The Blackthorn Chronicles - Book 1: Hesperus

“What strange men,” Vespera mused inwardly, her gaze turned towards the blurring tapestry of the Kyoto outskirts, the traditional Japanese houses and verdant forests a fleeting, indistinct panorama. Her hand, adorned with her ladyship rings, covered her mouth with a gesture of delicate contemplation, her fingers resting lightly against the cool glass of the window.

She found little genuine pleasure in observing the passing landscape, the unfamiliar architecture and dense foliage failing to capture her attention. Her thoughts, instead, remained stubbornly tethered to the two figures she had just encountered at the imposing gates of Cross Academy, or rather, more specifically, to one of them.

The headmaster, Kaien Cross, had already been neatly categorized within the well-organized archives of her mind. Clueless and idealistic, the label fit him with an almost uncomfortable precision, a Japanese echo of the late Albus Dumbledore’s well-intentioned but ultimately naive approach to the complexities of the world. Yet, a crucial distinction had emerged: unlike the wizard she had once known, this Headmaster Cross possessed a notable tendency to defer, his decisions seemingly contingent upon the unspoken approval of another. The subtle, almost imperceptible glances he had cast towards Kaname Kuran when she had requested their discretion regarding her political role had been glaringly apparent, a clear indication of the true locus of power within that peculiar dynamic.

With a soft, almost dismissive huff, a delicate exhalation that betrayed a burgeoning frustration, she attempted to banish the persistent image of the enigmatic, and regrettably, undeniably attractive vampire from the forefront of her thoughts. There was something about Kaname Kuran that lingered in the recesses of her mind, an unsettlingly potent presence that defied easy dismissal. His dark gaze, the undercurrent of ancient power that seemed to emanate from him, the almost imperceptible flicker of something unreadable in his maroon eyes – these details replayed in her thoughts with a peculiar, almost obsessive clarity. Why this intense focus on him? He was but a student, albeit one with an unusual air and position of authority. Yet, his initial, almost dismissive appraisal of her age had struck a nerve, igniting a spark of something akin to… intrigue? Annoyance? Perhaps a dangerous blend of both.

At the sound of the small exhale that escaped her lips, a delicate expulsion of breath, Arata stiffened visibly in the passenger seat. His dark eyes, wide with a perpetual anxiety, darted to hers in the rearview mirror, a silent inquiry etched upon his features. What met him instead was the unnerving sight of Mikael’s eyes, molten gold and gleaming with an almost predatory amusement, a silent laughter that seemed to mock his fear. He paled once more, a sickly pallor spreading across his face, before quickly averting his gaze, all pretense of professional politeness abandoned in his desperate desire to escape the unsettling intensity of her stare.

Thankfully, for all the strained occupants of this increasingly awkward ride, the driver, a man whose primary concern seemed to be adhering to the speed limit and avoiding eye contact, soon enough cleared his throat, his voice a low, respectful murmur that announced their pending arrival at the Ministry.

“We’ll be there in a few minutes, Lady Potter-Black,” he spoke, his voice quiet and subservient, betraying no hint of the underlying tension that permeated the vehicle.

The witch merely offered a curt nod, exhaling softly through her nose in a silent expression of relief at the imminent end of this uncomfortable journey, her thoughts already drifting towards the conversations that awaited her within the Japanese Ministry of Magic.

To her surprise, however, the driver began smoothly pulling the sleek vehicle not towards a modern government building, but instead through grand, ancient gates, gliding onto the sacred grounds of the Kyoto Imperial Palace. The sprawling complex, now bathed in the soft, ethereal glow of the late evening, lay largely deserted, the usual throngs of muggle tourists having long since departed as visiting hours drew to a close.

The car finally whispered to a halt before the main administrative building, a structure of understated elegance that stood tall and beautiful against the backdrop of the fading light, its traditional architecture exuding a sense of timeless serenity.

As if sensing the shift in atmosphere, the oppressive rain had ceased its relentless assault, leaving behind a delicate stillness and the uniquely pleasant, earthy fragrance of petrichor that permeated the air, rising from the damp stone and surrounding gardens like a whispered blessing. Arata, ever eager to anticipate her needs, once again hurried around the car with a slightly less frantic energy than before, his movements still betraying a hint of nervousness as he reached to open her door.

With a somewhat milder nod of acknowledgment than she had offered earlier, a subtle indication of her distraction, Vespera exited the vehicle. The long journey had begun to take its toll, a weariness settling beneath her carefully maintained composure.

She moved towards the grand entrance and the wide stone steps leading up to it with fast, confident paces, her boots clicking softly on the ancient stone.

She was utterly exhausted from the protracted travel, the various time zone shifts leaving a dull ache behind her eyes, and wished for nothing more than to swiftly conclude this last obligatory task before finally retiring to the Black family manse – a smaller, secluded villa owned by her godfather’s family for the past few centuries, a sanctuary where she could shed the weight of expectation and focus on her mission.

The large, ornately carved doors of the building swung inward just as she reached the last broad step, revealing a handsome, statuesque man standing squarely in the middle of the parted entryway. His face, etched with lines of authority and age, possessed a severe yet not unkind countenance, bearing a slight resemblance to Professor McGonagall back at Hogwarts. His tall form was clad in stereotypical wizarding robes of deep indigo, though the sharp lines of a meticulously tailored three-piece suit were clearly visible beneath the open front.

A genuine smile finally graced Vespera’s lips, the first sincere expression of pleasure since her arrival on Japanese soil, chasing away the carefully constructed masks she had worn thus far. Her arms stretched wide in an open, welcoming gesture of embrace.

The Minister’s initial reaction was a barely concealed downturn of his lips at the demonstrative display, but she didn’t take it to heart. Theirs was a bond forged over years of shared interests and mutual respect, a friendship that could withstand such minor displays of his characteristic severity. Yet, despite the genuine warmth of her smile, the deep, predatory look that often lurked beneath the surface of her emerald eyes did not entirely dissipate, a subtle undercurrent of something untamed still lingering in their depths.

“Minister Nakamura!” she exclaimed, a warmth infusing her voice, her crimson lips wide and her emerald eyes narrowed with genuine pleasure at the sight of his familiar face. Tadahiro Nakamura, the Japanese Minister of Magic, huffed, a sound that held more affection than annoyance, as he approached her figure by the steps, a small, almost reluctant smile tugging at the corners of his thin lips.

“Vespera. Why are you here? You weren't supposed to arrive until July,” he asked, his tone laced with a severity that did little to conceal the underlying affection in his voice, his dark eyes twinkling with slight amusement despite the stern set of his jaw.

The witch pouted in an exaggerated manner, her crimson lips jutting out in a display of mock petulance, fully aware that he considered such displays to be unseemly. Behind her, Mikael ascended the remaining steps with her customary silent grace, positioning herself two steps behind Vespera, a blonde specter in her tailored black suit. Arata, his face a familiar mask of nervous exertion, jogged up the stairs, his breath catching in his throat as he finally reached the top.

Tadahiro’s sharp eyes darted momentarily to Mikael’s subtly smirking face, a fleeting narrowing of his gaze that spoke of a long-standing familiarity and a touch of wary respect for the silent guardian, before turning his attention back to the theatrically sulking witch before him.

“I so dearly missed your sour face during the last Council meeting, Tadahiro, why, I simply had to come and see you myself.” She purred, her voice dripping with playful sarcasm, as she closed the distance between them and air-kissed both his cheeks in a deliberately exaggerated French greeting, her lips brushing the air beside his stern features with a light, teasing touch.

He raised a neatly trimmed , greying eyebrow, his expression a mask of long-suffering exasperation that she knew was mostly for show, before offering his arm to her with a sigh that held more resignation than genuine annoyance. However, a confusion glinted in his eyes at her words. He’d never received an invitation for a recent meeting. 

She accepted his arm with a deft, almost regal grace, her gloved hand resting lightly upon his dark robes. He then led her into the building, a veritable relic of the Heian period, its ancient wooden beams and intricately carved sliding doors whispering tales of centuries past, a stark and captivating contrast to the sleek, modern lines of the private jet she had just disembarked.

Vespera halted just inside the threshold, her emerald eyes widening in genuine wonder at the sight that unfolded before her. 

Dominating the vast reception area, reaching towards the high, timbered ceiling with an almost defiant grandeur, stood a tall, formidable tree, its trunk thick and gnarly with age, its sheer size rivaling one of Hogwarts’ formidable towers. The leaves, a vibrant, almost incandescent crimson, bathed the surrounding space in a warm, ethereal glow. 

Floating paper lanterns, their surfaces painted in hues of fiery red, warm orange, and soft yellow, drifted lazily through the air, carried by an unseen permanent levitation charm, their gentle light casting dancing shadows across the polished wooden floors. 

Her gaze swept upwards, taking in the numerous floors that stretched above, each exuding an air of elegant simplicity. Hallways and walls were formed by beautifully painted Shoji screens, their delicate paper surfaces depicting scenes of serene landscapes and mythical creatures. 

Folded notes, bearing official seals, flitted gracefully through the air like a sedge of paper cranes in flight, a testament to yet another Ministry’s mailing system.

Public servants, dressed in traditional, multicolored kimonos and hakama, each garment a vibrant splash of color, moved with a quiet grace down the seemingly endless hallways, their forms partially concealed by the flowing lines of a dark, traditional wizarding robe worn over their attire. Several of them paused in their purposeful strides, their eyes widening in undisguised shock at the unexpected sight of the infamous Vespera Potter gracing their Ministry’s halls. 

The few whose wide-eyed stares she happened to notice were met with one of her practiced public smiles – a dazzling, seemingly genuine expression of warmth that instantly transformed their slack-jawed surprise into shy grins of utter hero worship.

Tadahiro, observing her captivated expression with a faint shake of his head and a knowing smile, then gestured towards a small step leading onto the gleaming wooden floorboards. He offered her a pair of pristine, soft slippers. “Please, Lady Potter-Black,” he murmured, “custom dictates we remove our outdoor footwear within these sacred walls.” 

Vespera bent down wordlessly as instructed, her movements fluid and graceful despite the unfamiliarity of the custom, and swiftly removed her heeled leather boots, handing them to Mikael, who, with a silent efficiency, stowed them away in a seemingly bottomless, expandable pocket within her tailored coat. Her ever-present attendant mirrored her actions with a polite nod, stepping into a pair of identical soft slippers, her tall, imposing form moving with an unexpected lightness on the polished wood.

Tadahiro nodded, dismissing Arata with a nearly imperceptible nod of his head and the younger man stopped uncertainly by the grand entrance doors, his frantic heart rate finally beginning to slow its frantic pace as Vespera, Mikael, and Tadahiro walked further into the building’s depths.

Just as he took a deep, calming breath, attempting to soothe his frayed nerves, Mikael, her head tilted ever so slightly to the side with an almost feline grace, sent him one last, parting smirk, her molten gold eyes glinting with amusement at his continued discomfort. The effect was instantaneous; Arata’s hard-won composure crumbled, and a fresh wave of pallor washed over his face.

Vespera frowned ever so slightly at Mikael, a silent reprimand. However, a small, amused spark glittered in the depths of her emerald eyes. She was very familiar with her attendant’s penchant for finding amusement in terrorizing those who were easily intimidated, a peculiar form of entertainment for the otherwise stoic woman, so she simply gave Mikael a barely perceptible shake of her head before refocusing her attention on the light, inconsequential small talk she was now engaging in with the Minister, her voice a melodic counterpoint to the hushed reverence of the ancient building.

Her eyes turned back to admire the beautiful ancient building, and she noted the almost demonic twin glows of unseen eyes twinkling within the shadowed recesses of the surrounding stationed Samurai armors. 

The polished metal gleamed faintly in the soft light, and the air seemed to hum with a subtle, unseen energy, a tangible thrum that resonated deep within Vespera. She noted with a keen, almost predatory interest how these energies, ancient and undeniably potent, seemed to call to the simmering core of her own dark magic, a familiar yet often suppressed power. 

In many wizarding communities, particularly after the wars with Grindelwald and Voldemort, association with dark magic was still viewed with deep suspicion and outright condemnation. Yet here, within the heart of the Japanese Ministry, they were not only tolerated but actively harnessed. Noticing her intrigued gaze, Tadahiro shook his head with faint amusement, a knowing smile playing on his lips.

“Yokai, or demons,” he explained in a low tone, his voice tinged with a mixture of respect and practicality. “We have long-standing contracts with them. It is quite the symbiotic relationship. They draw sustenance from the magic of the building and surrounding lands, and in return, we utilize them as formidable guardians.”

“What a marvelous idea,” Vespera mused conversationally, her emerald eyes taking in the rich and intricate decor of the surrounding hallways and the various traditional ornaments that adorned the walls. “Was this building truly always dedicated to the Ministry of Magic, or were you relocated here in more recent years?”

“This building was indeed always dedicated to the wixen people, yes,” Tadahiro commented, a note of pride entering his deep voice. “A token of enduring friendship bestowed upon our community by the late Emperor Kanmu himself, many centuries ago.” Seeing her undisguised interest, a full smile finally touched his lips, subtly flattered by her evident fascination with their rich cultural heritage.

“Would you like a brief tour?” he offered, his dark eyes twinkling with hospitality. She responded with a small, honest nod, her dark curls swaying gently.

“Perhaps a short one?” she suggested softly. “I have quite many matters of some urgency to discuss with you this evening, Tadahiro. A more elaborate exploration can certainly wait for a time when I am officially instated as ambassador.”

He raised a questioning eyebrow, but inclined his head in an elegant nod of understanding. “Of course. I can well imagine that the considerable length of your travels also contributes to this.”

With a grateful smile that softened the sharp angles of her face, the genuine warmth of the expression sweetening the deep, cherubic dimples that punctuated her cheeks. She allowed him to lead her across the polished wooden floors of the hallways. His deep baritone voice rang with a low resonance across the tranquil area as he began to explain the prideful history of the building, recounting tales of how the wixen community had always been afforded free rein upon the Emperor’s private estate. 

As he led her through the dimly lit hallways and rooms, stopping by briefly in the Auror’s offices and general departments and cafeteria, he noticed her keen green eyes growing more attentive by the minute. Not just with interest, but with something that made a shiver of apprehension run down his back.

He knew that look very well. It was the expression Vespera wore whenever she was hunting or digging for information covertly, a look few would have truly noticed, but they’d known each other for several years already.

Despite the easy conversation flowing between them, his dark eyes now subtly narrowed, a small furrow etching itself between his distinguished brows. A foreboding feeling, cold and unwelcome, had settled in the pit of his stomach, a stark contrast to the easy camaraderie that typically characterized their interactions. Her unannounced presence, especially when she was meant to arrive at a later date, could mean nothing good.

He concluded the tour by leading her up to his office, in the highest floor of the building, the ancient wood groaning softly beneath their combined weight. The air growing thick with an unspoken anticipation that felt heavier than the humid Kyoto evening, and he couldn’t help but shooting her a small glance of apprehension.

They finally reached the imposing, intricately carved oak doors of his private office. The room itself was a study in contrasts, a harmonious blend of traditional Japanese aesthetics and the pragmatic necessities of a high-ranking official. Shoji screens, adorned with delicate depictions of ancient battles, divided the spacious area, while overflowing shelves housed both meticulously bound ancient scrolls and more contemporary volumes on magical theory. 

A large, modern mahogany desk, however, dominated one corner, its polished surface cluttered with stacks of official documents, quills, and a half-empty cup of coffee. 

As they entered the spacious office, a young man named Kenji, Tadahiro’s dedicated assistant, sprang to his feet from behind a smaller, less imposing side table, his movements a flurry of nervous energy. With his neatly parted black hair and the bright flush that bloomed across his cheeks upon meeting the unexpectedly sirenic gaze of Vespera Potter-Black, he looked akin to an excitable, slightly overwhelmed puppy, his dark eyes wide and his posture stiff with a mixture of awe and apprehension. He bowed deeply, his movements betraying the ink stains that adorned his slender fingers.

The witch’s vibrant emerald eyes, sharp and assessing, locked onto Kenji with a nearly reptilian focus, a brief, intense scrutiny that seemed to pierce through his carefully constructed professional demeanor. Then, she blinked slowly, the deliberate movement somehow amplifying the sudden, bright smile that illuminated her face, transforming her features into an expression of seemingly genuine delight.

“And who is this charming young man?” She asked loftily, her voice a melodic purr that nonetheless carried an undercurrent of amusement, turning back to Tadahiro with a small, teasing smirk playing upon her crimson lips.

“My name is Kenji, Lady Potter-Black! Kenji Suzuki! It’s a profound pleasure to make your acquaintance, why I-!” As he’d taken an eager step forward, his intention clear to offer a respectful handshake, disaster struck with an abrupt thud. His foot caught squarely on the edge of a richly patterned but slightly askew carpet, sending him tumbling forward with a surprising lack of grace. He landed heavily on his front, the sound echoing in the sudden stillness of the office.

A beat of absolute silence hung in the air. Tadahiro’s face registered utter mortification, his hand instinctively flying to his forehead in a gesture of exasperated embarrassment. Behind Vespera, Mikael’s lips twitched almost imperceptibly, a flicker of amusement dancing in her molten gold eyes. But it was Vespera who broke the awkward tableau. With a fluid, almost regal movement, she bent gracefully at the waist, extending a delicate, gloved hand towards the prone assistant.

No one verbally acknowledged the clumsy moment, though Kenji’s face was a mask of mortification, his eyes darting around as if searching for a convenient crack in the floor to swallow him whole. He gratefully accepted Vespera’s offered hand and allowed her to assist him back to his feet. He stood quietly, his head bowed, hastily dusting off his robes and trousers as he cleared his throat, attempting to regain some semblance of professional composure.

“Well,” Vespera said, her voice retaining its earlier melodic quality, as if the unfortunate incident had been nothing more than a minor occurrence, “it is very nice to meet you too, Kenji. Say,” she continued suddenly, her tone shifting to one of sweet and inviting curiosity, her emerald eyes widening slightly, “would you say you possess a particularly strong knowledge of local sweets?”

Tadahiro shot Vespera a mildly confused look, his dark eyebrows arching almost imperceptibly, but Kenji, his earlier mortification seemingly forgotten, nodded eagerly, his youthful exuberance rekindled by her gracious lack of acknowledgment of his clumsiness.

“Yes, I think so! Why, not even yesterday I stumbled upon a delightful little shop tucked away near the Kamo River that sells the most exquisitely crafted-” He began to elaborate, his voice filled with a newfound enthusiasm.

“That’s lovely, Kenji. Tadahiro,” Vespera interjected in an airy, almost dismissive tone, her gaze already drifting back to the Minister, “would it be terribly inconvenient if Kenji here were to step out for a few moments? I would absolutely adore to sample some of the local delicacies, but alas, my schedule today has been rather… demanding, leaving me with no time to venture out myself.” Tadahiro’s eyes narrowed slightly, his gaze flickering between Vespera’s seemingly innocent expression and the still slightly flustered Kenji, but after a brief moment of consideration, he offered a slow, deliberate nod.

“Of course,” he conceded, his tone carefully neutral. “Kenji, you may go and fetch some… sweets for Lady Black. See to it that you select a variety. Go now.” He instructed his assistant with a clear, authoritative tone, and they both observed as the young man bowed deeply, his earlier awkwardness replaced by an eager eagerness to please, before hurrying out of the office, his footsteps receding quickly down the hallway.

This left Vespera, Mikael, and the increasingly apprehensive Minister in the hushed stillness of his ornate office, the air thick with unspoken questions.

“Mikael, guard.” The witch’s sudden command sliced through the silence, her voice devoid of any remaining pleasantness, cold and sharp as shattered ice. She moved with a fluid grace, settling daintily upon one of the plush chairs that faced the Minister’s imposing desk, her posture radiating an air of quiet authority.

Almost immediately, a wave of palpable shadow emanated from the tall, blonde woman, a tangible darkness that seemed to seep from her very being, engulfing the room. The soft glow of the paper lanterns dimmed precipitously, plunging the office into a barely illuminated state, the intricate details of the decor receding into the gloom. In the near-darkness, Mikael’s molten gold eyes seemed to almost glow with an unnerving intensity, fixed and watchful.

Tadahiro stiffened visibly, a sudden chill permeating the air, causing his breath to fog slightly before him. His eyes, wide with a dawning apprehension, remained fixed on Vespera’s unsmiling face as he sank heavily into his high-backed, throne-like chair behind the expansive desk, the weight of his sudden unease pressing him down.

“Is this really necessary, Vespera?” He asked, his voice betraying a slight tremor, though his face remained valiantly impassive. Vespera offered a curt nod, her expression unamused and unusually serious, the playful light in her emerald eyes now completely extinguished. 

With a sharp, almost impatient snap of her fingers towards her attendant, Mikael moved with silent precision, producing a sleek, black briefcase that seemed to materialize from nowhere within the folds of her dark coat. The witch took the briefcase and deliberately placed it upon the polished surface of Tadahiro’s desk, the soft thud echoing in the dimly lit room. “Now that we have removed any potential onlookers, Tadahiro…”

Vespera opened the briefcase with a small, precise click, the sound echoing in the suddenly tense atmosphere of the office. From its depths, she retrieved a cream-colored file, its edges slightly worn as if it had been handled numerous times. Tadahiro observed, his narrowed gaze fixed on her every movement, as she calmly flicked through the pages, her eyes cold and serpentine as they scanned the contents, before finally settling on a specific sheet.

She took the single photograph, her slender fingers holding it delicately by the edges, looked it over one last time with an unreadable expression, before turning it slowly and deliberately towards him. The image depicted such a horrendous and unnatural sight that a wave of nausea washed over Tadahiro. He paled visibly, his breath catching in his throat, and he stood abruptly, his chair scraping loudly against the polished wooden floors in his haste and revulsion.

“What in Hecate's name is this?!” he exclaimed, his voice a choked mixture of revulsion and furious disbelief. The photograph depicted a child, no older than a toddler, lying on what appeared to be a sterile surface. A crude, jagged Y-shaped incision marred its tiny chest, the edges of the wound gaping and raw. The child’s eyes were open and rheumy, staring blankly upwards, its delicate skin possessing the stark, unnatural snow-white pallor of death.

Vespera observed his visceral reaction with cold, clinical eyes, her own expression impassive. She was clearly assessing every minute micro-expression that flickered across his face, cataloging his shock, his disgust, and the dawning horror in his widened eyes. Then, she hummed thoughtfully, a low, almost musical sound that held no trace of empathy, before gently setting the photograph down on the polished surface of his desk, the stark image a silent accusation between them.

“This is why I am here, Tadahiro,” she stated simply, tapping a long black nail on the photograph, the sound ominously loud in the pit drop silence of the office, interrupted only by the quick, harsh breaths of the wizard. Her voice was even and devoid of emotion, as if she were discussing a mundane administrative matter and not revealing a scene of unspeakable horror. “We have gotten some… concerning reports.”

“Reports of what? What in the blazes is this atrocity!?” He nearly shouted, his voice raw with outrage, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. Mikael, standing silently behind Vespera, fixed him with a small, almost predatory glare, a subtle smirk playing upon her lips, as if enjoying his distress.

“Sit down, Minister Nakamura,” Vespera said, her voice a low, serpentine hiss that brooked no argument, the soft sibilance sending a shiver down his spine that had nothing to do with the lingering chill in the room.

She leaned back into her seat and stood with a fluid grace, her movements possessing a predatory elegance, and leaned over the expansive mahogany table. With deliberate precision, she spread out the remaining photographs from the cream-colored file, each one depicting a similarly gruesome and disturbing sight. From the tender innocence of youth to the weathered lines of old age, regardless of gender, at least ten stark images lay scattered across the polished surface, each a silent testament to unspeakable horror. All bore the tell-tale jagged Y-incision upon their chests, their eyes in death frozen wide with expressions of stark fear, profound sadness, or a vacant, chilling nothingness.

“Unfortunately, Tadahiro,” she continued, her voice now laced with a cold certainty, “this is quite real. The International Confederation of Wizards received an anonymous, highly detailed tip just last week, alleging that some unauthorized and utterly horrific experiments are being conducted within your jurisdiction, under your very watch. In fact,” she added, her emerald eyes glinting with a sharp intensity as she met his gaze, “your name was also specifically mentioned in the report. It seems someone intends to make you a rather convenient scapegoat for this… unpleasantness.” 

As she spoke, she shrugged off her long black leather trench coat, the supple material falling silently to the chair, revealing the lean, sinuous muscles of her arms exposed by the simple slip dress she wore. A sleek, dark leather wand holster encircled her right forearm, the polished wood of the infamous wand of war, the Elder Wand, a legend in the wizarding world, peeking out from its confines. Tadahiro instinctively took a step back, a sudden flood of icy dread coursing through his veins, as she smoothly rounded the edge of the table, her movements like a predator circling its prey, and began to approach him.

“And even more regrettably, Tadahiro,” she purred, her voice dropping to a dangerous whisper, “all of the victims are reported to be wixen. They were systematically drained of their blood and… their hearts were excised. Does that sound at all familiar to you?” She stopped directly before his imposing chair, leaning down with a predatory grace, her hands settling on the carved wooden arms, effectively trapping him within her close proximity.

He took a shuddering breath, the air catching in his throat, his eyes wide with a dawning, terrible realization. “Vampire feedings,” he rasped, the words barely audible, “and… ghouls.”

“Indeed,” she confirmed, her smile serene, almost beatific, a stark and unsettling contrast to the palpable waves of dark magic emanating from her very skin, a subtle yet potent force that kept him rooted to his chair, a silent paralysis born of pure magical pressure. “Of course, the Council is exceedingly concerned by these… developments, and they asked me to come and investigate post-haste.

“The emergency Council meeting I wasn't invited to,” he murmured, the pieces of the puzzle clicking into place with a sickening finality, understanding dawning in his wide, scared eyes, the betrayal cutting deeper than any blade. She offered a sharp, almost cheerful nod of agreement, before suddenly straightening, stepping back and pulling the oppressive weight of her intimidating aura with her.

Tadahiro took a deep, gasping breath, his lungs aching for air, his eyes flicking upwards to hers, finding with a flicker of relief that the unnatural glow had faded, the menacing darkness receding, leaving behind the familiar, if now deeply troubled, face of his friend.

“I can see quite clearly that you were genuinely unaware of this horrific undertaking, Tadahiro, which only serves to confirm my initial suspicion that someone working in very close proximity to you has been directly and deliberately involved in this… endeavor.” She explained calmly, her tone now almost conversational, as if discussing a minor administrative oversight. She turned the black briefcase towards herself, her slender fingers deftly fishing out another, thicker folder, which she then slid across the polished desk towards him.

His trembling hands fumbled with the cover, flicking it open to reveal a series of disturbingly detailed autopsy reports, each page filled with clinical observations of the desecrated bodies. But it was the final document that truly made his blood run cold, a crisp, official-looking parchment bearing his own signature and family seal, an agreement to fund a series of unspecified “biological research initiatives,” the language deliberately vague yet undeniably incriminating.

Tadahiro felt the world tilt precariously around him, the solid reality of his office dissolving into a swirling vortex of disbelief and betrayal. He gripped the arms of his chair, his knuckles white, a strangled gasp escaping his lips as he nearly collapsed under the crushing weight of the revelation.

“You can understand the ICW’s concern, hn?” She hummed softly, a delicate sound that belied the steel in her gaze, her eyes trained on him with an unnerving blend of interest and clinical assessment.

“This is a catastrophe, Vespera. I… I swear on my magic, on my very life, I was completely unaware of this! I would say so again under oath, or even under the influence of Veritaserum –” he gasped, his voice ragged with shock and a desperate need to convince her, but she cut him off with a dismissive wave of her hand, her attention already focused on the next stage of her carefully orchestrated interrogation.

“Not to worry, Hiro,” she said reassuringly, her tone almost soothing, a stark contrast to the horrifying revelations that lay scattered across his desk. “While the majority of the Council, in their characteristic haste of endless stupidity, called for your immediate execution, several of our… like-minded friends were able to effectively stop that rather… dramatic motion.”

“But,” she interjected, cutting off his involuntary moan of relief with a sharp, decisive tone, “I was specifically sent here to uncover the complete truth of what has been happening within these walls, and furthermore, I have been ordered to remove it, root and stem, regardless of where those roots may lie.” She amended her statement with a cool, unwavering gaze, her eyes holding a certain coldness, yet lacking the outright condemnation he might have expected from the infamous ICW investigator.

Tadahiro straightened in his seat, his hands still trembling visibly as he poured himself more coffee from a delicate, floating porcelain pot, the spout hovering precariously over his cup. Just as he was about to chug the scalding liquid down in a desperate attempt to calm his frayed nerves, she stopped him with a flick of her wrist. The teacup levitated gently from his grasp, floating across the room towards Mikael, who snatched it deftly from the air and, with a swift, almost disdainful movement, drained its contents in a single, silent gulp.

A tense moment stretched, the only sound the faint ticking of an unseen clock. Then, Mikael abruptly bent over, her tall frame convulsing as she vomited violently onto the polished wooden floor, the viscous substance that erupted from her mouth the color of blackest tar, bubbling and hissing like an acidic cauldron unleashed.

Vespera nodded almost absently, her expression betraying no concern for the revolting spectacle, her eyes never leaving Tadahiro’s pale, utterly shocked face. Mikael straightened once more, her movements precise and economical, elegantly wiping her mouth with a pristine white handkerchief retrieved from the breast pocket of her impeccably tailored suit.

“Lethifold blood, Mistress,” Mikael confirmed in her usual monotone, her voice betraying no ill effects from having just ingested a notoriously lethal poison.

“My, how vile,” Vespera commented lightly, as if discussing the weather, before casually flicking her wand, the spilled black bile vanishing without a trace, leaving the polished floorboards gleaming as if nothing had occurred. She then turned her unwavering gaze back to the ashen-faced, utterly bewildered Minister of Magic. His eyes were wide with horrified fascination, fixed on the now impassive Mikael. 

How could she have possibly survived ingesting Lethifold blood? he thought frantically, the famous poison known to melt one’s internal organs on contact. But Vespera and Mikael alike looked utterly unmoved, as if such an occurrence were nothing more than a minor, daily inconvenience.

“It seems someone really wants you dead, Tadahiro. You’ll have to be more careful from now on.” She mused, her tone almost bored, as if discussing a minor social faux pas rather than a near-fatal poisoning.

“What in the blazes is happening here, Vespera?” He rasped, his face still ashen, his eyes wide with a mixture of fear and utter bewilderment.

“What is happening, Tadahiro, is that something utterly horrific and unequivocally illegal has been festering within the borders of this country, all while you remained blissfully, and rather negligently, unaware. What is also quite clearly happening is that someone, or some group, is exceedingly eager to see you permanently removed from your esteemed seat as Minister. 

Honestly, the culprit could be any number of individuals; I am acutely aware of the numerous ambitious political opponents you have cultivated over the years, but their petty squabbles are, to be quite frank with you, of little to no concern to me at this moment.” Tadahiro’s jaw tightened, a flicker of offense at her blatant disregard for his precarious situation flashing in his dark eyes, but Vespera had already moved on, her mind clearly focused on the task at hand.

“Now,” she stated, her voice firm and brooking no argument, “I will require immediate and unrestricted access to all files stored within this Ministry’s archives, and I mean all.” She emphasized the last word with a sharp, unwavering gaze. “That encompasses citizen files, employee records, financial ledgers, every single piece of data that I deem relevant, and that, Minister, is non-negotiable.” She delivered her demand as casually, utterly unconcerned with the monumental implications of her request.

“Vespera, I cannot simply allow such a breach of-” he began, his voice rising in protest, but she cut him off with a swift, dismissive gesture.

“You misunderstand my position entirely, Tadahiro. I am not here to politely request a solution to this problem; I am the solution. Therefore, I am not asking for your permission, nor am I particularly interested in your bureaucratic limitations. 

I will get my hands on the data and information I require, with or without your full cooperation, our long-standing friendship be damned if it stands in the way of justice for these victims.” She hissed, her beautiful face, now devoid of any warmth or humor, appearing almost ethereally scary in the dim lighting of the office as she fixed her gaze predatorily upon his, her emerald eyes gleaming with an unwavering resolve.

“For your own sake, Tadahiro, I sincerely hope you make the correct decision and choose to cooperate fully with my investigation, because I assure you, I will not leave a single, Morgana-forsaken stone unturned in this country until I have smoked out every last one of the vermin that have been torturing and butchering our people.” 

Her voice, though low, resonated with a fierce determination that sent a shiver of both respect and profound fear down Tadahiro’s spine. At that moment, stripped bare of her charming facade, he was starkly reminded of what had initially drawn him to her political ideals years ago: her relentless, uncompromising pursuit of justice, realism, and the chillingly effective way she always got what she wanted.

A loaded silence descended upon the dimly lit office, the weight of unspoken accusations and horrifying revelations pressing down on them. Tadahiro’s gaze flickered across the gruesome tableau of photographs spread across his mahogany desk, his heart heavy with a profound sorrow and a gnawing sense of responsibility at the sight of the mutilated wixen. One young man in particular, his features bearing a striking resemblance to his own teenage son, caught his attention. The victim’s eyes were frozen wide with a final, petrified fear, and his lips were slightly pursed, a silent testament to unimaginable terror. A wave of paternal grief washed over Tadahiro, a stark reminder of the vulnerability of his own loved ones.

“I cannot believe this…” He eventually murmured, his voice a mere breath, filled with a profound sadness and a deep sense of resignation. “I cannot believe someone within my own circle could betray me in such a monstrous way.” Vespera regarded him with slightly softer eyes, a flicker of something akin to understanding crossing her sharp features.

She knew that he had arrived at the same chilling conclusion she had already deduced: only someone holding a significant position of trust, someone intimately familiar with his routines and possessing access to his personal effects, could have so convincingly forged his handwriting, signature, and official Family seal.

“I strongly suspect some level of involvement from the Vampire Senate in these… activities,” she mused aloud, her tone deceptively light, as if discussing a minor inconvenience. “That is precisely why I accepted the teaching post at Cross Academy. One of the students there is a young man with direct and significant ties to the Senate’s inner circle. I anticipate that I will likely be able to glean some… illuminating information from him.” She concluded with a subtle, anticipatory smirk that hinted at the methods she might employ.

Tadahiro nodded gravely, his expression reflecting the weight of her suspicions. His gaze then met hers, a silent understanding passing between them, a shared acknowledgment of the delicate and potentially volatile situation.

“I dearly hope that your suspicions prove unfounded, Vespera. Our wixen population has been dwindling at an alarming rate in recent decades, and we simply cannot afford another protracted conflict with the vampire community, especially now that they have forged a formal alliance with the Hunters Association.” His voice was low, tinged with a palpable weariness and a deep-seated unease at the prospect of such a devastating confrontation.

“Rest assured, Hiro,” she purred, her emerald eyes gleaming with a predatory confidence, “I will handle this entire matter with the utmost discretion, ensuring that any… inquiries I make remain entirely within the shadows until the full scope of this operation is brought to light.”

He took another long, shuddering breath, the weight of the betrayal seeming to physically crush him, before offering a slow, deliberate nod. “I understand your position quite well, Vespera. I am acutely aware that this is your assignment, and I have no desire to impede you in your efforts to bring justice to these poor, innocent people.

But I… I am still the Minister. It is my fundamental responsibility to ensure the safety and well-being of my entire wixen population, and I have failed them. I simply cannot, in good conscience, stand aside and allow you to handle something of this magnitude entirely alone.” His voice, though still laced with sorrow, held a newfound resolve, a flicker of the authority that had defined his long and distinguished career.

Vespera nodded understandingly, her gaze unwavering yet lacking its earlier predatory intensity. She uncrossed her long legs, the soft rustle of her dress the only sound in the quiet room, before crossing them the other way with an air of thoughtful consideration. “I would be more than amenable to accepting your assistance in this… delicate matter, Tadahiro, beyond simply granting me unfettered access to the country’s files. 

If, and I mean if, you are able to swiftly and discreetly sort out any potential traitors lurking within the ranks of your Auror Department – those who might be compromised or, worse, actively involved – why, I could even be convinced to allow a select few of your most trustworthy operatives to assist me directly in the field. 

Or even you, for that matter,” she drawled, her lips curving into a faint, almost teasing smile, “though I do feel rather strongly that your immediate focus should be on safeguarding your own life for the present moment.” Her emerald eyes flickered suggestively towards the now-vanished teacup, a silent reminder of the lethal threat that had so recently been directed at him.

Tadahiro let out a bitter, yet dignified snort, the sound laced with a weariness that spoke volumes of the weight he now carried. He sighed deeply, rubbing his tired eyes with a hand adorned with a simple gold wedding band that glinted faintly in the subdued light of the office.

“Of course, Vespera, you are right. You can, of course, have unfettered access to any files you deem necessary, anything at all, as long as this… this horror is brought to an end. I will begin a thorough purging of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement first thing in the morning and send you my findings via owl as soon as I have something concrete.”

“Good,” she replied, a small, genuine smile finally gracing her lips, softening the sharp angles of her face. She stood with a fluid grace. “I shall look forward to your correspondence. I will be residing at the Black Manor for the remainder of this week, so please, do not hesitate to call for me if you encounter any pressing matters that require immediate discussion.

I… I am aware that my presence here under these circumstances is less than ideal, but you are my friend, Hiro. Official business aside, I will come and offer any assistance you require if you find yourself in need.” Her voice dropped to a low, sincere tone, showing the first genuine flicker of deep affection since her arrival on Japanese soil, a brief glimpse of the person beneath the formidable exterior.

He nodded, a small, appreciative smile mirroring hers, noting how the genuine warmth softened her features by years, momentarily revealing the kind teenager she had once been. But the fleeting moment of vulnerability passed, and her usual cool, composed, and undeniably charming facade settled back into place.

Mikael then stepped forward with her customary silent efficiency, assisting Vespera into her discarded trench coat, a move the witch gracefully accepted. Tadahiro observed them for a moment, a complex mix of gratitude and lingering apprehension swirling within him, before standing himself.

“I will escort you out,” he offered, a gesture of respect and perhaps a desire to prolong their conversation, but Vespera shook her head with a small, reassuring smile, then nodded towards her ever-present attendant.

“No need, Hiro. Mikael remembers the way.” Mikael finished settling the coat upon Vespera’s shoulders and, with an almost imperceptible shift in her stance, loosened the restrictive, oppressive power that had permeated the room. The office seemed to exhale, the temperature returning to its usual level, the dim lighting brightening slightly.

Just then, the heavy oak doors swung inward with a sudden, unexpected force, Kenji stumbled into the office, his arms overflowing with fragrant paper bags emanating the sweet aroma of confectionary. Mikael, with a speed that belied her imposing frame, caught the young man just as he was about to tumble headfirst onto the polished floor.

“Lady Potter-Black, I have your sweets!” He exclaimed charmingly, his face flushed with exertion and excitement, utterly unaware of the tense and serious conversation that had just transpired within the confines of that very office. His wide, eager eyes, filled with a simple desire to please, were trained upon Vespera’s now lovely, smiling face. “I managed to find some Wagashi, and Konpeito, and even a few of those little mochi cakes that –” He continued, his voice bubbling with enthusiasm.

“Thank you, Kenji,” Vespera interjected smoothly, her smile radiating a practiced warmth. “That is exceptionally kind of you. I will be sure to appreciate them immensely.”

“Now, I must depart for my estate. I look forward to your owl, Minister.” She spoke with a final, almost comiserating glance towards the visibly drained Tadahiro. Mikael, ever attentive, silently relieved the still beaming Kenji of the armful of fragrant paper bags, a subtle warning in her golden eyes that the young man, in his blissful ignorance, completely missed. She then followed her Mistress out of the heavy oak door, leaving one excited, oblivious wizard and one profoundly exhausted and deeply troubled Minister behind in the suddenly quiet office.

As she descended the grand stone steps of the Kyoto Ministry of Magic, the moon already a luminous disc high in the inky sky, Vespera allowed a small, satisfied smirk to play upon her lips. The conversation with Tadahiro had been remarkably fruitful, yielding both crucial information and helping her clear her friend from any guilt in her mind.

She stepped confidently for the last time towards the waiting Ministry car, where Arata stood faithfully by the rear passenger door, his face etched with a mixture of nervousness at her return and familiar terror at Mikael’s smirking form.

She greeted him with a small, coolly polite smile and a concise, “To the Black Manor, please,” before sliding into the backseat with her customary graceful movements, the soft rustle of her coat the only sound. Unbeknownst to her, however, as she lowered herself into the plush leather seat, her gaze demurely lowered in thought, a discreet camera flashed silently across the Ministry grounds, capturing her departure in a fleeting burst of light.