CASSANDRA, or Memoires of an Heroine

'Bloody Christmas, here again, Let us raise a loving cup: Peace on earth, goodwill to men, And make them do the washing up.' 'Another Christmas Poem' by Wendy Cope

The Book

Tuesday, 27th September 2022, 20:38 p.m., The Guest Bedroom, Catherine's House, Chester (continued)

I woke very slowly, adjusting my mind to being awake. I felt very comfortable; the bed was soft and warm and the room was dark. I could hear a clock ticking softly. Apart from that, there was complete stillness. I listened to my breathing for some moments before wondering where I was.

I stretched each arm out to see what my surroundings were. My left arm came into contact with an expanse of bed and my right banged into a hard something.

The bed appeared to be empty. I mention this merely because it seems to be the norm for the girl, when she wakes up in a strange bed with no memory of the previous night, to have acquired a new, usually male, bedfellow. I was somewhat relieved to find that this was not the case.

I moved my legs experimentally. There was a heavy weight on them. There was something on the bed. I flung my right arm out again until my hand banged into something that might be a light. I found a switch and turned it on. In the middle of the thick patchwork quilt was a pair of yellow eyes in a ball of white fur. My heartbeat slowed down and I smiled. "Adamas."

The kitten purred in recognition of its name. I reached out a hand to stroke him. Adamas is Xanthia's cat. The Shortstraw-Weasleys have two cats. There is Catherine's ancient feline, Robigo, who looks like, and behaves like a direct descendent of Lady Catherine de Bourgh and Mr. Murdstone. Xanthia has often spent a lot of time not complaining about how Robigo almost scratched her arm off. She is an absolute martyr, as she says herself. Adamas is one of Robigo's offspring and clearly takes after his father, being everything his mother isn't.

I looked around the room. It was largish for a town house, though nothing like my chamber at Two Towers. The walls were white and there was one window, opposite the bed. Royal blue curtains with a swirling gold design hung about them heavily. The furniture consisted of the kingsize bed that I was in, a large, heavy wardrobe, a chest by the bed that served as a bedside table, a bookcase and a full-length mirror. All of it was done in elaborately decorated mahogany wood. I leaned up on one arm and reached my glasses and watch. I was surprised to find that the time read quarter to eleven! I swung my legs out of bed and my feet sank into a thick, bottle green carpet. I made my way to window as I heard the sound of voices from downstairs. The very monotony of them suggested a wireless. A floorboard creaked in a pleasant, familiar way and water gurgled in a pipe. I wasn't as alone as I had thought.

I padded over to the window and drew the curtain. It did not let much more light in. The window was large and divided into two sections, each consisting of six small sections, divided by wood covered with peeling white paint.

I drew the net curtain back and looked down at the dark, shiny, wet road. The rain was coming down hard and steady, and clearly had been for hours. The river, across the road was full and turbulent as it headed for the weir. The weeping willows on the bank were drooping.

A woman walked swiftly down the opposite pavement, engulfed in a large red umbrella and a dark, styleless raincoat. She looked neither left or right, head bowed into the rain. Her heels clicked efficiently on the tarmac.

I had only been to Chester once before, when I was two or three years old. I remember walking around a lot, a museum that was nauseatingly boring at two years old (but Mother and Catherine stayed there for over two hours) and that it was wet. The weather, at any rate, has not changed. I wondered why the Weasleys stayed here, so cut off from the wizarding world, before I recollected that Chester had been a large Roman camp, and that there were enough remains to satisfy even my godmother's passion.

The floorboards creaked again and I heard a knock on the door. "Come in!"

The door opened and Xanthia peaked round it. When she saw I was up she grinned, "Merry Christmas, Cassie!"

"Christmas?!" I repeated blankly.

She came further into the room, "It's Christmas Eve today!"

"Oh!" I felt very out of it. "Merry Christmas, Xanthia!"

She bounced onto the bed, rusty curls flying. "What do you want for Christmas? I'm hoping for a model quidditch pitch- they're all the rage in my year."

I sighed, "Xanthia- how can you talk about Christmas presents? Where are my parents? Where are my clothes? Will I be going home for Christmas?"

Xanthia flushed, "I'm sorry. I guess I didn't think. After all Mum lectured me on being nice to you- talk of the devil!"

A voice wafted up the stairs. "Xanthia? Have you put Cassandra's trunk in her room?"

Xanthia shrugged and went out, returning a few moments later, dragging my heavy Hogwarts trunk. I jumped up, "Xanthia- let me help!"

Together we pulled the case into the room. Xanthia closed the door with a click then sat back down on my bed. "I wish I could answer your questions. I don't know as much as I would like to. I will try, though. Right. In order- how can I talk about Christmas presents? Answer is very easily! They are one of my favourite subjects. Such a pity they aren't on the syllabus. Secondly, as far as I know your parents are on their way to Athens in an aeroplane.-"

"Athens! In a aeroplane!"

"From what I can glean from what Mum has said, they have been invited to the International Congress of Wizards, which has called an emergency meeting."

"But Chalep's meeting was only last night!"

Xanthia shrugged, "News travels fast. I believe your phoenix has been in quite a lot of demand. Mum didn't get any sleep at all last night. She was invited to the congress as well, but felt that she was needed more in England, if only to pluck the turkey. Chalep, you know, has disappeared with some Ministers. Your mother has somehow gained leadership in this time of crisis. She has been invited to Athens to represent England."

I could scarce believe my ears, "My mother? Represent England?!"

Xanthia smiled, "Yes. People admire your mother. She's a born leader. It's in her blood!"

I laughed, "Oh really!"

Xanthia looked bothered and chewed her bottom lip. There was a pause then I said, "I was going to ask you. How did you get home last night? Your mother and I took the car, didn't we?"

Xanthia laughed with gloomy enjoyment, "Ha ha ha! Yes, a long story! Are you sure you want to hear it?"

"Positive!" I curled up on the bed and prepared to hear this fantastical, exaggerated story. It was, as most of Xanthia's stories are, almost half made up. However, it was certainly an excellent piece of fiction. She described, with dramatic detail, the rain swept hills, the full moon scudding across the windy sky, illuminating the dark forests. She told me of how they walked practically all the way to Manchester before they found the central floo network. She mentioned the gloomy stranger in the lonely inn where they asked for a taxi, that reminded her of Strider, waiting ever waiting for the ringbearer...

Catherine's voice came up the stairs once more, "Xanthia? Have you finished up there? Is Cassandra awake? You said you'd do the pastry cases! I'm waiting!"

She rolled her eyes, "Better go. Come down when you're ready. Your clothes are in the trunk. Mum summoned it sometime last night. I think you'll be here for quite a few days." She danced out of the room towards the pastry cases.

I opened the trunk and selected some suitable clothes. I dressed quickly and brushed my hair. I tied it back in front of the mirror and tried to picture myself as a beauty. "Cassandra of...Troy," I finished gloomily. "And just look what happened to her! Predicted the fall of her city, got carried away by the Greek leader to be his concubine, and got murdered by his wife! Brilliant."

"Try some stilettos sometime, dear," the mirror reassured me. "They'd put a few inches onto your height."

I stuck my tongue out at it and went downstairs.

As I descended the stairs I could smell the delicious aroma of spices, fruit and cooking that was mince pies. I followed the smell until I reached the kitchen. It was quite small and full of steam. A wireless, perched precariously on a high shelf and covered in flourery smudges announced loudly, "...going to play one of the main choruses from Haydn's Creation, 'The Heavens are Telling'. Don't forget that you can hear the whole oratorio this evening at eight p.m. on WWN 2! Here is Sheila MacMillan, Godric Bennet and Tobias Mallory as the three soloists with the Institute of Salem Choir and Orchestra conducted by Hamlet O'Brian. Here they are, witches and wizards!"

Catherine Shortstraw was standing at the table with Xanthia, putting the finishing touches to a large batch of mince pies. She had jam on her chin. As I came in she smiled at me and dashed round the table, nearly causing a minor catastrophe with a bottle of olive oil and a nice patterned apron. Why is it that some people rush everywhere, yet seem to get there so much slower than everyone else?

"Happy Christmas Eve, darling!" she cried, giving me a hug and kissing the top of my head. I disengaged myself and brushed off the flour, which had transferred itself from Catherine's apron to my jumper.

"Something smells good!" I said, coming further into the room. Catherine beamed. I suppose she likes her work praised. Xanthia licked her fingers behind her back, and winked at me.

I cleared away a pile of brochures, all called something like Escape to Capri 2021 or Escape to Capri 2022 and sat down. "Will I spend Christmas here?"

Catherine looked intently at me, "Yes, I suppose you shall. Your parents will be away for a few weeks, I imagine. It looks like it will be a long job to restore balance to the country."

"Restore balance to the force, you mean!" joked Xanthia.

Catherine looked bewildered, "Do I?"

Xanthia shook her head with the air of superiority, "Star Wars!"

Catherine tried to look ashamed and failed, "I'm afraid, I really don't er...go in for that sort of film, Xanthia! Are you are a Star Wars fan, Cassandra?"

When I admitted that I had never seen an episode Xanthia acted shocked and began to explain the plot in detail to me, "It's about a guy called Luke Skywalker who is training to become a Jedi knight- think of Aurors, with me so far? And he's got to kill an evil Sith lord- think Voldemort- only it turns out this Dark Lord- Darth Vadar is actually-"

"Xanthia darling, I can't imagine that Cassandra is remotely interested to hear the plot of Star Wars," said Catherine in her You will do the translation on page 15 for Monday or die trying voice.

"But I was just going to say that Darth Vadar was actually Luke's-"

"That's enough, Xanthia!" And even she was surprised at her mother's tone.

Xanthia wilted. "But they are good films," she protested, "I wish real life had those sort of twists and adventures!"

Catherine leaned onto the table and stared hard at her daughter, "If you had lived through the reign of Lord Voldemort, Xanthia, you would not speak so! I have had as many plot twists to my life to last me till infinity. Such danger is not fun, you'll find. Lives have been lost to Voldemort, families have been broken up, friends have turned evil, you do not know who you can trust. I watched my sister being killed by Death Eaters! I- I know things, Xanthia, that should have never happened! There are people who lived through those times who would have been better off dead. There are people who, because of Voldemort, have denied themselves a normal life. How can you mention Star Wars, Xanthia, with Cassandra in the room? There are people who have given their entire lives to getting rid of the Dark Side. The secret...!"

"What secret?" I cried stupidly.

There was a long silence then Catherine cleared her throat, muttered something about needing sleep and wouldn't I like some breakfast?

"Could all passengers on the delayed flight BA7553 to Athens go to Gate 16, please. We are now boarding. British Airways would like to apologise for the delay and any inconvenience this has caused."

There was the relieved muttering and flurry as the bored passengers for Athens collected their belongings and headed for the gate.

Among them a typically English couple rolled up their newspapers and patiently joined the end of the queue. He was tall, handsome and had light green eyes. She was shorter, worn out and looked efficient and professional.

"Five hours waiting! It's incredible! What were they thinking of? I really don't know how the muggles survive!"

"Ssh!" whispered her husband edgily. "What if someone hears you? They'll think you're mad!"

"Not as mad as you! You're behaving like a Mafia recruit on his first job."

He ground his teeth slightly, "I feel like a terroist! I just want to blow up that damn 'plane and all the damn-"

"Boarding cards please!" said the gloomy attendant who needed some coffee and a better sex life. He put the tickets through the machine and handed them back without even glancing at them. He took their passports, flipped them open and handed them back, still gazing at the large TV on the opposite wall. "Enjoy your flight. Merry Christmas!" he snapped and continued watching the trainer advertisement. (Adidas! As worn by Beckam!)

They boarded the aeroplane, found their seats and opened up their newspapers again.

About five minutes later, just when people were settling down and hoping that take off time might be approaching, the tannoy announced, "This is your pilot speaking. I'd like to wish you, on behalf of myself and my crew today, Merry Christmas Eve! I do apologise for the delay and anticipate that we should be taking off very- oh excuse me a minute!"

"About time too!" some said loudly.

The pilot returned to the tannoy sounding slightly less sure of himself, "Ah, I do apologise, ladies and gentlemen. I've just been called by Ground Control and it turns out that there is a very small technical difficulty that is not yet resolved." Exasperated groans. "It is extremely minor, and should take no longer than ten minutes to fix. To entertain you in that time, music will be played." Slight brightening of countenances. "Because it is, a very special, ha ha, day today, I think some seasonal music would be on the cards! Here's Winter Wonderland!"

Lady Potter groaned, for it was she and mimed putting her hands over her ears. "Can this get any worse?" she asked.

Harry shrugged. "The plane might blow up in mid flight?" he suggested.

She rolled her eyes and stared bleakly out of the dirty window at the rain lashing down on the tarmac of Gatwick airport. "You know, there are many things that I like about the magical world, but there are some things I really can't stand about it! For example, why is there a tradition to close down international apparition guards from the 24th to the 26th of December! It's ludicrous! Just when people are going to want to leave the country, they block up the easiest way of doing so! Now if I were Minister I'd change that!"

"Hmmm," replied Harry who was leafing through High Life. "Just remind me never to travel British Airways again!"

"I doubt you'll need much reminding!" she answered drily. "What film is being shown?"

Harry found the appropriate page and read out loud, "A documentary on killer bees, a back issue of something called Friends-"

"Ooh! That's funny! I watched it as a child. Er well, carry on!"

"-and the latest blockbuster hit, Silence of the Hams. It's about an evil, lunatic pig who can only be stopped from wiping out and eating the whole of the farmyard by two piglets called Mouldy and Swill."

"What utter rubbish!" Lady Potter sounded almost angry. "I'm going to sleep. Wake me if anything exciting happens in the next few hours- you never know, the plane might take off!"

She fell asleep instantly, even with I saw Mommy kissing Santa Claus blaring out of the tannoy. It might have been the nature of the music, or it might not have been, that made her dream...

A horse plodded along an English country lane, full of the type of flowers and shrubbery that were seen only in fairy tales. The horse bore a man and woman, riding together. They were dressed in their best. She had lilies threaded through her black hair to great effect and wore a floaty white dress. The man, who was handsome, with messy auburn hair and bright brown eyes leaned down and kissed her head.

The horse turned a corner in the road and a large, stone house came into view. It was perfectly positioned. Honeysuckle crept round the small latticed windows. It was a rambling house, old even then. The horse stopped.

"Welcome to Godric's Hollow, Elena! The home of Gryffindors for centuries! Long before your family came to Britain we Gryffindors have been here! I er, do you like it?" He asked anxiously.

She gave a sharp intake of breath, "Like it, Simon? It's the best house I've ever seen! Why is it called Godric's Hollow? Who was Godric?"

Simon gently tapped the horse with his ankles. "Godric was an ancestor of mine. He was a king, I think. It's all a bit of a legend. He was supposedly very powerful."

Elena seemed to be considering something then she said, "When we have a son, we shall call him Godric, and he shall be even more powerful than his ancestor!"

Simon laughed and kissed her again, "Barely married an hour and you're already planning our children!"

They stopped outside the house. A man was standing there waiting for them, with his round eyed little daughter by his side. He inclined his head, "Welcome back, my Lord." However, he did not seem to know how to treat the bride. He looked at her suspiciously.

"Dominic, hold the horse!" ordered Lord Simon Gryffindor curtly. He jumped off, then held his hand out to his lady. Elena slid off and stood by him.

"Elena, this is Dominic. He oversees my estate. Dominic, may I present to you my wife?" said Simon proudly. Elena beamed.

He bowed, yet still there was distrust in his eyes. Simon ordered him to see to the horses. The girl remained. She was staring with open curiosity at the new mistress.

Elena crouched and smiled at her, "What's your name?"

The girl thought before replying, "Amanda."

Elena held out her hand, "I'm very pleased to meet you, Amanda! I'm Elena. Lady Elena Gryffindor."

Amanda frowned, "Elena? I would have thought Diana! When I saw you I compared you to a goddess!" She blushed.

Elena seemed surprised, but Simon laughed loudly, "Then let me be the one suitor who can win fair Diana's hand! Run along Ama, and help your father! I shall show fair Diana the house!"

Eyes laughing he held his arm out to her, "Would my Lady Gryffindor care...?"

She smiled and gave him her hand. They entered the house, master and mistress of the world.

"Simon," she asked after admiring everything in sight, "your overseer didn't seem to like me much, did he? I'd hate to make an enemy so quickly!"

He squeezed her hand, "No, Diana- by Jupiter, I think that name suits you! He is suspicious of you, since you were a Slytherin. He doesn't think I should have married someone from that family! Never fear, Di, he'll get over it when he sees how absolutely perfect you are!"

"No, I'm not perfect! I'm just perfect for you."

"You are, darling. In every way." He was about to kiss her when he seemed struck by an idea. Focusing very hard on her he channelled one single phrase through to her, I love you!

She received the message more easily than he would have thought. She gasped and drew back from him a bit, in shock. "How did you do that, Simon? You- you spoke in my head!"

"I've been building up to it for ages! Ever since I met you I felt we were connected in some way. I had dreams about you, almost every night after I turned eighteen."

"Me too!"

"Then when I met you, I knew I was in love with you. You were the woman I had waited for! And yet, there was something deeper than love between us- something unbreakable. I could feel it. We were destined for each other! It was written in the stars!"

She shook her head, smiling, "No. I don't believe in that sort of thing! There is no such thing as fate! All things happen due to our own actions."

"But Diana, don't you think that it's very coincidental then, that I just happened to go to your brother's party, because I was bored that particular day, and that I should happen to need air, just as you were crossing the peristyle! It was preordained, I'm sure of it! But I've thought we might be able to communicate between our minds several times before. I wanted to try it out!"

"And it works!" she breathed, "Simon- we're on to something!"

"What shall we call it?"

"That's assuming it's unique to us. Maybe loads of people can do it. It needs a bit of research!"

Simon rolled his eyes and bounded up the stairs, "What's the point of research? What's the point of you doing research? You're a woman! You wouldn't find anything out!"

Her eyes flashed slightly and she followed him upstairs, "I'm not a fool, Simon!"

"Excuse me, excuse me... Oh is she asleep? I'm so sorry, sir!"

"She's asleep allright!" growled Harry, tearing his eyes away from Silence of the Hams to face the over made up female who showered him with Chanel No. Five and tried to offer him a plastic container full of GM spinach, microwaved chicken fillets, soggy coleslaw and microscopic cheese cake.

"Do you think she'll want any lunch, sir?"

They both looked down at the sleeping figure. She was curled up in her seat. A few strands of hair drifted across her face. There was a tiny smile on her lips.

The hostess, who boasted the name of Heather Minnet, beamed at Harry. "Isn't she sweet?"

Harry glared at her. "She is as sweet as vinegar," he replied icily. "Now, if you'll excuse me I have business to do."

Heather Minnet smiled even more and carried on down the aisle. Harry sighed hard, ate the bread roll and returned his attention to the horror cartoon.

Lunch had been cleared away when she woke. She yawned and stretched. Then she smiled at Harry.

"You're awake- you missed lunch."

"It's OK. I'm not hungry." She twisted a strand of hair round her finger, in thought. Finally she said without looking at Harry, "I think you should know that I had a dream about Diana Gryffindor."

The news did not affect Harry in the way his wife had hoped. He shrugged, "That's nice?"

"Don't you remember a thing I've ever said?"

"Hmm, just a few. I remember the first time you ever said, I love you... in Venice, when I was talking about the sewers-"

"That's irrelevant! Lady Diana Gryffindor is the same person as Elena Slytherin. I had a dream about her a few months ago, remember?"

"Oh yeah- now you mention it, I do remember it! The Slytherin who decided to rebel and go and marry one of my ancestors. Am I right?"

She groaned, "Just about. But this one-"

"Hang on a minute!" Harry started to panic, "If this Slytherin was Godric's mother, and I'm a descendent of Gryffindor, then that means that I have Slytherin blood in me! This is not good!"

She beamed, "Yes exactly! You've hit on the beautiful paradox of the founders!"

"Paradox?"

"Yes. You see, Godric Gryffindor, the most pure of Gryffindors, his mother was a pure blood Slytherin! That means that every true Gryffindor is actually half Slytherin!"

"Good god! To think I might be related, however distantly to Draco Malfoy!"

"And the paradox continues! Godric Gryffindor's heir will also have to be exactly half Gryffindor and half Slytherin for the prophecies to work!"

"Prophecies? Heirs? Why do I feel so lost?"

"It's a long story, and not suitable for an aeroplane! To come back to the point, since all descendants of Gryffindor have a little bit of Slytherin blood, then to come the perfect balance of exactly half and half, the other parent would have to be an almost pure blood Slytherin, but with a little bit of Gryffindor in them!"

"Ah!"

"They would also have to have the Unbreakable Link like Simon and Diana."

"Ah again!"

"The birth of their child would start a chain reaction that would bring about a worldwide calamity!"

"Ah thrice!"

She pursed her lips, then opened a battered copy of Return of the King. Harry leant his head against the cool window pane. "Is it the cheese cake, or was it that conversation that has a left a very distinctly bad aftertaste?" he replied after a few minutes reflection. "Why do I have a very bad feeling about all this?"

The Book

Tuesday, 27th September 2022, 20:38 p.m., The Guest Bedroom, Catherine's House, Chester (continued)

Christmas day was an unmitigated success. The morning was all bustle as the finishing touches were given to the large turkey, stuffing and cranberry sauce; the sprouts were boiled, the potatoes roasted, the carrots chopped and the parsnips peeled.

Everyone in the family worked very hard to the rousing tunes of The Messiah under the splendid guidance of Catherine who presided over the proceedings with great good humour and a glass of prosecco.

At half past twelve Catherine's older sister Emma arrived. She was a plump woman with a short black-turning-grey bob. She was very extrovert and witty and very fond of Xanthia especially. Everyone had some more to drink and made toasts to the other Shortstraw siblings- Margreat and Anne, the Weasleys- Molly, Arthur, Charlie, Maria, Fred, George, Katie, Ron, Lisa, Ginny, John and all the children. They toasted my parents and thought seriously about world affairs for a few seconds. The tree looked beautiful; Xanthia and I had decorated it the day before. The tinsel sparkled in the candle light, the fairies fluttered their wings and the baubles winked as they slowly revolved. The smell emanating from the pine was sublime and the whole atmosphere was delightful.

The dinner was something. I've always thought that the Christmas dinner we have at Two Towers, prepared by the two house elves Dobby and Winky with the collaboration of my mother was impressive. This wasn't a dinner- it was a feast.

There was hot pea soup to start with and home made croutons. Then came the roast turkey and roast ham and bacon rolls with sage and onion, pork and chestnut stuffing and cranberry sauce. It was served with roast potatoes, carrots, parsnips, sprouts and gravy. For pudding was an enormous, flaming Christmas pudding with holly sticking out of the top served with a dessert wine and butterscotch sauce. There were different wizarding crackers for each course. After lunch we collapsed in the sitting room.

Xanthia and I, who being young cannot understand the need to fall asleep and snore after a lovely lunch, played Wizarding Risk in her bedroom. At about four o'clock the others began to surface and we opened presents. Bill had kindly apparated to Two Towers to get my presents. Even Emma had something for me, which was touching. She insisted I called her Aunt Emma and had a vigorous arm wrestling match with me, while insulting my godmother's job. Those two spend the whole time insulting each other and giggling like school girls. I think they may have had too much prosecco.

Just when the mince pies and coffee were being circulated at seven o'clock, Ron rang. We had a short conversation in which he reassured me that if any two people were up to saving the world, they were my parents and they were probably having the time of their lives. I seriously doubted that, but he obviously was trying to reassure me so I said nothing.

After tea we slumped again in the sitting room, surrounded by wrapping paper and enjoyed our presents. I read part of my present from my mother, Three Men in a Boat and laughed. Catherine had given me an Ancient Greek grammar book which was...very kind of her. She's decided to start teaching me informally after school. If she wants extra work... Catherine has decided that she was put on planet Earth for the sole purpose of translating The Lord of the Rings into Ancient Greek. What she hopes to achieve by doing this I cannot think. She's about half way through The Fellowship now. Perhaps she wants a helper.

Harry Potter sat alone in the hotel room in Athens. He sat at his desk and looked out of the window and stroked Hedwig thoughtfully. He was trying to pen a letter to his daughter. For once he had nothing to say. What could he say- Happy Christmas! Your mother's arguing about the fate of the world at this minute with international leaders. Weather horrible. See you soon. Your loving father, Harry. No. It wouldn't do. He stood up and paced. For once in his life Harry was at a loss. Here he was, just metres from where an important council was going on and he couldn't do a thing. His wife was in there. Everything hung on her clear judgement. He was nervous for her and yet tried to be confidant that she would solve everything. There had never been something she could not solve and yet... What if she needed him? What if something went wrong and another dreadful brawl broke out?

He put his head in his hands and hoped. The door burst open and Lady Potter was framed in the door. She seemed to have rolled in tinsel and had a flashing rainbow coloured paper hat on her head. She was clutching a slice of pumpkin pie and was leaning against the door frame, a silly smile on her face.

"What on earth?!" cried Harry starting up in surprise.

"There's a party down there- want to join in?"

"A party- but!"

She kicked the door shut and silenced him with a kiss. "Merry Christmas, Harry!"

"What!" Harry reeled. "What's going on?"

"You see in front of you the new Minister of Magic of England!" She handed him the pumpkin pie and fell onto his lap. "Everything's going to be all right, Harry!" She emitted a noise that in a lesser woman would be called a giggle.

Harry sighed heavily. "Now, take a few deep breaths and calm down! You're either drunk or hysterical. Or both," he added.

"I only had two glasses! They have very nice champagne here! I'm not hysterical at all. Well- maybe just a little."

"Take your time and tell me what happened." He tightened his arm round her and tried to quash the butterflies that were growing as he tried to merely listen and not think.

She took his advice and after taking a few breaths, began the story. "As you know, we had a meeting this afternoon where the chosen leaders of England, France and other European countries were to discuss the current world situation and come to a democratic and diplomatic solution about what was to be done. Mr. Anapoulos, the Greek Minister had just opened the meeting when the Italian Minister, whose name I can never remember suddenly protested that it was a stupid idea to do this on Christmas day, couldn't it wait until tomorrow and why don't we have a party instead? This was seconded by the Swedish Minister (she's called Hilde and is perfectly charming) and soon the hotel elves had prepared something in the conference room itself!"

"And, what did you think of this?"

"Me? I was shocked at the lack of sobriety among the political leaders, but it all turned out for the best. I got talking to M. Sandrier of France over the bacon rolls, and I apologised for Chalep's behaviour and assured him that it would never happen again. Sandrier told me it was quite all right. He had a personal grudge against Chalep and never thought it would lead to this sort of international crisis. He completely understood the English view point and would lend us the telescope. It's to go on display at the Museum of Ancient Magic in London for a year before being returned to Beauxbatons for a year and so on. A compromise is always the best thing." She stood up and gazed at him out of sparkling eyes. Her cheeks were flushed.

"He's taking both of us out to dinner tomorrow at one of Athens' most prestigious restaurants. And, oh Harry, he said I was quite the most intelligent woman he'd ever met!" She grabbed his hand and pulled him up and hugged him.

"Well done, well done. Now what's all this about being Minister?"

She quieted down and continued. "Well, just five minutes ago Mundungus Fletcher, head of the Governing Committee arrived here. He had flown all the way from England, would you believe it to see me! The other eleven members of the Governing Committee had met yesterday, probably while we were stuck in that dratted airport. Since Chalep has disappeared a new Minister had to be chosen. Mundungus suggested me, and ten out of the eleven members agreed!"

"Who was the eleventh?"

"Take a guess! His name means 'dragon of bad faith'!"

"Ah- got it! Well, congratulations! I know how ambitious you've always been and how much you've wanted to be Minister!"

She smiled. "Now, how about the party? I believed there's going be dancing, and you haven't danced with me for years. How about it?"

"Sounds good to me!" They linked arms and descended to the heaving mass of politicians below that had been a political conference.

The Book

Tuesday, 27th September 2022, 20:38 p.m., The Guest Bedroom, Catherine's House, Chester (continued)

Father owled me yesterday with the delightful news that my mother is Minister of Magic! This is brilliant news and Xanthia celebrated it with me by watching the whole first three episodes of Star Wars in a row! By the end I was very cross eyed but tum-ti-tumming along happily enough to The Imperial March.

We would have watched Episodes four to six today, but Catherine insisted on getting me out of the house and dragged me to the Roman museum, which was actually extremely interesting!

For some reason Catherine isn't so pleased with the news. She seems worried and says how much this is a burden upon my mother that she could well do without. I don't see the problem. As Xanthia pointed out, she will not be head of MESS any more, so we won't have so much work.

My parents return tomorrow and to make up for abandoning me all Christmas, are going to take me to an Appleby Arrows game, where we will have prime boxes. My cup overfloweth.

The only very tiny complaint I have is that I wish I could see the faces of Nero and Emilia Malfoy when they hear that my mother is Minister of Magic! Ha ha ha!

Cassandra E. Potter

It was a normal day on Tuesday 5th January 2023 at Malfoy Manor. Draco was reading reports in his study, from his game keepers on the capture and hopeful extermination of some gnomes found in the grounds. Elise, his wife, was in bed eating truffles and reading Volume Six of her favourite book, Malfoys through the Ages. Emilia was performing 'experiments' on some unlucky mice, with an abandoned disregard for Ministry rules and regulations. Nero was celebrating his fifteenth birthday by staring out of his bedchamber window.

As far as the eye could reach there were rolling green fields with bare trees scattered round the flat countyside and by the banks of bubbling brooks that wound their way through towards the North sea. If he turned his head to the left he could just catch sight of a heaving grey mass that glimmered in the cold winter sunshine, the sea. There was a light frost over everything. It was a pleasant sight in summer, however. Why the Malfoys had chosen such a beautiful, quiet, gentle county as North Norfolk to settle in had been a mystery to Nero for as long as he could remember. Such a green county, so gentle- it was hardly Malfoyish!

The Malfoys had originally come from France with William the Conqueror in 1066. Henri de Malfoi had been a common French soldier who had saved King William's life at the battle of Hastings. He had been given a dukedom and some land in Norfolk. He married the Countess Elizabeth Argent of a neighbouring estate, who had brought more land and plenty of money. This part of the family history was often best forgotten, since Elizabeth, though wealthy, was a muggle. Henri built a large castle on his and Elizabeth's land which stuck out in the country side like a sore thumb.

Henri and Elizabeth had two sons- Jules and Clarence. When Henri died (in rather suspicious circumstances it has to be said), Jules inherited all the land and wealth. Clarence was to be a soldier. However, Clarence wanted the castle and the hand of pretty Isabella Montague who was betrothed to his brother. He returned to Castle Malfoi one night as a surprise and killed his brother while he was asleep. He took possession of the castle and lands and was married to Isabella (with whom he had been having an affair for a few years before) just a month later. It was with this glorious victory that the Malfoys considered they appeared in history.

Lord William Malfoy was a protector of King Edward the sixth and Sir Frederick Malfoy had played a significant part in discovering the gun powder plot.

The Malfoys had played a vital role during the Civil War though it is hard to find any records of whether they supported the Roundheads or the Cavaliers. Their allegiance was ever changing with the advancement of the troops.

During the late eighteenth century, Sir Robert Malfoy decided to improve the now crumbling and unfashionable Castle Malfoi as a wedding present for his wife Julia Churchill, and built Malfoy Manor and a large, showy water garden in its place.

Nero's mother's family was just as interesting. Marquis Alexandre Dupont had been a founder of Beauxbatons in 1597. He liked to think that he was a descendant of Julius Caesar but this has seemed to impartial historians to be improbable and unprovable. In the French revolution his great grandson fled to Italy for about twenty years, before returning with a different name as a humble farmer. He went into politics with the remainder of his fortune and his son was an aide de camp of Napoleon.

Nero was proud of having such a diverse and mixed heritage. It was something not many people could boast about and Nero liked to boast about it quite a lot. On his fifteenth birthday, however, all he was hoping for were some nice presents and a big cake. It did not really bother him though, that the only birthday his father could be bothered to celebrate was his own. At Hogwarts all the Slytherins would give him an slap-up party in the common room. Snape would not object; he turned a blind eye wherever the Slytherins were concerned. Perhaps he could persuade Emilia to invite some of the girls in her year. He didn't want herself to come, since little sisters are never welcome at parties or her best friend Lucy Crabbe who was as ugly as hell. If only Lauretta Rosebin would come! She was by far the prettiest girl in third year, apart from perhaps Esmée Robinson only she was a Gryffindor and therefore unacceptable.

The Gryffindors were getting on his nerves even more than usual. Just after he had insulted Cassandra Potter's mother, she had been made Minister of Magic. Damn Potter! Such a stupid, blind, stuck up, high and mighty, proud, plain girl! He had done a decent thing by her and how had she thanked him? By insulting him, physically attacking him and behaving hysterically. The only problem was that she was right. He had saved her partly because he was afraid and wanted to leave. Who wouldn't be in that situation? If Potter had not been, then she was either very brave, a fool or both. It occurred to him that the last option seemed the most correct. After all, Gryffindors were meant to be courageous fools. He had never seen Cassandra Potter behave in a way that betrayed even the merest spark of intelligence.

Her mother... now she was different. Nero admired Lady Potter, not that he would ever admit it. He thought she was very brave in a true sense of the word. He also thought that she was very clever and that if anyone would make a good Minister it was her. He might not agree with her principles, but he admired the way she stuck to them. His father had spent the past week sulking which was very boring and ineffectual.

There was a knock on the door and a house elf entered whose name Nero could not even remember. His presence was requested in his father's study. Nero got up and followed the elf down the picture gallery to the study. Hopefully Draco had the new Nimbus Alpha 300 Nero had hinted about wanting.

He didn't. There was no package anywhere in the room that could bear even the smallest resemblance to a broomstick. Draco Malfoy was leaning against his desk with his hands in his pockets. He didn't move when his son entered. "Close the door," was his only greeting.

Nero closed the door and stood in front of his father. There was a long silence, then Draco moved to the window and gazed out. Finally he turned round and spoke solemnly, "Nero, happy 15th birthday!"

"Thank-you, Father." He knew better than to press him.

"Nero, I would now like to give you your present. But before I do, I would like you to swear secrecy. This conversation must never go outside of this room. What I am about to give you is a very special object. It is not only as old as the stars- I do not know how old, but it is cursed!" he hissed.

"Brilliant. I've always wanted a cursed artifact. Thanks dad."

Draco's eyes flashed. "I'm perfectly serious. What I am about to give you has been passed down through generations and generations of Malfoys from father to son. My father gave it to me a few days before he was taken off to Azkaban. You are my heir, Nero, and it is time for you to come into part of your inheritance. I sense that there will be trouble coming to the world with that woman taking power."

"Will you show me what it is?"

Draco took out a small parcel from his robe pocket and handed it to his son. Nero tore of the wrapping paper and looked at the small box that sat snugly in his palm, as if it had been made for that particular moment. It was an octagonal box, about one and a half inches thick, made of dark coloured wood. It smelt of antiquity and attics. Yet after all that time it was still in perfect condition. On the top were snakes looping round the edges carved into the wood. In the middle was something that looked like writing. Nero looked closely.

There were two words that looked as though they could almost be English, only English did not have a triangle in its alphabet. It was not Ancient Runes because Nero was taking that subject and the letters did not look anything like that. There was a 'Y' then a funny symbol like a square with the bottom side missing. Then there was an 'E' and a 'P'. The next word started with a triangle then read 'YNAMIN'.

Nero looked up at his father, "What does it say?"

Draco looked uncomfortable, "I don't know! But it is cursed! You may not find out!"

"I won't try."

"Do you promise?"

"Yes!" he replied staring firmly into his father's grey eyes.

There was a gold catch on one of the sides- still untarnished. Nero's hand reached to open it.

"No!" cried Draco twitching violently. "Don't open it! It's cursed!

Nero rolled his eyes, "You don't say!"

"Everyone who has opened it has died within a week!"

"What a shame!"

"Nero, you are not taking this seriously. This box belonged to our very ancestors and why it's cursed I don't know, but you must keep it and give it to your son in this way. Give me your word that you will never show it to anyone, open it, talk about it, or give it to anyone except your son. Not even your sister."

"I wouldn't tell Milly my name if she asked it," he replied scornfully. Draco seemed satisfied. "Give me your word."

Nero's hand wrapped round the box and he stared at his father. "I give you my word as your son." Like all Slytherins he was a good actor.

Draco was not satisfied. "I would like to use contractual magic." He held out his hand.

There was hurt and anger in his son's eyes. "Father! I gave you my word as your son! Must I swear it too? Don't you trust me?"

Draco considered for a moment then lowered his hand. "Very well. I believe you. You may go." A rare smile appeared on his face. "Happy birthday, son."

Nero left the room without speaking. He had no intention of keeping his word. After all, what harm ever came of opening a box?