A/N: Hello everyone, my ADMM muse has recently paid me a little visit and it seems I can't get away from her I got it into my brain to do a multi chapter series centred on Minerva McGonagall and ADMM, and with an idea of what to put into each book. This is a strange day for me, people, since I usually try to not undertake the task of a multi chapter fic (with my tendency to not finish them, it is understandable).
This series does not care much for HBP or DH, nor does it take Pottermore's character backgrounds into account. Reader, you are therefore warned. Don't come flaming me because I do "non-canon".
Disclaimer for Book 1: "Harry Potter" and all its content are the intellectual propriety of J. K. Rowling, as we all now. If I were she, the stories would probably be very different (and mostly worse). I only claim the few characters I create as well as my plot, I make no money from this (if only), and am just playing with the universe and its content.
Rating: T (I don't think it will rise much higher later, unless there is a good amount of graphic violence involved).
Summary: AU! April 1945, around Dresden, Germany. The commanders of the British Wizarding forces are preparing to attack Grindelwald in his last refuge, to put an end to his evil once and for all. During the war, Junior Auror McGonagall does reconnaissance to ensure their mission's success. Book 1 in the Tempestates(1) series (eventually ADMM).
Book 1: Nox Turbida(2)
The moon gave perfect cover to the silver tabby cat quietly going back to her camp. Twice had she taken that route already, and she deemed it safe enough. She could not, however, rest or run recklessly through what was left of the forest that used to surround the area. Despite her exhaustion, the feline stayed alert and padded her way to safety relying only on instinct and sight.
While cats have notoriously fine sense of smell and hearing, here they would not be of much help. Her nose was charged with the smell of gunpowder, dirt, torn wood and the dust of fallen buildings, permeating the air. Her ears, full of the sound of guns, canons, and rockets echoing in the distance.
However, she would not stop until she had reached her destination. Trying to avoid distraction, she quickly put back to the recesses of her mind the thoughts that came up with the idea of 'camp': report, rest, hot food, drink, Albus, comrades.
The tweaking of a branch suddenly echoed near enough that she heard it through the constant racket. Startled, the tabby queen stopped. Ready for anything that may come, all senses on maximum alert, she quickly scanned the perimeter around her and hid in the shadowy trunk of tree as a German patrol passed her by.
She waited until she was sure to be out of their sight and out of their earing then, reassured but still jumpy from her experience, the cat increased her pace. Forty-five minutes later, dawn was breaking as she entered the British camp, under the watchful eyes of four men wearing black clothes, a wooden stick in their hands.
"'Morning, McGonagall" said the man on the left as the cat suddenly disappeared, leaving a dark-haired woman in her place.
"'Morning, Shafiq, Wood, Carson, O'Donell"
"Better hurry up, McGonagall" said the one named O'Donell, a tall fellow with sharp eyes and an even sharper jaw "They'll be waiting for your report"
The lady who had previously been a tabby cat nodded and hurried to Command, speeding through the security tests. It was a relatively spacious military issue tent that had one day been some sort of khaki green, but was now of an unidentifiable colour because of the various particles hanging in the air, a mix of powdered clay, dust, chopped wood, metal and spell residue, that made your eyes water, your hair dirty and your throat itch.
The witch's boots – for such a lady could only be a witch – were sinking in the sticky mud, but it seemed to hardly inconvenience her, nor was the dirt adorning the lower part of her clothes. After months of wading in the grey muck of Eastern Germany, one got used to such little discomforts, especially since no piece of clothing would dry in the humid spring weather, and one was certainly not about to signal the position of the camp to the Enemy by using any kind of spell. Being dirty was indeed a small price to pay for staying alive. Here, on the borders of Grindelwald's territory, no one was safe.
The witch lifted part of the Command centre's tent, and reported to the orderly, a stern lady formerly Chief Auror McKinnon's secretary, who quickly announced her to the three men present:
"Junior Auror McGonagall reporting, sir"
"Very well, Rowley, send her through."
The young witch, repeated the address, as Chief Aurors McKinnon and Abbott turned toward her, then nodded, acknowledging her presence. They did not, however, ask right away for her report. They seemed to wait for the third man to speak up. He was a middle-aged wizard with a long beard and shoulder-length hair, that had both seen better days. He had the gaunt look of a man whose sleep was relentlessly elusive, and the dead eyes of a commander who knows just how many lives were taken on both sides of the war for any significant victory.
Finally, with a heavy sigh, the exhausted man whose name made the Enemy shake with either fear or fury turned toward her and asked if she had been followed. Had it been any other circumstance, had he been any other man, Junior Auror McGonagall would have at the very least scoffed, or would have hexed him, at the high of her temper. But this was Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, and they were engaged in a merciless war against an enemy whose camp was only a few hours away.
"No, sir, I have been especially careful since this mission was so crucial. I am positive I have not been followed. However, I have encountered a German patrol 45 minutes from here, around this area" she said, showing them the zone on the map in the centre of the room. "But they did not see me. However, we should select another route to the Enemy's territory."
They were the four of them standing around the map, six metal chairs that looked decidedly uncomfortable to McGonagall were placed around it. But none of them could have examined it properly at candlelight had they been sitting, no matter how many times McGonagall or Dumbledore pushed their glasses back up their noses a notch.
"Have you found their camp, McGonagall?" asked McKinnon.
"I have. Most of his forces seem to have retreated into this part of the country, East of Dresden. I don't know where the others are."
The Chief Auror nodded and examined the map. There was a big Medieval fort, easily defendable, but very difficult to take.
"You're right, they are probably here" said Abbott. "McGonagall, on your next shift, you'll check out the safety of new routes to this Fort. When you've finished with reconnaissance, we'll put together a plan of attack. I doubt they'll make an outing, even if we try to force them out."
"They'll stay in the Fort and send muggle scouts to find us" added Dumbledore.
"Or deal with us with muggle artillery" finished McGonagall, who was often quite right in her hypothesises.
Dumbledore acquiesced with a nod.
"We have no time to lose, but those of us who have not slept properly for the last two days should really get some rest. You too, Junior Auror McGonagall" he added with a faint smile.
"Get some food in the mess, then get some rest, McGonagall. We'll send you back in 12 hours" added Wood.
The witch nodded politely at her superiors before getting out of the tent with a sigh. 12 hours. 12 hours before her next mission. Glancing back at Albus Dumbledore's tired figure, she drowsily made her way to the mess.
A/N: I would honestly appreciate some honest opinion and constructive criticism
(1) Tempestates: Latin: The Storms/The Tempests
(2) Nox Turbida: Latin: Stormy night