Author's Note: To celebrate the tenth-year anniversary as an author on Twisting the Hellmouth, here's at last a new chapter!

Wow…September 2, 2008, when dinosaurs roamed the Earth and we had a President who for all his faults (make that many, many faults) wasn't a total buffoon.

It's been a fun ride, people, and hopefully will last even longer! Now, on with the story!

October 31, 1982

Albus Dumbledore surveyed his domain with an unruffled manner which had not outwardly changed for years.

To everybody else currently inside the Wizengamot's main public chamber who glanced upwards into his direction, the elderly man dressed in his best robes while seated at the highest podium of a tier of ornate chairs was giving off an air of utmost kindness combined with grandfatherly gravitas. He waited patiently for the commencement of today's quite noteworthy session of the British wizarding world's high court. For the first time ever, the court's proceedings would be fully open not just to the participants and visiting spectators in the room, but to all magical persons throughout the country and even overseas. This substantial audience gathered around the radio in their homes were avidly listening to the events taking place there at this exact moment via the Wizarding Wireless Network broadcasting from the chamber itself.

Filling in airtime before the specific start of business, Montrose Worley, WWN's foremost newscaster, approvingly described to his addressees how the Chief Warlock seemed to be in fine health and vitality. This was a truly good omen, considering how critical it was for British wizarding society at present to have someone in charge who could be trusted to carry out their numerous responsibilities while still being in the best of shape despite Headmaster Dumbledore's advanced age. A significant pause was then made by Montrose, which gave those tuned into the news a chance to remember his sympathetic description of how Minister Bagnold had bravely hobbled into the courtroom a few minutes earlier, helped along by holding onto the proffered arm of her escort Lady Amelia Bones

Continuing to discreetly listen into the broadcast through a minor cantrip done well before entering the Wizengamot chamber, Dumbledore successfully concealed his inner smirk. That'd been a nice piece of political theater by Bagnold, reminding everyone how she'd valiantly carried on throughout the recent crisis even with the resulting dire personal cost to herself. Even better had been the Headmaster's immediate response, raising to his feet from his chair in a clear sign of respect, followed by a hasty imitation by all the others there from their own chairs to match Dumbledore's courteous graciousness.

It'd been well worth it, the ensuing, barely-concealed looks of shared animosity from Bagnold and Bones sent Dumbledore's way as they made their journey together to the Minister's private box. The rest of the watching wizards and witches in the chamber might've been fooled by this seeming veneer of civility between the two women and Hogwart's Headmaster, but the three people themselves knew who'd been the clear winner in that minor partisan skirmish.

Sitting down once more when the Minister and her escort had taken their places, Dumbledore appeared to be doing nothing else but tolerantly anticipating the actual start of the Wizengamot proceedings. He cast a benign eye upon the lower ranks of chairs below his position, where a good many other wizards and witches were in the main still on their feet and clustered around each other in their excited conversations among the mostly now-vacant chamber chairs. Taking into account the fact these standing people were about to begin their initiation as novice officers of the court, it was no wonder they had soon chosen to wander about while visiting their friends and acquaintances, holding impromptu meetings throughout the chamber.

Ignoring the more experienced members which were already again in their seats and also waiting for the ceremony to start, Albus kept on mentally noting whom were talking to whom, how eager or reluctant either participant was in the course of this, and other items of relevance that would be essential in directing him in the best means of manipulating those wizarding sheep such as he'd done for the last fifty years. In his close study, Albus only just managed to prevent showing an obvious flash of the honest emotion which he was actually feeling during a quick change of mood into an irritated mental pout of how bloody itiresome/i it was to do this hard work all over again when in the past twelve months so much had occurred to impair his carefully-laid schemes.

It was almost like one damned thing after the other.

First had come the remorseless round-up by the Ministry of Magic of virtually all of Voldemort's followers, those misguided purebloods who needed to be properly guided back to the path of the light instead of wasting away in prison. In Dumbledore's indignant belief shared then with the proper audiences, such a mass incarceration did nothing to heal the wizarding world of its recent conflicts. No, no, it was far better for everyone to amicably come to some sort of reconciliation under his capable guidance.

Surely, an admission of past mistakes involving ill-advised family members of several Ancient and Noble Houses possessing a proclivity for dark dealings would soothe the anger and resentment of the lower classes? If necessary, those proletarians could have their demands for accountability and punishment satisfied to some degree by being tossed a bone in the form of heavy fines for those arrested, tried, and convicted of whatever crimes they might've committed. This could also come with actual confinement in Azkaban for the most hated culprits which carried out their terror attacks under Voldemort's direction. And of course, a scattering of minor-level flunkies, all whom would be chosen from every accused House to drive home the message that none were above the law, would also suffer the maximum extent possible of jail time.

Mind you, after much private calculation, Dumbledore estimated if this came to pass that he could get away with eventually freeing from Azkaban perhaps two-thirds to slightly more of the detained purebloods who were even now vital to the correct workings of British wizarding society. It'd still take at least several months to perhaps even a whole year to accomplish this. Yet, as the head of the Wizengamot, he had the authority to pardon whomever Dumbledore deemed was no longer guilty or had otherwise proven themselves worthy of freedom. This needed to be done most judiciously lest the sheep get stirred up from their humdrum lives into a tedious outcry concerning his seeming misuse of legal powers, but that was only a minor detail, to be sure. Political and public manipulation was what Albus Dumbledore had been born to do.

Moreover, those Ancient and Noble Houses whose kin had been liberated from Azkaban would understand, down to their very bones, that they iowed/i him for this. That would indisputably lead to a most agreeable period of absolute domination for their Chief Warlock.

Except, it all turned into hippogriff dung just when Dumbledore had been about to get busy with his newest machinations.

At his seat in the Wizengamot where he'd been lost in his thoughts for the last several minutes, an inwardly-annoyed Dumbledore who still maintained his venerable demeanor stared again with concealed ire the scene below consisting of where about a fifth of the court officials there were newly appointed to their positions. Or to put it this way, only eight out of every ten people about to take their own chairs had been carried over from the last session of the Wizengamot. This was because of what every single magical human in Britain could now curse out loud without the least bit of trouble: Voldemort's Revenge

To this day, no matter how vigorously Dumbledore had sought to find out the truth of it, not even he was entirely sure what to believe of the two main explanations accepted by just about all of his folk regarding the terrible plague of Dragon Pox which had decimated them mere months ago. In any event, whether that epidemic had been let loose by someone seeking revenge against the Dark Lord's remaining forces or if this villain himself had set up a final act of destruction in the unlikely course of being defeated by his enemies, it was agreed by future investigators that this deadly contagion had first started in Azkaban Prison.

Without knowing what was lurking inside them, various Aurors and prison staff attached to the remote North Sea island went home and to other magical locations such as Diagon Alley and Hogsmeade, all while spreading their Dragon Pox to anyone within breathing range. Pureblood, halfblood, muggleborn and all ages, gender, and magical capability were in turn infected, and then two days later, the most virulent occasion of fatal pestilence in centuries burst out on people's bodies in pustules, accompanied by lethal bouts of fever and hemorrhaging.

All of wizarding Britain immediately locked itself down in the most thorough quarantine possible, both among the wand-users of this country confining themselves to their dwellings with a blocked Floo Network and also imposed upon them nation-wide by an unanimous decision of the International Confederation of Wizards enforcing this isolation. Fortunately, the normally decried by outsiders of this old-fashioned society's supremely insular nature kept to a minimum the unaware carriers to other parts of the world occupied by foreign wizards. These few infected individuals were quickly rounded up along with those unlucky enough to have been in close contact with them.

In Great Britain itself, while terrified citizens cowered inside their homes with family wards against sickness cast at full power, the Ministry of Magic frantically tried to deal with the worse disaster striking their community since the muggles' World War II. Not even Voldemort had ever directly caused this much havoc, though afterwards despite little or no plausible evidence he'd indeed been responsible, that same monster in human form was soon held to blame for everything by most of the remaining population.

While exhausted researchers at St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries worked full-time to find a cure for the epidemic, they were shortly joined by brave volunteers from other countries' wizarding medical and emergency facilities. The new healers, medi-witches, and Aurors were quite aware this would be a one-way trip until the quarantine was lifted, and some of these heroes rapidly paid for it while helping maintain order and doing what they could for the sick and helpless. The roll call of the honored dead would eventually include close to thirty ICW personnel who also perished during the epidemic.

Despite these and other tragedies of the dreadful situation, inside a month a magical vaccine was finally developed and administered to everyone at hand, which halted the Dragon Pox plague in its tracks. During this, the Ministry of Magic also learned where that outbreak had begun in the first place. A most cautious investigation by a joint MoM and ICW task force apparating into an ominously silent Azkaban Prison found it to be nothing but a tomb consisting of every single prisoner, guard, and other staff there killed by the pox at its most potent. Just as horrifying to the ICW wizards was how the starving Dementors were right at the brink of escaping from this grim penitentiary to then feast upon the souls of the innocent muggle population living on the nearby mainland.

Declaring at once a Statute of Secrecy crisis condition which overrode the legal authority of any single wizarding enclave, the ICW acted on its own without consulting with the Ministry by using some very obscure spells from Asia and the Middle East developed millennia ago to terminate antagonistic spirits. Given that Dementors were exactly the kind of vileness which those spells were meant to destroy in the first place, it wasn't long until every one of those ghastly creatures were completely eradicated from existence.

The next unilateral action by the ICW was to burn with Fiendfyre the entire island of Azkaban down to bare rock, lest any trace of the Dragon Pox still survived somewhere in the prison. This also allowed a decent enough way of disposing of the bodies which had littered the now-destroyed building, since it was far too dangerous to allow any of these contagious remains to be laid to rest by their grieving families.

That exact same point was later made to several furious pureblood wizards and witches by the Ministry of Magic who'd received numerous complaints by those opinionated British magicals over this apparent desecration of their kin. In the main, they received remarkably short shrift from what remained of the Ministry already having to deal with much more urgent issues such as keeping their whole wizarding society from entirely collapsing. While the International Confederation of Wizards might've exceeded their authority somewhat without informing the Ministry at the time, a very serious problem having far-reaching effects involving both magicals and muggles had been quickly solved to just about everyone's satisfaction.

Well, decidedly not to the liking of a certain exceptionally annoyed APWBD with as many titles as initials.

What, may you ask, had been Dumbledore doing during the entire Dragon Pox epidemic? The answer (much to his intense aggravation) was far too little than what he wanted or could even hope to accomplish. This was all due to something which caught that overconfident wizard entirely by surprise at the beginning of the disease's spread.

Once it was clear to this oldster of the necessity of quarantining Hogwarts, Dumbledore used the powers granted to him by the castle wards as the current Headmaster to seal off the entire school from the outside world. It was the first time he had personally done this, but Dumbledore was aware Hogwarts during its lengthy history had already gone through a number of identical situations resulting in the equivalent process of protecting the magical children it sheltered during other outbreaks of plague. For example, the Black Death which had reduced England's muggle population by at least half in the thirteenth century had been accompanied by a magical disease almost as bad, yet Hogwarts then had come through this virtually unscathed.

At the time, Dumbledore was quite confident the same safeguards would apply now. No one there at a presently-secured Hogwarts showed any signs of Dragon Pox due to it being a week past the start of term without anyone visiting who might've brought along that illness during this busy period for the students and staff. The castle was completely self-sufficient by reason of innate Hogwarts spells which maintained nourishing stocks of food and water for twice the current population for up to a period of actual years, though this was fairly unlikely to occur. Indeed, throughout the entire crisis lasting no more than several weeks, Hogwarts carried on quite nicely, save for the residents' intense worry about their families.

Sadly, the bad news for specific Hogwarts students came every night when they listened to the regular reports by the staff wireless now moved to the Great Hall so everyone could hear Montrose Worley narrating updates for the current crisis. This included listing the latest known fatalities, sometimes to the horror of their children in the castle suddenly learning of an announced death of a named parent, sibling, or other relation.

Throughout it all, the Headmaster was a rock-steady pillar of support to his grieving students and staff, offering consolation and maintaining the castle morale during these distressing times. It was, in fact, one of his finest performances ever, since Dumbledore was inwardly raging at the cruel fates and his own mistake which had trapped the elderly wizard inside Hogwarts due to a quirk of the school's magical charter laid out by the four founders a thousand years ago.

Back then, Godric Gryffindor, Helga Hufflepuff, Rowena Ravenclaw, and even Salazar Slytherin had personal experience concerning plagues and other widespread epidemics. Foreseeing more of these to come in the future, they'd added to Hogwarts' magical wards the absolute decree that while the succeeding headmasters could quarantine the castle and also lift this enforced isolation when they felt it safe to do so, none of those residing at the school could risk leaving Hogwarts and entering again through the wards for any reason whatsoever until the end of the quarantine. Nobody.

According to the school founders, nothing mattered more than the safety of the students and no possible conveyancing of sickness into the castle could be tolerated. As a result, they'd put into the wards some extremely severe penalties which were still in effect centuries later, much to Dumbledore's chagrin when he finally got around to examining these in detail after quarantining Hogwarts.

Until the Dragon Pox crisis was completely over with to everyone's concurrence and not just the Headmasters', Albus or just about anyone else on staff he might've picked to send didn't dare to physically pass through the erected quarantine wards by any conceivable way to the Ministry of Magic in London. Or, in truth, even to Hogsmeade right on the castle's doorstop by the mere physical means of walking out past the castle doors down the path to Hogsmeade. From all recorded accounts, any violation of the founders' plague edicts would end up with this individual's magic entirely drained off by the wards as their penalty for endangering the other castle occupants. There were no possible loopholes even though Albus had looked as hard he could for these. Any castle resident, whether human or even a house elf, who went a single yard beyond the outer ward would have their personal magical core then extinguished like a blown-out candle.

This absolutely included the Headmaster. He'd be…oh, horrors…a muggle.

No, a hundred-year-old muggle. Who'd probably drop dead from shock and old age at that exact moment, once this aged former wizard had gone through the wards.

Just as aggravating was that of the other means of magical transport or communication which Albus was aware and could easily attempt from his office, such as personally apparating or flooing (full travel or fire-call) even a short distance away; none of them had the possibility of working. Not even the castle's house-elves with their own unique magic would make it unscathed through the quarantine wards despite a direct order from the Headmaster should he be rash enough to command these supernatural servants to perform this perilous endeavor.

There was one last possibility of magical mirrors, but as far as Albus knew, none of these were kept anywhere in the castle. Additionally, the spells to create new ones were both obscure and kept a close family secret by a limited number of Ancient and Noble wizarding houses.

In a state of barely-suppressed fury after learning of his mistake while seated among his tower office furnishings, among the first things Dumbledore did after considering this was to glance at Fawkes, only to receive a slow, sad headshake from the phoenix on his perch. Lifting one bushy eyebrow in angry bemusement, Dumbledore tucked away in his mind the fact that apparently the quarantine wards would also prevent Fawkes from teleporting him anywhere outside Hogwarts. With there also being the possibility of actual harm to Fawkes, nor could he risk sending his familiar flying out past them on his own either—

Hold on, now… A quick trip to the owlery due to a sudden brainwave by Albus ended in equally abrupt disappointment when the entire roost of intelligent birds just fluffed up their feathers simultaneously and glared at him in clear refusal at his order to carry a letter from the Headmaster to the Ministry. That was definitely unnerving, all those piercing avian gazes of rebuff.

Returning to his office in a hasty but still dignified retreat, Dumbledore ran through his few remaining options. To be sure, the Ministry would at any rate know Hogwarts was in quarantine. A somewhat recent (on the order of in the last three hundred years) addition to the wards would have automatically registered in some department's magical sensors in the London offices. It wasn't any sort of two-way communication, unfortunately. Nor would Albus be aware when exactly the Ministry in turn learned of this. They were certain to be utterly overwhelmed and as long as there wasn't any dire news of yet another medical emergency from the castle, the Ministry would willingly leave Hogwarts to its own affairs sheltered behind the protective enchantments.

To Dumbledore, that was unacceptable beyond words. He needed to be personally involved in the existing crisis, or at least to be seen to be involved. Anything lesser risked the Headmaster's reputation as the supreme guardian of the British wizarding world!

Alas, this put paid to what even Albus recognized as totally absurd the very moment he thought about it. Not to mention how Mr. Filch the castle caretaker would have some rather vehement objections of his own about being entrusted with a letter from Dumbledore and then induced to go through the quarantine wards to next get in touch with the Ministry. It could be argued there were definite advantages concerning this plan, though. Surely the bad-tempered squib wouldn't find it all that different now about being a mere muggle?

Shaking his head, Dumbledore banished the much too appealing fantasy of finding an actual use for Mr. Filch other than having him roundly detested by the Hogwarts students for his muttered threats and excessive snooping on them. It was probably the headmaster's most trivial manipulation ever, keeping the caretaker around simply to concentrate the pupils' annoyance onto a disagreeable Mr. Filch, but he was part of the castle traditions by now, so Dumbledore went back to trying to figure out a better way to contact the Ministry.

Drumming his wrinkled fingers onto the desktop, Albus at length realized he had to make a choice between two forms of magic which he'd really rather not divulge to anybody. Picking up his wand, the Headmaster waved it while saying "Expecto Patronum!" to produce from the tip a shimmering silver phoenix of pure light which flew around the room once before vanishing from sight without actually going anywhere. From where the original bird was now taking a nap upon his perch, Fawkes momentarily opened one sleepy eye in response, to then close this and returning to his doze.

The familiar's master disregarded this to instead send a severe frown ahead into the distance of his office. Using the Patronus Charm against such dark creatures as Dementors, while difficult enough for all but a minor percentage of the entire wizarding population, still had the great benefit of being known about by everybody and quite impressing them as a display of very advanced magic. Dumbledore, though, took this even further by his skill in altering the charm as to cause not only his own patronus but those belonging to several members of the Order of the Phoenix to carry covert messages between the group. It'd been a definite advantage for the Order in their battles against Voldemort and his Death Eaters, the ability to communicate with each other without any fears of these messages being intercepted at by their enemies.

What really irked Dumbledore at this point was the necessity of something he truly abhorred: revealing secrets of any kind which were best kept to oneself. This would undoubtedly happen if Albus spoke via a silver phoenix to anyone important in the Ministry. Bagnold or Bones, for example. However, they'd be far too interested in this new form of communication for the headmaster's comfort. Plus, casting a messenger patronus for all to see would not only show to the magical world at large that this was in fact feasible, it might be imitated or much worse, a means found to block it. Perhaps even to seize and read them.

Just as bad was the fact that at present, it would be a waste of time to contact most of the Order with Albus' patronus in the first place. Aside from those members of their small group already at Hogwarts behind the quarantine wards, those elsewhere were probably staying home too and not daring to venture out for fear that they'd contract a case of Dragon Pox. Arthur Weasley, for one, was certain to be sheltering with his family at the Burrow. It wasn't like the Ministry particularly needed at the moment someone working at their normal job in the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office.

Offhand, the only useful person in Diagon Alley which Albus could think of to directly contact via patronus was Kingsley Shacklebolt, but this brought with it several other problems. That efficient Auror was certain to be extremely busy as were all of the rest of the Auror Corps dealing with the Dragon Pox epidemic. It'd still be feasible for Shacklebolt to pass onto the Ministry higher-ups Dumbledore's message, but it would immediately result in this Order of the Phoenix member forced into revealing himself as part of the headmaster's secret society.

After learning in the past year of how Albus illegally formed and led against Voldemort his own private magical militia, a furious Amelia Bones tried to find out which wizards and witches besides Severus Snape were indisputably involved in this conspiracy. She didn't get very far, considering how many people there were who might've qualified for this, but surely Minister Bones had her suspicions. Among these were there was no possible way Dumbledore wouldn't have an infiltrator inside her own Department of Magical Law Enforcement. A hunch was one thing, but Albus definitely didn't want to expose such a valuable agent as Shacklebolt unless he had no other alternative.

That meant Dumbledore eventually came to the glum conclusion he was going to have to give up something in his numerous clandestine machinations to an antagonistic Ministry. This was the very least he could do, even though it gave him a definite inner pang. Much like a nesting dragon discovering one of her eggs was missing, Albus momentarily smiled to himself.

Uttering a quite put-on sigh after casting his practice patronus, Dumbledore then took up his wand again and waved this towards a certain portrait on his office wall. A tiny ball of blue light shot out from the wand-tip, striking against the front of the painting and making the wizard shown seated there inside this image while intently reading an opened book suddenly come to life.

This 17th-century Hogwarts Headmaster known to Dumbledore as Armingster Bullews stood up from his chair while putting away on a side table his book. Sending an interested glance towards the current Headmaster, Mr. Bullews gave that man in the outer world a short nod of greeting, along with, "Hullo, sir. Am I off to the Ministry again?"

Dumbledore performed his own nod, this one of assent. "Yes, but this time, I need you to speak to someone there."

The former castle headmaster from over three hundred years ago had a rather startled expression abruptly appear on his face. "I beg your pardon? I thought you gave me clear instructions to never do that!"

The only wizard feared by Voldemort gave a very unhappy shrug.

"True, true, but this is an emergency. We're experiencing an ongoing Dragon Pox epidemic right now, and I raised the quarantine wards. There's no other way for me to contact the Ministry except through your portrait connected to the one in the Minister's anteroom. Please put aside my previous orders and convey the following message."

Taking a moment to marshal his thoughts, Dumbledore outlined the few sentences necessary to assure the Ministry this communication indeed came from none other than Hogwarts up north in Scotland. Also mentioned were the happy news that the castle occupants were all in good health behind the protective wards and anxious to have their families know about this. Mr. Bullews listened with an air of evident concentration and once it was done, he recited everything back perfectly to a satisfied Dumbledore.

Before leaving his magical portrait, Mr. Bullews inquired, "Do your other orders still apply? That is, I'm not to answer any questions or otherwise provide more information except about today's message?"

"Quite so," nodded Dumbledore.

Mr. Bullews pointed out in his respectful response, "They're still going to ask, sir, if only to find out how I appeared in the Ministry painting without any trouble."

Airily waving it aside, Dumbledore then informed the long-dead courier, "That doesn't matter. Just say this is the first time you've ever been sent there to speak to them, which is the honest truth, isn't it? Redirect any further inquiries to me, should these ever come up, and stay there until the Ministry sends back through you an answering message. You'll probably be going back-and-forth from here to there for a while, but on no account during this do you ever mention your previous visits, is that understood?"

Obedient to the castle spells which put all of those animated people portrayed in the numerous works of art scattered throughout Hogwarts under the absolute command of the current Headmaster, Mr. Bullews calmly dipped his head in acquiescence. Strolling to the right side of the portrait, this man painted over two centuries years ago and still magically aware disappeared past the edge of the picture.

Settling back in his chair, Albus soon performed a soft humming noise under his breath of genuine regret. Such a shame. Over the decades, it'd been a nice little bit of covert espionage, spying through Mr. Bullews upon the visitors entering through the Ministry anteroom and hearing about whatever scraps of unguarded conversation passed between those paying no attention whatsoever to the ancient painting on a foyer wall there of a crowd of wizards in dated robes. Dumbledore himself had ignored this same painting for years during many trips to consult with the current Ministers of Magic, until one day he'd idly glanced at it and then recognized a wizard there as being identical to somebody also depicted in a painting taking up wall space in his Hogwarts tower office.

Some quick wand waving later, Albus had his latest agent right in the Minister's workplace, utterly subservient to the Headmaster. Unhappily, this undoubtedly wouldn't last much longer. Now that Bagnold knew about this flaw in her office security, she'd definitely get rid of the painting and its contained eavesdropper as fast as possible. Most likely, banishing it to another, less-vital office (at the very least) once the current Dragon Pox crisis was over.

A pity, really, which was why Dumbledore had been so reluctant to reveal this in the first place. Oh, well, it couldn't be helped, even if there was the occasional pearl of information provided over time by Mr. Bullews. For example, the very interesting visit months ago to Minister Bagnold by the Black Heads of the House, Arcturus and Pollux Black. Even if the actual reasons for their visit weren't revealed to Dumbledore then, it'd clearly had to do in some way their grandchildren's differing involvement with Lord Voldemort and his Death Eaters and the consequent tragedies of Sirius Black and Bellatrix Lestrange.

That came of something of a surprise to Dumbledore, seeing how those two wizards from the succeeding generation than Albus had mostly removed themselves from active participation in British wizarding society over the past decade or so, disapproving of the younger family members' increasing descent into dark magics and pureblood bigotism. To be sure, this seclusion was quite agreeable to the Headmaster and his numerous schemes, since Dumbledore was naturally wary of becoming embroiled with those imposing wizards and their potentially powerful House influences no matter that all of this political power could be quite useful to Albus' plots. No, no, too much of a risk.

Alas, this caution eventually turned out to be unfortunately true. In his Hogwarts office, Dumbledore glumly contemplated how the older Blacks turning over Bellatrix's diary to the Ministry of Magic obviously caused the whole unhappy situation of the Death Eaters' quick round-up, the ensuing trials, and their subsequent imprisonment inside grim Azkaban.

(At that time, Dumbledore along with the rest of Britain didn't know yet how the Dragon Pox epidemic had started in Azkaban in the first place. He would decidedly not be overjoyed at receiving this specific bit of news much later on.)

Making Albus even more concerned was the likelihood of the Black eldsters further investigating the scandalous death of Sirius Black during his boat trip to that same prison but never arriving there when this felon who'd failed to receive a lawful Wizengamot trial and his Auror escort all disappeared among the angry ocean waves in a deadly North Sea storm. It could be definitely embarrassing to Albus if questions were ever to be raised regarding the Chief Warlock's conduct (or lack of it) as to why he hadn't done anything to give Sirius a proper trial.

Continuing to brood in his office, Albus consoled himself that for whatever reason, the Blacks hadn't yet done anything of the kind. Instead, they'd retreated to the Black estate with a comatose Bellatrix and otherwise done their best to stay out of the public eye.

Hmmm… Come to think of it, he hadn't heard anything about the Blacks during the epidemic. Like the other purebloods with the means to do so, they'd undoubtedly stayed behind their family wards the whole time. Even if admittedly horrid to think so, Dumbledore still wouldn't shed any tears at all if that dangerous clan had nonetheless somehow contracted in such measure as to be entirely wiped out by the worse ever case of Dragon Pox floating around—

"Headmaster?"

"Eh?" Dumbledore guiltily came upright in his chair at that unexpected voice coming from the opposite wall. He blinked in sudden surprise at the painting where Armingster Bullews was back again in the portrait from his sojourn to the Ministry of Magic.

Mr. Bullews courteously nodded to his master before reporting, "I delivered your message, Headmaster. However, they were too busy with their own problems to do anything but tell me to come back later when they had time."

Dumbledore frowned at the portrait and its painted occupant. "Problems? What problems?"

"It seems that the current Minister of Magic — Bagnold? — has the Dragon Pox."

Appalled at this terrible news, Dumbledore stared in shock at where Mr. Bullews was patiently waiting. "How serious is it, her case?"

The 17th-century Hogwarts Headmaster gave a tentative shrug of his shoulders. "She's expected to recover, but until then, all her responsibilities are being handled by the deputy Minister, some other gentlewoman named Bones."

"I…see. Thank you, Mr. Bullews. That'll be all for now. Return to the Ministry and wait in the painting there for their response. If they don't give you one for the rest of today, remind them again tomorrow of your presence as many times as necessary until they send me a reply."

"Yes, Headmaster," obediently answered the painted wizard, who then moved to the edge of this portrait before passing out of sight.

Leaning back in his ornate chair, Dumbledore carefully considered this latest information. So, Bagnold was incapacitated and Bones was now carrying out the Minister's duties in her stead? That wasn't good at all, especially if Bones proved herself to the public how effectively competent and hard-working she was, valuable qualities Albus reluctantly had to grant that DMLE head no matter how much he disliked her.

Dumbledore tugged exasperatedly at his beard a few times before quitting this anxious habit he hadn't done for a good many years. Merlin's staff, but he ineeded/i to get out of here! There was far too much going on in the Ministry and elsewhere that necessitated his calming presence be displayed amongst the British citizenry, reminding everyone their Chief Warlock and the ICW's Supreme Mugwump was on the job!

"Gahhh!"

In a rare display of pique, Dumbledore threw up his hands in abrupt annoyance, and then slammed these palm-down hard upon the desktop. This resulted in a set of stinging fingers and causing along the edges of the desk several small magical devices perched there busily operating themselves to rattle and start to slide off onto the office floor due to this sudden impetus.

Hastily leaning forward to snatch up these devices just in time to prevent their falls, Albus carefully replaced them into their previous positions. Glowering at the little mechanisms, Dumbledore grouchily reminded himself to be more careful. He just didn't have the time to fix any of those mystical apparatus which kept a vigilant watch over Harry Potter hundreds of miles away at a muggle suburb in Surrey.

Taking several calming breaths, Dumbledore tried to look upon the bright side regarding the Boy-Who-Lived. Whatever calamities which had been recently inflicted against magical society, Harry was at least safe and sound with the Dursleys in Little Whinging. An apprehensive check had been done by him of the mystical sensors in the Headmaster's tower office the first thing in the morning and the last thing every night throughout all of the Dragon Pox epidemic, but much to Albus' relief, there'd never been any actual cause for alarm.

It would've been highly unlikely that Harry met with a potential carrier of this supernatural illness in the first place, given how Vernon and Petunia Dursley already avoided the merest mention of magic at their muggle home let alone any actual contact with the wizarding world. This dislike would eventually turn into genuine detestation in another year or two, due to the subtle inducements of the altered blood wards Dumbledore had placed around this suburban location. In the meantime, the wards linked to the office devices would instantly inform Albus if Harry still became sick or injured at a level of bodily injury which risked the child's life.

That would've been the only mandatory grounds for Albus to end the Hogwarts quarantine and promptly apparate to the Dursleys to rescue Harry from anyone about to harm him. Making it even more delightful was that instead of Dumbledore risking his Headmaster position for solely terminating the quarantine without the Ministry's approval, he'd actually be praised to the very skies by virtually all of their society for saving this Potter son. Truly, the subtle nudges Dumbledore had been performing to enhance the fame of Voldemort's young vanquisher were well worth all his hard labors since then.

Much happier now, Albus settled down in his chair and started working out in his head the various contingencies on how to deal with a weakened Ministry. Being suspected to have Harry Potter under his secret control until that little boy finally received his Hogwarts letter and showed up at the castle just made things much easier, so why even risk leading other wizards to Harry's location? Absolutely not!

(In a certain house now occupied by another, different family than the Dursleys, the four drops of blood painlessly drawn months ago one night from a sleeping toddler, his uncle, aunt, and cousin by Kreacher presently rested as a quartet of intact beads shaped and maintained by house-elf magic upon the exact ward stone buried in the Privet Drive home's back yard. Naturally, since all there at the time had been peacefully in their slumbers, that blood still barely affected by the ward stone continued to inform a bewhiskered meddler at long range the magical child under Dumbledore's presumed protection was quite secure with his relatives. Which, as it happened, was the genuine truth.)

In the Wizengamot main public chamber, Albus Dumbledore dismissed his previous thoughts to instead covertly regard in the audience several people there he really would've preferred to be elsewhere. Far, far, away, at a minimum. To be specific, the observers from the International Confederation of Wizards here to join in today's ceremony, despite how the Supreme Mugwump of that organization was still privately offended by their presence.

Yes, yes, they'd certainly been helpful…too much, perhaps. Difficult questions were sure to be brought up at the New York headquarters about such things as Dementors and exactly why Britain had them guarding a magical prison without the ICW ever knowing about this! Dumbledore suspected this time he couldn't simply brush off his questioners by asserting from the ICW's own guidelines how the organization's member states were free to act as they pleased within their borders. All right, that freedom was limited by the requirements of maintaining the Statute of Secrecy, but this had been successfully accomplished, so why not just let things be and move on?

Still keeping his face serene, Dumbledore assured himself that he'd previously overcome much more trying complications than those he could foresee from the ICW. In fact, with the proper planning, he could actually turn these upcoming problems into positives!

Just like the whole of the Wizengamot ceremony today, after all. The instant the MoM had declared the Dragon Pox epidemic over with, Albus immediately ended Hogwart's quarantine and left for the Ministry, making sure his dignified entry was witnessed by all there. Escorted at once to Minister Bagnold's office, Dumbledore inwardly exultated at how frail the witch appeared behind the desk after her recent severe illness, though of course he never showed any of this save for the proper required conversational courtesies.

Howsomever, Albus was quickly broadsided by Minister Bones also there (and in much better health, unfortunately) announcing that a full Wizengamot would be called very soon to replace their deceased members and swear in new officers. To be exact, it would take place within a week on a date already held hallowed by the British wizarding world: the thirty-first of October.

Exactly one year after the defeat of Lord Voldemort.

There was a pause in Minister Bagnold's office while Dumbledore feverishly considered this while the two women also there calmly regarding him thinking this over.

They were up to something, that was for sure. Regrettably, Albus couldn't even guess what it might be, though he didn't think it'd bide well for him. Could it be possible Minister Bagnold would demand at the Wizengamot that Dumbledore bring out Harry Potter from wherever that child was hidden, to be presented as a symbol of hope and renewal on the very day evil was struck down and good prevailed?

There was no way for him to find out in advance on the sly. Albus didn't dare chance the merest trace of Legilimency on Bones and Bagnold right then and there, whether they were Occulumens or not. Aside from the protections laid on the minster's office which would straightaway set his beard on fire if he even tried, just doing so would have him instantly arrested and a whole new Azkaban Prison rebuilt especially for Dumbledore.

Given that, Albus showed how practiced a politician he was by promptly declaring it to be a fine idea and volunteering to help any way he was able. With equal insincerity, the government witches thanked Dumbledore and suggested he begin thinking about the opening speech to be delivered by him at the Wizengamot.

It'd been a very uncomfortable week for the Headmaster desperately getting as well organized as he could for virtually every contingency he could come up with. The speech had to be written and memorized, too.

Still and all, he was here, come what may! Let those there beware, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore was ready for anything—

A bell began softly tolling throughout the main chamber, the warning sound of the five-minute mark before the official commencement of events at the Wizengamot. In a rustle of movement among the people there, whether in the audience or the participants, they took their seats, returned hastily from the loos or a quick smoke outside in the corridors, and otherwise waited for the bell to stop.

Mentally going over his lines one more time, Albus paid no notice to the main doors closing on their own, indicating there was less than a minute to go. He did take the opportunity for one last sweeping glance around the entire chamber to make sure he was the main center of attention as was only right and proper…

Wait a second. Why were there two empty seats in the row of Wizengamot chairs? Absolutely no excuse of any kind save for death itself was allowed for parliament members to miss today's event!

The audience watching Chief Warlock Dumbledore saw a deep frown abruptly appear on this wizard's face. Following his troubled gaze, everyone there also became aware of those unused chairs, causing a quick susurration of puzzled whispers while they tried to figure out who was absent—

Without anybody touching them, the Wizengamot's main doors burst open, slamming against the walls with a thunderous BOOM!

Screams and shouts came from the flinching audience at this unexpected event, with the more quicker and fearful drawing their wands for protection. Holding these ready, the magical sticks were pointed at the now-open doorway…to next be slowly lowered while all there gaped at the six people marching inside from the outer corridor to the Wizengamot chamber.

In a column of pairs, at the forefront were Arcturus Black and Pollux Black.

In the middle were side-by side none other than Cassiopeia Black and Lucretia Black.

Finally, at the rear were Narcissa Black and Andromeda Tonks.

All of the newest entrants were identically striding in step. Soft boots below their most formal robes with the Black emblem proudly displayed there landed one by one in perfect synchrony as the six people advanced nearer the lowest rank of Wizengamot chairs. Their wands were held equally alike vertically in front of these wizards' and witches' grim faces.

Just matching were the deliberate throbs of the small balls of pure red light perched upon the very tips of every one of the Black wands.

Coming to a halt in perfect unison directly in front of where a narrow-eyed Minister Bagnold was observing this, the Black family simply stood there unmoving, unspeaking. However, the wand lights continued to evenly brighten and dim…exactly in a single heartbeat's time for every pulsation.

The audience continued to watch with frozen fascination, until Minister Bagnold struggled to her feet with the aid of Amelia Bones. The former woman then called out bravely enough, "Honored members of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, why are you here?"

With growing incredulity, all there now heard the six voices of Pollux, Andromeda, Lucretia, Narcissa, Cassiopeia, and Arcturus simultaneously intone, "As is our right, we appeal to the Wizengamot for justice!"

In his chair, Dumbledore paled. It'd needed for him to hear those echoing voices of men and women mixed together to finally remember something from the history of their wizarding society…but the last recorded example had been centuries ago!

What he — what they all were — witnessing was a Family Joining. Simply put, wizards and witches could through an incredibly rare spell unite their very magic with those of their same blood for however many were part of this. This resulted in a tremendous level of available magical power to be cast through the participant's wands.

How tremendous? Dumbledore's white face became ever waxier as he recollected a line from a crumbling history scroll: "…ye wizardy foes shalt avail naught be a hundred hundred stand against thee…"

At this very moment, the Blacks would have no difficulty at all blowing the entire Ministry building off the face of the earth. As for every other wizard and witch there including Albus himself and the Elder Wand trying to prevent this, it'd be an utter failure…assuming the Blacks even noticed.

There were more than good reasons why the Family Joining spell had never become widely used. For one, it took more than a full day to be properly cast among the family members. Not to mention that during this, if anything went wrong, every partaker would immediately die. Lengthily and excruciatingly.

Little things like that were quite enough to prevent magical folk from usually trying this. Still, it didn't help either that the main component of the joining spell required absolute trust among those sharing their magic. Family or not, most people didn't have that much faith in each other.

Frantically glancing around the main chamber, Dumbledore saw some of the very oldest spectators pointing at the unwavering Blacks and apprehensively explaining to those around them what was going on. Probably the only thing preventing a mass panic and Wizengamot exodus was the fervent desire by all there not to do anything which might set off those Black maniacs.

It took only a few seconds for all those thoughts to run through the Headmaster's mind. In the process, Minister Bagnold spoke again to the motionless Black family.

"You petition for justice? Who are you asking for about this?"

In a synchronized sweep of six arms, their wands now pointed unwaveringly at the main chamber's empty doorway, followed by a stern Black roar:

"FOR THEM!"

As if that'd been a signal, two more individuals stepped into view in the doorway from where they'd presumably been waiting out of sight in the corridor. They were…

A boy and his dog.