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Divided and Entwined (Harry Potter AU) (Complete)

Chapter 31: Coup d’état
Chapter 31: Coup d'état

'The drastic changes Wizarding Britain had gone through during the last decade of the 20th Century are often attributed to the Second Blood War. However, after careful study, it seems more appropriate to state that the war was the result of such drastic changes. In support of that idea, I point at the fact that the radicalisation of both purebloods and muggleborns happened before the first spell was cast. As was pointed out before, the Muggleborn Resistance was formed months before they launched their first attack, while the core of the Death Eaters had already fought in the First Blood War a decade and a half before. What brought them to war were political changes, mainly the Muggleborn Laws passed in 1995, the groundwork for which had been laid during the preceding years, in response to the Muggle Protection Act of 1992.'
- Excerpt from 'Wizarding Britain in the 20th Century' by Albert Runcorn


*****​

London, Ministry of Magic, January 17th, 1997

"...and that is why I believe we have no other choice than to come to an agreement with the muggleborns."

Albus Dumbledore was impressed - Maximilian Selwyn was quite convincing - he doubted that many would be able to tell that the man had been forced to support Cornelius's proposal against his will. Augustus was looking even angrier than he had at the start of the session - the wizard must have been surprised by Maximilian's change of opinion. Lucius would have anticipated that, Albus thought, and likely have had taken measures to prevent it.

Fortunately, Augustus was no Lucius. He wasn't the only new member whose lack of experience in politics Albus had exploited in the last few weeks. The Chief Warlock let his gaze wander through the room. The heirs or the proxies of the underage heirs of the Old Families who had replaced those killed at Malfoy Manor were simply not quite as skilled as their predecessors had been. Some had talent, but that was not enough. Not when dealing with someone who had decades of experience in Wizarding Britain's politics.

Augustus did try to stem the tide, of course. His master would demand no less than his best efforts. Albus nodded at the man with a polite smile. "The chair recognises Mister Malfoy."

"Honoured members of the Wizengamot! I cannot find the words to describe my outrage at this proposal! Have you forgotten what those muggleborns did? Not only did they scorn those who had, misguided though the attempt was, welcomed them in our society! Not only did they break our laws - laws we passed for the good of us all! No, not content with those crimes, they murdered dozens of our peers, and their families!" Augustus was shaking his head wildly. A bit too theatrically, Albus thought. "They started this war, driven by their jealousy of our sophisticated culture and their thirst for blood! If not for the muggleborns, we would not have suffered so much!" He shuddered. "How can anyone even consider making peace with those beasts? If we did that, we'd not only betray their victims, but we'd endanger all of Wizarding Britain. If we let them escape just punishment for their crimes, then we'd condone their wanton acts of murder. We'd encourage them! If this proposal is accepted, then any murder they commit afterwards will be on our heads! And," Augustus said with a sneer, "they will murder more of us. You know the lies they spread! You know they blame us for what they did! This proposal is not just foolish, it is outright treasonous! I implore all of you to reject it!"

Albus refrained from shaking his head. That hadn't been one of Augustus's better performances. Still, a few members of the Wizengamot might be, with good reason or not, concerned about the muggleborns seeking vengeance. He rose to speak himself.

"Honoured members of the Wizengamot! It is no secret that I fully support this proposal of our esteemed Minister for Magic. I have opposed those laws from the start, as many of you may recall, and I can assure you that repealing them is not just the right thing to do, but also the only way to end this war and save Wizarding Britain." He paused for a moment. "For make no mistake: We are in a war for the very survival of our country - a war against the Dark Lord. Some claim the muggleborns have started this war, but they are wrong! This war was started by the Dark Lord and his followers, decades ago! To those of you who fear the muggleborns, I can but say that the Muggleborn Resistance has never attacked the Ministry. They have killed Aurors and Hit-Wizards, yes, but only when they were attacked or threatened. No, all of their attacks have been aimed at the Dark Lord, and his supporters - and you all know how effective they have been."

"They murdered my family!" Eric Greengrass yelled.

"Your family died because they chose to attend a ball thrown by Voldemort's right-hand man even though they knew the Dark Lord had returned." He ignored the gasps his use of Tom's nom-de-guerre caused.

"Are you condoning the murder of innocents?"

That caused quite the reaction in the Wizengamot. Albus saw that Xenophilius, sitting in the audience, was scribbling almost frantically. The Chief Warlock stared at Eric. "You know I do not condone such crimes. I have proven that at Hogsmeade, when I personally captured a muggleborn intent on murdering innocents. But I can but wonder how innocent anyone associating with known Death Eaters is. We all knew Lucius Malfoy was working for the Dark Lord - he admitted that he was in contact with Voldemort in this very assembly, when he laid out the Dark Lord's demands. Why would anyone join him in his manor for a ball, if not to show their support for the Dark Lord?" There were of course reasons for that, understandable if not very courageous ones. But this was not the time to mention that.

He raised his head. "We are in a war, honoured members of the Wizengamot. A war for the survival, for the very soul of Wizarding Britain. A war the Dark Lord started twenty-five years ago. We can either ally with the muggleborns in this war, and win, or we can throw ourselves at the feet of the Dark Lord, and hope we will be spared and granted a life as his slaves." He paused again, to let this sink in. "You all know what I will be doing. I did not submit when Grindelwald conquered most of Magical Europe, I did not surrender when Voldemort started this war, and I will not surrender now. No! I will fight the Dark Lord, and all of those who support him, no matter if they wear his mark, or not." He paused, then added: "An alliance with the muggleborns will also mean that prisoners taken in this war will be treated the same, no matter who captured them."

He let the Wizengamot members murmur to each other - a few were talking quite loudly, even - while he exchanged a glance with Cornelius. The Minister's smile had grown a bit forced, but he was holding up well. Amelia's face showed no emotion, though - he had expected that. This was politics, not justice.

Eric had sat down, trembling - with rage and fear, Albus thought. As far as the wizard knew, his niece was in the hands of the muggleborns, and the Chief Warlock had just offered a way to save her from certain death. Albus wasn't proud of the deception, but needs must.

This proposal had to pass if this ugly, bloody war was to end any time soon, and if Wizarding Britain was to have a chance to be rebuilt.

He saw Eliane Shafiq raise her wand, and nodded at her. "The chair recognises Madam Shafiq."

As the witch rose to speak, Albus leaned back in his chair, glad for the Cushioning Charms. This would be a long session.

*****​

London, Ministry of Magic, January 17th, 1997

Brenda Brocktuckle hadn't made any progress, hadn't really done any work so far. Not today. Not with the Wizengamot about to surrender Wizarding Britain to the mudbloods. She still had some hope that common sense and reason would prevail. The Wizengamot members couldn't be that foolish - the majority of them had voted for the mudblood laws! They had to know that the mudbloods would blame them as well!

But Dumbledore, Fudge and Bones were pushing this. The weak-minded morons in the Wizengamot would follow their lead, too scared by the Chief Warlock's ultimatum. Brenda clenched her teeth. She'd not let those traitors destroy her country.

And yet… she glanced at the small stack of paper on her desk, ready to be charmed into paper aeroplanes, and thought of the far larger stack down in Procurement, which she had replaced on the Dark Lord's orders. She didn't know exactly what curse was on the sheets, but it was a dark one. Parkinson had been nervous when he passed the stack to her.

And she would be responsible for the curse being inflicted on her coworkers. No, on the blood traitors and cowards who'd submit to the mudbloods! She had to remember that this was a war for the survival of Wizarding Britain - and for her own life.

The door to the Auror offices opened, and she looked up, through her own open door, holding her breath. Was that the news she was dreading? It was Parkinson. Her partner entered, then seemed to notice that everyone was staring at him, and held up his hands.

"Don't look at me like that! I haven't heard anything from the Wizengamot!" the wizard said.

The Aurors in the room returned to their work, their grumblings forming a background noise until privacy spells muted it. Parkinson walked over to Brenda and closed the door behind him, shaking his head. "I felt like the Snitch at a Seeker meeting," he said, sitting down at his own desk.

"Everyone's waiting with bated breath for the Wizengamot's decision," Brenda said.

"Idiots. As if there's any question how this will end." Parkinson grabbed the Daily Prophet from her desk and unfolded it. "Another article praising the Chief Warlock's virtues… I wonder what kind of leverage Dumbledore has on the Prophet's owner," he said. "Do you have The Quibbler?"

"I don't read that," Brenda said. The Quibbler? That mix of crazy theories and imaginary animals?

"You should. It's really funny. Crazy, but entertaining." Parkinson grinned. "The headline of the last issue claimed that the so-called Nargle-infestation in the Ministry was being dealt with by foreign pest control." He chuckled.

Brenda rolled her eyes. Parkinson was acting too nonchalantly again. "You know, you're acting a bit suspiciously by not seeming to care about today's session. Everyone else is."

She saw him frown for a moment, then his grin returned. "But it's me - I'm not everyone."

"And we're all very grateful for that." More than one Parkinson would be intolerable.

The Auror laughed. After a glance at the door, he grew serious, though. "It won't be much longer."

She looked at him. "How do you know that?"

He just grinned again. She couldn't tell if he actually knew this, or was simply guessing. So she scoffed, and turned her attention back to the scroll she had been trying to read.

"Are you ready to do what's needed?"

She looked up and stared at him. "You know me. I'm ready."

He met her eyes for a moment, then nodded. "Just checking."

"You're nervous."

He chuckled. "Maybe a bit. It's going to be a tough fight."

"If the Chief Warlock's still in the Ministry when you start it, then it's going to be a short fight." Unless the Dark Lord came in person to face Dumbledore. Brenda wasn't certain if she wanted to be anywhere near the Ministry should those two duel.

"Dumbledore will not be present. Measures have been taken to ensure this."

She narrowed her eyes and studied his face. She knew him well enough by now. That wasn't just bravado. Parkinson was certain. Brenda nodded. "Good." She didn't know what measures had been taken. And she didn't really want to know - there was just one thing she could think of that would keep the Chief Warlock from rushing to help the Minister.

A threat to his students.

Brenda told herself that the Dark Lord would either have thought of something else - he had to know about Dumbledore's weaknesses - or that he would not actually kill children.

But she couldn't help remembering that most of the students who were sympathetic to the Dark Lord's cause had left Hogwarts months ago.

*****​

London, No. 12 Grimmauld Place, January 17th, 1997

Hermione Granger entered Grimmauld Place with her wand in hand, although pointed down at her side. She didn't really expect a trap - if she didn't trust Sirius she wouldn't be coming to his house in the first place - but months spent hiding and fighting a civil war had taught her to be ready at a moment's notice. Something, she thought with a snort, that would serve her fine this day, if the Headmaster's worries should turn out to be on the mark.

"Hermione! Welcome to my humble home!" Sirius greeted her with a wide smile at the door.

"So much for my disguise," she muttered, resisting the urge to scratch under her wig. She removed the sunglasses, though.

The older wizard made a dismissive gesture with his hand. "Bah! With the policy change that's certain to be approved according to Albus, no one in their right state of mind would dare attack you."

"Unless they want to sabotage said policy change," Hermione countered.

"Well, no one in my house has such plans," Sirius said, looking pointedly at her wand. "If they had, there would have been far better opportunities in the past."

It was a good enough explanation, and Hermione holstered her wand. "Let's hope so." She hadn't met Fleur more than a few times, during the tournament, and she didn't know the Delacours staying with Sirius at all. And she knew that the French had not forgotten how many muggleborns had fought for Grindelwald. She'd have to trust his judgement, which was a bit harder than trusting him.

And there was the matter of her choosing Ron over Harry. Sirius would do anything for his godson, and Hermione had hurt Harry. She hadn't wanted to, and she had tried her best to soften the blow, but…

She told herself she couldn't afford to worry about that. If the Headmaster was correct, then they were facing an attempted coup in response to the Ministry's policy change.

"You don't look happy." Sirius remarked halfway to his living room.

She looked at him. "I'm not happy. We have to plan a major mission in a few hours - a mission where half the forces involved are not familiar with each other, much less have fought side by side before. It's an indoor assault, with lots of civilians around, among whom the enemy will be hiding. We'll be hard-pressed to spot the Death Eater spies, and unable to trust anyone but ourselves."

Sirius snorted. "You don't mince words." With a grin, he added: "On the other hand, the Death Eaters will have to expose themselves, and we'll get to kill them. The Dark Lord'll lose a lot of his followers, and a lot of popular support as well. And any dead civilians we can blame the Death Eaters for."

That wouldn't make killing civilians any more acceptable, but Hermione knew better than to argue that with Sirius. The wizard held a grudge against the Ministry for his unjust imprisonment in Azkaban, and had only contempt for the Ministry employees unwilling to fight the Dark Lord. An attitude he shared with many of the Resistance members. She sighed. This would be a bloody day. She just hoped none of her friends would be among the casualties.

They reached the living room and Sirius entered first. Maybe he didn't trust his French allies not to curse her either? Hermione shoved those thoughts away as she followed him: It might simply be that people were tense - she didn't know how she'd react if an unknown person surprised her in the house either.

Inside, a handsome middle-aged wizard and a stunningly beautiful witch - a Veela, Hermione realised at once - were sitting on the couch. Remus was standing near the bookshelves, apparently checking out the tomes there. Since he had been living here for over a year, it looked like a rather awkward way to avoid talking to the French to Hermione. Or maybe she was turning into Moody.

"Marcel, Vivienne - Hermione Granger. Leader of the Muggleborn Resistance and the most feared witch in Britain! Hermione - Marcel Delacour and Vivienne d'Aigle."

Hermione sent Sirius a glare, then smiled politely at the French. "Enchantée." She held out her hand.

"The pleasure is mine," Delacour said, dropping a kiss on her hand.

The witch smiled at her. "Enchantée."

After a moment of silence, Sirius pouted. "No comments about how you expected her to be taller? Or look more dangerous?"

The French wizard smiled. "We French know that a beautiful woman is the most dangerous." The Veela - Sirius's girlfriend, Hermione thought, since he stepped up to her and wrapped his arm around her waist - giggled.

"Too true," Sirius said. "Though in our current situation, it's a very good thing we have so many beautiful witches among our ranks. As Hermione just summed up on the way here, we're facing a coup by Death Eaters, our forces have no experience fighting side by side, and we will not be easily able to tell our enemies from the civilians. "At the start at least. We'll order all civilians out of the Ministry. Afterwards, anyone not with us will be treated as an enemy."

"Will the Ministry go along with this?" Such an order would look like a coup by Dumbledore to some, she suspected.

"We'll call it an evacuation." Sirius shrugged. "Can't say anything against that."

"Well, you could - but who'd listen to you? After this battle, I doubt many will raise their voices against the victors." Delacour shrugged nonchalantly.

"Whoever the victor will be," Hermione said.

"Do you doubt our victory?" Delacour didn't quite sound mocking, but Hermione found his overly surprised manner more than a bit patronising. "That would be surprising coming from the witch who has bested the Ministry and the Death Eaters so often before. You also seem to assume that your group will be called in, though as I understood the Chief Warlock, you're our reserves, to be summoned in case we should not be enough to win the day."

"I'm aware of the dangers of overconfidence," Hermione said. "I'd rather be prepared and not be called than called in without being prepared. Our successes were the result of careful planning. Planning which we might not have enough time for today. "

"Then let's get started!" Sirius said. "I need to be back in the Wizengamot in an hour. This is my lunch break."

"I've brought plans of the Ministry." Hermione pulled the copies out from her enchanted pocket. "We'll need to control the Atrium, to keep the enemy contained and split up. The Wizengamot and the Minister as well as the heads of the departments will need to be protected as well - or evacuated." A few of them she'd not mind see dying, but not if it meant Voldemort won. "And there's the matter of avoiding friendly fire."

"Friendly fire?" Delacour looked puzzled, as did the Veela. Vivienne, Hermione reminded herself - Sirius seemed very close to her.

"Preventing our forces from mistaking each other for the enemy." Or at least removing the easiest excuses for some 'accidental' cursing. On both sides.

"Ah!"

"We'll be in uniform," Hermione said. "Every Resistance member will be dressed the same," she went on, drawing her wand and pointing it at herself. A few flicks and swishes later, she had transfigured her clothes into the uniform the Resistance favored. The green pattern wouldn't be much of a camouflage inside the Ministry, but it'd make them easy to recognise.

"Like Aurors, just green. And muggle," Delacour said.

"Yes." She sounded a bit terser than she wanted.

"And sexy!" Sirius added. Whether he was just being himself, or trying to add some levity Hermione couldn't tell, but she glared at him anyway.

"We'll also need passwords. We don't know each other, and there's not enough time to get to know everyone. On the other hand, changing the colour of a robe is easy, and our uniforms would not be too hard to duplicate either." She thought it was obvious that the Order and their French allies would have to pick a colour for their robes as well. "If you doubt someone, challenge them with 'Thunder', to which they'll answer 'Flash'." Nice historical examples, though Hermione doubted any pureblood would know of them.

"You've given this a lot of thought," Delacour said, with a bit more respect, or so she thought.

"It's basic muggle military training." And common sense, but stating that might be too inflammatory.

"I also suggest you don't pick a dark colour for your robes. Too easy to mistake for a Death Eater robe."

"Of course." Now the French wizard sounded a bit peeved.

Sirius cleared his throat. "I'd say we use red and gold, but the Aurors are red already, so maybe we'll have to settle for yellow - like gold, not badgers - for our robes. That settled, we'll enter the Atrium. Dumbledore has no secret passage for us to use, unfortunately."

Hermione doubted that. It was more likely, she thought, that the Headmaster was saving such knowledge for the future. They had to secure the Atrium first anyway, so entering there made the most sense.

Of course, the Dark Lord would know that as well. And he was an enemy they couldn't afford to underestimate.

*****​

Hogwarts, January 17th, 1997

"You know, the weather's nice for flying, and I'm the last to say we shouldn't fly when we can, but… aren't you curious about the outcome in the Wizengamot?"

Harry Potter heard Ron's yell, and looked over his shoulder. His friend was behind him, Ron's own broom not quite able to keep up with his Firebolt, even when Harry was flying in a looping Seeker pattern. For a moment, he was tempted to simply keep flying. Forget the whole war, Ron and Hermione's relationship, everything. To just enjoy the sky, the wind, the feeling of flying…

He slowed his broom down, though, and slid to a stop. He knew what Ron really meant, but couldn't have said - yelled - without a privacy spell. Not even as high above Hogwarts as the wards allowed. The question of whether or not Voldemort would launch a coup at the Ministry. Whether Sirius and Hermione would have to fight the Death Eaters, maybe even the Dark Lord himself, today. "I was going crazy waiting for news," he said as soon as Ron floated next to him on his broom.

"Ah." Ron understood that, of course - Harry's friend had not been able to sit down for longer than a minute in the Gryffindor common room. His wand moved in a familiar pattern. If not for the wind, Harry would hear the familiar, too familiar, low buzz of a privacy spell. "You know, if you sneak off to the Ministry, Sirius and Hermione will kill you, and then me for not stopping you."

Harry snorted. "I'm not planning to." He wasn't a fool.

"Good."

"I'll just stay at Hogwarts, safe and out of the way, while our best friend and my godfather fight Death Eaters. Again." Harry didn't try to hide how bitter he felt about it.

"Yeah."

"I feel so goddamn useless!" He was a Gryffindor! He shouldn't be hiding and staying safe. It was the house of the brave and the bold.

"You're the key to his defeat. You're anything but useless," Ron said.

Harry snorted. "Which is why I'm not allowed to fight until it's just me and him." And if the Headmaster thought he was ready. Which would probably be… sometime past his N.E.W.T.s, Harry thought. At least it felt that way. He hadn't even had the time to talk to Dumbledore about his idea, yet.

"Well… even if you were not the Boy-Who-Lived, we'd not be allowed to skip school to fight the Death Eaters."

"Would we care about what we are allowed to, and what not, though?" Harry looked at his best friend. His other best friend. "If it were only our lives at stake, and not, you know?"

Ron snorted. He knew the answer to that as well as Harry did - they'd do what was right, and damn the consequences. Just like Hermione. Harry winced. Thinking of her hurt, still. Sirius said it would get better, he'd find another girl, but he couldn't see that, not at all. And he didn't want anyone else. He wanted her.

Ron didn't say anything. He was just there, waiting. He had been acting like that ever since that day, Harry realised. Being more quiet than usual, more 'understanding'. As if Ron walking on eggshells around Harry would somehow make things better. Make them hurt less.

Harry scoffed. Curse it, he was feeling sorry for himself. He should be better than that. Know better, too. There was a war going on. People might be fighting and dying today, even. People he knew. He sighed. "Want to throw a few hoops? To keep your Keeper skills up?"

"Of course, mate!" Ron said.

"Alright, then…" Harry trailed off, blinking. Had that been… he reached up and touched his scar. It wasn't hurting, but it was… he felt like it was putting pressure on his forehead.

"Mate?" Ron sounded puzzled. And worried.

He had good reason to, Harry realised, as the pressure grew.

"Voldemort. He's near Hogwarts."

*****​

Hogsmeade, January 17th, 1997

The village town had recovered from the mudbloods' attack last month, the Dark Lord Voldemort noticed, standing on a nearby hill looking down, hidden by charms. It wasn't a surprise - the ignorant animals had not used any dark curses, instead resorting to muggle means. While destructive, those left no damage magic couldn't deal with - provided someone made an effort.

And such efforts had been made in Hogsmeade. Not just because as Britain's only exclusively wizard village it held a special status in the Ministry, but as it was so close to Hogwarts, Voldemort's old foe would have ensured it would not reflect negatively on his school.

Which was precisely the reason Voldemort was here. It was a place he knew Dumbledore would defend, against anyone, even the mudbloods he so loved. The Dark Lord snorted. If not for the detrimental effects it had on his own plans, he'd have greatly enjoyed the irony of the old wizard having to fight mudbloods in defense of purebloods.

It didn't matter now. He looked at his watch. The debate would be winding down soon, as per his instructions his followers would stop resisting the inevitable. The smarter among them would leave at once too. Those who didn't would hopefully curse an Auror or blood traitor in the back at least. He didn't need to worry about them any more; Britain's fate would be decided by wands, not votes. Today, if all went well. And, since his spy had informed him that Dumbledore's familiar had had a burning day and wouldn't be available to transport Voldemort's enemy around, the day seemed to favour him indeed.

As if fate had read his thoughts he felt a slight twinge, three times, through the link with his Dark Marks. The signal Malfoy had been told to give, once the vote was through with the expected result.

He turned to Bellatrix, who was waiting at his side, a step behind him.

"Milord." She stood straight and faced him. Tense. Eager. She reveled in carnage, and today, she would get her fill. He would prefer her at his side, but she was his most feared follower, and just the sight of her would drive the cowards in the Ministry to flight - and ensure that none of his own followers would falter and desert.

"The fools at the Ministry have spurned me for the last time. Go to to your forces and be ready to storm the Ministry on my command!"

The dark witch saluted him with a beaming smile, almost shivering with delight, and apparated away.

Voldemort looked at the forest behind him, where the half a dozen Death Eaters who'd join him in his assault on Hogsmeade were waiting, and raised his wand. As he started to raise into the air, flying with his magic alone, the six wizards followed him on their brooms.

Towards the unsuspecting village.

*****​

London, Ministry of Magic, January 17th, 1997

Albus Dumbledore watched as the lit wands were counted. The result was obvious, if not as obvious as he would have liked - a number of the members obviously were more afraid of the muggleborns' revenge than of Voldemort's rule, even if they were no friends of the Dark Lord either, or so Albus thought - but procedure had to be followed, of course. Especially in the Wizengamot - the Headmaster had no intention of letting Tom's pawns challenge this vote on the grounds of formal mistakes. If only Mayfield would count a bit faster.

Finally, the man turned to Dumbledore and announced the result: "Twenty-seven ayes to twenty-two nayes."

"The proposal is accepted with twenty-seven in favour and twenty-two against," Albus announced with a quick Amplifying Charm. Applause and muttered curses filled the room. A beaming Cornelius was shaking hands with Amelia, and coming over towards Albus. Other members were standing up, leaving already. Albus thought some of them probably were going to lock themselves in their hidden homes. Or, he added to himself, to do their master's bidding.

"Albus! This is a great victory! In the face of danger, Wizarding Britain, divided by circumstances, is uniting again!" Cornelius said as if he was addressing the press and not the wizard who had planned all this with him. And forced him into it in the first place.

Speaking of the press… Albus saw Xenophilius walk towards him. Barnaby Merryweather from the Prophet was a bit behind, apparently held up by Petra Selwyn.

Cornelius had spotted the owner and chief editor of The Quibbler as well, and Albus caught his wide smile slipping a bit. Xenophilius tended to have that effect on many politicians with a weak sense of humour, the Headmaster thought with a wry smile. He rather liked the man, and his magazine was a delight to read for someone with an open mind.

Before he could address the man, though, a glowing white stag appeared in the hall, coming straight at Albus. While the Wizengamot members present gasped in surprise, Harry's voice rang through the chamber:

"Headmaster! He's attacking Hogsmeade!"

Albus felt a chill run down his spine. He had expected an attack like this - Tom would react, and either Hogwarts or Hogsmeade were the most obvious targets, with Albus bound to defend both of them. But to hear from Harry, and even before Amelia was alerted by the Aurors in the village… What was the boy doing, and more importantly, where was he?

This could be a diversion, or a simple terror attack. Or a trap for him. Most likely, Tom was ready for all three possibilities - the Dark Lord was certainly as cunning as a Slytherin could be.

But there was no choice - with the village, and now Harry at stake, Albus had to intervene, and quickly. He turned to Cornelius, but his words were meant for Amelia, and for Sirius, who had made his way towards the Headmaster. He ignored the questions of the Minister and others about the Patronus Messenger. "The Dark Lord is attacking Hogsmeade. I am the only one able to stop him, so I have to leave at once. Send what help you can, but be aware that there might be an attack on the Ministry in the making as well."

He saw Sirius and Amelia nod, and apparated away. He had a village to save.

*****​

Hogsmeade, January 17th, 1997

"It's him."

Ron Weasley would have liked to say something snarky. Something sarcastic. Anything to show that he wasn't more afraid than he'd ever been before. Not counting his visit to the Acromantula colony, of course. But all he could say was: "It's Voldemort." And they had known that from the start, when Harry had started to sense the Dark Lord - if it had been a Soul Anchor, Harry would have needed a Supersensory Charm to track it to Hogsmeade from Hogwarts.

"Yes." Harry wasn't cracking any jokes either.

Below them, the Dark Lord was floating above the village, sending curses down on whatever poor souls were in sight. Six Death Eaters on brooms were flying nearby, adding their own spells to the mayhem.

"Expecto Patronum! Headmaster! He's attacking Hogsmeade!"

Harry's voice made Ron whip his head around just in time to see a glowing white stag speed away. "Shite!"

"He had to know," Harry said.

"Yes. But now the Death Eaters know we're here. Move!"

As Ron had feared, one of the Death Eaters was pointing up. A glowing stag flying through the sky was hard to miss, no matter that both Ron and Harry were disillusioned, and out of range of the Human-presence-revealing Spell, as Moody had taught them.

But they were already changing position - another thing the old Auror had drilled into them. And the Death Eaters would have a lot of trouble trying to spot them, much less catch them in the sky. Especially with Ron and Harry able to see them coming. They could fly away, to Hogwarts, before the Death Eaters even came close, and any time the Death Eaters spent chasing them was time not spent on cursing the people in Hogsmeade. Or the Aurors who had been patrolling the town - Ron saw a pair of wizards in red robes fall to the ground, struck by curses from above.

They could do this! Ron thought. Then he noticed that the Dark Lord was flying straight at them. How…

"He can sense me," Harry yelled. "Scatter!"

Acting on reflexes born from hours of drill, Ron had darted away before he realised what Harry was doing. His friend was diving to the ground. Trying to lead the Dark Lord away from him. He was already out of the range of Ron's Human-presence-revealing Spell, but Ron could see Voldemort just fine. And the half a dozen Death Eaters about to help their master, too.

Harry was good, but outflying the Dark Lord, and half a dozen Death Eaters? Even disillusioned and on a Firebolt, that was a tall order. Especially if Harry was not thinking too clearly.

Ron took a deep breath and started to dive at the closest Death Eater, wand out.

He didn't have a Firebolt, and his broom was meant for a Keeper, not a Chaser or Seeker, but he was starting from a high altitude, and the Death Eater below him was not watching the sky any more. Ron was closing the distance fast - very fast. The wind tore at his robes and hair, and he had to squint his eyes to keep the man in sight. He grunted as he pulled on the handle, adjusting his course to cut the Death Eater off. Almost. Almost. Now!

"Reducto!"

His spell hit the dark wizard's broom, right in the rear, blowing it up. The splinters were deflected by the man's Shield Charm, but that didn't matter - out of control, the screaming man crashed straight into the ground, and his shield shattered on the cobblestones of Hogsmeade's main street. As did the dark wizard.

And Ron had to struggle not to follow him. His broom wasn't made for Wronski Feints. He pulled up with both hands, almost crushing his wand against the handle. He managed to pull out of the dive at the last moment, then had to veer hard to his right to avoid crashing into Zonko's.

As he shot up over the joke shop's roof, the facade behind and below him disappeared in an explosion. It looked like they were no longer ignoring him. And he was in the range of their Human-presence-revealing Spells.

Ron really would have loved to own a Firebolt right then.

*****​

London, Ministry of Magic, January 17th, 1997

"The Wizengamot's voting now!"

Brenda Brocktuckle wanted to curse the rookie who had just entered the Auror offices. She wanted to know the result, not the time of the vote! She still hoped, even though she knew it was unlikely, that the Wizengamot would come to their senses. She looked at the scroll in her hand and tried to focus on her work again.

"They accepted the proposal!" Another Auror, another rookie, entered, all but yelling the news.

Brenda noticed how the rest of the Corps reacted, especially those who cheered. Traitors! She noticed she was gripping the parchment in her hands so hard it was tearing up, and she had to mend it with a quick Repair Charm. She also noticed Smith and Macintosh staring at her through her open door. Smith was smirking, even.

"Dumbledore has left the Ministry."

Parkinson's voice made her jerk. "How do you know?"

"I just received the signal to launch the aeroplanes," the wizard said. "We're up."

Brenda stiffened. That meant she would have to trigger it. Send those things out. She stood up and nodded. They were blood traitors, she told herself while she drew her wand and touched the paper stack on her desk.

The Auror watched as the paper folded itself into a small aeroplane and took off towards the door. Towards Procurement.

The spell was cast. Literally. She was committed now - if the Dark Lord lost this battle, this war, she'd perish with him. Just as Parkinson had wanted, as his grin told her. And as she had known.

And she strongly suspected that if the Dark Lord's forces lost this battle, she'd not survive. Parkinson wouldn't want her to betray him, after he took care to set her up as the one launching those cursed papers.

Before she could dwell any more on that thought she saw a swarm of paper aeroplanes enter the office. The planes she had launched.

"Ah! The official results I bet!" the rookie who had annoyed her earlier said, and made a grab at one of the aeroplanes.

Brenda's eyes widened. If that idiot… The aeroplane nimbly avoided the clumsy lunge, and she started to breath again.

Then the idiot aimed his wand and summoned the thing. "Yes!" he said, starting to unfold it.

"Brown! Couldn't you wait a minute longer?" Another Auror said.

"No, I couldn't!" The rookie grinned.

Then he screamed, staring at his hands, which were stuck to the paper and shriveling up rapidly.

More screams erupted from other Aurors, those Aurors - blood traitors - with desks and offices closer to the entrance. But others were not quite as gullible, or simply too far away for the aeroplanes to reach them before they noticed what was happening. Smith and Macintosh hit most of the paper aeroplanes still in the air with a fire spell.

"Macintosh! You traitor!" Parkinson yelled suddenly. "Why did you attack us?"

It was a weak bluff, but with everyone panicking and the cursed traitors screaming like banshees, it was enough. Brown's partner turned on Macintosh. "What did you do to him?"

Macintosh started to protest his innocence, and was probably about to blame her when Brenda hit him with a Bludgeoning Curse that smashed him into his own desk. She hoped the breaking sound were the traitor's bones.

Then she had to duck as everyone still standing and uncursed seemed to start casting at once, and spells flew everywhere. Parkinson ducked back into their office, but Brenda saw a Blasting Curse fly past her, through the open door. A second later, an explosion sent a cloud of dust and splinters out of the door.

Part of Brenda hoped that her partner had been able to cast a Shield Charm in time. And part of her hoped he hadn't. But mostly, she wanted to kill Smith. Macintosh's partner was sending curses at her, blowing up the desk she was hiding behind, but not before she had cast her Shield Charm.

She rolled behind the desk of Fitzroy, and transfigured it to stone just in time for the next spell to hit it. She couldn't move now, not without exposing herself, and even a stone desk wouldn't last that long.

Another rookie stumbled into her field of view, yelling even though she seemed unhurt. Panicking, Brenda noted. Suddenly, she knew what she could do. Had to do. She aimed her wand.

"Imperio!"

*****​

Hogsmeade, January 17th, 1997

Harry Potter knew he had made a mistake. He should have flown straight back to Hogwarts as soon as Voldemort had detected him. But to flee like that, to leave the villagers to their fate… He was a Gryffindor, not a coward. His parents had defied the Dark Lord three times.

And it should have been easy to escape them anyway, on his Firebolt. He knew just how difficult it was to hit a moving target. But the Dark Lord's presence, so close, was messing with his head - between the pain and the vertigo, his flying was so hampered that even Draco might have had a chance at the snitch were this a Seeker duel.

On the other hand, his erratic flying had probably made Voldemort miss with a curse or two as well. He took another corner, ducking his head as part of the wall behind him exploded - the enemy was getting smarter. While hitting a moving target was hard, especially a disillusioned one, hitting the area such a target was flying into was considerably easier - if they judged his course correctly.

He pulled up for a quick dash over the roof of a one-story house - with more of a security margin than he was used to. Behind him, the building's wards flared up as spells rained down on it. He turned hard to the left, then once again, darting into a side alley, and barely managed to pull up enough to clear the cowering wizard there, before he shot out into the main street again. A broom rider crashed into it about a hundred yards up ahead, and Harry's eyes widened. Had some Aurors survived and rallied? Or had help arrived? Then he noticed a familiar marker fly past him, far too close to the ground. Ron.

He should have known his friend wouldn't do the smart thing and go fetch help! Hermione would kill him if something happened to Ron because of Harry's stupidity! He glanced up for a moment, and saw that three of the Death Eaters were moving away from him. Presumably after Ron. Clenching his teeth, he pulled up in front of a dead end, then turned it into an Immelmann.

That had been a bad idea. Instead of a half-roll, Harry ended up rolling several times before he managed to steady himself, and some of the spells were coming too close now. And the Dark Lord seemed to be gaining. But Harry was on a Firebolt. Even hindered like this, he was far faster than Voldemort.

He sped up. This was not unlike playing Quidditch in a storm. And he was the youngest Seeker in a century. He could do this! As long as he could avoid crashing into roofs, walls or the ground.

Another glance showed that Ron was still being chased - or so Harry assumed; he couldn't see his friend, just the pursuers. If he fled now, the Dark Lord might go after Ron. He cursed - where were the Aurors? Or Dumbledore? Or anyone?

Weaving through the central back alley of Hogsmeade, he glanced back. There was no sign of Voldemort. Had the Dark Lord given up?

Suddenly, he heard a screeching sound from above. Looking up, he paled. A giant bat was flying above him - no, diving at him. The thing was as large as a dog, and headed straight for him. Harry should have expected this. Moody had told them that a trick rarely lasted before the enemy either copied it, or found a defense, and the Headmaster had used that weeks ago.

And the screams from that monster were not doing anything for his vertigo either. This was looking worse every second, Harry thought.

Then he saw the second giant bat. And the third. In front of him. And above. He tried to turn into a side alley, but all three of the monsters screamed, and his ears seemed to burst. He lost control of his broom, or rather, of himself, and slammed into the wall next to him, sliding along it for ten, twenty, thirty yards before coming to a stop at the next corner.

Groaning, he tried to untangle himself from his broom, but his right arm didn't seem to be working, no matter how much he tried. And it hurt. His right sleeve was gone, as was some of his skin. He was bleeding too, but couldn't think straight enough to do something about it. And, he belatedly realised, he was no longer disillusioned.

He saw movement nearby, and managed to turn his head. Voldemort. "T-Tom." he managed to say with ringing ears. If the Dark Lord said anything, Harry couldn't tell. The monster seemed to be laughing, though. With good reason, of course - Harry knew he must look ridiculous, on the ground, half-deaf, and with a broom stuck to his arse. If not for another sticking charm, he'd have lost his glasses.

Still, he'd die fighting. He gripped his wand tighter and started to aim. If their wands interacted like in the graveyard…

Voldemort wasn't aiming his wand at him, though. He was smiling, and pointing at him, and glancing up.

Harry looked up. All three giant bats were diving at him.

*****​

London, East End, January 17th, 1997

"... and twenty-two votes against. The Minister's proposal has been accepted by the Wizengamot!"

Hermione Granger took a deep breath while the Wizarding Wireless announcer was talking about the proposal's details again. The rest of the Resistance cheered loudly. All of them were in uniforms and ready to go, even Dennis and Colin, who would most assuredly not go into combat today. Hermione didn't feel like cheering. This was what they had been fighting for - or rather, part of it. After more than a year suffering under the Ministry and the Death Eaters, the muggleborns wouldn't simply accept the status quo ante again. Never again.

"You don't look happy," Sally-Anne said.

Hermione had a brief flash of déjà vu. Sirius had made the same comment earlier. "Voldemort will attack the Ministry for this. The question is just when he'll do it."

"Do you think he'll attack right now?" Justin sounded sceptical.

Everyone was listening to her now, she noticed. Hermione sighed. "It would fit his style. Immediate retribution. Scare everyone into obedience."

"So? We'll crush his forces." Seamus grinned.

"He's probably been planning for this for some time," Hermione said.

"So have we," Dean said.

"Not as thoroughly as I'd like. And we haven't trained at all with the Order or the French." Hermione frowned.

"We don't need them!" Seamus said.

"The French were as optimistic when I met them," Hermione said. "But we can't afford to underestimate the Dark Lord."

Even Dean nodded at that, while Seamus frowned. "We should just blow the whole place up. That would fix the Ministry."

Hermione glared at him. He looked away and muttered that he had just been kidding, but she wasn't quite certain that he had been. Before she could press the issue - they really couldn't afford such 'jokes' when working with the French and the Order - the mirror in her pocket vibrated.

There was only one reason for Sirius to call her right now. She pulled it out and activated it.

"Hermione? Death Eaters are attacking the Ministry!" Sirius sounded far less optimistic and calm than over lunch. She could hear screams in the background. And explosions. "We have no contact with the Aurors. The Hit-Wizards are cut off, and from what we heard, fighting against each other. They cursed paper aeroplanes, which have struck many down with withered limbs, so don't let them touch you!"

"How's the situation in the Atrium?" Hermione asked.

"We don't know. We're holed up in the Wizengamot and the Minister's floor."

So they would have to in blind, and with enemies holding the ground. Hermione glanced at Seamus. He wasn't looking that optimistic any more.

"Alright. We're on the way."

She turned the mirror off and addressed the Resistance. "You all heard him. With the Atrium probably held by the Death Eaters, we'll not go in through the Floo connections." She had another route in mind. But they had to contact the Order and the French, first. And hurry.

*****​

London, Ministry of Magic, January 17th, 1997

The Aurors had been authorised to use the Imperius, Brenda Brocktuckle told herself when the rookie got up and started casting at Smith. Besides, she just needed a distraction. She stood up, just in time to see the blood traitor hit the girl with a Cutting Curse that sliced deep into her throat. The distraction cost him, though - she caught him with a Piercing Curse that broke his Shield Charm, and another that punctured his head. She was about to move to the rookie to still the bleeding when another traitor attacked her. The fool was using a fire curse inside, but fortunately missed her. Someone else - she didn't see who - stopped him with a few banished spikes, but when Brenda reached the wounded rookie, the girl was already gone. Dead. Because of her. No, because of Smith.

She crawled back towards the remains of the door to her own office. Parkinson might need help. More spells hit the wall above her - someone was rather sloppy with aiming, she thought. She reached the door, and peered inside. Her desk had been blown up, as had been part of the shelves. Parchment and rubble covered the floor. She couldn't see Parkinson, though. Not from her position.

She could just leave him. He had set her up to take the fall, after all. But he had also helped her. Saved her career, maybe her life. And he was, for good or ill, her partner. And you didn't let your partner hang. Ever.

She took a deep breath, cast a Shield Charm, then jumped through the door. She landed hard on the rubble, the parchment doing nothing to cushion her fall, then rolled to side. A few spells flew through the door, but they looked like stray spells rather than aimed. Now where was Parkinson?

There! She saw a leg peak out behind the remains of his desk. She made her way to him, using the debris as cover. He was still alive, but unconscious. A few quick first aid spells later, she managed to wake him up.

"Huh?"

He wasn't quite as smooth as usual when waking up from being knocked unconscious, Brenda noted. "Stay down. We're in our office. You were hurt by a Blasting Curse."

He cursed under his breath and summoned his wand. "Who was it?"

"No idea. That bastard Smith was attacking me."

"How are we doing?"

"That idiot botched the trap, so the traitors could put up a fight."

An explosion outside that sent some dust into the room underlined her words.

Parkinson groaned and got up. "Time to end this then."

In for a Knut, in for a Galleon. She nodded.

Outside their office, the situation seemed under control. A few traitors had managed to hole up in the Head Auror's office - Scrimgeour hadn't been in; last Brenda had heard he had been with Bones in the Wizengamot - but a few Blasting Curses had ended that.

Gerald Avery was there, in ripped robes and bleeding from a cut on his forehead. He was smiling, though. "We did it!"

"Is the Atrium secure?" Parkinson snapped. "Our reinforcements are arriving. We need to move!"

Avery protested. "That wasn't our objective! Another group's handling that!"

Parkinson glared at him. "And do we know if they succeeded? If we don't control the Atrium then we can't hold the Ministry! Move!"

Needless to say, Avery was the first to enter the Atrium. Just in case the blood traitors controlled it. To Brenda's relief, that wasn't the case. Though she couldn't help but feel unease at seeing Death Eaters, in their black robes and masks, spread out in the Atrium. She was one of them now, she told herself. Or at least an ally.

She told herself that again when she saw the enemy leader walking towards them.

Bellatrix Lestrange.

*****​

London, Ministry of Magic, January 17th, 1997

"Is everyone ready?" Hermione Granger asked, looking at the Resistance and Order members gathered around the phone booth that hid the lift to the Ministry for Magic. She didn't trust the Muggle-repelling Charms completely, not with all the CCTV-cameras around, so they had put up a tent to hide the entire booth, and the Resistance members had disguised their uniforms and weapons as worker's coveralls and tools.

Her group nodded, as did the Order and the French, the latter a bit slowly, though. They hadn't liked Hermione taking charge, not even when Sirius had told them to over the mirror, but they hadn't had many choices. The way this coup was going, they dearly needed the Resistance. At least there hadn't been much backchat regarding her plan - the French didn't care much about collateral damage as long as it was limited to the British Ministry, and the Weasleys had been rather ruthless ever since the Dark Lord had had the Burrow attacked.

"Situation below?" She glanced at the twins.

Fred - probably - looked up from mirror he was staring into. "Unchanged. They've taken up positions around the different entrances, covering them with their wands."

"No signs of any prisoners," his brother added. "At least any that our bugs can spot."

Good enough for her conscience. "Seamus?" Hermione looked at the Irish wizard.

He smiled at her. "Charges are set!"

"Drop it!" She nodded at Bill.

The Curse-Breaker flicked his wand, and the lift whose enchantments he had taken over started to descend.

Hermione pointed her wand at the open shaft and filled it with solid stone down to the upper floor.

Thirty seconds later, she felt the ground tremble a bit, and heard the twins whistle. "Our bugs are gone. The bomb went off."

Hermione dispelled the seal on the shaft. One of the twins stepped up to it upended a box over it. Dozens of different small objects - far too many to have fit into it - fell out and down the shaft. Seconds later, screams filled the shaft while the collected products from the twins' shop started going off.

Hermione turned to the her group. "Go!"

The Resistance had had their brooms ready and dove down the lift shaft, one after the other, Hermione among them. They were greeted with a scene straight out of a nightmare. The first shaped charge Seamus had placed had blown open the shaft's wall on the Atrium's level. The second shaped charge had sent thousands of ball-bearings into the Atrium. Any wizard or witch standing near the lift doors had been shredded. The Atrium was filled with fireworks and enchanted figurines that ran all over the place, screaming curses in a dozen languages.

Mary and Tania had set up light machine guns, firing at a few stumbling figures in the back who fell, one after another. Louise and Jeremy were moving forward under that cover, towards the Floo connections, followed by John, Dean and Seamus. Justin and Sally-Anne were with her. Behind them, the French descended, levitating down.

Hermione saw Delacour's eyes widen when he touched the ground. She quickly addressed him. "Go and cover the stairs and other lifts! We need to relieve the others in the upper floors!"

While the Delacours and the d'Aigles moved forward, followed by the Weasleys and Remus, and covered by Tania and Mary, Hermione turned to Justin. "Secure the lift!"

It wouldn't do to repeat the mistake their enemies had just made, after all, and get attacked from the rear while assaulting.

Taking out the Death Eaters in the narrow hallways of the Ministry would be dangerous enough.

*****​

Hogsmeade, January 17th, 1997

The Dark Lord Voldemort felt elated. He hadn't seen Dumbledore yet, despite Selwyn reporting that the old wizard had left the Ministry minutes ago - though he was certain the old wizard would arrive; he had to - but he had finally caught Potter. The only one who ever had withstood his Killing Curse, down on the ground in front of him, broken and bleeding. Brought low, in a delightfully ironic twist, by a spell Dumbledore had first used against mudbloods.

Voldemort had improved on the spell, of course. Made the bats bigger. More dangerous. They wouldn't just spot and mark enemies, they'd hurt them with their screams, and kill with with their claws and teeth. Such as the Boy-Who-Lived was about to experience.

The Dark Lord wasn't about to use his wand on the boy, and risk another fiasco. Potter might be immune to his Killing Curse, or to any of his spells, but he could easily be hurt by other means, as his Quidditch career had demonstrated.

Voldemort looked at the three conjured giant bats circling above them, then pointed at the boy. The beasts dove at Potter, mouths wide open, screaming in anticipation.

And crashed into a shield that had suddenly sprung up around the boy. Had Potter found the wits to… no!

"Letting others do your dirty work now, Tom?" Dumbledore asked, in a mild tone as he stepped out of the shadows of a side alley.

Voldemort didn't answer. Instead his wand rose, and battle was joined.

*****​
 
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Chapter 32: Battle of the Ministry
Chapter 32: Battle of the Ministry

'The events following the Wizengamot's vote on January 17th, 1997, were crucial to the entire Second Blood War. Unlike earlier attacks, the Battle of the Ministry was not a raid, where the attacking forces would hit and run, but an assault to take and hold the Ministry building - a location the British Ministry could not afford to lose. More important, though, is the fact that all main factions of the war - the Death Eaters, the Muggleborn Resistance, the Order of the Phoenix and their French allies, and of course the loyal Ministry forces - were involved, and with all the strength they could muster. In many ways, it was a pivotal event of the war.
In a similar way, the Duel at Hogsmeade, while not as famous as the duel between Dumbledore and Grindelwald, was the first time Albus Dumbledore and the Dark Lord clashed in personal combat. It represented a marked change in tactics for both wizards, who had, until then, avoided each other.'
- Excerpt from 'The Second Blood War' by Hyacinth Selwyn


*****​

Hogsmeade, January 17th, 1997

Albus Dumbledore deflected Tom's curse with a conjured slab of stone. "Temper, temper," he chided the Dark Lord with more confidence than he currently felt, while he banished dozens of pebbles towards his enemy. A flick of his wand turned them into razor-sharp spikes right before they crashed into his enemy's Shield Charm. The acid they released upon shattering was stopped as well, and splattered over the ground. He had expected that, of course - but Tom would still have to treat it as a threat, or risk falling prey to an alchemical concoction Albus might have slipped into it.

And that gave Albus the opportunity he needed. While Voldemort rose into the air and shot to the side, avoiding the smoke rising from the patches of acid, the Headmaster conjured another barrier in front of Harry, then summoned the boy's clothes, and with them, Harry himself. Just in time, since the barriers shattered an instant later under the curses Tom sent at them, drowning out the boy's surprised yell. Rock shards peppered the quick shield Albus had conjured to protect both himself and his young charge.

A quick spell told Albus that the boy was hurt, but was in no immediate danger of dying - discounting Voldemort, of course. But Albus wouldn't be able to fight as well as needed to while he had to protect Harry. Something his enemy would certainly attempt to exploit.

Was already trying to exploit, Albus corrected himself as he saw the air around him starting to shimmer. With a swish of his wand, he dispersed the air with a gust of wind, then made the cobblestones raise in a wave that carried him and Harry away before what other dark spells his enemy had cast could take effect.

Tom had disillusioned himself in the meantime and taken to the air, but Albus's spell showed his position, and the Headmaster sent a whirlwind of conjured rock and metal at the Dark Lord, which absorbed the dark curses sent at him and Harry and forced his enemy to evade. Another stone wave took Albus and Harry to the edge of the village. It was a gamble, but he didn't think that Tom would expect him to use the same spell twice in a row.

He was correct, as it turned out - in the spot he had just vacated, twisted spears shot out of the ground, then exploded. Albus countered by conjuring a flock of bats and sent them at Tom. They couldn't really harm him, but once again, Tom wouldn't know that. But sooner or later, Albus's bluff would be called.

"My wand arm's broken," Harry said through clenched teeth. Albus quickly fixed that - enough, at least, to let the boy cast spells. Once more, though, this cost him - Tom had already dealt with the bats. To Harry's credit, the boy cast a Shield Charm himself as soon as his arm had been whole again.

Albus was tempted to apparate, but his enemy would have blocked that already. If only Fawkes had not had a burning day! Hopefully, Filius and Minerva would arrive soon, and deal with the Jinxes preventing magical travel. Aberforth should be here already, he lived in the village. And Tom knew that, so why was he holding back… ah! Albus saw three Death Eaters on brooms fly towards him. Two more were trying to disengage from chasing young Mister Weasley, but apparently were finding the task harder than expected. Moody was a good instructor, Albus noted.

And he had talented students, Albus added when he saw Harry, despite his wounds, raise his wand and cast Piercing Curses at the attacking Death Eaters. The spells missed, but forced the three wizards to break off their attack and start casting from a greater distance. That meant their curses were not quite that dangerous to counter. For him, at least.

"Stay behind me!" Albus said and stepped in front of Harry. He blocked a Killing Curse with another quickly conjured slab of marble and let his Shield Charm deflect the Entrail-Expelling and Reductor Curses the other two had cast while his wand flicked back and forth, weaving a web in the air made up of thin wire. One of the Death Eaters flew straight into it, screaming as the impervious metal cut into him. It didn't kill him - but it made him slide off his broom when his wrecked hands slipped. The other two veered off, and Albus managed to clip the broom of the closer one with a quick Cutting Curse. Bereft of half its bristles, the broom went out of control, and the man vanished behind the next roof. Harry meanwhile had slid around Albus and was casting spells at the Dark Lord himself.

Unfortunately, Tom was too skilled to let Harry stop or even distract him, as Albus noticed when he suddenly found himself surrounded by darkness. Freezing darkness - the spell was rapidly siphoning off any heat inside its area. Insulating himself and Harry wouldn't work, and he had a hunch that Tom had also prepared for the usual counterspell.

But Albus was among the best Alchemists of his age. He moved his wand with clammy fingers, creating a ring of two compounds around himself and Harry.

The immense heat that was generated by the two compounds reacting with each other singed his and Harry's skin despite their Shield Charms. He heard Harry scream in pain and winced - he hated to do this, but it was the best way to shred the dark spell.

The resulting explosion threw up enough dust to hide the two from view and let Albus transfigure the ground beneath himself and Harry into a carpet, then use a Levitation Spell to fly out of the cloud. He managed to treat some of Harry's new wounds before Tom sent more spells at him, and Albus was forced to drop off the carpet right before it was ripped to shreds by a volley of Cutting Curses. Since he had conjured a wall to block more curses, his own landing was quite a bit harder than he could afford and he felt his ankle twist on the cobblestones.

He quickly sent a volley of various hexes mingled with Piercing Curses at Tom, then used the time that had bought him to numb his ankle before he had to meet Killing Curses with conjured stone and metal again. One almost got through while he blocked another aimed at Harry.

He had to escape, Albus knew - or at least, let Harry get away so he would not have to split his attention. But Tom knew that as well, and would be waiting for any opening to either kill the boy, or himself.

"Can you fly?" he bit out, replacing walls and other obstacles as fast as they crumbled and exploded under Tom's assault. Rock shards and other debris were hitting his Shield Charm constantly now, weakening it. But if he recast it, he'd fall further behind on his other defenses.

"I lost my broom," Harry said while casting curses at Tom. As before, the Dark Lord didn't let that faze him, and the few curses Harry managed that would have hit his enemy were stopped by a Shield Charm.

"Take mine!" Albus yelled, pulling the shrunken broom out of his pocket with his free hand.

Another Death Eater joined the lone survivor of the first wave, and for a moment, Albus feared for Mister Weasley. Fortunately, a quick glance showed him that the young wizard was still fighting - and holding his own.

He conjured a flock of harpies to keep the two Death Eaters busy, but he hadn't been quick enough - Tom had used the opportunity to conjure dozens of snakes around Albus and Harry. Venomous ones, of course. And resistant to transfiguration, too.

And while the snakes slithered towards him, fangs gleaming, Tom had risen above him, and was now casting Killing Curse after Killing Curse at Albus and Harry. Albus couldn't block them all and deal with the snakes before they reached Harry and himself.

*****​

London, Ministry of Magic, January 17th, 1997

Brenda Brocktuckle was glad for the order to secure the Floo Network Authority. She'd be able to put a few floors between herself and Bellatrix Lestrange, who was leading the assault against the Wizengamot and the Minister's floor - the dark witch was crazy. Parkinson had volunteered them for the mission, which meant he probably shared her opinion. He was a smart wizard after all.

She felt apprehensive anyway. They hadn't heard anything from Beatrice Avery, who should have secured the Floo Network with her own group. And there were a lot of blood traitors in the Ministry. They had taken control of the Auror offices, but a few of the Aurors working for Dumbledore and the mudbloods were not accounted for. One of them was that rookie Black. That metamorphmagus could be impersonating anyone.

The small group with her and Parkinson had almost reached their goal now - just another few hallways. A door to the left opened, and a witch stumbled out, useless withered arms dangling at her side. She saw them, her eyes widened, and she tried to run back where she had come from, but the masked Death Eater on point hit her with a Cutting Curse that sliced deeply in her leg. She went down, screaming, her arms flailing as she started to bleed out.

A Piercing Curse to the head cut her screams off. Brenda glanced at Parkinson, who had cast the spell.

"She was cursed by the Dark Lord, so she was a blood traitor." The Auror shrugged. Almost as an afterthought, he added. "And it was quicker this way."

"Door's locked!" announced the first Death Eater.

"Well, open it!" another yelled. "Lestrange is not a patient witch!"

Parkinson frowned. "Hold it! Everyone take cover! Not you, Filigan!"

The Death Eater was probably glaring at the Auror behind his mask, Brenda thought. She didn't care - she was taking cover near Parkinson, behind an upturned desk transfigured to stone, far to the back. She was too old to risk her life opening doors.

Filigan wasn't that cocky anymore, and yelled the incantation. "Alohomora!" Then he opened the door, throwing himself to the side right away. Nothing happened. No spells flew out, no curse trap went off. Brenda heard someone else chuckle, although a tad nervously.

"What are you waiting for?" Parkinson yelled. "Move!"

Filigan glanced back at Parkinson, or glared, Brenda thought, then dashed through the door. Textbook roll, she realised - Hit-Wizard training. Then he fell over and lay still. There had been no spell she had seen that meant...

"Poison gas!" another Death Eater yelled. "Bubble-Head Charms!"

More Hit-Wizard training, Brenda thought. Although veterans would have cast the spell before entering an office that should have been under their control already.

The wizard followed his own advice, then pointed his wand at his fallen comrade. "Wingardium Leviosa!"

Despite the situation, Brenda wondered if the man shouted all his spells, and shook her head. At least this meant she wouldn't be treated as curse fodder, not if these were the rank and file of the Dark Lord's followers.

The body of Filigan started to float out of the room, but halfway to the second Death Eater, it dropped - together with the Death Eater who had been levitating it.

"It's spreading!" Brenda yelled. "And Bubble-Head Charms do not protect against it!"

Parkinson sent a gust of wind at the open door. "Seal it up again!" he yelled while he kept his spell up. Brenda followed his example - she didn't want to risk whatever had taken out Filigan and the other Death Eater near him.

Walls went up after a few moments, sealing the FNA offices off again. A third Death Eater was checking on the two fallen wizards - from afar, using his wand. That one wasn't stupid, Brenda thought. Which was probably why he hadn't been on point.

"They're alive, but unconscious. Rennervate!"

Neither stirred. "It's not a Stunning Spell or a similar effect," the man declared. He had been in Ravenclaw, Brenda thought.

"Force a bezoar down his throat!" Parkinson ordered. Brenda felt a soft breeze on her back and realised that her partner was still keeping a weak wind spell going. Smart and cautious, as expected.

The Ravenclaw did as ordered, but not even that revived the fallen Death Eater. "It's… it's like… the Draught of Living Death!" he announced after several more spells. "But… he didn't drink it. Who could have turned a draught into a contact-vectored gas? That's..."

"Dumbledore!" Parkinson made the name sound like a curse. "Damned Alchemy."

Brenda hissed. Alchemy. She knew what potions could do - you couldn't become an Auror without a N.E.W.T. in Potions. Not because you were expected to do any brewing, but so you would be able to identify them when investigating. There were a few murderers who had been caught by finding reagents in their homes for poisons that had not been quite that exotic as they had thought. But Alchemy? There were very, very few Alchemists because their art was so dangerous - for themselves, and for others. She turned to Parkinson. "We'll have to seal the whole floor. Deal with it later." The Dark Lord could deal with that, once he had won.

Parkinson nodded. He didn't look happy - he'd have to explain this to Lestrange, she knew - but it wasn't as if they could do much. Anyone would understand that. Well, maybe not the dark witch.

"Alright, fall back, then seal the floor off!" the Auror ordered. With a lower voice, he added: "And let's hope there are no more such surprises left in the Ministry."

Brenda snorted. "You think the Department of Mysteries will be easier?"

He scoffed. "The Dark Lord will reserve that for himself." They were out on the stairs again. The rest of their group was following close behind them. As soon as all were out, they started to seal the doors, transfiguring them to stone. Brenda thought she someone move inside, right before the doors closed, but she didn't care. They could be woken up later.

"Why didn't Dumbledore trap the Auror offices?" the Ravenclaw wondered.

"We were watching the blood traitors and each other too closely for that. We expected such things," Parkinson said.

"We didn't expect Alchemy, though," Brenda said. She left the logical question - would they even have noticed an alchemical trap - unsaid. Judging by the grimace on Parkinson's face, he had the same thought: Was some alchemical concoction already inside their bodies?

"Let's go up and inform Lestrange!" Parkinson ordered after a moment. "Watch the entrances to the other floors - I want no more surprises!"

Parkinson was still speaking, but whatever he was saying was drowned out by a very loud explosion, followed by an even louder one.

*****​

Hermione Granger ran through the Atrium towards the stairs, almost slipping in the puddle near the the broken fountain. Clenching her teeth, she sprinted towards the stone bench behind it, hearing the Major's voice in her ears: 'Always keep moving from cover to cover!' Advice which had become ingrained, even though she was protected by a Shield Charm. She reached the damaged bench, ignoring a dead wizard with two withered arms on the ground next to it, and crouched down, quickly glancing around.

Justin and Sally-Anne had taken up a position to her left, covering the remains of the lift with guns and wands. Tania and Mary were just starting to move towards the stairs as well, where the Delacours were already moving up, towards the Minister's and Wizengamot's floors.

Hermione cursed. Damn that French élan! They were charging ahead without support! They couldn't afford to split their forces. She turned around and cast a quick Amplifying Charm. "Demo team, blow the fireplaces! Send one to relieve Justin, then follow me!"

She looked at Justin, who nodded at her. He knew what she was doing, then. Hermione took a deep breath, then jumped up and sprinted towards the stairs. She reached the entrance to the stairways. Remus was standing there, wand pointed down, next to the twins. Bill and Fleur were halfway up the stairs, right behind the French. The stairs were wide and spacious, but they were still bunched up too much, or so she thought.

Remus stared at her. "You can't blow up the Floo connections! What about the wounded? And the ones trapped in the Ministry?"

Hermione glared at him. "They'll have to wait until we've won! We can't cover all the entrances to the Atrium and move to support the French!" And downstairs were the Auror Corps' offices. If the traitors had taken over there, and pushed up… Hermione wasn't about to risk the whole battle for the Ministry employees. They had to win this battle at all costs.

Tania and Mary reached her, and at once set up a machine gun nest with a bit of conjuring, to cover the stairs. She heard yells and screams from the above. Hermione wanted to head upstairs, but she was the group leader - she shouldn't go on point. But then, the French were on point. She turned to Mary and Tania. "Send the rest up after me!" Then she was moving up the stairs, leading with her rifle. It was 'bayonet terrain', as the Sergeant had called it, but the Resistance hadn't had the time to train with that weapon, and the middle of a battle wasn't the place to start.

The Delacours had pushed the Death Eaters back to the entrance to the Minister's floor, and halfway up to the Wizengamot's floor, but the enemies - mixed Death Eaters and civilians - were holding fast. She saw several bodies on the stairs, two of them wearing the golden robes of the Order and French. Then a Blasting Curse hit the area, and the bodies turned to chopped, ripped meat. She fought the nausea down. She couldn't afford to be sick right now.

Marcel Delacour was bleeding from a cut above his brows, but seemed otherwise unhurt. His wand flicked, and the wall to the right of the door to the Minister's floor shifted, forming a hole. Three French wizards sent Blasting Curses through it that shook the stairs, followed by a volley of fireballs from two Veela.

"Avancez!" Delacours yelled, and half a dozen golden robes surged forward. One went down at once to a Killing Curse, but the others charged on.

Hermione moved back a few steps and pulled Sirius's mirror out. After activating it, seconds passed without a response. Had Sirius…? No, there appeared his face. "How far are they into your floor?" Hermione yelled, over the screeching screams from the transformed Veela fighting nearby.

"We're holding the Chamber, not much else!"

"Can you hold out?"

"Not forever, but yes."

"Good." Her rifle dangling from its sling at her side, Hermione moved her wand and started to fill the stairs leading to the Wizengamot's floor with walls. They couldn't push up there with the French fighting on the Minister's floor - it would be an invitation for a pincer attack.

Another pincer attack, she amended her thought when she heard explosions and machine gun fire from below. Where were Seamus and Dean? What was holding them up? They needed to clear the Minister's floor as soon as possible and then push upstairs to the Wizengamot's floor.

She heard more gunfire, rifles now, and… were those faint explosions? Then the howls of the twins' special fireworks drowned out all other sounds. Those things were not quite rockets, but they came rather close. And in the confined space of the stairways… Hermione grinned. That should drive those Death Eaters back. Now they just had to…

She stared. Her conjured walls were crumbling to dust, and behind them… she gasped when a swarm of bugs or spiders, so big and thick it looked like a carpet, rushed forward. She managed to seal the stairs with another wall, but that wouldn't last…

The wall blew up, and rock shards peppered her Shield Charm. A Veela, Hermione didn't recognise her, it was not Sirius's girlfriend, threw a fireball at it, and the first yard or so vanished. Hermione was about to cheer when the French witch collapsed, screaming - someone from upstairs, whom Hermione couldn't see from her position must have hit her with a Torture Curse. Hermione saw her falling, right when the next wave of the insects surged forward, swarming the woman.

"Aguamenti!" Hermione shouted, and a blast of water hit the Veela, pushing the bugs back and away. "Wingardium Leviosa!" The writhing, screaming witch shot in the air, and then flew towards Hermione. Almost…

"Avada Kedavra!"

A green spell hit the French witch, and a second later, Hermione held a body in her arms while cackling laughter filled her ears.

*****​

Hogsmeade, January 17th, 1997

"Bite!"

"Kill!"

"Bite!"

"Kill!"

"Kill!"

"Kill!"

Harry Potter was a Parselmouth. Where others would have heard simply hissing, he understood what the snakes slithering towards him and Dumbledore were saying. And they understood him. Just like in second year. "Stop! Don't attack us!" he hissed at them.

They understood him, but they didn't listen. They didn't even react.

"Kill!"

"Kill!"

"Bite!"

"Kill!"

Clenching his teeth, Harry sent a Blasting Curse at them. Half a dozen were blown up, shredded and torn - but that had just been the closest group; more were swarming them. Muttering the incantation of a spell he couldn't cast silently yet, he waved his wand and turned around, sending a stream of flames at the other snakes.

They didn't even react to the fire. The survivors kept coming, crawling over the burned bodies of the others, hissing their intent - or their orders. He sent another stream of fire at them, flinching when above him, one of Dumbledore's conjured stone slabs was hit by a dark curse from Tom and shattered a bit too close to the ground, and to Harry. Voldemort was pressing them hard. Where were the others from the Order? Had all the Aurors been killed?

He burned the last snake he could see when Dumbledore yelled: "Harry! I'll keep him busy, get ready to fly away!"

He didn't want to leave the Headmaster. But he knew he couldn't do much to help Dumbledore. He hadn't even been able to control the snakes. Voldemort had ignored the spells he had cast at the Dark Lord too. For a moment, he was tempted to use Legilimency. But Voldemort was too far away for that, and the Dark Lord would be using Occlumency anyway. "Yes," Harry pressed out, straddling the broom Dumbledore had given him.

Just as he was about to announce that he was ready, the Headmaster cried out: "Watch out!"

Harry looked up and saw stone walls shooting out of the ground, encircling him and Dumbledore - an instant before they shattered in a giant explosion that shook the earth.

Even shielded by a wall, Harry was blown back by the force of the blast, fragments of rock and stone smashing against his Shield Charm as the area around him disappeared in a cloud of dust. He was almost blown off the broom too, barely holding on to it as he was thrown through the air - towards the walls on the other side.

But he had been in similar situations before, if not as lethal. He had been trained to always know where up and down was, no matter how much he was tumbling through the air, and he pulled up just in time to avoid the wall.

And just in time to fly into the next explosion.

This time his Shield Charm shattered and he screamed as something hit his left shin, the shock of the impact throwing him off the broom. He managed to keep his grip on the shaft, but he couldn't control the broom while hanging from it. And that meant he'd be an easy target for Voldemort, who was still floating above them.

This would hurt, but he had no choice. Harry let go of the broom.

He saw something - a spell - pass above him, hitting the broom, and managed to cast a Cushioning Charm before he crashed into the ground. Even so, he screamed again as his left leg buckled under him, and agonising pain filled him.

Harry knew that pain. Broken bones. Several of them. He couldn't run, couldn't even stand up, not like this. And he didn't think the Headmaster had another broom ready. He was a sitting duck. Curse bait, as Moody called it.

He recast his Shield Charm anyway. He might die, but he'd not give up.

*****​

Ron Weasley grinned, despite the fight he was in. The tables had turned. The Death Eaters who had been chasing him were now trying to go help their master hunt Harry. He wouldn't let them. He had kept them busy for minutes now, buying time for Harry to escape and help to arrive.

They were cunning, though - like Slytherins. One of them tried to keep him busy while the other two tried to fly away. Ron dove towards the ground again, trading altitude for speed, and managed to cut one of them off. His manoeuvre had taken them by surprise, and his pursuer was left to cast curses at him that were missing him by a wide margin. The one he was closing in on was casting at him as well, and Ron rolled and banked, evading those curses - it was very hard to hit anything with a curse at the speeds they were going.

But he was a Keeper. Maybe not good enough to go professional - though that still remained to be seen; he certainly couldn't do worse than the current Cannons' Keeper - but good enough to catch Quaffles and dodge Bludgers.

And a head was a bit bigger than a Quaffle. His let his Piercing Curse fly right before he reached the other wizard, shattering the man's Shield Charm. Then he pulled up and to the right, corkscrewing to bleed off speed. He ended up facing the Death Eater while the other was just about to recast his shield, and Ron's next Piercing Curse went into the man's chest. Just as Moody had drilled into them - too many wizards were so dependent on Shield Charms, they'd recast them at once if they were shattered.

But he found that he had timed it a bit too close when a curse hit and broke his own Shield Charm, right when he was about to accelerate again. He rolled to the left at once, and the follow-up spell missed him - but hit his broom's rear end.

He cursed when he felt it slow down at once, and, more importantly, become far less manoeuvrable. The smart thing would be to head to the ground, and hide. But that would leave the two remaining Death Eaters to chase Harry. Ron would have to do something else. Something crazy.

He pulled to the left, then to the right, and around again, as more curses flew past him, coming closer to hitting him. He wanted to recast his Shield Charm, but didn't - he couldn't spare the time. There! The Death Eater he had hit was still on his broom, but floating rather than flying, clutching his chest. Blood was flowing between his fingers, and from his mask. Ron didn't dwell on that, though.

He needed the man's broom. His Bludgeoning Charm smashed into the Death Eater's head with a sickening crack. He didn't fall off his broom, though he rolled with it until he was hanging from it upside down - he must have had a Sticking Charm cast before. No choice now. Ron bared his teeth and reached out, grabbing the shaft as if he was grabbing a Quaffle, then pulled himself over.

As soon as he sat on the broom, he urged it to speed up, then pointed his wand at the corpse.

"Finite Incantatem!"

The corpse fell down, and the unburdened broom seemed to jumped ahead. Just in time - the last volley of curses had come too close. But Ron was back on a working broom, and there were just two Death Eaters left.

While he was corkscrewing up to gain altitude again, a loud explosion drew his attention. Voldemort was floating in the air, and raining curses down on the ground.

Ron gasped - Harry! Had the Dark Lord caught Harry on the ground? He banked left and right, trying to throw off the two Death Eaters' aim, as he flew towards Voldemort. Something, someone was stopping the curses with conjured shields.

Dumbledore! It had to be Dumbledore! He was protecting Harry. Ron flew in a wide curve, closing in on the battle. Voldemort was going all-out, spells flew from his wand in a continuous stream, smashing into conjured barriers or hitting the ground a bit away. Explosions kept erupting around the area; Ron saw that the front of a nearby house had caved in already.

And Harry and the Headmaster were in the middle of that! How could he help them?

When a green curse - a Killing Curse - almost clipped him and he saw another Death Eater flying towards him, Ron was forced to abandon that plan. He had to stay alive first. He didn't see the smoke rising from the other end of the village.

*****​

London, Ministry of Magic, January 17th, 1997

Hermione Granger dropped the dead Veela at once, both out of sheer shock, as well as to move, to change position. Those insects were still coming. She transfigured the floor into tar, trapping them, then set it ablaze while falling back.

Not a second too late - the ground in front of her blew up. Shards and splinters tore into the dead witch and bounced off her shield. But the insects had been dealt with.

She wanted to fall back even more, rally her group and then counter-attack, but that would mean abandoning the entrance to the Minister's floor, and letting the Death Eaters cut the French off from the rest of them. Instead she yelled: "We need help here!" and pulled a flashbang grenade out of her enchanted pocket. Wishing she had taken the time to create a Banishing Charm variant that would allow her to throw things around a corner, she cast a Cushioning Charm on the stairs, then crept forward, low to the ground, and flipped the grenade around the remains of the corner. She threw herself back, on her charm.

A moment later, the corner turned into a green liquid, splashing the stairs she had just vacated - and flowing towards her. Then her grenade went off. She heard a scream, but she was busy transfiguring a small dam in the middle of the stairs to keep whatever that liquid was from reaching her, or her friends behind her.

But her friends were behind her, and below her, she realised - and the Death Eaters had blown up part of the stairs!

"Watch out, poison dripping down!" she shouted - too late, as a horrible scream from the Atrium's entrance told her.

"Dean!" she heard someone - Seamus yell. "Take the bezoar!"

The screaming went on, though. She wanted to rush down the stairs, help them, help him. But she couldn't. She had to hold her position. She clenched her jaw as the scream grew fainter, then suddenly cut off.

"Dean! Dean! Damn it!"

She had to focus. Couldn't think about that, about the horrible death she had just avoided, or more would die. Even more, she added, looking at the remains of the Veela. Snarling, she pulled out another grenade. That one had been harder to get. A flick of her wand conjured a flock of birds, bigger than her usual ones, and one of them grabbed the grenade, carrying it with them as they took off.

She disillusioned them right before they turned around the corner. A few seconds later, the grenade went off, and white phosphorous filled the upper stairs. Hermione bared her teeth in a grim grin when she heard the screams from above her. "That's for you, Dean," she whispered. Let the Death Eaters deal with that!

Tania and Mary reached her a few moments later.

"Watch out, more poison ahead!" she warned them, gesturing to the pool that had formed. Then she blinked, and cursed. Shaking her head, almost hoping she was wrong, she aimed her wand at the poison. "Finite Incantatem!" she whispered.

The poison turned to stone again, and she cursed her own stupidity. If she had done that right away, if she had not panicked, if she had thought clearly, then Dean would not have been… "Dean?" she asked.

"Dead," Mary said. Her tone told Hermione that it hadn't been quick.

"Willie-Pete?" Tania asked, pointing at the smoke slowly drifting down towards them.

"Yes." Hermione used her wand to send the smoke back up. The screams from above had ended. "We need to push them back, link up with the French again."

The two others nodded. "You're not going to take point," Mary said.

Hermione was about to argue, then glanced at them, and realised it wouldn't do her any good.

"I'm taking point!" Seamus had arrived. He was trembling, with rage, Hermione saw. He was in no shape to lead the advance of her group, she knew that. The Major and the Sergeant had been clear on that. But she also knew that she wouldn't be able to stop him. So she nodded. "Don't get killed. He wouldn't want that."

He didn't answer, just pushed past her.

*****​

"Move, you thrice-cursed sons of trolls! Move up and push those traitors back!"

Parkinson could get quite creative when he was in a bind, Brenda Brocktuckle noticed. Her partner wasn't looking quite that smug any more. Quite the contrary, actually.

And they were in a bind - blood traitors had taken control of the Atrium, and were holding the stairs on the third floor, right between Lestrange's force, and the rest of the Dark Lord's followers, including herself.

The remaining Death Eaters of their group hesitated, but the sight of Parkinson's wand aimed at them drove them upstairs. They disappeared around the corner.

The Death Eaters in the Atrium were probably dead, Brenda realised - there had been those explosions, bombs, and none of them seemed to have fled downstairs. "Dumbledore!" she hissed. "He must have smuggled muggle bombs into the Ministry!"

Parkinson jerked. "What?"

Brenda shook her head. "The alchemical trap downstairs, now this explosion - he must have been preparing for this for a long time." More than they had expected. And more ruthless too. How many Ministry employees had died in that explosion?

"That can't be!" Parkinson said. "They searched the Ministry daily for such traps."

"They didn't find the one in the Floo Network."

"That was Alchemy."

Brenda was about to argue that the explosion could have been Alchemy as well - no one knew what it could do, after all - but another blast interrupted her, followed by infernal howls, and screams. She ducked as something flew by, ricocheting off the walls and trailing smoke as it disappeared downstairs. Fireworks, she realised.

"They are shooting fireworks at us, stop screaming!" she yelled. Bunch of cowards. A Shield Charm would stop that easily.

A series of explosions, smaller ones though, went off above them. More fireworks. No more screams, at least. Then a dark figure slid stumbled back. A Death Eater.

"Hey!" Parkinson yelled, "What are you…"

The Death Eater - the Ravenclaw, Brenda recognised the cut of his robe - slowly turned around, and she could see that his right arm and part of his shoulder had been ripped off. "F-firew..w…" he stammered, then collapsed.

Brenda looked at Parkinson. She was now certain that everyone in the Atrium had been killed. Her partner swore. "Hold the stairs, I'm gathering what wands we have on this floor, and the one below."

Brenda stared at him. Was he sacrificing her?

He shook his head. "I'm getting curse-fodder. Don't die!"

The Auror hesitated, then nodded. She hadn't much choice any more anyway. If Parkinson was betraying her now, she was done for. She conjured a wall to cut off the stairs, and took cover as best as she could while Parkinson rushed into the offices next to them.

She heard him scream and yell, and probably curse while she waited, wand aimed upstairs. More explosions shook her wall, and it started to crumble, but the push she feared, or the giant explosion that turned the entire stairway into an inferno failed to happen before the first of Parkinson's curse-fodder arrived. Most of them were Ministry employees, Brenda realised. Hardly anyone among them wore the robes and masks of the Death Eaters. A dozen, all told - they'd have to do.

Parkinson reappeared. "Those are all from this floor."

"I'll round up the ones below," Brenda said. She was going down the stairs before Parkinson could answer, and she heard him yell, pushing the rest to move, before she reached the fifth floor.

There she marched in and started bellowing at once. "Listen up! Blood traitors have taken control of the Atrium. We're massing to destroy them. Anyone with a wand, gather on the stairs on fourth floor!"

Two Death Eaters moved up to her, wands out. "Who're you? Why are you trying to order us around?"

She stared at them. "We've received direct orders from Bellatrix Lestrange."

The two glanced at each other, then muttered curses and ran past her. Brenda snorted. Hopefully, Lestrange would never hear of this - the Auror didn't know how the dark witch would react to people acting in her name. But there was no choice - and Lestrange would certainly punish them for failing to take back the Atrium.

She went through the offices on the floor, past a fat wizard with four withered limbs who had soiled himself, and another who was sobbing and holding one withered arm, stunning both blood traitors. She found half a dozen of the Dark Lord's followers tormenting another blood traitor, and broke that up by putting the cursed witch out of her misery, then sent them upstairs under the threat of cursing them herself. No discipline, the idiots. At least the masked Death Eaters were quick to act, but this rabble? Not even Hit-Wizard material.

By the time she made her way back upstairs, the fighting had already started again.

*****​

Hogsmeade, January 17th, 1997

Harry Potter ground his teeth in frustration. He had managed to numb his leg, which made the pain bearable. It was a move limited to truly desperate situations, Moody had told him, since it usually caused even more harm in the long run, but his current situation certainly qualified. He even had managed to transfigure his trouser leg, or what's left of it, into a cast. He still couldn't run, but he would be able to walk.

Not that it did him any good. With Voldemort raining down curses on him, and the Headmaster barely managing to protect the two of them, there was nowhere to run or walk to, since the moment he left Dumbledore's side, he'd be killed. And with him here, the Headmaster couldn't move either.

Even worse - Harry could tell that Dumbledore was slowly losing ground. He might not recognise all of the curses being used, but he could see that Dumbledore's conjured obstacles were appearing closer and closer to them. It was the curses aimed at the area around them that were the reason, Harry realised. Dumbledore couldn't move, and so had to counter the curses or their effects, which took a lot of effort. Meanwhile the Dark Lord could simply aim somewhere near them and let a curse fly, in between sending dark curses right at them.

If this continued, both the Headmaster and himself would die. Harry was certain of that. He didn't have the experience of Moody or the Headmaster, but the old Auror had praised him for his instincts in combat. In a backhanded way, but still. And he knew that Dumbledore was losing this battle. He had caught a glimpse of Ron, on his broom, but too far away, and fighting three Death Eaters. Ron wouldn't be able to help him.

For a moment, he thought about sacrificing himself, to save his best friend and the Headmaster. They'd be able to easily escape if they didn't have to worry about him. But that would mean Voldemort would become almost unbeatable. Finding all of the Dark Lord's Horcruxes was all but impossible.

But, Harry thought, pushing himself up to stand, he was no helpless victim. He could still cast. He could make a difference. He would make a difference. Help had to be on the way. The Order, the teachers, the Aurors. Moody. They just needed to hold out a bit longer. And that he could help with.

He didn't flinch when another slab of rock exploded right above him, and splinters struck his Shield Charm. He didn't panic when a curse blew another crater in the earth nearby. He analysed the situation. Between the curses from Voldemort and the conjured defenses of Dumbledore, Harry couldn't cast directly at the Dark Lord and hope to hit him. That left indirect methods.

He aimed his wand straight ahead, and started casting.

*****​

The Dark Lord Voldemort smiled as his wand flicked back and forth. He had his two worst enemies cornered! Dumbledore and the Boy-Who-Lived were trapped. With magical travel blocked, Dumbledore couldn't send Potter away. And the old wizard would never do the sensible thing and abandon the boy, even though it meant both of them would die.

Two more Blasting Curses, followed by Killing Curses and other dark curses. It wasn't elegant, or cunning, but it was working. Dumbledore was forced on to the defensive, unable to effectively strike back, and with each spell, with each curse, the defenses of the old wizard were pushed back just a bit more. Sooner or later, the old man would either make a fatal mistake, or simply be too slow to react.

Help wouldn't be coming either, not in time to save them. Not with magical travel blocked, and his Death Eaters in the air. They might not be able to stop every broom rider - in fact, last he had checked they had a bit of trouble dealing with the redheaded blood traitor - but they had already dropped Fiendfyre on several houses in the village.

Voldemort's smile widened. Dumbledore's friends and allies had the same weakness as his old foe himself: They'd rather sacrifice themselves than so-called innocents.

Besides, it was almost over. The stone slabs and shields were appearing so close to the ground now, even Voldemort, in a perfect body that surpassed human limitations, would be hard pressed to react in time to counter his next curses.

Just as he was about to send another poison cloud down to the ground, he noticed a large rock flying up towards him. Flying rather slowly too. He flew to the side, the rhythm of his volleys suffering from the distraction. What did Dumbledore hope to… His eyes widened. Of course! It was a trap! Dumbledore wanted him to react as though it was just a normal rock! That explained the weaker spells the Headmaster had used at the start of the fight in an attempt to fool him! It had been a buildup for just this gambit!

It had failed, though. Voldemort flew to the side, evading the rock and sending another Blasting Curse down to the ground, followed by an Entrail-Expelling Curse and a Sectumsempra. Dumbledore blocked them, as he must have blocked Voldemort's Earthen Spears Curse - since neither the old wizard nor the boy was impaled. Voldemort briefly considered then dismissed the thought of trying for another subtle attack; he couldn't afford to let up, not with this new distraction. He had to keep the pressure on until Dumbledore slipped.

The rock continued to follow him, interposing itself between Voldemort and his enemies. Dumbledore couldn't be more obvious in his wish to have Voldemort blast it. The strain he must be under was telling, especially since he was both keeping the rock floating and conjuring all those defenses, as well as countering his less direct attacks.

His eyes widened again. How did the old wizard manage that? Had he faked slowly losing ground, just for this? That didn't make any sense! Dumbledore wouldn't risk Potter's life for such a ploy. Potter! Voldemort hissed. The boy had been blasted off his broom and fallen down to the ground, twice now, and been under constant attacks since the fight had started. He wouldn't be able to move, much less cast after that.

But evidently, he had been able to cast - there he was, wand aimed at Voldemort. No, at the rock. It was Potter! In a rage, both at his foe and at himself, the Dark Lord almost blasted the rock to pieces. Then he checked himself. This could be the trap he suspected. No, he would simply keep casting. The boy would tire sooner rather than later. And then it would be over. He cast two more Bombardas, in between Killing Curses. Soon.

Then a volley of spells smashed into his shield. Who dared? And where? He shot to the side, twisting in the air. There! On the ground, a hundred yards from Dumbledore stood… Dumbledore? Voldemort gasped, then realised it was the Headmaster's brother. The black sheep of the family - or 'the black goat', as the joke went.

What was Aberforth Dumbledore doing here? Everyone knew he hated his brother. Why was he risking his own life? And, Voldemort added when more spells flew at him - well-aimed spells he realised, flawlessly cast - why was that wastrel able to fight that well? He was an innkeeper and a drunkard!

More spells followed, as did that damned rock. Some hit his shield, even, and others burst nearby, forcing him to evade. Voldemort couldn't keep his own spellcasting up, not like this. Dumbledore would be able to retaliate against him.

Cursing, the Dark Lord flew towards Dumbledore's brother. If he managed to kill the fool quickly… To his surprise, his Killing Curse was blocked, if not with quite the finesse that Dumbledore himself would have done it, still quickly and precisely enough to show Voldemort that this was no ordinary wizard. To think the Headmaster had managed to keep his brother's skill a secret for so long… how many of Dumbledore's enemies had fallen to that ploy? Grindelwald, maybe?

It didn't matter right now. As much as it galled him to admit, he couldn't win this fight any more. Not alone against those two. As he flew straight up, towards the upper limit of the jinxes blocking magical travel, he told himself that this had just been a distraction anyway; with Dumbledore tied up in Hogsmeade, the Ministry would have fallen to his forces. And holding the Ministry would be easy with the wards, and with the hostages his curse had struck.

The thought did nothing to lessen the sting of this defeat. If only the fight had lasted a bit longer...

*****​

London, Ministry of Magic, January 17th, 1997

With an unknown poison and White Phosphorous covering much of the stairs ahead of them, charging ahead was not an option, Hermione Granger decided. Even if they conjured a new floor, a simple Finite could counter that. They could create an alternative route, of course, she thought, looking at the ceiling - though it would require some work. She gasped, and quickly reinforced the ceiling with conjured metal propped up by steel pillars. The ceiling above their current position was thicker than the one the enemy had blown up earlier, but by no means impenetrable.

She was making too many mistakes, she thought. Debriefing this mess would not be pleasant. Provided she survived it. At least Ron and Harry were not involved, she told herself.

They had already used phosphorous, they had opened holes in walls, the enemy had blown holes in the ceiling… she needed something new to get them through this. Or at least new information. "Seamus, don't go any further; there's poison on the floor," she said, grabbing Sirius's mirror again and falling back to the Atrium.

Once again it took longer than she had hoped for the wizard to answer. "Yes?"

"Sirius, how are things on your floor? Can you see what the enemy is doing?"

"We've lost the antechamber, but we're holding. Turns out that the Chamber of the Wizengamot is one of the most protected rooms in the Ministry - the budget for its defences rivals that of the Auror Corps. I'm very happy about such selfishness on the part of my fellow honoured members of the Wizengamot right now, of course." Sirius chuckled.

"Can you see how they are guarding the stairs?" Hermione bit her lower lip.

"No, my dear, we can barely spot what they are doing to our doors, or trying to do. My dear cousin must be going mad with frustration right now."

His cousin? Bellatrix Lestrange! That laugh… Hermione ground her teeth. She had killed Dean, and that Veela. She nodded. "Alright. We won't try the stairs - too dangerous. We'll go through an alternate route. Be ready in a few minutes!"

Sirius had an eager grin on his face as he nodded. "We'll be ready. I'm sick of waiting!"

Of course he'd hate being penned in, locked in in that chamber, after Azkaban, Hermione realised. Another potentially crucial fact she hadn't considered. She was slipping. Shaking her head, she focused on her task again. Defeatism only helped the enemy.

"Alright!" she addressed her group. "Seal the stairs up, fill all of it, both the stairs leading up and the ones down, with stone and metal and whatever else you can think of that stops poison and acid!"

"What?" Seamus stared at her.

"Seamus, come with me. We need to make an alternate entrance. Two actually." She pointed at the ceiling in the Atrium behind her. "It's spelled against Transfiguration - don't ask me why the walls aren't - and against damage, but you know… a big enough bomb will go through anything."

His scowl turned into a fierce grin.

*****​

It only took a few minutes to set it all up, mainly because Seamus had spent a considerable amount of time preparing all sorts of shaped charges in his spare time and Hermione had the plans for the building on hand. She had sent a Patronus Messenger to the Delacours, warning them to stay away from the entry point. They couldn't answer her, so she waited two more minutes, then nodded at Seamus. "Blow it!"

The explosion shook the entire Atrium, sending dust and small stones crumbling from the ceiling and blew a hole in the ceiling wide enough for two broom riders to fly through. Which the Resistance and Bill and Fleur did. The rest guarded the sealed stairs.

"You don't know 'ow glad I am to see you!" Marcel Delacour greeted them upstairs. "We were in a bit of a bind."

He had an almost British gift for understatement, Hermione thought - from what she could tell, half his group was either dead or unable to fight any more, and most of those who were still fighting were wounded. She just nodded, though. "We had some trouble on the stairs, so we decided to make our own entrance."

Behind her, Seamus was already setting up the next charge, to break into the Wizengamot's floor - outside the chamber proper, though. Hermione wasn't quite certain if they could breach that floor without killing everyone inside. That wasn't a problem with a section held by Death Eaters, of course. Like the one directly in front of the entrance to the Chamber.

Hermione didn't know if the poison that had killed Dean would be destroyed in a blast, or if it burned - and what the fumes from such a fire would do. And she didn't want to find out, not the hard way.

Which was why Seamus was placing another charge on the other end of the floor. The first would draw attention - and hopefully kill a few Death Eaters - while they'd enter through the second breach.

"Sirius? We're about to attack now. Don't blindly charge out the front - there won't be a floor there."

"What?" Sirius asked.

Hermione grinned, and shut the mirror off, then turned to Seamus. "Blow it."

The first charge went off, followed ten seconds later by the next. With cries and yells, the French and the Resistance - and wasn't that a fitting combination, Hermione thought - charged on their brooms.

She wasn't among the first through the breach, of course. She knew better. And she wasn't that good a flyer either. By the time she set down on the ground, the few disoriented Death Eaters nearby had been dealt with already. With extreme prejudice. Hermione doubted that there would be many survivors among the enemy. Not after Dean, and after the French dead. She should say something, she knew, but… it wouldn't help. Not here, not now.

She heard shots and spells ahead - the first wave had already moved on to the main entrance of the Wizengamot Chamber. Where the first charge had gone off. The Death Eaters would have had time to recover, Hermione knew. But the risk of an ambush had been too great.

She was with Justin and Sally-Anne as they passed the remains of two Death Eaters who had holed up in an office to the side. They had died quickly, but not easily. To Hermione's surprise, Sally-Anne put a round into both corpses, without flinching, while rushing past.

Seamus, Tania and Mary were in front, followed by the Delacours and Louise and Jeremy. They were hitting shaken, disoriented Death Eaters, Hermione told herself. It was a textbook indoor assault, just modified to include magic.

Then the floor ahead of her group blew up and with it, the first wave. She saw Louise and a French wizard get thrown back, towards herself, landing hard. They were not moving - their shields had not held, Hermione saw. Sally-Anne was rushing ahead, wand flashing, with Justin at her side, to Louise. Hermione ran past them, around the corner. She heard gunfire. Automatic fire. And screams.

And cackling laughter.

She reached the corner, slamming her side against it, then peered around it, leading with her rifle. Then she gasped. A witch - Bellatrix Lestrange, - was floating above the hole the floor, laughing while she sent curses at the others. Mary was firing at her, Tania… Hermione couldn't see Tania. Or Jeremy. Seamus was there, bleeding from his leg, but firing as well. And two of the French were casting curses.

None seemed to faze the dark witch. She seemed to ignore the bullets and curses hitting her Shield Charm, focusing on casting curses herself, instead. Her wand flashed, and Seamus screamed, convulsing on the floor. The witch laughed louder, then flicked her wand, and a green curse struck Mary, going straight through her own Shield Charm. A Killing Curse.

Hermione clenched her teeth and started shooting herself. More curses hit the shield - Seamus was casting as well now. No Shield Charm could withstand such an assault forever, Hermione knew. Lestrange would have to know that as well. Why was she just floating there, instead of moving, fleeing? Was she truly mad beyond any reason? Or had she realised that she was trapped, and couldn't escape anyway, and would rather die than surrender?

A fireball hit the dark witch, and another - coming from Hermione's side. She took a glance and saw that a transformed Veela had stepped up. Her magazine ran dry, and she switched it while the Veela writhed under another Torture Curse. Lestrange threw her head back and laughed.

At that moment, her shield finally failed. Hermione's bullets tore into the witch's throat a fraction of a second before half a dozen curses hit her as well. For a moment, Lestrange floated there, jerking under the impact. Then the witch started to fall.

*****​

When the stone and metal blocking the way to the Atrium suddenly disappeared, Brenda Brocktuckle knew that the battle for the Wizengamot must have ended. The traitors had sealed the stairs so they could focus on Lestrange's forces, and they wouldn't remove the obstacles while they were still fighting them.

The explosion that ripped apart the first rank of the Death Eaters ready to charge up the stairs told her who had won. Not even Lestrange would have done that - she would have used a Torture Curse. She glanced at Parkinson, who looked grim. The curse-fodder they had gathered wouldn't beat whoever had defeated Lestrange.

Without a word, Parkinson turned and started to run. Brenda followed him. She didn't know where her partner was going, but she trusted that he had a plan. It wasn't as if she had any idea how to escape. And staying and fighting was suicide.

When he led her down to the cells, she understood. The secret passage they had used for their plan to fool the mudbloods! "It hasn't been sealed properly then, right?" she asked.

"Not completely!" Parkinson answered. "I know how to open it again!"

With renewed hope, Brenda followed him. They reached the furthermost cell, and Parkinson's spell ripped the door off its hinges in his haste to enter. Then he stopped and cursed. The secret passage was open already.

"Someone else must have known about this!" Parkinson said. "But…"

A Bludgeoning Curse hit him, smashing the Auror into Brenda, and her into the wall behind her. Her head hit the stone, and she fell down, under Parkinson's body. Dazed, she tried to get up, to grab her wand again. Before she could reach it, though, a foot pressed down on it. A wooden foot, she realised. A very familiar one.

Then everything went black.

*****​

Hogsmeade, January 17th, 1997

Ron Weasley was in a bind. His new, slightly used broom wasn't a Keeper's broom. It was less agile than he was used to. That was a bad thing, with three Death Eaters trying to kill him. So far the greater speed of the broom had kept him alive, but the dark wizards were persistent.

A brown curse came too close for comfort, and he abruptly dove to the ground, between two houses. More curses flew past him. With his new broom, he had to pull out of his dive a bit higher than he wanted, and a Blasting Curse hit the ground nearby, peppering his shield with cobblestones and debris. Their tactics were getting better as well.

Cursing under his breath, he veered to the left, passing the local bookshop on eye level, and then turning into the side alley next to it. He had misjudged the broom's turning radius, though, and almost crashed into the wall - and then, overcompensating, he slid along the opposite wall in the alley. If not for his Shield Charm, he'd have scrapped his robe's sleeve and his arm's skin off.

Behind him, more Blasting Curses hit the street, and his shield, already weakened by the collision, shattered under the hail of rocks and stones. Ron couldn't recast it while he had to use all his strength to turn at the speed he was going, and he couldn't slow down without getting hit by the Death Eaters.

He clenched his teeth. He couldn't evade their curses for much longer, not if he kept so close to the ground. He could pull up, and fly away - he should be able to outrun them, if he didn't have to dodge houses - but then they'd go after Harry…

There was one thing he could do. It was crazy, but they wouldn't expect that, and he might just pull it off. If he was far luckier than he had been so far.

Cursing, hoping Hermione would forgive him, he pulled up sharply, shooting almost vertically up, then pulled further back, and rolled - what Harry called an 'Immelman' - to face the Death Eaters head-on.

They weren't where he expected them - two behind, one above - and he wildly banked and rolled, to throw off their aim. No curses flew at him, or past him, though. Had they gone after Harry? He twisted his head, trying to spot them. There! They were flying away.

He gasped. Harry! Had the Dark Lord killed Ron's best friend and the Headmaster?

*****​

Harry Potter was panting, his wand still pointed up. Voldemort had fled. He was still alive. Dumbledore was still alive. They had done it. He shook his head, a surprised smile on his face. They had done it. He barely managed to ensure that the troll-sized rock he had been levitating, trying to block the Dark Lord's line of fire, didn't crush anyone when it fell to the ground.

Shivering, he realised just how much he was hurting, even with his broken leg numbed. Dumbledore was moving his wand. Dispelling the jinxes? Or something. Harry slowly sat down, on the ground, breathing heavily. That had been… he lacked the words. It had been worse than the Bastille. Far, far worse.

He spotted a dead snake next to his trainer. It wasn't one of those he had killed with fire since it was missing its head and didn't look burned. Or maybe he had missed it - its tail end looked burned. Or shriveled from the heat.

Dumbledore interrupted his musings by throwing a coin on his lap. A second later, the portkey took Harry away.

*****​
 
Chapter 33: Breathing
Chapter 33: Breathing

'The Battle of the Ministry is seen by some as a draw, or a stalemate. The Dark Lord did not manage to take control of the Ministry nor to cause significant damage to Hogsmeade. Further, the duel between him and Albus Dumbledore ended inconclusively, with the Dark Lord retiring from the field. At first glance, the status quo did not change.
However, such a view fails to take into account the effects of the battle. Not only did the civilians who did not manage to evacuate in time suffer terribly, but all factions that were involved in the Battle of the Ministry suffered serious casualties. The majority of the Aurors and the Hit-Wizards opposing the Death Eaters in the Ministry were killed, as were those guarding Hogsmeade. While recruiting efforts could make up some of those losses, the veteran Aurors and Hit-Wizards killed in the fighting could not be replaced by raw recruits. More important, though, was the fact that the Ministry's forces were reduced to the point that they now had trouble guarding the Ministry and Diagon Alley. Any offensive action would have required exposing either location to an attack.
On the other hand, the Dark Lord's forces fighting in the Ministry were decimated as well, with only those able to hide among the civilians escaping capture or death. However, as the Dark Lord lacked locations he had to defend, he was able to use all his remaining Death Eaters in his future attacks.
The losses the Muggleborn Resistance had taken in the Battle of the Ministry only exacerbated the situation, since they could not recruit replacements as easily as the Ministry or the Dark Lord, and even those they managed to recruit would require lengthy training to be as effective as the average Resistance member. Even Dumbledore's Order had taken heavy losses among their combatants, and their French allies were devastated.
Far from being a stalemate or a draw, the two battles therefore were a turning point in the Second Blood War, even without the Night of the Dead.'
- Excerpt from 'Wizarding Britain in the 20th Century' by Albert Runcorn


*****​

Hogsmeade, January 17th, 1997

Albus Dumbledore watched Harry disappear as the portkey he had created activated, and let out a relieved sigh. Poppy would take care of the boy. He looked at Aberforth. His brother was glaring at him. "Thank you, Aberforth," the Headmaster said. "You saved both my and Harry's life." He smiled.

"I saved the boy," his brother spat, "even though it meant abandoning the village because you couldn't handle the Dark Lord by yourself. It better have been worth it, Albus!"

"I…" Albus started to answer, but his brother had already apparated away.

The Headmaster felt more tired than he had in a long time. The fight against Tom had been a close affair. Far too close - and he couldn't blame everything on the need to protect Harry. He should have been better prepared. If he had had a second broom… or had been able to heal the boy's wounds… he shook his head. He could berate himself for his mistakes later; he still had a village to save. And possibly a Ministry. Although a quick exchange of Patronus Messengers with Alastair reassured him that the Ministry had not fallen. And Albus doubted that Tom would risk another fight, especially one in confined quarters, right now.

A quick Apparition took him to the closest burning house, Dominic Maestro's Music Shop. Several villagers - brave souls, all of them, to have come out while the battle still raged - were trying to keep the green flames of Fiendfyre from spreading past the doomed shop. He shook his head as he raised his wand. That a wizard who was claiming to fight to protect the culture and traditions of Wizarding Britain would destroy such a venue revealed the hypocrisy of Tom and his followers.

"Stay back!" he said, helped by an Amplifying Charm, "I will take care of this."

"Dumbledore!" exclaimed more than one of the villagers as they stepped back to let him work, and excited whispering followed while he raised stone walls to contain the fire, before smothering it with the help of an alchemical compound.

"Do not disturb it!" he said, lowering his wand and trying not to look as exhausted as he felt, "the Fiendfyre will not be extinguished completely until a few hours have passed." There were quicker ways to deal with the cursed fire, but they were both more draining and more dangerous. He realised that he didn't see the shop's owner among the crowd. "Was Dominic at home?" he asked.

"He was. He didn't get out," Beatrice Bitherling, a neighbour of the musician, said. "Not before…" she sobbed.

Albus inclined his head. Another good wizard, killed in the war. Dominic had never wanted to be anything but a musician, and hadn't taken any side in the war. And he had been killed anyway. The Headmaster couldn't dwell on this, though - he was needed to deal with another fire.

But when he arrived at Spintwitches Sporting Needs, the cursed fire had already been dealt with. By his brother.

Aberforth, standing near the smoking ruins, nodded curtly at him.

Given the bad blood between them, this was a rather cordial greeting. His brother hadn't calmed down, much less forgiven him, though - Aberforth knew as well as Albus did that they had to show a united front against Voldemort, and half a dozen villagers were watching them.

He returned the nod. "I have dealt with the Fiendfyre raging at Dominic's." He briefly closed his eyes. "Not in time to save him, though."

Aberforth muttered a curse.

Albus took a deep breath. "The Dark Lord has fled, but the Ministry was under attack. I need to head to London. We need to talk later."

Aberforth scoffed, sneering, but did not contradict him.

*****​

London, Ministry of Magic, January 17th, 1997

They had won, but at a terrible cost, Hermione Granger thought while she walked across the ruins of the Atrium. The Ministry employees sifting through the debris tensed up when she passed them, more than one interrupting their search for survivors and staring at her, her uniform, her weapons. She met their stares, tense herself. Who knew if there were any traitors hiding among the survivors?

The surviving members of the Resistance had taken up a position near the lift shaft leading up to muggle London. Two bodies were laid out there, covered with conjured white blankets. Mary and Dean. Hermione had floated Mary's body down from the Wizengamot's floor herself.

Justin, standing with a machine gun behind a conjured chest-high wall, nodded at her as she approached. John was there as well, covering the other half of the Atrium. Seamus leaned against a pillar, his weapon not quite pointed at the shaft, through which a steady stream of wounded were floating up until they were outside the range of the wards and could apparate. The Irish wizard was still trembling, suffering from the after-effects of Lestrange's Torture Curse.

He'd be fine, though, Hermione knew - it hadn't been that long. She couldn't say the same about all of the wounded, though. Tania, Jeremy and Louise were in the middle of their position, tended to by Sally-Anne. All were unconscious, which wasn't a good sign.

"How are they?" Hermione asked in a low voice. It was her fault that they were here, suffering. If she had been better prepared, had had a better plan...

Sally-Anne winced. "They're stable, but…" she sighed, wiping some dust and blood from her face. "... Louise has a broken leg, broken ribs, and a dislocated shoulder, and some minor wounds."

"Curses?"

The witch shook her head. "None. She'll recover quickly given care." Sally-Anne pressed her lips together.

"The other two, Jeremy and Tania," Hermione corrected herself, "they are cursed then?"

Her friend nodded. "Yes. Tania's been wounded as well from falling down a floor, but the Bone-Breaking Curse she has been hit with means she'll need a lot of Skele-Gro. Too many of her bones are simply smashed."

Hermione winced. That would be painful. "And Jeremy?"

"I don't know what curse he's been hit with." Sally-Anne shook her head and wiped her eyes. "But it must be a dark curse - he's breathing shallowly, and has a fever. He had been bleeding too, but I managed to stop that."

The witch didn't have to tell Hermione that she couldn't deal with that sort of curse. Sally-Anne was no full-fledged healer. She was great at first aid, but dark curses were beyond her.

Hermione sighed. "St. Mungo's will be overflowing soon." There had been so many victims of that Withering Curse. Even the Minister himself had been struck by it. Once the Floo connections were repaired and the wounded could be evacuated through them, the Healers wouldn't have much time for the muggleborns. If they even could be trusted. "I'll have to ask Dumbledore to let us take them to Hogwarts." The school would also be much safer than St. Mungo's - or the Ministry.

"Where is Dumbledore anyway?" Sally-Anne asked.

"He'll be on his way as soon as he has dealt with Fiendfyre in Hogsmeade," Hermione said. A glowing Phoenix - a Patronus Charm - had told Sirius that, who had then informed Hermione. She glanced at the wizard. Sirius was standing near the stairs, holding his girlfriend, Vivienne, in his arms.

She pressed her lips together. She had tried to contact Ron and Harry through her mirror, but they hadn't answered yet. They should be safe, at Hogwarts, but… they would have heard about the battle, and she'd expect them to have the mirror on hand. Even if they were helping with the relief effort in Hogsmeade.

So why were they not answering?

She wanted to go to Hogwarts and look for them, but she couldn't. She was needed here. Her friends needed her. And she needed to be here, to be seen, to be heard by the Minister, to ensure the Resistance had not bled fighting the Death Eaters in vain. Their fate would not be decided by others. Never again.

Sally-Anne turned back to care for their three wounded friends again, and Hermione stepped back, to join Justin and the others.

"They're afraid of us," he said. "We fought for them, we saved them, and still…" He shook his head.

"Not all of them," Hermione said, but she knew it was a weak response even before she said it.

"Bloody cowards," Seamus muttered. "If they hadn't rolled over for the Death Eaters, we wouldn't have been needed." And their friends would still be alive.

"If they weren't cowards they wouldn't have passed those laws in the first place," Hermione pointed out.

Shouts at the shaft near them drew her attention, and Hermione drew her wand while Justin and John aimed their machine guns. They would not take any chances. Not when they were surrounded by people who would have cheered their arrests and executions just a few months ago.

The evacuation had been stopped, Hermione saw, an Auror holding the next wounded back, which had prompted the loud protests - which promptly died down when Dumbledore stepped out of the shaft. Whispers and murmurs greeted the old wizard as he stepped through the ranks of the walking - or floating - cursed.

"You're in charge, Justin," Hermione said, and quickly moved towards the Headmaster. She had more than a few questions for the man. Urgent ones.

*****​

"Headmaster." Hermione fell in at Dumbledore's side as he was walking towards the stairs. No, towards Sirius.

"Miss Granger." The old wizard nodded at her.

"Do you already know what happened here?"

"Broadly, yes."

She quickly looked him over. Up close, he looked tired, exhausted even. She cast a privacy spell, even though the Ministry employees were giving them, or rather, her, a wide berth. "Harry and Ron are not answering the mirror," she said in a low voice.

Dumbledore sighed. "They are both alive, but not entirely unscathed."

Hermione pressed her lips together so she'd not gasp. Both were hurt? "How did that happen? Was Hogwarts attacked?" She wanted to add 'and what did you do?', but didn't. Not until she knew the whole story.

"I think Sirius should hear this as well," Dumbledore said, smiling faintly.

Hermione frowned, but she couldn't really contest his reasoning. Not without acting like an immature girl. She wanted to, though.

"How did your friends fare in the battle?" Dumbledore asked.

"Dean Thomas and Mary Smith were killed. Tania Dennel, Louise Clifton and Jeremy Chadwick were wounded, two of them by dark curses." Hermione tried to keep any emotion out of her voice. She didn't quite succeed, judging by the Headmaster's expression.

Then they reached Sirius, who separated from Vivienne. Harry's godfather was smiling, though his expression faltered when they stepped closer, and Hermione recast her privacy spell. The Veela had taken a step back, so she didn't feel guilty about excluding her.

"Albus?" Sirius asked, in a rather tight voice.

The Headmaster sighed again. "Harry and Mister Weasley took part in the fight at Hogsmeade. Neither was struck by dark curses, but both were wounded, Harry more seriously."

"Merlin's rotting crotch! When I heard his message, I hoped he'd not… What was he thinking? We taught him better than that!" Sirius looked both spitting mad and as if he was about to cry at the same time.

"As far as I can tell, the two boys tried to distract the Dark Lord and his followers, to keep them from further harming the villagers. Foolish and reckless, but definitely brave and noble." Dumbledore sighed. "In their defence, they were on their brooms, and did not intend to actually fight, but lead the Death Eaters on a chase until reinforcements arrived."

"Gryffindors," Hermione muttered.

"Where is he?" Sirius asked. "I need to go to him."

The Headmaster hesitated a moment, then nodded. "He's in Hogwarts, being treated by Poppy."

Sirius nodded curtly, obviously struggling to control himself, then turned away. He quickly hugged Vivienne, whispering something in her ear, then headed for the lift shaft, already pulling out his broom from an enchanted pocket.

Hermione noticed that Dumbledore was looking at her. She shook her head, anticipating his question. "I'll visit them once things have been settled here, but I'd like to move our three wounded to Hogwarts' infirmary. We can't treat them as well as Madam Pomfrey, and I'd rather not trust them to St. Mungo's." She hated to admit such a weakness, but Dumbledore knew these limitations of the resistance already, after their attempts to help Colin and Dennis.

"Of course, Miss Granger. I will inform Poppy to expect three more wounded." He pulled out a sock and handed it to her. "This portkey will take your friends to the infirmary."

Of course he'd be prepared! "You will be sending the wounded Order members to Hogwarts as well then," she said.

"Indeed."

While Dumbledore sent a Patronus Messenger off, Hermione quickly informed the Resistance. "Dumbledore's informing Hogwarts. We can move Tania, Louise and Jeremy there at once. We're not waiting until the Floo Network is restored. Justin, take the group up, and use this portkey as soon as you're outside."

"Aren't you coming too?" Justin frowned.

"I'll stay here with Dumbledore. We can't be left out of the planning, not now," Hermione said.

"We're not leaving you alone here." Justin shook his head. "John stays with you."

Hermione reminded herself that a leader should never give an order she knew would not be followed, and nodded. "Alright. Now go!"

While the Resistance moved out, she and John walked back to Dumbledore. The Headmaster was talking to Marcel Delacour. For a man who had lost half a dozen members of his family, the French wizard was holding up well, Hermione thought. But he was probably just a better actor than herself.

"Ah." Dumbledore smiled at her. "Marcel will move his own wounded to Hogwarts."

"Yes. I do not think that we should go to St. Mungo's." Delacour smiled faintly. "While I do not doubt the skill of the 'ealers there, I cannot say the same for their allegiance."

That Hermione agreed with. She didn't think there would be trouble, not even with Seamus - the Resistance and the French had fought side by side, and both had lost too many to the enemy's curses.

"Let us proceed to meet Cornelius and Amelia, then. There is a lot to discuss," Dumbledore said. "I shall talk to you once I am back at Hogwarts, Marcel. You have my thanks for your brave help, and my condolences for your loss."

The French wizard's smile didn't change. "Thank you."

"I was informed that they made up the vanguard of our forces," Dumbledore said, once he, Hermione and John were on the stairs which had been conjured or transfigured below the entrance Hermione and Seamus had created in the ceiling.

"They insisted," Hermione said. "French élan."

"I fought Grindelwald at their side," Dumbledore said. "I am familiar with their way of fighting."

He probably had expected that, then. Had expected the French to take heavy losses. Hermione stiffened for a moment when she had a chilling thought: Had the Headmaster expected the Resistance to take severe casualties as well, given that they hadn't been able to plan and prepare as thoroughly as usual? Had he been counting on that, to weaken them, while the forces of the Ministry and the Dark Lord decimated each other? She shook her head. She couldn't go and blame others for her own faults and shortcomings. She had failed to plan enough, to prepare enough.

They reached the Minister's floor, guarded by two Aurors, one of them wounded. Both of them stared at Hermione and John, but didn't dare to say anything as the two muggleborns walked with Dumbledore. Debris covered much of the floor, still, but the door to the Minister's office had been repaired, and the bodies of those who had been killed here had been removed already. The Hit-Wizard standing at the door smiled at them, and Hermione thought that he was one of the guards of the Wizengamot, although she wasn't certain.

"Albus! Finally! How are things at Hogsmeade?" The Minister for Magic, sitting behind his desk, asked as soon as they entered. Hermione recognised the woman standing next to him: Bones, Head of the DMLE, and the man on the other side, Scrimgeour, Head Auror. His left arm seemed to have been hit by the Withering Curse, as far as she could tell. Both were staring at her, and Hermione met their eyes. Neither smiled, though Scrimgeour slowly inclined his head. Bones, though, didn't even twitch.

Hermione heard John hiss under his breath, next to her, and clenched her jaw. Those were the two who had spent months hunting the Resistance. They had executed Martin, and had tried their best to kill them all.

"Cornelius, Amelia, Rufus - Miss Granger and Mister Emmet." Dumbledore seemed unfazed by the tension in the room. "I asked Miss Granger to join us, to discuss our next steps."

"Of course! That's what we voted for, after all!" Fudge smiled at her. "I would like to offer my thanks for your help - I dare say you saved quite a number of lives today."

Hermione wanted to curse the man. He was responsible for those awful laws. He had been manipulated by Malfoy, but ultimately, he had pushed those laws through, had stood behind them, and had let the Ministry persecute and oppress muggleborns. And now he suddenly acted as if they were friends? She forced herself to smile, though. They had to focus on defeating the Dark Lord. "Thank you. We just did what we have been doing for months now - fighting the Dark Lord and his followers."

Fudge's smile didn't waver. "Of course. And while he has caused terrible pain and misery, he has suffered a decisive defeat today! The British wizards and witches will take heart hearing about the heroic defense of the Ministry - and the validation of our new policy."

Dumbledore smiled widely, Hermione noticed, as did the Minister. Bones didn't even bother to try, though. Hermione had a feeling that the witch would not dismiss the past as easily as Fudge.

She was fine with that, since she had no intention of doing so either.

*****​

London, Ministry of Magic, January 17th, 1997

"After the Dark Lord had retreated, I sent Harry to Hogwarts, then helped put out the Fiendfyre he and his followers had cast on several houses in Hogsmeade before coming back to the Ministry. Sadly, we could not save all the buildings; four burned down completely. I fear some of the tenants did not manage to escape in time, either." Albus Dumbledore didn't let the others present - Cornelius, Amelia, Rufus and Miss Granger - notice how tired he was, nor had he let on just how close he had come to being defeated by Tom. That would have further eroded the morale of the Ministry's forces after the horrible casualties they had taken in the attempted coup d'état.

Cornelius was nodding. "Our enemy has suffered two defeats today then. The public will be glad to hear of this. His forces killed or captured, and he driven from the field of battle."

"The public will not be that glad to hear about the devastation he has caused. Apart from the losses we took in the Ministry, most of our Aurors in Hogsmeade were killed," Amelia said, "and the ones who survived were cursed."

"How many loyal Aurors and Hit-Wizards are left?" Miss Granger asked.

Albus saw Amelia tense up. He had expected that - the question was a logical one, but Amelia and her department had fought the Muggleborn Resistance for the better part of a year. She would not like to give out such crucial and potentially dangerous information.

Cornelius wasn't quite aware of that, or had taken the Resistance's support - their help had saved his life as well - to heart. "It's not as bad as it looks. A third of our Aurors and Hit-Wizards were not present, and a number were on patrol in Diagon Alley."

Amelia and Rufus were visibly annoyed by the Minister's frank answer, but fortunately, they did not make an issue of this in front of Miss Granger. None of the Dark Lord's enemies could afford that.

"Some of them might be traitors too, unless the Dark Lord's spies managed to get every one of theirs assigned to the Ministry today. But even if that was the case you'll still be hard-pressed to just guard the Ministry as well as Diagon Alley and Hogsmeade," Miss Granger said. Albus couldn't tell if she had missed the tension her question had caused, or simply ignored it. "Offensive actions will be difficult."

"As I recall your group did not come out of the battle unscathed either," Amelia said, a bit sharper than would have been advisable.

"That is correct," the younger witch admitted, "but we're still able to take action - we don't have to spread ourselves thin trying to guard most of Wizarding Britain's population." Her smile turned the information into a warning - or even a threat.

Albus cleared his throat. "Which makes working together even more of a necessity than before. The Dark Lord's forces have been decimated. His right hand, Bellatrix Lestrange, has been killed by our French allies and the Muggleborn Resistance, although at great cost. His reputation will suffer as well, for having fled and suffered defeats. And yet, he will work hard to replenish his ranks, probably from Magical Europe's malcontents. We have a window of opportunity here to defeat him for good - but it will take all of our forces, working together to achieve victory."

"I couldn't have said it better, Albus!" Cornelius said. "In this hour of need, all of Wizarding Britain is standing together against the Dark Lord."

While the Minister sounded sincere, Albus didn't think the others in the room shared his enthusiasm. Hopefully, they would keep their priorities straight.

"That's all nice and good to tell the public, and keep up morale, but in order to defeat the Dark Lord, we need to find him while all he has to do is to go to ground, and recruit until he can attack us again," Amelia said. "The Ministry cannot go and hide, which puts us at a distinct disadvantage." The witch's glance showed that she wasn't just talking about the Death Eaters.

Rufus spoke up for the first time in the conversation: "In addition to that, he can hire mercenaries and criminals, while we need to train our recruits. We can rush the current batch of recruits in training into service, but they'll be barely better than fresh graduates from Hogwarts. Worse, in some cases - those who will have forgotten their Defence Against the Dark Arts classes." He paused for a moment. "We could hire mercenaries ourselves, but I doubt that there are enough trustworthy wizards and witches to be found in that profession to be worth the security risk."

"The Dark Lord's recent and public defeat will hinder his recruitment efforts," Albus said. He'd ask a few old friends to help with that, too. Aberforth might know a number of dependable mercenaries as well, provided Sirius was willing to spend more gold. And some of the untrustworthy ones might be hired for a task abroad, simply to deny their services to the Dark Lord.

Amelia scoffed. "Greed wins over fear for that kind of scum. As long as the Dark Lord has gold, he'll be able to find unscrupulous wands."

"His financial resources are not unlimited. We can further limit his options by working on some of his supporters, who might have experienced a change of heart after they hear of today's events." The Headmaster's smile grew a bit cynical. Those among the Old Families who had thought that by abstaining from fighting and sticking to paying gold to the Dark Lord they'd be safe no matter who won the war might discover that they had thought wrong. The blood on their hands would not be washed away with gold either.

"You mean those who fled the Wizengamot right before the attack," Amelia said. "With their treachery exposed, they'll join him openly."

"We can probably persuade a number of them to abandon the Dark Lord, if they are approached with some finesse," Cornelius said. "They'll realise that the tide has turned, and the more reasonable among them will be looking for a way out."

"Are you proposing to spare those scum? Have you forgotten what happened after the last war?" Miss Granger was not yelling, but she was raising her voice. "If you let them get away with their crimes, then they'll do the same again at the next opportunity, like Malfoy. Those marked by the Dark Lord will not betray him!"

Albus knew that to be false, but mentioning that would not be opportune right now. "Not all of them will be marked. Some might serve as spies, given the opportunity - although I do not believe the Dark Lord will trust those. Further, many might fear the Dark Lord more than anything else, and that fear might drive them to betray us again."

"I didn't mean to let them go. But if promised some leniency, we might manage to get them to surrender," Cornelius said. "That would spare our own forces from having to fight needless battles."

"I won't condone letting murderers escape justice," Amelia said.

Judging by how Miss Granger's face hardened, she had understood what the older witch meant. Albus fought not to show his frustration with the Head of the DMLE. Forcing himself to smile, he said: "Those who who willingly joined the Dark Lord and supported his goals with gold or spells should not be offered leniency, be they marked or not. They are directly responsible for all the deaths today. But those who simply supported his proposals in the Wizengamot, maybe even unwittingly, should not be forced to join him out of desperation."

"Exactly!" Cornelius said. "We need to draw a line between the Death Eaters, and those who made honest mistakes."

Such as Cornelius, Albus thought. And he didn't think he was the only one in the room. But even if it was self-serving, the Minister's view was correct - they needed to remove the Dark Lord's support among the broader pureblood population, and that would not be possible if anyone who had voted or supported the muggleborn laws were treated as a Death Eater.

"Even if that works, that still leaves us with the problem of actually finding the Dark Lord," Amelia said. "You haven't yet explained how you'll solve this problem, Albus."

"And I will not." Albus smiled, hoping it took the sting out of his refusal. "But I ask you to trust me that I have reasons to expect that I'll be able to find the Dark Lord soon enough." With the current losses, Tom would be forced to rely on his remaining supporters - even those he might not trust that much. Severus should be able to exploit that. And if that failed, then there was another option, although Harry was not yet ready for that.

Once again, Cornelius was the only one to smile happily. At least the others would understand the necessity of keeping Albus's plans secret, especially after today's battle had revealed just how many traitors had been hiding in the Ministry.

"Speaking of secrets, Albus," Amelia said, frowning, "the offices of the Floo Network Authority have been filled with what my experts assure me is an alchemical compound. Efforts to clear it have failed so far, which means we cannot restore the Floo connections."

"Ah, yes. That was a precaution I took, to keep the Death Eaters from taking control of the Floo Network and using it to attack others." Albus smiled. "I will deal with it right after we conclude this meeting."

"There were no such precautions in the Auror and Hit-Wizard offices." Amelia was staring at him. She wasn't quite accusing him of sacrificing her people, yet.

He sighed. "I had wanted to install such precautions there as well, but unfortunately, the premises were under too close scrutiny to be able to do so." Too many Aurors and Hit-Wizards on all sides had expected such a ploy, after all. Even if young Nymphadora had managed to place the concoction without being spotted, it would have been discovered by someone shortly afterwards. And the other precautions had not been triggered; he would have to ask her to remove them, before Amelia found and acquired them.

Amelia frowned, but she couldn't very well berate him for her people being too observant to be fooled by him. Miss Granger, though, was likely thinking of countermeasures, probably based on muggle technology. If he found the time, he'd have to discuss that with her.

"Please clear those office of the compound; it would expedite evacuating the wounded to St. Mungo's."

"Speaking of," Rufus said, pointing at his dangling arm, "do you know how to counter this curse? Dozens of Ministry employees were struck by those cursed paper aeroplanes, many of them losing the use of two or more limbs." The Head Auror sounded composed, but Albus saw that it cost him a lot. It was understandable, really - to feel part of your body shrivelling up like that…

Albus shook his head. "To my great regret, I am not familiar with that curse. Although it reminds me of a report from the last war with Jamaica; one of our wizards reported a similar curse being used by a Houngan."

He felt slightly ashamed for deceiving the others about his apparent knowledge - only Miss Granger knew that he had been researching this particular curse for some time already - but it would give those struck by the curse hope that he'd be able to find a countercurse quickly, which would help them endure this ordeal.

Albus could only hope that he would be able to find a cure.

*****​

Hogwarts, January 17th, 1997

It felt weird to be back in Hogwarts, Hermione Granger thought. Even more so wearing combat fatigues instead of school robes. She sighed as she and John followed the Headmaster out of his office to the infirmary.

"Is something wrong, Miss Granger?"

"Just memories."

"I hope they are good ones," the Headmaster said.

"They are," she answered. Which made the contrast to her current situation just more painful. She would never return to be the student she had been, she realised when she casually covered one side of the next hallway they crossed with her wand while John covered the other side. She had changed too much. And so had her friends.

She tried to console herself that everyone changed growing up. Harry, Ron and herself were quite different from the three first-years confronting Quirrell, or even from the three third-years tracking down Sirius Black. Thinking of how much Ron had changed, she smiled. Her boyfriend had really grown up - and filled out.

Although he still was as recklessly brave as he had been in first year, she added to herself with a frown. And she'd speak to him about that.

Once she had checked up on Tania, Jeremy and Louise.

No students were around in the hallways; it was already past curfew, Hermione remembered. Another thing she wasn't used to anymore. She hadn't had a curfew since she had left her parents' house. She snorted - it was such a trivial thing, but it once again illustrated just how much had changed for her and the Resistance.

They reached the infirmary. An older wizard Hermione didn't recognise was guarding the door. Dumbledore nodded at him. "Dedalus."

"Albus."

She took note of the name, just in case, as they entered the infirmary. The familiar smell hit her, but that was as far as the memories went. Instead of the empty room with a dozen beds, one of them Harry's usual bed, the infirmary had been doubled in size - and filled to capacity, as far as she could tell, even with the curtains drawn to preserve the privacy of many of the wounded.

She saw Fred or George duck behind a curtain, and for a moment, wanted nothing more than to rush there and check up on Ron. He'd be next to Harry, too. Hermione told herself that she couldn't be certain if Ron was there - Madam Pomfrey might have had the two be treated somewhere else, before she had enlarged the infirmary to handle the wounded from the Ministry. And she had a duty to her group.

So she walked over to where Justin was standing, his gun dangling from its sling at his side, next to a curtained area. Curtains someone had transfigured into stone walls, she saw coming closer. She approved of the precaution - Hogwarts was too open for her taste. Too many had reasons to be there. And it would take just one Imperius to have anyone strike at them.

"Justin. How are things?" she asked, a bit brisker than she had wanted. But it had been a long day, and it was far from over.

"We've been here since you left. We were lucky; we were among the first to arrive, and Pomfrey had already treated us before the rest arrived." In a lower voice, he added. "Your friends are in the room there." He nodded at a door to the side. A door Hermione hadn't seen before.

"Thanks." She stepped past him, inside the curtained area. Sally-Anne was there, next to five beds, four of them occupied with Tania, Louise, Jeremy and Seamus. Hermione looked at Seamus, and the other witch flushed. "He needed the rest, but didn't want to rest, so we forced him to."

That sounded like him.

"He took Dean's death very hard," Sally-Anne added, wiping her eyes.

"How are the others?" Hermione asked.

"Louise will be fine tomorrow, or so Pomfrey said. Tania will take two days until the Skele-Gro is done."

Hermione winced. Two days with Skele-Gro… that was torture.

"Jeremy…" Her friend winced. "A month, with regular potions. That curse did a lot of damage to his organs."

"Did you get all the potions we need?"

"Yes. I insisted." Sally-Anne nodded.

"You should get some rest too," Hermione said. The other witch looked dead on her feet.

"I can take another Pepper-Up Potion."

"And collapse tomorrow, when we might need you even more. Please." Hermione grinned. "We'll tell Seamus we forced you to rest as well."

Her friend snorted, but picked the free bed to lie down.

"I'll send Justin in as well," Hermione said. John would have to take over for a bit, but that couldn't be helped. Justin needed to be able to take over for herself.

"Did you inform Colin and Dennis?"

Hermione nodded. "I called them before we entered the grounds of Hogwarts." They had been frantic. She should have called them sooner, but there had been so much to do and think about… she was making more and more mistakes. And her friends were paying for it. She looked at the four in the beds. All were asleep - assisted by some potions, she knew that. If she had just been a bit better prepared… She shook her head.

"I have to talk to the Order. I'll be back soon," she said.

Sally-Anne smiled. "Send the two my regards."

Hermione chuckled ruefully. Was she that easy to read? She nodded, though, and walked out.

It was time to berate her two best friends for being stupid reckless idiots.

*****​

The man coughed, clutching at his chest. Blood was seeping between his fingers, staining his dark robe. Then Ron's next curse smashed into the man's head, breaking his mask and his skull with a sickening crack. More blood and gore. But the man kept flying, towards Ron. And Harry needed him. He could hear him screaming.

"Ron!"

Ron Weasley woke up with a start. This wasn't his bed! He had his wand in hand and was about to roll out of the bed when he remembered. He was in the Hogwarts infirmary. A side room he hadn't known existed until today. Might not have existed until today. And he was pointing his wand at Hermione!

He quickly stashed it. "Merlin's balls, I'm sorry!"

She shook her head. "No, it's my fault. I startled you. But when I saw you lying there, still…" She sighed and ran a hand through her short hair.

He got out of the bed and hugged her. She was wearing a muggle uniform. Camouflage, she had called it during their last date. "I'm alright. I wasn't wounded. Not really," he added, when he felt her tense up. "A bit battered, some scratches. I've suffered worse in a friendly Quidditch match." Once, and his mum had blown her top for two days. "I must have dozed off."

He glanced at Harry, in the bed next to him. His friend was still asleep. "Harry, though…" He shook his head. Their best friend looked like he had played a Quidditch match by himself against the Slytherins, with Snape as referee and no snitch to stop the carnage.

"What were you thinking, attacking the Dark Lord!" Hermione hissed.

Ron bit back a sharp retort; Sirius had already berated him in Harry's place. "We weren't attacking him. We were trying to check what he was doing so close to Hogwarts, to warn Dumbledore. We were keeping our distance, we were disillusioned, and we thought we could fly away any time, to Hogwarts."

"What went wrong?"

Ron cast a privacy spell. "He could sense Harry."

His girlfriend hissed, and muttered something that was probably a swear word.

"Yes. We couldn't escape him undetected, and so we had to outfly him and his Death Eaters. It didn't work out that well." He closed his eyes. "Harry crashed before Dumbledore arrived, and I was chased by three Death Eaters, so I couldn't help him." Ron ground his teeth; that had been one of the worst moments of his life.

Hermione looked at Harry, sighing. "He survived."

"Thanks to Dumbledore. Voldemort tried his worst to kill them both. It wasn't enough." Not with Dumbledore around.

The witch sat down on Ron's bed. "Did you hear about the Ministry?"

Ron sat down next to her, wrapping an arm around her shoulder. "I heard some from my family. Dad and Percy were in the Wizengamot, and both were hurt in the battle. They'll be fine, though - they told us about it." He sighed. "Bill's wounded as well, and sleeping. Fleur wasn't in a state to tell us much." And he hadn't wanted to talk to the Resistance, not without clearing it beforehand with Hermione, in case they had to keep their relationship a secret.

"Fleur lost many family members. Half a dozen, I think."

Ron hissed. That was terrible. He imagined losing so many Weasleys… He shuddered and pulled her closer. "Things were very hectic then, so many wounded arrived. The Order, the French, and the Resistance. Mum came as soon as she had heard - she had been waiting in St. Mungo's. Ginny managed to sneak in. Don't ask me how she did it." He sighed. "I'd have called you, once I got the mirror from Harry, but Sirius said you were in an important talk."

"With Fudge, Bones and Dumbledore," Hermione said. "A strategy meeting, you could call it."

She didn't sound as if she was happy with its results, Ron thought. "What went wrong?"

"Nothing went wrong, but…" She shook her head. "I don't trust Bones. And Fudge… he acted as if everything was fine. As if all those laws were never passed."

"He's a fool," Ron said.

"I just hope he's a useful fool."

She nodded. "Oh. Have you been told? Dean was killed."

Ron closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. "Shite." He hadn't been that close to Dean, or to Seamus, but they had been dormmates for five years.

"Some sort of poison spell killed him, probably cast by Bellatrix Lestrange. We killed her, though." Hermione leaned into him.

"Neville will be happy to hear that." Hopefully - the bloke had changed, Ron thought. Very intense, and driven by his desire to avenge his family. Who knew how he'd react to hearing that someone else had killed Lestrange?

"Where is Sirius?" Hermione interrupted his thoughts.

"I don't know. He was called away earlier, and then I fell asleep." He grimaced. "Not my finest hour."

"You faced Death Eaters and the Dark Lord and you're still alive. You did well," Hermione said, before she kissed his cheek.

He didn't feel as if he had done well. And there was something else. "I killed one of them. Piercing Curse to the chest. Then a Bludgeoning Curse to the head." Just like he had been training for.

"Oh, Ron!" Hermione hugged him, hard.

He wondered about her reaction. She had killed before, multiple times. And Harry had killed Quirrell when he was eleven years old. Had they had nightmares too?

"It'll get better with time. Talking helps too."

"To whom?" He didn't want to talk to his family about this. He didn't want them to know it, if possible. And Hermione… he didn't want to waste their few times together with that.

"Your family?" She must have noticed his reaction. "McGonagall? Dumbledore?"

He was about to scoff, then reconsidered. Dumbledore would probably understand. He had been there, too. And he was regularly trying to break into the Headmaster's mind, so they were, well… he couldn't call it close, but… the Headmaster would listen, Ron was certain. "Yes."

Hopefully, it'd help.

She was resting her head on his shoulder, still leaning into him. He turned his head, and cupped her chin, then kissed her, properly.

They needed to make the most of the time together they could have, before the war separated them again.

*****​

London, Ministry of Magic, January 17th, 1997
Brenda Brocktuckle woke up and couldn't move. Full Body-Bind Curse, she knew - a favourite of some of the instructors, every Auror was quite familiar with it. Which meant she was a prisoner of the Ministry.

"Hello, Brocktuckle."

She knew that voice. Mad-Eye Moody. The old Auror had stunned her and Parkinson - she remembered seeing his peg leg before she lost consciousness. She couldn't see him, though - he was staying outside her very limited field of view. She wanted to tell him to save the theatrics, but she couldn't say a word either.

Then she felt her body relax, and her control return. Limited control, as she quickly found out - bands of metal held her wrist and ankles to the bed she was laid out on. But she could turn her head and talk.

"Moody."

"That was quite a busy day, today. Death Eaters in the Ministry. Traitors in the Ministry. Half the Auror Corps dead - murdered. Half the Ministry cursed."

There hadn't been that many paper aeroplanes, Brenda knew that. He was baiting her, hoping that she'd correct him. As if she was an idiot - she had been in his place before. She didn't answer the man. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction.

He chuckled. "Unfortunately for those traitors and Death Eaters, they lost. The Wizengamot held out, and reinforcements arrived. And all the Death Eaters and traitors were caught or killed." He started to walk around her. "There were a lot of them. A number probably were both - Death Eaters and traitors. Hard to tell who's who."

"That's easy to check for. Look for the mark." She regretted answering as soon as she had said it. She should have stayed silent.

He smiled, his ugly face twisting. "Oh, we have. You are not marked. Neither was your partner. You know, Parkinson. You live with him, too. Didn't listen to me when I told you that mixing work and your private life was a bad idea?"

"You don't have a private life."

He laughed. "Usually, I'd not bother interrogating you until much later. So many others to interrogate, and so few Aurors left. And so much to rebuild. Why waste time on an unmarked traitor and her boyfriend?" He cocked his head sideways, and that weird ugly eye of his rolled around almost frantically. "But you and your partner were not captured with the rest of you scum. You were trying to flee through a secret tunnel you shouldn't have known about while the rest was fighting still. So, I think you two were among the smart ones. Those who know more than the curse-fodder."

She glared at him while he reached into a pocket in his robe and pulled out a vial. "I think you're familiar with this."

Brenda clenched her jaw so she'd not scream in frustration.

Veritaserum.

*****​

Hogwarts, January 18th, 1997

Harry Potter woke up to a familiar ceiling and a familiar smell. He was inside the Hogwarts infirmary. Not in his usual bed though, but in a smaller room. He wasn't alone either. Sitting on the bed next to him were Ron, and Hermione in a uniform - fatigues - and on the other side was Sirius.

"Harry!" his godfather yelled, then hugged him. "Don't do this to me again!"

"Good morning, mate. You had us worried." Ron said, smiling.

Hermione was frowning while she nodded. "Yes."

"Is this where you tell me how much I messed up?" he asked.

"Not me." The girl shook her head. "Ron told me what you were doing. It wasn't quite as reckless as it looked. Even if you were on brooms."

"I'll do that in a bit. I'm too glad you're fine again," Sirius said.

Harry chuckled, then winced when Sirius hugged him a bit too hard. "Ow."

"Harry?" Sirius released him at once.

He raised a hand. "I'm fine. Just some lingering bruises. I've had worse in Quidditch."

Hermione huffed. "You and your Quidditch! Bloody dangerous foolishness!"

He exchanged a glance with Ron and his godfather. Their friend probably would never understand just how great the game was. Then he looked back at Hermione. "What happened? You wouldn't normally be here, just because I've got a few bruises." Sirius, of course, would have to be stunned or otherwise incapacitated to be kept away from him.

"You were hurt far worse than 'a few bruises'," she said. "I talked to Madam Pomfrey."

"You know what I mean." He paused for a moment. "What happened?"

Ron took a deep breath. "Death Eaters tried to take over the Ministry. They attacked the Wizengamot."

Harry gasped.

Sirius made a placating gesture with his hand. "As you can see, I'm fine. So is Vivienne." Harry didn't really care about the Veela. Not as much as he did care about his godfather.

"My family will be fine after a bit of rest," Ron added, "but…."

"Dean was killed. Mary too," Hermione said, after taking a deep breath.

Dean dead? Harry hadn't known Mary, not really, but Dean… he muttered a curse. It could have been Hermione, in Dean's place. He didn't want to think about that.

"Seamus was hit with a Torture Curse, but should be fine in a bit," Hermione continued.

Harry had been hit with the same curse. It took longer than she thought to be fine. He nodded, though. "How did that go?"

"Well, we went in through the lift entrance from muggle London," Hermione started, "and we cleared the Atrium with a bomb. But then, on the stairs…"

Harry listened while his friend and his godfather told him about the Battle of the Ministry. "And you thought I was being reckless?" When he saw her wince, he regretted his words.

"I know… we weren't prepared enough. I didn't plan enough." Hermione looked down. "Just too rushed, and fights inside a building are usually more dangerous."

"You can't plan for everything," Harry said. Ron agreed.

Hermione nodded, but Harry didn't think she believed them. She was a perfectionist, after all. He had to talk with Ron about this - their friend couldn't be allowed to blame herself for everything.

*****​

Outside Stamford, Lincolnshire, Britain, January 18th, 1997

The Dark Lord Voldemort was incensed. His plan, failed! His right hand, his most loyal Death Eaters, murdered! His forces, both marked and not, decimated! How could this have happened? He had lured Dumbledore to Hogsmeade. How had the Ministry been able to resist? He glared at the Daily Prophet on the table. Mudbloods and foreigners and blood traitors, fighting together against his own forces! How low had Wizarding Britain sunk for such a travesty to not only happen, but to be celebrated?

He wanted to lash out, destroy something, someone. Turn Wizarding Britain into Bellatrix's funeral pyre. Make them all pay for defying him. With an effort, he forced himself to calm down. He was the Dark Lord Voldemort, not some mere dark wizard. He would not let emotions rule him.

But he had to understand what exactly had gone wrong. Maybe he should have gone to the Ministry himself, engaged Dumbledore there… He shook his head. No. To fight Dumbledore, a master at Transfiguration and a famous alchemist, inside the Ministry where Voldemort couldn't move as freely as in the air above Hogsmeade to avoid the numerous traps and other lethal surprises Dumbledore could create in such an environment, would have been foolish. Not suicidal - he was the old man's equal - but far from ideal for a confrontation.

It was galling, but it was likely that his forces in the Ministry had lost due to the mudbloods and foreigners. The blood traitors would have been outnumbered once his curse had struck and the ambushes had been sprung. The sudden arrival of reinforcements for the enemy could have tipped the scales, although his Death Eaters should have been blocking the entrances to prevent exactly such a thing from happening. At least they had paid the price for failing him.

Besides, his situation was not quite as dire as it looked, no matter what the Ministry's rag claimed. His Death Eaters might have failed him, but they had taken a great toll on the Ministry's Aurors and Hit-Wizards, and the mudbloods; that much was certain just judging by the pictures in the article. And his curse had struck as planned. No, the Ministry might have won this battle, but it might have lost the war as well.

He had to take stock of his remaining followers. Some of them whom he had sent abroad, for a variety of reasons, would have to be called back. Pettigrew, for one - that man was a sniveling coward, but a skilled wizard and a capable spy. There was Snape, too. His information had allowed Voldemort to engage Dumbledore and almost kill Potter. The Dark Lord still didn't fully trust the double-agent, only a fool would, but in his current situation, he'd have to make more use of the man. There should be a suitable mission that would both test the man and serve Voldemort's goals no matter its outcome. At least most of his followers in the Wizengamot would have escaped before the battle had started; for once, their cowardice had been a boon.

And he'd have to put his own story out there. He could blame the mudbloods; their presence proved that they were trying to take over the Ministry and that he had just struck before they were ready. But that would make him appear weak. Maybe blame the Ministry for using mudblood enforcers against 'undesirable' purebloods? It might scare some of the dumber purebloods into joining him. He'd have to recruit abroad, though, to replenish his ranks.

And there was another unexpected boon he had discovered. He could sense Potter if the boy was nearby. And Potter could sense him. That explained why the boy had been tracking down Horcruxes for Dumbledore - it wasn't just because the boy was protected from Voldemort's power, but because there was a connection. And it went both ways.

He grinned. That was another opportunity he would exploit, given time. But first, he added, glancing at the skull on his table, he had to decide how to use the wand up his sleeve. It was a good thing he hadn't used it against the Resistance, even though he had had the chance for weeks. The mudbloods would have warned Dumbledore, and he would have not only taken steps to counter this, but would have gained an effective propaganda tool as well.

Using houngan techniques was, after all, a taboo in Wizarding Britain and in most of Magical Europe.

*****​
 
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Chapter 34: Hogwarts
Chapter 34: Hogwarts

'At first sight it might seem odd that even after having fought together in the bloodiest battle in the war so far, the Ministry's wounded were sent to St Mungo's while the Order of the Phoenix and their allies, as well as the Resistance, moved their casualties to Hogwarts. However, the close cooperation that followed the battle was largely the work of Dumbledore, who managed to convince the Resistance and the Ministry to join ranks despite the bad blood between the two factions. But the separation of the wounded heralded the fact that while the three factions were at this point united against the Dark Lord, they had by no means truly reconciled. Deep rifts remained, a situation the Dark Lord was poised to exploit.'
- Excerpt from 'The Second Blood War' by Hyacinth Selwyn


*****​

Hogwarts, January 18th, 1997

"Good morning, Aberforth." As usual, Albus Dumbledore greeted his brother with a friendly smile. And as usual, Aberforth ignored his greeting as he sat down in front of Albus's desk, staring at him.

Albus didn't sigh. "I trust you have heard about the events at the Ministry."

"Yes. Quite the massacre." Aberforth scoffed. "Why did you let that happen? You expected the Dark Lord to launch an attack following that vote in the Wizengamot."

The Headmaster shook his head. "I took precautions, but the sheer number of spies Voldemort had inside the Ministry hindered my and my friends' efforts." He might have been too cautious, Albus knew, but if Tom had learned of his precautions then the Dark Lord would have been able to counter them. The battle had been close enough. If not for the Resistance and the Delacours and d'Aigles, the Ministry would have fallen.

"Really?" His brother snorted. "Didn't the battle end just as you wanted, with the Ministry both weakened and indebted to the muggleborn and your friends, and the Death Eaters broken?"

"I certainly did not wish for so many good people to die," Albus said, forcing himself to remain calm. That there was some truth to this accusation made it harder - with both the Resistance and the Ministry suffering such terrible losses, they were unlikely to attack each other until the Dark Lord had been defeated, and Albus hoped that by then, the rift would have been mended sufficiently to avoid further bloodshed.

"Hah! You may claim that, but no matter what you intended, people keep dying while you scheme and plot," Aberforth sneered at him. "Children as well."

Albus knew what his brother was not quite saying. Decades had dulled the pain of the loss of his sister, but not the shame he felt for his part in it. He felt the urge to lash out at his brother, remind him that there had been three wizards fighting each other that day, that Aberforth was guilty as well, but he knew couldn't afford it. He needed Aberforth's help.

So he slowly nodded, denying his brother the satisfaction of seeing him react with anger. "I try my best, but the Dark Lord is no ordinary enemy."

Aberforth scoffed again, but didn't press the matter. For a short while, neither Albus nor his brother said anything. Then the Headmaster broke the silence. "The Dark Lord has lost most of his Death Eaters in the Ministry. He will be looking to recruit more unscrupulous wands to fill up his ranks."

"There are not many left in Britain who'd follow him," Aberforth said. He had to know what Albus was asking. "And I think your French friends will not look kindly on attempts to recruit their scum."

The Headmaster nodded. "But Tom will look further abroad as well. He spent years in Albania as a shade." He didn't react to his brother suddenly growing tense.

"He couldn't have built up a network of contacts as a shade," Aberforth answered.

"No. But he had ample time to remedy that since his return - a number of his inner circle are not accounted for." Albus folded his hands and propped his elbows up on his desk. "I am not asking you to go there." Aberforth relaxed minimally. "But I need a few names friends of mine can contact there. Trusted mercenaries. And mercenaries who would be joining the Dark Lord."

"If you try to put pressure on them not to join the Dark Lord you might cause them to join him out of spite," Aberforth said. "They're a prickly sort."

"I am not planning to do that," Albus said, shaking his head. "I intend to hire them myself, although the less trustworthy ones I would probably send to guard something unimportant abroad, just to deny them to Tom."

"Expensive, but effective." Aberforth chuckled. "Although they'll grow restless sooner or later."

Albus spread his hands. "I would rather have them grow restless after a few weeks than attack us straight away." And if things went well, Tom would be dead before this became an issue.

"I'll give you a list. I don't know if any of them are still alive, though. Is that all?"

Albus doubted his brother's professed ignorance of the fate of his former comrades. Aberforth was far too loyal to the thieves and other shady people he associated with to have abandoned those he shed blood with during the troubles in the Balkans. He shook his head. "Tom will try to recruit in Britain as well. If your friends could keep an eye and ear out for his recruiters…"

"I'm not going to have them risk their lives for you, Albus."

"Shouldn't that be their choice?" Albus said softly.

Aberforth muttered a curse, but he couldn't very well accuse Albus of manipulating others like puppets, and then try to make such decisions for his friends. The Headmaster waited until his brother had gotten up, then spoke up again. "The Resistance might need your help as well."

Aberforth whirled around. "What? Are you sending them into harm's way again, before they have recovered from this debacle? They lost half their number!"

Albus made a mental note that his brother had kept track of the Resistance. That and his reaction meant he cared for them. The Headmaster shook his head. "No. But as you said: They lost a number of dear friends. They, or rather Miss Granger, might need to talk to someone who has gone through this before." Albus couldn't help but feeling a small bit of satisfaction at seeing his brother jerk - Aberforth wasn't the only one able to use old tragedies against another.

His brother stared at him, then nodded, and left the Headmaster's office without a further word.

*****​

"Good morning, Alastor."

"Morning Albus." The old Auror's peg leg made a loud noise with each step he took. Albus ignored it; Alastor was doing this so his enemies, both real and imagined, would not suspect that he could move far more quietly if he wanted to.

"You sent your brother off on his errands already?" Alastor said, sitting down on a chair he had conjured himself.

Albus nodded.

"Good to see the old bugger doing something helpful, for a change." His old friend snorted.

The Headmaster shrugged. He might still harbor hope for a reconciliation with his last family member, but he was certain Alastor and Aberforth would never be civil to each other. There had been too much bad blood, back when Aberforth had just returned to Britain from the Balkans, and both men carried grudges like no one else Albus knew. "What did you find out?"

Alastor grinned, his scarred face twisting. "Ah, I got lucky - the very first traitor I interrogated was the one who snuck those cursed aeroplanes in."

Albus leaned forward. That was very important news. "Did they know what curse was used?"

His friend shook his head, the enchanted eye spinning wildly. "No. The fool just did what she was told to, without knowing exactly what would happen. She knew that it was a dark curse, and that the spell would not hit anyone near the target - but that might have been a lie told to her as well." He scoffed. "Two Aurors were behind that nasty business, Malcolm Parkinson and Brenda Brocktuckle. They organised the traitors in the Corps, sent those cursed planes out, and fought in the coup. Parkinson was the leader of that group, but Brocktuckle had quite the authority, for a recent recruit. We got the names of the others in their cell too - but they were killed in the fighting."

"Did either know the Dark Lord's hideout?" One of them, at least. Mister Parkinson had been a very well-connected Slytherin; it was not impossible for such a wizard to have gained the Dark Lord's trust.

"Parkinson knows the locations of the spots where he met his master. Which means that the Dark Lord is certainly not living there. And with his Death Eaters captured, he'll know we now know those spots as well."

"I see." He remembered Miss Brocktuckle. A very determined, stubborn student at Hogwarts. A good Auror too. To think she had joined Tom… "Is there any chance that Miss Brocktuckle was just a follower?"

"Technically, she was just a follower, but she was being groomed for more by Parkinson. He wanted to sleep with her too." Alastor chuckled. "Won't be doing any of that, not anymore."

Albus nodded. With so many Ministry employees and even Wizengamot members cursed, and the Ministry and the Wizengamot almost falling to the Dark Lord, mercy would be in short supply. "How is the mood among the surviving Aurors?"

"Mixed. They still don't trust each other, even though everyone claims to want to avenge their dead comrades and fight the Dark Lord." Alastor shook his head. "There's talk about dosing everyone with Veritaserum."

Albus frowned. Veritaserum was a powerful tool, but it was not infallible. There were a few of ways a spy could foil such an interrogation, provided that they knew it was coming. And it threatened to expose several actions taken by his own agents.

Alastor scoffed. "They don't realise just how much skill it takes to spot memory charms, or someone skilled at Occlumency." He sighed. "The Corps will take a long time to recover from that blow. Traitors, and then so many dead…"

"You will be busy getting the survivors into shape then."

"Yes." For a moment, the old Auror looked almost apologetic. "I'll still be training the boys, of course. But if the Corps can't pull their act together, then the Ministry's going to be doomed."

Albus nodded. His friend was correct. That Alastor, for all his complaints about the younger generation, and the useless rookies and Ministry, still cared for the Auror Corps, didn't change that. But while his training of Harry and his friends was essential, Alastor would be missed on the other missions he had undertaken for the Order. "There might still be spies among the survivors." In Tom's place, Albus would have ensured that not all of his spies exposed themselves.

"Of course there'll be spies! But we'll find them." Alastor grinned. "We'll get more names from the prisoners. Would be easier if we had more prisoners. Your friends were quite bloodthirsty."

Albus ruefully spread his hands. "They will kill rather than risk their lives to capture a Death Eater." At least unless they had specific orders, or the opportunity to capture a member of Tom's inner circle. Although Bellatrix had proven that even then, capture might not be an acceptable option.

"Yes. Like Hit-Wizards." Alastor shook his head. "Is your spy any closer to getting the Dark Lord's location, now?"

"Such things cannot be rushed, but I think the sheer scale of the casualties the Death Eaters suffered means there'll be an opportunity for us."

"Let's hope so. It would be a shame if so many people died just for the war to go on as before, after a recruiting period." Alastor snorted. "There's another thing: Both of the traitors were living in a muggle house. And they assume many others did so as well."

Albus nodded slowly. He didn't think that Tom would live among muggles - the Dark Lord had no fond memories of his childhood in muggle Britain - but other Death Eaters might have followed Parkinson's example. But how to find them… he might have to ask Miss Granger for some ideas.

*****​

Hogwarts, January 18th, 1997

When Hermione Granger left Harry's room with Ron, they ran almost straight into Ginny. "Ron! Hermione!" The younger witch was whispering, and glancing around, even though no one in the main room seemed to be paying any attention to her. "How's Harry?"

"He claims he's fine, but that's up to Madam Pomfrey to decide. You know how he is," Ron said. "Shouldn't you be in class?"

Ginny glanced at Hermione, then back at her brother. "No one's paying attention in class, not after the Daily Prophet arrived this morning." She huffed. "I'd rather see my friends and family than Snape." Glaring at Ron, she added: "My family and friends who almost died in those battles."

Hermione stepped in. "Ron and Harry didn't plan to fight. The Dark Lord surprised them."

Ginny gasped. "So it's true! You fought the Dark Lord!"

"Dumbledore and Harry did. I was being chased by Death Eaters," Ron said.

Hermione saw that he was wincing - he must be remembering the wizard he had killed. "How are the students taking this?" she asked. She hadn't left the infirmary yet since she had arrived.

The girl winced. "Those who have family in the Ministry are trying to find out if they lost someone. The rumours are crazy. The rest... " She shrugged. "I think they are happy that the Dark Lord was defeated, but with so many killed…" she sighed, then looked at Hermione. "You were fighting in the Ministry, weren't you? The Prophet claims the Resistance was called in by the Minister and Dumbledore."

"Yes." Hermione hesitated, then continued. "Dean Thomas and Mary Smith were killed." They had been Gryffindors, and Ginny had known them. She nodded at the area the Resistance had taken over. John was standing guard now. "Tania and Seamus were hurt, but should recover soon."

"It looks like half of Gryffindor is in the infirmary," Ginny said.

"More like half the patients here are Gryffindors," Ron said.

He might very well be correct, Hermione thought - the members of her old house certainly were living up to its reputation. "I'll have to check up on my group," she said when Ginny eyed the door to Harry's room. It would be good for Harry to have more visitors. Her friend was too prone to blame himself for everything if left alone.

Ron hesitated a moment, then nodded. "We can grab something to eat afterwards."

Hermione bit her lower lip. She wanted to take him with her, but… she was checking up on her group as the leader of the Resistance. She wasn't visiting friends in the infirmary. "Alright." She nodded, and left the two siblings.

"Any trouble while I was away?" she asked John once she reached the corner where the Resistance members were being treated.

"No." He shook his head. "Lots of glances, but no one bothered us."

Hermione wasn't certain if that was a good or bad thing. The Resistance had fought side by side with the other wounded in this room, after all. On the other hand, the transfigured curtains and conjured cover didn't look inviting. Quite the contrary. It was understandable that no one had approached them.

"Justin, Sally-Anne and Seamus went to get some food," John continued.

Something Hermione should have taken care of. They had food in their enchanted pockets, but the meals the house-elves cooked were far superior, and Hermione should have organised that. Another mistake. "Good," she said, passing him. "I'll check up on the rest."

True to Madam Pomfrey's diagnosis, Louise was fine and up already. The former Hit-Witch was sitting at Jeremy's bed when Hermione entered the improvised room, looking at her cursed friend, who was still, or again, asleep. Seeing the two, Hermione felt another pang of guilt. If she had planned this better...

"Hermione!" Louise smiled at her. "Madam Pomfrey said he'll be cured in a month."

Hermione had known that already. "Yes. And Tania should be fine in a day or two." After another day of suffering from Skele-Gro's effect. She shuddered.

"We used to get stunned when we had to take that potion, in the Hit-Wizard Corps," Louise said, glancing at the bed next to her. "She didn't want to, in case we had to fight. Took her hours to finally fall asleep."

Hermione shook her head. "Stubborn idiot," she muttered under her breath.

"How are your friends?" Louise asked.

"They were lucky. Ron's fine and Harry should be fine." He better be fine, she added to herself.

"Did they really face the Dark Lord?" Louise sounded doubtful. "Bellatrix Lestrange almost killed all of us, and the Dark Lord is even worse."

"Dumbledore arrived in time, and fought the Dark Lord off, but yes - they faced him, although they were running rather than fighting." Hermione frowned at the look of awe on the other witch's face. Then she reconsidered - this might help her friends get accepted by her group. Still, she felt a little bit vexed. The Resistance had bled fighting Death Eaters, and saved the Ministry. They should be proud of that.

She heard someone approach, and drew her wand without even thinking about it. Louise had done the same, she realized, when Justin and Sally-Anne entered, floating a large tray between them.

"Hermione!" Sally-Anne was smiling, no, beaming, at her. "Did you sleep well? Ron's waiting for you outside."

Hermione sighed. Her friend was anything but subtle. "Yes." Let the other witch make of that what she wanted. "Did you get enough rest?"

Sally-Anne nodded, and Justin didn't frown, so she was not fudging the truth, Hermione thought.

"Good. I'll have to check up on a few things, but I'll be back soon," she said. "Have you talked to your friends here yet?"

"Not yet," Justin said.

"We'll stay another day here, until Tania is fine. Keep one guard posted, but otherwise…" she trailed off. She couldn't tell them to enjoy the day, not with two of their friends dead.

Justin nodded. "We'll be visiting our friends here." He looked at Sally-Anne. "They don't know about us yet."

Hermione nodded. She hoped that the couple would keep Lavender and Parvati busy enough to not bother Ron and herself. She'd not put it past those two to use the Marauder's Map to track the couple down.

*****​

Harry Potter wasn't quite relieved when Ron and Hermione left the infirmary, but he couldn't help but relax a bit. He had been the one who had hared off to Hogsmeade on a whim, forgetting about Moody's lesson that if he could see the enemy, the enemy could see him. Ron had dutifully followed. If his friend had been killed it would have been Harry's fault. In hindsight, he should have known better than to underestimate Voldemort.

"What's wrong?" Sirius asked.

Harry sighed. "Hermione's going to blame herself for the deaths. I need to talk to Ron so he can talk to her."

"I can talk to her as well." Sirius coughed. "But there's something we need to talk about."

Harry closed his eyes. "I'm sorry for flying off. I really thought it would be safe."

"You shouldn't have left Hogwarts." Sirius didn't raise his voice, which somehow made Harry feel even worse.

"I know. But… I couldn't just do nothing." He narrowed his eyes at Sirius. "It's not as if you stayed back either."

"I wasn't behind the strongest wards in Britain," Sirius said.

"Second-strongest then."

"That's a long way from the best, in this case." Sirius snorted. "Besides, I'm an adult, and we were under attack. You should have stayed safe."

Harry pressed his lips together. Arguing otherwise would make him look foolish. Even more foolish, at that.

His godfather sighed. "I know how bad it is, to wait while others risk their lives. James was the same. James was ranting about hiding like a coward. Not where Lily could hear him, of course."

For a moment, the older wizard seemed lost in his memories. Memories which, Harry hoped, were slowly returning to his godfather as he recovered even more from his ordeal in Azkaban.

Sirius shook his head. "Sorry."

Harry simply nodded.

"As I was saying, you need to stay safe. You know why."

"Yes." That didn't mean he had to like it, Harry thought. "But he knows now."

Sirius cursed through clenched teeth. "We need to tell Dumbledore."

The Headmaster would likely have realised that already, Harry thought. But it wouldn't hurt to ensure that he knew. He nodded. "Please carry on with your rant about my security."

Sirius glared at him. "You're supposed to be all contrite and repentant."

"Didn't you tell me not to be predictable?" Moody had said so as well.

"Foiled by my own short-sighted words!" Sirius shook his head, but he was grinning, if only a little bit.

Harry forced himself to chuckle. Before he could say anything else, they heard a knock on the door.

Harry drew his wand at once. He didn't bother with finding an excuse for it, like levitating a glass of water over or such. He had just survived a battle with the Dark Lord, after all. "Yes?"

"Harry?" Ginny peered inside, then slipped into the room. "Sirius."

"Ginny." Harry nodded at her, lowering his wand.

"Miss Weasley." Sirius sketched a bow and grinned at the witch. "Welcome to our humble but temporary home. Harry picked it out." He was keeping up appearances, Harry knew, and played along by scowling at his godfather.

Ginny didn't seem to be fooled, though, and smiled politely. "How are you doing?" She grimaced. "Or rather, how are you holding up?"

"I'll live."

"You're not 'fine'?" She touched his sheet with her left hand, running her fingers over it. Not quite sitting down, not quite keeping her distance.

He snorted. "Pomfrey recently threatened to give me Veritaserum if I didn't stop answering her questions with that."

Ginny giggled at that. "That would fit her." Then she took a deep breath, and grew serious. "I heard some of what happened from Ron and Hermione. Dad, Bill and Percy told us a bit about the Battle at the Ministry, enough to sift through the Prophet's propaganda."

"Technically, it should be our propaganda now," Sirius said. "Since the Ministry is now allied with the Order and the Resistance."

"There's more to it, though, isn't there?" Ginny was looking at him.

He closed his eyes, sighing, then blinked. The Dark Lord probably had another wand too, since there hadn't been that weird effect that had happened back at the graveyard. "I can't tell you more. Secrets."

She huffed. "My whole family is keeping secrets. Everyone but me."

"Well, they're not sharing them with me either," Harry said. "That's just how the Order's organised." And he shouldn't even talk about the Weasleys being in the Order, even though that was pretty much publicly known.

Sirius nodded. "He's right. Back in the last war, we suffered from traitors a lot."

Harry knew which traitor his godfather was thinking of. If he ever managed to find the rat...

"I need to learn Occlumency then."

Harry shook his head. "That's not a perfect protection, not against Veritaserum, for example." And a few other things Moody had taught them about.

"Perfect or not, it'll help." Ginny looked determined.

"That's rather pessimistic, Ginny," Sirius said. "You presume that we will not have dealt with Voldemort before you'll be eligible for the Order?"

She looked at him. "The last war lasted for a decade."

"Well, I think we have learned a few lessons from that," Sirius said.

"But so has the Dark Lord," Harry added.

No one had an answer for that.

"How's Gryffindor?" Harry asked, to break the silence.

"Full of rumours. You'll get mobbed once you're back. Ron too. Some of them might even mob Hermione, if they meet her."

"They better not," Harry spat. It wouldn't do to ruin her time with Ron.

"We're keeping the map under close guard." Ginny grinned. "Though if they head to the Great Hall, it'll be their own fault." She nodded at him. "I have to head back now." With a grin, she added: "Snape's lesson should soon be over." Then she slipped out of the room again.

"She's skipping Snivellus's lesson?" Sirius grinned. "There's a Gryffindor for you!"

Harry nodded. Though knowing how many Gryffindors had died last night, he wasn't quite certain if that was a good thing or not.

*****​

Ron Weasley had thought that taking the long way around to the kitchens in Hogwarts was a good idea. Hermione had agreed - it was a detour, so almost no one used those passages. The twins probably had used them for their pranks, but they had graduated last year. So when he heard footsteps coming closer, he glanced at Hermione, and the two split up, wands out. Just in case.

The blonde witch walking around the corner stopped when she saw the two of them aiming their wands at her, but didn't shriek, or go for her wand. She didn't even look scared. "Hello, Ron."

Luna Lovegood hadn't changed much, Ron realised. The weird blonde witch was smiling at him and Hermione, and not quite looking at them. Those strange fruit earrings of her were floating near her ears, and she had her wand stuck behind her ear.

"Luna," he nodded at her.

"Hello, Hermione." The Ravenclaw cocked her head sideways and stared at her. "I would like to thank you for saving my Daddy."

"Your father?" Hermione looked surprised.

Luna nodded several times, her head bobbing up and down. "He was covering the Wizengamot session, and was trapped there when the Death Eaters attacked. He's in St Mungo's, getting treated. I'm on my way to visit him." Her smile widened. "I've just heard the news that he's there."

Ron winced. That meant that she had not known whether her father was alive or not for the whole night.

"You're welcome," Hermione said, if a bit belatedly.

"If you need The Quibbler for your mind-controlling propaganda, you'll just have to ask. Although you'll have to figure out a way to get past the tinfoil hats our readers are certain to be wearing." Luna beamed at the witch.

Hermione was lost for words, so Ron nodded. "She'll get back to you - such things take careful planning."

"Of course! Like the Rotfang Conspiracy!" Luna smiled. "Is your family safe? Your dad was there as well, wasn't he?"

Ron nodded. "Yes. They're all in the infirmary here."

"Oh." Luna blinked. "That makes visiting them easy. Do you think I can get my father transferred as well? We have no other family, so he'll be lonely in St Mungo's."

She was asking with such an earnest expression, Ron felt even worse for being annoyed by her. "You'd have to ask the Headmaster, I think."

"Right. It's his school, after all." Luna nodded again. "Are you looking for Death Eaters here? Or looking for secret passages to sneak in and out of Hogwarts?"

"We were actually on the way to the kitchens," Hermione said. "We want to avoid the crowds."

"Oh." Luna blinked again. "But the Nargles have largely disappeared from Hogwarts, so the crowds should be safe. For now, at least - they breed quickly, after all."

"Nargles?" Hermione asked.

"Invisible animals," Ron quickly said. Luna beamed at him. "But we shouldn't hold you up any longer, Luna. Your father is waiting, isn't he?"

"Oh, yes. I shouldn't get distracted. Have a nice day, you two!" Luna said, then continued on her way.

"I hope her dad is not too badly hurt," he said, once they were again covered by a privacy spell. "Her mother died six years ago."

"I don't know what happened to him," Hermione said, answering his unasked question. "Do you think Dumbledore will move him to Hogwarts?"

"I don't know." Ron shrugged. "But I think he'll have a hard time refusing her."

"The Quibbler… They covered some of our leaflets. We had considered contacting them, you know." Hermione smiled, a bit ruefully. "But nothing came of it. Or rather, we didn't get around to doing anything about it."

"Well, you heard her - she's offered to help you." Ron wasn't quite certain how much help the Lovegoods could offer the Resistance, but it was a nice gesture.

"Yes, she did. I might take her up on that. Provided I can spare the time." The witch sighed. "Which doesn't look like it'll happen any time soon."

Ron wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her in for a quick, or not so quick, kiss. They had to make the best of what time they had, after all.

*****​

Hermione Granger saw the two witches the moment she entered the Hogwarts kitchens with Ron at her side. She recognised them too, which was why she wasn't quite aiming her wand at them.

"Hermione!" Lavender said, loud enough to be heard over the noise filling the kitchens as dozens of elves worked to make and serve lunch for hundreds of students and teachers. "See, Parvati? I knew Ron would head to the kitchens."

Ron muttered something about being too predictable that Hermione didn't catch completely. She was watching the two witches carefully as they approached. They were Gryffindors, and had helped guard the school, according to Ron and Harry, but why were they looking for Ron? She knew Lavender had asked him out, and Ron had turned her down. Narrowing her eyes, she took a half-step closer to Ron.

Parvati grinned. "Ah! You are a couple!"

"Lavender. Parvati." Hermione nodded at them.

"You cut your hair!" Lavender looked at her.

Hermione frowned. She should have thought of wearing a wig. Technically, she didn't have to hide from the Ministry anymore, but she wouldn't trust them even if Dumbledore were the Minister; they had too many spies for the Dark Lord in their ranks. And too many bigots. "Yes. It's more practical."

"Well… it suits you." Parvati nodded.

"Why were you looking for me?" Ron asked.

"Because you were with her," Parvati said. "I heard from Padma that the Resistance was in Hogwarts as she'd met John Emmet earlier, and since Harry's still in the infirmary, we decided to look for you. We checked the library first, but you were not there."

Hermione was slightly impressed by the reasoning, but then, the two witches always had shown considerable talent when it came to gathering gossip. "And why do you want to meet me?"

"We want to drag you to our dorm to talk, of course! We haven't seen you for months!" Lavender sounded very excited.

Hermione almost groaned. If those two thought she'd waste time gossiping with them while the war was still going on and she could be with her friends… On the other hand, she had to think ahead. "I'd been planning to visit later, when the lessons were over." Ron looked at her in surprise. She nodded at him. She'd tell him later.

"No one's paying attention to the lessons today. Not even the teachers themselves!" Lavender said.

"We still need to eat first," Ron said.

"Alright! Let's get a table!" Parvati waved to the closest elf.

"So! Tell us! When did you get together? How was your first date?" Lavender was almost twitching with excitement, looking back and forth between Hermione and Ron.

Hermione stared at the two witches. That was what they wanted to talk about, when the Ministry was in ruins, the wounded and dead filled St Mungo's, and Hogsmeade had barely escaped a Fiendfyre conflagration? On the other hand, it would be nice not to talk about the war, about death and killing. About the friends lost and cursed. For a little while at least.

And Lavender had asked Ron out, hadn't she? Hermione sat down very close to Ron - their sides were touching - and leaned into him. "We became a couple some time ago, but our first date was a wonderful evening in muggle London." Then she proceeded to give the two witches a detailed account of her first date with Ron - though bereft of names and locations.

For a little while at least, the war was far away.

*****​

"...and so I wanted to ask if Daddy can be transferred to Hogwarts, Headmaster. So he'll not be alone in St Mungo's."

Albus Dumbledore smiled at the earnest young witch in his office, though he was torn. It would be easy to grant Xenophilius's daughter her wish, but what if other students asked for the same? He couldn't turn Hogwarts into a hospital. Not only would that compromise the school's security, Poppy would be hard-pressed to treat so many people. She was already straining.

On the other hand, it was known that members of his Order of the Phoenix were treated here instead of St Mungo's. One more wouldn't cause much suspicion - although the public might assume that Xenophilius was a member of the Order as well. Which might put him and his daughter at risk. Ultimately, it would be up to the editor of The Quibbler to make that sort of decision. He nodded. "I will ask him if he wants to move to Hogwarts later today, Miss Lovegood. Now off you go to St Mungo's - he'll be waiting for you." Provided that the man was not hurt worse than Albus expected. Which was unlikely, unless Xenophilius had joined the battle. Not entirely impossible, of course. "You can use my fireplace," he added. "That will save you some time."

"Thank you, Headmaster!" Miss Lovegood beamed at him, bowed, and grabbed some Floo powder. A few seconds later, she had disappeared.

The old wizard kept smiling for a bit longer, then leaned back, sighing. Another family hurt by the war, and doing their best to cope. And with Tom now aware of his connection to Harry, Albus would have to readjust his plans. If Severus succeeded in gaining the Dark Lord's trust… the Death Eaters had suffered so many casualties, there were bound to be some openings in the Dark Lord's inner circle.

The spell on on his fireplace alerted him that his next visitor was about to enter his office. Right on time. He flicked his wand and opened the Floo connection. A second later, Remus stepped out of the fireplace, cleaning the soot from himself. "Headmaster."

He glanced at clock. "Good afternoon, Remus. Please have a seat." While the younger wizard sat down, Albus asked: "How are things at home?"

Remus looked confused for a moment, which told Albus that the other wizard still felt as if he was a guest at Grimmauld Place - being an outcast for almost all his life, shunned as a dark creature, had left Remus with more scars than the ones visible on his face. Albus still hoped Sirius would be able to help his friend, but once more, the necessities of war would offer scant opportunities for that. At least if Remus followed Albus's plan.

"But for the Tonkses and myself, no one is currently there," Remus said. He didn't have to tell Albus where the Delacours and the d'Aigles, those still alive, were. Nor where Sirius was. "But we're prepared for their return. Provided they wish to stay."

"That is up to them, but, as they are French, I doubt that even such losses as they have suffered will deter them from seeing this war through." Albus smiled grimly, but he was glad for the French élan - Britain could use all the help it could get, right now. "But let us talk about why I called you here."

The other wizard nodded at him. He looked tired, but determined. The full moon was still almost a week away, so this was not related to his curse.

"The Dark Lord has lost many of his followers, including Bellatrix Black. I expect him to step up his recruiting efforts both in Britain and abroad, to make up for this. We cannot let him do so unopposed."

"You think he will court the werewolves again, and wish me to put a stop to that," Remus said.

"No." Albus shook his head. Remus was not well-liked among the British werewolves. Many envied him his Hogwarts education, or scorned him for hiding his affliction for so long. "I would like you to head to Albania."

"Albania?" The younger wizard looked puzzled. "I'm not very familiar with the area."

Albus knew that. He hoped Aberforth's 'friends' would help there. "But you are very familiar with who I assume is Voldemort's main agent in the area."

Remus's eyes widened and his voice sounded almost like a growl. "Peter."

Albus nodded. "Peter Pettigrew has not been seen in Britain since the Dark Lord's return, and he has been to Albania before." Pettigrew had been the one to fetch the Dark Lord's shade from there. As young Mister Diggory's murderer, the animagus had been a political liability for the Dark Lord's cause. Sending him abroad would have served Tom's purposes most, Albus thought, and there had been a report about a man whose description fit the traitor from one of Albus's friends in Greece. "He might call him back, but the Dark Lord will need wands, and Albania and Northern Greece are rife with mercenaries."

"I'll find the rat." Remus was definitely growling now.

"Just be careful - there might be other agents. And spies, and traitors."

Remus scoffed. "Just like in Britain, then. I may not be too familiar with Albania, but I am familiar with mercenaries."

Albus was aware of that, of course. It was an open secret that many werewolves, those whose families were unwilling or unable to provide for them, turned to that life. Being seen as a dangerous dark creature was not a drawback for most mercenaries. He nodded. "I would ask Sirius to go with you, but…"

"... he'll not leave Harry." Remus finished for him.

Not again. Albus knew that Sirius having left Harry to chase down Peter Pettigrew was one of the decisions Sirius regretted most.

And while Albus didn't like to admit it, as a member of the Wizengamot and the head of the Black Family, Sirius was needed in Britain right now. Far more than Remus.

*****​

For a seventeen-year-old girl, she was feeling very nostalgic, Hermione Granger thought while she and Ron walked towards the Gryffindor dorms. The familiar hallways, the moving stairs, the smell, even - all brought back memories of her time at Hogwarts. Mostly good ones.

But she also was almost painfully reminded that that time had past, and would never return. She wasn't wearing school robes, but fatigues. She was not returning to her dorm, but visiting. And she was not carrying a bag full of books, but enchanted pockets with weapons, ammunition, and explosives, while keeping an eye out for ambushes, her wand ready to cast.

She wasn't the girl who had left Hogwarts at the end of her fifth year. And she'd never be that girl again. Even though Lavender and Parvati acted like she still was their dormmate.

They reached the entrance to the Gryffindor tower. The painting let them pass, but then, it probably let everyone with the correct password enter.

"Everyone! Ron and Hermione are here!" Parvati yelled into the common room. Which promptly erupted into loud yelling as everyone jumped to their feet. To Hermione's surprise, the Gryffindor students didn't rush to mob them, but stopped after a few steps. After they had seen her, she realised. Of course, being Gryffindors, they didn't stop for long, and soon surrounded the four, far too close for her comfort, and asking questions all at the same time.

"Oi! You lot!" Ron yelled. "Back off a bit!"

It took quite a while for the excited students to back off and settle down. It was worse than after some of Harry's adventures, in Hermione's opinion. She wasn't quite certain any more that it had been a good idea to come, even though she had to talk to the students. But she wouldn't quit now. She owed it to them, and to her friends.

A quick Amplifying Charm helped her be heard over the whispers still going on. "Please listen. Yes, we have beaten the Death Eaters at the Ministry, but at great cost. You already know that many Aurors and Hit-Wizards died, and more were cursed. They weren't the only ones. Dean Thomas and Mary Smith were killed fighting Bellatrix Lestrange. Tania Dennel and Seamus Finnigan and two more of our group were hurt and are currently being treated." The Gryffindors weren't smiling any more. Many of them would have lost family members as well, she realised. But they deserved to hear about the death of their friends and fellow Gryffindors.

"Did you kill Lestrange?" Neville asked. She hadn't seen him joining the crowd.

"I shot her while Seamus and others cursed her. She was dead the instant her shield failed, and fell down into a fire," Hermione said.

Neville slowly nodded, but he didn't look happy.

"We had her cornered, but she still killed several of us and the French," she added. Just in case Neville had wanted to kill her himself. "It was the worst battle I've been in." Yet, she added to herself.

"Did you fight the Dark Lord?" a young boy asked.

"No," Hermione said. "He wasn't at the Ministry. Ron met him."

Her boyfriend shot her a glance, then smiled wryly. "I wouldn't say I fought him. He and his Death Eaters were chasing Harry and me, and we tried to escape. We didn't, but managed to stay alive long enough for Dumbledore to save us, and took out a Death Eater or two." He snorted. "They cast Fiendfyre at Hogsmeade, but the Headmaster put the fires out before too many buildings burned down."

That made a number of students shiver - mostly the youngest, and the oldest, Hermione noticed. Probably the most impressionable, and those who had read up on Fiendfyre for their DADA N.E.W.T.s.

"How many Death Eaters did you kill?" A third-year student asked. He reminded Hermione of Dennis Creevey.

She had expected that question. "I don't know, and it doesn't matter. In war, what matters is that you achieve your objective in a battle. And for that you need to work together."

"But you have killed Death Eaters!"

"Yes." She forced herself to keep smiling. "I didn't keep count, though." And she didn't know how many of those she had killed had been Death Eaters anyway.

"Shouldn't killing Death Eaters be the main objective?" an older student asked.

"It's usually one objective. It depends on the mission, and the battle."

"We won't have peace until all of them are dead," Neville said. "Every last Death Eater and the Dark Lord himself."

Hermione agreed with him, though she wouldn't have said it like that. It sounded far too bloodthirsty.

"Dead or in Azkaban," Ron said.

"They escaped from there once already. They'll do so again." Neville glared at Ron.

"We certainly cannot trust the Dementors any more," Hermione said. "And Azkaban relied heavily on them to keep the prisoners from escaping."

"I doubt that the Wizengamot will show much mercy to Death Eaters anyway," Ron said. "Not after so many in the Ministry were killed or cursed."

"And after the Death Eaters attacked the Wizengamot," she added.

"Now that you're allied with the Ministry, will you be returning to Hogwarts?"

That question, coming from Fay Dunbar, almost made Hermione wince. "We're needed in the war. Some of us might, though that's up to them." Colin and Dennis would be safer here, and able to take up their studies while waiting for a cure for the withering curse. But she doubted that the two brothers would want to 'desert' their friends.

"And afterwards?"

"I don't know yet how long this war will take." Or if she would be alive at the end.

But, Hermione thought, she knew that she wouldn't return to Hogwarts. She didn't fit in here anymore. She had organised and led the Resistance. Fought in the war. Killed scores of people. Her, going back to be a student again? Having a curfew? Listening to Snape berate her for being a Gryffindor, and a muggleborn? Dealing with all that petty teenage drama?

No. She wouldn't do that. She was past that.

*****​

Harry Potter was watching his godfather pace in front of his bed. Back, and forth, back and forth. Like a caged animal. He probably would be changing into Padfoot soon. And in a way, Sirius was caged. And it was Harry's fault.

"You know, you don't have to stay in Britain. You can go with Remus and hunt Pettigrew," he finally said. He'd miss Sirius, of course, but his godfather would be happier that way.

Sirius stopped pacing and stared at him. "What? No, I can't."

"I'll be safe at Hogwarts."

Sirius snorted. "I doubt that."

Harry shrugged. It wasn't as if anyone could help him if or when he and Voldemort met inside their minds. "I know you want to hunt down the traitor." He would like to do that himself, but he was needed in the war.

His godfather sighed. "I want to, yes. But I'm needed here. And not just because my godson is suicidally brave," he added with a smirk. Shaking his head, he continued. "No, Albus needs me in the Wizengamot. And with our French friends. Apparently, I have become a diplomat and a politician without noticing. What a shame!"

Harry chuckled despite himself.

"But yes, Harry, I'm also staying here in Britain for you. I left you once to chase Wormtail, and we both know what trouble that caused. I'm not making the same mistake again." He grinned. "So, no more talk about me leaving, alright?"

"Alright." Harry couldn't help but feeling happy at hearing that.

Sirius didn't resume pacing, but Harry could see that his godfather was tapping his foot. He was about to tell him to change into Padfoot and go for a run when the door was opened and a blonde head appeared, looking around.

"Hello, Luna," Harry said, after he had recognised the blonde.

"Hello, Harry. Hello, Mister Boardman," the Ravenclaw said.

"I'm not Stubby Boardman," Sirius said.

"He really isn't. His singing is so bad, it drives people and pests away," Harry said. "Luna, this is my godfather, Sirius Black. Sirius - Luna Lovegood."

"Ah, of course," Luna said, stepping inside and smiling. Her tone told Harry that she was just humouring them.

He glanced at Sirius and shrugged. There were worse fates than being mistaken for a famous but dead singer.

Meanwhile, Luna was peering under the beds, and lifting the sheets off the bed next to Harry.

"Ah, Miss Lovegood, can we help you?" Sirius asked when the blonde started to pat the mattresses.

"Oh!" She turned to them, then nodded. "Yes. How comfortable are the beds here? And how exciting is the room?"

"How exciting is the room?" Sirius sounded as lost as Harry felt.

"Yes!" The witch jumped to her feet. "I'm looking for the best bed for my Daddy! He'll be moving to Hogwarts from St Mungo's, and I don't want him to be bored while he recovers." She gazed at Sirius with wide eyes. "Although I guess if he's sharing a room with a famous singer and the Boy-Who-Lived, he'll see a lot of groupies sneaking in."

"Groupies?" Harry asked.

"Witches who want to sleep with famous wizards," Sirius said.

"I know what groupies are," Harry retorted.

"Why are you asking then?" his godfather shot back.

"I'm not a groupie," Luna said. "I'm a bed-scouter." She looked at Harry. "Though I could be a groupie, I guess."

Sirius coughed, and Harry shot him a glare.

"I think this room will suit Daddy. You're quite entertaining. I'll inform the Headmaster!" The witch skipped out of the room.

"Maybe I'm really not needed in Britain," Sirius mused.

"You're not leaving me alone with her or her family," Harry said, glaring at his godfather.

*****​

"And my thoughts are with you."

After finishing, Albus Dumbledore remained smiling for a moment longer, then leaned back and sighed. He had done this before, several times. Just in case his next mistake would be his last. And he had come close, in Hogsmeade. Very close.

His near-escape wasn't the reason he had done this again, though. That was because of the changes in the Ministry, which had necessitated a few plans be adapted. He summoned two vials with his wands, unsealed them, and vanished the silver ribbons curled inside them. Then he touched the tip of his wand to his temple, and drew copies of the memories he wanted out, storing them in the two vials.

For a moment, he held them in his hand, as if he could weigh their contents. This wasn't his legacy. It wasn't even his last will. It was just a precaution. A very important one, though. One he hoped he'd never need. Or rather, he hoped would never be needed.

He looked at the clock on his wall. Severus was meeting with the Dark Lord. It was a longer meeting than Albus had expected. That could be a good sign. Or it could mean that Severus had been found out, and was now dead, or wishing he was dead. Albus hoped the younger wizard's own precautions would work, in such a case. Death was but the next Great Adventure, but no one should start that after hours of torture.

*****​
 
Chapter 35: Night of the Dead
Chapter 35: Night of the Dead

'After the Battle of the Ministry, many expected the Muggleborn Resistance to recruit as heavily as the Dark Lord and the Ministry itself. Indeed, after taking so many casualties - relatively, given the small number of Resistance members - it would have seemed only logical. And yet, that did not happen, for several reasons.
The muggleborn population was still in hiding, not many of them trusting the agreement with the Ministry yet. That made finding recruits difficult - the Resistance Radio could reach the muggleborns, but its audience could not contact the Resistance. Especially since there was still the risk of agents of the Dark Lord, mind-controlled or voluntarily, using such recruiting attempts to strike at the Resistance. Although that alone would not explain why the Resistance did not recruit among the students at Hogwarts during their stay there. At the school they could safely meet potential recruits. That they did not recruit there is a strong indication that, for all their claims about fighting for equality before the law, the Resistance were as biased with respect to blood status as their enemies, and refused to recruit half-bloods and purebloods.'
- Excerpt from 'Wizarding Britain in the 20th Century' by Albert Runcorn


*****​

Salisbury, Wiltshire, Britain, January 18th, 1997

"You have served me well, Severus. Your information about Dumbledore's phoenix would have granted me victory, if not for his brother."

The Dark Lord Voldemort smiled at his spy. He hadn't missed how the man had looked around - he was probably trying to find out where they were, but the cellar of the safe house to which the Dark Lord had taken him offered no clue about its location - only conjured furniture appropriate for this meeting. The man could be simply curious and cautious, looking for a way out if anything happened - or he could be working to betray Voldemort.

"I beg your forgiveness, milord. I was unaware that the Headmaster's brother was willing to help him, nor did I know how skilled he was." The potioneer bowed deeply.

"Blood will tell, Severus. Family matters," Voldemort said. "It takes a lot to sever those bonds. Only the deepest betrayal will achieve that. Dumbledore might have publicly distanced himself from his unsavory brother to further his ambitions, but it's obvious that his brother has been working for him." He chuckled. "The disgraced Dumbledore would have been able to approach people the Chief Warlock couldn't. An ingenious set up." He wondered if Dumbledore's brother had volunteered for this, or had been forced into it.

"I see, milord." Snape nodded, stiffly though.

"You doubt my reasoning?" The Dark Lord let the smallest amount of menace creep into his voice. After his recent setback, some of his followers might be wavering in their faith in him.

"No, milord. I was merely wondering how best to deal with this."

"Do not concern yourself with that. I have a more important task for you." A task that would show him on which side his spy truly was. It would put Snape at risk, but that was an acceptable price to be paid to be certain of the wizard's loyalty. He had not needed to know before, but with so many of his followers dead, he could no longer ignore the opportunities Snape could offer him - or the danger. It would be easier to simply sift through the man's mind, if not for the fact that the spy had been hiding his true allegiance from either Dumbledore or Voldemort for years. Considering Snape's skill at Occlumency, discerning his real thoughts from those faked for his facade would be nigh-impossible without an effort that might irreparably damage his mind.

"I live to serve you, milord!"

"Indeed." Voldemort smiled. "But first, tell me about the situation at Hogwarts."

"Dumbledore has brought those members of his Order who were wounded in the battle at the Ministry to Hogwarts for treatment. He seems to distrust St Mungo's," Snape started to report.

Which was, of course, only to be expected - Dumbledore would know that Voldemort had spies and agents in St Mungo's who'd be able to let a blood traitor 'succumb to their wounds'.

"The most prominent are Arthur Weasley and three of his sons - William, Percy, and Ron."

The Dark Lord frowned. Ron Weasley was Potter's friend. That boy had been at Hogsmeade too.

"Then there are several of the French allies of the Order. I have not yet found out their names." Snape pressed his lips together under Voldemort's faint glare, then continued. "And the Mudbloods have been invited as well, not just to treat their wounded, but to recover at the school."

Voldemort nodded. "He has abandoned the charade that they are anything but his tools, then."

"Yes, milord." Snape bowed again.

"Good. We can use that to show the truth to some of those who doubt us even now." He gestured to the other wizard to continue.

"Today, Xenophilius Lovegood was also moved to the infirmary at Hogwarts."

That was a surprise. Why would Dumbledore reveal that the editor of The Quibbler was working for him? It would serve Voldemort's enemy better if the public remained ignorant of that, and thought the magazine independent. Or was the Headmaster trying to make Voldemort believe that Lovegood was a member of the Order? He needed to consider this some more. "Anything else?"

"Not yet, milord. We teachers are supposed to continue as if nothing had happened, even though all the students are doing is talking about the battles."

"Dumbledore is trying to keep up appearances. No matter. Let us now talk about your task." He smiled, and leaned back in his seat. "I need a young pureblood wizard child as a sacrifice." He saw that Snape's eyes widened, and he grew tense - but was that because of the task he was to undertake, or because he was aware of how much of a risk it would be for him? "With most pureblood families hiding from mudbloods or my faithful, you, amongst all my followers, are in the best position to take one of the blood-traitors' children and bring it to me." He smiled. "No one would think it too suspicious if one of the children, maybe a recent orphan, was distraught enough after the recent events to run away."

Snape slowly nodded. "Yes, milord. It might me take a while to arrange matters, with the mudbloods and so many of the Order in the school, but I will manage it."

"Failure is not an option, Severus." Voldemort dismissed him with a gesture.

As soon as the man had disappeared, Voldemort left the location as well, apparating to his real safe house. The die had been cast and now it remained to wait and see what came of it. If Snape brought him a child, then Voldemort could be assured of the man's loyalty - Dumbledore would never allow that. But if he was a traitor… Voldemort had taken a few precautions for such an outcome.

He glanced at his desk, and the skull set upon it. Maybe he should spend some time to find a ritual that could actually use a child sacrifice. It would be a shame to let such an opportunity go to waste, should Snape prove his allegiance to Voldemort.

*****​

Hogwarts, January 18th, 1997

Albus Dumbledore knew that Severus was troubled as soon as the young wizard entered his office. The man was a good actor, but Albus knew him too well. "Good evening, Severus."

The other wizard just nodded curtly and sat down. Another sign that things were not well. Although they were not too bad, either - Severus was still alive.

The Headmaster didn't have to wait long. "He wants me to prove my loyalty, and deliver a child as a sacrifice to him!"

Albus took a deep breath. He had hoped that Severus would be able to gain Tom's trust thanks to his spying and his skill with potions, that the deed the younger wizard had done to earn his mark, and his past services in the last war, would be enough, but the odds hadn't been that good to start with. "I see."

Severus was looking at him. Albus knew what his friend was asking, and shook his head. Some prices were too high to be paid for anything.

"He'll kill far more than one child, if he's not stopped," the younger wizard said.

"That is likely," Albus admitted. "But by no means certain."

"Really? You think you can kill him before more people die?" Severus shook his head, sneering.

"If a plan of mine bears fruit, yes." Albus inclined his head. He saw Severus clench his teeth in frustration. The Headmaster knew that his friend hated that he didn't know what else Albus was planning, but as a spy, he could not know about Albus's plans with Harry. The risk of Tom finding out was too great.

"If, Albus, if." Severus was shaking his head. "I'm so close. He has lost so many of his followers, if I can gain his trust…"

"But at what cost?" Albus frowned. He knew what his friend was thinking. One life against dozens, maybe hundreds. He had thought so himself, once. And, at times, you had to weigh lives. Send people to die so others would be saved. Any leader in a war knew this. But to pick a child, and deliver it to be murdered… no, that was unacceptable. "You cannot sacrifice an innocent child. Not without dooming yourself." A price Severus would gladly pay, Albus knew, if it meant the death of Voldemort. His spy did not expect to survive this war.

"A child who's not innocent then." Severus sneered. "There are those who have blood on their hands."

"You know that they would not qualify as children. Not for what the Dark Lord has in mind." He gently shook his head. "It would be for naught, since you'd lose his trust for making such an obvious mistake."

Severus hissed in frustration. "A volunteer, then. Polyjuice to appear as a child. I'll deliver him to the Dark Lord, and we strike."

"And who do you think would be able to stand up to the Dark Lord long enough to make a difference? Apart from me," Albus asked.

"Your brother. Moody. Anyone. We only need to last long enough to keep the Dark Lord from fleeing until you arrive with the Order." Severus looked at him, pleadingly. Albus's friend knew that if he failed this task, he would not be able to spy on the Dark Lord any more. All his efforts, all his sacrifices, would have been wasted. And, worse, he'd not be able to find the redemption he so craved.

"He'll be behind wards," Albus said.

"Granger can blow them away."

Of course Severus would have studied the attacks by the Resistance, Albus thought. "At great risk to the warded structure, and its inhabitants."

"A risk I'll take. Gladly."

"The Dark Lord will expect such an attack. If not from you, then from others. That is why he always meets you at different locations." That was why Albus had not intended to try such a ploy until he knew where Tom was living.

"That can be dealt with with a suitable distraction. If he thinks you are occupied elsewhere, he'll think he can deal with any attack." His friend was leaning forward.

"I would have to be away from Britain, and yet visible to the public. And the ICW takes a dim view of using Polyjuice to send proxies." Albus smiled. One or two delegates had tried that in the past.

"Have your brother pose as you, and attack some warded mansion in Albania then." Severus took a deep breath, visibly trying to calm himself. "Albus, please."

"You will almost certainly die, Severus," he said. "Do you think this is worth it?"

The younger wizard simply nodded.

His friend was set on this course of action, the Headmaster realised. Even though it would very likely cost his life. And the life of another volunteer. Even if he refused, Severus would go through with it. Albus considered volunteering himself, but discarded the notion at once. The risk was far too great, and would only serve to alleviate the guilt he'd feel over letting two people sacrifice their lives for a very slim chance of destroying Voldemort's body. He had far greater sins for which to atone, still, and Britain yet needed him too much for him to throw his life away like that. He closed his eyes and sighed. "Very well. If you, we, find a volunteer, I will be ready to attack the Dark Lord once you meet him."

"Thank you." Severus's smile was thin, but the man's satisfaction and relief were quite obvious to Albus - and painful. He told himself that his friend wanted this, wanted to die to finally achieve some sort of redemption, but it didn't help.

*****​

Hogwarts, January 19th, 1997

Hermione Granger checked the privacy spells in the unused classroom the Resistance had taken over. She had done that twice already, but even at Hogwarts, you couldn't be too careful. And it gave her something to focus on while she waited for the rest of the Resistance to arrive.

There they were. Justin entered, followed by Sally-Anne, who was levitating Jeremy, to her surprise. Louise stayed at her friend's side. Behind them were Tania and Seamus, not quite leaning on each other, but close enough, and Colin and Dennis, limping. John brought up the rear.

"Madam Pomfrey was quite put out with us taking Jeremy with us," Justin said.

"I'm not her student," Jeremy said in a tight voice. "And this is important."

He was hiding just how much he was suffering, Hermione knew, but she nodded. It was his decision. When everyone had sat down - or at least managed to get somehow comfortable - she cleared her throat. "I should have done this sooner, but not all of us were ready for a debriefing." She pointed her wand at the blackboard behind her, and revealed the first of the maps she had prepared. "The mission's primary objective was to stop the Dark Lord's forces from taking over the Ministry. Secondary objectives were to destroy the enemy forces, save the Wizengamot members and Ministry employees allied to our cause, and to improve our standing among the hitherto neutral pureblood and half-blood population."

"Dying for public relations," Seamus muttered.

Hermione suppressed the annoyance she felt at being interrupted. "We're in a civil war. Almost all of those are decided by winning over the population. Showing that we're fighting the Death Eaters, beating them, and saving our friends is a big step in that direction."

Seamus was about to say something else, but Tania put her hand on his arm, and he settled down. Interesting, Hermione thought. And encouraging, if Tania could influence the Irish wizard. "We achieved all our objectives. In that, we were successful. However, we lost many of our friends." She couldn't talk about casualties and losses, not when talking about Dean and Mary, or Louise, Jeremy and Tania. "Too many. And their deaths could have been avoided."

Seamus looked up, staring at her. Justin frowned. "How?"

She took a deep breath. "We entered this battle without being sufficiently prepared. We hadn't trained with our allies, and were not ready for the tactics of our enemies. I should have anticipated the poison, and the enemy breaking through the ceiling."

Seamus muttered something in response to her statement that she didn't catch, but Tania whispered into his ear. Hermione would have to ask her later, probably. "Further, four of us were wounded, one of whom will take a month to recover." She didn't look at Colin and Dennis, who didn't know when they'd recover. If they would ever recover, a small voice in the back of her head added.

"I'll be fine sooner than you expect," Jeremy said. Louise's frown belied his words, though.

"We need to discuss how to avoid similar mistakes in the future, and how to improve our own tactics - and how to rebuild." Otherwise, another such loss would mean the end of the Resistance.

"We could start with not trying to save the purebloods!" Seamus snapped. "We should have simply let them kill each other, then mopped up the survivors!"

"What? How can you say that?" Justin yelled. "It's not about blood!"

"We have many pureblood friends in Hufflepuff and Gryffindor!" Sally-Anne added.

"Really? What kind of friends let us fight and die, while they stay safe at Hogwarts?" Seamus sneered, shrugging off Tania's hand on his arm while he jumped to his feet. "Dean and Mary died, saving those worthless purebloods!"

"They're students," Louise said, "not Aurors or Hit-Wizards."

"We were students too, until they kicked us out," Seamus retorted. "If we can do it, they can do it."

"So, are you suggesting that we recruit those students?" Hermione fought to ask calmly, and not snap at Seamus. He had just lost Dean, she told herself. "I'm certain if we ask, a number of Gryffindors and some Hufflepuffs will join us." Seamus hesitated, and Hermione went on. "Or is it about the blood? Do you think blood means that much?" She didn't have to add 'like Death Eaters?' - Seamus knew what she meant, and so did everyone else.

"No," he spat out, "I didn't mean that. But it's not right that we died to save people who don't care about us and a month ago would have applauded if we had all been killed."

That was received with several nods from the rest of the group. Hermione couldn't disagree with the notion either. "I don't like it either," she said. "But we need to focus on winning this war. And that means we have to make compromises." And sacrifices, she added in her head. "We need the support of half-bloods and purebloods."

"More support in the field would be good," Seamus said. "Most of the dead were ours, and the French."

Hermione had noticed that as well. She had considered the possibility that this had been by design - to weaken the Resistance, and use expendable foreigners - everyone knew the French wizards were too brave for their own good - while preserving the purebloods of the Order. But she trusted Dumbledore not to betray them like that. And it didn't make any sense for him to use such ploys when the outcome of the war was still in doubt, and he couldn't be certain that he would not need the Resistance again for a crucial battle. The war would only end when Voldemort was dead for good, and she knew that Harry was not yet ready for that confrontation.

So she shook her head. "Dumbledore doesn't have that many fighters. A lot of the best Aurors supporting him died in that trap in East Sussex, and most of the rest, as well as many Hit-Wizards, were probably killed in the Ministry before we arrived."

"Yes," Louise said. "That was a massacre. Between that and the withering curses, I don't think Dumbledore has many wizards and witches left who can fight as well as we can, or the French."

"Or the Weasleys," Hermione added.

"Does that mean we'll recruit from Hogwarts?" Sally-Anne asked.

Hermione sighed. Leaving aside how the Headmaster would react to that, there were a few issues with doing so. "I'd like to, but if we recruit among the older Hogwarts students, we'll need to be very careful - even now, there are possible spies here." Harry and Ron had warned her about the likes of McLaggen. She couldn't mention his name, though, or someone might kill him.

"Not Harry or Ron, though!" Sally-Anne said with a smile.

"No, not them. But they already are committed to their own group," Hermione said. "They were not hurt hiding inside Hogwarts, after all."

"So, we might get more Gryffindors as support," Seamus said. He exchanged a smile with Tania, and glanced at Justin with a smirk.

"Don't expect too much too soon." Hermione didn't quite roll her eyes - house rivalries, here? "They're not ready for battle yet, with a few exceptions, and those usually have their own missions."

"Aha! So Dumbledore is recruiting at Hogwarts," Justin said.

"I think it's more that he took those who would have become involved with the war anyway," she explained. "But yes, sooner or later we can expect more help." Hopefully later - she wasn't looking forward to seeing more friends die. "In the meantime, though, we're in a bind. Even if we recruit more from muggleborns, or even Hogwarts, we'd need to train them until they fit in with us."

Louise nodded at her - the former Hit-Wizard and her friend should know very well how much training had been needed, and they were still mostly using their wands because they were among the weakest shooters in the group.

"That means that we can't do much while we train them. We cannot prepare for a new mission either," Hermione went on.

"And after the Ministry, it's likely that things won't settle down," Justin said, frowning.

"Yes. So, new recruits won't be much help for some time. But we need to recruit anyway. We don't know for how long this war will go on." And the more members the Resistance had, the better would be their position after the war. "We might need to hire the Sergeant and the Major again," she added.

"We can afford it," Justin said.

"But we need recruits first. John, we'll need to put a call out in the next broadcast. Put up an e-mail address."

"I could have done that in the last broadcast, if I'd known," the wizard said, sighing.

"Sorry." That couldn't have been helped. Rushing things would do more harm than good, Hermione thought.

"A public recruitment ad will lead spies to us as well," Justin pointed out.

"Yes. But we can't be safe from them even by recruiting through our contacts and acquaintances." Hermione sighed. "We'll have to scrutinise each recruit, probably with Veritaserum and one of those Thief's Downfalls."

"Do you think Dumbledore will help us with that?" Tania sounded almost doubtful.

"If he wants us to keep fighting, then he'll have to." Hermione shook her head. "If we have to spend even more time vetting new recruits, we'll be unable to do any missions. We certainly won't rush into a battle unprepared again."

That was met with much approval.

"And what do we do if purebloods or half-bloods ask to join us?" Sally-Anne spoke up. "If we turn them down just because of their blood status, we'd be as bad as the purebloods. Those purebloods, I mean."

Hermione sighed. She almost hoped that there would be no such recruits. "They'll have to be able to fit in among muggles. Perfectly - we can't afford to be discovered in muggle Britain."

"Not many will be able to do that," Tania said.

"We can send those who don't to Dumbledore." Hermione shrugged. "So, next point: What can we do better in a fight?"

"Use the Killing Curse on them!" Louise said.

"Yes!" Tania and Seamus said quickly.

"I'm not certain that that would have helped us much," Hermione started.

"It certainly would have taken Lestrange down!" Seamus interrupted her.

"If we hit her, yes. We're not exactly experts at casting the Unforgivables," she pointed out. "And I think we all know that using a spell is not the same as knowing how to cast it. Which we don't know either. We'd need quite some training to be able to use those spells effectively."

"It's not that difficult," Louise said. "A Hit-Wizard who had fought in the last war said it was easy to learn and to use."

"Use, maybe, but use effectively?" Hermione scrunched her nose. "I'd rather not figure things out in the middle of a fight." She had made that mistake already. "The emotional component of the casting also worries me." You had to feel a lot of hatred to successfully cast the Killing Curse.

"You think we might not be able to muster enough hatred?" Seamus looked incredulous.

"Or it might be too easy." Hermione looked at him. He had been a good friend of Allan's. "Not to mention the trouble we can get into for using the Unforgivables."

"The Ministry has authorised their forces to use both the Imperius and the Killing Curse," Louise said. "Now that we're allied with them, there shouldn't be any problem."

Hermione wasn't quite certain about that - Bones hadn't struck her as the type to allow anyone much leeway when it came to the law, an impression Sirius had confirmed. "I don't trust the Ministry that much. But I was thinking about the effects on the purebloods in other magical countries, where the Dark Lord will be trying to recruit more wands for his ranks. Us using the Unforgivables will make it really easy for the Dark Lord to paint us as Grindelwald's heirs."

"The French like us," Sally-Anne said. "I talked with them quite a bit in the Infirmary."

"Those French like us," Hermione said. "But the vast majority of purebloods haven't forgotten that muggleborns flocked to Grindelwald's banner."

"Because they were oppressed and he promised them equality!" John said.

"Yes. But the other purebloods don't care much about that. Britain's about the only country in Magical Europe where we were treated somewhat equal to purebloods, and that's only because of Dumbledore. Durmstrang doesn't even allow muggleborns to attend, and in Beauxbatons, they are limited to their equivalent of O.W.L.s." Hermione had looked into other schools once. The French muggleborn could study for themselves, or get tutors and take their equivalents to N.E.W.T.s later - in theory. "And you can bet that they are watching Britain carefully. If we start acting like dark wizards and witches…"

"If they are afraid of their own muggleborns starting a war, then no matter what we do, we'll be blamed," Justin said. He looked grim, though.

"Possibly. But things could be much worse, and I'm not certain it'd be worth using the Unforgivables if we risk driving more purebloods to support the Dark Lord." Hermione pressed her lips together.

"A single Killing Curse could be the difference between winning and losing the war," Louise said.

"Yes. Like in the last war," Hermione said.

"That's not the same!" Seamus said.

"No. But using the Dark Arts is not something that should be done for expediency. I propose that we research this thoroughly to at least be certain that the mere act of using those spells is not dangerous in and of itself."

The smiles and chuckles surprised her. She frowned, but before she could ask what had brought this on, Sally-Anne spoke up. "Hermione, proposing to thoroughly research things! We're really back at Hogwarts!"

Hermione had to chuckle as well. Though she was not quite as amused - the Resistance were facing serious troubles, even if the Dark Lord stuck to licking his wounds.

And she somehow doubted that Voldemort would do so.

*****​

Mister Lovegood was a nice man, Harry Potter had found out quickly after Luna's father had arrived in his room. He was friendly, he was chatty, and he was funny.

He was also stark raving bonkers, as Ron had put it. After a night in the same room as Xenophilius, as the man had insisted Harry called him, he was now well-acquainted with the Rotfang Conspiracy, Muggle Mind Control Techniques, and more animals that had not yet been discovered than he could remember. He was also the proud owner of a ten-year subscription for The Quibbler. And he hadn't slept much during the night - Xenophilius could talk at length about anything.

The door opened, and Harry went for his wand.

"Good morning, Daddy! Good morning, Harry." Luna walked in. "I brought the dreamcatchers!"

"Splendid, Luna! I was not certain if I could keep the Nargles at bay for another night!" The older wizard beamed at his daughter.

Luna nodded. "I know, so I hurried with making them!" She smiled widely, reached into her bag and pulled out what looked like a head-sized Acromantula with butterbeer corks and glitter stuck to its legs. A flick of the witch's wand had the thing float towards Harry, coming to a stop directly over his head.

With a sinking feeling, Harry realised that it was an Acromantula with cork pieces and glitter stuck on it. "Is that thing dead?" he asked, his wand already aimed at it. He remembered Hagrid's lesson on Acromantula hunting tactics in their fourth year quite well, and how they liked to drop on to a deer and ram their fangs into its head to inject their poison straight into the brain had featured prominently.

"Oh, no! It's not dead."

"What?" Harry had never been as quick to roll out of his bed and come up in a crouch. Even Moody would not fault his speed this time. "It's alive?" Not for much longer, he promised himself.

"It was never alive," Luna said.

"What? You transfigured something into a dead Acromantula?"

"No, no! It's the shed exoskeleton of an Acromantula." Luna smiled. "Spiders are very good at catching things, so their skeleton makes a great base for a dreamcatcher!"

Harry dimly remembered Hagrid talking about Acromantulas shedding their skin. Hermione had started to whisper a lengthy explanation about how non-magical spiders did the same thing, and Harry had somehow failed to follow either lecture. "Ah. So, it's basically harmless, right?"

"For humans, yes. It'll destroy bad dreams, and scare Nargles away - they can be caught with nets spun from the finest Acromantula silk, so they shun them, you know;" Luna said, nodding. Then she stuck the tip of her tongue out of the corner of her mouth and focused on moving the floating thing a bit around until she nodded and cast a Sticking Charm. "There! It'll perfectly protect your dreams, Harry!"

The blonde witch promptly proceeded to pull out a second one and install that over her father's bed. "They should work well enough, but if there are persistent Nargles, then I can animate them. I had to do that for my own room in our dorm - Nargles kept stealing my things until I animated my dreamcatcher." She put a finger on her lips, pouting. "I didn't know Nargles could shriek that loud, or imitate human sounds that well, so you might need a Silencing Charm to sleep soundly through the night."

"Oh, I don't need a Silencing Charm." Harry knew what Moody would do to him should he ever try to sleep while being effectively deaf and unable to hear an enemy approaching. Or a teacher.

"Alright." Luna nodded and sat down on her father's bed. "Do you feel better yet, Daddy?"

"I do. But not yet good enough." Xenophilius sighed. "I'm still weak."

"But you'll be healthy soon, right?" Luna asked, and for once, her voice suddenly sounded rather brittle.

"Of course!" Xenophilius reached out and pulled Luna into a hug.

Harry felt both embarrassed at seeing such an intimate moment, and irrationally jealous. Sirius had - temporarily - returned to Grimmauld Place, to organise things for Remus's absence, and would pass by the Ministry afterwards, so Harry's godfather wouldn't be back until the evening.

He could do with a nap, he thought, and returned to his bed to lie down. Which placed his head straight under the dreamcatcher. He was suddenly more understanding of Ron's fear of spiders.

*****​

Ron Weasley felt… not jealous. Hermione was having a lengthy meeting with the Resistance, which excluded him. He knew she needed to talk about several important issues with the rest of her group, and he knew he was not part of that, but it was Sunday, when there were no classes, and they could have spent the morning together.

Which was annoying. Another thing to blame on the war. Although sometimes he wondered if Hermione and he would have become a couple if there hadn't been a war. Would they even be friends if Voldemort had not let a troll into the school in their first year? He liked to think they would have become friends anyway, but the odds weren't that good. Without Voldemort to worry about, would they have found common ground, or would they have simply seen each other's small, petty flaws? Would he have even seen past the nagging swot with the bushy hair? Would he have cared to even try? Would Harry have? And would Hermione have ever been interested in him?

He sighed. He didn't want to be grateful to Voldemort for anything and forced the idle thoughts away. Just as he had forced the thought of killing that Death Eater away. He took a deep breath. He should visit Harry, and his family, instead of moping around. They would be glad for the visit, too.

As he entered the infirmary, he noticed that Bill had woken up, and had a visitor. Although Ron wasn't quite certain if Fleur had even left the infirmary since the battle, with seemingly half her family and her fiancé stuck there. Percy seemed to still be asleep, and Dad was gone.

"Good morning, Ron. Dad's gone with Mum, back to Grimmauld Place," Bill informed him.

"Good morning, Ron." Even tired, Fleur sounded perfect.

"Morning, Bill. Morning, Fleur." Ron nodded, frowning - Moody had told him often that he was easy to read. Although Bill was his oldest brother, which gave him an unfair advantage. "He's fine then."

"Yes."

Ron hadn't been worried, not really, but … it felt good to hear it confirmed. "And Percy?"

"Will be fine. He just needs more rest," Bill said.

Ron had heard that before. "What about you?"

"I'm fine," Bill said, grinning. "Pomfrey will see that too, once she returns."

"'E's not fine!" Fleur said. "'e needs more rest as well!"

"I've had worse at work," Bill said.

"You work as a Curse-Breaker. Of course you've 'ad worse at work!"

Ron thought just the fact that his brother had made such a mistake was proof that he wasn't quite that fine. "How are your relatives?" he asked.

Fleur's face fell, and Ron pressed his lips together. He shouldn't have asked her that.

"They're doing well, considering the circumstances." She didn't have to add 'those who survived'; her face said enough when she glanced at the corner housing the French wounded.

Ron was about to excuse himself and go to Harry - Bill and Fleur would probably be happier together, just as he would like to be alone with Hermione - when Fleur spoke up again: "This will make quite the trouble at 'ome for Uncle Marcel."

"Because so many of your family were killed?" Ron asked.

"Non. Because they were fighting side by side with muggleborns." She sighed. "France still remembers the muggleborns 'oo joined Grindelwald. 'La trahison du sang', they call it. A number of people were almost glad when the Muggleborns rebelled - they said that Britain 'ad 'ad it coming for granting them so many liberties."

"Idiots," Ron hissed.

"They're afraid. Which is quite strange for a country famous for their bravery," Fleur said.

"If they treated their muggleborns better they wouldn't have to fear a rebellion," Ron replied.

"That the French muggles celebrate their revolutions so much doesn't 'elp, of course. The Duc's Court is very much aware of the fate of the last muggle king. Or was it the second to last?" Fleur shrugged.

Ron had no idea. Hermione would know, of course, but she was busy. "So, what will the Duc do?"

"I don't know for certain, but I think that 'e'll do nothing, and tell the people that this is Dumbledore's country and fault, and 'as nothing to do with France."

"Don't they know that the muggleborns started fighting when the Wizengamot took away their rights, and not before?" Ron asked.

"They might think that if Dumbledore 'adn't granted the muggleborns more rights, there wouldn't 'ave been a Blood War in the first place - certainly not two."

Ron snorted. "Why didn't they support Voldemort back then?"

"He acted too much like Grindelwald, Mister Weasley."

Ron whirled around, drawing his wand before he recognised the Headmaster. He hadn't noticed the old wizard arriving. That Bill and Fleur had missed Dumbledore as well was not much of a consolation.

The old wizard seemed to ignore his reaction, and continued while Ron stashed his wand. "Some Old Families fear purebloods from younger families rising in power almost as as much as they fear the muggleborns. The Dark Lord lacked both a history and blood relations among the Old Families. His claim of being the heir of Slytherin did not carry enough weight outside Britain to overcome that handicap."

"We should be so lucky that our pureblood bigots were not pureblood enough for the bigots of the rest of Europe," Ron muttered.

"Sometimes, Mister Weasley, fate works in quite ironic ways."

*****​

Outside Stamford, Lincolnshire, Britain, January 19th, 1997

The Dark Lord Voldemort took a deep breath. It was time. Sunday evening. The sun had set already. Two days after the battle. Right when the first of the wounded were leaving St Mungo's and most of the survivors would still be tired from the rescue and recovery efforts. It had taken him months to create the spell. Back when he had just returned, it had been as much a way to pass the time, waiting for Lucius's efforts to bear fruit, as a serious undertaking. Given the reputation of the houngans in Britain, even among those sympathetic to his cause, using the curse would have undone all of his faithful's work. Having a few select Death Eaters test parts of the curse had been as far as he had dared to go. But now, after his other plans had failed, there was no reason not to use it. The British wizards might loathe him for it, but they'd fear him more.

He reached out and picked up the skull sitting on his desk, then walked to the circle he had drawn on the floor of the room, lighting the candles with a flick of his wand. He put the skull down in the centre, on the parchment with the symbol he had chosen, then whipped his wand against his left hand, slashing it open. He redrew the circle with his own blood, then let it drop on the skull. Blood meant power. Even the houngans understood that. He held his hand steady while his blood kept dripping on the skull, disappearing where it touched the polished bone. Finally, the skull started to glow red, and Voldemort closed the gash in his hand before sitting down.

Holstering his wand, he grabbed the skull with both hands and raised it until he was facing it. He took another deep breath, the scent of blood growing stronger. Closing his eyes, he pressed the skull against his head, hissing at the pain this caused. Weaker minds than his would have stopped then, but he had endured far worse in the pursuit of the Dark Arts. Pain was no stranger to him, nor would it ever be his master. He pushed the pain away, and focused. His power. His will. He could feel it reaching out, touching the prepared vessels. Filling them, one by one, with his power. Brushing past wards and spells as if they were not there.

Finally, they were ready. All of them, prepared by himself, or by his followers. All waiting for his command.

Shuddering under the strain, he gave the order.

Rise, and strike at my enemies!

*****​

London, Ministry of Magic, January 19th, 1997

Albus Dumbledore was tired. An afternoon spent handling the minutiae of the Ministry's many tasks was draining on the best of days. Two days after the Battle of the Ministry, with many of the survivors still being treated at St Mungo's, or resting in their homes, with their families, it was exhausting.

And yet, it couldn't be helped. Wizarding Britain depended on him, and on his friends and allies - they could not afford to dawdle. Reorganising the Ministry's forces, planning the war, changing the muggleborn laws, organising repairs - so much had to be done, with so few wands available.

At least everyone was doing what they could. Even the walking wounded. He saw Finegas Smith step out of the restored fireplace. The man had been struck with the Withering Curse during the coup, but you wouldn't be able to tell it judging by his slow but steady stride. Although with his wand arm withered, he would not be able to help out with the repair work. Still, his help would be useful in organising the work, freeing those who could cast spells from paperwork.

Albus smiled, and nodded at the man as they approached each other in the Atrium. "Good evening, Finegas."

The other man didn't return his greeting and simply continued his way. Albus raised his eyebrows - Finegas was always impeccably polite. He didn't look as if he was alright, either. His eyes were… empty. And he was moving his withered arm, wielding a wand!

Albus conjured a slab of metal right in time to stop Finegas's Piercing Curse. He cast a Shield Charm while he stepped around the barrier, and sent two Stunners at the other wizard. Both hit, and the man staggered. He didn't fall, though, and cast a Cutting and Bludgeoning Curse, both stopped by Albus's Shield, before another Stunning Spell took him down.

"I am very sorry, my friend, but it is for your own good," Albus mumbled, summoning Finegas's wand and casting a Full Body-Bind Curse, followed by conjured ropes. He turned to the Auror guards - two very young wizards, Mister Auckley and Mister Runcorn, both Hufflepuffs, graduated in the last year - approaching them. "I fear he has been compelled to attack me - he was acting quite unlike himself. Please take him into a cell, for his and our safety. We need to find out what has been done to him. Merlin's Staff! The Withering Curse!" He whirled around. "It doesn't simply cause a limb to wither, it also allows the Dark Lord to control them!"

The Aurors grew pale - they knew as well as Albus did just how many people had been cursed by the Dark Lord's trap, or his followers.

"Scrimgeour!" Auckley yelled, while Albus sent a Patronus Messenger to warn Hogwarts. "He's been in to supervise!"

"He's not the only one!" Runcorn said.

Before they could move, though, screams and explosions once more filled the Ministry.

*****​

Hogwarts, January 19th, 1997

"So, you'll have to stay another night in the infirmary."

Harry Potter, sitting in his bed, nodded at Luna. "Yes. Pomfrey said that she was taking no chances with anyone who had fought the Dark Lord directly."

"That is wise, but she missed Dumbledore. And Ron," Luna said. "Should I go and fetch them for her?"

"I think she has the situation in hand," Harry said. While Luna trying to drag Dumbledore to the infirmary for his own good was an amusing thought, he didn't think Ron and Hermione would appreciate having their dinner date interrupted by Luna.

"Are you certain?" Luna frowned. "You can't take chances with your health." She glanced at her sleeping father.

"Pomfrey released Ron, so he must be fine," Harry said.

"But did she know what he did?"

Harry was about to answer when he heard the door opening. He had his wand aimed at it before he realised what he was doing - and so he was able to cast a Shield Charm the instant a small object flew through the widening gap. A second later, an explosion filled the room.

Harry's shield had protected him from the blast, but he couldn't see anything but patches of colour, and his ears were ringing. Luna's screams were just a dim noise to him and he could barely see the furniture as he rolled off his bed. Further, but fainter, explosions sounded, flashes too, and something hit his Shield Charm. Several times.

Someone was shooting at him, he realised. Harry threw himself to the side, away from his bed. He couldn't see enough, yet, but his enemy had to be standing in the doorway. And Harry had trained under similar conditions with Moody.

He sent a few Bludgeoning Curses in the general direction of the door, aiming high, then covered the floor at the door with oil. He could see contours now. Silhouettes. A figure was stumbling at the door, slipping on the oil, with a large stick in their hands. Luna was still screaming. He didn't hear her father. The figure was turning around, towards her.

Harry snarled and stabbed with his wand forward, sending a volley of curses at the attacker. His Piercing Curse was stopped by a Shield Charm, he could see the flashes, but his Reductor Curse went through and hit the figure, followed by a Cutting Curse that went wide, before his Fire-Making Spell hit the oil, setting it and the figure ablaze.

The attacker didn't scream, though. Even burning, they shot at Harry, though the bullets went wide, not even hitting his Shield Charm. Harry dived forward, rolling past another bed, and came up casting. His next Bludgeoning Curse smashed the attacker into the wall, hard enough to break bones, but they still tried to raise their gun until Harry's Cutting Curse sliced into their arm and the rifle dropped.

A moment later, the figure dropped as well. Panting, Harry kept his wand trained on the burning … boy? He blinked, his eyes finally having recovered from the blinding flash, then gasped - he recognised the burning wizard. He had just killed Colin Creevey.

*****​

"It's almost like a date," Ron Weasley said as he and Hermione walked down the hallway. "We had dinner together, just the two of us, and now we're off to…" He trailed off.

"... the library," Hermione finished for him while he was searching for a better word, "to do some research on the Unforgivables. It's not exactly a dance or a movie." She was smiling, though, despite her words. "And I'd not be wearing the fatigues for a date," she added, pointing at her clothes.

"If we dance or watch a movie in the library, Pince will probably demonstrate all three Unforgivables on us," Ron said, snorting. "She would cast them silently, of course, so as not to disturb the other visitors."

Hermione chuckled, then grew serious. "It says a lot about us that we're joking about the Dark Arts, doesn't it?"

Ron shrugged. "It's the war." If you couldn't laugh about it you would have to cry about it. And laughing was better.

"It seems so far away from here," Hermione said. "Hogwarts hasn't changed."

"Other than for the better by losing most of the Slytherins," he said. "And we've had our fair share of troubles here too." Not all of those had been Harry's or Ron's fault, either.

"That's true, I guess." She didn't comment about the Slytherins. A year ago, she might have, he thought.

"How long will you be staying here?" He didn't bother to ask casually. She knew how much he loved her being here.

"A few more days, I think. Until Jeremy is in better shape."

"You could stay here until the end of the war." They passed a junction, and he covered the crossing hallway on his side while Hermione did the same on her side.

She sighed. "I'm not certain that would be a good idea. That might endanger the school."

He scoffed. "With Dumbledore as the Headmaster and Harry here, it's already a target for Voldemort."

"It would also make everyone think we're Dumbledore's wands." She was frowning. Not at him, though. "That might bring problems of their own once the war is over."

"How so?"

"Other muggleborns might not trust us that much if they think that we were just his to command," Hermione said.

"Can't win a war without coordination, and an overall commander." Ron had learned that when he had let his chess set play itself once.

"It's unlikely, but not impossible." Hermione pursed her lips. "But we are coordinating. It's just the appearance of subordination that I want to avoid. We're the Resistance, his allies, not members of his Order."

"Well, I don't know if many care about the difference," Ron said. "In fact, I think…"

Loud explosions, followed by screams, interrupted him.

"Someone's shooting!" Hermione said, drawing her wand and starting to run.

Ron hurried to catch up, though he had to push himself to manage it. They rounded the corner to the sound of more shots being fired. "It's near the Great Hall!" he yelled.

"That's a machine gun. One of ours!" Hermione yelled. "Someone must be attacking us!" Both had already cast a Shield Charm.

They were close now. The screams were growing louder. Then three students ran around the corner, yelling and screaming. They stopped as soon as they spotted the two of them, though. No, as soon as they spotted Hermione.

"Noo!" one of them - a Ravenclaw, Ron thought, probably in Ginny's year, all of them were - screamed. "Please!"

Another figure turned around the corner, a gun in his hands, firing, and the three Ravenclaws fell down, like animated statues when the enchantment was finited.

"Dennis?" Ron heard Hermione say.

It was Dennis Creevey. The boy was wearing fatigues like Hermione. He didn't answer, but lifted his gun, swinging it towards them.

Ron dived to the floor, away from Hermione, an instant before the boy fired again. Split up, force them to split their attention, as far as possible, Moody had taught him and Harry. Not much room in a hallway for that, though.

"Dennis, stop!" Hermione yelled. She was also casting, though, and Ron saw a wall rise in the middle of the hallway, stopping both bullets and Ron's Stunner. "He must be under someone's control!" she yelled.

"Help! Please help!" one of the Ravenclaws was screaming, blood gushing from a deep wound in her arm.

"Help her!" Hermione yelled and rushed forward. She threw a small object through the gap between the wall and the hallway's ceiling, then cast a spell. Thick, black smoke appeared on the other side of the wall, parts of it drifting to their side.

"Episkey!" Ron yelled, stabbing his wand at the girl's wound. "Episkey! Episkey!"

After three spells, the bleeding started to slow. After four, it stopped. Ron glanced at Hermione. She was waving her wand over another girl, then shook her head. The third was crawling away, dragging one leg behind her.

"Hold still!" Ron said, casting at her. She screamed, flailing, despite his reassurances that he was helping her. He still managed to close the wounds in her leg.

"Let's move them around the corner!" Hermione said, and Ron saw that she was levitating the girl he had treated.

The other girl was scrambling to her feet, so Ron simply grabbed her arm and pulled her with him. This time she didn't resist. Just before they reached the corner, the wall behind them exploded. Shots hit Ron's Shield Charm as he pushed the girl into the next hallway. His shield shattered, and something hit him in the side. Unbalanced, he fell to the floor, bullets passing over his head. Then the pain hit him. He had been shot.

"Ron!" he heard Hermione scream.

He rolled to the side, screaming at the pain that caused, and aimed his wand with shaking fingers, lying on his back. Hermione had conjured another wall. "Let's blow it up!" he managed to press out.

For a moment, she hesitated, then he heard her agree. "On three. One. Two."

Ron's Blasting Curse hit the wall a fraction of a second after hers, filling the hallway with a cloud of dust. He rolled to the side, coming to a stop at the corner, wand still aimed into the cloud. Merlin's balls, that hurt!

A gust of wind drove the dust back, away from them. Ron saw someone on the floor there. Dennis. The boy was still moving, one arm grasping for the gun. Ron hesitated, then banished the gun away from the boy.

"Stupefy! Stupefy!"

Hermione was there, casting at Dennis. After her second Stunner, the boy stopped moving.

Ron forced himself to stand up and walk, despite the blood running down his side.

"Ron!" Hermione yelled. "You're wounded! Stop moving!"

He didn't stop until he reached the boy on the ground, then he stared while Hermione started to treat his wound.

Dennis was bound as well as stunned now, and bleeding from several wounds, but his leathery, dried-up looking arm was still twitching.

*****​

London, Ministry of Magic, January 19th, 1997

Albus Dumbledore took a step to the side, deflecting a curse with a conjured floating shield, then swished his wand. The Ministry Employee, Bertie Gibbons, who had cast at him fell down when the floor underneath the man's feet turned into a rug that was then ripped away. Before Bertie had recovered, Albus had bound him with conjured ropes. He took care to remove his wand and secure the withered limb with a few more bindings - more than one afflicted victim had been stunned, yet their limbs had managed to keep moving. A Stunning Spell knocked the poor wizard unconscious, just in case the Dark Lord's curse had hidden another surprise.

"I don't see anyone else," Mister Auckley said. The Auror wiped some blood from his brow where a splinter from a Reductor Curse had struck him. His partner had been wounded more seriously in the Atrium, and had been taken away to St Mungo's.

The old wizard looked around, checking his Human-presence-revealing Spell, then turned around and nodded at the latest arrival. "Amelia."

"Albus."

"How is the situation?" he asked as they started to walk towards the Atrium.

"Under control. We're stunning anyone stepping out of the fireplaces." The Head of the DMLE had not escaped the battle unscathed either - her robe was ripped, and there were some bloodstains on her shoulder.

"Good." It was better to ambush the cursed attackers in the Atrium than block the Floo connection and let them find other targets. "Minerva sent me a message. Hogwarts has been secured as well. There have been victims, though." He felt guilty - his warning had come too late; the curse-victims at the school had already struck by then. Even if he had been at the school he probably wouldn't have been able to prevent the attacks; Hogwarts was a large school, and he would have been hard-pressed to be quick enough to find and stop the curse-victims in time. He knew that, but it didn't alleviate his guilt.

"The Minister's dead," Amelia went on. "Rufus marched straight into his office and murdered him."

Cornelius dead… that would have far-reaching consequences. There were more urgent things to worry about, though. "Did you manage to subdue him?"

"He's alive." Amelia said. Her expression told Albus that Rufus had been hurt. It couldn't be helped - the Head Auror was a talented and experienced wizard, and would have been hard to capture unharmed.

He sighed. "The victims need to be secured and dosed with Draught of Living Death. All of them. We cannot risk the Dark Lord influencing them further until we can cure them." If they could cure them.

Amelia hissed. "We're still taking a tally of them. Some of them attacked their own families."

Abus briefly closed his eyes. He had been afraid of that. They reached the Atrium, and he saw the bodies laid out on the floor. Most bound in conjured robes, and stunned, but too many covered with blankets. The Atrium had suffered more damage as well - rubble and dust was strewn around, and several new craters were visible in the floor. If Albus had stayed here… but if he had, the attackers inside the Ministry would not have been subdued as quickly.

"Albus!" The Headmaster saw Sirius walking quickly towards him. "I'm returning to Hogwarts." The younger wizard's robes showed some rips and tears, but he appeared unhurt - he might have already been healed, of course.

Albus nodded, even though Sirius's presence in the Ministry would be very helpful right now - but nothing short of - maybe - another battle would have stopped Harry's godfather from checking on his godson.

Amelia led him up the stairs, past an Auror guard - if you could call two wizards who had graduated last year Aurors - to Cornelius's office. Albus looked inside and frowned. Rufus had used Blasting Curses. There wasn't much left of Cornelius's desk, or of the Minister himself.

"What happened, Albus? What did the Dark Lord do?"

"He found a new way to create zombies."

*****​
 
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Chapter 36: Failed Plans
Chapter 36: Failed Plans

'The Night of the Dead has been the subject of much speculation among both historians and the public. Why did the Dark Lord wait until his coup had failed to cast this curse? Wouldn't his forces have won the Battle of the Ministry if they had had the support of the victims of the Withering Curse? If his spell hadn't been ready in time, why didn't he wait a few more days? Some of my colleagues claim that it was all part of an intricate plan of his to deal with Dumbledore, the main obstacle to the Dark Lord's goals. However, I disagree. None of the theories put forth can explain, at least not in a satisfactory manner, why he would sacrifice so many of his followers for no perceptible gain. If he had done so to lull Dumbledore into a false sense of security, as the most popular theory goes, then why had he struck so hard at Dumbledore during their duel in Hogsmeade?
No, I am of the opinion that the Dark Lord didn't want to resort to such a measure because he was aware of the consequences of using houngan magic. It was only after his efforts to appeal to the pureblood population had seemingly failed that he abandoned them and prepared to rule through fear. Undoubtedly, the Night of the Dead, which itself was an imprecise name based upon a common misconception of houngan magic, struck fear and horror into the very heart of Wizarding Britain.'
- Excerpt from 'The Second Blood War' by Hyacinth Selwyn


*****​

Hogwarts, January 19th, 1997

Harry Potter had stared at the body, had seen the flames slowly spread, the hole his Reductor Curse had opened in the boy's chest bleeding, the stump of his arm, bleeding as well, his leg, the cursed, leathery one, twitching still. He had killed Colin Creevey. A boy who had revered him. He had barely noticed Fleur arriving - had the whole fight been so quick that she hadn't managed to reach the room in time to intervene?

Then Luna had screamed, panicking, about her father, and he had whirled around. Xenophilius had been bleeding, hit by a bullet in the chest, Harry realised, and Luna had been desperately trying to help him, casting spell after spell while blood continued to flow from the hole in the man's chest. She had been trembling, crying, but hadn't given up. Xenophilius's breathing had made a horrible sound, with more blood flowing from his mouth. The man's lung had been hit, Harry had thought, and he had rushed to help Luna. His own spells had worked better, but the wounds had been so extensive - the bullet had gone through the man, leaving a far larger hole in his back - that Xenophilius would have died anyway, if not for Pomfrey's arrival.

He had held Luna while the matron had saved the man's life with spells and potions - and Colin's body had burned behind them. None of them had noticed the stench. Not until Xenophilius's wounds had been closed and Pomfrey had levitated him out of his blood-soaked bed.

By then, more victims of this attack had arrived, Ron among them! Colin's body had been quickly moved to another room, joining two others. And Sirius had taken him away, to have him checked for injuries and curses.

That was the room in which Harry was now standing as he stared at the blanket covering the dead boy. He could still smell the burned flesh, and the blood, despite the spells that had cleaned and preserved the bodies. Or so he thought.

The door opened behind him, and he shifted, turning. Just in case.

Hermione stood there, and behind her, Ron.

His friend was looking a bit pale still, Harry noticed, and he sounded just a bit hesitant: "Sirius told us you were here."

Harry nodded. His godfather hadn't wanted to leave him, but he was needed, now more than ever, with the Minister dead. Harry had realised that, even if his godfather hadn't.

"It wasn't your fault," Hermione said, stepping inside.

"I didn't recognise him. He blinded me with a grenade."

"Flashbang," Hermione said.

Harry ignored her correction and went on, looking at the body again. "He was shooting at me, and at the Lovegoods. He'd have killed us, if I hadn't stopped him." He took a deep breath. "But that doesn't change the fact that I killed him. I should have stunned him." They had stunned Dennis, after all.

"He'd have taken a few Stunners, mate," Ron said. "He might have killed you if you had tried that. Or he might have killed Luna and her father - he came close, didn't he?" Harry's friend rubbed his side, a reminder that he, too, had had a close call. If the bullet had hit a bit closer...

"He was mind-controlled by Voldemort," Harry said. "It wasn't his fault."

"And neither was it yours. You did what you had to. It's Voldemort's fault," Ron said. "Besides, Hermione is blaming herself."

"What?" Harry frowned at the witch.

"I should have expected something like this. At least thought of the possibility," Hermione said.

"Dumbledore didn't expect it either," Ron cut in. "No one expected the Dark Lord to use houngan magic. Which I told you already."

"It's not quite clear if it actually is houngan magic," she said.

"Turning people into zombies certainly sounds like it," Ron said. "It fits the stories about the war in the Caribbean."

"They're not exactly undead," Harry said, "they're alive but mind-controlled."

"With the withered limbs providing the link to the Dark Lord," Hermione said.

"Creepy," Ron said. "Dennis's arm was still moving, even though he was out."

Harry's eyes widened. "The snakes!"

"What?" Ron said, drawing his wand. Hermione had already taken a step to the side and turned, to guard their back.

"The snakes Voldemort sent after me and Dumbledore. I noticed that one of them had a dried-up tail. I thought it had been the fire, back then, but now…" Harry trailed off.

"Maybe that had been a test," Hermione said. "We're still not certain how detailed Voldemort's orders are, or were. But as far as we can tell, all of his victims started attacking others at the same time. We haven't been able to interrogate them, yet."

"Colin and Dennis split up," Ron said. "Dennis started attacking any student he saw, and Colin attacked you."

"He's been obsessed with me since he started at Hogwarts," Harry said, and regretted it at once. Colin had been annoying as a first-year, but he had grown up.

"If Voldemort had wanted to kill you, wouldn't he have sent them both together after you?" Hermione nibbled on her lower lip. "That might indicate that he can't actually give such orders."

"He could order all of his victims to fight," Ron said.

"But they attacked without coordination," she said. "He might have been limited to blanket orders - like 'attack the Ministry'."

"The Creeveys didn't attack the Ministry, though," Harry said. "So, he had to be able to split the orders."

Hermione wrinkled her nose, then shook her head. "Not necessarily. He might have simply ordered them to attack his enemies, and leave them to execute the order as they saw fit. Colin saw you as Voldemort's biggest enemy, which might explain why he attacked you."

"Maybe." Harry thought that was just speculation. "He shot Xenophilius too, though."

"That might have been a stray bullet, or a ricochet," Hermione said. "I think if Colin had wanted to kill him, he'd have shot him several times. We certainly trained for that."

Harry refrained from commenting that that training almost led to his own death - it hadn't been her fault. Though his friend would probably not believe it.

Not that he could blame her - he couldn't help feeling guilty himself.

*****​

Ron Weasley felt like hexing both his girlfriend and his best friend. They were still blaming themselves! He took a deep breath - he could lose his temper right now - and rubbed his side. Pomfrey had said he should rest a day or two.

"Not even Dumbledore expected this," he began. "There was no way you could have expected this. No one ever heard of something like this being possible."

"There were tales of houngans controlling people," Hermione said, her jaw set.

"Not like this. Not from afar." At least Ron thought so.

"Still…" She bit her lower lip.

"You can't think of everything. No one can. It wasn't your fault."

Hermione slowly nodded.

Ron didn't think she was convinced, but hopefully it helped, he wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her close for a moment, Then he turned to his friend."And it's not your fault either, Harry. You were surprised, blinded, deafened, and almost killed."

"I still should have used a Stunner," Harry said, frowning.

"You know what Moody said about Stunners."

"That they're great when facing a single enemy?" Harry snorted.

"You didn't know there was only one," Ron shot back. "And you know what happens if we assume there's only one." That had been a very painful lesson.

"Technically, there were two," Hermione added. "They just split up."

"You saved Luna and her dad," Ron went on. "There was no time for you to wait until you could recognise him, and make certain there was only one of them."

"I didn't actually look for more enemies after he was dead. I went to save Xenophilius," Harry said.

"And Moody will not be happy about that," Ron said. "But you did save lives."

"Doesn't make killing Colin right," Harry muttered.

"It wasn't right, but it wasn't your fault." Ron reached out with his free arm and pulled Harry into a hug with himself and Hermione. His friend stiffened, but didn't resist, and Ron could feel him gradually relax.

They remained like that for some time.

*****​

London, Ministry of Magic, January 20th, 1997

Albus Dumbledore had to hand it to Tom - this curse had been a masterstroke. Both in the timing of its use, and the effects it would have. It had been bad enough to see so many Ministry employees and even Wizengamot members struck with withered, dead limbs. But now, after it had been revealed that they could be controlled by the Dark Lord and even ordered to attack their own families… Tom's leverage on the families of the victims, not to mention on the victims themselves, was too great.

He straightened up from where he had been bent over Bertie's unconscious form, which was secured to a bed in the bowels of the Ministry, ignoring the slight pain that caused to his back, and holstered his wand.

"Ingenious!" Next to him, Saul Croaker, the Head of the Department of Mysteries, was still moving his wand through complicated spells. "He used the dead limb as a conduit to control the body! He found a way to use spells meant to control the undead to control the living! Even the Thief's Downfall only removes an existing compulsion, but will not remove the withering curse that serves as the base curse, allowing the Dark Lord to retake control of the victim anytime he chooses!"

Albus suppressed a sigh. It figured that the Unspeakables couldn't be bothered to actually get involved in the war until a new kind of magic had been discovered. "It is based upon houngan spells."

"Are you certain?" Saul sounded as if he was frowning behind the magic hiding his face. "I think there are some similarities to the work Grindelwald did on Inferi."

"Trust me," Albus said, with more tension in his voice than could be blamed on his lack of sleep, "It is not related to Grindelwald's studies." He was quite familiar with the spells Gellert had created. "It is definitely based upon houngan magic."

Saul was cocking his head slighty. He had done that as a student too. "I see. Your excursion in '61?"

"Yes. As you deduced, it stems from their ways to control the dead, not the living." Albus had had to teach the masters of the Magical Caribbean that trying to expand their fiefdoms into North America had consequences they couldn't afford. Fortunately, he had had a lot of experience dealing with Inferi from the war with Gellert. "I destroyed enough of their creations to know that."

"I would have expected them to use their zombies, not their Inferi. They are, after all, famous for having many muggle villages ready to fight for them when in need."

Albus was reminded that for all his brilliance as a spellcrafter and researcher, Saul was neither a politician nor a strategist. "Using mind-controlled muggles in such numbers to conquer North American Wizard Enclaves would have threatened the Statute of Secrecy, in light of the political situation in the muggle world." Of which Saul, like so many purebloods, was ignorant.

"Ah." Albus's friend nodded. "But you did attack their homes too."

"The homes of a few, select houngans," Albus said. "And I managed to surprise them, so they were unable to call upon their zombies." Those not already serving them in their homes, at least. The fighting hadn't been clean, but it could have been worse. And their practice of kidnapping muggleborn children on vacation in the Caribbean had, if not ended, at least lessened a great deal.

Saul, of course, only cared about the magical aspects. "But still… how could the Dark Lord control a living, ensouled being, even if one limb was dead, with a spell controlling dead bodies? And the bodies of wizards, to boot? That goes against Gunther's theory."

"Yes," Albus said, nodding, "that is the question." Gunther's theory had not been proven, but neither had it been disproven ever since it had been formulated, decades ago. "Once we know this, we can cure them. Or at least prevent the Dark Lord from controlling his victims."

"Yes, yes." Saul was staring at Bertie. "We'll need to experiment."

"With the utmost care," Albus said. His tone carried enough of a threat to even make Saul, who was caught up in the research already, take notice.

"Of course, of course." Albus's friend made a dismissive gesture with his free hand.

Albus felt not quite as guilty as he probably should at knowing that Saul's research would make Tom consider him an enemy. It might even put the whole department firmly into the Ministry's camp, though the Headmaster was quite certain that the Dark Lord had spies among the Unspeakables as well, and would know that, as a whole, the Department of Mysteries was still focused only on research, and safeguarding those magics too dangerous to see the light of day.

A policy Albus doubted Tom would let the Department continue, should he win the war.

*****​

"Acting Minister." Amelia greeted Albus with a nod when he entered her office.

"Amelia." He nodded back and sank into the seat in front of her desk. He had never sought the position, had taken pains to discourage any speculation about it, even, and yet here he was - as Chief Warlock, he was Cornelius's successor until another Minister could be elected. As tragic as the reason was, it also facilitated certain things. "What's the situation with the victims of the withering curse?"

Amelia's lips formed a slight frown. "As ordered, we have taken those we could find into custody. As far as we can tell, the majority of them are now secure."

Most of them would have been captured in the Ministry, attacking it, Albus knew.

"But a few have been reported as missing by their families," Amelia continued. Her frown deepened.

"I think it is rather unlikely that the Dark Lord has told them to go into hiding." He would not call them to his base either.

"Yes." Amelia glanced at him. "I suspect that they are being hidden by their own families."

Out of shame, or because they didn't trust the Ministry to save them. Or because they were ready to make a deal with the Dark Lord. Albus didn't have to lay that out; Amelia was already aware of that possibility. "That cannot be helped. But we have the vast majority of them in custody. At least of the survivors."

"My Aurors and Hit-Wizards were protecting the Ministry. That was their duty, and I'll not punish them for choosing not to risk their own lives, and those of their co-workers, to save the attackers." Amelia stared at him.

"I am not about to condemn them for it, either." Albus would have been a hypocrite for doing so, after assuring Harry that he was not to blame. Or more of a hypocrite - he knew his sins. "I was just remarking on the tragic loss of life, so close on the heels of the Battle of the Ministry."

"Yes. Which has sent morale plummeting. Even my veterans are expecting another blow to come soon. We can only hope that this was the Dark Lord's last surprise."

It was a faint hope, Albus knew - Tom was crafty and cunning. But… "We have gained a respite, at least, unless I am gravely mistaken. Nevertheless, we need to sedate the victims of this curse, lest they rise and attack us again at a most inconvenient time."

Amelia sighed. "Until we know whether that will actually stop the Dark Lord from ordering them around, that will tie up more wands. Wands we need elsewhere."

Which was, of course, part of the reason Tom had done this - to further reduce the manpower available to the Ministry. Not to mention that such a large number of helpless enemies of the Dark Lord was also a very tempting target. "It is just a temporary setback, Amelia. We will find a cure for this curse." They had to.

The witch didn't look as if she believed him. "And how long will that take?" She put the parchment in her hand down on her desk, forcefully enough to displace the air so much that a few paper aeroplanes were sent flying. "Can we hold out that long? And while we search for a cure, what will he be doing?"

"It will not hinder or delay my plans to destroy him," Albus said. Not by much, at least. Harry's training was continuing, and in a pinch, Alastor would be able to step in.

Amelia still looked doubtful. She needed more reassurances.

"Trust me. I have an… acquaintance in Jamaica."

"A houngan?" She was frowning, but she didn't look quite that cynical anymore.

"Yes. I met him during the troubles in the Caribbean. I think he will be able to provide me with enough information about the houngan spells used by the Dark Lord to create a cure."

"You'll be delving into the Dark Arts." Amelia didn't sound disgusted, or wary, but calculating. She sat straighter, too.

She was likely considering how to use this information at a later date, Albus thought. If she knew that he had studied the Dark Arts for much less noble purposes, with Gellert himself… he smiled gently and just a tad patronisingly. "You cannot find a remedy without understanding the disease, Amelia. Any Unspeakable will tell you the same."

"Saul will claim anything to justify his research and experiments." The witch scoffed.

"That does not make him wrong." At least not when it came to his knowledge. His ethics, on the other hand… "Between myself and the Department of Mysteries, we should have a cure for this curse in short order."

"I'll have to take your word for it." She leaned back in her seat.

He nodded, conceding the point. "Now, there are several positions left vacant by recent events."

"Traditionally, filling such positions is the prerogative of an elected Minister." She summoned the paper aeroplanes back with her wand.

"Given our circumstances, I do not think that we have the time to follow tradition," Albus said. "A functional Ministry is now more crucial than ever."

"Given the urgency, the Wizengamot could certainly convene quickly," Amelia shot back.

"With so many of their number still either absent since before the battle, and therefore suspect, or afflicted by the curse? I think not." Albus shook his head slowly. "I would not like to taint my successor's first term by having them be elected without a properly convened Wizengamot. Certainly you can see the problems that would cause."

Foiled by her own principles, Amelia looked like she had bitten into a particularly disgusting Every Flavour Bean, but she nodded. "Of course. So, who do you have in mind for the various positions?"

Albus noted her wording - Amelia didn't sound as if she considered his choices final - but let it slide. She couldn't do much to stop him now, and she knew it. He almost shook his head. A Minister for Magic needed more than a bit of flexibility, and Amelia, despite being among the favourites for the position, might prove to be too stubborn for the office.

He was facing more time spent on politics and even worse, office politics, when he should be preparing for his visit to Laron. Not for the first time, Albus deeply regretted Cornelius's death.

*****​

Hogwarts, January 20th, 1997

Inside one of the usually unused rooms near the infirmary, Hermione Granger was staring at Dennis. Sleeping and with his wounds treated, the boy looked peaceful. He had wanted to cut his withered arm off, she remembered. And she had persuaded him and his brother to wait for a cure, instead. And now Colin was dead and Dennis had killed students for the Dark Lord.

"Are we going to give him Draught of Living Death?" Justin asked next to her.

"Dumbledore said it was the best way to keep them secure until we find a cure." That wasn't an answer. She sighed. "The alternative is cutting the arm off, but it's not yet known if that will keep the Dark Lord from controlling him." She closed her eyes and clenched her teeth. "I wish we could keep him, but we don't have enough people left to take care of him." With a glance to her friend, she added: "Even Seamus will understand that." She snorted. "He certainly wouldn't want to be stuck caring for Dennis if he could be fighting instead."

"Probably," Justin said. "Will we ask him what he wants?" He nodded at Dennis.

"Could we trust it was him and not the puppet of the Dark Lord talking?" Hermione glanced at Justin and saw him flinch just a bit. "We don't know enough about this curse. Dumbledore and the Unspeakables are researching it."

"Can we trust them?"

"We are trusting Dumbledore. The Unspeakables?" She shook her head. "But there are too many purebloods suffering from this curse. They won't be able to abuse this to get to us."

"Mary-Jane has still not been taken through a Thief's Downfall," Justin pointed out. "Despite Dumbledore's promises."

"The situation at the Ministry was too volatile for him to risk a leak by the goblins. So he said." Hermione shrugged. "Now that Dumbledore is the acting Minister, we can move her through the one at the Ministry."

"Will we recruit her?"

Odds were that the witch would be another Seamus - or worse. After what the Aurors had done to her, though, it was understandable. Hermione sighed. "I think so. We can keep an eye on her that way." She didn't have to say that there wouldn't be another Allan on their watch. Justin had been there with her when they had interrogated that monster.

"Why did he attack the students?" Justin took a few steps towards Dennis, but stopped a yard away.

"I don't know." She shook her head. "I heard that Voldemort ordered the cursed to 'strike at his enemies', but left it up to them how to execute the order."

"So, he picked random massacres?" Justin sounded sceptical.

"Or he had some plan. We won't know until we can talk to him." She wasn't looking forward to that - Dennis would be devastated once he realised what he had done. "And that will likely be a while. We're not going to treat him like a captured enemy."

"If they are really using Draught of Living Death on all of the cursed, then it won't be long before half of Wizarding Britain will be in a magical slumber," Justin said.

"It's better than the alternative." Hermione looked at him. "Imagine if the Dark Lord orders them to kill themselves."

The words Justin muttered under his breath would have done the Sergeant proud.

*****​

Hogwarts, January 20th, 1997

Albus Dumbledore had barely returned to Hogwarts and eaten the meal the elves had prepared for him when Severus appeared before the gargoyle guarding the entrance to the Headmaster's office. For a moment, Albus was tempted to pretend he was still at the Ministry, dealing with the aftermath of the recent events. He had craved some rest, or at least, a bit of quiet. Fawkes, who was still barely bigger than a freshly burned phoenix, had certainly acted as if Albus was in dire need of comfort. But needs must, he thought, sighing, and let the younger wizard enter.

"Good evening, Severus."

"Albus." Severus was stiff and tense, Albus saw, when the other man sat down.

The Headmaster knew the reason for this visit. He sighed. "I haven't been able to find a volunteer, yet, Severus. The Ministry is in shambles, so many have been lost… I've been dealing with a myriad of things today."

Severus nodded. "I know. But with all those deaths, it shouldn't be hard to find a wizard or witch who has lost everyone they care about, and is willing to risk everything for a chance at revenge."

Like Severus himself, Albus knew. His friend was correct, though - and unlikely to accept excuses. "There are a number of poor souls who lost their families, yes."

"Pick the least useful then. Preferably some dunderhead with a smarter half-blood heir." The younger wizard's sneer was full of loathing and bitterness, and old wounds. His mother had been disinherited by her parents. "I trust you already have thought about such matters."

Albus winced - his friend knew him too well. While he had not planned to act on such calculations, or so he liked to think, he knew a few wizards who, who, while firmly opposed to Voldemort, would not be very helpful in the time after the Dark Lord's defeat. He hesitated a moment, then slowly inclined his head. What was another sin, piled up onto his numerous others? "Balthasar Brinden. His son was cursed in the Ministry, and killed Brinden's wife before dying at his father's hand."

The smile on Severus face was so satisfied and cruel, seeing it hurt Albus almost more than knowing his friend would soon be dead.

*****​

London, Ministry of Magic, January 21st, 1997

The Ministry might officially be an ally now, but Hermione Granger wasn't about to trust the Aurors or Hit-Wizards. The Resistance entered the Atrium with weapons and wands ready, with John levitating the stunned and bound Mary-Jane Wilton in their midst.

Two of the guards at the fireplaces confronted them. Hermione thought she recognised one of them - a Hufflepuff, two years above her. And the Auror apparently in command didn't look that much older. At least his voice didn't crack when he asked, "What is the meaning of this?", but he sounded quite nervous.

Hermione used her best 'command voice', as the Major called it. "Imperius victim. We're taking her through the Thief's Downfall, on the order of Minister Dumbledore."

Whether it was her tone, the Resistance's reputation, or - as she suspected - the Minister's name, it did the trick, and the Auror stepped aside. "Ah… alright."

She passed the two wizards with a nod and walked up to the Thief's Downfall, set up in an empty door frame, like a metal detector. A number of the wizards and witches working on repairing the damage to the Atrium were staring at her and the others. A few even fled further into the Ministry. She heard Seamus chuckle behind her as she stepped through the magical waterfall. Hermione didn't share Seamus's mirth, though. As satisfying as it might feel to see those who had worked to persecute the muggleborns shy away in fear, it didn't bode well for the future - both for the immediate future, when they would have to work together to defeat the Dark Lord, and for the time after the war.

But she had to focus on their current mission, which was to finally free Mary-Jane from the Imperius. Which, fortunately, was the work of just a few seconds. A minute later, and the rest of the Resistance had passed through the waterfall as well, and cast spells to dry and clean their weapons and themselves.

"Alright, let's head back!" Hermione said. There was no reason to linger. Justin and Sally-Anne were bringing up the rear this time.

But before the group reached the closest fireplace, a wizard stepped out of it, followed by another. She recognised them at once. Arthur Weasley and his son, Percy.

"Hermione!" The wizard greeted her.

His son nodded at her and the others. "Hermione. Mister Finnigan. Miss Dennel."

"Mister Weasley. Percy." She nodded at them. "I'm glad to see you have recovered." She truly was. She turned to Justin. "Justin, take the rest to Hogwarts. John can stay with me," she added, before he could protest.

"Alright." Justin didn't sound too pleased, but he nodded at her.

Mister Weasley's warm smile turned into a puzzled one when he noticed the floating and bound Mary-Jane pass him. "What happened?"

"She was under the Imperius, so we took her through the Thief's Downfall," she explained.

"Ah." He slowly nodded, then blinked. "But why is she still stunned?"

Hermione noticed that Percy winced - he had probably recognised the girl. She sighed. "She was imperiused by Aurors, some time ago, to trap us. We don't want her to wake up in the middle of the Ministry." The witch deserved privacy for that.

"Oh, I remember that. Dreadful affair." Mister Weasley sighed loudly. "That Amelia would allow that…" He shook his head.

Percy scoffed. "Why wouldn't she? As long as the Wizengamot says it's legal, it's good enough for her. I do not think she'll change should she become the next Minister."

That was an alarming thought. "How likely is that?" Hermione said.

"We haven't heard much news during our convalescence," Percy said, pursing his lips, "but before the recent events happened, she was considered the most likely successor to Minister Fudge." He lowered his voice a bit. "Things might have changed with all the dead. Both of us have been promoted. Father's now heading the new Office of Anti-Curse Measures and Research, and I've been promoted to the position of Deputy-Head of the Department of Magical Transportation."

"Congratulations." Hermione smiled. Dumbledore was stacking the Ministry with his people, then.

"Thank you." Mister Weasley was beaming at her.

"Thank you." Percy's smile looked a bit cynical to Hermione.

"Oh, that reminds me: We'll have to have dinner together, you, Ron and us!" Mister Weasley chuckled. "We should have asked you before, but with all the troubles, there never seemed to be a good occasion. And Molly wanted to invite you to a proper home - we're currently just guests of Sirius. But we can eat dinner at a muggle restaurant!"

A family dinner with her boyfriend's parents - in the middle of a civil war. Hermione certainly hadn't expected that.

*****​

Mary-Jane didn't scream when they woke her up, back in a private room at Hogwarts. The muggleborn witch simply started to sob and cry, curled up on her bed. Hermione raised her hand and took a step closer, then hesitated, uncertain if she should touch the girl, or if that would make things worse. Sally-Anne apparently had no such doubts, and moved to hug the other witch.

Hermione exchanged a glance with Justin, and left the room. Once outside, she leaned against the wall and closed her eyes for a moment. She remembered the time she had been under the Imperius herself, in her fourth year. She had been lost in a haze, utterly relaxed. No worries, no doubts, no thoughts of her own had crossed her mind. As if she had been drugged. And just as with drugs, once the curse had been lifted, all her doubts and fears had returned, worse than before, joined with embarrassment, shame, and the horror of remembering how helpless she had been. And she hadn't been forced to betray her friends, and work for their murderers. She could only imagine what Mary-Jane was feeling right now.

And yet she was considering using that spell herself, if it was needed to win the war or save one of her friends.

*****​

Hogwarts, January 21st, 1997

Harry Potter ground his teeth and gripped his wand so tightly, he thought he could hear the holly crack between his fingers. He had already entered the Headmaster's mind once this evening, and now he had to do it again - without a day to recover. His head was hurting, pain flaring up in step with his heartbeat.

He wanted to close his eyes and rest. Sleep. Give his mind time to sort out what were his memories, and what were glimpses he had caught from the Headmaster's. But that would be giving up. And he wouldn't do that. Everyone was counting on him to master this spell, so he could defeat - no, destroy - Voldemort once and for all. He wouldn't, couldn't let them down.

He raised his wand, pointed it at the Headmaster's forehead, and spat the incantation out.

"Legilimens!"

Once more the world shrank to pinpoint of light, then expanded, and Harry found himself floating in a room full of spheres of all sizes. They were moving around, some growing, some shrinking, and each was filling his ears with words and noise and sometimes music, forming a cacophony that made just thinking hard and painful.

But this was not his first time. He focused his mind, and concentrated on one of the spheres, until the rest had faded - pushed away, even. Until this sphere was all he could see, until it was large enough to swallow him, close enough to touch… and he was inside.

He found himself in the middle of a field with strange plants. Sugar cane, he realised, after a second. He could see a white mansion in the distance. It looked as if he was on a plantation - and an ancient one. Or at least an old-fashioned one. As he made his way through the field, he could see no signs of modern appliances - no antennas, no cars, no machines.

How old was Dumbledore?, he asked himself, as he stepped on a lawn - perfectly maintained, he noted with a brief glance - and started walking towards the mansion's main entrance. He had barely covered half the distance when the massive door was blown off its hinges. A body flew out of the dust cloud the explosion had left, landing hard on the lawn. Another figure ran out of the cloud. A young man, just a few years older, at most, than Harry himself.

"Master!" the man cried, rushing to the fallen figure's side.

"Step away from him, boy!"

Harry blinked. That was Dumbledore! But younger. And his expression… Cold and distant. He had never seen the Headmaster looking like that.

The young wizard was trembling, but raised his wand. An almost casual swish of Dumbledore's wand disarmed him with so much force, he was thrown very nearly on top of Harry, a dozen yards back.

"You have a loyal apprentice, Mister Francis. Although I wonder just how deserving of his loyalty you are," Dumbledore said, stepping closer to the older man, who was now feebly moving. "Did you kidnap him as well, years ago?"

Harry saw that the young man in front of him, who had been trying to get up despite a broken leg, froze when he heard that.

The other wizard - Mister Francis, Harry presumed - muttered something he couldn't understand, then spat. He had skin darker than Dean's, and was wearing the shredded remains of what might have been a white suit.

Dumbledore shook his head. "I told you that the times of enslaving muggleborns in the Caribbean were past. But you and your friends didn't want to listen. People like you seldom do listen to mere words. You usually need a demonstration - or a lesson."

Francis yelled something, and the young man flinched. Dumbledore looked at him and shook his head. "Do not waste your life trying to protect this man, boy. He's not worth it." Turning back to the prone wizard - houngan, Harry corrected himself - Dumbledore went on, talking in a tone as if he was discussing the weather, "I do think you and a few others of your friends will have to serve as an object lesson. To encourage, as the French are fond of saying, the rest of you to rethink your policies."

The panting, bleeding houngan spat again, then started to yell - but Dumbledore interrupted him at once with a spell that smashed into his head with a loud crack.

"There won't be any dying curses either, Mister Francis," the Headmaster said. "Diffindo."

Harry saw the head of the man roll over the lawn, trailing blood, and Dumbledore slowly picking up a wand. Behind the Headmaster, the mansion was burning. Harry blinked. That looked very familiar. He had seen that scene before, just … different. He started to walk towards the burning building, taking in the details. It looked right, and yet… it didn't fit. The scene didn't fit.

The closer he got, the more certain he was. The burning mansion was not real. Or had not been real. Just when he was about to touch it, it collapsed, and for a moment, Harry was floating in a dark, empty space.

Then he was back in the Headmaster's office, kneeling on the floor, and his head hurt worse than ever. He hissed, clenching his jaw, so he'd not scream, and sucked in as much air as he could.

"Very good, Harry. You saw through one of my altered memories, and for a moment, you broke through my defenses." Dumbledore sounded as tired as Harry felt, but he was smiling.

"It was an altered memory?" Harry managed to say while Ron helped him up and eased him back into his seat.

"Yes, it was. Inspired, so to speak, by a visit I paid to Jamaica, almost forty years ago." Dumbledore leaned back in his seat, his gaze rising to the ceiling. "I have been thinking a lot about that visit lately, so it is not surprising that it ended up being used for your training."

"Ah." Harry closed his eyes and rubbed his temples. It didn't help much.

"You have made a lot of progress. You will soon be able to penetrate the Dark Lord's defenses. But I think you need to rest now."

Harry started to nod in agreement, but stopped when that caused his headache to grow even worse. He couldn't help wondering what exactly, other than the mansion, the Headmaster had altered in the memory he had seen.

*****​

Hogwarts, January 22nd, 1997

"Are you certain of this course of action?" Albus Dumbledore had to ask, even though he knew the answer. The two men standing in front of him had made up their minds, and nothing would deter them. Neither thought he had anything to live for, not any more. Albus thought that he might be able to make Balthasar change his mind, given enough time - but then, he hadn't been able to change Severus's, not in almost twenty years.

Predictably, both shook their heads, Balthasar with a grim expression, Severus with a faint sneer.

"Very well. I have prevailed upon Miss Granger and her friends to be ready to take down the wards, and our French friends, as well as some Order members suited for such a mission, will be joining us once we have a location." Severus was without a doubt aware that Sirius and the Weasleys were the obvious choice, but Albus was not about to rub it in. He could do that much, at least, for his friend.

The potioneer produced a vial, and a small envelope. "A bit of hair from a first year Slytherin student." He handed it to Balthasar, who took it almost eagerly. A bundle of school robes lay on Albus's desk.

Albus refrained from sighing. The two had made their choice; now all he could do was honour it - and try his best to make certain they'd not die in vain.

Balthasar chuckled as he raised the vial. "Martha always used to say that I never grew up. She'd be very amused to see me change into a young boy."

Albus forced himself to laugh at the joke.

*****​

"By using shaped charges, we can target the wards without doing much damage to the building. Planting them in the ground, and at an angle, will further help keep the building intact," Hermione Granger explained. "They can be used to breach doors and walls too, during the assault." She looked at the three men in the Headmaster's office.

"Did you test these 'charges'?" Snape was wearing his usual scowl. "I do not intend to risk my life only for some untested muggle contraption to fail at such a crucial time."

"We have used similar charges before, and I trust my calculations."

"You haven't tested them, then. You have bombs you already used on other targets. Use those!" Snape spat.

"Those bombs destroyed the buildings as well as the wards. If we use them here, then…"

"Did I stutter, Miss Granger? Or do you think I'm fool? I said I will not allow this mission to be put in jeopardy by using untested bombs." Snape sneered at her.

Hermione bit her lower lip so that she would not yell at the impossible man. Didn't he understand that he would die if they used the same type of bomb that the Resistance had dropped on Malfoy Manor? She glanced at the Headmaster, surely he would be able to make Snape understand what he was demanding. But Dumbledore was looking sad and grim. And not saying anything. That meant…

Hermione gasped when she realised that Snape was very much aware of what he was asking for. "We will be using the bombs then," she pressed out, staring at him.

"Good." He turned away, to the Headmaster. "With that settled, I think we are ready."

"Indeed," Dumbledore slowly stood up. "The others have gathered as well. Let us be on our way then."

*****​

"I don't like this," Hermione Granger muttered ten minutes later. "We're not prepared for this."

"But it's an opportunity we can't afford to let slip by," Justin said. "And they'd not let us, anyway." He nodded at the rest of the Resistance in the room.

"I know." Hermione didn't quite frown. But she pursed her lips. Seamus, Tania and Louise, even John and Sally-Anne, all were eager to kill the Dark Lord. To end this war before more people died. And so they were off to another ill-prepared mission on Dumbledore's behalf. And once more with the Delacours, the d'Aigles, and the Weasleys at their side. If Hermione were superstitious, she would consider this a bad omen. But there was a reason she had walked out of Divination.

Still, she would have prefered more time to rest and recover. She didn't like leaving Mary-Jane and Jeremy alone either. But it couldn't be helped - they'd need everyone able to fight for this. Even with the Headmaster leading the attack.

"At least there won't be much left once the bomb goes off," she muttered.

"Provided they are not meeting the Dark Lord in the middle of a village or town," Justin said in a low voice.They'd have to use the shaped charges then. "Snape's braver than I thought."

"Yes." And more suicidal too, she added to herself. She glanced at Ron, and at Harry, who were standing with Sirius's group. She wanted to be with him, with them, but she had a responsibility to her own group. A leader couldn't leave her troops, not in this situation. And not to hug her boyfriend. The Major had been clear on that. And Hermione understood that. Intellectually.

She still wanted to rush over and hug Ron. Just once, before this battle.

*****​

Outside Withernsea, Yorkshire, Britain, January 22nd, 1997

Harry Potter could feel the Dark Lord's presence the moment he arrived at the location Dumbledore had directed them to. Without a Supersensory Charm, it was not too bad, just a faint pain. But the Dark Lord definitely was in the area. He tried to catch Dumbledore's attention, but the Headmaster was furiously casting - jinxes to block magical travel.

"Mate?" Ron asked at his side, wand out.

"I can feel him," Harry whispered. "He's nearby." He stared at the building in front of them. It was too close to the muggle village for the kind of bomb used on Malfoy Manor, so the Resistance was already racing ahead to place the other bombs. The French were spreading out as well - they'd attack from the rear. Brave as usual, Harry thought - Sirius's group and the Resistance would follow Dumbledore in.

"We can get him!" Ron said.

Both knew that Voldemort wouldn't be killed today, but if his body was destroyed, he'd be reduced to a shade. And by the time he returned, the war would be over, and Harry would be ready for him.

Suddenly, he blinked. The faint pain was growing a bit stronger… was the Dark Lord moving? They had been checking for tunnels and buried bombs too, so… Harry closed his eyes and tried to concentrate on his connection to the Dark Lord. Where was he?

"Mate?"

"Shh." He had to focus. Where was Voldemort? He was near, but … there! To his right. Harry turned, then opened his eyes. "He's not inside! He's on our flank!" he yelled.

"Retreat!" Dumbledore's voice was so loud - Amplifying Charm, Harry knew - the muggles probably heard him.

"Hermione!" Ron yelled.

Harry whirled around, expecting the worst. But the Resistance members were already in the air, on their brooms, and speeding away from the building. As were the two Veela and the other French.

Ron let out a relieved sigh.

Harry turned his attention back to Voldemort. What was the Dark Lord doing? Where was he? He gasped. The pain was gone!

"He's gone," Harry said, "He's left."

"Blimey! It's burning!" Ron pointed at the building.

Green flames were shooting out of the windows. Harry was familiar with them.

"Fiendfyre!"

*****​

Outside Stamford, Lincolnshire, Britain, January 23rd, 1997

So, Snape had been a traitor, the Dark Lord Voldemort thought when he returned to his home hours later. A brave, but dumb traitor - as if such a simple plan would have worked against the heir of Slytherin. Dumbledore must be slipping, he thought, to have allowed that. Unless it had been a ruse.

Voldemort pondered this while he summoned a glass and a bottle of wine. If this had been a ruse, what had been his old enemy's true plan? Potter had been there, and had sensed his own presence. Had that just been a test to see how well the boy could track him?

If it had been a test, then the boy had failed. No one had followed the Dark Lord, not to his first, nor to his second decoy safe house. And Dumbledore wouldn't have sacrificed even a useless spy like Snape for a mere test. Not when he could have used the traitor still - there were few potioneers of Snape's skill.

No, it had not been a test. A gamble then? Was Dumbledore ruthless enough to sacrifice Snape for a small chance to hurt him? The Dark Lord filled his glass, then nodded. Yes, he would be. Snape was a good potioneer, but Dumbledore was an alchemist. And the old wizard had had almost twenty years to use Snape as a brewer. The spy had been expendable. Doubly so since his enemy must have known what Snape had done to earn his Dark Mark.

Well, the gamble had not paid off. The Dark Lord almost regretted not having prepared a more lethal trap. If he had placed a few bombs nearby… but his enemies would have checked for that, after his ambush in Sussex. He would have to console himself with the thought that at least Snape and whoever had been posing as the child Voldemort had demanded would have suffered before their deaths. A result well worth a little Polyjuice, an Imperius, and a short lesson in conjuring Fiendfyre.

*****​

Cokeworth, Midlands, England, January 24th, 1997

Albus Dumbledore entered the small park and looked around. It wasn't a pretty sight. Dirty snow covered the playground in the center, and the bushes and trees were mostly bare, naked branches sticking out and up. He wouldn't have chosen such a spot, but it wasn't his decision.

Sighing, he cast a quick Muggle-Repelling Charm, then reached into one of the pockets of his robes and pulled out a small urn. A quick tap of his wand enlarged it. There was no name on the urn, as per the instructions left to him. None was needed, either.

He flicked his wand, and the lid of the urn floated up, followed by a thin trail of the ashes contained within. A swish, and the ashes started to spread through the park, between the bushes, quickly sinking into the soil thanks to a small charm.

The Fiendfyre had burned for hours, and hadn't left much of either Severus or Balthasar, nor of whoever had played the role of the Dark Lord. It had taken Albus some effort, even, to ensure that he would not take the wrong body to be cremated - Balthasar had wished to be buried with his family. They wouldn't mind that their father and husband had not been in his own body at his death, Albus thought.

The urn had emptied in the time he had let his thoughts wander, and the floating trail of ashes was dispersing.

Albus shook his head at the sight. It was sad to think that, as far as he knew, this was the only place Severus had ever been truly happy in his life. The place he had met Lily Evans as a child. The Headmaster liked to think that as a student, his friend had been happy at Hogwarts as well, but he knew that for Severus, his time at school had been forever tainted by the end of his friendship with Lily.

He closed the urn, and vanished it, then checked his watch. There would be a wake for his friend, at Hogwarts. It would be a very small affair. Apart from Albus himself, Severus hadn't had any friends, only colleagues and acquaintances. Duty and custom would make them attend, nothing more.

Albus shook his head. In a way, that was even more tragic than Severus's death.

*****​

North of Santa Cruz, Jamaica, January 25th, 1997

The area of the Black River hadn't changed much since he had last visited the island, Albus Dumbledore thought. Nor had the hidden enclave of the late Jevaun Francis. The swamp outside looked the same, the fields looked the same, and the mansion looked the same. Albus hoped that the workers tending to the fields were not enslaved muggles, though. He would hate to have to repeat the lesson he had taught Francis.

As he approached the main entrance, the door was opened and a young woman in a thin, short linen robe bowed to him. "The Master awaits you in his parlour, sir."

"Thank you." She didn't look like an apprentice, but looks could be deceiving, Albus thought. He knew that very well. Still, he doubted that the current owner of the mansion, Bedard Laron, would try to ambush him. He wouldn't consider Bedard a friend, but they were not enemies. And the man owed him for letting him not just live, but succeed his old master - and for keeping quiet about just how cooperative Bedard had been when it came to helping with Dumbledore's lessons for the houngan rulers of Magical Jamaica.

The mansion hadn't changed much inside either, apart from the repairs. Jamaican houngans seemed to be as conservative as the Old Families in Britain. Bedard, as Albus saw when the girl opened the door to the parlour, was even wearing the same suit his predecessor had worn when Albus had killed him over thirty years ago.

"Good day, Bedard." He nodded at the houngan.

"Mister Dumbledore." The man's smile was thin, and just this side of polite. "I am honoured to have you visit my humble abode. Very honoured, even, in light of the current situation in Britain, which no doubt requires your constant presence."

The boy he had left back then had grown some teeth, Albus thought. His own smile widened a bit. "It is exactly due to that situation that I have come to visit."

"I can assure you that neither myself, nor my colleagues, have had anything to do with this 'withering curse', as the newspapers call it." Bedard said quickly - too quickly. "We have kept the agreement."

Albus sighed loudly. "I did not doubt that. But the curse is of houngan origin. That I am certain of."

"That doesn't mean any one of us was responsible. As much as we strive to keep our secrets, there are always dissidents and spies." Bedard sighed. "A plague Britain is familiar with as well, I believe. But where are my manners? Please, have a seat." He gestured to the couch.

"Indeed. I think it's very likely that the Dark Lord currently making trouble in Britain stole your secrets, and then improved upon them." Albus sat down, after a quick and subtle check of the couch. "If one of your colleagues had created such a curse, then I think we would have heard of it." The infighting on the island would have rivaled the current war in Britain, Albus was certain.

Bedard's expression soured some more. No houngan would like to hear that a British wizard had not just taken their own spells, but improved them. "A compelling argument, I have to admit."

The girl returned, carrying a tray with glasses and a bottle on it. Albus passed. He didn't think Bedard would try to poison him, but there was no need to take a risk. And he would be needing all his wits. He did use the distraction, though, to silently dispel a few enchantments in the room. Bedard was not quite as subtle as he thought - nor as skilled. But then, few could stand against Albus wielding the wand he had won from Gellert.

Bedard didn't seem to have noticed that his defenses had been rendered far less effective than they had been. Sipping from his drink, he looked at Albus. "But even if that were true, how could I help you? I am ignorant of whatever spell might have formed the base for this curse." His smile returned.

"Indeed," Albus said, "but as a houngan of your stature, you have access to the Library of Souls."

Bedard jumped up, letting his glass shatter on the floor. "How do you know about that?" he hissed, drawing his wand. When he found Albus's wand pointed straight at him, though, he froze. His eyes widened even further when nothing else happened.

"Please," Albus said, smiling.

Trembling, the man slowly stashed his wand again. "Everyone has sworn an Oath to the Loa! They'd die rather than betray our most sacred secret!"

"Death, sadly, is no bar to betrayal," Albus said. "I would rather visit with you as my guide than find my own way there. I might have to break a few things to enter, and wouldn't know where to start looking for what I seek." He didn't move his wand. He had hoped that Bedard would be less hostile. But the man's reaction to the mere mention of the library had been enough to convince Albus that some rather disreputable measures would have to be taken. He sighed. "I'm truly sorry about this. Imperio."

*****​

Harbour Mountains, Jamaica, January 25th, 1997

The Library of Souls, hidden in the mountains of Jamaica since the time of the Maroon Rebellion, was, as with so many things in the Magical World, a bit of a misnomer, Albus knew. While it did contain the knowledge of many dead houngans, their souls were not actually bound to it. No, the library was built with enchantments not unlike those used to create magical portraits, although these were significantly more thorough, Albus had to admit. And using the actual skulls of the dead houngans, instead of canvas and paint.

As he followed Bedard on the small path winding through a dense forest, he kept an eye out for the defenses he knew were there. The enchanted plants and animals were not supposed to attack Bedard or anyone in his company, but that didn't mean too much given the often bloody nature of Magical Jamaica's politics. Thanks to the expertise of Rubeus and Pomona, though, he was well-warded against both dangers.

As was to be expected for a location containing so much secret knowledge, there were more defenses than just guards. They had passed through several wards already - which wouldn't stop Bedard or a guest of his. Overall, Albus expected the library to be at least as well protected against intruders as the vaults of Gringotts. Which meant that a wizard of his skill and experience could break in. Especially with the - albeit unwilling - help of one of the houngan leaders of the island. Every system had a weakness, and the library's main weakness was that the ruling houngans did not trust each other enough to require more than one of them to grant access to their apprentices. That didn't mean that the library's defenses were easy to defeat, of course. The houngans had improved on them for more than two centuries, after all - ever since Magical Jamaica had won its independence from Wizarding Britain in 1752.

Aided by his enchanted spectacles, he spotted the Thief's Downfall, concealed as a natural waterfall, ahead of them. A flick of his wrist, and a spell covered Bedard, letting the enchanted fluid wash over him without affecting the spells controlling the man - Albus had had ample time to study this particular enchantment, and ways to deal with it.

They entered a cave behind an actual waterfall - though Albus kept his counter-measures up, just to be safe - and reached a massive door carved from the same stone as the cave itself. Bedard slit his palm and smeared blood on the stone surface in a complicated pattern, then took a step back as the door started to retreat, almost flowing into the walls, revealing the antechamber of the Library of Souls. Albus frowned when he saw the silent, undead guardians arrayed there. He had known to expect such from his glimpses into the minds of Francis and his colleagues decades ago, but to see them with his own eyes…

But those abominations were not a threat to him. The spells layered on the entrance to the library proper were. Not even Bedard could get him through all of them. But Albus had come well-prepared for traps and curses. His wand made short work of the more obvious spells, and the more subtle ones were no match for his experience - he had broken into a few sanctums of houngans in his day, after all. And dealt with many more cursed tombs. And even if he should make a mistake, thanks to his skill as an alchemist and his friendship with a phoenix, he had the means to save himself which no others could count upon. Himself only, though - as the battle at Hogsmeade had shown, trying to protect another could be fatal, which was why Albus had traveled alone to Jamaica.

Soon, the doors opened, and the Library of Souls was revealed. It was far smaller than someone not familiar with Jamaica would expect. Less than a hundred skulls, each on a pedestal displaying the houngan's name and deeds, gathered in a natural cavern, expanded with magic. Far more modest than anything similar in Britain, and yet containing so much knowledge… Albus was both tempted to peruse it, and to destroy it. But he had not come here for either.

"Please fetch me the skull of Lawrence Gayle," he said. That houngan was almost unknown outside Jamaica, but the man had done more research into both Necromancy and Mind Magic than any other on the island. If he hadn't been assassinated by a rival before he could turn his research into actual rituals and spells, he might have become more famous - or infamous. As it was, his contemporaries and successors had taken his death as proof that his work had little value. An opinion the Headmaster didn't share.

Compelled by Albus's magic, Bedard stepped forward. The oldest skulls were furthest back, but Gayle had lived in the 19th century, so his skull was far closer to the entrance, just a few yards away.

Bedard mumbled the appropriate prayer and picked the skull up. He had just started to turn turn towards Albus when the skull's eyes lit up and fire shot out of its mouth, engulfing the man.

Bedard started to scream, his whole body on fire. Fiendfyre, Albus realised, as it formed a snake and dived at him. No, not at him - at the entrance! Albus hastily conjured a wall between himself and the flames, and retreated to the side, away from both the still burning and screaming Bedard and the flames sealing the entrance. The skull's mouth was now spewing billowing clouds of green mist that ate through both arms of Bedard, leaving the skull floating in the air, while the eyes released curses in all directions.

"Fawkes!" Albus cried out, flicking his wand to banish the approaching acid back with a gust of wind. Then he saw that the curses were not flying off in all directions, but curving back - to strike at him!

He conjured slabs of metal and stone to block them, but the skull was still sending out more, and the cursed fire was spreading. Fawkes appeared - straight in the path of one of the curses, and Albus acted without thinking, sending one slab up to block the curse, leaving himself open. If Fawkes was quick enough…

His companion wasn't. Albus felt the curse strike his side an instant before they vanished in a flash of fire.

When they reappeared, he fell down on the floor of his office, unable to breathe. Unable to say anything. He rolled on his back, flicking his wand, casting silently, trying to break the curse eating into his lungs. He failed. Fawkes was crying, his tears falling on Albus's chest, but they didn't help - this dark curse had to be beyond even their power. It had been a trap, he realised. For anyone researching that particular curse. He swished his wand, summoning a vial from his pocket. A last gift from his mentor. With fumbling fingers, he opened it, swallowing the liquid even while he felt as if his heart was bursting.

Relief filled him as the pain receded.

Then he realised that he still couldn't breathe. That he was still asphyxiating. But he had gained the time to cast a complex spell that drew oxygen directly into his blood. His vision, which had been fading, returned to normal. He still couldn't breathe or speak, but he was able to sit up. The pain was growing stronger again. He vanished the robe covering his chest, and shuddered.

His chest was rotting. He could see the ribs poking through the parting skin, could see the flesh shrivel up, blood and other fluids forming a pool under him. Fawkes was still crying, frantically flapping around.

Shaking his head, he smiled at his oldest friend. He wanted to tell the phoenix that it was alright, that he was just going on the next Great Adventure, but without lungs all he could do was hope that his companion would understand.

Then the rot reached his spine, and he started to fall back.

The last thing he saw, before the world turned dark, was Fawkes, crying above him. And the last thing he heard before death claimed him was the mourning song of his friend.

*****​
 
Chapter 37: Legacies
Chapter 37: Legacies

'The death of Albus Dumbledore would have shaken Wizarding Britain to the core under any circumstances. But following so closely after the Battle of the Ministry, and the Night of the Dead, the effect was devastating. The Ministry's morale, flagging after the crippling losses it had taken in the recent battles, plummeted. Albus Dumbledore had not only been Wizarding Britain's protector, seen by most as the only wizard able to stop the Dark Lord, but he had also been its most important leader. Even more important, though, he had been the Headmaster of Hogwarts for decades. The majority of wizards and witches had attended Hogwarts during his tenure there as a professor and later Headmaster, and had spent their formative years under his authority. They had not just lost a leader and protector, they had lost a member of their family.
And yet, despite the man's importance, to this day the question of who killed Albus Dumbledore has not been answered in a satisfactory manner. Both the Dark Lord as well as various houngans of Jamaica have claimed responsibility for his death, with convincing although mutually exclusive arguments and evidence.'
- Excerpt from 'Wizarding Britain in the 20th Century' by Albert Runcorn


*****​

Hogwarts, January 26th, 1997

The Headmaster was dead. Harry Potter still had trouble believing it, even after he had seen the body in the infirmary. Dumbledore had been a fixture in his life, not just at Hogwarts. Harry had known that the old wizard was not immortal, but even after the fight in Hogsmeade, part of him had felt so. And now Dumbledore was gone, and Harry felt as if part of Hogwarts, part of himself, had died with the Headmaster.

He was walking past the hallway leading to the Great Hall. A few crouching figures drew his attention, and his wand rose, until he realised that it was just a Hufflepuff prefect trying to console three first-years, all four of them crying. He still kept them in his sights until he had turned the corner.

Most students were in their dorms or on the way back there after the meal, but he couldn't stand being cooped up right now. Couldn't stand the gazes, the whispers he expected as the Boy-Who-Lived. He longed to go flying, take to the skies and let the cold air numb him, but that would bring back memories of Hogsmeade. And he'd rather not think of that fight, not right now.

He didn't want to think at all. He'd rather do something, anything to not feel so helpless. Which was why he was headed to the training room Moody used for his lessons. The old Auror wasn't around, and Ron was busy with Hermione, probably, but Harry would be able to practise some spells, at least.

*****​

Harry had been training in silent casting more or less effectively for five minutes when the door to the training room was opened. He turned slightly until he was presenting his right side to the door, wand pointed not quite at the entrance.

"There you are!"

Seeing Sirius, Harry relaxed. It felt good to see his godfather. Comforting. Doubt quickly filled him, though. "Shouldn't you be in the Ministry?" With Dumbledore dead, the Ministry would be panicking, from what Harry had gathered. His godfather was needed there, to keep it from rolling over for Voldemort.

Sirius shrugged. "I'll head there in a bit. Once I'm certain that you're holding up." He frowned. "You practically ran away from there." The infirmary, where they had seen Dumbledore's body.

Harry suddenly felt guilty. He was keeping Sirius from more important matters.

His godfather sighed. "Don't be like that, Harry." The older wizard walked up to him and put a hand on his shoulder. "You are the most important person, for me."

A weird mix of warmth and guilt filled Harry. Then he frowned. With Dumbledore dead, he was the most important person in the war against Voldemort. He was the one prophesied to defeat the Dark Lord - for good this time. "Sorry," he mumbled.

"For what?" Sirius sounded honestly puzzled.

"For worrying you." For letting everyone down who was depending on him to be strong.

"I'd worry about you no matter what you did, Harry. That's what a godfather does." There was a slight hitch in Sirius's voice before 'godfather'.

"Well, I'm training." Harry pointed at the conjured block of stone. It was sporting several small holes.

"Piercing Curses?" Sirius peered at them.

"SIlent casting, mostly," Harry clarified. His normal Piercing Curses did better than that.

"Ah." Sirius nodded. "Show me?"

Harry took a step away, then jabbed his wand at the stone. Another hole appeared, in a small cloud of dust. He repeated the spell. Again and again.

"You've got it figured out I think," Sirius said. "Just need more practice."

"Not just with silent casting," Harry said. He shrugged. He needed more training in Legilimency, more than anything else. But with the Headmaster gone…"I didn't think he'd ever die. Not really."

"No one lives forever." Sirius frowned. "I didn't think he'd die to a curse, though."

"Did he duel Voldemort?" Dumbledore had known he couldn't kill Voldemort, but had he gone and faced the Dark Lord in an attempt to gain more time for Harry's training?

"No one knows so far. As far as we know, he was visiting the Caribbean, to search for a cure for the curse, but we don't know if he actually went there, or was ambushed on the way, or if it was all a ruse." Harry's godfather sighed. "McGonagall found him in his office, dead. That's all we really know, for now."

Harry had known that already. "Is Fawkes still singing?" He thought he could hear the song, a sad one, faintly, as if in the back of his mind, but that could just be his imagination - his Legilimency training had taught him just how easily such a thing could happen.

"Yes." Sirius conjured a chair for himself and sat down. He looked tired, Harry thought. "He hasn't stopped since… well, we think it started at the time of death." He snorted. "Moody's leading the investigation, you know. Or at least claiming to. We didn't want other Aurors poking around, but that won't stop them."

Harry hissed."Do they even have enough Aurors left to guard the school and everything else?"

"If they scratch together everything, probably. Many of them won't be any better than seventh-years, but… they can't leave Hogwarts unguarded. No matter how effective they will be." Sirius scoffed. "Politics."

"Hermione will leave." Harry's friend wouldn't stay. Not with the Ministry moving in and Dumbledore dead.

"Yes." Sirius shook his head, rubbing his forehead. "Can't trust the Ministry, even though they need her and her friends now more than ever."

Harry's eyes widened. "Do you think they'd attack her to make a deal with Voldemort?"

"Bones wouldn't make a deal with him. She'll fight him to the last breath. But she won't make a deal with the Resistance either. Not the kind of deal they need. We can but hope that she'll keep the deal Fudge made." Sirius snorted. "Not that it matters much until we beat the Dark Lord."

Which, Harry knew, all hinged on him. And his training. "I'll need a new teacher."

His godfather slowly nodded. "There's something else."

*****​

The Headmaster had looked quite peaceful, laid out in the small room in the infirmary of Hogwarts, in Hermione Granger's opinion. The robes had hidden the sickening sight of the remains of his chest, eaten away by some rotting curse Madam Pomfrey hadn't identified so far. What a horrible end for a great man!

She hadn't stayed long in there. Just enough to see for herself that he was really dead. Barely enough to pay her respects. With Dumbledore dead, things in Britain had changed, and not for the better.

Schooling her features, she addressed the rest of the Resistance gathered in Dennis's room, where they had pushed the bed of the comatose boy into the corner: "The Headmaster is dead."

They already knew that, but Sally-Anne, pressed into Justin's side in a conjured armchair, gasped anyway, as if there had been any hope that this was just a mistake. Most nodded grimly - they knew what this meant for the group.

"Aurors and Hit-Wizards will be arriving soon, to 'guard' the school," Hermione went on. "We're not needed here anymore, and we'll be returning to a safe house." Better safe than sorry.

"You don't trust the Ministry?" Seamus said as much as he asked.

"I trust Bones not to turn on us in the middle of the war," she said. The witch was too competent for that. "But afterwards?" She shook her head. "I'd rather not reveal anything about us to them if we can help it. Just in case."

"Damn bitch will stab us in the back before the Dark Lord's body hits the ground!" Seamus growled.

"I don't think that's likely," Hermione said, "but from what I heard, she's almost fanatical about upholding law and order."

Louise, the former Hit-Wizard, nodded. "Bones is a hard ass about justice. Incorruptible. Stubborn. Unyielding." She was sitting on the conjured bed for Jeremy, holding his hand.

"Didn't see much of that love of justice when the Ministry was hunting muggleborns." Tania sneered, leaning back in her conjured seat.

"She doesn't have the same view of justice as we do," Hermione said. "If the Wizengamot passes a law, she'll enforce it. No matter what."

"Like a Nazi," John added.

Hermione wasn't quite certain she'd go that far, but she couldn't really disagree with the assessment. That was how a number of Nazis had tried to defend themselves when they had been put on trial: That what they had done had been legal in the Third Reich. "In any case, we need to move. We can care for Jeremy at our safe house. Dennis, though… I'll ask a few friends to care for him." They couldn't spare the manpower, nor could they leave him to fall into the hands of the Ministry.

"Who are these friends?" Seamus asked, staring at her.

"I'll tell you if they can take him in," Hermione said. She looked at him until he frowned and let his gaze drop. "Anything else?" she addressed the room again. When no one spoke up for a few seconds, she nodded. "Alright, let's move!"

*****​

Ron Weasley felt helpless and useless. The Headmaster was dead, Hermione was with the Resistance, already preparing for the new situation, and Harry was off with Sirius, probably dealing with the Wizengamot - the Boy-Who-Lived would be the ray of hope Britain needed right now. His dad and Percy were at the Ministry, working to keep it from collapsing, no doubt. Bill was with the French, the twins in their shop… everyone was doing something useful. But for Ron, who was stuck at Hogwarts. And Ginny, though his sister was probably watching the map in their dorms.

He leaned against the wall, a hallway away from the infirmary. Dumbledore's death meant the loss of the one wizard able to counter Voldemort. Maybe they should have tried to keep it a secret, even if only for a few days. He shook his head. No, the news would have spread anyway, and if the Dark Lord had been able to prepare for the shock of the revelation, or reveal it at a time of his choosing…

Dumbledore's death wasn't something Ron liked to think about. The consequences were too grim. Too many would now consider the war lost, even among the Order. Not his family, of course. They were Gryffindors to the core, and they knew the Headmaster would have made plans even for his death. They'd fight on. In the Ministry, and everywhere else. Sirius wouldn't give up either, knowing that Voldemort wouldn't rest until Harry was dead. Everyone knew that the French wouldn't stop fighting until either they or their enemy were dead. Or both, as had happened a few times.

The Ministry would keep fighting too, as long as Bones was at the helm. That witch would not give up, and her Aurors and Hit-Wizards, those who were left anyway, would want revenge. And the Wizengamot members who knew that they would be killed if the Dark Lord won.

But the public? They'd be shaking in their boots, and either fleeing or begging for mercy soon enough. Ron knew that. Just as he knew that the odds of his family surviving were low. Not that that would stop them. Even Mum would know that. He closed his eyes. This would be hardest for her. But they had no choice, not really. As long as there was a chance to win, they'd keep fighting. And as long as Harry was alive, there was a chance to win.

He muttered a few curses under his breath and pushed off the wall. He couldn't just do nothing. Maybe Hermione needed help. Or Harry. Or Luna. He'd do anything to stop feeling so helpless.

*****​

Ron ran into the Resistance at the infirmary. Or rather, he ran into Seamus, standing at the door there. For a moment, they stared at each other, Ron's wand pointed at the other wizard, and Seamus's muggle gun pointed at his chest. Then Ron lowered his wand, chuckling, although he had to force himself to do so. "Sorry, Moody's training left me rather jumpy."

After a second, Seamus lowered his gun, then snorted. "Can't trust anyone."

"Constant vigilance." Ron shrugged. "Is Hermione inside?"

Once more Seamus hesitated for a moment, then nodded, turned his head and yelled: "Hermione! Your boyfriend's looking for you!"

Ron chuckled again, without forcing himself to this time. That had sounded just like … as if Seamus hadn't left. He ignored the other wizard's slightly confused glance. Hermione arrived. She was wearing her uniform, and a rifle was dangling from a sling at her side.

"Ron." She bit her lower lip in that manner he found so adorable, and once more Ron was reminded of the time before this mess started.

He spread his arms and took a step forward, then another, until he could pull her into a hug, wrapping his arms around her, above the gun. He ignored the snickering in the background. His girlfriend was leaving, and he didn't know when he would see her again. Or - though he buried that thought quickly - if he would see her again. Then he felt her grow tense in his embrace, and pull back.

"The mirror," she said, casting a privacy spell while she pulled it out.

*****​

London, Ministry of Magic, January 26th, 1997

When her door was opened, Amelia Bones had her wand ready. The Ministry's defences had been mostly repaired, some had even been improved, but she hadn't forgotten about Fudge's death, and she was not about to let herself grow complacent.

"Bones." Moody nodded at her, closed her door behind him, then started casting privacy spells.

She waited, not quite patiently, but trying to hurry the paranoid Auror would be useless, and given recent events, he was probably right in taking additional measures. If she fully trusted her security, she would have used the time to read another page of the latest report on her desk.

Finally, Moody finished, and turned to her. "Albus's dead."

Amelia felt as if she had been hexed in the gut. She almost blurted out a 'What?' as if she was a rookie. "How did he die?" she asked instead. Dumbledore dead…

"McGonagall found him on the floor of his office, chest rotted away by a dark curse, with his phoenix crying over the body. Died during the night, as far as I can tell." Moody took a seat, his artificial eye spinning madly.

Amelia felt a cold shiver run down her spine. Someone had managed to kill the greatest wizard of Britain. There was just one man she knew was able to do such a deed. "Was he killed in the middle of his office?" No one would be safe in that case. Hogwarts had the best wards and defences in Britain.

"I saw no sign of any fight, or any trap being triggered there," Moody said. "Best guess? He managed to escape whatever or whoever did this to him, but died in his office before he could get help."

That made sense. Not that it improved the Ministry's situation much. With Dumbledore gone the Dark Lord would be able to attack almost anything at will, especially if he himself had killed the wizard. Only wards would be able to stop him - if he tried to take them down himself, he'd be vulnerable. But if he hired Curse-Breakers… She shook her head. Normally, she'd cancel all leave, but that had already been done. Everyone able was already on duty, usually on double-shifts. "What is Hogwarts' status?" Moody would know that; the old Auror was one of Dumbledore's men.

"The wards are as strong as ever, but with Albus and Snape gone, the only ones left who would be of any use in a battle are McGonagall and Flitwick." Moody scoffed. "The rest are barely up to scratch. Better than your average Auror, though. Heh, some of the kids there would probably do better than half your people."

Amelia wanted to tell the old Auror off, but he was probably correct - they were scraping the bottom of the cauldron for recruits. Had been for some time. "I'll send a squad then." They could rotate. Enough to show the flag, and to keep an eye on the school.

"Don't send idiots. And don't send bigots," Moody said.

She knew what he really meant. "I'm not about to renege on the Minister's deal." Even though it grated on her pride to admit it, working with those murderers was the Ministry's - and her - only hope now.

"Good. You're finally learning. You'll still be a terrible Minister." Moody cackled, then coughed and took a sip from his flask.

She adjusted her monocle. It wasn't quite as good as Moody's eye, but it let her see far more than even trained eyes like hers normally could.

"I'm not about to keel over, Bones. I'll not quit until the Dark Lord's done for." Moody grinned, which twisted his scarred face into something fit to curdle milk. "But I'm not getting any younger." He paused. "Who's the acting Minister now?"

Amelia knew this by heart, of course. "Philius Runcorn." The oldest member of the Wizengamot. Who had been missing since the Battle of the Ministry.

"Death Eater," Moody said.

"I'll call for an emergency session to elect a new Minister," Amelia said.

"To elect yourself, you mean." Moody cackled again.

"Is there anyone else who can do what needs to be done?" There wasn't; she had looked. Rufus might have been able to, but he was one of the cursed.

"Arthur Weasley might surprise you."

Amelia shook her head. "He has no support among the moderates, and the traditional Old Families hate him. And with Albus dead, even some of his own faction might not vote for him."

"You could convince them." Moody took another sip from his flask.

"Weasley's not the wizard we need. He's too radical." And he'd bend too many rules and break too many laws. He'd focus on winning the war, and wouldn't care about the consequences of such a stance. What good was winning the war if it meant turning the country into a dictatorship where the rule of law had been sacrificed on the battlefield, and the strong ruled the weak in the name of expediency?

"Might be that's what needed." Moody shrugged, as if he wasn't concerned. Amelia knew him better, though.

"Hardly. Allying with the muggleborns, and electing a wizard who's not only fascinated by all things muggle, but whose son is going out with the leader of the Resistance? Too many will feel as if that would be handing the country over to the muggleborns." Amelia scoffed. Susan had told her about that particular couple. Weasley would make for a good scare though - the moderates would rally behind her, as would some of Dumbledore's friends who had trusted him to keep the muggleborns from getting out of control. Whether the old wizard would have done that was another matter - he had sounded far too radical for Amelia's taste, in their last talks. As much as it shamed her to admit it, if Dumbledore had died right after the Dark Lord, it would have been better for Britain.

"His eldest is the fiancé of one of the Delacours."

"The fiancé of a Veela. People will assume that she controls him." And as welcome as the Delacours' help was, Amelia knew she wasn't the only one who was wary of France meddling in Britain's politics. If the French would commit to more than just tolerating a private initiative, things might be different, but such a commitment was very unlikely.

"Just remember, Bones: The muggleborns don't trust you. Your Aurors spent too much time hunting them. You'll have to tread very carefully with them." Moody grinned again.

"I've spoken with their leader. The Resistance know that we need to work together to beat the Dark Lord." Granger was young, but she wasn't that foolish. And she had not even a dozen wands left - with a bit of luck, even more of them would die before the war was over.

"I'm not talking about just the Resistance, Bones."

Amelia narrowed her eyes at him. "The rest of them fled and hid." Unorganised rabble, on the level of the scum in Knockturn Alley - a persistent nuisance, but no real threat.

"That was before they had an example to follow." Moody stood up, coughing again. "I'll head back to Hogwarts, to continue the investigation. Have whoever you send to Hogwarts report to me. I'll keep them from getting embarrassed by the students there."

She didn't let herself to react to Moody's last jibe and simply nodded while the old Auror left. She had an election to organise, and quickly.

*****​

Outside Stamford, Lincolnshire, Britain, January 26th, 1997

The Dark Lord Voldemort stared at the note that had just reached him. His greatest enemy, dead? In the middle of the Headmaster's office, even? Who but Voldemort himself could have achieved such a thing?

It could be a ruse, of course. A trap, meant to draw him out, overextend himself, so the Headmaster could ambush him. For a wizard of Dumbledore's power and experience, faking his death would not be difficult. And yet… Would his enemy actually go that far? Shake the faith of Britain's sheep in himself? Of course Dumbledore would do it - hadn't he sacrificed two of his friends in an attempted ambush already?

The Dark Lord shook his head. No, he would have to stick to his plan, at least for now. See how long Dumbledore was willing to let this go on. Prepare to denounce the old man as a cruel manipulator, once he had revealed his deception. And if this was true, if someone had actually managed to kill his greatest foe, then the Dark Lord might even be able to exploit that. It would have been a foreigner, and Voldemort would be able to offer Britain his protection against this new threat.

But who could have done this? There was no wizard equal to Dumbledore, much less himself, in Europe. That Voldemort knew for certain. And what other part of the world would have a stake in British affairs? The Ottoman Empire might carry a grudge - Dumbledore had been the driving force behind the coalition that had forced them to end their slave raids against the Mediterranean enclaves, but that had been decades ago, and they'd risk a new coalition forming in response. Although… Dumbledore's 'visit' to the Caribbean had been over thirty years ago as well, and the houngans were even better at keeping grudges. Voldemort had managed to exploit that when he had traveled through the area himself, a few years later…

His gaze fell on the skull on his desk. The skull he had taken from the Library of Souls, replaced with a trapped decoy. The skull anyone researching his Withering Curse would try to use. He had tied the trap to the wards of the place. Not something that was done often, since most intruders or attackers would take down the wards of a location before entering. Of course, the owners of the place would not have done that. But if instead of some houngan Dumbledore had managed to enter with the wards still active… Voldemort's curses would have been empowered by protections which had been growing in power for centuries...

He summoned some parchment. He had inquiries to make.

*****​

Hogwarts, January 26th, 1997

While his godfather talked into an enchanted mirror, Harry Potter looked around the Headmaster's office with some trepidation. Dumbledore had died here, in this very room. He wondered if the faint rotten smell was just his imagination, or a lingering reminder of the Headmaster's death - a curse powerful enough to kill Dumbledore, despite Fawkes's help, might also withstand a cleaning charm. It would fit the Dark Lord's style to curse the Headmaster's office that way - he had cursed the DADA teacher's position, after all.

Harry was studying the various trinkets on the shelves when the door to the office was opened and Hermione and Ron walked in.

"What's the emergency?" Hermione asked as soon as Ron had closed the door. She looked quite tense - understandably, in Harry's opinion. "Sirius didn't want to tell us through the mirror." She looked around. "Where is he anyway?"

"He's in the back," Harry said, nodding gesturing towards the door behind the Headmaster's seat, "preparing the Pensieve."

He saw her eyes widen, and he nodded slowly. "Apparently, Dumbledore left us a message."

"Us three?" Ron asked.

"Yes, you three!"

Harry turned and saw that Sirius had entered the office. "Albus gave me a vial with a memory, and was quite clear that you three - and only you three - were to see it."

"Blimey." Ron sounded more surprised than Harry had expected - the two of them had been training with the Headmaster, after all.

"Come on, you three - everything's ready." Sirius waved them forward.

Harry exchanged a glance with his friends, and the three stepped into the Headmaster's quarters.

Sirius closed the door behind them, then cast a charm on it. "Moody should keep eavesdroppers out, but we shouldn't waste time."

"Aurors will be arriving soon, I assume," Hermione said.

"Probably. Wizards and witches in red robes, at least." Sirius scoffed. "They're as useless as the curse-fodder the Ministry was recruiting in the last war."

"There are still veterans left among the Ministry's forces," Ron pointed out.

"They won't send them here, though." Sirius snorted. "The Wizengamot and the Ministry want the best Aurors and Hit-Wizards right at their side - protecting them."

Hermione muttered something Harry didn't catch, but before he could ask her what she had said, they reached an alcove in the Headmaster's quarters, where a stone basin stood. It looked like it was marble - and covered with runes. Dumbledore's Pensieve. Above it was a small cloud - mist or smoke.

"You know how to use it?" Sirius asked. Hermione was about to answer, Harry saw her open her mouth, but his godfather went on anyway: "Just push your head into the mist above the basin. Get comfortable first - you might not feel anything while you're watching the memory, but afterwards you'll feel it if you were cramped."

Harry didn't care about that - he wanted to know what message Dumbledore had left them - and simply leaned forward until his head entered the mist.

He found himself in a very familiar scene. He was standing in front of the Headmaster's desk, with Dumbledore seated behind it. The old wizard was smiling gently.

"Harry, Mister Weasley, Miss Granger. If you are watching this memory, then I am dead." He smiled. "Or, as I prefer, I have gone on the next Great Adventure. I cannot tell you how I died - if I knew that I would have avoided it, of course - but since I came very close to dying in the fight with Tom Riddle in Hogsmeade, I think it is a safe assumption that he proved to be more devious than I thought." He sighed.

"In any case, unless I managed to at least destroy his body before I died, Tom will jump at the opportunity my death offers him, and move against the Ministry and Hogwarts, which he will perceive as defenceless. A not altogether wrong assumption, to be honest. Without any false modesty, I have to say that with me gone, there is no wizard or witch left in Britain who can fight him as an equal on the battlefield. And while that is a grim truth, even worse is the fact that most wizards and witches will know this. While I do not expect the Ministry or my friends to surrender, I have to assume that they will fight with the courage born out of desperation, expecting to lose. Which is often a self-fulfilling prophecy."

The Headmaster sighed once again, and his smile slipped just a bit. "And yet, you, you three, you know that the situation, dire as it may appear, is far from hopeless. Harry, you have made much progress in your training. I hope that between this message and my death, I have managed to teach you a bit more, but that does not matter that much. You know what you need to know, and more training will be helpful, but not crucial."

Harry didn't think so. "I can barely catch a glimpse of a fake memory," he muttered.

"You might not think that you are ready, of course," the Headmaster's memory continued, as if it had heard Harry, "which is only natural - facing the Dark Lord in single combat, even, or especially, in your mind, is quite daunting."

The old wizard had a gift for understatement, Harry thought.

"Which is why we will be cheating."

"What?" Harry thought all three of them had said the same thing in response to this statement.

Dumbledore, smiling widely now, raised his wand. "With this, to be exact. You have heard the saying 'the wand chooses the wizard', I assume - Garrick is quite fond of quoting it. It is true as well - each wand is suited best for a single wizard or witch. If they use another wand, one less suited for them, their spellcasting suffers. Mister Weasley has experienced this personally, as you may recall."

"Yes," Harry heard Ron mutter, before Hermione shushed him.

"And yet, there is one known exception - although there might be more; we can hardly be certain where magic is concerned - a wand that will serve anyone wielding it, and better than any other wand: The Elder Wand."

"Blimey!" Ron said.

Harry glaced at him and saw that Hermione was doing the same. Obviously, their friend knew what this meant.

"Thought by most wizards to be a legend, and sought by those who think it is real, the Elder Wand is said to have been crafted by Death itself." Dumbledore slowly shook his head. "I do not believe this. I think it is far more likely that its first wielder, Antioch Peverell, made that up to conceal the wand's origin - either because he killed its former wielder, or because he had crafted it himself using the Dark Arts. Although seeing as I am dead, I might have been proven incorrect by now." He smiled again. "No matter its origin, the Elder Wand will allow you, Harry, to penetrate the Dark Lord's defences, and face him in his own mind. It will not grant you victory, though. No wand, no spell will affect the struggle between you and Tom. All the Elder Wand will allow you to do is to reach his mind; the rest will be up to you."

Harry pressed his lips together. When the Headmaster's memory had mentioned cheating, he had hoped for something more. He should have known it wouldn't be that simple.

"As you already know, you will have to be rather close to Voldemort to use Legilimency. Unlike before, finding him will not be the main challenge any more - after my death, the Dark Lord will grow quite bold. But you will have to brave his followers, and himself, without my protection. Ideally, he would seek you out to duel, to prove his own superiority, but I fear that after killing me, he will not feel the need for such a gesture." Dumbledore's smile disappeared. "A situation that can be laid at my feet, and for which I hope you will be able to forgive me."

The old wizard's memory took a deep breath. "Mister Weasley, Miss Granger, it will be up to you and your friends and allies to protect Harry in my place, against the Dark Lord's followers and Voldemort himself."

Harry was about to protest - he didn't want his friends to take such risks for him - but Hermione shushed him and Ron glared at him.

"I wish I could give you more advice on how to face the Dark Lord and his followers, but as my death proved, my plans were not as well-made as I thought. "

Harry heard Ron snort in response, and Hermione whisper something he didn't quite catch. Before he could say anything, though, the Headmaster's memory spoke up again: "However, I can leave you, Mister Weasley, Miss Granger, something more tangible than mere advice. Miss Granger, I leave you a quite exclusive collection of tomes you should find useful for dealing with the Dark Arts. I will caution you, though: It is very easy to think that the best counter to a dark curse is another dark curse. While that may be true in some cases, such 'solutions' are often more dangerous than the problems they are meant to solve. Do not succumb to such temptation - you will regret it, trust me."

Harry glanced to Hermione and saw that the witch was tense, trembling even, as she slowly nodded.

"Mister Weasley, you may think you are just an average wizard doing what he can to help his friends, but you have proven yourself both courageous and able to think on your feet, facing dangers experienced Aurors would run from, or fail to deal with. I leave you a number of trinkets I have collected over the years which you should find useful. As with Miss Granger, I have to caution you, though - they can be quite dangerous, if used improperly. And sometimes even if used properly." With a faint smile, the memory added: "I trust your experience with your brothers will serve you well there."

"Merlin's balls!" Ron exclaimed, only to be shushed again by Hermione.

"You may wonder why you three are hearing this, and not others, such as Alastor, Sirius and my brother, people who will fight at your side, risking their lives to defeat the Dark Lord."

Now that the Headmaster's image was mentioning it, Harry wondered why Sirius wasn't in there with them.

"The reason for singling you three out is that Voldemort's legacy will continue to threaten Wizarding Britain even after his final death. I am not talking about his surviving followers, but the hatred and fear his manipulations and ploys have caused."

Harry saw that the Headmaster looked more serious than ever before in this memory.

"War brutalises people. As their friends and kin are killed, each side feels justified in retaliating - and escalating. Especially when fighting an enemy as vile as the Dark Lord and his followers. Violence often comes easier to those who have fought in a war. I have seen this in several wars myself. Experienced it, even, to my great shame."

Harry's eyes widened. He hadn't expected that. The Headmaster, doing …

"The Dark Lord's actions have discredited his cause, and his followers. I do not doubt that the surviving Death Eaters will be brought to justice." Dumbledore took a deep breath. "But many pureblood wizards and witches will not see justice being done. They will see revenge being taken by the victors. They have been told for over a year how dangerous the muggleborns are, and how brutal. Even if they have not taken any action against muggleborns, even if they have not abused the laws passed by the Ministry, they will be afraid of being punished just for being purebloods. Those who have been raised in the belief that blood matters will expect others - the muggleborns - to act accordingly, and judge people by their blood, not their deeds.

"On the other hand, the muggleborns have been persecuted for a year, forced to leave their homes and go into hiding. They have seen friends and family arrested, killed even, for no other reason than having been born to muggles. They have seen their homes, their businesses, taken over by purebloods profiteering from the Ministry's laws. Many of them will not want mere justice, but revenge. And some will not care who they hurt, as long as it is a pureblood."

Harry heard Hermione hiss, and knew what she was thinking. And remembering.

"Britain will be a cauldron ready to boil over after Voldemort's defeat. And I fear that many of my oldest friends and allies will not be able to do what needs to be done to avoid a bloodbath - or another war in ten or twenty years."

"What?" Harry almost forgot that he was watching a memory. What was the Headmaster saying?

"Sirius has spent over a decade unjustly imprisoned in Azkaban, surrounded by monsters forcing him to relive his worst memories. His opinion of the Ministry is as biased as one would expect after such an ordeal. Alastor has spent decades hunting dark wizards, and has been crippled for his efforts - and left unable to trust anyone. My brother… it is not my story to tell, but he has been deeply wronged by this country, and hasn't been the same since. Arthur is a good man, but he has been scorned and belittled by many in the Ministry, and like Molly, family comes first for him. Amelia is too rooted in the status quo, too convinced of her own principles, too unwilling to question herself or to bend when needed. Cornelius is too quick to bow to pressure, too easy to influence.

"Britain needs justice and reforms, but most of all, it needs people who will do what's right, not what's easy. People who will side with the innocents, even against their friends and family." The Headmaster pulled his half-moon glasses off and seemed to stare straight at Harry.

"People like you."

The Headmaster sighed again, and folded his hands. "You must not just win the war, but the peace as well. I hate placing this burden upon you, especially seeing what else you already have to shoulder, but I do not see any alternative. You're young, but you've proven yourselves since your first year at Hogwarts. You have earned my trust again and again. Rest assured that no matter where I am, my thoughts are with you."

*****​

"Blimey, the man's barmy! Was barmy."

Harry chuckled at hearing Ron's expression, though he felt like crying in frustration. Dumbledore expected him to not only defeat the Dark Lord, in single combat, but to reform the country? Three teenagers? "We haven't even finished school!" he said, as the memory started to fade.

Then he was back in the Headmaster's alcove, rubbing his temple. His back hurt from being bent for such a long time, and he stretched to relieve some of the pain.

"Told you, but did you listen?" Sirius was shaking his head at him with a rueful grin.

Harry scoffed at him.

"So, what did the Headmaster tell you?"

Harry hesitated. He didn't want to lie to Sirius, but he didn't know how his godfather would take the Headmaster's words.

"He explained how Harry can defeat the Dark Lord," Ron said. "With our help."

"And he left us quite a few things to help us," Hermione added.

"And he told us not to lose the peace," Harry added. He trusted his godfather. He saw his two friends glancing at him, then at each other.

"That's kind of comforting to hear," Sirius said, grinning, "that Dumbledore already thought about the time after the war."

"It was anything but comforting," Harry said, snorting. "Trust me, killing Voldemort is the easy part."

"What?" Sirius was now staring at them.

Hermione spoke up. "According to the Headmaster, Voldemort's death might start a bloodbath as muggleborns take revenge, and purebloods retaliate."

"We can't let any Death Eaters escape justice, or we'll have to fight them again ten years from now!" Sirius said.

That sounded familiar, Harry thought.

"We won't let any Death Eaters escape. But the Headmaster is, was, concerned about muggleborns attacking purebloods indiscriminately," Hermione countered. "He's correct, too - we've seen that happen."

"Bloody berk," Ron muttered. Louder, he added: "And he doesn't think you and the rest of the Order will be able to keep the muggleborns in check in that case."

Sirius frowned. "How bad could it be?"

Hermione looked at him. "Purebloods and muggleborns starting to kill each other, like Death Eaters - attacking homes, starting riots, trying to drive their neighbours out…"

Sirius cursed. "They're not Death Eaters!"

"No, but it won't be too long before people on both sides start acting like them," Hermione said. "As long as everyone thinks they're doing the right thing…"

Sirius was silent for a moment. Then he spoke up again: "But what if they are attacking Death Eaters, like the Resistance?"

"How would they know who's a Death Eater? We have had a lot of trouble finding them, even with all the spying and other help we received," Hermione said. "We cannot tolerate vigilante justice, certainly not once Voldemort is dead and the war won."

"But who will take over hunting the Death Eaters down? The muggleborns don't trust the Ministry, and many of the purebloods don't trust the muggleborns," Ron asked.

"Hah!" Sirius sneered. "Trust the Ministry with hunting the Death Eaters? They couldn't hunt down a bunch of dead flobberworms in an empty room!"

"We can't just take over the country and replace the Old Families with ourselves. We need to reform the Ministry and Wizarding Britain," Hermione said. "And we need the trust of the purebloods too - those who did not support the Dark Lord, at least."

"Those are either already on our side, or too cowardly to do anything, no matter who's ruling them." Sirius shrugged. "But let's get you your inheritances, and then let's focus on killing the Dark Lord. We can worry about the rest once we have won the war."

Harry nodded in agreement.

*****​

"Here, Harry!"

Ron Weasley watched as Sirius handed Harry Dumbledore's wand. The Elder Wand. He saw Harry take it, then give it a wave, and saw his friend's eyes widen when Harry gasped. "Whoa!"

Ron had never been as jealous of his best friend as in that moment. Harry had just been handed the legendary wand of Death himself. One of the three Deathly Hallows. According to legend, people had fought and killed for that wand, risked their lives for it - and Harry just received it as if it was a seven-galleon wand in Ollivander's. Or, worse, a hand-me-down from another family member, like Ron's first wand.

Then he remembered why Harry had received the Elder Wand. His friend would have to face Voldemort in a fight to the death, and needed it just to have a chance. Just to be able to challenge the Dark Lord, according to Dumbledore - the wand wouldn't help him in the actual fight.

Ron had never felt so ashamed of himself. Not since their fourth year, at least.

"Here, Ron!"

He saw Sirius hold out a package to him, about the size of a muggle shoe carton his dad had once brought home, and remembered that Dumbledore had left him something as well - a few 'trinkets'. Hermione received a library, Harry a legendary wand, and he was left with some toys. "Thanks," he said.

He almost didn't want to open it, but the sight of Hermione's eyes lighting up when she was presented with a trunk full of books and Sirius commented that he had 'spent an hour collecting them in Albus's flat' made him look for any distraction, before he started to be jealous of his own girlfriend.

There were half a dozen … 'trinkets' was a good description, Ron decided, since he didn't recognise any of them, inside the package. And a letter. He opened the letter, started to read the descriptions of the different items, and then chuckled, ruefully, at the last line.

I leave you with not just these devices, which should prove to be quite useful in your hands, but also with the counsel that even seemingly modest trinkets can turn out to be crucial and important at the right moment. Just like wizards.

The Headmaster had known him well enough for a last lesson, or so it seemed.

*****​

London, Ministry of Magic, January 27th, 1997

She was Minister for Magic. The Wizengamot - those who had dared to attend the emergency session she had called for, at least - had elected her but half an hour before. Everything had been in accordance with the law. Amelia Bones told herself this as she stepped inside the Minister's office. Her office, now.

It had been repaired since Cornelius's death, but nothing had been changed. She wasn't about to change much herself. Cornelius's personal belongings had been sent to his family already, and the office would suffice for her needs.

It wasn't as if she would be starting her term in the shadow of her predecessor, as other Ministers had had to. Cornelius would not be counted among the great Ministers. No, she thought, looking at the lead article of the Daily Prophet placed on her desk by her secretary, at the big letters spelling 'DUMBLEDORE DEAD!', if anyone was to overshadow her, it was Dumbledore. Even dead his presence lingered. There had already been talks of placing a portrait of him in her office, so it'd be able to advise her once it was activated.

She had not decided to become Minister for Magic to be famous, she told herself as she sat down. She had become Minister because no one else was able to do what was needed to save the country. If she was to be seen as the mouthpiece of a portrait, then that was a small price to pay, as long as she could save Britain.

From all threats, she added to herself, looking at her calendar, where the entry of her upcoming meeting with Black, Potter and Granger was quite prominently placed.

*****​

Outside Stamford, Lincolnshire, Britain, January 27th, 1997

The Dark Lord Voldemort sneered at the missive he had just received from his agent. The Houngans of Jamaica had heard of Dumbledore's death, and claimed that he had been killed while breaking into their holy library. If they thought that such a claim would impress anyone who mattered, then they were fools. Although they might just be trying to cow their own subjects. And some of the houngans might even honestly believe that their pitiful defences had managed to fell his greatest foe, Voldemort thought.

Fortunately, Dumbledore had died in Hogwarts, so the houngans' claims would look foolish once he took responsibility.

He smiled, his slight anger fading quickly. His greatest, his only foe, was dead. Killed by a clever trap of his, even! A fitting end for Dumbledore, laid low by a Slytherin's cunning and his mastery of the Dark Arts!

Wizarding Britain was his, now. No one could stand against him now, not for any length of time. All that was left were some minor obstacles: the mudbloods still fighting against their betters, those blindly following Dumbledore even after his death - and the Boy-Who-Lived.

And he had plans to deal with those obstacles.

*****​
 
Chapter 38: Politics
Chapter 38: Politics

'Amelia Bones was the obvious choice to succeed Cornelius Fudge. The witch had been leading the Department of Magical Law Enforcement throughout the Second Blood War, and was widely seen as both competent and incorruptible - and willing to die rather than surrender to the Dark Lord. Those who had tied their fates to Dumbledore saw her as their last hope to survive the war after the Chief Warlock had been killed.
However, Amelia Bones also had the reputation of a witch who scorned politics. More than a few members of the Wizengamot must have been privately wondering - and worrying - about how she would handle issues that required compromises and deals, instead of a firm dedication to upholding the law.
Her biggest problem, though, was the fact that for many muggleborns, Amelia Bones had been the face of the Ministry's oppression. It had been she who commanded the Aurors and Hit-Wizards harassing and arresting them, she who led the Ministry's efforts to enforce the muggleborn laws, and she who had authorised the undercover mission against the Muggleborn Resistance. Some of the muggleborns who had not lived through the First Blood War even considered her a worse enemy than Voldemort himself.'
- Excerpt from 'The Second Blood War' by Hyacinth Selwyn


*****​

London, Diagon Alley, January 27th, 1997

Hermione Granger entered Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes wearing a wig, large old-fashioned glasses, and slightly shabby robes. None of which were affected by the door's variant of the Thief's Downfall. One of the twins was behind the counter, sorting through a box of various enchanted sour drops with his wand - which was pointed in her direction when she stepped closer. She suppressed the urge to draw her own. No one else was around.

She put her hands on the counter and leaned forward, ignoring the way his wand was almost touching her chest. "Hi Forge," she said.

His eyes widened when he - finally - recognised her. "Using muggle disguises is cheating," he mock-complained.

"Think of it as pointing out a weakness in your defences." Hermione smiled for a moment, then grew serious again. "Do you have a moment?"

"Of course." A flick of his wand flipped the sign on the door to 'closed', and a swish opened the door to the backroom. "After you, milady!" he said, grinning exaggeratedly.

Hermione snorted. When she stepped through the door, she felt a slight tingling sensation running over her. More enchantments. And the door had been reinforced as well. She glanced at the twin behind her.

He shrugged. "Can't be too cautious, with Dumbledore gone."

She nodded. The shop had been attacked during the riot in Diagon Alley, and later Davis and Greengrass had tried to infiltrate it. The Death Eaters would certainly try again soon. "You're not planning to stay and fight." She didn't make it sound as a question, but she wasn't quite as certain as she tried to appear. The twins had been quite reckless in the past. They hadn't been in a war back then, though.

"No. Just long enough to make them pay for attacking us." The wizard grinned. "We have prepared our escape routes, and a nasty surprise. After this and the Burrow, they will never dare to attack a Weasley home again!"

Hermione doubted that - the Dark Lord would want to demonstrate that the Weasleys could not stand up to him and his followers. "Are you prepared for the Dark Lord walking down Diagon Alley too?"

Fred - or George, she still couldn't tell them apart - winced. "We could be prepared… if we were willing to destroy most of Diagon Alley and probably break the Statute of Secrecy."

Hermione nodded. Apparently, they had acquired their own explosives. "Yes. That is a concern."

"Hopefully the Dark Lord will think we are prepared to do so." The wizard was looking at her quite peculiarly.

Hermione nodded again. "We could probably prepare a shaped charge that would not do too much collateral damage, but the odds of the Dark Lord walking on top of such a bomb…" she shrugged. "He has used explosives himself, so he'll be watching out for them. There are ways around the common detection spells, but…"

"Which means you'll have to drop a bomb on him, if you want to kill him. One of those that destroyed Malfoy Manor." He wasn't dropping the topic.

"I think he'll be prepared for that as well. We'd need to prevent all sorts of magical travel right before the bomb is dropped…" she trailed off.

"And that means whoever is casting the jinxes will not escape either."

"Yes." And coordinating such an attack would require a lot of planning, and probably some luck as well.

"You'd still try it if you saw an opportunity, right?" He leaned against a workbench, crossing his arms.

"As a desperate measure, yes. But we've made other plans." Hermione smiled. "Dumbledore's been preparing a surprise for the Dark Lord for a while, and his death hasn't stopped the preparations."

"Oh?"

"Yes." She wasn't about to tell him anything else. She probably shouldn't have told him as much as she had, Hermione thought. But he deserved to know that not all hope was lost. Especially since the twins might try something brave but desperate themselves otherwise.

"I don't suppose that you are visiting our humble abode because you need help with that?"

She shook her head. "No. I'm here because of Dennis Creevey. He's a victim of the Withering Curse, and we don't want to leave him in the Ministry's care, but we also can't spare the people to take care of him ourselves. We'd like to let those who take care of Greengrass and Davis take over."

"It's not us," he said, frowning for a second.

"But you know them." She kept looking straight at him.

"Yes."

"And the Headmaster organised them."

"Yes."

"So, they can be trusted." Or so Hermione assumed. Dumbledore's death had changed a lot, but many would simply try to go on as usual.

"Yes." The twin sighed. "I'll contact them."

"Thank you. With a bit of luck, it won't be needed for long." But longer than he'd expect, Hermione thought. Once Voldemort was dead, the Ministry would be taking another look at their alliance. Tomorrow's meeting with Bones would be crucial to lay the groundwork for the time after the war.

*****​

London, Ministry of Magic, January 27th, 1997

Brenda Brocktuckle pushed the meal that had been floated into her cell around on the tray. She had been hungry, until she'd overheard the guards' conversation through the slit in her cell's door while they distributed the meals. Dumbledore was dead! Killed by a dark curse!

A few months ago, such news would have shocked and saddened Brenda Brocktuckle. But now, sitting in a cell in the Ministry, she smiled. With the Headmaster dead, the Dark Lord was certain to win the war. And without Dumbledore, the Ministry wouldn't be able to resist - they certainly wouldn't dare to sentence her or the other prisoners to death!

She knew that the Dark Lord didn't care that much about his followers, especially not those who had failed him, but executing them would be a slight he'd have to repay with blood. Lots of blood. And, she told herself, not for the first time, she hadn't failed him. She had done what she had been ordered to - she had planted the cursed paper aeroplanes and had struck down the traitors in the Auror Corps. That she had failed to take over the Ministry hadn't been her fault; others had failed to stop the mudbloods and French from breaching their lines. If anyone was to blame, then it would be Bellatrix Lestrange. The dark witch had been in command. Brenda had only followed orders.

She just hoped the Dark Lord would see it that way. At least she had been under Malcom's command as well, so if the Dark Lord was looking for a scapegoat, and unwilling to let Lestrange be blamed - rumours claimed she had been his lover - maybe Malcolm would be the one to get tortured as a punishment.

Brenda put the tray down on her bed, drew her legs up and wrapped her arms around her knees. And even if that didn't work out… she didn't want to get tortured, but anything was better than dying. At least the Ministry couldn't get a Dementor to suck out her soul. And, she thought, with a cynical smile, they couldn't send her to Azkaban to be guarded by Dementors either.

She snorted, almost against her will. Who would have thought that there'd be a day she'd be glad that the Ministry had lost control of the Dementors? She was an Auror, she shouldn't be imprisoned in the very cell to which she had sent so many criminals! It was all the fault of those mudbloods, and of the blood traitors!

She hissed through her clenched teeth. They'd pay. Brenda would get out of these cells, and she'd make all of them pay.

*****​

London, East End, January 27th, 1997

"Home, sweet home," Hermione Granger whispered when she entered the safe house in London to which the Resistance had returned. It wasn't quite the joke she would have liked it to be - after months of living here, moving back from Hogwarts felt like coming home.

And wasn't that sad.

"How did it go?" Sally-Anne stepped out of the kitchen as soon as Hermione drew near - the other witch must have waited for her.

"We can move Dennis later today," Hermione said.

Sally-Anne smiled. "Thank God!" She sighed. "I mean, I'd like to care for him, and it wouldn't take much, but…"

"We can't spare a permanent guard for him, and if anything happened, no one would know how to find him," Hermione finished for her friend. She didn't mention that should all of the Resistance perish, then the odds of Dennis ever being woken up, much less getting cured, would be very, very low.

"Yes. But I still feel guilty about moving him out from here." Sally-Anne grimaced.

"Me too," Hermione said. She wasn't quite lying, but she felt rather more guilty about failing him in the first place. Besides, Dennis would understand that they couldn't spare anyone to care for him, not if they wanted to win this war.

"Have you heard anything from the Ministry?" Sally-Anne asked.

Hermione saw that the other girl was fidgeting with her hands. Not quite wringing them, but close. She shook her head. "No. Tomorrow's meeting hasn't been rescheduled, though."

"I don't like that you're going there alone." Sally-Anne was frowning, though it looked more like a pout.

"If it's a trap, then I'd rather have everyone else safe. Your chances of saving me are much greater that way." Hermione had used that argument quite often in the discussion. "I won't be alone, anyway. And Ron will not be at the meeting either." Although he'd be in the Ministry, visiting his father and brother.

Sally-Anne blinked. "Why not? Everyone at Hogwarts knows about your relationship after you spilled the beans to Brown and Patil." There was a slight sneer in her voice when she mentioned the two Gryffindors.

"I'm attending for the Resistance, Sirius will represent the Order, and Harry is the Boy-Who-Lived," Hermione said.

"Ah. No place for the Resistance leader's pureblood boyfriend?" Sally-Anne was smiling now, teasing.

"We'd actually considered that," Hermione said. "To show that we don't care about blood." She smiled cynically when she saw the other witch wince slightly - lately, some of the Resistance seemed to care greatly about someone's blood - and continued: "But I think Bones would not think highly of me should I show up with a boyfriend to a meeting."

"She'd underestimate you, though."

"She might - and as a result, she might betray us." Hermione knew that the Resistance was not quite as strong as many, including some of their own members, thought they were. The Ministry would regret it, deeply, but that wouldn't help those killed in an ambush, or in retaliation.

"What? Do you think Bones will sell us out to the Dark Lord?" Sally-Anne was gaping at her.

"No. She's too smart to stab us in the back during the war, either. But once the war is over the Ministry won't need us any more. If the Minister sees us as a bunch of kids led by a stupid teenager she'll be unlikely to work with us." Quite the contrary, actually.

Sally-Anne exhaled loudly. "We are rather young. Especially for wizards and witches."

"Yes." And if they acted their age, they'd invite trouble. Hermione snorted - she had spent a big part of her time at Hogwarts trying to get Harry and Ron to act more maturely. This wasn't that different.

Far more was at stake this time, though.

*****​

Hogwarts, January 27th, 1997

"Harry! Harry!"

Harry Potter knew that voice. He had heard it often enough in the last few days - both cheerful, and desperate. Luna was definitely sounding cheerful today. She was about the only one in Hogwarts, with the possible exception of some secret pureblood bigots, he thought. He turned around and saw Luna and Ginny walking towards Ron and him. They must have just left the infirmary.

"Hi, Luna, hi, Ginny," he said.

"Hi." Ginny's greeting was not as enthusiastic as Luna's.

Ron simply nodded at them. Harry's friend seemed to either miss or ignore his sister's resulting frown - he had been quite distracted, after Dumbledore's message.

"How is your father?" Harry asked, before a sibling row could break out. Tempers were frayed enough.

"He's already writing and researching again!" Luna said, beaming at him. "Madam Pomfrey released him a few days ago." Scrunching her nose, she added: "Although he might be a carrier for some illness - she said he'd drive the other patients crazy if he were to stay longer. I'll have to ask her for treatment for that."

Harry didn't quite know how to answer that. He settled on nodding. "How are you two doing?"

"With Daddy healthy again, I'm doing fine!" Luna said with a wide smile.

"Shouldn't we ask you that?" Ginny said. "You were very close to Dumbledore." She bit her lip right afterwards.

Before Harry could assure the girl that this wasn't exactly a secret, Luna piped up. "Oh, yes. I think Harry holds the record for being called to the Headmaster's office. I'd have to ask Hermione to check."

"It wasn't quite like that," Harry said.

Ron chuckled. "Close enough, in our early years."

Although Harry realised that they were correct - he couldn't remember any students who had met Dumbledore as often. The Headmaster had been quite distant, for all his friendly manner.

"Will you be OK?"

Ginny's question shook Harry out of his thoughts. The witch was staring at him.

She was probably worried about the war, with her family so prominently involved. Harry slowly nodded. "The Headmaster was prepared for such an… eventuality, I think he'd say."

"I don't doubt that," Ginny said with a frown, "but what about you?"

"Me?"

"Yes, you." Ginny was still staring at him. "And don't say you're fine!"

Harry was tempted to say it anyway. He sighed instead. "I'll be alright." Once Voldemort was dead.

"Don't nag him, Ginny," Ron said.

The two siblings stared at each other for a moment, then Ginny looked away. "Sorry."

"No problem," Harry said. It was nice to see that she cared. And he was used to 'interventions', as Hermione called them, that were a bit more pushy.

Which reminded him of tomorrow's meetings, and his good mood vanished. If the Ministry tried to double-cross them… He shook his head. "We have to go. More training." That was no secret either.

"Oh! Good luck!" Luna said, brightly.

"We should get training as well," Ginny said. "It's not safe here, not any more." She looked at Harry, her chin slightly raised, before glancing at Ron.

She wasn't wrong, Harry thought, but the kind of training he and Ron were doing tonight wouldn't help the girl. "We'll talk to Moody," he said after a moment.

Ron glanced at him, but didn't say anything while Ginny smiled. Luna nodded, though Harry couldn't tell if the blonde Ravenclaw actually knew what they were talking about.

*****​

A few minutes after they had left the girls, Harry and Ron were in the room Moody used for their lesson. They were alone, though. Dumbledore was dead, Sirius was busy at the Ministry, Remus still in Albania, and Moody wouldn't trust anyone to enter his mind.
That left just one person to practise on.

Harry aimed his wand - the Elder Wand - at Ron.

"Remember: No embarrassing scenes," his friend said, flinching a tiny bit.

"Promise," Harry said. He had no plans to delve into Ron's childhood memories. He had other plans, though. "Legilimens!"

Harry entered Ron's mind as if his friend had no Occlumency shields at all. A second after he had cast, he was amidst spheres containing memories, drifting around, changing sizes as they floated by in a cacophony of words and sounds. Harry focused his mind, his will. He wanted specific memories. They wouldn't be embarrassing, he knew that already, Harry told himself to ease the guilt he felt.

It was hard to find the memory he wanted, so many other memories were swirling around him. Some he just needed to catch a glimpse of, or a word, to remember them himself… there! He grit his teeth and dived in.

He was in a small restaurant. A French one, judging by the menus and the accents. Looking around, he spotted his two best friends at a table. Hermione was wearing a short black dress. Not an evening gown. Ron was wearing a jacket, though. But the whole set up of the date seemed… less expensive, certainly less formal than Harry's own date with the witch. They were talking about France, about Ron's family. And about Allan Baker. And the Yule Ball. Ron was quite open. Brutally honest, even, Harry would say. No pretenses.

He dropped out of the scene when Ron reached out to hold Hermione's hand.

He floated for a while - how long he couldn't say - pondering if he should check another memory of them together. To find out what Ron had done differently. What had made Hermione choose Harry's friend over him.

He decided against it, though. He felt guilty - and stupid - enough about this already. She had made her choice.

He opened his eyes again and saw Ron sitting down on a bench, rubbing his temples. "Blimey! I didn't even notice you, not even when you were inside!"

"It's the wand," Harry said, hefting it. "Let's try it with a Shield Charm," he added. Ron wasn't exactly Voldemort. The Dark Lord wouldn't be that easy.

"Alright. Protego!"

*****​

London, No. 12 Grimmauld Place, January 27th, 1997

"Trust me, Albus had plans for all eventualities. This war is far from lost." Sirius Black was smiling as confidently as he could at Elphias Doge while he sat in his preferred armchair in the living room of Grimmauld Place.

The old wizard - almost as old as Dumbledore had been, but far from as wise - didn't look convinced, though. He took a deep breath. "But what can we do, without Albus? No one else could stand against the Dark Lord. His forces barely failed to take the Ministry before, and that was without him being present." Shaking his almost bald head, he went on: "No. We best flee the country. Gather support on foreign shores."

Sirius was tempted to tell the man about the prophecy, and the plan to kill Voldemort. That had to remain a secret, though. Instead he snorted. "And what kind of support do you think we'll be able to gather, as refugees? If a country even takes us in, knowing the Dark Lord will want us dead. How long will we last, bereft of our ancestral homes, and their protections, when he sends out his assassins after us?" He leaned forward, lowering his voice slightly. "We could flee to muggle Britain, of course. Abandon magic and live like muggles."

Elphias gasped at him. "Surely not!"

"That's the only alternative. How many enemies did Albus make since he defeated Grindelwald? And how many of them will want to take revenge, with him dead?" Sirius scoffed. "We can hide among muggles, or we can stand and fight."

"And die," Elphias added. He sounded more resigned than afraid now, though. At least Sirius thought so.

"We may very well die. Like so many of us in the last war. Did we let that hold us back, or make us back down?" Sirius shook his head. "And trust me, the Dark Lord hasn't won yet."

"But what can we do against him? He even killed Albus!"

"Albus made plans, Elphias. That's all I can say."

Suddenly, the man's eyes seemed to light up. "It's the Boy-Who-Lived, isn't it? Harry Potter is the only one who has ever defeated the Dark Lord!"

Sirius didn't wince or frown. He didn't obliviate Doge either, although he wanted to. He knew it would be futile, though - with Albus dead, people would be turning to Harry as their only hope. It was a sign of how shaken up Doge was over Albus's death that the wizard hadn't thought of Harry until now. He wasn't wrong, of course - Harry was the key to defeating Voldemort for good, although Sirius wouldn't mind blowing the bastard's body to dust if given the opportunity. And even without him knowing about the plan, Voldemort wanted to kill Harry anyway. Having him come after Sirius's godson would only help their plans.

Sirius told himself all that, and still wanted to take Harry and run. Far away. Despite his own words. But he knew that his godson would never run. Even if he might want to, Harry would never leave his friends, and they would never leave either. Gryffindors! He slowly shook his head. "I can't tell you anything. You know that."

"I know, I know." The old wizard was grinning now. "I should have realised it before. All the rumours of special treatment… I won't tell the others, but I'll tell them not to give up hope."

Which was what Sirius had wanted him to do. "Good. We need to stand firm in the Wizengamot. Until…"

"Yes, until."

*****​

Once he had seen his guest out, Sirius leaned back against the wall next to the fireplace, and closed his eyes. Merlin's balls, he was exhausted! But at least now it seemed as if the Order's supporters in the Wizengamot would hold together for a bit longer. Which would help in tomorrow's meeting.

"Did you succeed in stiffening their backbones?"

The familiar accent, and the slightly teasing tone, had him smiling before he opened his eyes and looked at Vivienne d'Aigle. "I hope so."

The witch was wearing her duelling robes. Cut to not impede her movements, and tight enough to prevent them from snagging on anything - or from providing an enemy with an easy hold - they emphasised her figure as well. An effect she claimed was coincidental. Sirius didn't think so - duelling was a sport, after all, and that meant spectators. Not that he minded. Although he hadn't missed that prior to the Battle of the Ministry, and the horrible losses her family had suffered, she hadn't been wearing these robes quite as often.

"Is there any news from Marcel?" he asked, pushing off the wall.

She shook her head, her smile fading. "The recent news 'as not been received well at 'ome."

If he hadn't come to know the Delacours well in their time at his home, especially the witch in front of him, Sirius would have been surprised by how the famous French élan seemed to vanish in the wake of Dumbledore's death. As it was, he knew better. "The Duc's having trouble?"

She nodded. "They try to use the opportunity to attack the Duc's 'apparent support for violent muggleborns following in Grindelwald's footsteps'. Fools," she added with obvious disgust.

She was looking lovely even with her face stuck in a frown. Sirius didn't know if it was her Veela beauty, or that French je ne sais quoi that was almost as famous as their élan. He took a step forward and gathered her in his arms. The smell of her long blonde hair, hanging loosely down her to the small of her back, was both familiar and enticing. "Your family's sending help, though, right?"

"Of course!" she answered, indignantly. "Our blood will be avenged." As he had expected - the French were like that. In a lower voice, though, she added: "But they'll 'ave to be careful. Marcel cannot appear to defy the Duc. That would force 'im to demonstrate that 'e 'as not lost control of 'is supporters."

"Politics." Sirius spat the word out.

"You are a politician, you'd know all about it." Her tone was teasing, but he knew what she meant. He had responsibilities. Duties. To Harry, of course. And to Britain.

"I'm also - and foremost - a brave and dashing wizard," he retorted, pulling his head back to meet her eyes with his best smirk. "And I've had a very long day."

"Oh?" Her smile grew more pronounced, more teasing. "You're too exhausted for anything but rest, then?"

That was a challenge to which Sirius had never - almost never - failed to rise.

*****​

London, Ministry of Magic, January 28th, 1997

Amelia Bones didn't shake her head at the Daily Prophet's headline article, but her mouth formed a thin line as she read it. According to the article - Skeeter was at it, again - Dumbledore had died fighting dozens of houngans to save the victims of the Withering Curse in Britain, 'taking them with him into death's embrace'. A load of drivel, she thought, that would fit much better in The Quibbler. Which had brought out an 'Albus Dumbledore Memorial Special Issue', and blamed the man's death on a curse cast by Grindelwald in their famous duel fifty years ago, which had been held at bay by phoenix tears until now.

She sighed. More trouble for Britain. The Jamaican houngans had already sent a complaint to the ICW. It wouldn't go anywhere - apart from some sympathetic North American wizard enclaves, they had no allies - but some other countries might use the opportunity to put some pressure on Britain when Amelia's country was weakened. Payback for some of Dumbledore's less popular policies as Supreme Mugwump.

"Madam Minister?" Her secretary's voice coming through the mirror on her desk interrupted her reading. "Auror Moody is here."

"Send him in."

"So, how's it feel, being Minister?" the old Auror asked, in lieu of a greeting.

"It's just like my old job, just with more stress," she shot back. It wasn't quite true, of course. And his laughter told her he didn't believe her.

"You wanted it." He conjured a seat for himself and sat down, his artificial eye spinning madly. "Why'd you send for me? I was about to whip some of our better curse-fodder into shape. Make them more likely to hit the enemy with their spells than their own feet." He tapped his peg leg for emphasis.

"I've picked Dawlish as Head Auror." She steeled herself for Moody's reaction - his opinion of that Auror was well-known. But Moody wouldn't make a good Head Auror. He was far too paranoid. And he was Dumbledore's friend.

"As expected. You don't really have many decent choices left." Moody snorted. "At least he's not one to rock the boat. Who'll be your successor? Thicknesse?"

"Yes." Amelia wasn't certain what annoyed her more - that Moody hadn't reacted as she had expected, or that he had predicted her so easily.

"Decent man. Useless in a fight, but he won't screw up paperwork or hinder his Aurors. That's more than most of the Ministry employees." Moody chuckled.

Amelia didn't think that the current state of the Ministry was funny, and didn't react to the comment.

"Was that all? Or did you want to pick my brain before the meeting with Black, Potter and Granger?"

"Would you tell me anything?" She narrowed her eyes at him. The scarred Auror had been an old friend of Dumbledore's, and a member of the Order of the Phoenix. Probably one of the leaders now, unless Amelia's estimate of the organisation's strength was mistaken.

"Of course I would. Don't want you to make a fatal blunder, after all." Another wide and ugly grin appeared on Moody's face.

Amelia wasn't quite certain if he was trying to rile her up, or if he had become even more abrasive and uncouth lately. Her long experience with him and others in the Ministry allowed her not to show her annoyance, though. "Can we beat the Dark Lord?"

"Yes. Plans are in motion."

Which meant that the Order was doing the planning. She would have to ask the others, then. "Centered on the Boy-Who-Lived?" Dumbledore had showed far more interest in Potter than would have been normal even for such a celebrity.

"Mh." Moody grunted noncommittally.

"Can the Ministry trust them? All of them?"

"If you don't act like the idiots who got us in this mess, yes." The old Auror leaned forward. "They don't trust you, Bones. Granger's been the most wanted witch in Britain for months, and she hasn't forgotten that. And Potter and Black owe her their lives. If you try to play games, it'll end badly. For all of us. But mostly for you."

Granger had killed dozens of Aurors, Amelia thought. Not all of them, not even the majority of them had been Death Eaters. And the attack on Malfoy Manor… that muggleborn witch was a mass murderer! She controlled herself, though. "Cornelius has made an alliance with the Muggleborn Resistance. We're all fighting the Dark Lord."

"The Resistance will want a pardon, Bones. A full pardon. No ifs or buts or clauses."

"Carte blanche?" Legitimise their murders? Amelia pressed her lips together. A country that sacrificed law and order to survive doomed itself. If she let the Resistance - or the Order - run rampant, kill at will…

"Call it what you want. We're at war, and they'll want assurances that you'll not stab them in the back once it's over."

"You know how easily that would be abused. If they have nothing to fear from the law, what will keep them from settling accounts with their wands?" That was how the Death Eaters worked, Amelia thought.

"They don't have much to fear from the law anyway. You haven't been able to catch them in months." Moody scoffed.

"They've had help from Dumbledore. And his agents." She stared at Moody.

"I was retired." He shrugged, then twisted his scarred face into a grin. "But I think you'd be making a mistake if you blame their successes on Dumbledore's meddling. They're good. You don't want to start a war with them. Not now, and not later. There won't be much left of the country if you do."

"They will know that as well." Two could play that game, Amelia thought. She wouldn't let the Ministry be pushed around either.

"But do you think they'll care much?" Moody leaned forward, baring his teeth. For a moment, his enchanted eye stopped rolling around and fixated on her. "It takes a lot for people to take up wands. A lot of guts, a lot of stupidity most often. Or a lot of desperation. You don't want to push desperate people, Bones. You should remember how desperate people react - you were an Auror once." He stood up. "I'll return to whipping the latest recruits."

That dig hurt. But the rest of his words… Amelia nodded jerkily as he left her office. Moody was a member of Dumbledore's Order. Of course he'd say that. Although he was correct about Granger's ties to Potter and Black. And to the Weasleys. As much as she hated to admit it, if push came to shove, and if the Order sided with the Resistance, things would turn out even uglier than the Battle of the Ministry.

But that didn't have to happen. Black was the key. He was another of Dumbledore's men, but he was from an Old Family. The Blacks were proud - too proud, at times. He knew the forms, and the customs. And he held a seat in the Wizengamot. He had a lot to lose, should Britain descend into anarchy, like several wizard enclaves in the New World had in the past. And Black had shown that he knew his way around the Wizengamot, since his exoneration. He was also Potter's godfather, and as far as Amelia knew, they were very close. If she could convince Black, Potter would likely follow. The Weasleys were numerous, but poor - they were not part of the Old Families.

If she could get Black to see reason, this whole problem could be solved.

*****​

London, No. 12 Grimmauld Place, January 28th, 1997

Harry Potter raised his eyebrows in surprise when he saw Hermione in the entrance hall of Grimmauld Place. She was wearing her uniform - her fatigues.

She must have noticed his reaction, since she frowned at him. "What's wrong?"

"I'd have expected you to wear something else," he said. She looked like a guerilla fighter. Which she was, he guessed.

"Why? I'm not about to wear robes. I represent the Resistance. And the purebloods wouldn't be able to tell one style of muggle clothes from the other." With a grin, she added: "But every one of them knows this uniform. It sends a message."

Harry nodded. It would certainly be a not too subtle reminder that Hermione and her friends were no pushovers. Quite the contrary.

She looked around.

"Ron's gone ahead already," Harry said, answering her question before she could ask. "Scouting for an ambush, I think." He shrugged. "Even though his dad, Percy, Tonks and Moody are in the Ministry as well." Ron could have waited for Hermione here.

"Another pair of eyes and a wand can't hurt," Hermione said.

"Indeed!" Sirius said loudly, appearing on top of the stairs. He was wearing his best robes, though. "Can't be too careful when dealing with politicians. They're worse than goblins - they'll stab you in the back as soon as you turn around."

"Aren't you a politician as well?" Harry asked.

"I'm just posing as one. Temporarily, until this mess is over." Harry's godfather walked down the stairs.

"That could be a long while," Harry said. Dumbledore's message hadn't sounded too promising.

"Yes." Sirius coughed. "So… everyone's on the same page with regards to our goals?"

"A full pardon for the Resistance covering the whole war, all the muggleborn laws gone, all Death Eaters and their supporters tried and punished," Hermione started. "Those are just the short-term goals, of course. Wizarding Britain needs far more than merely a change in government and a return to the status quo. The idea that blood defines a wizard's worth needs to disappear - and that will necessitate far-reaching reforms. Too many laws have been passed with that thought in mind, too much has been built upon that sick ideology. The current Wizengamot is composed of hereditary seats, held by the Old Families, and appointed seats - granted by the Minister for the duration of his term. As long as that remains the case, as long as the Wizengamot is controlled by rich, old pureblood families, we'll always risk a resurgence of the blood bigots." With a grin, she added: "I'm not telling the Minister that, of course."

Sirius chuckled. "If you tell Bones that she'll draw her wand on you. She'd fear a revolution."

"If we can't reform Wizarding Britain there will be a revolution," Hermione said. "Things cannot continue as they are. Not after this war. There's too much wrong with the country."

"Might need another war to change it," Sirius said, almost casually.

"That's what Dumbledore is afraid of," Harry said. "Can Wizarding Britain survive another war?" Or the current one, if it went on for much longer, he added to himself.

"Should it survive, if it can't be reformed into a country that's not a corrupt cesspit of bigots and murderers?" Sirius scoffed. "I'd rather see the Ministry burn, than let it go on like this."

When Harry saw the expression on his godfather's face, he shivered. Sirius certainly hadn't forgotten who sent him to Azkaban. He glanced at Hermione, but his friend simply nodded.

*****​

London, Ministry of Magic, January 28th, 1997

His brother's office was a nice one, Ron Weasley thought, looking around. Much bigger than Dad's old office. Furnished better, too. Percy could be proud. Ron hadn't seen him that often since his brother had graduated from Hogwarts. It wasn't as if they had grown apart, well, there was the mess during the Triwizard Tournament, but Ron couldn't really cast hexes there, not with himself having been a right stupid git for most of that year too. They hadn't grown apart, but their paths hadn't crossed often. Just like with Charlie and Bill.

"So… you're now the Deputy-Head of the Department of Magical Transportation," Ron read from the small plaque on the door to Percy's office.

His brother nodded. A year ago, he'd probably have straightened up and acted all proud, like when he had received his Head Boy badge, Ron thought. Not any more, though. "Yes", Percy said. "I was the most qualified left, after the battle. And the most trusted."

Ron nodded. "You have access to the Floo Network then." Which was very useful.

"Yes, I do. Although all manipulations are logged. Or should be." With a wry grin, he added: "Our workers are not always as diligent as they should be."

"As long as the enemy can't sabotage it."

"I've taken measures to prevent that." Percy sat down behind his desk. "How are things with Hermione?"

Ron tensed slightly. "Fine. As fine as they can be, in the middle of a war." Merlin's balls, he sounded like Harry! "Have you heard anything about the meeting later?"

"The meeting with the Minister?" Percy shuffled some parchment around. "There's a lot of speculation, but no bigger security effort than normal."

That meant Percy hadn't heard anything about an ambush.

"Some of the older employees are concerned, of course," Percy went on. "Father mentioned that during lunch yesterday. There aren't that many left of the more extreme ones, of course."

Ron sighed. "The muggleborns save their lives, and these purebloods still don't want them around. Damn wankers!"

Percy's mouth formed a thin line and for a moment, Ron's brother looked like that time he had deducted points from Harry and Ron in their second year. "I see that even your relationship with Hermione hasn't influenced you to correct your language. You might truly be hopeless."

Ron chuckled. "I don't curse when I'm with her, so I have to curse more when we're apart, to even it out."

Percy snorted. "Returning to the matter at hand, I do not think that those who have concerns about Hermione's goals would have suffered much under the Dark Lord. They are the type to simply do as they are told, and close their eyes when they see something disturbing."

"Ah. No trouble then?" Ron knew that type.

"Not as far as I can see. Although I'm not a trained Auror, so I'm not that well-versed in spotting spies."

"Well, as long as the Minister is not trying anything sinister…" Ron shrugged.

"I doubt that. Though it would be a good opportunity for the Dark Lord to sabotage the alliance, if his spies could attack her and frame the Ministry."

Ron cursed again. "Maybe I should be in the Atrium when they arrive."

"Bones will have the Aurors and Hit-Wizards there vetted. She's not dumb," Percy said.

"She's not perfect either," Ron shot back, already on his way out. "Thanks!" he called over his shoulder.

He knew he couldn't attend the meeting, but damned if he wouldn't make every effort to protect his friends. He wasn't useless.

*****​

When Hermione Granger entered the Ministry's Atrium through the Floo Network, she did her best to appear confident and unconcerned. It wouldn't do to show any weakness before such an important meeting. For all her faults, Bones wasn't stupid.

Half a dozen Aurors and Hit-Wizards were present in the Atrium, and Hermione tensed up slightly when she saw two of them stare at her a bit too intently. She relaxed a bit when she spotted Ron in the background, and almost smiled at him. Arthur Weasley was present as well, nearby.

"You're drawing more attention than I do," Harry whispered next to her.

She glanced at him and saw that he was grinning. She shook her head. There were probably too many wizards and witches in the Ministry who had a guilty conscience, or they'd focus on the Boy-Who-Lived as their best hope against Voldemort.

To her surprise, no one tried to stop them for a quick chat before they reached the lift. Five minutes later, they were in front of Bones's office, and the Minister's nervous secretary waved them through.

Bones wasn't alone, of course. She was there with Dawlish and Thicknesse, Head Auror and Head of the DMLE, respectively. It made the meeting look more like a parlay than a gathering of allies - there even was a table with three seats on each side.

"Thank you for coming, Sirius, Mister Potter, Miss Granger. Please have a seat," Bones said, gesturing at the table. Conjured, Hermione thought, with possibly an expansion charm to fit it in without the office appearing cramped.

Sirius took the seat in the middle, with Harry at his right side, and Hermione on his left side. If Bones thought that their seating arrangements would tell her anything about their group she would be mistaken.

"Thank you, Amelia." Sirius smiled at the witch, all grace and politeness.

Bones presented her two underlings, and there was some polite exchanging of greetings and even more polite refusing of refreshments. Hermione didn't think the Ministry would try to poison her, but better safe than sorry.

"Well, let us get to the point of this meeting," Bones started. "Since the last meeting eleven days ago, the situation has changed a great deal. Where we could be confident of our impending victory, we must now just hope that Dumbledore's last plan - whatever that is - will work before the Dark Lord takes the Ministry. I assume," she added with a glance towards Harry, "that it depends on the Boy-Who-Lived."

That hadn't taken a lot to deduce, Hermione thought. Harry's presence alone confirmed it. It wasn't as if it was a secret either - Voldemort knew that Harry could sense him. The Dark Lord couldn't be allowed to know the real plan, though.

Sirius smiled politely. "Harry has been instrumental in the war so far."

Dawlish was about to say something, but a glance from Thicknesse shut him up. Interesting, Hermione thought. She hadn't heard good things about the new Head Auror - he certainly hadn't managed to make trouble for the Resistance in the past, so she wondered why he had been promoted. Probably because he was the one with the most time in the department, and a pureblood, she thought with no small amount of cynicism.

"And you're not going to tell us what the plan is," Bones said with a pronounced frown.

Sirius shrugged. "No offense, but the Ministry's still riddled with spies. And with Albus dead, a number of people will consider turning traitor to save themselves."

"We can keep a secret. We have done so in the war," Dawlish said.

Harry snorted. He, like Hermione, had to be thinking about the spying operation they had set up in Diagon Alley. Neither said anything about it, though.

"Better safe than sorry," Sirius said.

"We're doing our best," Harry threw in. "I've faced the Dark Lord a few times already."

"And the last time, Dumbledore had to save you," Dawlish spat out. "He's not around any more."

"That has been taken into account," Hermione cut in. They had made plans. Ones not as concrete as she'd have liked, but they were preparing to face Voldemort.

"In any case, you can't deal with the Dark Lord, and you know it, so just let us handle him," Sirius said with a not-quite-smirk. "There are plenty of his followers still around for you to face. Recruiting will be easier for him with Albus dead."

Thicknesse winced at that. "Our own recruitment efforts have suffered in the last few days."

"The cowards are reconsidering their decisions," Sirius said. "The Order and our French friends are ready, though, and won't falter."

"We've recovered as well, and we're ready for battle," Hermione said. It was technically true. "But we have concerns which need to be addressed first, before we can deploy. Both the Minister and the Chief Warlock, who have been the driving forces behind the recent alliance between the Ministry and the Muggleborn Resistance, have been killed. While the muggleborn laws have been repealed already, there are certain fears that you might not uphold their other promises."

Bones didn't show much of a reaction. "I'm aware that a pardon for past crimes has been promised."

"A pardon covering any action during the war," Hermione corrected her. "From the day the Dark Lord returned to the day the war ends."

Bones's face seemed to freeze up. "Impossible. That would give you carte blanche. You could commit any crime without repercussion."

"No. We would still police ourselves," Hermione said. "Just like muggle military forces do." Which had far more than a dozen members, of course.

Bones seemed to be aware of that, judging by how she scoffed. "Miss Granger, the Ministry is the lawful government of Wizarding Britain. We're not a secret organisation created by private citizens. We represent our country."

"After our experiences with your law enforcement practices, we will not grant you any jurisdiction over us. Not during the war, at least," Hermione shot back. "As a courtesy, we can inform you should a case concern you. But unless we have a full pardon as promised, there will not be any alliance."

"I have to agree with Hermione. The Order and our French friends needs the same reassurances as the Resistance." Sirius smiled widely and leaned forward. "My personal experiences after the last war have taught me not to trust the Ministry when it comes to justice."

Bones, who had a reputation as a stone-cold witch, actually hissed, while Dawlish growled. Thicknesse, though, simply nodded.

"Nor do we trust the Wizengamot when it comes to trying Death Eaters. The track record of our esteemed parliament is abysmal," Harry's godfather added.

"Your want to be untouchable and demand to judge others? That would undermine our entire judicial system!" Bones was leaning forward as well. "No one is above the law!"

"We don't trust the law," Hermione said. "Not any more."

"If the law doesn't apply to you, then you might as well take over the country," Bones said.

That wouldn't be a bad idea, Hermione thought. She held her tongue, though.

"I can't see myself and my friends fighting Voldemort effectively if we are worried that we'll be punished for what we had to do afterwards," Harry said.

"No Auror has a problem with fighting the Death Eaters without breaking the law," Dawlish said.

"Your muggleborn Aurors might have. Oh, wait - you fired all of them a year ago." Harry snorted.

"It's quite simple, Amelia," Sirius shook his head. "You need us more than we need you. If you want this alliance to work, you need to trust us to police ourselves. The Ministry and the Wizengamot have done too much harm to us to let us trust them."

"Will you grant the Aurors the same protection?" Thicknesse asked.

"For actions taken against Death Eaters, yes. Not for actions taken against muggleborns," Hermione said. The Resistance would not let those murderers walk.

"They have acted in accordance with duly passed laws," Bones said. "They cannot be punished for doing their lawful duty."

"Leaving aside the validity of such laws, Aurors and Hit-Wizards who have abused even those laws can and will be punished." Hermione stared at Bones. "How many muggleborns were killed while resisting arrest? Compared to how many purebloods?"

Bones frowned; the Minister obviously knew what her employees had done.

"We want justice. Real justice, not some corrupt play by the Wizengamot where murderers are let go because they are related to half the members!" Hermione said. Her voice had grown louder, and she forced herself to stop.

"Many Death Eaters were sentenced after the last war, despite their blood ties," Thicknesse said calmly.

"The fanatics who loudly proclaimed their allegiance were judged," Sirius said. "But their helpers? And those 'imperiused victims'?" He scoffed. "We've seen how that works when the Greengrass girl tried to kill students at Hogwarts."

Bones hadn't an answer to that, Hermione thought. Frowning, the older witch pressed out: "Who decides when the war is over?"

Hermione suppressed a smile. They were arguing over the details now. That meant they had already succeeded.

*****​

Outside Stamford, Lincolnshire, Britain, January 28th, 1997

The Dark Lord Voldemort frowned, going over the numbers again. While recruitment was starting to pick up, he was still far from having replaced his losses. He wanted to storm the Ministry, but until he had sufficient numbers to take it over and keep it going, that would not do him much good in the long run.

And yet he couldn't let this opportunity to cow Wizarding Britain pass. After the death of his greatest foe, the sheep would be frozen with terror. Another demonstration of his power should be enough to teach them not to resist, and lead to the isolation of his remaining enemies.

He leaned back. Even so, he needed more people. More competent people. Rodolphus and Rabastan had returned from abroad, and they would show no mercy to the murderers of Bellatrix. But Travers, Macnair, Rosier and Mulciber had died in the Ministry, and Flint in Hogsmeade. Rookwood was busy with research, and Dolohov was on the continent, recruiting. As were Pettigrew and Yaxley.

He needed at least a dozen to make a good showing. That would take a few days. Time enough for his spies to scout Diagon Alley.

*****​
 
Chapter 39: Reflections
Chapter 39: Reflections

'In any other war, the death of Albus Dumbledore would have marked the end of the conflict. That had been the case in both Grindelwald's War and the First Blood War - without their leaders, neither Grindelwald's armies nor the Dark Lord's followers were able to oppose Dumbledore any longer, and accordingly, the vast majority of them fled or surrendered. In both conflicts, only a handful of fanatical wizards and witches kept fighting. And, as one would expect, they were swiftly defeated.
In the Second Blood War, however, the Ministry leadership did not even contemplate surrendering or exile. Even though their situation should have appeared objectively hopeless, they fought on.
Why would they choose such a seemingly suicidal course of action? Some might have put their trust into Harry Potter, the famous Boy-Who-Lived. He had survived the Dark Lord's Killing Curse as a mere toddler, and he had been Dumbledore's protege. Though while he had already shown quite remarkable talents for his age, most notably in the Triwizard Tournament, he certainly was no equal of Dumbledore or the Dark Lord. The Muggleborn Resistance had suffered critical losses, as had the Order of the Phoenix, and neither could stand up to the Dark Lord in open battle or match his guile. But they did not give up either.
In my opinion, this shows that all factions of the Second Blood War had become so fanatical during the conflict that they preferred death to defeat and would keep fighting even when there was but a faint hope of victory.'
- Excerpt from 'Wizarding Britain in the 20th Century' by Albert Runcorn


*****​

London, No. 12 Grimmauld Place, January 28th, 1997

Harry Potter sighed with relief as soon as he, Sirius and Hermione entered Grimmauld Place. He hadn't really thought that the Ministry would try to ambush them on the way out, or that Death Eaters would manage to infiltrate the Ministry, but the meeting had certainly become quite tense at the end…

"Did you see her face at the end? As if she had eaten a basket full of lemons!" Sirius chuckled while he cast a few quick cleaning charms on the group.

His godfather was taking this a bit too lightly, Harry thought. "That's not a good thing," he said. "She seemed to really hate our demands."

Sirius scoffed. "It's all about power and control with her. She is obsessed with it. In her eyes the idea that we wouldn't submit to the DMLE and let her judge us is almost as bad as Voldemort taking over." He stepped forward and opened the door to the hallway with a flick of his wand.

"The Minister's focusing on the rule of law," Hermione said, hesitating for a moment when Sirius bowed slightly in a 'ladies first' gesture. "She isn't completely wrong, actually. Vigilante organisations and paramilitary groups are generally not a good thing for a country. And no one should be above the law." She shook her head and ran a hand through her short hair as she stepped through the door. "But if the law was passed by a fascist government catering to mass-murdering bigots… The legal basis of Wizarding Britain is just one step removed from 'might makes right'."

"If Amelia didn't know for certain that, without us, Voldemort would kill her and her family, and take over her precious Ministry, she'd never have accepted our terms." Sirius muttered a curse under his breath Harry didn't catch as both followed Hermione. "If only she had shown such dedication to upholding the law when I was unjustly imprisoned without a trial!"

Harry was a bit concerned how quickly Sirius had switched from chuckling to scowling. But then, all of them were suffering from a great deal of stress. Himself as well, he thought.

"Was that actually illegal?" Hermione asked. When Harry and Sirius stared at her, she winced. "I meant, didn't they pass a law that made it possible to hold people without trial?"

"Not for so long after the war," Sirius said. "But no one really cared. I was just another Death Eater in Azkaban." He clenched his jaw and stared ahead - no, at the wall, Harry realised.

"Cherie?"

Sirius's face broke out in a wide smile. "Vivienne!" He stepped forward and embraced the Veela, almost sweeping her off her feet.

"'Ow did the meeting go?" the French witch asked when Sirius released her.

"Bones had to give in. But she really didn't want to." Sirius grinned. "The Ministry, depending on muggleborns and vigilantes! She's probably drinking a Calming Draught right now."

"There'll be trouble after the war," Hermione said.

"We already knew that." Harry's godfather made a dismissive gesture with his hand. The one that was not holding onto Vivienne's waist. "She'll oppose our plans every step of the way. But if we can deal with Voldemort, then we can deal with her easily."

Harry exchanged a glance with Hermione. He wasn't quite that optimistic. And, as far as he could tell, neither was she.

*****​

London, Ministry of Magic, January 28th, 1997

Ron Weasley saw his friends leave the Ministry, and let out a breath he hadn't realised he was holding. They had made it out safely without incident.

"You can relax now."

His dad's comment made him flinch. "Was it that obvious?" he asked in a low voice. He had cast a privacy charm, but some habits were hard to break - Moody had drilled into Harry and him that all it took was one Supersensory Charm, and an enemy could listen from afar.

"No. But I know you." His dad smiled and put a hand on Ron's shoulder. "And it's good to see that you haven't changed that much."

Ron was confused. "What do you mean?"

His dad sighed. "You've changed. All of you have changed. You're not just growing up, you're fighting in a war."

Ron stiffened. "Is this about the Death Eaters I killed?" He hadn't had a choice. They had been trying to kill him, and Harry, and would have killed anyone else Voldemort wanted dead. Like Hermione, or Ron's family.

"In part only." Ron's dad closed his eyes for a second. "I know that people change in a war. And not just because they kill."

Ron nodded. His family had fought in the last war. Gryffindors to the core. Mum's brothers had been killed in the last year of the war, as members of the Order.

"If you know you could die in the next battle, it makes you look at things differently. You gain a new perspective. You tend to live more passionately, a friend once put it. Things you considered very important suddenly seem frivolous." His dad pulled his hand away from Ron's shoulder. "It's partially why you're here, today."

"Huh?" Ron was confused again. What would have been more important than his friends' safety?

"Hogwarts has strict rules. You're not even allowed to visit Hogsmeade until your third year. Outside family emergencies, you don't leave the school outside Hogsmeade weekends and vacations."

Ron blinked. That was true, but he had been so used to leaving with Dumbledore's blessing that… "Ah."

"Even if the war was over, do you think you'd easily adjust to being confined to Hogwarts again?" His dad chuckled when Ron winced. "You're not the only one. Your friends too. And Ginny, of course."

"She's been sneaking out?" Ron asked. That was dangerous, she… he clenched his teeth together.

"I hope not. But I bet she will, if she thinks it's important." He sighed. "Molly hates it. And she hates even more that we cannot protect you. I do as well, of course, but I can handle it better. Molly… her two brothers were killed in the last war. To know you and your brothers are fighting is..." He trailed off.

Ron felt guilty for putting his mum through this, but some things were more important. He was needed. He opened his mouth, but his dad held his hand up.

"I know, and your mother knows it as well. That doesn't mean we don't hate it. But we understand." He sighed again. "I just wish we had done a better job in the last war, so this wouldn't have happened."

"Not even Dumbledore managed it, dad," Ron said.

"Yes. So, how are we supposed to achieve that this time?"

Ron didn't know, but he trusted his friends. "We'll manage." He looked at the lift where his friends had left.

His dad chuckled. "Go. I know they're waiting for you."

Ron nodded, and left.

*****​

London, No. 12 Grimmauld Place, January 28th, 1997

"Ron!" Hermione Granger jumped up from her seat when her boyfriend entered the library in Grimmauld Place. She quickly crossed the space to where he was closing the door and embraced him. She heard Harry chuckling behind her, probably because she was doing exactly what Sirius had done before, but didn't care.

"I wasn't the one in danger," Ron said, wrapping his arms around her.

She didn't answer that. She simply enjoyed his embrace for a moment. Or a few moments.

Then they pulled apart again.

"So… how did the meeting go?"

"Bones accepted our demands, but she wasn't happy. Not at all," Harry said, standing up to greet Ron himself.

"As expected, then."

"More or less. She'll be trouble once Voldemort is dead," Hermione said. She tried to sound as matter-of-fact about that event as possible. Harry still winced, as she saw with a glance. "How are things?" she said, turning to her friend.

"He's got the Legilimency down," Ron said before Harry could answer. "His new wand works great. Even got through my Shield Charm."

Harry winced again. "I can't really test it on anyone close to Voldemort's skill, though. Dumbledore said that Tom's mastered Occlumency and Legilimency, but that my link to him would negate that. Somewhat at least."

So, they were counting on the Elder Wand to make up the difference. Hermione nodded. As with the meeting, it was what she had expected. It was better than expected, actually.

"I have an idea for the actual fighting too, but… I couldn't test it. Dumbledore said it was too dangerous." Harry sat down again and stared at the next shelf.

That wasn't a good sign, Hermione thought. She glanced at Ron, but her boyfriend was staring at Harry. So, their friend hadn't told him either. And knowing how many risks Harry took in that stupid game, and if the Headmaster had said it was too dangerous… she took a deep breath. She didn't like prying, or pushing - at least she had tried not to do either as much as she used to - but this was too important. "What are you planning, Harry?" she asked.

"Well… it's basically a fight between our two minds. Or wills." Harry slowly turned his head to look at them. "So… I remembered a similar situation." He grinned, though weakly, and told them.

Hermione blinked. It was dangerous. And unprecedented. She wasn't certain if it would even work. But if it did… She sighed and nodded. "It would be a good last resort." Better to risk it, than dying.

Harry's grin turned a bit more wry. He had to know that already.

*****​

London, Ministry of Magic, January 28th, 1997

Amelia Bones was livid. The nerve of those… those… impudent upstarts! She clenched her teeth together and did her best to keep her anger from turning into rage - or showing on her face. To grant such criminals a full pardon was bad enough, but carte blanche for the rest of the war? She felt as if she had betrayed everything the Ministry stood for. And Black! Acting as if he was a muggleborn upstart himself, instead of the head of one of the oldest families in Britain!

Dawlish was not as restrained. "Those cursed...." he caught himself before he used Death Eater vocabulary. "How dare they treat the Ministry like this! Dictating terms as if they were anything but a bunch of..."

"We had no choice. We need their help, and they know that," Thicknesse said, in his usual measured manner. "As much as it pains me to admit it, we cannot hope to resist the Dark Lord by ourselves." He frowned. "Though the consequences of this agreement could be dire."

Dawlish shook his head. "We don't even know what that apparent plan of Dumbledore's is. Only that it involves the Boy-Who-Lived." He sneered. "The same boy who had to be saved from the Dark Lord by Dumbledore in Hogsmeade."

Thicknesse spread his hands. "It's not as if we have alternatives at our disposal. They did seem confident, though. Confident enough to pressure us like they did. They must know that if they fail, such arrogance will come back to bite them."

Amelia nodded. It was vexing enough to have to accede to such demands, but if Black and the muggleborns failed to deliver…

"The muggleborns might simply use a bomb on the Dark Lord," Dawlish said. "Blow up the Ministry or Diagon Alley with him."

Amelia shook her head. "That is unlikely." She saw both wizards seemed to be sceptical, though Thicknesse was hiding it better, and elaborated. "They used one bomb in Knockturn Alley, but it was a rather weak one. They did not use more powerful bombs on Diagon Alley or the Ministry."

"They might simply not have wished to harm muggles," Thicknesse said, "or they did not want to risk breaking the Statute of Secrecy."

Amelia nodded. The Resistance had not cared about innocent bystanders when they attacked Malfoy Manor, but those had been wizards, not muggles, and the muggleborns hadn't risked the Statute. So far. "But even if the Dark Lord might be a tempting enough target for them to change their modus operandi, he is aware of bombs. Granger is not stupid, she'll know that he'll be ready for such an attack." That would, hopefully, curb such attempts.

Dawlish was still scowling.

Thicknesse sighed - whether at their situation, or at Dawlish, Amelia couldn't tell. "While the Dark Lord's defeat is of the utmost importance, it would be better, I think, if it came about at the hands of the Boy-Who-lived, and not through muggleborn means."

Amelia nodded. The wizard was correct. If the muggleborns defeated the Dark Lord, they'd be impossible to handle afterwards. Were that to occur, the Ministry simply wouldn't stand up to them. Potter, though, while not ideal by any means, should be easier to handle. Not much easier, sadly - he seemed quite attached to Granger, even though she had apparently dumped him for his best friend. Amelia almost snorted - who'd have thought that she'd consider the teenage rumours her niece was passing along in her letters when deciding the future policies of the Ministry!

Her mirth was short-lived, of course - the threat of the Dark Lord, and of the muggleborns' arrogance, made certain of that. And Black. "Marginally better, at most. Black is Potter's godfather, and he'll be as willing to use the boy's reputation as Dumbledore was." And given Black's apparent radical notions, that would be trouble. But there were other, more urgent concerns. "We'll focus on shoring up our defenses. We'll protect Diagon Alley and the Ministry. Let Dumbledore's Order and the muggleborns take the fight to the Dark Lord." It would serve them right to bear the brunt of the fighting, after they threatened to watch the Ministry fall without doing anything. And with some luck, a few of her problems might even get solved in the fighting.

Dawlish grinned - he knew what she was thinking.

Thicknesse nodded, but spoke up: "Our nominal allies might not take it well if we're not doing anything in the war."

The Head Auror scoffed. "They got what they wanted, so they'll have to fight now - or renege on the deal."

"We'll offer them something to placate them," Amelia said.

What she had in mind would both show the Order and the muggleborns that the Ministry was dedicated to the war against the Dark Lord, and shore up the morale of her forces - and it would keep Black busy as well.

Granger and her friends might have won a victory today, but Amelia wouldn't give up. She'd uphold the law against any criminal - even against the Dark Lord, or the muggleborns.

*****​

London, No. 12 Grimmauld Place, January 29th, 1997

Sirius Black rubbed the bridge of his nose while his two guests glared at each other. At least their wands had been lowered. Lowered, not stashed - ready to be raised at a moment's notice. He mentally cursed Dumbledore for not warning him about this. Or rather, for not making it crystal clear that when the Headmaster had talked about 'old grudges' he had meant something akin to a blood feud between Aberforth Dumbledore and Mad-Eye.

Sirius cleared his throat, and tried not to flinch when Moody's wand flicked up to point at him. "We're here to discuss how to handle the war against the Dark Lord, not to settle old grudges." If Remus were here, he'd be be chuckling at the irony of Sirius saying this, he thought. "We need to work together to win this war."

"With him and his criminals? Fletcher's bad enough, but his sort?" Moody scoffed, and his face contorted into a grimace. "They'll sell us out as soon as they get the chance."

"Says the Ministry's enforcer," Aberforth retorted, sneering worse than Snivellus ever had. "Did you jump to enforce the law against muggleborns as well?"

"They weren't robbing people blind. Unlike your friends."

"You have no idea why they did it!" Aberforth was standing, but he wasn't raising his wand.

"And I don't care," Moody said. "They weren't in a war either. And if they were skilled enough to break through wards, they were skilled enough to earn honest gold. No excuses."

"Shut up!" Sirius yelled. "You can kill each other once the Dark Lord and his followers are dead!" In a more normal voice, he continued: "But if you don't manage to drop this, we'll lose." He took a deep breath. "Albus's death has fragmented the Order. I'm certain there are a number of members he was the only one to know."

"I'm not part of his Order," Aberforth said through clenched teeth.

"Not any more, at least," Moody added.

"Well, you're a member now," Sirius said. "Of the Order, or of a new Order. Whatever." That seemed to surprise both older wizards. Before they could say anything, Sirius pressed on. "But we don't have time for old grudges. With Albus dead, the Dark Lord will not wait much longer before he'll strike. We need to be ready. And we need every wand we can get."

"We don't need thieves who will run at the first sign of danger and sell us out at the first opportunity," Moody spat.

"Enough!" Sirius yelled, drowning out Aberforth's angry reply. "You don't need to work with each other! You don't even need to see each other!" He wondered how Albus had managed to stay sane while dealing with this sort of stupidity for so long. "All you need to do is to wait with killing each other until the Dark Lord's dead!" Both men stared at him, then Mad-Eye chuckled. Aberforth was still scowling, but as long as he wasn't leaving or cursing anyone, Sirius would take what he could get. "Now… Moody, we need all the Order members you know who can and will fight ready."

The scarred wizard nodded, grinning. "I'll get them ready, even if I have to curse them until they shape up. Been doing that with the Ministry's recruits already."

Sirius turned to Aberforth, who had been scoffing. "Aberforth, your friends need to keep their eyes and ears open. The Dark Lord will try something soon, if he's not already doing it. We need to know what he's planning. Even a few minutes of advance warning will save lives." Like Harry's.

Moody mumbled something, probably another insult, but Dumbledore's brother nodded, if still reluctantly. "I'll get the word out."

Sirius smiled. "Good. It goes without saying that we also need your wand, once the Dark Lord makes his move."

Aberforth's scowl deepened. "I'll work with the Resistance." With a glance at Moody, he added: "They won't curse me in the back."

Sirius sighed. How had the Headmaster kept the Order from tearing itself apart? "Also, if you know any members of the Order in the Wizengamot, or close to it… I need to talk to them."

"Ah. Bones's throwing you a bone?" Moody laughed at his own remark.

Sirius shrugged. Since the old Auror was working in the Ministry, he'd already know about it, of course. "It's better than nothing, and it'll help the war."

And he'd enjoy seeing it, too. Even if he was not looking forward to shoring up a quorum in the Wizengamot.

*****​

Dover, Kent, Britain, January 29th, 1997

"Do you understand your task, Pettigrew?"

The Dark Lord Voldemort, wearing the guise of a random Albanian wizard whose hair he had collected years ago, stared at the pudgy wizard in front of him. They were seated in a muggle pub, the last place anyone would expect him to spend any time.

"Yes, Master!" Pettigrew nodded eagerly, smiling too widely. He was rubbing his gloved left hand, though.

Voldemort knew that the other wizard was a coward, despite his sorting, but he was skilled. No talentless wizard would have managed to become an animagus while still a teenager - or to conduct the ritual that gave Voldemort a new body. He would do. The Dark Lord pulled out a small bag from his pocket and handed it over.

Pettigrew fingered it, and Voldemort saw the man's eyes widen. "Three, Master?"

"Yes. Just in case." He had two hundred more bones of his father's skeleton, safely hidden in many places. He could easily spare three. A bag with three vials followed. Madam Longbottom hadn't any use for the blood, not any more, and she had definitely been an enemy of his. "Find a safe place, and if a day passes without my mark burning, conduct the ritual." With a smirk, he added. "Don't use a whole limb this time. A toe or two will do."

Pettigrew gaped at him for a moment before closing his mouth and glancing at his left hand. He was a talented wizard, but his mastery of the Dark Arts was lacking.

"Don't tell anyone about this. And don't let that werewolf find you," Voldemort added.

Pettigrew shuddered. "Yes, Master."

"Now go!"

Voldemort watched as the man got up and hurried out of the pub. Others of his followers would try to exploit this, or would start to doubt him, should they know about this. Not Pettigrew, though. That wizard valued his survival more than anything else, even ambition, and understood the value of precautions.

A trait that had served Voldemort well in the past, and would serve him well again.

*****​

London, Ministry of Magic, January 30th, 1997

"Honoured members of the Wizengamot! We have gathered here to pass judgement over two accused of that most serious of crimes, treason."

Brenda Brocktuckle forced herself not to pull on the chains securing her to the seat. She wouldn't show such weakness. She hadn't much left, but she still had her pride. She glanced at the Chief Warlock. Or the man in place of the Chief Warlock. It should have been Philius Runcorn, the most senior member of the Wizengamot. But it wasn't. Had the blood traitors done away with him too? He certainly wouldn't have been party to this farce, Brenda thought as she listened to the accusations leveled at her and Malcolm by Thicknesse.

It was a long list. They even brought up the Imperius she had used in the Ministry, citing that it hadn't been a lawful use. It wasn't as if it mattered. Brenda had brought the cursed paper aeroplanes into the Ministry and had fought and killed the blood traitors in the Corps. That would be enough to damn her.

Especially, she added, glancing over the half-empty Wizengamot, with only blood traitors and their proxies present. She wouldn't have thought that there were so many fools willing to defy the Dark Lord.

"What a farce!" Malcolm muttered, next to her. She glanced over at him, and he grinned at her. "They'll pay for this, once the Dark Lord takes over."

That wouldn't help either of them, Brenda thought.

"Brenda Brocktuckle, how do you plead?"

For a moment, she was tempted to plead guilty, just to get it over with. But she wouldn't give them the satisfaction. She was no criminal! Brenda raised her head and looked at Bones. Her former boss stared back at her without showing any emotion. "Not guilty!" Brenda announced loudly. "I fought blood traitors and mass murdering mudbloods to save Britain!"

That started yells and murmurs among the members of the Wizengamot present.

"No self-control," Malcolm said in a low voice. "How far have they fallen!"

"Take note that the accused Brocktuckle pleads 'not guilty'," Thicknesse told the court scribe. "Malcolm Parkinson, how do you plead?"

"Not guilty!" Malcolm scoffed. "My only crime is having failed in my task."

Which was, Brenda noted, very much true. If they had won, they'd certainly not be treated as criminals, but would be hailed as heroes. She chuckled at the thought while she watched an Unspeakable approach.

She knew the procedure. They'd check her for potions and spells, before administering the Veritaserum. "Let's get this over with," Brenda said and opened her mouth.

*****​

"Those in favour of conviction, raise your wands!"

Brenda Brocktuckle had known the outcome in advance, but she had had a sliver of irrational hope anyway that the Wizengamot would not dare to challenge the Dark Lord. Would falter at the last moment. Malcolm certainly had reminded them of the consequences of a guilty verdict when he had spoken in his defense.

But it seemed that Bones and Black had picked their tools well - the vast majority of the members present lit their wands, sealing Brenda's fate.

"Brenda Brocktuckle, the Wizengamot has judged you guilty of treason, conspiracy to treason, murder, conspiracy to murder, unlawful use of an unforgivable curse and partaking in a dark ritual."

While the replacement Chief Warlock read the sentence, Brenda closed her eyes for a moment, composing herself. The Ministry had no Dementors, so they couldn't give her the kiss. Maybe they'd imprison her…

"As punishment, you will be sent through the Veil. The sentence will be carried out immediately."

She clenched her teeth. She wouldn't give them the satisfaction of seeing her lose her composure. She'd die with her head held high. The Veil wasn't bad, she told herself while the Wizengamot rendered their judgement on Malcolm. It was supposed to be quick and painless. And she wouldn't lose her soul. She still flinched when her wand was snapped in front of her, but any witch would, in her place. Malcolm flinched as well when his turn came.

Then the Aurors guarding her stepped up, contempt in their faces. She sneered at the traitors. They'd get theirs when the Dark Lord came for the Ministry.

Maybe he was already on the way. If the wards came under attack, they'd need every Auror and wouldn't be able to spare the time to execute her...

She knew it was stupid, irrational, but she kept hoping, kept watching, listening for any sign that the Ministry was under attack. Right until she reached the Death Chamber, and saw the Veil standing there. And heard its whispers. Alien. Wrong.

She faltered in her steps, then, and shook her head. "No!" she muttered. Anything but that.

But her hands were bound, and she had no wand. The Aurors escorting her grabbed her arms, and pushed her forward. Towards that thing.

It was quick, but it wasn't painless. Not at all.

*****​

London, East End, January 30th, 1997

"They executed Brocktuckle and Parkinson," Hermione Granger announced to the rest of the Resistance gathered in the living room of their base. "Sirius just told me."

"Good riddance to bad rubbish," Seamus muttered. "Did anything important happen?"

Hermione suppressed the annoyance she felt upon hearing his comment. "The ones who imperiused you are dead," she said, looking at Mary-Jane, then glancing at Seamus.

The wizard at least had the grace to look embarrassed when Mary-Jane closed her eyes and took a few deep breaths. The witch recovered before Sally-Anne reached her, and looked at Hermione. "Thank you."

Hermione hoped that this information would help the girl. She had been under the Imperius for so long, mind-controlled, her very emotions manipulated… it was as bad or worse as being roofied, Hermione thought.

But she couldn't dwell on the matter. They had a war to fight. She cleared her throat and leaned forward, putting her hands on the dining table. "That said, Sirius also told me that the Order has mobilised, so to speak, and is ready to react to any sighting of the Dark Lord." She looked at the others. "And so are we."

"And the Ministry?" Tania asked. "What are they doing?"

"Guarding the Ministry, mostly," Hermione said, scoffing.

"They'd only get in our way anyway." John grinned in his seat.

"Or stab us in the back," Seamus added.

"That's unlikely," Hermione said, "but not impossible. Bones really didn't like our demands." Once the Dark Lord was gone, the witch would try to renegotiate their deal. Or renege.

"And so they'll let us bleed against the Death Eaters while they guard the Ministry?" Justin shook his head.

"It's not as if we have a choice. The Aurors and Hit-Wizards left certainly won't be very effective against Voldemort. Even if we could trust them completely, they'd not be much of a help." Hermione sighed.

"But we could blow them up together with the Dark Lord!" Seamus grinned widely. "Kill two birds with one stone!"

He wasn't just joking, Hermione knew. She was tempted to agree - she wasn't looking forward to dealing with the Ministry once the common enemy was gone - but she shook her head at the proposal. "It's very unlikely that we'd encounter such a situation."

"Because the Dark Lord would kill them all easily before we'd arrive!" Tania said, balancing her chair on the two back legs.

"Yes." Hermione smiled at the witch, though she was tempted to tell her to stop fidgeting with her chair.

"We have a bomb or two ready with Voldemort's name on it," Seamus said. "If he shows up, he's history. As long as we are informed in time," he added with a frown.

"We will." Bones would want them to engage quickly, Hermione thought. "But deploying the bomb will be very difficult. Voldemort will be prepared."

"If we make it big enough then whatever he's planning won't help," Seamus said.

"You'll also run the risk of killing yourself with it." Hermione looked at him. "The bigger it is, the bigger the height you'll need to drop it from - and the longer he has to react to it. And the collateral damage would be far too great."

"What can he do?" Seamus stood up, staring at her. "If wards can't stand up to it, what can Voldemort do? Unless you care more about some stupid purebloods than winning the war." He sneered. "You didn't have such issues when we bombed Malfoy Manor."

"Malfoy Manor was isolated and full of Death Eaters and sympathisers, not in the middle of London," Hermione retorted. And, a small voice in the back of her head added, their kids. "What can the Dark Lord do? Fly away before it hits. Conjure a bunker. Vanish it before it explodes. Use a decoy to make us kill innocents." She shrugged. "These are just the obvious counters."

"So, what can we do then? Lestrange was bad enough, and the Dark Lord is worse," Tania said. She wasn't balancing on her chair any more.

"We have a plan," Hermione started. "The key is Harry. He needs to get close enough to Voldemort to take him out. Which means we'll have to clear the way for him, and protect him."

"What? Are we supposed to die so he can play the hero?" Seamus shook his head as if he couldn't believe what he had heard.

"We're not supposed to die," Justin quoted the Sergeant. "We're supposed to make the enemy die."

"Easier said than done," Tania muttered. She would be remembering Mary. "But what can Harry do? And why hasn't he done it in Hogsmeade, when the Dark Lord was chasing him?"

Hermione hated to keep secrets from her friends, but they didn't need to know the exact details. "He wasn't ready then. There's a prophecy about him and the Dark Lord. Dumbledore has been training him."

"Dumbledore's dead!" John said.

"Yes, he is. But Harry's ready now." She was frowning, which wouldn't help her.

"Ready for what?" Seamus gesticulated with his arms. "You can't expect us to risk our lives without knowing what the plan is!"

"You know the plan. Telling you what Harry will be doing will not change anything except for putting the entire plan at risk." Hermione glared at him.

"So it's OK to tell your pureblood boyfriends everything about us, but we're not to be trusted?" Seamus straightened up, then looked at the rest of the Resistance.

She resisted the urge to correct him about Harry's blood status. That didn't matter. She glanced at the others too, though, trying to guess where they stood. Justin and Sally-Anne would support her. But the others? "Are you willing to risk our best shot to kill the Dark Lord for good, just to feed your ego?" She took a step around the table. "Do you think everyone should know everything, so the enemy just has to take one prisoner, and we're all lost?"

"You tell Weasley everything!" Seamus shot back. "And we're protected against spilling secrets!"

"I don't tell Ron everything." Hermione pressed her lips together. She couldn't get angry about this. "We're protected against betraying the Resistance. Other secrets are not safe."

"We know enough. I trust Hermione," Justin said.

"Me too!" Sally-Anne added.

"Keeping information classified is basic procedure," Louise chimed in. Next to the former Hit-Witch, Jeremy nodded.

Hermione started to relax. John wasn't a hothead. That left Seamus, and possibly Tania.

"I just want the Dark Lord and all the Death Eaters dead. If you say this is our best shot, then I'll trust you," Tania said.

Seamus flinched. Hermione could see him glance around, then meet her eyes with clenched teeth. "Alright. We'll play bodyguard for Harry," he pressed out, then sat down. Tania reached out to put her hand on his shoulder, but he shrugged it off and looked away.

Hermione took a deep breath and forced herself to relax. If she hadn't had the trust of her friends... She returned to her seat and pulled out maps. "So… we're expecting an attack on the Ministry, Diagon Alley, Hogsmeade or Hogwarts. Here's what we'll do in each case…"

*****​

An hour later, Hermione was lying on her bed and staring at the ceiling. What was Seamus thinking? He hadn't said anything questionable after their confrontation, but she was certain that he hadn't changed his views. At least Tania hadn't supported him. The two had grown close, after all. Hopefully, the witch would be a good influence on Seamus. Hermione didn't know what he'd do if he felt that he was completely alone. If he decided to follow in Allan's footsteps…

She closed her eyes. She hoped she was worried over nothing. So far, Seamus had just been talking about attacking purebloods - or rather, had tried to change the Resistance's definition of acceptable collateral damage. He hadn't actually done anything.

Nothing she knew about, Hermione corrected herself. It wasn't as if she had been keeping track of what he was doing when he went out. She sighed and shook her head. No, she couldn't assume the worst of Seamus. He hadn't let her down so far, and he had had her back in every battle.

And yet… Allan had said the same things.

*****​

Hogwarts, January 31st, 1997

Attending lessons while there was a war going on was becoming more and more tedious, Harry Potter thought. How could he care about Herbology, or History of Magic, when he was fated to face Voldemort? At least Charms and Transfiguration had some use in battle. Potions on the other hand...

But it was over for now, at least. Harry smiled while packing his potions kit into his cauldron. No more lessons until Monday. No more useless lessons, at least - there was a training session in the evening, as usual.

Ron had already finished, and was waiting for him at the door. "Finally done! Come on, mate! Let's get out of here before we start wearing green and silver!"

They made their way up to the Gryffindor dorms with their wands ready. Without Dumbledore, Hogwarts was not as safe as it had been. McGonagall was doing her best, but she wasn't the Headmaster. Harry shook his head. It was a good thing that McGonagall was a witch and would be the Headmistress of Hogwarts - Dumbledore would probably always be the Headmaster for Harry, and for many others.

He smiled at his whimsical thought.

"Today there's another broadcast, isn't there?" Ron said as they stepped through the Fat Lady's painting.

"If they stick to their schedule, yes," Harry said. And knowing Hermione, the Resistance would stick to their schedule.

"Oh, they will," Ron said. Probably thinking the same thing.

Neville was in their dorm room, peering at the Marauder's Map. "Hello, you two," he said, without looking up.

"Hello, Neville." Harry hesitated for an awkward moment. "How are you doing?"

"All's clear." The boy still was staring at the map with an expression of intense concentration on his face. "Do you have any news about the war?"

Neville sounded eager, Harry noticed, not scared or nervous like most of the students. He didn't know what to tell the other boy - Harry doubted that he wanted to hear some empty words about being ready.

"No, mate. The Ministry's still sorting things out, and the Resistance and the Order are picking up the slack." Ron apparently had no such compunction, although he was telling the truth.

Neville grunted something unintelligible. Then he looked up, staring at the two of them. "Do you think he'll attack Hogwarts?"

"I doubt it," Harry said. "The wards are too strong. He wouldn't be able to break through them quickly enough to avoid getting attacked while he's tied up and vulnerable. And I doubt that he has competent curse-breakers left."

"Have you heard anything about the Lestrange brothers?" Neville was splitting his attention between the map and Harry and Ron now, his eyes darting around.

"No, nothing. They haven't been seen as far as I know." Harry shook his head. "Like Pettigrew," he added. The traitor hadn't been seen by anyone since Voldemort's return.

Neville nodded. "If they do appear, tell me." He stared at them again.

"Of course, mate," Ron said, smiling a bit weakly.

"He's become even more fanatical about this than Moody," Ron whispered, sitting down on Harry's bed and kicking his cauldron under his own bed.

"Yeah," Harry said, stowing his own cauldron in his trunk. Moody's training didn't help, of course. Part of him was glad for another wand fighting Voldemort. But he couldn't help wondering if Neville was fighting to win, or trying to die fighting. Especially now, with Dumbledore dead.

*****​

"...and while Dumbledore has died, the fight goes on! The Muggleborn Resistance will never surrender! We've fought both the Ministry and the Death Eaters together, and we'll fight the Death Eaters and the Dark Lord by ourselves, if we have to.

"But we're not alone! The Order of the Phoenix is with us! The Ministry's fighting the Dark Lord too - just a day ago, they tried and executed several Death Eater spies. The French have sent help!

"And the Dark Lord's forces were almost wiped out in the Battle of the Ministry and in Hogsmeade! He hasn't shown his face since he was driven out of the village, either!

"Dumbledore is dead, but we're not beaten - far from it! We're ready to deal with the Dark Lord himself, should he dare to attack us, or anyone else in Britain! We will not rest until the last follower of his ideology has been defeated!"

Harry turned away from the wireless when Hermione's voice was replaced with some rock music and shifted in his armchair. He, Ron and Ginny were sitting in their usual corner in the Gryffindor common room. He glanced at the witch. It had been his, Ron's and Hermione's corner last year and seeing Ginny sitting in Hermione's usual seat was still somewhat disconcerting.

"That was pretty intense," Ron said. He had a wistful smile on his face.

Ginny nodded.

"Yes," Harry said, "but it doesn't change the fact that Dumbledore's death hit us hard."

"Well, it's a good sign that everyone's working together," Ginny went on. "I was afraid that with the Headmaster gone, everyone would turn on each other, again."

"According to Sirius, the Order almost did. Or some of them, at least. He didn't name names, but apparently, some of the Order members really hate each other," Harry said.

"Fred and George told me about that thief, who tried to swindle them out of stock, claiming Dumbledore sent him. Fletcher," Ron said, nodding. "They drove him off with a few product demonstrations." He grinned.

"Stupid. Why's Dumbledore been recruiting such people?" Ginny frowned and pulled her legs up, hugging her knees in her seat.

"Probably as spies." Ron shrugged. "Can't fight a war without doing some shady stuff."

"Did you do some 'shady stuff'?" She was looking from one of them to the other with her chin resting on her knees. Harry was surprised how small she looked like that. Tiny, even.

"No."

"No."

The witch didn't look convinced, but didn't pry either. For a moment, none of them said anything. Judging by his expression, Ron was probably thinking of Hermione again, Harry thought. He couldn't tell what Ginny was thinking about. Hopefully, she wasn't remembering Voldemort possessing her in second year.

"Why can't they see that we all have the same enemy?" Ginny huffed, and blew at a strand of her hair that had fallen on her face.

"They do. But everyone's already planning for the time after the war. And that won't be pretty." Ron leaned back in his own seat and folded his hands on his stomach.

"They should win the war first!" Ginny said, snorting. She was clenching her teeth and staring at the floor. "Why's everyone acting like idiots?"

She had a point, of course. But simply focusing on beating Voldemort was not that smart either. "The aftermath will be chaotic enough, it's better to prepare in advance." Harry stretched. He had another training session planned for this evening.

"That would be a good thing, if the Ministry wouldn't be preparing to double-cross the Resistance as soon as Voldemort's dead." Ron shook his head, glaring at the wall.

Ginny whipped her head round and stared at her brother with wide eyes. "Did you hear anything from Dad or Percy about that?"

"No. But that's no surprise. Bones knows that we're blood traitors. She wouldn't tell us anything. Especially not with people knowing about Hermione and I dating." Ron glared at the Daily Prophet on the table nearby.

"It was a nice article," his sister tried to console him. "Nothing like the Skeeter ones in third year."

"Fourth year you mean," Ron corrected her.

"It was my third."

"So? It was Harry's, mine and Hermione's fourth!"

Harry chuckled while the two redheads bickered. The Legilimency training could wait a bit longer.

*****​

London, Greenwich, February 1st, 1997

The Dark Lord Voldemort looked at the building, and suppressed the rage rising inside him. He wasn't seeing the modern muggle house in front of him, but the dark walls of Wool's Orphanage. Memories appeared in his mind, unbidden, unwelcome. Hunger, pain, shivering in the cold, living amongst muggle filth. Stupid children, mocking him for being different, until he taught them better. Dumbledore, visiting, and showing off his power.

He didn't like to remember his childhood. He had been weak. Weak and ignorant. Barely better than the muggles around him… No! He had always known that he was destined for greater things. That he'd one day rule over all of those who had looked down on him. And he had risen far, far above this.

He shook his head. This wasn't Wool's Orphanage, and he wasn't here to remember his childhood. It was an unpleasant task, but a necessary one, and one he could not entrust to any of his followers.

He put a smile on his face and entered the building. There was a desk at the entrance, a reception. As if this was a hotel. A young muggle was sitting behind it. "Hello, sir. How may I help you?"

He smiled at her, once again disguised as an average man, and pointed his wand at her. "I have an appointment with the director."

She blinked as the spell took hold. "Of course, sir! She's expecting you. If you'll follow me."

Voldemort's smile deepened when he spotted a few children peering at him from around a corner. Perfect.

*****​

Half an hour later, two dozen children, all between five and eight years old, had gathered in the orphanage's courtyard. Most were smiling, and staring at the bus parked there. One, though, was frowning. "I didn't hear about a trip. Those are usually announced in advance. Where are we going, anyway?"

Voldemort sighed. He knew the type. And hated them. He bent down and smiled widely at the annoying muggle boy, showing his teeth.

"Somewhere magical!"

*****​
 
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Chapter 40: Battle of Diagon Alley
Chapter 40: Battle of Diagon Alley

'Many of my colleagues have described the meeting on January 28th 1997 in the Ministry as an event involving the leaders of all the factions opposing the Dark Lord - effectively, a meeting of Wizarding Britain's leadership. In my opinion, that is not quite correct. While it is true that the Minister for Magic and the leaders of both the Order of the Phoenix and the Muggleborn Resistance were present, it has to be noted that none of them had the degree of control over the sides they nominally represented which many attribute to them.
Amelia Bones was the Minister for Magic, but she was dependent on the support of the Wizengamot for crucial issues, and was far from having the same degree of influence on its members that Dumbledore had commanded. Likewise, she had the personal loyalty of most of the surviving members of the DMLE, but other Ministry employees were not quite as reliable.
Sirius Black was the leader of a cell of the Order of the Phoenix and didn't know all of the other cells and agents - some information Dumbledore had taken with him to his grave, apparently trusting his more discreet friends to contact his successors on their own. Black also had contacts in the Wizengamot, but these were not very extensive.
Harry Potter was the famous Boy-Who-Lived, known by everyone in the country, but he was still a student, and for all his famous deeds, not many adults would follow him.
Hermione Granger was the undisputed leader of the Muggleborn Resistance, and, at that point, as well-known as Harry Potter in Britain, but that did not translate into being a leader of all muggleborns - or even most of them.
Knowing this, the events that followed should be far less surprising than they have been made out to be by some.
- Excerpt from 'The Second Blood War' by Hyacinth Selwyn


*****​

London, Diagon Alley, February 1st, 1997

"A fine day for a little stroll, don't you agree, Ackerly? You're quite familiar with such outings, aren't you?" The Dark Lord Voldemort smiled when he saw Nott cringe - the man hadn't forgotten what Voldemort had done to him as punishment for organising the riot last summer that had disrupted his plans. Nott hadn't been able to walk without the help of magic for months.

"Yes, milord." Nott was probably glancing around behind his mask - the man's posture betrayed how nervous he was.

Rabastan chuckled at the sight, twirling his wand. "Not losing your nerve already, I hope?" He nodded at the two dead bodies that lay sprawled on the floor, victims of Killing Curses. "We haven't spilled any mudblood yet."

The man's wit had suffered during his time in Azkaban, though not many had the courage to tell him that to his face, but he was otherwise as capable as he had been. He had secured the clothes shop the Dark Lord was using to stage his forces without any problems.

Rabastan had been pleased when he had been given the honour of being the vanguard for this mission. Unlike Nott, who had been nervous even when he was walking at the Dark Lord's side. He'd do his duty, though, if he didn't want to be punished even worse than before.

Voldemort looked around to make certain that they were hidden from the street by the shelves inside the shop and flicked his wand.

The fireplace flared up, and Rodolphus stepped out.

"Milord." The man nodded at Voldemort and took up a position at the door. He hadn't talked much since Voldemort had broken him out of Azkaban and only seemed to display his old savage temper in battle.

Today would accommodate that, Voldemort thought, as the fireplace flared up again, and a young boy fell out of it, rolling over the floor. Rabastan didn't bother waiting until the muggle could stand up. Two spells had the child stuck to the wall while the rest of the urchins arrived through the Floo, none of them displaying even the least hint of grace. It was very fortunate that Silencing Charms prevented their crying from being annoying.

By the time Dolohov stepped through the Floo, two dozen of the little animals were covering the walls and floors of the shop, some of them still futilely trying to free themselves as if their weak limbs could overcome magic.

A dozen of the recruits Dolohov and Yaxley had brought with them from the continent followed, a number of them shifting around, obviously unfamiliar with the robes they were wearing. Then came Yaxley himself, carrying four rolled-up carpets.

Voldemort smiled. All was ready.

*****​

London, Diagon Alley, February 1st, 1997

"Not much going on," Ron Weasley said, looking around the twins' shop.

"I know." Fred, sitting behind the counter, sighed, spreading his hands. "People need to laugh more, especially right now, but they're too scared. We have products that can make anyone laugh!"

Family loyalty, and the desire to avoid serving as a test subject for his brothers' next product, kept Ron from pointing out that many of the twins' products were not that funny for the victim. "With Dumbledore dead, people are expecting the Dark Lord to attack any day now. The Alley looks almost deserted," he added, looking out through one of the store's windows.

"It hasn't changed that much," Fred said, standing up and joining him at the forefront of the shop's main room. "People have been avoiding walking in the Alley for a while - noticeably since summer, and even more so since some muggleborns dropped fire bombs on people." He chuckled. "We've had customers who wanted to use the Floo to enter, and to move to the next shop."

"That'd be a terrible idea," Ron said, shaking his head. "All your protections could be bypassed like that. Did you check who made such a request? It could have been an agent of the Dark Lord."

Fred laughed, briefly. "Is that Hermione's influence? You didn't use to be so…"

"... suspicious?" Ron shrugged. "It's Moody's training, actually. He encourages paranoia."

Fred winced. "I've met him."

Ron snorted. "You haven't really met him until he's been training you. If Pomfrey knew how often Harry and I were hurt in his lessons, she'd curse him so bad, he'd need another peg leg." He noticed Fred was staring at him in a weird way. "What?"

"You've changed."

Ron waited, but Fred didn't go on. "Well, we're in a war. Everyone changes." He didn't have to say that he had killed; his brother was well aware of that fact, as was his entire family.

Once the silence had grown uncomfortable, Fred spoke up again. "So, what brings you to us when you should be at Hogwarts?"

Ron laughed. "Dad said that he doesn't think we'll get used to Hogwarts' rules again, even once the war ends." Strangely, his brother didn't seem to think that that was funny. Ron cleared his throat. "Anyway, I'm here because I need some of your inventions. We want to improve security at Hogwarts." Some of the twins' products, like the Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder, would give even a First Year a chance to escape a Death Eater. And Ron knew his brothers had created things that were not quite as harmless. Of course, he was planning to see Hermione before returning to the school, too.

"For free, I suppose?"

Fred was smiling, though Ron didn't think he was entirely joking - no customers was a bad thing for any shop. So he shook his head. "Harry'll cover it." Or Sirius.

"Where is our illustrious Boy-Who-Lived, anyway?"

Ron sighed. "He's showing the flag at Hogwarts."

"Really?" Fred looked doubtful.

"Well, he has a harder time sneaking away, with the rumour that he'll defeat the Dark Lord going around." Ron shrugged. "And Sirius likes him safe at Hogwarts."

Fred laughed. "I bet he hates that."

"He does, but what can you do?" Ron shrugged. Harry was crucial for the plan to defeat Voldemort.

Something moved on the street outside, and Ron turned around. That was… "A flying carpet?" He stared. "Aren't they banned?"

"There's another one, behind it," Fred said, "And… there are children on it."

Children who, Ron noticed, were looking far too frightened for this to be harmless. And they were wearing muggle clothes too.

He was already sprinting to the fireplace when Fred yelled: "Death Eaters in the Alley!"

Ron grabbed some Floo Powder and threw it inside. "Grimmauld Place!" he yelled, but the flames didn't turn green. "Floo travel's blocked!" he shouted to Fred. The door to the backroom was thrown open, and Ron almost hexed George before he recognised him.

"Apparition's blocked too… and the wards are under attack!"

"They'll hold them back long enough… Merlin's balls! That's the Dark Lord out there!"

Ron felt a cold shiver run down his spine. Voldemort, here in the Alley - there were not many targets for him, and the twins' shop was the most prominent one.

"Alright, don't panic!" George yelled, sounding quite panicked himself. "We've prepared for this."

While his brothers ran around, pulling all sorts of things from shelves, Ron pulled out Hermione's mirror. They needed to get the word out. Harry had to know.

*****​

London, East End, February 1st, 1997

"Hermione! The Dark Lord's attacking Diagon Alley! Call Sirius and inform Harry!"

Hermione Granger gasped, her smile at seeing Ron in the mirror dying on her lips when she heard his words. Her first thought was that the attack they had been waiting for had finally come. Her second was that this could be a trap. But they had to react anyway. A flick of her wand opened her door, and assisted by an Amplifying Charm, she alerted the rest of the Resistance. "Voldemort's attacking Diagon Alley! Get ready to move out at once!"

She dropped the mirror on the bed and pulled out Sirius's mirror. "Sirius!" she yelled while she hastily changed into fatigues. Fortunately, Harry's godfather didn't take long to answer.

"Hermione?"

"Voldemort's attacking the twins' shop!" Hermione yelled. "Ron's there and talking through his mirror."

"... about a dozen of them, and the Dark Lord. The wards are holding, but they won't last forever," Hermione heard Ron go on. "Blimey! He's got hostages, kids on flying carpets! Over a dozen!"

Hermione froze for a moment. Hostages? Children? Where had the Dark Lord found so many… Muggles! "Are they wearing muggle clothes?" she asked, pulling on her boots and tying the laces with a quick charm. They had to be muggles - just about all of the wizard children were either at Hogwarts, or hiding with their families.

"Let me check… Yes. Looks like they're muggles. Blimey! He's torn up the street across from us!"

"Don't linger!" Hermione yelled, grabbing her rifle and the mirrors. "Sirius! We're apparating to Grimmauld Place at once!"

She rushed out of her room. Justin met her outside, just slipping into his rifle's sling. Behind him, Sally-Anne left his room, struggling with her harness. "Where are we going?" he asked.

"Grimmauld Place. We're linking up with the Order and the French."

*****​

Hogwarts, February 1st, 1997

"Harry! Death Eaters are attacking Diagon Alley. Hermione called me." Harry Potter stared at Sirius's image in the communication mirror. And to think he had been glad for the distraction just a moment ago, when he had felt the communication mirror vibrate in his pocket and had slipped out of the common room to activate it.

"We're gathering at Grimmauld Place!" Sirius said. "Hurry!"

Harry was already running. The next Floo connection was in McGonagall's office, but… he sprinted through the common room.

"Harry! What's happening?"

He ignored Neville's yell. The infirmary's Floo connection was not as close as McGonagall's, but if she wasn't in her office he wouldn't be able to enter.

"Harry!"

Neville was running after him, but Harry had no time to explain, much less argue with the boy why he wasn't ready to come with him. He pulled out his shrunken broom without stopping. A few seconds later, he was flying through the hallways - close to the ceiling, so he'd not ram anyone in his path.

An Auror was standing guard outside the infirmary. Harry thought he had been a Hufflepuff two years above him. Maybe one of Cedric's friends. He couldn't remember his name, though.

"Stop!" The wizard was was belatedly drawing his wand.

If this had been an attack, Harry could have cursed the man twice over. Moody would have fun training that one, Harry thought, jumping off the broom right in front of the man. "Medical emergency!" he yelled.

The Auror blinked, gaping at him while he slipped through the door. Moody wouldn't have fun, Harry corrected himself. He'd be spitting mad.

He reached the fireplace and grabbed some Floo Powder. "Sirius! I'm coming through!" he said to the mirror. "Grimmauld Place!"

A moment later, he stumbled out of the fireplace into the entrance hall of Grimmauld Place. Sirius was in the center of the room, next to Delacour, surrounded by Order members and French wizards and witches. Moody was there, too. And Aberforth Dumbledore. As far as he could tell, pretty much all of the Order members left - at least those able to fight - were present. But where was…? Harry looked around. He couldn't spot… there! Hermione and the rest of the Resistance entered through the door. They must have apparated, he thought. He couldn't spot Ron, though. Hadn't he planned to meet Hermione? Then he hissed - Ron had said he'd visit the twins first!

"Harry!"

That was Sirius calling him. Harry went to his godfather while the wizard addressed the room. "Alright. The Dark Lord's attacking Diagon Alley - focused on Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. He has about a dozen Death Eaters with him, and twice that number of hostages - children stuck to flying carpets."

Harry wasn't the only one who gasped upon hearing that.

"Aurors are engaging them already, and the shop's wards are holding - the Dark Lord hasn't risked taking them down himself so far - but neither the Aurors nor the wards will last that long. We'll take the Floo to the Leaky Cauldron, and then hit them from the air and from the ground, from all directions. With the hostages, we can't just blow them up, so we'll have to be careful. Unless you're ordered to, don't engage the Dark Lord - leave that to those who have been preparing for this. Stick with your group, and stay alive!"

Harry swallowed, trying not to show how nervous he was. This was it. He'd face Voldemort. All he had to do was get close enough to use Legilimency.

The French were already at the fireplace, taking the vanguard, as usual, followed by the Order members. The Resistance would apparently be the last to leave. While a short line was forming, Harry walked over to Hermione. She was glancing at a mirror. At Ron. He was alive and well!

"Hurry up!" he heard his friend yell. "The building's shaking already."

"We're coming," Hermione said, staring at the mirror with a grim expression.

Harry wanted to hug her, wanted to talk to Ron, but Sirius started to usher the Resistance through the fireplace before he could do either. All he managed was to briefly squeeze Hermione's hand.

Then they stepped through the fireplace.

*****​

London, Diagon Alley, February 1st, 1997

Ron Weasley stopped casting, horrified, when a Blasting Curse struck a flying carpet, shredding it and the six children stuck to it. Who had… there! The curse had been cast by an Auror advancing on the Death Eater position.

Ron wasn't the only one to spot him - before he could say anything, the man was banished into a wall next to the shop with so much force, he left a bloodstain on the bricks when he slid down to the ground. A second later, the man's chest exploded, blood and gore splattering the cobblestones.

Fred, crouching at the door, cast a curse at the Death Eater who had killed the man, but missed as the dark wizard stepped behind an overturned cart. Ron's own Reductor Curse hit the cart, but didn't do much damage - it had been turned into solid stone, he noticed. He was tempted to use a Blasting Curse, turn the thing into deadly shrapnel, but… he glanced at another floating carpet nearby. He couldn't.

George arrived, with two floating stacks of rockets trailing behind him. "Let's see how they like this!" he yelled, lining them up with a flick of his wand.

"No! You'll hurt the hostages!" Ron yelled. The children were stuck to the carpets and couldn't flee - and couldn't be summoned to safety either.

"Don't worry," his brother bared his teeth, lighting the fuses. "It's not going to hurt anyone… technically."

What good would they do then? Ron thought, then ducked as the rockets shot out of the shop, towards the stone bunker shielding the Death Eaters attacking the wards. A second later, he saw the rockets blow up into thick, fluorescent smoke.

"Poison?" he asked, glancing at George. That would certainly harm the hostages.

"Not the deadly kind!" George grinned. "I loaded them with our puking pastilles!"

All of them knew that the odds of catching a Death Eater without a Bubble-Head Charm up were slim, but the enemy wouldn't know what the rockets did, so it should at least distract them. It was quite ironic, Ron thought - the twins had spent a long time weaponising their products, turning pranks into lethal devices in preparation for such an attack, and now they were forced to rely on their harmless products, or they'd kill the muggle hostages. Of course, used correctly, even pranks could be deadly, he added to himself, with a glance at the corpse of a Death Eater who had been caught out of cover with a Freezing Frisbee. The ten seconds he had been held immobile had been more than enough to kill the dark wizard with Piercing Curses.

But that was just one of the attackers, and there were too many left. And the Dark Lord. If not for a handful of Aurors attacking, the wards would probably have been shredded already. Instead, the Aurors had been shredded - Ron could see three more red-robed corpses on the street.

He wasn't feeling too sorry for them, though - not after that Blasting Curse. Ron shivered, glancing at the grisly remains.

Then he ducked, involuntarily, when another Blasting Curse hit the street right in front of the shop, at the wardline, and the building shook again.

"We should retreat," George said. "The wards won't hold much longer."

They had reinforced the walls and door, but that would not offer much protection. Not against a dozen Death Eaters, much less against Voldemort. Ron shook his head anyway. "No. We need to keep them here, attacking us. Help is on the way."

"You've been telling us that for a long time now!" Fred said, casting a few more curses.

"Just a few minutes," Ron corrected him while his own curse drove a Death Eater back into cover.

"We might not have that much longer!" George said, summoning a bundle of Screaming Screwdrivers from a shelf in the back.

"They're coming!" Ron said. The bracelet on his wrist, one of Dumbledore's gifts, told him so. He could feel Hermione's presence, and Harry's, much closer than a minute ago. They were not yet in the Alley, though. He reached into his enchanted pocket and pulled out a small flask, another trinket left to him by the Headmaster. It wasn't quite harmless, but if he used it correctly, then it shouldn't harm the hostages. Or himself. And it would buy them time. But if he made a mistake… he took a deep breath. He should have used it right away, when no one but the Death Eaters had been in the Alley.

"Brace yourself!" he said. Then he broke the seal.

*****​

The Dark Lord Voldemort was growing impatient. Even without his help, his Death Eaters should have taken down the wards of that blood traitor shop by now. This was taking too long! At least, though, he had only lost one of his followers to the defenders' curses - given the competency the new recruits had displayed, that was already a success, even with those boys hampered by the hostages.

They'd learn, though, or they'd die.

A speck of red caught his attention - another Auror? He waved his wand, and the street corner the figure had dashed behind vanished. The Auror stared at him, gaping, instead of moving, and Voldemort's Killing Curse struck him in the chest.

That was the sixth dead Auror - they were displaying an appalling lack of skill. He was wondering if the one who had killed half a dozen of the muggle children had done so to strip him of the protection the hostages granted, or had simply mistaken them for Death Eaters. Once he was ruling Britain, standards for Aurors would be raised considerably.

He glanced at the stone bunker protecting his Curse-Breakers - or rather, those of his followers claiming to be Curse-Breakers. The three wizards had clearly overstated their experience. He told himself that it didn't matter - the wards would not last forever, and the shop was, ultimately, not that important, as long as it served to attract his enemies so they could be slaughtered. And with two buildings burning, and the blood traitors trapped, his enemies had to react.

He checked the sky, still obscured by thick clouds of smoke, and smiled. That would hinder his enemies, too. More than they believed - they wouldn't be able to see through it either, unlike himself.

A loud roar made him whirl around in time to see a huge blue figure shoot out from the joke shop. A Marid, here? He definitely had underestimated those blood traitors. To use a bound genie showed both their skill and nerve. Genies served only if forced to, and would take any opportunity to betray their master.

They were fierce fighters, though, and hard to hurt with magic. A swish with his wand reinforced the defences of his followers, just in time to absorb a crushing wave of water slamming into them. The mass of water rebounded, then formed deceptively slim tendrils which struck at the stone walls with enough force to send splinters flying. And they were making their way around the obstacles, probing for weaknesses. A shriek told him that one had found a gap, and struck a Death Eater. He sneered - as weak as his new recruits were, he needed them.

"Avada Kedavra! Avada Kedavra!"

Water conjured and controlled by the genie intercepted his curses, exploding into clouds of steam and obscuring the Marid from Voldemort's view - and himself from the genie's. Long enough to send another volley of curses at it.

Those two were blocked by water tendrils, but the genie was now on the defensive. Voldemort glanced at Rabastan, but his follower had anticipated his plan, and was already flanking the creature with his brother.

The genie managed to dodge and block their curses as well - a truly formidable example of its kind - but in doing so, it spent more of the water it controlled. And to conjure more, it would have to focus - and greatly reduce its ability to block more curses. It had to know this as well, since it suddenly struck out with all its tendrils at the Lestranges, obviously trying to overwhelm them. Rabastan was struck, but his Shield Charm held, even while he was thrown back, while Rodolphus managed to roll away, but had to take cover.

But in doing so, the genie had offered an opening to Voldemort - and he didn't lose any time exploiting it. He sent a volley of curses at it, striking the remaining water tendrils, disrupting them long enough for another curse to hit the genie. It started to shriek at once, writhing in pain, arms clawing at its back, where a dark stain was spreading.

Voldemort was almost disappointed that the Lestrange brothers killed the genie before he could see his curse run its course, but he couldn't fault them for being efficient. They were his most effective followers.

Despite the victory over the creature, he was annoyed. After seeing such magic used against him, it was clear that he could not afford to leave the shop and move on towards the Leaky Cauldron. He had to keep the shop bottled up. On the other hand... He turned his attention to the Alley again. The Ministry forces should arrive any moment, provided they had deployed as quickly as possible. If he could decimate their best, those who'd never surrender anyway, and rout the remaining forces, then the Ministry would be too weakened to further resist him.

*****​

The Leaky Cauldron was full of panicking wizards and witches, Hermione Granger noticed when she walked out of the fireplace. Two Aurors were herding them through the exit to muggle London. They could have simply apparated, she thought - magical travel wasn't blocked in this part of the Alley. Yet. But then, they'd probably splinch themselves in their state.

It wasn't her problem, anyway. The French were already out of the pub - she had tried to tell them not to be quite as aggressive, but even after the horrific casualties they had taken in the Ministry, the Delacours had not been willing 'to abandon two centuries of tradition'.

The Order members were moving as well - with some exceptions. She saw Aberforth and Moody waiting to the side, together with Sirius and Harry.

Hermione turned to the Resistance. "We'll use the brooms to fly around them and hit them from the other side. Louise, Jeremy - you're front. Tania, John, fire support. Seamus, you're with me behind them. Justin and Sally-Anne, you're bringing up the rear. Mary-Anne, you're on evac duty - summon and levitate the wounded." The witch would be most useful in that function - she lacked the training to fight effectively.

This wouldn't be like the Ministry, she told herself. They had trained for such missions. And they knew the area. But a small voice in the back of her head kept reminding her that they were once again rushing into a battle without proper planning.

"We're at the Leaky Cauldron," she said to the mirror. "We're taking off now! In a lower voice, barely more than a whisper, she added: "Love you."

She saw Ron smile for a moment, but she stashed the mirror before she could hear his answer.

Then she stepped into the yard behind the pub, and pulled out her broom from her pocket. A tap with her wand unshrank it, and she straddled it. "Let's go!"

Louise and Jeremy were already in the air, taking the lead. Hermione saw smoke rising from a burning building - not the twins' shop, but close. A lot of smoke, actually - she couldn't see the ground in the area. They wouldn't be able to take advantage of their rifles' range, she thought, unless they managed to clear the smoke.

But that would take too long with the spells she knew. The two former Hit-Wizards were already half-way to the landing zone. Too eager, she thought, especially Jeremy, who should still be resting. But they needed everyone.

She swerved to the side, giving the area where she could see spells flashing through the smoke a wider berth. They weren't the only ones in the air, she noticed. An Auror was ahead of them, sending a spell at the ground. She hoped he could see his target, and wasn't just casting blindly.

The man banked to the left, avoiding a green curse that shot up from the ground, and disappeared into the smoke. Then he reappeared - flailing on his broom, which was descending rapidly.

"The smoke's enchanted!" Hermione yelled, watching the man crash into a roof. "Don't touch it!"

Ahead of her, Louise and Jeremy were pulling away sharply, putting more distance between them and the smoke. It could be poison, she thought. Or maybe a cursed mist or fog - she had read about such spells, but usually they were used in traps.

In any case, they had no time to examine it. She pulled her mirror out again - she had to warn Sirius and Harry.

*****​

"...the smoke is a trap, don't touch it!"

Harry Potter flinched, hearing Hermione's voice from Sirius's mirror. He hadn't been planning to simply rush in on his Firebolt, straight at the Dark Lord, but he had kept it in mind as a last resort. And he had thought about using the smoke as cover…

"Don't touch the smoke!" Sirius's voice rang out over the Alley, thanks to an Amplifying Charm. Of course, Harry thought, Vivienne and her cousin would be flying!

They were running towards the twins' shop, right behind Moody and Aberforth. Ahead of them, Harry saw flashes of spells coming from the roofs - the French were already engaging the Death Eaters. And the Dark Lord.

In front of them, Moody stopped at the last corner before the twins' shop. "They've dug in!" he said, without looking around the corner - his enchanted eye could see through it, Harry knew - "and they're covering the approaches!"

Harry saw a red-robed corpse on the ground, close to the corner, and nodded. They couldn't get close enough. Not without cover - or a distraction. Or… he looked up, to the roof. They would provide some cover, and they could…

A gargling scream made him look at the next building, and he saw one of the Delacours stumble and slip on the shingles, sliding down the slope, then falling off. A Cushioning Charm cast by Sirius stopped him from crashing on the cobblestones, but the man kept flailing and thrashing around, then suddenly grew still.

The smoke was touching the roof above them, Harry realised. Before he could react, though, Aberforth raised his wand and a gust of wind shot up, pushing the billowing cloud back up.

"Can you get rid of it?" Moody asked.

"Would take too long," the old wizard answered.

"Too dangerous to go over the roofs, then," Moody said. For the first time since they had reached the corner, he turned his head to look at them. At Harry. "They're covering the side-alleys too. The French have already lost half their number, and with the smoke, the muggleborns can't shoot them from afar. This'll be messy."

"We can go through the buildings," Sirius said.

"Three of them are burning," Moody said, "and two more have collapsed. But it's the best option."

"He'll be expecting that," Aberforth said.

"We'll go first," Moody said, staring at the other wizard.

After a moment, Aberforth nodded.

*****​

A frontal assault was the worst way to attack an enemy position, Hermione Granger knew that. But between the deadly smoke and the burning buildings, the Resistance didn't have any other option. And they couldn't wait - the Order and, of course, the French were already fighting. And dying.

"Watch your fire - they are using children as human shields!" she said into her radio, sprinting after Louise and Jeremy, with Seamus close on her heels. She flicked her wand, raising walls and boulders in the street to provide them with cover.

Behind her, Tania started firing her machine gun from the first floor of a shop. Justin had entered the building across from her, but hadn't reached a firing spot yet. John was crouching behind a low wall, providing covering fire. She couldn't see Sally-Anne or Mary-Jane - they were preparing a safe spot to treat the wounded.

Rolling behind some conjured cover, a bit too close to a burning building for her comfort, she glanced up. If the smoke started to sink down, they'd have to react at once. She sent a gust of wind at it, just in case. "Keep casting at the smoke, to prevent it from setting down on us!" she said into the radio. One of the boulders she had conjured exploded, and she pressed herself into the ground when splinters rained down on her. Seamus grunted, next to her.

"Are you hurt?" she yelled.

"No!"

She stood up and flicked her wand, raising more walls ahead of them. "Go!"

Seamus hadn't waited for her signal and was already running. She followed him, raising another wall on the side - mostly as a distraction and to conceal their movements. It wouldn't stand up to the Dark Lord's spells for long.

And it didn't. It started to explode behind her, the last parts blowing up while she slid behind the rubble from a collapsed house. A few yards away she saw the body of an Auror, chest torn open.

Louise and Jeremy were working their way even closer to the Death Eaters, through the rubble strewn around. Even from her spot, she could see three floating carpets full of terrified children. Some of them were bleeding, she realised.

She could see the positions of the Death Eaters as well - it looked like they were behind solid cover too. And smoke from burning houses obscured them - she couldn't tell where that smoke ended and the deadly one started, though the Dark Lord wouldn't use such a dangerous spell too close to his men, or to the hostages.

Another reason to get closer, she thought. Seamus stood up, firing a short burst. She leaned around the edge of their cover, trying to summon the closest flying carpet. It didn't move towards her, though. Her Human-presence-revealing Charm showed her where people were hiding - but the presence of so many children made spotting the Death Eaters harder than usual. But there was a group of two people moving towards them. Death Eaters! She tapped her headset. "Two moving through the ruined house on the other side. Marking them for you."

"Alright," she heard Tania acknowledge while she switched to tracer bullets in her rifle. The markers were moving faster than she expected - disillusioned then. She waited until the first broke cover, then fired two bursts at it.

Tania and Justin immediately fired at the same location, a long burst from the machine gun tearing up the area. The marker dropped, and Hermione shifted her aim, firing two more bursts. Next to her, Seamus was firing as well, and under the combined weight of fire, the Death Eater's Shield Charm shattered. The Disillusionment Charm followed when more bullets found their mark, revealing a wizard missing half his head.

The other marker was moving back, towards the Death Eaters' position. He was running. "Marking the other," Hermione announced on their channel, "he's running!" She started to fire single shots, the tracer bullets following the running Death Eater.

Tania was firing as well, hosing down the area with long bursts, but the marker kept running - until right in front of him, a wall rose, courtesy of Louise. It didn't last long, but long enough for Seamus and Tania to drop that Death Eater as well.

That meant the flank of the enemy was open now. With the Delacours keeping them busy, the Resistance could hit them hard. There was just one problem. She keyed her radio again.

"Louise, Jeremy - once you can see the hostages, start conjuring walls around them!"

Next to her, Seamus chuckled. "Then we can blow them up!"

She didn't answer him. Instead she stood up and laid down some covering fire. Or tried to - a Cutting Curse almost took her head off before she could duck down again. "Too close," she muttered.

But Louise and Jeremy were in a flanking position now. And Seamus was getting his bombs out.

"No bombs! Use grenades!" she told him.

Seamus shook his head. "We have to take that risk."

"Risking children?"

She stared at him. Was he really willing to go that far? A second passed. Another. Then he cursed, and started to collect the bombs.

Hermione let out the breath she had been holding and stood up again to cast once more at the enemy.

"I barely see them long enough to shoot!" Justin's voice sounded through the radio.

Hermione had expected that. She tried to clear the smoke with a gust of wind, but it barely moved the thick clouds. At least Louise and Jeremy were making headway with the walls around the children. Just a few more, and…

The rubble the two former Hit-wizards were moving through suddenly exploded, and both disappeared in a cloud of dust. Seamus cursed.

Hermione pointed her wand at the cloud. "Accio Louise's uniform!"

"Accio Jeremy's uniform!" Seamus was slower to react.

Two bodies flew towards them. "Catch them!" Hermione yelled, already casting to raise another wall, so they'd not share the fate of their friends.

Not a second too soon - another explosion made the ground shake, tearing through her obstacles as if they were made of cardboard. That had never happened before - it had to be the Dark Lord. "Voldemort's engaging us!" she shouted, hoping Sirius or Harry were paying attention to the mirror.

"Jeremy's dead!" Seamus yelled. "Louise's badly wounded!"

"Sally-Anne, Louise needs help!" Hermione said, tapping her radio again. For a moment, she debated staying. If they managed to keep the Dark Lord busy, it would allow Harry and the others to get close. But the smoke was covering the entire area now, obscuring the street - not even tracer bullets would allow her to direct the fire from Tania and Justin - and more obstacles were growing from the ground. And she had to keep casting to prevent the smoke from reaching her - it was probably harmless, but they couldn't risk being wrong. If Voldemort reached their position in the middle of this…

No, she thought - they'd die too quickly. It was better to make him chase them. "Fall back!" she shouted, levitating Louise and starting to run.

Seamus dropped a smoke grenade behind them, then sprinted after her. Behind them, their old position vanished in a green cloud - acid, she thought. Or poison. Or both. They were almost out of the ruins when she saw the body of the Auror she had noticed before standing up - despite his chest sporting a hole she could see through.

And it was charging her! She couldn't use her wand without dropping Louise, not could she use her rifle. She fumbled for her pistol, but Seamus was quicker, firing several bursts from his rifle at the walking corpse.

The body shook under the impact of the bullets, but didn't stop advancing.

"Use your wand!" Hermione yelled, backpedaling.

A Reductor Curse blew the thing's head off, but it took two more to make it stop moving.

And Hermione had seen more corpses around.

"Zombies!" she heard Tania yell through the radio.

*****​

The Dark Lord Voldemort snarled, lowering his wand. The cowardly mudbloods had killed Rabastan and Yaxley, then ran from him! But he had paid them back. They had lost more people, and dealing with a few dozen animated corpses would shatter his enemies' cohesion as they defended themselves against the walking dead. It wasn't actually necromancy, but a mere charm, the results far from a true undead like an Inferius, but the mudbloods and fools opposing him wouldn't know that.

Not until it was too late. He raised his wand, blowing up a roof nearby and sending another fool to their death. The mudbloods were running, their nerve lost when their muggle weapons had been rendered ineffective and their plan to save the hostages had been foiled. All they had managed to achieve was drawing him away from finishing the blood traitors. A meaningless delay, since they were trapped inside their shop. And the majority of the Ministry forces had been driven off or killed already. That left Dumbledore's Order, and what was left of their brave but foolish French friends. His Death Eaters had taken losses too, and three were still tied up taking down the blood traitors' wards, but that didn't matter now - the remaining enemies wouldn't be able to withstand a charge led by himself. He could feel Potter out there as well - close, even. Killing the Boy-Who-Lived at the same time as he shattered his enemies would make the day perfect.

"Ackerly! Rodolphus! Follow me!" he commanded, striding out from their position. It was time to end this battle - and this war.

Nott rushed after him, almost stumbling over some rubble left in the street, while Rodolphus showed the awareness of a true fighter, moving over the uneven ground as if it was a smooth street. He vanished the pitiful walls the fools had tried to raise around his hostages, and summoned one of the carpets.

Something moved in the ruins ahead, and he sent a Blasting Curse their way, then turned the dust thrown up by it into acid. A grey-robed Hit-Wizard stumbled out of it, screaming as the acid ate away at his skin. Rodolphus added to the man's agony by hitting him with an Entrail-expelling Curse.

Voldemort frowned - without any enemy to frighten with it, such a display served no purpose. A Killing Curse would have been better. But he had to indulge his most loyal followers.

He spotted movement ahead, and his Human-presence-revealing Spell marked them. Were the fools actually attacking still? With just two of them? He smirked, covering the street ahead of the two enemies in a cloud of acidic poison that looked just like the smoke from the burning house next to it.

To his surprise, the cloud was blown away - towards him, even! - by a single spell. His eyes widened slightly. There were not many wizards skilled enough to do such a thing. Then he grinned. It looked like he'd be able to avenge another slight today!

As expected, it was Mad-Eye Moody who jumped out from the corner, sending a Killing Curse at Voldemort. No, at Nott. The fool had moved away, too far for the floating metal shields protecting Voldemort to intercept the curse. He fell, dead, with a surprised expression on his face.

Good riddance to the coward, Voldemort thought, returning fire with a few Killing Curses of his own. His enemy showed surprising agility for a cripple, moving far quicker than expected. Had he enhanced himself with spells or potions?

Rodolphus was moving to the side now, to catch the enemy in a crossfire, but a volley of curses from the corner drove him back - Aberforth Dumbledore had entered the fray.

Voldemort smiled. A flick of his wand started to draw the Cursed Cloud above them down towards the street. When Dumbledore's brother began to counter that, Rodolphus started to press him hard. Which left Voldemort free to deal with Moody.

The old Auror was casting rapidly, Killing Curses mixed with Cutting and Piercing Curses. Efficient, but hardly surprising - but then, few could surprise a man who had delved further into the Dark Arts than anyone else, so it stood to reason that Moody wouldn't try.

Voldemort's defences and protections weathered the assault, if not without some effort, a number of his shields exploding as they intercepted the Killing Curses, his Shield Charm straining to handle the rest. But he was sending Killing Curses of his own at the Auror. They too were met with conjured obstacles. Voldemort frowned - it was rare to find an opponent able to match his speed at casting the Killing Curse. He raised his estimate of Moody accordingly. It wouldn't save the Auror, of course - Voldemort had far more spells at his disposal than the Killing Curse, even though he liked its power and simplicity. And thanks to Barty Jr., he knew a lot about the Auror's enchanted eye - and its weaknesses.

He ducked beneath a decidedly illegal curse - Moody was using more exotic spells now, too, he noticed - and swished his wand, then stabbed it at the Auror's position. Mixed with three Fire-Dart Spells, a few charms greased the ground beneath his enemy, but without any effect - Moody showed no trouble in avoiding the darts, having enchanted his peg leg to avoid slipping - another piece of information Voldemort's late follower had acquired a few years ago.

Having known all this, Voldemort had cast those spells to distract his enemy, and keep the man's enchanted eye from noticing the other spell he had cast at the street. He smiled when the ground suddenly opened beneath the Auror, the stone and earth forming a sphere around his enemy. Too quickly to let the man react and escape, but not quick enough for Voldemort to miss with the Fiendfyre he sent into it right before it closed.

That left Dumbledore's brother. Voldemort turned just in time to save Rodolphus from being overwhelmed.

*****​

Ron Weasley was staring at the smoke above Diagon Alley. He had heard Hermione's warning - it was a trap. And he had seen an Auror fall from the sky after flying through it. They had to get rid of it, but he had seen how quickly the Marid he had released had been dealt with by the Dark Lord. A Djinn would come in very handy now. But he didn't have another genie bottle.

"What are you doing, Ron? We need to kill those Death Eaters before they break down our wards!" Fred yelled at him.

"We need to deal with this smoke!" Ron yelled back. "Before it settles in the Alley and kills everyone."

"The others are keeping it at bay with spells."

They were - but every spell cast at the smoke was one spell less cast at the enemy. You couldn't fight under such conditions. Ron ground his teeth. The trinkets he had received from Dumbledore were of no use here. And the pranking items wouldn't help either. Unless… His eyes widened. He dug out the 'Everlasting Evaporator' from his enchanted pocket, then grabbed a bezoar from another pocket. "George! I need a mortar!"

"What?"

"A mortar! Now!"

"The wards are about to fall, and you want a mortar?"

"Yes! Hurry up!"

His brother arrived, with a mortar in hand.

Ron grabbed it and put the bezoar inside, then started the mortar. "Come on, grind grind grind!" he mumbled.

"What are you planning?" Fred asked.

"Dealing with the smoke," Ron said, stopping the mortar and pouring the dust into the Evaporator.

"The wards will fall any minute now! We have to get out!" George said.

"Not yet!" Ron started the Evaporator. Thick, brown smoke poured out of it. He cast a Doubling Charm on the smoke, and the shop rapidly started to fill with it.

"Ron! What did you do?" George yelled.

"Neutralising the smoke!" Ron yelled, before coughing. He picked the Evaporator up and pushed it outside.

"At least it'll hide us from them once the wards fall," Fred muttered, coughing. "Unless we suffocate in here."

Ron was ignoring him, staring at the sky. The magically multiplying smoke was rising, and mixing with the other smoke. If he had guessed correctly… he conjured a small bird and sent it up. Right into the thickest smoke. It didn't die.

He pulled out his mirror. "The smoke's neutralised where it's brown!" he yelled into it.

He was repeating himself when the shop suddenly shook violently. He knew what that meant - the wards had fallen. He turned around, and saw a wall of flames rush towards him.

*****​

Harry Potter saw Sirius suddenly stop, ducking into a broken door instead of continuing through the side alley.

"Ron said the smoke has been neutralised 'where it's brown'," Sirius said.

Harry gasped. That meant… He stuck his hand into his pocket, feeling around for his shrunken Firebolt.

"Harry!"

He met his godfather's eyes. "It's the best way. I can reach him in a few seconds."

Sirius muttered a curse under his breath, but he was pulling his own broom out.

Harry opened his mouth to tell him not to follow him, but a glare from Sirius shut him up.

A few seconds later, they were in the air. The faint pain Harry had felt ever since arriving in the Alley grew stronger - Voldemort was close. He pushed his broom down, skimming the edge of the next roof, then shot across the Alley. Where was the Dark Lord?

A slew of curses missed him, and he banked, then corkscrewed. There were the Death Eaters, and there was… He gasped - the twins' shop was on fire. Flames shot out of the windows. As he stared, the roof was blown off - from the inside - and three brooms shot out of the burning building, chased by a giant snake made of flames. Fiendfyre!

The three broom riders disappeared in the brown smoke while the snake broke apart into tendrils of fire.

"There's the Dark Lord!" Sirius shouted, before Harry could change course.

He glanced down. There was Voldemort - looking at him. Harry snarled, and dived down.

The Dark Lord was casting rapidly, and Harry had to corkscrew and break off his dive to avoid the slew of curses flying at him. Even so, the curses came very close. He couldn't reach him by flying straight at him, Harry knew - he would be too easy to hit that way. He had to approach from the side, while circling. Just like in the tournament with the dragon.

Only Voldemort could cast faster than the dragon had been able to breathe fire. And the Dark Lord had better aim as well. Harry had to use all his skill at flying to avoid getting killed - and was still driven away, rather than closing in.

Then Sirius dived at the Dark Lord, his wand spitting curses. That gave Harry an opening. He pulled his broom around and closed in again on the distracted enemy. Before he could finish his manoeuvre, though, a curse hit Sirius's broom, sending him spinning away. Harry had to pull up again to avoid the next barrage of curses. He glanced around - he couldn't spot Sirius. He hesitated. Should he press on, or go help his godfather?

He clenched his jaw and bent low over his broom. He had to get the Dark Lord.

"Harry!"

That was Ron! Harry glanced over his shoulder and saw his friend approach, on his broom, wand out. Another Death Eater stepped up next to the Dark Lord, wand raised, but before he could cast, a spell hit him in the back and he crumpled. Was that Aberforth? Before Harry could take another look, the man vanished in a cloud of smoke when Voldemort unleashed more curses.

That was an opening! Harry banked left, approaching the Dark Lord at an angle, in a shrinking circle. Ron, however, flew straight, raining spells down on Voldemort. Distracting him further, Harry knew.

Harry rolled, narrowly avoiding a Killing Curse. He was almost close enough. He drew the Elder Wand as the ground suddenly rose, and rose, forming a wall. Harry pulled on his broom with all his strength, hampered by his grip on the wand, but he managed to swing around, enough to scrape along the wall, rather than crash into it.

Ron flew over it - but the Dark Lord must have been waiting for that - Harry's friend flew straight into a curse. He screamed as he crashed.

But that curse had cost Voldemort. Harry was close enough now, and the Dark Lord was facing away from him. Voldemort was still turning towards him, his wand rising, when Harry pointed the Elder Wand at him, just a few yards away from crashing into him.

"Legilimens!"

His scar flared up in sudden, excruciating pain, and time seemed to stop.

*****​

Harry found himself floating in empty space, the pain gone. There were spheres containing memories, but they were distant, their sounds barely audible.

"Potter!"

He whirled around.

Voldemort was floating there, his inhuman face sneering at him. "What did you do? Did you try to read my mind?" The Dark Lord blinked. "No, that's not it. You used the link between us. I see. Clever, boy. But not clever enough."

Harry clenched his jaw, rage filling him. That monster had murdered his parents. Had hurt, possibly killed his godfather and his best friend, and so many others. He aimed his wand at the Dark Lord. He couldn't cast spells here, but it would serve as a focus for his will. His rage.

Voldemort hissed, twitching, and floated back a foot, before steadying himself. "You think you can defeat me, in my own mind? You, a mere boy, not even out of school?" Voldemort laughed, raising his own wand. And Harry felt the pressure against his own mind. Like in the graveyard.

"I've beaten you before," Harry spat back. "As a toddler. As a first year. As a second year. I almost beat you in my fourth year, too." He had forced the Dark Lord's spell back when they had been caught in that golden cage. He could do it again.

"You never beat me. Dumbledore and your parents protected you. But they are dead. As are your friends. They sacrificed themselves, so you could fail. All those deaths, all that suffering, for naught! Because of you!" He laughed again, then smiled. "You will die here, and then Britain will be mine."

The pain grew stronger. Harry let out an involuntary hiss before rallying. He'd not let this monster defeat him! He'd crush him, and avenge everyone! Save everyone! And yet, little by little, he felt himself being pushed back. Felt the pain grow inside his head. Harry tried to focus his rage, but to no avail. He was driven back, beaten. He was about to die, he realised. Killed by Voldemort.

Voldemort was smiling now. "Who had this foolish idea? Did Dumbledore truly believe that a mere boy, without any experience in the Dark Arts, could be a match for me? Die!"

Harry heard someone groan, and realised it was himself. The pressure was growing even worse. His head felt as if a red-hot poker was being driven through it - through his scar. He thought of his friends, his family, and closed his eyes. He couldn't beat the Dark Lord with rage. He should have known that. Had known it. But to see Sirius, and Ron, fall…

"Think of your loved ones, and their deaths! You'll be joining them now!"

His head felt as if it was bursting. His heart was racing. His body was shaking. He remembered his parents dying, Sirius crashing, Ron screaming, Hermione… he blinked. He had felt like this before. At the Black Lake. In third year. He focused on that memory. On the memory inside the memory. The happiness he had felt then, and remembered. Love.

He opened his eyes, facing Voldemort. The pain was fading, his rage and frustration and fear receding. He saw a glimpse of surprise, of fear, in his enemy's eyes, and smiled.

"Expecto Patronum!"

No stag appeared, not here. But Harry started to glow, glow so brightly that Voldemort had to shield his eyes with his free hand. The Dark Lord looked afraid, Harry realised. And he smiled again.

This time Voldemort was shaking, hissing, his smile gone, replaced by fear and hatred.

Harry's pain was gone now. He focused on his enemy, and pushed. And Voldemort faltered.

"No! No!" The Dark Lord was stammering now, panting. Sweating.

Harry was still glowing, the light seemingly reaching out, traveling from his wand to Voldemort's. Like in the graveyard, almost two years ago.

But unlike back then, Voldemort couldn't flee. Couldn't break the confrontation off. He would die here.

And that realisation was, Harry suddenly knew, too much for a man who had sacrificed everything to avoid death.

"No! No! NOOOOO!"

When the light reached Voldemort's wand, it started to crumble, turning to ashes that faded as they fell. His hand followed, then his arm. Behind him, the memory spheres started to fade as well.

The Dark Lord kept screaming until his head disintegrated and Harry found himself alone.

Voldemort was gone.

*****​
 
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Chapter 41: Hanging in the Balance
Chapter 41: Hanging in the Balance

'In many ways, the Battle of Diagon Alley was a repeat of the Battle of the Ministry. Ministry forces, members of the Order of the Phoenix, French volunteers and the Muggleborn Resistance fought the followers of the Dark Lord in the middle of a location full of civilians, ultimately defeating them at great cost.
And yet there were crucial differences. Unlike the Battle of the Ministry, where Bellatrix Lestrange was overcome by sheer force of numbers, this battle - and with it, the Second Blood War - was decided by a duel between two wizards. The Dark Lord and the Boy-Who-Lived met on the battlefield in single combat, just as Grindelwald and Dumbledore had, fifty years before them. Many consider it ironic that a war fought over muggleborns was decided in such a traditional manner. It is not a surprise, however, once one considers that Dumbledore must have planned this. While the duel between the Dark Lord and Harry Potter has been the subject of so many books, each revealing its author's bias, that it is hard to find the truth, it goes without saying that the only way Harry Potter could have managed to defeat the Dark Lord was if he had been personally trained by Dumbledore for such a confrontation. In fact, some even go as far as to credit Dumbledore with the victory over the Dark Lord, claiming that the Boy-Who-Lived was nothing more than his tool and citing as proof the Dark Lord's defeat in Godric's Hollow in 1981 at the hands of a toddler.
While I share the view that it wasn't a toddler's accidental magic, but a well-prepared trap that decided the First Blood War - as I have already discussed earlier - I do think that Harry Potter's subsequent actions show that he was far from a mere tool of Dumbledore.'
- Excerpt from 'Wizarding Britain in the 20th Century' by Albert Runcorn


*****​

London, Diagon Alley, February 1st, 1997

His distraction had worked well - too well, Ron Weasley thought when he realised that he couldn't avoid all the curses sent his way by Voldemort. He still tried his best, of course. He rolled and banked to the left, sliding between a green and a brown curse, then pulled up, as sharply as he could. The third curse hit his broom, shattering it between his hands and knees. The broom didn't block the curse completely, though - it hit Ron anyway, and his right side erupted in pain.

With his broom destroyed, he instantly started to fall. Desperate, he waved his wand, casting a Cushioning Charm straight down. Hindered by his injuries, he barely managed to finish the spell before he hit the roof. Even so, the charm worked enough to keep him both alive and conscious, though his battered, bleeding body erupted in even more pain as he slid down the sloped roof. Ron grabbed for the edge of the roof, but didn't find any purchase, and fell another storey. He did manage to land feet first, but his left ankle snapped, and he collapsed.

He had broken his leg before though, in training with Moody, so he rolled on to his side and numbed his ankle. But his side still hurt - and bled - and with the shock receding, he noticed that dozens of splinters had peppered his limbs and body as well. And they hurt. At least he was in a side alley, a bit away from his brothers' shop, so he should be safe for a few more moments.

Clenching his teeth together, Ron tried to stop the bleeding of the curse wound in his side, but his spell had no effect, other than closing a few cuts over some of the splinters. Muttering a few more curses, he pulled out a bandage from his pocket, pressed it to his side and cast a Sticking Charm to hold it in place. It wouldn't help in the long run, but he wouldn't bleed out that quickly. He'd last long enough to help Harry.

Groaning, he stood up, falling into a limping gait - his ankle didn't hurt any more, but he couldn't move it well either. He had barely taken a few steps when a figure appeared at the end of the alley. A figure missing half its head and most of one arm, wearing the shredded remains of red robes.

Ron gasped - it was an Inferius! Like in Paris! And he was hobbled by his ankle! He snarled and flicked his wand. "Incendio!"

The walking corpse was set alight. It still kept coming at him, as expected - Inferi weren't easy to destroy. Ron started to fall back, but his leg wasn't cooperating. He stumbled, and jarred his shoulder against the wall next to him. And the burning undead creature was advancing!

He moved his wand without caring about his hurt side. "Depulso! Confringo! Reducto!"

To his surprise, the first spell pushed the undead back, and the next two blew its torso into chunks, causing it to collapse on the street. He blinked. An Inferius shouldn't be that easy to destroy. It must be a zombie! Either the Dark Lord's work, or a houngan he had recruited.

Ron shivered, and pushed himself off the wall, limping forward. He hoped that it was Voldemort. The thought of facing a houngan Death Eater… He patted his side, and winced when his hand came away covered with blood.

And yet he pushed on. His friends, his family needed him. He drank a Blood-Replenishing Potion, which would keep him going.

Another zombie appeared, a small one. In shredded muggle clothes - one of the hostages, he realised. He pressed his lips together with revulsion and frustration, then blew that one up as well.

The Dark Lord and his followers would pay for this, he vowed, as he made his way to the mouth of the alley. Voldemort had been in that area when he had hit Ron with the curse. Harry would be there as well. He had to get there!

*****​

Amelia Bones frowned while she watched the throngs of wizards and witches rushing into the Leaky Cauldron. Some headed to the pub's fireplace, but most fled straight through the door to muggle London. Hopefully, the Obliviators were on the job - not even the muggles could miss dozens of panicking people wearing robes streaming out of a pub that they couldn't see.

"Dawlish! Focus on evacuating these people!" she snapped.

"Yes, ma'am."

"You shouldn't be here, Madam Minister," Pius said in a low voice next to her. He'd know what she was thinking, of course.

Amelia frowned at him. He should have known better than to propose, even indirectly, that she retreat to the Ministry. "I won't cower in my office while my people fight and die." She had been an Auror, and she was still among the best in the Corps. Especially considering the horrible losses the Corps had taken in this damned war.

She stepped behind the bar, ignoring Tom's glare, while Dawlish and the half a dozen Aurors with him started to herd the fleeing people into some semblance of order and the Hit-Wizards took up positions at the entrance to Diagon Alley.

They couldn't really move into Diagon Alley, not when all of its inhabitants were trying to flee through this pub. Well, she amended in her mind, they could - but they would be split up, and the reinforcements from Hogsmeade and Hogwarts, as well as the ones recalled from their homes, wouldn't be able to reach them quickly enough.

And attacking piecemeal was a recipe for disaster, anyone with some experience knew that. The fate of the Aurors on duty in Diagon Alley had demonstrated that. No, they'd wait until they had assembled all available wands before moving to engage the enemy. That the Order and the Resistance would have to fight the Death Eaters and the Dark Lord alone for a bit longer couldn't be helped.

Amelia smiled grimly while a witch carried a crying girl towards the door and didn't even glance at Pius and the two Aurors assigned as her Bodyguards, who had followed her to the only space in the room which was not threatened with being overrun by the panicking mob.

The Order and the muggleborns had forced her to grant them carte blanche by threatening to withdraw from the war. Turnabout was only fair - she certainly hadn't promised to sacrifice her own people for them.

*****​

Hermione Granger was in a bind. They were barely out of the line of fire of the Dark Lord and Justin and Tania couldn't support them due to the smoke covering the Alley - she glanced up to check if it was coming too close again. It wasn't, not yet. But Louise was still unconscious, and Apparition wouldn't work - the Death Eaters or the Aurors or both would be layering Anti-Apparition and Anti-Portkey Jinxes all over the Alley. So Seamus and Hermione would either have to carry their friend, or levitate her. Either way, one of them wouldn't be able to effectively deal with those zombies. And Hermione was better with a wand than Seamus.

"Seamus! Levitate her!" she yelled, lowering Louise to the ground. "I'll cover you!"

The wizard looked at her, and for a moment, she was uncertain whether he'd follow her orders, but then he nodded.

Hermione sent another gust of wind up at the smoke above them, just in case, and then started moving towards the rest of the Resistance. "We're coming back!" she said into her radio.

"We've killed three of those zombies, but there are more lurking around," Justin answered on the radio. "But watch out - smoke's very low between our position and yours."

He didn't report anyone getting hurt, Hermione noted with relief. She checked their rear - no one seemed to pursuing them. No marker was floating nearby. The Dark Lord must be fighting someone else, she thought. Ron, or Harry. She hissed - she wanted to go back and help them, but she couldn't leave Seamus alone with Louise. She clenched her teeth and sprinted past Seamus, taking cover behind the remains of a cart before peering around the corner into the Alley.

As Justin had warned her, thick dark smoke was covering the street there. She pressed her lips together and cast a wind spell. The cloud started to slowly give away, making her wonder what kind of spells Voldemort had used to make the cloud that resistant to other spells.

But even so, her spell was slowly opening a passage to the rest of the Resistance. She clenched her teeth - the longer she took here, the longer Harry and Ron spent fighting Voldemort without her help.

"Zombies behind us!" Seamus yelled.

Hermione whirled around. Half a dozen small figures were walking - shambling - towards them. Dead children, the hostages the Death Eaters had taken, she realised, horrified. Her wand was already aimed at them, though, and she cast a volley of Reductor Curses a moment later. It didn't take long to destroy the zombies.

"Shite!" Seamus cursed, staring at the gory remains.

Hermione nodded, pressing her lips together. She knew that she'd remember the sight of exploding children for a long time. "Let's go!" she said, starting again to open a passage through the smoke.

"Voldemort just shot down a broom rider!"

Justin's report made her feel even worse. She told herself that it could have been anyone, an Auror or a Hit-Wizard. But she knew that, if they could, both Harry and Ron would use their brooms to fight Voldemort.

It took her about a minute to push the cursed or poisonous cloud far enough away that they could safely move through the street. Far too long for her friends. At least Sally-Anne and John were waiting for them - behind cover - when they finally cleared the smoke.

"Take care of Louise!" Hermione shouted. "I have to return to the battle!"

"Alright," John said, hefting his rifle.

Seamus nodded, setting Louise down for Sally-Anne to work on her.

Hermione looked at them, then nodded. They knew what they were facing.

She turned around and cast two more spells to keep the passage open, then ran through it. Ron and Harry needed her help.

*****​

Harry Potter found himself back in his body, on his speeding broom. Disoriented, he barely managed to keep his grip on the shaft before he crashed into Voldemort. If not for the Sticking Charm, he'd have been thrown off his broom. As it was, he spun around, scraping over the cobblestones until he slammed into the remains of a wall.

His shoulder hurt, but he'd had worse in training. Much worse.

He ended the charm and rolled off his broom, wand pointed at the Dark Lord. Or rather, at Voldemort's corpse. The inhuman face seemed frozen in a grimace, sightless eyes staring at nothing. It appeared that Dumbledore had been correct - without his soul, the body the Dark Lord had created for his revival would not keep breathing.

Harry thought that he should feel bad - he had destroyed Voldemort. Had crushed the man's mind, just like the prophecy had foretold and Dumbledore had planned. He might even have destroyed the Dark Lord's soul - Dumbledore hadn't really explained the exact consequences, past telling him that it would mean the end of Voldemort despite his soul anchors.

But there was no time to think about all that. He had to find Ron and Sirius! They had crashed, and should be nearby. Somewhere.

Harry turned around, trying to orient himself. Sirius had crashed… about there. And Ron… there. For a moment, he didn't know who he should be looking for first. Ron, he decided. He should be closer. He grabbed his broom, then looked up. The smoke was settling, it seemed. He didn't know if it was still dangerous - Ron had flown through a cloud without being hurt - but he decided not to risk it, and sent a gust of wind upward before setting out on foot.

After a few steps he stopped, and turned around.

"Accio Voldemort's wand!"

Harry didn't try to catch the wand flying at him, but blew it up before it reached him. This time, no follower of the Dark Lord would pick up his wand.

Movement on his right side made him jump behind the closest cover and aim his wand before he checked who it was.

"Don't curse, it's me!"

Aberforth Dumbledore was standing there, leaning against the wall. The old wizard was breathing heavily, and his left arm hung down at his side, covered with blood. He coughed, then made a motion towards the body with his head. "Is he dead?"

"Yes," Harry said. "He's dead. Did you see the others? Ron? Sirius?"

"No." Aberforth shook his head. "Moody's dead," he added, pointing at a stone sphere nearby.

"Are you alright?" Harry asked. It was a stupid question - the man was obviously hurt.

But Aberforth seemed to know what he had really been asking. "I'm not about to fall over dead. You arrived just in time." Harry was about to move when the old wizard added: "But there're still Death Eaters around. Be careful. They might not even have realised that their master has fallen."

"I need to find Ron and Sirius," Harry said. Mopping up the last Death Eaters could wait.

And, he added to himself, if either his best friend or his godfather had died, he'd not take any prisoners.

*****​

Ron Weasley glanced around the corner, wincing when his wounded side touched the wall, and spotted two Death Eaters running towards him. They seemed to be fleeing, paying more attention to their rear than their front. Unfortunately, if he tried to cast from around the corner, he'd have to expose himself since he was right-handed. Taking a deep breath, he leaned with his back against the wall, wand out, and waited. And hoped they ran past the side alley so he could curse them in the back.

Sadly, they rounded the corner and came straight at him. His Bludgeoning Curse smashed into the first Death Eater, shattering his mask and probably his skull, and sending the man tumbling towards the other Death Eater. That one dodged to the side, though, and whipped his wand around.

Ron dropped to the ground, then rolled to the side, gasping at the pain this caused to his bleeding side, and the Death Eater's curse hit the wall behind him. No splinters or fragments rained down on him, so it hadn't blown up, Ron noted as he came up in a crouch and sent two Piercing Curses at his enemy.

The Death Eater took a step to the side - a duellist move, Ron realised - but one still hit his shield, shattering it. A weak duellist, Ron added. His own Shield Charm withstood the man's next curse, and another Bludgeoning Curse hit the Death Eater in the stomach, doubling him over before Ron hit the man with a Cutting Curse in the throat. A Piercing Curse to the head killed the man before he drowned in his own blood, and Ron sent another into the first Death Eater. 'Never leave an enemy where he could be saved by others', as Moody always said.

A quick glance told Ron that his bandage was soaked through. He downed another Blood-Replenishing Potion, his last, and took a few deep breaths. Moving his wand arm was even more painful now than before, but he wasn't about to collapse. Not yet.

Some of the dark smoke was drifting too close, and he sent it away with a quick spell. The bezoar powder should have neutralised it, but Ron didn't know how far his dust had spread. He pressed his teeth together and forced himself to go on.

*****​

Hermione Granger whipped her wand around in a semi-circle, transfiguring the cobblestones in front of her into a makeshift barrier while ducking behind it. Just in time to absorb the shards from the conjured wall she had placed further ahead. "Death Eaters ahead!" she yelled, reinforcing the barrier. They were out of the range of her Human-presence-revealing Spell, but from the volume of curses hitting her cover, there had to be at least two.

A moment later, she heard Seamus and John open fire. Long bursts. Covering fire. She transfigured the cobblestones nearby into another wall, leading to the ruins of the closest building, then sprinted.

"Got one!" Seamus yelled.

"The other ducked inside the collapsed building," John reported.

Hermione keyed her radio. "Keep firing, I'm going closer."

Once they started to shoot again - slower, semi-automatic fire now - she took a deep breath, disillusioned herself, then ran towards the enemy position in a crooked, weaving path. She was panting heavily when she dropped behind the remains of a wall and could spot a marker floating above the corner.

"Avis!" she whispered, and sent a flock of birds at the Death Eater. They wouldn't hurt him, but he wouldn't know that, and they'd distract him. Then she rose from behind her cover, to cast two Blasting Curses at the base of the corner - and barely managed to drop down to avoid a barrage of curses, scraping her chin on some rubble in the process.

The enemy wizard was good. She rolled to the side and scrambled away on all fours. Behind her, a dark cloud appeared over her former position, followed by an explosion that pelted her Shield Charm with fragments - he must have banished a rock in the air before hitting it with a Blasting Curse, she realised. Definitely an experienced wizard.

John and Seamus were still providing covering fire, but if the enemy was this skilled, then he'd know his shield would stand up to several single shots. She dived around a corner, and pushed her radio's button. "John, Seamus - his shield's too strong. Move closer and flank him. But be careful - he's very good."

She kept moving - the unknown Death Eater, probably a member of Voldemort's Inner Circle, had a Human-presence-revealing spell of his own active. And he'd anticipate her course as well.

She stopped, then rushed back from where she had come. Behind her the area vanished in a dark cloud, followed by another explosion in the air. Almost predictable. She dived behind some rubble, then changed directions again, moving further into the building. That would hamper his casting.

"Avis!"

More birds sped towards the Death Eater. Would he expect them to be harmless still, or suspect a trap? She hoped for the latter.

Nearby, part of the wall blew up. She recast her Shield Charm after weathering the resulting hail of splinters. Where were Seamus and John? There! She spotted their markers appearing within range. The enemy was now flanked. Which meant he would either fall back, or charge towards her. And since he had been moving towards her when they met, trying to escape the Alley… Her eyes widened. Two Death Eaters, moving away from the twins' shop, and no sign of the Dark Lord? Harry must have killed him!

Smiling, she moved to the side, reaching into her enchanted pocket. A quick Doubling Charm later, several bricks of Semtex were spread on the ground. She moved further away, to flank the enemy - and opening a path to escape at the same time. Straight through her former spot.

Suddenly, several explosions shook the ruins, forcing her to drop to the ground. She looked up even as her shield was hit by dozens of rock fragments, and saw the floating marker move - right towards her trap. Grinning, she yelled "Take cover!" into her radio, then pushed the button of the emitter in her hand.

Part of the ruins disappeared in a huge fireball while she pressed herself into the ground, mouth open and hands pressed over her ears. A wave of heat washed over her, and a rock the size of her head bounced off her shield. Then everything vanished in a cloud of dust and smoke.

*****​

Harry Potter crept forward, forcing himself to move slowly, cautiously, instead of rushing. He wouldn't be able to help either Ron or Sirius if he got himself killed by stumbling into an ambush. And Aberforth was not able to move that quickly either - the old wizard was certainly more hurt than he admitted. And splitting up would be a bad idea, with an unknown number of enemies in the area. But still… "Why are you taking the body with you?" he asked when he couldn't contain himself any more, nodding at the corpse of Voldemort floating behind them.

"I don't want anyone to take it. You never know what they'd try to do with it," Aberforth answered.

Harry didn't think there was much that anyone could do with the carcass. A zombie-Voldemort might scare the Ministry forces, if there were any left, but that wouldn't really do much. He pushed the thought away. He had to focus on saving Sirius and Ron.

He quickly glanced around the corner, even though his Human-presence-revealing Spell didn't show anyone close by. Moody's training had emphasised not to trust any spell - someone, somewhere, would have a counter. The alley was clear. Or not exactly clear - there were the remains of a broom on the ground, the remains of a burned body further away, and some scattered body parts at the mouth of the alley.

Harry moved forward, barely covering the various broken windows and smashed doors with his wand. It was Ron's broom. And his blood, he added to himself, spotting the stains on the ground. But the body… he stepped closer, then saw the burned fragments of Auror robes. It wasn't Ron! And the other body parts were too small. His friend was still alive.

Unless, Harry thought, he had been turned into a zombie. Like the kid who had been blown apart here. He pressed his lips together. Ron had to still be alive! He looked around, but he didn't spot any other blood stains on the ground. Where had Ron gone?

"We need to move on," Aberforth said behind him. "Nothing left here."

Harry knew that, but refrained from angrily pointing out that he had just been thinking where to move. Instead he nodded, and moved past the corpse, into the Alley. Then he heard the explosions, and his eyes widened.

"Blasting Curses!" Aberforth muttered next to him.

Harry nodded. "Someone's fighting." Which meant someone needed help. Maybe Ron, or Sirius. He started to move towards the direction of the noise when a much louder explosion made him stop. A fireball erupted further ahead, far too big for a Blasting Curse or even a Bombarda.

That had to be a bomb! Hermione!

He sped up. If the Resistance was using explosives on that scale, they had to be in a bad situation.

*****​

When he opened his eyes and didn't feel much pain, Sirius Black first feared that he had died, and had become a ghost. Then he realised that someone was moving a wand over his face. He knew that wand.

"You've been very lucky."

He knew that voice.

"I know," he said, turning his head to look at Vivienne. The French witch looked radiant, even with her face smudged with soot and dirt, and her robes torn - and not in a sexy way.

"I saw you fall, but with all the cursed smoke around, I couldn't fly to you. You were seriously 'urt." The Veela stared at him with an unreadable expression.

He smiled. "Any curses?"

"No. But you'll need Skele-Gro. I numbed your arm, but…"

He glanced at his arm. The arm he couldn't feel, he realised. The arm that looked rather… floppy. "You vanished my bones?" He looked at her. Harry had told him how much Skele-Gro that would take. And how much it would hurt.

"It was that, or let the splinters tear you up from the inside." She smiled. "I mended the ribs, though, and your leg."

He had been hurt worse than he had thought, Sirius realised. Of course, unlike a Quidditch pitch, the streets lacked Cushioning Charms. And he hadn't managed to cast one in time himself. Or had missed the spot he was falling towards - his memory was a bit vague.

"It's not my wand arm," he said, and sat up - only to hiss in pain.

"You're still hurt."

"Now you tell me." He had suffered worse, of course. Compared to losing your best friends, and suffering in Azkaban, a bit of physical pain was nothing. And Harry needed him. Harry!

He stood up, grunting in pain. "I'll need to help Harry." He looked around. Where was he? And where was Harry?

A huge fireball erupted a few houses away. He glanced at Vivienne. "Where are the others?" Where were the rest of the Delacours and d'Aigles?

She pressed her lips together for a moment, then shook her head. "I was separated from the ones on the ground."

He didn't ask about the others who had been in the air. Her expression told him enough. But people were still fighting. They were still needed. He ignored her hand - even short one arm, he didn't need help to walk.

"Let's go!"

*****​

Ron Weasley almost fell over when he heard the explosion, and saw the fireball rise above the roofs - those left standing - of the buildings nearby. Close by, someone was fighting, and fighting hard. Harry, or Hermione, probably. Or if they weren't, they'd be attracted to the explosion.

He snorted, and steadied himself. His side was still hurting, and he was now leaving a trail of blood, but he could still go on. Could still fight, if not for long, he added to himself. But staying where he was wouldn't help him either.

Limping, he started towards the closest alley leading to the explosion. He felt a twinge in his ankle, and numbed it again before the pain grew too strong. If only he still had his broom! Or a replacement. Or another Blood-Replenishing Potion. Moody would simply tell him that he hadn't been prepared enough.

While he stumbled through the narrow alley, he wondered where everyone was. He hadn't met a single soul in minutes. Had everyone fled? Or had they died in the smoke? Had they forgotten him, and evacuated the area? Or had he died, and was now stumbling through the afterlife?

He snorted at the thought. He was quite certain that the afterlife didn't look like the burning remains of a part of Diagon Alley. Another corner - he hurt himself some more when he lost his balance and had to catch himself against the wall - and he was in the main Alley again. The explosion had to be close… but so many ruins were burning.

Movement at his flank drew his attention, and he whirled around, wand raised, then blinked when he recognised the clothes - the uniform - of the Resistance. He lowered his wand, staring at the firearm - the rifle - aimed at him.

"Ron?"

He knew that voice. "Seamus?"

"Hermione! I've found one of your boyfriends!"

Ron snorted, then winced at the pain that caused. He was the boyfriend of Hermione, singular. And he hadn't been found - they had met each other.

Then he saw Hermione appear behind a heap of rubble. She was alive. And unhurt. He started to smile, and wave… then winced again when he felt a stabbing pain in his side. He saw her eyes widen, saw her rush towards him, her mouth was opening, but he couldn't hear her words, and why was she turning sideways? Oh, he was falling.

Then everything went dark.

*****​

"Ron!" Hermione Granger yelled, rushing towards her collapsing boyfriend. She flicked her wand, casting a Cushioning Charm just in time to prevent him from falling onto the rubble next to him.

Behind her, Seamus was cursing, but she had only eyes for Ron. She reached him, dropping to her knees, heedless of the sharp rocks hurting her legs while she ran her wand over his body. When she discovered the wound in his side, bleeding through a bandage, she hissed. And when her Charm failed to close it, she cursed herself. Of course, she should have expected that - Ron would have closed it himself, if that had been possible.

But… he was pale. Gasping, she reached into her potion pocket and pulled out a Blood-Replenishing Potion. While she flicked the stopper off and grabbed Ron's head to pour it into his mouth, she yelled to Seamus. "I need more Blood-Replenishing Potions! And we need to get him to St Mungo's!"

"The jinxes are still up," John said, running towards her and pressing two vials into her hand. "And the explosion will attract some company."

Hermione forced herself to calm down. She couldn't panic. She had a responsibility for her group. "Seamus, cover the north! John, cover the south approach. I'll stabilise him, and then we'll fall back to Sally-Anne, to evacuate him." Ron would be safe at St Mungo's. He was a pureblood, and not a member of the Resistance.

To their credit, neither wizard asked if she could stabilise Ron as they took up positions nearby. She focused on her friend again, trusting the two to do their job. The bandage was soaked through, but a Cleaning Charm solved that. And yet… she bit her lower lip, then tried to pull the edge of the bandage off. She didn't manage - Ron had used a Sticking Charm.

"Finite!"

When she saw the wound, and the amount of blood flowing from it, she felt as if she had been punched in the gut. A cursed wound, of this size… she hastily poured another potion into Ron's mouth. She had to stop the bleeding, slow it down at least. And magic wouldn't work. She did what she could using her first aid training. She really needed Sally-Anne. But if she moved Ron like that… she wiped some tears from her eyes, then put the bandage back on, doing her best to put pressure on the wound.

Then she had a thought. If St Mungo's couldn't counter the curse, and with Voldemort having cast it, that was far too likely, then they wouldn't be able to do anything for Ron. It might be best if she took him to a muggle hospital… but they'd be unable to do anything about the curse either. And they wouldn't be able to use potions to keep him alive.

She bit her lower lip so hard it started to bleed. What should she do?

*****​

"Thicklestone! Take your squad and move ahead!"

Amelia Bones nodded in silent approval of Pius's orders. The Hit-Wizards' training focused on combat and they were therefore the best choice for such a task. Of course, given the casualties the Hit-Wizards had taken in this war, and how the training of the new recruits had been rushed, the differences between rookie Aurors and Hit-Wizards were negligible, but that wouldn't stay that way, and it was best to do things as they should be done from the start.

A minute after Thicklestone had moved into the Alley, the main force followed, including Amelia, Pius and Dawlish. Amelia pressed her lips together to avoid cursing when she saw the smoke covering the lower parts of Diagon Alley.

"The Obliviators stated that the smoke is no threat to the Statute," Pius said. "Not any more, at least."

Amelia hoped that meant it wasn't dangerous any more either. Not that she could do much about it - the broom riders in the air were needed to spot ambushes, and attack from above. They couldn't be sent to chase smoke clouds. Not while there was still fighting in the Alley. Or what was left of the Alley, she silently amended when they reached the first ruin.

"The Death Eaters focused on Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes," Dawlish repeated an earlier report. "But obviously, the fighting and the damage has spread out."

"Obviously," Amelia said, and Dawlish flinched slightly.

They had reached the first body - a French wizard, Amelia thought. Or someone else in a fancy robe. More corpses followed, most of them torn or blown apart, or burned horribly. One of the rookies vomited right next to a burned corpse small enough to be a child.

Amelia didn't flinch. She had seen worse. And she had expected worse. They were facing the Dark Lord, after all. An alley further, they met the first survivors - two wounded French wizards, a Veela and a member of Dumbledore's Order - Bill Weasley, Amelia recognised him. A former head boy of Hogwarts hiring on with Gringotts, instead of with the Ministry had been a small scandal, a few years ago. In hindsight, Amelia was glad that he hadn't joined her department. He would have been trouble. Like Nymphadora Tonks, who hadn't reported in when called upon. That Auror had better have been already engaged in the Alley, Amelia thought. She loathed deserters.

They left the rookie who had lost his lunch with the wounded and orders to help get them to St Mungo's and moved on - through ruined houses, some of them barely more than patches of rubble, others still burning.

Houses were not the only thing burning - a lot of corpses were burned as well, Amelia noticed. She didn't smell the stench, fortunately, since she had cast a Bubble-Head Charm when they had set out, but once again, a few Aurors and Hit-Wizards either had forgotten to take the bare minimum of precautions against poison, or couldn't cast the spell, and were now emptying their stomachs. They really were scraping the bottom of the cauldron here, Amelia thought.

She really hoped that the Order and the Resistance had managed to defeat the Dark Lord, or this would turn ugly.

They passed more burning houses, and reached the remains of the Weasleys' shop.

"Looks like their wards didn't hold," Dawlish commented. "Fiendfyre, I think."

Amelia didn't say 'obviously' again. It wouldn't do to undermine Dawlish's authority. She studied the crushed walls in the middle of the street instead. "Conjured cover," Pius said. "Would have been the Curse-Breakers' position."

Amelia nodded in agreement.

"Where are they?" an Auror asked near them. "Where is everyone?"

"Shut up, Baker!" Dawlish yelled, "And keep your eyes open!"

One of their broom riders descended. "There's a group of people two alleys down! Didn't look like Death Eaters. No masks or robes."

Amelia nodded. Probably the survivors of the Resistance, then. Time to meet them.

*****​

Harry Potter turned around the corner, wand out, expecting a fight - but there was no one fighting. That Ravenclaw, Emmet, was behind some rubble, aiming his assault rifle at him.

"Harry Potter?" The other wizard didn't stand up, and his rifle didn't waver.

"Yes." Harry wasn't that worried - his Shield Charm should stand up to a few bullets, at least. He hadn't tested it, but Hermione had.

"Hermione! Potter's here!" Emmet yelled.

"Harry?"

That was Hermione's voice. Harry rushed past Emmet, around the corner hiding Hermione from view, then stopped, horrified. She was covered in blood! And kneeling next to Ron. It was Ron's blood!

Harry muttered a curse under his breath while he moved to them. "Ron! What the hell happened?" Of course, he knew what had happened - Voldemort had cursed his friend.

"It's a dark curse - healing spells have no effect. I think we better take him to a muggle hospital, they'll be able to do something… but I am not sure if we can apparate him in his state." Hermione sounded as desperate as she looked. "Do you have a Blood-Replenishing Potion?"

Harry dug the three he carried out from his enchanted pocket and handed them over.

"Blimey! That's the Dark Lord!"

Emmet's shout made Hermione jump up. She had drawn a pistol with blood-soaked hands before Harry managed to speak up. "He's dead. I killed him."

She whipped her head around, staring at him. He nodded. For a moment, she seemed frozen, staring at the corner where Emmet was, then she turned back to Ron.

"The Dark Lord's dead?" That was Seamus's voice, through the radio.

"He's dead?"

And that was Justin, probably, Harry thought, as more voices filled the air. Aberforth turned around the corner, followed by the floating corpse of Voldemort. Even Hermione stared at it, for a second or two, as the wizard set it down in the middle of the street.

No one said anything. Hermione made Ron drink another potion, and called for Perks on the radio. Apparently, that witch was their designated medic, or Healer.

"Harry!"

He whirled around. Sirius was there! Alive! And standing. Leaning on Vivienne, who looked rather battered herself, but he was standing. But his arm! Harry felt as if his blood had frozen when he saw his godfather's left arm dangling uselessly.

He rushed forward. "Sirius! Your arm!"

His godfather smiled. "Oh, that? Vivienne had to vanish my bones."

Harry sighed with relief. It wasn't the Withering Curse, then. He went and hugged his godfather. Sirius was alive. Not too badly hurt, either. The Dark Lord was dead, and Harry's friends and family were alive. He had done it!

"Sirius! Do you have Blood-Replenishing Potions? I need them! Ron needs them!" Hermione's voice reminded him that not all of his friends were safe yet, and he felt guilty for forgetting, even for an instant, about Ron.

Then he felt like slapping himself, and hurried back to Ron, drawing the Elder Wand.

*****​

Hermione Granger saw Harry kneel next to Ron, and aim his wand at the wound. She was about to tell him that they had tried that already, then she remembered just what wand Harry was using. Of course!

Harry was already casting, waving his wand above Ron's wound.

Hermione bit her lower lip and stared at the wound. The wound hadn't closed, but the bleeding had slowed.

"Best I can do," Harry said, sounding desperate.

"It'll be enough," she said, forcing herself to smile. "Until we can get him to a hospital."

He nodded, then got up, standing there for a moment.

Then Justin and the others arrived, and Hermione felt like hexing her friends - they were staring at the Dark Lord's corpse, even though it wasn't going anywhere. Ron still needed help right now! "Sally-Anne! I need those potions!"

Her friend jerked, then gasped: "Sorry!" She hurried towards them. "Sorry! I just saw the Dark Lord…"

Hermione nodded, restraining herself from yelling at Sally-Anne. It wouldn't help Ron. "He's been cursed with a wound that resists magical healing. It's still bleeding, so we might need to transport him to a muggle hospital, but he can't be apparated in that state."

Sally-Anne nodded, her attention already on the wounded wizard, and started to remove the bandages entirely. Hermione almost grabbed her hand, but controlled herself - Sally-Anne had trained for this more than she had. Hermione had to trust her. As hard as it was. Ron would live, she told herself - muggles survived such wounds without magic. And the potions would replenish his blood. He wouldn't die.

"We've got company!"

Seamus's alert made her look up. She saw the rest of the Resistance grow tense. Aberforth as well. That told her who had arrived even before she saw them.

The Ministry.

*****​

Amelia Bones stared at the corpse on the ground. It was the Dark Lord. She had seen his face in a Pensieve before. Potter had done it. Like Dumbledore had planned, and the Order had promised. The Boy-Who-Lived was standing right behind the corpse, watching her. Next to him were Black, his Veela lover, and the muggleborns in their weird clothes. Granger wasn't present, though.

For a moment, Amelia thought, hoped, that the other witch had been killed in the battle, then she spotted her, kneeling behind Potter, next to another body lying on the ground. Potter, Black, Granger. And what was left of the Resistance. All gathered in front of her. Wounded and outnumbered. Amelia doubted that there were many Death Eaters left either. Britain didn't need the Resistance any more, nor the Order. Even weakened as it was, the Ministry could handle things from this point on. And she knew they'd cause trouble or worse for the country - that they extorted a blanket pardon from her proved that. Amelia had but to give the order and things would be settled once and for all. She wouldn't be breaking any deals either - technically, with the Dark Lord dead, the war was over. And she had taken an oath to uphold the law and defend Britain against any danger.

But before she could make up her mind, her Aurors and Hit-Wizards realised what had happened and started to cheer, and the opportunity to secure Britain's future had passed.

*****​

Hermione Granger stood up as the arrivals started to fan out. There were more than two dozen Aurors and Hit-Wizards, in their red and grey robes. Half a dozen more on brooms in the air. And in the centre was the Minister herself. Bones.

Hermione snorted - all of them were staring at Voldemort's body. She stood up and took a few steps forward, standing next to Harry, right near the Dark Lord's corpse, and stared at the Minister. She knew how she looked - covered in blood - but she didn't care. Not any more. They had done it. Harry had done it. Had killed Voldemort and his Death Eaters. Without the Ministry. She saw Justin step up as well, followed by Tania, both holding their guns at the ready. Seamus and John were not quite aiming at the Ministry forces, but would be able to open fire within seconds.

Bones met her eyes, frowning, but the bulk of the Ministry wizards and witches started to talk loudly and excitedly, apparently unaware of the tension.

"It's him!"

"He's dead!"

"They killed him!"

"The Dark Lord's gone!"

"It's over!"

"The war's over!"

Hermione snorted. The Dark Lord's death might signal the end of the war. But, meeting Bones's eyes, she knew that the real struggle had just begun.

*****​
 
Chapter 42: Repositioning
Chapter 42: Repositioning

'Just as with the start of the Second Blood War, there is a considerable difference of opinion among scholars concerning its end. Some consider the death of the Dark Lord in the Battle of Diagon Alley the end of the war. I do not share this view. Leaving aside the fact that there were still several Death Eaters alive and free, the war had been about more than defeating the Dark Lord, and the underlying conflict that had led to the war, the blood status question, had not been at all resolved with the death of the Dark Lord. Quite the contrary. With their common enemy dead, the Ministry and the muggleborns were set on a collision course with each other as both struggled to shape the country's future.'
- Excerpt from 'The Second Blood War' by Hyacinth Selwyn


*****​

London, Ministry of Magic, February 1st, 1997

Amelia Bones kept smiling as she walked through the throng of celebrating people filling the Ministry's Atrium. She had to make an effort, though - she wasn't feeling like celebrating herself. Half a dozen Aurors and Hit-Wizards had died in Diagon Alley fighting the Dark Lord but everyone just seemed to be talking about the Boy-Who-Lived. Just like fifteen years ago. Even her own people were caught up in it.

Once inside her office, she dropped the pretence. As relieved as she was about the Dark Lord's death, she knew her and Britain's troubles hadn't ended. That Potter had killed the Dark Lord with the help of the Muggleborn Resistance and the remnants of Dumbledore's Order made things worse.

If only she had dared to give the order to arrest the lot of them… but Amelia was aware that the majority of her Aurors and Hit-Wizards might not have obeyed, being far too inexperienced to understand the situation. They'd only see a hero who had taken down the Dark Lord, and not the danger Potter represented.

A danger of which Amelia was all too aware, even more so after she had seen the reaction of the public to the spreading news.

Her secretary - that one was reliable, at least, and hadn't left her post like so many other Ministry employees - informed her that Pius had arrived. The Head of the DMLE lost his own smile as soon as the door closed behind him.

"What's the status of Diagon Alley?" Amelia asked, seating herself behind her desk.

"The affected areas are still cordoned off while we wait for the Unspeakables to finish investigating the lingering smoke," he answered, taking a seat of his own. "But the fires are under control. Dawlish is handling the situation."

Amelia knew better than to ask for an estimate of how long they'd have to carry on waiting. The Unspeakables didn't care about anything but their own interests. And Dawlish could handle the rest. "How's the population taking that?"

Pius snorted softly. "They seem too busy celebrating the Dark Lord's demise to care." Shrugging, he added: "Those who lost their homes might feel differently, but I didn't see any of them making a scene."

They might have been killed in the fighting, Amelia knew. Or simply have been caught up in the celebrations as well. They were not a pressing problem either way. "What about Potter, Black and Granger?"

"They have left the area, presumably to treat their wounds," Pius said, with a faint smile. "Although none of them have been seen in St Mungo's according to my information."

"Not even Granger's lover?" That wizard had been seriously hurt. Probably fatally.

He shook his head. "It's possible that their wounded were moved to France. With the Dark Lord dead, there would be no need any more for the Duc to maintain the fiction that this was an unsanctioned private affair by the Delacours."

Amelia nodded. "If the muggleborns have access to a hospital with the capability to handle dark curses then they are far more self-reliant than we assumed." Which would affect politics in a way Amelia didn't like.

"Since they went to war I think they either have such support, or don't care about it," Pius said. "Although I doubt that the Duc d'Orléans would support the muggleborns. The influence he'd gain in Britain's politics would not be worth the trouble it could cause in his own country."

She nodded. "While it's not impossible that he would want to gain some concessions from us in exchange for dropping his support for the muggleborns, I do agree that it seems unlikely." But you couldn't trust the French; not with Britain so weakened. With Dumbledore and the Dark Lord dead, Britain had lost a lot of its power and prestige. "But no matter where they are, if they are currently getting treatment, it means we have an opportunity here." The Weasleys would be occupied with their wounded as well, at least temporarily removing another thorn in her side.

Pius nodded. "That is true. What are you planning?"

He was playing it safe, as expected. "We need to control how the country will be informed about the battle."

"News of the Boy-Who-Lived defeating the Dark Lord has already spread," Pius pointed out.

"Yes," Amelia admitted. They'd never be able to suppress that - after Dumbledore's death, people had put their hope in the Boy-Who-Lived. "But we can use that. The more people focus on him, the less they care about his friends. And we can emphasise the Aurors and Hit-Wizards who fought and died today." The Daily Prophet knew to listen to the Ministry.

Pius's smile widened. "And later, we can point out, subtly of course, that Dumbledore had to save Potter from Voldemort just two weeks ago."

She nodded. Even Dawlish had noticed that. "They said themselves that Dumbledore had planned this." And people still associated Dumbledore with the Ministry; few knew just how radical the man had actually been. Revealing the Muggleborn Resistance as the dangerous criminals they were would be easy as well, once Potter's influence had lessened. They just had to point at the innocent victims of their attacks. And that would also affect Arthur Weasley and Sirius Black, thanks to their close ties to Granger.

"However, we might need the reputation of the Boy-Who-Lived, who has now twice defeated the Dark Lord, to keep other countries from getting ideas," Pius cut in.

Amelia shook her head. "The muggleborns know that no other country would support them. They'd have to oppose international pressure." The only countries - and Amelia was using the term quite loosely here - who cared for muggleborns were some of the warring enclaves in the New World. And those mattered about as much as muggle countries.

"That is true. But can we trust the muggleborns to realise that? Granger is still a student, after all."

"She's quite smart and it's obvious that Black's been supporting her." And influencing the girl. "He'd tell her."

"We still might need to grant them some concessions, to present the ICW with a unified front," Pius said.

Amelia pressed her lips together. Grant those criminals anything? After they had used the dire straits the country had been in to extort a pardon for their crimes from her? "If needed we can throw them some bone. Maybe another pardon."

Pius inclined his head, but didn't comment.

"What about the flying carpets with the muggles the Dark Lord had kidnapped?" Amelia asked. She hated loose ends.

"The Obliviators told me that they have arranged a cover story for the muggles. A 'bus accident', or so I was told." Pius shrugged. "There weren't that many survivors."

"Have them checked for curses before releasing them. I don't want any other 'surprises' like the Withering Curse," Amelia said.

"Yes, Minister."

When Pius had left her office, Amelia called her secretary. "Inform the Prophet that the Ministry is releasing information about the battle in Diagon Alley."

*****​

London, London Bridge Hospital, February 2nd, 1997

Ron Weasley woke up, looked around, and started to panic - he was in an unfamiliar room. Not St Mungo's, nor the Hogwarts infirmary. And his wand was missing! And his side… he glanced down, craning his neck. His wound was bandaged. And it didn't hurt that much. Someone had healed him, then. Mostly, at least.

Then he realised that he was in a muggle hospital. The telly hanging on the wall opposite his bed was a dead giveaway. He should have realised that sooner. And his throat hurt, it felt parched. For a moment, he imagined his neck having been struck by the withering curse, and shuddered.

He tried to call for a nurse or Healer, but his throat didn't want to cooperate. While he was looking for a rope to pull or something, the door opened.

"Hey!"

There she was. Hermione. He felt better at once. Warm. Safe. He smiled. "Hello," he managed to say, mostly at least. She understood him, of course. She was smart.

She sat down on his bed, smiling at him. "I heard you wake up. I left a spell." She picked up a glass from the table next to the bed. "Here, drink!"

She must have been right outside. Wherever that was. The water helped a lot. He managed to speak mostly normally after a few tries. "What happened? Where are we?"

"We're in London Bridge Hospital. A private muggle hospital," she said, refilling the glass from a bottle he had missed until then. "The wound was resistant to magic."

"I noticed," he said, snorting, then winced at the pain that caused.

"Ron!" She had her wand out at once, running it over his body.

"I'm alright," he said. He thought so, at least. But he had heard that some curses, you felt fine until you died. But he had been in too much pain for such a curse, he thought. "What happened? Did we… did Harry...?"

"Voldemort's dead. Harry did it," Hermione said.

He closed his eyes, sighing. The Dark Lord was dead. They had won the war. Then he jerked his head around, staring at her. "And Harry? And the others?"

"He's fine," Hermione said, then, noticing his expression, added: "Really fine."

He chuckled, trying not to react to the pain that caused.

"Fred and George are fine as well," she continued. "Bit 'banged up', as they put it, but they're out and about. Bill and Fleur made it too. Your parents and Percy came through unscathed, as far as I know - they were looking for you in the ruins of the shop, so they missed us. Sirius was hurt when his broom crashed, but he survived, as did most of the Resistance. Tonks was cursed, and is currently in St Mungo's." Her smile vanished. "Moody died, though, as did Jeremy. Both were killed by Voldemort."

Ron closed his eyes, relieved. His brothers were fine! But Moody was dead… he wouldn't have thought that possible. The old Auror had seemed so tough, and always one step ahead of them in training… of course, he had been facing Voldemort. Ron himself had only survived through luck, and muggle Healers, apparently. "Jeremy?" Who did he know with that name?

"Former Hit-Wizard. A few years older than us." Hermione smiled thinly.

"Ah." He tried to keep his relief that it had been no one he had known out of his voice. He felt guilty too, for caring more about his brothers' survival than the man's death.

"The surviving muggle children the Death Eaters had used as human shields were taken to St Mungo's. But too many of them died."

He could see that she was biting her lower lip and didn't pry further. He reached out to pat her hand, and she gripped his.

"Anyway," Hermione went on after a moment. "Your wound resisted healing spells. Harry managed to slow down the bleeding, but that was all he could do. So, we took you to a muggle hospital, where they treated your wound, before we had you transferred here."

"Did they sew me up?" Ron had heard his dad talk about that, once. He shivered - to think that he had threads inside him, like a ragdoll...

"It's a bit more complicated, but effectively, yes."

He stared at the bandages hiding the wound. He had stitches there!

"They'll come out soon enough," Hermione said.

He looked at her - she was frowning at him, but with an amused air. "Is my family here?"

Now she winced, and Ron gasped. Hadn't she said that they were fine? Had something happened after the battle? She would have mentioned that earlier, wouldn't she?

"They're fine, but…" She sighed. "Your parents were asked to leave the hospital. They made a scene when they weren't allowed to see you right away."

"Oh." He could imagine that. Mum would have been going spare at the thought of him in that state, and depending on muggle Healers. And Dad… he'd have asked all sorts of questions, both to distract himself and out of open curiosity.

"Yes." Hermione shrugged. "They'll be here as soon as they hear you're awake, though. The muggle doctors thought it was just the shock of you having been wounded so seriously."

"Good." The last thing his family needed was the Obliviators on their case right when the war was over. "How long do I have to stay here?" Come to think of it… "How long have I been here already?"

"You've been unconscious for a day." She sighed. "You'll be here for at least a week - it depends on how well the wound is healing."

"A week." He nodded slowly. Could have been worse.

Much worse.

*****​

Harry Potter arrived at London Bridge Hospital ten minutes after he had heard from Hermione that Ron had woken up. One minute to excuse himself from Sirius and nine minutes to reach the hospital from the closest Apparition spot he was familiar with. It took five minutes to reach his friend's room.

He knocked. After a second, he heard a muffled "Come in!" and opened the door. Ron was lying in the bed, as expected, and Hermione was sitting at his side. Both had their wands ready, but stashed them when they recognised him. Moody would have told them off for not suspecting Polyjuice, he thought. But Moody was dead.

"Hi," Harry said, entering.

"Our hero!" Ron said, chuckling, then wincing.

Hermione frowned at Ron, and Harry saw her draw and flick her wand, aimed at Ron.

Ron had noticed it as well. "I'm fine!" he said.

"You have a cut in your side eight inches long," Hermione retorted. "With stitches," she added with a fake smile.

Ron shuddered.

Harry chuckled. "So, how is he?" he asked, looking at Hermione.

"The wound seems to be healing as expected. Without magic, that is," she said, glancing at Ron, who had been about to say something, or so it looked, but then closed his mouth without a word. "It appears that you managed to weaken the curse so that natural healing is now possible. Fortunately, we could remove the splinters under his skin with magic. That would have been a bit difficult to explain."

"What was it, anyway? It wasn't Sectumsempra." Harry had been taught the counter-curse to that spell, as had, he presumed, all of the Order thanks to Snape.

"I don't know." Hermione frowned. "The wound would have to be investigated thoroughly to find out what spell caused it, and that would interfere with the recovery."

And, Harry added to himself, it might reveal what wand he had been using.

"I'd rather not keep bleeding so the Unspeakables can do their research," Ron said. "Staying in bed is only fun if you're not wounded."

Hermione actually blushed, Harry noticed with some surprise, and more than a bit of jealousy. Had they gone that far, yet? He didn't really want to know.

"So, what's been going on while I was out?" Ron asked. "Hermione told me who died," he added, "but not much else yet. How's Sirius?"

"Well… Sirius is resting. He had to take Skele-Gro." Harry winced, remembering just how painful that potion was. "Wizarding Britain is celebrating," he continued. "Like in 1981. Fireworks, and all. I bet the Obliviators are getting overworked." He was a bit bitter about the fact that the vast majority of those celebrating hadn't done anything to fight Voldemort, and many of those who had couldn't celebrate, being dead or in a magical sleep.

"You don't sound like you are celebrating," Ron said, glancing from Harry to Hermione.

"With you in surgery?" Harry snorted. And then there were the dead. He was pretty sure that Moody would have wanted them to celebrate, but… if he closed his eyes he still saw the battle, scenes mixing and overlapping. Voldemort turning to dust, Ron bleeding, the dead stumbling around, Sirius crashing, corpses of children strewn about…

Ron grumbled something Harry didn't catch. Hermione, who was sitting next to their friend, frowned. "We've been busy getting the word out to the muggleborns. John has set up a recording for the Resistance Radio, and we've mailed to all our contacts. But it'll take some time for everyone to hear the news. And even longer for them to believe it." She sighed. "We really need them to return quickly."

Ron blinked. "What's wrong?"

Harry pulled out the Daily Prophet and showed it to Ron. "According to the Prophet, I killed Voldemort by myself. With the help of the brave Aurors and Hit-Wizards killed in Diagon Alley." Not that they were using the Dark Lord's name. Not even now. "The Order and the Resistance are barely mentioned."

"It's a blatant attempt to marginalise the Resistance and the Order," Hermione said. "But you're no toddler anymore, nor will you vanish from Wizarding Britain for a decade."

Harry shook his head. He didn't like being treated like this, but vanishing from Wizarding would mean letting his friends down. And that he'd never do.

Ron muttered a curse while he read the front page. Then he looked up. "They're praising you, though. They're almost calling you a second Dumbledore."

"For now," Harry said. Fourth year had taught him how quickly that could change. "There are also several articles about how the war's over, and things will go back to normal."

"Oh." Ron's expression told Harry that even on pain medication, he hadn't forgotten about their talks.

"It's 1981 again. At least if Bones has her way," Hermione said. "Celebrate, and then forget, and do business as usual. Which is why we need the muggleborns to return to Wizarding Britain and make themselves heard. The Ministry needs to realise that they can't simply go back to the status quo ante."

"The what?"

Harry was glad Ron had asked the question before he had to.

"The state things were before the war," Hermione explained. "I've been reading about peace treaties lately. Not that it is entirely applicable in our situation, of course. We've never really declared war on the Ministry."

"They certainly hunted you," Harry said. He was still mad at Tonks for that.

"Which is part of the problem. The Ministry wants to consider us as pardoned criminals, not as a legitimate faction in a civil war." Hermione was clenching her teeth, Harry could tell.

"Sirius will support you in the Wizengamot," Harry said. Once his godfather was back on his feet, at least.

"That will help, but we need more support. We need to show the Ministry that they can't ignore the muggleborns, not any more," Hermione said. She didn't have to say that there would be another war if the Ministry tried - Harry knew that.

"What happened to Voldemort, exactly?" Ron asked, looking at him.

"What Dumbledore planned," Harry answered, after a moment's hesitation. He didn't want to talk about that fight in their minds. Not even to his friends. "We met, we fought, I won."

To his surprise, Hermione snorted in response to that report, instead of demanding more details. He went on: "I'm feeling well, though, with this gone." He tapped his scar. It was if a weight that he had carried all his life had vanished.

Then the door was opened without knocking. Harry had cast a shield and stepped in front of Ron, next to Hermione, before he recognised who had arrived. Ron's family. Who had frozen at the sight of three wands aimed at them.

"I bet Moody's laughing right now in the afterlife," Ron muttered behind him.

*****​

London, East End, February 2nd, 1997

Hermione Granger entered the Resistance's safe house, and for a moment, she felt as if she had come home. The sights and smells and even sounds had become familiar over the last few months. Even comforting. And yet, she added, looking at the stairs leading up to far too many empty rooms, it was also saddening.

"How's Ron?"

Sally-Anne was peeking out of the kitchen, Hermione noticed. She looked quite apprehensive.

"He'll live. The wound's healing naturally," Hermione said, stepping into the kitchen herself. She noticed that Sally-Anne was brewing tea. Quite cliched, but she liked to take care of her friends, so Hermione wouldn't say anything. "But he loathes the stitches. His dad was fascinated, though. He wanted to remove the bandages to take a look, even." And that had almost led to the Weasleys getting thrown out of the hospital again. At that rate, Sirius would have to make a donation to the hospital to smooth things over. Or, she added to herself, use a few spells.

Her friend shook her head and sighed.

"He'll have to stay there for about a week," Hermione went on. Which was better than she had feared, but even after getting released, Ron wouldn't be able to do anything strenuous for a while. But he was alive, and that was all that counted!

"Are you going to play nurse for him?" Sally-Anne's tone was teasing, but she didn't seem to be happy. There was a hint of concern in her face.

Hermione frowned. Had something happened to their wounded? "How's Louise?"

"She's asleep. She was awake for a bit earlier today, and I filled her in about what had happened after she was hurt. She'll be fine once she has rested. But the news..." Sally-Anne shook her head. "Have you read the Daily Prophet? Seamus wanted to go and blow up their office. We managed to get him to calm down."

Hermione hoped that he hadn't been serious. But she could understand his reaction - she had been livid herself when she had read the articles. Voldemort hadn't been dead for a day, and the Ministry was already making a move. Though she had to admit that they were smart to do this while Sirius was recovering. She sighed. "We'll have to counter that. Is John here?"

"Yes. Everyone's in the living room." Sally-Anne sighed. "I know it wasn't likely, but… I thought with the Dark Lord dead, we'd have won. That it was over. So many of us died. And now…" She didn't quite sob, but her sigh came close.

Hermione reached out to pat her on the shoulder. "We'll win. Trust me." She smiled when her friend slowly nodded.

But as Hermione went upstairs to her room to drop off her coat before heading to the living room, she wished she was as confident as she had sounded.

By the time she reached the living room, Sally-Anne had joined the rest of the Resistance there.

"Hermione!" Seamus jumped up from the couch. "Have you read the Prophet?" He waved a crumpled issue around.

"Yes, I have."

"And what are we going to do about it?"

She looked around. Justin looked grim, but then smiled at Sally-Anne. Tania looked as angry as Seamus, but remained seated on the couch. John was frowning, a notepad in front of him. And Louise was still recovering. They had lost half their numbers, Hermione thought, in this war.

"We'll tell the truth in our radio broadcast - and we'll drop leaflets in Diagon Alley again." She looked at John. "We'll have to address not just muggleborns, but everyone - including the poorer purebloods. The more support we have, the sooner the Ministry will give in."

"Do you really think they'll just surrender?" Seamus scoffed. "The purebloods won't give up their power."

"The Old Families are the ones controlling the Wizengamot, and through it, the Ministry. But they are a tiny minority. We'll have to persuade the muggleborns to return, and the half-bloods and as many of the purebloods as we can to support us." Hermione said. "If we manage that, then we can force the Ministry to reform, and change the Wizengamot into an elected parliament."

"We can demand trials for those who supported the Death Eaters and abused their power during the war. That will weaken the Ministry and the Wizengamot further," John said.

"Unless the Wizengamot acquits them. They did so in 1981, after all." Hermione didn't trust the Wizengamot's justice.

"If they do that..." Seamus clenched his teeth.

"Would they dare? There'd be riots in Diagon Alley," Tania said.

Hermione couldn't tell if either of the two was looking forward to such a crisis. She shrugged. "We'll need to know how the Wizengamot stands on such trials, before we ask for them."

"We can deal with the worst criminals ourselves," Seamus said.

"The Ministry knows that. But they might just be waiting for a pretext to move against us. And they'll blame us for any such action, whether we were involved or not." Hermione didn't want to deal with another Allan. "We need to focus on getting support from the population, not start a war."

"But even if we do that, the Wizengamot might decide to fight rather than surrender their power," Justin said.

"If they wish to die rather than enact reforms we'll oblige them," Hermione said. They had fought a war against a far stronger foe already; they wouldn't give up now.

*****​

London, No. 12 Grimmauld Place, February 2nd, 1997

Sirius Black was suffering. It wasn't just the pain from the Skele-Gro he had had to take, though that certainly played a big part. Skele-Gro made you feel as if you had hundreds of splinters in your limbs and you couldn't get them out! The Torture Curse was said to be worse, but Merlin's Balls, he was certain the two were related, somehow - you couldn't use magic to deal with the pain in either case. And to think Harry had suffered through this in his second year!

But worse than the pain was the knowledge that he had let his godson down. While he was being treated for his wounds, laid up, the Ministry had moved. Who'd have thought stubborn, rigid - and frigid - Bones would be as cunning as a Slytherin? He glared at the Daily Prophet on the floor next to his bed. The figures in the picture of an Auror group glared back at him, bunched together in the corner of the picture he hadn't burned.

A pack of lies, spread on the orders of the Ministry to fool the people and further the Minister's agenda - and the Wizengamot's, of course. That cesspit of bigots and scum! He hissed with anger and frustration, hitting the mattress he was lying on with his fist. If not for his wounds - more extensive than he had thought - he could have done something. But now half of Britain would already have heard and believed that Harry and the Ministry had saved them all.

He took a deep breath. Harry had saved them all. He had destroyed the Dark Lord's mind. And his soul, or so Sirius suspected. Albus hadn't gone into much detail past the necessity of defeating Voldemort in their minds, but Sirius had read up on the topic in his family's library. He did not know for sure, though - and he'd certainly never tell Harry his suspicions. That sort of burden no one should have to bear.

Sirius sighed. He felt so useless, stuck in his bed while the cowards who had hidden during the war were crawling out of their holes, eager to take the reins of the country. Amos had informed him that the only reason they hadn't managed to organise an emergency session of the Wizengamot was that the majority of them had not trusted the news enough to leave their safe houses right away.

But they'd gather tomorrow, and Sirius already knew what would be on the agenda: They'd try to save as many of their family members who had been involved with Voldemort as they could. He snorted. He would be able to move again tomorrow.

The door opened and Vivienne entered, smiling at him. Next to her floated a tray with food. She left it hovering next to his bed, then bent down to kiss him. For a moment, he forgot all about his troubles and pain.

"'ow are you doing?" she asked when they broke off.

"I'm feeling better now." He shot her a smile. "How is your family doing?" Vivienne hadn't been hurt much, but her family hadn't been as lucky. The Blacks, on the other hand, had fared better - Nymphadora was expected to make a full recovery, even though she was still at St Mungo's so the Healers could keep an eye on her. Andromeda suspected that they were keeping her daughter for a few days longer just to be able to study her body, but after the Withering Curse, no one could blame them for being cautious.

She smiled, then sighed. "They've already returned to France." Those who had survived.

"All of them?" He was surprised. That… it wasn't quite rude, but he would have expected the French to stay and celebrate a bit longer. And wait until he was well enough to join in - he was their host, after all.

"The Duc sent a message, calling them back to the Court. ''Onour has been satisfied, and blood has been avenged'."

"Ah." That explained it. The Duc d'Orléans had quite a bit more power than the British Minister for Magic - and he wasn't elected by a parliament. "You stayed, though."

"Of course." She ran a hand over his cheek. "I'm not a Delacour, but a d'Aigle. I'm not a member of the Court."

Sirius wanted to ask if she would have stayed anyway, but didn't. Some things you did not ask. Not at the current stage of their relationship. Not when the reason she had come to Britain was no more. So he simply nodded. "Does that mean that the Duc will no longer support French involvement in Britain's affairs?"

"I think so. Though 'e might be concerned about the muggleborns."

"Oh?" The pain was just a dull ache now. Focusing on talking helped.

Vivienne sighed again. She smiled, but he could see that it was forced. "The Court of Magical France has long been concerned about muggleborns. They fear that they might try to emulate the French muggles, and rebel."

Sirius nodded. "And the Duc's concerned about the British muggleborns."

"Yes." Vivienne nodded. "'Onour demanded that we took revenge for the attack on us, and the Duc wouldn't 'ave denied us that. But now… 'E is the Duc, but some things even our ruler cannot do, or seem to support, without inviting trouble."

Having seen the élan of the French, Sirius understood that perfectly. People who were willing to lose a dozen family members to avenge a single one would certainly pose a problem, should they feel their ruler was betraying them. And yet… "There might be trouble, though. The British Ministry is in dire need of reforms." Reforms that would only happen at wand-point.

"It's a country's prerogative to organise itself. A peaceful change would certainly not be any cause for concern," Vivienne said.

Sirius doubted that - Dumbledore's changes would have certainly been a topic in the ICW if he hadn't been so powerful - but he nodded anyway. There was no reason to poke this particular dragon, yet.

*****​

London, London Bridge Hospital, February 2nd, 1997

"Voldemort is dead and his followers shattered, but his ideology still lives. The Ministry still believes that blood matters - that purebloods are better than half-bloods and muggleborns. The Wizengamot is still composed of people born into it, not elected, and they don't just elect the Minister, but they also serve as both parliament and court of law. This cannot continue! The past year has shown just how easily such a system is abused!

"The privileges of the Old Families have to go! It doesn't matter if you're a pureblood, a half-blood or a muggleborn - we are all equal, and should be equal before the law! And together, we can change Britain for the better! We can and will win!"

Ron Weasley sighed and leaned back in his bed as Hermione's voice faded and was replaced with muggle music. His girlfriend was correct, but her delivery needed some work. If that had been Lee on the wireless...

He resisted the urge to scratch the bandages on his side, even though the stitches were itching. The sooner he was healed, the sooner he could help his friends. And the sooner the stitches would be removed.

He didn't know how many would be listening to the Resistance Radio anyway - not everyone might have noticed that the wireless was now broadcasting every day. And the muggleborns listening to it might hesitate to return. He couldn't blame them - not with three horrible battles fought in the last month alone.

He sighed. He wished Hermione was here with him. Or his family. But visiting hours were over. And he was stuck in the muggle hospital. He glanced at the enchanted mirror Harry had left him. He could call her, but… she had a lot to do. A lot of important work. And he didn't want to disturb her. She'd call at her usual time.

Ron pulled out the brochures Harry had brought from Quality Quidditch Supplies. Their latest broom line up. Harry had told him to pick one - any one - as replacement for the broom Voldemort had destroyed. Sirius would pay for it.

Ron didn't like receiving charity. He had his pride - as did his family. But was this charity? He would need a broom, if things turned bad again. And judging by what he had read in the Prophet, that didn't seem to be that unlikely. And Sirius was rich - he could afford it easily.

But that left him with the question of which model he should choose. The Firebolt would be the obvious choice - it was the best broom on the market, bar none. But to fly one of them, knowing that it had been a gift…

There was another thing, of course. The Firebolt was ideal for Seekers, Chasers and Beaters. But Ron was a Keeper. He didn't need speed, he needed manoeuvrability, and there were better brooms for that. At least for the Quidditch pitch. If he wanted to go pro after Hogwarts, he would have to pick a Keeper's broom.

If he wanted to go pro. Ron knew he wasn't a Quidditch prodigy. Not like Harry. But he was good. Not as good as Wood, but Wood was among the best in the current league. So, coupled with his - small as it was - fame, Ron had a decent chance at a career in Quidditch.

But did he want such a career? It had been his dream to play professionally since he had first flown a broom. To win a game while thousands of fans cheered. But that had been before the war. It didn't feel like such a great thing any more. It was a game, the best game in the world, but… there were more important things. The war had taught him that.

And he didn't fancy looking and acting like Ludo Bagman in twenty years.

*****​

London, Ministry of Magic, February 3rd, 1997

"Honoured members of the Wizengamot! We have gathered here for a special session in order to decide the best course of action to lead our country through these trying times."

Sirius Black scowled at the man. Philius Runcorn was the acting Chief Warlock by virtue of being the most senior member of the Wizengamot. And he was a blood purist who had been 'missing' since right before the Battle of the Ministry. Probably a Death Eater too.

"With the Dark Lord having been defeated by the Boy-Who-Lived, the war is over and it is time to mend the wounds it has caused our country! Far too many good wizards and witches have died in the war! Far too many good families have suffered greatly!"

Sirius was certain that Runcorn didn't meant anyone outside the Old Families with his words.

"It is time to restore order to Britain. The necessities of war no longer hold sway over us, we can once again conduct our business according to our laws and traditions."

Sirius glanced to Bones. The witch was nodding - she didn't seem to mind that Runcorn had all but admitted to be working for Voldemort when he had fled the Wizengamot shortly before the Withering Curse had struck. And she was standing up.

"The chair recognises the Minister for Magic."

"Honoured members of the Wizengamot!" Bones started to speak, "You all know how many casualties the Ministry forces suffered during the war. With our current numbers, we can barely patrol Diagon Alley and Hogsmeade. We need more recruits to provide Britain with the protection it needs. I therefore propose to extend the emergency funds allocated to the recruitment and training of Aurors and Hit-Wizards until we have restored our normal numbers and competency. The war has disrupted the social order, and in order to prevent unscrupulous elements from taking advantage of that, we need more wands in the Ministry's service."

Sirius saw many members of the Wizengamot nod in agreement. There was no point in trying to oppose this. But even with extended funding, the Ministry would remain weak for quite some time.

It didn't take long for the proposal to be discussed, and it was passed with an overwhelming majority. Another proposal to allocate more funds to the DoM to research a cure for the Withering Curse passed as well.

"The chair recognises Mister Greengrass."

"Honoured members of the Wizengamot! I've heard people claim that the war is over, but my niece and others are still held in captivity by the muggleborns. What is the Ministry doing to save them?"

Amos scoffed loudly, and said: "They were fighting for the Dark Lord! They don't need to be saved - they need to be executed!" It took a while for the excitement and outrage that this caused to die down.

"The chair recognises the Minister for Magic."

"Mister Greengrass, the Ministry couldn't take action previously since we had an agreement with the Muggleborn Resistance for the duration of the war. With the war over, the Resistance is obligated to hand their prisoners over to the Ministry, or they'll be guilty of kidnapping."

"And do you think they'll listen to you?" Greengrass gestured with his wand. "They have murdered my family and started this war in the first place. Something far too many here seem to have forgotten!"

"The Death Eaters started this war when they murdered my son!" Amos yelled. "People like your family!"

"How dare you!" Greengrass stared at Amos, baring his teeth.

Runcorn called for order, but was mostly ignored. Bones's face could have curdled milk. Sirius leaned back and enjoyed the show. It didn't look like the Ministry would be able to easily push their proposals through. And he hadn't yet had to stir the pot up himself.

Finally, the Wizengamot settled down again, and Bones continued: "The Ministry, as the only legal authority in Britain, will do its utmost to restore law and order. We will not let this country descend into anarchy."

Sirius raised his wand.

"The chair recognises Mister Black."

"Those are brave words, Minister," Sirius said, smirking. "Even more so since the Dark Lord was not defeated by your forces, but by the Order of the Phoenix and the Muggleborn Resistance."

"He was defeated by the Boy-Who-Lived!" Weatherby yelled.

"Yes. With the help of the Order and the Resistance," Sirius said, sneering at the man. "I was there. I fought the Dark Lord myself. I know what happened, unlike everyone else who believes the Daily Prophet's lies." Bones's face looked like it had been petrified, Sirius noted with some satisfaction. "And I think some of my esteemed colleagues are a bit too quick to consider the war over."

"What do you mean?" Rowle asked.

"Did you forget how this war started?" Sirius grinned widely. "It started when the Muggleborn Resistance struck back after the muggleborns had suffered a year of persecution at the hands of the Ministry. Do you honestly think they will simply go back to how things were, and let you rule them again as you please?"

"Most of them died in the war!" Greengrass yelled.

"More than enough are left," Sirius retorted. He let his gaze sweep through the chamber. "Some of my esteemed colleagues here seem to think that you can simply ignore those who have killed the Dark Lord and go on as you used to. You are wrong. No amount of lies published in the Daily Prophet will make them go away. Before you try to make any decisions about Britain's future, you should ensure that you actually have the power to make such decisions."

"Are you threatening the Ministry, Mister Black?" Bones was glaring at him.

Sirius snorted. "I'm pointing out that you're trying to treat those who killed the Dark Lord as if they do not matter. That's not just stupid, that's dangerous as well. They might think you're planning to follow in his footsteps. The muggleborns certainly haven't forgotten how quickly the Ministry turned on them a year and a half ago. And they do not think that just because you've been born into an Old Family, you should be able to rule them."

"What do you want, Black?"

Sirius smiled. "You should ask that question to the muggleborns. Before they show you what they want."

*****​

Hogwarts, February 3rd, 1997

"There he is!"

"The Boy-Who-Lived!"

"Harry Potter!"

Harry Potter almost cringed when he passed the group of Hufflepuffs in the hallway. He wanted to yell at them that he hadn't done it alone, that without his friends, he'd have been dead before he reached the Dark Lord. But that wouldn't help - he had tried earlier today.

The latest Prophet had made things even worse, making it look as if Harry and Voldemort had duelled in the middle of the street, displaying unmatched skill at magic, houses tumbling and blowing up while they fought. Someone at the Prophet had had a really fertile imagination, and some talent with a brush, and the students - who really should have known, and known him, better - lapped it up.

If that was what the rest of his time at Hogwarts would be like he had better quit…

Harry stopped walking. Quitting Hogwarts sounded horrible, at first. The school had been his home for years. The first place he could remember where he could be happy. But he had a real home, now, at Grimmauld Place. With Sirius. And he might have to quit Hogwarts anyway. If the Ministry decided to fight the Resistance rather than change, Harry would fight as well. And he couldn't stay at Hogwarts in that case - the Aurors would come for him.

And even without another war, Harry wasn't quite certain how he'd handle it if McGonagall tried to make him behave like a normal student again, with a curfew, detentions, and listening to prefects…

"Harry Potter! Finally!"

He looked up and saw Luna Lovegood walk straight towards him. Or stalk towards him. "Luna?"

"Yes?" She stopped and cocked her head sideways, looking at him.

For a moment, he was tempted to use Legilimency, but he controlled himself. He would respect her privacy. He blinked. "Ah… how can I help you?"

She beamed at him. "I need your help with an interview!"

"Ah…" It wasn't a bad idea. The Quibbler had covered the war quite decently. Harry could use this to set the record straight. "Of course, Luna. With pleasure."

"Good! When can you take me to Hermione's lair?" Her head bobbed up as she spoke, smiling widely.

"What?"

"Hermione's lair. She's become the Boggart for so many purebloods, especially in the Wizengamot, that she might have become a new magical species from sheer sympathetic magic. And I think a lair sounds better than a home. More exotic."

"Ah." Harry stared at her. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea. On the other hand… it gave him an excuse to leave Hogwarts, and it might help counter the Ministry's lies. "Let me check…"

He just hoped Hermione was in a good mood.

*****​

Walney Island, Cumbria, Britain, February 3rd, 1997

Augustus Rookwood looked around the old house, flicks of his wand clearing dust and dirt. It was quite small, but nothing a few Extension Charms couldn't fix. More important was that the small cottage was unplottable, hidden in a nature reserve on the island. No one would find him here - not even the Dark Lord had known about this cottage.

He glanced at his left arm. He still had trouble accepting that the Dark Mark was gone. That the Dark Lord had actually died, despite his numerous Horcruxes. Augustus didn't know how Dumbledore had managed to kill the Dark Lord - after dying himself, even - but he was determined to find out. He had to, to avoid the same fate. Augustus knew that there had been a special connection between the Dark Lord and the Boy-Who-Lived, and he hoped that this had been the cause of the Dark Lord's defeat. It would make it less of a concern.

He was alone, of course. The other survivors had split up - it had been every wizard for himself. Augustus expected at least one of them to turn traitor like Karkaroff any day now. He wasn't bothered by that thought, though - he was already known as a Death Eater, so he had no cover to lose.

He also was the last member of the Dark Lord's Inner Circle, not counting that pathetic Pettigrew, who had disappeared even before the Dark Lord's death, and he knew that the Ministry would hunt him. Their Aurors were not much of a threat, but his former colleagues… with the fall of the Dark Lord, he had lost his protection against them, and they had the means to find him, or any other wayward Unspeakable.

He needed some leverage to cut a deal with them before his own precautions failed. And, he added to himself, looking at the notes he had gathered, he just knew what his leverage would be.

The lives of all the victims of the Withering Curse would make for a powerful bargaining chip. Once he had discovered its secrets, which shouldn't take that long.

*****​
 
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Chapter 43: Interviews and Funerals
Chapter 43: Interviews and Funerals

'Without a doubt, Amelia Bones's term of office occurred during the most critical and dangerous period of the 20th century for Wizarding Britain - she took the office of Minister for Magic at the height of the Second Blood War. Her predecessor, Cornelius Fudge, had been murdered, on the orders of the Dark Lord, and soon afterwards Albus Dumbledore himself fell victim to a dark curse. With the only wizard feared by both the Dark Lord and the Muggleborn Resistance dead and the Ministry's forces depleted, Bones's prospects were dire. And yet, Bones did not even think of surrendering Wizarding Britain to either faction - instead, she did what she felt was her duty to the Ministry and to the Wizengamot, no matter the opposition she faced.'
- Excerpt from 'Wizarding Britain in the 20th Century' by Albert Runcorn


*****​

London, Greenwich, February 5th, 1997

"Hello," Hermione Granger said with a smile when Harry led Luna into the one-room flat in Greenwich the Resistance had rented as an emergency safe house months ago.

"Hi," Harry said.

"This doesn't look like a proper lair," Luna said with a pout. She was looking at the muggle furniture, and not at her.

"A lair?" Hermione glanced at Harry, who looked slightly guilty.

"As the purebloods' Boggart, you need a lair!" Before Hermione could ask what she meant, Luna went on: "Although I guess the amount of muggleness here would serve well enough to scare most purebloods." Luna nodded at her own words, cocking her head to study the microwave in the kitchenette. "A lair, hidden in plain sight, yes." And she started scribbling down notes on what looked like a scroll of parchment stuck to a noteboard almost as big as her torso. Then she looked up with a hopeful expression. "I don't suppose you'll show me the dungeons where you keep the prisoners taken during the war? No?"

Hermione blinked, then glanced at Harry again, who was very busy studying the fridge's contents. Which consisted of food that wouldn't perish for a few months. She cleared her throat.

"Yes?" Harry looked over his shoulder.

"If you are done inspecting our store of emergency rations…" She couldn't tell if he was embarrassed or amused, or both. Probably both - her friend would give an interview himself, supporting the Resistance's goals.

"Oh! Muggle food! Is it true that you eat stylised effigies of the god of war to prepare for battle?" Luna moved behind Harry and looked over his shoulder into the fridge.

"Effigies of the… do you mean Mars Bars?"

"Yes." Luna nodded, hitting Harry's shoulder with her chin a few times. "The Rotfang Conspiracy is fond of using them since they are so gooey that they easily adhere to teeth." Turning around so fast that her long hair hit Harry in the face she stared at Hermione. "Are you allied with them? They, too, plan the subjugation of the Ministry! Or was it just an alliance of convenience, and now you are rivals for control of Wizarding Britain?"

"I'm not aware of this Rotfang Conspiracy," Hermione said, with a forced smile. She wanted to mention that her parents were dentists, but then Luna might mention them in an article. And she'd prefer it if her family were forgotten by Wizarding Britain. At least until things had changed.

"Oh? I'd have expected you to be aware of such threats. Or… are you trying to fool them into thinking that you don't know about them? That won't work since we've covered them in The Quibbler extensively. Or is this a double-bluff? You know that they know that you know…" Luna's slightly protuberant eyes seemed to lose focus.

Hermione realised that her plan to oppose the Ministry's quasi-monopoly in the press by using The Quibbler wouldn't be quite as easy as she had thought. Apparently, Ron had been understating things a great deal when he had described the Lovegoods as 'eccentric'. And it seemed that the rumours that her father printed stories accusing Fudge of butchering and cooking goblins were true as well.

*****​

"What are your thoughts on the end of the war?" Luna asked, leaning forward on the couch, her notepad balanced on her knees. The scroll of parchment stuck to it seemed to never end and it could float in the air as if it was on a table. Hermione was very curious as to which spells had been used to create it, but now that Luna had finally started to act like a professional reporter and not a conspiracy nut, it was time to focus on the interview.

"I am relieved that Voldemort's attempt to violently overthrow the Ministry and murder all muggleborns and so-called 'blood traitors' has been stopped," Hermione answered. She was sitting on one of the two seats in the flat. Harry was in the other, reading through the stack of The Quibblers covering the low table between them. "But the Ministry is trying to ignore the fact that Voldemort wasn't the only reason this war started. That is understandable, of course - the Ministry would rather not remind the people of its own guilt."

"So, will you be continuing the war until the Ministry surrenders?" Neither Luna's tone nor her expression changed when she asked this question.

"I do not think that the Ministry is willing to fight a war in defense of the very ideology of the Dark Lord they just fought," Hermione said. "The Death Eaters thought that blood mattered, that purebloods were superior to half-bloods and muggleborns simply by the virtue of their birth. That sick idea has cost so many lives in the last two wars, who in their right mind would be willing to fight another war for it?"

"The Ministry hasn't always acted in a rational manner in the past," Luna pointed out - which meant a lot coming from a Lovegood as Hermione now knew only too well - she had tried to convince Luna that she really did not know anything about a Rotfang Conspiracy, which had resulted in a lengthy explanation that had strained Hermione's self-control until she remembered that, not counting the insanity of the topic, this was how she had often acted in the past. Harry's smile told her that he had made the connection as well.

"That is true." Hermione nodded. Some of the past decisions she had read about boggled the mind, "But in this case, the decision lies not with the Ministry, but with the Wizengamot. And so many members of the Wizengamot have died in the last war, I do hope that the rest are fully aware of what would they unleash, should they attempt to keep oppressing muggleborns, half-bloods, and basically anyone who is not a member of the so-called 'Old Families'."

"Weren't the muggleborn laws repealed?" Luna asked. She cocked her head sideways until her ear touched her shoulder, then straightened up. "Even though I looked at it from another angle, your statement didn't change."

"Those laws were just the most outrageous result of the oppressive autocratic nature of the current system," Hermione said, then bit her lip to avoid starting a rant. "They could be passed because, except for a few families, no wizard or witch, no matter their blood status, has any say in how Wizarding Britain is governed. The Wizengamot is composed of hereditary seats with a few seats appointed by the Minister - who in turn is elected by the Wizengamot. Why should a few purebloods have the power to decide how the rest of us have to live?"

"I think they derive their power from the way the Wizengamot was set up," Luna said.

"That was before even the Statute of Secrecy and many of the most common spells we use every day had been created," Hermione countered. "Wizarding Britain has changed drastically in the past centuries, and it is high time to adjust its government to reflect that. The last war has clearly demonstrated that it isn't working any more."

"Does that mean that if the Wizengamot does not relinquish its power, the Resistance will go to war?" Luna still didn't bat an eye. Hermione didn't know if Luna was simply far more professional than she had acted so far, or if she didn't quite realise what that would mean.

Nevertheless, she had to answer that. "No. We do not want the Wizengamot to relinquish its power." Not all of it, at least. "But we want the Wizengamot to be composed of members elected for a term by the population."

"Like the Minister?"

"In a similar way. Everyone would be able to vote for the candidates, and those with the most votes would form the Wizengamot until the next election." Since the population of Wizarding Britain couldn't be split into districts easily, they'd need a system of proportional representation, not the First Past the Post system used in muggle Britain.

"But the Minister is usually chosen beforehand, and the election is just a formality," Luna pointed out.

Hermione frowned, then forced herself to smile. It wasn't Luna's fault, and it wasn't as if such things didn't happen in the United Kingdom either. "That wouldn't happen since you'd have to convince the entirety of Wizarding Britain."

"Oh. But wouldn't that make any decision impossible? You can't convince everyone all the time, unless you're using the Imperius. You're not, are you?"

"No, there's no plan to use the Imperius in politics. Not on the Resistance's side, at least. I can't speak for the Old Families, of course - many of them have been involved in such abuse in the past." That kind of rumour Hermione and the Resistance could do without. "And the Ministry used the Imperius Curse on muggleborns, in an attempt to force them to spy on us."

"Oh!" Luna paused her scribbling. "How did you deal with that?"

"We were forced to kill one of them, but we saved the other, keeping her safe until we could get her to a Thief's Downfall." Hermione pressed her lips together before she went into another rant about the Ministry's tactics.

"Oh. So, are you concerned about the Ministry using the Imperius to win an election?" Luna asked, leaning forward.

"They haven't yet withdrawn the special authorisation granted to Aurors and Hit-Wizards to use the Imperius Curse and the Killing Curse," Hermione said. "They said there were still Death Eaters unaccounted for - Rookwood and Pettigrew, to name the two most prominent - but they also claim the war is over and everyone should go back to normal." She shrugged. "A tiny contradiction, I'd say."

"Will you be returning to Hogwarts?"

"No." Hermione shook her head, frowning. "It would be quite irresponsible in the current situation."

"And after this has been resolved? And will you restart your sixth year, or enter seventh?"

"I do not know how long it'll take to reform Wizarding Britain. I'm planning to take my N.E.W.T.s after self-study." She also didn't want to study with people whose family she might have killed during the war. The potential for violence was just too great, and Hermione didn't know if she could abstain from lethal measures when defending herself against an attacker at school. Or if she wanted to, in the first place.

Harry lowered his magazine and looked at her, sighing. Hermione knew that he had to deal with this as well, though his situation was not quite as serious. Unlike Hermione and the other members of the Resistance, he hadn't killed quite as many Death Eaters and their, misguided or not, supporters. Still, she wondered if either Harry or Ron would end up maiming some of the purebloods who had fled Hogwarts, should they return. Moody's training certainly wouldn't help them to avoid killing an attacker.

She had planned to organise some PTSD treatment for the Order and the Resistance for a while now, but she hadn't yet found a psychiatrist who knew about magic. Maybe one of the parents of a muggleborn was a licensed therapist.

"How will that influence your relationship with Ron Weasley? If he's at Hogwarts for another year and a half, and you'll only be able to see each other during the Hogsmeade weekends, that would put a strain on it, wouldn't it?"

Hermione blinked. That was a rather personal question. A glance told her that Harry was focusing on his magazine again. She cleared her throat. "We'll manage." Neither she nor Ron cared about the curfew and other rules of Hogwarts any more, and would meet whenever they pleased, but she wasn't about to announce that. It was one thing to ignore the rules, another to flaunt that fact.

Luna nodded. Hermione expected her to pursue the topic further, but the other witch changed the topic. "Now, let's address the most important question for our readers: How do you handle your new status as a magical creature?"

Hermione blinked.

"What?"

"You are widely known as the worst fear of Britain's purebloods - their Boggart. Just as the Dark Lord was, before his death. It's quite likely that you will be transforming into a magical creature as well."

"What?"

*****​

At first, watching Luna interview Hermione had been amusing, Harry Potter thought. But towards the end… He couldn't tell if Luna had been serious, or simply used her magical creature speculation to discreetly ask more uncomfortable questions. And neither could Hermione, or so he thought.

And now it was his turn. Fortunately, she didn't think he was turning into a magical creature, and he'd told her in advance that he wouldn't go into the details of his fight with Voldemort.

"You have defeated the Dark Lord in single combat, saving Wizarding Britain. But at the same time, you also killed a unique magical creature - a human-snake-hybrid. How do you feel about that?"

Harry didn't think that 'I don't give a damn' would be a polite answer. "I'm relieved that this threat to us all is finally over. Anything else is, at best, a secondary concern." He had dealt with several magical creatures over the last few years, after all, and it was hard to feel sympathetic for anything that wanted to kill him.

Hermione nodded approvingly. Harry felt like a politician already - they had talked about his statements in advance. He had drawn the line when Hermione had talked about a magical version of a teleprompter, though - he was no mouthpiece.

Luna frowned slightly, or so he thought - her face was mostly hidden behind her pad. "You were personally trained by Dumbledore for your confrontation with the Dark Lord. Did he have an opinion on the impact of this conflict on the magical environment?"

"That wasn't a topic during my lessons," Harry said. "Dumbledore was far more focused on the effect the war had on the people. He was quite adamant about the need to reform Wizarding Britain, and he warned us about the dangers of taking revenge for what happened in the war."

Luna blinked at him. "You said 'us', not 'me'."

"The Headmaster spoke to me, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger." In a message after his death, but that wasn't important, Harry thought. "He also talked to Sirius Black, of course. He cautioned us against making the same mistakes that were made in the past."

"Would those have been his own mistakes?"

"Yes." Harry nodded. "Which is why I support Hermione's proposal for reforming the Wizengamot. Wizarding Britain is currently a country divided against itself. In order to mend the rifts the war has torn open, we need a Wizengamot and Ministry that represent all of us, not just a few of us."

"And what will you do if the Wizengamot is infected by Wrackspurts and will not agree with this?" Luna looked straight at him with an unreadable expression.

"The Wizengamot members claim that they have the right to rule us because they were born to the right families. The Dark Lord thought the same - he just thought that his own family was the only 'right family'. That idea should have died with him."

"Would you go to war over this?" Luna asked.

"We don't want a war. But if we have the choice between a war and being oppressed… We fought the Dark Lord and his followers already, and we'll fight against anyone else trying to oppress us."

"Have you considered a remedy against Wrackspurts first? Teaching the infected to think positive thoughts would certainly avoid such a war."

"I'm not certain that all of the Wizengamot members are in the habit of thinking at all."

Judging by Hermione's expression, she didn't think that was as funny as Harry thought.

*****​

Outside Hogsmeade, February 5th, 1997

"So, what's your impression of Hermione's lair?" Harry Potter asked Luna while they were walking back to Hogwarts from Hogsmeade. He wasn't looking at her, but at their surroundings, wand in hand, and had cast a Human-presence-revealing Charm, just in case there was an ambush ahead of them. There were still a few Death Eaters left unaccounted for, after all, and once his interview was published, some of the Wizengamot members might be stooping to such measures as well. If they weren't already.

"I hoped for something more fitting. Looming shadows, dark creatures moving beneath the floorboards, ready to jump up and devour unsuspecting visitors, swarms of Heliopaths looted from the Minister's secret office during the war. There wasn't even a trapdoor to drop people into a dark pit or reach an escape tunnel. Or was there?"

He glanced at her. She was looking at him with wide, hopeful eyes. Harry hated to disappoint her, but lying to her would be even worse. "I don't think so. You don't usually find such things in a muggle flat." Hermione might have a secret way out of the flat, for emergencies, but that wasn't something to spread around. "Are you satisfied with how the interviews turned out?"

"They were a bit light on the information about magical creatures. Politics is not usually a topic that interests the majority of our readers," Luna said. The witch didn't seem to pay any attention to the patch of forest they were walking through, but it was hard to tell.

"Maybe not usually - but I think there's a lot of interest in politics right now," Harry said.

Luna sighed. "I guess so."

Harry glanced at her. She looked concerned, even sad. A stark contrast to her attitude during the interviews. Or to her attitude at school, where nothing seemed to faze her. "You were quite calm and collected during the interview." It wasn't quite a question. More of an opening.

Luna nodded. "Daddy taught me that a good journalist will not influence the interviewee. We're reporting the news, we don't make it. So I did my best not to react."

"Ah." That was a far more professional attitude than Harry had expected from the Lovegoods, he thought with no small amount of shame.

"But I am afraid of another war. So many have died already, and so many friendships have been torn up by the war. Or prevented." Luna took a deep breath.

Harry was glancing back at her, but then focused on a particularly dense patch of underwood on their right side before he could tell if there were tears in her eyes, or just a trick of the light. He should have waited to ask her until they were safely back at Hogwarts, he thought. "But if we simply go back to how things were before, then they will have died for nothing. We did that once already, fifteen years ago."

"You were a toddler back then," Luna said. "And not active in politics."

"Yes. I meant Britain, as a whole," Harry explained.

"Isn't trying to justify more deaths with previous deaths what revenge is about?"

They were leaving the forest, and Harry kept looking at the sky now - a disillusioned attacker on a fast broom could surprise him despite his spell, if he was caught unawares. "It's not exactly the same. It's…" He sighed. "It's about preventing more deaths in the future. If we don't change Britain, then we'll have a Third Blood War in ten or twenty years. The Dark Lord is dead, but he was just part of the problem. The real problem is the belief in blood purity. As long as the government sees muggleborns and half-bloods as being worth less than purebloods we'll always be just a step away from another war. The muggleborns will not accept that. Not any more."

"But are equal rights worth another war? Worth more deaths?"

Harry didn't look at her when he answered. He didn't want to see her reaction.

"Yes."

They walked the rest of the way in silence.

*****​

Hogwarts, February 5th, 1997

Someone was waiting for them. Harry Potter could see a marker floating there as Luna and he approached the side entrance to Hogwarts near the greenhouses. They were inside Hogwarts' wards, but even after the flight of the Slytherins and the other blood purists, you couldn't be certain that there were no enemies left at school. And with Voldemort dead, some former allies might be reconsidering their views of him.

Luna was about to go on, but he held her back with a raised hand. "Maybe we should take the main entrance."

"What's wrong?" Luna asked.

"Someone's waiting for us." Harry motioned with his head towards the door.

"Oh? Who is it?"

"I can't tell from here." He wasn't pointing his wand at the door. Not yet.

"Maybe it's a prefect. Or a teacher - we left Hogwarts without permission, didn't we?"

"That would be nice." Though Harry was mentally going through the prefects he knew. Could there be an enemy among them? The teachers should be safe, but then again… he didn't know all of them well, and who could tell which side they'd pick, with both Dumbledore and Voldemort dead?

"Why would it be nice? We'd get detention. And our houses would lose points." Luna made a humming noise. "Although we're on school grounds now, so how would they know that we were away? They might have searched the school, but we could have been in the forest… no, that'd break a rule as well."

Harry didn't give a damn about that. Reforming Wizarding Britain, preferably without another war, was far more important than school rules. If the teachers wanted to make a fuss he could always leave Hogwarts. But he didn't want to enter a fight and endanger Luna.

Before they could leave, though, the door was opened from the inside, and a figure peered out. Harry recognised her just before his wand was pointing at her. Ginny. She must have used the map, he realised, to find them.

"What are you waiting for? Get inside before a teacher spots you!" She waved at them.

Harry hesitated another second - she could be an impostor, or under a spell, Moody would say - but Luna was already moving, so he followed her.

"How did it go?" Ginny asked as soon as they were inside.

Harry recalled that she had been very interested in the interviews as soon as she had heard of them. He cast a privacy spell just in time - Luna was already talking.

"Hermione's lair was not very impressive, visually at least. Although the high muggle content might be scary for some purebloods. I didn't get to see the dungeons, for security reasons, I suppose. She also faked ignorance about the Rotfang Conspiracy. I think she didn't trust me with her knowledge." Luna shook her head with a sad expression. "I was disappointed, though, that she didn't reveal much about the changes she is going through as she transforms into a new magical creature. In fact, she said I'm not to print anything about that until the changes were complete."

Ginny raised both eyebrows at Harry, who shrugged. Hermione hadn't exactly said that, but as long as there was no article describing her as a creature, dark or otherwise...

"It was mostly about politics," Luna finished, pouting. "And most of it is already known from the wireless broadcasts."

"I haven't been on the wireless," Harry pointed out.

Luna nodded. "I suppose that's true. And while people wrote and talked a lot about you, you haven't been interviewed yet. Not by a competent and honest journalist, at least. And neither has Hermione." She perked up. "That's two scoops for The Quibbler!" Wrinkling her nose, she added: "It might be three, if I could interview Ron."

"Ron?" Ginny looked surprised.

"Yes. He's Hermione's boyfriend - or would that be mate?" Luna cocked her head sideways, nibbling on her lip while she seemed to consider that.

"He always says that he is Harry's best mate," Ginny said.

She sounded earnest, but when Harry shot her a glare, she giggled.

Luna's head whipped around, staring at him. "Really?"

"He means 'best friend'," Harry clarified.

"Oh." Luna pouted. "That makes more sense."

Harry wasn't quite certain if he liked hearing Luna say that.

*****​

London, Ministry of Magic, February 7th, 1997

"Mister Thicknesse to see you, Ma'am."

"Thank you."

Pius looked concerned, Amelia Bones thought when she saw him enter her office. At least he looked more tense than usual - the man was good, maybe too good, at hiding his emotions.

"Granger's making her move," he said, putting down a magazine on her desk.

"The Quibbler?" Amelia raised an eyebrow.

"Granger and Potter gave interviews to Lovegood's daughter."

Amelia frowned. That wasn't a periodical so much as a collection of delusions. Most who had a subscription probably read it for laughs. The muggleborns had to be desperate if they were stooping that low. But then again, it would let them reach more people than with their leaflets, or their wireless broadcasts - which, she reminded herself, were illegal. And far too many would buy this issue just to read what the Boy-Who-Lived had to say.

She skimmed over an article on imaginary animals - including an Australian chimera made up of a beaver, a duck, and a venomous snake which Lovegood claimed was breeding true by laying eggs - and several outrageous rumours until she reached the interviews.

They weren't overly long, but their contents… She was livid when she put down the magazine, but she tried not to show it when she looked at Pius. That cursed muggleborn was all but calling for a revolution, and Potter was threatening war should the Wizengamot and the Ministry not cave in and surrender. They wanted to rule Britain, just like the Dark Lord had wanted to! At least Dumbledore, for all his radical notions, had not tried to raze Wizarding Britain's institutions and traditions.

"It seems our strategy to credit Potter with the lion's share of Voldemort's defeat has backfired," he said. "We counted on the fact that the Daily Prophet wouldn't print anything seditious, and that most people wouldn't listen to the Resistance broadcasts." He was talking as if it was their fault, but Amelia knew that she'd be the one blamed. And so did he. He wasn't wrong, though - they were facing a serious threat.

She nodded. "With Potter's support, Granger's proposal will garner a much better reception than anticipated among the half-bloods and the purebloods." Amelia didn't think that the economic clout of the Old Families would be enough to counter that. Not after a bloody war. Too many of the ambitious purebloods who were too distantly related to the Old Families to be counted among them would see an opportunity to raise their status. And the half-bloods were always a potential source of unrest - many of them were too close to their muggleborn or muggle relatives, and their muggle ideas.

"It's a problem, but not an insurmountable one. We've already emphasised just how young Potter is," Pius said, smiling thinly. "And everyone knows that young wizards lose all sense when they are in love."

"Granger's with one of Arthur's kids, not Potter," Amelia retorted. Susan had been quite clear about that.

But Pius knew how to play politics. "It's also known that muggleborn witches are very free with their affections. Granger is notorious for seducing important wizards, isn't she?" His smile widened a tiny bit.

Amelia knew that he was referring to that article by Rita Skeeter during the Triwizard Tournament. There had been rumours about love potions being used as well. It wouldn't do that much to damage Granger's reputation - anyone who didn't loathe her for her murders would not care about other moral failures - but Potter's credibility would suffer. She nodded. "Talk to the Prophet. See if Skeeter might reconsider her refusal to write about Granger." That witch was odious, but she was the best the Prophet had when it came to tearing down famous people.

"We'll need to focus on Granger, and make Potter out to be the victim manipulated by her. If we attack Potter some will want to defend him, but if we act as if we want to save him from Granger's influence…" Pius's smile was showing his teeth now.

"We'll need to shut down those broadcasts too." Amelia might not be the politician Pius was, but she knew that they needed to keep the muggleborns and their misguided allies from poisoning the minds of the population.

"That might be difficult. We weren't able to stop them during the war, after all. I contacted the Obliviators, but they said that since Granger's using the same channels the Wizarding Wireless Network is using, the Statute of Secrecy is not endangered." Pius sighed.

Amelia stared at him. "Be glad about that. The ICW is already pressuring us. If they had the slightest notion that we were facing a threat to the Statute…" She shook her head. So far, the ICW's attempts to meddle in Britain had been limited - they had no mandate to intervene in the internal affairs of a Magical Country. Threats to the International Statute of Secrecy, on the other hand, fell within the ICW's purview. And Amelia really didn't want any foreigners 'helping to rebuild' Britain. Too many countries had been bullied by Dumbledore and were looking to pay Britain back.

Pius nodded. He looked chastised, but Amelia couldn't help wondering if he had counted on the ICW increasing its pressure - and her getting blamed for it. "We'll call on the Resistance to stop their illegal broadcasting, and to apply for a license." If they sent in an application, it would take a long time to be processed, given the current state of the Ministry. And if they didn't, the muggleborns would reveal their contempt for the law.

Not that they hadn't done so already in those interviews, of course. "We'll also push them to release the prisoners they have taken during the war into our custody so they can be tried." Nott, Davis and Greengrass were still alive, according to their families.

"That might cause the muggleborns to kill them, and claim they tried to escape," Pius said.

"Either way, the Resistance will lose its leverage over those families," Amelia said. She didn't care much about them - they had been fighting for the Dark Lord, after all.

Pius nodded. "They will be publicly associated with Death Eaters, though, which will weaken their influence."

That wasn't a bad thing, as far as Amelia was concerned.

Once Pius had left, she leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes. She had sworn to defend Britain against all threats, and to uphold the law. It seemed that those two goals had come into conflict with each other.

*****​

Hogsmeade, February 8th, 1997

Hogsmeade's cemetery was bigger than the spot of land it occupied, Harry Potter noticed when he entered through the wrought-iron gate. The small lot between the old church and the temple expanded into a wide field covered with various tombstones and statuary, and several crypts. Even after almost six years spent at Hogwarts, seeing such magic still surprised him.

Passing so many fresh graves on the way to the open grave at the back was a sobering sight. Even counting the fact that many wizards and witches who didn't live in Hogsmeade chose to be interred here instead of in muggle cemeteries, it showed just how devastating the war had been, for all that it hadn't been waged for even a year.

For a moment, Harry doubted himself. Could he really risk another war, knowing its cost? Could he cause more death and destruction, even if it was for a good cause? While the houses destroyed in the attacks on Hogsmeade and Diagon Alley had yet to be rebuilt?

He shook his head. Hermione was correct - they had to push on, to turn this into 1945, instead of 1918. If the Ministry and Wizengamot were left in power, then it would just be a question of time until the next war started. Too much had happened, and yet too little - neither side could tolerate the current situation.

"There aren't many mourners," Harry commented, mostly to say something.

"Yes." Neville, who had insisted on coming as well, even though he hadn't known the real Moody for longer than a few lessons, shrugged. "But any funeral needs to have at least seven people in attendance, or it's not decent. One to give the eulogy, six to levitate the casket."

"Moody hadn't many friends left," Sirius, walking behind them, Vivienne at his side, said. "He lost most of them in the first war, and after the war he didn't make many new ones."

His godfather didn't have to tell him why - Harry had been trained by the old Auror, after all. "And most of those he had trained were killed in this war," Harry added. It felt weird to talk about the war as if it was over, knowing that it could restart any day, should the Wizengamot or the Ministry do something foolish.

Such as attacking a funeral, he thought. He wished that Hermione were there as well, but she hadn't really known Moody and was with Ron, who was still stuck in the hospital. He spotted a red robe - an Auror - in the small gathering around the casket - closed, of course - as they stepped closer. Tonks.

The metamorphmagus was talking to a middle-aged wizard, who Harry didn't recognise, next to a familiar-looking older wizard. He also noticed Aberforth, standing apart from the others, and a shady looking wizard on the other side.

"Elphias. Nymphadora." Sirius nodded at the two, then looked at the wizard.

Tonks had narrowed her eyes, probably at hearing her given name, but then flushed. "This is Auror Cyril Selwyn. Cyril, this is Sirius Black. You know Harry Potter. Neville Longbottom. And this is Vivienne d'Aigle." They shook hands. "He's the only other trainee of Moody's who made it through the war," Tonks explained.

"And only because I was cursed early on, and missed most of the fighting," Selwyn said, chuckling briefly.

Sirius nodded in a polite, but distant manner. Selwyn wasn't an Order member, then. Harry excused himself and went over to Aberforth.

"Potter," the old wizard grumbled before Harry could greet him.

"Mister Dumbledore."

"Call me Abe. Albus was Mister Dumbledore. Until he was the Headmaster."

Harry nodded. "Not many mourners," he said.

"Even fewer than you think," Aberforth said, snorting. "I'm just here to pay my respects since he was killed fighting at my side, but I certainly don't mourn the bastard. And Fletcher over there is probably just here to be certain that Moody's truly dead. He's been arrested a few times by him, and never too gently."

"Ah." Harry didn't know how to comment on that. He was not privy to the reasons for the hatred between Moody and Aberforth, and he didn't want to start a row or rant by saying the wrong thing. So he nodded and returned to Sirius's side.

Tonks was reading a scroll of parchment, mumbling under her breath. Harry looked at his godfather and raised an eyebrow.

Sirius shrugged. "She's been picked to say a few words since Moody didn't want a priest at his funeral."

"It's a tradition in the Corps that the duties no one wants go to the youngest Aurors," Selwyn added. "And since I have seniority on her…" He chuckled again. Harry was starting dislike the man.

Fortunately, it was time to start the ceremony, so Harry didn't have to make polite conversation with the man.

"We have gathered here to pay our respects to Alastor Moody, known among his friends and acquaintances as 'Mad-Eye'," Tonks started her eulogy. She briefly covered his career, and his exploits in the last war, then finished with: "He gave his life fighting the Dark Lord, undoubtedly saving others. May he finally be able to rest in peace."

Harry had expected a better speech, something more personal - but then, this was Moody. The Headmaster had probably been the last person who had really known him.

He drew his wand together with the others - not counting Aberforth and Fletcher, they had just the right number for the ceremony - and pointed it at the casket.

"Wingardium Leviosa."

The casket floated up, trembling slightly due to the six different spells affecting it, and then was lowered into the ground. Tonks mumbled something, then used her wand to fill the grave with earth.

As funerals went, this was one of the saddest Harry had attended. As morbid as the thought was, he really hoped that when he died, he'd not be as lonely and isolated as Moody had been.

Tonks walked with them on the way out of the cemetery. "Merlin's balls! That was horrible!" she complained.

"You were the one in charge," Sirius said.

Tonks glared at him, but didn't retort. She sighed instead, then looked at Harry. "I've read The Quibbler."

Harry tensed slightly. "Yes?"

"Are you really willing to go to war?"

Harry rolled his eyes. He had said so in the interview; why was everyone asking the same question? It had been bad enough at Hogwarts. At least Neville hadn't mentioned it - though that might not be a good sign, now that he thought about it. "I wouldn't have said it if it wasn't true."

"But…" Tonks hesitated.

Harry sighed. "It's quite simple: We won't accept any rule based on blood status. All wizards and witches are equal, and should have an equal vote in how our country is run."

"But the Dark Lord is dead, his followers fled, and the Muggleborn Laws were repealed," Tonks said. Her lips were trembling, Harry noted.

"And yet the same people who passed those laws are still in power," he said.

"Well, not the exact same people - Hermione blew up a lot of them, and we killed a few more during the war," Sirius cut in, grinning coldly. Then he glanced at Neville, and flinched.

Neville seemed to ignore Sirius's comment, though he wasn't looking at any of them. "I wouldn't mind losing my seat on the Wizengamot. It hasn't done me or my family any good."

Tonks didn't give up. "And how democratic is it to fight a war to change the system?"

"A war is the last resort. We hope that the Wizengamot will see reason." At least Harry did - he wasn't quite certain if Sirius shared his views.

"Fat chance of that," Tonks mumbled. "Hasn't there been enough death?"

"That's a question you have to ask the Minister, and the Wizengamot," Sirius said. "Though I think it's telling that neither Bones nor anyone from the Wizengamot showed up today."

Tonks flinched, but then schooled her features. "They'll say that it's you who need to see reason to avoid a war."

Sirius scoffed. "They're fools. Even if Hermione gave in, and accepted pureblood rule, do you think the rest of the muggleborns would follow her lead? I doubt that even the rest of the Resistance would follow her lead, if she did that." He shook his head. "No, the Ministry and the Wizengamot are the only ones who can avoid a war now."

He didn't have to say that they could only do so by giving in to the demands of the muggleborns.

Tonks muttered a curse under her breath. "We're doomed then."

Harry hoped that she was wrong.

*****​

London, Greenwich, February 8th, 1997

"Merlin! Those muggle doctors were worse than Pomfrey! I thought they wanted to keep me there for a month!"

Hermione Granger chuckled at Ron's exclamation. "The longer you stay, the more the hospital gets paid," she said, flagging down a cab.

"What?" He turned to stare at her with his mouth open. "Don't they get a fixed salary like in St Mungo's?"

"The staff probably does, but the hospital gets paid by the patients." She didn't want to delve into the details of private health insurance and the NHS.

"But…" He blinked. "Sirius paid for it, didn't he?"

"Yes."

"First the broom, now this…" Ron sighed, then held his side, wincing.

Hermione gasped. "Are you alright?" It was a silly question - he was obviously in pain. She pressed her lips together. She shouldn't have helped him get released, no matter how much he, and she, wanted it.

"I'm fi… I'm alright. Just a bit of pain. I've had worse."

She glared at him, but he kept smiling at her, and then a cab stopped, and she couldn't argue further. Hermione noticed that he did wince again, though, as he was getting into the car. "I should tell the driver to turn around and take you back to the hospital."

"I'll manage. I'm not going back to Hogwarts yet, so I'll be able to recover at Grimmauld Place for another week or two." He slowly wrapped an arm around her - she was sitting on his good side. "I don't know m… this part of London very well, but we're not going to Grimmauld Place, are we?"

"No. I've made reservations at a restaurant for dinner." She sighed. "But I should cancel. You need more rest than you said."

He shook his head wildly. "Certainly not! The doctors might have been competent, but the food…"

"Alright." Hermione sighed, then laid her head on his shoulder, taking a deep breath, smelling him, feeling his warmth.

As selfish and stupid as it was, given his wound, she really wanted to have dinner with him. Just the two of them. With no talk of war.

*****​

London, East End, February 8th, 1997

It was almost midnight when Hermione Granger reached the Resistance's home, but judging by the lights and what she could hear, most of her friends were still up.

"There you are!" to her surprise, Seamus greeted her in the hallway with a wide smile. He was carrying a pack of beers, so he had probably just come from the kitchen. "We've been waiting for you!" He grinned at her. "You didn't do anything with Ron that made his wound worse?"

She knew what he meant, even though he was technically correct - Ron had been in more pain after the dinner, although he had tried to hide it. So she shook her head. "No." She almost added something about not wanting to see Ron bleed, but Seamus would make horrible and tasteless jokes about such a slip. "We just had dinner."

"Ah!" He sighed in an exaggerated manner. "Come to the living room! We've got good news!"

"Oh?" What had she missed?

"Tania and I were in Diagon Alley this afternoon, distributing more leaflets, when we noticed a dispute. Witch in normal clothes was having a screaming row with a man in robes, so we took a closer look. Turns out the witch was Camille Linnecker, a muggleborn who wanted her shop back from the pureblood who had bought it for a pittance when she had been forced to hide. The idiot fled quickly when we showed up, though!"

Hermione clenched her teeth to avoid an outburst.

Seamus didn't seem to notice as we went on: "She won't be the only one to return, either - after the interviews and the broadcast, and the e-mails, most should now know that the war's over and we've won! The Ministry'll cave as well!"

"Let's hope so," Hermione said. She smiled when she greeted the rest of the Resistance, even though she felt like cursing. That kind of scene could cause a lot of trouble in the current climate. But she wasn't about to ruin her friends' mood.

*****​

Hogwarts, February 9th, 1997

Ron Weasley was walking slowly through the gates of Hogwarts - his wound hadn't fully healed yet. The stitches were still in, even - he could feel them when he moved, he was certain, even though the muggle doctors had told him that it was just his imagination. But he couldn't have stayed a day longer in the hospital. He couldn't miss this. Dumbledore's funeral.

"Tell me at once if you can't handle it any more," Hermione whispered next to him. She had her arm hooked into his, allowing him to lean on her.

Ron nodded, though he was determined to tough it out. He owed it to the Headmaster. They all did.

"I mean it. Your health is more important!" she hissed. In a softer voice, she added: "Please."

"I promise," he said, feeling guilty. But he had missed Moody's funeral already. And he didn't want to know what rumours would start if he left in the middle of this one. He heard Harry snort, and glanced at his friend walking on his other side.

"Better you than me," Harry whispered, with a grin.

They slowly walked over to the fields overlooking the Black Lake. Ron had heard that the Ministry had wanted to erect a statue, maybe even a mausoleum, but Dumbledore had been quite clear in the instructions he had left. A modest tombstone, a plain grave. Ron also knew about the secret instructions - Dumbledore had wanted his body cremated and the ashes vanished, so there wouldn't be any remains left that could be used for dark rituals. The ashes in the urn were actually from Fawkes' last burning day.

The area was packed, all of the students and what looked like most of Wizarding Britain had gathered to pay their respect to the great Dumbledore. If not for the wards of Hogwarts, security would be impossible. And even so, they had delayed the funeral until the war had been over, and just about every Auror and Hit-Wizard the Ministry had left was here. A fact that didn't make Ron feel as safe as others would expect. Part of the reason all of them had cast Shield Charms.

"Where's Hagrid?" he asked in a low voice. The half-giant should have been easily visible in the crowd.

"He's in the forest with the centaurs," Hermione answered in an equally low voice. "They and the merpeople wanted to pay their respects as well."

"Ah." Ron nodded. That made sense - Dumbledore had done a lot for the magical beings as well.

They had seats in the first row assigned to them, once again on Dumbledore's instructions, and people parted to let them pass. They also whispered a lot. About Harry, about Hermione, and about himself. And probably their relationship. By the time they reached their seats, Ron was not just tired, but annoyed as well.

"Welcome to fame," Harry said, taking his own seat. Both of them were subtly casting a few spells to check for traps and curses while Hermione put down a few transparent walls around them - they wouldn't last long, but they'd stop curses long enough for them to react.

"It's like sitting in a glasshouse," Harry whispered, "even literally."

Hermione huffed, but she didn't seem to be angry. At least not at Harry or Ron.

He sighed and turned to Harry. "Mate, remember how I was jealous of your fame?"

"Yes?"
"I should have known better," Ron said, "and appreciated what I had."

"The fame we have also allows us to influence Britain. A bit of unwelcome attention is a small price to pay for that," Hermione said. "It's better to be stared at and gossiped about than to be cursed."

She wasn't wrong. Ron chuckled, then fought not to wince when he felt his side hurt.

"Ron? Are you alright?"

Of course, Hermione hadn't missed that. He shook his head when she leaned over in an attempt to check up on him. "It's OK. I'm not bleeding."

She huffed, but relented. He distracted himself by studying the other guests of honour. There was his own family and the other surviving Order members, at least those he knew, which were not too many. The entire staff of Hogwarts. And the delegation from the Ministry and the Wizengamot. Who didn't look happy to be here. Not that people should look happy at a funeral, of course. But Bones looked like she wanted to curse the tombstone. And the glare she leveled at Ron and his friends…

"We might keep an eye on Luna and her father," Ron said. "In case the Ministry wants to punish them for helping us."

"We're on it," Harry said. "Luna's usually with Ginny or me at Hogwarts."

"And we're in contact with her father," Hermione added, "If anyone attacks him, we can move very quickly. Although," she went on, "I think the Ministry will try to hassle them rather than directly hurt them."

Ron nodded, then realised that he was already thinking the worst of the Ministry. That wasn't a good sign for the future.

*****​

An hour into the funeral ceremony, Harry Potter had found a new appreciation for short, impersonal speeches like Tonks's at Moody's funeral. McGonagall's speech had been good - touching, honest, and not overly long. But Philius Runcorn, the acting Chief Warlock… Harry didn't think even a single word of the praise the man had heaped on Dumbledore had been honest. And the man had gone on and on and on, in a manner that made Binns's lessons about Goblin Rebellions sound exciting. Bones's speech hadn't been much better, but had at least been shorter.

The only good thing about this ordeal was that Harry was too bored to be nervous about his own upcoming speech - he would be speaking after the Supreme Mugwump, a wizard from one of the Princely States of India whose name Harry had already forgotten again, together with most of his speech about Dumbledore's international career.

Then, finally, it was his turn. He stood up and walked to small pedestal behind the urn.

When he saw the sea of people watching him, he felt nervous again. But he couldn't show such weakness, or people would be more likely to dismiss his words about Wizarding Britain's need for reform. "Albus Dumbledore was a great Wizard," he began. "Like many of us, I knew him as the Headmaster of Hogwarts. I think I am not wrong when I say that for many of us, he was a part of Hogwarts, like the Great Hall. Maybe he even was Hogwarts - old, friendly, full of knowledge and lessons, and more than a bit quirky.

"But he was more than just the Headmaster. More than the Chief Warlock, or the Supreme Mugwump. He was, first and foremost, the greatest wizard of his time. Not just because of his vast knowledge of magic, including Alchemy, or because of his famous duel with Grindelwald. No, what made him the greatest wizard was his compassion. He cared about all his students, all his teachers, about all of us.

"And he cared about Britain. He fought, he struggled, and he died for this, our country. For us all. But while he has finally gone to his next adventure, as he called death, his ideals live on. His legacy will not be forgotten."

He was about to step down from the pedestal when he suddenly heard a familiar trill. Looking up, he saw Fawkes hover over him, wings flapping slowly, as the phoenix broke into song.

No one seemed to move while Fawkes sang, circling above the tombstone. Harry couldn't have described the song afterwards, but it conveyed the phoenix's feelings of love and loss. Then, the song fading, Fawkes rose in the sky, trailing motes of fire, until he disappeared in the sun.

Harry took a deep breath and resumed making his way back to his seat. Bones's face seemed frozen, Harry noticed, while he returned to his seat. He hadn't been too blatant, he thought - but she'd know what he had meant.

And, he added mentally while Madam Maxime, the first of the representatives of the other Magical Schools, walked up to the pedestal, so would others.

Just as, he was certain, Dumbledore would have wanted.

*****​
 
Chapter 44: Trials
Chapter 44: Trials

In a noticeable difference to other civil wars, such as the third succession war in the Kingdom of Magical Florida, public order did not break down during the Second Blood War. While the combatants fought without regard for law and order, the common wizard or witch did obey the law. With the exception of the riot in Diagon Alley, there were no widespread incidents of looting or robberies. Even stretched past their breaking point, the Aurors managed to enforce the law.
This changed after the Dark Lord's death, when the muggleborns who had been hiding in muggle Britain started to return. They generally did not rely on the authorities to retake possession of whatever shops and homes they had left months ago, but preferred to simply drive away whoever had taken over the locations with threats and even violence.
- Excerpt from 'The Second Blood War' by Hyacinth Selwyn


*****​

London, Ministry of Magic, February 10th, 1997

Amelia Bones folded the Daily Prophet and dropped it on her desk. At least the press was acting in a responsible manner and following ministerial directions, she thought. And in hindsight, it had been a good thing that Skeeter had refused to help them - the author of the article covering Dumbledore's funeral had been far more subtle than she would have been, and had simply mentioned how close Granger was to the Boy-Who-Lived, together with pointing out just how young Harry was, still at Hogwarts even. That would hopefully be subtle enough to keep the Resistance from recognising their strategy.

If only everyone else would care more for Britain than themselves! But not even Hogwarts' staff saw just how much Britain needed to be united right now. Although that was no surprise, given that Dumbledore had handpicked all of the teachers and other staff members.

Dumbledore. Even after his death, the man's machinations continued. Potter was his creature, down to sharing the man's ideals - no wonder, since the boy had been raised by muggles. And yet, without Dumbledore, Britain would have fallen to the Dark Lord - or Grindelwald. He truly had been the greatest wizard in Britain. If only he hadn't been so radical!

She sighed through clenched teeth. At the start of this mess, right after the return of the Dark Lord, Dumbledore and she had been working quite well together, pushing for increased recruiting of Aurors and Hit-Wizards and trying to convince Cornelius to move against the Dark Lord before he could amass more power and influence. They had made progress as well, especially after the Dark Lord's attack on the Ministry.

But then, Dumbledore's reaction to the massacre at Malfoy Manor had shown the key differences between Amelia and the Chief Warlock. He was a politician, and for him, the end - the defeat of the Dark Lord - justified the means. In this case, mass murder. He didn't care about the law at all, something Amelia couldn't bear. If you started breaking the law in the name of expediency, you eroded the very foundation of civilisation. It would lead to 'might makes right' - exactly what Grindelwald and the Dark Lord had stood for. She remembered how Dumbledore had openly threatened Britain, later, in order to force them to accede to his demands, and ground her teeth. No, she didn't mourn Dumbledore's passing. For all his great power, he had been a threat to her country.

If only… Amelia shook her head. She couldn't afford to dwell on fantasies. She had a country to rebuild. And she'd do her duty - even if half the Ministry seemed to be conspiring against her. She checked her watch. Especially the wizard she was about to meet, Arthur Weasley.

*****​

"Have a seat, Arthur."

"Thank you, Amelia." The wizard sat down with that easy, almost shy smile he usually wore.

Amelia wouldn't be fooled, though - Arthur had shown his true colours in the war, fighting for Dumbledore. He was far smarter and more cunning than he acted. Fortunately, as the Head of the Office of Anti-Curse Measures and Research, he was also far more vulnerable than he might have thought.

"How goes the search for a cure for the Withering Curse?" she asked. "The families of those afflicted are hounding me about this - with the Dark Lord dead, they expect the curse to be lifted."

Arthur sighed. "Unfortunately, the Dark Lord's death did not end his curses."

Amelia interrupted him. "Dark Curses do not vanish because their caster dies. I have a number of scarred Aurors who can attest to that."

Arthur coughed. "Yes. That's because dark curses are tied into the very soul of those afflicted, sustaining themselves with the victims' magic. Although the death of the caster usually lessens their power."

"I did pass my Defence N.E.W.T., Arthur." She was growing annoyed.

"I'm sorry!" He smiled in his usual, seemingly self-effacing, way, which annoyed her even more. "Many of the people assigned to my department didn't. Pass their Defence Against the Dark Arts N.E.W.T., I mean. So I had to explain the theory so often, it became a habit."

Of course Arthur's department wouldn't get anyone even remotely capable in Defence Against the Dark Arts! Those were desperately needed in the Auror and Hit-Wizards Corps! "I distinctly recall that you received several Curse-Breakers." She wouldn't let him blame his own failures on her.

"I did. Although they were not among the most experienced," he said.

"We don't have that many experienced Curse-Breakers left." Nor many other experienced wizards and witches.

"I know." He kept smiling. "Hopefully, this will change with the muggleborns returning. A number of skilled Curse-Breakers were let go or left because of the Muggleborn Laws."

Hiring muggleborns? The very people who had not only defied the Ministry's authority and cheered the mass-murderers of the Resistance, but were now taking the properties they had left or sold back at wand-point? Amelia managed to hide her first reaction to that proposal. "That presumes that they want to return to the employ of the Ministry," she said, carefully controlling her voice.

"I think that once they realise that most of those who forced them out are gone, they will at least consider it," Arthur said. "The current Ministry should prove to be a far more welcoming place for muggleborns." With a short chuckle, he added: "It's not as if there are many other skilled wizards and witches left to hire."

That was true, unfortunately. There were capable people left, but most of those already had well-paying positions in private businesses. Like the Quidditch League. And patriotism wouldn't make many, if any, of them quit. But to hire muggleborns en masse… it was a transparent ploy of Arthur and Black to subvert the Ministry. "We shall see," she said.

"Well, there's not much I can do about the Withering Curse until I have experienced people working on it. The Department of Mysteries is working on the issue as well, but they have refused to coordinate our efforts, citing a need for secrecy," Arthur said. He snorted. "Unless they're dabbling in the houngan arts themselves, I don't really see any secrets being endangered, but you know how the Unspeakables are." He sighed and shrugged.

Amelia knew that better than anyone else outside the Department of Mysteries. If she had had their cooperation during the war… She forced herself to focus on her current situation. "You're not the only one in this situation. All departments are understaffed and bereft of experienced employees. And yet everyone is doing what they can to do their duty." Everyone else, at least, she thought, but did not say out loud.

"We're doing what we can, but until Hogwarts starts offering courses in dark curses and necromancy, recent graduates won't be able to do much about either." Arthur didn't lose his smile, but his eyes seemed to glint when he leaned forward. "We're talking about a curse cast by the Dark Lord himself. Remember the curse he placed on the position of Defence Against the Dark Arts professor? Not even Dumbledore could break that one."

Amelia hadn't been aware that such a curse had ever been proven to exist, but this was not the time to debate that. "As you said yourself: With the Dark Lord's death, the curse was weakened. You have the best employees we can spare, so I expect results." It was technically true, even. But with the current situation, they needed every wand for more urgent tasks. If public order or the Ministry itself fell, then the fate of the Withering Curse's victims would be sealed as well. "Is there anything else?"

Arthur shook his head and rose. Just before he reached the door, he turned around, though. "If fresh Hogwarts graduates and inexperienced Curse-Breakers were a match even for a weakened Dark Lord's curse, then the Muggleborn Resistance and the Order of the Phoenix wouldn't have had to save the Ministry."

Amelia managed to keep from snarling until the door had closed behind him.

*****​

London, East End, February 10th, 1997

At breakfast, Hermione Granger put her cup of tea down next to the plate with her croissants and pressed her lips together to avoid muttering the sort of curses under her breath for which she used to chide others. The Daily Prophet's coverage of Dumbledore's funeral was, on the face of it, acceptable, but the details…

...The Boy-Who-Lived spoke touching words about his teacher, who had left him and his entire generation of students far too soon, in the middle of their education. The young student's brief speech provided a moving contrast to the words from all the dignitaries and friends of the late Chief Warlock...

...Hermione Granger was seated between Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley. The muggleborn witch had been close to the two younger boys for their entire time at Hogwarts, and so it is only logical that more developed from their friendship. Though given what the Boy-Who-Lived went through, he will hopefully receive support from experienced staff at Hogwarts. They'll have enough time, at least, since he has not yet finished his sixth year...

...Sirius Black seemed to have fully recovered from his ordeal during the war. More than one Healer had been worried about his mental state as he had spent more than a decade in Azkaban...

The Ministry was obviously trying to be subtle, coating their poison in sweet, caring drivel instead of the sharp attacks Skeeter was so fond of. But if you knew what to look for, it was plain as day.

Hermione took a deep breath, closing her eyes for a moment, then blew at a lock of hair that had fallen on to her face. She needed a haircut too, she thought with a snort, then brushed the lock back.

She had expected such an attack, even predicted it, but still… The question was: How should they respond? She had blackmailed Skeeter, which had put an end to the slander from that witch, but to try and blackmail the Daily Prophet… she didn't exactly have much leverage, and even if she had, such an attempt might backfire. The Ministry might very well decide to get directly involved, and use the opportunity to take the newspaper over. Threatening the newspaper's office and owners ran the same risk. Bones might even be expecting that, and be ready to denounce them as criminals.

But they had to react to that attack, before the British public saw Harry as a naive boy and her as some manipulative slag. She bit her lower lip. The Quibbler wouldn't work well - it was a magazine, not a daily newspaper. And she doubted that the Lovegoods wanted to turn it into a militant newspaper.

Lacking television, that left the wireless. It was even better for propaganda, provided you could reach the majority of the population, and had a good orator. Which, she thought with a sigh, Harry wasn't. Yet. And listening to speeches could get boring. They needed something new, something to catch the people's attention. Apart from muggle music. Maybe a discussion show, or something… She'd have to take a closer look at what the BBC was broadcasting.

She sighed again. There was something more urgent to deal with. And she wasn't looking forward to it.

*****​

"I assume you have heard about the Ministry's demand to release our prisoners into their custody so they can be tried in front of the Wizengamot," Hermione said an hour later in the living room.

Seamus snorted. "As if! Releasing Death Eaters into the care of the Ministry, so they can let them go? Are they delusional?"

Tania and John nodded in agreement, Hermione noted. She took a deep breath. "Not quite."

"What? You know they'll let them go!" Seamus said, standing up.

"That's quite likely," she agreed. "But if the Wizengamot acquits them, then that will demonstrate to to everyone just how corrupt the system is. Such a travesty of justice would serve as a perfect example of the need to reform Wizarding Britain."

"You want to use that to generate more support." Justin nodded. He didn't look quite convinced, though.

"Yes," she said. "On the other hand, if we keep them, or if we try them ourselves, then we'll be portrayed as criminals."

"They'll do that anyway," Louise said. The former Hit-Wizard was sneering.

"We'd make it easier for them, though. The Ministry is claiming that with the war over, there is no reason for vigilantes any more." Hermione scoffed. "Unfortunately, I think that a lot of the purebloods, and even many half-bloods, would agree with them, believing that things have returned to normal. If we let the Ministry portray us as a bunch of kidnappers in defiance of the law, we'd be playing into their hands. On the other hand, if we let them acquit captured Death Eaters, we can build on that."

"I see." Seamus sat down and slowly nodded, then started to grin. "Give them enough rope to hang themselves, eh?"

"Yes." Hermione nodded at him. "And you know that our prisoners are not exactly hard-core Death Eaters." Otherwise Nott, Davis and Greengrass would have shared Malfoy's fate.

"That is true. But it also means that the Wizengamot will have an easier time justifying their acquittal," Justin said, looking at her. "A group of teenagers who joined the Dark Lord because they were afraid for their lives and wanted to avenge their parents… It wouldn't be that hard to portray them in a sympathetic way to the public."

"Bloody Slytherins!" Seamus muttered.

"I agree. But on the other hand, we can point out how they tried to murder children at Hogwarts, then fled when their plan failed, only to attack pureblood supporters of Dumbledore." Hermione grinned. "Not exactly the actions of innocents kids afraid of the Resistance." Appearances mattered more in politics than the truth; that much she knew. She let the others consider that for a moment. "Besides, they're not exactly our prisoners any more - we handed them over to the Order."

"What does the Order want?" Sally-Anne asked.

"The ones who care for the prisoners want to hand them over to the Ministry." So Sirius had told her. She shrugged. "Some of them might hope that the conflict is now over, and they can return to their normal lives."

"Cowards!" Seamus muttered, then clenched his teeth. He probably wanted to call them even worse names.

"They fought bravely against the Dark Lord, but not all of them have realised just how bad the Wizengamot is," Hermione said. "If they see the three prisoners get released, they might change their opinion." Sirius and the Weasleys could work on them, she thought.

"It's still a risk we're taking," Justin said, "but I don't see a better alternative."

"Could always kill them," Seamus said. "Now or later."

Hermione stared at him. That sounded too close to Allan's words for her comfort.

She wasn't the only one staring at him. Seamus noticed, and frowned. "I'm just pointing out options!"

"They're not good ideas," Justin said. "It's widely known that we captured them. If they suddenly disappear, we'll be blamed as murderers."

Hermione cut in. "Yes. Remember all those lies about us wanting to murder all purebloods? The Ministry would spread them all over Wizarding Britain, calling us as bad as the Death Eaters."

Seamus seemed to understand the danger, since he winced and didn't say anything else.

Hermione nodded. "So… all in favour of telling the Order to release the prisoners into the custody of the Ministry?"

The group agreed, some more slowly than others, though.

"Good. I'll tell them." She took a breath. "Now… we need to discuss recruitment for the Resistance. We need more people." She didn't have to point out that they had lost half their number during the war against Voldemort.

"Do you expect that we'll have to fight the Ministry?" Sally-Anne asked, twisting her ponytail around her finger in that nervous habit she had.

"I'd rather be prepared for such a conflict than caught flat-footed," Hermione said.

Justin nodded in agreement. "We'll need to be careful when recruiting, though." Hermione knew he was not just talking about Ministry spies, but people like Allan too. "And it'll take time to train them."

"And money," Louise added.

"Money's not an issue," Hermione said. "Unless we want to recruit so many people that we couldn't train them all, our finances are covered."

"I don't like depending on Black," Seamus muttered. "He's a pureblood."

"He's also an innocent wizard who was sent to Azkaban and spent a decade there," Hermione countered. "He has no love for the Ministry." Quite the contrary. He joked a bit too often about blowing up the Ministry. "But we digress. We need more people - at least half a dozen, though I'd prefer a dozen."

"So many?" Tania frowned. "They would outnumber us."

"Yes." Hermione was well-aware that increasing the Resistance's ranks by that many would change the dynamics of the group. "We'll have to make sure that all recruits fit in."

"We're the veterans who fought in the war. They'd better listen to us," Seamus said.
Mary-Jane spoke up for the first time. "I'm not exactly a veteran." She wasn't looking at anyone, Hermione noticed. "And I'm not exactly a member of the Resistance."

"You've fought in the war," Sally-Anne said, reaching out to pat the girl's hand. "And you just need training."

Louise cleared her throat. "I can contact a few of my friends from school, now that they are returning to Wizarding Britain Owl post should be working again. They won't be enough, though."

"And if we pass out a general recruitment notice, we'll get swamped - and alert the Ministry," Justin said.

"I have a solution for that." Hermione grinned. "We need to organise the returning muggleborns anyway. We can use that to find suitable recruits."

"You want to hold a rally?" John looked at her.

"Yes." Hermione nodded at him. "We'll need to be careful about what we say - there'll be spies from the Ministry at any public event - but we have to put pressure on the Wizengamot and the Ministry."

"They'll not cave in to a few demonstrations," Seamus said. "Not the kind that involve waving banners around, at least," he added with a snort.

"I'd rather not start a war," Hermione said, pursing her lips. Not when they were not ready for it, and certainly not when there was still hope that the Ministry would give in.

"Such rallies and demonstrations can easily get out of control," Justin said. "Imagine if someone sent a curse into the crowd. Or if someone starts shouting about hunting down the Death Eaters and their supporters on our list."

"Most of those who were not killed in the war are still in hiding," she said. And the Ministry wasn't exactly working hard to hunt them down, according to Sirius. "But I know we're risking a riot." Security would have to be very tight, Hermione knew. They might even have to hold the rally in a warded building, even though that would lessen its impact. "We have to do this, though, or people will get used to the Ministry being in charge of their lives again. We have to show that we have the support of the population."

Justin sighed. "There goes our spare time!" He was joking, Hermione thought, but the glance he exchanged with Sally-Anne showed that he knew what it meant for the couple's relationship.

She didn't feel too guilty about it, though - she'd not have much time to spend with Ron either, and her boyfriend wasn't living with her. And she needed to make time for studying the books Dumbledore had left her. And look into finding a cure for the Withering Curse. She sighed. "Unfortunately, we all will be very busy for the foreseeable future. In addition to recruiting, we need to contact the Major and the Sergeant, organise a training camp, continue and expand our broadcasts, and keep an eye on the Ministry's actions." She pointed at the Daily Prophet. "They already started their smear campaign against Harry."

While the rest of the Resistance, except for Justin, Sally-Anne and John, who had read the issue already, gathered around the newspaper, Hermione leaned back in her seat and wondered how she would find the time to do all that needed doing.

*****​

London, No. 12 Grimmauld Place, February 10th, 1997

Ron Weasley raised his wand and banished the Daily Prophet towards the corner of the kitchen. The newspaper hit the wall, then fell to the ground. He saw the dignitaries on the big picture of the front page stumble around, before realigning themselves, and briefly chuckled.

"Ronald!"

His mum was standing in the doorway, shaking her head.

"Sorry, Mum," he said. "I just got fed up with the drivel in it. I didn't know you hadn't read it yet."

"That's not what I meant!" she said. "You shouldn't be using your wand. You're not yet of age."

He stared at her, then laughed - and hissed through clenched teeth when his side hurt again. Laughing wasn't a good idea.

"Ron!" Mum had gone from angry to concerned in a heartbeat, her wand flashing while she cast a spell on his side.

"I'm alright," he protested. "It's just a bit of pain. The muggle Healer said it wasn't dangerous."

She scoffed. "They don't know anything about magic." But she stopped casting, apparently satisfied that he'd not bleed out.

Ron sighed. "They saved me. And the wound's not that bad. It can't be healed with magic, but the muggles didn't have trouble with it."

"That was caused by a curse cast by the Dark Lord himself! You almost..." She shook her head, pressing her lips together. He could see some tears in her eyes.

"But I didn't, Mum. I'm alright. Everyone is alright." Everyone in his family, at least.

She sighed and sat down on the chair next to him. He gingerly reached over and laid his arm around her shoulders.

"You still shouldn't use magic outside Hogwarts. It's illegal," she said after a while.

He snorted. "No one cared about that when I was fighting Death Eaters and the Dark Lord."

"But they'll care now. Percy told me that Amelia Bones is just waiting for any opportunity to hurt Arthur's standing in the Ministry."

Oh. Of course Bones would do that. That b… He pressed his lips together, not wanting to upset his mum by cursing, then shrugged. "They'll not detect anything while we're in this house. And I'll be back at Hogwarts soon enough."

"And when you're out with Hermione?"

"Ah…" He stared at her.

She smiled, though she also looked a bit sad. "Did you think I wouldn't know what my children are up to?"

"Well… you didn't catch the twins that often when they were up to something." At least as far as he could tell.

His mum sighed. "They were a handful. Worse than anyone else. But this is different. Of course you'll sneak out to meet your girlfriend. You'd do that even if you hadn't been…" She trailed off, but he knew what she meant.

"Yes." He looked at the crumpled Prophet again.

"Will she be returning to Hogwarts?"

"I don't know. I don't think so." He shook his head, slowly.

"That's… surprising. She was always so dedicated to her education."

"More like fanatical," Ron said, chuckling as he remembered her parting words after their first encounter with Fluffy.

"Did she change that much?" His mum sounded more concerned than he expected.

He thought it over. "It's not so much that she changed - though she did, too - but that things changed. She's just got too much to do to go back to school. Important things. She'll pass her N.E.W.T.s anyway." And with the highest marks, he'd bet on it.

His mum didn't seem to approve. "And what about you?"

"I haven't left Hogwarts, have I?" He smiled at her.

It didn't impress her. She knew him too well. "And if you think you have more important things to do than go to school?"

He didn't answer. He didn't have to.

She sighed.

They sat in silence for a while longer, until she spoke up again. "Why did you hex the newspaper? You were in a number of the pictures, even."

He frowned. "They made it sound as if Hermione is sleeping with both Harry and me."

"Oh!" She hugged him, a bit too forcefully - his side hurt again, but he didn't react. "You know she isn't doing anything of that sort!"

"I know. But it's part of the Ministry's plan. They want to discredit us. Make us look like children so we're not taken seriously." Hermione had predicted that.

"You are not yet adults."

"I'll be seventeen in less than three weeks, Mum." And that made him sound like a child indeed. "And Hermione's already seventeen." Harry though would have to wait a few months more.

"I know. But you'll always be my boy."

He nodded, even though he thought he hadn't been a boy since he had started taking part in the war.

*****​

Outside Rawtenstall, Lancashire, Britain, February 11th, 1997

The first thing Daphne Greengrass saw when she woke up was the grey ceiling of her prison. The second thing she saw was the sleeping form of Tracey.

"Good afternoon."

She knew that voice. She was tempted to ignore the speaker. Defy her captors. But she wasn't a Gryffindor. She was a Slytherin. So she turned her head to look at the Weasley twins standing in the door of her cell, wands in hand. "Why did you wake me up?" she asked, making an effort to sound as calm as she could. "Do you want to extort more gold from my family?"

Fred snorted. "No. We woke you up to tell you what happened while you slept."

She stifled a gasp. She couldn't afford to let them know how much she hungered to know what happened to her family. "Ah."

Next to her, Tracey stirred, groaning as she woke up. Daphne saw her friend blink, then heard her mutter a curse.

"Ah, the other sleeping beauty is awake!" George said, with mocking cheerfulness.

Daphne looked around. "Where's Theo?"

Fred shrugged. "He wasn't cooperative, so we didn't bother waking him up."

"Why did you wake us up?" Tracey asked, sitting up, then falling back on her bed with another curse.

"To tell you what happened while you slept," George said, grinning widely.

Daphne glanced at Tracey. The two wizards were entirely too cheerful. That didn't bode well. She kept watching him. He wanted to tell them; she'd not lower herself to ask.

"So talk!" Tracey spat.

Fred chuckled. "It's actually good news. The war is over."

"What?" Daphne gasped, staring at the twins.

"The Dark Lord's dead. Harry killed him in a duel." Fred grinned.

"Potter? Potter killed the Dark Lord in a duel?" They had to be lying. No one but Dumbledore could match the Dark Lord. Certainly not Potter - he was in the same year as Daphne!

"Yes. The Boy-Who-Lived defeated the Dark Lord again, and this time for good," Fred said.

"You're lying!" Tracey said.

"I'm not. It happened outside our shop. Or what's left of it. The Dark Lord burned it down trying to kill us, you know." Fred shrugged. "He failed."

"Good riddance," Tracey whispered next to her.

Daphne wasn't really listening to her friend, though. She was staring at the twins. Were they telling the truth? Why would they lie? To torment them? "What's the date?"

"February 11th."

Two months. Exactly two months since she had been captured. And the war was over? The last war had gone on for years!

"That can't be! Potter is just a kid!" Tracey was shaking her head wildly.

George laughed. "Did you forget why he is the Boy-Who-Lived? He defeated the Dark Lord as a toddler! And in his first year. And in his second year. And then again in his fourth year."

"Technically, that one was a draw," Fred cut in. "Anyway. Dumbledore had trained Harry for this, planned it all out. And the Dark Lord fell for it."

Tracey hissed. "So, you don't need us any more, and will kill us now?"

Daphne froze. Was her friend correct? Would they murder them now? They had murdered her family. What had happened to her sister? Astoria wouldn't have joined the Dark Lord, not if only two months had passed. And if she had been killed, wouldn't the twins have told her right away?

Fred frowned. "No. We'll hand you over to the Ministry so you can be tried in front of the Wizengamot."

"Once they get around to it," George added. "Between rebuilding the Ministry and Diagon Alley, the Ministry might be too busy to bother with you. But that's their problem. Ours is how to transport you two. And that's easier if you're not awake. So..." He aimed his wand at her.

"Wait! What happened to my family? To Astoria?" Daphne asked quickly, staring at the tip of his wand. She needed to know!

Fred shrugged. "I don't know. Probably still in hiding."

"Unless she was in Diagon Alley when the Death Eaters started to burn it down," George added, raising his own wand. "Your friends didn't really care about bystanders, you know."

"Wait!" she yelled, raising her hands.

"Stupefy!"

"Stupefy!"

Everything went black.

*****​

When Daphne woke up again the first thing she saw was an unfamiliar ceiling. It was a lighter grey. She was alive! They hadn't killed her! The second thing she saw was her uncle.

"Daphne." He smiled at her.

"Uncle Eric!" She sat up - she was on a small bed, barely more than a cot - reaching out for him, but suddenly felt dizzy.

He rushed to catch her, before she fell, and held her while he gently lowered her back on to the bed. "Careful! The Healers said you might be disoriented. Stunned, after spending months under the influence of the Draught of Living Death…"

She closed her eyes, trying to stop the room from spinning. "Where am I?"

"In the Ministry. In a holding cell."

She pulled back, out of his embrace, and stared at him.

He winced. "I'm sorry. The Aurors insisted."

She was still a prisoner, then. The twins hadn't lied about that. "Is it true? Is the Dark Lord dead?"

"Yes." Her uncle nodded, then glanced at the door.

She understood - she had to watch what she was saying. "Astoria?"

"She's safe as far as I know," he said. But he was smiling. So he did know, but couldn't say more.

She sighed with relief. Her sister was safe. Her smile didn't last long, though - she was a prisoner, and she remembered what the twins had told her. Taking a deep breath, she said: "They mentioned I would be put on trial."

"Yes. The Minister was adamant about that." He must have seen her reaction, since he added: "Amelia Bones is the current Minister. Fudge was killed by the Dark Lord."

She stared at him. "What happened? What happened since I was taken prisoner?"

He told her.

*****​

Dumbledore dead. The Minister dead. Diagon Alley and Hogsmeade in ruins. Dozens of Ministry employees cursed so they had to be dosed with Draught of the Living Death - she shuddered at the memories that brought up. The Ministry allied with the mudbloods. Mudbloods forcing purebloods out of their homes! Had Britain gone mad during her captivity?

"I can't believe it…" She shook her head, sending her hair flying back and forth.

"It's true," he said. "A lot has happened."

"So much death… I thought Malfoy Manor was the worst that could happen…" She shivered, remembering how her parents had died, then sobbed.

He held her again, rubbing her back.

"But… if the mu… muggleborns are allies with the Ministry…" She bit her lips. How could she receive a fair trial under those conditions? The twins would have known that!

"Do not worry," her uncle said. "The Wizengamot has lost a lot of its members, but it won't bend to pressure from… them, and neither will the Minister."

She slowly nodded, taking a few deep breaths.

"But," he continued, "I need to know what you did. So I can speak in your defence."

He was looking at her with apprehension, she realised. "I haven't killed anyone. And I didn't join the Death Eaters." She hadn't been marked, at least.

"But you fought for the Dark Lord."

"I joined a group led by Draco Malfoy with the goal of protecting our families against the mudbloods trying to murder us. He didn't mention the Dark Lord." Not at the start.

Her uncle stared at her for a moment, then nodded slowly and smiled. "Good. I'm certain that the Wizengamot will understand that."

Daphne hoped he was correct. She didn't think that the Wizengamot would show much mercy to Death Eaters. Not after what they had done. "What about Astoria?"

"She hasn't been accused of anything." He smiled. "My colleagues, and the Ministry, understood her situation very well."

"Ah." Daphne felt more optimistic. If the Ministry didn't go after Astoria, then her own chances were good as well. "Can she visit?"

Her uncle winced. "I would rather she stay safely wherever she is. The Ministry is… some of them might carry grudges." He patted her shoulder as he rose. "I'll coordinate with Cressida and Thaddeus."

So Tracey and Theo were here as well. Daphne hadn't had any reason to doubt that, but it felt good to have confirmation. "Thank you."

He smiled. "Don't worry. I'll push this in the Wizengamot. You'll be home as soon as possible."

With that, he left, and Daphne was alone in her cell. But she wasn't insensate, at least. And she would be free, and with her sister, soon!

*****​

Hogwarts, February 12th, 1997

His fame was useful, Harry Potter told himself when he entered the Great Hall and heard the whispers start up as most of the students stared at him. Many people listened to the Boy-Who-Lived. He could help change Britain for the better thanks to his fame. Even more so than he had already, after killing Voldemort.

But as much as he told himself that, he still didn't like being the centre of so much attention. At least it wasn't as bad as it had been right after the battle. Even people he went to classes with had been looking at him as if he was Dumbledore.

It wasn't quite that bad now, though the Daily Prophet's articles covering the Headmaster's funeral hadn't helped matters, despite the subtle dismissive comments sprinkled throughout the praise heaped on him. He shook his head - he didn't want to think about that article. The things they had implied about Hermione, Ron and himself...

Harry wished his friends were here. But Ron was still recovering at Grimmauld Place, and Hermione was with the Resistance, wherever they were. He felt rather alone, especially since if there was an assassin hiding among the crowd, he wouldn't spot them until it was almost too late… He shook his head. He was at Hogwarts, which was among the safest locations in Britain. And if a student attacked they'd regret it dearly.

He noticed Luna was waving at him, and he smiled and waved back before he took a seat opposite Neville, next to Ginny.

"There you are!" the witch said, smiling at him. "Been on a walk again?"

Harry nodded. He had been flying, disillusioned, but it amounted to the same thing, in his opinion. And while he trusted Ginny, she didn't know Occlumency, so her mind wasn't protected against Legilimency. Though if she had used the map, then she would already know what he had been doing.

She nodded, then pushed a plate with roasted chicken towards him. "These are really good."

"Thanks." She beamed at him, then turned back to her own meal.

Neville hadn't said anything, just nodded at him when he had sat down.

"Is everything alright?" Harry asked.

Neville shrugged.

"I'll take that as a 'no'," Harry said, snorting.

"I'm just thinking," Neville said. "Lots to think about, right?" He glanced at Harry, then looked down at his plate again.

"Yes." Though Harry couldn't help wondering what Neville was thinking so hard about. He had inherited a seat on the Wizengamot, and while he wasn't yet old enough to take it himself, his proxy would likely ask his opinion before voting.

It wouldn't take much to use Legilimency. Harry wouldn't even need to make eye contact. Not with the Elder Wand. He frowned and shook his head. He wouldn't do that to Neville. Nor to anyone else.

"What's wrong?" Ginny asked. "You both are looking so…" she made a gesture with her hand, instead of continuing.

"Nothing," Harry said.

"Just thinking," Neville said at the same time.

Ginny frowned, pouting. It was a cute expression, Harry thought, and he almost chuckled in response. She must have noticed anyway, since he saw her eyes narrowing.

"I was thinking of the battle," he said.

"Oh."

And now she looked ashamed for having brought that up. Harry felt guilty for lying to her, but he didn't think telling her that he was pondering whether or not to invade their minds would be a good idea.

"They handed Greengrass, Davis and Nott over to the Ministry," Neville said suddenly.

"Ah." Harry had known of that in advance.

"They'll be tried in front of the Wizengamot," Neville went on. "Next Monday."

Harry hadn't known that. "That's quick."

"Their relatives are pushing for a quick trial." His friend frowned. "I wonder how we should vote."

"In the trial?" Harry asked.

"Yes."

"Shouldn't you - your proxy - decide that during the trial?" Harry couldn't quite hide his reaction to Neville's words.

"We already know that they're Death Eaters. They were caught with Malfoy," Ginny said.

Neville nodded.

"They weren't killed like Malfoy, though," Harry said.

"Did Hermione tell you anything about that?" Neville was looking at him now.

Harry's first impulse was to deny having spoken to her, as he had done for months. But the war was over, and everyone had seen her with him and Ron at the funeral. "We didn't talk much about it. She said that they weren't as bad as Malfoy had been."

"Not exactly a rousing endorsement," Neville said.

"They tried to kill my family," Ginny said through clenched teeth. "It was Malfoy's group who attacked the Burrow. They should be executed!"

Neville nodded, no doubt thinking about his dead gran.

Harry made a vague noise. While he didn't want a repeat of what had happened after the last war, when Death Eaters had gone free claiming they had been under the Imperius, he couldn't help thinking that this was part of what Dumbledore had warned him about. And a good reason to replace the Wizengamot with real judges.

*****​

London, Ministry of Magic, February 17th, 1997

Sirius Black made certain to show a neutral expression while he made his way to his seat in the Wizengamot Chamber. He and his 'esteemed colleagues' were gathering for a trial, after all, and would decide the fate of three accused. And Sirius knew better than anyone else how important a trial was.

He sat down and watched the others file in. Not everyone showed the proper decorum. Some joked, some glared. Most were chatting. Eric Greengrass was talking with Cressida Davis. They were smiling.

Sirius frowned for a moment. They had not just pushed for a quick trial, they had also worked on their allies and acquaintances. Were they truly confident that the Wizengamot would acquit the three? Three Death Eaters, who had attacked not just the Burrow, but also a member of the Wizengamot? Barely two weeks after the death of the Dark Lord himself? And with half the Wizengamot afraid that the Resistance would start a war against them?

Would they claim they were under the Imperius? He wouldn't let them get away with that. Not after what had happened in 1981.

Thicknesse, who was once again filling in for the acting Chief Warlock, entered, and called the chamber to order. As usual, it took a while for everyone to quiet down. Then whispers and murmuring broke out again once the three accused were brought in and chained to their chairs. They looked nervous, at least. Though not shaking quite as much as Sirius had expected - but then, they were Death Eaters.

"Honoured members of the Wizengamot! We have gathered here to pass judgement over three accused," Thicknesse started the trial.

Bones's successor was as diligent as the Minister had been, and the list of the crimes of which the three Slytherins were accused took a long time to be read. Multiple counts of attempted murder, conspiracy, treason - all of them were members of the Wizengamot, even if they were too young to actually hold the seat - and even underage magic. Sirius didn't laugh or chuckle at that accusation, but he was in the minority. That wasn't a good sign.

"Daphne Greengrass, how do you plead?"

"Not guilty!"

Sirius's eyebrows rose in surprise. He had heard firmer voices, but not many in that chair.

"Take note that the accused Greengrass pleads 'not guilty'," Thicknesse told the court scribe. "Tracey Davis, how do you plead?"

"Not guilty!"

That one spoke firmly as well. Her plea was noted down.

"Theodore Nott, how do you plead?"

"Not guilty!"

And the boy sounded almost defiant.

While the accused were checked for spells and potions, Sirius watched them. They were putting up a proper facade. That would impress many of his colleagues. Sirius scoffed. That all of them were purebloods of Old Families, heads even, was far more important for many of the members. Wouldn't do to set a precedent for a case against a member of the Wizengamot, would it?

"Since all of the accused are still minors, their guardians will speak up in their defence," Thicknesse announced. "The chair recognises Mister Greengrass."

Sirius saw Eric step down, to stand next to his niece. "Honoured members of the Wizengamot! My niece here stands accused of many crimes. Heinous crimes, even! But I tell you: All she has done is what anyone would have done in her situation. While it is true that she fought for the Dark Lord, she did so unknowingly, and later unwillingly, a victim of cruel circumstances."

"Lies!" one member yelled - Sirius hadn't seen who.

Greengrass didn't ignore the shout, but took it up, to Sirius's surprise. "Lies? No, it's the truth! Do you remember the brutal attack on Malfoy Manor? Among the dozens murdered there were Daphne's parents - my brother and his wife. My niece saw the attack, and only survived due to chance, being in the manor's garden with her sister and friends at the time the muggleborns struck."

He took a deep breath. "Having lost her parents, my nieces returned, grieving, to Hogwarts, thinking they were safe there. But they weren't! Both of them almost died in that cowardly attack on House Slytherin!"

Greengrass ignored the murmurs this time, and went on: "Imagine their situation: Bereft of their parents, under attack in the school, with the authorities unable to find the attackers… what would you have done in that situation? Begged for mercy? Or would you have fought back to defend your family?

"My niece didn't know that the group of students she joined was working for the Dark Lord! All she knew was that muggleborns were attacking her family, and herself, and she wanted to fight back. Misguided? Naive? Perhaps. But what kind of wizards and witches would we be, if we did not take up wands when under attack? Who among us would rather cower then stand up for their family?

"What else could she have done? She was a student, she couldn't have joined the Aurors or Hit-Wizards. And when she realised just who the group's leader was following, it was already too late - we all know what happened to those who defied the Dark Lord!"

"Like the Boy-Who-Lived?" Doge yelled.

Greengrass glared at the older wizard. "He is an exception. Even Dumbledore fell to the Dark Lord's curses. My niece, once she knew who commanded her group, was trapped. Deserting the Dark Lord would not have just doomed herself, but her family as well. So she fought on. And yet she neither took the Dark Mark, nor did she kill anyone. All she did was follow the orders given to her - orders I doubt many among us would have dared to refuse, had they been in her place.

"Honoured members of the Wizengamot! All the crimes my niece has been accused of were either done with the aim of protecting herself and her sister, or committed under duress of the highest order. She did nothing anyone else wouldn't have done in her place. I urge you to acquit her, so she may, after two months spent as a prisoner of the Muggleborn Resistance, finally return to her family!"

So that was their tactic, Sirius noted. And it was working, as he could tell from the reactions of the other members. He could have mentioned the fact that they had used a dark curse on Nigel Nye, a member of the Wizengamot… but then, that might lead to the revelation that that attack had been set up by Dumbledore, with the cooperation of Nye himself. Still, the Wizengamot had to know that letting a Death Eater go would enrage the muggleborns. He rose. "That's a fair tale, Mister Greengrass, but there were a lot of tales told after the last war as well, and we all know how many of those were true."

"My niece is ready to affirm the truth of her claims with Veritaserum. Though given her age, and her status as head of my family, she will only do so under the condition that I am the one to question her, lest others abuse the opportunity to expose my family's secrets."

Sirius had not expected that. Usually, the accused tended to try to use any excuse to avoid being questioned under Veritaserum. At least those who had not been prepared for it - but the girl was too young for that; not even Harry, who had been trained by Dumbledore himself, would be able to withstand Veritaserum. Was the story Sirius had heard actually true? He doubted it, still. And yet… would Greengrass dare to offer this, otherwise?

And the offer alone would impress many, and making others doubt themselves. If Sirius was allowed to word the questions… but he wasn't. And Thicknesse wasn't even trying to add that caveat. Greengrass must have been expecting this. They might have made a deal, even.

Well-played, Sirius thought. Well-played indeed.

*****​

"Did you know for certain that Draco Malfoy was a Death Eater when you joined him at Hogwarts?"

Daphne Greengrass found it hard to think. Too hard. Everyone had known that Draco's father was a follower of the Dark Lord - and Draco had followed his father blindly. But had she known for certain? He hadn't come out and said it until they had left Hogwarts… "No."

"Is it true that you wanted to leave, but couldn't, since you feared what the Dark Lord would do to you?"

"Yes."

"There you have it, honoured members of the Wizengamot!"

Daphne felt someone grab her head. "Open your mouth."

She did - there was no reason not to, was there? Then she swallowed whatever they had just dropped in her mouth. It tasted terrible. It tasted like...

Daphne shivered when she recovered her wits. That had been a dreadful experience, her mind clouded by the potion, unable to refuse anything. She wanted to hug herself, but she was still chained to the chair. She looked up. Was it over already? Her uncle was smiling at her, but Thicknesse was talking...

"Those in favour of acquittal, raise your wands!"

The chamber brightened as wands were lit. Daphne strained her neck, trying to count the wands. Was it enough? She couldn't see the whole chamber from her seat, the backrest blocked her view. But her uncle was smiling. Did that mean…

"Daphne Greengrass, the Wizengamot has judged you not guilty. Aurors, release her."

She was free. She was free! As soon as her chains were loosened, she rushed to hug her uncle.

*****​
 
Chapter 45: Reactions
Chapter 45: Reactions

'Despite the vocal criticism of Wizarding Britain's judicial system, mostly by muggleborns, an unbiased examination of the Wizengamot's record as Wizarding Britain's court would come to the conclusion that it worked very well. Of course, mistakes were made - although contrary to popular opinion, the imprisonment of Sirius Black wasn't the fault of the Wizengamot since he did not receive a trial - but no system is perfect. Composed of experienced, educated members, the Wizengamot was not quite as easily swayed as a single judge, or a small group of judges, nor as prone to forget that a court case might have ramifications past the immediately obvious ones, unlike those wizards and witches focused on law enforcement. Some point at the trials following the Dark Lord's death as 'proof' that the system was inherently corrupt by allowing the Wizengamot to render judgment over its own members. To that criticism I point at the muggle jury system, which explicitly demands that an accused be judged by a jury of their peers.'
- Excerpt from 'Wizarding Britain in the 20th Century' by Albert Runcorn


*****​

London, No. 12 Grimmauld Place, February 17th, 1997

"Innocent? They attacked the Burrow! They tried to kill us all! What is the Wizengamot thinking, releasing those murderers! I'll go and kill them myself before they attack us or anyone else again!"

Ron Weasley gasped at hearing his mum's reaction to the news of the trial. "Mum!" He was angry himself, but he had expected such a result. Hermione had told him the Resistance was prepared for it.

"Molly!" Dad grabbed her arms with both hands. "Calm down! You can't just go and curse them!"

"Of course I can! They tried to kill my children! I'll hex their heads off!"

Ron winced. Mum wasn't quite shaking Dad off, but he was having trouble holding on to her. He had rarely seen her like this. Not even when Ginny had been missing.

"You won't find them. They'll be cowering in their hidden mansions," Sirius cut in. "I doubt they'll be walking down Diagon Alley any time soon; not with so many muggleborns back."

Ron's mum turned to glare at Sirius, and for a moment, Ron was afraid she'd lose her temper at their host. But instead, she closed her eyes and made a sound somewhere between a sigh and a strangled cry.

"How can they do this? It's a travesty of justice!"

"It's the Wizengamot," Ron said. Everyone turned to look at him, and he fought the urge to flinch. "They'll not condemn their own." He shrugged. "We expected this."

"I expected a more blatant farce, actually," Sirius said. "The Veritaserum was a quite accomplished move that might even convince quite a few people."

Ron snorted. "Not the muggleborns, and not many of the half-bloods either. They know better."

"But many of the purebloods will believe the Wizengamot's verdict was just," his dad said, looking far more tired than Ron had expected. "Veritaserum is a powerful argument."

"It's all in the wording." Sirius's smile lacked any humour. "And that's something you can bet the Prophet will not report accurately. Word of mouth will simplify it to 'Veritaserum confirmed their innocence'."

"That's… that's…" Ron's mum was fuming again. "How could they do this?"

Sirius shrugged. "They played the Wizengamot almost perfectly. Although I think Thicknesse was in on it - he was remarkably agreeable to Greengrass's demands. On the other hand, he is a shrewd politician, so he probably just saw which way the wind was blowing."

"The Resistance will still spread the truth about this," Ron said.

"Oh, yes." Sirius grinned. "I'll be sending her an exact transcript of the session."

"You have a Pensieve?" Ron's dad looked surprised.

"Dumbledore left his to us," Sirius said. "We can certainly use it more than Hogwarts."

"As long as something is being done!" Mum was shaking her head. "This cannot continue! They'll let all those murderers go, just like last time!"

"If they do, there'll be another war," Sirius said. "Or rather, they'll find out that the war's not over yet," he added with a grin.

Ron thought that Sirius sounded as if he would prefer that.

*****​

Hogwarts, February 17th, 1997

"... thank you, Sirius. Goodbye."

Harry Potter, sitting on his bed in the Gryffindor dorms, sighed while he stashed the mirror in his pocket again. The three Slytherins had been acquitted. It wasn't exactly a surprise, but… part of him had hoped that the Wizengamot would finally show some sense and not fall for their stories. It looked like the Old Families were still refusing to see reason.

He heard yelling from the common room and realised that the wireless had to have broadcast the news as well. Even if he stayed in his room, others would come and ask him about the trials. Better to set the record straight right away - he was all too familiar with Hogwarts' rumour mill.

He was barely halfway down the stairs when he met Ginny coming up. "Harry! I was just coming to get you! They announced that Greengrass, Davies and Nott have been acquitted!"

"I heard." He smiled. "It's no surprise."

She pouted. "I know, but still… do you think they'll return to Hogwarts?"

He shook his head. "I doubt it." Unless they were so delusional that they thought everyone would follow the Wizengamot's lead. Or the Ministry took control of Hogwarts and stuffed it full of Aurors. Pureblood Aurors.

They reached the common room, and as soon as Harry entered, it seemed everyone present wanted to tell him about the verdicts. He raised his arms. "Calm down, everyone! I already heard about it!" To his slight surprise, the room quieted down after a few moments.

"What do you think of this?" Neville asked.

The boy looked very tense, but seemed to control himself, Harry thought. Although he couldn't tell what Neville was thinking. Not without using Legilimency… he buried that thought quickly, then took a deep breath. "Did anyone really expect that the Wizengamot would find those three guilty? They haven't even tried to prosecute Astoria Greengrass, despite her attack on our third years." He saw a few of the Gryffindors of that year shudder.

"But they were questioned under Veritaserum!" Romilda said.

"The questions were asked by their proxies and guardians," Harry answered. "And carefully worded. But even if it were true that they had been afraid for their lives, they could have run away from the Dark Lord and gone into hiding. You know how well that worked for so many others. They were not forced to fight." He scoffed. "They almost died attacking the Weasleys' home," - he heard Ginny almost growl next to him - "so they knew that staying with the Dark Lord and fighting was dangerous as well, but did they flee then? No." He shook his head. "They were acquitted because they were the heirs of their families and members of the Wizengamot."

That caused more yelling. Neville was one of the few who didn't say anything, pressing his lips together.

"Will they let all of the Death Eaters go?" A third year asked, trembling. Her friends hugged her.

"Most of the Death Eaters are dead," Harry said. Belatedly, he realised that smiling encouragingly while saying such a thing might look a bit… odd.

"But not all of them!" The little witch - a muggleborn, Harry thought, she was wearing jeans under her robes - tried to compose herself. "And the Slytherins? Will they return to Hogwarts?"

Ginny snorted, and mumbled something under her breath that Harry was certain would earn her a chore should her mum overhear it. He shrugged. "I doubt it." Some had been killed, like Malfoy and his friends. "But even if some do, we're prepared. They'll not be able to do anything to us."

"What if they send Aurors?" Will Banks asked.

Harry knew that the muggleborn third year had been afraid of the Ministry ever since he had been used to sabotage the Slytherin Quidditch Pitch stands. With good reason, he thought - if not for Dumbledore, the boy would have likely been punished for it. Harry smiled confidently. "They don't have many Aurors left, and they need them elsewhere. And they have even less skilled Aurors left. If they try to take over Hogwarts… well, there are a lot of people who would object to that."

"Like the Resistance!" The third year witch wasn't trembling any more.

"Yes," Harry said. "And many more. We won't let the Ministry push us around any more!"

The yells and shouts filling the common room were even louder this time. Harry kept smiling, though for all he believed his words, he hoped that the Wizengamot would cave in, and soon.

*****​

London, Diagon Alley, February 17th, 1997

Hermione Granger walked along Diagon Alley with her wand in hand and her rifle slung on her back. Justin was behind her, his rifle in hand, while Sally-Anne was in front, pulling a rolled up paper out of her enchanted bag. A flick of her wand later, a poster was stuck to the wall next to the entrance to 'Jamie's Jellies'.

Wizengamot lets Death Eaters go unpunished! was followed by a picture of Lucius Malfoy, with '1981: I was under the Imperius!' superimposed over it on the left side, and a picture of the laughing Theo Nott with the caption '1997: I was too afraid to stop fighting' on the right side. And at the bottom: 'They persecute muggleborns, and protect Death Eaters! It's time for a change!'

Sally-Anne stuck a leaflet with a more detailed - but not too detailed, just enough to counter the Veritaserum excuse - description of the trial next to it right when a man stepped out of the shop.

"Hey, what are…" he broke off and closed his mouth when he saw their uniforms, then turned around and disappeared back into the shop without a further word.

Hermione shook her head, wondering if the man had a guilty conscience, or was just afraid of the Resistance because he believed the Prophet. Another poster and leaflet later, they turned around a corner and entered the main part of Diagon Alley. Their appearance was noticed almost at once by the people on the street.

"It's the Resistance!"

The crowd started to move towards them, eager faces and muggle clothes revealing them as muggleborns.

"They're here!"

"Look at them!"

Hermione forced herself to keep smiling, even though she felt rather tense - it would be easy for someone to hide in the crowd and send a curse at her or the others, and their Shield Charms wouldn't stop everything. Tania and Seamus, both disillusioned, were flying above them, keeping an eye out, but they too would not be perfect. And the Human-presence-revealing spell was pretty much useless in a crowd.

She held up a hand. "Please give us some space." She pulled a leaflet out of her own pocket and cast a Doubling Charm, then sent the leaflets up in the air, and above the gathering people. The people stopped crowding the Resistance in favour of grabbing the leaflets, but that relief didn't last long - as soon as they had skimmed the contents, they turned towards them again.

"This is an outrage!" one man, about thirty years old - it was harder to tell with wizards - yelled. "We need to do something!" His next words were drowned out by the crowd.

Hermione cast an Amplifying Charm to be heard over the shouting. "We are doing something!"

She had to repeat herself twice before the noise died down. "It's time to show the Ministry and the Wizengamot that we will not accept being ruled by an aristocracy! We didn't beat the Death Eaters just to bow to the very Wizengamot that persecuted us! We demand a democratically elected Wizengamot!" She took a deep breath. "We'll be holding protests and rallies soon, as more and more muggleborns return to Wizarding Britain! Watch out for leaflets and listen to the Resistance Radio! Spread the news - we will not submit! Blood doesn't matter!" she yelled at the end, the spell carrying her voice over the Alley.

The crowd took up the words. "Blood doesn't matter! Blood doesn't matter!"

For a moment, Hermione basked in the crowd's approval, more certain than ever that they would win, that they would reform Wizarding Britain. Then she heard Seamus over the radio: "Watch out, Aurors closing in from the North!"

"Hold fire!" she said through the throat microphone, moving forward.

The crowd parted in front of her, to her own surprise, and she saw two - no, four - Aurors approach, wands out. The crowd noticed them too - they hadn't posted rear guards - and the mood quickly grew worse, with wands being drawn and even aimed.

The Aurors - all of them so young, Hermione recognised three of them who had been two years above her at Hogwarts - stopped about ten yards away. They looked nervous, no, afraid even. Their leader, barely older than the rest, took a step forward. "What's going on here?"

Hermione held up her left hand, quieting the crowd down, as she met his eyes. "We're passing out leaflets and putting up posters." She didn't want to escalate matters, but she would not budge if the Aurors tried to stop them. She couldn't - she'd lose all the influence she had over the crowd if she did that.

Sally-Anne stepped closer to Hermione. She had stashed her posters and leaflets, and her wand was out, but at her side. Out of the corner of her eye, Hermione saw Justin step to the side so he'd have a clear line of fire. Fortunately, the crowd was not moving forward, but holding where they stood. As riled up as the muggleborns were, it wouldn't take much to start a fight.

Fortunately, the leader of the Aurors must have realised that as well, since he pressed his lips together and turned around. "Let's go!"

The rest of the group followed him, but Hermione saw that they were looking over their shoulders, as if they expected an attack any moment. And yet they were not in a defensive formation - though she suspected that this was due to lack of training and experience, and not a deliberate decision.

Once they had turned around the next corner, Hermione relaxed. If that had gone wrong… She turned to address the crowd again. "Spread the word! We're not submitting! We're not going away! We demand democracy! Blood doesn't matter!"

"Blood doesn't matter!"

*****​

London, Ministry of Magic, February 17th, 1997

Amelia Bones checked the clock on the wall of her office and frowned. It was getting too late again. She had worse hours as Minister than she had had as Head of the DMLE. It couldn't be helped, though. Not with the situation the Ministry found itself in following the trials of Greengrass, Davis and Nott. The acquittal of those three hadn't been received well by everyone.

Amelia knew that the questions asked while the three were under the influence of Veritaserum had been very carefully phrased. If she had conducted the questioning, then she would have asked more and different questions. Nevertheless, the trial had been conducted correctly, and if the Wizengamot ruled that the accused had acted under duress, and were not to be punished for what they had done and admitted to, then that was the verdict people would have to accept. She would never let public opinion, much less a vocal minority, dictate sentences. Even though she couldn't help feeling that Britain's situation wouldn't be as dire as it currently was if the Wizengamot had taken a harsher stance towards Death Eaters after the last war, she would never condone vigilante 'justice'.

A knock at the door interrupted her thoughts.

"Yes?"

Her secretary opened the door and peered inside. "Mister Thicknesse and Head Auror Dawlish are here, ma'am."

Amelia suppressed a sigh. They wouldn't bother her, not at this hour, if it wasn't important. "Send them in."

The two wizards entered, and she waved at the chairs in front of her desk. "Please have a seat."

"Thank you, Amelia," Pius said. "There was an incident today, in Diagon Alley."

Amelia sat straighter. "What happened?"

Dawlish handed over a scroll of parchment and a roll of paper. "An Auror patrol encountered a group of Resistance members putting up posters and handing out leaflets. There was a crowd of muggleborns with them."

She quickly read the parchment, her anger growing, then looked at the poster and leaflet. "They were prepared for this. They expected the verdict." Granger had been ready to plaster this filth all over the Alley.

Pius, ever the politician, nodded. "I'd even say that they wanted the Wizengamot to acquit the three."

He was correct. "They'll use this to rile up the muggleborns." Amelia clenched her teeth.

"They didn't attack the patrol," Dawlish said.

"They were probably hoping that the Aurors would attack them." Pius was smiling faintly.

"I don't think so." Amelia shook her head. "They are not yet ready for an open conflict. The muggleborns who left Wizarding Britain last year are still in the process of returning. Granger will want to recruit more of them to replace her losses too." And today's verdict would help them - the muggleborns didn't trust the Ministry, and would believe the Resistance's propaganda over anyone else.

"Should we let them do this?" Dawlish asked. "How's our own recruiting?"

Pius lost his smile. "We haven't been able to recruit as many suitable wizards and witches as we'd like. I've spoken with a few members of the Wizengamot, asking them to impress upon their extended family just how much the Ministry needs trusted employees. The situation should improve in the summer, when the current seventh years graduate, but until then..." He sighed and spread his hands.

Dawlish frowned. "What about hiring more muggleborns and half-bloods?"

Amelia raised her eyebrows and exchanged a glance with Pius. Dawlish knew what Pius had meant by 'suitable candidates' - loyal purebloods. Had he talked with Weasley? Was this another plot? "Their loyalty is a concern," she said.

Dawlish nodded. "I know. But on the other hand, having muggleborns in the Corps would improve our reputation among the other muggleborns, and defuse the tension somewhat. The Resistance would also have to worry about their loyalty, and any talented muggleborn joining the Corps is one the Resistance can't train."

"Would you trust them?" Pius asked, sneering slightly at his subordinate. "It's not as if we can require an Unbreakable Vow from them, and we all know how many traitors we had within our ranks. And how that turned out."

Dawlish flushed, but didn't give in. "We aren't at war with the muggleborns. The situation is tense, especially with the way they are retaking their old homes, but we just fought together against the Dark Lord, and they haven't attacked the Ministry or the Aurors."

"Not yet," Pius said. "But once they are ready…"

"We're not ready for a war either," Dawlish said. "And if it comes to a war, it's not just the loyalty of muggleborns we would have to worry about."

Dawlish was showing more political awareness than Amelia had expected. He probably was talking to some of Dumbledore's old friends and followers. Maybe Weasley, or even Black, she thought. "The muggleborns are breaking the law by forcing people out of their homes. That is something the Ministry cannot ignore."

"If we intervene, we might start a war. And we don't have the wands to intervene, much less fight a war," Dawlish said.

"Our duty is to enforce the law. If you feel you are incapable or unwilling to do your duty, then I'll accept your resignation," Amelia said in a clipped tone. The Ministry had no need for cowards or traitors. Especially not in the current situation.

"If you wish that we intervene against the muggleborns taking over shops in Diagon Alley with our current strength, then we will have to strip the Ministry and Hogsmeade details of almost everyone. Otherwise, we will not have the numbers to do anything," Dawlish said, staring at her. "I'll need a direct order to prioritise this task above guarding the Ministry and the Wizengamot."

Amelia glared at him. He was well aware that she couldn't give that order. The Wizengamot would never allow it. He was undermining her, she realised. Was he working with Pius? She glanced at the Head of the DMLE. He was frowning as well. She knew that they didn't have the numbers to do this, but they couldn't let it go either. "If we don't do enforce the law, then that will encourage the muggleborns to push further."

"They're already demanding changes in the Wizengamot," Pius said. "Unless the Wizengamot agrees to their demands, a confrontation is unavoidable."

"If the Ministry is to go to war against the muggleborns, then we can't count on all our Aurors and Hit-Wizards," Dawlish said.

"You don't trust all of your Aurors, and yet you want to recruit more whose loyalty is questionable?" Pius asked. He was acting a bit too offended, Amelia thought - it was his department, and ultimately his responsibility, after all.

"If all we can recruit are fresh graduates from Hogwarts while the muggleborns get the pick of the experienced Aurors and Hit-Wizards that left the Corps as well as their share of the fresh graduates, then the Ministry's situation will not improve over time." Dawlish winced. "My people aren't too happy about the Wizengamot's judgement either."

"Aurors never are happy when someone they arrested gets acquitted," Amelia said. She knew that from personal experience.

"That is true, but this goes beyond the usual grumbling. And these aren't helping matters," Dawlish pointed at the poster and leaflet on Amelia's desk. "The Corps knows that the trial wasn't exactly…" he trailed off.

"Exactly what?" Amelia asked. "The Wizengamot conducted the trial according to the law. Pius can confirm that."

Pius nodded.

Dawlish held his tongue, but she thought it took him some effort. "Do you have anything else to add?" she asked, staring at him.

"No, ma'am."

"Very well. I have a few things to discuss with Pius that do not concern you." She dismissed him with a nod.

Dawlish glanced at Pius for a moment, then nodded and left her office. Once the door had closed behind him, Amelia sighed. "We not only do not have enough Aurors and Hit-Wizards to do our duty, but those we have are unreliable. And our long-term prospects are worse."

"That is an accurate summary of the situation," Pius said, his face a polite facade.

"Did you explain this to the Wizengamot members you talked with?" Amelia asked.

"I mentioned my concerns about the lack of trusted Aurors and Hit-Wizards," Pius said. He was smiling faintly again.

"And what did they say?" Amelia knew that Pius wouldn't have talked to those too stupid to understand the situation; even if he wanted her to fail so he could succeed her he knew that they were likely to lose a war should it start now.

"They acknowledged the problems we are facing." Pius's smile vanished again. "But they couldn't offer much to the Ministry. There aren't that many capable purebloods left."

"Enough to matter," Amelia said. "They're not willing to risk their heirs and close family."

"Yes." He hesitated for a moment, then went on: "But there's more. They hinted at looking for help abroad."

Amelia hissed. "Mercenaries?" The Wizengamot was unlikely to ask another country for help; too many countries would jump at the opportunity to squeeze concessions out of Britain after decades of Dumbledore pushing them around.

"Yes. Ostensibly to protect their families, but…" he shook his head.

"More vigilantes." She pressed her lips together.

"The French created a precedent when they arrived to help Dumbledore."

"But the muggleborns will jump on that." Amelia could imagine the leaflets they'd print. "Will they be able to hire enough to even the odds?"

"I don't think so. The Dark Lord himself had trouble recruiting mercenaries. With the record of the Resistance in the war, most of the experienced mercenaries would demand a lot of gold to risk their lives going up against them."

Too much even for most of the Old Families, Amelia thought. "There'll still be enough to cause trouble."

"Yes." Pius seemed to hesitate, then straightened. "Other countries might try to use this to meddle in Britain. Many of them are concerned about the muggleborns."

Amelia narrowed her eyes. "That would likely push the muggleborns to return the favour." She considered how fanatical Granger was. "They might already be planning to do that." And that could start another war on the scale of Grindelwald's War.

"They focused on the Death Eaters during the war, not the Ministry. And they haven't attacked the Ministry. Not directly. I don't think that they want another war."

"Do you think that they'll back down if the Wizengamot stands firm?" Amelia watched him. He hadn't seemed to support his Head Auror, but the two had arrived together, and he was Dawlish's superior. If Pius was leaning towards making a deal with the Resistance...

"I don't know. Would they really rather start another war instead of accepting the status quo ante?"

That was a question Amelia didn't think anyone but the Resistance could answer. And there was another question. "If they did, would the Wizengamot believe it?"

Pius didn't look like he'd be smiling again any time soon.

*****​

London, No. 12 Grimmauld Place, February 17th, 1997

Ron Weasley was about to eat a sandwich in Sirius's kitchen when he heard a crash from the hallway, followed by hissed curses. He had drawn his wand before he recognised the voice. "Tonks?"

"Shh!" The young Auror entered, limping slightly. "Nothing happened. The pot wasn't damaged."

"If you say so." Ron shook his head. He checked his watch. It was close to midnight. "Late shift?"

"I wish! Dawlish made me do overtime by burying me in orders!" Tonks frowned, taking a seat at the table. "Where's Kreacher?"

"Probably off cleaning or something," Ron said. The house-elf was remarkably apt at avoiding guests he didn't like - which included both 'blood traitors' and half-bloods - unless specifically ordered to assist by Sirius.

Tonks snorted. "As if!" She summoned some bread and then raided the dishes Ron had taken from the icebox to make her own sandwich. "Third time in a row I get a cold midnight dinner thanks to that b...Bones."

"You could get some muggle money and get takeout," Ron said, finishing his sandwich.

Tonks narrowed her eyes at him, then focused on her sandwich.

He shrugged. She probably just wanted to vent a bit. "Was Bones mad about the verdict?"

"Hard to tell," Tonks said between bites. "We don't exactly see her much since she's not the Head of the DMLE any more. But she's been an Auror; I can't see any Auror being happy about the verdict."

"Really?" Ron was sceptical.

She rolled her eyes. "I mean, not any current Auror."

"Ah."

The eye-rolling turned into a glare. "The Corps has lost a lot of Aurors fighting the Dark Lord. They don't like to see any of his followers get off."

The Ministry had lost a lot of Aurors fighting the Resistance too, Ron knew. He didn't mention that, though. It was a sensitive subject. "They won't be too happy with the Wizengamot then - they aren't finished yet."

"There aren't many prisoners left," Tonks said, glancing at him before she grabbed some pumpkin juice.

"But quite a lot of Wizengamot members who were supporters of the Dark Lord."

That earned him another glare. "You can't arrest a member of the Wizengamot without permission from the Wizengamot. Not unless you catch them in flagrante."

"Huh?"

"Not unless you catch them while they are committing a crime."

"That doesn't sound like a good system," Ron said.

"It's better than the Minister being able to have any Wizengamot member they want arrested," Tonks said.

Not by much, he thought. He shrugged and refilled his glass with juice. "Looks like changes are needed."

"I saw the leaflets. Thicknesse wasn't happy about them."

"Well, it's true. If the Wizengamot continues with this, there'll be trouble." Ron put the juice down and looked straight at her.

"Another war?" She scoffed. "I'm just about the last Auror of my year. Do you really want more deaths?"

He shrugged. "It's only a war if the Wizengamot can find enough idiots to die for them."

She stared at him, her lips forming a thin line. "I get enough of that from your father. I'm not about to fight the Resistance, unless they turn into crazy murderers. But I'm not about to stab my friends in the back - none of my friends."

"Good enough," Ron said.

They finished their midnight snacks in silence.

*****​

Hogwarts, February 18th, 1997

Harry Potter was in the middle of breakfast in the Great Hall when the owls arrived with the morning post - and with the latest issues of the Daily Prophet. Soon, owls carrying rolled up newspapers and letters were landing on the tables, and hands reached for purses. One brown owl almost crashed into his plate, avoiding his tea cup with an awkward hop, before Neville reached over from his side of the table, grabbed it and pulled the newspaper off.

"They're worse than Errol," he heard Ginny, sitting next to Neville, mumble.

Harry didn't comment - he was watching Neville skim over the article. It didn't take long until Neville threw the newspaper down on the table, sending a breadbasket sliding, and grinding his teeth. "They let them go!"

"We already knew that from the wireless," Ginny said, then flinched when Neville glared at her.

He grabbed the newspaper again, and stabbed the front page with his finger. "We didn't see them smile! Look at them, acting as if they were innocent! That's… that's…" Neville shook his head, apparently at a loss for words.

"That's outrageous," Ginny finished for him. "They attacked our third years, then the Burrow, and the Wizengamot treats them as if they were victims?" The witch muttered a few expressions that would have upset Molly Weasley, in Harry's opinion.

"It's the Wizengamot - they take care of each other, and of no one else," Harry said.

He caught a glimpse of a familiar white owl entering the Great Hall, and smiled. Hedwig. The snowy owl dived at him, a few beats of her powerful wings stopping her descent just in time so she could land lightly on the table. She barked and held out her leg to which a small package had been strapped.

Harry chuckled. "I know it's Hermione's fault, Hedwig. You'd never be late otherwise," he said while he pulled the package off. "Have some bacon."

The owl started to feed from his plate while he tapped the package with his wand, unshrinking it.

"Hermione sent you something?" Ginny asked, leaning forward and craning her neck, trying to see what he had received. Neville, too, was watching intently.

"She did," Harry said, pulling out the posters and leaflets. He grinned as he handed out a number to Neville, Ginny and the other Gryffindors. "Something to counter the Prophet's lies."

The leaflets were quickly passed on to the other tables - including the Slytherin table, he noted. He also saw McGonagall grab one herself, then walk over towards him.

The Gryffindor table fell silent when the witch arrived.

"Is this yours, Mister Potter?"

Harry was tempted to say that no, she could keep it, but he didn't. Instead he nodded. "Hermione sent them to me. We want to let the students know the truth."

"And not the Prophet's lies!" Neville said.

McGonagall looked surprised at the outburst from the usually quiet student, but she soon schooled her features. "I see." Looking the rest of the table over, she raised her voice slightly. "While it's laudable to counter lies, I have to remind you that this is a school, not the Wizengamot, or Diagon Alley. You're here to study and learn, not to wage war."

"We're not starting a war," Banks said. "But if someone else does, we'll finish it!" The young Gryffindor flinched when everyone, including McGonagall, stared at him, but then he thrust his chin out. "It's the truth!"

McGonagall looked like she was torn between pride and disapproval, or so Harry thought - he didn't know the witch that well, anyway. "Not you, Mister Banks. Not even the Resistance recruited third years."

Banks's pouting expression made Harry chuckle - but then he remembered the Creeveys, who had joined the Resistance when Dennis had been barely older than Banks. And now Dennis was cursed and in a coma, and Colin was dead.

He didn't say much for the rest of the meal.

*****​

"I want to train again," Neville said when they were on their way to their dorms, to fetch the books and other supplies for the first lesson.

"Me too!" Ginny added, before Harry could respond.

He slowed down and looked at the two. "Moody's dead."

"So?" Neville scoffed.

"If the Slytherins return, I want to be prepared," Ginny added. "Or if the Ministry tries anything."

"Ah." Harry was wondering what to say. Sirius was busy in the Wizengamot, and Remus was still in Europe, hunting Wormtail. Nymphadora… well, she was in the Ministry, and busy as well. Sirius would probably make time, though, to train with Harry.

"It's not as if we haven't been training, you know. Just not as hard as you with Moody," Ginny added. She was not quite fidgeting, but she looked, if still stubborn, a bit more insecure than before.

It wasn't as if it would do any harm, Harry thought. At least not permanently, he corrected himself - Moody's lessons regularly left him hurting. And with things so tense, and the Wizengamot unwilling to do the right thing… He nodded. "Alright. Pass the word to the others - we'll train in Defence. I'll look for an instructor or two, but even without one, we can train."

"Yes!" Ginny smiled widely.

Neville, though, simply nodded, his expression unchanging.

*****​

London, Diagon Alley, February 19th, 1997

Sirius Black shook his head while he stared at the burned out ruins of the twins' shop in Diagon Alley and the neighbouring houses. So much destruction… and the Wizengamot was dragging its feet about funding rebuilding efforts. He pressed his lips together so he'd not bare his teeth as if he was Padfoot. Of course, the longer the Wizengamot delayed allocating funds to support those in need, the more those businesses that were being rebuilt by the Old Families on their own would profit.

In a way, he was doing the same, loaning the twins money to rebuild their shop. He snorted - he wanted to simply give them the gold; as far as he was concerned, they had earned it playing bait for the Dark Lord, but they were too proud to accept. Just like their parents, already talking about rebuilding the Burrow on their own, with the help of some muggle 'blueprints', whatever that was - Arthur's explanation at dinner last evening had been enthusiastic, but not entirely clear.

He checked his watch. He had plenty of time left for a stroll through Diagon Alley to see how the people were faring before heading to the Wizengamot for today's session. He chuckled - that sounded like what a politician would say.

The parts of the Alley further away were looking fine, he thought. It was no surprise - the fighting had not spread that far from the twins' shop. It made the destruction stand out even more, though - and seeing a café open next to ruins was more than a bit weird.

Sirius had bought chocolates from a shop on the way - not quite as good as those from Honeydukes, but by no means bad - and started eating them while walking towards the Leaky Cauldron when he heard yelling from a side alley.

He didn't hesitate - he was a Gryffindor, after all - and entered the narrower alley. There was a group of people - muggleborns, he could tell from their clothes, half a dozen of them - standing in front of a small shop, wands out. A wizard in robes was facing them in the entrance.

"This is my shop! It was stolen from me when I had to hide from the Ministry!" a burly middle-aged wizard was yelling. "Get lost!" The others near him yelled their agreement.

The wizard standing in the door flinched and was obviously scared, but he stood his ground. "I didn't steal it - I bought it from Matthias Selwyn!"

"So? It wasn't his to sell! I'm taking my shop back!" The muggleborn snarled. "You can take it up with the thief!"

"But…" The wizard was trembling now, and took a step back. "You can't do this!"

"Of course we can!"

Wands rose.

"That's enough!" Sirius yelled.

The muggleborns whirled around, all of them. Sloppy, Sirius thought - the shop's occupant could have cursed them in the back easily right then, not that the man looked as if he could do that; it seemed as if he was as surprised as the others.

The leader of the muggleborns glared at Sirius. "What do you…" Sirius saw the man's eyes widen when he trailed off - he must have recognised him.

"Sirius Black." Sirius inclined his head. "I was just passing by when I heard the yelling." He popped the last piece of chocolate into his mouth.

The shop owner walked around the group, towards Sirius. "Sir! I'm Melvyn Gibbons. They're trying to force me out of the shop! I paid for it - I even took out a loan - and now they are threatening me!"

"The shop was stolen from me!" came the angry retort.

"Not by me!"

Sirius sighed. That looked too complicated for his taste. "Calm down, everyone. Now, you bought the shop from Mattias Selwyn, you said?"

"Yes! Just three months ago!"

The man obviously hadn't been too smart, Sirius thought. He turned to the muggleborn. "Did you sell the shop?"

"No! I simply locked it up and left!"

"Were you the owner, or were you a tenant?"

"I wouldn't be trying to take it back if I weren't the owner!" the man exclaimed. "I'm John Carrigan. Muggleborn," he added unnecessarily.

Sirius showed his teeth. He thought he knew what had happened. "That means the building probably was deemed abandoned, and Selwyn bought it up from the Ministry." For a pittance, Sirius assumed - that was how such things were handled, after all.

"I didn't abandon it! I had to hide from the Ministry!"

"Yes." Sirius nodded. He addressed the shop's current owner again. "I'm sorry, but I think your best course of action is to demand your gold back from Selwyn. Provided he's telling the truth." He nodded at Carrigan.

"Of course I am!"

"But he'll not pay me back - he's the son of a member of the Wizengamot!" Gibbons said. "That was all I had!"

"Well, I'm a member of the Wizengamot myself. I'll talk to him." Sirius smiled.

"Thank you, sir!"

"That doesn't mean you can stay in the shop, though," Sirius said. He ignored how the man's face fell - Gibbons should have known better than to buy a muggleborn's shop.

He nodded at the men, then turned around and left, shaking his head. Another sign of just how corrupt the Wizengamot was.

*****​

Twenty minutes later, Sirius entered the Wizengamot's floor in the Ministry. The session wouldn't start for another fifteen minutes, but many members and their entourages were already present, either talking inside the chamber to other members, or gathered in small groups outside the chamber. He didn't see Maximilian Selwyn, though.

"Sirius!"

He turned around and saw Doge was heading towards him. "Elphias."

"Good to see you… I need to talk to you." Doge flicked his wand, and a privacy spell surrounded them. "We need to elect a new Chief Warlock. We can't let this linger any longer."

"We certainly can't let Runcorn continue." The oldest member of the Wizengamot was acting Chief Warlock by default, but he was a known blood purist.

Elphias made a dismissive gesture. "He's irrelevant. But we need to find a candidate we can push through. If we leave that office to the purists…"

Sirius nodded. The Chief Warlock was in theory primus inter pares - the first among equal members - and could act as a tiebreaker. But more important was their control over the schedules, and how the sessions were run. While they couldn't stop a proposal from a member, they could delay it quite effectively - or push another. "Are you volunteering?" he asked. Doge was known to have been a close friend of Dumbledore, and he had had quite a career in the Ministry as well, before he had succeeded his father in the Wizengamot.

"Unless you are," Doge said.

Sirius chuckled. "Me? Merlin's balls, Amelia would be frothing at the mouth!"

"I've heard about her opinion of you," Doge said, shaking his head.

Sirius shrugged. "Albus would have done the same."

"That he would." Doge snorted.

"How are your chances?" Doge would have sounded out the other members already, Sirius knew.

"Unless most of the members who are still hiding return, I should have a simple majority."

Sirius nodded. "But they might return once they hear about your running for the office."

"If they are brave enough. That trial didn't help," Doge said. "They might expect to get off as well."

"Not all of them. Our esteemed members haven't forgotten just how many blood purists had left the chamber right before the attack started." Sirius bared his teeth.

"Enough to affect the result. Best would be if they were split among themselves, but…"

Sirius nodded. He hadn't been a member of the Wizengamot for that long, but long enough to know that you couldn't count on your opponent making a mistake. "Let's get more votes then!" With Doge's friendship with Dumbledore, and Harry's approval, they should get the support of a number of the more impressionable members.

And, Sirius added to himself, he might also convince some members that electing a friend of Albus Dumbledore would help appeasing the muggleborns. He would have to ask Hermione if she could increase the pressure some.

He checked his watch. It was too late to hunt down Selwyn. Maybe he'd have more luck after the session.

*****​

"...and therefore I believe that the Order of Merlin, First Class, is an appropriate reward for the Boy-Who-Lived."

Sirius was one among many who applauded when Chastity Milbrand finished, and probably not the only one who was as happy about the proposal as he was about the fact that Milbrand had finally finished - that witch could go on and on; she had started with a detailed if not quite factual account of Harry's first defeat of Voldemort.

"The chair recognises Mister Diggory."

Amos Diggory rose. "While I agree with my honoured colleague Madam Milbrand that Harry Potter deserves an Order of Merlin, First Class, I think this is not enough. The Boy-Who-Lived has saved Wizarding Britain twice now, and I think that we all know just how many of us here are only alive now because he stopped the Dark Lord before he could take the Ministry."

Sirius glanced at Bones and Thicknesse; both showed no reaction while others loudly agreed.

"Therefore I think an Order of Merlin is not enough; the Boy-Who-Lived also deserves a seat on the Wizengamot!"

Now Amelia was showing a reaction, Sirius noticed - her lips were pressed together and her eyes had narrowed. The Minister for Magic didn't share that view.

To his surprise the proposal was supported by several members of the Wizengamot Sirius knew for quite the bigots - if not followers of the Dark Lord. Were they actually hoping to bribe Harry into supporting the Wizengamot with this?

He mulled this over while Augustus Malfoy stood up and spent five minutes trying to convince the Wizengamot that Harry was immature and unfit without actually saying anything that could be construed as an insult towards the Boy-Who-Lived.

Some members might be naive enough to think that this could work. Sirius knew better, of course - Harry wouldn't feel indebted to the Wizengamot, nor duty-bound to support their policies. And it wasn't as if they could silence Harry, or pick his proxy for him. Unless… if they actually believed what the Prophet hinted at, then they might think they could influence Harry through a witch.

Sirius sighed. He'd have to warn Harry about that. He raised his wand.

"The chair recognises Mister Black."

He stood up. "Honoured members of the Wizengamot! While I'm the first to support all accolades awarded to my godson, I have to point out that he was not alone when he faced the Dark Lord. I have no doubt that trying to honour him, but not his friends, will not endear you to him." He smiled when he saw the expression on Amelia's face. She knew what was coming. "Numerous brave people helped him, but foremost among them were his best friends Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger, and the members of the Resistance and the Order of the Phoenix."

His smile widened at the reaction that caused in the Wizengamot.

*****​

London, No. 12 Grimmauld Place, February 19th, 1997

Ron Weasley jumped up from his seat when Hermione entered the living room in Sirius's home and opened his arms wide. "Hermione!"

"Hello!" She smiled, but she didn't jump into his arms, as he had expected - and hoped. Instead she approached slowly and hugged him rather tenderly, compared to her usual embrace.

"Is something… I'm alright, now," he said. He wasn't hurting anymore, not much at least. "I'm returning to Hogwarts tomorrow."

From the way she pursed her lips, he could tell that she had some doubts.

Rolling his eyes, he pulled his sweater up, then pulled his bandage away. "See? Almost completely healed."

"Almost doesn't mean fully," Hermione said, narrowing her eyes as she bent down to inspect his wound with her wand.

"It doesn't hurt any more," he said, shaking his head while she cast several spells. He was smiling, though - she cared, and had cared ever since their first year.

Finally she seemed satisfied and straightened up. "It looks good, but it's not yet healed. No strenuous activity. No Quidditch."

He pouted, then smiled. "I wasn't planning to. I lost my broom." And they weren't going out this evening, anyway - they would be eating dinner with his family.

"Sirius's planning to buy you a new one."

"Well… "

She shook her head, and once again he missed her long hair. "Typical." But she was smiling.

He gathered her in his arms again, and kissed her.

"So, what have you been doing while I was doing nothing?" Ron asked, once they were both sitting on the couch.

"Same as yesterday - organising," she said, sighing. "The plans for the rally tomorrow are keeping me busy, and John's been trying to copy some BBC programmes, but… we don't have the manpower to produce them, and simply copying them…"

He knew what the BBC was. "Magic can't help there?"

"No." She was frowning again. "We need more people."

"Ah." He felt guilty for making her think about the friends she had lost. "Have you heard about the Wizengamot's offer to Harry?"

She snorted. "Yes. What a transparent ploy! And so stupid - first they start hinting that he was immature and easily manipulated, and now they want him to become a member of the Wizengamot?" She shook her head. "That doesn't make much sense."

"That pretty much sums up the Wizengamot." Ron snorted. "Still, I'm a bit worried about what Sirius said."

"What did he say?" She stopped leaning into him and pulled back to look into his eyes.

"He's afraid… well, concerned, that they'll try to manipulate Harry through a witch." And if that hurt Harry, it would be, partially at least, Ron's fault for being with Hermione.

"Do you think they'll try love potions?"

"No. That would be easily detected, and can you imagine the reaction?" They'd have to form a line so everyone could get their curse in. Ginny would go ballistic as well, Ron knew.

"Well, he was famous before this. He'd have to deal with that anyway," Hermione said. "I know that a number of witches would love to be the girlfriend of the Boy-Who-Lived."

Among them Ginny, Ron knew, but didn't say. His sister, going after his best friend… he sighed.

"Hm?" Hermione was resting her head against his chest again.

"Just thinking. And wondering why I'm so lucky to be your boyfriend."

"Because you're a great boy and a wonderful friend."

He didn't think so, but he would not argue. He just enjoyed the moment with her.

*****​

Walney Island, Cumbria, Britain, February 19th, 1997

Augustus Rookwood rolled his wand between his fingers while he stared at the wireless without seeing it. The mudbloods were holding a rally in Diagon Alley tomorrow to demand the Wizengamot be 'democratically elected'. Whatever they meant by that.

But he knew what that rally was: an opportunity for him. The Resistance would be there, leading the rabble. If he could eliminate Granger, then the Resistance would likely collapse. The Ministry would have the upper hand, once the rioting was over. And the Wizengamot would be more likely to make a deal with him without the pressure from the mudbloods. He might not even have to procure a cure for the Withering Curse; the mere prospect of finding one might be enough.

But eliminating Granger would not be easy - and quite dangerous. And, as much as he hated to admit it, he wasn't certain that he could do it. Not without taking risks that were far too great. Something he was not fond of.

On the other hand, disrupting the rally would be easy - and safer. An Imperius on the right target, and a fragile vial of Exploding Fluid would turn the rally into a cull. He might not get Granger and the rest of the Resistance, but the mudblood rabble would yell for blood, and blame the Ministry. Which would keep them too busy to hunt him.

But the Unspeakables wouldn't care, and would likely continue hunting him. And they were the real danger.

So, should he take a risk, or just take a bit of revenge on both the Ministry and the mudbloods?

*****​
 
Chapter 46: Vacillation
Chapter 46: Vacillation

'The acquittal of Daphne Greengrass, Tracey Davis and Theodore Nott remains a controversial event to this day. From a legal standpoint, the trial was conducted in complete accord with the laws then in force. Further, the Wizengamot's judgment was by no means out of line with the results of the questioning. And yet, it is also one of the most obvious examples of the many faults of the judicial system of that time.
More important, though, was the effect the trial had on the population of Wizarding Britain, who did not, as a rule, much care about the trial's legal details. They either believed that the accused had been exonerated under Veritaserum, or that the Wizengamot had bent the law to set Death Eaters free after they had admitted their crimes. The muggleborns and most of the half-bloods, as well as a significant proportion of the purebloods, adhered to the latter view. Since the war had, owing to the timely exodus of the muggleborn and the subsequent focus of the Dark Lord's attacks on so-called 'blood traitors', struck the purebloods the hardest, that meant that the solid majority of the population of Wizarding Britain was now convinced that the Wizengamot was corrupt and only concerned with protecting the interests of the Old Families.'
- Excerpt from 'The Second Blood War' by Hyacinth Selwyn


*****​

London, Ministry of Magic, February 19th, 1997

Amelia Bones was livid - a state which had become, unfortunately, all too common since she had taken the office of Minister for Magic. The focus and cause of her anger was also a bit too common these days, namely Sirius Black. To tell the Wizengamot to grant a seat and an Order of Merlin to a pardoned criminal like Granger! And to one of the sons of Arthur - the wizard who was steadily trying to undermine her authority within the Ministry! The nerve of the man!

She wasn't the only one his comments - he hadn't made a formal proposal, of course, just delayed Milbrand's proposal until the session had ended without a vote being called - had angered, though she hadn't expected acting Chief Warlock Runcorn and Augustus Malfoy to request a private meeting with her this late - it was past eight already - over this. The two had arrived on schedule, though, and taken their seats in her office.

"You need to do something about Black! He's sabotaging our efforts to rebuild Britain!" Runcorn said. The old wizard was trembling so much, Amelia was almost afraid he'd collapse on her carpet.

Augustus Malfoy nodded. "He is disrupting our sessions and his fear-mongering is unsettling some of our more inexperienced members."

By which he meant those members of the Wizengamot who were not part of either the 'blood traitors' or the 'blood purists', as they called each other, Amelia knew. The numbers of those 'fence-sitters' had grown a bit during the war, some of the heirs of members killed by either faction being less focused on vengeance, and more concerned with their own survival.

"And Doge! He's trying to get elected as Chief Warlock!" Runcorn shook his head almost violently.

Judging by the glance Malfoy sent to Runcorn, the younger wizard was put off by this outburst.

Amelia narrowed her eyes. "So far I haven't heard of anything either of the two have done that would break the law." She wasn't about to police the Wizengamot's politics.

"They are both members of a vigilante group," Malfoy said. "I'm certain that they both committed heinous crimes during the war, given who they associate with."

"They were pardoned for that," Amelia said.

"That was granted under duress, during the panic following Dumbledore's death - who was a member of that group himself. I do not think that such an act is legally binding," Malfoy said.

Runcorn nodded. "Otherwise we'd have to enforce agreements made while under the Imperius."

"In my opinion, annulling such a pardon would need an act of the Wizengamot," Pius said.

Amelia glanced at him. He was wearing his polite smile again, but she knew he was not quite as calm as he appeared. He had to know as well as she did that annulling the pardon would push the muggleborns to war. She nodded. "I agree with the opinion of the Head of the DMLE."

"You granted the pardon, therefore you can annul it as well," Malfoy said.

"No. The law says otherwise."

"That is a matter of debate. If you were under the Imperius such a pardon would not be legal."

"I wasn't." Amelia sat a bit straighter. What were they insinuating?

"Are you certain?" Malfoy leaned forward, his hands on his knees. "Can you explain why else you would agree to such a travesty of justice?"

"Because the Ministry couldn't afford to break the alliance Dumbledore and Fudge had made with the muggleborns." Amelia remembered that meeting very well.

"They exploited the Ministry's weak position as soon as it was possible. That's a sign that they did not enter the alliance in good faith in the first place," Malfoy said, a hint of a sneer on his face.

Runcorn nodded. "Exactly. They broke the alliance by renegotiating the conditions."

"While we were not in an advantageous position during the negotiations, they did deliver, so to speak - they killed the Dark Lord a few days afterwards, at the first opportunity." Pius sounded as if he was talking about the weather.

"I decided to grant the pardon, and I won't withdraw it. Should any of the pardoned, no matter their blood status, commit a crime now, I'll do my utmost to bring them to justice," Amelia said. She didn't like it - they were correct that Black and the muggleborns had forced her to grant them a pardon - but the law was the law; a pardon once granted couldn't easily be annulled.

"Well, you need to investigate to determine if a crime was committed, don't you?" Malfoy said with a thin smile.

"To start an investigation the DMLE needs sufficient reason," Amelia said, staring at the man. She ignored the glance from Pius. She was not about to let the DMLE become the tool of politicians wanting to deal with a rival. "Political differences are not a sufficient reason."

"We know you're not any more content with the way the muggleborns act above their station than we are," Malfoy said, glaring at her. "They are trying to take over Britain at wand point, and Black and Doge are their willing tools in the Wizengamot. Something needs to be done, or they might scare the more weak-willed members into surrendering - something the Dark Lord tried as well, as you know!"

"So far they haven't attacked the Ministry," Amelia answered.

"But they are attacking purebloods in the streets! Forcing them out of their homes!" Runcorn gasped. "Imagine that!"

Amelia had heard about that. Pius spoke before she could answer, though. "We're investigating those complaints."

"Investigating? What's there to investigate?" Runcorn was panting. "They are robbing good pureblood families of their homes and shops!"

"The circumstances that led to those pureblood families taking up residences there are currently under review," Pius said. "Allegations that the properties were unlawfully acquired during the war were made."

"What? Rubbish!" Runcon scoffed.

"I fail to see how a sale made under duress would be in any way different from a pardon granted under such circumstances," Malfoy said with a sly smile.

He almost sounded like Lucius, Amelia thought. He had a point - though less of one than he thought. "That's what we are investigating," she said.

Pius nodded. "There are several things to consider - not the least of them the fact that the Wizengamot didn't just repeal the Muggleborn Laws, but also passed a bill to compensate those who were hurt due to those laws."

Dumbledore had snuck that in, Amelia knew. Probably planned for this situation. "As you can see, the Ministry is investigating." She didn't smile - she knew as well as they did that the muggleborns would never accept any outcome of this investigation that did not favour them.

"I see." Malfoy's smile had grown quite thin. Almost like Pius's.

"What?" Runcorn was shaking his head. "You're leaving purebloods to be attacked by mudbloods?"

"If they own the properties, then this is not an attack, but an act of self-defense, as stated in a ruling of the Wizengamot in 1824, when Dalia Shafiq attacked a group of wizards who had taken over one of her hunting lodges and were unwilling to leave," Pius said.

"That was different!" Runcorn yelled. "It was her lodge, and they were thieves!"

Malfoy put his hand on the old wizard's arm. "I see that we do not agree on how to react to such events. Maybe we all should sleep on this, and consider our stances?"

Amelia nodded. Runcorn grumbled, but Malfoy pushed him out of her office.

Once the door closed behind the two, she sighed. "I can't help but blame Cornelius for this."

"He was known to be rather accommodating to the requests of the Wizengamot," Pius said.

"That's putting it very mildly," Amelia said, then snorted. "But I'm not him; the times of bending the law for the Wizengamot are over. They can change the laws, if they feel it's needed."

"I assume that, in the current situation, the Wizengamot would find it rather difficult to pass those particular changes," he said.

Amelia shrugged. "As long as they are sticking to politics it's none of our business."

"And if they are looking for more direct solutions to their problem?"

She glared at him. "If they resort to committing crimes we'll deal with them." If they could - the Blacks had a reputation, and while Black abhorred his family's views, Amelia didn't doubt for a second that he was willing to use whatever secrets and items and spells they had gathered over the centuries to deal with a threat to himself.

"An attack on Black might cause the Resistance to get involved as well."

She briefly closed her eyes. "Yes. We'll deal with that if it happens."

"Very well."

"What are your dispositions for that muggleborn rally tomorrow?" Amelia hadn't liked it when Cornelius had tried to meddle in her business when she had been the Head of the DMLE, but this was too important.

"With the numbers of qualified Aurors at my disposal, I can't do more than send four of them to observe," Pius said.

Amelia nodded - 'qualified' didn't mean as much as it had once meant either. Moody had called it 'able to cast a curse without hitting themselves', in his last report before his death. "Keep an eye out for malcontents trying to disrupt the rally." The last thing Britain needed was a clash between purebloods and muggleborns during such a public occasion.

Pius nodded at her, then left.

Amelia rubbed her temples once he was gone. Why couldn't everyone simply follow the law?

*****​

Kent, Greengrass Manor, February 19th, 1997

Daphne Greengrass stared at the leaflet her uncle had brought with him. She had known that the mudbloods wouldn't be pleased about her acquittal, but this?

She dropped the sheet of paper on the low table and looked at her uncle, who was sitting on the armchair across from her. "What's the Ministry doing about this?"

Astoria, who had tried to read over her shoulder, snatched it up. She barely glanced at it before gasping.

"Nothing." Uncle Eric shook his head.

"What? They're all but calling for my murder! Our murders!" She stood up, taking deep breaths.

"Technically, they're just criticising the trial's verdict," he said. "They're smart. They want to use your acquittal to pressure the Wizengamot into granting them political concessions. Given the speed with which those things appeared, I've no doubt that they expected the verdict and prepared in advance."

"But…" She sank back on to the couch, shaking her head slowly, barely noticing Astoria gripping her hand. She briefly closed her eyes, forcing herself to calm down. She was the head of the Greengrass family. She had to keep her composure, for her and Astoria's sake. "Will they succeed?"

"As expected, Black supports them," her uncle said. She hadn't missed his slight wince, though.

"And how much support does he have?"

He sighed. "Some of the … more impressionable members of the Wizengamot are faltering, and talking about making concessions to the rabble."

Daphne pressed her lips together. "What concessions?"

"There was a proposal today to grant Potter both an Order of Merlin, First Class, and a seat on the Wizengamot."

She nodded. That was to be expected - the vanquisher of Voldemort could hardly be rewarded with anything less.

"Appointed for his lifetime, of course. He is a half-blood, after all," he went on.

"Yes." Everyone knew that. "One seat won't make much of a difference." Potter wasn't Dumbledore. He was the same age as herself, and apart from Black, he lacked any blood ties to the Old Families. And, she thought, he wasn't even nearly as powerful as Dumbledore.

"Black said that Weasley and Granger should receive the same honours." Her uncle's wince was more pronounced this time, but that could be a reaction to Astoria's shrill "What?"

"Three seats…" It still wouldn't make that much of a difference, but the Weasleys were a pureblood family - technically, as the twins had emphasised - and both Weasley's father and brother were in the Ministry.

"Of course, the mere suggestion of Granger in the Wizengamot spelled the end of that proposal," he said, "but I fear that some of your esteemed colleagues might believe granting Granger such a reward would defuse the situation with the mudbloods."

Daphne snorted. That witch wouldn't understand what an honour such an offer would be. She was far too radical even for a mudblood. Although, Daphne amended mentally, if those leaflets were any indication, then the mudbloods might have grown far more radical than she had previously thought. Or feared.

"You do not think that she would accept such a compromise?"

Daphne shook her head. "I don't know." She didn't know how much Granger had changed in the war. Or Potter.

Looking at the leaflet, and at Astoria, who was now crying, she realised that there was a lot she didn't know any more.

*****​

London, Diagon Alley, February 20th, 1997

Hermione Granger felt as tense as before a battle, watching the crowd starting to gather. She wasn't too nervous about the speech she would make, though, despite the potential danger of the crowd getting out of control - she worried about the rally's security.

They had chosen to temporarily erect a hall near the remains of the twins' shop, close to the location where Voldemort had been killed. Thanks to Sirius's help, they had a Thief's Downfall installed at the entrance, which would take care of imperiused attendants, but the spells on the conjured walls were far weaker than she was comfortable with, and they would not hold up to a dedicated assault for long.

Even with Seamus and Tania up in the sky, providing cover and surveillance, and Louise and Justin manning the checkpoint, and the fact that most Death Eaters were accounted for, she didn't feel very safe.

Most didn't mean all. Remus hadn't found Pettigrew, and no one had any idea of Rookwood's whereabouts. He could have fled Britain, of course - indeed, Pettigrew had, last they knew - but she couldn't afford to assume so. And even if neither was around, there were bound to be some sympathisers left. Or some of the purebloods forced out of the buildings the returning muggleborns took back. Although she doubted that an attack by those would amount to much.

She worried anyway. There was always the question of whether or not the Ministry, or elements of it, would try something. The Resistance had also taken other precautions, of course. Everyone was maintaining a Shield Charm. Transparent walls - she needed to procure some armored glass to study, so she could conjure a better variant - protected the stage on which she would be making her speech against curses cast from the audience. They had emergency exits prepared, and they were ready to conjure walls to contain Fiendfyre, for a time at least.

Still, she couldn't help feeling that it wasn't enough. Not if something happened.

She watched another group of muggleborns enter, drying themselves off after passing through the Thief's Downfall. The idle thought that they hadn't yet adapted the twins' self-drying formula to the original crossed her mind, and she forced herself to focus on the matter at hand.

The makeshift hall was rapidly filling, faster than expected. She either had miscalculated the number of returning muggleborns, or their timing.

"This is a good turnout!"

She turned around and saw that John had stepped on to the stage without her noticing - sloppy of her. She smiled, though a bit weakly. "Yes. We should be able to gain enough support for the next steps." If the muggleborns attending wanted to join a group mostly made up of teenagers and led by a teenager, she added to herself.

John didn't show any such doubts. "Oh, of course we will! We've beaten the Dark Lord, and we've made the Ministry change course. Who else has done even nearly as much?"

"Dumbledore," she said.

"Well… he's dead, and he's known to have been with us." John grinned. "Don't worry - they love us. And you especially."

"Some of them might also have been hurt by our attacks," Hermione said. "Knockturn Alley, for example." That mistake still made her feel ashamed. To have missed that the explosion would throw up so much dust mixed with potions ingredients...

"I doubt that." He shrugged. "That place has been neglected and the inhabitants harassed by the Ministry's Aurors for decades. Compared to that, what we did didn't really register much." He grinned widely. "The e-mails we receive certainly don't mention it."

Hermione doubted that anyone who was living in Knockturn Alley would even know what e-mail was, muggleborn or not. "Those who lost their lives or limbs would probably disagree," she remarked.

Once again he shrugged. "Those are just a handful, at most. I don't think many would support them even if they tried to raise a stink. Such things happen in war."

That Hermione knew very well, though she still felt bad about her mistake. Nevertheless, she nodded - they had important tasks to do. "Alright." She checked her watch. It would soon be time to start.

Then she heard shots being fired outside - a light machine gun and a rifle, both firing long bursts. Seamus and Tania, she thought.

Hermione was just turning to face the entrance, her wand in hand, when an explosion shook the hall, blowing one of the big doors open. The crowd started screaming - panicking, she realised. Wands were raised and waved around, and some were rushing to the exits on the sides of the halls. Others pressed against the transparent walls surrounding the stage.

She tapped her radio button, cupping her hand over her ear to be able to hear a transmission over the noise. "What's going on?"

"Suspicious couple approached, and when stopped, threw a vial at us. They're down, but Louise has been hurt," Justin said over the radio. "As have others. About a dozen."

"I don't see anyone else approaching - the purebloods watching us have fled," Seamus chimed in.

Sally-Anne, who had been at the back of the hall, was already rushing outside. For a moment, Hermione was paralysed - should she end the jinxes preventing magical transportation, and send the crowd home? Send them out, possibly into an ambush? The first attendees were already opening the emergency exits.

She clenched her teeth and cast an Amplifying Charm. "Stay calm! Someone has attacked the checkpoint outside and there are several wounded. Don't panic - we have the matter in hand. Calmly leave the hall, and apparate home."

People kept leaving, though not particularly calmly. Not all of them, though. One wizard waved his wand wildly and shouted: "Where are the bastards? Let's kill them!" Others agreed, equally loudly.

The situation was rapidly getting out of control. She had to do something! Hermione pointed at the first wizard. "You! Go to that emergency exit! Once all who want to have left, close the door and watch it!" Stepping down from the stage at the side, where the walls had an opening, she pointed at two more. "You and you - help him!" She turned towards John. "Grab half a dozen and secure the other exits!"

"You!" She addressed the rest. "Follow me! People need help outside!" Belatedly, she realised that she should have asked for those with Healer or medical training first. But as the Major had told her - in such a situation, it was more important to give some orders at once, to regain control, than to worry about the best orders.

She reached the entrance, a flick of her wand pushing the half-open door out of the way, then winced at the sight. Behind her, others made gagging noises.

There was no crater in the street, so the explosion hadn't been that powerful. But about a dozen were strewn around, most of them bleeding and choking. Justin looked a bit banged up. And there were two bodies riddled with bullets, on the ground in a pool of blood.

Sally-Anne was bent over Louise, frantically weaving her wand around, then stuffed a bezoar into the former Hit-Witch's mouth. "I've stilled the bleeding, but there was some poison too… and I don't have enough bezoars for everyone!" the witch yelled.

Hermione cursed under her breath before turning to the wizards and witches behind her. "Everyone, grab one of the wounded and apparate with them to St Mungo's!"

Two moved forward, each grabbing one of the screaming wounded. The others, though, hesitated.

"Move!" she yelled at them. Another witch obeyed, but one was shaking his head. "I never really got the hang of Side-Along-Apparition!"

He wasn't the only one, judging by the expressions of the others near him. Hermione refrained from following the Sergeant's example and cursing them out. Instead, she ordered in a clipped tone: "You! Go inside and ask for anyone able to provide first aid or side-along-apparate someone to St Mungo's to rush to us here! Go!" With any luck, those who had evacuated wounded would return. She shook her head and pointed at a witch. "You! Head to the next shop and use the Floo Network to go to St Mungo's. Tell them to send more help here!" She dug into her pocket to pull out her own spare bezoars, handing them to Sally-Anne.

"Aurors coming!" Seamus interrupted her through the radio. "From the northern part."

Hermione's first impulse was to take cover and prepare an ambush. She managed to restrain herself, though, and strode towards them.

"Hermione?" Tania said over the radio, just when Hermione spotted the red robes.

She pushed the button on her radio so the rest would hear and spoke before the apparent leader of the Aurors could say anything: "Someone attacked the rally. There are wounded and poisoned there. Give the poisoned your bezoars, and use Side-Along-Apparition to get them to St Mungo's!" The Auror blinked at her, mouth half-open. Hermione didn't give her any time to think. "What are you waiting for? There are wounded in need of help! Move!"

To Hermione's relief, the Aurors - none of them looked much older than herself - didn't question her and started to run forward. She heard Seamus chuckle over the radio. "First time the idiots are doing something helpful."

She frowned, not that he could see it. "Keep an eye out for more suspicious people. We need to clear the perimeter." Unless this was just an ill-planned or spontaneous attack, there would be another.

*****​

Hogwarts, February 20th, 1997

"While we were peacefully assembling to make ourselves heard, they tried to silence us with violence. They failed! We will not be silenced! We will not accept being ruled by an aristocracy based upon the very ideas the Dark Lord embraced! We fought for our lives, we fought for our freedom, and if needed, we will fight for our rights! Democracy now! Blood doesn't matter!"

Harry Potter closed his eyes, sighing, while on the wireless, Hermione's speech was followed by music. The news had spread quickly, over the wireless, and then through word of mouth, but not many knew just how close they had come to a riot in Diagon Alley. Hermione had filled him in through their mirror. If the Aurors had shown more backbone, if more muggleborns had wanted to fight, if Hermione hadn't been listened to, or if there had been another attack…

"Merlin's beard! We need to do something about the remaining Death Eaters!" Ginny, sitting in the seat next to him, said. "Not even the death of the Dark Lord stopped them - they're still trying to kill everyone who opposes them!"

Harry started to shrug, then stopped. "We can't do much about them. Those still alive are in hiding."

"All of those on the Resistance's list?" Ginny frowned. "Some of them are in the Wizengamot, like Runcorn."

"That list included sympathisers too, not just Death Eaters."

"Same thing," Ginny said, scoffing.

"All of them will pay," Neville added in a voice so low, even with the privacy spell active, Harry almost missed it.

"I think it's more important to reform the Wizengamot," Harry said. He wasn't quite certain how he felt about Neville's attitude, lately. He preferred it to Neville's view of Hermione at the start of the war, but this felt like what what Dumbledore's last message had been talking about to Harry and his friends.

"Well, I can't do anything about that," Ginny said.

"I told my proxy that he's to support your godfather," Neville said.

"Dad and Percy are doing their part in the Ministry," Ginny added, glancing first at Neville, then at Harry.

"We use the Easter break," Neville said. "We'll be ready then. And the Death Eaters might have grown complacent."

Harry thought that the Resistance would probably do something before that, if these attacks continued, which would drive most of the listed blood purists into hiding again, but simply nodded. Maybe the whole affair would be over by then, he thought, though he knew that was unlikely.

"Will you be getting your own seat in the Wizengamot?" Ginny asked after a brief lull in their talk.

Harry took a deep breath. "I don't actually know. Sirius said that his remarks prevented a vote, and pretty much sent the whole proposal back to the drawing board."

"The what?" Neville asked.

"He means that those who proposed it have to redo it," Ginny said.

Harry nodded. "Sirius's demand that Ron and Hermione be honoured too wasn't received well. They might decide that they'd rather not grant me anything if it means the others get it as well." It would be quite typical, he thought.

"Yes. That's a common tactic in the Wizengamot," Neville said. "If a proposal is popular, people try to add things that are not quite as popular to it - either to push them through as well, or to stop the proposal."

Harry shrugged. "Well, it doesn't matter much. The Wizengamot will be democratically elected soon anyway." Or there would be war.

"Will you run for a seat then?" Ginny asked.

"Probably," Harry said. He thought the idea of being a member of parliament while he was still at Hogwarts was weird, but given his popularity, he could do a lot of good there.

And he didn't trust many others. Not any more.

*****​

London, No. 12 Grimmauld Place, February 20th, 1997

Sirius Black looked up from his book on dark curses when the fireplace in his home flared up. A moment later, Nymphadora stepped out of it, stumbling, but managing to catch herself before she fell. Sirius shook his head - the girl was still too clumsy.

She blinked, then stared at him. "Have you been waiting in the entrance hall for me?" she asked.

"The kitchen is occupied by Molly," he said. The older witch was baking, mainly to keep herself busy, in his opinion - the news of the attack on the muggleborn rally had shaken her. She feared another war was about to start. "Let's head to the living room. We need to talk."

The metamorphmagus sighed. "I would have found you anyway - I have a message for you. Send for some food, though - I haven't eaten since lunch."

Sirius ordered Kreacher to fetch some leftovers from dinner - Molly had been cooking, and she always made too much - while the two entered the living room. No one else was there - Remus hadn't returned yet, Arthur was still at the Ministry, Nymphadora's parents had retired for the night already, and Ron was using the communication mirror to talk to Hermione in his room. "What kind of message?" he asked, taking a seat.

"Thicknesse took me aside, told me to tell you that Malfoy and Runcorn wanted to annul your pardon. Bones refused, apparently."

"That sounds like Amelia." Sirius shook his head. "I don't suppose she knows that he told you?"

She shrugged. "I don't know."

"Hm." Amelia was unlikely to be playing such games. The witch had been a good Department Head, but Sirius didn't think she was a good Minister. Far too strict and inflexible. "It looks like he's hedging his bets." Amelia wouldn't like that.

"I wouldn't know. Bones was unhappy about the fact that Hermione ordered an Auror patrol around. And that they listened to her." She shrugged. "At least that's what the rumours claim. Dawlish didn't chew them out, though - he just told them not to take orders, but at the same time said they had reacted well to the situation."

That sounded as if Dawlish was looking to reposition himself as well, Sirius thought. Unless it was a ploy. "What about the attack itself?"

She sighed. "The couple who attacked were killed, so we can't interrogate them, but from what we know they had not been known as Death Eaters, or even blood purists. They hadn't lost any family to the muggleborns either."

"Imperiused?"

"It's a possibility. We can't tell for certain. But if they hadn't been mind-controlled, wouldn't they have waited to attack until they were inside the hall?" Nymphadora said.

"Not if they were spotted on the way," Sirius said.

"How did they spot the couple anyway?"

He grinned. "They were dressed like purebloods trying to pass as muggles." He had heard that from Hermione.

"Seriously?" Nymphadora stared at him again.

His grin widened, but before he could answer, she held up her hand. "No puns!"

He pouted. "It's my house."

"But it's my sanity."

"You're not exactly a picture of mental health if a few puns endanger your sanity." Good puns too!

"I'm half-Black, what do you expect?"

"Touché." She had a point there - his family had a history of 'eccentricities'. Like his late mother, and Bellatrix.

Kreacher arrived with the food. The little bugger was grumbling about having to serve a half-blood, or at least so Sirius assumed - the elf had quickly learned to keep his mutterings from being overheard.

"So," he asked while she was starting to eat, "What's the view in the Corps?"

He saw she frowned, briefly, before putting down her fork. "No one supports the attack. Everyone I have talked to knows that this could lead to another war."

"And how many support the Wizengamot?"

She seemed to shrink a bit. "Bones is quite firmly stressing that we have a duty to the Ministry, and to Britain. The new Aurors seem to believe that too."

"Would they fight for the Wizengamot?"

"No one wants a war!" She glanced at him, then stared at her food, stabbing it with her fork.

"But would they blame the Wizengamot or the muggleborns if a war happens?"

"Those with family ties to the Wizengamot would support it, but there's not that many of them left. The others… hard to say. It's not something we talk about." She shook her head. "At least not many talk about that with me."

That wasn't a good sign. But maybe that would change, if Dawlish and Thicknesse were any indication. He nodded. "Try to talk to the ones who aren't related to the Old Families. Well, not closely related." A lot of purebloods and half-bloods were distant relatives of the Old Families. Relatives usually ignored, but in the current situation, even the biggest snobs would be trying to use that tie. Anything to remain in power.

Nymphadora tensed, then sighed. "I'll try."

He hid his smile. His cousin's daughter was coming along, at last.

*****​

Kent, Greengrass Manor, February 20th, 1997

Daphne Greengrass stared at the wireless receiver. Someone had attacked the mudblood rally. She wasn't certain if she should be happy, or terrified. That not everyone was rolling over in the face of their outrageous demands was a good thing, but if the war started again… she was certain that she and her family would be among the first targets.

"That should teach them that they can't act so uppity!" Theo said, grinning widely. He either didn't see, or ignored, the glance that earned him from Tracey.

"They died," Daphne's friend said. "Cut down by the mudbloods. And all they achieved was sending a few of them to St Mungo's."

"And they made the Resistance angry," Daphne added.

Astoria, sitting next to her in their living room, lost her smile, and Daphne felt a pang of guilt. She suppressed it, though - her little sister needed to realise just how dangerous this could become. Before she did something foolish. Like Daphne.

Theo, though, scoffed. "There aren't many of the Resistance left, and the rest of the mudbloods cowered in hiding until Potter killed the Dark Lord. Many of them will flee again after this."

Daphne refrained from scowling at the boy. She didn't particularly like him, and she wouldn't have invited him, if not for the fact that the three of them hadn't many friends or acquaintances left. At least none who wanted to associate with them right now. That didn't mean that she wanted Astoria to listen to that sort of drivel. It sounded like what Draco had said. "They fled when the Ministry and the Dark Lord were after them. I don't know if they will be that afraid of a few idiots with some explosive fluid."

Theo's grin widened. "They should be afraid. Now that they have crawled out of their holes, they are vulnerable to the same tactics they used against us."

"What do you mean?" Tracey asked. Her friend had tensed up, Daphne noticed.

Theo glanced around, then bent forward, his elbows on his knees. "If the mudbloods can do it, we can do it better. Strike at exposed targets, then disappear. Sow terror until the mudbloods have been driven out of Britain again."

"'We'?" Tracey raised an eyebrow. "I'm not too keen on ending up dead like those two fools."

Theo snorted. "We'll be smarter. We'll use mudbloods to attack."

Daphne glanced at Astoria. Her sister was staring at Theo with rapt attention. Daphne frowned. "Have you forgotten what happened when we tried that with Draco?"

Theo glared at her for a moment, then started to smile again. "Draco was a fool. We'll be more careful this time."

"Really? So you know how we were found, and how to prevent that from happening again?" Tracey shook her head. "I don't think so."

Theo was frowning at her. "Someone must have slipped up. That won't happen if we're more careful. And we won't even go near the mudbloods ourselves. We'll send others."

"Mudbloods?" Daphne asked.

"Or half-bloods, or blood traitors." He shrugged. "Who cares about them?"

"The Ministry does," Daphne said. At least they did now.

"They couldn't find either the Dark Lord or the mudbloods; they are no threat." Theo made a dismissive gesture with his left hand.

"I see that you have this all planned out perfectly," Tracey said, sneering. "Like Draco."

"And I see that you've become a coward who'd rather hide than fight for our rights!" Theo stood up, snarling.

"Theo! Tracey!" Daphne snapped.

The two turned towards her, and then sat down again. "Sorry," Tracey mumbled. Theo simply nodded.

Daphne frowned. "Are you really willing to start a war? With the three of us?" She ignored Astoria's "Four!"

"What choice do we have?" Theo said. "The Dark Lord is dead, the Ministry spent, and the mudbloods are trying to take over. Who else can stop them?"

"Do you really think you can stop them?" Tracey said. Daphne could almost see the scorn dripping from her words. "All you'll do is make them hunt you down."

"They'll do that anyway," Theo said. "Do you remember what happened after Grindelwald was defeated? What they did to his followers?"

Daphne had heard about that. France and the other countries had been quite thorough in their efforts to ensure that there wouldn't be anyone left to continue in Grindelwald's footsteps. Especially none of the mudbloods who had fought for him.

"Do you think the mudbloods have forgotten?" Theo scoffed again. "If we don't stop them, they'll kill us."

Tracey sneered at him. "And you think you can stop them? Granger will kill you. Like she killed Draco. And the rest of our group."

"The other countries won't let the mudbloods take over Britain," Theo said.

"They didn't do anything about the Dark Lord, did they?" Tracey bared her teeth. "Do you honestly think they'll dare go after Potter? The wizard who defeated the Dark Lord?"

"Potter's no Dumbledore," Theo shot back. "He's just a boy."

"The Boy-Who-Lived," Daphne cut in. "The boy who survived the Killing Curse, won the Triwizard Tournament and was personally trained by Dumbledore to kill the Dark Lord - something Dumbledore himself couldn't do."

"That's just propaganda!" Theo said, but his dismissive tone rang hollow in Daphne's opinion.

"And he's best friends with Granger, the purebloods' bane," Tracey added.

"That's why other countries will support us. They don't want another Grindelwald recruiting mudbloods to wage war against purebloods," Theo said.

"As long as Granger's not calling for mudbloods to rise up in Europe, the other countries will do nothing. The risks are too great." Tracey sneered at him. "At most, they'll send us some gold so we can fight and die for them."

Theo flinched, and Daphne narrowed her eyes. "That's it, right? Someone did talk to you!"

"Some people are concerned," Theo said, glaring at her. "But they can't intervene without causing an international incident. Not directly."

She snorted. "How convenient." Leaning forward, she met his eyes. "Did they ask you to 'test' Potter too?"

He flinched again. "Potter's not our enemy, the mudbloods are."

"They did," Daphne said, looking at Tracey.

Her friend nodded, then turned to Theo. "You're a fool."

"At least I'm doing something, instead of waiting until they come to kill us all!" Theo stood up. "They'll come for you, all of you!"

Astoria started to cry. Theo stared at her, then abruptly nodded. "I'll take my leave. Think about this!"

He left while Daphne hugged her sister, trying to calm her down. Tracey busied herself by reading the latest Prophet until Astoria had stopped crying.

"What can we do? I don't want to die!" Astoria said, sniffling.

Daphne caressed her head. "If things get worse we can move out of Britain."

"And hope whatever country we'll go to won't send us back to appease Potter or the mudbloods after they take over Britain," Tracey said.

Astoria started to sob again, and Daphne shot her friend a glare. Tracey flinched, and mouthed 'sorry'. Daphne shook her head. They were all under a lot of stress, with the mudbloods crying for their blood, and the Ministry and Wizengamot wavering.

Unfortunately, Tracey was correct - if Potter and Granger took over, Daphne, her family and her friends would suffer.

And she couldn't see a way out.

*****​

London, East End, February 20th, 1997

"How is Louise?" Hermione asked as soon as she saw Sally-Anne enter the living room in their safe house.

Her friend looked tired, and smiled rather weakly. "She should be fine in a few days - the poison has been neutralised, and her wounds treated." After sitting down next to Justin, and leaning against her boyfriend, she added: "She would be fine tomorrow, if we had taken her to St Mungo's."

Hermione knew that as well - or had expected it. "The risk that there's some Death Eater or sympathiser left among the Healers is too great."

"We took the other victims there," Sally-Anne said.

"We couldn't treat them all, and they're not members of the Resistance," Hermione answered. "I don't think a spy would risk their cover to attack a random muggleborn." Or so she hoped - Death Eaters were not always logical. Or sane.

Sally-Anne nodded, though probably more because she was exhausted than because she agreed. "Did you find out who attacked us?"

"The Ministry identified the dead. Purebloods, though they were not known as blood purists," Hermione said. "They could have been imperiused - they certainly didn't act like experienced Death Eaters. And explosive fluid mixed with poison is not exactly something normal wizards and witches have on hand."

Sally-Anne sighed. "How did Mary-Anne react when she heard?"

Hermione winced. "Not well." She glanced at Justin, but he was studying the papers in front of him.

Sally-Anne looked at her. "What happened?"

"She hasn't left her room since she heard about this," Hermione admitted.

"And no one went after her?" Sally-Anne sounded exasperated.

Hermione flinched. "We were busy. We had to talk to the other muggleborns who helped, make certain there wouldn't be a riot - the Aurors obviously couldn't handle one - and prepare the wireless broadcast." And talk to Ron and assure him that she was fine, she added to herself, feeling guilty about being so selfish.

Justin nodded, then winced under Sally-Anne's glare. "I'll go talk to her," she announced and stood up.

Hermione didn't stop her, and focused on her notes again while her friend left. She had a contract to prepare so they could recruit more people without putting themselves at risk.

"You can't do everything, you know."

She looked up. John, the only other member of the Resistance in the room, was smiling at her. She shrugged. "I know that."

"But you still feel you should."

"Yes." She should have sent someone after Mary-Anne. And been prepared better for such an attack. And have organised the response better. It certainly hadn't been thanks to her that no one had died today. No one but the two attackers, who were likely victims themselves. John shook his head, and she frowned at him. "We need to learn from our mistakes."

"Of course. But we shouldn't wallow in guilt."

She wasn't. A good officer was most critical with herself, the major had told her. "Did you set up a mailing list?" she asked, more to change the topic than because she needed to know.

"Yes. Though it will be of limited use, seeing as we're about to recruit those on the list."

"It's not certain yet that we'll recruit all of them. They might have stayed to fight, but that doesn't mean they will make good recruits," she said.

"If we don't recruit them, will we keep them on the mailing list?"

"Probably not," she admitted. Being refused entry to the Resistance could cause ill feeling - and potential spies or traitors.

"Did you manage to reach the Major and the Sergeant?"

"I did," Justin said. "They should be back in Britain in a week." Thanks to a generous offer of gold, Hermione knew.

"Should be fun, seeing others suffer," John said, smirking.

She frowned. "We won't haze them. And some of us will be joining them, to build trust and to help train them."

He chuckled. " Then I guess we'll get to see how much of a difference our experience makes." He continued with a more serious expression: "Though they'll be wondering just where we acquired such experience. And where the others are." Those who had died in the war.

Hermione nodded. "In a pinch we can wipe their memories." It would be easier if she could read their minds, but she'd not be able to learn Legilimency in that time. She could ask Ron, of course, but…

"What about Ron and Harry?" John asked.

"What?" Had she spoken out loud?

"Are we going to recruit them as well?" John asked.

She bit her lower lip. Both of them would happily drop out of Hogwarts, if she asked, or offered - she knew that. But could she ask, knowing that?

"It would help with reaching out to the purebloods," Justin said.

"Definitely," John agreed.

"It might also damage Harry's reputation," Hermione pointed out. "They already claim that I control him with 'my feminine wiles'," she quoted the latest article.

Both boys snorted, and she frowned at them - she knew they didn't mean it like that, and she knew she wasn't ugly, but she certainly wasn't a Veela, and she couldn't help but have some doubts.

"They'll try to wreck his reputation anyway, since he and Sirius support us," Justin said.

"I know." She sighed. "There's something else, though. Chain of command."

"Oh." Justin rubbed his chin. "I hadn't thought about that."

John looked confused. "Huh?"

She sighed. "If they join the Resistance, then where would they fit in? Would they be like new recruits? I'd have to give them orders, too." She wasn't certain how that would work out, with either boy.

"I see," John said.

"They don't have to join us to train with us," Justin said.

"If they don't join, then how would it help us with the purebloods?" she asked.

"We'd still be working closely together," John said.

"And it would help in a battle if we had trained together," Justin pointed out.

Hermione wasn't convinced that it would help against the Prophet's lies, but if it came to a war, she'd prefer her best friend and her boyfriend to be as prepared as possible. Even if that meant neglecting their education for a bit. "I'll have to sound out the others, though."

"Seamus won't mind," John said. "Not after Diagon Alley." She looked at him, and he nodded. "Trust me."

She bit her lower lip, thinking, then sighed. "Alright. I'll talk to them."

She would make certain that they'd not slack off their schooling, though. They could study with her for their exams.

Just like they used to, she thought, smiling.

*****​

Dorset, Britain, February 20th, 1997

Augustus Rookwood flicked the wireless off when music followed the news. To think such noise was considered a hit these days!

He shook his head. His plan had worked, after a fashion. A dozen mudbloods in St Mungo's, but the only fatalities had been his two tools, and there hadn't been a riot, as he had hoped. Maybe he should have had more attackers, but two had already been pushing it with the Imperius. Or maybe he should have used a more effective poison. But if he had used some of his special stash, then Bones would have known that this had been a setup. Like this, she would at best have some suspicion - explosive fluid and Amazonian Flying Viper venom weren't exactly rare among those who brewed their own potions.

No, it was better if the Ministry didn't know he was behind this - it would make it easier to make a deal, later. He could claim he had been afraid of the Dark Lord, and not in his right state of mind after Azkaban. It would be enough to serve as an excuse to grant him a pardon, provided he could create a cure for the Withering Curse.

Which might be a bit more difficult than he had expected, lacking the Dark Lord's information. He might have to travel abroad to acquire the right tomes. Not that he minded that very much - it would throw the Unspeakables off his trail as well.

*****​
 
Chapter 47: International Complications
Chapter 47: International Complications

'The attack on the muggleborns' rally was condemned by many as a despicable act and a blatant attempt to restart the war, although opinions differed as to whether or not the two conducting the attack had acted of their own free will. Whether or not the assailants had been victims of the Imperius Curse ultimately didn't matter a great deal for it was certain that someone was willing to attack the muggleborns.
Their motivation, though, was not, at this point, as certain. Were they remnants of the Dark Lord's followers? Or simply purebloods who'd rather fight than let the muggleborns take over Wizarding Britain? Or even agent provocateurs, to create an excuse for the Resistance to openly attack the Wizengamot? Many wizards and witches must have asked themselves such questions during those days when the country seemed to be on the brink of another war.'
- Excerpt from 'Wizarding Britain in the 20th Century' by Albert Runcorn


*****​

London, Greenwich, February 21st, 1997

"You want me to train with the Resistance?"

Ron Weasley didn't quite stare at Hermione, though his surprise must have been obvious, since she bit her lower lip before nodding. "It's an offer to you and Harry. We're recruiting more members for the Resistance, and it'd be a good opportunity for you two to get some training as well."

Of course, it was an offer for both of us, Ron thought. "You want us to join the Muggleborn Resistance?" he asked, to focus on something else while he took another sip from the hot chocolate he had ordered in the café.

"Not exactly." Hermione sighed and put down her own cup of tea. "If you two joined, the Prophet would write even worse articles about how I'm controlling you."

"That's just about Harry." Ron knew that the only reason he was mentioned in those articles was because he was the one going out with Hermione - it added a scandalous note to the drivel.

"It's not just about him," Hermione corrected him. "It's also an attack, although indirectly, against your father."

He hadn't really thought about that. After a moment, he slowly nodded. Such 'scandals' affected the whole family, after all.

"So, joining the Resistance might not be the best course of action. But if it comes to a battle, it'd be better if you knew how we fight," she continued. "Safer."

That was correct, though Ron wasn't about to drop the topic yet. "But me joining you would also show that you're not just about muggleborns, wouldn't it?"

He noticed that she hesitated for a moment. "It might. But the purebloods we are trying to reach are those who believe the Prophet's lies. And they are not likely to see it like that - they would probably see it as me ordering you around."

He hadn't thought about that, Ron realised. Hermione was the leader of the Resistance. If he joined her group, she'd be giving him orders. Not that that would be something new, of course, but still… "Well, it'd be like revision times for exams," he said, with a slight grin.

That earned him a glare and a frown, though he thought she was blushing a little as well. "It's not quite like that!" she said, with a huff, before growing serious. "It's… giving orders in battle…" she shook her head.

He understood, or thought he did.

"It's also that even if I don't treat you any differently, people might not believe that. Others in the Resistance, I mean," she went on. With a frown, she added: "Some people think a girl will do anything for a boy."

"They don't know you, then."

"Yes." She took a sip from her tea, then frowned, and used her wand to reheat it.

Ron glanced around out of reflex - his mum had drilled into him and his siblings how to hide magic since they could walk - but their privacy spells were working perfectly.

"But our new recruits won't know me," Hermione said after another, apparently more satisfying, sip. "I'd rather not have them trying to curry favour like that." She pressed her lips together before continuing. "Allan was bad enough."

Ron scowled. He hadn't liked that … scumbag … since their first meeting, but to know what the git had done… He shook his head.

"But there's also your education to consider," Hermione said after a brief moment of silence. "Taking off for a few weeks…" she winced.

He chuckled. "We're in our sixth year. That's just the breather between O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s." When he saw her frown, he reached out and took her hand. "Besides, you can make us study better than most teachers." She snorted. "And," he said, smiling, "you're not going back to Hogwarts at all."

She winced again. "There's too much to do. Voldemort's dead, but the Wizengamot hasn't really changed. The Ministry's set on rebuilding a flawed, failed system…"

He nodded. "I know. School feels… less important."

"It is important. Education is important for your future. Our future."

He cocked his head sideways, then smiled again. She didn't sound quite as passionate as she used to when talking about homework. "Not as important as saving the country." He paused for a moment. "We can study and learn outside Hogwarts, can't we?" They hadn't learned most of what had saved their lives and helped win the war in school, after all.
He shook his head. "It might be better, even. It's hard to take Hogwarts that seriously, at least the rules, after we fought a war. Imagine getting detention for breaking curfew… We have fought Death Eaters, we have killed, and they expect us to care about some silly school rules made for kids?"

She looked guilty for a moment, but also wistful, then nodded. "Yes. It would feel weird, being a student again. At school, at least. It might be different if it was a university."

"University?" Ron had heard the term before.

"The muggle… well, it's a sort of school after school. For adults. You only visit it for the lessons, and for the library, but you live on your own, or with your family."

That sounded, well, like a school. He said so.

She sighed. "It's 'higher education', needed to get the qualifications for the best-paid positions. Wizarding Britain doesn't have anything like it. Most graduates from Hogwarts become apprentices, or learn on the job."

"Well, N.E.W.T.s are what you need to get the best jobs." At least everyone said that. "So, muggles need longer to get their N.E.W.T.s?"

She frowned, then sighed. "In a way."

He tried not to grin. "Anyway. I want to join your training. I can find an excuse for Hogwarts."

"And your family?"

Now he winced.

"I don't want to cause trouble between you and your family," Hermione said.

He sighed. "I think with Harry's and Sirius's help, they'll accept it. It'll help keep me safe, after all. And I'll be seventeen in less than two weeks."

Hermione didn't look like she was convinced, but she nodded.

And, Ron thought, if everything else failed, he was certain Sirius would help him out. Harry's godfather knew what it felt like, splitting from your family. Ron wouldn't like depending on charity, but he knew that he would like feeling weak and useless, staying at Hogwarts while his friend and his girlfriend risked their lives again, even less.

*****​

London, No. 12 Grimmauld Place, February 21st, 1997

Harry Potter stumbled out of the fireplace in Sirius's - his - home covered with soot, but he didn't fall down. He was getting used to Floo travel - he was better at it than Tonks, these days.

Sirius was still chuckling, though, and the way Harry's godfather made a point of vanishing the mattresses he had conjured only added insult to injury.

"Not everyone's been using Floo powder since they were born," Harry grumbled, cleaning the soot from his robes with a flick of his wrist.

"Hermione doesn't stumble like that," Sirius said, still smirking. "They're in the living room."

Harry glared at him as they left the entrance hall. At least he was the best flier!

"Harry!" Hermione stood up from the couch, where she had been sitting with Ron - not quite on his lap, Harry noticed - and moved to hug him.

"Hey!" Ron waved. He didn't get up, though.

Feeling Hermione's arms wrapped around him made Harry feel rather self-conscious. And jealous. But pushing her away would have made it awkward, so he did his best to return the hug until she pulled away. Which, he thought, happened a bit faster than usual. Or he was imagining it.

"So," Harry said, taking a seat in an armchair while Sirius yelled for Kreacher, "What's up? Not that I don't appreciate the excuse to leave Hogwarts."

"What's happening at school?" Ron asked.

Harry shrugged. "Neville's pushing for training, and half of our house is trying to join." It was getting annoying, even though it was sensible, or should be, given the tense situation.

"Ah." Ron nodded, then glanced at Hermione, who was biting her lip.

Harry narrowed his eyes - he didn't like not knowing what they were up to, even though that felt petty and stupid.

Hermione took a deep breath - she was stalling, he realised, wondering why. "Well, we - that is the Resistance - wanted to invite you to train with us, and our new recruits, once our next training camp starts. Which should be soon."

"Oh." He blinked. "Boot camp?"

"Yes." Hermione nodded. "We thought it might be good for you and Ron to have trained with us, in case there's another battle."

"Should be fun!" Ron cut in, grinning. "Better than school, right?"

Harry chuckled while Hermione glared at their friend. Ron obviously didn't know what boot camp was. Although, Harry thought, compared to training with Moody, it should be rather fun. However… "We can't use magic during the training, right?"

Hermione nodded. "Yes. The two trainers will be muggle soldiers. Mercenaries. The same ones who trained us before."

"Ah." Harry didn't have to think about it for long. "I'd like to," he said. "Does that mean we're joining the Resistance?"

His friends exchanged a glance again, and Hermione sighed and bit her lip. That didn't look good in Harry's opinion.

*****​

"So, you're going to be a muggle Hit-Wizard!" Sirius said once Harry's friends had left - they were going on a date, before Ron had to return to Hogwarts and Hermione had to go back to planning the takeover of Wizarding Britain. By any means possible, Harry thought.

"Not exactly Hit-Wizards," he said.

His godfather shrugged. "They fight and guard stuff. Sounds like Hit-Wizards to me, just muggle ones."

Harry sighed - he was right, in a way. "Yes. It should be useful training."

"In case we have to fight the Ministry and the Wizengamot," Sirius agreed. "Not that either will be able to put up much of a fight."

"Didn't you say that the Old Families are hiring mercenaries?" Harry asked.

"According to Thicknesse and a few others, they are trying to hire mercenaries." Sirius didn't look concerned. "But they're not going to be able to hire many good ones. Those who didn't join the Dark Lord certainly wouldn't join the Old Families. Or they'll run should things turn ugly."

"They could be hiring former followers of Voldemort," Harry said.

"Certainly. But once again - the Dark Lord would have used his best wands himself. What's left should be the dregs. Probably disgraced relatives of the Old Families, or similar."

Harry wasn't entirely convinced, but let the matter slide. He could ask Hermione for her thoughts on the matter later. Or rather, tomorrow - he wouldn't want to disturb his friends during their date. Especially since he didn't know how long they'd be out in London. Or if they'd be spending the night together. "So… how was the Wizengamot today?"

Sirius scowled. "Infuriating. A dozen idiots were trying to explain why you deserve a reward, but not your friends, without sounding like the bigots they are." He scoffed. "And others think that it's better to reward you than no one, not realising that this would just play into the hands of the bigots who want to split you up."

"Even though, according to the Prophet, I'm being led by the nose by Hermione, and would therefore be her mouthpiece on the Wizengamot?" Harry shook his head.

"They don't really believe that themselves. It's just another lie for the gullible purebloods who still think the Old Families are better than everyone else." Sirius snorted.

Harry frowned. "Don't they realise that Hermione's demands would grant them more power as well?"

"They're too afraid of change - and many would rather be ruled by the Old Families, without any say, than see muggleborns on the Wizengamot." Sirius snorted. "Small-minded bigots ruled by fear."

That described a lot of people, Harry thought. Not just wizards - his relatives as well. "So… do you think you can make the Wizengamot see reason?"

Sirius shook his head, dashing Harry's hopes. "It doesn't look like it. Too many want to see you on the Wizengamot, for a variety of reasons, most of them stupid."

"Great." Harry scowled. "Now I have to consider how best to turn them down."

"You might not want to turn them down," Sirius said. "As the Boy-Who-Lived, and the wizard who defeated Voldemort in a duel, you could influence a number of the Wizengamot members."

"It wasn't exactly the kind of duel they think it was," Harry grumbled.

"They don't know that. Many see you as a second Dumbledore. We can use that to achieve our goals." Sirius grinned.

Harry didn't like it - it felt like lying to everyone, a bit like Lockhart - but if it avoided another war… He shrugged. "It's not as if I could actually vote myself until I'm seventeen, anyway. It wouldn't be much of a change to how things are - everyone knows you are my godfather." Not to mention that it wasn't as if he had any experience with politics, either.

His godfather smiled. "Oh, it would be different. It would be more difficult for the bigots to claim you're misunderstood, or manipulated if you have a proxy of your own."

"Really?" Harry didn't think so.

"Well… somewhat more difficult. After all, I have a certain reputation as a troublemaker and rogue myself." Sirius grinned.

"Great. I have to enter politics because you're not respectable enough?" Harry snorted.

His godfather laughed and slapped him on the shoulder. "Chin up! Just about every member of the Old Families would love to be you!"

"Really?" He narrowed his eyes at Sirius. "As much as you complain about the Wizengamot, I somehow doubt that."

"Well, I know better than them, of course." His godfather grinned. "Though to be honest, it's not that bad. We might even win without having to kill them all."

Not for the first time, Harry wondered if Sirius was joking or not.

*****​

Hogwarts, February 21st, 1997

Harry Potter returned to Hogwarts in a rather pensive mood. Taking a seat on the Wizengamot, joining the Resistance - though for training, only... He sighed as he entered into the castle proper through a side entrance. There was a lot to think about.

On the way to the Gryffindor dorms, he suddenly heard steps coming closer from ahead, around the corner, and drew his wand while moving closer to the shadows behind a suit of armour standing in an alcove. Not quite hiding - he wasn't paranoid, after all. Just prepared.

The steps were odd, too - whoever it was wasn't walking normally. More like… skipping?
A familiar blonde witch turned around the corner, and Harry relaxed, lowering his wand. "Hello, Luna."

Others would have jumped, startled, Harry thought. Luna, though, simply stopped in mid-stride, her left foot raised, and turned her head towards him. "Hello, Harry," she said in her usual tone.

"Have you already eaten?" he asked. It was dinner time, after all, and most students and staff would be in the Great Hall.

She shook her head. "I'm hunting Blibbering Humdingers. Today's meal includes garlic and onions - and since they love garlic, but hate onions, I expect them to travel back and forth between the entrance and the Great Hall. If you skip in step with a goblin march, they get confused and lose their train of thought for a few minutes."

"Ah." Harry didn't know what else to say - he had no idea if there even were such creatures, though he wouldn't discount the possibility - he had seen weirder creatures and plants in school. "And have you had any luck?"

She shook her head. "No. You must have driven them off." She put her left foot down carefully, then moved towards him, leaning forward and… was she sniffing him? Harry stared at her.

"Yes, as I thought." Luna straightened up and nodded several times. "You smell like onions."

He blinked. He had eaten some stew at Sirius's - his - home, but did he really smell like that? "Ah… I'm sorry," he said.

"It happens." She shrugged, then smiled. "I'll catch one next time. You didn't know, after all." She cocked her head to the side, her long hair falling over her shoulder. "What did you eat? It smells delicious, and I might like to eat it myself."

"Ah…" he was repeating himself a bit much, Harry thought, but Luna had that effect on him. "I ate at … home."

"Oh." She pouted. "That's a bit far to go to eat. And I fear I won't get that meal at home. And I think the teachers wouldn't be as understanding of such a trip if I undertook it. I'm not the Boy-Who-Lived, you know." She nodded sagely, as if he hadn't known that.

Although… Harry did feel a bit guilty - as the Boy-Who-Lived, and the Vanquisher of Voldemort, or whatever Wizarding Britain would settle for his new title, he was getting special treatment. And he hadn't thought about how that would look to others. "I'm sorry," he said - again. "I had to talk to Sirius. The Wizengamot might offer me a seat."

"Oh? I hope it's a comfortable one. Ask for a purple leather armchair, I hear they are the best!" Luna said. He blinked again, at a loss for words, until she giggled.

Shaking his head, he chuckled. "It's just a farce anyway - I can't vote until my next birthday, so I can't even be a good mouthpiece."

"I wouldn't say that! I'm certain you'd be an excellent mouthpiece!" Luna said, nodding rapidly. "You did well in the interview, after all."

Harry forced himself to smile - as might be expected, he had been coached by Hermione, but he hadn't thought it was that obvious. And he hadn't just repeated her lines, of course! "You know, I didn't just read a script."

"Mm." She smiled.

"Anyway," he said, snorting, "I'll probably accept, if they actually make the offer. One more vote in the Wizengamot can only help things."

"Yes," Luna agreed. "Small things add up. Small minds as well, unfortunately."

That summed up the Wizengamot perfectly, Harry thought. "I just hope it'll be enough. The Wizengamot is proving to be rather stubborn." And stupid.

"They are harboring the greatest Wrackspurt swarm in Britain," Luna said.

"Yes." Wrackspurts were the invisible creatures who entered people's brains, if he remembered Luna's descriptions correctly.

"Unfortunately, they won't listen to us, and will not install Wrackspurt siphons in the Wizengamot Chamber," Luna shook her head, looking rather sad. Then she brightened up and beamed at him. "But you can set an example, can't you?"

Harry was quite tempted to ask his future proxy - he didn't yet know whom he'd choose - to carry some siphons with them into the Wizengamot. But that wouldn't help him change people's minds on the more important matter of reforming the Wizengamot. On the contrary. Even if it would be very funny. "I don't think it would help. We might have to wait with that until the Wizengamot is no longer composed of such narrow-minded people," he said.

"Oh." Her face fell, and Harry felt surprisingly guilty. "That could take years!"

"Hopefully not." If the Wizengamot proved to be too stubborn, the Resistance would take matters into their own hands, Harry knew. On impulse, he offered her his arm. "Well, let's go ask the elves in the kitchen to make some stew with onions, shall we?"

"Haven't you eaten already?" she asked - though she slipped her arm into his.

"I have. But I can keep you company while you eat, can't I? A meal is more fun if you're not alone."

She looked at him for a moment, then nodded, and the two made their way to the kitchen.

*****​

London, Soho, February 21st, 1997

Hermione Granger felt a bout of nostalgia as Ron and she entered the nightclub where he had taken her on their first date. Which had been back in November - barely more than four months ago, she realised. So much had happened since then! The Ministry wrecked, the Auror Corps bled dry, Voldemort defeated… She was glad the club hadn't changed at all. Same decor, same prices, same music. Even the guests looked alike - as far as she could tell in the dim light.

They managed to get a small table - or half of it, the other half being occupied by two rather posh-looking girls who gave them the once-over when they sat down, then returned to watching the dancing crowd. Hermione felt slightly annoyed at the apparent dismissal, but then told herself to enjoy the evening. Who cared what two strangers thought!

While Ron fetched their drinks at the bar, she cast a few privacy spells and studied the crowd herself. She found her feet tapping in time with the music, to her surprise, before her boyfriend returned.

"Here!" he said, handing her a glass.

"Thank you." She refrained from making a comment about how this time, they wouldn't be interrupted by news of the attack on the Burrow. That too, was in the past. Although… "How goes the reconstruction?"

He shrugged. "They're making progress, but it'll take a while. Mostly because Bill needs to plan and set the wards - no point in building something just for the Death Eaters to tear it down again."

Especially not with people inside, Hermione thought as she nodded. You couldn't be too careful. It would have been different if they had chosen to relocate, but… the Weasleys had been living in Ottery St Catchpole for generations. They wouldn't move. "Good."

"How about your folks?" he asked, slipping an arm around her shoulders.

She leaned into him, enjoying the warmth of his body and the feel of his muscles. "It's too soon yet to return to our home." If things went wrong, if the Wizengamot wouldn't give in…

He nodded. "Yes."

Hermione sighed. As much as she hadn't wanted to, they were talking about the war again. "Let's dance!" she said, standing up and holding out her hand to him. He smiled as he took it.

She didn't know the song that was playing as they stepped on to the dance floor, but it didn't matter. It was fast, and loud, and had a decent rhythm. And she felt good, dancing. She was too self-conscious to dance as if nobody was watching, especially since she knew that Ron was watching, but she gave it a good try. Good enough that she was feeling quite hot when the music changed to a slow song, and she found herself in his arms, gently swaying, her body pressed into his. She looked up into his face, smiling, and moved her arms up, around his neck, before their lips met.

She was feeling even hotter when they returned to their seats. Or their seat, as it turned out that they didn't need more than one.

*****​

Ron Weasley was both glad and sad that they were in a nightclub. It was great to see Hermione loosen up and enjoy herself, see her dancing and hear her talk about muggle drinks and fashion - though she could be quite waspish when discussing some of the girls' dresses. Not as bad as Ginny, though. But when she was in his lap and he felt her body move while she grabbed her drink, when they kissed, when he smelled her, then he wished they were somewhere more private. Much more private.

He shifted his own body a bit, trying to get more comfortable, when he caught her smirking. Of course she'd know! He was tempted to pinch her rump in revenge, but refrained. As much fun as it was to tease her, he didn't know when they would be able to go out again, and he wanted to enjoy the evening as much as possible.

If only the Wizengamot would give up! Then they would be able to do this every weekend.

"Stupid Wizengamot."

"Hm?" Hermione pulled her head back and looked at him.

He realised that he had said the last words out loud, and winced. "Just… you know." He shrugged. He didn't want to put his thoughts into words. Wishing that the war, the conflict, was over so they could go out as often as they wanted? That felt rather petty.

She nodded, but didn't say anything. But she leaned her head against his shoulder again. A year ago, that would have meant a faceful of hair for him. Not now, though - she still kept her hair rather short. He kind of missed her wild mane. Another casualty of the damned war.

He snorted. Now that was truly petty.

"Hm?"

"Nothing." He smiled.

She narrowed her eyes, but once again let it slide.

She wouldn't have done that a year or two ago - she hated not knowing something, anything. She had changed. They all had.

Fortunately, not always for the worse, he thought, as he held her and they started kissing again.

*****​

London, Ministry of Magic, February 24th, 1997

Sirius Black caught his prey - not literally, even though it would feel good to change and bite the man - right after the session in the Wizengamot Chamber had ended. "Mister Selwyn, do you have a minute?"

The older wizard obviously didn't want to talk to him, but forced a smile. "Of course."

"I've been wanting to talk to you for a while, now," Sirius said. "But this is the first session in a week you've attended."

"Ah…" The man's smile grew even thinner. "I was unfortunately busy at home. Family matters, you understand."

Sirius nodded, though his smile was now closer to baring his teeth. "I do. In fact, I need to talk to you about a family matter."

"Oh?" He seemed intrigued, but wary as well.

"Your son, Matthias, has apparently sold a shop in Diagon Alley to Melvyn Gibbons." In fact, Sirius had seen the transaction papers in the Ministry archives. "A shop he acquired after it was judged derelict a few months ago and auctioned off." Though, judging by the price the shop went for, the auction hadn't exactly been a public one.

"I'm sorry, but I'm not familiar with my son's business," Selwyn said.

Sirius ignored his remark. "Strangely, despite being deemed derelict, it was sold for quite a tidy sum as a fully furnished shop to Mister Gibbons." He smiled again. "It turns out the owner, a muggleborn named John Carrigan, had simply left it for a while, to go on a vacation."

The other wizard was sweating now. "If there was a mistake in procedure, then that would seem to be a matter for the Ministry to correct."

He was not wrong - but both of them knew that the Ministry wasn't in a shape to handle such claims in a swift and thorough manner. And if the dispute went in front of the Wizengamot… Sirius's smile widened. "Oh, yes. I already set things in motion. But I feel that it would be best, for the time being, to have all transactions involving that particular shop be reversed." He leaned forward. "We both know what happened. In this regrettably tense situation in which we find ourselves, a conciliatory gesture would garner much goodwill from the returning muggleborns. Albus told me that you could be counted upon to do the right thing."

Selwyn froze, taking a deep breath. "You…"

"Albus left me extensive notes," Sirius said. "He used to say that for a well-prepared mind, death was but the next great adventure."

The other wizard looked like someone had cast a Wasting Curse on him. He was pale and trembling. "I understand. I will talk to my son."

"Thank you." Sirius smiled, and handed him a slip of parchment. "This should allow you to reach Mister Gibbons."

Selwyn took the small scroll as if he suspected it to be cursed, but nodded. "Of course."

"I won't hold you up any longer, my dear friend. I know you're anxious to return home to your family," Sirius said with faked joviality. "Good day."

He kept smiling while Selwyn curtly nodded and walked away. One good deed done.

*****​

Hogwarts, February 24th, 1997

Returning to school hadn't been as bad as Ron Weasley had feared. At least not the lessons. After a few weeks of convalescence, he was behind in some of his courses - not in Defence, of course, and some related areas in Transfiguration and Charms - but it was nothing he couldn't make up in a week or two, if he applied himself. Or so he thought. In any case, it kept him busy enough not to be bored.

He wasn't attracting too much attention either, not that he would had expected that anyway - he might have faced off against Voldemort, but Harry had defeated the Dark Lord in a duel, and Ron's friend had been back at Hogwarts for a few weeks already. And he had been asked to tell his story a few times, both in the Gryffindor dorms, and outside.

Strangely, though, he missed the privacy and the quiet most of all. Sirius's house was far smaller than Hogwarts, but he had had his own room there. And, most importantly, he had been reasonably safe there. Had felt so, at least. Here, though, he still drew his wand each time someone approached him.

Like right now, when he saw a witch walking towards the corner of the library where his table was. She might just be headed to the shelves nearby to grab a book, of course, but you never knew, so he tracked her with his wand under the table as she passed the shelves until she turned the corner.

"Hello, Ron!" she smiled at him. "Fancy finding you here."

"Hello, Lavender," he answered after just a moment's hesitation, slowly pulling his wand out from under the table.

She didn't seem to notice as she stepped closer. "You're studying hard."

He nodded, twirling his wand in the manner Moody had taught them, to make it appear as if he was just keeping his hand busy. "I've missed a lot of lessons." He smiled politely at her.

"When you were healing from the Dark Lord's curse." She nodded gravely, as if that had been an impressive feat. Harry and Hermione and the muggle Healers had saved him. Ron had done nothing.

But that wasn't something he felt like sharing, so he agreed. "Yes. It couldn't be healed with magic." The Healers were not certain if the area around the wound would stay resistant to magic, but that was none of her business.

"Did it leave a scar?" Lavender sat down on the table and leaned towards him. "Like Harry's?"

He snorted. He had a scar, but it wasn't like Harry's. "It's a normal scar. Many muggles have one like it." So he had been informed by Hermione.

"Oh." She sounded taken aback, then smiled again. "Still, it's like you were marked by the Dark Lord."

Ron almost frowned. He wasn't Harry. And he didn't want to be Harry. He shrugged. "Not quite like that. I'm glad it's healed, though."

"And glad to be back at Hogwarts?" Lavender's smile grew. "We missed you."

"Yes," he said. It wasn't quite a lie. Though he would rather be with Hermione. Which he'd be, soon enough, once training started. Provided he was fully healed by then. Which was why he wouldn't be playing Quidditch yet.

"Will..." She licked her lips. "Will Hermione return to Hogwarts as well? For the next year? Or Seamus?" she added.

"It's not certain," he said. "Things have changed. People have changed. There's so much to do still." He smiled, remembering Hermione's face when she had talked about her plans. So passionate.

"Ah."

"Hm?" He looked at her and noticed that Lavender's smile had slipped some.

"Nothing." She smiled again, but it looked rather forced. "You two are still together?"

"Yes."

"I could tell from the way you looked when you were thinking of her."

"Oh." He needed to work on that, then - what good was Occlumency if people could read him like that?

"It's not a bad thing, it's romantic!" Lavender pouted. She must have read him again.

He really needed to work on that.

*****​

London, No. 12 Grimmauld Place, February 25th, 1997

"Moony! You've finally returned home!" Sirius Black didn't quite tackle his best friend as soon as he stepped out of the fireplace in the entrance hall, but he certainly came close. After slapping him on the back a few times - as usual Moony didn't stumble - he drew back and looked his friend over. Remus was looking… a bit worse for wear, but that was to be expected. It had just been three days since the full moon, after all. He was looking more depressed than usual, though.

"Hello, Padfoot." Remus was shaking his head with a faint smile, before he grew serious - too serious, in Sirius's opinion - again.

"Kreacher! Get Remus's luggage to his room!" Sirius yelled, then started to drag his friend to the living room. "You'll need a drink while I fill you in on what has happened in your absence!" Remus flinched, which Sirius ignored - his friend probably felt guilty for not being there to help. He was too responsible for his own good. "You've heard about the Dark Lord's death, I hope."

"Of course. It made the news in Europe." Remus sat down in the closest seat. "How many of our friends died?"

Sirius hadn't wanted to start with their losses - Remus would feel even guiltier - but he wasn't about to deflect his best friend. He told him who had died.

"Moody died?" Remus was shaking his head, holding his second drink.

"Killed by the Dark Lord himself. Voldemort took me and Ron out as well, before Harry killed him." Sirius winced slightly - he had been very lucky. "All in all, it wasn't as bad as it could have been."

"Too many died," Remus said. "If I had been there…"

"You don't know what would have happened. And you were hunting Wormtail."

"I failed." Remus put his glass down. "I lost his trail a week ago. I only found the remains of a ritual he had been preparing in Magical Bavaria."

"A ritual?" Sirius leaned forward.

"Failed ritual, as far as I could tell from the remains," Remus said. "Necromancy."

"Oh. Failed as in…?" Sirius made a gesture mimicking an explosion with his hands.

"No. It looked like he didn't really start it. He's definitely still alive. But the trail went cold in Hohenschwangau."

"Gesundheit," Sirius said. His friend just rolled his eyes, though. "So, what are you planning to do now?"

"Find out in which country he is hiding, then go huntîng again," he answered promptly.

"Through a Seer again?" Sirius raised his eyebrows.

"Yes. It worked the first time," Remus said, though he sounded quite defensive.

"You were told that he was 'near the Mad King's Castle'. That's not exactly helpful." Sirius wouldn't have known which mad king the Seer had meant.

"It was helpful enough." Remus narrowed his eyes.

Sirius sighed. "And if he's hiding as a rat again? He spent a decade as a rat, remember? Odds are, he'll do the same thing now, with the Dark Lord dead."

Remus didn't say anything, just refilled his glass.

"That wouldn't be that bad, actually. Wormtail living as a rat - not as comfortable as he had done with the Weasleys, of course, since now people know about him missing a toe - hiding from us, and from any cats in the area…" Sirius forced himself to smile.

"He deserves death," Remus spat.

Sirius would have agreed, actually - he wanted Wormtail dead, preferably at his own hand. That traitor had done too much to Sirius's friends, and to Sirius himself. But neither he nor Remus could afford to waste their lives hunting Wormtail across the world. They were needed in Britain. So Sirius shook his head. "Death is too good for him. And we need you here."

His friend looked at him. "Me? I'm just a werewolf without work."

"Yes, you." Sirius nodded at him and refilled his own glass. "Things are changing. Britain's changing. And we need every good wizard to ensure that it's changing for the better." He stood up. "Think of the children. Muggleborns, half-bloods, purebloods, werewolves," he added. "They deserve to grow up in a better country than we did."

Remus stared at him for a moment, then shook his head. "I can't tell if you're serious."

He grinned widely. "I'm always..."

Remus's Silencing Charm cut him off before he could finish his favourite pun.

Sirius made a show of pouting while he dispelled the charm. "That was uncalled for." Contrary to his words, he was glad, though - Remus seemed to be feeling better.

"It was very much called for," Remus said, grinning slightly, then raising his glass. "I'll be staying then, for a while at least."

"Good!"

"So… did all the French return to France?" Remus asked once both were seated again.

Sirius knew what he was really asking. "Vivienne stayed."

"Ah." His friend smiled. "Where is she then?"

"Learning how to cook British meals," Sirius said. His friend looked surprised. "That's what she said." He shrugged. He suspected - and hoped - that his lover felt a bit territorial, and didn't want to leave the kitchen to Molly. He noticed Remus turning his head towards the door. "Did you hear something?"

The door was opened a second later, and he saw Nymphadora enter. The metamorphmagus's frown turned into a smile. "Remus! You're back!" She nodded at Sirius. "Sirius."

"Nymphadora." Remus stood to greet her.

Sirius simply waved. "How're the Ministry's finest doing?"

She frowned at him, then grabbed a drink herself and sat down in the seat next to Remus. "Overworked as usual."

"That explains why you seek solace in alcohol," Sirius said, nodding sagely. Neither Remus nor Nymphadora laughed. If he had less confidence in himself, he would have thought he were not quite as witty as he was.

She sighed. "Bones has a meeting with Aubrey Fawley tomorrow."

"Britain's delegate at the ICW?" Sirius rubbed his chin. "I wonder what they are talking about."

"I can't help you there - it'll be a private meeting," she said.

Remus looked concerned as well. "Was it a routine meeting?"

The witch shook her head. "No."

"Great. The last thing we need is international trouble." Sirius shook his head. It could be nothing, of course. But he didn't think so. Maybe he should ask Vivienne if she had heard anything from her family.

*****​

London, Ministry of Magic, February 26th, 1997

"Mister Fawley has arrived," Amelia Bones's secretary announced.

"Send him in," Amelia said, putting the latest report from Pius away.

Britain's delegate at the ICW entered. "Hello, Madam Minister." His smile was too wide for her taste. It fit a man who had been a diplomat and politician for most of his life.

"Mister Fawley. Please take a seat." She gestured at the chairs in front of her desk. Once he was sitting, she continued: "You asked for a meeting."

"Straight to the point? You haven't changed." He smiled, a bit patronisingly, or so she thought. He quickly grew serious, though. "There have been… concerns raised at the ICW that Britain could become unable to fulfill its obligations to maintain the International Statute of Secrecy." He spread his hands. "Many seem very concerned about the horrible toll the war took on the Ministry."

Amelia refrained from scowling. "The Obliviators were unaffected by the war and have continued to operate as efficiently as always. The ICW should know that." Neither the muggleborns nor the Dark Lord had been so insane as to attack or hinder the Obliviators. Everyone knew how important their work was.

"They do." Fawley smiled weakly.

"So, what's this about then?" He hesitated, and she added: "Don't tell me the official excuses and pretexts."

He sighed as if it pained him to be frank and direct, for a change. "A number of countries want to test us. They want to know just how much we were weakened by Dumbledore's death and the entire war."

"As long as we fulfill our obligations the ICW has no mandate to intervene," Amelia said.

"But they are allowed to inspect countries if they suspect that they are endangering the Statute of Secrecy."

"A pretext to spying, then." She pressed her lips together. The carrion eaters were starting to gather, hoping for an easy meal.

"That would likely be the main motivation, yes." He winced, and shifted on his seat. Amelia hoped that he was more composed at the ICW.

"And who are the countries behind this?"

"Well, I haven't been at the ICW for very long yet," Fawley said. "So, my contacts are not as extensive as they could be."

She rolled her eyes at his excuses. "Just tell me what you know."

"France, Prussia, and Jamaica seem to be pushing for an inspection."

"Jamaica?" Both France and Prussia had various ties to Britain, and the two countries had been the main participants in Grindelwald's War.

"Yes, they are still blaming us, Britain that is, for the incident in their 'Library of Souls'." He grimaced.

"I wouldn't have expected many other countries to support them." Houngans were not popular outside their own countries, to say the least.

"I fear that most countries are unwilling to antagonise them for our sake. Some might even look forward to see how we're handling them."

Bloody cowards. "So, is there any chance to stop this inspection?"

"Not unless Dumbledore rises from the dead, Madam Minister." He chuckled at his tasteless joke, then cringed when she glared at him. "Our influence has been greatly diminished by Dumbledore's passing, and the news of the devastation the war has caused…"

"I am quite aware of this." Although she hadn't been as aware of how Britain's international reputation had suffered. "Stall them as long as you can. We need more time to prepare for this 'inspection'." The last thing Britain needed was meddling foreigners.

"Yes, ma'am."

At least he could take orders, she thought when she dismissed him.

*****​

Kent, Greengrass Manor, February 26th, 1997

Lying on her bed and staring at the ceiling, Daphne Greengrass was starting to feel like a prisoner again. Apart from visiting Tracey and family, she hadn't left her family's mansion since her acquittal. It was just too dangerous, according to her uncle - mudbloods were crowding Diagon Alley, and forcing purebloods out of their homes under the eyes of the Aurors. It was a miracle that no one had been killed yet. Officially, at least - Daphne didn't know how many had simply disappeared, either captured or killed. Like her.

Would they come for her? Would the Resistance blow up the manor, as they had blown up Malfoy Manor? Her uncle didn't think they would, but… maybe they should move to the hunting lodge? Or to a house no one else knew? But that would mean abandoning what friends she had left.

A knock on her door interrupted her thoughts. "Yes?" she called out.

"It's me." Astoria.

"Come in," she said.

Her sister opened the door, then slipped inside, quickly closing it behind her. Daphne was struck by how furtive it looked - as if her sister was hiding from someone. She sat up and looked at her.

Astoria fidgeted with her hands folded behind her back. "Daphne?"

"Yes?" Whatever it was her sister wanted to talk about, it must be important. At least for Astoria.

"Why don't you want to help Theo?" Astoria ducked her head slightly.

Daphne felt anger well up inside her. "Has he been talking to you?" Her sister's flinch was all the answer she needed. "That… that…" she spat out, seeking for the right word.

"I called him!" Astoria said.

Daphne gasped. "Why did you do that?"

Astoria bit her lower lip. "I am sick of being afraid. And he is the only one I know who'll fight for us."

Daphne controlled herself. It wouldn't do to snap at her sister - Astoria didn't know better. Even if she should. "He is a fool."

"Why? Because he wants to fight the mudbloods?"

"Yes."

Astoria gaped at her. "But…"

"I have fought them, as you know. And I was lucky to survive." Daphne shivered, remembering the disastrous attack on the Weasley's home. And the fight in the twins' shop. And, worst of all, the Resistance's attack on Draco's home. "Theo is an idiot. The Resistance will kill him, and anyone who helps him." They mudbloods were likely to kill anyone even remotely connected to the fool - like they had murdered Daphne's parents for attending Malfoy's ball.

"He says he'll be more cautious. More careful."

"He says a lot." Daphne scoffed. "He thinks that if he stays back and uses others he'll be safe."

"Yes. If he doesn't fight himself, and only uses pawns, he won't get caught," Astoria said, nodding.

"He doesn't understand the mudbloods. They won't care if they have proof or not - they'll kill him. Or they'll capture him and interrogate him." She stared at Astoria. "They might do the same to us, since they know we were working with him."

"But… they can't know who is doing it!"

She snorted. "They're not stupid. They'll suspect him. And us." The mudbloods might already think that Daphne and her friends had been behind the attack on the rally.

"But that's not fair! We haven't done anything wrong!"

"Of course it's not fair!" Daphne reined in her temper when she saw her sister was crying. Standing up, she went and hugged Astoria. "We'll get through this. I promise." She suddenly had a thought. "Did he tell you who was helping him?"

"No…" Astoria shook her head, her chin brushing Daphne's shoulder. "He just mentioned old family friends who knew how dangerous mudbloods were."

That could be any pureblood family from the continent, Daphne knew - Grindelwald had used a lot of mudbloods in his war. "Promise me not to talk to Theo without telling me beforehand, alright?"

Astoria sniffled, then nodded. "I promise."

"Thank you." Daphne rubbed her sister's back. She had to talk to Tracey about this.

*****​

London, No. 12 Grimmauld Place, February 26th, 1997

Sirius Black knew something was wrong the moment Vivienne stepped into his, their bedroom. The Veela moved with her usual grace, but she was still wearing her dress robes, and her expression… "What's wrong, cherie? Trouble with your family?" he asked. She had been out to meet her aunt for dinner. Without him.

Vivienne sighed, then nodded.

He drew a deep breath. "They don't like our relationship, I guess." Sirius was proud of his reputation as a rogue in Britain's society, but the D'Aigles might see things differently.

She shook her head. "Non. Not particularly, at least. They 'ave some concerns about your past, and your political views, but overall…" She shrugged. "You're rich, and from an Old Family. Ma mére said I could 'ave done worse, and mon pére knows better than to try to meddle in our lives without a very good reason."

Sirius wasn't quite certain if he should be flattered. Her parents sounded a bit too much like his own. He shelved the thought, though. He still didn't know what had upset her. "But?"

She took a deep breath - he was briefly distracted by what that did to her chest - and went on: "I was informed by my aunt that the Duc is interested in British politics."

Sirius frowned. "Yes? I thought that was clear when he allowed the Delacours to help us."

"That was a family matter." She winced. "This time, it seems it is a political matter. There 'ave been concerns at the court about the direction Britain is taking."

He blinked. "They are afraid of what the muggleborns will do?"

She nodded. "They trusted Dumbledore to, ah, 'andle them. But since 'e is dead, they fear that the muggleborns will become too radical. The Duc 'as mentioned Grindelwald, or so I was told."

"Ah." Sirius winced. That wasn't good news. If France decided to support the Old Families…

"They want me to spy on the Resistance."

Sirius drew a hissing breath. That was even worse.

Vivienne nodded.

"What did you tell them?"

"I told them that I won't betray your trust, or your friends', but… I will not be the only one they'll ask."

Which meant Fleur would be contacted as well. And maybe others.

He sighed. "We'll need to discuss this with the others." The Order. And the Resistance. Or rather, Hermione. And Harry.

She was still standing in front of the bed, but when he held out his hand, she took it and joined him on the bed.

That, at least, hadn't changed.

*****​

Dover, Britain, February 26th, 1997

Augustus Rookwood stared into the night, towards the coast of France. Less than forty miles. A short trip with a broom. Disillusioned, there would be almost no risk of being detected, especially if he made landfall a bit further to the north or south. It was the easiest way to leave Britain as a fugitive from the law. And the most logical.

Which was why he wouldn't do it, of course. But the Ministry would assume he had left for France, once they received his offer and tracked the owl back. And even if they didn't fall for his ruse, they couldn't ignore the possibility. Which meant there would be a few more of the Ministry's resources wasted on a pointless endeavour.

He levitated the cage containing the owl he had acquired up and stared at the bird. "Take this missive to the Ministry of Magic. Do you understand?"

The owl hooted and managed to sound indignant. He chuckled - post owls could be quite prickly - while he shrunk the scroll and tied it to the bird's leg.

"Off you go!"

He mounted his broom and disillusioned himself while the owl circled around him, then flew away. As soon as the owl was out of sight, he apparated. It would take too long to fly to the port on a broom - he had a ship to catch after all.

*****​
 
Chapter 48: Unlikely Alliances
Chapter 48: Unlikely Alliances

'To understand the actions of Magical France, Magical Jamaica and the other wizarding countries following the final defeat of the Dark Lord, one has to understand the effect Albus Dumbledore had had on the Magical World. For more than five decades, following his defeat of Grindelwald, he had been been acknowledged as the most powerful wizard alive. In addition to that, he was the Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards for a significant part of that time - as well as the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot in Wizarding Britain. And unlike others who had held those offices before him, he had been willing to use his power to change the Magical World. While he hadn't advocated his views concerning muggleborn rights quite as openly on the international stage as he had in Britain itself, he hadn't left any doubt as to where he stood. Those countries who had taken harsh measures against muggleborns following Grindelwald's defeat had soon reconsidered their policies, none of their governments being willing to risk provoking Dumbledore into taking action himself. For they, especially those countries which had been ravaged by Grindelwald, had been all too aware of what Dumbledore could have unleashed, should he have felt the need.
And so his influence had been quite keenly felt, even though he had rarely taken action himself - his actions against the Caribbean houngans as well as the Barbary Coast raiders being notable exceptions - and had equally seldom used the threat of force. Therefore, even those countries sympathetic to the Blood purist cause had restrained from providing support, much less intervening in the First Blood War. They followed that policy in the Second Blood War as well, although France semi-officially intervened on the side of Dumbledore's Order of the Phoenix following the incident in the Bastille in 1996.
Therefore, it wasn't surprising that after Dumbledore's death a number of countries re-evaluated their policies - only to discover that while Dumbledore had been killed, Britain had not been left powerless.'
- Excerpt from 'The Second Blood War' by Hyacinth Selwyn


*****​

London, Bexley, February 28th, 1997

Hermione Granger had dressed up again, even though her cover as Justin's girlfriend, weak to begin with, was obsolete now that Justin and Sally-Anne were a couple. But as Justin had said, it wouldn't do to appear poor when hiring mercenaries.

So she stuffed her hands into the pockets of an expensive and fashionable jacket while she and her friend made their way through the park. She gripped her wand with one hand, and a pistol with the other, of course - just in case.

When the two reached the meeting spot, a small café, she spotted the two mercenaries seated inside. Her Human-presence-revealing Spell didn't show any hidden observers, and the other guests seemed harmless - a few teenagers, probably out of school a little early. Not quite as early as the beers the soldiers were drinking.

Justin held the door open for her as they entered, but then took the lead as they approached the two men. "Good afternoon, Major, Sergeant."

"Good afternoon, Mister, Miss," The Major answered while the Sergeant grunted.

Hermione nodded at them, then took her seat and cast a privacy spell under the table. She noticed the Major tensing up before he seemed to force himself to relax. So, he hadn't forgotten. The Sergeant simply scowled, but that was his usual expression, as far as Hermione could tell.

After she and Justin had ordered - tea for both of them - the Major leaned forward. "You paid us quite generously to meet you."

"Had to cancel another contract," the Sergeant muttered before drinking from his beer again.

"Yes." Justin nodded at them. "We would like to hire you as instructors again. Like last time." He smiled. "We are quite satisfied with the training you provided."

"The same group as before?" The Major set his glass down.

"No. Some of them will attend as well, but mostly to supervise the others," Hermione said. "You will be teaching fresh recruits." Justin glanced at her, but didn't comment.

"The next year's out of school already?" The Sergeant scoffed.

Justin shook his head. "No."

As Hermione knew, they had recruited all the suitable students in their years. And some they shouldn't have recruited, like the Creevey brothers. If she hadn't let them into the Resistance… but they had fought well, too.

"The new recruits are generally a bit older," Justin went on.

Not that much older, though, Hermione knew. They had picked younger recruits. Less set in their ways, or so they hoped. And also, more willing to follow her lead.

"How many?"

"About one-and-a-half dozen," Justin replied.

Hermione nodded. They had contacted a number, and would look up a few more, but she didn't expect to find many more she'd trust. Even with the amendments to the contract for the Resistance she had prepared. There wouldn't be another Allan on her watch.

"That's more than your first batch. You're expanding." The Major was glancing at her, Hermione noticed.

She inclined her head. "Expanding and replacing."

"Haven't heard anything about a bunch of English kids fightin' a war." The Sergeant had placed his beer down as well. "Not in Ulster, and not anywhere else. Not even from the cartels."

"You wouldn't have heard of it," Justin said. He wasn't quite admitting that they had been fighting, but he might as well have. But this way, they'd not be breaking the Statue of Secrecy.

The Sergeant scoffed again, louder, and drained his glass. "As long as the money's good, and no one comes after me…"

"They won't." Justin smiled slightly.

"You mean, they haven't so far," the Major said, staring at him.

"They're not in any state to come after you." Justin's smile was more feral than friendly.

The Sergeant snorted, but the Major nodded. "Why are you expanding then?"

"It's better to be prepared," Hermione said. "If all goes well, there won't be any action." She shrugged.

She thought that the Major really wanted to ask what they had done, but the man simply nodded. "Same place as before?"

"Yes. We'll send you a note when the camp's ready. It shouldn't take longer than a week or two. You'll be compensated for the time spent waiting as well, of course," Justin said, his upper-class accent in full force.

"Alright."

Hammering out the details, especially the compensation the mercenaries would receive, took a little longer, but the deal was done.

The Resistance would be able to replenish their ranks.

Just in case they should be needed.

*****​

London, No. 12 Grimmauld Place, February 28th, 1997

"You want to what?"

Ron Weasley didn't flinch at the volume of his mum's yell. He didn't take a step back, either - he had faced the Dark Lord, after all. His mum's temper didn't really measure up. And he had expected that reaction.

"I said I'll be training with the Resistance for a month or so." He folded his arms and leaned against the counter in Sirius's kitchen.

His mum stared at him, while behind her, the ladles kept stirring the pots on the stove. "You want to leave Hogwarts for that?" she asked after a second, not quite yelling anymore. "For her?"

"It's just a month." Maybe he should have asked Harry and Sirius to be there as well, but… he would be seventeen tomorrow. He wouldn't hide behind others when talking to his mum.

"That's a long time, so close to the exams." She shook her head.

"I'll be able to study with Hermione. And it's just the sixth year, not the N.E.W.T.s."

"You'll also be joining the Resistance." Her wand twitched, and she pointed it at the floor.

"No. Just training with them, in case the Old Families try something."

"They won't care about the difference." His mum was no longer speaking loudly.

"They don't care about the difference anyway. Thanks to the Prophet, everyone knows that me and Hermione are a couple." He couldn't help smiling when he said it. "Someone's bound to come after me to get her."

She drew a hissing breath. "They can't get you at Hogwarts."

"I wouldn't stay at Hogwarts if there's fighting." He met her eyes and didn't look away. Not even when he spotted the tears. "And the training will help keep me safe, if there is another battle."

She turned away, checking on the pots. Or acting like she was. When she spoke again, it was in a rather small voice - for his mum - and with her back turned to him. "Just like my brothers…"

He was tempted to say 'and mine', but pressed his lips together instead. He didn't want to hurt his mum, but he wouldn't let Hermione down.

For a little while, neither said anything while she kept checking the pots and seasoning the meal. Finally, she turned around again. "I know I can't dissuade you from this." She took a deep breath. "But I doubt that your teachers will be pleased."

He shrugged. "What can they do? They won't expel me for helping Harry and Hermione." Well, they could, but they wouldn't. Not after Harry had defeated Voldemort for good. He tried not to be too blatant about it, but they had to know he left the school whenever he wanted these days.

She was frowning, but didn't contradict him. "If I didn't know you'd do it anyway…"

Ron fought not to smile. He knew that tone.

"At least she'll make certain that you keep up your studies." His mum sighed.

He nodded. He had done it. If his mum agreed, his dad wouldn't raise a fuss.

Suddenly, her eyes narrowed again. "But I don't want any grandchildren yet. Not from you, at least. So you better make certain you're…" She made a vague motion with her hand. "You know, use the potion."

Ron blushed - he hadn't thought that topic would come up. He coughed. It wasn't as if they had made plans, but… there was a sort of understanding. "Of course," he mumbled.

"Good."

When she returned to preparing the meal, he all but fled the kitchen.

*****​

London, Diagon Alley, March 1st, 1997

The tension in Diagon Alley had grown worse again, Sirius Black thought while he walked towards the Leaky Cauldron. There were fewer people out and about than during his last stroll, and many passers-by seemed to be in a rush to get where they were going.

It was, he realised with a start, about as bad as during the worst days of the war after Dumbledore's death. Even the muggleborns were not out in force, and the groups he saw looked quite tense, as if they expected to be attacked any moment. Which was probably true, he thought - all it took was one Imperius Curse, and anyone could be forced to attack them. And that spell was quite popular among Death Eaters.

He suddenly noticed that he had passed Quality Quidditch Supplies without checking the displays - he was hurrying towards his destination as well! Sirius cursed under his breath, then turned around and took care to study the line of discounted brooms. Or at least act as if he was doing so - he kept an eye on the Alley, of course, lest he fall victim to an attack.

No one else followed his example, though. Not even the shop's owner stepped out to praise his wares.

*****​

Upon stepping out of the fireplace in the Ministry's Atrium and passing through the Thief's Downfall there, he was greeted by Arthur. "Good afternoon, Sirius."

Sirius raised his eyebrows. "Have you been waiting for me?"

The other wizard nodded. "I heard you're meeting with Amelia."

It seemed that the rumour mill was still the most efficient part of the Ministry, Sirius thought. He nodded and cast a privacy spell. "You are correct. Do you know what this is about?" It would have to be important to be called to the Ministry on a Saturday afternoon, and he hadn't heard about any emergency.

"Only rumours. Amelia has met with Fowley again," Arthur said as they walked to the lift.

"That means trouble with the ICW." Sirius frowned. That body was dominated by pureblood governments.

"Not necessarily," Arthur said as the lift arrived.

"Maybe it's about the general mood on the street." Sirius shook his head. "One attack on a rally, and everyone is back in the war." He was, as well, though he was making an effort not to be. "I hope we can get more Thief's Downfalls installed - or whatever the twins are cooking up. The people on the street need to feel safer."

"Indeed. Though they won't be completely safe, not ever. All it takes is one wizard in the Alley casting one spell and then leaving, and we could have a war on our hands, if worst comes to worst."

"It'll help some," Sirius said.

"It'll be expensive as well."

"I'm certain the Wizengamot will finance it," Sirius said. Skimping on public safety wouldn't go over well with the public, and he knew how to spread the word about that.

Before they could talk more, though, they arrived on the Minister's floor and Sirius had to leave the lift while Arthur travelled on.

*****​

Amelia looked like always - tense, frowning and far too stuck up, Sirius thought as he entered the Minister's office. He smiled widely at her anyway. "Good afternoon, Amelia!"

"Good afternoon, Sirius."

Amelia's smile was about as honest as a Malfoy, in Sirius's opinion. But, as he nodded at Thicknesse, he had to admit, if only to himself, that she was brave - he wouldn't have allowed a snake like the current Head of the DMLE to stand behind him.

Sirius sat down and leaned back in his seat. "I don't suppose you called me here on a Saturday just to exchange pleasantries."

Amelia's smile vanished. "Everyone is working overtime in the Ministry to rebuild the country. Over the weekend as well."

"Everyone but the Wizengamot," Sirius said, baring his teeth. "Isn't that interesting?"

She didn't take the bait. "I'm not about to comment on the work of the Wizengamot." She smiled thinly. "The ICW has decided to send a delegation to Britain, to 'determine if the current state of Britain's Ministry endangers the International Statute of Secrecy'," she quoted, handing a scroll to Sirius.

Sirius skimmed it. It was full of the usual drivel from politicians, taking far too many words to say very little. "That's the proposal."

"We haven't received the official note yet," Amelia said, "but our delegate informed me that it was passed."

"With how many votes?" he asked.

"It was a comfortable margin," Thicknesse threw in. Sirius caught Amelia frowning briefly. "The European countries pushed for it, mainly France and Prussia. But Jamaica supported it as well."

Which usually meant that many of the American Enclaves would have opposed it on principle, Sirius knew. But the proposal had been passed. He shrugged. "Payback for Dumbledore's policies?"

"In part," Amelia said. "Fowley told me that there's widespread interest in the state of Wizarding Britain now that the war has ended."

"The vultures want to know what we have left after Dumbledore's death," Sirius said, scoffing.

"Yes." Amelia folded her hands and rested her chin on them. "I'm very much aware of the state of the Ministry, as I know you are, also."

Sirius shrugged. She knew that the Order had quite a number of members and friends inside the Ministry. "So, the ICW wants to spy on Britain, and you want to spy on us."

Amelia's lips almost disappeared when she pressed them together before answering. "The ICW's mandate covers the Statute of Secrecy, but you know that many countries are concerned about Britain's muggleborns. If they think Britain's weak, they'll start to meddle in our affairs." She smiled toothily at him. "I don't think either you or the Resistance want foreign countries involved in our politics."

She was correct, of course - apart from some small enclaves in North America there weren't any countries dominated by muggleborns. And those were usually too busy fighting wars with other enclaves and some of the native tribes to get involved in international politics. Most countries were dominated by purebloods and not particularly friendly towards muggleborns.

Sirius stared at her. "And why would you oppose them? I'm certain that the Old Families wouldn't mind foreign help."

Once again, Thicknesse cut in. "Foreign intervention could cause the conflict between the different factions of the Wizengamot to escalate into another war." He spread his hands. "There's not much popular support for foreign Aurors and Hit-Wizards."

"What you mean is that if the Old Families call for foreign intervention, they'll lose what support they have among the gullible purebloods," Sirius said, "while the war turns into a war against foreign invaders and the traitorous regime that called them."

Amelia's expression told him he was on the mark. The Minister glared at him. "Britain cannot afford another war, no matter what kind."

"Tell that to the idiots in the Wizengamot," Sirius shot back. "They're trying very hard to start another war."

"They're not the ones threatening violence if their demands are not met." Amelia gripped the edge of her desk with her hands.

"I think that this current crisis is an opportunity to demonstrate just how damaging a war would be to both the ICW and the Wizengamot," Thicknesse said, smiling faintly.

Amelia glared at him, and for a moment, Sirius thought the witch would curse her subordinate. She controlled herself, though. "That's a point to consider," she said.

Sirius almost rolled his eyes. "I fear some among our esteemed members of the Wizengamot do not realise how much Britain has been changed by the war." He chuckled. "They might not even be aware how much the Ministry has changed due to the losses during the war. So, what exactly do you want? A demonstration by the Resistance? They could blow up another manor." When he saw the glares from the others, he grinned. "Consider it a last resort. Though I have to point out that I cannot speak for the Resistance."

"I believe it would be sufficient to show the delegation that while we have our differences, Britain is not as divided as it may look to outsiders." Thicknesse smiled. "It might be better if we let them wonder about exactly what the Resistance is capable of."

Such a demonstration of unity would also undermine the position of the Resistance among the rest of the muggleborns, Sirius knew. That would have to be carefully handled. "That is true, but in the current situation, the muggleborns would need a few concessions, or they could cause trouble."

"Are you trying to use this crisis to coerce the Wizengamot into giving in to your demands, risking a war?" Amelia sounded scandalised.

He was, actually - but it wasn't as if he had a choice. "Have you walked through Diagon Alley lately?" Sirius snorted. "It feels like a cauldron on the verge of boiling over. The Resistance won't be able to control everyone, and it only takes one idiot at the wrong place to start something."

"The Wizengamot will not agree to the radical changes that the muggleborns demand," Thicknesse said. "Not at the moment, at least."

"Further, the Muggleborn Laws were repealed already, and the Ministry's working on determining the compensation owed to the victims of those laws, or their abuse," Amelia said.

"That's simply the restoration of the status quo ante anyway." And the muggleborns wanted more. "Of course, refusing to reward the Resistance for their actions in the war against the Dark Lord didn't help." Sirius grinned. "I believe I made a proposal to that effect, which was, unfortunately, not accepted by the Wizengamot."

"You want the Wizengamot to award Granger an Order of Merlin," Amelia spat.

"And a seat on the Wizengamot. For her, and for Ron Weasley." Sirius's grin widened. "A fine gesture, showing that the Dark Lord was defeated by purebloods and muggleborns and half-bloods, all working together. Something to celebrate as well."

Amelia looked like she had just discovered bubotuber pus in her tea. Thicknesse, though, was nodding. "I think with the added factor of the ICW's inspection, and the damage and loss of face a riot would cause to Britain, those concessions would be acceptable to the more pragmatic members of the Wizengamot."

"Great. I have to discuss this with Hermione, of course." Sirius smiled.

Amelia clearly didn't like that either - she would have to know Hermione would have a few more things to say - but she didn't comment further. "There's the matter of Harry Potter as well."

Sirius narrowed his eyes. "Yes?"

"He defeated the Dark Lord in a duel and was personally trained by Dumbledore. That leads to certain assumptions," Thicknesse said.

Amelia glanced at the wizard, frowning, then stared at Sirius. "How powerful is the Boy-Who-Lived?"

Sirius had expected that. "You want to know if he can serve as the next Dumbledore, scaring the rest of the world into leaving Britain alone."

"Yes," Amelia said.

And that also would tell her if Harry could scare the Wizengamot as well, Sirius knew. He shrugged. "He received special training to defeat the Dark Lord, but he doesn't have Dumbledore's experience."

Amelia seemed to grind her teeth. "I know that. Everyone knows that. But can he stand up to the ICW?"

Sirius chuckled. "Anyone can stand up to the ICW. But making it stick?" He shrugged. "Harry's very talented in Defence. He faced the Dark Lord multiple times in the past. He drove away dozens of Dementors with a single corporeal Patronus Charm when he was fourteen years old." Sirius managed not to shiver when the memories of that night flashed before his eyes. He had come so close to losing his soul… He shook his head. "I think his Patronus Charm should impress the ICW delegation enough."

"Could he duel some of them? An exhibition, perhaps?" Thicknesse smiled as if he wasn't trying to find any weaknesses of Sirius's godson.

He scoffed and deflected the question. "He's no duellist. That's not what he was trained for. He certainly didn't kill the Dark Lord using tournament rules." Sirius couldn't tell if Amelia and Thicknesse believed his bluff, but they nodded. So he decided to throw a curving Quaffle at them. "You should also contact Aberforth Dumbledore."

"Aberforth Dumbledore?" Thicknesse sounded doubtful. "The owner of the Hog's Head Inn?"

Sirius grinned. Aberforth wouldn't be happy about this, but he had to deflect the attention away from Harry. If others learned about the Elder Wand… "He faced the Dark Lord multiple times and lived as well. He might not be as famous as his brother, but he certainly has far more experience than most people know."

"I see," Amelia said.

Sirius wasn't certain what she was thinking, but he nodded anyway. "Good. How much time do we have until the delegation arrives?"

"We need to be officially contacted, and then have to make arrangements. One week, maybe two if they're not as prepared as they could be," Thicknesse said. "Having a houngan among the delegation might cause some delays." He smiled. "That's another possible spot of trouble."

Amelia scoffed. "We don't know anything about what Dumbledore was doing before he died. And we certainly will not let a houngan roam Britain."

Thicknesse didn't look quite certain, but nodded.

"If that's all…" Sirius stood up. "I'll have to talk to Hermione."

"No, there's nothing else to be discussed right now," Amelia said. Thicknesse glanced at the witch again, so he had probably expected her to mention something else. Sirius made a mental note to look into that.

"I'll be off then." He smiled and waved before leaving.

*****​

Arthur's office wasn't as large as Amelia's, but far bigger than his last one, Sirius noticed when he leaned on the doorway and looked inside. There were quite a number of muggle items spread around the office as well, but not as many as there had been. "Still working?" he asked as Arthur looked up.

The other wizard smiled. "As the Head of the Office of Anti-Curse Measures and Research, I'm expected to work hard on finding a cure for the Withering Curse."

"I thought the Unspeakables had taken the lead there." Sirius stepped inside and closed the door.

"They have." Arthur sighed. "And my own resources are rather limited compared to theirs. I have set the researchers I can spare on it, for all the good it'll do."

"You don't sound too optimistic." Sirius leaned against the door and crossed his arms.

"Even though it sounds callous, the Withering Curse is not an urgent problem. Unlike the Imperius Curse. We should focus our efforts on improving our defences against that danger." Arthur shook his head. "But the Wizengamot doesn't share my opinion, not when they are safely behind Thief's Downfall already."

"I'm certain that the public will not be as understanding. They are afraid to step outside their homes and shops." Sirius grinned. "Not even the Prophet might be able to keep a lid on that, if we present it just right."

"We can reroute Floo Network traffic through checkpoints," Arthur said. "That will make travel to and from shops take more time, but it'll be safer."

"Provided there isn't a traitor inside the Ministry," Sirius pointed out. That was one of the reasons they hadn't instituted such a measure during the war. The other was that the traitors had opposed it as well.

"I think we're rather safe in that regard, now at least." Arthur smiled wryly.

Sirius wasn't quite that optimistic, but most spies and traitors left would think twice about taking any risks with the Dark Lord dead. "I certainly hope so."

"What did Amelia want from you?"

"She wants to present the upcoming ICW inspection with a united front - the Ministry, the Order and the Resistance," Sirius said. "I told her that more concessions for the muggleborns are needed for that to work. Like rewarding Hermione and Ron with an Order of Merlin and a seat on the Wizengamot."

Arthur seemed surprised. "I thought you just did that to annoy the Wizengamot."

"Well, not just." Sirius chuckled. "But every vote in the Wizengamot counts."

"But…" Arthur closed his mouth.

"If Harry can have a seat, then Ron can have one as well." It went without saying that Hermione should have one; the witch had clearly defined political goals.

"Today is Ron's seventeenth birthday,"

Sirius remembered his own seventeenth birthday, and smiled. "An important date for a wizard."

"Yes. They'll be celebrating in the evening, at Hogwarts." Arthur smiled as well, though his expression seemed a bit off. "For a change."

"Ah." Sirius nodded. That was what Arthur wanted to talk about. "He told you about the training."

"He told Molly," Arthur said as they entered the lift. "And she told me."

Those would have been interesting conversations, Sirius thought. He had heard about the former, but not the latter. "I see."

"Harry's going as well, or so I heard."

"Can't separate them." Sirius grinned. With a more serious expression, he added: "It'll keep them safer than staying at Hogwarts."

"I know. But I worry anyway. And not just about possible battles."

Sirius frowned. "Harry's not going to be joining the Resistance. And everyone already knows that he's very close to Hermione." The idiots reading the Prophet thought he was even closer to the witch.

"I didn't mean that either," Arthur said. "We're pretty much united in our desire to reform the Wizengamot." He took a deep breath. "Are you certain that there won't be trouble with the three staying together for a month?"

Ah! Sirius understood, finally. He shook his head. "I doubt it. They are friends, and they've never had trouble being together at Hogwarts." And there were plenty of witches around to take Harry's mind off his best friends' relationship.

Arthur nodded, but didn't look completely convinced.

"So, do you think Amelia can push those concessions through?" Sirius asked.

Arthur rubbed his chin, then fiddled with a muggle pen. "Amelia? I doubt it. But Thicknesse can probably achieve it. He's been cultivating his contacts in the Wizengamot, and as far as I know, he's trying to keep his options open in case the Wizengamot surrenders."

"Smart of him." Sirius still wouldn't trust the man. He was a typical Slytherin.

"And Dawlish is doing all he can to avoid any conflict between the Aurors and the muggleborns."

"I've heard that as well." Sirius grinned. "It looks like the rats are getting ready to jump ship."

"Yes. But they won't take sides until they are certain who's winning."

"Well… then we just have to make sure that they are certain." Sirius grinned widely.

*****​

London, Ministry of Magic, March 1st, 1997

"Stay a moment, Pius," Amelia Bones said after Black had left her office.

"Of course." He nodded, and moved in front of her desk.

She stared at him without saying anything, but his polite expression didn't waver. "What is your game?" she finally said.

To his credit, he neither flinched nor tried to act surprised.

"We need Black's support, and we need the muggleborns to be at least neutral," he said.

"Not at any cost!" she spat. "They don't want foreigners meddling in Britain either!"

"Black has less to lose. He has Potter, he has the Resistance, and he has half the Ministry and more than a third of the Wizengamot in his pocket. He can afford to make the Ministry look weak since the delegation will still be impressed by any show of force he can put up." Pius shook his head. "I don't like it either, but we're in the weaker position."

"He's bluffing! If Potter was as powerful as the Dark Lord, Black would have used that already to take over the Ministry," Amelia said. "You heard how evasive he was."

"He might be bluffing - we don't know for certain. And the ICW is unlikely to call his bluff." Pius sighed. "Potter did defeat the Dark Lord. That is certain."

"He was just Dumbledore's tool!" Amelia had seen Potter right after the battle in Diagon Alley. That hadn't been the equal of the Dark Lord, but a kid.

"Perhaps. But who can tell if he hasn't retained whatever power or means allowed him to defeat the Dark Lord?" Pius shook his head. "And even if we could safely discount Potter, that still leaves the Resistance and the muggleborns on the street." He placed his hands on her desk and leaned towards her. "We can't take them. Not in our current state. Dawlish knows it, and you know it as well."

Was Dawlish on Pius's side as well? Ready to betray the Ministry? How deep did the rot go? She met his eyes. "We don't determine the Wizengamot's policies. We enforce them."

"The Wizengamot depends on the Ministry. Without our support, they are nothing."

"That's coming close to treason."

"It's the truth, not treason. If the Wizengamot wants to wage war, half the Ministry will refuse orders and either hide or join the muggleborns. And the other half won't last long against those odds." He shook his head. "You have to face reality, Amelia: We are in no shape to win this conflict."

"They're weakened as well, and we're rebuilding."

"So are they. The muggleborns are recruiting and Black and Weasley are busy suborning the Ministry and the Wizengamot."

"And you're helping them!"

"I'm trying to save the Ministry from being destroyed in a war we cannot win. If that means making compromises and concessions, then so be it."

"You're trying to save your career."

He shrugged. "I'm not about to sacrifice myself for fools who try to ignore reality."

She knew he included her as well in that description and snarled at him. "The law is not something that can be bent and broken for your convenience. It's the foundation of our country. If we choose which laws to enforce, and how, we might as well not have any."

"If we don't adapt, we'll be swept away - including our laws. Which would render the whole point of enforcing them moot."

She shook her head. "You should be on the Wizengamot with that view, not in the Ministry."

"My family's not old enough for that," he said, smiling faintly.

"Is that the reason for your insubordination? Do you hope to become a member of the Wizengamot as a reward?" She leaned forward. "Was that your price? Or do you intend to become the next Minister?"

"I intend to survive this conflict, unlike so many others."

He was lying through his teeth. She knew it. "Get out!"

He left, and she fell back into her seat and closed her eyes. Merlin, where had things gone so wrong? Pius a traitor, Dawlish in cahoots with him, or with Weasley… the Wizengamot split, and the Ministry suborned. Everything she had fought so hard to protect was being swept away by greed and opportunism. And everyone she had counted on was betraying her, or dead.

She stared at the message on her desk. It wasn't the original, of course - only a fool would touch a missive from a Death Eater - but a transcription. An offer, from Augustus Rookwood.

*****​

London, Newham, March 1st, 1997

"Hello, Tim." Hermione Granger smiled at the young man sitting down across from her. The small pub they were in - one chosen at random - didn't have that many guests yet, not that early on a Saturday. It wasn't quite perfect for a recruitment meeting, but it'd do.

"Hello," Timothy Meyers, muggleborn Gryffindor, graduated in 1991, said. "I usually tell people to call me Tim, but you already did."

"Tania remembered you," Hermione answered the implied question. "You were the prefect who introduced her to Hogwarts."

"Ah!" He smiled. "I forgot how young you all are."

She had expected such a remark, and let her smile slip a little. "We've been through so much, we tend to forget it as well."

He nodded, acknowledging the point. Or at least acting like he did.

"Why are you here?" She watched his reaction. He seemed confused by the question for a moment.

"To join the Resistance," he said.

"And why do you want to join us?" She leaned forward, her arms folded with her elbows resting on the table.

"Because you're the ones who beat the Ministry and the Death Eaters!"

She hid her frown. "Do you want to fight?"

He hesitated for just an instant, licking his lips. That could be a good sign. "I don't want to hide again, if things turn out badly."

He either wasn't bent on revenge, or was smart enough to hide it. She couldn't tell either way. Justin... or Allan? She couldn't tell. But she hoped to find out at the training camp. People had trouble keeping up a facade when pushed to their limits. She made a mark on her pad. "Can you fight?"

"I got an E in my Defence N.E.W.T.," he replied, somewhat defensively.

"That doesn't mean that much, given how much time has passed since then." He hadn't been an Auror or Hit-Wizard, but a clerk.

"I've been training since I went into hiding." He had completely lost his slightly patronising attitude by now. "Just normal spells, though."

"Normal spells?" She narrowed her eyes slightly.

Tim shrugged, the action a bit too staged to be honest. "Stunner, Shield Charm, Reductor Curse… no dark curses. No Unforgivables."

"We're not using the Unforgivables," she said.

"Oh." He bit his lip.

"The tactical advantages do not justify the strategic disadvantages their use would cause," she explained.

"I see." He nodded.

She hoped he did. The last thing they needed was another wizard who thought you had to be as ruthless and brutal as possible in a civil war. "We'll be training a lot. Military weapons and tactics. Boot camp," she added, with a grin as close to the Sergeant's as she could manage.

His own smile was looking a bit forced by now.

"You'll be expected to comply with the Geneva Conventions." At least the core parts, Hermione amended in her mind.

"I'll have to read up on them." Tim smiled rather weakly.

"Here is a summary of the rules we adhere to." She handed him a sheet of paper. "Also, we're not a democracy. We don't hold votes during a battle. If your leader gives an order, you'll be expected to obey."

He nodded. "Of course."

"That doesn't mean you're expected to blindly obey." An imperiused leader - or an Allan, she added - could do far too much damage otherwise.

Tim nodded again.

"Good." Hermione considered the man across from her for a moment. "I think you'll do. Drink up." She checked her watch. If the next interview went as quickly, they could sign the contract early this evening.

*****​

Hogwarts, March 1st, 1997

"Happy Birthday to you! Happy Birthday to you! Happy Birthday to you! Happy Birthday to y...."

"Finite!" Ron Weasley spat while he flicked his wand. The enchanted snitch, caught by a spell, finally stopped its loud shouting and fell down to the ground, barely missing the bowl of punch on the table in the back of the Gryffindor common room. He shook his head. Trust the twins to manage to prank him even when they were no longer at Hogwarts themselves! At least it hadn't been too embarrassing. And if they could take the time to prank him, they were doing well, which was a good thing.

"Moody would say you deserved that for being careless," Harry said, handing him a wrapped package.

"I wasn't careless; the twins were just too sneaky. Transfiguring the snitch into wrapping paper, counting on me to dispel it…" Ron eyed the gift.

"As I said, too careless for Moody." Harry grinned. "Open it! It's safe!"

"It's from you and Sirius," Ron said. "That's not really safe." He tore the wrapping paper away and opened it anyway - another prank wouldn't hurt him. Then he stared, openmouthed. "A Firebolt?" he managed to say, looking at Harry, as he pulled it out of the enchanted box.

His friend looked almost embarrassed while the rest of the Gryffindors cheered. "Sirius said that you should have the best broom on the market, just in case." He shrugged. "I know you might have wanted a Keeper's broom, but…"

Ron shook his head, interrupting him. "No, no. A Firebolt is more useful. And I can play Keeper with it as well. It's still better than most brooms."

"But if you want to go pro…"

"I doubt I will," Ron said. "It… doesn't seem to be that important, any more, you know."

"What?" Ginny sounded almost shocked. She wasn't the only one, Ron noticed. "But you're an excellent Keeper!" his sister said, loud enough to be heard over the murmurs filling the room.

"Not as good as Wood," Ron said reflexively. That summed up his Quidditch career so far.

"No one is as good as Ollie," Harry said. "But I know what you mean."

He would, Ron thought. They had lived through the war together, after all. Ginny, though, was looking from him to Harry and back, before pouting. He was about to ask her what was wrong, maybe tease her a bit - she was the one who had helped the twins prank him, he was certain - but right then the door nearby started open, and he flicked his wand up in response while Harry took a step to the side, his own wand in hand. It was probably McGonagall, here to check up on them. They still hadn't picked a new Head of House.

It wasn't McGonagall, or any other teacher. It was Hermione, clad in jeans, sweater and a short jacket. Ron blinked and lowered his wand while she looked around, a faint, almost shy, smile on her face for the few seconds until she spotted him. Then he was hugging her, and kissing her.

"What are you doing here?" he asked when they broke the kiss. It was a stupid question, he realised as soon as he had spoken.

She didn't laugh. "You told me about the party, remember?"

He did. And he remembered saying that he'd rather spend the evening with her. "You said you'd be busy when I proposed skipping the party."

She grinned. "I also said it wouldn't be fair to your friends at Hogwarts to ditch them. Happy birthday!" she whispered, handing him a gift.

"Thanks. Did you plan this?"

She shook her head, then brushed back a lock of hair that had fallen into her face. "Not exactly. I finished earlier than I had planned."

"Well, I'm happy you're here."

Her smile grew wider. He lifted his hand to cup her cheek when he noticed that Harry and Ginny were standing next to them. And that the rest of the room was right behind them.

*****​

Sitting in an armchair in the corner of the common room, Harry Potter watched his two best friends dancing in the middle of the room, next to a few other couples. They looked happy. They were happy, he corrected himself. And he was happy for them. Mostly. It still hurt a bit, seeing them so close. Seeing her with his friend, and not with him.

He summoned another butterbeer from the now quite plundered drinks table and frowned. He should be happy for his friends, not jealous. Hermione had made her choice. There were other witches, as Sirius had said to him numerous times. Well, Sirius had also said to him that teenage relationships might not last forever.

He shook his head and opened the bottle. He didn't want to dwell on that. He was better than that. Or he should be.

"Hey!" Ginny sat down, or rather, threw herself in the seat next to him.

He nodded at her, glad for the distraction. "Hey. Nice party." Merlin, he sounded lame.

She didn't seem to notice, though, and simply nodded in agreement. "Yes." After a pause, she went on. "Did you see how quickly the chocolate cake disappeared? It was one of Mum's."

That explained the second cake the house elves had brought up, he thought. He had at first assumed there had been a mistake, but the little creatures were quite territorial.

"I'm glad Hermione made it. I think Ron would have moped, or even snuck out otherwise." Ginny was looking at the couple, Harry noticed. Or in their direction.

"Yes," he said. "I would have expected him to sneak out to test his new broom."

She snorted. "That's love for you. Even Quidditch takes a backseat." Then she winced and looked at him.

He didn't react to her words and took another sip from his bottle. "He'll spend tomorrow on the broom, I guess."

After a moment, Ginny relaxed. "You weren't surprised when Ron said he didn't want to go pro any more."

Harry nodded. "I didn't know that, but I understand him."

"You're not going pro either, are you?" She narrowed her eyes at him.

"No, I don't think so."

"It's the war, right?" She looked very serious, even anxious.

He sighed. He didn't really want to talk about the war. But he didn't want to watch Ron and Hermione kiss, either. "More or less, yes."

"What…" She trailed off, biting her lower lip. Not like Hermione, just a quick nibble. "What do you want to do instead?"

He shrugged. "I don't know yet. It depends on how things go at the Ministry." He didn't really have any concrete plans for the time after the Wizengamot had been reformed. But that would take quite some time anyway, even if everything went perfectly. Which wouldn't be the case.

She huffed. "Like Charlie…" Shaking her head, she went on. "I'll have to make up for all of you then."

"You want to go pro?"

"Any reason I shouldn't?" She was glaring at him.

He shouldn't have been surprised, he realised too late - Ginny was a very good flyer. "No, no!" he quickly said. "I just… you never mentioned that."

"We never talked about our plans for the future," she said, then blushed slightly. "I mean, our professional futures."

"Yes." They hadn't talked that often at all, he realised. The silence between them started to stretch again. "How's Neville doing?" he asked.

"Brooding," she answered. "I've tried to get him to loosen up some, but…" She shrugged, frowning. "He hasn't moved from his seat in an hour or so." She motioned with her head to the corner opposite them, where Neville was sitting, alone, a bottle of what Harry thought didn't look quite like butterbeer in his hands.

"He doesn't look very happy," Harry said.

"No. But then, you didn't look that happy either."

He turned his head back to her. She flinched slightly, then raised her chin and stared at him. "You didn't."

"I wasn't." He shrugged.

"Well, are you feeling a bit better now? Or did I fail twice today at helping others feel better?" She pouted in an exaggerated manner.

He chuckled at her expression, and after a moment, she joined him.

*****​

It was past midnight when Hermione Granger left the Gryffindor dorm with Ron. The party was still going on, but had quieted down a lot, with most of the younger students already in bed, and a number of the older ones having retreated for some privacy with their boyfriend or girlfriend.

Like Ron and her. Even if he didn't know it yet - she had asked him to escort her to the tunnel that led to Hogsmeade.

"I'm happy you could come to my party," he said, taking her hand as they passed a hallway. "Even though you have to leave early."

She bit her lower lip, then cleared her throat. "I don't actually have to leave that early." That hadn't sounded as smooth as she had planned.

Ron slowed down and looked at her, puzzled, before his eyes widened. "Oh."

She nodded. "I just wanted some privacy." Snogging in a dark corner in the common room wasn't really private.

"Ah." He smiled, then wrapped his arm around her waist. "And where should we go?"

She wanted to go to the Prefects' Bathroom on the fifth floor. From what she had heard, it was a luxurious place, perfect for a rendezvous with your lover. And it would be empty at this time. But if they went there, Hermione wasn't certain they'd stick to snogging. The temptation would be too great. At least hers - she wanted more. But she'd rather do that where no prefect patrols could stumble upon them, and where no others could track her on an enchanted map. Not for her first time, at least.

She almost shook her head at where her thoughts had strayed. "Let's go to an empty classroom." She knew that such things were traditionally done in a broom cupboard, but she didn't fancy hitting her elbows and knees on the walls while groping around in a narrow space.

He nodded, and guided her towards the closest one. A few spells later, the door was locked, and a desk in the last row had been transfigured into a loveseat.

When she left Hogwarts, it was closer to sunrise than midnight. And she had come very close to giving in to temptation. Several times, despite the somewhat lacklustre surroundings. Next time, she thought, there'd be no resisting.

*****​

Kent, Greengrass Manor, March 2nd, 1997

"Hello, Tracey!" Daphne Greengrass greeted her friend in the entrance hall of her home. "I'm glad you could come visit."

The witch snorted while she brushed soot off her robes with a flick of her wand. "It's not as if I have a full social calendar these days. And I can stand my relatives for only so long before I get the urge to hex them." She sneered. "All those sycophants, acting as if they feel sorry for me. They just want my gold."

Daphne nodded. She knew what Tracey meant. "It's still better than the alternative, though."

"Which would be? Poor and begging myself?" Tracey snorted.

"Dead."

Tracey flinched, then scoffed. "Anything is better than that."

Daphne opened the door to her room. "I agree."

Once inside, she cast a privacy spell, which caused her friend's eyebrows to rise. "Don't you trust your own family?"

Daphne shrugged and sat down on her bed, cross-legged. "I'd rather be safe than sorry."

Her friend joined her, facing her. "Words to live by. So… what secret are you about to share with me that your sister can't know? Do you have a suitor, maybe?" she added in a fake joking tone.

"No." Daphne shook her head. "It's about Theo."

Tracey closed her eyes and sighed. "Damn. I won't like this, will I?" she asked, looking at Daphne.

"He's a tool, and doesn't realise it. An expendable tool. And he'll drag us down with him, if we're not careful."

"Tell me something new. It's not as if I'm about to join him in his suicide-by-Resistance plan." Tracey scoffed.

"It won't really matter if we help him or not; we're linked to him, and once he is caught, they'll come for us," Daphne said.

Tracey balled her hands into fists. "I'm aware of that possibility. But what can we do? Hide? Emigrate?"

"Report him."

There, she had said it. Daphne watched her friend's reactions. Tracey's eyes widened, she opened her mouth, then closed it again, and drew a hissing breath through clenched teeth. "That won't go over well with the other families," she finally said.

"They're not exactly lining up to visit us, are they? They avoid us already." Daphne sneered. "We won't lose anything on that front."

"True. But going to the Ministry? Someone will warn Theo." Tracey looked doubtful.

Daphne shook her head. There were too many spies inside the Ministry, both for the Dark Lord, and for the mudbloods. "No. I was thinking of Dumbledore's Order."

Tracey gaped at her, but it didn't take her friend long to realise what Daphne was proposing. And even less time to agree.

*****​

Atlantic Ocean, March 3rd, 1997

Augustus Rookwood flicked the wireless receiver off. So, the ICW was making its move. He stood up and started to pace - even with the help of Extension Charms, the cabin he had secured for himself on this muggle ship was small, and staying inside so he didn't have to keep obliviating the muggles who saw him was proving to be a bit more stressful than he had anticipated. He hadn't fully recovered from his ordeal in Azkaban, he had realised.

Fortunately, this news proved to be a good distraction. How could he best use this development for his own goals? He had left a couple of tools under the Imperius back in Britain which he would be able to order around with a simple message, so he had a number of options. But this would require careful planning. If the Ministry collapsed and the ICW moved in, he'd lose all his leverage - foreigners wouldn't care about the victims of the Withering Curse.

On the other hand, this might be an opportunity to find out how the Boy-Who-Lived had defeated the Dark Lord. Augustus still had no idea how Dumbledore had managed to orchestrate that, despite all the precautions the Dark Lord had taken. And as long as he didn't know what had happened he couldn't defend himself against it either.

A quite intolerable situation.

*****​
 
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Chapter 49: Resolutions
Chapter 49: Resolutions

'The Second Blood War is often cited as a defining moment for muggleborns in Wizarding Britain, giving them the impetus to organise and militarise as a group. However, most muggleborns only started to band together and prepare for war after the Dark Lord had been defeated and the Ministry's forces were in no shape to credibly threaten the Order of the Phoenix and the Resistance. For all the myth of the brave Resistance fighters facing overwhelming odds that some of my colleagues still propagate, joining after the Battle of Diagon Alley was a rather opportunistic move.
But even among purebloods there were also a fair number of opportunists who abandoned their ideals once the numbers no longer favoured them - even among the Old Families. That the Second Blood War left Britain with only so-called 'blood traitors' and muggleborns is not quite the hyperbole one might think.'
- Excerpt from 'Wizarding Britain in the 20th Century' by Albert Runcorn


*****​

Hogwarts, March 4th, 1997

Sitting on his bed, Harry Potter stared at the wand in his hand. The Elder Wand. It wasn't his wand, and yet it felt like it. Warm. Almost eager, even, as much as a wand could be eager. And using it felt… he took a deep breath. He knew the legends about the Deathly Hallows. About the Elder Wand, in particular. How it changed hands through violence and death. To wield the wand was to court death, as one sage had put it. Harry wouldn't go that far - but casting spells with it felt a bit like cheating. Too easy by far. It was a tool that he shouldn't use outside of emergencies, if he didn't want to grow dependent on it.

But what if he used it for training, to learn new spells more easily, and then used his own, real, wand to train with them? Wouldn't that be a safe way to wield the wand? He took a deep breath and shook his head, then threw the wand on his bed. Was it influencing his thoughts? Or was that just his imagination and insecurities talking?

Sirius had warned him about showing off the wand. If the news that that he owned the Elder Wand got out, far too many wizards and witches would try to take it from him - by any means possible. And that wouldn't help with the current crisis: the ICW inspection. Or the spies, as Sirius called them.

Harry clenched his teeth. He didn't like having to put on an act, but casting a Patronus Charm to impress their 'visitors' was a small price to pay if it served to make the other countries - countries ruled by purebloods who did not hold muggleborns in high regard - back off. Even if the whole act reminded him of the Tournament.

At least his corporeal Patronus should impress them - it certainly had made an impression on dozens of Dementors, three years ago, and he had improved since then. And, he added, with a glance to the wand lying on his bed, there were ways to make it even more impressive…

Once again he shook his head. The wand was known as Dumbledore's wand. If he used it in public, rumours would start, some of them quite close to the truth. Sighing, he turned and sank on to his bed, the impact of his back making the Elder Wand bounce a little. How had Dumbledore managed this?

He snorted. Maybe he should destroy the wand. Then he wouldn't be tempted to use it recklessly any more. But then he wouldn't be able to use it to save his friends either.

And that was a price far too high for his peace of mind. He looked at the clock on the wall. Almost time for dinner. Sighing, he sat up and grabbed the Elder Wand, slipping it into his enchanted pocket, before heading downstairs.

*****​

"Hey, Harry!"

Harry stopped on the way to the portrait hole out of the Gryffindor common room when he heard Neville call out to him from the corner opposite the entrance. "Yes?"

"Do you have a moment?" The other wizard made a gesture with his hand towards the seat next to him.

For a moment, he hesitated. He wasn't really in the mood to talk with Neville about training sessions. His friend had grown worse than Wood had been about Quidditch. On the other hand, he understood why Neville was so set on this, and Harry would probably not do anything differently in his place. "Sure." He walked over while Neville cast a privacy spell, and sat down.

Neville pointed at a sheet of parchment on the low table between their seats. "I've been going over the list."

"The list?" Harry picked it up. There were dozens of names on it, many of them crossed out. But a large number were still legible. What... "Ah." He recognised it. The list of Death Eaters and their supporters the Resistance had distributed a few months ago.

"Yes. I was thinking…" Neville paused, then took a deep breath. "I was thinking that there are too many of those people still around. Free, I mean," he added. "If they haven't fled Britain, then they're in hiding. But I doubt that they have cut off contact with their families."

Harry nodded. Neville was a member of an Old Family; he would know that better than Harry himself. And Sirius had mentioned tracking the Death Eaters through their less incriminated family members - though it hadn't worked out that well.

"So… Easter vacation is coming up at the end of the month. I was thinking we could be doing something about this." Neville pointed at the list in Harry's hand.

Harry licked his lips, glancing at Neville. His friend looked eager, but also nervous. Fidgeting in his seat.

"What do you think?" Neville asked, looking as if he was pleading. It was quite a change compared to his attitude during training. It made him look more like he had been before the war, Harry thought.

Easter vacation would fall right in the middle of the training with the Resistance, Harry knew. He wouldn't be able to help Neville with that, even if he wanted to - and he wasn't certain he did. Neither did he want to let his friend down, though. And if they were working together, then Harry would be able to prevent Neville from doing something they would all regret… He nodded. "I'm not certain that I can help you - there are things coming up I need to do - but I'll put you in touch with others who have some experience with this." Sirius, and the twins.

Neville smiled. "Thank you, Harry."

"No problem," Harry said, getting up. Despite his own smile, though, he felt guilty.

*****​

London, Diagon Alley, March 4th, 1997

Amelia Bones stared at the crater left in the middle of the Alley. It wasn't much to look at - barely deeper than the height of the cobblestones they had blown away. "Report!" she snapped at the closest Auror - a witch who looked as if she was barely out of Hogwarts.

"Ah!" The witch straightened up, almost coming to attention. "At half past six explosions were heard from this area, and the patrol on duty responded. By the time they arrived on scene, the perpetrators had already fled, and the wounded were being cared for by bystanders. From the witnesses available, we have concluded that the attackers were on brooms."

Amelia nodded, forcing herself to smile at the Auror. For such a hasty deployment, it was a decent report. Especially in an area taken over by muggleborns. They wouldn't be too cooperative with the Aurors, to say the least. "How many wounded?"

"That is unclear… we're awaiting a notice from St Mungo's, Ma'am." Now the Auror sounded uncertain, nervous. "There were no fatalities as far as we can tell."

Amelia nodded, then pointed her wand at the nearest crater and cast a few detection spells. "No spell residue… this wasn't a curse," she said, more to herself than anyone else. A few more spells. "Traces of explosive fluid."

"Like the attack on the rally, Ma'am?"

Amelia turned to the Auror, who was still standing at near-attention. So, she was paying attention, although Amelia couldn't tell if the witch was still keeping an eye on her surroundings. "There is a possible link." Same means, same targets. Same lackadaisical execution. But there was one difference. "The attack on the rally was been done by imperiused victims. They didn't try to get away. This, though…" She looked up at the angled roofs overhead. "They cared more for getting away than hitting their targets. That doesn't match. Analyse the fluid remains, and compare it to the samples taken from the rally."

"Yes, Ma'am!" The Auror saluted, and Amelia chuckled. "Relax a little. We're in the field."

The young witch nodded, with a smile. "Yes, Ma'am!"

Amelia stepped around the crater and looked around. There had been multiple explosions, but there was only the one crater. Which meant that the other bottles had hit the roofs. She couldn't spot any damage, though - it looked like the wards had held. Rubbing her chin, she pondered the issue.

After the early bomb attacks by the Resistance, all house-owners who could afford it had strengthened their wards. It wouldn't have stopped the Resistance - it hadn't stopped them, as their following actions had proven - but it had been enough to foil this attack. Lackadaisical indeed. It might have been a pureblood lashing out at muggleborns without much of a plan, just copying what had been done before. Or it could have been someone smarter, faking it. Maybe...

"Minister? Should you be at the scene of the crime?" Dawlish's voice interrupted her thoughts, and she was frowning when she turned around to face the Head Auror.

"Is there any reason I shouldn't be?" She stared at him, daring him to contradict her.

He didn't cave. "There is your safety to consider."

"I trust the Aurors securing the scene." Her tone implied that he might not trust them. Judging by his expression, he had realised that as well. And so had the Aurors nearby.

He schooled his features quickly, though, and nodded curtly. "Of course, Minister."

She was tempted to take over the investigation. Show up Dawlish and cut out Pius at the same time. It wouldn't have been the first time a Minister had done such a thing. And she certainly would do a better job than anyone else.

But she was better than that. And she had hated it when Cornelius had tried to meddle in her department. So she nodded, and left. At least the Aurors would know she could be counted upon. She had a feeling that she could use any allies, no matter how low they were placed in the Ministry.

A quick apparition had her back in front of the Auror post in Diagon Alley, and a brief trip through the Floo Network later she was back in the Ministry. Back in the snake pit, she corrected herself, surrounded by schemers and plotters and criminals of all kinds, and most of them untouchable due to deals made under duress.

She kept a confident but polite facade up until she was in her office, then cursed under her breath while she sank into her seat. The stack of parchment on her desk had grown taller in her absence, but most of it didn't matter and would not take much time to deal with.

Unlike the parchment in her pocket. Rookwood's offer. She shouldn't even consider it. He was a Death Eater, a wanted criminal - one of two members of the Dark Lord's Inner Circle still at large. She wasn't corrupt, unlike others. She wasn't bending the law as she pleased. She should pass the message on to the Unspeakables, so they could try to find him through it.

Of course, as a former Unspeakable, Rookwood would have anticipated that, and would have guarded against it. So, she wasn't hindering the investigation or protecting a criminal. She wasn't doing anything illegal, or wrong. And his offer - the cure for the Withering Curse in exchange for a pardon - wasn't really different from the way in which the Resistance obtained their pardons. Britain needed help, and the price for said help was a pardon.

But she didn't want to let another criminal go free just for expediency's sake. She ground her teeth. It was bad enough that that mass-murdering Granger would probably be sitting on the Wizengamot in less than a week!

Besides, the Unspeakables were working on finding a cure. Arthur's department as well, and while she didn't expect much from his people, if she put some pressure on him, he might get help from his friends in order to keep his position.

She shook her head. No, there was no reason to make another deal with a criminal.

She didn't vanish the missive, though.

*****​

London, No. 12 Grimmauld Place, March 4th, 1997

Ron Weasley sighed as he refilled his glass with some pumpkin juice in Sirius's kitchen. The news that there had been another attack on muggleborns in Diagon Alley had put his family on edge, what with the twins having started to rebuild their shop. At least, he added with a guilty feeling, Mum was focusing on them for now. Which meant he and Harry were not being bothered yet about Sirius's other news. That he could expect to be awarded an Order of Merlin, First Class. And a seat on the Wizengamot.

Ron still didn't know how he felt about that. It was nice, no, more than nice, to be recognised as more than Harry's friend. Or sidekick. An Order of Merlin. First Class, even. None of his brothers had ever achieved that. Of course, he had thought about that when he had heard about how Sirius had derailed that Wizengamot session. But he had known it was just a political ploy. Now, though, knowing that it was almost certain that there would be a majority supporting the proposal… well, it still was a political ploy. But one that would lead to him sitting on the Wizengamot. Right after his seventeenth birthday. He sighed. He, Ron Weasley, sitting on the Wizengamot with an Order of Merlin, First Class before he had even graduated from Hogwarts! He chuckled. It made the dreams he had had in his first year of being Head Boy and Quidditch Captain look humble.

"Someone's in a good mood."

Ron whirled around, raising his wand before he recognised Harry standing in the doorway. "Ah."

His friend shook his head. "Must have been a really funny thought if you didn't notice me arriving."

Was there a hint of jealousy? Ron wondered. Harry hadn't really said anything, but maybe he thought that more had happened during Hermione's visit to Hogwarts than what the two had done after leaving Ron's party. It wasn't as if Ron could just say 'Hey, Hermione and I haven't slept together', out of the blue. He and Harry didn't talk about that kind of thing. Not since Hermione had made her choice.

And they wouldn't be talking about it this evening either. Ron shook his head. "Just thinking about the Wizengamot and the Order of Merlin. It feels…" he trailed off, grimacing.

Harry nodded. "I know what you mean." He stepped up to the ice box and pulled out a soft drink - a Coca-Cola, Ron noted - from the stack Sirius kept for them. "Welcome to being famous!" he added, with a wide grin.

Ron scoffed. "Welcome to being a tool for politics, you mean."

"That too." Harry popped the can open and took a sip.

Ron emptied his own glass and refilled it. He had a feeling that there wouldn't be much pumpkin juice in the future for him, not while training with the Resistance. He didn't mind, much - muggle beverages were tasty too. He sighed. "I just feel… you know, like a fake."

"You risked your life and earned that Order," Harry said.

"Others risked their lives as well."

"Not many of them faced Voldemort himself." Harry didn't have to add 'and lived', Ron was aware how many had died.

"Sirius and Aberforth did," Ron said.

"And neither wants an Order of Merlin." Harry shrugged. "I'm glad I'm not singled out."

Ron chuckled. "You would be." He quickly grew serious again, though. "But I'm still not looking forward to sessions. And I feel like a hypocrite, with the Resistance demanding an elected Wizengamot, and me getting appointed."

"Hermione is getting appointed as well," his friend pointed out. "And once the reforms are done we're off the Wizengamot anyway - unless you want to run for a seat in the election."

"Yeah, right." Ron snorted.

"Hermione will probably run for a seat," Harry said.

"Probably." They hadn't talked about that, but he agreed with Harry. That was just like Hermione. She wasn't the type to leave others to do what she felt she could do. At least she wouldn't… he blinked. "Merlin's beard! She's so going to make us run as well, so there'll be two more votes for her proposals!"

Harry stared at him, then muttered something that would have earned them a scolding from Hermione.

*****​

London, Diagon Alley, March 5th, 1997

Daphne Greengrass had to struggle to control herself as she walked down Diagon Alley. It felt as if everyone on the street was staring at her. At any moment, she expected someone to point their wand at them and cast a curse.

"We're attracting too much attention," Tracey, walking at her side, said. She was whispering despite their privacy spell. "They know."

"If they knew they'd attack us," Daphne whispered back. "We look like muggleborns."

At least they should look like muggleborns. They had carefully transfigured their robes into muggle clothes, dyed their hair and even wore those weird colored glasses. They looked like the muggle girls in the magazine that they had bought in Buxton.

"No one else is wearing the same clothes as us," Tracey insisted.

"Of course not, that would be a gaffe," Daphne shot back.

"Muggles mass-produce their clothes."

Her friend was correct, Daphne had to admit - they had seen a number of people wearing the same jackets. "Just act naturally. We're doing fine," she said. At least with the recent attack, there were other people out on the street who looked nervous as well.

And that reminded her that currently, she and Tracey would look like just another pair of muggleborns to someone like Theo. She glanced at the sky above them, and started to walk a bit faster.

*****​

The Weasleys had been busy, Daphne thought. According to the Daily Prophet, Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes had been utterly destroyed by Fiendfyre in the Battle of Diagon Alley five weeks ago. The building in front of her showed no trace of that. It wasn't yet finished - part of the uppermost floor and the roof were missing - but they had already replaced the gaudy shop sign, and started to furnish the interior.

Next to her, Tracey hissed. "They're here."

Spotting a few bricks sliding into place on the upper floor, Daphne refrained from stating that they had expected the twins to be here - that was why they had come to Diagon Alley, after all. They didn't know where the Weasleys were currently living, and Daphne would rather not meet the rest of the family anyway - not after she had almost been killed by the trap at The Burrow. She shivered, remembering how the others had died. "Let's go," she said, walking towards the door.

In front of the door, she hesitated for a moment. She remembered the fight inside the shop. They were once again here in disguise. If the twins thought this was an attack… or wanted to claim they thought so… But there was no choice. If Theo had started to attack muggleborns, Daphne needed to do this, or she'd perish with the fool.

She took a deep breath and touched the door knocker with her wand - only to jump back in fright when she heard a wailing scream. It sounded as if a poor beast was being tortured inside the shop.

"Merlin's arse!" Trace cursed next to her.

Daphne muttered a curse of her own when the door was opened and one of the twins appeared. "Hello. How can I help you?" He was staying behind the threshold, of course - and therefore behind the wards - and his right arm was hidden behind the door - probably holding his wand.

Daphne carefully stashed her wand and pulled off her glasses. "It's us."

He recognised her at once - his smile vanished, replaced by a hard stare, and his wand appeared, as expected. "What do you want?"

He was probably Fred, Daphne thought. George hadn't been that hostile the last time they had talked. Really talked. But that had been before their trial, too. She wet her lips. "We need to talk to you."

His eyes narrowed. "We don't want to talk to you."

Daphne looked around, then said in a low voice. "It's important. Please cast a privacy spell." She was quite certain that if she drew her wand, it wouldn't end well for her.

Probably-Fred didn't react for a second, and Daphne feared that she had botched it. Then he pointed his wand at her, and she flinched. Was he…

The tip of his wand swung away, and she recognised the movements of a privacy spell before she sighed with relief.

"Talk," he spat out.

"Theo Nott plans to attack muggleborns and their friends. Someone's backing him. He tried to recruit us, but we declined," she said, talking quickly.

"He might have been behind yesterday's attack in the Alley," Tracey added.

"Aha." Fred - she was now convinced it was him - didn't look any friendlier. "And why are you telling us this?"

"We don't know who's backing him. If they have spies in the Ministry…" Daphne shrugged.

He stared at her, then at Tracey without saying anything.

"Who's at the door? Did they deliver the shelves?" Daphne heard his brother ask from somewhere behind Fred.

"Just two snakes disguised as muggleborns," Fred yelled back without taking his eyes off them. At least he had extended the privacy spell beforehand, Daphne noticed with relief. She still felt terribly exposed, standing in the street in front of the shop.

"What?" A few seconds later, George appeared next to his brother. "Oh."

"They claim Nott was trying to recruit them to attack muggleborns and blood traitors," Fred said.

"It's the truth." Tracey crossed her arms and raised her chin slightly.

Daphne fought the urge to fidget when George looked her over. "That's a new look."

"It's a disguise," his brother said.

"We couldn't walk over as we are, could we?" Daphne said. "Someone would either attack us, or warn Theo."

"Or both," Tracey added.

"It's probably a trap," Fred said. "Like before."

"It's not a trap," Daphne insisted, shaking her head. "We're done with the war. We don't want any more trouble." She hated how desperate she sounded, but if the twins didn't believe them...

"And what do you expect us to do?" George asked. "If this is true," he added.

"To deal with Theo before he kills anyone and gets us killed by an angry mob," Tracey said. She was staring at the twins a if she was daring them to curse her.

"Of course they're worried about their own skin," Fred said, with a sneer.

George, though, chuckled. "Well, you're honest." Daphne saw him glance at his brother. "I think we should pass this on."

He had to mean the Order, Daphne knew.

"Good. Tell them that we warned you. Please," Tracey said. She was smiling a little.

It looked like they had succeeded. Daphne started to smile.

"Come back here tomorrow, same time," George said.

"What?" Daphne stared at him, her smile gone.

He grinned. "Someone else might want to talk to you."

Black. It had to be Black. The twin's backer. Daphne had considered that possibility. It wasn't a bad thing, actually - Black had a lot of influence. If they could make a deal with him… But Black also had a certain reputation. Both due to his family, and his personal history. He was not a wizard anyone wanted to cross. She and Tracey had no choice, though - they were committed now.

So she nodded with a faint smile. "Alright."

*****​

London, No. 12 Grimmauld Place, March 5th, 1997

"So, Greengrass and Davis don't want to fight for blood purity any more." Sirius Black rubbed his beard while he leaned back in his favourite armchair. "And they're willing to betray their friend - former friend, now, I think - to save themselves."

"That's what they claim," Fred said.

Those girls were typical Slytherins, Sirius thought. Always thinking of themselves. Although if that meant that the perpetrators behind the latest attacks could be caught, then that was a good thing. If they were honest. "What do you think?" He looked at George.

"I think they're telling the truth," the younger wizard said. "We know from when we interrogated them that one reason that they joined the Dark Lord was because they were afraid of muggleborns. Now with the Dark Lord dead and the Ministry in shambles, there's no one left who could offer them protection except for us."

"Protect them?" Fred scoffed, waving his empty glass around. "They're Death Eaters! They'll betray us as quickly as they are betraying Nott if they see an opportunity."

That, too, was typical for Slytherins, Sirius thought. You couldn't trust them. But you could take precautions. He grinned. "Well, if Nott gets caught thanks to them, and this becomes known, they'll never be trusted again by the other Death Eaters," Sirius said. It went without saying that it would become known. "They'd have to fear reprisals, instead."

"That's true," George said, glancing at his brother. "So, are you planning to meet them?"

"Yes, I think so," Sirius said. "Although not in your shop. A safe house with good wards and a few emergency exits, just in case, would be best." He didn't think the two witches were trying to set them up, but they could be the unwitting tools of someone else. Someone smarter.

"Is the Thief's Downfall installed already?" Remus asked. Sirius's best remaining friend had been quiet so far - too quiet, for Sirius's taste. Remus was taking his failure to capture Wormtail too hard.

"Our version of it," Fred said, "will be ready tomorrow."

"Good," Sirius nodded in approval.

"And what are you planning to do about Nott?"

"Well… we need him to find his backer. And they'll be careful, and aware of the risk of him getting captured. That limits our options somewhat." Sirius said. He grinned. "I think we will have to prevail upon those two witches of your acquaintance to lend us a hand." He checked his watch. "We can discuss the details after dinner. Molly will be calling us soon."

"Ah… another meal where ickle Ronnie's praises are sung," George said, though with a smile.

"You know, I thought Ron was the safe brother. No Head Boy, no Ministry employee, no star Seeker. The one Weasley Mum wouldn't be able to compare us to, and find us wanting," Fred added with a mock-pout. "And then he goes and not only earns an Order of Merlin, but a seat on the Wizengamot as well! So much for family loyalty!"

"It's not certain, yet," Sirius said, chuckling. "It'll be decided on Friday. Although it is looking very likely that the proposal will be accepted."

"Your proposal, you mean!" Fred said. "It was all your idea!"

Sirius grinned. "Yes."

"Although I can assure you that Sirius never thought his idea would amount to anything, nor did he plan this," Remus cut in. "It was pure, dumb luck."

Sirius shot his friend a hurt look, but he wasn't mad - it was good to see Remus ribbing him. Hopefully, his friend would get over his issues. At least he had accepted some money 'for expenses', and was now dressed nicely.

Remus was correct, of course - Sirius hadn't expected his spur of the moment proposal to bear such fruits.

Not that he minded being proven wrong. Harry and his friends deserved this. And who knew? Their votes might prove decisive as well.

*****​

London, Diagon Alley, March 6th, 1997

Daphne Greengrass wasn't as nervous when she and Tracey approached the twins' shop as she had been the day before, but she came close. Meeting Sirius Black wasn't something to take lightly. He was the only wizard, ever, to escape from Azkaban without outside help, and he had broken into Hogwarts several times while it had been guarded by hordes of Dementors. Some people even claimed he had sold his soul for revenge, and this was why the Dementors wouldn't touch him any more. That was rubbish, of course, but there was no doubt that he was a very powerful wizard. And he was a Black.

The building was still lacking a roof, but the floor seemed to be completed now. They had worked quickly. This time, there was no howling when she touched the door knocker with her wand, but some infernal noise - muggle music, she realised after a second. She had heard it before, when she had listened to the Resistance on the wireless.

Once more it was Fred who opened the door. He stared at them for a moment, then stepped to the side, motioning with his head for them to enter while he kept his wand trained on them.

Daphne refrained from glaring at him, and stepped through the door. Cool liquid splashed over her. Thief's Downfall, she realised, gasping and freezing up for a moment while she remembered the last time she had been inside this shop, when the Polyjuice-granted disguises had been stripped off her and Tracey, and they had barely managed to escape the twins.

She controlled herself, though, and kept walking as the liquid dried off in less than a second. She wouldn't give Fred the satisfaction of seeing her tremble. She noticed George as well, a bit further in the back, behind the counter, his wand pointed at her as well, though he seemed more amused than angry.

Behind her, Tracey hissed when she stepped through the door, and Fred snorted. "Too cold? We improved on the formula some. Unlike goblins, we don't have a monopoly, so we prefer our customers not to be inconvenienced."

Daphne didn't deign to answer the mocking comment. Instead, she turned towards George, then looked around to see if she could spot Black.

George tapped the counter. "Your wands, please."

Daphne clenched her teeth. Being told to hand over her wand was not just an insult, it would also leave her defenceless. But she had no choice. "Of course," she said. She noted with a small amount of satisfaction that the twins tensed up when she drew her wand. At least they took her seriously.

She dropped the wand on the counter, with Tracey following her example. George cast a few spells at them and put them away in one of his robes' pockets. That done he smiled and offered her his arm.

Daphne blinked, then understood. They'd apparate from here. "Are you that afraid of us?" she asked, stepping closer to the wizard.

"Not really," Fred butted in. "You can be handled, easily. But you might have friends waiting to attack us."

Tracey was frowning at Fred. Daphne couldn't fault her - her friend would have to apparate with him.

"Not that we're afraid of whatever friends you might have brought, mind you," George said. "We've faced the Dark Lord himself, after all. But it'd be a bother to deal with another set of fools."

Such arrogance! Daphne glared at him, but he didn't seem to be impressed. His smile widened. Pressing her lips together, she slipped her arm into his. A moment later, she felt the familiar and unwelcome sensation of Side-Along-Apparition.

She pulled her arm back as soon as they appeared at their destination, then looked around. They were in a muggle flat; the furniture was telling. And there was Black, just rising from an ugly armchair in a corner.

"Good morning, Miss Greengrass," he said, bowing with the grace expected of a Black. "Miss Davis." He was wearing robes, she noted. Expensive ones.

"Good morning." Another man had stood up from the couch.

Daphne looked at him, and froze. She knew that man. No, that creature - Lupin. A werewolf. She was in the same room as a werewolf, and without any means to defend herself!

"Good morning, Mister Black, Mister Lupin." Tracey inclined her head.

Tracey was handling the situation much better than herself, Daphne realised. But then, her friend had had a crush on their third year Defence teacher. Until he had been revealed as a werewolf, of course. "Good morning," Daphne added, with a slight bow. She told herself that the full moon was still almost three weeks away. Lupin couldn't transform. That didn't mean he wasn't dangerous, of course.

"Please have a seat." Black flicked his wand, and two seats appeared opposite his own.

Daphne exchanged a glance with Tracey, then sat down.

Black sat down, rubbing his beard with his free hand. "Would you like some refreshments?"

It would be rude to turn the offer down, Daphne knew, and nodded. "Yes, please. Thank you." Her smile froze for a second when Lupin stood up and headed to where she assumed the muggles had placed the kitchen. To eat and drink anything touched by a werewolf… she managed not to shudder by focusing on her anger. Black was deliberately making a mockery out of pureblood courtesy! And she couldn't call him on it because she needed his help. She took a deep breath and reminded herself that she was doing this for her sister, and her family.

Lupin returned with a floating tray full of snacks, putting it down on the low table between them and Black. Daphne hid her revulsion and grabbed a small sandwich and a butterbeer, then watched as Tracey, followed by Black and the others grabbed or summoned snacks for themselves. She didn't want to eat, she wanted to get this over with and leave, get her wand back and go home. Instead she had to make brainless conversation about the food and drink.

"So… your friend Theo Nott is attacking muggleborns," Black said, finally.

"He wanted to recruit us and hinted at receiving support from others. We don't know for certain if he's behind the attacks on muggleborns, but it might have been him," Daphne said.

"Yes. He said he'd be more cautious. Using the Imperius to command others, and cursing people from a broom, then flying away before they can react would fit that," Tracey added.

Black nodded, a faint, cruel smile appearing on his lips. "But you're certain that he at the very least plans to attack muggleborns."

"And blood traitors," Tracey added.

Daphne glared at her friend. They had no wands! If they angered Black and the others…

Their host snorted, though, apparently amused. "Of course." He shrugged. "Well, it's enough to take action." Leaning forward, his smile widened. "But you'll be helping us with that."

Daphne wanted to refuse. She didn't want to be involved in the war any more. She certainly didn't want to risk her own and her sister's life to catch Theo. But she had no choice if she wanted to weather this. "Of course," she said, with a weak smile.

*****​

London, Soho, March 6th, 1997

Waiting in the café, Hermione Granger was nervous. Even though she shouldn't be, since she had planned this thoroughly. She had done extensive research, with multiple muggle and wizard sources. She bought everything they might need, for any eventuality, and had placed it all in the hotel room she had rented for easy access. She had warded the room as well, just so they'd be safe. She knew she was ready, too - had been ready for a while, in fact. She was as prepared as she could be.

And yet, she was nervous. It didn't make any sense. Ron wanted it as well. She knew that. She was certain that it would have happened last weekend, at Hogwarts, if she had asked him to. Or if she had transfigured the desk into a bed instead of a love seat. Or maybe just a larger couch - they certainly had come very close.

She blushed, remembering the night of his birthday. She had thought about going all the way, but it wouldn't have been right. She didn't want to make this into something she gave Ron, as if it was a gift. They would do this together. She nodded at herself, reaffirming her resolve, then checked her watch. Fifteen minutes left. And no Ron yet.

Of course, Ron might have been held up. She hadn't told him what she was planning, just that she would be surprising him, and that might have been too subtle a hint. With the Wizengamot session tomorrow deciding about their Order of Merlins and their seats on the Wizengamot, things might have come up that required him. Although Sirius would have informed her as well, wouldn't he? She bit her lower lip and twisted a lock of her hair around her finger. Or tried to - her hair was so short, now, she didn't really manage. But it was more practical, especially with the training camp starting in two days.

Fourteen minutes left until the scheduled time for their date. They'd have plenty of time for what she had planned. The whole evening. And discreet as well, since they would not stay the night. Not that there would be anything wrong if they did - both of them were adults according to Wizarding Britain, and above the age of consent in Britain. And her parents wouldn't disapprove, if they knew. She was pretty certain of that. Ron was a fine boy. Man. Brave, handsome, attentive, talented… she almost sighed.

Thirteen minutes. If Ron wanted to be certain to be on time and had taken an earlier bus, then he could arrive any second now, according to the schedules she had memorised. Unless there had been a traffic jam, of course.

She caught herself tapping her fingers on the table, and clenched her fist. There was no reason to be nervous. She was as ready for this as she could be. She knew it wouldn't be the stuff of romance novels, too - their first time wouldn't be a mind-blowing event. They had no experience, well, as far as she knew. Not with sex. Real sex, at least. They had come close, and that had been… this time she did sigh.

And almost missed Ron's arrival. "Ron!" She raised her hand while he stood in the door, looking for her. And she saw his face lit up with a smile when he spotted her, matching her own.

"Hi there!" he said, kissing her - on the cheek. He smelled nice, just a hint of aftershave. "Have you been waiting long?"

"No. You're early." She was telling the truth - it hadn't been that long.

The waitress didn't take long to bring his order - a soft drink he hadn't tried before, as he told her. "So," he said, after taking a sip, and frowning at the taste, "You mentioned a surprise?"

She licked her lips, suddenly nervous again. "Yes." She nodded. "I've rented a room. In a hotel nearby."

His eyes widened, and suddenly, he looked nervous too. "Oh."

"Unless you…" she trailed off. If he didn't want to, she wouldn't pressure him; all the good books said that that would ruin it.

"No, no!" He blinked again. "I mean, yes, I want to. I'm just…"

"Me too," she said.

*****​

Ron Weasley was nervous, and grew more nervous the closer they got to the inn Hermione had picked. For their first time. He hadn't expected this. He had dreamed of it, of course. But in his dreams, he hadn't been nervous. He had known what to do, and it had been perfect, and Hermione had been all over him, and…

He took a deep breath. They were walking arm in arm, and he could feel her warmth through his jacket when she leaned into him and explained that she had rented the room for the night, that she had arranged for room service - apparently, the inn would bring a meal to their room - and that she had prepared everything in advance.

She was as nervous as he was, he realised - a thought that felt strangely comforting. He slipped his arm around her waist, pulling her close, and she fell silent for a moment, smiling at him.

They kissed, properly this time, no mere peck on her lips, before entering the lobby. He let her handle the muggle clerk while he looked around, taking in the muggle decor. And the other guests, sitting at the low tables. It all looked very expensive, but since Hermione had already paid for the room, he didn't know how expensive.

The room itself was larger than he expected - larger than his own room at Sirius's home, even, and that had been the largest room he had ever slept in. The largest bed as well. There was a muggle wireless too, and the biggest telly he had ever seen. "If that thing was any bigger, it'd be a cinema," he said, shaking his head.

"I told them to bring the food up right away," Hermione said. "Unfortunately, we can't watch TV since I warded the room. And that means electronics won't work in here." She blushed slightly. "It's not as if we're going to be watching TV tonight."

Ron nodded. He wasn't disappointed - safety came first. The Death Eaters and their supporters would like to kill both of them, especially in light of tomorrow's vote in the Wizengamot. Fortunately, room service arrived quickly.

"I told the reception not to disturb us," Hermione explained while they ate.

Ron nodded. He didn't want anyone interrupting them either, of course. Or watching them.

Sighing, she stared at the telly and the wireless: "I don't miss the telly, but I had picked out the best romantic songs I could think of too. But I haven't yet figured out how to get reception inside a warded area." She shook her head. "Of course, the muggles don't know the reason for the unexplainable trouble with TV reception in London - it started when the purebloods began to hide."

Oh. His own eyes widened when he made the connection. "The wards."

She nodded. "Once we have the time to spare, we can use this to find the purebloods' hideouts in London!"

He didn't want to talk about the war. "But not right now, I think," he said, looking pointedly at her, then at the bed.

She smiled, again blushing a little. "Of course not right now. And not tomorrow. But we'll find the missing Death Eaters."

*****​

Almost too soon, they were finished with the meal and standing in front of the bed.

"So…" Hermione said, biting her lower lip.

"So…" Ron repeated, licking his own.

For a moment, they stared at each other, neither of them moving. Then Hermione took a step closer, and Ron opened his arms, and they were kissing, and neither was hesitating any more. They were on the bed, now. Hands started to slip under clothes, opening buttons and pulling on zippers, like they had done before, at Hogwarts.

Only this time, they didn't stop with touching, and didn't leave the clothes on. And Ron found himself on his back, with Hermione on top of him. And then...

It wasn't perfect, of course. It was their first time. And their second. But it certainly was far better than what he had dreamed of, Ron found out.

*****​

Later they lay on the bed, with Hermione cuddled to his side. Resting, enjoying each other's presence.

"I spent two hours picking out my lingerie," she said, pointing at a crumpled piece of fabric on the edge of the bed. "Did you even see it?"

"Ah…" He didn't know what to say - he remembered pulling it off, but not much else about it.

She chuckled. "Well, I can model it for you later. If you want me to."

"Of course!" He gently squeezed her shoulder. "Anything you want."

******​

London, Ministry of Magic, March 7th, 1997

Some people were more boring than Binns, Sirius Black thought, listening to Melvin Burke drone on about how you needed the kind of wisdom that came with age to become a member of the Wizengamot, and how teenagers, no matter their heroic deeds, lacked that. The hypocrite didn't seem to realise how many of the members backing him were either barely older than Harry, or the proxies of even younger wizards and witches.

Of course, he should have expected this. Even though his proposal had the support of the majority of the Wizengamot, the Death Eater sympathisers wouldn't be giving in and letting them take a vote without making them suffer through as many stupid speeches as possible.

Well, their time was running out as well, Sirius knew. People were already starting to 'reconsider' their views - the fact that Thicknesse was supporting Sirius's proposal had made quite the impact on those members of the Wizengamot who lacked a spine. Still not enough to pass the reforms Britain needed, but they were making progress.

And so was Arthur. Sirius glanced at Bones, whose face was so devoid of any expression, it seemed like it had been transfigured into stone. She hated this, but couldn't stop it. The stupid witch still hadn't realised that Britain was changing, had changed too much for the Old Families to keep their power.

Burke had finished, and Longbottom's proxy was now busy refuting his points. As if anyone cared! At least Elphias had been elected as Chief Warlock and would keep things on track - if Runcorn had still been acting Chief Warlock, the debate would never end.

Sirius sighed. Sometimes, he understood why Voldemort had used force to try to take over Britain, instead of politics.

*****​

Florida, Key West, March 7th, 1997

Augustus Rookwood studied the small cove in front of him. Strong wards covered it, hiding it from muggles. Even wizards unfamiliar with the area might miss it - the cove was so small, there didn't seem to be enough room for anything bigger than a hut and a canoe.

That was wrong, of course. The cove was known as 'Smuggler's Bay' and one of the oldest magical enclaves in the Americas, older than the Statute of Secrecy. As the name indicated, it had been founded to provide pirates and smugglers with a safe harbour. And it had done well during all the wars in the region.

The times had changed since, but the business hadn't. With all the North American magical enclaves starting wars with each other at the drop of a hat, the tensions in the Caribbean and the various countries in Central and South America vying for dominance on the continent, there was always demand for those who were able to transport cargo and people unseen from one place to another.

He glanced around, checked that his clothes looked like those of a local, took another sip from his vial of Polyjuice, and crossed the wardline, walking through a bush. He arrived at a busy, if still small, port, with a smattering of small boats and ships, of all kinds of builds and ages, swaying at their anchors. He paid them no mind, though - he knew nothing about ships or boats. He knew a lot about the kind of wizards who used such ships, though. And where to find them.

Smiling faintly, he walked towards the biggest building in the port. The kind of wizards he needed would be there, drinking and whoring. A man was leaning on the wall next to the entrance, clad in tribal garments. Augustus didn't care if the man was a survivor of the Seminole Shamans or a deserter from the surviving tribal nations west of the Mississippi. Here, in Smuggler's Cove, pretty much everyone had something to hide - like himself.

He nodded at the man, and entered. Inside, he found the expected mix of shady elements from all parts of the Americas and the wizards and witches of ill repute catering to their urges. One of them was already walking towards him, the smile on her face as fake as her Parisian robes. A slight shake of his head made her veer off, looking for another customer. He was here to hire a smuggler who would transport him to Jamaica, and he had no interest in such base pursuits.

While he made his way to the bar, he looked the crowd over. There were no obvious houngans, of course - but that didn't mean anything. Plenty of people were disguised. Fortunately, the witch he was looking for wasn't one of those. Mirabel Duchamp, allegedly from New Orleans, wouldn't be one of the most infamous smugglers plying her trade in the Caribbean if she had the habit of hiding her identity. Of course, that just meant that when she did use a disguise, fewer men would suspect her.

He spotted her in a corner booth, wearing a loose shirt and breeches like many of the Caribbean wizards and witches, her long, red hair held tied back in a ponytail, and her left arm wrapped around a well-built, shirtless man. He started walking towards her.

She spotted him before he had covered half the distance, and he saw her right hand disappear under the table. She had kept her wits, then, despite the large number of empty glasses on the table in front of her.

"That's far enough!" she yelled when he was about to reach her booth. "I don't like craning my neck to look someone in the eyes, and I'm not about to push my pretty boy here away just so I can sit up. What do you want?"

He slowly pulled out a purse from his pocket and dropped it on the table. "Business."

Her wand hand was still under the table, but he saw her arm twitch. She was casting something. Probably at the purse. After a moment, she grinned, and addressed the man at her side. "Get lost, Julio! Business calls."

The young man stood up with a pout, but didn't try to linger, or draw it out. If he had been a gambling man, Augustus would have bet a dozen galleons that Julio would find someone else to pay for his drinks in a few minutes. It didn't matter.

"Take a seat, Mister…?" Mirabel said, gesturing at the table.

"Mister will do," Augustus said as he sat down. He raised his wand. "If you'll allow me to ensure some privacy?" She probably had some spells up herself, but he didn't trust her, or anyone else.

At her nod he cast a few spells, and the noise of the other guests notably dimmed. There was no need to make chit-chat; he already knew her reputation, so he came straight to the point of his visit.

"I need a passage to Jamaica."

Her eyes widened briefly, but she was smiling when she nodded. "That won't be cheap."

He pulled another purse out from his pocket. "That's no problem."

She opened the first purse. "British coin?"

"Yes." He had no accent so she wouldn't be able to tell if that was just some misdirection, or if he was actually British. And even if she did, she wouldn't know if he was a fugitive, or someone hired by the Ministry. And this uncertainty would make her cautious, and lessen the chance of a double-cross.

"Gold is gold," she said, twirling a galleon in her hand. "Will you require a passage off the island as well?"

He shook his head. He didn't know how long this would take.

"Good. Makes things simpler. It won't be easy, mind you. The houngans keep a tight watch."

And the haggling began.

*****​
 
Chapter 50: Diplomatic Entanglements
Chapter 50: Diplomatic Entanglements

'The fact that the International Confederation of Wizards issued a mandate for an inspection of Britain's ability to uphold the International Statute of Secrecy shows quite clearly how much the Second Blood War affected not just Britain, but the magical world as a whole. The stated reason for the inspection was not just 'a thin excuse', as is often claimed. While it is true that no inspections had been sent to Magical Prussia after Grindelwald's War, in that case, as with the other countries which had been devastated in that conflict, forces from the coalition opposing Grindelwald were acting as occupying forces and upholding the Statute of Secrecy until local government could be restored. Several wars between the various magical enclaves in North America ended with similar results. In contrast to those cases, Britain's Ministry had been all but wiped out, and neither the Order of the Phoenix nor the Muggleborn Resistance were internationally recognised governments.
However, it was obvious that the main reasons for the ICW's decision were to find out just how powerful Britain was after Dumbledore's death and to check the effects of the growing influence of muggleborns on Britain's politics. Dumbledore's death had changed the balance of power, but no one yet knew how much, and many countries were afraid that their own muggleborn minorities might follow the example given by Britain's Muggleborn Resistance.
Within Wizarding Britain, the authorities were very much aware that these circumstances meant that even an intervention was not out of the question should the inspection find sufficient grounds for one. And, as Britain had taken part in the last ICW intervention during the previous century, which had resulted in the extermination of a large part of the magical nations of Sub-Saharan Africa, they were also all too aware of the possible consequences of such an intervention. It goes without saying that this only made an already tense situation worse.'
- Excerpt from 'The Second Blood War' by Hyacinth Selwyn


*****​

Cumbria, Britain, March 8th, 1997

"You're the sorriest lot of recruits I've ever seen! A bunch of spoiled yuppies who've never gotten sweaty outside the fitness centre! You've never even touched anything more dangerous than your cutlery! And you want to be soldiers?"

Harry Potter was torn between grinning and wincing. Hermione hadn't been exaggerating when she had said that their instructor reminded her of 'Full Metal Jacket' - Sergeant Boones sounded like a muggle version of Moody. Which reminded him how Moody had died, making him wince.

"You there, with the hair that looks like it should be on a horse's arse!" The sergeant pointed at one of the taller recruits, Eric Ballantine, if Harry remembered his name correctly. "Do you think you can crawl through mud and live without shampoo and conditioner and perfume for a whole month?" The mercenary was slightly smaller than Ballantine, but had him cowed.

"Yes, Sergeant!" Ballantine said loudly.

"What was that? Did a mouse just squeak? Do you think anyone can hear you cry for your mum on a battlefield like that? I've heard babies yell louder than you!"

"Yes, Sergeant!" Ballantine yelled.

Boones snorted and stepped away, glaring at the line of almost twenty recruits - including Harry and Ron - again. He pointed at a witch Harry readily recognised - Mary-Jane Wilton, the survivor of the 'Avengers plot'. "You, girlie! You ready to risk your life on the battlefield? Ready to kill? Huh?"

"Yes, Sergeant!" the witch yelled, her expression furious.

Boones snorted again, but didn't press her further. He looked at Harry and squinted. "You there, with the scar! You look like you'd rather be in a warm café discussing politics with your mates and fantasising about the Spice Girls!"

Harry heard Ron snort next to him and set his jaw, meeting the Sergeant's eyes.

"Did you lose your voice, or just your nerve?" The Sergeant was now looming over him.

"No, Sergeant!" Harry bellowed straight into the man's face.

Boones narrowed his eyes, but nodded. "Looks like there's someone here with more spine than a snail." Then he turned to Ron.

"And you there, Ginger! You think this is funny? It's all one big joke, huh?"

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Ron wince, and had to struggle not to grin himself while Ron got yelled at.

The mercenary took a step back. "Well, I'd say you lot are hopeless, but a few among you sorry excuses for recruits might prove me wrong - if you don't puke your guts out after a bit of light exercise! Three laps on that course! Move!"

Harry took a deep breath while he started to run, Ron right on his heels, and tried not to glare at the smirking Resistance members watching the new recruits file past them. At least when Moody had drilled them, there hadn't been a peanut gallery.

*****​

Hermione Granger forced herself to look impassive while the Sergeant put the Resistance's new recruits through their paces. They deserved respect, especially from their new leader.

Unfortunately, not all Resistance members were as restrained. Seamus was chuckling loudly, and Tania was smirking. Poor form, in Hermione's opinion, especially with both Mary-Jane and Louise among the new recruits, since neither had received the original training from the two mercenaries. At least Justin, Sally-Anne and John weren't joining in.

"We're doing the course as well, once they're done," she reminded them. Seamus groaned. "We can't let the new recruits show up the veterans, can we?" she added.

The Irish wizard snorted. "We're in better shape than the lot of them."

"Right now. Might be different at the end of the month," Hermione answered. Especially with Louise and Mary-Jane, who had been exercising with the group since they had joined. And Harry and Ron were certainly very fit - Ron had demonstrated that quite thoroughly, Hermione thought to herself, smiling faintly despite her efforts to remain impassive.

She clapped her hands. "Now, check the camp and ensure that all tents are properly set up and the supplies stashed correctly!" she ordered. Since the Major was standing near them, she couldn't directly tell them to check if the anti-muggle wards on the tents were done, and the camp itself was protected against intruders.

Once everyone was busy doing something, Kolen stepped up next to her and watched the activity in the camp, and the glimpses of the recruits' run they caught through the trees. "You're missing some people," he said after a few minutes, in a low tone.

"Yes," she said.

"About half of you. Will they be joining us later?"

"No." She couldn't completely keep her emotions out of her answer.

He nodded. "I see."

Hermione didn't know why, but she added: "One's in a coma, the rest are dead."

She thought she heard him hiss through his teeth, but she wasn't certain. "That's a lot of casualties."

"We had a lot of engagements." She tried to sound professional. Distant. "We won, but there could be trouble in the future."

"So your second in command said."

Hermione nodded and made an agreeing noise while she watched Sally-Anne check the supplies they had stashed in the open for the benefit of the two instructors.

"Mick's wondering about your group. He can't place you. It nags at him - a bunch of soft rich kids, waging war, and he doesn't know where, or why. You don't fit his experiences."

She turned her head to look at him, but didn't answer.

"I've seen things in Africa," he went on, meeting her eyes. "Weird things, unnatural even - but that's Africa. I wouldn't have expected to encounter such things in England."

She watched him. He hadn't said that he knew about magic. But he certainly had his suspicions. She should obliviate him. On the other hand, many people believed in magic, though no one would believe a few tall tales from the bush, told over a drink or three.

"Every place on Earth has legends and myths," she said. She didn't add 'with the exception of Antarctica', even though that would have been correct.

"Those are just that, myth and legends," the Major said. He didn't sound certain, though.

"Perhaps. 'There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy'," she quoted Shakespeare - or what muggles thought he had written, after the ICW had instituted the Statute of Secrecy and had removed most knowledge of magic from them.

The soldier snorted. "So, should I watch out for three witches trying to curse us?"

"I wouldn't be worried about three witches," she said, "but a dozen of them could be trouble." She chuckled, but she could see that he took her comment seriously.

*****​

Ron Weasley winced when he sat down on the log facing the campfire, balancing the tray of his 'mess kit' containing his dinner on his knees. The Sergeant - he had quickly started to think of Sergeant Boones as simply 'the Sergeant' - wasn't as brutal as Moody, but the lack of broken bones was more than made up for by the fact that Ron and the others couldn't use magic to remove bruises. Hermione had been very clear about that.

At least Ron hadn't fared too badly - thanks to Moody's training regime and the Quidditch training sessions, he wasn't as exhausted as the majority of the recruits. A bit of ointment would prevent any aching muscles tomorrow, and he had only fallen down twice on the obstacle course, and into mud. Others hadn't been so lucky. He glanced at Emily, a twenty-something witch who was nursing a 'sprained ankle' - a broken leg actually, healed by Sally-Anne - and various bruises that hadn't been treated and which would have Luna write an article about 'spotted humans', should she see the poor witch.

"Hey!"

He whipped his head around at the whispered word, hand going to his wand, before he recognised Hermione and smiled. He had almost dropped his tray, but the noodles were quite firmly stuck to it and hadn't spilled. He wasn't certain if that was a good sign.

She held out a mug to him. "Fancy some hot tea?"

He eagerly took it. "Thanks!"

She sat down next to him, on the log. "How was your day?" She had the same tray from a mess kit, though not quite as full as his.

He shrugged, tasting his first forkful of noodles. Edible, but nothing beyond that. "I'm a bit disappointed that we haven't even touched a muggle weapon yet." Instead, they had ran and jumped and climbed and swung from ropes over a muddy creek - or tried to. They had been allowed to use cleaning charms behind the curtains of the 'shower stall' the Resistance had rigged, and warming charms had taken care of the cold, but just about everyone, even Harry, had spent the day wet, covered in mud, or both, and Ron hadn't been any exception.

She snorted. "That'll start tomorrow." Leaning into his shoulder, she added: "You held up well today."

"I did my best," he said - he couldn't afford to look bad in front of everyone, not as the only pureblood in the camp, and the boyfriend of their leader. "Thanks for the lesson about guns, by the way," he added, switching his mug to his left hand so he could wrap his right arm around her shoulder. He took a look around as well - he couldn't let anyone else sneak up on him in the middle of the forest. To think that Justin's family owned all of this land...

"It wasn't a lesson, but just an overview. Pretty much every muggleborn knows that much about guns," Hermione said. "Although pretty much every muggleborn has some serious misconceptions about guns as well," she added, and he knew she was smiling. "You'll have the advantage of not having to unlearn all the stupid things they do in the movies."

Ron smiled. "I'm not calling them firelegs, either."

She chuckled. "Good. The instructors are already a little suspicious." She started to eat as well and he could see her frown slightly at the taste.

"Not Mum's cooking," he said.

"No. Although I've been told by the Sergeant that it's very good for camp food."

He raised his eyebrows at that. "I would pity him, if he hadn't tried to kill me today."

That made her chuckle again. "It's going to get worse, you know."

"How?"

"In the exercises, he'll be able to shoot at you. With paintballs, not real bullets, but they hurt anyway. Worse than a Stinging Hex."

"Just like Moody," Ron mumbled under his breath. "At least he'll have to share his abuse between twenty of us."

"More than that," she corrected him. "We'll be training as well."

"Let me say that I fully approve of your sacrifice!" he said, grinning widely.

She snorted in response, took a few more bites of her noodles, then put the tray on the ground. After a brief glance around, she vanished the remaining noodles, and then followed up with a Cleaning Charm.

"I thought we weren't supposed to use magic," he said.

"That's just so the muggles don't see anything. We're still wizards and witches, after all, and we'll be using magic in the field." She grinned. "The Major himself said we should train as we plan to fight. Don't tell the others, though - I want to see how they handle the basic training first, before putting the Statute of Secrecy at risk."

Ron nodded, and finished his own meal. It wasn't all that bad and he had been hungry, but he really missed his mum's cooking. "We're not going to eat like this all the time, then?" He could stomach it, but he wouldn't mind better food.

"Only during boot camp," she said.

When he pouted at her she chuckled again, then leaned into him once more.

"At least we're sleeping in wizard tents, and not some muggle contraption," he said, sighing. "It's like being back at the Quidditch World Cup."

"Not quite," she said.

"Well, without the Death Eater attack," he amended.

She moved her head and he could feel her breath on his ear when she whispered: "We didn't sleep together in the same bed back then, either."

He stiffened for a moment, then nodded with a wide smile before kissing her.

*****​

Cumbria, Britain, March 9th, 1997

Ron Weasley stared at the muggle firearm. He had seen them before, of course. The Resistance had carried them at Hogwarts, and in Diagon Alley. But this was the first time he had held one.

"This is an SG 550. It's a very precise and very expensive and very finicky assault rifle," the Major said, holding another one up. "If you don't take proper care of it, it'll soon not be that precise any more, nor quite as reliable either." He set his jaw and stared at them. "And if you can't rely on your weapon, your friends can't rely on you."

Ron nodded. Moody had said similar things about wands.

The Major went on. "It uses a Swiss GP90, a heavier variant of the standard 5.56 mm NATO cartridge." He held one of the cartridges up. "It may look tiny, but those things can go through half a yard of wood, and still kill you. If I ever catch any one of you pointing this weapon at me or at anyone else, you'll regret it. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir!" Ron yelled, together with the others. The Sergeant and Hermione had been quite emphatic about that, even more so than Moody had been about the risks of blowing your buttock off with a broken wand. It was quite surprising, he thought as they lined up on the 'shooting range', how similar this muggle military training was to Moody's training.

"Lay down on the ground, get the bipod out, and make sure that you're aiming at your assigned target!" the Major yelled.

Ron quickly obeyed, taking up his position near Harry. Both of the muggles seemed to yell all the time. They probably were half-deaf from all the noise all the firearms made, Ron thought, checking that his 'ear plugs' hadn't fallen out. Hermione had warned Harry and him about that danger, though she hadn't said who among the Resistance had had that happen to them.

"Ready! Aim! Fire!"

Ron's first shot didn't hit, unlike Harry's. Neither did his second. Fortunately, he didn't take too long to realise what he was doing wrong - he had to 'gently squeeze the trigger', as Harry explained. It was quite easy, he thought, if done right.

Then they switched to shooting while standing and sitting, and then to moving targets, and things stopped being easy. At least, he told himself, he wasn't breaking any limbs on the shooting range, though his shoulder felt quite sore when they finally stopped.

*****​

London, No. 12 Grimmauld Place, March 9th, 1997

Sirius Black had gone through half a bottle of port when Vivienne entered the living room in his - their - home. He handed her a glass before she could say anything. "I take it that the meeting with your father wasn't…" He trailed off, not certain how to word it.

"No, it wasn't," she said, sniffing at the glass, then wrinkling her nose and putting it down. "'Ow you can drink this I'll never know."

He chuckled. "How you can eat snails and frog legs I'll never know."

"You've never tried them," she retorted, falling back into familiar territory.

"I did, actually. Once. On a dare in third year," he said. "Tasted horrible." Granted, they had been raw, fresh out of McKinnon's potion kit, but he didn't think he had to mention that.

"You have no taste, then," Vivienne said, shaking her head. "Though I should 'ave known that already considering your taste in beverages." She sighed and pushed the glass away. Their brief banter obviously hadn't lifted her mood much.

"So, what did your father say?" He summoned the glass - it was a really good, expensive port. No reason to let it go to waste. A flick of his wand sent a bottle of a 'proper wine', as she'd call it, towards her.

"Mon père was, as you might say, diplomatic, but 'e was quite clear that the Duc 'imself 'ad asked 'im to contact me. Apparently, the Duc expects me to 'do my duty for France'." Vivienne set her jaw while she filled a glass.

Sirius frowned. First her aunt, and now her father. "Was that a warning, or an order?"

"Eh?" She looked confused.

"I mean, did your father tell you that so you'd be warned of the Duc's intentions, or did he tell you to obey?" Sirius clarified.

"Ah!" She shook her head and grinned. "No, no. 'E knows better than to try to order me around."

That didn't really reassure him. He knew that he was biased due to his own upbringing, but it sounded like Vivienne's family was cut from the same cloth as the Blacks.

"'E did tell me that Fleur's also being 'stubborn'," she went on.

That could just be a cover, of course, Sirius knew. Although he didn't think Fleur would be betraying them either. He slowly nodded. "Do you think they'll increase the pressure?" If they threatened her family...

She took a deep breath and shrugged, which had an interesting effect on her chest. "Not my family. It's not as if France and Britain are at war. But the Duc will 'ave other agents working in Britain."

"And the delegation from the ICW," Sirius added.

"Oui! Sabine Beaumont is representing France in the delegation!" Vivienne sneered. "She's a serpent. And she 'ates Veela - she was in the same year as my aunt at Beauxbatons."

It sounded as if they had Slytherins in France too, Sirius thought. "Well, I'm more concerned about the spies we don't know."

"Don't underestimate 'er! She is very good at plotting." Vivienne scoffed. "Good at leading men around, and making friends with naive people, until she curses them in the back."

"Literally?" That sounded like his own aunt Lucretia.

"No. She would leave that to others. She's quite influential at the court - some rumours claim that she was the Duc's mistress."

And he had thought that the Jamaican delegate would be the most dangerous. "For someone who all but sent your family to help us, the Duc's being quite hostile."

"The Duc's still keeping 'is options open, or so père said. But if 'e thinks that Britain's too weak too keep the muggleborns in line…"

Sirius muttered a curse under his breath. "Great. And if we play down the power of the muggleborns, Jamaica and others will think we're too weak to resist them." He shook his head.

"The Duc's been talking about improving the situation of the French muggleborns himself," Vivienne said, finishing her glass. "Apparently, he plans to give them a voice at court." She stood up and sat down on the armrest of Sirius's own seat. "He might see Hermione's appointment in a similar way."

"Let's hope so," he said, wrapping an arm around her waist. He was well aware that a number of Wizengamot members had supported his proposal in the hope that this would placate the Resistance and the other muggleborns and forestall further concessions. If they thought that making her a member of the Wizengamot would stop Hermione's push for reforms, then they didn't know her at all, of course. The smarter members of the Old Families, at least, were doing this to curry favour with her, in order to make the best deal possible for them once the Wizengamot bowed to the - in his opinion - inevitable. He didn't think they had a great chance of success, but a vote was a vote.

And vote by vote, they'd change Britain - once they had weathered this latest crisis.

*****​

London, Ministry of Magic, March 10th, 1997

Amelia Bones forced herself to keep smiling, even though she didn't want to. She didn't like having to wait in the Atrium for the arrival of the ICW delegation. Not only was it wasting time, but it made her feel as if she was their subordinate. But if she were not present when the delegation stepped through the International Floo connection, it would be a diplomatic faux pas. It would feel good, though.

She wasn't the only one waiting, of course - Pius was there as well, as were the other Department Heads. And Chief Warlock Doge, with Black, Malfoy, and Runcorn. The tension between those four made her relationship with Pius look downright cordial. At least she was reasonably certain that they wouldn't curse each other in public.

Dawlish was inspecting the honour guard of Hit-Wizards lined up along the carpet leading to the fireplace. For appearance's sake, they looked impressive enough in their grey robes, but their presence meant that Dawlish had lost all of his reserves. Since a number of Aurors had to provide security for - and surveillance of - the delegation, that left most of Britain bare of the Ministry's presence. That wasn't impressive at all, and Amelia didn't doubt that the delegation would be aware of that in short order.

She gazed at the gathered Ministry employees who had come to watch the whole thing. Another drain on the Ministry's resources, from both the time lost at work and the Aurors needed to keep an eye on the crowd. She caught herself frowning at the effort the Ministry had to make for this farce, and forced herself to smile again. She had to keep up appearances as well, after all, and the foreign reporters present were not beholden to the Ministry, unlike those from the Daily Prophet.

Finally, the fireplace lit up, and the delegation started to arrive. Two French Gendarmes Magiques were first - Amelia immediately recognised their robes - and took up positions next to the fireplace. She narrowed her eyes. If the Ministry couldn't guarantee the delegation's safety, then two more wands wouldn't make a difference. So, it was a planned affront, if a small one.

The next person to step out of the fireplace was Sabine Beaumont, the French delegate. The witch was wearing robes meant for someone half her age, Amelia thought, but then, according to rumour, she was the mistress of the Duc d'Orléans. Or had been. She certainly had his trust, and she was known to be quite ambitious. Two 'assistants' followed her - probably spies.

Then the Prussian delegate arrived, Herbert Steiner, cousin of the Chancellor, followed by four assistants of his own. He was a heavyset wizard in his seventies and wore the robes of the Prussian Feldjäger - another statement, Amelia thought. The man had been quite the fighter during the purges his cousin had launched following Grindelwald's defeat. Four more Feldjäger followed him.

And then the last delegate stepped through the fireplace, and Amelia tensed up. John Reid was a houngan, rail-thin, and over a hundred years old - no one in Britain seemed to know his exact age. At least his four 'assistants' or guards didn't look like zombies - Amelia wasn't certain the Thief's Downfall would remove that particular enchantment.

She wasn't the only one eyeing the houngan with suspicion, of course - even the other two delegates looked as if they wanted to keep their distance. But protocol was clear - officially, they arrived together. Amelia stepped forward. "Welcome to Britain," she said, bowing, "we're honoured to host a delegation from the International Confederation of Wizards." The words were a lie, of course, as was her smile.

And the smiles of the three delegates. Beaumont bowed - a shade less deeply than she had, Amelia noticed - and said: "We're honoured to be here." A snap of her fingers had one of her assistants hand over their credentials.

Amelia passed them to her secretary to check. It was just a formality, of course. "Mademoiselle Beaumont, Herr Steiner, Mister Reid - may I present Chief Warlock Doge, and Wizengamot members Runcorn, Black and Malfoy."

"Enchantée, Chief Warlock." Beaumont raised one perfectly styled eyebrow. "I am glad to hear that you have finally chosen Dumbledore's successor."

Amelia forced herself to keep smiling. If not for the delay caused by the stubborn refusal of Runcorn and his allies to let the Wizengamot hold an election, they'd have had a new Chief Warlock weeks ago. And Beaumont was acting as if she hadn't been aware of that particular struggle.

Black smiled widely. "Ah, I can understand your confusion, Mademoiselle. Coming from a country ruled by a monarch, you would not be familiar with democratic customs. Choosing the next Chief Warlock is not something that should be rushed. Our system takes that into account," he said, his tone of voice just shy of patronising.

Amelia glanced at the wizard. While she appreciated him rebuking the French witch, she didn't like him taking the initiative. Not that she could do much about it - they were supposed to present a united front. She spoke up again. "I think such details can wait until later." At her nod, the Hit-Wizards snapped to attention and raised their wands in front of their faces.

"They all look quite young," Steiner remarked as they walked past the formation.

"Yes," Amelia said. "But all of them are veterans of the war."

Steiner grunted something Amelia didn't catch. Beaumont smiled with just a hint of condescension, but didn't comment. Reid remained expressionless - until he caught sight of the Head of the Department of Mysteries, at which point he started glaring. Which, in turn, added to the tension already present.

The inspection wasn't off to a good start, Amelia thought. At least no one had cursed anyone.

Yet.

*****​

London, Ministry of Magic, March 11th, 1997

Harry Potter was eyeing the Auror guards standing at the entrance of the Wizengamot Chamber with some suspicion. He didn't trust them. Not fully. And, he added, glancing at Hermione and Ron, neither did his best friends. Not that Harry thought that anyone in the Ministry or the Wizengamot would be so stupid as to attack them. Not with half the Resistance - the veterans, at least - and half the Order, among them all of the Weasleys, present.

He watched another Ministry employee walk past them so quickly that the wizard was almost running. That wasn't a good sign for the proposed reforms. Sighing, he leaned back. At least their three new seats would mean three more votes for reforms. More, if people followed Harry's example. Sirius thought that they would, even though Harry was of the opinion that killing a Dark Lord was not exactly proof of a talent for politics. On the other hand, that was how Dumbledore had become a politician, and the Headmaster had certainly changed Britain. In Harry's opinion, he had set a good example for them to follow.

After checking his watch for the sixth time - there were a few more minutes until the award ceremony would start - he glanced at Hermione. "You know, we didn't have to arrive so early…" He grinned.

She narrowed her eyes at him. "It's better to be early than late."

"They wouldn't have started without us," Ron cut in, "but we couldn't look bad in front of the foreigners, could we?"

It didn't seem as if Hermione agreed, but neither did she contradict him. She did frown, though, looking down at her dress. "It's the only reason I'm wearing this gown," she said.

"You look great!" Ron said, smiling widely at her.

"I meant that it's the best, or rather, the most acceptable compromise between bowing to pureblood customs and wearing dress robes, and wearing a dress uniform, even if it's also a bit sexist," Hermione said.

"I wasn't aware the Resistance had dress uniforms," Harry cut in. Not that anyone would have worn them in boot camp.

"We haven't actually made them, but Justin, Sally-Anne and I have thought about designs. Patterned after a British Army dress uniform, but in black."

Harry wasn't sure what uniform she meant, but he nodded. Three more minutes were left until the ceremony started. "It would have sent a message to the delegation," he said, "but maybe the wrong kind."

"Playing nice with the likes of Malfoy…" Ron scoffed. "They might have asked for this just so we have to unite against the foreigners, instead of kicking our Death Eaters out."

"I doubt their influence goes that far." Hermione shook her head. "Sirius said that the Malfoys were not well-liked in France. Some old feud with the Duc's family going back to before the Statute of Secrecy."

"Well, the French have some sense, then," Ron said. "They did help us against Voldemort, too."

"But they don't like muggleborns," Harry added. "Not since Grindelwald."

"They didn't like muggleborns before Grindelwald either." Hermione sniffed. "But they didn't fear them until that war."

"It's a bloody mess," Ron grumbled. "And we have to deal with it."

Before Harry could agree with his friend, the doors to the Wizengamot Chamber were opened, and a pompous-looking wizard Harry didn't recognise walked towards them.

"Show time," Harry mumbled, getting up.

"'Show time'?" Ron whispered.

"Muggle idiom," Hermione answered. "I'll explain later."

"Mister Potter, Mister Weasley, Miss Granger," the wizard nodded at them, tensing up just a bit before addressing Hermione, "the award ceremony will start now. Please follow me."

*****​

"... and you have personally faced the Dark Lord several times in single combat until you finally defeated him for good in the Battle of Diagon Alley. In recognition of this extraordinary feat, Wizarding Britain awards you the Order of Merlin, First Class!"

For being awarded the highest honour of Wizarding Britain, the ceremony was remarkably short, Ron Weasley thought while he watched Minister Bones pick up the medal from a floating cushion and drape it around Harry's neck. But then, that might just be Bones - he knew that the witch loathed having to award them anything. As soon as Bones took a step back, the Wizengamot erupted in applause.

"Thank you, Minister." Harry bowed slightly to her, and, once the noise had settled down, turned to face the Wizengamot. "I hope I will continue to prove myself worthy of this honour. Albus Dumbledore taught me to do what's right, not what's easy, and I intend to heed those words in the future."

More applause - though not as enthusiastic as before - followed while Harry took a few steps back to stand next to Ron and Hermione. Then Ron saw Bones turn towards him. He stiffened and raised his chin slightly. This was it.

"Mister Ronald Weasley. You have been instrumental in the war against the Dark Lord, several times facing multiple Death Eaters and the Dark Lord himself, at the side of Harry Potter, at the risk of your own life. In recognition of this, Wizarding Britain awards you the Order of Merlin, First Class!"

Ron bowed his head slightly so the witch could reach his neck more easily. To his surprise, he felt rather unmoved. A year and a half ago, he would have felt elated. The first Weasley ever to receive such an honour. The first Prewett in generations. But it was just politics - he wasn't really being honoured, he was being used to impress the delegation from the ICW. The Wizengamot might be applauding him, but outside his family, and Sirius's faction, they didn't mean it.

Nevertheless, he smiled at the witch. "Thank you, Minister." Turning to the Wizengamot, he smiled at his family, sitting in the wings, and bowed once more. "I can but repeat what Harry said before me: I intend to prove myself worthy of his honor, and of the trust Albus Dumbledore put in us."

He wasn't certain, but he thought Bones twitched when he mentioned the Headmaster. His smile grew a bit while he retook his old spot, and Hermione stepped forward. He glanced at the rows in the audience where the delegation was seated, and saw that all of them were staring intently at his friend.

Bones's smile grew thinner as she picked up the last medal from the cushion. "Miss Hermione Granger. You have fought bravely against the followers of the Dark Lord, those who openly fought for him as well as those who supported him in secret. Without your efforts, the war might have been lost before the Dark Lord fell to Harry Potter. For your deeds, Wizarding Britain awards you Order of Merlin, First Class."

The applause was noticeably less loud this time, but Hermione beamed as the medal was hung around her neck. "Thank you, Minister. I accept this honour for all the brave muggleborns who joined the Resistance, and fought for their rights, and the rights of every witch and wizard in Britain. Many of them died in the war, but rest assured that many more stand ready to take their place, should this be needed."

Bones's expression reminded Ron of Snape's, back when they had snatched the House Cup from Slytherin right at the Leaving Feast. His own smile grew in response. They might have to put on an act, but that didn't mean that they couldn't remind the Wizengamot just why they were here.

*****​

Muggles and wizards were not that different, Hermione Granger thought while looking around the area of the Atrium that had been cordoned off for the reception following the award ceremony. Self-important politicians were mingling, trading barbed remarks and veiled insults while wearing false smiles. Like hers right now, as she nodded at Callista Shacklebolt, one of the less staunch allies of Sirius in the Wizengamot, despite her being related to the late Kingsley Shacklebolt.

"I wish they'd start serving the food," Ron muttered next to her, when the old witch had left them. "It's been hours since lunch."

She raised her eyebrows. "You don't plan to actually eat anything here, do you?" She did not think an attempt to poison them would be likely, but it was better to be safe than sorry.

"Of course not!" he said. "Moody's ghost would come back to haunt me for that! But if I start eating the food we brought with us before dinner is served, everyone will know just how much trust there is between us and the Ministry." Ron snorted. "At least we'll be eating Mum's cooking, not the Ministry's. Even using their recipes, it'll be much better."

Hermione nodded. After the camp food, Molly's cooking seemed to taste twice as good. Briefly, she wondered if she'd ever trust the food and drink at such a reception - wizards and witches had long memories. Maybe she should work on a subtle way to detect poison.

"Harry's still getting swamped," Ron remarked, nodding towards the gaggle of wizards and witches surrounding their friend and his godfather.

"He is the Boy-Who-Lived," she said. "Vanquisher of Voldemort." Not that many used that title - people still feared to say the Dark Lord's name.

"Should we head over to him and drive the crowd away with the power of the Purebloods' Boggart?" Ron was grinning at her.

She scowled at him - she didn't like that nickname. Not at all. It made her remember that lesson in their third year, when she had run from a Boggart. That failure still vexed her - and that she had had such a silly fear was doubly embarrassing.

Before she could voice her displeasure, though, his smile grew slightly vacant. "Heads up! French witch coming towards us."

Hermione turned slightly, and saw that Beaumont was walking towards them. The delegate was wearing quite daring robes, showing quite a bit more skin than Hermione's own gown.

"Miss Granger, Mister Weasley." The French witch smiled widely and nodded at them. One of her bodyguards was standing nearby, but too far away to be included in the conversation, even though he'd certainly hear every word.

"Miss Beaumont." Hermione briefly inclined her head. Ron followed her example.

The other witch didn't react to the slight snub - or, to be precise, the refusal to acknowledge her supposed higher status as a pureblood. "Your reputation precedes you, Miss Granger. While Mister Weasley is known as the stalwart friend of the Boy-Who-Lived, it is said that you parted ways with him to build your own organisation." Unlike Fleur, Beaumont had a very faint accent, Hermione noted.

"That is not exactly true. 'Parting ways' implies that it happened voluntarily," Hermione said. "I was expelled from Hogwarts by bigoted laws; it wasn't my choice to leave Harry and Ron."

"I doubt any witch would have chosen to leave such brave young wizards," Beaumont said. "But you were not left alone, were you? You formed the Resistance."

Hermione couldn't tell if the older witch was insinuating that the Resistance had been more than friends and comrades with her remark. "Faced with mortal danger, and bereft of help from others, it was only natural that we banded together." She almost said that she followed French examples when forming the Resistance, but that could have been mistaken for a threat.

"You are too modest, Miss Granger. No one achieves what you did by simply reacting to danger." Her smile never lost its veneer of politeness even while her words and tone grew a bit sharper. "You brought the Ministry to its knees, after all, with a small group of muggleborns. That is a cause for concern for some parties."

Hermione acted as if she was puzzled. "Really? I'm surprised to hear that. As far as I know, there are but a few Death Eaters left, and I can't think of anyone else who'd have a reason to be concerned about the Resistance; the war is over, after all, and I doubt anyone is eager to start another one. We're at peace."

"Nominally. Weren't there riots in the streets?"

Hermione plastered a fake smile on her face, hiding her growing annoyance. "A few holdouts launched attacks - nuisances, really, compared to the war's battles."

Ron nodded. "Between the veterans of the war and the new recruits, we could handle Voldemort at the peak of his strength right now. The real challenge is the restoration of the country. My father's working hard to restore the Ministry - we have the essential services covered, of course, especially the Obliviators, who were not affected by the war at all, but there are a growing number of new employees who need to be instructed and guided."

Hermione couldn't tell if the French delegate believed Ron's words - they were in a far weaker position than he insinuated, and they would only be able to defeat Voldemort if Harry had his special connection still - but Beaumont nodded. "I see. You say you will be focused inwards, then, for the foreseeable future? Britain, that is," she asked.

"Yes," Hermione said. "It will take some time to remove the last remains of Voldemort's influence, and rebuild Britain into a country of which every one of its citizens can be proud."

"As Dumbledore envisioned," Ron added.

"Ah. He was your mentor, wasn't he?"

Ron nodded. "He trained Harry and me, and he asked all three of us to continue his work."

"We'll do our best to follow in his footsteps," Hermione added, "to prove that his trust in us wasn't misplaced." She didn't like invoking the Headmaster this much, but the goal of this whole ceremony and reception was to impress on the ICW delegation how much of a mistake it would be to intervene.

"Ah, Dumbledore, one of the greatest wizards who ever lived! His death is the loss of the entire Magical World. I doubt we will see another one like him in our lifetimes," Beaumont said, with a slightly theatrical sigh.

"I wouldn't be that certain," Hermione said, looking pointedly at Harry.

The French witch's expression grew slightly condescending. "The Boy-Who-Lived is a talented wizard, we saw that at the Triwizard Tournament, but Dumbledore had decades of experience. Wisdom comes with age, after all."

"Well," Ron drawled, "Harry defeated Voldemort, a wizard who could stand up to Dumbledore and his decades of experience. He might not be as experienced as Dumbledore was, but I think we all have proven that that doesn't matter too much in a war, does it?"

"As the muggle wars have demonstrated, innovation often trumps experience in a violent conflict," Hermione added. "Although we all have gained enough experience to know that we don't want another war. But," she said, baring her teeth for a moment, "should anyone start a war, we will finish it."

Beaumont was too experienced as a diplomat and courtier to show much of a reaction, but Hermione thought that they had rattled the witch somewhat. If they were lucky, enough to make her stop trying to meddle in Britain.

*****​

Awarding a mass-murderer an Order of Merlin, First Class! More than an hour after that sham of a ceremony where she had been forced to decorate that witch herself, Amelia Bones was still furious. And she couldn't even show, much less vent, her anger - she had to keep smiling politely at sycophants, traitors and criminals! And at the foreigners who were the reason for her situation. Like Steiner, who was currently talking to her. At least the wizard was a former Feldjäger of Magical Prussia, so they had a number of things in common.

"My compliments to the cook," the Prussian said, holding up a canapé.

"Thank you, I will pass them on." Amelia had no intention of mentioning that the food had been prepared by elves on loan from Hogwarts. The more capable the delegation believed that Britain was, in all areas, the better. Maybe it would even be worth rewarding that… muggleborn and her traitorous friends.

"I was impressed by the youth of Britain's latest heroes," Steiner went on. "Barely out of school, and yet able to win the bloodiest war in Europe since Grindelwald."

Not counting the ongoing troubles in the Balkans, Amelia thought. Out loud, she said, "He's the Boy-Who-Lived," picking up a canapé herself. "His whole life has been exceptional."

"I would have dismissed most of what I heard about him as exaggerations," Steiner said, "or luck. But you do not defeat Voldemort through luck, do you?"

And there was the attempt to gather information! Amelia kept smiling pleasantly, even though she was more than annoyed at the fact that Steiner thought she was so naïve as to fall for that. "He was trained by Dumbledore himself to face and defeat the Dark Lord. A task he completed as planned."

"Indeed! What a duel it must have been - akin to Grindelwald's legendary defeat! I assume that there isn't a memory available to be visited in a Pensieve?"

"Mister Potter hasn't provided us with one, and we respect his decision and privacy." Not that the Boy-Who-Lived would share Dumbledore's secrets with them, Amelia thought. In that, he might be the Headmaster's successor indeed.

"A shame. But maybe he'll change his opinion once he realises just how important this duel was - the memory of such events should be preserved for posterity, lest history repeats itself." Steiner looked as if he believed his own drivel.

"Dumbledore never shared his memory of his duel with Grindelwald, either, so I fear the historical precedent has been set," Amelia said. "It will only add to the myth, I think."

Steiner sighed. "Alas, you may be correct. I must confess that I am very curious about the battles fought in this war. I've heard about very unconventional tactics - by the Muggleborns, I believe."

Refraining from grinding her teeth, she nodded. "Miss Granger has proven to be very innovative, and very effective in the war." She put the canapé down; praising that criminal made her lose her appetite.

"She worked closely with the Boy-Who-Lived and Dumbledore's Order, but I heard there were some issues with the Ministry."

She narrowed her eyes before she could help it. "Issues related to traitors within the Ministry's ranks. Who have since been purged. Dumbledore himself ensured that there aren't any such issues left."

And damn the man for sacrificing justice for convenience!, she thought while Steiner wound up his next probing question.

*****​

"It was a mistake to attend this reception," Tracey whispered behind the flute of champagne she was raising to her lips.

Daphne Greengrass rolled her eyes. "It would have been an even bigger mistake not to attend, after Black asked us to."

Tracey scoffed. "They look as if they were about to curse us."

There was no need to ask who she meant - the Resistance members present were openly glaring at them. But not even mudbloods would attack them in the middle of the Ministry, at a reception to honour their leader. "They won't," Daphne said.

"There's just one person here people avoid more than us, and that's the houngan," Tracey said.

As if to prove her friend wrong, two wizards approached them right then - Augustus Malfoy and Philius Runcorn. "There you are!" Runcorn said, as if they had been hiding.

Malfoy was more polite. "Miss Greengrass, Miss Davis." He bowed to them.

"Mister Runcorn, Mister Malfoy." Long habit made it easy for Daphne to smile at the two men.

"I'm happy to see you return to your rightful place," Runcorn went on. "Even in the Wizengamot too many fine purebloods seem scared of the rabble in the streets." The old wizard shook his head. "And that leads to such travesties as today's. At least you showed the spirit and conviction of an Old Family and voted against this farce. Your parents would be proud of you!"

They had had their proxies vote, but Daphne wasn't about to correct the man. Nor would she tell him that Black had all but ordered them to. She nodded, and had no trouble faking the small tremble in her voice - thinking of her murdered parents was still painful. "Thank you, Mister Runcorn."

Tracey, being a little less diplomatic, mumbled her agreement.

While the old wizard beamed at them, Malfoy spoke up. "It is indeed a pleasure to see young wizards and witches stand up for what is right, even though it might currently be unpopular. In these troubled times those among us who still hold on to our heritage and traditions need to work together."

Daphne kept smiling, even though she felt as if her stomach was turning to lead. This was supposed to be a simple ploy to gain Theo's trust. But judging by the look she caught from Black, who was standing next to Potter, some distance apart from them, this whole affair had just grown past catching a stupid teenager. And so far more dangerous.

*****​

"Cheer up! We're halfway done!" Sirius said under his voice, and Harry Potter didn't have to glance at his godfather to know that he was grinning. They had finally managed to excuse themselves from the people crowding them, for a moment at least, under the pretext having to meet Doge near the buffet.

"I think I have already shaken the hand of every Wizengamot member," Harry said in a low voice as they made their way through the crowd. "How many more can be left?"

"Enough to keep us busy for a little while longer," Sirius said.

"You said I wouldn't have to do much, just vote and maybe give a speech written for me," Harry mumbled. "No one said anything about being mobbed like this."

"It's just for today," his godfather said. "All the people who voted to grant you and your friends those awards want to be assured that their help will not be forgotten."

"I've already forgotten most of their names," Harry said. And those he hadn't forgotten were mostly those he considered enemies.

"Fortunately, you have me to keep track of them."

"You better handle them," Harry said. "I don't like this at all." He grabbed a tray and loaded it with a few choice snacks, then cast a Switching Spell to replace them with the food he had brought with him.

"You handled our dear Prussian Feldjäger just fine," Sirius said, picking up a few small sandwiches.

"He was just interested in details about the battles." Harry had been able to talk about the different battles without revealing anything critical until the Prussian delegate had to end their talk or he'd have been rude to his hosts. "Unlike our own wizards and witches." Whose questions were often far too personal for his taste. Too many had asked about his temporary absence from Hogwarts - and his 'personal, private reasons' had only seemed to fuel the rumours going around.

"Let's grab our own Pureblood Boggart then - she should keep some of the cowards from bothering us." Sirius had a waitress refill his glass and nodded towards Hermione and Ron.

"She hates that nickname," Harry muttered.

"I know. Like Nymphadora hates her name." Sirius's grin widened.

Harry shook his head. Sometimes, he wondered if his godfather had a death wish.

They reached his friends, and to Harry's relief, one of the Wizengamot members who had been about to intercept them actually veered off. Their Boggart was working, he thought, then corrected himself.

"Finally finished?" Ron said, one hand holding a bottle of Butterbeer.

"Not yet," Harry grumbled.

"Ah, you came to Hermione so you could have a short break! Smart move, mate!" His grin vanished for a moment when Hermione elbowed him in the side.

"Indeed," Sirius said, sighing and shaking his head. "My poor godson can defeat Dark Lords, but a few politicians are too much for him."

Harry scoffed in response. "You should talk - you complain all the time about the Wizengamot when we're at home!"

"Ah, but the best remedy against that kind of pain is seeing someone suffer even more!" Sirius's wide grin suddenly vanished. "Reid's heading towards us."

Harry turned around, and he saw the old, thin Jamaican wizard - houngan - walking towards them, flanked by two of his assistants and possible zombies. If Hermione was the Wizengamot's Boggart, then Reid was a Dementor; the crowd parted in front of him. He didn't seem to care, though.

Ron muttered a curse, and Hermione said something under her breath that Harry missed.

"Mister Potter, Miss Granger, Mister Weasley, Mister Black." The old man bowed. "A pleasure to finally meet you." His voice sounded raspy, as if his vocal cords were about to fail - or had been replaced with something else. Harry almost shook his head, trying to banish the silly thoughts.

"Likewise, Mister Reid," Sirius said.

Harry simply bowed his head. His friends followed his example.

"I've been following your exploits with a lot of interest," the houngan continued. "Especially after the death of your mentor. I was hoping for a private talk."

"Oh?" Harry didn't like that. Not at all. He saw Sirius tense up as well, then slowly raise his wand and cast a privacy spell.

"Yes. You are without a doubt aware that Albus Dumbledore died after breaking into the most sacred part of my home country."

"That is what was claimed. No one actually knows how he died," Sirius said.

The houngan laughed - an eerie, rattling sound. "Please don't play the fool, Mister Black. We all know that Dumbledore broke into the Library of Souls searching for a cure for that 'Withering Curse' the Dark Lord used on so many of your compatriots." He sighed. "He was not successful, of course - and it cost him his life."

"The Dark Lord claimed that it was his curse that struck Dumbledore down," Sirius said.

"A claim likely made to boost the flagging morale of his followers," Reid said. "But ultimately of no consequence. What matters is that something was taken from the Library. Something my nation wants back." He leaned forward, and Harry had to struggle not to take a step back, away from that old, shriveled face. "And as the one wizard who was taught personally by Dumbledore and defeated the Dark Lord Voldemort, we believe that you can help us."

"And why should I?" Harry spat out before he could control himself. "We're busy rebuilding our country, and Jamaica hasn't exactly been friendly towards us, last I heard." Otherwise, Dumbledore wouldn't have had to break into their library.

"And your help could prevent relations between Britain and Jamaica from deteriorating further." The houngan smiled, thin, leathery lips revealing yellowed teeth. "As your friend here said earlier - no one wants another war."

*****​

Caribbean Sea, North of Jamaica, March 11th, 1997

Duchamp's reputation was well-earned, Augustus Rookwood had to admit after a few days on her ship - or boat; he wasn't quite certain what the muggle contraption was called. She was professional, discreet - she didn't bother him at all with questions - and her spells had made the trip through heavy seas feel as if they had been traveling on a calm lake.

Although he was getting a bit impatient - they had been cruising close enough to see the Jamaican coast for two days now, without even trying to make landfall, as Duchamp called it. And the weather was changing - clouds were gathering. He didn't like the look of that; not on a small boat in the middle of the ocean.

Duchamp, on the other hand, seemed pleased. "Finally!" the witch exclaimed.

"Pardon?" He raised his eyebrows at her.

"Storm's brewing, at last." She grinned, then must have noticed his slightly curious expression. "Ah, you wouldn't know. The houngans are not like the other island rulers; they don't just have wizards patrolling the borders. They have zombies planted among the muggle patrols, and that allows them to cast a much tighter net around their island. But with that storm? The muggles will head to the muggle ports, and even the magical patrols will be hindered. My ship's going to hit the beach without anyone the wiser."

He nodded. He wasn't about to ask if they were safe - she had a reputation as a skilled smuggler, and if she trusted her spells to keep her ship safe, then that was good enough for him. Soon he'd be on Jamaica, beyond the reach of the Department of Mysteries or anyone else who was after him.

He stuck his hand into his enchanted pocket, caressing the skull inside. Soon he'd be able to find the help he needed to extract the secrets contained within.

*****​
 
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Chapter 51: Inspections
Chapter 51: Inspections

'At first glance, it seems difficult to understand why the Wizengamot, a bastion of pureblood traditions and values, would bestow seats on three young people from such atypical backgrounds - a pureblood from a family well-known for its abandonment of the customs of the Old Families, a half-blood and a muggleborn. Some of my colleagues claim that the Wizengamot acted out of fear, or in an attempt to placate the muggleborns, who were demanding more rights. This view fails to take into account that the Wizengamot was deeply split over the issue, and there was no one decisive reason, but rather a multitude of contributory reasons.
There were those who, afraid for their very lives, truly voted in an attempt to placate, by any means possible, the muggleborns. Next to them were those who simply followed tradition as those who had received the highest honour of Wizarding Britain, an Order of Merlin, First Class, were regarded as having proven themselves as both able and worthy to also lead Britain - a view more suited to a time when Order of Merlins were not awarded for political reasons, of course. Then there were those who followed the lead of Sirius Black - members of the Order of the Phoenix and old allies of Albus Dumbledore. They either simply voted as they were told, or came to the conclusion that three more seats for their faction were a good thing no matter who held them. Another group was those who naively thought that, as a member of the Wizengamot, the leader of the Muggleborn Resistance could be controlled or at least prevented from attacking that very institution. Others acted for more selfish reasons - they expected the Ministry and Wizengamot to fall, and hoped to attach themselves to the upcoming rulers in advance. And finally, there were those who were forced, through blackmail and other means, to support the proposal - Sirius Black was, in that aspect at least, a true scion of his family.'
- Excerpt from 'Wizarding Britain in the 20th Century' by Albert Runcorn


*****​

London, No. 12 Grimmauld Place, March 11th, 1997

"Did Jamaica really just threaten us with war?"

Harry sounded as if he couldn't believe it, Ron Weasley thought. That sort of thing reminded him that his friend had grown up among muggles, and not in Wizarding Britain.

"Well… a diplomat would call it 'voicing their concern about a possible conflict'," Sirius said, "but, yes, they did."

"Why would they go that far over a theft?" Hermione sounded doubtful too, in Ron's opinion. But her expression - lips pressed together, eyes narrowed, a few wrinkles on her forehead - told him that she was already considering the implications.

Sirius snorted. "Given the relations between Jamaica and us, it doesn't take much to start a war. We've had half a dozen wars with that island, not counting the war that won them their independence in 1752. It took a while for our ancestors to accept that the houngans hadn't just beaten the British garrison there because most of our forces were tied up in a Goblin Rebellion at the time, and Jamaica hasn't ever forgotten our attempts to reconquer it. It wasn't until Dumbledore taught the houngans a lesson in the early 60s that relations with Jamaica improved somewhat. They knew that Britain could beat them thanks to Dumbledore, and so they played nice with the rest of the Magical World. And with him gone…" The animagus shrugged.

"Wouldn't the fact that Britain could have beaten them with Dumbledore, yet didn't start a war, have shown the houngans that Britain has no intention of attacking them again?" Harry asked.

"Not really," Sirius answered. "They probably assumed that this was all Dumbledore's doing."

"They wouldn't be that wrong," Ron cut in. Houngans were evil, everyone knew that. "If not for the Headmaster, they'd have continued kidnapping and enslaving people. Which they might pick up again."

Sirius nodded. "While I'd not go as far as to claim that all houngans are evil - unlike Slytherins - there are more than a few reasons why they are pariahs in the Magical World. Well, in the parts of the Magical World that don't support slavery."

"But… the houngans are descendants of the Maroons, escaped slaves," Hermione said. "Did they go and become slavers themselves after they won their independence?"

"Yes," Sirius replied.

Ron nodded. "They went after muggles and muggleborns, mainly. Or so Dad said. Of course, that ended after Dumbledore became the Supreme Mugwump."

Hermione muttered something about 'bloody hypocrites'. Ron pondered if he should call her on her language, but thought better of it.

"Let's focus on the threat, please," Harry said. "The delegate mentioned a 'Library of Souls', from which something was stolen."

"Careful with that name," Sirius said. "The houngans killed to keep that a secret."

"What?" Ron, Harry and Hermione asked in unison.

"Dumbledore left me some information. The Library of Souls is considered the houngans' most sacred secret. It contains the secrets of their ancestors and predecessors - spells, rituals, dark knowledge of all kinds." Sirius looked grim. "Do not tell anyone about this. Don't even mention the name."

Ron hissed through his teeth. That sounded very serious. "Why did he tell us the name then?"

Sirius cleared his throat. "I fear that our attempt to portray Harry - and by extension you two as well - as Dumbledore's heir has had some unintended consequences. Since Dumbledore knew about their secret, they probably assume that he told you as well."

"Great." Harry rubbed his forehead. "I'd like to get it on record that I wasn't the one who proposed that plan."

"Well, since they already think we know about it… what exactly is it, and what was stolen?" Ron asked. He saw Hermione perk up as well.

"According to Dumbledore, it's a cave in the middle of Jamaica, where the skulls of dead houngans, containing all their knowledge, are stored."

Ron winced. That sounded like the Dark Arts. Necromancy. But then - what else could you expect from wizards who created zombies?

"Do you mean their minds, like ghosts, or are their souls literally bound there?"

Trust Hermione to think of an even worse possibility, Ron thought.

"I don't know," Sirius said. "Since the houngans apparently choose this, I wouldn't think they allowed their souls to be bound for eternity, but…" he shrugged.

"I've heard that a rumour that they sacrifice their souls for power," Ron said. "And we know that some dark wizards risk spending eternity between life and the afterlife when they create a Horcrux." He blinked. What if...

"Dear Lord!" Hermione gasped. "What if it is literally a library of souls, able to possess people? We know Horcruxes can do that, and voodoo has a tradition of the faithful letting themselves be possessed…"

Ron felt like vomiting. If that was true…

"We shouldn't get too far ahead of ourselves," Sirius said - though he looked queasy as well, Ron noticed. "But I think it's very clear that we cannot treat this lightly. It doesn't matter if there's a Horcrux with the soul of a houngan missing, or just a skull containing their dark knowledge; either way, it is not something we can leave in the hands of a Death Eater - especially not someone like Rookwood."

"We don't know if it's in his hands," Harry pointed out.

"We can assume that it was in Voldemort's hands, and that he used it to either learn or create his Withering Curse," Hermione cut in. She looked at Harry and seemed to hesitate a moment. "You didn't notice any sign of possession when you fought him, did you?"

Ron's best friend shook his head. "No. That was just Voldemort."

Ron was relieved - until he had another worrying thought. "We don't know where the skull is. But will the houngans believe us?"

Sirius drew a hissing breath. "They won't. I think the best course of action is for us to help them search for that skull." He sighed. "Which might be exactly what they want, since it'll give them ample opportunity to find out just what we can do without Dumbledore."

"Great. And I thought working with the Ministry was bad." Harry sighed. "Do you think the houngans have the counter-curse for the Withering Curse?"

Hermione frowned. "Wouldn't they have mentioned that and offered it in exchange for our help instead of threatening us?"

Sirius shook his head. "They might simply prefer to see if they can force us to help them first, before offering us something in return."

"And we still plan to help them?" Harry sounded like he would prefer a fight right then, Ron thought.

Sirius shrugged. "We're not in a good position to refuse them. Not with the ICW's inspection hanging over us." He bared his teeth, and Ron thought he heard him growl. "We'll just have to be subtle, then, to turn the tables on them."

"LIke Slytherins," Harry said.

Sirius nodded. "Exact... what? No!"

Harry's comment wasn't that funny, but Ron chuckled anyway, if only to mask his fear. He glanced at Hermione, who was biting her lower lip so hard, he feared she'd draw blood soon. Reaching out, he gripped her hand and smiled at her. "We'll get through this," he whispered. "We beat the Dark Lord, after all."

Her own smile was weak, but she nodded.

*****​

London, Ministry of Magic, March 12th, 1997

"What went wrong at the Daily Prophet?" Amelia Bones asked as soon as Pius had closed the door to her office behind him. She banished the latest issue of the newspaper towards him. "They were supposed to cover yesterday's awards and the reception, not stab the country in the back by promoting rumours about Potter, Granger and Weasley."

"I assume you mean this line: 'According to sources at Hogwarts, Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley left the school to spend time with Hermione Granger in their love nest'." Pius acted as if he hadn't read the article before he arrived in her office.

She glared at him. "How exactly can anyone think that speculation about a ménage à trois between those three is acceptable right now?" She stood up. "I hate how we had to treat those three, especially Granger, as the greatest heroes of Britain since Dumbledore, but it was the price for presenting a united front to the ICW. Now, who is pulling strings to sabotage us?"

"I don't know," Pius said, "but I will find out."

"You better," Amelia snapped. There weren't too many people who could influence the Prophet, and even fewer of those had any motive to betray the Ministry. "Now, what are the delegates doing?"

"The Aurors and Hit-Wizards providing security for our guests haven't observed any meetings so far," Pius answered. "Although given our forces' current lack of experience…" He trailed off and spread his hands.

Amelia shook her head. "Get some competent Aurors on that. If whoever is behind this article meets Beaumont or Steiner, it could be a disaster." Those two could influence the ICW, and were backed by powerful countries.

"Reid spoke with Potter and his friends at the reception," Pius said, his expression bland.

"I expect that you have competent Aurors on his detail," Amelia said. Leaving a houngan on his own in Britain was out of the question, after all.

"The best I could spare."

Who might not be good enough, Amelia knew. She would have to ask Black to find out if the houngan had said anything important. And that article wouldn't help.

*****​

An hour later, Amelia was walking with Beaumont and Steiner through the offices of the Obliviators. Arlene Abbott, the head of the Obliviators, was all smiles and confidence.

"As you can see, we are ready to deal with any threats to the Statute of Secrecy," she said, pointing at a group of wizards and witches in their distinctive robes. "Our Seers are under constant surveillance, and we are poised to react at once to their visions."

The French delegate smiled politely. "I see. It does look in order - though, please, tell me: How did you deal with the additional strain that the recent war put on your department?"

Abbott wasn't fazed. "Ah, it wasn't actually much of a strain, was it, Oliver?" She turned to a middle-aged wizard sitting at a massive desk and sorting scrolls.

The man shook his head. "Not at all. In fact, we had less work during the war, since so many wizards were hiding, and children were much better supervised than usual. There were a few major events, but those were easily contained - all the factions took care to avoid bothering the muggles too much."

"So, do you expect things to grow worse then, with the war being over?" Beaumont quickly said.

Abbott raised her hand and made a dismissive gesture. "Oh, no! Compared to the end of the last war, this was easy to handle. It was all in the report I sent to the ICW, too," she added. "You've read it, I trust?"

"Of course." Beaumont's smile slipped a tiny bit, Amelia thought. "But the ICW was worried that the report might have been a bit too optimistic, given the wide-spread devastation that the Ministry suffered during the war."

"Are you accusing me of falsifying a report for political reasons?" Amelia refrained from smiling when Abbott suddenly glared at the French witch. She didn't know Abbott well - the witch wasn't that closely related to Susan's best friend at Hogwarts - but she knew her reputation. "We only answer to the ICW!"

"I am aware of that, of course," Beaumont said, smiling sweetly. "But you are still British witches and wizards, are you not? It must be horrible to see all that devastation, while not being able to help your country."

Abbott sniffed. "We know our duty."

"Of course." The French witch's tone belied her words.

Steiner stepped in. "Well, it seems you have things well in hand here. But how are you set for replacements? Just from looking at all the young Aurors and Hit-Wizards, it's obvious that many experienced wizards perished." He sighed. "It reminds me of the aftermath of Grindelwald's War."

"None of us are about to retire for a few years yet. More than enough time to recruit and train our replacements," Abbott said. "And while it might appear cynical, as a neutral department not answering to the Minister, we have an advantage when it comes to recruiting. There are a number of skilled and experienced muggleborns who left the Ministry's employ prior to or during the war. Not all of them will be willing to return to their old posts to work next to those who let them go."

Amelia pressed her lips together when she saw Steiner stare at the witch and Beaumont smile. Abbott was correct, but hiring muggleborns for the Obliviator Corps wasn't something those two delegates would consider a good thing. A view Amelia thought she could understand, after the last war.

Nevertheless, the damage was done. All she could do now was mitigate it. She felt as if she were back as the Head of the DMLE and faced with some rather outspoken Aurors talking to the Minister about things Cornelius shouldn't have been told. "Until replacements are needed, this is a merely academic question." She glared at Abbott, and the witch fortunately took the hint. This was not the place to talk about on-the-job training and planning ahead. "Now, how about we take a look at the Seers' offices?"

*****​

Cumbria, Britain, March 12th, 1997

"Mate, those firearms might be useful, but they're heavy!"

Harry Potter mumbled his agreement while the two were walking back from the range to the camp. The Sergeant had been drilling them for hours, to 'make up for the time missed yesterday', before it had been their turn at the range with the Major.

"We'll be late for dinner, too," Ron went on.

"Hermione will have kept some food for us," Harry said.

His friend perked up. "Right! And we'll have a bit more privacy with everyone else already done." He stepped over a root that had sent a number of the recruits into the mud in the last few days. "Should we take guns with us, tomorrow?"

Harry knew what he meant. "I don't think we'll be able to use them that well against Reid. Should things come to that," he added after a second. He patted the thigh pocket of his uniform, enchanted with an extension charm courtesy of Hermione, which held the Elder Wand. "You know what Hermione said about rifles being best used from far away."

"Dunno. He'll be ready for curses. Bullets might surprise him."

"A Shield Charm will stop them well enough," Harry said.

"That'll stop curses as well," Ron retorted.

"Most curses." Harry looked ahead. They were close to the camp now. Ron glanced at him, but didn't say anything else until they reached the perimeter.

*****​

As it turned out, Hermione had kept their dinner. Unfortunately, she didn't just have dinner waiting for them, but also the latest issue of the Daily Prophet. "It's the talk of the camp," she said with a frown while putting the newspaper down on the table inside her tent - and Ron's, Harry thought, given that his friend hadn't slept in the tent he shared with Harry for days now. "The Prophet's again claiming that we're in a sordid ménage à trois." She scoffed. "Nothing about our speeches, but a whole column about our supposed love life! I'd have expected that from Teen Witch Weekly!"

Ron frowned. "That's not a good sign. I would have thought that with the Ministry playing nice, the Prophet would follow suit."

Harry craned his neck, then turned the newspaper around, sending a few of the Wizengamot members scattering when a bit of his meal landed close to their picture. There was a big picture of the three of them, on the front page, smiling with their Orders of Merlin. "We might be overreacting," he said after skimming through the article. "It might simply be some journalist trying to spice up their article."

"And the Prophet printed it?" Hermione looked doubtful.

"Maybe they've decided to demonstrate their independence? And took the muggle tabloids as their example?" Harry shrugged. "Just an idea," he added when he saw the sceptical expressions of his friends. "We have bigger things to worry about, anyway."

"Reid," Ron said, finishing his meal. Harry's friend 'ate like a veteran', the Sergeant had told them. They weren't certain if it had been a compliment or not.

Hermione nodded. "I don't think he'll try anything tomorrow, but…"

"... you can't trust houngans," Ron said.

That earned him a glare from the witch, Harry noted. She went on: "I meant, Magical Jamaica might be planning to both take out 'Dumbledore's Heir' and manufacture a pretext for war at the same time."

Harry grimaced - the latest title for him that the Prophet had come up with was the worst so far, in his opinion. "I'm no Dumbledore," he said through clenched teeth.

"But you'll have to act the part," Hermione told him. "We need to win the purebloods and half-bloods over so the Wizengamot will peacefully step down."

He knew that. But he had thought that being the Boy-Who-Lived would be enough. "I can't really act the part either. I'm no prodigy. I don't have his knowledge or experience." He glanced at Hermione. She had all the knowledge. And she had the experience as a leader.

"You're a prodigy in Defence," Hermione said.

He shrugged. He hadn't been good enough to match Voldemort in a duel.

"You have Dumbledore's wand," Ron pointed out. "And you can wield it easily. That's quite close to being his heir. Or would be, if it wasn't the, you know." He made a gesture with his hand towards Harry.

Harry put his hand on the pocket containing the Elder Wand. "And if I flash it around, people might realise which wand it is."

"They didn't notice it when Dumbledore carried it." Ron shrugged.

"Dumbledore used his own, his other wand, in public, I think," Hermione said. "I haven't looked into that, though."

"In any case, I don't want to risk using it," Harry said. "Unless there's no choice. There are still people seeking the wand. And we can't afford for everyone to come after me. Trying to win it."

His friends winced. "Well, we can't do much but play along with Reid, and be ready for trouble," Ron said. "Or as ready as we can be, given that we don't know what he is planning."

"In other words, we're back at square one." Harry sighed and pushed his tray away. "I'll take a walk. Good night." He stood up and left the tent, ignoring the glances his friends exchanged. He doubted that Ron would leave the tent until morning.

Outside, the recruits and Resistance members were still gathered around the campfire. "Hey, Harry!" he heard Seamus yell. "Come sit with us!"

He hesitated for a second, then started to walk over to the campfire. It was better than walking around the forest and trying not to think about what his best friends were doing inside their tent.

Seamus scooted away from Tania and patted the free space on the log there. "Sit down here!"

Harry nodded at the others and sat down. When he saw that they had been reading the Prophet, he almost stood up right away. "You better not believe that rag," he said, grabbing the lone can of Coca-Cola from the cooler filled with beer next to Seamus.

Slightly nervous laughter answered him, though Seamus and Tania were chuckling. "Left the lovebirds in their tent?"

"Yes," Harry said, a bit sharper than he wanted, and opened the can.

"So… when's your first session in the Wizengamot?" Another recruit, Matthew something, asked.

"I'll only be able to actually vote myself once I'm seventeen," Harry said. "I'll have a proxy vote for me until then." With a grin, he added: "Of course, I hope that by then, we'll have general elections, so I can skip that."

Seamus scoffed. "Fat chance of that! The pureblood idiots are too stupid to realise that they have lost. We'll have to kick them out."

Harry glanced at the former fellow Gryffindor. "It's not the purebloods, it's just the Old Families. The majority of the purebloods, like Ron's family, haven't had any say in Wizarding Britain's government for centuries."

Seamus snorted, but the other muggleborns seemed to be listening - he saw a number of them nod. Harry continued: "And even among the Old Families, things are changing. Sirius, my godfather, has a lot of allies who follow his lead in the Wizengamot. And there were a number of others who were starting to switch sides."

"We still have to be ready for trouble," Tania cut in. "Especially with the ICW's inspection."

"Of course," Harry nodded at her. "But we're close to our goals. Once we have the Wizengamot, the Ministry follows."

"That's what Hermione keeps saying," Seamus muttered. But once again, the rest of the Resistance members and recruits nodded.

"Will you be running for a seat once there are elections?" Mary-Jane wanted to know.

"Probably," Harry said. He wasn't too keen on it, but Hermione was convinced that they needed him in the Wizengamot even after the reforms.

"You should," someone else said. "You'll do fine!"

"Better than the current members for sure," another added.

"We'll see. Hermione and Ron will sit in the next session," Harry said.

"That'll be a scene!" Tania chuckled, and even Seamus grinned.

Harry knew that Hermione would not make too many waves while the ICW's inspectors were still in Britain, but he didn't tell the others that while they were speculating about the Wizengamot's reaction. He simply sipped his Coca-Cola, and enjoyed the evening.

Tomorrow would come soon enough.

*****​

Kent, Greengrass Manor, March 13th, 1997

Daphne Greengrass was struggling to remain polite and composed. There was a werewolf in her home! She was standing next to a dark creature, a cursed beast! And it was all Black's fault!

"Do you usually receive your guests, including Nott, in the living room?" Lupin asked.

Daphne wanted to ask where else she'd receive guests, but refrained from doing so, and nodded instead. "Yes."

"Well, sometimes we gathered in the garden," Tracey cut in, smiling at him. "We haven't done that in a while, though. Theo won't suspect anything if we meet him in the living room. And we'll be able to wait comfortably."

Her friend was far too friendly with the werewolf, Daphne thought. She didn't know if Tracey was simply putting on an act, or if that crush she'd had on their third year Defence teacher had survived the revelation that he was a werewolf.

"Remus won't be in the living room, though," their other guest spoke up. "Just me, and you two." Nymphadora Tonks - 'Auror Tonks', as she told them to call her - smiled a bit too sweetly. The witch was a metamorphmagus, and would be posing as Astoria during Theo's visit. She currently looked like a tall and rather curvy blonde witch. Daphne would have been jealous, if she didn't know that it wasn't Tonks's natural body.

"Well, Theo's not here yet," Tracey said. "There's no need to split up." She cocked her head at Tonks. "Although… don't you need to spend some time with Astoria, to copy her manners?"

"Nott hasn't even called yet," Tonks said. "It's better to get the lay of the land, first. Just in case there's trouble coming, I'd rather not get lost in the mansion during a fight."

"Of course." Daphne once again forced herself to smile. It was a reasonable request - if one didn't realise that the two would learn far too much about Daphne's home and its defences as well. Black had planned this well - every step of his plan was making Daphne more vulnerable. And some people claimed he was but a rash Gryffindor!

She led them to the living room of the manor. "Cosy," Tonks said as she looked around.

"Thank you," Daphne answered automatically.

Lupin was studying the walls and windows attentively. Probing for weaknesses, probably. The man was a good actor, keeping his beastly nature hidden behind a polite, quiet facade. If she didn't know better, Daphne would have never suspected that he was a werewolf.

"I think this is secure enough," Lupin said. "Provided he doesn't bring friends."

Tonks shrugged. "We're not about to fight them here anyway. That would give the game away, and warn Runcorn and Malfoy."

Which wouldn't be a bad thing, in Daphne's opinion. Laying a trap for Theo was far less dangerous than trying to spy on those two, and their co-conspirators. Which was what Black expected of her and Tracey. "Theo needs to visit, first. He might consider us a lost cause."

"I think that is unlikely," Lupin said. "His proxy must have noticed how yours voted. He is probably simply being cautious."

That sounded like Theo, Daphne had to admit. He had a tendency to hesitate, which he might mistake for being cautious. Not that she was currently acting very cautiously either.

"Well, if he is not visiting we can meet him at the equinox ceremony on the twentieth," Tracey said.

Daphne glared at her friend. Bringing a spy to that ceremony… they'd be excluded if that came out. But Black had probably already thought of that.

"Mum told me about the ceremony, but I've never seen one," Tonks said.

For a moment, no one said anything. Daphne knew very well why Tonks had never attended an equinox or solstice ceremony - her mother had been cast out by her family for marrying a muggle. "It's a simple ceremony," she said. "It's easy to learn the rites."

"Ah." Tonks nodded.

"Astoria can probably teach you," Tracey said, smiling like she did when she had been needling Pansy, back at Hogwarts. Before the war.

"Anyway, let me show you your rooms," Daphne said, gesturing at the door.

"We just need one room," Tonks said. "For safety."

"With two beds," Lupin added.

Daphne saw Tonks frown briefly at that. She wasn't about to pry, though. "Of course. Please follow me."

A few minutes later, with Lupin and Tonks in the guest room, conjuring furniture - a not so subtle sign that they didn't trust her, Daphne thought - she was finally free of the werewolf's presence. At least for the moment. She closed her eyes for a moment and sighed.

"We're in quite a pickle," Tracey said, her friendly smile replaced by a cynical expression.

"Yes, we are. We can but hope that Theo will visit soon, so we can get this done." She knew it would likely mean Theo's death, but she didn't care. Not about him, not any more. All she wanted was to protect her family.

"That still leaves Runcorn and Malfoy."

Daphne glared at Tracey. Trust her friend to ruin any silver lining Daphne might see!

*****​

London, Ministry of Magic, March 13th, 1997

"So, who's pulling the strings of the Prophet?" Amelia Bones snapped as soon as Pius had closed the door behind him.

The Head of the DMLE stiffened very slightly before answering in his usual calm manner. "I don't exactly know. The author of the article was struck with a Confundus Charm, as was the editor." With a sigh, he added: "The rest of the staff didn't notice anything - or they didn't question the article's wording."

"Were the two victims struck at the same time and location?" She had been an Auror for too long to have lost the mindset.

He shook his head, the edges of his mouth briefly turning down. "Not as far as we can tell. Someone manipulated their memories as well."

Amelia pressed her lips together. She had expected to find a short-sighted member of an Old Family, not something like this. "So, either they're playing it safe, or they lack the gold or influence to handle this the 'traditional way'." Which meant bribes or threats. "Or this is the work of our guests."

Pius had already considered that as well, of course. "The journalist was talking to the delegates, asking for an interview. It would have been easy for them to arrange an opportunity to meet her privately."

"Exactly. Can we exclude Reid from the suspect list?"

Pius hesitated a fraction of a second. That told Amelia enough, and she shook her head before he could start to explain the failures of his Aurors to keep an eye on their most dangerous guest. "I know we can't prevent them from apparating." She tapped her chin with the index of her left hand - as Alastor had taught her, so long ago, she always kept her wand hand free if possible. "He was talking to Black's group."

"Do you wish to track Black?"

She looked at him. As if she would suggest such a futile thing. Black and his group had evaded the Dark Lord's assassins during the war. What was left of the Ministry's Aurors wouldn't be able to track them, if they could find them in the first place. Not least because he had moles inside their force. "Potter and Weasley have left Hogwarts; that much at least was correct in that article." Susan had told her that the two boys were 'excused from school for personal reasons' according to the Hogwarts rumour mill.

"Do you think they are with Granger?" Pius asked. She couldn't tell if he was amused or appalled by their attempt to use the Prophet as a source of information.

"Yes. Though not for the reasons stated in the article. They're preparing something." Amelia was certain of that. They were close, but not that close, as their behaviour had shown at the award ceremony and the reception. At least unless all of them were far better actors than their history at Hogwarts would suggest.

"The Resistance hasn't been making that many appearances during the last few days," Pius said. "That is helpful with regards to the current international situation, but it means we don't know what they are doing. And we lack the Aurors to find out more."

"We couldn't find them back when we had the Aurors," Amelia said.

"Which means they have the initiative," Pius said. "Should it come to a fight."

"I am well aware of that," Amelia said, controlling her temper. "Unlike some of our esteemed members of the Wizengamot, I am not ignorant of just how weak the Ministry is." It galled her to admit this; she had been working for the Ministry since her graduation from Hogwarts, and to see it reduced like this… She shook her head. "Our duty doesn't change, though."

"Until the Wizengamot changes," Pius said. "We just enforce the laws, after all, we do not make them." He didn't bother to hide his sarcasm when he quoted her own words back at her. She glared at him, and his expression softened a little. "You know it's coming, Amelia. The muggleborns have grown too powerful, the half-bloods have been alienated by the muggleborn laws, and the Old Families are losing their grip on the purebloods. Arthur's busy building his power base in the Ministry, and Black's influence in the Wizengamot is growing. You can't stop this unless you invite the Europeans to occupy Britain, and even that might not work."

"It would also be treason," she said.

"Yes." He kept looking at her impassively.

She closed her eyes and slowly let out her breath, then looked at him. "I know that. I'm no fool."

"Then why don't you join Black?"

"Join Black? Compromise my integrity and abandon my principles? And for what?" She scoffed. "For whatever bribe he will offer?"

"Influence. Power," Pius said. "You could even keep your position."

She snorted. "I'm not you."

"I know."

She almost cursed him for the pity she noticed in his tone. But he was wrong. Whatever power he imagined he could gather he'd lose. For all his political experience, Pius didn't understand Black - or Granger. They were not interested in power for power's sake; they wanted power to change things.

And they didn't care how much they had to destroy to reach their goals.

*****​

An hour later, she had another irksome visitor in her office. "Good afternoon, Madam Beaumont."

"Good afternoon, Madam Minister." The French witch inclined her head.

"I thought you would be accompanying an Obliviator squad in the field today," Amelia said. That had been scheduled, at least.

"Ah, Herbert is with them. He is in his element - I guess Obliviators come close enough for a man who misses his past as a Feldjäger so much."

Amelia wasn't certain if that was a barb aimed at her as well, but she wasn't about to discuss the Prussian delegate with the French one. "How can I help you? As far as I am aware, the goal of your visit is to judge Britain's ability to preserve the Statute of Secrecy, which is handled by the Obliviator Corps." And she wouldn't find any fault with them. The Obliviators were about the only department of the Ministry who had come through the war unscathed.

"Oh, the British Obliviators certainly seem to be capable of fulfilling their duties," Beaumont said with the sort of polite, empty smile Amelia had come to quickly hate after rising in the Ministry. "But we would be neglecting our duty if we were simply to inspect the current Obliviators, and not consider future developments."

"Madam Abbott did explain the future plans and contingencies of her department quite clearly yesterday," Amelia said. "Do you doubt her claims?"

"I am certain her proposed policies will be adequate - provided the situation in Britain does not undergo more changes. A renewal of hostilities, for example, could endanger the Statute of Secrecy. Especially if muggleborns were recruited as Obliviators. They might have reservations about obliviating muggles, after all, being so close to them."

The French witch hadn't answered her question, Amelia noted. She narrowed her eyes slightly. "Madam Abbott mentioned that muggleborns might be able to be more effective in protecting the Statute since they are so familiar with muggles."

"I don't think that has ever been tried. At least not in France." Beaumont dismissed the thought with a wave of her hand. "There's also the concern about possible future changes in Britain. A new administration might not understand the importance of the Obliviators."

Amelia stared at her. "That's rather vague."

She thought she saw the French witch's eyes twitch for a moment. "I assume you are aware of the developments in the Wizengamot. The balance of power is shifting, is it not?"

"You might not be used to it, coming from a country ruled by hereditary ruler," Amelia said, "but that's not uncommon for the Wizengamot."

Beaumont wrinkled her nose. "I do not think that muggleborns and low-borns taking over has ever happened before, not even in Britain."

If any purebloods overheard the witch talk like this about them, Black's support would grow faster than a newly-hatched dragon left in a butcher's shop, Amelia thought. She raised her eyebrows. "I can assure you that there is no danger of a coup." Even if only because Granger and Black knew that they were winning anyway.

Beaumont snorted. "You're rather more evasive than your reputation claims. So, I will be more direct myself: Sirius Black and his muggleborn allies are taking over. That is a cause of concern for the ICW. Their extremist views are well-known."

She had a source in the Wizengamot or the Ministry, Amelia thought. She sounded too certain to be trusting an outside source. "There's no reason for concern. They didn't endanger the Statute during the war, after all."

"That may be so, but things and views change. It has been decided that in order to fulfill our mandate, we will have to meet with them."

"You already did," Amelia said. "Mister Reid spoke with Black and his allies at the reception."

"That was simply a courtesy call," Beaumont said.

"You would know, of course." Amelia was certain that the French witch didn't know what they had been talking about either. She didn't think either Steiner or Beaumont talked to Reid much, if at all. "I can inform them that you wish a meeting."

"Thank you." Beaumont smiled again, and once more nodded politely, if slightly condescendingly, at Amelia.

Beaumont could arrange a meeting herself, maybe even more easily than Amelia, given that Black had apparently taken a French Veela as a mistress. Unless, of course, there were French politics at work.

Amelia was already soured on British and international politics; she really didn't want to deal with the domestic policy of foreign nations. And she could only hope that both Black and Granger would show some restraint when meeting with a foreign diplomat.

*****​

London, East End, March 13th, 1997

Meeting a Jamaican houngan in a muggle safe house in a rather deserted part of London's East End - not too close to the home of the Resistance - might not have seemed the best choice at first glance, Hermione Granger thought while looking out through the window on the empty street below. But meeting Reid in Grimmauld Place had been deemed too dangerous by everyone. Despite the claims of traditionalists, the laws of hospitality were, in reality, more in the nature of guidelines. She wouldn't put it past a houngan to exploit the opportunity for his own purposes. Hogwarts and the Hog's Head Inn had been dismissed for the same reasons, and no one wanted to meet Reid in a clearing in a forest at night.

So, they had settled for one of the safe houses the Resistance had prepared. That gave them the advantage of having plans to secure it already - Tania and Seamus were providing backup outside, with John. They wouldn't be listening in since some of the things they might end up talking about were too dangerous even for her friends in the Resistance to know, but they were ready to act if given a signal.

Hermione felt guilty about excluding them while they were helping her and her friends, but there were more secrets than her own at stake. And it wasn't as if she hadn't kept important things from them before. Like Allan's fate.

She glanced back at the others in the living room of the safe house. Sirius was twirling his wand between his fingers and kept shifting around on the couch. Remus was studying the books on the small shelf - Hermione had stacked it with several useful reference books and a variety of novels meant to provide some entertainment for the Resistance, should they have to use the safe house. Harry was sitting in an armchair, tapping his foot on the floor, and Ron was flipping through the channels of the TV.

"Should have cast some wards," she heard Sirius mutter.

Remus paused in his skimming through a copy of Jane Austen, and turned his head towards the animagus. "Since the intention is to invite Mister Reid, wards wouldn't do us any good."

"They'd stop his zombies."

"I sincerely doubt that he has had the opportunity to create any zombies - of any type - in Britain. And even if he had, the diplomatic backlash would make it unlikely that he would do so." Remus smiled faintly.

Sirius scoffed. "He's a houngan; he doesn't need zombies to attack us."

"In which case the wards wouldn't be of any use, as I have pointed out already."

Sirius bared his teeth - Hermione told herself to research whether animagi took on aspects of their animal form - and hissed. "But we'd be doing something other than waiting!"

"You could watch the telly with me," Ron said.

"We could - if you'd ever stop switching channels," Harry said.

"Hey - I don't want to miss anything!" Ron said.

"And that's why you're missing everything." Harry shook his head. "Give me the remote."

"Get your own!" Ron said.

Hermione's radio chirped just when it looked as if the two boys would start to wrestle. "A cab's driving up the street," she heard Tania say while everyone stopped what they were doing, and looked at her. "They're getting out… it's Reid. And two others."

"Or someone using polyjuice," Hermione muttered. She tapped her radio. "Keep them in your sights." Looking at the others, she added: "They're coming."

"Cab's leaving," Tania informed her. Hermione wondered if they had hired the cab, or simply mind-controlled the driver, then berated herself silently for assuming the worst of the houngan. Even though Sirius insisted that doing so was just being prudent.

Then the doorbell rang, and Hermione glanced at Ron, who turned the TV off while Sirius and Remus went downstairs to open the door. A minute later, the houngan, in a white suit, stepped into the room, followed by two of his assistants, and Sirius and Remus.

"Good evening, Mister Potter, Mister Weasley, Miss Granger."

"Good evening," Harry and Hermione said while Ron nodded. They had spread out a bit - just in case, with Ron and Hermione flanking Harry.

Reid took a seat in an armchair while his two assistants - two men who might be zombies, Hermione thought, given their lack of expressions - took up positions behind and to the side of him.

Sirius sat down on the couch himself, and Remus leaned against the wall behind him.

For a moment, no one said anything, then Sirius leaned forward - he wasn't holding his wand any more, she noticed - and nodded. "So, you wanted to meet us. Here we are," he said in a tone that made Hermione wonder how he managed not to alienate everyone in the Wizengamot.

Reid seemed to be more amused than offended, though. "Here you are, indeed - the ones who have defeated Voldemort and are about to take Britain."

Hermione bit her lower lip to avoid correcting the houngan that it was Wizarding Britain and that they would be reforming it, not taking it.

Sirius shrugged. "Voldemort thought that he had won when Dumbledore died. He was wrong."

"Ah, yes, Dumbledore's death. We have talked about it, haven't we?" Reid had a faint accent, Hermione realised, but it was hard to notice given how raspy his voice sounded - and far less of an accent than she'd have expected from a Jamaican native.

"You claimed that he had stolen something from your island." Sirius crossed his arms.

"Indeed, I did." Reid smiled, and as at their first meeting at the reception, Hermione fought not to shudder at the state of his yellowed teeth. This time, though, he must have noticed her reaction since he turned to look at her, and smiled even more widely. "Do I make you uncomfortable, Miss Granger? Age is not always kind, and rarely pretty."

"I was just reminded of my parents' work, Mister Reid," she said, smiling tightly.

Harry suddenly coughed in his fist, followed a second later by Ron snorting.

"And what do your parents do?" Reid's smile had grown thin.

"They're dentists," Hermione said. She didn't elaborate, and while he nodded, she wasn't certain that he had understood. But he was not smiling at her anymore.

"Let us return to the matter at hand," Sirius said. "You mentioned something that was stolen from you, which you want returned."

"Yes, I did indeed." Reid nodded slowly.

"What exactly are you trying to recover?" Sirius still had his arms crossed.

"I think you know what I'm talking about."

"I certainly do not."

For the first time, the houngan seemed to frown. "An enchanted skull containing lore from my country. Stolen from our most sacred place - a crime we will not let pass."

"And you suspect Dumbledore. Who is already dead, though. And we didn't find any skull among his belongings. No human skull, at least."

"Ah." Reid's smile was back. "You know about it."

Denying that they knew more about the Library of Souls wouldn't serve any purpose, Hermione thought. Sirius shrugged anyway. "What else could it be? I doubt you'd use animal skulls for your most sacred place."

"You would be surprised, indeed."

"But as I told you - there was no skull with Dumbledore."

"As a well-known master of Transfiguration, he could have changed it into anything," Reid said. "I know a spell to find it, though, no matter its shape."

"I'd have thought that such skulls were protected against spells," Sirius said. "But if you know such a spell, then it should be easy for you to find the skull, wouldn't it?"

"The range of the spell is somewhat limited," Reid admitted. "I will require entrance to Hogwarts, to verify your claims."

Sirius snorted. "Hogwarts' wards are rather particular about some visitors."

Hermione hadn't read about that in Hogwarts: A History, but the Marauders would have had to study the wards quite closely to create their map, so she couldn't tell if Sirius was lying or not.

"A guest would be admitted, though. Didn't Karkaroff visit during the tournament?"

"He wasn't a houngan. And we don't control Hogwarts." Sirius spread his hands apart.

"You have a lot of influence there, though."

"Not really. McGonagall still hasn't forgiven me for all the rule-breaking we did in our time." Sirius grinned.

Reid obviously didn't appreciate the levity. He scoffed. "I told you how important this is to my country. You persist in such antics at your own - and others' - peril." His assistants didn't move an inch, nor show any reaction despite the tension in the room skyrocketing. The houngan glanced at Harry. "Many sing your praises, boy, but no one could tell how you did it. Dumbledore was feared for his power. You ain't."

"I don't want to be feared," Harry said. "I don't like threats, though."

Hermione's finger hovered over the button for her radio. If this was just a ploy by Reid to create an excuse to attack them…

Reid didn't relax, but he didn't seem to press the threat. "If you refuse to let me check Hogwarts as a guest, then I will be forced to use other means to find the skull. Means Britain wouldn't like, indeed." He cocked his head. "And a refusal to let us search for our stolen treasure would make you appear quite suspicious."

"What assurances can you give that you won't use such a visit to cause us or anyone else harm?" Remus cut in.

"I would expect the Vanquishers of Voldemort to be able to tell if I did anything out of bounds while under their eyes." Reid was smiling again. As if they'd let him enter the school without iron-clad safeguards in place!

"Hogwarts is our Library of Souls," Sirius said, growling again. "In a manner of speaking."

"Then you should understand our grievances, indeed."

It was a closer analogy than Sirius might have realised, Hermione thought. Hogwarts was the heart of Wizarding Britain. Each British wizard or witch learned magic there, and its library contained the country's knowledge.

And woe to whoever harmed it.

*****​

North of Magical Port Royal, Jamaica, March 13th, 1997

Augustus Rookwood hated posing as a muggle. He might have taken muggle studies as a student, mostly out of morbid curiosity, but that had been decades ago, and if he had learned anything, then it was that muggle customs changed all the time. And he hadn't kept up with muggle customs since graduating.

But acting like a muggle was the safest way for a British wizard to travel to and around Jamaica. Especially a British wizard with a skull stolen from the Library of Souls - if the houngans caught him, he would be facing a fate worse than death. Far worse.

Posing as a muggle had one drawback, though, Augustus thought while studying the muggle town near Magical Port Royal through a telescope - he had no way to easily enter Jamaica's capital. Port Royal had been one of Britain's greatest accomplishments in recent times. Right after the Statute of Secrecy had gone into effect, they had hidden the entire town from the muggles by making them think it was destroyed in an earthquake in 1692. The pearl of the Caribbean, freed of the muggle filth in one elegant move.

And then the mongrels had taken it from Britain, together with the entire island, when they had revolted right in the middle of a goblin rebellion. Augustus pressed his lips together. The houngans had a lot to answer for.

He sighed. They would, in time, but he had to focus on his immediate needs first. He needed the knowledge contained in that skull, but without the help of a houngan, he couldn't access it - the Dark Lord's notes hadn't covered that secret.

Fortunately, he didn't actually have to enter the town. He collapsed the telescope and stood up.

*****​

An hour later, his patience and self-control were severely taxed. He was surrounded by muggles, half-naked muggles even, gathered on a filthy beach. Loud, noisy children were playing in the sand and the surf while their parents tried their best to get sunburn. Fools, the lot of them! If only he could curse them all, and cleanse the beach.

But Augustus needed the brats for his plan. He raised his wand, hidden behind one of the nonsensical muggle newspapers, and looked at the father of a particularly obnoxious brat. "Excuse me, sir."

"Yes?"

"Legilimens!" Augustus whispered when the muggle looked up and their eyes met. A minute later, he knew where the family was staying. Now he just needed to vanish and then wait until the spoiled boy threw his next tantrum.

It took longer than Augustus had expected, and, even with magic, standing while disillusioned in the middle of a packed beach was wearing. But when the overweight sprog was refused another ice cream, he finally started to wail. Augustus smiled and moved his wand, and a miniature sandstorm sprang up around the brat, hiding him from sight and scaring the muggles nearby. He almost chuckled at the sight of the fools staring at something incomprehensible to their limited minds when the local Obliviators appeared.

Soon, the sandstorm was dispersed and the muggles taken care of. And, as Augustus had hoped, one of the Obliviators noted the name and address of the family whose boy had apparently had a bout of accidental magic.

He smiled. Dumbledore had forced the houngans to stop their disgusting practice of kidnapping mudblood children to raise as houngans. But with him gone, Augustus was certain that the mongrels would start up again. And the spell on the muggle boy would lead him right to the hideout of whoever wanted to pollute their bloodline.

And he would acquire the knowledge he needed.

*****​

London, Diagon Alley, March 13th, 1997

The side alley looked like any other alley, no matter how long Bess Cox stared at it. It should look different, she thought. Teddy had died there, killed by an Auror while 'resisting arrest'. She clenched her teeth - Teddy had been the first of her friends to die. Now only she was left of their group. Mark and Ricky had been killed in Hogsmeade, and Felix had been captured and then executed by the Ministry. Bess had been the only one to escape that day, three months ago.

She turned away, pushing her hands into the pockets of her jacket - it was still rather cold, especially in the evening - as she walked down Diagon Alley. She had thought a lot about their disastrous attack on the Death Eaters in Hogsmeade while she had been hiding in muggle London. Dumbledore was at fault - if he and his French friends hadn't attacked them, Bess's friends would still be alive. The old wizard had even called them criminals, just for fighting the Dark Lord's followers!

But now Dumbledore was dead, and the Ministry was collapsing. The muggleborns had returned to Wizarding Britain, too powerful for the Aurors to persecute. She smiled when she remembered how the purebloods who had profited from the expulsion and persecution of the muggleborns had run. The same Aurors who had persecuted muggleborns before hadn't been able to do anything!

She slowed down when she heard music - muggle music - from the reopened muggle-style bar 'Winston's' ahead, and her smile grew wider. It looked as if Toby, the owner, had bought a few new records! Bess was about twenty metres away from the entrance when the half a dozen people arguing with the bouncer there vanished in an explosion.

For a moment, she stood there, frozen with shock and horror as stone fragments fell down around her and a cloud of dust obscured the scene. She heard people screaming and saw spells flashing, followed by more explosions.

She was fumbling for her wand when a figure stepped out of the thinning cloud of dust, walking slowly towards her. His face was slack, his eyes seemed to lack focus - but his wand rose, and before Bess could react, the man next to her was struck by a curse that threw him back several metres.

She screamed and jumped to the side, towards the closest side alley. Behind her, another, smaller explosion threw up cobblestones, one of them clipping her shoulder and sending her sprawling. Shaking her head, panting, she cried out when pain lanced through her and clutched her shoulder.

Glancing back, she saw her attacker was still walking slowly in her direction, expressionless eyes staring at her, waving his wand.

"Protego!"

Just pushing her own wand out to cast a Shield Charm made her shoulder flare up with more pain, but it stopped the man's curse and saved her life. She tried to scramble away, but the pain that caused was too much, and she fell down, screaming when her wounded shoulder hit the ground. Her shield had vanished, and she clutched her shoulder, trying to recast it, but failing.

Tears streamed down her cheeks when she saw the man was still advancing, with slow, measured steps.

"ReductAHH!"

She fumbled the wand movement, and the pain made her mess up the incantation, and what should have blown the man's chest open did nothing except push him back a step. His wand was rising, its tip glowing, but his expression didn't change at all.

She screamed, and didn't stop screaming even when the man's head blew up, blood and bone fragments splashing against the wall.

*****​
 
Chapter 52: Under Pressure
Chapter 52: Under Pressure

'An attack such as the one on 'Winston's', a bar in Diagon Alley frequented by muggleborns, wasn't unexpected. Both the Ministry and the Muggleborn Resistance had anticipated such an attack - the opportunity provided by the ICW's inspection was simply too great for those trying to destabilise Wizarding Britain. And yet, even having anticipated such an incident, they had trouble dealing with its consequences. In that regard, the incident served to demonstrate quite clearly how the balance of power in Wizarding Britain had been changed by the Second Blood War.'
- Excerpt from 'The Second Blood War' by Hyacinth Selwyn


*****​

London, Diagon Alley, March 13th, 1997

Hermione Granger drew a hissing breath when she saw the carnage in Diagon Alley. An attack on muggleborns, in the economic heart of Wizarding Britain, right when the country was being inspected by the ICW… this could be devastating, if things got out of control.

Ron wasn't as restrained. "Bloody hell!"

She didn't catch what Harry muttered under his breath, but after the better part of a week in the care of their muggle instructors, she doubted it was printable. She did catch what Sirius said, and she knew that his comment was unprintable.

Unfortunately, it was justified. There was a crater in the street, part of the bar's front was caved in and more debris was strewn across the width of the Alley. She saw at least half a dozen bodies covered by sheets, laid out next to the crater. A lot of people were gathered in the Alley. A perfect target for a follow-up strike, she realised.

She tapped her radio's button. "This is Hermione. We've arrived on site." Late, unfortunately - they had still been at Grimmauld Place, discussing the houngans' demands with Sirius, when the news had reached them.

"We're in the shoe shop nearby," Justin answered her. "Sally-Anne's treating the wounded who don't want to go to St Mungo's. Tania and Seamus are up in the air."

She glanced up but couldn't spot them. They had to be high enough to be out of the range of her Human-presence-revealing spell.

"I'm checking with witnesses," she heard John over the radio.

"Let's head to the witnesses," Hermione said, both into her microphone as well as to her friends. "Stay with me," she added when she saw Sirius was about to move towards the crater.

"Huh?" He turned towards her.

Stepping closer, she whispered: "You're wearing robes."

He blinked, then looked at the crowd, all of them wearing muggle clothes. "But why would that…"

"Not everyone knows you on sight," Harry cut in.

"Ah." Sirius shook his head. "Just two years ago, I had to avoid being recognised to be safe…"

She snorted while they made their way towards John, whom she had spotted on the other side of the Alley - close to the shop Justin had mentioned. The muggleborn was easy to spot thanks to his fatigues - like herself.

"It's Granger!"

"And Potter!"

The cries quickly spread through the gathered crowd - and the mood rapidly started to change.

"Purebloods attacked us!"

"Hermione, give 'em hell!"

"Kill the bastards!"

"Revenge!"

"They still try to murder us!"

"Kill 'em all!"

"Kill them!"

Cursing under her breath, she stopped trying to reach John. They had to stop this, at once, before it was too late. A flick of her wand conjured a pedestal, and a swish enlarged it, pushing a few people who had stepped too close to their group away. She cast an Amplifying Charm while she climbed on to the makeshift stage, trying to gather her thoughts. If she messed this up…

She shook her head. "Everyone, listen! Those who attacked us here, those who killed our friends here, they want us to lash out in anger! They want us to become like them - to attack people just because of their blood! I know you want revenge - we all lost friends to those monsters - but we can't just attack any purebloods!"

"Of course we can!" Someone yelled from the back. "Enough is enough! Let's kill 'em all!"

Some in the crowd yelled back, but others supported the heckler. Hermione bit her lower lip, then spoke up again: "Do you want to be like the Death Eaters? Do you want to kill pureblood families? Children?"

For a moment, the crowd grew silent, and Hermione thought she had won them over. Then the heckler yelled again: "There are no children in the Wizengamot!"

Another voice rose over the noise - aided by an Amplifying Charm: "There are no children in the Ministry either!"

"Where's the Ministry anyway? I don't see any red robes!" the first heckler joined in.

Hermione had a good idea where the Aurors were - staying out of sight so they didn't get lynched. She wanted to curse the damned heckler, but that would make her a hypocrite. "Many purebloods fought Voldemort," she said instead. "Do you want to kill them too?"

"Where are those purebloods now?" the man yelled back.

Hermione was livid - so many friends and Order members had died fighting Voldemort, and that cretin was acting as if they had done nothing! But before she could yell back and ask where the idiot himself had been during the war, Harry stepped up on the stage.

"They're here," he said, pointing at Sirius and Ron, who followed him up on to the now crowded stage. "My godfather, Sirius Black. My best friend, Ron Weasley. Both purebloods. Both of them fought Voldemort himself here in the Alley. And so did their families. Purebloods, and half-bloods too. And so did many more - they fought and died fighting Death Eaters. Like the Resistance. Like myself. We all fought together. We can't let a few madmen tear us apart now."

The crowd fell silent, then started to yell their agreement. Hermione sighed with relief. They had done it. Or rather, Harry had done it, she thought with a tiny bit of jealousy.

And she had learned two things. She needed to work a little more on her speech for tomorrow's Wizengamot session. And Harry was needed in politics.

*****​

London, Ministry of Magic, March 14th, 1997

The Minister for Magic was not looking well, Sirius Black thought when he entered Bones's office. Too tense, too stressed. Alas, her state wasn't the result of his and his friends' efforts to tear the Wizengamot down. Although she was still too inflexible, of course. Thicknesse was looking as he always did - unflappable, or as close to it as was humanly possible, in Sirius's opinion. "Good morning, Amelia. Good morning, Pius."

"Good morning, Sirius," she said, her expression stating that the morning was anything but good. Thicknesse simply nodded.

She had a point, of course - it was why he was here, in her office, instead of at home, preparing for today's session in the Wizengamot. "What did your people find out about yesterday's attack in Diagon Alley?" he said, sitting down and crossing his legs in the slightly too casual manner he knew the witch hated.

She frowned. "None of the attackers survived. According to the few witnesses we could interrogate, they acted as if they were under the control of the Withering Curse - blank expression, unfocused eyes."

He ignored the implied complaint about the fact that not that many muggleborns had been willing to talk to the Aurors, when the latter had finally dared to show up, and nodded. "But their limbs were unaffected." The Order and the Resistance might not have the same experience and resources as the Unspeakables, but they had investigated the incident as well - especially the bodies of the attackers.

"Yes." Amelia pressed her lips together. "The Department of Mysteries detected residue of the Imperius Curse on one of the attackers."

Sirius narrowed his eyes. "Imperiused victims do not look like the attackers did." That was what made the curse so dangerous - you usually couldn't tell if someone was affected.

"Unless they were ordered to act like it," she retorted with a faint and - in his opinion - rather bitter smile.

"Ah." His eyebrows rose. That was something he hadn't thought of - but it would make sense. "Someone is trying to stir up more trouble than between the Ministry and the muggleborns."

"Yes," she spat out.

Sirius caught Thicknesse glance at the witch, before the Head of the DMLE spoke up. "While we have no leads on the culprits, the fact that someone is trying to frame the houngans for the attack points at a foreign origin for this plot."

"The French? Or the Prussians?" Sirius asked, although he had his suspicions already.

"Both are possible," Thicknesse said.

Amelia snorted. "The French would love to see Britain and Jamaica at war - especially if it keeps the British muggleborns pointed across the ocean, instead of across the Channel."

Sirius saw Thicknesse frown for a moment before the man said: "Both countries have had issues with muggleborns in the past, and both have also opposed Dumbledore's policies in that area. The Prussian delegate might not be prone to using such subterfuge, but that doesn't mean his government - or another faction in Prussia - wouldn't attempt such a plot."

"Unlike the Prussians, the French have recently meddled in Britain." Amelia stared at Sirius.

He stiffened. "That was a response by the Delacours, after Antoine Delacour had been struck by one of Voldemort's traps."

"And condoned by the Duc d'Orléans," Amelia said. "Who sent his mistress to Britain as the French delegate." She put her elbows on her desk and folded her hands. "Do you honestly think the Duc hasn't milked the surviving Delacours for all they know, after they fought with the Order and the Resistance, and inside the Ministry?"

Sirius frowned. He didn't like what he thought Amelia was getting at - his relationship with Vivienne wasn't exactly a secret, but neither was it publicly known. "Of course the French are concerned about our situation, but that doesn't mean they'd go so far as to try to start a war between us and the houngans."

"They have more to lose. They took more drastic measures than the Prussians against muggleborns following the end of Grindelwald's War," Amelia said.

"There are still those in Prussia who adhere to at least some of Grindelwald's ideals," Thicknesse said. "While the country is not quite as welcoming towards muggleborns as it once was, they do have a stronger voice there than anywhere else."

"Outside Britain, of course," Sirius cut in.

"Yes." Thicknesse nodded, acknowledging the point. Amelia, of course, frowned. The wizard went on. "However, since the muggleborns are more influential in Prussia, the Chancellor might be inclined to prevent Britain's muggleborns from taking over, fearing that this would lead to his own subjects reaching out for support."

Sirius wasn't an expert in Prussian politics, but he was leaning towards the French being behind this plot. Unless someone wanted the British to believe that. "Would anyone outside the Department of Mysteries have expected the investigation to uncover evidence of the Imperius?"

"It's not impossible, but it seems rather unlikely," Thicknesse replied, appearing to cut off Amelia's answer. "Not all of the capabilities of the Unspeakables are secret, but to predict such a result…"

"It would just need one traitor in the Corps," Amelia pointed out with a sneer. "The Aurors are aware of the forensic capabilities of the Department of Mysteries."

Sirius sighed, even though he was quite glad about the apparent rift between the two. "So, we don't have a real suspect."

"Beaumont wants to meet you and Granger," Amelia said in an apparent non-sequitur.

Another delegate wanting to meet them, in the middle of a crisis, and with Reid's 'request' hanging over them as well! Sirius had to force himself to smile politely and nod, instead of curse. "That can be arranged." The current crisis could serve as an excuse to delay such a meeting, but that would make Britain appear weak. Weaker.

"Good," Amelia said. "The sooner that witch is gone from Britain, the better."

"If she is behind this plot, then her return to France will not stop hypothetical agents from continuing their work on her behalf," Thicknesse remarked in his calm voice.

Sirius couldn't tell if the man was hinting at Vivienne being a suspect. He wished he could tell them that his lover was not working for the French, despite the pressure from some of her family, but that would be breaking her trust - and he doubted that either Amelia or Thicknesse would believe him anyway. "We will be careful." He made a show of checking his watch - a replacement for the one his uncle had gifted him on his seventeenth birthday, and which had been lost following his arrest in 1981. "However, I need to go now - the Wizengamot session is starting soon. I can't miss the debut of my godson's friends."

The expression on Amelia's face that appeared in response to that comment made him smile all the way to the lift.

*****​

London, No. 12 Grimmauld Place, March 14th, 1997

"Thank you again for doing this for me," Harry Potter said when he saw Andromeda enter the entrance hall of Sirius's - and his - home.

"Serving as your proxy is an honour," she responded. With a grin that reminded him a lot of his godfather, she added: "My parents must be turning in their graves."

Harry smiled. He felt a bit guilty for not mentioning that originally he had planned to ask her husband to serve at his proxy. He had assumed that Ted Tonks, being a lawyer and a muggleborn, would have been the better choice. Sirius had corrected his assumptions, though - apparently, Andromeda's temperament was far more suited for politics. "It's just until my birthday, though," he said.

She chuckled. "The Wizengamot might not last that long, anyway. But I'll serve faithfully in your stead until then."

That had the ring of formality to it, and so he nodded. "Well… just support Sirius. And Hermione."

She sniffed. "Who'd have thought that one day, I'd be following my cousin's lead in anything."

"You did follow my lead in rebelling against our misguided family," Sirius said from the top of the stairs, grinning at them. "Where's the rest of our illustrious gang of esteemed members of the Wizengamot and assorted proxies?"

Andromeda snorted while Harry answered: "Hermione was still going over her speech in the guest room, and Ron went to fetch her." He shrugged. "I don't know why either is nervous. Ron doesn't have to do anything but read a few lines, and Hermione is, as always, over prepared and still she worries."

Sirius chuckled. "Well, says the wizard who will be simply watching from the audience."

Harry sniffed. "I'm not the one who made the Wizengamot elect me at my tender age."

His godfather looked him over, rubbing his beard. "At least you're dressed for the occasion."

"You picked out my robes," Harry retorted.

Sirius nodded. "Indeed. Which is why you look so good."

Andromeda rolled her eyes. "Are you finished lauding yourself?"

"For the moment, yes. I might have to do it again once Hermione gives her speech and you can see the heads of the old fossils and young bigots explode." Sirius beamed at his cousin.

"I doubt that your esteemed colleagues will show such a blatant lack of decorum," Andromeda answered. "That would be too tacky for the Old Families."

"Right. They would rather topple over dead in dignified silence." Sirius nodded. "But we all know that they are hypocrites anyway."

The two Blacks shared toothy smiles, while Harry snuck another glance at the clock on the wall, wondering what Ron and Hermione were doing… he didn't think they would actually do anything, not before such an important event, but… Ah!

Ron and Hermione appeared at the top of the stairs. Harry almost snorted, remembering how much of a pain it had been to outfit them. Ron hadn't wanted to accept charity, and had taken some persuading to accept from Sirius the expensive dress robes he was now wearing. Hermione, on the other hand, had no qualms about accepting Sirius's gold, but the witch had been wavering for days over whether or not she'd flout the Wizengamot's dress code, until Andromeda had found a recently re-opened muggleborn tailor's making dress robes that were sufficiently muggle while still being 'sufficiently wizarding', as Ron had called them.

"Let's go, or we'll be late!" the witch in question said, rushing towards the fireplace. Harry glanced at Ron, who winced - it didn't look as if he had succeeded in calming her down.

"We have been waiting for you," Sirius said, which caused Hermione to huff right before she stepped into the green flames.

"Let's just get going," Harry said. There was no point in trying to argue with her when she was like this.

*****​

London, Ministry of Magic, March 14th, 1997

"Honoured members of the Wizengamot! I'm proud to have been chosen as a member of the Wizengamot, and I will do my utmost to keep serving Wizarding Britain and its people to the best of my abilities."

Ron Weasley took a bow, and sat down again on his seat. As far as first speeches went, he had been told by a reliable source that his wasn't the shortest by far, but after several hours of listening to Hermione practise hers, he still felt as if he was slacking off.

"The chair recognises Madam Granger."

Next to him, Hermione stood up. He could see her taking a deep breath, before she raised her chin. Ron smiled at the sight of the witch he loved facing down the assembled Wizengamot with the same expression of determination and conviction he had grown so familiar with in the years he had known her. No one who saw the confident witch right now would have thought that she had been very nervous just a little while ago, at Grimmauld Place.

"Honoured members of the Wizengamot!" she began, "I stand here, not just for myself, not just for my friends who fought against Voldemort at my side, but without receiving the same recognition I did, and not just for my fellow muggleborns." She shook her head, and once more Ron missed her long mane. "No, I stand here for all those who have not had a voice in this assembly until now: Muggleborns, half-bloods and many purebloods, all those who have not been born into Old Families."

Many Wizengamot members started whispering in response to that, Ron noticed. Not just the cronies of Malfoy and Runcorn.

Undaunted, Hermione continued: "This last war has brought Wizarding Britain to the brink of ruin and opened deep rifts within her population. If our country is to survive, it must change. No longer will we tolerate a few, simply by accident of birth, deciding for the many! Everyone - muggleborn, half-blood and pureblood - needs to have a voice in how the country is governed. Everyone needs to have a stake in this, needs to know that this country is their country. Our country. Only then will we have a future without yet another war laying waste to our beloved country."

That caused even more murmurs. Ron heard an old wizard near him exclaim "Preposterous!"

"Just as I did my best to defeat Voldemort, so too will I do my best to achieve a better Britain for everyone."

Hermione nodded curtly, and sat down again. Ron reached over to squeeze her thigh in support, and earned a smile. "You did well," he whispered. "Scared the lot of them, I bet, too."

"I just hope that I scared them enough for them to stop fighting the inevitable," she said.

"You don't have to scare all of them, just enough to give us a majority."

And seeing the glares leveled at them by the bigots, Ron was certain that they were close.

*****​

Kent, Greengrass Manor, March 14th, 1997

Daphne Greengrass sighed with relief when she stepped out of the fireplace in the entrance hall of her family's manor, safely behind her wards. Her manor, she reminded herself - she couldn't afford to think like the girl she had been. She was the head of her family now.

"How did it go? Did Potter make a speech?"

Astoria had apparently been waiting for her to return, Daphne noticed - her sister was standing in the door to the hallway, hands behind her back - she'd be wringing her hands, Daphne knew.

She shook her head. "No. He's not seventeen yet, so he had to pick a proxy. I told you that."

"But he's the Boy-Who-Lived."

Daphne refrained from rolling her eyes. "That doesn't make him exempt from the rules."

Astoria pouted. "It did at Hogwarts."

"The Wizengamot is not Hogwarts." Daphne started to walk towards the living room, then reconsidered. Their 'guests' would be there. The metamorphmagus, and the werewolf. She shuddered, and changed direction. The kitchen would do.

"So, how did it go?" Astoria skipped next to her, craning her neck to look at Daphne. "In the Wizengamot, I mean."

Daphne sighed. Her sister was being a pain, even though she could understand how starved Astoria was for news. "As expected," she said. "Weasley didn't say anything more than what was expected, and Granger announced to everyone that she wants to destroy the Wizengamot." Of course, that hadn't come as a surprise to anyone with a working brain - which, sadly, excluded half of the Wizengamot, in Daphne's opinion.

"And Potter's proxy?"

Daphne frowned. No complaint about the mudblood murderer of their parents? "Why are you so interested in Potter?"

Astoria shrugged. "Everyone is interested in him. He's the Boy-Who-Lived."

"His proxy was Black's cousin." The only one left alive. "She showed more decorum and class than Black. More wit too, but it's a facade - she's supporting him and Granger."

Astoria nodded slowly. "I see."

"What?" Daphne asked, opening the door to the kitchen. Then she blinked. Astoria was sitting at the kitchen table, frozen in the act of loading up a tray with biscuits.

"Mistress! Young Mistress told Biffy that she was allowed to!" Their house-elf squeaked while Astoria flushed.

Daphne didn't care. She whirled around, staring at the Astoria who had walked with her. "Tonks!"

The metamorphmagus's wide grin was very unlike Astoria's.

*****​

Tracey, of course, chuckled when Daphne later told her what had happened. "So, we know she can fool even you. Theo won't suspect anything."

"Only if she refrains from grinning like that," Daphne said, pointing at Tonks.

"I'll be the picture of a demure pureblood maiden," the metamorphmagus said.

Daphne wasn't the only one who snorted in response to that claim. Even the werewolf coughed into his hand. "Just complain about the mudblood murderers of our parents, and otherwise stay silent," she said. "And best leave once you've tagged him."

Tonks shook her head. "That would leave you unguarded." And unsupervised, Daphne thought. "And the best opportunity to hit him is to do it when he's turning his back to us when he's leaving."

Daphne filed that information away. Not that it would do her much good - she was committed now. She nodded. "Very well." She glanced at the clock on the wall.

"I'll be monitoring the meeting from the guest room," the werewolf said. He didn't say how, of course. "If anything suspicious happens…"

"...then you'll charge in and save us?" Tracey cut in, smiling. Daphne really hoped that her friend was only acting like this to rile up the metamorphmagus. Even if that wasn't exactly a smart course of action either. Not for someone in their position.

"...then I'll be ready to intervene, should you need the help," he went on.

"Which we won't," Tonks said. "I can handle Nott."

"Provided he arrives alone," Tracey said.

"I doubt he'd be so rude as to bring strangers to you without sending word ahead. That's not done in his circles, is it?"

The mocking undertone of Tonks's words was more obvious than the subtle hint in her mother's speech in the Wizengamot. Daphne knew that the Auror was a half-blood, born to a pureblood cast out of her family. Of course she'd have similar views to the twins'. And maybe similar experiences, she added to herself.

*****​

As it turned out, Theo arrived alone. "Daphne! Tracey! You're looking well! You too, Astoria," he added with a smile at the disguised Tonks.

Daphne nodded at him. "So do you, Theo." In fact, he was in a very good mood, for someone who had just seen the murderer of his parents join the Wizengamot.

"You sound far more chipper than I'd have expected." Tracey cocked her head, her expression turning the statement into a question.

"How could I not be, seeing as others have taken up their wands to strike back at the mudbloods?" Theo smiled widely. "Britain's noble spirit has not yet been squashed under the mudbloods' heels!"

Daphne blinked - so it hadn't been him behind the attack on Diagon Alley? Or was he simply lying to protect himself? Did he distrust them?

"Have you been reading Lockhart again?" Tracey sniffed. "That sounds like something he'd write."

Daphne shot a glance at her friend. She was being too direct. And too rude. "You mean the attack in Diagon Alley."

"Of course!" Theo seemed to ignore Tracey's comment. "It showed that we're not alone."

"It also riled the mudbloods up," Tracey said. "They could attack others in revenge."

"Yes." Theo nodded. "And so the mudbloods will show the entire world how dangerous they are. Other purebloods will flock to Britain to deal with them."

Tracey opened her mouth, no doubt to deliver another scathing rebuke, but Daphne cut her off. "With the ICW delegation in Britain, the eyes of the world are on us."

"Exactly!" Theo grinned. "It's a unique opportunity. For all of us."

"It could also be a foreign country meddling in Britain for their own reasons," Daphne said. "According to what I heard, the attackers acted like zombies." She didn't have to spell out what that meant.

Theo sneered. "The houngans might be hoping to weaken Britain with this ploy, but this goes beyond our country. Mudbloods are a danger to everyone. And the other countries are aware of that."

"You mean your mysterious 'friends' who can't intervene directly without 'risking an international incident'." Tracey scoffed.

Theo glared at her. "They have done more for our cause than you. I thought you had grown a spine when you voted against Potter, Weasley and Granger, but apparently, you're still cowering in fear."

"I'm not about to serve as a mindless tool for some foreigners with an agenda of their own," Tracey said, sneering at him.

"You have to admit that it sounds rather dubious," Daphne said. "The houngans would love for Britain to weaken itself further in a civil war."

Theo snorted. "Even if we couldn't handle them, the rest of Europe wouldn't tolerate the houngans attacking us."

"You mean France and Prussia would fight the houngans to the last British wizard," Tracey said.

Daphne held up a hand before the two butted heads even more. "It was Dumbledore who cowed the houngans. Without him, Britain either needs help from foreigners, or from the mudbloods."

"Or from Potter!" 'Astoria' piped up.

Daphne glared at the metamorphmagus. "In any case, we'd have to beg for help, and we'd likely have to make a number of concessions."

"I told you already: This is bigger than Britain. This is a fight for every pureblood!"

"A fight every pureblood wants to see fought by us, so they can stay safe." Tracey narrowed her eyes at Theo. "And you are even eager to serve as their curse fodder."

Theo stood up, shaking his head. "You wouldn't understand. You'll end up murdered by mudbloods if you don't stand up and fight now."

"We almost were murdered because we stood and fought," Tracey snapped.

Daphne shot her friend a glance. She was overdoing it, Daphne thought. "It's not as if we like mudbloods, you know that. But we were almost killed several times in the war. We're not going to risk our lives recklessly, not when we don't even know who is involved in this affair." She held up a hand again when Theo opened his mouth. "We're not going to act like obedient little Hit-Witches. Your 'friends' can hire enough ruffians from Knockturn Alley, or whatever it's called in Paris, for that." She noticed how Theo flinched. "We're members of the Wizengamot, not tools."

Theo frowned, but nodded. "I see. You think you'll be more useful in another capacity. If you have lost your nerve, then that might be for the best."

Tracey, for once, didn't respond to the barb, though her glare spoke volumes. Daphne bowed her head at Theo. "That may be so."

The wizard turned to 'Astoria'. "I hope we didn't frighten you with our discussion, my dear. Rest assured, things will work out for all of us in the end."

The metamorphmagus beamed at him. If Theo had known the real Astoria better, he'd have realised that she was a double - Daphne's sister would have bristled at the patronising tone. Fortunately, that wasn't the case.

Theo bowed to Tracey and Daphne. "I'll take my leave, then."

Daphne knew what was about to happen, and she still almost missed it when Tonks whipped out her wand and sent a spell at Theo's back, right before he stepped into the fireplace. The Auror was far quicker than her apparent clumsiness would suggest.

As soon as the flames had change back to their natural colour, Tonks leaned back in her seat and shook her head. "What a pompous arse!"

Tracey snickered, then grew serious. "I wonder if he really believes what he told us, or simply thinks he can manipulate us."

"We'll soon find out," Tonks said.

Daphne knew what she meant, and told herself that the fool had doomed himself.

She still felt guilty about selling him out, though.

*****​

London, Diagon Alley, March 14th, 1997

Bess Cox rubbed her shoulder. It had been healed, but she still could feel a twinge from time to time when she moved her arm too much. The wizard who had treated her hadn't been the most skilled, but she couldn't go to St. Mungo's. She couldn't risk that.

She kept looking around while she walked through Diagon Alley. Anyone could be a threat. Imperiused, or disillusioned, or disguised. It would have been safer to stay in muggle London, she knew, but she wouldn't let the pureblood scum drive her out of Wizarding Britain. She wouldn't betray her dead friends like that!

Not everyone thought like her, though. There were fewer people on the streets, and most of them were hurrying to wherever they were going. No one was loitering outside a shop or pub. Bess pressed her lips together. Muggleborns were afraid again, as if the war had never ended. She couldn't stand that!

She reached the site of the attack. The damage to the street had been repaired already, unlike the bar. Of course - the bar was owned by a muggleborn. If it had been a pureblood's business, then it would have been repaired as well, Bess knew. She cursed under her breath, then turned to look at the side alley where she had almost died. Where she had almost been murdered. She hadn't been saved by Aurors, of course. She hadn't even seen them until long after it had been over. The red robes wouldn't show themselves to help muggleborns.

She wasn't the only one to visit - the ground in front of the entrance to the bar was covered with flowers and candles, and she saw half a dozen other muggleborns standing there. Bess summoned a piece of debris from the bar, then transfigured it into a rose. Or tried to - McGonagall wouldn't have rated it as passable, but it would do for this. She walked up to the entrance, and put the misshapen flower down next to a flickering candle. None of the others standing there were saying anything, so she remained silent as well.

So many had died here. Murdered by bigots. Just like her friends. Just like so many other muggleborns. Murdered just for being born to muggles. She ground her teeth. The war was supposed to be over. They had won! The Dark Lord was dead, and the Ministry beaten! This shouldn't be happening any more!

She realised that she was crying, and wiped the tears from her cheeks, then turned and walked away, her hands, stuck in the pockets of her jacket, balled into fists.

A few minutes later, she had reached Freddie's Fish'n'Chips, a muggleborn food shop located in a side-alley, barely big enough for a dozen people. It wasn't packed, despite the fact that it was dinner time, but she saw a number of people waiting for their orders, and stood in line herself.

"Does anyone know how many died in the attack?" she asked after a minute. The Resistance Radio hadn't gone on air yet, and she didn't trust the wizarding media.

The wizard next to her looked her over. Not to check her out, but to check her clothes. She was wearing jeans, a leather jacket, a sweater, and trainers. Muggle clothes, used ones. He nodded. "I've heard there are a dozen dead, twice that number wounded."

She hissed and rubbed her shoulder. "Bastards!"

He cocked his head slightly to the side. "Were you there?"

Bess pulled her hand away from her shoulder. "Yes. One of them almost killed me, before someone blew his head off. Hit me in the shoulder," she added.

"Ah." He slowly nodded again. "Did you lose anyone you knew?"

She shook her head. "Not in that attack, but... " She sighed. "Three friends during the war. And one was 'killed while resisting arrest' before the war."

"My brother was killed in the riot."

Before Bess could say anything else, Freddie handed the man his order. A single portion, she noted, and a beer. "What'll it be for you?" the owner of the shop asked her.

"Same as him," she answered.

The other man seemed to hesitate, then took a seat at a table. After a moment, Bess joined him. "The purebloods still haven't learned their lesson."

He shook his head, blowing on a chip before biting into it. After swallowing, he said: "Did you hear Granger and Potter talk?"

"No. In the Wizengamot?"

He shook his head again. "No. Yesterday, at the attack. They don't want us to do anything."

Bess hissed. "What?"

"They don't want us 'to act like our enemies', or some such." He snorted, then stuffed a piece of fried fish into his mouth.

Bess ground her teeth. "They killed dozens of purebloods in the war," she pressed out. "And now they want to play nice?"

"They're on the Wizengamot now."

She muttered a curse under her breath. "Talking won't help us. They haven't even called for another rally. There's only one language those pureblood bastards understand."

He nodded.

*****​

London, No. 12 Grimmauld Place, March 15th, 1997

"Why are we letting them into our home? We're not letting Reid into Hogwarts like that."

Sirius Black smiled despite Harry's words - knowing that his godson considered the Black's ancestral house his home felt very good. "Well, they won't be casting any spells here. My family has a reputation, after all."

"So has Hogwarts," Harry countered. He had stopped fiddling with his new dress robes, at least.

"Hogwarts isn't known for all the dark arts done there. My family, on the other hand, is known for their mastery of dark curses." Sirius wasn't proud of that legacy, but it was handy at times - both the reputation and the curses. He doubted that either Beaumont or Steiner would risk both the wards' response, and the loss of reputation by trying anything while they were guests in his house.

"If you say so," Harry muttered.

Sirius looked at him. "What's wrong?"

His godson shrugged. "I should be with the rest, training. Not dining here."

"Ron and Hermione will be joining us soon. And weren't you pretty much exhausted when you arrived earlier?"

Harry glared at him. Sirius chuckled. "They want to meet all of us. That way, we can present a unified front."

"Beaumont is a vipère. Don't trust 'er. She just wants to find out 'ow powerful you are," Vivienne was standing in the door, clad in dress robes straight from Paris that hugged her curves. She looked ravishing.

Sirius smiled at her. "We're aware of that. Our honoured guests will discover that we're not to be trifled with, and that should persuade them to leave Britain alone."

"Or they'll think we're too dangerous to be left in peace," Harry muttered.

"They fear the example you're setting for their muggleborns," Vivienne said, walking up to Sirius and wrapping one arm around his waist. "If they think you are more like Grindelwald than Dumbledore…"

Sirius twisted around so he was facing her, then planted a kiss on her brow. "Don't worry. We'll be polite and refrain from proclaiming a crusade for muggleborn rights." That was the agreed upon plan, at least.

"I hope you told Hermione that," Harry said.

"She knows," Sirius said. The witch was smart; she wouldn't blurt out her long-term plans.

Which, Sirius was certain, did include a campaign for the rights of the European muggleborns.

*****​

"Madame Beaumont, Herr Steiner, welcome to my humble abode!" Sirius bowed with all the grace his parents had taught him as soon as Beaumont and Steiner had cleaned themselves of soot and dust from their trip through the Floo Network. Since this was technically a private invitation, they hadn't brought their assistants along.

Beaumont's smile was as honest as his own as she curtsied in return. "Thank you for the invitation, Mister Black." It slipped a tiny bit, he noted, when she saw Vivienne standing there. Probably jealous, he thought - the French witch was beautiful, but she couldn't hold a candle to Vivienne in his, entirely objective, opinion.

"Thank you," Steiner said, bowing more stiffly.

"May I present to you my godson, Harry Potter," Sirius said, gesturing at Harry, who bowed as well. A bit roughly, of course - he had grown up among muggles. Sirius suppressed the familiar pain he felt when thinking of James and Lily. "Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger." Curt bows. "And Vivienne d'Aigle."

"Enchantée." His lover curtsied with the grace the Veela were famous for. Sirius thought Beaumont's smile slipped a tiny bit more.

"We have prepared an aperitif in the living room." He opened the door behind him with a flick of his wand, then the one to the living room with another. "After you."

*****​

Kreacher had taken a few bottles from the good selection in the cellar, but not the best. That was reserved for guests Sirius actually liked, and special occasions. Steiner would probably not notice it, but Beaumont would.

Judging by her expression after tasting her drink, she already had. Sirius raised his glass. "To a successful conclusion of your inspection," he toasted. After everyone had taken a sip, he added: "It is pretty much finished, isn't it?"

"Not quite," Beaumont said. "There's still Hogwarts to visit, and of course the current political situation to consider. Which is why we are grateful for your invitation."

The witch wasn't wasting any time, he noted. He'd have expected that from a Prussian, not a Frenchwoman. "I see." He slowly inclined his head as the others gathered around them.

"You're the leader of the most influential faction in the Wizengamot, as well as the leader of the Order of the Phoenix," Beaumont said.

"What's left of it after the war," Steiner cut in, shaking his head. "I haven't heard of such carnage since Grindelwald's War."

"The brunt of the losses were borne by the Dark Lord's forces, and by the Ministry," Sirius said. "We didn't escape unscathed, of course."

"Neither did the Resistance, but we're already rebuilding," Hermione added. The young witch was a bit too honest for her own good, Sirius thought.

"Ah, yes. The famous Muggleborn Resistance." Beaumont's smile grew cold. "Your deeds in the war made waves at the Court. Quite brutal, and ruthless. Many wonder what you'll be doing now that the war is over."

"If the war is actually over. That attack on Diagon Alley…" Steiner shook his head. "Nasty business, that. Reminds me of the aftermath of the war in Prussia."

"We'll continue our struggle for equal rights with means adequate for the situation." Hermione's smile showed more than a few teeth.

"Those who attack us will regret it," Harry said. "We beat Voldemort and his Death Eaters, and we'll beat whoever is behind these attacks."

"Do you mean the Ministry, or your own organisations?" Beaumont asked with a faint smile.

"We've been working together during the war," Sirius said. "There's no reason to stop now. Dumbledore wasn't a Ministry employee either, and did what he could when he was needed."

"But that was Dumbledore. Britain's greatest wizard since Merlin," Steiner said. "The one who defeated Grindelwald." His implication was clear.

"Harry's defeated Voldemort," Ron spoke up. "We all fought the Dark Lord - more than once. And we're members of the Wizengamot. My family's working in the Ministry." He shrugged. "Whether you're a Ministry employee or not doesn't matter, as long as you're doing what's needed."

"Ah." Steiner nodded.

Beaumont, though, frowned. "That sounds rather unorganised. Without a clear hierarchy, responsibilities can be easily neglected."

"It's not so different from the Cour de France," Vivienne said, smiling innocently. "The Duc often 'as friends and family 'andle issues, instead of using 'is employees."

Beaumont didn't even bother to hide her frown now. "But Britain lacks a Duc. They have an elected Minister who answers to the Wizengamot."

"The Wizengamot hasn't taken any steps to dissolve the close relationships between the Order, the Resistance and the Ministry that were created during the war," Sirius said, "and I doubt it will in the future. As you said, I am the leader of the most influential faction in the Wizengamot." He spread his hands.

"I see." Beaumont was smiling cynically, but she seemed satisfied.

Sirius looked at his now empty glass, then at the clock on the wall. "Dinner should be ready now."

*****​

Sirius sighed with relief and let himself fall into the closest seat when his guests had finally left. "That was exhausting," he said, closing his eyes for a moment.

Harry snorted. "They didn't ask you about the fight with Voldemort." He badly imitated Beaumont. "But you 'ave to admit that a boy of your age defeating a wizard with decades of experience in a duel is unheard of. I cannot even fathom 'ow that could have been possible."

"Her accent wasn't that bad," Sirius said.

"That's not the point, Sirius."

He shrugged. "We knew that they would try to find out just how we killed Voldemort. Or what exactly the Resistance is capable of."

"I didn't expect them to be so blatant about it," Hermione said, leaning into Ron. "Steiner sounded as if he was planning to write a book about our operations."

"They weren't 'appy," Vivienne remarked.

"I don't care if they're happy or not." Sirius scoffed. "All I care about is whether or not they think that we're too powerful to provoke into a conflict, so they'll leave us be."

"Beaumont thinks that you'll be taking over Britain," Vivienne said, sitting down on the armrest of his seat. "At least that's my impression."

He patted her thigh. "As if I'd be that insane!" The others chuckled, and he mock-glared at them.

"Actually, we are taking over Britain - we need to, to reform the Wizengamot," Hermione said. "And you're leading the movement in the Wizengamot."

"If I'm stuck in the Wizengamot, then so are you," Harry added.

Sirius glared at them both, but they didn't look as if that impressed them.

The worst thing was that they were correct.

*****​

Worcestershire, Nott Manor, March 16th, 1997

Ron Weasley studied the manor through his omnioculars. It had sturdy walls, good lines of fire, and while he wasn't an expert, he could see that the wards were powerful - and lethal.The Notts were an Old Family, after all, and their manor's protections had been created in a time when sacrificial magic hadn't yet been illegal.

He turned to his brothers. "Can you sneak your wireless ears inside?"

"Of course!" Fred answered, pouting. "We did it before, after all."

"With a temporary hideout," Ron said.

George shrugged. "The principle is the same. Without specific counter-charms, they can't stop us. And they'd need to know how our invention works to develop such charms."

"And the wards of those old manors are a bitch to work with, or so Bill says," Fred added. "So, even if they knew about our wireless ears, they would be unlikely to manage to protect the manor."

"But they would be casting privacy charms all the time," Hermione said. She wasn't looking at them, but staring at the manor through her own omnioculars, taking notes about the strength of the wards, Ron knew. She'd have to calculate how much explosive would be needed to take them down.

"We should take Nott out," Fred said. "Before his next attack restarts the war."

Ron could see George rolling his eyes. "And break the cover of our spies? If Nott gets captured so soon after his visit to Greengrass, his backers will know they betrayed him."

Fred shrugged. "Diagon Alley's a cauldron about to boil over. What good does it do if we find the traitors after their plans succeeded?"

"It's a risk we have to take," his brother said.

Ron had heard the argument before. Twice, actually. He wasn't happy with letting Nott continue either, but he understood that next to Nott's allies, Malfoy and Runcorn were the real targets. And Greengrass and Davis needed to earn their trust. "Just get your ears into the manor, and we'll be able to stop him on the way to his next attack."

"Easier said than done - that's a big manor. Moving them takes a lot of time." Fred grumbled.

"Then talk less, and work more," George said.

Fred shot his brother a glare, but returned to the contraption with which he was apparently moving the wireless ears to the manor. Adapted from a muggle toy, or so Ron had heard. As long as it worked, he didn't care how it worked.

"I'm done." Hermione stashed her Omnioculars and turned around. She nodded at the twins. "Inform us as soon as you've installed the ears."

"Ma'am, yes, ma'am!" Fred barked, standing up to salute, followed by George.

Hermione shot Ron a glare that had him wince - he really shouldn't have told his brothers about muggle boot camp. Even if it was funny.

*****​

Near Morant Bay, Jamaica, March 16th, 1997

Augustus Rookwood frowned. His plan had worked - the muggle boy he had chosen as bait had been taken an hour ago from his parents, under the cover of an accident at sea - but the wards protecting the houngan's hideout were stronger than he had expected. Breaking through them would take too much time.

Fortunately, there were other ways to bypass wards, even without the resources of his former colleagues in the Department of Mysteries. They involved certain risks, however. But he had no choice - he needed the knowledge this houngan, whose name he didn't yet know, could provide.

He slid down the trunk of the tree from which he had observed the manor and started towards the fields he had spotted behind it. He hadn't much time left - the houngan would quickly notice that the boy he had had kidnapped wasn't a wizard, and suspect a trap.

He still gave the manor a wide berth - it wouldn't do to get spotted now - until he reached a patch of dense forest bordering the fields. A number of muggles were working there, clearing weeds from what he could tell - he hadn't done much herbology since Hogwarts.

He didn't spot an overseer, which meant that the muggles were magically controlled - or zombies. That might even be an advantage for him. It all depended on how much the houngan valued his muggles.

For a moment, he hesitated. Then he aimed his wand at the closest muggle worker.

"Imperio!"

As ordered, the man stepped closer to the edge of the forest, then suddenly stumbled, and threw his farming tool into the forest. It wasn't the best acting, but the muggles were too stupid to notice anything amiss. Augustus waited until the man had stepped past the tree he was hiding behind, then stunned him and quickly stripped him of his clothes before pulling out a vial from his enchanted pocket. A plucked hair later, the Polyjuice was ready.

Once more he hesitated, disgusted. To wear the form of a muggle… he shook his head. It was only temporary, after all. A sip later, he was wearing the man's form, and pulling on his dirty clothes. His enchanted pocket went behind the man's sash. A Killing Curse and a Vanishing Spell later the muggle was gone.

A flick of his wand conjured a banana spider, one of the most venomous muggle spiders of the island. He rubbed some powder on his skin, causing a red swelling, then took a sip from another vial. At once he started to shiver and tremble. He managed to put a bezoar into his mouth, but didn't swallow it, before crushing the conjured spider and stumbling out of the forest while waving its carcass around. His screams caught the attention of the other muggles, and a few minutes after he collapsed, acting as if he was in severe pain, they carried him to the manor.

Augustus swallowed the bezoar when he passed the wards. When he stopped trembling and shivering, the muggles started yelling even louder for their master in their weird dialect.

"What is going on?" he heard a rough, harsh voice demand in decent English.

Half of the muggles who had carried him started to explain about his spider bite. Augustus used the distraction they provided to summon his wand from the sash in which he had hidden it.

The houngan noticed, but Augustus was already casting when the man swung his wand up.

"Imperio!"

The man's expression went slack and his wand hand fell down. Augustus opened his mouth to give his victim his first order when he realised that the houngan was far too young to be the owner of the manor. And that meant…

He managed to cast a Shield Charm just in time to save his life from a curse that showered the area with yellow liquid. While the muggles around him started to scream, covered with poison - acidic poison, he noted - he ran past the imperiused houngan, towards a stone bench that would provide some cover.

Another spell transfigured the stone bench into a stone snake but he had been expecting such a move, and slid to the side, moving over the short grass with his wand waving. The snake was rearing up to strike when his Banishing Charm smashed it into the porch of the manor, narrowingly missing the houngan standing there.

His enemy - his target - flinched, and Augustus followed up with a Killing Curse, which drove the houngan into cover behind the next pillar. He was already rushing forward, two, four, five steps, but then the lawn in front of him was ripped open as Inferi tore out of the earth. Cursing, he flicked his wand, a fire whip cutting the undead apart, but stopping his charge.

And that gave the houngan the time he needed to turn the tables. Augustus saw a wave move through the lawn, ripples spreading as if the earth was water, leaving brown, shriveled, dead plants in its wake. Some sort of rotting curse, but one he hadn't seen before.

Two could play that game, though. He sent a volley of quick, exotic but weak curses at the houngan, just to keep him busy, then turned the earth in front of himself into a curved stone wall. The wave smashed into it, and was parted, a trail of dead plants surrounding him. A second later the wall was shattered, fragments of it bouncing off his shield.

He countered with an explosive curse that blew up most of the porch and - more importantly - covered the area with dust and smoke. That bought him a few more seconds. He cast an Amplifying Charm, then yelled "Help me!" at the houngan under his control.

The young man turned around, lifting his wand, but collapsed before he could cast anything. Either the poison spell had hit him as well, or his master had taken precautions against betrayal.

Two green curses flew at him, Killing Curses! Augustus jumped to the side, then rolled back - he didn't want to touch the rotten grass. He grit his teeth - his target was proving to be more troublesome than he had expected. And he wasn't the duellist he had once been.

A quick conjuration turned the now rotting grass between him and his enemy into a forest of stone pillars. He could deal with this, though - his greatest strength had always been his mind. While the pillars started to rot - that was a powerful dark curse, he noticed - He filled the area with a cloud of smoke, then transfigured the remains of his wall into a stone figure in his likeness. A spell later, it was running away from him, towards the wardline.

It wouldn't fool the houngan, of course - he would have cast a Human-presence-revealing spell. But it would serve as a distraction from his real attack. He hadn't wanted to use it, but there was no choice. And the houngan might survive it. Or his library would.

He pulled a small pack out of his pocket and banished it in a high arc towards his enemy, then started to run towards the wardline at the side of the manor. The pillars had crumbled by now, and the smoke had thinned so he could see curses shooting at him. He dove towards a green patch on the ground, his wand whipping back and forth while his shield shattered under the impact of a spell. The ground opened just before he touched it, and he fell six feet into the earth. He managed to take a deep breath before the grave filled up with earth and rock.

Then the earth shook as the package he had thrown hit the porch and exploded.

*****​
 
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Chapter 53: Missteps
Chapter 53: Missteps

'The houngans of Jamaica had a fearsome reputation, especially among the nations of the New World, and certainly were skilled in their arts, especially sympathetic magic and the creation and control of zombies. However, a thorough examination of the various wars between Britain and Jamaica clearly reveals that for all the fear their particular traditions caused in the ignorant, a houngan was not significantly more powerful on the battlefield than a skilled British Hit-Wizard. The only reason their 1752 rebellion succeeded was because they launched it exactly when Britain was occupied fighting the goblins on her own soil, and if not for the sheer distance between the British Isles and Jamaica, which presented insurmountable logistical challenges for an invasion force without muggle support, they would have lost all of the following conflicts.
Of course, at the end of the Second Blood War, skilled British Hit-Wizards were in very short supply.'
- Excerpt from 'Wizarding Britain in the 20th Century' by Albert Runcorn


*****​

Near Morant Bay, Jamaica, March 16th, 1997

Augustus Rookwood felt the earth that surrounded him press into his back, forcing the air out of his lungs. He wouldn't suffocate right away - his spell was designed to let the victim suffer as they were buried alive - but it wasn't a pleasant feeling. Taking a shallow breath, he moved his wand, vanishing the earth at its point with a quick motion. That allowed him more space to cast, and soon, he could roll over inside the space he had cleared of soil.

Another stab of his wand, and the earth above him vanished, transfigured into a staircase. A few seconds later, he had climbed high enough on the stairs to peer at the manor, leading with his wand.

The muggle explosives he had thrown had wrecked the porch, shattered the windows, and caved in part of the wall. Nothing a package of Explosive Fluid wouldn't have done just as well, but he hadn't had enough left, and so had been forced to resort to using muggle means as if he were a mudblood. That the Dark Lord himself had used such means to kill his blood traitor enemies and frame the mudbloods was a small comfort - Augustus hadn't planned to use a bomb here.

He recast his Shield Charm and climbed out of the hole. There was a body lying in the ruins of the porch, half-buried under a fallen pillar. He kept his wand trained on it as he closed. The houngan could still be alive.

He wasn't, as Augustus saw as soon as he reached the porch - the entire lower half of the houngan's body had been crushed. Frowning, he muttered a curse under his breath. He needed a captive to interrogate, not a corpse. A glance to the side told him that if the younger houngan hadn't been killed before the explosion, he was certainly dead now.

Shaking his head, Augustus entered the manor. He had no use for the corpses of his enemies, but their library might prove of use.

One way or the other, he would gain the knowledge he needed.

*****​

South Downs National Park, Hampshire, Britain, March 16th, 1997

Daphne Greengrass took a deep breath while she cleaned the soot from her robes in the entrance hall of Augustus Malfoy's home.

"Well, it's a step up from Draco's home," Tracey muttered under her breath.

Daphne closed her eyes and clenched her teeth. "Thanks, Tracey," she muttered, "for reminding me what happened the last time we visited a Malfoy." The attack by the Resistance, the desperate attempt to flee, the deaths of their friends, their capture… She shook her head, banishing those memories from her mind, just as she had forced the memories of her dead parents away.

She wasn't in Malfoy Manor, no matter what Augustus Malfoy called it. Everyone knew that it was originally a summer house of the Malfoys, before Draco's grandfather had given it to Augustus. This was no Summer Ball either, just a dinner for members of the Old Families. Not even two dozen guests, including her and Tracey. And she wouldn't die, crushed by falling ceilings or burned alive. The Resistance wouldn't attack this gathering. At least she was reasonably certain they wouldn't. But not certain enough. She had no doubts that the mudbloods wanted her dead for fighting them.

"Miss Greengrass! Miss Davis! Welcome to my home!"

"Mister Malfoy." Daphne's face showed none of her thoughts when she smiled and bowed to Augustus Malfoy, Tracey doing the same next to her.

"The other guests are already in the salon," he said, gesturing towards a door to the side.

"Of course he has a 'salon'," she heard Tracey mutter while they followed their host. "Bloody French."

Daphne didn't mention that the Malfoys had been British purebloods for almost a thousand years. Tracey knew that as well. But in the current times, emphasising such roots sent a message - if it was done deliberately. Which, seeing as it was Malfoy, would be the case. Whether what that affectation was hinting at was true was another question, of course.

A question Daphne hoped she'd be able to answer after this evening. Hoped, but did not expect.

Philius Runcorn was surrounded by a group of Wizengamot members - Daphne recognised most of them. Older ones, who had survived the war. Mainly by hiding, and fleeing. Not the kind of people she'd expect to support another civil war. Unless they were desperate - but they didn't look like it as they greeted her and Tracey. Did they actually think this was a safe course of action?

"Miss Greengrass! Miss Davis!" Runcorn beamed at them. "Two heroes are among us," he declared. "Two brave witches who fought for our culture and traditions."

"And our very lives," Malfoy added.

Daphne forced herself to keep smiling. Did they know about her and Tracey's meeting with Theo, and this was an attempt to shame them? She didn't see her - former now, probably - friend here, but certainly, if Malfoy had invited her and Tracey, he'd have invited Theo as well. "We were lucky," she said. "Many of our friends didn't survive."

Tracey simply nodded.

Malfoy looked sombre for a moment. "Draco among them. They murdered him like muggles."

"And now they are poised to take over our country," Runcorn added. "Their leader is now a member of the Wizengamot. To think that a mudblood murderer is counted among our ranks…" he shook his head, taking a shaky breath. "The fools following Black have lost their minds."

"Black has the support of Weasley, Potter and Granger, and through them half of the Ministry, Dumbledore's Order as well as the Resistance," Tracey said.

"He is powerful," Malfoy said, "but his power is more fleeting than he - and others - may think."

Daphne didn't have to fake her sceptical expression. "That isn't my impression. He is about to gain a solid majority in the Wizengamot, he already has more wands behind him than the Ministry can muster, and his influence is growing."

Several of the others nodded in agreement with her. Tracey added: "And the other families can't match Black's resources."

"Oh, but the alliance between the blood traitors and the mudbloods is fragile. Black is no Dumbledore, and Granger may have Potter twisted around her finger, but she has trouble controlling her own. The attack in Diagon Alley showed that. The same tactics that brought the Ministry to its knees are now being turned on the mudbloods." Malfoy smiled. "Sooner or later they will go on a rampage and show everyone that they are but rabid animals. All of the purebloods, even the blood traitors, will realise that."

"That will cost a lot of lives," Tracey pointed out in a flat voice.

"Regrettable, but unavoidable." Runcorn sighed. "Far more would die if the mudbloods took over - you know that they want to wipe us all out."

More people voiced their agreement. Daphne slowly nodded. "They want revenge, and they want the Old Families broken and gone. None of them care for our ways and traditions. Not even the blood traitors." She knew that very well from her talk with Black and the twins.

"Exactly. We're fighting not just for us, but for every pureblood true to our heritage. We're fighting for what it means to be a British wizard," Runcorn declared. "Or a British witch," he added, with slightly less pathos.

"Voting in the Wizengamot is not exactly fighting," Tracey said. She might be rushing things, Daphne thought, but neither Malfoy nor Runcorn had so far admitted to being behind the attack.

"If we lose the Wizengamot, we lose Britain," Malfoy said. "Our enemies are aware of that as well."

"There's a flaw in your plan." Daphne shook her head. "You can't hope to stop the mudbloods with the Ministry and whatever scared purebloods you can recruit once the Resistance has started to fight seriously. You need far more wands for that - and you need them before things escalate."

"We are aware of that," Malfoy said, "and we're taking appropriate measures."

"Better hope that whoever's doing those attacks doesn't push the Resistance too far before you're ready," Tracey said.

Daphne saw a smile flicker over Malfoy's face, before he nodded in a solemn manner, and she was certain that he controlled those attackers, or at least knew who was controlling them.

*****​

Kent, Greengrass Manor, March 16th 1997

"You know that you don't have to wait here? You could be networking with your allies in the Wizengamot, or spending time with Harry or Vivienne. I'll call you as soon as they return."

Sirius Black turned his head to his best friend - best friend still alive, that was - and frowned. Remus sounded honestly concerned, but he was staring at Sirius's hands, which were fiddling with some knick-knack he had grabbed from the shelves in Greengrass's living room. The animagus scoffed. "Harry is back at that camp. He said he didn't want to miss out on any training that he didn't have to." Privately, Sirius thought Harry still wasn't too comfortable spending time with Ron and Hermione - he had felt the same, at the start of James and Lily's relationship, and he hadn't been in love with Lily. Not much, at least. "And technically, I'm networking with my allies." Not quite willing allies.

Remus raised an eyebrow, and Sirius sighed. Of course his friend was still as perceptive as ever. "Vivienne is visiting family, Andromeda and Ted are spending the evening with some friends, Arthur and Molly are with Bill and Fleur, and I'd go mad if I stayed alone in the house with Kreacher."

Sirius half-expected his friend to crack a joke about him being mad already, but Remus was too serious for that and simply nodded in understanding - he knew all about being alone, of course.

"How's the little Death Eater doing, by the way?" Sirius asked after a quick Mending Charm fixed the thing that had suddenly broken for no reason while he was examining it.

"Astoria" - Remus stressed the name - "is behaving." With a subtle sigh, he added: "Although mostly out of fear, I think."

"It's a week until the full moon!" Sirius shook his head at the stupidity of the family. And of everyone else in Britain.

"Fear is not rational," his friend said, with that sad smile Sirius hated.

"Another point in favour of the muggleborns - they at least have no irrational fear of werewolves," he grumbled. Most of them did not, at least. Although that could be because they thought silver was a deadly weapon against a werewolf.

Remus shrugged. "Tonks is keeping an eye on her as well."

"I don't trust her. Greengrass's sister, I mean," Sirius clarified.

"She's young and inexperienced."

"She's also a risk." If she spilled what she knew about this… Sirius dropped the knick-knack on the floor and started to twirl his wand around his fingers. He had spent months learning how to do that without dropping it, back in third year.

"She knows that her sister's life is at stake."

"Wouldn't have stopped my brother from running to Voldemort." Regulus had been a dutiful Death Eater, after all.

Remus sighed. "For one, there is no Dark Lord around any more. Just a bunch of Old Families. Astoria isn't likely to bow to them."

"Proud little pureblood, isn't she?" Sirius chuckled.

"You haven't met her," his friend answered, narrowing his eyes slightly.

"I've heard about her. Nymphadora was quite vocal about her. And about Greengrass and Davis."

"Tonks is not exactly unbiased." Remus pursed his lips slightly.

"Good! Neither am I!" Sirius grinned briefly, baring his teeth. "Though I think she has more of an issue with Davis than with the Greengrasses. I think while she loathes their irrational fear of you, she dislikes the fact that Davis apparently isn't afraid of you even more."

Remus coughed, just like he had when they had teased him about Marietta, back in their fifth year. "It's not a crush, just a young girl trying to shock and tease her friend."

"She's just a few years younger than Tonks," Sirius remarked, in a casual tone, while he watched his friend.

"Seven years."

Sirius shrugged. "As I said, just a few years younger."

Remus sighed and closed his eyes, hunching over while he sagged back in his seat.

"So…" Sirius drawled, "Any plans to do anything about the witch with a crush on you?"

"No."

"Why not?" Sirius shifted in his seat, abandoning his casual pose to lean forward. "And don't give me that nonsense about your curse making a relationship too dangerous for her." Remus opened his mouth, and Sirius cut him off. "And no remarks about the age difference. Vivienne is barely a year older than she is." He paused for an instant, then went on: "And nothing about how such a relationship would ruin her life or her career. The muggleborns don't care about the prejudices of the purebloods, and you know Hermione's plans for anti-discrimination laws."

Remus glared at him. Sirius smirked in response, until his friend sighed again.

"You don't have an argument, do you?" Sirius said.

His friend didn't answer, which was enough of an answer.

"Well… seems to be a case of irrational fear, in my expert opinion." Sirius chuckled at the expression on Remus's face.

"Emotions as a whole are rarely rational." As an argument, that was weak, especially for Remus.

"And fear is unbecoming for a Gryffindor!" Unlike Sirius's own reasoning.

Unfortunately, the fireplace flared up and saved Remus from answering.

Greengrass and Davis stepped out of it, soot-stained but well enough.

"Welcome to Greengrass Manor," Sirius said, idly spinning his wand around his fingers again.

Greengrass glared at him, probably for the presumption of welcoming her to her own home. "We have no proof, but it's obvious that Malfoy and Runcorn are connected to the latest attack in Diagon Alley," she stated, before cleaning her robes with her wand.

Sirius thought he saw her jaw clench, and rubbed his beard. "Are you certain?"

"Yes," Greengrass spat out. "They all but said so."

"That's the difference between proof and assumption," Remus said.

"They insinuated that they can know, or even control when the next attack will happen, and plan accordingly," Davis said, smiling at Remus. "They wouldn't risk so much if they had no control or at least prior knowledge."

Sirius narrowed his eyes at that smile. He wasn't a Slytherin, but he had grown up in a family of them, and he didn't think the little witch could act well enough to fool him. Maybe she had a weakness for older men, and for the kind of boys her parents warned her away from. Or would have, in Davis's case, since they were dead. He shook his head, focusing on more important matters. "That means that unless Nott is a better liar than you assume, they also control him. Or someone controls both of them."

"They didn't act like wizards acting under orders," Greengrass remarked.

Sirius inclined his head. "They might not realise that they are being manipulated." After all, if they had any sense, they wouldn't try to restart a war they had already lost once.

"Is it enough to question them with Veritaserum?" Davis asked. She didn't have to say that she wasn't talking about an interrogation by the Ministry.

"Maybe." Sirius saw the two witches exchange brief smiles. "But we'll need you to capture them, should we decide on that course of action."

He grinned when their smiles vanished.

*****​

London, No. 12 Grimmauld Place, March 17th, 1997

After another hour of waiting, and without company, Sirius Black was ready to change into Padfoot and chase Kreacher just to vent some of his frustration. Then Vivienne returned from her family dinner, and his heart lifted. He stopped his pacing and turned towards her, opening his arms.

She slid into his embrace, and he knew things hadn't gone well - she was stiff, and tense, and taking deeper breaths than usual while she rested her chin on his shoulder.

"What happened?" he asked, when he released her.

"My suspicions were confirmed," she said.

"France is supporting these attacks?" Even though he knew that the French had asked her to spy on him, Sirius had trouble believing they'd go that far.

"Not officially, of course. But the Duc is turning a blind eye to the machinations of Beaumont and 'er co-conspirators. Like 'e turned a blind eye to our intervention in the war." Vivienne smiled weakly. "Ma mère said that they do not trust the muggleborns. Not with Dumbledore dead."

"Your family?"

She shook her head. "The Court, or the majority of it, to be exact. Ma famille is split as well."

"And the Duc supports this?" Magical France was supposed to be a monarchy, wasn't it?

"That is not known. Some think 'e condones weakening Britain and especially British muggleborns. Others think 'e wants Beaumont's faction of the Court weakened." Vivienne looked rather dejected.

"And what do you think?" He ran a hand over her cheek, then cupped her chin when she looked up at him.

"I think 'e prefers to remain ignorant - officially - of what is being done, so 'e can later claim whatever serves 'is interests best." Vivienne snorted. "It wouldn't be the first time that 'e 'as done something like this, but so far, it was always internal politics."

"So, in order to stop this, we need to convince him that the faction trying to sabotage us won't win," Sirius mused. "Or we threaten him with organising a rebellion among the French muggleborns."

Vivienne hissed. "That would confirm the Court's fears. And lead to war." She shook her head, her long hair whipping around.

"That leaves dealing with the French agents in Britain then. Whom we first have to find." Sirius sighed. That meant they couldn't take out Nott, or Malfoy and Runcorn. They needed them to find their contacts. But at the same time, they couldn't let them start a war with another attack…

He sighed. Even with the new information they had gained today, things had become more, not less complicated.

*****​

London, No. 12 Grimmauld Place, March 17th, 1997

Hermione Granger rubbed her wrist, then checked her watch. It was far too late to continue her attempts to learn a new spell. Especially a houngan spell. But she had to learn this spell, so she could tell if Reid was trying to double-cross them at Hogwarts. And with this latest crisis threatening to turn into another war, she did not have much time.

At least John had done a good job with the radio broadcasts, and the leaflets. If they were lucky, the muggleborns would take heed and not start indiscriminately attacking purebloods. She frowned, dropping her wand. Not all would listen to them. Those hecklers… she ran a hand through her hair, twisting some strands in frustration. They wouldn't listen to mere words, or leaflets. But, or so she hoped, they would stay their hands until the rally in Hogsmeade next weekend. Although organising and securing that rally would take a lot of time and effort.

And Hermione knew that the Resistance would need something more than words to placate the muggleborns by then. If they could catch those behind the attack on Winston's, then that should suffice to keep the muggleborns from lashing out by rioting, or worse. Should.

She frowned. They didn't have any clues as to the attackers' identity, though. Not yet. Nott wasn't responsible, or so it appeared, But he was responsible for other attacks. Probably. And they knew where he lived. If they made no progress with the investigation into this attack, then he'd have to do. Also, Nott had escaped justice once; many muggleborns would cheer his capture or death just for that.

She snorted - this was how Dumbledore must have felt, she thought, weighing sacrifices and ploys in an attempt to keep the country from destroying itself. She rubbed her eyes, and went back to studying the notes the houngan had provided. At first glance, the spell appeared to be a simple detection spell, not that different from the Human-presence-revealing spell, if more focused. But something felt wrong - the casting instructions were too complicated for such a spell. Not something she'd expect from a spell that had undoubtedly been refined over centuries. And she didn't think the houngans, who had stalemated the British wizards in half a dozen conflicts, would have developed a spell that was more complicated than needed.

She finally realised what was bothering her when she used Arithmancy to cross-check the wand movements and the incantations with similar spells she knew. It was a ritual. A very efficient ritual, not that much slower to cast than a regular, if complicated, spell, but a ritual nonetheless.

And that changed everything.

Hermione pressed her lips together. Rituals could be varied. Enhanced. Empowered. Often with sacrifices. With the right sacrifice, this spell could cover a lot of ground. It wouldn't need to be cast that many times to cover the British Isles.

Maybe Reid was so determined to inspect Hogwarts because he had already checked the areas of Britain that were not as heavily warded as the school? But that would have cost lives. A lot of them. And Reid wouldn't have had enough time since his arrival, even if he had captured enough victims. Unless… she hissed. Unless he or accomplices had been in Britain already, trying to track the missing skull with such rituals. Dear Lord - how many people could have been killed for such an attempt?

She shook her head. She had no proof, not even a shred of evidence - missing muggles wouldn't be noticed that quickly if their kidnappers were even a little skilled - but… if she was correct, then they'd be taking a monster to Hogwarts.

*****​

London, Diagon Alley, March 18th, 1997

Bess Cox glared at the two Aurors she saw walking down Diagon Alley. She wasn't the only one - none of the muggleborns out on the street bothered to hide their disgust at the Ministry's lackeys. It was telling that they hadn't shown up in increased numbers until now.

She scoffed, and turned away. She walked a bit faster, both because anger drove her on, and because she was already a bit late. Stuffing her hands in the pockets of her jacket with a huff, she turned into the next side alley.

After three days straight of going to Freddie's Fish'n'Chips for dinner, the owner greeted her with a nod and a friendly smile. And so did Randall.

"Hi."

"Hi."

She took the seat opposite his, at the same table where they had first met. There was no need to order - Freddie was already frying up their dinner. "Sorry I'm late."

He dismissed her apology with a flick of his hand. "Happens."

She smiled, then she saw the folded leaflet next to his wand on the table, and scowled. "Another one?" she asked, nodding towards it. "Did they finally stop sucking up to the purebloods?" The Resistance had been spreading hundreds of those, all with the same message as their recent radio broadcasts: Don't attack purebloods.

He shook his head. "The Resistance is holding a rally in Hogsmeade this Sunday. The leaflet is mostly about that." With a grin, he added: "But they also stress that it'll be a peaceful rally."

Bess shook her head. Now that Granger was on the Wizengamot, she was supporting the regime. Just like so many revolutionaries in history. The Resistance's soldiers would probably soon do joint patrols with the Aurors. Maybe they'd dye their uniforms red as well, to better fit in. "They're selling us out," she spat. "The Resistance killed every pureblood they could get during the war, but suddenly, that's wrong? I guess shagging Weasley and Potter is more important to Granger." She ground her teeth.

Randall snorted, but he was shaking his head. "I heard Potter, and he had a point - purebloods fought for us as well. Not all purebloods are bad."

"Just most of them," Bess said. "During the war, Dumbledore claimed to fight for us, but he stabbed us in the back when we fought as well."

Before Randall could answer, Freddie called out their orders. "I'll get them," Bess said, and summoned them. She was quite proud that she didn't lose any chips on the way - her first attempt two days ago hadn't been that successful.

"You were talking about the attack on Hogsmeade," Randall said, almost whispering.

Bess tensed. She was still wanted, as far as she knew - the Pardon only covered the Resistance and the Order of the Phoenix. There was a reason she hadn't told Randall her last name.

"Don't worry." Randall smiled. "I often wish I had done something myself."

Bess slowly nodded and grabbed a few chips to buy some time for her answer. They were too hot and she hissed before taking a sip from her beer.

He chuckled. "One thing the Resistance got right, though: We can't simply lash out at the first pureblood we see. That would play into our enemies' hands."

"We can't let them get away with it either, or they'll never stop," Bess countered. She'd love to find the scum who had killed her friends, but she couldn't exactly search the Ministry reports, not as a wanted witch. And neither could she talk to the French and the Order members who had caught them at Hogsmeade. At least, she consoled herself, odds were that they were killed in the later battles anyway.

"We'd need to find them first. And that might prove a bit difficult."

"We can at least try," Bess said. "We've got a list." She didn't have to say which list she meant.

Randall nodded. "They can't exactly blame us if we catch Death Eaters they are hunting as well."

Bess nodded. "Won't be easy, though."

"It won't. But I think I have an idea."

"Oh?"

Randall smiled. "Have you heard about the 'TV trouble mystery'?"

*****​

Cumbria, Britain, March 18th, 1997

"This is torture!" Ron Weasley let himself belly-flop on the bed in his tent as if he was acting the part of one of the wounded for an exercise.

He heard Harry chuckle. "It's still not as bad as Wood's training."

"Says you," Ron grumbled into his pillow.

"And I'm the one who had him as Team Captain for three years, so I would know."

"It's been three years since, and you were but a boy back then," Ron said.

"So?"

"You probably misremember it. All those bludgers to the head won't have helped."

Harry didn't answer, but a pillow hit Ron's head a second later. He counted that as a win.

Rolling on his back and sitting up, he banished the pillow back to his friend. "So… when's dinner?"

"In half an hour."

"Enough time for a nap then." The Sergeant had told them that soldiers slept whenever they could, since they never knew when they could sleep again.

"Clean the paintball stains off your fatigues first," Harry said.

Ron considered arguing that he was protecting the Statute of Secrecy by not doing it, but decided not to - the two muggle instructors already suspected something, after all, but everyone was carefully avoiding the subject. He pointed his wand at his chest. "Scourgify! Now let me nap."

He had barely closed his eyes, though, when he heard another voice. "Ron? Harry? Are you decent?"

"Hermione?" Ron sat up.

"I'll take that as a 'yes'," she said, entering their tent.

He stood up and moved to hug her. "I didn't expect to see you so soon. Did you learn the spell already?" He'd have thought that even for her, a houngan spell might prove more of a challenge.

"More or less," she answered when he let her go. "And I found out something that we need to talk about. With Sirius."

"Weren't you just at Grimmauld Place?" Harry asked.

"Yes. But I want you to be there when we discuss this." Hermione looked at Harry and at Ron. "And Sirius was busy in the Ministry today anyway."

That didn't sound good to Ron. He sighed. "Let me guess: We're in deeper trouble than we thought."

She pursed her lips. "We've discussed worse situations."

"I'll take that as a yes," Ron said, glancing at Harry.

Harry snorted, but nodded. "Let's go home then. We can eat there."

"Mum's cooking?" Ron asked. The camp cook, one of the recruits, tried her best, but his mum beat most professional chefs, in his admittedly biased opinion.

"Yes," Hermione said, with a faint smile.

"Let's go then!"

"Don't you want to take a nap first?" Harry asked.

Ron didn't bother with a reply.

*****​

London, No. 12 Grimmauld Place, March 18th, 1997

"So, if my theory is correct then Reid or one of his allies have already searched most of Britain for the missing skull. Only the most secure places - Hogwarts, Gringotts, perhaps the Ministry - are left. And they have murdered people for that. Sacrificed them in dark rituals." Hermione said in Sirius's living room, standing next to her seat with her arms folded over her chest.

Sirius nodded, looking rather grim. "How certain are you of this?"

Hermione bit her lower lip. "I haven't tested it, for obvious reasons, but the Arithmancy supports it, although some houngan peculiarities might be different enough to throw the calculations off, but the general principles are universal for spell crafting, and in this case the indicators are almost identical to some of the works in your library... " She took a deep breath, then raised her chin slightly. "We cannot afford not to assume the worst here. I'm certain of that."

Ron Weasley smiled, despite the grave news she had just delivered. He loved how passionate she was.

Harry grumbled a curse under his breath. "Even assuming the worst, what can we do?"

Vivienne held up a hand. "Could 'e have given you misleading notes and information?"

That was a good question, Ron thought. Judging by Hermione's frown, she didn't share his opinion. "I've cross-checked what I could with books from Sirius's library. I do not think that Reid could have been aware of all of my references to anticipate that."

"But 'oungan magic is different, and we don't know much about it," Vivienne said.

"Magic is, essentially, magic. The basic principles are the same for all spells," Hermione countered. "Houngans cannot get around the laws of magic either. Those which have been proven, at least," she added with a frown.

"There aren't that many of those, though," Sirius said.

Ron shook his head. "Hermione's right, though - we can't afford to dismiss this." The smile that support earned him from her made him smile in return.

"And what can we do?" Harry, ever the practical wizard, asked again.

"Watch him, as we planned. And send him on his way as soon as possible," Sirius said. "Even if we knew for certain and could prove that he murdered people, we can't arrest a delegate from the ICW."

Ron glanced at Harry, then at Hermione. Sirius must have caught it, since he added: "We can't kill him either. Or rather," Sirius held up a hand, "We could, but the consequences would be devastating. You do not kill a delegate. That's about as bad a crime as conspiring to break the Statue of Secrecy. And as harshly punished."

Ron shivered - he had heard about the Intervention in Africa. Every magical child, except the muggleborns, of course, was taught this, to make them understand how important it was to keep magic a secret from muggles.

"And what if he tries to kill us? To keep any knowledge about this spell a secret?" Harry asked.

Hermione gasped, and Ron stiffened - the whole problem had started because the houngans wanted to keep the knowledge in their library secret, hadn't it?

"He'll know we'll have taken precautions, should something happen to us. And he'll know he can't overcome all of us to control us," Sirius said.

"Unless he has help," Hermione countered. "His assistants, and whoever he has infiltrated into Britain. Or controls."

"The Death Eaters?" Ron blinked. "Do you think they are working with houngans?" That was impossible - the feud with Jamaica went back for centuries. The Old Families hated the houngans.

Sirius looked rather sceptical as well, but Hermione shrugged. "Why not? They're hypocrites anyway. And they don't even have to know who they are working for."

"If they don't know who they are working for, then that would make any attack on us dangerous for Reid as well, as long as he is with us. And coordinating such an attack nigh-impossible."

"And I doubt that the Death Eaters would be so foolish as to attack a delegate," Ron pointed out.

Hermione looked unconvinced, but that was probably just because she loathed being proved wrong. She didn't argue, though she frowned. Then she took a deep breath. "Speaking of Death Eaters, we need to do something about Nott."

"What do you mean?" Sirius asked.

Hermione turned to face him. "We're doing what we can to calm people down, but you saw the crowd in Diagon Alley, and you heard the hecklers - if we don't catch the ones behind the attack, the muggleborns, at least some of them, will attack purebloods indiscriminately," Hermione said. "My friends from the Resistance have been in Diagon Alley regularly, and the mood is growing worse despite our best efforts."

Ron nodded. He had seen that crowd, and he could easily see them turning into a mob and starting a riot. Like the one in Diagon Alley last August. He had seen the carnage, had fought in it himself. So many had died in it...

"But we need them to find whoever is behind this," Sirius said. "We need to put a stop to this."

"Finding whoever is behind this won't matter if another war has already broken out by that point." Hermione shook her head. "They will have succeeded."

"But if they know we're on to them, they'll be on their guard. We won't get another good chance to find them." Sirius stood his ground. "And we would need to catch him in the act to prove his guilt."

"We can stage something," Hermione said. "We know he's guilty."

"'E could be just grandstanding," Vivienne cut in. "I 'ave a 'ard time believing that French plotters would work with the likes of 'im."

"Why? Do you think they'd be above working with Death Eaters? The French purebloods don't really like muggleborns, do they?" Hermione narrowed her eyes at the Veela, and Ron almost stood up to intervene.

"No. But 'e sounds too stupid to be used in a plot." Vivienne met the younger witch's stare.

Sirius cleared his throat. "Before we start duelling each other, let's get back to plotting how to defeat our enemies. If we truly need a sacrifice - a success - to placate the muggleborns, then Nott is the best choice. But in order to stage an attack by him, we need to capture him first. And for that, we need to break into his manor. Doing that without leaving traces that not even the Aurors can't miss will be difficult."

"We can stage an attack without him, claim we saw him, then attack his manor in retaliation," Harry said. He shrugged. "Anyone who knows him won't be surprised that he took a shot at us."

"The Ministry won't be pleased," Ron said. "Dad said that Bones is growing worse each day. She's not cut out to be a Minister."

"The Ministry is never pleased." Sirius sniffed. "We can claim that we didn't want to risk spies in the Ministry warning Nott. We'll need a good excuse for how we identified him, and of course he can't be allowed to survive. And we need enough time to interrogate him thoroughly."

That sounded quite impossible to Ron. Even the current, gutted Ministry with so many inexperienced Aurors wouldn't buy that.

"We don't need to interrogate him. Just force him to copy all the memories relating to the attacks he took part in; we can analyse them at leisure in the Pensieve." Hermione crossed her arms. "We won't be able to ask him what he knows, but he probably won't know anything important anyway."

Ron nodded. It was a good plan. Even though it meant someone among them would have to use the Imperius - they had to be certain that Nott wasn't tricking them with the wrong memories. Legilimency would be an alternative, but they would still have to force him to give them his memories - and the means used for that would likely be illegal as well. That meant the stakes had just risen even higher.

*****​

London, Ministry of Magic, March 19th, 1997

A muggleborn rally. In Hogsmeade. This weekend. Amelia Bones wanted to curse and rant, to vent her anger. But she was better than that. Instead, she simply nodded. "I see."

Pius hesitated a fraction of a second before continuing. Had he expected her to lose her composure? "Miss Granger has also requested that the Ministry refrains from 'provocative gestures in light of the tension between muggleborns and the Ministry'."

"They want us to stay away from the rally." Amelia translated.

"Yes."

"And yet, if something happens, they'll blame the Ministry for the very absence they require." She let some of her frustration leak into her voice.

"I do not think the Resistance would go that far. Miss Granger strikes me as being rather concerned with appearing to be fair and a person of integrity," Pius said. "Other muggleborns, however, do not seem to share those traits."

She scoffed. "She wants to appear fair and honourable, but she's a murderess trying to stuff the genie she unleashed back into the bottle she broke." She looked at Pius, who was standing in front of her desk, but he was carefully not saying anything. She shook her head at him. "You know that she's planning to do away with the Wizengamot and replace it with a muggle-style parliament. And the Ministry will follow after that."

"The Wizengamot is the ultimate authority in Wizarding Britain. Their power includes ceding their authority." Pius wasn't looking at her, but at the wall behind her seat.

"So, that's it, then." Amelia snorted. "I hope you got a good deal for your 'help'."

Pius didn't say anything, but she saw him tense, and smirked. It was a cheap and small victory, but she'd take what she could get. "The delegates aren't happy about the lack of progress in our hunt for the ones responsible for the attack on that pub," she said. Privately, she was certain they were very happy about having an excuse to stay and keep harassing the Ministry.

He wasn't thrown by the sudden change in topic. "I have a source investigating a possible link between the attackers and certain members of the Wizengamot."

She hissed. "Malfoy and Runcorn?" Since they had failed to gain her help, it would make sense for them to stoop to such means.

"So far they haven't found anything incriminating. But the two are in contact with Greengrass and Davis."

The two Death Eater witches who had been acquitted by the Wizengamot. If the Ministry managed to get them to trial this time, with the changed balance of power in the Wizengamot… that should placate the muggleborns, at least for a little. "Put surveillance on both of them! Use only your most trusted wands. I will not tolerate any leaks. To anyone. We'll be doing this by the book." There would be no warning for the two witches. And there would be no vigilante action by the Order.

Pius nodded. "I'll get on it, then."

Right before he reached the door, she said. "I'll hold you personally responsible for this, Pius."

This time she was certain that he stiffened before nodding.

*****​

Near Morant Bay, Jamaica, March 20th, 1997

It had taken three days for someone to notice his actions, Augustus Rookwood noted when his spells alerted him to an attack on the wards. The houngans apparently were as private - or divided - as he had heard from Duchamp.

He would have liked to have more time, of course - he had barely managed to sort through half the library of the manor, and most of the tomes were still cursed. And while he had found some fascinating volumes, including a few books on dark curses thought lost which had to have been looted from a British wizard during the rebellion in 1752, he hadn't found much about the skull in his possession.

He was tempted to simply summon and shrink the remaining books, but given the protections on them, that would be foolhardy. And he wasn't a fool.

He would have to try again to capture a houngan. For a moment, he was tempted to do so right away - the wards of the manor were still effective, and would hinder the attackers as much as they would himself as soon as he left the house, and whoever was attacking the wards would certainly be tied up in them. But they wouldn't be alone. Unless this was a rival of the houngan he had killed - Markus Williams, not that he cared - there would be several powerful wizards waiting for just such an attack. No, discretion was the better part of valour here. He was a Slytherin, after all, not a Gryffindor.

He tried apparating to the door of the library, and, as expected, failed. His Portkey didn't work either. He snorted - as if he'd rely on such obvious methods of evasion. But if the attackers had taken such measures to restrict magical travel, they would be covering the sky as well. Which would further stretch their forces.

He cast a Shield Charm and a Human-presence-revealing Spell before stepping out of the library and into the dusty hallways of the manor. Except for vanishing the corpses of the staff, lest they might rise as zombies, he hadn't bothered wasting any time on cleaning up. He hadn't heard the sounds of breaking wards yet, so they seemed to be holding just fine, despite Williamson's death. Good crafting - maybe the original owner of the mansion had been killed while away, and the wards had never been destroyed?

He had no time to dwell on such matters; the attackers wouldn't take too much longer if they truly had come in force. He hadn't laid many traps. Too time-consuming, and it only took one trap going off to make an attacker expect more, and slow their advancement to a crawl anyway. There were other means, however. A flick of his wand transfigured some of the debris into man-sized stone statues. A stabbing gesture later, half a dozen stone guardians ambled towards the back of the manor. At the next intersection, he repeated his actions, but sent the animated statues to the front. That should buy him more time.

He opened the door to the cellar, and went down the stairs, his wand swishing back and forth as he conjured rocks and transfigured them into various animals, including a few swarms of bees and hornets. A few Colour Charms cast on them would make them appear more dangerous than they actually were, and make the attackers even more cautious.

He smiled as he reached the door to the cellar - proper planning and cunning beat numbers and power, as usual. Inside the cellar, he locked the door with a charm, then strode straight to the back. A touch of his wand opened the escape tunnel Williamson - or rather, one of his ancestors - had built there. It looked pristine, and he could feel a small draft of fresh air. He cast a Bubble-Head Charm anyway, just in case.

Augustus was smiling when he closed the entrance behind him. Everything was going according to plan.

Until the tunnel collapsed and buried him under tons of earth.

*****​

There was something to be said for quick thinking and quick reflexes as well, he admitted to himself minutes later. His shield had protected him just long enough to conjure a metal table above him and make it unbreakable. It had held against the massed earth trying to crush him - long enough to transfigure the earth and, more importantly, the ground beneath him into stone. That prevented the legs of the table from sinking into the earth and formed a protective hole made of stone for him to work in.

He was still buried alive - and this time against his will, and far deeper than six feet. But he was alive, and had his wand, and enough free room to use it. And since there hadn't been a follow-up attack, this hadn't been an ambush by the attackers.

But time was running out - this cave-in would be noticeable above ground, and the attackers would quickly realise what had happened. By that time, he needed to be gone from this spot. And from the closest path to the wardline.

He started to vanish the earth below him, conjuring metal plates and supports, while he dug an escape tunnel from the escape tunnel as quickly as he could.

He would have laughed at the irony, if he hadn't been so angry at the fact that he had almost been killed by a dead man's trap.

*****​

Hogwarts, March 20th, 1997

"That wasn't the plan. The plan was for you to cross the edge of the wards, cast your spell, and then be gone. You cast the spell, so now it's time to get gone."

Harry Potter tensed up while Sirius faced down the houngan. Ron had moved to his left, Hermione to his right, and Vivienne and Remus were with Sirius. In a fight, Reid would be in a crossfire that not even Moody would be able to deal with - they had tested that once.

Reid didn't seem to be impressed, even though he was alone and facing the 'Vanquishers of Voldemort', as an article in the Prophet had dubbed Harry and his friends. He really hoped that Reid simply was a very good actor, and not actually that confident.

The houngan shook his head. In the pale light of the moon - it was close enough to the full moon for Remus to feel it - it looked almost like a skull. "I did cast the spell, but part of the castle interfered. I will have to be inside the actual castle walls for the spell to work properly."

Sirius muttered something too low for Harry to hear, then cocked his head without letting the houngan out of his sight. "Hermione?"

Harry quickly glanced at Hermione. The witch was biting her lower lip. "Hogwarts is so old, and has so many enchantments, it's probable that they'd interfere with a detection spell."

Reid smiled, his face looking even more like a skull's. "I assure you, I have no ill intentions. Besides, I doubt that a school as old and renowned as Hogwarts could be threatened by a single wizard."

"Voldemort was a threat," Harry said. "One we dealt with, of course."

Sadly, Reid didn't react to the threat. The houngan kept smiling. "Our agreement was to let me search the school for our stolen… relic."

"'Relic'," Harry heard Ron mutter. "Bloody necromancy."

"You did not tell us that you'd have to enter the actual castle. We didn't agree to that." Sirius said.

"That was implied by allowing me to pass through the school's defenses. Are you breaking our deal? I wouldn't feel bound to my concessions if that were the case..." Reid's smile showed even more teeth. If he was bluffing, Harry thought, then he would make a fortune playing poker.

They had defeated Voldemort, Harry told himself. And they had the houngan covered from multiple angles. It didn't make him feel any more confident.

Harry heard Sirius sigh after a few seconds, then say: "Very well. Follow me then."

Reid's smile widened, and he walked after Sirius, apparently not at all concerned with the five people trailing behind, wands ready to curse him in the back.

*****​

They reached the closest side entrance to Hogwarts in a few minutes. It was late at night, so the students would be in their dorms, and the patrolling prefects rarely covered this part of the school. Sirius opened the door with a quick wave of his wand and the group entered.

"We're here. Now cast the spell and get it over with!" Sirius growled.

"Of course," Reid said, his tone full of condescension.

Harry took a step back when Reid started to wave his wand around and mutter the incantation. He was certain that he wasn't the only one who wanted to curse the suspected murderer.

"Stop!" Hermione suddenly yelled, her wand raised to point at Reid. "You were altering the spell!"

"Merely an adaptation to indoor areas." Reid seemed unfazed despite half a dozen wands being trained on him.

"That makes no sense!" the witch protested.

"Of course it does not - to you. You are ignorant of houngan traditions," Reid said.

Harry tensed - his friend was sensitive to having her understanding of magic disparaged.

"I understand enough to notice a sacrifice," Hermione spat.

Harry saw Reid's eyes widen for a moment. "I see. I might have underestimated you. Slightly."

"A sacrifice?" Ron asked.

"An animal," the houngan said, pulling a squirming but strangely silent rat out of his pocket. "Surely not even British wizards are so squeamish as to object to sacrificing a rat for a good cause. We all know how many animal parts are used in common potions, after all."

"That makes no sense," Hermione said. "A rat wouldn't work for the ritual…"

"And you've become an expert in houngan magic based upon the scraps I gave you so you would not quiver in fear at magic beyond your understanding?" Reid scoffed. "Do you presume to lecture me?"

Sirius intervened. "Even if it's a rat, it's still a sacrifice."

"We had a pet rat, once," Ron said.

Harry snorted. That was one rat he'd not mind seeing sacrificed. Then he blinked. What if…? He turned away, as if listening to something in the hallway behind him, and stuck his hand into his enchanted pocket, the one containing the Elder Wand. Switching the wands didn't take long. When he turned back, his wand was aimed at the rat.

"Finite."

Before his eyes, the rat turned into a woman, whose screams filled the hallway when she slipped out of the houngan's grasp and staggered on the stone floor.

Harry was already casting, as were his friends, but the woman - a muggle or muggleborn, he noted, judging by her clothes - was blocking the line of fire for Sirius and Remus, and Reid was far quicker than expected. Harry's curse and a few more splashed against the houngan's Shield Charm, which had instantly appeared, and then the houngan's own curse caught the woman in the back. She blew up in a cloud of blood and bone and flesh that filled the entire hallway for a second, blinding everyone. Harry reacted as he had been trained to, dropping to the ground and rolling away from his position, so he wasn't cursed while blinded. A quick Scouring Charm cleaned his face and a Shield Charm followed.

By that time the hallway had cleared, but the group - everyone had spread out as well, as they had been drilled - was covered in blood and worse, and Reid had fled through the door. Harry charged after him, but the houngan had sealed the door with a wall of bones. It took but a second to dispel that, but it meant Reid had gained enough time to conjure animals and obstacles to cover his retreat - and gain more distance. He was already too far away to hit him with a curse. Maybe if Harry used his broom...

Shots rang out behind Harry. He glanced over his shoulder while dispelling another wall of bones - a moving one - and saw Ron was on the ground, firing an assault rifle, with Hermione about to join him.

"Clear a line of fire for us," she yelled.

Harry dropped the idea of flying after him. He and the others did what they could, but he already knew it wouldn't be enough. Reid was protected by a shield, and too close to the wardline. Harry was still dispelling a charging skeleton when the houngan passed through the wards and vanished.

*****​
 
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Chapter 54: Expediency
Chapter 54: Expediency

'As already explained, the main goals of the ICW's inspection were to discover just how powerful Britain was without Dumbledore and how much of a factor the British muggleborns would play in national and international politics. Both questions were answered by the events which occurred during and following the Houngan Ritual Crisis, although one can state with certainty that the manner in which those answers were given was not what any member of the delegation had intended. Not at all.'
- Excerpt from 'The Second Blood War' by Hyacinth Selwyn


*****​

Hogwarts, March 20th, 1997

"Reducto!"

Another skeleton exploded into bone fragments. Harry Potter turned and looked for another target, but there weren't any left. He saw Ron vanish what looked like the front half of a stone leopard trying to drag itself towards them with its paws and Sirius had just finished dispelling the last moving bone wall.

"Moody would rip us a new one, if he had seen this," Harry's godfather said, looking at the rest of the group gathered at the side entrance and sighing. "We had Reid surrounded and at wand point, and he managed to escape anyway."

"The woman appearing in our midst was a distraction," Ron started. "And he had a shield up that blocked our curses, and then…" Harry saw his friend wince when he trailed off. Ron wasn't the only one. That hadn't been a Blasting Curse, but something far worse.

"Yes." Remus gestured at himself and Sirius. "We couldn't cast at him without hitting her, until he turned her into a cloud of blood and gore."

"Terrible," Vivienne said. The Veela was moving her wand over her body, vanishing the blood and other things stuck to her skin and robes.

"It might actually have been a Transfiguration spell," Hermione said. "An explosion, like from a Blasting Curse, wouldn't have reduced her whole body like this, not so evenly." She shook her head. "Though there would have to be a blasting component as well, to spread it out. Unless that's the result of the effect that rendered the body down to…" she trailed off and closed her eyes for a moment, taking deep breaths. "Sorry."

Harry saw Ron move towards her to hug her, but he pulled back at the last moment, staring at his blood-covered arms.

"Let's get cleaned up," Sirius said. "Before..."

A loud, piercing shriek from inside the castle interrupted him. Harry was through the door in an instant, leading with his wand, Ron hot on his heels. They found Padma Patil and Anthony Goldstein, the Ravenclaw prefects of their year, staring - and in Padma's case, shrieking - at the remains of the woman Reid had killed.

"Ah…" Harry began, catching their attention, but before he could explain, Anthony started to scream as well and wave his wand around. Harry disarmed them both. "Calm down! No one's going to hurt you."

They didn't seem to listen, though. The others had spread out to cover the hallway.

"Shut up!" Hermione suddenly shouted at the two students. "Or I'll silence you two myself!"

They shut up, but didn't look any less scared.

"Ravenclaws," he heard Ron mutter under his breath in the sudden silence. "No wonder Padma's not in Gryffindor."

"Shh!" Sirius said. "Someone's coming. A group of them."

Harry stepped behind one of the suits of armour - covered in blood and gore like the whole area - and aimed his wand. Ron followed suit on the other side of the hallway, and Hermione took up a position in the open doorway. Sirius and Remus stepped forward while Vivienne moved the two students - now silenced, Harry noted - around the next corner.

"Harry?"

He knew that voice. Ginny.

"Ginny?" Ron asked. "Blimey, she brought half the house!"

He was correct, Harry noted. Behind Ginny, who was marching towards them, came Neville, Parvati, Lavender and several more Gryffindors. And, he noticed, one lone Ravenclaw. Luna.

"We noticed the fight and came as fast as we..." Ginny trailed off when she caught sight of them and gasped. "What…"

"It's not our blood," Ron quickly said.

Judging by the expressions on the students' faces, that didn't reassure them. But at least no one screamed. And one or two dozen Cleaning Charms took care of that problem.

It would take a lot more than a few spells to take care of the teachers who had arrived by then, though.

*****​

"I bet McGonagall would be happier if this had been a tasteless prank," Ron said, looking over his shoulder. "And if she could give Sirius and Remus detention."

Harry chuckled. The joke wasn't really funny, but it was better to laugh than to cry.

Hermione shook her head. "I hope they won't take too long with her. We have bigger problems to deal with than this."

"Bigger problems than an angry McGonagall?" Ron gasped theatrically.

She rolled her eyes at him. "We had a fight with an ICW delegate. That's a major diplomatic incident. We need to get the truth out before Reid accuses us of trying to kill him."

"Well," Ron said, "we did try to kill him - after he murdered that woman."

"Tried and failed," Harry added. That hadn't been one of their best performances. "We didn't look too competent there."

"You ended his spell easily easily enough," Ron remarked. "That surprised him. And he fled at once."

"I couldn't get through his shield, though," Harry said. "Not with the spell I hit him with." Anyone would have fled in that situation, he thought. Anyone but Voldemort or Dumbledore.

"There's nothing we can do about that right now. We need to focus on providing evidence of Reid's crime to the Ministry," Hermione insisted. "We need to find out who the woman was, but…"

Ron snapped his fingers. "The map! Ginny would have seen her name on the map, when she noticed the fight. We need her memory for the Pensieve."

Harry nodded. "Let's take a detour to the Gryffindor dorms." And then hurry on to the Headmaster's - Headmistress's, he reminded himself - office. They could use the Floo connection there to return to Grimmauld Place. And take a bath. Despite the Cleaning Charms, he needed one to feel clean again.

*****​

London, Ministry of Magic, March 20th, 1997

"Let me see if I have understood you correctly." Amelia Bones was hoping - really hoping - that she had misheard. "You took the Jamaican ICW delegate to Hogwarts, without informing McGonagall, and then fought him there, causing him to escape and flee?"

Black, sitting in her office and looking as if he didn't know that he had just caused the biggest crisis with Jamaica since Dumbledore's visit in the 1950s, shrugged. "He was trying to sacrifice a woman. Stopping him seemed to be the right thing to do."

Amelia controlled her temper, even though she longed to hex the idiot. "You didn't stop him, though, did you? The woman died - covering a hallway in Hogwarts with blood and body parts, and traumatising a dozen students, according to McGonagall - and Reid escaped."

"Well, yes. He used the woman as a shield, first, and then as a weapon." Black shook his head. "Not our finest hour, I'll admit that, but at least he couldn't sacrifice her for whatever he was planning."

"Ah, yes - the reason you were sneaking into Hogwarts in the first place: Because you were searching for a stolen houngan artifact. Without informing the Ministry!" Amelia glared at him.

Black spread his hands. "He insisted on the utmost secrecy. Spreading their secrets to the Ministry wouldn't have gone over well with the houngans."

"Trying to kill their envoy will not go over well either," she countered in the coldest voice she could manage.

"That's why we need to get the truth out first: That Reid was murdering muggles under the cover of a mission for the ICW." Black showed his teeth and dropped a few pictures on her desk. "We took them from a Pensieve. Evil houngan murdering a poor muggle with dark magic, and this in Hogwarts - that will stop the ICW from complaining too much about this."

"They would do much more than simply 'complain'," Amelia spat out.

"Not now, though. The houngans have few friends in the ICW, and far more enemies. And even some who supported their demands to join the inspection will now feel betrayed."

"If they believe our claims."

"They will. Half of them would believe them even if they were not true." He shrugged, acting unconcerned. "The fruits of a thoroughly tarnished reputation."

He would know about that, Amelia thought - the Blacks had a somewhat similar reputation in Britain, in certain circles, at least. "Even if the ICW accepts this, the houngans won't." They couldn't admit to their envoy committing such crimes - endangering the Statute of Secrecy by sacrificing muggles, even! - on a mission for the ICW.

Black shrugged again. "I doubt that they'll start a war over this. Reid escaped, after all." He cocked his head to the side. "Unless your Aurors managed to capture him?"

Amelia stared at him. "The Jamaican delegation has left their quarters."

"Lost track of them?"

"It looks like they have already left Britain." She didn't snap at him, even though she hated his flippant tone.

"I wouldn't bet on that," Black said with a grin, "and anyone who knows me could tell you that I like betting. They really want that missing artifact."

"They'll need Reid back in Jamaica to present their own spin on this," Amelia said.

"Unless he is expendable. Either he gets their artifact back, or he dies - and they'll blame us for 'silencing the victim' or whatever they'll claim." Black snorted.

"From what we know, the houngan leaders are not the kind to sacrifice themselves like that - nor the kind to let their peers sacrifice them, either."

"Of course not. Leaders seldom are." Black smiled at her, and she ground her teeth at his accusation. "But who says he'd stay dead?"

Amelia felt a cold shiver run down her spine. "Are you serious?" Was Reid able to return from death, as the Dark Lord had been?

"Yes, I am," Black said. "And serious as well. We have to expect the worst from them." He leaned back. "Speaking of - you need to check with the muggles when 'Carrie Brown' went missing. Reid might have kidnapped and sacrificed as many as a dozen people for his spells. If you find out about the woman he just murdered, and perhaps any others, then we will know just how long the houngans have been active in Britain."

"How did you know her name?" She narrowed her eyes. Even if they had taken pictures from a Pensieve, how could they have found a muggle that quickly?

"Hogwarts has ways to track visitors, if they are expected."

So, Draco Malfoy hadn't been lying when he claimed that the Gryffindors could track the Slytherins. But Dumbledore had lied to her. She waited, but Black didn't elaborate on just how visitors could be tracked, and she wouldn't ask only to be refused. Taking a deep breath to control her temper, she said: "Pius will have someone look into that." She didn't think that it would amount to much - the other kidnapped muggles were already dead, and their bodies had probably been vanished anyway. "Is there anything else?" She glanced at the clock on her wall; most of the Ministry staff would have left for home long ago. Not even her secretary had still been around when Black had called.

"Yes. You'll need to increase security at Hogwarts. Reid might try again, as long as he thinks we are hiding the artifact there. Can you handle that, or should I send a few Order members there?"

She wanted to hex the smug smile off his face, but she had no choice other than to accept his offer. She didn't have to do so gracefully, though. "That is a good idea." She matched Black's smile with her own. "I would not want to waste Aurors on guard duty when there are houngans and criminals to hunt. Provided, of course, that your people can manage that much." Half of the teachers at Hogwarts were part of Dumbledore's Order anyway, as far as she knew.

Black's smile slipped for a moment. "Of course they can. Good evening, Amelia."

"Good evening."

*****​

London, Ministry of Magic, March 21st, 1997

Sirius Black cocked his head to the side. "Pardon?" Not only had he been called into Amelia's office right after a bothersome meeting with some of Elphias's less stalwart friends, but she was accusing him of trying to start a war?

"I said: What do you know about this attack on a houngan in Jamaica?" Amelia was glaring at him, worse than McGonagall had yesterday evening.

"I have no idea what you are talking about," he answered honestly.

"Jamaica complained to the ICW that one of their leaders was attacked and murdered in his home with muggle explosives. Apparently, the culprit escaped." She leaned forward and bared her teeth. "What have the Resistance been doing over there?"

Sirius frowned. "They haven't left Britain." Hermione hadn't mentioned anything, and Sirius doubted that she'd attack Jamaica on her own - and if she did, she'd lead the attack herself; she wouldn't leave that task to others. And Harry and Ron had met most, if not all, of the veteran Resistance members, according to their tales from training.

"Really? Who else would use muggle bombs to attack manors and murder houngans?" Amelia scoffed.

"There are a few muggleborn-led enclaves in America. They never got along with the houngans…" He shrugged. Deflect, without accusing anyone specific. What worked for pranks worked in politics as well, he had found.

"Do you honestly believe that?"

"It's possible." He didn't doubt that the muggleborns in Europe had been following the news of the war, and given the volatile situation on the East Coast of North America, the muggleborns there would likely have done the same. But would they attack Jamaica? That wasn't likely. No country in the Americas would risk a war with Jamaica without a very good, and usually well-known, reason. But who else would? Would the French go that far to start a war between Britain and Jamaica? "Although this could be a cover-up for an internal dispute, and they are using it to attack us."

"I don't believe that." Amelia's expression told him that she didn't believe the Resistance's innocence either. "I don't have to tell you that this significantly weakens our position with the ICW."

"They need to provide proof of such an accusation," he said. He didn't have to add that the houngans wouldn't be able to, not unless they let outsiders into their country. Which wouldn't happen.

"Britain has enough enemies, or rather, certain factions in Britain do, that the ICW will not easily dismiss this."

"The houngans have even more enemies; especially in the Americas." Sirius made a dismissive gesture. He wasn't as confident as he acted, though - if this wasn't just a lie to cover up some internal power struggle, then someone was framing the Resistance. "I'll look into the matter, though."

"I expect to be informed of anything you find," Amelia said.

"Of course." He stood up and nodded at her.

But after the fact, he added to himself. It was always better to ask for forgiveness instead of permission. Pranking had taught him that as well.

*****​

London, No. 12 Grimmauld Place, March 21st, 1997

"We didn't send anyone to Jamaica!" Hermione Granger stood in Sirius's living room, hands on her hips. "In the current situation, with the new recruits to get up to speed, the rally to keep safe, and possible attacks by Death Eaters to guard against, attacking the houngans on their home ground would be foolish." And she prided herself on not acting like a fool.

Sirius held up his hands. "I didn't say you did. I'm just relaying what the houngans are claiming - that someone using muggle explosives attacked and killed one of their leaders."

"Why would they claim that, anyway?" Ron cut in.

"They could be lying about it, to make it appear as if we attacked both Reid and this other houngan," Sirius said. "But I think someone else did attack them in Jamaica. I doubt they would make up such a story - it makes them appear weak and vulnerable."

"But…" Hermione trailed off. Who could, who would do such a thing? "Do you think they were American?"

"So far, no one's claimed responsibility," Sirius said.

"Why would they?" Ron asked. "That would invite the houngans' vengeance. Which is now aimed at us."

"They already hated Britain anyway." Sirius shrugged. "It could be someone from the Americas, taking revenge for what the houngans did to them in the past while framing us. But there's another possibility. It could be a Death Eater. We haven't found Rookwood yet. Or Wormtail - but the traitor is too much of a coward for this."

Hermione blinked. "Rookwood? Do you think he'd risk attacking houngans?" Would anyone be that bold?

"If he could frame the Resistance for it, yes. That puts more pressure on Britain, and makes any knowledge he acquired from Voldemort more valuable." Sirius leaned back in his seat and crossed his legs.

"You think he's trying to make a deal with the Ministry." Harry shook his head. "They wouldn't stoop that low."

"Amelia wouldn't. But there are a lot of victims of the Withering Curse. Their families expect the Ministry to find a cure," Sirius said.

"Yes. Dad's under a lot of pressure, even though the Ministry hasn't really given him enough help to do anything," Ron said. "He says it's a ploy from Bones to make him look bad."

"He's right." Sirius nodded at Ron.

"Even if the Ministry were willing to make a deal with him, would he actually head to Jamaica? That's far more dangerous than trying to hide in Europe." Like Pettigrew, Hermione thought, who was probably spending the rest of his life as a rat, if his past actions were any indication.

"He's desperate," Sirius replied. "And he's about the only one among the remaining Death Eaters who has the skill and talent to pull this off. And unlike Wormtail, he probably would rather take such risks than settle for a life as a fugitive."

Sirius had lived that life for over two years, Hermione reminded herself. And before that, he had spent over ten years in Azkaban. Like Rookwood. The animagus would know what he was talking about. "Did you, ah… talk to him?"

"There wasn't an opportunity to talk, there," Sirius said. "Not really. But I heard things."

His expression made Hermione regret asking. But they needed to know as much as possible to deal with this.

"But traveling to Jamaica, and attacking houngans there… if he has the cure for the Withering Curse, he wouldn't need to take that many risks. He could simply wait." Ron voiced some of the same doubts Hermione had.

"If he has the cure," Sirius said. "I think he would have let the public know, to put pressure on the Ministry, if he actually had a cure."

"Could he be trying to get the cure in Jamaica?" Hermione bit her lower lip. It was a little far-fetched, but… "Starting a war between Jamaica and Britain wouldn't do that much. There are no friendly staging areas for the houngans in Europe. And Britain's not in any shape to launch another invasion." The past wars had always been attacks by Britain against Jamaica, usually from friendly islands, like the Bermudas.

"It is just a possibility," Sirius said. "But something we should be looking into."

"And how would we do that? Ask the houngans to send us their evidence? While we're hunting Reid?" Harry scoffed.

"If it is Rookwood, then he likely has the skull, and the houngans could find him using their ritual," Hermione said. "We could tell them, but they'd sacrifice people to find him." She saw Harry and Ron wince at hearing that.

"They will be sacrificing people anyway, if it comes to a war," Sirius pointed out. He looked grim, but not quite as appalled as the others. "And it would mean the Resistance would not get the blame any more."

Hermione wasn't quite willing to sacrifice - even indirectly - innocents for that. Certainly not when war, and with it their deaths, was not yet certain. She shook her head. "That goes too far. We're not at war with Jamaica, and might avoid it altogether, and even if Reid hasn't already left Britain, he won't manage to enter Hogwarts again, so further sacrifices would be useless. And on the other hand, if we do spread this news, then others could accuse us of working with the houngans." The Old Families would love that.

"Amelia would do that. She was very angry about us keeping the visit to Hogwarts a secret." Sirius suddenly chuckled, though without much humour. "The ironic twist to all of this is that unless we catch Reid and interrogate him, we might actually have to go to Jamaica to get the cure."

"If he's even still in Britain." Ron looked grim.

Harry snorted. "Since he escaped so easily from us, he might think he is safe even if we find him."

Hermione winced. That hadn't been their finest hour, to say the least. She had spent a lot of time going over all the mistakes they had made. That she had made. She didn't like to, but the Major had taught her that a good officer needed to be honest in their appraisal of a failed mission in order to learn from their mistakes. Sighing, she said: "We will do better next time. It was a rather unusual situation."

"We were six versus one, and failed to get him. That's as bad as it gets," Harry retorted.

"We made many mistakes, yes," Hermione admitted, forcing her annoyance down. "We didn't expect him to do anything like that, not after he provided us with the information about his spell and since we were certain that the skull wasn't in Hogwarts. We should have had more people there too, ready to stop him." They had been set up to defend the school, not to prevent him from fleeing.

"We didn't want to tell too many people about it," Sirius said. "And with good reason. Dealing with houngans is not a thing done lightly. Or openly."

Harry snorted. "And yet, now everyone knows we did."

"Everyone knows that an official ICW delegate tried to sacrifice a woman in Hogwarts, and we stopped him," Sirius said.

"We didn't stop him from murdering her." Harry apparently wasn't seeing any silver lining. "We weren't prepared enough."

"What could we have done?" Ron asked, his tone already indicating that he didn't think there had been anything they could have done. "When he turned the woman into a cloud of blood and gore, we couldn't see a thing and had to quickly scatter so he wouldn't be able to attack us while we were blind. And since he didn't stay and fight, but ran, he had a head start. Enough to delay us further, so he was out of effective wand range when we got through the door."

"We could have used our brooms; he wasn't that far away," Harry said.

"We could have," Sirius said. "But that would have put us in range of his spells as well. He probably would have hit one of us before we took him down."

"Rifles were the safer option," Ron added. "But his Shield Charm shrugged off our bullets anyway, so 'snipers' wouldn't have done any good."

"And if we had had snipers ready then we would have needed to use communication mirrors to inform them so they would have known to fire at him once he ran out of the castle," she pointed out, "since radios don't work inside Hogwarts." That would have cost some more time. They wouldn't have gotten through his shield even with two snipers, or so she thought, unless they had managed to hit him with every shot, and that was unlikely - hitting a running man was not that easy, even for the experienced shooters of the Resistance. Although maybe a machine gun or two would have done the job...

"In other words, our main mistake was trusting a houngan to act like a civilised wizard," Sirius said. "But if we had treated him like the scum he is, he'd have used that against us."

"Well, we don't have to play nice any more," Ron said. "Next time, we can do better."

"We can hardly do worse," Harry said.

"It's not that bad." Sirius frowned at Harry. "While we didn't look our best, I think you surprised and maybe even scared him when you dispelled his transfiguration."

"I also used my other wand for that, which he saw." Harry looked down. He was really taking this hard, Hermione thought.

"I doubt he knows what the Elder Wand looks like. At worst, he knows you're using Dumbledore's wand." At least Sirius didn't sound that concerned. "So, next time we meet him, we'll deal with him."

Hermione nodded with the others, but she knew that even if they found Reid, catching him alive would be difficult. And, as she had told Sirius, they couldn't afford to send anyone to Jamaica, not with all the problems they had to deal with in Britain.

And yet she couldn't help thinking that sooner or later, they might have to anyway.

*****​

Hogsmeade, March 21st, 1997

Hermione Granger slowly turned around as she studied her surroundings. She was standing in a wide open field, close to Hogsmeade. Good lanes of fire, little cover for attackers, and enough space to put up a hall large enough for the expected crowd. "It'll do," she said.

"Are you certain?" Seamus asked. "An open air area would look more impressive to the purebloods. Pictures from inside won't be enough."

"It would also be far more vulnerable to someone dropping vials of explosive fluid from a broom," Justin said, shaking his head.

"Which has happened before," Hermione added. "And the point of the rally is to reach the muggleborns, to keep them from starting a riot, or worse. We could use transparent walls and roofs with the Unbreakable Charm, but that charm's not truly unbreakable, and then any attacker could also see exactly where we were inside it."

"I know, I know." Seamus sighed, and Hermione knew without having to look that he was rolling his eyes. They had gone over this before.

She refrained from telling him that they were already winning, and didn't need masses of muggleborns marching through Diagon Alley or Hogsmeade. They just needed to keep a lid on the violence until a few more members of the Wizengamot caved and joined Sirius. "Alright," she said, "This is a decent place. We can set up here tomorrow, and throw enough wards on the hall so it can withstand an attack long enough to deal with the attackers."

"And we have good sniping positions in range," Tania added over the radio. The witch was flying above them, disillusioned.

"We're also close to Aberforth's inn." Justin nodded towards the Hog's Head Inn. "He'll provide both another pair of eyes, and a nearby Floo connection."

"Alright," Hermione said. "Let's place a few cameras, and then check another spot or two." That way, an attacker observing them wouldn't know where they'd set up and might be spotted if they scouted the field after they left.

*****​

They were studying the second alternate spot, a field too close to the forest, when they heard the explosion. Hermione and the others were on the ground, with their wands out and protected by Shield Charms, before the smoke rose over the roofs of the village.

"Someone blew up a shop in Hogsmeade," Tania informed them over the radio. "I'm going in."

"Be careful," Hermione said, pushing the button of her radio. "Everyone else, move to the edge of the village!"

They made their way over the field, covering each other with their rifles and moving one after the other, until they reached the first houses.

"One house is damaged, forefront caved in, small crater in the street. Looks like a Blasting Curse - or explosives," Tania said. "The Auror patrol just arrived… there's a crashed broom nearby. Lots of wounded, too."

Hermione stood up behind the low wall she had been using as cover. "Seamus, take to the roofs! Justin, with me!" She started to walk towards the still rising smoke. "Which building was hit?" She asked over the radio.

"Looks like… 'Flint's Fine Finery'," Hermione heard Tania report.

A pureblood tailor? She clenched her teeth. If this had been an attack by muggleborns… "We really need to get Nott as soon as possible," she muttered under her breath as she spotted the first Auror trying to hold back villagers from rushing to the burning house.

The villagers fell back as soon as they spotted the Resistance, Hermione noted - many of them glaring at them, or disappearing into their houses. It wasn't that much of a surprise - Hogsmeade, as the only pure wizarding settlement in Britain, was an almost entirely pureblood village. And one which had been attacked by muggleborns during the war.

She ignored their reaction, as she ignored the Aurors' half-hearted attempt to stop her, and pushed through to the downed broom rider, Justin following in her wake. "What happened?" she asked as soon as she was close to the Aurors there.

They stiffened, and looked around.

"The rest of us are securing the village," Hermione said. Just in case they wanted to start trouble.

"Someone blew up the tailor's," the Aurors' apparent leader, a wizard barely older than Hermione, said. "A witness saw the broom fall from the sky right after the explosion."

The wizard on the ground was unconscious, and wearing singed robes. He could have been simply flying above the house just as the explosion happened, of course. But Hermione doubted that.

One of the Aurors treating the man's wounds pulled something out of the man's pockets and Hermione gasped - it was several sticks of dynamite bundled together.

Muggle explosives. Just what she had feared.

*****​

London, Diagon Alley, March 21st, 1997

"... the DMLE has declined to comment, citing an ongoing investigation."

Someone had actually done it, Bess Cox thought after hearing the report on the wireless in Freddie's Fish'n'Chips. They had blown up Flint's shop in Hogsmeade. The report hadn't named any dead, but if the shop was destroyed, then odds were that the bigot had been killed. Someone had completed the mission that had cost Felix, Ricky and Mark their lives.

She clenched her teeth as memories of that night filled her mind. The flight at night, carrying the bombs, almost getting lost near Hogwarts. Trying to find their targets from the air, among the many roofs. Ricky yelling to just drop the bombs, before the Aurors saw them. Mark going lower, then dropping his. Hearing the screams from below, seeing the spells flashing in the air. Dropping her own fire bombs, seeing Felix crash, the winged monsters suddenly appearing in their midst, slashing at them...

"Hey? Hey? Bess?"

Randall's voice and his hand on her arm broke the spell. She shuddered and shook her head, closing her eyes and taking deep breaths. She wasn't in Hogsmeade, wasn't fleeing for her life, didn't hear her friends dying...

"Sorry," she said, "I just remembered…" She trailed off, then glanced at him. He knew what she had done in the war.

Randall looked around and lowered his voice. "Do you want to talk about it?"

She didn't want to. Not now, not ever. Remembering was already too painful. Ricky had been killed quickly while facing the Veela, but she and Mark had evaded the first attack, only to find themselves caught between the harpies and purebloods on brooms. They had turned to flee, but Mark's broom had been a Keeper's model, very agile, but not as fast as her own broom. Not nearly fast enough to escape their pursuers. He had yelled at her to flee, then had veered off, to delay the enemies after them.

Bess shook her head. "No, sorry."

He didn't push, simply nodded, took a sip from his beer and waited for her to recover her composure.

After a while, she sighed and pushed the uneaten remains of her dinner away. "I don't know how to feel about this," she finally said, nodding towards the wireless.

Randall hesitated a moment, then said: "I think it was a mistake."

"What? Why?" she blurted out before she could stop herself.

"Bombing a shop in broad daylight?" He shook his head. "Too much collateral damage. Exactly what the Resistance has told people not to do."

"Granger just wants to suck up to her 'peers' in the Wizengamot," Bess spat out.

"She's right about the purebloods, though. We need to divide them, so they don't unite against us. That won't work if they fear we will go after all of them."

Bess remembered the sneer on Flint's face when he had told her friends to get out of his shop. The damn bigot deserved this, and his friends as well.

Randall sighed. "I don't like them either, but we can't simply lash out at every pureblood. Let's stick to the list." He grinned. "I've been looking into the telly troubles, and I've found a few addresses to check."

Bess slowly nodded. She still disagreed about Hogsmeade - her friends' deaths hadn't been in vain! - but as long as they were hitting back at the pureblood bigots she'd go along with Randall's plans.

*****​

London, Ministry of Magic, March 21st, 1997

"What have you found out?" Amelia Bones asked as soon as Pius entered her office. She expected results - they had captured the suspect alive, and could use Veritaserum, after all.

Pius nodded. "Oliver Nye. Pureblood," he added.

"With muggle explosives?" She frowned. "Was he trying to frame the Resistance?"

"That's our best guess. He was under the Imperius, and has been obliviated. He remembers being given the explosives a month ago, with the instructions on how and where to use them. He can't remember who gave them to him, though." Pius looked apologetic, even though such precautions were to be expected. It wasn't worth trying to reconstruct the memories, hoping that the culprit had been both sloppy with the Obliviation and not otherwise disguised his identity. The Unspeakables with experience in such difficult magic had more important tasks to perform. Pius went on: "He received the signal to strike yesterday." Which meant the owl had already left, and couldn't be traced any more. "International owl post, according to the memories we gathered."

That didn't mean that much - France was just a short trip away, after all. But the planning in advance… Amelia frowned. "He wasn't a Ministry employee, or the Imperius would have been broken when he passed through the Thief's Downfall."

"He worked at a shop in Diagon Alley," Pius confirmed. "And he had been ordered to avoid the Ministry." He paused for a moment, looking grim. "I doubt that Nye was the only one. His orders included blowing himself up after the attack. It was pure luck that he misjudged the force of the explosion and was blown off his broom before he could obey that order."

Amelia muttered a curse.

"It looks like whoever set this up wanted to frame the Resistance," Pius went on.

"They would have picked a muggleborn for that," Amelia said. Could this be a convoluted attempt by the Resistance to frame purebloods?

"They might not have had the time or opportunity to find a muggleborn. But Nye was known to be rather… critical of muggleborns."

"He was a bigot, you mean." Not a Death Eater, though - or Pius would have told her.

"Yes."

"Our culprit set this up a month ago. They didn't pick a muggleborn, even though they were no longer hiding back then." Amelia shook her head. Either they had not wanted to kill a muggleborn, which would point towards the Resistance, or, as Pius had said, they hadn't had the time or opportunity to find a muggleborn victim. International owl post. Either a foreigner, or someone who had fled Britain. "If we knew whether the explosive used was the same as was used in Jamaica…"

Pius actually snorted. He knew as well as she did that the houngans would rather fight a war than let anyone investigate on their island. "You think that the culprit set up these attacks, then left for Jamaica?" He sounded doubtful.

She raised her shoulders slightly, not quite a shrug. "It's a possibility." Her gut told her that she was right, but that was not proof. "Inform Black and Granger of this."

Pius's eyebrows rose slightly before he nodded, and she wondered if she might have actually surprised him. Given the current troubles, they needed all the help they could get to keep the peace. Even the help of mass murderers and their friends.

"Is there any news about the search for Reid? The other two delegates have been making repeated inquiries about the incident."

He shook his head. She frowned at him, even though she hadn't expected anything else. At least the delegates couldn't exploit this debacle too much, not unless they wanted to appear far too sympathetic to a houngan caught in the act of sacrificing people.

It was a small consolation, but Amelia was grateful for anything that didn't make Britain's situation even worse than it already was.

*****​

London, Diagon Alley, March 21st, 1997

"Stop staring out the front, Ronniekins! We're supposed to not know what's coming."

Ron Weasley turned away from the entrance of the twins' rebuilt shop and rolled his eyes at George. "We're also supposed to act natural - and it is natural to be worried about a possible attack, seeing as this shop was at the heart of Voldemort's final battle, and we're about the most famous blood traitor family in Britain. And do I have to remind you that there are at least two groups out there that have attacked muggleborns?" Nott was the less dangerous one, in his opinion, compared to the group who had tried to frame the Resistance.

George shrugged. "I trust our wards."

"I don't," Ron spat out. "They used muggle explosives, remember? That means they could duplicate them until they have enough to blow up all of Diagon Alley!"

"No, they couldn't!" George was grinning. "We're too close to muggle London. An explosion of that size would endanger the Statute of Secrecy, and the Obliviators' Seers would foresee it. Dad told us that."

Ron scoffed. "That only works if there's no possible muggle-worthy excuse. And muggle London has a number of bombs buried in the ground." Hermione had told him that.

"Are they crazy? Why would they do that?" George was frowning at him. "You're taking the mickey!"

"I'm not!" Ron protested. "They had a war a while ago, and so many bombs were dropped on London, a great number of them didn't explode and were buried. Some of them still explode from time to time - that's what the muggles think happened to Shacklebolt and his team." Which only proved that even Death Eaters knew about it.

"Bloody hell!" George was shaking his head as if he had trouble believing it.

"Not so confident any more?" Ron asked, smirking slightly.

His brother glared at him. "Just keep an eye out. I'll think of some counters to that."

"Good luck," Ron said, turning his attention back to the Alley. It was almost time anyway.

A few minutes later, right on time, the street in front of the new Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes blew up, throwing up cobblestones and dirt in a big cloud of dust. Ron unshrank his new broom and cast a Human-presence-revealing Charm, followed by a Disillusionment Charm while rushing to the top floor, where he jumped out of the window.

He fell a story before he caught himself, and then he shot up towards the marker his spell showed him. Below him, another explosion shook the street. As planned.

He drew his wand and urged his broom on. "Finite!" A robed figure on a broom became visible - the attacker. The figure waved their wand, and a green spell shot towards him. Ron rolled to the side, letting the spell shoot past, and gave chase. A few tight turns later, he had the fleeing figure lined up and cast himself. His spell shattered their shield, and their hood was torn away, revealing their face when they suddenly veered off sharply.

"Nott!" Ron spat, then sent a Reductor Curse at the fleeing attacker, followed by a Bludgeoning Curse.

His target apparated away, though, before the spells hit, and Ron forced himself to curse - and not sigh with relief.

If he had actually hit Tonks...

*****​

Worcestershire, Nott Manor, March 21st, 1997

Ron Weasley appeared inside the 'listening post', as the twin's hidden camp had been dubbed by the Resistance, a few minutes after his 'fight'. Hermione and the rest of the experienced Resistance members were already present, and he went to hug her.

"Oh, how romantic!"

He released the witch and turned to glare at Tonks, who no longer looked like Nott. The metamorphmagus was faking a swoon. "I should have hit you with a spell or two," he grumbled.

"You were cutting it a bit close, weren't you?" She was grinning widely. "You sold the chase, though."

Ron shrugged. That had been more stressful than he had expected, but it had all gone down as planned.

Fred snorted. "Our products work perfectly fine. We tested them often enough."

"Your first version tore off more than my hood," Tonks said with a frown.

Ron's brother shrugged. "That's what tests are for."

Hermione cleared her throat. "Everyone, get ready! We strike in one minute!" She looked at Justin, who was monitoring the wireless ears they had placed inside the manor.

"No change there - he hasn't heard about the attack yet," the former Hufflepuff said.

Hermione nodded. "Seamus?"

"Bomb's ready!" Seamus sounded far too eager to handle so many explosives for Ron's taste - but better the Irish wizard risk his life than Ron himself.

"Alright. Currently, Nott and his aunt and uncle are in the manor, as well as two house-elves. You know the plan." They did, but Hermione repeated it anyway - not for the first time. "Tania and Seamus are providing air cover - they'll shoot down anyone trying to flee. Justin will keep monitoring the ears and track Nott if possible."

Ron doubted that that would work - the ears were sending transcripts, after all, and couldn't cover the entire manor.

"Sally-Anne will stay with him, and this will double as our first aid station," Hermione continued. "We've already filled up the escape tunnel they prepared, and we'll cover the entire area with jinxes to keep them from fleeing before the bomb goes off. Ron, Harry, John, Louise and I will enter from the back, Sirius and the rest from the front."

His brothers had tried to argue about that, but Harry and Ron were the ones who had actually trained with the Resistance, and so were the best choice to work with them closely. Ron still smiled, remembering Fred's face when he had pulled out his assault rifle and loaded it.

"Alright. Get into position!"

They split up and moved out. Seamus would drop the bomb at the front of the house, so Ron's group could move closer to the wardline in the back than Sirius's group. Ron was still rather nervous about the whole thing - he had seen what a tiny bit of explosives did in training, and Seamus was carrying far, far more.

Right after finishing his Anti-Apparition Jinxes, he heard Seamus on the radio. "Dropping in five, four, three, two, one…"

Ron gripped his rifle tightly and pressed himself into the ground, behind a fallen tree trunk at the edge of the forest. A second later, he heard the third explosion that day - and by far the loudest. And most powerful. Dirt and rocks rained down on him, hitting his Shield Charm.

"Wards are down," Bill reported, "and so is the front wall." He sounded slightly off - though Ron didn't know if that was because his brother was using a muggle radio, or because he had been closer to the explosion.

It didn't matter anyway - his group was already moving, racing towards the back of Nott's manor. He didn't bother keeping his rifle pointed, much less aimed at the manor - Seamus and Tania would be covering them from above.

Harry was the first to reach the manor, but Ron was right behind him, and the two crouched down at the porch, wand and rifle aimed at the door there. He couldn't see anyone through the windows, and his Human-presence-revealing spell showed no marker in range either, so Nott wasn't yet making a break for it.

Louise pointed her wand at the door, and blew it open with a spell. 'Standard Hit-Wizard Door Knocker', she had called it when she had shown them at the camp. It certainly worked well - the entire door was ripped off its hinges.

John jumped to the corner and stuck his rifle inside. "Clear!"

Louise passed him, leading with her wand. Then it was Ron and Harry's turn. Ron stepped inside, crushing parts of the door under his boots, and let his rifle drop at his side, dangling from its sling, while he covered the room with his wand. Movement to his right drew his attention - a small figure was scrambling out from a passage inside the inner wall. A house-elf! He stunned the creature before it could do more than squeak in fright, then cast a full Body-Bind Curse for good measure.

Hermione and Harry dashed past him, towards the door to the hallway leading to Nott's living room - or salon, as he called it - with John bringing up the rear. Before they reached the door, though, it exploded towards them, and a swarm of flying, buzzing metal rushed at them. Animated blades, Ron realised, his eyes widening.

As Moody had drilled him and Harry to, he acted out of reflex, meeting the cloud of swirling metal with a stone wall, stopping the blades for a few seconds before they started to cut and smash through it.

Harry started to dispel the things, but that didn't seem to be working well. "It's not one spell!" he yelled, "We have to deal with each individual blade!"

Ron cursed under his breath and conjured a thicker wall, to buy them more time, followed by Hermione dropping a stone block on the hemmed-in swarm, crushing a large part of the blades - or at least immobilizing them. A flick of her wand turned it to mud, and another turned it back to stone - with most of the flying metal trapped inside it. Ron and Harry finished the ones which had escaped that fate, but that took some time, and Harry only narrowly evaded being cut up when four of the blades descended on him at once and Ron could only get one of them in time.

"Got one trying to flee with a broom from the upper floor, east side. Wasn't Nott." Seamus reported.

"Moving there," Sirius answered.

"We'll push on to the salon," Hermione said into the radio. "But the defences could be tricky. I don't like the sight of the rug there."

Ron agreed, and pointed his wand at it. "Incendio!"

The rug caught fire - and started to thrash around in the hallway like a giant snake in its death throes. Ron heard Harry mumble something about a chamber, and winced. Theoretically, they could cast the Flame-Freezing Charm on the fire, but the rug was moving by itself and Ron didn't think getting too close to it would be smart.

"Let's go through the wall here!" Louise yelled, "It'll be faster!" And safer, Ron thought.

Hermione nodded. "Make a hole! I'll seal up the hallway."

Another stone wall replaced the door while Louise stepped to the side of the room, twirling her wand. An instant later, a hole two yards across opened in the wall. Harry threw a grenade inside, and Ron pressed himself against the wall just before it went off.

Right afterwards, he rushed through the hole, diving into a forward roll. He spotted a figure stumbling around - a hand before their eyes, and sent a Stunner at it at once. Nott! His spell was stopped by a shield, though. Harry's Piercing Curse dealt with the shield, but Nott had recovered from the blast and blinding, and his own wand was flashing.

"Avada Kedavra!"

Ron dropped to the floor while the remains of the couch shot up to catch the spell, and the resulting explosion shook the room. He coughed, blinked once, then saw Nott stumbling. Ron's next Stunner hit, and Nott fell.

"We've got Nott. I repeat, we've got Nott." Hermione said into the radio, then turned to John and Louise. "Check him for spells and curses!"

While the two Resistance members waved their wands over Nott's stunned form, Harry and Ron took cover at the door, securing the entrance. The hallway was still burning fiercely. "Mate, that was a bit much," Harry said, shaking his head.

"Can't be too cautious." Ron sniffed. He privately agreed with Harry, but he wasn't about to admit that - his idea had closed off the hallway to them as well, holding them up as long or longer than a trap or guard would have managed.

"We've got his uncle cornered in the upper bedroom. That makes the runner his aunt," Ron heard Sirius say over the radio.

"Do you need help?" Harry asked.

"No, no. Deal with Nott, we have this," Sirius said. "Fred, use one of the special fireworks! Remus, Tonks - cover us! Ready?"

"He forgot to turn the radio off again," Harry mumbled. Louder, and into the radio, he said: "Sirius! Stop pushing the button!"

A curse and some laughter later, the channel was silent. Just in time.

"He's safe," Louise said, straightening up from where she had crouched next to Nott.

"Alright." Hermione nodded at the former Hit-Witch and John. "Go secure our exit route. We'll handle him."

Louise stared at Hermione for a moment, then nodded and the two Resistance members left the room through the hole. Hermione turned to Harry and Ron.

"We talked about it," Harry said before she could say anything.

"We're all in this together," Ron added.

Hermione frowned, then sighed and pulled out a small box. A tap of her wand had it grow to the size of a small chest, and a flick opened the lid, revealing a row of open vials. "Wake him up!"

Ron pointed his wand at Nott. "Rennervate."

Nott stirred, groaning with his eyes closed first, then they shot open and he gasped. "What…"

Hermione didn't give him a chance to yell. "Imperio. Stop!"

Nott shut up. Ron felt a shiver run down his spine. Using an Unforgivable… They had planned and discussed it, but to actually see it done… He pressed his lips together. It was the easiest way to handle this. And neither he nor Harry would let Hermione carry that burden and face that risk by herself.

"Give us all your memories about the recent attacks. All of the attacks since the Dark Lord died in Diagon Alley," Hermione ordered, and slid the chest over to Nott.

While Nott started to pull out silvery strands of memories from his temple and sent them into the vials, Harry stared at their prisoner. "Legilimency would have worked as well."

"But not as quickly. And this way we can copy them and hand them out." They had gone over this already.

The three stood there for a few minutes, no one saying anything while Nott filled vial after vial.

Finally, he stopped. Ron saw Hermione take a deep breath, and he glanced at Harry. They had talked about this, privately. His friend nodded.

A moment later, both of them emptied their rifles into Nott.

*****​
 
Chapter 55: Cross Purposes
Chapter 55: Cross Purposes

'The attacks in March 1997 were committed by imperiused purebloods - both those against muggleborns in Diagon Alley and the one against a pureblood-owned tailor's in Hogsmeade. No one contested that fact - not the Ministry nor the Order of the Phoenix or the Muggleborn Resistance. Why, then, was the so-called 'Imperius defence' used by pureblood wizards when accused of being Death Eaters so summarily rejected following the Second Blood War? Most of the alleged Death Eaters did not even have trials, but, according to the official reports, were 'killed in action' which conveniently made an actual investigation, including Pensieve evidence, impossible. It is therefore not surprising that the fairness of the judicial system during that time has been questioned by every unbiased observer and historian.'
- Excerpt from 'Wizarding Britain in the 20th Century' by Albert Runcorn


*****​

Worcestershire, Nott Manor, March 21st, 1997

As soon as she appeared in front of Nott Manor, Amelia Bones had a flashback to the Malfoy Manor bombing. The damage wasn't as extensive, and there was no fire, but it was another manor of an Old Family, destroyed by muggleborns using muggle means.

Or, she corrected herself when she spotted Black standing in the rubble that was all that had been left of the front of the manor, muggleborns and the Order.

"Amelia! There you are!" He was smiling widely, despite - or, knowing him, because of - the body covered with a blanket laid out near him.

"Sirius," she managed to say without cursing. "What happened?"

"You weren't informed?" He acted surprised. "A masked broom rider attacked Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes with vials of Exploding Fluid. The owners protected themselves and drove the attacker off, managing to reveal his face in the process. It was Theo Nott. The nasty little bugger the Wizengamot acquitted not so long ago, remember?"

She didn't deign to dignify that barb with a response. It wasn't her place to tell the Wizengamot how to conduct their business. Instead she focused on Black's story. "You saw someone who looked like Nott, and then attacked his home in response?"

He shrugged with that nonchalance that so irked her. "In a word, yes."

"Because someone saw someone who might have been Nott." She clenched her teeth.

"I checked the memory in a Pensieve myself."

"And then you and your band of vigilantes went off and attacked Nott's manor instead of informing the DMLE." As so often when talking to him for any length of time, she wanted to hex the insufferable grin from his face and arrest him.

"We couldn't take the risk that a spy would warn him. Or that a pair of rookie Aurors would knock on his door, be told he wasn't home, and then leave again while he bolted." His grin changed, now reminding her of a feral beast. "You wouldn't have launched a raid, would you?"

Amelia couldn't have. Pius didn't have enough Aurors and Hit-Wizards available on such short notice. She hated to admit that, and she loathed Black rubbing it in even more. "And now, all of the Manor's inhabitants are dead, including the main suspect. Without any evidence of his guilt left. Just the word of those who are known to have tried to kill Nott before."

He chuckled. "That, and the robes we saw, the broom we saw, and more Exploding Fluid just like that used in the attack. Or attacks."

"You didn't know that when you attacked," she spat. "You just wanted an excuse to kill him!"

"To capture him, actually. The little bugger managed to get himself killed, though. We underestimated him."

She didn't believe him, not even for an instant, and scoffed. "You were already prepared to assault his manor." Otherwise, they wouldn't have been able to strike that quickly.

"Of course. We have plans to attack a variety of locations. Just in case." He smiled again.

His story was so thin, a blind wizard would have seen through it. At best, he had gotten lucky and found the right attacker. At worst, he had used the opportunity to kill Nott. But Black controlled enough of the Wizengamot now that arresting him would only lead to her own replacement by a crony of his. Probably Pius. She glared at him. "Hand the 'evidence' over, and stop disturbing the crime scene."

"Of course."

His smug tone irked her even more than the equally smug smile which she longed to see wiped off his face… She turned away and marched towards the back of the manor. There she found Pius, standing over a body. Nott.

"Firearms?" she asked.

If Pius was annoyed by her lack of courtesy, he didn't show it. "Yes. 'Rifles', I think." He flicked his wand, turning the body over. "The exit wounds are too large for 'pistols'."

She didn't flinch at the sight - she had seen far worse from dark curses. "You've become an expert on muggle weapons?"

"It seemed a good idea to familiarise myself with them, given their use during the war." Pius turned the body back to its original position.

"So far their use has been limited to the Resistance," Amelia pointed out.

"I doubt that that will remain the case," Pius said. "Even if the muggleborns don't follow the example the Resistance has set, others might try to frame them."

"Like Nott might have been framed?" Amelia asked, watching him for his reaction.

He tensed up. "We've recovered enough Exploding Fluid to be certain that he was at least planning to attack someone. Although I expect the Unspeakables to come up with a match for an attack or two once they analyse the fluid."

He was carefully not saying anything about the most recent attack, Amelia noted. He suspected himself, then. Or he might even know. But he wouldn't do anything. For the Head of the DMLE, that was… she shook her head.

"Amelia?"

She ignored him and walked away. At least this might mean that tomorrow's muggleborn rally wouldn't end in a riot that destroyed Hogsmeade.

Unless the muggleborns took today's events as examples to emulate.

*****​

London, No. 12 Grimmauld Place, March 21st, 1997

"Good evening, Mister… or should that be Monsieur...?"

He held his hand out, smiling, and the other wizard - or was it a witch? He couldn't tell, not with the blank mask covering their face and the cloak obscuring their body - shook it with a weak, no, a gentle grip.

"Mister will do." Even their voice was masked, he was certain. There was something missing there. But the French accent was still recognisable. "In the sort of business that we are engaged in one should stay as discreet as possible."

"Mister." He nodded, forcing himself to keep smiling. "I'm happy to welcome you to my home." He didn't mention that he hadn't had many visitors, not since his acquittal.

"And I am 'appy to be 'ere. Most of Britain 'as become a dangerous place for true wizards and witches."

"Something we will remedy!" He knew they would.

"Something you will change," his guest corrected him. "We can support and 'elp you, but not directly. Politics."

He knew that. "Isabelle, I mean, Mademoiselle Dubois, has explained your situation to me." In general terms, of course, she hadn't actually named any names. The Duc of France was playing both sides, trying to butter up the mudbloods through the Delacours as well as supporting the purebloods. He thought the other wizard tensed up, for a moment, but it was hard to tell with their disguise.

"We all 'ave our difficulties to deal with. Short-sighted wizards, weak rulers, and traitors. And mudbloods."

He nodded eagerly. That precisely summed up Britain's, no, Europe's problems. "Exactly. But there are enough wizards and witches of good breeding left to stop this, before it ruins our country, and others."

His guest nodded. "It will be dangerous, though. And bloody."

He and Isabelle had talked about that already. As if he had suddenly become a coward just because he had been captured by the mudbloods. And he knew their tricks now - they wouldn't catch him again. He scoffed. "I've faced danger already." He had survived the war, after all. "And I'm no stranger to violence." Not at all.

"Bien." His guest reached inside his cloak and pulled out a small box. A tap with his wand enlarged it. "You will find gold and other, more difficult to acquire, things you might need inside."

He refrained from simply grabbing the box. That would have been rude. As would be openly casting detection spells on a gift. Both of them knew, of course, that he'd do so afterwards. He clapped his hands.

"Master?"

"Take this to my study!" he ordered, without looking at the house-elf that had stepped out of the passage in the wall. Servants were to be neither seen nor heard, after all.

*****​

Sirius Black pulled his head out of the Pensieve and looked at Vivienne. She shook her head. "I don't recognise the visitor."

"The accent is French, but that could have been faked," he said. "Although the memory looks genuine." He wasn't an expert, though.

"The accent may be false, but I do not think so. And that was Isabelle Dubois in the other memory." Vivienne almost sneered. "No one could duplicate 'er attitude that well."

Sirius almost checked if Nymphadora was around - the metamorphmagus might take that as a challenge, and the French witch had been insufferable enough in the memory; Sirius didn't need to see her in the fake flesh, so to speak. "They were cautious, though. Masks and cloaks…" Even Dubois hadn't said anything directly incriminating to Nott, but her meaning had been clear. "Our only link is Dubois."

"She's a friend of Beaumont's. But so is 'alf the Court." Vivienne scowled. A touchy subject, Sirius knew.

"Well, maybe we should ask her then."

Vivienne smiled, proving that Sirius could speak just as subtly as Dubois.

*****​

Hogsmeade, March 22nd, 1997

"Seamus, anything to report?" Hermione Granger asked, her left hand on the button of her radio, while she was standing on the roof of the hall they had put up near Hogsmeade.

"Half a dozen Aurors on the streets, and the same number of Hit-Wizards near the hall," Seamus, flying above her on his broom, with Tania, reported. "And two each in the air." She heard him chuckle. "They must have scraped together everyone they could, but they're still outnumbered three to one by us alone!"

Unless the Ministry had placed some of their forces in reserve, hidden from view. Hermione would have done that - provided she could have spared the manpower. According to Tonks, the Ministry couldn't. They had even asked other departments for volunteers, Percy had told them. Bones must be livid, she thought, to have the Ministry's weakness revealed like that.

Although, while Seamus was technically correct, the Resistance was also presenting the strongest front they could - they had brought out the recruits from boot camp for this. And while the recruits looked impressive in their camo fatigues and knew how to handle their guns, they weren't quite up to speed yet, even if one discounted their lack of experience.

But looking impressive was the point of this rally. The Resistance needed to show both the Ministry and the muggleborns that they were strong and had the situation in hand. And the muggleborns needed to show everyone how many of them had returned and were willing to fight for their rights.

Judging by the numbers of muggleborns she saw on the way to the hall from Hogsmeade, and standing in line before the Thief's Downfall, that had been achieved already. She just hoped that there wouldn't be any attacks - such a mass of muggleborns was a tempting target.

Hermione shook her head. Despite the flyers they had distributed, and John's broadcast yesterday evening, not that many muggleborns had actually arrived early. Instead of small, manageable groups, there was a throng of people at the security check at the entrance.

She frowned. The Resistance had people spread out all over the area, but they couldn't spot everything. She hoped that Nott's death would be enough to make the others involved in the attacks on muggleborns fear a similar fate should they show up today. And that whoever was ordering his imperiused victims around using international owl post hadn't had the time to send instructions to attack the rally. But it would only take one bomb or a single Blasting Curse to wreck the event.

*****​

There were more people than at the last rally, Hermione thought when she stepped on to the stage at the back of the hall, next to John. Was Nott's death the reason for that? And if so, did they feel safer now, or did they want more blood? They didn't look that agitated, but that could easily change.

John glanced at her, and when she nodded at him, he smiled and stepped stepped right up to the transparent wall shielding the stage from the rest of the hall. "Hello, everyone! I'm happy to see so many of you willing to stand up for yourselves and join our rally here! It's been a little while since we last met, and, as you may have noticed, the Resistance is stronger than ever."

Shouts of agreement filled the hall, barely muffled by the transparent wall.

John smiled even wider. "And here's our leader, the witch who brought us all together, fought for all of us, and led us through the war! Hermione!"

Taking a deep breath, she stepped up while John withdrew from the stage. After the applause died down, she cleared her throat, cast an Amplifying Charm and started to speak. "Many things have happened since our last rally. Cowards who hide behind imperiused victims attacked muggleborns in Diagon Alley. Someone tried to frame the Resistance for an attack on Hogsmeade using another imperiused victim. We've even been accused of attacking houngans in Jamaica!"

That caused some whispers, and someone yelled: "And they attacked Hogwarts!"

"They did, and they were driven off," she said, with a nod in the direction of the speaker. "Just as they were driven off when they attacked Diagon Alley again, yesterday." More people started to say something, but she kept speaking, her amplified voice drowning out the comments. "But this time, the attacker didn't get away! We tracked him to his home, and brought him to justice!" She paused when the crowd started to yell about Death Eaters, then waited until the noise abated somewhat. "The attacker was none other than Theodore Nott - a Death Eater we had captured during the war, but who was set free by the Wizengamot!"

"He won't get acquitted any more!" another wizard yelled.

This time she ignored the comment. The crowd was already riled up. "Nott wasn't just attacking muggleborns - he was trying to make muggleborns attack purebloods, to restart the war. We stopped him, but there are others like him, people who want to see us, the muggleborns of Britain, fail. They want to see us turn on innocents, to see the indiscriminate bombing of wizarding dwellings, to see young children burned alive, all so they can denounce us as monsters. So they can call us criminals and deny us our rights!" Once more she kept talking over the outraged yells. "But we won't let them! We fought them in the war, and won! We're fighting them in the Wizengamot, and we're winning! They cannot stop us! They cannot silence us!

"All we have to do win is to persevere! To uphold our ideals and stand fast! We cannot allow ourselves to become what we fought so hard against! We will not lash out at others just because they're purebloods! We know better than that! We are better than that! Blood doesn't matter!"

The crowd started to yell now. "Blood doesn't matter! Blood doesn't matter!"

"We're not just fighting for the rights of the muggleborns, but for the rights of every wizard and witch in Britain! We're all in this together, and we're winning! We will have democracy! We will have equality! We will have our victory!"

*****​

Hogsmeade, March 22nd, 1997

Harry Potter was glad when the last of the audience had left the hall. There was still the possibility of an ambush in Hogsmeade, but the rally had ended without a riot breaking out. And without him having to help calm down the crowd.

Two of the new recruits, Anna and Gary, closed the hall's doors and he walked over to them, checking on the way that nothing had been left behind on the floor. They tensed up when they saw him, and he couldn't refrain from snorting. By now he had been training (and getting yelled at by the Sergeant) with them for two weeks, and he was currently wearing the same fatigues as the Resistance, but most of the new recruits treated him like they treated the veterans of the Resistance. Which, he had to admit, he was, in a way.

"At ease," he said, smirking, and Anna pouted at him while Gary chuckled.

"Your imitation of the Major needs some work," Gary said. He was still a bit tense, but not as much as before.

Harry shrugged. "It's only been two weeks." He adjusted the sling of his rifle.

"We just successfully completed our first mission!" Anna said, smiling.

"It's not complete until you've been debriefed by your superior," Harry reflexively said, then wished he hadn't when he saw the witch wince.

"That was a good Sergeant," Gary said, though he wasn't sounding quite as amused as before.

"It was something Moody drilled into us," Harry said. "Veteran Auror," he added when the two older muggleborns didn't seem to recognise the name. "He trained me and Ron during the war."

"Ah." Anna nodded. Just like she nodded when the Sergeant told her something. Or Hermione.

So much for being one of the guys, Harry thought. Hermione and Sirius were correct - he wasn't 'just Harry', and wouldn't ever be 'just Harry'. At least not with most people, he added when he spotted Ron and Hermione walking towards them from the back.

He didn't have to force himself to keep smiling any more when he saw his two best friends together, but he still felt somewhat awkward. Even when they weren't acting affectionate. He knew that they were sleeping together every night Hermione was at boot camp, after all. And now he was jealous, again.

"Hey," he said. "Good speech."

Hermione smiled, then frowned. "It could have been better, I think. But it worked out." Harry grinned - she sounded like she usually did right after the exams.

"No one's started a hunting party," Ron said. "So, that's a success."

"No one did so openly," Hermione corrected him. "We don't know what people might be planning."

"You can't know everything," Ron said. "Even though you're coming close," he added with a grin.

Hermione huffed, then turned to Anna and Gary, who hadn't said a word since Harry's friends had arrived. The two straightened up at once. "Report to Justin and help cover Hogsmeade. We're going to vanish the hall."

"Yes, m… Hermione," Gary said. Anna just nodded.

As soon as they left, Harry heard Hermione sigh. "I know I should be glad that they hold me in such high regard, it makes leading the Resistance far easier, but to be called ma'am at my age…"

Harry shrugged. "That's the price of fame."

Judging by the way Hermione narrowed her eyes, she remembered her own words, and didn't like having them quoted back at her.

He couldn't resist. "Maybe we should find a good nom de guerre for you as well."

"Purebloods' Boggart!" Ron said at once, chuckling.

Hermione glared at them both, then shook her head. She was smiling, though. "Let's step out and start vanishing the hall, before the grass gets too damaged."

"Nothing the right spells won't fix," Ron said. "Sprout could make a detention out of it."

"It's the principle of the thing," Hermione answered, opening the door. "And the Easter vacation has started, so there aren't any detentions to be served anyway."

"Oh, right." Harry blinked.

His friends turned around, looking at him.

He answered their unspoken question. "Neville wanted to hunt down Death Eaters hiding in muggle London. I put him in touch with the twins, but I haven't checked what came of it." He had been too busy with the training and the latest troubles.

"Ginny hasn't mentioned anything, and she usually nags me about Neville," Ron said, frowning. "Though I haven't talked to her lately."

The last time they had been at Hogwarts hadn't been a good time to discuss such matters, Harry thought. Not with all the blood and gore to explain. "We can talk to her at home," he suggested.

"We should have done that already." Ron winced. "She'll be mad at us."

"It couldn't be helped," Hermione said. "We had too much to deal with."

Hermione was right, but Harry still felt guilty about neglecting his friends. "We'll have to talk to Neville as well."

"Before he goes off by himself, and makes a mess," Hermione agreed, nodding.

Harry wouldn't have put it like that, but he feared that she was correct.

*****​

London, No. 12 Grimmauld Place, March 22nd, 1997

"Now you're asking about Neville?"

Standing in Sirius's kitchen, Ron Weasley winced at Ginny's tone. His sister was glaring at him and Harry with her arms crossed over her chest. "Well… we were busy." He knew it wasn't a good excuse.

"Too busy to talk to him?" She frowned at him, then switched her attention to Harry.

Ron's friend grimaced. "The attacks, the training, the Wizengamot and the rally…" He shrugged.

Ginny scoffed. "You know how he acted when you were still at Hogwarts. He hasn't changed. He's become worse, even. He's been preparing for this. Even asked the muggleborns from the lower years about how to dress as a muggle so he can fit in."

She should have mentioned that before today, Ron thought, then scolded himself for being a hypocrite. "Sounds like he'll go at it alone if he has to," he said. "Do you know if he talked to anyone about this?"

"The twins, maybe?" Harry cut in.

"He didn't mention them," Ginny said.

"They were rather busy this week," Ron said. He didn't say what they had been doing - Ginny didn't know that they had been observing Nott for a week before striking at his manor.

"As was Sirius," Harry added. "He hasn't mentioned Neville."

"So… Neville was left hanging." Ginny's frown grew.

Ron refrained from saying that Neville hadn't always been so eager to strike at Death Eaters. That would have been unfair. He sighed. "Yes, we forgot about him."

"I forgot about him," Harry corrected him. "I told him I would put him in touch with others, meaning the twins and Sirius, but I didn't really check up on how that worked out."

As usual, Harry was blaming himself for everything, Ron thought. "I should have thought about it as well," he said. "But we were busy, mate. Let's just call him now."

Neville wouldn't have already gone out hunting today, would he? And even if he had, he wouldn't have found any of the purebloods in hiding yet, Ron told himself as they walked to the entrance hall.

"Where's Hermione?" Ginny asked while Harry grabbed some Floo powder.

"She's with the rest of the Resistance, handling the debriefing after the rally. She'll be joining us here as soon as she's done," Ron answered.

"Ah."

Did she sound relieved? Ron shook his head. She should simply tell Harry how she felt, in his opinion. But he knew better than to tell her that.

"Longbottom Manor!" Harry said, throwing the powder into the fire. When it turned green, he knelt down and stuck his head inside. "Hello?"

Ron couldn't hear who Harry was talking to, but it wasn't Neville.

"I'm Harry Potter, a friend of Neville's. Is he at home?"

"Ah. Could you tell him that I called?"

"Thank you."

Harry stood up again and stretched. "Neville went out. His house-elf doesn't know where he went."

Ron sighed. They'd check with the twins, but he already had a feeling that they hadn't talked to Neville either… "Great."

*****​

London, Camden, March 22nd, 1997

"How is it?"

Bess Cox swallowed the forkful of spaghetti bolognese before answering Randall. "It's good," she replied.

"I couldn't eat another fish and chips dinner," Randall said, cutting another piece off his pizza.

"You said that before." That was why he had picked the restaurant, after all.

He snorted. "And there's no chance of anyone overhearing us here."

That was just an excuse, in her opinion. A privacy spell would make eavesdropping impossible even in the midst of Diagon Alley. But she had been getting a bit sick of Freddie's herself lately. "So… what was your impression of the rally?"

"Granger was pretty persuasive," he said.

Bess scoffed. "She's quite the hypocrite, though. We shouldn't do anything, and she goes and kills Nott?"

Randall chuckled. "You're right. On the other hand, she's the one on the Wizengamot, with Black and Potter."

"And her boyfriend, Weasley." Another pureblood.

"Him too." Randall nodded. "They're bound to have more information."

"Which they keep to themselves." She took another forkful.

"That's to be expected. Loose lips sink ships," he quoted.

Bess snorted, then swallowed. "She's still a hypocrite. And probably a sell-out."

"Probably?" He grinned.

She scowled at him. "It depends on whether they can get rid of the Wizengamot and the Ministry, or not. If she's telling us to be patient forever…" She shrugged. People in power wanted to stay in power. And Granger had risen very high for a muggleborn witch nominally in her sixth year. Bess was wondering, though, what Randall was thinking. They had plans, after all.

"Well, technically, she just told us not to lash out at random purebloods. I doubt anyone will mind if we bag a known Death Eater," he said.

She grinned. "You've found one, then."

He smiled. "I found a warded flat that the neighbours don't remember. I don't know who's hiding there, though."

"Let's go find out!"

*****​

London, Islington, March 22nd, 1997

"How did you find it?" Bess Cox asked. She was sitting in a pub and studying the building across the street.

"It was the first address mentioned in the article in the Daily Mirror."

She turned her head to look at Randall. "Seriously?"

He was grinning widely. "Yes. Sort of like the Terminator, I started at the top."

That caused her to snort. "But I don't think they'd open the door to the flat if we rang the bell." The purebloods inside would know that they were caught, then - muggles wouldn't be able to even think of doing that due to the Muggle-Repelling Charms on the flat.

"Unfortunately, we can't do that. And the flat's warded, so we can't easily break in either."

"How good are you at taking down wards?" Bess had never really studied that; during her time at Hogwarts, it hadn't been taught in Defence, and the exams hadn't more than touched on that subject, so she hadn't studied it on her own either. If she had known how to deal with wards, maybe the attack on Hogsmeade's Death Eaters would have gone differently...

"I'm not a real Curse-Breaker, but I should be able to take down those wards," Randall said. "They're not that strong. Probably because they didn't want anyone to know about the flat, and so had to do it themselves." He rubbed his chin. "So, we need to block Apparition and Portkeys. I doubt they have a Floo connection there - that would have revealed their location to the Ministry."

Bess scoffed. The Ministry only stopped hunting muggleborns and supporting the Death Eaters because they were forced to by the Resistance. They still hated muggleborns, even if they also feared them now.

Randall glanced at her, but didn't comment.

"Do you have any idea who they are?" she asked. "And how many there are?"

Randall shook his head. "No, I don't. And I don't see how we could find out - observing the flat won't tell us much since they'll be apparating in and out."

Bess nodded. Using the door would mean they might meet some muggles on the way - and purebloods wouldn't want that. "Can we take whoever's in there then?" She wasn't an expert duellist, and Randall was smart, but he had less experience in magical fighting than she did - and hers was limited to that horrible night in Hogsmeade. They'd been training together, though.

Randall took a deep breath. "If it's only one, yes. Two, maybe."

"'Maybe' is not good enough." Bess clenched her teeth. She knew what happened if you underestimated your enemy.

"If we could break the wards while they are out, then we could ambush them once they return. Or place a trap." Randall rubbed his chin. "But then we wouldn't know who was hiding there."

"And we wouldn't know when they were out - or if they're going to be out long enough anyway," Bess said. "With a few Extension Charms, they could have half a manor in there." Which meant that they could have half a manor's worth of wizards in there.

Randall looked at the flat in question again. "We might be able to spy on them from the right vantage point."

"Renting a flat in this building, to spy on them?" That sounded like spy novel stuff. "How about we skip this flat, and check the next one?"

"I don't think the next one will be any different," Randall pointed out.

"Shite." Bess finished her ale. She wanted to do something. Hurt the Death Eaters and bigots. They were right there, across the street!

She was trying to get the waiter's attention to order another ale when Randall suddenly hissed: "Check out that man!"

He was nodding in the direction of a nearby table. The man sitting there was dressed rather fashionably, as far as she could tell - but for the hat on his head that was hiding his face.

"He's been staring at the flat as well," Randal whispered to her without making it obvious that he was watching the man.

The waiter finally stopped flirting with the pair of girls sitting at the bar, and walked over. Bess watched as the man jerked when he was addressed, hastily ordered something, and went straight back to staring outside the window. Which, especially at this time of the evening, didn't really offer anything interesting - unless you knew about the hideout on the second floor across the street. When the man took a minute to pay the waiter, shuffling the money around and looking at the coins and notes as if he hadn't seen them before, Bess knew.

"He's a pureblood," she whispered.

"Yes," Randall agreed.

"Can we take him?" They were in public, but if they ambushed him outside the pub, they could be gone before anyone could react.

Randall looked at her. "If he was with the occupants of the flat, he wouldn't be here, in a passable disguise, would he?"

Bess frowned. He had a point. But she really wanted to do something. Anything. And they didn't know who the man was. "We need to find out what he knows. And who he is." They couldn't attack the flat with an unknown observing it.

"We don't have Veritaserum." Randall was glancing at the man again.

"I wasn't thinking of that," Bess whispered, drawing her wand under the table.

*****​

London, Ministry of Magic, March 22nd, 1997

"What happened in London, Pius?"

Amelia Bones hated to rely on Pius for information, but she couldn't trust the Aurors left in the Corps to tell her the truth without informing their superiors. She almost snorted - there weren't Aurors left she could trust, period. At least not Aurors with experience. Certainly not Dawlish. The Head Auror had made it quite clear that he was already positioning himself for the time after her term. Not that Pius could be trusted either.

"I assume you are talking about the incident in…" He glanced at the parchment in his hands. "... Islington."

She almost rolled her eyes in response. She knew that he didn't need to check such details before answering. She refrained from answering with a barb, though. "Yes."

"We received the report from the Obliviators just an hour ago, and it took a little longer until a team of Aurors arrived at the scene."

"Don't give me excuses, give me information." she glared at him.

He took a deep breath before continuing. "According to the Obliviators, a fight between at least three wizards took place in front of muggles. In a pub, to be exact. Collateral damage was considerable, and the Muggle-Worthy Excuse Committee is expected to blame muggle extremist groups - 'hooligans', I believe they are called - using a fire bomb for this."

Amelia blinked. "Was there actually a bomb used in the battle?" That would indicate muggleborns. As did the location itself.

"Not to my knowledge." Pius shook his head. "Although John suspects that the fight is related to the warded flat we discovered across the street from the location of the battle."

That was a given - wizards didn't simply meet and fight in a muggle area. "A warded flat in a muggle neighbourhood." Amelia narrowed her eyes. "A safe house?"

"That is possible. It was empty when my team took down the wards and entered, but there were signs of a hasty flight, and prior long-term occupation. There is no indication that there was a fight in the flat, though." Pius glanced at the parchment again. "So far we haven't been able to find out who had been using the flat."

"That's not much for an incident that's already caused the ICW delegation to contact me asking if war has broken out." At least the Obliviators had handled both the incident and the delegates easily enough.

"It's only been two hours, and since the muggle authorities are present we cannot openly use magic."

Another excuse that wouldn't have flown when she was the Head of the DMLE. "I don't care how difficult it is. We can't have muggleborns and Death Eaters fighting in muggle areas. That will play directly into the ICW's hands." She shook her head. "I'll contact Black and see what he knows about this. You push Dawlish to produce results. We need to solve this case quickly."

Pius frowned briefly before he nodded. She had expected that - she was certain that he would prefer to talk to Black himself. But this was a matter for the Minister for Magic. And as long as she held that position, she would do her duty.

*****​

London, Bromley, March 22nd, 1997

"Let's go say hello!"

Randall opened his mouth to say something, but she was already standing up and walking towards the unknown wizard, her wand hidden behind her back. She couldn't cast the Imperius, but she could hold someone at wand point. The others in the pub wouldn't even notice - just like in the movies. A glance told her that Randall was right behind her. He wouldn't be happy about this, she knew, but he would have her back anyway.

She was only a few steps away when the wizard noticed her. She saw his head turn towards her, his eyes still hidden by his ugly hat. She moved her arm a bit, to let him see her wand, to show him that they had him outnumbered and at wand point.

She was just about to tell him not to do anything foolish when she noticed that his right hand was hidden under the table. Before she could react, the entire table shot towards her. She managed to twist away, but that only kept her from having her face smashed in when the table hit her and slammed her into the wall behind.

She came to on the floor, disoriented for a moment. She was pushing herself up and grabbing her wand when the wall above her blew up, and fragments rained down on her. She heard screams and saw people rushing to the pub's bar in the background. Dimly, she saw Randall moving, casting, as she scrambled away on all fours, then stood up.

Their enemy was at the door, one of Randall's curses splashing against his Shield Charm. A strong Shield Charm - it didn't shatter. She sent a Reductor Curse of her own at it, but missed, blowing up the door behind him. That caught his attention, and she almost froze when his wand flicked towards her.

Screaming, she rolled to the side, a curse splashing on the ground near her, and then she screamed in earnest when her side started to hurt as if her skin was on fire. Rolling around behind the remains of another table, she saw that there were smoking patches on her clothes and screamed even more. Then something hit her head and ...

Bess Cox woke up panting and sweating. She had barely realised that she didn't know where she was when she felt the pain in her side.

"Take this," someone said - Randall, she recognised the voice - and put a vial into her hand.

She downed it without hesitating or checking what it was, then hissed while the pain slowly eased.

"Did it help?"

Bess nodded. "Th… thanks," she managed to say.

"I couldn't do much about the acid burns. The ointment will take some time to restore the skin."

"Acid?" Hadn't she been on fire?

"You were hit with conjured acid of some sort. Fortunately, it was just some splatter, the spell missed you. Otherwise, I'd have had to take you to St. Mungo's."

Which would have meant Aurors taking an interest. And she was still a wanted witch as far as she knew. Bess nodded. "Thank you again." The pain was gone now. "Where are we?"

"In a hotel," he explained. "I obliviated the concierge, so we're safe for the moment."

"Good. What happened?"

"The wizard escaped. I did hit him with a curse or two, though. I think, at least." He sighed. "I managed to get you and apparate out before the Obliviators or Aurors arrived."

She gasped. "Shite! We had a fight in front of the entire pub!"

He nodded. "Breaking the Statute of Secrecy…" He grimaced while trailing off.

"We were just defending ourselves," she said. "He started it."

"After you threatened him. 'Let's go say hello'? Really?" He was glaring at her.

"I didn't expect him to attack us." Not in front of the pub. Or when faced with two wands. "Did you see his face?" The wizard had to have been an experienced fighter, probably a veteran of the war, given how he had fought both of them at once.

Randall shook his head. "Not clearly. Maybe if we had a Pensieve…"

She snorted at that thought, and he shrugged. "The news are calling it a firebomb attack. IRA or some crazy hooligans." He snorted. "The Ministry's excuses are quite transparent."

The Ministry would be hunting them, now. Bess tensed, then told herself they were still safe. The Aurors wouldn't know them. The Obliviators would have erased the memories of the witnesses.

But the purebloods in the flat would have been warned and escaped by now. And she wasn't in any shape to continue the hunt. Bess closed her eyes and muttered a few curses under her breath. That could have gone better.

But, she added to herself, it could have gone a lot worse as well.

*****​

London, Ministry of Magic, March 23rd, 1997

"I assure you, Amelia, that we have no idea who was behind the incident in Islington." That wasn't entirely accurate - they had a suspicion, at least, but Neville hadn't called back yet - but Sirius Black didn't worry about such details. It wasn't as if Bones looked like she believed him, anyway.

"The Resistance had just finished guarding our rally in Hogsmeade," Hermione added. "We were not involved in that fight."

Sirius glanced at the younger witch. Hermione was staring at Bones as if she dared the Minister to contradict her. She probably was, he thought - relations between the two witches were even worse than between himself and the Minister. He looked back at the older witch. "We're very much interested in finding out who fought there, of course." And who had been living in that flat across from the site of the fight. "What have your Aurors found out so far?"

"Nothing."

Sirius couldn't tell if Bones was lying - she was frustrated, but that was normal for her, in his experience. He shrugged. "Well, if you need help, I know a few skilled wizards and witches who could lend you some assistance."

Her expression made him want to chuckle. "We suspect that muggleborns were involved," she spat out. "Given the location."

Hermione slightly cocked her head and frowned. "That seems rather arbitrary."

"Who else would be found in that area?"

"Death Eater sympathisers in hiding?" Sirius said. He spread his hands when Bones glared at him. "They go out to eat in the pub across the street, get into an argument, and settle it the pureblood way?"

That earned him a glare from Bones and an eyeroll from Hermione.

"This sort of incident is not helping our dealings with the ICW," Bones pressed out through clenched teeth.

Sirius shrugged. "It was handled by the Obliviators. As it was supposed to be. Speaking of the ICW, we've discussed the accusations by Jamaica."

Hermione took her cue. "We should ask Jamaica for samples of the muggle explosives allegedly used in that attack on that houngan, to check with our own records. That would let us determine whether there is any link to the attacks in Britain."

"And," Sirius took over before Bones could answer, "it'll put some pressure on the houngans." Even Fawley wouldn't be able to mess that up. Britain would appear cooperative and helpful, and the houngans would refuse to hand over such samples anyway - they were far too secretive.

Bones slowly nodded. "And what if they do offer those samples?"

"Then we analyse them," Hermione said. Her tone left no doubt that she considered the question stupid. Bones's expression left no doubt that she knew that.

Sirius wanted to chuckle again, but that would probably have pushed Bones too far.

*****​

London, No. 12 Grimmauld Place, March 23rd, 1997

"Do you think Bones will accept our proposal?" Hermione Granger asked as soon as Sirius had stepped out of the fireplace into the entrance hall of his home.

"I think so. She's not the type to neglect her duty just because she hates our guts." He shrugged.

Hermione wasn't quite certain of that, but nodded. Sirius did know the witch better than she did. And thinking of the houngans… "We'll need to learn spells to deal with those bone walls," she said. "Dispelling them takes too long."

"Do you think Reid's still in Britain?"

She shrugged. "I think sooner or later, we'll have to deal with houngans. I want to be prepared." Much better prepared than they had been for Reid.

"Alright. There might be something useful in our library. The Blacks fought the houngans often enough - we had extensive holdings in Jamaica, before the rebellion, and my ancestors wanted to get them back - and those involved in the wars might have left some notes or records." He smiled. "But between the curses, and the deliberate chaos - supposedly to keep outsiders from learning our secrets - it could take some time to check."

Hermione barely held back from voicing her opinion of people who treated books like that. The Blacks deserved their reputation for that crime against libraries alone, in her opinion.

He must have noticed, since he chuckled. "Don't glare like that! Everyone responsible has been dead for years, if not decades."

"We'll also need to prepare for the attack on Dubois," she said.

"Vivienne is working on that. She's visiting her family."

Which explained why the Veela wasn't in Sirius's arms right now, Hermione thought. Then she told herself not to act like a hypocrite - she was quite affectionate with Ron as well, after all. And would be even more so, if they weren't trying to be considerate of Harry's feelings.

"Are you going to join the others at Longbottom Manor?" Sirius's question interrupted her thoughts.

She shook her head. "Harry, Ron and Ginny can handle that just fine. I can use the time to start researching here." She wasn't in the mood to deal with Neville, anyway. Handling Seamus was already enough of an annoyance.

He looked at her for a moment, then nodded.

*****​

Kent, Longbottom Manor, March 23rd, 1997

"You went to attack a Death Eater hideout by yourself?" Ginny sounded as if the only reason she wasn't hexing Neville was the fact that he was already hurt, Harry Potter thought.

"I didn't plan to attack them; I was just watching the place to find out who was living there. Those two attacked me without warning," Neville defended himself. He was in his bed, propped up by cushions, and his left arm was dangling from his wrecked shoulder. For someone who had taken Skele-Gro, he was holding up well, in Harry's opinion - he knew just how painful that potion was.

"Mate, going out alone wasn't the best decision," Ron said.

"No one else would come with me. Even though they knew about this 'telly trouble'."

There was more than a hint of reproach there, Harry thought. And with some reason, he added, feeling guilty. They now knew that the twins had told him about that, but blown him off at the same time. If Neville had been killed in that fight… "We called after the rally, but you had already left."

"Sorry." Neville looked away. "I wanted to do something. But I messed it up. I don't know how they spotted me - I was wearing muggle clothes."

Harry exchanged a glance with Ron. His friend was probably thinking of some of the more outrageous styles they had seen worn. "Which clothes did you wear?" Ron asked.

"I went and bought the clothes I saw in that muggle newspaper." Neville pointed at his desk.

Harry went over and picked up the issue of the Daily Mirror there. It was a few weeks old. "Which ones?" he asked, flipping through it. There were a few ads, but not for clothes.

"The fashionable ones," Neville answered. "In the article on the page next to the one covering the 'telly trouble'."

Harry found it. "Ah, I understand now."

"What?"

He looked at the other three Gryffindors. "They were probably too posh for that kind of pub."

"Too posh?" Neville sounded confused.

"Too expensive. It's like someone trying to pass for a Knockturn Alley resident while wearing Acromantula silk robes," Harry explained.

"Ah." Neville cringed. "I didn't know that."

"I wouldn't have known that either," Ginny said, "and I doubt that anyone who didn't grow up among muggles would have." She glanced at Harry and Ron.

"Yeah, mate," Ron was quick to agree. Harry nodded.

"I still blew it. I had to flee before help arrived, and now the Death Eaters hiding there are gone." Neville sounded despondent.

Harry wasn't quite certain if they had been Death Eaters, but pointing that out wouldn't help Neville either. "Well, there are other flats to check. Once you're healed." Which shouldn't take too long - their friend hadn't lost all the bones in his shoulder, after all.

"We can ask Hermione if we can make it an exercise for the Resistance," Ron added, nodding. "The Death Eaters won't stand a chance that way."

Neville's smile made Harry feel even more guilty about forgetting about him for a week.

*****​

Kent, Greengrass Manor, March 23rd, 1997

"They killed Theo."

Upon hearing Astoria, Daphne Greengrass looked up from the Daily Prophet and at her sister. The younger witch was glaring at her across the dining table, her lunch untouched.

"I know," Daphne said.

"You helped them kill him!" Astoria sounded as if Daphne had been the one to wield the wand that had ended Theo's life.

"He was a damned fool who would have doomed us all. I saved us."

"They wouldn't have caught him without your help!" Her sister's lips were trembling - she was close to crying, Daphne realised.

"They would have caught him." Before Astoria could contradict her as she used to when they were still little children, Daphne went on: "But even if they hadn't caught him, they would have killed us." She held up the Daily Prophet, showing the pictures from Hogsmeade. "Did you see this? Did you see how many of them were at the rally? What do you think would have happened if we hadn't told them about Theo?" She shook her head. "I'll tell you what would have happened: They would have come for us. Killed us in Theo's place."

"But…" Astoria looked mulish.

"Don't be a bloody fool!" Daphne snapped. Her sister gasped at her language, and stared at her with wide eyes. "Have you forgotten what happened in the war? How many of our friends who fought them are still alive? Huh? Do you think they have forgotten what we did? Do you think they will accept the verdict from the Wizengamot? The very same Wizengamot that they want to replace?" She was standing now, both hands gripping the table. "Do you think I wanted to sell Theo out? Of course I didn't! But he was endangering us. Everyone knows that we fought for the Dark Lord. Who do you think everyone suspected to be behind those attacks?"

"But… we weren't!"

"Do you think anyone cared about that? They wanted blood! They wanted revenge! If Theo hadn't been stopped, they would have attacked us! We lost our parents! We lost our friends! But we lost the bloody war! And if we keep fighting them, we'll lose our lives!"

Her sister was sobbing, her head lowered.

Daphne took a deep breath, then another, wiping some tears from the corners of her eyes as she went round the table, towards Astoria. But before she reached her sister, Astoria jumped up and ran out of the dining room.

"Astoria!"

Her sister didn't stop, but ran straight towards the stairs.

Daphne sighed and sat down on the next chair. She closed her eyes and rubbed a few more tears away. She hadn't liked betraying Theo either. But it had been a damn stupid idiot or her family.

And family always came first.

*****​

Anotto Bay, Jamaica, March 23rd, 1997

Augustus Rookwood wished he had a Daily Prophet. He needed to know what was happening in Britain. But he couldn't be tracked by owls, and the only place on Jamaica where he might be able to buy an issue was Port Royal - provided the houngans allowed the newspaper to be sold on their island. He'd probably have to make do with a local newspaper, or maybe an American one.

And he'd better wait another day to let things settle some more. He was being hunted by the houngans, after all, and, even using Polyjuice to disguise himself, entering the capital of Magical Jamaica was a tad dangerous. Not as dangerous as attacking another manor, of course. Maybe he would try to kidnap a houngan in Port Royal, once he was more familiar with the town.

Until then there were the books he had taken from Williams's manor to study. And plans to make about how he could send a letter by international owl post without revealing his location.

He had to keep up the pressure on the British Ministry, after all.

*****​
 
Chapter 56: Undercover Operations
Chapter 56: Undercover Operations

'The death of Theodore Nott was a greater shock to Wizarding Britain than one would have expected given his role in the recently concluded hostilities. For while he had been acquitted by the Wizengamot, it had also been proven that he had fought for the Dark Lord - something for which many, especially muggleborns, felt he deserved the death sentence. Violent acts of revenge - or vigilante justice - were all too common in the period following the Battle of Diagon Alley, although usually limited to returning muggleborns forcing out the purebloods who had taken over their homes and business.
But there were several reasons that Nott's death had such an effect. He was killed by the Order of the Phoenix and the Muggleborn Resistance, with the Ministry only being informed after the fact - a clear demonstration of who had the real power in Britain at the time. Since he had been killed following an attack on Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes in Diagon Alley, his death also served to further erode the reputation of the Wizengamot. But almost more than anything else, his death served to send a message to the Old Families still clinging to their inherited power: The tide has turned.'
- Excerpt from 'The Second Blood War' by Hyacinth Selwyn


*****​

London, No. 12 Grimmauld Place, March 24th, 1997

For a moment, he was back in Azkaban. For a moment, he felt the cold, the pain, the desperation. For a moment, his escape, his exoneration, his new life with Harry, his friends and his new lover, was but a dream, a mirage.

Sirius Black shuddered. He wasn't in Azkaban. He was in his home, in his bed. Warm. Safe. He had been out of Azkaban for almost four years now, and yet he still had nightmares and woke up afraid that he had gone mad and was still in his cell.

Although the nightmares occurred less frequently these days. He hadn't felt the need to sleep as Padfoot for a long time now. Turning his head, he looked at one of the reasons for his progress. Vivienne.

His lover was still asleep, curled up next to him, one arm slung over his chest, one leg crossing his under the sheet, her long hair splayed out behind her on the pillow. He reached over to brush a strand that had fallen in her face back behind her ear, and she started to mumble in her sleep in reaction to his touch. A few seconds later, just enough time to for a quick Breath-Refreshing Charm, she opened her eyes. "Cherie?"

"Good morning," he said, smiling at her, before leaning over to press a kiss on her brow.

"Bonjour," she whispered, pulling herself closer to him with her arm and sighing contentedly when she rested her head on his chest.

He wished he could stay like this forever. He couldn't - he had too many important tasks to accomplish - but he could stay in bed a little while longer.

*****​

"The location of Isabelle Dubois's 'ome is a matter of record, so she is easy to find," Vivienne said an hour later, in the living room. "But it is protected by old wards." Sirius knew what that euphemism stood for: Wards erected by blood sacrifices centuries ago, when such atrocities were legal, or at least overlooked. Like the wards protecting his own home.

"Anything special about them?" Bill asked.

Vivienne shook her head. "I do not know. I'm not a Curse-Breaker."

"We can go through any wards, however old," Hermione cut in, "but everyone will know that it was us."

"That cannot be allowed!" Fleur said quickly. "The Duc will be forced to declare war in response to such an open attack on one of 'is courtiers."

Vivienne nodded in agreement.

Harry snorted. "He tolerates his courtiers supporting attacks in Britain."

"Those are deniable actions," Fleur said. "Done without 'is official knowledge."

"He knew about your family's intervention in the war, though." Harry didn't seem willing to let this go too quickly. "It was even in the newspapers."

"That was an act of retaliation against a criminal, not an attack on a member of the government or the population of a foreign country." Hermione earned herself a glance from Harry, Sirius noted.

He decided to intervene before they went off on that particular tangent. "The morality of such a stance aside, we cannot risk war with France." The French were very prickly where their honour was concerned. "Which means that we need to grab our little agent covertly. And given the politics of the Court, we can't have the Delacours or d'Aigles implicated either." They were too close to Britain, with Fleur and Vivienne. "Any ideas?"

"If her home was deserted for a few hours, I could take down the wards and we could ambush her inside," Bill said. "I would need some help for that, though." Fleur glared at him; the Veela would know the risks incurred by such an action.

"She won't be living alone, no matter her affairs," Vivienne said - a bit cattily, Sirius thought.

"If we knew what explosives had been used in Jamaica, we could use the same and frame whoever was behind that attack," Ron said.

"Most think we're responsible for the attack on Jamaica, so that would point at us anyway." Sirius shook his head. "Muggle means are out."

"Let's just hope no one at the French Court thinks of getting rid of a rival and framing us that way," Harry muttered.

Sirius wasn't the only one who glared at him.

"We'll need to ambush her when she's away from her home, then," Hermione said after a moment. "If she's, ah, having as many affairs as you indicate, maybe we could use one of her lovers' homes for that? Or prepare a honey trap?"

"A what?" Vivienne asked.

After Hermione and Sirius had explained the term, the Veela nodded. "That could work. But we would need an attractive and 'armless looking bait."

Which excludes myself, Sirius thought. His roguish charm meant he was anything but harmless-looking. Then he noticed that everyone was looking at him.

*****​

Cumbria, Britain, March 24th, 1997

"An 'exercise' in the middle of London involving half-trained Resistance recruits hunting purebloods in hiding. Right when the police are searching for supposed bombers. That's a recipe for disaster."

Hermione's tone made her feelings on the matter clear. She wasn't wrong, Ron Weasley knew. But he didn't think his idea was bad either. "Neville going off on his own isn't a good thing either. And unlike him, the recruits can blend in. Since we now have pictures of the attackers thanks to Neville's memories, they won't be caught by surprise either."

"Unless they disguise themselves." Hermione, sitting at the desk inside her tent, pressed her lips together. "I know I've seen them before, but I can't recall where."

"It was probably at the rally," he said. "Most muggleborns were there, at least most of those who'd want to hunt Death Eaters in hiding." He rubbed his shoulder and winced at the twinge of pain that caused - today's training had been rough again. Harry suspected that the other recruits were a little resentful of the numerous absences of the two 'auxiliaries', and took it out in training. Ron thought that the Resistance simply overestimated them.

"If they were at the rally, then they went through security, which would mean that they were not disguised, nor under the Imperius, and we would be certain that they were actually muggleborns hunting supposed Death Eaters, and not purebloods in hiding," she pointed out. "Even Neville didn't stick out that much, and he has no experience with muggles." She stood up and started to pace. "The last thing we need is another fight in a muggle area involving muggleborns. Those bigots in the ICW are just waiting for that so they can claim that we are a threat to the Statute of Secrecy."

"We could use firearms, though."

"That would cause a lot of trouble with the muggle police. We have to hope that they don't make the connection to the warded flats interfering with television reception, or they'll start searching, and once they start encountering the Muggle-Repelling Charms, someone's bound to start noticing that something's wrong." Hermione sighed. She sat down on the bed next to him. "But we might have to take that risk anyway - if the ICW gets an excuse to intervene…"

Ron shuddered. He had heard tales about the African intervention. "So…?"

She nodded. "We have to be very careful, though."

"We're always careful," he said. "Unless we're being Gryffindors."

That got a chuckle out of her, and she leaned into his side, her head resting on his shoulder. Then she sighed again. "It seems to never end. As soon as we have one problem solved, or at least a plan to deal with it, another appears. Not even killing Voldemort stopped it."

"Killing him ended the war in Britain, though," Ron said without hesitating. "We might not be doing as well as we could, but things could be a lot worse. We just have to keep going until there are no more problems. No more serious problems, I mean."

She pulled back a bit to look at him, and he smiled. "We won't lose."

Hermione slowly nodded and hugged him. He wrapped his arms around her and took a deep breath.

They would get through this.

*****​

London, No. 12 Grimmauld Place, March 25th, 1997

Sirius Black frowned as he put down his cup next to the Daily Prophet the owl had just delivered. Remus was being stupid.

"All I'm saying is that this is a dangerous undertaking. After Nott's death, Malfoy and Runcorn will be on their guard, and Daphne and Tracey will be under suspicion." Remus stabbed his rashers almost violently, then stuffed them into his mouth.

The full moon had been yesterday, so Sirius's friend was at his worst - ragged, tired and easily angered. Sirius would joke that he was like a witch on her period, but he still remembered how Lily had made him regret making that joke in their seventh year. The Dementors hadn't touched that memory, of course. Still, some things had to be said, even if Sirius might have to be a little more diplomatic than his usual frank self.

"They're Slytherins. They know how to lie, and how to deal with scum. It comes from spending so much time in a den of backstabbing snakes. And, of course, from being backstabbing snakes themselves."

"They're barely adults," Remus said. "And you're sending them to deal with wizards who have decades of experience."

"They're bloody Death Eaters! They're only helping us because they want to save themselves. So, let's make them earn their pardon." It was better to risk enemies than allies, much less family and friends, Sirius knew.

"Technically, they were acquitted. They do not need a pardon." Remus was being pedantic again. A good sign, so close to the full moon.

"You know what I mean. If they manage to get information we can use to deal with Malfoy and Runcorn, we'll tell the muggleborns that they were spying for us. That should keep them from getting killed." A damned good deal for the two Death Eaters, in Sirius's opinion.

"And if they get killed trying to spy for us?"

He shrugged. "Then we'll have a pretext to go after Malfoy and Runcorn." Sirius grabbed another scone and pulled it apart. Then he noticed that Remus was growling. "What?"

His friend shook his head. "Nothing," he spat, then stood up and left the kitchen.

Sirius blinked, then turned to Vivienne. The witch had been reading the Tribune Magique and hadn't said a word during the argument. She had been paying attention, though, since she answered his silent question. "I think 'e might be fond of them."

"What?"

*****​

"Moony!" Sirius caught up to his friend in front of the stairs leading up to the first floor.

"What?" Remus turned and looked at him with narrowed eyes.

"Are you in love with the snakes?"

His friend gaped at him. "What?"

Sirius was relieved at seeing his surprise. If the two Death Eaters had managed to seduce Moony… He sighed. "Just checking."

Remus blinked, then clenched his teeth. "Are you trying to say that the only possible reason for my objection to risking the lives of Greengrass and Davis would be a possible infatuation with one of them?"

He nodded. "Of course."

"Of course you would." Remus sighed. "For the record: No, I'm not in love with either of them. Merlin's beard, they're still kids!"

"They're adults," Sirius pointed out.

"You know what I mean."

Remus was baring his teeth again, he noticed. He didn't actually know what his friend meant, but he nodded anyway. "That doesn't change the fact that they joined the Dark Lord and tried to kill our family and friends."

"And they came to us when they heard about Nott's plans to attack muggleborns again."

"Because they wanted to save their own skins," Sirius retorted.

"From what I can tell, they're sick of the war. They wouldn't be the first kids who made a serious mistake that they later regretted."

Sirius hissed. "That was different! I didn't join the Death Eaters! Snape did!"

"Yes, he did. Later."

"I wouldn't bet on that. He was hanging out with all the Death Eaters," Sirius spat.

Remus shook his head. "If you don't start giving people a chance to change we'll never have peace."

Sirius remembered Dumbledore's final message. But this was different. "I'm giving them a chance to change. But I'd rather risk them than Nymphadora." Maybe mentioning the witch who had the hots for Remus would make him see reason.

His friend looked at him, baring his teeth for a moment. "Don't try to get them killed." Then he turned and walked away.

"I'm not," Sirius told Remus's back, loud enough so his friend would hear it.

But he wasn't about to sacrifice anyone else for them either.

*****​

Kent, Greengrass Manor, March 25th, 1997

"Dear, there are a few strands escaping your braid. And your makeup needs a tiny bit of touching up."

Daphne Greengrass looked at her image in the mirror in her room, ignoring its vapid comments. She looked just like a friend of Theo should look so soon after his death: wearing her best robes, but not quite perfectly coiffed and styled. Nervous and afraid she might be the next victim, but trying to hide it and put on a brave face. Just what Malfoy and Runcorn would expect.

Of course, she was nervous and afraid. If those two wizards suspected anything, it wouldn't end well for her. They wouldn't disappear her while she was a guest as that would make them the prime suspects, but it would only take one Imperius to send her to her death in an attack on Diagon Alley or Hogsmeade. She could almost hear Malfoy comment on how distressed she had been, obviously trying to avenge her friend Nott. They'd even make her a martyr for their cause.

Shaking her head, she left her room. Tracey would arrive soon. In the hallway she glanced at the door to Astoria's room. Her sister had spent the last few days mostly in there, only emerging for meals. She hoped that that would change, but there wasn't much she could do about it. Not right now.

Tracey hadn't yet arrived, but Tonks was in the entrance hall. The metamorphmagus was wearing the face of an unknown witch and twirling her wand in her hand. A subtle reminder that Daphne couldn't run, or so she thought. At least the werewolf had already left. Daphne shuddered - the full moon would be rising soon, and if the beast were still in her home...

"Nervous?" Tonks asked, mistaking her reaction.

"Yes," Daphne answered, in a flat tone. She didn't want to make idle conversation right now.

"You don't have to be nervous. If they suspect you, then they'll likely interrogate you before they do anything incriminating. And in that case, they'll find out that we know where you are, so they can't make you disappear." Tonks smiled in a way that probably was meant to be reassuring. But the half-blood wasn't the one visiting Malfoy and Runcorn. She wasn't the one risking her life.

But Daphne didn't point that out. Instead she simply nodded and hoped the other witch would stop talking. She already knew all that.

Her hope was in vain, though - the metamorphmagus continued to prattle on. "Given your supposed friendship with Nott, it won't be suspicious that you'll be carrying a portkey either. Just remember to clear the wardline before you use it, go through the garden for that, if you can, the plants will help break the line of sight."

"Yes," Daphne hissed through clenched teeth.

"I'm just trying to help," Tonks said. "I've got some experience with such missions."

Fortunately, Tracey arrived and the Auror shut up in favour of glaring at Daphne's friend.

"Are you ready?" Daphne asked.

"Would I have arrived if I wasn't?" Tracey smirked, but Daphne could see that she was nervous as well. "Did Professor Lupin leave already?" she added, looking around.

"He returned home," Tonks said.

Tracey acted as if she were disappointed - she wasn't as dumb as to actually want to see a werewolf right before the full moon, Daphne knew - then shrugged. "We'll see him in the morning, then."

"Unless he has something more important to do." The Auror's smile was about as honest as their upcoming visit, Daphne thought.

"Well…"

Tracey was about to needle the Auror some more, but Daphne cut her off. "Let's go!"

She really wasn't in the mood to listen to the two witches talk about the damned werewolf again. Tracey was taking her teasing too far, in Daphne's opinion.

*****​

South Downs National Park, Hampshire, Britain, March 25th, 1997

"Miss Greengrass, Miss Davis. I'm glad you came."

Malfoy sounded as charming as usual, Daphne Greengrass noted when she bowed to their host. If Theo's death had made an impression on him, then he didn't show it.

"Thank you for your invitation," she said.

"Please follow me to the salon." He gestured towards the door.

There were fewer guests in Malfoy's home this time, Daphne thought as she and Tracey entered the salon. Philius Runcorn was there, which they had expected, but a number of his and Malfoy's supporters in the Wizengamot were absent. She grabbed a glass of wine on the way to the gathering, only briefly hesitating. Their host wouldn't have tampered with the wine, she told herself. Dosing a guest with Veritaserum would be such a hostile act, it would not only turn her and Tracey into enemies, but alienate his other allies. That was not something you did to test a potential ally, but a means to interrogate a prisoner. And if their cover had been blown, then such a ruse wouldn't have been needed in the first place - they'd have been ambushed on arrival.

"Ah! Good evening, Miss Greengrass, Miss Davis!" Runcorn bowed a bit awkwardly, his age hampering his manners. "I'm very glad to see you both at our gathering here."

"Good evening, Mister Runcorn," Daphne said.

"We were just discussing the most recent tragedy. I offer you my heartfelt condolences for the loss of your friend."

Runcorn sounded genuine, but any politician with his experience would, Daphne knew. She nodded, taking care to appear appropriately sad. She nodded again when the six other Wizengamot members hastened to follow Runcorn's example. "Thank you. It's a relief to hear such sentiments. Theo was the last of our group of friends from Hogwarts. Others we'd have counted as friends distanced themselves from us as soon as they heard of his death."

"The rats are abandoning the ship," Tracey muttered with a frown.

"Recent events have caused some of our acquaintances to reconsider their support," Malfoy admitted. "It's not a great loss overall, given how fickle they have revealed themselves to be."

Tracey snorted. "Even the gold of cowards would have been useful."

"Not to mention that should they not just distance themselves from us, but try to curry favour with our enemies, their votes and influence could be decisive," Daphne added. Black was close to getting the majority he needed to 'reform' the Wizengamot.

"I can assure you that there is no shortage of gold. Our coffers are full, and we have friends with more to spend." Malfoy smiled. "The situation in the Wizengamot is somewhat more precarious, I admit, but by no means hopeless. Even though we may have lost some supporters, they have not switched sides."

"Not yet, you mean," Tracey said. "They will just wait long enough so they won't appear completely spineless before sucking up to Black and his allies."

Daphne glanced at her friend. Tracey was overdoing it, in her opinion. She had a reputation for being blunt and outspoken, but if she was too obvious… "The opportunists had already changed their allegiance before the ... latest events," she said. "I think that those who are now distancing themselves from our cause are doing so out of fear for themselves and their families."

"Exactly!" Runcorn smiled widely. "Since they are motivated by fear, they will return to our side as soon as they realise that the mudbloods will not spare them no matter what they do."

"Unless they turn blood traitor," Tracey said.

"The mudbloods will not accept them on their side," Runcorn said.

"They don't have to. Black will promise them safety for themselves and their families," Daphne retorted, "in exchange for their support." She scoffed, remembering how Black had treated her and Tracey.

"Black!" Runcorn muttered the name as if it was a curse. "If his family could see him, betraying everything they stood for!"

"He and the other blood traitors are allied with the mudbloods, though. And so other purebloods, even from the Old Families, will try to join them as well," Daphne said. Which was why she and her friend had contacted him in the first place. If they had known what he planned… well, they'd still have done it. It was their only chance to survive this war.

"Short of the mudbloods cursing Black in the back, that won't change," Tracey added with a sneer. "They'll play nice until they have taken over the Ministry and the Wizengamot. And then it'll be too late for the turncoats. They'll be helpless."

"At least Theo died with his wand in hand," Daphne said. "Unlike others."

Malfoy frowned. "Do you intend to follow his example?"

Tracey stared at him. "They won't take us prisoner again. We'll die as witches before we let them murder us as if we were muggles."

Daphne saw Runcorn exchange a glance with Malfoy, and for a moment she feared that they had seen through her act. Tracey was just too obvious, she thought, tensing while she glanced around. The salon had a door to the porch of the house, but they wouldn't reach it with eight wizards attacking them. And even if she and Tracey managed to surprise them, they wouldn't be able to beat all of them. Not in close quarters. They could only hope that their portkeys would work.

Runcorn, though, smiled. "A very brave stance, worthy of your lineage. But our situation is not quite as dire as you make it out to be. Our enemies are more vulnerable than you think."

Daphne hoped that her relief at not having been revealed as a spy would be mistaken for hope of winning against the mudbloods.

Malfoy nodded. "Dumbledore built an alliance between his Order of the Phoenix, the Mudblood Resistance and the Ministry which barely survived his own death, and broke apart after the Dark Lord was killed. Black claims he inherited the Order's allegiance, but he's no Dumbledore - he won't be able to hold it together. He's too radical, and too short-sighted."

"He's rich, though," Tracey cut in. "And he's the godfather of the Boy-Who-Lived."

And, Daphne added in her mind, Black was certainly ruthless enough to lead the Order.

Malfoy frowned, but quickly smoothed his expression. "Not all of those who followed Dumbledore and opposed the Dark Lord will support turning the country over to the mudbloods, which is what Black intends to do. They will not need more than to see the mudbloods' true nature to abandon him." He smiled. "And while Black tries to portray Potter as the next Dumbledore, anyone can see that the boy's just his mouthpiece. He is not even old enough to sit in the Wizengamot yet."

"He did kill the Dark Lord, though," Daphne said. "And that means a lot to the public." Others among the guests nodded.

"The public does not matter as long as we hold the Wizengamot." Runcorn nodded as if he truly believed that. Fawley and Avery didn't seem to share his views, though.

Tracey snorted. "The Wizengamot won't matter if a mudblood mob storms the Ministry." That made half the others pale. Not Malfoy, though.

"That is a risk, but Black knows that if he condones such an atrocity, he will lose any support among purebloods," Malfoy said. "And no matter his actions, he is a pureblood of an Old Family; the mudbloods will not follow him." He shook his head. "No. Black knows that in order to take over Britain, he needs to keep the mudbloods in check until he is firmly installed as the Chief Warlock, with a crony as his pet minister."

"Black's very close to Granger," Daphne said. "Who does all she can to keep the mudbloods in check."

"He might appear to be close to the girl," Malfoy said with a sly smile, "but that is only thanks to Potter. And I have it on good authority that Granger broke up with Potter in favour of Weasley's youngest son. That sort of thing tends to put a strain on any friendship, doubly so among teenagers."

"You're not basing your hopes on Potter's troubled love life, I hope," Tracey said with a barely-hidden sneer.

"Of course not!" Runcorn said.

He seemed to be on the verge of expanding on that, but Malfoy smoothly cut him off. "Black's family life, or lack thereof, is important, though. He's taken a Veela as his lover, and lives with a werewolf. People were willing to overlook that during the war, but now?" He scoffed. "Some are already wondering if the Boy-Who-Lived should be raised in such an environment."

Daphne didn't have to fake her shudder and revulsion at the thought of living with a werewolf as others chimed in, and the discussion turned to ways of spreading such sentiment among the British wizards and witches.

She just hoped the others would not realise that Tracey was sneering at them, and not at the scandalous relationship between Black and the werewolf.

*****​

"Miss Greengrass, Miss Davis. Might you stay a few minutes? There is a small matter to discuss."

Daphne immediately tensed and turned away from where she was waiting behind Fawley at the fireplace. "Of course." Surreptitiously, she glanced around. Malfoy and Runcorn were standing there, seeing the guests off. Tracey was next to her, but she couldn't see anyone else. She hadn't cast a Human-presence-revealing Spell, though, and even a former summer house would have hidden passages for house-elves and other servants. Just because she couldn't spot an ambush didn't mean she was safe.

She didn't let that thought show on her face, of course. "Shall we return to the salon, then?" They'd have an easier time escaping from there, instead of from the entrance hall. Unless they were planning to ambush her and Tracey there.

"By all means." Runcorn stepped aside to let them enter first. Daphne couldn't tell if he had been surprised, or not. She glanced at Tracey. If this was a trap, they'd be ready. For whatever good it would do them.

No one attacked her when stepped into the salon, but she didn't relax.

"What did you want to talk about?" Tracey demanded as soon as the two wizards had joined them.

Malfoy cleared his throat. "Mister Nott mentioned a few weeks ago that he had a falling-out with you two. He didn't go into details, but he said you had lost your nerve. Tonight, you seemed rather… more determined."

Daphne nodded. "Of course Theo would have said that." She shook her head in apparent regret. "He came to us, some time ago, with a barely thought-out plan to attack muggleborns."

Tracey scoffed. "He basically wanted to continue doing what hadn't worked before. We didn't feel that suicidal."

"So you expected him to be killed?" Malfoy's smile didn't reach his eyes.

"It did not come as a surprise," Daphne said. "But we hoped that… we would be proven wrong."

"And yet you have now chosen to pick up the fight? Your comments certainly gave that impression."

Tracey shook her head. "We haven't chosen to fight; we have realised that we do not have a choice. They didn't inform the Ministry, but went after Theo themselves. They didn't capture him either - they simply murdered him and everyone else in his home."

"And everybody knows that Theo was a friend of ours," Daphne added.

She caught Malfoy glancing at Runcorn and nodding. "I see. I wish I could disagree with your conclusion, but I fear you are correct: The mudbloods will not let us live, should they win this struggle." He paused for a moment, then continued: "And I even suspect that no matter what you do or don't do, the mudbloods will attempt to frame you."

"We're more cautious than Theo was," Daphne said.

"That is wise," Runcorn said. He glanced at Malfoy, and for a moment, Daphne thought this would be it - that the two wizards would take them into their confidence. She was wrong, though.

"I'm glad we cleared this up," Malfoy said, instead. "These are very troubled times. We have more support than might be apparent, but with the current balance of power favouring the mudbloods, we need to move very cautiously."

"We're not about to fly off and cast curses at mudbloods in Diagon Alley," Daphne said. "That would only court disaster. The Ministry can't stop the the mudbloods should they start a rampage - or launch a coup."

"The Ministry can't, but they are not alone," Runcorn said.

Tracey snorted. "The Old Families haven't enough power to stop the mudbloods either."

"Not yet, maybe," Runcorn said.

"Theo was a fool to attack the Weasleys' shop." Daphne sighed. "If the mudbloods had gone out of control in response…" she trailed off, pressing her lips together.

"We can but hope that others will not follow his example," Malfoy said, looking at them.

"We'll defend ourselves if attacked, naturally, but we won't attack anyone. Not until we're certain that it will not do us more harm than good."

Daphne nodded at Malfoy, who nodded back. She still had no proof of his involvement in the attacks, but she hoped that she had at least gained his trust.

*****​

London, Ministry of Magic, March 26th, 1997

"What do you have for me, Pius?" Amelia Bones asked as soon as the Head of the DMLE entered her office.

Pius waited until he had closed the door to answer. "The investigation into the incident in Islington has not uncovered anything new. Unfortunately, any witnesses were obliviated before we could question them."

Amelia made a dismissive gesture with her hand. Witnesses were unreliable to begin with, and muggle witnesses doubly so. They couldn't donate memories for Pensieves. "I meant something new, not something we already knew."

"Two batches of Exploding Fluid were found in Nott's home. One was matched to the attack on Diagon Alley on March 4th, and the other to the attack on Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes on March 21st."

So the Unspeakables had finally done their job, Amelia thought. "Two different batches of Exploding Fluid?"

"Yes."

"Was there enough of either batch for another attack?" She narrowed her eyes. He had to have considered that as well.

"Yes." Pius's expression didn't change.

"So, either he had multiple sources of the fluid, or the second batch was planted in his home," Amelia spelled it out. If it was Black then he would have covered his tracks. If she still had an Auror Corps worthy of that name, if she could spare a few experienced Aurors to look into the sources for the fluid… if, if, if. She shook her head. Even if she managed to find evidence that linked anyone to the planted fluid, she didn't think the Wizengamot would find them guilty. Not if they worked for Black.

"There also was evidence that an Imperius Curse had been recently cast on Nott." Pius met her eyes.

Amelia narrowed her eyes. That would support the theory that Nott had been set up - but by whom? With the Thief's Downfall in the Ministry, the curse would have had to be cast more recently. That would point at Black and his allies. But if they had controlled Nott, would they have set up the attack on Diagon Alley as it had happened? They could have done a lot more with him as their tool. Did someone else set him up, to conceal their own involvement? "So, Nott was behind the attack on Diagon Alley, but he was likely forced to do so."

"That is the conclusion of my investigators."

"Did they find any evidence of memory charms?"

"No."

"What about his backers?" She didn't think that Nott had acted alone.

"We found no evidence of anyone working with him," Pius said.

"Black and his accomplices had ample time to go through the manor before your Aurors arrived at the scene." Her tone turned the statement into an accusation of sloppy reaction times.

Pius pressed his lips together before answering. "We arrived as soon as we heard about the attack."

So, he didn't like being told off for Black's actions. Amelia carefully didn't smile. "You didn't have his manor under surveillance."

He inclined his head. "There were not enough Aurors available for that."

She knew he was right - she had been in his place before. But taking the blame for things out of your control was what you did as the Head of the DMLE. Especially if you were plotting against your superior. "And what results did your surveillance of the Greengrass and Davis Manors produce?"

That made him frown. "We haven't been able to penetrate their wards, yet."

She hadn't expected that, of course - Amelia knew that the Ministry didn't have many Curse-Breakers who could slip through the kind of wards Old Families had on their homes. And the few they had were among the Unspeakables, who were currently researching the Withering Curse. Not that they had made any progress so far. "Did your people at least manage to track them when they left their homes?"

"They met with Augustus Malfoy and Philius Runcorn yesterday evening." Pius must have noticed her surprise, since he was smiling faintly.

She stared at him. "That was provided by your source among Malfoy's friends."

He nodded, his smile fading. "They have lost more of their allies following Nott's death," he said, "but their remaining supporters seem to be undeterred. If anything, they might have become even more determined to oppose Black."

"Including Greengrass and Davis?"

"They are among his supporters in the Wizengamot." Pius continued before she could berate him for evading the question she wanted answered. "But neither the host nor his guests let anything slip that would tie them to any attacks. Greengrass and Davis stayed behind when the other guests left, though."

That wasn't enough to take them in for questioning, she knew. And if she did it anyway, Malfoy and Runcorn would be warned. But she was certain that the two witches were involved in the whole affair. "Find out what those two are doing for Malfoy and Runcorn! Before Black frames them as well, and leaves them dead in the ruins of their manors."

Pius nodded.

"Have you found out anything concerning Reid's whereabouts?"

"Nothing," Pius answered without any sign of shame at that failure. "Did the houngans respond to our request for samples of the explosive used in Jamaica?"

She shook her head. "Fawley has passed it on, but so far they haven't even acknowledged it. He expects them to take a few more days before agreeing on a response. Although, according to him, it did counter their accusations in the ICW." Not that that had taken much - the houngans were too infamous to have a lot of support. "Have Beaumont and Steiner been pestering the Aurors again?"

"They keep asking the same questions. We keep giving them the same answers."

She snorted. Business as usual, then. If only those two would finally stop trying to spy on Britain and go home. But the ICW was still putting pressure on Britain. "Anything else?"

He shook his head and left her office.

Once the door had closed behind him, Amelia clenched her teeth and closed her eyes, hissing in frustration. Things were falling apart. Nott's death had revealed how weak the Ministry was compared to Black's alliance. The public might not have realised just how much contempt Black had displayed, but those who mattered had certainly taken notice. She didn't even know if Pius was still following her orders, or if he'd inform Black as soon as he was out of her office. And the muggleborns were up to something as well, possibly on Black's orders.

Not for the first time, she contemplated resigning from her post. But that would mean that either Black himself or one of his cronies would succeed her.

And the Ministry would lose any integrity it still had left.

*****​

London, No. 12 Grimmauld Place, March 26th, 1997

"The rest of the recruits won't be happy that we're gone for the night again," Harry Potter said when he and Ron entered Grimmauld Place.

His friend shrugged. "We're not recruits, we're allies training with them. There's a difference, and they should know that."

"That sounds like Hermione."

Ron cleared his throat. "Well, she told me that when I brought it up. It's logical."

"It is. But I doubt that the recruits think like her." Harry was almost certain that they didn't. Since Ron and he were missing quite a lot of the training, there would be some resentment brewing. Even with all the amenities of wizarding tents and magic, camp life wasn't as comfortable as living in a wizarding home. The food certainly wasn't quite as good, though the difference wasn't as spectacular any more since the Weasleys had left.

Ron shrugged again. "They'll get over it. We're doing a lot more than training. And we fought Voldemort directly."

Harry frowned. "That'll follow us forever."

"I sure hope so!" Ron said. "So we can avoid another war."

He was right, even though Harry still didn't like it. "I'm not going to wear robes that make you wish you were colour-blind, or grow a beard," he muttered.

Ron chuckled and slapped him on the shoulder. "Stop being gloomy, and let's see what Sirius called us here for."

Harry thought, but didn't mention, that Ron was as much interested in meeting Hermione, who was already here, as in learning what Sirius wanted to talk about. Mentioning it would have been petty. His two best friends were happy together, and he could be happy for them. Even if it still stung a little. Or a little more.

*****​

"There you are, soldier boys!" Sirius said with a wide grin, seated in his favorite armchair in their living room.

Harry glanced at Hermione, who was just getting up from the table to greet them. "Soldier boys?" Where had Sirius picked that up?

Sirius huffed. "It's a famous muggle song!"

"Really?" He hadn't heard that one.

"Youth today!" His godfather frowned at him.

"He found an old LP today," Hermione explained, hugging him, then Ron. Who she kept hugging a bit longer, Harry noticed.

"Ah." Harry sat down himself. "So, what did you call us for?" He saw Ron sitting down as well, and Hermione returning to the table with her notes.

"Greengrass and Davis met with Malfoy and Runcorn again. While they didn't manage to find any proof that those two are behind the recent attacks, they did hear about Malfoy's plan to 'split us up'," Sirius said. "Apparently, they think me living with Vivienne and Remus will make people worry about you getting 'corrupted'." He scoffed.

"And I'm a slut who seduced you, then dumped you, which will cause the Order and the Resistance to turn on each other," Hermione added with a scowl.

Harry snorted. "That sounds as if they're grasping at straws." He forced himself to chuckle - Hermione hadn't seduced him, of course, but she had, technically, dumped him. Not that he'd be a fool over that. She had made her decision, after all, and had been both honest and fair about it.

"A lot of people do hate werewolves, though," Ron said. "Remember the scandal after Remus was outed? And Veela have a certain reputation as well."

"The muggleborns don't really care," Sirius said. "The purebloods…" He shrugged. "Harry might have to point out that Remus, Fleur and Vivienne fought Voldemort, should the idiots manage to get an article published voicing their 'concerns'."

Harry nodded. He could do that. "Stupid bigots," he muttered.

"And Malfoy, at least, is too smart to put his faith in that kind of prejudice," Sirius said. "Runcorn's living in the last century, so he might actually believe that drivel. But I don't think they're limiting themselves to a smear campaign."

"More attacks on muggleborns and purebloods? Do they actually want to start a war? They have to know they'll lose," Harry said.

"They are aware of that, our two Death Eater spies did mention that."

Sirius's opinion of Greengrass and Davis hadn't changed, Harry thought. He wasn't quite sure how he felt about the two Slytherins - they were helping them now, and taking a considerable risk, but they had tried to kill the Weasleys during the war...

His godfather went on: "So they're planning something else, I think."

"We know that Nott tried to copy our own tactics," Hermione said. "Even if he wasn't too successful. His backers could be expanding on that, though."

"Malfoy Manor?" Ron asked.

Harry felt a shiver run down his spine. If they attacked Grimmauld Place with a bomb...

"Malfoy Manor was isolated; we're in the middle of London - an attack on us would be a threat to the Statute of Secrecy," Sirius said.

"They could try to cover it up as a German bomb from the Blitz going off," Hermione added, "but the Germans didn't have bombs powerful enough to go through the wards on this place."

Of course she'd know that, Harry thought. She had probably calculated the amount of explosives needed to destroy Grimmauld Place.

"They probably don't know that, though," Sirius said. "And on the other hand, our home not only has some of the strongest wards in Britain, but we also have quite the collection of cursed items and other dubious magical paraphernalia stored here. An attack that destroyed part of the house would probably set off a number of them - and that's a clear threat to the Statue of Secrecy."

Ron whistled. "Worse than what Bill used on the old Burrow?"

"More obvious, I think. One of my great-grand uncles was fond of using the Gemino Curse as a prank. My mother once set off an avalanche of dancing oil lamps. She survived the experience, alas," Sirius said.

Harry was somewhat reassured. But… "That won't keep them from trying to kill us elsewhere."

"We'll have to be even more on our guard than usual," Sirius said.

"Really feels like we swapped places with the purebloods, now we're hiding in our mansions and worrying about attacks," Ron muttered.

Harry agreed with the sentiment. They had even left Hogwarts, as had the Slytherins last year.

"We're taking steps to deal with them, though," Hermione said, looking at Sirius.

Harry's godfather grumbled: "I'm still not convinced it's a good plan."

"You're the best choice," Hermione said. "Remus certainly wouldn't be able to seduce Dubois."

"I wouldn't be that certain," Sirius objected. "He seems to have made an impression on both Nymphadora and one of our Death Eater spies."

"Just because Tonks was complaining about Davis doesn't mean Remus has turned into a heartbreaking Casanova," Hermione said. "And Bill refused."

"You mean that Fleur refused," Sirius said with a snort. "She's got quite the temper."

"And Vivienne didn't?" Harry asked.

The other wizard sighed. "She feels that taking down Dubois is worth 'me sullying myself by getting close to her'."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "She isn't as insecure as Fleur."

Harry was tempted to ask if Hermione would want Ron to seduce a witch for their cause, but he knew better than to actually do so. She had a temper too, after all.

*****​

Sirius's family had definitely never included a librarian, Hermione Granger thought, not for the first time. 'Deliberate chaos' indeed! She was sitting in the Black Library, skimming through another diary of one of Sirius's ancestors. A rather self-aggrandising tale, and of doubtful veracity - the claims of dealing with bone constructs did not fit with her own experiences, although it was possible that this Black had fought weaker houngans. Or ones using less advanced spells. In any case, his curses would not help her. And neither would the descriptions of his 'conquests'.

Sighing, she closed the journal and put it on the 'read' stack. She still had to reorganise those books as well - the library couldn't be left in such a state, without even an index! And yet, she lacked the time to do that, with all the other things she had to do and deal with.

"No luck there either?" Ron asked, peering at her over the journal he was reading.

She shook her head. "Just another collection of embellished war stories. Barely better than Lockhart's work."

Ron winced. "That bad?"

"The prose is worse, actually." Lockhart at least had been an accomplished writer who had, although probably by accident, successfully cast a Bone-Vanishing Charm to great effect. Unfortunately, that spell didn't scale up enough to be of much use against a skeleton, much less a bone wall. "What about yours?" she asked.

"No spells, but the witch who made these notes describes the tactics they used."

"That could be useful."

"They didn't work out," he said.

"Still more useful than a detailed description of a whorehouse in Magical Miami," she countered.

"What?" Harry looked up from the thick tome he was currently reading.

"Sirius's ancestor had some peculiar priorities," she explained.

"Ah." Harry looked like he was about to say something more, but then went back to reading.

"Did you find anything useful?" she asked.

"Some spells that could be useful, though not against bone constructs and conjured skeletons."

She sighed. "I really wish I could tell Sirius's ancestors off."

"You can, actually. There are portraits of them," Ron said.

She shook her head. "Those are just a sort of imprint. Worse than ghosts." And summoning their souls just to scold them for their crimes against libraries would be excessive. And impossible.

She grabbed the next journal in her pile and opened it. She didn't start reading right away, though. Instead she looked at Ron and Harry. She remembered how they had killed Nott together. She was certain they had done that to spare her from having to do it herself. A sweet gesture, even though she had killed before. Many times.

And she knew she'd kill again - probably a houngan, she thought while starting to read the journal in her hands.

*****​

Provence-Alpes-Côte d'Azur, Near Toulon, France, March 28th, 1997

The French were far too aggressive in battle, but they knew how to live, Sirius Black thought, looking at the dishes and wine the waiters and waitresses were offering. The Comte de Hornes had spared no expense for his party. It wasn't a masquerade, which was fortunate - people were always on their guard on such occasions; both Britain and France had had their share of assassinations at such events - but the robes worn by the guests resembled costumes more than the dress robes with which Sirius was familiar. Elaborately styled and with a plethora of spells cast on them, each was a minor work of art showcasing the skill of its wearer - and, in many cases, their body. A French tradition dating back to the time before the Statue of Secrecy, he had been told by Vivienne. His own robes were rather understated, although he had cast a few charms that animated the designs on them, displaying short scenes of famous events as they moved around on the fabric.

He resisted the urge to rub his face while he signalled a waitress with his empty flute. The muggle disguise Hermione and her friends had used on him made his skin itch, and he could only imagine what the paint they had smeared into his hair would do to his locks. The worst thing, though, was the loss of his beard. He didn't look like a dashing rogue any more, but rather some ponce like Lockhart!

An attractive ponce, though, he had to admit - he did draw a great deal of attention from the other guests, and certainly not because of his robes. If he didn't have Vivienne and wasn't on a secret mission of the utmost importance… He sighed, and nodded at the servant who refilled his flute with more champagne before venturing towards the garden.

He still wasn't fond of the plan. While it flattered him that others thought so highly of his charm, he felt exposed and vulnerable. His invitation was the result of some manipulation - blackmail, as he understood it - of a minor noble. He wasn't likely to talk, but Sirius couldn't help but worry a little. If he had been able to attend as a friend of the Delacours or the d'Aigles… but Dubois despised both families, and the feeling was mutual. And while the witch probably would have liked to steal the lover of a rival, she wouldn't trust him enough for their plan to work.

Which meant he would have to take the first step, without being obvious about it. Which wouldn't be too easy, not even for him. He walked on the terrace, acting as if he was looking at the garden while searching for Dubois. She wasn't inside, and it was too early for her to have left without snubbing their host, so that meant… there!

He spotted the witch near the stairs leading to the fountain, talking with an older wizard. Probably one of her acquaintances, he thought - they didn't look like lovers or even friends. She was wearing a robe with animated waterfalls in various places instead of fabric, a rather tantalising display, if he was honest. He glanced back at the room he had left, and met the eyes of Lydia, one of Vivienne's cousins, then strode on towards the fountain.

As planned, Lydia followed him, catching up to him just as he was passing Dubois. "Monsieur Anderson!" she called out.

Sirius took care to frown briefly where Dubois could see it, but Lydia couldn't, before turning around with a polite smile. "Mademoiselle?" Not quite impolite, but certainly not inviting anything.

The Veela, whose robes seemed to be made of clouds, looked taken aback, as planned. "I was curious about your homeland," she said in French, then proceeded to ask him a few questions about Magical Portsmouth, the homeland of his cover identity. He took care to answer in a manner just this side of being rude, and the witch left in a huff. She was a good actress, Sirius thought as he watched her leave.

Sighing, he shook his head, sneering briefly, before he continued on his way towards the fountain. When he passed Dubois he nodded at her. "Bonsoir. Michael Anderson." He let his eyes roam over her figure for an instant, before smiling at her with just a hint of interest.

"Isabelle Dubois." She met his eyes, and he thought her polite smile changed into a more sultry one before he nodded at the wizard, who apparently was 'Antoine Deschamps', and left for the fountain.

A few minutes later, he saw her heading towards him, and smiled.

*****​

Magical Port Royal, Jamaica, March 28th, 1997

Augustus Rookwood hated wearing the form of a muggle boy barely old enough to carry a wand, but he didn't have access to a local wizard's hair to use with Polyjuice. At least he wasn't risking being recognised as a muggle - since Jamaica had no school like Hogwarts to which all children were sent, no one should be suspicious that they didn't recognise him. And his apparent youth also provided a good explanation for his lack of familiarity with the town, no matter how much it grated to act like a stupid child.

Of course, after several days spent roaming the town, he now knew the island's capital quite well. And some of its residents no one would miss. Like the particularly unsavory houngan trying to sneak up on him, unaware that his spell had warned him of the man's presence minutes ago.

Drawing his wand while he waited behind the next corner, Augustus grinned at the thought that Ricky, as the criminal called himself, probably thought that he had caught a lucky break when the apparent child had wandered into a deserted side alley.

He had his wand ready, and when the houngan turned around the corner, Augustus stunned him before he could react. A few spells later and Augustus tossed a bright red ball from one hand to the other as he left Port Royal.

*****​
 
Chapter 57: Hunting
Chapter 57: Hunting

'It has been said that the Second Blood War was decided by intelligence and logistics. While I do not completely agree with that assessment - the war was ultimately decided by the defeat of the Dark Lord at the wand of Harry Potter in the Battle of Diagon Alley, not by a clandestine operation - I admit that both played crucial roles in the war. And in a not so surprising parallel to this, spying became even more important in the immediate aftermath of the war. Politics, never a honourable business to start with, was both bloody and dirty during that period, and every faction, both foreign and domestic, used spies to further their agenda. In hindsight, the Ministry's rather lacklustre performance during the war can be at least partially explained by its apparent lack of intelligence assets as displayed in the political struggles following the war.'
- Excerpt from 'Wizarding Britain in the 20th Century' by Albert Runcorn


*****​

London, No. 12 Grimmauld Place, March 28th, 1997

Hermione Granger frowned when, for the fifth time in less than half an hour, Harry sighed loudly. "He'll be fine," she told him. For the fourth time. Harry's godfather could take care of himself.

"He hasn't done this before," her friend said. "Not since Azkaban."

That Sirius was still affected by his time in that hellhole - which Hermione was determined to close once they had taken control of the Wizengamot - didn't need saying. All of them were aware of that. But they each also had their own demons to deal with. And more than the French to deal with. They'd never resolve the houngan crisis if Hermione couldn't focus on her books due to all the distractions - it wasn't as if they could do anything for Sirius right now. "He's not alone. The Delacours and the d'Aigles are ready to help him, if they're needed."

Harry grumbled something she didn't catch, but he'd at least now be silent for the next few minutes. And Ron hadn't even looked up - for a boy who had grown up with six siblings, most of them prone to loud outbursts, without the help of a Silencing Charm until Hogwarts, this was probably nothing special.

She suppressed a snort - it wouldn't do to set a bad example herself - and focused again on her reading. Although she didn't expect anything to come from this book either - another tale long on combat descriptions, and short on specific spells. Or vague, in the more interesting scenes, like this account of a witch laying waste to a horde of undead by disrupting their very bones… She blinked. Winnifred Braddock? She had seen that name before, she was certain.

Yes - the books Dumbledore had left her. One of them was written by Braddock. She hadn't done more than skim its contents as it had covered some of the magical creatures of Africa, but if she had been an accomplished witch on the battlefield as well, then that may have been a mistake.

"I'll be right back!" she announced, standing up and closing the journal. She had to fetch that tome from the Resistance's headquarters!

*****​

Ron Weasley blinked when he saw Hermione rush out of the Black Library without any explanation. And once again when she stuck her head back in to announce that she was fetching a book.

"It must be very important, if she almost forgot to tell us that she's leaving the house," Harry said.

Ron nodded. Hermione had drilled those rules into them like Moody would have. "Last time she rushed off like that was… second year? The Basilisk?"

"Probably," his friend agreed.

And she had been petrified before she could get back to them, Ron remembered. Damn. She wasn't in danger - she could apparate straight to the Resistance's base and back - but now he was worrying anyway.

Fortunately, it didn't take her more than five minutes to return, a floating trunk in her wake which she set down on her table with a flick of her wand.

"That looks like rather more than one book," he said.

She nodded without looking at him, already opening the trunk. "Yes. One of the witches mentioned in the last journal had a familiar name… there!" With a wide smile, she held up a thick tome. "Winnifred Braddock's 'A Guide to Magical Africa's Magical Animals'."

"Africa?" Neither France nor Jamaica was in Africa. He glanced at Harry, who looked as lost as Ron felt.

"Yes, Africa." Hermione was flipping through the book. "Apparating Aardvark… Blasting Aerophant… Bone Devil!"

Ron sighed. They wouldn't get an answer until Hermione was done with whatever she was researching.

"'Bone Devils, distant relatives of the dreaded Greater Tasmanian Devil…' - I seriously question that - '... appear as masses of swirling bones. They seem to grow in size as they age, but are actually simply adding the bones of their prey to their shell. Older specimens may take a long time to be defeated as the accumulated bones form an almost impregnable armour which is able to absorb many spells in battle. To deal with them, the native wizards developed a Rapid-Bone-Dissolving Potion which is made from…'" She looked up at Ron and Harry and smiled.

"Time to brew!"

*****​

London, No. 12 Grimmauld Place, March 29th, 1997

Once, Ron Weasley had liked Potions. His mum used to brew a number of them for the family and he had liked watching her work when he was little. That had changed once he had started at Hogwarts, of course - Snape could have made anyone loathe the subject. Not even Slughorn, who was a decent teacher, replacing Snape a year ago had changed that.

Nevertheless, Ron was a little apprehensive as he watched Hermione drop a batch of sliced serpentine slug spleens into the cauldron in Sirius's - and Harry's - basement. He knew she excelled at Potions, as she excelled at everything else, but she hadn't brewed this potion before, and all they had were the notes of this Braddock witch. If anything went wrong… he shuddered.

It had taken Ron and Harry some time to persuade her that the middle of the night wasn't the best time to start brewing an exotic potion for the first time - she had taken her 'failure to properly study' the books Dumbledore had left her rather hard.

Hermione noticed his reaction and frowned at him as she started to stir the potion. "What's wrong?"

He almost told her to watch her stirring, but questioning her ability to brew a potion and talk at the same time would distract her more than simply answering. "I'm trying not to think about what would happen if this Rapid-Bone-Dissolving Potion was spilled." Horrible images of flopping on the floor as some sort of boneless human puddle came to mind.

She snorted. "It's actually quite safe. It only affects bones, not skin or flesh. Not even hair or teeth. You could bathe in this and it wouldn't do anything. Well, there's the heat, but other than that…" She shrugged and stopped stirring, then added the handful of diced garlic she had prepared earlier. "Of course, if you drank it, there would probably be some unpleasant effects."

"So, we still need a way to deal with zombies? The undead variant, I mean," he clarified before she could correct him.

She stirred again - counter-clockwise this time - and pursed her lips. "The type of zombies made from animated corpses are usually decaying. Unless they are very fresh, bones should be exposed in various spots where the flesh and skin have rotted off, and therefore they would be vulnerable to the potion - at least to some extent."

"Might be good to soften them up with Blasting Curses, then," Ron said. "To expose more bones."

"Yes." She bit her lower lip as she grabbed a pinch of powdered fluorite, sprinkling it carefully into the liquid. "We'll also need a way to use the potion in the field. Throwing vials at skeletons, even with Banishing Charms, is not an effective method."

"The 'Everlasting Evaporator' Dumbledore had left to me would have been good for that, if combined with some wind," Ron said. "But it was destroyed." Together with his brothers' shop.

"If we can discover the spell that the item used then we can turn the potion into a sort of aerosol," Hermione said. "It couldn't be used effectively with most potions, but on this, and maybe a few others which are actually more like ointments…"

"Exploding Fluid?" Ron had paid attention when she had told him about the different types of muggle bombs.

She winced. "That would… probably act like a fuel-air explosive. We'd need to test it. Once we know the spell. Finding it might take some time, unless it's in the Hogwarts Library."

"I could ask Ginny to check." It would keep his sister busy, contributing, and out of trouble.

"She can't involve others, though - we don't want that knowledge to spread to our enemies. They could greatly enhance the effect of their attacks that way." Hermione took a step back from the cauldron and used her wand to dim the flames beneath it. "Now it just needs to simmer for three and three quarter hours," she stated while winding up a muggle alarm clock.

Ron let out a sigh that was just a bit too loud, then grinned when she frowned at him. "Time to study the books Dumbledore left you?" They could spend more time together.

It was her turn to sigh. "I wish I could. But I have to check up on the training camp. We're running exercises for the planned operations in London."

"Ah, right."

"Are you going to take part as well?" she asked, her head tilted slightly to the side. Her hair had grown out some, he noticed, but it was still far from the wild mane she had sported before the war.

"I don't think so," he answered. "You're not the only one who has sort of neglected what Dumbledore left us." And Harry could handle Neville in the training camp just fine. "Even though I don't yet know just how useful are the trinkets I've got left."

The Evaporator had been obvious in hindsight, the bound Marid had been obviously useful, and he had thought of a few uses for the Animated Rope. The rest, though, were not quite as easy to make sense of. He still hadn't found a way to use the self-shaving flying razor for anything but shaving since it couldn't be used to cut anything but hair; he had tested that. And the other two...

Well, he could spare the time for more experimentation. Dumbledore must have had a reason to leave those items to him.

*****​

Cumbria, Britain, March 29th, 1997

"You want to be trained as a soldier? You look like a tourist! Do you plan to crawl through the mud wearing those fancy pants? Do you expect a butler to follow you around with a tray of champagne?"

Harry Potter saw Neville cringe when the Sergeant addressed him - they should have changed before apparating, he realised - but his friend quickly stood up straight again. "Yes."

"Yes, you're a tourist?" The tall mercenary stepped closer to loom over Neville.

"No, I'm here to train with them!" Neville responded. He pushed his chin out and stared at him.

The Sergeant snorted. He nodded towards Harry. "Him and his mate are skipping training half the time, and now you arrive three weeks late. This isn't a summer camp, boy!"

That remark cut a bit too close to the truth, Harry thought. Ron and he were absent a bit too often in his opinion. The recruits probably thought the same. Two of them who were watching the scene, Emily and Anna, were snickering. He shook his head. "He isn't here for the whole training, just a day."

Neville shot Harry a look that clearly told him that his friend felt betrayed. Harry didn't react and instead focused on Boones.

The mercenary narrowed his eyes. "He won't learn enough in a day to go into combat. Not that you'll learn enough in a month either."

Fortunately, Neville held his tongue, though it was obvious that he disagreed. Harry shrugged. "It's just a day. We'll get changed."

The Sergeant scoffed and shook his head, but turned away. As soon as he spotted Emily and Anna, he bellowed: "You there! You think this is funny? You think you're real soldiers? You're not any better than the tourist here! Stop wasting time here and run to the range so you can at least hit the area of your target with a gun!"

"Yes, Sarge!" The two witches jerked and ran off. Boones glared at Harry and Neville, then walked towards the range himself.

"Range?" Neville asked.

"Shooting range. For firearms training," Harry explained.

"Ah. Like a duelling hall?"

"Not quite." Harry led him over to the Resistance's tents.

"I guess I'm not going to learn how to use firearms then," Neville said. "If it takes that long."

"You're right. You'll get to watch the others so you know what they can do, though." Harry noticed Neville looking at the fatigues he had been given with a puzzled expression. "Something wrong?"

"Just wondering… will we be wearing these green clothes in London? I think I only saw one guy wearing pants with that colour and pattern when I was there. In muggle London, I mean."

"No. We'll be wearing normal clothes," Harry said. "Normal muggle clothes. Nothing too posh. So we can blend in." And so no one would call the police and report that London was under attack by unknown soldiers.

"Ah." Neville grimaced. "I didn't know that my clothes were wrong. They were in that magazine."

"They weren't wrong, just a bit too expensive for the area."

"Ah." Neville held up the flap of Harry's tent for them. Inside, he sighed. "At least your tents are normal. Everything else…" He closed his eyes, sitting down in an armchair in the tent's living room. "That man doesn't like me."

"Boones?" Harry snorted. "He doesn't like anyone, I think. You should hear the others talk about him."

"Like Moody?"

"Pretty much." Except that Moody was dead, Harry thought, killed by Voldemort. If Harry had been a bit faster arriving that day… he sighed, sat down on his bed and pulled his fatigues out of his pocket.

"So…" Neville said after a moment. "You left Hogwarts for this?"

"More or less." Harry shrugged, then started to change.

"Are you and Ron part of the Resistance then?"

"Not exactly." And they probably never would be.

"Is that because you're not muggleborns?" Neville held up his new pants.

He wasn't exactly wrong, Harry knew. He shook his head anyway. "We're members of the Order, not the Resistance." He pulled his shirt on, then grabbed his boots. "But enough of that. Hermione will run an exercise this afternoon. I'll give you a tour of the camp until then, with a stop at the range."

Neville nodded, then licked his lips. "Do the others, the muggleborns, like you?"

"Are you asking because you saw them laughing at us?"

Neville hesitated, then slowly nodded.

"They were laughing because they went through the same thing when we started here. Boones called them the sorriest lot of recruits he'd ever seen. And he said the same to Hermione and the other Resistance members in the first camp."

"Ah." Neville looked relieved as he transfigured his shoes into boots.

"Of course, they don't particularly like the Ministry or the Old Families, but they know that you went out by yourself to hunt Death Eaters. You'll be alright."

Seeing Neville smile weakly, Harry hoped that he wouldn't be proven a liar.

*****​

Marseille, Quartier Magique, France, March 29th, 1997

The French knew how to live well, Sirius Black had to admit - the room in the hôtel he had rented didn't lack any amenity for which he might wish. Extension Charms had turned the room into a suite, or maybe even a small palace, the furniture was covered with all sorts of spells to provide maximal comfort, as the bed he was lying on proved, and the lunch had been magnifique.

It was expensive, of course - but Michael Anderson, recent émigré from Magical Portsmouth who had managed to save most of his fortune when he had to take flight after a coup had toppled the old regime, could afford it. As could Sirius, of course. But all this luxury didn't change the fact that he was missing his family. Not even Vivienne could stay with him, lest his cover as a bigoted pureblood from the Americas be blown.

A soft knock at the door - magically created; he could have any sound he wanted instead - informed him that someone from the hôtel's staff was waiting outside. Sighing, he scooted a little to the side so he could easily let himself drop behind the bed to use it as cover and, just in case, drew his wand and flicked it at the door.

It was one of the maids. "Monsieur Anderson? There was a letter delivered for you." The young woman held out an envelope.

Sirius didn't bother getting up. Anderson wasn't interested in maids, no matter how pretty they were, nor how well their robes fit them. He was a snob of the worst sort.

"Thank you. Accio letter."

The envelope flew towards him, landing softly on his bed - Sirius trusted the hôtel's security measures, but he'd still cast his own spells to check for curses before touching the thing. Another flick of his wand sent a Sickle to the maid.

"Merci, Monsieur." She smiled politely and bowed.

He waved his hand as she left the room, then cast a few detection spells on the envelope. It looked safe, but you never knew. And since the North American Magical enclaves were notorious for their spotty records due to their constant wars and revolutions, claiming to be from the Americas was not entirely unheard of as a cover, to say the least. But then again, the constant turmoil also regularly sent a lot of genuine emigrants to Europe.

The envelope carried the seal of the Damases, one of the oldest pureblood families in France. He cast a Severing Charm on the envelope, slicing it open without breaking the seal, then summoned the parchment inside.

It was an invitation to a dinner with Marie de Damas for the following day. She wasn't from the main branch of the family, of course - those Damases would never give a colonial émigré the time of the day - but she was a close friend of the Comte de Hornes. Rumoured to be his natural daughter, actually, as Vivienne had told him in private. One of those rumours everyone was aware of, apparently, at least in Magical France.

Chuckling at the differences between France and Britain - such a rumour would have caused a duel or two among the Old Families - he used a Dictaquill to pen his acceptance of the invitation. He didn't know if Dubois would be attending as well - Vivienne hadn't mentioned de Damas as an ally of the witch - but it wasn't as if he had anything else planned for tomorrow.

But he hoped Dubois would be in attendance - he wasn't looking forward to fending off another gaggle of witches looking for a rich husband, or acting like a bigot towards anyone with muggle or non-human heritage, without the audience for whom his act was meant. Even though Vivienne had assured him that Dubois would hear about everything the day after at the latest.

Sirius leaned back and closed his eyes. He missed her. Her smile, the cute way she tried to hide her distaste whenever Kreacher served black pudding for breakfast, how she sounded as she woke up…

He wished this undercover mission was already over so that he could return to his family.

*****​

London, Bromley, March 29th, 1997

Bess Cox studied her arm. She couldn't spot any scars, not even a discolouration where the acid had burned her - her skin had been completely healed. And yet she felt the urge to scratch at it.

"Admiring yourself?"

She looked up and saw that Randall had left the bathroom of their room. He was already dressed.

Unlike herself - she was still clad in the shirt and shorts she had worn to bed. She snorted at him. "Just checking your handiwork. Wouldn't want to have the arm fall off in the middle of the street."

He chuckled at that. "That could actually happen if you splinched yourself. Imagine the reaction of the muggles!"

"I'd rather not break the Statue of Secrecy like that," she said, getting up, picking up her clothes and heading towards the bathroom herself.

"That wouldn't break it - the Obliviators can handle that kind of incident easily."

She didn't take long to get ready for the day - or afternoon - herself. A quick shower, and some cleaning and cosmetic charms and she was done.

Randall was sitting in the single chair of their room and reading the newspapers when she stepped out of the bathroom. "Did you find anything interesting?"

"No."

"Are they still hunting us?" Bess asked while sitting down on her bed. It was a pointless question; the police wouldn't drop the case.

"It's been a week. Too long for the tabloids to still be focusing on the fight, not long enough for them to be calling for the head of the superintendent in charge of the investigation."

"Do you think it's safe to go and hunt the next Death Eater?" She needed to do something after spending a week basically holed up in the hotel, doing nothing but talking and watching the telly. Randall didn't seem to be interested in shagging either, or maybe he had seen too much of her burned skin while treating her wounds. She wasn't certain if she was interested anyway.

"Safe? No." He shook his head, and her hopes fell. Then he grinned. "Hunting Death Eaters is never safe. But I doubt that the police have made the connection between the wards and the fight, so we shouldn't have trouble with the muggle authorities while investigating the next flat."

She huffed at him for pulling her leg like that, but she was grinning.

It was time to hunt again!

*****​

London, Ministry of Magic, March 29th, 1997

"An impressive reception, Madam Minister. Especially considering your circumstances." Beaumont raised her glass while she made a show of letting her gaze wander over the Atrium of the Ministry.

"Thank you, Madam." Amelia Bones smiled politely at the witch. "But what circumstances do you mean? The fact that your colleague has still not been seen after his attempted attack on Hogwarts?"

The delegate's fake smile didn't even waver. "I'm talking about the resumption of hostilities in your civil war. That throws some doubt upon Britain's ability to uphold the Statute of Secrecy."

Amelia scoffed. "Do you consider any arrest made by your Gendarmes Magiques an act of war as well, then? Five dark wizards last year in Marseille alone, I think, according to your own words to my Head of the DMLE last week. Not counting the two repelled raids by Barbary Coast wizards on the Côte d'Azur."

This time Beaumont frowned. "There were no Aurors involved in the attack on Mister Nott and there were no arrests made. It was at best a vigilante action by remnant elements of a faction from your civil war."

"I wasn't aware that French wizards were the kind to meekly call for the Gendarmes when attacked," Amelia retorted, "instead of pursuing fleeing attackers. But perhaps I was mistaken about the famous French élan."

"There's a difference between pursuing a fleeing thief or assailant and an attack on a manor by an organised group." Beaumont sniffed. "Are you honestly trying to tell me that you support this kind of vigilante action?"

"The Ministry's position is and has been for years that if no Aurors are present, any British wizard or witch has the right to apprehend criminals caught in the act," Amelia quoted. She was entirely correct - though not many would have included taking and destroying an entire manor in that clause. She bared her teeth in a poor facsimile of a smile. As much as she loathed defending Black's actions, she hated the meddling French witch even more. This reception should have been the celebration of the ICW inspection concluding. But both Beaumont and Steiner were using the recent events as a pretext to prolong their stay.

"Oh, but isn't that the core of Britain's troubles? That the war was so costly that there are not enough Aurors available any more to enforce the law?" The French witch tilted her head slightly to the side and smiled with fake sympathy.

"Recruitment and training are going well. As you have seen, volunteers are supporting the Aurors in the meantime. They even managed to foil an attempted sacrificial ritual by a colleague of yours. To think that someone would abuse the mandate of the ICW in such a despicable fashion to strike at a school full of children…" Amelia shook her head in equally fake concern. "It makes you wonder what else might have been happening during this inspection."

Beaumont wasn't smiling any more. "Are you insinuating that either I or my Prussian colleague are preparing blood sacrifices?"

"Of course not," Amelia said. "I was talking about the sacrificial rituals Reid conducted before he was stopped. We have found multiple disappearances of muggles that we think are connected to his actions. Not exactly the kind of conduct expected of an ICW delegate. One might wonder why you were not aware of this. And why you insist on prolonging your inspection with the weakest of pretexts." She wasn't even pretending to be polite any more. She was simply too sick of all the plotting and lying and the backstabbing. She wanted these foreign meddlers gone from Britain so she could concentrate on rebuilding the country before Black started to tear down even more of it.

"Are you accusing me of abusing my mandate?" Beaumont scoffed. "That's a quite transparent attempt to shift the blame and hide your deficiencies. It will not work, Madam Minister. We, that is the ICW, will get to the bottom of this affair." Without giving Amelia a chance to respond she turned away.

"She seems more easily rattled than at the beginning of the inspection."

Amelia didn't have to turn her head to know Pius had stepped up to her side and had observed the whole exchange. She shrugged. "She could be faking it, to make us think she's nervous."

"To what purpose? It would only make her look guilty."

"But why would she be nervous? We don't really have anything on her, or her country." Amelia turned to look at Pius. "Unless you've been withholding information from me." She narrowed her eyes - he would do that, if he thought that it would serve his goals and that he could get away with it. She had done the same, some of the time, when dealing with Cornelius.

He shook his head, then cast a privacy spell. "I just received this news: A muggle yacht that went missing the day after the Hogwarts incident has been found wrecked on the coast of France. According to the report from my French colleague, there were traces of magic found on the ship - and blood from several people."

"Reid."

"The timing would indicate that, but there are, of course, other possible suspects as well."

Rookwood, for one. But Amelia had been an Auror for most of her life. She'd bet Galleons to Sickles that Reid had gone to France.

But whether he had gone to co-conspirators there, or simply used the country as the most expedient way to return to the Caribbean, she couldn't tell. "Have you told Black this?"

"I did. He left the reception shortly afterwards, citing a stomach ache."

"He did?" Amelia frowned. "That's unlike him."

"He might be suffering from a curse or a wound received during the attack on Nott Manor."

Amelia didn't think that was likely. Not unless Nott had been far more into the Dark Arts than preliminary reports indicated. Which was not impossible, of course. "Look into it." She spotted Greengrass and Davis in a corner, talking with a crony of Malfoy's, and added: "And increase your efforts against those two."

She might not have much time left until the Wizengamot would fall to Black and remove her, but she would spend all she had doing her duty.

*****​

Cumbria, Britain, March 29th, 1997

"... and the brutal murder of Theodore Nott is but one example of what we have to expect should the muggleborns not be brought to heel. Violent criminals are already running rampant in Diagon Alley, evicting law-abiding wizards and witches - both purebloods and half-bloods - from their homes and looting their shops. Businesses are hurting since their customers cannot walk through Diagon Alley any more without getting harassed, or worse!

"The Ministry has lost too many Aurors and Hit-Wizards in the war, often at the hand of muggleborns, to uphold law and order any more! It falls on all of us witches and wizards to support the Ministry to prevent our country from falling into anarchy!

"Remember our history! Remember our traditions! Do not let the mob rule Britain! Band together and take back our country from the criminals before they rule us!

"This is the first broadcast of the Pureblood Voice!"

Harry Potter flicked his wand to reduce the volume of the wireless receiver in his and Ron's tent when the propaganda broadcast was replaced by the normal program - the Witching Hour, playing one of Celestina Warbeck's songs.

"Blimey! They started their own pirate wireless?" Ron shook his head, then winced, rubbing his shoulder, which had been bruised during the exercise that afternoon.

Harry nodded. "Looks like it. They interrupted the normal program in the middle of a song, and I don't think the Wizarding Wireless Network would dare broadcast this."

Neville, sitting on the couch in the tent's living room, cleared his throat. "Do you think the muggleborns heard it?"

Harry shook his head. "I don't think so. They tend to listen to the muggle wireless."

Ron sighed and pointed his wand at his temple, drawing out a silvery strand of memory. Harry stared at him and Ron answered his unspoken question: "Hermione will want to listen to it herself."

His friend was right, Harry knew. "Let's return to Grimmauld Place then." It would mean another night away from the Resistance's recruits, and right before their mission in London, but it couldn't be helped.

*****​

London, No. 12 Grimmauld Place, March 29th, 1997

"So that's 'The Pureblood Voice'..." Harry Potter heard Hermione say when she pulled her head out of the Pensieve. She chuckled. "If it wasn't so serious, it would be ironic - they claim to be fighting for their traditions, and yet they copy muggleborn tactics where they can."

He snorted. "Sirius would say that's typical of the Old Families."

"They did it with the Hogwarts Express, and the Wireless too," Ron added. "And the cars."

"We have more important things to do than to discuss pureblood hypocrisy," Hermione said, taking a deep breath. "If purebloods are forming groups to attack muggleborns…" She pressed her lips together until they formed a thin line.

"... then we'll be back at war," Ron finished for her.

"Will the purebloods believe them, though? Everyone knew that Nott was a Death Eater, even though the Wizengamot let him go," Harry said. "And he did attack us after he was acquitted."

"That's true, but they also know that we killed him, instead of letting the Aurors arrest him." Hermione sighed. "Not that we had much choice - if we had left it to the Ministry, they would have bungled the arrest, and we would have had muggleborn vigilantes, maybe even death squads, as a result." She looked quite grim as she levitated the memory strand back into a vial. "But if the purebloods - especially those who didn't mind the persecution of muggleborns - do believe that we want to hunt them down indiscriminately, they might be driven to support Malfoy and Runcorn, or simply form their own death squads."

"Cursed if we do, cursed if we don't?" Ron shrugged. "Not too many purebloods will fall for it. Dad's been talking to people in the Ministry since Voldemort's death, and pretty much everyone is glad that the war is over. It's mostly the Old Families who still believe these kinds of lies."

"But the muggleborns taking back their homes and shops in Diagon Alley wasn't well received by everyone," Harry said. "Many normal purebloods were evicted, after having bought or rented them from others, and Sirius said that the Ministry hasn't made any headway in sorting out that situation." Which meant that the evicted tenants or buyers might blame the muggleborns as readily as the pureblood war profiteers who had seized the buildings after the muggleborns' exodus .

"We'll need to counter these lies with our own broadcast. And an article in the Prophet and possibly The Quibbler." Hermione sighed. "It'll draw attention to the broadcast, but that can't be helped."

"Tomorrow's mission won't help either," Harry pointed out. It was like juggling grenades. They had to appease the radical muggleborns, but couldn't drive the bigots to think that they had no other choice than to fight.

He heard Neville, who hadn't said anything so far, hiss at that. "We can't let the Death Eaters get away!"

"We won't let them get away," Hermione said. "But we might need to hand over any prisoners - and there will need to be prisoners - to the Ministry."

"They'll acquit them!" Neville protested. "Like they did with Nott, Greengrass and Davis!"

"We can delay any trials until we've taken over," she answered.

"That works - if this whole affair doesn't slow us down," Ron pointed out.

Sirius's absence would slow down their takeover as well, Harry knew. But if they could prove that the French were behind the latest attacks, then that should help their cause significantly - many British wizards held more loyalty towards their country than to their blood status.

Of course, Sirius needed to succeed with his undercover mission for that to happen.

*****​

London, Sutton, March 29th, 1997

"No wonder the Death Eaters are hiding here," Bess Cox muttered. "All these bloody gardens must make them feel as if they're still living in their manors!"

Randall laughed. "It's one of the nicer boroughs. But they can't go into the gardens - muggles everywhere!" he added in a fake accent.

Bess privately wondered just what kind of family Randall was from - he didn't seem to feel out of place in this area. Unlike her. She clenched her teeth for a moment, then let out a breath. "So… where's the telly trouble here?"

"We're almost there," he said, nodding towards an old three-story house.

Bess squinted at it. "Looks to be in good condition." Posh too.

"Who would want to hide in derelict houses?" Randall snorted.

Bess didn't mention that after the Hogsmeade attack, she had hidden in such houses for a week, afraid to even look for another flat in London. They approached the building, looking like just another couple out on an afternoon stroll.

"The second floor is warded," Randall whispered as they passed the entrance.

Bess nodded. "How strong are the wards?"

"Haven't checked yet… let's sit down on that bench."

Bess studied the building while Randall, his wand hidden behind a newspaper, cast a few spells. There was a bookshop on the ground floor, antique books - she could spot several books in the windows that wouldn't have looked out of place at Hogwarts. Separate entrance for the flats on the upper floors, of course. Sturdy looking door, too. Not that it would stand up to an Unlocking Charm. There was a small alley on one side.

"The wards aren't as strong as the ones on the last flat," Randall whispered after a few minutes.

"How long would you need to take them down?"

"About an hour," Randall replied. "But I'm not planning on taking the wards down."

"What?" Was he planning to use a bomb? But that would destroy the building. And probably the one adjacent to it.

"One Death Eater was enough to almost kill both of us. We can't attack the flat by ourselves."

He was right, of course, though Bess hated to admit it. She wanted to hurt the damn pureblood bastards! "Why did we come here, then? Just to watch the damn building?"

"Not exactly," Randall said. "I have a plan."

*****​

Yorkshire, Bones Manor, March 30th, 1997

"Are you working again today, Auntie?"

Amelia Bones didn't wince when she heard her niece's question at breakfast, and the guilt she felt at leaving Susan alone was easily suppressed. "I'm sorry, but I need to deal with another crisis."

"The Pureblood Voice?" Susan asked, setting down her glass of pumpkin juice. "We were listening to the Witching Hour at Hannah's," she added.

"Yes."

Susan pouted. "Can't that wait until tomorrow? It's just some broadcast."

"A broadcast that could start another war," Amelia said.

"You're the Minister." Susan was frowning now. "You don't need to go to work to tell Thicknesse to do something about it. I've been home for a week now and you've always been at work!"

She pressed her lips together and lifted her cup to gain a moment to control herself. It wouldn't do to complain about Pius in front of Susan. "I cannot expect my people to work on a Sunday if I don't." That wasn't how she had led the DMLE, and it wasn't how she led the Ministry.

Susan's frown deepened, then her niece looked away and scowled at her plate. Amelia sighed. She didn't like leaving the last remaining member of her family alone, but she was not a witch to put her personal life before her duty to her country.

"I'm sorry," she said. Nothing else was said by either of them until they finished their meal and Amelia left for work.

*****​

There were new letters waiting on her desk when she arrived in her office. She had expected that, of course. Sifting through them, she read the one from the Wizarding Wireless Network first. They wanted the broadcasts stopped and they wanted Aurors to protect them in the event that the muggleborns blamed them for the Pureblood Voice.

Shaking her head, she pushed it to the side. The Ministry couldn't spare the wands for such a task. And stopping the broadcast? They hadn't managed to stop the Resistance Radio despite months of effort. Trying to stop the Death Eaters wouldn't be any more successful. Unless they were quite a bit less competent than the muggleborns… which, Amelia had to admit, was possible. Not likely, but possible. She wrote a quick memo for Pius. He wouldn't like it - Amelia had hated it when Fudge had tried to micromanage her department - but he'd follow her instructions anyway. She grinned at the thought - it was petty, but Pius deserved it.

She skimmed the other letters. Various members of the Wizengamot voicing their concerns. Allies of Black. None from the man himself, though she had no doubt that the infuriating wizard would use the opportunity to make the Ministry look incompetent again. Maybe he'd offer the Resistance's help on the grounds that they knew how to pirate broadcasts.

She shook her head as she penned a few quick answers. Nothing substantial, just empty words.

Which, she thought as she banished the stack of letters to the out box, pretty much summed up most of her work as Minister these days.

*****​

London, Ealing, March 30th, 1997

"Follow the plan," Ron Weasley heard Hermione say into her radio, next to him in the scuffed backyard. "Eric, Emily - start casting." Both of them, as well as the others in their group, were disillusioned, spell markers showing their positions. Ron focused on the building in front of him. The target was on the second floor.

"Yes, Ma'am," Eric answered, and Ron knew that Hermione was rolling her eyes at the slightly joking tone.

A minute passed while the two Resistance members layered Anti-Apparition and Anti-Portkey Jinxes, as well as spells to block Floo travel, over the entire building.

"Done!" Emily announced over the radio.

Hermione pulled away from Ron. "Breach team, move in!" she ordered, and Ron and the others started towards the building, passing two shiny bicycles parked near the fence cutting the yard in two.

"No movement up top," Connor reported from his broom in the air above the building.

"Nothing in front either," Celia said. The witch was with Eric and Emily, and keeping an eye on the front as well as on the two recruits.

Harry was the first to reach the back door and Ron heard it unlock a second later. As planned. He cast a Shield Charm, then grabbed the handle with his left hand. "Ready!"

Harry's marker moved a bit, then Ron heard his friend's voice: "Go!"

He pushed the door open and Harry's marker slipped inside. Ron followed. "Stairs are empty," he whispered into his radio mic. His friend was already going up the stairs.

They reached the second floor in thirty seconds and took cover on the flight of stairs, Hermione and Neville behind them. Ron heard her mutter a spell, then announce "Muggle-Repelling Charms set. Breakers, start on the wards!"

None of the muggle tenants would bother them now while Anna, Gary and Sinclair worked on the wards. Which would take a while. Ron took a deep breath and forced himself not to fidget, even though no one could see him.

"Nothing in the air," Connor reported a few minutes later.

"Nothing in the front," Celia added.

"Back of the building still clear," Mary-Jane chimed in.

Ron was tempted to add 'and the wards are still up', but he controlled himself. It wouldn't take that long to break through the wards, he told himself.

*****​

It took almost half an hour for the three recruits to take down the wards. Ron was certain that Hermione could have done it in half the time. Or less, with the right support. But this was supposed to be the new members' first mission.

"Wards down!" Gary announced, and his tone betrayed his exhaustion.

Ron slipped his hand into his enchanted pocket and grabbed a grenade. "Ready," he announced.

"Windows charmed!" Connor reported.

"Go in!" Hermione ordered. A second later, Harry blasted the door open. Ron threw the flashbang inside. Compared to passing the Quaffle to a speeding Chaser, this was easy.

The grenade went off and he heard a scream from inside. Harry's marker dashed inside, moving to the left. Ron jumped after him, taking the right. A yellow curse flew past him. A wizard was standing in the doorway to the living room, wand extended. Ron's Piercing Curse shattered his shield, and a Stunner from Harry took him down.

Ron heard more screams. High-pitched ones. Harry's marker moved forward, and Ron cursed under his breath. His friend was acting like the French again. Or not - he jumped past the doorway, further down the hallway, and suddenly, the wall in front of them vanished, replaced by a hole.

In the living room, a witch was turning around, eyes wide with fear. She didn't get past the first syllable of whatever spell she was casting before Ron banished her into the wall, then stunned her before she could recover.

Then he noticed the crying children hidden behind the couch.

*****​

Ten minutes and two doses of Veritaserum later, they knew the wizard was Aloysius Fleaweather, a former employee of Abbot Greenhouses, who had supported Voldemort financially before he went into hiding with his family a few months ago. Like his wife, the wizard had been willing to spend gold for the cause, but balked at actually murdering people. Though judging by how pitifully he had fought, he wouldn't have been much good at it anyway. And unfortunately, the Death Eaters he had been in contact with had already all been killed, and he didn't know where any others might be hiding.

Hermione sneered at the still dazed couple. "Hypocrites."

Ron sighed. He was glad that they had caught a Death Eater, or at least a supporter, but the knowledge didn't help much with making him feel less guilty about attacking a family.

"Their gold paid for Voldemort's murderers." Hermione knew him well.

He shrugged. "I know that, but I still feel bad about the kids."

"They're only stunned," Hermione said. "Less risk of accidental magic that way."

"Quieter too," Harry added, though his joke felt a bit forced to Ron.

"Anyway, we'll pass them on to the Ministry. They can find a place for the children while they interrogate the parents." Hermione turned to the Resistance members in the room. "Good work, everyone! We'll do the debriefing at the camp."

Most of the recruits smiled, a few even cheered, but not all of them. "The Ministry'll just set them free again," Gary said with a scowl.

"If they do, it will expose their own corruption," Hermione retorted, "which will only help us take over more quickly. Now move - we've spent enough time here!"

Ron couldn't tell whether or not she wanted that to happen. He didn't care either way. He just hoped that next time there wouldn't be any kids around.

*****​

London, Sutton, March 30th, 1997

Bess Cox rang the doorbell, hoping no one would answer. That would make things much easier, in her opinion. A simple Unlocking Charm to get in, a Muggle-Repelling Charm to keep the first floor tenants from returning, and they'd have all the time they needed and no witnesses to worry about - her disguise wasn't the best.

Unfortunately, the tenants were home. Or at least one of them was. The door opened and a middle-aged woman peered at them through the gap. "May I help you?"

Bess shook her head. "No, you can't."

The woman blinked, confused. "Pardon..." Randall's Stunner cut off whatever she was about to say, and Bess caught the woman's limp body before she fell to the floor and stepped inside. Her friend followed at once, locking the door behind them.

"Mum? Who is…" A little girl walked out of the kitchen. When she saw them holding her mother, her eye went wide.

"Stupefy!" Randall's spell hit the girl before she could scream.

She quickly searched the flat, but found no one else. "Do you think this is everyone?" She nodded at the two muggles on the floor.

Randall nodded. "I think so. Her bed is big enough for two, but the pictures on the desk don't show anyone other than the two of them. At least the recent ones."

"Thank you, Sherlock," Bess said, snickering.

He chuckled, then pointed his wand at the two unconscious people. "Obliviate. Let's move them to their beds, so they think they just took a nap when they wake up."

"Alright," Bess agreed. "Wingardium Leviosa!" She carefully guided the girl to her bed while Randall did the same with the mother, then returned to the living room and cast a Muggle-Repelling Charm on the flat.

Randall looked at the ceiling, then at the room and frowned. "I guess hoping that they forgot to ward their floor was too optimistic." He sighed. "Plan B it is."

Which meant that they would have to drill through the pipes. Bess pulled out the power tool they had brought with them while Randall started searching for the pipes leading into the flat above with the help of a bit of transfiguration. That actually took longer than drilling through the pipe with the silenced tool, but after half an hour there was a small hole leading into the flat above them. It was still warded, but, as Randall had found out yesterday, the wards were weak and didn't cover gases.

Or poison, Bess thought as Randall pulled out a reddish vial from his pocket.

*****​

La Bresse, Chateau de Damas, France, March 30th, 1997

"Welcome to my home, Monsieur Anderson," Marie de Damas said. "I'm very glad you accepted my invitation."

"The pleasure is all mine, Mademoiselle de Damas," Sirius Black said, bowing with a flourish - but not too much of a flourish; he was acting the part of an American, after all. "I'm honoured that you were kind enough to invite a poor émigré to your home." And it was an impressive home, indeed. The de Damas were not just old, but rich, if even a cadet branch lived in such a manor.

De Damas laughed, well aware that 'Anderson' was anything but poor. But forms had to be observed. "The other guests are already in the salon. If you'll follow me?"

"With pleasure," Sirius replied.

He walked next to the witch, making the appropriate appreciative remarks when they passed a particularly noteworthy portrait or piece of furniture, though he took care to overlook a few pieces to reinforce the notion that Anderson wasn't that refined.

The other guests, ten by his count, were mostly French witches, half of them sporting wide smiles he doubted were sincere. There were also three wizards - husbands, if his impression was correct.

And Dubois.

Sirius's own smile widened - only slightly, of course. It wouldn't do to appear too eager. But he glanced at her a few times while de Damas presented him to the other guests, until it was her turn.

"Monsieur Anderson, this is my friend Isabelle Dubois. Isabelle, this is Monsieur Anderson."

"Enchanté, Mademoiselle," Sirius murmured, kissing her hand. "I think we have met before, at the Comte de Hornes's ball."

"We did indeed."

"I must apologise for my manners on that occasion. I was hounded by that… Veela, as you may have noticed, and I'm afraid to say that I almost lost my temper." He didn't quite sneer when he mentioned Lydia, but his tone conveyed the same sentiment.

"Understandable, Monsieur. I am, to my regret, familiar with the likes of her." Dubois's smile showed her teeth.

"Oh?" He tilted his head slightly to the side.

"Indeed. Veela have a certain reputation in France."

"Please, Isabelle, let those histories rest for the evening." Sirius noticed that de Damas's smile had grown a bit toothy as well.

"Of course, Marie."

Sirius glanced at Dubois while Marie summoned a waiter with a snap of her fingers and raised his eyebrows.

He caught her whispered "later", and smiled.

*****​

"We meet again on a terrace," Sirius said with a grin when he spotted Dubois leaning against the railing overlooking the garden.

"And once more you seem to be evading pursuit," the witch responded.

He sighed loudly. "She wasn't quite as annoying as that Veela, but still…" He shrugged. "I'm not looking for a wife."

"Certainly not as hard as she is looking for a husband. I wonder why Marie invited her in the first place." Dubois shook her head.

Sirius shrugged again. "I wouldn't know - I haven't been in your lovely country for long." He leaned back against the railing. "But I'm grateful to be here."

She nodded. "Are you planning to stay, or to return to your home?"

He let out a breath and raised his head to look at the stars above them. "I haven't made any plans since my arrival, other than to enjoy my life for now." He looked at her again, flashing a smile. "You only really learn to appreciate something after almost losing it."

"Oh? What prompted this?"

"Ah, let me tell you a story…"

Sirius went through his prepared, entertaining and utterly fictional backstory while Isabelle commented at the right places with innuendos. It should have been easy to flirt with her - she was a beautiful witch, witty too, and dangerous as well. A true femme fatale.

But he felt more guilt than excitement. And concern.

Vivienne had said that she approved of this mission, and knew what it would entail, but Sirius knew that him flirting with, seducing Dubois was hurting her. He didn't like it either, but there was no one else who could do it. Harry certainly lacked the experience and Remus lacked the attitude and spirit.

But too much was at stake, he thought while he stepped closer to Dubois, who put her hand on his chest, caressing it until he grasped it and lifted it to his lips.

Too much.

*****​

Anotto Bay, Jamaica, March 30th, 1997

He saw a grandiose - no, gaudy - entrance hall with gilded windows. A corridor lined with half a dozen attractive men and women, dressed in servant's garb. No, they were muggles, animals posing as humans. Zombies, under the control of the mambo - the female houngan - who owned the manor. Whose family had stolen the manor during the Maroon Rebellion.

Augustus Rookwood cursed whatever had made 'Ricky' so resistant to the usual interrogation methods. He was a skilled Legilimens, but sifting through the memories of the thug he had captured was proving to be far more tiresome than anticipated. Knowing the interior layout of the manor wouldn't do him any good if he didn't know where in Jamaica the damn building was to be found!

Breathing heavily, he focused on his captive's mind once more, bending it to his will. No mere thug would stand in his way! Windows… he caught a glimpse of a terrace. A gazebo in the background. Hadn't the damn thug ever set foot outside the manor? Was the mambo that cautious?

Another memory of the thug's rutting rose, one of a dozen; the man was a deviant, and he was about brush it away when he caught sight of the grass in the memory. Steeling himself, he dived into the memory instead.

He found himself on a cart filled with hay, with yet another female servant. A disgusting sight for any pureblood wizard, but he didn't focus on it. Instead, he looked at the manor in the background, on a small hill, and committed the sight to his memory.

Sighing with relief, he closed his eyes, breaking the spell. He took a few deep breaths while he recovered. He had done it. He knew where his target lived.

Smiling, he pointed his wand at the drooling thug in front of him.

"Avada Kedavra."

*****​
 
Chapter 58: Entrapment
Chapter 58: Entrapment

'While the guerilla tactics and attempts at psychological warfare had their roots in the Dark Lord's tactics during the First Blood War, merely adapted to the changed circumstances following the Battle of Diagon Alley, the so-called 'Pureblood Voice' was nothing but a blatant attempt to copy the Resistance Radio. Some of my colleagues see this attempt at using muggleborn tactics in order to achieve the goals of the blood purity ideology as a sign of hypocrisy. I wouldn't go that far - in any war, those who make tactical and strategic decisions based solely upon their ideology, without regard for the necessities of the situation, are generally at a fairly major disadvantage compared to those who do not so handicap themselves. Ultimately, even those among the Dark Lord's followers who were so fanatical that they decided to fight on after his death adapted muggleborn ideas rather than conceding defeat - something that can be seen as a defeat in itself, given their stated goal of ridding Britain of muggleborns and their influence.'
- Excerpt from 'The Second Blood War' by Hyacinth Selwyn


*****​

London, Sutton, March 30th, 1997

"Alright… here goes..."

Bess Cox bit her lower lip as she watched Randall pour the vial's content into a small beaker-shaped cauldron. If he spilled it… She held her breath until he pulled a rubber tube over the beaker's top. "Whew."

He glanced at her. "Even if it had turned into a gas without being heated, it wouldn't have killed us. Just laid us out for a few hours."

"It lasts half a day, you said," she retorted.

"At the proper dose. A drop or two wouldn't have the same effect."

"If you were knocked unconscious, you'd have spilled the rest as well."

Frowning, he huffed. "As I said, without being heated, it will not turn into a gas."

"Why didn't anyone else use this kind of poison?" Bess could think of a few possible uses.

"A Bubble-Head Charm will protect you against it, and a bezoar will counter its effects," Randall explained, slowly setting the cauldron down on the burner he had prepared. "Also, it's rather expensive."

"How much did you pay for it?" Bess had grown up in a poor family, and the thought of paying so much for such a thing wasn't a comforting one. She was still a wanted witch, after all, and would have trouble finding a job.

"I didn't pay for it; I stole it." Randall lit the fire under the small cauldron and looked at her with a grin. "Or rather, I liberated it from a pureblood's shop when the owner was distracted by some acquaintances of mine who wanted to know what he did during the war." His grin widened. "No need to spend our own gold on this if we can have purebloods pay for it."

"Oh." She chuckled. "Clever." Bending over to look more closely at the cauldron, she asked: "How long will this take to put them to sleep?"

"We should wait half an hour to be certain that the gas has spread through the entire flat before I start on the wards. It would be safer if we had another vial so we could cover the flat better, but the shop had only one on display."

"Ah." Bess wasn't fond of waiting, but there was no way round it.

"At least by the time I'm done with the wards, the gas will have become inert. Harmless."

Bess frowned - she knew what inert meant; that bloody bigot Snape had drilled it into her with scathing words she would never forget. But Randall was just being nice, she told herself. She nodded and checked her watch, then tried to relax while they waited.

*****​

Hours later - a small part of her was quite happy that Randall's estimate of how long he'd need to take down the wards had been wrong - they finally entered the purebloods' flat. An Unlocking Charm opened the door, and the two of them went in, leading with their wands. Randall had cast a Bubble-Head Charm on himself, but Bess had said she trusted his work; she wasn't sure if he had seen through her excuse or not.

The flat had been rented - or stolen; a few spells and the owner wouldn't remember anything - furnished. There was a telly and a radio in the living room and modern appliances in the kitchen. None of them looked as if they had been used in months. The fridge was stocked, though, as Bess found out.

"Found them!" Randall announced.

Bess headed towards him. He was standing in the larger bedroom, over the bodies of a witch and a boy. The witch looked young, probably barely out of Hogwarts, Bess thought, and the boy looked like he was ten or so.

"They look like siblings," Randall said, poking the witch with his foot.

"Do you know who they are?" Bess asked.

"Hm…" Randall walked to the table in the living room. Bess followed him.

There were a few Daily Prophets, a few cutouts of issues - covering the Battle of the Ministry - and letters. Randall grabbed one of them. "Fredrick Rovier. He and his wife were on the list, weren't they?"

Bess checked. "They're not on it any more. Killed in the Ministry." Or so she assumed - she had noted down the date of their removal, not the cause.

"So…" Randall looked at her.

"So…" Bess looked back at him. "What do we do with 'em?"

Randall didn't look like he had an answer.

*****​

"How much longer are they going to be unconscious?" Bess asked after about a minute.

"It depends on the amount of gas they were exposed to," Randall answered.

He didn't know then, Bess thought. Not that she knew any better. She had come to hunt Death Eaters, not... children. One child, a child of Death Eaters, she amended. "Let's check her arm!"

Randall cut off the witch's sleeve with a charm. "No Dark Mark."

That didn't mean anything, of course. Plenty of the Dark Lord's followers weren't marked. "We should interrogate her."

Her friend shook his head. "We don't have Veritaserum." She looked at him, and he shrugged. "It's not available in shops."

"Could you brew it?" Bess certainly couldn't. She had barely passed her Potions O.W.L.

He winced. "Not with the resources we have. There are a lot of restricted ingredients, and I'd need a better cauldron."

Bess clenched her teeth. "How can we find out if she's a Death Eater then?"

"Let's search the flat. We might find evidence."

Bess nodded and cast two Full Body-Bind Curses. She caught Randall raising his eyebrows at the second, and she shrugged. "I don't want the kid to wake up and run off while we're busy."

He nodded. "Good thinking." She couldn't tell if he was honest or thought she was making up an excuse.

It took them an hour to search the flat, and most of that time was spent casting Finite on suspicious objects. They found a stash of money, mostly Galleons but some pounds as well, and several books and potions - and clothes and a travelling brewer's set.

"Nothing conclusive," Randall summed up. No Death Eater masks, no robes, no dark items.

"What do we do?" Bess glanced at the two captives. They hadn't woken up.

Randall sighed. "We could hand them over to the Resistance."

"How?" Bess didn't know where the Resistance was based. "Drop them in front of a muggle shop in the Alley?"

"Someone would probably hex them," Randall said.

Or worse, Bess thought. She knew what she'd think if she found a bound wizard with a note that they were to be handed over to the Resistance.

"We could hand them to the Ministry," he added after a few seconds of silence.

"What?" Bess turned away from the two purebloods and glared at him. "They'd let them go!"

He grimaced and shrugged. "Well… maybe. Things have changed since Nott's death. But… what else can we do? Leave them here?"

"We can interrogate them." They could beat the truth out of her, Bess was pretty certain of that. "Once they wake up."

He nodded.

*****​

Marseille, Quartier Magique, France, March 30th, 1997

Vivienne was waiting for him when Sirius Black returned to his room in Marseille. She had cast a privacy spell beforehand; he could tell from the faint buzzing noise he heard when he entered.

"'Ow did it go?" she asked as soon as he had closed the door.

She hadn't stood up to embrace him, he noted, but instead remained sitting on the bed. Wearing her robes, too. He sighed. "Your plan is working. She's quite clearly displaying her interest."

She nodded. "Good." After a moment, she added: "Did you kiss?"

"Yes." He sat down next to her, but was hesitant about wrapping his arm around her. He could tell that she was tense, and trying to hide it. "She's invited me to another dinner."

"In her home?" Vivienne quickly asked.

"No. 'Le Moineau', a restaurant in Paris she apparently loves very much." Dubois's manner and tone had implied that they might head to her home afterwards, though.

"I know it. It employs a very good cook. Rumored to be a squib, but nothing was ever proven."

"Ah." Sirius didn't care about that, but others would. His family used to kill squibs until the last century.

They sat there for a minute, close enough to touch, but apart. She sighed. "I'm a 'ypocrite. I 'elped plan this, and I 'ate it."

He knew she didn't mean the ambush for Dubois, or the probable fate of the French witch, but his role in it. "I'm not too fond of it either," he said. He was being honest, too - for all that in his teens, and before Azkaban, he would have jumped at such a mission, he now felt guilty and dirty seducing an enemy. With a sigh, he added: "But it's the best way to get her and end this whole affair."

"I know. I still don't like it." She sighed as well, and he felt her leaning into him, felt her warmth through his robe.

Slowly, almost hesitantly, he wrapped his arm around her shoulder, pulling her closer to him until she rested her head on his shoulder.

They remained like that for some time, just being close to each other. He didn't offer to abandon the mission, nor promise that he wouldn't go further to gain Dubois's trust, and she didn't ask him to.

*****​

London, Sutton, March 31st, 1997

Bess Cox watched the clock on the wall. It was past midnight already. She sighed - the damn purebloods still hadn't woken up.

"If you really want we could use bezoars on them," Randall said.

She had proposed that before, and he had refused. That had been hours ago, though. "No. As you said, we might need them ourselves, and it's not worth using them any more. They should wake up any minute now." At least Randall had said so - half an hour ago.

He knew that as well, and she caught him grimace. "Yes." Then he returned to reading one of the books they had found in the flat. Or at least acting as if he was reading it.

She stood up and pointed her wand at the two captives, casting another Incarcerous Spell on them. The Full Body-Bind Curse was more effective, but they couldn't talk while under its effect.

He didn't comment, but she caught him frowning, and glared back - she couldn't wait without doing something. Not for hours and hours, at least. She glanced at the table, where they had put the Daily Prophet issues they had found. Maybe she should set fire to another picture of Fudge, and watch him try to escape the flames. Or maybe Bones...

A groan interrupted her thought, and she whirled around as Randall shot up, his book dropping to the floor. The witch had woken up!

"What… John! What did.... John!" The witch was struggling against the enchanted ropes holding her, but froze when she caught sight of them. "Who're you?" She asked, gasping.

"That doesn't matter," Randall said, stepping closer to her. "Who are you?"

"John?" She turned her head until she saw the boy. "What did you do to him?"

"Same as we did to you," Randall said. "Who are you?"

"Release us!"

Bess crouched down next to the witch and glared at her. She wanted to curse the witch. Or at least hex her. She pushed her wand forward, digging its tip into the witch's cheek. "Answer the damn question!"

"O-Oriel Rovier."

It figured, Bess thought, that she'd have a fancy name.

"Are you the daughter of Fredrick Rovier?" Randall asked.

"He's dead. Killed in the Ministry. With Mum." Rovier wasn't quite stammering, but she came close. And there were tears in her eyes.

"Are you his daughter?" Randall repeated, glaring at their captive.

"Y-Yes. Are you the Mu… the Resistance?"

"No," Bess spat out.

"We're asking the questions," Randall said. Bess clenched her teeth at the rebuke. "And we'll be interrogating your brother as well, later. So, if you lie to us, you will regret it."

"He hasn't done anything!"

Rovier was shaking her head until Bess pushed the tip of her wand into her face again. "We'll see," she said, baring her teeth at the pureblood.

"Your parents were Death Eaters. What about you? Were you a Death Eater too?"

"No! Check my arm! I don't have the Mark!"

"We already did." Randall sighed. "You don't need the Mark to be a follower of the Dark Lord. Did you attack muggleborns? Or 'blood traitors'?" he added.

"N-no! I was just taking care of John. My parents didn't want me to fight!"

Bess couldn't tell if the witch was lying or not. She looked at Randall, but he was staring at their captive. "Did you want to fight for him?"

"N-No."

"Not even when your parents were killed?"

She swallowed, but shook her head. "No. No."

"Not even to take revenge?" Randall crouched down as well, opposite Bess. "Will your brother tell us that as well? Or that you promised to avenge Mum and Dad?"

Rovier was crying now. "He hasn't done anything! Please…"

Randall stood up. "I guess that's a 'yes'. Did you do anything?"

"N-no. No. It was just talk." She sobbed.

"Really?" He tilted his head.

"Yes. I couldn't leave John alone. He has no one else. Please don't hurt him! Please!"

The pureblood was begging. Bess wondered if her friends had begged as well, before they were killed. She glanced at Randall.

Her friend sighed, and pointed the wand at Rovier.

"No! Please! Ple…"

"Stupefy!" His spell cut her off and her body went limp.

He sighed.

"What do we do with her?" Bess asked. "She wants to fight us. Muggleborns."

Randall glanced at the boy, still unconscious. "We still have to check with 'John' if she told us the truth."

"And if she did? The Ministry won't do anything to her since she hasn't done anything. Yet." Not that they would do anything anyway, Bess thought. Not to a pureblood. "It would be foolish to let her go so she can later attack others. And she saw our faces," Bess added as an afterthought.

"Do you want to kill her?" Randall was staring at her.

Bess clenched her teeth. She wanted to kill the witch. Just as her friends had been killed. Just as so many had been killed by those monsters. She pointed her wand at Rovier. It would be easy. Reductor Curse, Cutting Curse, Piercing Curse - any curse would do it. She glanced at the kid, who had still not woken up. "Fuck it!" She lowered her wand. "They're not supposed to cry," she muttered, walking towards the kitchen, where she had seen a bottle of Ogden's Finest.

She needed a drink.

*****​

Cumbria, Britain, March 31st, 1997

The Resistance recruits' celebration of their first mission - and first victory - reminded Harry Potter of a lot of the parties in Gryffindor after they had won a Quidditch match. Lots of alcohol, lots of loud music, and lots of people staying up too long. Past midnight, in this case. They'd regret it in the morning, he thought - unlike McGonagall, the Sergeant wouldn't have mercy. Especially since he was told that the recruits had spent the day in London and didn't know that they had had their first battle. If you could call it a battle - the Fleaweathers hadn't shown much skill or talent for fighting.

He glanced at Neville, who was sitting next to him, staring at the campfire's embers with a beer in his hand. The Gryffindor hadn't said much since they had returned from London, and even less since Ron and Hermione had retreated to her tent an hour ago. "We should head to bed," Harry said, "or we'll have a hard time in the morning." Emmet and Clifton were keeping an eye on the remaining recruits, but the rest of the experienced Resistance members had already gone to bed as well.

Neville didn't respond. Harry was about to repeat himself when he suddenly spoke up, still staring at the remains of the fire: "Why are they celebrating?"

Harry drew a deep breath and wondered if Neville had drank more beer than he thought. "They're celebrating their first mission. Their first victory."

Neville scoffed. "Some victory! Those enemies were worse than first years taught by Lockhart. They're acting as if they had fought the Dark Lord's inner circle!"

Harry shrugged. "They didn't know that when they went in. And the wards were decent."

"The Death Eaters we captured will be set free anyway." Neville took a another sip from his bottle.

"If that happens the Ministry will be weakened further." Harry wasn't certain that they would simply be let go - Bones would certainly attempt to prosecute them, and some of the Wizengamot members who had acquitted Nott might use this opportunity to switch sides. At least according to Doge.

Neville snorted. "Politics!"

Harry sighed. "Politics is at the root of this conflict. We won the First Blood War, but since nothing changed in the Wizengamot, the next war was inevitable." It was a bit more complicated than that, but it was also already past midnight.

Neville muttered something Harry didn't catch.

"Are you really unhappy that it wasn't a harder battle?" Harry let some of his annoyance seep into his tone.

It was Neville's turn to sigh. "No… not really. But… it feels so pointless. My parents fought in the last war, Gran was murdered in this war, and all I have done is stare at a map in Hogwarts and tell my proxy to vote for Dumbledore. I didn't even curse anyone in the attack today. I feel like…" The bottle slipped from his hand and dropped, the beer spilling on the ground. He cursed.

"Don't feel like that. Dumbledore himself said that we must not just win the war, but the peace as well. That we cannot give in to hatred and revenge, but must strive for justice." Harry remembered the Headmaster's last message well.

Neville snorted. "Some justice!"

"That's why we need to reform the Wizengamot," Harry said.

Neville didn't look convinced. He turned his head to look at Harry. "You actually fought and killed the Dark Lord. You've done your part."

Harry shook his head. "No. I'm not done. Because it's not about winning a war. It's about ensuring that our children won't have to fight another war."

Neville stared at him for a moment, then looked at the dying fire again. "Let's go to bed."

*****​

London, Ministry of Magic, March 31st, 1997

Amelia Bones refrained from rubbing the bridge of her nose. "The Resistance 'arrested' the Fleaweathers and delivered them to the DMLE."

Pius nodded. "Correct. The Fleaweathers have been in hiding for months."

"Suspected Death Eaters." Amelia had been the Head of the DMLE back when that suspicion had been raised.

"They're not marked, but, according to the Resistance, they have admitted to supporting the Dark Lord financially."

A confession helped along by force, or by Veritaserum, no doubt, Amelia thought. It didn't matter - their own interrogation would ferret out the truth. She took issue with something else, though. She narrowed her eyes. "You make it sound as if the DMLE approves of the Resistance's action."

Pius spread his hands. "As we would approve of any capture of a wanted suspect by civilians."

She refrained from cursing out loud. Pius wouldn't say that if some criminal from Knockturn Alley had done this. She scoffed, but didn't pursue the topic further. There was no point. "And the Roviers?"

"An anonymous message delivered by owl informed us of their location. We found both of them, under Full Body-Bind Curses, in a muggle flat in London. The owl was taken from Diagon Alley's post owl office - without the clerk's knowledge."

"Anonymous?" Amelia didn't like that.

"Neither the Resistance nor the Order of the Phoenix have claimed responsibility for it."

Amelia chuckled. "Not many would want to admit that they attacked children."

"I do not think that they are lying. There was no sign that Veritaserum had been used on the Roviers," Pius pointed out, "and we know that the Resistance has access to it."

He was correct, Amelia knew. Sighing, she said. "Which means there's another muggleborn group out there hunting suspected Death Eaters."

"They might not be muggleborns," Pius said. "Although they used muggle knowledge to break into the flat."

"Do you honestly think a pureblood or half-blood did this?" Amelia raised her eyebrows at him.

"I feel it wouldn't be prudent to assume too much."

"Whatever. Set a team to finding those responsible. We can't have vigilantes hunting people." Especially not with the damned ICW delegation still in Britain.

Pius nodded. He didn't ask her if she expected him to stop the Resistance and the Order as well. They both knew the Ministry wasn't in any shape to take on either of those groups.

"Inform me as soon as you have interrogated the Roviers and the Fleaweathers."

Pius frowned slightly but nodded. Amelia knew that she was behaving hypocritically - she had hated it when Cornelius had meddled in her investigations - but this was also a political matter. Black was counting on the Wizengamot acquitting yet another Death Eater so he'd receive even more support.

Amelia would do what she could to prevent that, of course.

*****​

South Downs National Park, Hampshire, Britain, March 31st, 1997

"Miss Greengrass, Miss Davis. Thank you for coming, despite the latest developments." Malfoy greeted the two witches with a bow.

Daphne Greengrass returned the bow as soon as she had cleaned the soot from her robes. "We came because of, not despite, the recent events," she said. "To see purebloods hunted down like animals… Purebloods whose only 'crime' was the desire to live in safety…" She shook her head. "This cannot stand."

"They were so desperate that they went and hid among muggles," Tracey added. "But it didn't save them. Hiding and bowing our heads will not save any one of us."

Daphne hoped they hadn't overdone it. To her relief, Malfoy smiled. "Exactly. Please follow me to the salon. We have important matters to discuss."

There were no other guests in waiting in the salon. There was no sign of Runcorn either. Daphne made a point of looking around.

"Philius won't be joining us," Malfoy answered her unspoken question.

"Oh?" She wasn't certain how to take that.

"What's he doing?" Tracey asked with narrowed eyes.

"Politics." Malfoy shrugged, then sat down in his customary seat.

Daphne took a seat on the couch, with Tracey following her. She didn't pry further but simply waited.

"As you so pointedly said, things have taken a turn for the worse. The mudbloods are now openly hunting purebloods." Malfoy leaned forward, folding his hands between his knees. "The Old Families are in dire peril, even though some do not realise it. Or do not want to realise it."

"The mudbloods only understand violence," Daphne said. "As they do not care about traditions and culture, they do not respect the law."

"Exactly." Malfoy smiled thinly. "Too many of our peers in the Wizengamot do not understand this. They assume that mudbloods are like us - civilised wizards and witches." Tracey snorted and Malfoy glanced at her, nodding in apparent approval. "They are fools. But fools whose mistakes will doom us all."

"But what can we do if they won't listen?" Daphne shook her head. "If they refuse to see the truth?" Silently, she urged Malfoy to take the bait. To tell them about his backers and of his plans. Then Tracey and she could inform Black, and quit risking their lives.

"I'm afraid to say that there's not much we can do. Too many in the Wizengamot support the mudbloods. Too many let fear rule their decisions. The only way those cowards will change their stance will be when the mudbloods reveal their true goals. But they are too smart to do that until they have taken control of the Wizengamot." Malfoy sighed. "We can but hope for a miracle. If some mudbloods were to kill a prominent blood traitor…"

Tracey scoffed. "Fat chance of that happening. Black, Potter and Weasley are far too close to the Resistance for that." She chuckled. "Or far too close to Granger."

Daphne nodded. "Everyone knows that the only reason a mudblood would attack one of them would be the Imperius Curse." She couldn't believe Malfoy would actually expect them to do such a thing.

Malfoy slowly nodded. "I concur. Since we would be blamed, it is fortunate that it is very unlikely for a mudblood to attack them." Daphne's relief at hearing this didn't last since he continued: "However, given the violent nature of mudbloods, and their deep-seated hatred, I think there's a not insignificant chance that some of the mudbloods will not forgive those Wizengamot members who supported the Muggleborn Laws and the Ministry's actions against the Resistance - no matter whether or not they have recently changed their allegiance." He smiled at them. "It is a small chance, but our only hope."

It was clear what he meant. Daphne forced herself to keep smiling. To appear confident even though she was anything but. "That would likely be dismissed as mudbloods acting under the Imperius," she said.

"That depends on the manner of the attack. A wizard running at a bunch of ruffians can be dismissed as a victim of the Imperius, but a co-ordinated assault?" He shook his head.

Daphne nodded. The purebloods would be more suspicious of the mudbloods to begin with, too. "It wouldn't be the first time in history that a just cause prevailed no matter the odds." She glanced at Tracey. If her friend lost her composure… Fortunately, she controlled herself and nodded slowly.

Their host smiled.

*****​

Twenty minutes of meaningless talk later, Daphne and Tracey arrived back at Greengrass Manor. Lupin was waiting for them, together with Tonks. "We need to talk to Black," Daphne said, cutting off the werewolf's greeting.

"What happened?" Tonks asked. "Did Malfoy and Runcorn incriminate themselves?"

Tracey scoffed. "As if! Our esteemed host is far too smart for that and merely mentioned what he hoped might happen."

Lupin frowned. "What did he say?"

"What he meant," Daphne corrected the creature, "was that he wants us to kill one of the Wizengamot members who have recently defected to Black and frame muggleborn extremists for the deed. That's why we need to talk to Black."

Lupin understood at once, and nodded. The metamorphmagus took a bit longer. And Tracey just had to spell it out. "Yes. This is a test. We need to fake a murder. And quite convincingly." Which would be difficult, especially after their trials had revealed how Dumbledore had manipulated their attack on Nigel Nye.

There was an alternative, of course. Daphne didn't mention it. But she knew that if she had to kill a coward to save her family, she'd do it.

*****​

Cumbria, Britain, March 31st, 1997

Hermione Granger woke up on her side, her head on Ron's chest and one leg over his. Her boyfriend - lover - was still asleep, breathing steadily. One of his arms was wrapped around her, his hand resting on her hip. She sighed contentedly, snuggled up to him a bit more and closed her eyes. Her alarm clock hadn't rung yet, which meant she could remain like this for a little while, at least.

And yet she couldn't. The recruits had started the last week of the training camp, and she needed to go over their choices for their specialisations. A quite pretentious term, of course - it wasn't as if a few days focusing on long range marksmanship would turn anyone into a sniper. Not as modern militaries used the term. Not even those among her friends who had experience in sniping would qualify.

But they could share their experiences, and the new recruits would have both a mentor and a head start. And the Resistance would have a replacement lined up, in case they lost another member.

She drew a hissing breath remembering all those who had been killed in the war. Dean, Mary, Colin, Martin and Jeremy. And Dennis was still in a coma, waiting for a cure for the Withering Curse. She clenched her teeth - she should be working on finding that cure, but she had no time. Not with the French plotting against Britain - some of the French, she corrected herself - and the Wizengamot still holding out. Reid would be back in Jamaica, she thought. Unless he counted on them assuming that, and had slipped back over the border. So much to do… She sighed again.

When she felt Ron stir under her, she realised that she had been a bit too loud and woken him up.

He groaned. "Hermione?"

He turned his head to look at her, and she smiled at him. "Good morning, Ron."

"I didn't hear the alarm."

"It's not yet time to get up."

"Oh." He blinked, then cleared her throat. She felt his chest move. "So…" He trailed off, licking his lips.

She bit her lower lip, then smiled, and started to caress his chest. He took a deep breath, and his hand started to wander…

And both of them froze when the alarm clock went off.

"Err…" He smiled.

She frowned and grabbed her wand, silencing the clock. "We'll use cleaning charms instead of taking a shower, and eat breakfast quickly," she stated.

He nodded, smiling.

*****​

London, No. 12 Grimmauld Place, March 31st, 1997

"Malfoy told the two snakes to kill a defecting Wizengamot member?" Ron Weasley shook his head. "Wasn't that what we wanted?"

"Not exactly. He didn't tell them to do it - he only remarked that muggleborns killing a member of the Wizengamot who had recently joined Sirius's faction would make others reconsider their allegiance." Remus sitting in Sirius's living room, snorted. "That's not enough to convict anyone."

"We could simply capture Malfoy and Runcorn," Harry said. Ron's friend was scowling and hadn't sat down for more than a minute since they had been told about last night's meeting at Malfoy's.

"We could. It would cause a ruckus, but if we obtain proof that they are behind the attacks and working for the French, that wouldn't matter," Remus said. He sighed. "Although we don't know for certain if that's the case."

"Greengrass and Davis are certain," Hermione added.

"They could be wrong," Remus said, leaning back. "It wouldn't be the first time."

Ron snorted. The two Slytherins should know the other Death Eaters best, shouldn't they?

Hermione sighed. "If they're not behind the attacks we can't frame them. There are already rumours circulating which claim that we framed Nott. We need at least one of them alive and standing trial to ruin their faction in the Wizengamot. Otherwise, such rumors will linger and fester even more, and we'll suffer for it later."

"I'll bet Galleons to Sickles that they are guilty," Ron said. The memory of the meeting they had watched had certainly seemed very convincing.

"Would you bet the future of Wizarding Britain on being right?" Remus asked. "Are you dead certain that Malfoy couldn't truthfully claim - under Veritaserum - that he had merely expressed his hope of such an attack happening?"

Ron frowned at the former teacher, but he didn't have a comeback for that. There was too much at stake.

"Sirius wouldn't have to risk his life," Harry said, pushing his chin forward.

"Do you think he'd agree with such a course of action?" Remus tilted his head slightly to the side.

"I think he would," Ron said, before he could help himself. When Remus glared at him, he shrugged. "If we're wrong, we're back at war. A war we'd win."

The older wizard sighed. "He would risk a war on such odds - but he wouldn't risk your lives. And you'd be in the thick of it, if there's another war."

Ron glanced at Harry. Remus was correct - Sirius would rather risk his own life than Harry's. Ron's friend knew that as well, and his frown showed it.

"We have to consider, though, that even faked, the apparent death of a Wizengamot member at the hands of muggleborns will do exactly what Malfoy and Runcorn hope - cause more purebloods to join or rejoin them," Hermione pointed out. "That could be mitigated by claiming that the muggleborns were framed, but only to some degree. So while our undercover operations would progress, our political campaign would suffer. And if Sirius manages to gain the trust of Dubois, and we can capture her, we wouldn't need to gain Malfoy's trust."

"Provided that Malfoy and Runcorn are working for Dubois," Remus said. "The French are the most likely suspects, but not the only ones."

Ron sighed. "Great. Cursed if we do, cursed if we don't."

"Not quite," Remus retorted. "It's a matter of calculating the risks."

"With unknown variables," Hermione cut in.

Ron assumed that that contradicted Remus, judging by the man's expression.

"We will need to discuss this with Sirius," Remus said after a moment.

"If he returns to Britain he might endanger his cover," Hermione said.

"We can visit him in France," Harry quickly said.

"Great," Ron muttered. He hoped this visit would not end like the last one.

"Not all of us need to go." Remus looked at him.

Ron narrowed his eyes at the wizard. "I will not let my friends go there alone." Especially if this trip turned out like the last one.

Besides, he was a member of the Wizengamot as well. Leaving important decisions to others didn't feel right to him. He didn't want to be a mere mouthpiece.

*****​

Marseille, Quartier Magique, France, April 1st, 1997

Hermione Granger had been in France before, several times, although she had not visited Magical France. After reading up on the country, her family had decided to stick to muggle France for their vacations. She remembered how she had thought it ironic that one of the most republican countries in Europe had a magical counterpart that was an almost absolutist monarchy.

And now she and her friends were walking down the main street of the Quartier Magique in Marseilles - although disguised with wigs, makeup and tanning spray. Polyjuice would have been more thorough, but could be countered with magic.

She still felt exposed and too vulnerable. It was just Remus, Harry, Ron and herself. Tonks had stayed in Britain, to keep an eye on Greengrass and Davis as well as to pose as Sirius for short appearances, and they didn't trust anyone else with this information. She understood the need for secrecy, but she would have prefered some of her other friends with her. Two on brooms in the sky, disillusioned, and two nearby, disguised.
She sighed.

Ron, walking arm in arm with her with a tan and his hair dyed black, bent his head towards her. "What's wrong?"

"We shouldn't be here," she said in a low voice despite their privacy spells. "We should have simply travelled to the muggle Côte d'Azur and discussed things with Sirius using his communication mirror."

"Harry wants to see Sirius."

She understood that - she was missing her parents, whom she hadn't visited in a few weeks - but she remained convinced that it was an unnecessary risk. But she had been outvoted. That wouldn't have happened in the Resistance, she knew.

They reached the small café Fleur had told them about. It was narrow and rather dark, but stretched between two streets. Discreet too, the Veela had told them - no one would bat an eye at privacy spells. Hermione hoped that that was true. Britain couldn't afford another diplomatic crisis, and they couldn't afford to get arrested should anything happen.

Sirius, in disguise himself, different from his undercover one, of course, was waving at them. Drawing attention to himself - but then, that might look more natural for a harmless meeting of friends. Harry made a beeline for him and hugged the wizard. The rest of them were more restrained and quickly sat down.

"So… what's so important you had to meet me in person?" Sirius asked once their order had been served. "Not that I mind spending time with you, of course." He was grinning, though he seemed more than a bit wary.

"We're reasonably certain that Malfoy has decided to test Greengrass and Davis's loyalty and expects them to kill one of the deserters from his faction in the Wizengamot, and frame the muggleborns for it," Hermione informed him, cutting Remus off before the older wizard could start to explain. She ignored his frown - she wasn't about to stay here any longer than necessary.

"Ah. And I guess letting them kill one of the opportunist bigots would be out of the question?" Sirius chuckled and held up his hand when Remus glared at him. "Just joking. I know we need every vote." His expression added an unspoken 'for now'. "But arranging a fake assassination will be difficult without the cooperation of the Ministry." Which they wouldn't get.

"If the Ministry doesn't have DNA testing," Hermione said, "then we just need a sufficiently burned corpse to be found inside the burned out ruins of a building, and some witnesses that place the victim at the location. Polyjuice would suffice for the latter."

"The Unspeakables might be able to reconstruct a dead man's face," Sirius said, "or check his blood. We don't know what the Department of Mysteries is capable of. Identifying the dead after Malfoy Manor was quite the task, as I recall. Especially those who had been burned. But they still managed - or so they claimed."

That was troublesome. "We could claim we vanished the corpse, but that would not fit our usual modus operandi." The Resistance had wanted the Ministry to find the corpses of their enemies. "We could make up a new muggleborn group, and have them kidnap the victim. Disappearing enemies is a common tactic used by several muggle regimes faced with insurrections. Malfoy might be suspicious in that situation, though. He would want our own attacks to be copied so we get the blame." She took a sip from her soft drink. "We could blow up a building and burn it so thoroughly, they might assume that any corpse was burned to ashes. But if they have a way to track down bone fragments, that would not work. If it was a muggle target we could fake a plane crash in the sea. That would explain the lack of a body."

"None of the bigots we're talking about would set foot in a muggle aeroplane," Sirius declared. "I don't see how anyone sane would do that unless they had lost a bet."

Remus snorted at that, and the two older wizards chuckled. She caught Harry and Ron exchanging glances.

"Old mischief aside," Sirius continued, "and apart from those 'technical difficulties', there's another problem to consider: We would need to trust our victim not to change sides again."

"We could keep them under guard," Remus said, "'for their own protection'."

"Only after the deed is done." Sirius shook his head. "In order for this work, they can't be seen with us beforehand. A meeting with me is not suspicious, but a sudden new bodyguard or friend, who then vanishes after the attack? Malfoy would smell a set-up. He's not dumb."

"We could use my cloak to stay hidden," Harry proposed.

"One of us could," Ron corrected him. "We're not first years any more."

"Would they really dare cross us?" Hermione asked.

"They changed sides out of fear. A man driven by fear is unpredictable."

"You want Greengrass and Davis to kill one of our 'allies'." Remus's face seemed set in stone when he looked at Sirius. Hermione heard Harry hiss through his teeth and Ron mutter a curse under his breath.

Sirius nodded. "It would be the safest option for all of us."

"It would also give Greengrass and Davis leverage on you."

Remus sounded angrier than Hermione would have expected. Why would he… Her eyes widened when she understood what he was implying. What Remus thought Sirius would do to solve that. She could understand it - they had tried to kill the Weasleys - but to use them as spies, only to stab them in the back...

"Well, if we're already talking about killing a former supporter of the Dark Lord, can't we kidnap them without asking beforehand, and then fake their death as planned?"

She wasn't the only one to glance at Ron in response to that proposal.

"I guess we could," Sirius said after a moment. "It would mean I don't have to travel to Britain to set things up." That meant his own mission wouldn't be put at risk by his absence.

"We might need more people for that, though," she pointed out. "People we can trust." The veterans of the Resistance, of course.

"It would look more authentic as well," Remus said.

"That might make Malfoy suspect a trap, though," Harry added.

"Not necessarily. The kind of bomb we would need to use would very likely ruin all evidence of a kidnapping, and that can be done by Greengrass and Davis." Hermione took a deep breath. "But Malfoy and Runcorn might expect to be told how it was done. And that would mean they would be able to do it as well."

"They might already be aware of how to do it. Voldemort used a bomb himself to kill Shacklebolt and his team," Harry said. "And there was the attack in Jamaica."

"Alleged attack," Hermione corrected him. He was right, though. Another reason to avoid a new war. "I think it's still our best option, though. Even with no bodies and the possible suspicion that raises - there'd be an absence of evidence, but not a fake or wrong corpse to be discovered. Greengrass and Davis will just have to be somewhat vague. That might even improve their cover since it might be seen as a power play."

"So… all we need is a suitable target, then." Sirius grinned.

*****​

Shropshire Hills Area of Natural Beauty, Shropshire, Britain, April 3rd, 1997

"What's with the purebloods living in national parks?" Harry Potter wondered aloud when watching the Cadwallader Cottage - which despite the name was a small manor, not a mere cottage - through his Omnioculars.

"It makes a lot of sense, actually." Hermione was talking in her lecturing voice, he noticed. "Thanks to magic, they don't need roads or other muggle infrastructure, so they can pick locations where no muggles are living nearby. National parks and similar areas are perfect choices."

"I don't think that they had national parks when those houses were built," Harry said. "This looks old enough to have been built before the Statute of Secrecy."

"That doesn't have to be true," Ron cut in. "Many families like to pretend that they are older than they actually are. Or at least have been richer for longer."

"So, we might not be about to destroy a building English Heritage would kill to preserve?" Hermione asked.

"Who?" Ron asked. Harry didn't know the organisation either, but he had an idea what they did. Hadn't Uncle Vernon complained about them once?

"A muggle institution tasked with preserving our heritage, mostly historic buildings and monuments," Hermione answered without looking away from the building.

"Technically, we're not the ones who'll destroy it," Harry pointed out. "We're just the ones breaking in and kidnapping the owner."

She snorted and shook her head. "I don't see any magical traps or guards before the wardline. Let's move closer." She moved her wand and faded from view. Only the marker floating above her head told him where she was. Ron and Harry followed her example.

They quickly crossed the green field until they reached the small wall indicating the wardline. Muggles would just see some rocks, rocks so uninteresting they didn't deserve a closer look.

"I'm placing the bomb," Hermione whispered. A moment later, a large hole appeared in the ground. As Harry watched, the earthen walls of the hole turned to metal. Then a large cylinder appeared on the ground next to it and floated down into the hole, coming to rest at an angle. "Bomb's set," Hermione announced.

They moved a hundred yards to the side. Hermione created three fox holes while Ron and Harry covered the house with jinxes to block magical travel.

"Ready," he announced.

"Take cover!" Hermione ordered, jumping into a hole. Harry followed her example and pressed himself against the soft earth, then quickly cast a Silencing Charm on himself.

Ten seconds later, the earth trembled. He cancelled the Charm and climbed out of the foxhole.

"Wards are down!" Hermione announced after a flick of her wand. A second later, Harry was on his Firebolt, speeding towards the now defenceless house. Without the wards to block his Human-presence-revealing Charm, markers appeared as soon as he was in range. Two of them - those had to be Glyn Cadwallader and his wife. They were not moving, probably still shocked.

"Targets on the first floor, south side!" Harry announced through his radio, then pointed his wand ahead and blew a hole in the wall.

That made the Cadwalladers move - he saw the markers move towards the front of the building. He saw Ron's marker veer off, flying towards the northern side right before he entered the building.

He bled off speed in a tight turn, almost scraping along the wall inside, then shot forward. A door barring his way was turned into splinters with a Reductor Curse. Through the dust thrown up by the explosion he saw someone running away. He gave chase and leveled his wand. Before he could send a Stunner after them, figures moved to block his path. Animated suits of armour waving around axes and swords he realised as he pulled up and came to a stop.

They were enchanted with protective spells he also noticed when his Blasting Curse sent them reeling, but didn't destroy the four of them moving towards him. He was tempted to draw the Elder Wand and simply crush the suits, but instead vanished the floor underneath them. He was shooting along the hallway, after the fleeing Cadwalladers, before the suits hit the ground below.

Up ahead was a corner. The markers tracking the Cadwalladers were still moving away, so he simply rose to the ceiling and took the corner as quickly as possible. He passed above another suit of armour, a halberd glancing off his Shield Charm - had it detected him somehow, or was it simply flailing blindly? - and finally had a clear line of fire to the two fleeing purebloods.

His Stunner hit the witch in the back, and she dropped at once. Cadwallader himself whirled around, screaming, then toppled himself.

Ron's marker appeared behind the fallen wizard, right next to a window the bomb had blown open. "Both targets down!" he announced. "We're getting them out now. Watch out for animated suits of armour!"

Harry turned around. He and Ron reduced the suit coming towards him to metal fragments with a few Blasting Curses before levitating the two stunned purebloods and leaving the house.

"I've taken their house-elf," he heard Hermione say as they cleared the building, "Mission accomplished."

*****​

Cadwallader Cottage, Shropshire, Britain, April 3rd, 1997

Floating on her broom above the damaged house, Daphne Greengrass tried not to shudder as she saw the werewolf levitate a huge box into the building. If that were Exploding Fluid, then a shock would be enough to set it off. A small mistake, a lapse in concentration on the part of the beast, and they would vanish in a fireball.

Swallowing dryly, she moved her broom a little away from the house. Not too far, though - she was certain she was under observation by whoever had broken into the house. Probably Granger, she thought, and the rest of the Resistance. They would be waiting for a reason to kill her.

Below her, Lupin set the box down, then flew up towards them. "The bomb's placed. Now fill the area with petrol. We don't have much time."

"Did they get a warning to the Ministry?" Tracey asked, gasping.

"No, but muggles might have noticed the explosion already."

"Ah." Muggles they could handle, Daphne knew.

"Get going," the werewolf snarled at her.

Flinching, Daphne did as ordered. A few Doubling Charms later, the house was filled with petrol bottles.

"Follow me!" the beast ordered before she could inform him.

She flew after him, Tracey trailing behind her. Lupin flew over a small hill, then landed. His wand flicked, and Daphne couldn't hear anything any more. She opened her mouth to protest, drawing her wand, but stopped when Lupin pulled a muggle contraption out of his robes and pushed a button.

She didn't hear anything when the bomb went off. She was still turning when the light flared up, but she saw the fireball rise behind them, felt the earth tremble, felt the air hit her. "Merlin's beard!" she whispered, or thought she did - she couldn't hear herself either.

She was panting when smoke replaced the flames and the light grew dimmer, flames no longer reaching above the crest of the hill behind them. It looked far too much like Malfoy Manor. Where her parents had been killed.
She didn't notice that Lupin had cancelled the Silencing Charm until he shook her shoulder. "We need to leave. Apparate!"

Panting, she stared at him, shaking her head.

He cursed, then grabbed her arm, then Tracey's. "Sorry about this, but we have to leave."

A second later, Daphne experienced the familiar feeling of being forced through a small tube as he took her and Tracey by Side-Along-Apparition.

*****​
 
Chapter 59: Escalation
Chapter 59: Escalation

'It is telling that in the midst of an international crisis, with Britain under close scrutiny by the International Confederation of Wizards and Jamaica all but threatening war, the radical muggleborns still refused to present a united front to the foreign forces. Instead of closing ranks with the Ministry, they hunted down pureblood families who had gone into hiding months previously. Not only did they put the entire country at risk, but they also had nothing to show for their efforts. For as it turned out, those they caught had not hidden in preparation to strike at the muggleborns, but to save their lives during the height of the Second Blood War. And while some of my colleagues might consider the fact that the captured purebloods were handed over to the Ministry as a desire for reconciliation, I refute that opinion. The victims of this 'witch hunt' were handed over to the Ministry for the sole purpose of further dividing the Ministry's meagre forces and weakening those who still opposed Black and his allies in the Wizengamot.'
- Excerpt from 'Wizarding Britain in the 20th Century' by Albert Runcorn


*****​

Kent, Greengrass Manor, April 3rd, 1997

Daphne Greengrass felt like vomiting when she regained her balance inside her home. Not because she had just been transported by Side-Along-Apparition - that was unpleasant, but she had been taught to endure it as a child. No, but to re-enact the murder of her parents, on the order of those responsible… She wanted to scream, to cry, to curse the monster who had forced her through that ordeal.

But she couldn't. If she did, she'd doom her remaining family. Herself and her sister. Instead, she forced herself to remain calm and smoothed out her robe with a flick of her wand.

Tracey wasn't quite as composed, however, and was muttering curses under her breath while she took deep breaths, trembling - with rage or horror, or both. Daphne couldn't tell.

"Are you alright?" The werewolf asked, with fake concern. "The force of the explosion shouldn't have reached us behind the hill, although I confess to a lack of personal experience in that area."

Daphne reached out and wrapped an arm around her friend's shoulders. "We are alright, considering the circumstances," she said through clenched teeth. She wanted the monster gone from her home, from her life. She wanted to stop hurting, to stop fearing, to stop feeling. She wanted to be free of all this.

Tracey wiped her eyes - with her hand, not her wand, and slowly nodded. She wasn't raising her head, though, and stared at the ground.

Daphne heard the beast gasp and mutter: "Merlin's staff! I didn't realise… no one did… I'm sorry."

She didn't look at it. If the creature pitied her, instead of hating her, then that would be even worse. She could deal with hatred, but to have sunk so low that her enemies took pity on her? That would be a disgrace. So she shook her head, and fell back on the manners her parents had taught her. "It is late. I think we should retire for the night," she said, not quite managing to sound as polite as she wanted.

It seemed to be enough, though - the werewolf straightened up and nodded. "Of course. Good night, Miss Greengrass, Miss Davis."

"Good night," Tracey mumbled and Daphne could feel her friend's breathing slowing down as the creature left them.

Once the door closed behind it, she clenched her eyes shut and tried to ignore the tears running down her cheeks.

*****​

Cadwallader Cottage, Shropshire, Britain, April 3rd, 1997

Amelia Bones drew a hissing breath through clenched teeth when she saw the devastation wrought upon the Cadwalladers' estate . Where their house had stood, only burned out ruins remained. The destruction was as complete as that of Malfoy Manor.

She noticed differences as well, though, as she walked towards the northern part of the ruins, where she spotted Pius and Dawlish. There were no bodies lined up, and there was no smell of burned flesh permeating the air. And on closer inspection the ruins were different as well, though she couldn't say exactly how they differed.

"Report!" she barked as soon as she was close enough to talk to her underlings.

Pius straightened up. "Good morning, Amelia," he said.

She ignored the reprimand implicit in his polite greeting. She wanted answers, not empty courtesies. "What have you found out so far?"

Pius glanced at Dawlish, and the Head Auror took a deep breath. "We were alerted by the Obliviators at four in the morning that there was an explosion in this area, and that they had handled the muggle authorities who had been about to investigate. An Auror patrol quickly spotted the, at the time, still burning ruins, and alerted the Department. We deployed the reserve force and secured the area, in case it was an ambush, then put the fire out."

Amelia made a mental note that it hadn't been Fiendfyre. She nodded at Dawlish. "Go on."

"We searched the ruins, but the destruction and the fire had not left much in a recognisable state. As far as we can tell, the wards were destroyed with a muggle bomb, as was the house, and the ruins were then set on fire using large amounts of petrol."

She frowned. "Petrol? Refined?" She did recall that the Resistance had not used regular petrol, but she couldn't recall the correct name for their mixture.

Pius shook his head. "No. Not like the kind used against Malfoy Manor."

"And there were two bombs, not one," Dawlish added.

"One to take care of the wards, and one to destroy the house. Peculiar," Pius said.

"Indeed." Amelia narrowed her eyes. It could be the Resistance's work. Or the work of someone trying to frame them. Or the result of the Resistance trying to make her think they were being framed. "Did you find the Cadwalladers?"

Dawlish shook his head. "No. We haven't found any bodies so far. They might not have been at home when the attack took place, but they haven't contacted us so far."

"I doubt they would," Pius said, "After such an attack, most would stay hidden."

"They might have been kidnapped," Dawlish speculated. "One bomb to breach the wards, another to hide the kidnapping."

Amelia nodded. "Possible. But that doesn't narrow down the range of suspects." The remnants of Malfoy and Runcorn's faction saw the Cadwalladers as traitors, and Amelia was certain that many muggleborns hadn't forgiven them for supporting Malfoy, even though they had switched sides. She sighed. "Go through the entire area. If there's a single finger bone left, I want it found. And contact the Department of Mysteries, and have them investigate the explosives and spells used. We need to know who did this, before things escalate."

"Of course," Pius said, inclining his head. Dawlish nodded.

But Amelia knew that neither of the two believed that they would achieve that goal.

She didn't believe it either, but they had to try.

*****​

London, Diagon Alley, April 3rd, 1997

Bess Cox kept looking around while she walked next to Randall towards 'Winston's'. The bar had been reopened for the second time, in defiance of the attack a month ago, and Bess was certain that the purebloods would attempt to attack it again, since it had become a symbol for the muggleborns. That wasn't the only reason for Bess's nervousness, though.

As if he had read her thoughts, Randall whispered: "Relax, we're safe. As safe as you can be as a muggleborn in Diagon Alley."

She snorted, and answered in a low voice: "I'm still a wanted witch."

"No Ministry thug would dare try anything here," her friend retorted. "It'd start a riot."

"Unless they are working with the Resistance." Bess knew that that wasn't impossible - the Ministry had co-operated with the Resistance before, during the war. And Granger was stuck on working within the system.

"Well, that's not…" Randall trailed off and stared at a wizard who was reading a newspaper. "An evening issue of the Prophet?"

Bess tensed. That only happened if...

The other wizard looked up. "You haven't heard? Someone blew up the Cadwallader manor!"

The name didn't mean anything to Bess, and a glance told her that Randall was at a loss too. "Who's that?" she snapped.

"A Wizengamot member."

A pureblood then, and from an Old Family. "Who did it?"

"They don't know yet. But according to the Prophet the Resistance deny that they had anything to do with the attack."

"A mysterious new group did this?" Randall sounded sceptical.

Bess glanced at him. "It's possible. The Resistance weren't the only group fighting during the war." Her friends had fought as well!

"Whoever they are, they're more radical," the unknown muggleborn pointed at a paragraph on the front page. "Cadwallader just joined Black's faction in the Wizengamot - after he had voted for the bigots for months."

"No loss then," Randall said, craning his neck to peer at the article. "That looks like Malfoy Manor. But… they didn't find the bodies?"

"So the Prophet claims." The man snorted. "But you know how incompetent the Aurors are."

After everyone had had a laugh about that, Randall asked if he could copy the issue.

A Doubling Charm later, Randall and Bess continued towards 'Winston's'.

"Do you think they kidnapped them?" Bess asked. "And keep your eyes on the street! We can read the newspaper in detail once we're safe."

Randall glared at her, then nodded and folded the newspaper. "It's possible. And it would explain why no one has claimed responsibility. If the corpses turn up in Hogsmeade or Diagon Alley we'll know."

Bess knew that her friends also hadn't planned to claim responsibility for their fatal attack on Hogsmeade, but they had been fools. Unlike this new group - they had levelled the entire house. "Maybe it's the Resistance. They're putting up a nice front, but are taking the scum out one by one."

Randall shook his head. "I doubt that. If Granger wanted to do that, she'd have continued the war against the Ministry right after the Battle of Diagon Alley. It could be a splinter group of the Resistance, though."

"Huh?"

He shrugged. "Not everyone in the Resistance might be content to follow Granger's orders while she reaps all the benefits. She's famous, has an Order of Merlin, a seat in the Wizengamot, and Black probably pays her a fortune for her support."

That made a lot of sense to Bess. That was how it usually worked out, didn't it? A few people getting rich and powerful while the rest were left behind. "Sell-out," she mumbled.

"Exactly."

They reached the bar and Bess was glad to notice that half a dozen people were spread out, wand in hand. Guards. She was even more glad, though, when she entered the bar and the protection of its wards.

Inside, it was loud and crowded. "Pretty brave of them, to gather here," she said to Randall while they pressed through to the bar.

"Pretty brave of us," he shot back with a grin.

Bess shook her head. Compared to actually going out and fighting purebloods and Death Eaters, showing up at a well-protected bar didn't take much courage, at least in her opinion. On the other hand… Her eyes widened and she patted Randall on the back until he turned to look at her. "Get me a beer! I'll get us a table!" she yelled into his ear. He nodded, and she pushed towards the back.

She was lucky - a couple got up just when she passed their table, and they didn't leave their coats. She slid on to the bench and smirked at another witch who had been just a bit too slow.

It took her friend five more minutes to reach her. "Finally!" she exclaimed when he set down a glass in front of her.

"You must be really thirsty." He shook his head with that grin of his.

"Not really. I just had a thought." She grinned at him. "We should start our own group and recruit people!"

*****​

London, Ministry of Magic, April 3rd, 1997

"... once more the muggleborns show their true colours! Not content with driving pureblood families out of Wizarding Britain, they now are hunting down those poor people who are hiding among muggles! The message is clear: No pureblood is safe, not even if they abandon magic! The muggleborns want to kill us all!

"And not even those who abandon their blood and heritage and join the blood traitors are safe! Glyn Cadwallader recently joined Sirius Black's alliance - and yesterday, his manor suffered the same fate as Malfoy Manor at the hands of muggleborn criminals!

"And once again, the Ministry has been revealed as powerless. What Aurors are left aren't being sent to protect the persecuted purebloods, but rather to prosecute innocent purebloods!

"This has to stop! We all have to band together before it's too late. In the Wizengamot, in the Ministry, on the streets of Hogsmeade and in Diagon Alley, we need to make a stand! We need to fight for our traditions, for our families, for our very lives, or we will perish at the hands of the muggleborns!

"Remember our history! Remember our traditions! Do not let the muggleborns win! It's better to die fighting than live as slaves!

"This is the Pureblood Voice!"

The nerve of those people! Amelia Bones refrained from blasting the wireless receiver in her office. Instead, she calmly flicked it off and turned to Pius. "After hearing that, I don't think I need to ask whether or not your attempts to stop these broadcasts have made any progress."

"We're still working on ways to track them," he replied.

She snorted. "And meanwhile, they are doing their best to incite another war in Britain."

"That was to be expected," he told her. "An obvious reaction by the radical elements."

"Obvious in more than one sense," she said. "I would be lying if I claimed that they were entirely wrong about the current state of Wizarding Britain."

He frowned for a moment. "The muggleborns are not indiscriminately hunting purebloods, apart from suspected Death Eaters and sympathisers. Black and many of his friends are purebloods, and allied with the Muggleborn Resistance."

"The Resistance themselves might refrain" - personally, Amelia doubted that - "but they don't control all of the muggleborns. The recently captured 'suspects' were not exactly members of the Dark Lord's Inner Circle."

"We're preparing to prosecute the Fleaweathers. They did support the Dark Lord, if not as combatants. But their gold contributed." Pius sounded slightly defensive.

"And the Roviers?" Amelia was already aware of the results of that investigation, but she liked seeing Pius squirm. As much as the usually unflappable wizard actually did, of course.

"The girl didn't do anything illegal, although she has a quite poor opinion of muggleborns."

"In other words, she might turn terrorist herself in a few years." Amelia snorted.

"Interrogation under Veritaserum has not revealed any such plans." Pius briefly pressed his lips together.

"She and her brother haven't been released yet, though." Amelia rested her chin on her steepled fingers.

"They are currently being held in the Ministry for their own protection."

"We wouldn't want to have them suffer Nott's fate, would we? Or the Cadwalladers'," she said. "But the longer we hold them, the more guilty they will appear."

"We're looking into measures to protect them after their release."

"Can we spare the wands for that?" She knew they couldn't, as did he.

"Not until the latest Hit-Wizard recruits finish their training." Pius shrugged in an almost French way as if this wasn't their biggest problem.

"Start using them for actual tasks instead of training missions." As the war had shown, even half-trained wizards and witches could be used effectively.

"That could put them, and others, at risk. They're not ready for deployment, especially not in the current, slightly tense situation. They are currently at the stage where they are overly confident." Pius pursed his lips. "The odds that a confrontation with the muggleborns would occur are quite high, in my opinion. And if such an incident were to escalate…"

Amelia scoffed. "Use them for safe tasks where they don't have to deal with muggleborns. It'll free up our more experienced people." Who, unfortunately, were not really that experienced either. But experienced enough not to start trouble with the Resistance, at least.

"I don't think that there are many missions where they wouldn't have to deal with muggleborns sooner or later," Pius pointed out.

"As long as it's later rather than sooner." Every little thing would help with increasing the Ministry's effective manpower. "What did you find out about the attack on the Cadwalladers?"

As usual, Pius showed no reaction to the change of topic. "Preliminary analyses by the Department of Mysteries claim that the explosive used in the attack was different from the one used by the Resistance. Less effective as well. The same applies to the fluid used to start the fire."

Both could have been planned to obscure the identity of the attackers, of course. She nodded anyway, prompting him to go on.

"They used one explosion to breach the wards, and another to destroy the building. Again, different from the attack on Malfoy Manor last year."

"Not too different, though - the Resistance dropped a petrol mixture on the Manor after the explosion," Amelia corrected him.

He acknowledged the point with a small nod. "We haven't found any remains. The Unspeakables claim that they have more precises methods to find even traces of a body, but haven't had any success so far either."

"That would point towards a kidnapping."

"It is possible," he admitted. "If that is true then we can expect a statement from the culprits soon enough, which should give us more insight into their identity and aims."

"Or the corpses of the Cadwalladers dropped in the middle of Hogsmeade." Which would likely offer more insight as well.

Amelia shook her head. "Bombs and kidnappings… this is looking more and more as if we are back in the war."

Pius didn't say anything in response.

*****​

London, Hampstead, April 3rd, 1997

"How are they doing?" Hermione Granger asked, stepping into the guarded room in the safe house that served as an infirmary - and holding cell. Glyn and Patricia Cadwallader were lying on two conjured cots.

"We haven't woken them up," Sally-Anne answered. "They're not hurt, though at their age, they shouldn't be kept unconscious for too long."

Hermione nodded. "We'll be interrogating them soon."

"Aren't they our allies, technically at least?" the other witch asked.

She scoffed. They had gone over this before. "Cadwallader only abandoned Malfoy when he realised that we would win. Until then he supported any and all anti-muggleborn proposals in the Wizengamot. This is a good opportunity to find out if they have done more than just vote for Voldemort."

Sally-Anne slowly nodded.

Hermione shrugged. "Though if our interrogation reveals that they can be trusted, we won't use the Draught of Living Death." She would be shocked if that was the case, though.

"And if they have done more? If they murdered people?"

Hermione pressed her lips together. If they killed the Cadwalladers - executed them - then Greengrass and Davis would have a more solid cover. But if they later revealed the deception… Meting out vigilante justice would send a clear message to both purebloods and muggleborns: that the Resistance was acting as judge, jury and executioner, just as they had during the war. That would encourage more muggleborns to take the law into their own hands, weaken the Ministry further and scare more purebloods into thinking that even if they switched sides they wouldn't be safe. In short, it would make rebuilding Wizarding Britain into a functioning country far more difficult. She sighed. "We'll deliver them to the Ministry to be tried - but if all goes well we'll be in control by then."

Sally-Anne frowned. "Or at war." She sighed. "Sorry… it's just… we beat the Dark Lord, we beat the Ministry, but we just have more problems. The French, the houngans, the remaining bigots…"

Hermione was tempted to respond with a platitude like 'that's life for you'. Instead, she said: "We'll solve those problems, and any others that crop up."

Her friend nodded, though she didn't seem to be convinced. "I just wish we could spend more time together, without worrying about all of this." She sighed again.

"Yes." Hermione knew who Sally-Anne wanted to spend more time together with. Just like Hermione did. "And we will."

As soon as they were done with the current crisis.

*****​

"Huh… what... you!"

Hermione saw Cadwallader's eyes widen when he recognised her. "Yes, me." She nodded.

"Why did you attack us? Patricia! What did you do with her?"

"Stunned her, like you." She stood up and walked closer to the wizard while he struggled against the bonds that kept him tied to his chair.

"We're allies! Black said so!"

He was starting to breathe heavily. Not hyperventilating, though. And since Sally-Anne wasn't stepping in he shouldn't be in any danger of suffering a heart attack.

Hermione nodded slowly. "Yes. You switched sides." She waited a moment before continuing. "Malfoy didn't like that, and arranged to have you killed."

"You're working for Malfoy?"

She stared at him. He must have been more affected by the Stunner than she had thought, to blurt out that kind of inane nonsense. "No. We attacked you to fake your death, and make him think his plot succeeded so we can gather proof of his crimes."

"Ah." He was starting to smile, then stopped. "But…" He pulled on the bonds again, then stared at her.

She nodded, and pulled out a vial of Veritaserum from her pocket. "Yes. We decided that this was also a good opportunity to find out if you can be trusted."

Judging by the way the man paled and started to tremble, Hermione was already certain of the answer to that question.

*****​

"...she agreed."

Hermione glanced at the parchment where the Dictaquill was writing down the transcript of Cadwallader's interrogation, then looked at the drugged wizard. "Why did you decide to join Black?"

"To be safe."

"Was that the only reason?"

"No."

"What other reasons did you have?" Not for the first time, Hermione wished Veritaserum worked a bit differently - having to pull out answers like this was tedious.

"I hoped to be rewarded."

Typical. "By Black?"

"Yes."

"Would you betray Black if you had the opportunity to do so safely and be rewarded?"

"Yes."

That didn't come as a surprise. She shook her head. "Would you prefer that the muggleborns were gone from WIzarding Britain?"

"Yes," the man droned.

"Would you have killed muggleborns if you had had the opportunity?"

"No."

That surprised her. "Why not?"

"I don't like killing."

"But you supported the Dark Lord!" Sally-Anne exclaimed, then bit her lip. "Sorry."

Hermione glanced at her friend, then turned back to their prisoner. "Do you mind if others kill muggleborns?"

"Yes."

"Do you want the muggleborns gone, but not dead?"

"Yes."

"Do you wish for the muggleborns to serve the purebloods?"

"No."

The man wasn't really making sense, she thought. "Why not?"

"They're too dangerous."

Ah. Hermione smiled grimly. It was time to wrap this up. "Would you support a war against the Ministry and Wizengamot, if they were controlled by muggleborns and Black?"

"No."

"Would you do it if you were certain you wouldn't suffer for it?"

"Yes."

She had his measure now. "Sally-Anne? Do you have any questions?"

Her friend shook her head. "No. I'll fetch the Draught of Living Death."

"Please." They couldn't trust Cadwallader, as expected. Hermione pointed her wand at the man's head.

"Obliviate."

*****​

London, No. 12 Grimmauld Place, April 3rd, 1997

"... they're currently under the influence of Draught of Living Death since they'd switch sides again if they were given the opportunity."

Ron Weasley snorted after hearing Hermione's summary. "They won't be happy to have been used as bait."

"They'll be even less happy once they're being prosecuted for supporting Voldemort," Harry added.

"Will they actually be prosecuted?" Ron asked. "You just said that they didn't do anything other than voting for the Dark Lord's proposals."

"Those laws and bills started the whole war," Harry replied with a scoff.

"If we were to prosecute them for voting for the Muggleborn Laws we should also prosecute over half the Wizengamot," Hermione said. "Such a course of action would not only provide fuel for pureblood propaganda, but it would also set a precedent of the Ministry's authority over the Wizengamot, since the DMLE would then be able to influence the political process by prosecuting members of the Wizengamot for their politics. That's a recipe for disaster."

"I thought you wanted more checks and balances," Ron said. "So the Wizengamot couldn't pass laws that violated human rights."

"Yes." She nodded. "But only in the form of a special court composed of judges under oath that could repeal such laws. Prosecuting the Wizengamot members for their votes goes too far. It's one step from prosecuting people for their opinions."

"Certain opinions should be illegal," Ron said. Like bigots' and Death Eaters'. If they were allowed to spread their views, Britain would never be free of their ideology. Neither Hermione nor Harry seemed to share his opinion, though.

"That's not a good idea," Harry said. "Freedom of speech is a basic human right."

"We don't have to go as far as the United States go, though," Hermione added. Ron snorted - the Magical Americas were anything but united. "Britain and many European nations are more restrictive, especially when it comes to hatemongering."

He shrugged. "I'd prefer it if they couldn't spread their poison any more, no matter how they word it."

"We all would," Hermione said. "But human rights are universal, not tied to the colour of your skin or your opinions on blood. We have to grant them to our enemies too, or we've already taken the first step towards losing them ourselves." She sighed. "But that aside, if we do prosecute everyone who voted against muggleborns, we'd only drive more purebloods into the arms of Malfoy and his ilk, and even our allies would assume that if they opposed us they'd risk being prosecuted themselves. Even if we didn't have another war on our hands as a result, the Wizengamot would soon turn into a mass of sycophants who wouldn't dare to point out any mistakes in the government's proposals and policies. Which would mean such mistakes would not be corrected, but implemented."

"Ah." Ron was starting to see the problem.

"Not to mention that the Wizengamot is supposed to control the Ministry. If the Head of the DMLE can put a Wizengamot member in prison for their political beliefs, that's no longer the case. A strong Minister could dominate the Wizengamot - to the point of removing any opposition. The bureaucracy is powerful enough without also giving them the power to arrest Parliament."

"Which means," Harry said with a sneer, "that the Cadwalladers will escape punishment." He shook his head. "I don't think many muggleborns will be happy about that."

"I know they won't be happy. But we need to draw the line there, or we'll lose any chance of rebuilding Wizarding Britain into a better country," Hermione said. "We can't give in to the desire for vengeance; it'll start another cycle of violence."

"Dumbledore's message warned us about that too," Ron added.

"We have more urgent problems to worry about, though," Harry said. "Like Sirius's mission."

"And Greengrass and Davis's," Hermione added. "And I really need to research that evaporator spell. But I don't have the time to focus on that."

"Did you ask the twins to help?" Ron asked. "They should be done with rebuilding their shop."

Hermione blinked at him, then closed her eyes and grimaced.

"I'm so stupid!"

*****​

London, Diagon Alley, April 3rd, 1997

Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes had been rebuilt better than before, as the sign over the window claimed, Harry Potter had to admit after entering the shop. The main room was brighter, and it didn't feel cramped any more either, with fewer shelves and displays taking up floor space. And there was no rubber-chicken hiding near the entrance trying to peck his face off as soon as he cleared the Thief's Downfall.

He kept an eye on the half a dozen customers browsing the wares, just in case, as he made his way to the counter in the back.

"How may I… Harry!" Probably-George greeted him. "Haven't seen you in a while! Do you need a few items to prank our little brother? Or something to get back at your godfather?"

Harry shook his head reflexively, then reconsidered, then decided against it. "Not at the moment." Once this bloody crisis was over, maybe. "I need to talk to you in private."

"Ah." Probably-George nodded at the door behind him, then tapped a bell on the counter with his wand. "Let me call Clarice."

A minute later, a pretty young witch entered through a side door, adjusting the colourful robes that the twins used as the staff's uniform. Dumbledore would have approved of the style, Harry thought. He also caught a glimpse of jeans underneath, so she was probably a muggleborn.

"Clarice, take over for a bit, Fred and I need to discuss business with our partner," George said, already opening the door. Harry smiled at the girl and followed the wizard.

The workroom hadn't really changed, he noticed. It was still a mess of weird items, cauldrons, jars and boxes, and a heap of what looked like the remains of experiments. 'Destructive testing', Hermione had called it once.

"Fred! We've got a visitor!" George announced when his brother looked up from the cauldron he was observing. "Important business," he added.

Fred nodded, then sighed and vanished the contents of the cauldron. "Hi, Harry!" he said, wiping his hands on his apron.

Harry winced. "You didn't have to do that."

Fred dismissed his concern with a wave of his hand. "Don't worry, it wasn't anything important or expensive. Just a new flavour for our Skiving Snackbox line."

"Ah." That made him feel better.

"So," George said, brushing away some clucking animated chickens miniatures from the closest counter so he could sit on it, "What do you need?"

"If it's about the money we owe you, don't worry - Sirius's compensated us in full for the damages incurred in fighting the Dark Lord, and the added publicity brought us more business as well," Fred cut in before Harry could say anything.

"All the muggleborns shop here and not at Zonko's anyway," George added, "but we got more pureblood customers too."

"Ah." Harry nodded. "No, I'm here because of the current crisis."

The twins grew serious at once. "What do you need?"

"Hermione discovered a recipe for a Rapid-Bone-Dissolving Potion," Harry said, looking around for a safe spot to sit down. The twins winced in unison, so he quickly added: "It works by touch, and only on exposed bone. It's meant to deal with houngan conjurations."

"Ah. And she needs a lot of that brewed?" Fred asked.

"Yes. But even more importantly, she needs a way to aerosolise it, so it can be used effectively in the field."

"Like Ron's Evaporator," Fred said, nodding.

"Exactly."

"I think we can adapt our Sneezing Sparklers for that." George was already making notes on a piece of parchment he had grabbed from a veritable mound of it. "We just need to tweak the spells so they produce a much finer spray."

"A mist." Fred had walked over and was now peering at George's notes. "We need to adjust the duration and spread too."

George nodded, then looked up at Harry. "We can do it. You'll have your 'Bone Busters' in a week."

"We'll have a better name then too." Fred grinned. "He's still hopeless at naming things."

Harry thought it was a pretty good name, and that if anyone shouldn't be allowed to name anything, it was Hermione, but he simply nodded. "Good. I hope we won't need them, but…" he trailed off, shrugging.

"With Dumbledore gone, the houngans will stir up trouble again," George said.

"They already did," Fred corrected his brother.

Harry clenched his teeth - remembering that particular failure still stung. If only he had been a bit quicker, a bit less stupid, he could have saved the woman. Probably. He slowly let out his breath. "Here's the recipe for the potion," he said, pulling out a roll of parchment from his enchanted pocket. "Hermione said it's harmless unless you pour it over bone, but she hasn't tested it extensively."

The twins perked up. "We should do that, then. Do you have some captured Death Eaters available to serve as test subjects?" Fred asked.

He glared at them. He hoped they were just making tasteless jokes, and weren't fishing for information about the Cadwalladers. Or serious.

George chuckled. "Just kidding. We use conjured animals for testing."

"For the first stages, at least," Fred added. "Since this won't be a product for the shop, we don't need more than that."

"Good." Harry nodded.

"Speaking of Death Eaters… how are our two spying snakes doing?" George asked.

Fred scowled, Harry noticed. "They've been useful," he said.

"I knew that already. I was wondering how they are handling the whole thing."

"As far as I'm aware, they're handling it well. The bigots do not seem to suspect them." Remus would have told them otherwise.

"Why should they? The two fit right in among the Death Eaters," Fred muttered.

This time George scowled at his brother. "I just want to know if we can trust them."

"We are trusting them," Harry said. "Within reason, of course."

Fred scoffed in response. George nodded. "Well, if that's all, we should start working on your order."

"Thank you," Harry said.

"Anything for our partner, and war hero," Fred said, though his cheer sounded a bit forced to Harry, and George certainly didn't look cheerful.

Harry wasn't about to pry into their affairs, though. He had already too many things to worry about.

*****​

London, No. 12 Grimmauld Place, April 3rd, 1997

"I'm so stupid!" Hermione Granger said, shaking her head.

"No, you're not." Ron, sitting next to her on Sirius's couch, sighed.

"I should have thought of the twins right away!" Potions were their speciality, after all. They had reverse-engineered the Thief's Downfall for Dumbledore! She had been too arrogant, too short-sighted, too focused on keeping their secrets, to see the obvious!

"We all should have. We didn't."

She jumped up, out of his embrace, and started to pace. "So much time lost!"

"A few days, at most."

She whirled around to stare at him. "They could be crucial! We're stretched thin as it is."

"They won't be. We'll manage. Nobody's perfect." He stood up and walked over to her, wrapping her in his arms. "Relax. Blaming yourself for it won't help anyone. What's done is done."

She hissed. "It shouldn't have happened."

He didn't answer, simply started to rub her back.

Closing her eyes, she finally sighed. "There's just so much we need to do. Politics, reforms, recruiting, training, planning, plotting..." It had been easier during the war. She had been focused on fighting the Death Eaters, then.

"We don't have to do everything."

There was enough they had to, though. If only to keep it secret. If their enemies were aware of their plans…

"You know, there are a lot of people we can trust. Family, for one. And friends," Ron whispered into her ear.

She took a deep breath. He was still rubbing her back. Holding her. She forced herself to relax. It wasn't as difficult as she had thought. "One traitor, one prisoner, could ruin us."

"That could happen to us as well. You, me, Harry, Sirius, Remus…"

She didn't want to consider that. But she couldn't help it. "We all know Occlumency. And there's the contract for the Resistance."

"Neither is foolproof."

"But even so… the more people who know a secret, the greater the danger of it being revealed."

"Better to risk exposure than failure."

That was often one and the same, especially in politics. But she knew what he meant. They hadn't done as well as they could have, should have, lately.

And they needed to change that.

*****​

Marseille, Quartier Magique, France, April 4th, 1997

Sirius Black stood up and bowed right before Dubois reached his table. "Isabelle," he said with a wide smile, then grasped her hand to kiss it. She was wearing red robes, daringly cut - slit up to the hip on both sides, and with a neckline that plunged halfway to her navel. A ruby dangling from a gold necklace accentuated her cleavage.

"Bonsoir, Michael." The French witch let her fingers trail over his hand for just a second as she withdrew her own.

He held her chair as she sat down, then resumed his own seat.

"How gallant of you," she commented.

"I aim to please," he responded. "And I wish to fit into your country." Sirius hoped he hadn't overdone it - Anderson wouldn't have had courtesy and manners beaten into him as Sirius had, but he would have started to adapt by now.

"Even if it means losing your American charm?"

He gave her his best roguish grin. "That won't happen. It'll just be refined - seasoned, you might say."

Dubois laughed. It wasn't her polite laugh, the kind with which she responded to the usual clever word games, but a more honest-sounding one. "I can believe that," she said, reaching over the table to pat his hand. Once more she let her fingers slide over his skin when she withdrew. "You're refreshingly different."

"Compared to the French wizards?" he asked, then signalled the waiter with his wand.

She nodded. "More open. More honest."

He smiled - the unintentional irony helped with that. "You make it sound as if French wizards routinely lie."

"They do." She laughed again, less honest, this time. "But so do we French witches."

The waiter arrived and took their order. Sirius used the short break in conversation to glance around. They were in the 'Elysée', the best restaurant in the Quartier Magique. The safest, too. He spotted her bodyguard as well, sitting alone at a table. She was good, and her disguise - Polyjuice, unless he was mistaken - was almost perfect, but she was paying too much attention to Sirius and Isabelle. Dubois. And after several such evenings, he was familiar with her mannerisms, too - the way she fidgeted with her wand. It was an old trick for keeping it ready to cast at a moment's notice without appearing to do so.

"Have you considered moving to France for good?" Dubois asked once the waiter left their table.

Sirius nodded. "Yes. Although finding a good home will take some time. A wizard's home has to meet the strictest standards, or his love life will suffer," he added with another grin.

"I can help you there." Once more she held his hand.

"I know." He patted hers with his free hand. "And I will certainly ask you for advice - once I have found a suitable location."

"Are you looking for a spot that reminds you of your old home, or something radically different?"

The waiter returned, and filled their glasses.

"Something new, but not too different. Those who cut off their roots wither and die, but those who shy away from anything new do not fare any better in the long run."

"A wise view. Moderation is not as valued as it should be."

Was that a wistful tone in Isabelle's voice? He wasn't entirely certain. "My home's fate taught me to value it. Radicals destroyed it."

"France has been spared that," she said, smiling faintly.

"To France!" He raised his glass.

"To France." Dubois followed his example.

It was an excellent vintage, as he had expected - he knew Isabelle well enough by now. And judging by the way she kept touching him, he might end up knowing her a bit too well later this evening.

*****​

"Welcome to my home," Isabelle said two hours later as they stepped out of the fireplace.

Sirius kept smiling, making the appropriate sounds while he looked around. Behind him, the bodyguard arrived and quickly moved to the wall. He didn't see anyone else, but that didn't mean anything. Not that he planned to attack Dubois by himself in her own home.

Dubois nodded at the witch. "We'll be retiring for the evening." The bodyguard nodded in acknowledgement while she took Sirius's arm. "My bedroom opens to the south," she whispered.

He tensed in response, although not - only - for the reasons she would expect. He had hoped - while knowing it was unlikely - that it wouldn't come to this. Vivienne had told him she didn't mind, but she had been lying.

But too much was at stake. He had to earn Dubois's trust. So he smiled, and walked with her, past the portraits of her ancestors. He had his arm wrapped around her waist when they arrived at her bedroom, with her leaning against him.

Once they were inside, she stepped away from him. A flick of her wand closed the door. Another made her robes drop to the floor.

Sirius drew a hissing breath. She was beautiful. She wasn't Vivienne. And he was playing a role.

He told himself that he was doing this for his family, and his love, while he slipped out of his own robes.

*****​

London, Diagon Alley, April 4th, 1997

"... Stand up and fight! Fight for your family, for your country, for your very lives!

"This is the Pureblood Voice!"

Bess Cox wasn't the only one in Freddie's Fish'n'Chips who was glaring at the wireless receiver. In fact, the only one who wasn't glaring or cursing was the cook, as far as she could tell. And Randall, who was at most staring.

"Fuckin' Death Eaters!" she said, loud enough to carry through the room.

Others nodded in agreement. "They should track down those bastards and kill 'em!" a burly wizard said.

Randall spoke up at once. "The Resistance seems too busy playing at politics to get anything done."

"They caught some Death Eaters," the other wizard protested.

"And handed them over to the Ministry!" A witch with dyed hair yelled. "So they can be released again!"

"No, they disappeared," the first wizard said.

"They were blown up, not disappeared."

"That's pureblood propaganda!"

Randall raised his voice again. "The Resistance Radio tells us to do nothing, but the purebloods spread their lies unhindered. Doesn't anyone else think that that's wrong?"

"They won the war!" the burly one all but yelled.

"And they're losing the peace," Bess said. "They should have kept fighting until the Ministry was crushed."

The witch glared at her. "My boyfriend's in the Ministry! He fought the Death Eaters too! His father was cursed by the Dark Lord!"

"You've got a pureblood boyfriend?" Bess asked before she could reconsider.

"Half-blood," the witch spat. "Do you have a problem with that?"

Bess had a problem with that, and she was about to tell the witch so, when Randall took her arm. "No, of course not," he said. "We're just sick of waiting and doing nothing while the Resistance plays games with the Old Families in the Wizengamot and the purebloods gather their forces again."

A number of the other guests started to nod in agreement, but the dumb witch just had to speak up again. "They're not playing games. My boyfriend told me that the Wizengamot's about to come over to our side. Black just needs a few more members to join him."

"Your boyfriend says a lot, doesn't he?" Bess shot back, ignoring Randall's grip on her arm.

"He also fought the Death Eaters at the Battle of the Ministry!" The stupid witch glared at her. "As did the Resistance! What did you do during the war?"

Bess grit her teeth. She couldn't tell the truth about her actions during the war. She would have to be vague, but… the others were already nodding in agreement with the witch.

"Besides, what could you do about the damn Pureblood Voice anyway? I don't know a thing about the wireless." The burly wizard shrugged. "Let them handle it, I say."

Bess glanced at Randall, who was subtly shaking his head. This was not going according to plan. Not at all. And Randall seemed to blame her.

*****​

West of Savanna-la-Mar, Jamaica, April 4th, 1997

Augustus Rookwood felt the urge to wipe the sweat from his brow. He wasn't actually sweating - his charms handled the humid heat of this wretched island just fine, so he didn't suffer from it - but after hours of hard work, he felt as if he were.

And he wasn't done. Not by a long way, yet. The wards of the mansion down in the valley were old and twisted, and he had to work from a far greater distance than was optimal. If he could have used a tunnel to get closer… but the houngans would expect that, after the battle at Williams Manor, or whatever the savages called it.

Taking a deep breath, and a sip from his Ever-Filling Flask, he closed his eyes for a moment. He could continue for another couple hours before he would need to rest. A few more days until he could pass through the wards without alerting anyone. Provided he found out just what the latest spell woven into the mansion's defenses actually did, of course.

He snorted. Some of his former colleagues would love this. Analysing, manipulating unknown spells was a popular task in the Department. Not as dangerous as dealing with cursed artifacts, but as rewarding. Usually. Not as rewarding as tomb raiding, of course.

He chuckled. He hadn't been allowed into that field. Croaker, the old bastard, had denied all his requests. Had kept him stuck in Analysis. Merely out of jealousy and spite, in Augustus's opinion - if Croaker had suspected anything, Augustus would have found himself dosed to the gills with Veritaserum in a heartbeat. Not many knew just how efficient the Department was in policing its members. Or hunting them down, if needed.

He was very fortunate that the Department would never co-operate with the houngans, or he wouldn't be able to stay for days at the same place without being found by their spells.

Chuckling, he resumed his work. He had wards to bend.

*****​

Département du Var, north of Toulon, France, April 6th, 1997

"You have found a location to build a house?" Isabelle - Dubois - sounded happy. She looked happy as well, Sirius Black noticed, when she moved to hug him. And kiss him.

"I have found a potential location," he corrected her, after breaking the kiss. "I'm not quite certain yet that it's suitable, but it's far from any muggle settlements, and close to a beautiful little lake in the Massif Central."

"Oh?"

He smiled. "For a new house, I think the Côte d'Azur is a bit too exposed to raiders from the Barbary Coast."

"Ah." She nodded.

"I know that they prefer to raid Veela enclaves, but I do not think that they'd pass on the opportunity to rob a manor with weaker wards." Any new wards would take a long time to grow powerful enough to deter such attacks. "But as I said, I'm not yet set on the location."

"You're being cautious?" Her smile turned the question into gentle teasing.

"I'm quite forward when it comes to love, but I have found, to my regret, that when it comes to building a home, one cannot be too cautious." Sirius had no trouble letting his smile slip a bit. Over the last two days, most of their time together had been spent in bed. Vivienne…

"I see. Hidden depths? Or layers?"

"Not as many as you, my love." He bent down to kiss her again. He wasn't lying - the witch had proven to be both charming and witty. If not for her actions and views on blood purity she would be a nice woman, even. But then, bigots could and often were nice to those they liked.

"So, when do I get to see it?"

He managed not to tense up. This could be the opportunity he had been waiting for. He shrugged. "I'm planning to look for a few more locations. There's no need to bother checking it out if I'm likely to find another I like more." He couldn't appear too eager to take her out of her wards.

"If I saw it, I might be able to point out more similar locations."

He tilted his head to the side. "That's a good argument, actually."

She snorted and patted his cheek. "It won't take us long either."

"Hm." He grinned. "We might take longer than expected. The weather is nice, and the fields there looked… comfortable."

Her smile grew more mischievous. "I see."

"Not yet."

She laughed, and went to change into robes suitable for the trip.

*****​

"C'est magnifique!" Isabelle - Dubois, he reminded himself - exclaimed, upon seeing the small mountain lake below them.

He nodded. "Clean air, no muggles nearby, and the view is… almost as beautiful as you," he added, slipping his arms around her waist from behind her. "A modest manor, here… a boathouse below. Maybe a vineyard… though I think that would need a lot of care at this altitude."

"It would. But it's possible. I know a specialist for the spells you'd need."

"Perfect!" he exclaimed, then nipped at her earlobe.

She giggled, and twisted in his arms until she was facing him. "You mentioned the fields being comfortable…"

He kissed her before answering. "Oh, yes. Let me demonstrate!" He drew his wand and cast a Cushioning Charm on the ground behind him, then let himself fall, dragging her down on top of him.

Her bodyguard was about twenty yards away. If the grass were taller they'd be hidden from view. As it was, Isabelle - Dubois - was blocking the witch's view of his wand arm. Sirius reached up to her face with his left hand, caressing her cheek, then gently pulled her head towards him.

And cast a silent Stunner point-blank at her, right before he activated his Portkey.

*****​

South Downs National Park, Hampshire, Britain, April 6th, 1997

Daphne Greengrass forced herself to appear calm and collected as she entered Malfoy's home. It wouldn't do for the whole plot to fail just as she and Tracey were about to succeed in their mission. "Mister Malfoy." She nodded towards him.

"Miss Greengrass, Miss Davis." He bowed as usual, Daphne noted. "Thank you for coming. Tea will be served in the salon."

There were no other guests present, Daphne noted as a house-elf placed three cups on the low table. Tracey was already seated, and looking over the selection of snacks. Probably a way to deal with her own nervousness, Daphne assumed. If all went well, then they would be done with the whole thing after this. Done with the Resistance, too. Done with the damn war.

"I assume you have heard about the attack on Cadwallader," Malfoy said once their cups had been filled.

"Yeah." Tracey took a sip, then nodded in appreciation. "Terrible. The mudbloods are showing their true colours."

"Exactly." Malfoy smiled. "Though they haven't found the bodies, yet."

Daphne shrugged. "The whole building went up in fires so hot, everything was turned to ash. Or so I heard," she added, with a smirk. 'Be vague', the werewolf had told them. As if she'd admit to anything to Malfoy!

"Rumours are running wild," Tracey cut in. "But only the mudbloods know exactly what happened. Maybe they used Fiendfyre, or some muggle concoction that has a similar effect."

Malfoy raised his eyebrows, but Daphne and her friend simply kept smiling. "It's a terrible tragedy, but maybe now the purebloods will realise just what the mudbloods are planning," she said.

"Indeed, they do. I have been talking to several of our 'undecided' colleagues, and they are coming around." He was smiling now. "I almost feel as if I should thank those mudbloods."

Daphne forced herself to chuckle. "So, things are turning around, then?"

Malfoy's smile vanished. "Not quite. Black's coup has been delayed, but between his gold, Potter's fame and the threat Granger represents, they are still going to win the struggle for control of the Wizengamot."

Did he expect them to attack another Wizengamot member? Daphne frowned slightly and said: "Maybe the mudbloods will launch another attack."

The wizard nodded. "It would be ironic if they attacked the Wizengamot, and managed to kill Black and his cohort by mistake."

*****​
 
Chapter 60: Coup de Grace
Chapter 60: Coup de Grace

'In hindsight, many may wonder why, given how prevalent the use of the Imperius Curse was during the the two Blood Wars, news of attacks by muggleborns or purebloods still had such an impact on Wizarding Britain when everyone had to be aware that false-flag operations were common on both sides. In my opinion, this only proves how set in their ways all factions were; the average wizard or witch didn't much care about the truth, or reasonable doubt, but instead filtered any news through their own prejudices and preconceptions - an attitude which had been significantly helped along for decades by the Ministry using the Daily Prophet and the Wizarding Wireless to influence the masses. It should come as no surprise that this, too, contributed to the enormous problems faced by Wizarding Britain at the end of the Second Blood War.'
- Excerpt from 'The Second Blood War' by Hyacinth Selwyn


*****​

London, No. 12 Grimmauld Place, April 6th, 1997

"Sirius!" Harry hugged Sirius Black, clearly happy to see him back.

"I've got the Veritaserum." Hermione was more focused on the task at hand, but she smiled at him as well.

"I'll get her ready for interrogation," Ron said, relieving him of the bound and stunned Dubois.

And Vivienne was at his side, her arms around him. He was home.

He had every reason to be proud and happy. And yet… he was neither. What had he done, really? Seduced a witch, gained her trust, then lured her into a trap. He snorted. "How did things go with the Cadwalladers?" he asked Harry, more to find something else to think about than because he wanted to know.

"It went smoothly. No one was hurt and the DMLE seems to be clueless so far," his godson said. "The pureblood propaganda is running wild with it, but we were prepared for that. We don't think it'll sway many from our side."

"Good to hear."

"We also interrogated them. They weren't Death Eaters, but they wanted the muggleborns gone from Britain, and they didn't much care how that would be achieved," Harry added.

Sirius didn't have to force himself to smile after hearing that. "Good."

"I'll help Ron set up the interrogation," Harry said. "We'll start as soon as you're ready, alright?"

Sirius nodded and his godson left for the basement. Or the dungeon, as his family used to call it before his time. He sighed.

"Don't feel bad, chéri," Vivienne whispered. "You did what you 'ad to, for your family."

She had noticed his mood, of course. "I know, just… I feel dirty for seducing her." And for ambushing her, but he didn't say that.

"I can understand that," she said, hugging him more tightly. "But she did seduce a lot of men to gain power and influence. Even the Duc 'imself. It's fitting that she should be brought low by 'er own methods."

He nodded. "Do you think I should get myself checked at St Mungo's?" he asked, mostly as a joke.

She seemed to take the question seriously, though, and wrinkled her nose for a moment before nodding. "I think you should add a question about that to 'er interrogation."

He chuckled, and she smiled. He was still feeling guilty, though, as they made their way to the cellar.

*****​

"Rennervate."

Dubois woke up with a groan and blinked. "Quoi…" She gasped, tugging on the bonds that tied her to the chair, and glanced down before looking up. When she saw him sitting across from her, straddling a chair with his arms on the backrest, she hissed. "You!"

He hadn't heard more venom in a single word since his mother had learned about his Sorting. "Yes, me." He inclined his head. "Sirius Black."

She gasped again. Did she pale a little as well? He couldn't tell.

"How? My guards check everyone for disguises!"

He shrugged. "It's a muggle disguise."

An expression of disgust appeared on her face, but was gone in an instant. "I see." After a moment, she raised her chin slightly. "The Duc will not let this go."

"He doesn't even know that we have you."

"He will soon find out."

"By that time, it'll be too late." The Gendarmes would be investigating his cover by now, but, even with their best efforts, it would hold for at least a few days. Plenty of time to handle this affair.

Her eyes widened briefly. She had remarkable self-control. "So you plan to kill me."

"Depending on the results of your interrogation, we plan to have you testify against your 'allies' in Britain." He shouldn't be telling her this, but he didn't care. She deserved at least this much honesty after their… affair.

"Kidnapping a member of the Court of France and parading her around in front of your rabble… The Duc will go to war over this," she hissed with a sneer.

"I doubt that."

Dubois whipped her head around when Vivienne stepped forward from behind the captured witch. "You!"

The Veela snorted. "Did you forget that 'e's my lover?" She stepped past the witch and to his side, putting a hand on his shoulder. He reached up and covered it with his.

"That explains it… another man led around by a half-breed siren." Dubois glared at her.

Vivienne scoffed. "Keep telling yourself that. You brought this upon yourself when you decided to meddle in Britain's politics."

"You and your family started this!"

"My family was attacked by the Dark Lord. We took our revenge, with the Duc's permission."

"Do you think I acted without his approval?" Dubois sneered. "He is well aware of the risk the mudbloods pose for France. Haven't you heard their broadcasts? Read their leaflets? They will not stop at taking over Britain!"

She wasn't wrong about that, Sirius thought. He was betting Galleons to Knuts that Hermione had plans to do something about the muggleborns in other countries - eventually.

"I think the Duc will deny having had any knowledge of your actions, once you are exposed," Vivienne said.

Judging by her expression, Dubois thought the same.

Sirius spoke up. "Was that why you wanted to start another war in Britain? To crush the muggleborns here?"

"Crush, weaken, keep them busy - the exact results don't matter, as long as the rot is kept from spreading."

"'The rot', huh?" He shook his head. "I guess you're not really different from the Death Eaters, then."

"I'm simply doing what is best for my country."

"What about the French muggleborns?" he asked.

She pressed her lips together and didn't answer.

It was time for the Veritaserum.

*****​

"Did you plan to restart the civil war in Wizarding Britain?" Hermione asked.

"Yes."

"Did you work with British wizards and witches towards that goal?"

"Yes."

"Did you contact them or did they contact you?"

"I contacted them, after I heard they were looking for help."

Under the effect of Veritaserum, Dubois's voice sounded much less attractive. She was answering in a dull tone, devoid of any emotion - so unlike the witch Sirius had, if briefly, known. It made listening to the interrogation easier.

"Who did you contact?" Hermione's voice lacked emotion as well, he noticed.

"Augustus Malfoy and Theodore Nott."

Sirius hissed through teeth clenched in a feral grin. They had the bastard now!

"Were they working together?"

"No."

"Did you work with both?"

"Yes."

"Did Malfoy know that?"

"Yes."

"Did Nott know that?"

"No."

Nott had been a useful idiot, then, Sirius thought.

The rest of the interrogation went as expected, with Hermione asking question after question while her Dictaquill wrote down the answers on an Endless Scroll.

Dubois had been acting on her own, technically, but it was clear that the Duc had been aware of her plans. She had supported Nott with potions, gold and directions, including when and how to attack - apparently, she didn't know who had attacked the first muggleborn rally in February, but they had already known that from Nott's memories. Dubois hadn't been working with Beaumont either, though she suspected the Duc had been directing the other witch in response to her efforts.

But most importantly, they knew Malfoy was planning to restart the war, and had been promised support from France. Enough for a long war that would exhaust all factions, until Magical Europe could step in and take control of the remnants of Britain. Malfoy, of course, hadn't been informed of that.

And all because Dubois and her allies feared a French muggleborn revolution. Or a second Grindelwald. He shook his head. Fools. Bigoted fools. They were reaping what they had sown. Or would be.

"Did your plans involve other countries as well? Prussia?"

"No."

Hermione was still interrogating the witch, even though she hadn't heard anything more than speculation and negative answers for the last five minutes. Well, they had confirmation that Dubois hadn't had any contact with muggleborns. Sirius cleared his throat. "I think we're done now."

"One more question," Hermione said. She didn't wait for his answer, and turned her attention back to the French witch. "What are you planning to do about the French muggleborns?"

Dubois told them.

Sirius didn't feel guilty for deceiving her any more. He felt dirty, though.

*****​

"The French are planning to preemptively kill 'the most dangerous' of their muggleborns." Hermione was pacing in Sirius's living room, angrier than he had ever seen her. Or that he remembered.

"Not the French. Dubois and 'er allies." Vivienne, sitting on the armrest of Sirius's seat, barely flinched when Hermione turned to glare at her. Sirius had known his lover was brave, but this proved it. He could feel her tense, though.

"With the approval of the Duc," the muggleborn witch snarled. Sirius saw Ron purse his lips, then stand up and join her.

"She only thinks that she 'as 'is approval. The Duc wouldn't condone this," Vivienne retorted.

"He condones her actions in Britain," Harry cut in while Ron put his hand on Hermione's shoulder.

"That's not the same as murdering 'is own subjects." Vivienne shook her head. "'E knows what that would lead to - the revolution Dubois and others fear."

"Dubois should know that as well," Harry said.

"She wants to preserve her country, her world from changing," Sirius cut in, patting Vivienne's hand. "But she doesn't see, or rather, she doesn't want to see, that France needs to change to prevent a revolution in the not-so-distant future." He didn't mention that, in his opinion, the threat of revealing such plans to the public would convince the Duc to condemn them even if the French ruler had no problem with such murders. Which Sirius didn't doubt.

"Causing what you fear by the very actions you are taking to prevent it." Hermione snorted. "That's straight out of a classical tragedy."

"Or comedy," added Sirius, "depending on whose side you are." That earned him glares from everyone. He would have added another tasteless quip, to uphold his facade, if not for Vivienne's look. He sighed instead and said: "If this information is revealed, there will be a revolution in France."

"Another," Hermione said. He frowned - no one called Grindelwald's War a revolution, but he guessed it could be seen as one. The witch was already continuing: "But it will not be successful, not if launched without any preparation, or any support from the establishment. It will be a bloody massacre, and the French muggleborn will drag us into it while we're still dealing with the aftermath of our own war."

"Which means we can't make this public," Harry cut to the conclusion.

Vivienne spoke up. "The Duc must know about this! And 'e must know that we know." Sirius smiled proudly. Brave and cunning.

"I think a public trial for Malfoy and his accomplices will be enough to discredit their faction and we can do that without revealing Dubois," Sirius suggested. "We'll have to deal with her ourselves, though - handing her over to the Ministry would pretty much cause all the problems we want to avoid." The obvious solution was clear to him, of course. And he could see Hermione understood it as well.

"Give 'er to my family! If she disappears, 'er friends will use that to 'urt my family. Once we 'ave Malfoy arrested they'll know that it was us. And she needs to be alive to… influence the Duc so 'e'll put a stop to this madness. Afterwards… She is a proud witch. Realising that she will not be able to take revenge might very well push 'er to take 'er own life to escape the shame and 'umiliation. That will solve all those problems," Vivienne said with a feral smile.

Brave, cunning, and cruel, Sirius thought. She could have been born a Black.

*****​

South Downs National Park, Hampshire, Britain, April 6th, 1997

"The Ministry's security measures are not perfect - I'm telling you this in the strictest confidence, of course; it would be a catastrophe if any violent mudblood were to learn of this!" Malfoy was leaning forward and had lowered his voice.

Daphne Greengrass hated the man's theatrics, but she couldn't help following his example and leaning forward as well. "I thought the wards and other protective measures were redone after the Battle of the Ministry."

"They were, but - as with so much else after that tragic day - the wizards tasked with restoring the defences rushed their work ... to its detriment."

"One would expect that they would at least have taken care to guard against bombs, though." Tracey narrowed her eyes at the wizard. "Those are the most common mudblood weapon."

"They did - to a point. The danger of Imperiused attackers is greatly reduced by the Thief's Downfall installed in the Atrium and at the entrance to the Wizengamot's floor, and any blast of sufficient power to break through the defences would do so much damage that the Ministry would be exposed to muggles, which the Obliviators would prevent since it endangered them as well. But if a mudblood managed to sneak a bomb into the Wizengamot Chamber…"

Daphne snorted. "The only mudblood allowed access to the chamber is Granger, and I doubt that she'd do that."

"And said hypothetical mudblood would have to sacrifice their own life to ensure that the bomb goes off," Tracey added.

Daphne nodded - Malfoy couldn't expect them to commit suicide to achieve his goals, could he? There were few people allowed to enter the chamber, other than the members themselves.

The wizard frowned. "But the muggles are able to use their bombs from a distance - or have them explode after a certain time has passed."

Daphne nodded.

"They can't detonate a bomb from a distance through wards," Tracey said. "So I've heard."

"But a timer would be possible. If the hypothetical mudblood could gain access to the chamber, set the bomb, timed for the start of the session, and then leave…" Malfoy spread his hands.

"There is still the issue of the sheer volume of the hypothetical bomb needed for such a task," Daphne said. Though given what she had seen at the Cadwalladers', if combined with a Gemino Curse, even a small amount of muggle explosive could be rapidly expanded, and the force of the explosion… It was possible, she realised.

"Such a bomb would kill everyone inside the Wizengamot. And anyone lucky enough to be late would be under suspicion of being behind the attack, no matter who did it," Tracey said. "And if all his opponents are missing, Black might suspect a trap and leave."

"Indeed. Although the mudbloods might attack the more prominent opponents of Black in their homes at the same time as well, to ensure their deaths. That would, of course, explain the survivors being late."

Daphne's eyes widened. Did Malfoy actually plan to sacrifice most of his allies? That would cover his tracks - if the mudbloods were blamed for it. And the heirs of the dead members would certainly be ill-disposed towards the mudbloods. That had been the case after Malfoy Manor as well. She felt the pain of losing her parents again, then forced herself to consider the issue. Yes, she decided, Malfoy would sacrifice them all. It would leave him with a Wizengamot full of inexperienced members, easily manipulated while they were grieving. She slowly nodded, hoping that her face didn't betray her shock at the realisation. "Indeed, that would throw a wrench in the mudbloods' plans."

Tracey nodded. She didn't say anything, though, for which Daphne was glad. Her friend's temper could betray them both.

"Provided, of course," Malfoy said, "that the mudbloods could find a way to sneak such a bomb into the Wizengamot Chamber."

"That… might be possible," Daphne said. She saw Tracey stifle a gasp and glance at her, but she focused on Malfoy. "But whoever did this would need some time to prepare."

"Of course. But in the meantime, the mudbloods and their blood traitor allies encroach even more on the very heart of Britain. The window of opportunity for such a blunder by them is shrinking." Malfoy sighed, almost theatrically.

"We can but hope that we will be as fortunate as we were with the Cadwalladers," Daphne replied.

*****​

On the way to the fireplace of Malfoy Manor, Daphne made idle conversation while her thoughts raced. They could do this, she knew. They could avenge her and Tracey's parents. They could kill all the blood traitors in the Wizengamot. If they could blame the mudbloods for the attack it would even work out - between the blood traitor's heirs blaming the mudbloods, and the mudbloods blaming each other, Malfoy could take control of the Wizengamot and the Ministry. With the Resistance and the Order leaderless, the Ministry had a decent chance of winning the war, too. And even if that didn't work out… the country would be so weakened by all the chaos, she and Astoria, and Tracey, would be able to disappear from Britain without risking being sent back by another country to placate the Ministry.

She clenched her teeth as she stepped up to the fireplace. She could avenge her family and - possibly - prevent the mudbloods' takeover of Britain. She could be free of Black, too. Safe.

And all she had to do was to kill dozens of people, and plunge Britain into another war.

She glanced at Tracey, but she couldn't tell what her friend was thinking.

She could do it. Show them all. Kill Black, Granger, Potter and Weasley. People who had ruined her life. Murdered her parents and friends.

As long as she was willing to risk it all as well. And see countless more people die in another war.

They reached the fireplace. If she wanted to do this, she needed to talk to Tracey before they reached her home, where the werewolf was waiting. If they were to do this, they needed to work together and plan ahead. They couldn't head straight back to her home.

If she wanted to do this.

She grabbed a handful of Floo powder.

Did she want to do this?

She hesitated, just for a second, long enough for Tracey to glance at her, then threw the powder into the fire.

"Greengrass Manor."

*****​

London, Ministry of Magic, April 7th, 1997

Amelia Bones didn't want to see Sirius Black. The wizard flouted any law that might hinder him and openly scorned the Ministry. But he was also the most influential member of the Wizengamot - Doge was but a figurehead - and he wouldn't falsely claim that he had important information just to rile her up. Amelia herself would certainly never neglect her duty and play power games for petty reasons. Even though she hated that, once again, the Ministry was being sidelined or blindsided.

But that he was bringing Granger with him… She clenched her teeth and forced herself to calm down so she wouldn't lose her temper when facing the mass-murdering muggleborn.

"Good morning, Sirius," she said with the barest hint of a nod when he entered his office. "Miss Granger."

Black simply nodded back at her. Granger didn't show any reaction to Amelia not addressing her as 'Madam Granger', as befitted a member of the Wizengamot. Even if the girl had failed her Wizarding Customs O.W.L. exam, she would be aware of that.

"Sirius." Pius, of course, was all too courteous. "Madam Granger." He even bowed to the girl - could he be more obvious in his attempts to curry favour?

"Mister Thicknesse."

"What brings you to my office this early in the morning?" Amelia said as soon as the two visitors had sat down.

Black leaned forward, grinning widely but without any humour that she could detect. "Proof that Augustus Malfoy is conspiring with foreign purebloods and plans to murder the entire Wizengamot."

Amelia froze, hissing through suddenly clenched teeth. Even Pius seemed shocked. "What did you do?"

Black chuckled. "We've been investigating Malfoy for some time. Last night we finally found proof that he wants to blow up the Wizengamot - with him absent, of course - and frame the muggleborns for it."

"What kind of proof do you have?" Amelia asked. They hadn't heard anything about this from the Ministry's spy. Had Black gone so far as to kidnap Malfoy? A glance told her that Pius didn't know anything more either.

"Testimonies. Observations. Enough to arrest him, and his co-conspirators and interrogate them with Veritaserum." Black leaned back, looking far too smug for Amelia's taste. If this was true, then this affair was far too serious for his attitude.

She set her jaw. "I'm not about to arrest a member of the Wizengamot on the say so of his chief political rival."

"I would never expect you to, of course." Black was still grinning.

Granger reached inside her robes and pulled out three vials. "Here are the memories of Malfoy planning his attack, as well as the memory of him ordering the attack on the Cadwalladers. They are alive and well," she added with a grin that showed too many teeth.

"So you were the ones who attacked them," Amelia said. And they had lied about it.

Black shrugged. "It was needed to gain Malfoy's trust. No one died."

He hadn't said that the Cadwalladers had been working with them, Amelia noted. Which told her enough. "You kidnapped them."

Black's grin widened. "A necessary ruse. Without it, we wouldn't have been able to find out about Malfoy's plans for the Wizengamot."

"I'm certain that even your political enemies will understand the necessity of this course of action," Pius said.

Amelia briefly glared at him. She knew as well as Pius that the Wizengamot would never condemn Black, not after he just saved all of their lives. If his claims were true. Which, she knew, they almost certainly were. But who… she narrowed her eyes. Of course. "Greengrass or Davis, or both, are working for you."

Black chuckled. "Right on the mark, Amelia."

"Some might suspect entrapment." Not that too many Wizengamot members would care about the legal details in a case like this.

"The testimonies and his interrogation will show that he was the one to instigate everything. All that the two snakes did was accept his invitations and proposals." Black spread his hands.

"We need to plan his arrest carefully," Pius said.

"Their arrest," Granger cut in. "Everyone who attended those clandestine meetings has to be arrested at the same time, or they will escape. They might not all be privy to his plans, certainly not those who would have died with the rest of us should he have succeeded, but they certainly were willing to resort to criminal acts to take control of Wizarding Britain."

Amelia clenched her teeth. To hear the girl condemn others for the same crimes she and Black had committed…

"Of course," Pius agreed, as if he weren't aware of the hypocrisy of Granger's statement. She glared at him, but he ignored her.

"He might have traitors among the Aurors as well," Granger continued. "And among the Ministry's staff. The Resistance will be ready to intervene, should they attempt a coup. As we did before."

"We have enough trusted Aurors and Hit-Wizards to manage," Amelia spat.

"You better be dead certain of their loyalty." Black was staring at her.

She bristled at the implication. The Ministry hadn't fallen so low as to need help from Black and Granger to arrest a bunch of traitors.

Once more, Pius stepped in. "I believe I know who we can trust in this matter." His smile turned what should have been a rebuke into a conciliatory remark.

She controlled herself with some effort. "We'll watch the memories. Depending on the results, we'll arrest him before today's session."

She wouldn't let anyone, not even herself, keep her from doing her duty.

*****​

London, Ministry of Magic, April 7th, 1997

"You know, I think this is the first time we're not going to be early for a session," Harry Potter said as he and his friends stepped out of the fireplace in the Ministry's Atrium and through the Thief's Downfall set up there.

Ron chuckled. "And the first time Hermione's not nagging us about being late."

The witch in question huffed, but didn't comment. She huffed again when Ron reached over and ruffled her hair, but didn't pull away, Harry noticed. He was glad for the distraction - after Remus had told them about Malfoy's plan, Hermione had confirmed that it would be possible, in her opinion. Harry had worried about the possibility of Malfoy going ahead without Greengrass and Davis's help ever since. He couldn't, and shouldn't, personally check every nook and cranny in the Ministry, not without tipping Malfoy off about the fact that they knew about his plans, but he couldn't help glancing around, worrying about possible ambushes.

The Ministry was still full of purebloods, and while there couldn't be many of Voldemort's supporters left after the Battle of the Ministry and the following purge, there were bound to be a few. And Malfoy's propaganda might have turned a few more Ministry employees, especially among those who had been active in the hunt for the Muggleborn Resistance during the war.

Thicknesse had said that they could trust the Auror and Hit-Wizard guards on shift today, and they were not planning to let Malfoy get close to the Wizengamot Chamber, but… He shook his head.

"Smile, Harry," Sirius whispered, "we don't want people to suspect anything, do we?"

His godfather had cast a privacy spell beforehand, but Harry still glared at him. If Thicknesse was a traitor, then this would be the perfect opportunity to get rid of not just the leaders of the Order and the Resistance, but also of the Aurors most supportive of them. Tonks had messaged them that Thicknesse had passed through the Thief's Downfall, which ruled out Polyjuice, but what if Bones wanted to betray them? Or if Dawlish was a traitor? Or someone else, someone also able to prepare an ambush without any guards noticing? Or if anyone had managed to sabotage the Thief's Downfall? Harry really didn't trust anyone in the Ministry, other than Tonks, Arthur and Percy. And all three would also be present for the occasion.

When the fireplace flared up behind them, he glanced over his shoulder, his wand in hand, but it was just a clerk.

At least there were a few members of the Resistance present - Harry saw Tania and Seamus acting as if they were studying the fountain and flirting with each other - and the rest of them were ready to storm the Ministry, but if there was an ambush they'd take some time to arrive through the lift shaft. Although the threat of swift vengeance might serve to keep Bones and Thicknesse honest. But even that was no guarantee.

Or, Harry thought, Moody's lessons might have been a bit too good.

"Looks clear," Hermione whispered, looking as if she was talking about the bills to be discussed this session while she twirled her wand in her hand.

"Haven't noticed anything either," Ron said, glancing at the lift on the other side of the Atrium. Tonks was walking towards them, smiling, though she looked quite tense.

"Hey there!" She waved, as if she was meeting them by chance.

"Nymphadora!" Sirius exclaimed. "How is my favourite cousin doing?" He ignored her scowl and muttered "Tonks!" while he recast his privacy spell to include her.

"Everything's ready," she said, her tone not matching the glare she aimed at Sirius. "Runcorn's already inside the chamber. He'll be arrested there."

Sirius was, as usual, utterly unimpressed by any expression of disapproval not accompanied by at least hexes. "Ah! Please ask your mother for a memory of that so I can watch and enjoy it later."

The fireplace flared up again, but it wasn't Malfoy, just a few more members of the Wizengamot Harry didn't know by name. Backbenchers, Hermione called them.

Harry glanced at Thicknesse, who was chatting with half a dozen Aurors near the lift. He was envious of the man's composure - there was no sign on his face that he was about to make one of the most important arrests of his career.

The Minister stepping out of the lift drew some attention from the Ministry employees in the Atrium, though no one approached her - Bones's stern expression must have scared them off, Harry thought with some amusement.

Just then, Malfoy stepped out of the fireplace. The wizard was through the Thief's Downfall before he suddenly stopped walking, staring first at Bones, then at Thicknesse, who was walking straight towards him.

Malfoy turned, as if to leave, but the fireplaces had gone out already, as planned. Harry saw a sneer appear on the man's face, before a thin smile replaced it as Malfoy turned to face Thicknesse.

Everyone in the Atrium was now staring at Malfoy and Thicknesse. If any traitors were among the crowd, they wouldn't be easy to spot.

Harry had his wand out, as did his friends, and kept glancing around for any threat. Any danger.

Thicknesse stopped a few yards in front of Malfoy. "Augustus Malfoy, you are under arrest for treason." His voice carried far through the Atrium, even though it didn't sound as if he had cast an Amplifying Charm.

"Treason?" Malfoy scoffed. "Has the Ministry fallen so low that it has become a tool to be wielded against political opponents?" He stood stiff and straight, but hadn't drawn his wand. That was a good sign, in Harry's opinion - it probably meant that Malfoy didn't have enough traitors around to fight it out.

"Hardly," Thicknesse responded. "We know about your plan to bomb the Wizengamot." Two Aurors stepped forward to flank Malfoy as the crowd observing the scene gasped upon hearing this.

The man flinched. "Preposterous! This is an obvious attempt to discredit and frame me!" He took a step back, though. "You cannot arrest a member of the Wizengamot! This is treason!"

"You are a traitor!" Thicknesse retorted. "Take him!"

Malfoy tried to draw his wand, but the Aurors stunned him right away, and the wand clattered as it fell to the ground.

Harry kept an eye on the crowd, his wand pointed at the ground, but ready to cast. Some looked as if they were ready to start a fight, either to to help or kill Malfoy, but no one actually made any threatening moves while he was taken down to the DMLE's cells.

Harry didn't relax his guard, though, not even when he and his friends were on their way up to the Wizengamot. He knew it would be some time until he would feel safe again inside the Ministry.

*****​

London, Diagon Alley, April 7th, 1997

"... Malfoy was arrested on the way to the Wizengamot. Philius Runcorn, the most senior member of the Wizengamot and close friend of Augustus Malfoy, was arrested in the Wizengamot Chamber, together with several of their acquaintances."

Bess Cox wasn't the only one listening to the Resistance Radio in Freddie's Fish'n'Chips who whistled in response to the news. Rumours had spread since the early afternoon of a shake-up at the Ministry and had grown wilder with each passing hour. The Resistance storming the building, capturing the Wizengamot, Malfoy launching a coup, Bones forming a dictatorship, the ICW intervening… the rumours had been piling up, and her and Randall's attempts to find more people willing to take the fight to the purebloods in hiding had not fared well when everyone had been discussing the latest 'news'.

"The arrests happened after the Order of the Phoenix and the Muggleborn Resistance discovered that Mister Malfoy was planning to blow up the Wizengamot in the middle of a session, murdering everyone but those absent - namely, himself and a few of his cronies - and framing muggleborn extremists for the attack."

The whistles turned to yells and shouts of anger. Bess ground her teeth. If she got her hands on Malfoy…

Someone turned up the volume on the wireless receiver, and the voice of the Resistance Radio's announcer rose above the angry cries of the audience.

"... presented with such evidence, the Ministry arrested the culprits. While Mister Malfoy's exact plans are not yet known, it's clear, both from sources close to the case as well as his public statements, that Mister Malfoy wanted to stop Wizarding Britain from becoming a democracy where everyone has equal rights no matter their blood status, and that he didn't care how much death and destruction would be caused by his futile efforts."

Once more the yells drowned out the wireless broadcast, but this time, the repeated shouts to settle down and listen from various guests, including Bess herself, didn't have any effect. Cursing, she sat down and huffed.

Randall, who had stayed sitting, pointed at the door. "Let's go outside!"

She dropped a few coins on the table to pay for her meal - she didn't want him to pay for both of them - and followed him out on to the street. "Those bastards!"

He nodded. "Although if this is true, then Malfoy just ruined the Old Families. Trying to murder all of them just so he can kill Granger, Black and Potter as well? No one will want to support anything he supported for a while."

"'If this is true'?" Bess narrowed her eyes at him.

A flick of his wand cast a privacy spell around the two of them. "It seems almost too convenient for Malfoy to try something like this - and for Black and the Resistance to find out about it in time to stop it."

Bess blinked. "Do you mean they set him up?"

Randall shrugged. "Maybe. It has certainly removed the biggest obstacle to reforming the Wizengamot and the Ministry, and pulled the rug out from under any other pureblood supremacists still holding out."

It made a lot of sense to Bess. She slowly nodded, then shrugged. "I don't care either way, as long as this means that we can finally replace the purebloods in the Wizengamot."

He chuckled as they walked towards the main street of the Alley. "Yes. Whether this was a set-up, or a lucky break, the Resistance better not miss this opportunity."

Bess nodded. They had lost enough time playing nice with the purebloods. Then she grinned. "At least the Wizengamot won't let him go. Not when he had planned to kill 'em all."

"You're right," he said. "The only question will be: Veil or Kiss?"

She grinned. It didn't matter, not really - Malfoy deserved both.

*****​

Kent, Greengrass Manor, April 7th, 1997

"...the latest example of stubborn bigotry. Malfoy was willing to murder dozens, including his so-called friends, just so he could keep the Old Families in power! But he failed, just as everyone else trying to follow his example will fail!

"We're fighting for the rights of every wizard and witch in Britain, no matter their blood! We will win for all of us! We will have democracy! We will have equality! Blood doesn't matter!"

Daphne Greengrass, sitting on her bed in her room, sighed and flicked her wand to turn the wireless receiver off, then slumped slightly. It was done. Malfoy and Runcorn and their cronies had been arrested. Thanks to herself and her friend. Who was currently shaking her head at Daphne.

"They didn't mention us." Tracey, seated sideways on Daphne's favourite chair, arms draped over the backrest, mock-pouted.

"They didn't have to. Our involvement will be obvious soon enough," Daphne said. "Once it becomes known that we've not been arrested." They hadn't been at the session, after all.

Her friend snorted. "That information will already have spread. It's a miracle that the DMLE managed to keep the whole thing a secret until the arrest."

Daphne shrugged. "Our fates have been tied to Black's ever since we decided to turn on Theo."

Tracey narrowed her eyes at her. "You sound bitter about that. Having second thoughts?"

"It was the best course of action for us and our families." That didn't mean that she liked it.

"You thought about Malfoy's plan, though."

Her best friend knew her, of course. "As did you."

"Of course," Tracey said. "It would have been stupid not to carefully consider all available options in our situation."

Daphne hesitated a moment, then leaned forward. "So… why did you decide to stick with Black?"

"Only a fool would trust a leader who sacrifices his allies like Malfoy was planning to." Tracey's sneer seemed forced to Daphne. "He'd have sacrificed us as well, either to cut a deal, or as a diversion for another of his plans." She huffed. "And he treated us like little girls."

"The werewolf does the same," Daphne pointed out.

Her friend chuckled. "He tries to. But I'm wearing him down." Daphne rolled her eyes, and Tracey pouted. "Don't spoil my fun."

Daphne shivered. To flirt with a werewolf, even if it wasn't serious…

"So, why didn't you join Malfoy?"

"Same reason as you," Daphne said.

After a moment, her friend tilted her head to the side. "Sick of the war, then?"

Daphne looked out of the window, at the top of the trees of the garden outside. "Like you."

Neither of them said anything for a few minutes. Then Tracey broke the silence. "Did you talk to Astoria yet?"

Daphne winced. She wasn't looking forward to that talk.

"Ah." Tracey sighed. "Aren't you afraid that she'll run off to curse some muggleborns?"

"I convinced her that Granger can keep track of her, as the Gryffindors did in Hogwarts, and would hunt her down and kill her if she left the house." She didn't like lying to her sister, but if it kept her from getting herself - and their family - killed...

Tracey chuckled. "That's a good one! And she fell for it?"

Daphne frowned. Tracey was her best friend, but Astoria was her sister. She shrugged. "Lupin has been living here for weeks now. Are you certain that they can't track us?"

Tracey's smirk vanished and she muttered a few rather colourful words under her her breath.

Daphne nodded. Even if tracking them at Hogwarts had been Dumbledore's doing, the Headmaster might very well have shared that with Potter and his friends before his death. "We can't know for certain, but…" She shrugged.

"...it would be foolish to think we're safe," Tracey finished for her, clenching her teeth.

"As long as we're not acting against them, we should be safe, actually," Daphne said, "We're now firmly established as their allies." At least as far as the public was concerned. And Malfoy's cronies.

"Unless they plan to use our deaths to frame another of their enemies," Tracey added with a cynical smile.

Daphne glared at her friend. That wasn't what she wanted to hear.

*****​

Cumbria, Britain, April 7th, 1997

"Thank you, sir." Hermione Granger smiled at the mercenary as she pushed a small bag over the folding table. "Here's the rest of your payment, as agreed. And a bonus, for your excellent work."

The Major nodded at her, then opened the bag and checked the money and gold inside. The sun was about to set, but they didn't need lamps yet.

The Sergeant scoffed. "We'd have done better if some of the recruits hadn't been missing half the time." He narrowed his eyes at her. "Or all of them for your 'field trip'."

She smiled wryly. "They needed to relax."

He slowly shook his head. "There was nothing in the news, yet once they were back they acted as if they had been in combat."

"Just a field trip." She shrugged.

"Most of them are older than you, but they follow you. And they don't resent Potter and Weasley, even though those two get special treatment all the time."

"Quit fishing for information, Mick," the Major said. "Our clients paid for their privacy."

"Right." The Sergeant looked at her for a moment, then glanced at the Major. "Payment checks out?"

"Yes."

The Sergeant grunted and stood up. "I'll get the Land Rover then."

Once the burly mercenary had left the folding table, the Major said in a low voice: "He doesn't like mysteries."

"I understand the feeling." She really did - in their place, she'd have gone crazy trying to figure out what was really going on.

"I bet you do. But do you understand not being able to figure something out?"

She just smiled. She couldn't answer that.

"Thought so." He inclined his head, then stood up and held out his hand. "Pleasure doing business with you." She rose as well and shook it. "Will there be another contract in the future?"

Hermione hesitated a moment, then nodded. "That is likely." The war had proven that the Ministry's organisation wasn't up to the task of fighting a war. Aurors were meant for police work, even those hunting dark wizards, and the Hit-Wizards' numbers could not expand quickly enough during war time. And the majority of them were glorified guards, not trained soldiers.

"Maybe I'll find out what, exactly, you need soldiers for." He nodded at her.

"Maybe." Some muggles were told about magic, after all, even without being related to a wizard or witch.

"Until then, ma'am." He saluted her.

"Sir." She returned the salute.

*****​

Hermione Granger looked at the camp. Tents were packing themselves up, firepits and latrines - not that those had really been used, with wizarding tents available - were being filled with earth, and litter was being vanished left and right. With the Major and the Sergeant gone, there was no longer any need to hide magic, and the latest members of the Resistance were using their wands to clean up Justin's family's woods.

She turned around and stepped inside her own tent. Justin, Sally-Anne, John, Tania, Louise and Seamus were arrayed around a conjured table in the centre of the living room.

She nodded at them. "Alright. You all know what happened today."

"We let the Ministry arrest Malfoy and Runcorn." Seamus's tone clearly indicated that he didn't like that. She refrained from rolling her eyes.

"We just saw the death of the Death Eater faction in the Wizengamot. The bigots just lost whatever support they still had among the other members." She stood straight, hands crossed behind her back. "We'll be able to push the Wizengamot Reform Act through as soon as the dust from the arrests has settled." With a toothy smile, she added: "We did it. We've won the war."

Sally-Anne was the first to cheer and she hugged a smiling Justin. Tania grinned widely and elbowed Seamus, who glanced at her in response. Louise yelled "Yes!" and John nodded. Soon everyone was yelling.

Hermione watched her friends - even stubborn, bloodthirsty Seamus - cheer with a wide smile of her own. After over a year of struggling, they had beaten the bigots. In the field, and in the Wizengamot. They had won. She sighed. They had paid a heavy price, though.

"What do we do now?" Sally-Anne's question broke her out of her reminiscing. The witch was shifting her weight from one leg to the other and back. "We won the war, and now it's all politics. That's... " She shrugged. "I'm not a politician. And we're an army, not a political party." Her eyes traveled to the tent's exit. "They just finished training, too."

Hermione nodded. "The Resistance is still needed. We've seen that the Ministry wasn't ready for a war. They didn't have an army, just some Aurors and guards. More importantly, they had no plan to create an army. They had no reserves. No plan for a mobilisation or conscription." Which had been a very good thing for the Resistance during the war. "And we know that even with the bigots utterly discredited, we have enemies - the Jamaican houngans. Possibly the French." If Sirius's next mission failed.

"Are we going to merge with the Hit-Wizards?" Louise asked.

Hermione shook her head. "I think we should take them over. Train them as we have trained. Keep a small cadre for guard duties, and the rest of us as reserves who can be called up in a very short time if needed."

"Like a militia?" Justin had his arm around Sally-Anne's shoulders.

"Sort of," she said. "It's more like the militaries on the continent that use conscription. Like the Swiss."

"So, we'll be in control of Wizarding Britain's military." Seamus grinned.

"We'll be in control of the entire Ministry," Hermione said. "Once we have a majority in the Wizengamot." But having control of the military would ensure that there wouldn't be another set of muggleborn laws. Never again.

She took a deep breath. "And as much as I hate to say it just as we won the struggle in Britain, we have another battle in front of us." Most of them looked puzzled, but Justin and Louise nodded. "We need to find a cure for the Withering Curse."

And Hermione didn't think that the houngans would give it to them without a fight.

*****​

West of Savanna-la-Mar, Jamaica, April 7th, 1997

Augustus Rookwood took a deep breath, inhaling the cool air of the Jamaican night. He had done it - he had bent the wards of the mansion below him. They wouldn't stop or hinder him any more.

But wards were not all the manor's defences. He already knew that the mambo had zombies as servants. Even if they were muggles they would present an obstacle. Or a distraction. He had seen kennels in a side building of the manor as well - there would be dogs, at the least. Maybe magical animals. Nothing that could fly, though - the kennels had no roof.

He scoffed. He could deal with mere animals. Nor was he much bothered by the prospect of dealing with spelled furniture and cursed objects. A skilled wizard's home was a death trap for an unwary intruder. Or should be, at least - but Augustus was neither unwary nor inexperienced.

No, the real trouble was the mambo inside the manor. He had to take her alive to get her knowledge. And that would be difficult. Even for a wizard as skilled as himself.

Fortunately, he was prepared. He reached into his enchanted pocket and pulled out a small case containing several vials. He took a sip from one of them, ignoring its vile taste. That would remove his scent, rendering the dogs useless.

Another vial he drank in its entirety - he could take no chances with this one, even if he could feel his stomach already growing unsettled. Not with at least two apprentices inside the manor as well, according to the memories he had taken from 'Ricky'.

He closed his eyes for a moment, then pointed his wand at his face. A complicated transfiguration later, the night's darkness faded from his view, and he saw the manor on the small hill below as an owl would see it at night.

He cast a Disillusionment Charm and started to carefully make his way downslope from the ridge on which he had been staying. It took him twenty minutes to reach the wardline, mostly because he didn't follow any of the paths in the woods and fields - those would be covered with detection spells or even traps.

Despite his confidence in his work, he held his breath when he reached out with his arm - his left arm, of course, never his wand arm. While unlikely, he might have missed a defence. But while his skin tingled when he pushed his hand through the wards, he encountered no resistance nor was he pushed back or struck down. Releasing his breath, he stepped inside the wards.

A path ahead of him led towards the manor's side entrance, but he didn't take it. Nor did he walk over the lawn. Instead, he pulled out his broom and unshrank it, then looked at the balcony on the south side. Zombies generally couldn't fly, so the defences on the ground were likely to be more powerful.

He fought down a sudden bout of nausea, flew up to the first floor and eyed the balcony, then shook his head. Too obvious. Too vulnerable. He flew on, towards a small window near the balcony. He could see a corridor behind it. Perfect.

He aimed his wand at it and cast a privacy charm on it to mask any sound his entrance might cause, followed by an Unlocking Charm. He slipped inside, not touching either pane or frame. Now he just had to find the mambo.

Although the three markers moving toward his position that his Human-presence-revealing Spell showed him might indicate that he had found her already. Or she him.

*****​
 
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