike, Ollivander – so shut up!"

Their chorus just made Ollivander laugh even harder.

The two grown men pouted, looked at each other, grimaced and looked

away again.

"They're going to think we've gone insane!" Charlus moaned.

"Don't remind me!" Sirius replied. "I'm still working out how to obliviate

myself of those last four hours of my life!"

And while Allaric watched with a raised eyebrow, Garrick Ollivander

toppled over in laughter.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

Regulus Black was waiting for him at the entrance to the Chamber of

Secrets.

"Now, that we have destroyed the ring, what will we do?" He asked the

younger looking man the moment the other one entered.

Harry stopped in his tracks.

"I've read the ward book of the castle," Harry replied, his eyes dark with

unhappiness. "They haven't been updated in over thirty years."

Regulus frowned.

"That's… not good, right?" He asked and Harry shook his head.

"It isn't," he said. "Especially considering that the last placed wards are

harmful for the existing ones. The blood wards of the Founders are nearly

drained and the soul wards have gone dormant."

Regulus frowned.

"So – what does it mean for us?" He enquired with a frown.

Harry sighed.

"I'm nearly done with the ward scheme I've been writing," he told the

older looking man. "In one or two days' time I should be far enough to

apply it to the current castle wards. Now that I know the wards that are

active and that have been applied to the wards already existing, I'm able

to work around them to ensure that we find the Horcrux hidden within

the castle with the help of the ward I'm working on."

For a moment, Harry looked up to the ceiling without truly seeing it then

he shook his head thoughtfully.

"Thanks to the weakened wards it might take a day or two to actually see

the result of the ward I plan to add," he added with a frown. "My ward

will also strain the weakened wards further, so we have to be quick while

using it so that I can dissolve it soon or the children might be

unprotected because the wards of Hogwarts crashed."

Regulus' eyes narrowed.

"I thought the wards of Hogwarts are the safest in the world," he said

slowly and Harry inclined his head.

"The original ones are," he said. "Sadly, those are inactive right now and

to activate them, I have to rip down the current ones which would leave

the children unprotected for at least a day or two. I'm still willing to do it

– but not as long as Albus Dumbledore is the Headmaster of Hogwarts

and can stop me. It would be disastrous if he stopped me in the middle of

ripping down the wards. Breaking wards can kill you instantly if you

don't have the finesse or the power to hold them until you're through.

Disrupting while someone is breaking down the wards is as dangerous as

not knowing what you do."

Regulus nodded.

"I know," he said. "I might have no idea about wards in general, but I

remember the stories my grandfather told me when I was a child."

The answer was a smile from Harry.

"Oh," he said fondly. "Arcturus. I remember him well. He might have

never been a ward's master, but he knew quite a bit about them. His

father and uncles were some of the best ward-breakers I ever met…"

That stopped Regulus in his thought-process.

"You knew my grandfather?" He asked surprised.

Harry smiled.

"Him and a lot of other Blacks," he said with a smile. "I have never met a

family as entrenched in the dark arts as the Blacks – and I have never met

a family who has brought forth so many rebels as well."

For a moment, Harry looked at Regulus thoughtfully.

"Maybe," he said slowly. "It has something to do with the names. It's

always a Sirius, a Regulus or an Andromeda who rebels, you know?

Others might follow them in the end – but it always starts with them.

What a funny consistence considering that there has been a Sirius or a

Regulus or an Andromeda at least every second generation for hundreds

of years in your family."

Regulus blinked in surprise then he snorted.

"Or there are all three in one generation and yet, they still don't rebel

together," he said amused.

Harry grinned.

"How true," he said amused. "And now let me explain how my ward

scheme will work so that you can help me find that damn Horcrux the

moment I've applied it to the castle…"

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Minerva McGonagall was on the way to the Great Hall, when she was

stopped by a dreamy looking fourth year Ravenclaw.

"Oh, Professor!" The girl exclaimed. "Have you seen the wrackspurts

surrounding your head? There're awfully many, you know?"

Minerva frowned at the odd Ravenclaw.

"I can assure you, Miss Lovegood," she said. "That there are no

wrackspurts surrounding my head."

The dreamily looking girl just looked at her pityingly.

"But there are, Professor," she told her sadly. "Your thoughts are all fuzzy

because of them. You should do something against them, you know?"

Minerva frowned at the girl.

"And what do you propose that I do about them?" She asked the girl after

determining that the girl wouldn't go away by herself.

Luna Lovegood contemplated the answer for just a second.

"Maybe, Professor," she said slowly. "You should just listen to others and

follow their advices. They sometimes know more than you think, you

know?"

Then the odd girl crooked her head.

"Of course," she added. "You can always go to our prince as well. He

might even be able to tell you some stories of those you want to know

about!"

And with that, the girl gave Minerva a blinding smile, before curtseying

and dancing off the other way.

Minerva's eyes followed the girl – just to stop at the door to the library.

Again, her thoughts returned to Longbottom's words from a few days ago.

"Especially in the current dark times the old houses have to stand strong – and

Longbottom would be looked down upon if I stepped back and hid behind my

grandmother's robes. You should know this, Professor. You are, after all, also

part of the Wizengamot," he had told her. "Maybe you should look up your

ancestry, Professor. You might be surprised when you take a look at the

families in the Wizards' Council."

But Albus would have told her, wouldn't he? He knew of her belief that

she was of common stock, after all…

"You are, after all, also part of the Wizengamot. Maybe you should look up

your ancestry, Professor."

Minerva shook her head to quieten those thoughts.

"This is madness," she told herself. "Utter madness!"

And yet, those thoughts, now returned to her thanks to the odd and

dreamy Ravenclaw girl, weren't leaving her alone.

What if…?

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

Albus Dumbledore sat unhappily at his desk inside his office.

Something was off – and it had nothing to do with the worsening of

Harry Potter's connection with one Tom Marvolo Riddle.

No, it was the castle itself that seemed off to Albus somehow. There was

a silent watching, a silent waiting air surrounding it, following Albus

everywhere he went. The wards were humming.

Yes, something was off, but Albus Dumbledore had no idea what it could

be – and he didn't like it. He didn't like it at all.

"Oh Fawkes," he said to the phoenix on the perch in his office. "I wish I

knew what's actually happening here…"

He shook his head.

"I just hope it's not a new ploy from Tom," he said sighing. "If it is, I have

no doubt that Harry will be in the middle of it, and with him affected by

their connection that much, it might not go over as well as it did in the

past…"

No, Albus couldn't use one of Voldemort's ploys right now – at least not

until he had managed to free Harry a bit from the enemy's influence.

"I wonder what happened to the Malfoys," he said to himself then he

shook his head. He had to talk to Alastor Moody, the sooner the better.

Who knew what his old friend had been doing while Albus was watching

his school, after all…

Fawkes meanwhile looked at the headmaster pityingly.

How could that old manipulator not feel the power of the lord of the

castle trenching the wards? Soon, the headmaster would be just one step

away from losing every influence he had over the castle to the one who

was its true master.

And Fawkes was sure that the master of the castle wasn't setting out to be

lenient in his quest to take back what was rightfully his…

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I wasn't home, so a bit later than usual.

Hope you liked it anyway.

'Till next time

Ebenbild

53. Chapter 52: I Am Sirius

Disclaimer: not mine. All Rowling's but I like to torture her characters a little

bit…

And now, let's go on with the story…

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I Am Sirius

sss

26th August 1914

Something horrible happened today. I actually managed to work well with a

Potter. A Potter! We have been political enemies for at least two hundred

years now! If Father knew, he would disown me!

But the most horrible part is, that I actually don't mind working with him as

much as I act that I do. He's surprisingly pleasant to work with. He's quite

witty and seems to know exactly what I plan to do next. It's a lot easier than

with my brother – and I guess that shocks me the most.

I'm still cursing Ollivander for his damnable idea to put us together in the first

place! But at the same time, I'm oddly thankful to him that he did it. I've never

had a partner I could work with that instinctively as Charlus Harryjames

Potter.

Damn Ollivander for suggesting that our children will be best friends one day!

Of course, I heavily objected to that statement, but truthfully… I guess I

wouldn't mind that much. I can actually see it: My grandson – because I fear

my children are already too old to be good friends to Potter's potential and yet

unborn ones – and Charlus Potter's children playing together at Grimmauld

Place. Oddly enough, it makes a lovely picture in my head…

Maybe I like it because I actually like working with Charlus Potter.

But then, I don't think it was just Charlus Potter who made it pleasant to work

with. Allaric Moody and Garrick Ollivander are one hell of a team. I wouldn't

mind to continue working with them…

If you read this because I died, Father, then I guess I'm sorry for what I wrote

just now. I know that you'd not be happy with me if you knew – but these are

my thoughts, so if you're reading them, I guess you have to live with them.

Sirius Phineas Black

sSs

Sirius Orion Black was staring blindly at the open pages of the diary in

his lap.

It was odd.

For years and years he had felt like the odd one out in the family. For

years, he had felt that there was nothing but the blood in his veins that

connected him with them – and yet, after all this years, he finally had

found the connection to his family he had carved for when he was a

child.

Sirius Phineas Black had been a man Sirius Orion Black would have loved

to call a relative. This man had been friends with a Potter, had fought

against the darkness and yet had still been accepted by his family.

This man was the man he, Sirius Orion Black, was named after.

And for the first time in his life, Sirius actually felt honoured to bear the

name he had.

"What are you dreaming about over there, Black?" Moody asked gruffly.

The other man was in a bad mood, because while the diary of Sirius

Phineas Black had some entries about the war with Grindelwald, it wasn't

actually enough to answer Moody's questions. There was no entry that

depicted the death of Allaric Moody and while the name of Moody's

father was often mentioned, it – together with Garrick Ollivander's and

Charlus Potter's names – was nearly the only one mentioned. The only

other names that sometimes were thrown in were the names of one 'Sal

Sanctuary' and some family names, like Sirius Phineas's children or

brothers or nephews.

Sadly enough, all those people didn't interest Moody at all.

"Don't be grumpy, Mad-Eye," Sirius Orion Black said. "Just because you

didn't find what you were looking for it doesn't mean that I didn't find

something of interest in those journals."

The ex-auror frowned at Sirius then his face darkened.

"Whatever," he said. "I at least wasted my time reading those for the last

few days. I'm not further than I was before, which means that I have to

find other resources to find out about my father."

Sirius shrugged.

"Didn't you say something about an uncle?" he asked disinterestedly

while caressing the spine of the book in his lap.

Moody nodded.

"I was about to leave to try and contact him again but you didn't react

when I tried to tell you," he said unhappily.

Sirius shrugged.

"Well, now that I know you can leave," he said.

For a moment, Moody stared at him with an odd expression on his face

then he inclined his head.

"As you say, Black," he said. "Then I'm off."

Sirius just waved and then returned to staring at the book, not reacting

when the door banged close.

Only twenty minutes later, Sirius moved from the place he was sitting at

and put down the book – and he only moved because an owl was

persisting on gaining entry through the window.

Sirius opened the window and took the letter from the owl not at all that

pleased to be interrupted in his thoughts.

It was only when he looked at the crest of the letter that he peaked up.

It was the Longbottom crest.

But what did the Longbottoms want from him now, after all those years?

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August - September 1914

"So… this is Theseus Scamander," Sirius Phineas Black said while

watching the other man walk by with a frown. "I'm not sure if I should be

impressed by his guts to come here or feel offended that he's used as the

face of our Resistance."

Charlus Potter next to him rolled his eyes.

"Stop being so melodramatic, Black," he said half-amused, half-

exasperated. "It's not as if either of us could be used as the 'face' of our

organisation as you put it."

Sirius frowned.

"Why not?" He asked. "I'm sure as hell handsome enough to be the poster-

boy!"

"Yeah – and dark enough to make them flee from us when they know

you're part of our Resistance before we can even tell them that you're

fighting the good fight this time around," Charlus pointed out coolly.

"Honestly, Black! We need people to join us – and not to run from us as if

we're worse than Grendel… whatever!"

Sirius Black threw the other man a hurt look.

"I'm well versed in charming people, Potter," he pointed out unhappily

and Ollivander, who was standing behind them and going over his plans

snorted in amusement.

"I am!" Sirius repeated, clearly having heard Ollivander's reaction.

"Oh, I don't doubt it," Ollivander said while marking the new possible

places of the enemy's attacks. "But we're not out to get the ladies into our

beds. We're out to get fighters – and those you can't charm with the

charm you have!"

Sirius send the young wandmaker a betrayed look.

Charlus on the other hand hid his smile behind his face.

"I guess you might be right with that one, Garrick," he said amused.

"After all, as far as I know, the Black charm always worked just the one

way you described right now."

Sirius opened his mouth to object, but was interrupted by another arrival.

"What are you doing here, lingering and watching the rest of the camp?"

Allaric Moody asked with a frown. "Don't you have something else to do

but to gossip?"

When two offended heirs turned their gaze on him, Garrick Ollivander

spoke up again.

"I have two possible places for the enemy's next attack," he said. "The

likelihood that they're either attacking the magical side of Neufchâteau or

Virton next is highly likely."

Immediately, the three others turned to him and also looked at his plans.

"Why?" Allaric asked Ollivander frowning.

The wandmaker pointed at some other marked places on his map.

"The muggles are currently on their way there, too," he said. "If they keep

up with their pattern, they will use the muggle war as a cover like they

did before."

Charlus and Sirius exchanged an unhappy look.

"That sounds… quite possible," the Black heir finally settled on quite

unhappily.

"This will be a fiasco…" Charlus muttered while turning the map so that

he could look at it closer. "Stopping those bastards while surrounded by

muggles – not a good idea…"

"Well," Ollivander said with a frown. "I think that might be the reason

why they do it."

When the others looked at him in confusion, he shrugged.

"Unlike us, they don't care about the Statute," he pointed out reasonably.

"So they know that we might hesitate to attack them and stop them

because the risk of magic being found out is exceptionally higher if we

actually fight back, you know?"

"So what?" Allaric asked, while looking from one man to the other. "We

just sit by and watch because we might expose the magical world when

we don't?" He definitely didn't sound happy when he mentioned that

solution.

Ollivander frowned.

"It would be the best – and yet also the worst thing to do," he said slowly.

"If we sit by and watch, we will give them a lot more strength than they

already have – but if we don't, we might end up exposing magic…"

They looked at each other.

Charlus frowned at the charts.

"What," he said slowly. "If we actually split up the jobs?"

Sirius frowned at that, but it was more thoughtful than unhappy this

time.

Ollivander and Allaric exchanged a confused glance.

"That might be a good idea," Sirius said slowly. "You and I already take

on the wards – we just have to split the rest of the jobs like we split our

work with the wards between us two…"

This time, slow understanding entered Allaric's face.

"So," he said as slowly as Charlus had done so before. "Either Garrick or I

will take over attacking – and the other –"

"Obliviating if necessary," Ollivander added, now also catching on. "An

interesting idea."

He looked at the map thoughtfully.

"We should test it…"

The answer was a matching grin on the other men's faces.

"Why not?" Sirius said. "Let's go and get some action. Unlike our poster-

boy Theseus we at least can do some dirty work!"

With that, the four allies walked off to find their leader and get

permission for their newest mission.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

Sirius Orion Black closed the letter of the Longbottoms he had been

reading and looked up to stare at the wall in front of him.

The Longbottoms wanted an alliance.

No.

The Longbottoms wanted to confirm an alliance that had already been

established by a member of Sirius' family – and not any member, but an

heir.

Sirius frowned.

Who was the heir of Black after him?

The only name he could think of was his brother, but Regulus was dead –

so there was no way that it could have been his brother who established

the alliance…

Still…

Sirius looked back at the letter in his hands.

"To the venerable Lord Black," it read.

"The House Longbottom hereby writes to you to formalize the alliance your

heir proposed to us just a few weeks ago. House Longottom wishes to reaffirm

and officiate this alliance before the first Wizengamot meeting of the new year

in January. At this time, House Longbottom will return into the Wizengamot

under a new Lord and wishes to ensure old alliances and officiate those that

have been proposed to ensure the new Lord's success.

Sincerely,

The House of Longbottom."

Sirius frowned again.

What other heir but his dead brother did the Black-family have?

Draco Malfoy?

No, he was the heir of Malfoy and would have named himself such – not

even considering that the Malfoy family wouldn't have approached the

Longbottoms for an alliance, and if they would, Longbottom wouldn't

have accepted the alliance.

So who else?

The Lestranges were out for obvious reasons.

Harry?

But even if Harry was possible, he would have still been the Potter-heir

first – and the Longbottom-family would have mentioned that…

Sirius pondered that question a bit longer, but in the end, he sighed and

closed his eyes. He was quite sure that he wouldn't find that answer

while looking into nothingness.

In the end, Sirius decided something he hadn't planned to do at all.

He closed his eyes again in defeat.

"Gringotts," he whispered to himself unhappily. "Here I come…"

It seemed as if he would take up his Lordship – something he hadn't

wanted to do in his whole life…

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

Moody knelt in front of the fire-place, staring into the flames.

"Alastor," the current Lord Delacour greeted him with a thick French

accent the moment the flames vanished and showed the middle-aged

man's face.

"Louis," Moody replied and his magical eye turned to take a look at the

entrance to the room he was in. "Is your grand-father somewhere near?"

"My grand-père?" the Lord Delacour said surprised. "I thought that you

and he weren't talking with each other anymore?"

Moody sighed.

"I… guess that might be true," he admitted. "I… was a bit unhappy with

Uncle Jêrome the last time we talked."

Louis Delacour's eyes narrowed.

"As far as I remember you stormed out after grand-père said something

about Le Fou Marius," Louis said accusingly and Moody shifted a bit

uncomfortably.

"I might have reacted like that," he admitted, feeling a bit foolish for his

words and deeds of the past. "But now I need to talk to him."

The Lord Delacour raised an eyebrow.

"What about?" He asked.

Moody sighed again.

"Grindelwald," he admitted. "And everything connected to him."

The other man looked at him disbelievingly.

"You always fight with grand-père when it comes to Grindelwald and the

war," Louis Delacour pointed out coolly.

Moody closed his eyes in regret. He wondered how long his uncle had

tried to tell him the truth and he hadn't wanted to listen…

"I know," he said tiredly. "I know I never listened. But I need to talk to

Uncle Jêrome. I promise, I will listen this time around."

Louis raised an eyebrow in surprise.

"How come?" He asked interestedly and Moody sighed.

"Someone told me some things I never knew about the death of my

father," he said truthfully. "And I need to know if what he said is true. I

need to know – and Uncle Jêrome might know a lot more about it than I

ever thought."

Louis' lips twitched in hidden amusement.

"He might," he said. "Alright. I'll tell grand-père that you want to talk to

him. He's currently not here but with a friend, but I'll tell him the

moment he's back. I guess he will contact you to ensure that you can

talk."

Alastor Moody nodded.

"Thank you, Louis," he said and then ended the floo-call. He hadn't gotten

the answers he had been looking for, but at least he had the chance that

his uncle would answer him before the week ended… and that was more

than he had just hours ago.

"And then I will finally see who's been speaking the truth all along,"

Moody said to himself.

Moody knew himself well enough that if the answer was different than he

hoped, not only his beliefs but also his friendship would be challenged –

and chances were, that neither would survive the meeting with his

uncle…

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August - September 1914

"Wow!" Theseus Scamander jumped to the side and avoided by just half

an inch or less the spell from the man he was fighting. "Careful with that

stick! You could hurt someone if you swish it around like that!"

The answer were even more spells thrown at him by his enemies. He was

outnumbered – one against twenty, yet he had no inclination to give up

fighting. But then, Theseus was a 'knight' – at least that's what he was

called in the language of the resistance. It meant that he was one of the

fighters and not part of the support. So he definitely wouldn't give up his

duty as a knight right now in the face of the enemy!

Instead, Theseus ducked, nearly avoiding every single one of the spells

coming at him.

"Oh, c'mon!" He cried. "Can't we talk it out like normal people?!"

"You're an idiot if you think I would talk to someone like you!" One of his

enemies replied, clearly fed up by Theseus luck when it came to avoiding

spells, before firing another volley of dark spells at Theseus Scamander.

"Oh, please, man – make peace, not war!" Theseus complained. "We don't

have to fight –"

Before he could end his sentence, he had to jump from one foot to the

other to escape some vicious Unforgivables fired at him by some of the

others.

"One against twenty – that's not fair!" He complained. "Can't you do the

honourable thing and come at me all at once?"

That ensured him some disbelieving looks from the men he was fighting.

"You," one of his enemies said with an eye-roll before firing another spell

at him. "Have an odd idea what it means to do the honourable thing."

Theseus shrugged and dodged another volley of spells.

"What can I say?" He said. "I'm an odd person."

That time around, neither of his enemies objected. But then, considering

that they were having a go at him for nearly half an hour already and the

only thing Theseus had cast in that time was a tickling jinx – well, you

didn't argue when the person in question clearly assessed himself

correctly…

Again, spells came flying at Theseus and the man danced and hopped and

jumped and ducked out of their way.

"Oh, please," he said. "All at once, I said – not one after another!"

"Insane," one of his enemies uttered to himself.

Then suddenly, another voice could be heard from somewhere behind

Theseus.

"Alright Thes!" They cried. "You can stop distracting them now!"

As an answer, Theseus Scamander stopped hopping around.

"Finally," he said, and the clueless face changed into a serious and

determined one.

Icy eyes met those of his enemies.

"Run," he told them and raised his wand.

The next moment, the night sky behind him lit up with spell-fire and

wards.

Not another two minutes later, his attackers were on the floor, either

dead or unconsciousness.

And while Theseus watched his opponents in case someone had gotten

away and was currently playing dead, Garrick Ollivander, Allaric Moody,

Sirius Black and Charlus Potter stepped up next to Theseus Scamander.

"Well done, Scamander," Sirius said while looking at their enemies with

fathomless eyes. "Let's get them bagged or bound. We've got to leave

before more of those bastards come by and surprise us."

The others nodded.

It wouldn't be the first fight they would win, and it wouldn't be the last –

but it would be memorable all on its own anyway…

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

Minerva sat at her table in her office, staring into space. In her head she

was still hearing Longbottom's words about her family. Maybe, Minerva

would have long since dismissed those words – but something in

Longbottom's voice… something about Lovegood's words had stuck with

her and kept her thinking about it.

What if it was true?

What if it was something that Albus hadn't mentioned to her because he knew

that she wouldn't look it up if he didn't say anything… because he knew she

wouldn't believe anything like that if somebody else told her about it?

But Longbottom?

Something in his voice, in his gaze, had made her doubt. Something in

his eyes had told her to take him seriously – yet, she still couldn't bring

herself to go into the library to find out the truth.

Since she had found out decades ago that her father's family had come

from magical blood and had just lost their magic sometime in the past,

Minerva had looked for anything related to that family.

Her father had been a squib, like her grandfather and her great-

grandfather whose father had been magical.

Minerva guessed that she would have never found out if she hadn't

stumbled upon the blood-test of the goblins which showed her her

magical ancestry – but nothing else.

Since then, she had known that her father's family had been magical once

and that they had been customers at Gringotts – meaning that they left

Minerva as the only magical descendant a vault with a little bit of money.

But Minerva hadn't known more.

So she had gone, looking for it.

But there had been nothing. She had found thousands of things about

other families, but of her own, there was nothing…

And all the while she had trusted Albus – who knew about her search – to

tell her when he stumbled upon something related to her family.

All that time Albus had known how desperate Minerva had been for a

connection to her magical ancestry, for any hint about it and yet…

What was when Longbottom was right?

What did it mean, if her family had been part of the Wizengamot… if she had

been unable to find her relations because the old families of the Wizengamot

were protected by more than just their wards?

Minerva knew for a fact that there was nothing about the Longbottoms or

the Potters to find if you didn't know that they were part of the

Wizengamot first…

So why did she still hesitate?

Why did she fear to go to the library and confirm that finding her family was

still nothing but a pipedream?

Maybe, she guessed, that was because if Longbottom was right, she

would have trusted the wrong man all along…

And yet…

Minerva's eyes flickered to the paper in front of her.

"Maybe," she mused thoughtfully. "It's time that I open my eyes and start

doubting him…"

It was a complicated thought – full of contradictory emotions and

warring memories and beliefs.

Minerva clenched her fists around the newspaper in her grasp and closed

her eyes.

"Maybe," she thought to herself. "It's already too late. I have started to

look at him critically – maybe there's no way to go back anymore."

Yes, Minerva had started to doubt – and the newspaper in her hand just

helped with her doubt.

She sighed, shook her head and then stood up to finally do what she had

hesitated to do for days now.

Just a few minutes later, Minerva stepped into the library and up to

Madam Pince.

"Irma," she said. "I need your help."

The librarian looked at her with a raised eyebrow.

"What do you need, Minerva?" She asked.

"I need information about the Wizard's Council and its members,"

Minerva said truthfully. "I need the names of the families that belonged

to it."

Irma Pince just stared at her.

"Whatever for, Minerva?" She asked, barely hiding the surprise in her

voice.

"I just need to confirm or deny something, Irma," Minerva told her

truthfully.

The librarian stared at her another second or two, then she nodded

briskly and stood up to lead Minerva towards one of the back shelves in

her domain.

She pulled out a book and handed it to Minerva without ever letting her

see the title.

"Here," she said. "Whatever you want to look up that for – in this book

you will find what you're looking for."

Minerva stared at the inconspicuous book in her hands.

"Thank you," she said slowly.

The librarian nodded and then walked away briskly to deal with two

Hufflepuffs who were definitely talking too loudly for a library, leaving

Minerva to stare at the book within her hands.

Minerva took a deep breath.

This was it, she thought. This was her truth…

She opened the book within her hands, searched the registry for the

pages she was looking for and then opened the book on the right page.

Her grip tightened.

"Black," she whispered. "Bones…"

Her finger wandered down the page full of names.

"Emrys," she stopped in her tracks for a second after reading that name

before continuing down.

As surprising as it was, to read Merlin's last name in the registry for the

Wizard's Council members, it wasn't why she was here…

No, she was looking for…

She froze.

There it was.

Black on cream.

She had reached what she had been looking for, what she had doubted to

find just to find it anyway…

"McGonagall," the registry said.

Minerva stared at the name, her head swimming with disbelief and

confusion.

"McGonagall," she said aloud.

Her family had been part of the Wizard's Council.

Her family was part of the Wizengamot – and Albus had never said a word…

Minerva had searched everywhere to find her magical family.

Minerva had begged Albus for his help and he had promised to look as

well…

Albus had known the members of the Wizard's Council for decades now,

while always knowing that Minerva was searching for that particular

connection to find her family…

Yet, he had never said a word.

Minerva's eyes narrowed.

Why had he never said?

Hadn't it been her right to know?

It was her family.

It was her past and her only link to those that had come before her.

Albus had known how much she carved that connection…

Albus had known how much it would have meant to her…

Then another thought hit her.

"My family is old," she thought dazed. "My family is just because of that

and the connections it has thanks to that fact, powerful."

She stared at the registry in her hands.

"If my family has had always that much power and Albus knew," she

thought confused. "Why didn't he tell me just because of that when the

last war went downhill?"

Couldn't she have helped – especially considering the power of a family as old

as hers?

Couldn't she have had a lot more influence they could have used to fight the

war and Tom Riddle?

Wasn't it her right to use her name and the power it gave her to pursue the

enemy who wanted to destroy them?

Why hadn't Albus said anything?!

It was then that it finally hit her.

Yes, she could have helped with her name.

She could have politically helped.

She could have been involved politically.

"My family was part of the Wizard's Council," Minerva whispered to

herself. "The Wizard's Council and all its members build the foundation of

the current Wizengamot. My family… is part of the Wizengamot…"

Minerva stared blindly at the page in front of her eyes, still not believing

what she was seeing.

Her family was part of the Wizengamot.

No. Not her family.

She was part of the Wizengamot.

Longbottom hadn't lied…

She was part of the Wizengamot.

She was part of the Wizengamot!

Suddenly, ice cold fury enveloped her.

Albus had a lot to answer for.

Minerva closed the book and then turned to face the door.

Her eyes narrowed.

Her fury spiked even more.

The shelves of the library shivered like an animal captured by a predator.

Minerva swept out of the library.

The students she encountered ducked their heads and kept them down

while she passed them – not that Minerva saw.

All her focus was directed at just one direction – and truly just one alone.

Albus.

Let's see what an explanation the old goat had for keeping that from her all

this time…

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

May 1915

Ollivander was standing in the middle of a massacre.

His shoulders were slumped and he was tired beyond relief.

A man stepped up next to him and clasped his shoulder.

"This shouldn't have happened," Cygnus Black, one Sirius Black's brother

said with tears in his eyes.

Ollivander knew that half of Cygnus' team was lying in front of them, not

moving and dead.

"It shouldn't have," Ollivander said tiredly. "But this is war – things like

that happen."

The answer was a sniff.

"It still shouldn't have," Cygnus replied while fighting of his tears.

"We're… we were good… we were a fabulous team! This shouldn't have

happened to us! It shouldn't have!"

Ollivander sighed and then slowly wrapped his hands around the raging

man.

"It's war," he said. "And even with our best planning… even with –"

"If Britain would just enter this war already!" Cygnus hissed while his

grief turned into fury. "If those idiots from the Wizengamot would just

acknowledge that the rest of Europe needs them! If they'd just get up

their asses and fight!"

Ollivander sighed.

"You know that there're some who try to make them see reason," he told

the other man and Cygnus sneered.

"Yes," he said. "And then wonder-boy says that they're exaggerating and

they belief him! Second coming of Merlin – my ass!"

Ollivander shrugged.

"That's politics for you," he pointed out. "There will always be some

people who will sit back and hope that the problem will just go away if

they refuse to look."

Cygnus snorted.

"And because of them my team is dead," he said icily. "Politics! I hate

them!"

With that he freed himself from Ollivander's grasp and stalked off.

The wandmaker just shook his head and looked back at the bodies of the

dead.

He could understand Cygnus – but at the same time, he also knew that

even without the support from Britain they would give everything to

fight the evil that was currently tyrannizing magical Europe…

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

Albus Dumbledore sat in his chair, rubbing his head.

He had a headache.

"Minerva," Albus thought sighing. "Truly can be dangerous if she wants

to…"

The Deputy Headmistress had come into his room just half an hour ago,

fury in her eyes.

"Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore!" She had thundered the

moment she entered the office. "How could you!"

Albus, who had been working on his paperwork, winced, his eyes flitting

to the eyes of his Deputy.

"Minerva, wha –"

"You!" Minerva screeched, her eyes narrowing at him while she

interrupted him icily. "You lied to me! I trusted you for years and you had

the cheek to lie to me!"

"I –"

Albus stopped himself, totally confused what was going on. He had no

idea what Minerva was talking about or why she was absolutely furious

with him.

"You researched the Wizard's Council!" Minerva growled. "You researched

it and its members years ago – and you said nothing!"

This time, Albus couldn't stop his eyes from widening and betraying him

by that action.

He had never thought that Minerva would find out about her right as a

member of the Wizengamot without him telling her. He had always

believed that if he ever needed the seat of McGonagall, he would be able

to talk Minerva into giving it to him without actually telling her what she

was giving away. It had been one of his security measurements – one of

those he felt the most sure about considering the age and therefore

prestige of the seat…

Of course, having a seat like that active without Albus needing it would

have just disrupted the current balance of the Wizengamot – something

that Albus hadn't wanted to do at all for the fear of the unknown

alliances that old seat bore already.

After all, who knew which alliances were still active from back then?

Albus had researched the Wizard's Council back then – and McGonagall

had tight ties with the Black, Greengrass and Nott families as well as the

Slytherins, the Peverells and the Moodies – the most of those families no

families, Albus Dumbledore wanted to have any kind of ties with.

Considering that he couldn't find out if those ties were still active

alliances or not… Albus hadn't wanted to actually risk it.

And now Minerva knew…

"Minerva," he said, trying to keep cool. "You don't have any idea what

you're –"

"Oh, Albus," she growled. "I think I have more of an idea than you want

to think!"

"No, Minerva!" Albus objected immediately. "You can't take the seat! You

have no idea about the alliances you will be forced –"

Minerva slapped him.

She actually slapped him!

"We are over, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore!" She forced out

through gritted teeth. "You knew that I was longing for a connection to

my wizarding family since I found out that my father was a squib and not

a muggle! You knew that I was looking for information!"

"Of course, but the seat in the Wizengamot –"

"Is exactly that connection I would have needed to find out more about

my family!" Minerva screeched. "If you hadn't wanted me to take the seat

for whatever reason – I wouldn't have taken it, because I trusted you –"

"Then don't take –"

"No, Albus! That naivety is over!" Minerva growled. "I'm over with

blindly following you!"

"But Minerva!" Albus objected, suddenly feeling fear.

If Minerva went against him the whole balance of the Wizengamot

wouldn't just be off – but totally gone!

"You have to listen to me! Your seat is connected with a lot of dark

families! You would be allied with Slytherin and the Notts and –"

"And maybe they're all better choices than you!" Minerva exclaimed

angrily.

With that she slammed down the newspaper in her hand onto Albus'

desk.

"If it wasn't for the children, I would ensure that we wouldn't even work

together anymore," she told him matter-of-factly. "As it is, I hope you will

refrain from actually talking to me in any other capability as my

employer!"

With that she turned around and rushed to his door, just to stop with the

handle in her hand to turn back to him with fire in her eyes.

"We will see each other in the Wizengamot," she told him. "Don't worry –

we won't be allies there!"

With that she stormed out and closed the door behind her.

Since then, Albus was sitting in his chair, his head cradled in his hands,

staring into nothingness.

"Minerva," he repeated with a sigh. "Is truly dangerous if she wants to…"

He guessed, he would have to make a lot of amends to ensure that the

McGonagall seat wouldn't act against his alliance in the Wizengamot in

January – because if it did, it would be a disaster with unimaginable

magnitude…

And then Albus' gaze fixed onto the headlines of Oliver Twist's article in

the Quibbler Minerva had thrown at him.

"This," Albus thought darkly the moment he registered the article's title. "I

have to stop this! I have delayed this enough! I have to stop Twist!"

And yet, maybe Albus had to admit maybe just solely to himself, maybe

it was already too late for that already…

xXxXx

The eyes that follow you

'Our Headmaster should be Minister!'

'Why does Professor Dumbledore refuse to leave Hogwarts?! He would be a

great Minister!'

Are these some questions you have heard or ask yourself before? I bet they

are. I heard them just a few days ago and decided to look into them. The

answer I found seems not to fit at all with the man I thought to be a

grandfatherly old man who is maybe a little bit crazy. Instead the answer

points to something else entirely.

But let's start with another question: Have you ever wondered how the

Headmaster of Hogwarts seems to know everything you are doing? When you

have, then you have never ever read 'Hogwarts – a History'. The Headmaster

knows everything because the castle herself is reporting to him.

The paintings, the armors and even the walls – the Headmaster can access

everything and get information out of it. Wards, as old as the school, work to

his favor.

'But why?' do you ask. 'Why do we have to suffer from incompetent teachers?

Why do we have to suffer from bullying?' When the Headmaster knows

everything – why does he not stop things like that to happen? Why are there

possessed teachers? Polyjuiced teachers? Bully-teachers?

The answer is simple. The answer is gruesome.

'Because he lets them be' it is.

He looks away when you are cornered by other students. He looks away when

a dark object is possessing and slowly draining you. He looks away when

someone impersonates a teacher to get you.

And when you want to argue that that never happened – I will tell you some

stories I overheard in the hallways of our beautiful school.

There once was a boy, I tell you. He was young, maybe a first year. He had to

fight a troll because the Headmaster did not act. He had to fight a Dark Lord

because the Headmaster did set him up to it.

There once was a boy who asked another one for the hand of friendship. He

was rejected – even when he tried again. Next he was bullied by his own

parents to act like he should – all because the Headmaster neglected to give

him a safe haven at school.

There once was a girl that was a little bit different than the others. She was

bullied mercilessly by students of her own house. Her things were hidden by

the offenders, her homework destroyed, her books taken – all because a

Headmaster decided to look the other way every time he should have looked at

her.

There once was a boy, I tell you. He was called the Heir of Slytherin. He was

called an evil bastard. He was called the wannabe killer of all Muggle-borns –

all because the Headmaster stayed silence, while knowing that it never was the

boy in the first place.

There once was a girl. A girl who suffered an entire year. A first year girl who

still wakes up screaming. She wasn't rescued from her abuser for a whole year

– simply because the Headmaster closed his eyes and stirred a boy until he

found out the truth.

There once was a boy who was bullied all of his years of school. He still has a

grudge against the people who stole his childhood. He still suffers from their

doing – all because a Headmaster had no time to look at a child of a House he

does not like himself. All because the Headmaster needed someone who he

could control to his liking. All because a Headmaster chose not to act – even

when the boy nearly died at the hands of the others.

Now you tell me that this can't be true and that I was lying.

But before you do this just ask the portrait near you if it has to answer to

someone. And when the portrait does answer and tells you 'Yes, I answer to

the Headmasters and the Founders' then look around you in the hall.

And then think about the fact that most of the portraits in school have some

other frames in their ancestral homes. They come home every other week,

listen to the talking of their children and descendants. Then they return to

Hogwarts and answer you: 'I answer to the Headmaster and the Founders.'

The Founders once promised never to ask about the things the portraits heard

and saw in their ancestral homes. The Headmaster was never restricted by

that oath.

'The Headmaster refused a position of power because he does not want to lead

someone.'

'The Minister asks Dumbledore for advice.'

The Minister loses his job when he does something wrong. He loses his power.

But Albus Dumbledore is still Headmaster after such a long time. Ask yourself:

Why did he never leave Hogwarts to become the Minister?

And when you do, think about your whole life. Think about what you read –

and then keep in mind that there is not just one of a kind in the world. Then

look around the halls of Hogwarts. And maybe you find the children I have

been talking about previously walking right beside you.

And when you do, just ask some questions – and you might get answers you

never wanted to have in the first place.

Oliver Twist

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

November 1916

"Out of the way! I need a Lullaby! Has anybody seen a Lullaby?" Others

stopped when the man ran past them, nearly falling over one or two of

those he passed when they weren't fast enough to get out of the way.

"Lullaby! I need a Lullaby!" it was Ollivander who stopped the frantic run

of the man through their camp.

"Who are you and what are you doing here?" He asked with a frown.

"And how do you know the code-words we use?"

The other man nearly fell over when Ollivander stopped him so abruptly,

but instead of answering, his eyes lit up the moment they fell on

Ollivander.

"You're Gar- whatever Ollivander!" He cried. "You're part of the Lullabies,

aren't you?"

Another man stepped up next to Ollivander, his hand on his wand.

"I thought that Sal protested against calling the Obliviator Squad

'Lullabies'?" He asked with a frown.

The man who had been caught by Ollivander waved it off.

"I'm sure that as long as Thes and I use it often enough, Sal won't have a

chance to stop the name from festering," he said, then his eyes narrowed

at the newcomer. "You're Sirius Black, aren't you? My brother Thes talked

about you the last time he wrote me."

Sirius eyes narrowed.

"And you are?" He asked coolly.

The red haired man blinked innocently, suddenly looking more like a shy

school boy than a man.

"Oh!" He said. "I'm one of the Iron Bellies – you know, dragon division

and all that. I'm the Ukrainian one from the Eastern Front!"

Ollivander and Sirius exchanged a confused glance.

"Aren't Iron Bellies dragons?" Sirius asked confused.

The other man waved it off.

"Dragons – spies, whatever, doesn't matter," he said dismissively. "What

matters is that I need a Lullaby before my spell wears off. I'm quite sure

we don't want a muggle running around who knows that we exist in the

middle of a war…"

"You're right, that's not a good idea," Ollivander said a bit amused at the

man. "Your name?"

"Huh?" The red haired man looked at him for a moment as if he couldn't

comprehend the question, then he shrugged.

"Newton," he said. "But Thes and most other people call me Newt."

"Ah!" Sirius said in that moment. "You're the insane brother of his!"

Newt pouted.

"I'm not insane," he countered. "Now – will a Lullaby come with me to

help me or should I attempt to obliviate the muggle myself. I just want to

tell you that the last time I tried that, the man couldn't differentiate

between his head and his toes when I was done with him…"

Ollivander snorted.

"I'll go with you," he said. "I was anyway on my way to my shift in the

Obliviator Squad."

"Lullaby," Newt corrected.

"Lullaby," Ollivander acquiesced.

With that they hurried off together.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

July 1917

Garrick Ollivander sat down next to Charlus Potter and Sirius Black who

were looking at the flames of their little camp fire in front of them.

"You know," Garrick said. "I heard a rumour today… about

Grindelwald…"

"What kind of rumour?" Allaric Moody asked while sitting down next to

Garrick with some soup in his hands. He was followed by Theseus

Scamander and a dark haired man with oddly piercing green eyes in the

colour of the killing curse.

"Something hilarious, I hope," Theseus Scamander added. "I could use a

good laugh."

The man next to him raised an eyebrow at the older Scamander.

"You always have a good laugh – if the enemy's upon us and all seems

lost or if we're partying doesn't actually matter to you," he countered

dryly.

Theseus turned to look at the man innocently.

"But Sal!" He mock-whined. "You can't just blurt out things like that!

What will the girls say if you imply that I'm insane while I try to hook

them up?!"

Sal just looked pointedly at the darkness of the forest around them.

"What girls?" He asked and Theseus pouted.

Allaric snorted, but Garrick just shook his head.

"Sadly it's nothing amusing," he said unhappily. "There's a rumour going

around that Grindelwald managed to get his hands on a legendary wand."

Charlus looked up from the flames at that.

His eyes narrowed.

"What wand?" He asked sharply.

Garrick shrugged.

"It's called the Death Stick," he said. "There's a rumour that it's part of the

Deathly Hallows, from the tale, you know?"

Sirius Black frowned.

"How reliable is that rumour?" He asked concerned.

Garrick shrugged.

"I can't say," he said. "All I can say is that he's gotten even more vicious

than he already was…"

Allaric rolled his eyes.

"It's just a fairy tale," he said, clearly not believing it. "There's nothing

like the Deathly Hallows."

Sal opened his mouth, clearly to object, when Charlus Potter spoke up

again, his voice grave, but utterly convinced.

"There is," he said unhappily. "And they're damn dangerous in the wrong

hands."

The others, except Sal, looked at each other, suddenly uneasy – especially

when Sal just nodded and added "They are," his voice as sure as Charlus'

when he finally spoke up.

For a moment, there was utter silent between the friends, then Allaric

combed a shaking hand through his hair.

"Then we should ensure that he's not finding the other two pieces as

well," he said, his voice shaking as much as his hand. "I don't fancy to

fight the Master of Death."

The others nodded, suddenly ill-at-ease.

Charlus just shook his head.

"You would never fight the Master of Death," he said, his voice clear and

strong. "My family has always known more about the Deathly Hallows

than any other family – and I can guarantee you, you'd never fight the

Master of Death."

Sirius frowned at that.

"Why not?" he asked. "If Grindelwald finds the other two –"

"Then he still wouldn't be the Master of Death," Charlus said and looked

at his friends calmly. "The true Master accepts death as a part of life. He

won't try to command it. The role of the Master is balance. He's there to

fight and yet accept death – it's not an easy role. Death is natural – and

yet, as the balance, the Master would have to fight it without going so far

to try and rule it."

"Sounds like a difficult job," Theseus snorted. "Nothing I'd truly want to

do."

"And lonely," Garrick added.

Charlus nodded.

"Considering that the Master would be unable to die until he'd give up his

job as the balance or until every other life on Earth ended – it's definitely

lonely," he agreed.

Sirius shuddered.

"Not a role I'd wanted to take," he said. "I'd hate to have to sit by and

watch my family die – especially if I'd know I'd had the power to change

it, but it would be unnatural to do so…"

Charlus nodded gravely.

"There's a legend in my family that one of my ancestors was the last

Master of Death," he said. "He was also called 'The First Grim', because he

wasn't human but a grim and the son of Death himself. According to

legend, he gave up his position after thousands of years of loneliness by

killing himself in front of his children."

The others shuddered and Sal's face had blanked into an unreadable

mask.

For a moment, silence reigned, then Sal spoke up again.

"Maybe," he said slowly. "We should use the time tonight to talk about

something happier than the discussion we had right now."

"But Grindelwald," Garrick spoke up in protest.

Sal just shook his head.

"If he truly has the Death Stick, it won't change a thing," he said, his

voice strong and sure. "I will still fight him. Like Charlus said, there's no

way that he can be the Master of Death – not while bringing more death

than balancing it. We should keep it at that."

Charlus nodded.

The others exchanged a glance, but in the end, Sirius nodded as well.

"I guess it doesn't matter," he said. "Death Stick or not. I won't back down

now. Let him come – we will take him down, mythical weapon or not!"

"Damn true!" Theseus agreed grinning.

Allaric snorted and raised his soup as if he wanted to toast to someone.

"Hear! Hear!" He exclaimed and in the end, even Garrick Ollivander

smiled, shook his head and changed the topic of their discussion to the

plans they had for the attack on Grindelwald's men in the morning…

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

December 1917

"Garrick! Step back! Step back!" Garrick Ollivander immediately listened

to the voice of Charlus Potter who was next to Allaric Moody not too far

from him.

"Damn," Allaric cursed while looking at the ward Arcturus Nigellus Black

was ringing with. "If that thing comes down uncontrolled, he'll be dead in

an instance."

Ollivander nodded darkly.

"Damn Grindelwald and his damn tricks!" Allaric cursed.

It was then that Charlus Potter's eyes hardened.

"Garrick," he said, his voice booking no argument. "Bring those hostages

to safety. Allaric – defend them. Black –"

Sirius Black who had been watching his brother's face with a deathly pale

face turned to look at Charlus.

"You'll have to stabilize this ward alone," Charlus said and gestured to the

ward he and Sirius Black were currently stabilizing so that it didn't come

crashing down on them and the imprisoned hostages like Grindelwald

actually planned it to do.

The pale man nodded.

Charlus took a deep breath, then released his part of the control of the

wards to the older Black brother before hurrying to the younger one.

He was just in time – a second later and he wouldn't have been able to

help the other men anymore.

But like it was, he was barely able to grasp the magic of the wards and

releasing the inexperienced ward-helper that Arcturus had been forced to

use when they discovered the second ward hidden within the first.

The helper staggered back and for a moment, Charlus had the feeling of

getting crushed by a boulder, then he bit his teeth and forced himself to

fight through the power that had been released upon him. He normally

was the ward-breaker not the power-support, so carrying the power of

the wards that Arcturus was dismantling was a new experience for him.

But unlike Arcturus former support, Charlus at least knew what he had to

do as a support to prevent the backlash coming back at the ward-breaker

and kill him.

With his last strength, Charlus grounded himself into the earth, taking

the brunt of the power onto himself to prevent a backlash. Doing so,

Charlus knew, could have dire consequences as well – too much power

cursing through his body would weaken it and ensure that his heart

would simply give out a lot faster than normal. Charlus knew that his

action could shorten his life down to ten years or less – but he also knew

that this was the only way to prevent Arcturus immediate death.

The moment, the power run through Charlus into the earth, he could feel

his strength leaving him. His clothing was charred by the power running

through him.

For a moment, Charlus feared that the power would overwhelm him and

attack his organs, but just before something like that could happened, the

brunt of the power finally ran its course through his body and vanished

into the earth.

Arcturus staggered, as affected as Charlus.

Ten minutes later, they were finally able to fully dissolve the ward.

"You dunderhead!" Sirius Black thundered the moment the ward was

down and enveloped his brother into a hug. "Working with an untrained

ward-holder! Are you suicidal?!"

The only answer from his brother was a dazed look, then Arcturus sagged

to his knees, unconscious.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

Sirius Black stood in front of the doors of Gringotts, staring at the

entrance in trepidation.

He shuddered.

It was disconcerting to be out in the open like that after hiding that long,

but the most of the other people actually didn't pay attention to him –

something that was surprising, considering that it was the first time he

had been out in the open since he had been declared innocent.

Sirius took a deep, shuddering breath and closed his eyes for a second.

"Alright," he told himself. "Alright. I can do that. I will do that…"

And yet, it was like forcing himself to grow up even if he wasn't yet ready

to lose the childhood he never had…

Again, Sirius looked up the building, still hesitating to go in.

Since he had freed himself from Azkaban just to be imprisoned in his

childhood home again, he had resented Albus Dumbledore for his

meddling and his demeanour, yet, Sirius had never done anything to

contradict the Headmaster until now.

Going into Gringotts would do that…

Did Sirius want to go against the man who led the light side against

Voldemort?

If he had asked himself that question in the last war, he hadn't hesitated

to say "no". James would have never gone against the Headmaster – and

Sirius would have never gone against James…

It was that thought that made Sirius stop in his thought process…

His eyes widened when the thought actually registered within his mind.

"I wouldn't have gone against James," he whispered to himself. "Against

James!"

It had never been Dumbledore that had his loyalty, but always James!

It was a stunning, and utterly surprising thought – something that Sirius

had never even registered in his own mind before…

"James," his eyes looked unfocused at the door. "James was the one I

followed."

But that left the question who Sirius would follow now…

The answer came to him the moment he wondered mentally about that.

"Harry," he said to himself. "If I have to follow someone, I will follow

Harry."

And Harry had broken with Dumbledore, as disillusioned with the old

man as Sirius himself felt.

But Sirius also knew that there was no way that they had a chance

against Dumbledore as simply "Sirius and Harry". No, they needed more

if they wanted to have a chance, if they wanted to break with Albus

Dumbledore without simply being killed by Voldemort the moment they

left Dumbledore's protection.

"We need some power ourselves," Sirius whispered. "Harry is the Head of

Potter – but he can't stand alone. We need allies…"

Sirius' eyes narrowed.

If he wanted to ensure that Harry could break free, it was Sirius who had

to ensure that he could.

"I'm not a child anymore," Sirius admitted to himself, forcing himself to

see the truth the first time since he had left Azkaban. "I'm the adult. I

should act like one!"

It was a hard to face truth – a truth, Sirius actually didn't want to be true,

and yet, here he was, admitting to himself for the first time that he might

have acted more like a child than like the adult he was supposed to be

since he had fled Azkaban.

"I might have an excuse for the first year after my escape," Sirius said to

himself. "I was just out of Azkaban and still half-insane from the

Dementor-exposure after all…"

But he had to admit to himself that neglecting Harry in his fourth year –

especially after Harry had faced Voldemort – had been more than

immature. Sirius had just continued with being immature since then…

"Maybe," Sirius mused darkly. "It's time that I stop being an idiot…"

Even if it meant to fake being more mature until he truly was…

So Sirius took another deep breath and then stepped through the doors of

Gringotts.

It seemed that it was time that he'd face the responsibilities he had

refused to face his entire life. Oddly enough, it had been the journal of

his ancestor that had forced him to admit, that maybe he had been too

much of a child, still and that maybe it was time to take up the mantle of

his ancestors and follow them and their example than continue like he

had…

sSs

04. November 1944

If you ever read this, my dear son, then I'm sorry that I died – but this was my

decision. I am the Head of Black, and I will never stand down and sit by while

this monster is still alive. If it means my death, so be it. If it means to go

against the Wizengamot, so be it. I am the Head of Black – and I will do

anything to ensure that. I know that you stand by my side, currently and for

my sake of mind, I hope you'll survive this war. If you don't, I will forever hate

myself for that – but I won't ever blame anyone but me. You are my son, you

have my blood and my stubbornness. I will regret your death, but I will

understand that you fought for what you believed in.

If you survive and I don't, then I hope you will live your life to the beliefs I

instilled in you. I hope that you will follow your beliefs even without me at

your side and that you will keep true to them for the rest of your life.

Stand strong, my son.

Be who you ever wanted to be.

And don't let anybody ever meddle in your life – even if everybody else

believes he has the right idea…

I love you, Archie.

Sirius Phineas Black

sSs

Yes, Sirius Orion Black guessed that it was time to follow the example of

his ancestors. Maybe, it was finally time to stand up and follow the

advice his ancestor had left for Sirius' grandfather.

Maybe, it was time that Sirius Orion Black finally followed his heard –

and that meant that maybe he should finally be the man James and Lily

had seen in him when they had named him godfather of their only son.

Maybe, it was time that Sirius finally stepped up and change into the

man he had wanted to be – the godfather he had longed to be for years

now…

Sirius stepped through the doors of Gringotts and walked up to one of the

tellers.

"I am Sirius Orion Black," he said. "I am here to inquire about the

lordship ring of Black."

The goblin looked at him coolly.

"Follow me," he said. "You will have to confirm your identity before you

can inquire about anything, wizard."

Sirius inclined his head and followed.

It was time to be the Lord of Black.

It was time to step up and tell Dumbledore "no".

It was time to accept the alliance the Longbottoms had offered.

It was finally time to live the life he should have years ago…

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

The man Alastor Moody met was sitting at his desk, his arms folded in

front of his chest.

"Alastor," the old man greeted Moody.

"Uncle Jêrome," Moody replied softly. He hadn't talked with the man in

years, but even now he couldn't stop the use of the title he had used even

as a child.

The man smiled softly at that.

"It's nice to still be seen as family by you, Alastor," he said. "It has been a

long time."

"It has, Uncle Jêrome," Moody replied, inclining his head. "I am sorry for

that."

The old man shook his head.

"You don't have to, child," he replied. "You've been ensnared by a great

man for quite some time, after all."

It was the first time that Moody heard the hidden sarcasm in the other

man's voice.

Moody closed his eyes.

"Tell me, uncle," he asked. "Do you think that I did something wrong,

following Albus Dumbledore?"

The old man hesitated.

Moody's eyes met the old man's, inquiry visible in them.

"Will you turn around and leave me if I answer you?" The old man asked

cautiously and Moody closed his eyes in regret.

"I won't, Uncle Jêrome," he replied bitterly. "I might have been blinded in

the past, and I might have if you had said something before, but I'm not

blinded enough to not listen to you now."

The old man stared at him coolly at that.

"What changed your mind?" He asked.

Moody shook his head tiredly.

"Who, not what," he said sighing. "Harryjames Potter did. He had

information about Dumbledore's actions at the time of the Grindelwald

war. I need to know if the information I gained was right."

The old man raised an eyebrow at that.

"You refused to listen to me when I tried to tell you the tale of your

father's fight when you were young," he remarked.

Moody closed his eyes.

"I didn't believe you," he said. "I thought you lied to me. It sounded so

different to the things Albus Dumbledore told me when he visited my

mother."

The old man's eyes narrowed at that.

"Of course it sounded different!" Jêrome exclaimed. "Albus Dumbledore

has never had any idea what it means to fight in a war. He never fought!

He hid until he couldn't hide anymore and then he destroyed everything

we worked for just because he was blinded by his own greatness!"

Moody stared at the other man in surprise at that.

"What are you talking about, Uncle?" He asked confused.

The old man's eyes narrowed.

"Tell me, Alastor," the old man Jêrome asked. "What do you think when I

say 'Sirius Black'?"

Moody frowned.

"The ex-convict of Azkaban?" He asked, now fully confused.

The old man sighed.

"No, Alastor," he said. "Sirius Black – the man who basically lost his life at

Numengard."

Moody frowned.

"I don't remember someone ever telling me that there was a Black at

Numengard," he frowned. "I read the journal of a Sirius Black – but

except of some mentioning of my father, it wasn't worth anything. It

sounded as if he was against Grindelwald – but if he had been, he

wouldn't have been at Numengard… Did the Blacks secretly follow

Grindelwald?"

The old man just shook his head tiredly.

"No, Alastor," he replied. "I just gave you the name of the man who died

to pull down the wards of Numengard. There's a reason why the heir of

Black was named 'Sirius' – exactly like there's a reason why the heir

secundus was named 'Regulus'."

Moody's frown deepened.

There was nothing of that sort in the journal he had read. The journal

stopped way before, and Moody had taken the only source he had for

that event as truth…

"I thought that the wards on Numengard weakened," he said confused.

Jêrome's eyes narrowed.

"That's Albus Dumbledore talking," he said. "There's a reason why a Black

would never ally himself with Dumbledore."

Moody frowned.

"The current Sirius Black –"

"Was following James Potter's lead," Jêrome replied. "He was and is allied

with the Potters, as far as magic is concerned, not with Dumbledore. If he

would have allied himself with Dumbledore, he would have lost his

family name long ago."

Moody looked at the old man in surprise.

The old man just smiled at him.

"You will see," Jêrome said. "The moment Sirius Black will take up his

lordship he will ally himself with the Potters and others – but not with

Dumbledore. The thought to ally himself with Dumbledore will not even

cross his mind. The current Sirius Black might see himself a rebel – but

he's only following the lead of the true Blacks of long ago."

Moody raised an eyebrow at that, and the old man elaborated amused.

"Nearly the whole Black family decided to rebel against the British

Ministry at the time of Grindelwald," Jêrome explained amused. "They

left Britain to fight the war against Grindelwald even when the Ministry

refused to send people. They stood up to the whole nobility of wizarding

Britain. At first they listened to their arguments, then they contacted

their allies and decided to do the absolute opposite. The current Sirius

Black's rebellion is nothing when you look at the whole thing compared

to his grandfather's and great-grandfather's generation."

Moody couldn't even object to that – the words just supported by the

journal of Sirius Phineas Black.

"But if the Black's fought in the war – why doesn't anybody know about

that anymore?" He asked confused; a question, he had wondered about

since the day he had started to read Sirius Phineas Black's memories. "If

they were responsible for the lessening of the wards of Numengard, why

is their sacrifice not remembered?"

The old man shook his head and sighed.

"Tell me, Alastor," he said instead of answering. "What do you think if I

say 'Newt Scamander'?"

"The magizoology expert?" Moody asked.

"Exactly."

Moody frowned.

"I can't remember him doing anything in the war," he said.

The old man smiled tiredly.

"What do you think if I say 'Fleamont Charlus Potter'?" He asked instead

of elaborating. "In his youth and with the Blacks known as 'Charlus' or

'Charlus Harryjames', for the rest of the magical world known as

'Fleamont'?"

"James Potter's father?" Moody asked frowning.

"The same," Jêrome said.

Moody's frown deepened.

"As far as I know he was an Unspeakable and had nothing to do with the

Grindelwald war," he replied slowly.

"What about 'Garrick Ollivander'?"

Moody's frown deepened even more.

"He's a wand maker. He was at Britain at that time," he replied,

wondering why his uncle brought up all those names without explaining

anything.

His uncle just nodded and continued.

"And what do you think if I say 'Marius Black'?" He asked Moody.

Moody stared at his uncle.

"The squib?" He asked.

"Him," Jêrome replied.

Moody's brows furrowed.

What had a squib to do with a wizarding war?

He had never heard anything of a squib fighting against Grindelwald. He

didn't think that Albus had ever – he stopped his thought process with a

frown. Albus Dumbledore hadn't told him a lot of things – and it seemed

that he was unaware of a lot of other things as well…

But why would his uncle name a squib when talking about a magical war?

Then his eyes widened when he thought it over.

"Mad Marius," he repeated in disbelief.

The old man's mouth curled into the resemblance of a smiled.

"Him," Jêrome agreed, before asking. "And what do you think if I say

'Sal…'" The old man stopped with a frown. "Ah, well, I forgot his damn

first name again. 'Sal Malfoire' then, I guess."

"Albus said something about the Blacks and Malfoires believing that he

was at fault for Grindelwald," Moody said slowly. "I never heard the first

name of the Lord Malfoire of back then."

The old man shrugged.

"I fear that the most of us always forgot his first name. It is damn

complicated and he hated it if we mangled it to 'Salazar' – the most of us

did, you know?" There was amusement in the old man's voice when he

confessed that. "In the end we shortened it down to 'Sal' and left it at

that."

Moody frowned.

It was then that he finally combined all the evidence he had accumulated

and understood what his uncle was talking about.

"He was Sal Sanctuary, wasn't he?" He asked.

The old man smiled.

"That he was. Mad Marius, you named already – but the rest I named

were important in the war as well, if you know them or not," the old man

said.

"Important, how?" Moody asked. There – finally he would gain the

information he had come for, finally he would find out who had lied to

him, Albus Dumbledore or Harryjames Potter. His uncle, one Jêrome

Delacour would have the evidence that he needed to finally understand

what happened back then and why Harryjames Potter suddenly was that

enraged with Albus Dumbledore…

"Every one of them had their own part in the war," Jêrome replied

shrugging. "Like Mad Marius was our specialist. Like Sal Sanctuary was

our leader. Like Newt Scamander was part of the dragon division."

Moody's eyebrow raised at that.

"Dragon division?" He guessed that that was a fitting place for a

magizoologist…

The old man nodded. "Ukrainian Iron Belly," he answered amused. "In the

first war against Grindelwald he was on the Eastern Front, in the second

he was the Head of the Division."

Then the old man shook his head.

"But that's not why I named them," he confessed and Moody's eyebrows

furrowed again.

"Why else did you name them?" He wondered.

"I named them because they were the ones who worked with your father

the closest," Jêrome replied. "They were his bosses and his suppliers.

They were his strategists, his back-up plan, his extraction team. They

were the people who worked with your father, who trusted your father,

who believed in your father."

Then a heavy gaze fixed on Alastor Moody.

"You may have noticed that I never named Albus Dumbledore," he said

icily.

"I noticed," Moody replied drily. "I am an Auror. I am trained to notice

things like that."

The old man stared darkly at the opposite wall.

"There's a good reason for it, Alastor," he said. "Let me tell you about it…"

xXxxXxxXxxXxxXxxXxxXxxXxxXxxXxxXxxXxxXxxX

I'm sorry that it took such a long time. This time I even have no excuse –

except that I'm writing Master Thesis while having started my training as a

confectioner... T.T

I'm sorry! T.T

Anyway, that's it for today. I hope you liked it.

'Till next time,

Ebenbild

54. Chapter 53: 1913-1918 Deals

Disclaimer: not mine. All Rowling's.

Information: all in fat-italic is from Rowling's Tale of the Deathly Hallows.

The next two chapters are a bit influenced by the movie 'Fantastic Beasts And

Where To Find Them'. I tried to minimize spoilers (only the next chapter will

truly contain anything about the movie)!

xxxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxxx

1913-1918 AD

Deals

sss

"There were once three brothers who were travelling along a lonely,

winding road at twilight."

Sal looked at his men.

They were all gathered behind him, their faces determined and grim.

"This," Sal said. "Is our only chance. This will be the last time we might

get information like the one we have right now. We are risking

everything with this coop – including not only our lives but also the

existence of the Resistance as a whole."

The men all nodded gravely.

"We will make it count," Allaric Moody told him grimly. "He won't escape

again – not as long as I live."

And Sal couldn't help but look at the man – not a boy anymore but truly

a man now – in bitter understanding.

He knew what the young man had been going through – and he was

willing to support the boy, now man, just to ensure that he wouldn't lose

himself to the revenge he wanted to take on those who had taken what

he had needed the most in the world when he was still a child and not a

war veteran who had seen too much…

"Yes," Sal thought grimly. "This will be our last march. Today will be the

day of the final decision on who will win this war."

Still, even with the meagre knowledge of history Sal had brought back

with him into the past, he couldn't stop wondering about one thing – just

one thing.

Why wasn't Dumbledore with them right now?

After all, this was his history in making – even if it had started with Sal

and his ability to stumble into situations he hadn't planned to stumble in

at all…

sSs

23th May 1913

The world had changed again. Sal couldn't believe how fast the world

changed these days. Just fourteen years ago he had been an apprentice at

St. Mungo's after giving up his career in teaching and starting anew. Now

he was one of the head healers of St. Mungo's – and yet, if his concerns

were true, the one who contacted him would change that soon…

"Salvatio Malfoire," a voice said, startling Sal out of his musing. "Salvatio

Malfoire, it's good to see you, though I'm surprised that you're still alive

after all this time…"

Sal looked up from the table top he had been staring at, into the face of a

man he hadn't seen in centuries.

"Hohenheim," he greeted the Elder Dragon hidden as a human.

The dragon smiled, showing teeth far too sharp to be human.

"It seems that you remember me, still," he said.

Sal snorted amused.

"I helped you and your wife to have a child," he said amused. "That's not

something you forget that fast, my friend."

The Elder Dragon smiled at that.

"A good thing it isn't or I might have waited here for nothing,"

Hohenheim replied.

Sal rolled his eyes.

"Sit," he said, gesturing to the chair in front of him. "And tell me why you

wanted to meet me in the Leaky Cauldron today."

The dragon sighed and sat.

"It's complicated," he said. "And I don't know the full extent of it."

When Sal raised an eyebrow at that, he elaborated.

"Something's happening all over the country. Dark elements are flocking

together, creating havoc wherever they go. There are attacks all over

Europe. We're just happy that it hasn't spilled into the muggle world right

now, but…" The dragon stopped, closed his eyes and sighed. "The

German and Italian ruling families have vanished or died unexpectedly

within the last months. There's uncertainty and fear all over the

countries. Something's happening, Salvatio – and we don't know what."

Sal frowned at that.

"The ruling families of Germany and Italy died or disappeared?" He

repeated concerned. "As in: Their first born, land-bound families?"

"Yes," Hohenheim replied sighing. "I'm talking about those families that

were as bound to the land and its people as the Pendragon family has

been for Britain. With them lost, there's no one who can unite the people,

like there's no one who can do if for Britain. The magicals of Europe

might have looked down on Britain for the loss of its ruling family, but

now they're facing the same problems – and unlike Britain they aren't

used to deal without their princes and kings."

Sal sighed and rolled his eyes at that.

"Like I told you before, Hohenheim, don't look down on us British. We

still swear ourselves to our ruling family, if they're gone or not, it doesn't

matter," he said.

Hohenheim pressed his lips together at that.

"It might not politically for day to day life," he said. "But without a king,

you'll have quite a lot trouble to unite a wizarding nation. We don't feel

compelled to follow if it isn't the ruling family ordering it, you know?"

"And yet, the ruling family can only use their power if people believe in

their ability to do the right thing for their people," Sal said sighing. "A

king without the trust of his people is no king at all. The moment he is

trusted by them, on the other hand, he will be able to guide them far

more effectively than any other ruling body."

The dragon raised his eyebrow at that.

"You sound as if you know what you're talking about," he said amused.

"I do," Sal replied. "I remember the power of the one king who was more

trusted by the British wizards than any other king before. His rule is still

a legend – a legend far more known than just to us British wizards."

Hohenheim inclined his head at that.

"You're right," he said. "Your King Arthur was exceptional. His death was

the greatest tragedy in the whole history of magical Britain."

"And it seems that the same tragedy is now occurring all over Europe,"

Sal said darkly.

Hohenheim's eyes darkened at that as well.

"Let's hope it's not going that far," he said. "Losing two ruling families is

more than enough tragedy already."

Sal inclined his head, but said nothing else to that. Instead he returned to

the previous discussion.

"Why did you contact me, Hohenheim?" He asked.

The Elder Dragon sighed.

"My baby boy married a human," he said. "Now the descendants of this

bonding are in trouble thanks to those happenings."

Sal frowned at the Elder Dragon.

"What do you mean 'in trouble'?" He asked a bit concerned. He might not

have kept up with his godson's family, but that didn't mean that he would

sit by and do nothing if they were in danger…

Hohenheim sighed.

"The Head of the Family and his wife, my baby boy's great-great-

granddaughter vanished without a trace after visiting Family in

Germany," he said unhappily. "Now their son is out and about, looking

for them. I fear for him. I'm sure my great-great-great-granddaughter's

disappearance has something to do with the death of those ruling

families – and I can't sit by and watch my baby's babies being harmed.

But I can't do a lot as well, since I'm not human and can't keep my human

features for more than a few hours any more. I needed someone who

looks human to look into all that – and you are the one I know and trust.

You are the one who gave me my baby boy, so I trust you to take a look

at the happenings that threaten my baby boy's babies. Will you?"

Sal sighed and closed his eyes.

He was one of the head healers of St. Mungo's. If he did that, he would

have to shed his identity and create a new one, one that wasn't connected

to anybody…

Sal closed his eyes.

He had been in Britain for quite some time now. Maybe it was time to

wander again…

"What's their name?" He asked.

"Moody," Hohenheim replied. "The one I want you protect is named

Moody, Allaric Moody."

And like a long forgotten memory, the vague image of a mangled old

auror appeared in Sal's mind.

Moody – the wizard descendant of one of the Elder Dragons…

The descendant of Sal's godson – and the ancestor of one of Sal's former

teachers…

"Alright," Sal said finally after a long bout of silence. "I'll take a look."

And with that promise he was sucked into a war that would last as long

as two muggle world wars with just a short break in between.

Grindelwald had started his way to power – and it would be Sal who

would not only expose him but also match his doings step by step.

Of course, Sal had never planned to add other people to his fight against

a man he had never planned to openly fight against.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

25thJuly 1913

To Sal's silent desperation, the first who actually joined him in fighting

Grindelwald, was a boy he had known for the boy's whole life – one

Garrick Ollivander.

"Garrick," Sal said with a sigh. "You just can't –"

"Father allowed it," the youth interrupted him. "Don't worry, Uncle. I'm

only here to help you search for Allaric. I will return home the moment

we find him."

"Garrick –"

"I know I'm not even seventeen yet, but it's not as if I propose to fight a

dark lord," the young boy argued. "I just want to help you find my best

friend!"

"You're not yet finished with Hogwarts," Sal countered.

"And you can teach me everything I need to know and even more,"

Garrick replied. "You and I know that my education won't be lacking

even if I don't attend Hogwarts this year!"

And Sal couldn't argue with that at all…

Still, there was no way he would bring a minor somewhere were a war

was starting to brew.

"Garrick," he repeated the name of his nephew. "You can't come. I'm not

taking you somewhere where it's possibly dangerous for you!"

"But –"

"Even if it isn't a war – those criminals are dangerous and there's a huge

chance that I will have to confront them in order to find Allaric," Sal

pointed out. "There's no way that I will take a teenager with me when I

have to confront murderers to find another teenager."

Garrick just looked at him stubbornly.

"I told my father what I'm planning and he allowed it," he said petulantly.

"I'm not staying in Britain while Allaric is somewhere else in Europe and

in danger."

The stubborn streak that Sal knew the Ollivander family was graced with,

wouldn't allow the boy in front of him to beg down on this.

If Sal didn't accept Garrick Ollivander's company, the boy would find a

way to search Allaric on his own – or to follow Sal without his

knowledge. That was a given considering that the boy in front of him had

Dewin ap Lleidr Ollivannder's blood in his veins – the one staffmaker

who had wanted to leave Sal's father's house the day after his blood

awakening to travel…

Sal pinched his nose and sighed.

It seemed like he would go to war with a teenager in tow…

"What did your father actually say when you told him you would join

me?" he finally asked.

Garrick grinned.

"Promise me to come home before you go out and join a war, will you?" He

repeated the words of his father smiling. "I promised him to, uncle."

In other words – at least the boy would be safe the moment Sal had

found Allaric…

Sadly enough, in the end, Garrick's promise would just ensure that the

boy would return home one last time before going to war…

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

"And Death spoke to them."

Sal pulled himself out of his musing about the missing teacher and

instead let his gaze travel over the men and women surrounding him.

"This time," he said. "We won't attack on a small scale. This attack will be

all or nothing."

The others nodded grimly.

"I've already organized those who will work on the wards," Sirius Black

spoke up.

"The knights are as ready as I could make them," Theseus Scamander

added.

"And the dragon division is ready to show its true colours," his brother

Newt said as grimly as the rest of the men and not nervous at all. Not a

lot of people would have recognized the serious man in the awkward one

he normally presented to the world.

"The surprises are fully stocked and ready to be used," Mad Marius added.

"I've even dreamed up some extra for a bigger surprise than normal."

His brother Pollux padded him on the back at that and grinned.

"Well done," he told Mad Marius. "Very well done, brother dearest. Now

we just have to take those babies with us!"

Sal couldn't help but notice the camaraderie that filled the room in the

last hours before the end – somehow, it reminded him of easier times,

back then, when everything was just starting…

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

27th November 1913

"Allaric Moody?" Sal asked, his gaze meeting the blue eyes of a tired

looking wizard with sandy-brown hair.

"Who wants to know that?" The man asked, distrust in his face.

Sal scrutinized the other man.

He was thin and looked as if he hadn't slept in weeks – and his eyes, his

eyes were dead, as if he had lost every purpose in his life…

"My name is Salvazsahar Malfoire," Sal said coolly. "I've been looking for

you."

The answer was a bitter laugh.

"So you're one of those bastards who killed my parents," the man scoffed.

"Here to finish the job with me?"

With that the other man glared at Sal.

Sal just returned the glare with one of his own before leaning forward

into the other man's personal space.

"I'm not," he said coolly. "I'm actually here to drag you home – kicking

and screaming if I must."

Allaric snorted and then spat at Sal.

His spit stopped just an inch in front of Sal as if hitting something solid.

The man's eyebrows rose, then he scoffed again.

"As if I'd belief some stranger," he said with loathing in his eyes.

Sal just returned the other man's hate filled stare evenly.

"I don't care what or what not you believe in," he replied, disinterested.

"With the death of your parents, it's my duty to look after you, so looking

after you I will!"

Allaric sneered.

"I'm seventeen," he said unimpressed. "I'm all grown up. Whatever you

plan to do or not to do doesn't matter – you have no say over me!"

Sal just looked back as unimpressed as the boy.

"I don't care," he said. "You're ancestor wanted me to look after you in the

capability of a godfather, so I will do just that!"

Allaric raised an eyebrow at that, this time confusion in his face.

"My ancestor?" He repeated.

Sal inclined his head and then grabbed the other man. When Allaric tried

to free himself, Sal simply stunned him and then proceeded to remove

him from the bar he had found the other man in.

It was clear, that Allaric had been well on the way to being drunk, not for

the first time after finding out what happened with his parents – but now

that Sal had found him, he would not stand by and watch a young boy

like Allaric succumbing to his grief and drowning it in alcohol…

especially not with the happenings and assassinations all over Europe!

So Sal took the boy with him.

He was in the middle of a clearing in a near-by forest when he finally

released the stun.

The boy stumbled to his feet, drawing his wand at Sal with unsure hands.

But before he could even think up one spell, a voice spoke up from

behind him.

"If you cast just a spark with that stick of yours I'll take you over my knee

and ensure that you will never even think about doing something foolish

like that ever again!" The voice said.

Allaric flinched and turned slowly to the voice behind him.

Sal on the other hand raised an eyebrow at Hohenheim.

"Grandfather," the boy breathed in that moment, disbelief colouring his

voice. "I thought you were gone as well!"

The Elder Dragon sighed and shook his head.

"Not yet," he said and sounded as tired as Sal's grandmother all those

years ago. "But I don't have long anymore. Maybe a month or two, then I

won't be anymore."

The boy hastily wiped his eyes after hearing those words.

"Then why did you ask him to drag me here?" He asked while gesturing

at Sal accusingly. "It's not as if you'll stay!"

Hohenheim's eyes narrowed.

"Because I won't sit by and watch how my baby boy's babies kill

themselves through grief!" He replied harshly.

Allaric looked at his ancestor in defiance.

"It's my decision what to do with my life!" He hissed furiously. "And if I

wish to pursue the murderers of my parents – so be it!"

Hohenheim just sighed.

"I won't stop you, Allaric," he said in the end. "But I don't want to watch

you kill yourself by fighting against something you can't fight alone!"

Sal mentally groaned.

Yes, he had agreed to help Hohenheim – but did that truly mean he would

have to fight another war so soon after the last?!

When he looked in the defiant eyes of the boy, he mentally banged his

head against the wall.

Obviously, it did.

"So what?" Allaric asked sneering. "You'll use the last months you have to

help me kill those monsters?"

Hohenheim shook his head.

"No," he said and then gestured to Sal. "But I convinced your godfather to

do so."

Allaric turned and looked at Sal in surprise before looking back at

Hohenheim.

"So he's truly my godfather?" he asked surprised. "That wasn't a lie?"

Sal wanted to object and correct the boy that he had been the godfather

of the boy's ancestor, but Hohenheim beat him to it.

"It wasn't," Hohenheim said. "And don't mind how he looks – like me, he's

quite a bit older than his apparent age implies."

Sal sighed and rubbed his forehead.

Allaric on the other hand stared at Sal with a frown on his face.

"You will help me?" he asked, clearly not believing it. "You won't stop

me?"

For a moment, Sal wished that he could change the boy's mind, but from

the boy's eyes and determination he already knew that there were just

two ways of handling this situation right now: saying 'no' and losing the

boy to either alcohol or revenge or saying 'yes' and going to war with the

boy while maybe soothing his hurt and keeping him safe.

"Yes," Sal said, his gaze locked on the boy's. "I will help you."

Sal had no idea that this simple promise would soon change into more.

Under his guidance, the Resistance, a counter group to Grindelwald's men

would come into being. Under his guidance, Allaric and others would

assemble, fight and win.

And under his guidance, Allaric would finally fall – not to the enemies,

but to the ones who should have been on their side from the start.

Sal would never forgive the man who killed his 'godson'.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

29th June 1914

"This is not good," Sal murmured while burying his head in his hands.

"This is not good at all…"

The man in front of him nodded grimly.

"It isn't," he said unhappily. "I'm sorry that I basically came here with

news as bad as those I brought."

Sal just shook his head.

"It's not your fault," he said tiredly. "And you're sure that it was those

vigilances?"

The other man grimaced.

"One hundred percent, Godfather," he said unhappily while fingering the

bandage Sal had wrapped around his left arm. "They noticed me even

with me trying to hide within the crowd and… well, you see…"

He gestured towards the bandage before shaking his head in confusion.

"I've still no idea how they even recognized me as a wizard," he

continued a bit baffled. "I mean – I didn't even have time to cast a shield

or something like that! Before I knew it had already happened and then

one of them looked at me and suddenly I was targeted as well…"

Sal grimaced at that revelation.

"The man must have been a Legilimens," he said and pinched his nose

bridge. "You must have stood out to him in some way and he slipped into

your mind and recognized you not only as a wizard but also as someone

who understood that for all the muggle-like attack, magicals were

involved."

Not for the first time, Sal cursed his more than shoddy history

knowledge. He knew that before Voldemort, there had been another Dark

Lord on the loose, but try as he might, he couldn't remember the name…

Cellar?

No.

Geyer?

No.

Greifer?

No.

But something with "G"… "Gr"…

Grendel?

That sounded somewhat familiar, but that didn't mean a lot, in the end.

Sal shook his head and concentrated on his godson in front of him.

"Thank you for bringing this to my attention, Charlus," he said sighing. "I

will go and tell it those who're out there, trying to stop them."

Charlus Potter just raised an eyebrow at Sal.

"Father and I both know you're more than just a messenger to those

people," he said grimly. "You might have been able to hide it from the

rest of the world, but both, Father and I know you better than that."

Charlus eyes were firm.

"You were the healer apprentice when Eloise died," he said. "The one who

took me aside and held me in my grief – we're not sure how you do it,

how you can look so young when you're as old as my father, but we both

know that there's no way that you're just a messenger. You coordinate

those counter attacks – Father and I are both sure about that!"

Sal sighed and rubbed his face.

It figured that his current best friend and godson would be able to figure

him out…

In the end, Sal decided to go with the truth – at least in that regard.

"You're right, Charlus," he said. "I'm the one coordinating the counter

measures."

Charlus crooked his head.

"So how do you manage to look so young when you're actually as old as

Father?" He asked with interest in his eyes. "From what I know the one

countering the attacks looks to be barely twenty years of age…"

Sal sighed again but then grinned just tiredly at his godson before

shaking his head.

"Family secret," he said. "I fear I won't be able to tell you, Charlus."

Charlus pouted, but nodded his understanding.

He had been raised a pureblood and knew that family magic was

considered secret and wasn't told to people outside the family…

"So what? You changed your identity and took on the leadership of those

opposing those villains?"

Sal inclined his head.

"Something like that," he said truthfully. "It was an old friend of mine

who asked me to take a look and well… I just couldn't sit by and watch

the moment I found out what was going on out there…"

Charlus nodded slowly.

"I… think I can understand you, Godfather," he said thoughtfully. "After

the assassination of Crown Prince Franz Ferdinand I witnessed yesterday

in Sarajevo by those magicals – even if it was blamed onto a muggle – I'm

not sure if I can continue to stand by and watch…"

Sal frowned at the man in front of him.

"Your father is currently head of the Wizengamot," he said slowly. "It

won't look good at all if his son and heir is in any way or form involved

with the vigilant group who decided to fight against those criminals who

started terrorizing Europe."

Charlus frowned at Sal.

"So you'd forbid me to join your group just because Father is currently

actually active in the Wizengamot?"

Sal sighed.

"It will have dire repercussions for him if this comes out," Sal pointed out

to the other man unhappily. "You are his heir, Charlus – considering that

the Wizengamot decided to sit by and watch for now, it wouldn't be good

at all if the son of one of its members goes out and fights."

Charlus' eyes narrowed, but his face turned thoughtful.

"You're right," he finally said. "It wouldn't be good if it came out…"

Then he looked at Sal in defiance.

"But who says it has to come out, Godfather?"

When Sal raised an eyebrow, Charlus returned his inquisitive face with a

stare.

"You obviously know how to establish a new persona without anybody

noticing," he said, still staring at Sal. "You could help me to establish a

cousin or some such…"

Sal raised his eyebrow.

"Your father is an only child," he pointed out and Charlus shrugged.

"But Grandfather had a sister who went missing nine years before Father

went to Hogwarts," he countered. "For all we know she could have had a

child out of wedlock and said boy could have had a child of his own."

Sal raised an eyebrow at his godson.

"And what would be the name of this elusive cousin?" He asked amused.

Charlus shrugged.

"Charlus," he replied. "Charlus Potter."

When Sal's second eyebrow joined the first, Charlus shrugged and

grimaced.

"For the most of wizarding Britain I'm still Fleamont," he pointed out

unhappily. "It's only been my friends and you who actually call me

Charlus all the time. Everybody else, even my parents use Fleamont more

often or always."

"In other words you want to make the name legal that you've been using

for years for yourself," Sal said amused.

Charlus just shrugged.

"Charlus is a typical Potter name," he replied. "Even people who know

that I tried to call myself 'Charlus' in the past wouldn't look twice if my

cousin actually had that name…"

"And your new identity's second name?" Sal asked in inquiry.

Charlus shrugged.

"I don't know – what's yours?" He looked at Sal and Sal grimaced.

"Amethyst," he replied a bit unhappily.

Charlus snorted.

"Well – I guess that's not a name I will take," he said amused and Sal

rolled his eyes, but in the end decided to offer the one name he knew he

had been given by his mother Lily…

"My third name is Harryjames," he said – not lying, if you looked at the

name his father Myrddin had given him all those centuries ago.

Charlus raised an eyebrow in interest.

"Harryjames," he repeated. "That's not a name I've heard before."

Sal smirked.

"It's traditionally still used in one specific family," Sal replied with a

shrug. "But it was once a very common wizarding name."

Charlus looked thoughtful at Sal, considering the name.

"Charlus Harryjames Potter," he said thoughtfully, before frowning at Sal.

"Who else knows that 'Harryjames' is your third name?"

Sal just shook his head.

"Nobody alive," he assured the other man. "There's nobody who could

connect the name with me."

Charlus smirked.

"So be it," he said. "Charlus Harryjames Potter, that will be me – now,

Godfather, can you make it happen?"

Sal sighed but in the end inclined his head.

"As long as we will talk to your father beforehand and he gives the go-

ahead, I can," he said. "It also should keep down the repercussions if it's

known that you've not grown up with the Potters and that Fleamont

Potter is still part of the Unspeakables."

Charlus nodded.

"I'll talk to Father," he promised.

Not even a month later, Charlus Harryjames Potter, second cousin of

Fleamont Charlus Potter was 'born'. He would later die in 1977 from

'dragon pox' – two years before his cousin Fleamont died in 1979…

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

4th August, 1914

"Garrick," Sal said blankly and stared at the boy who had entered the tent

Sal was currently using as a headquarters for his newly started

Resistance. "What are you doing here?"

Garrick Ollivander smiled at him winningly.

"I'm here to help," he said.

Sal narrowed his eyes at the boy.

"You're barely seventeen," he pointed out. "There's no way I will let you

go to war at that age."

Garrick pouted.

"But you went as well when you were my age!" He argued.

Sal's eyes just narrowed further.

"So you think you have the right to do so as well?" He asked pointedly.

Garrick shrugged.

"I'm not leaving Allaric," he replied. "He's my best friend and I will stand

by him – even if that means to go to war with him!"

"You told me that you would return to Britain the moment we found

Allaric," Sal pointed out coolly.

"I did and I was," Garrick replied and waved it off. "Britain is boring. I

prefer to stay here with you and Allaric, Uncle."

"And what did your father say when you told him that you would go off

to war?" Sal asked with a raised eyebrow, sure that the older Ollivander

wouldn't have been happy hearing of his son's plans – if he had even

heard about them until now!

Garrick straightened and before repeating his father's words verbally.

"Alright," he said, mimicking his father's tone and voice. "But no dying – or

you will have to face great-grandfather's wrath, do you understand me?"

Sal stared at the insane boy in front of him for a second or longer.

Then he groaned.

Only an Ollivander could think words like that were the appropriate

reply when it came to their son going off to war.

"Lovely," he said sarcastically, already resigned to an insane Ollivander

joining his ranks. "Just lovely. Exactly what you want a father to say to

their barely legal son when said son decides to go to war…"

Garrick grinned.

"I thought the said," he exclaimed happily. "So of course I promised to

head his demands!"

Sal resisted the urge to bury his head in his hands at that.

"Garrick," he said slowly. "That all doesn't truly explain why you're here

now! You shouldn't even know about the Resistance!"

The younger man shrugged.

"Father told me you're up and about wreaking havoc again, Uncle," he

answered and waved it off. "Father's preoccupied now with the shop –

unlike the last time you fought against that dark wizard Morgan and he

stood by your side in Hogwarts."

Sal frowned at the boy.

"Your father is a grown man, Garrick," he pointed out, before repeating

pointedly. "You're barely seventeen."

The boy looked unbothered by that.

"It's not as if Allaric is that much older than me," he pointed out

reasonably. "And yet, he's still here."

Sal sighed.

"Allaric lost his parents to those criminals," he said. "He wouldn't sit by

and do nothing even if I asked him to."

Garrick just looked at him disinterestedly.

"Father allowed me to go and fight," the boy pointed out. "He said that

our family has an alliance with you – and if would be a shame if no

Ollivander would partake in the fight you're fighting right now.

Grandfather helped you in the alley. Father helped you in Hogwarts – not

it is I who'll help you with those criminals!"

"This is a lot more dangerous than what your father and grandfather did

for me," Sal pointed out and Garrick shrugged.

"So be it," he said stubbornly. "What can I do?"

Sal sighed, but before he could argue further, somebody else spoke up.

"You can help me with the creation of some of our new wards for our

hide-out," Charlus Potter said. "And then you can help Allaric to find our

enemies and to plan out our attack. Allaric said you've got a very good

mind for strategic thinking, so I'm quite sure you'll be able to help him

with that."

Sal turned and stared at his godson.

"Charlus," he said in warning, but the other man just shrugged.

"He's seventeen," he said. "And his father actually allowed him to be here

– so why do you want to send him away? It's not as if he has to stay if he

finds out he can't bear it!"

Sal sighed, but guessed that Charlus had a point.

"Alright," he said. "But I insist on an oath – do you understand, Garrick

Ollivander?"

The boy nodded earnestly.

"I thought as much already," he said, determination on his face. "Don't

worry, uncle. I won't disappoint you."

Sal just sighed.

"I never thought you would," he said while shaking his head slowly. "I

never thought you would…"

Then he shook his head again, this time in contemplation.

"I still can't understand why you decided to return," Sal sighed.

Garrick grinned.

"That's easy, Uncle," he said reasonably. "Your cooking is better than

father's."

Sal resisted the urge to bury his head into his hands and instead pointed

at the door.

"Leave and bother Allaric," he told the boy. "I need a few minutes to

contemplate where your lineage took a turn to insanity."

Garrick blinked a bit confused, but shrugged, lazily saluted and then

heeded out to do as Sal had told him.

Sal meanwhile closed his eyes and started to wonder when children

would stop to stop-by and stay to fight a war Sal couldn't remember them

fighting from what he had learned in History of Magic…

If Sal didn't know better, he would have contemplated that he changed

the time – but he was old enough to understand that it didn't matter what

he did, the time in the future was already influenced by his current

decision so in the end every decision he would make would have

impacted the past of his future already…

"This is insane," Sal said to himself.

Sadly, over time it would just get even more insane instead of better…

From then on, Allaric and Ollivander would always be those who planned

the attacks of Sal's counter-action-group.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

"So Death crossed to an Elder Tree on the banks of the river, fashioned

a wand from a branch that hung there, and gave it to the oldest brother.

And so Death took the first brother for his own."

"I have some concern about the political side of this operation," Pollux

Black spoke up in that moment. "If it ever comes out who was working on

the downfall of Grindelwald… well, let's say it won't be pretty."

The others in the room exchanged a glance, but most of the Blacks, the

Scamanders and Charlus Potter nodded gravely.

"The world can't know that we worked together," Charlus said darkly. "I

may have developed another identity, far more removed from the Potter

inheritance line than I am – but if my involvement becomes even more

public the secret of my second identity won't hold and there will be

repercussions I fear I won't be able to deal with."

Lord Sirius Black sighed but nodded.

"Our family is known as dark," he said and pinched his nose. "People will

ask why we helped to overthrow Grindelwald – and we can't tell them

the reason."

Marius shrugged.

"Maah," he said. "I'd show 'em not to mess with me. You don't have to

defend your helpless squib relative!"

The answer was a snort from most at the table.

"I believe they fear more for the wizarding world of Britain than for you,"

Theseus Scamander pointed out amused.

Newt nodded.

"I'm pretty sure that letting you loose on them counts as genocide," he

agreed with his brother.

Marius raised an eyebrow at him and Newt shrugged.

"Not one of us has ever forgotten where you come from," he told Marius

matter-of-factly. "Your relations are already insane – you on the other

hand don't have any magic to counterbalance for your insanity. Just

considering your toys shows that letting you loose anywhere will ensure

that we bite of more than we can chew."

"There's also to consider that Garrick can't be known as a fighter because

wandmaker don't fight," Sirius Black changed the topic instead of trying

to defend his nephew. "The Delacours are far too involved with Britain

politically so they can't be seen opposing them, the Black – well, obvious

considering our inclination and the fact that we theoretically should be

on Grindelwald's side but aren't and the Potters – well, it wouldn't be

good if people would find out about Charlus' double life…"

"In other words," Cygnus added darkly. "We're as fucked politically as we

have been right from the start of this war…"

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

6th August 1914

"Oyez, oyez! This is the August meeting of this august body!" The

Supreme Mugwump of the Wizengamot called out.

The chamber quietened until all of the members were looking at the

Supreme Mugwump.

"I called you here together to talk about the criminals who are currently

operating in Europe and the war they started," the Supreme Mugwump,

one Henry Potter, said darkly. "The muggles are at war. Two days ago,

Muggle Britain declared war on Muggle Germany – now it's on us to

decide how we will act towards the threat of the muggle war and the

wizards who started it!"

"This sounds as if you're proposing to join those vigilances who are

fighting against these criminals, Mr Potter," Albus Dumbledore spoke up

with a frown. "Considering that neither the vigilances nor the criminals

have had their eyes on Britain right now, are you certain you want to

draw us into a conflict we have no reason to join?"

Henry frowned at the younger man at that.

Albus Dumbledore had the unbecoming habit of leaving off the titles of

other persons – and most let him be, considering that he was seen as the

second coming of Merlin since his record breaking OWLs and NEWTs

scores…

"I heard that someone of your family is already fighting with those

vigilantes, Lord Potter," Lord Avery said with a frown. "Are you

proposing a change of our neutrality because someone of your family is

already out there and doing who knows what?"

Henry sighed.

"My great-nephew has neither asked nor told me that he's fighting with

these vigilantes," he replied. "I actually didn't even know I had a great-

nephew until hearing his name in connection to those people just a few

short months ago."

This earned him a few raised eyebrows.

"I beg your pardon, Supreme Mugwump," one of the other Lords said

frowning. "But this sounded just now as if you had no idea that you had

other family members outside of Britain…"

"I didn't," Henry confirmed, lying through his teeth and at the same time

not lying at all, considering that until his son created 'Charlus' he actually

had had no idea that there was a 'great-nephew'. "My aunt went missing

two years after I was born. I had no idea that she was still alive when I

went to Hogwarts – and even less of an idea that she bore a child out of

wedlock."

Other Lords looked at him in pity at that, and Henry couldn't decide if

those looks were because his aunt had a child out of wedlock or because

he hadn't known that his aunt had birthed a child – not that she actually

had, as far as he knew, but that was the story they went by…

"And you don't want to organize us into going to war just so that you can

meet and maybe rescue this unknown relative, Mr Potter?" Albus

Dumbledore asked patronizingly.

Henry frowned at the man.

"I never said anything about us going to war," he pointed out. "I asked for

your opinion how we should react to the threat that Europe has to fight

with now – nothing more, nothing less."

Albus Dumbledore inclined his head.

"In this case, I apologize, Mr Potter," he said. "And let me propose that we

do nothing about it. We're not involved – we shouldn't try to gain the

attention of those criminals by trying to involve ourselves."

"Seconded!" One of the other Lords proclaimed.

In the end, Henry Potter had to watch in dismay while the Wizengamot

voted to sit by and do nothing – not caring that the threat was real and

would knock on their borders sooner than later if someone didn't step up

and fight.

The rest of Europe was at war – no matter what Albus Dumbledore said –

this wouldn't go away if you closed your eyes and pretended it didn't

happen!

It was after the session and Henry was packing away his papers with a

tired and unhappy sighed, when he was approached by a party he hadn't

even thought about when talking to the Wizengamot.

"Lord Potter," the man said and Henry looked up into the stormy grey

eyes of the other lord.

He inclined his head in greeting.

"Lord Black," he greeted the man. "What can I do for you?"

The other man looked at him, without any emotion on his face.

"This war," he said solemnly. "This fight between those criminals and the

resistance – you fear it will spill all over Europe soon."

Henry sighed and closed his eyes.

He knew that the Blacks were known for their liberal use of the Dark Arts

and he wondered how long to would take until they joined those

criminals who killed muggles and muggle-borns alike, proclaiming their

superiority to them and their rights to use magic in any way they saw fit.

"It already has," Henry said anyway, not bothering to lie. "It might not

have spilled in the open right now, but it is a war – and it already has

spilled all over Europe, if we acknowledge it or not."

The other lord inclined his head thoughtfully.

"I heard they proclaim the open use of all kinds of magic," Lord Black

said impassively.

"They do," Henry replied tiredly.

"I heard they spoke of no restrictions, of no Statute, of no mud- …

muggle-borns or half-bloods in our society," the other lord said.

Henry sighed.

"They might have," he said. "I haven't heard that yet, but for all I know it

would fit their goals."

Lord Black frowned.

"Lord Avery and some others are in support of those criminals," he told

Henry as if he was talking about the weather. "They and some others

were approached by them in the name of 'Grindelwald' to follow their

lead into a new world."

Henry raised an eyebrow.

"Grindelwald?" He repeated. It was the first time he actually heard that

name – something he would have to tell his son and his best friend the

moment he managed to leave the Lord Black without making it obvious

that he was actually against the ideas of the one man the Blacks might be

supporting…

Henry was just too aware that the Black were a dark family, ore likely

drawn in by promises like those instead of repulsed like Henry had

been…

"That's the name that was given to me when my family was approached,"

the Lord Black replied before his impassive face darkened. "They also

talked about the impureness that are squibs and their permanent removal

from our family line."

Henry felt sick at that thought, not even having to wonder what was

implied in that sentence. This 'Grindelwald' obviously didn't just proclaim

the purge of everything muggle – but also the killing of squibs.

He didn't even have to ask if the Blacks were all for it. They were a dark

family, so of course they were…

The Lord Black stared at Henry, his grey eyes icy and cold.

"I want to know where I can send my sons to fight against those

criminals," he said coolly.

For a moment, Henry had to fight hard not to gawk at the other man.

Phineas Nigellus Black, Lord Black and current Headmaster of Hogwarts

just sneered at Henry Potter.

"You didn't expect me to follow their disgusting beliefs, did you, Lord

Potter?" He asked sneering.

Henry just raised an eyebrow at the other man.

"Considering your heavy-handedness as a Headmaster, I wouldn't have

been surprised if you decided to follow these criminals into a war," he

countered coolly.

Phineas Nigellus raised an eyebrow at him, but in the end inclined his

head, slowly.

"I guess you might have a point, Lord Potter," he said slowly. "But then,

you know nothing of my childhood."

Henry frowned at the other lord.

"Only the bare bones that everybody knows," he said. "You were raised as

the heir of Black, the only son of your father."

At that, Phineas Nigellus eyes darkened.

"I wasn't his only son," he said. "At least not until I was six years old."

Henry raised an eyebrow at the other man and Phineas Nigellus pinned

him with his stare.

"My father, may he suffer in hell, killed my older brother when he didn't

show any signs of magic," Phineas Nigellus scoffed. "My older brother

was brilliant. He was eight years old and spoke four languages fluently,

could talk anybody around to his point of view and was the most gifted

person in brewing potions – those without active magic use for him – in

centuries in the Black family – the last being my many-times great-aunt

Andromeda Malfoire! He would have been a rising star! A gift to this

world – and my bastard of a father went and killed him because my

brother didn't have magic!"

Henry felt sickened at that thought and Phineas Nigellus Black shook his

head as if removing those memories from his thoughts.

"I was the one who found my brother after he had been murdered by my

father," Phineas Nigellus said bitterly. "No! Criminals that condone – that

actually propose something like that! – should be taken down, not

supported!"

Henry, oddly enough couldn't even object to that position of the other

man. Normally, he was always at odds with the head of house Black – to

find out that they were suddenly on the same side was somehow… odd.

"Now, Lord Potter," Phineas Nigellus Black said, his eyes cornering

Henry. "How do I contact the resistance?"

And Henry couldn't help but comply with the other man's wishes.

Barely two years later, Marius Black would be born – and while he was

later blasted from the family tree by his own niece, his father, uncles and

grandfather did everything in their power to give him a life he would

love living.

1934 Marius Black would join the resistance. Barely a month later, every

man in Grindelwald's army would quiver when just hearing the words

'Mad Marius' being uttered – because unlike Sirius Black, Phineas

Nigellus older brother, Mad Marius had been allowed to live…

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

August – September 1914

Sirius Black, the Heir of Black and Phineas Nigellus oldest son, stepped

inside the tent they currently used as something akin to headquarters.

Inside, surrounding a table, were two of the men he was looking for.

"Ollivander," he said to one of them. The man in question was Garvain

Ollivander's barely twenty-year-old grandson, Garrick Ollivander.

"Moody," he said to the other. The man would one day father one Alastor

Moody.

Both of them looked up from their planning.

"Black," they greeted the other man and Sirius Black frowned when he

noticed the lack of one person he had been looking for.

"Where's Sal?" He asked.

The other two exchanged a look and then shrugged.

"He said something about being contacted by one Theseus Scamander,"

Allaric Moody said slowly while frowning before looking at Garrick

Ollivander.

Said Ollivander just shrugged.

"I thought we needed some more people if we could get them," he said

unapologetic. "I told Theseus about the whole mess – we are quite good

friends, you know? We were at Hogwarts together, after all, and he

decided that it might be a good idea to come by and find out what we're

actually doing."

Sirius Black frowned at that.

"Isn't Theseus and his more than perfect looks, combined with the fact

that he's an international quidditch player… well, a bit too famous for

us?" He asked concern in his eyes. "We're trying to operate in secret, after

all…"

"But we need an official face or two," Ollivander countered. "And Theseus

with his good press and his ability to charm the press is the best thing we

could get for that!"

Sirius Black couldn't object that argument.

They needed help – and working totally in secret didn't help if you tried

to reach people… so maybe, Ollivander was right and Theseus

Scamander could be a good thing for them.

"Alright," he finally settled on and sighed. "I guess my question has to

wait then…"

Allaric Moody frowned at the other man before gesturing at him to join

them at the table.

"What question?" He asked.

Sirius shrugged.

"I wanted to know if he knew somebody who knew something about

warding," Sirius replied and rubbed his face. "I could asked everybody –

but it's impractical to run around and do so when Sal knows the answer

anyway…"

Now Garrick Ollivander and Allaric Moody exchanged a confused glance

with each other.

"I thought you were a ward-master, Black," Allaric said with a frown.

"Why do you need somebody else who knows about wards?"

Sirius sighed and waved it off.

"Because it's easier to work in tandem when you aren't the caster of the

wards you try to break in," he said. "One to dispel the wards and one to

give him strength. The one giving the strength would bear the brunt of a

back-lash, if there is one, so the more experienced ward-master should do

it. Normally, I work in tandem with my brother Cygnus – but Cyg is

home for the birth of his baby girl Cassiopaia…"

Then he rolled his eyes fondly at his absent brother.

"And how I know him he will use the time at home to ensure that the

next baby will be on the way before he leaves again," he said half-

amused, half-exasperated.

Allaric and Garrick snorted in amusement.

"He can't be that bad," Allaric said.

Sirius' lips twitched.

"No," he said. "He's not that bad…"

Nine months later one Marius Black would be born.

"But that doesn't change the fact that he isn't here right now and I need

someone who has the finess to dispel wards or someone who can give me

the strength so that I can do the dispelling…" Sirius added sighing.

Allaric frowned.

"Why do you need someone who can work with you on wards so badly?"

He asked interested.

Sirius' face turned mischievous.

"Because I found out where one of Grendel… Grindel – whatever's

hideouts are," he said. "I basically stumbled upon it when I was out on

recon tonight. I'm not sure how long it will stay where it is, because it's

clearly temporary, so we have to strike now!"

The others exchanged a glance.

"And what exactly did you plan to do after taking down the wards?"

Allaric asked.

Sirius shrugged.

"I planned to wreak some havoc," he said unrepentant. "I just need

another ward-master and a small team to infiltrate the camp so that we

can hinder the man inside or even ensure that they won't go back to

Grindel-thingy ever again!"

Allaric and Garrick Ollivander exchanged a look at that.

"A team?" They asked interested.

Sirius Black shrugged.

"Well, it's not as if I can do both: take down the wards and attack – so I

need at least a few people to work with me…" He replied.

Allaric looked at Ollivander.

Ollivander frowned.

"I believe," he said slowly. "That we might be able to convince Charlus…"

"Potter?" Sirius Black said, sounding quite unhappily. "Why do you want

to add Potter anywhere near my team? We don't get along – and you well

know it!"

Allaric shrugged.

"But he knows about wards," he argued. "He was an Unspeakable before

joining the war, you know?"

"Potter?!" Sirius Black repeated unhappily.

Allaric and Garrick Ollivander exchanged another look and then

shrugged simultaneously.

"I'm quite sure that he would be Sal's choice as well," Allaric dared to say.

"He's the ward expert who drew up the wards surrounding our own

camp, after all."

"Wait!" Sirius said, his voice filled with dread. "You want to tell me that

my brother and I cast wards written by a Potter?! And nobody told us?!"

"I'm quite sure, the others had a reason for not telling you," Ollivander

said comfortingly. "Even if the reason might just have been the peace of

the camp…"

Sirius Black groaned and buried his head in his hands.

"Alright," he finally said, his voice muffled by his fingers and not lifting

his head from where it rested. "Alright. I'll do it! Call him here. Let's work

with a Potter on those wards!"

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

August - September 1914

Never, in his whole life had Sirius Black seen wards being dismantled

with such a beauty and unity. The whole operation went even more

smoothly than he was used to with his own brother.

The moment the wards fell, the attack started.

Barely half an hour later, one of Grindelwald's camps was eradicated and

his men either dead, scattered or imprisoned.

There was cheering all around them – with one exception.

On a hill, a bit further away from the camp stood some figures, staring

down at the ashes of the tents of Grindelwald's men in dismay.

Their face was an expression of horror and utter sorrow and if the rest of

the Resistance wouldn't have known them, they might have mistaken

them for enemy soldiers who grieved for the camp.

But since the men were quite well known they were left alone in the hope

that they would manage to set their world to right again without

anybody else having to interfere…

Still – just to be sure, Garrick Ollivander had positioned himself near

enough to the men to either catch them if one of them fainted from shock

or stop them from killing each other.

Thankfully, both men didn't seem to plan anything like that at all right

now. Instead they watched the tents burn with an intense look of grief in

their eyes.

"You know," Charlus Potter said slowly while watching the world burn.

"This might make us look as if we are a tad insane…"

Sirius Black frowned and looked at the chaos surrounding them as well.

"You… might be right there, Potter," he said slowly and unwillingly.

Ollivander next to them snorted in amusement.

"Oh, c'mon, you two!" He exclaimed. "Don't look like your cat just died!

You should be happy!"

Charlus and Sirius Black stared at Ollivander with a look that clearly

showed what they thought of that suggestion.

"Happy?" Charlus Potter repeated incredulous. "Happy?!"

Sirius Black looked at Ollivander in disgust.

"I doubt I'd ever feel happy again after what just happened!"

In that moment Allaric Moody left the burning camp in front of them to

join them on the hills.

"Why all those long faces?" He asked a bit confused.

Ollivander snickered like a school girl and pointed at the unhappy

looking men next to them.

"They're… unsatisfied… with the result," he told one of his best friends.

Allaric raised an eyebrow.

"Why?" He asked confused. "The camp is eradicated. The wards are in

shambles. The enemy has lost some valuable intelligence and men today

– and we managed all this with just four people!"

Charlus Potter and Sirius Black both stared unhappily at Allaric Moody

while Ollivander had to hide another snicker with both of his hands.

"Exactly," Ollivander chocked out amused. "That's exactly the problem

they're having right now!"

Allaric Moody frowned and then looked back at the destroyed hide-out of

the enemy.

"I don't understand," he said confused. "It worked! Isn't that the most

important thing?"

Charlus and Sirius grimaced while avoiding to look at each other.

"That it did," Ollivander pressed out while trying not to give into his

laughing fit. "That it did!"

And when the faces of the other two men darkened, he added, nearly

suffocating on his laughter.

"They didn't want it to work," he chocked out. "Because if it worked, that

means that they could work together as ward-breakers – and they don't

want to admit that they're compatible! They're a Potter and a Black!

They're always on the opposite in a conflict! It's bad enough that they're

on the same side – but working together as well?"

Ollivander snickered again – at least until he was elbowed into both of

his sides at the same time.

He looked up and saw the Black-Heir and the Potter-Heir both glaring at

him.

Ollivander raised his hands in defeat.

"It's not my fault!" He defended himself. "I just suggested another ward-

master for Black! I had actually no idea that you two would actually

work exceptionally good with each other!"

Sirius pouted and Charlus buried his head in his hands.

"This will be a catastrophe," he mumbled into his hands. "A total

catastrophe! The Lords of the Wizengamot will die in masses from a

heart-attack if this ever comes out!"

Ollivander snickered while Allaric hid a grin.

"Don't worry!" Allaric finally snorted. "We won't say a thing! We're taking

it to our graves, I promise!"

Ollivander chocked on another laughter.

"I won't!" He forced out. "I won't! It's far too funny to tell and watch the

world burn after!"

He was elbowed and glared at again from both sides again.

"Look at you two!" He snickered. "Not only one brain on the battlefield –

but off it as well! Next thing we know, your children will be best friends

forever more!"

"Only over my dead body!" Both Heirs exclaimed at the same time. "And

we're nothing alike, Ollivander – so shut up!"

Their chorus just made Ollivander laugh even harder.

The two grown men pouted, looked at each other, grimaced and looked

away again.

"They're going to think we've gone insane!" Charlus moaned.

"Don't remind me!" Sirius replied. "I'm still working out how to oblivate

myself of those last four hours of my life!"

And while Allaric watched with a raised eyebrow, Garrick Ollivander

toppled over in laughter.

It wouldn't take long after this first mission, until Charlus Potter and

Sirius Black were a known warder team who actually insisted on working

together…

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

August - September 1914

The entrance of Theseus Scamander into the resistance was something

noteworthy in the eyes of Sirius Black and Charlus Potter.

"So… this is Theseus Scamander," Sirius Phineas Black said while

watching the other man walk by with a frown. "I'm not sure if I should be

impressed by his guts to come here or feel offended that he's used as the

face of our Resistance."

Charlus Potter next to him rolled his eyes.

"Stop being so melodramatic, Black," he said half-amused, half-

exasperated. "It's not as if either of us could be used as the 'face' of our

organisation as you put it."

The man was charming, always smiling… and one of the meanest

interrogation experts that the Resistance would ever have.

"Now, my dear," Theseus said and leaned back against the wall as if he

had every time in the world. "Don't you think that it's time to talk to

papa?"

The man on the other side of the room, not bound by anything and yet

unable to move anyway, grinded his teeth at Theseus.

"You won't break me," he told the other man icily. "You might be a good

fighter – but you're not scary enough to get me to talk! And as you've

noticed – my master ensured that we're immune to any kind of truth

serum!"

"Oh," Theseus said amiably. "We noticed. That's the reason why I decided

to talk to you."

His smile broadened.

"Don't worry, just talk, papa will listen."

The other man looked at Theseus in disgust.

"You're insane," he declared finally. "Absolutely insane if you believe that

I will tell you anything!"

Theses smile broadened.

"I sure as am are insane," he agreed and looked at his finger nails. "But

then, I guessed you figured that already when I talked to you on the

battle field. There aren't a lot of stronger indicators than that when it

comes to the proof my state of mind, after all…"

"Wow! Careful with that stick! You could hurt someone if you swish it around

like that!"

The answer were even more spells thrown at him by his enemies.

"Oh, c'mon!" He cried. "Can't we talk it out like normal people?!"

"You're an idiot if you think I would talk to someone like you!" One of his

enemies replied disgusted.

"Oh, please, man – make peace, not war! We don't have to fight –"

Before he could end his sentence, he had to jump from one foot to the other to

escape some vicious Unforgivables fired at him by some of the others.

"One against twenty – that's not fair!" He complained. "Can't you do the

honourable thing and come at me all at once?"

That ensured him some disbelieving looks from the men he was fighting.

"You," one of his enemies said with an eye-roll before firing another spell at

him. "Have an odd idea what it means to do the honourable thing."

Theseus shrugged and dodged another volley of spells.

"What can I say?" He said. "I'm an odd person."

The man on the chair scoffed.

"Yeah," he said. "That one time indicated your state of mind quite well,

nutter!"

Theseus's smile broadened and then his eyes began to glow.

"Yes," he said. "I am a nutter. But you have forgotten one thing when it

comes to me being a nutter. Do you know what it is?"

The man frowned and then shook his head slowly.

Theseus smile broadened.

"As a nutter I won't stop from anything to gain the information I want,"

he pointed out with an evil grin. With that, he removed a teddy bear out

of his pocket and removed himself from the wall.

"Now, my dear fellow," he said with a malevolent glint in his eyes. "Let's

talk to papa…"

Barley five minutes later the man in the chair broke and spilled

everything – from Grindelwald's most secret plans he knew about 'till his

theft of a chewing gum when he was in kindergarden…

Yes, as odd and as lovingly Theseus was, he definitely was the most

dangerous interrogator within the Resistance – dangerous enough that

Grindelwald would do just anything to get that man to stop participating

in the war.

Sadly enough for Grindelwald his tries just resulted into even more

dangerous ideas from 'papa'…

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

1st September 1914

"You know, Sal – we might need to organize our group a bit better."

Sal looked up from the plans he had been working on into Theseus

Scamander's face. The man had joined them nearly a month ago and had

integrated himself into the group as if he had always belonged there.

"How exactly do you want to organize them?" Sal asked with a frown.

"They are already organized –"

"They're not," Theseus said with a sigh. "We need a bit clearer division in

the field. It's not good if everybody is oblivating muggles and nobody has

our backs anymore or if everybody is fighting and nobody shielding the

ones we defend…"

Sal couldn't actually object to that.

"So – what do you propose?" He asked.

Theseus shrugged.

"I propose to do what Allaric, Garrick, Sirius and Charlus already do: We

build several attack teams and split the parts those within the teams to

their abilities. It would also help with training people – we could simply

stick them together in groups according to their main abilities or their

place in the teams."

Sirius, who had just stepped inside the tent they were in looked at

Theseus interestedly.

"That might be a good idea," he said. "Our team actually learned to work

better with each other the moment we had determined which part the

person in the team is responsible for. It would also help that we could

send out some people of the same abilities together if we needed only

them to act – like the Oblivators. Not everybody is good with that charm,

so training those that are together while ensuring that there's one in

every team can only help in the long run…"

Theseus nodded.

Sal frowned and thought it over.

In the end he sighed and nodded as well.

"If that's what you think is best," he said. "Then do it."

He could see the merit of that proposition. He had always had a hard

time to ensure he had people working as oblivators for the muggles or as

defenders. Maybe it would be good if everybody had a designed place

within teams.

He turned to Sirius Black.

"How are you organized in your team?" He asked him, since Sirius and

the rest of his people were the only true existing team right now in his

group.

Sirius shrugged.

"We strategize together," he said. "In action, Allaric's position is the attack

one, Ollivander is oblivating, healing and defending, Charlus and I take

down the wards, then Charlus takes over defending and removing the

hostages while I join Allaric. It works – so we've kept it."

Sal nodded thoughtfully.

"Would you be willing to train up others like that as well?" He asked. "We

also should ensure that those in similar positions can work with each

other."

Theseus grinned.

"Sounds good to me," he said. "I'll go and decide on my standard team!"

With that he left the tent.

Sal looked after him with a raised eyebrow, then he turned to Sirius.

The Black-Heir shrugged.

"The Scamanders were always an odd bunch," he said unconcerned.

"Quidditch star or not – Theseus wasn't spared in that regard at all."

Sal snorted.

"I noticed," he said dryly and Sirius grinned wryly.

"I'll go and tell my team," he said. "Don't worry – we'll organize training

for the others in different positions and ensure that there are small

standard teams from now on."

Sal inclined his head.

"I'll write down the names and where they'd fit best," he said. "After all,

I'm the one who has the best overview about our people's abilities and

who works best with whom."

Sirius smirked and nodded.

"Of course you have," he said. "You are our leader and coordinator, after

all!"

With that he sat down his report on the wards he had taken a look at and

left to call together his team.

Sal sighed and closed his eyes.

When did he end up as the leader of this particular group and why was it on

him to actually put together the facts and plan out the attacks to the last

detail?!

He would never get an answer to that particular question, but he would

soon at least have an easier time to find Oblivators. The people he had

given Ollivander to train, would soon be the best Oblivators within

Europe…

Of course, the Scamander's being the Scamanders, they took it a step

further and instead of just organizing the Resistance they started to

actively recruit people they thought would fit into the existing groups.

Of course, in the end it would come down to Sal to finish every deal they

started…

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

4th September 1914

"Bonsoir, Monsieur Delacour," Sal was standing on the doorstep of one of

the Lords of France. They hadn't met until today, but Sal had gotten a

letter from the man, asking him to come to the man's mansion.

The man in question raised an eyebrow at the greeting.

"Bonsoir, Monsieur…" he started, stopping in a hidden inquiry for Sal's

name.

"I'm Salvazsahar Malfoire," Sal said, using his current name variation.

"You contacted one of my people and asked for a meeting."

At that, understanding filled the other man's eyes.

"That I did, Monsieur Malfoire," he said. "I guess this is about the package

I send you?"

There hadn't been a package, but safety questions were a good thing in

dark times like currently.

"It is, Monsieur Delacour," Sal said. "I appreciated the wine and thought

that I wouldn't be against meeting a connoisseur like you."

The other man inclined his head, his relief barely visible and then

stepped aside so that Sal could enter into his house.

The moment they reached Delacour's study, Sal erected some runic wards

and then turned to the other man.

"Why did you want to meet me, Monsieur?" He asked the other lord.

"I heard that you were forming a resistance against those people

terrorising Europe," the Delacour lord said. "They've been able to kill off

more than half of the magical ruling families of Europe by now and –"

"They also tried to do the same with the none-magical," Sal said darkly.

"There's a reason why there's currently a war going on in mundane

Europe as well as in magical."

The other lord's gaze darkened at that.

"Have you found out who's behind all those attacks?" He asked. "The

ministries and ruling bodies of Europe are a mess right now. A lot of

them have ceased to function within the last one and a half years. We

might not be in a full-blown war right now but –"

"We are at war," Sal interrupted the other lord darkly. "If we call it a war

or not, doesn't change the fact that it is a war. People go missing, people

are dying and this dark wizard is taking over Europe in a frightening fast

and efficient way…"

"And his name?" The Delacour lord asked Sal and Sal closed his eyes.

"There's a rumour that his name is Grindelwald," he said. "No known first

name. No known origin. Nothing but that name."

"Grindelwald," the Delacour lord repeated. "Sounds German."

Sal just shrugged.

"I have no way of proving or disproving anything like that," he replied.

"He has not gone to Beauxbatons and Durmstrang is refusing to cooperate

by opening the list of names of past students for us to look at, nor are

they willing to look up the name themselves."

"So… what do you do?" The Delacour lord asked.

Sal sighed at that.

"I'm building strike teams, designed to counter act the attacks. We've

been successful –"

"I know," Delacour interrupted him. "I heard about Theseus Scamander."

Sal's lips twitched in amusement at that.

"Well, he's there to be known," he said amused at the disproving glance

he was receiving from the Delacour lord. "He's one of our known fighters,

after all; one of those who can be approached by anyone if people are

looking for help."

The disapproving glance lessened.

"But there's more to you," the other lord guessed and Sal shrugged.

The Delacour's eyes narrowed.

"I want to be part of it," he said. "Whatever else you do – I want to be

part of it."

Sal's eyes met the other lords, a slight legimens told the older-but-

younger-looking man what he needed to know.

"So be it," he said. "Swear your oath and I will make you part of the

resistance."

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

So Death picked up a stone from the riverbank and gave it to the second

brother, and told him the stone would have the power to bring back the

dead.

And so Death took the second brother for his own.

After a thorough discussion of politics, Sal decided that it was time to

return to the more important planning – because as important as politics

was, there was no way it would help them to storm Nurmengard in the

end…

And yet, it was politics that reminded him off one of the more important

parts in their planning…

"What about the wards themselves?" Sal asked, looking at his warders

and wardbreakers in a change of topic. "How will you know that you can

break them? Grindelwald has been known for his surprises when it comes

to his wards, after all…"

"Known to us, you mean," Pollux corrected his commander amused.

"Nobody else has ever even tried to break one of his wards, after all."

Sal waved it off.

"Doesn't matter," he said. "We know it – more's not of any interest for us."

Sirius Black nodded slowly.

"It isn't," he agreed before looking at his brother, his son and some other

members of his family. The last person he looked at was Charlus Potter.

"We're sure that we can curtail whatever he throws at us," he assured Sal.

"Even if we can't – we're willing to sacrifice –"

"I don't condone any kind of sacrifice like that, and you know it, Sirius

Black!" Sal interrupted the Lord of Black with narrowed eyes. "Either you

have a way to pull down the wards safely while knowing what they'll

contain or we won't strike now!"

The warders and wardbreakers looked at each other.

In the end, it was the head of the dragon devision, one Newt Scamander,

who spoke up.

"I've got a Hungarian Horntail who might be able to find out at least the

original planning of the warding of Numengard. This should be enough

that we won't be unduly surprised while attacking the heart of

Grindelwald's army."

Sal guessed that this was better then nothing. His men had worked with

less information about the wards, after all – even if Sal had hated those

circumstances with a passion. Things like that had lead to more death

than Sal had liked in the past, after all…

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

May 1915

Ollivander was standing in the middle of a massacre.

His shoulders were slumped and he was tired beyond relief.

A man stepped up next to him and clasped his shoulder.

"This shouldn't have happened," Cygnus Black, one Sirius Black's brother

said with tears in his eyes.

Ollivander knew that half of Cygnus' team was lying in front of them, not

moving and dead.

"It shouldn't have," Ollivander said tiredly. "But this is war – things like

that happen."

The answer was a sniff.

"It still shouldn't have," Cygnus replied while fighting of his tears.

"We're… we were good… we were a fabulous team! This shouldn't have

happened to us! It shouldn't have!"

Ollivander sighed and then slowly wrapped his hands around the raging

man.

"It's war," he said. "And even with our best planning… even with –"

"If Britain would just enter this war already!" Cygnus hissed while his

grief turned into fury. "If those idiots from the Wizengamot would just

acknowledge that the rest of Europe needs them! If they'd just get up

their asses and fight!"

Ollivander sighed.

"You know that there're some who try to make them see reason," he told

the other man and Cygnus sneered.

"Yes," he said. "And then wonder-boy says that they're exaggerating and

they belief him! Second coming of Merlin – my ass!"

Ollivander shrugged.

"That's politics for you," he pointed out. "There will always be some

people who will sit back and hope that the problem will just go away if

they refuse to look."

Cygnus snorted.

"And because of them my team is dead," he said icily. "Politics! I hate

them!"

With that he freed himself from Ollivander's grasp and stalked off.

The wandmaker just shook his head and looked back at the bodies of the

dead.

He could understand Cygnus – but at the same time, he also knew that

even without the support from Britain they would give everything to

fight the evil that was currently tyrannizing magical Europe…

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

May 1915

"We've lost twenty-five people to Grindelwald within the last fortnight,"

Cygnus Black said thirdly and quite bitterly, while entering the tent Sal

was currently in.

Sal sighed and closed his eyes.

"I know," he said before turning back to the wounded he was treating.

Cygnus frowned.

"We can't continue like that," he told Sal. "We don't have enough people

to weather the storm if we continue like that."

Sal nodded gravely.

"I know," he repeated.

"So…" Cygnus said slowly. "What will we do?"

And Sal wished to bang his head against the wall.

He hated war.

He hated to fight, to battle, to plan – and yet, here he was, in the middle

of a war. And he wasn't just part of it… no, to Sal's utter regret he was

leading it.

He pinched his nose bridge.

"I don't know," he said tiredly while trying to think up a plan that would

not only keep his people safe but also ensure that they somehow stopped

Grindelwald before he took over Europe.

"Our main trouble is our missing intelligence," he finally confessed to

Cygnus. "If we knew what Grindelwald and his men are doing, we would

be able to counter it. The intelligence we have is for the most time simply

not enough. With Grindelwald knowing that we're fighting back, he's

gotten more and more cunning with each attack. He's winning because

we simply can't predict his actions closely enough to not only stop him

but to prevent him from destroying us as well."

Cygnus frowned.

"So you're saying that now that he knows we're there, he's ensuring that

as much of our people die within each attack, as he can," he concluded

darkly.

Sal inclined his head tiredly.

"Exactly," he said and turned back to the wounded. "Regretfully I haven't

yet found a way to circumvent his advantages…"

"What about Garrick or Allaric?"

"They have the same trouble," Sal said. "Grindelwald has changed his

pattern in favour to unpredictability. It's a clear advantage for him – and

sadly enough an also clear disadvantage for us…"

With that he turned back to bandage the cut on his patient's face. While

the cut wasn't the worst he had ever seen, it was infused with the dark

magic that made it. Sal had cleared it from the spell, but even his

abilities weren't enough to ensure that the cut wouldn't scar. At least,

with Sal's abilities, the man wouldn't slowly die from the flesh-rotting

curse that had imbedded the cut just minutes ago…

"I might have an idea," the man Sal was treating – one Theseus

Scamander – spoke up hesitatingly in that moment.

Sal raised an eyebrow at his patient and Theseus shrugged.

"I didn't know about it until today," he elaborated.

Cygnus frowned.

"Know about what?" He asked and Theseus reached inside one of his

pockets to remove a letter and hand it to Sal.

"Don't worry," he said. "The sender is as trustworthy as I am."

Cygnus snorted.

"That doesn't mean a lot," he teased.

Theseus grinned and Sal smacked him and admonished him for moving

his face muscles while he was working on fixing them.

"Alright," Theseus amended, not even reacting to Sal's admonishment.

"You might be onto something there, Cyg."

For a moment he thought about it, then he nodded what gained him

another disapproving look from Sal.

"Then he must be trust worthier than I," he concluded. "That better, Cyg?"

The Black rolled his eyes at Theseus and then looked with interest at the

letter in his hands.

"What's that letter about?" He asked interestedly.

Theseus grinned and Sal groaned when he destroyed Sal's stitches with

that action.

"It's about a possible way to gain intelligence for the Resistance," he said

excitedly. "Don't worry, the person who suggested it, has it all planned

out. He's really good when it comes to something –"

That was the moment Sal's stupefy hit Theseus straight into his face and

the man toppled over and onto the bed.

Cygnus snickered and Sal send him a threatening look.

"If you don't keep silent for the next ten minutes until I have fixed that

idiot's face, I will do the same to you," he told the other man right-out

and Cygnus Black raised both hands in defeat.

"I go and look for my brother," he said, still half-amused by Sal's reaction

while also half-afraid of the other man's threat. "Don't worry! I'm gone!"

With that, he walked back-first out of the hospital tent, clearly not

willing to remove his eyes from the annoyed healer inside it.

Sal rolled his eyes and removed his old stitches to begin again.

At least this time around, stunned Theseus Scamander didn't move a

muscle at all…

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

May 1915

Sal was sitting in a shabby pub in the middle of Germany, in a little town

near a nice city called Würzburg. The city itself only had a small

wizarding community and most people weren't even aware of the fact

that some wizards were living in that city. Being in a town near the city

meant that even fewer wizards were near there even if the pub was a

wizarding one.

The table he had chosen was in the darkest corner of the room and he

had surrounded it with a runic ward that would hide the conversations

he chose to have from prying eyes.

He was waiting for a man he had never met, but had been contacted by

just the day before. Of course it was a risk coming here, but he knew the

man's brother and with the runic ward he had full control in that place of

the room. The risk was reasonable for him. Sal had decided to take it.

"Have you been waiting for long?" The voice of a man suddenly asked,

before the young man in question took a seat in front of Sal. The man

spoke perfect German even if he wasn't German by birth. Nevertheless,

he was known in Germany as Tristan Wolfram Henkelmann, a born and

bred German wizard.

"Not too long," Sal answered while leaning back, also in German. "Tell

me, mein Herr, why were you so desperate to contact me?"

The man in front of him blushed.

"Ah… well," he said, rubbing his neck embarrassed. "I didn't know who

else I could talk to about my request, so I decided to go to the leader,

directly."

"Your request?" Sal repeated, raising an eyebrow at that.

"Herr," the man said at that while leaning forward, his hands on the

table. "I know of my reputation. I had to leave Hogwarts and I prefer

creatures to humans – but that doesn't mean that I want to sit by and do

nothing in a war against one of the evilest men of our current century.

Bitte, Herr, I want to join you! I wish to help in any way I can!"

Sal sighed at that.

"Herr Scamander," he said slowly, but was already interrupted.

"My brother has already joined your ranks. He's a well-known hit wizard,

a hero in the eyes of Europe," Scamander said. "I might not be like him,

but I can do something, anything!"

Sal couldn't object to that.

He was the head of the resistance against Grindelwald, a newly emerging

Dark Lord. They needed people, so everyone who decided to join was a

blessing to them. It didn't matter if some of them were well known all

over Europe for their deeds while others weren't known at all – as long as

they were willing, Sal took them in and organized them into attack

groups or other important jobs.

"Alright," he said. "What do you want to do?"

The man hesitated.

"Well," he said slowly. "I heard that you've got a dragon division, Herr."

Sal raised an eyebrow.

"Not truly," he said.

The other man just shrugged.

"Well, you should have one, Herr," he said. "Grindelwald does, after all."

Sal just raised an eyebrow.

"The Resistance is working mostly undercover," he said. "We have some

flashy parts like your brother's division, but all in all we're working in the

shadows."

Scamander nodded at that.

"I already knew that, Herr," he said. "I still want to be part of the dragon

division."

Sal raised an eyebrow at that.

"Explain," he finally said.

The answer was a feral grin, something that looked odd on the boyish

face of the man in front of him. It wasn't an expression that was expected

from a man like that and Sal was sure that not even his own brother

knew that the man in front of Sal was able to do an expression like that.

"That's what I will tell everybody if they ever ask me after the war is

over," Scamander said.

"And the truth…"

"I will be part of the dragon division, Herr," Scamander replied.

"Grindelwald's dragon division."

Sal's eyebrows shot up at that.

"They are part of Grindelwald's elite," he said to the younger man.

"I know," Scamander said grinning. "I have a recognised German identity,

Tristan W. Henkelmann, and I have been contacted by Grindelwald's men

without them knowing that my identity is a forged one. They asked me to

join. They know of my identity's competence with creatures – not that's a

lie – so being part of the dragon division will be easy for me. Making the

jump to the man's elite will be even easier."

"So… what exactly are you offering?" Sal finally asked, leaning forward

as well.

The answer was another feral grin.

"I'm offering to spy for the Resistance," Scamander said. "Will you refuse

my offer?"

Sal opened his mouth to stop the man in front of him from sacrificing

himself, but Scamander was faster.

"If you refuse, I will go and do it anyway, Herr," Scamander said with

hard eyes. "And then I will try to bring that bastard down myself."

Sal closed his mouth again.

He had gotten to know Scamander's older brother who had joined about

a year ago and it seemed that as different as the brothers were as similar

were they at the same time.

"If you join Grindelwald, Herr Henkelmann," Sal said finally. "How will

you contact us?"

The answer was a grin and the man in front of him leaned even closer.

"Just like I did this time around," he said. "We will meet and we will talk,

Herr. Mayhap we will even leave for some private time…"

Sal raised an eyebrow at that.

"Private time?"

"It's well known in Grindelwald's ranks that he's not interested in women.

I right-out told him when I met him that my lover was a male squib and

that I wouldn't give him up even if I joined."

Sal looked at the other man in surprise.

"When did you plan all that?" He asked surprised.

Scamander shrugged.

"Yesterday," he said. "When I was offered a place in Grindelwald's dragon

division."

Sal opened his mouth to comment about Gryffindors, but closed it again

when Scamander leaned over the table to whisper in his ear.

"Now, Sal Sanctuary, will you refuse or accept my offer?" He whispered.

Sal sighed and closed his eyes.

He had looked into the other man's mind and seen his truthfulness and

determination. If he refused, the man would try to do it alone, solely with

the help of some of his creatures. Sal knew that the risk was even greater

for the man in front of him if Sal refused the request.

"Alright," he said in the end. "We'll do it your way, Herr Scamander."

The man leaned back, sitting back down and giving Sal his space.

"I've got a room upstairs," he said. "You coming?"

Sal rolled his eyes but stood up and followed anyway, dissolving the

runic ward while leaving the table.

The moment they reached the door to Scamander's room, the other man

grabbed him, and pulled him into the room, looking for the world as if he

planned some naughty things for the next hours.

The door closed and the man released Sal.

"Alright," he said. "Let's get over with it. I guess you want to have an

oath, Herr?"

Sal sighed.

"It would be safer for you," he said and the other man nodded and then

spoke the oath without any hesitation.

"I, Newton Artemis Fido Scamander, hereby swear to spy for Sal

Sanctuary's Resistance while keeping their secrets by all means without

Sal Sanctuary's allowance to speak about them. So I swear, so mot it be,"

Scamander said.

Sal raised an eyebrow at that.

"And I thought that you were Albus Dumbledore's man through and

through," Sal said amused. "I thought you would insist to at least leave

you an out to be able to tell him."

Scamander looked at Sal in surprise at that.

"Why did you –?"

"It's something that people normally feel when Albus Dumbledore decides

to help them in any way or form," Sal replied with a shrug. "He seems to

be a genius, to get others feel indebted to him."

At that, Newt Scamander shrugged.

"He might be a genius at that," Scamander said. "But I was never like any

other."

Sal laughed at that.

"That you aren't," he agreed. "That you aren't."

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

22th June 1915

"Sal, we have a huge problem," Allaric said slowly while shielding himself

from the incoming curse.

Sal looked around with darkness lurking behind his eyes.

"I can see that," he told the other man before turning to Ollivander.

"Garrick!" He called out and when he was sure that the other man was

listening, he spoke up again. "We need a way to explain all those dead

people away somehow!"

"It's war, people die!" Sirius Black called out while bringing down his last

opponent. "Why do we need to explain it further?"

Sal gave him the evil eye.

"Because," he said slowly. "Normally people have wounds to explain how

they died!"

Sirius Black opened his mouth to object, then closed it with a snap.

"Well, shit," he said while looking around the battlefield with all the dead

being killed by the killing curse.

For a moment, there was silence between the defenders – a silence Sal

used to bring down his own opponent.

He sighed and wiped the blood from his head-wound out of his eyes. It

was just a scratch that wouldn't even scar if he used magic, but it bled

worse than a lot of other wounds.

"How… 'bout… gas?" Allaric panted while dodging the curses of his

opponent.

Sal used the opponent's distraction to curse him into the back. It wasn't

honourable, but they were at war – and their enemies definitely would

do the same to them if they had the chance to do so.

Allaric's opponent toppled over and didn't stand up again. Sal might've

been a healer, but unlike others he was a guardian healer. If he thought

another person had to die, he could kill them – not that he had killed the

other man. They needed people to interrogate, after all…

"That's one for me, I guess?" Theseus asked and stepped up next to the

man downed by Sal.

Sal shrugged.

"He's still alive, if that's what you mean," he answered and Theseus

nodded.

"I'll see what I can get out of him," he said and then dropped a portkey

onto the man that would bring him into one of the cells they had at their

own hide-out.

While Theseus had started as their poster-boy, he had soon shown that he

was quite ruthless when it came to gaining information. Within months

of his recruitment, Theseus had taken over their interrogation rooms and

made them his own.

Sal had to admit, that the man was a fearsome interrogator – even if his

method was a bit… unusual…

"Back to the obliviate," Allaric said. "What about using gas as an excuse?"

The others looked at each other and Allaric shrugged.

"They used it anyway," he pointed out, pointing not too far from them.

"Poisonous gas. Let's just make it look as if they used it to a greater extent

than they did."

The others looked at each other, then Sal inclined his head.

"Why not," he sighed while looking the way Allaric had pointed. "I guess

we were lucky anyway that the wind was blowing that stuff away from

us instead of towards us."

Allaric nodded darkly.

"Definitively," Sirius Black added. "I already feared I would never be able

to see my first granddaughter myself."

"Granddaughter?" Allaric asked surprised and Sirius grinned.

"As of a week ago," he said proudly. "I got the letter yesterday. Her

name's Lucretia. My son Arcturus is quite a proud daddy right now."

"Arcturus?" Sal repeated with a frown. "Your heir? Isn't the boy only

fifteen?"

"That's the one," Sirius agreed and rolled his eyes. "Obviously he and his

betrothed Melania couldn't wait."

Sal frowned at the other man.

"Do you need to go home to help him?" He asked, but Sirius waved it off.

"No," he said. "I asked and was told strongly to stay away. From what it

sounded like, Arcturus feels already swamped with his mother and his

grandparents looking over his shoulder. Anyway, my brother Cygnus has

left for home yesterday to await the birth of his third child, so he will be

there as well if there's trouble."

Allaric rolled his eyes.

"You could mean that you Blacks have nothing to do but have children

and go to war from the way you talk," he said amused.

Sirius Black snorted.

"As if," he said haughtily. "My father is also well invested in politics."

Then he blinked.

"That reminds me," he said slowly. "Did I warn you that my other brother

is coming tomorrow to help us?"

"Other brother? What other brother?" Charlus asked confused.

"My brother Arcturus," Sirius said.

Charlus looked at him in concern.

"Didn't you just say Arcturus was your son?" He asked concerned and

raised a hand to measure Sirius' temperature.

The other man ducked away from the Potter heir's hand.

"He is," he said with an eye-roll. "But I was talking about my brother

Arcturus Nigellus, not my son Arcturus Sirius. My brother's daughter is

now two months old and he decided that now was the right time to join

us."

Allaric rolled his eyes.

"And there's the proof that Blacks only think about fathering children and

going to war," he said amused before pulling out his wand and starting to

help obliviating.

Charlus snickered and did the same and with Sirius loudly complaining

that the Blacks did more than father children and going to war, they

changed the battlefield into something that fit to the story they had made

up to explain the dead away.

Muggle history would only speak about the German's first use of

poisonous gas in the second battle by Ypern.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

July 1917

Garrick Ollivander sat down next to Charlus Potter and Sirius Black who

were looking at the flames of their little camp fire in front of them.

"You know," Garrick said. "I heard a rumour today… about

Grindelwald…"

"What kind of rumour?" Allaric Moody asked while sitting down next to

Garrick with some soup in his hands. He was followed by Theseus

Scamander and a dark haired man with oddly piercing green eyes in the

colour of the killing curse.

"Something hillarious, I hope," Theseus Scamander added. "I could use a

good laugh."

The man next to him raised an eyebrow at the older Scamander.

"You always have a good laugh – if the enemy's upon us and all seems

lost or if we're partying doesn't actually matter to you," he countered

dryly.

Theseus turned to look at the man innocently.

"But Sal!" He mock-whined. "You can't just blurt out things like that!

What will the girls say if you imply that I'm insane while I try to hook

them up?!"

Sal just looked pointedly at the darkness of the forest around them.

"What girls?" He asked and Theseus pouted.

Allaric snorted, but Garrick just shook his head.

"Sadly it's nothing amusing," he said unhappily. "There's a rumour going

around that Grindelwald managed to get his hands on a legendary wand."

Charlus looked up from the flames at that.

His eyes narrowed.

"What wand?" He asked sharply.

Garrick shrugged.

"It's called the Death Stick," he said. "There's a rumour that it's part of the

Deathly Hallows, from the tale, you know?"

Sirius Black frowned.

"How reliable is that rumour?" He asked concerned.

Garrick shrugged.

"I can't say," he said. "All I can say is that he's gotten even more vicious

than he already was…"

Allaric rolled his eyes.

"It's just a fairy tale," he said, clearly not believing it. "There's nothing

like the Deathly Hallows."

Sal opened his mouth, clearly to object, when Charlus Potter spoke up

again, his voice grave, but utterly convinced.

"There is," he said unhappily. "And they're damn dangerous in the wrong

hands."

The others, except Sal, looked at each other, suddenly uneasy – especially

when Sal just nodded and added "They are," his voice as sure as Charlus'

when he finally spoke up.

For a moment, there was utter silent between the friends, then Allaric

combed a shaking hand through his hair.

"Then we should ensure that he's not finding the other two pieces as

well," he said, his voice shaking as much as his hand. "I don't fancy to

fight the Master of Death."

The others nodded, suddenly ill-at-ease.

Charlus just shook his head.

"You would never fight the Master of Death," he said, his voice clear and

strong. "My family has always known more about the Deathly Hallows

than any other family – and I can guarantee you, you'd never fight the

Master of Death."

Sirius frowned at that.

"Why not?" he asked. "If Grindelwald finds the other two –"

"Then he still wouldn't be the Master of Death," Charlus said and looked

at his friends calmly. "The true Master accepts death as a part of life. He

won't try to command it. The role of the Master is balance. He's there to

fight and yet accept death – it's not an easy role. Death is natural – and

yet, as the balance, the Master would have to fight it without going so far

to try and rule it."

"Sounds like a difficult job," Theseus snorted. "Nothing I'd truly want to

do."

"And lonely," Garrick added.

Charlus nodded.

"Considering that the Master would be unable to die until he'd give up his

job as the balance or until every other life on Earth ended – it's definitely

lonely," he agreed.

Sirius shuddered.

"Not a role I'd wanted to take," he said. "I'd hate to have to sit by and

watch my family die – especially if I'd know I'd had the power to change

it, but it would be unnatural to do so…"

Charlus nodded gravely.

"There's a legend in my family that one of my ancestors was the last

Master of Death," he said. "He was also called 'The First Grim', because he

wasn't human but a grim and the son of Death himself. According to

legend, he gave up his position after thousands of years of loneliness by

killing himself in front of his children."

The others shuddered and Sal's face had blanked into an unreadable

mask.

For a moment, silence reigned, then Sal spoke up again.

"Maybe," he said slowly. "We should use the time tonight to talk about

something happier than the discussion we had right now."

"But Grindelwald," Garrick spoke up in protest.

Sal just shook his head.

"If he truly has the Death Stick, it won't change a thing," he said, his

voice strong and sure. "I will still fight him. Like Charlus said, there's no

way that he can be the Master of Death – not while bringing more death

than balancing it. We should keep it at that."

Charlus nodded.

The others exchanged a glance, but in the end, Sirius nodded as well.

"I guess it doesn't matter," he said. "Death Stick or not. I won't back down

now. Let him come – we will take him down, mythical weapon or not!"

"Damn true!" Theseus agreed grinning.

Allaric snorted and raised his soup as if he wanted to toast to someone.

"Hear! Hear!" He exclaimed and in the end, even Garrick Ollivander

smiled, shook his head and changed the topic of their discussion to the

plans they had for the attack on Grindelwald's men in the morning…

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

October 1917

"You look like you've been trampled by a hippogriff," Newt Scamander

commented the moment Sal and he had closed the door to their private

room behind them.

Sal looked at Newt unhappily.

"Thanks for the compliment," he said then rubbed his eyes. "Now, what's

Grindelwald planning now?"

Newt shrugged.

"Not too much, right now," he said. "He's content to sit by and watch the

muggles slaughter each other for the moment. I'm sure, he's got

something else planned, but right now, I have no idea what. He hasn't

shared any of his future plans with us so far."

Sal sighed.

"So it's just the usual?" He asked unhappily.

Newt inclined his head.

"I've got a list with potential targets," he said and handed over the list.

"Remember to destroy it the moment you've memorized it. It wouldn't do

good to have evidence of my betrayal lying about, you know?"

Sal rolled his eyes.

"I'm quite aware what to do with lists like that," he said with amusement

in his voice. "It's not the first time I work with you, you know?"

Newt shrugged.

"Better telling you again and again than you forgetting it once," he

pointed out. "This list could get me killed if it ended up in the wrong

hands."

Sal nodded seriously.

"I know," he said. "I'll destroy it the moment I've memorized it."

"Good."

With that Sal hid the list away.

"If you can," he told Newt, after hiding the list. "Tell Grindelwald that we

had to make room after the Italian lost in Carporetto."

Newt raised an eyebrow at him and Sal shrugged.

"It would be best if you hand him the information through some other

people," he said. "While we actually left our hide-out there, we left it

mared with some… surprises for all those he sends. If you make it sound

as if we left in a hurry and that we had to leave a lot of plans and maps,

he will send some people to investigate."

Newt nodded.

"I know a woman or two who would be willing to spread the information

in Grindelwald's ranks," he said. "Leave it to me. If I do it right, I might

even be able to get rid of one or two people that are suspicious of me."

Sal frowned at the other man.

"If you're in danger to be found out, you should pull out and not –"

"Not yet," Newt said unconcerned. "But I promise you that if it gets

worse, I'll try to pull out before they come at me."

Sal scrutinized the other man for a moment, then he nodded slowly.

"Alright," he gave in. "But take care, Newt. We still need you – you're far

more faluable than just your position as a spy."

Newt snorted.

"You mean you need someone who knows all the spies in Grindelwald's

rank?" He asked Sal amused, not the least bitter sounding.

Sal returned the other man's amused glance with one of his own.

"Don't forget that you're also head of our coffee supply," he said dryly.

"Arcturus and Sirius Black would flay me alive if I got you killed before

they find somebody else who has access to coffee like you do."

The answer was an amused laugh from Newt, then they parted ways –

one of them going back to the enemy after 'a fling in the hay with his

lover', the other one returning to the Resistance to inform them of the

information he had gotten from the other man.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

December 1917

Of course, over time, Grindelwald started to change his strategy – and

sadly, not everything could always reported in time to stop catastrophes

or near-catastrophes from happening…

"Damn," Allaric cursed while looking at the ward Arcturus Nigellus Black was

ringing with. "If that thing comes down uncontrolled, he'll be dead in an

instance."

Ollivander nodded darkly.

"Damn Grindelwald and his damn tricks!" Allaric cursed.

It was then that Charlus Potter's eyes hardened.

"Garrick," he said, his voice booking no argument. "Bring those hostages to

safety. Allaric – defend them. Black –"

Thankfully, there were a lot of times when those catastrophes could be

circumvented by the abilities of those in the Resistance anyway. Sal

couldn't be prouder of the people he worked with when it came to their

ingenuity and their determination and will to learn and to get better to

defeat Grindelwald in the end…

"Damn it, Arcturus! Be a bit more careful next time!" Sirius Black ranted

at his brother. "I don't want to explain to my sister-in-law why she will be

a widow in the next ten years, you hear me?"

Arcturus Nigellus Black rolled his eyes at his brother in amusement.

"You worry too much, Siph," he said amused. "I was perfectly safe!"

Before Sal could even think about admonishing the other man for his lie,

the other man's brother smacked him.

"I'm a ward's master, Archie!" Sirius reminded his younger brother. "You

and I both know that those wards were just seconds away to backlash on

you!"

Sal couldn't object to that. Wards were part of the ritual magic – and

every ritual gone wrong had consequences. A backlashing ward could kill

or severly shorten another man's life.

"Yeah well, everything went well in the end, didn't it?" Arcturus

countered. "So stop fretting, Siph. I'm alright!"

"Yes – because of dumb luck!" The other man replied angrily. "And don't

call me Siph!"

Arcturus rolled his eyes.

"Sirius Phineas," he said. "Si-Ph – it's your name, so don't complain."

"Not my name, Archie!"

"Well, then don't call me Archie!"

"I'm the older one. I'm allowed to call you whatever –"

"Gentlemen – could we return to the discussion, please?" Cygnus

interfered.

The two older brothers turned and looked at the younger one.

"Then you're alright with Archie nearly blowing himself up?" Sirius asked

incredulously.

"I bet he's just less of a mother hen than you, Siph!" Arcturus replied.

Sal rolled his eyes at the discussion of the brothers.

"Hold still," he interfered when Arcturus tried to sit up when the debate

heated. "I'm still not done bandaging you."

In that moment, Allaric Moody, Garrick Ollivander and Charlus Potter

entered and stopped dead in the entrance to the tent.

"Are they still debating?" Charlus asked tiredly.

He had dark rings beneath his eyes and his clothes looked half-burned.

He had been the one who had stabilized the ward so that Arcturus Black

came away with a scare and not a death-sentence.

The moment, Sirius heard Charlus voice, he turned to the door, looked at

Charlus for another second or two before making two steps towards the

Potter and enveloping him in a hug.

Charlus startled and nearly everybody else's jaws hit the floor.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you!" Sirius breathed. "Thank you so much,

Potter!"

Charlus looked at the limped that was once one Sirius Black

uncomfortably.

"You're welcome," he said and patted the other man's back awkwardly.

While those two men had learned to work together, this was the first

time, they actually interacted as anything else but reluctant team-mates.

Allaric snickered.

"Seems like the idea of friendship between the next generation of Black

and Potter might be true, after all," he said amused.

Sirius Black snorted – it sounded a bit watery – before telling them with a

muffled voice: "Well, I for once wouldn't mind."

Then he finally released the Potter-heir again.

Said man looked at the other man with clear embarrassment on his face,

before finally shrugging.

"If there's ever a Black named after you, Black, then I will think about

letting my son be his best friend if that's what you want," with that, he

patted the other man another time awkwardly on the shoulder before

fleeing from the tent.

Ollivander snickered.

"Now you just need to get your children to name their next child after

you," he said amused.

Sirius rolled his eyes.

"As if that will happen," he said and waved it off. "I already forbid my

children from naming their children after me – and Potter knows this. I

bet he worded it like that to ensure that it won't happen even in the

future."

Sirius Black would never know that his as of yet unborn grandson would

name his sons in honour of those fighting against Grindelwald.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

February 1918

"Lord Potter," Henry stopped. He had been about to leave the halls of the

Wizengamot. He was still Supreme Mugwump and had again pleaded for

the British to send some help to the war-ridden countries on the

mainland. Again, it had been one Albus Dumbledore who had led the

opposition, arguing that there was nothing the British wizards could do,

that the wizards of the rest of Europe weren't already doing.

Henry couldn't even object to that reasoning. There was nothing that the

British wizards could do better than the ones who were already fighting –

but unlike those who were already in the middle of the fight, the British

wizards would be less worn out and could help them when it came down

to numbers.

Yet, the rest of the Wizengamot, as much as they respected Henry,

listened to the young charismatic wizard that was called the 'next coming

of Merlin' by many. And while Henry couldn't object that the other man

definitely had a lot more power than the average wizard, he couldn't see

'Merlin' in the laid-back approach of Albus Dumbledore.

Henry shook off his thoughts and turned to the man approaching him.

"Lord Black," he greeted the man and saw from the corner of the eye

Albus Dumbledore stopping and frowning at Henry and Phineas Nigellus.

"Lord Potter, I'd like to talk to you in private, please," the other man said.

Henry stared at the other Lord in shock. After the initial approach all

those years ago when Phineas Nigellus had rebelled against the decision

of the Wizengamot and given his sons the right to decide if they wanted

to fight or not, they hadn't spoken even two words with each other.

For a moment, Henry hesitated.

The other Lord hadn't changed his stance in the Wizengamot at all since

back then. He was still a proud part of the dark side with no inclination

to embrace anything muggle – and therefore a total opposite of Henry.

Yet, when Henry looked into the other man's eyes, he saw nothing but

determination in there – a determination obviously aimed at speaking

with Henry at all costs.

"Tomorrow, ten o'clock in the Leaky," Henry finally said. "I'll book us a

private room."

Phineas Nigellus, the worst remembered Headmaster that ever graced the

halls of Hogwarts, nodded.

"Thank you, Lord Potter," he said and with that he walked off.

Not a minute later, Albus Dumbledore was at Henry's side.

"You should be careful with him, Mr Potter," the young Dumbledore

warned Henry with a frown. "He can be quite… dangerous when he

wants something."

Henry looked at the younger man with a raised eyebrow.

"This is not my first year in politics, Lord Dumbledore," he pointed out

coolly. "Don't worry, I can look after myself."

The younger man just frowned.

"This might not be," he replied. "But unlike you, I work closely with Mr

Black at Hogwarts. I know his character far better than you who just

interacts with him within this chamber – so for your safety, I hope that

you will take my warning to heart."

Henry looked at the younger man a bit unhappily. He didn't like it at all,

that the other man had even thought about butting into Henry's business,

but Henry was far too well raised to admonish the other man openly

where everybody else could hear it.

"I believe I know whom I can trust and whom I can't," he finally settled

on, before bowing stiffly. "Lord Dumbledore."

With that he turned away and left the young lord standing – hoping

against hope that the other man would see his stiff behaviour as the

admonishment it was meant to.

A day later Henry met Phineas Nigellus Black in the Leaky Cauldron.

They entered the private room Phineas Nigellus rented and then sat down

together for breakfast.

It was after they had eaten, that Phineas Nigellus finally decided to speak

up.

"Lord Potter," he said formally. "I apologize for calling you here today

when I don't even know if you can help me."

Henry looked at the other man in surprise.

"Help you?" He asked with a raised eyebrow and Phineas Nigellus

inclined his head.

"I came here in my function as Head of the House Black," he said. "And I

came here to ask for advice from the Head of House Potter – a House

known for its toleration of muggleborn and muggles."

Henry frowned.

"What does House of Black need that you have to ask me for help

regarding either of that," he said, a bit confused. He knew that the House

of Black was against everything muggle – so approaching House of Potter

because of its tolerance was not something Henry had thought of first

when he had been approached.

Phineas Nigellus sighed.

"I…" he hesitated, clearly uncomfortable enough with the theme that it

even broke his normally stoic countenance. For a moment, the other man

quietened to gather his courage, then he looked Henry into the eye.

"This is about my grandson," he said and Henry looked at the other man

in surprise. But before he could say something, Phineas Nigellus already

continued.

"The boy is two years old, going on three," he said. "And while it's

definitively too early to truly say…"

Phineas Nigellus took another deep breath.

"My daughter-in-law noticed that Marius hasn't shown any signs of

accidental magic as of yet," he pressed out. "And while that isn't too

unusual for other families at that age, the most of the Black children had

their first bout of accidental magic between nine and fifteen months."

Henry's eyes narrowed.

"You play with the thought that the boy might be a squib," he said with a

frown.

Phineas Nigellus took another deep breath, then he nodded.

"We don't give up hope yet," he told Henry before the Lord Potter could

admonish him. "But it's just another year and a half until the child needs

to start training and if he's truly a squib… if he's truly…"

The serious eyes of the Black Lord locked with those of Lord Potter.

"If Marius truly has no magic, then I don't want him not to be able to live

in the muggle world after he's grown," Phineas Nigellus grimaced at those

words, but the serious expression never left his eyes. "I don't want my

grandson to suffer as my brother did – and if that means to ensure that he

gets a… muggle-education that he might not need on top of his wizarding

one, so be it!"

Henry looked at the other Lord in surprise.

"So," he said slowly, needing time to come to terms with what he just

heard. "You approached me to ensure your grandson will be able to

navigate the muggle world if he's truly a squib."

The Black Lord nodded and Henry shook his head at the other man.

"Aren't you at odds with one of your sons because he's supporting muggle

rights?" He asked confused.

The Black Lord waved it off.

"That has nothing to do with Marius need to learn how to live without

magic," he said. "Phineas wants that muggles are made… part of our

culture – the only thing I want is for my grandson to have every

opportunity he can get even if he might not have magic."

Henry shook his head at the other man. In his eyes, it was still too early

to actually say if the child was a squib or not – but he definitely wouldn't

stop the man if that's what he wanted.

"Alright," he said. "And what do you want me to do?"

Phineas Nigellus leaned forward as if to share a secret.

"My son Cygnus – little Marius father – and I talked," he said with a grave

expression on his face. "We need information about that institution called

'primary' by muggles. As far as I've heard it's something akin to Hogwarts.

Since Marius will start his education in a year's time, we need that

information now."

Henry stared at the Black Lord.

Primary.

A school.

Well – that definitely wasn't a request he would have ever predicted that

the proud Black Lord would make.

"Of course, we will pay you handsomely either in favours or in gold for

all the information you will gather," Phineas Nigellus added.

Henry wondered how Phineas Nigellus would react if Henry's memory

was right and the Black Lord had to be told that the primary was starting

at five and not at four like wizarding education in the House of Black…

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

October 1918

"Sal!" Sal looked up from his planning and into the eyes of Charlus Potter.

"There's an Iron Belly waiting for you!"

Sal sat down his charts and rubbed his eyes.

"An Iron Belly?" He repeated. "Which one?"

"Ukrainian," Charlus replied. "He said he's covering the Eastern Front."

Sal snorted inwardly at that. What had started as an unusual request had

soon turned into a new division of Sal's troops. The dragon division Newt

Scamander had requested had gained some more members over the last

year. They were all called "Iron Bellies" after the dragon race. They

weren't a dragon division, per say, but actually their spy division, now

consisting of more members than just one person.

"Dragon Division is a fitting description of them," Theseus Scamander had

said when he had found out about his younger brother's insistence that

he would tell everyone that he was part of the dragon division. "But

maybe we should be more specific. 'Iron Bellies', maybe – you have to be

able to stomach a lot when you're part of that division, after all." The

name had stuck – like every other name Theseus and Newt Scamander

had come up with over the years – if Sal liked them or not.

"Send him in," Sal said and Newt Scamander, or "The Ukrainian Iron

Belly" as he was known to friends and foes alike, entered.

"You've finally been found out by Grindelwald?" Sal asked amused. Newt

waved it off.

"Naw," he said. "He's still clueless."

"And yet you're here in the middle of our camp," Sal said while raising an

eyebrow. "I thought it was far too dangerous for you to be anywhere near

the camp, Newt?"

Newt waved that off as well.

"Normally, yes," he said. "But after tonight it won't matter anyway."

Sal raised an eyebrow at that.

"How so?" He asked.

"I've gotten some information that might end all this if we do it right,"

Newt replied. "Unfortunately it will also expose me as a spy, so I fear I

will have to retire from my doings if we succeed or not."

Sal looked at him in interest at that.

"Alright," he said. "What did you find out?"

"He's planning to assassinate Heinrich Eberstadt, one of the most

important wizards of Switzerland," Newt said. "I've got the time and date

of the attempt as well as the names of the people who will come with

him."

Sal frowned.

"You don't think that he will notice you're missing –"

"He would have, I think," Newt said while waving if off. "But he and the

most of his people left to Switzerland already. I'm officially in charge of

the rest of his people, but I told my second that I promised to see my

hubby tonight and that I had to go. Since we've just been told to wait,

nobody will think anything of that – at least until Grindelwald and his

people a caught or until they return after being swatted."

Sal nodded.

"Alright," he said. "How long do we have?"

Newt looked at him darkly.

"Barely tonight," he said. "Grindelwald will attack at dawn."

Sal nodded. It wasn't the first time that they had barely time to act, but

normally the attacks they prevented had been known to more of

Grindelwald's men and not just his elite.

"Alright," he said. "Then I guess we'll have barely time to get into

position."

In the end, Newt had been right. Grindelwald attacked at dawn, coming

at the Head of Law Enforcement of Switzerland, one Heinrich Eberstadt.

Luckily, Sal and his men had been prepared. At the same time

Grindelwald attacked, his own men, the one he left behind were attacked

as well. A lot of them died, a lot of them were captured and given to the

aurors.

But not only Grindelwald's men were attacked. His own attack was

stopped by Sal's people as well.

The following fight was legendary. It was a blood bath and a lot of men

got hurt or killed, but in the end, Sal's men won and Grindelwald was

given to Eberstadt at the Swiz's request.

Barely a day later, Grindelwald had fled and Sal cursed the man they had

rescued for his inability to see the threat Grindelwald portrayed until it

was too late and the wizard was gone again.

In the end, Sal and his men could do nothing but curse Eberstadt.

"So, what will we do now?" Theseus Scamander asked darkly. "He's gone

and I doubt that we will hear from him until he's got back his strength."

Sal sighed at that.

"I guess we will have to live our lives until then," he said. "We will do

everything we want to while keeping an eye out for him. The moment he

returns, we will return as well – if you want to, that is. You have fought

him already; I won't force you to return if you don't want to anymore."

"But you will return, won't you, Sal?" Theseus said. "You are the one

providing the sanctuary for all others, after all…"

Sal just snorted and then sighed.

"I will," he said. "I can't leave others to suffer by this man's hands."

Newt laughed at that.

"Well," he said. "I guess I will return to my cover job as a real one if this

ends here for now."

Officially, Newt Scamander was working at the Ministry of Magic in

Britain, after all.

"And I will have to think about writing that book Augustus wants me to,"

he added amused. "That should keep me busy for a while, I guess."

Sal rolled his eyes in amusement.

Augustus Worme was also part of the resistance while at the same time

managing a publishing house in Britain. Sal had no idea how Augustus

did it, but he knew that he did. When Augustus and Newt met in the

resistance – both of them were Iron Bellies, spies, that is, after all – he

started to pester the other man about writing a book for his publishing

house. It seemed that Augustus had finally won that battle after nearly

one and a half years of whining.

"You will keep in touch, won't you, Sal Sanctuary?" Newt added in that

moment and Sal's head snapped up.

"What did you call me?" He asked incredulously. Oh, he had heard the

name before, but until now he had always thought it as a code name,

solely used when he was up and about elsewhere, but never used when

he was at the camp. To hear it used there was somehow more

frightening...

Newt grinned.

"Well, it was my brother who actually said that you're providing

sanctuary," he said. "I just shortened it to an acceptable length."

"But I'm not a place!" Sal protested and Newt just shrugged.

"If you say so," he said, before waving good-bye. "Well, I'm off now. I've

got to hunt down Augustus, after all. I'll write the moment I find a trace

of that mad man I spied on. Until then, folks!"

They would have something akin to peace for the next eight years.

sSs

"Alright," Sal said, looking at his men. "Let the storm begin. May we

survive this night and may we win this fight for the sake of the world!"

And yet, while he said this, there was still unease in Sal's mind – an

unease, he couldn't put to rest.

This was Dumbledore's story.

This was Dumbledore's history…

So where was the man who had fought and won against Grindelwald if

the stories Sal remembered from the future were right?!

Sal shook his head to get rid of that thoughts.

It didn't matter.

Not today.

Today they would go to war.

Today they would fight.

Dumbledore or no Dumbledore.

This was their hour.

Grindelwald would rue the day he killed Allaric Moody's parents…

And Death, most unwillingly, handed over his own Cloak of Invisibility.

It was only when he attained a great age that the youngest brother

finally took off the Cloak of Invisibility and gave it to his son. And then

he greeted Death as an old friend, and went with him gladly, and, as

equals, they departed this life.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

That's it for today. I hope you liked it.

'Till next time,

Ebenbild

55. Chapter 54: 1926-1945 Life

And Lies

Warning: I changed the last chapter because I didn't like it and I finally had

time to rearrange it to something I like – so you might want to read it again

(even if some parts stayed the same). I hope you like it more like it is now.

xXx

Disclaimer: not mine. All Rowling's.

Information: all in fat-italic is from 'Fantastic Beasts And Where To Find

Them'.

The chapter is influenced by the movie 'Fantastic Beasts And Where To Find

Them'. I tried to minimize spoilers (only the next chapter will truly contain

anything about the movie)!

xXx

Comments:

To HarrisEjaz of wattpad:

I am quite sure that you're not ME so I'm also quite sure that simply copying

my work and then change the name of a chapter or two as well as the story's

name doesn't make my story yours! In other words – TAKE MY STORY

DOWN FROM YOUR ACCOUNT!

And do the same for preciousann, from whom you stole her 'Courage and

Cunning' renaming it 'Bravery and Intelligence'.

I repeat: Copying doesn't make a story yours!

xXx

To some of my 'nicer' readers:

I find it interesting that you want me to confess that I have a 'writers-block' –

just because I can't manage to update a story of about thirty to forty pages per

chapter as fast as a story of two to three pages per chapter.

Of course, adding to that that I wrote master thesis (which I told repeatedly

beneath nearly every chapter for the last chapters!) and started training (an

apprenticeship if the other word is too hard to understand) as a confectioner,

meaning I work eight to ten hours a day/ a night while having to learn for

confectioner school while (I repeat) writing my master thesis (!) the only

explanation is that I have a writers-block!

Next time, think before you write something like that again.

With all my sarcasm,

Ebenbild.

xXx

To the rest of my readers:

I am sorry I took so long and I appreciate every kind word and every

encouragement, every 'I love your story' etc. you send me until now.

Thank you for that and sorry for my rants before starting this chapter

Ebenbild

Xxx

Now on to the story…

xxxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxxx

1926-1945 AD

The Lifes And Lies Of Gellert Grindelwald

sss

"Mr Scamander, do you know anything about the wizarding community

in America? We don't like things loose."

Sal and his people were standing in the shadow of one of the best

viewing points in Nuremberg – on the wall of the Imperial Castle, looking

down at the city while staying in the shadow of the castle itself.

"Nürnberg," Newt said and looked at the city in awe, using the German

version of its name – a version he was a lot more used to than the English

one considering that he had lived as a German wizard for quite some

time before he was found out a spy.

He stepped closer to the edge of the wall and looked down on the maze

of tiny streets. The six narrow houses that stretched themselves over half

of their view of the city were old and half-timbered buildings in different

kind of colours. Behind them, they could see the historic centre of the

town.

"We should have guessed that Grindelwald would have found a way to

have his prison and his headquarters here," Theseus Scamander said. "He

was obsessed with this city even the first time he tried to gain power over

Europe."

Newt inclined his head.

"He was," he agreed and looked down on the streets by leaning himself

over the wall. "But until now, there was no evidence that he had

managed to find a place anywhere near here."

Sal sighed and looked around as well.

Nuremberg.

He had been here before.

He knew the maze of the tiny streets of the old town like the back of his

own hand – he had lived here for a while, after all… even if it had been

centuries since then and the city had changed a bit, a lot of things had

still stayed the same. There was still St. Laurenz, the church with its two

towers nearly hidden behind the half-timbered house on the outer right

side of the six houses – a church which had been still worked on the last

time he had seen it. There were other houses just as old or at least on the

same places like the last ones Sal had known.

And yet, Nuremberg had changed as well. It had grown, it had been

modernized and it had turned into the home of the most dangerous

wizard in the whole of Europe.

"How far away are we from his new headquarters?" Sirius Black asked

while following with his gaze Newt's own which had settled on the

people in the streets.

"'Bout an hour and a half," Newt answered and followed with his gaze a

young boy running down the street. Considering that there was a war all

around them, this day was surprisingly calm.

"From here where to?" Pollux asked and leaned onto the wall to follow

Newt's gaze with his eyes as well.

"To the East," Newt answered and pointed towards his left side, his body

facing the city. "A bit more to the North as well, but not that much."

Pollux nodded thoughtfully.

"And the wards?" He asked.

Newt waved it off.

"Impressive, but not that far from the building as well," he said. "The

muggles know the place as a small moated castle called Oberbürg. They

have no idea that in the middle of the castle courtyard there's another,

hidden inner bailey – the bailey of Nurmengard."

"Nurmengard," Sal repeated and closed his eyes. "Grindelwald's

headquarter and prison."

"Yes," Newt agreed before sighing. "I guess you want me to lead you

through Nürnberg's streets to Oberbürg now?"

"If you please," Allaric agreed, his eyes alight with unholy light. "I think it

should be late enough that we will reach it when the night descends right

now."

Newt pouted but in the end nodded.

"Alright," he agreed. "Follow me!"

And with that he turned away from the wall and instead left the Imperial

Castle through its winding entrance back to the streets.

They would go by foot – because unlike magical transportation,

Grindelwald hadn't accounted someone nearing his headquarters by foot

who wasn't an ignorant muggle…

But then, Grindelwald had always underestimated Sal or his men even in

the past…

sSs

1926

The return to war started with an innocent letter, send by an old friend

from New York. It was plain, and relatively simple in writing – but the

context made more than up for the missing flowery speech the rest of the

wizarding world favoured.

It didn't even have a half way respectful beginning. "Sal" was the word it

started with – and as plain as that it continued.

xXx

Sal,

I've been in New York this year and I've some distressing news for you. I

stumbled upon Grindelwald here, hiding in the American Ministry of Magic

itself. With my help, he was taken to prison, but he escaped again. Keep an

eye open, if you please. He might return to Europe.

Newt

PS. I will miss our lover's spats.

xXx

A simple letter, yet, such a grievious content.

It looked like it was time to rise the Knights again…

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

"What're ye looking at, lad?"

Sal looked up from the letter clutched in his hands and into a pair of big,

blue eyes, hidden behind thick glasses.

"A letter from a friend," Sal answered the man with a sigh and his gaze

automatically returned to the words written on the parchment. "There's

trouble."

The man frowned.

"What kinda trouble?" He asked Sal.

Sal just sighed deeply again.

"The wrong kind of trouble," he answered. "The absolutely wrong kind…"

For a moment, he hesitated, his gaze lingering on the letter in front of

him, then he looked up at the huge eyes of the man – made huge by the

glasses – and went into more detail than before.

"Grindelwald might come back," he said. "There're people to contact, safe

houses to organize, countries to warn…"

He shook his head.

"It will be bloody difficult to reach all those who need to know in time

and it will be even more difficult to find people who will believe me that

he's coming back and that they'll have to fight to survive," he told the

other man without sugar coating it at all. "Sadly, a lot of those people

will be more inclined to stick their heads in the sand instead of interested

in preparing for the worst possibility."

The other man frowned.

"So what?" He asked. "Ye need a transport?"

Sal snorted.

"It's not that I'm unable to apparate myself," he pointed out. "It's more

like that I'll be tired out before even reaching half of the people I need to

contact and that contacting them by owl post might take too long. The

letter is more than a few weeks old. For all I know, Grindelwald is

already back in Europe, strengthening his army."

"Tha's indeed a problem," the other man said and then held out a hand to

Sal. "I might be not really useful meself, considerin' tha' I'm not really tha'

strong o' a wizard – but at leas' transport, tha' can I do."

Sal stared at the man next to him on the bar stool in befundlement.

"You have nothing to do with the war," he said confused.

"Naw," the other man said. "Bu' I lived in Switzerland at the time o' the

last. Unlike my other fellows here, I remem'er the Resistance."

At that, Sal looked at the other man sharply.

The man shrugged.

"Heinrich Eberstadt was a dunderhead," he said. "I'm all for helpin' ye

guys out this time around."

With that, he shook his hand, clearly wishing Sal to take it.

Sal just hesitated a second, then he clasped it.

The man grinned, revealing crooked and yellow teeth.

"I'm Ernest Prang," the man told him. "Bu' most people jus' call me 'Crazy

Ernie'."

Sal raised an eyebrow at that.

"Crazy?" He repeated in disbelief and the other man's grin broadened.

"Crazy," he replied, not elaborating further.

Sal shook his head, but shook the other man's hand nevertheless.

"Nice to meet you, Ernie," he said. "I'm Salvazsahar Malfoire, but most

people call me Sal."

"Ah!" The man exclaimed. "Sal Sanctuary himself! A pleasure ta meet ya,

Herr Sanctuary!"

Sal roled his eyes at the man.

It seems as if he always managed to pick up the weird ones…

Unfortunatelly that thought would only be further enforced when Sal had

his first ride with Ernie Pang's car service.

Ernie had one of the most modern cars in all of Britain right now – and of

course, he had decided to modify it to his needs. Sadly, what he saw as

his needs, others saw as an accident waiting to happen – at least after

they were subjected to Ernie's driving for the first time. Of course,

considering that the car only had a textile roof and no windows… well, it

might be easier to understand if Sal would be able to find another

comparision but the one he had thought of even after two thousand years

between his last ride before Crazy Ernie.

Even after two thousand years, there was just one comparition that fit

that ride.

"Knight bus," Sal thought while leaving the car on unsteady feet. "That

ride felt like the one I had with the Knight bus back then."

In the following years, Sal's men would feel at the same time thankful as

apprehensive every time they needed the services of Crazy Ernie while

too wounded or too tired to leave the battlefield without his help.

As for Grindelwald – it would take another four years until he finally

started to surface again. By then, Sal would have contacted everybody

and ensured that safe houses and other necessities were taken care off.

And while some people claimed that he was delusional after not hearing

from Grindelwald for month that turned into years, the Blacks under

their new head Sirius Black as well as the Scamaders, the Ollivanders, the

Potters, Allaric Moody and some others never doubted him. Just like

Ernie Pang.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

1930

The first traces of Grindelwald after his long absence, were some

rumours. It wasn't enough that most politicians wanted to listen to Sal,

but it was enough for his old group to gather with concern edged into

their faces.

They met inside one of the safe houses Sal had organized. It was plain

and in the middle of the country side of southern France. The room they

met in was made of wood – wooden floors, wooden ceiling, wooden walls

and only lit by the light of a few candles. It had no windows - not that it

would have mattered much, considering that it was night outside and

therefore dark there as well.

When Sal entered the room, it was crowded by conjured chairs and grave

faces.

Sal looked around the room, his eyes going from one face to the next.

"There've been rumours about recruitments of known criminals into

something bigger," he started his speech darkly. "I haven't been able to

find out more, but with Grindelwald on the run again –"

"There's a high possibility that he's stirring up Europe again," Theseus

Scamander finished sighing. He was a bit older than before, his

handsome face showing lines where there hadn't been any the last time

they saw each other. He was sitting in the back of the room, leaning

heavily against a red-head in a blue coat and a green, stick like creature

sitting on his other shoulder – his brother, one Newton Artemis Fido

Scamander.

Sal inclined his head at Theseus in agreement.

"So," Jêrome Delacour, the Lord Delacour, said. He was sitting nearly on

the opposide wall of the room than Theseus and looked like he was in the

middle of a lavish banquet instead of a meeting of rascals. He was

wearing the finest linen and sitting stiffly while listening avidly. "What

do we do?"

"We'll prepare," Sal said sighing, slouching a bit at that answer. They

hadn't even started yet, and he already felt tired – but then, they had

been waiting and looking out for signs for the last four years. A constant

watch was as tiring or even more tiring than open warfare could ever be.

"Prepare how?" Sirius Black asked and leaned forward, his brother

Arcturus next to him.

Sal sighed and then shrugged.

"Recruitment," he said and pinched his nose. "Building a political power

base in Britain; listening to rumours and act the moment we find

something more concrete than we have now."

The others looked at each other, then some of them nodded slowly.

Charlus nudged Sirius a bit amused.

"I think you might be able to help with the whole political side, don't

you, my Lord?" He asked amused and Sirius rolled his eyes.

"Just because I'm now the Lord Black, I don't think that it will help a lot,"

Sirius answered with a sigh. "My father was for the resistance as well –

and yet, with everybody listening to Dumbledore, he had no chance to

get the help we hoped for for us."

Charlus snarled angrily.

"Yes," he said unhappily. "That man is the most troublesome man I've

ever met – especially considering how he's been treating my father and

everybody else who goes against him!"

Allaric raised an eyebrow at Charlus.

"Your father?" He teased. "I thought that Henry Potter was your uncle,

Charlus!"

Charlus rolled his eyes amused.

"As if anybody here doesn't know that my actual name is Fleamont

Charlus Potter," he said and waved his words off. "I'm not about to lie to

my comrades in war when I don't have to!"

Ollivander snickered.

"Well," he said jokingly. "I could use an Obliviate if you don't want

anybody of us to know about that anymore."

Charlus rolled his eyes and Allaric cuffed the other man over the head.

"One would have thought that you had grown up in the last decade –

sadly enough, this doesn't seem to be the case at all!" He declared not

annoyed at all.

"Well," Ollivander drawled as amused as Allaric. "Unlike you I didn't

make the mistake and marry – so of course I managed to stay as insane as

I have been before!"

"Not that much of an achievement considering you're an Ollivander and

your father and grand-father already proved that you're all insane!" Sirius

countered amused.

Ollivander just smirked.

"It's not the Ollivanders who are known for their inherited insanity," he

countered grinning.

Sirius rolled his eyes.

"It's not my fault that we Blacks are always interpreted wrongly by

everybody else," he countered and his brother nodded.

"We just grin innocently at somebody – and suddenly, we're considered

insane by everybody who sees us," Arcturus Black added sadly.

Cygnus, the last of the brothers, just nodded as sadly as his other brother.

"People simply don't appreciate our smiles anymore," with that, his face

twisted into a smile that could only be called unhinged. Of course, his

brothers followed up with the same smile just a second later.

The others around the room snorted.

Newt and Theseus Scamander smirked before mimicking the insane smile

as well.

"Seems we must be related to the Blacks," Theseus pointed out.

Newt nodded.

"Maybe the Blacks should introduce Thes to some of their daughters – we

definitely need a way to combine the insanity of our two lines… and

Thes is the only one who still can do that!" He said grinning.

Charlus groaned.

"No!" He exclaimed. "I object! Anything but a marriage between the

Blacks and the Scamanders!"

The Scamander brothers and the Black brothers exchanged an amused

smirk.

"Then I guess we will have to look forward to a marriage between House

Potter and House Black in the future," Newt said amused. "Or how else

should I understand that sentence?"

Charlus threw the spy-master a disgusted glance.

"As if I'd ever marry a Black," he said with a shudder. "I've enough trouble

with the one Black I call my best friend right now!"

At least, this would be Charlus's opinion until young Dorea Black would

walk into his life in 1937. Sadly – at least sadly for the Potter heir – he

would fall to her charm right after the first spell he'd see her ever cast…

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

1934

Sal raised his eyebrow when Sirius Black stepped into the tent he was

currently using as a base. He knew that the other man had been home for

the last two months, so he was a bit surprised, that the man was back

here, when he was needed in Britain after taking over the lordship of his

father, Phineas Nigellus Black, and therefore also taking over his seat in

the Wizengamot.

"Sirius," Sal greeted the man nevertheless. "What are you doing here?"

The man grinned a bit madly.

"I'm here to present you some help we didn't have before," he answered,

grinning a grin that was full of the rumoured Black-insanity.

Sal raised an eyebrow at the insane man.

"Whom?" he asked.

As an answer, Sirius stepped aside and gestured for the people behind

him to enter.

"This is my nephew Pollux, his brother Marius and his sister Cassiopeia,

their cousins Callidora and Cedrella as well as my own children: my sons

Arcturus Sirius, his brother Regulus and their sister Lycoris," he said

proudly while gesturing at each of the entering young adults. "They

decided to join our little alliance."

Sal raised an eyebrow.

"Are you planning to bring the whole Black family into the war?" He

asked amused.

Sirius shrugged.

"If I hadn't brought them, they would have rebelled," he countered. "I'm

not that eager to be subjected to Marius' ingenious mind so I decided to

take the line of the least resistance and just brought them with me."

One of the boys – Marius, as Sal would learn soon – grinned.

"Uncle knows us too well, it seems," he said amused.

"You mean he knows you too well, Marius," his brother Pollux objected. "I

wouldn't dare to threaten the Head of our House with pranks if he doesn't

do what I want!"

The other man crossed his arms and pouted.

"It's not as if I'd threaten our Head of House if it wasn't important!"

Marius countered. His cousin Arcturus Sirius just ruffled his hair at that

exclamation.

"Of course you wouldn't," he said fondly. "And believe me we're all

thankful for it!"

Marius rolled his eyes.

"Oh, stop it, Archie!" He cried and slapped away his cousin's hand.

"You're just unhappy that I can do stuff you can't! It's not my fault that

you don't understand technik like most of the wizarding world!"

"Well, we've got you to explain it to us," Arcturus Sirius shrugged. "At

least you can put the whole stuff into words I actually understand – and

not those made-up words that muggles use!"

Marius raised an eyebrow at his cousin.

"Since I'm a squib, I'm not better than a muggle," he pointed out to his

cousin, oddly unbothered by his lack of magic.

"You know how magic works and you can brew potions," Arcturus Sirius

countered. "You're much more like us useless wizards than those useful

muggles!"

Marius rolled his eyes at his cousin.

"In other words I'm as stupid and as insane as you," he said half-amused,

half-exasperated. "What a nice assortment of my character!"

This time it was his brother who slapped his back.

"No, little brother," Pollux said earnestly. "We all know that you're not at

all as stupid and as insane as we!"

Marius raised an eyebrow.

"I'm not?" He asked, clearly used to the brickering with his siblings and

cousins.

Pollux smirked.

"Of course not!" He exclaimed before adding with an even deeper smirk.

"You're worse!"

"Hey!" Marius objected, but before he could add something else, Lord

Sirius Black spoke up again.

"Stop brickering, boys!" He interfered. "I don't need a prank war in the

tent of the leader of the Resistance!"

Sal just looked at them in amusement.

"I'd prefer some less war in my tent as well," he said. "But if you want to

invent something to drive Grindelwald crazy – be my guest."

Maybe, Sal shouldn't have said that – because the Black family would

truly make some use of that promise not too far into Sal's future…

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

Barely a month after the joining of the Blacks, the discussion of the war

in the Resistance would be taken up a new notch.

Grindelwald had started his own attack up again – but this time, the

Resistance didn't plan to sit back and wait until Grindelwald was as

strong as he had been before he had been taken down by the Resistance

the last time.

This time, the Resistance had the chance to take action way before

Grindelwald was up to his play – and the Resistance would do everything

to use that to its benefits.

"We should think about our strategy. We might be able to step up our

attacks this time around," Theseus said, frowning thoughtfully. Theseus

Scamander and the rest of the Resistance had gathered in Sal's tent for a

meeting. It was something that didn't happen often, but with Grindelwald

starting to step up his attacks, Sal appreciated the opinion of everybody

working with him – even if some of the ideas he might get would be

something he would have to get used to over time…

Of course, especially the Scamander brothers had shown their unusual

way of thinking in the past – but that didn't mean that Theseus

Scamander and his brother were the only insane ones in Sal's Resistance.

"We should be able to step up our attacks this time around," Theseus

added determined. "We just need to rethink our strategy and change it in

a way Grindelwald would have never thought off or predicted!" His

brother Newt nodded at that and leaned forward eagerly, nearly

dislodging his brother by doing so.

"We got some interesting help this time around, after all," he said,

grinning at some newcomers – most of them of Black descendant. The

answer was a matching grin from them as well, tinged with something,

that later might evolve in the all too well known Black-insanity...

Then one of the new Blacks spoke up.

"If we're stepping up the attacks on Grindelwald's men, then I formally

ask you to add a new devision to our Knights."

Oddly enough, it didn't matter how long Sal persisted in calling his

devision's by their actions – the moment Newt or Theseus Scamander

heard about the new devision, it was renamed to their liking. To Sal's

frustration, everyone else would soon use the new name instead of his

descriptions. So if Sal wanted it or not, his spies were "Iron Bellies" or

"the dragon devision", his attack group was the "knight devision" or the

"knights", his rescue teams were "Smugglers" and them and his Oblivator

squads, often also called "Lullabies", were part of the "Ghost devision".

At least, those names frightened and confused the enemies…

Sal looked at the speaker in inquiry.

The Black, being a Black took that as a means to continue and leaned

forward as well, her face determined.

"My cousins and I had the idea that we should attack first for once,

maybe," the woman said, looking at him coolly.

It was a good, if simple idea. It just had one mature flaw…

Sal sighed.

"We're not enough people to go head on against Grindelwald's men," he

said tiredly and rubbed his face. Four years to prepare, and yet, there

were only a handful of people who were willing to listen to him when it

came to a possible return of Grindelwald in the near future... "We can't

oppose his people directly. If we did, they would win."

There were grim looks all around and more than a few of the old-timers

nodded in bitter agreement. They had seen the last war – they knew what

to expect and they more than knew that the idea might be good in

theory, but unmanageable in reality.

This was reality.

They might have some people, but compared to Grindelwald's legion,

they were just a handfull.

They had no chance in a direczt fight and no way to gather more people

when most preferred to stick their heads in the sand instead to fight…

The Black seemed to notice the dark faces, but wasn't discouraged by the

looks of the others.

Instead her mad grin broadened.

"I don't propose that we go against Grindelwald's people head on," she

said, grinning. "Callidora and I had the idea of a support team to the

Knights. Air support. We thought about a division of light and not all too

tall people."

Several people blinked at that in surprise.

Air support?

Sal leaned forward in amusement.

"Alight, Cassiopeia, I'm listening."

The answer was a deepening smirk from Cassiopeia Black. Soon enough

the smirk spread to the rest of the room as well.

"Dorie and I talked and her idea goes like that…" she said, before

explaining in detail, ending with the most important part. "Of course,

considering that Dorie's just fourteen right now, she won't join us here for

at least another two to three years or so – let's hope that the war won't

last that long – but she's genious and we truly should try to implement

her ideas…"

For a moment, there was silence in the room after her proposal, then

Allaric Moody spoke up from his place next to Garrick Ollivander who

was sitting to the left of Sal.

"This idea has merit," he said slowly. "We will have to hash it out a bit

more, but in the end it might be something that Grindelwald's men will

learn to fear very soon…"

That, of course, sparked an avid discussion of merits and ideas for the

next few minutes.

"Anything else?" Newt asked after silence descended in the room once

again.

"Well," Ernie Prang spoke up from his corner. "I heard you had some

trouble with getting the injured off the battle field –"

Others nodded darkly.

Ernie grinned.

"Well…" he said slowly. "I looked into busses… you know, I played with

them and magic a bit… and I might have a solution about that…"

The others exchanged a look while Sal tried not to turn green at the

thought of Ernie Prang driving…

"So what?" Newt finally asked.

Ernie's grin just broadened and he looked at Marius, whose grin had

broadened as well.

"Marius and I experimented a bit," he said grinning. "And we found out

how to make my car even better hidden and useful for travelling – and

then we managed to rebuild the whole magic construct onto a bus."

Pollux looked at his brother, clearly a bit confused.

"So what?" He asked.

Marius grinned.

"So we have a transport that can help with the wounded!" Marius

exclaimed happily. "And don't worry – we ensured that it's absolutely

safe!"

Sal decided to not say anything at all to that. Instead, he just inclined his

head to show that he had listened before asking again.

"Anything else?"

When nobody said anything else, he sighed and then elaborated his own

troubles.

"I at least need some people who will help me to recover everything we

can about Grindelwald's past and his plans," he told his people, pinching

his nose. "We got his name and that he's been to Durmstrang thanks to

the Iron Bellies last time, but we were to preoccupied to look into it back

then. I tried to do that within the last years, but his family is dead as far

as I could find out, so gaining more information was next to impossible."

"We'll look into it anyway," Newt replied. "I've been doing that spy thing

for quite some time now, don't worry, I'll find something."

Sal frowned at Newt.

"You met Grindelwald in New York, Newt," he pointed out. "Even if your

cover would have still been intact by some miracle after the end of the

last war, that meeting –"

"I'm well and truly uncovered as a spy now, I know," Newt said and

waved it away unconcerned. "And yet, even in New York, he still

underestimated me. He knew who I was and who I had been, he knew

what I had done – and yet, there he was, underestimating me again."

At that, Sirius Black, sitting to Sal's right, snorted.

"Of course he did," he said, sounding more amused than the situation

actually called for. "You've got a puppy dog face. Nobody, and I repeat,

nobody ever will suspect a competend wizard when you look at them

with your huge, blue eyes, stuttering around and being awkward all over

the place!"

Newt just leaned back in his chair at that, making his brother yelp when

he nearly squashed him in the process.

"Is that so," he said, looking at Sirius with a sad and innocent expression

on his face. "It sounds as if you're accusing me to actively trying to make

people underestimate me!"

Sirius snorted and crossed his arms.

"Stop it, Baby Scamander," he said. "You can act innocent all you want.

You and I know both that you have enough power and knowledge in that

stick of a body to keep up with Grindelwald for more than a few minutes

if you want to!"

Newt looked at him with a hurt expression.

"I…" he stuttered. "I don't know what you mean?"

His hand went to his hair, carding through it in an awkward expression

of unease.

"'s not as if I know a lot of things if it hasn't anything to do with

creatures," he pointed out, blushing slightly.

Sirius rolled his eyes at the other man.

"Yeah, sure," he said. "Sorry, Baby Scamander. I saw you running around

with a mad look on your face before and I know better to underestimate

you after you played spy for us for more years that I even want to know

in Grindelwald's army."

Newt's flustered face morved into a mad grin.

"Is that so," he said and leaned forward again which resulted in his

brother nearly tumbling to the ground and cursing to himself and Newt

that the man he had selected as his pillow had to move that much. Newt

didn't even acknowledge his brother, instead he continued to speak as if

nothing happened. "And yet, Grindelwald still sees the socially awkward,

creature loving magizoologist when he looks at me – even after finding

out that I deceived him for years."

"Yes," Charlus Potter injected. "But Grindelwald always only saw the

mask – unlike us who saw the devious mind behind the mask as well.

Believe me, I understand why Grindelwald continues to underestimate

you – but you also have to admit it's a lot harder for us to do so after

seeing how dangerous it is to fall in that trap with you!"

Newt pouted.

"You're no fun," he complained before shrugging and turning to Sal.

"I don't plan to continue spying if that's what you fear," he said. "It's more

like that I plan to lead the dragon devision. I guess I'll be your spy master

from now on. I'll coordinate and all that stuff. Don't worry, I'll be good at

it as well."

Sal snorted and shook his head at the younger Scamander.

"I don't doubt it for just a second," he assured the other man and Newt

grinned.

"I'll look into Grindelwald's past for you," he said. "I unearthed everything

we needed until now. I will unearth that as well!"

If anything, that promise just told Sal that Newt would succeed. The man

was far too damn stubborn to break a promise he made, after all… So in

the end, Sal just nodded and left it at that. He trusted Newt to find out at

least a little bit more and in a lot less time than Sal himself had needed.

The man might be a creature fanatic, but he was still one of the best

intelligence officers Sal had in his team, after all…

"Alright," he said aloud. "Anything else?"

"We'll also try to recruit some more," Theseus spoke up and carefully

leaned back onto his brother's shoulder, clearly wary of said man's

constant moving around.. "When Grindelwald finally returns to the open,

he will have his army back. If we're still as few as we are now, we won't

stand a chance."

"If it's true that he's recruiting there might be a way to regain some Iron

Bellies," Newt added a bit eagerly and his brother immediately removed

himself from Newt's shoulder, fearing that the man would lean forward

again. Only when nothing happened even while Newt continued

speaking, he returned to his previous position with still a wary eye on

Newt. "We just need some people who are dark enough that they won't

look admiss if they say that they want to join his cause."

Charlus snorted.

"You do that, Newt," he said amused. "And I'll go back to Britain and look

for some help over there. They kept themselves apart the last time, if

Grindelwald truly returns stronger than he was, there's no way that they

will be able to do that again."

"If they don't join we'll simply leave them to their fate," Newt said,

waving off Charlus' words, nearly hitting Theseus in the process. Said

brother looked at him in discruntlement, but didn't move. "That should

wake them up in the end…"

Theseus shook his head, leaning back further against his brother's

shoulder.

"I truly wonder how more than half of the world thinks you're harmless,

innocent and cute, Newt," he said. "A harmless expert in magizoology,

solely interested in his creatures – as if! You should have been in

Slytherin, not in Hufflepuff, my brother dearest!"

Newt flashed him a grin at that.

"If you say so, Thes," he said amused. "And now back to more important

things than my sorting…"

It would take Newt some years to trace Grindelwald's family and his path

in life, but in the end, they found a connection they hadn't known about:

one Bathilda Bagshot, Grindelwald's great-aunt, told them about the one

summer he fantasized with one Albus Dumbledore about taking over the

world and finding the Hallows – not that they knew that information. But

at least they finally had another source of knowledge: one Bathilda

Bagshot.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

"I have visited lairs, burrows and nests across five continents, observed

the curious habits of magical beasts in a hundred countries, witnessed

their powers, gained their trust and, on occasion, beaten them off with

my travelling kettle."

The walk through the city was done in the twilight. Not one of them

spoke until they finally reached the end of the city. The castle they were

heeding to – Oberbürg – was situated a bit outside of Nuremberg, half

hidden inside of a forest.

The moaded castle to muggles would have looked as innocent as every

other uninhabited castle – and yet, the wizards of the Resistance could

feel the wards that surrounded the castle, ensuring that muggle's wouldn't

see the true castle hidden within the small looking moaded castle and

that wizards wouldn't come near the castle at all.

Sal and his warders exchanged a glance.

Then Sirius Black nodded and gestured for his ward-breakers to start

their work.

The other warders stepped up next to him.

The younger Arcturus Black was paired with the older Arcturus – one

ward-breaker, one ward-holder.

Pollux Black was paired with Regulus Black, Sirius Black's younger son.

Sal Sanctuary was working with Lycoris Black.

And Charlus Potter was again Sirius Black's partner – like always.

Always a ward-breaker and a ward-holder… always one who was forced

to take on the ward and one who might loose their lives if the wards

backlashed…

"Be careful," Sal told them, but the determined look in the ward-breaker's

faces Sal already knew that they wouldn't listen. If they had to die to take

down the wards – they would do it…

And there was nothing Sal could do to stop them…

When Sal insertet himself into the wards, he couldn't help but feel

impressed. The wards truly were a work of art – and it was clear that

after all of the attacks from the Resistance Grindelwald had learned a lot

about wards.

But it didn't matter how good Grindelwald was – he had not as much

experience as Sal when it came to wards.

"There's a mistake in the muggle wards," Sal pointed out to Sirius and

Charlus. "We can use that mistake to ensure us an entrance into the

wards."

It spoke for Sirius and Charlus experience and abilities that they were

able to manage to pinpoint what Sal had seen and locate the mistake as

well.

"We will unravel the wards here," Charlus told him before Sal could even

attempt to start unravel the wards himself.

"I'm a lot more experienced –"

"And your experience might be needed when we confront Grindelwald,

Uncle," Charlus pointed out reasonably. "You don't have enough magic to

unravel the wards now and confront Grindelwald later!"

That, Sal couldn't object to, so he did the only thing he could do – he did

a magical and mental backstep and let Charlus and Sirius take over the

unravelling of the wards.

But then, Sal had long since learned that he couldn't do everything

alone…

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

1936

Two years.

It had taken another two years until they had found someone who could

tell them more about the man who had slowly but surely taken other

criminals under his wing and was not subtle influencing not only

politicians in the magical world but in the muggle world as well.

Last year, Grindelwald had had his hands in Italy, starting the Second

Italo-Ethiopian War. This year, he was active in Spain and Sal's people

were trying their best to stop the man from spreading war over there.

Then, Newt had come with news about Grindelwald's past – finally.

Sal looked at the house in front of him. It looked old and nearly

uninhabitated.

"And you're sure that this is the right house?" He asked the man next to

him.

"It is," Newt told him earnestly.

Sal frowned at the house.

"It doesn't look like much," he said.

The other wizard frowned at it as well.

"It doesn't," he said. "It's still the right address."

Sal and Newt exchanged a glance with each other, then Sal stepped up to

the front door and knocked.

For a few minutes, there was no reaction but shortly before Sal was able

to knock a second time, the door opened and admitted an elderly lady

with grey streaked blond hair and brown eyes.

She looked at them for a moment with a forbidding face until she

actually looked at Sal.

Her eyebrow raised.

"I know your face," she said, frowning. "I somehow know your face."