The fall of the world of Muggles came and went like a whisper in the night— or perhaps, a more fitting comparison would be the mewling whimpers of an unwanted litter of kittens, trapped in a sack and drowned in a river under the cover of darkness.
On the evening of July 31st, Project: Heliopaths was activated in Britain. Across the country, brainwashed Muggle-Born sleeper agents awoke, targeting political institutions, the monarchy, and key industrial leaders.
With the Statute of Secrecy irrevocably shattered in the British Isles, the rest of the Wizarding World had little choice but to follow Britain's lead and present a united front against the Muggles to forestall their own annihilation. All across the globe, the various Ministries of Magic activated their countermeasures in unison, surgically dismantling every piece of infrastructure, every institution, and seizing control of every leader the Muggles might have rallied behind.
One day, there would be a reckoning for Voldemort— the man who had, on a whim, declared war on the rest of humanity. But for now, for the first time in 308 years, the rest of Wizardkind was too busy teaching the Muggles that they were not alone on this pale blue dot they called Planet Earth to deal with one insignificant British Dark Lord.
But meanwhile, far away from the Muggle society quietly collapsing, Oleandra was receiving a visitor at her summer home.
"So, this is where you've been hiding?" said Mai casually, glancing around the ruined entrance hall of Greengrass manor. "Your own home? Aren't you afraid of being found?"
To Oleandra, the young girl's golden eyes shone like torchlight as she swept her gaze across the walls, floor, and ceiling. Wherever Mai looked, invisible glyphs and runes shimmered into view, gleaming with every colour of the rainbow.
"Apparently not," said Mai, a slight smirk tugging at her lips. "To be so prepared… that's not quite the brash Lady of the Lake that Morganna told me about. You really have changed, hm?"
"What do you want, Mai?" Oleandra asked hoarsely.
Oleandra had spent the better part of the month poring over what remained of the Greengrass family's extensive collection of grimoires, painstakingly restoring those she could in the hopes of uncovering clues to the remaining two Deathly Hallows. But she knew it was all busywork— she wouldn't find the answers she sought here.
"May I see the Elder Wand?" Mai said, extending her hand. "I promise I'll give it back."
"When?" retorted Oleandra. "On my deathbed?"
Oleandra was no longer quite so naïve as to believe her Mystic Eyes were infallible. It was that same misplaced certainty— that belief that she could not be deceived— that had led to Viviane's death at the hands of her own sister, Morgan. Besides, Oleandra had grown all too accustomed to skirting around the truth herself to be fooled when it was done to her.
"What does it matter whether you lend it to me or not?" Mai countered. "It's not as if it's recognised you as its rightful master, has it?"
"It hasn't," Oleandra begrudgingly admitted. "But it's still quite good, as far as wands go."
According to legend, she needed to kill the wand's previous owner to claim it. But since that man had taken his own life, no one could kill him now. Oleandra had hoped the wand's allegiance would reset on its own, but it seemed Dumbledore had the last laugh in the end.
"So…" said Mai hopefully.
"So, I'm still not handing it over," Oleandra replied irately. "Now, was there anything else you wanted, or did you just come over to waste my time?"
Mai clicked her tongue in annoyance.
Through her previous incarnations' experiments, she had determined that one didn't actually have to kill anyone in order to win the Elder Wand's allegiance— beating the previous holder in a fair fight was enough. Which meant that the wand's owner was either Daphne or Draco, depending on which one of them had beaten Dumbledore into submission.
"Then it seems you've no choice," said Mai, watching Oleandra's eyes with quiet intent. "Malfoy or your sister, one of them must bear responsibility for Dumbledore's death— even if they didn't push him off the ledge with their own hands. Which one are you going to kill?"
As much as she wished it were otherwise, Oleandra had arrived at the same conclusion. The prophecy had foretold that allies shall turn against each other, and that siblings shall fight to the death, so that seemed about par for the course.
"We're done talking about this," Oleandra said curtly. "What do you want?"
She didn't want to kill her sister.
After all, even after discovering Oleandra's true nature, Daphne had continued doing everything in her power to shape herself into the Dark Lady of prophecy, hoping to spare her sister that fate.
But it had all been for naught.
Harry had taken Oleandra's apparent betrayal far harder than Daphne's. He had always been closer to Oleandra than to her sister, and as the Chosen One of the second prophecy, he held the right to unilaterally choose his final foe— and in the end, he had chosen Oleandra as his Dark Lady.
"I've graciously come to offer you a position in the new Order of the Round Table," said Mai with a curtsy. "Despite the whole being-accused-with-Dumbledore's-murder debacle, Mother and Father still believe you could be an effective leader within the organisation."
Oleandra scoffed.
"What organisation?" she sniggered. "If I remember correctly, the spy you planted among the Death Eaters had his mind read by Voldemort. From his memories, Voldemort traced the other members and uprooted the entire network right then and there. You have nothing."
It had all happened towards the end of Oleandra's fifth year at Hogwarts.
Back then, the French Order had been quietly infiltrating the British Isles to prepare for the chaos of the Dark Lord's inevitable return, only to learn the same harsh lesson the rest of magical society had already discovered during the First Wizarding War: The Dark Lord was an exceptionally skilled Legilimens, and the information lockdown on the British Isles was so airtight that sending in more agents or spies was tantamount to suicide.
"Wait, did you just cast a spell?" asked Mai, frowning. "I saw you glimmer just now."
"While I was talking?" Oleandra said irritably. "Of course not."
Even Dumbledore— who could perform wandless and non-verbal magic as effortlessly as waving a hand— still had to pause between words if he was mid-conversation and needed to cast a spell.
"Is that so?" said Mai, uneasily. "In any case, with the way the winds are turning, I doubt I'll be returning to Hogwarts this September, given that I'm technically Muggle-Born. I'll leave you my address— 13 Savile Row, in Mayfair. Do visit, will you? I can't restart the Order on my own."
Upon saying those words, she twisted on the spot… and remained firmly anchored to the physical world.
"…Anti-Apparition Jinx?" Mai asked testily, turning to Oleandra.
"Anti-Apparition Jinx," replied Oleandra, nodding in confirmation.
And then the front door was blasted off its hinges.