Chương 27: Trading Rights

1991 August

For every story, there is a prologue, a tragedy to every hero, and a hope for every sacrifice.

We all become stories in the end.

This was the truth that Alana lived by. The image of Gaia's sanctuary only reaffirmed this belief with its haunting beauty. The adorned walls which may have once inspired awe had lost their splendour all too quickly. Her reality was forced immortality, an eternity of death. She would watch as the world decayed before her. She would act as Death's sword and shield, it's scythe.

Alana's eyes were not the only to witness the death of the woman who had taken one step too many down the streets of Knockturn. The brunette could barely be considered an adult with willowy limbs and almond eyes. The life was removed from those irises piece by piece as Alana drew a silver blade across the woman's throat. Blood dripped from where her fingers clenched the thin neck. The woman choked, blood filling her throat and spilling out of her angry mouth. It dripped to the floor in a steady beat. Alana dropped the corpse, none too eager to watch the life leave its eyes. The sight still brought her some discomfort.

She didn't say a word as she shoved the woman aside to take her seat. The occupants of Harley's had stilled at the display, but she couldn't have cared less at that moment. Raymond clapped a hand on her back, and she clenched her jaw in distaste. Some days, she questioned why the heads of the underground were so eager to let her draw the blade across those who broke the rules. Perhaps, they thought it would be more of a statement. Perhaps, they wanted someone easy to blame. Or maybe, they simply took joy in seeing her take a life as most who did didn't live to tell the tale. Her blade was wiped with the black cloth she kept for such occasions. She didn't need to see the red to know she had killed.

"We don't tolerate snitches," Raymond spoke the words with deadly calm. His Scottish brogue drowned the thoughts of all present. "There is no place for weakness in Britain."

Alana gazed emptily at her empty glass while the man continued his usual speech. He had slowly but surely been taking over Raoul's role, though whether this was with the man's blessing or not, she had no idea. Regardless, it left a sour taste in her mouth. He ruled with an iron fist that had grown suffocating in recent weeks. Being paraded about as though she was his personal hitman only fed the annoyance brewing uncomfortably in her chest. She had taken to using growth potions with fervour to reduce the risk brought by increased publicity. The current trending rumour going around was that she had previously been taking age reducing potions. It seemed to help people sleep better, thinking that children weren't murdering people.

Raymond had been pushing his luck with her, and she knew the man wouldn't stop until she made a stand against him. He was waiting for her to protest so he could break her more effectively. Such a good friend he was. With the increased frequency of his examples, she was mildly surprised the ministry hadn't caught on. Then again, perhaps they had and simply didn't care enough to intervene. The ministry would never openly attack Harley's for fear of throwing the underbelly of British society into chaos, but that didn't mean the rest of Knockturn wasn't fair game. She wasn't safe. One slip and anyone of them would be a goner. She left the tavern with heavy thoughts weighing on the back of her mind. She did not like the direction Harley's had taken, but she could hardly complain if she wasn't willing to do something about it.

A few days later, Alana sat in Azrael's library pouring over ancient tomes with a quill and chalk in hand. The room was as quiet as the grave with as many dust mites in the air as there were books on the shelves. The window, an ancient thing framed by heavy curtains, let in a stretch of light which lit her worktable. She was reading The Ars Notoria, a book which provided a somewhat exciting contrast to some of her darker books on the rituals and etiquette of demonology. There were a number of other books stacked beside her which further revealed the reason for her concentration: Apparitions and Apparition, The Legacy of Da Vinci in Runes, and Fidoro's Analysis on Wizarding Transportation. The assortment indicated the nature of her current project: A new system for apparating. Alana had an inkling that reading up on the subject would immensely improve the chances of her success in creating a new addition to her summons. She was correct in her assumption. Ding!

Notification: New Creation in Mindscape!

Would you like to make a new creation in Mindscape?

YES or NO

Notification: New Creation in Mindscape!

Species: Quest System

Would you like to name your creation?

YES or NO

Creation: Sagittarius

Species: Quest System

Experience is the best teacher. Titles can be earned through completing quests. Rewards will be determined by the creator's knowledge. Note: Sagittarius cannot be levelled.

Alana grabbed the book that had materialised before her and ran her fingers across the leather front. There was a gilded pattern of thorny vines framing the edges, and a large clasp bound its weathered pages together. She unclasped the book gently and admired the solid binding with an appreciative gaze. Then she read.

Current Contracts:

-n/a-

Side Quests:

Kill Fairies (230/1000)

Reward: Title - Fairy Hunter - Increased resistance to Skill: Allure

Kill Vampires (54/500)

Reward: Title - Vampire Hunter - Skill: Physical Aura Control (active)

Kill Werewolves (12/500)

Reward: Title - Wolf Hunter - Skill: Magical Aura Control (active)

Acquire Contracts (198/500)

Reward: Title - Persuasive - Increased proficiency in Skill: Legilimency

Complete Contracts (198/500)

Reward: Title - Perfectionist - Increased proficiency in Skill: Occlumency

Acknowledge Patron (2/500)

Reward: Title - Devout Follower - Increased benefits in related rituals

Main Quests:

Destroy the Philosopher's Stone (0/1)

Request: Life Reward: Instant Apparition Pack (10/10)

Destroy Dementors (0/350)

Request: Death Reward: Death's approval

Drink from the skulls of your enemies (0/500)

Request: Chaos and Pain Reward: Wandless Crucio Pack (5/5)

Current Titles:

- Follower of Death - Skill: Language of the dead (active)

The sound of cursing filled the house as Alana hurled a particularly sharp quill so hard that it lodged itself in the wall. Her eyes were wild as she glared at the bottom three quests and growled.

"Bloody deities! Approval my ass!" She screamed in frustration and resisted the urge to hurl the old tome in her lap. She shoved it off her instead and began to pace the room. Her posture was rigid as she fumed internally. She swore Death was messing with her. Oh, the first five quests had been tolerable, generous even, but the last three.

She glared scathingly at the notification box. Now the deities were making requests of her. Life, Pain and Chaos weren't even her patrons, and the buggers had managed to slide one in. She imagined the four deities giggling beside each other as they wrote the quests and glowered. Apparently, Death's Approval was worth doing the impossible for. How did one even destroy a dementor?! It was unheard of! And don't get her started on the Philosopher's stone. Hadn't these fuckers heard of Full Metal Alchemist! She was doomed! Doomed!

While Alana continued to curse her lot in life, the deities were celebrating their own good fortune.

"Ha, hahaha! Your child is hilarious, Death!" Pain was hunched over, laughing at Alana's reaction with tears in his eyes. Death turned his faceless hood towards the lower deity with refined interest. Tattered shadows clung to his tall frame, swaying like garments in a nonexistent breeze. His cloaked figure reclined arrogantly on an obsidian throne with a dull scythe resting against his thigh. The unmarked throne was the centrepiece of his very generous domain.

"Did you expect any less of me?" He inquired, and his voice echoed ominously across the never-ending space. Pain laughed again, albeit more nervously than before, and ran a dark-skinned hand through his white hair. His form could have almost been considered human if not for the long tail that swayed behind him and the short horns on his head. He resembled what most humans thought a demon to look like with slit pupils, short hair and sharp features. Beside him was a red-haired female with similar features but where his irises were gold, hers were an intense green.

The female Chaos shot Pain an irritated look before she allowed her dice to roll along the black, stone floor. "Four sixes," She lied and turned her attention back to the image reflected in the pool beside her. Death had undoubtedly, the best view of the mortal realm despite being the most recent deity to acquire a child champion. Then again, perhaps, he had found a way to watch the mortal realm from his without the aid of a child aeons ago. She would not put it past the scheming being. The laws that restricted smaller deities such as herself were not so relevant for Death who crossed multiple realms. The pool was a large circular hole in the black stone of Death's keep and showed a young soul throwing hexes at a dummy that looked suspiciously like Death's current form if such an image could be captured.

"I think she's lovely." The airily voiced comment came from the blond-haired bastard leaning in his own makeshift throne. He sat across from Death with his chin in his hand as he peered curiously into the depths of the viewing pool. The man was a great deal smaller than Death and fully human in appearance. His fair hair was long and silky, reaching his waist in the most sexually confusing manner possible. He was decked in green and white, colours which suited his motherly smile and tea-green eyes very. He was Life.

Much to Chaos' annoyance, Life had been visiting Death far more frequently in recent millennia. It meant that Death was far less likely to bend the rules for the two lower deities as Life a meticulous law abider. Chaos scowled at her dice as Pain called her out on her lie. At least Fate had left. She couldn't stand having the snobby, female deity constantly winning every game of Liar's dice. It was a well-known fact that Fate was addicted to gambling, and she would have been looked down on for it was she not so very good at it. Chaos cast a last look into the viewing pool and felt her features morph into a grin. It would be entertaining to see how the girl fared with her quests. She'd never seen such a clever manifestation of magic in that particular world and took immense pleasure in knowing that Death and his Alexis had such similar dispositions. Had they not been of such a similar mindset and strength of will, she doubted the linked mind magic would have worked at all. She would enjoy watching the two play, and she imagined the girl would learn to enjoy the game as well.

1991 August

Alana held the skull in her hands with an impassive face and walked up to the counter of the Knockturn Alley store.

"I'd like to get this made into a cup," She requested, and the clerk nodded without any visual reaction. Internally, Alana continued to kick herself for being such a pushover when it came to the deities. She was lucky that most ornament shops sold skulls and that finding a craftsman who could accomplish her task was not too difficult. It was, however, expensive as few people knew the tricks to make sure no dead spirits came back to haunt you for using their skulls as cutlery. Five hundred enemies was a lot for her, especially considering she had to give away the heads of most of them as proof of her jobs completion. It was a pain, but she suspected that was the point. She had no idea what to do about the dementors, so she left that task on the backburner and considered the stone.

The Philosopher's Stone was the creation of Nicolas Flamel, a French wizard, alchemist, scholar and scribe. According to a substantial amount of research, he was born in the 14th century and one of the oldest wizards alive. He was also close friends with Albus Dumbledore and had partnered with the man on more than one occasion. Alana had gone so far as to search up references to the man in muggle mythology, of which, there was an abundance. According to legend, an angel gave Flamel a magical book containing the secret to the stone's creation in a dream. He and his wife, Perenelle, had travelled the world to decode the script and accomplished the task in around 1382. The Stone was said to be able to turn lead into gold and create the elixir of life. The former seemed likely as historical records showed Flamel had become extremely wealthy after the year of its creation and donated nearly all of it to charity. The more she discovered, the more she had to begrudgingly respect the man. He had been the subject of multiple assassination attempts, abductions and death threats over the years due to his refusal to share the Stone's secrets. It was, therefore, unlikely that she would succeed in her quest.

Fortunately, she may not have to take action against the man. Assuming that her memories were correct – which they were – and that the entire plot of the first Harry Potter novel wasn't completely thrown off course by her presence, the Stone would be at Hogwarts this coming year. She prepared accordingly and warded her trunk to high heaven to protect her tools. The Stone had piqued her interest, though not as much as its creator. To turn lead into gold and grant immortality suggested a common branch of magic. The Stone being a transfiguration tool was the most likely option. She already suspected the Resurrection Stone to be a necromancer's instrument though she herself had no knowledge of the arcane branch of magic. She was eager to try a few experiments with the Stone before destroying it. A little extra gold surely wouldn't hurt her bank account.

1991 September

Alana boarded the Hogwarts Express eager to start her quest. Her Sycamore wand was practically vibrating with excitement in its holster. It was a markedly different experience from the previous year where she had moped the whole way. Now, she was quick to slide into the compartment with Lola, Charlotte and Leoen. She gave the company a dashing smile.

"Someone's in a good mood," Charlotte commented with an arched eyebrow. Her own violet eyes were alight with amusement, and a book was settled in her lap.

"I had an interesting holiday," Alana replied with a slightly more tamed smile. "How was yours?" She asked as she settled into her seat next to Leoen. The Volkov's mouth twitched at her arrival, and Alana smirked slightly at his attempted suppression of a smile. From his stories of his family's training regime, she imagined his own holiday to have been hellish, so she didn't do him the disservice of asking.

"I accompanied my parents on a business trip to Bulgaria. They were discussing the changes that needed to be made with their trading agreement. It's rather annoying having to work around the Black legacy. They still own half the ports there even though they're all incarcerated. It's ridiculous if you ask me. We've managed to chip away at their estate a bit, but it's slow going," Charlotte complained. Lola patted her friend on the back consolingly.

"My parents and I went to Ireland for a bit. We were looking around the ruins for one of my papa's archaeology projects. It was fun," The girl shared with a soft smile. Alana hummed in reply. Lola had been raised by two wizards, one who specialised in curse breaking and the other in ancient ruins. Their family trips always made for interesting stories and, more often than not, she'd find herself wanting to meet the couple in person. Their jobs sounded fascinating.

"I managed to get a new book," Alana said when both witches looked to her for her story. Leoen snorted in amusement at the answer.

"Figures," He mumbled.

The train ride passed with friendly conversation and an assortment of treats after the trolley lady passed by. It was a slow slip back into school mode as they moved from discussing holiday activities to the assigned homework and chosen electives. Alana was particularly happy she could drop flying classes.

They arrived at Hogwarts in a flurry of teenage angst and juicy gossip. Most of it revolved around the existence of one wizard who would be joining the school body that year. Harry Potter. Alana could sense the shift in alliances. It was most noticeable in the Slytherins and Gryffindors. The middle year levels were glaring at the other houses while the elder years kept silent vigil over their respective groups. The atmosphere was suffocating as they entered the Great Hall and took their seats. Alana searched for Lucian amongst the Slytherins and found him engaged in a conversation with the girl next to him. His shoulders were stiff, but he seemed otherwise comfortable. The same couldn't be said for Rowan Blackwood in Gryffindor who looked like someone had shoved his fencing sword down his spine. Needless to say, the copper-haired hunk didn't notice the girls fawning over him. She dearly hoped the tension wouldn't affect the fencing club, but she wasn't holding her breath.

Professor McGonagall began her yearly mission of leading the flock of new students into the Great Hall. The stern-looking witch stood, and her tight bun of black hair bobbed with the movement. It was rather ominous how quickly the hall quieted as she adjusted her glasses to read the name list. "Hannah Abbot," She began, and Alana heard half the hall let out a breath of relief. They weren't starting with Potter. The professor looked up to place the sorting hat on the girl's head.

A few seconds passed and then, "Hufflepuff!" Polite applause followed, and the next person was called up to be tried and tested...

"And executed," Alana mumbled, completing the thought.

"What was that?" Leoen asked.

"Oh, nothing," She responded quickly and returned her attention to the sorting.

Finally, the name was called. The name that should never be spoken. The name that caused the defeat of the greatest dark wizard of all- "Harry Potter," The professor announced. Alana flicked her gaze to the child shuffling his way up the stairs. He was a small thing with a black bird's nest that barely passed for hair and an unkempt uniform. He was too thin for a child his age, but she doubted anyone would notice, preoccupied as they were with his reputation. She was sure he'd be quite handsome when he was older, but for now, he appeared a scrawny, pale stick with vaguely feminine features and large green eyes. Alana could see why most commented on the Avada kedavra orbs. There wasn't really anything else remarkable about him. The boy managed to find his way to the stool without issue before his face was soon obscured by the sentient hat.

Hat Stall. The two words were murmured throughout the room. She could feel the unease of her classmates.

"Gryffindor!"

The delayed reaction to the hat's bellow had Alana quirking her lips in amusement. Then all hell broke loose.

"We got Potter!" She heard the shout from the two twins on her blacklist and narrowed her eyes. Maybe she should have roped the boy into Ravenclaw just to mess with them. On second thought, she'd rather not have the paragon of all things light and fluffy in her fence sitter house. The Gryffindors continued to celebrate while the number of scowling Slytherins increased. She almost felt sorry for the Potter boy. He had just made a great number of powerful enemies. Alana leaned on her elbows and scanned the teacher's table.

The trash defence teacher had 'mysteriously' disappeared during the holidays. An innocent smile flickered across her face. Mysteriously. Professor Kettleburn was also on extended leave by the looks of things. It was a shame, but she doubted it was the last she'd see of the man. The most interesting addition to the table, aside from the half-giant replacing him, was the new DADA teacher, Professor Quirrell, who carried the messed-up mug of the Dark Lord under his turban.

Lord Voldemort was a topic she didn't want to touch with a five-foot barge pole. He was the dark wizard that had dominated Britain after WWII, capitalising on the new-found fear of muggles and muggle-borns. It was he who had restructured the aristocracy, overturned the underground, championed the rights of dark species, and fought for the freedom to practice arcane magics. For all his accomplishments, like most leaders, he was cast from his position, his own body in fact, by his own arrogance and paranoia. Insane, some called him. Genius said others. You-Know-Fucking-Who.

Sure, she could kill him. Well, she could try. She wouldn't deny the thought had crossed her mind. However, she preferred to make enemies that stayed dead. The old man would probably come back as a fetus after a few years, and she'd have to kill him again. He had shattered his own soul for goodness sake, and he obviously had some brain cells left as well if he had managed to stop the darker purebloods killing each other for a few decades. She didn't have the motivation to hunt down the several soul pieces of Dark Lord for the good of wizarding kind or whatever codswallop they fed the public these days.

In any case, it was unlikely that she'd have the skill to find the pieces, let alone destroy them, without the guidance of a Horcrux, a soul piece. Voldemort was not gentle with his magic, and she had no illusions that he did not ward his anchors to living plane to high heaven and back. Her eyes flicked to Harry Potter who was surrounded by his new housemates already. He had no idea of the storm that was coming - raised like a pig for slaughter. The words used to describe the boy saviour had never seemed more accurate.