Written in the Stars - Lordships

Lordships

He had spent his summer months splitting his time between visiting the seedier bars of Knockturn Alley, listening to conversations in The Hog’s Head in Hogsmeade, and anywhere else he could think of where he may be able to hear even a whisper of information that would be of any use to him.

Right now, that was what Harry needed more than anything else.

When he wasn’t occupied with this in the late hours of the evening, he had been observing the coming and goings in Diagon Alley, watching the passers-by and developing an understanding of the mood within Britain.

The magical population was fearful, though none dared discuss openly what was occurring around them.

Harry knew that if they chose to remain silent and ignorant on the matter, the war was already lost.

He watched as the cloaked figure who had arrived only moments prior in The Downed Unicorn finished his conversation with another man before taking his leave of the bar.

There was no doubt that the pair had been discussing something either illegal or frowned upon, but neither Voldemort nor his Death Eaters had been the topic.

Harry released a deep breath as he leaned against the wall once more, hidden from the other patrons by his cloak.

The attacks had begun again, and as ever, the Order and the aurors had proven to be rather inept in responding to them in a timely manner.

Something needed to be done about it.

It was just one of many obstacles Harry had to find a way to overcome.

Since arriving in Britain just a few short months ago he had come to realise that the task ahead would not be easy.

Killing Voldemort would be perhaps the most difficult thing he faced, but the war would not be so simple to resolve.

There were many facets he needed to navigate, but his dedication would not waver.

Neither can live whilst the other survives…

In the end, it would come down to the two of them, but Harry was under no illusion that a definitive confrontation between himself and Riddle would come so soon.

Why would it when the man was having almost all the success he could wish for?

No, Harry would need to break his regime, dirty his hands in ways that no one else seemed willing to do.

That was his lot in life, for now at least.

It would be him that ended the war. Whether it would be in victory or defeat, he could not know, but he would not perish without giving it his all.

It was the very same thing he had told Cassie when he informed her of his decision to not return to Durmstrang for his final year.

The woman had been quite beside herself in a mixture of anger and concern, but she had understood eventually.

As expected, she had come too, and Harry had not even attempted to convince her otherwise.

It would have been folly, and in truth, he was grateful for her presence.

Harry shook his head at the memory of sharing the same news with the rest of his friends.

None had taken it well, and they had collectively begged him not to come here, not until he had finished his schooling.

Harry, however, had not been deterred, and though he did not wish to upset them, he knew he was doing the right thing.

He had long understood that difficult decisions would need to be made, and that had been one of them.

Just like Cassie, the others had come to understand his reasons for cutting his education short, but that did not mean they were happy about it.

Nonetheless, no more than a day or so would pass without receiving a letter from one or more of them.

Despite their own feelings on the decision he had made, they were still there for him, and Harry could not be more grateful for their correspondence.

It was odd how something so simple could give him a much-needed boost when the impossibility of what he was facing weighed down on him.

There was nothing more he looked forward to than reading some or Cain of Jonas’s anecdotes, a quip or two from Eleanor or Ana, and the letters he received from Lucinda.

Even the mere thought of the latter took him back to the night they had shared in the hot spring.

He missed all of his friends dearly, but with Lucinda, it was different.

She was as much his friend as the others, but it was not so simple to think of her as just that.

They had not discussed what had happened between, nor what it meant, but Harry could not ignore what had developed between them that night.

His feelings towards her were not necessarily complicated, but he could not quite define them.

She was his friend, but there was no denying that what they shared went much further than something so simple as friendship.

He shook his head of those thoughts.

In the lonely hours he spent beneath his cloak, he had pondered the same thing countless times and he never drew closer to any satisfactory conclusion on just what the vampire meant to him.

He had no doubt that he cared for her so deeply that he would be content with just her presence, but that was as far as he had gotten to figuring out the conundrum.

With a murmured curse after having experienced another fruitless night, he left the bar, though he remained in good spirits.

In only another day, he would officially be claiming his lordships and he would then have another avenue of undermining and resisting Voldemort’s efforts.

(Break)

In all the decades that Gellert had known her, he had never seen Cassiopeia fret as much as she did now since Harry had returned to Britain. For the former Dark Lord, the young man had made the right decision, despite his most loyal follower’s protests.

Harry was no longer a boy on the cusp of manhood. He had crossed that threshold and he needed to take control of his own destiny.

Gellert snorted to himself.

Had anyone told him that in the years to come after he suffered his final defeat on the continent that he would be mentoring the grandson of Charlus Potter as he attempted to bring the downfall of another Dark Lord, Gellert would believe them to have taken leave of their senses.

Yet, here he was and doing so willingly.

He often did wonder what his old foe would think of how such a thing had come about.

Not that it mattered.

Charlus Potter was dead, but his grandson was very much alive and Gellert intended on keeping him that way.

“I do wish you would stop pacing,” he sighed as Cassiopeia passed is cell for the dozenth time.

The woman was giving him a headache.

“What am I supposed to do, Gellert?” she asked worriedly. “He is going for his first Wizengamot meeting!”

“Harry will perform admirably,” Gellert returned.

“That is what I am afraid of,” Cassiopeia huffed. “When have you known him to hold his tongue or resist the urge to provoke those he dislikes?”

Gellert smirked at the thought.

“From what little I know of your brother, is that not what he would expect from his successor?” Gellert questioned. “It is not Harry you should be concerned with; it is those that will face him tomorrow that should be pitied. Politicians are not accustomed to honesty and bluntness. You raised Harry to have both in spades.”

“The boy is going to make more enemies,” Cassie murmured.

“Harry is no longer a boy,” Gellert pointed out firmly. He is a man of age, and it is up to him to make decisions for himself. I’m afraid that him arriving at the Wizengamot and posing as a pliant, spineless fool will do him no favours. He must be strong and represent his titles the way they deserve. As for him making more enemies, that is simply inevitable. He will step on toes, but he would do that whether or not there was a war to consider. This is Harry we are discussing. He likes to create trouble.”

Cassiopeia reluctantly nodded her agreement.

“He’s going to cause trouble tomorrow, isn’t he?”

Gellert smirked as he nodded.

“Is it wrong of me to feel that I would be disappointed if he did not?” he asked. “I just wish that I could be a fly on the wall when he claims his positions. There will be many upset Lord and Ladies.”

“But those that will support him?”

“Undoubtedly,” Gellert assured her. “Men like Harry attract support. He is strong and he is wilful with all the skill to back up anything he may say. Do not underestimate him, Cassie. I would bet my life that he will make both Arcturus and Charlus proud.”

Cassiopeia deflated as she shook her head.

“I bet the two of them would be gleeful if they were here to witness it for themselves. Arcturus would find nothing more amusing than to see Harry claiming the Black lordship right in front of Lucius Malfoy.”

“And Charlus would love nothing more than to see his grandson standing tall and as proudly as he once did,” Gellert added. “I did not like the man, but I never met another who carried themselves the way Charlus Potter did. He was strong and Harry is following in his footsteps.”

“He is,” Cassiopeia agreed somewhat reluctantly, “but my Harry will be better and stronger than them both.”

“That he will, my dear,” Gellert said comfortingly. “That he will.”

(Break)

He could not help but notice the resemblance he shared with the men in the portraits dotted around the walls of the study in Grimmauld Place as he donned his Wizengamot robes for the first time.

There was no doubting that Harry very much took after his father in appearance, but the similarities with the Lords of Black of old were undeniable.

He gazed at himself for several moments in the mirror, barely recognising himself from the boy who had begun his schooling only six years prior.

Harry was no longer a boy.

He had turned seventeen several weeks ago and had been anticipating this day since; the day his entire life had led to.

In only a matter of minutes, he would take the mantles of Lord Potter and Lord Black and introduce himself to the political scene of wizarding Britain.

Although he had been prepared for these positions since he was old enough to comprehend what Cassiopeia was telling him, he was nervous.

A lot hinged on how he comported himself today and it was of the utmost importance that he left a lasting impression on his peers.

He was pulled from his thoughts by someone snickering at the door.

“Sorry, but you look like my grandfather,” Sirius chuckled, pointing to the unmoving portrait of Arcturus Orion Black that rested above the ornate desk.

“I noticed,” Harry snorted.

Perhaps resembling a once greatly respected lord would serve him well?

“No,” Sirius corrected as he shook his head. “You look more like your own grandfather. He’d be damned proud of you, Harry.”

“How do you remember him?”

Sirius grinned at the question.

“He was bloody terrifying for the most part, but when you got to know him, you realised that he was one of the kindest men you could ever meet. Don’t get me wrong, he was not a person you wanted to find yourself on the wrong side of, but he was a family man. He loved your father and grandmother more than anything. Everything he did, it was for them.”

Harry nodded his understanding.

Family.

Other than Cassie, and more recently Sirius, Harry had never had one, and it remained the one thing in life that he desired perhaps more than killing Voldemort.

“You will be fine in there,” Sirius spoke once more, clapping Harry on the shoulder. “It’s in your blood, but if you get stuck, just ask yourself what a Lord Potter or Black would do in your position.”

Harry nodded gratefully as he checked the clock.

“I suppose I should get to it then,” he declared.

“Cassie is waiting for you in the kitchen,” Sirius informed him. “She will want to fuss over you before you go.”

Harry rolled his eyes as he took his leave of the study and made his way to the kitchen where he found the woman pacing back and forth in front of the fireplace.

She paused as he entered, her expression softening as she took in his appearance.

“You look like a strong man, Harry,” she praised as she approached him, smoothing out his robes. “Please, just be careful in there.”

Harry nodded, but the ghost of a smirk tugged at his lips.

He had his doubts that he would be allowed to be careful.

With whom he would be facing in the chamber, he was expecting a hostile welcome, and he would not be cowed by the likes of Malfoy and his ilk.

Too many had allowed themselves to be already, and Harry would not be one of them.

“I will be fine,” he assured the woman. “I will even come straight back and tell you all about it.”

Cassiopeia nodded as she released him.

“Then it is time for you to become what you were destined to be,” she whispered. “I cannot begin to tell you how proud of you I am.”

“I am what I am because of you,” Harry returned, placing a kiss on Cassie’s cheeks. “Thank you,” he added before leaving the room, pausing by the portrait of Walburga Black.

The woman glared at him furiously and Harry offered her a winning smile.

“I’m claiming my titles today,” he informed her. “I hope that you are turning in your grave you vile old bag. Imagine that. A half-blood as the Lord Black.”

Raising a finger in a rather undignified gesture of farewell, Harry stepped out of the front door of Grimmauld Place and apparated to an alleyway a short distance from the entrance to the Ministry of Magic.

It was a rather odd sensation to flush himself down one of the toilets to enter, but he pushed the thoughts of disgust from his mind as he did so and straightened his robes once more as he arrived in the atrium.

He had not been in the Ministry since the debacle in the Department of Mysteries, and though the building was now full of people milling around and going about their business, it seemed to be equally depressing.

No one seemingly wanted to draw attention to themselves, but as Harry began crossing the floor towards the wizard on guard duty, the whispers began.

“Is that Harry Potter?”

“What is he doing here?”

Harry ignored them, focusing his attention on the guard who had stood, his mouth agape as Harry reached him.

“Y-your wand, Mr Potter,” he requested.

“That won’t be necessary,” Harry returned. “I am here to attend the meeting of the Wizengamot, unless a Lord must now submit his wand?”

The man shook his head as he swallowed deeply.

“You may enter, Lord Potter,” he acquiesced.

Offering the guard a nod, Harry stepped through and made his way to the elevator, pressing the button that would take him to the lower levels.

It was an odd feeling that began to overwhelm him as he descended.

The deeper into the Ministry the elevator went, the colder it grew.

Harry frowned as the door opened and the chill seeped into his bones.

Fighting the urge to shudder under the oppressive magic, he continued on his way until he came to a large set of double doors that was being flanked by two aurors.

“It is a closed session today,” one of the men grunted without even looking at him.

The other nudged him with his elbow.

“Closed to whom?” Harry pressed.

“Members of the public. Even you, Potter.”

“Then it is just as well that I am not a mere member of the public, isn’t it,” Harry replied. “What is your name?”

“Auror Dawlish,” the man answered.

“Well, thank you for your diligence, Auror Dawlish,” Harry offered sternly. “Now, step aside. I do not need to inform you of my right to be here, do I?”

Dawlish frowned and his colleague shook his head.

“That is not necessary, Lord Potter. You may enter,” he said with something akin to an amused smirk.

Without further preamble, Harry pushed one of the doors open, and the cold he was experiencing became more biting, but it was not this that caught his attention.

In truth, he could not quite believe what he was seeing and it took several seconds to take in the scene before him.

Chained to a chair in the middle of the room was a middle-aged woman who was flanked on either side by two Dementors.

Floating above whatever was unfolding was another dozen or so of the unpleasant creatures, and Harry’s jaw clenched in anger as his eyes swept over the gathered Lords and Ladies of the Wizengamot partaking in what was occurring.

“Expecto Patronum,” he murmured having flicked his wand into his hand.

The pair of Dementors that had been either side of the woman darted towards the ceiling with the others, pursued by the ethereal thunderbird, and screeching their displeasure at being attacked.

“What the bloody hell is going on here?” Harry demanded as he stepped into the centre of the room.

The expressions that greeted him were of shock, as though each person in the chamber had been slapped across the face.

“Well?” Harry demanded when none spoke.

“This chamber is off limits to members of the public!” a stout witch who had purpled with rage snapped. “Guards, you will remove him!”

Harry snorted humourlessly.

“As I explained to the guards, it is just as well that I am not a member of the public,” he returned evenly. “As I have reached my majority, I am here to claim my lordship.”

“I do not believe the moment is conducive for Mr Potter to do so,” Lucius Malfoy piped up.

“I couldn’t give a toss what you think,” Harry replied with a shrug. “Upon reaching their majority, any Lord or Lady that is eligible can take residence of their Wizengamot seat at their earliest convenience, and without delay.  Is that not what the law states?”

“It does,” Lord Abbot called.

Harry offered the man a nod of appreciation.

“This moment is my earliest convenience, so I will be assuming my duties as of now,” he declared.

“Not without an induction,” Lord Nott spoke up. “Any Lord of a house must be inducted officially by his peers.”

“Only if they are not of the original twenty-eight families that presided over the Wizengamot,” Harry pointed out.

“Which Potter was not a part of!” Nott fired back with a leer.

“Then I cannot claim my Potter lordship,” Harry sighed. “Well, for now, I will just carry out my duties as Lord Black until my induction can be arranged. The Blacks are one of the original families, are they not?”

“What game are you playing, Potter?” Lucius Malfoy demanded to know. “You are not the Black heir.”

“You are correct,” Harry replied. “I am the Lord Black, as accepted by the Lord’s ring and named into the position by my godfather, the former heir, Sirius Orion Black.”

The Lords and Ladies of the Wizengamot murmured amongst themselves.

“Impossible!” Lucius growled as he stood. “My son…”

“Is nothing but your heir,” Harry said firmly. “I have documented evidence from the Black family lawyer, Mr Moon, that explains and confirms my position. Any who wishes to, are free to peruse it at their leisure. With that being said, should we not continue with whatever this is?” he questioned, nodding towards the trembling woman still chained to the chair.

“This is none of your concern!” the stout witch spoke up once more.

“On the contrary, it very much is my concern,” Harry countered. “Might I assume that this is a criminal trial?”

“It is.”

“Then where is the Minister?” Harry pressed. “All criminal trials must be presided over by the current Minister of Magic. If the Minister is unable to fulfil his duty, then the Chief Warlock or the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement may take his place. You do not look much like Dumbledore, and I have had the pleasure of meeting Madam Bones. You do not look much like her either. So, who are you?”

The woman was all but beside herself in a fit of rage, and she gritted her teeth as she replied.

“My name is Dolores Jane Umbridge, Senior Undersecretary to the Minister himself!”

“I see,” Harry mused aloud. “So, you are aware that you are breaking the law?”

“The Minister granted me the power to oversee these proceedings.”

“Is that so?” Harry asked amusedly. “And did the Minister grant you these powers without chairing the motion with the Wizengamot? Was it decided by all within this room that the law should be changed to allow an unqualified person to do so?”

“It was not,” one of the other lords called.

“Oh dear,” Harry murmured as he shifted his attention to the restrained woman. “What is your name?”

“Mary C-Cattermole.”

Harry offered her a comforting smile as he tapped the chains with his wand.

“Auror Dawlish?” he called.

The man opened the door and peered his head into the room at being summoned.

“Would you kindly escort Mrs Cattermole home?” Harry requested. “Of course, if you are too busy, find another. I will be checking that she makes it there unharmed.”

Dawlish looked towards Umbridge who shook her head.

“This woman is a prisoner!” she snapped furiously. “She failed to register herself under the Magical Protection Act, and then when she was apprehended, lied about her heritage.”

“Did she?” Harry asked interestedly. “What is her claim?”

“That she is distantly related to the Meadows family. They are an extinct line.”

“So you can neither prove nor disprove it,” Harry pointed out. “Do you not claim to have ties to the Selwyn family, Madam Umbridge?”

The woman fumbled over her words before Harry cut her off.

“I’m sure you will be more than pleased to provide the Wizengamot with your documented evidence in a timely manner. Now, as to the fate of Mrs Cattermole, is there any that believes she should be locked up? Might I remind you that there is no evidence of any crime taking place.”

None said a word in response and Harry nodded to Dawlish.

“On your way, Auror Dawlish.”

The man nodded dumbly as he helped Mrs Cattermole from the room.

The woman offered Harry a baffled, but grateful smile for his intervention.

“How dare you?” Umbridge raged as the door slammed behind the duo. “You have interfered with a Ministry investigation.”

“An illegal investigation,” Harry corrected. “Remember, you do not have the authority to preside over matters such as this, regardless of what Fudge believes.”

“I have had just about enough of this! Arrest him!”

Harry raised an eyebrow at the half dozen men that reluctantly approached him, each clad in black robes and looking unsure of themselves.

“Unless you are qualified and licenced aurors, I suggest you stay where you are,” he warned. “To attempt to bring harm in any capacity to a Lord without lawful proof of wrongdoing will see you spend the rest of your days in Azkaban. Not that I would press charges, of courses. I would simply kill you where you stand, as would be within my rights.”

The men paused as they looked at one another uncertainly.

“So, these are not aurors?” Harry questioned the room at large. “Under whose authority do you fall under. You?” Harry questioned, pointing to a rather gormless, pale man.

“We work for Madam Umbridge,” he answered dumbly.

“And how many of you work for her?”

The man shrugged.

“Maybe one hundred or so.”

Harry raised his eyebrows in faux surprise.

He already knew all of this information, but he had not expected to be relying on it so soon.

“Well, now that does create quite the problem for you, Madam Umbridge,” he sighed dramatically. “This is very serious.”

“What do you mean, Potter?” Lord Greengrass questioned.

“You can address me as Lord Black, if you don’t mind, Lord Greengrass. But to answer your question, what Madam Umbridge has done, unwittingly, of course, is formed a militia. It has been illegal in Britain for centuries for one person who is not in an official position designed for such a responsibility, to form a group of what can be considered to be a fighting force. Madam Umbridge has such a group, and not the position to be allowed it. This is quite the conundrum.”

“The Minister…”

“Does not have the authority to grant you anything he bloody well wishes!” Harry snapped. “Fudge is not as all powerful as you imagine, but he is only an accessory to this crime, so I suppose the Wizengamot will have to be satisfied with your arrest and detention until a trial can be arranged for you.”

“You do not have the authority to arrest me!” Umbridge protested.

“I do not,” Harry agreed, “but as I have proven beyond doubt that there are grounds for your arrest, the aurors are now obligated to carry out their duty in doing so. Gentlemen, if you would.”

Umbridge’s eyes bulged as two aurors clad in their red robes approached her.

“Unhand me!” the woman snapped. “I am the Senior Undersecretary to the Minister of Magic!”

“A position that does not give you carte blanche to break any law you wish,” Harry pointed out.

“Cornelius will hear about this!”

“Oh, I hope I am the one who is able to inform him,” Harry replied as the woman was dragged kicking and screaming from the room.

He waited for the door to slam shut once more before speaking.

“If I were you, gentlemen, I would put as much distance between myself and what Umbridge has been up to,” he urged the gawping men still standing before him.

At the very least, they had the intelligence to listen and quickly fled from the room.

Again, Harry found himself being stared at, some doing so with interest and curiosity, whilst the rest did so with utter contempt.

“Now that we have dealt with that nonsense, perhaps we should get to the real reason why any of us should be here?” he suggested. “I have been in Britain for months; watching and observing, and I am disgusted with what I have seen. You all may wish to remain openly ignorant about what is happening, but there is no denying it. You know as well as I do that Voldemort is out there.”

His declaration elicited almost no reaction from any of the gathered Lords and Ladies, except for one.

“As you can see, Potter is quite unhinged,” Lucius Malfoy drawled, those around him laughing at his jab.

“And as you can see, Malfoy is as much a smug and pompous prick as he has always been,” Harry returned. “He either thinks you are completely stupid, or that he has you all completely cowed by his threats.”

Those on the opposing side of the room to Malfoy and his ilk remained silent.

“It would almost be funny if it wasn’t so serious,” Harry chuckled humourlessly. “Over here,” he continued, gesturing towards those undoubtedly allied with Voldemort, “I see the same stupid, smug grin on every one of their faces, and then I look to this part of the room. What do you think I see?”

None answered.

“Fear,” Harry spoke once more. “And you should be scared. All of you lived through the last war. You remember what it was like to not know if your best friend was a Death Eater, or if Voldemort himself would come for you if you dared speak out against him. I understand that you are scared for yourselves and for your loved ones, or are we just going to pretend that what happened to Lord Boot was an unfortunate accident? He spoke out in this very room and he and his family paid the price for his courage. Being scared will not make this all go away. The only thing that will is showing the same courage that he did. For those of us that do not wish to live in fear, we must come together to put a stop to this. I am not asking you to pick up your wands and fight, but within these walls, you must not remain silent.”

“And see our families killed?” Lord Greengrass questioned.

“To see them live,” Harry corrected. “I give you my word now, Lord Greengrass, that I am here to fight for you all. I will pick up my wand, and I will put an end to every last masked bastard that believe they have the right to attack innocent people. I give you my word that I will find Voldemort, and I will personally tear the last breath from his lungs whilst he pleads with me for his life. That is my promise, but the rest I cannot do alone. In here, we must be united, or we may as well just bend over and let them shaft us right now. We have a choice to make, and I urge you to make the right one. Today is the day that we choose courage over fear, the day that we refuse to lie down and allow Voldemort to do what he wishes.”

The Lords and Ladies surrounding Lord Greengrass murmured amongst themselves but were cut off by Lucius Malfoy as he stood and clapped mockingly.

“You really are quite delusional, Potter,” he declared. “You offer no evidence, and your promises are only empty words.”

“Then go and send for him,” Harry challenged. “Tell him that Harry Potter is in the Ministry of Magic and that I will provide him with what he wants if he has the stones to come and face me. You know as well as I do what it is he wants. I heard it, and I am right here, Malfoy. Go and press your lips against his arse and tell him.”

With a flick of his wand, a burst of blue flames erupted from the tip of his wand before vanishing only a second later, but the gesture had gotten the reaction he’d hoped for.

Around half a dozen of those seated around Malfoy scrambled behind their chairs.

“Thank you for confirming who was there that night,” Harry offered with a bow. “If I were all of you, I would not hope to get another peaceful night of sleep. Lucius, are you still here?”

The blond glared at Harry venomously but did not move.

“Well, if you won’t send for the snivelling coward now, then perhaps you will be kind enough to pass on a message for me? You see, Malfoy, I do not need to lurk in the shadows. I will stand in front of you all and tell you that I will gladly slaughter every last one of you. Tell him that he can expect the same, that at my hands, he will experience suffering like nothing he has ever felt before. Tell him that whilst the rest of the world may hide from him, that I will be seeking him and all of his followers out. Tell him that I said that Tom Riddle’s days are numbered and that he cannot flee from me.”

With his message given, Harry shot the other side of the room a look of encouragement before taking his leave through the double doors, pausing as he spotted a familiar beetle perched on the handle.

“Publish all of it, Rita,” he instructed. “I do not wish for any to mistake what it is I said.”

The beetle simply flew towards the end of the corridor, followed by Harry who donned his invisibility cloak to vanish without a trace.

(Break)

The Dark Lord nodded satisfactorily as he watched Bella putting the recruits through their paces. Covering the entirety of the grounds of the Malfoy estate were men and women clad in his chosen Black, each wearing a mask of his own design.

The war would be different this time.

There would be no lucky downfall, and resistance would soon be futile. The Ministry could not call upon so many to fight their cause the way that Lord Voldemort had.

Already, his followers outnumbered the aurors by around seven to one.

Victory was all but assured.

“What is it, Lucius?” he asked as the man hurriedly approached him.

“My Lord, there has been an unexpected development.”

Voldemort frowned and gestured for the man to explain.

“Potter arrived at the Wizengamot meeting today. He had Umbridge arrested, and then made some rather uncouth comments regarding you.”

“Is that so?”

Lucius nodded as he swallowed deeply.

“My Lord, he has publicly vowed to kill you,” he whispered. “He said that he will hunt you down and all of those that follow you.”

The Dark Lord chuckled amusedly.

“Empty words, Lucius,” he said dismissively. “None will support him.”

“Maybe not Potter,” Lucius conceded, “but there will be those who will rally around the Lord Black.”

“Lord Black?”

“Potter has somehow claimed the lordship for himself,” Lucius revealed. “I do not think Potter was jesting. He even bade me to come to get you so that you could face him in the Ministry instead of hiding in the shadows, as he put it.”

Voldemort’s nostrils flared.

“Potter has grown too brazen,” he declared. “The last thing he should wish for is to be faced with me.”

“It is,” Lucius agreed, “but he told me to tell you that he has what you want. That he heard it for himself and that if you wish to know it, you will have to face him.”

The Dark Lord felt his anger begin to boil under the surface.

Potter had dared publicly mock, goad, and provoke him.

Well, he would not get away with it.

Lord Voldemort would have the last laugh as the boy begged for his life.

“With him at the Ministry, My Lord, I think any political aspirations we may have had are in jeopardy. Potter knows things that will discredit Fudge.”

Voldemort hummed thoughtfully.

He did not expect his hold over the Ministry in its current state would last.

“Then we change the structure, Lucius,” he urged. “Fudge is of little use to us if he cannot serve us.”

“So, we should rid ourselves of him.”

Voldemort shook his head.

“Not yet but be ready to when it becomes necessary. Perhaps between you both you can salvage the situation. If you cannot, then deal with him and put someone in place that shares our vision.”

“Of course, My Lord,” Lucius replied, “but what of Potter?”

“Potter is of no consequence until he truly acts against us,” Voldemort said dismissively. “He will meet his end at my hand as planned. Do not fret, Lucius. When he is dead, the Black fortune will be yours still.”

Lucius nodded and breathed a sigh of relief.

“Is there anything else you require of me, My Lord?”

“No. Keep doing what you are and keep a close eye on the political proceedings. If Fudge proves to be useless, then he is to be replaced. That is all.”

With a bow, Lucius headed back towards the manor and the Dark Lord’s frown deepened.

Potter would be a problem.

He had seen some of what the boy was capable of, and the fact that he was now in Britain permanently did not sit well with him.

He was not Dumbledore, and he was not beholden by the rules that bound the aurors.

No, already the Dark Lord could foresee problems arising in the near future, and if it became unavoidable, he would have to step out of the shadows before he planned to.

(Break)

It had been less than a day that they had returned to Durmstrang and there was no denying how different it was without Harry. It wasn’t like it had been when he’d spent the year at Hogwarts. Then, they had known he would return, but he would never share a day as a student with them again, and for the entire group, it did not sit well.

They all continued to write to him regularly and he always responded as he had, but it was just not the same.

“What do you think he is doing right now?” Jonas asked.

“Probably getting himself into trouble,” Eleanor snorted.

Lucinda nodded her agreement.

“Or he might have got himself another girl,” Cain chuckled.

“He has not!” Lucinda fired back.

The others looked at her questioningly and the vampire busied herself with her breakfast, cursing herself for not holding her tongue.

“Is there something you want to tell us, Lucinda?” Ana questioned with a grin.

“No.”

“There’s something she’s keeping from us,” Eleanor chimed in. “Did something happen between you and a certain absent Potter?”

All of them were looking at her now with interest, and Lucinda was grateful that she did not have the ability to blush.

“Whatever may or may not have happened between us is none of your business,” she said airily.

“Oh, she got some,” Eleanor commented.

“Ha, you owe me five galleons,” Cain declared, holding his hand out to a pouting Jonas.

The son of a hag muttered under his breath but handed over the coins, nonetheless.

“You bet on us?” Lucinda questioned the boys dangerously.

“We did,” Cain confirmed with a shrug. “I knew you wouldn’t be able to keep your hands off each other before the summer.”

“I thought you would wait,” Jonas added. “I expected better of you, young lady.”

Cain snorted though his expression fell as he opened the newspaper that was placed before him.

“Oh, shit,” he cursed.

“What is it?” Lucinda asked.

The werewolf had taken out a subscription of the British newspaper when Harry had told them he would not be returning for their final year.

Cain merely shook his head as he placed it in the centre of the table.

Potter’s Wizengamot Wallop!

Calls out the Dark Lord

By Rita Skeeter

Lucinda could only shake her head as she read the description of what Harry had said and done during his first Wizengamot meeting.

She had pleaded with him to be careful, to not do anything brash and foolish, and yet, here he was on the front page of the newspaper doing the complete opposite.

“I knew he had a set on him, but he’s mad,” Jonas muttered. “What kind of person calls out a Dark Lord and promises to murder him?”

“Harry,” Cain answered with a shake of his head. “What did you expect from him? He’s never been the kind to keep quiet, has he?”

“He’s just painted a huge target on his chest,” Ana sighed.

“He already had a huge target on his chest,” Cain pointed out. “You heard the prophecy. It won’t end until they meet, but Harry seems determined to do as much damage as possible before that happens.”

Lucinda swallowed deeply.

She knew that Harry was going to war, that he was going to Britain to fight, but seeing the article filled her with dread.

It was all so real, and yet, she was here and not where she felt she needed to be.

“Oh no,” Cain gasped.

“What is it now?” Eleanor questioned.

The werewolf had paled as he clutched a piece of parchment; a letter he had received.

“The pack has been instructed to make their way to Britain,” he explained worriedly. “That means they’re going to join him.”

Lucinda snatched the parchment away from Cain and read the paltry contents.

To my son,

We are finally moving from this place.

Greyback has promised us that Britain will make for a perfect home.

We will collect you for the holidays so that you may see for yourself.

“How big is your pack, Cain?” Jonas enquired.

“There is close to eight hundred of us,” the werewolf answered worriedly.

“And they are going to fight against Harry,” Ana added.

Lucinda could only swallow deeply as her gaze shifted between the newspaper and the letter.

In the space of five minutes, things had gotten decidedly worse and though she had opted to return to school, she could not help but think she had made the wrong choice. A thought seemingly shared by the rest of the group.