1,766Draco couldn't take his eyes off the three figures, bound and forced to kneel on the marble floor of the Nott's ballroom. Their heads had been covered, so he couldn't see their faces, but one was far shorter than the others. He had a sickening feeling he knew who they were supposed to be.
They had been caught by Goyle.
Not Greg. He was leaning against the wall at the back of the room, his normally slack jawed expression tense. Greg had enough sense to be concerned…but not enough to leave.
No, this meeting had been called without warning or detail, by Hubert Goyle. In Draco's lifetime he had only ever been referred to as Goyle Sr. He was a heavy set wizard, without his son's athleticism. He resembled a particularly overweight ox…if oxen had two legs and wore black robes. His face was ruddy and seemed to have the consistency of sweating meat.
In thanks for his years of service and dedication to the cause, the Dark Lord had placed him in charge of the Snatchers. These were roving bands of wizards (of dubious origin in Draco's mind) who acted as Bounty Hunters for the Ministry. The Dark Lord had not replaced the Auror Department, instead operating a two tiered militia. Anything mundane, or requiring significant leg work, the Snatchers were sent. Something more complex, and he would dispatch his more trusted Death Eaters. The few remaining Aurors had been left to deal with anything else…while turning a blind eye to all the Ministry sanctioned law breaking. Although the Ministry was working on removing as many of those pesky laws as they could.
Draco had realised quite quickly that Tom Riddle had little to no interest in actually running a country. Theo, pacing their rooms late one night, had irritably remarked on how inefficient the whole scheme had been. The puppet who'd been "elected" as Minister for Magic, dealt with the day to day dealings of Magical Britain, and enforced the Dark Lord's whims as best he could, although Draco doubted he had any idea what those actual whims were. No, Tom Riddle was interested in power, and powerful men didn't like to have their time wasted.
Which was why the Dark Lord was not present at this assembly.
Bellatrix was presiding, watching everything through beetle black eyes, rimmed with slivers of pale grey. The same colour eyes as Sirius. And his mother. Her gaze was currently focused on Goyle Sr, with a narrow look. She would decide if it was worth summoning the Dark Lord. It was a far braver Death Eater than Goyle Sr that would attract the Dark Lord without Bellatrix's approval. She was his right hand, his second in command, the guardian of his audience…the Dark Lady to his Lordship.
Draco had chosen a spot at the large U shaped table as far away from his aunt as he could manage. This put him level with the three prisoners.
The three prisoners he could not believe Goyle Sr had been able to catch. The idea that the Twins and his cousin had been caught by the ageing wizard was, frankly, ludicrous.
That was the first clue.
Unfortunately, Draco seemed to be one of the few who thought so. He realised, with irritation, that cousin Sirius had been right.
The problem with the Death Eaters, he'd once said, was the depths of their prejudice were so great that it limited them. They couldn't imagine the feats the soul bonded trio were capable of could possibly be real. Muggleborns could simply not do Great Magics, it was just not possible. A thought that sounded a bit like Susan, pointed out that few muggleborns were ever made aware of or granted access to Great Magics and that probably had something to do with the perception that they couldn't do them. But to Death Eaters they were inferior, they were magic thieves…the natural born gifts of wizards could only be used to their full extent by Purebloods. So the idea that Goyle Sr, from a long and venerable line, had captured the three wizards made perfect sense, especially to the older members.
The younger ones, specifically the Death Eaters he had attended Hogwarts with, the ones that had seen the chaos Hermione and the Twins were capable of, and their often casual displays of power, were keeping close to the walls or doors. Several already had their wands out. Theo was tense by Draco's side, one hand flat on the edge of the table as though he was preparing to push back and away at a moment's notice.
"Well?" Bellatrix snapped, looking tense as she broke through the low murmurs and nervous shuffling with a voice like a whip. "Get on with it!"
Grinning inanely, Goyle removed the hoods.
That grin should have been their second clue.
Bellatrix flinched like she had expected snakes to come slithering out. Her eyes glimmered with malice and what looked like amazement. Clearly Draco hadn't been the only one suspicious of Goyle's success. He only looked away from his Aunt when he was certain he could control his own expression.
Kneeling on the floor, looking bloodied and bruised, were Fred, George, and Hermione.
And he'd been right.
Something was terribly, terribly, wrong.
He'd spent a lot of time with his cousin. He knew how she looked, her expressions…the feel of her magical aura. He knew the way she would unconsciously lean towards whichever Twin was closest at the time. And most damning of all…He knew what fury looked like on Hermione Granger. The emotion that she would almost certainly be displaying if she had been captured by Death Eaters. She would blame herself for getting the Twins caught. She'd blame the Death Eaters for daring to attack her. She would be so angry the room would start to heat around her.
He met the dead-eyed brown stare of the thing that wasn't Hermione Granger and felt his stomach fill with ice.
He tried to decide what to do.
What was their game here? Was this a tactic? A plot?
Goyle Sr, heedless of the way Bellatrix was approaching the trio, was joyfully explaining the dramatic capture, how they'd been caught unawares in the street.
Draco knocked his knee into Nott's and drew his wand from his sleeve. Nott nodded once without looking at Draco. He clearly wasn't happy either.
"Release them," Bella hissed, as she stood in front of the bound figures. "It's time I had a talk with my ickle cousin."
Goyle, grinning inanely, did so.
Worryingly inanely, Draco thought. His cousin wouldn't stoop to the Imperius curse…would she?
As Goyle flicked his wand to release the trio's bindings, Draco felt…a hand on his shoulder. The barest touch, pulling him back, just slightly. Nott evidently felt it too as he moved back as well. It was a tiny second of warning…one that no one else in the room received as the three Inferi, heavily glamored and charmed, broke free of their magical bonds.
The shambling corpses moved quickly, and the closest one to Bellatrix, still wearing Fred Weasley's grinning visage, tackled her, knocking her wand from her hand. The other two launched into the crowd of assembled Death Eaters and blood and screaming began to fill the room.
Inferi are resistant to magic and hard to put down. Fire is usually the best method, but in a room this crowded the concentration required just wasn't possible. The wounds they inflict are Dark and difficult to heal, mirrors of the monster's undead savagery. Draco and Theo, safely at the back of the room now, could only watch the carnage unfold, aiming spells as carefully as they could as the three shambling figures clawed down any Death Eater they could reach. It took nearly a minute to put the three creatures down, a lifetime in a duel.
Goyle, who'd been standing closest, had had his throat ripped out and his body lay in a rapidly spreading pool of blood. Bellatrix was severely wounded, a large gaping hole in her shoulder seeping a dark stain into her robes. She was cackling, an unhinged and painful sound as she watched the Inferi be defeated. The look in her eye now was calculating and…almost proud.
All in all, Draco would later learn, fifteen Death Eaters had been injured, only one killed. Two more would succumb to infection in the next few days.
"Is she raising the dead now?" Theo hissed, as they picked their way around the room towards where Greg, who'd fought to get to his father's side, was now kneeling by his corpse.
Draco doubted it. It wasn't his cousin's style.
The glamour had faded as the Inferi fell, and the bodies of three well aged corpses lay splattered across the marble floor.
As he helped lift Greg away, letting the more senior Death Eaters help Bellatrix and the others, his thoughts drifted back to a Veritas broadcast ... and a joke about recycling.
The Dark Lord had been raising the dead. And capturing, glamoring and returning said dead…would not be a significant challenge. In fact, it was almost funny. In a grim kind of way.
This attack is considered, by recent historians, to be the first salvo of the resistance. Amelia Bones had taken the time to reevaluate the battlefield, identifying targets and weaknesses in her opponents. She was prepared to exploit any angle she could find.
Where Riddle had underestimated the Arcane Army was an assumption that they would fight as the Order of the Phoenix had done. Amelia wasn't interested in fighting fair. Nor was she interested in long complicated plans. No, Amelia wanted this war over quickly. Their priority was the safety of civilians and Death Eaters weren't civilians. The next Veritas broadcast made that very clear to the opposing Dark Wizards.
By this point the Ministry had settled into callous bureaucracy, processing muggleborns and limiting the actions of the public. We were mid-term at Hogwarts and were struggling under the new regime put in place by Headmistress Carrow.
It had taken a long time for Ron Weasley to fully pay attention to Hermione Granger. At first she had been this grumpy little girl who hung around with his brothers. Which was weird, and he'd been a little jealous because why didn't they want to hang out with him? She'd always been there, following them around, helping with their pranks and generally existing in the background of Ron's life.
He'd shared classrooms with her for years, but he knew almost nothing about her.
Then she dumped a jug of pumpkin juice on his head in his fourth year and he'd started paying attention.
Actually it had been when Dean and Seamus had been helping him get pumpkin juice out of his hair and had told him he'd gotten off lightly. Imagine if his brothers had heard.
"Why would they care?" He'd demanded. "She's just some kid that bothers them all the time."
The other two had exchanged a long look and told him he was an idiot.
So he'd started paying attention.
He'd been upset when, in fifth year, the Twins hadn't let him in on their pranks, but when he'd sat and thought about it, it made sense. They weren't that close.
Sure they were his brothers and they'd always help if he needed it…but he'd always been closest to Ginny. Who hated Hermione and he'd gone along with her.
He'd noticed that in sixth year he'd barely seen the girl, she'd been in the library all year, or had her head permanently buried in a text book. He hadn't been surprised when she'd not returned to Hogwarts for seventh year. None of the Blacks had.
He was missing Hermione now. Between himself and Ginny they were rather out of their depth. Fighting teachers and running smuggling rings was really more of the Black's expertise.
"Ready?" He hissed, his wand held tightly in his grip. He was tucked up against the wall of the second floor corridor.
Across the hall Neville gave him a grim nod. He was hidden behind a stone statue of Merlin.
Alecto Carrow had always had a nasty reputation, but since the death of her brother she'd gone completely mad.
Just last week she'd put a second year in the hospital wing. The poor kid had only been whistling.
She had also employed some vicious new teachers, who had no problem dragging students through the corridors by the scruff of their necks to be punished publicly in the Great Hall.
Word had almost not reached Ron and Neville in time, they'd been busy smuggling food to some Hufflepuff students who'd been trapped in their common room since the start of term. They'd had to sprint to get here. The victim today was Francesca Cadawallander, who's big sister Ron vaguely remembered proposing to Hermione once. The first year had apparently learned a lot from her sister, and had been placed in Ravenclaw. Normally her thirst for knowledge would have been rewarded. But pointing out the flaws in Death Eater ideology did not win favours with the new staff.
She'd been silenced and was being dragged by her collar along the corridor, her feet kicking wildly.
Professor Gavrilax was a wiry but clearly quite strong Bulgarian wizard who taught Dark Magic. He didn't seem to care about her struggles to get free. His face was set in a furious grimace and he yanked hard when she managed to get a grip on a nearby painting, sending both girl, and portrait, clattering across the floor. He turned to glare down at the little girl, whose face was marked with her silent tears. She trembled but did her best to glare back.
Ron met Neville's gaze and nodded.
"Stupify!" They both roared, and the spells hit the man in the back, sending him crashing to the floor next to Francesca. His control over the spell faltered and her sobs began to echo through the hall.
"Shush," Ron whispered, running to kneel down next to her. "We're going to get you out of here, but you need to stay quiet for me. Can you do that, Francesca?"
She nodded desperately, clapping her hands, scuffed and dirty from the floors, over her mouth.
"We're going to take you somewhere safe," Neville promised.
Between the two of them they helped the girl to her feet and began to smuggle her through the castle. But not before Ron doubled back, pocketed the fallen wizard's wand and stomped hard on Gavrilax's wand hand.
"Fucking prick," He muttered.
No further gossip had reached Agatha's ears regarding the fate of the trio of wizards. But whether this was a good or bad thing was hard to tell.
There was plenty of other news to keep her occupied.
It seemed that the Arcane Army wasn't as beaten as the Prophet had originally claimed. Word had reached her of multiple attacks throughout the last few weeks. Raids mostly, on important but usually unguarded Ministry properties. The Apothecary Farms had been stripped of their resources and the fields burned, although St Mungo's had been left untouched. Hubert Goyle had been attacked and killed whilst hunting on the grounds of his Cumbrian estate. The new registration laws had come into effect and the processing of magic thieves had begun. Agatha was often called to sit in on the trials, taking careful notes.
The printing presses for the Daily Prophet had been outright stolen. No new issues of the Prophet had been published in the last week, and rumour said it would be weeks until new presses could be installed. For some reason getting imported goods was difficult at the moment. The only regular publications still printing were Witch Weekly and the Quibbler. Neither of whom specialised in current affairs. If you wanted news you were forced to turn on the wireless…and that meant a lot more of the wizarding population was hearing the Veritas broadcasts.
Agatha made a note to enquire with the Department of International Cooperation about improving the trade routes.
"A moment?"
She glanced up and spied the neat, if somewhat tired, form of Percy Weasley, Junior Under-Secretary. While Agatha outranked him, Percy often acted as personal assistant to the Minister, and as such they had apparently worked together in the past.
"By all means," She gestured to the spare chair. "How can I help?"
"Expenses," Percy sat with a sigh. "The Minister is looking for proposals on budget cuts within the Ministry. Unnecessary expenditures which could be put to better use. I thought I'd start with your suggestions."
"Well…" Agatha leaned back in her chair, "There is the obvious candidate, Percival." The red haired wizard didn't wince, but it was a close thing. "The Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office has clearly had its time." He noted it down on his parchment. "I would also advise a close look at the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. I think with the new administration's policy changes, much of that Department may be unnecessary. Do we really need a Goblin Office?" Percy noted that down as well.
Over the next few minutes they hashed out a general direction for budget cuts, and an indication of where that funding should go instead. The Muggleborn Registration Office was a main candidate.
"Thank you for your time," Percy got to his feet slowly, double checking his list. "I appreciate your insight, as always I…." He paused his gaze lifted from the clipboard to the rug in front of the fireplace. There, enjoying the heat, was Fides, stretched out like a queen. "Who is this?"
"Fides," Agatha introduced. "He's a new addition to the office."
Percy knelt down and offered his hand to the Kneazle who, after sniffing it, rolled closer so Percy could stroke his head. The wizard did so, but seemed distracted. He was frowning at Agatha, as though he was waiting for something.
"Didn't you say you were allergic to cats?" He asked, frowning.
"Did I?" Agatha murmured. "I don't recall."
"I do." Percy got to his feet. The two stared hard at each other, Percy chewing on his lip as he examined the older witch. "Agatha, tell me…"
Agatha spoke across him, her eyes narrowing behind the large frames.
"How is your father, Percival?" She asked delicately. Percy stiffened.
"I wouldn't know," He assured her. "I no longer associate with him. I assume he is fine."
Agatha hummed.
"Let us hope he stays that way."
Percy kept her gaze for another long moment.
"I must have misremembered." He muttered, and left.
Agatha scowled. The sooner all of those loyal to the previous administration were gone, the better it would be for everyone.
The Arcane Army's strategy was simple. To wear away at Voldemort's power until he could be toppled as easily as possible. This meant attacking some fundamentals of the wizarding world, effectively ensuring that even when he fell, it would never be the same. Amelia had no concern about this. She was determined that this would be the last Wizarding War fought for a long time.
The Intel reports said that the Dark Lord's Inner Circle consisted of seven Wizards. Bellatrix, his right hand. Alecto Carrow now resided at Hogwarts as Headmistress. Severus Snape, who acted as his major domo and was, by all reports, not allowed out of the Dark Lord's sight. Antonin Dolohov, who had taken over Azkaban. Thorus Nott helmed the research into Dark Artefacts from his Canterbury estate. The now disgraced Lucius Malfoy had been replaced with Rodolfus Lestrange. Ignatius Parkinson was the last of the number. He had always had a reputation as a bureaucrat throughout his career in the Wizengamot and it seemed he'd carried that trait over. Reports from spies said that he was running the books. He was an important string in Voldemort's bow, one too valuable to leave loose.
Unfortunately for him… he was also the Death Eater with the weakest wards.
The Parkinsons had lived in Norfolk since the family had moved after the Reformation. They had once been a large sprawling family, and had lived in a cluster of houses on a flat grassy expanse near the coast.
Now only the central building, a squat Georgian home with a clock tower perched lopsidedly on its roof, was occupied. Here was the home of Ignatius Parkinson, his wife Hessie and their daughter Pansy.
Pansy was, of course, at Hogwarts, and wouldn't learn of the attack until much later.
Amelia had decided that stealth was the order of the day and had assigned the wizards in her research division to design a cursed object. A small brooch made of delicate silver flowers in just the style that Hessie Parkinson was known to prefer. They had slipped it into a Diagon Alley jewellery display.
The brooch contained a drowsiness charm. Simple enough to not raise any alarm. The ex-Unspeakables had merely increased the charm's potency to encourage an entire household to sleep deeply.
Deep enough that when his wards fell to the curse breakers, Ignatus Parkinson was still half asleep as wizards in grey uniforms stormed his bedroom and held him at wand point.
Amelia waited until both he, and his wife, had been secured in their drawing room before approaching. She had soldiers combing every inch of the house for anything useful, boxing up files and magical items. Normally she wouldn't approve of looting an ancestral home…but these were desperate times. Seventeen muggles had been killed that morning in Luton.
"Lord Parkinson," She dropped into a chair in front of them, folding her arms. "I'm told you wished to speak to me,"
She hadn't done an interrogation in many years, not since becoming Department Head, but she didn't think she'd lost the knack.
"You won't get away with this!" Hessie snarled. Her customarily well coiffed black hair was falling around her face, which had turned an ugly puce colour. "The Dark Lord…"
"Has no idea we're even here," Amelia promised, and the other witch blanched. "Now, was that all…?"
Parkinson straightened. Unlike his wife, he was a greying older man. Reports had said he'd been more than happy to let his young wife spend his money, providing she left him alone with his books. His eyes were brown and serious and Amelia was pleased to see he understood the gravity of the situation.
"Please…" He whispered. "The Dark Lord forced us. We had no choice!" Judging by the way his wife stupidly turned to gape at him, this wasn't true. "I was barely involved…I've got a daughter!"
Amelia hummed.
"Speaking of your children," She murmured and Parkinson froze. "Annette Short. Remember her?" He stayed silent. Amelia let her eyes narrow. "I do. We were alerted to magical use within a muggle home several years ago. Her home. She'd been killed with an Avada. She was pregnant." Parkinson's eyes went flat. "Now, I could never prove it at the time. Why would a member of the Wizengamot even be in the home of a muggle woman? Unless…she was his mistress." Amelia scowled. "We found enough evidence to point towards you at the time, but not enough to convince the Minister that you should be prosecuted. So what was it? Sleeping with her was fine but the thought that you'd have a half-blood child….?"
"You disgusting bastard!" Hessie roared, rounding on her husband. "How could you bring such filth into…" She was silenced by one of the soldiers, although she kept ranting silently for several more minutes. Ignatus had gone cold, his stare cruel and nasty.
"So either," Amelia sighed. "Tom Riddle has been controlling you for a very long time…or you're exactly the sort of Death Eater I think you are." He said nothing, just stared at her with vile hatred. "Not to mention that my sources tell me you are the mind behind the Muggleborn Registration Trials. Does the phrase "Magic Theft" ring any bells? That was one of yours, wasn't it?" He looked surprised for a moment. Clearly the Death Eaters underestimated how well informed Amelia was. She turned to the guards. "Ready them for transport. These two are going into deep storage."
Both prisoners jerked and stared at her as she got to her feet.
"Wait," Ignatius suddenly started to talk very quickly. "I know things! I can be of help! The Dark Lord has gifts! Spells you cannot possibly know…"
She was almost at the door, but rounded on him as he strained against the Private holding him back.
"There is nothing that you know that I want any part of." She assured him calmly. "I am not interested in any information you have. I already know everything I need to. I already have every detail of your disgusting operation at my disposal. I do not need you. There is no bargaining your way out of this, not this time." Sighing, she turned away from the struggling Death Eaters and back to her soldiers. "We are clearing this place in twenty minutes! I want everyone packed and ready to go!"
Dear Miss Parkinson,
We are writing to inform you of the arrest of your parents Ignatus and Hespera Parkinson. They have been placed in our storage facility. Following the end of this conflict they will be tried for war crimes and face appropriate punishment. They will not be harmed or mistreated during their incarceration, however they will not be able to contact you until they have been removed from storage. Their Prisoner Identification Numbers are as follows:
Parkinson, Ignatus - DS 134672
Parkinson, Hestia - DS 134673
As you are now considered Head of your House, we have attached the key to your property, as well as an itemised list of all property seized during our raid. Any Dark Artefacts will be destroyed, however other artefacts may be returned at a later date.
We apologise for this inconvenience and hope that you will not fall foul of your parents' mistakes.
In good faith,
Field Marshal Amelia Bones
(Copy of letter from the Arcane Army Records, unearthed during the Ashwinder Trials)
Ginny Weasley, watching Parkinson sob into her breakfast, thought that she would be a lot more sympathetic to the witch's plight, had she not tried to curse her on the stairs the day before.
With a helpful broadcast from Veritas that evening, the entire Wizarding World knew that the Parkinson family had fallen to the Arcane Army.
The Dark Lord had not taken Parkinson's loss well. It was the circumstances of the loss that seemed to infuriate him most. Ignatius wasn't dead, the Dark Lord would have felt that through the mark. No, instead he had simply gone silent, and no one knew why. His fury had driven him to punish several Death Eaters. Unfortunately this included Draco and Nott, who'd fallen under the firing line for failing to locate Veritas. It took them precious days to recover. Days in which they continued to deliver little to no results. But, as they'd recuperated, curled together on the old mattress in their cottage, aching and bloody, Nott had had an idea.
Locating the broadcasts on a map wasn't working. But if they could get a general area and then use a Point Me spell…
They'd waited, brooms on hand by the radio for the next broadcast long enough to trace.
"Watch your hip," Draco muttered, eyeing the way Nott was leaning against the table. "If you're not up to this…"
"If I'm not up to this then I'm dead anyway," Nott complained. Draco smacked his shoulder with his spare hand. Nott caught it and pressed a kiss to it absently. "Honestly…take a crucio for a man and this is how he repays you…"
"Not funny," Draco snapped, hissing slightly as that memory rushed to the fore again: Nott writhing in agony, staring desperately into Draco's eyes. "Why did you even do that?"
Nott glanced up from the map and stared at him.
"Someone has got to look after you,"
Draco opened his mouth to respond when the radio, which had been quietly playing Celestina Warbeck, burbled into life. They both cocked their heads to the side trying to identify the voices of Puck and Ariel.
"...Today six muggleborns were sentenced to Azkaban under the muggleborn registration trials. Folks, we cannot stress this enough, if the letter comes…run. Don't go to the hearing. We've been getting disturbing reports out of Azkaban, at least sixteen of its inmates are now dead…"
"Voice 1," Nott murmured as Draco leaned over the maps and began casting.
Using the charms that let the magical radios work they were able to trace the broadcast to a small village in Dundee, but once again the signal was moving, with no way to get a clear lock on it. The Ministry had given them some portkeys for use in their research and, wands holstered and brooms held tightly…they activated one.
They landed in a dark and boggy field and took to the sky immediately. Around them was nothing but farmland and distant houses, a single bus winding down a narrow country lane. Draco started casting, looking for hidden wards, using spells that would let him know if there was any significant magic going on in the area. Nothing drew his immediate attention.
Nott cursed, holding his wand in the palm of his hand.
"It's still moving!" He swore. "Are they on brooms too or…" He stopped speaking and Draco followed his gaze from his wand…to the distant bus it was tracking. "You have got to be kidding me."
Nott Imperiod the driver to stop and the empty bus came to a halt in the road. The older, portly muggle opened the door for them and they stepped aboard. Both took in the seats, the advertisements and the flickering lights with a sense of disgust.
"Muggles," Nott grumbled, scowling at a poster. It seemed to be selling some sort of cream. Both of them blanched when they realised where it was meant to be applied.
"Let's just get this over with," Draco grumbled, and began examining the bus.
There were no passengers aboard, although the level of litter suggested that was a recent development. After a few minutes of searching he brushed aside some newspapers and discovered, tucked on the floor at the back of the bus, a radio. Or what had once been a radio, and a muggle one too. It had wires fastened to it and nearly every inch was covered in runes, carefully etched into case. Two spinning cogs turned in the centre of the machine, winding a strange, translucent black material. He held a hand close to it, and watched the hairs raise on his skin. The magical aura was different from Hermione's, less hostile. But it had a distinctive mischievous feel to it. Reading magical signatures wasn't really a skill and it was possible that this was just his imagination, but he was fairly certain this device had been built by the Twins.
"It's still broadcasting," Nott leaned in close and, sure enough, if he concentrated, he could hear the familiar tones of Puck and Ariel. "I wonder…" Nott waved his wand. "Finite."
The cogs stopped and the device went silent. For the first time, Veritas was taken off the air.
The two wizards stared at the device, incredulous.
"We've been chasing buses and boxes," Draco complained, "For months!"
Nott hefted the device into his arms and led the way back onto the road. He ended the curse on the driver with a last wave of his wand, and the bus roared into life. They watched it vanish into the darkness.
"We need to listen to the recordings again," Nott finally said. He'd clearly been thinking. "If we can work out which broadcasts are recordings, and which are live…" Draco felt his stomach sink. "...we might be able to finally track them down." He glanced at Draco. "We need to make sure we're on that mission."
Draco couldn't tell if that was because Nott wanted the glory of taking out the Weasley Twins, or because he wanted to make sure they were accounted for when the Death Eaters finally cornered Fred and George and realised what a threat they could be.
Harry and Hermione were in possibly the stupidest place for a pair of Wizarding Britain's Most Wanted.
Diagon Alley.
The streets of the enclave were quiet, with only a few customers scuttling from door to door. Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes stood a gaunt and dark guardian at one end of the street, blackened beams exposed, windows shattered, once vibrant paint streaked with ash. Ollivanders had been similarly attacked several nights earlier, although not set alight, and two young men Harry vaguely recognised as Garrick's grandsons were in the process of boarding up the shattered windows. Garrick himself had not yet been found.
"We'd only just finished decorating," Hermione murmured morosely, her eyes fixed on the joke shop.
Harry frowned at her.
"Why," He ushered her towards a dark alleyway, ignoring the glowering wanted poster of his mother on the wall. "Were you decorating the Twins' shop?"
She blinked and then shook her head.
"I wasn't," She muttered. "They did it themselves. And a damn good job we did!"
Harry paused and turned his sister to face him, scowling into her eyes. The glamour of an older, tired witch hid the colour, but he suspected they weren't their usual brown.
"Will you two sod off?" He hissed, glancing round to make sure they were unseen. "We're busy!"
Hermione chuckled, which wasn't quite her usual cackle, and then shook her head like she was dislodging water from her ears.
"Sorry," She smiled apologetically. "They're quite close by right now. Closest they've been for ages. They're making the most of it." Moving together they darted down the alleyway towards a small courtyard between four dingy houses.
"So," Harry murmured as they settled into an alcove to wait. "Want to tell me why you're mad at Tonks?"
Hermione made a sort of hissing noise as she swung the invisibility cloak around them both.
"I'm not." She lied. Badly.
Harry started casting privacy charms so their conversation wouldn't be overheard.
"Right. And I'm a hippogryph."
"Harry…"
"Hermione…" He glared down at her. "She's our cousin and our commander. Tell. Me."
Trying to force Hermione to tell anyone anything was a bit of a gamble, often she'd refuse to speak at all out of spite. But, luckily for Harry, she gave in.
"Tonks is….." She whispered, before waving a hand over her stomach, unwilling to voice such a secret in public. Harry's eyes went comically wide.
"Oh shit."
"Kingsley doesn't know." She added in a furious whisper.
"Oh shit!"
"She won't tell him. Says he can't afford to be distracted. When I called for him last month she decided not to tell him. Course, Kings taking two days to arrive didn't help, but there's a war on."
"She's been leading missions!" Harry hissed, looking upset. "What if…"
"It's her choice." Hermione sighed. "I don't envy her but it is her choice. I'm not upset about that, I'm upset with Tonks because I think Kingsley should know. More than that I think he'd want…."
It was a credit to their training that they both snapped to attention under the cloak as the first echoed footstep reverberated off the stone walls. They gripped their wands and watched as a single solitary figure wove his way down the alley.
Mundungus Fletcher looked awful. His skin was sallow, with open sores. He walked with a shambling gate and most of his hair had fallen out. His robes were in disarray and it looked as though he'd not bathed for days.
Clearly something had gone very wrong.
"You don't think," Harry whispered. "The Aurors at Azkaban…they wouldn't have done this?"
Hermione shrugged. She had no idea.
Mundungus paused in front of a dilapidated door, marred with black peeling paint. He held a key in his hand but wavered on the spot as though the effort to lift it was too much.
They stepped out from the alcove, keeping the cloak tight around them. This had been a lot easier when it was just the two of them skulking around as twelve year olds.
Mundungus finally opened the door, and staggered in. Where he'd pressed his palm to the door frame to keep his balance, a reddish residue was left behind. He didn't seem to notice when the door failed to click shut behind him.
Harry fought not to gag. The room beyond was dank, its walls fuzzed with black mould. There were dark brown stains on the floor Harry didn't want to identify. He'd only known the wizard in passing, but the way he swayed at the foot of a set of rotten stairs seemed…off.
"...I knew they'd come for us…" A cracked and cruel voice whispered. "...sneaking in, trying to STEAL FROM ME!"
Harry and Hermione threw themselves apart, the cloak fluttering to the floor between them as Mundungus rounded on them, firing off a blistering curse. How he'd known they were there, they'd never figure out.
"Expelliarmus!" Harry snapped, stepping forward, making himself the larger target. The older wizard deflected that, and then began to let off a string of curses that Harry had to work to counteract. There was a look in Mundungus' eyes he didn't like. It was like looking into an abyss. Mundungus didn't seem to be in there anymore, and if he was, he certainly didn't seem to recognise Harry, whose glamour had long since dropped.
"Fletcher is a coward," Tonks had told them when she'd briefed them. "But he wants to be on the right side of things. We're hoping sending in the Chosen One will fluster him enough,"
But that didn't seem to be the case.
"Flippendo," Hermione snapped, appearing over Mundungus' shoulder. Harry took the verbal casting as the cue it was, and safely sidestepped as the other wizard was thrown bodily across the room and crashed into the far wall with squelching thud. Hermione followed it up with a stunning jinx, and waited for him to flank her before approaching the now inert body. "I'll check his pockets," She whispered, handing her wand to Harry. He stashed it and kept his own raised as she began to carefully pat the wizard down. Out of a pocket she pulled several vials of something red and viscous, which she set aside carefully. Mundungus' wand had been dropped when he'd been thrown, but surprisingly she found another one inside his robe. She hissed and shook her hand out where she'd touched it.
"Curse?" Harry demanded.
"Ancestral Black property," Hermione muttered, using her sleeve to nudge the wand further away. "Gets all tingly. I think we're in luck," She pulled down the collar of Fletcher's shirt and there, perfectly framed by a sore of black necrosis, was the locket of Salazar Slytherin. Carefully she pulled it over his head and then froze for a moment, before flinging the thing across the room. Harry felt a second of blinding pain in his scar as it clattered to the floor.
"There's something in that," She got to her feet, glowering at the locket. "Something nasty." She reached in her pocket and pulled out a small canvas bag. The symbol of the Department of Mysteries was embossed on it, although it had been roughly scratched out, and someone had scrawled "Arcane Army" over it in ink. Very carefully, and without touching it again, she nudged the locket into the bag and sealed it tightly. "What should we do with Mundungus?" She asked, turning back to him.
Harry sighed and nodded towards the collapsed figure.
"I don't think there's anything to do." He admitted. In the spare minute since the locket had been removed, what life had been in Mundungus Fletcher had fled him. There was now a corpse in a collapsed heap, far further along in decomposition than it should be. "I think that locket was keeping him going." He began to mutter last rights, dimly aware of his sister standing guard behind him as he did so. Fletcher hadn't deserved this. He'd been a thief and a crook and a chancer, but he hadn't deserved this.
Eventually the two of them turned their backs on the body and returned to camp. They had to go see Charlie.
"Field Marshal," Kingsley murmured, trying to get her attention. "Are you alright?"
Amelia was reading the casualty list. Rereading it actually. She had a ritual she'd never told anyone about. The first names she'd check for were Harry and Hermione. Then Tonks and Kingsley. Then she'd read the list in full, but she couldn't stop herself looking for those names first.
Just in case.
The list was short today. Only two fatalities. Patrol had gotten caught by Death Eaters somewhere in Wolverhampton. They'd been unlucky.
She sat the parchment down and picked up the other set of papers on her desk.
"Recognise this?" Amelia asked, gesturing for Kingsley to look at the writing. He glanced at it with a frown.
"Thats the Charter of Merlin,"
It was.
Or a copy, at least. The origional had gone missing hundreds of years ago.
This document set out the rights, responsibilities and powers of the Ministry for Magic, as laid out by Merlin himself.
"I'm not doing this again," Amelia snapped. "It's not enough to get rid of the Dark Lord. That's just the head of the hydra. He gives people an excuse for their prejudices and hatred."
Kingsley hummed.
"He is the worst of wizard kind made manifest," He settled himself on a nearby crate. Amelia's current temporary office was a cupboard in Kingsley's Infiltrator hideout. "But isn't killing him enough? If," He grimaced. "Can we kill him?"
She shook her head, feeling resolute. She'd been thinking about this for a very long time.
"Do you know what is happening to the magical population?" She sighed. "I'm not the only witch who's had fertility problems. Hogwarts' current enrollment, before this war, was about seven hundred. Hogwarts' houses up to two thousand, if need be. Each magical enclave used to have its own junior schools for the under eleven but no enclave now has enough children for it to be worthwhile. Muggleborns, who are vital for the continuation of our population, aren't integrated until eleven when they are at a significant disadvantage to their peers, with no resources to help them catch up. They are launched into a world where the very political system works against them. The only way they can join the Wizengamot is by leading a government department!" She scowled. "I have spent thirty years clearing up the worst of wizarding society…and I think I've got a pretty good handle on where a lot of it stems from."
"So what do you suggest?" Kingsley was watching her with a concerned frown.
"It all has to go." Amelia knew that small steps would take them nowhere. "It's rotten to the core." She nodded, reaching for fresh parchment. "We're burning it all down. I need to set up meetings. With the goblins, the Squibs, the Fae courts if we can find them. There are a lot of props holding the Ministry up. I think it's time we stole some of them."
Has wide scale societal reform been attempted before?
Yes.
Had it been successful?
Generally…no. With the exception of the Statute for Secrecy, wizarding society within the United Kingdom had changed very little since the reign of Merlin and had in fact grown more conservative as time had gone on. Change on the scale that Amelia intended had always been shouted down or undone. There had been other figures in recent history who'd wanted to change the status quo in the same way Amelia did, but knowing she was in the company of Gellert Grindelwald and Tom Riddle would probably not have improved her mood.
She was right about the children though.
Generations of inbreeding took their toll, especially in the more traditional families. Entering into our third civil war in a century, the wizarding population was missing a significant proportion of its members. Those who'd died fighting for or against Grindelwald, and those who'd died fighting for or against Riddle. Wars had their impact on birth rates too. Although there had been brief population booms following 1945 and 1981, both of these had followed significant birth deficits. Couples simply did not want to bring children into the world in such uncertain times. Neither population boom had lasted for more than six months.
This was a problem unique to the United Kingdom. Most other magical populations hadn't been affected to the same extent, or intermingled with enough other populations to not feel its effects. Britain was an island, in more ways than one. The magical population was low…low enough that extinction in generations was not only possible, but likely. And thanks to Tom Riddle…it was getting lower every day.
Agatha Horne was working on the lists. There were a lot of muggleborns around and arranging hearings and court times was a time consuming and difficult job. Agatha was charged with overseeing the files and giving final approval for court summonings. There were a few names in the files that she recognised, but most she didn't. These weren't the sort of people Agatha would associate with.
One file in particular caught her eye and she paused, tracing her fingers over the name for a bare second before sorting that file to the top of the stack. It was important that no one was missed.
"Weasley!" She called, and the ever eager Under-Secretary appeared almost instantly. She suspected he'd been waiting outside for her to finish. Keen, that one. "Run these down to the Muggleborn Registration Office would you?"
"Of course Madam," He hefted the stack with the ease of a born bureaucrat and made for the door. He stumbled after four or five steps.
"Problem, Weasley?" She barked, and he wheeled to stare at her, clutching the folders to his chest like a shield. His eyes were wide and there was the fainest tremble to his jaw. He got himself under control and shook his head, a professional smile returning to his face.
"Not at all, Madam Horne."
Harry had always thought that Professor Binns did a terrible job of teaching about Goblin Wars. Surely such a topic was actually really exciting, full of battles and triumphs. Harry had discovered that actual warfare was as boring as old Binns had always made it sound. There were battles, but you dreaded them, not knowing who'd survive it. Mostly there were long, interminable periods of waiting. Staking out locations, disguised and sitting for hours in the cold November rain. If not for Pepper-Up they would have all come down with pneumonia. But at least you had a job to do on stakeout. Worse were the hours spent with nothing to do. He and Hermione filled it with researching, duelling and, Hermione specifically, being mentally somewhere else as much as she could. Unlike Harry she had two other people to talk to.
The waiting lulled you into a false sense of security, where battle memories dulled and you started to think it hadn't been quite that bad. You became lax and then when there was something to do, you had to rush to sharpen up again. Like now.
Their raids had continued for the last month with most of the infantry forces dedicated to making the war as difficult for the Ministry as it was for them. Today's target, the rambling estate belonging to the Mulciber family, was no exception.
Alfric Mulciber, slimy bastard that he was, had been put in charge of "Foreign Recruitment". Their spies in the Ministry stated that he'd been on a long tour of the continent, working to recruit Death Eaters, promising them places of honour amongst the Death Eaters. There wasn't really anyone left within Britain to recruit. Everyone here had already chosen a side.
He'd returned from the continent last night.
Unusually, Harry and Hermione's task wasn't to bring the building crashing down.
No, it was their job to make a really loud distraction.
Rosamund Mulciber was forty three years old. The thought suddenly struck her, hands buried in the pile of carnations and roses she was arranging.
Forty three years old.
When did that happen?
She remembered her birthdays, of course. Formal affairs, up until her husband's imprisonment. After he escaped there hadn't been time for birthdays.
There was something else…
A rose thorn pricked at her and she frowned. Her hands were littered with dozens of tiny cuts and scars. Why wasn't she wearing gloves? Better yet, why wasn't she using her wand? Where was her wand?
The room shook with another explosion, knocking her crystal vase to the floor.
Better question still, why was she flower arranging when they were clearly under attack? Where was Alfric?
Abandoning her flowers, she crossed to the window.
The wards were cracked and split open, occasional fragments of magic flittering off the sky. The grounds of Mulciber Tower were lit up with thick spellfire as the Death Eaters, unmasked and clearly on the back foot, were trying desperately to hold back the advancing forces. These were clad in grey, and kept strict ranks, not getting close enough to let Death Eaters have advantage. There was a flash of grey and brown, and a volley of spells as a squadron of broom riders rushed through the air. Not expecting an attack from above, the Death Eaters cried out as several of them fell.
They hadn't just cast spells. Several of the fliers had dropped seed pods, which burst open into rapid growing brambles, with spines like razors. Rosamund backed away from the window as she spotted someone getting encased…and shredded.
"Cissa!" A voice roared, "This isn't how raids work! You can't just run off!"
The voices were coming from in the house, and not far away. She glanced around looking for somewhere to hide, wishing she had a wand or a weapon to defend herself.
"Oh, do be quiet!"
Rosamund froze. That sounded like Narcissa Malfoy, a witch she had always respected. But surely, a Malfoy…
"Homenum Revelio," Narcissa called again, and a wash of magic let Rosamund know she'd been found. "There she is…"
The door to the drawing room burst open. She could only move behind an armchair, using its sturdy back to hold herself upright. Two women appeared and spotted her immediately. They both had their wands out and neither were masked. The first was Narcissa Malfoy, who looked unusually dishevelled. She was followed by a tall and broad woman whose blond hair hung in a heavy braid over her grey greatcoat and dragon skin armour. She looked strangely like Amelia Bones, the Head of Magical Law Enforcement.
Narcissa came to an abrupt stop when she saw Rosamund and let out what sounded like a sigh of relief.
"Are you alright?" She asked gently.
Rosamund nodded warily.
"I'm…Narcissa, what is going on?"
The taller woman, who Rosamund was now convinced was Amelia Bones, snorted. She was keeping her back to the wall, clearly trying to watch both doors and windows at the same time.
"What's happening?" Narcissa hummed gently, still moving closer. "You're coming with us, Rose."
"I am?"
None of this made any sense at all. Who were the Death Eaters fighting? Why was an Auror in her drawing room? Why was an Auror with Narcissa Malfoy? Why was Narcissa Malfoy wearing flat shoes?
While Rosamund tried to answer these questions, Narcissa advanced across the room and took her hand gently. "Do you have your wand?" She asked.
"What? No, of course not." Rosamund answered automatically. "Alfric has it…" She frowned. "Why does Alfric have it?"
Amelia Bones sighed heavily.
"You were right," She called to Narcissa, who didn't look pleased at being right. "Long term imperio."
The Imperius Curse?
Things were beginning to make sense but her thoughts kept drifting out of order.
"But…Alfric…"
"Is dead." Narcissa didn't sugar coat it. "At the hands of my niece, I suspect. We need to go before reinforcements arrive. Rosamund, listen to me," She laid one cool hand on Rosamund's cheek, and she was shocked to discover Narcissa's skin was rough and callused. "Do you want to stay here?"
Stay? Here?
This was her home, wasn't it?
Rosamund closed her eyes and tried desperately to get her thoughts in order. She had been enspelled. For a long time. Alfric was dead. If she stayed she'd be here with the Death Eaters. She'd never wanted much to do with them and Alfric had been happy to keep her out of it…because he'd kept her out of everything.
For years…
Memories surfaced, like murk from the bottom of a pond, bringing with them a wave of nausea. Her husband had enspelled her. He had forced her to do unspeakable things for his amusement, stripped her of her autonomy, passed her around his friends like…
She opened her eyes. Narcissa was still waiting, a cool look on her face. Another explosion rocked the tower.
"Let me get my things."
Debriefed after the attack, Rosamund was still struggling to come to terms with it.
"How did you know?" She asked eventually. "About the spell?"
Narcissa had been cleaning and healing the cuts on her hands, but she looked up at her and smiled. It wasn't a nice smile.
"Rose, dear. You hated Alfric. It was an ill match. And then one day you were the perfect society wife. Everybody knew."
And nobody did anything about it.
Until two women staggered into her drawing room.
"Why me?" She felt on the verge of tears again, years of memories resurfacing. "Why…"
"Because we need your help."
"Will you stop watching me sleep?" Harry grumbled without opening his eyes. He was trying to get some rest, but he could feel her gaze on him. It had been a long and brutal day and all he wanted to do was pretend it hadn't happened.
There was a heavy sigh from the other side of the Broch, followed by footsteps and then the mattress dipped as his sister settled onto it. She wedged her feet under his calf, tugged the spare blanket to cover her lap.
"I'm not watching you," She lied, once she'd settled. "I'm just thinking."
He didn't bother to call her out on it.
"About what?" He asked instead, sleepily wishing he'd insisted on his own personal safehouse.
"The future." She murmured. "What it's going to look like if we win."
If it had been Susie, the words would have been "when we win", but Susan had a different outlook to Hermione.
"Are you going to finally settle down with the Twins?" He teased, "You know you've got to name your firstborn after me."
"Middle name only." She sounded like she was joking. He didn't bother opening his eyes to check. "That's if I'm not in prison."
He sighed this time. It was one of those conversations then.
"Why would you be in prison?" He complained, wondering how upset the Twins would be if he stunned his sister.
"You know why."
There was a long pause. She only ever mentioned this when she was certain the Twins were asleep…and when Harry desperately wanted to be too.
"They're not going to imprison you for that." He was going to make sure of it.
"They should," She sounded resigned. "Do you ever think about you and…"
Harry stiffened, his eyes opening to slits.
"That's cruel," He snapped.
"That's cruel?" Hermione hissed, sounding furious. "Trying to get you…"
Harry pushed himself upright, twisting to face his sister. He wasn't surprised to see she was scowling through her tears.
"You promised." Harry snarled and she curled in on herself, covering her face. "You promised me, 'Mione."
From behind her hands, he heard.
"I hate you."
There was another pause, this one tinged with desperation. It was broken by a fresh wave of tears as Hermione began to sob.
He settled next to her, wrapping his arms around her and holding her as she cried.
"No," he whispered sadly, and kissed the top of her head. "You love me."
Harry refused to explain this memory any further, but I got the sense this was not the last time the two of them had a conversation like this.
I don't know if this will reach you.
I don't know if you can help me.
But please, as your brother I am begging you, I need your help.
The Old Den. Mischief Hour.
(Donated by Fred Weasley)
Fred and George knew what they were doing was stupid. If Hermione had been awake she would have undoubtedly told them as much. But she probably would have understood. They were hoping she'd understand. If this was a trap, they'd be relying on that understanding to get them out of it.
The letter had arrived via a non-descript post office owl. There had been no name but the clues had been all there. They'd not thought about the old den they'd cobbled together on the banks of a river as children for a long time. Bill and Charlie had built it and the twins had taken it over when Bill left for Hogwarts. As for Mischief Hour…Molly used to loudly proclaim that she didn't know what it was about nine o'clock in the evening that made her children so wild, but she washed her hands of it as long as they were all in bed by ten.
So here they were, crouched in the bushes on the banks of the river that flowed near the Burrow. Waiting silently in the dark for…well they only had one brother whose penmanship was so immaculate.
There came the crunch of disturbed leaves, a dull thud and the sound of muffled voices.
"...you okay?"
"I can't see a thing!"
The Twins exchanged a look. Whoever was coming towards them sounded a lot more normal than the Snatchers…and a lot less stealthy than the Death Eaters. The two figures passed into a splinter of moonlight, and their suspicions were confirmed. Percy was still wearing his suit, although he'd shoved the sleeves up and loosened his tie. He had his wand held tightly in one hand, but the other held out to help a woman to her feet.
Was that…?
"So that's why you wanted to see us!" Fred called and the two of them whirled. "Here we thought you just missed your dear old brothers." His words were cheerful. His expression wasn't.
George, who'd circled behind the pair, stuck his wand in Percy's back.
"When was the last time you saw us?" He demanded.
His brother, who'd stiffened up completely, twisted slightly to look over his shoulder. He relaxed when he spotted George.
"The last time we saw each other was when I brought you your permits." His nose crinkled. "The last time I saw you was when I was shopping in Diagon Alley and I saw you through the window. That was a week before the fire."
It was the specificity, more than the answer, that convinced George. No one loved a technicality like Percy.
George lowered his wand.
"And you two?" Percy demanded. His eyes looked a bit wild behind his glasses. "How do I know it's…?" He fixed Fred with a stare. "Who stole Mr Fizzlewink?"
This was a bad choice for two reasons. Firstly because the childhood theft of Percy's prized bear had never been solved. And secondly, because he never believed them when they said they had nothing to do with it.
"It wasn't us!" They cried in unison.
Percy snorted, but lowered his own wand.
"So…" Fred sauntered closer. "What brings the Junior Under-Secretary to this neck of the woods with Penelope Clearwater?"
Penelope, silent thus far, gave them a shy wave. She'd broken up with Percy shortly after they'd graduated on what were apparently not very good terms. Percy dropped her hand and began to tug anxiously as his hair. He didn't look like the haughty government employee anymore. He looked like the stressed teenager they'd used to know.
"She was on the list." He snapped shortly.
Fred and George stilled, their easy smiles dying on their faces.
They knew that list. They hated it. They reported weekly on the trials, with as much detail as they could gather.
Penelope shifted closer to the Twins, looking nervous and a bit cross.
"My letter hadn't been sent yet," She admitted. "Percy warned me today."
"She's got nowhere to go," Percy added. He didn't look well, their brother. His suit hung loose, and large bags made his eyes look gaunt and haunted. "And neither of us knew how to contact the Army and…"
"...and I'm not much of a fighter," Penelope added. Fred spotted the rucksack she had slung over her shoulder. He wondered what an ex-ministry lawyer would think to pack.
The Twins exchanged a long, sad look.
"Percy," George asked with a sigh. "Can we trust you?"
The question hung between them like a knife. The obvious answer should have been yes. But now…with Percy's place in the system…now that he'd only found an exemption for the one muggleborn he was connected to…and not the countless others he'd no doubt known about.
Their brother looked ashen, like he couldn't quite believe the question. Penelope just looked sad.
"I don't know how we ended up on different sides," Percy said at last and the Twins sighed. "I was just doing my job?"
Fred, gesturing for Penelope to cross the clearing towards them, tried not to scowl.
"Your job has incarcerated a hundred and thirty seven muggleborns for crimes they could not have committed. Nearly twenty of them are already dead."
Penelope, without looking back to her old boyfriend, called over her shoulder.
"Just because I won't be one hundred and thirty eight, doesn't mean someone else won't be. Making an exception for someone you know doesn't make you a hero, Percy. It makes you a coward."
They left him standing dejectedly by a rotting and abandoned den. Alone in the dark.
Sometimes things were quiet and there was nothing to do but wait. So Hermione, with Harry if he was there, would dig into her pocket and unearth a large piece of folded parchment and talk to their dads.
The Marauders Map wasn't supposed to be sentient. And it really wasn't. But Sirius admitted that none of them had really known what they were doing when they'd created it and the slight sentience, akin to an enchanted portrait, had baffled them all.
Hermione had only discovered it when she'd accidentally tried to write a potions recipe on it and suddenly had Prongs scolding her for misuse of historical artefacts. Luckily for everyone involved the map had a short memory. Which meant she could have as many entertaining conversations with fictitious versions of her fathers as she liked.
Hope's Family Tree she wrote, like she was starting a map. There was a pause as the ink soaked in before;
Mr Prongs would like to gently point out that this is a historical document and not a bloody notepad!
She ignored that and wrote her sisters' name at the top of the page, followed by a line to herself and Harry.
Mr Padfoot would like to encourage you to stop it!
Chuckling, she began adding in their parents, embellishing slightly when she added a double line between Remus and Sirius. There was a long pause until she marked Minerva and then…
Mr Moony would like to know when Mr Padfoot seduced McGonagall?
Mr Padfoot assures Mr Moony he did not seduce Minnie.
Oh, she's Minnie now is she? Mr Moony would like to point out Mr Padfoot is on thin ice.
Mr Wormtail would like to know when Mr Moony and Mr Padfoot were going to mention they'd shacked up together?
Mr Prongs would like to point out that Mr Wormtail must be blind not to know about that. And deaf.
Mr Wormtail realises now that wasn't a ghost.
Mr Padfoot apologises for nothing.
Hermione watched the words of a slightly ridiculous argument scrawl themselves across the page, vision growing blurry with tears. She wanted to go home. She wanted lazy evenings in the Potter's sitting room, her fathers bickering by the fire, being egged on by Amelia. Harry and Susan playing chess on the table. Hope must be wandering around now, surely? When did babies become mobile? She didn't know. She wanted to see her little sister grow up. She wanted to see those milestones, wanted to coo over first steps and baby chatter and read her books about ducks and dinosaurs and whatever babies were interested in.
But first she had to make sure there was a world for her to grow up in.
An image came to her, a memory, of the cluttered Burrow kitchen and a very tiny Ginny taking staggering steps towards…she couldn't tell if this was Fred or George's memory. She reached out her hands and squeezed theirs, ghostly and distant, before folding away the map and getting up. There was work to do.
Minutes of the Benevolent Society of Squibs AGM
Chair - George Stebbins
Vice-Chair - Emily Bagnall
Secretary - Humphrey Prewitt
Agenda:
Reports from the committee
Treasurer's Report
Proposal by ,
Vote on proposal
Any other business
Conclusion
Following the AGM the BSS has accepted the proposal with voting standing at 136 for, 27 against.
Annual subscription fees are due by the 3rd of January.
(Copied with permission from the Archives of the Benevolent Society of Squibs)
The Arcane Army's Christmas celebrations were in full swing.
Or as full as a swing as a party being held in a secret hideout could be.
The Seigebreakers party had the significant benefit of being a joint affair. Not with another division, Amelia had refused to approve that. But with a smaller civilian operation.
"And from all of us here," Fred toasted to the microphone being held by a slightly tipsy Lee, "The Resistance, The Arcane Army, your friends and neighbours. Have a very Merry Christmas!" He turned the microphone around on the room and a raucous cheer went up as Angelina kicked the record player into life and old muggle Christmas music began to play. Fred waited until he got the all clear from Lee, before hopping down off his chair and seizing his girlfriend around the waist.
"Hello!" He beamed down at Hermione, who was tipsy enough to giggle back.
"Is it off now?" Harry asked Lee, as his sister was pulled out onto the impromptu dance floor.
Lee, who was the only one who really understood Veritas' broadcasting set up, nodded seriously.
"Yep. We're broadcasting," He squinted at the record cover, "Christmas with Frank Sinatra, and then we'll go onto the "Wishing Well Broadcast" at eight o'clock." The Wishing Well was a way for resistance members or those in hiding to get word to their loved ones that they were still alive. As Christmas had crept closer the Arcane Army had been inundated with cards, letters and requests for Veritas to broadcast. Although Veritas weren't members of the military, it seemed to be generally accepted amongst the wizarding population that the Army was able to get in touch with them. Most of the requests were encoded to protect the recipients, and prevent the Death Eaters from getting an idea of their true numbers. "Speaking of," Lee muttered, rummaging in a satchel. "Got something for you mate,"
Harry almost ripped the card as he yanked it from its envelope, so desperate was he to see what the familiar handwriting had to say.
"We're not sure how she got it to us actually," Lee murmured, taking a long drink. He was watching Angelina thoughtfully.
Harry, tracing the words with his finger, tears welling in his eyes, laughed.
"That's Luna for you," He muttered. "If I..Could you…?"
"Course." Lee patted his shoulder. "Now, if you don't mind… I've got my own witch to wish a Merry Christmas."
Harry watched the older wizard twirl Angelina into a dance, and smiled wistfully. This was his first Christmas away from his family. Sure he had Hermione, and Amelia had swung by earlier in the day as part of her rounds of the troops, but he couldn't help but see the gaps. He tried to imagine what Sirius and Remus were up to, what his unknown sister looked like. Did babies get Christmas presents? He had a little stack of gifts, tucked away in an enchanted satchel and well hidden in the Broch, that he was saving for her. A little wolf he and Hermione had spotted while on patrol in Manchester. A soft blanket he'd bribed one of the other Siege Breakers into knitting for him. A little photo album filled with pictures he'd collected from Colin Creevy over the years of their family. When the time came she'd have something to remember them by.
A sudden strike of inspiration came over him and, carefully stowing Luna's card, he began to rummage through the ledgers the Veritas crew hauled everywhere with them. Some were linked to copies given to each unit, for vital communications. Others contained show notes, gossip they picked up along the way and scripts. The one he unearthed and pulled towards him now contained the announcements for the Wishing Well. He leafed through it until he found the announcements for that evening. He could have just waited for the broadcast, but he wanted to see for himself. He didn't recognise any of the names…most were encoded anyway. He was beginning to get depressed, the levity of the party leaving him as he flicked through the pages. What if she hadn't been able to get through to them? What if she'd not sent anything?
His eyes caught on a word, and at first he thought he was imagining it.
"Hermione!" He yelled and his sister fought her way through the throng of dancers towards him, hair streaming behind her as she grinned. "Got a little something for you," He murmured when she was close enough to hear him and tapped the message.
"I hope you've all managed to achieve mischief, are keeping the family safe and know that I love you all so very much. I'll see you when this is all over. Cecilia." Hermione looked up at him. "Is it? Do you think?"
"That's her mother's name," Harry admitted. "It could be a coincidence but…" Hermione hugged him tightly and he knew that she was thinking the same thing as he. That wherever Susan was, she was safe. "I miss her too," He admitted, muffled by his sister's shoulder. "I just…"
What he'd been about to say was cut off by the appalling screech one of the journals let out. Both he and Hermione leapt back from the tables as the previously relaxed and socialising Veritas crew snapped to attention.
"Which one?" Fred demanded as the four of them began tossing journals aside to find the one emitting the cacophonous screeching noise. The party stumbled to a halt behind them, soldiers reaching for their wands as Tonks, the only one really sober, began handing out potions. "Which…Ah fuck!" He hefted a simple green notebook and let it fall open on the palm of his hand. Instantly the noise ceased and the silence echoed around the room. "It's Infiltration," He whispered and Tonks' head snapped around, hair streaking grey as one hand went to her stomach. "They're under attack."
"Fucker!" Tonks screeched, which wasn't terribly helpful, Harry thought. "Right. Sober up and armor on. We're leaving now. Veritas…" but she needn't have bothered. Angelina was already hoisting the enchanted microphone towards her, waiting for the nod from Lee.
"Action. Three for all. Three for all. Trellis." Her voice broke for a second. "Message repeats. Action. Three for all. Three for All. Trellis."
Harry and Hermione, Sober-Up potions doing their work to burn away the alcohol, struggled into their armor. He caught his sister kissing the Twins goodbye before he grabbed her hand and hauled her towards the apparition point, where Tonks was waiting.
It took four minutes for the Siege Breakers to sober up and mobilise. They were first on the scene.
Amelia's safety protocols and the best warding schemes the ex-Department of Mystery employees could come up with, were no match for simple human stupidity.
Several of the younger wizards had started a drinking game and, not really understanding or believing in the Taboo, had carelessly dared each other to say the name. This wasn't the first time this had happened, a similar event had wiped out an entire Order of the Phoenix group in the previous war. But it should not have happened again.
The breaking of the Taboo revealed the hideout to the Snatchers who, as soon as they realised what they'd stumbled upon, called in the Death Eaters. It was an absolute bloodbath and had it not been for the quick thinking of one of Kingsley's officers, it would have been a massacre. She'd managed to grab the Veritas journal in time to send out the message. It was the last thing Tilly Wolfton ever did. A Death Eater caught her in the back with a strangelation spell. Her quick thinking saved what lives could be saved though, and for that she is a hero.
The Siege Breakers arrived in the middle of a firefight. The Infiltrators had been holed up in a series of underground tunnels near the Ministry of Magic. Technically speaking, underneath the Ministry of Magic. Kingsley had taken the title of Infiltration rather literally.
The tunnels were dark, and the aid clouded with smoke and spellfire.
"Drought, Mudslide…I want you on the flanks," Tonks had led the apparition to a secluded chamber, just off to the side. From the doorway they could see what was left of the Infiltration squad hemmed in, frantically holding back their attackers. Kingsley stood at the centre of them, sweat beading on his brow as he held a flickering shield. Somehow their arrival had gone unnoticed. "When reinforcements arrive they need the chance to get everyone out of here. Tempest," She turned to Harry and Hermione as the others split off to flank the invaders. Her voice was almost mild. "Be a lamb and get their attention?"
Harry couldn't see it in the darkness, but he could sense the unholy grin his sister was wearing.
Without speaking they took up position in the doorway and raised their wands. There was no time for anything particularly intricate. Hermione began to silently summon water, first a trickle that wound its way across the floor, and then it seemed to seep from between the very flagstones set into the ground until the attackers were ankle deep.
"What the…" As one of the masked figures began to turn and that was when Harry stepped in front of his sister, wand lifting in a sharp arc. Hermione's wand flicked, ever so gently. Her spell lifted the water from the floor, into vertical drops. Harry's turned those drops to ice. The resulting shrapnell sliced into the encircling Death Eaters, cutting robe and flesh alike.
Their flanking comrades took advantage of the distraction to layer spellfire quick and fast, pinning the Death Eaters against Kingsley's shield. The Infiltrators looked in bad shape. They needed to break through the Death Eaters lines and get their people out of there.
Hermione summoned one of the nearest Snatchers towards them, yanking him backwards in time for Harry to catch him with a propulsion charm and barrel him back towards his own troops like a six foot bowling ball.
"Atta boy," Tonks shouted behind them. "You two stay in front of me,"
Harry and Hermione spared a second to look at each other and exchange eye rolls. As if they were going anywhere else apart from in front of their pregnant cousin during a firefight.
The element of surprise didn't last long and though the Death Eaters no longer encircled the Infiltrators, they'd used the tunnels to their advantage to hem in groups of Arcane forces. The smoke was so thick it was difficult to breathe, and they didn't so much as find Kingsley as stumble into him.
"Thank Merlin," He looked exhausted, his left eye swollen shut, a nasty oozing gash across his chest. "Are…?" A series of quick pops sounded across the room as another round of Arcane troops arrived, this group focused on evac. They began hauling wounded into their arms and disapparating, vanishing seconds after they'd arrived. Harry didn't know how they'd understood the situation until he spotted Hermione. The Twins. Veritas must be live broadcasting. Risky, but necessary.
"Oi," Tonks bellowed, magically loud. "Times up!"
As the last of the Infiltrators were hauled off, the other troops began evacuation. Most simply disapparated on the spot. Either to their own hideaways, or the Sisters, if they were wounded.
Harry and Hermione staggered onto the lawn, both gulping in huge lungfuls of fresh air. It was snowing at the Sisters', and the cold air was a shock after the heat and smoke of the tunnels.
All around them Arcane soldiers began triage, calling out for healers, who were spilling out of the front door of Narcissa's Dower House in a stream of calm competence.
"...Nymph," Kingsley seemed woozy, and staggered towards their cousin. "Nymph…"
Tonks looked guilty, and then stubborn, mildly terrified and annoyed, before she finally settled on nervous. Kingsley had his head slightly cocked, one eye shut as he clearly tried to understand what his eyes were telling him. Unlike Amelia, Tonks' pregnancy was a lot more obvious, even at only five months. She hadn't had the chance to apply her usual glamour charms, so there was no hiding it.
"Look," She started, "I was going to tell you…" but whatever reason she'd been about to provide was cut off by a loud angry shout.
"Who the fuck are you?"
They all turned to see a single dark robed figure, pushing up their sleeve to expose the Dark Mark on their forearm. Although she was cut down by no less than seven spells a few seconds later, the unknown witch still managed to summon reinforcements.
Sheer shock seemed to wash over the Arcane forces like the tolling of a bell. Several reeled backwards, wounded lifting their wands despite their injuries. Harry felt his sister beginning to tremble by his side as the surge of adrenaline, which had been abating, began to course through them both again.
The sky darkened as unnatural clouds gathered. There was a horrid screech from the wards as they were blasted apart. The Sisters had some of the best wards the Arcane Army could come up with but no amount of magic worked when the enemy had been invited inside.
Harry gasped as his scar flashed in pain, his hand clapping over it. Hermione looked at him and paled.
"He's here," She whispered and Harry nodded.
And then the battle began anew.
"Defend the healers!" Tonks roared as black robed figures began apparating was all she got out because Kingsley, despite the clear concussion he was blinking through, seized her arm, barked "Andromeda," at the Blacks and then disapparated.
"She's going to kill him," Harry managed, rubbing at his forehead. Hermione made a hissing noise in response that conveyed she'd help Tonks, but that she also agreed with Kingsley. Harry, lifting his wand, wondered if he was spending too much time with his sister.
The Arcane forces were at a disadvantage. The only soldiers here were those that were wounded and Andromeda's Healers. The Black sisters, and no one had been more surprised than Narcissa that she'd been willing to take up an active role in the war, had been running the Auxiliary forces. It turned out that being a society wife came with a lot of transferable skills. Like managing supplies, organising people and running a hospital camp. Andromeda organised the healers, Narcissa ran everything else. But neither of them were frontline forces, and no one here could take on Tom Riddle.
Well, Harry glanced at his sister, who grimaced in agreement. Almost no one.
Draco and Nott apparated and were immediately blasted off their feet. They both sprawled across the grass of…Draco glanced up. This was his mother's house. His blood ran cold. Nott, despite clearly recognising the location, yanked him upright.
"Focus!" He hissed, tone vicious.
"But…" But what? Draco didn't know how to finish that sentence. Nott looked like he'd had an idea of how it would go though. He shook Draco roughly and then they both staggered as the ground beneath their feet roiled like a serpent. He looked around again and was able to see the details now. Much of the house had been destroyed. There were scattered groups of Arcane forces, defending what looked like healers and the wounded. The Death Eaters were gleefully advancing, only just being knocked back by two central figures, almost alight with magic.
There was no way he was getting anywhere near them.
Nott spotted a group of Death Eaters breaking away to flank round the defenders and dragged Draco after them. Whether it was because he knew what Draco was thinking, or just suspected the other wizard had become useless, he couldn't say. Grimly, he took his eyes off the central battle and did what Nott suggested. Like putting on blinders, he focused.
This was just like any other raid.
"Harry Potter," The snake-like figure hissed. "It has been…"
"Fuck off and die you noseless, incontinent bastard!" Harry roared back, completely uninterested in whatever the monster in front of him had to say. He was entirely focused on holding the shield over his sister. His sister, who was drawing on the bond so strongly, Harry could see the outline of the Twins next to her. They flickered like shadows, not really here, but present nonetheless. The spell Hermione was controlling caused the ground to buckle and flex beneath them, cracks opening up in once manicured lawns. Riddle kept his feet, but several of his followers weren't so lucky. Several fell into fissures and were swallowed by the earth, others stumbled to the ground losing concentration on their spells.
Unfortunately whatever magic this was, and he suspected it was Bones magic, it was costing his sister dearly. Sweat coursed down her face, her skin paled to a sickly gray and let out a pained cry as the very ground beneath them hauled itself up into…
"Really?" Harry demanded, yanking her backwards behind a low wall. "A bit on the nose, don't you think?"
Magical wolves, their sinews made of roots which bunched and flexed as they moved, their pelts made of turf and leaf rippling as they moved, advanced towards the Death Eaters. Each stood six feet high at the shoulder. Each bared vicious jagged fangs of stone and pebble. Each growled with the roar of the earth, with the strength of an earthquake, with the fury of an avalanche.
One Death Eater fainted. They were pounced on and crushed beneath an enormous earthen paw.
Tom Riddle was, for the moment at least, distracted.
Hermione gasped for breath. The connection with the Twins had faded and she looked shockingly frail. She opened her mouth to speak and was then sick, bile spilling forth from her lips and down her front as she choked. Harry recoiled in shock and disgust, before helping her lean forward and pulling her hair back. He spared a precious moment to vanish the vomit as she spat onto the stones. This has once been an ornamental patio. It was now a smoking crater.
"Dad," She gasped, "Would think it was funny."
Harry ignored that. He slipped under her arm, shouldering her weight as he brought them both to their feet. She was still pale, and he could feel her swaying against him.
"We need to go," He hissed, pulling her towards what was left of the Dower House. "We need to…"
"Ickle cousins!" A voice laughed and Harry flinched.
"Really?" He demanded, of no one in particular. "Now?"
Bellatrix had managed to get round the wolves, although how he wasn't certain. She looked as bad as Hermione, worse even. Her left arm hung useless by her side, he could see necrotic veins spiraling up her neck and one eye had gone completely black. Whether she could still see out of it, he wasn't sure.
"I told him you were powerful," She said to Hermione, looking almost proud. "And your education…"
With monumental effort, Hermione regained her own footing. "Bella," Her eyes focused on their cousin's state. "What has happened to you?"
Bellatrix Lestrange actually flinched.
"This was your fault!" She snapped, flinging a hex towards them that Harry just barely deflected. "Nasty, horrid little…"
"Why hasn't he cured you?" Hermione asked calmly and Bellatrix froze, wand still raised. "The Dark Lord knows power you can't imagine. That's what you said to me. So why hasn't he cured you?" Bella might not have been able to tell, but Harry could see what every second of faked strength was costing his sister. They needed to get out of here. Now. Bizarre fondness or not, Bella would kill them in an instant. "Does he not trust you anymore?" It would have been a taunt, if it wasn't for the obvious pity in Hermione's words.
Bellatrix seethed, screeching as she flung forth a volley of offensive spells that, while still brutal in intent and strength, lacked her usual power.
"The Dark Lord trusts me with things beyond your imagination!" She screamed and Hermione went rigid, her eyes widening.
"Harry," She breathed, but he had had enough.
"Bombarda," He roared and the spell hit Bellatrix's instinctive shield with enough force to blast the witch backwards into one of the few remaining walls of the Dower House where she lay still. He didn't wait to see if she got up again, grabbing his sister and running for the edge of the wards and safety.
"How far the beautiful have fallen!"
Draco didn't know who'd spoken, the circle of Death Eaters were mostly still masked. He and Nott shifted, half hidden behind a hedge, and caught sight of two women, back to back, wands lifted. One was his Aunt Andromeda. He'd gotten to know her well during his stay with the Blacks, and although calmer than Bella, she was every bit as mad as the rest of the family. The only sane one, he'd always thought, was his mother. Who stood proudly beside her sister.
Both were bleeding and filthy. They watched the surrounding Death Eaters with cool grey eyes, moving from face to mask, but neither showed any indication of fear.
"We couldn't believe it," Nott stiffened and Draco realised the wizard speaking was Thorus Nott. "When Lucius finally admitted you'd left him to become a traitor. I'm sure…for the right penance, the Dark Lord could forgive such an indiscretion."
Draco's stomach roiled as he caught Thorus' intent. They couldn't. He wouldn't let them.
Narcissa showed none of her son's horror on her face. She merely sneered.
"Oh Thorus," Her voice sounded calm and measured. Like this was a ballroom and not a battlefield. "You forget. Sorrel was a friend of mine. Girls talk and I really doubt you'd be able to rise to the occasion."
Draco was going to watch his mother be murdered in front of him, he realised. He moved forward as Thorus broke ranks with the other five Death Eaters. Nott caught his shoulder and just barely held him back from charging the older wizard. Luckily Thorus was so intent in his rage that he didn't notice the two young men in the dark. He also didn't notice another figure speeding towards them as Thorus hissed "Crucio,"
Narcissa began to scream, all composure lost as agonising pain wracked her body. She staggered back into Andromeda who could only hold her sister as she writhed. Nott had to drop his wand to hold Draco back, Draco's instinctual shout lost in his mother's screaming cries.
"Disappointing," Thorus hissed, pausing the spell. Narcissa sobbed, clutching Andromeda tightly. "And to think…"
But whatever Thorus Nott thought, no one ever found out. A jet of acid green light hit him in the side of his head and he collapsed to the floor, stone dead. The spell hadn't come from Draco, although he'd lifted his wand to cast, the words of the Killing Curse on the tip of his tongue. No, it had come from the single dark cloaked figure, who threw himself into the circle, throwing his mask to the side.
"Stay away from my wife," Lucius roared, wand brandishing fire as he, for the very first time, put himself against the Death Eaters.
As he began to defend the Black sisters with his life, Lucius' eyes met Draco's. How he'd known he was there, how he'd seen him in the dark Draco would never know. All he knew, as he watched his Aunt Andromeda take advantage of the Death Eaters distraction and disapparate, was the look in his father's eyes. A look of love, pride and fear.
"I love you," Lucius mouthed, smiling…
…before the Death Eaters cut him down.
The losses to the Arcane Army were significant. It took them several days to work out who had been captured, who had been killed and who was left to keep fighting. Many of the casualties were healers, desperately trying to defend their patients. Of the wounded, very few made it out. Recent historians estimate that nearly a quarter of the Arcane Army's original forces were lost that night. Although Hermione's wolves had given everyone who could escape the chance to, it was still a bloody battle. To this day you can still see the damage. The Dower House has never been rebuilt and due to strange and stray magics, probably never will be. Hermione herself was exhausted from casting such a spell. While the Twins had supported her in the casting, they had been unable to join her. They were too busy coordinating the retreat through Veritas and concealing the signal as much as they could. The brunt of the spell fell on her and as such she was unconscious for the next week, and bedridden for several more. It was an unmitigated disaster for the Arcane Army…and the true depths of that disaster were not yet known.
"Our successful raid," Nott was saying, "Confirmed our suspicions. We can now verify which Veritas broadcasts are live and which are pre-recorded. We would need a broadcast of at least a minute to narrow down the location enough but…"
Draco tuned him out. Nott was giving the report to the assembled Inner Circle, because Draco simply couldn't. He couldn't risk meeting the Dark Lord's eyes and having his Occlumency tested. He couldn't stare into the faces of his father's oldest friends and wonder which one of them had cast that final curse. He couldn't believe his father was gone.
The only thing about the situation he could believe, was that it had been in defence of his mother.
Lucius and Narcissa had been childhood sweethearts, who'd courted while at Hogwarts. But the match had been devised long before by Orion Black and Abraxas Malfoy. Whether it had been love or circumstance that had brought them together, both of his parents had taken their vows, and their marriage contract, seriously. When Naricissa had left his father, Draco had always understood, at a fundamental level, that it was because she was honouring those vows still. She felt the best thing she could do to protect the Malfoy family was to leave. He'd never thought for a moment that when the war ended his parents wouldn't return to each other.
And now they never would.
The other Death Eaters called his mother a traitor, and his father a turncoat. They didn't see that they were the most loyal people Draco had ever known. But that loyalty was only ever to each other. And to him.
To this day the treaty discussions between Amelia Bones and King Gripfang have never been made public. To wizards.
Goblins, who take contract terminology extremely seriously, have the treaty available at the library.
The alliance between the Goblin Kingdom and the Ministry of Magic has always been uneasy. Anyone who listened in a History of Magic would be able to tell that. But only the most astute students, of which Binns had few, would have been able to explain why.
Rebellions.
Uprisings.
The language used in these history's always implied, quite subtly, that goblins were something under control. Something that sometimes got too big for their boots and needed to be knocked down a few pegs. Wizards didn't see goblins as equals.
In fairness, goblins didn't consider wizards as equals either, but as the wizards held the oppressive power that was less important.
Amelia Bones knew this.
She also knew the Ministry would struggle without the financial support of Gringotts Bank. What is obvious, I suspect only to myself, is that Amelia also lied through her teeth. The impact of the Christmas Massacre only became known recently, and at the time, Veritas downplayed it significantly. Most of the wizarding population was unaware of how tenuous the Arcane Army's position truly was. Amelia was never honest in the negotiations. If she had been, I suspect the balance of power would look very different now. She was desperate. And it was through sheer miracle, cunning and guile that King Gripfang never knew it.
"….Goblins have been offered representation in the proposed Magical Parliament, news from the Arcane forces suggest. Furthermore, Amelia Bones plans to lift the ban on goblins (and other magical creatures) owning wands and attending Hogwarts. The agreement struck with King Gripfang is this: laws about magic use apply to magic users. Regardless of status or race. By offering the goblins representation in her proposed elected Parliament, she's offering them the chance to change the laws that currently control them…"
(Transcribed from the archives of Lee Jordan)
Agatha dispassionately stared down at the sobbing, distraught wizard in front of her.
"Please…" Mr Catchpole was clawing at his robes, trembling as he stood before her. "Please, your signature was on the paperwork!" Agatha tried not to wince. "You have to know…My Mary. We've got children. I just…can I visit her?"
"Mr Catchpole," She sighed, wishing she was anywhere else at that moment. He continued to sob. "Mr Catchpole!" Her shout startled him and he straightened, scrubbing his tears away as he quietened. "That's better. Mr Catchpole, if I was you…" And her tone implied there was no way she ever would be so unlucky, "I would worry less about your wife and more about your children." He froze, and his spine seemed to stiffen. Good. She needed him to pay attention to this part. "Their mother is a magic thief after all. You don't want anyone looking too closely at them, do you?" It was a threat and a warning all at once and she hoped he was smart enough to hear it. "I suggest you remove yourself from my office and try to avoid drawing any further attention to them. Especially through such pathetic hysterics!" Her tone was cold and he flinched away from her. "Now unless there is anything else I should know about…"
He paled.
"No," He assured her quickly. "No, not at all. Thank…" His voice broke and for a split second she spotted the disgust and fury in his gaze as he looked at her before he wisely got it back under control. "Thank you for your time, Madam." He bowed and left, brushing past Percy Weasley on his way out. Percy watched him go with a strange expression. Fides jumped into her lap and Agatha allowed herself a mere moment of comfort as she buried her fingers in the soft fur.
"Difficult appointment?" The Under-Secretary asked, closing her office door behind him. "I don't know why you agree to these meetings."
He wasn't the only one. But Agatha's name was on all the documents and therefore Agatha should deal with the complaints. It was the least she could do. Better they yelled at her than anyone else.
"Here," She changed the subject swiftly, holding out a stack of documents. "Take these down to Magical Law Enforcement."
"More no shows?" Percy asked, moving towards her. She knew the second he spotted the name on the list. He blanched and his hand, which had been reaching out confidently, began to shake.
Agatha scoffed.
"You absolute fool, Weasley." She spat and the wizard recoiled, as though stung. "Clearwater never even got her letter, did you know that? They're enchanted to let us know delivery is successful. It's almost like someone warned her."
Percy said nothing, but Agatha had known him for longer than she'd be willing to admit. She could see the panic in his eyes, the urge to flee in the shift of his shoes against the carpet.
"Madam Horne, I can assure you…" She cut across him.
"I know what you did, Weasley." She leaned back in her chair, arrest requests forgotten between them. "The question is…What are we going to do about it?"
Malfoy and Nott had a problem. It wasn't that the Death Eaters suspected them. They were trusted, if minor, compatriots. Even Draco, who'd been publicly conspiring with the Black's, had escaped scrutiny with his reputation unscathed. Voldemort had, in fact, remarked on Draco's survival skills, pleased that he'd fooled the Blacks for so long without detection before returning to the right people when he could.
Their work on Veritas, now it was showing promise, was being well received.
That wasn't to say it was a pleasant life.
They'd spent their time bleeding, heads reeling as they desperately clung to what occlumency they could muster. They were beaten and bloodied by allies, who sought to take revenge for some slight of their fathers. The Dark Lord was not a kind master and encouraged cruelty in his followers. They had spent hours huddled together, tear soaked and shivering, trying to get through the night together.
That wasn't the problem.
The Mark was the problem.
The ritual to get it, the great bestowing of their master's favour, was vicious and cruel and both had screamed until their voices gave out and their blood slicked the floor. The writhing, black tattoo made them sick to their stomachs, a cold weight on their arms filling them with quiet dread. When activated it burned like acid injected into the veins, like a poker pressed into the skin.
But that was the problem.
It didn't hurt anymore. It had stopped moving entirely a few weeks ago, not long after the Christmas raid. If the Dark Lord summoned them, they only received the barest hint of pressure, which would be easily missed if not for their hypervigilance. And both were, very slowly, starting to fade.
"Stupid fucking Granger," Nott swore, staring down at his arm. The Mark was paling at the edges, like an old tattoo. "It has to have been her!"
Draco, gazing at his own fading mark, had to agree. The only one with the power and the intent to cause this was his cousin. Why she had was another question entirely.
"It must have been her blessing," he muttered, trying to charm the Mark darker. The spell did nothing "It's Dark magic. It's basically a curse. If she warded us…"
"Does she even know how to do that?" Nott slumped in his chair. Their hideout was an old cottage owned by Nott's Grandmother. It was as safe a haven as they could make it, but both of them spoke softly just in case.
Across from him, in a lumpy and sad armchair, Draco shrugged.
"Hard to say," he admitted. "Emotional magic isn't her strong point, but I don't know where she would have learned the theory for something like this,"
"Merlin help us all if she ever gets to grips with it," Nott grumbled.
"Merlin help us if she works out what we're up to," Draco sighed, and turned back to their battle plans. If this worked, and it had to work, Hermione might kill them both herself.
There had once been a time when Lee had been considered the Twins best friend. He wasn't anymore. That's not to say they abandoned him. They'd lived together for seven years and had been and still were, very good mates.
Hell the only reason he'd agreed to this entirely insane project was because of how much he trusted the pair of them.
But he hadn't been their best friend since the two of them had set sight on a tiny first year with a scowl like a gorgon and a remarkably strong kick.
He'd never understood what it was they each saw in her.
She wasn't exactly pretty or beautiful, not ugly at least, but nothing to write home about. She was, as far as Lee could tell, almost always in a bad mood unlike her usually cheerful boyfriends, and she was always getting into trouble.
The first two years at Hogwarts nothing major happened. No trolls, no escaped convicts, no tournaments, no mad teachers. If he was the sort to believe in it, he'd think she was bad luck all round.
He did believe that. A little.
And only very quietly when he was far away from George and his remarkable intuition.
The news that they were Bonded explained a few things, although he'd never understood how she could have anything in common with Fred and George.
Lee found himself wishing she was here now.
"Grab the mics!" He bellowed to Angelina who was stashing equipment and scripts into an enchanted satchel. He himself was shrinking down as much as he could for easy storage.
They'd gotten too comfortable here. Stayed too long.
There was an explosion from outside and the Twins, busy dismantling the wards, both flinched.
"We're running out of time," One snapped, looking worried.
George rushed to the window of the tiny shack they'd been occupying and swore.
"We're surrounded." He scowled. "We're going to need to fight our way out."
"The Army?" Angelina looked terrified and Lee couldn't blame her. "Can't they…?"
"We can't get through," Fred admitted, looping satchels over her shoulders. "I'm sorry, they don't know." Lee felt fear seize him before he pushed it aside. They were on their own. "Once the wards come down we're going to provide you two with cover. Run as far and as fast as you can. We'll hold them off."
Angelina and Lee stared at them. Logically, Lee knew the Twins were powerful wizards. But they knew the odds facing them…
"We can't…" He insisted, scowling. "You'll…"
"You can and you will," George glared at the pair of them, furious. "You two have all the equipment. This keeps going if you get out of here. Besides, they've got orders to take us alive."
That was not a comfort, but Lee knew they had no choice. He grabbed the bags and Angelina's hand, glaring at his oldest friends. "If you two don't make it out of this, I'm going to get your psycho girlfriend to resurrect you so I can kill you myself!"
They laughed at him.
"You'd have to get in line," Fred promised, before waving them away. "Now go! They'll be on us any second!"
Lee and Angelina crept to the back of the old cottage they'd been staying in. There was an old, crumbling coal shed there, and they wriggled under some corrugated iron pieces of roof to crouch in the darkness. The wards continued to flash and ripple as they were taken apart. They couldn't disapparate and even if they did it was likely they'd be tracked. They couldn't leave the wards either. Out in the dark, robed figures patrolled, wands ready. Fred was right. This was a coordinated approach. One they should have known was coming since that first interrupted broadcast.
"Lee…" Angelina dropped his hand, lifting her own wand. "The wards…"
The rest of her words were drowned out by the fire-like roar that engulfed the land around them as the defensive magic failed.
The Death Eaters began to advance.
"Spread out," One called, "They're around here somewhere."
Angelina seemed to freeze, Lee could barely breathe as the figures closed in on their hiding place. They were all identical, silver masks and black robes, and Lee couldn't help but wonder who was hidden under there. Was it someone who's secrets he'd spilled on air? Someone who'd be only too happy to cut them down?
There was barely five feet between them now. The shadows they were hiding weren't that deep and…
Through the dark Lee just barely had a view of the cottage. It seemed to be…glowing? There was light pouring through the slates of the roof, shining from the chimney pot…
"Oh fuck," He whispered, as the cottage exploaded outwards in a maelstrom of rubble, plaster and slate.
The nearest Death Eater was thrown back out of view by the shockwave. The coal shed's crumbled exterior collapsed into a heap and it was only the cast iron panel which saved them. The dust didn't have time to clear before the more fortunate Death Eaters began to charge forward, wands raised. The destruction was illuminated by the light of spells, red and green flashes crackling through the air.
"Now?" Angelina hissed, pressing against his back.
Lee gave it another second, gritting his teeth. His ears were ringing, half deafened by the explosion.
"Now," He agreed.
Together they wiggled out from the collapsed shed, slung the satchels over their shoulders and began to run.
The night was dark and the Death Eaters were too focused on what sounded like a ferocious duel. No one noticed two figures sneaking off into the night.
Lee only stopped running because he tripped over something large and soft.
"What the…" The collapsed figure of a Death Eater was sprawled at his feet. Angelina stared down at them in shock. Behind her, up on the hill, two silhouettes were surrounded by a crowd of black. The Twins were fighting ferociously but even from here he could see they were losing.
Suddenly furious Lee scrabbled for the Death Eater's mask, ripping it off.
"You're coming with us," Lee insisted, gripping the unconscious figure of Cassius Warrington and moving into a half crouch. "Can you…?"
Angelia nodded, and, gripping his collar tightly, began to disapparate. As she spun Lee saw one of the figures on the hill take a spell to the back and collapse. By the time his brain had registered what he'd seen…they were halfway across the county.
Hermione had been asleep, when she'd bolted directly upright and let out an unholy screech of rage. Andromeda, who'd been managing her healing and bedrest, rushed towards her as the young witch began struggling free of her sheets.
"Fred…" She yelled, vision a world away. "Fred, no. Don't you dare!"
She slumped into Andromeda's arms, and began to sob.
"No, no, no."
By the time Andromeda had been able to call for help, Hermione was curled up in a ball. When Harry finally arrived, she'd glanced up at him, her eyes brown and grief stricken.
"They've got them."