A/N: So this began as an exploratory one-shot, but it soon ballooned into a 20K+ story, which I ultimately had to split into 4 parts. There's some mindfuck at the end, but bear with me.

Needless to say, this is non-canon, though I have incorporated certain elements.

There was something addicting, something irresistible about Wizard Poker, or gambling games in general. They draw you in with promises, possibilities, of victory and then they tease you, throwing bits of red meat here and there and lure you deeper down the hole until you reach a secret room where a long, impenetrable curtain masks the treasure. Then you, reveling in moments of anticipation, step forward and test the fates, tearing down the concealing fabric. What awaits you is either the reward promised by your imaginations or an illusion. Yet you are never satisfied, always craving for more.

Or at least that was what most people thought about Wizard Poker. Albus Severus Potter always thought it was simply a more realistic simulation of life than Wizard's Chess - because people simply do not start on a level playing field. Oh no. You are given a trio of cards drawn from the deck by some fickle creature called fate and you play them as best as you can. Occasionally, those with shitty luck get lucky and, with a cunning mixture of deception and your opponent's stupidity, bluffing gets you through life. Other times, the cocky and confident person with the Full House gets unexpectedly upstaged by someone better, someone with a Straight Flush because there was always someone better. Then there are times when the person who can, at best, muster a Pair can only watch helplessly as his or her superiors keep on calling higher and higher shots.

Because how else can the second son of the decorated Harry Potter, the Chosen One and hero of the Wizarding World land into such a sordid state? Did he play his cards wrong? Or was he simply screwed in the first place, dealt a bad hand?

Albus Severus Potter mused about all of this as he made his way through the bazaars of Morrocco, searching for that perfect sweet spot where the Augurey's Claw is.

Den of the wretched, hive of the sinful, congregation of the wicked and the destitute. These were all names people have given it. It was a gambling parlor where outlaws and vagabonds often forayed - just what Albus needed in order to get what's bothering him off his bind. Albus reached into his pockets and wrapped his hands tightly around the Locket. It bizarrely, reassured him. Even if just a little.

29 years old - not even at the age of thirty - and it was like his life had already reached its apex, soared across the zenith. He was Icarus and his fingertips have already graced past the Sun. All that left was descent.

"Oh Albus - oh come inside me Albus. Oh - this feels so, so good." A soft, feminine voice moaned beside him. His fingers fumbled through her nimble body, feeling her curves here and there before cupping her breasts. No - strangely, they did not satisfy him nearly as much as twirling her long silver hair did. Her hair… it was always his favourite. Like platinum, dyed blue at its tips.

"Do you like this?" His voice came raspier than usual.

She traced her fingers through his face as if admiring his reasonably attractive features. Not answering his question, she pulled him close, her lips soft and wet and eerily sumptuous. There she was, passionately kissing him. There she was, whispering sweet words into his ear, telling him he was nothing like his father and him, him telling her that he saw it as a compliment. There she was, telling him she loved him, that he was all she needed in the world. There he was, staring into her duplicitous eyes and willfully submitting himself to this illusion. There he was, inside her, complete and whole and caught in rapturous ecstasy.

Becoming an Auror seemed like a logical conclusion to the second son of Harry James Potter, the saviour of the Wizarding World. He had dedicated himself to the trajectory since as long as he could remember and his desire only intensified when he was, against all expectations save for James', sorted into Slytherin by that blasted old hat. It was the only way he could see himself measure up to his father.

His first mission involved the surprisingly mundane task of lifting a curse on a middle-aged witch's wedding ring (after his team had arrested the implicated criminal and sent the wizard to Azkaban.) Having acquired fairly extensive knowledge of curses, light and dark, fatal and non-fatal, via osmosis from Scorpius (being the nerd that he is) and hours of scouring through libraries large and small, Albus could have done it in his sleep. What transpired as his first successful task turned out to be pretty anti-climatic. It had the distinct 'meh' factor coursing through it all. Heck, it wasn't even a particularly dangerous curse; it merely caused all users of the ring to acquire permanent boils that sporadically exploded and spewed disgusting puss, which is, though inconvenient, not especially harmful.

Nevertheless, Scorpius, straight after his daily shift as a Healer, insisted that they celebrate this. At least Albus had managed to talk his best friend out of inviting other people ("Let's just keep this between us, okay?" Albus begged frantically. Scorpius ultimately relented.)

With a bottle of champagne in one hand and an opening cork in another, Scorpius beamed with happiness and pride. Then he started singing some muggle pop tune that Albus may have accidentally gotten him addicted to. Whoopsies.

"And our Albus will become a great Auror in no time at all!" Scorpius singsonged as he poured champagne for both of them."As famous as Harry Potter."

"Sweet Merlin, Scorpius, it's really no big deal." Albus was a little embarrassed. Sometimes, he wondered what he did to deserve so much praise from his best friend. "Not to mention I'm already as famous as Dad, given the ridiculous amount of coverage from the Daily Prophet."

The Daily Prophet - besides from the vast majority of Rose's Gryffindor friends, the vast majority of his own housemates who annoyed him to death, the Sorting Hat for being an old and senile fuck-up, James' owl who kept on trying to mate with his owl, his three ex-girlfriends (one dumped him for her owls, one eventually came out as a lesbian, one he ended up dumping because she kept on tailing him and refused him even the slightest personal time and space) and the list goes on and on - was quite literally the bane of his existence. It had, in the past published ridiculous articles about him. The first one was about his sorting and oh the horror of Harry Potter's son being sorted into the house of the Dark Lord, even if it all happened 19 years ago and even if most of his housemates, from his experiences, were no more or less harmful than all the other students at Hogwarts. The second one came in his third year - it provided a pathetically 'researched' piece about his close relationship with Scorpius Malfoy and speculated about his "murky future" - whatever the hell that meant. When he broke Joanna Vane's heart in his sixth year, she unleashed a tirade in an interview with the Prophet, which contained the most nonsensical allegations about him ever, including and not limited to his participation in monthly pig sacrifice rituals that involved torturing said animal before the sacrifice (she was apparently not very good at detecting sarcasm) and the fact that he was an anti-social jackass who prepared to dwell in his common room more than anywhere else (wrong: he only stayed there to avoid her and Rose, his cousin and her friend, naturally.)

"Cheers to us!" Scorpius declared.

"Yup, to us! And our poorly functioning love lives!"

"Oh Albus, will you stop being so mopey for once in your life?"

"Would I be Albus if I wasn't so mopey?"

"You'd be cheerful Albus! I think I'd prefer that."

"No you wouldn't."

"Na-uh."

A poke.

"Albus!"

Albus guffawed as Scorpius looked at him with mock-disapproval.

Her name was Delphini - or Delphi, as he would later prefer to call her - and Albus had no idea who she was or where she was from. It all started rather unassumingly. He was alone, in a cafe in Diagon Alley where journalists, students, Ministry officials and - in his case - Aurors taking a break from duty, often frequented during their more casual instances.

And there she was. Shoulder length and silver-coloured hair, wild, excitable blue eyes and a confident grin plastered on her lips. She was perched on the counter with a cup of coffee and reading a small book. Al thought she looked cute, though much too old for him, about Teddy's age, he'd wager. Scorpius had always teased him about liking older women and that circle of teasers had since then expanded into his siblings, the rest of his friends and various family members - yet the idea of striking a relationship with her had never occurred to him at the time.

Lies. Plain old lies: he was instantly attracted to her. It was this inexplicable gravitational pull or the cruel intervention of fate. The chess pieces had to be set for the inevitable fall.

He ordered a cup of spiced coffee and waited near the counter, near Delphi, who was still reading. He fixed his eyes on her - she didn't notice him marveled at the colour of her hair. Silver-blond. [More silvery than Scorpius' - a hard feat to surpass.]

Without warning, she turned towards him, grinning. He found himself smiling back, reflexively. And then his order arrived, causing him to walk towards the counter, to walk towards her.

"Here alone?" She inquired curiously.

He nodded, before shaking his head. "Sorry for the rudeness," he began. "I'm just here for some respite."

"Delphi Diggory," she replied. There was something alluring, something enigmatic about her smile. "You're an Auror aren't you? Harry Potter's son?"

There it is again: how people usually identified him - via his connection to his celebrated father.

"Yup. The younger one." He suppressed the urge to roll his eyes at her - no, the urge to roll his eyes at her faded away before it could manifest itself within him. There was something positively disarming about her smile. "I'm Albus Potter, pleased to meet you."

"Albus Potter…" she mused, her lips quivering in a whimsical manner, "The name as a nice ring to it."

"Eh, it's alright." He grinned. "Though it is wonderful if you like being named after dead people," he added wryly.

She let out a chuckle. "So, Albus, what brings you here?"

Conversation initiation? Success.

When Scorpius and Rose finally get together, Albus decided not to third-wheel the two lovebirds, opting to spend his night alone at a muggle club, downing shot after shot at the counter. ("-and then she said yes Albus! Can you believe it? After all these years," Scorpius piped up cheerfully.) In all honesty, while he felt genuine happiness for both his best friend and cousin, he never understood the appeal they saw in each other. During their days in Hogwarts, Rose had barely interacted with Scorpius in a way that did not involve demeaning comments (even if most of those comments were of a teasing manner or thrown casually if not innocently too) or outright anger, especially when she was surrounded by her friends. Scorpius' love, he thought, would be forever unrequited.

"Albus!"

A pity because any girl with a semblance of intelligence - sans Rose, because Rose was a fairly intelligent human being, but she was blinded in many ways - would recognize Scorpius as the perfect boyfriend and say yes in less than a minute. Albus speculated that he would have said yes, had he been a girl and had Scorpius harbored romantic feelings towards him. It wasn't as if he felt envious or bitter about the two - no - he cared about them too much to give a damn about his own feelings and -

"Albus!"

- Besides, he did not like Scorpius. They had been best mates, they had stuck with each other all these years, subverted the wizarding world's expectations, became friends at first site and -

"Albus! Are you feeling okay?"

Albus turned around to see Delphi waving at him and making her way towards him. She was clothed in a muggle tank top and short jeans. Previously she had been dancing energetically with a group of people Albus didn't even know (and who were probably muggles too.)

"Hey, it's you," he blurted out unenthusiastically - and then immediately regretted the listless tone he conveyed. "I mean - hey Delphi, it's great to see you here! Didn't know you liked muggle clubs."

"I don't go to them very often, but I do like to do some exploration once in a while." She grinned and sat down beside him. She was wearing a leather jacket and some light eye make up, which suited her perfectly. "Say, Albus, is there something bothering you tonight?"

"No, nothing much," he lied. "Just here to blow off some steam - its stressful being an Auror."

"You're an Auror?" Delphi asked, curious and rather in awe, her blue eyes widening. "How come that never came up when we talked?"

[Well, first things first, we've only met once. Granted, that was one very nice conversation that spanned three hours but still.]

Suddenly, all of his miseries melted; Albus no longer felt like drinking his sorrows away. "Well," he suggested, smirking a little,"I guess it takes time for people to get to know me."

She returned his smirk with a wink: "I'd gladly take the time." [Was she flirting?]

"You know, I think I've had enough drinks for the night. Mind hitting the dance floor again?" [Not that I minded her flirting.]

"Sure thing!" [She had to be flirting.]

That night, they shared their first kiss in the suffocating heat of the club, with loud and gregarious music blaring from all four sides, where the mildly revolting humidity generated by omnipresent sweating hung in the air, when everyone around was shouting and screaming. That night, Albus decided to sever whatever confusing, confounding sentiments he held towards his best friend and proceeded to sleep with Delphi in a high-class muggle hotel, which most certainly did not involve him confounding the poor muggle at the hotel counter to issue a room for free for the two of them. Delphi found it all hilarious.

"You're a Legilimens," she gasped, pleasantly surprised as Albus casually deciphered the thoughts and motives of all their fellow tables around the table. They have been dating for more than a month and he thought he would treat her to an expensive french muggle restaurant in the middle of London.

"Yes, I guess you can say so," Albus responded, faintly pleased at the element of praise he detected from her. She always seemed to know what to say to him, what made him happy, what made him feel good about himself. It was almost uncanny. Still, Albus couldn't object to any of these comments or to her presence in general - he enjoyed her company.

Ever since a very young age, Albus had developed a peculiar sensitivity to other people's opinions and judgments about him. Perhaps it had been a side effect of being the son of the famous and universally adored Harry Potter - it meant that cameras and journalists followed him and family around wherever they went, that whispers often swirled in the air around them.

Or perhaps there was more to it. James had never been particularly bothered about the celebrity gung ho that surrounded him being Harry Potter's sun, in fact, Albus would even wager that he had enjoyed and revealed in it, often using it as a leverage to propel his pranks and sociable antics to even greater heights. And neither had Lily, who had been carefree and bubbly since time immemorial. Albus was different: he's heard all the rumors, the curious and hidden sentiments lingering at the back of people's minds, the gasps and the gawking, the finger-pointing whenever people recognized him as the son-that-looks-like-an-exact-replica-of-the-father. The nasty thoughts stick out too, sharpening especially after the advent of his Sorting.

("Perhaps he's not like his father after all.")

("Dear me! What's Harry Potter going to think?!")

("He can't fly, can't play Quidditch, spends far too much time with that Scorpius Malfoy. Must be a disappointment to his family.")

("We all better watch out for that Albus Potter, there's not a single wizard who went bad that wasn't put in Slytherin.")

(Or, his favorite, "What was the Sorting Hat thinking?," to which he would turn around and respond with a deadpan: "It's turned old and senile.")

It wasn't until his second year, after a game of poker, that he realized he could read minds and that that was the reason why all those critical thoughts and mind-boggling speculations bothered him so much - because he could hear them and James and Lily couldn't.

Either way, it was both a curse and a blessing. Albus had long come to terms with it.

"Ever heard of Occlumency?" Delphi winked at him.

"Er… yes. I might have encountered the word in some esoteric Defense Against the Dark Arts reading that Scorpius read sometime in Hogwarts. He's a giant nerd and some of that intelligence rubbed off me, at least I'd prefer to think of things that way," Albus said, not aware of just how much fondness he was exhibiting.

"I think you'd be great at it," she suggested, grinning. "I mean, I know a bit of it and I just thought that it would be pretty wicked if you mastered it. It's pretty useful for Aurors, I hear."

"Sure - I mean - do you want to - would you like to teach me?" He was stumbling with words, being unexpectedly glad at what this implied: spending more time with Delphi. Unsuspecting, exhilarated, Albus had no idea of what he was getting himself into.

"You're amazing…" His voice trailed off. Truly, she was, the way she so effortlessly peeled her way into his internal world, the way she so effortlessly deflected all his psychological advances and the way she so effortlessly imparted him with the instructions about molding his own mental shields. "You're - you're a great teacher."

"You're just especially talented," she smiled and kissed him on the cheek. "And might I remind you, to do all of this in the bedroom was your suggestion. Three weeks, hmmm, it took me longer than that."

He got up, still sweating and panting from making love with her and from various acts of penetration, physical or mental. "Three weeks of great sex - totally worth it." He beamed at her, his eyes gleaming with mischief and affection.

The intensity of it all, the way their minds and bodies intertwined, the way they imparted sneak peeks of their lives to the other, the way his urges and passions erupted when their two worlds collided - he wasn't simply falling, he was plummeting down an abyss. For her.

Her lonely days under the overcast sky, the sound of the augurey's crow, the days spent on a sickbed, watching the sunrise outside of the window. She yearned for freedom and adventure.

His feelings of suffocation inside the classroom, the all-encompassing shadow of his family's legacy, his terror when standing between an entire hall of Hogwarts students, waiting to be sorted, all his moments pacing the living while waiting for his father to return from a dangerous mission, his days in the Auror's office, continually pushing himself to take difficult tasks, hoping against hope that one day he would make his dad proud.

They saw.

Though perhaps, the exchange was always asymmetrical.

Albus never told anyone about her. Her large, dovish blue eyes, her perky mischief, her complete lack of judgment as he rambled on and on about his favorite gambling games. He wanted her all for himself - that had been his mistake in the past, hadn't it? [No that wasn't it.] Start again: he liked keeping his relationship with her secret because he know, had a strange inkling, that there was something positively illicit about the nature of their encounters and flirtations. He enjoyed being with her, their experimentations with Occlumency and Legilimency, their small talks, their heart to hearts after cocktails. If anyone else had known, he would be forced to explain things. James would start bugging him and making him come on double-dates [not happening]; Lily would squeal in delight and begin an interrogative onslaught [nope]; his parents - they needn't know about all of this; his housemates/ friends/ cousins were simply incapable of refraining themselves from making lewd statements every single minute and consequently drowning him in embarrassment (as his past three relationships have shown) and Scorpius, Albus had a feeling that Scorpius wouldn't like her. It was something he just knew.

Perhaps at a later date - yes, introductions would come at a much later date. At present, it was just him and her. No one else was needed.

Albus Severus Potter. The name hissed and rolled off her tongue so easily.

Still a boy, barely 19 years of age, with his boyish face, mischievous but perplexingly predictable green eyes, untameable jet black hair, lazy smirk. Bright, in an unconventional manner, easily the kind to go around rather than through a problem, a little unstringent when it comes to following the rules, a curious mixture of insecurity and nonchalance, full of hope and innocence, rapt curiosity and, above all else, a fierce desire to prove himself. An unquenchable thirst to live up to his cursed father's legacy, to be a worthy Auror, to make his father proud of him.

So malleable, that Albus Potter, or little Alby, as he let her call him - three months into their relationship - he was so, so malleable. That boy was a sponge that greedily soaked up every bit of knowledge she imparted him, even as she casually slipped in a few touches of Dark Magic here and there - she would start slow and proceed gradually until he had been irrevocably suckered into that murky abyss. Then that silly boy had gladly reciprocated by telling her everything about him: his childhood, his family, his friends, his interests... Dull. But maybe not so dull. He was trusting, yet at the same time, so wary and unsure of himself. Countless times, she had to play the role of the encourager, nudging his confidence in just the right direction - whichever direction she deemed worthy.

Corruptible. Five months after meeting the boy and worming her way into his life, she realised just how impressionable, how eminently corruptible he was.

The first month after their encounter at the nightclub, which she judiciously elected to enter after weeks of covert information gathering on Albus' habits, was spent mindlessly in a bout of courtship. He had thought he was the one taking the initiative, the one pining after her [how cute], when in reality, it had all been in her design. Seeds of trust, seeds of infatuation, seeds of a relationship were carefully planted as she smiled sweetly at him, looked interested when he spoke about his best friend [Scorpius Malfoy - very useful - remember for later] and pretended to stumble drunkenly onto him. The next couple of months were spent on typical dates: in coffee shops, in shopping malls, in Christmas markets (he had kissed her as the fireworks in the air proclaimed the advent of a new year and told her he loved her) and in idiotic muggle aquariums. Then things started to get interesting. After witnessing her perform an act of magic, he had flirtatiously asked if he could practice with her, if she could help him improve with spells. Naturally, she agreed. They would spend hours enacting various quirky situations. She pretended to be a cranky old witch once, which really stretched her acting skills, as he disarmed her and jumped on her and kissed her passionately. Then she offered to show him a few spells that would come in handy. Spells that always pushed the boundaries of legality and acceptability for people of his profession.

"Oh Albus, stop doubting yourself. You are very good at this." Then he casts a 'sectumsempra' at a rat and recoils in terror as blood splurges out of its lacerated carcass. I must have done something wrong Delphi. Or: this is all... within the realm of legality, right Delphi? Nothing bad, right Delphi?

It was rather adorable. Her eyes would wilfully widen in shock and then she would proceed to shake her head and tell him that this was, indeed, a spell that induced great physical pain, but that it was also useful when it came to saving your skin the last minute or retribution upon truly reprehensible beings - for they existed. Albus had agreed with her, told her that as compassionate and forgiving and damned noble his father was, Harry Potter was the kind to exhibit sympathy for the devil, to let go of highly risky individuals in acts of mercy.

Mercy was a luxury for the strong and a liability for the weak, he told her - and he willingly admitted his limited abilities then and there.

"Murder," she slipped it in during one of their conversations, one of their dates in a fancy restaurant overlooking the River Thames (it was rather nice of Albus to suggest that place - clueless, foolish little Alby), "Do you think you'd ever bring yourself to kill someone?" It was framed in a whimsically philosophical way, in the midst of a conversation they had about the meaning of life and death, about whether their lives and other people's lives meant anything at all in the broader cosmos of the universe -after she bored herself with hours and hours of listening to him complain about his lack of direction in life, angsting about not knowing what he wanted and feeling lost from time to time.

"No," he answered quickly and defensively. But she had seen through his flicker of doubt, the way his eyes shifted ever so slightly.

A weapon, a useful tool. Delphi had never so much batted an eye at Albus' saccharine words and all the care he had for her, but he would be, at the end of the day, an indispensable weapon to her, she was sure. With him, she could hurt Harry Potter more than her father ever could at the height of his power. And there is a certain fondness she developed for him, as one would develop for a cherished weapon. One day - and the day will come when she would use him against everything he loved (but her), where his world would be reduced to nothing (but her.) Then she would have her revenge and build her world anew, on top of the ashes. She would finish what her father started.

But for now, it was playtime. She was growing rather fond of her toy.

Soon, she would teach Albus the Unforgivables. Yes, soon. It would come easier than anticipated, she wagered. In spite of his self-professed beliefs about refraining from morally questionable tactics, he had never been particularly stellar at practising what he preached. He wasn't unkind, oh no, he was amicable enough, emphatic most of the time, no doubt aided by his uncanny talent for Legilimency, even compassionate. He would feel bad for her if she told him about her being an orphan. Yet tucked someone in his personal psyche, there it was: shaky morals, strongly tied in with his disregard for rules.

She would slip it in someday, unsuspectingly, after hours and hours of pointless small talks, days at mind-boggling muggle amusement parks, nights at mindless muggle clubs.

She had to be more subtle - she felt signs of suspicion creeping through him. He was starting to realize that, perhaps, perfect and perky and encouraging Delphi was not so innocent at all, that there was a hidden danger about her. He did nothing about it. Strange, his attitude towards her, his, dare say, infatuation towards her. He was practically emanating it. Perhaps, perhaps he knew there was something wrong about her but didn't care at all, perhaps he willingly ignored the red lights and impulsively tread onto the forbidden.

Love, love could compel individuals to do peculiar things. It could propel you to heaven or drag you straight to hell.

And Albus was falling, falling, falling.

"Is there something wrong? Albus, are you even kidding, is there something wrong? Of course there is! You're hiding something from me - and don't you pretend otherwise - I know you better than you think I do, I know you too well - you're my best friend for Merlin's sake! Why can't you simply realize that I'm trying to help-"

"Help me with what?"

"Don't you deny anything Albus - we're spending less time together, we're growing apart and I-"

"Look, here's the deal. You're dating Rose, which I'm perfectly cool with and I'm- "

"For the last time, stop making this all about Rose! It's you - and - and Delphi - I don't trust- there's something wrong about her. I can't pinpoint exactly what but I think you're about to make a very big mistake by - you're cutting all of us off-"

"What about her?"

A withering glare. Normally, that would have convinced anyone else to back off, to let Albus Potter have his way - but Scorpius Malfoy was not just anyone. Albus Potter was his best friend - someone that meant so, so much to him, a friend he could simply not do without. Albus had known about his crush on Rose all along; Albus had been the first person he had told when Rose finally said yes after all these years. 6 months: it took 6 months for Albus to reveal his relationship, which made Scorpius feel rather betrayed. 10 months into it and his friend was drifting away further and further.

"All I'm saying is that ever since you've been together with Delphi, you've been colder towards me. We used to tell each other everything."

A crooked brow, a wry grin. "Oh Scorp, don't be ridiculous. You always overthink things..."

It would all be fine. Just a wrinkle.

Little Alby was always so needy, Delphi mused as he knocked on her door. She quickly slipped away her copy of the Secret of the Darkest Art, which she obtained through many difficulties in the black markets of Knockturn Alley, somewhere Little Alby had so helpfully (and cluelessly) suggested when she asked him about places that sold rare, obscure literature. Being an Auror evidently had its perks.

Saturday nights were date nights, or so he had insisted in his typically needy manner. He had come to fetch her for a meal at a particularly fancy restaurant he had picked. How considerate.

Then afterward, she would stay the night over at his place, where they would fuck each other senseless. It was always her favourite part - he was good at what he was doing, she would admit. The way their tongues intertwined, the way his nimble fingers graced her body and the way she reciprocated him, the way his swollen and hardened cock shoved its way inside of her.

He was a most amusing creature, so loving, so clever, so infatuated, so devoted, always something that could deliver the pleasures of the flesh to her. Indeed, she just might spare him, spare him and put him right beside her throne.

After all, her plans were going on nicely. Euphemia Rowle had assisted her in contacting previously scattered Death Eater remnants, their descendants, as well as anyone who was sympathetic to her cause of restoring the dignity and supremacy of pureblooded wizards and witches - of course, times have changed so perhaps she would allow a degree of flexibility in blood status. Their loyalties would take time to cultivate, but it was all rolling on nicely.

It was now time to progress to the next step, follow the path set by her father.

Being the son of Harry Potter came with its annoyances. Being the son of Harry Potter while working as an Auror came with even more annoyances.

First, there were the cliched assumptions from presumptuous colleagues, dressed up behind a facade of politeness. Bet you daddy got him the job and the promotion, bet you that he wouldn't last another year, bet you that he couldn't do it. All while they smiled and nodded as he walked by. Sometimes, even wry smiles were too hard to maintain - but Albus was trained well from birth to put up with insipid pleasantries.

Then there were those who were sycophantic to the point of idiocy. The second coming of Harry Potter, they say, a wizarding prodigy and hero just like his father - Albus didn't mind the saccharine praise, even if it can get a bit much. What he absolutely resented were the constant, shameless attempts by some to ingratiate him. Even more insufferable were the occasional idiots who, during tasks and assignments and scouting excursions, would declare that they could leave everything to Albus, who would most certainly solve everything. Needless to say, after much angry barking each repetitive time, none of these suggestions went through.

There were also people who wouldn't stop asking him why he wanted to be an Auror - and then not so subtly direct the conversation to his father. Oh Albus, so how was it like, growing up with Harry Potter? Did you become an Auror to please your father or to prove yourself? Where do you see yourself in ten years?

Some of these questions hit a little too close to home.

Finally, there was Harry Potter, the man himself. It was a little odd to work for your dad, Albus would admit after Delphi asked. Albus loved his father very much - the two have always shared a close bond since he was young - and Albus did go through Auror training because he admired his father so much, a fulfillment of a childhood dream perhaps, a plea for validation. That said, the man loved to make dad jokes at work in front of his colleagues, which would often result in plenty of teasing.

Anyhow, career-wise, Albus's life was going on smoothly. As of now, he had been assigned four other junior Aurors - Isadora Bones, Cynthia Lang, Don Brenton and Loris Hicks - and a partner, Thomas MacLaggen, his very own team. They were tasked with solving the murder of an elderly shopkeeper who worked at an antique shop near the edge of Knockturn Alley.

Albus was surprised, initially, to discover the concern this case aroused. It had been a while since the last death caused by a Killing Curse went on the Aurors' radar - but the shop was situated in a haven for crime. Robberies, illegal dealings, fistfights, magical duels were far too commonplace there. There had to be more to this, dark secrets, important possessions perhaps.

The Auror's office had long kept a myriad of files and reports on the situation of Knockturn Alley, which would be constantly updated each day. Albus had two of his Aurors skim through files in the past that pertained to the murder victim. His two other colleagues would deal with locating magical traces, of the victim and other potential suspects. That was their specialty.

In the meantime, he knew he needed to pay a visit to the shop itself.

There was something unsettling about Delphini Diggory. Albus had finally relented, apologised profusely and introduced Scorpius to her. He admitted being a jackass, an antisocial prick and a jackass. Scorpius sighed and assured Albus that it was all okay. Then they had some very nice butterbeer and played Exploding Snap.

And for a while, everything was all okay. Until he met Delphi. There was something strange about her, something almost eerie. Her smile was too sweet, her laughter too high, her eyes too brilliant, her temperament too bubbly. The manner she adopted when she nodded appreciatively at everything Albus said and nudged him gently when he seemed to feel discouraged (Albus, in spite of all his strengths and in spite of being the wonderful person he is, was frequently -unjustifiably - unsure of himself.)

She was too perfect, a caricature of the best girlfriend in the world with a human face carved on it. Scorpius had an uneasy curiosity about when the mask would fall - and what lay beneath it.

From Albus' accounts, Scorpius knew they were practicing magic together. On principle, there was nothing wrong with that and yet Albus never specified what they were doing and, for some reason, that did not reassure Scorpius.

They had known each other for years, long enough for Scorpius to sense that something was off. But of course Albus would never admit it: he laughed off everything with a nonchalance that Scorpius knew was phoney. ("Damn Scorp, you gotta stop worrying about me and start worrying about your lack of... physical progress with Rose - hey! Okay, sorry, sorry, yeah I know you two have done it already but who's to say that some experimentations won't - okay okay, I'll stop. I'm cool though, take a chill pill mate.")

It was during times like this that he wished he had Albus' talents in Legilimency; if only he could gain a more specific understanding about his best friend's experiences. The details, the lack of details imbued him with a feeling of foreboding.

"You are gathered here tonight for a noble cause," she declared at the head of the table, her smooth, slithering voice sliding over the individuals in the room, all hooded and concentrated on her. "For too long, our cowardly Ministry, our filthy blood traitors, the fifth column of the society known as the muggleborns have tarnished the dignity of respectable Wizarding society. How long are we going to let muggleborns flood our streets? How long are we going to let their insidious customs infiltrate in our midst? How long before Wizards are no longer Wizards? How long - my brothers and sisters - will you stand for this?"

Fists pumped up in the air as raucous applause rang through the chamber. Euphemia Rowle had always told her that her style of speaking was more... emotionally rousing than her fathers, tinged with the flair of a rowdy populist. That suited her fine. She was not her father (just as he was not his.)

The questions, tedious and annoying, then came. How many supporters do we have? When do we start acting? What is a cell phone?

If only little Alby were here. He would have made the snarkiest comments about the mass of easily manipulated idiots and brightened her night, not to mention he would have scowled and dissuaded a lot of the unwelcomely infatuated stares by her delusional followers. But not yet. Now was not right to introduce him to her cause. He is still too loyal to his family. She needed slow progress.

She was still making progress, even if the latest steps had been vexingly derailed - but she need not worry. She knew she would get her hands on it when the time came.

"How do we deal with Harry Potter and his lot?" A mook asked bluntly, staring stupidly at her with his mouth drooling.

"We have a secret weapon." Her lips curled into a poisonous smile.

A/N: Reviews are love :D