Part I: The Final Sanction

"It's her, Voldemort's daughter!"

"She ain't too bad on the eyes for the Dark Lord's whelp."

"Shut it! Show her respect!"

"She does look a bit like Bella. "

"The Cursed Child!"

The whispers of the lesser prisoners followed the young woman as the Aurors lead her down into the Azkaban Catacombs, the most secure branch of the recently augmented prison. Dementors wraithed through the ashen corridors, the wisps of mist both clinging to them and parting in their wake. The Aurors escorting the young woman were both over a foot taller than her.

Minister Granger, ever the politician, wanted the iconic image for her propaganda arm: The Daily Prophet. She wanted everyone to see the short little girl, powerless between the two hulking numbskulls as she disappears from the public consciousness. As if these two could hope to take me in a fight.

HA! It took Harry and Mrs Potter, their imbecilic son Albus, Malfoy and his admittedly smarter scorpion of a son, the stupid Weasley, and his scheming wife, Minister Granger to disarm me. And only then, only barely could they beat me. And they consider themselves the strongest of their New Era.

And I'm only approaching my twenty-third birthday!

She was almost unnaturally pale with high cheekbones and wide, bright, eyes; contrary to what the emaciated prisoners thought as they leered and gestured at her, those eyes held not a shadow of fear. The cold that permeated every inch of the place seemed to have a minimal effect on the young woman. The Aurors noticed this, both exchanging a nervous glance over the bound woman's head as she almost leisurely let out a foggy breath, looking at it disappear with something akin to childish awe in her posture. The winter air didn't help the seasoned Aurors feel any better as the Final Sanction; the final vault, guarded by a black portcullis from which more than one legend can trace it's heritage from, creaked as it opened it's maw for the approaching trio.

The young woman felt both Aurors tense as the gate reached its zenith and a burst of snow burned their hands, since they were wearing Auror standard gloves and not winter ones. The Prisoner wasn't unaffected by this new cold, but she relished the small discomfort radiating from her jailers.

The young prisoner's small moment of joy was muted as she fully, for the first time, contemplated the emptiness that would be the rest of her life. All for killing one stupid spare.

Father, I failed you. I, I just wanted to see your face, and Mum's as well. I wanted to hear you both say my name…

And Lord Salazar; I am not worthy to be called your heir.

I'm so, so sorry.

Three Months Later

"Minister! Minister! To what do you say of these anonymous allegations that Albus Severus Potter and Scorpius Malfoy were involved in the murder of Craig Bowker Jr., since their deposition makes it clear they were the last people to see the poor boy alive?" A reporter shouted from the second row to the back.

Minister Hermione Granger raised her eyebrows at the unexpected question and then composed herself, "Those two boys were cleared of all charges, and there is nothing to suggest they were perpetrators in that awful incident. The Department of Magical Law Enforcement has every confidence they have the guilty party, the only guilty party. The perpetrator was a female in her twenties, who is now entering her fourth month of incarceration in Azkaban Prison. If you have all exhausted your questions for what we are supposed to be gathered for here today, then that will be all. Good Day!" With that, Minister Granger elegantly descended the podium.

"How do you know it was her? You classified the trial so it wasn't open to the press, much less the public. So, as far as we know, no wand was produced that had fired the Avada Kedavra. We don't have a confession on record from your unnamed convict either. Potter and Malfoy's wands were laid meters away from the poor boy's cadaver, conveniently snapped."

The young reporter showed no signs of backing down, she had tasted blood. "Minister! How do we know you didn't pull a Cornelius Fudge on us, and this girl isn't just another Sirius Black you and your best friend, Harry Potter, AKA the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement,have locked up to protect your young family from justice? Where's the proof this woman is guilty?" The young reporter's questions followed the Minister for Magic out the door as she paid the reporter no further attention. Hermione and her assistant got into a black Rolls which immediately departed.

"Helen, why has young Bathilda Skeeter been so keen on the Bowker case this week?" Her tone wasn't confrontational, but guarded. Helen, the assistant, was lost for a moment in contemplation before diving in.

"Perhaps because you were re-elected last week and this is still an unresolved issue from your previous term?" Hermione's eyes flashed dangerously so Helen amended her statement, "You know it's settled, I know it's settled, but the public was left in limbo on a case that had the potential to be the trial of the century. So it's understandable why they're miffed. Mister Potter didn't even let the public know the woman's name." Helen finished decisively; she knew her boss appreciated candour, even on the bad days, and today wasn't great.

Hermione sighed, she knew Bathilda Skeeter had a point, she knew Helen was correct as well, but it was all just so complicated. I couldn't just say, oh, by the way, we nearly supplanted this timeline with one where Voldemort and his daughter rule the continent as father and daughter, and all the muggleborns and muggles have been wiped out. OH, and it was all Albus Potter's fault because he had massive daddy issues. Oops.

It would just not do. Delphi Diggory had never existed. We don't even know her real name. All we know is that she's probably more powerful than her father, and she's only a fraction of his age! Not even her monster of a mother could have held her own in a duel with this girl.

Azkaban: The Final Sanction

The Prisoner was sitting down in the dark. There was no light at this, the deepest level of the prison. A life sentence for a murder they couldn't even prove. At least Cedric Diggory was good for something. The solitary young woman was just that, solitary. There were no other prisoners who were considered dangerous enough to warrant this level of security. Perhaps if mum had survived the Battle of Hogwarts, she'd be in here with me. I wouldn't be so very alone.

Even though there was no light, she had counted the days. It wasn't some uncanny ability to measure time in absolute darkness that allowed her to understand what today was. The blood lightly flowing in delicate streams down her thighs was enough of a marker. Her cycle was timed almost flawlessly to the lunar cycle, and tonight was the full moon. In the dirt near the centre of the atrium sized space she now inhabited in the dark, was the countdown she had drawn. It wasn't like the guards had given her anything but the cloth covering her body to maintain her personal hygiene, Minister Hermione Granger and the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Harry Potter, were very clear in their intent; locking her down here with food once every two days and water every one: you'll die down here, and sooner the better.

The young woman's menstrual blood was now in an unbroken line from its origin to the inside of her heels, speckling the dirt in unseen droplets.

Getting down on her knees, she located the most recent tally markings and made another. She sat back on her heels for a moment in contemplation; a few light tears fell from her cheeks.

In a resigned tone, the girl whispered, "Happy Birthday Delphi." She lightly blew the sand, blurring all the lines. There was a moment of silence before she began to sob.

For a short while, the sound of silence was disturbed by Delphi's emotional birthday celebration. And then there was light.

There was a flash and a brief report that deafened Delphi, shocking her out of her grief. There was a long spell of silence before a new voice filled the room, a heavily accented Irish voice. "Lumos"

A bluish light poured forth from the gem at the crest of the newcomer's walking staff. Delphi was simply stunned at the new arrival: He was a youngish man, a very short man, not much taller than five feet. He had piecing eyes, one emerald, and his other, vibrant amber. He leaned on his staff, which topped out at his eye level. His garb was a light armour that seemed to be made from black-dyed dragon hide and cloth with amber trimming. There was a creature embroidered in emerald on the man's chest: Delphi recognized it instantly: a basilisk in the shape of an S. The eyes of the beast looked to be some sort of blue gem. The man looked around for a moment, confused. As he turned, his cape came into Delphi's view. It was midnight blue with a blood-crimson trim.

If Delphi weren't so gobsmacked at the presence of another human being, she would've been quite impressed with his outlandish fashion. As it was, the emblem on the cape made her gasp: it was the Hogwarts crest.