In between a couple of old buildings, a man in black wizard garb was currently relieving himself after a day of hard work at the office. The leads on the restricted-creature smuggler that he had managed to get out of his informant had not led to any meaningful arrests. Months of hard work—filling out papers, investigating, and getting chewed out by Amelia Bones for his lack of progress—had him needing a break, and quite a break he was having, currently emptying his bladder of the Firewhisky and goblin grog he had downed earlier. Just as he was about to zip up his pants and head back inside the bar, his world went black as he crumpled to the ground—someone catching his body before it could make contact with the cobblestoned ground and lowering him against the side of the building.
"Sorry, mate—just bad luck on your part," I muttered as I activated the Essence of the Hivemind. His resistance crumbled instantly, his mind opening like a book as his memories became mine. Dueling in shadowed alleys, drafting endless reports, long nights of paranoia waiting for ambushes—I absorbed it all. The spells, the instincts, even the bureaucracy. It all settled into me like I had lived his life myself. Shoving some Galleons into the man's coat pockets for his troubles and casting a quick Rennervate to rouse him, I quickly apparated back to the Cross estate.
One thing I did not have on my hands before the interview with Dumbledore was time. Absorbing this Auror's memories and experiences was a neat way to bridge the gap and get a head start on the knowledge I would need to be an effective teacher of Defense Against the Dark Arts. Any gaps in the knowledge I still had after the absorption I had perfect confidence I could fill using a combination of my essences, some NZT, and a monster crash course in the Cross library.
Once his experiences were cataloged, I turned to the Cross family library. This house was mine now, but due to my established background, the spells inside were far older—generations of knowledge the "Cross family" had stored over the course of centuries. Shelves packed with tomes detailing curses designed to break enemies, rituals meant to bind husband and wife together into something more powerful than the sum of their parts. Sharing magic. Sharing vitality. This was the main legacy of the Cross family—the magic of the coven passed down. The more wives the Cross man had, the more powerful both he and his wives would be.
Hours bled into days as I studied those rites, experimenting with minor curse matrices and their counterbalances. The Cross legacy was cruel but efficient. It would serve me well.
While studying in the lounge, Biddy brought me a letter from the Wizengamot—a reminder that the next quarterly meeting would be in the next couple of days and that I, as a member of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, had the right to attend. Now this would be interesting: my first foray into the magical world and a chance to see some of the families mentioned in the books. This would give me the chance to gather information and potentially gain some brownie points with Dumbledore prior to the start of the school year. If I was seen supporting the "light faction" publicly, then it would likely guarantee my hiring for the Defense Against the Dark Arts post.
Looking through recent newspapers and literature, I now had a decent idea of the recent goings-on of the British wizarding world. It wouldn't do for me to show up ignorant of political matters and smear the reputation I had set up using the backstory I had created here.
The Wizengamot Meeting
Just a week before the interview with Dumbledore, I apparated into the Ministry. The Wizengamot chamber was a theater of purple robes and self-importance, filled with families clinging to influence.
I knew the factions well enough by then:
Light, led by Dumbledore, pushing for reform.Neutral, the Greengrasses keeping their cards close.Dark, blood purists and ex–Death Eaters plotting to cling to old ways.
Entering the chambers and quietly finding a spot to sit, I began to look around. Sitting near me was a beautiful, dark-skinned woman of stunning beauty; she reminded me of Sheva Alomar from the Resident Evil game I'd played in the past—though now wearing a formal dress and with a melancholic air about her. Everyone around her, however, seemed to be looking everywhere but at her. I heard one woman whispering next to me to another in a gossipy tone, "Liliana Zabini—don't want to get near her. Rumor has it each of her husbands was done in by her. Married seven times she was, and all of 'em ended up dying in 'convenient' circumstances."
Liliana POV
They whisper again. They always whisper. I can feel the eyes at the back of my neck every time I step into a gathering—witches with their smug little smirks, men with their sudden silence. No one says it to my face, of course. They don't dare. But I hear it in the shift of their voices, the way conversations cut short as I pass by: "Seven husbands. All dead. And all rich. Coincidence?"
Coincidence. That cursed word has defined my life. They all think I schemed, that I poisoned them one by one for their Galleons. A black widow. A vulture draped in velvet. And yet, Merlin help me, I loved each of them in my own way. Each loss tore something from me—and with every death, I was left with nothing but another rumor. Another scar. Another layer of ice around my heart.
Husband One: a kind-hearted curse-breaker. Brave, but reckless. A tomb in Egypt collapsed on him during an expedition. They said I arranged it, as though I could bend sand and stone to fall on command.
Husband Two: a duelist of some renown. He drank too much after losing a match, stumbled into Knockturn Alley, and never walked out again. They found his wand shattered beside him. The whispers said I hired the killer.
Husband Three: a merchant—older, gentle. His heart simply failed one night as he read by the fire. Natural causes. But of course, to the gossips, I slipped something into his tea.
Husband Four: a Ministry official. He drowned in a boating accident at his family's summer estate. They claimed I pushed him overboard, as though I'd been waiting in the shadows like some murderous siren.
Husband Five: a healer, too generous for his own good. He caught dragon pox while tending to patients at St. Mungo's. Even illness is blamed on me, as though I conjured the pox myself.
Husband Six: a charming gambler. He crossed the wrong goblins, and they made him pay. Everyone knows how goblins deal with debts. And still—still—they murmured that I had orchestrated his ruin to claim the vault.
Husband Seven: the one that broke me. Young, foolish, but he made me laugh again after years of grief. A broom-racing accident. He fell from the sky before my very eyes. His neck snapped when he hit the ground. I screamed until my voice was gone. They said I sabotaged his broom.
Seven men. Seven tragedies. Seven nails in the coffin of my reputation.
Now, no one dares to come near. Men turn away, terrified they'll be the next corpse. Women treat me like a contagion, whispering as if my very presence curses their marriages. And so I sit here, gilded cage around me, wealth piled high, heart hollow, reputation ruined.
I didn't kill them. I never killed any of them. And yet, I live as though I did.
Merlin help me, I just want someone—anyone—to see the truth. To look past the gossip and the gold. To see me.
Liliana POV end
Looking at this woman, I just couldn't reconcile this beauty tinged with sadness with the murdering gold-digger I was hearing whispers about around me. For one, I could tell by the jewelry she wore that it was of fine make but hardly excessive. Her dress, too—while clean and flattering—wasn't made of Acromantula silk, for crying out loud. Lastly, I could see past the rumors. I could see the loneliness inside her and the walls she had around herself to keep safe from the sting of another betrayal or heartbreak. Something about her made me want to reach out and introduce myself… to protect this woman.
Moving from my current seat, I sat right next to her and introduced myself. "Hello. Ethan Cross. Although born here, I'm unfamiliar with England—having only recently returned from studying in America at Ilvermorny and traveling the Asian magical community," I said, reaching my hand out in greeting.
Startled, she looked around as if I might have been talking to someone other than her—as if baffled by the idea that someone was actually unafraid to sit next to her and treat her like a human being. Seeing that I was looking directly into her eyes, she slowly raised her hand and placed it in mine. "Um… lovely to meet you, Ethan. You may call me Liliana—Liliana Zabini."
Touching my lips to her hand briefly, I smiled. "It seems I'm lucky to get the seat next to a beauty like you. Normally I would have had to fight off some other bloke for the opportunity," I joked.
She snorted, and a hint of a smile showed. "Like that would ever happen," she said, self-derisively. "You may not know this, but I have somewhat of a bad reputation," she added with a bitter smile.
"Well, whatever the case is, I can't possibly relate you to anything so negative. You seem to be a good person—I can tell these things."
Smiling, she was about to reply before the sound of a gavel striking wood rang out as the meeting started.
The beginning was extremely boring as the first motions of the meeting were discussed: formalities and inconsequential discussions on national trade and how the GDP of Magical Britain had increased by 0.01% since the last quarterly meeting.
After the most boring discussions were formally done, the floor was opened to all—any member of the Sacred Twenty-Eight could now speak up with any potential concerns or proposals.
The chamber of the Wizengamot buzzed with the usual low murmur of shifting robes and whispered politics. Lucius Malfoy rose smoothly from his bench, cane in hand, his pale face a perfect mask of patrician concern.
"Honorable members of the Wizengamot," Lucius began, his voice rich and cold, carrying easily through the chamber. "It has come to my attention that Hogwarts—our nation's most esteemed institution for magical education—recently employed a werewolf as a professor. A werewolf, entrusted with our children. Is this what we have come to? To allow dangerous half-beasts in positions of trust?"
A ripple of agreement ran through some of the darker benches. Lucius let it linger before continuing.
"I therefore move that this body reconsider the government's reckless policy of funding Wolfsbane Potion for werewolves. Why should taxpayer Galleons go to supporting such creatures? Without such funds, perhaps they will think twice before contaminating our society with their… condition." He smiled thinly, the cruelty just beneath his civility.
Dumbledore rose, eyes twinkling—but with steel rather than humor. "Lucius, surely you must understand that to withdraw funding for Wolfsbane is to invite tragedy. Without the potion, werewolves will lose what control they have, and the result will be more deaths, more attacks, and inevitably—more werewolves. If we care for the safety of our citizens, the answer is not to cut aid, but to expand it. I propose not only continuing the funding, but increasing it, alongside greater investment into ongoing cure research."
The chamber erupted in murmurs—some in favor, others hissing their disapproval.
I stood. My voice cut cleanly across the noise. "If I may."
All eyes turned. I didn't flinch.
"Lucius claims this is about protecting society. But what protection is there in starving werewolves of Wolfsbane? What protection is there in ensuring they lose control on every full moon? To do so will not make them vanish—it will make them multiply. Each attack creates another werewolf; each tragedy, another enemy. The burden on our communities will increase tenfold."
I leaned forward slightly, gaze locked on Lucius. "So tell me, Lord Malfoy, how is that protection? It is short-sighted cruelty disguised as policy. Nothing more."
Silence fell, sharp and cutting. Even those aligned with Lucius shifted uncomfortably.
"I support Headmaster Dumbledore's motion wholeheartedly," I continued, voice steady. "We must not let fear make us foolish. Increased funding is not just compassion—it is strategy. It prevents future victims and secures a safer society for all."
Dumbledore inclined his head toward me, a glimmer of approval in his eyes.
When the vote was called, wands raised, the tally was clear: Dumbledore's motion carried. To the surprise of many, even the Parkinson family raised their wand in favor.
Lucius sat down, his expression an impassive mask, but I caught the faint tightening of his jaw.
Ethan's Inner Monologue
There it is, I thought as I returned to my seat. Lucius' real goal wasn't policy—it was humiliation. A dig at Dumbledore, and by extension Lupin. He wanted to isolate the Headmaster, to brand him a reckless fool for trusting a werewolf. But Lucius overplayed his hand. He gave me the opening I needed, and I tore his argument to shreds in front of half the Wizengamot.
This chamber thrives on perception. If I want to build a reputation as a leader, as someone who can stand toe-to-toe with men like Malfoy, this is how it begins. With clear logic, with undeniable foresight. Every time Lucius tries to play puppet master, I'll be there to cut the strings.
I smirked faintly to myself. Let the dark faction take note: I am not Dumbledore's pawn. I am my own force.
My eyes drifted across the chamber and caught Narcissa Malfoy's gaze. She sat poised and elegant, her pale hands folded in her lap, but her eyes told another story.
When Lucius first stood, she hadn't looked proud. She hadn't looked like a loyal wife supporting her husband's politics. No—her eyes had been sharp, cold, and quietly resentful. Every word Lucius spoke had only deepened the faint tightness around her lips.
And when I rose to dismantle her husband's motion, Narcissa hadn't looked offended. She hadn't bristled at the insult to her family's pride. She had watched me with a different sort of intensity. Interest. Approval, even.
When the vote passed and Lucius stiffened, she leaned back in her chair, her face still schooled into aristocratic calm—but her gaze lingered on me. The faintest curl of her lips, the subtle tilt of her chin. The unspoken language of a woman intrigued. Looking closer, her eyes said everything. Regal, cold… and tired. Her marriage was ash. Lucius's body language screamed infidelity—subtle looks toward a young witch across the aisle as she comforted his stung pride, his ring absent from his hand. Narcissa noticed too, her lips pressed tight in scorn.
So that's how it is, I mused. Lucius married for power, but Narcissa? She married into a gilded cage. And now she's watching me like I'm the key.
Later on, after all business concluded, I stood and smiled, cutting through the noise. "I'll be hosting a ball at my estate," I announced. "It's time for the Cross family to reintegrate into Wizarding Britain. Too long have I been gone on my travels, and with my parents' recent passing, it is up to me to carry on their legacy. All present should expect invitations via owl with the details."
Reaching into my pocket, I pulled out a parchment and summoned a quill as I turned towards Liliana and wrote out the details—personally handing her invitation as I looked into her eyes and said, "I most especially hope you will attend, Miss Zabini, as I look forward to getting to know you better." Kissing her hand once again, I quickly left the venue before I could be bogged down by the crowd.
Back at the Manor
After the meeting, I returned home, dueling a copy of myself in the courtyard until my wand arm ached. Between sparring sessions, I pushed my body and mind further: charms, curses, duels, and—when I could focus—Animagus training. I wasn't sure yet what form would reveal itself, but the possibilities were endless.
As Biddy sent out the owls, the invitations would soon be arriving at the intended recipients.
The Greengrass Household
Far away, in the manor of the Greengrass family, a fire crackled as Lady Greengrass sat with her daughter Daphne.
"You've heard of the Cross heir?" she asked calmly, invitation in hand, sipping tea.
Daphne sighed, already wary. "Yes. Everyone has. He made quite the impression at the Wizengamot."
Her mother's eyes sharpened. "You're to get closer to him. Use the skills I've taught you—grace, subtlety, intelligence. The Greengrasses must remain relevant. With his influence, our house could thrive."
Daphne clenched her fists beneath the table. She wanted nothing more than to protect Astoria from the blood curse—not dance through politics or feigned smiles. But she said nothing, simply nodding as resentment smoldered beneath her calm expression.
The Parkinson Household
At the Parkinson estate, the mood was darker. Lord and Lady Parkinson sat with their daughter Pansy, their faces tight with worry.
"Our investments are collapsing," her father muttered. "The Ministry contracts are drying up. Without a new alliance, we'll be ruined."
As if on cue, an owl tapped at the window, bearing an elegant letter sealed with the Cross family crest. Lady Parkinson broke it open, eyes widening.
"A ball," she whispered. "Hosted by Ethan Cross himself." She turned to her daughter. "This is our chance. You'll catch his eye, Pansy. Marry into his wealth and secure our future."
Pansy recoiled, disgust curling her lip. "You want to sell me off? To some stranger? I won't!"
Her mother's voice was cold. "You will. Or we all starve."
But Pansy's thoughts twisted in defiance. She imagined some decrepit old wizard, drunk on power, dangling her like a trophy. She swore to herself she wouldn't play along—though deep down, curiosity stirred.
The Tonks Household
At a modest dinner table, laughter echoed. Andromeda, Ted, and Nymphadora Tonks were sharing a simple meal when an unexpected owl swooped in. The letter it carried bore the Cross crest.
Andromeda opened it, brows lifting. "Well, that's surprising. An invitation to a ball. From Ethan Cross."
Ted frowned. "Strange. We've been blacklisted from most of the Sacred Twenty-Eight gatherings since you left the Black family."
Andromeda smirked, turning to her daughter. "You know, Dora, you used to say you'd marry Ethan when you were a little girl. Followed him around whenever our families gathered."
"Mum!" Tonks sputtered, nearly choking on her stew. "That was—I was five!"
Her hair flashed pink with embarrassment, but beneath it, her heart skipped. She hadn't seen Ethan in years. What kind of man had he grown into?
Andromeda chuckled knowingly. "We'll find out soon enough."
Back at the Cross Manor
While owls carried invitations across Britain, I pressed deeper into the legacy of my family. Curses that could wither flesh, bind oaths, or twist magic itself into unbreakable shackles. Rituals that turned two into one—husband and wife bonded in magic as well as flesh. Dangerous knowledge—but power rarely came without risk, and with my abilities any side effects could be easily countered.
When mental exhaustion finally caught me, I left the library and gazed out over the estate grounds. Soon, the ball would gather the old families under my roof. Alliances would be forged, enemies revealed. Narcissa. Liliana. And others, too.
But first, my interview with Dumbledore.
Next Morning, The Interview
The spiral staircase carried me upward, stone shifting beneath my feet as if alive. At the top, Dumbledore's office waited—shelves of ancient tomes, odd silver contraptions humming, and the phoenix Fawkes perched serenely by the window.
"Mr. Cross," Dumbledore greeted, his eyes gleaming with curiosity. "Please, sit. Your recent showing in the Wizengamot was… impressive. Lucius Malfoy is not an easy man to cross, and yet you did so with reason and confidence."
I inclined my head, taking the seat opposite his desk. "Thank you, Headmaster. But I only spoke what needed to be said."
His fingers steepled. "Humility—admirable. Still, I wonder… tell me, Ethan, what are your thoughts on our society? The British wizarding world as it stands?"
I leaned back, studying him. "Truthfully? Stagnant. Tradition here is a double-edged sword. Yes, it has preserved culture—but it has also chained progress. In America, Ilvermorny embraces innovation. Magical research advances quicker; integration with the mundane world is less… hostile. Britain is behind the times."
His gaze sharpened. "Bold words for one so newly arrived."
I smiled faintly. "Bold, perhaps. But true. The wizarding world is small enough as it is. Our insularity—our obsession with bloodlines and secrecy—suffocates us. I dream of a future where anyone—wizard, witch, or even Muggle—could wield magic. A world not divided by birth, but united by ability."
The room went quiet, save for the gentle crackle of the fireplace. Dumbledore's brows lifted, and for a long moment he simply studied me. Then, to my surprise, he chuckled softly.
"A whimsical dream," he said, shaking his head. "I once knew another young man who believed much the same, though his methods… were less noble. You would do well to guard your heart against such temptations, Mr. Cross. The desire to uplift often strays dangerously close to the desire to control."
"I understand the risk," I replied evenly. "But dreams mean nothing if left idle. Someone must try."
His eyes twinkled again, though there was weight behind them. "And perhaps that someone is you. Very well. You are young for such a post, but youth carries strength—and Hogwarts has always thrived under those willing to challenge convention. The position of Defense Against the Dark Arts professor is yours, should you wish it."
I extended my hand, and he clasped it warmly. "I accept."
"Oh and Ethan this year at Hogwarts will be a little more... unconventional. We will discuss it again when you start officially the week before start of term." Dumbledore said cryptically. I just nodded as I turned around and laughed internally I already know about the Triwizard Tournament bud, but okay keep your secrets.
Leaving the office, the gargoyle sliding back into place behind me, I allowed myself a smirk. Dumbledore thought my words were youthful whimsy—the dream of a reformer too idealistic to succeed. But I knew better. The foundations were laid: politics, women, power—all converging. Soon, Hogwarts itself would be mine to shape.