Chapter 56: Undercover Operations
'The death of Theodore Nott was a greater shock to Wizarding Britain than one would have expected given his role in the recently concluded hostilities. For while he had been acquitted by the Wizengamot, it had also been proven that he had fought for the Dark Lord - something for which many, especially muggleborns, felt he deserved the death sentence. Violent acts of revenge - or vigilante justice - were all too common in the period following the Battle of Diagon Alley, although usually limited to returning muggleborns forcing out the purebloods who had taken over their homes and business.
But there were several reasons that Nott's death had such an effect. He was killed by the Order of the Phoenix and the Muggleborn Resistance, with the Ministry only being informed after the fact - a clear demonstration of who had the real power in Britain at the time. Since he had been killed following an attack on Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes in Diagon Alley, his death also served to further erode the reputation of the Wizengamot. But almost more than anything else, his death served to send a message to the Old Families still clinging to their inherited power: The tide has turned.'
- Excerpt from 'The Second Blood War' by Hyacinth Selwyn
*****
London, No. 12 Grimmauld Place, March 24th, 1997
For a moment, he was back in Azkaban. For a moment, he felt the cold, the pain, the desperation. For a moment, his escape, his exoneration, his new life with Harry, his friends and his new lover, was but a dream, a mirage.
Sirius Black shuddered. He wasn't in Azkaban. He was in his home, in his bed. Warm. Safe. He had been out of Azkaban for almost four years now, and yet he still had nightmares and woke up afraid that he had gone mad and was still in his cell.
Although the nightmares occurred less frequently these days. He hadn't felt the need to sleep as Padfoot for a long time now. Turning his head, he looked at one of the reasons for his progress. Vivienne.
His lover was still asleep, curled up next to him, one arm slung over his chest, one leg crossing his under the sheet, her long hair splayed out behind her on the pillow. He reached over to brush a strand that had fallen in her face back behind her ear, and she started to mumble in her sleep in reaction to his touch. A few seconds later, just enough time to for a quick Breath-Refreshing Charm, she opened her eyes. "Cherie?"
"Good morning," he said, smiling at her, before leaning over to press a kiss on her brow.
"Bonjour," she whispered, pulling herself closer to him with her arm and sighing contentedly when she rested her head on his chest.
He wished he could stay like this forever. He couldn't - he had too many important tasks to accomplish - but he could stay in bed a little while longer.
*****
"The location of Isabelle Dubois's 'ome is a matter of record, so she is easy to find," Vivienne said an hour later, in the living room. "But it is protected by old wards." Sirius knew what that euphemism stood for: Wards erected by blood sacrifices centuries ago, when such atrocities were legal, or at least overlooked. Like the wards protecting his own home.
"Anything special about them?" Bill asked.
Vivienne shook her head. "I do not know. I'm not a Curse-Breaker."
"We can go through any wards, however old," Hermione cut in, "but everyone will know that it was us."
"That cannot be allowed!" Fleur said quickly. "The Duc will be forced to declare war in response to such an open attack on one of 'is courtiers."
Vivienne nodded in agreement.
Harry snorted. "He tolerates his courtiers supporting attacks in Britain."
"Those are deniable actions," Fleur said. "Done without 'is official knowledge."
"He knew about your family's intervention in the war, though." Harry didn't seem willing to let this go too quickly. "It was even in the newspapers."
"That was an act of retaliation against a criminal, not an attack on a member of the government or the population of a foreign country." Hermione earned herself a glance from Harry, Sirius noted.
He decided to intervene before they went off on that particular tangent. "The morality of such a stance aside, we cannot risk war with France." The French were very prickly where their honour was concerned. "Which means that we need to grab our little agent covertly. And given the politics of the Court, we can't have the Delacours or d'Aigles implicated either." They were too close to Britain, with Fleur and Vivienne. "Any ideas?"
"If her home was deserted for a few hours, I could take down the wards and we could ambush her inside," Bill said. "I would need some help for that, though." Fleur glared at him; the Veela would know the risks incurred by such an action.
"She won't be living alone, no matter her affairs," Vivienne said - a bit cattily, Sirius thought.
"If we knew what explosives had been used in Jamaica, we could use the same and frame whoever was behind that attack," Ron said.
"Most think we're responsible for the attack on Jamaica, so that would point at us anyway." Sirius shook his head. "Muggle means are out."
"Let's just hope no one at the French Court thinks of getting rid of a rival and framing us that way," Harry muttered.
Sirius wasn't the only one who glared at him.
"We'll need to ambush her when she's away from her home, then," Hermione said after a moment. "If she's, ah, having as many affairs as you indicate, maybe we could use one of her lovers' homes for that? Or prepare a honey trap?"
"A what?" Vivienne asked.
After Hermione and Sirius had explained the term, the Veela nodded. "That could work. But we would need an attractive and 'armless looking bait."
Which excludes myself, Sirius thought. His roguish charm meant he was anything but harmless-looking. Then he noticed that everyone was looking at him.
*****
Cumbria, Britain, March 24th, 1997
"An 'exercise' in the middle of London involving half-trained Resistance recruits hunting purebloods in hiding. Right when the police are searching for supposed bombers. That's a recipe for disaster."
Hermione's tone made her feelings on the matter clear. She wasn't wrong, Ron Weasley knew. But he didn't think his idea was bad either. "Neville going off on his own isn't a good thing either. And unlike him, the recruits can blend in. Since we now have pictures of the attackers thanks to Neville's memories, they won't be caught by surprise either."
"Unless they disguise themselves." Hermione, sitting at the desk inside her tent, pressed her lips together. "I know I've seen them before, but I can't recall where."
"It was probably at the rally," he said. "Most muggleborns were there, at least most of those who'd want to hunt Death Eaters in hiding." He rubbed his shoulder and winced at the twinge of pain that caused - today's training had been rough again. Harry suspected that the other recruits were a little resentful of the numerous absences of the two 'auxiliaries', and took it out in training. Ron thought that the Resistance simply overestimated them.
"If they were at the rally, then they went through security, which would mean that they were not disguised, nor under the Imperius, and we would be certain that they were actually muggleborns hunting supposed Death Eaters, and not purebloods in hiding," she pointed out. "Even Neville didn't stick out that much, and he has no experience with muggles." She stood up and started to pace. "The last thing we need is another fight in a muggle area involving muggleborns. Those bigots in the ICW are just waiting for that so they can claim that we are a threat to the Statute of Secrecy."
"We could use firearms, though."
"That would cause a lot of trouble with the muggle police. We have to hope that they don't make the connection to the warded flats interfering with television reception, or they'll start searching, and once they start encountering the Muggle-Repelling Charms, someone's bound to start noticing that something's wrong." Hermione sighed. She sat down on the bed next to him. "But we might have to take that risk anyway - if the ICW gets an excuse to intervene…"
Ron shuddered. He had heard tales about the African intervention. "So…?"
She nodded. "We have to be very careful, though."
"We're always careful," he said. "Unless we're being Gryffindors."
That got a chuckle out of her, and she leaned into his side, her head resting on his shoulder. Then she sighed again. "It seems to never end. As soon as we have one problem solved, or at least a plan to deal with it, another appears. Not even killing Voldemort stopped it."
"Killing him ended the war in Britain, though," Ron said without hesitating. "We might not be doing as well as we could, but things could be a lot worse. We just have to keep going until there are no more problems. No more serious problems, I mean."
She pulled back a bit to look at him, and he smiled. "We won't lose."
Hermione slowly nodded and hugged him. He wrapped his arms around her and took a deep breath.
They would get through this.
*****
London, No. 12 Grimmauld Place, March 25th, 1997
Sirius Black frowned as he put down his cup next to the Daily Prophet the owl had just delivered. Remus was being stupid.
"All I'm saying is that this is a dangerous undertaking. After Nott's death, Malfoy and Runcorn will be on their guard, and Daphne and Tracey will be under suspicion." Remus stabbed his rashers almost violently, then stuffed them into his mouth.
The full moon had been yesterday, so Sirius's friend was at his worst - ragged, tired and easily angered. Sirius would joke that he was like a witch on her period, but he still remembered how Lily had made him regret making that joke in their seventh year. The Dementors hadn't touched that memory, of course. Still, some things had to be said, even if Sirius might have to be a little more diplomatic than his usual frank self.
"They're Slytherins. They know how to lie, and how to deal with scum. It comes from spending so much time in a den of backstabbing snakes. And, of course, from being backstabbing snakes themselves."
"They're barely adults," Remus said. "And you're sending them to deal with wizards who have decades of experience."
"They're bloody Death Eaters! They're only helping us because they want to save themselves. So, let's make them earn their pardon." It was better to risk enemies than allies, much less family and friends, Sirius knew.
"Technically, they were acquitted. They do not need a pardon." Remus was being pedantic again. A good sign, so close to the full moon.
"You know what I mean. If they manage to get information we can use to deal with Malfoy and Runcorn, we'll tell the muggleborns that they were spying for us. That should keep them from getting killed." A damned good deal for the two Death Eaters, in Sirius's opinion.
"And if they get killed trying to spy for us?"
He shrugged. "Then we'll have a pretext to go after Malfoy and Runcorn." Sirius grabbed another scone and pulled it apart. Then he noticed that Remus was growling. "What?"
His friend shook his head. "Nothing," he spat, then stood up and left the kitchen.
Sirius blinked, then turned to Vivienne. The witch had been reading the Tribune Magique and hadn't said a word during the argument. She had been paying attention, though, since she answered his silent question. "I think 'e might be fond of them."
"What?"
*****
"Moony!" Sirius caught up to his friend in front of the stairs leading up to the first floor.
"What?" Remus turned and looked at him with narrowed eyes.
"Are you in love with the snakes?"
His friend gaped at him. "What?"
Sirius was relieved at seeing his surprise. If the two Death Eaters had managed to seduce Moony… He sighed. "Just checking."
Remus blinked, then clenched his teeth. "Are you trying to say that the only possible reason for my objection to risking the lives of Greengrass and Davis would be a possible infatuation with one of them?"
He nodded. "Of course."
"Of course you would." Remus sighed. "For the record: No, I'm not in love with either of them. Merlin's beard, they're still kids!"
"They're adults," Sirius pointed out.
"You know what I mean."
Remus was baring his teeth again, he noticed. He didn't actually know what his friend meant, but he nodded anyway. "That doesn't change the fact that they joined the Dark Lord and tried to kill our family and friends."
"And they came to us when they heard about Nott's plans to attack muggleborns again."
"Because they wanted to save their own skins," Sirius retorted.
"From what I can tell, they're sick of the war. They wouldn't be the first kids who made a serious mistake that they later regretted."
Sirius hissed. "That was different! I didn't join the Death Eaters! Snape did!"
"Yes, he did. Later."
"I wouldn't bet on that. He was hanging out with all the Death Eaters," Sirius spat.
Remus shook his head. "If you don't start giving people a chance to change we'll never have peace."
Sirius remembered Dumbledore's final message. But this was different. "I'm giving them a chance to change. But I'd rather risk them than Nymphadora." Maybe mentioning the witch who had the hots for Remus would make him see reason.
His friend looked at him, baring his teeth for a moment. "Don't try to get them killed." Then he turned and walked away.
"I'm not," Sirius told Remus's back, loud enough so his friend would hear it.
But he wasn't about to sacrifice anyone else for them either.
*****
Kent, Greengrass Manor, March 25th, 1997
"Dear, there are a few strands escaping your braid. And your makeup needs a tiny bit of touching up."
Daphne Greengrass looked at her image in the mirror in her room, ignoring its vapid comments. She looked just like a friend of Theo should look so soon after his death: wearing her best robes, but not quite perfectly coiffed and styled. Nervous and afraid she might be the next victim, but trying to hide it and put on a brave face. Just what Malfoy and Runcorn would expect.
Of course, she was nervous and afraid. If those two wizards suspected anything, it wouldn't end well for her. They wouldn't disappear her while she was a guest as that would make them the prime suspects, but it would only take one Imperius to send her to her death in an attack on Diagon Alley or Hogsmeade. She could almost hear Malfoy comment on how distressed she had been, obviously trying to avenge her friend Nott. They'd even make her a martyr for their cause.
Shaking her head, she left her room. Tracey would arrive soon. In the hallway she glanced at the door to Astoria's room. Her sister had spent the last few days mostly in there, only emerging for meals. She hoped that that would change, but there wasn't much she could do about it. Not right now.
Tracey hadn't yet arrived, but Tonks was in the entrance hall. The metamorphmagus was wearing the face of an unknown witch and twirling her wand in her hand. A subtle reminder that Daphne couldn't run, or so she thought. At least the werewolf had already left. Daphne shuddered - the full moon would be rising soon, and if the beast were still in her home...
"Nervous?" Tonks asked, mistaking her reaction.
"Yes," Daphne answered, in a flat tone. She didn't want to make idle conversation right now.
"You don't have to be nervous. If they suspect you, then they'll likely interrogate you before they do anything incriminating. And in that case, they'll find out that we know where you are, so they can't make you disappear." Tonks smiled in a way that probably was meant to be reassuring. But the half-blood wasn't the one visiting Malfoy and Runcorn. She wasn't the one risking her life.
But Daphne didn't point that out. Instead she simply nodded and hoped the other witch would stop talking. She already knew all that.
Her hope was in vain, though - the metamorphmagus continued to prattle on. "Given your supposed friendship with Nott, it won't be suspicious that you'll be carrying a portkey either. Just remember to clear the wardline before you use it, go through the garden for that, if you can, the plants will help break the line of sight."
"Yes," Daphne hissed through clenched teeth.
"I'm just trying to help," Tonks said. "I've got some experience with such missions."
Fortunately, Tracey arrived and the Auror shut up in favour of glaring at Daphne's friend.
"Are you ready?" Daphne asked.
"Would I have arrived if I wasn't?" Tracey smirked, but Daphne could see that she was nervous as well. "Did Professor Lupin leave already?" she added, looking around.
"He returned home," Tonks said.
Tracey acted as if she were disappointed - she wasn't as dumb as to actually want to see a werewolf right before the full moon, Daphne knew - then shrugged. "We'll see him in the morning, then."
"Unless he has something more important to do." The Auror's smile was about as honest as their upcoming visit, Daphne thought.
"Well…"
Tracey was about to needle the Auror some more, but Daphne cut her off. "Let's go!"
She really wasn't in the mood to listen to the two witches talk about the damned werewolf again. Tracey was taking her teasing too far, in Daphne's opinion.
*****
South Downs National Park, Hampshire, Britain, March 25th, 1997
"Miss Greengrass, Miss Davis. I'm glad you came."
Malfoy sounded as charming as usual, Daphne Greengrass noted when she bowed to their host. If Theo's death had made an impression on him, then he didn't show it.
"Thank you for your invitation," she said.
"Please follow me to the salon." He gestured towards the door.
There were fewer guests in Malfoy's home this time, Daphne thought as she and Tracey entered the salon. Philius Runcorn was there, which they had expected, but a number of his and Malfoy's supporters in the Wizengamot were absent. She grabbed a glass of wine on the way to the gathering, only briefly hesitating. Their host wouldn't have tampered with the wine, she told herself. Dosing a guest with Veritaserum would be such a hostile act, it would not only turn her and Tracey into enemies, but alienate his other allies. That was not something you did to test a potential ally, but a means to interrogate a prisoner. And if their cover had been blown, then such a ruse wouldn't have been needed in the first place - they'd have been ambushed on arrival.
"Ah! Good evening, Miss Greengrass, Miss Davis!" Runcorn bowed a bit awkwardly, his age hampering his manners. "I'm very glad to see you both at our gathering here."
"Good evening, Mister Runcorn," Daphne said.
"We were just discussing the most recent tragedy. I offer you my heartfelt condolences for the loss of your friend."
Runcorn sounded genuine, but any politician with his experience would, Daphne knew. She nodded, taking care to appear appropriately sad. She nodded again when the six other Wizengamot members hastened to follow Runcorn's example. "Thank you. It's a relief to hear such sentiments. Theo was the last of our group of friends from Hogwarts. Others we'd have counted as friends distanced themselves from us as soon as they heard of his death."
"The rats are abandoning the ship," Tracey muttered with a frown.
"Recent events have caused some of our acquaintances to reconsider their support," Malfoy admitted. "It's not a great loss overall, given how fickle they have revealed themselves to be."
Tracey snorted. "Even the gold of cowards would have been useful."
"Not to mention that should they not just distance themselves from us, but try to curry favour with our enemies, their votes and influence could be decisive," Daphne added. Black was close to getting the majority he needed to 'reform' the Wizengamot.
"I can assure you that there is no shortage of gold. Our coffers are full, and we have friends with more to spend." Malfoy smiled. "The situation in the Wizengamot is somewhat more precarious, I admit, but by no means hopeless. Even though we may have lost some supporters, they have not switched sides."
"Not yet, you mean," Tracey said. "They will just wait long enough so they won't appear completely spineless before sucking up to Black and his allies."
Daphne glanced at her friend. Tracey was overdoing it, in her opinion. She had a reputation for being blunt and outspoken, but if she was too obvious… "The opportunists had already changed their allegiance before the ... latest events," she said. "I think that those who are now distancing themselves from our cause are doing so out of fear for themselves and their families."
"Exactly!" Runcorn smiled widely. "Since they are motivated by fear, they will return to our side as soon as they realise that the mudbloods will not spare them no matter what they do."
"Unless they turn blood traitor," Tracey said.
"The mudbloods will not accept them on their side," Runcorn said.
"They don't have to. Black will promise them safety for themselves and their families," Daphne retorted, "in exchange for their support." She scoffed, remembering how Black had treated her and Tracey.
"Black!" Runcorn muttered the name as if it was a curse. "If his family could see him, betraying everything they stood for!"
"He and the other blood traitors are allied with the mudbloods, though. And so other purebloods, even from the Old Families, will try to join them as well," Daphne said. Which was why she and her friend had contacted him in the first place. If they had known what he planned… well, they'd still have done it. It was their only chance to survive this war.
"Short of the mudbloods cursing Black in the back, that won't change," Tracey added with a sneer. "They'll play nice until they have taken over the Ministry and the Wizengamot. And then it'll be too late for the turncoats. They'll be helpless."
"At least Theo died with his wand in hand," Daphne said. "Unlike others."
Malfoy frowned. "Do you intend to follow his example?"
Tracey stared at him. "They won't take us prisoner again. We'll die as witches before we let them murder us as if we were muggles."
Daphne saw Runcorn exchange a glance with Malfoy, and for a moment she feared that they had seen through her act. Tracey was just too obvious, she thought, tensing while she glanced around. The salon had a door to the porch of the house, but they wouldn't reach it with eight wizards attacking them. And even if she and Tracey managed to surprise them, they wouldn't be able to beat all of them. Not in close quarters. They could only hope that their portkeys would work.
Runcorn, though, smiled. "A very brave stance, worthy of your lineage. But our situation is not quite as dire as you make it out to be. Our enemies are more vulnerable than you think."
Daphne hoped that her relief at not having been revealed as a spy would be mistaken for hope of winning against the mudbloods.
Malfoy nodded. "Dumbledore built an alliance between his Order of the Phoenix, the Mudblood Resistance and the Ministry which barely survived his own death, and broke apart after the Dark Lord was killed. Black claims he inherited the Order's allegiance, but he's no Dumbledore - he won't be able to hold it together. He's too radical, and too short-sighted."
"He's rich, though," Tracey cut in. "And he's the godfather of the Boy-Who-Lived."
And, Daphne added in her mind, Black was certainly ruthless enough to lead the Order.
Malfoy frowned, but quickly smoothed his expression. "Not all of those who followed Dumbledore and opposed the Dark Lord will support turning the country over to the mudbloods, which is what Black intends to do. They will not need more than to see the mudbloods' true nature to abandon him." He smiled. "And while Black tries to portray Potter as the next Dumbledore, anyone can see that the boy's just his mouthpiece. He is not even old enough to sit in the Wizengamot yet."
"He did kill the Dark Lord, though," Daphne said. "And that means a lot to the public." Others among the guests nodded.
"The public does not matter as long as we hold the Wizengamot." Runcorn nodded as if he truly believed that. Fawley and Avery didn't seem to share his views, though.
Tracey snorted. "The Wizengamot won't matter if a mudblood mob storms the Ministry." That made half the others pale. Not Malfoy, though.
"That is a risk, but Black knows that if he condones such an atrocity, he will lose any support among purebloods," Malfoy said. "And no matter his actions, he is a pureblood of an Old Family; the mudbloods will not follow him." He shook his head. "No. Black knows that in order to take over Britain, he needs to keep the mudbloods in check until he is firmly installed as the Chief Warlock, with a crony as his pet minister."
"Black's very close to Granger," Daphne said. "Who does all she can to keep the mudbloods in check."
"He might appear to be close to the girl," Malfoy said with a sly smile, "but that is only thanks to Potter. And I have it on good authority that Granger broke up with Potter in favour of Weasley's youngest son. That sort of thing tends to put a strain on any friendship, doubly so among teenagers."
"You're not basing your hopes on Potter's troubled love life, I hope," Tracey said with a barely-hidden sneer.
"Of course not!" Runcorn said.
He seemed to be on the verge of expanding on that, but Malfoy smoothly cut him off. "Black's family life, or lack thereof, is important, though. He's taken a Veela as his lover, and lives with a werewolf. People were willing to overlook that during the war, but now?" He scoffed. "Some are already wondering if the Boy-Who-Lived should be raised in such an environment."
Daphne didn't have to fake her shudder and revulsion at the thought of living with a werewolf as others chimed in, and the discussion turned to ways of spreading such sentiment among the British wizards and witches.
She just hoped the others would not realise that Tracey was sneering at them, and not at the scandalous relationship between Black and the werewolf.
*****
"Miss Greengrass, Miss Davis. Might you stay a few minutes? There is a small matter to discuss."
Daphne immediately tensed and turned away from where she was waiting behind Fawley at the fireplace. "Of course." Surreptitiously, she glanced around. Malfoy and Runcorn were standing there, seeing the guests off. Tracey was next to her, but she couldn't see anyone else. She hadn't cast a Human-presence-revealing Spell, though, and even a former summer house would have hidden passages for house-elves and other servants. Just because she couldn't spot an ambush didn't mean she was safe.
She didn't let that thought show on her face, of course. "Shall we return to the salon, then?" They'd have an easier time escaping from there, instead of from the entrance hall. Unless they were planning to ambush her and Tracey there.
"By all means." Runcorn stepped aside to let them enter first. Daphne couldn't tell if he had been surprised, or not. She glanced at Tracey. If this was a trap, they'd be ready. For whatever good it would do them.
No one attacked her when stepped into the salon, but she didn't relax.
"What did you want to talk about?" Tracey demanded as soon as the two wizards had joined them.
Malfoy cleared his throat. "Mister Nott mentioned a few weeks ago that he had a falling-out with you two. He didn't go into details, but he said you had lost your nerve. Tonight, you seemed rather… more determined."
Daphne nodded. "Of course Theo would have said that." She shook her head in apparent regret. "He came to us, some time ago, with a barely thought-out plan to attack muggleborns."
Tracey scoffed. "He basically wanted to continue doing what hadn't worked before. We didn't feel that suicidal."
"So you expected him to be killed?" Malfoy's smile didn't reach his eyes.
"It did not come as a surprise," Daphne said. "But we hoped that… we would be proven wrong."
"And yet you have now chosen to pick up the fight? Your comments certainly gave that impression."
Tracey shook her head. "We haven't chosen to fight; we have realised that we do not have a choice. They didn't inform the Ministry, but went after Theo themselves. They didn't capture him either - they simply murdered him and everyone else in his home."
"And everybody knows that Theo was a friend of ours," Daphne added.
She caught Malfoy glancing at Runcorn and nodding. "I see. I wish I could disagree with your conclusion, but I fear you are correct: The mudbloods will not let us live, should they win this struggle." He paused for a moment, then continued: "And I even suspect that no matter what you do or don't do, the mudbloods will attempt to frame you."
"We're more cautious than Theo was," Daphne said.
"That is wise," Runcorn said. He glanced at Malfoy, and for a moment, Daphne thought this would be it - that the two wizards would take them into their confidence. She was wrong, though.
"I'm glad we cleared this up," Malfoy said, instead. "These are very troubled times. We have more support than might be apparent, but with the current balance of power favouring the mudbloods, we need to move very cautiously."
"We're not about to fly off and cast curses at mudbloods in Diagon Alley," Daphne said. "That would only court disaster. The Ministry can't stop the the mudbloods should they start a rampage - or launch a coup."
"The Ministry can't, but they are not alone," Runcorn said.
Tracey snorted. "The Old Families haven't enough power to stop the mudbloods either."
"Not yet, maybe," Runcorn said.
"Theo was a fool to attack the Weasleys' shop." Daphne sighed. "If the mudbloods had gone out of control in response…" she trailed off, pressing her lips together.
"We can but hope that others will not follow his example," Malfoy said, looking at them.
"We'll defend ourselves if attacked, naturally, but we won't attack anyone. Not until we're certain that it will not do us more harm than good."
Daphne nodded at Malfoy, who nodded back. She still had no proof of his involvement in the attacks, but she hoped that she had at least gained his trust.
*****
London, Ministry of Magic, March 26th, 1997
"What do you have for me, Pius?" Amelia Bones asked as soon as the Head of the DMLE entered her office.
Pius waited until he had closed the door to answer. "The investigation into the incident in Islington has not uncovered anything new. Unfortunately, any witnesses were obliviated before we could question them."
Amelia made a dismissive gesture with her hand. Witnesses were unreliable to begin with, and muggle witnesses doubly so. They couldn't donate memories for Pensieves. "I meant something new, not something we already knew."
"Two batches of Exploding Fluid were found in Nott's home. One was matched to the attack on Diagon Alley on March 4th, and the other to the attack on Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes on March 21st."
So the Unspeakables had finally done their job, Amelia thought. "Two different batches of Exploding Fluid?"
"Yes."
"Was there enough of either batch for another attack?" She narrowed her eyes. He had to have considered that as well.
"Yes." Pius's expression didn't change.
"So, either he had multiple sources of the fluid, or the second batch was planted in his home," Amelia spelled it out. If it was Black then he would have covered his tracks. If she still had an Auror Corps worthy of that name, if she could spare a few experienced Aurors to look into the sources for the fluid… if, if, if. She shook her head. Even if she managed to find evidence that linked anyone to the planted fluid, she didn't think the Wizengamot would find them guilty. Not if they worked for Black.
"There also was evidence that an Imperius Curse had been recently cast on Nott." Pius met her eyes.
Amelia narrowed her eyes. That would support the theory that Nott had been set up - but by whom? With the Thief's Downfall in the Ministry, the curse would have had to be cast more recently. That would point at Black and his allies. But if they had controlled Nott, would they have set up the attack on Diagon Alley as it had happened? They could have done a lot more with him as their tool. Did someone else set him up, to conceal their own involvement? "So, Nott was behind the attack on Diagon Alley, but he was likely forced to do so."
"That is the conclusion of my investigators."
"Did they find any evidence of memory charms?"
"No."
"What about his backers?" She didn't think that Nott had acted alone.
"We found no evidence of anyone working with him," Pius said.
"Black and his accomplices had ample time to go through the manor before your Aurors arrived at the scene." Her tone turned the statement into an accusation of sloppy reaction times.
Pius pressed his lips together before answering. "We arrived as soon as we heard about the attack."
So, he didn't like being told off for Black's actions. Amelia carefully didn't smile. "You didn't have his manor under surveillance."
He inclined his head. "There were not enough Aurors available for that."
She knew he was right - she had been in his place before. But taking the blame for things out of your control was what you did as the Head of the DMLE. Especially if you were plotting against your superior. "And what results did your surveillance of the Greengrass and Davis Manors produce?"
That made him frown. "We haven't been able to penetrate their wards, yet."
She hadn't expected that, of course - Amelia knew that the Ministry didn't have many Curse-Breakers who could slip through the kind of wards Old Families had on their homes. And the few they had were among the Unspeakables, who were currently researching the Withering Curse. Not that they had made any progress so far. "Did your people at least manage to track them when they left their homes?"
"They met with Augustus Malfoy and Philius Runcorn yesterday evening." Pius must have noticed her surprise, since he was smiling faintly.
She stared at him. "That was provided by your source among Malfoy's friends."
He nodded, his smile fading. "They have lost more of their allies following Nott's death," he said, "but their remaining supporters seem to be undeterred. If anything, they might have become even more determined to oppose Black."
"Including Greengrass and Davis?"
"They are among his supporters in the Wizengamot." Pius continued before she could berate him for evading the question she wanted answered. "But neither the host nor his guests let anything slip that would tie them to any attacks. Greengrass and Davis stayed behind when the other guests left, though."
That wasn't enough to take them in for questioning, she knew. And if she did it anyway, Malfoy and Runcorn would be warned. But she was certain that the two witches were involved in the whole affair. "Find out what those two are doing for Malfoy and Runcorn! Before Black frames them as well, and leaves them dead in the ruins of their manors."
Pius nodded.
"Have you found out anything concerning Reid's whereabouts?"
"Nothing," Pius answered without any sign of shame at that failure. "Did the houngans respond to our request for samples of the explosive used in Jamaica?"
She shook her head. "Fawley has passed it on, but so far they haven't even acknowledged it. He expects them to take a few more days before agreeing on a response. Although, according to him, it did counter their accusations in the ICW." Not that that had taken much - the houngans were too infamous to have a lot of support. "Have Beaumont and Steiner been pestering the Aurors again?"
"They keep asking the same questions. We keep giving them the same answers."
She snorted. Business as usual, then. If only those two would finally stop trying to spy on Britain and go home. But the ICW was still putting pressure on Britain. "Anything else?"
He shook his head and left her office.
Once the door had closed behind him, Amelia clenched her teeth and closed her eyes, hissing in frustration. Things were falling apart. Nott's death had revealed how weak the Ministry was compared to Black's alliance. The public might not have realised just how much contempt Black had displayed, but those who mattered had certainly taken notice. She didn't even know if Pius was still following her orders, or if he'd inform Black as soon as he was out of her office. And the muggleborns were up to something as well, possibly on Black's orders.
Not for the first time, she contemplated resigning from her post. But that would mean that either Black himself or one of his cronies would succeed her.
And the Ministry would lose any integrity it still had left.
*****
London, No. 12 Grimmauld Place, March 26th, 1997
"The rest of the recruits won't be happy that we're gone for the night again," Harry Potter said when he and Ron entered Grimmauld Place.
His friend shrugged. "We're not recruits, we're allies training with them. There's a difference, and they should know that."
"That sounds like Hermione."
Ron cleared his throat. "Well, she told me that when I brought it up. It's logical."
"It is. But I doubt that the recruits think like her." Harry was almost certain that they didn't. Since Ron and he were missing quite a lot of the training, there would be some resentment brewing. Even with all the amenities of wizarding tents and magic, camp life wasn't as comfortable as living in a wizarding home. The food certainly wasn't quite as good, though the difference wasn't as spectacular any more since the Weasleys had left.
Ron shrugged again. "They'll get over it. We're doing a lot more than training. And we fought Voldemort directly."
Harry frowned. "That'll follow us forever."
"I sure hope so!" Ron said. "So we can avoid another war."
He was right, even though Harry still didn't like it. "I'm not going to wear robes that make you wish you were colour-blind, or grow a beard," he muttered.
Ron chuckled and slapped him on the shoulder. "Stop being gloomy, and let's see what Sirius called us here for."
Harry thought, but didn't mention, that Ron was as much interested in meeting Hermione, who was already here, as in learning what Sirius wanted to talk about. Mentioning it would have been petty. His two best friends were happy together, and he could be happy for them. Even if it still stung a little. Or a little more.
*****
"There you are, soldier boys!" Sirius said with a wide grin, seated in his favorite armchair in their living room.
Harry glanced at Hermione, who was just getting up from the table to greet them. "Soldier boys?" Where had Sirius picked that up?
Sirius huffed. "It's a famous muggle song!"
"Really?" He hadn't heard that one.
"Youth today!" His godfather frowned at him.
"He found an old LP today," Hermione explained, hugging him, then Ron. Who she kept hugging a bit longer, Harry noticed.
"Ah." Harry sat down himself. "So, what did you call us for?" He saw Ron sitting down as well, and Hermione returning to the table with her notes.
"Greengrass and Davis met with Malfoy and Runcorn again. While they didn't manage to find any proof that those two are behind the recent attacks, they did hear about Malfoy's plan to 'split us up'," Sirius said. "Apparently, they think me living with Vivienne and Remus will make people worry about you getting 'corrupted'." He scoffed.
"And I'm a slut who seduced you, then dumped you, which will cause the Order and the Resistance to turn on each other," Hermione added with a scowl.
Harry snorted. "That sounds as if they're grasping at straws." He forced himself to chuckle - Hermione hadn't seduced him, of course, but she had, technically, dumped him. Not that he'd be a fool over that. She had made her decision, after all, and had been both honest and fair about it.
"A lot of people do hate werewolves, though," Ron said. "Remember the scandal after Remus was outed? And Veela have a certain reputation as well."
"The muggleborns don't really care," Sirius said. "The purebloods…" He shrugged. "Harry might have to point out that Remus, Fleur and Vivienne fought Voldemort, should the idiots manage to get an article published voicing their 'concerns'."
Harry nodded. He could do that. "Stupid bigots," he muttered.
"And Malfoy, at least, is too smart to put his faith in that kind of prejudice," Sirius said. "Runcorn's living in the last century, so he might actually believe that drivel. But I don't think they're limiting themselves to a smear campaign."
"More attacks on muggleborns and purebloods? Do they actually want to start a war? They have to know they'll lose," Harry said.
"They are aware of that, our two Death Eater spies did mention that."
Sirius's opinion of Greengrass and Davis hadn't changed, Harry thought. He wasn't quite sure how he felt about the two Slytherins - they were helping them now, and taking a considerable risk, but they had tried to kill the Weasleys during the war...
His godfather went on: "So they're planning something else, I think."
"We know that Nott tried to copy our own tactics," Hermione said. "Even if he wasn't too successful. His backers could be expanding on that, though."
"Malfoy Manor?" Ron asked.
Harry felt a shiver run down his spine. If they attacked Grimmauld Place with a bomb...
"Malfoy Manor was isolated; we're in the middle of London - an attack on us would be a threat to the Statute of Secrecy," Sirius said.
"They could try to cover it up as a German bomb from the Blitz going off," Hermione added, "but the Germans didn't have bombs powerful enough to go through the wards on this place."
Of course she'd know that, Harry thought. She had probably calculated the amount of explosives needed to destroy Grimmauld Place.
"They probably don't know that, though," Sirius said. "And on the other hand, our home not only has some of the strongest wards in Britain, but we also have quite the collection of cursed items and other dubious magical paraphernalia stored here. An attack that destroyed part of the house would probably set off a number of them - and that's a clear threat to the Statue of Secrecy."
Ron whistled. "Worse than what Bill used on the old Burrow?"
"More obvious, I think. One of my great-grand uncles was fond of using the Gemino Curse as a prank. My mother once set off an avalanche of dancing oil lamps. She survived the experience, alas," Sirius said.
Harry was somewhat reassured. But… "That won't keep them from trying to kill us elsewhere."
"We'll have to be even more on our guard than usual," Sirius said.
"Really feels like we swapped places with the purebloods, now we're hiding in our mansions and worrying about attacks," Ron muttered.
Harry agreed with the sentiment. They had even left Hogwarts, as had the Slytherins last year.
"We're taking steps to deal with them, though," Hermione said, looking at Sirius.
Harry's godfather grumbled: "I'm still not convinced it's a good plan."
"You're the best choice," Hermione said. "Remus certainly wouldn't be able to seduce Dubois."
"I wouldn't be that certain," Sirius objected. "He seems to have made an impression on both Nymphadora and one of our Death Eater spies."
"Just because Tonks was complaining about Davis doesn't mean Remus has turned into a heartbreaking Casanova," Hermione said. "And Bill refused."
"You mean that Fleur refused," Sirius said with a snort. "She's got quite the temper."
"And Vivienne didn't?" Harry asked.
The other wizard sighed. "She feels that taking down Dubois is worth 'me sullying myself by getting close to her'."
Hermione rolled her eyes. "She isn't as insecure as Fleur."
Harry was tempted to ask if Hermione would want Ron to seduce a witch for their cause, but he knew better than to actually do so. She had a temper too, after all.
*****
Sirius's family had definitely never included a librarian, Hermione Granger thought, not for the first time. 'Deliberate chaos' indeed! She was sitting in the Black Library, skimming through another diary of one of Sirius's ancestors. A rather self-aggrandising tale, and of doubtful veracity - the claims of dealing with bone constructs did not fit with her own experiences, although it was possible that this Black had fought weaker houngans. Or ones using less advanced spells. In any case, his curses would not help her. And neither would the descriptions of his 'conquests'.
Sighing, she closed the journal and put it on the 'read' stack. She still had to reorganise those books as well - the library couldn't be left in such a state, without even an index! And yet, she lacked the time to do that, with all the other things she had to do and deal with.
"No luck there either?" Ron asked, peering at her over the journal he was reading.
She shook her head. "Just another collection of embellished war stories. Barely better than Lockhart's work."
Ron winced. "That bad?"
"The prose is worse, actually." Lockhart at least had been an accomplished writer who had, although probably by accident, successfully cast a Bone-Vanishing Charm to great effect. Unfortunately, that spell didn't scale up enough to be of much use against a skeleton, much less a bone wall. "What about yours?" she asked.
"No spells, but the witch who made these notes describes the tactics they used."
"That could be useful."
"They didn't work out," he said.
"Still more useful than a detailed description of a whorehouse in Magical Miami," she countered.
"What?" Harry looked up from the thick tome he was currently reading.
"Sirius's ancestor had some peculiar priorities," she explained.
"Ah." Harry looked like he was about to say something more, but then went back to reading.
"Did you find anything useful?" she asked.
"Some spells that could be useful, though not against bone constructs and conjured skeletons."
She sighed. "I really wish I could tell Sirius's ancestors off."
"You can, actually. There are portraits of them," Ron said.
She shook her head. "Those are just a sort of imprint. Worse than ghosts." And summoning their souls just to scold them for their crimes against libraries would be excessive. And impossible.
She grabbed the next journal in her pile and opened it. She didn't start reading right away, though. Instead she looked at Ron and Harry. She remembered how they had killed Nott together. She was certain they had done that to spare her from having to do it herself. A sweet gesture, even though she had killed before. Many times.
And she knew she'd kill again - probably a houngan, she thought while starting to read the journal in her hands.
*****
Provence-Alpes-Côte d'Azur, Near Toulon, France, March 28th, 1997
The French were far too aggressive in battle, but they knew how to live, Sirius Black thought, looking at the dishes and wine the waiters and waitresses were offering. The Comte de Hornes had spared no expense for his party. It wasn't a masquerade, which was fortunate - people were always on their guard on such occasions; both Britain and France had had their share of assassinations at such events - but the robes worn by the guests resembled costumes more than the dress robes with which Sirius was familiar. Elaborately styled and with a plethora of spells cast on them, each was a minor work of art showcasing the skill of its wearer - and, in many cases, their body. A French tradition dating back to the time before the Statue of Secrecy, he had been told by Vivienne. His own robes were rather understated, although he had cast a few charms that animated the designs on them, displaying short scenes of famous events as they moved around on the fabric.
He resisted the urge to rub his face while he signalled a waitress with his empty flute. The muggle disguise Hermione and her friends had used on him made his skin itch, and he could only imagine what the paint they had smeared into his hair would do to his locks. The worst thing, though, was the loss of his beard. He didn't look like a dashing rogue any more, but rather some ponce like Lockhart!
An attractive ponce, though, he had to admit - he did draw a great deal of attention from the other guests, and certainly not because of his robes. If he didn't have Vivienne and wasn't on a secret mission of the utmost importance… He sighed, and nodded at the servant who refilled his flute with more champagne before venturing towards the garden.
He still wasn't fond of the plan. While it flattered him that others thought so highly of his charm, he felt exposed and vulnerable. His invitation was the result of some manipulation - blackmail, as he understood it - of a minor noble. He wasn't likely to talk, but Sirius couldn't help but worry a little. If he had been able to attend as a friend of the Delacours or the d'Aigles… but Dubois despised both families, and the feeling was mutual. And while the witch probably would have liked to steal the lover of a rival, she wouldn't trust him enough for their plan to work.
Which meant he would have to take the first step, without being obvious about it. Which wouldn't be too easy, not even for him. He walked on the terrace, acting as if he was looking at the garden while searching for Dubois. She wasn't inside, and it was too early for her to have left without snubbing their host, so that meant… there!
He spotted the witch near the stairs leading to the fountain, talking with an older wizard. Probably one of her acquaintances, he thought - they didn't look like lovers or even friends. She was wearing a robe with animated waterfalls in various places instead of fabric, a rather tantalising display, if he was honest. He glanced back at the room he had left, and met the eyes of Lydia, one of Vivienne's cousins, then strode on towards the fountain.
As planned, Lydia followed him, catching up to him just as he was passing Dubois. "Monsieur Anderson!" she called out.
Sirius took care to frown briefly where Dubois could see it, but Lydia couldn't, before turning around with a polite smile. "Mademoiselle?" Not quite impolite, but certainly not inviting anything.
The Veela, whose robes seemed to be made of clouds, looked taken aback, as planned. "I was curious about your homeland," she said in French, then proceeded to ask him a few questions about Magical Portsmouth, the homeland of his cover identity. He took care to answer in a manner just this side of being rude, and the witch left in a huff. She was a good actress, Sirius thought as he watched her leave.
Sighing, he shook his head, sneering briefly, before he continued on his way towards the fountain. When he passed Dubois he nodded at her. "Bonsoir. Michael Anderson." He let his eyes roam over her figure for an instant, before smiling at her with just a hint of interest.
"Isabelle Dubois." She met his eyes, and he thought her polite smile changed into a more sultry one before he nodded at the wizard, who apparently was 'Antoine Deschamps', and left for the fountain.
A few minutes later, he saw her heading towards him, and smiled.
*****
Magical Port Royal, Jamaica, March 28th, 1997
Augustus Rookwood hated wearing the form of a muggle boy barely old enough to carry a wand, but he didn't have access to a local wizard's hair to use with Polyjuice. At least he wasn't risking being recognised as a muggle - since Jamaica had no school like Hogwarts to which all children were sent, no one should be suspicious that they didn't recognise him. And his apparent youth also provided a good explanation for his lack of familiarity with the town, no matter how much it grated to act like a stupid child.
Of course, after several days spent roaming the town, he now knew the island's capital quite well. And some of its residents no one would miss. Like the particularly unsavory houngan trying to sneak up on him, unaware that his spell had warned him of the man's presence minutes ago.
Drawing his wand while he waited behind the next corner, Augustus grinned at the thought that Ricky, as the criminal called himself, probably thought that he had caught a lucky break when the apparent child had wandered into a deserted side alley.
He had his wand ready, and when the houngan turned around the corner, Augustus stunned him before he could react. A few spells later and Augustus tossed a bright red ball from one hand to the other as he left Port Royal.
*****