The Lady of (New) Avalon

It was already dark by the time Aster made her way up to the Headmaster's Office, after dinner on the evening of the new moon. It wasn't terribly late, but it was November in Scotland, and a particularly grey, stormy November day at that. It'd been dark since about three in the afternoon.

Fawkes trilled at her as she entered the warm room, filled with the chiming and tinkling of Dumbledore's various enchanting projects, most of which she suspected were entirely useless — sculptures simply intended to amuse himself, for the sake of art. There was a new one, she noticed, which seemed suspiciously reminiscent of the muggle 'lava lamp' Dave had brought to school this year.

She sighed at the rain pounding at the window, wishing in spite of the weather that she was out there, rather than in here. So far, healing aside, it had been a rather dissatisfying day. She hadn't been able to start healing herself — or rather, letting Evans heal her, because Evans wanted the practice, and Aster couldn't exactly heal Padfoot herself — until midday, the point at which the traces of the Curse still clinging to her wounds were at their absolute weakest, and because Evans insisted on being careful and thorough, and wasn't all that familiar with canine anatomy, it had taken several hours.

The fact that they'd gotten into an argument halfway through about whether Aster should have knocked Remy out and left him for Annie to deal with yesterday morning probably didn't help. Aster was still convinced that there was nothing she could've done — judging by McKinnon's response to her insistence that she was over Potter, she was guessing that it's been two weeks, how the hell are you not over this by now was not valid advice to give to normal people in the midst of their lives entirely imploding. (She did try not to refer to outsiders and anyone who wasn't completely mad as normal people, because that was a thing Bella did all the time, but sometimes there was no better way to say it.) Evans actually agreed that, no, it probably wasn't, but that didn't mean she wasn't still concerned about Remus. She'd slipped out of the castle to visit him when she'd finished healing Aster, which had left Aster at loose ends for the rest of the afternoon.

She'd decided to celebrate her return to full mobility by slapping a glamour over the scars and heading down to Hufflepuff — grey Sunday afternoons almost guaranteed that there would be a few people hanging around, entertaining themselves with sex and cannabis or dragonsbreath (which was a bit like cannabis, but mildly hallucinogenic). She hadn't been wrong, she'd shared a joint and fooled around for a bit with John Proctor and his new girlfriend, Flo, but it hadn't taken long for her to realise that that sort of chill, laid-back 'afternoon delight' (someone had put on a new muggle album, and she had to say, she loved that euphemism), wasn't what she was in the mood for, especially after her tiff with Evans.

So she'd headed down to Slytherin instead, looking for Jessamine Leach or Matt Fortescue — someone who didn't much like her, but definitely wanted to shag her, more in a passionate, hate-fucking against a wall or over a desk in an abandoned classroom way than a slow, teasing shag on a bean bag sort way. She managed to get in by disillusioning herself and lurking in a shadow until she heard some underclassman mutter the password just a little too loudly (roasted capon — Slughorn's passwords were almost always food), but got distracted by an opportunity to annoy Cissy and embarrass her in front of Bridget Kelvin and Niamh Quinn trying to convince her to go stormchasing with her.

Cissy had obviously refused. She did love flying, but it was fucking cold out, and stormchasing — a sort of stunt-flying follow-the-leader game, weaving through the forest and, if they were low enough, the clouds, fighting the wind as much as they were racing each other — was much more fun in gusting summer storms than torrential November rain. Storms where there was a chance of Aster being struck by lightning, as Cissy put it.

Not that she was going to let that happen again — as it turned out, natural lightning was a hell of a lot more lightning-y than a lightning curse. Also, being struck by lightning had pretty immediately resulted in crashing painfully into the ground. And several trees along the way. And loads of fussing and lecturing and shouting about Aster (Sirius) being a complete idiot and every bit as mad as Bella and being dragged to a healer to determine whether she'd managed to permanently damage herself when Walburga found out. The fact that Narcissa had also been flying in the storm was immaterial, apparently, because Narcissa, being the good child, had remembered to wear a lightning-protection amulet, and consequently hadn't gotten herself half-fried in mid-air or nearly broken her neck falling out of the sky.

And then they'd gotten into an argument about whether Aster should even be in the Slytherin Common Room. No, obviously, but the fact that she'd managed to sneak and spy and steal the password did rather suggest that she had the right to be there, in much the same way that answering the riddle to get into Ravenclaw Tower meant you were Ravenclaw-ish enough to be there. That argument, rather than the threat of taking twenty points from Gryffindor if she didn't piss off, was what convinced her to leave. Points, after all, were a Tool of the Man, and the more of them she lost the better. Staying, on the other hand, would be tantamount to admitting that she actually did belong in Slytherin. Which she had no intention of doing, today or ever.

Still, she had managed to kill most of the time until dinner, even if she hadn't managed to find Fortescue or Leach or any of the other half-dozen Slytherins who hated her and also wanted to shag her. Well, Snape, but she didn't feel like dealing with a fumbling virgin today, and even if she did, she didn't have time to properly introduce him to the wonders of sex with another actual person before her meeting with Dumbledore. Even if they skipped dinner, she'd still have to convince him to admit that he wanted to fuck her, which would probably take ages because he was a stubborn bastard, and then there'd only be time for a quicky in a store-room or something, which hardly did it justice. Aster probably wouldn't be able to look Zee in the eye the next time she saw her if she deflowered a virgin and didn't take the time to do it thoroughly.

So, unsatisfying.

She had had high hopes that this meeting would be better — Dumbledore clearly wanted to have this talk just as much as she did, he'd responded to her letter requesting a meeting right after breakfast and scheduled it for the same day. She didn't really want to sit around doing anything as inactive as just talking now that she could move again, but this was important, damn it! She'd rather go flying in the rain or go nag Cassie to duel with her or even just run to nowhere in particular and back, but she'd suck it up for the sake of potentially convincing Dumbles not to get her friends killed fighting in a war they didn't even have a chance of winning.

But the fact that he only looked up briefly from whatever he was writing when she entered, and invited her to have a seat in one of the student chairs on the opposite side of his desk before scratching out a couple more lines, was not promising.

She'd been envisioning this talk as a more intimate discussion of political philosophy, morality, and the realities of war, between two individuals who were taking each other seriously and treating each other as though their respective arguments and perspectives had value. Perhaps sitting by the fire, with a drop of whisky if he was being a good host, because philosophy and alcohol went together like crumpets and jam. Not between Headmaster and student, with his heavy desk enforcing the distance between them and emphasising his superior status — subtly communicating that, regardless of what she had to say and the fact that he was willing to allow her to say it, he fully expected her to bow to his authority when she'd finished venting her frustrations.

Preemptively dismissing her concerns, essentially, especially with that whole, I'm in the middle of something more important than you, be with you in a moment schtick. She'd specifically asked for a meeting at his convenience, and she had arrived precisely at the time he had specified, which meant that unless he was trying to make a show of his disregard for her she should have his full attention.

She refused to sit, of course. Doing so would be a tacit acceptance of the power dynamic he seemed intent on enforcing, and she wasn't here to be fucking scolded or lectured at or blindly swallow whatever sagely words of wisdom the old professor cared to bestow on her. She was here at her own request, to discuss matters of grave importance as, if not an equal to him, at least not a subordinate — and moreover, she was trying to do him a fucking favour.

Allowing him to treat her like a child, rather than taking her arguments seriously, would be a disservice to him as well as to the cause of achieving some sort of peace.

She remained on her feet, banishing the chairs to a pocket-dimension, and took a deliberately challenging pose. It would be really rude to actually vanish someone else's physical furniture and banishing them was more impressive, anyway — a NEWT-level transfiguration topic, executed silently to underline the fact that, regardless of the fact that she was still in school, she was a fully capable witch.

That did get his attention, at least. He simply stared at her for a good five seconds, taking in her posture — feet in the standard dueling 'ready' position, shoulders set, weight balanced and ready to react to an attack from any direction, saved from being blatantly confrontational by crossing her arms behind her back, rather than in front of her or with her wand in her hand (which would add an extra quarter-second to her draw if she actually did need to defend herself) — and expression — one eyebrow raised in silent question (Did you think I would let you dictate the tone of this conversation, sir?) heavily implying that those chairs hadn't been acceptable, this is not the discussion I had in mind, and you know it.

The sound of the rain and the murmur of portraits of former Headmasters whispering amongst themselves filled the silence which stretched between them as he considered his response.

A small, condescending smile twitched at his lips, though his eyes betrayed a hint of unease. Likely because Aster had blatantly stolen this particular body language from Bella. She most often stood like this supervising training sessions, wherein it meant, You have my attention, now impress me. But Aster wouldn't be surprised if she'd used it talking to Dumbledore, too, in much the same way Aster was now. (I'm not playing your game, Albus, darling. Your opening move is rejected. Try again.)

"I hear congratulations are in order, Miss Black," he offered after a short eternity. He set his quill very deliberately back in the inkpot, signaling that he was aware that she was aware that his scribbling was nothing important, but merely a show of disdain. That would have been the point to rise and offer her a different seat without mentioning her rejection of the first offer, changing the tune of the dance to something more amenable and offering a drink to reinforce that he was still the host, here, and thus still the one directing the conversation, but his words and the fact that his arse stayed firmly planted behind his desk made it clear that he had every intention of ignoring the very deliberate message which was the banishing of his chairs, doubling down on his initial power play in a very Arcturus-like way.

Silly child, now you have nowhere to sit. Those chairs by the fire? No, those are for more important, more serious guests than yourself. How ridiculous you look, forced to stand entirely because of your own petulance. I refuse to humour your delusions of significance.

Her spine stiffened involuntarily in offence, though she doubted he noticed the increased tension in her stance. He wasn't, after all, a fighter, and she hadn't actually moved. "Regarding, sir?"

"Molly Weasley informs me that you've been re-inherited."

Of course she had. Molly was a member of the Order of the Phoenix, though she and Arthur, her husband, were relatively discrete about it. Obviously she knew why she'd been invited to Aster's birthday party — why Aster had had a private party, rather than simply taking over Gryffindor Tower for the evening — even if she had begged off.

"Ah, yes, of course. Thank you. Though it was hardly through any effort of my own that I was re-inherited. I believe the new Lady Black simply desired to make a decisive demonstration of her intention to deviate from the policies and attitudes of the former Lord Black," she lied. That would be, she thought, a much more acceptable sequence of events from an outside perspective than Bella usurping the House because Arcturus wouldn't let her adopt a Blood Traitor like Aster.

"Hmm, yes. And certain others at the Ministry have mentioned that the new Lady Black not only reversed your former Lord's decree regarding your status within your House, but did so by adopting you directly. As her own daughter. With your express consent."

Ugh, Aster hated this stupid verbal sparring dragonshite. "She did, yes. Do I detect a hint of disapproval in your tone, Your Excellency? The matter is hardly one of public concern."

"I could hardly claim to hold any opinion on an internal matter of the House of Black," Dumbledore said lightly, "but I was under the impression that you did not approve of the policies and attitudes of the new Lady Black, regardless of any personal affection between you."

Aster gave him an equally light, carefree smirk. "Your confusion betrays a fundamental misunderstanding of the House of Black, Professor. It's perfectly acceptable for members of the House to oppose Lady Black's personal politics, and even the official positions of the House, so long as we do not endanger the House in doing so." She dropped the affected Society tone to inform him frankly that, "Holiday dinners would get boring if we actually agreed on shite," but resumed it to change the subject, since this was apparently the game they were playing, now. "But I did not request this meeting to discuss my relationship with my lady mother." (Yeah, that was still really weird...) "I was hoping that we might dispense with trivialities and instead speak about...certain political realities this evening."

"Political realities, perhaps, involving a certain individual recently of interest to the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures?" he suggested, a hint of concern in his tone. It wasn't a terrible guess, dealing with Moony was the most recent political problem which involved the both of them.

"No, Professor. Political realities regarding the ongoing conflict between the Knights of Walpurgis and the governing bodies of our fair nation."

She was quite certain she'd obliquely mentioned her desire to discuss moral and political philosophy in her note requesting this meeting, but she supposed it was possible that he thought that had been an obscurement intended to protect Remus should the letter have been intercepted, or referring to a desire to discuss the larger context of his plight. She hadn't exactly been shy about the fact that she considered the problem of Starlight and the Light's justification of their marginalisation to be a major sticking point in understanding and accepting his and Potter's moral code.

Dumbledore nodded slowly, relief warring with a strange sort of resignation on his face. "I see... But I suspect you will not refuse an old man seeking certain assurances about a mutual friend, Miss Black. I will not ask where he is, but how is Mister Lupin faring?"

No, she wouldn't refuse him, but she would wonder why the hell he was avoiding the subject of politics. She glowered at him. She had nothing pleasant to say to him on the topic of Remus Lupin, and quite a few things she was fairly certain he didn't want to hear, but fuck it. He was the one who didn't want to have an amiable philosophical chat over post-dinner drinks.

"How do you think, sir? His life is in shambles. He vacillates between crushing guilt, anger at the Fates, and outright denial of the severity of his situation. And he shares your confusion regarding my decision to realign myself with the House of Black. Our friendship is rather strained at the moment. And, forgive me, but I don't believe that you ought to use that term to define your relationship with the individual in question. Friendship implies somewhat other than the relationship between two individuals, of whom one is honour-bound to kill the other should he lay eyes on him again."

Dumbledore tried to hide how much that hurt, but didn't quite manage it.

Good. Aster was rather displeased with his handling of the whole fiasco two moons ago. If he'd had any sense or concern for Remus at all, he would have double-checked the wards when he realised they'd been poking around them. He might not be as directly at fault as Potter, but it was still ultimately his responsibility to ensure that Moony didn't hurt anyone, and he'd failed.

"Also, perhaps, a degree of personal interaction beyond that of Headmaster and student. But then, I expect you resisted the urge to get to know Remus more thoroughly against just such an eventuality as this. It is, after all, far more difficult to execute a friend than a stranger," she added, with a degree of vicious politeness that would have made Auntie Dru proud. That time he visibly flinched.

It probably hurt more because he actually had spent a relatively significant amount of time with Potter, and by extension Aster. He was Charlus Potter's godfather, so named well before he became the Albus Dumbledore, before he started working at Hogwarts, even, and had therefore taken an interest in how his only son was adjusting to life at school, inviting him to tea several times over the course of their first year. Potter had found it weird and uncomfortable taking tea with a sorcerer who was essentially a living legend, and so had dragged his best mate along for morale. Aster, who was far more accustomed to associating with legendary sorcerers (or at least legendary sorcerers in the making), and also better trained in the art of making polite conversation over tea, had ended up doing most of the talking while Potter, fae-struck, focused on the biscuits.

Granted, they hadn't spoken on a personal level all that often since first year, but he'd had the Marauders up here at least once per term to "admonish" (congratulate) them regarding a well-executed prank, and frequently engaged in a bit of teasing and verbal sparring when he did so. As far as Aster knew, they were still on reasonably familiar terms, even if he wasn't particularly pleased with her at the moment. Again, not unlike Arcturus.

"Miss Black..." he trailed off, apparently at a loss for any words to defend himself and his actions — though perhaps she was reading into it because she found his failure indefensible. He could just be pausing for effect.

"Save it, Professor. You're not going to convince me that you did right by Remus leaving him locked up all alone in the Shack every full moon since he started school, and telling him not to let anyone find out about his condition on pain of expulsion. He was bloody terrified when I figured it out, you know. You weren't his friend, you were his custos. And I may be healed now, but I just spent the last two weeks with an annoying number of stitches holding me together because not only did you fail to ensure that the wards meant to contain Moony were whole and untampered with, but you also failed to include redundancies to alert you if he were to escape, or even assign an elf to observe him over the course of the transformation." If he'd done that, the Marauders would have been discovered that very first time they sneaked into the Shack, but they might've convinced the Headmaster to let them keep Moony company anyway, since they were all animagi by then. "Even the Starlighters do better than that, and they have approximately zero resources!"

Dumbledore, at some point in the middle of her little rant, had formed a very troubled, concerned expression. As soon as she stopped to take a breath, he said, "Regarding your injuries, I'm terribly sorry, my dear, I cannot express the depths to which I wish you had not been bitten...but for the safety of the student body, and the sake of public safety in general, I will have to ask you to recuse yourself in the Shack on the full moon."

Wait, what? "Why? I'm not a werewolf."

"Miss Black..."

"I'm not. And even if I were, there's no way in hell I'd let myself be cooped up in the Shack to tear myself apart." He opened his mouth to object, but she talked over him. "No. The Hardangervidda Werewolf Reservation is less than six hours away by broom. I'd seek asylum there on the full moons if I had to." She'd come up with that plan last spring, the first time she'd been bitten. Even though it hadn't come down to it, she'd kind of figured that having a reasonable plan of action to cope with the consequences of her idiocy might make Arcturus less inclined to completely disown her. There was actually a Reservation in Aquitania that was a little closer, but the one in Scandinavia was bigger and more isolated. More room to run. "Which I don't, because the Curse didn't take."

"My dear, denying it...doesn't change the fact that..."

"Merlin's pants! Fine, I'll go sit in the Shack until after moonrise, and you can watch and make sure I don't turn, how's that?"

He hesitated, but nodded. "I suppose that will be acceptable," he said, clearly thinking that she'd end up having to stay there all night, but whatever. She'd go have one of Bella's six experts in Dai Llewellyn confirm that she hadn't caught the Curse, but she didn't want to have to answer awkward questions and suffer through their examinations as they tried to figure out why it hadn't taken. Wasting an hour or so sitting around the Shack before catching up with Moony and Bella's wolves would be annoying, but not that annoying.

(Annie had invited her to join them, to help Moony adjust to the idea of running with a Pack. Even when the warriors went on a full moon raid, the rest of the Pack still had to do something with themselves. They had a vanishing cabinet set up to take them to the middle of nowhere to run around some forest, away from people.)

"Brill. Still not what I wanted to talk about, though."

"And yet there is one other topic I fear we must discuss before addressing your political concerns." Dumbledore steepled his fingers, giving her an indecipherable look over the half-moon specs he claimed were solely intended to make him look more wise and venerable whenever anyone asked what they were enchanted to show him. Aster had always taken that to mean that it was something most people would find ridiculous, like trying to duplicate Bella's ambient magic observation tricks, or highlight the location of any sweets a person had hidden on themselves or something. From the question he asked when she gave him a little well, go on gesture, though, she was guessing they just let him see through glamoury, or something. "I sincerely hope I'm wrong, but did the new Lady Black also adopt Miss Evans? By...let us say a more thorough method than is commonly employed in this day and age?"

Right. This was probably a trap. She couldn't betray Evans (or Bella), but if she managed to make it seem like she was willing to do so (but she just didn't know anything) she might be able to put herself back in Dumbledore's good graces. "I'm sure I couldn't say. Why do you ask?"

"A certain intuition, my dear. Nothing more." Huh. Maybe he couldn't see through glamours, then. That would explain how he didn't realise that de Mort and Riddle were actually the same snake-faced bastard. Though he might just not want to admit that was what the specs did. "Beside which your House has never had a reputation for doing anything by half measures, and I sensed a certain desire in your new Lady to acquire Miss Evans in a more permanent way than as a ward when last we spoke."

Aster shrugged. "How well do you actually know Bella? I know you were her Transfiguration Professor when she started here, but did you ever really talk to her?" She presumed he had, since de Mort had mentioned that Dumbledore had attempted to turn Bella away from the Death Eaters.

Dumbledore seemed surprised at the change of subject. Which, it wasn't really — Aster had just been going to point out that Evans was de Mort's kid, and therefore Bella's in her mind, regardless of whether she'd been adopted or not, and gotten distracted wondering how much Dumbles actually knew about Bella's relationship with de Mort. But he nevertheless went along with it. "How well can any person truly know another? But I did spend a rather excessive number of hours supervising your cousin—" ("Mother," Aster interjected.) "—in detention over the course of her first term, and I will admit that I attempted to engage her in conversation during those hours. Though she was not, strictly speaking, my student — I was still the Head of Gryffindor, then — I confess I was rather concerned about her psychological and emotional wellbeing, even in her earliest days here at Hogwarts."

Aster snorted. "I'm sure she was very forthcoming about her troubled home-life," she said sarcastically. She was actually sure that Bella would have been incredibly confused about anyone being concerned about her, and especially about her emotional wellbeing. She could almost hear her saying, all dry and flat, I don't understand the question. "Did she talk about de Mort?" Because she was sure Bella had talked, though probably not about whatever subject Dumbledore wanted her to talk about. Lines were bloody boring, and Bella was about as capable of not talking as Aster.

"On occasion. Why do you ask?"

"Just wondering if you understood their relationship enough to get that it really doesn't matter whether Bella formally adopted Evans or not. She's de Mort's kid. That alone is enough to make Bella consider her her daughter, too."

"Indeed?" Dumbledore's face twisted into a skeptical expression.

"Yes. He's been her Master since she was eight years old. She swore fealty to him when she was fifteen, and the Death Eaters have been calling her their Lady...at least since I've been in school. As in, their Lord's consort and equal."

Dumbledore interrupted with a vague hmm. When she paused, he elaborated. "I had not realised how extensively the Riddle–de Mort deception was employed. But Riddle always was a distrustful boy, I suppose it is hardly surprising that his foot-soldiers would not be taken into his confidence."

Aster rolled her eyes. "I'm telling you, there's only one Thom. De Mort is Riddle — he doesn't use that name, I'm betting because it sounds too muggle. And, you know, he wanted to distance himself from any embarrassing shite he might've done as a kid." Everyone had to have some embarrassing shite in their past. "Seriously, ask any Death Eater, I'm sure they've never heard of Riddle. Even Bella didn't know that name before Samhain."

"And I assure you once again, my dear, you are mistaken. I'm sure your cousin—" ("Mother.") "—is deeply enough involved in the deception to play along even with her own family."

Mind magic was so fucking cheating. That was the only possible explanation for how stubbornly Dumbledore refused to see that there was only one Thom. "Why the hell would he want anyone to think— Never mind. It's not important. My point was, de Mort is kind of like Bella's father, and kind of like her lord husband — yes, their relationship is weird and incestuous, but what do you expect from the House of Black? — which means any kid of his is kind of a younger sister and/or daughter to her, like Narcissa or myself, by default. No adoption necessary. Though she might want to bring Evans into the House just to assure her future. You know, give her some standing in Society rather than just being the nameless, muggle-raised bastard of another nameless bastard. But there's not much point in adopting her if it's not recognised outside of the House, and she can't legally do that until summer. Evans won't be seventeen until July."

The old man nodded slowly. "Of course. Of course. Tell me, Miss Black. What do you make of the sudden revelation of Miss Evans's true parentage?"

Aster snorted. "Anyone who's surprised really didn't know Evans very well."

"Yes," Dumbledore muttered, almost too quietly to hear. "She did fool us all..." And then more audibly, "And she intends to follow in her father's footsteps politically, it seems?"

She shrugged, giving no sign of how alarming that she did fool us all was. It kind of seemed like Dumbledore was starting to reconsider Evans's ignorant muggleborn act after Samhain, which was...not good. "If you mean leaning hard Dark...yes, obviously. She doesn't think much of the Death Eaters, though. She's mentioned the possibility of continuing her education at Miskatonic post-Hogwarts."

The old man continued shaking his head. "It is always a pity to see a child with such potential go so far astray. I presume she never truly had any intention of pursuing a Healing mastery?"

"What? No, she does. Cursebreaker-healing, specifically. Miskatonic's programme is considered one of the best in the world by pretty much everyone outside of Britain." And a politically dark witch going into that particular healing specialisation wasn't even really weird. The average family healer or infectious disease specialist might lean more Light, but Aster was pretty sure most cursebreaker-healers leaned Dark, especially on issues of magical regulation and censorship.

That was actually pretty common among most professionals who dealt with directly opposing the Dark Arts. Something like seventy per cent of the Auror Corp had signed a petition a few years ago asking the Wizengamot and the Department of Education to accept a Mastery of Offensive and Defensive Magic as a legitimate academic qualification in Britain (as it was in the majority of other ICW states) and expand the Defence OWL and NEWT curricula on the grounds that it was a hell of a lot easier to fight the Dark Arts if you actually knew a damn thing about them. That went for the average lay-person as well as professional law-enforcement. Professor Vane, who was the best Defence professor they'd had so far — probably because she actually had gotten her MOD on the Continent after graduating from Hogwarts — had talked about it in class kind of a lot. (The petition had gone nowhere, because the Light idiots in the Wizengamot were of the opinion that studying the Dark Arts could be a corrupting influence, especially on young mages.)

Dumbledore sighed. "Well, perhaps there is yet hope for Miss Evans. Though I cannot say that it seems especially bright if she should continue to associate with her biological father and the new Lady Black. I fear that they will continue to draw her further into the Dark, tempting her with knowledge and false offers of unlicensed freedom to practise forbidden disciplines."

Aster was completely unable to quash a smirk, despite the implications there about her own association with Bella, because she finally saw a chance to change the subject to the one she'd come here to discuss in the first place. "A false offer? I'm pretty sure they actually do practise whatever magic they want with complete impunity, so..."

"They most certainly do not, Miss Black!"

"Okay, maybe a bad choice of words, obviously it's not like the Ministry just sits there and lets them do shite — or the Order — they're not unopposed, but the whole reason I wanted to talk to you is you're not going to be able to do fuck all to stop them."

Dumbledore fixed her with a steely glare. "That remains to be seen, Miss Black."

"No, it really doesn't. Look— Okay, I had all my arguments for pursuing a ceasefire on moral grounds and shite all neatly planned out, citing the Manifesto — I still can't believe they didn't tell me there was a fucking manifesto — and referencing philosophy and clever turns of phrase, like a proper sophist, yeah? But none of that actually matters, because the fact is you, the Light, Crouch and the Ministry, can't win. Not I don't want you to — I do — or you shouldn't — I know they've both done shite that's indefensible — literally can't. Any student of military history could tell you as much. You don't have enough sorcerers to take out both Bella and de Mort. Those you do have don't have the training. Including yourself," she informed him bluntly.

At some point, she realised, they'd fallen back into more familiar conversational forms, rather than strictly proper ones, but she knew Dumbledore was more comfortable with frankness than politeness, too. All power plays aside, he was too straightforward and Gryffindor for the game of implication and insinuation that Slytherins always made of a conversation. It might be harsh and rude to point out that he wasn't a proper battlemage — she'd asked around, and no, he didn't practise dueling with the other professors, or something — but in a fight against a mage in his power-class who actually was trained to kill... Yeah, Aster would be betting on Bella, and disingenuously pussyfooting around that fact would be even more insulting.

He bristled, but she continued, pacing before him and counting off points on her fingers. "You don't have enough battlemages to counter the rank-and-file Death Eaters — there were about three-hundred last I knew, which was over two years ago. It's probably more now, though to be fair about half of them were involved in operations outside of battle-training. The core of the 'army' — the ones they actually call Death Eaters — is, or was, forty-five raiding units — which, there're twenty-four Auror Investigation Teams, or were before they started getting picked off responding to raids, I'm sure you know better than I do how much trouble they've been having keeping their numbers up, and Death Eaters run in trios, not pairs, so they have them outnumbered anyway, even if you want to count the Corp of Battlemages and the Hit Wizards as well."

There were about twenty professional battlemages in Britain (outside of the Death Eaters, obviously), most of whom were getting up there in years — they'd all fought in Grindelwald's war, and generally speaking, only the older, more seasoned warriors had survived. They were intended to enlist the Aurors and Hit Wizards if a war actually broke out, but since the Wizengamot hadn't actually declared war in well over a century — they'd just 'lent support' to various allies opposing Grindelwald — the Aurors and Hit Wizards more often enlisted the Battlemages to assist in peacekeeping operations in times of unrest. Hit Wizards were more like professional bodyguards than anything — they protected important personages at public events and handled crowd-control at concerts and quidditch matches and suppressed riots and the like. Aster was pretty sure there were about sixty of them.

The DLE also had about a hundred Patrol Officers, but their job was basically to issue citations for illegal apparation and address complaints about someone hexing their neighbor because they wouldn't stop whistling in their garden or got into another domestic and some of us are trying to sleep, shite like that. Harass Starlight with the R and C. There were a few assigned to other Ministry departments too, to actually arrest people who sold nose-biting teacups and sub-standard cauldrons and shite. They weren't exactly fighters. If they expected serious resistance to their law enforcement efforts, they called in Hit Wizards or Aurors to assist. According to Amy, whose father was an Auror, there had been mutterings about enlisting them to help deal with the Death Eaters too, which thankfully seemed to be only rumors, because they'd be fucking slaughtered.

"The Death Eaters — the hundred and fifty actual battlemages — are trained to standards that exceed those of the average Auror, if only because their skills are maintained, whereas most Aurors only clock about twenty hours of training a month after they complete their certification practical. Aurors are also not trained to fight battlemages, or to fight in a melee scenario, or in groups larger than a four-man squad, while Crowley regularly drills his people in battlefield combat scenarios."

Bella wasn't actually the field-marshall of the Death Eaters' army. That was Fergus Crowley, another Grindelwald-era battlemage. He called himself a Major, though his rank was really the same as any of the other Lieutenants. In a battlefield context, they would be expected to follow his orders, their divisions supplementing Crowley's forces (not that they'd ever really had a massive battle that required them to do so), but outside of that, they were all 'Knights of the First Circle'.

The organisational structure of the Death Eaters was kind of...vague. Obviously de Mort was their Lord. The twelve first-circle Death Eaters, the ones who actually directed various divisions within the organisation, were called Lieutenants. Bella was technically a Lieutenant, the same as Crowley (Army) or Malfoy (Recruitment) or Nott (Supply Logistics) or Pulaski (Healers) or any of the others, but no one in their right mind actually considered her anything less than de Mort's Lady. She called herself his First Lieutenant in recognition of the fact that she followed his lead, and he had been her Master pretty much forever, but she had almost as much authority over the rest of them as he did.

Second Circle Death Eaters were originally just...all of the Death Eaters, back when Bella was a kid, while the First Circle was reserved for de Mort's closest advisors, but the organisation had grown significantly over the past fifteen years. That rank now included any of the old Second Circle, regardless of their rank within the various divisions led by the First Circle Lieutenants, and also the 'officers', 'primary investigators', 'project leaders', and 'deputies' the Lieutenants delegated to within their own divisions. There were maybe fifty of them, all told.

The Third and Fourth Circles were pretty much equal in rank, distinguished by whether or not they were Marked. The Third Circle was all of the Marked Death Eaters (all of the First and Second Circles were also Marked), which included all of the army and spies, and about half of the healers and researchers. The Fourth Circle was for unmarked recruits and trainees, recruitment agents, informants, healers, researchers, suppliers, allies and affiliates, and so on. Their loyalty to the Cause was recognised, but they weren't expected to go on raids or fight in battles — they were 'civilians', rather than 'Knights'. Aster had been part of the Fourth Circle when she was a kid. There were probably some Death Eaters who had considered her one of them until she'd finally stopped going to summer training events a couple of years ago.

In any case, Bella wasn't really part of Crowley's 'army' division at all. She was actually the Lieutenant in charge of Training and Special Projects (assassination and other left-handed problem-solving), the Primary Investigator of the Sandstone Project, and the Werewolf Liaison. In a real battle, she and de Mort would deal with any opposing sorcerers rather than mixing it up with the footsoldiers, so her not really having Marked subordinates to command was kind of intentional. Special Projects agents — basically Death Eater Black Cloaks — were pulled from other divisions as needed, so they'd report with Intelligence or Recruitment or whoever; her fellow Trainee Instructors would help the Healers facilitate evacuations of the wounded from the battlefield; and Greyback would take orders from Crowley (theoretically).

Most of the Auror Academy Instructors, Aster thought, were retired field agents, forced out because of injuries, or had moved to Instructing because they'd realised after qualifying that they didn't have the nerve or stomach for field work. The Death Eaters took kind of the opposite approach, officially on the grounds that if they wanted their recruits trained to the highest possible standard their instructors should be the best fighters in the organisation. Unofficially, if Bella had to suffer through dealing with gross incompetence all the time, Yelena (a dark necromancer who had become a vampire in her mid-thirties and taken up a career as an assassin — she specialised in physical combat) and Bruin (a sixty-something 'travelling cursebreaker' who knew every dirty trick in the book, but who had also been an internationally ranked champion duelist before he was kicked out of the League for abusing certain illegal performance enhancing potions) could suffer right along with her.

Bruin and Yelena actually enjoyed teaching much more than Bella, and were far more patient with their students. With the two of them playing Light Auror to Bella's Dark, they managed to drag seven out of every ten recruits up to the standards Bella insisted all Marked Death Eaters needed to meet in order to be considered viable reserves, even if they actually spent almost all of their time on other things. Basically Hit Wizard combat standards.

Bella was in charge of training all new recruits and assigning them to various roles in the organisation (though the other Lieutenants often requested certain individuals for their own divisions), but Crowley was almost as deeply involved in deciding what those who were funneled into his division needed to know to become effective members of his army. They continued training under Bella even after they were assigned to his division, because he wanted all of his battlemages to meet Auror combat standards, at least. Crowley might teach them how to work in coordinated groups, polish their tactics and maneuvers on the large scale, but they still needed to be able to hold their own in an individual-level fight or they were fucking worthless, because regardless of the overall movements of armies the actual conflict always happened between individuals.

They — both Bella and Crowley — also insisted on the reserves turning out for major training scrimmages every so often, so they wouldn't be completely screwed in the event of an actual battle where said reserves were needed. Which meant, generally speaking, the Death Eaters as a whole were better-trained than the various elements of the official forces meant to defend Britain from them, but their reserves were also better-coordinated with the main force of their army than the British Battlemages, Aurors, and Hit Wizards were with each other. If it came to an actual fight, the Ministry was fucked.

Not so badly that the right commander might not be able to salvage the situation, but, "Crouch is a bloody bureaucrat with delusions of fascistic conquest over the unruly rabble—" BJ did have a way with words, and he might actually hate his father more than Aster hated Walburga. "—not a brilliant strategist or field commander. And you would need a brilliant strategist if you intended to defeat Crowley in the field. He's not particularly creative himself, your forces are just that badly outmatched. Preferably one familiar with guerrilla tactics, and the ability to do predictive arithmancy on the fly. I'd bet on you over Bella or Crowley in a game of Autocratores, but they're not the ones directing the organisation as a whole, and the only person I'd bet on to beat de Mort is Dru. And you can't recruit her because she won't cross Bella, because Bella would assassinate her own mother if she decided it was necessary — which it would be, because Dru doesn't play games, she just wins.

"And on the subject of covert, left-handed tactics," she added, ticking off another finger, "Britain is incapable of upholding its treaty obligations to the muggle Queen and the Republic of Muggle Ireland, namely keeping magic and magical dangers away from their citizenry. All the muggles on these islands are essentially potential hostages to be used as leverage against you, not to mention the mages who look to the Ministry for protection from murderous criminal elements, whereas you have a total of four potential hostages — Cissy, Reggie, Evans, and myself — all of whom are at least as capable of defending themselves as the average Hit Wizard. Reggie may come off as a fop, but he's a dangerous little cravat-wearing bugger, and I'm including Evans in that because you made the mistake of signing off on her pseudo-apprenticeship with Pomfrey without demanding a vow of non-malfeasance from her first." (Creative misuse of healing charms could be terrifying in a fight.) That was significant because none of them, Aster included, would just allow themselves to be used as leverage, so Dumbledore would have to take them prisoner by force, and Aster quite honestly didn't think he had the balls to curse a student who wasn't posing an active threat to the school. She stopped short of saying as much, though. "And attempting to use any of us as leverage would be considered a major escalation, given that Bella already promised to destroy you if you tried any such thing. Plus, breaking the Hogwarts Treaty like that would be politically suicidal.

"I don't know nearly as much about Intelligence, Recruiting, and the other branches of the organisation as I do about Bella's Death Eater Academy, but I know that nothing happens at the Ministry that doesn't make it back to de Mort within a day, and their spies' loyalty is absolute. De Mort vets them himself using legilimency. I'd say, conservatively, three-quarters of Slytherin and half of Ravenclaw are in regular contact with at least one person who has some connection to the Cause, which means that even if there aren't any actual spies in the school, any interesting gossip about anything happening here also gets back to him within a matter of days.

"You've been outmaneuvered in every arena, okay? They have more people, better training, enough support in terms of money and smuggling operations that you can't strangle them by cutting off their supplies of even the rarest potions ingredients and alchemical compounds, a better network of informants, and fewer liabilities in the form of innocents they're bound to protect. You're in fucking check-mate, and you still refuse to admit that they're a legitimate threat and pursue a diplomatic solution to the war you don't want to admit you're in!"

Dumbledore had just let her rant on, pacing before his desk, for several minutes straight, not saying anything, just watching, staring at her with an ever-less-approving glare, but that, apparently, was a step too far, and demanded a response. "There is no diplomatic solution to seek, Miss Black! Just as any compromise with the Dark is a corruption of the ideals of the Light, and as such a fulfilment of its goals, compromising with an enemy who desires one's complete destruction aids one's enemy in the pursuit of that goal — any compromise with Lord Voldemort, even one which results in the cessation of hostilities, is not a solution but a tacit admission of defeat! Surely you must see that!"

She almost could, the asymmetric terms of the conflict in Dumbledore's mind being that anything less than complete annihilation of the Death Eaters was a loss. The very fact of their continued existence was a threat to the status quo, regardless of whether they succeeded in achieving their own goals. She just didn't think all that much of the status quo. Certainly not enough that she'd die to defend it, or want anyone else to have to, either.

"Then fucking admit you've lost! How the hell can you justify continuing to fight when the consequences are inevitable casualties — high ones — among civilians as well as combatants?!"

Dumbledore's ice-blue glare didn't waver. "I justify continuing to fight with the knowledge that a Britain under the rule of Lord Voldemort would inevitably lead to even higher casualties, to lawlessness and disorder, to the new Lord of Britain indulging his sadistic pleasures howsoever he chooses— Regardless of how hopeless our situation may seem, we are not yet done for! I continue to fight because for the safety and wellbeing of the good people of Britain, the innocents who have nothing to do with this fight, I cannot concede!"

Ugh, there were so many things she could address, there. Like the fact that de Mort probably wouldn't allow lawlessness and disorder if he were running the country — he might have a pretty laissez faire attitude toward governing the Death Eaters, but he was also a pretty orderly person. He might abolish a lot of laws he didn't like, and he wasn't exactly likely to introduce a lot of new laws, but he'd probably at least issue a society-wide code of conduct or something. Even Miskatonic had something like that, warning people that there would be consequences if they were caught murdering or experimenting on other citizens (or engaging in plagiarism). Or the fact that if people were going to be affected by de Mort taking over, they weren't exactly disinterested, uninvolved parties, were they? If they had nothing to do with this fight — it was more of a feud, really, between Dumbledore and de Mort — then Dumbledore's loss wouldn't really mean much to them, would it?

But neither of those were as important as the inherent hypocrisy in asking people to fight and die to save them from living in a country ruled by the Dark, or that de Mort didn't actually want to take over Britain anyway. Not that not taking over Britain would be a hell of a lot better for the stability of the social order — it'd probably be worse, actually — but Dumbledore needed to know that they weren't planning on stepping in and maintaining order after he was defeated. He had to plan for that, start taking steps to prevent a major rebellion against the Wizengamot and the Ministry in the wake of the Death Eaters annihilating Britain's defensive forces, or they were all fucking screwed!

"So, to ensure the safety and wellbeing of your people, you want to continue forcing us to fight a war we can't win, wherein many of us will die? Either you're bloody delusional, or you haven't been listening to a bloody word I've said. Not about de Mort indulging his sadistic pleasures, though it's not like he doesn't do that anyway, but— What do you think their actual goal is? They don't want Britain! Britain is a cesspool of misery and corruption — de Mort's words, not mine, though much as I hate to agree with that wanker on anything, I do. They don't give a damn about your people! They want political autonomy and the bloody Isle of Man! That's it!"

The old man shook his head, slowly and tiredly. "I find it eternally astonishing, how naïve otherwise jaded young people can be, even those raised in the Darkest of Houses. Charlus Potter has also intimated that Lady Black claims no desire to conquer Britain. Perhaps it is even true that she has none. But do you truly believe that someone as hungry for power as Lord Voldemort would restrain himself to holding one small island? That with a force such as the one you describe at his command, he would not be tempted to continue to expand his influence, like some petty warlord-king of old, but would dissolve it and abide peaceably with his neighbors?"

"I wouldn't be here if I didn't. Bella estimated that they could carry out a coup and take control of the country within three months if necessary, and I've never known her to overestimate her position in a fight. Ever. If they wanted to take over Britain, they would already have done it. They have no intention to do so, that's not what they want. Britain is too large and complex and has too many divisions and factions to govern effectively like a single House, but they will if you and Crouch insist on escalating the situation. And then they'll probably bugger off and start their own country anyway, once Britain's effectively decapitated and can't stop them. Of course they're not going to dissolve their army, they're not stupid — they're going to need a deterrent against neighbors who decide they can't peaceably abide the existence of New Avalon. And yeah, Mister Sparkly Lamia Princess has control issues, but he doesn't want to be some evil despot lording it over an oppressed populus. If you actually read his Manifesto, it's surprisingly egalitarian."

Dumbledore's lips didn't even twitch at Mister Sparkly Lamia Princess. "Somehow, I do not find it surprising in the least that his propaganda is palatable to hot-headed young persons who have issues with authority. I, however, have known Mister Riddle significantly longer than you, Miss Black, and I know whereof I speak when I tell you that he is not the man he portrays himself to be!"

"You knew him when he was in school, yeah, I know. But I've known him my entire life! I'm not surprised he portrays himself as more socially acceptable to you, but he's never bothered trying to hide what he is around bloody children. He's a huge fucking Dark Arts nerd and maybe the world's biggest know-it-all and he likes to think of himself as better than everyone else because he uses mind magic like he fucking breathes and the Dark fancies him, and he takes himself way too seriously. He gets off on torturing people, and dominating and corrupting them, and has serious, obvious control issues."

She could keep going, she was sure Dumbledore also didn't know that de Mort hated snuggling or that he liked anchovies or that he let his girlfriend dress him (she'd asked, apparently Zee dressed both Bella and de Mort) and tried to be dignified even when he sparkled in the sun, or that he'd once blown off an entire afternoon of meetings because he got dragged into a game of Autocratores with Cissy — by Aster, who was getting crushed, she hated that game — and leaving would mean forfeiting and losing to an eight-year-old, but she wasn't trying to humanise him, here. She was pretty sure she'd made her point about knowing him plenty well enough, anyway.

"But he doesn't want to rule over a bunch of normal, tedious humans he can't be arsed to care about! He'd rather not be around humans at all if he can help it — I'm like ninety...five per cent convinced he thinks he should actually be a snake! He thinks absolute power means no one else has the power to stop him studying whatever fucked-up magic he likes and, yes, occasionally torturing and murdering people, maybe sacrificing a couple every year, but considerably fewer than are likely to die if you keep fighting a war you are definitely going to lose!"

"Tom Riddle and Thom de Mort are not the same person, Miss Black," Dumbledore 'reminded' her. "And surely you do not mean to suggest that it would be better to simply...pacify a monster like Riddle — if such a thing were possible, which I maintain it is not — by sacrificing a handful of innocents to him every year, like some creature out of Greek mythology."

"Fine, pretend there are two Thoms! I've still known 'both of them' forever — Bella's been shagging 'both of them' since I was about six! And why not? I'm not saying it's ideal, but that's what we do with dementors! I don't see you coming up with any other way to deal with them."

Dumbledore's frown darkened, as Aster had known it would. That was one of the points she'd prepared ahead of time, and she hadn't been able to think of a counter-argument against it. She knew Dumbledore didn't like the existence of Azkaban, but she was pretty sure he didn't have any better ideas about how to deal with them, because the issue of whether the prison should be dismantled came up in the Wizengamot every few years, and he'd never weighed in on the topic. "Dementors cannot be killed, Miss Black, only exorcised, and only temporarily. Keeping them confined to Azkaban is the least harmful way to deal with the fact of their existence. I know that you know this."

"Well, you can't kill Lord Sparklebum either, so I fail to see the difference for the purposes of this argument," she said stubbornly. Honestly, the similarities didn't end there. If she weren't so certain he wanted to be a snake when he grew up, she might actually think he had a thing for dementors, what with being a creepy mind mage and getting off on torturing people. Like Bella clearly had a thing for vampires, with the shadow-walking and runic augmentation.

"The difference is that Tom Riddle is a human man. He was born. He can die. And when he does, he will not be re-embodied to continue wreaking havoc and threatening the status quo as he has done these past fifteen years!"

"He might be able to die—" Maybe — the fact that Death had intended to use Evans to kill him if he continued to annoy It suggested he could be, but the fact that Death Itself would have had to intervene suggested it would be absurdly difficult for mere mortals. "—but you can't kill him. You don't have the resources. His army — his organisation — is more effective than the force the Ministry, and by extension the Wizengamot, can bring to bear on him. You. Will. Lose — You've already lost! If you insist on playing out the actual war, you're just going to ensure that more people die and push Bella to actually overthrow Britain, rather than tying her down with the problems that go along with administrating a bloody city-state, even one that only has a couple thousand citizens."

"A couple thousand?" Dumbledore repeated, blanching. Understandably — two thousand people was close to ten per cent of Britain's (human) magical population.

Aster shrugged. "That might be an overestimate, and they wouldn't all be British citizens, but... There are probably between three and four-hundred actual Death Eaters, that's idiots who've taken the Mark, and another three or four-hundred associated, unmarked, Fourth Circle supporters. Bella mentioned they're having their Yule celebration out on some moor somewhere, because there are too many of them to host at any of the Black properties." Not comfortably, at least. They had the physical space, of course, but apparently the Family Magic didn't like inviting too many outsiders in at once. "All of them would definitely go, plus all of the Starlighters — I don't really know how many of them there are, maybe two or three hundred? And maybe a few hundred people from Dark Houses and commoners who support the ideals of the Dark or just hate the Wizengamot that much—" Gaels, mostly. And Dark Houses who had hedged their bets by encouraging a couple of their younger, more hot-headed kids to take the Mark. "—and two or three hundred academics and political radicals who find European regulations on magical studies oppressive, and so on. That's what?" She took a second to count on her fingers. "Somewhere between thirteen and seventeen-hundred? A little on the small side for a self-sustaining population, especially since it's going to be a mixed-species population, but it's not like they're isolationists, they'll probably end up being pretty closely tied to the other International Dark enclaves."

Dumbledore appeared to consider this for a long moment, drumming his fingertips on the desk and staring off into the middle distance. Aster held her breath, hoping that the idea that the Death Eaters had that much support might have gotten through to him in a way detailing the superiority of their military forces hadn't. When he responded, though, his words were not encouraging. "You do realise, do you not, that the popularity of the movement makes it only more imperative, from the perspective of the Wizengamot and the Ministry, to foil their efforts? Regardless of Lord Voldemort's long-term goals and the moral considerations of abandoning innocent people to his mercy, allowing such a blatant example of the rejection of legitimate authorities to persist would hold potentially catastrophic consequences for the remaining population in terms of political stability."

Aster sighed, slightly relieved that he was clearly aware of the real danger, here, but he still didn't seem to be taking the idea that he couldn't stop Bella and de Mort seriously. "Yeah. I know. But losing a war to such a blatant example of the rejection of your authority, and then having them continue to do exactly as they like, would look even worse. I've been talking to Zee — Mirabella Zabini, I mean — about that, actually." It had come up in the letters they'd been writing the week before last, when Aster had been begging Zee to sit in on her meeting with McKinnon, that Zee was considering making a foray into politics when the Future Late Mister Zabini inevitably kicked it, specifically because the war was going to destabilise the current political order. And what was becoming a demagogue if not seducing an entire populace? (Zee's words, obviously.) "And any way I look at it, I can't help coming to the conclusion that the only way out of this without Britain collapsing entirely is embracing populist reform of the Wizengamot, give people representation so they won't decide it's better to revolt, you know?"

"You've come to this conclusion speaking to Mirabella Zabini?" Dumbledore repeated, voice heavy with skepticism. "I must confess, I have never considered Miss Zabini a particularly...politically-minded individual."

Oops. Aster probably owed her an apology for spoiling that carefully-crafted illusion, then, because if Dumbledore had thought her as much an air-headed floozy as the Prophet seemed to, she had to have been cultivating that image intentionally. "You didn't think it was Bella who maneuvered the two of them into the position of influence they held in Slytherin by the end of their fourth year here, did you?"

From the look on his face, he had. Which was bloody ridiculous — Bella was charismatic in her own way, intense and compelling and dangerous, and terrifyingly effective when it came to achieving whatever ends she was asked to achieve, but she had even less interest in ruling than de Mort. She actually knew what a lord's responsibilities to his people entailed, and that it wasn't just tedious being the leader of a load of other people, but a lot of work and limitations brought on by considerations of the good of one's people that couldn't simply be ignored.

As it turned out, there were many reasons Bella hadn't wanted to become Lady Black. She had ranted about them at length yesterday, after explaining that the Family Magic had insisted that de Mort release her from her vow of fealty to him because her primary loyalty had to be to the Family now.

Apparently that last ritual had ended up being a bit more complicated than either she or de Mort had anticipated. Angel had gotten in a shouting match with the Family Magic possessing Bella, and the Family Magic had slapped her, which Aster almost wished she'd stuck around to see (only almost, Cissy said it was terrifying, and her Welsh wouldn't have been up to following their argument, because Cissy's hadn't been). They'd ended up having to dissolve Bella's vow of fealty and instead swear de Mort into an alliance of mutual support with the House of Black, formally aligning his interests with theirs (i.e., he couldn't do anything that was likely to negatively impact the House), before it had allowed them to go through with the handfasting.

Not that that really changed much for either Bella or de Mort — she still had every intention of acting as though she owed him fealty in all matters not to do with the House, and the House wouldn't exactly suffer if Bella were to found a new city-state — it had just really pissed her off.

"So your newfound political position is that, rather than holding him accountable for his crimes against the people of Britain, the United Kingdom, and Ireland, the Wizengamot should allow Lord Voldemort to create an autonomous nation for himself on the Isle of Man, and stabilise itself in the wake of his secession by embracing Democratic Expansionism?"

"Yeah, basically. I don't like it — I agree that de Mort, and Bella too, should be held responsible for their crimes—" At least in principle. She didn't really want to see Bella executed, even if she definitely deserved it. "—but it's the only reasonable solution I can see to the situation we're in."

Dumbledore gave her a horribly condescending smile, steepling his fingers again with the air of a man who thought he knew exactly what was going on here. "Forgive me, my dear, if I fail to agree that this is a reasonable or acceptable solution to our current troubles. Please relay that to Lady Black, or whoever else suggested that you present such a ludicrous proposal to me."

Fury flared in Aster's chest — at the sheer dismissiveness of his response as well as at the implication that she was here on behalf of the Death Eaters, rather than her friends who were going to actually die fighting Dumbledore's stupid, losing war! "Excuse me? I'm not here for Bella! She thinks there's about as much point in talking to you as whacking my head against a wall for an equivalent length of time — and even if it weren't, she wants to keep killing you by inches! She likes raiding and torturing and killing the people you're sworn to protect — and anyone else, but that's not the point — getting in fights with Aurors who desperately want to kill her is her idea of a good time! When you inevitably do agree to negotiate — which you will have to, eventually, because you can't win — she'll be disappointed, because that means she won't be allowed to keep playing with you!

"When you're down by two-hundred and the other team's chasers have you outmatched, refusing to catch the snitch is complete idiocy, Your Excellency. You're just letting them run up the score, and the score is measured in deaths! Death Eater deaths, sure, but also Aurors. Civilians. Phoenixes. Muggles. Children. Children of your friends and allies. My friends, when they graduate and join the fight. Pete. Marlene. Mary. Dave. Amy. Alice and Frank. Torrance Loupeau. John Proctor. Paul and Felicia. Even Pandora's mentioned the possibility of becoming a healer and joining your Order. You could stop it, stop them, but you won't!"

"And you?" Dumbledore asked, glaring pretty furiously himself as she accused him of basically being just as responsible for all the deaths that would occur after this discussion as Bella and de Mort.

"What about me?"

"Your name was conspicuously absent from your list of potential Order members. As, I note, was Miss Evans's."

"Yeah, that'd be because Evans wouldn't follow you for all the gold in Gringotts if she had literally any other option. Which she does. Cassie wasn't on the list either, because she can do the arithmancy as easily as I can, and she's not going to fight in a war that's already lost. Also, she thinks you hate her, even though she's never cast a dark spell in her life." And Potter wasn't on the list because he wasn't a friend. "I'm not on the list because I'm not going to die — I'm going to kill anyone who tries to kill me first, and hang your stupid, inconsistent, aesthetic morality. You obviously don't care about the sanctity of life, or you'd end the bloody war."

There was a hint of pain in Dumbledore's eyes, but it was absent from his still-furious tone when he responded. "What you fail to understand, Miss Black, is that there are circumstances wherein there are more important concerns than one's own life, or even the lives of people one loves! That in war, one is sometimes obligated to make decisions which one finds distasteful, or even abhorrent! That—"

"That 'sometimes we must consider the crossroads of history at which we stand, and ask ourselves: Which path ultimately leads to the Greater Good? And having decided, we must commit ourselves to it. We must follow that path to its end, regardless of the difficulties it presents, both foreseen and otherwise, lest our efforts be in vain'?" Aster interrupted, finishing the excerpt from whichever of Grindelwald's essays that was in the original French. In the shocked silence that followed — had Dumbledore's reference to it been unintentional? (Oops.) — she added, doing her best to maintain a calm, level tone, "No. I understand that."

She resumed her pacing, rather than watch him watching her muse about the concept of sacrifice in war. "Sometimes a commander has to make sacrifices to secure a vital position and further their campaign. Sometimes, that means making a valiant last stand, martyring oneself and one's allies, even, in order to ensure your cause survives in the minds and hearts of the people." She would have liked to give examples — General So-and-So at this battle or the other — she knew she knew dozens of them. But all the ones coming to mind were from Grindelwald's war, and it didn't exactly seem wise to mention those, given that he apparently hadn't been quoting his one-time friend intentionally, before. "But you're not accomplishing anything, here, and you're not leading a fucking peasant rebellion, you're upholding the status quo. Kind of hard to martyr yourself over that. And refusing to even consider negotiating peace to protect the lives of your followers is not the act of a leader who deserves the respect of those people! If—"

"Miss Black! I will not—" Dumbledore began, cutting her off with a dangerous glare she didn't notice at the time, but she didn't let him finish, either.

She spun to face him, slapping his desk with both hands as she leaned in to hiss, "I wasn't done! If you want to make an abhorrent choice for the Greater Good, here it is: fight and ensure greater death, destruction, and chaos, revealing all the weaknesses of the current social order and your inability to govern to the populus at large, leading to widespread unrest and potentially the complete dissolution of the authority you claim is legitimate; or negotiate and prevent some degree of death, destruction, and chaos! Save some degree of face, and preserve order throughout the transition to a more egalitarian form of government! One which actually is legitimate and holds the mandate of the people it governs!

"How is this a difficult choice?! Because it would mean swallowing your fucking pride to admit Bella and de Mort, or Riddle or whatever you want to call him, beat you? Is that really worth more to you than the lives of people who trust you? who believe that there's still some hope of victory because you insist on continuing to fight? What kind of arrogant prick puts his personal enmity ahead of his responsibilities to his followers? What kind of—"

That time she cut herself off, as Dumbledore let his magic slip just a bit, filling the space around them with power, hot and furious, and she became aware of the fact that she'd just called the Chief Warlock an arrogant prick. To his face. Shouted it, really. From about two feet away, invading his personal space even though she had to lean halfway over his desk to do it. After cutting him off in mid-sentence multiple times. Had she actually just had the audacity to tell him to shut up because she wasn't finished talking? She flushed, straightening and stepping back to a more respectful distance. She might've been deliberately challenging him from the very beginning of this conversation, but she did know that she'd just crossed a line, albeit entirely unintentionally. Several of the portraits of former Headmasters on the wall tittered nervously in the sudden silence.

"Remember, Miss Black, to whom you speak," he bit out (redundantly), rising to his feet as well, and coming around the desk to loom over her. She refused to cower or look up to him, turning to face him, but staring straight ahead, every inch of her posture stiffly correct, including the angle of her chin, because failing to maintain one's composure when one was dressed down was as much a punishable offence as losing one's composure and shouting at someone one had no right to question in the first place (even if it did tend to be more gratifying to whoever she'd just lost her temper and shouted at).

She ended up staring at his beard from about a foot and a half away. Tall bloody bastard.

"And that no matter how you choose to emphasise the resemblance between you, you are not Lady Black. It would be unwise in the extreme to emulate her audacity while lacking the power to meet any response your provocative behaviour might elicit." The cold disdain and restraint in his voice belied the tumult and anger carried on the magic still disturbing the aether around them.

He paused. She nodded, but held her tongue. In terms of reprimands she might have been given, that was relatively light. She was not wrong in assuming that there would be more to follow.

"Now, consider, if you would, that you have obtained your information from those who actively oppose me. That they believe that their victory is inevitable does not mean that there is no way for the Light to prevail — it simply means that they are overconfident children who refuse to recognise that there is no place in this world for people like them. If they will not conform to the established social order, they will be destroyed.

"And if I refuse to offer more concrete assurances as to the means by which that eventuality might be achieved, perhaps you should consider the arrogance inherent in assuming that a mere schoolgirl has the right to demand such information from a general in the midst of a conflict such as the one in which we are currently embroiled! Especially, I might add, a schoolgirl whose familiarity with the Dark Lord — a girl who has recently renewed the bonds of family between herself and the ruthless, amoral Left Hand of that despicable individual — calls into question her loyalty to the Light!"

Yeah, that was a lot more like the verbal slap-down she'd expected. He paused expectantly again. Aster stayed exactly where she was, maintaining her posture, mouth firmly shut, waiting, because she knew how these things went — allowing herself to be baited into "interrupting" again would be grounds for an immediate hexing. Not that Dumbledore would curse a student, but in general talking back made lectures like this worse.

"Well?!" he demanded.

...Or else it was one of those dressings-down where even saying nothing was the wrong answer. Bugger. "I await a question, Your Excellency."

"What do you have to say for yourself, Miss Black?! And look at me when I'm speaking to you, insolent child!"

Not an apology, that's for damn sure... If she was going to be in the wrong no matter what she said, there was no reason to kowtow, was there? She still didn't think he'd actually hurt her. He was just being intimidating and hoping she'd cave to his little show of power, which was a hell of a lot less intimidating than Bella or de Mort doing the same (because they actually would hurt her), and not even in the same league as standing in the same room as Angelos. She took two steps backward to look him in the eye without straining her neck, keeping her expression perfectly blank in the face of eyes narrowed into slits of fury, nostrils flaring above lips twisted into a furious sneer. Tread lightly, Aster...

Of course, she couldn't actually bring herself to bow to him and recant the words that had given such offence, because she was pretty fucking sure he was bluffing. And she did know what she was talking about, even if he was about six times older than her. Also, the idea of Albus Dumbledore calling himself a fucking general was fucking laughable.

Sure, he was calling the shots for the Order of the Phoenix, but from what she'd heard from the Potters and the Prewett twins and Frank Longbottom — not all of her information came from Bella — he was doing a piss-poor job of it because he was afraid to escalate the conflict. (Reasonably, maybe, but there was escalation, and then there was escalation.) He also hadn't managed to establish the intelligence network they needed to effectively counter the Death Eaters, or even predict their movements, so by the time they got word of a raid in progress it was almost always too late to even engage the Death Eaters, unless they stuck around just to play with the Phoenixes a bit. He was doing a pretty good job getting muggleborns and their families into hiding or out of Britain, but that wasn't really the sort of battlefield command position implied by the title General.

"Only that unless you intend to resort to High Ritual and beg for some form of divine intervention," she said, coldly and precisely, falling back on the icy politeness and measured language Walburga would expect her to use in addressing a figure of authority, "or hire throngs of mercenaries to fight for you with money you don't have, I stand by my analysis of your position, Your Excellency." Actually, mercenaries probably wouldn't work — they'd have the same coordination problems as the Aurors and Hit Wizards, unaccustomed to working in large groups, and there probably weren't two-hundred warlocks for hire in all of Europe. "That, and I never asked for any details of your supposed plan to snatch victory from the jaws of defeat. I asked how your actions or lack thereof — which, regardless of any as yet unrevealed plans, are as visible to your followers as your enemies — can be justified to those followers under the system of morality you profess to hold to."

She might, admittedly, have asked for some details, or at least a broad outline of the plan if he had just told her that her premise of inevitable defeat was unfounded when she'd been going on about how badly outmatched he was.

He hadn't done that, though. Which had...implications. None of them good.

"You, however, chose to imply that my questioning of your goals and justification thereof stemmed from some attempt to assist your enemies, rather than legitimate concern for your followers. Your unwillingness to say outright that there is still a chance for the Light to prevail, up to and including your suggestion that I consider that you have reasons to keep methods by which you might destroy the Death Eaters to yourself, does not inspire confidence in such an eventuality coming to pass."

"In that case, let me assure you now, I do believe that there is still a chance for the Light to prevail," Dumbledore snapped. "There are factors in play of which you are unaware, because it does not suit my plans to reveal key details of them to mentally unstable children who spend far more time than ought to be condoned clasped to the bosom of the enemy! Whom I repeat, you may inform that the negotiations you have so adamantly argued for will not be necessary, and have been categorically rejected."

Aster literally bit her tongue to avoid insulting the arrogant prick again. Mentally unstable child?! And condoned by whom? Him? Dorea? As long as she wasn't revealing their secrets, which she hadn't, it was none of their bloody business! "It's too late, now. Your initial response was an attempt to avoid the issue. If I were to be charitable in my analysis, I might interpret your appeal to your own authority in an attempt to defer the question to be a gambit to lead me to believe that you are bluffing, that you truly have no plan, in order to cause de Mort to further underestimate you, should he stumble across the memory of this conversation. But if that were the case, you would not have attempted to assure me just now, or cast aspersions on my loyalty.

"Or you ought not to have, at least." She felt her lips twist into an expression somewhere between a smirk and a sneer, almost as involuntary as the painfully sarcastic words she couldn't seem to stop herself adding. "I suppose you might have misstepped, but it would be foolish in the extreme to think that a mere schoolgirl might have a better grasp of the arts of deception and manipulation than a wise and experienced general such as yourself, would it not? Almost as much so as to believe that a schoolgirl clasped to the bosom of the enemy might have some insight into the conflict in which we find ourselves embroiled that Your Excellency might not."

Dumbledore's nostrils flared again, lips parting with that little inhale signaling that he was about to speak — probably something like get the fuck out of my office you impertinent chit, so she continued before he could begin.

"What I have to say for myself is this: I'm not a spy — though of course that's exactly what a spy would say, and I have no intention of falling all over myself attempting to prove my loyalty to you and the Light, likely to no effect. And while I am aware that I spoke rashly a moment ago, I will not apologise for taking offence to your suggestion that my request for this meeting was motivated by anything other than concern for the lives of the children you intend to recruit into your forces over the course of the next two years. No, not children — infants. Because if you consider me to be a child who knows not whereof she speaks, you must see that they're little more than helpless babes you're planning on throwing to the wolves!"

He shut his mouth, forehead creasing in a frown, that last point clearly hitting home more strongly than Aster had expected.

"I did not come here as a 'mere schoolgirl', but as a potential informant placed deeply within the confidence of your enemies, with a unique perspective on the state of the war from both sides, in order to offer information in good faith. I also came here as a potential follower on the fence as to whether your system of morality is as much a load of bunk as the people who raised me would have me believe. I had genuinely hoped to be convinced that your determination to continue to fight is the morally superior choice, or at least in some way justifiable, despite the apparent hopelessness of your position. I regret to inform you that attempting to intimidate me into shutting my mouth and falling in line is hardly convincing in terms of your moral superiority."

It reminded her strongly, in fact, of James Potter shoving her rather than attempt to argue for that same supposed moral superiority when they'd been talking about Starlight at the Hallowe'en Feast.

"And on the subject of useless attempts at intimidation, no, I'm not Bellatrix. And far be it from me to suggest that I might possibly have any advice to offer a great general such as yourself — I am, after all, only a schoolgirl — but you may wish to consider my reaction to your display of power and supposed authority when dealing with her, because she's even more likely to call your bluff." The magic in the air, weighing on her more heavily as she again mocked his self-assumed title (she really couldn't help it, it was ridiculous), retreated slightly as she called it what it was — though Dumbledore only looked more furious, knowing that she was aware of his self-imposed impotence. "And more likely to retaliate with a degree of audacity best described as overwhelming. We are, after all, discussing a woman who, upon discovering that there is no place in this world for people like herself and her Lord, took it upon herself to realise the world he envisions rather than conform to your social order. A goal which seems far more reasonable when one recalls that these overconfident children, as you deem them, are backed by an army whose strength, organisation, and preparedness greatly outweigh those of the resources you and Director Crouch can bring to bear in opposition to them.

"A fact which, one must admit, makes the accusation of overconfidence seem a bit overconfident itself, even when made by as aged and venerable a general, with as much military experience and as many battle-hardened troops at his command, as Your Excellency."

"This meeting is over, Miss Black. You will remove yourself from my office at once," Dumbledore informed her, eyes hard and cold, posture stiff and tense, hands fisted — to avoid his fingers twitching for his wand, she suspected. If he were a more impetuous man, she might actually fear his retaliation enough to remove herself from the Castle. If Orion had been looking at her like that, she would definitely think it a good idea to be well away from Grimmauld by the time he found Walburga and demanded that she curse the shite out of Aster for him. (Orion could, after all, still hurt Walburga, even if he was bound by the Family Magic not to harm his children directly.) But Dumbledore was cold-blooded enough to keep his head and remember that there would be consequences if he cursed a student.

"Of course, Your Excellency."

It wasn't until she was halfway down the stair outside his office — shivering in the sudden absence of the hot, near-overwhelming magic she'd almost gotten used to, and the wake of the adrenaline rush which came from not just tickling a sleeping dragon but metaphorically whacking it over the head with the flat of a suitably large sword, fighting giddy giggles and the urge to move — that she realised she'd forgotten to recall his chairs. They would come back on their own eventually, of course, but failing to recall someone's banished furniture was almost as rude as just vanishing it.

...Though considerably less rude than calling the Chief Warlock an arrogant prick, so maybe a silly thing to be worrying about.

Oops, she thought, losing the fight against her hysterical giggles.

She should probably go write Bella. Mortally offending the leader of the Wizengamot was...definitely the sort of thing one ought to inform one's Head of House about. Well, the sort of thing one oughtn't do in the first place, but if one did...

Plus, she'd probably find it amusing. Something to cheer her up, like. Given how annoyed she was with the Family Magic, she'd probably appreciate the reminder that being Lady Black had its advantages — like being able to insult the Chief Warlock in the bloody Chambers, with the rest of the Wizengamot looking on and tittering like the Portraits of Headmasters Past, if she liked.

Evans was back by the time she made her way up to the Tower, unglamoured and scribbling in her diary by candlelight. One of Evans's more endearing quirks was an insistence that stormy evenings called for candles, even if she couldn't see the rain lashing the windows or hear the wind howling around the Tower shut up in here as she was. "How'd it go?" she asked, completely ignorant of the ridiculousness of that question.

Aster collapsed into helpless laughter again, letting herself fall onto Evans's bed. The undead cat glared at her for bouncing it. "Terribly." She pushed a two-second overview of the meeting at the legilimens. We're all so incredibly fucked... "You?"

"Depressing," she said shortly, throwing her quill carelessly onto her desk and the waves of her loose, now-auburn hair over a shoulder bared by the wide neckline of a faded black jumper that was now far too large for her. Against her pale skin, by the light of the candles and runes on the walls, it was almost the colour of blood. Evans caught her staring, responding with a suggestive smirk. "Were you still planning on seducing me this evening?"

...Writing to Bella could wait.