June 1936
The sitting room at Grimmauld Place smelled of old parchment and expensive perfume. Nymeria sat across from Dorea, both of them perched on chairs that had probably been uncomfortable on purpose. Irma Black stood before them like a general inspecting troops, her wand tracing elaborate patterns in the air as she demonstrated the proper way to acknowledge a duchess.
“No, no, Nymeria. Your wrist must turn precisely so.” Irma’s voice was sharp, as if she’d spent decades correcting people, which she had. “The angle communicates respect without subservience. Too shallow and you’re insulting. Too deep and you’re groveling. There’s an art to it.”
Nymeria adjusted her wrist for the fifth time, fighting the urge to just hex something. She’d faced down dark wizards, navigated political minefields, and survived a time travel accident that should have killed her. But three hours of etiquette lessons made her want to scream.
“Better.” Irma’s approval was grudging. “Now, when addressing Lady Malfoy, you must never speak first. Wait for her acknowledgment. The Malfoys are quite particular about hierarchy.”
“Because they’re descended from French nobility,” Dorea supplied dryly. She’d been through this before, and now Perseus had insisted Nymeria receive the full course as well. Something about maintaining family standards.
“Precisely. Though between us, the Malfoys put on airs well beyond their actual importance.” Irma allowed herself a small smile. “Still, we humor them. Politics requires these small performances.”
Nymeria caught Dorea’s eye and saw her own frustration mirrored there. They’d become genuinely close over the past weeks, which made enduring these lessons slightly more bearable.
“Now, the garden party tomorrow.” Irma set down her wand and produced a list from her robes. “Lady Rosier is hosting, which means the Lestranges will attend. As will the Burkes, though Caractacus drinks too much and his wife pretends not to notice. The Longbottoms should be there, and possibly Augusta Fawley. She’s particular about guest lists.”
“What’s the occasion?” Nymeria asked, though she suspected she already knew. These gatherings were never just social events. They were intelligence operations dressed in silk and served with tea.
“Superficially? Celebrating the summer solstice. Actually? Everyone wants to discuss the situation in Austria without the men present to dominate the conversation.” Irma’s expression was knowing. “The ladies of pureblood society are not as decorative as they pretend. We have our own networks, our own sources of information. Sometimes more reliable than what our husbands hear at the Ministry.”
That actually surprised Nymeria. She’d assumed these events would be shallow affairs, all gossip and no substance. The idea that the women were conducting their own parallel intelligence gathering was interesting.
“You’ll both attend,” Irma continued. “Dorea, you’re expected as a soon to be Potter. Nymeria, your presence will help establish you within society. People are curious about you. Use that curiosity wisely.”
“What should we say if someone asks about Grindelwald?” Dorea asked carefully, testing the boundaries.
“Listen more than you speak. Express concern about instability. Never commit to a firm position,” Irma advised practically. “You’re young women from good families. You’re allowed to be uncertain, even frightened. That’s often more useful than pretending to have strong opinions you can’t defend.”
It was solid advice, actually. Nymeria filed it away with the rest of the tradecraft she was accumulating. Playing the uncertain young woman was a role she could adopt when needed.
After Irma finally dismissed them, Nymeria and Dorea escaped to Dorea’s room.
“I thought she’d never stop,” Dorea said, collapsing onto her bed. “Three hours on proper tea service. Three. Hours. I could have mastered an entire new spell in that time.”
“At least you’ve had practice. This is all new to me.” Nymeria settled into the chair by the window, looking out over the square. “My parents never bothered with this sort of thing.”
“Lucky you.” Dorea rolled onto her side, propping her head on one hand. “Though I suppose Perseus wants you properly trained now that you’re representing the family. Can’t have you embarrassing us at important functions.”
“I get the feeling Perseus sees me as an investment. Something to be shaped and deployed.” Nymeria’s tone was dry.
“That’s how he sees everyone. Even his own children.” Dorea’s expression was thoughtful. “But he’s warming to you. I’ve noticed it. He actually listens when you speak now, instead of just cataloging what you say for later use.”
“Fantastic. Next he’ll start trusting me with family secrets.” Nymeria tried to sound light but the thought made her stomach twist. She was supposed to be integrating into the family, gathering information, maintaining her cover. Not genuinely caring what Perseus Black thought of her.
“He already does, in his way.” Dorea sat up. “He wouldn’t be drilling you on etiquette if he didn’t think you were worth the effort. Perseus is ruthlessly efficient. He doesn’t waste time on lost causes.”
A house elf appeared with tea, the good kind they kept for family rather than guests. Nymeria accepted a cup gratefully, using it to warm her hands. Grimmauld Place was always cold, even in summer. Like the building itself was saturated with old magic that rejected warmth.
“So, tomorrow’s garden party.” Dorea took a sip of her tea. “Ready to smile politely while people judge everything about you?”
“Can’t wait.” Nymeria’s sarcasm was obvious. “What’s the real purpose? Beyond the solstice excuse and the information exchange.”
“Well, it definitely is information exchange, mostly, as Mother said. The ladies share what their husbands have heard, compare notes, and decide which rumors are worth pursuing.” Dorea set down her cup. “But there’s also the social positioning. Who’s aligned with whom, who’s hedging their bets, who’s decided to withdraw from society entirely until things settle down.”
“And Grindelwald will come up.”
“Constantly. Some of the women must be true believers. Others must be terrified. But I think most would be just confused, trying to figure out which way the wind is blowing so they can position their families accordingly.” Dorea’s voice dropped. “It’s getting worse, Nym. The divisions. Every week it becomes clearer who’s on which side.”
Nymeria knew that. She’d seen it in the letters Dorea received from Charlus, heard it in the whispered conversations that stopped when she entered rooms. The conflict was bleeding into every aspect of their lives.
“How are you handling it?” Nymeria asked. “Being stuck in the middle of all this.”
Dorea was quiet for a moment. “Honestly? Some days I want to scream. I’m watching my family fracture over this madman’s ideology, and I can’t do anything about it. Marius is corresponding with Grindelwald’s people. Cassie is becoming more aggressive about her views.”
“And you?”
“I think Grindelwald is dangerous. I think his so called Greater Good is just tyranny with better marketing. I think people who follow him are either power hungry or deluded.” Dorea’s voice was fierce. “But I can’t say that out loud, can I? Not without causing a family crisis. So I smile and nod and attend these ridiculous events while my cousins flirt with joining a movement that will destroy everything.”
Nymeria felt herself smile. Dorea understood. Really understood.
“We’ll get through it,” Nymeria said, meaning the words. “One excruciating social event at a time.”
“At least I’ll have you there. Suffering loves company.” Dorea managed a smile. “Just don’t let Lady Rosier corner you alone. She’ll interrogate you for an hour about your side of the family tree and their mysterious years away.”
“Noted. Any other warnings?”
“Avoid discussing politics if possible. If impossible, be vague. Never commit to anything specific. And whatever you do, don’t mention your relationship with Harry. They women’s got opinions about couples who are not betrothed and none of them are flattering.”
Nymeria’s expression darkened at that. She and Harry had seen very little of each other since that evening and the separation was starting to wear on her.
“You miss him,” Dorea observed.
“Is it that obvious?”
“Only to someone paying attention. Which I am.” Dorea’s expression was sympathetic. “You would’ve preferred to be with him throughout the summer, right? And Perseus won’t let you see him regularly.”
“He hasn’t said I can’t. But he’s made it clear he expects me here, participating in family activities, establishing myself within society.” Nymeria’s frustration bled through. “I’m allowed to have a paramour. I’m not allowed to let that paramour distract me from my duties to the family.”
“Perseus is testing your loyalty,” Dorea said. “Seeing if you’ll prioritize the family over personal desires. It’s what he does. Tests people until he’s confident he understands their motivations.”
“And if I fail the test?”
“You won’t. You’re too smart for that.” Dorea’s confidence was reassuring. “You’ll play the dutiful family member while finding ways to see Harry anyway. Perseus will pretend not to notice as long as you’re discreet. That’s how this works.”
The next afternoon found them at the Rosier estate, which was exactly as pretentious as Nymeria had expected. Manicured gardens stretched in every direction, dotted with marble statues and elaborate topiaries. A quartet of musicians played softly in one corner while house elves circulated with trays of delicate pastries and champagne.
The women gathered in small clusters, their expensive robes shimmering in the afternoon sun. Nymeria recognized some of the faces from the portraits she’d seen in her previous timeline. Others were new, though the way they carried themselves marked them clearly as pureblood elite.
“Irma, darling.” Lady Rosier descended on them immediately, her smile sharp enough to cut glass. “And you’ve brought the girls. How lovely.”
“Dorea you know, of course. And this is Nymeria.”
“The mysterious returnee.” Lady Rosier’s eyes were calculating as she studied Nymeria. “We’ve heard so much about you. Your parents traveled extensively, I understand?”
“They did.” Nymeria kept her voice pleasant and uninformative. Just like Irma had coached.
“How fascinating. You must have such interesting perspectives on current events. The continental wizarding communities have such different views than we do here.” The fishing expedition was barely disguised.
“I was quite young. I’m afraid my memories are mostly of moving from place to place.” Nymeria deflected smoothly. “Lady Black has been educating me on proper British traditions.”
“Has she? How thorough.” Lady Rosier’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. “Well, do enjoy the party.”
They escaped as gracefully as possible, finding a relatively quiet corner near a rose arbor. Dorea exhaled slowly.
“That was subtle as a bludger to the head,” she muttered.
“She wanted to know if I’m sympathetic to Grindelwald.” Nymeria accepted a glass of champagne from a passing house elf. “Because of my continental upbringing.”
“The Rosiers are. Sympathetic, I mean.” Dorea’s voice was barely above a whisper. “Father says they’re hedging their bets, waiting to see which way things fall before committing. But their oldest son is definitely involved with Grindelwald’s people.”
Before Nymeria could respond, a new voice cut through the garden chatter.
“Did you hear about Vienna?” Lady Lestrange’s voice carried across the garden, pitched to draw attention. “Grindelwald’s followers have secured the entire magical district. The Austrian Ministry has effectively surrendered.”
“I heard they walked in without resistance,” another woman replied. “The Ministry simply stood aside.”
“Can you blame them? After what happened in Berlin, resistance seems futile.” This from a woman Nymeria didn’t recognize. “Better to cooperate than be destroyed.”
“Some would call that cowardice,” Lady Fawley said sharply. “Surrendering to tyranny without even attempting to fight.”
“And some would call it pragmatism.” Lady Malfoy’s voice was cool and controlled. “Not every battle needs to be fought, Martha. Sometimes the wiser course is to accept inevitable change and position yourself to benefit from it.”
The conversation continued, voices rising and falling as the women debated. Nymeria listened carefully, cataloging reactions and positions. This was valuable intelligence, the kind Perseus wanted her gathering.
Lady Fawley was clearly opposed to Grindelwald, her disgust evident in every word. Lady Malfoy was just as clearly sympathetic, though she couched her support in pragmatic language. The others fell somewhere in between, cautious and uncertain.
“What about the International Confederation?” someone asked. “Surely they’ll respond to this aggression?”
“The Confederation is paralyzed,” Lady Burke said dismissively. “Too many competing interests. The European delegates are terrified of provoking Grindelwald further. The British want action but won’t commit resources. The Americans are content to watch from across the ocean. Nothing will be done.”
“Then we’re on our own,” Lady Fawley said grimly.
“We’ve always been on our own, Martha. The sooner people accept that, the better.” Lady Malfoy’s tone suggested the conversation was over.
Nymeria and Dorea exchanged glances. The fault lines were becoming clearer. Some families would resist. Others would capitulate or even support Grindelwald actively. The middle ground was shrinking rapidly.
“Lady Nymeria, might I have a word?” A new voice interrupted Nymeria’s thoughts. She turned to find a woman she didn’t recognize, middle aged and elegant, with sharp eyes that missed nothing.
“Of course,” Nymeria said, falling back on her etiquette training.
The woman led her a short distance away, ostensibly to admire a particularly impressive rose bush. Dorea started to follow but Irma subtly intercepted her, leaving Nymeria alone with the stranger.
“I’m Violetta Bulstrode,” the woman said quietly. “My husband sits on the Wizengamot with Lord Perseus. We’ve heard interesting things about you.”
“Nothing too scandalous, I hope.” Nymeria kept her tone light.
“That depends on one’s definition of scandal.” Violetta’s smile was knowing. “You’ve been seen with Harry Peverell. Quite regularly at school, from what my son tells me.”
“Harry and I are friends.” The word felt inadequate but Nymeria wasn’t about to elaborate.
“Friends. How quaint.” Violetta’s tone suggested she knew better. “The Peverells are an interesting choice. Old blood, certainly. But so reduced. Only one heir left. No real political influence. One wonders what the attraction is.”
Nymeria felt her temper stir but kept it locked down. “Harry is brilliant and honorable. That’s attraction enough for me.”
“Honorable.” Violetta seemed to taste the word. “Such an old fashioned quality. These days, one might argue pragmatism serves better than honor. The world is changing, dear. Those who cling to outdated ideals will be left behind.”
“I prefer to think honor never goes out of style,” Nymeria replied coolly.
“Perhaps. Though I notice your family is being more flexible in their thinking. Lord Perseus is a wise man. He understands that survival sometimes requires adaptation.” Violetta’s eyes were sharp. “One hopes his ward is equally adaptable.”
“I’m still learning what my family expects of me,” Nymeria said carefully.
“Then learn quickly. The time for indecision is ending.” Violetta smiled, though it didn’t warm her expression. “Enjoy the party, Lady Nymeria.”
She glided away, leaving Nymeria standing alone by the roses. What the fuck was that!? She’d never said one word to the woman, and she’d all but...
Nymeria was left to wonder if that was a test or a warning. Possibly both.
“Charming woman,” Dorea said, appearing at Nymeria’s elbow. “The Bulstrodes are old friends of the Malfoys. Which tells you everything you need to know about their politics.”
“She was very interested in my relationship with Harry.”
“Of course she was. You’re a Black associating with someone they consider beneath you. It disrupts their nice neat categories.” Dorea’s voice was disgusted. “Come on. Let’s find somewhere quiet before someone else decides to lecture you about appropriate companions.”
They found refuge in a gazebo at the far end of the garden, away from the main party. From there, they could observe without being constantly observed themselves.
“This is exhausting,” Nymeria said finally.
“Welcome to pureblood society. Every conversation is a battlefield. Every smile hides a dagger.” Dorea leaned against the gazebo railing. “You get used to it eventually. Or you go mad. Sometimes both.”
“How do you stand it?”
“I remember what I’m really fighting for. A world where my children don’t have to play these games. Where power isn’t everything and blood doesn’t determine worth.” Dorea’s expression was fierce. “I endure this because someday it will change. And I want to be part of making that change happen.”
Nymeria studied her, seeing the steel beneath the polished exterior. Dorea would make an excellent Potter. She had the strength for it.
“You’ll be happy with Charlus,” Nymeria said suddenly.
Dorea blinked at the non sequitur, then smiled softly. “I know. He’s good and kind and believes in the same future I do. That’s more than most arranged marriages can claim.”
“And you love him.”
“I do. Somehow that happened.” Dorea’s smile widened. “I’m luckier than I deserve.”
They stayed in the gazebo for another hour, watching the party continue around them. Eventually, Irma came to collect them, her expression satisfied. The afternoon had apparently been successful by her standards.
That evening, back at Grimmauld Place, Nymeria found herself summoned to Perseus’s study. She’d been expecting this. The garden party had been his idea, and he’d want a full report on everything she’d observed.
“Come in.” Perseus didn’t look up from the documents spread across his desk. “Sit. Tell me about the party.”
Nymeria settled into the chair across from him, organizing her thoughts. “The divisions are getting sharper. Lady Fawley is clearly opposed to Grindelwald. Lady Malfoy is sympathetic. Lady Burke thinks the Confederation is useless. Most of the others are trying to determine which side will win before committing.”
“Good. What else?”
“Vienna has fallen completely under Grindelwald’s control. No resistance. The Austrian Ministry capitulated rather than fight.” Nymeria kept her voice neutral. “Several women seemed to approve of that decision.”
Perseus finally looked up. “Which women?”
Nymeria listed them, watching his expression. He showed nothing, but she saw him making mental notes.
“Violetta Bulstrode spoke to me privately,” Nymeria added. “She was very interested in my relationship with Harry. And very pointed about the need to be pragmatic rather than honorable.”
“The Bulstrodes have always valued survival over principle.” Perseus’s tone was dismissive. “What did you tell her?”
“That I’m still learning what the family expects. That honor matters to me.” Nymeria met his eyes. “I didn’t commit to anything.”
“Good. Keep it that way.” Perseus leaned back in his chair. “You’re doing well. Better than I expected, honestly. You have a talent for navigating these social minefields.”
The praise was unexpected and made Nymeria uncomfortable. She didn’t want Perseus’s approval. She wanted to complete her mission and get out of this increasingly complicated situation.
“I’m trying to understand how this world works,” she said carefully.
“Then let me educate you further.” Perseus stood and moved to the window, looking out over the square. “The Black family has survived for centuries by being smarter than our enemies. We don’t charge into battles we can’t win. We position ourselves carefully, maintain flexibility, and wait for the right moment to commit our resources.”
“And Grindelwald?”
“Is forcing everyone to choose sides sooner than I’d prefer.” Perseus’s voice was frustrated. “I wanted more time to evaluate the situation. To see if he could actually deliver on his promises or if his movement would collapse under its own contradictions. But events are accelerating.”
“What do you think will happen?”
Perseus was quiet for a long moment. “I think Grindelwald is genuinely brilliant and genuinely dangerous. I think he believes in his Greater Good with the kind of fanatical certainty that makes reasonable negotiation impossible. I think he will continue winning because his enemies are divided and his followers are zealots.”
“That sounds like you think he’ll succeed.”
“In the short term? Almost certainly.” Perseus turned back to face her. “In the long term? That depends on whether anyone can unite the opposition before it’s too late. Right now, I don’t see that happening.”
“So what will you do?”
“Continue gathering information. Maintain relationships with both sides. Position the family to survive regardless of the outcome.” Perseus’s expression was calculating. “And cultivate assets who might prove useful in various scenarios.”
Nymeria understood. She was one of those assets. So was Harry, in Perseus’s mind. They were pieces on his board, to be moved and positioned as needed.
“There’s something else you should know,” Perseus said. “Marius and Altair have been corresponding with the Krum family.”
“The Krums are Grindelwald’s people.”
“High ranking members of his circle, yes.” Perseus’s expression was grim. “Marius thinks I don’t know. But I have people who watch my children’s correspondence. I needed to be certain of their loyalties.”
“And are you? Certain?”
“Marius is lost to me, and so is Altair. They have been seduced by Grindelwald’s vision of wizarding supremacy. Cassieopeia looks to be following her brothers’ lead.” The admission clearly cost Perseus. “I’m watching them carefully.”
“And?”
Perseus gazed at her calmly. “And if anyone becomes an active threat to the family, I’ll deal with them. That totally depends on how things progress.”
The cold calculation in his voice sent chills down Nymeria’s spine. He would sacrifice his own family if necessary. That’s what kind of man Perseus Black was.
“Why are you telling me this?”
“Because you need to understand the stakes. This family is fracturing, and I can’t prevent it. All I can do is minimize the damage and ensure the line survives.” Perseus’s eyes were hard. “You’re part of that survival strategy, whether you realize it or not. You represent a connection to the broader family. A reminder that we’re more than just political factions.”
Nymeria felt trapped between competing loyalties and lies. She was supposed to be gathering intelligence on the Blacks for her mission. Instead, she was becoming entangled in their politics, their family drama, and their desperate attempts to survive a coming war.
“I understand,” she said finally.
“Good. Now, tell me about your young Peverell. What are his plans for the summer?”
The abrupt shift caught Nymeria off guard. “I don’t know the details. We haven’t had much chance to talk.”
“Perhaps you should arrange to talk. I’d be interested in more of his perspective on current events.” Perseus’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Invite him to dinner. We can have another civilized conversation.”
It wasn’t a suggestion. Nymeria nodded, knowing she had no choice.
The rest of the week passed in a blur of social obligations. More tea parties, more careful conversations, more intelligence gathering disguised as polite society. Nymeria played her role perfectly, the uncertain young woman trying to find her place in this complicated world.
But the masks were getting heavier. Every conversation where she had to smile and nod while people discussed Grindelwald’s victories like they were triumphs of civilization made her want to scream. Every time someone dismissed muggleborn rights or spoke casually about blood purity, she had to swallow her rage and pretend to consider their points.
Dorea was her lifeline. They’d spend evenings in Dorea’s room, dropping the masks and speaking honestly. Dorea was struggling too, watching her family fracture while maintaining a pleasant facade.
“Cassie cornered me this morning,” Dorea said one night. They were sitting on her bed, sharing a bottle of firewhisky they’d stolen from Arcturus’s collection. “She wanted to talk about Grindelwald’s latest speech. How inspiring it was. How he’s the only one brave enough to speak truth.”
“What did you say?”
“That I hadn’t read it yet. That I’d been busy with school preparations.” Dorea took a long drink. “She looked at me like I was willfully blind. Like I was choosing ignorance over enlightenment.”
“She’s getting worse.”
“She’s becoming a fanatic. And she’s not alone. Half the family is leaning toward supporting him. The other half is either opposed or trying to stay neutral.” Dorea’s frustration was obvious. “There’s no middle ground anymore. You’re either with Grindelwald or against him.”
“Your father is trying to maintain neutrality.”
“My father is trying to have it both ways. To keep options open. But Grindelwald won’t allow that forever.” Dorea passed the bottle to Nymeria. “Eventually, Perseus will have to choose. And when he does, this family will tear itself apart.”
The observation was too accurate. Nymeria could see it happening, the slow fracturing of one of Britain’s most powerful magical families.
“Tell me about the Potters,” Nymeria said, changing the subject deliberately. “How are they handling all this?”
Dorea’s expression softened. “They’re wonderful. Worried, obviously. Henry is on the Wizengamot and sees the political maneuvering up close. But they’re committed to opposing Grindelwald, whatever the cost. They’ve already started preparing. Securing assets, building alliances, establishing fallback positions.”
“They think there’ll be a war.”
“They know there will be. The only question is when and how bad it gets.” Dorea took another drink. “Charlus wants to fight. He’s already talking about joining the resistance after Hogwarts, putting his skills to use.”
“What about you?”
“I’ll support him. Whatever he chooses. That’s what marriage means.” Dorea’s voice was firm. “Besides, I have no love for Grindelwald or his ideology. If there’s a fight coming, I want to be part of it.”
They sat in comfortable silence for a while, passing the bottle back and forth. Outside, London slept, unaware of the conflicts brewing within its magical community.
“Harry’s coming to dinner tomorrow,” Nymeria said eventually.
“Perseus’s idea?”
“Of course. He wants to evaluate Harry more. See if he’s useful.”
“Harry can handle Perseus. He’s smarter than he looks.” Dorea smiled slightly. “Though I imagine you’re looking forward to seeing him for reasons beyond political maneuvering.”
“Maybe.” Nymeria couldn’t quite suppress her own smile. “It’s been weeks. The separation is getting difficult.”
“I noticed you’ve been more irritable lately. Now I know why.” Dorea’s tone was teasing. “Should I arrange to be elsewhere during his visit? Give you some privacy?”
“In this house? With Perseus watching everything? Not likely.” Nymeria’s frustration was clear. “We’ll get dinner under observation and maybe a few minutes alone if we’re lucky.”
“Then make those minutes count.”
The next evening, Nymeria waited in the drawing room, trying not to look as nervous as she felt. She’d dressed carefully, walking the line between formal enough for a family dinner and attractive enough to remind Harry exactly what he’d been missing.
When the floo activated, she felt the bond flare to life. Harry stepped through, impeccably dressed and perfectly composed. But she saw the flash of heat in his eyes when he spotted her, the way his jaw tightened slightly.
“Lord Black,” Harry greeted Perseus with appropriate formality. “Thank you for the invitation.”
“Mr. Peverell. Welcome.” Perseus’s smile was calculated. “I trust you’ve been well?”
“Quite well, thank you.” Harry’s eyes found Nymeria’s. “Hello, Nym.”
“Harry.” She managed to keep her voice steady despite the way the bond was singing between them.
Dinner was an exercise in careful conversation. Perseus guided the discussion, probing Harry while maintaining the veneer of polite dinner conversation. Harry handled it well, giving enough to seem engaged without committing to any specific positions.
“Your family has always maintained a low profile,” Perseus observed. “Given your lineage, one might expect more political involvement.”
“The Peverells learned long ago that visibility often brings unwanted attention,” Harry replied smoothly. “We prefer to work quietly.”
“An interesting philosophy. Though in times of crisis, neutrality becomes difficult to maintain.”
“I didn’t say we were neutral. I said we were quiet.” Harry’s smile was polite but his eyes were sharp. “There’s a difference.”
Perseus looked genuinely interested. “Indeed. And remind me where do the Peverells stand on the current continental situation?”
“We stand against tyranny in all its forms,” Harry said simply. “Regardless of how it’s packaged or what promises it makes.”
“How idealistic.” Perseus’s tone was difficult to read. “Idealism is admirable in the young. Reality often proves more complicated.”
“Reality is exactly as complicated as we allow it to become,” Harry replied. “Sometimes the simple answer is the correct one. Grindelwald is dangerous. His ideology is poisonous. Opposing him isn’t complicated.”
“Unless opposition proves futile. Then it becomes suicide rather than principle.” Perseus leaned back in his chair. “Survival requires pragmatism.”
“Survival without principle is just prolonged death,” Harry countered.
The tension at the table was thick enough to cut. Nymeria watched the exchange, fascinated despite herself. Harry wasn’t backing down, but he wasn’t being aggressive either. He was holding his ground while maintaining respect.
Perseus studied Harry for a long moment, then smiled. “You’re more interesting than I expected, Mr. Peverell. I can see why Nymeria values your company.”
“I try to be worthy of her regard,” Harry said, glancing at Nymeria with warmth that made the bond pulse.
After dinner, Perseus excused himself to his study, leaving them in the drawing room with Dorea as a nominal chaperone. She took one look at them and announced she needed to check on something, disappearing with a knowing smile.
The moment they were alone, Harry pulled Nymeria close. She melted against him, feeling the bond settle into satisfaction at their proximity.
“I missed you,” he murmured against her hair.
“Same. This separation is killing me.” She buried her face in his shoulder, breathing in his scent. “Perseus is keeping me busy. Social obligations, etiquette lessons, information gathering.”
“I noticed. You handled dinner perfectly.” Harry pulled back enough to look at her face. “How are you really doing?”
“Honestly? I hate it. All of it. The pretending, the careful conversations, listening to people discuss Grindelwald like he’s a viable political option rather than a genocidal maniac.” Nymeria’s frustration poured out. “I want to hex half the people I meet. But I smile and nod and play the uncertain young woman searching for guidance.”
“You’re doing important work. Gathering intelligence we’ll need.”
“I know. Doesn’t make it easier.” She looked up at him. “Tell me something good. Anything. I need to remember there’s more to life than this political nightmare.”
Harry smiled and kissed her softly. “The Potters are wonderful. Catherine has adopted me completely. She makes wonderful biscuits. Henry is teaching me family history. And Charlus is being Charlus, which means he’s gotten himself into three different situations already that required creative problem solving.”
“That sounds perfect,” Nymeria said wistfully.
“It is. Though it would be better with you there.” Harry’s expression was serious. “Perseus won’t let you leave for extended periods, will he?”
“Not a chance. I’m his project now. He’s investing in me, shaping me into a useful asset. And he’s watching Marius and Altair correspond with the Krums.” She filled him in on what Perseus had revealed.
Harry’s expression darkened. “The Krums are deep in Grindelwald’s organization. If they are in contact with them, they’re not just sympathetic. They’re actively involved.”
“Perseus knows. He’s watching and letting it happen, playing both sides. If only these idiots came to their senses...”
“They won’t. True believers never do.” Harry’s voice was grim. “This family is fracturing, Nym. And you’re caught in the middle.”
“I know. But Dorea is here. She’s keeping me sane.” Nymeria managed a smile. “She’s wonderful. You’d like her.”
“Charlus adores her. He writes about her constantly.” Harry’s smile was genuine. “I’m glad you have someone you can trust here.”
They talked for another half hour, stealing what time they could before Perseus would inevitably return or someone else would interrupt. Harry shared news from the Potters. Nymeria detailed the social obligations she’d navigated. They discussed the growing crisis, Newt Scamander’s letter, and their plans.
But mostly they just held each other, the bond settling into contentment at their proximity. The separation had been harder than either wanted to admit.
When Harry finally had to leave, Nymeria walked him to the floo. They kissed once more, quick but intense, before he stepped through the flames and disappeared.
Nymeria stood there for a moment, feeling the bond stretch thin again as distance separated them. Then she turned to find Perseus watching from the doorway.
“Interesting young man,” Perseus said.
“Yes.” Nymeria wasn’t giving him anything more.
“Principled. Intelligent. Stubborn.” Perseus’s expression was considering. “Those qualities could be useful or dangerous depending on how they’re directed.”
“Harry directs himself. He’s not a piece to be moved.”
“Everyone is a piece, Nymeria. The only question is who controls the board.” Perseus’s smile was cold. “Get some rest. Tomorrow we have another gathering. The Burkes are hosting and you’ll need to be at your best.”
He left her standing in the drawing room, his words echoing in the silence.
Two days later, Cassiopeia made her move.
Nymeria had been reading in the library, enjoying a rare moment of peace, when Cassiopeia appeared. She settled into the chair across from Nymeria.
“We need to talk,” Cassiopeia said without preamble.
“About?” Nymeria set down her book, preparing for whatever was coming.
“Your future. The family’s future. The wizarding world’s future.” Cassiopeia’s eyes were intense. “You’ve been here for weeks now. You’ve attended the gatherings, met the important families, observed how our society functions. What have you concluded?”
“That everyone has an agenda and most of them conflict,” Nymeria replied carefully.
“True. But some agendas matter more than others. Some represent genuine vision while others are just desperate attempts to maintain a failing status quo.” Cassiopeia leaned forward. “Gellert Grindelwald has a vision. A real plan for transforming our world into something better.”
Here it was. The recruitment pitch Nymeria had been expecting.
“Better for whom?” she asked.
“For us. For magical people who’ve been forced to hide our abilities, cower in secrecy, pretend we’re not superior to the muggles who outnumber us.” Cassiopeia’s voice was passionate. “Grindelwald offers freedom. The chance to live openly, to use our magic without restriction, to take our rightful place as leaders rather than shadows.”
“At the cost of muggle lives. Muggleborn rights. Anyone who disagrees with his vision.” Nymeria kept her tone neutral despite her growing anger.
“Necessary sacrifices for the Greater Good. Yes, some will suffer in the transition. That’s inevitable when transforming society.” Cassiopeia wasn’t backing down. “But the alternative is continuing this farce. Hiding. Shrinking. Watching our world diminish while muggles multiply and eventually overwhelm us through sheer numbers.”
“You’re talking about war. Genocide.”
“I’m talking about survival. Self-preservation. The right of the powerful to refuse subjugation.” Cassiopeia’s expression was fierce. “Grindelwald sees clearly what others refuse to acknowledge. We are superior. Our magic makes us so. And we have every right to assert that superiority.”
Nymeria felt sick. This was the ideology in its purest form. Not dressed up in political language or pragmatic concerns. Just raw supremacist belief.
“What about muggleborns?” she asked. “They have magic too.”
“Diluted magic. Corrupted bloodlines.” Cassiopeia’s dismissal was casual. “They can be useful in limited roles. But they’re not truly one of us. Their loyalties are divided between two worlds. That makes them dangerous.”
“That’s revolting.” Nymeria couldn’t quite keep the disgust from her voice.
“That’s reality. And you need to accept it if you want to survive what’s coming.” Cassiopeia’s eyes narrowed. “The world is changing, Nymeria. Grindelwald’s movement is growing stronger every day. The opposition is fractured and weak. Within a few years, he’ll control most of Europe. Eventually Britain too.”
“You seem very confident.”
“I have reason to be. I’ve read his writings.” Cassiopeia’s revelation was clearly meant to impress. “Grindelwald isn’t some random agitator. He’s methodical, brilliant, and completely committed to his vision. He will win because his enemies lack the courage to do what’s necessary.”
“And you want me to join him.”
“I want you to recognize reality and position yourself accordingly. You’re young, talented, and connected to important families. You could have a significant role in the new order Grindelwald is building.” Cassiopeia’s smile was calculating. “Or you can cling to outdated ideals and watch everything you care about burn.”
The threat was barely veiled. Nymeria felt her magic stirring in response to her anger but forced it down.
“I need time to think,” she said carefully.
“Don’t take too long.” Cassiopeia stood gracefully. “Read his speeches. Consider his arguments. And remember that history is made by those brave enough to seize opportunity when it presents itself.”
She left Nymeria alone in the library.
That evening, Nymeria told Dorea everything.
“She’s recruiting for him, no doubt told to do so by her people,” Dorea said flatly. “Actively trying to bring family members into the fold.”
“And she’s confident he’ll win. Not hopeful. Confident.” Nymeria paced the room, unable to sit still. “She talked about his plans like they’re already accomplished. Like resistance is futile.”
“She’s not wrong about his momentum. Vienna fell without a fight. Berlin is firmly under his control. The Austrian Ministry has been reorganized according to his principles. All of it happened within weeks.” Dorea’s expression was troubled. “And the International Confederation is doing nothing. Just issuing statements and having debates while he consolidates power.”
“What about Britain? The Ministry has to be preparing something.”
“They’re arguing about whether to even acknowledge there’s a problem. Half the Wizengamot thinks Grindelwald is a continental issue that won’t affect us. The other half is split between those who want to intervene and those who secretly support him.” Dorea’s frustration was obvious. “Henry says it’s political paralysis. Everyone waiting for someone else to take the lead.”
Nymeria thought about Perseus’s assessment. The opposition was fractured and weak. Grindelwald’s followers were zealots. The math wasn’t encouraging.
“We need to tell Harry about Cassieopeia,” she said finally.
“Write to him.”
“I will. But I want to see him. Actually talk face to face.” The frustration in Nymeria’s voice was sharp.
“Then arrange another meeting. Perseus seemed satisfied with how the last one went. He might allow even more regular visits if he thinks Harry is useful.”
“The fact that I have to ask permission makes me want to hex something.”
“I know. But pick your battles. This situation is complicated enough without adding unnecessary conflict.”
Dorea’s advice was practical even if unsatisfying.
The following week brought new complications. Perseus called a family meeting, gathering everyone at Black Manor for what he termed an important discussion. Nymeria found herself in the formal dining room with the entire Black clan, the tension thick enough to choke on.
“Recent events require us to clarify our position,” Perseus began without preamble. “The situation on the continent has reached a point where neutrality may no longer be viable.”
“About time,” Marius muttered. Beside him, Altair nodded in agreement.
“However,” Perseus continued as if Marius hadn’t spoken, “I want to be clear about what our position actually is. We are not declaring support for Grindelwald. Nor are we committing to active opposition. We are maintaining our ability to respond to developments as they occur.”
“That’s cowardice,” Cassiopeia said sharply. “Grindelwald offers us a path to restoration. To reclaiming our rightful place. Refusing to commit is refusing opportunity.”
“It’s caution,” Perseus countered. “Something you’d do well to exercise, Cassiopeia. Your enthusiasm is noted but your judgment is questionable.”
“My judgment sees clearly what you refuse to acknowledge. We’re watching history unfold and you want us to sit on the sidelines.” Cassiopeia’s voice rose. “That’s not leadership. That’s fear.”
“Watch your tone.” Perseus’s voice went cold. “I am still head of this family. My decisions stand.”
“For now,” Marius said quietly. But everyone heard it.
The room went silent. Perseus stared at him, something dangerous in his expression.
“What exactly are you suggesting, Marius?”
“That leadership requires vision. Action. Not endless deliberation and political hedging.” Marius met his eyes without flinching. “Some of us are tired of waiting for you to make decisions that should be obvious.”
“Then perhaps you should establish your own household,” Perseus said softly. “Since mine doesn’t suit your requirements.”
“Perhaps I should.” Marius stood. “Come on, Altair. We’re done here.”
Altair he rose and followed his brother from the room, their parents and Cassieopeia following suit.
Nymeria watched the fracture happen in real time. The Black family, one of Britain’s most powerful magical dynasties, was tearing itself apart over ideology.
Perseus’s expression was carved from ice. “Anyone else wish to express their independence? Good. Then let me be perfectly clear. This family will not be divided by continental politics. We have survived for centuries by being smarter and more careful than our enemies. That tradition continues.” His gaze swept the room. “Anyone who cannot accept that is free to leave. But understand that leaving means severing ties. Completely.”
The threat hung in the air. Disinheritance was the nuclear option, rarely deployed but devastating when used.
The meeting dispersed in uncomfortable silence. Once back at Grimmauld Place, Nymeria escaped to Dorea’s room as quickly as she could.
“That was brutal,” Dorea said, collapsing onto her bed. “I’ve never seen him that angry.”
“Marius challenged him directly. Perseus couldn’t let that stand.” Nymeria was still processing what she’d witnessed. “Do you think they will actually leave?”
“Maybe. They’re committed to Grindelwald’s cause. And if Perseus won’t support it, they might decide they’re better off independent.” Dorea’s expression was troubled. “This is exactly what Grindelwald wants. Families fracturing. Traditional alliances breaking down. It makes everyone weaker.”
“Divide and conquer.”
“Exactly. And it’s working.”
That night, Nymeria lay awake in her room, thinking about everything that had happened. The social gatherings, Cassiopeia’s recruitment attempt, the family meeting, and the growing divisions within one of Britain’s most powerful families.
She missed Harry with physical intensity. Missed being able to talk to him freely, hold him, draw strength from his presence. The separation was wearing on her, making everything harder.
But she was learning things. Gathering intelligence that would be crucial later. Understanding how the pureblood elite thought, how they maneuvered, where their loyalties lay.
The mission was working, even if it felt like she was drowning in the process.
Three days later, news arrived that changed everything.
Nymeria was at breakfast with Dorea when the latter unfolded the day’s Prophet, and the glass nearly dropped from her hand.
“What is it?” She asked, seeing the expression on her face.
“Prague,” Dorea said without preamble. “There’s been an incident.”
She spread the newspaper on the table. The headline screamed across the front page in massive letters.
MASSACRE IN PRAGUE: DOZENS DEAD IN MAGICAL DISTRICT ATTACK
Nymeria’s blood went cold as she read the article. Grindelwald’s followers on the attack. The violence had been systematic and brutal. Families burned alive in their homes. People dragged into the streets and executed. The Czech Ministry had been unable to respond effectively.
The death toll was still being calculated but estimates put it at over fifty. Including children.
“This is what the Greater Good looks like,” Nymeria said quietly.
Dorea had gone pale. “Fifty people. Murdered just for being...”
“Grindelwald’s people are claiming it was necessary. That the victims were subverting the natural order, corrupting pure wizarding culture.” Nymeria’s disgust was clear. “They’re calling it justice.”
She felt sick. This was the reality behind Cassiopeia’s passionate speeches about superiority and necessary sacrifices. Real people. Real deaths. Real families destroyed.
“What will the Confederation do?” Dorea asked.
“Issue another strongly worded statement and accomplish nothing.” Nymeria’s voice was bitter. “They’re too paralyzed by politics to take real action. Meanwhile, Grindelwald grows stronger and bolder.”
They sat in silence, staring at the horrific photographs accompanying the article.
“This changes things,” Dorea said finally.
“How?”
“Because now everyone knows exactly what Grindelwald represents. No more philosophical debates about the Greater Good. This is naked violence. Terrorism. Murder.” Dorea’s hands were shaking. “Anyone who still supports him after this is choosing evil knowingly.”
Nymeria thought about everyone she knew who had elected to support Grindelwald. Would this change their minds? Or would they rationalize it away as necessary, justified, worth the cost?
She suspected she already knew the answer.
That afternoon, Cassiopeia found Nymeria in the library again. Her expression was harder than usual.
“I suppose you’ve seen the news,” Cassiopeia said.
“Hard to miss.”
“Then I imagine you’re feeling morally superior right now. Vindicated in your hesitation.” Cassiopeia’s tone was sharp. “Let me clarify something. War is ugly. Revolution requires sacrifice. You can’t transform society without breaking things.”
“Those were innocent people. Families. Children.” Nymeria’s voice was cold.
“They were obstacles to progress. Muggleborns who refused integration, blood traitors who actively worked against their own kind.” Cassiopeia’s conviction hadn’t wavered. “Prague was unfortunate but necessary. It sends a message that resistance will not be tolerated.”
“You’re justifying mass murder.”
“I’m acknowledging reality. Change requires force. Always has, always will.” Cassiopeia leaned forward. “This is your moment of decision, Nymeria. Are you going to cling to comfortable morality while the world burns? Or are you going to embrace the future Grindelwald is building?”
Nymeria met her eyes without flinching. “I choose to stand against murderers. No matter what they call themselves or what grand vision they claim to serve.”
“Then you’ve chosen to be on the wrong side of history.” Cassiopeia stood. “When Grindelwald wins, and he will, remember that you had the chance to be part of something greater. You chose sentiment instead.”
She left without another word.
Nymeria sat alone in the library, her hands shaking with suppressed rage. The masks were getting heavier. The pretense harder to maintain. How much longer could she play the uncertain young woman when every fiber of her being wanted to fight?
She needed Harry. Needed his steadiness, his strength, his absolute certainty that they were fighting for something that mattered.
But Harry was at Potter Manor and she was here, trapped in this house with people who were either complicit in genocide or too paralyzed to stop it.
The thought sustained her through the rest of the day. Through another dinner with people analyzing the political implications of Prague. Through Pollux’s quiet rage and Arcturus’s troubled silence.
That night, Nymeria wrote to Harry. Not the careful coded letter they usually exchanged, but something more honest. More desperate.
I need to see you. Not for information or strategy. Just you. The world is going insane and you’re the only thing that makes sense anymore.
She sent it before she could reconsider, watching the owl disappear into the London night.
His reply came the next morning.
I’m coming. Tonight. We’ll figure out the rest together.
Nymeria held the letter close, feeling the bond pulse with anticipation. Whatever was coming, whatever storms they’d have to weather, they’d face it together.
The Prague massacre had changed everything. Lines had been drawn. Sides chosen. The comfortable fiction of neutrality had been burned away, leaving only hard choices and harder consequences.
And somewhere in Europe, Gellert Grindelwald was advancing his vision of the Greater Good.
The war was coming. Everyone could feel it now.
The only question was who would be left standing when it ended.
TBC.