(Tellemicus's Note) HAPPY HOLIDAYS! This is my and Fiori75's 2020 New Year's gift to ALL OF YOU! Hope you enjoy it!

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The Magic Revolution
By: Tellemicus Sundance
Co-Authored by: Fiori75
#14: End of Summer

August 24, 2015
Ministry of Magic, Office of the Supreme Mugwump

It was an early Monday morning. The day had started out like usual with a gray overcast sky that was threatening to rain. The air was still slightly cool from the previous evening and dew clung to everything. But all this natural beauty of the world was completely lost on one blonde-haired man as he arrived in a burst of green flame and windswept ashes. Probably because he didn't even bother to glance outside before heading straight to the Floo after finishing his morning routine.

After cleaning himself up from his means of travel, Lucius Malfoy walked to his desk and quickly started sorting through the considerable amount of papers and parchments that were heaped up in a semi-organized pile. The workload of being the Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards was positively horrendous. Even though only the truly important issues, disputes, and propositions reached him, they were still many. That tended to happen when one man was expected to act as the moderating force between multiple nations, most of whom were often blinded by their own pride and prejudice against their neighbors for unresolved conflicts long centuries past. Though the influential power afforded to the Supreme Mugwump was massive by default, the stress of it was even greater.

When Lucius had first seized the position out from under Dumbledore's obscenely large nose several years ago, he had thought that he'd finally ascended to the highest possible rank available. In his mind, he had just become something akin to the Wizard Emperor of Europe. Like the Pope of Christianity, his word was law. His power was absolute. And his position was unshakable thanks to his lord's unseen hand helping to elevate him, as well as all the support and trust granted to him by the many Pureblood families who had struggled constantly to free themselves of Dumbledore's tyrannical rule.

Well, no more! He was in power now, and he made it his mission in life to completely undo everything that Dumbledore had attempted. Namely, he cut off support or cancelled or just simply ended the many mudblood programs and organizations that were designed to help them usurp the Old Families and destabilize proper Wizarding society. He helped to bring back and reinforce the extremely harsh laws against creatures like werewolves and veela that Dumbledore had altered or revised into more lenient ones. And he helped to create a very strict regulation called the Muggleborn Registration Commission in every country that was a member of the ICW. The branch in Britain was largely headed by Dolores Umbridge whe she wasn't busy as Fudge's Undersecretary. And even though he thought the woman was despicable, she did good work at her job of snooping out and identifying which wizards and witches were gallivanting as Purebloods when they really weren't. Lucius had every confidence that in the centuries and millennia to follow, he'd be remembered with awe, admiration, and gratitude for his truly outstanding work of returning the power back to the Pureblood families, as it had once been and always should be!

But for as much as he was changing the world back to being a better place for his people, Lucius was also under constant pressure to not make a mess of things. There were many and various ways that Supreme Mugwumps of the past had irrevocably botched a delicate situation, which caused horrible scandals, and quite a few wars between nations or institutions in one form or another. So, even though he was as pure as a Pureblood could be and would support them whenever he could, there were times that he was forced to step back, look at a situation very carefully, and be forced to pledge his quiet support of a mudblood. It didn't happen often, he made sure of that, but he wasn't blind to supporting one of those filthy mongrels if they were speaking sense.

And the current proposal he was perusing was most unfortunately one of those. The proposal's author was some Austrian bloke named Yannick Auerswald, who Lucius had discovered was as repugnant and baseborn as a mudblood could get. But for as despicable as the man might've been, he at least saw the world for as it used to and should be. According to the background check that the Registration Commission had done, he came from some truly soulless Muggles who'd hated and despised him for being born superior to them. By all accounts, they had done their utmost best to snuff out his magic before, during, and even somewhat after his introduction and assimilation into the Wizarding World. So, despite being an accursed mudblood, he was as pro-Pureblood and pro-magic as a mudblood could get. And the proposal of this new organization he'd conceived was a reflection of that.

"A magical orphanage, eh?" Lucius mused to himself and he considered the implications and the proposal's suggestions.

What Auerswald was suggesting was basically legalized kidnapping. Taking newborn magical children from their worthless Muggle families and having them be put through a purely magical upbringing that would instruct them in the ins and outs of magical society and their place in it. This same orphanage system could also be able to grant students returning for their summer and holiday vacations a place to stay away from their muggle parents.

Lucius could immediately see the benefits such a system could have on the future for the magical communities of Europe. The first, and probably Auerswald's true purpose, was that it would get the young, highly impressionable children away from the influences of the Muggle World. Doing so would almost certainly cut down on the many, many worthless animals of that world from learning about the Wizarding World in the first place. It would greatly help to reinforce the Statute of Secrecy, something that was in already tatters thanks to damn Twin Calamities' actions these past few years. Plus, with the accursed mudbloods being raised and taught their proper place within the Wizarding World from birth, there would surely be far less conflict between them and Purebloods. The mudbloods would be far less inclined to get ideas above their stations in life. And it'd be far easier to monitor and control their actions and fates.

But on the other hand, such an endeavor would mean allocating large amounts of resources, manpower, and gold to the long-term care and maintenance of not only the facilities, but the mudbloods themselves. The Purebloods would have to pour out massive amounts of funding for little to no gain (both short and long-term) for the upkeep and caring of damn mudbloods. No self-respecting proper Pureblood would ever donate so much as a knut to anything related to mudbloods. Which would mean that the orphanages would have to subsist on charity. And while he didn't know practically anything about the Muggle World, there were still horror stories that circulated around Hogwarts about what happens when orphanages are poorly funded and maintained, or run by spiteful and corrupt overseers. No, if Lucius was going to set this up, he'd do it the right way. He would never allow a magical orphanage to descend to the same squalor that plagued the Muggles' orphanages due to their own apathy and greed. So, if he did it, it would be the right way or not at all.

'And all of that is without even considering what the Master would think of such a proposition,' Lucius couldn't help shuddering slightly. Though he knew the Dark Lord quite well, he truly had no idea how Lord Voldemort would react when or if he learned about this. But he could certainly make a few educated guesses, and none of them boded well for his reputation or position as Supreme Mugwump. On the one hand, it would certainly make culling the mudbloods' numbers easier as the effort to find them among the soulless rabble would already be done for them, as well as gathering them into easily located group homes. But, likewise, if he actually set these group homes up, he'd be obligated to actually make an effort to protect them. Stuff like wards to detect intruders, a competent head of security, and so on. Even if he did just let some of his more bloody-minded compatriots in for a bit of sport, he'd still be in for an inquiry and investigation as soon as someone noticed a few of the children missing. Bellatrix and her cohorts would just have to suffice with the random kidnappings they've been up to these past few months. And although he has long been a 'pardoned' Death Eater, the fact that he was well-known suspect to having been one would make him an immediate target for the likes of the investigators. It'd put him and his job into unnecessary danger. 'I must consider this most carefully before I bring it up to my Lord.'

Setting the lengthy stretch of parchment aside, Lucius set about moving to the next issue that demanded his attention. But in doing so, he noticed something odd. "When did this get here?"

It was a letter. What was markedly different about it from the others was it was in a crisp, white envelope with no wax seal or return address on it. Rather than take it, he pulled out his wand and cast several scanning and revealing spells upon it. This was a habit long ingrained into him from his earliest days and it had saved him from more than a few poisons, Dark curses, mind-altering Light charms, and even an explosive Howler or two. It wouldn't have been the first, nor be the last, time that he received mail with no return address.

But as he scanned the letter, his frown only deepened when he detected no foul play at work. Aside from the last, fading wisps of some type of transportation spell, no doubt the very thing that had delivered it to him just now, there was another type of spell on it. However, it wasn't anything maleficent. Rather it was some type of…protection spell, and a very complex one at that! '…Curious.'

Delicately waving his wand about, Lucius levitated the envelope and used his magic to open it without touching it. As the envelope opened and fell away, a letter with elegant and fancy print appeared and unfolded itself to him. Displayed prominently upon the upper portion of the letter was an insignia of a hatching dragon egg beside some strange runic symbols he couldn't read.

To: Mr. Lucius Malfoy and Mrs. Narcissa Malfoy

You are cordially invited to witness your child's graduation and fulfillment of their contracted training in the Way of the Chi-Adept by Mr. Harry Potter and Mr. Dudley Dursley. This ceremony is to be held at the Sleeping Dragons Dojo on the 25th of August, Year 2015 A.D. at approximately 9:30am. Please arrive at the attached address no less than 30 minutes prior to the ceremony with this invitation or you will be considered 'unavailable' and thus not permitted to attend.

As well as the graduation ceremony, we are honored to announce the first ever Dragon Festival. A competition that your child may volunteer to enter. The purpose of this Festival is to allow your child the chance to display everything they have learned under our tutelage in a series of game events meant to not only entertain you, but for the participants to determine who among them is the best of their generation. Regardless of your child's choice to participate, you are also invited to witness the Festival in its entirety. The Festival is scheduled to occur from 10:00am to approximately 3:30pm.

Following this, Mr. Potter and Mr. Dursley will be available until 4:00pm for any questions you and your spouse may have pertaining to your child's training, treatment, and possible future endeavors.

Mr. Harry James Potter
Mr. Dudley Edward Dursley

For several long moments, Lucius just stared blankly ahead as the letter dropped limply to his desktop. The Supreme Mugwump's mind was racing as he tried to understand what he'd just read and the implications it carried. One thing was guaranteed, though: his master would have to be informed of this immediately!

Ministry of Magic, Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Office of the Head Auror

Rufus Scrimgeour, despite himself, was anxious. In fact, his anxiety had been slowly but steadily ratcheting up since the start of summer. No, wait, actually, the truth was his anxiety had been growing ever since a pair of Quibbler myths just waltzed into an international tournament and made a mockery of not just Britain's laws, but the laws of every nation in the ICW. However, it was really the summer that had really been making him twitchy.

Why?

Because, like any good lawman, he was duty bound to do his very level best to keep the peace within his nation. So, he had a duty to do something about the Twin Calamities. The greatest pair of blights to the Statue of Secrecy to occur in recent memory. Even Carlotta Pinkstone had nothing on this pair of young wizards. She at least had gone to Hogwarts. These two, however, couldn't even claim to have been kicked out of such a prodigious Alma mater. The transient brutes hadn't even gotten their letters! Instead they had been committing their first desecration of the Statue at the tender ages of eleven…on the muggle broadcast system no less. That one of them was Harry Potter himself just made it worse!

If an icon like that chose to live the way he did, it would only encourage more of the youth to follow his example. Such a thing as the mass destruction of the Statue of Secrecy would undoubtedly be the doom of everything that he and so many others had worked for! Even if it wasn't his duty to figure out just what the pair was up to, he would have done so for the good of his countrymen.

However, since Rufus was also a man of station, it was highly unlikely he'd be able to stomach prolonged exposure to the pair of hooligan ruffians for too long without hexing them out of moral outrage. He had wisely delegated the task to someone far more likely to succeed. One Nymphadora Tonks, a young Auror, relatively fresh from Hogwarts. She was definitely past the Calamities's enforced age-limit, but not by too much. Best of all, she was a Metamorphmagus, so she could easily slip in and pretend to be a hormonally-driven teenager while still retaining her adult brain. She was the one thing that his entire plan rested on, his one trusted Auror embedded in this fledgling organization. The information she was to gather on their motives, schemes, rituals and rites, and overall magical threat level would be absolutely crucial in the days to come, he just knew it!

But she hadn't made it to even a single one of the scheduled check ins.

Rufus trusted Tonks pretty well. She was smart, dedicated, and skilled in a surprising range of fields. But for as much as he trusted her, he did not trust the Twin Calamities at all. What little he'd seen of them during their 'trial' after the Triwizard Tournament had ended, as well as hearing of the many, many escapades and disasters they'd been involved with had done nothing to inspire confidence or trust in them. So, he'd done everything in his power to ensure that he knew where Tonks was at all times. Placing numerous tracking charms, enchanted items, and quite a few legally questionable potions on and within Tonks that he'd Obliviated from her memory so she wasn't even aware of them. Most of the stuff were meant to tell him of her location, physical and mental health, and measure her magical aura. The potions were meant for deep-cover agents, to help protect their minds from outside magical influences and brainwashing, to guard their bodies from poisons, and to ensure peak physical fitness. The downside of the potions were that they were only temporary boosts that lasted a few days at most, were very addictive if used for more than a month, as well as being highly stressful on the body and mind. But such risks were those that he was willing to take. Apparently so was Auror Tonks, who'd immediately volunteered for all of that when he'd offered it to her. An act that only reinforced his belief in her.

However, something had gone wrong right from the start. He'd tracked the many different items and charms to the address they'd posted. He could immediately tell that despite its foreign aesthetic, it was merely a staging ground, a transition point, before they took their new hostages to the actual location. Following the magical signals, Rufus's investigative Aurors had only found a small sparring arena and a long row of lockers. Each of the lockers were securely locked down with magic that was akin to that of Gringotts' vaults. The implication that the Twin Calamities had somehow hired the services of the greedy and spiteful Goblins was troubling enough, but he couldn't investigate any further than to send a polite, if pointed, request to the bank for more information. A request that has since gone unanswered. Even though she'd likely been forced to leave behind most of her belongings, some of the tracking charms should've still been attached to her, hence why she had so many put on her. And given the amount of power he'd put into personally casting them, the spells should either have faded naturally after several weeks or quickly removed if another wizard had noticed and cast the proper counter-curse. But, again, the spells had faded almost as soon as Tonks had arrived at the address. 'Must've been that ward I detected around the entrance. But where could they have gained such a ward? I've never heard of any type of magic that could do such a thing, not even from the Goblins!'

This total information blackout from the moment Tonks had departed had not pleased him one bit. That it meant that he might have lost one of his best upcoming Aurors was bad enough. But the weekly harping sessions from the undersecretary only compounded his agitation immensely.

"Hemhem."

As it was beneath a man of his station, Rufus did not growl in frustration as he looked up to see the dreaded pink clothed ministry official standing within his office. She hadn't even had the courtesy of knocking, only announcing her presence when she was before his seated form. Looking up at her from his chair, Rufus saw that she was attempting to loom over him. It was only noticeable to him since she could only seem to manage it while he was seated.

"Yes, Madam Undersecretary?" he asked in a tired voice, already knowing what she wanted.

"Mr. Scrimegour," Umbridge said in a voice that she obviously thought was sweet and disarming, but in reality sounded wispy and whiny. "I am here on request of the Minister again. It has been almost two months and he grows increasingly agitated and frustrated."

'He's not the only one,' Rufus thought to himself, but not replying. He knew from long experience that this vile woman wouldn't allow him to get a word spoken until she'd said everything that she'd wanted to say first.

"In case you have forgotten," Umbridge continued as he knew she would. He easily repressed a slight grin at seeing the look of disappointment that flashed across her face. No doubt she'd hoped that he would've spoken up so that she could talk over him in an effort to exert some preconceived notion of power and authority over him. But she continued on smoothly. "Those creatures have taken numerous children, notably the heirs of numerous prestigious bloodlines, hostage and are likely subjecting them to any number of heinous tortures and brainwashing. As such, the Minister is, quite understandably, growing very concerned over your apparent failure to bring us any type of information about their activities."

"I have exhausted every means imaginable to find the location of the Twin Calamities' base of operations," Rufus stated bluntly, staring balefully up at her. "As I have reported to the Minister, several times now, there is nothing else I can do until they reveal themselves again. At which point, we can resume our activities. Until then, we must wait."

Umbridge frowned angrily at this blunt answer. "Our children's lives could be at risk. We want results!"

"As do we all," Rufus said agreeably. "However, your continued presence and interference here won't make said results just spontaneously appear. So, unless you have something definitive to add to this investigation, I believe you already have my answer to the Minister's inquiry. Please leave. I still have much work to do."

Rufus made a point of this statement by turning back to the folder of classified documents and photographs highlighting numerous pieces of evidence on the case that he had been previously focused on before his mind had wandered earlier. An ongoing investigation in the disappearances of several Muggleborn children who had just received their Hogwarts letters but hadn't yet been reported to entering Ollivander's or even Diagon Alley to purchase their school supplies. Current evidence found by his more trusted Aurors showed that they'd gone missing from their homes with their parents sometimes being Obliviated or having experienced an 'accident' of some sort.

But before he could delve too deeply back into his work, Rufus glanced up at his lingering unwanted guest. Umbridge's face had reddened in barely repressed anger at the blunt dismissal he'd given her. After several moments of marshaling what little self-control she possessed, she grunted out in a dark voice, "If there is no change by the end of the week, I will have your job."

'Threatening my job lost its edge after the third time you made it,' Rufus thought blandly as he gave the blustering woman with a deadpan stare. "And replace me with who exactly?" he found himself asking with a flat tone worthy of bread.

Instead of giving a proper reply to that, the rather foolish and ignorant woman growled at him like a petulant child. Then the Undersecretary turned sharply on her heel and marched out of his office at long last. He basked in his silent victory for several moments, listening to the clacking of her heeled shoes as she strutted down the hallway. Once the echoes of her heels had faded away, he let loose a long, low sigh of relief.

"What a bitch."

Despite himself, Rufus couldn't help nodding in agreement with the sentiment as he finally returned his attention back to his work. After several long seconds, he was suddenly frozen as he realized something rather important: that hadn't been him voicing his thoughts. It came from another voice nearby. Turning slowly towards the sound, Rufus found a young teen casually lounging atop one of his filing cabinets and idly rolling a wand between his fingers. It was with some distress that Rufus saw the wand to be his own, which was further reinforced as he failed to feel the familiar wood grain when he automatically attempted to brandish it at the intruder.

"Easy there. Didn't want you blasting me before I said my piece," the teen said calmly, holding his wand out for Rufus to take. Well, provided of course that Rufus moved within arm's reach of the young man.

"You will forgive me if I don't approach. For some reason, I find it difficult to trust someone who broke into my office." The head of the DMLE said blithely as he eyed the strange teen up and down. He quickly noticed that despite being in the heart of Auror territory, the strange teen was completely at ease. In fact, the last time he saw someone that at ease when faced with what should have been overwhelming odds was at the show trial for the Twin Calamities.

"Well, you definitely win points in my book for being cautious," the stranger grinned before casually tossing Rufus' wand to him.

"Yes, so glad to have your approval, Mr…?" Rufus snarked blandly as he caught his wand easily.

"Polkiss, Piers Polkiss," the teenager revealed with an air of nonchalance. "A disciple of the Saiyan."

Rufus just blinked at the information, before filing the information away for later. "Charmed. Now, I suppose this is where you tell me your masters' cunning plan and make some sort of demand while threatening my life."

"Yes, I suppose it would seem like something like that," Piers said, grinning agreeably. "But that's such a daft thing to do. Besides, why would he want me to reveal our endgame when we're just beginning to play?"

"Because he has narcissistic tendencies," Rufus shot back instantly. "and a need for public adoration and attention?"

"Well, yeah, but so would you if you could do half the things we could."

"If you hurt anyone here—"

"Easy, big guy. Not gonna get up to that sort of trouble. Just here to give you an invite s'all."

"An invite?"

"Well, yeah. Normally, we'd only be giving these to the parents. But seeing as Tonks is a grown ass woman, it felt more appropriate to have her invite her own parents. Instead, we figured we should also invite her boss since you were the ones who actually approved her enrollment."

Rufus frowned deeply at the implications and revelations he'd just learned. Yes, he'd suspected something like her identity being found out was a possibility. But learning definitive proof of it was still unsettling. Who knows how badly the boys might've reacted when they'd learned the truth? What did the other hostages think when they inevitably learned? And that also brought up another question.

"How long…?"

"Pardon?"

"How long have you known about her?"

Piers eyed Rufus with a slightly narrowed, calculating look for a moment before answering. "From the moment we first met her."

Rufus's expression barely changed. Though that could've been because he'd frozen up momentarily in confusion. "…What?"

"All people give off their own unique aura," Piers said quietly, speaking slowly and clearly so that Rufus would understand what he was saying. "But for as different and unique as each person is, a person's age is one thing that they all have in common. The auras the young usually have might be smaller and simpler but much brighter in color, so more noticeable. Cause, let's be honest, us kids? We're kind'a simplistic, really. But adults? Adults might be more jaded from their experiences, but also more distinguished because they have a wider array of colors in their aura. Cause you lot overcomplicate everything. Understand so far?"

"So, you could tell that she was older than she looked because her aura was 'too colorful' for someone as young as she claimed to be."

"Exactly that. Her aura had the unique complexities you only find in grownups that have started to lose that childlike wonder."

Rufus frowned again, deeper this time. But he didn't bother trying to argue or dispute the kid. Clearly, he knew exactly what he was talking about. Plus, it was apparent that Tonks likely hadn't been harmed…per say. So, she must still be alive and well enough that he shouldn't have to worry about her well-being.

Shaking his head to clear his wandering thoughts, Rufus focused back on the teen with a sharp stare. "Back to the original matter, what's this about an 'invite' you wished to give me?"

"It's exactly that," Piers said, his face softening out of its stern expression and smoothly transitioning back into that cheerful one he'd had previously. "An invitation from the flame-brain and the Saiyan to come and see what we've been up to this past summer."

As he had been speaking, he pulled out a white envelope from…somewhere and held it out easily towards the Auror. "It's all explained inside there. But, fair warning, you're only allowed to bring along yourself and one other person to observe. Any others besides your plus-one wouldn't be able to reach our facility. A security feature, you understand. There's already going to be a LOT of other people there, after all. No need to give ourselves' bigger headaches by allowing ten squads of angry magical policemen to come barging in and start tearing up the place."

Carefully taking the envelope from the unresisting hand of the boy, Rufus stared down long and hard at the seemingly benign wad of paper. He didn't bother trying to cast any detection or revealing spells upon it. He could already tell that this lad and his compatriots weren't the type to use such underhanded means like that. After a short moment, he looked up, poised to ask the boy another question but stopped and stared.

Piers was already gone.

Eyebrow raised slightly, Rufus moved forward and opened the door to his office. A glance down the empty hallway revealed no retreating figure of the boy either. 'How the bloody hell was he able to get in and out of my office so quickly, easily, and silently?! Dammit! I need to look into upgrading the security of my Department and the Ministry, quickly!'

Sleeping Dragons Training Camp, Norway

"Really 'Mione, which is more impressive?" Mafalda Prewitt whined rather childishly as a spectacular pout spread across her face. "Cosmetic changes to its color, or completely restructuring its chemical composition?"

"It would be impressive if you hadn't already mastered the art of Transfiguration," Hermione shot back in an annoyed tone. "And since you are struggling on basic Charms, this is the style you should be focusing on if you really want to go to Hogwarts this year!"

She'd had this conversation numerous times with her partner for the last few weeks, ever since Mafalda's latent magical potential had risen to the surface. That had been a surprise to everyone, even Harry and Dudley, since no one had known what kind of effect this training would have on a Squib. As is usually the case with most witches and wizards, the young Prewitt had discovered an affinity for one particular brand of magic in the art of Transfiguration which, when combined with her muggle knowledge of chemicals and science, was extraordinarily potent. However, because of this incredible talent in one area, she naturally started slacking on the other branches of her magical studies, much to Hermione's deep annoyance.

"Oh, come on, Hermione!" Mafalda whined again. "How many of them are even going to notice the difference so long as the bloody rock turns into a different color? S'not like the oh-so-knowledgeable scholars actually know what they're talking about. If the last two months has taught me anything, it's that I was right and properly blessed to grow up as a muggle till I was 15…mostly."

"UGH! You're incorrigible! You know that, right?!" Hermione decried, her patience rapidly unraveling from this circular argument of theirs. "Now, do the bloody Charm like you're supposed to, or I'll go get Draco!"

It still galled and surprised her, even several weeks after the fact, that her new best friend had developed an incredibly potent infatuation on the Prince of Slytherin himself, Draco Malfoy! What was even more disturbing in Hermione's mind was that Draco didn't seem nearly as opposed or disgusted by this revelation as Hermione would've thought he'd be when he figured it out for himself. Maybe it had something to do with her magical heritage rising to the fore from this training? Maybe it was because of the anime and movies he'd been watching during what little downtime he allowed himself? Maybe he'd simply started to see the light and worth of the Muggles and was starting to adjust how he saw the world as a whole now? Maybe he had started developing an infatuation for Mafalda himself? Whatever his reason was, it still left Hermione floundering as she still tried to adjust to these crazy new changes that were developing in and shuffling the bedrock of her life nowadays. What was the world coming to these days?!

"Dirty pool, old girl, Hermione! A real low-blow!" Mafalda shot back in a low, stern, and very serious voice as she sent a cool gaze over at her partner. But then she ruined the image by smiling radiantly while reaching up to wipe away an imaginary crocodile tear theatrically. "…I'm so proud of you! Your training in the Dark Side is now complete!"

"JUST DO IT ALREADY!" Hermione yelled, both at her wit's end and feeling rather embarrassed.

"Oh, alright, fiiine. I'll do the bloody Charms work if it'll make you happy," the red head muttered sullenly, turning back to the pieces of copper, iron, and platinum ores floating over her hand.

"It would make me happy, yes. As would seeing you placed in my year back at Hogwarts. Which is why you need to work on your Charms." Hermione nodded, relaxing slightly as a small, happy smile spread across her face while observing her friend attempt to change the color of the stones without changing them outright into different minerals…again. Hermione glanced around as she saw that Mafalda was actually attempting to use charms instead of transfiguration. She was taking in the various other disciples.

The two of them were seated on a boulder that jutted out of the rocky surface around them. Around her, Hermione could see what was left of the Disciples as they went about their training in various ways. Of the original 500 disciples that had started out, less than a half of that number remained, most of them being the Ki-wielding Muggles. Of the roughly 250 Wizards and Witches, barely a fifth still trained here. Hermione didn't know most of their reasons for leaving…for sure, but she could make a few educated guesses. Since a large chunk of those disciples had been Purebloods, it didn't take much to guess that they couldn't stand having to train alongside their 'hated enemies' without trying to erase their memories or just simply kill them. Most of them seemed to quietly slip away during the night, or were escorted off the premises by either Harry, Dudley, or one of their 'lieutenant' disciples. However, there had been one particular incident between Crabbe, Goyle, and Malfoy that she'd seen that had left a bitter taste in her mouth.

Shaking her head to clear that particular memory from her mind, Hermione once again focused on their fellow disciples. She could see a gaggle of Ki-disciples, easily identified by their white gis, sparring against Gordon. She could tell it was him because of the ki-weapons that were being swung, slung, and launched about the area. The ki-constructs seemed to be his go-to tactic and favorite style, which was what set him apart from his fellow lieutenants.

Small explosions of noise off to the side attracted her attention. Over there, a massive surge of cackling electricity sprung to life as more explosions erupted. If she had to guess, it was Dennis putting Tom and Jesse through his paces again. The two boys really seemed to hit it off quite well together. Hermione had learned that Dennis had a lot of trouble controlling his immense amount of ki, which is why he was a disciple of the Salamander, who lived and breathed control, due to his potentially very dangerous fire powers. On the other hand, Tom seemed to have an insatiable appetite, always wanting to push himself harder and longer to make himself as strong as he possibly could get. And this made Dennis an excellent sparring partner for him since the lieutenant could always manage to force a person to reach deeper and draw out greater levels of power than they previously might've been able to. All in an effort to just survive one of his blows. And, of course, wherever Tom went, his adorable shadow named Jesse would go.

Over near the walled compound of the dojo camp, Hermione caught a glimpse of Harry. He seemed to be speaking to Ernie. Ernie was like herself and Mafalda, one of the newly-dubbed 'Chi-Wizards'. Even as she watched, she saw Ernie apparently enchanting some kind of glowing, blocky object that Harry was holding in his hands and talking to carefully. After just a moment of this, the glow around the object faded. Then Harry turned and chucked the object powerfully off into the distance, so fast and powerfully that it broke the sound barrier several miles away.

A flash of light and strong gust of wind attracted her attention to another match taking place. This one she would have had to squint through to see because of the blinding flares of light that were constantly springing to life over there. But thanks to her newly-awakened 'ki sense', she could easily detect the familiar auras of Cedric Diggory, Draco Malfoy, Jason Hamilton, and Darren Jackson all clustered together and going at it. That was another surprise that had rocked her boat in recent times. Being able to see without seeing by using her magical aura to send out pulses into the area around her, like echolocation or sonar. And being the studious person she was, Hermione had immediately started training herself in this power so much and so deeply that it had become as natural and instinctual to her as breathing. Maybe now, with this incredible new ability, she might not ever get caught up in such a dangerous situation like in her First Year again…?

"Hermione?" Mafalda called, breaking the bushy-haired girl from her musings and observations. "Do you plan on attending the Festival the guys have been taking about?"

Humming softly for a moment, Hermione didn't need much time to come to a decision. "No, probably not. I'm not very interested in doing such a thing. Yes, I know that I could possibly place rather well, thanks to my chi-magic. But I know I'm nowhere near strong enough, skilled enough, or dedicated enough to reach the top. Besides, honestly, I'm not interested in the fame or glory that such events tend to attract. I'd rather just quietly go back to studying and honing this new magic while practicing new spells and learning new skills." And that was Hermione's honest opinion. She knows how good she is and doesn't need to prove anything to anyone else.

As she had been speaking, Hermione couldn't help but reach up to lightly grasp the Dojo mark on her shoulder in something approaching affection. She had been among the first of the disciples to notice that her egg had started cracking and hatching, which had really excited her. But when her egg had hatched into not a dragon but a phoenix hatchling, everyone had been confused. Not even Harry and Dudley, the literal creators of the Dojo mark, had known what had happened, why, or how. But rather than be put off or angry that something had gone wrong, they and almost everyone else had grown excited. Eager to see what this 'mutation' might foretell of her abilities, and those of the numerous other Chi-Disciples whose eggs had also started hatching phoenixes. What had been discovered was that instead of attaining a mastery over a particular element or power, like Harry had with his dragonfire, instead Hermione's traditional magic powers had been ramped up and amplified to the nth degree, giving her unprecedented power and control, and allowing her to cast spells and perform magical feats that no lone traditional wizard or witch could possibly manage on their own. Granted, while she had become a jack-of-all-trades magic user, she would never attain the levels of fine control and raw power that came from specializing in a single element. And since Mafalda had gained the same mastery over the newly-dubbed 'chi-magic', which had been a surprise to quite a few of the remaining wizards and witches, Hermione had seen fit to start educating her in the basics that she would've otherwise learned in Hogwarts.

"Are you sure about that?" Mafalda asked, giving her friend and instructor an impish glance. "Turning down the chance to get hot and sweaty with some of these bods? I mean, gay or straight, there are a lot of fit figures to take your pick from among the ones who stayed. That Neville bloke keeps giving you looks, and so does Hannah… Well, not like the looks Heather keeps giving poor Noriko, but looks all the same."

After shivering out of repressed disgust and a good amount of lingering insecurity she still held from her childhood years, Hermione just nodded but replied with, "I just cannot stand to be in the spotlight any more than I have to be. Besides, we've still got to make plans for helping you to continue your magical education, whipping up Chi-training and 'book learning' schedules. And I still have to figure out a way to begin drilling the social norms and complexities of the Wizarding World into that strong-as-20-leaky-barrels that is your brain cavity."

Hermione ignored Mafalda's pouting snarl with practiced ease as she continued. "I'll admit that these complexities are still giving trouble to me as well, and I've been immersed in the wizarding world since I was 11! You, however, are a mostly muggle girl at the age of 15 and are planning on dropping yourself into the deep end of a highly bigoted and secretive culture that still thought the steam engine was the height of muggle ingenuity…"

Mafalda tuned her out after that, seeing that she'd once again started going on a tangent to herself. Which was probably a good thing for the both of the girls, since she missed hearing Hermione start muttering to herself about various things that she probably might've taken offense to. Such her also being related to the Weasley twins, and thus very likely to make her own displeasure known to all who drew her ire. As well as how several of those sent home for misconduct did so bald and with varying colored skin tones after they made the mistake of accusing Mafalda of stealing a witch or wizard's soul (heck, probably even several souls!) as fuel for her new magical prowess. After all, how else could a Squib have suddenly gained magic?! Such retaliatory actions from Mafalda would likely draw a lot of ire onto herself from the more bigoted Purebloods at Hogwarts, and the Wizarding World as a whole. Still, given Mafalda's aggressiveness, she could probably handle herself in most areas.

At least, Hermione hoped so!

Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire, England

His gaze shifting across the expanse of the long table, Voldemort didn't bother keeping the scowl of disappointment hidden. The drawing room was full of silent people, sitting at a long and ornate table. Illumination came from a roaring fire beneath a handsome marble mantelpiece surmounted by a gilded mirror as well as numerous large and incredibly ornate windows to side.

Seated along the length of the table within the grand room was what could be called his full council of loyal supporters and minions that was made up of the purest, strongest, and most influential of the wizards and witches of Great Britain and Ireland, and even the occasional representative from mainland Europe. Just a few months prior, these very men and women had been locked in animated conversations of strategy as they discussed tactics for overthrowing various officials and installing supporters of their cause into the power void. The work they had been doing here in this one room would affect the lives of the entire wizarding world! Oooh, what delicious power he savored during such meetings.

Although he greatly enjoyed wielding absolute power among his minions, giving orders and having them followed immediately, Voldemort had also slowly developed a taste for a more hands-off approach to ruling. Allow his minions to brainstorm, stress and agonize over creating a seemingly infallible plan, only for him to point out everything wrong with the plan when it was properly proposed and then reject it or accept it. After all, his entire power base was built on fear. Fear for the damn muggles discovering them. Fear of the mudbloods rising up and slaughtering or ruining the Old Families. Fear of the various Magical Creatures breaking loose and causing havoc, in both worlds. Fear of change. But, most of important of all, fear of him! For he had discovered that the real truth to gaining and holding true power is that if even his closest and strongest allies feared his wrath, then his enemies would be too terrified to rise up against him.

To that end, the past few years had been somewhat detrimental to that image he'd crafted for himself. Things had been going so incredibly smoothly for his forces. While Dumbledore and his mostly retired Order had wasted their time, efforts, and resources searching for the lost Boy-Who-Lived, Voldemort and his group had been quietly usurping positions of power throughout the Ministry. By the time Dumbledore had noticed, it had already been too late as he quite literally had the rug pulled out from under him without any warning, losing all of his political power. Thus, things had been truly going his way ever since then…and Voldemort had been hating it.

Strange that success could taste so very bitter. But alas there he was.

It had started with an unexpected and previously unknown blight that had started sweeping the continent. Two rogue wizards of immense power and prowess who'd been systematically dismantling and disrupting the 'dark trade' all over Europe. As was expected of his role as the Supreme Mugwump of the ICW, it fell on Dumbledore to marshal and coordinate the Wizarding World to locate and arrest these two walking cataclysms before they inflicted irreparable damage to society and/or the Statute of Secrecy. But the old fool had been far more focused on trying to locate his precious figurehead, the Boy-Who-Lived, and had neglected the rest of the world as a result.

Lucius had pulled a brilliant political move and ousted the old man completely. Admittedly, it was thanks to allies Lucius had within the Wizengamot and other nations that he'd been able to use Dumbledore's negligence to his advantage and had been selected to succeed him as the Supreme Mugwump. It was only then that Dumbledore realized just what was happening, but it was already far too late. Once in office, Lucius's first act was continue his campaign and had Dumbledore removed from his place as the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot as well. That position had also been given to another Pureblood who was loyal to the Old Families and the old way.

Now only Hogwarts remained in the old fool's grasp. And there the old fool sat, trying in vain to return to the shadowed games of chess he'd once played with other peoples' lives during the war against Grindelwald. But times had long since changed since Dumbledore had been in his prime. He could not hope to match the growing stranglehold Tom had already established. Not after his string of failures in recent years. By the time Dumbledore tried to properly fight him from the shadows, Voldemort had already placed the kindhearted old fossil in check.

Which is where the problem started to arise.

Things had gone so well that his followers had stopped cowering from him. Oh, he knew they all still feared him, of course. But everything had actually gone their way. In the past three years, not a single one of them had given him a reason to exercise his displeasure on them. They have actually been so successful to the point that unless they really and truly buggered things up, they didn't exactly have anything to fear from him.

And it wasn't like he could just start cursing them unless they give him a reason to start cursing them. Randomly cursing people would certainly have made them fear him, yes. But it would also give them just as much cause to start wondering why they actually needed him anymore if all he did was randomly attack them. By this point, they were already pretty much running the Ministry of Magic from behind the scenes. Dumbledore was politically disgraced and long past his prime. And what paltry few who could still oppose him that remained were far too busy looking for a child they'd carelessly lost after giving him away to the muggles.

The only hint of a problem for their movement nowadays was the same one that ousted Dumbledore as the Supreme Mugwump and Chief Warlock in the first place: the two wizards causing absolute havoc with everything and anything that came into contact with them. But they were still largely seen as transients; a problem you only had to deal with when it showed up on your door. And, so far, the Calamities had never actually touched the shores of the Death Eaters' island home. So, really, what purpose did a Dark Lord serve when he was simply a mad figurehead throwing curses at the people who were really controlling everything from the shadows?

Thoughts like that would lead to trouble. And while it might have let him actually do something fun for a change, it would not have been constructive to his long-term goals. So instead of delighting himself in torturing his subjects for any random thing that annoyed him, he had to restrain himself immensely. This restraint was really starting to become a burden on him though as his need to express himself in the only way he knew how continued to grow everyday. Recently, it had become almost a physical struggle to stop himself from cursing his minions for even minor irritations such as wearing too much perfume, being inbred incompetents, or not understanding that, no, he did not want to have sex with Bellatrix, stop sneaking into my quarters without your robes on! You have a husband! Go indulge your carnal lusts with him!

At least, that was until the Triwizard Tournament literally went up in flames.

Since then, things had changed drastically.

The Calamities were now their problem as they had finally gotten around to paying the islands of Great Briton a visit… It also turned out that they had actually been England's problem all along as apparently they lived here when not using the Statue of Secrecy as toilet paper for the massive shits they took all over the rest of the world. Suddenly, Lucius Malfoy was expected to be able to rein them in. Worse, some of the dumber members of his organization had already seen fit to annoy the pair of walking cataclysms by setting their home on fire. He would have saluted the Saiyan for his quick removal of such fools. Except the brat had masterfully pulled off his display of carnage in broad daylight, in a public place, and he'd left enough witnesses to make sure everyone knew who had done it. Now, they were fearing the Calamities almost as much as they were fearing him!

And in the most surprising turn of events, the thing that set Voldemort's blood to absolute frenzy, Harry bloody Potter was the second member of this duo. Which meant he couldn't just subvert the two fools to his cause. No, now he had to find some way to kill a boy who could apparently ignore 20 killing curses to the face, who would also be breathing fire at him and punching things so hard they'd explode, all while moving as fast as a bloody high-end racing broom. Voldemort was now really regretting not having spent more time looking into his prophesized nemesis after returning to a physical form.

But there was a silver lining to the Twin Calamities appearances and revelations. They had foolishly decided to start training others in their thus-far undiscovered and incomprehensible magical arts. To their credits, the parents of the children who were of proper age in his organization hadn't even needed his orders to direct them into getting them involved. To get their brats into the Calamities' classes in order to steal the secrets of their powers. However, the situation had been steadily worsening for the majority of the summer as more and more of the Pureblood students were kicked out of the training camp, their memories of their time there fully erased and removed. He knew this because he'd examined each and every single one of them personally in the hopes of finding something. But what they lacked in knowledge, each of them made up for in sheer, raw, unrefined magical power. Granted, the earlier the kickouts had been removed, the weaker they were. Whereas prior to the start of the summer, most of them were just averagely strong at best. But some of them nowadays were sitting uncomfortably close to his own level of power! He hid his discomfort in that fact perfectly, trying to play off their power and make it seem minuscule in comparison to his own, which worked to a degree. The fact that he'd also subtly planted powerful loyalty triggers towards himself in each of their minds also helped put him at ease.

By this point, nearly all of the Pureblood children had been booted from the Calamities class. Only four notable ones still remained, something that was a mark of pride among their parents since it meant that they were still getting stronger. Voldemort was ambivalent at best about that. On the one hand, they'd most assuredly be more powerful than he was when they finally came home, if the progress of their rejected peers was anything to go by. Which meant that they could potentially be a threat to him. But on the other hand, once they shared the secrets of the Calamities' magics, he'd almost certainly grow exponentially in power. After all, given how naturally powerful he was without those secrets, and when comparing just how incredibly strong some of bumbling brats had gotten after just a few weeks, his latent potential most be astronomically greater by comparison!

Yet, as was usually the case these days, the topic of the Calamities was also the chief reason why he and his main advisors were gathered here today.

Three of his followers had all received a most curious invitation. The Calamities were up to something theatrical, it seemed. They called it a 'Festival', an exhibition of their students' progress. But Voldemort knew displays of power when he saw them, and this was certainly that. Potter and his cousin wanted people to see what wizards could do if they followed them. It was a bold move in trying to gather followers. Voldemort could almost see the logic in it as having competent followers had certainly proven useful to him. It was just that he couldn't understand why the devil Potter and his cousin were so brazenly stupid about risking their position as the strongest by empowering others with the exact secret to their own powers. There had to be some kind of trick. Some form of hidden trap somewhere that they could muster which would leave their new minions weaker than themselves if push came to shove. That's what he'd have done anyway.

But, no, that wasn't the case at all!

Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle, the latest two of his followers' children to be expelled… They were, both of them, his equal in raw power. The only thing that kept him ahead of the pair was the fact that they were both so incredibly dumb. He wondered if it was inbreeding that had rotted their minds or if the rumors were actually true about there being troll blood in both family lines. But it galled him that a pair of barely 15 idiots were his equals in raw power. That the only thing that stood between the ascension of not one but two new Dark Lords was simple intellect. If that was the type of power the Calamities freely gave away, what sort of monsters were they themselves? It actually gave Voldemort a very bad shiver down his spine whenever that horrid thought occurred to him.

"My lord," a harried voice called from the door, putting the meeting on hold momentarily. In came a slightly disheveled Lucius Malfoy who still had trace amounts of Floo ash clinging to his clothes, illustrating just how much of a hurry he'd been in. His eyes naturally shot to Voldemort first before instantly looking away out of respect and fear, and then only noticing how many others were also in the meeting room.

"Lucius," Voldemort said, speaking slowly and lowly, a hint of danger obvious in his voice. "So nice of you to finally join us."

"I apologize for my late arrival. Things were…busy at work." He quickly took his own seat as he took out and placed a familiar opened envelope on the table before him. "I take it that I wasn't the only one to receive an 'invitation' to this…Festival?"

"You would be right, Supreme Mugwump," Voldemort greeted back. "Congratulations. Young Draco is not the simpering fool you raised him to be. Somehow, he actually managed to stay embedded within the Calamities new faction."

Using the politician's title like an insult was one of Voldemort's subtle ways of asserting dominance over the foppish oaf rich enough to bribe his way from disgrace all the way to Supreme Mugwump and the shadow Minister of Magic. The less said about how bought Fudge was by Lucius Malfoy, the better. Lucius not only had the Minister bought out of pocket, but he had also acquired a great deal of blackmail material directly from the Minister's mind.

It turned out that when Lucius had made his mole in Dumbledore's Order the godfather of his brat, he had far loftier goals than just playing the field. With Severus the godfather of one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, he had an obligation to share his skills with Lucius so they could both decide what they should each teach Draco in the coming years. When Lucius had learned Legilimency & Occlumency were within Severus' repertoire, he had demanded to be coached in the skills to better hone Draco's future abilities with both.

"Thank you, my lord," Lucius said, keeping his voice soft and very submissive, not allowing even a hint of the overwhelming pride he felt towards his son at that moment to be detected. "What shall our response be to this festival?"

"I say we call out our forces and level the damn place!" Antonin Dolohov barked without hesitation. "We finally have a means of tracking the bloody brats! It's long past time we bring them to heel and burn everything they love to the ground!" Voldemort had to stare at Dolohov and once more regretted the fact that he could not allow himself to curse his subordinates for being stupid. Thankfully, Dolohov was in the minority among his actual inner circle as many had grown beyond the thuggish days of their youth.

"Fool," Corban Yaxley said bluntly. "Not only can Potter eat fire, he can command flames better than anyone here, save the Dark Lord. The most such an action would cause is bring his ire down on us if we attempted it, or force our master out of the shadows if he actually took it upon himself. You're not asking our master to dirty his hands on something so trivial, are you?"

Seeing the somewhat pointed and almost hostile gaze that Voldemort sent his way, Dolohov quickly shook and bowed his head. "No! No, of course not!" his voice started out loud and fearful before quickly softening in a pitiful display of surrender, like a dog begging forgiveness from an angry trainer. "I just…I'm just tired of skulking in the shadows so much."

"Yes," Ladon Greengrass said agreeably, his stern voice speaking up before Dolohov could start yelling his opinion again. "And we are still woefully unprepared for whatever other types of magic the Calamities have access to. And no means of measuring just how powerful they really are."

"And an unprovoked attack like that might cause them to lash out at our children, make them erase their memories, to make sure we don't get access to their secrets," Malfoy spoke up, nodding towards his friend, Ladon. "Those boys have shown themselves to be nothing if not meticulous in their plots. They clearly have backup plans for the backup plans."

"No, an outright attack is not feasible at this moment," Horus Nott stated. "But that still leaves us with the question: what shall our response be?"

"Well, whatever we chose to do, we have to be sure it will actually work, in one fell move," Amycus Carrow seemed to think for a moment before a sinister grin worked its way across his features. "Perhaps we could introduce them to a swarm of Dementors? It would certainly be quite the show to see which side might win."

"No," Severus Snape said immediately but calmly as the various parents around the table started swelling with rising anger at the mere idea. "Our hold on the Ministry may be strong, but it's not infallible just yet. Unleashing a swarm of Dementors on the Calamities would raise a lot of uncomfortable questions among the people that we are still vulnerable towards answering 'truthfully'. To say nothing of the fact that we'd also be endangering the children at the same time."

"Only four of the little blighters, not like the rest really matter," Bellatrix pointed out with a childish grin and slightly glazed gleam in her eye.

"One of those four happens to be my son, and your nephew," Lucius spoke coldly, snapping Bellatrix from her no doubt murderous fantasy. "I hope you aren't so bloodthirsty that you would imperil him in such a way."

Blinking owlishly, she cocked her head towards her brother-in-law. "I know that. I also know that he's been surrounded by mudbloods and blood-traitors all summer. Not only that, it would also seem that he's actually stuck with it, while just about every other one has been drummed out and memory wiped. But not of the reason they were wiped. They refused to carter to Potter's rhetoric. Who knows if my 'poor nephew' is even mine anymore? No, no, no, a raid would be perfect. In the heat of spellfire and blood, we can see where he and the other three's real loyalties lie," she finished sweetly, beginning to giggle as the mad fantasy once more began to play in her mind.

Silence reigned around the rest of the room however as the madwoman raised a point none wanted to think about. Upon the return of most of their children, the reason for their expulsions were almost uniformly the same. They had disobeyed one of the Calamities' rules about 'respect'. It had taken a bit to work out, but most of them had arrived at the same conclusions. The pair were indoctrinating their students and trying to make blood-traitors of them all! As disturbing as this likelihood was, none of the Death Eaters with children formerly enrolled had spoken up about it in a public setting. There were a variety of reasons why they hadn't, but the most common were fear and understanding. The fear of this possibility being true and the understanding of what the inevitable consequences would entail. As well as the understanding of the anguish that the parents of the remaining children would endure. Thus, as not having any children or even familial love or loyalty herself, none of the gathered parents were at all surprised that Bellatrix had been the one to finally point it out.

Despite himself, Voldemort couldn't help breaking his thus-far-neutral expression at the thought. His own 'son' was disobedient, arrogant, and proud at the best of times. What kind of man would he'd have become once the summer was over and he returned back into the fold? If the random Pureblood kids' growths were anything to go by, as well as his son possessing nearly the same limitless potential in magic that he himself wielded… Voldemort feared that he'd be contending with not a rival but a truly superior Dark Lord in terms of raw power. The only saving grace he presently still had against Lord Delamort was his vast experience and plethora of unorthodox, rare, or lost magic spells he'd learned.

Even without his Legilimency, Voldemort could've read the room's atmosphere. The tension, the fear, the wavering resolves, the confusion, the need to be consoled, the need for direction. This was his moment, he realized. He needed to step up and put his foot down now. They had broached a subject that none of them, even himself, really wanted to touch on. And, he feared, if he didn't make his opinion on the matter known now, they might start secretly allying and rebelling against his rule for fear of not just themselves, but the children. Yes, there were only four of them left, but fear knew no limits. And they also knew just how volatile and unpredictable he could be when in a frothing rage. It wouldn't have been a stretch for them (or even himself) to make the jump from targeting just the four to targeting all of them who'd participated, erased memories or not.

Thus, with a slight clenching of his jaw and calming his nerves as his mind raced, Voldemort set his hands upon the tabletop and slowly stood to his feet. The attentions of the room instantly shifted to him as he stood above them, towering over them in height as a slightly dramatic representation of his status over them. Yes, he knew exactly what he needed to say at this moment. He opened his mouth to speak—

KRSSHHHH! Whmmf!

Faster than anyone in the room could process, a speeding object burst through the windows at the far end of the room. The object was traveling so fast that when it came a screeching halt just in front of Voldemort's face, the wind pressure it kicked up had knocked everyone backwards into their seats. Voldemort himself was sent toppling backwards into his thronelike chair and was nearly sent to the floor as the chair rocked back on its hindlegs threateningly. Thankfully, the wind pressure quickly died down as he was thrown forward, slamming almost comically face-first into the tabletop.

Around him, the Death Eaters were quickly shooting to their feet, wands drawn. Some were scanning the walls and windows for the surprise attack that they thought was happening. Some were mere moment's away from sending a multitude of deadly curses and hexes at the original thing that had caused the commotion. And a few others were just remaining seated in their chairs, staring in dumbfounded fright everywhere, no doubt ready to flee at the first sign of danger.

In the moments of chaos that immediately followed this interruption and after he'd sat back up in his throne, Voldemort was finally able to glimpse the object in question. Not a hard feat considering that it had stopped mere centimeters from where his face had been moments earlier. It was a brick, a floating bright red brick…with writing of some sort scratched into it. It floated benignly in front of his face as if it had not just entered the building at pretty much supersonic speeds after clearly bypassing all of the wards before it had even approached the window. If not for whatever kind of spells were embedded in it, it would have just been a mere brick that would have reduced his physical body into a lifeless blood stain covering the chair and wall behind him and reverting him back to being nothing but a parasitic spirit again!

A parasitic spirit that he could only really count on Bellatrix to go out of her way to help. Because, of course, that nutter would jump at the chance to play host to him. Worst of all, he would actually have to do it! Because if he didn't, Lord Delamort would jump at the chance to quickly step in and supplicate him. He knew this because it's what he himself would've done if in the same position! And only Lucius and Pettigrew knew his son existed at all. If the brat played his cards right, he could march in completely unmasked, youthful and human-looking, and claim that his second death had only freed him from those grotesque inhuman features from before. Worse, with the training the Calamities had put him through, he could have damn well sold the myth for all it was worth.

A mere FUCKING BRICK had almost undone EVERYTHING he had worked for!

Unconsciously, the Dark Lord found his eyes drawn to the words scratched onto the brick, as if hoping that, somehow, they could explain why he had almost just died again. Instead of explaining anything, the first few words merely shocked him dumb. So unthinkable were the words carved neatly in tiny little letters at the top of the brick face was a single sentence that really had no earthly right being written down in any way, shape, or form. Yet, as if mocking him with a near-death experience wasn't enough, there sat the unthinkable.

'To Mr. Thomas M. Riddle Jr.'

Voldemort stared at that sentence for what was probably no more than three seconds. It was the three seconds he needed to know that he needed to DESTROY the brick immediately. Nothing else needed to be read, it was evidence of something only a select few should know! Despite that the rest of the words might explain more, that was all he really needed to know to start drawing his wand. Yet before the spell could even begin to form in his mind, the brick started to…do…something…

It shifted and folded in a way he didn't think possible. But when it was finished, he was left with a floating mouth made of earthly clay that then started…yelling. No, maybe 'yelling' is not the correct word for what the apparently brick-come-Howler was actually doing. 'Intoning with the allmighty force of the earth itself' seemed a far closer analogy, as much as Voldemort hated to admit it.

"To Mr. Thomas M. Riddle Jr.," the howler intoned deeply in a voice reminiscent of what almost sounded like the long dead James Potter. In an instant of absolute clarity, Voldemort suddenly understood everything that was happening. His fated foe, it would seem, was the one behind this…display.

"You are regrettably invited to witness your son's graduation and fulfillment of his contracted training in the Way of the Chi-Adept by Mr. Harry Potter and Mr. Dudley Dursley. This ceremony is to be held at the Sleeping Dragons Dojo on the 25th of August, Year 2015 A.D. at approximately 9:30am. Please feel free to arrive at the attached address no less than 1 minute after start of the ceremony with this invitation and you will be considered 'unavailable' and thus not permitted to attend.

After the graduation ceremony, we must also state that your son, Mr. Thomas M. Riddle III, has already decided to participate in the Dragon Festival. A competition that he has volunteered to enter. The purpose of this Festival is to allow him the chance to display everything he's proudly learned under our tutelage in a series of game events meant to demonstrate to your minions his incredible combat prowess and ability. As well as giving him the chance to join his fellow disciples in determining who among them is the best of their generation. The Festival is scheduled to occur from 10:00am to approximately 3:30pm.

Feel free to ignore this invitation.

Mr. Harry James Potter
Mr. Dudley Edward Dursley

PS: Your defense wards are absolute shit! That could've been your face just now! Ta-ta!

Its message delivered, the clay mouth rapidly shifted back into original blocky shape and fell limply to the table. The impact of the brick hitting the wood directly in front of Voldemort was the only sound in the room for several loooong and incredibly tense moments. The Death Eaters seemed frozen in place, staring at their Lord with a myriad of expressions on their faces. The most common expression was confusion. But one person in particular, Bellatrix, had a look of deepening fury and anger but which didn't seem to be directed at the Dark Lord.

Fury writhing just millimeters beneath the surface, Voldemort stiffly lifted his wand and disintegrated the accursed brick with one swift wave. That action, however small it might've been, was the trigger that caused the Death Eaters to finally start glancing among themselves in silence. The silence began to hang heavy over the group, wondering what was going to happen next. Until, finally, the silence was inevitably broken.

"…S-Son?"

No one would ever quite know for sure who it was that uttered that quiet word. But the effect that single word had on the Dark Lord was profound indeed. Pitching his head back, eyes practically shining a brilliant red light of pure fury and rage, a terrible, shrill scream erupted from Voldemort's throat.

"GRRRRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

The scream and the massive flex of pure, unrefined, and rage-boosted magical power so was extreme that it shattered all of the glass and windows of the manor within an instant. The scream was loud and terrible that it could be heard for miles around.

Shimazu Clan Compound, Japan

Shimazu Tamahisa did not often get the chance to really revel in the fires his clan regularly set on his behalf. This was mostly due to the fact that most of those fires were not actually anything he'd ever requested. So, instead of basking in the chaos like a typical Shimazu, he had to be responsible and actually put the fires out. Such was his lot in life as the head of a clan of wild dragons. He had to remain the bastion of sanity and serenity, the eye at the center of the firestorm his clansmen were upon the world. The one Shimazu who does not test his horns against the rocks.

Because he actually needed his brain cells for those moments when he had to try and explain why one of his clansmen was found sleeping off a hangover in the lion enclosure of the zoo…and why were the lions also drunk? He had to regularly try and punish his family for starting back alley fight clubs that were maybe a little soft on their use of wards to repel the ningen… They were at least smart enough to confiscate all cellphones and cameras! That counted for something…right? Worst of all, he couldn't actually compliment anyone on jobs well done when they outright humiliated the rest of the clans by gatecrashing at parties, roughing up other clan heirs, or setting fire to the Takeda garden for the umpteenth time. He really wanted to compliment young Sanosuke on his use of static fire to cover the actual fire so that the cherry tree was perpetually in flames forever, and thus forcing the Takeda to close the park and wipe it from ningen existence.

Being clan head sucked!

He couldn't wait for one of his brats to be ready to take over so he could retire and go back to being another background headache in the sea of inanity that was his family. Much like his father and grandfather were doing for him…and his great-grandmother had recently absconded with a boy band for 'weekend getaway'…

He really wanted to go back to being able to do crazy, irresponsible things again. But, no, he actually had to be the strongest and smartest out of his entire generation and had actually kept a hold of the Namikiri after his father passed it down to him. A cursed thing, bearing all that weight of responsibility, shackling him to a role of responsibility until someone else could actually show they were ready to take the reins from him and do things better than he could.

Which right now was actually almost as much of a problem as being clan head. He wanted to say that he had good kids. Strong kids, that could definitely take the reins from him when the time was right. Hell, Noriko seemed like she was born for the job. She had always been strangely rational for a Shimazu. Not only that but the girl was talented, dedicated, and almost blessed when it came to the arts of being the head of the Clan. Pity that she was second born and that her appointment had to cost her older brother his place.

Tadahisa, Tamahisa's first born, was like looking in a mirror. He was rash and headstrong, but oh-so-talented. So talented, in fact, that he had started to plateau at far too young an age. So overwhelmingly strong from the offset that none in his generation even dared to challenge him after a time. Which meant none helped to sharpen his fangs, or toughen his scales. His son's claws had been growing dull and his fire cold. Yet his pride and ego only swelled all the higher. So, Tamahisa hadn't been surprised when his daughter, his second born, had knocked his eldest on his ass so thoroughly.

The same thing had happened to him. His own little brother had knocked him off his high horse and briefly dethroned him as heir. But he had recovered and taken Namikiri back. Hell, when he had won the blade back, it hadn't even been the point of the fight he'd had with his brother. Nor had it been the point of the fight Shinji had picked with him that first time. Just as the fight when Noriko had won the Namikiri from Tadahisa had not actually been about winning the Namikiri. Each fight had been about two dragons of the same clutch trying to see who could fly the highest, burn the hottest, and pull the best stunts.

Shame that Tadahisa couldn't actually seem to see that.

His eldest had taken the loss deeply, and even as he threw himself into training, he removed himself. He refused the company of his clansmen, dedicating himself to a single-minded purpose of self-refinement. So singlemindedly had he driven himself these past four years that Tamahisa didn't know what would happen if he lost again.

His eldest had seemingly dedicated his everything into winning back Namikiri, not because he wanted to reach new heights, but because he wanted the blade itself back. Defining himself by being what being the wielder of the Namikiri meant. To wield the blade was the be the heir. To be the heir was to be the strongest dragon of the generation. This single-minded obsession Tadahisa had with being the strongest left his father wondering one question.

What would he do if it turned out he wasn't? What if, after all this time, he still couldn't best his sister?

When Tamahisa had fought Shinji the second time, when he had re-earned the Namikiri, he had been prepared to accept another loss. Just as much as he had sought victory, he had been prepared to taste defeat at his brother's hands. It was why he still got along with Shinji, and why the fool got dragged into helping him run the clan. But Tadahisa was different.

If Noriko was still stronger than him…it might break him.

Which is why he was rightfully concerned right now. Because he was fairly certain the young man in front of him should not have been in front of him. And to make matter worse, the boy stood before him within his own personal study within the heart of the clan compound, just a few short paces from the doorway. The reason he had better not have been standing there was quite simple. If the black haired and green-eyed gaijin of a dragon actually was in front of him, that meant that somehow or another Noriko was supposed to be hot on his heels. And he really needed to figure out a way to make his eldest son's impending eruption Future Tamahisa's problem. Because he already had both the members of the Takeda clan hissing at him about the fires still raging in their cherry blossom park, and the emperor was expecting him to keep a shorter leash on his clansmen while he negotiated some deal with the ningen.

Not to mention that the ICW was making a bigger stink than normal about something over in their little corner of the world. But fuck those stick-waving twits and whatever problem they had enforcing their own edicts of the bloody Statue of Secrecy. It's not like he agreed to the bloody secret keeping. In truth, he quite wished the ningen could see the now-eternally burning Takeda cherry blossom garden! So, if a pair of nutters were wrecking their day, then more power to the nutters, in his opinion.

"So, you must be Shimazu Tamahisa-dono. I come bearing letters!" the smiling Ryuchi greeted him as he failed to disappear like a proper illusion or mirage should.

"My daughter found you then," Tamahisa ignored the rambling of empty air as he took in the young dragon's form. He could feel the heat of the boy's flame, even as the youngling just stood there passively, blinking at him in confusion. Such a powerful fire! And to be felt so easily, even if only from such a short distance, really exemplified just why this boy was of such interest to him and the clan elders.

"Yeah, she found me alright and—" the Ryuchi began.

"And she thrashed you or you thrashed her…" Tamahisa finished for him, already knowing that was the case. He was rewarded for his assumption by the blink of surprise from the boy. "Hmm, either way, it doesn't matter. You're here now. So, I take it that means so is she. Good. The wedding will be in three years."

"Um…what?"

"The wedding will be in three years," Tamahisa repeated, nodding as the Celtic Drake blinked at him in confusion

"What…wedding?" the youth asked in a distant and confused tone, as if Noriko had not already tied him around her finger.

"Your wedding," he explained to the obviously dull outsider.

"I'm getting married? Wait, stop…! This is not why I am here." His future son-in-law quickly shook his head as he held his arms up asking for a quick bit of time

"If you're not here to ask for my daughter's hand in marriage, then why are you here? What reason could one Ryuchi have to be so deep in another's territory?" Tamahisa spoke, hints of a threat beginning to lace his voice as he stared down the young dragon in a different light.

"Ah, as I said, Shimazu-dono, I come bearing letters. One being a letter of invitation. Your daughter and your nephews have finished up their training and are going to be taking part in a sort of school tournament, meant to display just what new heights they've reached. I'd normally have just sent this by owls but, well… Your family actually has a lot of invitations because of just how many of your clansmen actually managed to impress us with their moxy."

"What did they set on fire?" Tamahisa asked bluntly, years of experience with his family helped already know that such a thing wasn't just highly likely to happen but expected. If they didn't try to burn something down (whether accidentally or intentionally), then something was very, very wrong.

"My dojo, and my cousin's first apprentice," the boy answered with the same blunt tone. Clearly, he shared in Tamahisa's experiences and headaches in some regard.

"Ha!" Tamahisa allowed himself the slight bark of amusement. Yes, the young man would fit in with his clan nicely. Or Noriko would fit in with his, it would depend on which of his children still held the blade when they were ready. Still, the Gaijin was here and, from what he could deduce, it was merely to extend an invitation.

Just as the whelp respected the moxy it took to set his dojo on fire, Tamahisa respected the whelp for breaking into his study. So, with a slight gesture he allowed the younger man to place the stack of letters on his desk, eight in total meaning that Noriko and her entire retinue were safe, even Kazuma. He allowed himself a brief moment of relief before focusing on the one bearing the letters.

"You have questions on your face." he stated as the younger man stared after him, even after placing the letters on the table.

"I guess I do, but first how much do you know aside from the finicky bits? That's the most important question and, depending on your answers, it might save both of us a lot of time," the Gaijin said with a shrug before he slumped against a wall waiting for him to answer.

"Hmm, my daughter did not mention setting fire to your dojo in her letters, though I am not surprised. You having a place to settle down in, Potter-san, would be most disheartening." He supplied as he stared the youth in the eye and acknowledged the foreign dragon slightly. He would still not call him by name in his head. The whelp had to earn that right.

"Dragons don't like to abandon their nest, I know. I had a damn fit the first time my uncle moved us." The younger dragon smiled wistfully in remembrance, even as he straightened up under Tamahisa's scrutinizing gaze.

"Indeed. I also know of your exploits at large across the world, though not all the full details as it is largely an issue for the ICW. In addition to that, I have some inclination of the training camp you enrolled my family in. Though not as to why it has sent the entirety of the continent into an utter tizzy, aside from your flagrant disregard of their Statue of Secrecy. And while my daughter has kept it out of her letters, my son Kazuma tells me you do not have the Ketsueki Shōten. So whatever questions you have left to ask knowing that, go ahead and ask. But know that once you have finished, I will have questions of my own." He finished explaining.

The green eyed youth smiled and then nodded, before giving him a long look. "Well then, that clears things up nicely, 'cept one thing I just kinda wanna know. What kind of person sends an eleven-year-old girl on transcontinental quest to find one guy out of literal billions, on the off chance that I might have something you guys might want?"

Tamahisa took a long look at the Dragon from a far land, weighing him and seeing if he was worth just being given that answer. It had a great deal to do with the family, with his eldest son's pride, his daughter's youth, and a father's desire to allow for the best in both. All that paired with the simple clan politics that was the state of the clans. How to explain that even without the potion onhand, he was really the best choice he had for his daughter, gaijin and all. He was the most powerful dragon he had ever heard of, and the clan's need of the strength he possessed.

But despite all of that, he was still Gaijin. Unless he wasn't.

"That is the sort of question that I would answer if you actually were here about my daughter's hand in marriage," Tamahisa allowed with a small cruel smile, enjoying how it made the younger man squirm. Yes, his future son-in-law would amuse him nicely. "But as you are here merely as her sensei at this time, suffice it to say her quest was a learning experience. That is all you are entitle to know right now" he answered carefully.

"Hmm…" the dragon hummed contemplatively, eyeing up Tamahisa with a surprisingly calculative stare. But after a moment, he just shrugged and stepped back. "Fair enough, I suppose."

"Indeed. These letters then. What are they? Not more letters from my clansmen and children, I assume. Those have been brought by owls. So, why then do you deliver these letters by hand?" Tamahisa questioned as he eyed the younger drake up in turn.

The whelp had sized him up, only fair that he got to do the same. What he saw was either arrogance or confidence. The child was full of openings, unconcerned that he was in the middle of a nest of dragons. But then again he had somehow gotten here completely undetected somehow. It was why he assumed his daughter was with him. How else could he have gotten in so quietly unless he was let in? Only now did it begin to occur to him that the young man before him might just be skilled enough to actually pose a real and serious threat to him.

This made him smile. His daughter had found a good one!

"As I said, there are a lot of Shimazu that would end up attending if we simply followed the same pattern we have been with everyone else." His future son-in-law continued. "You guys would outnumber everyone else. That might set a bad precedent with the other families."

"Other…families?" Tamahisa repeated slowly, a sudden feeling of ominous foreboding descending upon him.

"That's right," Harry answered steadily. "The families of our other disciples. Nearly all of them were just getting their own parents invited to the event we're going to be hosting. Just two people each. But for the Shimazu, you guys would outnumber the others simply because you had so many kids participating in our training. If we invited all of your clan's kids' parents along, that might be construed as blatant favoritism for the Shimazu. And I hear that the Takeda's would especially take offense to that possibility. We don't wanna start any…aggressive arguments for what's supposed to be a celebration, after all."

"…What?" was all that Tamahisa could utter, his mind racing at the implications he'd just been given. "You invited…the other clans too?"

"Yeah, kinda had to," Harry said, sounding a tad bit sheepish as he rubbed the back of his head nervously. "I love Japan. And ever since I learned about the magical side of the world, I've been super eager to explore your half of it. But because I'm a gaijin, I was never really allowed in. You know how that goes. So, we figured that if we could bribe you big clans with a tasty enough carrot, you might let us in and…play around for a little bit?"

Tamahisa stared long and hard at the boy as he said that. If nothing else, he had to give the boy credit being so blunt and upfront about his intentions like that. Still, his mind was racing as he tried to come to grips with the other clans' silence. He knew that Potter was a person of interest to all the Clans. It was why he hadn't sat on the information of his existence after his daughter first encountered him. But for the other clans to just keep the knowledge of this training camp under wraps? It was almost an insult.

The Shimazu were one of the Great Clans with dozens of families under their domain. More than that, they were the ones who had actually found the boy! Even with the trouble his family reveled in, to conceal such information was risky. Why wouldn't they have mentioned anything about this before? Sure, the other clans weren't necessarily on any particularly good terms with the Shimazu. He'd easily be the first to admit that this particular clan of dragons were quite wild and rowdy, especially when compared to their more sedate and calculative counterparts in the Date clan. But that didn't mean that they were on bad terms with the other clans either! Well, excluding the Takeda clan, but fuck them!

After pondering these minor mysteries for a moment, Tamahisa forcefully calmed himself and took a deep breath. Releasing it slowly, with that exhalation went his tension and trepidation. Opening his eyes, he gave the Celtic Dragon a cool but understanding stare. "Very well. I understand your reasoning. Rest assured that at the very least, you will have no quarrels from the Shimazu clan…within reason. We'll happily give you a tour of Wizarding Japan on your next extended visit. Expect to see me and my wife, Reiko-san, at this 'tournament' you mentioned."

Harry shot the elder dragon a happy grin as he reached for the door, sliding it open slowly. After giving Tamahisa a small but respectful bow, he turned and quite literally vanished out of the room and down the hall in a burst of speed too great for Tamahisa to track.

'What an interesting young man you've caught for yourself, Noriko-chan,' Tamahisa thought with a slight grin before turning his attention to the letters that were on his desk.

Fiori75's Note: Wait, we're still writing this? Huh, neat!

Tellemicus's Note: Sorry for the long, long, LONG delay. I realize that like 95% of this chapter is exposition, but there was a lot of info and backstory that we wanted to tell. And a good chunk of that backstory was actually the reason why this took so long in getting posted. As you can probably guess, my muse had seriously died down for a while. This was due to Fiori75 and I focusing too much on the training of the various disciples. We had originally intended to go into an entire arc focusing on the growths, conflicts, revelations, and problems that the different characters suffered through while under the Twin Calamities 'tender care'. As you can clearly see, that didn't work out quite so well. But, on the plus side, now that we've essentially scrapped that arc, maybe we'll be able to continue writing this story again more consistently?

Now, I'm sure that many of you have some questions about some things that happened in this chapter. Let me answer possibly the biggest question you have right now: HARRY AND DUDLEY DON'T KNOW WHO THOMAS MARVOLO RIDDLE JR. REALLY IS. They knew that he's Tom III's father, they know that he's a bad man from seeing how he'd apparently raised Tom, and they know guys like him often tend to style themselves as Dark Lords and have a horde of minions around them (since they've run into several of them in the last few years already). But they don't know that old Tommy Jr. is actually Voldemort, the same bastard who'd killed Harry's parents and caused so much death and destruction since his conception. Rest assured, if they actually knew who he was, Voldemort would be getting a very firsthand experience as to WHY they are called the 'Twin Calamities' in the Wizarding World as a whole.

Regardless, I truly do hope that you guys enjoyed this chapter. Also, here's a small Omake that Fiori75 had suggested to me and I'd enjoyed it so much that I just HAD to include it in some form or fashion!

OMAKE #01

Fury writhing just millimeters beneath the surface, Voldemort stiffly lifted his wand and disintegrated the brick with one swift wave. That action, however small it might've been, was the trigger that caused the Death Eaters to finally start glancing among themselves in silence. The silence began to hang heavy over the group, wondering what was going to happen next. Until, finally, the silence was inevitably broken.

"…Son?"

No one would ever quite know for sure who it was that uttered that quiet word. But the effect that single word had on the Dark Lord was profound indeed. Pitching his head back, eyes practically shining a brilliant red light of pure fury and rage, a terrible, shrill scream erupted from Voldemort's throat.

"GRRRRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

The scream and the massive flex of pure, unrefined, and rage-boosted magical power so was extreme that it shattered all of the glass and windows of the manor within an instant. The scream was loud and terrible that it could be heard for miles around.

-o-

Hogwarts

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

"What's that noise?" a certain Headmaster asked to himself as he glanced out the window of his office, looking up from the documents he'd been reading.

-o-

Sleeping Dragons Training Camp, Norway

"AAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

"Ooooh, sounds like Daddy's pissed!" Dudley cooed, a wicked grin spreading across his face.

"See, I told you it would've worked!" Harry gloated, a smirk of satisfaction on his face.

"It was never a question of 'if' it would've worked," Tom said from where he was seated, having been meditating fiercely until just now. Opening one eye, he sent the shameless duo a deadpan stare as he finished. "Only 'when'."

-o-

August 24, 2035
Unknown Location

"—just wish I could've met him!" a beautiful young woman was saying, looking up at her uncle with wishful eyes.

"Trust me, Delphi," the man said with a firm voice. "You're lucky you haven't! He was not a good man."

"But, Uncle—"

"HHHHHHHHHH!"

"Wh-What was that?!" the young woman gasped as she looked around for the source of the unexpected sound.

"Pure rage echoing across time," her uncle said, looking off into the distance, almost as though he could see where the noise was coming from. "…I'd forgotten how melodramatic he could get at times."