Disclaimer: I own nothing except for Anton (as usual), as well as the slew of Royal children that you'll soon be meeting.

Author's Note: Alright, in 'Unexpected', I used two spellings for the word magic, one to symbolize dark and one to symbolize light. But since the Royals now rule and their word is law, all magic is accepted, and therefore, I will only use one spelling for it. Dark magic and light magic are still mostly separate forces, of course, but since the dark is no longer shunned…(smirks) There's no need for an added 'k' anymore.

Author's Admission of Defeat: Well, I hope you're all happy! (pouts) I finally cracked under the pressure and started a freakin' sequel to the freakin' age-long monstrosity that sucked three months of my life away. (sighs) I reach new levels of pathetic-ness as each day goes by. But I did quit the other halfway through, because this second part has been a long time in the planning. I originally intended for it to be part of the first, but I don't even want to think of how long that would have made that story. So I quit, because it was finishing enough there, or so I thought. But now the urge to write the rest has become irresistible, even though I was supposed to start an original novel. Damn it. Damn it all. Well, here you go, another chunk of my very heart and soul, drug up and ripped out of my core, injecting itself through my fingers into this keyboard.

And yes, I'm perfectly aware that I'm being melodramatic. I'm also aware that if you lovely people don't review, I'll write the rest, kill myself before posting any of it, and laugh heartily at you all from Hell. So there. (sticks out tongue and continues sulking)

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Prologue:

November 2018

(Four Years and Ten Months since the End of 'Unexpected'; Twenty Years and Nine Months since the Fall of Voldemort and the Destruction of Dagda.)

It started, for them, on a gray day filled with clouds, as though the sky knew what was about to happen.

It had been, up until dinner, a rather unremarkable day altogether. Pansy had risen, shagged the shit out of her husband, and gone to see Virginia and Padma, taking her two youngest daughters with her. They enjoyed playing with the other two women's children, Padma having used Virginia's delightful spell and given birth to twins mere months after the Queen herself, who had also had a daughter a year after the Crown Princes, both of whom had only just turned four on All Hallow's Eve. It was a room full of small mischief-makers, and magic was certainly a blessing in keeping them occupied and restrained to a certain area.

The Kings, along with Pansy's beloved and Fred and George, had only just returned from Paris, where they'd been petitioned to visit so that the muggles could once again ask for their aid in the fighting. But what did they care about a stupid muggle war? It had started three years ago, springing up from the minor wars in the Middle East and spreading until Africa had been pulled into it, then India and China, Russia and Japan, Mexico and South America…And then, a year after its start, the bombings of London and Houston had finally drug in the two central powers, Europe and the United States. A new World War had broken out among them.

And all of it over stupid, sticky, useless black tar.

The mages found it more than a bit baffling. The muggles would truly fight and kill each other, no, slaughter each other, over something that the land gave freely? The wizarding world watched it all with something like stupefied disbelief, safe behind Royal wards. They watched as bombs decimated thousands upon thousands, as huge battles ranged over all the different lands, never ceasing, as the WWN showed recording after recording of sobbing mothers and dead children, of tortured men and broken leaders. The wizards had fought against corruption and filth; they fought for it. It was sickening and disturbing, and not just to the purebloods.

No, the halfbloods and mudbloods turned their backs on them in disgust, as well.

The only thing that saved the land was magic, and when the war had first started getting truly horrible, the Royals had banded together and sent out a web of dark, searching energy, energy that had destroyed the muggles' cursed nuclear warheads. They would not take farther action in their affairs, but they wouldn't let them obliterate all of their hard work, either. Enough of the land was being torn apart by the smaller bombs and the endless fighting; much more would stretch their magic too thin to heal it quickly enough. The leaders of countries that possessed such missiles had protested and pleaded, but the High Royals' decision had been final.

They would wait out the muggles and their moronic war, and if they drove themselves to extinction, then so be it. But they could not ruin the land beyond repair. The muggles did not threaten the Court over it, they knew better by then, and they desperately wanted an alliance. But Draco and Blaise would hear nothing of such foolishness, and Virginia and Padma observed it all with cold, judging eyes. The four of them watched women and children die by the millions, they watched power-hungry men play the world like a badly organized game of chess, and they waited. And their liegeman waited with them, ready to fight or flee at their command.

Although the latter was highly unlikely to ever happen.

Not that the muggles could get within their shields in the first place. And even if they could, they would die in seconds. They were magicless and therefore almost completely defenseless in a mage's eyes, like a newborn sheep among wolves. And those wolves peered out of invisible wards at the carnage right outside day-by-day, shaking their heads and pondering what barbaric beasts the muggles were. Pansy was one of the ones for assembling an army and wiping them off the face of the earth altogether, and that opinion was slowly becoming ever more popular as the mudbloods adopted pure ways, as they realized why they'd always been so looked down upon.

Suddenly, dark magic wasn't nearly so evil as the raging death all around them.

No, it only helped open even more eyes then the return of the Sovereigns had, and the slowly growing acceptance strengthened and grew until classes teaching the Dark Arts and not just how to fight them had even been added to Hogwarts itself. Some still disagreed with such magic, of course, but the number dwindled daily since even the light gods spoke not a word of ill will about it. And the Royals…nearly every mage alive adored them; it was in their very blood to do so. And those Royals kept cautious eyes on their borders, cautious, caustic eyes, waiting for the muggles to try and attack a known wizarding settlement or city.

But they didn't, their fear too great.

So while they maimed and butchered and mutilated each other, the majority of mages continued on as though nothing was happening outside their pretty, perfect world. The nobles attended functions and galas, balls and celebrations, they danced and laughed and ruled their lands. The rest went to work, came home and ate with their families, and went to bed knowing that they were safe, that they were being watched over by Royals and gods alike. Their war was over, scattered on the wind as Voldemort's ashes had been, and they didn't fancy another, especially one that didn't concern them. They certainly didn't give a shit about oil or old muggle grudges.

So it was no wonder that that day's tragedy came as a complete surprise.

She got ready for dinner as she did most nights, rich fabric hugging her forever-youthful frame and jewels flashing from her fingers, throat and hair. Being a sworn-sister of the High Royals and therefore a Princess of the Realm, a circlet of black opal sat upon her brow, and the ring of the Royal family flashed on one hand by her wedding band, the ring of elements on the other next to her signet ring. At least eleven knives stayed on her person at all times, and she refused the slippers of the Court for boots, which were much easier to fight in. And though she was a Royal and had her own guards, her first duty was the safety of the High Royals.

So she had gone to dinner, her children with her, and Anton had already been at Blaise's side, discussing the plans for the new wing being built onto the Palace at Caliga. Sitting by Melody, they talked of nothing too important throughout the first course, the soft, haunting strands of the musicians' prowess a lulling backdrop as they sipped their wine and constantly kept one eye on the children, who sat at the table next to them, immersed in some complicated game involving a Hand of Glory and bartered bags of pixie dust. It wasn't until the next course was laid out on the table that her Mark tingled and the High Royals and Padma stiffened.

Something had gone horribly, horribly wrong.

Draco and Blaise stared straight ahead, their eyes glazed and unseeing, divine fury building and turning their irises a bloody crimson. Claws dug straight through the arms of their Thrones, which truly should have been much more difficult even for them, and several things in the Hall exploded. Virginia and Padma looked shocked and ill, diamond-like tears that were tinged purple with their blood streaming slowly down their cheeks as their eyes bled to a solid black speckled with a hundred enraged stars, and all four stood abruptly. Then, without so much as a glance or a word at their liegemen, they were gone, riding the ether hard and fast.

The Family Dining Hall stayed utterly stunned and silent for a moment, before the twins, Pansy and Anton bit out orders to the others to stay and watch the children before drawing on the power of their rings and following the Elementals. Down, down, down to the earth and then to the east, far to the east until they were in that cursed, barren land of scorching heat and horizon-filling deserts. And…then they were on the outskirts of a war camp, hundreds of dirty tents stretching on for over two miles, and it was there they found those they sought. They'd gotten cloaks from somewhere, and none were moving so much as a single muscle, having abandoned even breathing.

The Chosen of Cocidius and the Dark Lady stood in a line, their hoods pulled low over their faces as they gazed up at that which held their unwavering attention. The emotions saturating the hot, heavy air all around them were staggering, nearly forcing their bonded to their knees, but it was understandable. Because the horror before them was nothing less than a complete calamity. Nauseous, infuriated and filled to bursting with sorrow, Pansy sagged against Anton, unable, for a moment, to believe her eyes. The muggles had gone too far this time, much, much too far, and it stirred centuries-old resentment and bitterness into an inferno.

Because no less than seventy mages hung crucified and burnt before them.

She had no idea when she'd started softly sobbing, no idea when she'd fallen to her knees and clutched at gritty sand still warm from the sun's heat, no idea how long she stayed like that, her world blurring and fogging and dimming. Because memories, memories buried in her blood, in her very cells and soul, suddenly overwhelmed her. She could feel her skin melting off, could feel her plasma boiling and her brain frying, could taste the soot and ash and hate on her tongue, and she felt like screaming, but she couldn't. She felt the panic and desolation of the Burning Days, remembered them, and image after horrific image paraded in front of her glassy eyes.

Countless women and men had been tortured, beaten, raped and burnt, and out of every few dozen, a true mage was caught. All in the name of God, the One God as he called Himself, all in the name of Good and Light and Righteousness. His priests taught that any with 'magic' were evil, sons and daughters of the Devil Himself, and that they were to be killed without remorse. And they were. Any who were suspected and captured, mage or muggle, all met the same fate. A cruel death, and most times at the stake. And for what? Their God? Half the fucking priests didn't even believe, not really, but they enjoyed their power too much.

And how did they catch the true mages? Well, take away a wizard's wand…

Most couldn't hold off flames or Apparate without one, and over the long years, their world fell to jagged pieces around them. Their Sovereigns were no more, their gods had forsaken them, and more than a few broke from the old ways. In a desperate effort to repopulate, the interbreeding with muggles had truly begun, and those who stayed pure looked on in revulsion and utter disbelief as their people whored themselves out to the enemy. Their deep-seated dislike muggle blood began to fester into loathing, undeniable, unstoppable loathing, their suspicions confirmed. It was of the utmost importance to keep the lines free from such a taint.

And the others, the Betrayers and Abandoners, couldn't seem to understand. They couldn't see that they were slowly but surely damning their people, they couldn't see that the purebloods had been right all along in their caution and mistrust. They were better, better than the two-legged animals that called themselves human and intelligent, and they would never, ever forget or forgive the wrongs committed against their people during that grisly, gruesome time period. From those days forward, mudbloods and halfbloods were seen as little more than diseased trash to the majority of the purebloods, and would be forevermore.

Her ancestors hissed inside her head. 'There must not be another Age of Purging Flame.'

No. No. Not ever again. Her eyes racing over the still, suspended corpses before them, she soaked in every detail so that there was no hope of her ever forgetting the smell of their charred flesh or the way that their ashy skin flaked off in the rare breeze. No way to forget those shriveled, unrecognizable faces or the small tongues of fire still licking at their feet. She would recall it even more vividly than the brutal memories for the rest of her days, branded permantly into her brain, behind her eyelids. These were people that she was supposed to protect, all but twelve as pure as could be, and someone, someone was going to pay dearly.

And there, salt in the wound, were yard-tall words scrawled in mage blood on the sand.

'Thou Shalt Not Suffer A Witch To Live.'

Virginia howled, a sound filled with Queenly rage and divine retribution, and it rose goosebumps along their skin as it echoed over the dunes in ghostly waves. Motion exploded within the camp, guards coming to attention and others freezing in their preparations for sleep, their hearts thrumming in instinctual fright, and Pansy's mind cleared of grief, old and new. She glanced at the High Royals, met Draco's eyes, and knew that every person in the camp was about to die. A smile of satisfaction spread across her face, though most would probably call it a fierce grimace, her fangs flashing in the moonlight and her lips twisting in macabre mirth.

"Foolish fucking cretins." Blaise's voice slithered out into the night, winding around every tent and spirit, silencing the muggles' scampering and startled shouts. "We warned you, time and time again, and yet still you resurrect the bad blood between us."

"But no more." Draco hissed as the Elementals began stalking slowly forward, their every movement intent and predatory, the cold rage of Royalty thick around them. "No more will our people suffer for your false pride and your heathen god."

"We thought that you had learned." Padma spat venomously, her eyes for once anything but serene, while the air around the four of them grew thick and suffocating, the ground beginning to tremble. "We thought that we could co-exist despite our very blood despising you."

"And we were wrong." Virginia crooned, the first bright, searing ball of fire twisting into shape from nothing within her cupped hand, and suddenly, her eyes appeared speckled not with stars, but with blood. "You are nothing more than animals. And now, now you will know true witchly wrath."

And they did, oh gods, how they did.

Not a single one escaped them, the eight of them being more than enough level whole cities, let alone a makeshift, raggedy army camp. The soldiers begged and screamed and pleaded, they prayed for their god and for salvation, and in the end, they simply asked for this living hell to stop. No mercy was shown, no pity provoked, and it was callous, jaded, vengeful eyes that watched them die in droves. The leaders, the generals, they were pinned to crosses as the mages had been, but these were Celtic crosses and curving ankhs, crosses made of living trees that grew impossible and proud from the dry sand and that didn't burn as the men did.

They would never hurt a tree, after all, not if it could be helped.

No, the flames licked over the wood harmlessly, even as they utterly destroyed the muggles pinned with foot-long blades to that same bark. But it was not a quick death, no, not for the ones who had ordered such a heinous crime. They roasted slowly, so slowly, and they felt every moment of it. And worse yet for them was that they weren't true believers in their pompous god, which barred them entrance to His selective (and extremely dull) halls. Not to mention the fact that a slew of angry, mourning deities already gathered close around the entrance to their Realm, having sensed the tragedy as well as the Royal fury whipping through the ether.

But they did not stop there.

No, this insult was too great, and they would leave the muggle world forever in a blaze of death and arcane magic. Banding together, their fingers intertwining as the circle closed around them, their blood mingled and spun through cuts in their palms as they threw their links to one another open wide. It was like swimming in liquid black leather shot with every color imaginable and more, liquid leather that molded to every inch of you before sinking inside your skin even as it spread out from within at the same time. And the friction of the two raised power, such power that the world itself felt drunk with it and the heavens seemed to sink, as if pulling in close.

Everything started spinning, spinning and shaking and revolving around them, until they stood in a vortex of sorts, watching the world whip by in blurred streaks of sand and sky, and time stopped, even that bending to their will and feeding them its energy while leaving them eerily calm in the center of their storm. And then, when the High Royals and Padma fully let go of their restraining shields and let their own breed of magic completely out to play, the circle blew apart and that destructive power swept across the land in a roaring, menacing, malevolent wave of healing and fury. Forever it seemed they stood there, directing and controlling that which couldn't be stopped.

By any but them, that is.

And that is what they did when they felt it starting to reach beyond the borders they had chosen. The energy fell back in on itself, still seeking something, anything, for it to do, be it heal or kill, and they slammed it into the very land that they had just decimated. The power that so many deaths raised was very nearly crushing, and when added with their own, when turned to repairing rather than rage, it was a soothing, almost instantaneous healing and rebirth. Jungle, they thought as one, and it obeyed, twisted, reformed, Nature screaming in both pain and victory. Another eternity was spent there, pouring their power into the earth.

And then it was over, as quickly as it had begun.

When she could see normally again, when she could breathe and think and feel, she admired their handiwork. Dense trees crowded in close, leafy and green, bright with flowers and smelling of rich, healthy soil. The army camp was gone, wasted to ashes in the first blast, and all that remained were the crucified witches and wizards. They had been turned into stone, stone that had altered their last appearances for clearer remembrance. Some were still mostly whole, their faces twisted in torment as they silently screamed, frozen flames licking up over their heads. Others were farther along and melting, shriveling in on themselves, and others looked as they last had.

They were made of marble; marble, limestone and granite swirled through with ebentine and bloodstone, and the death magic coursing through the creations made one swear that the flames truly flickered, that the jewel-encrusted eyes really glowed with agonized suffering. An arm spasmed here, a body writhed there; a stone lip was chewed through and bled phantom blood. It was eerie; this sorcerous, mystical monument in the midst of such vibrant surroundings full of new life. But it was fitting, as well. Let the new life spring from the old. Let it be an eternal reminder, because this time, this time they would not make the same mistake twice.

The statues would stand as long as Royalty still ruled.

They returned to the lunar Palace some time later, after thanking Nature for Her cooperation and turning their faces to the heavens, quietly mocking this land's god, who had once again not come to His people's aid. Though He would have been a fool to, for their Lord and Lady blessed their actions and would not look kindly on any deity harming them, though few were left who could. Then they were gone and riding the ether once more, coming out in a Palace courtyard filled to the brim with servants and nobles alike. Many looked shaken and worried, others as blank as could be, and all fell to their knees so quickly that it was vaguely startling.

"Rise."

They did, and the questions began.

"What happened?"

"So much power—"

"Earth, Earth has changed, look—"

"You could see it, see it spread and eat—"

"And now it's so green there—"

"Are they all dead?"

"Are we at war?"

"Enough." Virginia said softly, and silence spread like rippling silk. "All will be answered soon. Where are the Queen Mothers?"

"Just inside, your majesty, with the children." Someone answered promptly. "You, Jaston, send for them immediately." Someone else scampered off, and minutes later, Narcissa and Silana came gliding out, looking as regal and perfect as ever. Both curtseyed low, kissed their sons' cheeks, and waited patiently to hear why they'd been summoned.

"The children?"

"They had to be sedated." Narcissa said, and held up one small hand when eight mouths opened to protest. "They felt whatever you did, less than a minute after you left. They were all upset, but the Crown Princes…it was necessary, I assure you. The entire Family Dining Room is in pieces."

"Did they use a spell?" Draco asked curiously, for a moment thrown off track.

"More than likely." Blaise responded without thinking. Their sons fascinated them quite a lot. "I bet it was brill—bloody horrible. Must have a talk with them soon." Blaise amended quickly when he finally saw the looks being directed at them not only from their mothers, but from Padma and Virginia, as well. They quickly got back on track, since not even their sons could distract them from such a deep-seated fury for long.

"A press conference must be called immediately. Get reporters from every wizarding network here within the half hour. We have no time to waste."

"It will be done." The two half-veela said without argument, and then they were gone and everyone was being ushered into the Throne Room.

It looked much like the ones at Malfoy Manor and Tenebre Stella, except that it was much larger and eight thrones sat upon the dais. The rest of the room was made of cold, black marble veined with silver, green and purple, and candles flickered everywhere. Two altars sat at the head of the room behind the thrones, and each ran clear into pools at their bases, pools that trickled into small creeks that ran the length of the room, making a divine path to the dais. Two low bridges of more dark marble stretched over the streams at the end of the room, allowing them to be crossed safely or allowing one to walk that fearsome path.

The eight of them did not enter that way, and they made it long before the others all started arriving. The Kings sat in the center, Draco in the Ice Throne, a creation of frost and snow and the frozen tears of gods, shaped by the Crone and Skadi, by Demeter and Bruma, by Isis Herself. All that was winter and water was trapped within it, a 'worthy seat for a worthier King', or so said they. Blaise sat upon the Thunder Throne, which was made of raven-colored, roiling cloud wisps and shot through with flashes of lightning, made with care by Set and Ares, by Thor and Taranis, by the usually-elusive Tempestates.

Virginia sat beside Blaise on the Throne of Flame, which was exactly that. Darkfire and hellfire churned and twisted and licked at her skin harmlessly, harnessed and crafted by Hephaestus and Vulcan, by Bastet and Belisama, by the tricky, ever-scheming Loki. Padma was beside Draco on the Throne of Earth, a splendor of thorny vines blooming with purple blossoms so dark they were nearly black, created carefully by Tellus and Seb, by Jord and Cernunnos, by the great Gaia, who had awoken especially for it. The other four thrones were made of ebentine, and Pansy and George sat beside Draco and Padma while Anton and Fred sat next to Blaise and Virginia.

The reporters arrived together after the others, tight-lipped and pale-faced.

"This is to be an emergency bulletin, and we want it broadcast in the bloody sky if that's what it takes to alert every mage alive of the new laws." Blaise started, and neither his words nor his chilled tone helped the anxiety of those gathered.

But they would not be another failed attempt like the Ministry; they would not lie and hide the world's horrors from their people. Such deception would accomplish nothing but weakening them from within during a time that they certainly couldn't afford it. Various recording devices were activated, the reporters hurriedly explained that the huge gathering of magic that everyone had felt was soon to be explained, and they nervously noted that new laws were about to be instated. Charms showed how many tuned in, and they waited for nearly twenty minutes while word spread like it only could in their world; almost instantaneously.

When ninety percent of the population sat by a radio or gazed into a mirror, they changed their world forever within minutes.

"Tonight, most felt our release of power." Draco said in his satiny, cloying voice. "That release was our revenge, and six muggle countries, those who began this mess and that brought the events of this night upon themselves, have been destroyed. Israel, Jordan, Iraq, Iran, Pakistan and Afghanistan are no more."

Stunned silence.

And then, "N-No more? T-They're just g-gone?" One reporter asked shakily.

"Yes." Virginia replied simply, while ever more tiny dots lit up on the charms. "For this."

And then, with a wave of one imperial hand, the Queen drew from her own memories and projected them as a recording crystal would, into a three dimensional hologram that all could see. There it was again, that grisly double line of witches and wizards, and choked gasps and cries of shock echoed over marble. The purebloods all fell to their hands and knees, fingers scrabbling at their chests as their eyes glazed with their own blood-bound memories, while the halfbloods clutched at their heads and swooned, moaning with pain and disbelief at the flashes of visions and emotions that whisked past them, not quite able to take a firm hold.

The mudbloods just stared at everyone else and at the horrifying hologram, absently rubbing their temples.

"We will not tolerate another Age of Burning." Blaise hissed once the worst had passed and every eye was once more glued to them raptly, the hologram fading into nothing. "Nor will we bother with a war. Those lost have been avenged, and we do not plan to lose anymore."

"They will kill themselves out, and we will thrive in their absence." Draco continued, his words full of conviction and strength. "And even if some survive, where do you think they will find themselves? They will not just be out-powered by the ones they have always scorned, but outnumbered, as well."

"They will not rise to such destructive heights again." Virginia said, fire in her eyes and a feral sneer on her beautiful face. "When this is over, there will not be another muggle dominion. They have abused their power for too long. And until then, we will lock ourselves away, keeping our world safe and secure."

"L-Lock ourselves away?" One brave reporter questioned, still looking slightly green.

"Yes." Draco agreed, idly twining one silver braid around an elegant finger. "One of the first things we did in the beginning of our reign was to collaborate with the gods on massive shielding and wards, just for such an occasion. Nothing will change as long as you stay within our world and within the wards. Which brings us to the new laws."

"No one is to leave the shields without authorization." Blaise intoned with a voice like charged iron, prickly and smooth all at once. "No one is to enter any remaining muggle settlement or camp without authorization. No one is to consort with any muggle in any way, be it in giving one aid or simply speaking to them. Any too close to the wards are to be turned away. Any that try their luck with the wards are to be killed."

"They say that they will not suffer witches to live." Virginia's fierce gaze swept over those assembled, leaving them with a sense of security and reassurance even as it more than slightly scared them. "And we say that we will no longer suffer them to live. The laws against their murder are revoked, and if any get too near or threaten you in any way, you have our leave to act…accordingly. If you do not leave the wards, however, that will not be a problem."

"The shields go up permantly from now until their war's end at dawn." Draco informed them silkily. "You have until then to get inside our borders. Any caught outside will be found within the day. For those of you currently married to a muggle, they must be brought to one of the Palaces before the week's end for clearance and branding. From here on out, any new relations with their kind are banned. There will be no more inter-breeding, nor any association at all. To break the ban is to declare yourself a traitor and forfeit your life. You have been warned. There are no exceptions."

And so began the Seclusion.

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Well, there's the beginning! It's shorter than regular chapters (it is the Prologue, after all), but the others will be about the same length as those in 'Unexpected'. I hope you all are at least interested, and if not, let me know, because I seriously don't want to waste my time here. The first part was all that I planned to write, but the second half of the story just keeps begging to be told. I was reluctant to do this at all do to how much time 'Unexpected' took up in my life, so if it's not worth it, please tell me, as I do not want to become too attached to it if no one cares. I'm not one for wasting time or space where I could be doing something else (even though this seems to be all that I think about these days). Thank you and…

Please Review!

Happy Yule! Merry X-Mas! Blessed Be and Joy to All!