CASSANDRA, or Memoires of an Heroine

Author's Notes: It has been four years since this was last updated. Lots of things have happened since then, most notably new canon in the shape of OotP, HBP and most recently DH. This makes this story completely AU. I would like to remind anyone who by some chance remembers this story, that the canon involved is the books up to GoF and the events of its prequel, The Unbreakable Link. Therefore: Sirius, Dumbledore and so forth are not dead, the prophecy was rather different, Harry and Hermione share the Unbreakable Link, Lily Potter is alive and Draco's son is called Nero not Scorpius. And of course, there are more differences.

Having said that, here is another chapter. I've got into writing again and I hope to at least continue with the story and preferably finally finish it. I'm not sure if anyone out there's still interested in reading this but it's something I've wanted to write for many years. Cassandra, Nero and all the rest of the characters have haunted me for all of my teenage years and I don't want the story to die. And with no more ado, on with the chapter!

CASSANDRA, or Memoires of an Heroine

Chapter 10

'Then did Aeneas, great hero, recognize his own mother's birds, and with joy he prayed: "O you be my guides if there is indeed some way!"'
- From 'The Aeneid' by Virgil, translated by W. F. Jackson Knight.

There was still at least an hour before dawn, yet Rowena was already awake. She dressed quickly and then tiptoed softly out of the villa, careful not to wake her father or any of the servants.

The morning was still dark and the fields were covered with dew. Nevertheless, Rowena knew the way. She crossed the fields, climbed the hill and hauled herself over the stone wall that separated her father's land from that of Simon Gryffindor. She landed in soft ground, wrenched her skirt away from an obstinate bramble shoot and then pushed her way through a rhodedendron bush to reach the path which took her down to the Gryffindor villa.

Their estate was also quiet; even the doorkeeper was asleep, as Rowena crept past him. Once inside the villa, she headed for where she knew Godric's room was, pushed aside the curtain across the door and went to stand beside his bed. He was fast asleep. Rowena, a thoroughly sensible young lady, wasted no longer than a few seconds in staring at him, then gave his shoulder a slight shake.

Godric breathed something that Rowena did not catch, and clutched the bed clothes tighter. She shook him harder. It had the desired effect. He sat up abruptly and glared at her. "What the-" he started, but Rowena quickly shoved her hand over his mouth. When he finally stopped making incoherent sounds and recognized her, she removed it.

"What on earth are

you doing here in the middle of the night, Rowena?" he whispered. "On the other hand," he continued, lying back down and raising his eyebrows, "maybe I don't want to know!"

"We have to leave here!" she exclaimed urgently. "And we have to leave

now!"

"What are you talking about?"

"Remember how I said Slytherin was coming to supper last night? Guess what he came for?"

"He wanted to play a tibia duet with you?" suggested Godric.

"That's not funny! He wants to marry me."

"Doesn't everyone?" agreed Godric.

"Can't you take this seriously? Salazar actually means to marry me. I talked atomic theory the whole time, and he answered me back! Then I ignored him, but he smiled all the same. Some people just don't know how to take a hint. I did everything in my power to dissuade my father from consenting, but he ignored me. Your cousin can be very persuasive. There's nothing to be done, Godric. We shall have to run away."

"Run away? But I've only just got home. Anyway, we Gryffindors are never ones to run away from our misfortunes.

Semper audax- isn't that our motto?"

"It may be yours, Gordic," replied Rowena, "but it's not mine. I've never tried to be courageous. All I want is to teach children my new form of magic, but I see little chance of that happening if I am married to that greasy haired Greek!"

"Now, don't be nasty! Salazar's not a Greek- his great-grandfather was. Besides he's my cousin. Insult him and you-"

"Hush!" she interrupted him. "You don't know what you're saying. But we must leave. We must be far away from here by the time the sun is full in the sky. Godric," she whispered more loudly, her eyes sparkling, "we could go on a great journey round the Empire, and see all sorts of things, then come home married!"

Godric groaned, seeing she really meant to leave and sat up in bed. "Rowena, travelling damages money and eloping damages reputations. The Empire is not as strong as it was and it is no longer best to look to Rome, I think. It is with the barbarians, the Celts, with their strange customs that we must side. Rowena, are you sure you want to do this?"

She nodded eagerly and looked at him beseechingly. Godric took a quick look round the gloomy apartment and then returned his eyes to her. He smiled. "Come on then, Rowena. Let me get dressed. Have you everything you need?"

She almost clapped her hands in pleasure. "Yes, I have everything. I am perfectly prepared. What shall I do?"

He ran a hand through his hair as he thought. Finally he said, "Go to the kitchen, and quietly get us some food."

Nodding, she slipped out of the room while he dressed- and almost bumped into a figure standing outside the door. It was that of a tall, striking young woman, carrying a lamp and dressed in the plain white of a servant. She was striking in that her skin was completely pale, almost white, and her hair was so fair as to be almost the same colour. Her large eyes were a light grey. She was standing mute and perfectly still when Rowena drew back the curtain to Godric's bedroom.

The two young women stared at each other for a few seconds, then the servant said quietly, "I shall be discreet, Lady."

Rowena blushed. "Thank-you, Amanda."

She was going to pad away to the kitchen, when the curtain was drawn back and Godric stepped out, almost fully dressed. A look of surprise crossed his face. "Amanda, what are you doing?"

"I heard voices. I came to see who it was. I will not say anything, Sir."

Godric appeared to be thinking. Rowena watched him anxiously. She could almost see the wheels turning in his brain. Finally he said, "You're coming with us, Amanda. Get yourself ready; pack the minimum and then help Rowena in the kitchen. Be quiet."

For the first time, Amanda's expression changed. She looked shocked. "But, Sir! Lord Simon, Sir-!

Godric reached behind the curtain and drew out a small, leather bag. He reached into it and pulled out a few golden coins. He showed them to the others then placed them on a table just inside his bedroom. "You can come with us now without offending your conscience too much, Ama." He gave Rowena a wry grin and added, "Besides, I won't let my wife travel without a companion."

"Wife?!" cried both Rowena and Amanda at the same time.

"How else may we travel together?"

Rowena did not answer. She was blushing again.

Godric continued, "Amanda, Rowena and I intend to be married. We also intend to leave for the continent as soon as possible. Now, get your stuff ready. I'll see to the carriage."

Amanda and Rowena looked at each other, then Amanda indicated with her head the direction of the kitchen and they set off together, tip-toeing.

Godric put his hands on his hips and blew softly out, his eyebrows raised, as he watched his servant and his future bride disappear round a corner in the corridor. This was not what he had expected would happen on his return from Italy. Responsibilty hit him. Rowena had always been an impulsive girl. Was it right for him to run off with her, ruining her chances of a decent marriage? Was it right for her to abandon her father, who certainly would have greater difficulties managing his estate without her? Was it right for him to leave his own parents, who had done so much for him, and whom he loved?

Godric was not accustomed to reflecting on the intricacies of moral behaviour. Pushing these thoughts to the back of his mind, he re-entered his bed chamber and started to plan for the journey.

He had some recent maps of Gaul, which would definitely come in handy. He also had the address of a good inn in Londinium. He packed a spare change of clothes, then reached under his bed for the very last item he would need.

He drew out an ornate sword scabbard. From that he pulled a most magnificent sword. It's blade was long and a shiny silver, and rubies encrusted the hilt (red always had been his favourite colour). He cut through the air with it, making a soft hissing noise. The blade gleamed a dull silver in the dark room, as Godric twisted and balanced it in his right hand. Just holding it gave him confidence. The sword almost felt part of him.

He had aquired it in a strange way. When he had been travelling in Italy, he had visited the bay of Neapolis in the south of the country and had stayed with a friend of his in a villa overlooking a nearby lake. One day, when the family was away from home, an old crone had visited. She was an ancient woman dressed all in black, and had carried a bundle wrapped in a torn grey cloth. She told him she possessed magic in a greater degree than anyone else in Italy. He had doubted it very much, but she was a stubborn woman and would not leave.

She then leaned forward, and said in a confidential voice, "I can show you the path to tread. I can be your guide where no other can follow. I can start you on your way." She took his hand, and gripping it tight said, "I am no Christian. I take higher orders."

This had pleased Godric, for he was not a Christian either and there were few left who followed the ancient gods. She then proceeded to unwrap her bundle and produced the great sword, that he now kept under his bed. "Take it," said the old woman. "It was made long ago in expectation of this day. I alone saw it forged. Take it, for one day you will lead all wizards in the greatest of enterprises. And you shall start it, and your descendant shall finish it. For I have seen many things."

And Godric had now begun to believe her for the sword already had his name inscribed on it. "What else have you seen?" he asked her.

But she would not tell and soon left him to ponder the meaning of her words. Now, he reflected on them a second time. Was it possible that this running away was the 'greatest of enterprises'? Was Rowena's wonderful, yet incredible idea of founding a wizard school to unite Roman wizards and Druids his destiny? The more he thought about it, as he strode through the grey light of early dawn to the carriage shed, the more he liked it. Swiping his sword at the lower leaves of an overhanging tree as he passed, he grinned. "To found a wizard school I go!" he chanted under his breath.

Within half an hour, two horses were attached to a light cart, and Godric, Rowena and Amanda were ready to set off. Casting a last look around walls of the sleeping villa, Godric swung himself up onto the front seat, helped Rowena up next to him, and made sure that Amanda was secure in the back of the cart. Then he took up the reins, gave them a shake and they were off.

Godric urged the horses into a canter, almost immediately, and they dashed along the drive way away from Godric's Hollow. Next to him, Rowena was clutching the side of the cart with one hand, as they careered round a bend, and her light blue cloak round her head, with the other. She had never gone so fast before in a carriage.

At the end of the drive, there was a choice of two directions. To the right was the track that led to the Ravenclaw estate and to the sea; the one to the left wound its way through lush countryside of southern Britannia, to the nearest town, and then to the wide world. Godric turned left.

It was several miles to the town, and nobody spoke. In the back of the cart, Amanda clutched the side and looked slightly sick. However, Rowena was having the time of her life. Every time Godric flung them round a corner in the track, she let out a joyful cry of laughter, and she continuously urged the horses on. Godric glanced at her out the corner of his eye, and smiled. However Rowena's plan turned out, he would not regret leaving with her.

It was lunch time when the big decision came. Should they turn east and head for Londoninium? Or was it better to keep on the north road to Eboracum?

"They will try to follow us," said Rowena, "and they will assume that we will go south, to take a crossing to Gaul. We should go north."

"There is nothing for us, in the north. Only the barrier of the Wall- then desolation. You would not put yourself into voluntary exile there," protested Godric.

"Exile?" exclaimed Rowena, in surprise. "Why exile?"

"We are eloping, Rowena. I'm afraid this is a one way path. Now that we have set this course, we may not turn back."

Rowena chewed her bottom lip and frowned. Then she said, "I will do whatever you say, Godric, as I have put myself willingly into your hands. But," she added stubbornly, "I still think we should go north."

Godric, who was hen-pecked before he was even a husband, shrugged his shoulders. "Then, my dear, we go north."

~~*~~

Hufflepuff won the quidditch match. They said it was Cassandra Potter's fault; that she had been ill on the day. It was Xanthia who explained to the brow beaten seeker that their saying this was really rather complimentary, suggesting that Gryffindor would certainly have won, just because Cassandra had played.

Cassandra did not remain ill long. Thanks to Madam Pomfrey's excellent medicine she was out of the hospital wing within two days, and back in lessons the day after.

She found to her great joy that although Hufflepuff had won the quidditch game, Gryffindor was still in second place for the house cup, for Slytherin had lost fifty points, when Emilia Malfoy had recited a love sonnet to Professor Snape on Valentine's Day. Any sort of revenge on any member of the Malfoy family, gave Cassandra a vicious pleasure of the kind she had never before felt.

The weeks passed, the rain was swept away by a vigorous March wind and daffodils began to appear, clustered around the bases of the horse chestnut trees in the grounds. Winter was being blown away and spring was on its way.

Cassandra watched for any sign of Lord Voldemort's return and indeed anything that was out of the ordinary that could be connected with her giving the Stone to Nero Malfoy, but there was nothing. It was as if it had never happened. Sometimes, as she sat staring out at the swaying branches of the Whomping Willow, highlighted by a gleam of a watery golden sun during her History of Magic class, Cassandra wondered if she had not possibly imagined it all. And yet, she could still see the look of fear in his eyes after he had taken the Stone, she could hear the panic in her own voice, and she could feel his lips against her own... these were not things she could have dreamed of.

The fifteenth of March was Catherine Shortstraw's forty-seventh birthday. She, Cassandra, Xanthia, Edward, Jack and Jill and Bill who came up from Chester specially, had a picnic under a spreading horse chestnut tree in the grounds when afternoon lessons had finished. It was very jolly, and Xanthia and Cassandra had gone to the kitchens previously, and had made a delicious coffee and walnut cake with the house-elves.

Shortly after this, on the first of April, Cassandra herself turned fourteen, and received a prototype of the new Thunderbolt 5 broomstick from her father. (Even faster than the Nimbus Alpha 300, so they said.)

Then there were the Easter holidays which were spent as usual at Hogwarts, preparing for exams. She did very well in them, even though the sun shone seductively all the time. Edward did his NEWTs and when he had finished there was a tear in his mother's eye. Xanthia also had public examinations- her OWLs. She did them with the minimum ammount of fuss and said she thought they went all right.

Cassandra almost forgot about the Stone. There were more important things to worry about- pulling up her Experimental Charms grade from A to E, whether she should allow Catherine to enter her for a muggle GCSE in Ancient Greek or not, and the fact that her eyesight was improving and that one day she might not need to wear glasses at all! (At least, so the Occultician in Diagon Alley said.)

So ended Cassandra Potter's third year at Hogwarts.

For Nero Malfoy, it had been a hard term. After he had broken up with Joan in such a public way, he was aware that he had made a potential enemy in her. For, although Slytherins on the whole were heartless enough to find the entire episode really rather amusing, Joan came from a well established family (her mother had been a Flint) and Nero did not want to get on the wrong side of anyone so influential.

In addition to this, Emilia had discovered that it was he who was responsible for her love sonnet to Professor Snape (an excellent idea in his opinion, but lamentably not one she shared) and had spent the rest of the year taking revenge. Nero had been surprised at first by her determination, but soon grew to reluctantly admire her plans. Replacing his shaving cream with bubotuber pus was one of her more original (and painful) ideas.

I need hardly say that he too worried about the Stone. But like Cassandra, he could not think what its point was. He was very pleased to prove the annoying Potter girl wrong, in that her theory about Lord Voldemort returning was false. (He had never thought that it could have been true anyway, of course.) He kept it in its box under his pillow, guarded by dangerous protection spells, and about twice a week, when he was on his own, he would take it out and hold it in his hand, staring at it. It was very pretty to stare into, and Nero liked it very much. He was perceptive enough to realise that perhaps it had some kind of hold upon him, but as he did not seem to have changed in any way, and nothing bad had happened, he could not see what he was meant to do about it.

So, being the kind of boy who did not see why he should worry his head about things that did not appear terribly urgent, he put it out of his mind and concentrated on more pressing matters, such as passing his fourth year exams, terrorising Gryffindor first years and chatting up Esmerelda Robinson. (In fact, he was too scared to actually approach her, but he stared at her longingly from a distance, which was almost as good.)

And so ended Nero Malfoy's fourth year at Hogwarts.

~~*~~

Nero and Emilia Malfoy sat in silence in the back of the car as it speeded through the air on the way home from Kings' Cross. It was not a pleasant nor a companiable silence. Nevertheless, it is almost impossible to pass an entire journey without saying anything and eventually Emilia said, her voice dripping with resentment, "Lucy's coming to stay next week."

"Fantastic," replied Nero unenthusiastically, staring out of the window at the spires of Cambridge beneath them.

"I knew you'd be pleased." Then, seeing that her brother would not rise to the bait, she added, "I don't see why you hate her so much. You hate all my friends."

"Lucy Crabbe offends my aesthetic sensibilities. And all your friends are morons. Moron."

"Moron yourself. Anyway, I think Daddy hopes you'll hit it off."

This did make Nero face her. "Me and Lucy? Ew! Ew! She's a troll! Why on earth would you think Father wants us to get together? That's disgusting."

"It is rather. The thought of my poor friend stuck with your ugly face... ow, Nero, lay off!" (for he had hit her) "I guess he's friends with Lucy's dad and they thought something might come of it. Same reason he set you up with Joan."

"He did what?"

Emilia smiled smugly. "Didn't you know? It was all arranged between our parents. Joan was told to seduce you in the hope of a family alliance."

Nero was stunned. "That explains so much," he muttered. "Of course they missed the crucial point which is that Joan is a deeply unattractive girl with no social skills and thus seduction was a bit of a chore for her." Outloud he said crossly, "I wish Father would let me chose my own girlfriends. It's a bit early to start arranging my marriage!"

"I think it's funny!"

Nero shot her a dark look and did not reply.

When they arrived at Malfoy Manor, Nero hurried into the house alone of his sister and ignored his father's request to see him in his study. He was too angry to see Draco and as he took the stairs two at a time he tried to think of any suitably impoverished, muggle born (and not bad looking) Hufflepuffs he could date out of spite. When he reached his room he shut and locked the door and flung himself onto his bed without bothering to remove his shoes. He stared up at the green canopy and thought about how much he hated his father.

This feeling of resentment had been growing for some time now; since his birthday that January, to be precise. Nero had always had much family loyalty; it was in his blood. The name Malfoy was something to be proud of. If their descent could not be traced exactly back to Salazar Slytherin himself then at least it was ancient, wealthy and prestigious. Nero's quarrel was not with the Malfoy name and what it stood for: it was all with his father. His father had never cared for him. He and Emilia were merely jewels in the Malfoy crown. Their duty was to grow up unquestioning clones and then make good marriages into an increasingly inbred circle of Slytherin purebloods. Emilia, Nero was sure, would have no problem with this. She was his father's favourite. He, Nero, had never shown sufficient enthusiasm to be close to his father. In fact, enthusiasm for anything was not something that characterised Nero. He had never before bothered to resent his father's lack of affection or interest in him on a personal level. Paternal love had never been something he had desired or sought. Now, however, he resented its absense.

What right, thought Nero, did his father have to control him in this way? Nero really was not interested in marriage; he just wanted a girlfriend of his own choice. And anyway, he thought irrelevantly, just what kind of birthday present was a cursed box?

As his mind drifted to the box and the Stone, his hand found its way into an inner pocket of his robes and he withdrew the little octagonal box and opened it. The green diamond sat on the green silk as if it had been made to rest there (as in fact it had). It glittered very prettily. Nero held it up to the light. It really was very beautiful. He idly considered having it cut down and made into cuff links but some deep, instinctive part of him was revolted at the idea to such an extent he felt almost physically sick. Suddenly tired by his thoughts, he stood abruptly up and decided to visit his mother.

Mrs. Malfoy was one of the few people in the world whom Nero loved. Like Nero's own future marriage, hers had been arranged. Elise Dupont had been a shy and inexperienced girl just out of Beauxbatons when she had been married off to Draco Malfoy several years after Voldemort's downfall. Draco's father had been in Azbakan by that point and the Parkinsons had shied away, wanting to distance themselves from the disgraced family. With great dignity and determination, however, Narcissa Malfoy had started to re-establish the Malfoys in society and had for the first time in centuries looked abroad for a suitable family with whom to forge a connection. Elise made a perfect wife. She had admired her husband immensely with a schoolgirl's passion, was extremely biddable and far too indolent and spoiled to be interested if he appeared to have some rather undesirable and dark hobbies. She brought wealth, connections and social standing without any apparent disadvantages. She also bore him a son which was, after all, the principal point of the union.

These days, Elise spent her time in her boudoire eating the chocolates and admiring the gifts her husband bought her to flatter her into docility and silence. She missed her children when they were at school for they were a link to the outside world and she was genuinely fond of them, in her way.

Nero found his mother exactly where he had left her several months earlier: lying on a chaise longue by the window, reading a pink covered book and with a bowl of cherries dipped in dark chocolate on the table at her side. When she saw him she smiled sweetly and held out her hand to him. "Nero, cheri! I did not expect you back so soon. Was the journey pleasant?"

Nero took his mother's hand and sat down next to her. He gave a ironical grin. "Pleasant would be an overstatement. But I'm here now!"

"Yes, so you are, and I am very glad." His mother squeezed his hand and sighed, "Indeed it has been very dull for me these past weeks. I have been rereading my E. H. Green novels. Now you are here you must tell me everything however. How did your exams go?"

For the next ten minutes Nero told his mother in great detail the mark breakdown of every single one of his papers and how they stood him for his OWLs the following year. If Elise was bored she concealed it very well.

"Well, cheri, you seem to be doing very well. I am very proud of you. My dutiful boy. Come, kiss me." Nero obliged and his mother smoothed his hair away from his face. "You look tired, cheri. Has it been a long term?"

Nero thought of all the worry about the Stone, of his running antagonism with his sister and of Cassandra Potter and felt weary. "It's been a long year, Mother."

"Why don't you tell me about it, hein?"

For a long time Nero did not say anything. He could hardly tell his mother everything. There was no need for her to know how he purposefully disobeyed his father in opening the box. Nor would she appreciate knowing how much the memory of the anger and hurt in Cassandra Potter's green eyes haunted him, how he felt stupidly sorry for her and how much he hated her for it. There were some things a teenage boy did not tell his mother.

Nevertheless, he did tell her a little about the Stone and it was a relief. He told her about how the mysterious Voice had forced him to acquire it and how he had found it (missing Cassandra out entirely). He told her how it had mesmerized him when he did get it and how he was afraid it had some kind of hold over him.

Elise listened quietly and when she was quite sure he had finished speaking said, "That is quite a story, n'est-ce pas? Of course it will bother you. But why do you not speak to your father about it? He would know what to do." She spoke with the complacency of someone who rarely thought for herself.

"He might disapprove," Nero replied lamely who could only guess how much his father certainly would disapprove.

"Not necessarily. You should try him, cheri; you would feel more comfortable in your mind if you knew what was going on."

This was certainly true, but Nero only shook his head. No chance.

~~*~~

The Boss did not appreciate being disturbed. Being head of the Department of Mysteries involved a great deal more paperwork than investigation and the Boss rarely had time to catch up on the many memos that landed every day on her desk. The message from Dea Prejudice that she had something of particular importance to communicate, however, could not be ignored. Hearing the knock on her door, she put the latest letter from her equivalent in Croatian magical intelligence inside a folder and pulled her cloak further over her face, to hide her identity, as it had to be concealed even from the highest in her ranks.

"Come in!"

Dea Prejudice entered and sat down in front of the Boss' desk, full of restrained excitement.

"Well?" said the Boss. "What did you want to see me about, Prejudice?"

Dea Prejudice did not waste any time with pleasantries. "I have found Voldemort's heir."

If she had expected the Boss to jump up or exclaim in some way at the news then she was destined to be mistaken. The response she got was an, "Oh, have you now?" spoken in the tone of voice she might use if Prejudice had announced that she was saving up to buy a retirement villa on the Costa del Sol and was looking forward to getting a tan. "I was not aware that was your remit, Prejudice. Aren't you meant to be tracking down the Dolohovs?"

"The Dolohovs are in South America, have been for the past ten years," said Prejudice dismissively. How could the Boss care about the fate of a few renegade Death Eaters when she had news this big? Don't you want to know who it is?"

"'You want to tell me and I have no objection to hearing it'" said the Boss. Dea Prejudice, who could not see her face was thus denied the sight of her superior's smirk, which was probably a good thing as she did not recognize the quotation.

"You will never believe it!"

"Try me," said the Boss cooly.

"Lady Hermione Potter," said Prejudice triumphantly, convinced that the revelation would provoke some reaction.

There was a short pause then the Boss said quietly, "Are you saying that our muggle born, Gryffindor educated Minister of Magic is in fact heir to the Dark Lord whom she personally vanquished along with her husband? Sounds a bit far fetched to me. Do you have any proof? Any at all to back up your frankly treasonable allegations?"

Prejudice flushed. "Oh, I have proof all right. How about her Conjuncta charm necklace with Slytherin's snake on it? How about the fact that she denied none of the allegations when I put it to her?"

This did seem to ruffle the Boss. "You spoke to her? You told her your suspicions? And she did not have you arrested?"

"Certainly not. She was most... ah... anxious for me to remain silent on the matter. Really, ma'am, you do not seem aware of the potential traitor you favour so much in Domina Eowyn."

"Do I not?" replied the Boss with more heat. "Cease, Prejudice! Your jealousy of Eoywn, for I perceive you have discovered that identity as well, has carried you too far this time. These are very serious and ruinous accusations you would make against one of my staff."

"Do you not accept my evidence, my clear and incontrovertible evidence?"

"Certainly not," snapped the Boss. "Your evidence can be easily overturned. A green snake on a necklace is proof of nothing. The Minister's silence on the subject is perfectly understandable considering that such a scandal would ruin her whether it is true or false. Did you actually ask her straight out, "Are you the heir of Voldemort?" because that would have been foolishness beyond belief."

"No, not straight out, but-"

"You are guilty of gross professional misconduct, Prejudice. I find myself compelled to relieve you of some of your duties."

Dea Prejudice opened her mouth to protest but the Boss held up a quelling hand. "You will return to the Department on Monday morning and not before when your new position as a Domina will be explained to you. You will find your salary suitably reduced. And you will find yourself unable to remember anything salient about your life as a Dea."

"I would have thought," said Prejudice coldly, "that you would sack me, since you are so displeased."

"Members of the Department of Mysteries do not simply "leave"," said the Boss softly. "You will remain and do as you are told, Prejudice. You are dismissed." The Boss payed Prejudice no more attention but the door opposite swung open and Prejudice knew that the interview was at an end.

Once in the corridor outside, the newly demoted Domina Prejudice leaned against the wall and tried to control her anger. How dare the Boss dismiss her like that? How dare the leader of England's most important secret intelligence network not even listen to what she had to say? Or did Lady Potter quite literally have the nation under a spell? It seemed increasingly likely. And for all that the Boss refused to listen, she did have proof of her charges. After all, thought Prejudice, consenting to being blackmailed was a pretty sure sign of guilt. All this time, she thought, all this time and Lady Potter was quite possibly evil and plotting to take over the world! Well. She felt the Boss' betrayal keenly.

Domina Prejudice pushed off from the wall and made her way out of the building. She knew exactly what she would do. She was not a first class spy for nothing. Had she not spent the past eight years of her life working to infiltrate and destroy the Death Eaters left over from Voldemort's old cohort? If the Boss stupidly did not care about finding out who Voldemort's heir was then she knew who would be very interested indeed in what she could reveal.

Author's Notes: The quotation the Boss uses comes from Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice.

Hopefully the next chapter should be up quicker than this one was. ;) Reviews would be absolutely charming and would make my day but I write for myself so I shall not be

too disappointed if I don't get any! It's hard to imagine anyone out there is still hoping that this will be updated!

You will notice that I have "revealed" who Lady Potter is here. To be honest, concealing it was utterly pointless. When I first started writing the story, I thought that everyone would guess the entire plot if they knew who she was. That was a total mistake but for many chapters I couldn't think of getting out of the mess without it being an anticlimax. Anyway, now you know! :)

~Silvestria~