β AUTHOR'S NOTE β
Author here. π₯Έ
I deleted and reuploaded some chapters because of some changes I was trying to make, but some rather complicated issues came up, and I ended up deleting most of them, so I decided to just do an overhaul and delete and reupload them. Sorry bout that. π€§
The following chapters were deleted, by the way, for those that were here earlier, as of 4TH April, 1.15 PM (GMT+3):
π οΈ Brewing Storms (Old)
π οΈ Of Death and Defiance (Old)
I'll be editing them to make them more coherent and fluid. I should confess at this point that I have a crazy perfectionist OCD when it comes to this thing, and some stuff was putting me in a nigh-depressed state here. Sorry for being so erratic. π€§
None of you deserve it and I will try to do better, but please bear with me. π
Now, you may proceed with the story. π
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β EVENING, 25TH JULY, 1990, THE GOJO ESTATE β
GINEVRA WEASLEY HAD done a number of stupid things in her life.
Some had been entirely her doing, driven by thoughtless curiosity or the occasional flare of childish attention-seeking, while others could be chalked up to youthful naivety that sourced a perilous vulnerability to deception and manipulation.
However, none of those missteps had ever led to serious consequences. They were the sort of blunders that quickly faded into obscurity, the kind that people eventually brushed off as harmless lapses in judgment β just water under the bridge.
They were always the sort of misdeeds her mother could forgive after delivering a stern scolding, followed by a consoling cup of tea, or the kind her father could soften with a gentle reprimand and a reassuring smile.
But not this time β this time, she had unleashed an effing catastrophe.
She had witnessed her mother's wrath countless times and, until now, had believed there was nothing more terrifying than that fury. She had been wrong. She had never encountered the raw, unrestrained, and primal rage of the remaining Potter sisters.
Ivy and Rose had gone ballistic, their magic spiralling out of control in a storm of fury. Ginny knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that if Sirius Black and Lucius Malfoy hadn't stepped in to restrain them, she would be dead.
Following James Potter's orders, the gathering had been swiftly relocated to a secure location by the Potter family's most trusted allies, with the estate's shikigami ensuring the privacy of the investigation and maintaining constant, watchful surveillance over the guests.
And yet, Ginny felt no less scrutinized.
"Concentrate," Lily Potter icily spoke.
Ginny could only stammer her mouth dry and her heart pounding. "IβI thought it was harmless. She said it wasn't dangerousβ¦ I didn't knowβ"
Her panic was cut short by the arrival of Arcturus Black, his voice deep and commanding as he strode into the scene of the crime, James Potter at his side. "We've got them."
Behind them trailed the Saito procession, bound and silent. Lily shifted her attention from the trembling figure she had been interrogating to the newly captured suspects.
"Let's have a little chat, shall we?" Lily said, her tone cold and eerily level β the kind of calm that precedes annihilation.
Ginny instinctively shrank back, hiding her face with behind her arms, desperate to disappear now that Lily's wrath had found a new target. Her throat burned with unshed tears, disbelief still twisting in her chest from what happened.
From behind her pitiful defence β a flimsy wall of trembling limbs and choking regret β Ginny dared a glance toward the newly arrived suspects. Her gaze skimmed over the Saito procession, searching for one face.
There she was. Saito Akiko.
Pale, restrained, but still wearing that maddening calm β the same beguiling composure that had given her lies such seductive credibility. A fresh wave of guilt surged in Ginny's chest like a rising tide, cold and relentless, threatening to pull her under.
Akiko is the reason this is all happening, Ginny tried to reassure herself β clinging to that thought like driftwood in a storm. It had to be her fault. It had to be.
The all-too-perfect assurances that everything would go on flawlessly, that Ginny would be having everyone wrapped around her finger β they had all come from Akiko.
But you're the one who listened, a condescending voice said within Ginny's psyche. You're the one who trusted that girl. You're the one who acted on the schemes of someone you barely knew. And for what, pride? A desperate need to prove yourself? To feel important?
Ginny couldn't refute the voice's harsh rebukes. She was the one who had gone headfirst into something she barely understood. She was the one trying to make herself someone that could command the room, hold the spotlight, matter.
Now, the world around her was crumbling.
In her reckless pursuit to prove the greatness of the name Ginevra Weasley, all she had done was shatter it. The name she had hoped to lift into legend would now be whispered like a curse, a cautionary tale passed down for decades to come.
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Margaret Sayre's footsteps echoed down the stairs leading into James Potter's hidden workshop, each one sharper and more urgent than the last. Normally composed and unflappable, she felt the strain of keeping her calm.
The Prison Realm Cube in her hand seemed to grow heavier with every step. Its smooth surface was cold, dormant β yet still pulsing with a faint, undeniable magic. The same magic that had sealed away Jasmine Potter.
It felt even heavier with the thought that Jasmine's sealing wasn't just a personal blow; it was a political time bomb.
Margaret could feel it in her bones. The Potters' grief and anger were only the beginning. The ripples of this act would spread far beyond their family. The consequences would reverberate across the entire wizarding world.
The Potters had just watched their daughter sealed away in a powerful cursed artifact that could well mean that she was gone forever. A violation that couldn't be ignored. The world would take notice, not just because of their grief, but because of what it signified.
Rumors would spread like wildfire.
Even with every measure taken to contain the situation, it wouldn't be long before those rumors reached the MirrorLink Network, before word got to every major political player who hadn't been at the party. And once it spread, there would be no stopping it.
It was only a matter of time before power players tried to exploit the chaos, using the incident to their advantage. Political games would escalate, sparking unrest that could rapidly spiral into something far more dangerous.
The final outcome? Most likely war.
Some might accuse Margaret of overthinking, but history had a way of proving her right. The greatest wars often started as far smaller crises that got blown out of proportion by ideals, greed and hunger for power.
Grindelwald's rise to power hadn't been so different. Propaganda had been spun around his murder of Henry Potter, the last wielder of the Six Eyes, and Dumbledore and Grindelwald had both used it to fuel their war, rallying their forces.
Grindelwald had shown how even those who seemed unassailable could be overthrown by the right combination of deceit and strength. Dumbledore had used Grindelwald's image as the insurmountable Dark Lord, one bent on control and death, to justify his own war.
That war had led to an international crisis whose effects still lingered.
Voldemort's rise had been born in the ashes of that conflict. He, too, had exploited the fractures left by Grindelwald's fall. Fueled by pride and twisted ideals, he wove a narrative of power and purity, one that preyed on fear.
The world, still scarred by Grindelwald's war, had reacted with paranoia. Voldemort's rise was twisted into another battle between light and dark, a struggle that consumed an entire generation, leaving in its wake a fractured, fearful society.
Β
The wizarding world had always existed on a precipice, held together by fragile alliances and deep-rooted prejudices. Every event, every tragedy, every power play was just another gust of wind, another crack in the storm clouds, waiting to break the delicate calm.
Witches and wizards, in one way or another, tended to be prideful, petty creatures. It didn't take much to offend them, and with magic granting the power to act on impulse, even a fleeting spark of anger could set a war ablaze β especially among the higher-ups.
All that was needed to ignite this volatile chain of events was a single greedy individual or faction, someone with enough ambition to exploit the chaos. A person or group willing to stoke the flames of political disaster for their own gain.
It wouldn't take much. With any justification whatsoever, they could twist this moment however they saw fit. The truth wouldn't matter β it would be the power of perception that fueled the conflict.
Once that fire caught, there would be no quenching it. The factions lying in wait β the power-hungry, the desperate, the opportunists β would emerge from the shadows, ready to exploit the chaos, their agendas as dangerous as they were self-serving.
Margaret could only hope she'd find a way to free Jasmine β and quickly β while the others scrambled to contain the fallout. If Jasmine was freed, it would be enough to craft a new narrative β one strong enough to realign the chaos and keep everyone in line.
Even if the world didn't believe Jasmine Potter was truly that powerful, having been sealed in the first place, it wouldn't matter. Perception always trumped truth. Margaret was a master at creating illusions of power so convincing they became real by default.
Margaret's footsteps slowed as she reached the bottom of the stairs, the echo fading into the low hum of James' hidden workshop. The room, filled with old books, arcane tools, and arcane devices, was oddly soothing, but she couldn't afford the luxury of a leisurely inspection.
She moved to one of James' comfortable workshop chairs, its high-quality leather comfortable and grounding. With a slow, measured breath, she eased herself into the chair in a meditative posture, the cube held firmly in her hands.
She closed her eyes and exhaled, sinking deeper into herself. As her breath slowed, her heartbeat steadied, and she began to feel the familiar shift, the pull of her consciousness separating from the physical realm.
Margaret opened her eyes, and for a fleeting moment, the world around her seemed to ripple, as though reality itself was distorting. Her body felt weightless, and when her vision cleared, she found herself at her destination, a place that defied all conventional logic.
The Astral Plane.
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