Divided and Entwined (Harry Potter AU) (Complete)

Chapter 65: Endgame

It is quite ironic that, upon closer investigation, the battles fought by the Order of the Phoenix and the Muggleborn Resistance disproved the very ideals for which they claimed to be fighting, namely the equality of all witches and wizards. For the most crucial battles were not decided by the masses that formed the rank and file of either organisation, but by the actions of extraordinary individuals. I would even go as far as to postulate that the vast majority of the forces of any of the factions involved in the Second Blood War could have been removed without significantly altering the outcome. Even the Battle of Dry Harbour Mountains does not deviate from this pattern since it too was decided when the houngan leaders met the leaders of the British force.’
- Excerpt from ‘Wizarding Britain in the 20th Century’ by Albert Runcorn

*****​

Dry Harbour Mountains, Jamaica, April 26th, 1997

Ron Weasley spotted two markers floating in the forest before they had cleared half the distance to the treeline, but he still almost climbed over Harry and dashed the last twenty yards when his friend wasn’t quite as quick to enlarge the trench they were moving through. He held back, though - breaking discipline like that got people killed. Your people.

Although he had gone through three magazines already, and was banishing grenades at the enemy lines. Or simply in the enemy’s direction. Ahead of his group, Fleur hadn’t let up. Half the forest seemed to be on fire, and she was still screaming, or rather screeching.

Ron raised a wall when they were close enough as Hermione transfigured the rest of the trench into a ramp, and then they were sprinting the last yards into the forest. A slew of curses reduced the wall to rubble, but they were already inside the trees by then, and a few conjured rocks added cover to the concealment the underbrush granted.

He slung his rifle over his shoulder again - a dense forest was a place for wands, not long guns, and he was far more comfortable with a wand to begin with - and hurried ahead, towards the closer marker. He stumbled over a root when he glanced upwards a bit too long, to check for animals or Inferi, but caught himself and dashed on. Behind him, Harry was moving northwards, to secure their flank, but Hermione was following him.

Ron forced his way through a particularly dense bush that left him with bleeding scratches on his face and throat and finally reached the first marker. It was Bill. On the ground, unmoving, and looking like a corpse. If not for the marker, Ron would have thought him dead. “Merlin’s balls!” He crouched down, flicking his wand over his brother.

He winced when he finished his casting. Bill was in a really bad way. An arm and a leg smashed - the bones shattered to pieces - three ribs broken, one lung pierced… and those were just the results given by the few spells he knew. Bill probably had internal injuries which were even worse. He might be bleeding inside, even if his open wounds had been closed by Fleur. He certainly looked pale enough, under the blood and mud.

Ron dug a Blood-Replenishing Potion out of his enchanted pocket, unstoppered it, and reached out for Bill’s head to pour it down his throat.

“Watch out! He could have spinal injuries!” Hermione exclaimed behind him, and Ron froze for a moment.

Then he shook his head. “Those can be healed. I won’t let him bleed to death! Open your mouth, Bill!” he added, even though his brother couldn’t hear him, then pulled his mouth open and fed him the potion.

“We need to get him back to Sally-Anne and the others!” Hermione whispered, crouching down next to him. “We can’t treat him here.”

Ron nodded. “I can transport him back, if… No.” He whipped his head around to look at Hermione. “Take him back!” When she opened her mouth to contradict him, he shook his head. “Sirius is down. You’re in command. You can’t be on the front lines.”

He could see her clench her teeth, then nod. “Don’t die!” she whispered.

“I won’t,” he whispered back, before leaning over and kissing her briefly.

Then he was up and running towards Harry and Fleur. And hoping he wasn’t too late - or a liar.

*****​

Harry Potter ducked when another curse hit the tree stump he was using as cover and more wooden splinters filled the air behind him - one of them pinging off his shield. He conjured a smoke cloud on his left side, then, when half a dozen curses flew into the cloud, he slid to the right of the stump and rolled over towards a small rock that had been broken off a larger one a minute ago. He rose high enough to cast over the rock and sent a Blasting Curse at the canopy above the enemies’ position. Branches and fragments - most of which he turned into green-coloured water - rained down on the houngans.

One houngan in the middle of the affected area jumped up, screaming about poison, and Harry broke his shield with a Piercing Curse right before Fleur incinerated the man with two fireballs.

But that had cost both of them time and given away their latest positions. Harry barely managed to raise a wall in time to absorb another half a dozen curses before scrambling towards a still-standing tree five yards behind him. The wall exploded before he reached the tree, and his shield shattered when two particularly large fragments hit it.

Harry dropped to the ground, vanishing the earth underneath him, and fell two yards, landing on his stomach - but since the curses passing overhead missed him, he considered himself lucky. A twist of his wand turned the walls of his hole into stairs, a swish broke the enemy’s line of sight with more walls, and he scrambled out of the hole before someone filled it with real poison.

This time the obstacles lasted until he found better cover, and he was finally out of range of their Human-presence-revealing Spells - since his own now only showed Fleur’s marker. Taking a few deep breaths, he numbed his aching side then moved towards the Veela. They had to fall further back, or they’d be outflanked!

The French witch was standing between two tall trees, and launched another volley of fireballs westwards. Harry hoped the enemies there were Inferi, left over from the traps guarding the Library, and not houngans. If they had managed to get around their flank that easily already…

Fleur jumped behind the next tree, closer to Harry. “More enemies west of us!” she yelled at him. “We can take them!”

“We need to fall back!” he retorted.

She shook her head. “Bill needs more time!”

Bill needed his fiancée, Harry thought. But he understood her feelings. And help should be arriving soon - Ron and Hermione wouldn’t let them down. “Alright. But we need to move anyway.”

The enemy’s spells had let up for a few minutes now, but that didn’t mean they were giving up. They were probably circling around them outside the range of their detection spells.

Fleur slid around the tree, a fireball in her hand, but, before she could launch it, the ground beneath her broke open and a claw reached for her leg. The Veela jumped back, but the ground she landed on gave way as well, and she toppled over with a scream.

Harry was tempted to let loose his last Bludger, but… the enemy had been proved to be good at targeting them, and if Fleur was wounded to the bone… he couldn’t risk it. Instead he waved his wand, and vanished as much of the ground between himself and Fleur as he could.

His spell revealed the fallen Veela - and a dozen monsters which must have burrowed through the earth to reach them. As his wand rose to help Fleur, Harry realised the monsters looked like a cross between giant voles and jaguars.

The Veela was in dire straits. She had managed to push off the monster she had landed on, but hadn’t escaped unscathed - the jaguar-sized monster had raked her back, and Fleur was bleeding heavily as she torched it and its closest companion.

Harry blew up two more with a Blasting Curse, before jumping into the hole his spell had left. He had to reach Fleur before she was swarmed by the remaining creatures. One pounced on him, but slid off his recast Shield Charm, and a Piercing Curse to the chest took it out. Another charged at him, but he stopped it with a conjured stone wall, which he blew up right afterwards, the stone shards killing the dazed monster and one more who had come up behind it. That still left half a dozen, and most of them were attacking Fleur.

Harry sent one of those flying with a Banishing Charm, but the others were already too close for him to cast without risking hitting Fleur. He was dashing forward, to get closer, when three of them pounced on her, bringing her down. He saw blood fly, before they and Fleur vanished in a fireball.

Harry cut down the other monsters with a Fire Whip without thinking about it as he raced ahead, then cast Piercing Curses into the smoking carcasses surrounding Fleur, just in case. He knelt down next to her - she was alive, but seriously injured. Not as burned as he had expected - though her clothes had suffered - but the creatures’ claws had gouged deep gashes in her body, and she was bleeding heavily. Probably bleeding out.

He waved his wand frantically as he dug into his pockets for another Blood-Replenishing Potion.

“Episkey! Episkey! Episkey!”

*****​

Ron Weasley broke through the underbrush, jumped over a curved root, and landed in a text-book roll on the ground, coming to a stop behind the broken remains of a tree. A bit further ahead he spotted two markers - floating above a hole in the ground. He thumbed his radio. “Fleur? Fleur?”

No answer. Had she lost her radio, or… There was no time to speculate. He couldn’t see any other markers around, which meant he was relatively safe from enemy spells. He took a deep breath, then sprinted forward. The rifle on his back hit his side as he ran, annoying, if not really painful. A Sticking Charm would stop that, but would mean he couldn’t draw it in a hurry.

A spell grazed his shield and he dropped to the ground, moving some of the earth beneath him into a small wall - which crumpled at once under another spell. A curse - it left sizzling remains. One of them landed on his arm, and started to eat through his sleeve. He banished it with a flick of his wand and deepened the trench, then covered the area in smoke.

It didn’t last - a strong wind blew it away before Ron could start to run towards the next cover. In response, he transfigured the earth on the side nearest the enemies into stone and threw up a few thick walls to break the line of sight before he started to run. He still couldn’t see their markers, so they couldn’t detect his position either.

Behind him a cloud appeared over the trench, quickly descending, and where it touched the ground, the remaining grass wilted. Ron hissed - he was certain he wouldn’t fare much better if that touched him, and he didn’t want to find out if it could go past a shield.

He disillusioned himself, then conjured a few flocks of birds and sent them back as a distraction. He didn’t see whether the wind trap or another cloud got them - he was close to the two markers now and threw himself down into the large hole ahead of him.

He landed on the bloody carcass of some monster - or part of it - and cursed. More such creatures were strewn around the hole, some burning, others ripped apart. But there, under a stone shelter, he could see Harry and Fleur! His friend was whirling around, wand rising, and Ron froze. “It’s me, Harry! Ron!” he shouted as loud as he could, and Harry stopped whatever spell he had been about to cast.

“She’s badly hurt,” he said as Ron closed, “we need to move back - the houngans here are much more dangerous than the ones we fought before.”

Harry didn’t look that well either, Ron thought, but he nodded. They had to fall back before the houngans spotted them, and buried them under their curses. He raised his own wand. “Levitate her, I’ll cover you.”

Harry opened his mouth, probably to argue, but Ron stepped out from the shelter and started to transfigure the earth around them into lions, then disillusioned the pack and sent them against the enemy lines. Keeping an eye out for more enemies, he used his radio to inform Hermione and the others. “Harry is taking Fleur back to the first aid station. I’m covering him. The enemies here are very strong!”

“Watch out for flanking enemies!” Harry yelled. He had already disillusioned himself and Fleur, so Ron could only tell where he was by their floating markers.

“Alright!” he yelled back and sent a few more invisible lions to the west.

He looked back when he climbed out of the hole - which was the size of a large crater, now that he considered it - and saw that his lions hadn’t made it halfway to the enemies’ positions. Nor had their Disillusionment Charms held. Judging by the number of spells cast, there had to be two dozen enemies there, entrenched and ready, blocking off the northeastern route.

They had to find another way out of this trap. And fast.

*****​

Back with Sally-Anne and the others, Hermione Granger listened to Ron’s report on the radio and barely refrained from rushing off to help him and Harry. She couldn’t break ranks like that, though - she was needed here, in command. Not that she was doing that well in that function, either. Five dead, four wounded - and most of it her fault. She should have been prepared for such a trap - more prepared, at least. And she needed to find a way out of their current predicament. To the west lay the library, and its defences. Traps and monsters. They had dealt with a number of each, but there would be more - and they wouldn’t bother the houngans. So trying to head west would be suicide. The escape route she had planned to take, to the northeast, was blocked by powerful enemies, according to Ron’s report over the radio. And the rest of the houngans were pushing up from the south and east.

“How are Sirius and Vivienne?” she asked Sally-Anne.

“Stable, but… they won’t wake up for a while yet,” the witch answered.

Hermione bit her lower lip. Push through as planned, or turn around and charge at the enemies south of them? They seemed to be the weakest, mostly composed of undead and some houngans, held at bay by Seamus, Tania, Emily and Mary-Jane.

She looked east, where Aberforth was still keeping the houngans focused on him with a display of skill and power worthy of his brother. But how long could he hold out by himself?

Noise and movement in the underbrush made her turn around and raise her wand. Justin took a step to the side, behind a tree, setting up a crossfire. Celia was still covering the west. They were expecting Harry, but she couldn’t be certain.

It was Harry, dragging a floating Fleur behind him. Hermione hissed through clenched teeth when she spotted the Veela - Fleur looked like she had been put through a blender, with her robes torn and scorched, and covered with blood.

“I’ve done what I could but…” Harry explained, setting her down. Sally-Anne was already moving, casting, her wand flashing.

“How’s the situation up north?” Hermione asked, trying to sound crisp and calm. Panicking would be fatal.

“Bad,” Harry answered. “The houngans there are experienced, and entrenched. They sent burrowing monsters at us - those ambushed Fleur - and kept their distance.”

Hermione mumbled a curse. If they pushed on… their entire position could easily be overrun. “Can we break through their lines?”

Her friend winced. “They have cleared an area from cover - we’d have to charge their position over open ground.”

Even without the Major’s lesson Hermione would have known what that meant. She didn’t want to reenact the Battle of the Somme. She could call Remus, Tonks and Brown to attack the enemy from the rear, but… they would take too long to get into position.

“I’m almost there!” she heard Ron over the radio. As before, she still aimed her wand at the figure coming through the underbrush - which was now pretty trampled all around - before she recognised him. He looked better than Harry - not quite as beaten up. But if she didn’t find a way out of this trap…

He crouched down next to her and Harry, glancing at Bill before looking at them. “I sent a few distractions at the enemy. I don’t think they’ll be quick to pursue, as entrenched as they are. But they won’t wait forever.”

She knew that there was no time to waste, but they couldn’t rush off blindly. She bit down on her lower lip and took a deep breath. “We need to reverse course and push through the enemy line in the south.”

“It’ll take us longer to push past the wind trap there,” Ron pointed out.

“The enemies there are the weakest. Mostly undead and some apprentices, I think.” They certainly hadn’t used the curses and tactics Ron and Harry had seen. “Aberforth holds our eastern flank, Tania and Seamus cover our rear - they can mine the forest with explosives to hold them back, or at least delay them - and we push through in the front.”

“We?” Harry asked.

“Us three, Celia, Mary-Jane and Emily.”

“And we’ll transport the wounded?” Justin asked, gesturing at Sally-Anne and himself.

“Yes.” Hermione nodded at him. “You can stick all of them and Rookwood on a transfigured palette and levitate that.” It would be difficult, but they had trained for that. Not as much as Hermione had wanted, but… it would have to do.

Justin opened his mouth, probably to argue, but then closed it, nodding. He knew that he couldn’t leave Sally-Anne alone with the wounded, Hermione thought. She glanced at Harry and Ron. Neither looked happy to leave their family under someone else’s protection, but they must know that they had no choice. They were needed in the van, to break through, just as Justin was needed with Sally-Anne - if Hermione fell, he would be able to replace her.

She pushed the button of her radio. “Tania, Seamus - fall back to the aid station, then cover the northeast! We’re breaking through in the south. Mine the forest as you follow us. Aberforth - hold our eastern flank. Mary-Jane and Emily - hold position! We’ll be right there.”

She waited for the others to acknowledge the orders, then nodded at her friends. A moment later, the three of them and Celia were sprinting southwards, passing Tania and Seamus going in the other direction.

A minute later, they spotted two markers - Mary-Jane and Emily. The two witches looked very relieved to see them arrive, and quickly filled them in on the encroaching positions of the enemies.

“Alright. Everyone - we’ll release the last of our Bludgers.” They wouldn’t last that long - the houngans had learned to take them out quickly - but they would at least serve as a distraction. “Celia, Mary-Jane, Emily - you fix them in place. We’ll swing around them from the west, and hit them in the flank.” She looked around. “Everyone got this?”

She saw them nod, the three new recruits not managing to hide their nervousness - or fear. They would do, though, she told herself. She looked at her friends, then keyed her radio.

“We’re attacking now!”

*****​

Harry Potter watched the Bludgers speed towards the enemy line. One Inferi was exposed and hit by the Bludger before they disappeared into the jungle. Shots from the three witches who had released them followed, which should draw more attention from any houngans in the area not dealing with the flying iron balls. He hoped it would be enough of a distraction that he and his friends could cross the area between them and the enemy without getting cursed.

Disillusioned, he slid around the tree he had been using as cover and sprinted along the crater left by Seamus’s latest bomb. Ron and Hermione were hot on his heels. Weaving around broken trees and shattered rocks, they reached the treeline occupied by the zombies, and he saw two markers appear in his line of sight - they were in range of the houngans.

He cast a Blasting Curse at the closest marker and it vanished in a cloud of earth and rocks and didn’t reappear. Ron moved to his right to cover their southern flank and Hermione crouched down behind a tree trunk - transfigured into steel, he noticed - on his other side. “Celia, Mary-Jane and Emily - we’ve reached the enemy lines. Hold your fire and move up!” he heard her order.

The second marker had retreated out of range. That was a good sign - the enemy might be breaking. He couldn’t see any Bludgers, but at least a few should still be around. Time to push on.

He jumped up and rushed towards a tree peppered with splinters. Halfway there, a figure stumbled out from behind the tree - an Inferius missing an arm - no, an arm missing its bones. He blew the monster’s head apart with a Reductor Curse, and it started to collapse in on itself, its bones vanishing. He set it on fire anyway.

“Blimey!” he heard Ron curse nearby, “We better not get cut to the bone ourselves!”

Like in second year, Harry thought, before spotting another undead - this one dragging itself along the ground with its arms, its legs having been turned into flipper-like appendages. He turned the ground beneath it to petrol, then lit it up. When he stepped through the thick smoke rising from the doomed zombie, he held his breath despite his Bubble-Head Charm.

The Bludgers had been working better than he had expected - he saw and dispatched two more crippled Inferi while they pushed eastwards, rolling up the enemy lines.

“Houngans ahead!” he heard Ron yell. A second later, three markers appeared in range and a tree between him and his friend shattered, the splinters bouncing off their Shield Charms. Harry raised a stone wall in front of the enemy, blocking their line of sight while he moved to the left.

Predictably, the wall was blown apart almost instantly, but the resulting dust cloud obscured them from the enemies a bit longer. Long enough for Harry to conjure half a dozen snakes inside the cloud.

Ron had moved further south, and was casting several spells at the houngans - colourful, flashy ones, meant to draw their attention. When they answered with curses of their own, driving Ron into cover, Harry rushed forward at an angle, raising an earth wall to cover himself. Halfway to the enemy position he heard the snakes scream obscenities as they attacked - and he noticed more markers. Half a dozen, in total.

His wall shuddered as spells impacted it, and Harry threw himself behind a new one before it crumbled. He rolled over the muddy ground, transfiguring a tree in the way into a cloud of smoke. A flick of his wand turned it bright green, and a swish blew it towards the houngans. He could see markers - and in some cases houngans in their white clothes - moving back, away from him and the cloud, to the east. They were breaking.

Snarling, he sprinted towards the enemy lines, past dead snakes, and caught a straggler with a Fire Whip. His spell shattered the man’s shield and cut him apart. Ron came up from the south, his Reductor Curse decapitating another houngan who had come out from cover.

One witch broke from cover and ran to the east. Harry sent a curse after her, but missed. Then shots rang out from north, and the witch’s shield flared as the bullets smashed into it. A few steps later, the shield failed and the witch toppled over, struck by more bullets. Hermione appeared behind a tree, waving at Harry before vanishing a large rock and exposing another houngan. The three witches with her killed him with several bursts.

Harry spotted movement to his right - another houngan making a break for it. Ron missed him with a Cutting Curse. Harry’s next Fire Whip - he was starting to really like that spell - didn’t and her head and part of her shoulder flew through the air as the rest of her crumpled.

The remaining houngan rushed southwards. Harry tried to line up a shot, but there were too many trees between him and the fleeing enemy. Mary-Jane and Emily were closer, though, and gave chase. Harry heard them fire, but he saw all three markers still moving through the jungle.

“We’ve taken their position!” Hermione yelled into her radio near him. “Everyone, move south, we’re breaking out! Mary-Jane, Emily - fall back...”

Her words were drowned out by a horrible noise as trees, earth and rocks were thrown into the air, into a hurricane forming above. Like before, when Fleur had been cursed. “Take cover!” he shouted, conjuring a stone shelter around his friends and himself. Soon wood and rock fragments rained down on them, smashing against the stone walls and ceiling protecting the small group.

It didn’t last long, less than a minute, but when Harry rushed out again, he found the area to the south razed, the jungle turned into a broad no-man’s land more fitting the Somme - or the northern area Fleur had almost died in.

“They were waiting for us. Those houngans were just curse-fodder,” Ron muttered.

An amplified voice rang out over the area as the last remnants of the hurricane died down: “You cannot escape! Surrender!”

Harry hissed. He knew that voice. Reid.

*****​

Ron Weasley stared. A whole strip of the jungle had disappeared, turned into a wasteland covered with rocks and broken trees. Mary-Jane and Emily had been in the middle of it, chasing that fleeing houngan, when the area had erupted, but he couldn’t see any trace of them… there! A green speck. He pulled out his Omnioculars and zoomed in. There was a figure, near a rock, dark hair… “I see Mary-Jane!” he yelled, and pointed out her position. He saw one of her arms move slightly. “She’s still alive!”

“We need to get her!” Harry yelled. Ron’s friend was already moving forward when Ron saw a curse hit Mary-Jane. The witch blew up in a cloud of blood and fragments of bone and flesh.

“Reid,” Harry spat, ducking back behind a tree, while Ron swallowed, watching the red cloud cover half of a rock and the earth around it.

“The wounded are on the way to us,” Hermione said near them. “We can’t reverse direction again - we don’t have enough space left to reform our formation. We have to break through here.”

“They’ll already have monsters burrowing towards us,” Harry told her. “We need to block them with steel barriers underground.”

“Do it!” Hermione ordered.

“It’s a killing ground,” Ron said, studying the field and looking for Emily. “We can’t cross that in the face of their curses, not quickly enough to avoid getting hit - or running into traps.”

“We have to,” Hermione replied. “We can’t stay here.”

Seamus’s voice over the radio interrupted them. “I’ve placed a bomb in the path of the enemy, but the radio detonator isn’t working - none of them are!”

Hermione hissed, then spoke into her radio: “They must have placed wards to block electronics as they advance.”

“Shite!” Ron heard Seamus curse, then scoff. “I’ve got an idea about this!”

“What?” Hermione asked after he didn’t go on. “Seamus?”

“Seamus! What are you doing?” Tania yelled over the radio. “Seamus! Come back!”

“He must already be inside the ward,” Hermione said.

Ron turned to look northwards. What was Seamus planning? Ron didn’t know much about explosives, but the Irishman was the closest to an expert the Resistance had. Apart from Hermione.

Before he could ask her, a massive explosion erupted in the north, smoke rising into the hurricane zone, where the winds rapidly dispersed it. It had been bigger than the one which had taken down the houngans’ wards, Ron thought. “Could he have…”

“Tania, can you see Seamus?” Hermione asked in a clipped tone.

“No. He rushed forward, reached the explosives, and a moment later they blew up. No marker.” Tania’s voice seemed to lack any emotion, or so Ron thought. He could hear her machine gun firing over the radio. “They seem to have stopped advancing, but I cannot hold them back by myself.”

“Fall back to us!” Hermione ordered. She turned to Ron again. “That means we can’t banish a bomb at their lines to blow a hole into them.”

“There’s something moving to the west of us!” Celia yelled.

Ron turned around and studied the area through his Omnioculars. There definitely was something moving there. A few Inferi, probably.

“Aberforth has joined us,” Justin announced over the radio. “He’s wounded, but can walk and cast. We’re almost at your position.”

That meant that the eastern side was collapsing as well, Ron knew. He hissed through his clenched teeth.

“There can’t be that many houngans left,” he heard Hermione say. “This island only has two and a half million inhabitants. The British Isles have almost sixty-two million. The magical populations should be proportional, even accounting for the houngans’ past kidnappings and the losses Britain suffered in two wars. They have always depended on zombies and voodoo curses to hold their own against their enemies.”

“But it looks like all of the houngans are here,” Harry replied. “At least the ones who can fight.”

“It’s their most sacred place.” Hermione nodded. “But they’ll have spent most of their forces. And they have to hold a long line. We can break through here. We have to.”

“We’ll take casualties charging over that open, broken terrain,” Ron said. “And we can’t use Fiendfyre on their position - it’d burn down the whole jungle.” Including them. And bombs would be useless as well. But, he added silently to himself, if he was the last one standing, and about to die, he’d leave it as a parting gift for the damned houngans.

Ron heard Hermione call Remus and Tonks and tell them to get ready to attack the houngans in the rear - they could apparate to the location where Brown had done the ritual; the houngans were north of it.

“Brooms.”

He turned to Harry. “What?”

“Brooms.” Harry repeated and looked at him. “We have two Firebolts. Best broom on the market. We’ve flown in a storm before.”

Ron hissed. That had been a Quidditch match to remember, and the storm hadn’t been as powerful as the one waiting above their heads. But… it was possible. They just had to stay roughly on course, and a Firebolt might be powerful enough to push against the wind trap. Might be. He nodded.

“Can you do this?” Hermione was staring at them, biting her lower lip. Behind her, Ron could see Justin moving through the underbrush. They were running out of time.

“Yes.” Harry sounded certain.

Ron met her eyes and nodded. “Yes.” They had to. He stepped up to her and kissed her, tasting blood - she had bitten her lips bloody.

He hoped it wasn’t an omen.

*****​

Behind a conjured barrier of steel and stone, Harry Potter pulled out his Firebolt and mounted it then took a deep breath. He glanced at Ron and Hermione. The two were still kissing and he fought the urge to tell them to hurry. This might very well be the last kiss they shared… he shook his head. He would make certain it wouldn’t be. He looked out, over the broken terrain separating the houngan line from their position. Rocks and tree stumps formed obstacles, some high enough to reach the wind trap above them, faintly visible by the dust and ashes blowing around. They couldn’t hug the ground, he knew. The slightest mistake would see them smashed to the ground, beaten against the rocks and wooden shards jutting from the soil.

No, they had to brave the hurricane, trusting their brooms to carry them through. Harry knew they could do it - the Firebolts were the best brooms on the market, miles beyond any competition. They could fly against a storm - but could he and Ron keep them on course, and compensate for the changing forces of the wind trap?

They’d find out in a moment. Ron stepped back from Hermione and Harry found himself in a tight hug. “Don’t die,” she whispered into his ear before releasing him.

Ron had already mounted his own broom and disillusioned himself. “Ready.”

Harry nodded and cast a Disillusionment Charm and Sticking Charm himself. “Let’s go.”

They shot up over the barrier, straight into the wind trap waiting above. As soon as they reached it, his Firebolt slowed down so much that, for a moment, Harry felt as if he had flown into a wall. The wind tore at him, and if not for his Shield and Sticking Charms, would have torn him off the broom. He gritted his teeth and started to force the shaft down a little, towards the enemy line. He started to move forward - but also lost altitude at the same time.

Pulling up again, he stalled a few times, and almost ended up smashed to the ground when the wind shifted right when he overcompensated. But he managed to recover and pull up in time. And he started to get the measure of the wind - there was a certain rhythm to its attacks. He bared his teeth in a feral grin. He could do this!

He glanced around, spotting his friend’s marker some yards away, but also still in the air. They could do it. Pushing the tip of his broom’s shaft down a little, he started to accelerate towards the houngans’ position, weaving and bobbing above the broken terrain, sometimes being thrown around like a leaf. It would make hitting him with a curse more difficult, he thought with sudden humour.

Then he entered in range of his Human-presence-revealing spell, and half a dozen markers appeared behind the enemy’s walls. A target-rich environment, indeed.

*****​

Hermione Granger held her breath as she watched her boyfriend and her best friend fly into the hurricane above them. If this didn’t work… she gasped when one of the markers dived down, and only sighed in relief when both markers started to stabilise - as much as one could call their chaotic course stable - and make their way towards the enemy.

She healed her bloody lips almost absentmindedly with a flick of her wand and turned around. Justin and the rest of their force had arrived. Aberforth looked like he had been mangled by one of Hagrid’s more interesting animals, but the old wizard was grinning. “The eastern flank should be secure for a little longer - I’ve left a few surprises for the houngans.”

She was relieved to hear that - they needed to hold together for a little while longer, so they could break out of this trap. “Good. Keep an eye on our flanks and rear, Aberforth! Tania, help him!”

The witch nodded with a grim expression. She didn’t look as if she expected to survive, Hermione thought.

“Sally-Anne, keep watch over the wounded and the prisoner. Move up as soon as we have secured the enemy’s position!” She turned around and looked southwards. Harry and Ron were almost there. She saw curses fly towards them, and forced herself not to gasp. She had to present a confident, unflappable facade for the rest of their group. “Everyone else, get ready - we’ll attack in a moment.”

She could have done without Justin’s mumbled “half a league, half a league, half a league onward” quote, but this wasn’t the time to rebuke him. Not when it was just her, him and Celia who’d lead the ground attack. And, despite the myth, the Charge of the Light Brigade had cost the British brigade fewer soldiers than were lost to sickness during the campaign.

She keyed her radio when she saw Harry and Ron’s markers reach the enemy lines. “Remus, Tonks - attack now!”

Then she vanished part of the barrier in front of her and started to run towards the enemy.

*****​

Ron Weasley saw three curses pass underneath him as he closed in on the enemy position. Apparently, the houngans assumed that Harry and he were flying far closer to the ground - quite understandably, of course; who would have expected them to be so mad as to brave the storm? Well, anyone who knew what crazy things they had gotten up to as kids at Hogwarts.

Harry was ahead as usual - he was the better flyer - but Ron wasn’t too far behind his friend. He looked at the markers from his Human-presence-revealing Spell. Half a dozen were hiding behind what looked like massive walls. The blighters had learned their lessons, he thought as he forced his Firebolt a bit further up, gritting his teeth at the effort it took to keep the broom somewhat on course in the face of the storm tearing at him.

He saw Harry’s marker crest the wall and dip down, straight at the closest enemy, and followed suit. Harry wasn’t landing though - he didn’t even slow down, but seemed to fly straight into the enemy. A moment later, Ron saw a figure appear, sliding down the wall they had been thrown into. He finally dropped below the wind trap’s area of effect himself and cancelled both the Sticking Charm holding him fast to his broom’s shaft and the Disillusionment Charm - he didn’t want to risk friendly fire; especially not from Harry.

Harry had already done the same, and before Ron managed to store his broom, his friend had rushed ahead to a gap in the wall. There was a houngan behind that, and Ron saw a curse miss Harry as he reached the gap. A flick of his wand, and an explosion shook the wall, bits of earth and rocks thrown through the gap, hitting Harry’s shield. The marker vanished a moment later.

“One down!” Harry yelled.

Ron looked around. “I spotted five more...” Movement on his other side drew his attention - no marker; Inferi or monster, then. He swung his wand around in time to catch the charging skeleton with a Reductor Curse that left it in twitching pieces on the ground. More of the ugly monsters appeared behind it though. “Reid,” he muttered, remembering the houngan’s flight from Hogwarts as he cast a Blasting Curse that destroyed two of them and scattered the rest. He was tempted to bury them under conjured stone, but they’d dig themselves out, so he dispatched them with a volley of Reductor Curses as he fell back to Harry. “I’ve spotted five of them,” he repeated. He tried to use his radio, but as expected it wasn’t working here.

“Three of them are coming at us in front!” Harry yelled. “And more appear behind them!”

Ron swore and raised a wall to cover their rear before moving to Harry’s left side. The houngans had divided the area with several walls, and the ground in front of him was littered with the remains of more skeletons, which had dug themselves out of where they had been buried. A killing ground. They had to clear it before the rest of their force arrived. “Let’s remove some of the walls!” he said. He pointed his wand at the base of the wall in front - the one behind which the houngan markers were advancing towards them - and vanished the earth there. Unfortunately, the houngans had anchored the walls far deeper than he had thought - the thing didn’t topple. It didn’t even shake.

This would be an even closer affair, as the Major would have called it, than Ron had expected. But he had a few tricks left, too. He transfigured the ground in front of the gaps in the walls to petrol, and when the hulking figures of Inferi arrived, he set the ground afire. The monsters kept advancing despite burning, but Harry cut half of them apart with his Fire Whip Spell, and Ron vanished enough earth to trap the other half in a pit.

But the undead had kept them busy long enough for the houngans to clear the gaps, and Ron had to drop to the ground when the first volley of curses flew at him through the smoke from all the burning corpses and petrol. He rolled to the side and returned fire with a Blasting Curse, but none of the markers winked out - not even the one suddenly flying a yard to the side.

A near-miss showered him with dirt - and parts of burning Inferi - and he hastily conjured some cover for himself and changed position. At this range, it didn’t help much - he was certain they had their own markers floating above him - but even tagged, a moving target was harder to hit. A wave of acid - or poison - splashed against his shield, and he rolled even further to the side, further away from Harry. They were boxing him in, herding him into a corner, he realised - he had a wall at his back, and on his left side.

Clenching his teeth, he swung his wand and cast an Earth Wave. The ground rippled in front of him, then rose six foot and rushed towards the two houngans firing curses at him. He hadn’t aimed it well, and his spellwork hadn’t been as precise as he would have liked, but he still clipped one of the enemies - their marker suddenly dropped six feet - and the other fled behind the next wall.

He saw an explosion to the south of them. Remus and Tonks he thought - but that meant, he realised, that there were even more of the buggers that he had thought, if they were fighting Remus and closing in on Harry and him at the same time.

Before he could move skeletal hands shot out of the ground, grasping for him. They slid over his shield, but that wouldn’t last too long. He had to move! He jumped up, transfiguring some of the ground into stone and trapping a few limbs, then rushed back towards Harry. Before he had taken more than a few steps though, the ground gave way under him, and he found himself in a pit filled with skeletons; far too close to use any Blasting Curse on them.

He swept his wand around, casting a Fire Whip Spell. It wasn’t his favourite spell, nor was he particularly skilled with it, but he managed to cut down half of them before he lost control of it and the whip fizzled out. And that bought him enough time to conjure a pillar of stone right under his own feet and propel himself out of the pit.

He had barely cleared the edge of the pit, though, when his shield shattered and he was flung backwards, sliding over the ground. The other houngan had moved out of cover! Ron had managed to keep his wand and was whirling around when his leg was hit with a curse and he screamed in pain.

Panting, he flailed around. Another curse missed him by a hair’s width, and the pain grew even worse as he rolled behind a mound of earth. Screaming again, he pushed his hand into his enchanted pocket and pulled out the self-shaving flying razor Dumbledore had left him, flinging it at the enemy’s marker.

He saw several spells miss the small, harmless thing as it flew towards the enemy, and used the time to numb his leg until the pain was bearable. Merlin’s balls, the curse had not just ripped off his trousers’ leg, but his skin as well!

Snarling, he rolled out of cover, his wand aimed at the enemy. Two Blasting Curses later, the enemy marker winked out and he saw the broken body of a witch in blood-soaked white linen appear. He tried to stand up, but even numbed, his leg would not cooperate.

And he could see more markers floating above the walls. Approaching.

*****​

Hermione Granger hated not knowing what was happening to Harry and Ron, even though she had expected to lose radio contact to them. And her group was not even halfway to the enemy lines themselves - it took more time to navigate the broken terrain than she had expected.

“Watch out for burrowing enemies!” she called out to Justin and Celia. She didn’t know how fast the houngans could move their creatures, but the closer they were to the enemy lines, the greater the danger of attacks from underground.

The area really looked somewhat like the fields of the Somme in some of the movies she had watched in Britain. Just without many craters. Uprooted trees lay next to displaced rocks and even boulders. She was moving around a particularly large tree stump when Celia called out: “Oh my god! It’s Emily! Emily!”

Hermione looked back and saw the other witch sprinting towards the east. She sighed - the other witch was breaking formation and had apparently forgotten their objective, even though it was a natural reaction to seeing a friend’s body.

“She’s alive!”

Hermione’s first impulse was to signal Sally-Anne and tell Celia to press on. But the Major had told her repeatedly never to give an order that she knew wouldn’t be obeyed. So she moved towards Celia as well, with Justin covering their flank. Emily was unconscious, and looked more dead than alive - Hermione could see a branch stuck in the witch’s abdomen, blood soaking her uniform at several other spots as well, and at least one leg and one arm were broken - but she was breathing. Celia was casting spells on her already, though Hermione couldn’t tell if they were helping much.

“We’ve arrived, and we’re fighting houngans!” Remus sounded over the radio. At least that was going according to plan.

She keyed her radio. “We found Emily. She’s alive. Sally-Anne, proceed to our position.” She released the button of her radio and turned to Justin. “We need to sink steel walls into the ground, to defend against burrowing creatures as we wait.”

They had managed to place two walls, forming a corner, when one of them shook from an impact - below the ground. The creatures had arrived. At least there were no houngans in range. But would the creatures burrow deeper, or up? They couldn’t risk them coming up below Celia and Emily. She swished her wand and turned the ground to steel, then stepped to the western edge of the wall.

Nothing was appearing on that side of the wall. “Enemies below!” she signalled the rest of the force. “Careful when crossing the no man’s land.”

“They’re underneath us!” Celia ylled. “I can hear them scratching at the ground, and bumping against it!”

Hermione increased the transfigured area. Depending on their orders, the creatures might continue northwards… or follow them south. That would endanger Sally-Anne and the others. But they couldn’t dig them out, not before Emily was safe.

Finally, she saw Sally-Anne approach. She regretted her annoyed thought at once - the witch was levitating the wounded and Rookwood, and making good time given that handicap. But they were exposed here, with an unknown number of monsters underneath them, trying to break to the surface to attack them, and they had to move to support Harry and Ron!

And yet she couldn’t leave Emily here. Or Sally-Anne. The latter rushed towards Emily and Celia and shooed the other witch away before casting spells of her own. “She’s… oh god, that’s bad!”

“How long until you can move her?” Hermione asked, forcing herself to sound cool and collected, no matter how she wanted to press on and leave this area.

“A few minutes at least… that branch needs to come out before we can move her, and once it’s out I need to stop the bleeding.” Sally-Anne wasn’t looking up from Emily’s stomach, probing the skin around the wood lodged in there.

“They’re breaking through!” Justin yelled.

Hermione whipped around. Monsters with large claws - like oversized moles - were breaking through the earth behind them. For a moment, she froze. Then she drew her rifle and started firing. They had no shields, so bullets would work best.

*****​

Harry Potter cursed his own stupidity. He had allowed himself to be cut off from Ron by some conjured barriers when the houngans had charged them, and now he was facing two of their enemies, with no support of his own. And he had no radio either.

Though he had the Elder Wand, he thought to himself as he blocked another curse with a quickly conjured slab of stone. It vanished in an explosion, and the splinters harmlessly bounced off his Shield Charm. Another wall rose behind him as he moved - they were trying to hem him in - and the attacker took cover behind a stone and earth wall. They were too wide to blow through, Harry had found, but he had other options.

He flicked a Fire Whip to his left, driving the other houngan into cover as well, and conjured several large rocks. A flick of his wand sent them upwards, angled so they’d crest the wall - and the wind trap triggered straight away, sending them down at the hiding houngan.

The rocks wouldn’t kill them, but they didn’t need to. Harry was already moving when they hit. A swish covered the ground in a fine sheen of mud, and he slid around the corner without losing speed. The houngan there was too slow to react to that and their curse went wide. Harry’s volley of Piercing Curses didn’t, and he saw a tall man appear, still clutching at the hole in his chest as he toppled over.

The other houngan screamed at the sight, and Harry had to block two curses with another slab of stone. His enemy was exposed though, and had no cover nearby. They tried to duplicated Harry’s trick, but he wasn’t aiming at them - he was aiming at the wall behind them. His Blasting Curses might not be able to break the wall, but they could break enough of it to shower the houngan with deadly stone shards. Their shield collapsed after the third volley, and the fourth ripped them to shreds.

A few skeletons appeared, but Harry’s Fire Whip cut them down before they could even get close. He was getting really good at that spell, he noticed. Far better than in training - but then, he always performed best under pressure.

He looked around. There was one marker floating where Ron had been. Either his friend had taken both of the houngans there down, or… he saw one more marker south of him, but he had to check on Ron. He turned around, trying to find a way back, when wall next to him suddenly toppled over.

Harry’s shield saved him, giving him enough time to jump back before he was crushed. The shield shattered though. He conjured an earth wall reflexively, then had to duck when it blew up right away, clumps of dirt pelting him. If that had been a stone wall…

Concealed - or so he hoped - by the dust cloud, he dropped to the ground and recast his Shield Charm. More curses flew past him, and the ground where they hit was covered with sizzling liquid. Acid.

One of the curses hit him, and covered his shield with acid. He rolled over the ground, wiping it clear - and avoided another curse, a Blasting Curse this time. Before he could retaliate, two more spells flew at him and once again only a hastily conjured earthen barrier saved him.

Whoever he was fighting was good. Probably Reid, he thought as he conjured a thick cloud of smoke, obscuring him from view - but also his enemy. But he vaguely knew where the houngan was, and conjured a few snakes nearby.

His smoke cover was literally blown away a second later, and Harry caught a glimpse of a houngan in white robes before walls appeared between them, followed by a dozen Skeletons and Bone Walls advancing towards him. It had to be Reid.

He blew the skeletons and Bone Walls apart with a volley of Reductor Curses while the marker floating above his opponent moved eastward. A gap suddenly opened in the wall his enemy was hiding behind and more curses flew at him. The spells went wide, but the gap closed before Harry could answer with a curse or two of his own. He would have to be on his guard and wait for the next gap to appear - but he was also certain that more monsters were burrowing towards him right then. He couldn’t stay either, then. That left only two options - retreat, or…

Harry rushed towards the enemy’s position, his wand weaving a pattern in front of him as he raised the earth to form a ramp for him. He reached the top and was already casting again as he threw himself over the wall, triggering the wind trap. Even as the wind roared and smashed him down, his Fire Whip lashed out. He saw Reid’s eyes widen in surprise an instant before his spell slashed through the houngan’s shield and body, splitting him diagonally from shoulder to hip. A moment later, Harry slammed into the ground hard enough to shatter his shield, and he felt his arm break.

******​

Ron Weasley had seen the markers wink out - Harry’s work, he thought. But more were coming. He had to help his friend. Even with his leg useless. He pulled out his Firebolt. He might not be able to walk, but he could fly.

Panting and with his leg numbed, it took him two tries to straddle the broom. Then he stuck himself to it once more - if he fell off, he wouldn’t get up again. “I’m wounded, but I can still move,” he said, pushing the button of his radio. It still wasn’t working. He tried a Repair Charm, just in case, but that didn’t help either. No matter - they were going to get out of this cursed trap. He just had to get to Harry now.

Ron considered flying over the walls, but quickly dropped the notion - he was in no shape to manage that again. Instead he guided his broom around the walls, trying to ignore the pain from where the shaft pressed against his skinned leg.

The houngans had created a veritable maze of walls, he found - riddled with skeletons and other monsters, though they were too slow to catch him even though he was hugging the ground on his broom. He blew a few of them apart, but focused on getting to Harry. Just a few more corners… There!

Harry was standing there, holding his shoulder, but had his wand aimed at him. And there was Reid on the ground, cut in two. “How are you?” Ron asked.

“Fine.” Harry answered. “You?”

“Fine.”

His friend snorted, then turned to the south. “I’ve heard a few more explosions. They weren’t coming closer - looks like Remus and Tonks are stalled.”

Ron bared his teeth.

“Let’s go give them a hand, then!”

*****​

The battle was over. Hermione Granger was exhausted, most of her friends were hurt, and they had lost too many people, but they had made it - they had broken through the houngans’ lines. They could escape now. And they could use their radios again.

“Justin, Sally-Anne - portkey out with the wounded and the prisoner!” she said.

Justin looked at Ron and Harry, then at her.

“The unconscious ones,” she clarified - she knew her friends wouldn’t leave until the last of their force were safe, even though they were hurt. Gravely hurt, in Ron’s case - his entire leg had been skinned! She couldn’t imagine how much that had to hurt.

Justin wasn’t about to argue either, and touched Sally-Anne and the unconscious wounded with a piece of string. A second later, all of them vanished.

She turned around and glared at Harry and Ron. They acted as if they didn’t notice. Neither did Remus, even though he had been cursed too. Idiots.

She bit her lower lip. Where were Tania and Aberforth? If they waited too long, the houngans might catch up, and trap them again. They had killed all the houngans here, but there were more to the north and east.

There! She saw Tania and Aberforth stagger around the remains of a conjured wall. They looked even more battered, especially Aberforth, but they were alive and - unlike others - able to walk.

“Come on!” she yelled, pulling out her own Portkey. “Gather round!”

A minute later they were safe.

*****​

 

Chapter 66: Transitions

‘At first sight the casualties of the British expedition to Jamaica in April 1997 would seem to indicate a catastrophe: Of the twenty-three witches and wizards who took part in the mission, seven were killed and seven more were hurt seriously enough to require extended care by Healers. Almost everyone else was hurt as well, if not to a degree that the healer of the force, Sally-Anne Perkins, couldn’t deal with. This view, however, would be doing the operation an injustice . Those twenty-three witches and wizards had faced not just the last Death Eater, Augustus Rookwood, one of the most dangerous dark wizards of the time, but also the most powerful houngans of Jamaica - an island feared by its neighbours. Outnumbered and surrounded, they managed not only to escape, but also crippled the houngan forces in the process - a feat that removed all doubt that even without Albus Dumbledore, Wizarding Britain was still one of the most powerful nations of the Magical World. That, of the seven dead, all but one were inexperienced members of the Muggleborn Resistance further demonstrates this - none of the most prominent veterans of the Second Blood War were lost on this raid. And this distribution of fatalities was something that the remaining opponents of Sirius Black’s coalition tried to use against him and Hermione Granger during the run-up to the 1997 election that marked the end of the Second Blood War.’
- Excerpt from ‘The Second Blood War’ by Hyacinth Selwyn

*****​

North of Jamaica, April 27th, 1997

Sitting on a folded seat in the cargo plane, Hermione Granger wanted, more than anything, to close her eyes and sleep. But she couldn’t. She was in charge, and an officer couldn’t rest until everyone under their command was taken care of.

And there were a lot of people in need of care. Sirius, Vivienne, Fleur, Bill and Emily were still unconscious, strapped to cots in the middle of the fuselage. They hadn’t been struck by dark curses, but their wounds were so severe that Sally-Anne hadn’t been able to do too much beyond stabilising them and treating the worst of the wounds. Remus might lose his arm - though no one knew what curse had struck it, so a Healer at St Mungo’s might know a counter-curse. And Ron… she glanced at her boyfriend, sitting next to her, his leg wrapped in so much gauze, it looked like a cast. They had to be able to regrow the skin on his leg at St Mungo’s! If not… she could think of a few ways to avoid amputation, but none of them would be easy or too comfortable. And they’d take some time to implement.

Celia and Tania weren’t hurt, not physically, at least. But Celia was a textbook case for battle fatigue, as the Major would call it. The brutal battle with so many of her friends dying had been too much for her. She and Emily were the only two of the new recruits who had survived this battle - Hermione shouldn’t have taken them with her to Jamaica. They hadn’t been ready. Not for such a battle. But who else could they have taken?

And Tania… Hermione couldn’t remember her saying a single word since reporting Seamus’s death. She’d have to deal with her, and soon. But not now.

At least Harry and Tonks were finally resting, instead of uselessly fretting over Sirius and Remus.

Sally-Anne was moving from Sirius to Vivienne, waving her wand in the by now very familiar pattern of a diagnosis spell. The witch had been up for close to twenty-four hours now, and Hermione feared she’d collapse any moment. “Get some rest, Sally-Anne,” she said.

“I can’t. If their condition worsens…” Hermione’s friend shook her head. “I’m the only one who can treat them.”

Brown had offered his help, but had been politely rebuffed. No one wanted the Unspeakable to cast unknown spells on them. Especially not when anything could be blamed on a houngan’s curse. Brown must have realised that as well, since he had spent the flight so far apart from the rest of the force, with Aberforth keeping an eye on him.

“Their condition hasn’t worsened in hours,” she retorted. She glanced at Justin, who should be backing her up, but her second in command had fallen asleep about an hour, no, two hours, ago.

“That could change any moment. We can’t be certain, not with all those curses flying around, and the poison they used.” Sally-Anne shook her head.

“You need rest, Sally-Anne,” Hermione insisted.

“So do you.”

“I’ll rest after you.” As a good officer should.

“And if you fall asleep? Who’ll stand watch over the wounded?” Sally-Anne put her hands on her hips, but Hermione could see that she was swaying on her feet.

She pulled out a vial. “I won’t fall asleep.” It would keep her going for a few more hours.

“Even with that, you won’t be much use either,” Sally-Anne retorted. “I’ll wake up Justin instead.”

Hermione decided to chalk that up as a win, and leaned and against Ron to rest her eyes.

She didn’t wake up until they landed in the Bahamas.

*****​

Atlantic Ocean, April 27th, 1997

Inside the chartered plane, Harry Potter leaned back in his seat and tried to sleep. Most of the others on board were asleep already. Or still, in the case of those wounded who hadn’t woken up since Jamaica. Like Sirius.

He clenched his teeth. He should be happy - they had accomplished what they wanted. They had captured Rookwood and secured the skull. Reid had been brought to justice, too. And they had taught the houngans a lesson. But so many of their own were dead or seriously hurt. And Harry himself was barely scratched - his broken shoulder had been easily mended by Sally-Anne, without even needing to use Skele-Gro. At least Sirius and the others hadn’t been wounded by a dark curse. Unlike Remus. Harry had tried to dispel the curse on his arm, but it hadn’t helped. Not even using the Elder Wand.

His wand. He pulled it out - Brown was sitting at the very back, out of sight, under the eyes of Aberforth - and rolled it between his fingers. He wasn’t certain if it was only his imagination, but the wand felt alive in his hands. Content, even. It hadn’t felt like that before, not even after the Battle of Diagon Alley.

He remembered what Ollivander had told him: ‘The wand chooses the wizard.’ That implied that a wand was more than a simple tool, that it had a sort of will, at least. And this was the Elder Wand. A legendary wand, one of the three Deathly Hallows, passing from one owner to the next in ‘a history drenched in blood’, as one tale about the Hallows called it.

On the other hand, reading too much into Ollivander’s words was foolish. Dumbledore certainly hadn’t mentioned anything like this, or he would have warned Harry about it. But Harry was certain that the wand made casting curses very easy - almost too easy. How had Dumbledore handled this temptation?, he wondered.

Sighing, he slid the wand back into his enchanted pocket and pulled out his old wand. Not that wielding the brother wand to Voldemort’s made him feel much better, despite the phoenix feather forming its core.

He snorted. It would be both foolish and cowardly to avoid taking responsibility for his actions by blaming them on a wand. He had chosen to fight. He had chosen to kill. And he would do it again, in a heartbeat, if he needed to protect his friends and family.

Holstering his wand, he looked forward, where the wounded had been put up on conjured beds - the air crew had had to be confunded to accept that without questioning it. His gaze slid past Sirius and Vivienne, past Bill and Fleur, until he reached Emily.

The witch had been badly hurt in the battle, but she would recover, according to Sally-Anne. Harry had been relieved to hear that. But that was all. He didn’t feel particularly anxious about Emily’s wounds. He hadn’t felt any urge to be near her, to watch over her, to be there when she woke up.

He really didn’t love her, he realised. And he didn’t feel any disappointment about that, either. He shook his head, then closed his eyes and leaned back. Maybe now he’d manage to sleep for a few hours.

*****​

Ron Weasley woke up with a start from another nightmare composed of bleeding trees, roaring hurricanes and undead houngans killing his family and friends. He forced himself to calm down, taking deep breaths. The battle was over. They had won. His family were safe. Hurt, but safe. Then he felt guilty for his relief. Many had died, but he hadn’t known them that well. Not even Seamus - either the war had changed the bloke a lot more than it had changed Hermione, or he and Ron hadn’t been that close despite spending five years in the same dorm.

Next to him, he felt Hermione, who was leaning against him, his arm caught in hers, stirring in her sleep, and he quieted down even more. He didn’t want to wake up his girlfriend - she needed the rest. She had run herself ragged trying to handle everything, from taking care of the wounded to organising the planes and dealing with the muggles. And, of course, she had managed. She always did, even if it almost killed her. Like in their third year.

Her hair tickled his cheek, and, once again, he missed her thick mane. He sighed and shifted his weight a little, then winced when his hurt leg flared up in pain. He should numb it, or take another Pain-Relief Potion - the effects of the latter were starting to fade. But either would require him to move Hermione so he could free his wand arm from her grip and reach his holster or enchanted pocket. And that would wake her up.

So he closed his eyes and bore the pain. It wasn’t that bad, actually. Not yet, at least. He’d had worse after the Battle of Diagon Alley, in the muggle hospital. And he might have worse again, he added silently, if his wound was the result of a dark curse and no one at St Mungo’s knew the counter-curse. Aberforth hadn’t recognised the curse, and Harry hadn’t been able to do much about it either. Hermione had mentioned more muggle procedures, something about transplanting skin… he shuddered. They wouldn’t do it with magic, but with knives! At least his dad would be intrigued, and if it meant he could keep his leg, Ron wouldn’t complain. Much.

But he wouldn’t be sad if he didn’t see any battle again for the next few decades. That had been a horrible battle. And to think that at the end, he had been saved by another item Dumbledore had left to him… he fought not to chuckle. In hindsight, anything could have served as a distraction. A flock of birds, another Bludger- if he had had one left - or even a banished rock…

But then, the houngan would have been expecting those things. A flying razor, though… He chuckled. Harry had been gifted the Elder Wand, Hermione books, but the items left to him had been surprisingly useful so far. Or not so surprisingly, given who had left them to him. He would have to consider how to use the remaining ones.

He was likely to have a lot of free time, too, while he healed up, he thought with a glance at his bandaged leg.

*****​

Hogwarts, April 28th, 1997

When Sirius Black woke up, the first thing he noticed was the familiar smell of the infirmary at Hogwarts. He was in a bed, his robes folded on a chair next to him. And his...

“Accio wand!” His wand flew towards him and he caught it easily. That calmed him down a little. He seemed to be safely back in Britain, and not dying in some jungle - or, worse, in the hands of the houngans.

But why had they brought him to Hogwarts, and not St Mungo’s? And, more importantly, where were the others? Harry, Vivienne, Remus, Nymphadora? A quick glance showed him that the beds next to him were occupied as well. He could spot Vivienne even though he only saw the back of her head - he’d recognise her hair colour anywhere. And… that was Fleur, over there, next to Bill Weasley. And one of the muggleborn witches he didn’t know well.

“Finally awake, Mister Black?” Pomfrey had arrived in the doorway. She sounded and looked as annoyed at him as she had been during his school years - the Hogwarts matron took a dim view of perfectly Gryffindor behaviour, in his opinion, at least.

He didn’t quip back, but simply nodded instead. “Yes. How long was I asleep?” Asleep. That sounded better than ‘unconscious’. Or ‘half-dead’.

“I would need to know when you were hurt to answer that. But, according to my information, you were unconscious for close to two days. Despite having received magical healing on two separate occasions.”

“You fixed me, though.”

“I did.” Her lips formed such a thin line that he almost couldn’t tell where her mouth was. Oh, yes, the matron was not amused, he thought.

But he wasn’t a student any more. “Thank you.” He turned his head towards the others in the room. “How are they doing?”

“They’re sleeping, but their wounds have been taken care of.”

He smiled, relieved to hear that, even though he had known that they wouldn’t be at Hogwarts if they couldn’t be treated here. “And the others?”

“You will have to ask your friends about them.” Her face seemed to lose any expression and she turned away.

That wasn’t a good sign. He flicked his wand and summoned his communication mirror. He had to know what had happened to everyone else.

“Harry? Harry?”

The time until the mirror lit up and he saw his godson’s face couldn’t have been longer than half a minute, but it felt like an eternity to him.

*****​

“So, Moony is in St Mungo’s?” Sirius Black asked while looking Harry over.

“Yes. Ron too.” Harry nodded, shifting a little on the chair next to Sirius’s bed, before glancing at the other three who hadn’t woken up yet. “We brought everyone who Sally-Anne said didn’t need to be treated at St Mungo’s to Hogwarts.”

Sirius snorted. “Hiding how badly we were hurt in the battle?”

“Yes.”

“Good. If the houngans think they didn’t manage to do us much harm they won’t start a war.” And would be more likely to give in during negotiations.

Harry sighed. “We lost too many though. Seamus, Eric, Mary-Jane, Anna, Gary, Sinclair and Timothy.”

Sirius remembered Seamus. A bloodthirsty lad, according to Hermione. The rest of the dead he had trouble matching faces to their names. He didn’t say that, of course, but nodded as solemnly as he could while trying not to show his relief that no one he really cared for had been killed. Although…

“What did the Healers say about Remus?”

Harry sighed again. “Not much. They’re looking for a counter-curse in their records. The last war with Jamaica was a long time ago, and so the counter-curses to their curses have not been needed for decades.”

That didn’t sound too promising to Sirius, but there was still hope his best friend wouldn’t lose his arm. A three-legged werewolf would look odd. “And Ron?”

“His leg was skinned by a curse. It wasn’t the standard Flaying Curse, or so they say, but the treatment is working, if not as quickly as expected. Hermione mentioned some muggle method, but we’re trying spells first.”

Sirius shuddered. Muggle methods… they cut you up to heal you! That was just sick! He took a deep breath. “Enough of others. How are you doing?”

“I’m…” Harry trailed off and cleared his throat, then sighed. “So many were hurt, and I’m fine.”

Sirius winced. Survivor’s guilt. “I can hex you, if that makes you feel better.”

“What?” His godson was staring at him.

“See how stupid that sounds? Your friends wouldn’t want you to be hurt, just as you didn’t want them to get hurt.”

Harry scowled at him. “It’s not that simple.”

“Of course it isn’t. But beating yourself up over it won’t help either. We’ll get better.” He gestured at himself, then at the others in the room. “I’d already be up and running if Pomfrey had not threatened me with dire curses if I moved without her permission.”

Harry chuckled. “Ah, yes.”

The two of them reminisced about their various encounters with the matron for a while, until Vivienne started to stir.

Sirius was out of his bed and at her side in a moment, Pomfrey’s threats be damned. The first thing she would see would be his smiling, relieved face.

*****​

London, East End, April 29th, 1997

“‘One more such victory and we’re undone’,” Hermione Granger quoted Pyrrhus under her breath as she finished her breakfast in the Resistance’s headquarters. Fairfax Corbyn hadn’t touched his food the whole time she had been there, and she doubted that he had taken a sip from his tea either. Pam Roberts looked like she hadn’t slept for even an hour, and many of the rest of the new recruits hadn’t shown up for breakfast at all.

“They’ll be alright. Just give them time.”

She turned her head and glanced at John, who had taken a seat to her left. “Really?” Celia, who had been the only one of the new recruits to return unscathed, had held it together better than the other recruits when Hermione had told them about the Battle of Dry Harbour Mountains.

“They’re shocked, but that will pass. Most of them haven’t known the others that long, and the way everyone is celebrating the mission as a huge victory will make them see things in another light soon enough.”

“It was a huge victory,” Hermione said. “But it came at a huge cost.”

“That’s a good thing for them to realise. It might make them a bit less eager to start a new war.” John shrugged. “Some of them complained about being left behind. That was before you returned, of course.”

“Ah.” They should have known better, Hermione thought - the Resistance had lost half their original members in the battles against Voldemort, after all. But then again, none of the muggleborns had seemed to take the houngans as seriously as the purebloods did. Including herself, she admitted guiltily. Even after the incident at Hogwarts. “If all goes well we won’t be fighting such a battle again in the near future,” she said.

“Yes.” John didn’t say it, but his expression told Hermione that he wasn’t as optimistic.

Neither was she, if she was honest. She sighed. “I’ll be out for the day.” She nodded at the stack of letters on the table. “Visiting next of kin.”

John winced.

“I led them, it’s my responsibility,” Hermione said. She had been their officer. After getting them killed, the least she could do was inform their families in person.

*****​

London, Ministry of Magic, April 29th, 1997

“Good morning, Amelia!”

“Good morning, Sirius.” Amelia Bones didn’t quite glare in response to Black’s cheery greeting, but she came close. The man acted as if he was just visiting for a chat, and not to discuss the country’s diplomatic situation!

She pressed her lips together when Black sat down in his usual seat, without waiting for an invitation, and crossed his legs. As if it already was his office.

“Good to be back,” he said, grinning. “Travelling abroad was tiresome.”

“Tiresome? Half a dozen were killed and the rest of your group wounded.”

He raised an eyebrow at that. “Ah? Your spy’s been busy.”

She scoffed. “You blundered into a trap and almost lost your entire force.” If that was an example of how he would lead Britain...

“‘Almost’ but not quite.” He wasn’t grinning any more, just baring his teeth. “We caught Rookwood and we taught the houngans that even without Dumbledore, they can’t afford to mess with Britain. In addition to that, we recovered the skull Voldemort stole from them. As far as the casualties are concerned...” He shrugged. “They volunteered. Everyone knew that the mission was dangerous.”

Amelia knew that. If Black, Potter and Granger had been among those killed… well, they weren’t, and so such thoughts were just idle speculation. “A mission you undertook without my knowledge.”

“We couldn’t risk a traitor revealing our plans to the enemy.” Black was smiling thinly.

Amelia clenched her teeth. Was he accusing her or simply talking about the Ministry as a whole? She hadn’t exactly hidden Rookwood’s offer. “Both diplomatic and military actions fall within the purview of the Ministry.”

He snorted. “And the Ministry answers to the Minister, who serves at the pleasure of the Wizengamot.”

Which Black controlled. “Are you planning to replace me, then?”

“Eventually.”

He was baring his teeth again. Enjoying the power he had over her. She resisted the urge to draw her wand and hex him. “Pius is more patient than I thought.” With these ‘general elections’ looming, she would have expected her nominal subordinate to push to become Minister sooner rather than later.

“If you wish to step down no one will stop you. But you won’t, will you?”

She didn’t have to answer that. She wouldn’t shirk her duty. He and his friends would have to force her out of office.

Black chuckled at her expression. “You’re a bloody stubborn witch, but you’re predictable. And you won’t bend to anyone. Other than the Wizengamot, of course.”

Amelia just stared at him, not dignifying that with a response.

He sighed. “Well, what’s the status of Rookwood?”

She didn’t blink at the rapid change of subject, but took a moment to answer. “He’s proving to be quite resistant to interrogation.”

“To Veritaserum?”

“He claims that he would die should that be used on him. The Department of Mysteries admitted that it was possible.”

“So the Unspeakables have taken precautions against such methods.” Black shook his head. “Quite convenient, isn’t it? And yet Rookwood managed to betray them.”

Amelia had her own doubts about the Unspeakables’ claims, but, ultimately, it didn’t matter much. “We have enough proof to try and sentence him without his own testimony.”

“An outcome the Unspeakables certainly would prefer.” He shrugged again. “At least he’ll get a trial.”

She ignored that remark. She hadn’t been in charge when Black had been thrown into Azkaban without a trial.

“What’s the latest from the ICW?” Black leaned forward.

“Jamaica has submitted a protest against ‘Britain’s unprovoked act of naked aggression’ to them,” Amelia answered. “It isn’t expected to go anywhere though.” Fawley had been gloating about the goodwill Black’s stunt had generated for Britain among most of Jamaica’s neighbours. “They also demanded that everyone who took part in this ‘atrocity’ was handed over to them.”

Black chuckled. “Empty words. By my count, we killed half their leaders and more of their rank and file. They can’t afford a war.”

As much as she would have liked to deliver Black and Granger to the houngans, she hoped he was correct. “They’re sending an envoy to Britain.”

“Good.” He grinned. “I’m looking forward to discussing matters with them. You’ll be present as well, of course. Wouldn’t want to encroach upon matters which fall within the purview of the Minister.”

Amelia clenched her teeth and nodded. If only Black had been killed, or at least cursed, in Jamaica.

*****​

London, St Mungo’s, April 30th, 1997

Ron Weasley had his wand pointed at the door as soon as he heard the knock. “Yes?”

“It’s me.”

He knew that voice by heart, and with a flick of his wand, opened the door, revealing Hermione standing there. She was wearing casual clothes. Muggle ones, not robes.

“Hey.” Her greeting sounded far too shy for her in his opinion. Almost timid. The same went for her smile.

“Hi.” He took care not to frown. She looked as if she had bad news to tell him. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” She walked over to his bed and bent down to hug him.

He used the opportunity to wrap his arms around her and pull her down to sit next to him, ignoring her surprised protest. On the side of his good leg, of course. His other leg was held aloft by a spell, still covered in bandages. It was getting better though - the skin was growing back, inch by inch, and the Healers had managed to make the process almost painless too. He hadn’t had any feeling in it for days, but that was a small price to pay to be free of pain. “So… what’s bothering you?” he asked. “Trouble with the Ministry?” He didn’t trust Bones.

“No.” She shook her head with a slight pout after abandoning her efforts to extract herself from his arms. “It’s just… So many died or were wounded…”

He caught her glancing at his leg and shook his head, frowning. “It’s not your fault.”

“I was in command.” She narrowed her eyes in that familiar way he knew meant she was digging her heels in.

“And you did your best.” He squeezed her lightly.

“It wasn’t good enough.”

“The hell it wasn’t! We made it out of that trap, and we did what we went for.” When she whipped her head around to stare at him, startled by his outburst, he didn’t flinch.

She shook her head. “I made too many mistakes. I should have expected a trap. I should have been prepared.”

“You can’t be prepared for everything. Sometimes there is no good solution, just the least bad.” Moody had been quite clear about that.

“That’s no consolation for the dead, or their next of kin.”

Of course it wasn’t. “Nothing is.” He blinked. “Did you meet them? The next of kin, I mean.”

“Yes.”

He hissed through his clenched teeth. That explained her state. Instead of saying anything else, he just held her close.

*****​

London, Diagon Alley, May 1st, 1997

“Hello! Might you be interested in the upcoming election? I’m a member of the Muggleborn Popular Party.”

Bess Cox was certain that she hadn’t ever smiled as long and as hard as she had this afternoon. But, she thought to herself, as the muggleborn wizard she had approached shook his head and turned away, it hadn’t helped much. Apparently, there wasn’t as much interest in their party as Randall and she had imagined when they had founded it. Or, as Randall had put it: they had to work harder on the ‘Popular’ part.

Much harder, she thought while she walked back to the stand Randall had conjured next to Winston’s. “The population seems to be lacking any interest in politics,” she said, sitting down next to him and dropping the stack of leaflets on the small table.

“They are still focused on the events in Jamaica,” her friend answered.

Bess scoffed, but didn’t otherwise comment. She was glad that the Resistance had captured Rookwood, and that they had found a lead on a cure for the Withering Curse, but the close cooperation with the purebloods, and with the Ministry…

“Smile! There’s a couple headed towards us,” Randall whispered, poking her side under the table.

Bess started smiling before she spotted the two Randall had indicated. They seemed to be be about her age. Both muggleborn, she guessed - their muggle clothes fit and were not out of date. “Hello!” she said, beaming at them. “Are you interested in politics?” She gestured at the leaflets on the table. “We’re members of the Muggleborn Popular Party.” The only members so far, but she didn’t have to mention that.

The two picked up a leaflet and read it. Randall waited a few seconds, then said: “We want to offer an alternative to the Resistance. They have done a lot for us, fought and won the war, but that doesn’t mean that they know what’s best for Britain in peace.”

Bess noticed that both tensed up when the Resistance were mentioned, and wondered silently if the two had had trouble with them. Maybe they were purebloods who knew how to act like muggleborns. Agents, maybe…

“They’re very violent,” the woman said. “We could have talked to the houngans, sorted this out. Rookwood was attacking them. Instead the Resistance attacked them.”

“A friend of ours died in that battle. Mary-Jane,” the man added. “If the Resistance hadn’t invaded Jamaica she’d still be alive.”

A friend of theirs had fought the houngans? And had been killed? Bess had heard there’d been casualties, but not any details. “I’ve lost friends in the war too,” she told them.

“And now they are talking anyway - the houngans are sending an envoy to Britain, to meet with the Ministry,” the witch continued. “Should have done that from the start.”

“I only know what was written in the Prophet about the battle in Jamaica,” Randall said, “but we certainly shouldn’t resort to violence too quickly.”

Bess almost frowned at that. There was a place and time for violence, for fighting back. But the elections weren’t it. “I don’t like that the Resistance is working so closely with the same Ministry that did their best to oppress us not even a year ago.”

Randall took over. “The Resistance and Black’s Order of the Phoenix are closely tied together. Too closely. That’s why we want to present an alternative for muggleborns. Choices and options are good.”

The couple nodded. “Yes,” the witch said, “We can’t let one group - especially not a group of soldiers - determine our future. Ah! I’m Liz, and he’s Marc, by the way.”

“I’m Bess.” Until the rumours that there was an amnesty being prepared for people like her were confirmed, Bess wasn’t giving out her full name.

“I’m Randall.”

Liz and Marc hadn’t put the leaflet back, Bess noted. And they didn’t look like they were about to leave either. Maybe the Muggleborn Popular Party might double their membership today.

*****​

Hogwarts, May 3rd, 1997

Once again, Harry Potter felt more than a bit odd as he returned to Hogwarts. A week ago, he had been battling houngans in the jungles of Jamaica, fighting for his life in a maze of traps and ambushes. And now he was supposed to care about Defence lessons?

But he didn’t have any excuse not to return to school. He could travel to London for the Wizengamot sessions easily enough, and, unlike Ron, who was still in St Mungo’s, his wounds had been easily healed. Well, it wasn’t as if he loathed going to school. It just felt weird, after everything he had gone through.

He shook his head and approached the gargoyle guarding the entrance to the Headmaster’s - Headmistress’ now - office.

“Transylvanian Tackle.”

As Harry climbed the moving stairs, he wondered if picking themed passwords was a requirement or simply a tradition at Hogwarts. Hermione would probably know, he thought.

“Please come in, Mister Potter.” McGonagall sounded as crisp as he remembered from his earlier years. Though not quite as annoyed as she had usually sounded when talking to him in her office.

“Good afternoon, Headmistress.” He sat down on one of the chairs in front of her desk. The office hadn’t changed much compared to his last visit.

“Good afternoon. It’s been a while since you’ve graced the halls of Hogwarts.” She wasn’t smiling, but she didn’t look that annoyed either - certainly less than after some of his past adventures.

He made a point of shrugging as casually as he could manage. “Matters of state required me to be elsewhere, ma’am.”

Now she was frowning. “A thoroughly regrettable state of affairs. To think we had to send you off to war, again…” The old witch shook her head. “If Albus was still alive, this wouldn’t have happened.”

“Well, of course.” That was rather obvious, in his opinion, and his tone made clear what he thought of the statement.

She narrowed her eyes, not quite glaring at him. After a moment, she sighed. “Yes, of course.”

Harry slowly nodded. He felt a bit bad for his cheek, but… McGonagall hadn’t been out there fighting Death Eaters, Voldemort and houngans.

The Headmistress went on: “Well, you have missed quite a few lessons, Mister Potter. Although since this is your sixth year, I gather you’re not quite as concerned about how that will affect your grades.”

He grinned at that. As if he cared about his grades after what he had gone through. “No, ma’am. I reckon that I don’t need to worry about how my grades might affect my future career.”

“No, I don’t think so either.” Once again she shook her head. “Although Miss Granger might not agree with such a sentiment.”

He winced at that, then he reconsidered. Hermione had changed too. “Maybe, ma’am. We’re not the students who took our O.W.L.s any more.”

She looked rather sad to hear this. “No, you’re not. I would even say that you and your friends have already started your careers. Orders of Merlin, First Class, members of the Wizengamot, war heroes… not many adult wizards and witches ever come close to your achievements.”

“At least we didn’t receive our awards for something our parents did,” Harry retorted. They had had help, of course. All the other brave Resistance and Order members who had fought as well, many of them dying in the war. But he didn’t feel as if he had done nothing to earn this.

“Indeed. You have earned it, no doubt.” She leaned forward, folding her arms with her elbows propped on her desk. “However, here at Hogwarts, you are still a student. You can’t be seen to flout the rules.”

“We won’t be seen, Headmistress.” He grinned. “Ron and I, I mean.” Her frown deepened, almost turning into a scowl, so he continued in a more serious tone. “But as I said - we’re not the same students who took our O.W.L.s any more, and it would be pointless to pretend otherwise. How many of your other students have fought and killed in a war?”

She didn’t flinch, but her expression grew a little softer, or so he thought. “A bit of normalcy can be very helpful in dealing with such experiences. At least I found that to be true.”

She had probably fought Grindelwald, Harry thought. Or Death Eaters in the First Blood War. But he wasn’t her. “I’ve found that normalcy is overrated, ma’am. My relatives wanted to be normal at any cost. I wanted to be normal, to be ‘just Harry’ as well.” He shook his head. “But I’m not normal. I have never been normal. There was even a prophecy about my birth.”

“Divination is not reliable.”

“It might not be reliable, but Voldemort did want to kill me since I was born. Which led to me becoming the Boy-Who-Lived. I wasn’t a normal student at Hogwarts either, as you know, probably best among the current staff. And now I’m the Vanquisher of Voldemort, according to the Prophet. And many will see me as the next Dumbledore.” That had been one of the goals, after all, of their plan to force the houngans to back down.

“That seems a tad … presumptuous, Mister Potter.”

He shrugged. “I don’t claim to be the next Dumbledore. But I didn’t claim to be the Boy-Who-Lived either; others called me that. And I’m rather certain that I will have to deal with a lot of trouble as a result of my reputation. My friends as well, I think. We certainly have in the past.”

To McGonagall’s credit, she didn’t try to claim that this wouldn’t happen. “If that is the case, then I wonder why you want to return to school at all, Mister Potter. You seem to think that you do not need to, and that you wouldn’t fit in at Hogwarts any more.”

He chuckled. “Well, to be honest, I didn’t plan to return. But Sirius convinced me to. He told me to consider it a vacation. Hanging around with friends, playing Quidditch, relaxing in one of the safest places in Britain…” He smiled. Hogwarts had been the first home he remembered, too. He had never wanted to leave it in order to return to Privet Drive. Something Sirius understood far better than anyone else.

“I do hope that you do not follow all of your godfather’s advice, though.” It was hard to tell if McGonagall was truly concerned, or if - as Sirius claimed - she secretly approved of pranks. “While most of the Slytherin students who fled Hogwarts last year have gone to Durmstrang, a few have returned to Hogwarts. I wouldn’t like to see them scared away. I’ve impressed that on the other students as well.” She didn’t approve, then.

Harry shook his head. “I’m not my father, Headmistress, nor my godfather. Nor is Ron following the twins’ example.” Certainly not now. If there hadn’t been a war, if Malfoy had been a git instead of a murderous Death Eater who had been killed while fighting for Voldemort, then things might have been different.

But there had been a war.

*****​

“What’s going on, Neville?” Harry asked an hour later, gesturing at the noticeable space the rest of their house was giving them in the Gryffindor common room. “I’d have expected them to mob me with requests to tell them all about the battle in Jamaica.” They were Gryffindors, after all.

“Ah, that.” Neville nodded. “Well…”

Harry caught him glancing around as he trailed off, and narrowed his eyes at the other wizard. “What?”

“Well… Ginny told everyone not to annoy you. She reminded them that a lot of people died in that battle.”

“Ah.” Harry rubbed his chin. “That didn’t stop them before.”

Neville coughed. “Well, you’ve defeated the Dark Lord, and you’ve defeated the houngans. People call you ‘Dumbledore’s Heir’. Would you annoy Dumbledore?”

Harry didn’t think Dumbledore could have been annoyed by students. The Headmaster probably would have liked it if the students had dared to ask him questions, even annoying ones. “I see.” It made sense, though he wasn’t certain if he liked it.

“They still would love to hear all about the battle, of course,” Neville said, scowling. “And most of them won’t care that Seamus died in it.”

“Not many of them have fought,” Harry said. “They don’t know how it is.”

“I haven’t fought either,” Neville pointed out, snorting.

“You were almost killed in an ambush,” Harry retorted.

Neville grumbled something in response that Harry didn’t quite catch. He could guess its meaning though.

“You wouldn’t want to have been there, trust me,” he said. “It was a bloody mess, with hordes of undead, and curses, and traps. We were surrounded, we couldn’t apparate, couldn’t even fly away, and people were dropping left and right…” Harry clenched his teeth and drew a hissing breath as he remembered particularly gruesome moments. Shaking his head, he stood up. “I’ll get some air.”

“Sorry.” Neville hunched his shoulders.

“Not your fault.” Harry nodded at him, and left the common room.

Outside the dorm, he found himself at an impasse. He could take his broom and go flying a little, until dinner, but… that also would bring up memories. Especially if the weather was windy. No one would look for him in the library, but that would be hiding. And he wasn’t about to hide from students.

He heard the door behind him open, and he had turned around, his wand in his hand, before he recognised who was stepping out of the dorm. Ginny.

“Hey.” The witch smiled at him, seemingly ignoring the fact that his wand - not the Elder Wand - was not quite pointed at her.

“Hey.” Harry’s response wasn’t the smoothest, or most eloquent. “I heard you told the others not to annoy me,” he added quickly.

She nodded. “I hope I wasn’t presumptuous, but… I spoke with Ron, and he didn’t want to tell us anything either.”

“Yeah.”

“His leg is doing better. He should be back at Hogwarts in one or two weeks,” Ginny went on.

“Good.” He had known that already, but there was no need to mention it.

“So… where are you going?” She cocked her head slightly as she asked, looking at him.

He almost told her to pay more attention to her surroundings. Instead, he shrugged. “I don’t know… maybe the Black Lake.” He almost turned it into a question.
“Luna’s there. She’s feeding the giant squid.”

“Ah.” The image of Luna feeding the giant creature as if it was a duck made him snort.

Ginny frowned. “She’s been doing it for years.”

“I wasn’t making fun of her. Just the image of her at the shore, throwing bits of… what exactly does the squid eat?” He didn’t think Hagrid had ever mentioned that.

“Fish mostly. She enlarges them, or so she told me.” Ginny shrugged.

“Ah.” That made sense. “And where are you going?” Turnabout was fair play.

She hesitated for a moment, then raised her chin slightly. “I was looking for you.” He raised his eyebrows at that. “You looked like you might want to talk. I mean…” She pointed back at the door behind her. “My brothers were there, as well. And both were hurt. I understand that you don’t want to talk about it. But if you wanted...”

She wasn’t making much sense, Harry thought. Unless… He briefly hesitated, then reminded himself that he was a Gryffindor. “Ron told me that you fancy me.”

Ginny reddened as her eyes first widened, then narrowed. “He did, did he?” she all but hissed.

Before the war, Harry would have feared for Ron. But now? Who’d care about a Bat-Bogey Hex, after what they had gone through? He smiled. “Well, is it true?”

“Yes.” She almost glared at him, then pouted. “I wanted to tell you myself. Once you were feeling better.”

“Ah.” Harry nodded. “Well, you just did, kind of.”

She snorted. “I didn’t want to tell you while you were still pining for Hermione.”

Harry hadn’t pined for her. Not for that long, anyway. “I’m not.” He was over her. Not that it mattered much, anyway. She was with Ron.

“But I didn’t want to tell you while you’re feeling guilty about the war and everything, either.”

Just what had Ron told her?, Harry wondered. He frowned. “Everyone’s telling me not to feel guilty.”

“And is it helping?” Her tone told him that she didn’t think that was the case.

“A little.”

She sighed and leaned back against the wall. “I don’t want to be second best. Or someone you only like because you need someone to hold you.”

“I wouldn’t like that either,” Harry said. That would feel rather dishonest. As if he was using a girl.

“Well, now you know. And where does that leave you, me, us?”

He couldn’t tell what she was thinking. Her expression was… guarded, but there was something in her eyes… He started to shrug, but stopped, turning the movement into an awkward gesture with his left hand. “I don’t know.” He had known her since… He started to quickly calculate. Their first meeting at the station didn’t really count. And he hadn’t spoken to her in his second year. Third year… she had been ‘Ron’s sister’ for quite some time. “We didn’t talk to each other that much before last year.” When she had helped him organising the map watch, and the Gryffindors in general.

“Yes?” She was frowning again.

“So… I mean…” He didn’t exactly know what he wanted to say. Only that he wanted to say something to her. “During the Resistance celebration, I flirted with a witch. Or she was flirting with me. She was a few years older. But… she just wanted the Boy-Who-Lived.” It was likely, at least - he hadn’t really talked to Emily since that evening, and she hadn’t approached him either.

“Ah.” She was still frowning.

“So… I don’t want that. I want something serious.” Something like Ron and Hermione had.

“Me too. That’s why I didn’t want to tell you while you were… ‘emotionally vulnerable’.” Ginny sighed and looked rather miserable.

“Well, Ron and Hermione made it work, and they were in the middle of the war,” Harry said. “At least now the war’s over.” He wasn’t going to say it out loud in case he was rejected.

Ginny nodded slowly, so it looked like she understood what he meant. Taking a deep breath, she looked him straight in the eyes. “So, want to take a walk around the Black Lake?”

He nodded. “Sounds good.” It was better to give this a try, instead of waiting until it was too late.

“I’m still going to hex Ron,” she muttered as she took his hand.

He shrugged. Ron had taken worse. And he had spilled her secret, after all.

*****​

London, Ministry of Magic, May 5th, 1997

“This is an outrage! You invade my country, and then have the gall to blame us for it? Do you truly wish to go to war again? Have you forgotten that every war between our two countries has ended with your defeat?”

Larmar Grant, the envoy from Jamaica, had his act down pat, Sirius Black thought. All the righteous wrath an innocent victim of foreign aggression might feel, coupled with not so veiled threats of dire retribution formed an impressive display. It was all blustering, of course - the houngans would never send an envoy if they could actually make good on their threats.

Sirius leaned back in his seat in the conference room of the Ministry and folded his hands behind his head. Bones, sitting next to him, was probably wishing she could scold him for such a breach of decorum, but he couldn’t care less. Harry, on his other side, coughed, but Sirius ignored that as well. And Hermione was too far away.

“Have you forgotten how the last three ‘visits’ of British wizards to your island went?” Sirius asked. “Let me refresh your memory. Dumbledore killed half a dozen of your worst leaders without trying. Rookwood, a wanted criminal who fled our country, killed several of your leaders, ransacked their homes, and was about to break into your most holy library when we arrived to stop him - something you were obviously unable to do. And when you ambushed us we broke out of your trap, killing half your best in the process, before returning to Britain.” He grinned at the houngan. “Jamaica’s record in this century isn’t exactly impressive,” he added with a sneer.

“Dumbledore died to our traps! And we were about to capture Rookwood ourselves, when you interfered. And you lost half your number fighting our apprentices.”

Hermione scoffed. “Dumbledore died to a curse Voldemort had cast on your library when he stole a skull from it. You didn’t even notice the theft.” At least that was what Rookwood claimed. Sirius didn’t care much if it was true or not - it made a good argument in these negotiations. The witch went on: “And Voldemort was killed by Harry Potter in single combat.”

He saw Harry nod on cue, and took over again. “You started this when you attacked Hogwarts and murdered a dozen people to find the stolen skull - which you failed to do.”

“You attacked our delegate! He had to flee for his life!”

Bones scoffed. “We investigated the case. Reid was a murderer and a dark wizard, plain and simple.” The witch probably still felt as if she was an Auror, Sirius thought. Which was her main problem.

He shrugged. “You can save your lies and boasts. No one believes them - least of all your neighbours.” Did the houngan just flinch a little? Sirius couldn’t tell for certain. He leaned forward again. “So, let’s talk about the real reason you’re here. You want your skull back before our Unspeakables crack its secrets.”

“That skull is a crucial part of my country’s heritage. To steal it, and tamper with it, is intolerable. My nation is not the only one appalled by such a crime.”

He wasn’t entirely wrong, Sirius had to admit - even though those countries only cared about the possible threat to their own secrets such a precedent might set. “We recovered it from the thief - and foiled another attempt to steal from you.”

“If you admit that it was stolen then give it back to us!” Grant had risen from his seat and was now yelling at them.

“We’re willing to,” Sirius said with a smile. “We’d love to hand the skull back, actually. But it contains knowledge crucial for our efforts to break the Withering Curse.” He saw the houngan open his mouth and quickly cut him off before he could shout even louder. “But we’re willing to part with it - if you help us break said curse.”

“You expect us to help you, in exchange for the safe return of stolen good? That’s… that’s… that’s extortion!”

Sirius shrugged. “So?” He scoffed. “You lost most of your best wizards and witches, and a significant number of your brightest apprentices facing a few of our wizards and witches. You managed to kill a few of our recruits in return - and they are easily replaced.” He saw Hermione stiffen at that, but it had to be said. This was diplomacy, after all. “You can’t afford a war. You can’t even afford to try anything and risk having your weakness exposed, not with half the Caribbean waiting to settle a few old disputes with you. So stop the posturing. You’re not fooling anyone.”

The envoy pressed his lips together, and Sirius was certain that the man wanted nothing more than to curse everyone in the room.

His grin widened. They had the bastards by the balls, and the houngans knew it. They could either play nice, and get their skull back - after the Withering Curse was cured - or they could try to keep this charade up, which would lead to Britain revealing just how weak Jamaica had become - and letting slip that the British forces wouldn’t interfere any more. The houngans’ neighbours would jump at such a chance to even the score.

Sirius didn’t care either way. And Grant probably knew that as well.

*****​

London, Ministry of Magic, May 12th, 1997

“You’re making a dire mistake! You’re sacrificing your cursed friends and family!”

Amelia Bones shook her head as she watched Rookwood struggle with his guards in front of the Veil. The Death Eater had to know how futile his efforts were - she had personally informed him that the houngans had agreed to help finding a cure for the Withering Curse. And at his trial, an hour ago, he had been told again - though that had been aimed as much at the Wizengamot, who might have balked at sentencing the scum to death without such reassurances, as at him.

“I’m the only one who can save them!” Rookwood was screaming now.

“Can’t you silence him?” Black asked next to her.

“Any condemned wizard has the right to have his last words be heard and recorded,” she answered, without taking her eyes off the dark wizard.

“That must make for some weird transcripts. How do you write down incoherent screams?”

She rolled her eyes and gritted her teeth. This was an execution, not a play! “Have some respect!” she hissed.

“Why? He’s not showing any respect either. Not that he deserves any. The things he admitted…” Black made no attempt to hide his revulsion.

In the meantime the two Aurors had manhandled Rookwood in front of the Veil. For a man with his hands bound behind his back, the Death Eater out up an impressive struggle, literally kicking and screaming. It didn’t help him, though - one of the Aurors cast an Impediment Hex.

“I curse you! I curse you all! The Dark Lord will return, and you will pay for this! Your agony will be endless! Your souls will fuel his rituals! Your children will…”

Amelia made a gesture with her hand and Rookwood’s threats were cut off when he was thrown through the Veil.

“Good riddance!” Black commented. “He really thought you would make a deal with him.”

“He was wrong.” Amelia didn’t make deals with criminals.

“Was he?” Black looked at her. “If a deal with him had been the only way to save the curse victims, would you have thrown him through the Veil anyway?”

“It wasn’t the only way to save them, so that is entirely hypothetical.”

“And the Wizengamot would have never sentenced him to death in that case anyway.” Black chuckled. “Well, the current Wizengamot. But after the elections...Who knows?”

She didn’t dignify that with a response and left the Execution Chamber without a further word. It was rude, but she didn’t care any more. Amelia already knew that she wouldn’t stay in office once the Wizengamot was replaced. She didn’t want to, either. Not when many of the seats would be held by criminals who should be on trial, not in the Wizengamot.

At least once she was replaced, she’d have more time for Susan.

*****​

London, Diagon Alley, May 20th, 1997

“You shouldn’t vote for the Reform Party because we fought and won the war against those who wanted to murder us all. You should vote for us because we will make Wizarding Britain a better place - for us, and for our children. Not just a place where we can life in safety, but a country we can be proud of! A country where blood doesn’t matter!”

Hermione smiled as the crowd took up her her last words, yelling them repeatedly while she stepped down from the stage. The election campaign was going well, in her opinion - and she was more certain than ever that her refusal to call their party ‘the Resistance Party’ had been correct. That would have tied them to the past, instead of to the future. And Churchill had shown how little winning a war against a genocidal monster could matter in British politics. Hermione had no intention of following his example.

Of course, she thought as she passed Fairfax and Pam, who were standing guard at the rally, there was nothing wrong with reminding people just who had won the war for them, as long that wasn’t all she did and said. There were other parties out there, after all. They might not be as organised and famous as her own, but the war had taught her that she couldn’t afford to underestimate any opponent. The yells started to die down, now, with Justin taking the stage. His upper-class accent and origin was generally popular with many muggleborns - even with some of those who were enthusiastically yelling ‘Blood doesn’t matter!’. Hermione shook her head at the irony.

“A word, Miss Granger!”

She turned around, her wand in hand. Two young people were approaching her. A couple, probably, wearing badges with the logo of the Muggleborn Popular Party. Which wasn’t that popular, last she had heard. Fairfax had noticed them as well, and was moving a bit to the side, just in case, she noted.

“Yes?”

“I’m Liz, Liz Vance. He’s Marc Upton,” the woman said. She seemed to ignore Fairfax. “We were friends of Mary-Jane Milton.”

Ah. Hermione’s smile slipped. “My condolences.”

Upton nodded slowly, but Vance frowned. “That’s a bit hypocritical, seeing as she died following your orders.”

Hermione narrowed her eyes. “She died fighting for what she believed in - a free, safe country for everyone.”

“And how did invading Jamaica serve that goal?” Vance sniffed.

One of those, Hermione thought. She kept her cool, though - she had had lots of opportunities to practise doing so during the election campaign so far. “We went there to catch one of the last Death Eaters and to find a cure for the Withering Curse. A curse which, incidentally, had struck down a friend of hers.” That was stretching the truth - technically, the two had both been members of the Resistance, although Mary-Jane hadn’t been freed from the Imperius Curse before Dennis had been put under the Draught of Living Death, though Hermione didn’t doubt that Mary-Jane would have liked him. However, Hermione wasn’t about to let some idiot who hadn’t even fought in the war berate her.

But the witch wasn’t letting it go. “Those goals could have been achieved without so much bloodshed. You negotiated with Jamaica afterwards. Why didn’t you start negotiating right away?”

‘Because they were a bunch of murderous dark wizards who enslaved muggles to serve as cannon fodder and only understood force’ wouldn’t probably go over well, Hermione thought. “They had attacked us, murdered several muggles and rebuffed all attempts at handling the matter diplomatically through the International Confederation of Wizards.”

“So, you really think that you needed to attack them? To curse them to negotiation table?”

Hermione shrugged. “I cannot say for certain if it was absolutely necessary - we went there to arrest Rookwood - but it is a fact that the houngans didn’t start to negotiate until we had demonstrated that violence wouldn’t help them.”

“That’s a justification after the fact.”

“No. It is a possible explanation. We couldn’t know for certain when we made the decisions that ultimately led to the battle in Jamaica.”

“And cost Mary-Jane’s life.”

Hermione had to struggle to simply nod, instead of glaring at the witch.

“And do you plan to resort to violence on the next occasion as well?” Vance folded her arms under her chest and sniffed.

“Only as a last resort. But as the recent war has proven: Sometimes violence is the only way to deal with evil people. I, for one, will never risk an innocent life just to avoid a fight. Mary-Jane agreed with me - she fought in the war as well.” Hermione nodded at them. “Now please excuse me - I have other obligations.”

She left them standing there before she lost her temper.

*****​

London, Diagon Alley, May 24th, 1997

Diagon Alley had changed, Daphne Greengrass noticed after leaving the Leaky Cauldron with Tracey. It seemed that every wall was covered with posters, and at some spots you couldn’t see the ground beneath all the leaflets. And all because of the elections.

“Can’t they vanish the rubbish?” She shook her head at the sight. “Someone will slip on all that paper.”

“I read in the Prophet that when some wizards started doing that, others accused them of trying to silence their competition,” Tracey answered. “Almost started a riot, or so I heard.”

Daphne could believe that - the muggleborns were going crazy about these elections. Not just muggleborns, though - the half-bloods and even purebloods were caught up in this madness as well. She sighed. “What a stupid notion, changing the Wizengamot every few years. No one will get any experience that way. And they’ll all cater to those who yell the loudest, without any care for the future past the next election!”

“Where did you get that from?” Tracey asked.

Daphne didn’t admit that she had read a muggle article about elections. She shrugged. “Isn’t it obvious? People will never be content, and they’ll blame the Ministry and the Wizengamot. Of those two, they can replace the Wizengamot, so that’s what they’ll do.”

“And just like the members of the current Wizengamot mostly care about themselves, they new ones will do the same, and cater to their voters?” Tracey didn’t hide her amusement, and Daphne’s glare had no effect.

“At least hereditary positions grant stability. People know who will succeed a member,” she shot back.

“But the only way to replace a Wizengamot member who’s unfit is to kill them.”

Daphne glared at her friend, who had the grace to look sorry, and they walked in silence for the next few minutes.

“They’ve finished rebuilding,” Tracey said when they were passing the Weasley twins’ shop.

“Yes.” Daphne could see that herself. She stopped and looked up at the spinning, glowing sign above the entrance.

“It’s bigger than last time. I think,” Tracey added.

“Could be.” Daphne wasn’t certain.

“Let’s go in!”

“What?” Daphne stared at her friend.

“Let’s go say hello.” Tracey grinned. “It’ll probably unnerve them as much as you.”

Daphne pressed her lips together but she walked towards the entrance. She knew that tone - Tracey would do it alone if Daphne didn’t join her. And she wouldn’t leave her friend alone.

Daphne opened the door, and was hit in the face by a dozen fishes.

She shrieked before glaring at her giggling friend as she rubbed her face until the slimy feeling was gone.

“How do you like our ‘Fish Breeze’? The fishes aren’t real, of course, nor conjured,” Daphne heard a familiar voice from the back of the shop. Apparently, her shriek had been heard that far back.

“It’s pure spellwork and the slime evapora…” The way his voice trailed off upon seeing them, this had to be Fred, Daphne thought.

So did Tracey. “Good afternoon, Fred.”

“What are you doing here?”

The former Gryffindor’s wand was aimed at them and Daphne did her best to ignore it. “Is George here?”

“What do you want with him?”

Daphne could hear Tracey roll her eyes as her friend answered: “What do you think? We want to ravish him and trap him in a loveless marriage.”

Her sarcastic tone reassured Daphne. The flirting with the werewolf had been bad enough. If Tracey started to flirt with the twins…

She heard George’s voice from somewhere back. “Fred? Are you scaring away paying customers again?” Daphne heard him call out from the backroom.

“They aren’t paying customers. They’re snakes.”

“Snakes?” George appeared next to a large shelf blocking the view to the left side of the shop. “Ah. Good afternoon, Miss Greengrass, Miss Davis.”

“Good afternoon, Mister Weasley.” Daphne wouldn’t be rude, no matter what.

“Hello.” Tracey waved, and for a moment, Daphne feared the twins would mistake it as an attack. A hundred and fifty years ago there had been an assassination attempt on a Greengrass with a disillusioned wand, Daphne recalled.

Neither Fred nor George overreacted though. George even smiled - though Daphne doubted that it was sincere. “Are you here to buy something?”

“We were walking past outside and decided to come in and say hello,” Tracey explained with a grin.

“Really?” George sounded… sceptical, Daphne decided.

“Really.” Tracey shrugged. “After all, thanks to Black’s scheming, everyone thinks we’re best friends.”

“And you want to keep up that facade, so others will not bother you, lest they suffer our vengeance.” George nodded while Fed scowled.

That was an excellent justification, Daphne thought. “Yes.”

“We aren’t best friends though,” Fred said.

“Of course not. Your friends killed our families,” Daphne retorted, fighting the anger that rose inside her at the thought of her dead, murdered parents. She couldn’t lose her temper. She had to set an example for her sister. Astoria had barely accepted that things would never be as they were, and if she heard about Daphne cursing a blood traitor, or, worse, being cursed...

“And you tried to murder my family,” Fred spat.

“You don’t disobey the Dark Lord’s orders.” Daphne glared at him. It wasn’t as if they had had any choice.

“You don’t join the Dark Lord’s forces,” the wizard shot back.

“You also don’t sabotage Quidditch stands and try to kill students,” Tracey cut in. “But the war’s over and we’re all still alive. I’d like to stay that way. Alive that is.” She nodded at Daphne. “She’s right. Too much happened to make up. I can’t look at Granger without remembering my dead parents, and she’s about to marry into your family.”

“Oh, that’s not going to happen that soon,” George said with a chuckle, though it felt a bit forced to Daphne. “Hermione’s not the kind of witch to marry early and have sprogs so quickly.”

“Whatever.” Daphne snorted. “We just came in here to say hello. Nothing more.”

“Well, you said hello.” Fred scowled at her.

“That we did,” Tracey admitted. “So… bye?”

“Bye.”

Once they had left the shop, Daphne sighed. “That could have gone wrong.”

“It didn’t,” Tracey retorted.

They made their way past a stand with muggleborns. None of them offered the two witches any leaflets, though - nor anyone else in robes, as far as she could see. Apparently, the Muggleborn Popular Party didn’t care for pureblood votes, Daphne thought.

Once they were further away, Daphne turned to Tracey. “You know, once the elections are over, I think I’ll head to the continent for a while.”

“A Grand Tour?” Tracey asked. “Those haven’t been done since…”

“Since the last war.”

Time to revive the custom, Daphne thought. It wasn’t just a pureblood tradition. It would also keep her away from Britain for a year or two.

She really didn’t want to see how the mudbloods would ruin her country.

*****​

London, Diagon Alley, June 15th, 1997

“... and that’s why you should vote for the Progressive Party! We don’t discriminate against anyone - we stand for equal rights for everyone!”

Sirius Black smiled as widely as he could while he put both hands on his hips and stared at the crowd gathered in front of his stage in Diagon Alley.

“I know from personal experience how dangerous a corrupt or inept judicial system is.” And everyone knew what travesty of justice he had suffered. “You can count on me making damn certain that what I suffered will not happen to anyone else. No longer will a bunch of rich Old Families judge everyone!”

“You’re from a rich Old Family!” someone from the back yelled.

Sirius scoffed. “I spent my gold in the war against Voldemort.” He noticed how the crowd cringed at his mention of the Dark Lord’s name, and had to fight not to sneer at them. “I personally fought Voldemort at the spot we are standing. What did you do? Hm?”

“You’re in bed with the French purebloods!” Another heckler shouted. Someone had prepared them for his speech.

But not enough. Sirius grinned shamelessly. “Every night, I’m in bed with the most beautiful French Veela, yes.” That earned him laughter while he threw a kiss to Vivienne. “And she, as well as her family, came to help us during the war, and many of them gave their lives for us.” There was no need to get into the rather complicated current situation with the French, Sirius thought. According to the Delacours, the Duc was scared of a muggleborn rebellion, and they had barely managed to keep him from starting one with his latest ham-fisted attempt to prevent it.

“The Progressive Party is not a pureblood party - you know that any party that’ll have me will not turn anyone away!” He flashed his best roguish grin, and was rewarded with another bout of laughter. “More seriously though,” - his pun didn’t get such a reaction, alas - “we’re a diverse lot, and our membership reflects this. Although many of our members do have red hair,” he added with a gesture at Arthur and Percy, who were waiting at the side. “But our diversity is our strength - we all know what blood purity did to our country. And you know what we did to save our country. And you know that we will do it all over again, if it’s needed!”

As the crowd cheered, Sirius waved and stepped off the stage, making way for Arthur. He was smiling widely - between his party and Hermione’s Reform Party, they had this election locked down.

*****​

London, Ministry of Magic, July 7th, 1997

“I, Harry Potter, do swear that I will uphold the law and protect the inalienable rights of the people of Wizarding Britain.”

Harry lowered his wand and stepped forward to hand the cue card back to Percy, who was manning the despatch box, then returned to his seat. Since he was the youngest member of the Wizengamot - Neville had been born a few hours earlier than he - he was the last to take the oath.

“Where did we get a despatch box from anyway?” he asked under his breath while sitting down.

“Apparently, the Department of Mysteries had one in storage,” Hermione answered.

“Compared to finding a wording for the oath that suited everyone, that was a breeze,” Ron chimed in.

Hermione frowned. “It’s still missing a number of crucially important parts.”

“We went over this,” Ron retorted. “It’ll work well enough. It’s not as if it’s an Unbreakable Vow anyway.”

Hermione huffed. “Some of the members should have made such a vow.” Harry didn’t have to check to know that she was looking at the members of the Pureblood Party.

“Bloody Death Eaters,” Ron mumbled.

Harry disagreed - they had been checked for Dark Marks, after all - but their stated goal of ‘protecting the traditions of Wizarding Britain’ was a thinly-veiled blood purity agenda. “It’s just four people.” Even with a sizeable number of purebloods who had been hiding among muggles returning to Wizarding Britain instead of emigrating, there simply weren’t that many idiots around willing to vote for blood purists.

“Four too many,” Hermione said. “It’s almost an argument for a first-past-the-post system. That would have prevented the two Muggleborn Popular Party seats as well.”

“That’s democracy.” Harry ignored her frown. Between Sirius’s Progressive Party and Hermione’s Reform Party, they had a solid majority anyway. And Bones had resigned as soon as the results of the elections had come in; to the surprise of Sirius, who had expected her to stay in office until she was forced out.

Elphias Doge, the oldest member of the Wizengamot and so by default the Chief Warlock until either confirmed by the Wizengamot or replaced by someone else, stood up and raised his wand. “The first session of the Wizengamot of 1997 is now open,” he announced. “The Chair recognises Mister Black.”

Sirius stood up with a wide grin on his face. “Honoured members, honoured new members of the Wizengamot, we stand here as the first democratically elected representatives of Wizarding Britain. A new era has begun. For the first time the fate of our country is not in the hands of a few families, but in the hands of its people. Muggleborns, half-bloods, and purebIoods - all are represented here.”

His next words were drowned out by the loud applause and cheers from the vast majority of the members. Harry was cheering and clapping as well, together with his friends.

They had done it. They had reformed the Wizengamot.

Now they had to reform the country.

*****​

 

Epilogue

‘I’ve been asked many times, especially by historians, why I have not yet written this book. Many even seemed to expect me to write the definitive history of the Second Blood War a week after it had officially been declared over.
Such expectations were based on several incorrect assumptions. First, the fact that I was directly involved in the war in a central role does not automatically make me an expert on that topic. On the contrary, it makes me a biased observer. In order to be able to at least attempt to objectively chronicle the events of that pivotal time of Wizarding Britain’s history, I needed to hear other perspectives and to research the matter myself.
Second, I lost several close personal friends in the war. Back then, I lacked the emotional distance needed for this work - something, I must point out, that several of my colleagues lacked as well, but which did not keep them from writing their books anyway.
Third, I lacked the time to do such a book justice. My work in the Wizengamot, and later in the Ministry and in research, took up far too much of my time to allow a project of this nature.
And fourth, as this book will reveal, much of what happened during the war has been deliberately kept secret until now, since revealing what had really happened shortly after the war would have potentially had far-reaching consequences. Now, though, decades later, this book’s time has finally come, and I hope my work will help to correct several of the glaring mistakes made and perpetuated by some historians in the years since the war.’
- Excerpt from ‘The Second Blood War: A History’ by Hermione Granger-Weasley

*****​

London, Greenwich, February 1st, 2002

“Ron! It’s time! We need to go now!”

Hermione Granger-Weasley didn’t tap her foot impatiently, but she really wanted to. They had to leave their house now if they wanted to be on time for the ceremony - and early enough to give the location a brief once-over, to ensure that it was safe.

“Calm down! They won’t start without us!” she heard Ron yell from the first floor. A moment later, he appeared at the top of the stairs, grinning at her.

She huffed. “That might be so…”

“It is so - we’re the guests of honour. They can’t celebrate Voldemort’s defeat without us.” Ron interrupted her with a hug.

“Some of them certainly would like to.” She scowled, remembering the latest debate in the Wizengamot.

“Bah. Their proposal was soundly defeated.” Ron scoffed. “Putting Malfoy and his ilk on the memorial, next to those who died fighting Voldemort? The ‘Unholy Alliance’ is certainly trying everything to live up to their name.”

“Their nickname,” she corrected him - though privately, she felt that the Prophet had nailed it perfectly when they coined that term for the situation where both the Pureblood Party and the ‘Muggleborn Alternative’ supported the same proposal. It was not surprising that Liz Vance, one of the founders of the ‘Muggleborn Alternative’, had left the Muggleborn Popular Party after less than a year, taking her seat with her. According to rumours, only Randall Martens’s intervention had saved her from being cursed by Bess Cox. The press had had a field day over that.

“If the boot fits…” Ron shrugged. “But let’s go now, or we’ll be late.”

“Oh, you!” She glared at him, but he simply kept smiling until she chuckled.

*****​

London, Diagon Alley, February 1st, 2002

“There you are! We were about to leave without you!” Fred greeted them as soon as they stepped out of the fireplace in the twins’ shop.

“Don’t listen to him - we’d never even contemplate leaving without our most famous family members!” George cut in.

“Yeah, you two never think before you do anything,” Ron retorted.

Hermione chuckled at the twins’ fake outraged expressions, though Ron’s comment contained more than a grain of truth. That they married two French witches they had met at Bill and Fleur’s wedding - a day after that wedding - proved this, in her opinion. Molly had certainly agreed with her. Loudly. Especially after she heard about the duels.

Although, Hermione thought, not for the first time, when she greeted Laura and Noelle, she could understand why the twins had fallen so quickly for the two witches - they were not only very beautiful, but also witty and charming. If only Fred and George didn’t keep claiming that they had met their wives before, with that infuriating grin that told everyone they were hiding something.

*****​

“Blimey, that’s a big crowd,” Hermione heard Ron mutter when they stepped out of the twins’ shop.

He was correct - Diagon Alley was packed full of people. Even years after the war, and more than a year since the last incident related to it, Hermione didn’t like crowds. Even when they appeared to be friendly, even cheering for her when the passers-by recognised her - it was just too easy for an assassin to hide in such a crowd.

She glanced up to check if the Magical Militia, as the Hit-Wizards were now called, after her proposal of naming them the ‘British Armed Magical Forces’ had been shot down, were at their posts, covering the Aurors responsible for crowd control, with wands and guns at the ready. Tania was in charge today, so the soldiers had better stay on their toes - Tania still treated every mission and exercise as if they were at war. It was probably her way of coping - not everyone in the Resistance had responded equally well to the therapy Hermione had pushed on them and her other friends.

“Hey! Hermione!”

Some of them, of course, Hermione thought with a smile as she saw Dennis standing on a roof next to the twins’ shop, waving at her, were not intimidated by Tania at all. “Hi, Dennis!” She waved back. Looking at the smiling young wizard, one would not imagine that he had spent a year under the effects of the Draught of Living Death, until the Unspeakables had finally managed to create a counter-curse, she thought.

“The M&Ms are out in force,” Ron said next to her. Hermione glared at him - the Militia weren’t fond of that particular nickname.

He shrugged. “Hey, I’m one of the few professional officers; I get to make fun of the rank and file.”

Sometimes Hermione wondered if Ron wasn’t a bit too much like his next eldest brothers. “Harry would disagree. And he’s your superior officer.”

“He won’t.”

“Well, he should.” She shook her head, but she was grinning.

Although her grin diminished when she passed a gaggle of French muggleborns - easily recognisable by the mix of French and English they spoke. The numbers of French muggleborns moving to Britain had risen steadily over the last few years - since they couldn’t vote in France, many of them were voting with their feet. And usually added their voices, and later votes, to those demanding ‘a more robust policy towards the oppressive regime of the Duc’, as some members of the Wizengamot called it. As if Britain wasn’t already putting pressure on the French! Sooner or later the Duc would see reason - without Britain having to go to war. Or the French starting a civil war.

After all, Britain was widely recognised as the strongest country in Europe, not least thanks to her and her friends’ efforts, but no one sane wanted to start another war.

Unless a country decided to murder muggleborns.

*****​

The place where Voldemort had been killed, and where the ceremony would be held, was cordoned off. The Aurors manning the entrances let Hermione and Ron pass, of course - but she noted with satisfaction that they were ready to act in case the Thief’s Downfall installed at the gate should reveal anything. The area inside was limited to invited guests, and so the crowd here wasn’t quite as large - nor as densely packed. A necessity, Hermione thought, so that the various Wizengamot members and high-ranking Ministry employees were not forced to literally rub elbows with their political rivals.

Which, unfortunately, didn’t mean they couldn’t accidentally meet someone they’d rather not. Like Alfons Runcorn and his family.

She’d as soon curse the man as greet him, but appearances had to be maintained - Hermione knew the member of the Pureblood Party would be only too glad to denounce her as an uncouth barbarian.

“Mr Runcorn, Mrs Runcorn.” She even nodded at their baby. Ron grunted something that, if one were extremely charitable, could be called a greeting.

“Madam Granger. Messrs Weasley,” Runcorn barely inclined his head, and seemed to ignore the twins’ wives entirely. His wife nodded, but kept fussing over their baby - apparently named ‘Albert’. “I must again protest the biased nature of this ceremony. The memorial should honour all victims of the war.”

Hermione’s urge to curse the idiot grew stronger. Five years in the Wizengamot had taught her to hide her emotions, though, and so she refrained from acting on her desires. Instead she smiled thinly at the man. “The Wizengamot’s decision was quite clear, Mr Runcorn. Followers of the Dark Lord and their allies have no place on the memorial.”

“Not everyone who died in Malfoy Manor was a follower of the Dark Lord!”

“You’re correct - there were two muggleborns who had been captured and imprisoned in Malfoy’s dungeon. Their names are on the memorial.” Hermione’s smile showed her teeth. “If you’ll excuse us - we’re expected to join the other guests of honour.”

“Bloody tosser,” Ron said as they walked away - just loud enough to carry to Runcorn, Hermione thought. “I wonder why he even attends the ceremony if he likes Death Eaters so much.”

“So he can claim he doesn’t, of course,” Hermione said. The Pureblood Party was quite careful to loudly distance themselves from Voldemort, even though their actual proposals and speeches were almost identical to those given by the Dark Lord’s allies in 1996.

It wouldn’t avail them anything, though, she thought with some satisfaction - with the compensations and fines levied on the Death Eaters’ estates, their fortunes had been substantially diminished, and there were simply too few purebloods left who supported the Old Families. Moreover, the muggleborn population was growing thanks to a sizeable number of immigrants, mostly from France and the rest of Europe.

The Old Families’ time would not return.

*****​

The stands for the guests of honour - and the assorted hanger-ons, as Ron called the Wizengamot members and various worthies - had been under close observation for the entire time since they had been conjured. Even the ground below had been regularly patrolled. Hermione cast a few spells anyway, to check for traps and curses. The last attack by a disturbed wizard or witch who hadn’t let go of their grudges from the war had been more than a year ago, and had been foiled by the Aurors, but Hermione wasn’t about to become careless - she knew just how much many of the Old Families hated her.

“Snakes ahead,” Ron whispered, nodding towards the first row of guests. She turned and narrowed her eyes. It seemed Daphne Greengrass and Tracey Davis had returned to Britain for this occasion, after spending years away on their ‘Grand Tour’. Greengrass’s sister had apparently stayed in France. “Cocky of them,” Ron went on. “Is that Greengrass’s husband behind them?”

“Yes. The dear Monsieur Marbot,” Fred replied from behind her. She glanced over her shoulder and saw that he was baring his teeth.

“He wasn’t involved in your duels, was he?” Hermione asked sotto voce. The last thing Britain needed right now was a diplomatic incident with the French.

“No, no.” George shook his head, wrapping his arm around his wife’s waist. “But we’ve met. In France, last year.”

“He didn’t like it when we tried to give him some advice, husband to husband, about how to survive a Slytherin marriage.” Fred chuckled.

Hermione drew a hissing breath. “Don’t create an incident today.”

“We won’t,” George said. “We have an understanding with them.”

“You have one. I never claimed to understand witches, least of all Slytherins,” his brother retorted. Laura and Noelle giggled at that - but then, the two French witches had agreed to marry the twins, so Hermione couldn’t expect any help from them when it came to reining in the two troublemakers.

She resisted the urge to rub her forehead. “Just behave.”

“Of course!” the two chorused. Marriage definitely hadn’t made them any wiser, she thought. On the other hand, it was nice to see that they hadn’t let the war affect them too much.

Unlike so many others.

*****​

Other important guests were already present as well, like Neville, one of the more prominent members of Sirius’s faction in the Wizengamot. Justin and Sally-Anne, recently married - having become a fully-qualified Healer apparently had endeared the witch to his parents, though Hermione was certain that Justin would have married Sally-Anne anyway - waved at them. At least her own parents had accepted Ron without hesitation - much more easily than they had accepted her own actions in the war. But that was in the past.

Aberforth was not in attendance, as those who knew the old wizard had expected. But Antoine Delacour greeted them with a smile and a bow fit for the French Court. “Madame Granger-Weasley. Mesdames et Messieurs Weasley.”

“Monsieur Delacour,” Hermione nodded at him. The formal greeting let her know that he wasn’t here as a friend - and in-law - of the family, nor simply to honour the fallen Delacours and d’Aigles, but as a representative of the Duc d’Orléans. Who, apparently, was hoping that gracing this event with an official envoy and reminding everyone that French purebloods had fought and died against Voldemort would placate some of the more vocal muggleborns in his and her countries.

It wouldn’t, of course - or not for long. But Antoine’s presence at this ceremony would also make other countries wonder if the ties between Wizarding Britain and Magical France were growing stronger - which would be a source of some concern for many. Wizarding Britain was acknowledged as one of the premier powers in the Magical World, after all - and rightfully so, these days at least. Together, France and Britain could easily dominate the ICW - if the Duc were willing to reform the country, of course. Hermione suppressed a sigh - Britain’s relationship to France was aptly described by the term ‘complicated’.

Ron and his brothers greeted the wizard, Laura and Noelle curtsying even before exchanging pleasantries in French. Nothing beyond that, of course - this was neither the time nor the place for more serious talk with the French envoy.

“Hermione! Ron! Fred! George! Laura! Noelle!” Luna hugged each and every person she named with great enthusiasm.

“Luna!” Hermione smiled widely. “Are you covering the event for The Quibbler?”

The blonde nodded rapidly, then pulled out a press badge… which seemed to have been made by carving letters into a slice of apple. “Yes!” She turned serious in an instant and narrowed her eyes at Hermione. The effect was rather cute. “Madam Granger-Weasley, would you be available for an interview later today?”

“Certainly,” Hermione agreed at once. Luna was a rather eccentric journalist, but unlike others, she had no agenda.

“Fantastic! Your opinion on the platypus controversy will carry great weight!”

A very eccentric journalist, Hermione corrected herself while Ron chuckled - she had no idea what their friend was talking about.

However, before she could ask Luna for an explanation Hermione wasn’t entirely sure she would understand anyway, they were interrupted by the arrival of the rest of the guests of honour, and the excitement that caused among the crowd - at least those who were wizards or witches; most of the parents of the fallen muggleborns who were attending the ceremony looked either confused or less enthusiastic.

“The Boy-Who-Lived!”

“Dumbledore’s Heir!”

“The One-Who-Won!”

Hermione felt a small pang of jealousy. Whereas Harry was seen as one of the most powerful wizards - a reputation he couldn’t live up to, not yet at least, especially since he still needed to keep the Elder Wand a secret - and Dumbledore’s worthy heir, she was seen as the cunning and ruthless - or perfidious - ‘Purebloods’ Boggart’. She knew it wasn’t entirely undeserved, but it still felt unfair to her. And Ron was mostly seen as Harry’s best friend, not as the hero he was in his own right, which was even more unfair.

She forced those petty feelings away. Everyone had done their part in the war, after all, and they hadn’t beaten Voldemort for fame, but to save the country.

Harry hadn’t arrived alone, of course. He was walking arm in arm with Ginny, and right behind him walked Sirius and Vivienne, and she could spot Remus and Tonks standing with the Aurors. Remus looked rather tired - the full moon had been but four days ago - and they still hadn’t found a counter-curse to cure his arm.

A single wizard didn’t rate as much effort by the Department of Mysteries as the victims of the Withering Curse, so she didn’t expect that to change any time soon. Especially not when the houngans claimed that whoever had cast the curse had taken its secret with them to their grave, and with the Unspeakables making an effort to find a way to destroy the Dementors. At least the enchanted metal sleeve Remus was wearing was working as well as an enchanted prosthetic, which was better than nothing. It certainly didn’t stop him from hunting Pettigrew whenever there was a new clue to the traitor’s whereabouts - although that didn’t happen too often. Which was a good thing, since he was needed at Hogwarts, being the first Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher in decades to hold the post for, so far, three consecutive years.

And, as Sirius was fond of describing, with a lot of imagination and speculation about metamorphmagi, Remus was also very happily married to Tonks. They had one son, with a second child on the way. And, Hermione thought as she greeted her friends, he was alive.

*****​

“... and we shall never forgot this fateful struggle, and the tragedies that filled those days…”

While Pius Thicknesse droned on, Hermione saw Ginny lean towards her. “That’s what I love the most about playing Quidditch for a living: We don’t have to listen to such speeches all day long,” the other witch whispered.

“You have to listen to your coach, and to your fans,” Ron retorted before Hermione could comment.

“They’re not as bad as the Minister,” his sister said. “How could you elect him of all people?”

Hermione narrowed her eyes at her friend - Ginny knew very well why Thicknesse had become Minister for Magic. Her own father and brother had been involved prominently in that deal as well, after all. “On the other hand, you have to deal with both the Prophet and Seeker Weekly speculating about your love life.” She tried not to smile when the redhead’s grin turned into a scowl. While the relationship between Harry and Ginny had its ups and downs, it was nowhere near as volatile as the press made it out to be.

Harry reached over and patted his fiancée’s arm, and Ginny sighed and leaned into his side. Hermione smiled at that - her friend was happy, at last - it had taken a while for him to get over the war. For everyone, including her, of course.

And some were still not over it, she added to herself with a glance at Bones. The former Minister for Magic was a guest of honour as well - her role in the war demanded no less - but she was looking as bitter as she had when she had been forced out of office. Hermione doubted that that would change, not even if the witch succeeded in her bid to be elected to the Wizengamot this year. Bones was just unable to let go and accept that a war wasn’t a criminal investigation.

Although Bones had at least given some praise to the changes to the judicial system Sirius and Hermione had forced through - even she could see that the new judges were working better than the Wizengamot, old or new.

Thicknesse had finally finished his speech, and now Scrimgeour was taking his place. The Head of the DMLE was the Minister’s main rival these days, as Hermione knew only too well thanks to both trying to curry favour with her. Personally, she favoured replacing Thicknesse with Arthur, but her father-in-law wasn’t quite ready yet - or so he claimed. As long as Hermione and Sirius controlled the Wizengamot, she didn’t much mind who was Minister - the reforms hadn’t touched the Wizengamot’s primacy over the Ministry.

“... and I think that all of us who fought the Dark Lord agree that those of our comrades who made the ultimate sacrifice should never be forgotten, which is why this enchanted memorial here was built.”

Hermione wasn’t the only one who glanced at the veiled monument in response to those words. Although she was, to her knowledge, the only one who knew that the spells which made the names of all the fallen appear in random order on the golden plaque on the marble monolith had been modified slightly. By herself.

It might be a petty gesture, but Allan Baker didn’t deserve to have his name appear on this memorial.

*****​

It was surprising just how quiet the large crowd was, Hermione thought as she watched the names appear and disappear on the golden plaque on the black marble monolith.

Albus Dumbledore. Dean Thomas. Maisie Maygold. Seamus Finnigan. Timothy Meyers. Balthasar Brinden. Alastor Moody. Mary Smith. Colin Creevey. Martin Cokes. Jeremiah Brinden. Severus Snape. Jeremy Chadwick. Cornelius Fudge. Eric Ballantine. Hortensia Brinden. Gary Coulton. Augusta Longbottom. Mary-Jane Milton. Anna Baker. Brad Watts. Sinclair Thompson. Kingsley Shacklebolt.

She kept a mental tally of her friends and comrades amidst the flood of names. Friends, comrades, strangers. All of them killed in the war, fighting against Voldemort and his followers. Now united on this memorial.

So many dead… She pressed her lips together and squeezed Ron’s hand. They owed it to them to ensure that such a war would never be fought again. To keep Britain safe. And to continue turning her into a country of which they could be proud.

Hermione would do all she could to repay that debt. She would not let them have died in vain.

*****​

The End.

*****​

Author’s Note: I wish to thank my betas for their help, especially fredfred. He has spent an incredible amount of work on correcting my mistakes and oversights, and provided invaluable feedback - even when my drafts were late. Without him, this story wouldn’t be what it is.