Divided and Entwined (Harry Potter AU) (Complete)

Chapter 19: Revelations

‘With regards to the effects of propaganda in the Second Blood War, opinions differ greatly. Once again, one has to carefully consider the sources we have. Those who think that the pen is mightier than the sword naturally propose that the various efforts of all sides to influence the hearts and minds of the population were decisive for the outcome of the war. With regards to those claims, one has to consider the differences between the First and Second Blood War. Without a doubt, propaganda was responsible for a lot of the Dark Lord’s successes in the first war. Thanks to his skilled manipulation and public attacks, the Dark Lord’s reputation increased well beyond what an unvarnished recounting of his actions would suggest. The population feared him to the point they refused to speak his name.
In the Second Blood War though, the same strategy was not quite as effective - despite many of those who had lived through the First Blood War still remembering their own horror and fear. Some of my colleagues think this happened because the ‘Resistance Radio’, the voice of the Muggleborn Resistance, countered the propaganda and fear spread by the Dark Lord’s followers, and strengthened the morale of the muggleborns, the half-bloods and even the purebloods.
I disagree. A careful analysis shows that the Dark Lord’s strategy at the start of the war hurt his own reputation. He tried to capitalise on the horror many purebloods felt when Malfoy Manor was bombed and portray himself as the country’s salvation. And yet, the more the Muggleborn Resistance members were feared by the purebloods, the less they feared the Dark Lord - even more so when he seemed to be ineffective against the very danger of which his followers warned Britain. With the Death Eater attacks on purebloods in November 1996, the Dark Lord’s own actions delivered a propaganda victory to the Resistance Radio.’
- Excerpt from ‘Wizarding Britain in the 20th Century’ by Albert Runcorn

*****​

Diagon Alley, November 30th, 1996

Albus Dumbledore watched the flames shoot up over the roofs of Knockturn Alley through his enchanted glasses. Miss Granger’s group had succeeded then - though he did not yet know at what cost. He wouldn’t either, until Aberforth reported to him. Once again the need to keep secrets even from his allies vexed him. And yet, it was needed to lessen the danger of betrayal, willing or not.

A minute later, a glowing white goat arrived, snorted at him, and vanished. That meant the Resistance had successfully left Knockturn Alley. There was no longer a need to keep the Aurors busy elsewhere then. He smiled - John was both desperate to achieve any success in his hunt for the Resistance, and not too bright; an easy mark, Mundungus had said.

And indeed, the leader of the Auror task force had jumped on the chance to capture ‘muggleborns attacking Nott Manor’. Albus’s friend hadn’t even needed to launch another diversion.

Hopefully, the goblins would inform the Dark Lord that his Horcrux in Gringotts had been found, fooling him into thinking Albus was wasting time and resources on finding all of them. Ideally, Voldemort would decide to create more Horcruxes to be safe - the amount of work needed to create them, and even more so to hide them would certainly hurt his efforts to take over Britain. Even, Albus reminded himself, if it would mean more sacrificial murders. Sometimes, the lesser evil was still evil.

He watched the first Aurors on brooms arrive over the burning house. The fire wards of the neighbouring buildings would keep the blaze contained, but it was a rather spectacular view. He’d like to call it the funeral pyre of Tom’s plans for Knockturn Alley, but the Dark Lord would have other plans in place already.

The information wrung out of Avery on the other hand… that should make a difference. Now if the Weasley twins came through as well, this would be a really bad week for the Death Eaters. He took another look at the flames dancing in Knockturn Alley, then apparated home. Aberforth would meet him soon and report.

*****​

London, East End, November 30th, 1996

They had been lucky, Hermione Granger knew. Their wounded didn’t require specialised care - no dark curses had struck them. Even Seamus’s shattered bones would be fine in a few days, with Skele-Gro. Hopefully, the painful potion would convince him to pay more attention next time to his own safety. And they needed a magical way to communicate instantly. She had to adapt the wireless system, even though that would not be safe until she managed to encrypt it. But better coordination needed communications. Otherwise, their tactics had worked, apart from Seamus’s lapse. The wizard should have used a flashbang to disorient the others and stop their flight.

“You’re already making plans to improve our training, aren’t you?” Justin’s soft question interrupted her thoughts.

“Ah… yes.” She smiled. “Force of habit.”

“As long as it keeps us alive I won’t complain.”

She looked at him. Everyone complained about training.

He grinned. “Well, not overly much.” Then he grew serious. “The prisoner’s been treated, and we can start interrogating him. Seamus and Jeremy are back ho... at headquarters with the rest. The other prisoners are stunned and secure.”

She nodded. She didn’t think they knew very much that would be useful, but they’d interrogate them later. Avery was the real prize.

“Alright.” Hermione turned away from the window in their secondary safe house, and went to what she and Justin had now dubbed ‘the interrogation room’.

Aberforth, still in his disguise, was waiting for them outside. “He’s an old one. Spent time in Azkaban. He’ll have done unspeakable things.”

Hermione just stared at him. Did he think she didn’t realise just what monsters they were fighting?

The old wizard snorted. “You know, you don’t have to act so tough all the time.”

Hermione glanced at Justin. “Trust us, we won’t lose our tempers and kill him before we have finished wringing every last bit of information out of him.”

Strangely, that did not seem to reassure the Headmaster’s brother.

*****​

When Hermione and Justin arrived at headquarters, the celebration was winding down. Sally-Anne quickly dragged Justin off to his, or rather, their room, leaving Hermione to face the rest of the group. Seamus was there as well, despite his leg bones currently being in the process of being regrown. It was obvious that he had dulled his pain with quite a lot of alcohol as well, since he simply waved at her with a mellow smile. Dean, though, was not quite as sloshed.

Before he could ask her about the interrogation, she addressed the whole room. “We all did well today. We got our target, we wrecked a Death Eater operation - in public as well - and we didn’t lose anyone.”

“A dozen Death Eaters dead!” Seamus said, raising his bottle.

“They were fresh recruits, none of them marked, but for Avery.” Hermione pursed her lips. Common criminals would probably have fit most of them. “But they certainly were followers of the Dark Lord, ready to massacre muggleborns. They deserved to die.”

The group voiced their agreement with varying degrees of enthusiasm. Jeremy was particularly loud. Louise rubbed her ear, then asked, once the noise had died down: “Was our ally happy with the results as well?”

“Yes.” Hermione nodded. “Avery knew quite a number of other names and locations, but unfortunately not where the Dark Lord is currently hiding. Voldemort’s been meeting his followers in various safe houses, always changing the locations.” Avery had also told them about his crimes, and those of his friends. Hermione had executed him without any regret after hearing his bloody tales.

“When will we hit the next house then?” Dean stared at her.

Hermione wondered if the wizard was trying to follow in Allan’s footsteps. She didn’t let her annoyance show though. “We’ll analyse the situation and then pick the most promising target.”

“You mean our ally will analyse the situation. The ally we’re not allowed to know about!”

Dean was trying to imitate Allan, alright. Hermione wanted to sigh. Instead she nodded. “We’ll coordinate with our allies, yes. And you should be aware of the need for security and secrecy.”

“I didn’t join the Resistance to be a tool for some pureblood wizard!” Dean scoffed. Seamus nodded as well, not that she had expected anything else, especially not when he was inebriated.

“Who says it’s a pureblood wizard?” Louise cut in.

“If it was a muggleborn, then we’d have been told. We’re all already hiding, after all.” Dean looked around, trying to drum up support. He was no Allan though.

“No, you wouldn’t have been told. That’s how Resistance cells work.” Hermione frowned. “I explained that several times.”

“That’s how muggle cells work. We have magic to protect our secrets!” Dean was standing now, his own bottle on the floor next to his chair. “We don’t need all this secrecy!”

“Yes, we do.” Hermione stared at him. “We’re not about to trust magic to take care of everything. That’s the pureblood way.” It was a cheap shot, but given how late it already was, more sophisticated arguments would not work anyway.

“So, that means we’re some other group’s lapdogs? Who holds your leash? Harry or maybe his godfather?” Dean scoffed. “Can’t be Ron; he’s a lapdog himself.”

“We’re no one’s lapdogs,” Hermione said, trying to hold her temper in check. “But we’re also not mad dogs running wild. We’ll coordinate our attacks with our allies. We’ll exchange intel. And we’ll help each other when needed. We won’t win this war by ourselves. As today has proved.” She let her eyes sweep over everyone in the room. Dean met hers, Seamus blinked. No one looked away.

“We did fine so far,” Dean muttered, but he was sitting down again.

“And we can do better,” Hermione said. “I’ve already made some plans to improve our training.”

Jeremy groaned loudly. “I shouldn’t have let them heal my wounds!” He was grinning though, even when Louise elbowed him.

“We won’t start tomorrow.” Hermione smiled. “But Monday.”

That caused a few more groans. But as far as she could tell, they were all good-natured. She had the group’s trust. Dean was no Allan; he wouldn’t be able to do much. Not after such a success.

But she would have to keep her eye on him and Seamus. There wouldn’t be another Allan on her watch.

*****​

Hogwarts, December 1st, 1996

Ron Weasley knew his best friend had a tendency to brood. It was worst on Halloween. For everyone else, it was a holiday. The Old Families, at least those who followed pagan gods, celebrated Samhain. Others Halloween. And many remembered the day Voldemort had been defeated by the Boy-Who-Lived. But for Harry, it would always be the day he lived while his parents died. Not a date he wanted to be reminded of, much less glorify. Ron even suspected that if not for the great food, Harry would skip the feast altogether.

It wasn’t Halloween, but Harry had been almost as moody ever since they had returned from Gringotts. He had disappeared in the early afternoon, but Ron had tracked him down to the room they used for training.

“Reducto!”

A stone statue that looked vaguely like a snake-faced monster shattered under the force of Harry’s spell.

“Confringo!”

The floor between two more statues exploded, pieces striking both.

“Bombarda!”

Ron dropped to the ground and cast a Shield Charm just in time before the entire floor in front of the back wall exploded. “Mate!”

Harry blinked. “What?”

“I was about to make a joke about how Hermione would have been delighted to hear you’re training, but she’d not condone wrecking the school.” Ron sighed while he stood up and cleaned his robe of the dust that covered most of the room.

“The room’s reinforced. It won’t break.”

“Well, we’re not reinforced.” Ron shook his head. “What happened? You’re not usually this… intense. You weren’t this intense a month ago.” On Halloween.

Harry took a deep breath, then cast a cleaning charm on his own robe.

His was sporting a few scratches as well, Ron noticed. And a cut that was bleeding lightly. He raised his wand and took care of them, then waited. Pressing Harry for answers didn’t work well. Not that that had ever stopped Hermione.

FInally, after about a minute, Harry sighed. “I’ve been thinking.”

Ron nodded.

Harry glanced at him, then continued. “Our trip to Gringotts. Some things don’t add up.”

Ron frowned. “What do you mean?” It had gone well, in his opinion. One Horcrux dealt with.

“Why did we take the Floo to the Leaky Cauldron and then walk to the bank, instead of travelling directly to the goblins?” Harry started to pace. “That would have been safer, and more discreet.”

“Moody said Dumbledore was around as well… Merlin! Do you think we were bait for Death Eaters?” Ron gasped. Would the Headmaster go that far? “No, that doesn’t make any sense. Not with the Prophecy.”

Harry nodded. “Yes. I thought that maybe the goblins don’t allow outsiders to use their Floo connection.”

“I’d have to ask Bill about that,” Ron said. “He’d know. But Dumbledore arranged the visit after business hours. He probably could have arranged a Floo trip as well.”

“Exactly!” Harry gestured at Ron. “It feels like a setup, somehow.”

Ron nodded. “And he told us about the Horcruxes in such secrecy, but then Moody tells the goblins.”

“It might have been the only way to make them let us go down to the lowest level.”

“Maybe.” Ron had to concede that, but still… something wasn’t right there. “We could have used Polyjuice or your cloak to disguise ourselves. At least for the trip through Diagon Alley.”

Harry nodded. “But that’s not what has been really bothering me about our trip.”

Ron raised his eyebrows. Harry had been moody this weekend, but if it wasn’t because of this...

Harry sighed. “I was wondering why my scar hurt so much when I was close to the Horcrux. It even bled.”

“It’s your link to Voldemort,” Ron said.

“Yes. But what is it?” Harry tapped his scar with his index finger. “What is this link to Voldemort? My scar didn’t hurt that much when I destroyed the diary. Or Quirrell. Something changed.”

He looked at Ron. “And I think the Headmaster knows what happened.”

“Well, let’s go ask him?” Ron said.

“Yes.”

*****​

Dorset, Britain, December 1st, 1996

“And we have gathered here to celebrate, as our ancestors did since time immemorial. We follow our most ancient tradition as we stand here to honour the dead and let them pass judgment upon us.”

Daphne Greengrass watched as Draco stepped forward and lit the bonfire in the garden of his temporary home. Next to her, Tracey sighed. Daphne glanced at her.

Tracey noticed, and took a step closer. “I’m just wondering how long Draco will take to light the fire so we can go inside again,” she whispered.

Apparently, not even losing her parents had changed Tracey’s view of religion, Daphne thought. She wasn’t that religious herself, but the thought of her parents watching her, from beyond the veil, on this day, was comforting. It certainly had helped her sister, who was staring at the slowly growing fire with rapt attention. So, for Astoria’s sake, Daphne glared at her friend.

Tracey rolled her eyes. “I just wish Draco would hurry up. It’s getting cold, and the tradition of letting the ‘sacred fire warm us’ instead of a spell is something that should be rethought,” she whispered.

“You could always cast a spell yourself,” Daphne whispered back.

“What? You expect me to flout ‘our most ancient traditions’ in the home of the family who gave them back to us after we had lost them for a thousand years?” Tracey snorted. “That would be a faux pas indeed.”

Daphne knew that a lot of the Malfoy family’s prestige and influence was based upon them rediscovering the lost traditions of the pagan ancestors of the British Wizards after the Statute of Secrecy had gone into effect. That, and their gold, of course. The family had been a bit ostracised for their close association with muggles in the 16th century, but as Daphne’s father had told her, it had been those muggle connections that had allowed them to find the old records of pagan rites - apparently, muggle scholars had preserved them.

“Zabini told me that it’s fake anyway, you know,” Tracey whispered.

“What?” Daphne spoke so loud, Draco noticed and looked over his shoulder.

“Yes. He told me that the muggles had even less knowledge about the pagan rites of Britain than the wizards had. According to him, the Malfoys faked the whole thing.” Tracey grinned. “Or why would he do this on the Advent?”

“Zabini says a lot about Draco. That’s why he’s still at Hogwarts,” Daphne said.

Her friend shrugged. “I wouldn’t put it past the Malfoys. But we’ll never know.”

Daphne nodded. Some rival of the Malfoys had destroyed the original records in the early 18th century. And most of the oldest copies had been destroyed together with Malfoy Manor. Another crime to be laid at the feet of the mudbloods, Daphne thought.

Astoria was glaring at them now, and Daphne smiled at her sister. “Sorry,” she mouthed.

The young witch sniffed and turned to watch the fire again. Or Draco, Daphne noted. She wasn’t certain what to think of her little sister being interested in Draco.

“Oh…”

And of course, Tracey had noticed. Daphne frowned at her friend. “Don’t tease her. Or him.” Draco might get ideas.

Tracey pouted, but she knew not to cross Daphne where Astoria was concerned.

Daphne turned her attention back to Draco. The fire was burning brightly now. It was time to honour the dead. And this year, there were far too many dead.

Draco pulled out a list, and started to slowly read name after name. His voice wavered a bit at the start.

“Lucius Malfoy.”

He waved his wand to make the fire flare up - according to the faith that would light the way to the afterlife for the soul of the dead.

“Narcissa Malfoy.”

The fire flared up again.

“Oliver Parkinson.”

Daphne heard Pansy sob.

“Florence Parkinson.”

Another flare, and another sob.

“Robert Greengrass.”

Daphne pulled Astoria into her arms.

“Esme Greengrass.”

She closed her eyes, thinking of her parents. They were in the afterlife now. She knew that. And they were watching her and Astoria.

“Zachary Davis.”

Tracey didn’t sob. Or hid it too well, Daphne thought. Though her friend’s relationship with her father hadn’t been the closest.

“Grace Davis.”

Her friend sniffled. Daphne pulled her into her arms as well. The three witches remained like that as dozens of names were read, one after the other. Goyle. Crabbe. Rowle. Too many. Far too many.

When finally the last name had been read, Draco saluted the fire with his wand, then slowly turned around until he was facing the group with his back to the dying fire.

“Too many of those now travelling to the afterlife left us before their time. Murdered by mudbloods. Not content with scorning and dishonouring our traditions, they have taken up wands to kill their betters. Driven by hatred, they will not be stop until we stop them.”

Not just mudbloods, Daphne thought. She shivered, remembering how Fred had almost killed her and Tracey.

“But we will not forget them, or their murderers! We will beat those animals, and make Britain safe again! Safe for our families, and our future!” Draco raised his wand to the sky. “I promise this to our dead ancestors!”

Daphne raised her wand as well, together with Astoria and Tracey. Next year, this war would be over, and they’d be safe again.

*****​

Hogwarts, December 2nd, 1996

Albus Dumbledore nodded at the Weasley twins, after reading the transcripts they had brought. “They held a pagan celebration then.” He had expected that - the Malfoys had been trying to make Hogwarts abandon their Halloween feast for a Samhain ritual, and Christmas for Winter Solstice for a long time. Ever since Albus had changed the celebrations, decades ago. It was to be expected Draco would adhere to that faith.

“You could say that. But they were more concerned with future deaths, muggleborns and ‘blood traitors’,” Fred said, scowling, “than honouring their own deaths. And we have heard nothing that would even hint at them having prisoners.”

“Malfoy’s their leader. The rest do not seem to have met the Dark Lord yet,” George added. “And we also confirmed that they were among the attackers at the Burrow. ”

“Stupid Slytherins, they attack us, and then blame us for defending ourselves!” Fred scoffed.

“A common stance, unfortunately,” Albus said. Not only among the followers of the Dark Lord, of course. “They cannot see how their own bigotry and blind adherence to Voldemort’s ideology have caused this war.”

“Malfoy’s always been blaming everyone but himself for all his troubles. Of course his friends would be the same.” Fred shook his head. “I still can’t believe I almost fell for their act.”

“I told you.”

Fred glared at George. “Yes, you did. Many times - especially after I unmasked them.”

Albus let the two boys bicker while he read the transcripts once more. He didn’t think it was likely that Mister Malfoy would try use the upcoming Winter Solstice for dark rituals involving sacrifices, but it never hurt to check - Tom certainly had been using the occasion for vile things.

When wands were drawn, he cleared his throat. “Gentlemen, do I have to remind you where you are?”

The two boys looked sheepish. “Sorry, sir,” Fred quickly said while his brother nodded.

Albus smiled and nodded. “I am impressed. Your ‘Wireless Voles’ seem to perform admirably. I would like a number of them, to pass on to a select group.”

“Like Hermione’s?” Fred asked. “Sure.”

Out of habit, Albus didn’t confirm that, even though he was aware that the twins knew of his contact with Miss Granger.

“What are we doing about Malfoy’s group?” George glanced at Fred, then looked at Albus. “They’re already taking part in attacks with the other Death Eaters.”

Albus sighed. He had hoped the young people wouldn’t cross that line. Even if they were not marked yet, he couldn’t let them continue. “They will be dealt with at the earliest opportunity.”

“They’ll be killed then,” George said, then pressed his lips together. His brother nodded.

“Do you disapprove?” Albus asked, curious. George had been suspicious of Miss Greengrass and Miss Davis, and yet now seemed to be less… radical in his views. Fred on the other hand… a wizard scorned and betrayed had quite the fury.

Fred shook his head. “They attacked our home and tried to kill us in our shop. Good riddance to them!”

George though seemed to be hesitating to condemn them. “As far as we know they haven’t killed anyone.”

“Yet,” Fred added. “Not for lack of trying.”

“You’ll try to take at least Malfoy alive. To find out what he knows.” George wasn’t looking at his brother now, addressing Albus.

“Yes.” Albus looked over his reading glasses. “Do you wish to capture the others as well?”

“I don’t want to risk our friends’ lives for it…” George said, frowning.

“Of course not!” Fred said. “That would be stupid!”

Albus nodded. “I doubt our forces will take risks, nor will I ask them to, but should the two witches be captured, would you want to interrogate them?”

“Yes.” Fred said at once. “We’d like to be involved in the attack.”

George didn’t say anything. He probably realised that after the interrogation was finished, the question of what to do with the prisoners would have to be answered.

Albus nodded. “For security reasons, I think it would be ill-advised to mix our forces. Not the least because people not used to fighting together are prone to make potentially fatal mistakes.”

Fred looked stubborn, but George grabbed his brother’s shoulder, and nodded. “We’ll take our leave then, and keep spying on Malfoy.”

“Goodbye. And be careful.” Albus nodded at them as they left, then looked at the time. Harry and Mister Weasley would soon arrive; they had asked to talk to him.

Albus had an idea what the two boys wanted to talk about. And he wasn’t looking forward to that particular discussion.

*****​

Hogwarts, December 2nd, 1996

“Thank you for seeing us, Headmaster.” Harry smiled.

“My door is always open for you.” Dumbledore smiled, and Fawkes trilled. “Please sit down. Lemon drop?” He pointed at the small bowl on his desk.

Harry shook his head. “No, thank you, sir.”

Ron declined the offer as well.

Dumbledore took one himself. “What do you wish to discuss?”

Harry quickly glanced to Ron, who nodded at him, then took a deep breath. “We have some questions about the mission to Gringotts.”

The old wizard nodded. “I see.”

“Some things just… appeared a bit weird, to us,” Harry said. He fidgeted a bit on his chair. “You arranged our trip with the goblins in advance.”

“Yes, I did.”

“So… why did we walk through Diagon Alley? We were seen by a number of people in the Leaky Cauldron, and on the street.” Harry watched the old wizard.

“Yes. There could have Death Eaters among them. Or spies,” Ron added.

“I assure you that you were perfectly safe. I was present as well.” Dumbledore smiled. “And Alastor told me that you were ready for such an outing. He still does not think you are as good as you should be, but he has very demanding standards.”

“Merlin, yes!” Ron muttered.

Harry nodded, but didn’t let this distract him. “But, wouldn’t it have been safer to take the Floo directly to Gringotts? No one would have known about us.”

Dumbledore sighed. “You are wondering if this was a setup, are you not?”

Harry blinked. That was a bit more forward than he had expected. Nevertheless, he nodded. “Yes, sir. You told us how important it was to keep the Horcruxes secret, and yet Moody told the goblins.”

“And Moody told us just how evil goblins are!” Ron said. “And how greedy! Some of them might turn traitor and tell the Dark Lord.”

Dumbledore slowly nodded. “Indeed. I have to apologise to you for not telling you. I am counting on Tom to learn of this.” He held up a hand. “I did not use you as bait, if you suspect that - I ensured you would be safe.”

“But…” Harry was confused. “If Voldemort learns that we know about his Horcruxes and are hunting them down… he’ll do something about them.”

“You are correct. I expect that Tom will spend quite some efforts to improve the security of his remaining Horcruxes.”

“Blimey!” Ron muttered, “do you plan to have him lead you to their locations? Do you have a spy so close to him?”

Harry stared. Had the Headmaster planned for that?

Dumbledore hesitated, then shook his head. “No. That would have been an ingenious plan, but if I had a spy so close to the Dark Lord, I would have used that to deal with him in a more direct manner. I do not think Tom would tell anyone about his Horcruxes. He distrusts his own followers - and with good reason, I think.”

“But why did you want him to do this then? It’ll make our mission harder and more dangerous!” Harry couldn’t understand what the Headmaster was thinking.

“It will make him focus on protecting his Horcruxes, and wasting time and resources on improving their safety. And it will make him underestimate us.” Dumbledore smiled. His own hubris will help us there.

“But… Merlin’s ghost!” Ron stared at the Headmaster. “It’s a feint! You have another way to kill him!”

Harry blinked. His friend was right. “Why haven’t you told us?”

Dumbledore took a deep breath. “I could say that I wanted you to act naturally. Or that it was a test, to find out if you would see through this plot. But the truth is, I kept this from you because you didn’t yet need to know.”

“Yet?” Harry frowned. “Were you planning to tell us then?”

“Yes.”

Harry didn’t know if the old wizard was telling him the truth. It made sense, somewhat. But… “Do you think then that the unknown power I supposedly have will vanquish him? Did you find out what it is?”

“I think I have a very good idea of what this power is, yes.” Dumbledore sighed. “I am not yet certain though.”

Ron cut in: “You’re certain enough to use the Horcruxes as a diversion, though.”

Harry pressed his lips together and kept staring at the Headmaster. “What is it then? My link to him? My scar bled when I was too close to his Horcruxes.”

“In a manner of speaking.” Dumbledore closed his eyes for a moment, looking far older than Harry had ever seen him. “The prophecy the Dark Lord and you have heard was incomplete. I am the only one who knows the full prophecy.”

“Tell me!” Harry demanded. This was his life, the reason his parents had been killed.

Dumbledore recited the Prophecy Harry and Ron already knew, then continued: “...and he and the Dark Lord will be one, and either will crush the other, for neither can let the other survive or they will lose what they hold most dear. The one with the power to defeat the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month ends.”

“What does that mean? I and the Dark Lord will be one?” Harry felt his stomach drop. “What is my link to him?” When he saw how sad Dumbledore looked, he started to tremble.

“Your scar contains a shard of Voldemort’s soul.”

“What?”

“Damn!”

He had a piece of the Dark Lord in his scar? Harry reached up with his hand, but stopped before he touched it. That evil monster, hiding in his head… He didn’t notice he was panting and shaking until Ron grabbed his arm.

“Mate, calm down!”

“The blood protection contains the soul fragment - up to a point. If you are close to other parts of the Dark Lord’s soul, it grows stronger.” Dumbledore was looking at him with a grave expression. “I am deeply sorry to have to tell you this, Harry.”

“So… we’re going to be one… he’ll possess me, like Quirrell?” He had a sudden vision of the scar splitting, and Voldemort’s head emerging from it, and hunched over, feeling sick. Fawkes trilled, and landed on Harry’s shoulder, rubbing his head against his own. Harry felt calmer, and patted the phoenix in response.

“That is where your power matters, Harry. Through your link, your mind, your souls, touch each other. Tom has decades of experience as a wizard. His knowledge of the Dark Arts makes him my equal in a duel. You cannot hope to match him spell for spell. Nor will you be able to count on the effect of your wands sharing the same core, as you did once already.”

“In the graveyard.”

“Yes. But that scene proved one thing: When it comes to a contest of will, you are the Dark Lord’s equal.”

“That’s my power?” Harry felt like laughing at the absurdity of this. He was to face the Dark Lord… like that?

“You have one advantage over Tom: He cares about no one but himself. He has no friends. And, most importantly, he is ruled by fear. And fear makes him weak.”

“You’re a Gryffindor, Harry!” Ron smiled at him.

Harry didn’t think this would be a good moment to mention that the Sorting Hat had wanted to send him to Slytherin.

*****​

Hogwarts, December 2nd, 1996

Albus Dumbledore stopped smiling as soon as the two boys had left his office. He closed his eyes, pulled off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. He felt ashamed of himself for treating Harry like this. Keeping the boy in the dark about the real purpose of the hunt for the Horcruxes. Not telling him about the soul fragment in his scar. Or that he was to face Tom through his link to him, in a battle of wills.

But he was most ashamed that he hadn’t told him about his contingency plan. The link was a weakness of the Dark Lord, through which he could be attacked by various means. But, as Harry and Tom were linked, spells using their link would affect both.

Fawkes landed on his desk, and rubbed his head against Albus’s hand. The phoenix must have sensed his distress, the Headmaster thought. But did he understand how much Albus deserved to suffer, for what he had done? Or was Fawkes’s love unconditional, like a dog’s? Even after decades, Albus couldn’t tell. He patted the bird’s head, and slowly leaned back in his seat.

Should he have told Harry about his plans? Would it reassure the boy that if he failed, all hope would not be lost? Or would it weaken his resolve? Would he fight harder if he thought all depended on him? Which could be true - Albus’s plan was founded on a few assumptions, and was unlikely to deal with the Horcruxes. Although it would buy time to deal with them, and more importantly, to deal with Wizarding Britain.

He scoffed at his rationalisations. If he was honest with himself - and he tried his best to be - then he had to admit that keeping secrets had become second nature for him. After the betrayals in the last war had cost so many lives, he had sworn to not make the same mistake ever again. He had reorganised the Order. Kept it compartmentalised. And kept the information shared with others to a minimum. It had worked - none of the Order cells had been betrayed so far. No families had been attacked and murdered after the enemy had been informed of their safe houses. And none of his plans had been revealed to Tom before they were implemented.

But then again, his plans had been wrecked because others had not known about them, and inadvertently sabotaged them. The Order couldn’t respond in force to Death Eater attacks. And morale suffered because his friends didn’t know all that was being done in the war by other cells. And it hurt those who trusted him, when they realised just how little he trusted them.

He massaged his temples. Should he change? Was it worth the increased risk of betrayal? He had taken precautions so his crucial knowledge would not be lost with him, should he die suddenly, but could he take enough precautions to avoid a repeat of the betrayals of the last war? After he had failed to see just what so many purebloods really thought about muggleborns?

Could he even change if he wanted? Or had keeping secrets from everyone truly become part of his very being?

He didn’t know the answers. But he knew that no matter what he might decide, others would pay the price should he turn out to have been wrong.

He focused on a slightly more urgent problem. Augusta Longbottom. As far as he knew, the old witch was still alive. Severus had managed to find out that Tom had not killed any of his hostages yet. But Albus was certain that the proud witch was suffering. Even if she was not being tortured by the Dark Lord or his followers - and Albus knew how cruel Tom and his ilk were - the knowledge that she was a prisoner of those who had taken her son from her would hurt her greatly.

Albus wished he could save her. Even though Augusta had never forgiven him for the fate Frank and Alice had suffered while fighting for Albus, he respected her. But Severus didn’t know where she was being held. Which, in a perverse way, was a good thing. It meant Albus wouldn’t have to decide that saving Augusta wasn’t worth risking his spy.

Augusta was a skilled witch, with strong convictions. But she was just one member in the Wizengamot - where she was acting as her grandson’s proxy. Severus, though, was a member of Tom’s inner circle. If he could earn the Dark Lord’s trust enough to find his location, the war would be over in a day, and the Dark Lord would be, if not killed, at least reduced to a shade. His reputation would take another blow as well - it was one thing to return from the dead, it was another to keep being killed.

No, even if Albus knew where Augusta was he would not risk Severus for her. No matter how much he hated himself for it.

*****​

Hogwarts, December 2nd, 1996

Ron Weasley cast a privacy spell as soon as he and Harry were on their way back to the Gryffindor dorms. “So…” he started to speak, then trailed off, not certain what to say.

Harry glanced at him. “What?” his friend snapped.

“We know now why Moody was acting like he did.” Ron smiled.

“And we know I have the Dark Lord’s soul in my head!” Harry bared his teeth.

“In your scar,” Ron corrected him.

“Scar, head - I’m linked to him!” His friend had stopped walking. “I’ll have to face him in my mind!” He tapped his scar, then rubbed it. “It almost feels as if this thing is digging into my skull!”

For a moment, Ron even feared Harry would scratch it bloody, as if that would release the soul fragment. He shuddered at the image that thought conjured. “Mate… you also heard Dumbledore: You can beat the Dark Lord.” He tried to be positive. Harry needed him now.

“I also heard him say once that we need to track down the Horcruxes to beat the Dark Lord!” Harry snarled. But he dropped his hand from his forehead.

“Do you think he was lying?” Ron hadn’t liked that they had been deceived, but he thought the Headmaster’s explanation was reasonable.

“I think he’s hiding more.”

“Well, of course he is. He’s running the Order - you know what Hermione said about organising a resistance group. He can’t tell people who might get captured much.” Ron flashed a weak grin. “I don’t like it either, but it makes sense.”

Harry sighed. “Of course it does. But… damn it! What do I tell Hermione?”

“What?” Ron stared at his friend.

“I’ve got Voldemort in my head!”

“And you mastered Occlumency and have your mother’s protection.”

“Voldemort has certainly mastered Legilimency, and he has taken my blood, so the protection doesn’t work that well any more.” Harry looked like he wanted to hit the wall. With his fist, or his head.

“It still works well enough, right? You don’t feel the Dark Lord until you’re almost on top of a Horcrux.” Ron put his hand on Harry’s shoulder. “You’ll get that monster.”

“And what if I don’t? What if he crushes me?” Harry shook his head.

“You beat him once. After getting tortured with the Cruciatus, and losing a lot of blood.” Ron wanted to shake some sense into his friend. “Look, we’ll tell Hermione, and discuss the thing. See what she’ll say.” Harry would listen to Hermione, Ron hoped. He usually did.

Harry sighed. He raised his hand up again, towards his head, and Ron snatched it. “Don’t scratch it. Even if it itches.”

“It doesn’t itch.” Harry said, showing his teeth.

“Good.”

“I don’t want to tell her that through the mirror. We need to meet.”

“Yes. As soon as possible,” Ron agreed. Before his friend went crazy. “You can also talk to Sirius, can’t you?”

Harry stiffened. “He doesn’t know about this. You said such secrets need to be kept.”

Ron nodded. It sounded like an excuse to him, but he’d not push. Harry was already on edge. At least Ron had still an important task, after hunting Horcruxes had been revealed to be a ruse: He had to take care of his friend. Keep him from going mad.

“Come on, let’s swing by the kitchen, and grab some snacks.”

“I’m not hungry.” Harry scowled.

Ron almost sighed. “For the rest of our house then. Come on!”

Harry scoffed, but followed him down to the kitchen. Hopefully, Ron thought, some sweets would help his friend’s mood.

*****​

London, Sutton, December 3rd, 1996

“And this is the living room. As you can see, the appliances are all brand new. You will be hard pressed to find another flat at this price.”

Brenda Brocktuckle hadn’t understood half the things the muggle had told her during the tour of the flat. That the clothes she was wearing itched hadn’t helped either. At least it looked like Martin had managed to follow the woman’s words.

“It comes with garage as well - though if you have two cars you might need to rent another parking space.”

“We don’t have a car,” Brenda said. And they could stash their brooms in that umbrella stand easily. “I haven’t seen a fireplace though.”

“A fireplace? If you want to install an electric one, then you need permission from the landlord, as for all major structural changes to the flat.” The muggle laughed loud. “Not that you could install a real fireplace, of course!”

Brenda wished she could tell the dumb muggle that yes, they could install a real fireplace easily. They were not stupid muggles who could only do one thing and even that rarely well. Instead she smiled and nodded.

“The kitchen has a modern dishwasher too, in addition to the washing machine. The former tenant didn’t use either much - he was a bachelor, you know.” The muggle winked. “He didn’t even sleep at home often, I think.”

Martin nodded. He seemed to understand what those devices were - and why the muggles needed two different machines to clean things. Brenda just needed her wand.

The flat was surrounded by muggles. Many of them had children - the muggle had mentioned it could be a bit loud if the windows were open - and it was in London. It was as safe from mudblood bombs as it could be. The price sounded steep, but then, this was paper money, not real money.

“We’ll take it,” Brenda said.

“Oh? A good decision. You will not regret it.” The woman pulled out a stack of paper. “I have the contract right here, please read through it carefully.”

Brenda glanced at Martin, who winced, but nodded and picked the stack up. While the younger Auror started reading, Brenda went to check the bathroom. The appliances there looked… weird.

“Pardon my curiosity, but… is this the first shared flat for the two of you?”

The muggle had followed her. Brenda nodded, peering at the shower stall. “Yes.”

“Ah. You’re a lucky woman.”

Brenda laughed. “He’s my partner at work. This is just a temporary arrangement - until we can return to our homes. Another co-worker might join us as well.”

“Oh. Were you reassigned to London?”

“Something like that. We decided it would be better to rent a flat together than look for one for each of us.”

“A smart decision!” The woman smiled. “Do you need some decent but not too expensive furniture as well? I know a few businesses with very reasonable prices.”

Brenda shook her head - she had all she needed in her pocket, and she could conjure whatever she might lack. “No, we’re set for furniture.”

“I’m done. You can sign as well, Brenda.” Martin interrupted them, saving Brenda from more inane chat with a stupid muggle. It took another half an hour until the woman was finally gone - she had insisted on showing the two Aurors the basement and attic as well.

More than a bit tired, Brenda turned to Martin. “I’ll inform Parkinson, ask him if he wants to move in as well. You can start arranging the furniture. I want a proper fireplace.”

“Without a Floo connection?” Martin knew as well as she did that the Floo Network Authority was riddled with spies, so they couldn’t be trusted.

“It’s a matter of principle,” Brenda said. A witch’s home had a fireplace. Not those muggle contraptions. Even if the central heating worked, or the muggles would have frozen to death by now.

“Alright.” Martin hesitated, then added: “Do you know how to use those muggle devices in the kitchen?”

“Didn’t they cover that in Muggle Studies?” Brenda asked.

He shook his head. “Not that kind.”

“Well, we don’t need them. We have spells for that. Start with setting up wards too.”

“Alright, boss!” Martin even stood at attention, as if he was a Hit-Wizard. She snorted, and shook her head before apparating away.

*****​

A few hours later, the flat looked more like a proper wizarding home. Fireplace, owl cage, wireless receiver, an ice box, and bookshelves. Parkinson would arrive later - Brenda suspected the Auror wanted to wait until they had set the wards. Which they were in the process of doing. None of them was a Curse-Breaker, but between the two of them, they knew enough to craft some decent protection.

A knock at the door interrupted them, and Brenda frowned. “Do we expect anyone?”

“Might be our neighbours,” Martin said.

“Probably. Cover me.” Brenda didn’t know much about muggle customs, but she knew enough to deal with a noisy neighbour.

She opened the door, hiding her wand behind her back. “Yes?”

“Ah, hello! I’m Susan Farmer, I’m your neighbour.” A middle-aged muggle woman pointed at the door opposite theirs.

“I’m Brenda.”

“I wanted to say hello, and I was wondering… did you already set up your telly?”

Brenda shook her head. “No, we haven’t yet used the electricity.”

“Oh… well, once you do, could you check if your telly is working? Mine stopped working, and I’m trying to find out if the problem is in my flat, or in the house.”

Brenda nodded. There was no way she would try to use any muggle device, but she couldn’t tell the woman that. They wanted to fit in after all.

“Thank you.” The woman was smiling, but she was all but craning her neck to peer inside Brenda’s new flat.

“Hello, ma’am. I’m Martin.” Brenda’s partner stepped into sight. “We’ve just moved in today.”

“Oh, pleased to meet you. I know, Emily told me. She’s the tenant in the first floor. Her telly is working, you know.”

“Good to know.”

“But the Smiths from the second floor, above your flat, their telly isn’t working either. Mr. Smith was very annoyed - he doesn’t want to miss the Derby, you know.”

Brenda had no idea what derby the woman was talking about, but she nodded again. And she had a feeling that she needed to confund the woman if she wanted to get rid of her.

“I’ll go back to arranging the furniture,” Martin said, ignoring her glare.

He better get started on the muggle-repelling wards, Brenda thought, if he knew what was good for him!

*****​

London, Greenwich, December 3rd, 1996

Hermione Granger really missed Grimmauld Place. Instead of meeting her two best friends there, she was meeting them in a café, in disguise. She prefered a familiar place for the kind of talk they were about to have. The witch checked her watch. It was almost time. She grinned ruefully - without her to nag them, they probably would arrive at the last minute in their classrooms. She smiled when she remembered their first Transfiguration lesson.

She missed Hogwarts too.

She spotted them before they entered the café. They were disguised as well, but she knew them better than anyone else. They didn’t change their height and build, nor how they walked. And apparently, they had recognised her too - the two came straight towards her table.

Ron stepped forward and hugged her while Harry hung back. “Harry’s in a dark mood,” he whispered into her ear, then released her. She noticed that when she went and hugged Harry - her friend flinched, and was stiff, then hugged her back hard, and hesitated to let go.

She cast a privacy spell as soon as they had ordered, her wand swishing under the table, then leaned forward. “What happened?” This was certainly more important that talking about their dates.

Harry and Ron exchanged glances, causing her to frown. Couldn’t they just get on with it?

Harry sighed. “We were in Gringotts last Friday. Tracking down a Horcrux with Moody. And… well, we thought the whole mission was handled a bit weird.”

“How so?” Hermione frowned.

“We didn’t travel directly to the bank, but to the Leaky Cauldron, then walked to the bank.”

“What? Were you disguised?” Hermione couldn’t believe that they had been so… careless? Voldemort had spies all over Diagon Alley, Hermione was certain.

“No.”

“Moody let that happen?” Hermione shook her head. “Did you check him for Polyjuice?”

Harry snorted. “We should have… but then again, if he had been a traitor, he could have easily cursed us both.” He shook his head. “No, Dumbledore later told us that he had been there as well, so it was safe.”

“Supposedly,” Ron added.

“But,” Harry went on, “when we went to his office two days ago, he told us that he staged the whole thing - he wants Voldemort to know about us hunting the Horcruxes. So that he’ll waste resources on protecting them, and doesn’t suspect the real plan to kill him.”

Hermione took a deep breath. The real plan to kill the Dark Lord? The Horcrux hunt was a diversion? “What is the real plan to kill him?”

Harry tapped his scar with a wry grin. “This contains a part of his soul, and links us two. The Headmaster said that I’ll have to defeat the Dark Lord in a battle of wills.”

Hermione gaped, then covered her mouth with her hand. “No.”

Harry nodded. “Yes. Shocking, right?”

Hermione forced herself to chuckle. Harry carried a piece of the Dark Lord’s soul in his cursed scar. And they were linked! That was horrible! “That’s… did he say how this will happen?”

“He didn’t. But since we’re linked, I think it’ll be possession or something like it.”

Hermione winced. Possession. Like Quirrell.

Harry must have known what she’d think of, since he nodded again. “I’ve had a nightmare where my scar splits, and his head pushes out of it.”

“Ugh.” Ron groaned, then looked at the waitress that was approaching with their order. “I just lost my appetite.”

Hermione didn’t feel like eating anything either, but when she saw Harry’s expression - her friend had just found another thing to blame himself for, she just knew it - she started to eat her own cake. Even if she barely tasted it. Harry had a soul shard inside his scar! How was that possible? His blood protection had been so powerful, it had burned Voldemort! Maybe the Killing Curse had been stopped, but opened a weakness in the protection, which had led to the scar, which had absorbed a part of the soul when the Dark Lord’s body had disintegrated...

“See? I told you, she’s already thinking of a way to handle this.”

Ron’s cheerful - too cheerful - voice interrupted her. But she played along and smiled sheepishly. “Sorry… I was just considering how this was possible.”

“We don’t expect a solution right now. Tomorrow is fine,” her friend said in a teasing tone.

“I’ll see what I can do,” she answered, in a dry voice.

“Anyway… you see, I have a link to Voldemort. A part of him, even. So… I don’t think…”

“He’s trying to say that he thinks he’s not safe to be around,” Ron interrupted their friend. “I tried to tell him that was bollocks, but he doesn’t listen too well.”

Hermione sighed. “Honestly, Harry, if you were not safe to be around, don’t you think Dumbledore would have said something?” It was the best argument she could think of, without a proper examination of the scar and some research.

“He lied to me about the Horcruxes once already. Lying about this would seem par for the course.”

“But if you were a danger to those around you, then he’d risk far more by letting you walk around. Sirius’s home, the Gryffindor’s dorm, this meeting - Dumbledore would be risking far too much if there was a danger that you’d be possessed at a whim.” The longer she argued, the more sense it made to Hermione. “No, we have to assume that your mother’s protection effectively seals that scar up. And there’s your Occlumency. You haven’t felt any signs of possession, have you?”

Harry shook his head. “Only nightmares about it.”

She nodded. “Then you’re safe.” To be around, at least. “It likely will need some effort to activate the link.”

“The scar started bleeding when he was close to the Horcrux.”

Hermione pressed her lips together to keep from swearing, and nodded. “Or close proximity then. You’re still safe. You can even serve as an early warning system with regards to Voldemort’s presence.”

“Just what I always wanted to grow up into - a living Sneakoscope!” But Harry was smiling again.

“Well, I’ll certainly appreciate your new power, mate!” Ron said. Her other best friend was eating his cake now.

They talked about less important things while they finished their tea. School - Hermione really was missing Hogwarts, but she tried to hide it, so her friends wouldn’t feel guilty and stop talking about it. She wanted to know what was happening at Hogwarts - and not just the things relevant to the war, but also how and what her friends and acquaintances were doing. Dear Lord, she thought - she had turned into a gossip!

If Lavender could see her now! She chuckled at her realisation.

“So… with Harry straightened out…” Ron said. She noticed that he was looking nervous now. “What about, you know, dating?”

“Dating?” Hermione kept smiling with an effort. She was a Gryffindor, she shouldn’t be afraid of talking about anything. “Well…” Hermione took a deep breath. “I loved both dates.”

Her friends nodded.

“And while they were different, I couldn’t really say which I preferred.”

The boys exchanged glances. “Oh,” Ron said.

He seemed, to her surprise, more relieved than disappointed. She looked at Harry, who was smiling.

“So…” She trailed off.

“So?” Harry leaned forward.

“The whole ‘let’s date and see if we’re compatible’ didn’t work out as I thought,” Hermione said, wincing. “I’m sorry.”

“Well… what now?” Ron asked

“We go on like before?” Hermione proposed.

“You mean another set of dates?” Ron was glancing at Harry, who nodded.

“Yes.” Hermione hadn’t exactly meant that, but she hadn’t not meant that either. She was such a coward when it came to relationships! She was, she realised with a sinking feeling, acting exactly like a heroine in one of the novels her mother read, torn between two men! Or boys!

*****​

Hogwarts, December 4th, 1996

“I hope you’re happy with the information you got from Avery.” Aberforth said, stepping out of the fireplace in Albus Dumbledore’s office.

The Headmaster raised his eyebrows at his brother. His first impulse was to answer with a sarcastic ‘I am doing well, thank you for asking’, but that would just antagonise Aberforth needlessly - his brother had a chip on his shoulder about Albus’s ‘habit of trying to lecture him’. Instead he said: “We have the names of two more Death Eaters we did not yet know, Adalbert Bulstrode and Felix Macmillan. And the address of Macmillan. Although I think, as expected, that we will have to wait with using this information. At least until our enemies believe that Avery died in the flames and do not expect an attack any more.” Which would take some time.

“And you only had to send kids into war for it.”

Albus hid his annoyance. They had gone over this before. “Kids who were training to fight, eagerly, for month before I made contact with them.”

“When we interrogated Avery, they tried to assure me that they wouldn’t lose their temper and kill him before he had told us all we wanted to know. And they didn’t. Killed him cleanly afterwards.”

Albus rubbed his chin. “That is remarkably cold-blooded. But, given the circumstances and the information, I am impressed by their self-control.”

His brother stood up and glared at him. “Albus! Do you realise what you’re saying? You’re impressed that two kids killed a man in cold blood!”

“I’m impressed they haven’t killed him in a rage, or tortured him.” Which, given the way the war was being fought, was not unlikely.

“Two of them were wounded. Luckily, they were facing new recruits, and they weren’t hit by dark curses,” Aberforth added. “Otherwise, one would have lost his leg. And the other would have interesting scars.”

Albus nodded. He wasn’t about to say something trivial, but true - like that the Muggleborn Resistance members knew the risks.

“You don’t really care, do you? As long as the Dark Lord is defeated, there are only acceptable losses, huh?” Aberforth stood in front of his desk, glaring at him baring his teeth,

“I do care. But as I told you before - those young wizards and witches would be fighting anyway. With our help, we can reduce the risk for them - all kind of risks. Left to themselves, they would run the danger of matching their enemies atrocity for atrocity.”

His brother scoffed. “I doubt that. Hermione’s keeping the more bloodthirsty members on a short leash.”

‘Hermione’ was it now, Albus noted. “Maybe. But I know how much we have to compromise when we’re fighting a war. People change in one.”

Aberforth scoffed once again. “So… you’re not acting on the information right away. Is there anyone else you want these children to kill for you?”

Albus frowned, but didn’t react to the barb. “As a matter of fact, yes.” He pushed a piece of parchment over to his brother. “We have discovered the current residence of Draco Malfoy. He leads a group of young wizards and witches in the Dark Lord’s service. They meet there regularly.”

“And you want the Resistance to hit it?”

“I want them to capture Mister Malfoy. Not just for the information he knows. If he can be persuaded to part with some of his family fortune, then this would both hamper the Dark Lord’s war efforts, as well as help ours,” Albus said.

“They’re going to finish what they started at Hogwarts, aren’t they?”

Albus sighed. “Unfortunately, the group led by Mister Malfoy has been rather active. They have yet to murder anyone though, so I hope they’ll be captured rather than killed outright. I will certainly stress the need for information.”

“And now you want the Resistance to stop following the course of action you condoned before and not kill the Death Eater spawn.” He shook his head. “Do you honestly think they should be saved?”

“Not at the expense of others, no. But even leaving the morality aside, I think it would be more beneficial for our cause if they are not killed, which would let other followers of Voldemort inherit their family fortunes, but instead taken prisoner.”

“Kidnapping for gold and hostages…” Aberforth shook his head. “What a noble way to wage war.”

“There is nothing inherently noble in war, as you know well enough.” Albus saw his brother scowl when that remark hit home. “So… can I count on your help with that endeavor?”

“I’ll do what I can, though I don’t know if I’ll be able to join them on this mission. Unless I pose as an informant with a personal grudge.”

Albus smiled. “That would work very well I think.”

“All those lies are going to have some repercussions.”

“A price I will gladly pay if it means I can save more people,” Albus said.

“You will? Well, let’s hope that no one else will pay the price instead.”

Aberforth shook his head and scowled as he stood up and walked towards the fireplace. Obviously, their discussion was over. Seeing his brother leave in anger hurt - even more so since Albus’s actions might have rendered any possibility of reconciliation impossible.

But he’d rather suffer himself than sacrifice others.

*****​

Outside Withernsea, Yorkshire, Britain, December 5th, 1996

The Dark Lord Voldemort frowned when he read the report from one of his spies. Harry Potter had been seen entering Gringotts after business hours last week, protected by Moody. The Dark Lord had been certain that the Boy-Who-Lived would not have met the goblins at that time of the day just to talk about his finances. And so he had ordered his spies to find out what exactly Potter had done in the bank.

And his spy had come through, although it had taken more than a few days. He scowled. Potter and Moody had found the Horcrux Voldemort had hidden there, in the deepest levels of the bank, tied to the wards. That was worrying - the enchantments he had crafted had hidden this soul anchor even from the paranoid goblins’ eyes. How had the boy managed to find it? He knew it wasn’t the work of Moody - if the Auror had been able to track the Horcrux, say with his enchanted eye, then he would not have brought the boy with him. It was Potter then. But how? Was this ‘the power he knew not’? That was a possibility he’d have to take into account.

And it meant that soul anchors he had thought safe were not. Depending on how far Potter could track Horcruxes, even those he had hidden on the continent might not be safe. Fortunately, the Dark Lord had not limited himself to Europe. And even if the boy was able to track those soul anchors, he’d have a very difficult time getting to them. Even, or especially, with Dumbledore’s help - some of the locations he had chosen to hide his Horcruxes were the domains of wizards who loathed Dumbledore. Still, creating another spare would not go amiss. Just in case.

On the other hand, and this brought a smile to his face, if Potter could track his Horcruxes, then this meant there would be an opportunity to lure the Boy-Who-Lived into a trap. Or ambush him on the way to a Horcrux’s hiding location. Dumbledore must be desperate to risk the boy like this. Unless… of course! The boy was bait. Bait for a trap for Voldemort! That was Dumbledore’s plan!

He chuckled. He’d not fall for that ploy. He’d watch how the Boy-Who-Lived risked his life finding his soul anchors, and replace them faster than Potter could find and destroy them. And maybe some of the defenses of his Horcruxes would be enough to kill the boy.

Chuckling, he put the report down and grabbed a fresh sheet of parchment. There was another boy he had to deal with. Longbottom. The boy would give his word to stay neutral, or his grandmother would suffer like the boy’s parents had suffered. Or worse. That should suffice to break the boy, and make him pliable enough for further demands at a later date.

*****​

 

Chapter 20: Assault

‘Some historians have claimed that the surge of pureblood wizards and witches moving to live among muggles in the autumn and winter of 1996 led to them having a better understanding of muggle culture. In my opinion, such claims are based on a fundamental misunderstanding of how those purebloods lived. They may have rented and moved into muggle houses, but they did not live among muggles. Afraid for their safety, they did not use the door of their flats, since that would have taken them outside their wards. Instead they relied mainly on Apparition to enter and leave their homes. Even if there was a garden, they would only have used it if it was covered by their wards - which meant they would not mingle with muggles. Even more telling was that the wards themselves prevented the use of any and all muggle technology, further preventing the pureblood refugees from experiencing how muggles lived. Many even went as far as to ward their flats against muggles, effectively isolating themselves completely.
When you consider the fact that at this time during the war, the Muggleborn Resistance was feared by a segment of the pureblood population almost as much as the Dark Lord had been in the First Blood War - although by a different group of purebloods - then you inevitably come to the conclusion that this move into muggle homes led to nothing more than purebloods using muggles as human shields - not a stance that would lead any among the purebloods to feel any empathy for muggles. ’
- Excerpt from ‘The Second Blood War’ by Hyacinth Selwyn

*****​

London, Ealing, December 6th, 1996

Hermione Granger was glad that the Headmaster had agreed to a sensible location for their meeting, instead of the hotels and clubs Sirius usually wanted. She was sitting on a bench, as if waiting for the bus, and reading a book - quite normal for a girl in the afternoon. She had to move a bit carefully though - the training that morning had been hard on her. Not as hard as on Seamus, though, who had been a bit too reckless, again, and had paid the price in bruises, not just sore muscles.

Some of her friends had grumbled about the intensive training, citing their recent success as proof that they were doing well. She had put her foot down though - they could do better, and they would have to do better. Sooner or later, something would go wrong, and then they would be glad for all the training she was putting them through.

She wasn’t actually reading the book, of course - she had to keep an eye on her surroundings. Even with Justin as backup, invisible and on a roof nearby, it would not do to neglect her security.

“I see an older man walking towards you, should be turning the corner soon.”

She heard Justin’s voice through the enchanted earring she wore. It wasn’t a perfect system; Hermione and John had barely gotten it to transmit sound. John was working on refining it, but he hadn’t found a way to protect it against others listening in - other than picking a frequency that was not used by Wizards. They would have to use code names until then, to provide minimal security. Another thing they would need to train for. “Alright,” she whispered.

As announced, an older man walked around the corner. The size and build fit Dumbledore, but that didn’t have to mean anything; the old wizard could be using Polyjuice.

“Is this seat taken, Miss?”

The voice though was his. She looked him over. He had shaved his beard and dyed and styled his hair. Together with muggle clothes, it made him appear like a different - and younger - man. And he was carrying the agreed-upon newspaper from the day before.

“No, please sit down,” she answered.

He took a seat, gingerly stretching his legs. Both cast privacy spells.

“How are you and your friends doing?” he asked, not looking at her, but at an ad across the street.

“We’re doing fine. More training, to avoid the mistakes we made.”

“I see.” He smiled, as if she had just handed in an essay for extra-credit.

Hermione smiled in return, then scolded herself. She wasn’t in school anymore. She shouldn’t crave her teacher’s approval.

“Have both of your friends who were hurt recovered?”

“Yes. Though one of them seems determined to hurt himself again.” Hermione pursed her lips.

Dumbledore chuckled. Then he grew serious, and passed a rolled up scroll to her. “This is the new address of Draco Malfoy. His home also serves as a meeting spot for the other young wizards and witches who follow him in the service of the Dark Lord.”

Hermione had to struggle a bit to coolly nod, instead of smiling widely. Malfoy’s home! That creep had wanted all muggleborns to die back in their second year! He was rotten to the core, and him having escaped the bombing of Malfoy Manor had irked her a lot.

“I have to stress that, if possible, Mister Malfoy should be captured so he can be interrogated. He may have crucial information. But do not risk your lives for it, please. Just do not simply turn the house into a crater.”

“If I can study the house beforehand, I can calculate the force of the bomb needed to take down the wards - provided it’s not standing near other houses,” Hermione said.

“Fascinating. A quite ingenious, if a bit heavy-handed, solution to wards. Some Curse-Breakers might want to use the method as well, I think - for more peaceful pursuits.”

Hermione wasn’t convinced that this method would ever be safe enough for civilian use, but who knew what could be developed? “That should shock them enough so we can capture Malfoy.”

“Please capture anyone else, if possible. Not only may others have valuable information as well, but most of them are the current, if still minor, heirs to their family fortunes - and Wizengamot seats. Having them taken prisoner would offer several more possibilities to weaken the Dark Lord’s cause further than killing them out of hand.”

Hermione could see the sense in that, but she had a duty towards her group. “We’ll certainly not go out of our way to kill them, but we’ll not take undue risks to capture them.” She hadn’t forgotten how the Headmaster had used Harry and Ron. She almost asked about them, and that trip, but held her tongue. They’d told her that they had settled that, after all.

“I cannot ask for more.” He smiled. “My brother should be available to help you again. You can claim that he was the informant for this.”

That would make the mission safer - the Death Eaters would respond quicker than Aurors, Hermione was certain - but it might lead to more questions from the rest of the group. She nodded. “Very well, sir.” She could handle questions better than dead friends. “I will inform my group that the prisoners will be used to extort gold then, but they might expect a cut.” More gold certainly wouldn’t hurt. Sirius was generous, but she felt as if she was taking part of Harry’s money as well. If she could get Death Eater gold to pay for waging war against them, that would be ideal. “How quickly should this be done?”

“There is no special hurry. We have them under observation. But should they decide to launch an attack, our hand might be forced to prevent further innocent victims.”

Or rather, her and her friends’ hand. “I’ll get on it then, sir.” She nodded at him. “Anything else?”

“I am still preparing the facilities to hold prisoners - they will be ready in two days.”

“Good.” Hermione didn’t expect to be told where those facilities were. She wouldn’t have told him either. She checked the schedule for the buses. A few more minutes until the next one arrived. “Have you read the latest article in the Prophet, sir?”

He sighed. “I have, yes. Miss Skeeter’s work has grown more and more extremist lately. She also seems rather terrified of you.”

That evil liar should be terrified, Hermione thought. She hadn’t forgotten what Skeeter had done in their fourth year - or their fifth. The only reason she hadn’t chosen her as a target was that the articles Skeeter wrote were such blatant lies, they discredited the Prophet - or at least they should. Though anyone who still believed that muckraker was beyond help anyway. “She still hasn’t fled, or stopped writing though.”

“Do you think she’s under pressure to keep writing?”

Hermione nodded. “I think that’s a possibility.”

“I will have someone look into it.”

The young witch smiled.

*****​

London, East End, December 6th, 1996

Hermione Granger smiled at the Resistance members assembled in the living room - or what had become their living room - of their headquarters. “As you know, I’ve met with an informant today.”

“Yes, your secret informant,” Dean mumbled, loud enough even Hermione heard it.

She ignored it, but noted with some pleasure that the majority of the group glared at Dean. “I’ve been given the location of a new target.”

“A new target? What about the information we received from Avery’s interrogation? That information almost cost me my legs!” Seamus, of course, wasn’t deterred by glares at his friend.

“We’ll be waiting on striking at those until the Death Eaters believe they’re safe,” Hermione said. “In the meantime, we will be focusing on Malfoy’s new home.”

“What?”

“Yes!”

“We got the bastard!”

Hermione smiled. As she had expected, everyone was very eager to finally deal with Malfoy. That bigot had tormented every one of them for years - even the older students during Umbridge’s reign. She waited until the excitement had died down a bit. “He’s been working directly for the Dark Lord, as far as we know, and he has been leading a group of Slytherins in raids. Two of them died in the attack on the home of the Weasleys.”

“Good riddance!” Seamus said, smiling widely. Many nodded.

“Since Draco is reporting directly to Voldemort, the goal is to capture him alive for interrogation.” Hermione looked at every member, to impress how important that was.

“As long as we kill him afterwards.” John shrugged.

“We want to see him die!” Dean said.

“We deserve that!” Seamus added.

Hermione glanced around, then nodded. Never give an order you know won’t be obeyed, the Major had taught her that. “It’ll be a clean execution.”

Seamus opened his mouth, but Dean laid his hand on the Irish wizard’s arm and shook his head, stopping what Hermione was certain would have been a protest.

“The members of his group - Crabbe, Goyle, Greengrass, Davis have been identified - should be taken alive as well, if possible. Don’t take too many risks for that though,” Hermione continued.

“Why? Do they know anything important as well?” Sally-Anne asked.

“Well, Draco’s probably not smart enough to keep information secret - you know how he always boasted and bragged,” John said.

“Still, they wouldn’t know anything Draco doesn’t know. If we have Draco we don’t need to take any risk to capture the rest; we can just kill them.” Sally-Anne’s ruthless statement surprised Hermione. She hadn’t expected that. But then, Sally-Anne was in love with Justin and probably feared for his safety. Hermione could understand that - if she thought Harry and Ron were asked to take pointless risks…

“They might know the names and locations of family members who are Death Eaters. Malfoy wouldn’t know about them. Further, they are the heirs of their families. Greengrass and Davis have not just inherited large fortunes, but seats in the Wizengamot as well. If they are killed, then those go to the next of kin - another Death Eater sympathiser or recruit, in all likelihood,” Hermione explained. “Astoria Greengrass already tried to kill the Gryffindor third years, as you know. So, if they are captured instead, that gold and maybe even that influence can be used for our cause.”

“How would we do that?” Mary asked. “And we can’t really keep prisoners; there are not enough of us to guard them and keep fighting.”

Hermione shook her head. “We can’t do it. But others can. We’ll get our fair share of the gold though,” she added quickly.

“Can we trust them?” Jeremy asked.

“Yes,” she stated. “Implicitly.”

“But you won’t tell us who they are,” Dean said.

“No, I won’t. That’s not how resistance cells work.” Hermione stared him down.

“And if you die?” Seamus asked. “What then? No one but you knows those people.”

“Precautions have been taken,” Hermione said. She didn’t want to be too specific. “We don’t have to be concerned about that; all we have to do is hand our captives over. After Malfoy’s execution, we’re done.”

“Crabbe and Goyle are not that rich. Makes no sense leaving them alive.” Seamus said.

She was getting tired of this. “If they are not useful alive, and have done enough, they’ll be killed as well. In that case, we’ll send Malfoy to his death with his two grunts.”

Seamus looked like he wanted to argue further, but since she had just given him what he had asked for, he couldn’t. Hermione almost smirked.

“Now… we’ll be observing the house. It’s isolated, so we’ll be able to simply blow the wards away. I’ll need some time to calculate the amount of explosives necessary. We’ll be striking when they are gathered, so we can get the entire group. There’s no time pressure, unless they start to plan an attack on others; in that case we’ll hit them right away.”

Everyone seemed to agree with that.

“And in the meantime, we’ll practise indoor assaults and broom interception. We can’t let them escape.”

That was received by groans all around.

“What about tunnels?” Tania asked.

“We’ll be looking for those as well. But if we cover enough of the area with Anti-Apparition Jinxes, even tunnels won’t help them.” Hermione would still look for a way to scan for those. Just in case.

“Any other questions?” She waited a few seconds. “Then let’s get started!”

*****​

Hogwarts, December 7th, 1996

Ron Weasley was still rubbing his shoulder - he had landed quite hard on it when he had dodged one of Moody’s more painful spells - even an hour after the training session had ended and he and Harry had returned to the dorms. He could go to Madam Pomfrey, maybe claim he had a little accident with his broom… he shook his head. He could endure this. He had to if he wanted to make a difference, as Hermione put it.

He stared at the embers in the fireplace nearby. He had thought he was doing something important, crucial even, helping Harry find the soul anchors that kept Voldemort from dying. Keep him safe, protect him against Death Eaters. But it was just a distraction. A ruse of the Headmaster’s. Harry didn’t need his help to defeat Voldemort - his friend would do that alone, inside his mind.

Ron couldn’t help with that. He snorted, thinking of the jokes that his brothers would make about him and minds. Harry would be defeating the Dark Lord. Hermione was killing Death Eaters in droves. And Ron? He was Harry’s moral support. A joke, in other words.

Well, not entirely. He doubted that Harry could simply stay safe at Hogwarts and kill Voldemort with his mind. The two would have to meet. Which meant a battle. Which meant that someone would have to protect Harry’s back while he faced the Dark Lord.

Ron could do that. Would do that. Harry was his best friend, and he’d rather die than let him down. He still felt ashamed when he thought of the Tournament. He had been so stupid, so petty… He shook his head and hissed through his clenched teeth. If Harry died, Hermione would be devastated. And it would be Ron’s fault. He ignored the tiny voice in the back of his head which whispered that if Harry died, Ron would have Hermione.

He noticed Ginny heading his way, but kept staring at the glowing remains of the logs in the fireplace.

“What are you moping about?” His sister let herself fall into the armchair next to his.

He glanced at her, turning his head just enough to meet her eyes. He wasn’t in the mood for an interrogation. “The war,” he grunted.

“Oh.” Ginny frowned. But as he had expected, his sister didn’t let his attitude stop her. “Well, what’s going on with Neville?”

“What?” This time he turned his head.

“Neville Longbottom. Same year as you, has his bed next to yours.”

“Your sarcasm needs more work,” he spat. “What about him? And why do you know where he sleeps?”

“From the map.” She shook her head, then leaned forward. “What’s going on? He looks worse than I’ve ever seen him and barely talks to anyone, not even the teachers. Didn’t you notice?”

Ron hadn’t, actually. He knew the boy had been crying at night, but that was understandable, wasn’t it? And not something he thought Neville wanted to talk about. And, Ron told himself, he had had more important things to worry about.

He must have hesitated a bit too long to answer since Ginny scoffed. “Really? Merlin’s pants! He’s your roommate!”

“Harry and I have been busy.”

“Yes, yes, your secret missions.” She rolled her eyes and flipped her hair back over her shoulder.

He quickly cast a privacy spell. “Ginny!”

“Oh, come on - everyone knows you’re on some secret mission, or whatever. Think we have missed how you and Harry disappear so often?” Ginny waved his concern away. “We won’t tell anyone.”

“People can read your minds,” he whispered.

That made her eyes widen in surprise for a moment, then she pouted. “As long as you don’t tell us what you’re doing, it’s OK. But Neville’s not OK.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “I think the Dark Lord sent him another letter.”

“Did you tell Dumbledore?”

She shook her head. “He would know already, wouldn’t he?”

“Maybe. Probably.” Ron wasn’t quite certain. “Wouldn’t hurt telling him.” And Dumbledore might know how to help Neville - Ron certainly didn’t. And he doubted that Harry knew either. He didn’t know how he’d react, in Neville’s place. How could you sacrifice your family, even if it was the right thing to do? “I’ll tell him.”

“Good.”

He expected her to leave, but she looked around, and leaned further forward. “So, how are things with you and Hermione?”

“You mean, how are things with her and Harry.”

“Oh.” She looked at him with wide eyes.

He winced. She had misunderstood him. “No, they are not together. I meant, you want to know how things are between Harry and her.”

“Well, yes.” She grinned.

He stared at her. “We’re still sounding things out.” He didn’t want to lie to her, or tell her off, but this was a private matter, between him and his friends.

“Why has Harry been so down then?”

“That wasn’t because of his love life. And no, I’m not going to tell you why he was down.”

“I can ask him myself!”

“Yes, you can.”

She huffed and stood up. “See if I don’t!”

He watched her leave, and wondered if she’d actually do it. She was a Weasley, and a Gryffindor, so she might. Although Harry was already up in their room, probably sleeping, or trying to. He blinked. That might not stop Ginny if she was riled up. On the other hand, she hadn’t yet talked to Harry about her feelings, and it had been weeks since she had told Ron.

He returned to watching the embers in the fireplace. Some things were best left alone. His sister’s love life was one of those things. Unless, of course, someone hurt her.

*****​

Dorset, Britain, December 7th, 1996

“Ah, there she is, the Bane of Bigotry!”

“‘Bane of Bigotry’? Really?” Hermione shook her head at Fred and George.

Fred shrugged, grinning. “You’re the terror of the Death Eaters. Another year or two, and they’ll call you “The-One-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.”

“I doubt that,” Hermione said dryly.

“Scythe of the Slytherins?” George asked, with his head cocked to the side.

Hermione rubbed her temple and ignored the two while she looked around inside their wizard tent. It was not as luxuriously furnished as the one Arthur Weasley had borrowed for the World Cup. Sirius might have cut a few corners there. Not that she could blame him - why spend gold on frivolous things for such a mission? “So… what’s the status of Malfoy’s home?”

“Unchanged. He’s not home that often, and apart from Crabbe and Goyle, he hasn’t had visitors since the last meeting of his group,” Fred said. “You’ll need to keep it under constant surveillance though, so you can strike when all the Death Eaters are visiting.”

“That won’t be a problem.” Hermione nodded. The Resistance had enough members for that. “But if there are too many, we might wait until Malfoy is alone instead. If he’s as close to the Dark Lord as Dumbledore suspects, help will arrive quickly.” Hopefully not Voldemort himself - Aberforth wouldn’t be enough to stall for long.

George agreed with her. Fred scowled. “Those witches are dangerous spies. We need to take them out.”

“We’ll do what we can,” Hermione assured him. “But Malfoy is the priority. Now… I’ll have to study the wards, so I can prepare the bomb to take them down.” If she made a mistake, the results wouldn’t be pretty. A bit too much, and she’d level the building, killing everyone inside. A bit too little, and it wouldn’t take the wards down, and result in Malfoy knowing that his hideout was compromised. Judging by the twins’ expressions, they were aware of that. It couldn’t be helped though.

“I’ll come with you. Just in case,” George said.

“If Harry and Ron kill you for hitting on their girl, I get your belongings,” Fred joked, earning a glare from Hermione and his brother. As much as she appreciated and respected the twins for their innovation, she wished they’d be more serious. Far more serious.

Half an hour later, Hermione was studying the wards through her customised Omnioculars while hidden by spells and carefully arranged bushes. The wards were not exactly weak, but a far cry from powerful. The Resistance’s HQ had better wards. The house looked sturdy too - another safety margin.

She started to take notes of her readings - she could calculate the explosive needed later, at home. At headquarters. Once she was done, she whispered: “We can leave now.”

“Ah…” George said, “There’s a thing I wanted to talk about with you.”

“Yes?” Hermione frowned. Was that why he had come along? “What has Fred done?”

She heard a surprised hiss, and a muttered “Scary.” Then George whispered: “He’s taking this very personally. I mean, I warned him about those girls. But he was all over them. One or both, I don’t know - but he was in love, I think.”

“That must have hurt,” Hermione said. If Harry and Ron had betrayed her like that… she didn’t know what she’d do.

“Yes. For a while, I feared he might do something foolish.” George sighed. “He wants them to die, you know.”

“We kill Death Eaters. We only agreed to try to take them prisoner since the Headmaster asked me to.” Hermione didn’t think they were in the best spot to discuss this.

“Yes. I just… it would help him and me a lot if we could find out just what they were planning for us.”

That was standard practice. He would know that. Hermione narrowed her eyes. “What are you trying to ask me?”

“Please, capture them. Fred and I need to know what they thought about us. I don’t want Fred to wonder what might have been, you know?”

Hermione resisted the urge to rub her forehead. “We’ll do what we can. Let’s return now.”

At least someone else’s love life was as messed up as hers.

******​

Dorset, Britain, December 8th, 1996

“Nice setup you’ve got here. Though not as cozy as I expected.”

Hermione Granger chuckled at Aberforth’s comment upon entering the wizarding tent. “It’s not mine. I sort of inherited it.” And she hadn’t seen the need to change the furniture. She had cleaned it though.

The old wizard nodded and sat down on a conjured seat. “So. Albus told you about this.”

“The operation? Yes. He wants Malfoy alive, and if possible, the other members of his little Death Eater cell as well.” She pointed at the enchanted scrolls of parchment with the transcripts from the Wireless Voles. “We’ve been monitoring the house for days now, and have been training for the assault.” And arranging it so she could meet Aberforth when she was alone here had taken some scheduling. Most of the Resistance was enjoying a night out in town, after a special training session this morning, while she had graciously offered to man the surveillance post.

He nodded. “I’m to pose as an informant with a personal grudge, wanting to observe the attack myself. So I can help, if needed.”

She frowned slightly. “If you help then that cover will be blown.” Her friends suspected something already - even though some probably suspected everyone she met to be her secret contact.

“Of course. But that’s better than needing my help and not having it.” Aberforth snorted. “Malfoy may be an idiot, but he’s rich and he’s close to the Dark Lord. I doubt he’s just trusting that no one can find him.”

“He isn’t,” Hermione said. “He hasn’t gone into details near one of the Voles, but he mentioned reinforcements they could call upon. The wards won’t stop us, but we’ll have a rather narrow window before we have to leave or face a sizeable Death Eater force.”

“How do you plan to leave then?”

“Brooms.” She didn’t like them, but they were the best way to retire from a battle - especially at night. She hoped Malfoy would gather his group in the evening, at least. And some covering fire from their machine guns would hopefully discourage pursuit.

“I’ll have to bring my own then.”

Hermione didn’t believe he left his home without a shrunken broom in his pocket - she didn’t either, despite her aversion to flying on it - but nodded. If she had the time to fix the invisibility enchantment on the van, they could use it, though they would need to remove the studio gear first. Maybe another flying van would be a good addition. Enchanted to be more durable too. Armored, even. She would be able to stomach the A-Team jokes from Seamus and Dean. “The main problem is that we have to find a way to stop them from fleeing on brooms.” Preferably one that didn’t impede the Resistance as well.

“Have you thought about filling the sky with conjured animals?” Aberforth asked. “Sometimes the simple solutions are the best.”

“We’ve discussed that.” Dennis had wanted Pterosaurs, but the principle was the same. “They would be a tad vulnerable, and their ability to stop a broom rider seems questionable, unless acting in a swarm. And even then, a Shield Charm might allow them to break through.” Which was why Dennis had asked for ‘flying dinosaurs’.

“Unless the animal’s presence scares them off even trying to fly away.”

“All of the ones who would achieve that are not native to Britain.” She had checked.

“Well, most people don’t think clearly when they are attacked, and see a dragon fly overhead.”

“None of us can transfigure or conjure a dragon.” Hermione pursed her lips. She thought she could learn, but she’d take a lot of time. That kind of spectacular magic seemed to suit Harry, who had mastered a Patronus Charm in their third year, and then driven away dozens of Dementors. She didn’t want him involved with this. He was needed at Hogwarts, after all, he couldn’t hide with her. Ron had seen dragons up close when he visited his brother Charlie, but Hermione doubted that would let him create one through Transfiguration or Conjuration.

“I can.”

“That would pretty much ruin your cover.”

“Right.” He didn’t sound as if he’d mind that too much, Hermione thought - and wondered why that would be the case. Anyone caught with the Resistance would have to go into hiding - the Ministry was still hunting them vigorously.

“Covering the airspace with nets is not feasible - and nets could easily be dispelled or destroyed.” She had run the numbers. “We’ll have to rely on air cover and shock and awe. Though we’ll add conjured birds - owls would be very good for their size and night vision.” Hermione had thought about enlarging animals, but any sizeable change would ruin their ability to fly. “And we need to keep an eye out for Death Eaters arriving to save Malfoy.”

It would be so much easier if they could simply kill Malfoy. She knew how much explosives they’d need to turn the house into a crater.

And she’d have more than enough around - should the Death Eaters arrive too quickly, and force them to leave, they’d blow up Malfoy and his group with his house before leaving.

*****​

Kent, Greengrass Manor, December 9th, 1996

Even sitting in the living room, eating breakfast, Daphne Greengrass didn’t feel safe. She hadn’t felt safe in her home for months, but lately it had grown worse. After she and Tracey had barely escaped with their lives from the Weasleys’ shop, she had started to reconsider her decision to enter the war against the mudbloods. Draco had been quite persuasive, and the mudbloods were a danger to everyone, but the fight in the twins’ shop had been the second time in a week that she had almost died. If she was just dealing with Draco, she would have told him she was taking a break, at least. Claimed she needed to take care of Astoria. Maybe even faked more fear than she actually felt, if he tried to insist she should stay.

But withdrawing from the Dark Lord’s forces? She was quite certain he’d see that as desertion, and would punish her. Or, worse, her sister. And he certainly knew, or could easily find out, where she lived. Her family had not been quite as willing to impress their peers by inviting them to their manor as the Malfoys, but there were enough who had been their guests among the Dark Lord’s followers.

But even if she stayed in the Dark Lord’s service - and she had no real choice there - who knew how long it would take the mudbloods to find her? No, she wasn’t safe in her family’s ancestral manor. Not anymore.

But she couldn’t easily leave. She needed a safe house, a hideout. And she needed to talk to Tracey about this. Together, they might find a solution.

Maybe even for more problems than the danger their homes were in.

Her breakfast had grown cold while her thoughts had wandered, she discovered. Frowning, she pushed her plate away. She wasn’t that hungry anyway.

“Daphne?”

She turned her head. Astoria was standing in the door, dressed in her robes. That was a surprise - her little sister was even less of a morning person than Daphne herself. “Yes?”

“When will you take me with you to Draco?”

Daphne closed her eyes. She really didn’t need this, not now.

“I already helped attacking mudbloods and blood traitors! I can help you as well! I don’t even have to fight, I can make potions, repair things…”

At least her sister had some sense left, Daphne thought, sighing. She met Astoria’s eyes. “I almost died twice in one week, Astoria. I only survived because I was lucky and could flee. Vaisey and Warrington died in a trap.” She shook her head. “It’s too dangerous for you. It might even be too dangerous for me.”

“What?” Her sister was gaping.

Daphne scoffed. “What did you think the war is like? Each time we go out, we are in danger. We could walk into a trap, or an ambush.”

“But…”

“No, Astoria. It’s too dangerous for you. I’m actually thinking we should leave the manor, and move to a safer place for the duration of the war.”

“What? Do you think the mudbloods found us?”

Daphne’s slight anger at her sister’s idea vanished when she saw Astoria’s shocked expression. “I don’t think so, but they might,” she quickly said.

Her sister started to tremble. “Like… like… mum and dad....”

Daphne rushed to wrap her in her arms, just in time for the tears. Stupid, she berated herself - Astoria hadn’t yet come to terms with the loss of their parents. Her words had just scared her again.

While she held her crying sister, Daphne couldn’t help but curse her life.

*****​

London, East End, December 9th, 1996

“I don’t see the problem. Let’s just cast the Imperius on the bastards and order them to surrender!” Dean said, slamming his hand on the table the Resistance had gathered around. “Easy!”

Seamus, of course, nodded his approval, Hermione Granger noted. At least Louise and Jeremy, as well as Justin, looked as appalled as Hermione herself felt.

“Using the Unforgivables will do far more harm than good,” she told the two wizards. “Yes, it would make capturing Death Eaters easier.” It wasn’t as if any of those Death Eaters could resist it, unlike Harry. “But it would also harm our reputation. We’d be seen as dark wizards, barely better than the Death Eaters, by many purebloods and half-bloods who are sympathetic to our cause.”

“Feh!” Seamus sneered. “There are not many of those around. Apart from your mysterious ‘contacts’, we haven’t received any help from those ‘sympathetic purebloods’.”

“There are quite a number of purebloods fighting the Dark Lord,” Hermione pointed out. “And even more who hate and fear him. Alienating them would hurt us a lot.” Especially with regards to the time after the war had ended.

“And trust me - Aurors and Hit-Wizards hate people who use the Unforgivables,” Louise cut in.

“Really? You used them yourself in the last war,” Dean said. His tone made it clear that he was all but calling Louise a liar.

“That was fifteen years ago,” the former Hit-Wizard spat. “Fifteen years where everyone in the Corps only saw those Unforgivables used against them, by criminals.”

Hermione doubted that there were many such incidents, but this was not the time to mention the general lack of combat experience of Aurors and Hit-Wizards. “Indeed. Casting an Unforgivable at another wizard or witch carries a life sentence in Azkaban. That should tell you how much they are scorned.”

“No one has to know,” Seamus said. “No witnesses, no problem.”

“You can’t count on that,” Hermione said. She wasn’t about to discuss the morality of killing witnesses; the odds of anyone in the house being innocent were far too low. “Such things tend to get out.”

“We’ll just have to be careful. If we use it only if there is no other way, we’ll be fine,” Dean said.

“You can’t count on that working out,” Justin said. “We shouldn’t rely on such spells. We have alternatives.”

“With other spells, you need to hit them twice - once to shatter their shield, once to stun them.” Dean wasn’t giving up on his idea, or so it seemed.

“Good luck hitting a broom rider twice!” Seamus scoffed.

Hermione bit her lower lip, then frowned - at herself as much as at Dean and Seamus. She should have found a better way to capture the Death Eaters. But stopping people fleeing on a broom without killing them was harder than it sounded. Especially if the Resistance had to use the same means to withdraw from the battle. She had had some ideas. Enchanted Bludgers, smashing into the brooms. They could be charmed to not attack the Resistance. In theory at least. The twins were certain they could create them.

But that kind of work took time. Time the Resistance didn’t have - the last transcript had shown that Malfoy had called a meeting for a new mission for the next day. They would have to fill the sky with conjured birds, probably owls, as well as bats, and a few broomriders of their own. She knew, though, that the odds of anyone being captured alive after taking to the sky were very slim.

She could live with that.

“We won’t be using those spells. There’s no guarantee you’d hit anyone on a broom even once. And if they’re not on a broom we can deal with them.” Hermione stared at Dean. “If they escape on brooms, and we can’t stun them in time, we’ll shoot them down.”

That made Seamus grin. Dean frowned for a few seconds, then finally nodded.

Hermione didn’t sigh with relief. She simply went on with the briefing, pointing at the map pinned to the wall behind her. “Here you can see the area around the house. We’ll be here,” she pointed at a spot, “until the bomb goes off, then we’ll move to the house, sealing the windows from both sides. We haven’t detected any curses or traps in the vicinity so far, and with the Death Eater cell meeting there, it’s unlikely that they’d trap the house itself.” Hermione hoped so, at least. If they had the kind of traps Bill Weasley liked to use, then this would be a catastrophe. But those traps couldn’t be used when people lived in the house. Hermione had asked.

“Now, Dean and Seamus will be on brooms, above us. They’ll support us, if needed, and stop escape attempts. Louise and Jeremy have point for the entry, with Tania and Mary behind them. Justin and Sally-Anne are reserves, and will keep an eye out for Death Eater reinforcements on the north-eastern side. Dennis and Colin will do the same on the other side. John and I will cover the back door, and enter there if needed. Our contact wants to see the attack with his own eyes - he hates Malfoy - and will be with us as well.”

She looked at the assembled Resistance. Most of them looked eager. Justin and Sally-Anne at least had more sense and looked grim, but determined.

They were rather stretched for people, she knew. They’d need the enemy afraid and shocked, unable to offer organised resistance at least at the start, or things would go wrong.

Hermione really hoped she hadn’t made a mistake in accepting and planning this.

*****​

Hogwarts, December 9th, 1996

Harry Potter was, not quite anxious, but feeling a bit nervous. The Headmaster had asked him and Ron to come to his office, and while whatever Dumbledore wanted to talk about obviously wasn’t urgent, or they would have been summoned at once, it had to be important. Which meant related to his scar, or to the war.

“Mate?”

Ron’s veiled prodding - his best friend knew he was stalling, and why - made Harry glare at him, even as he spoke the password to the enchanted stone statue guarding the door: “Snickers.”

Privately, Harry and his friends were certain that the password was not needed, and that the gargoyle simply alerted the Headmaster upon being spoken to, who then decided if the door would open. Listing a selection of sweets could not be enough to break into Dumbledore’s office. If the twins were still at Hogwarts, Harry would ask them to test it, but then, wouldn’t the Headmaster expect that? He pushed the thought away when they entered the office.

“Good evening, Harry, Mister Weasley. Please have a seat.”

“Good evening, Headmaster,” both boys chorused, sitting down on two conjured seats.

Fawkes briefly looked up from where he was grooming his wings, then went back to whatever birds did to their feathers.

“Ah, sir. Before we talk about what you called us here for, I have a question. Or a problem, maybe,” Ron spoke up.

“Yes?” Dumbledore looked curious, Harry thought.

“It’s about Neville. He looks even more out of it lately,” Ron said. “He doesn’t want to talk about it, but he’s suffering. So… do you know if anything happened?”

The Headmaster sighed. “I do. It is private though.”

Harry didn’t think that there was anyone at Hogwarts who didn’t know that Neville’s grandmother was Voldemort’s prisoner. But he knew that he wouldn’t like being in the same situation as Neville. He had been there a few times, after all. “Can you help him?”

“I am doing what I can, but ultimately, Neville has to decide what course of action he will take.” Dumbledore spread his hands. “No one else can decide for him.”

Harry winced and exchanged a glance with Ron. That meant a rescue mission was not possible. Poor Neville.

“Indeed,” Dumbledore said, as if he had been reading Harry’s thoughts, “it is a terrible situation to be in. He needs friends now, more than ever.”

Fawkes looked up again, trilled, and went back to grooming.

Harry felt guilty again at giving Neville the cold shoulder. “He doesn’t want to talk to us, though.”

“That never stopped Hermione,“ Ron said, under his breath, “when you were brooding.”

Harry didn’t quite glare at him.

“Now… you might wonder why I called you to my office,” Dumbledore said, breaking the short silence.

“It’s about the war, or my scar.” Harry tapped his forehead.

“Precisely.” The old wizard beamed at him. “I want to start teaching you the way into the Dark Lord’s mind. Legilimency.”

Harry hissed in surprise. In retrospect, he should have expected that - he knew from his ‘lessons’ with Snape about Legilimency. He cleared his throat. “And who will I be training on?” Who would risk revealing his deepest secrets to him?

“I have asked a few friends, to begin with,” Dumbledore said.

Harry nodded. He hadn’t expected Dumbledore himself - unless the Headmaster was planning to obliviate him of any accidentally acquired secrets. Then he chuckled at his paranoia - he doubted that he would be able to enter the man’s mind anytime soon. Or ever.

“Blimey. You’ll be able to read minds!” Ron shook his head.

“The ability to discern the thoughts of others can be abused very easily, Harry. It will be difficult to restrain yourself,” Dumbledore said, “especially if it might offer you the solution to a problem, or the answer to a question. But a person’s mind is theirs - it should not be entered without the most urgent need.”

“I understand, sir.” Harry did. He remembered how Snape had gleefully read his thoughts, taunting him with the secrets, however banal they had been, that the Potions Master had ferreted out. But he wasn’t Snape. He would be better than that git.

“I have to warn you, though. Your particular connection to the Dark Lord will, unless I am sorely mistaken, allow Legilimency to achieve things usually impossible. And you will be in greater danger as well. Fredrick Beanwalker tried to enter his own mind, and was rendered mad as a result. He died after decades in St. Mungo’s, never able to recover his wits.” Dumbledore said, looking directly at Harry.

“Well, I’ve been accused of being crazy often enough.” Harry chuckled. It wasn’t as if he had a choice, anyway - he had to defeat the Dark Lord in a battle of wills, after all. And that would be rather hard without Legilimency. And if he didn’t master this first, the Dark Lord might use it on him later.

Dumbledore nodded, a sad smile on his face, then turned to Ron. “Would you like to learn it as well, Mister Weasley?”

Ron looked surprised. “Oh.”

Harry wondered why Ron wouldn’t have expected to be included - he was trusted with every secret, after all. And he had mastered Occlumency as well.

“This is… I’ll have to think about this, sir. As you said, it’s very easy to abuse.”

“And you fear you should not be trusted with this power?”

Ron nodded.

“Those who question themselves are generally more trustworthy than those who do not, Mister Weasley. The greater the power a wizard wields, the more he needs to question himself. Many a talented wizard has found out too late that his confidence in himself was not justified.” Dumbledore smiled, though once again, he looked sad.

“I see,” Ron said. “I would still prefer to think on this.”

“Of course, Mister Weasley.”

Harry felt jealous of Ron. His best friend had a choice. He could refuse to learn this skill. And even if he learned it, he’d not be in as much danger as Harry. He pressed his lips together. He shouldn’t feel like this. Ron wasn’t at fault for Harry’s messed-up life. That was Voldemort’s doing. And the Prophecy’s. And the Death Eaters’. And Ron was choosing to do this, to follow Harry, of his own free will. He had a choice, and he chose to help Harry.

Harry had no doubt that Ron would follow him in this as well. He was his best friend.

*****​

London, December 9th, 1996

Brenda Brocktuckle sighed when she arrived at her new and hopefully very temporary home. Another day spent in an increasingly tense office. Rumour had it that Shacklebolt almost cursed Lewis Selwyn when the latter raised his wand to summon a cauldron cake. Of course, Shacklebolt’s friends probably told each other that Selwyn had tried to curse the veteran Auror, and had managed to cover up his attempt when he realised Shacklebolt was ready for him. Selwyn was that kind of wizard, underhanded and too clever for his own good, in Brenda’s opinion.

But spending hours in an office, recasting discreet protection spells on the door every so often, was stressful. In addition to that, her undercover operation was currently stalled - she had to find another spectacular attack or heist for Rickett and Purvis; all that they were doing so far was giving aid to the few muggleborns still around in Knockturn Alley, and painting slogans on walls. But arranging such a coup without risking a security leak was very hard - she couldn’t actually ask other Aurors for help.

And Dawlish and Shacklebolt were still arguing whose task force would have the lead in investigating that massacre in Knockturn Alley. Dawlish insisted that it should be his, since it was an attack by mudbloods. Shacklebolt maintained that since the victims were Death Eaters and their recruits, it was his investigation. Brenda thought Dawlish would come out on top - there was only hearsay and mudblood propaganda that claimed the dead were Death Eater recruits. Not that many cared about it - the general public wasn’t really concerned about dead Knockturn Alley residents, no matter their blood. Neither did she care - all Brenda wanted now was to occupy the couch, eat something, and listen to the wireless.

And she would, if not for Parkinson.

“The muggles are still making a ruckus outside.” The other Auror was staring out of the window. “They are walking around with their weird devices, and growing angry.”

“So what? Martin has finally placed Muggle-Repelling wards on the flat. They won’t bother us with their muggle problems.” Brenda understood now why the Magical World went into hiding - muggles were noisy and needy. Their new neighbours had knocked on the door three times before Martin finally shut them down. All because their telly was not working.

“Those outside are muggle repairmen,” Martin said, entering from the kitchen, where he had placed the takeout food they had brought with them on trays. “Apparently, they cannot find the problem.”

“They are the problem,” Brenda said, standing up and grabbing her own dinner.

“I could disillusion myself and repair their tellies,” Martin said, as he sat down at the table.

“What for?” Parkinson scoffed. “Just cast a Silencing Charm on the window, and their pathetic problems won’t bother us. See?” His wand flashed, and the noise of talking muggles disappeared.

Brenda smiled. “Well done!”

If only all their problems could be solved so easily!

*****​

Dorset, Britain, December 10th, 1996

Hermione Granger studied the house through her Omnioculars - which she should rebuild into a form that was easier to handle and conceal, she thought, not for the first time - while Justin looked at the transcripts on the scrolls.

“They’re still waiting for Nott,” he said.

Malfoy, Parkinson, Nott, Greengrass, Davis, Crabbe, Goyle - if the Resistance managed to capture or kill all of them, that would be a heavy blow against the Death Eaters, Hermione knew. But it was riskier than she liked. They outnumbered them, but only as long as no reinforcements arrived. Which is why they’d focus on casting Anti-Apparition Jinxes over a wide area, to keep Death Eaters from arriving on top of them.

They were hidden in a trench they had created, a few hundred yards from the house. Close enough to observe and rush it, far enough not to have to worry about the bomb Seamus would be dropping on the house as soon as Hermione gave the signal.

She saw Mary and Tania check their rifles. For the fourth time. Those lessons of the Sergeant had stuck. Others - especially those regarding discipline - hadn’t been retained that well. A fact Hermione often felt quite keenly when Seamus and Dean tried to derail briefings.

Even Aberforth in his disguise looked nervous - though she knew it was an act. The Headmaster’s brother didn’t really fear the upcoming battle. Nor did he fear the potential repercussions should he have to reveal his true talents. Hermione even had the impression that he’d like making trouble for his brother.

Justin’s voice interrupted her musings. “Nott just arrived.”

Half the Resistance jerked, the other half tensed up. Hermione turned towards them. “Take cover!” She paused half a second, checking that everyone was inside the trench. “Shield Charms!” She cast one herself, her words drowned out by the other’s incantations. Then she touched her throat mic. “Green, do it.”

She heard his yell, followed by “Bomb away!”, and counted the seconds until both the wards and parts of Malfoy’s house vanished in an explosion that rattled her and the others despite their cover and Shield Charms.

She stuck her head up a second after she had heard the explosion. As planned, the front part of the house had been caved in - turned to rubble, actually. The back part, where the group was meeting, was still standing, but they’d be rattled, panicking, and half-deaf. She touched the mirror again.

“Everyone, go!”

*****​

Daphne Greengrass was holding her ears. She was screaming. Others were as well. Not that she noticed. Again! It was happening again. The mudbloods had found them! Those monsters were going to kill all of them!

She turned to Tracey, who was bleeding from a cut on her head, where some plaster had dropped on her. Daphne didn’t think she was looking any better. She had trouble standing upright as well. Or running - she stumbled and fell when she rushed towards the door of the living room they had gathered in. A hand gripped her arm and pulled her up with enough force to lift her off the ground for a second. Goyle.

“Thank you.” She doubted he heard her words, but he nodded anyway.

Tracey joined her. Crabbe was moving towards the door. Pansy was shaking, screaming - the only one still to do so, Daphne noticed. Draco was trying to calm her down, holding her, but she was thrashing in his arms. Hysterical.

“Gregory!” Draco yelled, over Pansy’s fading screams, holding out his arm. “Touch my mark!”

Goyle was at his side in an instant. The large wizard ripped Draco’s left sleeve off, then jabbed his wand at Draco’s arm. Draco ground his teeth.

“Help’s on the way. The Dark Lord will send his followers. We’ll just have to hold out until then.”

Crabbe had opened the door. Dust was settling in the hallway. He aimed his wand at the remains of the front. Goyle joined him, covering the back.

Just like… Daphne shuddered when she remembered that awful night. She drew her wand, taking deep breaths. She couldn’t panic. That would be fatal.

“Did they misjudge the bomb?” Tracey asked, glancing around. Her wand was trembling. “Merlin’s ghost! The windows!”

Daphne whipped around, wand aimed at the windows. Then she noticed that they were blocked from the outside with stone.

“They are trapping us in here!” Tracey yelled. “We’ll have to break out.”

Daphne panted - the mudbloods wanted to capture them! And torture them to death! Like Pansy’s aunt! They had to flee!

“We just have to hold out for a few minutes!” Draco yelled back. “Stay calm! Theo!”

Nott was sitting there, as if dazed. He blinked. “Merlin’s balls…”

“Theo! Cover the windows!” Draco still held Pansy, who was sobbing into his chest. “The Dark Lord will save us! Just hold on!”

Daphne wanted to flee. They couldn’t hold. Not with the wards down. Not against the mudbloods. She looked at Tracey, who shook her head.

Daphne was about to protest when she heard more explosions and Goyle reeled, stumbling back into the room with his arm hanging down uselessly, blood soaking his sleeve.

The mudbloods were attacking.

*****​

Hermione Granger checked that the windows were still sealed while Louise, Jeremy, Mary and Tania rushed towards the house’s broken front on their brooms. They dismounted in the rubble, and started to enter the remains of the house. “Back door’s secure!” John reported to her, his rifle aimed at it from a makeshift trench. She checked her watch. Less than a minute had passed. They were fast, but they didn’t have much time. The Dark Lord’s worst would soon arrive. She raised her wand and added a few birds - owls - to the swarm circling overhead. If they had Bludgers… but they didn’t. But the owls could at least spot broom riders better than anyone without night vision gear or spells.

She heard rifles going off - Tania and Mary were engaging the enemy. Cover fire so Louise and Jeremy could close in and use the flashbangs. At least that was the plan. Another thirty seconds gone. Time was already running short.

Finally the flashbangs went off. Hermione grinned. Disoriented…

“Assault One to Lead. Flashbangs delivered, but they sealed themselves inside the living room. Conjured stone. We’re about to go through the wall.” Louise’s voice sounded through her radio.

“Lead to Assault one. Understood.” Hermione bit her lower lip. Damn those Death Eaters!

“Watch to Lead. Movement at the edge of the forest. Half a dozen at least.” Justin’s voice drowned out John’s comment. “Suppressing them.” Short bursts from Justin’s machine gun started.

Hermione cursed under her breath. Reinforcements had arrived. They were now outnumbered - those wouldn’t be the only ones. They’d have broom riders as well.

“Green to Lead: Nothing in the air.”

“Lass, I’m taking care of them,” Aberforth said, already moving. Hermione nodded. They needed more time to dig out Malfoy’s goons.

*****​

Daphne’s first thought was that someone had cast a Silencing Charm on her - she couldn’t hear anything. Her second though was to realise that those cylinders had exploded inside the room. Nott was on the floor, clawing at his eyes - he hadn’t had a Shield Charm ready, she knew. Pansy hadn’t had one either, but Draco had shielded her with his own body and shield. Tracey was aiming her wand at the windows, but then reconsidered. Her lips were moving, but Daphne couldn’t hear her. She shuddered - was that blood running out of her ears? Were her own ears bleeding?

Tracey pointed her wand up, at the ceiling, and Daphne understood. They would be watching the windows, and the doors. She aimed her wand up as well. “Reducto!” she yelled, but didn’t hear anything. Tracey’s spell followed, and the two ducked when more plaster came down on them. But there was a hole in the ceiling now, leading up to the attic. They could break through the roof easily, with the wards gone! Daphne pulled out her broom.

Draco was yelling something, but she could hardly make out the words. He had a broom in hand, and was shaking it at Pansy, who was shaking her head. Nott was still out, Crabbe and Goyle were covering the door, even though it was sealed with stone. Daphne shook her head. The walls were barely stronger than the ceiling, and they had broken through it.

“Watch the walls!” she yelled, but they didn’t react. Their loss. She straddled her broom. She had to get out before it was too late. Tracey was already through the hole in the ceiling. She saw a flash in the attic - that must be her friend blowing a hole in the roof.

Just as she was lifting off, the wall near the door exploded, throwing her into the back wall. Her Shield Charm protected her, but barely held. And through the door, mudbloods came charging!

Daphne aimed her wand at the first, her curse missing though. She saw Crabbe turn, the wizard’s own curse hitting the mudblood’s shield. Then the Slytherin’s shield shattered, and Crabbe fell down, holding his bleeding legs. A Stunner took him out. Goyle sent a curse through the hole, then one at the attacker inside the room. Daphne thought he hit them, but couldn’t tell - her own curse had been stopped by the man’s shield. Goyle grabbed his friend’s collar. Before he could drag Crabbe away, though, his shield broke, and the man collapsed.

Daphne aimed her wand at her broom, summoning it. Before it reached her hands though it blew up - Reductor Curse, she realised, shocked. Crying, she wildly cast the darkest curses she knew at the mudbloods. “Die! Die!” she screamed. “Avada Kedavra!”

She saw Draco lift Pansy on his broom, still yelling at her. No, yelling at Daphne. Waving at her. There was a stone wall offering cover, Daphne just realised. She sprinted to the safety it promised. Where were the Death Eaters coming to save them?

Draco pointed at the broom, then at the ceiling. Daphne blinked. Pansy was stuck to the broom! And trying to get off! Then Daphne understood, and nodded at Draco, who flashed her a grim smile before conjuring another stone wall.

Daphne mounted the broom, ignoring Pansy’s tears and her feeble blows to her back. She waited until Draco sent more curses at the room, right when the stone wall to her front vanished, and shot up, to the hole in the ceiling.

“Draco! Nooo!” she heard Pansy scream, directly into her ear. But she was hearing again, she thought. Her shield shattered on the way. There was no time to recast it. No time to stop and draw her wand. She bent low and willed her broom to fly faster. They shot through the attic, then through the hole in the roof. She had escaped!

Something hit her head. She reeled, almost losing her grip on her broom. Pansy was screaming again, had she ever stopped? Pain erupted in her shoulder, and her head was struck again. Feathers flew as she almost lost control of her broom. Lights flew past her, too fast and too numerous for a spell. She pulled away from them, away and up. Gaining altitude was the key. She had to get out of range of the attackers on the ground!

More lights flashed by, closer. Pansy stopped screaming. And Daphne felt as if someone had punched her in the gut. She looked down and saw blood running over her stomach and thighs. She was… she was… slipping off the broom.

*****​

Hermione watched as a body flew through the air, dragged by the clothes it was wearing which she had summoned with her spell. Someone had tried to escape through the roof, but the spell that had blown a hole into it had given John enough warning to aim his rifle, and the first broom rider out had flown straight into the path of his bullets.

Unfortunately, John had changed position, and started firing at the Death Eaters trying to surround them from the west when another broom shot through the hole in the roof - one carrying two people. “Broom leaving roof!” she shouted into her radio.

“On it!” Seamus yelled back. She saw tracers reach out to the fleeing Death Eaters. The first and second burst missed. The third struck home. One rider slipped off the broom and fell, the other seemed stuck on it, but slumped over. And the broom was descending rapidly… there! It crashed straight into the forest.

“Assault to Lead. We captured the main target. I repeat: We captured the main target.”

Hermione bared her teeth. Yes! They had Malfoy! The body she had summoned landed near her, and she pointed her wand at the other on the grass. She touched her microphone. “Rally on my position to transport him.” Then she pointed her wand at the broom rider who had fallen off. “Accio second body’s clothes!”

While she focused on that floating body, she looked over at Justin’s position. He was falling back towards her, she saw, together with Sally-Anne. They covered each other as they had been trained to, she noted. On the other side, Dennis and Colin were retreating with less order and discipline. And yet, there were fewer spells flying at them than at Justin - Aberforth must be there, she thought.

“Black to Lead: Sky’s getting crowded. Engaging.” Machine gun fire followed. The enemy’s brooms had arrived.

Hermione’s brief feeling of triumph in response to capturing Malfoy vanished. They had to go before they were completely surrounded, even in the sky!

She quickly checked the bodies she had summoned. Both were still alive, she noted - though bleeding, and they were likely to have internal injuries from the crash. Davis, the first, had been hit in the shoulder and side. Multiple broken bones too. The second, Greengrass, had a hole in her stomach, and her legs looked broken as well. Hermione winced at the sight, then opened Aberforth’s trunk and levitated both of them inside.

Four brooms raced through towards her. The assault team. Two were carrying a body. Malfoy. They landed, and Louise dismounted. “We left Crabbe and Goyle. This is Nott.”

“Stuff them inside! We need to leave!” Hermione aimed her wand at Justin and Sally-Anne’s original position, and sent a Blasting Curse at it, hoping it would make any pursuit hesitate.

Justin slid into the trench she was in, right after Sally-Anne. Both were breathing heavily. “They’re about a hundred yards behind us!”

John switched his aim in response, and sent a few bursts down the field.

“Covering fire!” Hermione ordered. Justin and Sally-Anne stood up, the wizard shooting his rifle, Sally-Anne casting spells. Hermione added a few of her own. So did Louise and Jeremy, covering the Creeveys. Tania and Mary were securing Nott and Malfoy. She should have had the two Gryffindor witches shoot, and the two former Hit-Wizards take care of the prisoners instead, Hermione berated herself.

Dennis and Colin were twenty yards away. Their pursuers had gone to ground, or so it looked like. Ten yards. Almost. They should have taken their brooms, Hermione thought.

Dark yellow curses hit both from above right before they reached the trench. Colin screamed, his leg collapsing under him. Dennis continued to run, but stumbled and lost his wand when he grabbed his right arm, screaming as well. Hermione saw that it seemed to shrink.

“Accio Dennis’s wand!”

“Accio Dennis’s clothes!”

“Accio Colin’s Clothes!”

The two brothers shot into the trench, followed by Dennis’s wand.

“Both of you, into the trunk!” Hermione yelled while opening it. They didn’t talk back, this time, and went inside. Or were carried inside. Their limbs were withering, Hermione saw.

“Our informant is missing!” John yelled.

“He’ll get away on his own!” Hermione said, hoping she was right. She tapped the trunk and shrunk it. “We need to go now! Green, Black - cover us!”

She put the trunk into her pocket and mounted her own broom. “You know the rally spot! Everyone - go!”

Eight brooms shot out of the trench. Hermione flew up to the forest’s canopy, then leveled out, trying to keep as low as possible without crashing into a branch. Behind them Dean and Seamus were filling the night sky with tracer fire. Something flew at her from the front. A spell. A curse. She pulled to the side, flying more erratically. “Death Eaters in front!” she yelled - she couldn’t use the radio while dodging. More spells flew towards the group, and the brooms started to fan out. Mary or Tania returned fire with their rifle - Hermione didn’t see anything but tracers cutting through the night sky.

She had to reach the edge of the Anti-Apparition Jinxes soon. Hopefully, soon enough. How many Death Eaters were there?

“Dropping gift!” Seamus announced.

Hermione bent low over her broom’s handle and counted the seconds again, until a fireball lit the sky up behind her. For a moment, the curses stopped. She thought she even heard screams - someone blinded by the light, maybe.

It didn’t matter. She had flown far enough.

A second later, she was at their rally spot. Aberforth was already there, looking none the worse for wear. Hermione landed as quickly as she could and pulled the shrunken trunk out.

“We’ve got wounded!” she yelled as others arrived and started to land. Sally-Anne, their best healer, jumped off and sprinted over. She looked at Aberforth, who nodded and joined the witch. Hermione hoped they would be able to save Colin and Dennis. And their prisoners.

*****​