Divided and Entwined (Harry Potter AU) (Complete)

Chapter 47: International Complications

‘The attack on the muggleborns’ rally was condemned by many as a despicable act and a blatant attempt to restart the war, although opinions differed as to whether or not the two conducting the attack had acted of their own free will. Whether or not the assailants had been victims of the Imperius Curse ultimately didn’t matter a great deal for it was certain that someone was willing to attack the muggleborns.
Their motivation, though, was not, at this point, as certain. Were they remnants of the Dark Lord’s followers? Or simply purebloods who’d rather fight than let the muggleborns take over Wizarding Britain? Or even agent provocateurs, to create an excuse for the Resistance to openly attack the Wizengamot? Many wizards and witches must have asked themselves such questions during those days when the country seemed to be on the brink of another war.’
- Excerpt from ‘Wizarding Britain in the 20th Century’ by Albert Runcorn

*****​

London, Greenwich, February 21st, 1997

“You want me to train with the Resistance?”

Ron Weasley didn’t quite stare at Hermione, though his surprise must have been obvious, since she bit her lower lip before nodding. “It’s an offer to you and Harry. We’re recruiting more members for the Resistance, and it’d be a good opportunity for you two to get some training as well.”

Of course, it was an offer for both of us, Ron thought. “You want us to join the Muggleborn Resistance?” he asked, to focus on something else while he took another sip from the hot chocolate he had ordered in the café.

“Not exactly.” Hermione sighed and put down her own cup of tea. “If you two joined, the Prophet would write even worse articles about how I’m controlling you.”

“That’s just about Harry.” Ron knew that the only reason he was mentioned in those articles was because he was the one going out with Hermione - it added a scandalous note to the drivel.

“It’s not just about him,” Hermione corrected him. “It’s also an attack, although indirectly, against your father.”

He hadn’t really thought about that. After a moment, he slowly nodded. Such ‘scandals’ affected the whole family, after all.

“So, joining the Resistance might not be the best course of action. But if it comes to a battle, it’d be better if you knew how we fight,” she continued. “Safer.”

That was correct, though Ron wasn’t about to drop the topic yet. “But me joining you would also show that you’re not just about muggleborns, wouldn’t it?”

He noticed that she hesitated for a moment. “It might. But the purebloods we are trying to reach are those who believe the Prophet’s lies. And they are not likely to see it like that - they would probably see it as me ordering you around.”

He hadn’t thought about that, Ron realised. Hermione was the leader of the Resistance. If he joined her group, she’d be giving him orders. Not that that would be something new, of course, but still… “Well, it’d be like revision times for exams,” he said, with a slight grin.

That earned him a glare and a frown, though he thought she was blushing a little as well. “It’s not quite like that!” she said, with a huff, before growing serious. “It’s… giving orders in battle…” she shook her head.

He understood, or thought he did.

“It’s also that even if I don’t treat you any differently, people might not believe that. Others in the Resistance, I mean,” she went on. With a frown, she added: “Some people think a girl will do anything for a boy.”

“They don’t know you, then.”

“Yes.” She took a sip from her tea, then frowned, and used her wand to reheat it.

Ron glanced around out of reflex - his mum had drilled into him and his siblings how to hide magic since they could walk - but their privacy spells were working perfectly.

“But our new recruits won’t know me,” Hermione said after another, apparently more satisfying, sip. “I’d rather not have them trying to curry favour like that.” She pressed her lips together before continuing. “Allan was bad enough.”

Ron scowled. He hadn’t liked that … scumbag … since their first meeting, but to know what the git had done… He shook his head.

“But there’s also your education to consider,” Hermione said after a brief moment of silence. “Taking off for a few weeks…” she winced.

He chuckled. “We’re in our sixth year. That’s just the breather between O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s.” When he saw her frown, he reached out and took her hand. “Besides, you can make us study better than most teachers.” She snorted. “And,” he said, smiling, “you’re not going back to Hogwarts at all.”

She winced again. “There’s too much to do. Voldemort’s dead, but the Wizengamot hasn’t really changed. The Ministry’s set on rebuilding a flawed, failed system…”

He nodded. “I know. School feels… less important.”

“It is important. Education is important for your future. Our future.”

He cocked his head sideways, then smiled again. She didn’t sound quite as passionate as she used to when talking about homework. “Not as important as saving the country.” He paused for a moment. “We can study and learn outside Hogwarts, can’t we?” They hadn’t learned most of what had saved their lives and helped win the war in school, after all.
He shook his head. “It might be better, even. It’s hard to take Hogwarts that seriously, at least the rules, after we fought a war. Imagine getting detention for breaking curfew… We have fought Death Eaters, we have killed, and they expect us to care about some silly school rules made for kids?”

She looked guilty for a moment, but also wistful, then nodded. “Yes. It would feel weird, being a student again. At school, at least. It might be different if it was a university.”

“University?” Ron had heard the term before.

“The muggle… well, it’s a sort of school after school. For adults. You only visit it for the lessons, and for the library, but you live on your own, or with your family.”

That sounded, well, like a school. He said so.

She sighed. “It’s ‘higher education’, needed to get the qualifications for the best-paid positions. Wizarding Britain doesn’t have anything like it. Most graduates from Hogwarts become apprentices, or learn on the job.”

“Well, N.E.W.T.s are what you need to get the best jobs.” At least everyone said that. “So, muggles need longer to get their N.E.W.T.s?”

She frowned, then sighed. “In a way.”

He tried not to grin. “Anyway. I want to join your training. I can find an excuse for Hogwarts.”

“And your family?”

Now he winced.

“I don’t want to cause trouble between you and your family,” Hermione said.

He sighed. “I think with Harry’s and Sirius’s help, they’ll accept it. It’ll help keep me safe, after all. And I’ll be seventeen in less than two weeks.”

Hermione didn’t look like she was convinced, but she nodded.

And, Ron thought, if everything else failed, he was certain Sirius would help him out. Harry’s godfather knew what it felt like, splitting from your family. Ron wouldn’t like depending on charity, but he knew that he would like feeling weak and useless, staying at Hogwarts while his friend and his girlfriend risked their lives again, even less.

*****​

London, No. 12 Grimmauld Place, February 21st, 1997

Harry Potter stumbled out of the fireplace in Sirius’s - his - home covered with soot, but he didn’t fall down. He was getting used to Floo travel - he was better at it than Tonks, these days.

Sirius was still chuckling, though, and the way Harry’s godfather made a point of vanishing the mattresses he had conjured only added insult to injury.

“Not everyone’s been using Floo powder since they were born,” Harry grumbled, cleaning the soot from his robes with a flick of his wrist.

“Hermione doesn’t stumble like that,” Sirius said, still smirking. “They’re in the living room.”

Harry glared at him as they left the entrance hall. At least he was the best flier!

“Harry!” Hermione stood up from the couch, where she had been sitting with Ron - not quite on his lap, Harry noticed - and moved to hug him.

“Hey!” Ron waved. He didn’t get up, though.

Feeling Hermione’s arms wrapped around him made Harry feel rather self-conscious. And jealous. But pushing her away would have made it awkward, so he did his best to return the hug until she pulled away. Which, he thought, happened a bit faster than usual. Or he was imagining it.

“So,” Harry said, taking a seat in an armchair while Sirius yelled for Kreacher, “What’s up? Not that I don’t appreciate the excuse to leave Hogwarts.”

“What’s happening at school?” Ron asked.

Harry shrugged. “Neville’s pushing for training, and half of our house is trying to join.” It was getting annoying, even though it was sensible, or should be, given the tense situation.

“Ah.” Ron nodded, then glanced at Hermione, who was biting her lip.

Harry narrowed his eyes - he didn’t like not knowing what they were up to, even though that felt petty and stupid.

Hermione took a deep breath - she was stalling, he realised, wondering why. “Well, we - that is the Resistance - wanted to invite you to train with us, and our new recruits, once our next training camp starts. Which should be soon.”

“Oh.” He blinked. “Boot camp?”

“Yes.” Hermione nodded. “We thought it might be good for you and Ron to have trained with us, in case there’s another battle.”

“Should be fun!” Ron cut in, grinning. “Better than school, right?”

Harry chuckled while Hermione glared at their friend. Ron obviously didn’t know what boot camp was. Although, Harry thought, compared to training with Moody, it should be rather fun. However… “We can’t use magic during the training, right?”

Hermione nodded. “Yes. The two trainers will be muggle soldiers. Mercenaries. The same ones who trained us before.”

“Ah.” Harry didn’t have to think about it for long. “I’d like to,” he said. “Does that mean we’re joining the Resistance?”

His friends exchanged a glance again, and Hermione sighed and bit her lip. That didn’t look good in Harry’s opinion.

*****​

“So, you’re going to be a muggle Hit-Wizard!” Sirius said once Harry’s friends had left - they were going on a date, before Ron had to return to Hogwarts and Hermione had to go back to planning the takeover of Wizarding Britain. By any means possible, Harry thought.

“Not exactly Hit-Wizards,” he said.

His godfather shrugged. “They fight and guard stuff. Sounds like Hit-Wizards to me, just muggle ones.”

Harry sighed - he was right, in a way. “Yes. It should be useful training.”

“In case we have to fight the Ministry and the Wizengamot,” Sirius agreed. “Not that either will be able to put up much of a fight.”

“Didn’t you say that the Old Families are hiring mercenaries?” Harry asked.

“According to Thicknesse and a few others, they are trying to hire mercenaries.” Sirius didn’t look concerned. “But they’re not going to be able to hire many good ones. Those who didn’t join the Dark Lord certainly wouldn’t join the Old Families. Or they’ll run should things turn ugly.”

“They could be hiring former followers of Voldemort,” Harry said.

“Certainly. But once again - the Dark Lord would have used his best wands himself. What’s left should be the dregs. Probably disgraced relatives of the Old Families, or similar.”

Harry wasn’t entirely convinced, but let the matter slide. He could ask Hermione for her thoughts on the matter later. Or rather, tomorrow - he wouldn’t want to disturb his friends during their date. Especially since he didn’t know how long they’d be out in London. Or if they’d be spending the night together. “So… how was the Wizengamot today?”

Sirius scowled. “Infuriating. A dozen idiots were trying to explain why you deserve a reward, but not your friends, without sounding like the bigots they are.” He scoffed. “And others think that it’s better to reward you than no one, not realising that this would just play into the hands of the bigots who want to split you up.”

“Even though, according to the Prophet, I’m being led by the nose by Hermione, and would therefore be her mouthpiece on the Wizengamot?” Harry shook his head.

“They don’t really believe that themselves. It’s just another lie for the gullible purebloods who still think the Old Families are better than everyone else.” Sirius snorted.

Harry frowned. “Don’t they realise that Hermione’s demands would grant them more power as well?”

“They’re too afraid of change - and many would rather be ruled by the Old Families, without any say, than see muggleborns on the Wizengamot.” Sirius snorted. “Small-minded bigots ruled by fear.”

That described a lot of people, Harry thought. Not just wizards - his relatives as well. “So… do you think you can make the Wizengamot see reason?”

Sirius shook his head, dashing Harry’s hopes. “It doesn’t look like it. Too many want to see you on the Wizengamot, for a variety of reasons, most of them stupid.”

“Great.” Harry scowled. “Now I have to consider how best to turn them down.”

“You might not want to turn them down,” Sirius said. “As the Boy-Who-Lived, and the wizard who defeated Voldemort in a duel, you could influence a number of the Wizengamot members.”

“It wasn’t exactly the kind of duel they think it was,” Harry grumbled.

“They don’t know that. Many see you as a second Dumbledore. We can use that to achieve our goals.” Sirius grinned.

Harry didn’t like it - it felt like lying to everyone, a bit like Lockhart - but if it avoided another war… He shrugged. “It’s not as if I could actually vote myself until I’m seventeen, anyway. It wouldn’t be much of a change to how things are - everyone knows you are my godfather.” Not to mention that it wasn’t as if he had any experience with politics, either.

His godfather smiled. “Oh, it would be different. It would be more difficult for the bigots to claim you’re misunderstood, or manipulated if you have a proxy of your own.”

“Really?” Harry didn’t think so.

“Well… somewhat more difficult. After all, I have a certain reputation as a troublemaker and rogue myself.” Sirius grinned.

“Great. I have to enter politics because you’re not respectable enough?” Harry snorted.

His godfather laughed and slapped him on the shoulder. “Chin up! Just about every member of the Old Families would love to be you!”

“Really?” He narrowed his eyes at Sirius. “As much as you complain about the Wizengamot, I somehow doubt that.”

“Well, I know better than them, of course.” His godfather grinned. “Though to be honest, it’s not that bad. We might even win without having to kill them all.”

Not for the first time, Harry wondered if Sirius was joking or not.

*****​

Hogwarts, February 21st, 1997

Harry Potter returned to Hogwarts in a rather pensive mood. Taking a seat on the Wizengamot, joining the Resistance - though for training, only... He sighed as he entered into the castle proper through a side entrance. There was a lot to think about.

On the way to the Gryffindor dorms, he suddenly heard steps coming closer from ahead, around the corner, and drew his wand while moving closer to the shadows behind a suit of armour standing in an alcove. Not quite hiding - he wasn’t paranoid, after all. Just prepared.

The steps were odd, too - whoever it was wasn’t walking normally. More like… skipping?
A familiar blonde witch turned around the corner, and Harry relaxed, lowering his wand. “Hello, Luna.”

Others would have jumped, startled, Harry thought. Luna, though, simply stopped in mid-stride, her left foot raised, and turned her head towards him. “Hello, Harry,” she said in her usual tone.

“Have you already eaten?” he asked. It was dinner time, after all, and most students and staff would be in the Great Hall.

She shook her head. “I’m hunting Blibbering Humdingers. Today’s meal includes garlic and onions - and since they love garlic, but hate onions, I expect them to travel back and forth between the entrance and the Great Hall. If you skip in step with a goblin march, they get confused and lose their train of thought for a few minutes.”

“Ah.” Harry didn’t know what else to say - he had no idea if there even were such creatures, though he wouldn’t discount the possibility - he had seen weirder creatures and plants in school. “And have you had any luck?”

She shook her head. “No. You must have driven them off.” She put her left foot down carefully, then moved towards him, leaning forward and… was she sniffing him? Harry stared at her.

“Yes, as I thought.” Luna straightened up and nodded several times. “You smell like onions.”

He blinked. He had eaten some stew at Sirius’s - his - home, but did he really smell like that? “Ah… I’m sorry,” he said.

“It happens.” She shrugged, then smiled. “I’ll catch one next time. You didn’t know, after all.” She cocked her head to the side, her long hair falling over her shoulder. “What did you eat? It smells delicious, and I might like to eat it myself.”

“Ah…” he was repeating himself a bit much, Harry thought, but Luna had that effect on him. “I ate at … home.”

“Oh.” She pouted. “That’s a bit far to go to eat. And I fear I won’t get that meal at home. And I think the teachers wouldn’t be as understanding of such a trip if I undertook it. I’m not the Boy-Who-Lived, you know.” She nodded sagely, as if he hadn’t known that.

Although… Harry did feel a bit guilty - as the Boy-Who-Lived, and the Vanquisher of Voldemort, or whatever Wizarding Britain would settle for his new title, he was getting special treatment. And he hadn’t thought about how that would look to others. “I’m sorry,” he said - again. “I had to talk to Sirius. The Wizengamot might offer me a seat.”

“Oh? I hope it’s a comfortable one. Ask for a purple leather armchair, I hear they are the best!” Luna said. He blinked again, at a loss for words, until she giggled.

Shaking his head, he chuckled. “It’s just a farce anyway - I can’t vote until my next birthday, so I can’t even be a good mouthpiece.”

“I wouldn’t say that! I’m certain you’d be an excellent mouthpiece!” Luna said, nodding rapidly. “You did well in the interview, after all.”

Harry forced himself to smile - as might be expected, he had been coached by Hermione, but he hadn’t thought it was that obvious. And he hadn’t just repeated her lines, of course! “You know, I didn’t just read a script.”

“Mm.” She smiled.

“Anyway,” he said, snorting, “I’ll probably accept, if they actually make the offer. One more vote in the Wizengamot can only help things.”

“Yes,” Luna agreed. “Small things add up. Small minds as well, unfortunately.”

That summed up the Wizengamot perfectly, Harry thought. “I just hope it’ll be enough. The Wizengamot is proving to be rather stubborn.” And stupid.

“They are harboring the greatest Wrackspurt swarm in Britain,” Luna said.

“Yes.” Wrackspurts were the invisible creatures who entered people’s brains, if he remembered Luna’s descriptions correctly.

“Unfortunately, they won’t listen to us, and will not install Wrackspurt siphons in the Wizengamot Chamber,” Luna shook her head, looking rather sad. Then she brightened up and beamed at him. “But you can set an example, can’t you?”

Harry was quite tempted to ask his future proxy - he didn’t yet know whom he’d choose - to carry some siphons with them into the Wizengamot. But that wouldn’t help him change people’s minds on the more important matter of reforming the Wizengamot. On the contrary. Even if it would be very funny. “I don’t think it would help. We might have to wait with that until the Wizengamot is no longer composed of such narrow-minded people,” he said.

“Oh.” Her face fell, and Harry felt surprisingly guilty. “That could take years!”

“Hopefully not.” If the Wizengamot proved to be too stubborn, the Resistance would take matters into their own hands, Harry knew. On impulse, he offered her his arm. “Well, let’s go ask the elves in the kitchen to make some stew with onions, shall we?”

“Haven’t you eaten already?” she asked - though she slipped her arm into his.

“I have. But I can keep you company while you eat, can’t I? A meal is more fun if you’re not alone.”

She looked at him for a moment, then nodded, and the two made their way to the kitchen.

*****​

London, Soho, February 21st, 1997

Hermione Granger felt a bout of nostalgia as Ron and she entered the nightclub where he had taken her on their first date. Which had been back in November - barely more than four months ago, she realised. So much had happened since then! The Ministry wrecked, the Auror Corps bled dry, Voldemort defeated… She was glad the club hadn’t changed at all. Same decor, same prices, same music. Even the guests looked alike - as far as she could tell in the dim light.

They managed to get a small table - or half of it, the other half being occupied by two rather posh-looking girls who gave them the once-over when they sat down, then returned to watching the dancing crowd. Hermione felt slightly annoyed at the apparent dismissal, but then told herself to enjoy the evening. Who cared what two strangers thought!

While Ron fetched their drinks at the bar, she cast a few privacy spells and studied the crowd herself. She found her feet tapping in time with the music, to her surprise, before her boyfriend returned.

“Here!” he said, handing her a glass.

“Thank you.” She refrained from making a comment about how this time, they wouldn’t be interrupted by news of the attack on the Burrow. That too, was in the past. Although… “How goes the reconstruction?”

He shrugged. “They’re making progress, but it’ll take a while. Mostly because Bill needs to plan and set the wards - no point in building something just for the Death Eaters to tear it down again.”

Especially not with people inside, Hermione thought as she nodded. You couldn’t be too careful. It would have been different if they had chosen to relocate, but… the Weasleys had been living in Ottery St Catchpole for generations. They wouldn’t move. “Good.”

“How about your folks?” he asked, slipping an arm around her shoulders.

She leaned into him, enjoying the warmth of his body and the feel of his muscles. “It’s too soon yet to return to our home.” If things went wrong, if the Wizengamot wouldn’t give in…

He nodded. “Yes.”

Hermione sighed. As much as she hadn’t wanted to, they were talking about the war again. “Let’s dance!” she said, standing up and holding out her hand to him. He smiled as he took it.

She didn’t know the song that was playing as they stepped on to the dance floor, but it didn’t matter. It was fast, and loud, and had a decent rhythm. And she felt good, dancing. She was too self-conscious to dance as if nobody was watching, especially since she knew that Ron was watching, but she gave it a good try. Good enough that she was feeling quite hot when the music changed to a slow song, and she found herself in his arms, gently swaying, her body pressed into his. She looked up into his face, smiling, and moved her arms up, around his neck, before their lips met.

She was feeling even hotter when they returned to their seats. Or their seat, as it turned out that they didn’t need more than one.

*****​

Ron Weasley was both glad and sad that they were in a nightclub. It was great to see Hermione loosen up and enjoy herself, see her dancing and hear her talk about muggle drinks and fashion - though she could be quite waspish when discussing some of the girls’ dresses. Not as bad as Ginny, though. But when she was in his lap and he felt her body move while she grabbed her drink, when they kissed, when he smelled her, then he wished they were somewhere more private. Much more private.

He shifted his own body a bit, trying to get more comfortable, when he caught her smirking. Of course she’d know! He was tempted to pinch her rump in revenge, but refrained. As much fun as it was to tease her, he didn’t know when they would be able to go out again, and he wanted to enjoy the evening as much as possible.

If only the Wizengamot would give up! Then they would be able to do this every weekend.

“Stupid Wizengamot.”

“Hm?” Hermione pulled her head back and looked at him.

He realised that he had said the last words out loud, and winced. “Just… you know.” He shrugged. He didn’t want to put his thoughts into words. Wishing that the war, the conflict, was over so they could go out as often as they wanted? That felt rather petty.

She nodded, but didn’t say anything. But she leaned her head against his shoulder again. A year ago, that would have meant a faceful of hair for him. Not now, though - she still kept her hair rather short. He kind of missed her wild mane. Another casualty of the damned war.

He snorted. Now that was truly petty.

“Hm?”

“Nothing.” He smiled.

She narrowed her eyes, but once again let it slide.

She wouldn’t have done that a year or two ago - she hated not knowing something, anything. She had changed. They all had.

Fortunately, not always for the worse, he thought, as he held her and they started kissing again.

*****​

London, Ministry of Magic, February 24th, 1997

Sirius Black caught his prey - not literally, even though it would feel good to change and bite the man - right after the session in the Wizengamot Chamber had ended. “Mister Selwyn, do you have a minute?”

The older wizard obviously didn’t want to talk to him, but forced a smile. “Of course.”

“I’ve been wanting to talk to you for a while, now,” Sirius said. “But this is the first session in a week you’ve attended.”

“Ah…” The man’s smile grew even thinner. “I was unfortunately busy at home. Family matters, you understand.”

Sirius nodded, though his smile was now closer to baring his teeth. “I do. In fact, I need to talk to you about a family matter.”

“Oh?” He seemed intrigued, but wary as well.

“Your son, Matthias, has apparently sold a shop in Diagon Alley to Melvyn Gibbons.” In fact, Sirius had seen the transaction papers in the Ministry archives. “A shop he acquired after it was judged derelict a few months ago and auctioned off.” Though, judging by the price the shop went for, the auction hadn’t exactly been a public one.

“I’m sorry, but I’m not familiar with my son’s business,” Selwyn said.

Sirius ignored his remark. “Strangely, despite being deemed derelict, it was sold for quite a tidy sum as a fully furnished shop to Mister Gibbons.” He smiled again. “It turns out the owner, a muggleborn named John Carrigan, had simply left it for a while, to go on a vacation.”

The other wizard was sweating now. “If there was a mistake in procedure, then that would seem to be a matter for the Ministry to correct.”

He was not wrong - but both of them knew that the Ministry wasn’t in a shape to handle such claims in a swift and thorough manner. And if the dispute went in front of the Wizengamot… Sirius’s smile widened. “Oh, yes. I already set things in motion. But I feel that it would be best, for the time being, to have all transactions involving that particular shop be reversed.” He leaned forward. “We both know what happened. In this regrettably tense situation in which we find ourselves, a conciliatory gesture would garner much goodwill from the returning muggleborns. Albus told me that you could be counted upon to do the right thing.”

Selwyn froze, taking a deep breath. “You…”

“Albus left me extensive notes,” Sirius said. “He used to say that for a well-prepared mind, death was but the next great adventure.”

The other wizard looked like someone had cast a Wasting Curse on him. He was pale and trembling. “I understand. I will talk to my son.”

“Thank you.” Sirius smiled, and handed him a slip of parchment. “This should allow you to reach Mister Gibbons.”

Selwyn took the small scroll as if he suspected it to be cursed, but nodded. “Of course.”

“I won’t hold you up any longer, my dear friend. I know you’re anxious to return home to your family,” Sirius said with faked joviality. “Good day.”

He kept smiling while Selwyn curtly nodded and walked away. One good deed done.

*****​

Hogwarts, February 24th, 1997

Returning to school hadn’t been as bad as Ron Weasley had feared. At least not the lessons. After a few weeks of convalescence, he was behind in some of his courses - not in Defence, of course, and some related areas in Transfiguration and Charms - but it was nothing he couldn’t make up in a week or two, if he applied himself. Or so he thought. In any case, it kept him busy enough not to be bored.

He wasn’t attracting too much attention either, not that he would had expected that anyway - he might have faced off against Voldemort, but Harry had defeated the Dark Lord in a duel, and Ron’s friend had been back at Hogwarts for a few weeks already. And he had been asked to tell his story a few times, both in the Gryffindor dorms, and outside.

Strangely, though, he missed the privacy and the quiet most of all. Sirius’s house was far smaller than Hogwarts, but he had had his own room there. And, most importantly, he had been reasonably safe there. Had felt so, at least. Here, though, he still drew his wand each time someone approached him.

Like right now, when he saw a witch walking towards the corner of the library where his table was. She might just be headed to the shelves nearby to grab a book, of course, but you never knew, so he tracked her with his wand under the table as she passed the shelves until she turned the corner.

“Hello, Ron!” she smiled at him. “Fancy finding you here.”

“Hello, Lavender,” he answered after just a moment’s hesitation, slowly pulling his wand out from under the table.

She didn’t seem to notice as she stepped closer. “You’re studying hard.”

He nodded, twirling his wand in the manner Moody had taught them, to make it appear as if he was just keeping his hand busy. “I’ve missed a lot of lessons.” He smiled politely at her.

“When you were healing from the Dark Lord’s curse.” She nodded gravely, as if that had been an impressive feat. Harry and Hermione and the muggle Healers had saved him. Ron had done nothing.

But that wasn’t something he felt like sharing, so he agreed. “Yes. It couldn’t be healed with magic.” The Healers were not certain if the area around the wound would stay resistant to magic, but that was none of her business.

“Did it leave a scar?” Lavender sat down on the table and leaned towards him. “Like Harry’s?”

He snorted. He had a scar, but it wasn’t like Harry’s. “It’s a normal scar. Many muggles have one like it.” So he had been informed by Hermione.

“Oh.” She sounded taken aback, then smiled again. “Still, it’s like you were marked by the Dark Lord.”

Ron almost frowned. He wasn’t Harry. And he didn’t want to be Harry. He shrugged. “Not quite like that. I’m glad it’s healed, though.”

“And glad to be back at Hogwarts?” Lavender’s smile grew. “We missed you.”

“Yes,” he said. It wasn’t quite a lie. Though he would rather be with Hermione. Which he’d be, soon enough, once training started. Provided he was fully healed by then. Which was why he wouldn’t be playing Quidditch yet.

“Will...” She licked her lips. “Will Hermione return to Hogwarts as well? For the next year? Or Seamus?” she added.

“It’s not certain,” he said. “Things have changed. People have changed. There’s so much to do still.” He smiled, remembering Hermione’s face when she had talked about her plans. So passionate.

“Ah.”

“Hm?” He looked at her and noticed that Lavender’s smile had slipped some.

“Nothing.” She smiled again, but it looked rather forced. “You two are still together?”

“Yes.”

“I could tell from the way you looked when you were thinking of her.”

“Oh.” He needed to work on that, then - what good was Occlumency if people could read him like that?

“It’s not a bad thing, it’s romantic!” Lavender pouted. She must have read him again.

He really needed to work on that.

*****​

London, No. 12 Grimmauld Place, February 25th, 1997

“Moony! You’ve finally returned home!” Sirius Black didn’t quite tackle his best friend as soon as he stepped out of the fireplace in the entrance hall, but he certainly came close. After slapping him on the back a few times - as usual Moony didn’t stumble - he drew back and looked his friend over. Remus was looking… a bit worse for wear, but that was to be expected. It had just been three days since the full moon, after all. He was looking more depressed than usual, though.

“Hello, Padfoot.” Remus was shaking his head with a faint smile, before he grew serious - too serious, in Sirius’s opinion - again.

“Kreacher! Get Remus’s luggage to his room!” Sirius yelled, then started to drag his friend to the living room. “You’ll need a drink while I fill you in on what has happened in your absence!” Remus flinched, which Sirius ignored - his friend probably felt guilty for not being there to help. He was too responsible for his own good. “You’ve heard about the Dark Lord’s death, I hope.”

“Of course. It made the news in Europe.” Remus sat down in the closest seat. “How many of our friends died?”

Sirius hadn’t wanted to start with their losses - Remus would feel even guiltier - but he wasn’t about to deflect his best friend. He told him who had died.

“Moody died?” Remus was shaking his head, holding his second drink.

“Killed by the Dark Lord himself. Voldemort took me and Ron out as well, before Harry killed him.” Sirius winced slightly - he had been very lucky. “All in all, it wasn’t as bad as it could have been.”

“Too many died,” Remus said. “If I had been there…”

“You don’t know what would have happened. And you were hunting Wormtail.”

“I failed.” Remus put his glass down. “I lost his trail a week ago. I only found the remains of a ritual he had been preparing in Magical Bavaria.”

“A ritual?” Sirius leaned forward.

“Failed ritual, as far as I could tell from the remains,” Remus said. “Necromancy.”

“Oh. Failed as in…?” Sirius made a gesture mimicking an explosion with his hands.

“No. It looked like he didn’t really start it. He’s definitely still alive. But the trail went cold in Hohenschwangau.”

“Gesundheit,” Sirius said. His friend just rolled his eyes, though. “So, what are you planning to do now?”

“Find out in which country he is hiding, then go huntîng again,” he answered promptly.

“Through a Seer again?” Sirius raised his eyebrows.

“Yes. It worked the first time,” Remus said, though he sounded quite defensive.

“You were told that he was ‘near the Mad King’s Castle’. That’s not exactly helpful.” Sirius wouldn’t have known which mad king the Seer had meant.

“It was helpful enough.” Remus narrowed his eyes.

Sirius sighed. “And if he’s hiding as a rat again? He spent a decade as a rat, remember? Odds are, he’ll do the same thing now, with the Dark Lord dead.”

Remus didn’t say anything, just refilled his glass.

“That wouldn’t be that bad, actually. Wormtail living as a rat - not as comfortable as he had done with the Weasleys, of course, since now people know about him missing a toe - hiding from us, and from any cats in the area…” Sirius forced himself to smile.

“He deserves death,” Remus spat.

Sirius would have agreed, actually - he wanted Wormtail dead, preferably at his own hand. That traitor had done too much to Sirius’s friends, and to Sirius himself. But neither he nor Remus could afford to waste their lives hunting Wormtail across the world. They were needed in Britain. So Sirius shook his head. “Death is too good for him. And we need you here.”

His friend looked at him. “Me? I’m just a werewolf without work.”

“Yes, you.” Sirius nodded at him and refilled his own glass. “Things are changing. Britain’s changing. And we need every good wizard to ensure that it’s changing for the better.” He stood up. “Think of the children. Muggleborns, half-bloods, purebloods, werewolves,” he added. “They deserve to grow up in a better country than we did.”

Remus stared at him for a moment, then shook his head. “I can’t tell if you’re serious.”

He grinned widely. “I’m always...”

Remus’s Silencing Charm cut him off before he could finish his favourite pun.

Sirius made a show of pouting while he dispelled the charm. “That was uncalled for.” Contrary to his words, he was glad, though - Remus seemed to be feeling better.

“It was very much called for,” Remus said, grinning slightly, then raising his glass. “I’ll be staying then, for a while at least.”

“Good!”

“So… did all the French return to France?” Remus asked once both were seated again.

Sirius knew what he was really asking. “Vivienne stayed.”

“Ah.” His friend smiled. “Where is she then?”

“Learning how to cook British meals,” Sirius said. His friend looked surprised. “That’s what she said.” He shrugged. He suspected - and hoped - that his lover felt a bit territorial, and didn’t want to leave the kitchen to Molly. He noticed Remus turning his head towards the door. “Did you hear something?”

The door was opened a second later, and he saw Nymphadora enter. The metamorphmagus’s frown turned into a smile. “Remus! You’re back!” She nodded at Sirius. “Sirius.”

“Nymphadora.” Remus stood to greet her.

Sirius simply waved. “How’re the Ministry’s finest doing?”

She frowned at him, then grabbed a drink herself and sat down in the seat next to Remus. “Overworked as usual.”

“That explains why you seek solace in alcohol,” Sirius said, nodding sagely. Neither Remus nor Nymphadora laughed. If he had less confidence in himself, he would have thought he were not quite as witty as he was.

She sighed. “Bones has a meeting with Aubrey Fawley tomorrow.”

“Britain’s delegate at the ICW?” Sirius rubbed his chin. “I wonder what they are talking about.”

“I can’t help you there - it’ll be a private meeting,” she said.

Remus looked concerned as well. “Was it a routine meeting?”

The witch shook her head. “No.”

“Great. The last thing we need is international trouble.” Sirius shook his head. It could be nothing, of course. But he didn’t think so. Maybe he should ask Vivienne if she had heard anything from her family.

*****​

London, Ministry of Magic, February 26th, 1997

“Mister Fawley has arrived,” Amelia Bones’s secretary announced.

“Send him in,” Amelia said, putting the latest report from Pius away.

Britain’s delegate at the ICW entered. “Hello, Madam Minister.” His smile was too wide for her taste. It fit a man who had been a diplomat and politician for most of his life.

“Mister Fawley. Please take a seat.” She gestured at the chairs in front of her desk. Once he was sitting, she continued: “You asked for a meeting.”

“Straight to the point? You haven’t changed.” He smiled, a bit patronisingly, or so she thought. He quickly grew serious, though. “There have been… concerns raised at the ICW that Britain could become unable to fulfill its obligations to maintain the International Statute of Secrecy.” He spread his hands. “Many seem very concerned about the horrible toll the war took on the Ministry.”

Amelia refrained from scowling. “The Obliviators were unaffected by the war and have continued to operate as efficiently as always. The ICW should know that.” Neither the muggleborns nor the Dark Lord had been so insane as to attack or hinder the Obliviators. Everyone knew how important their work was.

“They do.” Fawley smiled weakly.

“So, what’s this about then?” He hesitated, and she added: “Don’t tell me the official excuses and pretexts.”

He sighed as if it pained him to be frank and direct, for a change. “A number of countries want to test us. They want to know just how much we were weakened by Dumbledore’s death and the entire war.”

“As long as we fulfill our obligations the ICW has no mandate to intervene,” Amelia said.

“But they are allowed to inspect countries if they suspect that they are endangering the Statute of Secrecy.”

“A pretext to spying, then.” She pressed her lips together. The carrion eaters were starting to gather, hoping for an easy meal.

“That would likely be the main motivation, yes.” He winced, and shifted on his seat. Amelia hoped that he was more composed at the ICW.

“And who are the countries behind this?”

“Well, I haven’t been at the ICW for very long yet,” Fawley said. “So, my contacts are not as extensive as they could be.”

She rolled her eyes at his excuses. “Just tell me what you know.”

“France, Prussia, and Jamaica seem to be pushing for an inspection.”

“Jamaica?” Both France and Prussia had various ties to Britain, and the two countries had been the main participants in Grindelwald’s War.

“Yes, they are still blaming us, Britain that is, for the incident in their ‘Library of Souls’.” He grimaced.

“I wouldn’t have expected many other countries to support them.” Houngans were not popular outside their own countries, to say the least.

“I fear that most countries are unwilling to antagonise them for our sake. Some might even look forward to see how we’re handling them.”

Bloody cowards. “So, is there any chance to stop this inspection?”

“Not unless Dumbledore rises from the dead, Madam Minister.” He chuckled at his tasteless joke, then cringed when she glared at him. “Our influence has been greatly diminished by Dumbledore’s passing, and the news of the devastation the war has caused…”

“I am quite aware of this.” Although she hadn’t been as aware of how Britain’s international reputation had suffered. “Stall them as long as you can. We need more time to prepare for this ‘inspection’.” The last thing Britain needed was meddling foreigners.

“Yes, ma’am.”

At least he could take orders, she thought when she dismissed him.

*****​

Kent, Greengrass Manor, February 26th, 1997

Lying on her bed and staring at the ceiling, Daphne Greengrass was starting to feel like a prisoner again. Apart from visiting Tracey and family, she hadn’t left her family’s mansion since her acquittal. It was just too dangerous, according to her uncle - mudbloods were crowding Diagon Alley, and forcing purebloods out of their homes under the eyes of the Aurors. It was a miracle that no one had been killed yet. Officially, at least - Daphne didn’t know how many had simply disappeared, either captured or killed. Like her.

Would they come for her? Would the Resistance blow up the manor, as they had blown up Malfoy Manor? Her uncle didn’t think they would, but… maybe they should move to the hunting lodge? Or to a house no one else knew? But that would mean abandoning what friends she had left.

A knock on her door interrupted her thoughts. “Yes?” she called out.

“It’s me.” Astoria.

“Come in,” she said.

Her sister opened the door, then slipped inside, quickly closing it behind her. Daphne was struck by how furtive it looked - as if her sister was hiding from someone. She sat up and looked at her.

Astoria fidgeted with her hands folded behind her back. “Daphne?”

“Yes?” Whatever it was her sister wanted to talk about, it must be important. At least for Astoria.

“Why don’t you want to help Theo?” Astoria ducked her head slightly.

Daphne felt anger well up inside her. “Has he been talking to you?” Her sister’s flinch was all the answer she needed. “That… that…” she spat out, seeking for the right word.

“I called him!” Astoria said.

Daphne gasped. “Why did you do that?”

Astoria bit her lower lip. “I am sick of being afraid. And he is the only one I know who’ll fight for us.”

Daphne controlled herself. It wouldn’t do to snap at her sister - Astoria didn’t know better. Even if she should. “He is a fool.”

“Why? Because he wants to fight the mudbloods?”

“Yes.”

Astoria gaped at her. “But…”

“I have fought them, as you know. And I was lucky to survive.” Daphne shivered, remembering the disastrous attack on the Weasley’s home. And the fight in the twins’ shop. And, worst of all, the Resistance’s attack on Draco’s home. “Theo is an idiot. The Resistance will kill him, and anyone who helps him.” They mudbloods were likely to kill anyone even remotely connected to the fool - like they had murdered Daphne’s parents for attending Malfoy’s ball.

“He says he’ll be more cautious. More careful.”

“He says a lot.” Daphne scoffed. “He thinks that if he stays back and uses others he’ll be safe.”

“Yes. If he doesn’t fight himself, and only uses pawns, he won’t get caught,” Astoria said, nodding.

“He doesn’t understand the mudbloods. They won’t care if they have proof or not - they’ll kill him. Or they’ll capture him and interrogate him.” She stared at Astoria. “They might do the same to us, since they know we were working with him.”

“But… they can’t know who is doing it!”

She snorted. “They’re not stupid. They’ll suspect him. And us.” The mudbloods might already think that Daphne and her friends had been behind the attack on the rally.

“But that’s not fair! We haven’t done anything wrong!”

“Of course it’s not fair!” Daphne reined in her temper when she saw her sister was crying. Standing up, she went and hugged Astoria. “We’ll get through this. I promise.” She suddenly had a thought. “Did he tell you who was helping him?”

“No…” Astoria shook her head, her chin brushing Daphne’s shoulder. “He just mentioned old family friends who knew how dangerous mudbloods were.”

That could be any pureblood family from the continent, Daphne knew - Grindelwald had used a lot of mudbloods in his war. “Promise me not to talk to Theo without telling me beforehand, alright?”

Astoria sniffled, then nodded. “I promise.”

“Thank you.” Daphne rubbed her sister’s back. She had to talk to Tracey about this.

*****​

London, No. 12 Grimmauld Place, February 26th, 1997

Sirius Black knew something was wrong the moment Vivienne stepped into his, their bedroom. The Veela moved with her usual grace, but she was still wearing her dress robes, and her expression… “What’s wrong, cherie? Trouble with your family?” he asked. She had been out to meet her aunt for dinner. Without him.

Vivienne sighed, then nodded.

He drew a deep breath. “They don’t like our relationship, I guess.” Sirius was proud of his reputation as a rogue in Britain’s society, but the D’Aigles might see things differently.

She shook her head. “Non. Not particularly, at least. They ’ave some concerns about your past, and your political views, but overall…” She shrugged. “You’re rich, and from an Old Family. Ma mére said I could ’ave done worse, and mon pére knows better than to try to meddle in our lives without a very good reason.”

Sirius wasn’t quite certain if he should be flattered. Her parents sounded a bit too much like his own. He shelved the thought, though. He still didn’t know what had upset her. “But?”

She took a deep breath - he was briefly distracted by what that did to her chest - and went on: “I was informed by my aunt that the Duc is interested in British politics.”

Sirius frowned. “Yes? I thought that was clear when he allowed the Delacours to help us.”

“That was a family matter.” She winced. “This time, it seems it is a political matter. There ’ave been concerns at the court about the direction Britain is taking.”

He blinked. “They are afraid of what the muggleborns will do?”

She nodded. “They trusted Dumbledore to, ah, ’andle them. But since ’e is dead, they fear that the muggleborns will become too radical. The Duc ’as mentioned Grindelwald, or so I was told.”

“Ah.” Sirius winced. That wasn’t good news. If France decided to support the Old Families…

“They want me to spy on the Resistance.”

Sirius drew a hissing breath. That was even worse.

Vivienne nodded.

“What did you tell them?”

“I told them that I won’t betray your trust, or your friends’, but… I will not be the only one they’ll ask.”

Which meant Fleur would be contacted as well. And maybe others.

He sighed. “We’ll need to discuss this with the others.” The Order. And the Resistance. Or rather, Hermione. And Harry.

She was still standing in front of the bed, but when he held out his hand, she took it and joined him on the bed.

That, at least, hadn’t changed.

*****​

Dover, Britain, February 26th, 1997

Augustus Rookwood stared into the night, towards the coast of France. Less than forty miles. A short trip with a broom. Disillusioned, there would be almost no risk of being detected, especially if he made landfall a bit further to the north or south. It was the easiest way to leave Britain as a fugitive from the law. And the most logical.

Which was why he wouldn’t do it, of course. But the Ministry would assume he had left for France, once they received his offer and tracked the owl back. And even if they didn’t fall for his ruse, they couldn’t ignore the possibility. Which meant there would be a few more of the Ministry’s resources wasted on a pointless endeavour.

He levitated the cage containing the owl he had acquired up and stared at the bird. “Take this missive to the Ministry of Magic. Do you understand?”

The owl hooted and managed to sound indignant. He chuckled - post owls could be quite prickly - while he shrunk the scroll and tied it to the bird’s leg.

“Off you go!”

He mounted his broom and disillusioned himself while the owl circled around him, then flew away. As soon as the owl was out of sight, he apparated. It would take too long to fly to the port on a broom - he had a ship to catch after all.

*****​

 

Chapter 48: Unlikely Alliances

‘To understand the actions of Magical France, Magical Jamaica and the other wizarding countries following the final defeat of the Dark Lord, one has to understand the effect Albus Dumbledore had had on the Magical World. For more than five decades, following his defeat of Grindelwald, he had been been acknowledged as the most powerful wizard alive. In addition to that, he was the Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards for a significant part of that time - as well as the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot in Wizarding Britain. And unlike others who had held those offices before him, he had been willing to use his power to change the Magical World. While he hadn’t advocated his views concerning muggleborn rights quite as openly on the international stage as he had in Britain itself, he hadn’t left any doubt as to where he stood. Those countries who had taken harsh measures against muggleborns following Grindelwald’s defeat had soon reconsidered their policies, none of their governments being willing to risk provoking Dumbledore into taking action himself. For they, especially those countries which had been ravaged by Grindelwald, had been all too aware of what Dumbledore could have unleashed, should he have felt the need.
And so his influence had been quite keenly felt, even though he had rarely taken action himself - his actions against the Caribbean houngans as well as the Barbary Coast raiders being notable exceptions - and had equally seldom used the threat of force. Therefore, even those countries sympathetic to the Blood purist cause had restrained from providing support, much less intervening in the First Blood War. They followed that policy in the Second Blood War as well, although France semi-officially intervened on the side of Dumbledore’s Order of the Phoenix following the incident in the Bastille in 1996.
Therefore, it wasn’t surprising that after Dumbledore’s death a number of countries re-evaluated their policies - only to discover that while Dumbledore had been killed, Britain had not been left powerless.’
- Excerpt from ‘The Second Blood War’ by Hyacinth Selwyn

*****​

London, Bexley, February 28th, 1997

Hermione Granger had dressed up again, even though her cover as Justin’s girlfriend, weak to begin with, was obsolete now that Justin and Sally-Anne were a couple. But as Justin had said, it wouldn’t do to appear poor when hiring mercenaries.

So she stuffed her hands into the pockets of an expensive and fashionable jacket while she and her friend made their way through the park. She gripped her wand with one hand, and a pistol with the other, of course - just in case.

When the two reached the meeting spot, a small café, she spotted the two mercenaries seated inside. Her Human-presence-revealing Spell didn’t show any hidden observers, and the other guests seemed harmless - a few teenagers, probably out of school a little early. Not quite as early as the beers the soldiers were drinking.

Justin held the door open for her as they entered, but then took the lead as they approached the two men. “Good afternoon, Major, Sergeant.”

“Good afternoon, Mister, Miss,” The Major answered while the Sergeant grunted.

Hermione nodded at them, then took her seat and cast a privacy spell under the table. She noticed the Major tensing up before he seemed to force himself to relax. So, he hadn’t forgotten. The Sergeant simply scowled, but that was his usual expression, as far as Hermione could tell.

After she and Justin had ordered - tea for both of them - the Major leaned forward. “You paid us quite generously to meet you.”

“Had to cancel another contract,” the Sergeant muttered before drinking from his beer again.

“Yes.” Justin nodded at them. “We would like to hire you as instructors again. Like last time.” He smiled. “We are quite satisfied with the training you provided.”

“The same group as before?” The Major set his glass down.

“No. Some of them will attend as well, but mostly to supervise the others,” Hermione said. “You will be teaching fresh recruits.” Justin glanced at her, but didn’t comment.

“The next year’s out of school already?” The Sergeant scoffed.

Justin shook his head. “No.”

As Hermione knew, they had recruited all the suitable students in their years. And some they shouldn’t have recruited, like the Creevey brothers. If she hadn’t let them into the Resistance… but they had fought well, too.

“The new recruits are generally a bit older,” Justin went on.

Not that much older, though, Hermione knew. They had picked younger recruits. Less set in their ways, or so they hoped. And also, more willing to follow her lead.

“How many?”

“About one-and-a-half dozen,” Justin replied.

Hermione nodded. They had contacted a number, and would look up a few more, but she didn’t expect to find many more she’d trust. Even with the amendments to the contract for the Resistance she had prepared. There wouldn’t be another Allan on her watch.

“That’s more than your first batch. You’re expanding.” The Major was glancing at her, Hermione noticed.

She inclined her head. “Expanding and replacing.”

“Haven’t heard anything about a bunch of English kids fightin’ a war.” The Sergeant had placed his beer down as well. “Not in Ulster, and not anywhere else. Not even from the cartels.”

“You wouldn’t have heard of it,” Justin said. He wasn’t quite admitting that they had been fighting, but he might as well have. But this way, they’d not be breaking the Statue of Secrecy.

The Sergeant scoffed again, louder, and drained his glass. “As long as the money’s good, and no one comes after me…”

“They won’t.” Justin smiled slightly.

“You mean, they haven’t so far,” the Major said, staring at him.

“They’re not in any state to come after you.” Justin’s smile was more feral than friendly.

The Sergeant snorted, but the Major nodded. “Why are you expanding then?”

“It’s better to be prepared,” Hermione said. “If all goes well, there won’t be any action.” She shrugged.

She thought that the Major really wanted to ask what they had done, but the man simply nodded. “Same place as before?”

“Yes. We’ll send you a note when the camp’s ready. It shouldn’t take longer than a week or two. You’ll be compensated for the time spent waiting as well, of course,” Justin said, his upper-class accent in full force.

“Alright.”

Hammering out the details, especially the compensation the mercenaries would receive, took a little longer, but the deal was done.

The Resistance would be able to replenish their ranks.

Just in case they should be needed.

*****​

London, No. 12 Grimmauld Place, February 28th, 1997

“You want to what?”

Ron Weasley didn’t flinch at the volume of his mum’s yell. He didn’t take a step back, either - he had faced the Dark Lord, after all. His mum’s temper didn’t really measure up. And he had expected that reaction.

“I said I’ll be training with the Resistance for a month or so.” He folded his arms and leaned against the counter in Sirius’s kitchen.

His mum stared at him, while behind her, the ladles kept stirring the pots on the stove. “You want to leave Hogwarts for that?” she asked after a second, not quite yelling anymore. “For her?”

“It’s just a month.” Maybe he should have asked Harry and Sirius to be there as well, but… he would be seventeen tomorrow. He wouldn’t hide behind others when talking to his mum.

“That’s a long time, so close to the exams.” She shook her head.

“I’ll be able to study with Hermione. And it’s just the sixth year, not the N.E.W.T.s.”

“You’ll also be joining the Resistance.” Her wand twitched, and she pointed it at the floor.

“No. Just training with them, in case the Old Families try something.”

“They won’t care about the difference.” His mum was no longer speaking loudly.

“They don’t care about the difference anyway. Thanks to the Prophet, everyone knows that me and Hermione are a couple.” He couldn’t help smiling when he said it. “Someone’s bound to come after me to get her.”

She drew a hissing breath. “They can’t get you at Hogwarts.”

“I wouldn’t stay at Hogwarts if there’s fighting.” He met her eyes and didn’t look away. Not even when he spotted the tears. “And the training will help keep me safe, if there is another battle.”

She turned away, checking on the pots. Or acting like she was. When she spoke again, it was in a rather small voice - for his mum - and with her back turned to him. “Just like my brothers…”

He was tempted to say ‘and mine’, but pressed his lips together instead. He didn’t want to hurt his mum, but he wouldn’t let Hermione down.

For a little while, neither said anything while she kept checking the pots and seasoning the meal. Finally, she turned around again. “I know I can’t dissuade you from this.” She took a deep breath. “But I doubt that your teachers will be pleased.”

He shrugged. “What can they do? They won’t expel me for helping Harry and Hermione.” Well, they could, but they wouldn’t. Not after Harry had defeated Voldemort for good. He tried not to be too blatant about it, but they had to know he left the school whenever he wanted these days.

She was frowning, but didn’t contradict him. “If I didn’t know you’d do it anyway…”

Ron fought not to smile. He knew that tone.

“At least she’ll make certain that you keep up your studies.” His mum sighed.

He nodded. He had done it. If his mum agreed, his dad wouldn’t raise a fuss.

Suddenly, her eyes narrowed again. “But I don’t want any grandchildren yet. Not from you, at least. So you better make certain you’re…” She made a vague motion with her hand. “You know, use the potion.”

Ron blushed - he hadn’t thought that topic would come up. He coughed. It wasn’t as if they had made plans, but… there was a sort of understanding. “Of course,” he mumbled.

“Good.”

When she returned to preparing the meal, he all but fled the kitchen.

*****​

London, Diagon Alley, March 1st, 1997

The tension in Diagon Alley had grown worse again, Sirius Black thought while he walked towards the Leaky Cauldron. There were fewer people out and about than during his last stroll, and many passers-by seemed to be in a rush to get where they were going.

It was, he realised with a start, about as bad as during the worst days of the war after Dumbledore’s death. Even the muggleborns were not out in force, and the groups he saw looked quite tense, as if they expected to be attacked any moment. Which was probably true, he thought - all it took was one Imperius Curse, and anyone could be forced to attack them. And that spell was quite popular among Death Eaters.

He suddenly noticed that he had passed Quality Quidditch Supplies without checking the displays - he was hurrying towards his destination as well! Sirius cursed under his breath, then turned around and took care to study the line of discounted brooms. Or at least act as if he was doing so - he kept an eye on the Alley, of course, lest he fall victim to an attack.

No one else followed his example, though. Not even the shop’s owner stepped out to praise his wares.

*****​

Upon stepping out of the fireplace in the Ministry’s Atrium and passing through the Thief’s Downfall there, he was greeted by Arthur. “Good afternoon, Sirius.”

Sirius raised his eyebrows. “Have you been waiting for me?”

The other wizard nodded. “I heard you’re meeting with Amelia.”

It seemed that the rumour mill was still the most efficient part of the Ministry, Sirius thought. He nodded and cast a privacy spell. “You are correct. Do you know what this is about?” It would have to be important to be called to the Ministry on a Saturday afternoon, and he hadn’t heard about any emergency.

“Only rumours. Amelia has met with Fowley again,” Arthur said as they walked to the lift.

“That means trouble with the ICW.” Sirius frowned. That body was dominated by pureblood governments.

“Not necessarily,” Arthur said as the lift arrived.

“Maybe it’s about the general mood on the street.” Sirius shook his head. “One attack on a rally, and everyone is back in the war.” He was, as well, though he was making an effort not to be. “I hope we can get more Thief’s Downfalls installed - or whatever the twins are cooking up. The people on the street need to feel safer.”

“Indeed. Though they won’t be completely safe, not ever. All it takes is one wizard in the Alley casting one spell and then leaving, and we could have a war on our hands, if worst comes to worst.”

“It’ll help some,” Sirius said.

“It’ll be expensive as well.”

“I’m certain the Wizengamot will finance it,” Sirius said. Skimping on public safety wouldn’t go over well with the public, and he knew how to spread the word about that.

Before they could talk more, though, they arrived on the Minister’s floor and Sirius had to leave the lift while Arthur travelled on.

*****​

Amelia looked like always - tense, frowning and far too stuck up, Sirius thought as he entered the Minister’s office. He smiled widely at her anyway. “Good afternoon, Amelia!”

“Good afternoon, Sirius.”

Amelia’s smile was about as honest as a Malfoy, in Sirius’s opinion. But, as he nodded at Thicknesse, he had to admit, if only to himself, that she was brave - he wouldn’t have allowed a snake like the current Head of the DMLE to stand behind him.

Sirius sat down and leaned back in his seat. “I don’t suppose you called me here on a Saturday just to exchange pleasantries.”

Amelia’s smile vanished. “Everyone is working overtime in the Ministry to rebuild the country. Over the weekend as well.”

“Everyone but the Wizengamot,” Sirius said, baring his teeth. “Isn’t that interesting?”

She didn’t take the bait. “I’m not about to comment on the work of the Wizengamot.” She smiled thinly. “The ICW has decided to send a delegation to Britain, to ‘determine if the current state of Britain’s Ministry endangers the International Statute of Secrecy’,” she quoted, handing a scroll to Sirius.

Sirius skimmed it. It was full of the usual drivel from politicians, taking far too many words to say very little. “That’s the proposal.”

“We haven’t received the official note yet,” Amelia said, “but our delegate informed me that it was passed.”

“With how many votes?” he asked.

“It was a comfortable margin,” Thicknesse threw in. Sirius caught Amelia frowning briefly. “The European countries pushed for it, mainly France and Prussia. But Jamaica supported it as well.”

Which usually meant that many of the American Enclaves would have opposed it on principle, Sirius knew. But the proposal had been passed. He shrugged. “Payback for Dumbledore’s policies?”

“In part,” Amelia said. “Fowley told me that there’s widespread interest in the state of Wizarding Britain now that the war has ended.”

“The vultures want to know what we have left after Dumbledore’s death,” Sirius said, scoffing.

“Yes.” Amelia folded her hands and rested her chin on them. “I’m very much aware of the state of the Ministry, as I know you are, also.”

Sirius shrugged. She knew that the Order had quite a number of members and friends inside the Ministry. “So, the ICW wants to spy on Britain, and you want to spy on us.”

Amelia’s lips almost disappeared when she pressed them together before answering. “The ICW’s mandate covers the Statute of Secrecy, but you know that many countries are concerned about Britain’s muggleborns. If they think Britain’s weak, they’ll start to meddle in our affairs.” She smiled toothily at him. “I don’t think either you or the Resistance want foreign countries involved in our politics.”

She was correct, of course - apart from some small enclaves in North America there weren’t any countries dominated by muggleborns. And those were usually too busy fighting wars with other enclaves and some of the native tribes to get involved in international politics. Most countries were dominated by purebloods and not particularly friendly towards muggleborns.

Sirius stared at her. “And why would you oppose them? I’m certain that the Old Families wouldn’t mind foreign help.”

Once again, Thicknesse cut in. “Foreign intervention could cause the conflict between the different factions of the Wizengamot to escalate into another war.” He spread his hands. “There’s not much popular support for foreign Aurors and Hit-Wizards.”

“What you mean is that if the Old Families call for foreign intervention, they’ll lose what support they have among the gullible purebloods,” Sirius said, “while the war turns into a war against foreign invaders and the traitorous regime that called them.”

Amelia’s expression told him he was on the mark. The Minister glared at him. “Britain cannot afford another war, no matter what kind.”

“Tell that to the idiots in the Wizengamot,” Sirius shot back. “They’re trying very hard to start another war.”

“They’re not the ones threatening violence if their demands are not met.” Amelia gripped the edge of her desk with her hands.

“I think that this current crisis is an opportunity to demonstrate just how damaging a war would be to both the ICW and the Wizengamot,” Thicknesse said, smiling faintly.

Amelia glared at him, and for a moment, Sirius thought the witch would curse her subordinate. She controlled herself, though. “That’s a point to consider,” she said.

Sirius almost rolled his eyes. “I fear some among our esteemed members of the Wizengamot do not realise how much Britain has been changed by the war.” He chuckled. “They might not even be aware how much the Ministry has changed due to the losses during the war. So, what exactly do you want? A demonstration by the Resistance? They could blow up another manor.” When he saw the glares from the others, he grinned. “Consider it a last resort. Though I have to point out that I cannot speak for the Resistance.”

“I believe it would be sufficient to show the delegation that while we have our differences, Britain is not as divided as it may look to outsiders.” Thicknesse smiled. “It might be better if we let them wonder about exactly what the Resistance is capable of.”

Such a demonstration of unity would also undermine the position of the Resistance among the rest of the muggleborns, Sirius knew. That would have to be carefully handled. “That is true, but in the current situation, the muggleborns would need a few concessions, or they could cause trouble.”

“Are you trying to use this crisis to coerce the Wizengamot into giving in to your demands, risking a war?” Amelia sounded scandalised.

He was, actually - but it wasn’t as if he had a choice. “Have you walked through Diagon Alley lately?” Sirius snorted. “It feels like a cauldron on the verge of boiling over. The Resistance won’t be able to control everyone, and it only takes one idiot at the wrong place to start something.”

“The Wizengamot will not agree to the radical changes that the muggleborns demand,” Thicknesse said. “Not at the moment, at least.”

“Further, the Muggleborn Laws were repealed already, and the Ministry’s working on determining the compensation owed to the victims of those laws, or their abuse,” Amelia said.

“That’s simply the restoration of the status quo ante anyway.” And the muggleborns wanted more. “Of course, refusing to reward the Resistance for their actions in the war against the Dark Lord didn’t help.” Sirius grinned. “I believe I made a proposal to that effect, which was, unfortunately, not accepted by the Wizengamot.”

“You want the Wizengamot to award Granger an Order of Merlin,” Amelia spat.

“And a seat on the Wizengamot. For her, and for Ron Weasley.” Sirius’s grin widened. “A fine gesture, showing that the Dark Lord was defeated by purebloods and muggleborns and half-bloods, all working together. Something to celebrate as well.”

Amelia looked like she had just discovered bubotuber pus in her tea. Thicknesse, though, was nodding. “I think with the added factor of the ICW’s inspection, and the damage and loss of face a riot would cause to Britain, those concessions would be acceptable to the more pragmatic members of the Wizengamot.”

“Great. I have to discuss this with Hermione, of course.” Sirius smiled.

Amelia clearly didn’t like that either - she would have to know Hermione would have a few more things to say - but she didn’t comment further. “There’s the matter of Harry Potter as well.”

Sirius narrowed his eyes. “Yes?”

“He defeated the Dark Lord in a duel and was personally trained by Dumbledore. That leads to certain assumptions,” Thicknesse said.

Amelia glanced at the wizard, frowning, then stared at Sirius. “How powerful is the Boy-Who-Lived?”

Sirius had expected that. “You want to know if he can serve as the next Dumbledore, scaring the rest of the world into leaving Britain alone.”

“Yes,” Amelia said.

And that also would tell her if Harry could scare the Wizengamot as well, Sirius knew. He shrugged. “He received special training to defeat the Dark Lord, but he doesn’t have Dumbledore’s experience.”

Amelia seemed to grind her teeth. “I know that. Everyone knows that. But can he stand up to the ICW?”

Sirius chuckled. “Anyone can stand up to the ICW. But making it stick?” He shrugged. “Harry’s very talented in Defence. He faced the Dark Lord multiple times in the past. He drove away dozens of Dementors with a single corporeal Patronus Charm when he was fourteen years old.” Sirius managed not to shiver when the memories of that night flashed before his eyes. He had come so close to losing his soul… He shook his head. “I think his Patronus Charm should impress the ICW delegation enough.”

“Could he duel some of them? An exhibition, perhaps?” Thicknesse smiled as if he wasn’t trying to find any weaknesses of Sirius’s godson.

He scoffed and deflected the question. “He’s no duellist. That’s not what he was trained for. He certainly didn’t kill the Dark Lord using tournament rules.” Sirius couldn’t tell if Amelia and Thicknesse believed his bluff, but they nodded. So he decided to throw a curving Quaffle at them. “You should also contact Aberforth Dumbledore.”

“Aberforth Dumbledore?” Thicknesse sounded doubtful. “The owner of the Hog's Head Inn?”

Sirius grinned. Aberforth wouldn’t be happy about this, but he had to deflect the attention away from Harry. If others learned about the Elder Wand… “He faced the Dark Lord multiple times and lived as well. He might not be as famous as his brother, but he certainly has far more experience than most people know.”

“I see,” Amelia said.

Sirius wasn’t certain what she was thinking, but he nodded anyway. “Good. How much time do we have until the delegation arrives?”

“We need to be officially contacted, and then have to make arrangements. One week, maybe two if they’re not as prepared as they could be,” Thicknesse said. “Having a houngan among the delegation might cause some delays.” He smiled. “That’s another possible spot of trouble.”

Amelia scoffed. “We don’t know anything about what Dumbledore was doing before he died. And we certainly will not let a houngan roam Britain.”

Thicknesse didn’t look quite certain, but nodded.

“If that’s all…” Sirius stood up. “I’ll have to talk to Hermione.”

“No, there’s nothing else to be discussed right now,” Amelia said. Thicknesse glanced at the witch again, so he had probably expected her to mention something else. Sirius made a mental note to look into that.

“I’ll be off then.” He smiled and waved before leaving.

*****​

Arthur’s office wasn’t as large as Amelia’s, but far bigger than his last one, Sirius noticed when he leaned on the doorway and looked inside. There were quite a number of muggle items spread around the office as well, but not as many as there had been. “Still working?” he asked as Arthur looked up.

The other wizard smiled. “As the Head of the Office of Anti-Curse Measures and Research, I’m expected to work hard on finding a cure for the Withering Curse.”

“I thought the Unspeakables had taken the lead there.” Sirius stepped inside and closed the door.

“They have.” Arthur sighed. “And my own resources are rather limited compared to theirs. I have set the researchers I can spare on it, for all the good it’ll do.”

“You don’t sound too optimistic.” Sirius leaned against the door and crossed his arms.

“Even though it sounds callous, the Withering Curse is not an urgent problem. Unlike the Imperius Curse. We should focus our efforts on improving our defences against that danger.” Arthur shook his head. “But the Wizengamot doesn’t share my opinion, not when they are safely behind Thief’s Downfall already.”

“I’m certain that the public will not be as understanding. They are afraid to step outside their homes and shops.” Sirius grinned. “Not even the Prophet might be able to keep a lid on that, if we present it just right.”

“We can reroute Floo Network traffic through checkpoints,” Arthur said. “That will make travel to and from shops take more time, but it’ll be safer.”

“Provided there isn’t a traitor inside the Ministry,” Sirius pointed out. That was one of the reasons they hadn’t instituted such a measure during the war. The other was that the traitors had opposed it as well.

“I think we’re rather safe in that regard, now at least.” Arthur smiled wryly.

Sirius wasn’t quite that optimistic, but most spies and traitors left would think twice about taking any risks with the Dark Lord dead. “I certainly hope so.”

“What did Amelia want from you?”

“She wants to present the upcoming ICW inspection with a united front - the Ministry, the Order and the Resistance,” Sirius said. “I told her that more concessions for the muggleborns are needed for that to work. Like rewarding Hermione and Ron with an Order of Merlin and a seat on the Wizengamot.”

Arthur seemed surprised. “I thought you just did that to annoy the Wizengamot.”

“Well, not just.” Sirius chuckled. “But every vote in the Wizengamot counts.”

“But…” Arthur closed his mouth.

“If Harry can have a seat, then Ron can have one as well.” It went without saying that Hermione should have one; the witch had clearly defined political goals.

“Today is Ron’s seventeenth birthday,”

Sirius remembered his own seventeenth birthday, and smiled. “An important date for a wizard.”

“Yes. They’ll be celebrating in the evening, at Hogwarts.” Arthur smiled as well, though his expression seemed a bit off. “For a change.”

“Ah.” Sirius nodded. That was what Arthur wanted to talk about. “He told you about the training.”

“He told Molly,” Arthur said as they entered the lift. “And she told me.”

Those would have been interesting conversations, Sirius thought. He had heard about the former, but not the latter. “I see.”

“Harry’s going as well, or so I heard.”

“Can’t separate them.” Sirius grinned. With a more serious expression, he added: “It’ll keep them safer than staying at Hogwarts.”

“I know. But I worry anyway. And not just about possible battles.”

Sirius frowned. “Harry’s not going to be joining the Resistance. And everyone already knows that he’s very close to Hermione.” The idiots reading the Prophet thought he was even closer to the witch.

“I didn’t mean that either,” Arthur said. “We’re pretty much united in our desire to reform the Wizengamot.” He took a deep breath. “Are you certain that there won’t be trouble with the three staying together for a month?”

Ah! Sirius understood, finally. He shook his head. “I doubt it. They are friends, and they’ve never had trouble being together at Hogwarts.” And there were plenty of witches around to take Harry’s mind off his best friends’ relationship.

Arthur nodded, but didn’t look completely convinced.

“So, do you think Amelia can push those concessions through?” Sirius asked.

Arthur rubbed his chin, then fiddled with a muggle pen. “Amelia? I doubt it. But Thicknesse can probably achieve it. He’s been cultivating his contacts in the Wizengamot, and as far as I know, he’s trying to keep his options open in case the Wizengamot surrenders.”

“Smart of him.” Sirius still wouldn’t trust the man. He was a typical Slytherin.

“And Dawlish is doing all he can to avoid any conflict between the Aurors and the muggleborns.”

“I’ve heard that as well.” Sirius grinned. “It looks like the rats are getting ready to jump ship.”

“Yes. But they won’t take sides until they are certain who’s winning.”

“Well… then we just have to make sure that they are certain.” Sirius grinned widely.

*****​

London, Ministry of Magic, March 1st, 1997

“Stay a moment, Pius,” Amelia Bones said after Black had left her office.

“Of course.” He nodded, and moved in front of her desk.

She stared at him without saying anything, but his polite expression didn’t waver. “What is your game?” she finally said.

To his credit, he neither flinched nor tried to act surprised.

“We need Black’s support, and we need the muggleborns to be at least neutral,” he said.

“Not at any cost!” she spat. “They don’t want foreigners meddling in Britain either!”

“Black has less to lose. He has Potter, he has the Resistance, and he has half the Ministry and more than a third of the Wizengamot in his pocket. He can afford to make the Ministry look weak since the delegation will still be impressed by any show of force he can put up.” Pius shook his head. “I don’t like it either, but we’re in the weaker position.”

“He’s bluffing! If Potter was as powerful as the Dark Lord, Black would have used that already to take over the Ministry,” Amelia said. “You heard how evasive he was.”

“He might be bluffing - we don’t know for certain. And the ICW is unlikely to call his bluff.” Pius sighed. “Potter did defeat the Dark Lord. That is certain.”

“He was just Dumbledore’s tool!” Amelia had seen Potter right after the battle in Diagon Alley. That hadn’t been the equal of the Dark Lord, but a kid.

“Perhaps. But who can tell if he hasn’t retained whatever power or means allowed him to defeat the Dark Lord?” Pius shook his head. “And even if we could safely discount Potter, that still leaves the Resistance and the muggleborns on the street.” He placed his hands on her desk and leaned towards her. “We can’t take them. Not in our current state. Dawlish knows it, and you know it as well.”

Was Dawlish on Pius’s side as well? Ready to betray the Ministry? How deep did the rot go? She met his eyes. “We don’t determine the Wizengamot’s policies. We enforce them.”

“The Wizengamot depends on the Ministry. Without our support, they are nothing.”

“That’s coming close to treason.”

“It’s the truth, not treason. If the Wizengamot wants to wage war, half the Ministry will refuse orders and either hide or join the muggleborns. And the other half won’t last long against those odds.” He shook his head. “You have to face reality, Amelia: We are in no shape to win this conflict.”

“They’re weakened as well, and we’re rebuilding.”

“So are they. The muggleborns are recruiting and Black and Weasley are busy suborning the Ministry and the Wizengamot.”

“And you’re helping them!”

“I’m trying to save the Ministry from being destroyed in a war we cannot win. If that means making compromises and concessions, then so be it.”

“You’re trying to save your career.”

He shrugged. “I’m not about to sacrifice myself for fools who try to ignore reality.”

She knew he included her as well in that description and snarled at him. “The law is not something that can be bent and broken for your convenience. It’s the foundation of our country. If we choose which laws to enforce, and how, we might as well not have any.”

“If we don’t adapt, we’ll be swept away - including our laws. Which would render the whole point of enforcing them moot.”

She shook her head. “You should be on the Wizengamot with that view, not in the Ministry.”

“My family’s not old enough for that,” he said, smiling faintly.

“Is that the reason for your insubordination? Do you hope to become a member of the Wizengamot as a reward?” She leaned forward. “Was that your price? Or do you intend to become the next Minister?”

“I intend to survive this conflict, unlike so many others.”

He was lying through his teeth. She knew it. “Get out!”

He left, and she fell back into her seat and closed her eyes. Merlin, where had things gone so wrong? Pius a traitor, Dawlish in cahoots with him, or with Weasley… the Wizengamot split, and the Ministry suborned. Everything she had fought so hard to protect was being swept away by greed and opportunism. And everyone she had counted on was betraying her, or dead.

She stared at the message on her desk. It wasn’t the original, of course - only a fool would touch a missive from a Death Eater - but a transcription. An offer, from Augustus Rookwood.

*****​

London, Newham, March 1st, 1997

“Hello, Tim.” Hermione Granger smiled at the young man sitting down across from her. The small pub they were in - one chosen at random - didn’t have that many guests yet, not that early on a Saturday. It wasn’t quite perfect for a recruitment meeting, but it’d do.

“Hello,” Timothy Meyers, muggleborn Gryffindor, graduated in 1991, said. “I usually tell people to call me Tim, but you already did.”

“Tania remembered you," Hermione answered the implied question. “You were the prefect who introduced her to Hogwarts.”

“Ah!” He smiled. “I forgot how young you all are.”

She had expected such a remark, and let her smile slip a little. “We’ve been through so much, we tend to forget it as well.”

He nodded, acknowledging the point. Or at least acting like he did.

“Why are you here?” She watched his reaction. He seemed confused by the question for a moment.

“To join the Resistance,” he said.

“And why do you want to join us?” She leaned forward, her arms folded with her elbows resting on the table.

“Because you’re the ones who beat the Ministry and the Death Eaters!”

She hid her frown. “Do you want to fight?”

He hesitated for just an instant, licking his lips. That could be a good sign. “I don’t want to hide again, if things turn out badly.”

He either wasn’t bent on revenge, or was smart enough to hide it. She couldn’t tell either way. Justin... or Allan? She couldn’t tell. But she hoped to find out at the training camp. People had trouble keeping up a facade when pushed to their limits. She made a mark on her pad. “Can you fight?”

“I got an E in my Defence N.E.W.T.,” he replied, somewhat defensively.

“That doesn’t mean that much, given how much time has passed since then.” He hadn’t been an Auror or Hit-Wizard, but a clerk.

“I’ve been training since I went into hiding.” He had completely lost his slightly patronising attitude by now. “Just normal spells, though.”

“Normal spells?” She narrowed her eyes slightly.

Tim shrugged, the action a bit too staged to be honest. “Stunner, Shield Charm, Reductor Curse… no dark curses. No Unforgivables.”

“We’re not using the Unforgivables,” she said.

“Oh.” He bit his lip.

“The tactical advantages do not justify the strategic disadvantages their use would cause,” she explained.

“I see.” He nodded.

She hoped he did. The last thing they needed was another wizard who thought you had to be as ruthless and brutal as possible in a civil war. “We’ll be training a lot. Military weapons and tactics. Boot camp,” she added, with a grin as close to the Sergeant’s as she could manage.

His own smile was looking a bit forced by now.

“You’ll be expected to comply with the Geneva Conventions.” At least the core parts, Hermione amended in her mind.

“I’ll have to read up on them.” Tim smiled rather weakly.

“Here is a summary of the rules we adhere to.” She handed him a sheet of paper. “Also, we’re not a democracy. We don’t hold votes during a battle. If your leader gives an order, you’ll be expected to obey.”

He nodded. “Of course.”

“That doesn’t mean you’re expected to blindly obey.” An imperiused leader - or an Allan, she added - could do far too much damage otherwise.

Tim nodded again.

“Good.” Hermione considered the man across from her for a moment. “I think you’ll do. Drink up.” She checked her watch. If the next interview went as quickly, they could sign the contract early this evening.

*****​

Hogwarts, March 1st, 1997

“Happy Birthday to you! Happy Birthday to you! Happy Birthday to you! Happy Birthday to y....”

“Finite!” Ron Weasley spat while he flicked his wand. The enchanted snitch, caught by a spell, finally stopped its loud shouting and fell down to the ground, barely missing the bowl of punch on the table in the back of the Gryffindor common room. He shook his head. Trust the twins to manage to prank him even when they were no longer at Hogwarts themselves! At least it hadn’t been too embarrassing. And if they could take the time to prank him, they were doing well, which was a good thing.

“Moody would say you deserved that for being careless,” Harry said, handing him a wrapped package.

“I wasn’t careless; the twins were just too sneaky. Transfiguring the snitch into wrapping paper, counting on me to dispel it…” Ron eyed the gift.

“As I said, too careless for Moody.” Harry grinned. “Open it! It’s safe!”

“It’s from you and Sirius,” Ron said. “That’s not really safe.” He tore the wrapping paper away and opened it anyway - another prank wouldn’t hurt him. Then he stared, openmouthed. “A Firebolt?” he managed to say, looking at Harry, as he pulled it out of the enchanted box.

His friend looked almost embarrassed while the rest of the Gryffindors cheered. “Sirius said that you should have the best broom on the market, just in case.” He shrugged. “I know you might have wanted a Keeper’s broom, but…”

Ron shook his head, interrupting him. “No, no. A Firebolt is more useful. And I can play Keeper with it as well. It’s still better than most brooms.”

“But if you want to go pro…”

“I doubt I will,” Ron said. “It… doesn’t seem to be that important, any more, you know.”

“What?” Ginny sounded almost shocked. She wasn’t the only one, Ron noticed. “But you’re an excellent Keeper!” his sister said, loud enough to be heard over the murmurs filling the room.

“Not as good as Wood,” Ron said reflexively. That summed up his Quidditch career so far.

“No one is as good as Ollie,” Harry said. “But I know what you mean.”

He would, Ron thought. They had lived through the war together, after all. Ginny, though, was looking from him to Harry and back, before pouting. He was about to ask her what was wrong, maybe tease her a bit - she was the one who had helped the twins prank him, he was certain - but right then the door nearby started open, and he flicked his wand up in response while Harry took a step to the side, his own wand in hand. It was probably McGonagall, here to check up on them. They still hadn’t picked a new Head of House.

It wasn’t McGonagall, or any other teacher. It was Hermione, clad in jeans, sweater and a short jacket. Ron blinked and lowered his wand while she looked around, a faint, almost shy, smile on her face for the few seconds until she spotted him. Then he was hugging her, and kissing her.

“What are you doing here?” he asked when they broke the kiss. It was a stupid question, he realised as soon as he had spoken.

She didn’t laugh. “You told me about the party, remember?”

He did. And he remembered saying that he’d rather spend the evening with her. “You said you’d be busy when I proposed skipping the party.”

She grinned. “I also said it wouldn’t be fair to your friends at Hogwarts to ditch them. Happy birthday!” she whispered, handing him a gift.

“Thanks. Did you plan this?”

She shook her head, then brushed back a lock of hair that had fallen into her face. “Not exactly. I finished earlier than I had planned.”

“Well, I’m happy you’re here.”

Her smile grew wider. He lifted his hand to cup her cheek when he noticed that Harry and Ginny were standing next to them. And that the rest of the room was right behind them.

*****​

Sitting in an armchair in the corner of the common room, Harry Potter watched his two best friends dancing in the middle of the room, next to a few other couples. They looked happy. They were happy, he corrected himself. And he was happy for them. Mostly. It still hurt a bit, seeing them so close. Seeing her with his friend, and not with him.

He summoned another butterbeer from the now quite plundered drinks table and frowned. He should be happy for his friends, not jealous. Hermione had made her choice. There were other witches, as Sirius had said to him numerous times. Well, Sirius had also said to him that teenage relationships might not last forever.

He shook his head and opened the bottle. He didn’t want to dwell on that. He was better than that. Or he should be.

“Hey!” Ginny sat down, or rather, threw herself in the seat next to him.

He nodded at her, glad for the distraction. “Hey. Nice party.” Merlin, he sounded lame.

She didn’t seem to notice, though, and simply nodded in agreement. “Yes.” After a pause, she went on. “Did you see how quickly the chocolate cake disappeared? It was one of Mum’s.”

That explained the second cake the house elves had brought up, he thought. He had at first assumed there had been a mistake, but the little creatures were quite territorial.

“I’m glad Hermione made it. I think Ron would have moped, or even snuck out otherwise.” Ginny was looking at the couple, Harry noticed. Or in their direction.

“Yes,” he said. “I would have expected him to sneak out to test his new broom.”

She snorted. “That’s love for you. Even Quidditch takes a backseat.” Then she winced and looked at him.

He didn’t react to her words and took another sip from his bottle. “He’ll spend tomorrow on the broom, I guess.”

After a moment, Ginny relaxed. “You weren’t surprised when Ron said he didn’t want to go pro any more.”

Harry nodded. “I didn’t know that, but I understand him.”

“You’re not going pro either, are you?” She narrowed her eyes at him.

“No, I don’t think so.”

“It’s the war, right?” She looked very serious, even anxious.

He sighed. He didn’t really want to talk about the war. But he didn’t want to watch Ron and Hermione kiss, either. “More or less, yes.”

“What…” She trailed off, biting her lower lip. Not like Hermione, just a quick nibble. “What do you want to do instead?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know yet. It depends on how things go at the Ministry.” He didn’t really have any concrete plans for the time after the Wizengamot had been reformed. But that would take quite some time anyway, even if everything went perfectly. Which wouldn’t be the case.

She huffed. “Like Charlie…” Shaking her head, she went on. “I’ll have to make up for all of you then.”

“You want to go pro?”

“Any reason I shouldn’t?” She was glaring at him.

He shouldn’t have been surprised, he realised too late - Ginny was a very good flyer. “No, no!” he quickly said. “I just… you never mentioned that.”

“We never talked about our plans for the future,” she said, then blushed slightly. “I mean, our professional futures.”

“Yes.” They hadn’t talked that often at all, he realised. The silence between them started to stretch again. “How’s Neville doing?” he asked.

“Brooding,” she answered. “I’ve tried to get him to loosen up some, but…” She shrugged, frowning. “He hasn’t moved from his seat in an hour or so.” She motioned with her head to the corner opposite them, where Neville was sitting, alone, a bottle of what Harry thought didn’t look quite like butterbeer in his hands.

“He doesn’t look very happy,” Harry said.

“No. But then, you didn’t look that happy either.”

He turned his head back to her. She flinched slightly, then raised her chin and stared at him. “You didn’t.”

“I wasn’t.” He shrugged.

“Well, are you feeling a bit better now? Or did I fail twice today at helping others feel better?” She pouted in an exaggerated manner.

He chuckled at her expression, and after a moment, she joined him.

*****​

It was past midnight when Hermione Granger left the Gryffindor dorm with Ron. The party was still going on, but had quieted down a lot, with most of the younger students already in bed, and a number of the older ones having retreated for some privacy with their boyfriend or girlfriend.

Like Ron and her. Even if he didn’t know it yet - she had asked him to escort her to the tunnel that led to Hogsmeade.

“I’m happy you could come to my party,” he said, taking her hand as they passed a hallway. “Even though you have to leave early.”

She bit her lower lip, then cleared her throat. “I don’t actually have to leave that early.” That hadn’t sounded as smooth as she had planned.

Ron slowed down and looked at her, puzzled, before his eyes widened. “Oh.”

She nodded. “I just wanted some privacy.” Snogging in a dark corner in the common room wasn’t really private.

“Ah.” He smiled, then wrapped his arm around her waist. “And where should we go?”

She wanted to go to the Prefects’ Bathroom on the fifth floor. From what she had heard, it was a luxurious place, perfect for a rendezvous with your lover. And it would be empty at this time. But if they went there, Hermione wasn’t certain they’d stick to snogging. The temptation would be too great. At least hers - she wanted more. But she’d rather do that where no prefect patrols could stumble upon them, and where no others could track her on an enchanted map. Not for her first time, at least.

She almost shook her head at where her thoughts had strayed. “Let’s go to an empty classroom.” She knew that such things were traditionally done in a broom cupboard, but she didn’t fancy hitting her elbows and knees on the walls while groping around in a narrow space.

He nodded, and guided her towards the closest one. A few spells later, the door was locked, and a desk in the last row had been transfigured into a loveseat.

When she left Hogwarts, it was closer to sunrise than midnight. And she had come very close to giving in to temptation. Several times, despite the somewhat lacklustre surroundings. Next time, she thought, there’d be no resisting.

*****​

Kent, Greengrass Manor, March 2nd, 1997

“Hello, Tracey!” Daphne Greengrass greeted her friend in the entrance hall of her home. “I’m glad you could come visit.”

The witch snorted while she brushed soot off her robes with a flick of her wand. “It’s not as if I have a full social calendar these days. And I can stand my relatives for only so long before I get the urge to hex them.” She sneered. “All those sycophants, acting as if they feel sorry for me. They just want my gold.”

Daphne nodded. She knew what Tracey meant. “It’s still better than the alternative, though.”

“Which would be? Poor and begging myself?” Tracey snorted.

“Dead.”

Tracey flinched, then scoffed. “Anything is better than that.”

Daphne opened the door to her room. “I agree.”

Once inside, she cast a privacy spell, which caused her friend’s eyebrows to rise. “Don’t you trust your own family?”

Daphne shrugged and sat down on her bed, cross-legged. “I’d rather be safe than sorry.”

Her friend joined her, facing her. “Words to live by. So… what secret are you about to share with me that your sister can’t know? Do you have a suitor, maybe?” she added in a fake joking tone.

“No.” Daphne shook her head. “It’s about Theo.”

Tracey closed her eyes and sighed. “Damn. I won’t like this, will I?” she asked, looking at Daphne.

“He’s a tool, and doesn’t realise it. An expendable tool. And he’ll drag us down with him, if we’re not careful.”

“Tell me something new. It’s not as if I’m about to join him in his suicide-by-Resistance plan.” Tracey scoffed.

“It won’t really matter if we help him or not; we’re linked to him, and once he is caught, they’ll come for us,” Daphne said.

Tracey balled her hands into fists. “I’m aware of that possibility. But what can we do? Hide? Emigrate?”

“Report him.”

There, she had said it. Daphne watched her friend’s reactions. Tracey’s eyes widened, she opened her mouth, then closed it again, and drew a hissing breath through clenched teeth. “That won’t go over well with the other families,” she finally said.

“They’re not exactly lining up to visit us, are they? They avoid us already.” Daphne sneered. “We won’t lose anything on that front.”

“True. But going to the Ministry? Someone will warn Theo.” Tracey looked doubtful.

Daphne shook her head. There were too many spies inside the Ministry, both for the Dark Lord, and for the mudbloods. “No. I was thinking of Dumbledore’s Order.”

Tracey gaped at her, but it didn’t take her friend long to realise what Daphne was proposing. And even less time to agree.

*****​

Atlantic Ocean, March 3rd, 1997

Augustus Rookwood flicked the wireless receiver off. So, the ICW was making its move. He stood up and started to pace - even with the help of Extension Charms, the cabin he had secured for himself on this muggle ship was small, and staying inside so he didn’t have to keep obliviating the muggles who saw him was proving to be a bit more stressful than he had anticipated. He hadn’t fully recovered from his ordeal in Azkaban, he had realised.

Fortunately, this news proved to be a good distraction. How could he best use this development for his own goals? He had left a couple of tools under the Imperius back in Britain which he would be able to order around with a simple message, so he had a number of options. But this would require careful planning. If the Ministry collapsed and the ICW moved in, he’d lose all his leverage - foreigners wouldn’t care about the victims of the Withering Curse.

On the other hand, this might be an opportunity to find out how the Boy-Who-Lived had defeated the Dark Lord. Augustus still had no idea how Dumbledore had managed to orchestrate that, despite all the precautions the Dark Lord had taken. And as long as he didn’t know what had happened he couldn’t defend himself against it either.

A quite intolerable situation.

*****​

 

Chapter 49: Resolutions

‘The Second Blood War is often cited as a defining moment for muggleborns in Wizarding Britain, giving them the impetus to organise and militarise as a group. However, most muggleborns only started to band together and prepare for war after the Dark Lord had been defeated and the Ministry’s forces were in no shape to credibly threaten the Order of the Phoenix and the Resistance. For all the myth of the brave Resistance fighters facing overwhelming odds that some of my colleagues still propagate, joining after the Battle of Diagon Alley was a rather opportunistic move.
But even among purebloods there were also a fair number of opportunists who abandoned their ideals once the numbers no longer favoured them - even among the Old Families. That the Second Blood War left Britain with only so-called ‘blood traitors’ and muggleborns is not quite the hyperbole one might think.’
- Excerpt from ‘Wizarding Britain in the 20th Century’ by Albert Runcorn

*****​

Hogwarts, March 4th, 1997

Sitting on his bed, Harry Potter stared at the wand in his hand. The Elder Wand. It wasn’t his wand, and yet it felt like it. Warm. Almost eager, even, as much as a wand could be eager. And using it felt… he took a deep breath. He knew the legends about the Deathly Hallows. About the Elder Wand, in particular. How it changed hands through violence and death. To wield the wand was to court death, as one sage had put it. Harry wouldn’t go that far - but casting spells with it felt a bit like cheating. Too easy by far. It was a tool that he shouldn’t use outside of emergencies, if he didn’t want to grow dependent on it.

But what if he used it for training, to learn new spells more easily, and then used his own, real, wand to train with them? Wouldn’t that be a safe way to wield the wand? He took a deep breath and shook his head, then threw the wand on his bed. Was it influencing his thoughts? Or was that just his imagination and insecurities talking?

Sirius had warned him about showing off the wand. If the news that that he owned the Elder Wand got out, far too many wizards and witches would try to take it from him - by any means possible. And that wouldn’t help with the current crisis: the ICW inspection. Or the spies, as Sirius called them.

Harry clenched his teeth. He didn’t like having to put on an act, but casting a Patronus Charm to impress their ‘visitors’ was a small price to pay if it served to make the other countries - countries ruled by purebloods who did not hold muggleborns in high regard - back off. Even if the whole act reminded him of the Tournament.

At least his corporeal Patronus should impress them - it certainly had made an impression on dozens of Dementors, three years ago, and he had improved since then. And, he added, with a glance to the wand lying on his bed, there were ways to make it even more impressive…

Once again he shook his head. The wand was known as Dumbledore’s wand. If he used it in public, rumours would start, some of them quite close to the truth. Sighing, he turned and sank on to his bed, the impact of his back making the Elder Wand bounce a little. How had Dumbledore managed this?

He snorted. Maybe he should destroy the wand. Then he wouldn’t be tempted to use it recklessly any more. But then he wouldn’t be able to use it to save his friends either.

And that was a price far too high for his peace of mind. He looked at the clock on the wall. Almost time for dinner. Sighing, he sat up and grabbed the Elder Wand, slipping it into his enchanted pocket, before heading downstairs.

*****​

“Hey, Harry!”

Harry stopped on the way to the portrait hole out of the Gryffindor common room when he heard Neville call out to him from the corner opposite the entrance. “Yes?”

“Do you have a moment?” The other wizard made a gesture with his hand towards the seat next to him.

For a moment, he hesitated. He wasn’t really in the mood to talk with Neville about training sessions. His friend had grown worse than Wood had been about Quidditch. On the other hand, he understood why Neville was so set on this, and Harry would probably not do anything differently in his place. “Sure.” He walked over while Neville cast a privacy spell, and sat down.

Neville pointed at a sheet of parchment on the low table between their seats. “I’ve been going over the list.”

“The list?” Harry picked it up. There were dozens of names on it, many of them crossed out. But a large number were still legible. What... “Ah.” He recognised it. The list of Death Eaters and their supporters the Resistance had distributed a few months ago.

“Yes. I was thinking…” Neville paused, then took a deep breath. “I was thinking that there are too many of those people still around. Free, I mean,” he added. “If they haven’t fled Britain, then they’re in hiding. But I doubt that they have cut off contact with their families.”

Harry nodded. Neville was a member of an Old Family; he would know that better than Harry himself. And Sirius had mentioned tracking the Death Eaters through their less incriminated family members - though it hadn’t worked out that well.

“So… Easter vacation is coming up at the end of the month. I was thinking we could be doing something about this.” Neville pointed at the list in Harry’s hand.

Harry licked his lips, glancing at Neville. His friend looked eager, but also nervous. Fidgeting in his seat.

“What do you think?” Neville asked, looking as if he was pleading. It was quite a change compared to his attitude during training. It made him look more like he had been before the war, Harry thought.

Easter vacation would fall right in the middle of the training with the Resistance, Harry knew. He wouldn’t be able to help Neville with that, even if he wanted to - and he wasn’t certain he did. Neither did he want to let his friend down, though. And if they were working together, then Harry would be able to prevent Neville from doing something they would all regret… He nodded. “I’m not certain that I can help you - there are things coming up I need to do - but I’ll put you in touch with others who have some experience with this.” Sirius, and the twins.

Neville smiled. “Thank you, Harry.”

“No problem,” Harry said, getting up. Despite his own smile, though, he felt guilty.

*****​

London, Diagon Alley, March 4th, 1997

Amelia Bones stared at the crater left in the middle of the Alley. It wasn’t much to look at - barely deeper than the height of the cobblestones they had blown away. “Report!” she snapped at the closest Auror - a witch who looked as if she was barely out of Hogwarts.

“Ah!” The witch straightened up, almost coming to attention. “At half past six explosions were heard from this area, and the patrol on duty responded. By the time they arrived on scene, the perpetrators had already fled, and the wounded were being cared for by bystanders. From the witnesses available, we have concluded that the attackers were on brooms.”

Amelia nodded, forcing herself to smile at the Auror. For such a hasty deployment, it was a decent report. Especially in an area taken over by muggleborns. They wouldn’t be too cooperative with the Aurors, to say the least. “How many wounded?”

“That is unclear… we’re awaiting a notice from St Mungo’s, Ma’am.” Now the Auror sounded uncertain, nervous. “There were no fatalities as far as we can tell.”

Amelia nodded, then pointed her wand at the nearest crater and cast a few detection spells. “No spell residue… this wasn’t a curse,” she said, more to herself than anyone else. A few more spells. “Traces of explosive fluid.”

“Like the attack on the rally, Ma’am?”

Amelia turned to the Auror, who was still standing at near-attention. So, she was paying attention, although Amelia couldn’t tell if the witch was still keeping an eye on her surroundings. “There is a possible link.” Same means, same targets. Same lackadaisical execution. But there was one difference. “The attack on the rally was been done by imperiused victims. They didn’t try to get away. This, though…” She looked up at the angled roofs overhead. “They cared more for getting away than hitting their targets. That doesn’t match. Analyse the fluid remains, and compare it to the samples taken from the rally.”

“Yes, Ma’am!” The Auror saluted, and Amelia chuckled. “Relax a little. We’re in the field.”

The young witch nodded, with a smile. “Yes, Ma’am!”

Amelia stepped around the crater and looked around. There had been multiple explosions, but there was only the one crater. Which meant that the other bottles had hit the roofs. She couldn’t spot any damage, though - it looked like the wards had held. Rubbing her chin, she pondered the issue.

After the early bomb attacks by the Resistance, all house-owners who could afford it had strengthened their wards. It wouldn’t have stopped the Resistance - it hadn’t stopped them, as their following actions had proven - but it had been enough to foil this attack. Lackadaisical indeed. It might have been a pureblood lashing out at muggleborns without much of a plan, just copying what had been done before. Or it could have been someone smarter, faking it. Maybe...

“Minister? Should you be at the scene of the crime?” Dawlish’s voice interrupted her thoughts, and she was frowning when she turned around to face the Head Auror.

“Is there any reason I shouldn’t be?” She stared at him, daring him to contradict her.

He didn’t cave. “There is your safety to consider.”

“I trust the Aurors securing the scene.” Her tone implied that he might not trust them. Judging by his expression, he had realised that as well. And so had the Aurors nearby.

He schooled his features quickly, though, and nodded curtly. “Of course, Minister.”

She was tempted to take over the investigation. Show up Dawlish and cut out Pius at the same time. It wouldn’t have been the first time a Minister had done such a thing. And she certainly would do a better job than anyone else.

But she was better than that. And she had hated it when Cornelius had tried to meddle in her department. So she nodded, and left. At least the Aurors would know she could be counted upon. She had a feeling that she could use any allies, no matter how low they were placed in the Ministry.

A quick apparition had her back in front of the Auror post in Diagon Alley, and a brief trip through the Floo Network later she was back in the Ministry. Back in the snake pit, she corrected herself, surrounded by schemers and plotters and criminals of all kinds, and most of them untouchable due to deals made under duress.

She kept a confident but polite facade up until she was in her office, then cursed under her breath while she sank into her seat. The stack of parchment on her desk had grown taller in her absence, but most of it didn’t matter and would not take much time to deal with.

Unlike the parchment in her pocket. Rookwood’s offer. She shouldn’t even consider it. He was a Death Eater, a wanted criminal - one of two members of the Dark Lord’s Inner Circle still at large. She wasn’t corrupt, unlike others. She wasn’t bending the law as she pleased. She should pass the message on to the Unspeakables, so they could try to find him through it.

Of course, as a former Unspeakable, Rookwood would have anticipated that, and would have guarded against it. So, she wasn’t hindering the investigation or protecting a criminal. She wasn’t doing anything illegal, or wrong. And his offer - the cure for the Withering Curse in exchange for a pardon - wasn’t really different from the way in which the Resistance obtained their pardons. Britain needed help, and the price for said help was a pardon.

But she didn’t want to let another criminal go free just for expediency’s sake. She ground her teeth. It was bad enough that that mass-murdering Granger would probably be sitting on the Wizengamot in less than a week!

Besides, the Unspeakables were working on finding a cure. Arthur’s department as well, and while she didn’t expect much from his people, if she put some pressure on him, he might get help from his friends in order to keep his position.

She shook her head. No, there was no reason to make another deal with a criminal.

She didn’t vanish the missive, though.

*****​

London, No. 12 Grimmauld Place, March 4th, 1997

Ron Weasley sighed as he refilled his glass with some pumpkin juice in Sirius’s kitchen. The news that there had been another attack on muggleborns in Diagon Alley had put his family on edge, what with the twins having started to rebuild their shop. At least, he added with a guilty feeling, Mum was focusing on them for now. Which meant he and Harry were not being bothered yet about Sirius’s other news. That he could expect to be awarded an Order of Merlin, First Class. And a seat on the Wizengamot.

Ron still didn’t know how he felt about that. It was nice, no, more than nice, to be recognised as more than Harry’s friend. Or sidekick. An Order of Merlin. First Class, even. None of his brothers had ever achieved that. Of course, he had thought about that when he had heard about how Sirius had derailed that Wizengamot session. But he had known it was just a political ploy. Now, though, knowing that it was almost certain that there would be a majority supporting the proposal… well, it still was a political ploy. But one that would lead to him sitting on the Wizengamot. Right after his seventeenth birthday. He sighed. He, Ron Weasley, sitting on the Wizengamot with an Order of Merlin, First Class before he had even graduated from Hogwarts! He chuckled. It made the dreams he had had in his first year of being Head Boy and Quidditch Captain look humble.

“Someone’s in a good mood.”

Ron whirled around, raising his wand before he recognised Harry standing in the doorway. “Ah.”

His friend shook his head. “Must have been a really funny thought if you didn’t notice me arriving.”

Was there a hint of jealousy? Ron wondered. Harry hadn’t really said anything, but maybe he thought that more had happened during Hermione’s visit to Hogwarts than what the two had done after leaving Ron’s party. It wasn’t as if Ron could just say ‘Hey, Hermione and I haven’t slept together’, out of the blue. He and Harry didn’t talk about that kind of thing. Not since Hermione had made her choice.

And they wouldn’t be talking about it this evening either. Ron shook his head. “Just thinking about the Wizengamot and the Order of Merlin. It feels…” he trailed off, grimacing.

Harry nodded. “I know what you mean.” He stepped up to the ice box and pulled out a soft drink - a Coca-Cola, Ron noted - from the stack Sirius kept for them. “Welcome to being famous!” he added, with a wide grin.

Ron scoffed. “Welcome to being a tool for politics, you mean.”

“That too.” Harry popped the can open and took a sip.

Ron emptied his own glass and refilled it. He had a feeling that there wouldn’t be much pumpkin juice in the future for him, not while training with the Resistance. He didn’t mind, much - muggle beverages were tasty too. He sighed. “I just feel… you know, like a fake.”

“You risked your life and earned that Order,” Harry said.

“Others risked their lives as well.”

“Not many of them faced Voldemort himself.” Harry didn’t have to add ‘and lived’, Ron was aware how many had died.

“Sirius and Aberforth did,” Ron said.

“And neither wants an Order of Merlin.” Harry shrugged. “I’m glad I’m not singled out.”

Ron chuckled. “You would be.” He quickly grew serious again, though. “But I’m still not looking forward to sessions. And I feel like a hypocrite, with the Resistance demanding an elected Wizengamot, and me getting appointed.”

“Hermione is getting appointed as well,” his friend pointed out. “And once the reforms are done we’re off the Wizengamot anyway - unless you want to run for a seat in the election.”

“Yeah, right.” Ron snorted.

“Hermione will probably run for a seat,” Harry said.

“Probably.” They hadn’t talked about that, but he agreed with Harry. That was just like Hermione. She wasn’t the type to leave others to do what she felt she could do. At least she wouldn’t… he blinked. “Merlin’s beard! She’s so going to make us run as well, so there’ll be two more votes for her proposals!”

Harry stared at him, then muttered something that would have earned them a scolding from Hermione.

*****​

London, Diagon Alley, March 5th, 1997

Daphne Greengrass had to struggle to control herself as she walked down Diagon Alley. It felt as if everyone on the street was staring at her. At any moment, she expected someone to point their wand at them and cast a curse.

“We’re attracting too much attention,” Tracey, walking at her side, said. She was whispering despite their privacy spell. “They know.”

“If they knew they’d attack us,” Daphne whispered back. “We look like muggleborns.”

At least they should look like muggleborns. They had carefully transfigured their robes into muggle clothes, dyed their hair and even wore those weird colored glasses. They looked like the muggle girls in the magazine that they had bought in Buxton.

“No one else is wearing the same clothes as us,” Tracey insisted.

“Of course not, that would be a gaffe,” Daphne shot back.

“Muggles mass-produce their clothes.”

Her friend was correct, Daphne had to admit - they had seen a number of people wearing the same jackets. “Just act naturally. We’re doing fine,” she said. At least with the recent attack, there were other people out on the street who looked nervous as well.

And that reminded her that currently, she and Tracey would look like just another pair of muggleborns to someone like Theo. She glanced at the sky above them, and started to walk a bit faster.

*****​

The Weasleys had been busy, Daphne thought. According to the Daily Prophet, Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes had been utterly destroyed by Fiendfyre in the Battle of Diagon Alley five weeks ago. The building in front of her showed no trace of that. It wasn’t yet finished - part of the uppermost floor and the roof were missing - but they had already replaced the gaudy shop sign, and started to furnish the interior.

Next to her, Tracey hissed. “They’re here.”

Spotting a few bricks sliding into place on the upper floor, Daphne refrained from stating that they had expected the twins to be here - that was why they had come to Diagon Alley, after all. They didn’t know where the Weasleys were currently living, and Daphne would rather not meet the rest of the family anyway - not after she had almost been killed by the trap at The Burrow. She shivered, remembering how the others had died. “Let’s go,” she said, walking towards the door.

In front of the door, she hesitated for a moment. She remembered the fight inside the shop. They were once again here in disguise. If the twins thought this was an attack… or wanted to claim they thought so… But there was no choice. If Theo had started to attack muggleborns, Daphne needed to do this, or she’d perish with the fool.

She took a deep breath and touched the door knocker with her wand - only to jump back in fright when she heard a wailing scream. It sounded as if a poor beast was being tortured inside the shop.

“Merlin’s arse!” Trace cursed next to her.

Daphne muttered a curse of her own when the door was opened and one of the twins appeared. “Hello. How can I help you?” He was staying behind the threshold, of course - and therefore behind the wards - and his right arm was hidden behind the door - probably holding his wand.

Daphne carefully stashed her wand and pulled off her glasses. “It’s us.”

He recognised her at once - his smile vanished, replaced by a hard stare, and his wand appeared, as expected. “What do you want?”

He was probably Fred, Daphne thought. George hadn’t been that hostile the last time they had talked. Really talked. But that had been before their trial, too. She wet her lips. “We need to talk to you.”

His eyes narrowed. “We don’t want to talk to you.”

Daphne looked around, then said in a low voice. “It’s important. Please cast a privacy spell.” She was quite certain that if she drew her wand, it wouldn’t end well for her.

Probably-Fred didn’t react for a second, and Daphne feared that she had botched it. Then he pointed his wand at her, and she flinched. Was he…

The tip of his wand swung away, and she recognised the movements of a privacy spell before she sighed with relief.

“Talk,” he spat out.

“Theo Nott plans to attack muggleborns and their friends. Someone’s backing him. He tried to recruit us, but we declined,” she said, talking quickly.

“He might have been behind yesterday’s attack in the Alley,” Tracey added.

“Aha.” Fred - she was now convinced it was him - didn’t look any friendlier. “And why are you telling us this?”

“We don’t know who’s backing him. If they have spies in the Ministry…” Daphne shrugged.

He stared at her, then at Tracey without saying anything.

“Who’s at the door? Did they deliver the shelves?” Daphne heard his brother ask from somewhere behind Fred.

“Just two snakes disguised as muggleborns,” Fred yelled back without taking his eyes off them. At least he had extended the privacy spell beforehand, Daphne noticed with relief. She still felt terribly exposed, standing in the street in front of the shop.

“What?” A few seconds later, George appeared next to his brother. “Oh.”

“They claim Nott was trying to recruit them to attack muggleborns and blood traitors,” Fred said.

“It’s the truth.” Tracey crossed her arms and raised her chin slightly.

Daphne fought the urge to fidget when George looked her over. “That’s a new look.”

“It’s a disguise,” his brother said.

“We couldn’t walk over as we are, could we?” Daphne said. “Someone would either attack us, or warn Theo.”

“Or both,” Tracey added.

“It’s probably a trap,” Fred said. “Like before.”

“It’s not a trap,” Daphne insisted, shaking her head. “We’re done with the war. We don’t want any more trouble.” She hated how desperate she sounded, but if the twins didn’t believe them...

“And what do you expect us to do?” George asked. “If this is true,” he added.

“To deal with Theo before he kills anyone and gets us killed by an angry mob,” Tracey said. She was staring at the twins a if she was daring them to curse her.

“Of course they’re worried about their own skin,” Fred said, with a sneer.

George, though, chuckled. “Well, you’re honest.” Daphne saw him glance at his brother. “I think we should pass this on.”

He had to mean the Order, Daphne knew.

“Good. Tell them that we warned you. Please,” Tracey said. She was smiling a little.

It looked like they had succeeded. Daphne started to smile.

“Come back here tomorrow, same time,” George said.

“What?” Daphne stared at him, her smile gone.

He grinned. “Someone else might want to talk to you.”

Black. It had to be Black. The twin’s backer. Daphne had considered that possibility. It wasn’t a bad thing, actually - Black had a lot of influence. If they could make a deal with him… But Black also had a certain reputation. Both due to his family, and his personal history. He was not a wizard anyone wanted to cross. She and Tracey had no choice, though - they were committed now.

So she nodded with a faint smile. “Alright.”

*****​

London, No. 12 Grimmauld Place, March 5th, 1997

“So, Greengrass and Davis don’t want to fight for blood purity any more.” Sirius Black rubbed his beard while he leaned back in his favourite armchair. “And they’re willing to betray their friend - former friend, now, I think - to save themselves.”

“That’s what they claim,” Fred said.

Those girls were typical Slytherins, Sirius thought. Always thinking of themselves. Although if that meant that the perpetrators behind the latest attacks could be caught, then that was a good thing. If they were honest. “What do you think?” He looked at George.

“I think they’re telling the truth,” the younger wizard said. “We know from when we interrogated them that one reason that they joined the Dark Lord was because they were afraid of muggleborns. Now with the Dark Lord dead and the Ministry in shambles, there’s no one left who could offer them protection except for us.”

“Protect them?” Fred scoffed, waving his empty glass around. “They’re Death Eaters! They’ll betray us as quickly as they are betraying Nott if they see an opportunity.”

That, too, was typical for Slytherins, Sirius thought. You couldn’t trust them. But you could take precautions. He grinned. “Well, if Nott gets caught thanks to them, and this becomes known, they’ll never be trusted again by the other Death Eaters,” Sirius said. It went without saying that it would become known. “They’d have to fear reprisals, instead.”

“That’s true,” George said, glancing at his brother. “So, are you planning to meet them?”

“Yes, I think so,” Sirius said. “Although not in your shop. A safe house with good wards and a few emergency exits, just in case, would be best.” He didn’t think the two witches were trying to set them up, but they could be the unwitting tools of someone else. Someone smarter.

“Is the Thief’s Downfall installed already?” Remus asked. Sirius’s best remaining friend had been quiet so far - too quiet, for Sirius’s taste. Remus was taking his failure to capture Wormtail too hard.

“Our version of it,” Fred said, “will be ready tomorrow.”

“Good,” Sirius nodded in approval.

“And what are you planning to do about Nott?”

“Well… we need him to find his backer. And they’ll be careful, and aware of the risk of him getting captured. That limits our options somewhat.” Sirius said. He grinned. “I think we will have to prevail upon those two witches of your acquaintance to lend us a hand.” He checked his watch. “We can discuss the details after dinner. Molly will be calling us soon.”

“Ah… another meal where ickle Ronnie’s praises are sung,” George said, though with a smile.

“You know, I thought Ron was the safe brother. No Head Boy, no Ministry employee, no star Seeker. The one Weasley Mum wouldn’t be able to compare us to, and find us wanting,” Fred added with a mock-pout. “And then he goes and not only earns an Order of Merlin, but a seat on the Wizengamot as well! So much for family loyalty!”

“It’s not certain, yet,” Sirius said, chuckling. “It’ll be decided on Friday. Although it is looking very likely that the proposal will be accepted.”

“Your proposal, you mean!” Fred said. “It was all your idea!”

Sirius grinned. “Yes.”

“Although I can assure you that Sirius never thought his idea would amount to anything, nor did he plan this,” Remus cut in. “It was pure, dumb luck.”

Sirius shot his friend a hurt look, but he wasn’t mad - it was good to see Remus ribbing him. Hopefully, his friend would get over his issues. At least he had accepted some money ‘for expenses’, and was now dressed nicely.

Remus was correct, of course - Sirius hadn’t expected his spur of the moment proposal to bear such fruits.

Not that he minded being proven wrong. Harry and his friends deserved this. And who knew? Their votes might prove decisive as well.

*****​

London, Diagon Alley, March 6th, 1997

Daphne Greengrass wasn’t as nervous when she and Tracey approached the twins’ shop as she had been the day before, but she came close. Meeting Sirius Black wasn’t something to take lightly. He was the only wizard, ever, to escape from Azkaban without outside help, and he had broken into Hogwarts several times while it had been guarded by hordes of Dementors. Some people even claimed he had sold his soul for revenge, and this was why the Dementors wouldn’t touch him any more. That was rubbish, of course, but there was no doubt that he was a very powerful wizard. And he was a Black.

The building was still lacking a roof, but the floor seemed to be completed now. They had worked quickly. This time, there was no howling when she touched the door knocker with her wand, but some infernal noise - muggle music, she realised after a second. She had heard it before, when she had listened to the Resistance on the wireless.

Once more it was Fred who opened the door. He stared at them for a moment, then stepped to the side, motioning with his head for them to enter while he kept his wand trained on them.

Daphne refrained from glaring at him, and stepped through the door. Cool liquid splashed over her. Thief’s Downfall, she realised, gasping and freezing up for a moment while she remembered the last time she had been inside this shop, when the Polyjuice-granted disguises had been stripped off her and Tracey, and they had barely managed to escape the twins.

She controlled herself, though, and kept walking as the liquid dried off in less than a second. She wouldn’t give Fred the satisfaction of seeing her tremble. She noticed George as well, a bit further in the back, behind the counter, his wand pointed at her as well, though he seemed more amused than angry.

Behind her, Tracey hissed when she stepped through the door, and Fred snorted. “Too cold? We improved on the formula some. Unlike goblins, we don’t have a monopoly, so we prefer our customers not to be inconvenienced.”

Daphne didn’t deign to answer the mocking comment. Instead, she turned towards George, then looked around to see if she could spot Black.

George tapped the counter. “Your wands, please.”

Daphne clenched her teeth. Being told to hand over her wand was not just an insult, it would also leave her defenceless. But she had no choice. “Of course,” she said. She noted with a small amount of satisfaction that the twins tensed up when she drew her wand. At least they took her seriously.

She dropped the wand on the counter, with Tracey following her example. George cast a few spells at them and put them away in one of his robes’ pockets. That done he smiled and offered her his arm.

Daphne blinked, then understood. They’d apparate from here. “Are you that afraid of us?” she asked, stepping closer to the wizard.

“Not really,” Fred butted in. “You can be handled, easily. But you might have friends waiting to attack us.”

Tracey was frowning at Fred. Daphne couldn’t fault her - her friend would have to apparate with him.

“Not that we’re afraid of whatever friends you might have brought, mind you,” George said. “We’ve faced the Dark Lord himself, after all. But it’d be a bother to deal with another set of fools.”

Such arrogance! Daphne glared at him, but he didn’t seem to be impressed. His smile widened. Pressing her lips together, she slipped her arm into his. A moment later, she felt the familiar and unwelcome sensation of Side-Along-Apparition.

She pulled her arm back as soon as they appeared at their destination, then looked around. They were in a muggle flat; the furniture was telling. And there was Black, just rising from an ugly armchair in a corner.

“Good morning, Miss Greengrass,” he said, bowing with the grace expected of a Black. “Miss Davis.” He was wearing robes, she noted. Expensive ones.

“Good morning.” Another man had stood up from the couch.

Daphne looked at him, and froze. She knew that man. No, that creature - Lupin. A werewolf. She was in the same room as a werewolf, and without any means to defend herself!

“Good morning, Mister Black, Mister Lupin.” Tracey inclined her head.

Tracey was handling the situation much better than herself, Daphne realised. But then, her friend had had a crush on their third year Defence teacher. Until he had been revealed as a werewolf, of course. “Good morning,” Daphne added, with a slight bow. She told herself that the full moon was still almost three weeks away. Lupin couldn’t transform. That didn’t mean he wasn’t dangerous, of course.

“Please have a seat.” Black flicked his wand, and two seats appeared opposite his own.

Daphne exchanged a glance with Tracey, then sat down.

Black sat down, rubbing his beard with his free hand. “Would you like some refreshments?”

It would be rude to turn the offer down, Daphne knew, and nodded. “Yes, please. Thank you.” Her smile froze for a second when Lupin stood up and headed to where she assumed the muggles had placed the kitchen. To eat and drink anything touched by a werewolf… she managed not to shudder by focusing on her anger. Black was deliberately making a mockery out of pureblood courtesy! And she couldn’t call him on it because she needed his help. She took a deep breath and reminded herself that she was doing this for her sister, and her family.

Lupin returned with a floating tray full of snacks, putting it down on the low table between them and Black. Daphne hid her revulsion and grabbed a small sandwich and a butterbeer, then watched as Tracey, followed by Black and the others grabbed or summoned snacks for themselves. She didn’t want to eat, she wanted to get this over with and leave, get her wand back and go home. Instead she had to make brainless conversation about the food and drink.

“So… your friend Theo Nott is attacking muggleborns,” Black said, finally.

“He wanted to recruit us and hinted at receiving support from others. We don’t know for certain if he’s behind the attacks on muggleborns, but it might have been him,” Daphne said.

“Yes. He said he’d be more cautious. Using the Imperius to command others, and cursing people from a broom, then flying away before they can react would fit that,” Tracey added.

Black nodded, a faint, cruel smile appearing on his lips. “But you’re certain that he at the very least plans to attack muggleborns.”

“And blood traitors,” Tracey added.

Daphne glared at her friend. They had no wands! If they angered Black and the others…

Their host snorted, though, apparently amused. “Of course.” He shrugged. “Well, it’s enough to take action.” Leaning forward, his smile widened. “But you’ll be helping us with that.”

Daphne wanted to refuse. She didn’t want to be involved in the war any more. She certainly didn’t want to risk her own and her sister’s life to catch Theo. But she had no choice if she wanted to weather this. “Of course,” she said, with a weak smile.

*****​

London, Soho, March 6th, 1997

Waiting in the café, Hermione Granger was nervous. Even though she shouldn’t be, since she had planned this thoroughly. She had done extensive research, with multiple muggle and wizard sources. She bought everything they might need, for any eventuality, and had placed it all in the hotel room she had rented for easy access. She had warded the room as well, just so they’d be safe. She knew she was ready, too - had been ready for a while, in fact. She was as prepared as she could be.

And yet, she was nervous. It didn’t make any sense. Ron wanted it as well. She knew that. She was certain that it would have happened last weekend, at Hogwarts, if she had asked him to. Or if she had transfigured the desk into a bed instead of a love seat. Or maybe just a larger couch - they certainly had come very close.

She blushed, remembering the night of his birthday. She had thought about going all the way, but it wouldn’t have been right. She didn’t want to make this into something she gave Ron, as if it was a gift. They would do this together. She nodded at herself, reaffirming her resolve, then checked her watch. Fifteen minutes left. And no Ron yet.

Of course, Ron might have been held up. She hadn’t told him what she was planning, just that she would be surprising him, and that might have been too subtle a hint. With the Wizengamot session tomorrow deciding about their Order of Merlins and their seats on the Wizengamot, things might have come up that required him. Although Sirius would have informed her as well, wouldn’t he? She bit her lower lip and twisted a lock of her hair around her finger. Or tried to - her hair was so short, now, she didn’t really manage. But it was more practical, especially with the training camp starting in two days.

Fourteen minutes left until the scheduled time for their date. They’d have plenty of time for what she had planned. The whole evening. And discreet as well, since they would not stay the night. Not that there would be anything wrong if they did - both of them were adults according to Wizarding Britain, and above the age of consent in Britain. And her parents wouldn’t disapprove, if they knew. She was pretty certain of that. Ron was a fine boy. Man. Brave, handsome, attentive, talented… she almost sighed.

Thirteen minutes. If Ron wanted to be certain to be on time and had taken an earlier bus, then he could arrive any second now, according to the schedules she had memorised. Unless there had been a traffic jam, of course.

She caught herself tapping her fingers on the table, and clenched her fist. There was no reason to be nervous. She was as ready for this as she could be. She knew it wouldn’t be the stuff of romance novels, too - their first time wouldn’t be a mind-blowing event. They had no experience, well, as far as she knew. Not with sex. Real sex, at least. They had come close, and that had been… this time she did sigh.

And almost missed Ron’s arrival. “Ron!” She raised her hand while he stood in the door, looking for her. And she saw his face lit up with a smile when he spotted her, matching her own.

“Hi there!” he said, kissing her - on the cheek. He smelled nice, just a hint of aftershave. “Have you been waiting long?”

“No. You’re early.” She was telling the truth - it hadn’t been that long.

The waitress didn’t take long to bring his order - a soft drink he hadn’t tried before, as he told her. “So,” he said, after taking a sip, and frowning at the taste, “You mentioned a surprise?”

She licked her lips, suddenly nervous again. “Yes.” She nodded. “I’ve rented a room. In a hotel nearby.”

His eyes widened, and suddenly, he looked nervous too. “Oh.”

“Unless you…” she trailed off. If he didn’t want to, she wouldn’t pressure him; all the good books said that that would ruin it.

“No, no!” He blinked again. “I mean, yes, I want to. I’m just…”

“Me too,” she said.

*****​

Ron Weasley was nervous, and grew more nervous the closer they got to the inn Hermione had picked. For their first time. He hadn’t expected this. He had dreamed of it, of course. But in his dreams, he hadn’t been nervous. He had known what to do, and it had been perfect, and Hermione had been all over him, and…

He took a deep breath. They were walking arm in arm, and he could feel her warmth through his jacket when she leaned into him and explained that she had rented the room for the night, that she had arranged for room service - apparently, the inn would bring a meal to their room - and that she had prepared everything in advance.

She was as nervous as he was, he realised - a thought that felt strangely comforting. He slipped his arm around her waist, pulling her close, and she fell silent for a moment, smiling at him.

They kissed, properly this time, no mere peck on her lips, before entering the lobby. He let her handle the muggle clerk while he looked around, taking in the muggle decor. And the other guests, sitting at the low tables. It all looked very expensive, but since Hermione had already paid for the room, he didn’t know how expensive.

The room itself was larger than he expected - larger than his own room at Sirius’s home, even, and that had been the largest room he had ever slept in. The largest bed as well. There was a muggle wireless too, and the biggest telly he had ever seen. “If that thing was any bigger, it’d be a cinema,” he said, shaking his head.

“I told them to bring the food up right away,” Hermione said. “Unfortunately, we can’t watch TV since I warded the room. And that means electronics won’t work in here.” She blushed slightly. “It’s not as if we’re going to be watching TV tonight.”

Ron nodded. He wasn’t disappointed - safety came first. The Death Eaters and their supporters would like to kill both of them, especially in light of tomorrow’s vote in the Wizengamot. Fortunately, room service arrived quickly.

“I told the reception not to disturb us,” Hermione explained while they ate.

Ron nodded. He didn’t want anyone interrupting them either, of course. Or watching them.

Sighing, she stared at the telly and the wireless: “I don’t miss the telly, but I had picked out the best romantic songs I could think of too. But I haven’t yet figured out how to get reception inside a warded area.” She shook her head. “Of course, the muggles don’t know the reason for the unexplainable trouble with TV reception in London - it started when the purebloods began to hide.”

Oh. His own eyes widened when he made the connection. “The wards.”

She nodded. “Once we have the time to spare, we can use this to find the purebloods’ hideouts in London!”

He didn’t want to talk about the war. “But not right now, I think,” he said, looking pointedly at her, then at the bed.

She smiled, again blushing a little. “Of course not right now. And not tomorrow. But we’ll find the missing Death Eaters.”

*****​

Almost too soon, they were finished with the meal and standing in front of the bed.

“So…” Hermione said, biting her lower lip.

“So…” Ron repeated, licking his own.

For a moment, they stared at each other, neither of them moving. Then Hermione took a step closer, and Ron opened his arms, and they were kissing, and neither was hesitating any more. They were on the bed, now. Hands started to slip under clothes, opening buttons and pulling on zippers, like they had done before, at Hogwarts.

Only this time, they didn’t stop with touching, and didn’t leave the clothes on. And Ron found himself on his back, with Hermione on top of him. And then...

It wasn’t perfect, of course. It was their first time. And their second. But it certainly was far better than what he had dreamed of, Ron found out.

*****​

Later they lay on the bed, with Hermione cuddled to his side. Resting, enjoying each other’s presence.

“I spent two hours picking out my lingerie,” she said, pointing at a crumpled piece of fabric on the edge of the bed. “Did you even see it?”

“Ah…” He didn’t know what to say - he remembered pulling it off, but not much else about it.

She chuckled. “Well, I can model it for you later. If you want me to.”

“Of course!” He gently squeezed her shoulder. “Anything you want.”

******​

London, Ministry of Magic, March 7th, 1997

Some people were more boring than Binns, Sirius Black thought, listening to Melvin Burke drone on about how you needed the kind of wisdom that came with age to become a member of the Wizengamot, and how teenagers, no matter their heroic deeds, lacked that. The hypocrite didn’t seem to realise how many of the members backing him were either barely older than Harry, or the proxies of even younger wizards and witches.

Of course, he should have expected this. Even though his proposal had the support of the majority of the Wizengamot, the Death Eater sympathisers wouldn’t be giving in and letting them take a vote without making them suffer through as many stupid speeches as possible.

Well, their time was running out as well, Sirius knew. People were already starting to ‘reconsider’ their views - the fact that Thicknesse was supporting Sirius’s proposal had made quite the impact on those members of the Wizengamot who lacked a spine. Still not enough to pass the reforms Britain needed, but they were making progress.

And so was Arthur. Sirius glanced at Bones, whose face was so devoid of any expression, it seemed like it had been transfigured into stone. She hated this, but couldn’t stop it. The stupid witch still hadn’t realised that Britain was changing, had changed too much for the Old Families to keep their power.

Burke had finished, and Longbottom’s proxy was now busy refuting his points. As if anyone cared! At least Elphias had been elected as Chief Warlock and would keep things on track - if Runcorn had still been acting Chief Warlock, the debate would never end.

Sirius sighed. Sometimes, he understood why Voldemort had used force to try to take over Britain, instead of politics.

*****​

Florida, Key West, March 7th, 1997

Augustus Rookwood studied the small cove in front of him. Strong wards covered it, hiding it from muggles. Even wizards unfamiliar with the area might miss it - the cove was so small, there didn’t seem to be enough room for anything bigger than a hut and a canoe.

That was wrong, of course. The cove was known as ‘Smuggler’s Bay’ and one of the oldest magical enclaves in the Americas, older than the Statute of Secrecy. As the name indicated, it had been founded to provide pirates and smugglers with a safe harbour. And it had done well during all the wars in the region.

The times had changed since, but the business hadn’t. With all the North American magical enclaves starting wars with each other at the drop of a hat, the tensions in the Caribbean and the various countries in Central and South America vying for dominance on the continent, there was always demand for those who were able to transport cargo and people unseen from one place to another.

He glanced around, checked that his clothes looked like those of a local, took another sip from his vial of Polyjuice, and crossed the wardline, walking through a bush. He arrived at a busy, if still small, port, with a smattering of small boats and ships, of all kinds of builds and ages, swaying at their anchors. He paid them no mind, though - he knew nothing about ships or boats. He knew a lot about the kind of wizards who used such ships, though. And where to find them.

Smiling faintly, he walked towards the biggest building in the port. The kind of wizards he needed would be there, drinking and whoring. A man was leaning on the wall next to the entrance, clad in tribal garments. Augustus didn’t care if the man was a survivor of the Seminole Shamans or a deserter from the surviving tribal nations west of the Mississippi. Here, in Smuggler’s Cove, pretty much everyone had something to hide - like himself.

He nodded at the man, and entered. Inside, he found the expected mix of shady elements from all parts of the Americas and the wizards and witches of ill repute catering to their urges. One of them was already walking towards him, the smile on her face as fake as her Parisian robes. A slight shake of his head made her veer off, looking for another customer. He was here to hire a smuggler who would transport him to Jamaica, and he had no interest in such base pursuits.

While he made his way to the bar, he looked the crowd over. There were no obvious houngans, of course - but that didn’t mean anything. Plenty of people were disguised. Fortunately, the witch he was looking for wasn’t one of those. Mirabel Duchamp, allegedly from New Orleans, wouldn’t be one of the most infamous smugglers plying her trade in the Caribbean if she had the habit of hiding her identity. Of course, that just meant that when she did use a disguise, fewer men would suspect her.

He spotted her in a corner booth, wearing a loose shirt and breeches like many of the Caribbean wizards and witches, her long, red hair held tied back in a ponytail, and her left arm wrapped around a well-built, shirtless man. He started walking towards her.

She spotted him before he had covered half the distance, and he saw her right hand disappear under the table. She had kept her wits, then, despite the large number of empty glasses on the table in front of her.

“That’s far enough!” she yelled when he was about to reach her booth. “I don’t like craning my neck to look someone in the eyes, and I’m not about to push my pretty boy here away just so I can sit up. What do you want?”

He slowly pulled out a purse from his pocket and dropped it on the table. “Business.”

Her wand hand was still under the table, but he saw her arm twitch. She was casting something. Probably at the purse. After a moment, she grinned, and addressed the man at her side. “Get lost, Julio! Business calls.”

The young man stood up with a pout, but didn’t try to linger, or draw it out. If he had been a gambling man, Augustus would have bet a dozen galleons that Julio would find someone else to pay for his drinks in a few minutes. It didn’t matter.

“Take a seat, Mister…?” Mirabel said, gesturing at the table.

“Mister will do,” Augustus said as he sat down. He raised his wand. “If you’ll allow me to ensure some privacy?” She probably had some spells up herself, but he didn’t trust her, or anyone else.

At her nod he cast a few spells, and the noise of the other guests notably dimmed. There was no need to make chit-chat; he already knew her reputation, so he came straight to the point of his visit.

“I need a passage to Jamaica.”

Her eyes widened briefly, but she was smiling when she nodded. “That won’t be cheap.”

He pulled another purse out from his pocket. “That’s no problem.”

She opened the first purse. “British coin?”

“Yes.” He had no accent so she wouldn’t be able to tell if that was just some misdirection, or if he was actually British. And even if she did, she wouldn’t know if he was a fugitive, or someone hired by the Ministry. And this uncertainty would make her cautious, and lessen the chance of a double-cross.

“Gold is gold,” she said, twirling a galleon in her hand. “Will you require a passage off the island as well?”

He shook his head. He didn’t know how long this would take.

“Good. Makes things simpler. It won’t be easy, mind you. The houngans keep a tight watch.”

And the haggling began.

*****​

 

Chapter 50: Diplomatic Entanglements

‘The fact that the International Confederation of Wizards issued a mandate for an inspection of Britain’s ability to uphold the International Statute of Secrecy shows quite clearly how much the Second Blood War affected not just Britain, but the magical world as a whole. The stated reason for the inspection was not just ‘a thin excuse’, as is often claimed. While it is true that no inspections had been sent to Magical Prussia after Grindelwald’s War, in that case, as with the other countries which had been devastated in that conflict, forces from the coalition opposing Grindelwald were acting as occupying forces and upholding the Statute of Secrecy until local government could be restored. Several wars between the various magical enclaves in North America ended with similar results. In contrast to those cases, Britain’s Ministry had been all but wiped out, and neither the Order of the Phoenix nor the Muggleborn Resistance were internationally recognised governments.
However, it was obvious that the main reasons for the ICW’s decision were to find out just how powerful Britain was after Dumbledore’s death and to check the effects of the growing influence of muggleborns on Britain’s politics. Dumbledore’s death had changed the balance of power, but no one yet knew how much, and many countries were afraid that their own muggleborn minorities might follow the example given by Britain’s Muggleborn Resistance.
Within Wizarding Britain, the authorities were very much aware that these circumstances meant that even an intervention was not out of the question should the inspection find sufficient grounds for one. And, as Britain had taken part in the last ICW intervention during the previous century, which had resulted in the extermination of a large part of the magical nations of Sub-Saharan Africa, they were also all too aware of the possible consequences of such an intervention. It goes without saying that this only made an already tense situation worse.’
- Excerpt from ‘The Second Blood War’ by Hyacinth Selwyn

*****​

Cumbria, Britain, March 8th, 1997

“You’re the sorriest lot of recruits I’ve ever seen! A bunch of spoiled yuppies who’ve never gotten sweaty outside the fitness centre! You’ve never even touched anything more dangerous than your cutlery! And you want to be soldiers?”

Harry Potter was torn between grinning and wincing. Hermione hadn’t been exaggerating when she had said that their instructor reminded her of ‘Full Metal Jacket’ - Sergeant Boones sounded like a muggle version of Moody. Which reminded him how Moody had died, making him wince.

“You there, with the hair that looks like it should be on a horse’s arse!” The sergeant pointed at one of the taller recruits, Eric Ballantine, if Harry remembered his name correctly. “Do you think you can crawl through mud and live without shampoo and conditioner and perfume for a whole month?” The mercenary was slightly smaller than Ballantine, but had him cowed.

“Yes, Sergeant!” Ballantine said loudly.

“What was that? Did a mouse just squeak? Do you think anyone can hear you cry for your mum on a battlefield like that? I’ve heard babies yell louder than you!”

“Yes, Sergeant!” Ballantine yelled.

Boones snorted and stepped away, glaring at the line of almost twenty recruits - including Harry and Ron - again. He pointed at a witch Harry readily recognised - Mary-Jane Wilton, the survivor of the ‘Avengers plot’. “You, girlie! You ready to risk your life on the battlefield? Ready to kill? Huh?”

“Yes, Sergeant!” the witch yelled, her expression furious.

Boones snorted again, but didn’t press her further. He looked at Harry and squinted. “You there, with the scar! You look like you’d rather be in a warm café discussing politics with your mates and fantasising about the Spice Girls!”

Harry heard Ron snort next to him and set his jaw, meeting the Sergeant’s eyes.

“Did you lose your voice, or just your nerve?” The Sergeant was now looming over him.

“No, Sergeant!” Harry bellowed straight into the man’s face.

Boones narrowed his eyes, but nodded. “Looks like there’s someone here with more spine than a snail.” Then he turned to Ron.

“And you there, Ginger! You think this is funny? It’s all one big joke, huh?”

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Ron wince, and had to struggle not to grin himself while Ron got yelled at.

The mercenary took a step back. “Well, I’d say you lot are hopeless, but a few among you sorry excuses for recruits might prove me wrong - if you don’t puke your guts out after a bit of light exercise! Three laps on that course! Move!”

Harry took a deep breath while he started to run, Ron right on his heels, and tried not to glare at the smirking Resistance members watching the new recruits file past them. At least when Moody had drilled them, there hadn’t been a peanut gallery.

*****​

Hermione Granger forced herself to look impassive while the Sergeant put the Resistance’s new recruits through their paces. They deserved respect, especially from their new leader.

Unfortunately, not all Resistance members were as restrained. Seamus was chuckling loudly, and Tania was smirking. Poor form, in Hermione’s opinion, especially with both Mary-Jane and Louise among the new recruits, since neither had received the original training from the two mercenaries. At least Justin, Sally-Anne and John weren’t joining in.

“We’re doing the course as well, once they’re done,” she reminded them. Seamus groaned. “We can’t let the new recruits show up the veterans, can we?” she added.

The Irish wizard snorted. “We’re in better shape than the lot of them.”

“Right now. Might be different at the end of the month,” Hermione answered. Especially with Louise and Mary-Jane, who had been exercising with the group since they had joined. And Harry and Ron were certainly very fit - Ron had demonstrated that quite thoroughly, Hermione thought to herself, smiling faintly despite her efforts to remain impassive.

She clapped her hands. “Now, check the camp and ensure that all tents are properly set up and the supplies stashed correctly!” she ordered. Since the Major was standing near them, she couldn’t directly tell them to check if the anti-muggle wards on the tents were done, and the camp itself was protected against intruders.

Once everyone was busy doing something, Kolen stepped up next to her and watched the activity in the camp, and the glimpses of the recruits’ run they caught through the trees. “You’re missing some people,” he said after a few minutes, in a low tone.

“Yes,” she said.

“About half of you. Will they be joining us later?”

“No.” She couldn’t completely keep her emotions out of her answer.

He nodded. “I see.”

Hermione didn’t know why, but she added: “One’s in a coma, the rest are dead.”

She thought she heard him hiss through his teeth, but she wasn’t certain. “That’s a lot of casualties.”

“We had a lot of engagements.” She tried to sound professional. Distant. “We won, but there could be trouble in the future.”

“So your second in command said.”

Hermione nodded and made an agreeing noise while she watched Sally-Anne check the supplies they had stashed in the open for the benefit of the two instructors.

“Mick’s wondering about your group. He can’t place you. It nags at him - a bunch of soft rich kids, waging war, and he doesn’t know where, or why. You don’t fit his experiences.”

She turned her head to look at him, but didn’t answer.

“I’ve seen things in Africa,” he went on, meeting her eyes. “Weird things, unnatural even - but that’s Africa. I wouldn’t have expected to encounter such things in England.”

She watched him. He hadn’t said that he knew about magic. But he certainly had his suspicions. She should obliviate him. On the other hand, many people believed in magic, though no one would believe a few tall tales from the bush, told over a drink or three.

“Every place on Earth has legends and myths,” she said. She didn’t add ‘with the exception of Antarctica’, even though that would have been correct.

“Those are just that, myth and legends,” the Major said. He didn’t sound certain, though.

“Perhaps. ‘There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy’,” she quoted Shakespeare - or what muggles thought he had written, after the ICW had instituted the Statute of Secrecy and had removed most knowledge of magic from them.

The soldier snorted. “So, should I watch out for three witches trying to curse us?”

“I wouldn’t be worried about three witches,” she said, “but a dozen of them could be trouble.” She chuckled, but she could see that he took her comment seriously.

*****​

Ron Weasley winced when he sat down on the log facing the campfire, balancing the tray of his ‘mess kit’ containing his dinner on his knees. The Sergeant - he had quickly started to think of Sergeant Boones as simply ‘the Sergeant’ - wasn’t as brutal as Moody, but the lack of broken bones was more than made up for by the fact that Ron and the others couldn’t use magic to remove bruises. Hermione had been very clear about that.

At least Ron hadn’t fared too badly - thanks to Moody’s training regime and the Quidditch training sessions, he wasn’t as exhausted as the majority of the recruits. A bit of ointment would prevent any aching muscles tomorrow, and he had only fallen down twice on the obstacle course, and into mud. Others hadn’t been so lucky. He glanced at Emily, a twenty-something witch who was nursing a ‘sprained ankle’ - a broken leg actually, healed by Sally-Anne - and various bruises that hadn’t been treated and which would have Luna write an article about ‘spotted humans’, should she see the poor witch.

“Hey!”

He whipped his head around at the whispered word, hand going to his wand, before he recognised Hermione and smiled. He had almost dropped his tray, but the noodles were quite firmly stuck to it and hadn’t spilled. He wasn’t certain if that was a good sign.

She held out a mug to him. “Fancy some hot tea?”

He eagerly took it. “Thanks!”

She sat down next to him, on the log. “How was your day?” She had the same tray from a mess kit, though not quite as full as his.

He shrugged, tasting his first forkful of noodles. Edible, but nothing beyond that. “I’m a bit disappointed that we haven’t even touched a muggle weapon yet.” Instead, they had ran and jumped and climbed and swung from ropes over a muddy creek - or tried to. They had been allowed to use cleaning charms behind the curtains of the ‘shower stall’ the Resistance had rigged, and warming charms had taken care of the cold, but just about everyone, even Harry, had spent the day wet, covered in mud, or both, and Ron hadn’t been any exception.

She snorted. “That’ll start tomorrow.” Leaning into his shoulder, she added: “You held up well today.”

“I did my best,” he said - he couldn’t afford to look bad in front of everyone, not as the only pureblood in the camp, and the boyfriend of their leader. “Thanks for the lesson about guns, by the way,” he added, switching his mug to his left hand so he could wrap his right arm around her shoulder. He took a look around as well - he couldn’t let anyone else sneak up on him in the middle of the forest. To think that Justin’s family owned all of this land...

“It wasn’t a lesson, but just an overview. Pretty much every muggleborn knows that much about guns,” Hermione said. “Although pretty much every muggleborn has some serious misconceptions about guns as well,” she added, and he knew she was smiling. “You’ll have the advantage of not having to unlearn all the stupid things they do in the movies.”

Ron smiled. “I’m not calling them firelegs, either.”

She chuckled. “Good. The instructors are already a little suspicious.” She started to eat as well and he could see her frown slightly at the taste.

“Not Mum’s cooking,” he said.

“No. Although I’ve been told by the Sergeant that it’s very good for camp food.”

He raised his eyebrows at that. “I would pity him, if he hadn’t tried to kill me today.”

That made her chuckle again. “It’s going to get worse, you know.”

“How?”

“In the exercises, he’ll be able to shoot at you. With paintballs, not real bullets, but they hurt anyway. Worse than a Stinging Hex.”

“Just like Moody,” Ron mumbled under his breath. “At least he’ll have to share his abuse between twenty of us.”

“More than that,” she corrected him. “We’ll be training as well.”

“Let me say that I fully approve of your sacrifice!” he said, grinning widely.

She snorted in response, took a few more bites of her noodles, then put the tray on the ground. After a brief glance around, she vanished the remaining noodles, and then followed up with a Cleaning Charm.

“I thought we weren’t supposed to use magic,” he said.

“That’s just so the muggles don’t see anything. We’re still wizards and witches, after all, and we’ll be using magic in the field.” She grinned. “The Major himself said we should train as we plan to fight. Don’t tell the others, though - I want to see how they handle the basic training first, before putting the Statute of Secrecy at risk.”

Ron nodded, and finished his own meal. It wasn’t all that bad and he had been hungry, but he really missed his mum’s cooking. “We’re not going to eat like this all the time, then?” He could stomach it, but he wouldn’t mind better food.

“Only during boot camp,” she said.

When he pouted at her she chuckled again, then leaned into him once more.

“At least we’re sleeping in wizard tents, and not some muggle contraption,” he said, sighing. “It’s like being back at the Quidditch World Cup.”

“Not quite,” she said.

“Well, without the Death Eater attack,” he amended.

She moved her head and he could feel her breath on his ear when she whispered: “We didn’t sleep together in the same bed back then, either.”

He stiffened for a moment, then nodded with a wide smile before kissing her.

*****​

Cumbria, Britain, March 9th, 1997

Ron Weasley stared at the muggle firearm. He had seen them before, of course. The Resistance had carried them at Hogwarts, and in Diagon Alley. But this was the first time he had held one.

“This is an SG 550. It’s a very precise and very expensive and very finicky assault rifle,” the Major said, holding another one up. “If you don’t take proper care of it, it’ll soon not be that precise any more, nor quite as reliable either.” He set his jaw and stared at them. “And if you can’t rely on your weapon, your friends can’t rely on you.”

Ron nodded. Moody had said similar things about wands.

The Major went on. “It uses a Swiss GP90, a heavier variant of the standard 5.56 mm NATO cartridge.” He held one of the cartridges up. “It may look tiny, but those things can go through half a yard of wood, and still kill you. If I ever catch any one of you pointing this weapon at me or at anyone else, you’ll regret it. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir!” Ron yelled, together with the others. The Sergeant and Hermione had been quite emphatic about that, even more so than Moody had been about the risks of blowing your buttock off with a broken wand. It was quite surprising, he thought as they lined up on the ‘shooting range’, how similar this muggle military training was to Moody’s training.

“Lay down on the ground, get the bipod out, and make sure that you’re aiming at your assigned target!” the Major yelled.

Ron quickly obeyed, taking up his position near Harry. Both of the muggles seemed to yell all the time. They probably were half-deaf from all the noise all the firearms made, Ron thought, checking that his ‘ear plugs’ hadn’t fallen out. Hermione had warned Harry and him about that danger, though she hadn’t said who among the Resistance had had that happen to them.

“Ready! Aim! Fire!”

Ron’s first shot didn’t hit, unlike Harry’s. Neither did his second. Fortunately, he didn’t take too long to realise what he was doing wrong - he had to ‘gently squeeze the trigger’, as Harry explained. It was quite easy, he thought, if done right.

Then they switched to shooting while standing and sitting, and then to moving targets, and things stopped being easy. At least, he told himself, he wasn’t breaking any limbs on the shooting range, though his shoulder felt quite sore when they finally stopped.

*****​

London, No. 12 Grimmauld Place, March 9th, 1997

Sirius Black had gone through half a bottle of port when Vivienne entered the living room in his - their - home. He handed her a glass before she could say anything. “I take it that the meeting with your father wasn’t…” He trailed off, not certain how to word it.

“No, it wasn’t,” she said, sniffing at the glass, then wrinkling her nose and putting it down. “’Ow you can drink this I’ll never know.”

He chuckled. “How you can eat snails and frog legs I’ll never know.”

“You’ve never tried them,” she retorted, falling back into familiar territory.

“I did, actually. Once. On a dare in third year,” he said. “Tasted horrible.” Granted, they had been raw, fresh out of McKinnon’s potion kit, but he didn’t think he had to mention that.

“You have no taste, then,” Vivienne said, shaking her head. “Though I should ’ave known that already considering your taste in beverages.” She sighed and pushed the glass away. Their brief banter obviously hadn’t lifted her mood much.

“So, what did your father say?” He summoned the glass - it was a really good, expensive port. No reason to let it go to waste. A flick of his wand sent a bottle of a ‘proper wine’, as she’d call it, towards her.

“Mon père was, as you might say, diplomatic, but ’e was quite clear that the Duc ’imself ’ad asked ’im to contact me. Apparently, the Duc expects me to ‘do my duty for France’.” Vivienne set her jaw while she filled a glass.

Sirius frowned. First her aunt, and now her father. “Was that a warning, or an order?”

“Eh?” She looked confused.

“I mean, did your father tell you that so you’d be warned of the Duc’s intentions, or did he tell you to obey?” Sirius clarified.

“Ah!” She shook her head and grinned. “No, no. ’E knows better than to try to order me around.”

That didn’t really reassure him. He knew that he was biased due to his own upbringing, but it sounded like Vivienne’s family was cut from the same cloth as the Blacks.

“’E did tell me that Fleur’s also being ‘stubborn’,” she went on.

That could just be a cover, of course, Sirius knew. Although he didn’t think Fleur would be betraying them either. He slowly nodded. “Do you think they’ll increase the pressure?” If they threatened her family...

She took a deep breath and shrugged, which had an interesting effect on her chest. “Not my family. It’s not as if France and Britain are at war. But the Duc will ’ave other agents working in Britain.”

“And the delegation from the ICW,” Sirius added.

“Oui! Sabine Beaumont is representing France in the delegation!” Vivienne sneered. “She’s a serpent. And she ’ates Veela - she was in the same year as my aunt at Beauxbatons.”

It sounded as if they had Slytherins in France too, Sirius thought. “Well, I’m more concerned about the spies we don’t know.”

“Don’t underestimate ’er! She is very good at plotting.” Vivienne scoffed. “Good at leading men around, and making friends with naive people, until she curses them in the back.”

“Literally?” That sounded like his own aunt Lucretia.

“No. She would leave that to others. She’s quite influential at the court - some rumours claim that she was the Duc’s mistress.”

And he had thought that the Jamaican delegate would be the most dangerous. “For someone who all but sent your family to help us, the Duc’s being quite hostile.”

“The Duc’s still keeping ’is options open, or so père said. But if ’e thinks that Britain’s too weak too keep the muggleborns in line…”

Sirius muttered a curse under his breath. “Great. And if we play down the power of the muggleborns, Jamaica and others will think we’re too weak to resist them.” He shook his head.

“The Duc’s been talking about improving the situation of the French muggleborns himself,” Vivienne said, finishing her glass. “Apparently, he plans to give them a voice at court.” She stood up and sat down on the armrest of Sirius’s own seat. “He might see Hermione’s appointment in a similar way.”

“Let’s hope so,” he said, wrapping an arm around her waist. He was well aware that a number of Wizengamot members had supported his proposal in the hope that this would placate the Resistance and the other muggleborns and forestall further concessions. If they thought that making her a member of the Wizengamot would stop Hermione’s push for reforms, then they didn’t know her at all, of course. The smarter members of the Old Families, at least, were doing this to curry favour with her, in order to make the best deal possible for them once the Wizengamot bowed to the - in his opinion - inevitable. He didn’t think they had a great chance of success, but a vote was a vote.

And vote by vote, they’d change Britain - once they had weathered this latest crisis.

*****​

London, Ministry of Magic, March 10th, 1997

Amelia Bones forced herself to keep smiling, even though she didn’t want to. She didn’t like having to wait in the Atrium for the arrival of the ICW delegation. Not only was it wasting time, but it made her feel as if she was their subordinate. But if she were not present when the delegation stepped through the International Floo connection, it would be a diplomatic faux pas. It would feel good, though.

She wasn’t the only one waiting, of course - Pius was there as well, as were the other Department Heads. And Chief Warlock Doge, with Black, Malfoy, and Runcorn. The tension between those four made her relationship with Pius look downright cordial. At least she was reasonably certain that they wouldn’t curse each other in public.

Dawlish was inspecting the honour guard of Hit-Wizards lined up along the carpet leading to the fireplace. For appearance’s sake, they looked impressive enough in their grey robes, but their presence meant that Dawlish had lost all of his reserves. Since a number of Aurors had to provide security for - and surveillance of - the delegation, that left most of Britain bare of the Ministry’s presence. That wasn’t impressive at all, and Amelia didn’t doubt that the delegation would be aware of that in short order.

She gazed at the gathered Ministry employees who had come to watch the whole thing. Another drain on the Ministry’s resources, from both the time lost at work and the Aurors needed to keep an eye on the crowd. She caught herself frowning at the effort the Ministry had to make for this farce, and forced herself to smile again. She had to keep up appearances as well, after all, and the foreign reporters present were not beholden to the Ministry, unlike those from the Daily Prophet.

Finally, the fireplace lit up, and the delegation started to arrive. Two French Gendarmes Magiques were first - Amelia immediately recognised their robes - and took up positions next to the fireplace. She narrowed her eyes. If the Ministry couldn’t guarantee the delegation’s safety, then two more wands wouldn’t make a difference. So, it was a planned affront, if a small one.

The next person to step out of the fireplace was Sabine Beaumont, the French delegate. The witch was wearing robes meant for someone half her age, Amelia thought, but then, according to rumour, she was the mistress of the Duc d’Orléans. Or had been. She certainly had his trust, and she was known to be quite ambitious. Two ‘assistants’ followed her - probably spies.

Then the Prussian delegate arrived, Herbert Steiner, cousin of the Chancellor, followed by four assistants of his own. He was a heavyset wizard in his seventies and wore the robes of the Prussian Feldjäger - another statement, Amelia thought. The man had been quite the fighter during the purges his cousin had launched following Grindelwald’s defeat. Four more Feldjäger followed him.

And then the last delegate stepped through the fireplace, and Amelia tensed up. John Reid was a houngan, rail-thin, and over a hundred years old - no one in Britain seemed to know his exact age. At least his four ‘assistants’ or guards didn’t look like zombies - Amelia wasn’t certain the Thief’s Downfall would remove that particular enchantment.

She wasn’t the only one eyeing the houngan with suspicion, of course - even the other two delegates looked as if they wanted to keep their distance. But protocol was clear - officially, they arrived together. Amelia stepped forward. “Welcome to Britain,” she said, bowing, “we’re honoured to host a delegation from the International Confederation of Wizards.” The words were a lie, of course, as was her smile.

And the smiles of the three delegates. Beaumont bowed - a shade less deeply than she had, Amelia noticed - and said: “We’re honoured to be here.” A snap of her fingers had one of her assistants hand over their credentials.

Amelia passed them to her secretary to check. It was just a formality, of course. “Mademoiselle Beaumont, Herr Steiner, Mister Reid - may I present Chief Warlock Doge, and Wizengamot members Runcorn, Black and Malfoy.”

“Enchantée, Chief Warlock.” Beaumont raised one perfectly styled eyebrow. “I am glad to hear that you have finally chosen Dumbledore’s successor.”

Amelia forced herself to keep smiling. If not for the delay caused by the stubborn refusal of Runcorn and his allies to let the Wizengamot hold an election, they’d have had a new Chief Warlock weeks ago. And Beaumont was acting as if she hadn’t been aware of that particular struggle.

Black smiled widely. “Ah, I can understand your confusion, Mademoiselle. Coming from a country ruled by a monarch, you would not be familiar with democratic customs. Choosing the next Chief Warlock is not something that should be rushed. Our system takes that into account,” he said, his tone of voice just shy of patronising.

Amelia glanced at the wizard. While she appreciated him rebuking the French witch, she didn’t like him taking the initiative. Not that she could do much about it - they were supposed to present a united front. She spoke up again. “I think such details can wait until later.” At her nod, the Hit-Wizards snapped to attention and raised their wands in front of their faces.

“They all look quite young,” Steiner remarked as they walked past the formation.

“Yes,” Amelia said. “But all of them are veterans of the war.”

Steiner grunted something Amelia didn’t catch. Beaumont smiled with just a hint of condescension, but didn’t comment. Reid remained expressionless - until he caught sight of the Head of the Department of Mysteries, at which point he started glaring. Which, in turn, added to the tension already present.

The inspection wasn’t off to a good start, Amelia thought. At least no one had cursed anyone.

Yet.

*****​

London, Ministry of Magic, March 11th, 1997

Harry Potter was eyeing the Auror guards standing at the entrance of the Wizengamot Chamber with some suspicion. He didn’t trust them. Not fully. And, he added, glancing at Hermione and Ron, neither did his best friends. Not that Harry thought that anyone in the Ministry or the Wizengamot would be so stupid as to attack them. Not with half the Resistance - the veterans, at least - and half the Order, among them all of the Weasleys, present.

He watched another Ministry employee walk past them so quickly that the wizard was almost running. That wasn’t a good sign for the proposed reforms. Sighing, he leaned back. At least their three new seats would mean three more votes for reforms. More, if people followed Harry’s example. Sirius thought that they would, even though Harry was of the opinion that killing a Dark Lord was not exactly proof of a talent for politics. On the other hand, that was how Dumbledore had become a politician, and the Headmaster had certainly changed Britain. In Harry’s opinion, he had set a good example for them to follow.

After checking his watch for the sixth time - there were a few more minutes until the award ceremony would start - he glanced at Hermione. “You know, we didn’t have to arrive so early…” He grinned.

She narrowed her eyes at him. “It’s better to be early than late.”

“They wouldn’t have started without us,” Ron cut in, “but we couldn’t look bad in front of the foreigners, could we?”

It didn’t seem as if Hermione agreed, but neither did she contradict him. She did frown, though, looking down at her dress. “It’s the only reason I’m wearing this gown,” she said.

“You look great!” Ron said, smiling widely at her.

“I meant that it’s the best, or rather, the most acceptable compromise between bowing to pureblood customs and wearing dress robes, and wearing a dress uniform, even if it’s also a bit sexist,” Hermione said.

“I wasn’t aware the Resistance had dress uniforms,” Harry cut in. Not that anyone would have worn them in boot camp.

“We haven’t actually made them, but Justin, Sally-Anne and I have thought about designs. Patterned after a British Army dress uniform, but in black.”

Harry wasn’t sure what uniform she meant, but he nodded. Three more minutes were left until the ceremony started. “It would have sent a message to the delegation,” he said, “but maybe the wrong kind.”

“Playing nice with the likes of Malfoy…” Ron scoffed. “They might have asked for this just so we have to unite against the foreigners, instead of kicking our Death Eaters out.”

“I doubt their influence goes that far.” Hermione shook her head. “Sirius said that the Malfoys were not well-liked in France. Some old feud with the Duc’s family going back to before the Statute of Secrecy.”

“Well, the French have some sense, then,” Ron said. “They did help us against Voldemort, too.”

“But they don’t like muggleborns,” Harry added. “Not since Grindelwald.”

“They didn’t like muggleborns before Grindelwald either.” Hermione sniffed. “But they didn’t fear them until that war.”

“It’s a bloody mess,” Ron grumbled. “And we have to deal with it.”

Before Harry could agree with his friend, the doors to the Wizengamot Chamber were opened, and a pompous-looking wizard Harry didn’t recognise walked towards them.

“Show time,” Harry mumbled, getting up.

“‘Show time’?” Ron whispered.

“Muggle idiom,” Hermione answered. “I’ll explain later.”

“Mister Potter, Mister Weasley, Miss Granger,” the wizard nodded at them, tensing up just a bit before addressing Hermione, “the award ceremony will start now. Please follow me.”

*****​

“... and you have personally faced the Dark Lord several times in single combat until you finally defeated him for good in the Battle of Diagon Alley. In recognition of this extraordinary feat, Wizarding Britain awards you the Order of Merlin, First Class!”

For being awarded the highest honour of Wizarding Britain, the ceremony was remarkably short, Ron Weasley thought while he watched Minister Bones pick up the medal from a floating cushion and drape it around Harry’s neck. But then, that might just be Bones - he knew that the witch loathed having to award them anything. As soon as Bones took a step back, the Wizengamot erupted in applause.

“Thank you, Minister.” Harry bowed slightly to her, and, once the noise had settled down, turned to face the Wizengamot. “I hope I will continue to prove myself worthy of this honour. Albus Dumbledore taught me to do what’s right, not what’s easy, and I intend to heed those words in the future.”

More applause - though not as enthusiastic as before - followed while Harry took a few steps back to stand next to Ron and Hermione. Then Ron saw Bones turn towards him. He stiffened and raised his chin slightly. This was it.

“Mister Ronald Weasley. You have been instrumental in the war against the Dark Lord, several times facing multiple Death Eaters and the Dark Lord himself, at the side of Harry Potter, at the risk of your own life. In recognition of this, Wizarding Britain awards you the Order of Merlin, First Class!”

Ron bowed his head slightly so the witch could reach his neck more easily. To his surprise, he felt rather unmoved. A year and a half ago, he would have felt elated. The first Weasley ever to receive such an honour. The first Prewett in generations. But it was just politics - he wasn’t really being honoured, he was being used to impress the delegation from the ICW. The Wizengamot might be applauding him, but outside his family, and Sirius’s faction, they didn’t mean it.

Nevertheless, he smiled at the witch. “Thank you, Minister.” Turning to the Wizengamot, he smiled at his family, sitting in the wings, and bowed once more. “I can but repeat what Harry said before me: I intend to prove myself worthy of his honor, and of the trust Albus Dumbledore put in us.”

He wasn’t certain, but he thought Bones twitched when he mentioned the Headmaster. His smile grew a bit while he retook his old spot, and Hermione stepped forward. He glanced at the rows in the audience where the delegation was seated, and saw that all of them were staring intently at his friend.

Bones’s smile grew thinner as she picked up the last medal from the cushion. “Miss Hermione Granger. You have fought bravely against the followers of the Dark Lord, those who openly fought for him as well as those who supported him in secret. Without your efforts, the war might have been lost before the Dark Lord fell to Harry Potter. For your deeds, Wizarding Britain awards you Order of Merlin, First Class.”

The applause was noticeably less loud this time, but Hermione beamed as the medal was hung around her neck. “Thank you, Minister. I accept this honour for all the brave muggleborns who joined the Resistance, and fought for their rights, and the rights of every witch and wizard in Britain. Many of them died in the war, but rest assured that many more stand ready to take their place, should this be needed.”

Bones’s expression reminded Ron of Snape’s, back when they had snatched the House Cup from Slytherin right at the Leaving Feast. His own smile grew in response. They might have to put on an act, but that didn’t mean that they couldn’t remind the Wizengamot just why they were here.

*****​

Muggles and wizards were not that different, Hermione Granger thought while looking around the area of the Atrium that had been cordoned off for the reception following the award ceremony. Self-important politicians were mingling, trading barbed remarks and veiled insults while wearing false smiles. Like hers right now, as she nodded at Callista Shacklebolt, one of the less staunch allies of Sirius in the Wizengamot, despite her being related to the late Kingsley Shacklebolt.

“I wish they’d start serving the food,” Ron muttered next to her, when the old witch had left them. “It’s been hours since lunch.”

She raised her eyebrows. “You don’t plan to actually eat anything here, do you?” She did not think an attempt to poison them would be likely, but it was better to be safe than sorry.

“Of course not!” he said. “Moody’s ghost would come back to haunt me for that! But if I start eating the food we brought with us before dinner is served, everyone will know just how much trust there is between us and the Ministry.” Ron snorted. “At least we’ll be eating Mum’s cooking, not the Ministry’s. Even using their recipes, it’ll be much better.”

Hermione nodded. After the camp food, Molly’s cooking seemed to taste twice as good. Briefly, she wondered if she’d ever trust the food and drink at such a reception - wizards and witches had long memories. Maybe she should work on a subtle way to detect poison.

“Harry’s still getting swamped,” Ron remarked, nodding towards the gaggle of wizards and witches surrounding their friend and his godfather.

“He is the Boy-Who-Lived,” she said. “Vanquisher of Voldemort.” Not that many used that title - people still feared to say the Dark Lord’s name.

“Should we head over to him and drive the crowd away with the power of the Purebloods’ Boggart?” Ron was grinning at her.

She scowled at him - she didn’t like that nickname. Not at all. It made her remember that lesson in their third year, when she had run from a Boggart. That failure still vexed her - and that she had had such a silly fear was doubly embarrassing.

Before she could voice her displeasure, though, his smile grew slightly vacant. “Heads up! French witch coming towards us.”

Hermione turned slightly, and saw that Beaumont was walking towards them. The delegate was wearing quite daring robes, showing quite a bit more skin than Hermione’s own gown.

“Miss Granger, Mister Weasley.” The French witch smiled widely and nodded at them. One of her bodyguards was standing nearby, but too far away to be included in the conversation, even though he’d certainly hear every word.

“Miss Beaumont.” Hermione briefly inclined her head. Ron followed her example.

The other witch didn’t react to the slight snub - or, to be precise, the refusal to acknowledge her supposed higher status as a pureblood. “Your reputation precedes you, Miss Granger. While Mister Weasley is known as the stalwart friend of the Boy-Who-Lived, it is said that you parted ways with him to build your own organisation.” Unlike Fleur, Beaumont had a very faint accent, Hermione noted.

“That is not exactly true. ‘Parting ways’ implies that it happened voluntarily,” Hermione said. “I was expelled from Hogwarts by bigoted laws; it wasn’t my choice to leave Harry and Ron.”

“I doubt any witch would have chosen to leave such brave young wizards,” Beaumont said. “But you were not left alone, were you? You formed the Resistance.”

Hermione couldn’t tell if the older witch was insinuating that the Resistance had been more than friends and comrades with her remark. “Faced with mortal danger, and bereft of help from others, it was only natural that we banded together.” She almost said that she followed French examples when forming the Resistance, but that could have been mistaken for a threat.

“You are too modest, Miss Granger. No one achieves what you did by simply reacting to danger.” Her smile never lost its veneer of politeness even while her words and tone grew a bit sharper. “You brought the Ministry to its knees, after all, with a small group of muggleborns. That is a cause for concern for some parties.”

Hermione acted as if she was puzzled. “Really? I’m surprised to hear that. As far as I know, there are but a few Death Eaters left, and I can’t think of anyone else who’d have a reason to be concerned about the Resistance; the war is over, after all, and I doubt anyone is eager to start another one. We’re at peace.”

“Nominally. Weren’t there riots in the streets?”

Hermione plastered a fake smile on her face, hiding her growing annoyance. “A few holdouts launched attacks - nuisances, really, compared to the war’s battles.”

Ron nodded. “Between the veterans of the war and the new recruits, we could handle Voldemort at the peak of his strength right now. The real challenge is the restoration of the country. My father’s working hard to restore the Ministry - we have the essential services covered, of course, especially the Obliviators, who were not affected by the war at all, but there are a growing number of new employees who need to be instructed and guided.”

Hermione couldn’t tell if the French delegate believed Ron’s words - they were in a far weaker position than he insinuated, and they would only be able to defeat Voldemort if Harry had his special connection still - but Beaumont nodded. “I see. You say you will be focused inwards, then, for the foreseeable future? Britain, that is,” she asked.

“Yes,” Hermione said. “It will take some time to remove the last remains of Voldemort’s influence, and rebuild Britain into a country of which every one of its citizens can be proud.”

“As Dumbledore envisioned,” Ron added.

“Ah. He was your mentor, wasn’t he?”

Ron nodded. “He trained Harry and me, and he asked all three of us to continue his work.”

“We’ll do our best to follow in his footsteps,” Hermione added, “to prove that his trust in us wasn’t misplaced.” She didn’t like invoking the Headmaster this much, but the goal of this whole ceremony and reception was to impress on the ICW delegation how much of a mistake it would be to intervene.

“Ah, Dumbledore, one of the greatest wizards who ever lived! His death is the loss of the entire Magical World. I doubt we will see another one like him in our lifetimes,” Beaumont said, with a slightly theatrical sigh.

“I wouldn’t be that certain,” Hermione said, looking pointedly at Harry.

The French witch’s expression grew slightly condescending. “The Boy-Who-Lived is a talented wizard, we saw that at the Triwizard Tournament, but Dumbledore had decades of experience. Wisdom comes with age, after all.”

“Well,” Ron drawled, “Harry defeated Voldemort, a wizard who could stand up to Dumbledore and his decades of experience. He might not be as experienced as Dumbledore was, but I think we all have proven that that doesn’t matter too much in a war, does it?”

“As the muggle wars have demonstrated, innovation often trumps experience in a violent conflict,” Hermione added. “Although we all have gained enough experience to know that we don’t want another war. But,” she said, baring her teeth for a moment, “should anyone start a war, we will finish it.”

Beaumont was too experienced as a diplomat and courtier to show much of a reaction, but Hermione thought that they had rattled the witch somewhat. If they were lucky, enough to make her stop trying to meddle in Britain.

*****​

Awarding a mass-murderer an Order of Merlin, First Class! More than an hour after that sham of a ceremony where she had been forced to decorate that witch herself, Amelia Bones was still furious. And she couldn’t even show, much less vent, her anger - she had to keep smiling politely at sycophants, traitors and criminals! And at the foreigners who were the reason for her situation. Like Steiner, who was currently talking to her. At least the wizard was a former Feldjäger of Magical Prussia, so they had a number of things in common.

“My compliments to the cook,” the Prussian said, holding up a canapé.

“Thank you, I will pass them on.” Amelia had no intention of mentioning that the food had been prepared by elves on loan from Hogwarts. The more capable the delegation believed that Britain was, in all areas, the better. Maybe it would even be worth rewarding that… muggleborn and her traitorous friends.

“I was impressed by the youth of Britain’s latest heroes,” Steiner went on. “Barely out of school, and yet able to win the bloodiest war in Europe since Grindelwald.”

Not counting the ongoing troubles in the Balkans, Amelia thought. Out loud, she said, “He’s the Boy-Who-Lived,” picking up a canapé herself. “His whole life has been exceptional.”

“I would have dismissed most of what I heard about him as exaggerations,” Steiner said, “or luck. But you do not defeat Voldemort through luck, do you?”

And there was the attempt to gather information! Amelia kept smiling pleasantly, even though she was more than annoyed at the fact that Steiner thought she was so naïve as to fall for that. “He was trained by Dumbledore himself to face and defeat the Dark Lord. A task he completed as planned.”

“Indeed! What a duel it must have been - akin to Grindelwald’s legendary defeat! I assume that there isn’t a memory available to be visited in a Pensieve?”

“Mister Potter hasn’t provided us with one, and we respect his decision and privacy.” Not that the Boy-Who-Lived would share Dumbledore’s secrets with them, Amelia thought. In that, he might be the Headmaster’s successor indeed.

“A shame. But maybe he’ll change his opinion once he realises just how important this duel was - the memory of such events should be preserved for posterity, lest history repeats itself.” Steiner looked as if he believed his own drivel.

“Dumbledore never shared his memory of his duel with Grindelwald, either, so I fear the historical precedent has been set,” Amelia said. “It will only add to the myth, I think.”

Steiner sighed. “Alas, you may be correct. I must confess that I am very curious about the battles fought in this war. I’ve heard about very unconventional tactics - by the Muggleborns, I believe.”

Refraining from grinding her teeth, she nodded. “Miss Granger has proven to be very innovative, and very effective in the war.” She put the canapé down; praising that criminal made her lose her appetite.

“She worked closely with the Boy-Who-Lived and Dumbledore’s Order, but I heard there were some issues with the Ministry.”

She narrowed her eyes before she could help it. “Issues related to traitors within the Ministry’s ranks. Who have since been purged. Dumbledore himself ensured that there aren’t any such issues left.”

And damn the man for sacrificing justice for convenience!, she thought while Steiner wound up his next probing question.

*****​

“It was a mistake to attend this reception,” Tracey whispered behind the flute of champagne she was raising to her lips.

Daphne Greengrass rolled her eyes. “It would have been an even bigger mistake not to attend, after Black asked us to.”

Tracey scoffed. “They look as if they were about to curse us.”

There was no need to ask who she meant - the Resistance members present were openly glaring at them. But not even mudbloods would attack them in the middle of the Ministry, at a reception to honour their leader. “They won’t,” Daphne said.

“There’s just one person here people avoid more than us, and that’s the houngan,” Tracey said.

As if to prove her friend wrong, two wizards approached them right then - Augustus Malfoy and Philius Runcorn. “There you are!” Runcorn said, as if they had been hiding.

Malfoy was more polite. “Miss Greengrass, Miss Davis.” He bowed to them.

“Mister Runcorn, Mister Malfoy.” Long habit made it easy for Daphne to smile at the two men.

“I’m happy to see you return to your rightful place,” Runcorn went on. “Even in the Wizengamot too many fine purebloods seem scared of the rabble in the streets.” The old wizard shook his head. “And that leads to such travesties as today’s. At least you showed the spirit and conviction of an Old Family and voted against this farce. Your parents would be proud of you!”

They had had their proxies vote, but Daphne wasn’t about to correct the man. Nor would she tell him that Black had all but ordered them to. She nodded, and had no trouble faking the small tremble in her voice - thinking of her murdered parents was still painful. “Thank you, Mister Runcorn.”

Tracey, being a little less diplomatic, mumbled her agreement.

While the old wizard beamed at them, Malfoy spoke up. “It is indeed a pleasure to see young wizards and witches stand up for what is right, even though it might currently be unpopular. In these troubled times those among us who still hold on to our heritage and traditions need to work together.”

Daphne kept smiling, even though she felt as if her stomach was turning to lead. This was supposed to be a simple ploy to gain Theo’s trust. But judging by the look she caught from Black, who was standing next to Potter, some distance apart from them, this whole affair had just grown past catching a stupid teenager. And so far more dangerous.

*****​

“Cheer up! We’re halfway done!” Sirius said under his voice, and Harry Potter didn’t have to glance at his godfather to know that he was grinning. They had finally managed to excuse themselves from the people crowding them, for a moment at least, under the pretext having to meet Doge near the buffet.

“I think I have already shaken the hand of every Wizengamot member,” Harry said in a low voice as they made their way through the crowd. “How many more can be left?”

“Enough to keep us busy for a little while longer,” Sirius said.

“You said I wouldn’t have to do much, just vote and maybe give a speech written for me,” Harry mumbled. “No one said anything about being mobbed like this.”

“It’s just for today,” his godfather said. “All the people who voted to grant you and your friends those awards want to be assured that their help will not be forgotten.”

“I’ve already forgotten most of their names,” Harry said. And those he hadn’t forgotten were mostly those he considered enemies.

“Fortunately, you have me to keep track of them.”

“You better handle them,” Harry said. “I don’t like this at all.” He grabbed a tray and loaded it with a few choice snacks, then cast a Switching Spell to replace them with the food he had brought with him.

“You handled our dear Prussian Feldjäger just fine,” Sirius said, picking up a few small sandwiches.

“He was just interested in details about the battles.” Harry had been able to talk about the different battles without revealing anything critical until the Prussian delegate had to end their talk or he’d have been rude to his hosts. “Unlike our own wizards and witches.” Whose questions were often far too personal for his taste. Too many had asked about his temporary absence from Hogwarts - and his ‘personal, private reasons’ had only seemed to fuel the rumours going around.

“Let’s grab our own Pureblood Boggart then - she should keep some of the cowards from bothering us.” Sirius had a waitress refill his glass and nodded towards Hermione and Ron.

“She hates that nickname,” Harry muttered.

“I know. Like Nymphadora hates her name.” Sirius’s grin widened.

Harry shook his head. Sometimes, he wondered if his godfather had a death wish.

They reached his friends, and to Harry’s relief, one of the Wizengamot members who had been about to intercept them actually veered off. Their Boggart was working, he thought, then corrected himself.

“Finally finished?” Ron said, one hand holding a bottle of Butterbeer.

“Not yet,” Harry grumbled.

“Ah, you came to Hermione so you could have a short break! Smart move, mate!” His grin vanished for a moment when Hermione elbowed him in the side.

“Indeed,” Sirius said, sighing and shaking his head. “My poor godson can defeat Dark Lords, but a few politicians are too much for him.”

Harry scoffed in response. “You should talk - you complain all the time about the Wizengamot when we’re at home!”

“Ah, but the best remedy against that kind of pain is seeing someone suffer even more!” Sirius’s wide grin suddenly vanished. “Reid’s heading towards us.”

Harry turned around, and he saw the old, thin Jamaican wizard - houngan - walking towards them, flanked by two of his assistants and possible zombies. If Hermione was the Wizengamot’s Boggart, then Reid was a Dementor; the crowd parted in front of him. He didn’t seem to care, though.

Ron muttered a curse, and Hermione said something under her breath that Harry missed.

“Mister Potter, Miss Granger, Mister Weasley, Mister Black.” The old man bowed. “A pleasure to finally meet you.” His voice sounded raspy, as if his vocal cords were about to fail - or had been replaced with something else. Harry almost shook his head, trying to banish the silly thoughts.

“Likewise, Mister Reid,” Sirius said.

Harry simply bowed his head. His friends followed his example.

“I’ve been following your exploits with a lot of interest,” the houngan continued. “Especially after the death of your mentor. I was hoping for a private talk.”

“Oh?” Harry didn’t like that. Not at all. He saw Sirius tense up as well, then slowly raise his wand and cast a privacy spell.

“Yes. You are without a doubt aware that Albus Dumbledore died after breaking into the most sacred part of my home country.”

“That is what was claimed. No one actually knows how he died,” Sirius said.

The houngan laughed - an eerie, rattling sound. “Please don’t play the fool, Mister Black. We all know that Dumbledore broke into the Library of Souls searching for a cure for that ‘Withering Curse’ the Dark Lord used on so many of your compatriots.” He sighed. “He was not successful, of course - and it cost him his life.”

“The Dark Lord claimed that it was his curse that struck Dumbledore down,” Sirius said.

“A claim likely made to boost the flagging morale of his followers,” Reid said. “But ultimately of no consequence. What matters is that something was taken from the Library. Something my nation wants back.” He leaned forward, and Harry had to struggle not to take a step back, away from that old, shriveled face. “And as the one wizard who was taught personally by Dumbledore and defeated the Dark Lord Voldemort, we believe that you can help us.”

“And why should I?” Harry spat out before he could control himself. “We’re busy rebuilding our country, and Jamaica hasn’t exactly been friendly towards us, last I heard.” Otherwise, Dumbledore wouldn’t have had to break into their library.

“And your help could prevent relations between Britain and Jamaica from deteriorating further.” The houngan smiled, thin, leathery lips revealing yellowed teeth. “As your friend here said earlier - no one wants another war.”

*****​

Caribbean Sea, North of Jamaica, March 11th, 1997

Duchamp’s reputation was well-earned, Augustus Rookwood had to admit after a few days on her ship - or boat; he wasn’t quite certain what the muggle contraption was called. She was professional, discreet - she didn’t bother him at all with questions - and her spells had made the trip through heavy seas feel as if they had been traveling on a calm lake.

Although he was getting a bit impatient - they had been cruising close enough to see the Jamaican coast for two days now, without even trying to make landfall, as Duchamp called it. And the weather was changing - clouds were gathering. He didn’t like the look of that; not on a small boat in the middle of the ocean.

Duchamp, on the other hand, seemed pleased. “Finally!” the witch exclaimed.

“Pardon?” He raised his eyebrows at her.

“Storm’s brewing, at last.” She grinned, then must have noticed his slightly curious expression. “Ah, you wouldn’t know. The houngans are not like the other island rulers; they don’t just have wizards patrolling the borders. They have zombies planted among the muggle patrols, and that allows them to cast a much tighter net around their island. But with that storm? The muggles will head to the muggle ports, and even the magical patrols will be hindered. My ship’s going to hit the beach without anyone the wiser.”

He nodded. He wasn’t about to ask if they were safe - she had a reputation as a skilled smuggler, and if she trusted her spells to keep her ship safe, then that was good enough for him. Soon he’d be on Jamaica, beyond the reach of the Department of Mysteries or anyone else who was after him.

He stuck his hand into his enchanted pocket, caressing the skull inside. Soon he’d be able to find the help he needed to extract the secrets contained within.

*****​

 

Chapter 51: Inspections

‘At first glance, it seems difficult to understand why the Wizengamot, a bastion of pureblood traditions and values, would bestow seats on three young people from such atypical backgrounds - a pureblood from a family well-known for its abandonment of the customs of the Old Families, a half-blood and a muggleborn. Some of my colleagues claim that the Wizengamot acted out of fear, or in an attempt to placate the muggleborns, who were demanding more rights. This view fails to take into account that the Wizengamot was deeply split over the issue, and there was no one decisive reason, but rather a multitude of contributory reasons.
There were those who, afraid for their very lives, truly voted in an attempt to placate, by any means possible, the muggleborns. Next to them were those who simply followed tradition as those who had received the highest honour of Wizarding Britain, an Order of Merlin, First Class, were regarded as having proven themselves as both able and worthy to also lead Britain - a view more suited to a time when Order of Merlins were not awarded for political reasons, of course. Then there were those who followed the lead of Sirius Black - members of the Order of the Phoenix and old allies of Albus Dumbledore. They either simply voted as they were told, or came to the conclusion that three more seats for their faction were a good thing no matter who held them. Another group was those who naively thought that, as a member of the Wizengamot, the leader of the Muggleborn Resistance could be controlled or at least prevented from attacking that very institution. Others acted for more selfish reasons - they expected the Ministry and Wizengamot to fall, and hoped to attach themselves to the upcoming rulers in advance. And finally, there were those who were forced, through blackmail and other means, to support the proposal - Sirius Black was, in that aspect at least, a true scion of his family.’
- Excerpt from ‘Wizarding Britain in the 20th Century’ by Albert Runcorn

*****​

London, No. 12 Grimmauld Place, March 11th, 1997

“Did Jamaica really just threaten us with war?”

Harry sounded as if he couldn’t believe it, Ron Weasley thought. That sort of thing reminded him that his friend had grown up among muggles, and not in Wizarding Britain.

“Well… a diplomat would call it ‘voicing their concern about a possible conflict’,” Sirius said, “but, yes, they did.”

“Why would they go that far over a theft?” Hermione sounded doubtful too, in Ron’s opinion. But her expression - lips pressed together, eyes narrowed, a few wrinkles on her forehead - told him that she was already considering the implications.

Sirius snorted. “Given the relations between Jamaica and us, it doesn’t take much to start a war. We’ve had half a dozen wars with that island, not counting the war that won them their independence in 1752. It took a while for our ancestors to accept that the houngans hadn’t just beaten the British garrison there because most of our forces were tied up in a Goblin Rebellion at the time, and Jamaica hasn’t ever forgotten our attempts to reconquer it. It wasn’t until Dumbledore taught the houngans a lesson in the early 60s that relations with Jamaica improved somewhat. They knew that Britain could beat them thanks to Dumbledore, and so they played nice with the rest of the Magical World. And with him gone…” The animagus shrugged.

“Wouldn’t the fact that Britain could have beaten them with Dumbledore, yet didn’t start a war, have shown the houngans that Britain has no intention of attacking them again?” Harry asked.

“Not really,” Sirius answered. “They probably assumed that this was all Dumbledore’s doing.”

“They wouldn’t be that wrong,” Ron cut in. Houngans were evil, everyone knew that. “If not for the Headmaster, they’d have continued kidnapping and enslaving people. Which they might pick up again.”

Sirius nodded. “While I’d not go as far as to claim that all houngans are evil - unlike Slytherins - there are more than a few reasons why they are pariahs in the Magical World. Well, in the parts of the Magical World that don’t support slavery.”

“But… the houngans are descendants of the Maroons, escaped slaves,” Hermione said. “Did they go and become slavers themselves after they won their independence?”

“Yes,” Sirius replied.

Ron nodded. “They went after muggles and muggleborns, mainly. Or so Dad said. Of course, that ended after Dumbledore became the Supreme Mugwump.”

Hermione muttered something about ‘bloody hypocrites’. Ron pondered if he should call her on her language, but thought better of it.

“Let’s focus on the threat, please,” Harry said. “The delegate mentioned a ‘Library of Souls’, from which something was stolen.”

“Careful with that name,” Sirius said. “The houngans killed to keep that a secret.”

“What?” Ron, Harry and Hermione asked in unison.

“Dumbledore left me some information. The Library of Souls is considered the houngans’ most sacred secret. It contains the secrets of their ancestors and predecessors - spells, rituals, dark knowledge of all kinds.” Sirius looked grim. “Do not tell anyone about this. Don’t even mention the name.”

Ron hissed through his teeth. That sounded very serious. “Why did he tell us the name then?”

Sirius cleared his throat. “I fear that our attempt to portray Harry - and by extension you two as well - as Dumbledore’s heir has had some unintended consequences. Since Dumbledore knew about their secret, they probably assume that he told you as well.”

“Great.” Harry rubbed his forehead. “I’d like to get it on record that I wasn’t the one who proposed that plan.”

“Well, since they already think we know about it… what exactly is it, and what was stolen?” Ron asked. He saw Hermione perk up as well.

“According to Dumbledore, it’s a cave in the middle of Jamaica, where the skulls of dead houngans, containing all their knowledge, are stored.”

Ron winced. That sounded like the Dark Arts. Necromancy. But then - what else could you expect from wizards who created zombies?

“Do you mean their minds, like ghosts, or are their souls literally bound there?”

Trust Hermione to think of an even worse possibility, Ron thought.

“I don’t know,” Sirius said. “Since the houngans apparently choose this, I wouldn’t think they allowed their souls to be bound for eternity, but…” he shrugged.

“I’ve heard that a rumour that they sacrifice their souls for power,” Ron said. “And we know that some dark wizards risk spending eternity between life and the afterlife when they create a Horcrux.” He blinked. What if...

“Dear Lord!” Hermione gasped. “What if it is literally a library of souls, able to possess people? We know Horcruxes can do that, and voodoo has a tradition of the faithful letting themselves be possessed…”

Ron felt like vomiting. If that was true…

“We shouldn’t get too far ahead of ourselves,” Sirius said - though he looked queasy as well, Ron noticed. “But I think it’s very clear that we cannot treat this lightly. It doesn’t matter if there’s a Horcrux with the soul of a houngan missing, or just a skull containing their dark knowledge; either way, it is not something we can leave in the hands of a Death Eater - especially not someone like Rookwood.”

“We don’t know if it’s in his hands,” Harry pointed out.

“We can assume that it was in Voldemort’s hands, and that he used it to either learn or create his Withering Curse,” Hermione cut in. She looked at Harry and seemed to hesitate a moment. “You didn’t notice any sign of possession when you fought him, did you?”

Ron’s best friend shook his head. “No. That was just Voldemort.”

Ron was relieved - until he had another worrying thought. “We don’t know where the skull is. But will the houngans believe us?”

Sirius drew a hissing breath. “They won’t. I think the best course of action is for us to help them search for that skull.” He sighed. “Which might be exactly what they want, since it’ll give them ample opportunity to find out just what we can do without Dumbledore.”

“Great. And I thought working with the Ministry was bad.” Harry sighed. “Do you think the houngans have the counter-curse for the Withering Curse?”

Hermione frowned. “Wouldn’t they have mentioned that and offered it in exchange for our help instead of threatening us?”

Sirius shook his head. “They might simply prefer to see if they can force us to help them first, before offering us something in return.”

“And we still plan to help them?” Harry sounded like he would prefer a fight right then, Ron thought.

Sirius shrugged. “We’re not in a good position to refuse them. Not with the ICW’s inspection hanging over us.” He bared his teeth, and Ron thought he heard him growl. “We’ll just have to be subtle, then, to turn the tables on them.”

“LIke Slytherins,” Harry said.

Sirius nodded. “Exact... what? No!”

Harry’s comment wasn’t that funny, but Ron chuckled anyway, if only to mask his fear. He glanced at Hermione, who was biting her lower lip so hard, he feared she’d draw blood soon. Reaching out, he gripped her hand and smiled at her. “We’ll get through this,” he whispered. “We beat the Dark Lord, after all.”

Her own smile was weak, but she nodded.

*****​

London, Ministry of Magic, March 12th, 1997

“What went wrong at the Daily Prophet?” Amelia Bones asked as soon as Pius had closed the door to her office behind him. She banished the latest issue of the newspaper towards him. “They were supposed to cover yesterday’s awards and the reception, not stab the country in the back by promoting rumours about Potter, Granger and Weasley.”

“I assume you mean this line: ‘According to sources at Hogwarts, Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley left the school to spend time with Hermione Granger in their love nest’.” Pius acted as if he hadn’t read the article before he arrived in her office.

She glared at him. “How exactly can anyone think that speculation about a ménage à trois between those three is acceptable right now?” She stood up. “I hate how we had to treat those three, especially Granger, as the greatest heroes of Britain since Dumbledore, but it was the price for presenting a united front to the ICW. Now, who is pulling strings to sabotage us?”

“I don’t know,” Pius said, “but I will find out.”

“You better,” Amelia snapped. There weren’t too many people who could influence the Prophet, and even fewer of those had any motive to betray the Ministry. “Now, what are the delegates doing?”

“The Aurors and Hit-Wizards providing security for our guests haven’t observed any meetings so far,” Pius answered. “Although given our forces’ current lack of experience…” He trailed off and spread his hands.

Amelia shook her head. “Get some competent Aurors on that. If whoever is behind this article meets Beaumont or Steiner, it could be a disaster.” Those two could influence the ICW, and were backed by powerful countries.

“Reid spoke with Potter and his friends at the reception,” Pius said, his expression bland.

“I expect that you have competent Aurors on his detail,” Amelia said. Leaving a houngan on his own in Britain was out of the question, after all.

“The best I could spare.”

Who might not be good enough, Amelia knew. She would have to ask Black to find out if the houngan had said anything important. And that article wouldn’t help.

*****​

An hour later, Amelia was walking with Beaumont and Steiner through the offices of the Obliviators. Arlene Abbott, the head of the Obliviators, was all smiles and confidence.

“As you can see, we are ready to deal with any threats to the Statute of Secrecy,” she said, pointing at a group of wizards and witches in their distinctive robes. “Our Seers are under constant surveillance, and we are poised to react at once to their visions.”

The French delegate smiled politely. “I see. It does look in order - though, please, tell me: How did you deal with the additional strain that the recent war put on your department?”

Abbott wasn’t fazed. “Ah, it wasn’t actually much of a strain, was it, Oliver?” She turned to a middle-aged wizard sitting at a massive desk and sorting scrolls.

The man shook his head. “Not at all. In fact, we had less work during the war, since so many wizards were hiding, and children were much better supervised than usual. There were a few major events, but those were easily contained - all the factions took care to avoid bothering the muggles too much.”

“So, do you expect things to grow worse then, with the war being over?” Beaumont quickly said.

Abbott raised her hand and made a dismissive gesture. “Oh, no! Compared to the end of the last war, this was easy to handle. It was all in the report I sent to the ICW, too,” she added. “You’ve read it, I trust?”

“Of course.” Beaumont’s smile slipped a tiny bit, Amelia thought. “But the ICW was worried that the report might have been a bit too optimistic, given the wide-spread devastation that the Ministry suffered during the war.”

“Are you accusing me of falsifying a report for political reasons?” Amelia refrained from smiling when Abbott suddenly glared at the French witch. She didn’t know Abbott well - the witch wasn’t that closely related to Susan’s best friend at Hogwarts - but she knew her reputation. “We only answer to the ICW!”

“I am aware of that, of course,” Beaumont said, smiling sweetly. “But you are still British witches and wizards, are you not? It must be horrible to see all that devastation, while not being able to help your country.”

Abbott sniffed. “We know our duty.”

“Of course.” The French witch’s tone belied her words.

Steiner stepped in. “Well, it seems you have things well in hand here. But how are you set for replacements? Just from looking at all the young Aurors and Hit-Wizards, it’s obvious that many experienced wizards perished.” He sighed. “It reminds me of the aftermath of Grindelwald’s War.”

“None of us are about to retire for a few years yet. More than enough time to recruit and train our replacements,” Abbott said. “And while it might appear cynical, as a neutral department not answering to the Minister, we have an advantage when it comes to recruiting. There are a number of skilled and experienced muggleborns who left the Ministry’s employ prior to or during the war. Not all of them will be willing to return to their old posts to work next to those who let them go.”

Amelia pressed her lips together when she saw Steiner stare at the witch and Beaumont smile. Abbott was correct, but hiring muggleborns for the Obliviator Corps wasn’t something those two delegates would consider a good thing. A view Amelia thought she could understand, after the last war.

Nevertheless, the damage was done. All she could do now was mitigate it. She felt as if she were back as the Head of the DMLE and faced with some rather outspoken Aurors talking to the Minister about things Cornelius shouldn’t have been told. “Until replacements are needed, this is a merely academic question.” She glared at Abbott, and the witch fortunately took the hint. This was not the place to talk about on-the-job training and planning ahead. “Now, how about we take a look at the Seers’ offices?”

*****​

Cumbria, Britain, March 12th, 1997

“Mate, those firearms might be useful, but they’re heavy!”

Harry Potter mumbled his agreement while the two were walking back from the range to the camp. The Sergeant had been drilling them for hours, to ‘make up for the time missed yesterday’, before it had been their turn at the range with the Major.

“We’ll be late for dinner, too,” Ron went on.

“Hermione will have kept some food for us,” Harry said.

His friend perked up. “Right! And we’ll have a bit more privacy with everyone else already done.” He stepped over a root that had sent a number of the recruits into the mud in the last few days. “Should we take guns with us, tomorrow?”

Harry knew what he meant. “I don’t think we’ll be able to use them that well against Reid. Should things come to that,” he added after a second. He patted the thigh pocket of his uniform, enchanted with an extension charm courtesy of Hermione, which held the Elder Wand. “You know what Hermione said about rifles being best used from far away.”

“Dunno. He’ll be ready for curses. Bullets might surprise him.”

“A Shield Charm will stop them well enough,” Harry said.

“That’ll stop curses as well,” Ron retorted.

“Most curses.” Harry looked ahead. They were close to the camp now. Ron glanced at him, but didn’t say anything else until they reached the perimeter.

*****​

As it turned out, Hermione had kept their dinner. Unfortunately, she didn’t just have dinner waiting for them, but also the latest issue of the Daily Prophet. “It’s the talk of the camp,” she said with a frown while putting the newspaper down on the table inside her tent - and Ron’s, Harry thought, given that his friend hadn’t slept in the tent he shared with Harry for days now. “The Prophet’s again claiming that we’re in a sordid ménage à trois.” She scoffed. “Nothing about our speeches, but a whole column about our supposed love life! I’d have expected that from Teen Witch Weekly!”

Ron frowned. “That’s not a good sign. I would have thought that with the Ministry playing nice, the Prophet would follow suit.”

Harry craned his neck, then turned the newspaper around, sending a few of the Wizengamot members scattering when a bit of his meal landed close to their picture. There was a big picture of the three of them, on the front page, smiling with their Orders of Merlin. “We might be overreacting,” he said after skimming through the article. “It might simply be some journalist trying to spice up their article.”

“And the Prophet printed it?” Hermione looked doubtful.

“Maybe they’ve decided to demonstrate their independence? And took the muggle tabloids as their example?” Harry shrugged. “Just an idea,” he added when he saw the sceptical expressions of his friends. “We have bigger things to worry about, anyway.”

“Reid,” Ron said, finishing his meal. Harry’s friend ‘ate like a veteran’, the Sergeant had told them. They weren’t certain if it had been a compliment or not.

Hermione nodded. “I don’t think he’ll try anything tomorrow, but…”

“... you can’t trust houngans,” Ron said.

That earned him a glare from the witch, Harry noted. She went on: “I meant, Magical Jamaica might be planning to both take out ‘Dumbledore’s Heir’ and manufacture a pretext for war at the same time.”

Harry grimaced - the latest title for him that the Prophet had come up with was the worst so far, in his opinion. “I’m no Dumbledore,” he said through clenched teeth.

“But you’ll have to act the part,” Hermione told him. “We need to win the purebloods and half-bloods over so the Wizengamot will peacefully step down.”

He knew that. But he had thought that being the Boy-Who-Lived would be enough. “I can’t really act the part either. I’m no prodigy. I don’t have his knowledge or experience.” He glanced at Hermione. She had all the knowledge. And she had the experience as a leader.

“You’re a prodigy in Defence,” Hermione said.

He shrugged. He hadn’t been good enough to match Voldemort in a duel.

“You have Dumbledore’s wand,” Ron pointed out. “And you can wield it easily. That’s quite close to being his heir. Or would be, if it wasn’t the, you know.” He made a gesture with his hand towards Harry.

Harry put his hand on the pocket containing the Elder Wand. “And if I flash it around, people might realise which wand it is.”

“They didn’t notice it when Dumbledore carried it.” Ron shrugged.

“Dumbledore used his own, his other wand, in public, I think,” Hermione said. “I haven’t looked into that, though.”

“In any case, I don’t want to risk using it,” Harry said. “Unless there’s no choice. There are still people seeking the wand. And we can’t afford for everyone to come after me. Trying to win it.”

His friends winced. “Well, we can’t do much but play along with Reid, and be ready for trouble,” Ron said. “Or as ready as we can be, given that we don’t know what he is planning.”

“In other words, we’re back at square one.” Harry sighed and pushed his tray away. “I’ll take a walk. Good night.” He stood up and left the tent, ignoring the glances his friends exchanged. He doubted that Ron would leave the tent until morning.

Outside, the recruits and Resistance members were still gathered around the campfire. “Hey, Harry!” he heard Seamus yell. “Come sit with us!”

He hesitated for a second, then started to walk over to the campfire. It was better than walking around the forest and trying not to think about what his best friends were doing inside their tent.

Seamus scooted away from Tania and patted the free space on the log there. “Sit down here!”

Harry nodded at the others and sat down. When he saw that they had been reading the Prophet, he almost stood up right away. “You better not believe that rag,” he said, grabbing the lone can of Coca-Cola from the cooler filled with beer next to Seamus.

Slightly nervous laughter answered him, though Seamus and Tania were chuckling. “Left the lovebirds in their tent?”

“Yes,” Harry said, a bit sharper than he wanted, and opened the can.

“So… when’s your first session in the Wizengamot?” Another recruit, Matthew something, asked.

“I’ll only be able to actually vote myself once I’m seventeen,” Harry said. “I’ll have a proxy vote for me until then.” With a grin, he added: “Of course, I hope that by then, we’ll have general elections, so I can skip that.”

Seamus scoffed. “Fat chance of that! The pureblood idiots are too stupid to realise that they have lost. We’ll have to kick them out.”

Harry glanced at the former fellow Gryffindor. “It’s not the purebloods, it’s just the Old Families. The majority of the purebloods, like Ron’s family, haven’t had any say in Wizarding Britain’s government for centuries.”

Seamus snorted, but the other muggleborns seemed to be listening - he saw a number of them nod. Harry continued: “And even among the Old Families, things are changing. Sirius, my godfather, has a lot of allies who follow his lead in the Wizengamot. And there were a number of others who were starting to switch sides.”

“We still have to be ready for trouble,” Tania cut in. “Especially with the ICW’s inspection.”

“Of course,” Harry nodded at her. “But we’re close to our goals. Once we have the Wizengamot, the Ministry follows.”

“That’s what Hermione keeps saying,” Seamus muttered. But once again, the rest of the Resistance members and recruits nodded.

“Will you be running for a seat once there are elections?” Mary-Jane wanted to know.

“Probably,” Harry said. He wasn’t too keen on it, but Hermione was convinced that they needed him in the Wizengamot even after the reforms.

“You should,” someone else said. “You’ll do fine!”

“Better than the current members for sure,” another added.

“We’ll see. Hermione and Ron will sit in the next session,” Harry said.

“That’ll be a scene!” Tania chuckled, and even Seamus grinned.

Harry knew that Hermione would not make too many waves while the ICW’s inspectors were still in Britain, but he didn’t tell the others that while they were speculating about the Wizengamot’s reaction. He simply sipped his Coca-Cola, and enjoyed the evening.

Tomorrow would come soon enough.

*****​

Kent, Greengrass Manor, March 13th, 1997

Daphne Greengrass was struggling to remain polite and composed. There was a werewolf in her home! She was standing next to a dark creature, a cursed beast! And it was all Black’s fault!

“Do you usually receive your guests, including Nott, in the living room?” Lupin asked.

Daphne wanted to ask where else she’d receive guests, but refrained from doing so, and nodded instead. “Yes.”

“Well, sometimes we gathered in the garden,” Tracey cut in, smiling at him. “We haven’t done that in a while, though. Theo won’t suspect anything if we meet him in the living room. And we’ll be able to wait comfortably.”

Her friend was far too friendly with the werewolf, Daphne thought. She didn’t know if Tracey was simply putting on an act, or if that crush she’d had on their third year Defence teacher had survived the revelation that he was a werewolf.

“Remus won’t be in the living room, though,” their other guest spoke up. “Just me, and you two.” Nymphadora Tonks - ‘Auror Tonks’, as she told them to call her - smiled a bit too sweetly. The witch was a metamorphmagus, and would be posing as Astoria during Theo’s visit. She currently looked like a tall and rather curvy blonde witch. Daphne would have been jealous, if she didn’t know that it wasn’t Tonks’s natural body.

“Well, Theo’s not here yet,” Tracey said. “There’s no need to split up.” She cocked her head at Tonks. “Although… don’t you need to spend some time with Astoria, to copy her manners?”

“Nott hasn’t even called yet,” Tonks said. “It’s better to get the lay of the land, first. Just in case there’s trouble coming, I’d rather not get lost in the mansion during a fight.”

“Of course.” Daphne once again forced herself to smile. It was a reasonable request - if one didn’t realise that the two would learn far too much about Daphne’s home and its defences as well. Black had planned this well - every step of his plan was making Daphne more vulnerable. And some people claimed he was but a rash Gryffindor!

She led them to the living room of the manor. “Cosy,” Tonks said as she looked around.

“Thank you,” Daphne answered automatically.

Lupin was studying the walls and windows attentively. Probing for weaknesses, probably. The man was a good actor, keeping his beastly nature hidden behind a polite, quiet facade. If she didn’t know better, Daphne would have never suspected that he was a werewolf.

“I think this is secure enough,” Lupin said. “Provided he doesn’t bring friends.”

Tonks shrugged. “We’re not about to fight them here anyway. That would give the game away, and warn Runcorn and Malfoy.”

Which wouldn’t be a bad thing, in Daphne’s opinion. Laying a trap for Theo was far less dangerous than trying to spy on those two, and their co-conspirators. Which was what Black expected of her and Tracey. “Theo needs to visit, first. He might consider us a lost cause.”

“I think that is unlikely,” Lupin said. “His proxy must have noticed how yours voted. He is probably simply being cautious.”

That sounded like Theo, Daphne had to admit. He had a tendency to hesitate, which he might mistake for being cautious. Not that she was currently acting very cautiously either.

“Well, if he is not visiting we can meet him at the equinox ceremony on the twentieth,” Tracey said.

Daphne glared at her friend. Bringing a spy to that ceremony… they’d be excluded if that came out. But Black had probably already thought of that.

“Mum told me about the ceremony, but I’ve never seen one,” Tonks said.

For a moment, no one said anything. Daphne knew very well why Tonks had never attended an equinox or solstice ceremony - her mother had been cast out by her family for marrying a muggle. “It’s a simple ceremony,” she said. “It’s easy to learn the rites.”

“Ah.” Tonks nodded.

“Astoria can probably teach you,” Tracey said, smiling like she did when she had been needling Pansy, back at Hogwarts. Before the war.

“Anyway, let me show you your rooms,” Daphne said, gesturing at the door.

“We just need one room,” Tonks said. “For safety.”

“With two beds,” Lupin added.

Daphne saw Tonks frown briefly at that. She wasn’t about to pry, though. “Of course. Please follow me.”

A few minutes later, with Lupin and Tonks in the guest room, conjuring furniture - a not so subtle sign that they didn’t trust her, Daphne thought - she was finally free of the werewolf’s presence. At least for the moment. She closed her eyes for a moment and sighed.

“We’re in quite a pickle,” Tracey said, her friendly smile replaced by a cynical expression.

“Yes, we are. We can but hope that Theo will visit soon, so we can get this done.” She knew it would likely mean Theo’s death, but she didn’t care. Not about him, not any more. All she wanted was to protect her family.

“That still leaves Runcorn and Malfoy.”

Daphne glared at Tracey. Trust her friend to ruin any silver lining Daphne might see!

*****​

London, Ministry of Magic, March 13th, 1997

“So, who’s pulling the strings of the Prophet?” Amelia Bones snapped as soon as Pius had closed the door behind him.

The Head of the DMLE stiffened very slightly before answering in his usual calm manner. “I don’t exactly know. The author of the article was struck with a Confundus Charm, as was the editor.” With a sigh, he added: “The rest of the staff didn’t notice anything - or they didn’t question the article’s wording.”

“Were the two victims struck at the same time and location?” She had been an Auror for too long to have lost the mindset.

He shook his head, the edges of his mouth briefly turning down. “Not as far as we can tell. Someone manipulated their memories as well.”

Amelia pressed her lips together. She had expected to find a short-sighted member of an Old Family, not something like this. “So, either they’re playing it safe, or they lack the gold or influence to handle this the ‘traditional way’.” Which meant bribes or threats. “Or this is the work of our guests.”

Pius had already considered that as well, of course. “The journalist was talking to the delegates, asking for an interview. It would have been easy for them to arrange an opportunity to meet her privately.”

“Exactly. Can we exclude Reid from the suspect list?”

Pius hesitated a fraction of a second. That told Amelia enough, and she shook her head before he could start to explain the failures of his Aurors to keep an eye on their most dangerous guest. “I know we can’t prevent them from apparating.” She tapped her chin with the index of her left hand - as Alastor had taught her, so long ago, she always kept her wand hand free if possible. “He was talking to Black’s group.”

“Do you wish to track Black?”

She looked at him. As if she would suggest such a futile thing. Black and his group had evaded the Dark Lord’s assassins during the war. What was left of the Ministry’s Aurors wouldn’t be able to track them, if they could find them in the first place. Not least because he had moles inside their force. “Potter and Weasley have left Hogwarts; that much at least was correct in that article.” Susan had told her that the two boys were ‘excused from school for personal reasons’ according to the Hogwarts rumour mill.

“Do you think they are with Granger?” Pius asked. She couldn’t tell if he was amused or appalled by their attempt to use the Prophet as a source of information.

“Yes. Though not for the reasons stated in the article. They’re preparing something.” Amelia was certain of that. They were close, but not that close, as their behaviour had shown at the award ceremony and the reception. At least unless all of them were far better actors than their history at Hogwarts would suggest.

“The Resistance hasn’t been making that many appearances during the last few days,” Pius said. “That is helpful with regards to the current international situation, but it means we don’t know what they are doing. And we lack the Aurors to find out more.”

“We couldn’t find them back when we had the Aurors,” Amelia said.

“Which means they have the initiative,” Pius said. “Should it come to a fight.”

“I am well aware of that,” Amelia said, controlling her temper. “Unlike some of our esteemed members of the Wizengamot, I am not ignorant of just how weak the Ministry is.” It galled her to admit this; she had been working for the Ministry since her graduation from Hogwarts, and to see it reduced like this… She shook her head. “Our duty doesn’t change, though.”

“Until the Wizengamot changes,” Pius said. “We just enforce the laws, after all, we do not make them.” He didn’t bother to hide his sarcasm when he quoted her own words back at her. She glared at him, and his expression softened a little. “You know it’s coming, Amelia. The muggleborns have grown too powerful, the half-bloods have been alienated by the muggleborn laws, and the Old Families are losing their grip on the purebloods. Arthur’s busy building his power base in the Ministry, and Black’s influence in the Wizengamot is growing. You can’t stop this unless you invite the Europeans to occupy Britain, and even that might not work.”

“It would also be treason,” she said.

“Yes.” He kept looking at her impassively.

She closed her eyes and slowly let out her breath, then looked at him. “I know that. I’m no fool.”

“Then why don’t you join Black?”

“Join Black? Compromise my integrity and abandon my principles? And for what?” She scoffed. “For whatever bribe he will offer?”

“Influence. Power,” Pius said. “You could even keep your position.”

She snorted. “I’m not you.”

“I know.”

She almost cursed him for the pity she noticed in his tone. But he was wrong. Whatever power he imagined he could gather he’d lose. For all his political experience, Pius didn’t understand Black - or Granger. They were not interested in power for power’s sake; they wanted power to change things.

And they didn’t care how much they had to destroy to reach their goals.

*****​

An hour later, she had another irksome visitor in her office. “Good afternoon, Madam Beaumont.”

“Good afternoon, Madam Minister.” The French witch inclined her head.

“I thought you would be accompanying an Obliviator squad in the field today,” Amelia said. That had been scheduled, at least.

“Ah, Herbert is with them. He is in his element - I guess Obliviators come close enough for a man who misses his past as a Feldjäger so much.”

Amelia wasn’t certain if that was a barb aimed at her as well, but she wasn’t about to discuss the Prussian delegate with the French one. “How can I help you? As far as I am aware, the goal of your visit is to judge Britain’s ability to preserve the Statute of Secrecy, which is handled by the Obliviator Corps.” And she wouldn’t find any fault with them. The Obliviators were about the only department of the Ministry who had come through the war unscathed.

“Oh, the British Obliviators certainly seem to be capable of fulfilling their duties,” Beaumont said with the sort of polite, empty smile Amelia had come to quickly hate after rising in the Ministry. “But we would be neglecting our duty if we were simply to inspect the current Obliviators, and not consider future developments.”

“Madam Abbott did explain the future plans and contingencies of her department quite clearly yesterday,” Amelia said. “Do you doubt her claims?”

“I am certain her proposed policies will be adequate - provided the situation in Britain does not undergo more changes. A renewal of hostilities, for example, could endanger the Statute of Secrecy. Especially if muggleborns were recruited as Obliviators. They might have reservations about obliviating muggles, after all, being so close to them.”

The French witch hadn’t answered her question, Amelia noted. She narrowed her eyes slightly. “Madam Abbott mentioned that muggleborns might be able to be more effective in protecting the Statute since they are so familiar with muggles.”

“I don’t think that has ever been tried. At least not in France.” Beaumont dismissed the thought with a wave of her hand. “There’s also the concern about possible future changes in Britain. A new administration might not understand the importance of the Obliviators.”

Amelia stared at her. “That’s rather vague.”

She thought she saw the French witch’s eyes twitch for a moment. “I assume you are aware of the developments in the Wizengamot. The balance of power is shifting, is it not?”

“You might not be used to it, coming from a country ruled by hereditary ruler,” Amelia said, “but that’s not uncommon for the Wizengamot.”

Beaumont wrinkled her nose. “I do not think that muggleborns and low-borns taking over has ever happened before, not even in Britain.”

If any purebloods overheard the witch talk like this about them, Black’s support would grow faster than a newly-hatched dragon left in a butcher’s shop, Amelia thought. She raised her eyebrows. “I can assure you that there is no danger of a coup.” Even if only because Granger and Black knew that they were winning anyway.

Beaumont snorted. “You’re rather more evasive than your reputation claims. So, I will be more direct myself: Sirius Black and his muggleborn allies are taking over. That is a cause of concern for the ICW. Their extremist views are well-known.”

She had a source in the Wizengamot or the Ministry, Amelia thought. She sounded too certain to be trusting an outside source. “There’s no reason for concern. They didn’t endanger the Statute during the war, after all.”

“That may be so, but things and views change. It has been decided that in order to fulfill our mandate, we will have to meet with them.”

“You already did,” Amelia said. “Mister Reid spoke with Black and his allies at the reception.”

“That was simply a courtesy call,” Beaumont said.

“You would know, of course.” Amelia was certain that the French witch didn’t know what they had been talking about either. She didn’t think either Steiner or Beaumont talked to Reid much, if at all. “I can inform them that you wish a meeting.”

“Thank you.” Beaumont smiled again, and once more nodded politely, if slightly condescendingly, at Amelia.

Beaumont could arrange a meeting herself, maybe even more easily than Amelia, given that Black had apparently taken a French Veela as a mistress. Unless, of course, there were French politics at work.

Amelia was already soured on British and international politics; she really didn’t want to deal with the domestic policy of foreign nations. And she could only hope that both Black and Granger would show some restraint when meeting with a foreign diplomat.

*****​

London, East End, March 13th, 1997

Meeting a Jamaican houngan in a muggle safe house in a rather deserted part of London’s East End - not too close to the home of the Resistance - might not have seemed the best choice at first glance, Hermione Granger thought while looking out through the window on the empty street below. But meeting Reid in Grimmauld Place had been deemed too dangerous by everyone. Despite the claims of traditionalists, the laws of hospitality were, in reality, more in the nature of guidelines. She wouldn’t put it past a houngan to exploit the opportunity for his own purposes. Hogwarts and the Hog’s Head Inn had been dismissed for the same reasons, and no one wanted to meet Reid in a clearing in a forest at night.

So, they had settled for one of the safe houses the Resistance had prepared. That gave them the advantage of having plans to secure it already - Tania and Seamus were providing backup outside, with John. They wouldn’t be listening in since some of the things they might end up talking about were too dangerous even for her friends in the Resistance to know, but they were ready to act if given a signal.

Hermione felt guilty about excluding them while they were helping her and her friends, but there were more secrets than her own at stake. And it wasn’t as if she hadn’t kept important things from them before. Like Allan’s fate.

She glanced back at the others in the living room of the safe house. Sirius was twirling his wand between his fingers and kept shifting around on the couch. Remus was studying the books on the small shelf - Hermione had stacked it with several useful reference books and a variety of novels meant to provide some entertainment for the Resistance, should they have to use the safe house. Harry was sitting in an armchair, tapping his foot on the floor, and Ron was flipping through the channels of the TV.

“Should have cast some wards,” she heard Sirius mutter.

Remus paused in his skimming through a copy of Jane Austen, and turned his head towards the animagus. “Since the intention is to invite Mister Reid, wards wouldn’t do us any good.”

“They’d stop his zombies.”

“I sincerely doubt that he has had the opportunity to create any zombies - of any type - in Britain. And even if he had, the diplomatic backlash would make it unlikely that he would do so.” Remus smiled faintly.

Sirius scoffed. “He’s a houngan; he doesn’t need zombies to attack us.”

“In which case the wards wouldn’t be of any use, as I have pointed out already.”

Sirius bared his teeth - Hermione told herself to research whether animagi took on aspects of their animal form - and hissed. “But we’d be doing something other than waiting!”

“You could watch the telly with me,” Ron said.

“We could - if you’d ever stop switching channels,” Harry said.

“Hey - I don’t want to miss anything!” Ron said.

“And that’s why you’re missing everything.” Harry shook his head. “Give me the remote.”

“Get your own!” Ron said.

Hermione’s radio chirped just when it looked as if the two boys would start to wrestle. “A cab’s driving up the street,” she heard Tania say while everyone stopped what they were doing, and looked at her. “They’re getting out… it’s Reid. And two others.”

“Or someone using polyjuice,” Hermione muttered. She tapped her radio. “Keep them in your sights.” Looking at the others, she added: “They’re coming.”

“Cab’s leaving,” Tania informed her. Hermione wondered if they had hired the cab, or simply mind-controlled the driver, then berated herself silently for assuming the worst of the houngan. Even though Sirius insisted that doing so was just being prudent.

Then the doorbell rang, and Hermione glanced at Ron, who turned the TV off while Sirius and Remus went downstairs to open the door. A minute later, the houngan, in a white suit, stepped into the room, followed by two of his assistants, and Sirius and Remus.

“Good evening, Mister Potter, Mister Weasley, Miss Granger.”

“Good evening,” Harry and Hermione said while Ron nodded. They had spread out a bit - just in case, with Ron and Hermione flanking Harry.

Reid took a seat in an armchair while his two assistants - two men who might be zombies, Hermione thought, given their lack of expressions - took up positions behind and to the side of him.

Sirius sat down on the couch himself, and Remus leaned against the wall behind him.

For a moment, no one said anything, then Sirius leaned forward - he wasn’t holding his wand any more, she noticed - and nodded. “So, you wanted to meet us. Here we are,” he said in a tone that made Hermione wonder how he managed not to alienate everyone in the Wizengamot.

Reid seemed to be more amused than offended, though. “Here you are, indeed - the ones who have defeated Voldemort and are about to take Britain.”

Hermione bit her lower lip to avoid correcting the houngan that it was Wizarding Britain and that they would be reforming it, not taking it.

Sirius shrugged. “Voldemort thought that he had won when Dumbledore died. He was wrong.”

“Ah, yes, Dumbledore’s death. We have talked about it, haven’t we?” Reid had a faint accent, Hermione realised, but it was hard to notice given how raspy his voice sounded - and far less of an accent than she’d have expected from a Jamaican native.

“You claimed that he had stolen something from your island.” Sirius crossed his arms.

“Indeed, I did.” Reid smiled, and as at their first meeting at the reception, Hermione fought not to shudder at the state of his yellowed teeth. This time, though, he must have noticed her reaction since he turned to look at her, and smiled even more widely. “Do I make you uncomfortable, Miss Granger? Age is not always kind, and rarely pretty.”

“I was just reminded of my parents’ work, Mister Reid,” she said, smiling tightly.

Harry suddenly coughed in his fist, followed a second later by Ron snorting.

“And what do your parents do?” Reid’s smile had grown thin.

“They’re dentists,” Hermione said. She didn’t elaborate, and while he nodded, she wasn’t certain that he had understood. But he was not smiling at her anymore.

“Let us return to the matter at hand,” Sirius said. “You mentioned something that was stolen from you, which you want returned.”

“Yes, I did indeed.” Reid nodded slowly.

“What exactly are you trying to recover?” Sirius still had his arms crossed.

“I think you know what I’m talking about.”

“I certainly do not.”

For the first time, the houngan seemed to frown. “An enchanted skull containing lore from my country. Stolen from our most sacred place - a crime we will not let pass.”

“And you suspect Dumbledore. Who is already dead, though. And we didn’t find any skull among his belongings. No human skull, at least.”

“Ah.” Reid’s smile was back. “You know about it.”

Denying that they knew more about the Library of Souls wouldn’t serve any purpose, Hermione thought. Sirius shrugged anyway. “What else could it be? I doubt you’d use animal skulls for your most sacred place.”

“You would be surprised, indeed.”

“But as I told you - there was no skull with Dumbledore.”

“As a well-known master of Transfiguration, he could have changed it into anything,” Reid said. “I know a spell to find it, though, no matter its shape.”

“I’d have thought that such skulls were protected against spells,” Sirius said. “But if you know such a spell, then it should be easy for you to find the skull, wouldn’t it?”

“The range of the spell is somewhat limited,” Reid admitted. “I will require entrance to Hogwarts, to verify your claims.”

Sirius snorted. “Hogwarts’ wards are rather particular about some visitors.”

Hermione hadn’t read about that in Hogwarts: A History, but the Marauders would have had to study the wards quite closely to create their map, so she couldn’t tell if Sirius was lying or not.

“A guest would be admitted, though. Didn’t Karkaroff visit during the tournament?”

“He wasn’t a houngan. And we don’t control Hogwarts.” Sirius spread his hands apart.

“You have a lot of influence there, though.”

“Not really. McGonagall still hasn’t forgiven me for all the rule-breaking we did in our time.” Sirius grinned.

Reid obviously didn’t appreciate the levity. He scoffed. “I told you how important this is to my country. You persist in such antics at your own - and others’ - peril.” His assistants didn’t move an inch, nor show any reaction despite the tension in the room skyrocketing. The houngan glanced at Harry. “Many sing your praises, boy, but no one could tell how you did it. Dumbledore was feared for his power. You ain’t.”

“I don’t want to be feared,” Harry said. “I don’t like threats, though.”

Hermione’s finger hovered over the button for her radio. If this was just a ploy by Reid to create an excuse to attack them…

Reid didn’t relax, but he didn’t seem to press the threat. “If you refuse to let me check Hogwarts as a guest, then I will be forced to use other means to find the skull. Means Britain wouldn’t like, indeed.” He cocked his head. “And a refusal to let us search for our stolen treasure would make you appear quite suspicious.”

“What assurances can you give that you won’t use such a visit to cause us or anyone else harm?” Remus cut in.

“I would expect the Vanquishers of Voldemort to be able to tell if I did anything out of bounds while under their eyes.” Reid was smiling again. As if they’d let him enter the school without iron-clad safeguards in place!

“Hogwarts is our Library of Souls,” Sirius said, growling again. “In a manner of speaking.”

“Then you should understand our grievances, indeed.”

It was a closer analogy than Sirius might have realised, Hermione thought. Hogwarts was the heart of Wizarding Britain. Each British wizard or witch learned magic there, and its library contained the country’s knowledge.

And woe to whoever harmed it.

*****​

North of Magical Port Royal, Jamaica, March 13th, 1997

Augustus Rookwood hated posing as a muggle. He might have taken muggle studies as a student, mostly out of morbid curiosity, but that had been decades ago, and if he had learned anything, then it was that muggle customs changed all the time. And he hadn’t kept up with muggle customs since graduating.

But acting like a muggle was the safest way for a British wizard to travel to and around Jamaica. Especially a British wizard with a skull stolen from the Library of Souls - if the houngans caught him, he would be facing a fate worse than death. Far worse.

Posing as a muggle had one drawback, though, Augustus thought while studying the muggle town near Magical Port Royal through a telescope - he had no way to easily enter Jamaica’s capital. Port Royal had been one of Britain’s greatest accomplishments in recent times. Right after the Statute of Secrecy had gone into effect, they had hidden the entire town from the muggles by making them think it was destroyed in an earthquake in 1692. The pearl of the Caribbean, freed of the muggle filth in one elegant move.

And then the mongrels had taken it from Britain, together with the entire island, when they had revolted right in the middle of a goblin rebellion. Augustus pressed his lips together. The houngans had a lot to answer for.

He sighed. They would, in time, but he had to focus on his immediate needs first. He needed the knowledge contained in that skull, but without the help of a houngan, he couldn’t access it - the Dark Lord’s notes hadn’t covered that secret.

Fortunately, he didn’t actually have to enter the town. He collapsed the telescope and stood up.

*****​

An hour later, his patience and self-control were severely taxed. He was surrounded by muggles, half-naked muggles even, gathered on a filthy beach. Loud, noisy children were playing in the sand and the surf while their parents tried their best to get sunburn. Fools, the lot of them! If only he could curse them all, and cleanse the beach.

But Augustus needed the brats for his plan. He raised his wand, hidden behind one of the nonsensical muggle newspapers, and looked at the father of a particularly obnoxious brat. “Excuse me, sir.”

“Yes?”

“Legilimens!” Augustus whispered when the muggle looked up and their eyes met. A minute later, he knew where the family was staying. Now he just needed to vanish and then wait until the spoiled boy threw his next tantrum.

It took longer than Augustus had expected, and, even with magic, standing while disillusioned in the middle of a packed beach was wearing. But when the overweight sprog was refused another ice cream, he finally started to wail. Augustus smiled and moved his wand, and a miniature sandstorm sprang up around the brat, hiding him from sight and scaring the muggles nearby. He almost chuckled at the sight of the fools staring at something incomprehensible to their limited minds when the local Obliviators appeared.

Soon, the sandstorm was dispersed and the muggles taken care of. And, as Augustus had hoped, one of the Obliviators noted the name and address of the family whose boy had apparently had a bout of accidental magic.

He smiled. Dumbledore had forced the houngans to stop their disgusting practice of kidnapping mudblood children to raise as houngans. But with him gone, Augustus was certain that the mongrels would start up again. And the spell on the muggle boy would lead him right to the hideout of whoever wanted to pollute their bloodline.

And he would acquire the knowledge he needed.

*****​

London, Diagon Alley, March 13th, 1997

The side alley looked like any other alley, no matter how long Bess Cox stared at it. It should look different, she thought. Teddy had died there, killed by an Auror while ‘resisting arrest’. She clenched her teeth - Teddy had been the first of her friends to die. Now only she was left of their group. Mark and Ricky had been killed in Hogsmeade, and Felix had been captured and then executed by the Ministry. Bess had been the only one to escape that day, three months ago.

She turned away, pushing her hands into the pockets of her jacket - it was still rather cold, especially in the evening - as she walked down Diagon Alley. She had thought a lot about their disastrous attack on the Death Eaters in Hogsmeade while she had been hiding in muggle London. Dumbledore was at fault - if he and his French friends hadn’t attacked them, Bess’s friends would still be alive. The old wizard had even called them criminals, just for fighting the Dark Lord’s followers!

But now Dumbledore was dead, and the Ministry was collapsing. The muggleborns had returned to Wizarding Britain, too powerful for the Aurors to persecute. She smiled when she remembered how the purebloods who had profited from the expulsion and persecution of the muggleborns had run. The same Aurors who had persecuted muggleborns before hadn’t been able to do anything!

She slowed down when she heard music - muggle music - from the reopened muggle-style bar ‘Winston’s’ ahead, and her smile grew wider. It looked as if Toby, the owner, had bought a few new records! Bess was about twenty metres away from the entrance when the half a dozen people arguing with the bouncer there vanished in an explosion.

For a moment, she stood there, frozen with shock and horror as stone fragments fell down around her and a cloud of dust obscured the scene. She heard people screaming and saw spells flashing, followed by more explosions.

She was fumbling for her wand when a figure stepped out of the thinning cloud of dust, walking slowly towards her. His face was slack, his eyes seemed to lack focus - but his wand rose, and before Bess could react, the man next to her was struck by a curse that threw him back several metres.

She screamed and jumped to the side, towards the closest side alley. Behind her, another, smaller explosion threw up cobblestones, one of them clipping her shoulder and sending her sprawling. Shaking her head, panting, she cried out when pain lanced through her and clutched her shoulder.

Glancing back, she saw her attacker was still walking slowly in her direction, expressionless eyes staring at her, waving his wand.

“Protego!”

Just pushing her own wand out to cast a Shield Charm made her shoulder flare up with more pain, but it stopped the man’s curse and saved her life. She tried to scramble away, but the pain that caused was too much, and she fell down, screaming when her wounded shoulder hit the ground. Her shield had vanished, and she clutched her shoulder, trying to recast it, but failing.

Tears streamed down her cheeks when she saw the man was still advancing, with slow, measured steps.

“ReductAHH!”

She fumbled the wand movement, and the pain made her mess up the incantation, and what should have blown the man’s chest open did nothing except push him back a step. His wand was rising, its tip glowing, but his expression didn’t change at all.

She screamed, and didn’t stop screaming even when the man’s head blew up, blood and bone fragments splashing against the wall.

*****​