Divided and Entwined (Harry Potter AU) (Complete)

Chapter 52: Under Pressure

‘An attack such as the one on ‘Winston’s’, a bar in Diagon Alley frequented by muggleborns, wasn’t unexpected. Both the Ministry and the Muggleborn Resistance had anticipated such an attack - the opportunity provided by the ICW’s inspection was simply too great for those trying to destabilise Wizarding Britain. And yet, even having anticipated such an incident, they had trouble dealing with its consequences. In that regard, the incident served to demonstrate quite clearly how the balance of power in Wizarding Britain had been changed by the Second Blood War.’
- Excerpt from ‘The Second Blood War’ by Hyacinth Selwyn

*****​

London, Diagon Alley, March 13th, 1997

Hermione Granger drew a hissing breath when she saw the carnage in Diagon Alley. An attack on muggleborns, in the economic heart of Wizarding Britain, right when the country was being inspected by the ICW… this could be devastating, if things got out of control.

Ron wasn’t as restrained. “Bloody hell!”

She didn’t catch what Harry muttered under his breath, but after the better part of a week in the care of their muggle instructors, she doubted it was printable. She did catch what Sirius said, and she knew that his comment was unprintable.

Unfortunately, it was justified. There was a crater in the street, part of the bar’s front was caved in and more debris was strewn across the width of the Alley. She saw at least half a dozen bodies covered by sheets, laid out next to the crater. A lot of people were gathered in the Alley. A perfect target for a follow-up strike, she realised.

She tapped her radio’s button. “This is Hermione. We’ve arrived on site.” Late, unfortunately - they had still been at Grimmauld Place, discussing the houngans’ demands with Sirius, when the news had reached them.

“We’re in the shoe shop nearby,” Justin answered her. “Sally-Anne’s treating the wounded who don’t want to go to St Mungo’s. Tania and Seamus are up in the air.”

She glanced up but couldn’t spot them. They had to be high enough to be out of the range of her Human-presence-revealing spell.

“I’m checking with witnesses,” she heard John over the radio.

“Let’s head to the witnesses,” Hermione said, both into her microphone as well as to her friends. “Stay with me,” she added when she saw Sirius was about to move towards the crater.

“Huh?” He turned towards her.

Stepping closer, she whispered: “You’re wearing robes.”

He blinked, then looked at the crowd, all of them wearing muggle clothes. “But why would that…”

“Not everyone knows you on sight,” Harry cut in.

“Ah.” Sirius shook his head. “Just two years ago, I had to avoid being recognised to be safe…”

She snorted while they made their way towards John, whom she had spotted on the other side of the Alley - close to the shop Justin had mentioned. The muggleborn was easy to spot thanks to his fatigues - like herself.

“It’s Granger!”

“And Potter!”

The cries quickly spread through the gathered crowd - and the mood rapidly started to change.

“Purebloods attacked us!”

“Hermione, give ’em hell!”

“Kill the bastards!”

“Revenge!”

“They still try to murder us!”

“Kill ’em all!”

“Kill them!”

Cursing under her breath, she stopped trying to reach John. They had to stop this, at once, before it was too late. A flick of her wand conjured a pedestal, and a swish enlarged it, pushing a few people who had stepped too close to their group away. She cast an Amplifying Charm while she climbed on to the makeshift stage, trying to gather her thoughts. If she messed this up…

She shook her head. “Everyone, listen! Those who attacked us here, those who killed our friends here, they want us to lash out in anger! They want us to become like them - to attack people just because of their blood! I know you want revenge - we all lost friends to those monsters - but we can’t just attack any purebloods!”

“Of course we can!” Someone yelled from the back. “Enough is enough! Let’s kill ’em all!”

Some in the crowd yelled back, but others supported the heckler. Hermione bit her lower lip, then spoke up again: “Do you want to be like the Death Eaters? Do you want to kill pureblood families? Children?”

For a moment, the crowd grew silent, and Hermione thought she had won them over. Then the heckler yelled again: “There are no children in the Wizengamot!”

Another voice rose over the noise - aided by an Amplifying Charm: “There are no children in the Ministry either!”

“Where’s the Ministry anyway? I don’t see any red robes!” the first heckler joined in.

Hermione had a good idea where the Aurors were - staying out of sight so they didn’t get lynched. She wanted to curse the damned heckler, but that would make her a hypocrite. “Many purebloods fought Voldemort,” she said instead. “Do you want to kill them too?”

“Where are those purebloods now?” the man yelled back.

Hermione was livid - so many friends and Order members had died fighting Voldemort, and that cretin was acting as if they had done nothing! But before she could yell back and ask where the idiot himself had been during the war, Harry stepped up on the stage.

“They’re here,” he said, pointing at Sirius and Ron, who followed him up on to the now crowded stage. “My godfather, Sirius Black. My best friend, Ron Weasley. Both purebloods. Both of them fought Voldemort himself here in the Alley. And so did their families. Purebloods, and half-bloods too. And so did many more - they fought and died fighting Death Eaters. Like the Resistance. Like myself. We all fought together. We can’t let a few madmen tear us apart now.”

The crowd fell silent, then started to yell their agreement. Hermione sighed with relief. They had done it. Or rather, Harry had done it, she thought with a tiny bit of jealousy.

And she had learned two things. She needed to work a little more on her speech for tomorrow’s Wizengamot session. And Harry was needed in politics.

*****​

London, Ministry of Magic, March 14th, 1997

The Minister for Magic was not looking well, Sirius Black thought when he entered Bones’s office. Too tense, too stressed. Alas, her state wasn’t the result of his and his friends’ efforts to tear the Wizengamot down. Although she was still too inflexible, of course. Thicknesse was looking as he always did - unflappable, or as close to it as was humanly possible, in Sirius’s opinion. “Good morning, Amelia. Good morning, Pius.”

“Good morning, Sirius,” she said, her expression stating that the morning was anything but good. Thicknesse simply nodded.

She had a point, of course - it was why he was here, in her office, instead of at home, preparing for today’s session in the Wizengamot. “What did your people find out about yesterday’s attack in Diagon Alley?” he said, sitting down and crossing his legs in the slightly too casual manner he knew the witch hated.

She frowned. “None of the attackers survived. According to the few witnesses we could interrogate, they acted as if they were under the control of the Withering Curse - blank expression, unfocused eyes.”

He ignored the implied complaint about the fact that not that many muggleborns had been willing to talk to the Aurors, when the latter had finally dared to show up, and nodded. “But their limbs were unaffected.” The Order and the Resistance might not have the same experience and resources as the Unspeakables, but they had investigated the incident as well - especially the bodies of the attackers.

“Yes.” Amelia pressed her lips together. “The Department of Mysteries detected residue of the Imperius Curse on one of the attackers.”

Sirius narrowed his eyes. “Imperiused victims do not look like the attackers did.” That was what made the curse so dangerous - you usually couldn’t tell if someone was affected.

“Unless they were ordered to act like it,” she retorted with a faint and - in his opinion - rather bitter smile.

“Ah.” His eyebrows rose. That was something he hadn’t thought of - but it would make sense. “Someone is trying to stir up more trouble than between the Ministry and the muggleborns.”

“Yes,” she spat out.

Sirius caught Thicknesse glance at the witch, before the Head of the DMLE spoke up. “While we have no leads on the culprits, the fact that someone is trying to frame the houngans for the attack points at a foreign origin for this plot.”

“The French? Or the Prussians?” Sirius asked, although he had his suspicions already.

“Both are possible,” Thicknesse said.

Amelia snorted. “The French would love to see Britain and Jamaica at war - especially if it keeps the British muggleborns pointed across the ocean, instead of across the Channel.”

Sirius saw Thicknesse frown for a moment before the man said: “Both countries have had issues with muggleborns in the past, and both have also opposed Dumbledore’s policies in that area. The Prussian delegate might not be prone to using such subterfuge, but that doesn’t mean his government - or another faction in Prussia - wouldn’t attempt such a plot.”

“Unlike the Prussians, the French have recently meddled in Britain.” Amelia stared at Sirius.

He stiffened. “That was a response by the Delacours, after Antoine Delacour had been struck by one of Voldemort’s traps.”

“And condoned by the Duc d’Orléans,” Amelia said. “Who sent his mistress to Britain as the French delegate.” She put her elbows on her desk and folded her hands. “Do you honestly think the Duc hasn’t milked the surviving Delacours for all they know, after they fought with the Order and the Resistance, and inside the Ministry?”

Sirius frowned. He didn’t like what he thought Amelia was getting at - his relationship with Vivienne wasn’t exactly a secret, but neither was it publicly known. “Of course the French are concerned about our situation, but that doesn’t mean they’d go so far as to try to start a war between us and the houngans.”

“They have more to lose. They took more drastic measures than the Prussians against muggleborns following the end of Grindelwald’s War,” Amelia said.

“There are still those in Prussia who adhere to at least some of Grindelwald’s ideals,” Thicknesse said. “While the country is not quite as welcoming towards muggleborns as it once was, they do have a stronger voice there than anywhere else.”

“Outside Britain, of course,” Sirius cut in.

“Yes.” Thicknesse nodded, acknowledging the point. Amelia, of course, frowned. The wizard went on. “However, since the muggleborns are more influential in Prussia, the Chancellor might be inclined to prevent Britain’s muggleborns from taking over, fearing that this would lead to his own subjects reaching out for support.”

Sirius wasn’t an expert in Prussian politics, but he was leaning towards the French being behind this plot. Unless someone wanted the British to believe that. “Would anyone outside the Department of Mysteries have expected the investigation to uncover evidence of the Imperius?”

“It’s not impossible, but it seems rather unlikely,” Thicknesse replied, appearing to cut off Amelia’s answer. “Not all of the capabilities of the Unspeakables are secret, but to predict such a result…”

“It would just need one traitor in the Corps,” Amelia pointed out with a sneer. “The Aurors are aware of the forensic capabilities of the Department of Mysteries.”

Sirius sighed, even though he was quite glad about the apparent rift between the two. “So, we don’t have a real suspect.”

“Beaumont wants to meet you and Granger,” Amelia said in an apparent non-sequitur.

Another delegate wanting to meet them, in the middle of a crisis, and with Reid’s ‘request’ hanging over them as well! Sirius had to force himself to smile politely and nod, instead of curse. “That can be arranged.” The current crisis could serve as an excuse to delay such a meeting, but that would make Britain appear weak. Weaker.

“Good,” Amelia said. “The sooner that witch is gone from Britain, the better.”

“If she is behind this plot, then her return to France will not stop hypothetical agents from continuing their work on her behalf,” Thicknesse remarked in his calm voice.

Sirius couldn’t tell if the man was hinting at Vivienne being a suspect. He wished he could tell them that his lover was not working for the French, despite the pressure from some of her family, but that would be breaking her trust - and he doubted that either Amelia or Thicknesse would believe him anyway. “We will be careful.” He made a show of checking his watch - a replacement for the one his uncle had gifted him on his seventeenth birthday, and which had been lost following his arrest in 1981. “However, I need to go now - the Wizengamot session is starting soon. I can’t miss the debut of my godson’s friends.”

The expression on Amelia’s face that appeared in response to that comment made him smile all the way to the lift.

*****​

London, No. 12 Grimmauld Place, March 14th, 1997

“Thank you again for doing this for me,” Harry Potter said when he saw Andromeda enter the entrance hall of Sirius’s - and his - home.

“Serving as your proxy is an honour,” she responded. With a grin that reminded him a lot of his godfather, she added: “My parents must be turning in their graves.”

Harry smiled. He felt a bit guilty for not mentioning that originally he had planned to ask her husband to serve at his proxy. He had assumed that Ted Tonks, being a lawyer and a muggleborn, would have been the better choice. Sirius had corrected his assumptions, though - apparently, Andromeda’s temperament was far more suited for politics. “It’s just until my birthday, though,” he said.

She chuckled. “The Wizengamot might not last that long, anyway. But I’ll serve faithfully in your stead until then.”

That had the ring of formality to it, and so he nodded. “Well… just support Sirius. And Hermione.”

She sniffed. “Who’d have thought that one day, I’d be following my cousin’s lead in anything.”

“You did follow my lead in rebelling against our misguided family,” Sirius said from the top of the stairs, grinning at them. “Where’s the rest of our illustrious gang of esteemed members of the Wizengamot and assorted proxies?”

Andromeda snorted while Harry answered: “Hermione was still going over her speech in the guest room, and Ron went to fetch her.” He shrugged. “I don’t know why either is nervous. Ron doesn’t have to do anything but read a few lines, and Hermione is, as always, over prepared and still she worries.”

Sirius chuckled. “Well, says the wizard who will be simply watching from the audience.”

Harry sniffed. “I’m not the one who made the Wizengamot elect me at my tender age.”

His godfather looked him over, rubbing his beard. “At least you’re dressed for the occasion.”

“You picked out my robes,” Harry retorted.

Sirius nodded. “Indeed. Which is why you look so good.”

Andromeda rolled her eyes. “Are you finished lauding yourself?”

“For the moment, yes. I might have to do it again once Hermione gives her speech and you can see the heads of the old fossils and young bigots explode.” Sirius beamed at his cousin.

“I doubt that your esteemed colleagues will show such a blatant lack of decorum,” Andromeda answered. “That would be too tacky for the Old Families.”

“Right. They would rather topple over dead in dignified silence.” Sirius nodded. “But we all know that they are hypocrites anyway.”

The two Blacks shared toothy smiles, while Harry snuck another glance at the clock on the wall, wondering what Ron and Hermione were doing… he didn’t think they would actually do anything, not before such an important event, but… Ah!

Ron and Hermione appeared at the top of the stairs. Harry almost snorted, remembering how much of a pain it had been to outfit them. Ron hadn’t wanted to accept charity, and had taken some persuading to accept from Sirius the expensive dress robes he was now wearing. Hermione, on the other hand, had no qualms about accepting Sirius’s gold, but the witch had been wavering for days over whether or not she’d flout the Wizengamot’s dress code, until Andromeda had found a recently re-opened muggleborn tailor’s making dress robes that were sufficiently muggle while still being ‘sufficiently wizarding’, as Ron had called them.

“Let’s go, or we’ll be late!” the witch in question said, rushing towards the fireplace. Harry glanced at Ron, who winced - it didn’t look as if he had succeeded in calming her down.

“We have been waiting for you,” Sirius said, which caused Hermione to huff right before she stepped into the green flames.

“Let’s just get going,” Harry said. There was no point in trying to argue with her when she was like this.

*****​

London, Ministry of Magic, March 14th, 1997

“Honoured members of the Wizengamot! I’m proud to have been chosen as a member of the Wizengamot, and I will do my utmost to keep serving Wizarding Britain and its people to the best of my abilities.”

Ron Weasley took a bow, and sat down again on his seat. As far as first speeches went, he had been told by a reliable source that his wasn’t the shortest by far, but after several hours of listening to Hermione practise hers, he still felt as if he was slacking off.

“The chair recognises Madam Granger.”

Next to him, Hermione stood up. He could see her taking a deep breath, before she raised her chin. Ron smiled at the sight of the witch he loved facing down the assembled Wizengamot with the same expression of determination and conviction he had grown so familiar with in the years he had known her. No one who saw the confident witch right now would have thought that she had been very nervous just a little while ago, at Grimmauld Place.

“Honoured members of the Wizengamot!” she began, “I stand here, not just for myself, not just for my friends who fought against Voldemort at my side, but without receiving the same recognition I did, and not just for my fellow muggleborns.” She shook her head, and once more Ron missed her long mane. “No, I stand here for all those who have not had a voice in this assembly until now: Muggleborns, half-bloods and many purebloods, all those who have not been born into Old Families.”

Many Wizengamot members started whispering in response to that, Ron noticed. Not just the cronies of Malfoy and Runcorn.

Undaunted, Hermione continued: “This last war has brought Wizarding Britain to the brink of ruin and opened deep rifts within her population. If our country is to survive, it must change. No longer will we tolerate a few, simply by accident of birth, deciding for the many! Everyone - muggleborn, half-blood and pureblood - needs to have a voice in how the country is governed. Everyone needs to have a stake in this, needs to know that this country is their country. Our country. Only then will we have a future without yet another war laying waste to our beloved country.”

That caused even more murmurs. Ron heard an old wizard near him exclaim “Preposterous!”

“Just as I did my best to defeat Voldemort, so too will I do my best to achieve a better Britain for everyone.”

Hermione nodded curtly, and sat down again. Ron reached over to squeeze her thigh in support, and earned a smile. “You did well,” he whispered. “Scared the lot of them, I bet, too.”

“I just hope that I scared them enough for them to stop fighting the inevitable,” she said.

“You don’t have to scare all of them, just enough to give us a majority.”

And seeing the glares leveled at them by the bigots, Ron was certain that they were close.

*****​

Kent, Greengrass Manor, March 14th, 1997

Daphne Greengrass sighed with relief when she stepped out of the fireplace in the entrance hall of her family’s manor, safely behind her wards. Her manor, she reminded herself - she couldn’t afford to think like the girl she had been. She was the head of her family now.

“How did it go? Did Potter make a speech?”

Astoria had apparently been waiting for her to return, Daphne noticed - her sister was standing in the door to the hallway, hands behind her back - she’d be wringing her hands, Daphne knew.

She shook her head. “No. He’s not seventeen yet, so he had to pick a proxy. I told you that.”

“But he’s the Boy-Who-Lived.”

Daphne refrained from rolling her eyes. “That doesn’t make him exempt from the rules.”

Astoria pouted. “It did at Hogwarts.”

“The Wizengamot is not Hogwarts.” Daphne started to walk towards the living room, then reconsidered. Their ‘guests’ would be there. The metamorphmagus, and the werewolf. She shuddered, and changed direction. The kitchen would do.

“So, how did it go?” Astoria skipped next to her, craning her neck to look at Daphne. “In the Wizengamot, I mean.”

Daphne sighed. Her sister was being a pain, even though she could understand how starved Astoria was for news. “As expected,” she said. “Weasley didn’t say anything more than what was expected, and Granger announced to everyone that she wants to destroy the Wizengamot.” Of course, that hadn’t come as a surprise to anyone with a working brain - which, sadly, excluded half of the Wizengamot, in Daphne’s opinion.

“And Potter’s proxy?”

Daphne frowned. No complaint about the mudblood murderer of their parents? “Why are you so interested in Potter?”

Astoria shrugged. “Everyone is interested in him. He’s the Boy-Who-Lived.”

“His proxy was Black’s cousin.” The only one left alive. “She showed more decorum and class than Black. More wit too, but it’s a facade - she’s supporting him and Granger.”

Astoria nodded slowly. “I see.”

“What?” Daphne asked, opening the door to the kitchen. Then she blinked. Astoria was sitting at the kitchen table, frozen in the act of loading up a tray with biscuits.

“Mistress! Young Mistress told Biffy that she was allowed to!” Their house-elf squeaked while Astoria flushed.

Daphne didn’t care. She whirled around, staring at the Astoria who had walked with her. “Tonks!”

The metamorphmagus’s wide grin was very unlike Astoria’s.

*****​

Tracey, of course, chuckled when Daphne later told her what had happened. “So, we know she can fool even you. Theo won’t suspect anything.”

“Only if she refrains from grinning like that,” Daphne said, pointing at Tonks.

“I’ll be the picture of a demure pureblood maiden,” the metamorphmagus said.

Daphne wasn’t the only one who snorted in response to that claim. Even the werewolf coughed into his hand. “Just complain about the mudblood murderers of our parents, and otherwise stay silent,” she said. “And best leave once you’ve tagged him.”

Tonks shook her head. “That would leave you unguarded.” And unsupervised, Daphne thought. “And the best opportunity to hit him is to do it when he’s turning his back to us when he’s leaving.”

Daphne filed that information away. Not that it would do her much good - she was committed now. She nodded. “Very well.” She glanced at the clock on the wall.

“I’ll be monitoring the meeting from the guest room,” the werewolf said. He didn’t say how, of course. “If anything suspicious happens…”

“...then you’ll charge in and save us?” Tracey cut in, smiling. Daphne really hoped that her friend was only acting like this to rile up the metamorphmagus. Even if that wasn’t exactly a smart course of action either. Not for someone in their position.

“...then I’ll be ready to intervene, should you need the help,” he went on.

“Which we won’t,” Tonks said. “I can handle Nott.”

“Provided he arrives alone,” Tracey said.

“I doubt he’d be so rude as to bring strangers to you without sending word ahead. That’s not done in his circles, is it?”

The mocking undertone of Tonks’s words was more obvious than the subtle hint in her mother’s speech in the Wizengamot. Daphne knew that the Auror was a half-blood, born to a pureblood cast out of her family. Of course she’d have similar views to the twins’. And maybe similar experiences, she added to herself.

*****​

As it turned out, Theo arrived alone. “Daphne! Tracey! You’re looking well! You too, Astoria,” he added with a smile at the disguised Tonks.

Daphne nodded at him. “So do you, Theo.” In fact, he was in a very good mood, for someone who had just seen the murderer of his parents join the Wizengamot.

“You sound far more chipper than I’d have expected.” Tracey cocked her head, her expression turning the statement into a question.

“How could I not be, seeing as others have taken up their wands to strike back at the mudbloods?” Theo smiled widely. “Britain’s noble spirit has not yet been squashed under the mudbloods’ heels!”

Daphne blinked - so it hadn’t been him behind the attack on Diagon Alley? Or was he simply lying to protect himself? Did he distrust them?

“Have you been reading Lockhart again?” Tracey sniffed. “That sounds like something he’d write.”

Daphne shot a glance at her friend. She was being too direct. And too rude. “You mean the attack in Diagon Alley.”

“Of course!” Theo seemed to ignore Tracey’s comment. “It showed that we’re not alone.”

“It also riled the mudbloods up,” Tracey said. “They could attack others in revenge.”

“Yes.” Theo nodded. “And so the mudbloods will show the entire world how dangerous they are. Other purebloods will flock to Britain to deal with them.”

Tracey opened her mouth, no doubt to deliver another scathing rebuke, but Daphne cut her off. “With the ICW delegation in Britain, the eyes of the world are on us.”

“Exactly!” Theo grinned. “It’s a unique opportunity. For all of us.”

“It could also be a foreign country meddling in Britain for their own reasons,” Daphne said. “According to what I heard, the attackers acted like zombies.” She didn’t have to spell out what that meant.

Theo sneered. “The houngans might be hoping to weaken Britain with this ploy, but this goes beyond our country. Mudbloods are a danger to everyone. And the other countries are aware of that.”

“You mean your mysterious ‘friends’ who can’t intervene directly without ‘risking an international incident’.” Tracey scoffed.

Theo glared at her. “They have done more for our cause than you. I thought you had grown a spine when you voted against Potter, Weasley and Granger, but apparently, you’re still cowering in fear.”

“I’m not about to serve as a mindless tool for some foreigners with an agenda of their own,” Tracey said, sneering at him.

“You have to admit that it sounds rather dubious,” Daphne said. “The houngans would love for Britain to weaken itself further in a civil war.”

Theo snorted. “Even if we couldn’t handle them, the rest of Europe wouldn’t tolerate the houngans attacking us.”

“You mean France and Prussia would fight the houngans to the last British wizard,” Tracey said.

Daphne held up a hand before the two butted heads even more. “It was Dumbledore who cowed the houngans. Without him, Britain either needs help from foreigners, or from the mudbloods.”

“Or from Potter!” ‘Astoria’ piped up.

Daphne glared at the metamorphmagus. “In any case, we’d have to beg for help, and we’d likely have to make a number of concessions.”

“I told you already: This is bigger than Britain. This is a fight for every pureblood!”

“A fight every pureblood wants to see fought by us, so they can stay safe.” Tracey narrowed her eyes at Theo. “And you are even eager to serve as their curse fodder.”

Theo stood up, shaking his head. “You wouldn’t understand. You’ll end up murdered by mudbloods if you don’t stand up and fight now.”

“We almost were murdered because we stood and fought,” Tracey snapped.

Daphne shot her friend a glance. She was overdoing it, Daphne thought. “It’s not as if we like mudbloods, you know that. But we were almost killed several times in the war. We’re not going to risk our lives recklessly, not when we don’t even know who is involved in this affair.” She held up a hand again when Theo opened his mouth. “We’re not going to act like obedient little Hit-Witches. Your ‘friends’ can hire enough ruffians from Knockturn Alley, or whatever it’s called in Paris, for that.” She noticed how Theo flinched. “We’re members of the Wizengamot, not tools.”

Theo frowned, but nodded. “I see. You think you’ll be more useful in another capacity. If you have lost your nerve, then that might be for the best.”

Tracey, for once, didn’t respond to the barb, though her glare spoke volumes. Daphne bowed her head at Theo. “That may be so.”

The wizard turned to ‘Astoria’. “I hope we didn’t frighten you with our discussion, my dear. Rest assured, things will work out for all of us in the end.”

The metamorphmagus beamed at him. If Theo had known the real Astoria better, he’d have realised that she was a double - Daphne’s sister would have bristled at the patronising tone. Fortunately, that wasn’t the case.

Theo bowed to Tracey and Daphne. “I’ll take my leave, then.”

Daphne knew what was about to happen, and she still almost missed it when Tonks whipped out her wand and sent a spell at Theo’s back, right before he stepped into the fireplace. The Auror was far quicker than her apparent clumsiness would suggest.

As soon as the flames had change back to their natural colour, Tonks leaned back in her seat and shook her head. “What a pompous arse!”

Tracey snickered, then grew serious. “I wonder if he really believes what he told us, or simply thinks he can manipulate us.”

“We’ll soon find out,” Tonks said.

Daphne knew what she meant, and told herself that the fool had doomed himself.

She still felt guilty about selling him out, though.

*****​

London, Diagon Alley, March 14th, 1997

Bess Cox rubbed her shoulder. It had been healed, but she still could feel a twinge from time to time when she moved her arm too much. The wizard who had treated her hadn’t been the most skilled, but she couldn’t go to St. Mungo’s. She couldn’t risk that.

She kept looking around while she walked through Diagon Alley. Anyone could be a threat. Imperiused, or disillusioned, or disguised. It would have been safer to stay in muggle London, she knew, but she wouldn’t let the pureblood scum drive her out of Wizarding Britain. She wouldn’t betray her dead friends like that!

Not everyone thought like her, though. There were fewer people on the streets, and most of them were hurrying to wherever they were going. No one was loitering outside a shop or pub. Bess pressed her lips together. Muggleborns were afraid again, as if the war had never ended. She couldn’t stand that!

She reached the site of the attack. The damage to the street had been repaired already, unlike the bar. Of course - the bar was owned by a muggleborn. If it had been a pureblood’s business, then it would have been repaired as well, Bess knew. She cursed under her breath, then turned to look at the side alley where she had almost died. Where she had almost been murdered. She hadn’t been saved by Aurors, of course. She hadn’t even seen them until long after it had been over. The red robes wouldn’t show themselves to help muggleborns.

She wasn’t the only one to visit - the ground in front of the entrance to the bar was covered with flowers and candles, and she saw half a dozen other muggleborns standing there. Bess summoned a piece of debris from the bar, then transfigured it into a rose. Or tried to - McGonagall wouldn’t have rated it as passable, but it would do for this. She walked up to the entrance, and put the misshapen flower down next to a flickering candle. None of the others standing there were saying anything, so she remained silent as well.

So many had died here. Murdered by bigots. Just like her friends. Just like so many other muggleborns. Murdered just for being born to muggles. She ground her teeth. The war was supposed to be over. They had won! The Dark Lord was dead, and the Ministry beaten! This shouldn’t be happening any more!

She realised that she was crying, and wiped the tears from her cheeks, then turned and walked away, her hands, stuck in the pockets of her jacket, balled into fists.

A few minutes later, she had reached Freddie’s Fish’n’Chips, a muggleborn food shop located in a side-alley, barely big enough for a dozen people. It wasn’t packed, despite the fact that it was dinner time, but she saw a number of people waiting for their orders, and stood in line herself.

“Does anyone know how many died in the attack?” she asked after a minute. The Resistance Radio hadn’t gone on air yet, and she didn’t trust the wizarding media.

The wizard next to her looked her over. Not to check her out, but to check her clothes. She was wearing jeans, a leather jacket, a sweater, and trainers. Muggle clothes, used ones. He nodded. “I’ve heard there are a dozen dead, twice that number wounded.”

She hissed and rubbed her shoulder. “Bastards!”

He cocked his head slightly to the side. “Were you there?”

Bess pulled her hand away from her shoulder. “Yes. One of them almost killed me, before someone blew his head off. Hit me in the shoulder,” she added.

“Ah.” He slowly nodded again. “Did you lose anyone you knew?”

She shook her head. “Not in that attack, but... “ She sighed. “Three friends during the war. And one was ‘killed while resisting arrest’ before the war.”

“My brother was killed in the riot.”

Before Bess could say anything else, Freddie handed the man his order. A single portion, she noted, and a beer. “What’ll it be for you?” the owner of the shop asked her.

“Same as him,” she answered.

The other man seemed to hesitate, then took a seat at a table. After a moment, Bess joined him. “The purebloods still haven’t learned their lesson.”

He shook his head, blowing on a chip before biting into it. After swallowing, he said: “Did you hear Granger and Potter talk?”

“No. In the Wizengamot?”

He shook his head again. “No. Yesterday, at the attack. They don’t want us to do anything.”

Bess hissed. “What?”

“They don’t want us ‘to act like our enemies’, or some such.” He snorted, then stuffed a piece of fried fish into his mouth.

Bess ground her teeth. “They killed dozens of purebloods in the war,” she pressed out. “And now they want to play nice?”

“They’re on the Wizengamot now.”

She muttered a curse under her breath. “Talking won’t help us. They haven’t even called for another rally. There’s only one language those pureblood bastards understand.”

He nodded.

*****​

London, No. 12 Grimmauld Place, March 15th, 1997

“Why are we letting them into our home? We’re not letting Reid into Hogwarts like that.”

Sirius Black smiled despite Harry’s words - knowing that his godson considered the Black’s ancestral house his home felt very good. “Well, they won’t be casting any spells here. My family has a reputation, after all.”

“So has Hogwarts,” Harry countered. He had stopped fiddling with his new dress robes, at least.

“Hogwarts isn’t known for all the dark arts done there. My family, on the other hand, is known for their mastery of dark curses.” Sirius wasn’t proud of that legacy, but it was handy at times - both the reputation and the curses. He doubted that either Beaumont or Steiner would risk both the wards’ response, and the loss of reputation by trying anything while they were guests in his house.

“If you say so,” Harry muttered.

Sirius looked at him. “What’s wrong?”

His godson shrugged. “I should be with the rest, training. Not dining here.”

“Ron and Hermione will be joining us soon. And weren’t you pretty much exhausted when you arrived earlier?”

Harry glared at him. Sirius chuckled. “They want to meet all of us. That way, we can present a unified front.”

“Beaumont is a vipère. Don’t trust ’er. She just wants to find out ’ow powerful you are,” Vivienne was standing in the door, clad in dress robes straight from Paris that hugged her curves. She looked ravishing.

Sirius smiled at her. “We’re aware of that. Our honoured guests will discover that we’re not to be trifled with, and that should persuade them to leave Britain alone.”

“Or they’ll think we’re too dangerous to be left in peace,” Harry muttered.

“They fear the example you’re setting for their muggleborns,” Vivienne said, walking up to Sirius and wrapping one arm around his waist. “If they think you are more like Grindelwald than Dumbledore…”

Sirius twisted around so he was facing her, then planted a kiss on her brow. “Don’t worry. We’ll be polite and refrain from proclaiming a crusade for muggleborn rights.” That was the agreed upon plan, at least.

“I hope you told Hermione that,” Harry said.

“She knows,” Sirius said. The witch was smart; she wouldn’t blurt out her long-term plans.

Which, Sirius was certain, did include a campaign for the rights of the European muggleborns.

*****​

“Madame Beaumont, Herr Steiner, welcome to my humble abode!” Sirius bowed with all the grace his parents had taught him as soon as Beaumont and Steiner had cleaned themselves of soot and dust from their trip through the Floo Network. Since this was technically a private invitation, they hadn’t brought their assistants along.

Beaumont’s smile was as honest as his own as she curtsied in return. “Thank you for the invitation, Mister Black.” It slipped a tiny bit, he noted, when she saw Vivienne standing there. Probably jealous, he thought - the French witch was beautiful, but she couldn’t hold a candle to Vivienne in his, entirely objective, opinion.

“Thank you,” Steiner said, bowing more stiffly.

“May I present to you my godson, Harry Potter,” Sirius said, gesturing at Harry, who bowed as well. A bit roughly, of course - he had grown up among muggles. Sirius suppressed the familiar pain he felt when thinking of James and Lily. “Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger.” Curt bows. “And Vivienne d’Aigle.”

“Enchantée.” His lover curtsied with the grace the Veela were famous for. Sirius thought Beaumont’s smile slipped a tiny bit more.

“We have prepared an aperitif in the living room.” He opened the door behind him with a flick of his wand, then the one to the living room with another. “After you.”

*****​

Kreacher had taken a few bottles from the good selection in the cellar, but not the best. That was reserved for guests Sirius actually liked, and special occasions. Steiner would probably not notice it, but Beaumont would.

Judging by her expression after tasting her drink, she already had. Sirius raised his glass. “To a successful conclusion of your inspection,” he toasted. After everyone had taken a sip, he added: “It is pretty much finished, isn’t it?”

“Not quite,” Beaumont said. “There’s still Hogwarts to visit, and of course the current political situation to consider. Which is why we are grateful for your invitation.”

The witch wasn’t wasting any time, he noted. He’d have expected that from a Prussian, not a Frenchwoman. “I see.” He slowly inclined his head as the others gathered around them.

“You’re the leader of the most influential faction in the Wizengamot, as well as the leader of the Order of the Phoenix,” Beaumont said.

“What’s left of it after the war,” Steiner cut in, shaking his head. “I haven’t heard of such carnage since Grindelwald’s War.”

“The brunt of the losses were borne by the Dark Lord’s forces, and by the Ministry,” Sirius said. “We didn’t escape unscathed, of course.”

“Neither did the Resistance, but we’re already rebuilding,” Hermione added. The young witch was a bit too honest for her own good, Sirius thought.

“Ah, yes. The famous Muggleborn Resistance.” Beaumont’s smile grew cold. “Your deeds in the war made waves at the Court. Quite brutal, and ruthless. Many wonder what you’ll be doing now that the war is over.”

“If the war is actually over. That attack on Diagon Alley…” Steiner shook his head. “Nasty business, that. Reminds me of the aftermath of the war in Prussia.”

“We’ll continue our struggle for equal rights with means adequate for the situation.” Hermione’s smile showed more than a few teeth.

“Those who attack us will regret it,” Harry said. “We beat Voldemort and his Death Eaters, and we’ll beat whoever is behind these attacks.”

“Do you mean the Ministry, or your own organisations?” Beaumont asked with a faint smile.

“We’ve been working together during the war,” Sirius said. “There’s no reason to stop now. Dumbledore wasn’t a Ministry employee either, and did what he could when he was needed.”

“But that was Dumbledore. Britain’s greatest wizard since Merlin,” Steiner said. “The one who defeated Grindelwald.” His implication was clear.

“Harry’s defeated Voldemort,” Ron spoke up. “We all fought the Dark Lord - more than once. And we’re members of the Wizengamot. My family’s working in the Ministry.” He shrugged. “Whether you’re a Ministry employee or not doesn’t matter, as long as you’re doing what’s needed.”

“Ah.” Steiner nodded.

Beaumont, though, frowned. “That sounds rather unorganised. Without a clear hierarchy, responsibilities can be easily neglected.”

“It’s not so different from the Cour de France,” Vivienne said, smiling innocently. “The Duc often ’as friends and family ’andle issues, instead of using ’is employees.”

Beaumont didn’t even bother to hide her frown now. “But Britain lacks a Duc. They have an elected Minister who answers to the Wizengamot.”

“The Wizengamot hasn’t taken any steps to dissolve the close relationships between the Order, the Resistance and the Ministry that were created during the war,” Sirius said, “and I doubt it will in the future. As you said, I am the leader of the most influential faction in the Wizengamot.” He spread his hands.

“I see.” Beaumont was smiling cynically, but she seemed satisfied.

Sirius looked at his now empty glass, then at the clock on the wall. “Dinner should be ready now.”

*****​

Sirius sighed with relief and let himself fall into the closest seat when his guests had finally left. “That was exhausting,” he said, closing his eyes for a moment.

Harry snorted. “They didn’t ask you about the fight with Voldemort.” He badly imitated Beaumont. “But you ’ave to admit that a boy of your age defeating a wizard with decades of experience in a duel is unheard of. I cannot even fathom ’ow that could have been possible.”

“Her accent wasn’t that bad,” Sirius said.

“That’s not the point, Sirius.”

He shrugged. “We knew that they would try to find out just how we killed Voldemort. Or what exactly the Resistance is capable of.”

“I didn’t expect them to be so blatant about it,” Hermione said, leaning into Ron. “Steiner sounded as if he was planning to write a book about our operations.”

“They weren’t ’appy,” Vivienne remarked.

“I don’t care if they’re happy or not.” Sirius scoffed. “All I care about is whether or not they think that we’re too powerful to provoke into a conflict, so they’ll leave us be.”

“Beaumont thinks that you’ll be taking over Britain,” Vivienne said, sitting down on the armrest of his seat. “At least that’s my impression.”

He patted her thigh. “As if I’d be that insane!” The others chuckled, and he mock-glared at them.

“Actually, we are taking over Britain - we need to, to reform the Wizengamot,” Hermione said. “And you’re leading the movement in the Wizengamot.”

“If I’m stuck in the Wizengamot, then so are you,” Harry added.

Sirius glared at them both, but they didn’t look as if that impressed them.

The worst thing was that they were correct.

*****​

Worcestershire, Nott Manor, March 16th, 1997

Ron Weasley studied the manor through his omnioculars. It had sturdy walls, good lines of fire, and while he wasn’t an expert, he could see that the wards were powerful - and lethal.The Notts were an Old Family, after all, and their manor’s protections had been created in a time when sacrificial magic hadn’t yet been illegal.

He turned to his brothers. “Can you sneak your wireless ears inside?”

“Of course!” Fred answered, pouting. “We did it before, after all.”

“With a temporary hideout,” Ron said.

George shrugged. “The principle is the same. Without specific counter-charms, they can’t stop us. And they’d need to know how our invention works to develop such charms.”

“And the wards of those old manors are a bitch to work with, or so Bill says,” Fred added. “So, even if they knew about our wireless ears, they would be unlikely to manage to protect the manor.”

“But they would be casting privacy charms all the time,” Hermione said. She wasn’t looking at them, but staring at the manor through her own omnioculars, taking notes about the strength of the wards, Ron knew. She’d have to calculate how much explosive would be needed to take them down.

“We should take Nott out,” Fred said. “Before his next attack restarts the war.”

Ron could see George rolling his eyes. “And break the cover of our spies? If Nott gets captured so soon after his visit to Greengrass, his backers will know they betrayed him.”

Fred shrugged. “Diagon Alley’s a cauldron about to boil over. What good does it do if we find the traitors after their plans succeeded?”

“It’s a risk we have to take,” his brother said.

Ron had heard the argument before. Twice, actually. He wasn’t happy with letting Nott continue either, but he understood that next to Nott’s allies, Malfoy and Runcorn were the real targets. And Greengrass and Davis needed to earn their trust. “Just get your ears into the manor, and we’ll be able to stop him on the way to his next attack.”

“Easier said than done - that’s a big manor. Moving them takes a lot of time.” Fred grumbled.

“Then talk less, and work more,” George said.

Fred shot his brother a glare, but returned to the contraption with which he was apparently moving the wireless ears to the manor. Adapted from a muggle toy, or so Ron had heard. As long as it worked, he didn’t care how it worked.

“I’m done.” Hermione stashed her Omnioculars and turned around. She nodded at the twins. “Inform us as soon as you’ve installed the ears.”

“Ma’am, yes, ma’am!” Fred barked, standing up to salute, followed by George.

Hermione shot Ron a glare that had him wince - he really shouldn’t have told his brothers about muggle boot camp. Even if it was funny.

*****​

Near Morant Bay, Jamaica, March 16th, 1997

Augustus Rookwood frowned. His plan had worked - the muggle boy he had chosen as bait had been taken an hour ago from his parents, under the cover of an accident at sea - but the wards protecting the houngan’s hideout were stronger than he had expected. Breaking through them would take too much time.

Fortunately, there were other ways to bypass wards, even without the resources of his former colleagues in the Department of Mysteries. They involved certain risks, however. But he had no choice - he needed the knowledge this houngan, whose name he didn’t yet know, could provide.

He slid down the trunk of the tree from which he had observed the manor and started towards the fields he had spotted behind it. He hadn’t much time left - the houngan would quickly notice that the boy he had had kidnapped wasn’t a wizard, and suspect a trap.

He still gave the manor a wide berth - it wouldn’t do to get spotted now - until he reached a patch of dense forest bordering the fields. A number of muggles were working there, clearing weeds from what he could tell - he hadn’t done much herbology since Hogwarts.

He didn’t spot an overseer, which meant that the muggles were magically controlled - or zombies. That might even be an advantage for him. It all depended on how much the houngan valued his muggles.

For a moment, he hesitated. Then he aimed his wand at the closest muggle worker.

“Imperio!”

As ordered, the man stepped closer to the edge of the forest, then suddenly stumbled, and threw his farming tool into the forest. It wasn’t the best acting, but the muggles were too stupid to notice anything amiss. Augustus waited until the man had stepped past the tree he was hiding behind, then stunned him and quickly stripped him of his clothes before pulling out a vial from his enchanted pocket. A plucked hair later, the Polyjuice was ready.

Once more he hesitated, disgusted. To wear the form of a muggle… he shook his head. It was only temporary, after all. A sip later, he was wearing the man’s form, and pulling on his dirty clothes. His enchanted pocket went behind the man’s sash. A Killing Curse and a Vanishing Spell later the muggle was gone.

A flick of his wand conjured a banana spider, one of the most venomous muggle spiders of the island. He rubbed some powder on his skin, causing a red swelling, then took a sip from another vial. At once he started to shiver and tremble. He managed to put a bezoar into his mouth, but didn’t swallow it, before crushing the conjured spider and stumbling out of the forest while waving its carcass around. His screams caught the attention of the other muggles, and a few minutes after he collapsed, acting as if he was in severe pain, they carried him to the manor.

Augustus swallowed the bezoar when he passed the wards. When he stopped trembling and shivering, the muggles started yelling even louder for their master in their weird dialect.

“What is going on?” he heard a rough, harsh voice demand in decent English.

Half of the muggles who had carried him started to explain about his spider bite. Augustus used the distraction they provided to summon his wand from the sash in which he had hidden it.

The houngan noticed, but Augustus was already casting when the man swung his wand up.

“Imperio!”

The man’s expression went slack and his wand hand fell down. Augustus opened his mouth to give his victim his first order when he realised that the houngan was far too young to be the owner of the manor. And that meant…

He managed to cast a Shield Charm just in time to save his life from a curse that showered the area with yellow liquid. While the muggles around him started to scream, covered with poison - acidic poison, he noted - he ran past the imperiused houngan, towards a stone bench that would provide some cover.

Another spell transfigured the stone bench into a stone snake but he had been expecting such a move, and slid to the side, moving over the short grass with his wand waving. The snake was rearing up to strike when his Banishing Charm smashed it into the porch of the manor, narrowingly missing the houngan standing there.

His enemy - his target - flinched, and Augustus followed up with a Killing Curse, which drove the houngan into cover behind the next pillar. He was already rushing forward, two, four, five steps, but then the lawn in front of him was ripped open as Inferi tore out of the earth. Cursing, he flicked his wand, a fire whip cutting the undead apart, but stopping his charge.

And that gave the houngan the time he needed to turn the tables. Augustus saw a wave move through the lawn, ripples spreading as if the earth was water, leaving brown, shriveled, dead plants in its wake. Some sort of rotting curse, but one he hadn’t seen before.

Two could play that game, though. He sent a volley of quick, exotic but weak curses at the houngan, just to keep him busy, then turned the earth in front of himself into a curved stone wall. The wave smashed into it, and was parted, a trail of dead plants surrounding him. A second later the wall was shattered, fragments of it bouncing off his shield.

He countered with an explosive curse that blew up most of the porch and - more importantly - covered the area with dust and smoke. That bought him a few more seconds. He cast an Amplifying Charm, then yelled “Help me!” at the houngan under his control.

The young man turned around, lifting his wand, but collapsed before he could cast anything. Either the poison spell had hit him as well, or his master had taken precautions against betrayal.

Two green curses flew at him, Killing Curses! Augustus jumped to the side, then rolled back - he didn’t want to touch the rotten grass. He grit his teeth - his target was proving to be more troublesome than he had expected. And he wasn’t the duellist he had once been.

A quick conjuration turned the now rotting grass between him and his enemy into a forest of stone pillars. He could deal with this, though - his greatest strength had always been his mind. While the pillars started to rot - that was a powerful dark curse, he noticed - He filled the area with a cloud of smoke, then transfigured the remains of his wall into a stone figure in his likeness. A spell later, it was running away from him, towards the wardline.

It wouldn’t fool the houngan, of course - he would have cast a Human-presence-revealing spell. But it would serve as a distraction from his real attack. He hadn’t wanted to use it, but there was no choice. And the houngan might survive it. Or his library would.

He pulled a small pack out of his pocket and banished it in a high arc towards his enemy, then started to run towards the wardline at the side of the manor. The pillars had crumbled by now, and the smoke had thinned so he could see curses shooting at him. He dove towards a green patch on the ground, his wand whipping back and forth while his shield shattered under the impact of a spell. The ground opened just before he touched it, and he fell six feet into the earth. He managed to take a deep breath before the grave filled up with earth and rock.

Then the earth shook as the package he had thrown hit the porch and exploded.

*****​

 

Chapter 53: Missteps

‘The houngans of Jamaica had a fearsome reputation, especially among the nations of the New World, and certainly were skilled in their arts, especially sympathetic magic and the creation and control of zombies. However, a thorough examination of the various wars between Britain and Jamaica clearly reveals that for all the fear their particular traditions caused in the ignorant, a houngan was not significantly more powerful on the battlefield than a skilled British Hit-Wizard. The only reason their 1752 rebellion succeeded was because they launched it exactly when Britain was occupied fighting the goblins on her own soil, and if not for the sheer distance between the British Isles and Jamaica, which presented insurmountable logistical challenges for an invasion force without muggle support, they would have lost all of the following conflicts.
Of course, at the end of the Second Blood War, skilled British Hit-Wizards were in very short supply.’
- Excerpt from ‘Wizarding Britain in the 20th Century’ by Albert Runcorn

*****​

Near Morant Bay, Jamaica, March 16th, 1997

Augustus Rookwood felt the earth that surrounded him press into his back, forcing the air out of his lungs. He wouldn’t suffocate right away - his spell was designed to let the victim suffer as they were buried alive - but it wasn’t a pleasant feeling. Taking a shallow breath, he moved his wand, vanishing the earth at its point with a quick motion. That allowed him more space to cast, and soon, he could roll over inside the space he had cleared of soil.

Another stab of his wand, and the earth above him vanished, transfigured into a staircase. A few seconds later, he had climbed high enough on the stairs to peer at the manor, leading with his wand.

The muggle explosives he had thrown had wrecked the porch, shattered the windows, and caved in part of the wall. Nothing a package of Explosive Fluid wouldn’t have done just as well, but he hadn’t had enough left, and so had been forced to resort to using muggle means as if he were a mudblood. That the Dark Lord himself had used such means to kill his blood traitor enemies and frame the mudbloods was a small comfort - Augustus hadn’t planned to use a bomb here.

He recast his Shield Charm and climbed out of the hole. There was a body lying in the ruins of the porch, half-buried under a fallen pillar. He kept his wand trained on it as he closed. The houngan could still be alive.

He wasn’t, as Augustus saw as soon as he reached the porch - the entire lower half of the houngan’s body had been crushed. Frowning, he muttered a curse under his breath. He needed a captive to interrogate, not a corpse. A glance to the side told him that if the younger houngan hadn’t been killed before the explosion, he was certainly dead now.

Shaking his head, Augustus entered the manor. He had no use for the corpses of his enemies, but their library might prove of use.

One way or the other, he would gain the knowledge he needed.

*****​

South Downs National Park, Hampshire, Britain, March 16th, 1997

Daphne Greengrass took a deep breath while she cleaned the soot from her robes in the entrance hall of Augustus Malfoy’s home.

“Well, it’s a step up from Draco’s home,” Tracey muttered under her breath.

Daphne closed her eyes and clenched her teeth. “Thanks, Tracey,” she muttered, “for reminding me what happened the last time we visited a Malfoy.” The attack by the Resistance, the desperate attempt to flee, the deaths of their friends, their capture… She shook her head, banishing those memories from her mind, just as she had forced the memories of her dead parents away.

She wasn’t in Malfoy Manor, no matter what Augustus Malfoy called it. Everyone knew that it was originally a summer house of the Malfoys, before Draco’s grandfather had given it to Augustus. This was no Summer Ball either, just a dinner for members of the Old Families. Not even two dozen guests, including her and Tracey. And she wouldn’t die, crushed by falling ceilings or burned alive. The Resistance wouldn’t attack this gathering. At least she was reasonably certain they wouldn’t. But not certain enough. She had no doubts that the mudbloods wanted her dead for fighting them.

“Miss Greengrass! Miss Davis! Welcome to my home!”

“Mister Malfoy.” Daphne’s face showed none of her thoughts when she smiled and bowed to Augustus Malfoy, Tracey doing the same next to her.

“The other guests are already in the salon,” he said, gesturing towards a door to the side.

“Of course he has a ‘salon’,” she heard Tracey mutter while they followed their host. “Bloody French.”

Daphne didn’t mention that the Malfoys had been British purebloods for almost a thousand years. Tracey knew that as well. But in the current times, emphasising such roots sent a message - if it was done deliberately. Which, seeing as it was Malfoy, would be the case. Whether what that affectation was hinting at was true was another question, of course.

A question Daphne hoped she’d be able to answer after this evening. Hoped, but did not expect.

Philius Runcorn was surrounded by a group of Wizengamot members - Daphne recognised most of them. Older ones, who had survived the war. Mainly by hiding, and fleeing. Not the kind of people she’d expect to support another civil war. Unless they were desperate - but they didn’t look like it as they greeted her and Tracey. Did they actually think this was a safe course of action?

“Miss Greengrass! Miss Davis!” Runcorn beamed at them. “Two heroes are among us,” he declared. “Two brave witches who fought for our culture and traditions.”

“And our very lives,” Malfoy added.

Daphne forced herself to keep smiling. Did they know about her and Tracey’s meeting with Theo, and this was an attempt to shame them? She didn’t see her - former now, probably - friend here, but certainly, if Malfoy had invited her and Tracey, he’d have invited Theo as well. “We were lucky,” she said. “Many of our friends didn’t survive.”

Tracey simply nodded.

Malfoy looked sombre for a moment. “Draco among them. They murdered him like muggles.”

“And now they are poised to take over our country,” Runcorn added. “Their leader is now a member of the Wizengamot. To think that a mudblood murderer is counted among our ranks…” he shook his head, taking a shaky breath. “The fools following Black have lost their minds.”

“Black has the support of Weasley, Potter and Granger, and through them half of the Ministry, Dumbledore’s Order as well as the Resistance,” Tracey said.

“He is powerful,” Malfoy said, “but his power is more fleeting than he - and others - may think.”

Daphne didn’t have to fake her sceptical expression. “That isn’t my impression. He is about to gain a solid majority in the Wizengamot, he already has more wands behind him than the Ministry can muster, and his influence is growing.”

Several of the others nodded in agreement with her. Tracey added: “And the other families can’t match Black’s resources.”

“Oh, but the alliance between the blood traitors and the mudbloods is fragile. Black is no Dumbledore, and Granger may have Potter twisted around her finger, but she has trouble controlling her own. The attack in Diagon Alley showed that. The same tactics that brought the Ministry to its knees are now being turned on the mudbloods.” Malfoy smiled. “Sooner or later they will go on a rampage and show everyone that they are but rabid animals. All of the purebloods, even the blood traitors, will realise that.”

“That will cost a lot of lives,” Tracey pointed out in a flat voice.

“Regrettable, but unavoidable.” Runcorn sighed. “Far more would die if the mudbloods took over - you know that they want to wipe us all out.”

More people voiced their agreement. Daphne slowly nodded. “They want revenge, and they want the Old Families broken and gone. None of them care for our ways and traditions. Not even the blood traitors.” She knew that very well from her talk with Black and the twins.

“Exactly. We’re fighting not just for us, but for every pureblood true to our heritage. We’re fighting for what it means to be a British wizard,” Runcorn declared. “Or a British witch,” he added, with slightly less pathos.

“Voting in the Wizengamot is not exactly fighting,” Tracey said. She might be rushing things, Daphne thought, but neither Malfoy nor Runcorn had so far admitted to being behind the attack.

“If we lose the Wizengamot, we lose Britain,” Malfoy said. “Our enemies are aware of that as well.”

“There’s a flaw in your plan.” Daphne shook her head. “You can’t hope to stop the mudbloods with the Ministry and whatever scared purebloods you can recruit once the Resistance has started to fight seriously. You need far more wands for that - and you need them before things escalate.”

“We are aware of that,” Malfoy said, “and we’re taking appropriate measures.”

“Better hope that whoever’s doing those attacks doesn’t push the Resistance too far before you’re ready,” Tracey said.

Daphne saw a smile flicker over Malfoy’s face, before he nodded in a solemn manner, and she was certain that he controlled those attackers, or at least knew who was controlling them.

*****​

Kent, Greengrass Manor, March 16th 1997

“You know that you don’t have to wait here? You could be networking with your allies in the Wizengamot, or spending time with Harry or Vivienne. I’ll call you as soon as they return.”

Sirius Black turned his head to his best friend - best friend still alive, that was - and frowned. Remus sounded honestly concerned, but he was staring at Sirius’s hands, which were fiddling with some knick-knack he had grabbed from the shelves in Greengrass’s living room. The animagus scoffed. “Harry is back at that camp. He said he didn’t want to miss out on any training that he didn’t have to.” Privately, Sirius thought Harry still wasn’t too comfortable spending time with Ron and Hermione - he had felt the same, at the start of James and Lily’s relationship, and he hadn’t been in love with Lily. Not much, at least. “And technically, I’m networking with my allies.” Not quite willing allies.

Remus raised an eyebrow, and Sirius sighed. Of course his friend was still as perceptive as ever. “Vivienne is visiting family, Andromeda and Ted are spending the evening with some friends, Arthur and Molly are with Bill and Fleur, and I’d go mad if I stayed alone in the house with Kreacher.”

Sirius half-expected his friend to crack a joke about him being mad already, but Remus was too serious for that and simply nodded in understanding - he knew all about being alone, of course.

“How’s the little Death Eater doing, by the way?” Sirius asked after a quick Mending Charm fixed the thing that had suddenly broken for no reason while he was examining it.

“Astoria” - Remus stressed the name - “is behaving.” With a subtle sigh, he added: “Although mostly out of fear, I think.”

“It’s a week until the full moon!” Sirius shook his head at the stupidity of the family. And of everyone else in Britain.

“Fear is not rational,” his friend said, with that sad smile Sirius hated.

“Another point in favour of the muggleborns - they at least have no irrational fear of werewolves,” he grumbled. Most of them did not, at least. Although that could be because they thought silver was a deadly weapon against a werewolf.

Remus shrugged. “Tonks is keeping an eye on her as well.”

“I don’t trust her. Greengrass’s sister, I mean,” Sirius clarified.

“She’s young and inexperienced.”

“She’s also a risk.” If she spilled what she knew about this… Sirius dropped the knick-knack on the floor and started to twirl his wand around his fingers. He had spent months learning how to do that without dropping it, back in third year.

“She knows that her sister’s life is at stake.”

“Wouldn’t have stopped my brother from running to Voldemort.” Regulus had been a dutiful Death Eater, after all.

Remus sighed. “For one, there is no Dark Lord around any more. Just a bunch of Old Families. Astoria isn’t likely to bow to them.”

“Proud little pureblood, isn’t she?” Sirius chuckled.

“You haven’t met her,” his friend answered, narrowing his eyes slightly.

“I’ve heard about her. Nymphadora was quite vocal about her. And about Greengrass and Davis.”

“Tonks is not exactly unbiased.” Remus pursed his lips slightly.

“Good! Neither am I!” Sirius grinned briefly, baring his teeth. “Though I think she has more of an issue with Davis than with the Greengrasses. I think while she loathes their irrational fear of you, she dislikes the fact that Davis apparently isn’t afraid of you even more.”

Remus coughed, just like he had when they had teased him about Marietta, back in their fifth year. “It’s not a crush, just a young girl trying to shock and tease her friend.”

“She’s just a few years younger than Tonks,” Sirius remarked, in a casual tone, while he watched his friend.

“Seven years.”

Sirius shrugged. “As I said, just a few years younger.”

Remus sighed and closed his eyes, hunching over while he sagged back in his seat.

“So…” Sirius drawled, “Any plans to do anything about the witch with a crush on you?”

“No.”

“Why not?” Sirius shifted in his seat, abandoning his casual pose to lean forward. “And don’t give me that nonsense about your curse making a relationship too dangerous for her.” Remus opened his mouth, and Sirius cut him off. “And no remarks about the age difference. Vivienne is barely a year older than she is.” He paused for an instant, then went on: “And nothing about how such a relationship would ruin her life or her career. The muggleborns don’t care about the prejudices of the purebloods, and you know Hermione’s plans for anti-discrimination laws.”

Remus glared at him. Sirius smirked in response, until his friend sighed again.

“You don’t have an argument, do you?” Sirius said.

His friend didn’t answer, which was enough of an answer.

“Well… seems to be a case of irrational fear, in my expert opinion.” Sirius chuckled at the expression on Remus’s face.

“Emotions as a whole are rarely rational.” As an argument, that was weak, especially for Remus.

“And fear is unbecoming for a Gryffindor!” Unlike Sirius’s own reasoning.

Unfortunately, the fireplace flared up and saved Remus from answering.

Greengrass and Davis stepped out of it, soot-stained but well enough.

“Welcome to Greengrass Manor,” Sirius said, idly spinning his wand around his fingers again.

Greengrass glared at him, probably for the presumption of welcoming her to her own home. “We have no proof, but it’s obvious that Malfoy and Runcorn are connected to the latest attack in Diagon Alley,” she stated, before cleaning her robes with her wand.

Sirius thought he saw her jaw clench, and rubbed his beard. “Are you certain?”

“Yes,” Greengrass spat out. “They all but said so.”

“That’s the difference between proof and assumption,” Remus said.

“They insinuated that they can know, or even control when the next attack will happen, and plan accordingly,” Davis said, smiling at Remus. “They wouldn’t risk so much if they had no control or at least prior knowledge.”

Sirius narrowed his eyes at that smile. He wasn’t a Slytherin, but he had grown up in a family of them, and he didn’t think the little witch could act well enough to fool him. Maybe she had a weakness for older men, and for the kind of boys her parents warned her away from. Or would have, in Davis’s case, since they were dead. He shook his head, focusing on more important matters. “That means that unless Nott is a better liar than you assume, they also control him. Or someone controls both of them.”

“They didn’t act like wizards acting under orders,” Greengrass remarked.

Sirius inclined his head. “They might not realise that they are being manipulated.” After all, if they had any sense, they wouldn’t try to restart a war they had already lost once.

“Is it enough to question them with Veritaserum?” Davis asked. She didn’t have to say that she wasn’t talking about an interrogation by the Ministry.

“Maybe.” Sirius saw the two witches exchange brief smiles. “But we’ll need you to capture them, should we decide on that course of action.”

He grinned when their smiles vanished.

*****​

London, No. 12 Grimmauld Place, March 17th, 1997

After another hour of waiting, and without company, Sirius Black was ready to change into Padfoot and chase Kreacher just to vent some of his frustration. Then Vivienne returned from her family dinner, and his heart lifted. He stopped his pacing and turned towards her, opening his arms.

She slid into his embrace, and he knew things hadn’t gone well - she was stiff, and tense, and taking deeper breaths than usual while she rested her chin on his shoulder.

“What happened?” he asked, when he released her.

“My suspicions were confirmed,” she said.

“France is supporting these attacks?” Even though he knew that the French had asked her to spy on him, Sirius had trouble believing they’d go that far.

“Not officially, of course. But the Duc is turning a blind eye to the machinations of Beaumont and ’er co-conspirators. Like ’e turned a blind eye to our intervention in the war.” Vivienne smiled weakly. “Ma mère said that they do not trust the muggleborns. Not with Dumbledore dead.”

“Your family?”

She shook her head. “The Court, or the majority of it, to be exact. Ma famille is split as well.”

“And the Duc supports this?” Magical France was supposed to be a monarchy, wasn’t it?

“That is not known. Some think ’e condones weakening Britain and especially British muggleborns. Others think ’e wants Beaumont’s faction of the Court weakened.” Vivienne looked rather dejected.

“And what do you think?” He ran a hand over her cheek, then cupped her chin when she looked up at him.

“I think ’e prefers to remain ignorant - officially - of what is being done, so ’e can later claim whatever serves ’is interests best.” Vivienne snorted. “It wouldn’t be the first time that ’e ’as done something like this, but so far, it was always internal politics.”

“So, in order to stop this, we need to convince him that the faction trying to sabotage us won’t win,” Sirius mused. “Or we threaten him with organising a rebellion among the French muggleborns.”

Vivienne hissed. “That would confirm the Court’s fears. And lead to war.” She shook her head, her long hair whipping around.

“That leaves dealing with the French agents in Britain then. Whom we first have to find.” Sirius sighed. That meant they couldn’t take out Nott, or Malfoy and Runcorn. They needed them to find their contacts. But at the same time, they couldn’t let them start a war with another attack…

He sighed. Even with the new information they had gained today, things had become more, not less complicated.

*****​

London, No. 12 Grimmauld Place, March 17th, 1997

Hermione Granger rubbed her wrist, then checked her watch. It was far too late to continue her attempts to learn a new spell. Especially a houngan spell. But she had to learn this spell, so she could tell if Reid was trying to double-cross them at Hogwarts. And with this latest crisis threatening to turn into another war, she did not have much time.

At least John had done a good job with the radio broadcasts, and the leaflets. If they were lucky, the muggleborns would take heed and not start indiscriminately attacking purebloods. She frowned, dropping her wand. Not all would listen to them. Those hecklers… she ran a hand through her hair, twisting some strands in frustration. They wouldn’t listen to mere words, or leaflets. But, or so she hoped, they would stay their hands until the rally in Hogsmeade next weekend. Although organising and securing that rally would take a lot of time and effort.

And Hermione knew that the Resistance would need something more than words to placate the muggleborns by then. If they could catch those behind the attack on Winston’s, then that should suffice to keep the muggleborns from lashing out by rioting, or worse. Should.

She frowned. They didn’t have any clues as to the attackers’ identity, though. Not yet. Nott wasn’t responsible, or so it appeared, But he was responsible for other attacks. Probably. And they knew where he lived. If they made no progress with the investigation into this attack, then he’d have to do. Also, Nott had escaped justice once; many muggleborns would cheer his capture or death just for that.

She snorted - this was how Dumbledore must have felt, she thought, weighing sacrifices and ploys in an attempt to keep the country from destroying itself. She rubbed her eyes, and went back to studying the notes the houngan had provided. At first glance, the spell appeared to be a simple detection spell, not that different from the Human-presence-revealing spell, if more focused. But something felt wrong - the casting instructions were too complicated for such a spell. Not something she’d expect from a spell that had undoubtedly been refined over centuries. And she didn’t think the houngans, who had stalemated the British wizards in half a dozen conflicts, would have developed a spell that was more complicated than needed.

She finally realised what was bothering her when she used Arithmancy to cross-check the wand movements and the incantations with similar spells she knew. It was a ritual. A very efficient ritual, not that much slower to cast than a regular, if complicated, spell, but a ritual nonetheless.

And that changed everything.

Hermione pressed her lips together. Rituals could be varied. Enhanced. Empowered. Often with sacrifices. With the right sacrifice, this spell could cover a lot of ground. It wouldn’t need to be cast that many times to cover the British Isles.

Maybe Reid was so determined to inspect Hogwarts because he had already checked the areas of Britain that were not as heavily warded as the school? But that would have cost lives. A lot of them. And Reid wouldn’t have had enough time since his arrival, even if he had captured enough victims. Unless… she hissed. Unless he or accomplices had been in Britain already, trying to track the missing skull with such rituals. Dear Lord - how many people could have been killed for such an attempt?

She shook her head. She had no proof, not even a shred of evidence - missing muggles wouldn’t be noticed that quickly if their kidnappers were even a little skilled - but… if she was correct, then they’d be taking a monster to Hogwarts.

*****​

London, Diagon Alley, March 18th, 1997

Bess Cox glared at the two Aurors she saw walking down Diagon Alley. She wasn’t the only one - none of the muggleborns out on the street bothered to hide their disgust at the Ministry’s lackeys. It was telling that they hadn’t shown up in increased numbers until now.

She scoffed, and turned away. She walked a bit faster, both because anger drove her on, and because she was already a bit late. Stuffing her hands in the pockets of her jacket with a huff, she turned into the next side alley.

After three days straight of going to Freddie’s Fish’n’Chips for dinner, the owner greeted her with a nod and a friendly smile. And so did Randall.

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

She took the seat opposite his, at the same table where they had first met. There was no need to order - Freddie was already frying up their dinner. “Sorry I’m late.”

He dismissed her apology with a flick of his hand. “Happens.”

She smiled, then she saw the folded leaflet next to his wand on the table, and scowled. “Another one?” she asked, nodding towards it. “Did they finally stop sucking up to the purebloods?” The Resistance had been spreading hundreds of those, all with the same message as their recent radio broadcasts: Don’t attack purebloods.

He shook his head. “The Resistance is holding a rally in Hogsmeade this Sunday. The leaflet is mostly about that.” With a grin, he added: “But they also stress that it’ll be a peaceful rally.”

Bess shook her head. Now that Granger was on the Wizengamot, she was supporting the regime. Just like so many revolutionaries in history. The Resistance’s soldiers would probably soon do joint patrols with the Aurors. Maybe they’d dye their uniforms red as well, to better fit in. “They’re selling us out,” she spat. “The Resistance killed every pureblood they could get during the war, but suddenly, that’s wrong? I guess shagging Weasley and Potter is more important to Granger.” She ground her teeth.

Randall snorted, but he was shaking his head. “I heard Potter, and he had a point - purebloods fought for us as well. Not all purebloods are bad.”

“Just most of them,” Bess said. “During the war, Dumbledore claimed to fight for us, but he stabbed us in the back when we fought as well.”

Before Randall could answer, Freddie called out their orders. “I’ll get them,” Bess said, and summoned them. She was quite proud that she didn’t lose any chips on the way - her first attempt two days ago hadn’t been that successful.

“You were talking about the attack on Hogsmeade,” Randall said, almost whispering.

Bess tensed. She was still wanted, as far as she knew - the Pardon only covered the Resistance and the Order of the Phoenix. There was a reason she hadn’t told Randall her last name.

“Don’t worry.” Randall smiled. “I often wish I had done something myself.”

Bess slowly nodded and grabbed a few chips to buy some time for her answer. They were too hot and she hissed before taking a sip from her beer.

He chuckled. “One thing the Resistance got right, though: We can’t simply lash out at the first pureblood we see. That would play into our enemies’ hands.”

“We can’t let them get away with it either, or they’ll never stop,” Bess countered. She’d love to find the scum who had killed her friends, but she couldn’t exactly search the Ministry reports, not as a wanted witch. And neither could she talk to the French and the Order members who had caught them at Hogsmeade. At least, she consoled herself, odds were that they were killed in the later battles anyway.

“We’d need to find them first. And that might prove a bit difficult.”

“We can at least try,” Bess said. “We’ve got a list.” She didn’t have to say which list she meant.

Randall nodded. “They can’t exactly blame us if we catch Death Eaters they are hunting as well.”

Bess nodded. “Won’t be easy, though.”

“It won’t. But I think I have an idea.”

“Oh?”

Randall smiled. “Have you heard about the ‘TV trouble mystery’?”

*****​

Cumbria, Britain, March 18th, 1997

“This is torture!” Ron Weasley let himself belly-flop on the bed in his tent as if he was acting the part of one of the wounded for an exercise.

He heard Harry chuckle. “It’s still not as bad as Wood’s training.”

“Says you,” Ron grumbled into his pillow.

“And I’m the one who had him as Team Captain for three years, so I would know.”

“It’s been three years since, and you were but a boy back then,” Ron said.

“So?”

“You probably misremember it. All those bludgers to the head won’t have helped.”

Harry didn’t answer, but a pillow hit Ron’s head a second later. He counted that as a win.

Rolling on his back and sitting up, he banished the pillow back to his friend. “So… when’s dinner?”

“In half an hour.”

“Enough time for a nap then.” The Sergeant had told them that soldiers slept whenever they could, since they never knew when they could sleep again.

“Clean the paintball stains off your fatigues first,” Harry said.

Ron considered arguing that he was protecting the Statute of Secrecy by not doing it, but decided not to - the two muggle instructors already suspected something, after all, but everyone was carefully avoiding the subject. He pointed his wand at his chest. “Scourgify! Now let me nap.”

He had barely closed his eyes, though, when he heard another voice. “Ron? Harry? Are you decent?”

“Hermione?” Ron sat up.

“I’ll take that as a ‘yes’,” she said, entering their tent.

He stood up and moved to hug her. “I didn’t expect to see you so soon. Did you learn the spell already?” He’d have thought that even for her, a houngan spell might prove more of a challenge.

“More or less,” she answered when he let her go. “And I found out something that we need to talk about. With Sirius.”

“Weren’t you just at Grimmauld Place?” Harry asked.

“Yes. But I want you to be there when we discuss this.” Hermione looked at Harry and at Ron. “And Sirius was busy in the Ministry today anyway.”

That didn’t sound good to Ron. He sighed. “Let me guess: We’re in deeper trouble than we thought.”

She pursed her lips. “We’ve discussed worse situations.”

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Ron said, glancing at Harry.

Harry snorted, but nodded. “Let’s go home then. We can eat there.”

“Mum’s cooking?” Ron asked. The camp cook, one of the recruits, tried her best, but his mum beat most professional chefs, in his admittedly biased opinion.

“Yes,” Hermione said, with a faint smile.

“Let’s go then!”

“Don’t you want to take a nap first?” Harry asked.

Ron didn’t bother with a reply.

*****​

London, No. 12 Grimmauld Place, March 18th, 1997

“So, if my theory is correct then Reid or one of his allies have already searched most of Britain for the missing skull. Only the most secure places - Hogwarts, Gringotts, perhaps the Ministry - are left. And they have murdered people for that. Sacrificed them in dark rituals.” Hermione said in Sirius’s living room, standing next to her seat with her arms folded over her chest.

Sirius nodded, looking rather grim. “How certain are you of this?”

Hermione bit her lower lip. “I haven’t tested it, for obvious reasons, but the Arithmancy supports it, although some houngan peculiarities might be different enough to throw the calculations off, but the general principles are universal for spell crafting, and in this case the indicators are almost identical to some of the works in your library... “ She took a deep breath, then raised her chin slightly. “We cannot afford not to assume the worst here. I’m certain of that.”

Ron Weasley smiled, despite the grave news she had just delivered. He loved how passionate she was.

Harry grumbled a curse under his breath. “Even assuming the worst, what can we do?”

Vivienne held up a hand. “Could ’e have given you misleading notes and information?”

That was a good question, Ron thought. Judging by Hermione’s frown, she didn’t share his opinion. “I’ve cross-checked what I could with books from Sirius’s library. I do not think that Reid could have been aware of all of my references to anticipate that.”

“But ’oungan magic is different, and we don’t know much about it,” Vivienne said.

“Magic is, essentially, magic. The basic principles are the same for all spells,” Hermione countered. “Houngans cannot get around the laws of magic either. Those which have been proven, at least,” she added with a frown.

“There aren’t that many of those, though,” Sirius said.

Ron shook his head. “Hermione’s right, though - we can’t afford to dismiss this.” The smile that support earned him from her made him smile in return.

“And what can we do?” Harry, ever the practical wizard, asked again.

“Watch him, as we planned. And send him on his way as soon as possible,” Sirius said. “Even if we knew for certain and could prove that he murdered people, we can’t arrest a delegate from the ICW.”

Ron glanced at Harry, then at Hermione. Sirius must have caught it, since he added: “We can’t kill him either. Or rather,” Sirius held up a hand, “We could, but the consequences would be devastating. You do not kill a delegate. That’s about as bad a crime as conspiring to break the Statue of Secrecy. And as harshly punished.”

Ron shivered - he had heard about the Intervention in Africa. Every magical child, except the muggleborns, of course, was taught this, to make them understand how important it was to keep magic a secret from muggles.

“And what if he tries to kill us? To keep any knowledge about this spell a secret?” Harry asked.

Hermione gasped, and Ron stiffened - the whole problem had started because the houngans wanted to keep the knowledge in their library secret, hadn’t it?

“He’ll know we’ll have taken precautions, should something happen to us. And he’ll know he can’t overcome all of us to control us,” Sirius said.

“Unless he has help,” Hermione countered. “His assistants, and whoever he has infiltrated into Britain. Or controls.”

“The Death Eaters?” Ron blinked. “Do you think they are working with houngans?” That was impossible - the feud with Jamaica went back for centuries. The Old Families hated the houngans.

Sirius looked rather sceptical as well, but Hermione shrugged. “Why not? They’re hypocrites anyway. And they don’t even have to know who they are working for.”

“If they don’t know who they are working for, then that would make any attack on us dangerous for Reid as well, as long as he is with us. And coordinating such an attack nigh-impossible.”

“And I doubt that the Death Eaters would be so foolish as to attack a delegate,” Ron pointed out.

Hermione looked unconvinced, but that was probably just because she loathed being proved wrong. She didn’t argue, though she frowned. Then she took a deep breath. “Speaking of Death Eaters, we need to do something about Nott.”

“What do you mean?” Sirius asked.

Hermione turned to face him. “We’re doing what we can to calm people down, but you saw the crowd in Diagon Alley, and you heard the hecklers - if we don’t catch the ones behind the attack, the muggleborns, at least some of them, will attack purebloods indiscriminately,” Hermione said. “My friends from the Resistance have been in Diagon Alley regularly, and the mood is growing worse despite our best efforts.”

Ron nodded. He had seen that crowd, and he could easily see them turning into a mob and starting a riot. Like the one in Diagon Alley last August. He had seen the carnage, had fought in it himself. So many had died in it...

“But we need them to find whoever is behind this,” Sirius said. “We need to put a stop to this.”

“Finding whoever is behind this won’t matter if another war has already broken out by that point.” Hermione shook her head. “They will have succeeded.”

“But if they know we’re on to them, they’ll be on their guard. We won’t get another good chance to find them.” Sirius stood his ground. “And we would need to catch him in the act to prove his guilt.”

“We can stage something,” Hermione said. “We know he’s guilty.”

“’E could be just grandstanding,” Vivienne cut in. “I ’ave a ’ard time believing that French plotters would work with the likes of ’im.”

“Why? Do you think they’d be above working with Death Eaters? The French purebloods don’t really like muggleborns, do they?” Hermione narrowed her eyes at the Veela, and Ron almost stood up to intervene.

“No. But ’e sounds too stupid to be used in a plot.” Vivienne met the younger witch’s stare.

Sirius cleared his throat. “Before we start duelling each other, let’s get back to plotting how to defeat our enemies. If we truly need a sacrifice - a success - to placate the muggleborns, then Nott is the best choice. But in order to stage an attack by him, we need to capture him first. And for that, we need to break into his manor. Doing that without leaving traces that not even the Aurors can’t miss will be difficult.”

“We can stage an attack without him, claim we saw him, then attack his manor in retaliation,” Harry said. He shrugged. “Anyone who knows him won’t be surprised that he took a shot at us.”

“The Ministry won’t be pleased,” Ron said. “Dad said that Bones is growing worse each day. She’s not cut out to be a Minister.”

“The Ministry is never pleased.” Sirius sniffed. “We can claim that we didn’t want to risk spies in the Ministry warning Nott. We’ll need a good excuse for how we identified him, and of course he can’t be allowed to survive. And we need enough time to interrogate him thoroughly.”

That sounded quite impossible to Ron. Even the current, gutted Ministry with so many inexperienced Aurors wouldn’t buy that.

“We don’t need to interrogate him. Just force him to copy all the memories relating to the attacks he took part in; we can analyse them at leisure in the Pensieve.” Hermione crossed her arms. “We won’t be able to ask him what he knows, but he probably won’t know anything important anyway.”

Ron nodded. It was a good plan. Even though it meant someone among them would have to use the Imperius - they had to be certain that Nott wasn’t tricking them with the wrong memories. Legilimency would be an alternative, but they would still have to force him to give them his memories - and the means used for that would likely be illegal as well. That meant the stakes had just risen even higher.

*****​

London, Ministry of Magic, March 19th, 1997

A muggleborn rally. In Hogsmeade. This weekend. Amelia Bones wanted to curse and rant, to vent her anger. But she was better than that. Instead, she simply nodded. “I see.”

Pius hesitated a fraction of a second before continuing. Had he expected her to lose her composure? “Miss Granger has also requested that the Ministry refrains from ‘provocative gestures in light of the tension between muggleborns and the Ministry’.”

“They want us to stay away from the rally.” Amelia translated.

“Yes.”

“And yet, if something happens, they’ll blame the Ministry for the very absence they require.” She let some of her frustration leak into her voice.

“I do not think the Resistance would go that far. Miss Granger strikes me as being rather concerned with appearing to be fair and a person of integrity,” Pius said. “Other muggleborns, however, do not seem to share those traits.”

She scoffed. “She wants to appear fair and honourable, but she’s a murderess trying to stuff the genie she unleashed back into the bottle she broke.” She looked at Pius, who was standing in front of her desk, but he was carefully not saying anything. She shook her head at him. “You know that she’s planning to do away with the Wizengamot and replace it with a muggle-style parliament. And the Ministry will follow after that.”

“The Wizengamot is the ultimate authority in Wizarding Britain. Their power includes ceding their authority.” Pius wasn’t looking at her, but at the wall behind her seat.

“So, that’s it, then.” Amelia snorted. “I hope you got a good deal for your ‘help’.”

Pius didn’t say anything, but she saw him tense, and smirked. It was a cheap and small victory, but she’d take what she could get. “The delegates aren’t happy about the lack of progress in our hunt for the ones responsible for the attack on that pub,” she said. Privately, she was certain they were very happy about having an excuse to stay and keep harassing the Ministry.

He wasn’t thrown by the sudden change in topic. “I have a source investigating a possible link between the attackers and certain members of the Wizengamot.”

She hissed. “Malfoy and Runcorn?” Since they had failed to gain her help, it would make sense for them to stoop to such means.

“So far they haven’t found anything incriminating. But the two are in contact with Greengrass and Davis.”

The two Death Eater witches who had been acquitted by the Wizengamot. If the Ministry managed to get them to trial this time, with the changed balance of power in the Wizengamot… that should placate the muggleborns, at least for a little. “Put surveillance on both of them! Use only your most trusted wands. I will not tolerate any leaks. To anyone. We’ll be doing this by the book.” There would be no warning for the two witches. And there would be no vigilante action by the Order.

Pius nodded. “I’ll get on it, then.”

Right before he reached the door, she said. “I’ll hold you personally responsible for this, Pius.”

This time she was certain that he stiffened before nodding.

*****​

Near Morant Bay, Jamaica, March 20th, 1997

It had taken three days for someone to notice his actions, Augustus Rookwood noted when his spells alerted him to an attack on the wards. The houngans apparently were as private - or divided - as he had heard from Duchamp.

He would have liked to have more time, of course - he had barely managed to sort through half the library of the manor, and most of the tomes were still cursed. And while he had found some fascinating volumes, including a few books on dark curses thought lost which had to have been looted from a British wizard during the rebellion in 1752, he hadn’t found much about the skull in his possession.

He was tempted to simply summon and shrink the remaining books, but given the protections on them, that would be foolhardy. And he wasn’t a fool.

He would have to try again to capture a houngan. For a moment, he was tempted to do so right away - the wards of the manor were still effective, and would hinder the attackers as much as they would himself as soon as he left the house, and whoever was attacking the wards would certainly be tied up in them. But they wouldn’t be alone. Unless this was a rival of the houngan he had killed - Markus Williams, not that he cared - there would be several powerful wizards waiting for just such an attack. No, discretion was the better part of valour here. He was a Slytherin, after all, not a Gryffindor.

He tried apparating to the door of the library, and, as expected, failed. His Portkey didn’t work either. He snorted - as if he’d rely on such obvious methods of evasion. But if the attackers had taken such measures to restrict magical travel, they would be covering the sky as well. Which would further stretch their forces.

He cast a Shield Charm and a Human-presence-revealing Spell before stepping out of the library and into the dusty hallways of the manor. Except for vanishing the corpses of the staff, lest they might rise as zombies, he hadn’t bothered wasting any time on cleaning up. He hadn’t heard the sounds of breaking wards yet, so they seemed to be holding just fine, despite Williamson’s death. Good crafting - maybe the original owner of the mansion had been killed while away, and the wards had never been destroyed?

He had no time to dwell on such matters; the attackers wouldn’t take too much longer if they truly had come in force. He hadn’t laid many traps. Too time-consuming, and it only took one trap going off to make an attacker expect more, and slow their advancement to a crawl anyway. There were other means, however. A flick of his wand transfigured some of the debris into man-sized stone statues. A stabbing gesture later, half a dozen stone guardians ambled towards the back of the manor. At the next intersection, he repeated his actions, but sent the animated statues to the front. That should buy him more time.

He opened the door to the cellar, and went down the stairs, his wand swishing back and forth as he conjured rocks and transfigured them into various animals, including a few swarms of bees and hornets. A few Colour Charms cast on them would make them appear more dangerous than they actually were, and make the attackers even more cautious.

He smiled as he reached the door to the cellar - proper planning and cunning beat numbers and power, as usual. Inside the cellar, he locked the door with a charm, then strode straight to the back. A touch of his wand opened the escape tunnel Williamson - or rather, one of his ancestors - had built there. It looked pristine, and he could feel a small draft of fresh air. He cast a Bubble-Head Charm anyway, just in case.

Augustus was smiling when he closed the entrance behind him. Everything was going according to plan.

Until the tunnel collapsed and buried him under tons of earth.

*****​

There was something to be said for quick thinking and quick reflexes as well, he admitted to himself minutes later. His shield had protected him just long enough to conjure a metal table above him and make it unbreakable. It had held against the massed earth trying to crush him - long enough to transfigure the earth and, more importantly, the ground beneath him into stone. That prevented the legs of the table from sinking into the earth and formed a protective hole made of stone for him to work in.

He was still buried alive - and this time against his will, and far deeper than six feet. But he was alive, and had his wand, and enough free room to use it. And since there hadn’t been a follow-up attack, this hadn’t been an ambush by the attackers.

But time was running out - this cave-in would be noticeable above ground, and the attackers would quickly realise what had happened. By that time, he needed to be gone from this spot. And from the closest path to the wardline.

He started to vanish the earth below him, conjuring metal plates and supports, while he dug an escape tunnel from the escape tunnel as quickly as he could.

He would have laughed at the irony, if he hadn’t been so angry at the fact that he had almost been killed by a dead man’s trap.

*****​

Hogwarts, March 20th, 1997

“That wasn’t the plan. The plan was for you to cross the edge of the wards, cast your spell, and then be gone. You cast the spell, so now it’s time to get gone.”

Harry Potter tensed up while Sirius faced down the houngan. Ron had moved to his left, Hermione to his right, and Vivienne and Remus were with Sirius. In a fight, Reid would be in a crossfire that not even Moody would be able to deal with - they had tested that once.

Reid didn’t seem to be impressed, even though he was alone and facing the ‘Vanquishers of Voldemort’, as an article in the Prophet had dubbed Harry and his friends. He really hoped that Reid simply was a very good actor, and not actually that confident.

The houngan shook his head. In the pale light of the moon - it was close enough to the full moon for Remus to feel it - it looked almost like a skull. “I did cast the spell, but part of the castle interfered. I will have to be inside the actual castle walls for the spell to work properly.”

Sirius muttered something too low for Harry to hear, then cocked his head without letting the houngan out of his sight. “Hermione?”

Harry quickly glanced at Hermione. The witch was biting her lower lip. “Hogwarts is so old, and has so many enchantments, it’s probable that they’d interfere with a detection spell.”

Reid smiled, his face looking even more like a skull’s. “I assure you, I have no ill intentions. Besides, I doubt that a school as old and renowned as Hogwarts could be threatened by a single wizard.”

“Voldemort was a threat,” Harry said. “One we dealt with, of course.”

Sadly, Reid didn’t react to the threat. The houngan kept smiling. “Our agreement was to let me search the school for our stolen… relic.”

“‘Relic’,” Harry heard Ron mutter. “Bloody necromancy.”

“You did not tell us that you’d have to enter the actual castle. We didn’t agree to that.” Sirius said.

“That was implied by allowing me to pass through the school’s defenses. Are you breaking our deal? I wouldn’t feel bound to my concessions if that were the case...” Reid’s smile showed even more teeth. If he was bluffing, Harry thought, then he would make a fortune playing poker.

They had defeated Voldemort, Harry told himself. And they had the houngan covered from multiple angles. It didn’t make him feel any more confident.

Harry heard Sirius sigh after a few seconds, then say: “Very well. Follow me then.”

Reid’s smile widened, and he walked after Sirius, apparently not at all concerned with the five people trailing behind, wands ready to curse him in the back.

*****​

They reached the closest side entrance to Hogwarts in a few minutes. It was late at night, so the students would be in their dorms, and the patrolling prefects rarely covered this part of the school. Sirius opened the door with a quick wave of his wand and the group entered.

“We’re here. Now cast the spell and get it over with!” Sirius growled.

“Of course,” Reid said, his tone full of condescension.

Harry took a step back when Reid started to wave his wand around and mutter the incantation. He was certain that he wasn’t the only one who wanted to curse the suspected murderer.

“Stop!” Hermione suddenly yelled, her wand raised to point at Reid. “You were altering the spell!”

“Merely an adaptation to indoor areas.” Reid seemed unfazed despite half a dozen wands being trained on him.

“That makes no sense!” the witch protested.

“Of course it does not - to you. You are ignorant of houngan traditions,” Reid said.

Harry tensed - his friend was sensitive to having her understanding of magic disparaged.

“I understand enough to notice a sacrifice,” Hermione spat.

Harry saw Reid’s eyes widen for a moment. “I see. I might have underestimated you. Slightly.”

“A sacrifice?” Ron asked.

“An animal,” the houngan said, pulling a squirming but strangely silent rat out of his pocket. “Surely not even British wizards are so squeamish as to object to sacrificing a rat for a good cause. We all know how many animal parts are used in common potions, after all.”

“That makes no sense,” Hermione said. “A rat wouldn’t work for the ritual…”

“And you’ve become an expert in houngan magic based upon the scraps I gave you so you would not quiver in fear at magic beyond your understanding?” Reid scoffed. “Do you presume to lecture me?”

Sirius intervened. “Even if it’s a rat, it’s still a sacrifice.”

“We had a pet rat, once,” Ron said.

Harry snorted. That was one rat he’d not mind seeing sacrificed. Then he blinked. What if…? He turned away, as if listening to something in the hallway behind him, and stuck his hand into his enchanted pocket, the one containing the Elder Wand. Switching the wands didn’t take long. When he turned back, his wand was aimed at the rat.

“Finite.”

Before his eyes, the rat turned into a woman, whose screams filled the hallway when she slipped out of the houngan’s grasp and staggered on the stone floor.

Harry was already casting, as were his friends, but the woman - a muggle or muggleborn, he noted, judging by her clothes - was blocking the line of fire for Sirius and Remus, and Reid was far quicker than expected. Harry’s curse and a few more splashed against the houngan’s Shield Charm, which had instantly appeared, and then the houngan’s own curse caught the woman in the back. She blew up in a cloud of blood and bone and flesh that filled the entire hallway for a second, blinding everyone. Harry reacted as he had been trained to, dropping to the ground and rolling away from his position, so he wasn’t cursed while blinded. A quick Scouring Charm cleaned his face and a Shield Charm followed.

By that time the hallway had cleared, but the group - everyone had spread out as well, as they had been drilled - was covered in blood and worse, and Reid had fled through the door. Harry charged after him, but the houngan had sealed the door with a wall of bones. It took but a second to dispel that, but it meant Reid had gained enough time to conjure animals and obstacles to cover his retreat - and gain more distance. He was already too far away to hit him with a curse. Maybe if Harry used his broom...

Shots rang out behind Harry. He glanced over his shoulder while dispelling another wall of bones - a moving one - and saw Ron was on the ground, firing an assault rifle, with Hermione about to join him.

“Clear a line of fire for us,” she yelled.

Harry dropped the idea of flying after him. He and the others did what they could, but he already knew it wouldn’t be enough. Reid was protected by a shield, and too close to the wardline. Harry was still dispelling a charging skeleton when the houngan passed through the wards and vanished.

*****​

 

Chapter 54: Expediency

‘As already explained, the main goals of the ICW’s inspection were to discover just how powerful Britain was without Dumbledore and how much of a factor the British muggleborns would play in national and international politics. Both questions were answered by the events which occurred during and following the Houngan Ritual Crisis, although one can state with certainty that the manner in which those answers were given was not what any member of the delegation had intended. Not at all.’
- Excerpt from ‘The Second Blood War’ by Hyacinth Selwyn

*****​

Hogwarts, March 20th, 1997

“Reducto!”

Another skeleton exploded into bone fragments. Harry Potter turned and looked for another target, but there weren’t any left. He saw Ron vanish what looked like the front half of a stone leopard trying to drag itself towards them with its paws and Sirius had just finished dispelling the last moving bone wall.

“Moody would rip us a new one, if he had seen this,” Harry’s godfather said, looking at the rest of the group gathered at the side entrance and sighing. “We had Reid surrounded and at wand point, and he managed to escape anyway.”

“The woman appearing in our midst was a distraction,” Ron started. “And he had a shield up that blocked our curses, and then…” Harry saw his friend wince when he trailed off. Ron wasn’t the only one. That hadn’t been a Blasting Curse, but something far worse.

“Yes.” Remus gestured at himself and Sirius. “We couldn’t cast at him without hitting her, until he turned her into a cloud of blood and gore.”

“Terrible,” Vivienne said. The Veela was moving her wand over her body, vanishing the blood and other things stuck to her skin and robes.

“It might actually have been a Transfiguration spell,” Hermione said. “An explosion, like from a Blasting Curse, wouldn’t have reduced her whole body like this, not so evenly.” She shook her head. “Though there would have to be a blasting component as well, to spread it out. Unless that’s the result of the effect that rendered the body down to…” she trailed off and closed her eyes for a moment, taking deep breaths. “Sorry.”

Harry saw Ron move towards her to hug her, but he pulled back at the last moment, staring at his blood-covered arms.

“Let’s get cleaned up,” Sirius said. “Before...”

A loud, piercing shriek from inside the castle interrupted him. Harry was through the door in an instant, leading with his wand, Ron hot on his heels. They found Padma Patil and Anthony Goldstein, the Ravenclaw prefects of their year, staring - and in Padma’s case, shrieking - at the remains of the woman Reid had killed.

“Ah…” Harry began, catching their attention, but before he could explain, Anthony started to scream as well and wave his wand around. Harry disarmed them both. “Calm down! No one’s going to hurt you.”

They didn’t seem to listen, though. The others had spread out to cover the hallway.

“Shut up!” Hermione suddenly shouted at the two students. “Or I’ll silence you two myself!”

They shut up, but didn’t look any less scared.

“Ravenclaws,” he heard Ron mutter under his breath in the sudden silence. “No wonder Padma’s not in Gryffindor.”

“Shh!” Sirius said. “Someone’s coming. A group of them.”

Harry stepped behind one of the suits of armour - covered in blood and gore like the whole area - and aimed his wand. Ron followed suit on the other side of the hallway, and Hermione took up a position in the open doorway. Sirius and Remus stepped forward while Vivienne moved the two students - now silenced, Harry noted - around the next corner.

“Harry?”

He knew that voice. Ginny.

“Ginny?” Ron asked. “Blimey, she brought half the house!”

He was correct, Harry noted. Behind Ginny, who was marching towards them, came Neville, Parvati, Lavender and several more Gryffindors. And, he noticed, one lone Ravenclaw. Luna.

“We noticed the fight and came as fast as we...” Ginny trailed off when she caught sight of them and gasped. “What…”

“It’s not our blood,” Ron quickly said.

Judging by the expressions on the students’ faces, that didn’t reassure them. But at least no one screamed. And one or two dozen Cleaning Charms took care of that problem.

It would take a lot more than a few spells to take care of the teachers who had arrived by then, though.

*****​

“I bet McGonagall would be happier if this had been a tasteless prank,” Ron said, looking over his shoulder. “And if she could give Sirius and Remus detention.”

Harry chuckled. The joke wasn’t really funny, but it was better to laugh than to cry.

Hermione shook her head. “I hope they won’t take too long with her. We have bigger problems to deal with than this.”

“Bigger problems than an angry McGonagall?” Ron gasped theatrically.

She rolled her eyes at him. “We had a fight with an ICW delegate. That’s a major diplomatic incident. We need to get the truth out before Reid accuses us of trying to kill him.”

“Well,” Ron said, “we did try to kill him - after he murdered that woman.”

“Tried and failed,” Harry added. That hadn’t been one of their best performances. “We didn’t look too competent there.”

“You ended his spell easily easily enough,” Ron remarked. “That surprised him. And he fled at once.”

“I couldn’t get through his shield, though,” Harry said. “Not with the spell I hit him with.” Anyone would have fled in that situation, he thought. Anyone but Voldemort or Dumbledore.

“There’s nothing we can do about that right now. We need to focus on providing evidence of Reid’s crime to the Ministry,” Hermione insisted. “We need to find out who the woman was, but…”

Ron snapped his fingers. “The map! Ginny would have seen her name on the map, when she noticed the fight. We need her memory for the Pensieve.”

Harry nodded. “Let’s take a detour to the Gryffindor dorms.” And then hurry on to the Headmaster’s - Headmistress’s, he reminded himself - office. They could use the Floo connection there to return to Grimmauld Place. And take a bath. Despite the Cleaning Charms, he needed one to feel clean again.

*****​

London, Ministry of Magic, March 20th, 1997

“Let me see if I have understood you correctly.” Amelia Bones was hoping - really hoping - that she had misheard. “You took the Jamaican ICW delegate to Hogwarts, without informing McGonagall, and then fought him there, causing him to escape and flee?”

Black, sitting in her office and looking as if he didn’t know that he had just caused the biggest crisis with Jamaica since Dumbledore’s visit in the 1950s, shrugged. “He was trying to sacrifice a woman. Stopping him seemed to be the right thing to do.”

Amelia controlled her temper, even though she longed to hex the idiot. “You didn’t stop him, though, did you? The woman died - covering a hallway in Hogwarts with blood and body parts, and traumatising a dozen students, according to McGonagall - and Reid escaped.”

“Well, yes. He used the woman as a shield, first, and then as a weapon.” Black shook his head. “Not our finest hour, I’ll admit that, but at least he couldn’t sacrifice her for whatever he was planning.”

“Ah, yes - the reason you were sneaking into Hogwarts in the first place: Because you were searching for a stolen houngan artifact. Without informing the Ministry!” Amelia glared at him.

Black spread his hands. “He insisted on the utmost secrecy. Spreading their secrets to the Ministry wouldn’t have gone over well with the houngans.”

“Trying to kill their envoy will not go over well either,” she countered in the coldest voice she could manage.

“That’s why we need to get the truth out first: That Reid was murdering muggles under the cover of a mission for the ICW.” Black showed his teeth and dropped a few pictures on her desk. “We took them from a Pensieve. Evil houngan murdering a poor muggle with dark magic, and this in Hogwarts - that will stop the ICW from complaining too much about this.”

“They would do much more than simply ‘complain’,” Amelia spat out.

“Not now, though. The houngans have few friends in the ICW, and far more enemies. And even some who supported their demands to join the inspection will now feel betrayed.”

“If they believe our claims.”

“They will. Half of them would believe them even if they were not true.” He shrugged, acting unconcerned. “The fruits of a thoroughly tarnished reputation.”

He would know about that, Amelia thought - the Blacks had a somewhat similar reputation in Britain, in certain circles, at least. “Even if the ICW accepts this, the houngans won’t.” They couldn’t admit to their envoy committing such crimes - endangering the Statute of Secrecy by sacrificing muggles, even! - on a mission for the ICW.

Black shrugged again. “I doubt that they’ll start a war over this. Reid escaped, after all.” He cocked his head to the side. “Unless your Aurors managed to capture him?”

Amelia stared at him. “The Jamaican delegation has left their quarters.”

“Lost track of them?”

“It looks like they have already left Britain.” She didn’t snap at him, even though she hated his flippant tone.

“I wouldn’t bet on that,” Black said with a grin, “and anyone who knows me could tell you that I like betting. They really want that missing artifact.”

“They’ll need Reid back in Jamaica to present their own spin on this,” Amelia said.

“Unless he is expendable. Either he gets their artifact back, or he dies - and they’ll blame us for ‘silencing the victim’ or whatever they’ll claim.” Black snorted.

“From what we know, the houngan leaders are not the kind to sacrifice themselves like that - nor the kind to let their peers sacrifice them, either.”

“Of course not. Leaders seldom are.” Black smiled at her, and she ground her teeth at his accusation. “But who says he’d stay dead?”

Amelia felt a cold shiver run down her spine. “Are you serious?” Was Reid able to return from death, as the Dark Lord had been?

“Yes, I am,” Black said. “And serious as well. We have to expect the worst from them.” He leaned back. “Speaking of - you need to check with the muggles when ‘Carrie Brown’ went missing. Reid might have kidnapped and sacrificed as many as a dozen people for his spells. If you find out about the woman he just murdered, and perhaps any others, then we will know just how long the houngans have been active in Britain.”

“How did you know her name?” She narrowed her eyes. Even if they had taken pictures from a Pensieve, how could they have found a muggle that quickly?

“Hogwarts has ways to track visitors, if they are expected.”

So, Draco Malfoy hadn’t been lying when he claimed that the Gryffindors could track the Slytherins. But Dumbledore had lied to her. She waited, but Black didn’t elaborate on just how visitors could be tracked, and she wouldn’t ask only to be refused. Taking a deep breath to control her temper, she said: “Pius will have someone look into that.” She didn’t think that it would amount to much - the other kidnapped muggles were already dead, and their bodies had probably been vanished anyway. “Is there anything else?” She glanced at the clock on her wall; most of the Ministry staff would have left for home long ago. Not even her secretary had still been around when Black had called.

“Yes. You’ll need to increase security at Hogwarts. Reid might try again, as long as he thinks we are hiding the artifact there. Can you handle that, or should I send a few Order members there?”

She wanted to hex the smug smile off his face, but she had no choice other than to accept his offer. She didn’t have to do so gracefully, though. “That is a good idea.” She matched Black’s smile with her own. “I would not want to waste Aurors on guard duty when there are houngans and criminals to hunt. Provided, of course, that your people can manage that much.” Half of the teachers at Hogwarts were part of Dumbledore’s Order anyway, as far as she knew.

Black’s smile slipped for a moment. “Of course they can. Good evening, Amelia.”

“Good evening.”

*****​

London, Ministry of Magic, March 21st, 1997

Sirius Black cocked his head to the side. “Pardon?” Not only had he been called into Amelia’s office right after a bothersome meeting with some of Elphias’s less stalwart friends, but she was accusing him of trying to start a war?

“I said: What do you know about this attack on a houngan in Jamaica?” Amelia was glaring at him, worse than McGonagall had yesterday evening.

“I have no idea what you are talking about,” he answered honestly.

“Jamaica complained to the ICW that one of their leaders was attacked and murdered in his home with muggle explosives. Apparently, the culprit escaped.” She leaned forward and bared her teeth. “What have the Resistance been doing over there?”

Sirius frowned. “They haven’t left Britain.” Hermione hadn’t mentioned anything, and Sirius doubted that she’d attack Jamaica on her own - and if she did, she’d lead the attack herself; she wouldn’t leave that task to others. And Harry and Ron had met most, if not all, of the veteran Resistance members, according to their tales from training.

“Really? Who else would use muggle bombs to attack manors and murder houngans?” Amelia scoffed.

“There are a few muggleborn-led enclaves in America. They never got along with the houngans…” He shrugged. Deflect, without accusing anyone specific. What worked for pranks worked in politics as well, he had found.

“Do you honestly believe that?”

“It’s possible.” He didn’t doubt that the muggleborns in Europe had been following the news of the war, and given the volatile situation on the East Coast of North America, the muggleborns there would likely have done the same. But would they attack Jamaica? That wasn’t likely. No country in the Americas would risk a war with Jamaica without a very good, and usually well-known, reason. But who else would? Would the French go that far to start a war between Britain and Jamaica? “Although this could be a cover-up for an internal dispute, and they are using it to attack us.”

“I don’t believe that.” Amelia’s expression told him that she didn’t believe the Resistance’s innocence either. “I don’t have to tell you that this significantly weakens our position with the ICW.”

“They need to provide proof of such an accusation,” he said. He didn’t have to add that the houngans wouldn’t be able to, not unless they let outsiders into their country. Which wouldn’t happen.

“Britain has enough enemies, or rather, certain factions in Britain do, that the ICW will not easily dismiss this.”

“The houngans have even more enemies; especially in the Americas.” Sirius made a dismissive gesture. He wasn’t as confident as he acted, though - if this wasn’t just a lie to cover up some internal power struggle, then someone was framing the Resistance. “I’ll look into the matter, though.”

“I expect to be informed of anything you find,” Amelia said.

“Of course.” He stood up and nodded at her.

But after the fact, he added to himself. It was always better to ask for forgiveness instead of permission. Pranking had taught him that as well.

*****​

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

“We didn’t send anyone to Jamaica!” Hermione Granger stood in Sirius’s living room, hands on her hips. “In the current situation, with the new recruits to get up to speed, the rally to keep safe, and possible attacks by Death Eaters to guard against, attacking the houngans on their home ground would be foolish.” And she prided herself on not acting like a fool.

Sirius held up his hands. “I didn’t say you did. I’m just relaying what the houngans are claiming - that someone using muggle explosives attacked and killed one of their leaders.”

“Why would they claim that, anyway?” Ron cut in.

“They could be lying about it, to make it appear as if we attacked both Reid and this other houngan,” Sirius said. “But I think someone else did attack them in Jamaica. I doubt they would make up such a story - it makes them appear weak and vulnerable.”

“But…” Hermione trailed off. Who could, who would do such a thing? “Do you think they were American?”

“So far, no one’s claimed responsibility,” Sirius said.

“Why would they?” Ron asked. “That would invite the houngans’ vengeance. Which is now aimed at us.”

“They already hated Britain anyway.” Sirius shrugged. “It could be someone from the Americas, taking revenge for what the houngans did to them in the past while framing us. But there’s another possibility. It could be a Death Eater. We haven’t found Rookwood yet. Or Wormtail - but the traitor is too much of a coward for this.”

Hermione blinked. “Rookwood? Do you think he’d risk attacking houngans?” Would anyone be that bold?

“If he could frame the Resistance for it, yes. That puts more pressure on Britain, and makes any knowledge he acquired from Voldemort more valuable.” Sirius leaned back in his seat and crossed his legs.

“You think he’s trying to make a deal with the Ministry.” Harry shook his head. “They wouldn’t stoop that low.”

“Amelia wouldn’t. But there are a lot of victims of the Withering Curse. Their families expect the Ministry to find a cure,” Sirius said.

“Yes. Dad’s under a lot of pressure, even though the Ministry hasn’t really given him enough help to do anything,” Ron said. “He says it’s a ploy from Bones to make him look bad.”

“He’s right.” Sirius nodded at Ron.

“Even if the Ministry were willing to make a deal with him, would he actually head to Jamaica? That’s far more dangerous than trying to hide in Europe.” Like Pettigrew, Hermione thought, who was probably spending the rest of his life as a rat, if his past actions were any indication.

“He’s desperate,” Sirius replied. “And he’s about the only one among the remaining Death Eaters who has the skill and talent to pull this off. And unlike Wormtail, he probably would rather take such risks than settle for a life as a fugitive.”

Sirius had lived that life for over two years, Hermione reminded herself. And before that, he had spent over ten years in Azkaban. Like Rookwood. The animagus would know what he was talking about. “Did you, ah… talk to him?”

“There wasn’t an opportunity to talk, there,” Sirius said. “Not really. But I heard things.”

His expression made Hermione regret asking. But they needed to know as much as possible to deal with this.

“But traveling to Jamaica, and attacking houngans there… if he has the cure for the Withering Curse, he wouldn’t need to take that many risks. He could simply wait.” Ron voiced some of the same doubts Hermione had.

“If he has the cure,” Sirius said. “I think he would have let the public know, to put pressure on the Ministry, if he actually had a cure.”

“Could he be trying to get the cure in Jamaica?” Hermione bit her lower lip. It was a little far-fetched, but… “Starting a war between Jamaica and Britain wouldn’t do that much. There are no friendly staging areas for the houngans in Europe. And Britain’s not in any shape to launch another invasion.” The past wars had always been attacks by Britain against Jamaica, usually from friendly islands, like the Bermudas.

“It is just a possibility,” Sirius said. “But something we should be looking into.”

“And how would we do that? Ask the houngans to send us their evidence? While we’re hunting Reid?” Harry scoffed.

“If it is Rookwood, then he likely has the skull, and the houngans could find him using their ritual,” Hermione said. “We could tell them, but they’d sacrifice people to find him.” She saw Harry and Ron wince at hearing that.

“They will be sacrificing people anyway, if it comes to a war,” Sirius pointed out. He looked grim, but not quite as appalled as the others. “And it would mean the Resistance would not get the blame any more.”

Hermione wasn’t quite willing to sacrifice - even indirectly - innocents for that. Certainly not when war, and with it their deaths, was not yet certain. She shook her head. “That goes too far. We’re not at war with Jamaica, and might avoid it altogether, and even if Reid hasn’t already left Britain, he won’t manage to enter Hogwarts again, so further sacrifices would be useless. And on the other hand, if we do spread this news, then others could accuse us of working with the houngans.” The Old Families would love that.

“Amelia would do that. She was very angry about us keeping the visit to Hogwarts a secret.” Sirius suddenly chuckled, though without much humour. “The ironic twist to all of this is that unless we catch Reid and interrogate him, we might actually have to go to Jamaica to get the cure.”

“If he’s even still in Britain.” Ron looked grim.

Harry snorted. “Since he escaped so easily from us, he might think he is safe even if we find him.”

Hermione winced. That hadn’t been their finest hour, to say the least. She had spent a lot of time going over all the mistakes they had made. That she had made. She didn’t like to, but the Major had taught her that a good officer needed to be honest in their appraisal of a failed mission in order to learn from their mistakes. Sighing, she said: “We will do better next time. It was a rather unusual situation.”

“We were six versus one, and failed to get him. That’s as bad as it gets,” Harry retorted.

“We made many mistakes, yes,” Hermione admitted, forcing her annoyance down. “We didn’t expect him to do anything like that, not after he provided us with the information about his spell and since we were certain that the skull wasn’t in Hogwarts. We should have had more people there too, ready to stop him.” They had been set up to defend the school, not to prevent him from fleeing.

“We didn’t want to tell too many people about it,” Sirius said. “And with good reason. Dealing with houngans is not a thing done lightly. Or openly.”

Harry snorted. “And yet, now everyone knows we did.”

“Everyone knows that an official ICW delegate tried to sacrifice a woman in Hogwarts, and we stopped him,” Sirius said.

“We didn’t stop him from murdering her.” Harry apparently wasn’t seeing any silver lining. “We weren’t prepared enough.”

“What could we have done?” Ron asked, his tone already indicating that he didn’t think there had been anything they could have done. “When he turned the woman into a cloud of blood and gore, we couldn’t see a thing and had to quickly scatter so he wouldn’t be able to attack us while we were blind. And since he didn’t stay and fight, but ran, he had a head start. Enough to delay us further, so he was out of effective wand range when we got through the door.”

“We could have used our brooms; he wasn’t that far away,” Harry said.

“We could have,” Sirius said. “But that would have put us in range of his spells as well. He probably would have hit one of us before we took him down.”

“Rifles were the safer option,” Ron added. “But his Shield Charm shrugged off our bullets anyway, so ‘snipers’ wouldn’t have done any good.”

“And if we had had snipers ready then we would have needed to use communication mirrors to inform them so they would have known to fire at him once he ran out of the castle,” she pointed out, “since radios don’t work inside Hogwarts.” That would have cost some more time. They wouldn’t have gotten through his shield even with two snipers, or so she thought, unless they had managed to hit him with every shot, and that was unlikely - hitting a running man was not that easy, even for the experienced shooters of the Resistance. Although maybe a machine gun or two would have done the job...

“In other words, our main mistake was trusting a houngan to act like a civilised wizard,” Sirius said. “But if we had treated him like the scum he is, he’d have used that against us.”

“Well, we don’t have to play nice any more,” Ron said. “Next time, we can do better.”

“We can hardly do worse,” Harry said.

“It’s not that bad.” Sirius frowned at Harry. “While we didn’t look our best, I think you surprised and maybe even scared him when you dispelled his transfiguration.”

“I also used my other wand for that, which he saw.” Harry looked down. He was really taking this hard, Hermione thought.

“I doubt he knows what the Elder Wand looks like. At worst, he knows you’re using Dumbledore’s wand.” At least Sirius didn’t sound that concerned. “So, next time we meet him, we’ll deal with him.”

Hermione nodded with the others, but she knew that even if they found Reid, catching him alive would be difficult. And, as she had told Sirius, they couldn’t afford to send anyone to Jamaica, not with all the problems they had to deal with in Britain.

And yet she couldn’t help thinking that sooner or later, they might have to anyway.

*****​

Hogsmeade, March 21st, 1997

Hermione Granger slowly turned around as she studied her surroundings. She was standing in a wide open field, close to Hogsmeade. Good lanes of fire, little cover for attackers, and enough space to put up a hall large enough for the expected crowd. “It’ll do,” she said.

“Are you certain?” Seamus asked. “An open air area would look more impressive to the purebloods. Pictures from inside won’t be enough.”

“It would also be far more vulnerable to someone dropping vials of explosive fluid from a broom,” Justin said, shaking his head.

“Which has happened before,” Hermione added. “And the point of the rally is to reach the muggleborns, to keep them from starting a riot, or worse. We could use transparent walls and roofs with the Unbreakable Charm, but that charm’s not truly unbreakable, and then any attacker could also see exactly where we were inside it.”

“I know, I know.” Seamus sighed, and Hermione knew without having to look that he was rolling his eyes. They had gone over this before.

She refrained from telling him that they were already winning, and didn’t need masses of muggleborns marching through Diagon Alley or Hogsmeade. They just needed to keep a lid on the violence until a few more members of the Wizengamot caved and joined Sirius. “Alright,” she said, “This is a decent place. We can set up here tomorrow, and throw enough wards on the hall so it can withstand an attack long enough to deal with the attackers.”

“And we have good sniping positions in range,” Tania added over the radio. The witch was flying above them, disillusioned.

“We’re also close to Aberforth’s inn.” Justin nodded towards the Hog’s Head Inn. “He’ll provide both another pair of eyes, and a nearby Floo connection.”

“Alright,” Hermione said. “Let’s place a few cameras, and then check another spot or two.” That way, an attacker observing them wouldn’t know where they’d set up and might be spotted if they scouted the field after they left.

*****​

They were studying the second alternate spot, a field too close to the forest, when they heard the explosion. Hermione and the others were on the ground, with their wands out and protected by Shield Charms, before the smoke rose over the roofs of the village.

“Someone blew up a shop in Hogsmeade,” Tania informed them over the radio. “I’m going in.”

“Be careful,” Hermione said, pushing the button of her radio. “Everyone else, move to the edge of the village!”

They made their way over the field, covering each other with their rifles and moving one after the other, until they reached the first houses.

“One house is damaged, forefront caved in, small crater in the street. Looks like a Blasting Curse - or explosives,” Tania said. “The Auror patrol just arrived… there’s a crashed broom nearby. Lots of wounded, too.”

Hermione stood up behind the low wall she had been using as cover. “Seamus, take to the roofs! Justin, with me!” She started to walk towards the still rising smoke. “Which building was hit?” She asked over the radio.

“Looks like… ‘Flint’s Fine Finery’,” Hermione heard Tania report.

A pureblood tailor? She clenched her teeth. If this had been an attack by muggleborns… “We really need to get Nott as soon as possible,” she muttered under her breath as she spotted the first Auror trying to hold back villagers from rushing to the burning house.

The villagers fell back as soon as they spotted the Resistance, Hermione noted - many of them glaring at them, or disappearing into their houses. It wasn’t that much of a surprise - Hogsmeade, as the only pure wizarding settlement in Britain, was an almost entirely pureblood village. And one which had been attacked by muggleborns during the war.

She ignored their reaction, as she ignored the Aurors’ half-hearted attempt to stop her, and pushed through to the downed broom rider, Justin following in her wake. “What happened?” she asked as soon as she was close to the Aurors there.

They stiffened, and looked around.

“The rest of us are securing the village,” Hermione said. Just in case they wanted to start trouble.

“Someone blew up the tailor’s,” the Aurors’ apparent leader, a wizard barely older than Hermione, said. “A witness saw the broom fall from the sky right after the explosion.”

The wizard on the ground was unconscious, and wearing singed robes. He could have been simply flying above the house just as the explosion happened, of course. But Hermione doubted that.

One of the Aurors treating the man’s wounds pulled something out of the man’s pockets and Hermione gasped - it was several sticks of dynamite bundled together.

Muggle explosives. Just what she had feared.

*****​

London, Diagon Alley, March 21st, 1997

“... the DMLE has declined to comment, citing an ongoing investigation.”

Someone had actually done it, Bess Cox thought after hearing the report on the wireless in Freddie’s Fish’n’Chips. They had blown up Flint’s shop in Hogsmeade. The report hadn’t named any dead, but if the shop was destroyed, then odds were that the bigot had been killed. Someone had completed the mission that had cost Felix, Ricky and Mark their lives.

She clenched her teeth as memories of that night filled her mind. The flight at night, carrying the bombs, almost getting lost near Hogwarts. Trying to find their targets from the air, among the many roofs. Ricky yelling to just drop the bombs, before the Aurors saw them. Mark going lower, then dropping his. Hearing the screams from below, seeing the spells flashing in the air. Dropping her own fire bombs, seeing Felix crash, the winged monsters suddenly appearing in their midst, slashing at them...

“Hey? Hey? Bess?”

Randall’s voice and his hand on her arm broke the spell. She shuddered and shook her head, closing her eyes and taking deep breaths. She wasn’t in Hogsmeade, wasn’t fleeing for her life, didn’t hear her friends dying...

“Sorry,” she said, “I just remembered…” She trailed off, then glanced at him. He knew what she had done in the war.

Randall looked around and lowered his voice. “Do you want to talk about it?”

She didn’t want to. Not now, not ever. Remembering was already too painful. Ricky had been killed quickly while facing the Veela, but she and Mark had evaded the first attack, only to find themselves caught between the harpies and purebloods on brooms. They had turned to flee, but Mark’s broom had been a Keeper’s model, very agile, but not as fast as her own broom. Not nearly fast enough to escape their pursuers. He had yelled at her to flee, then had veered off, to delay the enemies after them.

Bess shook her head. “No, sorry.”

He didn’t push, simply nodded, took a sip from his beer and waited for her to recover her composure.

After a while, she sighed and pushed the uneaten remains of her dinner away. “I don’t know how to feel about this,” she finally said, nodding towards the wireless.

Randall hesitated a moment, then said: “I think it was a mistake.”

“What? Why?” she blurted out before she could stop herself.

“Bombing a shop in broad daylight?” He shook his head. “Too much collateral damage. Exactly what the Resistance has told people not to do.”

“Granger just wants to suck up to her ‘peers’ in the Wizengamot,” Bess spat out.

“She’s right about the purebloods, though. We need to divide them, so they don’t unite against us. That won’t work if they fear we will go after all of them.”

Bess remembered the sneer on Flint’s face when he had told her friends to get out of his shop. The damn bigot deserved this, and his friends as well.

Randall sighed. “I don’t like them either, but we can’t simply lash out at every pureblood. Let’s stick to the list.” He grinned. “I’ve been looking into the telly troubles, and I’ve found a few addresses to check.”

Bess slowly nodded. She still disagreed about Hogsmeade - her friends’ deaths hadn’t been in vain! - but as long as they were hitting back at the pureblood bigots she’d go along with Randall’s plans.

*****​

London, Ministry of Magic, March 21st, 1997

“What have you found out?” Amelia Bones asked as soon as Pius entered her office. She expected results - they had captured the suspect alive, and could use Veritaserum, after all.

Pius nodded. “Oliver Nye. Pureblood,” he added.

“With muggle explosives?” She frowned. “Was he trying to frame the Resistance?”

“That’s our best guess. He was under the Imperius, and has been obliviated. He remembers being given the explosives a month ago, with the instructions on how and where to use them. He can’t remember who gave them to him, though.” Pius looked apologetic, even though such precautions were to be expected. It wasn’t worth trying to reconstruct the memories, hoping that the culprit had been both sloppy with the Obliviation and not otherwise disguised his identity. The Unspeakables with experience in such difficult magic had more important tasks to perform. Pius went on: “He received the signal to strike yesterday.” Which meant the owl had already left, and couldn’t be traced any more. “International owl post, according to the memories we gathered.”

That didn’t mean that much - France was just a short trip away, after all. But the planning in advance… Amelia frowned. “He wasn’t a Ministry employee, or the Imperius would have been broken when he passed through the Thief’s Downfall.”

“He worked at a shop in Diagon Alley,” Pius confirmed. “And he had been ordered to avoid the Ministry.” He paused for a moment, looking grim. “I doubt that Nye was the only one. His orders included blowing himself up after the attack. It was pure luck that he misjudged the force of the explosion and was blown off his broom before he could obey that order.”

Amelia muttered a curse.

“It looks like whoever set this up wanted to frame the Resistance,” Pius went on.

“They would have picked a muggleborn for that,” Amelia said. Could this be a convoluted attempt by the Resistance to frame purebloods?

“They might not have had the time or opportunity to find a muggleborn. But Nye was known to be rather… critical of muggleborns.”

“He was a bigot, you mean.” Not a Death Eater, though - or Pius would have told her.

“Yes.”

“Our culprit set this up a month ago. They didn’t pick a muggleborn, even though they were no longer hiding back then.” Amelia shook her head. Either they had not wanted to kill a muggleborn, which would point towards the Resistance, or, as Pius had said, they hadn’t had the time or opportunity to find a muggleborn victim. International owl post. Either a foreigner, or someone who had fled Britain. “If we knew whether the explosive used was the same as was used in Jamaica…”

Pius actually snorted. He knew as well as she did that the houngans would rather fight a war than let anyone investigate on their island. “You think that the culprit set up these attacks, then left for Jamaica?” He sounded doubtful.

She raised her shoulders slightly, not quite a shrug. “It’s a possibility.” Her gut told her that she was right, but that was not proof. “Inform Black and Granger of this.”

Pius’s eyebrows rose slightly before he nodded, and she wondered if she might have actually surprised him. Given the current troubles, they needed all the help they could get to keep the peace. Even the help of mass murderers and their friends.

“Is there any news about the search for Reid? The other two delegates have been making repeated inquiries about the incident.”

He shook his head. She frowned at him, even though she hadn’t expected anything else. At least the delegates couldn’t exploit this debacle too much, not unless they wanted to appear far too sympathetic to a houngan caught in the act of sacrificing people.

It was a small consolation, but Amelia was grateful for anything that didn’t make Britain’s situation even worse than it already was.

*****​

London, Diagon Alley, March 21st, 1997

“Stop staring out the front, Ronniekins! We’re supposed to not know what’s coming.”

Ron Weasley turned away from the entrance of the twins’ rebuilt shop and rolled his eyes at George. “We’re also supposed to act natural - and it is natural to be worried about a possible attack, seeing as this shop was at the heart of Voldemort’s final battle, and we’re about the most famous blood traitor family in Britain. And do I have to remind you that there are at least two groups out there that have attacked muggleborns?” Nott was the less dangerous one, in his opinion, compared to the group who had tried to frame the Resistance.

George shrugged. “I trust our wards.”

“I don’t,” Ron spat out. “They used muggle explosives, remember? That means they could duplicate them until they have enough to blow up all of Diagon Alley!”

“No, they couldn’t!” George was grinning. “We’re too close to muggle London. An explosion of that size would endanger the Statute of Secrecy, and the Obliviators’ Seers would foresee it. Dad told us that.”

Ron scoffed. “That only works if there’s no possible muggle-worthy excuse. And muggle London has a number of bombs buried in the ground.” Hermione had told him that.

“Are they crazy? Why would they do that?” George was frowning at him. “You’re taking the mickey!”

“I’m not!” Ron protested. “They had a war a while ago, and so many bombs were dropped on London, a great number of them didn’t explode and were buried. Some of them still explode from time to time - that’s what the muggles think happened to Shacklebolt and his team.” Which only proved that even Death Eaters knew about it.

“Bloody hell!” George was shaking his head as if he had trouble believing it.

“Not so confident any more?” Ron asked, smirking slightly.

His brother glared at him. “Just keep an eye out. I’ll think of some counters to that.”

“Good luck,” Ron said, turning his attention back to the Alley. It was almost time anyway.

A few minutes later, right on time, the street in front of the new Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes blew up, throwing up cobblestones and dirt in a big cloud of dust. Ron unshrank his new broom and cast a Human-presence-revealing Charm, followed by a Disillusionment Charm while rushing to the top floor, where he jumped out of the window.

He fell a story before he caught himself, and then he shot up towards the marker his spell showed him. Below him, another explosion shook the street. As planned.

He drew his wand and urged his broom on. “Finite!” A robed figure on a broom became visible - the attacker. The figure waved their wand, and a green spell shot towards him. Ron rolled to the side, letting the spell shoot past, and gave chase. A few tight turns later, he had the fleeing figure lined up and cast himself. His spell shattered their shield, and their hood was torn away, revealing their face when they suddenly veered off sharply.

“Nott!” Ron spat, then sent a Reductor Curse at the fleeing attacker, followed by a Bludgeoning Curse.

His target apparated away, though, before the spells hit, and Ron forced himself to curse - and not sigh with relief.

If he had actually hit Tonks...

*****​

Worcestershire, Nott Manor, March 21st, 1997

Ron Weasley appeared inside the ‘listening post’, as the twin’s hidden camp had been dubbed by the Resistance, a few minutes after his ‘fight’. Hermione and the rest of the experienced Resistance members were already present, and he went to hug her.

“Oh, how romantic!”

He released the witch and turned to glare at Tonks, who no longer looked like Nott. The metamorphmagus was faking a swoon. “I should have hit you with a spell or two,” he grumbled.

“You were cutting it a bit close, weren’t you?” She was grinning widely. “You sold the chase, though.”

Ron shrugged. That had been more stressful than he had expected, but it had all gone down as planned.

Fred snorted. “Our products work perfectly fine. We tested them often enough.”

“Your first version tore off more than my hood,” Tonks said with a frown.

Ron’s brother shrugged. “That’s what tests are for.”

Hermione cleared her throat. “Everyone, get ready! We strike in one minute!” She looked at Justin, who was monitoring the wireless ears they had placed inside the manor.

“No change there - he hasn’t heard about the attack yet,” the former Hufflepuff said.

Hermione nodded. “Seamus?”

“Bomb’s ready!” Seamus sounded far too eager to handle so many explosives for Ron’s taste - but better the Irish wizard risk his life than Ron himself.

“Alright. Currently, Nott and his aunt and uncle are in the manor, as well as two house-elves. You know the plan.” They did, but Hermione repeated it anyway - not for the first time. “Tania and Seamus are providing air cover - they’ll shoot down anyone trying to flee. Justin will keep monitoring the ears and track Nott if possible.”

Ron doubted that that would work - the ears were sending transcripts, after all, and couldn’t cover the entire manor.

“Sally-Anne will stay with him, and this will double as our first aid station,” Hermione continued. “We’ve already filled up the escape tunnel they prepared, and we’ll cover the entire area with jinxes to keep them from fleeing before the bomb goes off. Ron, Harry, John, Louise and I will enter from the back, Sirius and the rest from the front.”

His brothers had tried to argue about that, but Harry and Ron were the ones who had actually trained with the Resistance, and so were the best choice to work with them closely. Ron still smiled, remembering Fred’s face when he had pulled out his assault rifle and loaded it.

“Alright. Get into position!”

They split up and moved out. Seamus would drop the bomb at the front of the house, so Ron’s group could move closer to the wardline in the back than Sirius’s group. Ron was still rather nervous about the whole thing - he had seen what a tiny bit of explosives did in training, and Seamus was carrying far, far more.

Right after finishing his Anti-Apparition Jinxes, he heard Seamus on the radio. “Dropping in five, four, three, two, one…”

Ron gripped his rifle tightly and pressed himself into the ground, behind a fallen tree trunk at the edge of the forest. A second later, he heard the third explosion that day - and by far the loudest. And most powerful. Dirt and rocks rained down on him, hitting his Shield Charm.

“Wards are down,” Bill reported, “and so is the front wall.” He sounded slightly off - though Ron didn’t know if that was because his brother was using a muggle radio, or because he had been closer to the explosion.

It didn’t matter anyway - his group was already moving, racing towards the back of Nott’s manor. He didn’t bother keeping his rifle pointed, much less aimed at the manor - Seamus and Tania would be covering them from above.

Harry was the first to reach the manor, but Ron was right behind him, and the two crouched down at the porch, wand and rifle aimed at the door there. He couldn’t see anyone through the windows, and his Human-presence-revealing spell showed no marker in range either, so Nott wasn’t yet making a break for it.

Louise pointed her wand at the door, and blew it open with a spell. ‘Standard Hit-Wizard Door Knocker’, she had called it when she had shown them at the camp. It certainly worked well - the entire door was ripped off its hinges.

John jumped to the corner and stuck his rifle inside. “Clear!”

Louise passed him, leading with her wand. Then it was Ron and Harry’s turn. Ron stepped inside, crushing parts of the door under his boots, and let his rifle drop at his side, dangling from its sling, while he covered the room with his wand. Movement to his right drew his attention - a small figure was scrambling out from a passage inside the inner wall. A house-elf! He stunned the creature before it could do more than squeak in fright, then cast a full Body-Bind Curse for good measure.

Hermione and Harry dashed past him, towards the door to the hallway leading to Nott’s living room - or salon, as he called it - with John bringing up the rear. Before they reached the door, though, it exploded towards them, and a swarm of flying, buzzing metal rushed at them. Animated blades, Ron realised, his eyes widening.

As Moody had drilled him and Harry to, he acted out of reflex, meeting the cloud of swirling metal with a stone wall, stopping the blades for a few seconds before they started to cut and smash through it.

Harry started to dispel the things, but that didn’t seem to be working well. “It’s not one spell!” he yelled, “We have to deal with each individual blade!”

Ron cursed under his breath and conjured a thicker wall, to buy them more time, followed by Hermione dropping a stone block on the hemmed-in swarm, crushing a large part of the blades - or at least immobilizing them. A flick of her wand turned it to mud, and another turned it back to stone - with most of the flying metal trapped inside it. Ron and Harry finished the ones which had escaped that fate, but that took some time, and Harry only narrowly evaded being cut up when four of the blades descended on him at once and Ron could only get one of them in time.

“Got one trying to flee with a broom from the upper floor, east side. Wasn’t Nott.” Seamus reported.

“Moving there,” Sirius answered.

“We’ll push on to the salon,” Hermione said into the radio. “But the defences could be tricky. I don’t like the sight of the rug there.”

Ron agreed, and pointed his wand at it. “Incendio!”

The rug caught fire - and started to thrash around in the hallway like a giant snake in its death throes. Ron heard Harry mumble something about a chamber, and winced. Theoretically, they could cast the Flame-Freezing Charm on the fire, but the rug was moving by itself and Ron didn’t think getting too close to it would be smart.

“Let’s go through the wall here!” Louise yelled, “It’ll be faster!” And safer, Ron thought.

Hermione nodded. “Make a hole! I’ll seal up the hallway.”

Another stone wall replaced the door while Louise stepped to the side of the room, twirling her wand. An instant later, a hole two yards across opened in the wall. Harry threw a grenade inside, and Ron pressed himself against the wall just before it went off.

Right afterwards, he rushed through the hole, diving into a forward roll. He spotted a figure stumbling around - a hand before their eyes, and sent a Stunner at it at once. Nott! His spell was stopped by a shield, though. Harry’s Piercing Curse dealt with the shield, but Nott had recovered from the blast and blinding, and his own wand was flashing.

“Avada Kedavra!”

Ron dropped to the floor while the remains of the couch shot up to catch the spell, and the resulting explosion shook the room. He coughed, blinked once, then saw Nott stumbling. Ron’s next Stunner hit, and Nott fell.

“We’ve got Nott. I repeat, we’ve got Nott.” Hermione said into the radio, then turned to John and Louise. “Check him for spells and curses!”

While the two Resistance members waved their wands over Nott’s stunned form, Harry and Ron took cover at the door, securing the entrance. The hallway was still burning fiercely. “Mate, that was a bit much,” Harry said, shaking his head.

“Can’t be too cautious.” Ron sniffed. He privately agreed with Harry, but he wasn’t about to admit that - his idea had closed off the hallway to them as well, holding them up as long or longer than a trap or guard would have managed.

“We’ve got his uncle cornered in the upper bedroom. That makes the runner his aunt,” Ron heard Sirius say over the radio.

“Do you need help?” Harry asked.

“No, no. Deal with Nott, we have this,” Sirius said. “Fred, use one of the special fireworks! Remus, Tonks - cover us! Ready?”

“He forgot to turn the radio off again,” Harry mumbled. Louder, and into the radio, he said: “Sirius! Stop pushing the button!”

A curse and some laughter later, the channel was silent. Just in time.

“He’s safe,” Louise said, straightening up from where she had crouched next to Nott.

“Alright.” Hermione nodded at the former Hit-Witch and John. “Go secure our exit route. We’ll handle him.”

Louise stared at Hermione for a moment, then nodded and the two Resistance members left the room through the hole. Hermione turned to Harry and Ron.

“We talked about it,” Harry said before she could say anything.

“We’re all in this together,” Ron added.

Hermione frowned, then sighed and pulled out a small box. A tap of her wand had it grow to the size of a small chest, and a flick opened the lid, revealing a row of open vials. “Wake him up!”

Ron pointed his wand at Nott. “Rennervate.”

Nott stirred, groaning with his eyes closed first, then they shot open and he gasped. “What…”

Hermione didn’t give him a chance to yell. “Imperio. Stop!”

Nott shut up. Ron felt a shiver run down his spine. Using an Unforgivable… They had planned and discussed it, but to actually see it done… He pressed his lips together. It was the easiest way to handle this. And neither he nor Harry would let Hermione carry that burden and face that risk by herself.

“Give us all your memories about the recent attacks. All of the attacks since the Dark Lord died in Diagon Alley,” Hermione ordered, and slid the chest over to Nott.

While Nott started to pull out silvery strands of memories from his temple and sent them into the vials, Harry stared at their prisoner. “Legilimency would have worked as well.”

“But not as quickly. And this way we can copy them and hand them out.” They had gone over this already.

The three stood there for a few minutes, no one saying anything while Nott filled vial after vial.

Finally, he stopped. Ron saw Hermione take a deep breath, and he glanced at Harry. They had talked about this, privately. His friend nodded.

A moment later, both of them emptied their rifles into Nott.

*****​