Divided and Entwined (Harry Potter AU) (Complete)

Chapter 41: Hanging in the Balance

‘In many ways, the Battle of Diagon Alley was a repeat of the Battle of the Ministry. Ministry forces, members of the Order of the Phoenix, French volunteers and the Muggleborn Resistance fought the followers of the Dark Lord in the middle of a location full of civilians, ultimately defeating them at great cost.
And yet there were crucial differences. Unlike the Battle of the Ministry, where Bellatrix Lestrange was overcome by sheer force of numbers, this battle - and with it, the Second Blood War - was decided by a duel between two wizards. The Dark Lord and the Boy-Who-Lived met on the battlefield in single combat, just as Grindelwald and Dumbledore had, fifty years before them. Many consider it ironic that a war fought over muggleborns was decided in such a traditional manner. It is not a surprise, however, once one considers that Dumbledore must have planned this. While the duel between the Dark Lord and Harry Potter has been the subject of so many books, each revealing its author’s bias, that it is hard to find the truth, it goes without saying that the only way Harry Potter could have managed to defeat the Dark Lord was if he had been personally trained by Dumbledore for such a confrontation. In fact, some even go as far as to credit Dumbledore with the victory over the Dark Lord, claiming that the Boy-Who-Lived was nothing more than his tool and citing as proof the Dark Lord’s defeat in Godric’s Hollow in 1981 at the hands of a toddler.
While I share the view that it wasn’t a toddler’s accidental magic, but a well-prepared trap that decided the First Blood War - as I have already discussed earlier - I do think that Harry Potter’s subsequent actions show that he was far from a mere tool of Dumbledore.’
- Excerpt from ‘Wizarding Britain in the 20th Century’ by Albert Runcorn

*****​

London, Diagon Alley, February 1st, 1997

His distraction had worked well - too well, Ron Weasley thought when he realised that he couldn’t avoid all the curses sent his way by Voldemort. He still tried his best, of course. He rolled and banked to the left, sliding between a green and a brown curse, then pulled up, as sharply as he could. The third curse hit his broom, shattering it between his hands and knees. The broom didn’t block the curse completely, though - it hit Ron anyway, and his right side erupted in pain.

With his broom destroyed, he instantly started to fall. Desperate, he waved his wand, casting a Cushioning Charm straight down. Hindered by his injuries, he barely managed to finish the spell before he hit the roof. Even so, the charm worked enough to keep him both alive and conscious, though his battered, bleeding body erupted in even more pain as he slid down the sloped roof. Ron grabbed for the edge of the roof, but didn’t find any purchase, and fell another storey. He did manage to land feet first, but his left ankle snapped, and he collapsed.

He had broken his leg before though, in training with Moody, so he rolled on to his side and numbed his ankle. But his side still hurt - and bled - and with the shock receding, he noticed that dozens of splinters had peppered his limbs and body as well. And they hurt. At least he was in a side alley, a bit away from his brothers’ shop, so he should be safe for a few more moments.

Clenching his teeth together, Ron tried to stop the bleeding of the curse wound in his side, but his spell had no effect, other than closing a few cuts over some of the splinters. Muttering a few more curses, he pulled out a bandage from his pocket, pressed it to his side and cast a Sticking Charm to hold it in place. It wouldn’t help in the long run, but he wouldn’t bleed out that quickly. He’d last long enough to help Harry.

Groaning, he stood up, falling into a limping gait - his ankle didn’t hurt any more, but he couldn’t move it well either. He had barely taken a few steps when a figure appeared at the end of the alley. A figure missing half its head and most of one arm, wearing the shredded remains of red robes.

Ron gasped - it was an Inferius! Like in Paris! And he was hobbled by his ankle! He snarled and flicked his wand. “Incendio!”

The walking corpse was set alight. It still kept coming at him, as expected - Inferi weren’t easy to destroy. Ron started to fall back, but his leg wasn’t cooperating. He stumbled, and jarred his shoulder against the wall next to him. And the burning undead creature was advancing!

He moved his wand without caring about his hurt side. “Depulso! Confringo! Reducto!”

To his surprise, the first spell pushed the undead back, and the next two blew its torso into chunks, causing it to collapse on the street. He blinked. An Inferius shouldn’t be that easy to destroy. It must be a zombie! Either the Dark Lord’s work, or a houngan he had recruited.

Ron shivered, and pushed himself off the wall, limping forward. He hoped that it was Voldemort. The thought of facing a houngan Death Eater… He patted his side, and winced when his hand came away covered with blood.

And yet he pushed on. His friends, his family needed him. He drank a Blood-Replenishing Potion, which would keep him going.

Another zombie appeared, a small one. In shredded muggle clothes - one of the hostages, he realised. He pressed his lips together with revulsion and frustration, then blew that one up as well.

The Dark Lord and his followers would pay for this, he vowed, as he made his way to the mouth of the alley. Voldemort had been in that area when he had hit Ron with the curse. Harry would be there as well. He had to get there!

*****​

Amelia Bones frowned while she watched the throngs of wizards and witches rushing into the Leaky Cauldron. Some headed to the pub’s fireplace, but most fled straight through the door to muggle London. Hopefully, the Obliviators were on the job - not even the muggles could miss dozens of panicking people wearing robes streaming out of a pub that they couldn’t see.

“Dawlish! Focus on evacuating these people!” she snapped.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“You shouldn’t be here, Madam Minister,” Pius said in a low voice next to her. He’d know what she was thinking, of course.

Amelia frowned at him. He should have known better than to propose, even indirectly, that she retreat to the Ministry. “I won’t cower in my office while my people fight and die.” She had been an Auror, and she was still among the best in the Corps. Especially considering the horrible losses the Corps had taken in this damned war.

She stepped behind the bar, ignoring Tom’s glare, while Dawlish and the half a dozen Aurors with him started to herd the fleeing people into some semblance of order and the Hit-Wizards took up positions at the entrance to Diagon Alley.

They couldn’t really move into Diagon Alley, not when all of its inhabitants were trying to flee through this pub. Well, she amended in her mind, they could - but they would be split up, and the reinforcements from Hogsmeade and Hogwarts, as well as the ones recalled from their homes, wouldn’t be able to reach them quickly enough.

And attacking piecemeal was a recipe for disaster, anyone with some experience knew that. The fate of the Aurors on duty in Diagon Alley had demonstrated that. No, they’d wait until they had assembled all available wands before moving to engage the enemy. That the Order and the Resistance would have to fight the Death Eaters and the Dark Lord alone for a bit longer couldn’t be helped.

Amelia smiled grimly while a witch carried a crying girl towards the door and didn’t even glance at Pius and the two Aurors assigned as her Bodyguards, who had followed her to the only space in the room which was not threatened with being overrun by the panicking mob.

The Order and the muggleborns had forced her to grant them carte blanche by threatening to withdraw from the war. Turnabout was only fair - she certainly hadn’t promised to sacrifice her own people for them.

*****​

Hermione Granger was in a bind. They were barely out of the line of fire of the Dark Lord and Justin and Tania couldn’t support them due to the smoke covering the Alley - she glanced up to check if it was coming too close again. It wasn’t, not yet. But Louise was still unconscious, and Apparition wouldn’t work - the Death Eaters or the Aurors or both would be layering Anti-Apparition and Anti-Portkey Jinxes all over the Alley. So Seamus and Hermione would either have to carry their friend, or levitate her. Either way, one of them wouldn’t be able to effectively deal with those zombies. And Hermione was better with a wand than Seamus.

“Seamus! Levitate her!” she yelled, lowering Louise to the ground. “I’ll cover you!”

The wizard looked at her, and for a moment, she was uncertain whether he’d follow her orders, but then he nodded.

Hermione sent another gust of wind up at the smoke above them, just in case, and then started moving towards the rest of the Resistance. “We’re coming back!” she said into her radio.

“We’ve killed three of those zombies, but there are more lurking around,” Justin answered on the radio. “But watch out - smoke’s very low between our position and yours.”

He didn’t report anyone getting hurt, Hermione noted with relief. She checked their rear - no one seemed to pursuing them. No marker was floating nearby. The Dark Lord must be fighting someone else, she thought. Ron, or Harry. She hissed - she wanted to go back and help them, but she couldn’t leave Seamus alone with Louise. She clenched her teeth and sprinted past Seamus, taking cover behind the remains of a cart before peering around the corner into the Alley.

As Justin had warned her, thick dark smoke was covering the street there. She pressed her lips together and cast a wind spell. The cloud started to slowly give away, making her wonder what kind of spells Voldemort had used to make the cloud that resistant to other spells.

But even so, her spell was slowly opening a passage to the rest of the Resistance. She clenched her teeth - the longer she took here, the longer Harry and Ron spent fighting Voldemort without her help.

“Zombies behind us!” Seamus yelled.

Hermione whirled around. Half a dozen small figures were walking - shambling - towards them. Dead children, the hostages the Death Eaters had taken, she realised, horrified. Her wand was already aimed at them, though, and she cast a volley of Reductor Curses a moment later. It didn’t take long to destroy the zombies.

“Shite!” Seamus cursed, staring at the gory remains.

Hermione nodded, pressing her lips together. She knew that she’d remember the sight of exploding children for a long time. “Let’s go!” she said, starting again to open a passage through the smoke.

“Voldemort just shot down a broom rider!”

Justin’s report made her feel even worse. She told herself that it could have been anyone, an Auror or a Hit-Wizard. But she knew that, if they could, both Harry and Ron would use their brooms to fight Voldemort.

It took her about a minute to push the cursed or poisonous cloud far enough away that they could safely move through the street. Far too long for her friends. At least Sally-Anne and John were waiting for them - behind cover - when they finally cleared the smoke.

“Take care of Louise!” Hermione shouted. “I have to return to the battle!”

“Alright,” John said, hefting his rifle.

Seamus nodded, setting Louise down for Sally-Anne to work on her.

Hermione looked at them, then nodded. They knew what they were facing.

She turned around and cast two more spells to keep the passage open, then ran through it. Ron and Harry needed her help.

*****​

Harry Potter found himself back in his body, on his speeding broom. Disoriented, he barely managed to keep his grip on the shaft before he crashed into Voldemort. If not for the Sticking Charm, he’d have been thrown off his broom. As it was, he spun around, scraping over the cobblestones until he slammed into the remains of a wall.

His shoulder hurt, but he’d had worse in training. Much worse.

He ended the charm and rolled off his broom, wand pointed at the Dark Lord. Or rather, at Voldemort’s corpse. The inhuman face seemed frozen in a grimace, sightless eyes staring at nothing. It appeared that Dumbledore had been correct - without his soul, the body the Dark Lord had created for his revival would not keep breathing.

Harry thought that he should feel bad - he had destroyed Voldemort. Had crushed the man’s mind, just like the prophecy had foretold and Dumbledore had planned. He might even have destroyed the Dark Lord’s soul - Dumbledore hadn’t really explained the exact consequences, past telling him that it would mean the end of Voldemort despite his soul anchors.

But there was no time to think about all that. He had to find Ron and Sirius! They had crashed, and should be nearby. Somewhere.

Harry turned around, trying to orient himself. Sirius had crashed… about there. And Ron… there. For a moment, he didn’t know who he should be looking for first. Ron, he decided. He should be closer. He grabbed his broom, then looked up. The smoke was settling, it seemed. He didn’t know if it was still dangerous - Ron had flown through a cloud without being hurt - but he decided not to risk it, and sent a gust of wind upward before setting out on foot.

After a few steps he stopped, and turned around.

“Accio Voldemort’s wand!”

Harry didn’t try to catch the wand flying at him, but blew it up before it reached him. This time, no follower of the Dark Lord would pick up his wand.

Movement on his right side made him jump behind the closest cover and aim his wand before he checked who it was.

“Don’t curse, it’s me!”

Aberforth Dumbledore was standing there, leaning against the wall. The old wizard was breathing heavily, and his left arm hung down at his side, covered with blood. He coughed, then made a motion towards the body with his head. “Is he dead?”

“Yes,” Harry said. “He’s dead. Did you see the others? Ron? Sirius?”

“No.” Aberforth shook his head. “Moody’s dead,” he added, pointing at a stone sphere nearby.

“Are you alright?” Harry asked. It was a stupid question - the man was obviously hurt.

But Aberforth seemed to know what he had really been asking. “I’m not about to fall over dead. You arrived just in time.” Harry was about to move when the old wizard added: “But there’re still Death Eaters around. Be careful. They might not even have realised that their master has fallen.”

“I need to find Ron and Sirius,” Harry said. Mopping up the last Death Eaters could wait.

And, he added to himself, if either his best friend or his godfather had died, he’d not take any prisoners.

*****​

Ron Weasley glanced around the corner, wincing when his wounded side touched the wall, and spotted two Death Eaters running towards him. They seemed to be fleeing, paying more attention to their rear than their front. Unfortunately, if he tried to cast from around the corner, he’d have to expose himself since he was right-handed. Taking a deep breath, he leaned with his back against the wall, wand out, and waited. And hoped they ran past the side alley so he could curse them in the back.

Sadly, they rounded the corner and came straight at him. His Bludgeoning Curse smashed into the first Death Eater, shattering his mask and probably his skull, and sending the man tumbling towards the other Death Eater. That one dodged to the side, though, and whipped his wand around.

Ron dropped to the ground, then rolled to the side, gasping at the pain this caused to his bleeding side, and the Death Eater’s curse hit the wall behind him. No splinters or fragments rained down on him, so it hadn’t blown up, Ron noted as he came up in a crouch and sent two Piercing Curses at his enemy.

The Death Eater took a step to the side - a duellist move, Ron realised - but one still hit his shield, shattering it. A weak duellist, Ron added. His own Shield Charm withstood the man’s next curse, and another Bludgeoning Curse hit the Death Eater in the stomach, doubling him over before Ron hit the man with a Cutting Curse in the throat. A Piercing Curse to the head killed the man before he drowned in his own blood, and Ron sent another into the first Death Eater. ‘Never leave an enemy where he could be saved by others’, as Moody always said.

A quick glance told Ron that his bandage was soaked through. He downed another Blood-Replenishing Potion, his last, and took a few deep breaths. Moving his wand arm was even more painful now than before, but he wasn’t about to collapse. Not yet.

Some of the dark smoke was drifting too close, and he sent it away with a quick spell. The bezoar powder should have neutralised it, but Ron didn’t know how far his dust had spread. He pressed his teeth together and forced himself to go on.

*****​

Hermione Granger whipped her wand around in a semi-circle, transfiguring the cobblestones in front of her into a makeshift barrier while ducking behind it. Just in time to absorb the shards from the conjured wall she had placed further ahead. “Death Eaters ahead!” she yelled, reinforcing the barrier. They were out of the range of her Human-presence-revealing Spell, but from the volume of curses hitting her cover, there had to be at least two.

A moment later, she heard Seamus and John open fire. Long bursts. Covering fire. She transfigured the cobblestones nearby into another wall, leading to the ruins of the closest building, then sprinted.

“Got one!” Seamus yelled.

“The other ducked inside the collapsed building,” John reported.

Hermione keyed her radio. “Keep firing, I’m going closer.”

Once they started to shoot again - slower, semi-automatic fire now - she took a deep breath, disillusioned herself, then ran towards the enemy position in a crooked, weaving path. She was panting heavily when she dropped behind the remains of a wall and could spot a marker floating above the corner.

“Avis!” she whispered, and sent a flock of birds at the Death Eater. They wouldn’t hurt him, but he wouldn’t know that, and they’d distract him. Then she rose from behind her cover, to cast two Blasting Curses at the base of the corner - and barely managed to drop down to avoid a barrage of curses, scraping her chin on some rubble in the process.

The enemy wizard was good. She rolled to the side and scrambled away on all fours. Behind her, a dark cloud appeared over her former position, followed by an explosion that pelted her Shield Charm with fragments - he must have banished a rock in the air before hitting it with a Blasting Curse, she realised. Definitely an experienced wizard.

John and Seamus were still providing covering fire, but if the enemy was this skilled, then he’d know his shield would stand up to several single shots. She dived around a corner, and pushed her radio’s button. “John, Seamus - his shield’s too strong. Move closer and flank him. But be careful - he’s very good.”

She kept moving - the unknown Death Eater, probably a member of Voldemort’s Inner Circle, had a Human-presence-revealing spell of his own active. And he’d anticipate her course as well.

She stopped, then rushed back from where she had come. Behind her the area vanished in a dark cloud, followed by another explosion in the air. Almost predictable. She dived behind some rubble, then changed directions again, moving further into the building. That would hamper his casting.

“Avis!”

More birds sped towards the Death Eater. Would he expect them to be harmless still, or suspect a trap? She hoped for the latter.

Nearby, part of the wall blew up. She recast her Shield Charm after weathering the resulting hail of splinters. Where were Seamus and John? There! She spotted their markers appearing within range. The enemy was now flanked. Which meant he would either fall back, or charge towards her. And since he had been moving towards her when they met, trying to escape the Alley… Her eyes widened. Two Death Eaters, moving away from the twins’ shop, and no sign of the Dark Lord? Harry must have killed him!

Smiling, she moved to the side, reaching into her enchanted pocket. A quick Doubling Charm later, several bricks of Semtex were spread on the ground. She moved further away, to flank the enemy - and opening a path to escape at the same time. Straight through her former spot.

Suddenly, several explosions shook the ruins, forcing her to drop to the ground. She looked up even as her shield was hit by dozens of rock fragments, and saw the floating marker move - right towards her trap. Grinning, she yelled “Take cover!” into her radio, then pushed the button of the emitter in her hand.

Part of the ruins disappeared in a huge fireball while she pressed herself into the ground, mouth open and hands pressed over her ears. A wave of heat washed over her, and a rock the size of her head bounced off her shield. Then everything vanished in a cloud of dust and smoke.

*****​

Harry Potter crept forward, forcing himself to move slowly, cautiously, instead of rushing. He wouldn’t be able to help either Ron or Sirius if he got himself killed by stumbling into an ambush. And Aberforth was not able to move that quickly either - the old wizard was certainly more hurt than he admitted. And splitting up would be a bad idea, with an unknown number of enemies in the area. But still… “Why are you taking the body with you?” he asked when he couldn’t contain himself any more, nodding at the corpse of Voldemort floating behind them.

“I don’t want anyone to take it. You never know what they’d try to do with it,” Aberforth answered.

Harry didn’t think there was much that anyone could do with the carcass. A zombie-Voldemort might scare the Ministry forces, if there were any left, but that wouldn’t really do much. He pushed the thought away. He had to focus on saving Sirius and Ron.

He quickly glanced around the corner, even though his Human-presence-revealing Spell didn’t show anyone close by. Moody’s training had emphasised not to trust any spell - someone, somewhere, would have a counter. The alley was clear. Or not exactly clear - there were the remains of a broom on the ground, the remains of a burned body further away, and some scattered body parts at the mouth of the alley.

Harry moved forward, barely covering the various broken windows and smashed doors with his wand. It was Ron’s broom. And his blood, he added to himself, spotting the stains on the ground. But the body… he stepped closer, then saw the burned fragments of Auror robes. It wasn’t Ron! And the other body parts were too small. His friend was still alive.

Unless, Harry thought, he had been turned into a zombie. Like the kid who had been blown apart here. He pressed his lips together. Ron had to still be alive! He looked around, but he didn’t spot any other blood stains on the ground. Where had Ron gone?

“We need to move on,” Aberforth said behind him. “Nothing left here.”

Harry knew that, but refrained from angrily pointing out that he had just been thinking where to move. Instead he nodded, and moved past the corpse, into the Alley. Then he heard the explosions, and his eyes widened.

“Blasting Curses!” Aberforth muttered next to him.

Harry nodded. “Someone’s fighting.” Which meant someone needed help. Maybe Ron, or Sirius. He started to move towards the direction of the noise when a much louder explosion made him stop. A fireball erupted further ahead, far too big for a Blasting Curse or even a Bombarda.

That had to be a bomb! Hermione!

He sped up. If the Resistance was using explosives on that scale, they had to be in a bad situation.

*****​

When he opened his eyes and didn’t feel much pain, Sirius Black first feared that he had died, and had become a ghost. Then he realised that someone was moving a wand over his face. He knew that wand.

“You’ve been very lucky.”

He knew that voice.

“I know,” he said, turning his head to look at Vivienne. The French witch looked radiant, even with her face smudged with soot and dirt, and her robes torn - and not in a sexy way.

“I saw you fall, but with all the cursed smoke around, I couldn’t fly to you. You were seriously ’urt.” The Veela stared at him with an unreadable expression.

He smiled. “Any curses?”

“No. But you’ll need Skele-Gro. I numbed your arm, but…”

He glanced at his arm. The arm he couldn’t feel, he realised. The arm that looked rather… floppy. “You vanished my bones?” He looked at her. Harry had told him how much Skele-Gro that would take. And how much it would hurt.

“It was that, or let the splinters tear you up from the inside.” She smiled. “I mended the ribs, though, and your leg.”

He had been hurt worse than he had thought, Sirius realised. Of course, unlike a Quidditch pitch, the streets lacked Cushioning Charms. And he hadn’t managed to cast one in time himself. Or had missed the spot he was falling towards - his memory was a bit vague.

“It’s not my wand arm,” he said, and sat up - only to hiss in pain.

“You’re still hurt.”

“Now you tell me.” He had suffered worse, of course. Compared to losing your best friends, and suffering in Azkaban, a bit of physical pain was nothing. And Harry needed him. Harry!

He stood up, grunting in pain. “I’ll need to help Harry.” He looked around. Where was he? And where was Harry?

A huge fireball erupted a few houses away. He glanced at Vivienne. “Where are the others?” Where were the rest of the Delacours and d’Aigles?

She pressed her lips together for a moment, then shook her head. “I was separated from the ones on the ground.”

He didn’t ask about the others who had been in the air. Her expression told him enough. But people were still fighting. They were still needed. He ignored her hand - even short one arm, he didn’t need help to walk.

“Let’s go!”

*****​

Ron Weasley almost fell over when he heard the explosion, and saw the fireball rise above the roofs - those left standing - of the buildings nearby. Close by, someone was fighting, and fighting hard. Harry, or Hermione, probably. Or if they weren’t, they’d be attracted to the explosion.

He snorted, and steadied himself. His side was still hurting, and he was now leaving a trail of blood, but he could still go on. Could still fight, if not for long, he added to himself. But staying where he was wouldn’t help him either.

Limping, he started towards the closest alley leading to the explosion. He felt a twinge in his ankle, and numbed it again before the pain grew too strong. If only he still had his broom! Or a replacement. Or another Blood-Replenishing Potion. Moody would simply tell him that he hadn’t been prepared enough.

While he stumbled through the narrow alley, he wondered where everyone was. He hadn’t met a single soul in minutes. Had everyone fled? Or had they died in the smoke? Had they forgotten him, and evacuated the area? Or had he died, and was now stumbling through the afterlife?

He snorted at the thought. He was quite certain that the afterlife didn’t look like the burning remains of a part of Diagon Alley. Another corner - he hurt himself some more when he lost his balance and had to catch himself against the wall - and he was in the main Alley again. The explosion had to be close… but so many ruins were burning.

Movement at his flank drew his attention, and he whirled around, wand raised, then blinked when he recognised the clothes - the uniform - of the Resistance. He lowered his wand, staring at the firearm - the rifle - aimed at him.

“Ron?”

He knew that voice. “Seamus?”

“Hermione! I’ve found one of your boyfriends!”

Ron snorted, then winced at the pain that caused. He was the boyfriend of Hermione, singular. And he hadn’t been found - they had met each other.

Then he saw Hermione appear behind a heap of rubble. She was alive. And unhurt. He started to smile, and wave… then winced again when he felt a stabbing pain in his side. He saw her eyes widen, saw her rush towards him, her mouth was opening, but he couldn’t hear her words, and why was she turning sideways? Oh, he was falling.

Then everything went dark.

*****​

“Ron!” Hermione Granger yelled, rushing towards her collapsing boyfriend. She flicked her wand, casting a Cushioning Charm just in time to prevent him from falling onto the rubble next to him.

Behind her, Seamus was cursing, but she had only eyes for Ron. She reached him, dropping to her knees, heedless of the sharp rocks hurting her legs while she ran her wand over his body. When she discovered the wound in his side, bleeding through a bandage, she hissed. And when her Charm failed to close it, she cursed herself. Of course, she should have expected that - Ron would have closed it himself, if that had been possible.

But… he was pale. Gasping, she reached into her potion pocket and pulled out a Blood-Replenishing Potion. While she flicked the stopper off and grabbed Ron’s head to pour it into his mouth, she yelled to Seamus. “I need more Blood-Replenishing Potions! And we need to get him to St Mungo’s!”

“The jinxes are still up,” John said, running towards her and pressing two vials into her hand. “And the explosion will attract some company.”

Hermione forced herself to calm down. She couldn’t panic. She had a responsibility for her group. “Seamus, cover the north! John, cover the south approach. I’ll stabilise him, and then we’ll fall back to Sally-Anne, to evacuate him.” Ron would be safe at St Mungo’s. He was a pureblood, and not a member of the Resistance.

To their credit, neither wizard asked if she could stabilise Ron as they took up positions nearby. She focused on her friend again, trusting the two to do their job. The bandage was soaked through, but a Cleaning Charm solved that. And yet… she bit her lower lip, then tried to pull the edge of the bandage off. She didn’t manage - Ron had used a Sticking Charm.

“Finite!”

When she saw the wound, and the amount of blood flowing from it, she felt as if she had been punched in the gut. A cursed wound, of this size… she hastily poured another potion into Ron’s mouth. She had to stop the bleeding, slow it down at least. And magic wouldn’t work. She did what she could using her first aid training. She really needed Sally-Anne. But if she moved Ron like that… she wiped some tears from her eyes, then put the bandage back on, doing her best to put pressure on the wound.

Then she had a thought. If St Mungo’s couldn’t counter the curse, and with Voldemort having cast it, that was far too likely, then they wouldn’t be able to do anything for Ron. It might be best if she took him to a muggle hospital… but they’d be unable to do anything about the curse either. And they wouldn’t be able to use potions to keep him alive.

She bit her lower lip so hard it started to bleed. What should she do?

*****​

“Thicklestone! Take your squad and move ahead!”

Amelia Bones nodded in silent approval of Pius’s orders. The Hit-Wizards’ training focused on combat and they were therefore the best choice for such a task. Of course, given the casualties the Hit-Wizards had taken in this war, and how the training of the new recruits had been rushed, the differences between rookie Aurors and Hit-Wizards were negligible, but that wouldn’t stay that way, and it was best to do things as they should be done from the start.

A minute after Thicklestone had moved into the Alley, the main force followed, including Amelia, Pius and Dawlish. Amelia pressed her lips together to avoid cursing when she saw the smoke covering the lower parts of Diagon Alley.

“The Obliviators stated that the smoke is no threat to the Statute,” Pius said. “Not any more, at least.”

Amelia hoped that meant it wasn’t dangerous any more either. Not that she could do much about it - the broom riders in the air were needed to spot ambushes, and attack from above. They couldn’t be sent to chase smoke clouds. Not while there was still fighting in the Alley. Or what was left of the Alley, she silently amended when they reached the first ruin.

“The Death Eaters focused on Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes,” Dawlish repeated an earlier report. “But obviously, the fighting and the damage has spread out.”

“Obviously,” Amelia said, and Dawlish flinched slightly.

They had reached the first body - a French wizard, Amelia thought. Or someone else in a fancy robe. More corpses followed, most of them torn or blown apart, or burned horribly. One of the rookies vomited right next to a burned corpse small enough to be a child.

Amelia didn’t flinch. She had seen worse. And she had expected worse. They were facing the Dark Lord, after all. An alley further, they met the first survivors - two wounded French wizards, a Veela and a member of Dumbledore’s Order - Bill Weasley, Amelia recognised him. A former head boy of Hogwarts hiring on with Gringotts, instead of with the Ministry had been a small scandal, a few years ago. In hindsight, Amelia was glad that he hadn’t joined her department. He would have been trouble. Like Nymphadora Tonks, who hadn’t reported in when called upon. That Auror had better have been already engaged in the Alley, Amelia thought. She loathed deserters.

They left the rookie who had lost his lunch with the wounded and orders to help get them to St Mungo’s and moved on - through ruined houses, some of them barely more than patches of rubble, others still burning.

Houses were not the only thing burning - a lot of corpses were burned as well, Amelia noticed. She didn’t smell the stench, fortunately, since she had cast a Bubble-Head Charm when they had set out, but once again, a few Aurors and Hit-Wizards either had forgotten to take the bare minimum of precautions against poison, or couldn’t cast the spell, and were now emptying their stomachs. They really were scraping the bottom of the cauldron here, Amelia thought.

She really hoped that the Order and the Resistance had managed to defeat the Dark Lord, or this would turn ugly.

They passed more burning houses, and reached the remains of the Weasleys’ shop.

“Looks like their wards didn’t hold,” Dawlish commented. “Fiendfyre, I think.”

Amelia didn’t say ‘obviously’ again. It wouldn’t do to undermine Dawlish’s authority. She studied the crushed walls in the middle of the street instead. “Conjured cover,” Pius said. “Would have been the Curse-Breakers’ position.”

Amelia nodded in agreement.

“Where are they?” an Auror asked near them. “Where is everyone?”

“Shut up, Baker!” Dawlish yelled, “And keep your eyes open!”

One of their broom riders descended. “There’s a group of people two alleys down! Didn’t look like Death Eaters. No masks or robes.”

Amelia nodded. Probably the survivors of the Resistance, then. Time to meet them.

*****​

Harry Potter turned around the corner, wand out, expecting a fight - but there was no one fighting. That Ravenclaw, Emmet, was behind some rubble, aiming his assault rifle at him.

“Harry Potter?” The other wizard didn’t stand up, and his rifle didn’t waver.

“Yes.” Harry wasn’t that worried - his Shield Charm should stand up to a few bullets, at least. He hadn’t tested it, but Hermione had.

“Hermione! Potter’s here!” Emmet yelled.

“Harry?”

That was Hermione’s voice. Harry rushed past Emmet, around the corner hiding Hermione from view, then stopped, horrified. She was covered in blood! And kneeling next to Ron. It was Ron’s blood!

Harry muttered a curse under his breath while he moved to them. “Ron! What the hell happened?” Of course, he knew what had happened - Voldemort had cursed his friend.

“It’s a dark curse - healing spells have no effect. I think we better take him to a muggle hospital, they’ll be able to do something… but I am not sure if we can apparate him in his state.” Hermione sounded as desperate as she looked. “Do you have a Blood-Replenishing Potion?”

Harry dug the three he carried out from his enchanted pocket and handed them over.

“Blimey! That’s the Dark Lord!”

Emmet’s shout made Hermione jump up. She had drawn a pistol with blood-soaked hands before Harry managed to speak up. “He’s dead. I killed him.”

She whipped her head around, staring at him. He nodded. For a moment, she seemed frozen, staring at the corner where Emmet was, then she turned back to Ron.

“The Dark Lord’s dead?” That was Seamus’s voice, through the radio.

“He’s dead?”

And that was Justin, probably, Harry thought, as more voices filled the air. Aberforth turned around the corner, followed by the floating corpse of Voldemort. Even Hermione stared at it, for a second or two, as the wizard set it down in the middle of the street.

No one said anything. Hermione made Ron drink another potion, and called for Perks on the radio. Apparently, that witch was their designated medic, or Healer.

“Harry!”

He whirled around. Sirius was there! Alive! And standing. Leaning on Vivienne, who looked rather battered herself, but he was standing. But his arm! Harry felt as if his blood had frozen when he saw his godfather’s left arm dangling uselessly.

He rushed forward. “Sirius! Your arm!”

His godfather smiled. “Oh, that? Vivienne had to vanish my bones.”

Harry sighed with relief. It wasn’t the Withering Curse, then. He went and hugged his godfather. Sirius was alive. Not too badly hurt, either. The Dark Lord was dead, and Harry’s friends and family were alive. He had done it!

“Sirius! Do you have Blood-Replenishing Potions? I need them! Ron needs them!” Hermione’s voice reminded him that not all of his friends were safe yet, and he felt guilty for forgetting, even for an instant, about Ron.

Then he felt like slapping himself, and hurried back to Ron, drawing the Elder Wand.

*****​

Hermione Granger saw Harry kneel next to Ron, and aim his wand at the wound. She was about to tell him that they had tried that already, then she remembered just what wand Harry was using. Of course!

Harry was already casting, waving his wand above Ron’s wound.

Hermione bit her lower lip and stared at the wound. The wound hadn’t closed, but the bleeding had slowed.

“Best I can do,” Harry said, sounding desperate.

“It’ll be enough,” she said, forcing herself to smile. “Until we can get him to a hospital.”

He nodded, then got up, standing there for a moment.

Then Justin and the others arrived, and Hermione felt like hexing her friends - they were staring at the Dark Lord’s corpse, even though it wasn’t going anywhere. Ron still needed help right now! “Sally-Anne! I need those potions!”

Her friend jerked, then gasped: “Sorry!” She hurried towards them. “Sorry! I just saw the Dark Lord…”

Hermione nodded, restraining herself from yelling at Sally-Anne. It wouldn’t help Ron. “He’s been cursed with a wound that resists magical healing. It’s still bleeding, so we might need to transport him to a muggle hospital, but he can’t be apparated in that state.”

Sally-Anne nodded, her attention already on the wounded wizard, and started to remove the bandages entirely. Hermione almost grabbed her hand, but controlled herself - Sally-Anne had trained for this more than she had. Hermione had to trust her. As hard as it was. Ron would live, she told herself - muggles survived such wounds without magic. And the potions would replenish his blood. He wouldn’t die.

“We’ve got company!”

Seamus’s alert made her look up. She saw the rest of the Resistance grow tense. Aberforth as well. That told her who had arrived even before she saw them.

The Ministry.

*****​

Amelia Bones stared at the corpse on the ground. It was the Dark Lord. She had seen his face in a Pensieve before. Potter had done it. Like Dumbledore had planned, and the Order had promised. The Boy-Who-Lived was standing right behind the corpse, watching her. Next to him were Black, his Veela lover, and the muggleborns in their weird clothes. Granger wasn’t present, though.

For a moment, Amelia thought, hoped, that the other witch had been killed in the battle, then she spotted her, kneeling behind Potter, next to another body lying on the ground. Potter, Black, Granger. And what was left of the Resistance. All gathered in front of her. Wounded and outnumbered. Amelia doubted that there were many Death Eaters left either. Britain didn’t need the Resistance any more, nor the Order. Even weakened as it was, the Ministry could handle things from this point on. And she knew they’d cause trouble or worse for the country - that they extorted a blanket pardon from her proved that. Amelia had but to give the order and things would be settled once and for all. She wouldn’t be breaking any deals either - technically, with the Dark Lord dead, the war was over. And she had taken an oath to uphold the law and defend Britain against any danger.

But before she could make up her mind, her Aurors and Hit-Wizards realised what had happened and started to cheer, and the opportunity to secure Britain’s future had passed.

*****​

Hermione Granger stood up as the arrivals started to fan out. There were more than two dozen Aurors and Hit-Wizards, in their red and grey robes. Half a dozen more on brooms in the air. And in the centre was the Minister herself. Bones.

Hermione snorted - all of them were staring at Voldemort’s body. She stood up and took a few steps forward, standing next to Harry, right near the Dark Lord’s corpse, and stared at the Minister. She knew how she looked - covered in blood - but she didn’t care. Not any more. They had done it. Harry had done it. Had killed Voldemort and his Death Eaters. Without the Ministry. She saw Justin step up as well, followed by Tania, both holding their guns at the ready. Seamus and John were not quite aiming at the Ministry forces, but would be able to open fire within seconds.

Bones met her eyes, frowning, but the bulk of the Ministry wizards and witches started to talk loudly and excitedly, apparently unaware of the tension.

“It’s him!”

“He’s dead!”

“They killed him!”

“The Dark Lord’s gone!”

“It’s over!”

“The war’s over!”

Hermione snorted. The Dark Lord’s death might signal the end of the war. But, meeting Bones’s eyes, she knew that the real struggle had just begun.

*****​

 

Chapter 42: Repositioning

‘Just as with the start of the Second Blood War, there is a considerable difference of opinion among scholars concerning its end. Some consider the death of the Dark Lord in the Battle of Diagon Alley the end of the war. I do not share this view. Leaving aside the fact that there were still several Death Eaters alive and free, the war had been about more than defeating the Dark Lord, and the underlying conflict that had led to the war, the blood status question, had not been at all resolved with the death of the Dark Lord. Quite the contrary. With their common enemy dead, the Ministry and the muggleborns were set on a collision course with each other as both struggled to shape the country’s future.’
- Excerpt from ‘The Second Blood War’ by Hyacinth Selwyn

*****​

London, Ministry of Magic, February 1st, 1997

Amelia Bones kept smiling as she walked through the throng of celebrating people filling the Ministry’s Atrium. She had to make an effort, though - she wasn’t feeling like celebrating herself. Half a dozen Aurors and Hit-Wizards had died in Diagon Alley fighting the Dark Lord but everyone just seemed to be talking about the Boy-Who-Lived. Just like fifteen years ago. Even her own people were caught up in it.

Once inside her office, she dropped the pretence. As relieved as she was about the Dark Lord’s death, she knew her and Britain’s troubles hadn’t ended. That Potter had killed the Dark Lord with the help of the Muggleborn Resistance and the remnants of Dumbledore’s Order made things worse.

If only she had dared to give the order to arrest the lot of them… but Amelia was aware that the majority of her Aurors and Hit-Wizards might not have obeyed, being far too inexperienced to understand the situation. They’d only see a hero who had taken down the Dark Lord, and not the danger Potter represented.

A danger of which Amelia was all too aware, even more so after she had seen the reaction of the public to the spreading news.

Her secretary - that one was reliable, at least, and hadn’t left her post like so many other Ministry employees - informed her that Pius had arrived. The Head of the DMLE lost his own smile as soon as the door closed behind him.

“What’s the status of Diagon Alley?” Amelia asked, seating herself behind her desk.

“The affected areas are still cordoned off while we wait for the Unspeakables to finish investigating the lingering smoke,” he answered, taking a seat of his own. “But the fires are under control. Dawlish is handling the situation.”

Amelia knew better than to ask for an estimate of how long they’d have to carry on waiting. The Unspeakables didn’t care about anything but their own interests. And Dawlish could handle the rest. “How’s the population taking that?”

Pius snorted softly. “They seem too busy celebrating the Dark Lord’s demise to care.” Shrugging, he added: “Those who lost their homes might feel differently, but I didn’t see any of them making a scene.”

They might have been killed in the fighting, Amelia knew. Or simply have been caught up in the celebrations as well. They were not a pressing problem either way. “What about Potter, Black and Granger?”

“They have left the area, presumably to treat their wounds,” Pius said, with a faint smile. “Although none of them have been seen in St Mungo’s according to my information.”

“Not even Granger’s lover?” That wizard had been seriously hurt. Probably fatally.

He shook his head. “It’s possible that their wounded were moved to France. With the Dark Lord dead, there would be no need any more for the Duc to maintain the fiction that this was an unsanctioned private affair by the Delacours.”

Amelia nodded. “If the muggleborns have access to a hospital with the capability to handle dark curses then they are far more self-reliant than we assumed.” Which would affect politics in a way Amelia didn’t like.

“Since they went to war I think they either have such support, or don’t care about it,” Pius said. “Although I doubt that the Duc d’Orléans would support the muggleborns. The influence he’d gain in Britain’s politics would not be worth the trouble it could cause in his own country.”

She nodded. “While it’s not impossible that he would want to gain some concessions from us in exchange for dropping his support for the muggleborns, I do agree that it seems unlikely.” But you couldn’t trust the French; not with Britain so weakened. With Dumbledore and the Dark Lord dead, Britain had lost a lot of its power and prestige. “But no matter where they are, if they are currently getting treatment, it means we have an opportunity here.” The Weasleys would be occupied with their wounded as well, at least temporarily removing another thorn in her side.

Pius nodded. “That is true. What are you planning?”

He was playing it safe, as expected. “We need to control how the country will be informed about the battle.”

“News of the Boy-Who-Lived defeating the Dark Lord has already spread,” Pius pointed out.

“Yes,” Amelia admitted. They’d never be able to suppress that - after Dumbledore’s death, people had put their hope in the Boy-Who-Lived. “But we can use that. The more people focus on him, the less they care about his friends. And we can emphasise the Aurors and Hit-Wizards who fought and died today.” The Daily Prophet knew to listen to the Ministry.

Pius’s smile widened. “And later, we can point out, subtly of course, that Dumbledore had to save Potter from Voldemort just two weeks ago.”

She nodded. Even Dawlish had noticed that. “They said themselves that Dumbledore had planned this.” And people still associated Dumbledore with the Ministry; few knew just how radical the man had actually been. Revealing the Muggleborn Resistance as the dangerous criminals they were would be easy as well, once Potter’s influence had lessened. They just had to point at the innocent victims of their attacks. And that would also affect Arthur Weasley and Sirius Black, thanks to their close ties to Granger.

“However, we might need the reputation of the Boy-Who-Lived, who has now twice defeated the Dark Lord, to keep other countries from getting ideas,” Pius cut in.

Amelia shook her head. “The muggleborns know that no other country would support them. They’d have to oppose international pressure.” The only countries - and Amelia was using the term quite loosely here - who cared for muggleborns were some of the warring enclaves in the New World. And those mattered about as much as muggle countries.

“That is true. But can we trust the muggleborns to realise that? Granger is still a student, after all.”

“She’s quite smart and it’s obvious that Black’s been supporting her.” And influencing the girl. “He’d tell her.”

“We still might need to grant them some concessions, to present the ICW with a unified front,” Pius said.

Amelia pressed her lips together. Grant those criminals anything? After they had used the dire straits the country had been in to extort a pardon for their crimes from her? “If needed we can throw them some bone. Maybe another pardon.”

Pius inclined his head, but didn’t comment.

“What about the flying carpets with the muggles the Dark Lord had kidnapped?” Amelia asked. She hated loose ends.

“The Obliviators told me that they have arranged a cover story for the muggles. A ‘bus accident’, or so I was told.” Pius shrugged. “There weren’t that many survivors.”

“Have them checked for curses before releasing them. I don’t want any other ‘surprises’ like the Withering Curse,” Amelia said.

“Yes, Minister.”

When Pius had left her office, Amelia called her secretary. “Inform the Prophet that the Ministry is releasing information about the battle in Diagon Alley.”

*****​

London, London Bridge Hospital, February 2nd, 1997

Ron Weasley woke up, looked around, and started to panic - he was in an unfamiliar room. Not St Mungo’s, nor the Hogwarts infirmary. And his wand was missing! And his side… he glanced down, craning his neck. His wound was bandaged. And it didn’t hurt that much. Someone had healed him, then. Mostly, at least.

Then he realised that he was in a muggle hospital. The telly hanging on the wall opposite his bed was a dead giveaway. He should have realised that sooner. And his throat hurt, it felt parched. For a moment, he imagined his neck having been struck by the withering curse, and shuddered.

He tried to call for a nurse or Healer, but his throat didn’t want to cooperate. While he was looking for a rope to pull or something, the door opened.

“Hey!”

There she was. Hermione. He felt better at once. Warm. Safe. He smiled. “Hello,” he managed to say, mostly at least. She understood him, of course. She was smart.

She sat down on his bed, smiling at him. “I heard you wake up. I left a spell.” She picked up a glass from the table next to the bed. “Here, drink!”

She must have been right outside. Wherever that was. The water helped a lot. He managed to speak mostly normally after a few tries. “What happened? Where are we?”

“We’re in London Bridge Hospital. A private muggle hospital,” she said, refilling the glass from a bottle he had missed until then. “The wound was resistant to magic.”

“I noticed,” he said, snorting, then winced at the pain that caused.

“Ron!” She had her wand out at once, running it over his body.

“I’m alright,” he said. He thought so, at least. But he had heard that some curses, you felt fine until you died. But he had been in too much pain for such a curse, he thought. “What happened? Did we… did Harry...?”

“Voldemort’s dead. Harry did it,” Hermione said.

He closed his eyes, sighing. The Dark Lord was dead. They had won the war. Then he jerked his head around, staring at her. “And Harry? And the others?”

“He’s fine,” Hermione said, then, noticing his expression, added: “Really fine.”

He chuckled, trying not to react to the pain that caused.

“Fred and George are fine as well,” she continued. “Bit ‘banged up’, as they put it, but they’re out and about. Bill and Fleur made it too. Your parents and Percy came through unscathed, as far as I know - they were looking for you in the ruins of the shop, so they missed us. Sirius was hurt when his broom crashed, but he survived, as did most of the Resistance. Tonks was cursed, and is currently in St Mungo’s.” Her smile vanished. “Moody died, though, as did Jeremy. Both were killed by Voldemort.”

Ron closed his eyes, relieved. His brothers were fine! But Moody was dead… he wouldn’t have thought that possible. The old Auror had seemed so tough, and always one step ahead of them in training… of course, he had been facing Voldemort. Ron himself had only survived through luck, and muggle Healers, apparently. “Jeremy?” Who did he know with that name?

“Former Hit-Wizard. A few years older than us.” Hermione smiled thinly.

“Ah.” He tried to keep his relief that it had been no one he had known out of his voice. He felt guilty too, for caring more about his brothers’ survival than the man’s death.

“The surviving muggle children the Death Eaters had used as human shields were taken to St Mungo’s. But too many of them died.”

He could see that she was biting her lower lip and didn’t pry further. He reached out to pat her hand, and she gripped his.

“Anyway,” Hermione went on after a moment. “Your wound resisted healing spells. Harry managed to slow down the bleeding, but that was all he could do. So, we took you to a muggle hospital, where they treated your wound, before we had you transferred here.”

“Did they sew me up?” Ron had heard his dad talk about that, once. He shivered - to think that he had threads inside him, like a ragdoll...

“It’s a bit more complicated, but effectively, yes.”

He stared at the bandages hiding the wound. He had stitches there!

“They’ll come out soon enough,” Hermione said.

He looked at her - she was frowning at him, but with an amused air. “Is my family here?”

Now she winced, and Ron gasped. Hadn’t she said that they were fine? Had something happened after the battle? She would have mentioned that earlier, wouldn’t she?

“They’re fine, but…” She sighed. “Your parents were asked to leave the hospital. They made a scene when they weren’t allowed to see you right away.”

“Oh.” He could imagine that. Mum would have been going spare at the thought of him in that state, and depending on muggle Healers. And Dad… he’d have asked all sorts of questions, both to distract himself and out of open curiosity.

“Yes.” Hermione shrugged. “They’ll be here as soon as they hear you’re awake, though. The muggle doctors thought it was just the shock of you having been wounded so seriously.”

“Good.” The last thing his family needed was the Obliviators on their case right when the war was over. “How long do I have to stay here?” Come to think of it… “How long have I been here already?”

“You’ve been unconscious for a day.” She sighed. “You’ll be here for at least a week - it depends on how well the wound is healing.”

“A week.” He nodded slowly. Could have been worse.

Much worse.

*****​

Harry Potter arrived at London Bridge Hospital ten minutes after he had heard from Hermione that Ron had woken up. One minute to excuse himself from Sirius and nine minutes to reach the hospital from the closest Apparition spot he was familiar with. It took five minutes to reach his friend’s room.

He knocked. After a second, he heard a muffled “Come in!” and opened the door. Ron was lying in the bed, as expected, and Hermione was sitting at his side. Both had their wands ready, but stashed them when they recognised him. Moody would have told them off for not suspecting Polyjuice, he thought. But Moody was dead.

“Hi,” Harry said, entering.

“Our hero!” Ron said, chuckling, then wincing.

Hermione frowned at Ron, and Harry saw her draw and flick her wand, aimed at Ron.

Ron had noticed it as well. “I’m fine!” he said.

“You have a cut in your side eight inches long,” Hermione retorted. “With stitches,” she added with a fake smile.

Ron shuddered.

Harry chuckled. “So, how is he?” he asked, looking at Hermione.

“The wound seems to be healing as expected. Without magic, that is,” she said, glancing at Ron, who had been about to say something, or so it looked, but then closed his mouth without a word. “It appears that you managed to weaken the curse so that natural healing is now possible. Fortunately, we could remove the splinters under his skin with magic. That would have been a bit difficult to explain.”

“What was it, anyway? It wasn’t Sectumsempra.” Harry had been taught the counter-curse to that spell, as had, he presumed, all of the Order thanks to Snape.

“I don’t know.” Hermione frowned. “The wound would have to be investigated thoroughly to find out what spell caused it, and that would interfere with the recovery.”

And, Harry added to himself, it might reveal what wand he had been using.

“I’d rather not keep bleeding so the Unspeakables can do their research,” Ron said. “Staying in bed is only fun if you’re not wounded.”

Hermione actually blushed, Harry noticed with some surprise, and more than a bit of jealousy. Had they gone that far, yet? He didn’t really want to know.

“So, what’s been going on while I was out?” Ron asked. “Hermione told me who died,” he added, “but not much else yet. How’s Sirius?”

“Well… Sirius is resting. He had to take Skele-Gro.” Harry winced, remembering just how painful that potion was. “Wizarding Britain is celebrating,” he continued. “Like in 1981. Fireworks, and all. I bet the Obliviators are getting overworked.” He was a bit bitter about the fact that the vast majority of those celebrating hadn’t done anything to fight Voldemort, and many of those who had couldn’t celebrate, being dead or in a magical sleep.

“You don’t sound like you are celebrating,” Ron said, glancing from Harry to Hermione.

“With you in surgery?” Harry snorted. And then there were the dead. He was pretty sure that Moody would have wanted them to celebrate, but… if he closed his eyes he still saw the battle, scenes mixing and overlapping. Voldemort turning to dust, Ron bleeding, the dead stumbling around, Sirius crashing, corpses of children strewn about…

Ron grumbled something Harry didn’t catch. Hermione, who was sitting next to their friend, frowned. “We’ve been busy getting the word out to the muggleborns. John has set up a recording for the Resistance Radio, and we’ve mailed to all our contacts. But it’ll take some time for everyone to hear the news. And even longer for them to believe it.” She sighed. “We really need them to return quickly.”

Ron blinked. “What’s wrong?”

Harry pulled out the Daily Prophet and showed it to Ron. “According to the Prophet, I killed Voldemort by myself. With the help of the brave Aurors and Hit-Wizards killed in Diagon Alley.” Not that they were using the Dark Lord’s name. Not even now. “The Order and the Resistance are barely mentioned.”

“It’s a blatant attempt to marginalise the Resistance and the Order,” Hermione said. “But you’re no toddler anymore, nor will you vanish from Wizarding Britain for a decade.”

Harry shook his head. He didn’t like being treated like this, but vanishing from Wizarding would mean letting his friends down. And that he’d never do.

Ron muttered a curse while he read the front page. Then he looked up. “They’re praising you, though. They’re almost calling you a second Dumbledore.”

“For now,” Harry said. Fourth year had taught him how quickly that could change. “There are also several articles about how the war’s over, and things will go back to normal.”

“Oh.” Ron’s expression told Harry that even on pain medication, he hadn’t forgotten about their talks.

“It’s 1981 again. At least if Bones has her way,” Hermione said. “Celebrate, and then forget, and do business as usual. Which is why we need the muggleborns to return to Wizarding Britain and make themselves heard. The Ministry needs to realise that they can’t simply go back to the status quo ante.”

“The what?”

Harry was glad Ron had asked the question before he had to.

“The state things were before the war,” Hermione explained. “I’ve been reading about peace treaties lately. Not that it is entirely applicable in our situation, of course. We’ve never really declared war on the Ministry.”

“They certainly hunted you,” Harry said. He was still mad at Tonks for that.

“Which is part of the problem. The Ministry wants to consider us as pardoned criminals, not as a legitimate faction in a civil war.” Hermione was clenching her teeth, Harry could tell.

“Sirius will support you in the Wizengamot,” Harry said. Once his godfather was back on his feet, at least.

“That will help, but we need more support. We need to show the Ministry that they can’t ignore the muggleborns, not any more,” Hermione said. She didn’t have to say that there would be another war if the Ministry tried - Harry knew that.

“What happened to Voldemort, exactly?” Ron asked, looking at him.

“What Dumbledore planned,” Harry answered, after a moment’s hesitation. He didn’t want to talk about that fight in their minds. Not even to his friends. “We met, we fought, I won.”

To his surprise, Hermione snorted in response to that report, instead of demanding more details. He went on: “I’m feeling well, though, with this gone.” He tapped his scar. It was if a weight that he had carried all his life had vanished.

Then the door was opened without knocking. Harry had cast a shield and stepped in front of Ron, next to Hermione, before he recognised who had arrived. Ron’s family. Who had frozen at the sight of three wands aimed at them.

“I bet Moody’s laughing right now in the afterlife,” Ron muttered behind him.

*****​

London, East End, February 2nd, 1997

Hermione Granger entered the Resistance’s safe house, and for a moment, she felt as if she had come home. The sights and smells and even sounds had become familiar over the last few months. Even comforting. And yet, she added, looking at the stairs leading up to far too many empty rooms, it was also saddening.

“How’s Ron?”

Sally-Anne was peeking out of the kitchen, Hermione noticed. She looked quite apprehensive.

“He’ll live. The wound’s healing naturally,” Hermione said, stepping into the kitchen herself. She noticed that Sally-Anne was brewing tea. Quite cliched, but she liked to take care of her friends, so Hermione wouldn’t say anything. “But he loathes the stitches. His dad was fascinated, though. He wanted to remove the bandages to take a look, even.” And that had almost led to the Weasleys getting thrown out of the hospital again. At that rate, Sirius would have to make a donation to the hospital to smooth things over. Or, she added to herself, use a few spells.

Her friend shook her head and sighed.

“He’ll have to stay there for about a week,” Hermione went on. Which was better than she had feared, but even after getting released, Ron wouldn’t be able to do anything strenuous for a while. But he was alive, and that was all that counted!

“Are you going to play nurse for him?” Sally-Anne’s tone was teasing, but she didn’t seem to be happy. There was a hint of concern in her face.

Hermione frowned. Had something happened to their wounded? “How’s Louise?”

“She’s asleep. She was awake for a bit earlier today, and I filled her in about what had happened after she was hurt. She’ll be fine once she has rested. But the news...” Sally-Anne shook her head. “Have you read the Daily Prophet? Seamus wanted to go and blow up their office. We managed to get him to calm down.”

Hermione hoped that he hadn’t been serious. But she could understand his reaction - she had been livid herself when she had read the articles. Voldemort hadn’t been dead for a day, and the Ministry was already making a move. Though she had to admit that they were smart to do this while Sirius was recovering. She sighed. “We’ll have to counter that. Is John here?”

“Yes. Everyone’s in the living room.” Sally-Anne sighed. “I know it wasn’t likely, but… I thought with the Dark Lord dead, we’d have won. That it was over. So many of us died. And now…” She didn’t quite sob, but her sigh came close.

Hermione reached out to pat her on the shoulder. “We’ll win. Trust me.” She smiled when her friend slowly nodded.

But as Hermione went upstairs to her room to drop off her coat before heading to the living room, she wished she was as confident as she had sounded.

By the time she reached the living room, Sally-Anne had joined the rest of the Resistance there.

“Hermione!” Seamus jumped up from the couch. “Have you read the Prophet?” He waved a crumpled issue around.

“Yes, I have.”

“And what are we going to do about it?”

She looked around. Justin looked grim, but then smiled at Sally-Anne. Tania looked as angry as Seamus, but remained seated on the couch. John was frowning, a notepad in front of him. And Louise was still recovering. They had lost half their numbers, Hermione thought, in this war.

“We’ll tell the truth in our radio broadcast - and we’ll drop leaflets in Diagon Alley again.” She looked at John. “We’ll have to address not just muggleborns, but everyone - including the poorer purebloods. The more support we have, the sooner the Ministry will give in.”

“Do you really think they’ll just surrender?” Seamus scoffed. “The purebloods won’t give up their power.”

“The Old Families are the ones controlling the Wizengamot, and through it, the Ministry. But they are a tiny minority. We’ll have to persuade the muggleborns to return, and the half-bloods and as many of the purebloods as we can to support us.” Hermione said. “If we manage that, then we can force the Ministry to reform, and change the Wizengamot into an elected parliament.”

“We can demand trials for those who supported the Death Eaters and abused their power during the war. That will weaken the Ministry and the Wizengamot further,” John said.

“Unless the Wizengamot acquits them. They did so in 1981, after all.” Hermione didn’t trust the Wizengamot’s justice.

“If they do that...” Seamus clenched his teeth.

“Would they dare? There’d be riots in Diagon Alley,” Tania said.

Hermione couldn’t tell if either of the two was looking forward to such a crisis. She shrugged. “We’ll need to know how the Wizengamot stands on such trials, before we ask for them.”

“We can deal with the worst criminals ourselves,” Seamus said.

“The Ministry knows that. But they might just be waiting for a pretext to move against us. And they’ll blame us for any such action, whether we were involved or not.” Hermione didn’t want to deal with another Allan. “We need to focus on getting support from the population, not start a war.”

“But even if we do that, the Wizengamot might decide to fight rather than surrender their power,” Justin said.

“If they wish to die rather than enact reforms we’ll oblige them,” Hermione said. They had fought a war against a far stronger foe already; they wouldn’t give up now.

*****​

London, No. 12 Grimmauld Place, February 2nd, 1997

Sirius Black was suffering. It wasn’t just the pain from the Skele-Gro he had had to take, though that certainly played a big part. Skele-Gro made you feel as if you had hundreds of splinters in your limbs and you couldn’t get them out! The Torture Curse was said to be worse, but Merlin’s Balls, he was certain the two were related, somehow - you couldn’t use magic to deal with the pain in either case. And to think Harry had suffered through this in his second year!

But worse than the pain was the knowledge that he had let his godson down. While he was being treated for his wounds, laid up, the Ministry had moved. Who’d have thought stubborn, rigid - and frigid - Bones would be as cunning as a Slytherin? He glared at the Daily Prophet on the floor next to his bed. The figures in the picture of an Auror group glared back at him, bunched together in the corner of the picture he hadn’t burned.

A pack of lies, spread on the orders of the Ministry to fool the people and further the Minister’s agenda - and the Wizengamot’s, of course. That cesspit of bigots and scum! He hissed with anger and frustration, hitting the mattress he was lying on with his fist. If not for his wounds - more extensive than he had thought - he could have done something. But now half of Britain would already have heard and believed that Harry and the Ministry had saved them all.

He took a deep breath. Harry had saved them all. He had destroyed the Dark Lord’s mind. And his soul, or so Sirius suspected. Albus hadn’t gone into much detail past the necessity of defeating Voldemort in their minds, but Sirius had read up on the topic in his family’s library. He did not know for sure, though - and he’d certainly never tell Harry his suspicions. That sort of burden no one should have to bear.

Sirius sighed. He felt so useless, stuck in his bed while the cowards who had hidden during the war were crawling out of their holes, eager to take the reins of the country. Amos had informed him that the only reason they hadn’t managed to organise an emergency session of the Wizengamot was that the majority of them had not trusted the news enough to leave their safe houses right away.

But they’d gather tomorrow, and Sirius already knew what would be on the agenda: They’d try to save as many of their family members who had been involved with Voldemort as they could. He snorted. He would be able to move again tomorrow.

The door opened and Vivienne entered, smiling at him. Next to her floated a tray with food. She left it hovering next to his bed, then bent down to kiss him. For a moment, he forgot all about his troubles and pain.

“’ow are you doing?” she asked when they broke off.

“I’m feeling better now.” He shot her a smile. “How is your family doing?” Vivienne hadn’t been hurt much, but her family hadn’t been as lucky. The Blacks, on the other hand, had fared better - Nymphadora was expected to make a full recovery, even though she was still at St Mungo’s so the Healers could keep an eye on her. Andromeda suspected that they were keeping her daughter for a few days longer just to be able to study her body, but after the Withering Curse, no one could blame them for being cautious.

She smiled, then sighed. “They’ve already returned to France.” Those who had survived.

“All of them?” He was surprised. That… it wasn’t quite rude, but he would have expected the French to stay and celebrate a bit longer. And wait until he was well enough to join in - he was their host, after all.

“The Duc sent a message, calling them back to the Court. ‘’Onour has been satisfied, and blood has been avenged’.”

“Ah.” That explained it. The Duc d’Orléans had quite a bit more power than the British Minister for Magic - and he wasn’t elected by a parliament. “You stayed, though.”

“Of course.” She ran a hand over his cheek. “I’m not a Delacour, but a d’Aigle. I’m not a member of the Court.”

Sirius wanted to ask if she would have stayed anyway, but didn’t. Some things you did not ask. Not at the current stage of their relationship. Not when the reason she had come to Britain was no more. So he simply nodded. “Does that mean that the Duc will no longer support French involvement in Britain’s affairs?”

“I think so. Though ’e might be concerned about the muggleborns.”

“Oh?” The pain was just a dull ache now. Focusing on talking helped.

Vivienne sighed again. She smiled, but he could see that it was forced. “The Court of Magical France has long been concerned about muggleborns. They fear that they might try to emulate the French muggles, and rebel.”

Sirius nodded. “And the Duc’s concerned about the British muggleborns.”

“Yes.” Vivienne nodded. “’Onour demanded that we took revenge for the attack on us, and the Duc wouldn’t ’ave denied us that. But now… ’E is the Duc, but some things even our ruler cannot do, or seem to support, without inviting trouble.”

Having seen the élan of the French, Sirius understood that perfectly. People who were willing to lose a dozen family members to avenge a single one would certainly pose a problem, should they feel their ruler was betraying them. And yet… “There might be trouble, though. The British Ministry is in dire need of reforms.” Reforms that would only happen at wand-point.

“It’s a country’s prerogative to organise itself. A peaceful change would certainly not be any cause for concern,” Vivienne said.

Sirius doubted that - Dumbledore’s changes would have certainly been a topic in the ICW if he hadn’t been so powerful - but he nodded anyway. There was no reason to poke this particular dragon, yet.

*****​

London, London Bridge Hospital, February 2nd, 1997

“Voldemort is dead and his followers shattered, but his ideology still lives. The Ministry still believes that blood matters - that purebloods are better than half-bloods and muggleborns. The Wizengamot is still composed of people born into it, not elected, and they don’t just elect the Minister, but they also serve as both parliament and court of law. This cannot continue! The past year has shown just how easily such a system is abused!

“The privileges of the Old Families have to go! It doesn’t matter if you’re a pureblood, a half-blood or a muggleborn - we are all equal, and should be equal before the law! And together, we can change Britain for the better! We can and will win!”

Ron Weasley sighed and leaned back in his bed as Hermione’s voice faded and was replaced with muggle music. His girlfriend was correct, but her delivery needed some work. If that had been Lee on the wireless...

He resisted the urge to scratch the bandages on his side, even though the stitches were itching. The sooner he was healed, the sooner he could help his friends. And the sooner the stitches would be removed.

He didn’t know how many would be listening to the Resistance Radio anyway - not everyone might have noticed that the wireless was now broadcasting every day. And the muggleborns listening to it might hesitate to return. He couldn’t blame them - not with three horrible battles fought in the last month alone.

He sighed. He wished Hermione was here with him. Or his family. But visiting hours were over. And he was stuck in the muggle hospital. He glanced at the enchanted mirror Harry had left him. He could call her, but… she had a lot to do. A lot of important work. And he didn’t want to disturb her. She’d call at her usual time.

Ron pulled out the brochures Harry had brought from Quality Quidditch Supplies. Their latest broom line up. Harry had told him to pick one - any one - as replacement for the broom Voldemort had destroyed. Sirius would pay for it.

Ron didn’t like receiving charity. He had his pride - as did his family. But was this charity? He would need a broom, if things turned bad again. And judging by what he had read in the Prophet, that didn’t seem to be that unlikely. And Sirius was rich - he could afford it easily.

But that left him with the question of which model he should choose. The Firebolt would be the obvious choice - it was the best broom on the market, bar none. But to fly one of them, knowing that it had been a gift…

There was another thing, of course. The Firebolt was ideal for Seekers, Chasers and Beaters. But Ron was a Keeper. He didn’t need speed, he needed manoeuvrability, and there were better brooms for that. At least for the Quidditch pitch. If he wanted to go pro after Hogwarts, he would have to pick a Keeper’s broom.

If he wanted to go pro. Ron knew he wasn’t a Quidditch prodigy. Not like Harry. But he was good. Not as good as Wood, but Wood was among the best in the current league. So, coupled with his - small as it was - fame, Ron had a decent chance at a career in Quidditch.

But did he want such a career? It had been his dream to play professionally since he had first flown a broom. To win a game while thousands of fans cheered. But that had been before the war. It didn’t feel like such a great thing any more. It was a game, the best game in the world, but… there were more important things. The war had taught him that.

And he didn’t fancy looking and acting like Ludo Bagman in twenty years.

*****​

London, Ministry of Magic, February 3rd, 1997

“Honoured members of the Wizengamot! We have gathered here for a special session in order to decide the best course of action to lead our country through these trying times.”

Sirius Black scowled at the man. Philius Runcorn was the acting Chief Warlock by virtue of being the most senior member of the Wizengamot. And he was a blood purist who had been ‘missing’ since right before the Battle of the Ministry. Probably a Death Eater too.

“With the Dark Lord having been defeated by the Boy-Who-Lived, the war is over and it is time to mend the wounds it has caused our country! Far too many good wizards and witches have died in the war! Far too many good families have suffered greatly!”

Sirius was certain that Runcorn didn’t meant anyone outside the Old Families with his words.

“It is time to restore order to Britain. The necessities of war no longer hold sway over us, we can once again conduct our business according to our laws and traditions.”

Sirius glanced to Bones. The witch was nodding - she didn’t seem to mind that Runcorn had all but admitted to be working for Voldemort when he had fled the Wizengamot shortly before the Withering Curse had struck. And she was standing up.

“The chair recognises the Minister for Magic.”

“Honoured members of the Wizengamot!” Bones started to speak, “You all know how many casualties the Ministry forces suffered during the war. With our current numbers, we can barely patrol Diagon Alley and Hogsmeade. We need more recruits to provide Britain with the protection it needs. I therefore propose to extend the emergency funds allocated to the recruitment and training of Aurors and Hit-Wizards until we have restored our normal numbers and competency. The war has disrupted the social order, and in order to prevent unscrupulous elements from taking advantage of that, we need more wands in the Ministry’s service.”

Sirius saw many members of the Wizengamot nod in agreement. There was no point in trying to oppose this. But even with extended funding, the Ministry would remain weak for quite some time.

It didn’t take long for the proposal to be discussed, and it was passed with an overwhelming majority. Another proposal to allocate more funds to the DoM to research a cure for the Withering Curse passed as well.

“The chair recognises Mister Greengrass.”

“Honoured members of the Wizengamot! I’ve heard people claim that the war is over, but my niece and others are still held in captivity by the muggleborns. What is the Ministry doing to save them?”

Amos scoffed loudly, and said: “They were fighting for the Dark Lord! They don’t need to be saved - they need to be executed!” It took a while for the excitement and outrage that this caused to die down.

“The chair recognises the Minister for Magic.”

“Mister Greengrass, the Ministry couldn’t take action previously since we had an agreement with the Muggleborn Resistance for the duration of the war. With the war over, the Resistance is obligated to hand their prisoners over to the Ministry, or they’ll be guilty of kidnapping.”

“And do you think they’ll listen to you?” Greengrass gestured with his wand. “They have murdered my family and started this war in the first place. Something far too many here seem to have forgotten!”

“The Death Eaters started this war when they murdered my son!” Amos yelled. “People like your family!”

“How dare you!” Greengrass stared at Amos, baring his teeth.

Runcorn called for order, but was mostly ignored. Bones’s face could have curdled milk. Sirius leaned back and enjoyed the show. It didn’t look like the Ministry would be able to easily push their proposals through. And he hadn’t yet had to stir the pot up himself.

Finally, the Wizengamot settled down again, and Bones continued: “The Ministry, as the only legal authority in Britain, will do its utmost to restore law and order. We will not let this country descend into anarchy.”

Sirius raised his wand.

“The chair recognises Mister Black.”

“Those are brave words, Minister,” Sirius said, smirking. “Even more so since the Dark Lord was not defeated by your forces, but by the Order of the Phoenix and the Muggleborn Resistance.”

“He was defeated by the Boy-Who-Lived!” Weatherby yelled.

“Yes. With the help of the Order and the Resistance,” Sirius said, sneering at the man. “I was there. I fought the Dark Lord myself. I know what happened, unlike everyone else who believes the Daily Prophet’s lies.” Bones’s face looked like it had been petrified, Sirius noted with some satisfaction. “And I think some of my esteemed colleagues are a bit too quick to consider the war over.”

“What do you mean?” Rowle asked.

“Did you forget how this war started?” Sirius grinned widely. “It started when the Muggleborn Resistance struck back after the muggleborns had suffered a year of persecution at the hands of the Ministry. Do you honestly think they will simply go back to how things were, and let you rule them again as you please?”

“Most of them died in the war!” Greengrass yelled.

“More than enough are left,” Sirius retorted. He let his gaze sweep through the chamber. “Some of my esteemed colleagues here seem to think that you can simply ignore those who have killed the Dark Lord and go on as you used to. You are wrong. No amount of lies published in the Daily Prophet will make them go away. Before you try to make any decisions about Britain’s future, you should ensure that you actually have the power to make such decisions.”

“Are you threatening the Ministry, Mister Black?” Bones was glaring at him.

Sirius snorted. “I’m pointing out that you’re trying to treat those who killed the Dark Lord as if they do not matter. That’s not just stupid, that’s dangerous as well. They might think you’re planning to follow in his footsteps. The muggleborns certainly haven’t forgotten how quickly the Ministry turned on them a year and a half ago. And they do not think that just because you’ve been born into an Old Family, you should be able to rule them.”

“What do you want, Black?”

Sirius smiled. “You should ask that question to the muggleborns. Before they show you what they want.”

*****​

Hogwarts, February 3rd, 1997

“There he is!”

“The Boy-Who-Lived!”

“Harry Potter!”

Harry Potter almost cringed when he passed the group of Hufflepuffs in the hallway. He wanted to yell at them that he hadn’t done it alone, that without his friends, he’d have been dead before he reached the Dark Lord. But that wouldn’t help - he had tried earlier today.

The latest Prophet had made things even worse, making it look as if Harry and Voldemort had duelled in the middle of the street, displaying unmatched skill at magic, houses tumbling and blowing up while they fought. Someone at the Prophet had had a really fertile imagination, and some talent with a brush, and the students - who really should have known, and known him, better - lapped it up.

If that was what the rest of his time at Hogwarts would be like he had better quit…

Harry stopped walking. Quitting Hogwarts sounded horrible, at first. The school had been his home for years. The first place he could remember where he could be happy. But he had a real home, now, at Grimmauld Place. With Sirius. And he might have to quit Hogwarts anyway. If the Ministry decided to fight the Resistance rather than change, Harry would fight as well. And he couldn’t stay at Hogwarts in that case - the Aurors would come for him.

And even without another war, Harry wasn’t quite certain how he’d handle it if McGonagall tried to make him behave like a normal student again, with a curfew, detentions, and listening to prefects…

“Harry Potter! Finally!”

He looked up and saw Luna Lovegood walk straight towards him. Or stalk towards him. “Luna?”

“Yes?” She stopped and cocked her head sideways, looking at him.

For a moment, he was tempted to use Legilimency, but he controlled himself. He would respect her privacy. He blinked. “Ah… how can I help you?”

She beamed at him. “I need your help with an interview!”

“Ah…” It wasn’t a bad idea. The Quibbler had covered the war quite decently. Harry could use this to set the record straight. “Of course, Luna. With pleasure.”

“Good! When can you take me to Hermione’s lair?” Her head bobbed up as she spoke, smiling widely.

“What?”

“Hermione’s lair. She’s become the Boggart for so many purebloods, especially in the Wizengamot, that she might have become a new magical species from sheer sympathetic magic. And I think a lair sounds better than a home. More exotic.”

“Ah.” Harry stared at her. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. On the other hand… it gave him an excuse to leave Hogwarts, and it might help counter the Ministry’s lies. “Let me check…”

He just hoped Hermione was in a good mood.

*****​

Walney Island, Cumbria, Britain, February 3rd, 1997

Augustus Rookwood looked around the old house, flicks of his wand clearing dust and dirt. It was quite small, but nothing a few Extension Charms couldn’t fix. More important was that the small cottage was unplottable, hidden in a nature reserve on the island. No one would find him here - not even the Dark Lord had known about this cottage.

He glanced at his left arm. He still had trouble accepting that the Dark Mark was gone. That the Dark Lord had actually died, despite his numerous Horcruxes. Augustus didn’t know how Dumbledore had managed to kill the Dark Lord - after dying himself, even - but he was determined to find out. He had to, to avoid the same fate. Augustus knew that there had been a special connection between the Dark Lord and the Boy-Who-Lived, and he hoped that this had been the cause of the Dark Lord’s defeat. It would make it less of a concern.

He was alone, of course. The other survivors had split up - it had been every wizard for himself. Augustus expected at least one of them to turn traitor like Karkaroff any day now. He wasn’t bothered by that thought, though - he was already known as a Death Eater, so he had no cover to lose.

He also was the last member of the Dark Lord’s Inner Circle, not counting that pathetic Pettigrew, who had disappeared even before the Dark Lord’s death, and he knew that the Ministry would hunt him. Their Aurors were not much of a threat, but his former colleagues… with the fall of the Dark Lord, he had lost his protection against them, and they had the means to find him, or any other wayward Unspeakable.

He needed some leverage to cut a deal with them before his own precautions failed. And, he added to himself, looking at the notes he had gathered, he just knew what his leverage would be.

The lives of all the victims of the Withering Curse would make for a powerful bargaining chip. Once he had discovered its secrets, which shouldn’t take that long.

*****​

 

Chapter 43: Interviews and Funerals

‘Without a doubt, Amelia Bones’s term of office occurred during the most critical and dangerous period of the 20th century for Wizarding Britain - she took the office of Minister for Magic at the height of the Second Blood War. Her predecessor, Cornelius Fudge, had been murdered, on the orders of the Dark Lord, and soon afterwards Albus Dumbledore himself fell victim to a dark curse. With the only wizard feared by both the Dark Lord and the Muggleborn Resistance dead and the Ministry’s forces depleted, Bones’s prospects were dire. And yet, Bones did not even think of surrendering Wizarding Britain to either faction - instead, she did what she felt was her duty to the Ministry and to the Wizengamot, no matter the opposition she faced.’
- Excerpt from ‘Wizarding Britain in the 20th Century’ by Albert Runcorn

*****​

London, Greenwich, February 5th, 1997

“Hello,” Hermione Granger said with a smile when Harry led Luna into the one-room flat in Greenwich the Resistance had rented as an emergency safe house months ago.

“Hi,” Harry said.

“This doesn’t look like a proper lair,” Luna said with a pout. She was looking at the muggle furniture, and not at her.

“A lair?” Hermione glanced at Harry, who looked slightly guilty.

“As the purebloods’ Boggart, you need a lair!” Before Hermione could ask what she meant, Luna went on: “Although I guess the amount of muggleness here would serve well enough to scare most purebloods.” Luna nodded at her own words, cocking her head to study the microwave in the kitchenette. “A lair, hidden in plain sight, yes.” And she started scribbling down notes on what looked like a scroll of parchment stuck to a noteboard almost as big as her torso. Then she looked up with a hopeful expression. “I don’t suppose you’ll show me the dungeons where you keep the prisoners taken during the war? No?”

Hermione blinked, then glanced at Harry again, who was very busy studying the fridge’s contents. Which consisted of food that wouldn’t perish for a few months. She cleared her throat.

“Yes?” Harry looked over his shoulder.

“If you are done inspecting our store of emergency rations…” She couldn’t tell if he was embarrassed or amused, or both. Probably both - her friend would give an interview himself, supporting the Resistance’s goals.

“Oh! Muggle food! Is it true that you eat stylised effigies of the god of war to prepare for battle?” Luna moved behind Harry and looked over his shoulder into the fridge.

“Effigies of the… do you mean Mars Bars?”

“Yes.” Luna nodded, hitting Harry’s shoulder with her chin a few times. “The Rotfang Conspiracy is fond of using them since they are so gooey that they easily adhere to teeth.” Turning around so fast that her long hair hit Harry in the face she stared at Hermione. “Are you allied with them? They, too, plan the subjugation of the Ministry! Or was it just an alliance of convenience, and now you are rivals for control of Wizarding Britain?”

“I’m not aware of this Rotfang Conspiracy,” Hermione said, with a forced smile. She wanted to mention that her parents were dentists, but then Luna might mention them in an article. And she’d prefer it if her family were forgotten by Wizarding Britain. At least until things had changed.

“Oh? I’d have expected you to be aware of such threats. Or… are you trying to fool them into thinking that you don’t know about them? That won’t work since we’ve covered them in The Quibbler extensively. Or is this a double-bluff? You know that they know that you know…” Luna’s slightly protuberant eyes seemed to lose focus.

Hermione realised that her plan to oppose the Ministry’s quasi-monopoly in the press by using The Quibbler wouldn’t be quite as easy as she had thought. Apparently, Ron had been understating things a great deal when he had described the Lovegoods as ‘eccentric’. And it seemed that the rumours that her father printed stories accusing Fudge of butchering and cooking goblins were true as well.

*****​

“What are your thoughts on the end of the war?” Luna asked, leaning forward on the couch, her notepad balanced on her knees. The scroll of parchment stuck to it seemed to never end and it could float in the air as if it was on a table. Hermione was very curious as to which spells had been used to create it, but now that Luna had finally started to act like a professional reporter and not a conspiracy nut, it was time to focus on the interview.

“I am relieved that Voldemort’s attempt to violently overthrow the Ministry and murder all muggleborns and so-called ‘blood traitors’ has been stopped,” Hermione answered. She was sitting on one of the two seats in the flat. Harry was in the other, reading through the stack of The Quibblers covering the low table between them. “But the Ministry is trying to ignore the fact that Voldemort wasn’t the only reason this war started. That is understandable, of course - the Ministry would rather not remind the people of its own guilt.”

“So, will you be continuing the war until the Ministry surrenders?” Neither Luna’s tone nor her expression changed when she asked this question.

“I do not think that the Ministry is willing to fight a war in defense of the very ideology of the Dark Lord they just fought,” Hermione said. “The Death Eaters thought that blood mattered, that purebloods were superior to half-bloods and muggleborns simply by the virtue of their birth. That sick idea has cost so many lives in the last two wars, who in their right mind would be willing to fight another war for it?”

“The Ministry hasn’t always acted in a rational manner in the past,” Luna pointed out - which meant a lot coming from a Lovegood as Hermione now knew only too well - she had tried to convince Luna that she really did not know anything about a Rotfang Conspiracy, which had resulted in a lengthy explanation that had strained Hermione’s self-control until she remembered that, not counting the insanity of the topic, this was how she had often acted in the past. Harry’s smile told her that he had made the connection as well.

“That is true.” Hermione nodded. Some of the past decisions she had read about boggled the mind, “But in this case, the decision lies not with the Ministry, but with the Wizengamot. And so many members of the Wizengamot have died in the last war, I do hope that the rest are fully aware of what would they unleash, should they attempt to keep oppressing muggleborns, half-bloods, and basically anyone who is not a member of the so-called ‘Old Families’.”

“Weren’t the muggleborn laws repealed?” Luna asked. She cocked her head sideways until her ear touched her shoulder, then straightened up. “Even though I looked at it from another angle, your statement didn’t change.”

“Those laws were just the most outrageous result of the oppressive autocratic nature of the current system,” Hermione said, then bit her lip to avoid starting a rant. “They could be passed because, except for a few families, no wizard or witch, no matter their blood status, has any say in how Wizarding Britain is governed. The Wizengamot is composed of hereditary seats with a few seats appointed by the Minister - who in turn is elected by the Wizengamot. Why should a few purebloods have the power to decide how the rest of us have to live?”

“I think they derive their power from the way the Wizengamot was set up,” Luna said.

“That was before even the Statute of Secrecy and many of the most common spells we use every day had been created,” Hermione countered. “Wizarding Britain has changed drastically in the past centuries, and it is high time to adjust its government to reflect that. The last war has clearly demonstrated that it isn’t working any more.”

“Does that mean that if the Wizengamot does not relinquish its power, the Resistance will go to war?” Luna still didn’t bat an eye. Hermione didn’t know if Luna was simply far more professional than she had acted so far, or if she didn’t quite realise what that would mean.

Nevertheless, she had to answer that. “No. We do not want the Wizengamot to relinquish its power.” Not all of it, at least. “But we want the Wizengamot to be composed of members elected for a term by the population.”

“Like the Minister?”

“In a similar way. Everyone would be able to vote for the candidates, and those with the most votes would form the Wizengamot until the next election.” Since the population of Wizarding Britain couldn’t be split into districts easily, they’d need a system of proportional representation, not the First Past the Post system used in muggle Britain.

“But the Minister is usually chosen beforehand, and the election is just a formality,” Luna pointed out.

Hermione frowned, then forced herself to smile. It wasn’t Luna’s fault, and it wasn’t as if such things didn’t happen in the United Kingdom either. “That wouldn’t happen since you’d have to convince the entirety of Wizarding Britain.”

“Oh. But wouldn’t that make any decision impossible? You can’t convince everyone all the time, unless you’re using the Imperius. You’re not, are you?”

“No, there’s no plan to use the Imperius in politics. Not on the Resistance’s side, at least. I can’t speak for the Old Families, of course - many of them have been involved in such abuse in the past.” That kind of rumour Hermione and the Resistance could do without. “And the Ministry used the Imperius Curse on muggleborns, in an attempt to force them to spy on us.”

“Oh!” Luna paused her scribbling. “How did you deal with that?”

“We were forced to kill one of them, but we saved the other, keeping her safe until we could get her to a Thief’s Downfall.” Hermione pressed her lips together before she went into another rant about the Ministry’s tactics.

“Oh. So, are you concerned about the Ministry using the Imperius to win an election?” Luna asked, leaning forward.

“They haven’t yet withdrawn the special authorisation granted to Aurors and Hit-Wizards to use the Imperius Curse and the Killing Curse,” Hermione said. “They said there were still Death Eaters unaccounted for - Rookwood and Pettigrew, to name the two most prominent - but they also claim the war is over and everyone should go back to normal.” She shrugged. “A tiny contradiction, I’d say.”

“Will you be returning to Hogwarts?”

“No.” Hermione shook her head, frowning. “It would be quite irresponsible in the current situation.”

“And after this has been resolved? And will you restart your sixth year, or enter seventh?”

“I do not know how long it’ll take to reform Wizarding Britain. I’m planning to take my N.E.W.T.s after self-study.” She also didn’t want to study with people whose family she might have killed during the war. The potential for violence was just too great, and Hermione didn’t know if she could abstain from lethal measures when defending herself against an attacker at school. Or if she wanted to, in the first place.

Harry lowered his magazine and looked at her, sighing. Hermione knew that he had to deal with this as well, though his situation was not quite as serious. Unlike Hermione and the other members of the Resistance, he hadn’t killed quite as many Death Eaters and their, misguided or not, supporters. Still, she wondered if either Harry or Ron would end up maiming some of the purebloods who had fled Hogwarts, should they return. Moody’s training certainly wouldn’t help them to avoid killing an attacker.

She had planned to organise some PTSD treatment for the Order and the Resistance for a while now, but she hadn’t yet found a psychiatrist who knew about magic. Maybe one of the parents of a muggleborn was a licensed therapist.

“How will that influence your relationship with Ron Weasley? If he’s at Hogwarts for another year and a half, and you’ll only be able to see each other during the Hogsmeade weekends, that would put a strain on it, wouldn’t it?”

Hermione blinked. That was a rather personal question. A glance told her that Harry was focusing on his magazine again. She cleared her throat. “We’ll manage.” Neither she nor Ron cared about the curfew and other rules of Hogwarts any more, and would meet whenever they pleased, but she wasn’t about to announce that. It was one thing to ignore the rules, another to flaunt that fact.

Luna nodded. Hermione expected her to pursue the topic further, but the other witch changed the topic. “Now, let’s address the most important question for our readers: How do you handle your new status as a magical creature?”

Hermione blinked.

“What?”

“You are widely known as the worst fear of Britain’s purebloods - their Boggart. Just as the Dark Lord was, before his death. It’s quite likely that you will be transforming into a magical creature as well.”

“What?”

*****​

At first, watching Luna interview Hermione had been amusing, Harry Potter thought. But towards the end… He couldn’t tell if Luna had been serious, or simply used her magical creature speculation to discreetly ask more uncomfortable questions. And neither could Hermione, or so he thought.

And now it was his turn. Fortunately, she didn’t think he was turning into a magical creature, and he’d told her in advance that he wouldn’t go into the details of his fight with Voldemort.

“You have defeated the Dark Lord in single combat, saving Wizarding Britain. But at the same time, you also killed a unique magical creature - a human-snake-hybrid. How do you feel about that?”

Harry didn’t think that ‘I don’t give a damn’ would be a polite answer. “I’m relieved that this threat to us all is finally over. Anything else is, at best, a secondary concern.” He had dealt with several magical creatures over the last few years, after all, and it was hard to feel sympathetic for anything that wanted to kill him.

Hermione nodded approvingly. Harry felt like a politician already - they had talked about his statements in advance. He had drawn the line when Hermione had talked about a magical version of a teleprompter, though - he was no mouthpiece.

Luna frowned slightly, or so he thought - her face was mostly hidden behind her pad. “You were personally trained by Dumbledore for your confrontation with the Dark Lord. Did he have an opinion on the impact of this conflict on the magical environment?”

“That wasn’t a topic during my lessons,” Harry said. “Dumbledore was far more focused on the effect the war had on the people. He was quite adamant about the need to reform Wizarding Britain, and he warned us about the dangers of taking revenge for what happened in the war.”

Luna blinked at him. “You said ‘us’, not ‘me’.”

“The Headmaster spoke to me, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger.” In a message after his death, but that wasn’t important, Harry thought. “He also talked to Sirius Black, of course. He cautioned us against making the same mistakes that were made in the past.”

“Would those have been his own mistakes?”

“Yes.” Harry nodded. “Which is why I support Hermione’s proposal for reforming the Wizengamot. Wizarding Britain is currently a country divided against itself. In order to mend the rifts the war has torn open, we need a Wizengamot and Ministry that represent all of us, not just a few of us.”

“And what will you do if the Wizengamot is infected by Wrackspurts and will not agree with this?” Luna looked straight at him with an unreadable expression.

“The Wizengamot members claim that they have the right to rule us because they were born to the right families. The Dark Lord thought the same - he just thought that his own family was the only ‘right family’. That idea should have died with him.”

“Would you go to war over this?” Luna asked.

“We don’t want a war. But if we have the choice between a war and being oppressed… We fought the Dark Lord and his followers already, and we’ll fight against anyone else trying to oppress us.”

“Have you considered a remedy against Wrackspurts first? Teaching the infected to think positive thoughts would certainly avoid such a war.”

“I’m not certain that all of the Wizengamot members are in the habit of thinking at all.”

Judging by Hermione’s expression, she didn’t think that was as funny as Harry thought.

*****​

Outside Hogsmeade, February 5th, 1997

“So, what’s your impression of Hermione’s lair?” Harry Potter asked Luna while they were walking back to Hogwarts from Hogsmeade. He wasn’t looking at her, but at their surroundings, wand in hand, and had cast a Human-presence-revealing Charm, just in case there was an ambush ahead of them. There were still a few Death Eaters left unaccounted for, after all, and once his interview was published, some of the Wizengamot members might be stooping to such measures as well. If they weren’t already.

“I hoped for something more fitting. Looming shadows, dark creatures moving beneath the floorboards, ready to jump up and devour unsuspecting visitors, swarms of Heliopaths looted from the Minister’s secret office during the war. There wasn’t even a trapdoor to drop people into a dark pit or reach an escape tunnel. Or was there?”

He glanced at her. She was looking at him with wide, hopeful eyes. Harry hated to disappoint her, but lying to her would be even worse. “I don’t think so. You don’t usually find such things in a muggle flat.” Hermione might have a secret way out of the flat, for emergencies, but that wasn’t something to spread around. “Are you satisfied with how the interviews turned out?”

“They were a bit light on the information about magical creatures. Politics is not usually a topic that interests the majority of our readers,” Luna said. The witch didn’t seem to pay any attention to the patch of forest they were walking through, but it was hard to tell.

“Maybe not usually - but I think there’s a lot of interest in politics right now,” Harry said.

Luna sighed. “I guess so.”

Harry glanced at her. She looked concerned, even sad. A stark contrast to her attitude during the interviews. Or to her attitude at school, where nothing seemed to faze her. “You were quite calm and collected during the interview.” It wasn’t quite a question. More of an opening.

Luna nodded. “Daddy taught me that a good journalist will not influence the interviewee. We’re reporting the news, we don’t make it. So I did my best not to react.”

“Ah.” That was a far more professional attitude than Harry had expected from the Lovegoods, he thought with no small amount of shame.

“But I am afraid of another war. So many have died already, and so many friendships have been torn up by the war. Or prevented.” Luna took a deep breath.

Harry was glancing back at her, but then focused on a particularly dense patch of underwood on their right side before he could tell if there were tears in her eyes, or just a trick of the light. He should have waited to ask her until they were safely back at Hogwarts, he thought. “But if we simply go back to how things were before, then they will have died for nothing. We did that once already, fifteen years ago.”

“You were a toddler back then,” Luna said. “And not active in politics.”

“Yes. I meant Britain, as a whole,” Harry explained.

“Isn’t trying to justify more deaths with previous deaths what revenge is about?”

They were leaving the forest, and Harry kept looking at the sky now - a disillusioned attacker on a fast broom could surprise him despite his spell, if he was caught unawares. “It’s not exactly the same. It’s…” He sighed. “It’s about preventing more deaths in the future. If we don’t change Britain, then we’ll have a Third Blood War in ten or twenty years. The Dark Lord is dead, but he was just part of the problem. The real problem is the belief in blood purity. As long as the government sees muggleborns and half-bloods as being worth less than purebloods we’ll always be just a step away from another war. The muggleborns will not accept that. Not any more.”

“But are equal rights worth another war? Worth more deaths?”

Harry didn’t look at her when he answered. He didn’t want to see her reaction.

“Yes.”

They walked the rest of the way in silence.

*****​

Hogwarts, February 5th, 1997

Someone was waiting for them. Harry Potter could see a marker floating there as Luna and he approached the side entrance to Hogwarts near the greenhouses. They were inside Hogwarts’ wards, but even after the flight of the Slytherins and the other blood purists, you couldn’t be certain that there were no enemies left at school. And with Voldemort dead, some former allies might be reconsidering their views of him.

Luna was about to go on, but he held her back with a raised hand. “Maybe we should take the main entrance.”

“What’s wrong?” Luna asked.

“Someone’s waiting for us.” Harry motioned with his head towards the door.

“Oh? Who is it?”

“I can’t tell from here.” He wasn’t pointing his wand at the door. Not yet.

“Maybe it’s a prefect. Or a teacher - we left Hogwarts without permission, didn’t we?”

“That would be nice.” Though Harry was mentally going through the prefects he knew. Could there be an enemy among them? The teachers should be safe, but then again… he didn’t know all of them well, and who could tell which side they’d pick, with both Dumbledore and Voldemort dead?

“Why would it be nice? We’d get detention. And our houses would lose points.” Luna made a humming noise. “Although we’re on school grounds now, so how would they know that we were away? They might have searched the school, but we could have been in the forest… no, that’d break a rule as well.”

Harry didn’t give a damn about that. Reforming Wizarding Britain, preferably without another war, was far more important than school rules. If the teachers wanted to make a fuss he could always leave Hogwarts. But he didn’t want to enter a fight and endanger Luna.

Before they could leave, though, the door was opened from the inside, and a figure peered out. Harry recognised her just before his wand was pointing at her. Ginny. She must have used the map, he realised, to find them.

“What are you waiting for? Get inside before a teacher spots you!” She waved at them.

Harry hesitated another second - she could be an impostor, or under a spell, Moody would say - but Luna was already moving, so he followed her.

“How did it go?” Ginny asked as soon as they were inside.

Harry recalled that she had been very interested in the interviews as soon as she had heard of them. He cast a privacy spell just in time - Luna was already talking.

“Hermione’s lair was not very impressive, visually at least. Although the high muggle content might be scary for some purebloods. I didn’t get to see the dungeons, for security reasons, I suppose. She also faked ignorance about the Rotfang Conspiracy. I think she didn’t trust me with her knowledge.” Luna shook her head with a sad expression. “I was disappointed, though, that she didn’t reveal much about the changes she is going through as she transforms into a new magical creature. In fact, she said I’m not to print anything about that until the changes were complete.”

Ginny raised both eyebrows at Harry, who shrugged. Hermione hadn’t exactly said that, but as long as there was no article describing her as a creature, dark or otherwise...

“It was mostly about politics,” Luna finished, pouting. “And most of it is already known from the wireless broadcasts.”

“I haven’t been on the wireless,” Harry pointed out.

Luna nodded. “I suppose that’s true. And while people wrote and talked a lot about you, you haven’t been interviewed yet. Not by a competent and honest journalist, at least. And neither has Hermione.” She perked up. “That’s two scoops for The Quibbler!” Wrinkling her nose, she added: “It might be three, if I could interview Ron.”

“Ron?” Ginny looked surprised.

“Yes. He’s Hermione’s boyfriend - or would that be mate?” Luna cocked her head sideways, nibbling on her lip while she seemed to consider that.

“He always says that he is Harry’s best mate,” Ginny said.

She sounded earnest, but when Harry shot her a glare, she giggled.

Luna’s head whipped around, staring at him. “Really?”

“He means ‘best friend’,” Harry clarified.

“Oh.” Luna pouted. “That makes more sense.”

Harry wasn’t quite certain if he liked hearing Luna say that.

*****​

London, Ministry of Magic, February 7th, 1997

“Mister Thicknesse to see you, Ma’am.”

“Thank you.”

Pius looked concerned, Amelia Bones thought when she saw him enter her office. At least he looked more tense than usual - the man was good, maybe too good, at hiding his emotions.

“Granger’s making her move,” he said, putting down a magazine on her desk.

“The Quibbler?” Amelia raised an eyebrow.

“Granger and Potter gave interviews to Lovegood’s daughter.”

Amelia frowned. That wasn’t a periodical so much as a collection of delusions. Most who had a subscription probably read it for laughs. The muggleborns had to be desperate if they were stooping that low. But then again, it would let them reach more people than with their leaflets, or their wireless broadcasts - which, she reminded herself, were illegal. And far too many would buy this issue just to read what the Boy-Who-Lived had to say.

She skimmed over an article on imaginary animals - including an Australian chimera made up of a beaver, a duck, and a venomous snake which Lovegood claimed was breeding true by laying eggs - and several outrageous rumours until she reached the interviews.

They weren’t overly long, but their contents… She was livid when she put down the magazine, but she tried not to show it when she looked at Pius. That cursed muggleborn was all but calling for a revolution, and Potter was threatening war should the Wizengamot and the Ministry not cave in and surrender. They wanted to rule Britain, just like the Dark Lord had wanted to! At least Dumbledore, for all his radical notions, had not tried to raze Wizarding Britain’s institutions and traditions.

“It seems our strategy to credit Potter with the lion’s share of Voldemort’s defeat has backfired,” he said. “We counted on the fact that the Daily Prophet wouldn’t print anything seditious, and that most people wouldn’t listen to the Resistance broadcasts.” He was talking as if it was their fault, but Amelia knew that she’d be the one blamed. And so did he. He wasn’t wrong, though - they were facing a serious threat.

She nodded. “With Potter’s support, Granger’s proposal will garner a much better reception than anticipated among the half-bloods and the purebloods.” Amelia didn’t think that the economic clout of the Old Families would be enough to counter that. Not after a bloody war. Too many of the ambitious purebloods who were too distantly related to the Old Families to be counted among them would see an opportunity to raise their status. And the half-bloods were always a potential source of unrest - many of them were too close to their muggleborn or muggle relatives, and their muggle ideas.

“It’s a problem, but not an insurmountable one. We’ve already emphasised just how young Potter is,” Pius said, smiling thinly. “And everyone knows that young wizards lose all sense when they are in love.”

“Granger’s with one of Arthur’s kids, not Potter,” Amelia retorted. Susan had been quite clear about that.

But Pius knew how to play politics. “It’s also known that muggleborn witches are very free with their affections. Granger is notorious for seducing important wizards, isn’t she?” His smile widened a tiny bit.

Amelia knew that he was referring to that article by Rita Skeeter during the Triwizard Tournament. There had been rumours about love potions being used as well. It wouldn’t do that much to damage Granger’s reputation - anyone who didn’t loathe her for her murders would not care about other moral failures - but Potter’s credibility would suffer. She nodded. “Talk to the Prophet. See if Skeeter might reconsider her refusal to write about Granger.” That witch was odious, but she was the best the Prophet had when it came to tearing down famous people.

“We’ll need to focus on Granger, and make Potter out to be the victim manipulated by her. If we attack Potter some will want to defend him, but if we act as if we want to save him from Granger’s influence…” Pius’s smile was showing his teeth now.

“We’ll need to shut down those broadcasts too.” Amelia might not be the politician Pius was, but she knew that they needed to keep the muggleborns and their misguided allies from poisoning the minds of the population.

“That might be difficult. We weren’t able to stop them during the war, after all. I contacted the Obliviators, but they said that since Granger’s using the same channels the Wizarding Wireless Network is using, the Statute of Secrecy is not endangered.” Pius sighed.

Amelia stared at him. “Be glad about that. The ICW is already pressuring us. If they had the slightest notion that we were facing a threat to the Statute…” She shook her head. So far, the ICW’s attempts to meddle in Britain had been limited - they had no mandate to intervene in the internal affairs of a Magical Country. Threats to the International Statute of Secrecy, on the other hand, fell within the ICW’s purview. And Amelia really didn’t want any foreigners ‘helping to rebuild’ Britain. Too many countries had been bullied by Dumbledore and were looking to pay Britain back.

Pius nodded. He looked chastised, but Amelia couldn’t help wondering if he had counted on the ICW increasing its pressure - and her getting blamed for it. “We’ll call on the Resistance to stop their illegal broadcasting, and to apply for a license.” If they sent in an application, it would take a long time to be processed, given the current state of the Ministry. And if they didn’t, the muggleborns would reveal their contempt for the law.

Not that they hadn’t done so already in those interviews, of course. “We’ll also push them to release the prisoners they have taken during the war into our custody so they can be tried.” Nott, Davis and Greengrass were still alive, according to their families.

“That might cause the muggleborns to kill them, and claim they tried to escape,” Pius said.

“Either way, the Resistance will lose its leverage over those families,” Amelia said. She didn’t care much about them - they had been fighting for the Dark Lord, after all.

Pius nodded. “They will be publicly associated with Death Eaters, though, which will weaken their influence.”

That wasn’t a bad thing, as far as Amelia was concerned.

Once Pius had left, she leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes. She had sworn to defend Britain against all threats, and to uphold the law. It seemed that those two goals had come into conflict with each other.

*****​

Hogsmeade, February 8th, 1997

Hogsmeade’s cemetery was bigger than the spot of land it occupied, Harry Potter noticed when he entered through the wrought-iron gate. The small lot between the old church and the temple expanded into a wide field covered with various tombstones and statuary, and several crypts. Even after almost six years spent at Hogwarts, seeing such magic still surprised him.

Passing so many fresh graves on the way to the open grave at the back was a sobering sight. Even counting the fact that many wizards and witches who didn’t live in Hogsmeade chose to be interred here instead of in muggle cemeteries, it showed just how devastating the war had been, for all that it hadn’t been waged for even a year.

For a moment, Harry doubted himself. Could he really risk another war, knowing its cost? Could he cause more death and destruction, even if it was for a good cause? While the houses destroyed in the attacks on Hogsmeade and Diagon Alley had yet to be rebuilt?

He shook his head. Hermione was correct - they had to push on, to turn this into 1945, instead of 1918. If the Ministry and Wizengamot were left in power, then it would just be a question of time until the next war started. Too much had happened, and yet too little - neither side could tolerate the current situation.

“There aren’t many mourners,” Harry commented, mostly to say something.

“Yes.” Neville, who had insisted on coming as well, even though he hadn’t known the real Moody for longer than a few lessons, shrugged. “But any funeral needs to have at least seven people in attendance, or it’s not decent. One to give the eulogy, six to levitate the casket.”

“Moody hadn’t many friends left,” Sirius, walking behind them, Vivienne at his side, said. “He lost most of them in the first war, and after the war he didn’t make many new ones.”

His godfather didn’t have to tell him why - Harry had been trained by the old Auror, after all. “And most of those he had trained were killed in this war,” Harry added. It felt weird to talk about the war as if it was over, knowing that it could restart any day, should the Wizengamot or the Ministry do something foolish.

Such as attacking a funeral, he thought. He wished that Hermione were there as well, but she hadn’t really known Moody and was with Ron, who was still stuck in the hospital. He spotted a red robe - an Auror - in the small gathering around the casket - closed, of course - as they stepped closer. Tonks.

The metamorphmagus was talking to a middle-aged wizard, who Harry didn’t recognise, next to a familiar-looking older wizard. He also noticed Aberforth, standing apart from the others, and a shady looking wizard on the other side.

“Elphias. Nymphadora.” Sirius nodded at the two, then looked at the wizard.

Tonks had narrowed her eyes, probably at hearing her given name, but then flushed. “This is Auror Cyril Selwyn. Cyril, this is Sirius Black. You know Harry Potter. Neville Longbottom. And this is Vivienne d’Aigle.” They shook hands. “He’s the only other trainee of Moody’s who made it through the war,” Tonks explained.

“And only because I was cursed early on, and missed most of the fighting,” Selwyn said, chuckling briefly.

Sirius nodded in a polite, but distant manner. Selwyn wasn’t an Order member, then. Harry excused himself and went over to Aberforth.

“Potter,” the old wizard grumbled before Harry could greet him.

“Mister Dumbledore.”

“Call me Abe. Albus was Mister Dumbledore. Until he was the Headmaster.”

Harry nodded. “Not many mourners,” he said.

“Even fewer than you think,” Aberforth said, snorting. “I’m just here to pay my respects since he was killed fighting at my side, but I certainly don’t mourn the bastard. And Fletcher over there is probably just here to be certain that Moody’s truly dead. He’s been arrested a few times by him, and never too gently.”

“Ah.” Harry didn’t know how to comment on that. He was not privy to the reasons for the hatred between Moody and Aberforth, and he didn’t want to start a row or rant by saying the wrong thing. So he nodded and returned to Sirius’s side.

Tonks was reading a scroll of parchment, mumbling under her breath. Harry looked at his godfather and raised an eyebrow.

Sirius shrugged. “She’s been picked to say a few words since Moody didn’t want a priest at his funeral.”

“It’s a tradition in the Corps that the duties no one wants go to the youngest Aurors,” Selwyn added. “And since I have seniority on her…” He chuckled again. Harry was starting dislike the man.

Fortunately, it was time to start the ceremony, so Harry didn’t have to make polite conversation with the man.

“We have gathered here to pay our respects to Alastor Moody, known among his friends and acquaintances as ‘Mad-Eye’,” Tonks started her eulogy. She briefly covered his career, and his exploits in the last war, then finished with: “He gave his life fighting the Dark Lord, undoubtedly saving others. May he finally be able to rest in peace.”

Harry had expected a better speech, something more personal - but then, this was Moody. The Headmaster had probably been the last person who had really known him.

He drew his wand together with the others - not counting Aberforth and Fletcher, they had just the right number for the ceremony - and pointed it at the casket.

“Wingardium Leviosa.”

The casket floated up, trembling slightly due to the six different spells affecting it, and then was lowered into the ground. Tonks mumbled something, then used her wand to fill the grave with earth.

As funerals went, this was one of the saddest Harry had attended. As morbid as the thought was, he really hoped that when he died, he’d not be as lonely and isolated as Moody had been.

Tonks walked with them on the way out of the cemetery. “Merlin’s balls! That was horrible!” she complained.

“You were the one in charge,” Sirius said.

Tonks glared at him, but didn’t retort. She sighed instead, then looked at Harry. “I’ve read The Quibbler.”

Harry tensed slightly. “Yes?”

“Are you really willing to go to war?”

Harry rolled his eyes. He had said so in the interview; why was everyone asking the same question? It had been bad enough at Hogwarts. At least Neville hadn’t mentioned it - though that might not be a good sign, now that he thought about it. “I wouldn’t have said it if it wasn’t true.”

“But…” Tonks hesitated.

Harry sighed. “It’s quite simple: We won’t accept any rule based on blood status. All wizards and witches are equal, and should have an equal vote in how our country is run.”

“But the Dark Lord is dead, his followers fled, and the Muggleborn Laws were repealed,” Tonks said. Her lips were trembling, Harry noted.

“And yet the same people who passed those laws are still in power,” he said.

“Well, not the exact same people - Hermione blew up a lot of them, and we killed a few more during the war,” Sirius cut in, grinning coldly. Then he glanced at Neville, and flinched.

Neville seemed to ignore Sirius’s comment, though he wasn’t looking at any of them. “I wouldn’t mind losing my seat on the Wizengamot. It hasn’t done me or my family any good.”

Tonks didn’t give up. “And how democratic is it to fight a war to change the system?”

“A war is the last resort. We hope that the Wizengamot will see reason.” At least Harry did - he wasn’t quite certain if Sirius shared his views.

“Fat chance of that,” Tonks mumbled. “Hasn’t there been enough death?”

“That’s a question you have to ask the Minister, and the Wizengamot,” Sirius said. “Though I think it’s telling that neither Bones nor anyone from the Wizengamot showed up today.”

Tonks flinched, but then schooled her features. “They’ll say that it’s you who need to see reason to avoid a war.”

Sirius scoffed. “They’re fools. Even if Hermione gave in, and accepted pureblood rule, do you think the rest of the muggleborns would follow her lead? I doubt that even the rest of the Resistance would follow her lead, if she did that.” He shook his head. “No, the Ministry and the Wizengamot are the only ones who can avoid a war now.”

He didn’t have to say that they could only do so by giving in to the demands of the muggleborns.

Tonks muttered a curse under her breath. “We’re doomed then.”

Harry hoped that she was wrong.

*****​

London, Greenwich, February 8th, 1997

“Merlin! Those muggle doctors were worse than Pomfrey! I thought they wanted to keep me there for a month!”

Hermione Granger chuckled at Ron’s exclamation. “The longer you stay, the more the hospital gets paid,” she said, flagging down a cab.

“What?” He turned to stare at her with his mouth open. “Don’t they get a fixed salary like in St Mungo’s?”

“The staff probably does, but the hospital gets paid by the patients.” She didn’t want to delve into the details of private health insurance and the NHS.

“But…” He blinked. “Sirius paid for it, didn’t he?”

“Yes.”

“First the broom, now this…” Ron sighed, then held his side, wincing.

Hermione gasped. “Are you alright?” It was a silly question - he was obviously in pain. She pressed her lips together. She shouldn’t have helped him get released, no matter how much he, and she, wanted it.

“I’m fi… I’m alright. Just a bit of pain. I’ve had worse.”

She glared at him, but he kept smiling at her, and then a cab stopped, and she couldn’t argue further. Hermione noticed that he did wince again, though, as he was getting into the car. “I should tell the driver to turn around and take you back to the hospital.”

“I’ll manage. I’m not going back to Hogwarts yet, so I’ll be able to recover at Grimmauld Place for another week or two.” He slowly wrapped an arm around her - she was sitting on his good side. “I don’t know m… this part of London very well, but we’re not going to Grimmauld Place, are we?”

“No. I’ve made reservations at a restaurant for dinner.” She sighed. “But I should cancel. You need more rest than you said.”

He shook his head wildly. “Certainly not! The doctors might have been competent, but the food…”

“Alright.” Hermione sighed, then laid her head on his shoulder, taking a deep breath, smelling him, feeling his warmth.

As selfish and stupid as it was, given his wound, she really wanted to have dinner with him. Just the two of them. With no talk of war.

*****​

London, East End, February 8th, 1997

It was almost midnight when Hermione Granger reached the Resistance’s home, but judging by the lights and what she could hear, most of her friends were still up.

“There you are!” to her surprise, Seamus greeted her in the hallway with a wide smile. He was carrying a pack of beers, so he had probably just come from the kitchen. “We’ve been waiting for you!” He grinned at her. “You didn’t do anything with Ron that made his wound worse?”

She knew what he meant, even though he was technically correct - Ron had been in more pain after the dinner, although he had tried to hide it. So she shook her head. “No.” She almost added something about not wanting to see Ron bleed, but Seamus would make horrible and tasteless jokes about such a slip. “We just had dinner.”

“Ah!” He sighed in an exaggerated manner. “Come to the living room! We’ve got good news!”

“Oh?” What had she missed?

“Tania and I were in Diagon Alley this afternoon, distributing more leaflets, when we noticed a dispute. Witch in normal clothes was having a screaming row with a man in robes, so we took a closer look. Turns out the witch was Camille Linnecker, a muggleborn who wanted her shop back from the pureblood who had bought it for a pittance when she had been forced to hide. The idiot fled quickly when we showed up, though!”

Hermione clenched her teeth to avoid an outburst.

Seamus didn’t seem to notice as we went on: “She won’t be the only one to return, either - after the interviews and the broadcast, and the e-mails, most should now know that the war’s over and we’ve won! The Ministry’ll cave as well!”

“Let’s hope so,” Hermione said. She smiled when she greeted the rest of the Resistance, even though she felt like cursing. That kind of scene could cause a lot of trouble in the current climate. But she wasn’t about to ruin her friends’ mood.

*****​

Hogwarts, February 9th, 1997

Ron Weasley was walking slowly through the gates of Hogwarts - his wound hadn’t fully healed yet. The stitches were still in, even - he could feel them when he moved, he was certain, even though the muggle doctors had told him that it was just his imagination. But he couldn’t have stayed a day longer in the hospital. He couldn’t miss this. Dumbledore’s funeral.

“Tell me at once if you can’t handle it any more,” Hermione whispered next to him. She had her arm hooked into his, allowing him to lean on her.

Ron nodded, though he was determined to tough it out. He owed it to the Headmaster. They all did.

“I mean it. Your health is more important!” she hissed. In a softer voice, she added: “Please.”

“I promise,” he said, feeling guilty. But he had missed Moody’s funeral already. And he didn’t want to know what rumours would start if he left in the middle of this one. He heard Harry snort, and glanced at his friend walking on his other side.

“Better you than me,” Harry whispered, with a grin.

They slowly walked over to the fields overlooking the Black Lake. Ron had heard that the Ministry had wanted to erect a statue, maybe even a mausoleum, but Dumbledore had been quite clear in the instructions he had left. A modest tombstone, a plain grave. Ron also knew about the secret instructions - Dumbledore had wanted his body cremated and the ashes vanished, so there wouldn’t be any remains left that could be used for dark rituals. The ashes in the urn were actually from Fawkes’ last burning day.

The area was packed, all of the students and what looked like most of Wizarding Britain had gathered to pay their respect to the great Dumbledore. If not for the wards of Hogwarts, security would be impossible. And even so, they had delayed the funeral until the war had been over, and just about every Auror and Hit-Wizard the Ministry had left was here. A fact that didn’t make Ron feel as safe as others would expect. Part of the reason all of them had cast Shield Charms.

“Where’s Hagrid?” he asked in a low voice. The half-giant should have been easily visible in the crowd.

“He’s in the forest with the centaurs,” Hermione answered in an equally low voice. “They and the merpeople wanted to pay their respects as well.”

“Ah.” Ron nodded. That made sense - Dumbledore had done a lot for the magical beings as well.

They had seats in the first row assigned to them, once again on Dumbledore’s instructions, and people parted to let them pass. They also whispered a lot. About Harry, about Hermione, and about himself. And probably their relationship. By the time they reached their seats, Ron was not just tired, but annoyed as well.

“Welcome to fame,” Harry said, taking his own seat. Both of them were subtly casting a few spells to check for traps and curses while Hermione put down a few transparent walls around them - they wouldn’t last long, but they’d stop curses long enough for them to react.

“It’s like sitting in a glasshouse,” Harry whispered, “even literally.”

Hermione huffed, but she didn’t seem to be angry. At least not at Harry or Ron.

He sighed and turned to Harry. “Mate, remember how I was jealous of your fame?”

“Yes?”
“I should have known better,” Ron said, “and appreciated what I had.”

“The fame we have also allows us to influence Britain. A bit of unwelcome attention is a small price to pay for that,” Hermione said. “It’s better to be stared at and gossiped about than to be cursed.”

She wasn’t wrong. Ron chuckled, then fought not to wince when he felt his side hurt.

“Ron? Are you alright?”

Of course, Hermione hadn’t missed that. He shook his head when she leaned over in an attempt to check up on him. “It’s OK. I’m not bleeding.”

She huffed, but relented. He distracted himself by studying the other guests of honour. There was his own family and the other surviving Order members, at least those he knew, which were not too many. The entire staff of Hogwarts. And the delegation from the Ministry and the Wizengamot. Who didn’t look happy to be here. Not that people should look happy at a funeral, of course. But Bones looked like she wanted to curse the tombstone. And the glare she leveled at Ron and his friends…

“We might keep an eye on Luna and her father,” Ron said. “In case the Ministry wants to punish them for helping us.”

“We’re on it,” Harry said. “Luna’s usually with Ginny or me at Hogwarts.”

“And we’re in contact with her father,” Hermione added, “If anyone attacks him, we can move very quickly. Although,” she went on, “I think the Ministry will try to hassle them rather than directly hurt them.”

Ron nodded, then realised that he was already thinking the worst of the Ministry. That wasn’t a good sign for the future.

*****​

An hour into the funeral ceremony, Harry Potter had found a new appreciation for short, impersonal speeches like Tonks’s at Moody’s funeral. McGonagall’s speech had been good - touching, honest, and not overly long. But Philius Runcorn, the acting Chief Warlock… Harry didn’t think even a single word of the praise the man had heaped on Dumbledore had been honest. And the man had gone on and on and on, in a manner that made Binns’s lessons about Goblin Rebellions sound exciting. Bones’s speech hadn’t been much better, but had at least been shorter.

The only good thing about this ordeal was that Harry was too bored to be nervous about his own upcoming speech - he would be speaking after the Supreme Mugwump, a wizard from one of the Princely States of India whose name Harry had already forgotten again, together with most of his speech about Dumbledore’s international career.

Then, finally, it was his turn. He stood up and walked to small pedestal behind the urn.

When he saw the sea of people watching him, he felt nervous again. But he couldn’t show such weakness, or people would be more likely to dismiss his words about Wizarding Britain’s need for reform. “Albus Dumbledore was a great Wizard,” he began. “Like many of us, I knew him as the Headmaster of Hogwarts. I think I am not wrong when I say that for many of us, he was a part of Hogwarts, like the Great Hall. Maybe he even was Hogwarts - old, friendly, full of knowledge and lessons, and more than a bit quirky.

“But he was more than just the Headmaster. More than the Chief Warlock, or the Supreme Mugwump. He was, first and foremost, the greatest wizard of his time. Not just because of his vast knowledge of magic, including Alchemy, or because of his famous duel with Grindelwald. No, what made him the greatest wizard was his compassion. He cared about all his students, all his teachers, about all of us.

“And he cared about Britain. He fought, he struggled, and he died for this, our country. For us all. But while he has finally gone to his next adventure, as he called death, his ideals live on. His legacy will not be forgotten.”

He was about to step down from the pedestal when he suddenly heard a familiar trill. Looking up, he saw Fawkes hover over him, wings flapping slowly, as the phoenix broke into song.

No one seemed to move while Fawkes sang, circling above the tombstone. Harry couldn’t have described the song afterwards, but it conveyed the phoenix’s feelings of love and loss. Then, the song fading, Fawkes rose in the sky, trailing motes of fire, until he disappeared in the sun.

Harry took a deep breath and resumed making his way back to his seat. Bones’s face seemed frozen, Harry noticed, while he returned to his seat. He hadn’t been too blatant, he thought - but she’d know what he had meant.

And, he added mentally while Madam Maxime, the first of the representatives of the other Magical Schools, walked up to the pedestal, so would others.

Just as, he was certain, Dumbledore would have wanted.

*****​