My family was ecstatic when I found them. They swarmed me like a pack of starving hyenas.

Predictably, Mum reached me first and did her very best to crush my lungs.

"Alex, I'm so proud of you."

Circling around us, the twins were going nuts reenacting my last duel.

Uncle John slapped me on the back, congratulating me on my victory.

"So, does this mean you don't want the snake I got for your birthday?" He joked.

I snarkily snapped back, "Only if you want to receive the same welcome the snake did in the match."

Uncle John laughed, not realizing I was completely serious. If he tried to put a snake in one of my presents, he would regret it. Family bonds only go so far.

There was a brief intermission before they started the duels for the fifth-year duelers. The officials had to fix the dueling ring that I had split in half.

The fifth-year duels were interesting to watch. But most of my attention was inwardly focused. I went over every move I and my opponents made in my duels. Dueling against unfamiliar competitors who used spells I wasn't familiar with forced me to use strategies I hadn't ever implemented before.

Transfiguration and conjuring in duels opened up a whole new world in dueling. Already, new strategies were churning within my mind giving me new ideas and things I wanted to try out.

The rest of the day went by quickly, and I found myself on the wooden planks of Uncle John's ship. He wasn't planning on staying for the rest of the tournament, and I wouldn't get another chance to speak with him face-to-face until sometime over the summer break.

I found Uncle John in his office sifting through letters and small notes. Hanging on the walls were nicknacks Uncle John had collected over the years. There were African Curse Masks, like the one I put on Micheal. A set of fangs from a dragon, maps of unknown islands, mosaics, and a few paintings.

But the item which caught my eye the most was hanging on the wall behind Uncle John in a place of honor. It was a strange muggle contraption. It was a fish attached to a wooden plaque. If that wasn't strange enough, there was a shiny red button on the plaque. If pressed, the fish would come alive and start singing and dancing.

Obviously, Muggles have gone mad with their technology and can no longer be trusted.

Choosing to ignore the suspicious fish that seemed to be staring at me, I turned my attention to Uncle John. Worry lines were etched across his face as whatever he was reading appeared to make him concerned.

Craning my neck to get a better look, I noticed many letters were in different languages. Others seemed to be in code. Uncle John had contacts all over the world feeding him information.

Noticing my presence for the first time, Uncle John looked up and asked, "What's up, champ?"

"I need to talk to you," I replied.

I paused for a brief moment, then emphasized, "Privately."

Uncle John raised an eyebrow, and without a word, he pointed his wand at the door.

The heavy wooden door shut with a heavy click, followed by several more that made me curious about the insides of the doors.

"Alright, Alex. What's on your mind?"

I took a moment to organize my thoughts, carefully editing out a few key things.

Once I was done, I took a deep breath and got started, "So, there was this reporter…"

As I told my story, Uncle John's eyebrows rose as his expression slowly morphed into an incredulous look then turned into full-on disbelief.

By the time I finished, he was rubbing his temples like he had a pounding headache.

"I just know your mother is going to blame this on me." He complained.

"I would rather she never found out."

As I waited for Uncle John to say something, he stared at me so intently it seemed like he was trying to use Legilimency. Thanks to my occlumency shields, I knew that wasn't the case. But it was still a little unnerving.

Finally, Uncle John leaned forward and asked, "Do you know what your first mistake was?"

After thinking for a brief moment, I replied, "Trusting that Rita would abide by the terms of the contract."

Uncle John shook his head, "Your mistake was the way you entered into the contract in the first place. Don't get me wrong, finding out that Rita is an unregistered animagus is a useful bargaining chip. It let you force her into a one-sided contract, but it also ensured her hatred towards you."

"We needed her help," I defended. "Her articles shredded Delvin Whithorn's reputation and ensured his business in Britain was over."

Uncle John waved a hand, not wanting to argue the point, "I'm not saying she wasn't useful. What I am saying is there were other ways to go about gaining her cooperation. The simplest of which would have been buying her off. Considering her reputation, Rita probably would have jumped at the chance to bring down Nimbus."

My face flushed when Uncle John pointed out the obvious. Maybe I had gone about this a little ham-fisted. I didn't even think about buying Rita off. It seems a little obvious now.

In a way, my previous knowledge of Rita from the books prejudiced me against working with her in any meaningful way. I would need to make a note of that when dealing with others in the future.

Willing to admit my mistake, I looked Uncle John in the eyes and said, "You're right. I didn't even think of that as an option."

Uncle John gave me a reassuring look, "Just remember, sometimes it's more effective to use a soft approach rather than a hard one."

I couldn't help but think back to the way I dealt with Lockhart. I had been even more forceful with him, forcing him into a contract and making him teach me memory-erasing magic. Then using said magic against him.

Did I cross the line with Lockhart?

After a moment, I dismissed the worry. Uncle John had a point with how I recruited Rita. But, there was a big difference between Rita and Lockhart. While Rita was nasty and unpleasant to be around, Lockhart was a whole different animal. He ripped through and erased people's minds at will. In my book, anything bad that happens to him, he deserves.

Wanting to get back to the reason I was here, I asked, "What about Rita giving information to the Syndicate."

Uncle John snorted, "I wouldn't worry about it. There's no way she could have given them any information they didn't already have or couldn't easily obtain."

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

Uncle John's reassurance wiped away the knot of tension that built within me. For the past couple of weeks, the idea that my family would be vulnerable due to my actions had dominated my thoughts.

Interrupting my thoughts, Uncle John said, "Now that we got that out of the way. Let's talk about your biggest mistake in this whole thing."

Once Uncle John saw he had my full attention, he said, "Your biggest mistake in all of this is you've left yourself exposed."

There's no proof," I defended. "I erased all her memories containing our interactions. Rita Skeeter has no idea we'd ever met."

Uncle John snorted, "It seems to me that you've forgotten about an important piece of evidence that ties you to Rita."

The answer appeared in my mind right away. The magical contract

Uncle John nodded at my realization, "Yeah, that magical contract creates a magical bond between you and Rita. And worse, it can be traced. What happens when people start missing her, or if she checks herself into St. Mungos? I guarantee that the moment she shows up with no idea why she is under a curse, they will contact the Ministry and start investigating. It won't be long before they show up on your doorstep. The unauthorized memory wipe alone could get your wand snapped and have you packed off to Azkaban."

Uncle John fell silent, letting me consider everything he said. It didn't take long to voice my next move.

"I need to destroy the contract."

Uncle John nodded and agreed, "Right now."

Even though I was reluctant to free Rita from the wasting curse she was under for breaking our contract, the risk wasn't worth it.

I reached into my robes and pulled out my emergency bag. I never went anywhere without it. The bag had an undetectable extension charm allowing me to pack away things I may need in the future. Ever since my unexpected trip last year, I've gotten a little paranoid and have packed away supplies and all sorts of items that would last me a long time.

Not wanting to dig through everything, I summoned the contract with my wand. Not willing to wait any longer, I used the fire-making spell and burned the contract to ash.

Uncle John looked visibly relieved when the contract was gone.

"Now what?" I asked.

Uncle John considered me for a moment, "Now, you're getting a mandatory lesson on subtle power plays."

I spent the next few hours listening to Uncle John. I liked that he didn't bring up my mistakes again and even talked about his mistakes when he was younger.

By the time it was over, I knew that we had only scratched the surface. I promised myself that I would find some time during the summer for some more lessons.

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

The rest of the tournament went smoothly. When it was over, I received a shiny gold trophy that had a duelist holding a wand. Mum immediately confiscated the trophy, promising to find a worthy place to put it on display.

With the tournament over, the rest of the break flew by, and it was time to head back to Hogwarts.

The final weeks at school seemed to go by in a rush. Outside of working on my sixth-year textbooks, I spent quite a bit of time enchanting and experimenting. Every day was something new; I learned to manipulate spells to achieve a variety of effects.

Dad kept me informed of the ongoing situation with Nimbus. Their sales had slowed to a crawl, and the value of the company was plummeting. Using intermediaries, Dad made discrete inquiries about whether the board was interested in selling the company.

Everyone but Delvin wanted to sell, but Delvin swore he would rather see Nimbus go entirely out of business before he would consider selling.

According to some of the reports, Delvin was becoming increasingly unhinged, spending most of his time in his office drinking the days away.

Clan Sharpclaw, the goblin clan our family was in business with, suggested a devious plan. They put Dad in contact with the Clan Chrusher, who had a significant stake in Nimbus and wanted out while there was still a profit to be made.

An agreement was reached where Clan Crusher would offer Delvin enough gold to keep Nimbus afloat for the next two years. But in trade, Delvin had to give them ten percent of his ownership in Nimbus. Desperate to keep the doors open till Nimbus's enchanters could find a way to become competitive again, Delvin accepted the deal.

Within a week of Delvin making the deal, Filnock, the goblin representative of Clan Crusher, held a closed meeting with the board. With the additional ten percent stake in the company, the board held a majority, and they accepted Dad's offer.

Nimbus was coming home. We now own Nimbus and all its designs, past and present. After two decades and some change, Grandpa George's life's work is back where it belongs, back with the Fawleys.

Adding to the good news, Canon seemed to be mostly on track. Harry, Ron, and Hermoine took care of Professor Quirell and prevented Voldemort from getting the Philosopher's Stone.

Harry was currently unconscious in the Hospital Wing, recovering from his first encounter with the dark lord who killed his parents. It was an essential step in his development—one that he needed to become a wizard capable of standing up to Voldemort.

Rumors flooded the halls of Hogwarts. Ironically, Professor Quirrell's performance of a stuttering coward had been done too well. Many students had trouble accepting the idea of Professor Quirrell attacking a student.

There were also faint whispers of he-who-must-not-be-named being involved but most students, not knowing what to think, dismissed them.

I don't blame them for not believing the whispers. To most of the wizarding world, Voldemort was dead. Only a few knew the truth. One day Voldemort would return, greater and more terrible than before.

The day we were going home, I was shocked when I noticed the headline of the Daily Prophet.

In bold letters, the headline stated.

Delvin Whithorn Dead!

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

Delvin Whithorn POV**

Hovering somewhere between being tipsy and drunk, Delvin found himself in a conference room with the rest of Nimbus's board members.

The last couple of months had lowered Delvin's previous immaculate grooming standards. Where once his hair was well-groomed and gelled to perfection, now his hair was stringy and unwashed. His wardrobe had taken a similar hit, having gone days without being changed and full of dark stains.

Delvin shook his alcohol-induced red face and rubbed his bloodshot eyes in disbelief, "What did you say?"

Finlock, the goblin representative, spoke slowly, like he was speaking to a child. "We are here to tell you that the board voted unanimously to sell the company."

"You can't do that," Delvin protested. "This is still my company."

"On the contrary," Finlock rebutted, "I think you'll find that we can."

The goblin pushed a small file across the conference room table.

"You traded me for ten percent of your stake in the company. That ten percent plus the rest of Clan Crusher's holdings and the rest of the board's stakes gives us a majority in the company.."

"Yeah, but that deal was in exchange for your clan shouldering Nimbus's financial burden for the next two years." Delvin protested.

Finlock showed his sharp needle teeth and sneered, "And Clan Crusher would have loved to meet that obligation. Unfortunately, the board decided to sell the company, preventing us from throwing away good gold at a sinking ship. Perhaps if you hadn't been in a drunken stupor for the last few months, you would have included a clause ensuring that the company wouldn't be sold."

Devon turned his gaze to the other board members.

"Don't do this," he pleaded.

Most of them refused to meet his tearful gaze.

Robert sighed, "Delvin, this is for the best. One day, I hope you can see that."

Concluding the meeting, the board members began leaving the room.

"At least tell me who you sold the company to," Delvin begged.

With a look that said he was savoring Delvin's pain, Finlock answered, "To the only people who were interested in this place, the Fawleys."

Everyone on the floor heard Delvin's howl of anguish.

Later that evening, Delvin had gone from being partially drunk to full-on bad decision drunk.

"It's not fair," he raged to no one in particular.

Not thinking clearly, Delvin started blasting things in his office. He would be damned if he gave the Fawley's anything resembling a clean office.

When Delvin reached the bottom of his glass, he poured himself another drink of dragon brandy, spilling heavily and alcohol all over the desk.

He took another deep drink before throwing the glass at the mirror he last used to contact his father. It shattered into pieces sending shards of glass everywhere.

With blurry eyes, Delvin continued to rant drunkenly.

"This is all your fault! You could have helped."

After letting out a few choice curses towards his father, Delvin refocused his ire towards the Fawley family."

"Why did you have to ruin everything?"

"I hate you."

"I hope you fucking die."

As the night wore on, Delvin continued to pour himself drinks and have one-sided rants.

"This is both of their faults." He claimed, excusing himself of any responsibility.

A dark thought that had been floating in and out of Delvin's mind for the past couple of months resurfaced.

Maybe I should just end it.

A deranged grin appeared on Delvin's face as he imagined the consequence. His death would set so many things in motion. In the end, Delvin would still matter.

The Fawleys must think they're so clever, Delvin fumed. If they think its over, they have another thing coming.

Delvin found a piece of paper and started writing. He wanted to make sure his father knew he was responsible for this.

By the time he was finished, some of his nerves had left him. With shaky hands, Delvin poured himself another glass of liquid courage and downed it.

Trembling, Delvin raised his wand to his temple.

"Do it." He urged himself. "Come on, do it. It's over."

Unable to do it, Delvin lowered his arm to his side.

In his mind, Delvin could hear his father sneer, "Useless."

Delvin let out a scream of frustration and brought his wand back to his temple.

Breathing heavily, images of the people Delvin blamed for his situation appeared in his mind. His father, sister, the Fawleys. All of them were to blame.

Raw hatred filled him as he considered the sins they had committed against him.

"I hope you fucking kill each other!"

"Avada Kedavra!"

A flash of green light and Delvin's body collapsed to the floor.