When Danuliete killed someone, they tended to stay dead. The curse she had used was an old one, meant for a slow, agonizing end. Excruciating pain had racked his body, nearly unbearable, as shards of glass and barbed wire shredded his flesh. He still bore welted scars that crisscrossed up his arms, and across his torso, near his heart. Yet the curse had one cure: true love. That exception had been Danuliete's undoing. She had believed no one could love him, no one could love such a monster.

She had been wrong.

A sniviling, delusioned child had saved him with her doting alligence and love. He denounced her actions as driven by the want of power. Through nature's law he owed her nothing. Her sanity had been given, in return she gave him his life. Still he kept her alive, hidden away, her existence relying on his moods. The girl might still be of use, but he never would have brought her here to foil his plans.

Dropping his cloak into an empty chair, he performed several extensive locking and anti-easedropping spells, then pocketed his wand. "Well," he sneered, black eyes darting around the room. "We. Are. Here."

Grinning an alligator's smile, he turned to the two that accompanied him. They were back in this lair of brats for two things only. The objects were vital to his plans, and he would not misjudge. This time, Hogwarts would fall.

Prince John Paul would not fail.

He knew it wasn't real, knew she didn't love him really and she didn't care. It made her feel alive again after all the years of darkness and despair. That she still had this power over men after all these years. It gave her renewed strength. She loved his power at least and loved what he could give her. She would use him while it suited her ends.

She laughed a soft slow laugh. "Indeed how divine it is at last," she said and with a swish of her wand wiped the dust from a hard oaken chair and transformed it into a plush upholstered armchair. Unlike her sister, luxury had always appealed.

Then as the other two prepared the room and its environs she sat down, focused her mind and gradually slipped into another realm.

"Where are you?" she asked, "I'm here, come to see me, come to see me," she echoed and the response she got was satisfactory. The usual gruff voice, tinged with the love which she recognised as being reserved exclusively for her.

Daiva de Black, or Daiva Danuliete as she had reverted to calling herself, was indeed back. It had taken time. More time than she would care to admit to repair the damage of Azkaban. Her mind had been wandering, tipping more often than not into the abyss of insanity, but eight years incarcerated in such a place had taken its toll. Her hair was still shiny, black and vivid. Her smile flashed relentlessly. Yet there was a certain something in the backs of her eyes that was dead and hollow. Something that could never be repaired.

The old classroom had definitly changed and the presence of his partner could be felt. His partner and that woman who followed him. He leant over the book once more. The prophecy was grave and that woman would think it to be her own daughter who ould fufill it. He thought not.

The hour will come wrapped in fire,
To discover the deepest and darkest desires.
From forth the fatal loins a traitor will come,
From treachery and betrayal it will be done.

It was an old book, extremely old. Those sort of prophecies came from around the time of Shakespeare himself. He sighed and ran a hand through his short black hair. He turned to speak to his partner who, like always, had that woman wrapped around him.

"This is taking to long, John Paul. When are we going to get started?" His voice came out as an angry, strained, hopefull man, though that was not his intention. He had not seen nor spoken to her since almost eighteen years back. Daiva was calling to her now, this would not be the most favourite meeting of the day.

Slipping his arm around her thin waist, he held her to him, stroking her slick black hair, and treasuring what was his. She was his partner in crime, his Dark Queen, his... trophy. She should have been his originally, now she was, and if she ever betrayed him he would inflict worse pain on her than even that of eight years in Azakban.

"Soon," he answered the man, seeming unconcerned. His thoughts never left the plans for Hogwarts, for after Hogwarts, but he rarely let strong emotion show on his face. He looked over the book his accomplice held and nodded slowly. He knew the phrophsey word for word, had studied it extensivly in the time alloted. Nothing was overlooked.

"She will come. Tonight." He settled down onto the newly transfigured sofa, Daiva still hanging on him. "Then we may begin."

At first those who knew her best had been puzzled at her choice, but later had congratulated her on her far reaching sight and cunning. To marry into the de Black's, a Muggle loving, yet ancient and respected wizarding dynasty, would provide the perfect cover for her work. Who would suspect a de Black or look closely at their activities? No-one. Bertram was even a Ministry Auror. It was too perfect, too Daiva-like for words.

And Daiva had accepted their smiles, their congratulations, loving to be the centre of attention, the best, the Queen. She had contradicted none of it, for indeed all of it was true.

And yet there was more... a truth that was buried deep, that Daiva after eight years inside, could not even find within herself. Yet it was there.

Daiva Danuliete had come to Hogwarts in the autumn term and, just as she anticipated, her name had been read out of the Goblet as Triwizard competitor for Durmstrang. For Beauxbatons it was Frederic Corvaisier and for Hogwarts... Bertram de Black. Daiva at seventeen was beautiful and she knew it. She used and abused both her fellow competitors' obvious admiration for her, taking information given to her with a flashing smile and always the hope of more.

And perhaps the inevitable happened. Daiva won. She had never, indeed, lost anything in her life. And as she was raised aloft, triumphant at the Slytherin table, she caught the eye of Bertram at Ravenclaw. She caught his eye and held his gaze and in that moment for the first time in her life, genuinely felt - something.

At the closing ball, when he, amongst a hord of others, asked for her company, she said yes. She never intended anything to occur. Knew that JP was interested. Knew that it was an eligible match. But he was so much older than her. Daiva thought of him as quite an old man already. Not a love match, but a match of power and allegiance. And Daiva, out of all the Danuliete sisters, loved power the best.

Yet Bertram de Black was eighteen years old. Tall with slightly floppy dark brown hair and green eyes. He was well built and the way in which he held her in his arms that night, and the way that he looked at her that night...

They were married a year later, against the wishes of both their families. Bertram's parents, Charles and Elizabeth de Black, tried every power of reasoning with their only son. Brought out charts, forecasts, family books, but to no avail. They never quite forgave him. And were not able to stop the I told you so's from forming on their lips when, as far as they were concerned, the inevitable happened.

A year after that, they had their first and only child, a daughter, much cherished and loved and for a time they were happy. She continued with her own line of work, unbeknown to him, so concealment and lies were ever a part of their marriage. Yet when she looked at his handsome face, her heart turned over and she knew, that despite what her friends and family may think, she loved him. Leaving him, was the hardest thing she ever did. Yet power was still more important than love.

But all this was buried too deep, had been lost somewhere in the depths of Azkaban and Daiva now sat down on the sofa with JP, alive in body, but dead in soul.

She smiled vaguely at him.

Druscilla Danuliete broke through JP's charm entanglement with a savage sweep of her arm and entered the History of Magic Classroom.

And saw not two people but three. And the smile which had been reserved for Daiva broke, fell and smashed upon the floor as she gazed in absolute horror at the third occupant of the chamber.

The door opened with a bang and the spells swept away in a swift movement... so much for John Paul's unbreakable hideaway. He sighed deeply and turned from the table and the book and looked Druscilla Danuliete in the eyes. Her face fell like a rock from a cliff - not unexpected. He looked at her with a hidden expression of regret, but rememberance. She had been there for him and vice-versa and out of that comfort had come something that would most likely change the face of the Wizarding World today. This was what he was waiting for.

She adjusted her long black robe on her shoulders and went forward awkwardly into the room to greet Daiva, completely unable to deal with this new and horrifically unexpected turn of events.

Yet, as she bent down to embrace her sister, reclining languidly on a newly created couch, she knew why he was here and his presence confirmed her belief. For once Daiva had got it wrong. And perhaps he was needed. They needed their traitor after all.

She stood, holding her back awkwardly and turned to face JP the dislike evident in her face.

"So?" she demanded, "What now, oh great one?"

Druscilla Danuliete herself had finally crawled out of her corner. He absently touched his wand, remembering the pain she had inflicted on him. This was the worm who caused his sudden debacle, whose power he might have feared now except for one thing. That one thing had beaten her, left her defenseless, and would now contribute to her ruin. Revenge was all the sweeter because Druscilla loved her downfall, loved that which allowed him such freedom. She loved Daiva.

Silently he watched her face fall, watched the expression of his partner. It was an awkward reunion. Prince too cleared his throat as Danuliete broke off, turning to vent her rage on him. Standing up straight, he smiled smugly. He had waited more than a year for this.

"Hello Dru," he greeted, mimicking the words spoken first upon his prior arrival at Hogwarts. "And you know." He spoke coldly, looking down at her, a spark of hatred shining in his eyes. This time she would play no games with him. Before Danuliete had been the victor, but comparitivly, it would be a small victory. Yet he could not allow himself to gloat too long. The meeting with Danuliete was not aleatory. He had business to attend to.

"The objects. You are not in a position to break your word."

But to business. Personal dislike could be sorted... later.

"The Hufflepuff girl is weak and biddable. You should have no problem there. She will deliver. However I think that your choice for Ravenclaw leaves a lot to be desired. The Gates girl is powerful. She has been accepted into a great Auror school." She paused.

"Naturally the distraction will be caused, our traitor will fulfil her destiny, but the fourth object is..." her eyes flashed, he had got it wrong and Druscilla hated disorganised behaviour, "problematic," she concluded sharply.

Prince had chosen each of the servants for a reason, as well each conspiror knew. The Gryffindor girl because of her wand core, and because of the aura he felt radiating from her. She had wanted power, had wanted what he could offer her. She would come back easily. The Slytherin boy was the same. He thrived on pain, though his notions of his own abilites were overinflated. He would have to be taught, yet he too would return.

The other two servants were a different matter. The Hufflepuff child was weak, snivelling even. She had been terrified, and he revealed in her fear. She would bring him the third object. Yet the Ravenclaw girl... he had chosen her for revenge, to ruin her mother. Yet there was something else. Prince had chosen her because she was strong and would be difficult to break. He had no doubts, she would break, and in the meantime... he welcomed a challenge. Once the objects were his she would pay for her disobedience.

"Yes. The Hufflepuff object will be delivered." Prince repeated as sharply. "As will the Ravenclaw coin. I have not come here to be bested by an upstart student who believes she can resist. She may be powerful, but she is yet untrained."

"It has been too long," she said softly and lightly caressed the powerful Yew based wand that lay in her three quarter cut robe, black but with an edge of silver weave.

Her wand had done damage enough for one lifetime. Ministers had been so easy to charm, it was pitiful. "I am ready," she said her hollow eyes turing to JP.

Even without his wand, he was powerful enough to be felt in every crevice. Perhaps one of his partners could have matched him in cunning, in games, or in power. One thing made him the leader. It was ambition. Danuliete had thrown her brilliance away on a school that, to all appearences, she hated. Daiva made a mistake and landed herself in a dismal cell that equaled a living hell. The other man waited, merely planning to play his part. Yet Prince, like a spider spinning its web, plotted. He set the trap, ushered the victims toward it, then claimed the spoils as his own. It was a game he was good at.

All four felt the call. All had felt his presense since he arrived, but had they trusted their intuition? Well, either way. They would be arriving shortly. Few could resits Prince, none except Danuliete openly defied him.

The question was: who would arrive first? Who would resist? And finally, would another object soon be added to his collection?

He smiled, breaking off his concentration. They would come.

She waited.

Which did little to explain why she found herself staring at the door leading to the History of Magic classroom. There was no reason for her to be down there.

No, she thought, bitterly. There is always a reason. And he is it.

Every fibre of her being told her to leave, to run back upstairs to the common room and get help. She couldn't let it happen again. Maybe the Headmistress...

The Headmistress!

By some stroke of luck the Headmistress was already there! Pushing past Serenity, she threw herself at the Headmistress, clutching her robes tight. Tears fell harder, though when they had started she didn't remember. But at the site of their poor, strong Headmistress held captive by the evil Prince, killed any hope she had left.

The second year girl buried her face in the Headmistress' robes and sobbed.

Which had been her fatal error. In that moment the snotty child had somehow attached itself to her robes and actually seemed to be blowing her nose on them.

It was too much for Druscilla. Disgust and repulsion on her face she took her wand, bunged up the child's nose and stuck its hands together. She then propelled her, none too lightly towards the opposite wall, which she hit with a crunch and then slumped forward.

"Urgh," was all Druscilla said and, ignoring the brat, concentrated on a self cleanng charm for her robes.

Alex quickly made his way to the classroom, knowing without question where Prince was. Prince needed him. He liked that thought.

He entered the room, his wand in his hand just in case, but not raised. Whilst he knew he had Power at his calling, there was no need to give anyone a reason for him to show it... yet.