Divided and Entwined (Harry Potter AU) (Complete)

Chapter 55: Cross Purposes

‘The attacks in March 1997 were committed by imperiused purebloods - both those against muggleborns in Diagon Alley and the one against a pureblood-owned tailor’s in Hogsmeade. No one contested that fact - not the Ministry nor the Order of the Phoenix or the Muggleborn Resistance. Why, then, was the so-called ‘Imperius defence’ used by pureblood wizards when accused of being Death Eaters so summarily rejected following the Second Blood War? Most of the alleged Death Eaters did not even have trials, but, according to the official reports, were ‘killed in action’ which conveniently made an actual investigation, including Pensieve evidence, impossible. It is therefore not surprising that the fairness of the judicial system during that time has been questioned by every unbiased observer and historian.’
- Excerpt from ‘Wizarding Britain in the 20th Century’ by Albert Runcorn

*****​

Worcestershire, Nott Manor, March 21st, 1997

As soon as she appeared in front of Nott Manor, Amelia Bones had a flashback to the Malfoy Manor bombing. The damage wasn’t as extensive, and there was no fire, but it was another manor of an Old Family, destroyed by muggleborns using muggle means.

Or, she corrected herself when she spotted Black standing in the rubble that was all that had been left of the front of the manor, muggleborns and the Order.

“Amelia! There you are!” He was smiling widely, despite - or, knowing him, because of - the body covered with a blanket laid out near him.

“Sirius,” she managed to say without cursing. “What happened?”

“You weren’t informed?” He acted surprised. “A masked broom rider attacked Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes with vials of Exploding Fluid. The owners protected themselves and drove the attacker off, managing to reveal his face in the process. It was Theo Nott. The nasty little bugger the Wizengamot acquitted not so long ago, remember?”

She didn’t deign to dignify that barb with a response. It wasn’t her place to tell the Wizengamot how to conduct their business. Instead she focused on Black’s story. “You saw someone who looked like Nott, and then attacked his home in response?”

He shrugged with that nonchalance that so irked her. “In a word, yes.”

“Because someone saw someone who might have been Nott.” She clenched her teeth.

“I checked the memory in a Pensieve myself.”

“And then you and your band of vigilantes went off and attacked Nott’s manor instead of informing the DMLE.” As so often when talking to him for any length of time, she wanted to hex the insufferable grin from his face and arrest him.

“We couldn’t take the risk that a spy would warn him. Or that a pair of rookie Aurors would knock on his door, be told he wasn’t home, and then leave again while he bolted.” His grin changed, now reminding her of a feral beast. “You wouldn’t have launched a raid, would you?”

Amelia couldn’t have. Pius didn’t have enough Aurors and Hit-Wizards available on such short notice. She hated to admit that, and she loathed Black rubbing it in even more. “And now, all of the Manor’s inhabitants are dead, including the main suspect. Without any evidence of his guilt left. Just the word of those who are known to have tried to kill Nott before.”

He chuckled. “That, and the robes we saw, the broom we saw, and more Exploding Fluid just like that used in the attack. Or attacks.”

“You didn’t know that when you attacked,” she spat. “You just wanted an excuse to kill him!”

“To capture him, actually. The little bugger managed to get himself killed, though. We underestimated him.”

She didn’t believe him, not even for an instant, and scoffed. “You were already prepared to assault his manor.” Otherwise, they wouldn’t have been able to strike that quickly.

“Of course. We have plans to attack a variety of locations. Just in case.” He smiled again.

His story was so thin, a blind wizard would have seen through it. At best, he had gotten lucky and found the right attacker. At worst, he had used the opportunity to kill Nott. But Black controlled enough of the Wizengamot now that arresting him would only lead to her own replacement by a crony of his. Probably Pius. She glared at him. “Hand the ‘evidence’ over, and stop disturbing the crime scene.”

“Of course.”

His smug tone irked her even more than the equally smug smile which she longed to see wiped off his face… She turned away and marched towards the back of the manor. There she found Pius, standing over a body. Nott.

“Firearms?” she asked.

If Pius was annoyed by her lack of courtesy, he didn’t show it. “Yes. ‘Rifles’, I think.” He flicked his wand, turning the body over. “The exit wounds are too large for ‘pistols’.”

She didn’t flinch at the sight - she had seen far worse from dark curses. “You’ve become an expert on muggle weapons?”

“It seemed a good idea to familiarise myself with them, given their use during the war.” Pius turned the body back to its original position.

“So far their use has been limited to the Resistance,” Amelia pointed out.

“I doubt that that will remain the case,” Pius said. “Even if the muggleborns don’t follow the example the Resistance has set, others might try to frame them.”

“Like Nott might have been framed?” Amelia asked, watching him for his reaction.

He tensed up. “We’ve recovered enough Exploding Fluid to be certain that he was at least planning to attack someone. Although I expect the Unspeakables to come up with a match for an attack or two once they analyse the fluid.”

He was carefully not saying anything about the most recent attack, Amelia noted. He suspected himself, then. Or he might even know. But he wouldn’t do anything. For the Head of the DMLE, that was… she shook her head.

“Amelia?”

She ignored him and walked away. At least this might mean that tomorrow’s muggleborn rally wouldn’t end in a riot that destroyed Hogsmeade.

Unless the muggleborns took today’s events as examples to emulate.

*****​

London, No. 12 Grimmauld Place, March 21st, 1997

“Good evening, Mister… or should that be Monsieur...?”

He held his hand out, smiling, and the other wizard - or was it a witch? He couldn’t tell, not with the blank mask covering their face and the cloak obscuring their body - shook it with a weak, no, a gentle grip.

“Mister will do.” Even their voice was masked, he was certain. There was something missing there. But the French accent was still recognisable. “In the sort of business that we are engaged in one should stay as discreet as possible.”

“Mister.” He nodded, forcing himself to keep smiling. “I’m happy to welcome you to my home.” He didn’t mention that he hadn’t had many visitors, not since his acquittal.

“And I am ’appy to be ’ere. Most of Britain ’as become a dangerous place for true wizards and witches.”

“Something we will remedy!” He knew they would.

“Something you will change,” his guest corrected him. “We can support and ’elp you, but not directly. Politics.”

He knew that. “Isabelle, I mean, Mademoiselle Dubois, has explained your situation to me.” In general terms, of course, she hadn’t actually named any names. The Duc of France was playing both sides, trying to butter up the mudbloods through the Delacours as well as supporting the purebloods. He thought the other wizard tensed up, for a moment, but it was hard to tell with their disguise.

“We all ’ave our difficulties to deal with. Short-sighted wizards, weak rulers, and traitors. And mudbloods.”

He nodded eagerly. That precisely summed up Britain’s, no, Europe’s problems. “Exactly. But there are enough wizards and witches of good breeding left to stop this, before it ruins our country, and others.”

His guest nodded. “It will be dangerous, though. And bloody.”

He and Isabelle had talked about that already. As if he had suddenly become a coward just because he had been captured by the mudbloods. And he knew their tricks now - they wouldn’t catch him again. He scoffed. “I’ve faced danger already.” He had survived the war, after all. “And I’m no stranger to violence.” Not at all.

“Bien.” His guest reached inside his cloak and pulled out a small box. A tap with his wand enlarged it. “You will find gold and other, more difficult to acquire, things you might need inside.”

He refrained from simply grabbing the box. That would have been rude. As would be openly casting detection spells on a gift. Both of them knew, of course, that he’d do so afterwards. He clapped his hands.

“Master?”

“Take this to my study!” he ordered, without looking at the house-elf that had stepped out of the passage in the wall. Servants were to be neither seen nor heard, after all.

*****​

Sirius Black pulled his head out of the Pensieve and looked at Vivienne. She shook her head. “I don’t recognise the visitor.”

“The accent is French, but that could have been faked,” he said. “Although the memory looks genuine.” He wasn’t an expert, though.

“The accent may be false, but I do not think so. And that was Isabelle Dubois in the other memory.” Vivienne almost sneered. “No one could duplicate ’er attitude that well.”

Sirius almost checked if Nymphadora was around - the metamorphmagus might take that as a challenge, and the French witch had been insufferable enough in the memory; Sirius didn’t need to see her in the fake flesh, so to speak. “They were cautious, though. Masks and cloaks…” Even Dubois hadn’t said anything directly incriminating to Nott, but her meaning had been clear. “Our only link is Dubois.”

“She’s a friend of Beaumont’s. But so is ’alf the Court.” Vivienne scowled. A touchy subject, Sirius knew.

“Well, maybe we should ask her then.”

Vivienne smiled, proving that Sirius could speak just as subtly as Dubois.

*****​

Hogsmeade, March 22nd, 1997

“Seamus, anything to report?” Hermione Granger asked, her left hand on the button of her radio, while she was standing on the roof of the hall they had put up near Hogsmeade.

“Half a dozen Aurors on the streets, and the same number of Hit-Wizards near the hall,” Seamus, flying above her on his broom, with Tania, reported. “And two each in the air.” She heard him chuckle. “They must have scraped together everyone they could, but they’re still outnumbered three to one by us alone!”

Unless the Ministry had placed some of their forces in reserve, hidden from view. Hermione would have done that - provided she could have spared the manpower. According to Tonks, the Ministry couldn’t. They had even asked other departments for volunteers, Percy had told them. Bones must be livid, she thought, to have the Ministry’s weakness revealed like that.

Although, while Seamus was technically correct, the Resistance was also presenting the strongest front they could - they had brought out the recruits from boot camp for this. And while the recruits looked impressive in their camo fatigues and knew how to handle their guns, they weren’t quite up to speed yet, even if one discounted their lack of experience.

But looking impressive was the point of this rally. The Resistance needed to show both the Ministry and the muggleborns that they were strong and had the situation in hand. And the muggleborns needed to show everyone how many of them had returned and were willing to fight for their rights.

Judging by the numbers of muggleborns she saw on the way to the hall from Hogsmeade, and standing in line before the Thief’s Downfall, that had been achieved already. She just hoped that there wouldn’t be any attacks - such a mass of muggleborns was a tempting target.

Hermione shook her head. Despite the flyers they had distributed, and John’s broadcast yesterday evening, not that many muggleborns had actually arrived early. Instead of small, manageable groups, there was a throng of people at the security check at the entrance.

She frowned. The Resistance had people spread out all over the area, but they couldn’t spot everything. She hoped that Nott’s death would be enough to make the others involved in the attacks on muggleborns fear a similar fate should they show up today. And that whoever was ordering his imperiused victims around using international owl post hadn’t had the time to send instructions to attack the rally. But it would only take one bomb or a single Blasting Curse to wreck the event.

*****​

There were more people than at the last rally, Hermione thought when she stepped on to the stage at the back of the hall, next to John. Was Nott’s death the reason for that? And if so, did they feel safer now, or did they want more blood? They didn’t look that agitated, but that could easily change.

John glanced at her, and when she nodded at him, he smiled and stepped stepped right up to the transparent wall shielding the stage from the rest of the hall. “Hello, everyone! I’m happy to see so many of you willing to stand up for yourselves and join our rally here! It’s been a little while since we last met, and, as you may have noticed, the Resistance is stronger than ever.”

Shouts of agreement filled the hall, barely muffled by the transparent wall.

John smiled even wider. “And here’s our leader, the witch who brought us all together, fought for all of us, and led us through the war! Hermione!”

Taking a deep breath, she stepped up while John withdrew from the stage. After the applause died down, she cleared her throat, cast an Amplifying Charm and started to speak. “Many things have happened since our last rally. Cowards who hide behind imperiused victims attacked muggleborns in Diagon Alley. Someone tried to frame the Resistance for an attack on Hogsmeade using another imperiused victim. We’ve even been accused of attacking houngans in Jamaica!”

That caused some whispers, and someone yelled: “And they attacked Hogwarts!”

“They did, and they were driven off,” she said, with a nod in the direction of the speaker. “Just as they were driven off when they attacked Diagon Alley again, yesterday.” More people started to say something, but she kept speaking, her amplified voice drowning out the comments. “But this time, the attacker didn’t get away! We tracked him to his home, and brought him to justice!” She paused when the crowd started to yell about Death Eaters, then waited until the noise abated somewhat. “The attacker was none other than Theodore Nott - a Death Eater we had captured during the war, but who was set free by the Wizengamot!”

“He won’t get acquitted any more!” another wizard yelled.

This time she ignored the comment. The crowd was already riled up. “Nott wasn’t just attacking muggleborns - he was trying to make muggleborns attack purebloods, to restart the war. We stopped him, but there are others like him, people who want to see us, the muggleborns of Britain, fail. They want to see us turn on innocents, to see the indiscriminate bombing of wizarding dwellings, to see young children burned alive, all so they can denounce us as monsters. So they can call us criminals and deny us our rights!” Once more she kept talking over the outraged yells. “But we won’t let them! We fought them in the war, and won! We’re fighting them in the Wizengamot, and we’re winning! They cannot stop us! They cannot silence us!

“All we have to do win is to persevere! To uphold our ideals and stand fast! We cannot allow ourselves to become what we fought so hard against! We will not lash out at others just because they’re purebloods! We know better than that! We are better than that! Blood doesn’t matter!”

The crowd started to yell now. “Blood doesn’t matter! Blood doesn’t matter!”

“We’re not just fighting for the rights of the muggleborns, but for the rights of every wizard and witch in Britain! We’re all in this together, and we’re winning! We will have democracy! We will have equality! We will have our victory!”

*****​

Hogsmeade, March 22nd, 1997

Harry Potter was glad when the last of the audience had left the hall. There was still the possibility of an ambush in Hogsmeade, but the rally had ended without a riot breaking out. And without him having to help calm down the crowd.

Two of the new recruits, Anna and Gary, closed the hall’s doors and he walked over to them, checking on the way that nothing had been left behind on the floor. They tensed up when they saw him, and he couldn’t refrain from snorting. By now he had been training (and getting yelled at by the Sergeant) with them for two weeks, and he was currently wearing the same fatigues as the Resistance, but most of the new recruits treated him like they treated the veterans of the Resistance. Which, he had to admit, he was, in a way.

“At ease,” he said, smirking, and Anna pouted at him while Gary chuckled.

“Your imitation of the Major needs some work,” Gary said. He was still a bit tense, but not as much as before.

Harry shrugged. “It’s only been two weeks.” He adjusted the sling of his rifle.

“We just successfully completed our first mission!” Anna said, smiling.

“It’s not complete until you’ve been debriefed by your superior,” Harry reflexively said, then wished he hadn’t when he saw the witch wince.

“That was a good Sergeant,” Gary said, though he wasn’t sounding quite as amused as before.

“It was something Moody drilled into us,” Harry said. “Veteran Auror,” he added when the two older muggleborns didn’t seem to recognise the name. “He trained me and Ron during the war.”

“Ah.” Anna nodded. Just like she nodded when the Sergeant told her something. Or Hermione.

So much for being one of the guys, Harry thought. Hermione and Sirius were correct - he wasn’t ‘just Harry’, and wouldn’t ever be ‘just Harry’. At least not with most people, he added when he spotted Ron and Hermione walking towards them from the back.

He didn’t have to force himself to keep smiling any more when he saw his two best friends together, but he still felt somewhat awkward. Even when they weren’t acting affectionate. He knew that they were sleeping together every night Hermione was at boot camp, after all. And now he was jealous, again.

“Hey,” he said. “Good speech.”

Hermione smiled, then frowned. “It could have been better, I think. But it worked out.” Harry grinned - she sounded like she usually did right after the exams.

“No one’s started a hunting party,” Ron said. “So, that’s a success.”

“No one did so openly,” Hermione corrected him. “We don’t know what people might be planning.”

“You can’t know everything,” Ron said. “Even though you’re coming close,” he added with a grin.

Hermione huffed, then turned to Anna and Gary, who hadn’t said a word since Harry’s friends had arrived. The two straightened up at once. “Report to Justin and help cover Hogsmeade. We’re going to vanish the hall.”

“Yes, m… Hermione,” Gary said. Anna just nodded.

As soon as they left, Harry heard Hermione sigh. “I know I should be glad that they hold me in such high regard, it makes leading the Resistance far easier, but to be called ma’am at my age…”

Harry shrugged. “That’s the price of fame.”

Judging by the way Hermione narrowed her eyes, she remembered her own words, and didn’t like having them quoted back at her.

He couldn’t resist. “Maybe we should find a good nom de guerre for you as well.”

“Purebloods’ Boggart!” Ron said at once, chuckling.

Hermione glared at them both, then shook her head. She was smiling, though. “Let’s step out and start vanishing the hall, before the grass gets too damaged.”

“Nothing the right spells won’t fix,” Ron said. “Sprout could make a detention out of it.”

“It’s the principle of the thing,” Hermione answered, opening the door. “And the Easter vacation has started, so there aren’t any detentions to be served anyway.”

“Oh, right.” Harry blinked.

His friends turned around, looking at him.

He answered their unspoken question. “Neville wanted to hunt down Death Eaters hiding in muggle London. I put him in touch with the twins, but I haven’t checked what came of it.” He had been too busy with the training and the latest troubles.

“Ginny hasn’t mentioned anything, and she usually nags me about Neville,” Ron said, frowning. “Though I haven’t talked to her lately.”

The last time they had been at Hogwarts hadn’t been a good time to discuss such matters, Harry thought. Not with all the blood and gore to explain. “We can talk to her at home,” he suggested.

“We should have done that already.” Ron winced. “She’ll be mad at us.”

“It couldn’t be helped,” Hermione said. “We had too much to deal with.”

Hermione was right, but Harry still felt guilty about neglecting his friends. “We’ll have to talk to Neville as well.”

“Before he goes off by himself, and makes a mess,” Hermione agreed, nodding.

Harry wouldn’t have put it like that, but he feared that she was correct.

*****​

London, No. 12 Grimmauld Place, March 22nd, 1997

“Now you’re asking about Neville?”

Standing in Sirius’s kitchen, Ron Weasley winced at Ginny’s tone. His sister was glaring at him and Harry with her arms crossed over her chest. “Well… we were busy.” He knew it wasn’t a good excuse.

“Too busy to talk to him?” She frowned at him, then switched her attention to Harry.

Ron’s friend grimaced. “The attacks, the training, the Wizengamot and the rally…” He shrugged.

Ginny scoffed. “You know how he acted when you were still at Hogwarts. He hasn’t changed. He’s become worse, even. He’s been preparing for this. Even asked the muggleborns from the lower years about how to dress as a muggle so he can fit in.”

She should have mentioned that before today, Ron thought, then scolded himself for being a hypocrite. “Sounds like he’ll go at it alone if he has to,” he said. “Do you know if he talked to anyone about this?”

“The twins, maybe?” Harry cut in.

“He didn’t mention them,” Ginny said.

“They were rather busy this week,“ Ron said. He didn’t say what they had been doing - Ginny didn’t know that they had been observing Nott for a week before striking at his manor.

“As was Sirius,” Harry added. “He hasn’t mentioned Neville.”

“So… Neville was left hanging.” Ginny’s frown grew.

Ron refrained from saying that Neville hadn’t always been so eager to strike at Death Eaters. That would have been unfair. He sighed. “Yes, we forgot about him.”

“I forgot about him,” Harry corrected him. “I told him I would put him in touch with others, meaning the twins and Sirius, but I didn’t really check up on how that worked out.”

As usual, Harry was blaming himself for everything, Ron thought. “I should have thought about it as well,” he said. “But we were busy, mate. Let’s just call him now.”

Neville wouldn’t have already gone out hunting today, would he? And even if he had, he wouldn’t have found any of the purebloods in hiding yet, Ron told himself as they walked to the entrance hall.

“Where’s Hermione?” Ginny asked while Harry grabbed some Floo powder.

“She’s with the rest of the Resistance, handling the debriefing after the rally. She’ll be joining us here as soon as she’s done,” Ron answered.

“Ah.”

Did she sound relieved? Ron shook his head. She should simply tell Harry how she felt, in his opinion. But he knew better than to tell her that.

“Longbottom Manor!” Harry said, throwing the powder into the fire. When it turned green, he knelt down and stuck his head inside. “Hello?”

Ron couldn’t hear who Harry was talking to, but it wasn’t Neville.

“I’m Harry Potter, a friend of Neville’s. Is he at home?”

“Ah. Could you tell him that I called?”

“Thank you.”

Harry stood up again and stretched. “Neville went out. His house-elf doesn’t know where he went.”

Ron sighed. They’d check with the twins, but he already had a feeling that they hadn’t talked to Neville either… “Great.”

*****​

London, Camden, March 22nd, 1997

“How is it?”

Bess Cox swallowed the forkful of spaghetti bolognese before answering Randall. “It’s good,” she replied.

“I couldn’t eat another fish and chips dinner,” Randall said, cutting another piece off his pizza.

“You said that before.” That was why he had picked the restaurant, after all.

He snorted. “And there’s no chance of anyone overhearing us here.”

That was just an excuse, in her opinion. A privacy spell would make eavesdropping impossible even in the midst of Diagon Alley. But she had been getting a bit sick of Freddie’s herself lately. “So… what was your impression of the rally?”

“Granger was pretty persuasive,” he said.

Bess scoffed. “She’s quite the hypocrite, though. We shouldn’t do anything, and she goes and kills Nott?”

Randall chuckled. “You’re right. On the other hand, she’s the one on the Wizengamot, with Black and Potter.”

“And her boyfriend, Weasley.” Another pureblood.

“Him too.” Randall nodded. “They’re bound to have more information.”

“Which they keep to themselves.” She took another forkful.

“That’s to be expected. Loose lips sink ships,” he quoted.

Bess snorted, then swallowed. “She’s still a hypocrite. And probably a sell-out.”

“Probably?” He grinned.

She scowled at him. “It depends on whether they can get rid of the Wizengamot and the Ministry, or not. If she’s telling us to be patient forever…” She shrugged. People in power wanted to stay in power. And Granger had risen very high for a muggleborn witch nominally in her sixth year. Bess was wondering, though, what Randall was thinking. They had plans, after all.

“Well, technically, she just told us not to lash out at random purebloods. I doubt anyone will mind if we bag a known Death Eater,” he said.

She grinned. “You’ve found one, then.”

He smiled. “I found a warded flat that the neighbours don’t remember. I don’t know who’s hiding there, though.”

“Let’s go find out!”

*****​

London, Islington, March 22nd, 1997

“How did you find it?” Bess Cox asked. She was sitting in a pub and studying the building across the street.

“It was the first address mentioned in the article in the Daily Mirror.”

She turned her head to look at Randall. “Seriously?”

He was grinning widely. “Yes. Sort of like the Terminator, I started at the top.”

That caused her to snort. “But I don’t think they’d open the door to the flat if we rang the bell.” The purebloods inside would know that they were caught, then - muggles wouldn’t be able to even think of doing that due to the Muggle-Repelling Charms on the flat.

“Unfortunately, we can’t do that. And the flat’s warded, so we can’t easily break in either.”

“How good are you at taking down wards?” Bess had never really studied that; during her time at Hogwarts, it hadn’t been taught in Defence, and the exams hadn’t more than touched on that subject, so she hadn’t studied it on her own either. If she had known how to deal with wards, maybe the attack on Hogsmeade’s Death Eaters would have gone differently...

“I’m not a real Curse-Breaker, but I should be able to take down those wards,” Randall said. “They’re not that strong. Probably because they didn’t want anyone to know about the flat, and so had to do it themselves.” He rubbed his chin. “So, we need to block Apparition and Portkeys. I doubt they have a Floo connection there - that would have revealed their location to the Ministry.”

Bess scoffed. The Ministry only stopped hunting muggleborns and supporting the Death Eaters because they were forced to by the Resistance. They still hated muggleborns, even if they also feared them now.

Randall glanced at her, but didn’t comment.

“Do you have any idea who they are?” she asked. “And how many there are?”

Randall shook his head. “No, I don’t. And I don’t see how we could find out - observing the flat won’t tell us much since they’ll be apparating in and out.”

Bess nodded. Using the door would mean they might meet some muggles on the way - and purebloods wouldn’t want that. “Can we take whoever’s in there then?” She wasn’t an expert duellist, and Randall was smart, but he had less experience in magical fighting than she did - and hers was limited to that horrible night in Hogsmeade. They’d been training together, though.

Randall took a deep breath. “If it’s only one, yes. Two, maybe.”

“‘Maybe’ is not good enough.” Bess clenched her teeth. She knew what happened if you underestimated your enemy.

“If we could break the wards while they are out, then we could ambush them once they return. Or place a trap.” Randall rubbed his chin. “But then we wouldn’t know who was hiding there.”

“And we wouldn’t know when they were out - or if they’re going to be out long enough anyway,” Bess said. “With a few Extension Charms, they could have half a manor in there.” Which meant that they could have half a manor’s worth of wizards in there.

Randall looked at the flat in question again. “We might be able to spy on them from the right vantage point.”

“Renting a flat in this building, to spy on them?” That sounded like spy novel stuff. “How about we skip this flat, and check the next one?”

“I don’t think the next one will be any different,” Randall pointed out.

“Shite.” Bess finished her ale. She wanted to do something. Hurt the Death Eaters and bigots. They were right there, across the street!

She was trying to get the waiter’s attention to order another ale when Randall suddenly hissed: “Check out that man!”

He was nodding in the direction of a nearby table. The man sitting there was dressed rather fashionably, as far as she could tell - but for the hat on his head that was hiding his face.

“He’s been staring at the flat as well,” Randal whispered to her without making it obvious that he was watching the man.

The waiter finally stopped flirting with the pair of girls sitting at the bar, and walked over. Bess watched as the man jerked when he was addressed, hastily ordered something, and went straight back to staring outside the window. Which, especially at this time of the evening, didn’t really offer anything interesting - unless you knew about the hideout on the second floor across the street. When the man took a minute to pay the waiter, shuffling the money around and looking at the coins and notes as if he hadn’t seen them before, Bess knew.

“He’s a pureblood,” she whispered.

“Yes,” Randall agreed.

“Can we take him?” They were in public, but if they ambushed him outside the pub, they could be gone before anyone could react.

Randall looked at her. “If he was with the occupants of the flat, he wouldn’t be here, in a passable disguise, would he?”

Bess frowned. He had a point. But she really wanted to do something. Anything. And they didn’t know who the man was. “We need to find out what he knows. And who he is.” They couldn’t attack the flat with an unknown observing it.

“We don’t have Veritaserum.” Randall was glancing at the man again.

“I wasn’t thinking of that,” Bess whispered, drawing her wand under the table.

*****​

London, Ministry of Magic, March 22nd, 1997

“What happened in London, Pius?”

Amelia Bones hated to rely on Pius for information, but she couldn’t trust the Aurors left in the Corps to tell her the truth without informing their superiors. She almost snorted - there weren’t Aurors left she could trust, period. At least not Aurors with experience. Certainly not Dawlish. The Head Auror had made it quite clear that he was already positioning himself for the time after her term. Not that Pius could be trusted either.

“I assume you are talking about the incident in…” He glanced at the parchment in his hands. “... Islington.”

She almost rolled her eyes in response. She knew that he didn’t need to check such details before answering. She refrained from answering with a barb, though. “Yes.”

“We received the report from the Obliviators just an hour ago, and it took a little longer until a team of Aurors arrived at the scene.”

“Don’t give me excuses, give me information.” she glared at him.

He took a deep breath before continuing. “According to the Obliviators, a fight between at least three wizards took place in front of muggles. In a pub, to be exact. Collateral damage was considerable, and the Muggle-Worthy Excuse Committee is expected to blame muggle extremist groups - ‘hooligans’, I believe they are called - using a fire bomb for this.”

Amelia blinked. “Was there actually a bomb used in the battle?” That would indicate muggleborns. As did the location itself.

“Not to my knowledge.” Pius shook his head. “Although John suspects that the fight is related to the warded flat we discovered across the street from the location of the battle.”

That was a given - wizards didn’t simply meet and fight in a muggle area. “A warded flat in a muggle neighbourhood.” Amelia narrowed her eyes. “A safe house?”

“That is possible. It was empty when my team took down the wards and entered, but there were signs of a hasty flight, and prior long-term occupation. There is no indication that there was a fight in the flat, though.” Pius glanced at the parchment again. “So far we haven’t been able to find out who had been using the flat.”

“That’s not much for an incident that’s already caused the ICW delegation to contact me asking if war has broken out.” At least the Obliviators had handled both the incident and the delegates easily enough.

“It’s only been two hours, and since the muggle authorities are present we cannot openly use magic.”

Another excuse that wouldn’t have flown when she was the Head of the DMLE. “I don’t care how difficult it is. We can’t have muggleborns and Death Eaters fighting in muggle areas. That will play directly into the ICW’s hands.” She shook her head. “I’ll contact Black and see what he knows about this. You push Dawlish to produce results. We need to solve this case quickly.”

Pius frowned briefly before he nodded. She had expected that - she was certain that he would prefer to talk to Black himself. But this was a matter for the Minister for Magic. And as long as she held that position, she would do her duty.

*****​

London, Bromley, March 22nd, 1997

“Let’s go say hello!”

Randall opened his mouth to say something, but she was already standing up and walking towards the unknown wizard, her wand hidden behind her back. She couldn’t cast the Imperius, but she could hold someone at wand point. The others in the pub wouldn’t even notice - just like in the movies. A glance told her that Randall was right behind her. He wouldn’t be happy about this, she knew, but he would have her back anyway.

She was only a few steps away when the wizard noticed her. She saw his head turn towards her, his eyes still hidden by his ugly hat. She moved her arm a bit, to let him see her wand, to show him that they had him outnumbered and at wand point.

She was just about to tell him not to do anything foolish when she noticed that his right hand was hidden under the table. Before she could react, the entire table shot towards her. She managed to twist away, but that only kept her from having her face smashed in when the table hit her and slammed her into the wall behind.

She came to on the floor, disoriented for a moment. She was pushing herself up and grabbing her wand when the wall above her blew up, and fragments rained down on her. She heard screams and saw people rushing to the pub’s bar in the background. Dimly, she saw Randall moving, casting, as she scrambled away on all fours, then stood up.

Their enemy was at the door, one of Randall’s curses splashing against his Shield Charm. A strong Shield Charm - it didn’t shatter. She sent a Reductor Curse of her own at it, but missed, blowing up the door behind him. That caught his attention, and she almost froze when his wand flicked towards her.

Screaming, she rolled to the side, a curse splashing on the ground near her, and then she screamed in earnest when her side started to hurt as if her skin was on fire. Rolling around behind the remains of another table, she saw that there were smoking patches on her clothes and screamed even more. Then something hit her head and ...

Bess Cox woke up panting and sweating. She had barely realised that she didn’t know where she was when she felt the pain in her side.

“Take this,” someone said - Randall, she recognised the voice - and put a vial into her hand.

She downed it without hesitating or checking what it was, then hissed while the pain slowly eased.

“Did it help?”

Bess nodded. “Th… thanks,” she managed to say.

“I couldn’t do much about the acid burns. The ointment will take some time to restore the skin.”

“Acid?” Hadn’t she been on fire?

“You were hit with conjured acid of some sort. Fortunately, it was just some splatter, the spell missed you. Otherwise, I’d have had to take you to St. Mungo’s.”

Which would have meant Aurors taking an interest. And she was still a wanted witch as far as she knew. Bess nodded. “Thank you again.” The pain was gone now. “Where are we?”

“In a hotel,” he explained. “I obliviated the concierge, so we’re safe for the moment.”

“Good. What happened?”

“The wizard escaped. I did hit him with a curse or two, though. I think, at least.” He sighed. “I managed to get you and apparate out before the Obliviators or Aurors arrived.”

She gasped. “Shite! We had a fight in front of the entire pub!”

He nodded. “Breaking the Statute of Secrecy…” He grimaced while trailing off.

“We were just defending ourselves,” she said. “He started it.”

“After you threatened him. ‘Let’s go say hello’? Really?” He was glaring at her.

“I didn’t expect him to attack us.” Not in front of the pub. Or when faced with two wands. “Did you see his face?” The wizard had to have been an experienced fighter, probably a veteran of the war, given how he had fought both of them at once.

Randall shook his head. “Not clearly. Maybe if we had a Pensieve…”

She snorted at that thought, and he shrugged. “The news are calling it a firebomb attack. IRA or some crazy hooligans.” He snorted. “The Ministry’s excuses are quite transparent.”

The Ministry would be hunting them, now. Bess tensed, then told herself they were still safe. The Aurors wouldn’t know them. The Obliviators would have erased the memories of the witnesses.

But the purebloods in the flat would have been warned and escaped by now. And she wasn’t in any shape to continue the hunt. Bess closed her eyes and muttered a few curses under her breath. That could have gone better.

But, she added to herself, it could have gone a lot worse as well.

*****​

London, Ministry of Magic, March 23rd, 1997

“I assure you, Amelia, that we have no idea who was behind the incident in Islington.” That wasn’t entirely accurate - they had a suspicion, at least, but Neville hadn’t called back yet - but Sirius Black didn’t worry about such details. It wasn’t as if Bones looked like she believed him, anyway.

“The Resistance had just finished guarding our rally in Hogsmeade,” Hermione added. “We were not involved in that fight.”

Sirius glanced at the younger witch. Hermione was staring at Bones as if she dared the Minister to contradict her. She probably was, he thought - relations between the two witches were even worse than between himself and the Minister. He looked back at the older witch. “We’re very much interested in finding out who fought there, of course.” And who had been living in that flat across from the site of the fight. “What have your Aurors found out so far?”

“Nothing.”

Sirius couldn’t tell if Bones was lying - she was frustrated, but that was normal for her, in his experience. He shrugged. “Well, if you need help, I know a few skilled wizards and witches who could lend you some assistance.”

Her expression made him want to chuckle. “We suspect that muggleborns were involved,” she spat out. “Given the location.”

Hermione slightly cocked her head and frowned. “That seems rather arbitrary.”

“Who else would be found in that area?”

“Death Eater sympathisers in hiding?” Sirius said. He spread his hands when Bones glared at him. “They go out to eat in the pub across the street, get into an argument, and settle it the pureblood way?”

That earned him a glare from Bones and an eyeroll from Hermione.

“This sort of incident is not helping our dealings with the ICW,” Bones pressed out through clenched teeth.

Sirius shrugged. “It was handled by the Obliviators. As it was supposed to be. Speaking of the ICW, we’ve discussed the accusations by Jamaica.”

Hermione took her cue. “We should ask Jamaica for samples of the muggle explosives allegedly used in that attack on that houngan, to check with our own records. That would let us determine whether there is any link to the attacks in Britain.”

“And,” Sirius took over before Bones could answer, “it’ll put some pressure on the houngans.” Even Fawley wouldn’t be able to mess that up. Britain would appear cooperative and helpful, and the houngans would refuse to hand over such samples anyway - they were far too secretive.

Bones slowly nodded. “And what if they do offer those samples?”

“Then we analyse them,” Hermione said. Her tone left no doubt that she considered the question stupid. Bones’s expression left no doubt that she knew that.

Sirius wanted to chuckle again, but that would probably have pushed Bones too far.

*****​

London, No. 12 Grimmauld Place, March 23rd, 1997

“Do you think Bones will accept our proposal?” Hermione Granger asked as soon as Sirius had stepped out of the fireplace into the entrance hall of his home.

“I think so. She’s not the type to neglect her duty just because she hates our guts.” He shrugged.

Hermione wasn’t quite certain of that, but nodded. Sirius did know the witch better than she did. And thinking of the houngans… “We’ll need to learn spells to deal with those bone walls,” she said. “Dispelling them takes too long.”

“Do you think Reid’s still in Britain?”

She shrugged. “I think sooner or later, we’ll have to deal with houngans. I want to be prepared.” Much better prepared than they had been for Reid.

“Alright. There might be something useful in our library. The Blacks fought the houngans often enough - we had extensive holdings in Jamaica, before the rebellion, and my ancestors wanted to get them back - and those involved in the wars might have left some notes or records.” He smiled. “But between the curses, and the deliberate chaos - supposedly to keep outsiders from learning our secrets - it could take some time to check.”

Hermione barely held back from voicing her opinion of people who treated books like that. The Blacks deserved their reputation for that crime against libraries alone, in her opinion.

He must have noticed, since he chuckled. “Don’t glare like that! Everyone responsible has been dead for years, if not decades.”

“We’ll also need to prepare for the attack on Dubois,” she said.

“Vivienne is working on that. She’s visiting her family.”

Which explained why the Veela wasn’t in Sirius’s arms right now, Hermione thought. Then she told herself not to act like a hypocrite - she was quite affectionate with Ron as well, after all. And would be even more so, if they weren’t trying to be considerate of Harry’s feelings.

“Are you going to join the others at Longbottom Manor?” Sirius’s question interrupted her thoughts.

She shook her head. “Harry, Ron and Ginny can handle that just fine. I can use the time to start researching here.” She wasn’t in the mood to deal with Neville, anyway. Handling Seamus was already enough of an annoyance.

He looked at her for a moment, then nodded.

*****​

Kent, Longbottom Manor, March 23rd, 1997

“You went to attack a Death Eater hideout by yourself?” Ginny sounded as if the only reason she wasn’t hexing Neville was the fact that he was already hurt, Harry Potter thought.

“I didn’t plan to attack them; I was just watching the place to find out who was living there. Those two attacked me without warning,” Neville defended himself. He was in his bed, propped up by cushions, and his left arm was dangling from his wrecked shoulder. For someone who had taken Skele-Gro, he was holding up well, in Harry’s opinion - he knew just how painful that potion was.

“Mate, going out alone wasn’t the best decision,” Ron said.

“No one else would come with me. Even though they knew about this ‘telly trouble’.”

There was more than a hint of reproach there, Harry thought. And with some reason, he added, feeling guilty. They now knew that the twins had told him about that, but blown him off at the same time. If Neville had been killed in that fight… “We called after the rally, but you had already left.”

“Sorry.” Neville looked away. “I wanted to do something. But I messed it up. I don’t know how they spotted me - I was wearing muggle clothes.”

Harry exchanged a glance with Ron. His friend was probably thinking of some of the more outrageous styles they had seen worn. “Which clothes did you wear?” Ron asked.

“I went and bought the clothes I saw in that muggle newspaper.” Neville pointed at his desk.

Harry went over and picked up the issue of the Daily Mirror there. It was a few weeks old. “Which ones?” he asked, flipping through it. There were a few ads, but not for clothes.

“The fashionable ones,” Neville answered. “In the article on the page next to the one covering the ‘telly trouble’.”

Harry found it. “Ah, I understand now.”

“What?”

He looked at the other three Gryffindors. “They were probably too posh for that kind of pub.”

“Too posh?” Neville sounded confused.

“Too expensive. It’s like someone trying to pass for a Knockturn Alley resident while wearing Acromantula silk robes,” Harry explained.

“Ah.” Neville cringed. “I didn’t know that.”

“I wouldn’t have known that either,” Ginny said, “and I doubt that anyone who didn’t grow up among muggles would have.” She glanced at Harry and Ron.

“Yeah, mate,” Ron was quick to agree. Harry nodded.

“I still blew it. I had to flee before help arrived, and now the Death Eaters hiding there are gone.” Neville sounded despondent.

Harry wasn’t quite certain if they had been Death Eaters, but pointing that out wouldn’t help Neville either. “Well, there are other flats to check. Once you’re healed.” Which shouldn’t take too long - their friend hadn’t lost all the bones in his shoulder, after all.

“We can ask Hermione if we can make it an exercise for the Resistance,” Ron added, nodding. “The Death Eaters won’t stand a chance that way.”

Neville’s smile made Harry feel even more guilty about forgetting about him for a week.

*****​

Kent, Greengrass Manor, March 23rd, 1997

“They killed Theo.”

Upon hearing Astoria, Daphne Greengrass looked up from the Daily Prophet and at her sister. The younger witch was glaring at her across the dining table, her lunch untouched.

“I know,” Daphne said.

“You helped them kill him!” Astoria sounded as if Daphne had been the one to wield the wand that had ended Theo’s life.

“He was a damned fool who would have doomed us all. I saved us.”

“They wouldn’t have caught him without your help!” Her sister’s lips were trembling - she was close to crying, Daphne realised.

“They would have caught him.” Before Astoria could contradict her as she used to when they were still little children, Daphne went on: “But even if they hadn’t caught him, they would have killed us.” She held up the Daily Prophet, showing the pictures from Hogsmeade. “Did you see this? Did you see how many of them were at the rally? What do you think would have happened if we hadn’t told them about Theo?” She shook her head. “I’ll tell you what would have happened: They would have come for us. Killed us in Theo’s place.”

“But…” Astoria looked mulish.

“Don’t be a bloody fool!” Daphne snapped. Her sister gasped at her language, and stared at her with wide eyes. “Have you forgotten what happened in the war? How many of our friends who fought them are still alive? Huh? Do you think they have forgotten what we did? Do you think they will accept the verdict from the Wizengamot? The very same Wizengamot that they want to replace?” She was standing now, both hands gripping the table. “Do you think I wanted to sell Theo out? Of course I didn’t! But he was endangering us. Everyone knows that we fought for the Dark Lord. Who do you think everyone suspected to be behind those attacks?”

“But… we weren’t!”

“Do you think anyone cared about that? They wanted blood! They wanted revenge! If Theo hadn’t been stopped, they would have attacked us! We lost our parents! We lost our friends! But we lost the bloody war! And if we keep fighting them, we’ll lose our lives!”

Her sister was sobbing, her head lowered.

Daphne took a deep breath, then another, wiping some tears from the corners of her eyes as she went round the table, towards Astoria. But before she reached her sister, Astoria jumped up and ran out of the dining room.

“Astoria!”

Her sister didn’t stop, but ran straight towards the stairs.

Daphne sighed and sat down on the next chair. She closed her eyes and rubbed a few more tears away. She hadn’t liked betraying Theo either. But it had been a damn stupid idiot or her family.

And family always came first.

*****​

Anotto Bay, Jamaica, March 23rd, 1997

Augustus Rookwood wished he had a Daily Prophet. He needed to know what was happening in Britain. But he couldn’t be tracked by owls, and the only place on Jamaica where he might be able to buy an issue was Port Royal - provided the houngans allowed the newspaper to be sold on their island. He’d probably have to make do with a local newspaper, or maybe an American one.

And he’d better wait another day to let things settle some more. He was being hunted by the houngans, after all, and, even using Polyjuice to disguise himself, entering the capital of Magical Jamaica was a tad dangerous. Not as dangerous as attacking another manor, of course. Maybe he would try to kidnap a houngan in Port Royal, once he was more familiar with the town.

Until then there were the books he had taken from Williams’s manor to study. And plans to make about how he could send a letter by international owl post without revealing his location.

He had to keep up the pressure on the British Ministry, after all.

*****​

 

Chapter 56: Undercover Operations

‘The death of Theodore Nott was a greater shock to Wizarding Britain than one would have expected given his role in the recently concluded hostilities. For while he had been acquitted by the Wizengamot, it had also been proven that he had fought for the Dark Lord - something for which many, especially muggleborns, felt he deserved the death sentence. Violent acts of revenge - or vigilante justice - were all too common in the period following the Battle of Diagon Alley, although usually limited to returning muggleborns forcing out the purebloods who had taken over their homes and business.
But there were several reasons that Nott’s death had such an effect. He was killed by the Order of the Phoenix and the Muggleborn Resistance, with the Ministry only being informed after the fact - a clear demonstration of who had the real power in Britain at the time. Since he had been killed following an attack on Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes in Diagon Alley, his death also served to further erode the reputation of the Wizengamot. But almost more than anything else, his death served to send a message to the Old Families still clinging to their inherited power: The tide has turned.’
- Excerpt from ‘The Second Blood War’ by Hyacinth Selwyn

*****​

London, No. 12 Grimmauld Place, March 24th, 1997

For a moment, he was back in Azkaban. For a moment, he felt the cold, the pain, the desperation. For a moment, his escape, his exoneration, his new life with Harry, his friends and his new lover, was but a dream, a mirage.

Sirius Black shuddered. He wasn’t in Azkaban. He was in his home, in his bed. Warm. Safe. He had been out of Azkaban for almost four years now, and yet he still had nightmares and woke up afraid that he had gone mad and was still in his cell.

Although the nightmares occurred less frequently these days. He hadn’t felt the need to sleep as Padfoot for a long time now. Turning his head, he looked at one of the reasons for his progress. Vivienne.

His lover was still asleep, curled up next to him, one arm slung over his chest, one leg crossing his under the sheet, her long hair splayed out behind her on the pillow. He reached over to brush a strand that had fallen in her face back behind her ear, and she started to mumble in her sleep in reaction to his touch. A few seconds later, just enough time to for a quick Breath-Refreshing Charm, she opened her eyes. “Cherie?”

“Good morning,” he said, smiling at her, before leaning over to press a kiss on her brow.

“Bonjour,” she whispered, pulling herself closer to him with her arm and sighing contentedly when she rested her head on his chest.

He wished he could stay like this forever. He couldn’t - he had too many important tasks to accomplish - but he could stay in bed a little while longer.

*****​

“The location of Isabelle Dubois’s ’ome is a matter of record, so she is easy to find,” Vivienne said an hour later, in the living room. “But it is protected by old wards.” Sirius knew what that euphemism stood for: Wards erected by blood sacrifices centuries ago, when such atrocities were legal, or at least overlooked. Like the wards protecting his own home.

“Anything special about them?” Bill asked.

Vivienne shook her head. “I do not know. I’m not a Curse-Breaker.”

“We can go through any wards, however old,” Hermione cut in, “but everyone will know that it was us.”

“That cannot be allowed!” Fleur said quickly. “The Duc will be forced to declare war in response to such an open attack on one of ’is courtiers.”

Vivienne nodded in agreement.

Harry snorted. “He tolerates his courtiers supporting attacks in Britain.”

“Those are deniable actions,” Fleur said. “Done without ’is official knowledge.”

“He knew about your family’s intervention in the war, though.” Harry didn’t seem willing to let this go too quickly. “It was even in the newspapers.”

“That was an act of retaliation against a criminal, not an attack on a member of the government or the population of a foreign country.” Hermione earned herself a glance from Harry, Sirius noted.

He decided to intervene before they went off on that particular tangent. “The morality of such a stance aside, we cannot risk war with France.” The French were very prickly where their honour was concerned. “Which means that we need to grab our little agent covertly. And given the politics of the Court, we can’t have the Delacours or d’Aigles implicated either.” They were too close to Britain, with Fleur and Vivienne. “Any ideas?”

”If her home was deserted for a few hours, I could take down the wards and we could ambush her inside,” Bill said. “I would need some help for that, though.” Fleur glared at him; the Veela would know the risks incurred by such an action.

“She won’t be living alone, no matter her affairs,” Vivienne said - a bit cattily, Sirius thought.

“If we knew what explosives had been used in Jamaica, we could use the same and frame whoever was behind that attack,” Ron said.

“Most think we’re responsible for the attack on Jamaica, so that would point at us anyway.” Sirius shook his head. “Muggle means are out.”

“Let’s just hope no one at the French Court thinks of getting rid of a rival and framing us that way,” Harry muttered.

Sirius wasn’t the only one who glared at him.

“We’ll need to ambush her when she’s away from her home, then,” Hermione said after a moment. “If she’s, ah, having as many affairs as you indicate, maybe we could use one of her lovers’ homes for that? Or prepare a honey trap?”

“A what?” Vivienne asked.

After Hermione and Sirius had explained the term, the Veela nodded. “That could work. But we would need an attractive and ’armless looking bait.”

Which excludes myself, Sirius thought. His roguish charm meant he was anything but harmless-looking. Then he noticed that everyone was looking at him.

*****​

Cumbria, Britain, March 24th, 1997

“An ‘exercise’ in the middle of London involving half-trained Resistance recruits hunting purebloods in hiding. Right when the police are searching for supposed bombers. That’s a recipe for disaster.”

Hermione’s tone made her feelings on the matter clear. She wasn’t wrong, Ron Weasley knew. But he didn’t think his idea was bad either. “Neville going off on his own isn’t a good thing either. And unlike him, the recruits can blend in. Since we now have pictures of the attackers thanks to Neville’s memories, they won’t be caught by surprise either.”

“Unless they disguise themselves.” Hermione, sitting at the desk inside her tent, pressed her lips together. “I know I’ve seen them before, but I can’t recall where.”

“It was probably at the rally,” he said. “Most muggleborns were there, at least most of those who’d want to hunt Death Eaters in hiding.” He rubbed his shoulder and winced at the twinge of pain that caused - today’s training had been rough again. Harry suspected that the other recruits were a little resentful of the numerous absences of the two ‘auxiliaries’, and took it out in training. Ron thought that the Resistance simply overestimated them.

“If they were at the rally, then they went through security, which would mean that they were not disguised, nor under the Imperius, and we would be certain that they were actually muggleborns hunting supposed Death Eaters, and not purebloods in hiding,” she pointed out. “Even Neville didn’t stick out that much, and he has no experience with muggles.” She stood up and started to pace. “The last thing we need is another fight in a muggle area involving muggleborns. Those bigots in the ICW are just waiting for that so they can claim that we are a threat to the Statute of Secrecy.”

“We could use firearms, though.”

“That would cause a lot of trouble with the muggle police. We have to hope that they don’t make the connection to the warded flats interfering with television reception, or they’ll start searching, and once they start encountering the Muggle-Repelling Charms, someone’s bound to start noticing that something’s wrong.” Hermione sighed. She sat down on the bed next to him. “But we might have to take that risk anyway - if the ICW gets an excuse to intervene…”

Ron shuddered. He had heard tales about the African intervention. “So…?”

She nodded. “We have to be very careful, though.”

“We’re always careful,” he said. “Unless we’re being Gryffindors.”

That got a chuckle out of her, and she leaned into his side, her head resting on his shoulder. Then she sighed again. “It seems to never end. As soon as we have one problem solved, or at least a plan to deal with it, another appears. Not even killing Voldemort stopped it.”

“Killing him ended the war in Britain, though,” Ron said without hesitating. “We might not be doing as well as we could, but things could be a lot worse. We just have to keep going until there are no more problems. No more serious problems, I mean.”

She pulled back a bit to look at him, and he smiled. “We won’t lose.”

Hermione slowly nodded and hugged him. He wrapped his arms around her and took a deep breath.

They would get through this.

*****​

London, No. 12 Grimmauld Place, March 25th, 1997

Sirius Black frowned as he put down his cup next to the Daily Prophet the owl had just delivered. Remus was being stupid.

“All I’m saying is that this is a dangerous undertaking. After Nott’s death, Malfoy and Runcorn will be on their guard, and Daphne and Tracey will be under suspicion.” Remus stabbed his rashers almost violently, then stuffed them into his mouth.

The full moon had been yesterday, so Sirius’s friend was at his worst - ragged, tired and easily angered. Sirius would joke that he was like a witch on her period, but he still remembered how Lily had made him regret making that joke in their seventh year. The Dementors hadn’t touched that memory, of course. Still, some things had to be said, even if Sirius might have to be a little more diplomatic than his usual frank self.

“They’re Slytherins. They know how to lie, and how to deal with scum. It comes from spending so much time in a den of backstabbing snakes. And, of course, from being backstabbing snakes themselves.”

“They’re barely adults,” Remus said. “And you’re sending them to deal with wizards who have decades of experience.”

“They’re bloody Death Eaters! They’re only helping us because they want to save themselves. So, let’s make them earn their pardon.” It was better to risk enemies than allies, much less family and friends, Sirius knew.

“Technically, they were acquitted. They do not need a pardon.” Remus was being pedantic again. A good sign, so close to the full moon.

“You know what I mean. If they manage to get information we can use to deal with Malfoy and Runcorn, we’ll tell the muggleborns that they were spying for us. That should keep them from getting killed.” A damned good deal for the two Death Eaters, in Sirius’s opinion.

“And if they get killed trying to spy for us?”

He shrugged. “Then we’ll have a pretext to go after Malfoy and Runcorn.” Sirius grabbed another scone and pulled it apart. Then he noticed that Remus was growling. “What?”

His friend shook his head. “Nothing,” he spat, then stood up and left the kitchen.

Sirius blinked, then turned to Vivienne. The witch had been reading the Tribune Magique and hadn’t said a word during the argument. She had been paying attention, though, since she answered his silent question. “I think ’e might be fond of them.”

“What?”

*****​

“Moony!” Sirius caught up to his friend in front of the stairs leading up to the first floor.

“What?” Remus turned and looked at him with narrowed eyes.

“Are you in love with the snakes?”

His friend gaped at him. “What?”

Sirius was relieved at seeing his surprise. If the two Death Eaters had managed to seduce Moony… He sighed. “Just checking.”

Remus blinked, then clenched his teeth. “Are you trying to say that the only possible reason for my objection to risking the lives of Greengrass and Davis would be a possible infatuation with one of them?”

He nodded. “Of course.”

“Of course you would.” Remus sighed. “For the record: No, I’m not in love with either of them. Merlin’s beard, they’re still kids!”

“They’re adults,” Sirius pointed out.

“You know what I mean.”

Remus was baring his teeth again, he noticed. He didn’t actually know what his friend meant, but he nodded anyway. “That doesn’t change the fact that they joined the Dark Lord and tried to kill our family and friends.”

“And they came to us when they heard about Nott’s plans to attack muggleborns again.”

“Because they wanted to save their own skins,” Sirius retorted.

“From what I can tell, they’re sick of the war. They wouldn’t be the first kids who made a serious mistake that they later regretted.”

Sirius hissed. “That was different! I didn’t join the Death Eaters! Snape did!”

“Yes, he did. Later.”

“I wouldn’t bet on that. He was hanging out with all the Death Eaters,” Sirius spat.

Remus shook his head. “If you don’t start giving people a chance to change we’ll never have peace.”

Sirius remembered Dumbledore’s final message. But this was different. “I’m giving them a chance to change. But I’d rather risk them than Nymphadora.” Maybe mentioning the witch who had the hots for Remus would make him see reason.

His friend looked at him, baring his teeth for a moment. “Don’t try to get them killed.” Then he turned and walked away.

“I’m not,” Sirius told Remus’s back, loud enough so his friend would hear it.

But he wasn’t about to sacrifice anyone else for them either.

*****​

Kent, Greengrass Manor, March 25th, 1997

“Dear, there are a few strands escaping your braid. And your makeup needs a tiny bit of touching up.”

Daphne Greengrass looked at her image in the mirror in her room, ignoring its vapid comments. She looked just like a friend of Theo should look so soon after his death: wearing her best robes, but not quite perfectly coiffed and styled. Nervous and afraid she might be the next victim, but trying to hide it and put on a brave face. Just what Malfoy and Runcorn would expect.

Of course, she was nervous and afraid. If those two wizards suspected anything, it wouldn’t end well for her. They wouldn’t disappear her while she was a guest as that would make them the prime suspects, but it would only take one Imperius to send her to her death in an attack on Diagon Alley or Hogsmeade. She could almost hear Malfoy comment on how distressed she had been, obviously trying to avenge her friend Nott. They’d even make her a martyr for their cause.

Shaking her head, she left her room. Tracey would arrive soon. In the hallway she glanced at the door to Astoria’s room. Her sister had spent the last few days mostly in there, only emerging for meals. She hoped that that would change, but there wasn’t much she could do about it. Not right now.

Tracey hadn’t yet arrived, but Tonks was in the entrance hall. The metamorphmagus was wearing the face of an unknown witch and twirling her wand in her hand. A subtle reminder that Daphne couldn’t run, or so she thought. At least the werewolf had already left. Daphne shuddered - the full moon would be rising soon, and if the beast were still in her home...

“Nervous?” Tonks asked, mistaking her reaction.

“Yes,” Daphne answered, in a flat tone. She didn’t want to make idle conversation right now.

“You don’t have to be nervous. If they suspect you, then they’ll likely interrogate you before they do anything incriminating. And in that case, they’ll find out that we know where you are, so they can’t make you disappear.” Tonks smiled in a way that probably was meant to be reassuring. But the half-blood wasn’t the one visiting Malfoy and Runcorn. She wasn’t the one risking her life.

But Daphne didn’t point that out. Instead she simply nodded and hoped the other witch would stop talking. She already knew all that.

Her hope was in vain, though - the metamorphmagus continued to prattle on. “Given your supposed friendship with Nott, it won’t be suspicious that you’ll be carrying a portkey either. Just remember to clear the wardline before you use it, go through the garden for that, if you can, the plants will help break the line of sight.”

“Yes,” Daphne hissed through clenched teeth.

“I’m just trying to help,” Tonks said. “I’ve got some experience with such missions.”

Fortunately, Tracey arrived and the Auror shut up in favour of glaring at Daphne’s friend.

“Are you ready?” Daphne asked.

“Would I have arrived if I wasn’t?” Tracey smirked, but Daphne could see that she was nervous as well. “Did Professor Lupin leave already?” she added, looking around.

“He returned home,” Tonks said.

Tracey acted as if she were disappointed - she wasn’t as dumb as to actually want to see a werewolf right before the full moon, Daphne knew - then shrugged. “We’ll see him in the morning, then.”

“Unless he has something more important to do.” The Auror’s smile was about as honest as their upcoming visit, Daphne thought.

“Well…”

Tracey was about to needle the Auror some more, but Daphne cut her off. “Let’s go!”

She really wasn’t in the mood to listen to the two witches talk about the damned werewolf again. Tracey was taking her teasing too far, in Daphne’s opinion.

*****​

South Downs National Park, Hampshire, Britain, March 25th, 1997

“Miss Greengrass, Miss Davis. I’m glad you came.”

Malfoy sounded as charming as usual, Daphne Greengrass noted when she bowed to their host. If Theo’s death had made an impression on him, then he didn’t show it.

“Thank you for your invitation,” she said.

“Please follow me to the salon.” He gestured towards the door.

There were fewer guests in Malfoy’s home this time, Daphne thought as she and Tracey entered the salon. Philius Runcorn was there, which they had expected, but a number of his and Malfoy’s supporters in the Wizengamot were absent. She grabbed a glass of wine on the way to the gathering, only briefly hesitating. Their host wouldn’t have tampered with the wine, she told herself. Dosing a guest with Veritaserum would be such a hostile act, it would not only turn her and Tracey into enemies, but alienate his other allies. That was not something you did to test a potential ally, but a means to interrogate a prisoner. And if their cover had been blown, then such a ruse wouldn’t have been needed in the first place - they’d have been ambushed on arrival.

“Ah! Good evening, Miss Greengrass, Miss Davis!” Runcorn bowed a bit awkwardly, his age hampering his manners. “I’m very glad to see you both at our gathering here.”

“Good evening, Mister Runcorn,” Daphne said.

“We were just discussing the most recent tragedy. I offer you my heartfelt condolences for the loss of your friend.”

Runcorn sounded genuine, but any politician with his experience would, Daphne knew. She nodded, taking care to appear appropriately sad. She nodded again when the six other Wizengamot members hastened to follow Runcorn’s example. “Thank you. It’s a relief to hear such sentiments. Theo was the last of our group of friends from Hogwarts. Others we’d have counted as friends distanced themselves from us as soon as they heard of his death.”

“The rats are abandoning the ship,” Tracey muttered with a frown.

“Recent events have caused some of our acquaintances to reconsider their support,” Malfoy admitted. “It’s not a great loss overall, given how fickle they have revealed themselves to be.”

Tracey snorted. “Even the gold of cowards would have been useful.”

“Not to mention that should they not just distance themselves from us, but try to curry favour with our enemies, their votes and influence could be decisive,” Daphne added. Black was close to getting the majority he needed to ‘reform’ the Wizengamot.

“I can assure you that there is no shortage of gold. Our coffers are full, and we have friends with more to spend.” Malfoy smiled. “The situation in the Wizengamot is somewhat more precarious, I admit, but by no means hopeless. Even though we may have lost some supporters, they have not switched sides.”

“Not yet, you mean,” Tracey said. “They will just wait long enough so they won’t appear completely spineless before sucking up to Black and his allies.”

Daphne glanced at her friend. Tracey was overdoing it, in her opinion. She had a reputation for being blunt and outspoken, but if she was too obvious… “The opportunists had already changed their allegiance before the ... latest events,” she said. “I think that those who are now distancing themselves from our cause are doing so out of fear for themselves and their families.”

“Exactly!” Runcorn smiled widely. “Since they are motivated by fear, they will return to our side as soon as they realise that the mudbloods will not spare them no matter what they do.”

“Unless they turn blood traitor,” Tracey said.

“The mudbloods will not accept them on their side,” Runcorn said.

“They don’t have to. Black will promise them safety for themselves and their families,” Daphne retorted, “in exchange for their support.” She scoffed, remembering how Black had treated her and Tracey.

“Black!” Runcorn muttered the name as if it was a curse. “If his family could see him, betraying everything they stood for!”

“He and the other blood traitors are allied with the mudbloods, though. And so other purebloods, even from the Old Families, will try to join them as well,” Daphne said. Which was why she and her friend had contacted him in the first place. If they had known what he planned… well, they’d still have done it. It was their only chance to survive this war.

“Short of the mudbloods cursing Black in the back, that won’t change,” Tracey added with a sneer. “They’ll play nice until they have taken over the Ministry and the Wizengamot. And then it’ll be too late for the turncoats. They’ll be helpless.”

“At least Theo died with his wand in hand,” Daphne said. “Unlike others.”

Malfoy frowned. “Do you intend to follow his example?”

Tracey stared at him. “They won’t take us prisoner again. We’ll die as witches before we let them murder us as if we were muggles.”

Daphne saw Runcorn exchange a glance with Malfoy, and for a moment she feared that they had seen through her act. Tracey was just too obvious, she thought, tensing while she glanced around. The salon had a door to the porch of the house, but they wouldn’t reach it with eight wizards attacking them. And even if she and Tracey managed to surprise them, they wouldn’t be able to beat all of them. Not in close quarters. They could only hope that their portkeys would work.

Runcorn, though, smiled. “A very brave stance, worthy of your lineage. But our situation is not quite as dire as you make it out to be. Our enemies are more vulnerable than you think.”

Daphne hoped that her relief at not having been revealed as a spy would be mistaken for hope of winning against the mudbloods.

Malfoy nodded. “Dumbledore built an alliance between his Order of the Phoenix, the Mudblood Resistance and the Ministry which barely survived his own death, and broke apart after the Dark Lord was killed. Black claims he inherited the Order’s allegiance, but he’s no Dumbledore - he won’t be able to hold it together. He’s too radical, and too short-sighted.”

“He’s rich, though,” Tracey cut in. “And he’s the godfather of the Boy-Who-Lived.”

And, Daphne added in her mind, Black was certainly ruthless enough to lead the Order.

Malfoy frowned, but quickly smoothed his expression. “Not all of those who followed Dumbledore and opposed the Dark Lord will support turning the country over to the mudbloods, which is what Black intends to do. They will not need more than to see the mudbloods’ true nature to abandon him.” He smiled. “And while Black tries to portray Potter as the next Dumbledore, anyone can see that the boy’s just his mouthpiece. He is not even old enough to sit in the Wizengamot yet.”

“He did kill the Dark Lord, though,” Daphne said. “And that means a lot to the public.” Others among the guests nodded.

“The public does not matter as long as we hold the Wizengamot.” Runcorn nodded as if he truly believed that. Fawley and Avery didn’t seem to share his views, though.

Tracey snorted. “The Wizengamot won’t matter if a mudblood mob storms the Ministry.” That made half the others pale. Not Malfoy, though.

“That is a risk, but Black knows that if he condones such an atrocity, he will lose any support among purebloods,” Malfoy said. “And no matter his actions, he is a pureblood of an Old Family; the mudbloods will not follow him.” He shook his head. “No. Black knows that in order to take over Britain, he needs to keep the mudbloods in check until he is firmly installed as the Chief Warlock, with a crony as his pet minister.”

“Black’s very close to Granger,” Daphne said. “Who does all she can to keep the mudbloods in check.”

“He might appear to be close to the girl,” Malfoy said with a sly smile, “but that is only thanks to Potter. And I have it on good authority that Granger broke up with Potter in favour of Weasley’s youngest son. That sort of thing tends to put a strain on any friendship, doubly so among teenagers.”

“You’re not basing your hopes on Potter’s troubled love life, I hope,” Tracey said with a barely-hidden sneer.

“Of course not!” Runcorn said.

He seemed to be on the verge of expanding on that, but Malfoy smoothly cut him off. “Black’s family life, or lack thereof, is important, though. He’s taken a Veela as his lover, and lives with a werewolf. People were willing to overlook that during the war, but now?” He scoffed. “Some are already wondering if the Boy-Who-Lived should be raised in such an environment.”

Daphne didn’t have to fake her shudder and revulsion at the thought of living with a werewolf as others chimed in, and the discussion turned to ways of spreading such sentiment among the British wizards and witches.

She just hoped the others would not realise that Tracey was sneering at them, and not at the scandalous relationship between Black and the werewolf.

*****​

“Miss Greengrass, Miss Davis. Might you stay a few minutes? There is a small matter to discuss.”

Daphne immediately tensed and turned away from where she was waiting behind Fawley at the fireplace. “Of course.” Surreptitiously, she glanced around. Malfoy and Runcorn were standing there, seeing the guests off. Tracey was next to her, but she couldn’t see anyone else. She hadn’t cast a Human-presence-revealing Spell, though, and even a former summer house would have hidden passages for house-elves and other servants. Just because she couldn’t spot an ambush didn’t mean she was safe.

She didn’t let that thought show on her face, of course. “Shall we return to the salon, then?” They’d have an easier time escaping from there, instead of from the entrance hall. Unless they were planning to ambush her and Tracey there.

“By all means.” Runcorn stepped aside to let them enter first. Daphne couldn’t tell if he had been surprised, or not. She glanced at Tracey. If this was a trap, they’d be ready. For whatever good it would do them.

No one attacked her when stepped into the salon, but she didn’t relax.

“What did you want to talk about?” Tracey demanded as soon as the two wizards had joined them.

Malfoy cleared his throat. “Mister Nott mentioned a few weeks ago that he had a falling-out with you two. He didn’t go into details, but he said you had lost your nerve. Tonight, you seemed rather… more determined.”

Daphne nodded. “Of course Theo would have said that.” She shook her head in apparent regret. “He came to us, some time ago, with a barely thought-out plan to attack muggleborns.”

Tracey scoffed. “He basically wanted to continue doing what hadn’t worked before. We didn’t feel that suicidal.”

“So you expected him to be killed?” Malfoy’s smile didn’t reach his eyes.

“It did not come as a surprise,” Daphne said. “But we hoped that… we would be proven wrong.”

“And yet you have now chosen to pick up the fight? Your comments certainly gave that impression.”

Tracey shook her head. “We haven’t chosen to fight; we have realised that we do not have a choice. They didn’t inform the Ministry, but went after Theo themselves. They didn’t capture him either - they simply murdered him and everyone else in his home.”

“And everybody knows that Theo was a friend of ours,” Daphne added.

She caught Malfoy glancing at Runcorn and nodding. “I see. I wish I could disagree with your conclusion, but I fear you are correct: The mudbloods will not let us live, should they win this struggle.” He paused for a moment, then continued: “And I even suspect that no matter what you do or don’t do, the mudbloods will attempt to frame you.”

“We’re more cautious than Theo was,” Daphne said.

“That is wise,” Runcorn said. He glanced at Malfoy, and for a moment, Daphne thought this would be it - that the two wizards would take them into their confidence. She was wrong, though.

“I’m glad we cleared this up,” Malfoy said, instead. “These are very troubled times. We have more support than might be apparent, but with the current balance of power favouring the mudbloods, we need to move very cautiously.”

“We’re not about to fly off and cast curses at mudbloods in Diagon Alley,” Daphne said. “That would only court disaster. The Ministry can’t stop the the mudbloods should they start a rampage - or launch a coup.”

“The Ministry can’t, but they are not alone,” Runcorn said.

Tracey snorted. “The Old Families haven’t enough power to stop the mudbloods either.”

“Not yet, maybe,” Runcorn said.

“Theo was a fool to attack the Weasleys’ shop.” Daphne sighed. “If the mudbloods had gone out of control in response…” she trailed off, pressing her lips together.

“We can but hope that others will not follow his example,” Malfoy said, looking at them.

“We’ll defend ourselves if attacked, naturally, but we won’t attack anyone. Not until we’re certain that it will not do us more harm than good.”

Daphne nodded at Malfoy, who nodded back. She still had no proof of his involvement in the attacks, but she hoped that she had at least gained his trust.

*****​

London, Ministry of Magic, March 26th, 1997

“What do you have for me, Pius?” Amelia Bones asked as soon as the Head of the DMLE entered her office.

Pius waited until he had closed the door to answer. “The investigation into the incident in Islington has not uncovered anything new. Unfortunately, any witnesses were obliviated before we could question them.”

Amelia made a dismissive gesture with her hand. Witnesses were unreliable to begin with, and muggle witnesses doubly so. They couldn’t donate memories for Pensieves. “I meant something new, not something we already knew.”

“Two batches of Exploding Fluid were found in Nott’s home. One was matched to the attack on Diagon Alley on March 4th, and the other to the attack on Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes on March 21st.”

So the Unspeakables had finally done their job, Amelia thought. “Two different batches of Exploding Fluid?”

“Yes.”

“Was there enough of either batch for another attack?” She narrowed her eyes. He had to have considered that as well.

“Yes.” Pius’s expression didn’t change.

“So, either he had multiple sources of the fluid, or the second batch was planted in his home,” Amelia spelled it out. If it was Black then he would have covered his tracks. If she still had an Auror Corps worthy of that name, if she could spare a few experienced Aurors to look into the sources for the fluid… if, if, if. She shook her head. Even if she managed to find evidence that linked anyone to the planted fluid, she didn’t think the Wizengamot would find them guilty. Not if they worked for Black.

“There also was evidence that an Imperius Curse had been recently cast on Nott.” Pius met her eyes.

Amelia narrowed her eyes. That would support the theory that Nott had been set up - but by whom? With the Thief’s Downfall in the Ministry, the curse would have had to be cast more recently. That would point at Black and his allies. But if they had controlled Nott, would they have set up the attack on Diagon Alley as it had happened? They could have done a lot more with him as their tool. Did someone else set him up, to conceal their own involvement? “So, Nott was behind the attack on Diagon Alley, but he was likely forced to do so.”

“That is the conclusion of my investigators.”

“Did they find any evidence of memory charms?”

“No.”

“What about his backers?” She didn’t think that Nott had acted alone.

“We found no evidence of anyone working with him,” Pius said.

“Black and his accomplices had ample time to go through the manor before your Aurors arrived at the scene.” Her tone turned the statement into an accusation of sloppy reaction times.

Pius pressed his lips together before answering. “We arrived as soon as we heard about the attack.”

So, he didn’t like being told off for Black’s actions. Amelia carefully didn’t smile. “You didn’t have his manor under surveillance.”

He inclined his head. “There were not enough Aurors available for that.”

She knew he was right - she had been in his place before. But taking the blame for things out of your control was what you did as the Head of the DMLE. Especially if you were plotting against your superior. “And what results did your surveillance of the Greengrass and Davis Manors produce?”

That made him frown. “We haven’t been able to penetrate their wards, yet.”

She hadn’t expected that, of course - Amelia knew that the Ministry didn’t have many Curse-Breakers who could slip through the kind of wards Old Families had on their homes. And the few they had were among the Unspeakables, who were currently researching the Withering Curse. Not that they had made any progress so far. “Did your people at least manage to track them when they left their homes?”

“They met with Augustus Malfoy and Philius Runcorn yesterday evening.” Pius must have noticed her surprise, since he was smiling faintly.

She stared at him. “That was provided by your source among Malfoy’s friends.”

He nodded, his smile fading. “They have lost more of their allies following Nott’s death,” he said, “but their remaining supporters seem to be undeterred. If anything, they might have become even more determined to oppose Black.”

“Including Greengrass and Davis?”

“They are among his supporters in the Wizengamot.” Pius continued before she could berate him for evading the question she wanted answered. “But neither the host nor his guests let anything slip that would tie them to any attacks. Greengrass and Davis stayed behind when the other guests left, though.”

That wasn’t enough to take them in for questioning, she knew. And if she did it anyway, Malfoy and Runcorn would be warned. But she was certain that the two witches were involved in the whole affair. “Find out what those two are doing for Malfoy and Runcorn! Before Black frames them as well, and leaves them dead in the ruins of their manors.”

Pius nodded.

“Have you found out anything concerning Reid’s whereabouts?”

“Nothing,” Pius answered without any sign of shame at that failure. “Did the houngans respond to our request for samples of the explosive used in Jamaica?”

She shook her head. “Fawley has passed it on, but so far they haven’t even acknowledged it. He expects them to take a few more days before agreeing on a response. Although, according to him, it did counter their accusations in the ICW.” Not that that had taken much - the houngans were too infamous to have a lot of support. “Have Beaumont and Steiner been pestering the Aurors again?”

“They keep asking the same questions. We keep giving them the same answers.”

She snorted. Business as usual, then. If only those two would finally stop trying to spy on Britain and go home. But the ICW was still putting pressure on Britain. “Anything else?”

He shook his head and left her office.

Once the door had closed behind him, Amelia clenched her teeth and closed her eyes, hissing in frustration. Things were falling apart. Nott’s death had revealed how weak the Ministry was compared to Black’s alliance. The public might not have realised just how much contempt Black had displayed, but those who mattered had certainly taken notice. She didn’t even know if Pius was still following her orders, or if he’d inform Black as soon as he was out of her office. And the muggleborns were up to something as well, possibly on Black’s orders.

Not for the first time, she contemplated resigning from her post. But that would mean that either Black himself or one of his cronies would succeed her.

And the Ministry would lose any integrity it still had left.

*****​

London, No. 12 Grimmauld Place, March 26th, 1997

“The rest of the recruits won’t be happy that we’re gone for the night again,” Harry Potter said when he and Ron entered Grimmauld Place.

His friend shrugged. “We’re not recruits, we’re allies training with them. There’s a difference, and they should know that.”

“That sounds like Hermione.”

Ron cleared his throat. “Well, she told me that when I brought it up. It’s logical.”

“It is. But I doubt that the recruits think like her.” Harry was almost certain that they didn’t. Since Ron and he were missing quite a lot of the training, there would be some resentment brewing. Even with all the amenities of wizarding tents and magic, camp life wasn’t as comfortable as living in a wizarding home. The food certainly wasn’t quite as good, though the difference wasn’t as spectacular any more since the Weasleys had left.

Ron shrugged again. “They’ll get over it. We’re doing a lot more than training. And we fought Voldemort directly.”

Harry frowned. “That’ll follow us forever.”

“I sure hope so!” Ron said. “So we can avoid another war.”

He was right, even though Harry still didn’t like it. “I’m not going to wear robes that make you wish you were colour-blind, or grow a beard,” he muttered.

Ron chuckled and slapped him on the shoulder. “Stop being gloomy, and let’s see what Sirius called us here for.”

Harry thought, but didn’t mention, that Ron was as much interested in meeting Hermione, who was already here, as in learning what Sirius wanted to talk about. Mentioning it would have been petty. His two best friends were happy together, and he could be happy for them. Even if it still stung a little. Or a little more.

*****​

“There you are, soldier boys!” Sirius said with a wide grin, seated in his favorite armchair in their living room.

Harry glanced at Hermione, who was just getting up from the table to greet them. “Soldier boys?” Where had Sirius picked that up?

Sirius huffed. “It’s a famous muggle song!”

“Really?” He hadn’t heard that one.

“Youth today!” His godfather frowned at him.

“He found an old LP today,” Hermione explained, hugging him, then Ron. Who she kept hugging a bit longer, Harry noticed.

“Ah.” Harry sat down himself. “So, what did you call us for?” He saw Ron sitting down as well, and Hermione returning to the table with her notes.

“Greengrass and Davis met with Malfoy and Runcorn again. While they didn’t manage to find any proof that those two are behind the recent attacks, they did hear about Malfoy’s plan to ‘split us up’,” Sirius said. “Apparently, they think me living with Vivienne and Remus will make people worry about you getting ‘corrupted’.” He scoffed.

“And I’m a slut who seduced you, then dumped you, which will cause the Order and the Resistance to turn on each other,” Hermione added with a scowl.

Harry snorted. “That sounds as if they’re grasping at straws.” He forced himself to chuckle - Hermione hadn’t seduced him, of course, but she had, technically, dumped him. Not that he’d be a fool over that. She had made her decision, after all, and had been both honest and fair about it.

“A lot of people do hate werewolves, though,” Ron said. “Remember the scandal after Remus was outed? And Veela have a certain reputation as well.”

“The muggleborns don’t really care,” Sirius said. “The purebloods…” He shrugged. “Harry might have to point out that Remus, Fleur and Vivienne fought Voldemort, should the idiots manage to get an article published voicing their ‘concerns’.”

Harry nodded. He could do that. “Stupid bigots,” he muttered.

“And Malfoy, at least, is too smart to put his faith in that kind of prejudice,” Sirius said. “Runcorn’s living in the last century, so he might actually believe that drivel. But I don’t think they’re limiting themselves to a smear campaign.”

“More attacks on muggleborns and purebloods? Do they actually want to start a war? They have to know they’ll lose,” Harry said.

“They are aware of that, our two Death Eater spies did mention that.”

Sirius’s opinion of Greengrass and Davis hadn’t changed, Harry thought. He wasn’t quite sure how he felt about the two Slytherins - they were helping them now, and taking a considerable risk, but they had tried to kill the Weasleys during the war...

His godfather went on: “So they’re planning something else, I think.”

“We know that Nott tried to copy our own tactics,” Hermione said. “Even if he wasn’t too successful. His backers could be expanding on that, though.”

“Malfoy Manor?” Ron asked.

Harry felt a shiver run down his spine. If they attacked Grimmauld Place with a bomb...

“Malfoy Manor was isolated; we’re in the middle of London - an attack on us would be a threat to the Statute of Secrecy,” Sirius said.

“They could try to cover it up as a German bomb from the Blitz going off,” Hermione added, “but the Germans didn’t have bombs powerful enough to go through the wards on this place.”

Of course she’d know that, Harry thought. She had probably calculated the amount of explosives needed to destroy Grimmauld Place.

“They probably don’t know that, though,” Sirius said. “And on the other hand, our home not only has some of the strongest wards in Britain, but we also have quite the collection of cursed items and other dubious magical paraphernalia stored here. An attack that destroyed part of the house would probably set off a number of them - and that’s a clear threat to the Statue of Secrecy.”

Ron whistled. “Worse than what Bill used on the old Burrow?”

“More obvious, I think. One of my great-grand uncles was fond of using the Gemino Curse as a prank. My mother once set off an avalanche of dancing oil lamps. She survived the experience, alas,” Sirius said.

Harry was somewhat reassured. But… “That won’t keep them from trying to kill us elsewhere.”

“We’ll have to be even more on our guard than usual,” Sirius said.

“Really feels like we swapped places with the purebloods, now we’re hiding in our mansions and worrying about attacks,” Ron muttered.

Harry agreed with the sentiment. They had even left Hogwarts, as had the Slytherins last year.

“We’re taking steps to deal with them, though,” Hermione said, looking at Sirius.

Harry’s godfather grumbled: “I’m still not convinced it’s a good plan.”

“You’re the best choice,” Hermione said. “Remus certainly wouldn’t be able to seduce Dubois.”

“I wouldn’t be that certain,” Sirius objected. “He seems to have made an impression on both Nymphadora and one of our Death Eater spies.”

“Just because Tonks was complaining about Davis doesn’t mean Remus has turned into a heartbreaking Casanova,” Hermione said. “And Bill refused.”

“You mean that Fleur refused,” Sirius said with a snort. “She’s got quite the temper.”

“And Vivienne didn’t?” Harry asked.

The other wizard sighed. “She feels that taking down Dubois is worth ‘me sullying myself by getting close to her’.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “She isn’t as insecure as Fleur.”

Harry was tempted to ask if Hermione would want Ron to seduce a witch for their cause, but he knew better than to actually do so. She had a temper too, after all.

*****​

Sirius’s family had definitely never included a librarian, Hermione Granger thought, not for the first time. ‘Deliberate chaos’ indeed! She was sitting in the Black Library, skimming through another diary of one of Sirius’s ancestors. A rather self-aggrandising tale, and of doubtful veracity - the claims of dealing with bone constructs did not fit with her own experiences, although it was possible that this Black had fought weaker houngans. Or ones using less advanced spells. In any case, his curses would not help her. And neither would the descriptions of his ‘conquests’.

Sighing, she closed the journal and put it on the ‘read’ stack. She still had to reorganise those books as well - the library couldn’t be left in such a state, without even an index! And yet, she lacked the time to do that, with all the other things she had to do and deal with.

“No luck there either?” Ron asked, peering at her over the journal he was reading.

She shook her head. “Just another collection of embellished war stories. Barely better than Lockhart’s work.”

Ron winced. “That bad?”

“The prose is worse, actually.” Lockhart at least had been an accomplished writer who had, although probably by accident, successfully cast a Bone-Vanishing Charm to great effect. Unfortunately, that spell didn’t scale up enough to be of much use against a skeleton, much less a bone wall. “What about yours?” she asked.

“No spells, but the witch who made these notes describes the tactics they used.”

“That could be useful.”

“They didn’t work out,” he said.

“Still more useful than a detailed description of a whorehouse in Magical Miami,” she countered.

“What?” Harry looked up from the thick tome he was currently reading.

“Sirius’s ancestor had some peculiar priorities,” she explained.

“Ah.” Harry looked like he was about to say something more, but then went back to reading.

“Did you find anything useful?” she asked.

“Some spells that could be useful, though not against bone constructs and conjured skeletons.”

She sighed. “I really wish I could tell Sirius’s ancestors off.”

“You can, actually. There are portraits of them,” Ron said.

She shook her head. “Those are just a sort of imprint. Worse than ghosts.” And summoning their souls just to scold them for their crimes against libraries would be excessive. And impossible.

She grabbed the next journal in her pile and opened it. She didn’t start reading right away, though. Instead she looked at Ron and Harry. She remembered how they had killed Nott together. She was certain they had done that to spare her from having to do it herself. A sweet gesture, even though she had killed before. Many times.

And she knew she’d kill again - probably a houngan, she thought while starting to read the journal in her hands.

*****​

Provence-Alpes-Côte d'Azur, Near Toulon, France, March 28th, 1997

The French were far too aggressive in battle, but they knew how to live, Sirius Black thought, looking at the dishes and wine the waiters and waitresses were offering. The Comte de Hornes had spared no expense for his party. It wasn’t a masquerade, which was fortunate - people were always on their guard on such occasions; both Britain and France had had their share of assassinations at such events - but the robes worn by the guests resembled costumes more than the dress robes with which Sirius was familiar. Elaborately styled and with a plethora of spells cast on them, each was a minor work of art showcasing the skill of its wearer - and, in many cases, their body. A French tradition dating back to the time before the Statue of Secrecy, he had been told by Vivienne. His own robes were rather understated, although he had cast a few charms that animated the designs on them, displaying short scenes of famous events as they moved around on the fabric.

He resisted the urge to rub his face while he signalled a waitress with his empty flute. The muggle disguise Hermione and her friends had used on him made his skin itch, and he could only imagine what the paint they had smeared into his hair would do to his locks. The worst thing, though, was the loss of his beard. He didn’t look like a dashing rogue any more, but rather some ponce like Lockhart!

An attractive ponce, though, he had to admit - he did draw a great deal of attention from the other guests, and certainly not because of his robes. If he didn’t have Vivienne and wasn’t on a secret mission of the utmost importance… He sighed, and nodded at the servant who refilled his flute with more champagne before venturing towards the garden.

He still wasn’t fond of the plan. While it flattered him that others thought so highly of his charm, he felt exposed and vulnerable. His invitation was the result of some manipulation - blackmail, as he understood it - of a minor noble. He wasn’t likely to talk, but Sirius couldn’t help but worry a little. If he had been able to attend as a friend of the Delacours or the d’Aigles… but Dubois despised both families, and the feeling was mutual. And while the witch probably would have liked to steal the lover of a rival, she wouldn’t trust him enough for their plan to work.

Which meant he would have to take the first step, without being obvious about it. Which wouldn’t be too easy, not even for him. He walked on the terrace, acting as if he was looking at the garden while searching for Dubois. She wasn’t inside, and it was too early for her to have left without snubbing their host, so that meant… there!

He spotted the witch near the stairs leading to the fountain, talking with an older wizard. Probably one of her acquaintances, he thought - they didn’t look like lovers or even friends. She was wearing a robe with animated waterfalls in various places instead of fabric, a rather tantalising display, if he was honest. He glanced back at the room he had left, and met the eyes of Lydia, one of Vivienne’s cousins, then strode on towards the fountain.

As planned, Lydia followed him, catching up to him just as he was passing Dubois. “Monsieur Anderson!” she called out.

Sirius took care to frown briefly where Dubois could see it, but Lydia couldn’t, before turning around with a polite smile. “Mademoiselle?” Not quite impolite, but certainly not inviting anything.

The Veela, whose robes seemed to be made of clouds, looked taken aback, as planned. “I was curious about your homeland,” she said in French, then proceeded to ask him a few questions about Magical Portsmouth, the homeland of his cover identity. He took care to answer in a manner just this side of being rude, and the witch left in a huff. She was a good actress, Sirius thought as he watched her leave.

Sighing, he shook his head, sneering briefly, before he continued on his way towards the fountain. When he passed Dubois he nodded at her. “Bonsoir. Michael Anderson.” He let his eyes roam over her figure for an instant, before smiling at her with just a hint of interest.

“Isabelle Dubois.” She met his eyes, and he thought her polite smile changed into a more sultry one before he nodded at the wizard, who apparently was ‘Antoine Deschamps’, and left for the fountain.

A few minutes later, he saw her heading towards him, and smiled.

*****​

Magical Port Royal, Jamaica, March 28th, 1997

Augustus Rookwood hated wearing the form of a muggle boy barely old enough to carry a wand, but he didn’t have access to a local wizard’s hair to use with Polyjuice. At least he wasn’t risking being recognised as a muggle - since Jamaica had no school like Hogwarts to which all children were sent, no one should be suspicious that they didn’t recognise him. And his apparent youth also provided a good explanation for his lack of familiarity with the town, no matter how much it grated to act like a stupid child.

Of course, after several days spent roaming the town, he now knew the island’s capital quite well. And some of its residents no one would miss. Like the particularly unsavory houngan trying to sneak up on him, unaware that his spell had warned him of the man’s presence minutes ago.

Drawing his wand while he waited behind the next corner, Augustus grinned at the thought that Ricky, as the criminal called himself, probably thought that he had caught a lucky break when the apparent child had wandered into a deserted side alley.

He had his wand ready, and when the houngan turned around the corner, Augustus stunned him before he could react. A few spells later and Augustus tossed a bright red ball from one hand to the other as he left Port Royal.

*****​

 

Chapter 57: Hunting

‘It has been said that the Second Blood War was decided by intelligence and logistics. While I do not completely agree with that assessment - the war was ultimately decided by the defeat of the Dark Lord at the wand of Harry Potter in the Battle of Diagon Alley, not by a clandestine operation - I admit that both played crucial roles in the war. And in a not so surprising parallel to this, spying became even more important in the immediate aftermath of the war. Politics, never a honourable business to start with, was both bloody and dirty during that period, and every faction, both foreign and domestic, used spies to further their agenda. In hindsight, the Ministry’s rather lacklustre performance during the war can be at least partially explained by its apparent lack of intelligence assets as displayed in the political struggles following the war.’
- Excerpt from ‘Wizarding Britain in the 20th Century’ by Albert Runcorn

*****​

London, No. 12 Grimmauld Place, March 28th, 1997

Hermione Granger frowned when, for the fifth time in less than half an hour, Harry sighed loudly. “He’ll be fine,” she told him. For the fourth time. Harry’s godfather could take care of himself.

“He hasn’t done this before,” her friend said. “Not since Azkaban.”

That Sirius was still affected by his time in that hellhole - which Hermione was determined to close once they had taken control of the Wizengamot - didn’t need saying. All of them were aware of that. But they each also had their own demons to deal with. And more than the French to deal with. They’d never resolve the houngan crisis if Hermione couldn’t focus on her books due to all the distractions - it wasn’t as if they could do anything for Sirius right now. “He’s not alone. The Delacours and the d’Aigles are ready to help him, if they’re needed.”

Harry grumbled something she didn’t catch, but he’d at least now be silent for the next few minutes. And Ron hadn’t even looked up - for a boy who had grown up with six siblings, most of them prone to loud outbursts, without the help of a Silencing Charm until Hogwarts, this was probably nothing special.

She suppressed a snort - it wouldn’t do to set a bad example herself - and focused again on her reading. Although she didn’t expect anything to come from this book either - another tale long on combat descriptions, and short on specific spells. Or vague, in the more interesting scenes, like this account of a witch laying waste to a horde of undead by disrupting their very bones… She blinked. Winnifred Braddock? She had seen that name before, she was certain.

Yes - the books Dumbledore had left her. One of them was written by Braddock. She hadn’t done more than skim its contents as it had covered some of the magical creatures of Africa, but if she had been an accomplished witch on the battlefield as well, then that may have been a mistake.

“I’ll be right back!” she announced, standing up and closing the journal. She had to fetch that tome from the Resistance’s headquarters!

*****​

Ron Weasley blinked when he saw Hermione rush out of the Black Library without any explanation. And once again when she stuck her head back in to announce that she was fetching a book.

“It must be very important, if she almost forgot to tell us that she’s leaving the house,” Harry said.

Ron nodded. Hermione had drilled those rules into them like Moody would have. “Last time she rushed off like that was… second year? The Basilisk?”

“Probably,” his friend agreed.

And she had been petrified before she could get back to them, Ron remembered. Damn. She wasn’t in danger - she could apparate straight to the Resistance’s base and back - but now he was worrying anyway.

Fortunately, it didn’t take her more than five minutes to return, a floating trunk in her wake which she set down on her table with a flick of her wand.

“That looks like rather more than one book,” he said.

She nodded without looking at him, already opening the trunk. “Yes. One of the witches mentioned in the last journal had a familiar name… there!” With a wide smile, she held up a thick tome. “Winnifred Braddock’s ‘A Guide to Magical Africa’s Magical Animals’.”

“Africa?” Neither France nor Jamaica was in Africa. He glanced at Harry, who looked as lost as Ron felt.

“Yes, Africa.” Hermione was flipping through the book. “Apparating Aardvark… Blasting Aerophant… Bone Devil!”

Ron sighed. They wouldn’t get an answer until Hermione was done with whatever she was researching.

“‘Bone Devils, distant relatives of the dreaded Greater Tasmanian Devil…’ - I seriously question that - ‘... appear as masses of swirling bones. They seem to grow in size as they age, but are actually simply adding the bones of their prey to their shell. Older specimens may take a long time to be defeated as the accumulated bones form an almost impregnable armour which is able to absorb many spells in battle. To deal with them, the native wizards developed a Rapid-Bone-Dissolving Potion which is made from…’” She looked up at Ron and Harry and smiled.

“Time to brew!”

*****​

London, No. 12 Grimmauld Place, March 29th, 1997

Once, Ron Weasley had liked Potions. His mum used to brew a number of them for the family and he had liked watching her work when he was little. That had changed once he had started at Hogwarts, of course - Snape could have made anyone loathe the subject. Not even Slughorn, who was a decent teacher, replacing Snape a year ago had changed that.

Nevertheless, Ron was a little apprehensive as he watched Hermione drop a batch of sliced serpentine slug spleens into the cauldron in Sirius’s - and Harry’s - basement. He knew she excelled at Potions, as she excelled at everything else, but she hadn’t brewed this potion before, and all they had were the notes of this Braddock witch. If anything went wrong… he shuddered.

It had taken Ron and Harry some time to persuade her that the middle of the night wasn’t the best time to start brewing an exotic potion for the first time - she had taken her ‘failure to properly study’ the books Dumbledore had left her rather hard.

Hermione noticed his reaction and frowned at him as she started to stir the potion. “What’s wrong?”

He almost told her to watch her stirring, but questioning her ability to brew a potion and talk at the same time would distract her more than simply answering. “I’m trying not to think about what would happen if this Rapid-Bone-Dissolving Potion was spilled.” Horrible images of flopping on the floor as some sort of boneless human puddle came to mind.

She snorted. “It’s actually quite safe. It only affects bones, not skin or flesh. Not even hair or teeth. You could bathe in this and it wouldn’t do anything. Well, there’s the heat, but other than that…” She shrugged and stopped stirring, then added the handful of diced garlic she had prepared earlier. “Of course, if you drank it, there would probably be some unpleasant effects.”

“So, we still need a way to deal with zombies? The undead variant, I mean,” he clarified before she could correct him.

She stirred again - counter-clockwise this time - and pursed her lips. “The type of zombies made from animated corpses are usually decaying. Unless they are very fresh, bones should be exposed in various spots where the flesh and skin have rotted off, and therefore they would be vulnerable to the potion - at least to some extent.”

“Might be good to soften them up with Blasting Curses, then,” Ron said. “To expose more bones.”

“Yes.” She bit her lower lip as she grabbed a pinch of powdered fluorite, sprinkling it carefully into the liquid. “We’ll also need a way to use the potion in the field. Throwing vials at skeletons, even with Banishing Charms, is not an effective method.”

“The ‘Everlasting Evaporator’ Dumbledore had left to me would have been good for that, if combined with some wind,” Ron said. “But it was destroyed.” Together with his brothers’ shop.

“If we can discover the spell that the item used then we can turn the potion into a sort of aerosol,” Hermione said. “It couldn’t be used effectively with most potions, but on this, and maybe a few others which are actually more like ointments…”

“Exploding Fluid?” Ron had paid attention when she had told him about the different types of muggle bombs.

She winced. “That would… probably act like a fuel-air explosive. We’d need to test it. Once we know the spell. Finding it might take some time, unless it’s in the Hogwarts Library.”

“I could ask Ginny to check.” It would keep his sister busy, contributing, and out of trouble.

“She can’t involve others, though - we don’t want that knowledge to spread to our enemies. They could greatly enhance the effect of their attacks that way.” Hermione took a step back from the cauldron and used her wand to dim the flames beneath it. “Now it just needs to simmer for three and three quarter hours,” she stated while winding up a muggle alarm clock.

Ron let out a sigh that was just a bit too loud, then grinned when she frowned at him. “Time to study the books Dumbledore left you?” They could spend more time together.

It was her turn to sigh. “I wish I could. But I have to check up on the training camp. We’re running exercises for the planned operations in London.”

“Ah, right.”

“Are you going to take part as well?” she asked, her head tilted slightly to the side. Her hair had grown out some, he noticed, but it was still far from the wild mane she had sported before the war.

“I don’t think so,” he answered. “You’re not the only one who has sort of neglected what Dumbledore left us.” And Harry could handle Neville in the training camp just fine. “Even though I don’t yet know just how useful are the trinkets I’ve got left.”

The Evaporator had been obvious in hindsight, the bound Marid had been obviously useful, and he had thought of a few uses for the Animated Rope. The rest, though, were not quite as easy to make sense of. He still hadn’t found a way to use the self-shaving flying razor for anything but shaving since it couldn’t be used to cut anything but hair; he had tested that. And the other two...

Well, he could spare the time for more experimentation. Dumbledore must have had a reason to leave those items to him.

*****​

Cumbria, Britain, March 29th, 1997

“You want to be trained as a soldier? You look like a tourist! Do you plan to crawl through the mud wearing those fancy pants? Do you expect a butler to follow you around with a tray of champagne?”

Harry Potter saw Neville cringe when the Sergeant addressed him - they should have changed before apparating, he realised - but his friend quickly stood up straight again. “Yes.”

“Yes, you’re a tourist?” The tall mercenary stepped closer to loom over Neville.

“No, I’m here to train with them!” Neville responded. He pushed his chin out and stared at him.

The Sergeant snorted. He nodded towards Harry. “Him and his mate are skipping training half the time, and now you arrive three weeks late. This isn’t a summer camp, boy!”

That remark cut a bit too close to the truth, Harry thought. Ron and he were absent a bit too often in his opinion. The recruits probably thought the same. Two of them who were watching the scene, Emily and Anna, were snickering. He shook his head. “He isn’t here for the whole training, just a day.”

Neville shot Harry a look that clearly told him that his friend felt betrayed. Harry didn’t react and instead focused on Boones.

The mercenary narrowed his eyes. “He won’t learn enough in a day to go into combat. Not that you’ll learn enough in a month either.”

Fortunately, Neville held his tongue, though it was obvious that he disagreed. Harry shrugged. “It’s just a day. We’ll get changed.”

The Sergeant scoffed and shook his head, but turned away. As soon as he spotted Emily and Anna, he bellowed: “You there! You think this is funny? You think you’re real soldiers? You’re not any better than the tourist here! Stop wasting time here and run to the range so you can at least hit the area of your target with a gun!”

“Yes, Sarge!” The two witches jerked and ran off. Boones glared at Harry and Neville, then walked towards the range himself.

“Range?” Neville asked.

“Shooting range. For firearms training,” Harry explained.

“Ah. Like a duelling hall?”

“Not quite.” Harry led him over to the Resistance’s tents.

“I guess I’m not going to learn how to use firearms then,” Neville said. “If it takes that long.”

“You’re right. You’ll get to watch the others so you know what they can do, though.” Harry noticed Neville looking at the fatigues he had been given with a puzzled expression. “Something wrong?”

“Just wondering… will we be wearing these green clothes in London? I think I only saw one guy wearing pants with that colour and pattern when I was there. In muggle London, I mean.”

“No. We’ll be wearing normal clothes,” Harry said. “Normal muggle clothes. Nothing too posh. So we can blend in.” And so no one would call the police and report that London was under attack by unknown soldiers.

“Ah.” Neville grimaced. “I didn’t know that my clothes were wrong. They were in that magazine.”

“They weren’t wrong, just a bit too expensive for the area.”

“Ah.” Neville held up the flap of Harry’s tent for them. Inside, he sighed. “At least your tents are normal. Everything else…” He closed his eyes, sitting down in an armchair in the tent’s living room. “That man doesn’t like me.”

“Boones?” Harry snorted. “He doesn’t like anyone, I think. You should hear the others talk about him.”

“Like Moody?”

“Pretty much.” Except that Moody was dead, Harry thought, killed by Voldemort. If Harry had been a bit faster arriving that day… he sighed, sat down on his bed and pulled his fatigues out of his pocket.

“So…” Neville said after a moment. “You left Hogwarts for this?”

“More or less.” Harry shrugged, then started to change.

“Are you and Ron part of the Resistance then?”

“Not exactly.” And they probably never would be.

“Is that because you’re not muggleborns?” Neville held up his new pants.

He wasn’t exactly wrong, Harry knew. He shook his head anyway. “We’re members of the Order, not the Resistance.” He pulled his shirt on, then grabbed his boots. “But enough of that. Hermione will run an exercise this afternoon. I’ll give you a tour of the camp until then, with a stop at the range.”

Neville nodded, then licked his lips. “Do the others, the muggleborns, like you?”

“Are you asking because you saw them laughing at us?”

Neville hesitated, then slowly nodded.

“They were laughing because they went through the same thing when we started here. Boones called them the sorriest lot of recruits he’d ever seen. And he said the same to Hermione and the other Resistance members in the first camp.”

“Ah.” Neville looked relieved as he transfigured his shoes into boots.

“Of course, they don’t particularly like the Ministry or the Old Families, but they know that you went out by yourself to hunt Death Eaters. You’ll be alright.”

Seeing Neville smile weakly, Harry hoped that he wouldn’t be proven a liar.

*****​

Marseille, Quartier Magique, France, March 29th, 1997

The French knew how to live well, Sirius Black had to admit - the room in the hôtel he had rented didn’t lack any amenity for which he might wish. Extension Charms had turned the room into a suite, or maybe even a small palace, the furniture was covered with all sorts of spells to provide maximal comfort, as the bed he was lying on proved, and the lunch had been magnifique.

It was expensive, of course - but Michael Anderson, recent émigré from Magical Portsmouth who had managed to save most of his fortune when he had to take flight after a coup had toppled the old regime, could afford it. As could Sirius, of course. But all this luxury didn’t change the fact that he was missing his family. Not even Vivienne could stay with him, lest his cover as a bigoted pureblood from the Americas be blown.

A soft knock at the door - magically created; he could have any sound he wanted instead - informed him that someone from the hôtel’s staff was waiting outside. Sighing, he scooted a little to the side so he could easily let himself drop behind the bed to use it as cover and, just in case, drew his wand and flicked it at the door.

It was one of the maids. “Monsieur Anderson? There was a letter delivered for you.” The young woman held out an envelope.

Sirius didn’t bother getting up. Anderson wasn’t interested in maids, no matter how pretty they were, nor how well their robes fit them. He was a snob of the worst sort.

“Thank you. Accio letter.”

The envelope flew towards him, landing softly on his bed - Sirius trusted the hôtel’s security measures, but he’d still cast his own spells to check for curses before touching the thing. Another flick of his wand sent a Sickle to the maid.

“Merci, Monsieur.” She smiled politely and bowed.

He waved his hand as she left the room, then cast a few detection spells on the envelope. It looked safe, but you never knew. And since the North American Magical enclaves were notorious for their spotty records due to their constant wars and revolutions, claiming to be from the Americas was not entirely unheard of as a cover, to say the least. But then again, the constant turmoil also regularly sent a lot of genuine emigrants to Europe.

The envelope carried the seal of the Damases, one of the oldest pureblood families in France. He cast a Severing Charm on the envelope, slicing it open without breaking the seal, then summoned the parchment inside.

It was an invitation to a dinner with Marie de Damas for the following day. She wasn’t from the main branch of the family, of course - those Damases would never give a colonial émigré the time of the day - but she was a close friend of the Comte de Hornes. Rumoured to be his natural daughter, actually, as Vivienne had told him in private. One of those rumours everyone was aware of, apparently, at least in Magical France.

Chuckling at the differences between France and Britain - such a rumour would have caused a duel or two among the Old Families - he used a Dictaquill to pen his acceptance of the invitation. He didn’t know if Dubois would be attending as well - Vivienne hadn’t mentioned de Damas as an ally of the witch - but it wasn’t as if he had anything else planned for tomorrow.

But he hoped Dubois would be in attendance - he wasn’t looking forward to fending off another gaggle of witches looking for a rich husband, or acting like a bigot towards anyone with muggle or non-human heritage, without the audience for whom his act was meant. Even though Vivienne had assured him that Dubois would hear about everything the day after at the latest.

Sirius leaned back and closed his eyes. He missed her. Her smile, the cute way she tried to hide her distaste whenever Kreacher served black pudding for breakfast, how she sounded as she woke up…

He wished this undercover mission was already over so that he could return to his family.

*****​

London, Bromley, March 29th, 1997

Bess Cox studied her arm. She couldn’t spot any scars, not even a discolouration where the acid had burned her - her skin had been completely healed. And yet she felt the urge to scratch at it.

“Admiring yourself?”

She looked up and saw that Randall had left the bathroom of their room. He was already dressed.

Unlike herself - she was still clad in the shirt and shorts she had worn to bed. She snorted at him. “Just checking your handiwork. Wouldn’t want to have the arm fall off in the middle of the street.”

He chuckled at that. “That could actually happen if you splinched yourself. Imagine the reaction of the muggles!”

“I’d rather not break the Statue of Secrecy like that,” she said, getting up, picking up her clothes and heading towards the bathroom herself.

“That wouldn’t break it - the Obliviators can handle that kind of incident easily.”

She didn’t take long to get ready for the day - or afternoon - herself. A quick shower, and some cleaning and cosmetic charms and she was done.

Randall was sitting in the single chair of their room and reading the newspapers when she stepped out of the bathroom. “Did you find anything interesting?”

“No.”

“Are they still hunting us?” Bess asked while sitting down on her bed. It was a pointless question; the police wouldn’t drop the case.

“It’s been a week. Too long for the tabloids to still be focusing on the fight, not long enough for them to be calling for the head of the superintendent in charge of the investigation.”

“Do you think it’s safe to go and hunt the next Death Eater?” She needed to do something after spending a week basically holed up in the hotel, doing nothing but talking and watching the telly. Randall didn’t seem to be interested in shagging either, or maybe he had seen too much of her burned skin while treating her wounds. She wasn’t certain if she was interested anyway.

“Safe? No.” He shook his head, and her hopes fell. Then he grinned. “Hunting Death Eaters is never safe. But I doubt that the police have made the connection between the wards and the fight, so we shouldn’t have trouble with the muggle authorities while investigating the next flat.”

She huffed at him for pulling her leg like that, but she was grinning.

It was time to hunt again!

*****​

London, Ministry of Magic, March 29th, 1997

“An impressive reception, Madam Minister. Especially considering your circumstances.” Beaumont raised her glass while she made a show of letting her gaze wander over the Atrium of the Ministry.

“Thank you, Madam.” Amelia Bones smiled politely at the witch. “But what circumstances do you mean? The fact that your colleague has still not been seen after his attempted attack on Hogwarts?”

The delegate’s fake smile didn’t even waver. “I’m talking about the resumption of hostilities in your civil war. That throws some doubt upon Britain’s ability to uphold the Statute of Secrecy.”

Amelia scoffed. “Do you consider any arrest made by your Gendarmes Magiques an act of war as well, then? Five dark wizards last year in Marseille alone, I think, according to your own words to my Head of the DMLE last week. Not counting the two repelled raids by Barbary Coast wizards on the Côte d’Azur.”

This time Beaumont frowned. “There were no Aurors involved in the attack on Mister Nott and there were no arrests made. It was at best a vigilante action by remnant elements of a faction from your civil war.”

“I wasn’t aware that French wizards were the kind to meekly call for the Gendarmes when attacked,” Amelia retorted, “instead of pursuing fleeing attackers. But perhaps I was mistaken about the famous French élan.”

“There’s a difference between pursuing a fleeing thief or assailant and an attack on a manor by an organised group.” Beaumont sniffed. “Are you honestly trying to tell me that you support this kind of vigilante action?”

“The Ministry’s position is and has been for years that if no Aurors are present, any British wizard or witch has the right to apprehend criminals caught in the act,” Amelia quoted. She was entirely correct - though not many would have included taking and destroying an entire manor in that clause. She bared her teeth in a poor facsimile of a smile. As much as she loathed defending Black’s actions, she hated the meddling French witch even more. This reception should have been the celebration of the ICW inspection concluding. But both Beaumont and Steiner were using the recent events as a pretext to prolong their stay.

“Oh, but isn’t that the core of Britain’s troubles? That the war was so costly that there are not enough Aurors available any more to enforce the law?” The French witch tilted her head slightly to the side and smiled with fake sympathy.

“Recruitment and training are going well. As you have seen, volunteers are supporting the Aurors in the meantime. They even managed to foil an attempted sacrificial ritual by a colleague of yours. To think that someone would abuse the mandate of the ICW in such a despicable fashion to strike at a school full of children…” Amelia shook her head in equally fake concern. “It makes you wonder what else might have been happening during this inspection.”

Beaumont wasn’t smiling any more. “Are you insinuating that either I or my Prussian colleague are preparing blood sacrifices?”

“Of course not,” Amelia said. “I was talking about the sacrificial rituals Reid conducted before he was stopped. We have found multiple disappearances of muggles that we think are connected to his actions. Not exactly the kind of conduct expected of an ICW delegate. One might wonder why you were not aware of this. And why you insist on prolonging your inspection with the weakest of pretexts.” She wasn’t even pretending to be polite any more. She was simply too sick of all the plotting and lying and the backstabbing. She wanted these foreign meddlers gone from Britain so she could concentrate on rebuilding the country before Black started to tear down even more of it.

“Are you accusing me of abusing my mandate?” Beaumont scoffed. “That’s a quite transparent attempt to shift the blame and hide your deficiencies. It will not work, Madam Minister. We, that is the ICW, will get to the bottom of this affair.” Without giving Amelia a chance to respond she turned away.

“She seems more easily rattled than at the beginning of the inspection.”

Amelia didn’t have to turn her head to know Pius had stepped up to her side and had observed the whole exchange. She shrugged. “She could be faking it, to make us think she’s nervous.”

“To what purpose? It would only make her look guilty.”

“But why would she be nervous? We don’t really have anything on her, or her country.” Amelia turned to look at Pius. “Unless you’ve been withholding information from me.” She narrowed her eyes - he would do that, if he thought that it would serve his goals and that he could get away with it. She had done the same, some of the time, when dealing with Cornelius.

He shook his head, then cast a privacy spell. “I just received this news: A muggle yacht that went missing the day after the Hogwarts incident has been found wrecked on the coast of France. According to the report from my French colleague, there were traces of magic found on the ship - and blood from several people.”

“Reid.”

“The timing would indicate that, but there are, of course, other possible suspects as well.”

Rookwood, for one. But Amelia had been an Auror for most of her life. She’d bet Galleons to Sickles that Reid had gone to France.

But whether he had gone to co-conspirators there, or simply used the country as the most expedient way to return to the Caribbean, she couldn’t tell. “Have you told Black this?”

“I did. He left the reception shortly afterwards, citing a stomach ache.”

“He did?” Amelia frowned. “That’s unlike him.”

“He might be suffering from a curse or a wound received during the attack on Nott Manor.”

Amelia didn’t think that was likely. Not unless Nott had been far more into the Dark Arts than preliminary reports indicated. Which was not impossible, of course. “Look into it.” She spotted Greengrass and Davis in a corner, talking with a crony of Malfoy’s, and added: “And increase your efforts against those two.”

She might not have much time left until the Wizengamot would fall to Black and remove her, but she would spend all she had doing her duty.

*****​

Cumbria, Britain, March 29th, 1997

“... and the brutal murder of Theodore Nott is but one example of what we have to expect should the muggleborns not be brought to heel. Violent criminals are already running rampant in Diagon Alley, evicting law-abiding wizards and witches - both purebloods and half-bloods - from their homes and looting their shops. Businesses are hurting since their customers cannot walk through Diagon Alley any more without getting harassed, or worse!

“The Ministry has lost too many Aurors and Hit-Wizards in the war, often at the hand of muggleborns, to uphold law and order any more! It falls on all of us witches and wizards to support the Ministry to prevent our country from falling into anarchy!

“Remember our history! Remember our traditions! Do not let the mob rule Britain! Band together and take back our country from the criminals before they rule us!

“This is the first broadcast of the Pureblood Voice!”

Harry Potter flicked his wand to reduce the volume of the wireless receiver in his and Ron’s tent when the propaganda broadcast was replaced by the normal program - the Witching Hour, playing one of Celestina Warbeck’s songs.

“Blimey! They started their own pirate wireless?” Ron shook his head, then winced, rubbing his shoulder, which had been bruised during the exercise that afternoon.

Harry nodded. “Looks like it. They interrupted the normal program in the middle of a song, and I don’t think the Wizarding Wireless Network would dare broadcast this.”

Neville, sitting on the couch in the tent’s living room, cleared his throat. “Do you think the muggleborns heard it?”

Harry shook his head. “I don’t think so. They tend to listen to the muggle wireless.”

Ron sighed and pointed his wand at his temple, drawing out a silvery strand of memory. Harry stared at him and Ron answered his unspoken question: “Hermione will want to listen to it herself.”

His friend was right, Harry knew. “Let’s return to Grimmauld Place then.” It would mean another night away from the Resistance’s recruits, and right before their mission in London, but it couldn’t be helped.

*****​

London, No. 12 Grimmauld Place, March 29th, 1997

“So that’s ‘The Pureblood Voice’...” Harry Potter heard Hermione say when she pulled her head out of the Pensieve. She chuckled. “If it wasn’t so serious, it would be ironic - they claim to be fighting for their traditions, and yet they copy muggleborn tactics where they can.”

He snorted. “Sirius would say that’s typical of the Old Families.”

“They did it with the Hogwarts Express, and the Wireless too,” Ron added. “And the cars.”

“We have more important things to do than to discuss pureblood hypocrisy,” Hermione said, taking a deep breath. “If purebloods are forming groups to attack muggleborns…” She pressed her lips together until they formed a thin line.

“... then we’ll be back at war,” Ron finished for her.

“Will the purebloods believe them, though? Everyone knew that Nott was a Death Eater, even though the Wizengamot let him go,” Harry said. “And he did attack us after he was acquitted.”

“That’s true, but they also know that we killed him, instead of letting the Aurors arrest him.” Hermione sighed. “Not that we had much choice - if we had left it to the Ministry, they would have bungled the arrest, and we would have had muggleborn vigilantes, maybe even death squads, as a result.” She looked quite grim as she levitated the memory strand back into a vial. “But if the purebloods - especially those who didn’t mind the persecution of muggleborns - do believe that we want to hunt them down indiscriminately, they might be driven to support Malfoy and Runcorn, or simply form their own death squads.”

“Cursed if we do, cursed if we don’t?” Ron shrugged. “Not too many purebloods will fall for it. Dad’s been talking to people in the Ministry since Voldemort’s death, and pretty much everyone is glad that the war is over. It’s mostly the Old Families who still believe these kinds of lies.”

“But the muggleborns taking back their homes and shops in Diagon Alley wasn’t well received by everyone,” Harry said. “Many normal purebloods were evicted, after having bought or rented them from others, and Sirius said that the Ministry hasn’t made any headway in sorting out that situation.” Which meant that the evicted tenants or buyers might blame the muggleborns as readily as the pureblood war profiteers who had seized the buildings after the muggleborns’ exodus .

“We’ll need to counter these lies with our own broadcast. And an article in the Prophet and possibly The Quibbler.” Hermione sighed. “It’ll draw attention to the broadcast, but that can’t be helped.”

“Tomorrow’s mission won’t help either,” Harry pointed out. It was like juggling grenades. They had to appease the radical muggleborns, but couldn’t drive the bigots to think that they had no other choice than to fight.

He heard Neville, who hadn’t said anything so far, hiss at that. “We can’t let the Death Eaters get away!”

“We won’t let them get away,” Hermione said. “But we might need to hand over any prisoners - and there will need to be prisoners - to the Ministry.”

“They’ll acquit them!” Neville protested. “Like they did with Nott, Greengrass and Davis!”

“We can delay any trials until we’ve taken over,” she answered.

“That works - if this whole affair doesn’t slow us down,” Ron pointed out.

Sirius’s absence would slow down their takeover as well, Harry knew. But if they could prove that the French were behind the latest attacks, then that should help their cause significantly - many British wizards held more loyalty towards their country than to their blood status.

Of course, Sirius needed to succeed with his undercover mission for that to happen.

*****​

London, Sutton, March 29th, 1997

“No wonder the Death Eaters are hiding here,” Bess Cox muttered. “All these bloody gardens must make them feel as if they’re still living in their manors!”

Randall laughed. “It’s one of the nicer boroughs. But they can’t go into the gardens - muggles everywhere!” he added in a fake accent.

Bess privately wondered just what kind of family Randall was from - he didn’t seem to feel out of place in this area. Unlike her. She clenched her teeth for a moment, then let out a breath. “So… where’s the telly trouble here?”

“We’re almost there,” he said, nodding towards an old three-story house.

Bess squinted at it. “Looks to be in good condition.” Posh too.

“Who would want to hide in derelict houses?” Randall snorted.

Bess didn’t mention that after the Hogsmeade attack, she had hidden in such houses for a week, afraid to even look for another flat in London. They approached the building, looking like just another couple out on an afternoon stroll.

“The second floor is warded,” Randall whispered as they passed the entrance.

Bess nodded. “How strong are the wards?”

“Haven’t checked yet… let’s sit down on that bench.”

Bess studied the building while Randall, his wand hidden behind a newspaper, cast a few spells. There was a bookshop on the ground floor, antique books - she could spot several books in the windows that wouldn’t have looked out of place at Hogwarts. Separate entrance for the flats on the upper floors, of course. Sturdy looking door, too. Not that it would stand up to an Unlocking Charm. There was a small alley on one side.

“The wards aren’t as strong as the ones on the last flat,” Randall whispered after a few minutes.

“How long would you need to take them down?”

“About an hour,” Randall replied. “But I’m not planning on taking the wards down.”

“What?” Was he planning to use a bomb? But that would destroy the building. And probably the one adjacent to it.

“One Death Eater was enough to almost kill both of us. We can’t attack the flat by ourselves.”

He was right, of course, though Bess hated to admit it. She wanted to hurt the damn pureblood bastards! “Why did we come here, then? Just to watch the damn building?”

“Not exactly,” Randall said. “I have a plan.”

*****​

Yorkshire, Bones Manor, March 30th, 1997

“Are you working again today, Auntie?”

Amelia Bones didn’t wince when she heard her niece’s question at breakfast, and the guilt she felt at leaving Susan alone was easily suppressed. “I’m sorry, but I need to deal with another crisis.”

“The Pureblood Voice?” Susan asked, setting down her glass of pumpkin juice. “We were listening to the Witching Hour at Hannah’s,” she added.

“Yes.”

Susan pouted. “Can’t that wait until tomorrow? It’s just some broadcast.”

“A broadcast that could start another war,” Amelia said.

“You’re the Minister.” Susan was frowning now. “You don’t need to go to work to tell Thicknesse to do something about it. I’ve been home for a week now and you’ve always been at work!”

She pressed her lips together and lifted her cup to gain a moment to control herself. It wouldn’t do to complain about Pius in front of Susan. “I cannot expect my people to work on a Sunday if I don’t.” That wasn’t how she had led the DMLE, and it wasn’t how she led the Ministry.

Susan’s frown deepened, then her niece looked away and scowled at her plate. Amelia sighed. She didn’t like leaving the last remaining member of her family alone, but she was not a witch to put her personal life before her duty to her country.

“I’m sorry,” she said. Nothing else was said by either of them until they finished their meal and Amelia left for work.

*****​

There were new letters waiting on her desk when she arrived in her office. She had expected that, of course. Sifting through them, she read the one from the Wizarding Wireless Network first. They wanted the broadcasts stopped and they wanted Aurors to protect them in the event that the muggleborns blamed them for the Pureblood Voice.

Shaking her head, she pushed it to the side. The Ministry couldn’t spare the wands for such a task. And stopping the broadcast? They hadn’t managed to stop the Resistance Radio despite months of effort. Trying to stop the Death Eaters wouldn’t be any more successful. Unless they were quite a bit less competent than the muggleborns… which, Amelia had to admit, was possible. Not likely, but possible. She wrote a quick memo for Pius. He wouldn’t like it - Amelia had hated it when Fudge had tried to micromanage her department - but he’d follow her instructions anyway. She grinned at the thought - it was petty, but Pius deserved it.

She skimmed the other letters. Various members of the Wizengamot voicing their concerns. Allies of Black. None from the man himself, though she had no doubt that the infuriating wizard would use the opportunity to make the Ministry look incompetent again. Maybe he’d offer the Resistance’s help on the grounds that they knew how to pirate broadcasts.

She shook her head as she penned a few quick answers. Nothing substantial, just empty words.

Which, she thought as she banished the stack of letters to the out box, pretty much summed up most of her work as Minister these days.

*****​

London, Ealing, March 30th, 1997

“Follow the plan,” Ron Weasley heard Hermione say into her radio, next to him in the scuffed backyard. “Eric, Emily - start casting.” Both of them, as well as the others in their group, were disillusioned, spell markers showing their positions. Ron focused on the building in front of him. The target was on the second floor.

“Yes, Ma’am,” Eric answered, and Ron knew that Hermione was rolling her eyes at the slightly joking tone.

A minute passed while the two Resistance members layered Anti-Apparition and Anti-Portkey Jinxes, as well as spells to block Floo travel, over the entire building.

“Done!” Emily announced over the radio.

Hermione pulled away from Ron. “Breach team, move in!” she ordered, and Ron and the others started towards the building, passing two shiny bicycles parked near the fence cutting the yard in two.

“No movement up top,” Connor reported from his broom in the air above the building.

“Nothing in front either,” Celia said. The witch was with Eric and Emily, and keeping an eye on the front as well as on the two recruits.

Harry was the first to reach the back door and Ron heard it unlock a second later. As planned. He cast a Shield Charm, then grabbed the handle with his left hand. “Ready!”

Harry’s marker moved a bit, then Ron heard his friend’s voice: “Go!”

He pushed the door open and Harry’s marker slipped inside. Ron followed. “Stairs are empty,” he whispered into his radio mic. His friend was already going up the stairs.

They reached the second floor in thirty seconds and took cover on the flight of stairs, Hermione and Neville behind them. Ron heard her mutter a spell, then announce “Muggle-Repelling Charms set. Breakers, start on the wards!”

None of the muggle tenants would bother them now while Anna, Gary and Sinclair worked on the wards. Which would take a while. Ron took a deep breath and forced himself not to fidget, even though no one could see him.

“Nothing in the air,” Connor reported a few minutes later.

“Nothing in the front,” Celia added.

“Back of the building still clear,” Mary-Jane chimed in.

Ron was tempted to add ‘and the wards are still up’, but he controlled himself. It wouldn’t take that long to break through the wards, he told himself.

*****​

It took almost half an hour for the three recruits to take down the wards. Ron was certain that Hermione could have done it in half the time. Or less, with the right support. But this was supposed to be the new members’ first mission.

“Wards down!” Gary announced, and his tone betrayed his exhaustion.

Ron slipped his hand into his enchanted pocket and grabbed a grenade. “Ready,” he announced.

“Windows charmed!” Connor reported.

“Go in!” Hermione ordered. A second later, Harry blasted the door open. Ron threw the flashbang inside. Compared to passing the Quaffle to a speeding Chaser, this was easy.

The grenade went off and he heard a scream from inside. Harry’s marker dashed inside, moving to the left. Ron jumped after him, taking the right. A yellow curse flew past him. A wizard was standing in the doorway to the living room, wand extended. Ron’s Piercing Curse shattered his shield, and a Stunner from Harry took him down.

Ron heard more screams. High-pitched ones. Harry’s marker moved forward, and Ron cursed under his breath. His friend was acting like the French again. Or not - he jumped past the doorway, further down the hallway, and suddenly, the wall in front of them vanished, replaced by a hole.

In the living room, a witch was turning around, eyes wide with fear. She didn’t get past the first syllable of whatever spell she was casting before Ron banished her into the wall, then stunned her before she could recover.

Then he noticed the crying children hidden behind the couch.

*****​

Ten minutes and two doses of Veritaserum later, they knew the wizard was Aloysius Fleaweather, a former employee of Abbot Greenhouses, who had supported Voldemort financially before he went into hiding with his family a few months ago. Like his wife, the wizard had been willing to spend gold for the cause, but balked at actually murdering people. Though judging by how pitifully he had fought, he wouldn’t have been much good at it anyway. And unfortunately, the Death Eaters he had been in contact with had already all been killed, and he didn’t know where any others might be hiding.

Hermione sneered at the still dazed couple. “Hypocrites.”

Ron sighed. He was glad that they had caught a Death Eater, or at least a supporter, but the knowledge didn’t help much with making him feel less guilty about attacking a family.

“Their gold paid for Voldemort’s murderers.” Hermione knew him well.

He shrugged. “I know that, but I still feel bad about the kids.”

“They’re only stunned,” Hermione said. “Less risk of accidental magic that way.”

“Quieter too,” Harry added, though his joke felt a bit forced to Ron.

“Anyway, we’ll pass them on to the Ministry. They can find a place for the children while they interrogate the parents.” Hermione turned to the Resistance members in the room. “Good work, everyone! We’ll do the debriefing at the camp.”

Most of the recruits smiled, a few even cheered, but not all of them. “The Ministry’ll just set them free again,” Gary said with a scowl.

“If they do, it will expose their own corruption,” Hermione retorted, “which will only help us take over more quickly. Now move - we’ve spent enough time here!”

Ron couldn’t tell whether or not she wanted that to happen. He didn’t care either way. He just hoped that next time there wouldn’t be any kids around.

*****​

London, Sutton, March 30th, 1997

Bess Cox rang the doorbell, hoping no one would answer. That would make things much easier, in her opinion. A simple Unlocking Charm to get in, a Muggle-Repelling Charm to keep the first floor tenants from returning, and they’d have all the time they needed and no witnesses to worry about - her disguise wasn’t the best.

Unfortunately, the tenants were home. Or at least one of them was. The door opened and a middle-aged woman peered at them through the gap. “May I help you?”

Bess shook her head. “No, you can’t.”

The woman blinked, confused. “Pardon...” Randall’s Stunner cut off whatever she was about to say, and Bess caught the woman’s limp body before she fell to the floor and stepped inside. Her friend followed at once, locking the door behind them.

“Mum? Who is…” A little girl walked out of the kitchen. When she saw them holding her mother, her eye went wide.

“Stupefy!” Randall’s spell hit the girl before she could scream.

She quickly searched the flat, but found no one else. “Do you think this is everyone?” She nodded at the two muggles on the floor.

Randall nodded. “I think so. Her bed is big enough for two, but the pictures on the desk don’t show anyone other than the two of them. At least the recent ones.”

“Thank you, Sherlock,” Bess said, snickering.

He chuckled, then pointed his wand at the two unconscious people. “Obliviate. Let’s move them to their beds, so they think they just took a nap when they wake up.”

“Alright,” Bess agreed. “Wingardium Leviosa!” She carefully guided the girl to her bed while Randall did the same with the mother, then returned to the living room and cast a Muggle-Repelling Charm on the flat.

Randall looked at the ceiling, then at the room and frowned. “I guess hoping that they forgot to ward their floor was too optimistic.” He sighed. “Plan B it is.”

Which meant that they would have to drill through the pipes. Bess pulled out the power tool they had brought with them while Randall started searching for the pipes leading into the flat above with the help of a bit of transfiguration. That actually took longer than drilling through the pipe with the silenced tool, but after half an hour there was a small hole leading into the flat above them. It was still warded, but, as Randall had found out yesterday, the wards were weak and didn’t cover gases.

Or poison, Bess thought as Randall pulled out a reddish vial from his pocket.

*****​

La Bresse, Chateau de Damas, France, March 30th, 1997

“Welcome to my home, Monsieur Anderson,” Marie de Damas said. “I’m very glad you accepted my invitation.”

“The pleasure is all mine, Mademoiselle de Damas,” Sirius Black said, bowing with a flourish - but not too much of a flourish; he was acting the part of an American, after all. “I’m honoured that you were kind enough to invite a poor émigré to your home.” And it was an impressive home, indeed. The de Damas were not just old, but rich, if even a cadet branch lived in such a manor.

De Damas laughed, well aware that ‘Anderson’ was anything but poor. But forms had to be observed. “The other guests are already in the salon. If you’ll follow me?”

“With pleasure,” Sirius replied.

He walked next to the witch, making the appropriate appreciative remarks when they passed a particularly noteworthy portrait or piece of furniture, though he took care to overlook a few pieces to reinforce the notion that Anderson wasn’t that refined.

The other guests, ten by his count, were mostly French witches, half of them sporting wide smiles he doubted were sincere. There were also three wizards - husbands, if his impression was correct.

And Dubois.

Sirius’s own smile widened - only slightly, of course. It wouldn’t do to appear too eager. But he glanced at her a few times while de Damas presented him to the other guests, until it was her turn.

“Monsieur Anderson, this is my friend Isabelle Dubois. Isabelle, this is Monsieur Anderson.”

“Enchanté, Mademoiselle,” Sirius murmured, kissing her hand. “I think we have met before, at the Comte de Hornes’s ball.”

“We did indeed.”

“I must apologise for my manners on that occasion. I was hounded by that… Veela, as you may have noticed, and I’m afraid to say that I almost lost my temper.” He didn’t quite sneer when he mentioned Lydia, but his tone conveyed the same sentiment.

“Understandable, Monsieur. I am, to my regret, familiar with the likes of her.” Dubois’s smile showed her teeth.

“Oh?” He tilted his head slightly to the side.

“Indeed. Veela have a certain reputation in France.”

“Please, Isabelle, let those histories rest for the evening.” Sirius noticed that de Damas’s smile had grown a bit toothy as well.

“Of course, Marie.”

Sirius glanced at Dubois while Marie summoned a waiter with a snap of her fingers and raised his eyebrows.

He caught her whispered “later”, and smiled.

*****​

“We meet again on a terrace,” Sirius said with a grin when he spotted Dubois leaning against the railing overlooking the garden.

“And once more you seem to be evading pursuit,” the witch responded.

He sighed loudly. “She wasn’t quite as annoying as that Veela, but still…” He shrugged. “I’m not looking for a wife.”

“Certainly not as hard as she is looking for a husband. I wonder why Marie invited her in the first place.” Dubois shook her head.

Sirius shrugged again. “I wouldn’t know - I haven’t been in your lovely country for long.” He leaned back against the railing. “But I’m grateful to be here.”

She nodded. “Are you planning to stay, or to return to your home?”

He let out a breath and raised his head to look at the stars above them. “I haven’t made any plans since my arrival, other than to enjoy my life for now.” He looked at her again, flashing a smile. “You only really learn to appreciate something after almost losing it.”

“Oh? What prompted this?”

“Ah, let me tell you a story…”

Sirius went through his prepared, entertaining and utterly fictional backstory while Isabelle commented at the right places with innuendos. It should have been easy to flirt with her - she was a beautiful witch, witty too, and dangerous as well. A true femme fatale.

But he felt more guilt than excitement. And concern.

Vivienne had said that she approved of this mission, and knew what it would entail, but Sirius knew that him flirting with, seducing Dubois was hurting her. He didn’t like it either, but there was no one else who could do it. Harry certainly lacked the experience and Remus lacked the attitude and spirit.

But too much was at stake, he thought while he stepped closer to Dubois, who put her hand on his chest, caressing it until he grasped it and lifted it to his lips.

Too much.

*****​

Anotto Bay, Jamaica, March 30th, 1997

He saw a grandiose - no, gaudy - entrance hall with gilded windows. A corridor lined with half a dozen attractive men and women, dressed in servant’s garb. No, they were muggles, animals posing as humans. Zombies, under the control of the mambo - the female houngan - who owned the manor. Whose family had stolen the manor during the Maroon Rebellion.

Augustus Rookwood cursed whatever had made ‘Ricky’ so resistant to the usual interrogation methods. He was a skilled Legilimens, but sifting through the memories of the thug he had captured was proving to be far more tiresome than anticipated. Knowing the interior layout of the manor wouldn’t do him any good if he didn’t know where in Jamaica the damn building was to be found!

Breathing heavily, he focused on his captive’s mind once more, bending it to his will. No mere thug would stand in his way! Windows… he caught a glimpse of a terrace. A gazebo in the background. Hadn’t the damn thug ever set foot outside the manor? Was the mambo that cautious?

Another memory of the thug’s rutting rose, one of a dozen; the man was a deviant, and he was about brush it away when he caught sight of the grass in the memory. Steeling himself, he dived into the memory instead.

He found himself on a cart filled with hay, with yet another female servant. A disgusting sight for any pureblood wizard, but he didn’t focus on it. Instead, he looked at the manor in the background, on a small hill, and committed the sight to his memory.

Sighing with relief, he closed his eyes, breaking the spell. He took a few deep breaths while he recovered. He had done it. He knew where his target lived.

Smiling, he pointed his wand at the drooling thug in front of him.

“Avada Kedavra.”

*****​

 

Chapter 58: Entrapment

‘While the guerilla tactics and attempts at psychological warfare had their roots in the Dark Lord’s tactics during the First Blood War, merely adapted to the changed circumstances following the Battle of Diagon Alley, the so-called ‘Pureblood Voice’ was nothing but a blatant attempt to copy the Resistance Radio. Some of my colleagues see this attempt at using muggleborn tactics in order to achieve the goals of the blood purity ideology as a sign of hypocrisy. I wouldn’t go that far - in any war, those who make tactical and strategic decisions based solely upon their ideology, without regard for the necessities of the situation, are generally at a fairly major disadvantage compared to those who do not so handicap themselves. Ultimately, even those among the Dark Lord’s followers who were so fanatical that they decided to fight on after his death adapted muggleborn ideas rather than conceding defeat - something that can be seen as a defeat in itself, given their stated goal of ridding Britain of muggleborns and their influence.’
- Excerpt from ‘The Second Blood War’ by Hyacinth Selwyn

*****​

London, Sutton, March 30th, 1997

“Alright… here goes...”

Bess Cox bit her lower lip as she watched Randall pour the vial’s content into a small beaker-shaped cauldron. If he spilled it… She held her breath until he pulled a rubber tube over the beaker’s top. “Whew.”

He glanced at her. “Even if it had turned into a gas without being heated, it wouldn’t have killed us. Just laid us out for a few hours.”

“It lasts half a day, you said,” she retorted.

“At the proper dose. A drop or two wouldn’t have the same effect.”

“If you were knocked unconscious, you’d have spilled the rest as well.”

Frowning, he huffed. “As I said, without being heated, it will not turn into a gas.”

“Why didn’t anyone else use this kind of poison?” Bess could think of a few possible uses.

“A Bubble-Head Charm will protect you against it, and a bezoar will counter its effects,” Randall explained, slowly setting the cauldron down on the burner he had prepared. “Also, it’s rather expensive.”

“How much did you pay for it?” Bess had grown up in a poor family, and the thought of paying so much for such a thing wasn’t a comforting one. She was still a wanted witch, after all, and would have trouble finding a job.

“I didn’t pay for it; I stole it.” Randall lit the fire under the small cauldron and looked at her with a grin. “Or rather, I liberated it from a pureblood’s shop when the owner was distracted by some acquaintances of mine who wanted to know what he did during the war.” His grin widened. “No need to spend our own gold on this if we can have purebloods pay for it.”

“Oh.” She chuckled. “Clever.” Bending over to look more closely at the cauldron, she asked: “How long will this take to put them to sleep?”

“We should wait half an hour to be certain that the gas has spread through the entire flat before I start on the wards. It would be safer if we had another vial so we could cover the flat better, but the shop had only one on display.”

“Ah.” Bess wasn’t fond of waiting, but there was no way round it.

“At least by the time I’m done with the wards, the gas will have become inert. Harmless.”

Bess frowned - she knew what inert meant; that bloody bigot Snape had drilled it into her with scathing words she would never forget. But Randall was just being nice, she told herself. She nodded and checked her watch, then tried to relax while they waited.

*****​

Hours later - a small part of her was quite happy that Randall’s estimate of how long he’d need to take down the wards had been wrong - they finally entered the purebloods’ flat. An Unlocking Charm opened the door, and the two of them went in, leading with their wands. Randall had cast a Bubble-Head Charm on himself, but Bess had said she trusted his work; she wasn’t sure if he had seen through her excuse or not.

The flat had been rented - or stolen; a few spells and the owner wouldn’t remember anything - furnished. There was a telly and a radio in the living room and modern appliances in the kitchen. None of them looked as if they had been used in months. The fridge was stocked, though, as Bess found out.

“Found them!” Randall announced.

Bess headed towards him. He was standing in the larger bedroom, over the bodies of a witch and a boy. The witch looked young, probably barely out of Hogwarts, Bess thought, and the boy looked like he was ten or so.

“They look like siblings,” Randall said, poking the witch with his foot.

“Do you know who they are?” Bess asked.

“Hm…” Randall walked to the table in the living room. Bess followed him.

There were a few Daily Prophets, a few cutouts of issues - covering the Battle of the Ministry - and letters. Randall grabbed one of them. “Fredrick Rovier. He and his wife were on the list, weren’t they?”

Bess checked. “They’re not on it any more. Killed in the Ministry.” Or so she assumed - she had noted down the date of their removal, not the cause.

“So…” Randall looked at her.

“So…” Bess looked back at him. “What do we do with ’em?”

Randall didn’t look like he had an answer.

*****​

“How much longer are they going to be unconscious?” Bess asked after about a minute.

“It depends on the amount of gas they were exposed to,” Randall answered.

He didn’t know then, Bess thought. Not that she knew any better. She had come to hunt Death Eaters, not... children. One child, a child of Death Eaters, she amended. “Let’s check her arm!”

Randall cut off the witch’s sleeve with a charm. “No Dark Mark.”

That didn’t mean anything, of course. Plenty of the Dark Lord’s followers weren’t marked. “We should interrogate her.”

Her friend shook his head. “We don’t have Veritaserum.” She looked at him, and he shrugged. “It’s not available in shops.”

“Could you brew it?” Bess certainly couldn’t. She had barely passed her Potions O.W.L.

He winced. “Not with the resources we have. There are a lot of restricted ingredients, and I’d need a better cauldron.”

Bess clenched her teeth. “How can we find out if she’s a Death Eater then?”

“Let’s search the flat. We might find evidence.”

Bess nodded and cast two Full Body-Bind Curses. She caught Randall raising his eyebrows at the second, and she shrugged. “I don’t want the kid to wake up and run off while we’re busy.”

He nodded. “Good thinking.” She couldn’t tell if he was honest or thought she was making up an excuse.

It took them an hour to search the flat, and most of that time was spent casting Finite on suspicious objects. They found a stash of money, mostly Galleons but some pounds as well, and several books and potions - and clothes and a travelling brewer’s set.

“Nothing conclusive,” Randall summed up. No Death Eater masks, no robes, no dark items.

“What do we do?” Bess glanced at the two captives. They hadn’t woken up.

Randall sighed. “We could hand them over to the Resistance.”

“How?” Bess didn’t know where the Resistance was based. “Drop them in front of a muggle shop in the Alley?”

“Someone would probably hex them,” Randall said.

Or worse, Bess thought. She knew what she’d think if she found a bound wizard with a note that they were to be handed over to the Resistance.

“We could hand them to the Ministry,” he added after a few seconds of silence.

“What?” Bess turned away from the two purebloods and glared at him. “They’d let them go!”

He grimaced and shrugged. “Well… maybe. Things have changed since Nott’s death. But… what else can we do? Leave them here?”

“We can interrogate them.” They could beat the truth out of her, Bess was pretty certain of that. “Once they wake up.”

He nodded.

*****​

Marseille, Quartier Magique, France, March 30th, 1997

Vivienne was waiting for him when Sirius Black returned to his room in Marseille. She had cast a privacy spell beforehand; he could tell from the faint buzzing noise he heard when he entered.

“’Ow did it go?” she asked as soon as he had closed the door.

She hadn’t stood up to embrace him, he noted, but instead remained sitting on the bed. Wearing her robes, too. He sighed. “Your plan is working. She’s quite clearly displaying her interest.”

She nodded. “Good.” After a moment, she added: “Did you kiss?”

“Yes.” He sat down next to her, but was hesitant about wrapping his arm around her. He could tell that she was tense, and trying to hide it. “She’s invited me to another dinner.”

“In her home?” Vivienne quickly asked.

“No. ‘Le Moineau’, a restaurant in Paris she apparently loves very much.” Dubois’s manner and tone had implied that they might head to her home afterwards, though.

“I know it. It employs a very good cook. Rumored to be a squib, but nothing was ever proven.”

“Ah.” Sirius didn’t care about that, but others would. His family used to kill squibs until the last century.

They sat there for a minute, close enough to touch, but apart. She sighed. “I’m a ’ypocrite. I ’elped plan this, and I ’ate it.”

He knew she didn’t mean the ambush for Dubois, or the probable fate of the French witch, but his role in it. “I’m not too fond of it either,” he said. He was being honest, too - for all that in his teens, and before Azkaban, he would have jumped at such a mission, he now felt guilty and dirty seducing an enemy. With a sigh, he added: “But it’s the best way to get her and end this whole affair.”

“I know. I still don’t like it.” She sighed as well, and he felt her leaning into him, felt her warmth through his robe.

Slowly, almost hesitantly, he wrapped his arm around her shoulder, pulling her closer to him until she rested her head on his shoulder.

They remained like that for some time, just being close to each other. He didn’t offer to abandon the mission, nor promise that he wouldn’t go further to gain Dubois’s trust, and she didn’t ask him to.

*****​

London, Sutton, March 31st, 1997

Bess Cox watched the clock on the wall. It was past midnight already. She sighed - the damn purebloods still hadn’t woken up.

“If you really want we could use bezoars on them,” Randall said.

She had proposed that before, and he had refused. That had been hours ago, though. “No. As you said, we might need them ourselves, and it’s not worth using them any more. They should wake up any minute now.” At least Randall had said so - half an hour ago.

He knew that as well, and she caught him grimace. “Yes.” Then he returned to reading one of the books they had found in the flat. Or at least acting as if he was reading it.

She stood up and pointed her wand at the two captives, casting another Incarcerous Spell on them. The Full Body-Bind Curse was more effective, but they couldn’t talk while under its effect.

He didn’t comment, but she caught him frowning, and glared back - she couldn’t wait without doing something. Not for hours and hours, at least. She glanced at the table, where they had put the Daily Prophet issues they had found. Maybe she should set fire to another picture of Fudge, and watch him try to escape the flames. Or maybe Bones...

A groan interrupted her thought, and she whirled around as Randall shot up, his book dropping to the floor. The witch had woken up!

“What… John! What did.... John!” The witch was struggling against the enchanted ropes holding her, but froze when she caught sight of them. “Who’re you?” She asked, gasping.

“That doesn’t matter,” Randall said, stepping closer to her. “Who are you?”

“John?” She turned her head until she saw the boy. “What did you do to him?”

“Same as we did to you,” Randall said. “Who are you?”

“Release us!”

Bess crouched down next to the witch and glared at her. She wanted to curse the witch. Or at least hex her. She pushed her wand forward, digging its tip into the witch’s cheek. “Answer the damn question!”

“O-Oriel Rovier.”

It figured, Bess thought, that she’d have a fancy name.

“Are you the daughter of Fredrick Rovier?” Randall asked.

“He’s dead. Killed in the Ministry. With Mum.” Rovier wasn’t quite stammering, but she came close. And there were tears in her eyes.

“Are you his daughter?” Randall repeated, glaring at their captive.

“Y-Yes. Are you the Mu… the Resistance?”

“No,” Bess spat out.

“We’re asking the questions,” Randall said. Bess clenched her teeth at the rebuke. “And we’ll be interrogating your brother as well, later. So, if you lie to us, you will regret it.”

“He hasn’t done anything!”

Rovier was shaking her head until Bess pushed the tip of her wand into her face again. “We’ll see,” she said, baring her teeth at the pureblood.

“Your parents were Death Eaters. What about you? Were you a Death Eater too?”

“No! Check my arm! I don’t have the Mark!”

“We already did.” Randall sighed. “You don’t need the Mark to be a follower of the Dark Lord. Did you attack muggleborns? Or ‘blood traitors’?” he added.

“N-no! I was just taking care of John. My parents didn’t want me to fight!”

Bess couldn’t tell if the witch was lying or not. She looked at Randall, but he was staring at their captive. “Did you want to fight for him?”

“N-No.”

“Not even when your parents were killed?”

She swallowed, but shook her head. “No. No.”

“Not even to take revenge?” Randall crouched down as well, opposite Bess. “Will your brother tell us that as well? Or that you promised to avenge Mum and Dad?”

Rovier was crying now. “He hasn’t done anything! Please…”

Randall stood up. “I guess that’s a ‘yes’. Did you do anything?”

“N-no. No. It was just talk.” She sobbed.

“Really?” He tilted his head.

“Yes. I couldn’t leave John alone. He has no one else. Please don’t hurt him! Please!”

The pureblood was begging. Bess wondered if her friends had begged as well, before they were killed. She glanced at Randall.

Her friend sighed, and pointed the wand at Rovier.

“No! Please! Ple…”

“Stupefy!” His spell cut her off and her body went limp.

He sighed.

“What do we do with her?” Bess asked. “She wants to fight us. Muggleborns.”

Randall glanced at the boy, still unconscious. “We still have to check with ‘John’ if she told us the truth.”

“And if she did? The Ministry won’t do anything to her since she hasn’t done anything. Yet.” Not that they would do anything anyway, Bess thought. Not to a pureblood. “It would be foolish to let her go so she can later attack others. And she saw our faces,” Bess added as an afterthought.

“Do you want to kill her?” Randall was staring at her.

Bess clenched her teeth. She wanted to kill the witch. Just as her friends had been killed. Just as so many had been killed by those monsters. She pointed her wand at Rovier. It would be easy. Reductor Curse, Cutting Curse, Piercing Curse - any curse would do it. She glanced at the kid, who had still not woken up. “Fuck it!” She lowered her wand. “They’re not supposed to cry,” she muttered, walking towards the kitchen, where she had seen a bottle of Ogden’s Finest.

She needed a drink.

*****​

Cumbria, Britain, March 31st, 1997

The Resistance recruits’ celebration of their first mission - and first victory - reminded Harry Potter of a lot of the parties in Gryffindor after they had won a Quidditch match. Lots of alcohol, lots of loud music, and lots of people staying up too long. Past midnight, in this case. They’d regret it in the morning, he thought - unlike McGonagall, the Sergeant wouldn’t have mercy. Especially since he was told that the recruits had spent the day in London and didn’t know that they had had their first battle. If you could call it a battle - the Fleaweathers hadn’t shown much skill or talent for fighting.

He glanced at Neville, who was sitting next to him, staring at the campfire’s embers with a beer in his hand. The Gryffindor hadn’t said much since they had returned from London, and even less since Ron and Hermione had retreated to her tent an hour ago. “We should head to bed,” Harry said, “or we’ll have a hard time in the morning.” Emmet and Clifton were keeping an eye on the remaining recruits, but the rest of the experienced Resistance members had already gone to bed as well.

Neville didn’t respond. Harry was about to repeat himself when he suddenly spoke up, still staring at the remains of the fire: “Why are they celebrating?”

Harry drew a deep breath and wondered if Neville had drank more beer than he thought. “They’re celebrating their first mission. Their first victory.”

Neville scoffed. “Some victory! Those enemies were worse than first years taught by Lockhart. They’re acting as if they had fought the Dark Lord’s inner circle!”

Harry shrugged. “They didn’t know that when they went in. And the wards were decent.”

“The Death Eaters we captured will be set free anyway.” Neville took a another sip from his bottle.

“If that happens the Ministry will be weakened further.” Harry wasn’t certain that they would simply be let go - Bones would certainly attempt to prosecute them, and some of the Wizengamot members who had acquitted Nott might use this opportunity to switch sides. At least according to Doge.

Neville snorted. “Politics!”

Harry sighed. “Politics is at the root of this conflict. We won the First Blood War, but since nothing changed in the Wizengamot, the next war was inevitable.” It was a bit more complicated than that, but it was also already past midnight.

Neville muttered something Harry didn’t catch.

“Are you really unhappy that it wasn’t a harder battle?” Harry let some of his annoyance seep into his tone.

It was Neville’s turn to sigh. “No… not really. But… it feels so pointless. My parents fought in the last war, Gran was murdered in this war, and all I have done is stare at a map in Hogwarts and tell my proxy to vote for Dumbledore. I didn’t even curse anyone in the attack today. I feel like…” The bottle slipped from his hand and dropped, the beer spilling on the ground. He cursed.

“Don’t feel like that. Dumbledore himself said that we must not just win the war, but the peace as well. That we cannot give in to hatred and revenge, but must strive for justice.” Harry remembered the Headmaster’s last message well.

Neville snorted. “Some justice!”

“That’s why we need to reform the Wizengamot,” Harry said.

Neville didn’t look convinced. He turned his head to look at Harry. “You actually fought and killed the Dark Lord. You’ve done your part.”

Harry shook his head. “No. I’m not done. Because it’s not about winning a war. It’s about ensuring that our children won’t have to fight another war.”

Neville stared at him for a moment, then looked at the dying fire again. “Let’s go to bed.”

*****​

London, Ministry of Magic, March 31st, 1997

Amelia Bones refrained from rubbing the bridge of her nose. “The Resistance ‘arrested’ the Fleaweathers and delivered them to the DMLE.”

Pius nodded. “Correct. The Fleaweathers have been in hiding for months.”

“Suspected Death Eaters.” Amelia had been the Head of the DMLE back when that suspicion had been raised.

“They’re not marked, but, according to the Resistance, they have admitted to supporting the Dark Lord financially.”

A confession helped along by force, or by Veritaserum, no doubt, Amelia thought. It didn’t matter - their own interrogation would ferret out the truth. She took issue with something else, though. She narrowed her eyes. “You make it sound as if the DMLE approves of the Resistance’s action.”

Pius spread his hands. “As we would approve of any capture of a wanted suspect by civilians.”

She refrained from cursing out loud. Pius wouldn’t say that if some criminal from Knockturn Alley had done this. She scoffed, but didn’t pursue the topic further. There was no point. “And the Roviers?”

“An anonymous message delivered by owl informed us of their location. We found both of them, under Full Body-Bind Curses, in a muggle flat in London. The owl was taken from Diagon Alley’s post owl office - without the clerk’s knowledge.”

“Anonymous?” Amelia didn’t like that.

“Neither the Resistance nor the Order of the Phoenix have claimed responsibility for it.”

Amelia chuckled. “Not many would want to admit that they attacked children.”

“I do not think that they are lying. There was no sign that Veritaserum had been used on the Roviers,” Pius pointed out, “and we know that the Resistance has access to it.”

He was correct, Amelia knew. Sighing, she said. “Which means there’s another muggleborn group out there hunting suspected Death Eaters.”

“They might not be muggleborns,” Pius said. “Although they used muggle knowledge to break into the flat.”

“Do you honestly think a pureblood or half-blood did this?” Amelia raised her eyebrows at him.

“I feel it wouldn’t be prudent to assume too much.”

“Whatever. Set a team to finding those responsible. We can’t have vigilantes hunting people.” Especially not with the damned ICW delegation still in Britain.

Pius nodded. He didn’t ask her if she expected him to stop the Resistance and the Order as well. They both knew the Ministry wasn’t in any shape to take on either of those groups.

“Inform me as soon as you have interrogated the Roviers and the Fleaweathers.”

Pius frowned slightly but nodded. Amelia knew that she was behaving hypocritically - she had hated it when Cornelius had meddled in her investigations - but this was also a political matter. Black was counting on the Wizengamot acquitting yet another Death Eater so he’d receive even more support.

Amelia would do what she could to prevent that, of course.

*****​

South Downs National Park, Hampshire, Britain, March 31st, 1997

“Miss Greengrass, Miss Davis. Thank you for coming, despite the latest developments.” Malfoy greeted the two witches with a bow.

Daphne Greengrass returned the bow as soon as she had cleaned the soot from her robes. “We came because of, not despite, the recent events,” she said. “To see purebloods hunted down like animals… Purebloods whose only ‘crime’ was the desire to live in safety…” She shook her head. “This cannot stand.”

“They were so desperate that they went and hid among muggles,” Tracey added. “But it didn’t save them. Hiding and bowing our heads will not save any one of us.”

Daphne hoped they hadn’t overdone it. To her relief, Malfoy smiled. “Exactly. Please follow me to the salon. We have important matters to discuss.”

There were no other guests in waiting in the salon. There was no sign of Runcorn either. Daphne made a point of looking around.

“Philius won’t be joining us,” Malfoy answered her unspoken question.

“Oh?” She wasn’t certain how to take that.

“What’s he doing?” Tracey asked with narrowed eyes.

“Politics.” Malfoy shrugged, then sat down in his customary seat.

Daphne took a seat on the couch, with Tracey following her. She didn’t pry further but simply waited.

“As you so pointedly said, things have taken a turn for the worse. The mudbloods are now openly hunting purebloods.” Malfoy leaned forward, folding his hands between his knees. “The Old Families are in dire peril, even though some do not realise it. Or do not want to realise it.”

“The mudbloods only understand violence,” Daphne said. “As they do not care about traditions and culture, they do not respect the law.”

“Exactly.” Malfoy smiled thinly. “Too many of our peers in the Wizengamot do not understand this. They assume that mudbloods are like us - civilised wizards and witches.” Tracey snorted and Malfoy glanced at her, nodding in apparent approval. “They are fools. But fools whose mistakes will doom us all.”

“But what can we do if they won’t listen?” Daphne shook her head. “If they refuse to see the truth?” Silently, she urged Malfoy to take the bait. To tell them about his backers and of his plans. Then Tracey and she could inform Black, and quit risking their lives.

“I’m afraid to say that there’s not much we can do. Too many in the Wizengamot support the mudbloods. Too many let fear rule their decisions. The only way those cowards will change their stance will be when the mudbloods reveal their true goals. But they are too smart to do that until they have taken control of the Wizengamot.” Malfoy sighed. “We can but hope for a miracle. If some mudbloods were to kill a prominent blood traitor…”

Tracey scoffed. “Fat chance of that happening. Black, Potter and Weasley are far too close to the Resistance for that.” She chuckled. “Or far too close to Granger.”

Daphne nodded. “Everyone knows that the only reason a mudblood would attack one of them would be the Imperius Curse.” She couldn’t believe Malfoy would actually expect them to do such a thing.

Malfoy slowly nodded. “I concur. Since we would be blamed, it is fortunate that it is very unlikely for a mudblood to attack them.” Daphne’s relief at hearing this didn’t last since he continued: “However, given the violent nature of mudbloods, and their deep-seated hatred, I think there’s a not insignificant chance that some of the mudbloods will not forgive those Wizengamot members who supported the Muggleborn Laws and the Ministry’s actions against the Resistance - no matter whether or not they have recently changed their allegiance.” He smiled at them. “It is a small chance, but our only hope.”

It was clear what he meant. Daphne forced herself to keep smiling. To appear confident even though she was anything but. “That would likely be dismissed as mudbloods acting under the Imperius,” she said.

“That depends on the manner of the attack. A wizard running at a bunch of ruffians can be dismissed as a victim of the Imperius, but a co-ordinated assault?” He shook his head.

Daphne nodded. The purebloods would be more suspicious of the mudbloods to begin with, too. “It wouldn’t be the first time in history that a just cause prevailed no matter the odds.” She glanced at Tracey. If her friend lost her composure… Fortunately, she controlled herself and nodded slowly.

Their host smiled.

*****​

Twenty minutes of meaningless talk later, Daphne and Tracey arrived back at Greengrass Manor. Lupin was waiting for them, together with Tonks. “We need to talk to Black,” Daphne said, cutting off the werewolf’s greeting.

“What happened?” Tonks asked. “Did Malfoy and Runcorn incriminate themselves?”

Tracey scoffed. “As if! Our esteemed host is far too smart for that and merely mentioned what he hoped might happen.”

Lupin frowned. “What did he say?”

“What he meant,” Daphne corrected the creature, “was that he wants us to kill one of the Wizengamot members who have recently defected to Black and frame muggleborn extremists for the deed. That’s why we need to talk to Black.”

Lupin understood at once, and nodded. The metamorphmagus took a bit longer. And Tracey just had to spell it out. “Yes. This is a test. We need to fake a murder. And quite convincingly.” Which would be difficult, especially after their trials had revealed how Dumbledore had manipulated their attack on Nigel Nye.

There was an alternative, of course. Daphne didn’t mention it. But she knew that if she had to kill a coward to save her family, she’d do it.

*****​

Cumbria, Britain, March 31st, 1997

Hermione Granger woke up on her side, her head on Ron’s chest and one leg over his. Her boyfriend - lover - was still asleep, breathing steadily. One of his arms was wrapped around her, his hand resting on her hip. She sighed contentedly, snuggled up to him a bit more and closed her eyes. Her alarm clock hadn’t rung yet, which meant she could remain like this for a little while, at least.

And yet she couldn’t. The recruits had started the last week of the training camp, and she needed to go over their choices for their specialisations. A quite pretentious term, of course - it wasn’t as if a few days focusing on long range marksmanship would turn anyone into a sniper. Not as modern militaries used the term. Not even those among her friends who had experience in sniping would qualify.

But they could share their experiences, and the new recruits would have both a mentor and a head start. And the Resistance would have a replacement lined up, in case they lost another member.

She drew a hissing breath remembering all those who had been killed in the war. Dean, Mary, Colin, Martin and Jeremy. And Dennis was still in a coma, waiting for a cure for the Withering Curse. She clenched her teeth - she should be working on finding that cure, but she had no time. Not with the French plotting against Britain - some of the French, she corrected herself - and the Wizengamot still holding out. Reid would be back in Jamaica, she thought. Unless he counted on them assuming that, and had slipped back over the border. So much to do… She sighed again.

When she felt Ron stir under her, she realised that she had been a bit too loud and woken him up.

He groaned. “Hermione?”

He turned his head to look at her, and she smiled at him. “Good morning, Ron.”

“I didn’t hear the alarm.”

“It’s not yet time to get up.”

“Oh.” He blinked, then cleared her throat. She felt his chest move. “So…” He trailed off, licking his lips.

She bit her lower lip, then smiled, and started to caress his chest. He took a deep breath, and his hand started to wander…

And both of them froze when the alarm clock went off.

“Err…” He smiled.

She frowned and grabbed her wand, silencing the clock. “We’ll use cleaning charms instead of taking a shower, and eat breakfast quickly,” she stated.

He nodded, smiling.

*****​

London, No. 12 Grimmauld Place, March 31st, 1997

“Malfoy told the two snakes to kill a defecting Wizengamot member?” Ron Weasley shook his head. “Wasn’t that what we wanted?”

“Not exactly. He didn’t tell them to do it - he only remarked that muggleborns killing a member of the Wizengamot who had recently joined Sirius’s faction would make others reconsider their allegiance.” Remus sitting in Sirius’s living room, snorted. “That’s not enough to convict anyone.”

“We could simply capture Malfoy and Runcorn,” Harry said. Ron’s friend was scowling and hadn’t sat down for more than a minute since they had been told about last night’s meeting at Malfoy’s.

“We could. It would cause a ruckus, but if we obtain proof that they are behind the attacks and working for the French, that wouldn’t matter,” Remus said. He sighed. “Although we don’t know for certain if that’s the case.”

“Greengrass and Davis are certain,” Hermione added.

“They could be wrong,” Remus said, leaning back. “It wouldn’t be the first time.”

Ron snorted. The two Slytherins should know the other Death Eaters best, shouldn’t they?

Hermione sighed. “If they’re not behind the attacks we can’t frame them. There are already rumours circulating which claim that we framed Nott. We need at least one of them alive and standing trial to ruin their faction in the Wizengamot. Otherwise, such rumors will linger and fester even more, and we’ll suffer for it later.”

“I’ll bet Galleons to Sickles that they are guilty,” Ron said. The memory of the meeting they had watched had certainly seemed very convincing.

“Would you bet the future of Wizarding Britain on being right?” Remus asked. “Are you dead certain that Malfoy couldn’t truthfully claim - under Veritaserum - that he had merely expressed his hope of such an attack happening?”

Ron frowned at the former teacher, but he didn’t have a comeback for that. There was too much at stake.

“Sirius wouldn’t have to risk his life,” Harry said, pushing his chin forward.

“Do you think he’d agree with such a course of action?” Remus tilted his head slightly to the side.

“I think he would,” Ron said, before he could help himself. When Remus glared at him, he shrugged. “If we’re wrong, we’re back at war. A war we’d win.”

The older wizard sighed. “He would risk a war on such odds - but he wouldn’t risk your lives. And you’d be in the thick of it, if there’s another war.”

Ron glanced at Harry. Remus was correct - Sirius would rather risk his own life than Harry’s. Ron’s friend knew that as well, and his frown showed it.

“We have to consider, though, that even faked, the apparent death of a Wizengamot member at the hands of muggleborns will do exactly what Malfoy and Runcorn hope - cause more purebloods to join or rejoin them,” Hermione pointed out. “That could be mitigated by claiming that the muggleborns were framed, but only to some degree. So while our undercover operations would progress, our political campaign would suffer. And if Sirius manages to gain the trust of Dubois, and we can capture her, we wouldn’t need to gain Malfoy’s trust.”

“Provided that Malfoy and Runcorn are working for Dubois,” Remus said. “The French are the most likely suspects, but not the only ones.”

Ron sighed. “Great. Cursed if we do, cursed if we don’t.”

“Not quite,” Remus retorted. “It’s a matter of calculating the risks.”

“With unknown variables,” Hermione cut in.

Ron assumed that that contradicted Remus, judging by the man’s expression.

“We will need to discuss this with Sirius,” Remus said after a moment.

“If he returns to Britain he might endanger his cover,” Hermione said.

“We can visit him in France,” Harry quickly said.

“Great,” Ron muttered. He hoped this visit would not end like the last one.

“Not all of us need to go.” Remus looked at him.

Ron narrowed his eyes at the wizard. “I will not let my friends go there alone.” Especially if this trip turned out like the last one.

Besides, he was a member of the Wizengamot as well. Leaving important decisions to others didn’t feel right to him. He didn’t want to be a mere mouthpiece.

*****​

Marseille, Quartier Magique, France, April 1st, 1997

Hermione Granger had been in France before, several times, although she had not visited Magical France. After reading up on the country, her family had decided to stick to muggle France for their vacations. She remembered how she had thought it ironic that one of the most republican countries in Europe had a magical counterpart that was an almost absolutist monarchy.

And now she and her friends were walking down the main street of the Quartier Magique in Marseilles - although disguised with wigs, makeup and tanning spray. Polyjuice would have been more thorough, but could be countered with magic.

She still felt exposed and too vulnerable. It was just Remus, Harry, Ron and herself. Tonks had stayed in Britain, to keep an eye on Greengrass and Davis as well as to pose as Sirius for short appearances, and they didn’t trust anyone else with this information. She understood the need for secrecy, but she would have prefered some of her other friends with her. Two on brooms in the sky, disillusioned, and two nearby, disguised.
She sighed.

Ron, walking arm in arm with her with a tan and his hair dyed black, bent his head towards her. “What’s wrong?”

“We shouldn’t be here,” she said in a low voice despite their privacy spells. “We should have simply travelled to the muggle Côte d’Azur and discussed things with Sirius using his communication mirror.”

“Harry wants to see Sirius.”

She understood that - she was missing her parents, whom she hadn’t visited in a few weeks - but she remained convinced that it was an unnecessary risk. But she had been outvoted. That wouldn’t have happened in the Resistance, she knew.

They reached the small café Fleur had told them about. It was narrow and rather dark, but stretched between two streets. Discreet too, the Veela had told them - no one would bat an eye at privacy spells. Hermione hoped that that was true. Britain couldn’t afford another diplomatic crisis, and they couldn’t afford to get arrested should anything happen.

Sirius, in disguise himself, different from his undercover one, of course, was waving at them. Drawing attention to himself - but then, that might look more natural for a harmless meeting of friends. Harry made a beeline for him and hugged the wizard. The rest of them were more restrained and quickly sat down.

“So… what’s so important you had to meet me in person?” Sirius asked once their order had been served. “Not that I mind spending time with you, of course.” He was grinning, though he seemed more than a bit wary.

“We’re reasonably certain that Malfoy has decided to test Greengrass and Davis’s loyalty and expects them to kill one of the deserters from his faction in the Wizengamot, and frame the muggleborns for it,” Hermione informed him, cutting Remus off before the older wizard could start to explain. She ignored his frown - she wasn’t about to stay here any longer than necessary.

“Ah. And I guess letting them kill one of the opportunist bigots would be out of the question?” Sirius chuckled and held up his hand when Remus glared at him. “Just joking. I know we need every vote.” His expression added an unspoken ‘for now’. “But arranging a fake assassination will be difficult without the cooperation of the Ministry.” Which they wouldn’t get.

“If the Ministry doesn’t have DNA testing,” Hermione said, “then we just need a sufficiently burned corpse to be found inside the burned out ruins of a building, and some witnesses that place the victim at the location. Polyjuice would suffice for the latter.”

“The Unspeakables might be able to reconstruct a dead man’s face,” Sirius said, “or check his blood. We don’t know what the Department of Mysteries is capable of. Identifying the dead after Malfoy Manor was quite the task, as I recall. Especially those who had been burned. But they still managed - or so they claimed.”

That was troublesome. “We could claim we vanished the corpse, but that would not fit our usual modus operandi.” The Resistance had wanted the Ministry to find the corpses of their enemies. “We could make up a new muggleborn group, and have them kidnap the victim. Disappearing enemies is a common tactic used by several muggle regimes faced with insurrections. Malfoy might be suspicious in that situation, though. He would want our own attacks to be copied so we get the blame.” She took a sip from her soft drink. “We could blow up a building and burn it so thoroughly, they might assume that any corpse was burned to ashes. But if they have a way to track down bone fragments, that would not work. If it was a muggle target we could fake a plane crash in the sea. That would explain the lack of a body.”

“None of the bigots we’re talking about would set foot in a muggle aeroplane,” Sirius declared. “I don’t see how anyone sane would do that unless they had lost a bet.”

Remus snorted at that, and the two older wizards chuckled. She caught Harry and Ron exchanging glances.

“Old mischief aside,” Sirius continued, “and apart from those ‘technical difficulties’, there’s another problem to consider: We would need to trust our victim not to change sides again.”

“We could keep them under guard,” Remus said, “‘for their own protection’.”

“Only after the deed is done.” Sirius shook his head. “In order for this work, they can’t be seen with us beforehand. A meeting with me is not suspicious, but a sudden new bodyguard or friend, who then vanishes after the attack? Malfoy would smell a set-up. He’s not dumb.”

“We could use my cloak to stay hidden,” Harry proposed.

“One of us could,” Ron corrected him. “We’re not first years any more.”

“Would they really dare cross us?” Hermione asked.

“They changed sides out of fear. A man driven by fear is unpredictable.”

“You want Greengrass and Davis to kill one of our ‘allies’.” Remus’s face seemed set in stone when he looked at Sirius. Hermione heard Harry hiss through his teeth and Ron mutter a curse under his breath.

Sirius nodded. “It would be the safest option for all of us.”

“It would also give Greengrass and Davis leverage on you.”

Remus sounded angrier than Hermione would have expected. Why would he… Her eyes widened when she understood what he was implying. What Remus thought Sirius would do to solve that. She could understand it - they had tried to kill the Weasleys - but to use them as spies, only to stab them in the back...

“Well, if we’re already talking about killing a former supporter of the Dark Lord, can’t we kidnap them without asking beforehand, and then fake their death as planned?”

She wasn’t the only one to glance at Ron in response to that proposal.

“I guess we could,” Sirius said after a moment. “It would mean I don’t have to travel to Britain to set things up.” That meant his own mission wouldn’t be put at risk by his absence.

“We might need more people for that, though,” she pointed out. “People we can trust.” The veterans of the Resistance, of course.

“It would look more authentic as well,” Remus said.

“That might make Malfoy suspect a trap, though,” Harry added.

“Not necessarily. The kind of bomb we would need to use would very likely ruin all evidence of a kidnapping, and that can be done by Greengrass and Davis.” Hermione took a deep breath. “But Malfoy and Runcorn might expect to be told how it was done. And that would mean they would be able to do it as well.”

“They might already be aware of how to do it. Voldemort used a bomb himself to kill Shacklebolt and his team,” Harry said. “And there was the attack in Jamaica.”

“Alleged attack,” Hermione corrected him. He was right, though. Another reason to avoid a new war. “I think it’s still our best option, though. Even with no bodies and the possible suspicion that raises - there’d be an absence of evidence, but not a fake or wrong corpse to be discovered. Greengrass and Davis will just have to be somewhat vague. That might even improve their cover since it might be seen as a power play.”

“So… all we need is a suitable target, then.” Sirius grinned.

*****​

Shropshire Hills Area of Natural Beauty, Shropshire, Britain, April 3rd, 1997

“What’s with the purebloods living in national parks?” Harry Potter wondered aloud when watching the Cadwallader Cottage - which despite the name was a small manor, not a mere cottage - through his Omnioculars.

“It makes a lot of sense, actually.” Hermione was talking in her lecturing voice, he noticed. “Thanks to magic, they don’t need roads or other muggle infrastructure, so they can pick locations where no muggles are living nearby. National parks and similar areas are perfect choices.”

“I don’t think that they had national parks when those houses were built,” Harry said. “This looks old enough to have been built before the Statute of Secrecy.”

“That doesn’t have to be true,” Ron cut in. “Many families like to pretend that they are older than they actually are. Or at least have been richer for longer.”

“So, we might not be about to destroy a building English Heritage would kill to preserve?” Hermione asked.

“Who?” Ron asked. Harry didn’t know the organisation either, but he had an idea what they did. Hadn’t Uncle Vernon complained about them once?

“A muggle institution tasked with preserving our heritage, mostly historic buildings and monuments,” Hermione answered without looking away from the building.

“Technically, we’re not the ones who’ll destroy it,” Harry pointed out. “We’re just the ones breaking in and kidnapping the owner.”

She snorted and shook her head. “I don’t see any magical traps or guards before the wardline. Let’s move closer.” She moved her wand and faded from view. Only the marker floating above her head told him where she was. Ron and Harry followed her example.

They quickly crossed the green field until they reached the small wall indicating the wardline. Muggles would just see some rocks, rocks so uninteresting they didn’t deserve a closer look.

“I’m placing the bomb,” Hermione whispered. A moment later, a large hole appeared in the ground. As Harry watched, the earthen walls of the hole turned to metal. Then a large cylinder appeared on the ground next to it and floated down into the hole, coming to rest at an angle. “Bomb’s set,” Hermione announced.

They moved a hundred yards to the side. Hermione created three fox holes while Ron and Harry covered the house with jinxes to block magical travel.

“Ready,” he announced.

“Take cover!” Hermione ordered, jumping into a hole. Harry followed her example and pressed himself against the soft earth, then quickly cast a Silencing Charm on himself.

Ten seconds later, the earth trembled. He cancelled the Charm and climbed out of the foxhole.

“Wards are down!” Hermione announced after a flick of her wand. A second later, Harry was on his Firebolt, speeding towards the now defenceless house. Without the wards to block his Human-presence-revealing Charm, markers appeared as soon as he was in range. Two of them - those had to be Glyn Cadwallader and his wife. They were not moving, probably still shocked.

“Targets on the first floor, south side!” Harry announced through his radio, then pointed his wand ahead and blew a hole in the wall.

That made the Cadwalladers move - he saw the markers move towards the front of the building. He saw Ron’s marker veer off, flying towards the northern side right before he entered the building.

He bled off speed in a tight turn, almost scraping along the wall inside, then shot forward. A door barring his way was turned into splinters with a Reductor Curse. Through the dust thrown up by the explosion he saw someone running away. He gave chase and leveled his wand. Before he could send a Stunner after them, figures moved to block his path. Animated suits of armour waving around axes and swords he realised as he pulled up and came to a stop.

They were enchanted with protective spells he also noticed when his Blasting Curse sent them reeling, but didn’t destroy the four of them moving towards him. He was tempted to draw the Elder Wand and simply crush the suits, but instead vanished the floor underneath them. He was shooting along the hallway, after the fleeing Cadwalladers, before the suits hit the ground below.

Up ahead was a corner. The markers tracking the Cadwalladers were still moving away, so he simply rose to the ceiling and took the corner as quickly as possible. He passed above another suit of armour, a halberd glancing off his Shield Charm - had it detected him somehow, or was it simply flailing blindly? - and finally had a clear line of fire to the two fleeing purebloods.

His Stunner hit the witch in the back, and she dropped at once. Cadwallader himself whirled around, screaming, then toppled himself.

Ron’s marker appeared behind the fallen wizard, right next to a window the bomb had blown open. “Both targets down!” he announced. “We’re getting them out now. Watch out for animated suits of armour!”

Harry turned around. He and Ron reduced the suit coming towards him to metal fragments with a few Blasting Curses before levitating the two stunned purebloods and leaving the house.

“I’ve taken their house-elf,” he heard Hermione say as they cleared the building, “Mission accomplished.”

*****​

Cadwallader Cottage, Shropshire, Britain, April 3rd, 1997

Floating on her broom above the damaged house, Daphne Greengrass tried not to shudder as she saw the werewolf levitate a huge box into the building. If that were Exploding Fluid, then a shock would be enough to set it off. A small mistake, a lapse in concentration on the part of the beast, and they would vanish in a fireball.

Swallowing dryly, she moved her broom a little away from the house. Not too far, though - she was certain she was under observation by whoever had broken into the house. Probably Granger, she thought, and the rest of the Resistance. They would be waiting for a reason to kill her.

Below her, Lupin set the box down, then flew up towards them. “The bomb’s placed. Now fill the area with petrol. We don’t have much time.”

“Did they get a warning to the Ministry?” Tracey asked, gasping.

“No, but muggles might have noticed the explosion already.”

“Ah.” Muggles they could handle, Daphne knew.

“Get going,” the werewolf snarled at her.

Flinching, Daphne did as ordered. A few Doubling Charms later, the house was filled with petrol bottles.

“Follow me!” the beast ordered before she could inform him.

She flew after him, Tracey trailing behind her. Lupin flew over a small hill, then landed. His wand flicked, and Daphne couldn’t hear anything any more. She opened her mouth to protest, drawing her wand, but stopped when Lupin pulled a muggle contraption out of his robes and pushed a button.

She didn’t hear anything when the bomb went off. She was still turning when the light flared up, but she saw the fireball rise behind them, felt the earth tremble, felt the air hit her. “Merlin’s beard!” she whispered, or thought she did - she couldn’t hear herself either.

She was panting when smoke replaced the flames and the light grew dimmer, flames no longer reaching above the crest of the hill behind them. It looked far too much like Malfoy Manor. Where her parents had been killed.
She didn’t notice that Lupin had cancelled the Silencing Charm until he shook her shoulder. “We need to leave. Apparate!”

Panting, she stared at him, shaking her head.

He cursed, then grabbed her arm, then Tracey’s. “Sorry about this, but we have to leave.”

A second later, Daphne experienced the familiar feeling of being forced through a small tube as he took her and Tracey by Side-Along-Apparition.

*****​