In London, a haggard middle-aged wizard with spectacles hanging off the bridge of his pale nose stared at the journalist report in his hand. "Rubbish," said the editor-in-chief of the Daily Prophet, Barnabas Cuffe. He was in fact the youngest editor-in-chief for the last hundred years as he'd been made chief about five years ago only being thirty-five years old. Tossing the report onto his desk he grabbed the next one as his light-colored eyes flashed as he began to read the next report.
"Can't they pick anything better to write about than quidditch?" Cuffe grumbled. "Please give me something scandalous that will arouse the public's attention." He rubbed his dry eyes and ran his fingers through his wry hair.
The Ministry of Magic had politely requested of the Daily Prophet if they change the subject given the tragedy that had occurred. And with elections around the corner and the international eyes upon the whole of England, the owner of the Daily Prophet had ordered Barnabas Cuffe to fall into line. As if, the scandal about the Auror's not finding a clue wasn't disgraceful enough. But in retrospect, it wouldn't do for tourism in the long run.
Cuffe snarled and grabbed a quill from his desk. In the margins, he wrote, "Get a clue! The word is spelled, D-I-S-P-R-O-P-O-R-T-I-O-N-A-T-E! You're a reporter learn how to spell, Mr. Weed!" With great relish, he folded the letter up much like a paper plane, before muttering a charm and sending the flying paper message on its way.
Cuffe leans to the side intently as he cups his hand to his ear and waits. A few seconds later a rather loud pained cry can clearly be heard much to his satisfaction. "That will teach him," Cuffe murmured to himself, before grabbing the next sheet of paper from his desk.
The half-open door is suddenly slammed open by a blond-haired witch with tight blond curls. Wearing green leather with maroon furs at the collar and sleeve, Rita Skeeter his sharpest tool in the box, breathlessly says, "Give me the Evening Prophet edition!"
"And why should I, Skeeter?" Cuffe fanged indifference.
"Because I have just heard the scoop of the century!" Skeeter happily declared despite having to give up half of her savings to procure the news.
"Which is?" Cuffe said with an arched eyebrow.
"The old Prince called a conclave today at Prince Manor," Skeeter eagerly shuffled over and took the seat before him.
"So, I've heard," Cuffe drolly commented as he glanced back down at his desk.
"Yes, yes," Skeeter dismissively gestured with her red-painted claws. "But it is not what we originally thought it would be. It was Prince deliberately revealing his secret heritage."
"Let me guess, he's the heir of Slytherin," Cuffe said failing to see the astonished look on Skeeter's square face.
"How did you know?" Skeeter asked in surprise, while Cuffe dropped the paper in his hand in utter shock.
"Come again?" Cuffe choked in disbelief.
"The old Prince not only proved that he was Salazar Slytherin's heir but Merlin Ambrosius' as well. Not only did he provide proof, but in their written recorded history they have produced four parselmouths and two far-seers. But best of all the Prince's family ghost that still dwells at Prince Manor was a parselmouth when living. That is more than sufficient proof to their claims!"
"Brilliant!" Cuffe excitedly said. "Skeeter have that report to me in an hour and I will make sure it goes out on the front page of the Evening Prophet!"
"Done!" Skeeter purred in glee, before sashaying away on her clacking high-heels.
"Atta girl," Cuffe said in pride, before shouting at his secretary. "Miss Twinkle, let the printers know that we're changing the front page for the evening news edition!"
"Yes, Mr. Cuffe!" Miss Twinkle chimed in reply, a witch with bright pink lipstick.
Cuffe happily returned to his sorting of the articles with much more glee. In fact, he might have even said a kind comment or two. This would later give the receivers of the compliments a dreadful spine chill. Cuffe never gave out compliments! It must be a newly devised form of critique!
When the evening news went out two hours later, the magical world was up in whispers. The purebloods that had not been invited to the Prince Conclave suddenly began to think of ways in which to contact the Prince. Others wondered if they should make sure to distance their children from the Prince's grandchildren as they were now proven to be Slytherin's heirs. While a few others paled and began to ponder on how to go about distancing themselves from the Dark Lord without any repercussions incurred.
The Minister of Magic Jenkins was personally rather pleased by the sudden announcement. Not only would the purebloods side with the Aurors, but with the old Prince in charge none would step out of line nor attempt to pass laws against muggleborn. For the Prince's own two heirs were half-bloods. And those that were worried that the Prince would attempt against muggleborn wizards had nothing to fear for the exact same reason that the Prince's heirs were half-bloods. It was common knowledge that the two grandchildren were half-bloods as it had been a rather infamous event for a time, when the heiress to the Prince's fortune, Eileen Prince had run off with a mere muggle.
On the other hand, some of the purebloods that had attended the Conclave had begun to take drastic actions that very same day. The Rosier's in particular cut off any family member that had sworn themselves to the cause of Lord Voldemort. The Crabbe and Goyle families that had been thinking of joining instantly pulled back and ensured that their sons were nowhere in the vicinity of any youth thought to be affiliated with that lying bastard.
As for the senior Nott Sr. and Avery Sr., both original members of the Knights of Walpurgis, both decided to tactfully remain neutral. Mulciber Sr., on the other hand, who had initially agreed to remain neutral, decided to privately hold off from doing so. Mulciber Sr. bore a considerable grudge against Reginald Prince, and he refused to succumb to the old Prince's whims.
Several families that had yet to pull away slowly decided to do so, while other smaller pureblood families cut off their tails to survive, so to speak. These families disowned their (Death Eater) relatives to create a clean break between them. A drastic measure, but one that would ensure their family would survive the war that was to come.
Overall, roughly two-thirds of the purebloods had entirely pulled away or decided to remain neutral. The remaining third would not be dissuaded so easily despite the evidence presented before them. These families were either loyal to the cause or sought power by any means necessary.
Elsewhere on the cold floor of the old Carrow family residence countless are Death Eaters tortured by the Cruciatus Curse strewn across the cold marble floor. Lord Voldemort's nostrils flared; his robes flapped madly around him as he paced in rage before them. Like the rest of Britain, Voldemort had also read the Daily Prophet and learned of the news that had dozens of former allies pulling back or putting distance between them as neutral parties.
To make matters worse, three of his earliest compatriots from his time at Hogwarts had abandoned him. Nott Sr. had long ago pulled away and made it expressively clear that he would not involve himself or his sons in their madness. Avery Sr. was not in a much better position, a cowardly serpent taking a neutral stance. And as for Rosier Sr., he was simply a lost cause. (Ironically, Voldemort turned a blind eye to the fact that it was his orders that had caused the rift to form and push the loyal Rosier Sr. to break away).
Still, not all was lost. Avery Sr. though he had distanced himself Mulciber Sr. had written to him and requested to be less visible. In exchange, Mulciber Sr. would provide funding and information to further the cause. The only good bit of information in the entire mess!
The front doors of the chamber swing open to reveal a dark, broad-shouldered wizard. His long, pale face is twisted in its usual cold sneer. "Dark Lord," Antonin Dolohov smugly said as he leisurely bowed his head.
"Dolohov, where have you been?" Voldemort snapped as his fingers tightened around his wand.
"Milord," Dolohov mockingly said despite the danger. "I was merely confirming in person that the old Prince's claims are real."
Dolohov paused as he heard an intake of breath from the Death Eaters in the room. "And it is true, Dark Lord. All those that were present in attendance can certify that the ghost of Prince Manor is a parselmouth."
Whispered gasps of shock echo through the chamber. Voldemort whirls around in fury and screams, "Crucio!" Another Death Eater went down onto the floor withering and screaming, before Voldemort let the torture up.
Breathing harshly, Voldemort's nostrils flare in utter rage. "Even if that is the case, I am Slytherin's true heir."
"Of course, you are, Master," Pyrites warmly said as he rose to his feet. "For even if that was not the case, the Prince grandchildren are both half-bloods. A true heir of Slytherin would never have any tainted blood in them." Voldemort slightly flinched at the praise, but two members of the room did not fail to miss the noticeable twitch of shame.
Dolohov was one of them, his eyes coldly narrowed as he recalled the rumors about the Dark Lord being a half-blood known by the name of Tom Marvolo Riddle. But perhaps there was some truth to the rumors after all given the fact that Abraxas Malfoy was now very much dead. And if so, there might be some merit in looking further into the topic.
"Indeed, what Pyrites says, is correct Dark Lord," the handsome curly-haired, S.R. Wilkes persuasively said. "Do not be worried milord, we shall prevail over thine enemies." Lord Voldemort slightly relaxes at their flattery.
Making sure his shields were up, Dolohov says, "Dark Lord allow Pyrites and I to look further into the matter. For surely, we can bring harm to the Prince heirs via the muggle father."
"Yes," Voldemort said as the anger in his eyes slowly cooled. "But only you, Dolohov. I have another mission for Pyrites."
"It will be my honor to serve, Master," Pyrites breathlessly exclaimed.
With a gesture from Voldemort's hand, the Death Eaters eagerly file out of the room. Those injured from the curses were aided to their feet by friends and were hurriedly taken out of the door to receive treatment. In the end, only Pyrites and Voldemort remained behind. And whatever was said between them, no one came to learn of their discussion. By the time, night fell they finally noticed that Pyrites was long gone.