Chapter 31: Coup d’état
Starfox5
Experienced.
- Joined
- Feb 5, 2015
- Messages
- 3,775
- Likes received
- 27,252
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.
'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.
*****
Last edited: