A Letter or Two

The Daily Prophet could not churn out enough special editions with headlines that read, "ATTACK ON HOGSMEADE! WHO IS TO BLAME? ARE OUR CHILDREN SAFE?" Or "MAGICAL SERPENT FOUND PRESENT AT HOGSMEADE DURING DEATH EATERS ATTACK! IS THIS THE SIGN OF A NEW DARK LORD?" And more importantly, "DEATH EATERS STILL AT LARGE! WHAT IS THE MINISTRY OF MAGIC DOING TO PROTECT US?! To be continued, please turn to page 4."

"NEW GURG GIANTESS PROMISES PEACE! SON IS A WIZARD! HOGWARTS CARETAKER RUBEUS HAGRID! LEARN OF HIS FALSE ACCUSATION AND INCREDIBLE ROAD TO INNOCENCE! To be continued, please see page 2."

Lastly, ROWAN PRINCE A PARSELMOUTH! THE HOGWARTS BOARD REVEALS THE EXISTENCE OF THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS! PLANS FOR THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS TO BE REPURPOSED FOR STUDENTS USE! To see future the plans of Chairman Malfoy and the Hogwarts board, please see page 5.

However, the ripples of the attack on Hogsmeade are far more profound. The undercurrents of their known magical world will shift. Even more so from the impact of the countless letters Reginald Prince sent out that afternoon.

One of which arrived at a smaller simplistic manor with elegant furnishings. With the death of Livius Rowle, the title of the family head would have passed to his son, Thorfinn Rowle. Yet Thorfinn Rowle had perished under mysterious circumstances. The title reverted to the previous generation, the generation of Livius's father.

Otus Rowle had long passed away having successfully passed the title to his only son, Livius. With the title reverting to the previous generation, there are two possible heirs, Owain and Lycus Rowle, the two older brothers of Otus. As the youngest child, Otus Rowle should have never been declared the family head, but the circumstances were that they are permitted it.

Firstly, the eldest Owain Rowle sought out a rare, powerful magical artifact in the depths of Papa New Guinea. Perchance Owain was successful or maybe too successful. Nevertheless, it is widely believed that a Lethifold ate him as his body was never found except for the family ring. A Lethifold consumes the victim entirely including clothing but will spit out metal objects being unable to digest them.

The second borne, Lycus Rowle fit all the qualifications of the heir except for being tainted by a vicious beast. An enemy of the family had unleashed a pet werewolf upon them. The Rowles had won without casualties, but Lycus Rowle had been bitten. A werewolf could be the next family head as such the title passed to the youngest son, Owain Rowle.

n the depth of the manor inside a classical study stands a large man with elegant slicked-back white hair, Lycus Rowle. He is a good-looking man for his age with broad shoulders and a muscular body. The only mar to his chiseled features is three claw-like marks running down the side of his cheek. A former werewolf, but now cured, and more importantly the family head after the death of his nephew, Livius Rowle.

Setting down the letter, Lycus Rowle's cold eyes pass over his niece inspecting her. Euphemia Rowle is a rather dour-faced young woman with a thick face and pasty skin. Her golden hair is neatly pulled up in a coil. Her dark clothing although simple is expensive.

"It would appear that Sanderson pays well does he not?" Lycus matter-of-factly inquired.

Euphemia's cobalt-colored eyes flicker with uncertainty. The typical prideful young woman is quiet and demure. "Yes, uncle."

"There is no shame in being employed," Lycus gestured with his hand. "No matter, what my nephew, your father might have thought of a young woman of your station being employed, I did not agree. If one has the capability, I believe they should be fully utilized."

A flicker of relief flashes through Euphemia's cobalt-colored eyes, but she still does not lower her guard. Her uncle had always been able to outwit her father. And though she had matured after the death of her father and in the tutelage of Sanderson, she is far from being his match.

"Cousin Maribel, is she well?" Lycus inoffensively asked.

Euphemia stiffens and peeks up at her uncle from underneath her eyelashes. Sensing that he meant no harm, she replies, "Cousin Maribel is well. She keeps busy with her herbal shop in London." This is all true since Cousin Maribel recently came into money allowing her to finally open her own shop.

"The shop is in muggle London just outside of Diagon Alley is it not?" Lycus thoughtfully asked. "The location is suitable for her clientele which includes muggles as well."

The pasty skin of Euphemia dramatically pales. "Cousin Maribel means nothing by it, uncle! She is merely earning her hard-earned coin in the only manner that she knows how."

"I am not offended by Cousin Maribel's choice," Lycus stared down his nose at his niece. "I am not your father, Euphemia, you would do well to remember that."

"Yes, Uncle."

Having sufficiently cowered his niece, Lycus sits down. "I plan to reinstitute Maribel as a Rowle and extend that same courtesy to her half-blood son, Peter Pettigrew."

Euphemia blinks up in shock her mouth flops open before closing with a sharp snap. A wary expression appears on her face, "And why so generous uncle? Cousin Maribel is only a fourth-cousin, there is no reason for such care."

"That is for me to know," Lycus truthfully answered, "But if it will comfort you to know, I mean Cousin Maribel and her son no harm." Indeed, it is a cheap price to acknowledge the two of them in exchange for a blood debt being forgiven.

Euphemia lets out the breath she had been holding. "Then I shall gladly convey your words to Cousin Maribel."

Lycus dismissively gestures at Euphemia, who rises and respectfully bows to her uncle. "And my belated congratulations on successful negotiations with the Greengrass family uncle."

"The Greengrass branch descended from Terrance Greengrass is most numerous," Lycus acknowledged with a proud expression. "There is a suitable daughter of age, Edna Greengrass, the daughter of Mordecai. Although I would have much rather preferred to wed one of the daughters of Benedict, but alas, they are all wed."

Euphemia makes a strange face at the mention of Edna Greengrass. The two of them disliked each other being close in age. And now, the arrogant chit is going to become her aunt! She really didn't know how to feel about that.

At the same time, there is a sense of relief and slight pity for Edna. With the death of her father, Euphemia would not have to wed unless she chooses to. Though if her father had lived, he would have likely married her to a widower close to her uncle's age. It is the tragic fate of many young, unwed pureblood witches.

Uncertain of what to say, Euphemia weakly asks, "And when shall the wedding be?"

"As soon as possible," Lycus briskly responded. "The younger sister, Rosie Greengrass is to wed Peregrine Mulciber very shortly. Mordecai and Phyllis Greengrass have agreed to host a smaller wedding in the utmost expedited fashion."

Euphemia hides a knowing expression as best as she can. She knew Edna Greengrass very well, and there is no manner in which Edna Greengrass would willingly accept a lesser wedding than equal or even more grandiose wedding than that of her younger sister. Without a doubt, Edna must be throwing a fit of epic proportions. But no matter how unwilling Edna might be, there is no turning back. The betrothal contract would have without a doubt been most eagerly signed by Edna's parents.

"I shall see myself out, uncle," Euphemia politely excused herself leaving Lycus alone in the study.

Reaching for his quill and parchment, Lycus pens a brief reply stating that his Cousin Maribel and her half-blood son, Peter Pettigrew had been accepted back into the Rowle line. "That ought to satisfy the old Prince," he muttered before summoning a house elf to deliver the letter.

Afterward, Lycus returned to penning a couple more letters. He had to strengthen the Rowle name and wash away the sins of his nephew. And by showing that he is willing to marry a daughter of the Greengrass Veela descended branch, he showed he was both a traditionalist and Progressive. It showed him as neutral in the political atmosphere which is precisely his aim.