70.Shadow of War

12th of November, 1994 Saturday (4 days later)

Mr Malfoy

Lucius slumped onto the sofa, feeling completely drained, exhaustion seeping all the way into his marrow. The last few months’ tension was a near-constant ache between his temples, hard to dispel, and had wrung his mind dry. 

Just as he was drained, so was the Malfoy family. His own freedom—and that of his children and future grandchildren—was bargained away for a Wizengamot seat, the long-cherished Malfoy dream. That was no great loss; marrying for love was some naive dream that only the poor or the muddle-headed could afford.

The worst of all was his vaunted wealth, now draining away by the week. A decade of accumulation was all gone, and nearly all of his incomes had been diverted to his master. They were far from going hungry, but any further, and Lucius would have to choose between selling businesses, family heirlooms, estates, or going penniless.

The Dark Lord was an insatiable master, always demanding more. More gold, more action, more subservience, always taking with no return in sight, leaving Lucius scrambling to fulfil it all without implicating his good name, which was easier said than done.

Then, there was the ministry and Fudge, who had grown frantic and suspicious of everything after Azkaban’s destruction. Thanks to the Triwizard tournament, Wizarding Britain was the focus of international attention, and the Minister’s reputation was at stake. Three department heads had been fired, and countless emergency Wizengamot meetings had been called.

It was like dancing on the knife’s edge, where even the slightest misstep would see you bleed.

If only… if only the Dark Lord had stayed dead. 

But he suppressed that thought, casting it into the darkest depths of his mind, for if the Dark Lord caught a glimpse of it, Lucius would spend days in agony or worse. Even with his temper softened since his revival, it was not something Lucius dared risk. Even if he could somehow escape the Dark Lord (which he couldn’t), he still wouldn’t leave.

The Malfoys had risen higher than ever before under his guidance, and all of his wealth and connections were here. He closed his eyes to rest his mind for a while. He dreamt of a long, sunny beach facing azure waves and a cerulean sky—a soft creak startled him awake. 

The door to the living room slid open, and Calisto rushed in with the blissful smile of a young child, uncaring of everything else, making a beeline to the enchanted stuffed dog toy by the crackling fireplace. Narcissa slid in half a moment after, her black dress impeccable and her steps as graceful as always, even though she had begun to show. His wife had not let their daughter out of sight since the first child had been kidnapped, her wand now permanently tucked into a holster in her sleeve, like an Auror on duty.

For all of her poise and beauty, she was no less dangerous than an Auror on duty, too. She went around the sofa, coming to a stop right behind him, and a pair of slender fingers sank into his shoulders, kneading the tense knots loose. 

“What is it this time?” Her warm breath ghosted on his neck, but he was too tired to care.

“Another day of Ministry drudgery,” he managed, rubbing the exhaustion from his eyes. “With Azkaban destroyed, Fudge is raising taxes to begin the construction of a new prison and tighten security around the Triwizard Tournament, hoping to draw more international audience. The DMLE has demanded an increase in budget again, and the Wizengamot has agreed, in hopes of catching this new wave of ‘Death Eaters’.”

“And what does the Dark Lord say?”

“He’s certain this is Dumbledore’s doing.” Lucius let out a long, weary sigh. “I’d believe the old headmaster is willing to destroy that cursed rock and the soul-sucking fiends if pushed, but kidnapping toddlers and conjuring the Dark Mark? That’s not his style.”

“Indeed,” Narcissa whispered. “It’s too heavy-handed, but it put the Ministry on alert when they had already started to loosen their vigilance. Perhaps it’s another player stirring things up.”

“Another player?” Lucius murmured. “MACUSA learned a bitter lesson with their involvement against Grindelwald. Now, they’re content to sit across the pond as long as international trade remains unaffected. The ICW is too big, with too many interests, making it too slow and corrupt to ever react properly. This retaliation only came after the first kidnapping. And while I can’t say who did it, I’m certain it was under the Dark Lord’s orders.”

His wife withdrew her hands and whirled around the sofa, joining him. She said nothing, her eyes set on Calisto, who was happily giggling, chasing after the enchanted dog toy. It was an odd thing to have a daughter, but Lucius did not dislike it. Child-rearing was left to the wife, and fathers scarcely had any hand in the education of daughters; and he much preferred it this way.

It was not all bad. Her babbling, childish manner, and sunny smile somehow made these gloomy days brighter. The girl had inherited his platinum hair and her mother’s face and eyes, and was bound to be a heartbreaker once she grew up.

“If it’s not another player, how’d you explain such drastic measures?” Narcissa asked softly. 

“I can’t,” he murmured. “But where would this other player come from? I know all the European lords and wizards of renown, all the shadowy guilds, creature covens and packs, and this is not their doing. And the far east is neck-deep in its own problems.”

“And yet, in a handful of days, more damage was done to the Dark Lord’s cause than in years,” she pointed out, voice tinged with cool amusement. Even today, she disapproved of the Dark Lord and his unsavoury ways, mostly because it put their family at risk. “Has he offered a solution to this new threat to our children?”

“…The Dark Lord is willing to protect them all in his new seat in the Alps,” he said weakly. 

Narcissa sneered. “So his great solution is taking hostages from his most loyal. As if I’d let my little jewel anywhere near mutts and unhinged wretches drunk on dark magic and bloodshed.”

Lucius averted his gaze, unable to look his wife in the eyes. “You are invited to stay there, too.” 

“Of course,” she said flatly. “Because one hostage is hardly enough. Is it an invitation of the polite sort, or the one that cannot be refused?”

“The polite sort. The Dark Lord… is too busy to bother with brats, according to Rookwood. It’s a genuine offer of wardship, but knowing the Dark Lord, his goals are never as simple as they seem, and the wards will become hostages at a drop of a hat. Nott and Selwyn have already sent their youngest there, and many others are seriously considering it. What choice do we have?”

He reached out for the bottle of firewhiskey on the side stand and took a deep gulp. Heat flooded down his throat into his stomach, and he burped out a fiery gout. “Dumbledore is no better,” he continued quietly. “Even if the old man has grown a spine, he’s no good. Those who work with him rarely end well. Trelawney’s boy was taken under his nose with no one the wiser. How about you go on holiday to Australia?”

“I’m not leaving,” she said calmly, her hands settling over the slight bump in her belly. “In Australia, I’d be alone with a young child and pregnant—far easier to pick off by those with ill intent. But I’m still not going into the Dark Lord’s clutches either, nor is Calisto.”

Lucius’s brows furrowed in thought. His wife had the right of it, and yet he remembered Yaxley and Travers’ panicked faces all too well. The old Rosier would be blowing a gasket if he weren’t away on some family business in Norway.

“Doing nothing is no less a risk with this unknown enemy hanging over Calisto’s head. A single misstep will see some unknown wizard gain leverage over our family and bloodline. Let us not speak of the disgrace. Yaxley, Travers, and Rosier can’t even lift their heads in the Ministry and decline all guests. They are more frightened than they’re furious.”

Narcissa let out a soft sigh and leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder. There was nothing erotic in the gesture, but it loosened some of his lingering tension. Her body was pleasantly soft, the faint scent of roses and jasmine teasing his nose.

“I might have reluctantly accepted going under the Dark Lord’s protection if you hadn’t lost that item,” she said, her grey eyes flickering with worry. “You know that cannot be hidden forever, and if it is half as important as you claim, its loss might see you dead… or disgraced and discarded.”

“There’s no escaping the Dark Lord, and joining Dumbledore is merely changing one evil for another.” Lucius lifted the bottle again; this time, the taste was more bitter than fiery. “No doubt the headmaster would try to use us as spies, and that might see my end even closer and more miserable. Even if we somehow survive for a time… you saw how poor Severus ended up. No, Cissa, we can only continue as we are. Unless… you have a different plan?”

Narcissa’s fingers tightened over his chest, her nails scratching through his robe.

“I have an inkling of a scheme,” she said, her gaze fixed on their daughter. “Though it might rely on my niece and her intentions.”

Lucius startled. 

“Juno? Isn’t she busy with the Triwizard tournament?”

“Something is happening with that girl and Potter.” Narcissa faltered for a moment, slender brows furrowed. “Ever since the summer and Potter’s supposed ‘squibbing’, things have begun to change. It was subtle, at first, with the boy completely disappearing for the summer. My niece was even harder to track. Her questions are getting sharper still, and, whereas I could sense her intent before, now her handwriting and phrasing are impossible to glean from. Potter has faded from the public eye like an old ghost, and Draco still refuses to write like some petulant child.” 

“He’s still angry with the Burke betrothal, no doubt,” Lucius said with a snort. “Or the loss of his Muggle toy, but it’s time he finds out no number of tantrums will let him escape responsibility. So, that plan of yours…”

“I must visit Hogwarts soon, and talk to my niece and Potter. Rampart rumours aside, even Dumbledore will never allow a squib to study at Hogwarts. This is too important to risk in a letter or drag on for a long correspondence,” Narcissa gave him a tight smile. “Engaging in speculation before I have further details is pointless. But I do have a way to deflect the Dark Lord’s greedy hand that’s so eagerly stripping away our wealth.”

“Oh?” 

Something dangerous passed through his wife’s eyes.

“You’re Lord of the Wizengamot, are you not? Go, ask for DMLE protection for your daughter or for yourself. I’m certain you have a way to pass the idea to Fudge that’ll get him to move without implicating you. Something grand-sounding about catching the culprit and whatnot. Maybe sprinkle in some heavy-worded death threats from anonymous sources while you’re at it.”

Lucius smiled despite himself. Merlin, he loved his devious wife. 

---

Albus Dumbledore

Austria’s ministry falls to the Pyromancer and his thugs—the ICW in chaos!

By Betty Braithwaite, 11th of November 1994

Late in the evening this Wednesday, the infamous Ascalon Emberwick stormed the unprepared Austrian Ministry, killing Minister Alonso Von Eisenbrunn and other important officials within minutes. 

By morning, the Austrian borders have been closed, its nationwide protections raised, and the country has become unpassable by magical means.  

The ICW is still reeling from the shock, and the Supreme Mugwump Council has not yet issued a public statement two days later. The neighbouring European nations have instituted a military curfew and are raising their defences, recruiting more hit-wizards…

“Do you regret resigning from the ICW?” Moody chuckled, though it sounded closer to chalk scraping against a board. 

“There’s nothing to regret.” Albus pushed away the paper. “My title there was nothing more than an empty courtesy and a shackle. Besides, the ICW has never moved at the behest of a single wizard, regardless of his power.

Moody took a deep gulp from his flask, and his enchanted eye calmed, settling on the Daily Prophet’s front page.

“They moved well enough for Grindelwald.”

Today’s meeting had been postponed, with most of the Order members spreading out to catch and destroy the dementors, or at least try. That remained out of reach—few in Wizarding Britain could control fiendfyre, and even fewer could cast enchanted flames with the strength to destroy amortal creatures. School duties kept him and Alastor in Hogwarts, reducing them to a small planning session in the headmaster’s office.

The portraits had been put to sleep, of course, and to the rest of the school, the two of them were discussing Defence classes.

“Because he made an enemy of them all.” Albus suppressed the pang of sadness in his heart. May you find peace in death, Gellert. “Voldemort is more cautious and just as cunning. He had probably already recruited some of the old nobility and higher officials in Austria, and they’d rise to pacify any local unrest.”

He popped a lemon drop in his mouth, but it did little to dispel the sourness in his throat.

“Knowing Voldemort, he’ll remain hidden, biding his time in the shadows, until he’s ready to strike. As much as I want to confront him as quickly as possible, he’ll just retreat behind a Fidelius, unless he’s confident he can win. I know him all too well; he’ll turn this into a game of cat and mouse, where he can drag me through traps and pitfalls that might even kill me. Or he’ll resort to other, just as unsavoury means as he leads me on a merry chase, undermining Wizarding Britain while I’m gone.”

Moody’s scarred face twisted into a heavy frown. “So we need to drag him out on our terms. He’s mortal now. One kill and he’s dead.”

“And in that lies my greatest problem,” Albus said. “Mortal or not, he was never easy to defeat, and even harder to deceive. Voldemort has played his hand cleverly, dispelling his own doubts and achieving his lesser objectives while I was still unaware of them. I’m afraid that after being blown to bits by the fake philosopher’s stone, he will never engage unless it’s on his terms. As much as I wish to wrangle with him in Europe… Voldemort is far better in subterfuge, blackmail, and subversion, and I am constrained by International laws and morality. Without a spy in his ranks to allow me a glimpse at his goals, it’s much better for me to stay here, preside over the Triwizard Tournament while nudging the ministry on the right path.”

“Severus…” Moody shook his head. “Let us not dwell on what could have been. Voldemort keeps hiding behind the facade of Emberwick. If we get rid of that one…”

“I watched a memory of one of Emberwick’s battles,” Albus said. “He’s grown strong, his magic swift, deadly, and accurate, and his mind as sharp as a razor. Even you can’t deal with him.”

“I caught him back then,” Moody barked out. “It was a tough fight, but I can do it again.”

“Two years on the run, fighting against Hit Wizards, creatures, and other crooks have sharpened him, while you have barely progressed after years running errands for the Ministry.”

Alastor’s good eye widened. “You can’t mean he’s reached…”

“Only two out of six,” Albus said sadly. “Emberwick was a talented lad at school, but too fascinated with fire. I have no doubt Voldemort has charmed him fully, offering him further insight and guidance in the Dark Arts. Amongst Emberwick’s followers, I saw three more who have reached a summit.”

“Three?” Moody’s face turned grim. “Are these top-wizards as common as cabbage now?”

“You’re a wizard standing at the peak yourself, Alastor. But while Tom can be a great teacher, I’m more inclined that he pushed them by the ancient method of the Far East.”

“Severing emotion and desire?” Alastor’s good eye twitched. “Wouldn’t that… cripple their ability to wield most dark magic?”

The headmaster felt his vision glaze over. They had researched that very same topic back then with Gellert…

“Not quite.” He shuffled, finding his tapered chair suddenly uncomfortable. “Severing the Seven Emotions and Six Desires might make it harder to cast curses and dark magic, yes, but not impossible. Still, most true dark magic is cumbersome to use in combat, and even without it, their ability to fight and the danger they pose have risen considerably. If nothing else, the Severing makes them all fearless of danger or death and elevates an aspect of their magic. Ascalon Emberwick never moves alone without these three lieutenants of his, and that is why I’m not confident in killing him. I suspect that should the attempt be made, I’ll find myself surrounded, outnumbered, and unable to escape. Voldemort has already planned for my presence, and I find myself… hesitant to act blindly.”

Alastor slumped on his chair, looking defeated. “The conflict will only grow bigger, then. Tens of thousands will die until the ICW finally makes up its mind to act.”

“Many more die every day,” Albus said quietly, suppressing the pang of guilt. “Those old fools at the ICW have forgotten that peace has never been kept through simple talking and posturing before. Perhaps they will take Emberwick and the threat he poses seriously now. For the time being, the Order will focus its attention on countering Lord Voldemort’s probes into Wizarding Britain. Your particular task is to ensure everything in the tournament runs smoothly—or at least without outside interference.”

“Fudge couldn’t have chosen a worse time for this charade,” Alastor grumbled. “What about the Dark Mark and the kidnappings of Death Eaters’ children and grandchildren?”

Albus merely shrugged. “That’s a problem for DMLE to tackle, old friend.”

“Also… last evening… I spotted Mr Potter leave the school grounds late at night.”

The headmaster glanced at the window. “You needn’t concern yourself with Mr Potter. He has my permission to come and go as he pleases. He’s grown to the point where you’ll struggle to score a victory against him.”

Both of them paused for a long moment, allowing the silence to linger. Albus had made many mistakes, but his decision to let Harry Potter grow without any obstruction or aid for four years had possibly been his most correct one. Although he was content to give the young boy the guidance he had requested, his mind was set on neither helping nor hindering him further. True wizards were not flowers to be grown in a greenhouse and needed to experience challenges and adversity on their own.

The former Auror let out a long, weary sigh.

“That boy is more of a menace than his parents combined, though I struggle to say if it’s for the better or worse.” Alastor’s magical eye spun around erratically. “And his girl… is no less dangerous. Lestrange’s daughter is walking down a dark road, Albus. The dark magic on her is no joke.”

“She has yet to break a single law or the rules of the school charter,” the headmaster said calmly. “I have long decided to let Miss Black and Mr Potter grow without limiting them in any way. This is my final decision on the matter. Perhaps in a few years, Voldemort will find himself with an opponent or two even he can’t face.”

Albus would have been far more concerned if Harry and Juno had not destroyed two of Voldemort’s anchors together. 

Child of sin, child of love—paths diverge, fates converge,
A pit of darkness, a road to light, of which their choices shall decide. 

Even he, who did not believe prophecies held much power, couldn’t exactly ignore such a direct, two-way prophecy. He had gone to the Department of Mysteries in person during the summer and had found that this prophecy had also come to pass. But of one thing, Albus was certain: the pit of darkness had been avoided that fateful Hallow’s Eve. After Harry’s tale, he had connected the dots. The basilisk had fallen, Tom’s soul shard had been defeated, and Trelawney had given birth along with the prophecy, all in the span of a few hours. Harry Potter, for all he had chosen to steep himself in darkness and death, had a nobler heart than any of them could ever boast, and Albus was no exception. 

And because of that, he knew Harry would find the strength to make those hard choices he himself struggled to take.

Even now, with those toddlers kidnapped, Albus could say for certain no great harm had come to them. Their names had not been struck from the Book of Admissions. In contrast, Quirinus Quirell II had his name crossed through. Albus had seen that happen once when checking admissions and knew what it meant. Deceased. 

He had failed yet another young soul.

Would anything have changed if he had chosen to pursue that day, consequences and caution be damned?

Albus couldn’t say, and it scared him.

“Don’t worry too much,” he said, stiffly reaching out to pat Moody’s shoulder. “In the end, Voldemort has one great limitation. As ambitious and dangerous as he is, he can only cajole those dark wizards who yearn for power. Perhaps he could fool some pureblood families, but those that survived the Great War and Grindelwald are too cautious to fall for empty promises of lost glory. Ultimately, without a lofty ideal to solidify his ranks and draw in new blood, the threat he poses is far less than Grindelwald.”

---

13th of November, 1994 Sunday (1 day later)

Juno

“And last,” Mr Ollivander turned her way, “is our young Miss Black. Or should I call you Lady Black?”

The tournament organisers had all gathered for the Weighing of Wands, an old tradition of the Triwizard Tournament that served as both a final check to ensure all contestants had functional wands and, last but not least, as a first bout for publicity. All the judges were here, including Barty Crouch, Ludo Bagman, and the three headmasters. First to be inspected was Fleur with a veela-hair wand; next, Krum with an unassuming but no less fitting wand, work of the infamous Gregorovich.

“Not for another two years, at least,” she said calmly.

The wandmaker shot her a piercing look. “I expected to receive you in my shop soon after your Ministry trial, but you never quite appeared.” 

Juno felt the eyes in the room gather on her and met their stares with an impassive face. Fleur’s fiery gaze, in particular, threatened to burn a hole in her head. She resisted the childish urge to turn and sneer at the foolish blonde, and perhaps curse her face for a good measure. 

“I was chosen by another wand, making such a visit obsolete.” With a thought, her wand jumped out of the holster, and she handed it over to Ollivander. “Be careful, Mr Ollivander.”

The wandmaker received the wand with a child-like curiosity written all over his face, and he slowly spun it around his fingers, studying each side at length.

“Fascinating,” he said absently, silvery eyes not moving from the wand, even for a moment. “Yes, quite cold and mercurial. This is not wood, but polished horn… and phoenix feather? No, close enough, but not quite a phoenix feather.”

Juno happened to meet Dumbledore’s gaze at that time and was almost blinded by the twinkling of those blue eyes. 

“It matters not,” Ollivander declared a few moments later. “The core, as queer as it is, matches well with the horn. An odd combination, but to each their own, I say. Quite unyielding, twelve and a half inches.”

The wandmaker, after spending much more time examining her wand than anybody else’s, swished gently, and a sputter of green and gold sparks came from the tip. “Very well, very well. In fine working order. Everyone is perfectly eligible to compete.”

Before Dumbledore could say anything, Bagman already jumped out, face alight with excitement. 

“Photos, everyone!”

Crouch’s right eye twitched as he was dragged in by the enthusiastic Bagman into a group photo. 

The photographs were easier said than done. Madam Maxime cast everyone into shadow where she stood, and the photographer couldn’t stay back enough to get her into frame—the classroom was not big enough. In the end, she had to sit while everyone else stood around her. 

Rita, with a shameless smile on her face, brought Juno and Fleur to the first row. Krum, who should have been used to such publicity, tried to slip to the back of the group, but Irina Zagorska hugged him from behind, pushing him to the front. The individual photos dragged on forever, and even Juno began to lose her patience.

Dumbledore was the first to flee, retreating with the excuse of an ‘urgent personal matter’. The Durmstrang headmistress was the second to leave, though still clutching the stiff Victor Krum. As soon as their own photos were taken, Bagman and Crouch took their leave, and Fleur gave her a provocative look before she disappeared behind the door.

Something about the veela stirred an ugly, dark emotion deep in her chest, and the desire to draw her wand and curse the blonde French witch.

‘Keep calm,’ her mentor’s voice echoed in her mind, tinged with no small exasperation. ‘Your image is everything, apprentice of mine, and you must tailor it to the public eye with great care. Since you plan to enter politics, this is the one thing you absolutely cannot neglect. Don’t forget your interview with Skeeter. Since you have her in your pocket, you might as well use her to the full extent. First, you must appeal to the masses, relying on your status as a self-raised orphan…’

The infamous Scourge of Europe was even more shameless than her granduncle, leaving her speechless. Juno exhaled slowly, reining in her emotions.

‘Shame, I have found, is merely a tool used to control and manipulate others. To truly master yourself, you must rise above such needless emotions.’ 

“Ms Skeeter,” she called out, trying to keep the reluctance from seeping into her voice, “I believe it’s high time we had a personal interview.”

Rita froze for a long moment, stealing a glance at the cameraman, who was still fussing about his equipment. She swept out her wand, casting a Muffling Charm, and marched over.

“You promised me half a year,” she whispered furiously.

“So I did,” Juno inclined her head. “And I kept my promise. Six months have passed since the middle of May.”

Rita’s nervous hand adjusted her jewelled spectacles. “Right,” she managed a reluctant smile on her powdered face. “Let’s get to it, then.”

---

Harry joined her in the Chamber when evening came, slumping into the Austrian luxury divan with his basilisk battle-robes still on. While his green eyes still glowed with power, his face had gone deathly pale.

“Had a good hunt?”

“Killed eight dementors today,” he managed, voice rough. “The bloody things too spread out now.”

“You really don’t have to bother with them,” Juno said, sliding over to his side. “The Ministry will clean them up sooner or later.” 

“I know.” Harry’s eyes hardened. “But all those people wouldn’t have lost their souls and lives if I hadn’t destroyed Azkaban. The least I can do is clean up a part of my own mess.”

“A most noble goal.” Grindelwald’s tone was laced with mockery, though there was no heat in it. Her mentor’s ghost materialised, hovering over the tiles with a lazy slant forward. “But nobility does not win wars, young Harry. You wasted precious time that could have been spent on gaining more leverage over Riddle’s pureblood supporters. Of course, letting those things run free only to join Riddle later is no good either, just make certain your identity is not exposed for it.”

“I know, old man,” Harry said with a weary wave. “Hunting down dementors is not without gain. My Apparition skills are growing, my control over the cursed flames has greatly improved, and I’ve got the hang of using my improved intent.”

Gellert inclined his head in silent acknowledgement. For good or bad, her mentor and Harry got along swimmingly, even though her betrothed could remain stubborn about the slightest things at times. The former Dark Lord did not spare him, quickly and mercilessly pointing out every fault, mocking every flaw.

With the cunning and knowledge of Gellert Grindelwald by their side, Juno found herself sleeping more easily at night, though that might have been a result of training herself to exhaustion rather than anything else. He was a far more demanding teacher than Cassiopeia or Arcturus had ever been, and his tutoring extended far beyond matters of simple spellcasting.

“Wally, a cup of hot chocolate, please.”

A moment later, a steaming cup with deep, dark liquid popped onto the table before her.

Harry gave her a grateful smile, propped himself up with one hand, and emptied it all in one breath. “How are your preparations going?”

“I can’t complain,” Juno said quietly. “Having my own quarters inside the northern wing is quite handy, and many are green with envy just at the mere idea of it. It’s easily on par with the head girl’s accommodations, with their own bath and study room, but not as good as the refurbished Chamber. Though, to be fair, I’d rather not have entered, joining you instead.” 

“While I appreciate the gesture, I’d rather not.” Harry massaged his temples. “You still need some time to study theory and master the remaining N.E.W.T. material. The tournament only exempts you from classes, not exams.” 

“He is right,” Gellert added with a sly grin. “While your talents are certainly strong, Mr Potter is far more suitable for subterfuge and open fighting with his set of skills and magical familiar. You, on the other hand, should focus on maintaining that perfect image. Your O.W.L.s were hurried and rather unsatisfactory, but you cannot display anything but excellence to graduate. Winning the tournament and graduating with honours are a stepping stone to use your position to recruit allies, raise your prestige and renown, and most importantly, gain control.”

“Gain control of what?” Harry asked with a yawn. 

“The Ministry, of course,” came the amused answer. “Did you think you could defeat an organised Dark Lord who has conquered a country and quite possibly controls two more with a lone wand and an influential study group?” 

Harry startled, eyes widening as he looked at Grindelwald. “You want us to… topple the Ministry?”  

“Merely the Minister.” The ghost gave him a sharp smile. “A man who is petty, indecisive, and too concerned with appearances can never truly resist a Dark Lord, not for long.”

The idea… didn’t sound too bad. Juno could imagine herself leading the Wizengamot and the Ministry, but there was a minor issue.

“We’re too young to run for office,” she said quietly. 

“You merely need to have an ally or a confidante to run with your support. Someone you can command, or at least control to some extent. But first, you must ruin Fudge’s image, erode his public standing, and bring forth his incompetence to justify a vote of no confidence and remove him for good. All in a way that benefits you and your cause and causes harm to Riddle, of course.” 

The Chamber sank into silence as Harry and Juno shared a look. While Juno could understand—and to a large part agree with her mentor’s ideas, a part of her struggled with this quick change. It was far bolder than what she was taught by Cassiopeia and Arcturus. Just two weeks ago, her concern had been winning the Tournament, studying Dark Magic and Transfiguration under her teacher, and the training lessons in the study club. Tonight, they were already talking about controlling the Ministry!

It was too fast. 

“Err, Fudge is no good,” Harry allowed reluctantly. “If we can put in someone honest and competent…”

“Those who are too honest cannot be controlled easily,” said Grindelwald. “They’re as likely to turn their sights on you as much as on the rise of Voldemort. To the upright, all those who dwell in the shadows and act outside the law are an enemy to be dealt with. A young and skilled wizard like you will be either forcefully recruited or restrained at all costs. No, you need someone who will listen to your arrangements. Someone who loathes and fears Riddle as much as you. It’d be even better if that someone is skilled, charismatic, and willing to do whatever it takes to deal with the Dark Lord. Of course, to win a Ministry election, they must be of sufficient renown or at least pedigree.”

Harry hesitated for a long moment. “How about… Nymphadora?”

“She’s too young,” Juno said at once. “While I am fond of my cousin’s side of the family, my aunt is involved in a family scandal from back in the day, and that alone is enough to disqualify her. What about Professor Bones?”

“She’d make a fine minister in times of peace,” the Dark Lord’s voice softened. “You two have grown on her, softening that stern bearing, but that’s far from enough to control her. And her greatest failing is that, for all of her skills with a wand, Amelia Bones is too steady, with a love of procedure. It’s why she has never surpassed a peak, even though she had reached the limit. Too rigid, not extreme enough in character.”

“Not extreme enough?”

“Extreme enough to match the Dark Lord in harshness and cruelty, struggle for leverage, to do what must be done to drag him out in the open, stifle his attempts at infiltration in Wizarding Britain, and decisively crush all of his allies and eliminate his chances to recruit here. Preferably, do the same on the Continent.”

Harry, to her surprise, did not object strongly. He did not object at all, but sank deep into thought. But it shouldn’t have come as much of a surprise—he never had a love for Fudge or the Ministry, and he had already blown up prison and started kidnapping babies. It was a vile prison, and the babies were children of murderous scum like the Death Eaters, but it did not change the fact. 

“Those who might answer our criteria are too old and hard to control and command,” he murmured at last.

“And those whom we can control and use are too young,” Juno finished. “Unless we somehow get Dumbledore—”

“Absolutely not!” Grindelwald erupted. “I know Albus better than you can imagine. While he might be near unmatched in a duel, he’s afraid of power, hesitant to act without sufficient control, and always wary. If you push him to the Ministry seat, he’d double-guess his every decision, and in war, hesitation is often fatal.”

“We might as well leave Fudge be, then,” Harry said reluctantly.

“You’re not without options, young Harry. Your first choice is Cyrus Greengrass, but you’d have to approach him about the family malediction as leverage.”

Juno hesitated for a moment. “That might work. But Lord Greengrass is cunning, content to observe and hedge his bets on the winning side without getting his hands or name dirty. Gaining his support is simple enough, but pushing him into the spotlight as a figurehead? Even dangling the cure to his lineage might not be enough.” 

“There’s yet another option, of course, based on what you have told me so far. Have you considered turning to Juno’s aunt?”

“Andromeda is not suitable, just like Nymphadora.”

“Your other aunt, Juno,” her mentor said patiently. “She is of sufficient pedigree, she’s willing to defy her husband’s master the moment her daughter was born, agreeing to spy for you. Now, she has another child on the way, and her family is at far greater risk after you two stole the soul shard entrusted to Malfoy. How far do you think she’d be willing to go?”

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Author’s Endnote: Whew. That chapter came out more political than I thought it would.