The 800th session of the Wizengamot commenced on 31st July 1956, with all the pomp and ceremony that usually accompanied such occasions. The ancient chamber buzzed with subdued chatter, punctuated by the occasional scrape of a chair or the cough of an impatient Lord. The room, with its high vaulted ceiling and walls lined with portraits of past members, seemed to hum with the tension that hung in the air. Today wasn't just another debate on broomstick regulations or cauldron thicknesses-no, today had potential for chaos.

Professor Albus Dumbledore, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, stood at the center podium. His half-moon spectacles glinted as he surveyed the room, his demeanor calm but his blue eyes betraying a flicker of interest. "The floor is now open to any heirs present who wish to claim their titles," he announced, his voice resonating through the chamber.

At the far end of the chamber sat the Knights of Walpurgis, their seats clustered together like a cabal of malevolent crows. Marvolo, better known in polite society as Tom Riddle, sat at the center of their group, radiating cool indifference. His sleek black hair and perfectly tailored robes gave him the appearance of a serpent coiled and waiting to strike. Around him, the usual suspects-Abraxas Malfoy, Eleanor Greengrass, Reinhard Lestrange, and the perpetually disdainful Cassiopeia Black-exchanged the occasional glance, each calculating what the day might bring.

It wasn't long before the reason for the day's peculiar energy made itself known. A young woman stood up and made her way to the central podium, her movements measured yet confident. Immediately, the Knights straightened in their seats, their curiosity piqued.

Eleanor, seated to Marvolo's left, leaned in ever so slightly. Her voice was low but carried a playful lilt. "That could potentially be our little miss," she murmured, her sharp grey-blue eyes tracking the girl's every move.

Marvolo didn't so much as glance at her. His dark eyes remained fixed on the woman as she ascended the podium. "We shall see," he replied, his tone as smooth and cold as marble, though there was a spark of interest in his otherwise impassive expression.

Abraxas, meanwhile, had taken to scrutinizing the young woman with the intensity of a jeweler inspecting a counterfeit gem. "She's just a child," he muttered under his breath, his aristocratic drawl laced with disdain. "Barely out of school robes, I'd wager."

"Looks can be deceiving, Abraxas," Cassiopeia remarked dryly, her silver eyes narrowing. "Or have you forgotten who we're dealing with?"

At the podium, the young woman cleared her throat, her voice cutting through the murmurs. "Greetings to all the Lords and Ladies of the Wizengamot," she began. Her voice was steady, resonant, with just enough authority to command attention. "Today, on the 31st of July, 1956, I, Alexandrina Victorina Peverell, do hereby officially claim the seats of House Peverell-"

The chamber erupted before she could finish her sentence. Gasps echoed through the room, and several members of the Wizengamot stood up in shock.

"The audacity," Reinhard whispered, his lips curling into a smirk. "A Peverell, of all things. What next? The rest of the founders themselves rising from the grave?"

"Don't tempt fate," Cassiopeia muttered, her tone acidic.

Alexandrina, unfazed by the commotion, continued. "-of House Gryffindor."

The shock in the room deepened. More members stood, their faces a mix of disbelief and intrigue. Alexandrina's calm demeanor remained unshaken, though a faint smile tugged at the corners of her lips.

"House Hufflepuff," she declared next, and the whispers became a roar.

"Mother Magic, she's collecting them like chocolate frog cards," Abraxas muttered, earning a sharp look from Eleanor, who was clearly enjoying the spectacle.

And then came the final blow. "And of House Emrys."

The chamber fell into a stunned silence, broken only by the faint sound of someone dropping their quill. The very name of Emrys carried a weight that no one in the room could ignore-a lineage steeped in myth and magic, thought lost for centuries.

At their table, the Knights exchanged glances, their expressions ranging from amusement to intrigue.

"Well, well," Eleanor said with a sly smile. "It seems we underestimated our little miss. She's not just a Peverell; she's an entire collection of ancient lineages. How terribly greedy."

"Or terribly bold," Marvolo murmured, his eyes narrowing as he studied Alexandrina. There was no denying her presence was a disruption, one that could not be ignored.

As if to solidify her claim, the ancient seats of each house glowed in unison, their light spilling across the chamber like the dawn of a new age. On Alexandrina's fingers, rings corresponding to each house gleamed brightly, their magic resonating with the seats as if in acknowledgment.

Alexandrina raised her right hand. "I do hereby swear to Mother Magic," she said, her voice steady, her gaze sweeping across the room, "to uphold my duties to these Houses and to vote as a responsible member of the Wizengamot."

The chamber erupted into chaos once more, but it was her final statement that truly sent shockwaves through the room. "My seats shall be grey."

The murmurs turned to outright shouting as Lords and Ladies debated what her declaration could mean. Neutrality in the Wizengamot was rare, almost unheard of, and to claim neutrality with the power of four ancient houses behind her was a bold, if not audacious, move.

Back at the Knights' table, Abraxas leaned back in his chair, shaking his head. "Grey seats? How very fashionable," he drawled, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

Eleanor chuckled softly. "It seems Alexandrina Victorina Peverell has made her grand entrance. What do you think, Marvolo?"

Marvolo Slytherin sat in his designated seat at the Wizengamot, his posture impeccable, his expression unreadable save for the faintest twitch of his lips-a dead giveaway of the storm brewing beneath his polished exterior. Alexandrina Victorina Peverell. The name alone was enough to cause an itch in his mind, an irritation that neither logic nor reason could quite smooth over.

Marvolo didn't respond immediately. His dark gaze remained fixed on Alexandrina as she returned to her seat, her expression serene despite the storm she had unleashed. Finally, he spoke, his voice low and measured. "I think," he said, a faint smile playing at his lips, "that she's going to be... interesting."

She stood there, radiating an almost infuriating aura of ease and grace. Barely out of adolescence, yet her bearing suggested she had been doing this-commanding rooms, wielding power, and upending norms-for decades. Marvolo's fingers tapped against the armrest of his chair, the only outward indication of his inner turmoil.

The girl-no, the child, he reminded himself with a sneer-couldn't be more than eighteen. Yet, here she was, staking claim after claim to everything that he had ever wanted.

First, there was the Defense Against the Dark Arts professorship.
How? How had she managed it? At her age, no less. Marvolo had been certain the position was his. After all, who could possibly be more qualified than him? A wizard with over a decade of experience, unparalleled mastery of dark magic, and a vision to revolutionize the curriculum. And yet, when the final decision was announced, there she was, with her irritatingly polite smile and her ridiculous qualifications.

"Too young to be qualified, too qualified to be ignored," Abraxas Malfoy had quipped when the news broke, earning a glare from Marvolo that could have set robes aflame.

Then, there was the far graver insult-House Peverell.

Marvolo's blood boiled at the thought. Technically, he was Peverell too, descended from Cadmus, the second brother. But there lay the crux of his discontent: Cadmus's line, his line, was considered illegitimate. Bastard blood, they called it, whispered in the darkest corners of wizarding society. And House Peverell had always been ruled by the descendants of the third brother, Ignotus, whose bloodline had supposedly dwindled and merged with Gryffindor and Potter long ago.

Yet, there she stood. Alexandrina Peverell. A walking, talking impossibility.

Marvolo clenched his jaw as he studied her. Her calm defiance, her audacity to claim not just the Peverell seat but also Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, and even Emrys, grated on his nerves. She didn't just inherit; she absorbed. And what was worse-it worked. The seats and rings had all accepted her.

But there was a bigger problem.
Marvolo had plans-grand plans. Plans that required delicate alliances, a network of loyalists, and the systematic dismantling of the outdated structures that ruled their world. Alexandrina, with her newfound influence, could either be his greatest asset or his most dangerous opponent.

And therein lay the rub. She fascinated him. But it wasn't the kind of fascination that drew admiration or respect. No, his interest was tainted by envy, irritation, and a begrudging acknowledgment of her power.

Marvolo leaned back in his chair, his fingers steepled before him as his dark eyes fixed on Alexandrina. She was a disruptor, and disruptors could be useful-if controlled. The question was, how could he maneuver her?

Eleanor Greengrass had teased him earlier, calling her "our little miss." But Marvolo couldn't quite see her as his. Not yet. She was a loose cannon, unpredictable and vexing.

And then there was the thought that haunted him, one he would never say aloud: What if she surpasses me?

No, Marvolo wouldn't allow that. Not without a fight.

His focus shifted to the proposal he had spent months refining, a plan designed to shake the wizarding world to its very core. But now, with Alexandrina's sudden appearance, his carefully laid schemes felt more precarious. Which side would she take? Would she be a powerful ally, lending her influence to his cause, or a formidable adversary, tearing down everything he had worked so hard to build?

Marvolo's lips curled into a faint, humorless smile. She was a puzzle, and he hated puzzles-almost as much as he enjoyed solving them.

For now, he would watch. He would wait. Alexandrina Victorina Peverell might have claimed her titles, her seats, and her moment in the spotlight. But the game was far from over.

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