Medeia Black sat at her computer nursing a cup of coffee and a headache and gazed blankly at the latest statistics on social care provision in Guilford. She was the daughter of Marius Black and Agalia Nott, both of whom were disowned squibs who had used what power and intelligence they did have to contribute what they could to both the Wizarding and Muggle worlds. As a second generation squib Medeia was blessed with the pureblood good looks and intellect of her father's family but none of the magical power that her cousins were blessed with. She had worked for Surrey Social Services since 1980, when she had been twenty one and full of hope that she was making a positive difference to the lives of the most vulnerable and excluded. Now at age thirty six she was dependent on a near permanent supply of caffeine to get through her extremely stressful day. It was not that it was not rewarding, she was genuinely helping people escape terrible situations but for every child she helped escape an abusive or neglectful home there was one she could not help. It was these cases that made her job difficult particularly when they were in aims of respectable families who were able to operate under the radar rather than the lower income families who were virtually stalked by the police and social workers.

One of these 'respectable' families was Mr and Mrs Vernon Dursley of Number Four Privet Drive, Little Whinging, a leafy suburb of Guilford that had voted Conservative since the dawn of parliamentary democracy and whose residents took their opinions straight from the front page of The Daily Mail. Every single year, without fail, Petunia Dursley would call social services to ensure that no mysterious relatives had popped into existence that year to take 'The Boy' off her hands. 'The Boy' in question was Mrs Dursley's fifteen year old nephew Harry Potter who had been left in Petunia's care following the deaths of her sister Lily and her husband James when Harry had been one. Medeia, or Maggie as she was universally known, had only worked "The Potter Case" since 1991, when her predecessor had been found to be neglecting her duty following the death of a three year old two years previously where there had been found to have been major oversights by social worker in failing to detect the horrific abuse that the poor girl had suffered. Consequently, Maggie had found herself investigating all of the cases that had previously been deemed as safe to ensure that no other errors had been made. She had spent the 5th of September 1991 being barked at by Mr. Dursley whilst Mrs. Dursley followed her around their spotless home, pursing her lips at the intrusion as they went. She had gone into Harry Potter's bedroom to find it clean with only a collection of pre-teen novels and stack of broken toys to suggest that the room was actually lived in. Maggie's alarm bells had been triggered by Mrs. Dursley's overly frequent mentions of the fact that 'The Boy' was at boarding school, as if the lack of other personal belongings in the small room could be explained away by boarding school where he was unlikely to be able to bring toys and anything too precious with him. Her panic had set in when she had approached their cupboard under the stairs and opened it to find a lost sock and a small, slightly broken toy soldier on the floor, an anomaly in the otherwise spotless house. Maggie hadn't commented but had left with a tight smile and a promise to be in touch.

As it was, apparently she couldn't do any more than put Harry on "at-risk-status", particularly as it had indeed been proven that he was away at boarding school for nine months of the year. When she had gone back the next summer, she had watched Harry and the Dursley's son Dudley talk in the garden and discovered that Harry actually was sleeping in the smallest bedroom upstairs rather than the cupboard. Consequently, it had been deemed that Harry's situation was not critical despite the obvious size difference between him and Dudley. Maggie found the Potter case to be particularly disturbing as she was well aware of just who this too skinny teenager was to Britain's wizarding community. How on earth the boy-who-lived had ended up living on a very muggle house on a social services at-risk register she didn't know but as she spent every year having the same terse conversation with Mrs Dursley and planning the same frustrating home visit she reflected on the fact that the most important person in the wizarding world was just as excluded from it for three months of the year as the non-magical children of magical families who were forced to spend their lives knowing but not being able to experience the wizarding world. If she had thought that it wouldn't have automatically had resulted her being reassigned for conflict of interest she would have told Harry who her family was several years previously but her growing frustration with the magical world and the problematic escape of her cousin Sirius from Azkaban had ceased any thought she had of making contact.

As Maggie sat emailing one of the local school nurses for information on a family of five who didn't seem to have washed clothes on a regular basis, the phone rang.

"Hello, Surrey Social Services, Maggie Black here, who's speaking?"

"I'm Detective Inspector Michael Batley from West Yorkshire Constabulary. We recently investigated a light show in the Village of Little Hangelton and upon questioning the owner of the Manor House in the village. We discovered he was the son of the original family by the last Mr. Riddle's first wife. We believe that Mr. Thomas Marvolo Riddle, is a Maternal Great-Uncle of one of the kids on your register, a Harry James Potter?"

Maggie blinked several times in shock, "This Tom Riddle is the son of my client's great-grandfather?"

"We believe so; we've cross referenced Mr Riddle's DNA against the exhumed remains of Thomas Riddle senior, your client's great-grandfather. It's not standard procedure you understand but apparently the locals were so incensed at the possibility of someone falsely claiming the Riddle family's historic claims to the village common that they insisted on a full DNA test. They even did a whip-round at the The Hanged Man to get the results speed up. Off the record, the locals are a bunch of nosey berks who actually wanted to know if Mr Riddle was who he says he was in order to confirm one of their favourite bits of gossip about his father running off with his mother the local tramp."

Maggie quickly interrupted him, "Can you give me his contact details? Obviously, we'd like to be able to assess whether or not Mr Riddle is a viable guardian for Harry and if he would be interested in having guardianship as soon as possible."

"Yep, hang on a mo'... yep Riddle House, Little Hangelton, Denby Dale, West Yorkshire, DN13 1AA, Phone Number 015673 866343, you should probably expect it to be answered by Pettigrew, Mr Riddle's carer"

"Ok, thanks, bye"

Maggie had sat in stunned shock for five minutes and then picked up the phone and called her father. Marius Black was a retired stockbroker and a full time seer who prided himself on having a ninety eight percent success rate. He was also a fiercely intelligent man who prided himself on his heritage despite officially being disowned from the Black family. When he had heard the news that Tom Marvolo Riddle, aka Lord Voldemort, was the third closest blood relative of Harry Potter, his mortal enemy, Marius Black had burst out laughing.

"Maggie, the best way to handle it is to think about what you need to do. The Potter boy isn't being looked after properly yes?"

"Yes."

"And granting guardianship of the boy-who-lived to the dark lord would be a significant political act, particularly if engineered by a squib. You want to make a difference don't you dear?"

"Yes…" She said hesitantly

"Then it's simple, tell Voldemort that I said that the prophecy is a load of tosh and inform him that if he really wants to annoy Dumbledore, corrupting his only saviour is a really good method. Harry at least gets away from those repulsive muggles and you get to put your intelligence to its proper use in the wizarding world. Oh, and sweetheart, phone your mother, she keeps complaining that you don't call often enough."

"I will do, thanks Dad. Bye!"

Grasping every ounce of courage she possessed, she dialled Voldemort's phone number. Pettigrew's squeaky nasal voice came on the end of the line.

"Hello?"

"Hello, this is Medeia Black, Marius Black's daughter. I'd like a word with your master."

Pettigrew must have passed the phone very quickly because within 30 seconds a serpentine voice was speaking.

"What do you want, you filthy squib?"

"Are you aware that your father, Tom Riddle, remarried?"

"How dare you mention that filthy muggle's name! Are you attempting to test my patience Miss Black? Has Marius put you up to this? I would have thought that he would have taught you that dark wizards seldom appreciate house calls from those deemed unworthy of magical talent" Voldemort sneered.

Maggie gritted her teeth at his derision, "I'm merely informing you, Mr Riddle, of your options. I'm calling on behalf of Surrey social services. Now, in 1928 your father remarried, taking his childhood sweetheart, Cecilia Chambers as his second wife. She died in childbirth with your half sister Alyssa in 1932 who married Harold Evans in 1955, giving birth to Petunia in 1957 and Lily in 1960. Alyssa and Harold died in a car crash in 1979 and Lily and her husband James Potter were killed by you in 1981 leaving there only child in Petunia's care. Petunia and her husband Vernon are not giving sufficient care for your Great-Nephew Harry and as the Social Worker attached to Harry's case I am obligated to investigate other potential guardians, particularly when their current guardian keeps calling me to attempt to get rid of him"

Voldemort muttered something on the other end of the phone and Maggie could just about hear a shrill scream as Peter Pettigrew was hit with the cruciatus curse. When Voldemort spoke again it was in a far more charismatic voice "I can clearly perceive what you are attempting to do here Miss Black, unravelling Dumbledore's control over the boy by giving him to me would be a major political achievement for..one such as yourself but there is still the minor issue of the prophecy. That boy is prophesised to be my downfall, unless you are willingly giving the boy to me on a platter I fail to see the benefits of me having guardianship of someone I fully intend to destroy."

"I've just spoken to my father, as I am sure you are aware he is rather more renowned as a seer than Trewlaney and a hundred times more accurate. It's the reason he made so much money on the stock market. He assured me that the prophecy is fake. Sybil Trelawney is a fraud who made the whole thing up in order to get Dumbledore to hire her. If there hadn't been a copy of the Daily Prophet open on the Family announcements page she have been sent back to palm reading for gullible tourists in Edinburgh"

"You are suggesting that I should abandon my faith in a prophecy that has influenced my every move for the last fifteen years because your father thinks that the prophecy is false?" Voldemort said dangerously, "And because Dumbledore would be incensed if I were to corrupt his precious golden boy I should go along with your plan to give me guardianship of Harry Potter?"

"Yes." She said simply.

There was a pause, and then Voldemort said slowly "And if I were to consider your proposal. When might it be possible to discuss your idea further in person?"

She hedged her bets and hoped that she wasn't pushing him too far, "I'll bring both Harry and the paperwork up to Yorkshire with me tomorrow."

"Very well. Please arrive no later than 2.30pm and be on time Miss Black, I cannot abide lateness."

Before the line cut off, she just about heard him order Pettigrew to clean and sort another room out for their guest.

She let out the breath she hadn't realised she had been holding. She had done it, she had succeeded in convincing a dark wizard to adopt his mortal enemy. She stared down at her cold cup of coffee and reflected for a moment on whether or not she had done the right thing? Had she just offered at teenage boy up as bait to accomplish her own ambitions? She brushed the thought aside as the phone rang again.

"Hello, Surrey Social Services, Maggie Black speaking. How can I help you?"

On the other end of the phone she heard Petunia Dursley's shrill voice with its irritating affected accent.

"Ah, hello Mrs Dursley, I was just about to call you, I've got some important news for you."