Scottish Highlands

Severus Snape shifted, but no matter what anyone might have thought, it was not in impatience. He was a spy (who if not good, was adequate enough), gifted in the art of subtlety, master of self-control, and absolutely in control of his own body. He did not deign to squirm in a seat like a scolded school boy, even if at times, he felt as young and foolish as he once had been, especially in the Headmaster's office.

He was adjusting himself for comfort, nothing more, nothing less.

Albus Dumbledore breezed into the room, settling into his chair swiftly. "Impatient, aren't we?" he observed more than asked, one eyebrow raised.

Severus scowled. "At least I can fool one master," he muttered.

Albus smiled, though worryingly, it did not meet his eyes. "Have more faith. You do not fool yourself, my friend, and that places you leagues ahead of many a man."

He wanted to laugh. Severus Snape might have once believed himself to be above the common man, but over the years, it had become abundantly clear to him that in terms of character, he would always fall behind, scrambling to make up for the unforgivable. And with the Dark Lord well and truly back these days, his past sins seemed especially glaring.

"I don't need to be flattered," he said. "What are the next steps?"

The game had well and truly changed, in just one night. Potter and his band of fools had torn up the Ministry, Fudge had finally used his limited brain capacity and recognized the return of the Dark Lord, and Black, even more useless than Potter, had died.

Severus viciously shoved down the discomfort he felt at the thought. He had done what he could have done, and there was no room for regret.

No longer would the war be waged from the shadows, which made his own position that much more precarious. Eventually, Severus would be forced to make his loyalty known, in one scrimmage or another, or, he would have to kill innocents again. Both of those options were rather distasteful.

"Officially," Albus started, delicate. "The Ministry will release the news of Voldemort's continued existence tonight. They are united in their efforts to put an end to him and ensure the safety of witch and wizardkind, as well as our ways."

So, the Ministry was torn between action and keeping the purebloods lining its pockets content.

"They're useless," Severus surmised.

"Unofficially," Albus continued, ignoring (and in so, confirming) him. "I, and the Order, will be continuing to use the same tactics we've employed the past year. Recruitments will be easier with the public acknowledging Voldemort, but unfortunately, the same goes for our enemy. And as for Harry, I believe he'll be safest this summer without Auror protection, so we'll be following the same protocol as last July until I can arrange for safe transportation elsewhere."

"Where will that be?"

Albus simply leveled a look at him. Severus fought the urge to shift once more and rephrased his question to something more suitable. Something he'd be trusted to know.

"What will you have me do?"

Albus hesisted, and once more, he noticed the subtle signs on the Headmaster's face: bags clear under his eyes, a less than focused gaze, a thin mouth. The man was truly distracted, with something not related to the fight.

It was the last thing they needed.

"Your classes will be covered for the rest of the term. When you are not reporting to Voldemort, I need you to investigate a family in America," he finally said, and despite himself, Severus could feel his mouth falling open.

"What?" he asked, truly baffled. Magic did not exist, for lack of a better word, in the States, making it a non-entity in the Wizarding World. He had heard stories of war criminals fleeing there, but even that did not fit, as no self-respecting Death Eater would voluntarily live powerless, not even for safety.

He would know.

"I spoke to a variety of figures last night at the Ministry on a variety of topics. A young lady from The Improper Use of Magic Office, in particular, had the idea of using the Trace to monitor activities of the children at risk for joining the Death Eaters, to head them off of it, I assume.

It wouldn't pass, of course, not with the current heads, but in the course of our conversation, she suggested altering the system she currently uses to discriminate between relevant and irrelevant breaches."

Here, Albus paused, for what Severus could only assume was dramatic effect.

"One type of irrelevant breach she noted was false alerts, one of which repeatedly came from the New York area in the past year. I asked her for a copy of the reports, and-"

Severus cut him off. There was no way something so innocuous would grab Albus's attention, unless… "What about New York is so important?"

This time, Albus shifted. He knew it.

"I'll get to its significance in a moment. The reports took place this month, on a near daily basis. All of which were registered to one person: a Perseus Jackson, age sixteen."

Albus waved his wand, conjuring the papers for Severus to see. Sure enough, in a neat row of dates and locations, all of which were heavily populated with Muggles, the name Perseus Jackson was recorded, with a blank following.

"No spells are recorded," he observed.

"I noticed," Albus said dryly. "But, I suppose, if he is indeed a wizard, he would not be casting any particular spells without training, much like the accidental magic of our own students."

Others would have questioned the sanity of the Headmaster. But Severus had worked for him for years now and knew the man would only be presenting this information if he had already mostly confirmed his beliefs. Perseus Jackson was a wizard.

Instead, Severus asked, "Do you think this Jackson's sudden powers are unique only to him?"

He was well aware he only had a slim portion of the picture, and he struggled to keep his mind from racing over the possibilities such a revelation could lead to. Magic returning to the States as suddenly as it had faded in the eighteenth century? Wizards who had retained their abilities in hiding and were now able to join the Dark Lord's crusade?

Albus laughed, a surprised sound. "I believe so. Well thought, Severus. You see, I once taught a relative of his here at Hogwarts. And spoke briefly to another one, who had made her plans of emigration to New York clear in our discussion."

"So you think the family's magic lied innate upon arrival, until it was somehow awakened in the boy. What could cause such a thing?"

The headmaster simply hummed. "I cannot claim to know. But it does seem that you have a working theory to explore."

Damn him. He knew that once Severus was interested in a mystery, he would be invested until the end.

But one answer still eluded him. "Why bother now, of all times? Wouldn't it be more prudent to focus on the Dark Lord only?"

Albus's face was grim as he sat, silent. Yet another secret Severus was unworthy to hear, it seemed.

The moment laid heavy, yet just as quickly, faded away as they moved onto the next topic. There was still a war to plan, and however Jackson factored into it, he was still ultimately a minor piece.

And besides, Severus would find out in due time.

"Now, I fear how his father's arrest might affect the Malfoy boy's own chances at survival…"

Cokeworth, England

Alice Buckman eyed the man hunched over one of their computers from her desk, half with interest and half with worry.

He seemed like he had seen better days, the poor thing. Pale, with dank, unwashed hair, and a scowl that hadn't lessened since he entered the library. With his skinniness and odd clothing, she had first pegged him as another strung-out addict coming to crash in an air-conditioned public place.

She really hadn't minded. The old librarian had taken issue with it, but Alice had a soft spot for the sorry souls, maybe only partly because of her old secondary school boyfriend, who she had fallen for between puffs on abandoned playgrounds and nursing him through withdrawals. There always was a reason for these folks, and ninety percent of the time, they were more a danger to themselves than her.

But the more she watched him, the more Alice was sure he wasn't a druggie at all. Possibly homeless, yes, but too calm and controlled to be high or coming down. He was still clearly lost and uncomfortable with the technology in front of him, though, and after he failed to login once more, she shoved her chair back and exited out of the partition.

"Excuse me, sir," she called as she approached. He looked up, revealing a rather prominent hooked nose. "Can I help you with your search?"

The man's scowl deepened. "How could you possibly help me?"

Alice smiled, despite his tone. She had figured he must have been foreign, or perhaps a bit touched in the head, autistic or uncomfortable with public places. It seemed he was just anti-social, and she could deal with that too.

"I'm a librarian, so helping people find information is kind of in the job," she said, circling to pull up a chair beside him, brushing against the dark, billowy fabric folded around him. She had thought it was a blanket, at first, but it wasn't nearly soft enough.

He sighed, muttering something under his breath that she didn't catch. Alice felt fair in assuming that it wasn't complimentary, though she wasn't quite sure how Merlin factored into an insult.

"Fine," he snapped. "I'm looking for information on Perseus Jackson, but this infernal device remains black no matter what I do."

"Let me," she said, quickly entering in the admin information and turning the screen on, chattering almost mindlessly to put him at ease. Like a stray cat, this one. "I know these things can be tricky to turn on when they aren't your own. There always seems to be some extra hoop to jump through that trips people up, though we've tried to make logins as streamlined as possible and wait, did you say you were researching Percy Jackson?"

"Yes," he said, eyeing her suspiciously.

A thrill of excitement shot through Alice. She bet he was one of those fancy investigators that wrote books on unsolved cases, too smart and paranoid to interact with others socially. Like a modern day Sherlock Holmes. Before she knew it, she was babbling.

"No way! I love that case. It's totally bonkers. I don't know how the police could even have thought that that poor little boy blew up a bus, and the crazy thing is I don't think the coppers understand either, if you listen to their interviews after the event! And good thing he's safe, now, too, though it is tragic that they still haven't figured out who kidnapped him in the first place, right? Who's your leading suspect because mine's definitely that stepfather, you know, he went missing not too long after? I bet the mob caught up with him, and…"

She trailed off as she caught sight of the man's face. Right. Stray cat, don't scare him off.

Alice sheepishly laughed, fiddling with her glasses out of embarrassment. "Sorry to scare you. I'm kind of an unsolved cases nut."

The man blinked, mouth twisting like he was holding back a particularly rude comment. "Clearly," he decided on. "I'm… new to the case, as it were. Could you fill me in?"

She nodded, trying to tone down her enthusiasm. "I'll more than fill you in. I'll get you hooked. Have you ever heard of Buzzfeed Unsolved?"

They watched the video together, and Alice took a moment to be thankful for her job. Her mates might have thought her crazy for going into library sciences, calling her one cat short of being a sad cliche, but she loved it. The sharing of knowledge, the connections with others… In her opinion, there was nothing better.

As the boys on screen cracked jokes, Alice made a special note of the facts presented, and she figured the man beside her was doing the same thing. Percy Jackson had gone missing along with his mother, Sally Jackson, at the age of twelve. For weeks, they were both MIA, until news sources began to photograph the boy traveling across the country, placing him at the site of two bombings.

The police had actually blamed him for the bus and Arch, as well as his mother's disappearance, until he was spotted in a diner with two other children and a still unknown man, huge and hulking, with a leather jacket, sunglasses, and several facial scars. Then, they saw sense, realizing the three kids were that man's victims.

It was frustrating, really, the lack of information on this guy. He hadn't been caught, and no one recognized him, even as his face circulated all of America, then all of the Western world. An obvious monster, yes, but beyond that, no one could agree on what exactly he wanted with the children, whether it was to sell them overseas or to blackmail their families or to induct them into a cult.

Thank god that Percy had been able to free himself, though it horrified Alice that he had to get into a shoot-out to do so. At least this story had a mostly happy ending, though, with the kids getting to safety and Percy's mother showing back up in New York, confused and missing time, having obviously been drugged, yet alive nonetheless. Much happier than the awful endings of JonBenet or the boy in the box.

As it wrapped up, Alice peered curiously at the man. He had seemed, more than anything else, annoyed at the information presented, which didn't tell her much. "What did you think?" she asked.

His frown didn't worsen, at least. "I think it would have been better if the idiots hadn't kept making jokes," he started with, and despite herself, Alice laughed.

She had been so on the money. A real Holmes, she had on her hands.

"Anything else?"

"This took place four years ago, right?"

"Right."

He ducked his head, checking a paper she just noticed he had clenched on his lap. Odd, though, because to her eyes, it seemed blank. Maybe, she amused herself, he took investigating very seriously and it was invisible ink.

He swore. "Do you know anything more recent?"

She didn't. But Alice was having too much fun playing his Watson to send him off. "I bet I can find some. Budge up, I need to see the computer."

Her first few searches revealed very little. Percy Jackson had no social media presence, and there were no follow-up, human interest articles written. She next tried the mother, who had a bit more information to her name, including a statue displayed at the Whitney Museum of Art and a fun little romance novel about a girl falling in love with a Greek god. Way back, an obituary for her parents, an Estella and Jim Jackson. Alice noted the man jotting their names down.

No social media for Sally, either, but she did have a husband, name of Paul Blofis, who did.

"What a ridiculous name," the man said as she opened his Facebook page. It was public, luckily.

Alice shrugged. "My last name is Buckman. Before I got braces, I was actually Buckteeth Buckman, so I can't judge. What's yours?"

"Severus Snape," he said, and even with her eyes focused on the screen, she could tell he was sneering.

She wisely did not comment on the irony, attention drifting to one of the pictures displayed. She whistled. "Little Percy Jackson grew up nice," she said, enlarging it.

He didn't look sixteen. He was tall and muscular in the way twenty-three year old actors pretending to be teenagers were, with a lopsided smirk and a bright gaze that cut through the screen, like he was looking right at them. Grey streaks in his hair, too. Must have been some youth trend.

Severus did not appreciate her commentary, grasping the mouse and clicking out of it. "He's underage," he snapped, and Alice would have been offended if she wasn't so proud that he figured the mouse out all on his own.

"I'm actually not lusting after a kid," she said. "I just mean that the boy's going to be good looking when he's done cooking."

That phrase actually got Severus to turn his head completely away. He looked baffled. "That makes no sense."

"Not many sayings do, I guess," she said, suspecting that he took her words rather literally.

"What does cooking have to do with looks?" he said under his breath, confirming her thoughts. "You people are senseless."

Alice would have fired - gently fired - back, but looking back at the feed, the captions quickly drew her attention. "Well, this senseless person just found something."

She pointed at Paul Blofis's latest post. He didn't use Facebook very much, the most recent update from a month ago, telling viewers that Percy was back home and safe. "You see this? For him to be back home, he had to have been missing!"

"Scroll further," Severus said, leaning forward.

She did, eventually stopping on the first appearance of Percy's picture, appearing in January. Paul was asking friends and family to keep an eye out. He had disappeared over winter break, and the family worried it was a kidnapping.

"Poor guy got kidnapped twice," she murmured.

Alice didn't exactly expect Severus to be outwardly sympathetic, but she was surprised when he took another glance at the still blank paper, then at the feed, before actually smiling. It made him look younger.

Still a weird thing to smile at though.

"It lines up," he said, standing swiftly enough to make her jump in her chair. Without a second glance, he began to stride out into the aisle, heading for the door.

"You're welcome!" she called. When Alice got no response, she tried again. "At least mention me in your book?"

[Redacted]

Ilga Vildevalde always hated these meetings. They put a damper on their celebration of Litha, knowing that as the festivities raged on to last the week, she would be forced to leave her family and listen to a bunch of peacocks show off their feathers until one bowed its neck.

She supposed she would have enjoyed them more if the Vildevaldes hadn't fallen from grace after publicly backing Grindelwald. Or, she thought as she shot a cool glance at the matriarch of the Oliveiras, if all the families that supported him were similarly shamed.

Araminta Hu silently sat down next to her, graceful as ever and cast in all black. Ilga surreptitiously tried to straighten her own posture, aware that compared to the Viatnamese woman, she was about a foot too short and thirty pounds too heavy.

Ilga gave a small smile to Araminta, anyway, tamping down her jealousy. Despite the Hu's higher status, they had always gotten along, being some of the youngest representatives there, Ilga being eighteen and Araminta twenty-two.

Araminta represented the Hu's as the only surviving member of the strongest branch of her family, located in a small island on the South China Sea, hidden by enough wards that it had never been mapped by a Muggle. It was unclear whether the attack came from one of the families sitting around the table or the woman herself. They said that she was found at the age of fifteen, covered in blood, her throat nearly completely slit. The scar was still there, as pretty as a necklace on her pale neck.

Ilga's story was not as glamorous. After half the Vildevaldes were packed away in prison, the other half quickly stopped giving a damn, falling into disrepair and drinking away half the fortune. It was only with her parents' generation that the family began to build itself back up again, and as a consequence, she was one of the only members educated in diplomacy from a young age.

Most of the table was silent, more for effect than anything else, even knowing their visitor was not yet among them. Merlin knew how much they liked to snipe at each other, each family wrestling for the smallest step up, yet when an outsider approached, the thirteen of them fell together in an approximation of solidarity, remembering that for all their backstabbing and in-fighting, they were some of the most powerful Purebloods in the world, far beyond any other.

Ilga scanned the cold and passive faces of each seated at the table. Most were much older than her. After Araminta, the closest in age was Naram Ashared, a dark-skinned man in his thirties. No one was quite sure where the Ashareds operated out of, yet their influence was felt across the globe, with their stranglehold on the sale of dragon heartstrings. He was big, too, and more than muscular enough to handle ripping the needed material from a dragon bare-handed.

Sat across from him was a Carbrera-Bello, and predictably, next to the Spanish man, the representative from the Fryxells sat. They were the only two western European members of their group, and as a consequence, the Fryxells and Carbrera-Bellos were each other's biggest rival, constantly competing for more money and power. They defined the idea of keeping enemies close.

As for her, her greatest rival, Pytr Vasiliev, sat near the front, next to Esmeralda Oliveira, no doubt hoping that he could lap up whichever scraps she deigned to give him. The Oliveiras and Hus were by far the biggest players at the table, controlling nearly half the continent of South America and Asia respectively.

Of course, both were also known for being absolutely ruthless. Ilga knew cruelty and knew how to dole it out, but those two families took it to another level. She had heard that one of Esmeralda's cousins had once strangled her with her own intestine, and she was an insider. There was a reason they were rarely crossed, and it wasn't just the land.

Across from those two, heading the other side, an Akkad and Glick sat, both of them only notable in their firm neutrality. They never backed the wrong side or attempted the wrong coup, seemingly content with their lots. Ilga trusted them least.

Between Glick and Fryxell, there was an Ibara, and across, an Anagonye. The Afolabi's representative sat next to him, which surprised Ilga. The Afolabis often married with the Oliveiras. She would have expected them to be closer.

Then, there was only the man across from her and Araminta: Loughty. He didn't mean much to Ilga, though she had heard rumors of his youngest son trying to court the woman next to her. For the Loughty boy's sake, she hoped he failed. She'd eat him alive.

The heavy doors at the front of the room glided open, and as if on cue, Igla saw each of the faces surrounding her harden, turning from cool glass to steel. She knew her own was doing the same, and if she was a betting woman, would say hers had been one of the largest shifts.

She was on the defensive, just as Pytr, Carbrera-Bello, and Fryxell were. This was, after all, a European coming to address them, and they were the only families with bases in the continent. She didn't yet know if he would be an asset or a threat.

Lord Voldemort stood in the entryway, unnaturally tall, gaunt, with no nose and no hair. It was exceedingly clear that he had danced in the land of the dead, a choice equal parts bold and foolish. He dressed like Araminta did, and at that thought, Ilga forced down a smirk.

Ibara spoke first, as the eldest. "Say your piece and watch your tongue. We do not take kindly to calling someone Lord."

And that was such a painfully British choice. Ilga had a moderate knowledge of Muggle history and knew that while the Muggles might have colonized most of the modern world at one point or another, the wizards had never been in the playing field, always torn up with fighting between the petty noble families and wars against Goblins. And yet, the wizards seemed to carry with them the highest mark of arrogance without ever earning it.

This Lord Voldemort would have to work to gain their respect. The rest of the world might fear his rise, but the true mark of power wasn't fear. It was ignorance. No one feared any of those seated at the table because they were already in control. No one knew they should be afraid.

He bowed his head, first to Ibara, then to the rest of the table. His head was bone white, an eerie shade to see.

"Thank you for this opportunity. As you all well know, the world now has seen that I have returned, and with me, my philosophy, drawn from those such as your esteemed selves. That blood and power and magic rule above all else."

He truly had the tongue of a snake, speaking with a certain gravitas, a charm that was easy to fall into. She had heard, once, that he had been quite handsome. And with those two factors, it was easy to see how he had amassed followers.

"My country, from the time I was a boy, has been torn between this set of beliefs and another, an insidious system insisting on the rights of those who lie rightfully below us. One that makes it close to impossible, I'd assume, for any of you sitting here to exert your influence there."

Ilga refused to blush. The Vildevaldes were primarily Russian. This was not on her family, not as much as it was on others.

Surprisingly, it was Anagonye who spoke up, his honey voice fiercely contrasting the sharpness of his words. "What makes you think we want England? Your people have no new money, land, or numbers to contribute to ours."

Voldemort's voice was silky. "We have tradition. The headquarters of Gringotts. The birthplace of Merlin and Nimueh and Morgana. There's a heart to magic at home, in the wildness of the moors, that is fierce and untamable. Until now. If you offer your support, our victory and dominion over England will be unquestioned and absolute.

You ask why. You, it is true, have done well to be in your positions. What else could you need? Well, I ask: what could you gain? England has gone untouched, unexplored, by any of us. It's riches and advantages still lie untouched, just waiting for your hands to grasp it."

Oliveira spoke next, a smoker's rasp. In the dim light, it was easy to see that Voldemort's eyes widened. Even he, it seemed, knew of the rumors. "You speak of victory, yet you have lost your war fourteen years ago. How can you guarantee our efforts would not be wasted?"

He twisted his head, a snake-like motion. "I was thwarted by chance and fate."

Pytr cut him off, snide. "By a baby."

Ilga truly did smirk. Pytr should have kept his mouth shut. Sloppy, sloppy…

Voldemort's voice got softer, yet she could hear the power coming off him. Vasiliev shouldn't have gotten the man worked up. Emotions were strong motivators and even better on men like him.

"By a prophecy. But I have survived, despite what it predicted. I have come back, striking fear in the hearts of every witch and wizard in England. Their heads are in the sand after years of so-called peace. They are not prepared, putting all their hopes into the hands of an old man and a child. Harry Potter is a hormonal teenager whose greatest magical feat has been gawdy light magic. He is alive only by the grace of Albus Dumbledore, who will also die, already old and weak."

Sickly-sweet Araminta spoke. "Then it's settled. You kill Albus Dumbledore and then we consider you. We expect results by the next passing of Litha."

This seemed to strike Lord Voldemort mute. For a moment, the room trembled with the sheer force of his fury, tightly leashed. What a wonderful, powerful beast. Unfortunately, he brought himself back under control.

"Thank you for your time." He bowed once more, before sweeping out of the room.

Araminta laughed in her ear. "He talks too much."

Ilga grinned. "What will you do if his actions match the magnitude of his words?"

"I suppose I'll be first in line for England, then."

Wiltshire, England

Severus supposed it could be worse. He could be preparing for tomorrow night's feast, where he would inevitably be forced to watch Gryffindor win the House Cup again, after fooling around an entire year, due to the foolish antics of Potter. All the Death Eaters could be there, in a meeting that these days, felt disturbingly like the professors' meetings held monthly, only with the threat of torture instead of a lessened paycheck.

It was strange, that he felt little fear at the prospect of his individual meetings with the most dangerous wizard alive. Perhaps he just cared that little for his life.

More likely, he just hated listening to Bellatrix's snide commentary and Wormtail's wheezing that much.

"My lord," he murmured, kneeling down in a smooth motion.

"Severus," the man acknowledged, lazily raising a hand. "Rise."

He did so. He tried not to think about too much of anything, though, despite himself, he worried, something smarter than his conscious thought recognizing that some part of their equilibrium was off.

"Yes, my lord," he said, rising with the same ease. It was rather sad that this was the extent of his physical coordination. Severus would have liked to be good at something other than kneeling.

There, he stood in silence, hands clasped behind his back, letting his subconscious work.

"I have a task for you," the Dark Lord spoke, and something clicked. He had heard that tone before, and it led to him spending half a week at Spinner's End trying to figure out how to work what Muggles called a computer, until the chatty librarian had come over.

He already hated Percy Jackson for that, on principle. And for being so elusive that not one person had figured out where he had disappeared to for five months. Or what had happened during that trip which caused him to come back home a wizard.

"Anything you request will be my pleasure to fulfill," he said, while clamping down on the thought that this was going to be bullshit.

His two masters were more similar than they liked to think. The Dark Lord, too, decided to open his order with a backstory. "I once visited South America, about forty years ago, to draw support for my campaign here. During my time there, I made an ally with the heir of the Oliveiras. I had expected her continued support of the cause, now, as we had spent a… considerable amount of time working together towards the same goals."

He paused. Severus took the moment to hope that this woman wouldn't show up with reinforcements. The last thing he needed was for the burgeoning civil war to turn into a worldwide event.

It didn't help that he could only picture her as an older, crazier version of Bellatrix.

"She was not sitting as the heir of her family when I spoke to The Tredicim. I believe that if she had been there, they would have seen sense then, instead of forcing me to wait another year. I would like for you to find her. Perhaps a more… direct method of communication would allow for our plans to move forward at a quicker rate."

"Of course. May I ask what her name is?" Severus asked.

The Dark Lord nodded. He, too, seemed distracted. "Estella Oliveira, when I knew her."

For a brief second, time stood still as Severus threw up every mental shield he had. He knew he had a good mind, but quite honestly, it would take an absolute moron not to connect the dots. Estella Oliveira was not acting as the heir, as she was forty years ago. Thirty-four years ago, Estella Jackson died in a plane crash, along with a man with a very Muggle name. Where else would a witch run to if she had gotten pregnant with a Muggle's child? The Oliveiras were brutal people. They would have killed the baby, if not her as well, upon discovery.

And, of course, Albus Dumbledore would be wary. That family had backed Grindelwald heavily. One of the cousins, he knew, left the scar on the Headmaster's knee. Severus had the lingering suspicion that he was worried one of them would try to bust the German wizard out of his prison.

And then, Severus made a decision, letting time slip back to normal.

"My lord," he began, only hating his words a little. "I believe I know of her."

The wizard's attention snapped to him, coming back to himself for the first time in their conversation. It was such a heavy thing.

"Tell me."

Severus's heart beat on, steady. He was well aware he was throwing them to the wolves, but the Jacksons had always been a minor piece in a grander game. The truth, if the Dark Lord was after it, would come out either way, and if Severus beat it, he'd gain even more trust. If he didn't, he could lose it all, protecting some almost-Muggles.

They'd never win out over Potter. Over his honor. Over Lily's son. He'd never pretended to be in the fight for anything but that.

Severus told Lord Voldemort everything he knew. With any luck, he'd be distracted enough by the concept of a wizard in America that, across the pond, they'd buy more time.

A/N:

1.) I worked out the timeline towards the end of OotP, and it seems like the end of term is always July 1st, meaning that there's roughly a little over a week in between the battle at the Ministry and Harry's return to the Durselys. This first chapter covers that time, and though the timeline might not be entirely correct, Rowling and Riordan weren't sticklers either, so I'll be playing with it a little. Like my original draft, both stories are taking place in the modern day, and the Heroes of Olympus had an accelerated timeline, lasting from January to May for the sake of the story. If Percy is still fighting in the middle of July, it doesn't give him enough time to learn about magic.

2.) The Buzzfeed Unsolved episode covering Percy Jackson and the mention of Sally writing a trashy romance novel about her life were both inspired by tumblr posts that I loved so much I decided to make them canon!

3.) Litha is another way to say Summer Solstice, which is a Wiccan holiday. I figured purebloods would be very into those dates! I'm calling the international purebloods The Tredicim, which translates to the Thirteen, which is also a significant Wiccan number.

4.) Wiltshire is supposedly where Malfoy Manor is.

5.) I hoped you liked the OCs. They shouldn't be returning because this is NOT an OC centered fic, but you will be seeing some more, either to mix up narration or to give some perspective on what's happening on a different scale. I'm not planning on just re-telling the Half-Blood Prince with Percy in it, and one of the ways I want to mix that up is with international wizard politics coming into play. If Voldemort could recruit European giants, why not recruit foreign wizards, too? Let me know if you liked the section with them, or if I should cut down that subplot.

6.) That being said, if you don't like OCs and did not read their sections, this is what you missed: a librarian helps Snape work a computer so he can figure out that Percy went missing and showed back up in May (bc I firmly believe he would not be able to do it alone) and a bunch of wealthy, international pureblood families meet up several times a year, and this time, Voldemort was there to get support. They told him that before they'd work with him, he'd first have to kill Dumbledore.

Thanks so much for reading!