Disclaimer: I'm too young to be Rowling so there is sadly no way Harry Potter is mine…

Thank you for all your reviews! I loved them!

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Oath-Breaker

sSs

Hermione was sitting in the room she was sharing with Ginny, staring at the wall.

Things had changed.

Things had changed, and she suddenly didn't know anymore when it had happened or why.

Until last summer, she had been Harry and Ron's best friend. They had been close, inseparable, more siblings than actual friends – at least, that had been her point of view.

Then summer had come around and when Harry returned, he had been different. He had been strange, had forgotten things about her that he had known for years and… Hermione had been concerned.

So she had done what she had always done when she was concerned: she went to people she trusted and hoped that they would listen and take care of it.

"That might have cost me Harry," the bitter thought came unbidden to her mind and she closed her eyes, trying to suppress her tears at the pain that came with it.

Nevertheless, Hermione couldn't deny it.

Not in this very moment.

Not anymore.

"Hermione?"

She blinked, tried to wipe away the tears that had threatened to fall from her eyes and turned towards the door.

Ron was standing in the doorway, looking at her with concern in his eyes.

He… looked mature, different in his own way and for a moment Hermione couldn't help but wonder when she had been left behind, when her friends had started to grow up and she… hadn't.

"I'm… okay, Ron," she finally assured him. "Really, I'm… I'm okay."

Ron just looked at her sceptically.

"Dad is going to the Wizengamot now," he finally said, instead of pointing out that Hermione was still sniffing and struggling to keep her tears in check. "He's taking Charlie and Bill with him."

Hermione blinked.

"Why?" she asked slowly, a bit run over by the way Ron said it as if it was natural for his father to take his brothers to the Wizengamot.

For a moment, Hermione wondered what else she had missed about the world she was living in now. She had missed so much – more than she thought even after she had been sure that she was caught up with everything.

Magic.

Traditions.

Customs.

History.

Beliefs.

She had read everything she could find – and yet, missed things that she needed to know to really understand her world. She had come to the magical world and thought of it as similar to the one she had came from.

It had been a mistake.

The magical world was its own country with its own laws, customs, beliefs – its own culture and Hermione hadn't understood it until someone had shoved it into her face.

It hurt to know that for once, she wasn't the one who actually knew more about such an important matter.

"Bill is Dad's heir," Ron said, answering her question with a casual shrug. "And Charlie is the Prewett Heir as the second born son. They need to attend. It's the first meeting of the Wizengamot. Heirs and Lords of the different Houses all attend – as long as the House has a Lord."

Hermione frowned.

"There are Houses who don't have Lords?" she asked.

Ron blinked.

"Well," he said slowly. "Those who lost their Lords and their Heir is still too young to take over?"

This time, he sounded a bit unsure while answering.

"Also," Ron continued nevertheless, his words slowing down while he tried to talk through the things he knew. "Houses that are declared extinguished but are still counted because of their influence–"

"There are dead Houses that are part of the Wizengamot?!" Hermione interrupted him with disbelief in her voice. "WHY?!"

Ron shrugged.

"Who knows," he said. "I guess for some like Emrys or LeFay it's just because they're historic or some such and others… well, it's not as if I ever learned all that stuff, so..."

He shrugged, dismissing it without finishing his sentence.

Hermione blinked.

Ron shifted in the doorway, looking a bit uncomfortable.

"It's not that I ever needed to know," he justified himself. "I'm the sixth son. I don't want to work in the ministry and well… my family actually doesn't have a seat in the Wizengamot."

Hermione frowned.

"If they don't, then why are your father and brothers going–?"

Ron shrugged.

"Because Mum's family had one," he said. "And it was part of a Grand Family. It gives us standing in the wizarding world – enough, to claim a minor seat in the Wizengamot, at least."

Hermione frowned.

"A minor seat?" she asked.

Ron shrugged.

"Dad told me we're only getting it because we're joining the re-emerging Grand Family. It's tied to the family and the fact that we're Prewetts by blood or, well, marriage for Dad. Mum can't take the seat because of some old rules in the family that have never been abandoned or some such so Dad is the one who will take the Weasley seat and Charlie is the one who will take the Prewett seat," he said and wrinkled his nose. "It's bloody awful. And a mess. Family magicks are dang hard to understand!"

Then his frown deepened further.

"And if I'm totally unlucky, I'll be forced to learn that bloody stuff as well," he added and Hermione gawked at him. "It's something to do with Percy and nobody knowing if he took after the Prewett line or the Weasley. If he took after the Prewett… then I'm fine, if he didn't, then I'm the next Heir because Fred and George somehow managed to get themselves out of that whole mess. Probably threatened to prank Charlie if he ever thought to make them heirs, or some such."

At that he grumbled a bit about them being bloody brilliant for it and wishing that he had the same leverage as them.

Hermione just blinked, wiped her tears again and thought it over.

"Sounds complicated," she finally settled on.

Ron wrinkled his nose unhappily.

"It's bloody awful," he agreed. "But Mum and Dad are rock-solid on doing it anyway and Charlie and Bill agree, so, the rest of us doesn't get a choice."

That was actually something that Hermione understood.

Her thoughts turned back to Harry.

"Do… do you think that Harry… Harry would have–"

She stopped, not willing to talk about Harry as if he was dead.

Ron shrugged.

"I doubt he would have gone to the Wizengamot last year if he had been able to back then," Ron said slowly. "But… this Harry? If he didn't already have a seat, I guess he would have done the same as Dad."

And that… wasn't reassuring at all.

"Why?" Hermione couldn't help but ask. "Why are you so calm about it? Shouldn't you be more upset?! I mean–"

"He's still there," Ron interrupted her before she could say anything further. "I know, you might feel that he's not, because he isn't the same anymore – but he's still there… and shouldn't be that the thing that matters the most?"

Hermione opened her mouth to object, but then closed it again.

Her thoughts wandered back to the day after they returned to Grimmauld Place. The day she had finally gotten an explanation from Harry.

"Explain," she had ordered back then the moment they had found themselves alone in one of the rooms.

Harry had just looked at her.

"What exactly do you wish me to explain to you?" he countered.

At that, Hermione actually had to think about the answer.

"Black… Regulus Black, I mean," she listed, her lips pressing together. "Rituals, Umbridge, everything!"

For a moment, Harry had looked at her with an expression that made her wonder if he'd just stand up and vanish, leaving her with all her questions.

Then he sighed.

"It's complicated," he said slowly. "Reg… The dementor attack in the summer had some consequences and Reg's been helping me ever since."

He eyed her tiredly, looking already done with her questions when he had barely started to answer.

"The magical world is just three steps from utter collapse," he added and closed his eyes tiredly. "It's been getting worse and worse over the last hundred years – or at least that's what it feels like to me."

He shook his head.

"The last time… the last time something like this happened… the loss of rituals and knowledge… the Founders of Hogwarts were the ones who prevented it in the end," he met her eyes tiredly. "The school tightened the ties of the magical world and kept the traditions alive. Knowledge of ancient rituals was returned to the broader populace and I guess it saved magical world in some way back then even if it wasn't obvious."

Hermione frowned.

"That has nothing to do–"

"Some things are integrated in your magic," Harry interrupted her with a sigh. "Ignoring it won't help you."

"I'm a muggleborn, not a pureblood," Hermione corrected him but was stopped in her denial that she had anything to do with all that by a simple question on Harry's side.

"And where did your magic come from?" he asked.

Hermione stopped.

For a moment, she stared at him with an open mouth, then she closed her mouth to a firm line, ready to defend her status as a muggleborn even to her best friend.

Harry, on the other hand, had a different idea.

"My mother was a muggleborn as well, Hermione," he pointed out before she could get fully worked up. "She was a descendant of the Flamels. Their heir."

That actually ensured that Hermione stared at Harry as if she had never seen him before.

"What?" she whispered and Harry was all too happy to shred her world into a thousand pieces as an answer.

"My mother's magic came from her ancestry – an ancestry that showed that her closest living blood relatives, her ancestors, were Nicholas and Perenelle Flamel. She's descended from first born child of the Flamels. She was the heir, because unlike my aunt, she inherited the magic," he told Hermione calmly. "That has nothing to do with prejudice and everything to do with family magicks and the way they are inherited. Magic doesn't come from nowhere – not my mothers, and not yours. So, where does your magic come from, Hermione?"

Hermione frowned.

"I… don't know?"

And hadn't that stung to admit?

"It doesn't matter," Harry said. "Because, in the end, it comes from somewhere – so, tell me, if you ever find out and meet someone who either belongs to your family or can train you in your families magic, will you take them up on the offer or ignore them?"

That was actually an easy question to answer.

"I'd ask to be taught," Hermione said.

Harry nodded.

"The Blacks are my family," he said. "Not from my mother's side, but my fathers. I stood by Sirius when I didn't even really understand how deeply magical connections can be. I stood by Reg when I met him – and I will stand by my family in the Wizengamot as well."

He had seem so old when he said that.

So old, and so different.

"Do… do you know the rituals Neville spoke about?" she finally asked him. "Did… were you taught? Is this why you're different? And what about Umbridge? Was Ron right? Did you do something to her?"

Harry actually looked surprised at that.

"Not bad instincts, Ron," he said, sounding as if he was talking more to himself than her.

Hermione gawked at him.

"So… you did?! You were the one who ensured that Umbridge–?!"

"It was my duty, Hermione," Harry gently interrupted her. "There are duties bound to my existence. Umbridge… I couldn't let her be. I couldn't stop her, not immediately, not without revealing her without a backlash towards me and others – but I couldn't stand by and watch forever."

Hermione frowned.

"Why?" she whispered. "Why did you do something about her? Why didn't you go to Dumbledore? To McGonagall? To every other teacher?"

Harry just smiled sadly.

"Because the Headmaster of Hogwarts should have stepped in the moment he noticed what she was doing. He ignored it," Harry shook his head. "Hogwarts is closed now, and it was only partly Umbridge's and the Minstry's fault. You have to open your eyes, Hermione. Adults are human, and it doesn't matter that people mean to be good. The path to hell is paved with good intentions, Hermione – and that isn't only true for you and your actions, but for the former Headmaster's as well."

With that, Harry had turned and left.

Ever since, Hermione had been staring at the walls of the rooms she was in, her thoughts going in circles.

The path to hell is paved with good intentions.

She remembered her actions towards Harry.

She had tried to help him.

She had gone to the teachers, to Dumbledore – and yet, it had only pushed Harry father and father away from her.

It had taken her days, long agonizing hours of thoughts until she could finally accept what had happened.

What she had done.

She had tried to safe Harry – but in the process, she had lost him.

And it hurt to think that she should have listened more…

"You're right," she agreed hollowly with Ron. "He's still here."

And it should have been enough.

It should have been.

It wasn't.

Because while he was still there, Hermione, unlike Ron, might have lost him nevertheless.

That thought was what hurt the most.

XxxXxXxXxXx

"My Lord," Voldemort looked up from the plans in front of him.

The Death Eater who had entered, stopped in the door.

"We found him, my Lord."

That actually made Voldemort turn around.

"Where?" he asked, his voice more a snarl than polite.

Since Christmas, his Death Eaters had been on the look-out for him.

Since Christmas, everything had changed, Voldemort's plans had come crushing down and his current anonymity had been threatened.

It was the vampire's fault.

Since the day the vampire had turned traitor, Voldemort had felt on edge.

He knew that the vampire had been around for quite a lot of Voldemort's plans – and had been around even more often without anybody really noticing thanks to his tendency to hang out in unusual places.

And then he had gone and betrayed them.

Voldemort had raged after the vampire had walked out.

Several of his Death Eaters had suffered for it, some of them were still not fully healed, even though it was January now.

"Find him!" Voldemort had told them the day the vampire walked out on them. "Find him and bring him back so that I can kill him!"

Voldemort wanted revenge.

He wanted the vampire to suffer for his deception – a deception that shouldn't have been possible in the first place.

"Nobody should have known that I'm not the Heir of Slytherin," Voldemort had silently raged the night after. "Nobody should have even suspected."

After all, Tom Riddle had ensured that nobody suspected it since he found out when he was sixteen.

Back then, he had gone to the goblins after confronting his worthless family from both sides. He had expected to gain lordship of the House he was already part of in Hogwarts, but the goblins had seen it differently.

"You're not part of Slytherin family," they had told him while sneering at him. "The Gaunts – the family you descent from – were disinherited on 31st October in 1568 by the Lord of Slytherin."

"But the main family is dead," Tom Riddle had countered. "Shouldn't go the line to me as the only living descendant, nevertheless?"

But the goblins had denied him.

They had claimed that Slytherin had still descendants alive who were closer related to the main family and didn't belong to a disinherited part.

Voldemort hadn't wanted to belief them, so in the end, sixteen-year-old Tom Riddle decided that he would claim the name nevertheless.

Since then, Voldemort had done everything in his power to ensure that everybody knew he was the Heir of Slytherin and just unwilling to take the lordship as long as mudbloods were allowed to walk the streets.

And people had believed him.

Even Dumbledore had believed him.

Yet, after all those years with no questions, the vampire had come.

He had come and sworn loyalty – a loyalty that Voldemort could use and definitely didn't think of rejecting.

The vampire should have felt compelled to follow his oath… and yet, he had gone and betrayed Voldemort.

In Voldemort's ears, he could still hear the haunting words of the vampire after Voldemort had reminded him of his oath.

"You swore me fealty," Voldemort had said, so sure that it would keep the vampire in line. So sure that his lies had turned into 'truth' over the passing decades…

"No," the vampire had countered and it was then that Voldemort felt the first shadow of a doubt when it came to the loyalty of the vampire he had accepted as a safe ally into their midst. A sworn oath to a lord couldn't be broken after all… "I swore fealty to the Lord of Slytherin."

Voldemort had tried to reason with the vampire, reminding him that there was no other lord but Voldemort when it came to Slytherin… but… the vampire had known.

Worse.

The vampire had known something that Voldemort hadn't even known – and that Voldemort hadn't even noticed having been uttered until nearly a week later.

"There's always been just one Lord of Slytherin."

Those words haunted him.

They made him shiver and they were part of the reason why Voldemort had gone and ordered his Death Eaters to find the traitor immediately.

He needed to have the vampire back in his grasp – to find out about Slytherin and what he knew that nobody seemed to know.

Just one Lord, the words echoed in his mind. Just one.

It was a chilling thought and Voldemort needed the vampire back. He needed to know.

He needed to know about Slytherin – and even more important, he needed to know about the knowledge of the vampire concerning the locket and other… trinkets.

What did the vampire know about the locket?

How had he found out?

How had he gotten it?!

And did he know that it was a Horcrux – one out of many?!

Voldemort's fists clenched.

"He cannot know," had been his mantra since that day. "Horcruxes are a technique rarely used and even harder to find – and that vampire can't be old enough to remember the last person who used it… or old enough to remember a time where the possibility of a Horcrux had still be widely known..."

It had been centuries since both happened and even the oldest vampire on earth would have long since turned into dust before reaching present time if he had lived through it.

"Two to three hundred years," Voldemort told himself. "That's the average age for a vampire to live. Eldred Worple, the author of 'Blood Brothers: My Life Amonst the Vampires.' just confirmed it, according to Lucius."

The man had spoken about this new book in the summer.

Voldemort also remembered that Lucius had added that the man had a friend among the vampires who had given him the information for his book. Back then, they had contemplated if they could use Worple to get an in with the vampire community.

Voldemort had disregarded it when Sanguini had presented himself in front of him and sworn his oath to Slytherin… an oath, that Voldemort had believed to be able to use.

Instead, the vampire had used the oath to get information.

To betray them and their cause.

"He shouldn't have known," Voldemort repeated in his mind, deep in his thoughts. "He shouldn't have. There is no evidence anymore that my part of the family was disinherited. I ensured it! And there should have been no way to find out about the locket..."

But then, the later one could have happened somehow.

While Voldemort was careful with what he told his followers, he knew for a fact that the vampire for all his ability to annoy and make a nuisance out of himself, could also fade into the shadows if he wanted to.

There had been a time or two Voldemort had only noticed that the vampire had been in the room when the vampire finally drew attention to himself.

Back then, Voldemort hadn't been bothered.

He had believed to be safe thanks to the vow.

Now, his plans were in jeopardy because of his carelessness…

"Nevertheless, it shouldn't have happened," Voldemort raged in his mind. "He should have had no way of knowing! Vampires don't live long enough to..."

It was then that another unbidden voice of the past interrupted his thought process.

"Have you known that vampires have their own stupid legends about an immortal, my Lord?" one of his Death Eaters had told him in the first war. "Just like the legend of the Eternal Prince some crackpots of the wizarding world believe in. Just that unlike with us, the most of those blood-sucking monsters believe in this fairytale. We could use it. If we do it right, we could use that legend to get them to follow you and fight for our cause."

Back then, they had never had the chance to try and do it, but now, more than a decade later, those words suddenly haunted Voldemort.

What if it wasn't just a legend?

Voldemort had gained immortality.

What if one of the vampires had done the same?

What if he was still alive… and what if Sanguini knew him and therefore knew about the lie?

"What if that vampire is Slytherin?"

Voldemort dismissed that thought instantly.

Ridiculous.

Yes, Sanguini shouldn't have known that Voldemort wasn't the Lord of Slytherin – but Voldemort was sure that there was another explanation than a living legend.

The same was true for the Horcrux.

The vampire shouldn't have known, but at the same time, Voldemort couldn't rule out that the vampire had somehow stumbled over the information somehow.

That thought brought him to a sudden stop.

Nagini.

He hadn't heard or seen anything from Nagini for quite some time.

With a frown and slight concern, Voldemort tried to remember when he had seen the snake last.

He knew that she had been off and on on an assignment in the Ministry.

She had an easier time to get in and monitor who was watching the prophecy compared to his Death Eaters, after all.

Still… when had he seen her last?

It wasn't unusual for her to vanish for weeks on end – especially when Voldemort gave her something to do… but… when?

After a bit of thought, Voldemort was fairly sure that she had been around shortly after the vampire had turned traitor. He wasn't one hundred percent sure, but he remembered that he had seen her last one morning and that she had told him that she planned to stay in the Ministry for at least a week or two…

"The vampire had no way of knowing that she was a Horcrux as well," Voldemort reassured himself. "Not without being able to perform a legilimency attack that can even penetrate my shields!"

Something that Voldemort was reasonably sure was impossible.

For a moment the memory of a black-haired, green-eyed healer tried to take a hold of his mind, but Voldemort squashed it ruthlessly. It had been Voldemort in the healer's mind and not the other way around!

Before Voldemort's thoughts could drift away further, the Death Eater in front of him answered the question Voldemort had asked about the whereabouts of the missing vampire.

"He's been seen in Diagon Alley," the Death Eater said, pulling Voldemort fully out of his thoughts.

Finally.

Finally, the vampire had been found.

Hopefully it wasn't yet too late and the vampire hadn't gone and tattled Voldemort's plans to Dumbledore or his like.

Voldemort shuddered at that thought before consoling himself that he had moved up his plans to ensure that even if the vampire had tattled, the information would still be wrong.

It had been hard to reduce his planning period to ensure that he could undertake his plans faster, but thanks to the vampire, it had been necessary.

Voldemort wouldn't be stopped.

He would reach his goals.

He would take over the ministry, purge their world of the mudbloods and then ensure that the world would follow his wishes. He would ensure that wizards would end up in their rightful place – at the top of the food chain!

But first… first he needed to know something else important.

He had fallen once because he hadn't known the full prophecy about him and the Potter brat. He wouldn't make that mistake twice.

Nevertheless, the vampire was nearly as important as getting his hands on the prophecy.

He needed to silence the creature before it could destroy Voldemort's plans or find more of Voldemort's Horcruxes.

"Diagon Alley," Voldemort repeated coldly.

The vampire was in Diagon Alley.

Finally.

Now, he just had to get him – or get him killed, whatever was easier.

For a moment he hesitated.

He knew that theoretically he could try and send some people to monitor the vampire and kill him when he was secluded… but the chances of losing their chance to eliminate the vampire like that were high. Voldemort didn't know the full extent of the vampire's abilities and therefore couldn't risk it.

But attacking the vampire in Diagon Alley had its own risks.

Exposure.

He knew that a raid – and it would have to be a raid since he didn't dare to send a single assassin after a vampire who had shown to be able to survive a room full of Death Eaters trying to kill him – would draw attention.

Attention on Voldemort.

He had liked his anonymity.

Of course, there had been Azkaban, but, in the end, the Ministry had dismissed his return.

Azkaban might have been dismissed… but an open Death Eater attack?

Unlikely.

Which also meant, that if he conducted the raid, it would be the end of his anonymity...

For a moment, Voldemort hesitated in his decision.

He had plans…

He had had plans, but since Christmas, he had felt impelled to move them up.

The vampire knew them.

If Voldemort kept it like before, he could be stopped.

Voldemort clenched his fists.

He needed the prophecy.

And he needed to silence the vampire.

There was just one way to accomplish both – and luckily, today was the perfect day to do both.

With that, he made his decision.

"Take some others," he told the Death Eater. "I want you to conduct a raid on Diagon Alley."

"A raid, my Lord?" the Death Eater asked surprised.

"Ensure that the vampire is either brought in or killed," Voldemort added coldly.

The Death Eater immediately inclined his head.

"Of course, my Lord," he agreed.

Voldemort took a deep breath.

"I will go to the Ministry," he decided calmly. "I need the prophecy."

And thanks to the vampire, he couldn't wait until he found a way to ensure that Potter got it for him…

But that didn't matter – after all, what better time to steal the prophecy could exist but the day of the Wizengamot meeting, combined with a raid to distract everybody not invested in the meeting...

XxxXxXxXxXx

After leaving Hermione to her thoughts, Ron turned away and instead walked downwards and into the dining room.

There, his oldest brothers and father were gathered.

For a moment, Ron silently watched his brothers interacting.

Both of them were clothed in formal-looking robes – something he couldn't remember Charlie ever wearing and Bill… well, maybe the other man had worn robes like that once when Ron had been smaller and Bill had still been living at home.

When he entered, both of his brothers looked up.

His father – also in formal wear, the robes looking more expensive than Ron had ever seen his father wear before – was still straightening up his robes and adjusting his collar.

"You alright, Ron?" Bill asked and their father turned away from his task of setting himself to right to also look at his youngest son.

Ron shrugged.

"I'm… not totally sure," he told them, his gaze travelling over their changed appearance.

It felt odd, seeing his family so well dressed.

And it felt even odder to know that his family who had always fought against poverty, was now, thanks to their agreement to enter the Grand Family, for the first time quite comfortable.

Belonging to a Family, Ron had found out, came with a certain security that there was actually somebody there who'd look out for your well-being.

Nevertheless, coming home from Hogwarts, just to be taken aside by his father had been strange.

"There's going to be a change within this family," his father had told him the moment he and Ron's eldest brothers had been able to get those who still went to Hogwarts alone. "This isn't something that anybody else needs to know for now, but coming January, there will be a difference in our standing in the magical world."

The four children who had been at Hogwarts for the last few months exchanged a disbelieving look with each other.

"What kind of change?" Fred asked finally.

His father sighed.

"Our family was offered an opportunity," he answered. "Your eldest brothers and I discussed it and in the end, decided to agree to it."

Ron had frowned at that.

"What kind of opportunity would be offered to our family?" he asked confused. "It's not that anybody would have anything to gain from giving us a chance to change our standing."

And in the wizarding world, a lot of things were based on standing, ability, connections and blood.

Ron had known that from childhood on.

He had resented it.

He knew that there was barely a chance for him to change his fortune. He wasn't particularly smart, he wasn't charming, his family was seen as less and even though they counted as 'pureblooded' it wouldn't help them without the necessary connections to get them further in life.

Ron had basically seen no chance to get out of the prejudice that surrounded his family.

And he wasn't an idiot.

He knew that his brothers had known the same.

There was a reason why Bill had gone and worked for the goblins who would offer an opportunity to at least all those who were vaguely gifted in certain areas.

There was a reason why Charlie had gone and decided to leave Britain to escape his fate.

There was a reason why Percy tried everything in his ability to make himself useful in the ministry.

Ron guessed that from all his brothers, the only ones who had never struggled against their fate were the twins – and those two had the ability to change their own fate thanks to their particular kind of genius and therefore didn't count.

"A Grand Family," his father said in that moment. "We were offered to take up our place in a Grand Family."

"Which gives us the right of a seat in the Wizengamot," Bill added.

"And the right to claim Mum's line even though she can't actually inherit it because of the stipulation of a male heir in her family line," Charlie added.

And while Ron wasn't the best-versed in wizarding politics, he at least knew the basics that his mother had taught him when he was a child.

His elder twin-brothers were even better when it came to it.

"You're going to renounce your status as a Weasley," George said, looking at his older brother with a frown.

Charlie hesitated, but, in the end, nodded.

"Yes," he said. "I'll be Charles Prewett from the moment I'll take up the Prewett seat in the Wizengamot."

Ron couldn't help but deepening his frown at the admission.

"Why?" he wanted to know. "Why do we even need to take the seat?"

"We don't need to," Charlie replied calmly. "But… that seat… that Family… it's an opportunity. It can change something for our family."

And Ron, good at chess, understood, suddenly.

The Prewett seat would give his brother the ability to change his fate, to up his standing and maybe, just maybe, have a say in the making of their world. If they were lucky, with the Prewett seat, the newly formed Weasley seat of lesser standing and the fact that they'd have the backing of a Grand Family would give them the ability to change their world into something… maybe even something more just for everyone.

He wasn't the only one who got the implication.

"This alliance," Fred said slowly. "What does it entail? What will change for us now that we will be part of it?"

Because Ron and all of his siblings knew that good fortune never came for free.

His father and his eldest brothers exchanged a look.

"There will be some mandatory lessons for all of you," Bill said.

"And we will be asked to act in a certain way in public," Charlie added.

"But all in all, it's a good deal," his father had closed their short explanation before he actually elaborated in detail.

Back then, Ron had listened, and after thought about it, day and night.

It had taken a while to actually understand the changes it would bring.

The moment, his brothers and father took up their mantle, Ron would have opportunity – no matter if he just was a younger son or an heir.

He knew that theoretically, as an heir, his opportunities were better, but frankly, being an heir also came with responsibilities Ron didn't want to have.

If he was able to choose, he preferred to be a younger son, as odd as it sounded in his own ears even after thinking about it for more than a week.

Ron guessed that some time in the last half a year, he had actually grown up. He knew that maybe a year earlier, he would have wanted to be the heir, to have the prestige that came with it… but either the fact that he had heard what being the heir entailed – and it sounded like so much work – or the fact that he had finally started to mature – odder things had happened – had changed his outlook.

"You alright, Ron?" Charlie asked in that moment, bringing him back to the present.

"Yes," Ron said, his gaze lingering thoughtfully on his brothers. "It's just… it's odd, you know?"

When his brothers and his father looked at him with raised eyebrows, Ron shrugged.

"Everything's changing," he pointed out. "And it's not just us… our family. It's everything else as well. Hermione. Harry. Everything."

He shook his head.

"I don't… sometimes I have trouble to actually wrap my head around it," he said slowly. "Sometimes… well, it feels as if everything started to move forward a lot faster than ever since the last summer."

He shrugged.

"Harry changed back then," he said, almost to himself. "I… for a while, I think I was in danger of losing his friendship… and even if I think we got a bit better again, it's still different. He's different. Then the family… I… I just guess that I'm finally realizing that no matter what I do, nothing will stay the same."

He couldn't help but sound a bit dejected at that thought.

His eldest brothers exchanged a look at that.

"Does it really matter?" Bill finally asked. "I mean, even if we've changed, we're still us."

Ron sighed, and closed his eyes.

His mind drifted back to what he said to Hermione.

Harry was still there.

He might be different.

He might be older, more weary and grown in a way neither Ron nor Hermione were yet, but in the end, he was still there.

It was odd to have to admit to himself what he had told Hermione already.

"No," Ron said and then stepped up to help Charlie straighten his robes. "No, I think it doesn't."

And he couldn't help but think that admitting that felt oddly freeing, as if a burden he had carried had finally been lifted.

"It really, really doesn't."

XxxXxXxXxXx

Stepping out of the house without anybody noticing had been as easy as breathing – especially because most people of the house were about to get ready for the Wizengamot or were interacting with those who were.

Harry was the exception.

He was ready.

Ready – except of one single detail.

The meeting place Harry went to was known to him for hundreds of years already – and the same could be said for the person meeting him there.

"Oncle," he greeted the old man waiting for him, his eyes travelling over his uncle's frail body in concern.

The other man smiled at him.

"Salvatio," he returned the greeting and then reached out to embrace him. "It's been a long time."

Harry snorted.

"I saw you not even a year ago, Oncle," he countered, clearly amused by the older looking man's antics. "That's not that long compared to other times."

His uncle just ruffled his hair.

"But you changed so much in that time, my dear nephew," he countered, his eyes travelling Sal's face, taking in the differences. "I can't even remember you ever looking that young – except when you actually were that age."

Harry rolled his eyes.

"That's because being fifteen is an inconvenience I can do without if I don't have to," he countered. "And maybe you've forgotten, but I'm pretty sure I had to go through being fifteen just a bit more than a hundred years ago."

"Ah, yes," his uncle agreed amused. "But I didn't see you back then, did I?"

For a moment, Harry looked at his uncle, then he sighed.

"Point," he agreed.

His uncle on the other hand, looked him over some more.

"Tell me why?" he said, in the end, after a long, content silence.

Harry pressed his lips together.

"Why what, Oncle?" he countered, his eyes not meeting the other man.

For a moment, his uncle scrutinized him, then he sighed.

"You called me," his uncle said slowly. "You want to step in the open – you are gathering allies as much as you can. Tell me why."

Harry sighed and closed his eyes, still not able to look at the older looking man.

"There are multiple reasons," he finally confessed. "And I'm not sure if… I should tell you."

For a moment, Harry had contemplated to say something else, but in the end, the truth won out. If not anything else, he owed his uncle the truth.

At that, silence descended upon them while his uncle took in Harry's words.

"That bad?" he finally asked.

Harry's fists clenched.

"No," he said. "But… there are reasons in there that might be against your… look of things. You and I… we might be family, but we also have our own lives, our own friends and acquaintances… I'm not sure how you'd react if I spoke up against one of your friends."

At that, his uncle's eyes sharpened and before Harry could think of stopping it, a hand reached under his chin and forced him to look up and meet his uncle's gaze.

His uncle's green eyes were as green as his own – and far more serious than Harry could them remember being ever before.

"That friend or acquaintance of mine," his uncle said and something akin to fury could be heard in his voice. "What did he do?!"

Harry tried to look away, but his uncle's hand stopped him.

"Oncle," he tried, but was interrupted by and even more forceful reply.

"What did they do?!" his uncle growled.

Harry sighed.

"Most of it… it didn't matter to me anymore," Harry finally replied hesitatingly. "I guess… if it had been just that… from back then, before everything… I might have ended up ignoring it, maybe even… forgiving it."

His uncle's free hand clenched to a fist.

"I don't like what I'm hearing right now," he said, his green eyes burning. "Because whatever you are talking about… that sounds..."

His uncle shook his head.

"Tell me what you mean with 'before'," he requested finally. "What kind of 'before' is the 'before' you are talking about exactly?"

Harry removed his uncle's hand from his chin and turned away from the other man.

"Before," he said slowly. "Means 'before everything'."

He hesitated shortly, but his uncle continued to look at him, waiting for him to speak up again.

In the end, Harry rubbed his face.

"How much… how much do you know? How much do you suspect?" he finally asked, before clarifying. "Of my past, I mean."

For a moment, he was met with silence, then his uncle hummed softly.

"Some," he finally admitted.

And when Harry turned, his uncle shrugged.

"Don't look at me like that," he said. "You wrote me. You used the Slytherin signet. I remember the time you helped the Slytherin family vanish. I remember what you told me when you needed an in to Britain – about the time travel."

At that, Harry averted his eyes again, but his uncle wasn't done, yet.

"I remember what Peverell said about your heritage… the fact that you're a phoenix-born child. The fact that you have memories of other lives… or maybe that you lived other lives before the one I met you," he continued, his eyes on Harry, kind and at the same time strong in a way that gave Harry the freedom to relax a bit.

His uncle seemed to see the change in Harry's posture, because he reached out and took a hold of Harry's shoulder.

"I'm not an idiot," he told Harry softly. "I can see that you're more than you ever told me. I can see in your eyes that there are things I don't know and that I might never know."

"Oncle," Harry said at that, his eyes closing and his shoulders tensing up again, but his uncle continued, unrelentingly.

"I also know that you didn't just write to me to have another helping hand in the upcoming January meeting. No, Salvatio," he shook Harry a bit, not hurting him, but gripping a bit tighter nevertheless. "No matter what else you want to tell me, I know that there's something more going on than you told me until now."

For a moment, Harry sighed and closed his eyes, again.

His body was tense as if waiting for a blow.

"I'm… sorry," he finally said slowly, testing his words as if expecting that they would be thrown back into his face. "I'm sorry I never said anything."

His uncle immediately reached out towards him with his other hand, forcing Harry to turn back towards him before reaching up, his hand caressing Harry's cheek.

"Not matter what, you're still my nephew," his uncle countered calmly. "It doesn't matter who you were or what you kept from me, your aunt and your parents."

For a moment, Harry actually looked his uncle in the eyes, then his fists clenched and he turned his head to the side.

"A lot," he admitted. "As a child… I didn't remember… but when I did… I didn't want to lose you… you and Tante Perenelle… and Maman and Papa."

"I know," his uncle agreed. "I remember. You were ready to give us up, because you were different – but you definitely weren't ready to give up naming us your relations."

Harry rubbed his face again.

"Back then," he said slowly. "Peverell said I inherited memories."

His uncle nodded slowly.

"It weren't just inherited memories," Harry continued, not looking at his uncle. "Before I was reborn as Maman and Papa's son – I lived them. They were my life. The man I told you was my father… He was born over a thousand years before you met me…"

"I remember you said something like that back then," his uncle agreed, but Harry shook his head.

"I lied to you back then," he countered truthfully. "I told you he lived for over a thousand years – but while that is true, it's only the time frame he lived with me as his son. I met him when he looked to be in his thirties. I have actually no idea how old he really was back then."

"You met him," his uncle repeated slowly and Harry sighed. "The time travel – it happened back then, didn't it? Your father… he was the man who found you after you travelled back in time."

"Yes," Harry agreed, not willing to lie any further.

For a moment, his uncle was silent, then he asked calmly.

"What does that have to do with my acquaintance?"

Harry pressed his lips together, but something in his expression must have given him away, because there was a sudden, grim understanding in his uncle's eyes.

"You came from this time," he concluded. "This is the time you were born in."

Harry's fists tightened.

"I… I should be fifteen," he finally whispered. "I should be a child… a boy, who was tested by his headmaster time and a time again."

He closed his eyes, grimacing, his face full of bitter regret.

"The awakening of the dark lord of this time in my fourth year of school," he elaborated through clenched teeth. "An absent godfather, locked away in prison for something he didn't do, in my third, my grandmother… a basilisk in my second… and… and the Philosopher's Stone destroyed in my first year."

"Ah," his uncle said softly. "Albus."

For a moment, there was silence between them, before his uncle's face changed from thoughtful to angry.

"Those instances–"

"Most likely staged by Dumbledore… or used to his advantage," Harry interrupted him and pinched his nose. "I can't tell which… but I… it's been millennia. My fury for those was spent."

"Well, mine isn't," his uncle replied calmly, but Harry knew that beneath that calm, a storm was brewing. "A child – you were a child and he–!"

"He did what he seems to have always done," Harry calmly replied, stopping his uncle mid-rant. "He did it before. Grindelwald… my people… we fought against him… we lost people against him and then came Dumbledore and he just…!"

Harry gritted his teeth.

"My godson died," he finally managed to finish. "My godson died and his son… his son and his wife… they… Dumbledore ignored my godson's sacrifice. He ignored the Blacks' sacrifice… he..."

Harry shook his head, unable to continue.

"I can't let him retain the power he has," he finished and his uncle reached out to envelop him into a hug. "I can't… I just can't let him continue like he has. There's… something went wrong with the ritual I did on Hallowe'en and I will pay the price in a few months for it… but until then, I will at least try to save the magical world."

His uncle's fingers carded through his hair.

"Save it from what?" he asked concerned.

Harry sighed and buried his head in his uncle shoulder.

"From itself," he admitted. "The magical people... they're forgetting where they came from – and that's dangerous. It happened once before, back then, when Hogwarts was founded. People forgetting where their magic came from… where they came from… it's not good. If it continues, it will just ensure that we might end up losing our magic in the end."

His uncle stopped his caress.

"How so?" he asked, a bit surprised.

"The muggleborns," Harry elaborated. "They're either the children of squibs, or the children of Firbolgs… creatures. They strengthen the magic inherited by us. If we lose them then we will end up breeding out our magic in the end as well. It's basic inheritance."

"And people don't remember," his uncle concluded.

Harry sighed.

"It's always something," he agreed. "Last time, they feared the purebloods… the creatures… now they fear both, creature and muggleborn. It will turn into their ruin, if it continues… but with the newest dark lords… if we're unlucky, they might end up pulling the creatures and the muggleborns down with them."

His uncle sighed.

"What a vicious cicle," he said.

Harry didn't reply, instead, he let himself be held.

It felt safe.

His uncle just tightened his embrace when Harry didn't say anything.

"So… you go and take over the Wizengamot to stop what has been happening," he finally concluded. "And to stop Albus who is partly responsible for the decline and partly responsible for other things you abhor him for."

Harry nodded, his head still buried in his uncle's shoulder.

"And you want me to stand by your side while you fear at that same time that I won't," his uncle added.

"He's your friend," came Harry's muffled reply at that.

"And you're my nephew, descendant and heir," his uncle countered. "I might have befriended Albus, but unlike him, I love you unconditionally. You're my nephew… by Myrddin! You're my child! I've watched over you for centuries! Loved you for centuries! No matter how much I like Albus, it's not even a tiny amount compared to what I feel for you!"

Harry's hands fisted into his uncle's clothes at those words.

His uncle caressed his hair again.

"But you knew that," he added. "Or at least you suspected it – because otherwise, you wouldn't have contacted me at all."

Harry closed his eyes.

"You're my godfather," he replied. "I've trusted you since I was little. No matter how much I feared that you might end up choosing Dumbledore's side, I still couldn't not trust you."

His uncle hummed at that.

"So later the Wizengamot," he said softly. "I'm here. And I'm willing to stay at your side… but you and I know that my days are numbered."

Harry's arms tightened around his uncle.

Again, a hand caressed his hair while silence descended upon them.

"A phoenix reborn, huh?" his uncle finally said, ten minute's later. "Maybe, it's time that more than one phoenix returns out of its ashes."

At that, his godson actually looked up surprised.

"You want to…?"

"It's time," his uncle countered. "Like I said, my days are numbered – but if it's done right today, then some things won't die with me."

XxxXxXxXxXx

The day was bright, the people were cheerful and in more than one shop was a radio to ensure that the customers could listen to the first meeting of the Wizengamot in the new year.

And just because of the Wizengamot, Diagon Alley was brimming with people.

After all, it was tradition to go to Diagon Alley and listen to the first meeting of the Wizengamot – that one meeting in the year where everybody attended and where the new faces would be introduced.

It was one of the most important dates in the year – and one of the dates that saw the most people on the streets as well.

So, having a tall, pale man with dark hair wandering down the streets hand in hand with a teenage girl, wasn't that unusual for a day like that.

There were far more unusual people on the streets that day, after all.

It didn't even astonish people that those two didn't seem to look for a place in a shop with a radio.

Instead, those two seemed to stop at random places in the alley where they crouched down to look at something.

If somebody would have taken notice and would have seen old Ollivander's furbishing in the summer, they might have taken notice that the old wandmaker had stopped at the same places of the alley one time – but, let's be honest: who remembered the exact odd actions one single man had done once when the action alone was enough to gossip for days?

And so, nobody watched those two, or wondered about them.

"You are aware that Mr Riddle might come for you, now that you left him," the blond haired girl remarked in that moment, her gaze seeming to look through the wall she was inspecting.

"Ah, of course," the tall, pale man agreed and then waved it off. "But honestly, I think that he's far too obsessed with his original plans to change them so much… or even go and abandon them for me."

The girl hummed, half in agreement, half in contemplation.

"So, he's going to do what, my Immortal?" she asked.

Anastasius Sanguini shrugged.

"I talked with Pater over Christmas," he said, sounding unconcerned. "He thinks that the… Dark Lord… will speed up his plans, now that he fears to be found out or outed."

For a moment, the vampire looked upwards towards the sky.

"Honestly," he said. "I think Pater's right. I even went and ensured that he's been left another present…"

At that, his gaze turned thoughtful.

"I wonder if he'll like it."

The girl next to him, threw him an amused look before humming again.

"Most likely not," she said, sounding a bit sad at that exclamation. "I fear, he doesn't have the same sense for good presents that you do, my Immortal."

The vampire sighed.

"How true, Little Moon," he agreed sadly, before his mien brightened somewhat. "Pater on the other hand definitely liked my present – and I doubt he'd hate the one I left for my... former employer. He even allowed me to take the ingredients for it when I left this morning to leave it at a place my former employer will definitely find it."

Luna Lovegood hummed again at that.

"Does your father know that you went to the Ministry?" she asked.

For a moment, Ana looked quite thoughtful, then he shrugged.

"He prohibited me from coming with him to the Wizengamot," he pointed out. "He didn't ask me to stay away from the Ministry totally today. And look at me! The Wizengamot's starting and I, well-behaved as I am, am nowhere near the Wizengamot!"

"And you don't think that your present in the Ministry for Mr Riddle won't bring chaos?" Luna asked dreamily.

The vampire smirked.

"I was never told not to find a way to ensure chaos spreads – just that I should stay away so that I don't spread chaos in my wake."

Luna returned the grin.

Then she stopped and looked past the vampire towards a black-clad man, walking down the streets.

"Huh," she said. "Guess, that's our cue."

The vampire turned to look where she had been looking.

"Ah!" he exclaimed. "My nephew! I wonder what he's doing here – with the Wizengamot on the way and all that? I thought he'd attend today?"

Luna hummed – but this time, it sounded more like a melody than an answer to the vampire's exclamation.

Ana shot her an amused look.

"How true," he agreed. "Something wicked this way comes..."

"And this time around, Mr Riddle might be the one who sent it," Luna agreed before starting to hum once more.

"Double, double, toil and trouble, fire burn and cauldron bubble," she hummed amused.

Double, double, toil and trouble, something wicked this way comes!"

XxxXxXxXxXx

Albus Dumbledore stood silently at the entrance of the Wizengamot chamber, watching.

There had been rumours over the last few months and now, watching the crowd, Albus could tell that there might be something true about them.

"I heard that Flamel's giving up his seat," Alastor had commented just a few days ago.

"Heard it's the last act before his life comes to an end. There're rumours that he's going to name an heir in January's Wizengamot meeting."

That had actually stumped Albus. He had known that all of Flamel's children had long since died and he had also known that every single line of the children had ended either as a squib line or without issue.

There should be no one Nicholas Flamel should be able to give his line to. The Flamel line would end with Nicholas...so who was there who could inherit?

It had been a thought that hadn't let Albus go.

He knew that if a line ended, it was possible to name an heir that originally didn't belong to it... but who would Nicholas know to name?

The only one that Nicholas knew better than just by name would be Albus... and he didn't dare to hope what that would mean…

He dismissed that thought, just like he had done since he heard that rumour.

Just because Nicholas would come to the Wizengamot didn't mean that he would give up his seat.

Just because Albus was the only close friend who was also vaguely related – they both could trace back their ancestry to Godric Gryffindor – didn't mean that Albus would be the new heir of Flamel.

"There could be other reasons why he decided to return to politics," Albus reminded himself. "He doesn't have to give up his seat… and even if he wants to, it doesn't mean that he needs to name an heir. He could declare it dormant… or even end it, if he really wants to."

Both other options weren't done often, but they still existed, after all.

That thought brought Albus to another problem that might occur in this Wizengamot meeting.

"Sirius will also be there," he thought. "And he might end up naming an heir as well..."

It was another concerning thought.

While Sirius didn't have any other relation in his direct line, there were several other potential candidates: there was Nymphadora Tonks… Draco Malfoy… and of course Harry.

With Sirius' link to the Potters, Albus suspected that he would name Harry.

On one hand, Albus agreed with that possible decision.

Draco Malfoy, even with his parents dead, was still too influenced by Tom Riddle to keep the Black house away from Voldemort's grasp, and Nymphadora for all her Black blood would be a very bad choice considering that she wasn't officially part of the Black-family.

While that could be changed easily, there would always be the fact that her mother broke the rules and was banned from her birth-house besmirching her reputation.

It would ensure that the Black house would lose clout with her as an heir.

"Maybe," Albus thought with a sigh, "I can talk to Sirius after today. If he really chooses Harry like I think he will, I should ensure that he'd keep the poor boy away from it right now. Harry has already enough on his plate without adding politics to it."

Albus knew that as long as Voldemort was after Harry, the poor boy had more important things to worry about than his own seat in the Wizengamot – or anybody else's seat for that matter.

He sighed to himself.

"At least until he's seventeen," he told himself and then sighed again.

Oh, Albus knew that normally, an heir to a house without a Lord should attend the Wizengamot in the January meeting after he turned fifteen for the first time, but he thought that people would understand that Harry wouldn't.

Albus, at least, planned to tell them that Harry wasn't yet ready to take over his house and that Albus would keep being proxy until that time.

It was for the best, after all, if the poor boy had time to find his own way in life before he was pressured into the – thanks to Voldemort – less important positions that his parents left him with.

XxxXxXxXxXx

Xenophilius Lovegood was standing at another entrance to the Wizengamot meeting hall, his father-in-law next to him.

"I'm surprised, you're here, Xeno," the older man said.

Xeno just shrugged.

"I guess I decided to have a successful but very short career in politics, after all," he said, sounding unconcerned.

When his father-in-law raised an eyebrow at that, Xeno shrugged again.

"My daughter, your grandchild, badgered me into it," he elaborated with a sigh. "She said that she found out that the Potter's seat has been used by the former Headmaster of Hogwarts for the last fourteen years. And as much as I hate politics, I couldn't let that stand."

"Ah," there was calmness in his father-in-law's voice when he followed Xeno's reasoning. "So you went and declared yourself proxy by right of marriage… even if said marriage happened a few hundred years ago?"

"That and I voted for Dumbledore's removal from Hogwarts," Xeno agreed unconcerned. "Not that it meant anything considering that the Wizengamot has no right to decide on the Headmaster of Hogwarts, and all that."

He shrugged.

"I guess I did it mostly to be able to spite Dumbledore today," he said, feeling a bit vindictive. "He's been using a seat not rightfully his, after all, for the last fourteen years. I think, taking it from him… by a relation that's as obscure as ours is just the right punishment for him."

His father-in-law narrowed his eyes at that.

"You've been reading my old letters home, again, have you?" he asked. "The one I send home to my family when I was a lad and fighting Grindelwald."

Xeno just looked at his father-in-law innocently.

"I stumbled upon then recently while I was looking for things of my wife for Luna, why?"

"Because the last time you did the same, Pandora had to stop you from sending prank-mail to Albus," his father-in-law countered calmly before shaking his head. "Why do you even care? It's not as if it was–"

"Because I married into this family, and I'll be damned if I don't accept the woes of this family as my own if I belong to it!"

For a moment, his father-in-law scrutinized Xeno, then he sighed.

"I guess I should have warned Pandora that marrying a Lovegood was a bad idea," he said, his eyes still on Xeno. "Lovegoods have always been odd… combining that with our family… well, I guess I understand how my grandchild turned out the most unusual person I ever met – and that says something if two of the other persons have been Newt Scamander and Marius Black..."

Xeno's father-in-law shook his head again.

"Oh, well," he said with a sigh. "I guess I'm too late for that… far, far too late."

Xeno just shrugged, feeling a bit smug.

"I guess," he agreed and then took a deep breath.

"You coming?" he asked his father-in-law.

Said man shook his head.

"There's still somebody I want to go and see first," he said.

Xeno nodded.

"I'll see you later, then," he agreed, and with a wave, he left his father-in-law behind to step into the Wizengamot Chamber.

It was time.

One last time for politics for this old, tired Lovegood…

XxxXxXxXxXx

Neville stood silently next to his grandmother, watching the comings and goings of the already arrived Wizengamot members.

"Are you ready?" his grandmother asked him and Neville sighed, his eyes tracking people here and there.

"I have to be, Gran," he told her truthfully. "I need to enter the Wizengamot today."

It was the truth – a truth Neville had known since he was a small child.

He was heir.

His parents were unable to fulfil their role and while his father wasn't dead and therefore Neville theoretically wasn't forced to enter the Wizengamot after his fifteenth birthday to ensure that the political clout of his house wouldn't dimmish, it was also true that his father was as good as dead and if Neville didn't enter, his house would lose clout, theoretical allowance to stay away or not.

At least, Neville would only be forced to attend this one meeting.

After, he would hand over control formally to his proxy, his grandmother, and return to his life as a normal school boy until he was finished with Hogwarts.

His grandmother looked at him, her eyes scrutinizing him, but unlike in the past, there was no disappointment in her face.

"You've grown," she noticed. "Your father would have been proud."

Neville looked at his grandmother in light surprise.

"Thank you, Gran," he finally said before his gaze returned to the crowd in front of him. "I fear I might need all maturity I have, today."

His grandmother nodded, her face grave.

"Change is in the air," she agreed. "And with us leaving the light today, there might be repercussions."

Neville knew she was right, but he also knew that it might be less terrible than they thought at the moment.

The Longbottoms, while allied with a few houses of the light, like the Potters, had never had that many connections and alliances. Joining the Grand Family would just help them in their political standing, even if it came with a change of fraction.

"There's going to be a lot of upheaval today," he agreed with her. "There might be people who will try to influence us in our decision."

"Too true," his grandmother replied before she send him an amused look. "But that's the reason why we've been approached before today. We had time to think about it – so today, we can declare our standing without needing time to take a closer look at the offer."

Neville nodded slowly.

"People… might be unhappy with what we're about to do," he said slowly. "But… if we did it right, we won't lose our allies – or most of them – after we declare ourselves."

Maybe, it was a bit naïve of Neville to feel optimistic, but on the other hand – he and his grandmother had done everything they could to keep what little alliances they had… so maybe, they weren't that naïve to hope it had been enough.

Neville took one last, deep breath.

"Let's do this," he said, trying to calm his nerves.

Then he held out an arm to his grandmother and together they entered the chamber to take their place in the crowd.

It was time.

XxxXxXxXxXx

Severus was definitely unhappy.

He remembered quite well, that he had gone and promised Sal that he would attend the Wizengamot meeting – and yet, before he could, he had ended up being called to the Dark Lord's side and then send out with some others to conduct a raid in Diagon Alley.

A raid that should end in the death of one annoying vampire.

Of course, with Severus' current luck, he had been the one to run into the searched for vampire straight away.

Said vampire on the other hand, didn't seem bothered at all by Severus' get up.

"Sevvie!" he greeted Severus cheerfully. "Shouldn't you be at the Wizengamot?"

Severus had expected a lot when they were called to the raid – but meeting the mad vampire… and not alone but with a person Severus actually knew… definitely wasn't it.

Severus stared at the vampire and his shadow next to him.

"Miss Lovegood," he said and looked at the girl. "Care to explain what you're doing here in Diagon Alley?"

"I promised Opapa to watch his shop, Professor," the girl replied, totally unconcerned that there were Death Eaters up and down the street all about to bring hell down on the alley. "I'll have to stay here for another ten minutes at least."

Severus stared at the girl.

She had to stay here for at least another ten minutes?!

Did she really think that the Death Eaters cared about her Grandfather's shop's closing time – or lunch time, considering the current time?!

"This is a raid, Miss Lovegood! I'm sure your Grandfather would understand if you abandoned his shop for the sake of your life," Severus tried to make the girl understand.

He had to get her out of the alley before some of his colleagues noticed that he not only had found the vampire but also an easy target.

Sadly, the girl was stubborn.

She shook her head, planting her feet on the ground next to the mad vampire.

"I fear that is impossible, sir," she objected. "Nine minutes and no less now."

"Nine minutes...?" Severus frowned at the young Ravenclaw and wondered if the girl was even more insane than he had thought she was.

The girl nodded slowly.

"Of course nine minutes," she agreed. "We've been talking for one already – soon to be two. In another few seconds, I'll be able to go in eight minutes."

Severus pinched his nose.

"Your damn agreement with your grandfather doesn't matter right now, Miss Lovegood!" he finally growled. "Get out of here – now!"

"Don't you think it's rude to demand something like that?" the vampire next to the girl inquired. "This is a public alley, after all."

"That doesn't matter, vam–"

"Uncle Ana," the vampire interrupted him, his eyes narrowing.

Severus gave in.

"Uncle Ana," he repeated, hoping to get them going faster. "The Dark Lord ordered a raid in the alley – and he ordered your head on a silver platter! So – get out! Both of you!"

The vampire seemed to be a bit disturbed by Severus' last words.

"I doubt my head would look good on a silver platter," he said, sounding a bit grossed-out. "Gold, maybe, but silver? I think that wouldn't fit with my eye colour at all..."

Severus stared at the vampire, opened his mouth… and then closed it again with a snap.

Insane.

That damn vampire was totally insane!

The girl next to the vampire hummed at that comment.

It took a moment for Severus to actually notice that it wasn't just a hum of agreement, but actually some kind of song she was humming.

As if she noticed his attention on her, she looked up at him with her dreamy eyes and smiled.

"Something wicked this way comes!" she whispered.

In that moment, several other Death Eaters noticed whom Severus had found.

"Ah! You have him!" Macnair commented, pulling his wand, clearly about to start cursing.

Lovegood hummed some more, clearly not bothered while one by one Death Eaters started to surround them.

"Seven minutes," she said, her pale eyes on the Death Eaters.

The vampire grinned, his teeth lengthening and a wicked look in his eyes.

"Good," he said. "I wonder how good they actually are. The last time, their ability to hit the target was still atrocious."

The girl hummed.

"It's been a bit more than a week," she commented. "I doubt they're that much better now."

The vampire nodded gravely before ducking beneath the first spells flying at him.

"How true," he agreed.

Lovegood also ducked, twisted and took shelter behind the vampire.

From there, safely hidden away, she removed her attention from the up-starting battlefield.

Instead, her eyes turned towards Severus.

"You should go now," she said to him calmly, as if they weren't currently surrounded by Death Eaters. "This doesn't concern you and I'm sure that the Eternal Prince is waiting for you."

Severus stared at her.

Oddly enough, it wasn't her confidence, but her words that kept him in place.

"The Eternal Prince?" he repeated.

Lovegood shrugged.

"I think, you normally call him 'Potter', Professor," she answered and then pulled out her wand to flick it at one of the Death Eaters surrounding them.

He went down vomiting some kind of rainbow coloured slosh.

Severus grimaced at the display, while the vampire cheered.

"Nice one, Little Moon!"

Then Severus registered what Lovegood had said.

He narrowed his eyes at the Lovegood.

"The Eternal Prince," he repeated. "Why do you call him that?"

Because no matter what else that girl said, he knew that the Eternal Prince was a title she must have bestowed upon Potter.

Lovegood crooked her head, while looking at him thoughtfully, after hitting another Death Eater with a bright-orange coloured spell that Severus refused to follow with his eyes.

He didn't even want to know what a spell that colour did.

"Because that's who he is," Lovegood countered, unbothered by the Death Eater reaching for her. Instead of using her wand, she kicked him in the sheen before the vampire downed him with a precise hit in the diaphragm.

Severus willfully ignored the other Death Eaters being downed left, right and center all around him by the two people in front of him.

After all his time with… Uncle Ana, he was actually getting good at ignoring things he didn't want to see.

"Not Potter? Or... Harry," Severus asked and stepped aside before one of his 'colleagues' could fall over him. There was distaste in his voice that he couldn't hide when he mentioned the boy's former name.

Lovegood blinked dreamily.

Next to her, a Death Eater was thrown backwards after being grabbed in the scruff by the vampire.

"It's not his name," Lovegood countered, unbothered that a Death Eater had nearly reached her. "Neither one is. So why should I use it?"

"You're using 'the Eternal Prince'," Severus pointed out, and took another step aside to let one of the Death Eaters behind him pass. This one was ducked by the vampire and then thrown over said vampires back at another Death Eater who had been about to attack Lovegood from behind.

Severus did everything he could, to ignore that red substance he was sure was blood landing on the street. There was a silver gleem in the vampire's hand for a moment and for just a second Severus wondered if… Uncle Ana had brough a knife to a wand-fight.

He forcefully ejected that thought before it could take a hold in his brain.

"It's a title," Lovegood replied unbothered in that moment to Severus' question. "And it's the truth – so why shouldn't I use it?"

A good question.

"I can't remember Potter ever saying that he was a prince," Severus countered coolly, trying to be rational in the face of insanity.

"You wouldn't," the vampire spoke up amused before finally drawing a wand… no he drew a stone and threw it at three Death Eaters. The stone flashed and the next moment, three Death Eaters were enveloped in a kind of ward. Their spells rebounced and hit them instead of the two people they had been aimed at. "Pater wouldn't say anything like that. He's reluctant to claim what is rightfully his."

Severus stared at the newly downed Death Eaters, not even able to comment on the facts that the vampire had just thrown in his face.

The vampire followed his gaze.

"Modified ward," he told Severus, clearly unbothered by Severus' gawking. "Written on a sardonyx. I've been playing with gems like that for a few hundred years and the Blacks… well, they just enhanced it. They're useful – at least in a moderate way."

"Two minutes, now," Lovegood said in that moment, her attention on the other Death Eaters who tried to enter the shops.

There were a lot of panicking people on the street, but right now, most of the Death Eaters were preoccupied with the vampire and, by default, Miss Lovegood.

Severus knew it wouldn't last.

He knew his colleagues.

The moment they noticed that neither the vampire nor Lovegood would be overcome easily, a lot of them would change their attention to the people surrounding them.

It would be a slaughter.

It always was – especially with the anti-apparation-wards that had already been brought up surrounding the alley before the Death Eaters had even started their raid… and panicky as the people were, most of them didn't even think to use another way to flee…

Severus hated it, but as long as he was a spy, he also couldn't do anything against it.

"You should go now, Professor," Lovegood said in that moment.

"Yes, you should," the vampire agreed. "Pater is waiting for you. You shouldn't leave him waiting."

Before Severus could reply, or even think about replying, something changed in the air.

There was a sudden, pressure-like feeling coming down on them.

Lovegood looked up, ignoring the spell that came sailing just over her head.

"Huh," she said interestedly. "I guess, it's time."

The way she said it made a shiver run down Severus' back – the answering mad grin from the vampire next to her didn't help at all.

"I guess, it's a good thing that your Opapa knew he needed to be done until Christmas, then," Uncle Ana replied.

Severus shivered again – and then, hell broke lose.

XxxXxXxXxXx

Amelia was standing at the entrance to the Wizengamot.

Her eyes searched the crowd.

"Are you still up for it?" a voice behind her asked her suddenly.

She turned.

"Ollivander," she greeted him, eyeing him now instead of the crowd. "So you came."

"Of course," Ollivander agreed. "I wouldn't have missed it for the world."

Amelia raised her eyebrow.

"I somehow get the feeling that you know more than I do when it comes to the happenings today," she commented dryly.

Ollivander send her an unrepentant smile.

"Just guess-work," he told her, clearly amused. "Just a bit of guess-work and a hunch or two on my part."

Amelia watched his calm face while he said those words.

"Anything you can share?" She asked with a frown.

He just smiled at her.

"Plenty of things," he agreed. "But a lot of them will most likely come out in the open."

Amelia frowned at that confession.

"That's not sharing anything at all," she pointed out.

Ollivander thought about it, his eyes drifting over the crowd.

"The Greengrass and the Zabinis have a new alliance, I heard," he finally said slowly. "The Longbottoms have been approached by the Blacks… and Malfoire will return today."

Amelia raised an eyebrow at the last.

"Malfoire?" she repeated.

"The actual Lord of the House," Ollivander elaborated. "The Malfoy's are just the proxy of this seat."

That… actually hadn't been something Amelia had known.

"Oh," she said slowly. "So Malfoire–"

"He's an ally of ours," Ollivander immediately answered. "He's been one since I was a child… and even longer."

"You know him, then?" Amelia asked. It would be good to know if they had an ally in Malfoire that Ollivander actually trusted.

"He led the Resistance against Grindelwald," the old man replied. "He was my commander, my leader, the one I learned from and the one I trusted the most. He's back now. Back again, and he asked me to be back at his side. He's the reason why I approached you."

Amelia guessed that that answer was good enough when it came to trust.

"Our side, then," she said. "Like the Longbottoms."

"And the Blacks if the Longbottoms accepted," Ollivander countered smugly. "And some other people as well. Today, Houses will be reborn, remade and maybe even remembered. It's time. Everything changes, and today, it will be the Wizengamot."

Amelia closed her eyes and smiled at that.

"Hopefully, it will be a good change," she said.

"The best," Ollivander countered and he sounded so sure that Amelia couldn't help but smile a bit more.

She took a deep breath.

"Good, then," she declared. "Let's do this. Let's change everything."

Even if the prospect sounded a bit overwhelming to her.

Nevertheless, she took another deep breath and then stepped forward into the chamber.

It was time.

And she would do her best to get the optimal outcome in the end.

XxxXxXxXxXx

While everybody was watching the gathering of the Wizengamot, Tom Marvolo Riddle, also known as Lord Voldemort, slipped into the Ministry.

It was time.

Today, he would go and take the prophecy.

Oh, it was a risk, going himself.

But the risk was worth it.

He still had a chance to bring his plans to fruition – and he would take it.

Next to him, Bellatrix Lestrange, born No-Name was walking.

She was still shaken from being thrown out of her birth-family, but determined to follow her lord's orders.

It was easy for them to get into the Ministry unnoticed.

Everybody had their attention on the upcoming meeting of the Wizengamot, so slipping into the building was easier than breathing.

The way down to the hall of prophecies was easily found as well.

"There might be a guard," Bella reminded her master when they entered, but the hall was empty.

The spell Voldemort did to ensure that they were alone didn't come back with any signs of life.

Voldemort frowned.

"Nagini should be here," he mumbled to himself, suddenly feeling dread pooling in his stomach.

He dismissed it forcefully.

Maybe she had slithered out to get some mice…

He clung to that thought until they rounded the shelf that contained the prophecy he was after.

The next moment, Lord Voldemort lost control over his magic when his fury lashed out.

The shelves shook.

Some prophecies even rolled of the shelves and burst.

There, nailed to the shelf, next to the prophecy Voldemort was after, was Nagini.

She was lifeless, clearly dead for more than a few days and just looking like she had just died thanks to a preservation spell cast on her.

Next to her was pinned a message.

Best regards,

Sanguini

it read.

Reading the words, the last of Voldemort's control slipped.

His fury unleashed.

The shelves creaked and rattled, some more prophecies fell of them and then, the wards were triggered and an alarm sounded.

Voldemort cursed and grabbed the prophecy.

It didn't matter.

The people had been preoccupied with the Wizengamot meeting and the raid he had send to Diagon Alley.

They would need their time to get there.

And until then, nobody was there to stop Voldemort from getting what he had wanted in the first place: the damn prophecy, spoken all those years ago about him and the Potter boy…

XxxXxXxXxXx

The Wizengamot was a crescendo of different voices. People were clustered in every corner, none of them at their seats, yet.

"You know that from today onwards, there will be no way back," Nicholas Flamel said and stepped up next to a man he had known as his nephew for more years than he could count.

"I'm aware," the other replied, his eyes on the crowd.

"Salvatio," Nicholas said, searching the other man's gaze. "You and I both know you'll have a choice today. There's just one part that will be able to live from today onwards - either Harry James Potter or Salvatio Malfoire... or whatever you're calling yourself now."

For a moment, Harry was silent, his eyes escaping his uncle's gaze to watch the crowd some more, then he sighed.

"Emrys," he corrected. "It's basically always been Emrys."

For a moment, he returned to silence, then he corrected himself with a grimace.

"Well, actually it should be Grim or LeFay, because those names were really always mine, but..." he hesitated, before continuing slowly. "Emrys... that's the name I always saw as mine."

He shook his head.

"It doesn't matter anymore. A name is a name. Nothing more, nothing less. It doesn't actually define me."

His uncle next to him hummed.

"This day is going into history," he finally said. "I can see it already."

Harry threw his uncle an amused look.

"If you say so," he agreed. "I guess, it's on us, to ensure that you're right in the end."

With that, they both straightened one last time before they stepped into the Chamber.

It was time.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

I'm sorry it took so long. Night shifts definitely don't agree with writing regularly for me. *sweatdrops*

Hope you liked it.

'Till next time.

Ebenbild