Summer before second year, Tonks Residence.

The past couple of weeks have been… Strange. Not bad, exactly. Just different. Ever since the Tonkses officially got custody of me, it's felt like stepping into another world. A world where I'm part of a family, something I hadn't really thought much about needing before. I didn't need a family - hadn't needed one in years. I've always been pretty independent, fending for myself, even back at the orphanage. But living with the Tonkses, it's been… Warm. The teasing, the casual affection, the small gestures that say - you're one of us now.

Tonks has been a huge part of that. She's like the older sister I never knew I wanted - or dreaded. Even though she's gone most days for Auror training and comes back looking dead on her feet, she always finds the time to mess with me and hang out. If she isn't ruffling my hair or making some sarcastic remark about my 'baby Ravenclaw' tendencies, she's lounging around, chatting with me, just spending time with me. Even when she's bone-tired, she's still there.

It's an odd feeling to know someone is just… Always there. Even if I know through our link, that she'll always be there - seeing it happening is somehow different.

Then there's Andromeda and Ted. They've treated me like one of them from the start, no hesitation. Andromeda is… Well, she's a bit of a perfectionist. Always polished, always put together, but with this underlying warmth. She doesn't coddle, but she does care. Ted's the more laid-back one, always cracking jokes and trying to get me to watch his favorite football team on the telly. He doesn't even like the team really, just uses it as an excuse to shout at the screen and call them 'bloody idiots'.

Apparently he picked a team that was bloody awful so that he'd have the excuse every weekend to have a beer and yell at them. Which… Isn't the worst excuse I've heard for getting into a sport.

I'm not sure how I'm supposed to feel about any of this. It's not like I need another family. I'm used to doing things on my own. But it's not… Bad, either. There's something comforting about the routine, about the easygoing way they include me in everything without making a big deal out of it.

Most of my days are spent practicing magic. With my summer homework done on day one - Tonks hasn't stopped teasing me about it, calling me a swot and a 'baby Raven' at least ten times since then - I've had plenty of time to work on my wandless magic. Professor Flamel's training has given me a much firmer understanding of the theory, but it's up to me to master the practical side of things.

In between all that, I've got chores, though nothing too intense. Just some light cleaning around the house, keeping things tidy, and - probably the most important task - making dinner on weekdays. It makes sense; everyone else is busy. Ted has his job, Andromeda's got her own, and Tonks is deep in Auror training. The responsibility keeps me grounded, though. There's something satisfying about chopping vegetables and preparing meals, knowing they'll be back later, hungry and grateful.

I think that's why it's been so easy to settle in. The house is quiet most of the time, and I'm free to do my own thing. It feels like I have space to just be, to practice magic, or think, or do whatever I want. Then, in the evenings or weekends, there's this family atmosphere. Andromeda and I can have long conversations about politics or the inner workings of the Ministry - much to Ted and Tonks' loud and vocal disgust. And Ted… Well, he's always trying to get me into football, despite my obvious disinterest. I think it's more about having someone to shout at the telly with.

He spent a week on the couch for giving me a beer that first weekend too. Andromeda hadn't been pleased…

And then there's always Tonks again, it always goes back to her. Merlin, Tonks… The proximity over the summer has been... Challenging, especially when it comes to the whole reading-my-mind thing. She does it without even trying now, just casually dipping in and out of my thoughts whenever she pleases. The worst part? She finds it hilarious to push for thoughts she'd like to see. Every time she steps out of the bathroom wrapped in nothing but a towel, fresh from the shower, she gleefully notes where my mind goes. And of course, she never misses an opportunity to demand that I call her 'big sister' during those moments, which just makes it weirder.

Or hotter, it's honestly hard to decide, I take it day by day. Puberty is beginning to rear its head, so those days… Awful, yeah.

It's all harmless fun, I suppose. Embarrassing, yes, but harmless. At least I haven't had another mental visit from Cassiopeia lately. Well, except for one, but that was actually… pleasant. We had a conversation - if you could call it that - about some finer points of Divination. I've been careful, though. After all, she's not exactly a shining example of what one should do with Divination. Her choices - what she did to herself - serve as a constant reminder to tread lightly in those waters.

Professor Flamel has gotten what he wanted out of that meeting. I know not to delve too deep too fast. I'm not willing to dig down and find myself a Balrog of the mind, thank you very much.

I close the book I've been pretending to read and check the time. It's still early. I've got almost six hours before anyone will be home. The house is quiet, the perfect time for me to get something important done.

It's time to sell off the valuables I've found in the Room of Requirement.

The thought's been nagging at me for weeks. I've amassed a small fortune, thanks to that room - jewels, antiques, even a Nundu fur rug, of all things. There's no way I can keep all of it, not without raising questions. And besides, I don't want to be completely dependent on the Tonkses. Selling this stuff will make me at least somewhat self-sufficient.

I head down to the basement, where Andromeda keeps her small potions lab. On one of the shelves is the aging potion I brewed last week. Knockturn Alley could theoretically be a bit more dangerous these days, with the Dark Lord back in some form. Plus, I'm more well-known now than I was last year. Walking into Knockturn as myself isn't just risky - it's stupid. A twelve-year-old selling off thousands of Galleons worth of goods? Yeah, that would raise all kinds of red flags.

And then have me robbed down to my skivvies.

If I'm lucky.

That's where the aging potion comes in.

I grab the vial and head back upstairs, flicking my wand as I walk, muttering an incantation, letting my clothes float off my body. I've learned the hard way that drinking the potion while wearing my usual clothes is a mistake. Growing into a full-grown adult while wearing twelve-year-old-sized clothes? Not a good look.

Also, twelve year olds underwear do not mesh with an adult body, at all.

That had been uncomfortable.

I down the potion in one go, grimacing at the taste. It's foul - like drinking sludge - but the potion starts working almost immediately. I feel an itch spread across my skin as I grow, my limbs stretching, muscles expanding, until I stand at least a foot taller, with broader shoulders and more defined features. I glance down at myself, marveling at the transformation. My clothes follow shortly after as I wave my wand quietly muttering the incantation, the clothes resizing themselves to fit my new body, though I almost lose my balance as I awkwardly lift a leg to let my trousers slide back on.

I'm not entirely used to this new center of gravity.

I pause in front of the mirror in the living room, checking out my reflection. Not bad. Not bad at all. If I do say so myself, I make for a rather handsome man. All sharp, masculine lines, with just the right amount of ruggedness.

But the resemblance to Sirius Black… That's the real problem. I don't look exactly like him, but there's enough of a similarity that people might take notice. With Black's escape from Azkaban still fresh in everyone's minds, the last thing I need is for someone to think I'm him. Thankfully, I only look like a relative, not an identical copy.

Still, better safe than sorry.

I wave my wand with another almost silent incantation, conjuring a cloak. It's not perfect - there are a few frayed edges where the conjuration wasn't quite up to scratch - but it'll do - it's not exactly a second year spell so I shouldn't be too critical. I can always buy a proper one once I'm in Knockturn if needed. I throw it over my shoulders, pulling the hood up to shadow my face.

Satisfied with my disguise, I head to the fireplace. I grab a pinch of Floo powder and step into the hearth, the familiar green flames roaring to life around me.

"Knockturn Alley," I call out, tossing the powder into the fire.

With a whoosh, the world spins around me, and I'm hurtling through the Floo network, my destination clear in my mind.

Knockturn Alley.

A hive of scum and villainy.

----------------------------------------

Knockturn Alley, London.

Contrary to what most people might think, Knockturn Alley isn't just a dingy, dangerous pit of darkness waiting to swallow the unwary whole. At least, not during the day. That's when it still holds an air of mystery, of magical oddity, where the less-than-savory mingle with the eccentric.

Its floo point, however, speaks volumes about its character. Unlike Diagon Alley, where you're deposited in the cozy warmth of the Leaky Cauldron, Knockturn's floo point is a grim fireplace tucked under an arch just inside its perimeter. No friendly bar, no welcoming lights. Just a shadowed alcove that lets you in - and never lets you out, only allowing floor access to Knockturn, not away from it. You want to leave, you're not doing it without walking. Or being carried.

Of course, I could floo from a shop if I'm desperate to get out quickly, but those kinds of places charge steep fees, and Knockturn isn't known for being charitable to strangers.

If I needed to leave in a rush like that, any shopkeep down here would charge an arm and a leg. Some places, perhaps literally. Although not this close to Diagon Alley. Here, everything is perfectly legal, only more… Scruffy looking.

Stepping out of the floo, I brush the soot from my cloak and adjust my hood. The streets of Knockturn are oddly peaceful during daylight hours, but still crowded with an array of people from all walks of magical life. Vendors hawk dubious-looking potions, a few holding what I'm certain are cursed trinkets. The buildings themselves are crammed together like crooked teeth, leaning over the street as though they could collapse on the crowd at any moment. The architecture is downright bizarre, and I wonder whether it was designed that way or if it just became warped over time.

Again, some buildings stand out more than others. I can still see the large shoe that held a shop I'd been to before my first year. But this time I'm not going to be sticking around the more acceptable parts of Knockturn.

The crowd is diverse - rough-looking wizards, pale-faced witches with hoods pulled tight, and a few creatures I wouldn't want to meet in a dark alley. Still, no one seems to be paying much attention to me. As long as I look like I belong, Knockturn Alley leaves me alone. But if I flash too much gold or appear weak, the alley might decide it wants something from me. I've heard plenty of stories about that happening. Then again, it's not much different from the muggle world. Any back alley in a big city could be just as dangerous.

A fool would be a fool no matter where you were in the world. And there would always be opportunists waiting to exploit one.

I keep my pace brisk, walking with purpose. I'm not here for the cheap vendors. I've got business deep in the heart of Knockturn, beyond where the average person dares to go usually. Last time, I didn't venture very far in, sticking to the more public-facing areas. But after some careful questioning over the past few weeks in Diagon Alley, I've learned where I need to go. A pawn shop of sorts, buried deeper in Knockturn's labyrinthine streets.

As I cross a threshold, a faint magical tingle runs over my skin, confirming I've passed into the deeper section of Knockturn Alley. This is where things get strange. I've heard about this from some of the regulars at the less reputable bars in Diagon. The deeper you go, the more Knockturn unfolds, literally. Some long-forgotten dark wizard managed to fold space itself here, creating a massive, ever-shifting network of alleys that could never have fit within the small perimeter of the magical enclave. No maps, no signage. If you don't know where you're going, you either learn quickly or get 'educated' - usually at the cost of your coin purse, your robes, and maybe your shoes, too.

Very rarely your life, thankfully. At least not the lives of anyone someone might care about. No one here wants the Aurors to come by more often.

Although that doesn't preclude someone taking you away from here and taking your life elsewhere… But that's the slums for you. Still around because the taxes made for the Ministry through all of these small shops is worth more than the cost to clean it all up.

No one seems to know exactly how this space-folding was done that created this labyrinthine existence, but the wizard responsible, according to legend, folded himself out of existence trying to go too far. It's a cautionary tale, though whether it's true or not doesn't matter. The magic remains, as does the maze. Funnily enough I had no idea last time I was here. It's not in any book I've read.

I only found out through the last few weeks and by sniffing around bars for the gossip on Knockturn before I made this expedition. Not the Leaky Cauldron, that place was too busy and open to have anything juicy, but there were plenty of bars in Diagon, and the beginning stages of Knockturn, if you looked.

I keep my head down, eyes scanning the alley ahead, trying to maintain an air of confidence. I've been told about the strange twists and turns, the dead-ends that aren't dead-ends if you know the right spell. Sure enough, I find myself at a mess of alleys branching off in every direction. No signs. No directions. Just an endless stretch of dark, winding paths.

I've gotten directions of course. But it doesn't change the feeling of being somewhere I know could be dangerous at the drop of a hat.

It's not a certainty, hundreds of people go through here everyday without anything happening, but there's a higher than zero chance.

That said, my dice said I would be fine today, hence why today…

There's still something unsettling about the way the alley twists. The buildings here seem to press in, the magic in the air thicker, more oppressive. The dim light filtering through the crooked rooftops gives the impression of twilight, despite it still being midday. The shadows move, or at least it feels that way. I can feel eyes on me - unseen, but there all the same.

I toss my head back, trying to affect an air of arrogance, like I know exactly where I'm going. Wand ready but hidden beneath my cloak, I take the second alley to the right, heading deeper into the labyrinth. The shops here still have 'legal' signs in their windows, but the goods they offer are anything but legal if you know what to ask for I suspect. Everything here has that thin veneer of legitimacy, but anyone can see the truth lurking just beneath the surface.

After a few more twists and turns, I find myself standing in front of the shop I've been directed to. It's called 'The Glory Hole'. The place looks like it's about to collapse. Half the wood on the front is rotting, and the windows are so filthy you can't see inside. The paint - what little of it is left - is peeling in long, jagged strips, and the door hangs slightly crooked in its frame.

"Charming," I mutter, eyeing the dilapidated shop. This is definitely the place. And, despite its outward appearance, I can sense the subtle hum of wards layered over the building.

With my wand firmly in hand, I push the door open and step inside. The bell above the door lets out a tired jingle, and the smell of dust and old wood hits me immediately. Surprisingly, the inside is far cleaner than I expected. Run-down, sure, but it's been swept, and the counters are relatively free of grime. Shelves line the walls, filled with an assortment of rare, expensive-looking items. Nothing obviously illegal is on open display, but the nature of the shop is clear. This is where people come when they have something valuable - and possibly dangerous - to sell or buy under the table.

In essence, perfect for my needs.

I loiter near the door for a moment, glancing over the items on the shelves. Nothing I immediately recognize as useful to me, though a few of the objects have an air of ancient magic about them. My eyes drift to the bookshelf behind the proprietor's counter, wondering what might be hidden among the more mundane items for sale.

The proprietor, a man with dark hair and sallow skin, sits behind the counter. He looks like he hasn't slept in weeks. Deep bags under his eyes give him a hollow, almost skeletal appearance, and he gazes at me with a bored, half-lidded stare. "Whaddya want?" He asks, his voice a tired rasp.

"I've got things to sell," I reply, keeping my voice low and measured. "And maybe something to buy."

His bloodshot eyes flick over me lazily before he snorts. "Ye can't afford the good stuff, mate. Show me what ye got."

I slip my pouch from inside my cloak and pull out one of the shrunken trunks from the Room of Requirement, placing it on the counter. With a flick of my wand, I enlarge it back to full size, watching as the man's eyes widen slightly. "Rare items. Old, valuable," I say.

He squints at me before jerking his head toward the trunk. "Open it."

I comply, flipping the latch and revealing some of the various jewels, artifacts, and antiques I've collected. The man's eyes gleam with interest as he inspects the contents, pulling out a few pieces and muttering under his breath. I can tell by the way his fingers brush over the jewels that he's assessing their value, I can also feel the magic being used.

Which… There's no visible wand being used, which makes me a little wary.

"Not bad," He finally mutters, his voice neutral, though I can tell he's trying to downplay his interest. "I'll give ye a fair price… For some of it."

Without a word, I bring out more of the shrunken trunks from my pouch. Not worried about the trace, not here. Besides, I'm using one of my backup wands anyway. The greedy look in his eyes tells me I've definitely hooked him.

The haggling that follows is long and exhausting. He's a shrewd dealer, and every time I think I've made progress, he pulls me back with another lowball offer. I expected to get fleeced, but I don't have the luxury of selling these items in a reputable shop where questions would be asked. Like how do you have any of this?

Or, why do you have a family heirloom of so and so's family?

Better to get less, and get no issues from the sale.

This man, and others like him, make a living by buying no-questions-asked items. At the end of the day, I sell every trunk I have, and while I walk away with a mind boggling 14,000 Galleons, I know I could have easily gotten four times that in a more legitimate venue, selling them slowly over time in auctions and the like.

But again, that would only see me run into many questions, and likely legal ramifications.

Some of the things I sold have family crests on them after all…

The proprietor, having fleeced me to his satisfaction, is far more agreeable now. At my prompting, he allows me to look at some of his more discreet items. He waves a lazy hand over the shelf behind him that holds a couple dozen books, and three books float forward to land on the counter. They look like old, dusty manuals on farming techniques - specifically sheep rearing. I raise an eyebrow.

The man chuckles nastily. "Just a bit of fun. Hold on."

He runs his finger across the books, dispelling a glamour so expertly done I hadn't even noticed it. The true nature of the books is now revealed: Blood magic. Highly illegal.

"What if I was an Auror?" I say, looking at the books, my interest piqued.

"Got intent wards in here, if you were, I'd know…" He says with a nasty smile, hinting at unpleasant things.

Likely not death, because again, too much heat. But the Auror might be walking back naked to Diagon Alley, and with a little bit less memories then he had before. I have to say I somewhat appreciate the way Knockturn is run. Even if I disagree with it.

Although until a week ago, I'd thought the front facing Knockturn of very limited illegality, was the true Alley - instead of the facade.

I stare at the titles, my heart skipping a beat. "How much?"

"Fourteen thousand for the lot," The man says, his eyes gleaming with greed.

I scoff. "Convenient. The exact amount you just gave me. Don't take me for a fool. I'll give you five thousand."

His eyes narrow, but he grins. "Yer gonna beggar me, lad… But fine. I'll do it for ten thousand."

I narrow my eyes. He dropped his price too quickly, and I know he's been trying to gouge me from the start. Still, I want those books. Magic is magic, after all, and while blood magic has a dark reputation, it's not inherently evil in all parts of its use… There's plenty about blood magic that isn't about dark rituals - it's just another form of magic, one most wizards don't bother to understand. And right now, I need all the knowledge I can get - especially after what happened at school... Still, I'm not about to be bled dry by this guy's greed.

I lean in slightly, keeping my voice low and steady. "Six thousand, two each for each book. Take it or leave it. And if you try to pull another fast one, perhaps I won't be interested in coming back next time…"

With how much he's going to make on everything I brought, I think I can get away with playing hardball on this. He doesn't need to know that I have no real intention of coming back.

The man's greasy smile falters. He eyes me for a long moment, weighing his options. Finally, he grunts, "Two thousand for each it is, then. But ye better come back with more goods." He grumbles.

I smile back, though there's no warmth in it. "Pleasure doing business with you."

I count out the galleons and hand them over. He slides the books across the counter with a flick of his hand, and I stash them quickly in my enchanted pouch. I can almost feel the power of the knowledge inside them, just waiting to be unlocked. But I'll need to be careful - blood magic isn't something to mess around with lightly. I'll study them thoroughly before I even think about casting a single spell.

I might even dare to ask Professor Flamel some questions, after all, he was around when it was legal.

The Philosopher's stone likely has a component of blood magic in its creation - if I were to hazard a guess.

With the deal done, I turn and head for the door. No point in sticking around. This isn't the kind of place where you linger, and I've already stayed longer than I'd like.

Stepping back out into the crooked, twisting alley, I can feel eyes on me again. It's not paranoia - this place is alive with watchful gazes. You're always being observed here, but as long as you don't look weak, you're generally left alone according to the advice I'd followed. I pull my cloak tighter and keep walking, my pace measured, purposeful. I pass a group of wizards huddled near a darkened doorway. Their eyes follow me, sizing me up. For a second, I think they might make a move, but they don't. I'm not an easy mark to all appearances, and so they let me go.

I keep moving, navigating the labyrinthine alleys with practiced ease - which is really just faking it until I make it, using my directions. My mind is already buzzing with thoughts of the books I've just acquired. The deeper I went in this place, the more the air thickened with magic, but it's not the familiar, comforting kind. It's old, oppressive - dangerous. The kind of magic that sticks to your skin and leaves a residue in the air.

But I'm already getting used to it now, my senses are one of my most trained skills. Knockturn Alley may be dark, but it's a place of opportunity if you know how to handle yourself. It's for the best I remain careful though, I won't be back this year.

Finally, I see the familiar shift in the atmosphere. The deeper, more sinister parts of Knockturn start to give way to the less dangerous sections as I near the exit. The oppressive weight lifts slightly, and the shops here are a little less foreboding, their windows a bit cleaner, their signs a bit more polished. It's still Knockturn, though. Still a place where you need to watch your back.

Just not to the same extent.

I cross back into Diagon Alley, and it's like walking into a different world. The street is bustling with people, bright and cheerful, nothing like the twisted paths I've just left behind. Wizards and witches chat happily as they go about their shopping, completely unaware - or perhaps willfully ignorant - of the darker world just a few alleys over.

Although is it just a few alleys? When you're practically crossing into some other space to get deep into the alley?

I slip into the Leaky Cauldron without drawing any attention. The warmth of the pub hits me like a wave, in contrast to the cold undercurrents of Knockturn. Tom, the barkeep, gives me a nod as I head for the floo. No time to linger. My aging potion will start to wear off eventually, and the last thing I need is to revert to my twelve-year-old self in the middle of the pub. That would raise far too many questions.

Grabbing a pinch of floo powder, I toss it into the fireplace and step into the green flames. "Tonks residence," I say quietly, feeling the familiar pull of the magic as the world around me spins and blurs into streaks of green flames.

When I stumble out of the fireplace into the cozy living room of the Tonks' house, I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding. The tension from Knockturn eases, replaced by the familiar sense of safety that this house always brings nowadays. I glance at the clock. Still early enough that no one's home yet for hours.

I spend half an hour just finishing up my chores, the ones I'd skipped before now, my mind too focused on what I would be doing. Using my greater reach to help get places I normally struggle with.

I catch my reflection in the mirror above the mantel soon after. My potion's almost done wearing off. I mutter a quick spell to resize my clothes, which have already started to sag slightly as my adult form begins to shrink back down. The transformation isn't painful, but it's always disorienting - like being pulled back into a body that doesn't quite fit yet.

As I straighten my robes and tug at my collar, I take a look around, and with my chores done, I head for my room, a grin spreads across my face as I enter. I did it. I sold the treasures from the Room of Requirement, pocketed a tidy sum of galleons, and - best of all - secured new knowledge that might prove invaluable in the future.

The books weigh heavy in my enchanted pouch, and the thought of the power they hold makes my mind race with possibilities. Blood magic… It's not something I'll take lightly, but it's knowledge, and knowledge is power. And in this world, power is everything.

But I'll be careful. I've seen what carelessness with magic can do. I won't rush into anything without understanding it fully first. I'll study the books in the safety of the Undercroft, under the Fidelius Charm's protection. I won't risk practicing this kind of magic anywhere I can be watched.

For now, though, I can afford to be patient. I'll take my time, learn everything I can before I even think about using it. But the possibilities… They're there, waiting for me to uncover them.

I smile to myself as I head for a shower, the weight of the day lifting off my shoulders. It's been a good day. A very good day.

----------------------------------------

Several days later, Tonks' residence.

Tonks crashes through the door like she always does after Auror training - loud, tired, and full of complaints. I'm sitting on the couch, halfheartedly flipping through a book on advanced spell theory, but I know I won't get anything done with her around. As usual, her energy is infectious - even if lately not as physically draining.

She still beat out anyone else for a mentally draining personality though.

"Merlin, Lucas, they're trying to kill me," She groans, dramatically dropping onto the couch next to me. Her hair, now a vibrant shade of teal, flops in all directions as she sprawls out, her head landing on my shoulder.

I smirk. "I think that's kind of the point, Tonks. You're supposed to be training to fight Dark wizards, not lounging around eating biscuits all day."

She elbows me in the ribs, not too gently either. "Oi! I'll have you know, I'm doing plenty of fighting. They just won't let us use magic yet. It's all 'run another lap, Tonks!' and 'learn the laws of magical misconduct, Tonks!' If I hear 'Tonks' one more time, I might actually hex someone."

"Maybe if you didn't trip over your own feet half the time, they'd let you use magic." I snark.

Another poke in the ribs, this one harder. I laugh, pushing her off me as she sits up and glares. "Careful there, Nymphadora." I say pleasantly.

She had said she didn't want to hear Tonks again…

She glares harder. "That's it! You're getting hexed."

"Go ahead and try. You know you'll trip over your own wand before you manage anything," I say, grinning, safe in picking a fight for now.

She was honestly exhausted.

She punches my shoulder this time, playfully, but hard enough that I wince. "One of these days, little bro, you're going to regret all this mouth."

"Oh, really?" I say, rubbing my shoulder with mock pain. "And what, exactly, are you going to do? Trip on your way to hex me? Maybe fall into me and give me a concussion?"

Tonks huffs, crossing her arms but smiling despite herself. "Keep it up, and I'll make sure your next trip to the loo is a lot more complicated." She threatens, but her lips keep twitching.

"Ah yes, a true Auror in the making. Forget fighting Dark wizards - your real talent lies in sabotaging toilets."

"I have to start somewhere," She says with a smug smile, leaning back against the couch.

There's a moment of comfortable silence before she tilts her head toward me, glancing at my hand still absentmindedly rubbing my shoulder. "Here, let me make it up to you. Brush my hair."

I raise an eyebrow. "How is that supposed to make it up to me?"

She pouts, pushing her hair into my hand. "It'll make me feel better."

I roll my eyes but reach for the brush she left on the side table. "You're impossible, you know that?"

"Yup," She says cheerfully, scooting closer and leaning against me as I start to brush her hair. "But you love me for it."

I snort, running the brush through the tangles in her now sea-green hair. "That's not quite how I'd put it."

Tonks gives a quiet laugh, but I can feel her smirking even with her back to me. "Oh, come on, Lucas. We both know through our little mental connection that you luuuuv me."

"Yeah, no," I reply, the sarcasm dripping from my voice. "But I do enjoy the peace and quiet when you're too tired to talk."

"Oh, hush. You love every minute of my sparkling personality," She says, leaning further into me, almost melting into the sofa. "And this is nice, you know? Just... Us."

I pause for a moment, letting her words settle in. She's right - it is nice. Weirdly domestic, almost. I've never had this kind of thing before - someone to tease, someone to just... Be with. I think… "Yeah, it's alright," I say softly, focusing on the rhythm of brushing her hair. "I don't mind it."

I had already settled on tackling my memories this year… If anything, Tonks only made me more sure I needed to do it. Find out more about my sister… About myself… My old life.

"Don't get too sentimental on me," She teases, her voice softer now. "I'll start thinking you actually like having a big sister all, over, you."

Before I can respond, Andromeda's voice cuts through the moment. "Nymphadora, darling, stop teasing your brother so much," She says, entering the room with a small smile.

Tonks straightens up slightly, looking at her mum with a pout. "That's what little brothers are for! I'm supposed to tease him!"

She doesn't even bother fighting about her name. After the first week home, it had become clear it was an obvious losing proposition against Andromeda.

Andromeda raises an eyebrow, her smile never wavering. "Not in the way you tease him, it's not."

I sigh, closing my eyes. Kill me now. It only now hits me that of course Andromeda would be aware of everything Tonks has been doing. All the teasing. The weird... Interactions. Of course, she knows.

"Mum, you're going to make little bro feel self-conscious," Tonks protests, pulling me into a hug, which I don't bother resisting. "Stop embarrassing him!"

Andromeda chuckles, walking by and ruffling both of our hairdos in one smooth motion. "He'll get over it, won't you, dear?"

I make a noncommittal sound, trying not to think too hard about what Andromeda's implying. Before I can dwell on it, Ted's voice booms from the other room. "Monopoly's set up! Who's ready to lose?"

I groan inwardly. Monopoly. Great. "Do I have to?" I ask, but Tonks is already dragging me off the couch, her usual energy restored.

"Oh, yes, you do," She says with a wicked grin. "It's family tradition."

Soon, we're all sitting around the table, the game board spread out between us. Ted's got his sleeves rolled up like he's preparing for a duel, Andromeda is seated gracefully but with a glint in her eye that tells me she's not going to play nice, and Tonks... Tonks is practically vibrating with excitement.

The game starts off relatively tame, but it doesn't take long for the true colors to show. Ted's hoarding properties like a madman, Andromeda's bargaining with all the cunning of a seasoned diplomat, and Tonks is, well, being Tonks.

She leans toward me with a sly grin, waving a stack of Monopoly money in my face. "I'll give you a loan if you sell me your body."

I blink at her, incredulous. "Are you serious?"

Before she can respond, Andromeda chimes in, completely unphased. "No prostitution in front of your father, dear."

Ted just chuckles, shaking his head. "I could have sworn we had a no prostitution at all rule?"

I throw my hands up, unable to stop myself from laughing. "What even is this family?"

Tonks just leans back in her chair, her grin wide. "A winning one, obviously."

I roll my eyes but can't help the smile that creeps onto my face. As competitive and crazy as they are, it's hard not to enjoy myself. It's... Good. Really good.

For once, I don't mind the chaos.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

July, summer before second year, Tonks Residence.

Tonks lounges on the couch again, her wet hair leaving damp patches on the cushions as she stretches out, her Auror training robes discarded for a comfortable t-shirt and a pair of shorts. I sit across from her, shuffling a stack of Tarot cards between my hands, the repetitive motion soothing as I let the noise of the cards slipping together drown out the silence. Ted and Andromeda are out on their date night, leaving the house quiet, save for the gentle rustle of cards and the occasional drip of water from Tonks' freshly washed hair.

"You gonna read me?" Tonks asks suddenly, her voice playful as she sits up, tucking one leg underneath her. Her eyes gleam with mischief, already knowing the answer but asking anyway just to be annoying.

I roll my eyes, shaking my head. "That's not really how it works."

She gasps dramatically, placing a hand over her heart. "You mean all the fairytales have lied to me? Shock! Horror!"

I snort, suppressing a grin. "Yeah, sorry to disappoint. Tarot cards aren't exactly some mystical crystal ball that'll tell you all your deepest secrets. They're more about self-reflection. Understanding your own past, present, and maybe, maybe a glimpse at your future. But it's mostly about yourself, not others." In essence, I could read me, not her.

If she wanted to do a reading, she'd have to do it herself.

Tonks hums thoughtfully, brushing a few damp strands of hair out of her face. "So why've I never seen you use them, then?"

The cards slip through my fingers, shuffling again as I pause, her question hanging in the air. I've always avoided introspection in a way, avoided looking back at my past with too much scrutiny. There's too much there - too much I don't want to face. I've always been more focused on surviving, on pushing forward, not on dwelling.

Something I know I need to change. But I'm not ignorant to my failures in the past year.

I shrug, glancing down at the deck in my hands. "I've never been much for looking into myself," I admit softly. "And my past... Even less so."

Tonks looks at me, her playful expression softening into something more serious. "Your past is important, Lucas. You shouldn't hide from it."

I meet her eyes, feeling the weight of her words. She's not wrong. As much as I want to leave certain parts of my life buried, I know I can't keep running forever. With a small, wry smile, I glance back at the cards. "Hence why I got myself a deck," I say, holding them up. "I've spent all summer attuning it to my magic, making sure it's mine in truth."

Tonks bounces in place, her grin returning. "So, do it! Do it! I wanna see!"

I sigh, rolling my eyes. "Fine, fine." I shuffle the cards again, the familiar weight of them in my hands comforting despite the slight unease that creeps up my spine. As I shuffle, I feel something stir in the back of my mind - a presence, faint but unmistakable.

Cassiopeia.

She doesn't speak, but I can feel her there, watching through my eyes, her curiosity piqued as I handle the deck. I suppress a shudder, wondering what she's up to, but there's no real malice in her presence, just... Interest. With a deep breath, I push her to the back of my mind and focus on the cards in front of me.

"Alright," I mutter, more to myself than to Tonks, "Let's start."

I lay out three cards for my past, flipping them over one by one, explaining their meanings as I go.

"The Hermit," I say, pointing to the first card. "Isolation, introspection... Hesitance. It represents a time of withdrawal, of retreating into oneself."

Not a surprising card all told. How much have I isolated myself at times? Hesitated?

Tonks listens quietly, her usual energy subdued as I continue.

I flip the second card. "The Chariot. Determination, control, willpower. A sense of pushing forward, of striving toward something despite obstacles."

My time studying, fighting for improvement, against Quirrell, against fate itself… Willpower I hadn't lacked this past year… Although my fight for control was perhaps not a good attribute and something I needed to work on.

Hence the cards… Self reflection.

The third card turns over, revealing the Eight of Cups. "Flight. Leaving something behind, fleeing from what no longer serves you. In my case... Fleeing from myself."

I pause, the weight of the words settling over me like a shroud. I've always known that I've been running - running from my past, from the things I couldn't change - whatever it is that I don't remember. But saying it aloud, with Tonks listening, feels heavier somehow, more real.

Tonks reaches over, giving my back a gentle pat. "You've come a long way, Lucas. Doesn't matter what you were running from - you're here now."

I smile weakly, appreciating the sentiment, even if it doesn't make the truth any easier to swallow. "Thanks."

I shuffle the deck again, laying out three more cards for my present. I flip the first one over, and a sly grin spreads across Tonks' face as soon as she sees it.

"The Lovers," I say dryly, already anticipating her reaction.

"Ooooh, what's that one mean?" She teases, waggling her eyebrows suggestively.

I smack her lightly on the arm. "It can mean familial love, too. Not just romantic, you know."

Tonks snorts, shaking her head. "Yeah, sure, let's go with that."

I roll my eyes, moving on to the next card. "The Wheel of Fortune. Change, cycles, a turning point. Basically, it means I live in interesting times."

"Don't we know it," Tonks mutters, a wry smile tugging at her lips.

I flip the last card, staring at it for a moment before speaking. "The Magician. It represents new opportunities, new meetings. Interesting encounters."

I really don't need an interesting encounter on top of everything else. I think, but I try to stay positive, maybe it's a good encounter?

Tonks frowns, leaning forward to get a better look. "What's that supposed to mean?"

I shrug, feeling that same sense of foreboding creep up my spine again. "No idea. But I guess we'll find out."

Tonks bounces in her seat again, her energy returning full force. "Okay, now do your future! Come on!"

I hesitate for a moment, Cassiopeia's presence still lingering in the back of my mind, watching. Tarot isn't really meant for future sight, not in the way people think. It's more about guidance, about reflecting on where you are and where you might be headed, but it's not set in stone. Still, I can't exactly say no to Tonks when she's looking at me like that.

"Fine," I sigh, shuffling the deck one last time. "But remember, it's not really for predicting the future."

Tonks just grins. "Yeah, yeah, I know. Now do it."

I lay out three cards for my future, flipping them over one by one.

The first card shows Death.

Tonks' playful grin falters slightly, but she forces a chuckle. "Okay... Well, that's just one card. No big deal, right?"

I don't answer, flipping the second card. I already know somehow what it will be. Cassiopeia chuckling darkly in the back of my head.

Death.

Tonks' smile disappears entirely. She leans forward, staring at the card as if she can't quite believe what she's seeing.

I hesitate before flipping the third card, but there's a sense of inevitability now, a weight pressing down on me that I can't ignore. I turn the last card over.

Death.

The room falls silent. Tonks doesn't need me to explain what the cards mean - she's seen enough to understand. There's no more teasing, no more playful banter, just a heavy silence that stretches on, punctuated only by the sound of the cards lying on the table between us.

"Like you said," Tonks begins, her voice a little unsteady, "Tarot isn't really meant for future sight. Yeah?"

"Yeah..." I murmur, staring at the cards in front of me, the ominous images glaring back at me like an accusation. "But the deck only has one Death card..."

Tonks stares at the cards, her expression unreadable for a moment before she scowls, glaring at them as if they've personally offended her. "I hate Divination."

I can't shake the feeling of dread that's settled over me like a shadow. Cassiopeia's presence has retreated, but I can still feel her lingering at the edges of my mind, like a ghost watching from the distance.

The cards remain on the table, their message clear, even if I wish it wasn't.

I'd challenged fate…

It seems it was sending me a challenge right back.

----------------------------------------

Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

Middle of July,

The Ministry has its ways, and apparently, they found it delightful to 'volunteer' me to attend the Midsummer's Ball held by the Smiths. It's supposed to be a grand affair, celebrating how well the muggleborn law, or rather my law - Greenwood's Law - was settling in.

Muggleborns all across Britain had taken the tests and were now being funneled into the magical world like 'proper' witches and wizards, with a better understanding of the culture they'd been thrust into. Apparently, this ball was some sort of glorified pat-on-the-back for how smoothly the whole thing was going.

Honestly, it was a ridiculous excuse for more pompous nonsense, but then again, that seemed to be what the magical world ran on. The fact that it was being hosted by the Smiths made me want to attend even less. If it wasn't for the fact that I couldn't afford to ignore politics - especially in this world where reputation could be weaponized like a wand - I'd have gladly skipped it.

Unlike Harry, who'd in canon ignored the media and politics like the plague - and paid for it over and over again. I wasn't about to be that foolish, no matter my distaste for it.

I wanted to study magic Merlin dammit! But the dangers of the world meant I couldn't just lock myself in a tower and ignore everything else. This wasn't a scripted movie or book, if I left Harry to things, I might end up in a world ruled by Voldemort one day.

And as a muggleborn… Let's just say that would be less than ideal.

So I found myself in a formal robe that Andromeda had insisted I wear. She claimed it was all about appearances, that people would scrutinize everything from my stance on the law to the length of my sleeves. I was also mildly convinced she just wanted to embarrass me. She insisted on coming as my chaperone, citing propriety and tradition, even though I would have preferred going alone. But, no, Andromeda had been adamant.

Even though she hated these kinds of things due to how many treated her with the whole banishment from the Black Family thing. Somehow she still blamed me for it, despite her forcing me to take her along.

Women.

They make no sense whatsoever.

So, here we are - neither late nor early, arriving right on time at the Smith family manor, which is as gaudy and overdone as I imagined. The manor is built like some grand fortress, all sharp lines and overbearing towers. It's wrapped in charm after charm, a clear display of old wealth and even older paranoia. The grounds are immaculate, as if no leaf had ever dared fall out of place, the apparation point allowing us to see the grounds clearly.

Entirely meant to brag, because as soon as we arrive, we're directed to either walk across the ground to the manor, or floo straight to the entrance hall, the apparation point just outside the manor also having a fireplace for just such a purpose.

The floo spits us out into a marble-floored entrance hall, grand in its opulence and yet suffocating in its sterile, manufactured grandeur. Obviously either the wards or a house elf has warned our hosts, as they somehow happen to be there right on time.

Almost as soon as we dust ourselves off, we're greeted by the Smiths. Lord Smith is every bit the pompous Pureblood patriarch, with his neatly trimmed beard and robes embroidered with the Smith family crest in gold thread. Lady Smith, similarly, wears a regal expression, her eyes sharp and calculating, as if I'm another acquisition she's evaluating. And, of course, there's Zacharias Smith, standing there with his usual smug, self-satisfied expression. His hair is slicked back, his robes - cut to fit perfectly - scream of privilege and self-importance.

How he got into Hufflepuff I will never understand.

"Ah, Mister Greenwood!" Lord Smith grabs my hand in a firm shake, his grip almost crushing, as if he's trying to exert dominance even through a handshake. "We're so delighted you could join us tonight. Your contributions to magical education are truly commendable! A refreshing perspective on tradition!"

"Thank you, Lord Smith," I say, keeping my voice as neutral as possible. I've been trained to handle people like him by now - empty pleasantries, stiff smiles, and pretending like their thinly veiled condescension doesn't make me want to hex them into next week. "It's an honor to be here." I lie.

He's still gripping my hand like he thinks we're forming some sort of alliance when Andromeda smoothly intervenes, asking Lord and Lady Smith about some political discussion she knows they'll be too proud to resist indulging in. It works, and Lord Smith finally lets go of my hand, giving me a chance to step away.

That's when I come face to face with Zacharias. He's practically vibrating with smugness, his pale face stretching into an almost condescending grin. "Fancy seeing you here, Greenwood, at my family's ancient seat," He says, his voice dripping with superiority.

Yes, I know, you're a rich ponce and I'm a muggleborn. I almost want to roll my eyes, but instead I default on the best way to deal with this annoyance.

I tilt my head, giving him an innocent smile that I know will rile him up. "Ah, you know my name. I'm honored." I reach out for a handshake, "It's nice to meet you, do you go to Hogwarts? I've never seen you around?"

Zacharias' face goes red almost instantly, his smug smile twitching into a frown. He clenches his fists at his sides, ignoring my hand, his body stiffening as he tries to reign in his irritation. It's the same joke I played on him months ago at Hogwarts, pretending to forget his name. And it still works like a charm.

Lord Smith, oblivious to our exchange, somehow manages to also be oblivious to the tension simmering beneath the surface. Instead, he claps his son on the back with a hearty laugh. "Ah, look at that! The two of you will surely be great friends. Zacharias, why don't you show young Mister Greenwood around?"

Zacharias' fake smile is almost painful to witness, but he doesn't argue. He grits his teeth, muttering something about "This way" before dragging me into the main ballroom. He gestures stiffly at the various features of the room, pointing out the buffet, the ballroom itself, the grand staircase leading up to the private areas, and the hall to the bathrooms. He does this all as if he's giving a tour of some famous historical site.

Then, without so much as a parting word, Zacharias practically flees, leaving me alone in a room full of the magical elite. Not that I'm overly complaining about the fact he's not hanging around. I can only take so much smugness. Even Malfoy is less open about it.

The ballroom itself is just as ostentatious as the rest of the manor. Glistening chandeliers hang from the ceiling, casting a warm glow over the polished marble floors. The walls are lined with elaborate tapestries depicting scenes of ancient magical battles, all carefully curated to emphasize the importance of Pureblood lineage and tradition. There's a buffet table laid out with enough food to feed a small army - roast meats, enchanted platters of vegetables that float gracefully into guests' hands, and delicate pastries that sparkle with edible jewels of all things. It's all perfectly presented, designed to dazzle and impress.

I grab a drink - some kind of sparkling concoction that tastes vaguely of peaches and something else I can't identify - and move to the side, hoping to fade into the background for a bit. But, of course, that plan falls apart almost instantly.

Just as I'm beginning to relax, I see them - Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy. They're walking through the ballroom with an air of superiority, gliding between conversations like they own the place. Their presence is magnetic in the worst way, and as fate would have it, they stop right in front of me.

"Lord and Lady Malfoy," I say with a respectful bow, keeping my face neutral. Inside, I'm mentally preparing myself for whatever verbal sparring they're about to engage in. Allowing Draco Malfoy to bait me into having anything to do with them, is definitely one of my biggest blunders.

Lucius' sharp grey eyes scan me, a small smirk playing on his lips. "Mister Greenwood," He says slowly, as if savoring each word. "I had heard you were invited. How... Delightful, that you managed to make it."

"I felt I should show my face, considering Greenwood's Law," I reply, careful to keep my tone polite, but bland.

Narcissa's smile is beautiful, but there's no warmth behind it - only the cold, calculated gaze of a woman who is always three steps ahead of everyone around her. "Yes, it's truly wonderful of you to showcase that muggleborns can be taught," She says, her voice dripping with false sweetness. "As long as they know where they stand, they do perform admirably in a way."

Her words are like a slap, but I don't let it show. She's fishing for a reaction, and I refuse to give her the satisfaction. "Yes, education is important," I say, forcing a smile. "It's good to see that so many share the same sentiment."

Lucius chuckles, clearly seeing through the facade, but he doesn't press further. He simply inclines his head, his smirk never fading. "We won't take up any more of your time, Mister Greenwood. There are many guests who will no doubt want to speak with you."

With that, they glide away, leaving me standing there, trying to shake off the feeling of having just narrowly avoided some unseen trap.

Unfortunately, the Malfoys were right. No matter where I go, it seems like some Pureblood lord or lady is waiting to corner me, dragging me into conversation. At first, it's all polite exchanges about my academic achievements. Several of them bring up my record-breaking NEWTs and the fact that I've already completed multiple courses that most people don't tackle until their seventh year. They praise my intelligence, my dedication to tradition, and my 'refreshing' perspective on the magical world.

But then come the backhanded compliments. They'll praise me in one breath and then, in the next, insinuate that other muggleborns simply aren't capable of the same level of achievement because they haven't learned their place like I have. It's all veiled under layers of condescension, but the message is clear - I'm the exception, not the rule. And they want me to agree with them, to confirm their outdated beliefs that muggleborns don't belong unless they conform.

It's exhausting. I spend most of my time nodding and smiling, biting my tongue and resisting the urge to hex the lot of them. But this is politics, and like it or not, I have to play the game. I need them to at least see me in a neutral way, to avoid problems going forward. It serves me in no way to make them angry with me, they could do so many horrible things it isn't even funny.

Greenwood's law alone could have been a disaster if not for some quick work behind the scenes.

The so-called 'light' families are no better really in discussions. They're more polite, less openly hostile at times, but their condescension is just as palpable. They're all smiles and platitudes, but they still view me as something foreign, something other. It's frustrating, but I keep my composure, knowing that every word, every interaction, is being judged.

I spot a few notable figures mingling about the ballroom. Rufus Scrimgeour, the former head of the Auror Office, is standing near the buffet, his hawkish gaze scanning the room. Elphias Doge is chatting with some older witches near the buffet table, his weathered face animated as he recounts some story from his days in the Wizengamot. Nearby, Lord and Lady Greengrass stand together, their presence exuding the calm, quiet confidence of an old and powerful family. They're not as overtly political as some of the other guests, but the Greengrasses command respect by simply being in the room.

As I'm surveying the crowd, Rufus Scrimgeour locks eyes with me. His expression is unreadable, but I can see the intensity in his gaze. Without a word, he starts making his way toward me, his tall, imposing figure parting the crowd as he approaches. The closer he gets, the more I feel like a schoolboy caught doing something wrong.

"Greenwood," He says gruffly, his voice as rough as the man himself. He stands before me, arms crossed, looking every bit the hardened Auror that he is.. Or was, I suppose. "You've been making quite the name for yourself, haven't you?"

I nod, keeping my face neutral. "I've been trying, sir." Perhaps this is the meeting my cards told me about…

Scrimgeour gives me a long, appraising look, as if he's sizing me up for a fight. "Good. Just remember to keep your nose clean from now on." His voice drops, and there's a hint of warning in his tone. "I heard about that little… Incident at the end of the school year. Getting involved in things you shouldn't, sticking your neck out where it doesn't belong. You keep that up, and you'll find yourself in deep trouble, boy."

I suppress a sigh, my frustration simmering just below the surface. I know exactly what he's referring to—the fight with Quirrell, the chaos with the Basilisk. He doesn't know the half of it, but there's no point in explaining that to him. "Understood, sir. I'll be more careful."

Scrimgeour gives a satisfied grunt, his eyes still sharp and watchful. "See that you do. The wizarding world's a dangerous place, especially for someone in your position. I won't let you get away with any nonsense this year, as your Defense instructor, so watch it, boy." With that, he claps me on the shoulder - hard enough to make me wince - and walks away, disappearing back into the crowd.

I take a deep breath, letting the tension in my shoulders ease. That was… unpleasant. Scrimgeour clearly doesn't trust me, and I can't blame him. From his perspective, I'm just a muggleborn who's been thrust into the spotlight, already causing ripples in the established order and sticking my nose into things and causing trouble. I can only hope he doesn't decide to dig too deeply into my affairs.

The defense curse will take him anyway… I'm surprised he is the new teacher after Quirrell. But at least this time - it should mean the DADA instructor is not actually out to kill or harass Harry Potter.

Maybe.

As I'm recovering from the encounter, I notice Lord and Lady Greengrass making their way toward me. Their approach is much more subtle than Scrimgeour's - calm, measured, as if they're simply gliding through the room. Lord Greengrass is a tall, stern man with dark hair streaked with silver, his sharp features giving him a noble air. Lady Greengrass, on the other hand, is a vision of grace and poise, her blonde hair pinned up in an elegant style, and her eyes bright with intelligence.

"Mister Greenwood," Lord Greengrass says with a polite nod. His voice is deep and smooth, each word carefully chosen. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you. I've heard much about your accomplishments."

Most of which are made up… I think irritably, other than my studies, everything else happened from one overhead conversation for Merlin's sake!

I return the nod anyway, grateful for the more formal and less invasive approach, it allows me to just blather on while saying nothing, like the rest of these noble pricks. "The pleasure is mine, Lord Greengrass. Your family's reputation precedes you."

Lady Greengrass smiles warmly, her demeanor far less intimidating than her husband's. "You've made quite an impression in your short time at Hogwarts and the magical world," She says, her voice soft but firm. "It's rare for someone so young to have achieved what you have."

I offer a modest smile, though inside I'm bracing myself for whatever subtle condescension might be coming. "Thank you, Lady Greengrass. I've had good teachers." I murmur politely.

Lord Greengrass raises an eyebrow, his eyes sharp and calculating. "Yes, I've heard about your recent connection to Nicholas Flamel. A powerful ally to have. But I'm more interested in your own perspective, Mister Greenwood. What do you make of the current… State of affairs in the wizarding world?"

It's a loaded question, and I know it. The Greengrasses are known for being more politically neutral, but that doesn't mean they're uninvolved. They're testing me, gauging how I'll respond. Why? I couldn't even begin to say, for all these games - it's not like I have any actual power.

"I think the world is changing," I say carefully, choosing my words with the same precision Lord Greengrass uses. "The Greenwood Law is a step in the right direction for muggleborns, but there's still a long way to go. Education is important, but so is respect. I hope that, in time, we can build a magical world where everyone is valued for their contributions, not just their bloodline."

Lady Greengrass watches me closely, her expression thoughtful. "A noble sentiment," She says. "But the wizarding world is slow to change, especially when it comes to tradition, nor perhaps should it…"

I nod, acknowledging the truth in her words. "I understand. But that doesn't mean it's not worth trying to improve."

Lord Greengrass gives a small, approving nod, though his face remains as impassive as ever. "Wise words for someone so young. I'll be watching your progress with great interest, Mister Greenwood."

I incline my head respectfully as the Greengrasses make their way back into the crowd. I can feel their eyes on me even as they move away, and I can't help but wonder what kind of impression I've left on them. Honestly, Lord Greengrass is giving me real Palpatine vibes, and I'm not sure I like him very much.

As the evening drags on, more and more Pureblood families approach me. Some are overt in their racism, while others are more subtle, wrapping their disdain in layers of politeness. It's exhausting, but I keep my composure, smiling and nodding through it all. Every conversation is a balancing act - maintaining my image, while carefully dodging the more insidious traps laid out for me.

Andromeda seems to be enjoying herself despite her misgivings, mingling with the so-called 'light' families, though I notice she keeps an eye on me every now and then. Notably she doesn't step in to help me navigate these pricks. I'm pretty sure this is her way of punishing me for 'dragging' her to this event in the first place. Not that I'd asked her to come, of course. She'd insisted on it. Said it wasn't 'proper' for me to attend without a chaperone. Still, it's clear she believes in the adage of sink or swim.

It isn’t until nearly two hours into the event that I’m finally introduced to Cornelius Fudge again. The Minister of Magic's round face is flushed from a bit too much wine, but there's an intensity in his gaze that surprises me. His jolly exterior is a carefully crafted facade, and I can see the sharp intelligence lurking just beneath the surface. This is a man who didn't get to where he is by being a fool, no matter how much he likes to play the part.

Chalk another thing up to being different than canon, this man could actually be dangerous…

"Ah, young Mister Greenwood!" Fudge exclaims, his voice booming as he claps a hand on my shoulder. "I've been meaning to speak with you all evening!"

The Daily Prophet has really been talking me up too much if even the Minister wants to be seen with me to get another good picture or article in. One day, it might turn out well for me, giving me something to use, but right now… It's oh, so tiring.

I force a smile, mentally preparing myself for whatever political nonsense is about to come my way. "Minister Fudge. It's an honor."

Fudge grins, his eyes gleaming. "The honor is mine, lad! You've been making waves, haven't you? Record-breaking NEWTs, completing several classes before your time - it's all quite remarkable. And, of course, we can't forget Greenwood's Law. Quite the achievement for someone so young!"

"Thank you, Minister," I say, keeping my tone polite. "I've just been doing my best, following the examples of my elders."

Fudge gives me a knowing look, as if he can see right through my modesty. "Indeed, indeed. Well, I've been telling everyone that the Ministry is fully behind this new wave of education reform, and it's all thanks to young minds like yours. Tradition is important, yes, but we must also look to the future. That's what makes the wizarding world great, after all."

I nod along, not really listening to his spiel. It's clear Fudge is using me as a political tool, parading me around as the poster child for his so-called 'revolutionized' education system. It's frustrating, but I know I have to play along. One night of kissing up to the Minister of Magic is a small price to pay for ensuring that I stay in his good graces. Especially considering how precarious my position is in the grand scheme of things.

For the next hour, Fudge parades me around the ballroom, introducing me to anyone and everyone he deems important. Each introduction is another chance for Fudge to talk up his administration and how it's revolutionized education in the magical world. I'm little more than a prop in his grand show, but I keep up the facade, nodding and smiling at all the right moments.

It's the end of the night, and my patience is running thin. I've been subjected to hours of polite conversation, backhanded compliments, and condescending smiles, all from people who seem intent on making me feel like I should be grateful for their approval. I've had enough. I'm just about ready to leave when Fudge appears at my side again, his hand landing on my shoulder with a weight that's far too heavy for someone so short.

"There's someone I'd like you to meet, lad," Fudge says, his voice low and conspiratorial. "He's been gone from Britain for quite some time, but he's recently returned. I think you'll find him most… Intriguing."

I suppress a groan, forcing a polite smile as I nod. "Of course, Minister. Lead the way."

I follow Fudge through the crowd, my curiosity piqued. Whoever this man is, Fudge clearly thinks he's important. Something about this feels significant. Is this perhaps finally what the cards noted?

Fudge's grip tightens ever so slightly, and I feel myself being steered across the ballroom, weaving through groups of well-dressed witches and wizards who are still chattering away about the night's events. My mind is already numb from the endless small talk, but I follow Fudge regardless, knowing that refusing him outright would cause more problems than I'm willing to deal with right now.

As we make our way toward the back of the room, I notice a man standing near the wall, deep in conversation with a small group of older wizards. He stands out, not because of anything flashy or attention-grabbing, but because of his aura. He carries himself with a quiet confidence, like someone who's used to having power without having to flaunt it. He's middle-aged, with black hair that's just beginning to show streaks of gray at the temples. His face is sharp, his features almost aristocratic, and there's a certain shrewdness in his dark eyes as they glance over the group around him.

There's something off about him - something that sends a ripple of unease through me. I don't know why, but my instincts are telling me to be cautious. I've learned to trust those instincts over the past year.

"This way, this way," Fudge says, practically dragging me the last few steps. "I have just the man I want you to meet."

The man turns at the sound of Fudge's voice, a smile already forming on his lips as he acknowledges the Minister's approach. "Minister Fudge," He says, his voice smooth and measured, "A pleasure to see you again."

"Likewise, my friend, likewise," Fudge replies, his tone jovial. He claps the man on the back, clearly enjoying himself. "I wanted to introduce you to someone very special tonight - young Mister Greenwood here. I'm sure you've heard of him."

The man's eyes slide to me, and I feel the weight of his gaze like a physical presence. It's unnerving how calm and controlled he is. "Ah, yes," He says smoothly, his voice carrying just the right amount of interest. "I have heard quite a bit about you, Mister Greenwood. Your achievements are quite remarkable."

I force a smile, my mind working overtime to place him. There's something too polished about him, too perfect in the way he presents himself. I don't trust it. "Thank you," I say, trying to keep my tone neutral. "I've just been doing my best."

Fudge, of course, jumps in before I can say anything more. "My friend here has been away from Britain for some time, but he's made a grand return recently, bringing with him a wealth of knowledge - and a bit of gold, too, eh?" Fudge laughs, as if the remark were an innocent joke. He's letting something slip without fully saying it. Bribes.

No doubt he thinks it will fly right over my head. He has been treating me like a dumb muggleborn most of the night. The more I parroted his words and nodded my head like a good boy, the more the Minister had fallen into the trap of going back to old habits. Don't worry about the silly muggleborns opinions - he's no threat.

The man's smile never wavers. He inclines his head slightly, acknowledging Fudge's comment but not directly engaging. "One does what one can to support the Ministry," He says mildly.

That feeling of unease grows stronger. Fudge is being careful here, too careful. It's like he expects me to already know who this man is, like I should be aware of his importance without needing an introduction. But I don't.

I glance back at the man, searching his face for some kind of clue, but there's nothing there. His expression is friendly, polite even, but I get the sense that there's much more lurking beneath the surface. Something dark. Something dangerous. I feel like I should know him from somewhere…

I can't just stand here and let this awkwardness drag on. "It's a pleasure to meet you, sir," I say, stepping forward and extending my hand. I force a smile, hoping it doesn't look as strained as it feels. "I'm Lucas Greenwood."

The man's smile widens, but there's something in his eyes now - a glint of amusement, as if he's enjoying a private joke at my expense. He reaches out, clasping my hand in a firm grip, his touch cold and unyielding. "The pleasure is all mine," He says, his voice as smooth as ever. "My name is Marvolo Gaunt."

The name hits me like a curse. Marvolo Gaunt.

I can feel my stomach drop as the pieces start to fall into place. Gaunt - the ancient Slytherin bloodline.

Marvolo Gaunt.

Like Tom Marvolo Riddle, born to the Gaunts.

I have a sudden, chilling sense of clarity.

Fuck, I think, staring into his cold gaze.