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Muggle Summer, Wizard's Fall
Officer and Gentleman, Part 2
By canoncansodoff
Author Notes:
Chapters 29-31
Chapter 29 - Bad Moon Rising
Saturday , July 7, 4:00pm
Thames House, Millbank, London
Harry Potter badge-jumped from a hastily arranged meeting at Gringott’s to a hastily arranged meeting at MI-5 headquarters. Having arrived in an otherwise empty conference room, he pulled his anchor point into an embrace.
“Time and place, Mr. Potter,” Hermione chided, as she grabbed the front of his Clan Potter robe. “We need to get you changed and through the checkpoint.”
“What, this isn’t where we’re meeting?”
Hermione shook her head. “No, we’re just outside the first security point.”
Harry muttered to himself as shed his wizard attire and rummaged through his rucksack for his suit jacket.
“And don’t forget your Muggle holster,” said Hermione. “We’ll have to show them our handguns at the barrier.”
“So why couldn’t I just jump into the meeting room?”
“The Home Secretary claimed it might mess with the electronics.”
Harry sighed as he looped his arms through his leather shoulder harness and switched his pistol from its magical holster to its Muggle counterpart. “More like the time-wasting idiot doesn’t like the idea of us popping past all of his security layers.”
“Harry, you can’t call the Home Secretary an idiot.”
“How about ‘Right Honorable Idiot,’ then?”
“Stop it,” Hermione chided. She then noticed his rucksack and said, “Merlin, your bag is going to raise havoc with the x-ray machine.”
The Queen's Wizard rolled his eyes. “Well, we can’t have that….Dobby?”
The house elf appeared near-instantly. “Yes, Harry Potter, sir?”
“Will you hold my rucksack for a few minutes?”
Dobby nodded vigorously. “Of course Dobby can do that for the great Harry Potter, sir.”
The two teen-agers emptied their pockets of magical metallic objects and placed them into Harry’s sack, along with his sword and their wands (just to be safe). Dobby popped away as Harry buttoned his coat.
“I hate these Muggle holsters,” Harry commented, as he fiddled with the straps. “They break the line of this jacket something terrible.”
Hermione chuckled and grabbed his hand. “Let’s go, Agent Clotheshound.”
One of the Home Secretary’s aides was waiting for them on the other side of the security barrier, which kept Harry from immediately retrieving his rucksack.
Hermione whispered as they walked down the hall behind the aide, “Don't you need to use the Men’s before we get there?”
“Are you sure?” Hermione asked, as she mimed some wand movement.
Harry’s eyes lit up, then narrowed as a devious-looking expression came over his face.
“We don’t want to keep the Home Secretary waiting, do we?”
His girlfriend’s eyes grew wide as she quietly said, “But I really think….”
The off-key tune that Harry began to softly whistle made it clear that he had other thoughts in mind.
They were shown into a conference room with floor-to-ceiling windows on one wall, a bank of video displays on the other, and laptops stationed in front of each conference room chair. The MI-5 chief and Home Secretary were there, while the Prime Minister and MI-6 chief were patched in from remote locations.
Hermione gave Harry a quick primer as he took a seat. “There’s cameras built into the top of each computer screen,” she said quietly. “Just talk to the laptop as if you were talking to the P.M. and MI-6 chief.”
Harry nodded, then stood back up. “Excuse me, gentlemen.”
“What is it?” the irritated Home Secretary asked.
“Just need to retrieve our…..”
“Harry, no!” Hermione exclaimed, but not before he had called for his favorite House-Elf.
Dobby popped onto the conference room table directly in front of Harry. The Home Secretary cried out in shock at his first sight of a non-human sentient.
“Yes, Harry Potter, sir?” the House-Elf asked timidly, as he looked around the room.
“Don’t worry, Dobby, they all know about magic,” Harry said with reassurance.
“Oh, Dobby knows all about that, Harry Potter, sir,” the House-Elf replied. “They wouldn’t be able to see me if they didn’t….I have your bag right here, Harry Potter, sir.”
“Thanks, Dobby, you’re the best.”
“Agent Potter, exactly what is going on?” the Home Secretary demanded.
Harry gave Hermione a wink as he looked up and smiled. “Oh, I’m sorry, where are my manners?” He reached out and said, “Here, Dobby, have a seat.”
The Queen's Wizard lifted the House-Elf off the table and set him down onto a chair. With Harry’s encouragement, Dobby sat up on his knees so that he could peer over the table’s edge and into the laptop’s camera. The black-haired wizard grinned as the image of his wide-eyed, pointy-eared devotee joined the Prime Minister’s on the video display. Dobby ducked down at the sight of his own face.
“Everyone, I’d like to introduce you to my good friend Dobby,” Harry announced, as he pulled the House-Elf back up. “Dobby, this is the Muggle Prime Minister, Home Secretary Chisholm, and Director Generals Hibbing and Eveleth.”
“Harry,” Hermione said, with a bit of admonishment in her voice. She grabbed the House-Elf’s arm in reassurance. “Don’t worry, Dobby,” she said, “you’re safe here.”
“Oh, I’m always safe next to the great wizard Harry Potter, Miss ‘Mione,” Dobby replied. Having noticed that his chair moved when he shifted his weight, he spun his char around in a circle and cried out in delight.
“Harry Potter, Sir, the portraits, and this chair… I can’t see the magic within them?”
Harry laughed at the comparison between portraits and video displays and leaned down to whisper into Dobby’s ear. “It’s hard for me to see Muggle magic too.”
Hermione gave an impromptu primer on House-Elves and their role within wizarding society whilst Harry retrieved their wands and other objects from his rucksack. The Home Secretary and MI-5 chief found it difficult to divide their attention between Dobby and the seemingly bottomless pack, particularly when Harry withdrew his sword.
The Q&A on House-Elf slavery was interrupted when Hermione caught Harry pulling a candy out of his bag.
“Fancy a toffee, Mr. Home Secretary?”
“Yes, Dear, erm…I mean…yes, Agent Granger,” Harry replied. Taking this cue, Harry thanked Dobby for his help and the House-Elf popped away.
Hermione had already briefed the Prime Minister on the Death Eater sighting in front of the Rookery, as well as Lucius Malfoy and the nature of The Rookery itself. Harry’s job, then, was to report on his just completed meeting with Ragnok. The goblin had informed him that the Grand Council had told Voldemort where Malfoy was hiding. This had come as a surprise to Harry, although it explained why Rookwood and the Carrows had been seen scouting out the site.
“Sending messages to the enemy?” the Home Secretary muttered. “Making unilateral decisions without bothering to consult…are you sure that these goblins are your allies Potter?”
Harry tried to hide his contempt as Hermione diplomatically asked, “Mr. Home Secretary, is Her Majesty’s government unfamiliar with close allies that act unilaterally, or are less than forthright on certain matters that affect key bilateral relationships?”
The Prime Minister chuckled. “She’s got you there, Chisholm…Agent Potter, if you would continue?”
The Queen's Wizard nodded, then noted that Ragnok was convinced that no harm could come to Muggles, as the building was warded against magical attack or entry, and had fire suppression charms applied to the exterior. When he mentioned that Rookwood had thrown a rock through the front entrance, Ragnok had replied that the wards protected any magically-aided physical attacks.
Harry spent fifteen minutes answering questions following his report. They were split between clarifications and confrontations; most of the rancor would have gone away had the Home Secretary bothered to read the reports provided to him.
With the Prime Minister insisting that proactive actions were more important than after action assessments, they moved on to their options.
“Just because we spied three of these wizard terrorists walking down the street…where’s the need to do anything, particularly if they’re hell-bent on killing one of their own?” asked the Home Secretary.
“With due respect, Home Secretary,” answered the MI-5 Chief, “they may have been a scouting party for a much larger force, and there’s more than a half-dozen theatres on Shaftesbury alone. With Piccadilly just down the road, and it being a Saturday night…”
“Exactly my point,” argued the Home Secretary. “They’ll have to cancel performances if we clear out the area. Think of the revenue they’ll lose.”
“They’d lose far more if Sir Harry is right and there’s an attack that kills off a few dozen tourists,” argued the MI-6 Chief.
The Prime Minister stated, “Chisholm, after Ascot the Queen’s Wizard could issue a dozen false alarms and still be on the positive side of the ledger.”
“Exactly,” the Prime Minister replied. “And as I’m the one spending my weekend at Chequers and not you, I dare say that’s good enough.”
With that decision quite emphatically made, a plausible mechanism was quickly developed to evacuate the area surrounding the Rookery, both to limit injuries and minimize the need for obliviator squads. They then argued over cooperating with the Auror Department. The initial position was for no Ministry of Magic involvement, before Harry and Hermione convinced the others that going it alone would likely reveal the extent of MI-5 ¾’s knowledge and operations both to the Death Eaters and the Ministry of Magic.
“You trust the Head Auror, don’t you Agent Potter?” the Prime Minister asked. “Why don’t you arrange for a meeting, and set something up with him?”
“Yes Sir,” Harry replied. He scribbled out a quick message, then turned to the tinted exterior windows and scowled.
“Don’t suppose you can open these?” he asked.
When the MI-5 chief shook his head, Harry sighed and rummaged through his rucksack. Finding his portable hole, he tossed it up against the floor-to-ceiling windows. A rush of air came through the opening, upsetting the piles of paper stacked on the table.
“Now see here, Agent Potter!” the Home Secretary yelled.
Harry ignored him as he called out for his familiar. A few seconds later Hedwig glided gracefully through the hole and took a perch on top of Harry’s laptop display.
“What in blazes?” the Home Secretary demanded.
No mind was paid to this ranting as Harry ran his fingers through Hedwig’s feathers, then carefully tied his message to her leg.
“Another good friend of yours?” the MI-5 chief asked.
Harry nodded. “Hedwig was my first real friend, weren’t you girl?”
His familiar bobbed her head up and down.
“Take this to Head Auror Robards straight away,” he instructed. “You know the safe place, right?”
His familiar bobbed her head again, then turned and launched herself back through the window hole. As Harry walked over to retrieve his portable hole with a touch of his wand, the Home Secretary snarked, “So do you have any other creatures at your beck and call, Potter?”
Harry fumed, wanting desperately to hex the nitwit politician, but managed to hold his tongue with the support of Hermione’s comforting grasp of his arm.
Unfortunately, he didn’t think to return the favor.
“Dobby is a sentient magical being, and no more of a creature than you are…Sir,” Hermione scolded.
“Agent Granger, I’ll have you mind your impertinence!” he yelled.
“And I’ll have you mind your boorish bigotry, Chisholm,” the Prime Minister demanded. He then calmly added, “Agent Potter, once this immediate crisis is past I think we would all enjoy an opportunity to spend some more time with your magical friends…wouldn’t we Chisholm?”
The Home Secretary managed a curt nod in reply.
Harry smiled. “Dobby will be thrilled, though we’ll be hard pressed not to have him cook for the occasion.”
“Wonderful,” the Prime Minister replied. “I’ll be returning presently to 10 Downing Street. Agent Potter, would it be possible to secure the services of one of your Order of Arthur members this evening? I dare say that we would benefit from Dame Hermione’s input as a member of my crisis committee.”
Harry smiled as Hermione let out a surprised “Eeep!”
“Hermione need not gain my permission, sir,” Harry replied. “And as our employer and Prime Minister, we are all at your command.”
“Brilliant,” the Prime Minister replied.
“But Harry…who will be watching your back?” Hermione whispered.
“No worries, Hermione, you and all the others are just a badge-jump away.”
Harry forgot where he was and kissed Hermione’s forehead.
Rookwood had run out of ways to unobtrusively kill time before the attack. It had to be fate’s payback for not doing his pure-blooded duty to procreate.
Riding up the escalators at Marks and Spencers had held the siblings’ interest before Amycus got caught trying to peek up of the skirt of a woman riding down. Lasted almost an hour at Trafalgar Square feeding pigeons, before Alecto caused a stir arguing with a birdseed-selling hag. And then there was the cinema, where he had failed miserably in his attempts to keep the Carrows from yelling at the screen as if the characters could hear them. Running out of options and money, the senior Death Eater had resorted to driving around London; while it didn’t make his colleagues any less annoying, it minimized the amount of attention that they drew to themselves.
Traffic was rather heavy as the former Unspeakable made his way back towards the Rookery, and came to a complete stop about a quarter-mile away from the spot he’d selected as a staging ground for their assault. Rookwood began to worry when he heard sirens up ahead, and reached over to change the radio station for the news.
“Oy, I was listening to that show,” Alecto complained.
“Like you plan on gardening any time soon,” her brother snapped.
Just then Rookwood dialed into an ongoing radio newscast.
“…details provided as soon as practical. To repeat the hour’s top story, Metropolitan Police have evacuated a portion of London’s West End after an unattended motorcar was discovered loaded with cans of petrol. The shut down of Shaftesbury Avenue from Piccadilly Circus to Charing Cross Road has led to the cancellation of the night’s theatrical performances at venues within the affected area...”
The former Unspeakable swore loudly.
“What’s the matter, Rookwood?” Amycus asked from the back seat. “You were planning on taking us to a show as well?”
“No, fool,” Rookwood snarled. “The Muggles have blocked off the streets around Malfoy’s building… somebody might have tipped off the Aurors.” He didn’t vocalize his opinion that the goblins were no doubt playing both sides.
“So what do we do now?” Alecto demanded.
Augustus let out a deep sigh as he pulled his small vehicle in a tight U-turn. Pulling away from the stalled traffic, he replied, “We move on to Plan B.”
“Oh. So what does ‘B’ stand for?”
Rookwood sighed. He was tempted to say “Im-B-cile”, but doubted that the idiots would get the joke. And so he went with a coincidental truth.
While Augustus Rookwood searched for a parking garage, Harry and Wally walked into the Muggle street entrance of the Leaky Cauldron with a wheeled trunk in tow. An Auror was stationed just inside the door next to a sign announcing that the street entrance was closed until further notice. The Queen’s Wizard gave the Auror the proper password, then walked up to the bar.
“Afternoon, Tom, I’d like to introduce you to Wally. He’s a friend of mine.”
“Nice to meet you Wally,” the bartender replied. “You two share Muggle tailors or something?”
Harry snorted as he looked down at his bright yellow jacket, bullet-proof vest (the AK-resistant variety was still in its production stage), and dark combat fatigues.
“It’s all part of the problems that the Muggles are having down the street…sorry that we had to shut down that entrance.”
“No matter, Harry… hardly anyone’s come through that side all summer.”
Harry nodded as he placed a small bag of galleons onto the bar. “Well, here’s enough to cover any business that you might be losing.” When Tom raised an eyebrow and tried to push the pile back he added, “Consider it an advance on food and drink for the Aurors who might pass by here tonight.”
“Might not be enough, then, if you want to give Mad-Eye an open tab,” the toothless bartender replied. “Speakin’ of which…he’s waiting for you in the back room.”
“Thanks Tom,” Harry replied. He shook the bartender’s hand and wheeled his trunk to one of the Leaky Cauldron’s private rooms. The door opened just as Harry tried to knock, and a wand tip was jammed up close to his face.
“Where were you when I was stuffed inside a box?”
“Which time?” Harry asked with smirk. “My fourth year, when Barty Crouch Jr. passed as your double, or last month, when we fought Dementors on the infield of Ascot?”
Mad-Eye squinted at Harry with his one good eye, then turned his attention to Wally.
“You!” he exclaimed. “What in Merlin’s name can I ask you?”
Wally looked at the reinstated Auror and winked. "Well, you could ask me out for a drink…The Stag’s got two-for-one appetizers after nine tonight.”
Mad-Eye sputtered and took a couple of steps back, allowing the two Secret Agents to enter the room.
“Don’t think you need to challenge me, Potter?” Moody asked.
Harry shook his head and quipped, “Only the real Mad-Eye Moody would get all flustered at the thought of drinks with Wally at The Stag.”
The reinstated Auror accepted Harry’s logic with a scowl, then introduced his four-person Auror team, who were sitting around a table dressed in battle robes.
“Potter?” one asked incredulously. “And a Muggle? What are they doing here?”
“Pipe down,” Mad-Eye barked, as he added a couple more layers of sound-proof spell work to the door and walls. “He’s here because the Head Auror asked him to be here. The Muggles have spotted some Death Eaters, and Wally, here…for better or worse…is their go-between with the Auror Department.”
“Erm…thanks for that kind introduction,” said Wally. He opened the trunk and helped Harry pass out briefing documents and maps.
“Good afternoon, gentlemen,” Wally said, as he fished a card from his wallet. “In case you have any concerns, I am a card-carrying Muggle employed by Her Majesty’s Government. At approximately 1:45pm this afternoon, Muggle police officers used these pictures to identify Augustus Rookwood, Alecto Carrow and her brother Amycus on a street located a few blocks away from here.”
“Really?” someone asked. “And how would Muggles know what they looked like?”
Harry replied, “One of things I’ve done as Queen’s Wizard is make sure that the Muggle police have photographs of all wanted Death Eaters.” He then added, “It’s not the first time that the Muggles have been asked to help the Auror Department.”
Harry nodded. “You can see in the Muggle photographs that they tried to disguise themselves a bit, but the witch called out to her brother, and Amycus is a pretty rare given name in the Muggle world.”
“So they were spotted walking down the street,” said another Auror. “Are they still there?”
Harry shook his head. “They seemed to be paying attention to one of the addresses on this street. It’s a wizard building with active wards, so the Muggles don’t know anything about what’s inside.”
Mad-Eye jumped in. “Those three will be back sometime, and they’ve spooked the Muggles enough for them to create a fake emergency and clear out all of the Muggle neighbors.”
Wally nodded, and pointed out the established perimeter on the map. He told the group that the only people that should be within the zone were Muggle security forces. He then passed out some garishly-colored clothing that would paradoxically allow the wizards to blend in.
“Might as well paint a target on your back,” Mad-Eye muttered, as he held a neon-yellow sleeveless jacket up for closer inspection.
“These tabards will identify you as authorized private security personnel,” Wally explained. “Your presence within the secured zone won’t be questioned with these on.”
“What do you mean private security forces?” an Auror asked.
“Certain shops and buildings have their own security forces independent of the government,” Wally explained.
“Like the trolls inside Gringott’s?”
Mad-Eye said, “That’s right, you lot are trolls tonight…explains why I picked you ugly bastards.”
Harry thought the laughter that followed this slur was a good sign that these Aurors had worked together before, and trusted Moody to lead them.
“What’s with the heraldry?” another Auror asked, as he inspected the Queen’s arms emblazoned on one breast and a red griffon on the other.
Wally pointed to the griffin on one of the vests and replied, “The Muggle governmental program that has private security forces supporting the Yard during suspected terrorist activity is called Project Griffin.”
“Muggles know about griffins, then?”
Harry shook his head. “Just as imaginary story tale creatures. As for the other side, well that’s where each of private businesses puts their logo.”
“And since nobody knows any better, you gentlemen will be inserted within the evacuated area as security guards for the target building, saying that it belongs to the Muggle Queen.”
One of the Aurors nodded, then asked, “Rules of engagement?”
“Kill’em before they kill you,” Moody replied simply.
Wally added, “We’ll do our best to keep the area free of Muggle spectators. The streets are barricaded, and we’ve even built three-story tall screens to keep the gawkers from getting an eyeful. That said, the less fireworks you cause, and the less you wave your wands about, the easier it will be for us to preserve the wizarding world’s secrets.”
“Speaking of which,” Harry said, “I understand that there might be other card-carrying Muggles working in the area, so I don’t want anyone to be obliviated without first asking for identification and clearing it with Mad-Eye or me, understood?”
There were head nods all around. Harry inspected the jackets and Wally offered fashion tips as the Aurors transfigured their robes. The combined group then left the pub to scout out observation posts with views of the Rookery. They didn’t notice (or at least didn’t make mention of) the Armored Personnel Vehicle that pulled up behind them as they turned onto Shaftesbury Avenue, or the MI-5 ¾ agents that piled out to establish an armed guard post directly across from the entrance to the wizarding world.
10:00pm
Broadstreet Pedestrian Mall
Reading, Berkshire
Marcus Flint let out a little cheer when he heard Big Ben chime the hour on the radio station. That he heard the bells rather than a BBC report that the clock had been damaged meant that the attack was still on. It also meant that he could take the annoyingly uncomfortable ear buds out and ditch the Muggle electronic device.
Flint drew his wand and with little concern for witnesses yelled “Imperio!” The curse hit an attractive Muggle woman in the back, and she fell completely under his control. At Marcus’s suggestion, she pulled her wallet out her purse and handed it over with a smile, a grope, and an open-mouthed kiss.
Cursing the fact that he didn’t have time to offer her more “suggestions,” the Death Eater direct-sight apparated down the street to an outdoor restaurant. His “Accio billfolds” and “Accio wallets” spells were powerful enough to rip through the trouser pockets and handbags of the bistro’s dinner patrons; a quickly conjured shield kept Marcus from being pelted by the leather goods. He gathered the wallets and billfolds into an empty rucksack, then fired a Reducto at an enraged diner. Flint apparated away before the dead man’s body hit the ground.
The Death Eater reappeared two blocks further down the street, where moviegoers were exiting a cinema and flooding onto the sidewalk. He cast repeated clothes banishing and knee-reversal hexes, thinking it quite funny when the same Muggle was afflicted by both spells. Wishing to leave the scene with a bang, Incendio spells were sent towards two different parked cars, setting them aflame.
Two and one-half minutes after hurling his first spell, the Death Eater left the chaos he had created and disapparated to a preplanned rally point.
News of the attacks in Reading and several other cities reached Harry and Mad-Eye at the same time (by mobile phone and Patronus respectively).
“We’ve been called back to base,” Mad-Eye told Harry, as they conferred within their observation post. “Expect we’ll be chasing down Death Eaters and their damage all night.”
Harry nodded. “You realize that it could just be a diversion.”
The reinstated Auror replied, “Aye, but I also realize that you’ve got armed Muggles watching us watch that building…think that you can handle yourselves if Rookwood does show?”
Harry nodded, thinking about where the other Art Club members were and whether they could be called on in a pitch.
“Take care, then, Mad-Eye, and…”
“Constant Vigilance!” they shouted at each other, before Moody disappeared.
Harry called for his MI-5 ¾ colleagues to return to the forward locations that they’d vacated in advance of the Aurors. He then badge-called Hermione, who was with the Prime Minister, and asked her to mobilize the Clan Air Force. Checking in with the other Art Clubbers, he worried about Hermione’s mum and dad, who were guarding the Leaky Cauldron exit. He then looked towards the Rookery, and the setting sun behind it. All too soon he’d need to break out his night vision goggles, and worry about those creatures that roamed only at night.
Men and women entered the small blind alleyway within Knockturn Alley in ones and twos, all linked by fate and choice to the Pack, and to the Alpha bitch that emerged from a hidden passageway to the Muggle world.
Maggie smiled as she surveyed the small crowd. The wolf within each person was strong enough to acknowledge her dominance, and their eyes were all cast downward. The Alpha took particular joy at the sight of the former Alpha, whose neck still bore the scratch marks from her previous efforts to regain dominance.
The buxom Were lifted the witch’s chin with her hand and said, “Hello there, luv, fancy another go?”
“Sure, then?” Maggie asked. “You see, it’s just that we’ve a busy night…no time for me to cover you.” A nasty idea came into Molly’s head, and she added, “Unless we do it now?”
The Alpha suddenly twisted the Beta’s head around and violently threw her down onto all fours. Molly then jumped down onto the witch’s back and ground her skirt-covered crotch into the witch’s backside. The others joined her in a bit of raucus laughter, but Molly didn’t belabor the point. After only a few seconds she stood and pulled the other woman back up to her feet.
“Tonight,” Molly announced, “we run in two packs. Our Alpha is in Devonshire with the others. You will be following my lead. As you can see from our starting point, we have a rather target-rich environment.”
Maggie waited for a few laughs and comments to pass before continuing. “Our Alpha and I have wolfsbane in our blood, so that our Pack can run where the Dark Lord wishes us to roam. Don’t even think of straying from my tail, or I’ll hamstring you myself. Any questions?”
When nobody replied, Maggie nodded and began to unbutton her blouse. “Right then, time for ‘Kibbles ‘n Bits’.”
The others followed her lead and stripped off their clothing, showing little concern for modesty. The clothes, wands, and other possessions were stuffed into satchels and quietly gathered by a few unafflicted friends and spouses…a Pack auxiliary, of sorts, that would watch over these personal effects and redistribute them in the morning.
The sight of a dozen naked men and women casually chatting and comparing scars and body art was unnerving to the witches and wizards that passed by the darkened side-alley. Smart enough to put two and two together, they quickly spread the word and cleared off the streets. While a few trusted the security of spell-reinforced doorways, the vast majority of Knockturn Alley’s residents decided that there were better places to be that night, and utilized the floo network for an uncoordinated mass exodus. In doing so, they unwittingly aided the coordinated efforts of dozens of Death Eater sympathizers, who began flooing en masse from one location to another just as the sun set.
Rookwood welcomed nightfall on the top level of a South Bank car park. The former Unspeakable grinned as he drew his wand and casually cast a stinging hex towards Amycus Carrow.
“Bloody Hell!” the Death Eater cried. “What was that for?”
“Been wanting to do that all day,” the former Unspeakable said with a smile. “Now draw your wands and get to work.”
They used shrinking and featherlight charms to convert their Mini and three other parked cars down into pocket-sized toys. Each grabbed a miniature car (with Rookwood also grabbing the Cooper) and disapparated.
The three Death Eaters reappeared in Diagon Alley, just outside of Quality Quidditch Supplies. The scene was chaotic…people were running about, stray spells were flying, and the air was thick with smoke. Looking down the street, Rookwood could just barely make out the Apothecary and Potions Supply where Snape’s team of Death Eaters were busy looting and terrorizing. They walked inside the shop, where Death Eaters were busy bundling brooms while the shop owner was held at wand point.
The former Unspeakable was forced to duck as a green-colored spell shot towards him. “Hold your fire, you Muggle-loving fools!” he cried out.
“Rookwood?” the crew chief asked.
“Sorry,” the Death Eater said. “I didn’t recognize you without your mask on.”
Augustus began wondering whether it was his lot in life to babysit all of the stupid Dark Wizards as he approached the crew chief.
“Mission going according to plan,” the Death Eater replied. “Except that the owner here won’t deactivate the anti-theft wards on his brooms.”
Rookwood rolled his eyes. “And so, what’s the Death Eater standard operating procedure for this situation?”
“Merlin, are you a Dark wizard or not?” Rookwood walked up to the shop owner, pointed his wand and said Imperio!
“Oh, right, forgot we could do that now.”
Rookwood didn’t have time to snark back at the idiot. He commanded the shop owner to remove the anti-theft charms on three of his fastest brooms while he gave further instructions to his colleagues.
“You’ve got your portkey maker working?”
The crew chief nodded and pointed towards a corner of the store where a single wizard was busy creating portkeys to various destinations from a stack of quidditch gloves.
“Don’t bother bringing the shop owner along if you need to leave before he’s finished,” Augustus said. “We can’t have him casting his spells once we’ve arrived at the safe houses.”
The crew chief nodded. “Where are you off to then?”
Rookwood lost his patience and cast a Crucio on the crew chief. He only held it for a few seconds before encouraging the Death Eater to remember his place and worry about his own mission. He then took the three brooms and looked for his colleagues.
“Amycus, what in Merlin’s name are you doing?”
“Always wanted some of these,” the Death Eater replied sheepishly, a box of snitches in his hand.
“Leave the bloody things, take these brooms, grab your useless sister, and follow my lead…we’ve got to move on.”
The younger Carrow reluctantly dropped the box, picked up the brooms and threw one towards his sister. The three then flew out of the front entrance and up into the night.
Fred and George were monitoring the Death Eater attacks from the rooftop of their shop when their Art Club badges lit up.
“Emergency Alert,” Wally cried out. “Visual contact with werewolves running in Diagon Alley, heading towards the Twin’s Shop…Fred, George, do you copy?”
The Twins froze, and briefly traded looks of panic before their training kicked in. Fred ran towards the stairs while George leaned out over the roof and replied, “Copy that Wally, we’ve got ten or twelve heading up the street.”
“What’s your status?” Wally asked.
“I’m on the rooftop. George just ran downstairs to set out our welcome mat. Katie and Alicia have been trying to mobilize with the CAF, but someone’s cast an anti-app ward and the floo network is down.”
“Understood,” said Harry. “Fred, get everybody up on the roof, and don’t be afraid to call for help.”
George cut in. “Roger that, Clan Chief, we’re…”
The rest of her response was lost as the building shook with a loud “BANG!”
“Upstairs, now!” George cried out to the girls, as he barreled up the stairs and into the first floor apartment.
Fred called down from the roof hatch, “Oi…grab the brooms on the way up.”
George yelled back his acknowledgment as he pointed his wand towards the apartment door. With the sound of howls and crashes traveling up the stairwell, he quickly threw up a few sealing wards, then ran down the hallway and into the apartment’s two bedrooms.
“So, brother, where’s your broomstick?” George yelled.
“Check under my bed,” Fred yelled back.
“Found it,” George replied, as he stepped back into the hallway. He ran towards the base of the stairs, then noticed that it had gone quiet below him.
“Reckon our traps got them all?” he asked, as he walked up the stairs.
“Would be nice to think so,” Fred replied. They then heard a series of loud howls.
“Then again….” George yelled, as he rushed up towards his twin and helped him secure the roof hatch.
“I guess it’s too much to hope that they stay down there and finish off our dinner?” Fred asked.
George nodded. “Don’t think we cooked the steaks rare enough.”
The Beta had hung well back within the pack as the Alpha led them down the Alley and into Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes. She had watched with reluctant admiration as the Alpha broke down the doorway, only to turn on a sickle and gloat when some sort of trap was sprung and the floors transformed into alligator-infested swamps. She and three others stopped short of the entrance and watched as their brothers and sisters battled the muddy reptiles, and was beginning to think about jumping into the fray for her share of dinner when a silvery mist appeared within the shop that caused her to cough violently and back away from the door.
The werewolf’s nostrils burned from inhaling the colloidal silver solution that had been sprayed from ceiling-mounted sprinkler heads as a light mist... to the point where she could no longer pick up the Alpha’s scent. Sensing her chance, she turned to the other three pack-members and quickly asserted her dominance (as they too had experienced an impaired sense of smell). Deciding that there were better places to hunt, the Beta led the other three werewolves on a dead run down Diagon Alley.
The Auror that had been guarding the Muggle entrance to the Leaky Cauldron chose a particularly bad time to poke his head into the Alley. The Beta werewolf smelled him through the thick clouds of smoke and struck with a leap of more than twenty feet. She viciously ripped out the Auror’s throat, then scampered inside the abandoned pub.
The Beta ferreted out the Muggle exit by the faint smell of prey and she crashed the door with her Pack mates close behind. Her momentum carried the werewolf not just through the door, but across the sidewalk and into the street, where she slid into the side of a vehicle. Almost instantly the werewolf felt the sting of a bullet as it struck her thigh. With a snarl and surge of energy she bolted down the street, somehow managing to avoid a hail of bullets.
Her Pack-mates weren’t as lucky. Roger and Emma Granger’s high-velocity silver bullets struck their canine skulls in precise groups of three, and they fell before they could cross the street.
Hermione’s parents kept their semi-automatic rifles trained on the carcasses, though if truth be told it was due more to their shock than training. A cry from the site commander shook them out of the moment, and they followed his orders to climb into the car and chase after the escaped werewolf.
Harry Potter struggled to maintain his composure as the reports of Death Eater attacks came in from both his Art Club badge and MI–5 ¾ earpiece. It seemed as if the only place that had yet to be hit was the Rookery – the one location where they had anticipated a strike that evening.
Tonks had reported that the Death Eaters were busy in Hogsmeade, St. Mungo’s and at least three different places within Diagon Alley. She had been ordered by the Auror Department to hold at Hogwarts in case the Hogsmeade attack was expanded. Fred and George were, at the moment, trapped within their shop with Katie and Alicia. Ron and his family had used his mum’s medical emergency portkey to escape from the Burrow just before it was overrun by werewolves.
Like Fred and George, Ron had chosen not to badge-jump and leave behind those with less viable means of escape. Not that his wand wasn’t needed where he was now…the portkey had dumped Ron, Ginny, their parents, Bill and Fleur right into the middle of a fire fight at the wizarding hospital’s admittance desk. Harry hadn’t heard from them in the last couple of minutes, and was beginning to worry.
Hermione rang his badge-phone. “Harry,” she said, ”we’ve got a report of possible Dementor activity in Inverness from one of our Muggleborns,” she said.
“Blast!” he exclaimed. They got hold of Tonks, who reported that the Aurors had gotten a similar report, but were stretched too thinly to respond.
“Stretched too thinly?” Harry snorted. “Let me guess, half the force is out obliviating Muggles while the other half is guarding the Ministry, which is presently not under attack.”
“Actually, it sounds like a bit more than half are still at the Ministry,” Tonks replied.
“Right, I’ve got to go,” Harry concluded. He called Wally, arranged to have Sir Evan badge-jump to the Rookery as a potential anchor, then apparated up to the Scottish Highlands (ignoring his lack of license and conventional wisdom regarding distance limitations for wizard apparition).
In the stairwell below the Twins’ defensive positions, Fenrir’s Alpha gathered what strength she had left, and considered both her options and her sorry state of health.
The alligators had been an annoyance. While not a threat, the reptiles had taken time to dispatch, and then to digest (as her Pack found them to be rather tasty). But then the room began to fill with a cloud of poisonous gas. She had managed to hold her breath long enough to find a stairwell filled with sweet air.
The werewolf then vomited up a bit of alligator meat.
Once she was done retching, she look back into the room and howled in dismay. Those that had followed her into the shop had all fallen prey to the gas cloud.
The Alpha’s lament was quickly followed by an angry howl for revenge, and she bounded up the stairs. The door at the head of the stairs resisted her initial attack, but splintered on the second and smashed opened on the third. She lept into the apartment above the shop and took a moment to seek out her prey. The werewolf reflexively sniffed for human scents, only to wince as air rushed into her silver-damaged nasal passages. Although the apartment was empty, there were recent scent trails everywhere, with one leading up another set of stairs.
The werewolf howled in recognition, dashed up the stairs and slammed into the closed roof hatch. The barrier held, and she bounced backwards halfway down the stairs. She gathered herself, and prepared for a second assault.
On the other side, Fred and George looked at each other with alarm.
“Think it’s time to ask for help?” asked George.
“I think it’s time we learn how to create portkeys,” Fred replied.
George nodded, activated his badge, and yelled the Order of Arthur’s ancient rallying cry.
Hermione Granger heard the cry from her station within the Emergency Command Centre deep underneath 10 Downing Street. The Prime Minister and his senior security ministers heard it as well, as she was presently huddled with them in front of video displays showing the carnage at different attack points.
“Mr. Prime Minister?” she said anxiously as she drew both pistol and wand.
The leader of Great Britain turned towards her and gave a curt nod.
She disappeared almost before the permission had left the Prime Minister’s lips.
She reappeared just in time to fire her handgun at a werewolf.
The Alpha fell into a pool of her own blood. Lacking the strength to raise her head, the last blurry images registered by her lupine brain came through cock-eyed:
A woman holding a smoking gun in her trembling hand…
Four others trying to console the woman….
An old man who appeared out of thin air and cautiously walked towards the Alpha with a gun in his hand…
That gun being raised towards her head….
Sir Evan of Eastleigh didn’t need to look down as he reloaded his handgun with a clip of silver slugs. This allowed him to keep his eyes on the beast as he cautiously walked backwards towards the group of teen-agers.
“Alright, there Dame Hermione?” he asked.
The trembling witch only sniffed as she followed Sir Evan’s lead and loaded a full clip into her handgun.
Hermione dumped the old clip out into her hand.
“Five left, seven fired,” she replied, half wondering why he had asked.
“Hermione?” Fred asked. “What do we do now?”
The Weasley Twin’s question brought the bushy-haired teen back to reality.
“One of you should badge-jump to Tonks…she’s still at Hogwarts. Sir Evan and I will stay back in case…”
“Is Hogwarts under attack?” Fred asked.
Hermione shook her head. “Ask the Headmistress to make a portkey. Once you get one, use me as an anchor and return. Then Alicia and Katie can portkey to Hogwarts and apparate out from there.”
“What about us, then?” asked George.
Hermione softy replied. “Harry is off hunting Dementors by himself in Inverness.”
“Right, then, Fred you get the portkey and I’ll go help Harry now.”
Fred disagreed, which forced a quick game of rock-parchment-wand. George got his way, so it was Fred that called Tonks to arrange badge-transit to Hogwarts.
The elderly Muggle wrapped an arm around Hermione’s shoulder as the Twins kissed the girls and disappeared into the night.
“Sir Evan,” she said, “thanks for finishing the job.”
The gray-haired warrior nodded. “We’ll have a talk over tea when this is done, right?”
Hermione looked at Sir Evan with an empty stare and nodded.
“You should get back to Prime Minister,” he said.
“Sure you’d be okay here by yourself?”
Sir Even grinned as he pulled a hip flask from a jacket pocket and nodded his head towards Alicia and Katie. “But I wouldn’t be by myself, would I? Me and two lovely ladies, up on a roof with a bit of whisky…”
Hermione snorted. “Always the frisky one, aren’t you Sir Evan?”
The elderly knight smiled “’Tis the secret to a long and happy life.”
Secret Agent Granger pursed her lips into an almost-smile as she thought about her boyfriend’s morning trip into her naughty memories. “Well if that’s the case, then Harry will live to be 300.”
“There you go,” Sir Evan said, glad to see that she had begun to break out of her shock. “Now go give the Prime Minister my regards.”
Hermione nodded, thanked him again for his help, then disappeared into the nigh, using Wally's badge as a bridge back to 10 Downing Street.
As soon as he was gone, Sir Evan turned serious. “We need to clean up the site,” he told Katie and Alicia. “Eight shell casings and eight slugs. I don’t want any evidence lying about that anyone used a gun here tonight, right?”
The two witches nodded, understanding the implications of Hermione firing a Muggle gun, even if it was against a werewolf. They used Accio spells to retrieve the bullet fragments, going so far as to magically extract the bloody slugs from the werewolf’s body. Katie then lightened the corpse and transfigured it into a small book, which Sir Evan placed inside his coat pocket. Alicia then followed up by banishing the blood and repairing the roof hatch.
Sir Evan’s actions within Diagon Alley kept him from spotting broomstick-riding Death Eaters as they hovered in a small group above The Rookery.
“So what floor is it, Guv’nor?” Amycus called out.
Rookwood replied. “I don’t know, but I’d guess it’s one of the two flats that are still lit up.”
“So which one do we hit?” Alecto cackled.
The former Unspeakable paused, then said, “We go after the top one first. If Malfoy’s not there, we’ll just use Reducto’s to smash our way through the floors, layer by layer.”
That decision made, the three enacted the next stage of Plan B. The Death Eaters flew at top speed towards the target flat's balcony, threw the miniaturized cars towards it, then canceled the shrinking and featherlight charms. Tightly banked turns kept the three out of harm’s way, as the full-sized vehicles, now propelled only by inertia and gravity, struck the building at close to 150 km/hr.
Were it not for the fact that they were Muggle-hating wizards, Harry would later imagine they had been inspired by Arnold Schwarzenegger and Terminator 1.
The impacts blew large portions of the structure inward, and left the three cars with their boots hanging free and unsupported. Rookwood circled back around, then led the other two through the widest opening and into the flat. They dismounted their brooms and picked their way through the different rooms, looking to see if they’d gotten lucky and killed Malfoy in the crash. The only sign of life (or former life) was in a bedroom, where the ceiling had collapsed and buried someone in their bed. As only a foot was visible underneath the pile of rubble, the former Unspeakable ordered the other two to help him levitate debris off of the pile.
“I don’t care what you think about what you are seeing,” Wally barked into the radio. “Just tell me, in plain terms, what’s happening inside that building.”
The spotter shook his head as he lifted his binoculars back up to his eyes.
“The three people who were flying around on…well they look like old broomsticks…anyway they are now inside the apartment, pointing sticks at a pile of rubble. Big chunks are floating up off to the side. It’s like the people are telling the debris where to go with their sticks.”
“Thank you, Sergeant,” Wally calmly replied. “Do the three people match our profiles?”
Both the spotter and his gun-wielding partner looked down at the photographs fixed to the wall of their rooftop perch. They checked their glasses and scope and nodded.
“Affirmative,” the spotter announced.
This time it was the sniper that replied. “Spotty…I'd have clear head shots at two hundred metres, were it not for the bits and pieces of building floating about.”
“Roger that,” Wally replied. “Hold for instructions.”
The MI-5 ¾ agent pulled out his earpiece and activated his Art Club badge.
“Hermione…you back there with the Prime Minister yet?”
“It looks like Rookwood and the others flew to the Rookery on broomsticks and hurled three cars into the side of the building. They’re presently within the twentieth floor apartment, moving debris from a pile. I’ve got a sniper team in position with an occasional clear shot. What do we do?”
Agent Granger turned off her Art Club badge and looked around the table.
“Are you even contemplating assassination?” the Home Secretary asked.
“No,” the Prime Minister calmly replied, “but only because authorizing lethal force is anything but an assassination in this instance.” He turned towards his MI-5 Chief and asked, “What’s the latest casualty estimate?”
“Still coming in, Sir…attacks in a dozen locations across the country, at least eighty-seven dead, more than four-hundred wounded…”
The Prime Minister turned to Hermione.
“Death Eater attacks for certain, based on the reports. No robes, no Death Marks, but there’s magic involved. Also attacks within the wizarding community as well.”
“Any of our wizards on the scene?”
The Prime Minister nodded. “Get Agent Jackson back on the phone, erm…badge.”
Hermione opened a line, then placed her badge on the table in front of the Prime Minister.
“Agent Jackson,” he said, “Take out anything or anyone in that flat that’s wielding a wand.”
As Wally acknowledged the order the Prime Minister called his personal secretary into the room.
“Shacklebolt, I assume that you can send confidential messages to the Minister of Magic?”
Kingsley nodded, as he took in the sight of Hermione Granger sitting at the Muggle Prime Minister’s side.
“Then Auror Shacklebolt, would you please inform the Minister Scrimgeour that Her Majesty’s Government will have a card-carrying incident commander in charge of each of the areas where Muggles were attacked tonight?” the Prime Minister asked. “And that a State of Emergency exists, such that any witch or wizard caught using a magical wand on our side of the fence will be arrested? You also might want to mention that those who resist arrest or point a wand towards a police officer will be shot.”
Shacklebolt grew as pale as his skin tone allowed. “Erm, does that include the Aurors, Sir? I mean…some of the Muggle casualties will likely involve hexes that need reversing.”
The Prime Minister pursed his lips and nodded. “Tell them, then, that their Aurors will be expected to work under our site commanders. They’ll get to keep their wands and can help out if they present their badges and use the proper recognition phrase.”
“Yes sir…and what should I tell them the recognition phrase is?”
The Prime Minister snorted. “Any suggestions, Agent Granger?”
Hermione bit her lower lip. “How about ‘I love Muggles’?”
The Prime Minister smiled. “Yes…that will do nicely.”
Rookwood had just determined that the wizard that had been crushed to death in his bed was not Lucius Malfoy when he heard a loud “CRACK!” A fraction of a second later, a head shot splattered Alecto Carrows’ blood and brains. The former Unspeakable immediately fell to the floor and scanned the area for threats. A second shot that would have pierced Amycus’ forehead instead smashed into a piece of plaster that he’d been levitating. A cloud of white dust settled down upon the two Death Eaters, creating a pinkish paste where it mixed with the blood.
Alecto’s brother cried out her name as Rookwood crawled over to inspect her body. There was a quarter-inch diameter hole just above her right eye and a six-inch diameter crater on the back of her skull.
“Muggles!” the former Unspeakable hissed, as if it were a curse word.
This changed everything, in his opinion. Not just that they had killed a Death Eather, but that they set the trap themselves or collaborated with the Aurors. He didn’t know which was worse, but did know that this vital information had to be shared with his Master. He shouted to Amycus. “We’ve got to get to the rally point now!”
“I’ve got hold of Alecto…I’ll side-along her.”
But nothing happened when they tried to disapparate.
“Wards against that,” Augustus stated. He looked around and decided that they’d need to fly out of the anti-apparition zone. Figuring that the shot had been fired through the broken windows, he crawled out of the room with a distraught Carrow right behind.
“What about my sister, though?”
Rookwood shouted, “We can’t carry her out on our brooms…we’ll come back full force and get our revenge then.”
The former Unspeakable dragged the other Death Eater along the ground to a window on the far side of the apartment. An Evansco spell took care of the glass and their broomsticks carried them out into the night…and into the sightlines of a second Muggle sniper.
The shock of the Rookery’s wards stripping away Amycus Carrow’s memories was strong enough for him to lose his balance and fall from his broomstick. Which wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, as a rifle bullet passed through the air space formally occupied by his left temple.
Amycus’s cries as he fell from the sky were enough to clear Rookwood’s mind, and to focus on the immediate situation. He had no idea where he was, or why he was on a broomstick, but he did know that if he didn’t help Amycus that he’d be dead very soon. He pulled the broom into a steep dive and an intercepting course. But Amycus didn’t realize that help was on the way and decided to risk an emergency apparition just as Rookwood reached out from his broom and grabbed his shoulder.
There was a loud crack and most of Amycus Carrow disappeared, along with Rookwood’s left hand. The former Unspeakable howled in pain and at the stupidity of his underling, whose splinched right buttock was still free-falling towards the ground.
Rookwood pulled out of his dive, struggling to maintain control of the broom with one hand, and quickly considered where Amycus might have gone off too.
Expecting the worst and hoping for the least worst, Rookwood concentrated on a destination and disapparated.
He reappeared in the still-smelly living room of the Bristol safe house.
While there was no verbal reply, the sound of moaning from upstairs suggested that he had guessed right. He ran up the stairs, pushed open a bedroom door and threw a whimpering Death Eater off of a bed.
“Where’s my bloody hand, you fool?” he demanded.
Amycus sobbed loudly as he pointed towards the bed.
Rookwood scowled as he spotted his splinched appendage within the soiled sheets. He grabbed it with his good hand and carried it over to a chest of drawers that was merely dusty. After placing it on the top of the chest and positioning his stump, he drew his wand and began to swish its tip over the breach.
After a complex incantation and a bit of time, his hand was unsplinched.
The former Unspeakable strode back to the bed and yelled, “Get up you whimpering fool, we need to go now.”
“But why?” Amycus asked. “This is the safe house.”
“It’s no longer a safe house now that you’ve splinched yourself trying to apparate here.”
“You left it behind for the Muggless to munch on, and there’s no going back.”
“Dunno where’s she’s gone to.”
Carrow paused, then lamented once more, “But my bum!”
“Oh, quit whining,” said Rookwood, as he turned a Muggle alarm clock into a portkey. He grabbed Amycus’s hand and placed it on the clock, adding,
“Maybe if you ask nicely the Dark Lord will fashion you a new arse cheek made of silver.”
Sunday, July 8, 2:30am
33 Sq. Briefing Room
RAF Benson, Oxfordshire
Harry badge-jumped from the battlefield directly into Hermione’s arms. It was rather crowded, as Fred and George had followed Harry's lead, but there were no admonishments about time or place. Hermione mentioned that Katie and Alicia were in the next room, then buried her face into Harry’s chest as the Twins dashed off to their own reunions.
After furtive physical reassurances that each was alive (if not completely well), Hermione pushed some Belgian chocolate into his hands and helped him slip off his fatigues.
“What’s with the beret and these insignias?” Harry asked, as he fingered the patches on his new clothing.
“The Clan Air Force was drummed into the British Army a few hours ago,” Hermione explained. “The P.M. was initially thinking RAF, but then somebody pulled rank and had you placed within The Parachute Regiment. This is their uniform.”
“Who could pull rank on the Prime Minister?” Harry asked.
“That would be my mum,” said a voice from behind Harry. He turned to see a smiling Prince of Wales, who was standing in the doorway dressed in a drab olive military uniform. He entered the room and extended his hand to Harry.
“Glad to see you that you pulled through tonight, Lord Gryffindor,” he said warmly.
“In this case, I think that ‘Sir’ would be more appropriate.”
“Ah, you see…Her Royal Majesty asked that your group be assigned to The Parachute Regiment as a favor to me, as I am its Colonel-in-Chief.”
Harry nodded, then asked, “Does that mean I now have a military commission?”
The Prince nodded. “Consider it a field appointment until the paper work comes through, Major Potter.”
“Major Potter?” Harry asked, as he inspected the rank slide affixed to his jacket. “Merlin, that’s another title.”
“You do seem to be outpacing me, don’t you,” the Prince replied with a smirk. “In this case, though, it is entirely appropriate for the leader of the Queen’s magical forces to hold that rank.”
“But there’s no need, is there…?”
“Perhaps not for you,” the Prince stated, “but some within your group don’t have any formal ties to either government, correct? A military enlistment protects them from charges of vigilantism, and provides Her Majesty’s Government with the opportunity to sanction your efforts.”
Before Harry could protest any further Ron walked into the room, snapped to attention and gave a crisp military salute.
“Squadron’s assembled and ready for their mission brief, Sir,” he said sharply.
The Prince chuckled. “Well done, Captain Weasley…wherever did a wizard such as yourself learn about Muggle military traditions?”
Ron shifted his eyes towards Hermione, then returned his eyes forward and replied, “Muggle video games, Sir!”
Hermione snorted as Harry walked over and gave Ron a manly hug.
“Geroff,” Ron whined. “My ribs are still knitting back together.”
“Good to see you too, mate…everyone else alright, then?”
“Yeah, everyone pulled through somehow.”
“Sorry about your house,” said Harry.
“Yes, well, bricks and magic mortar can be replaced, right?” Ron asked.
“That’s for certain,” Hermione said, as she gave Ron’s shoulder a squeeze.
“Yes, well…shall we?” the Prince asked, as he held his arm out towards the door. Ron led them out into a small hallway, then into a briefing room filled men and women dressed in combat fatigues and maroon berets. At his call for attention everyone stood and saluted (some displaying that skill better than others).
“I don’t think I’m up for giving any speeches,” Harry quietly admitted to the Prince.
“Allow me, then, Major Potter,” the Prince replied. He then strode up to the podium and said, “Take your seats, Phoenix Teams…I dare say that after tonight’s action many of you deserve to be off your feet.”
As the audience sat Harry got a clear look at who was there. He was thrilled to see that every Phoenix Team member from Privet Drive was present (except, of course, for Brian, who was still convalescing).
“Just a quick word, as I know you have a hunt to attend to,” the Prince said. “Earlier tonight Tom Riddle and his Death Eater terrorists launched a well-coordinated and widespread attack against Muggle Britain. For reasons that we will surely learn of in the days ahead, the Ministry of Magic provided a pitifully inadequate defense for our people, and in many ways acted counterproductively. We now know that hundreds have died or been kissed.”
“You are all well aware that Her Majesty’s Government has become increasingly active in the defense of its peoples from magical attacks, but after tonight it is clear that we need to step up to a whole new level. And any part of any good defense is a good offense. I therefore wish The Prince’s Own First Magical Squadron of The Parachute Regiment Godspeed on striking a blow against the Dark Lord and his minions.”
“And with that, I’ll turn it over to Captain Weasley.”
The Prince stepped to the side as Ron walked up to the podium and began to outline their mission.
Chapter 30 - Cabinet Office Briefing Room A
Sunday, July 8, 3:00am
Brixton Metropolitan Police Station
Brixton Hill, London
Having yet again reached the bottom of her cup, Police Inspector Kathryn Miller decided that it was time to stretch her legs and visit the station’s lunch room. The Community Support Officer who had been assigned the task of keeping water on the boil greeted her with a smile and a full pot of coffee.
“What’s this, then, Kate…number four?” she asked, as she filled the officer’s mug.
“It’s five, Helen…but on a night like this who’s counting?” she replied. “Cheers.”
The CSO nodded. “Heard rumors of terrible things...makes me wish I had something more useful to do.”
Inspector Miller smiled as she gave the elderly woman’s elbow a light squeeze. “With a full house of constables and the rest of the night ahead, I dare say you’ve got the most vital task in the station.”
Just then one of the inspector’s colleagues entered the room.
“Excuse me, Kathryn, but the Super wants to see you.”
Kate acknowledged the message, offered her thanks to the CSO, and walked down the hall to her boss’s office. She found him at his desk, reading an e-mail message on his computer display.
Superintendent Dale Cartwright glanced up and nodded. “Close the door behind you and have a seat, Kate.”
The superintendent grabbed some output from a laser printer and pushed it across the desk for the Kathryn’s review.
“New orders, Inspector,” the station chief stated simply. “Or should I say, Chief Inspector?”
Kate looked down at the message and was shocked to see that she’d been given a full grade promotion and posted to the Home Secretary’s Office.
“Know of any reasons why my most junior police inspector has been promoted and ordered to immediately report to 10 Downing Street?”
There was a likely reason, based on the reports and notices that had crossed her desk that evening, but Kate chose not to share it.
“No logical reason, Sir,” she replied. “This is to take effect immediately, then?”
“Apparently so, Chief Inspector,” he replied sardonically. “Have one of your former staffers drive you …you’ve got a meeting to attend to, and I need all of my cars down here where the little people still work and live.”
“Yes, Sir,” Kate replied. “Sir…I hope you don’t think that I’ve done something untoward to….”
The Superintendent shook his head. “No, no, Kate…I’ve got no reasons at all to think that. You’re a fine officer. It’s just rather…unprecedented.” He paused then added, “Although…after tonight what’s topsy and what’s turvey is anyone’s guess, eh?”
“Right…off you go, then, Chief Inspector...the Commissioner is expecting you."
"Oh, and Kate," her former chief said with a smile. "Do let me know when the promotion ceremony is to be held.”
“Of course, Sir, thank you, Sir,” Kate said absently, as she reread her orders. With her dismissal in hand, she grabbed her suit jacket from the back of her office chair and called out to one of her former colleagues for a ride across the Thames.
3:30am, RAF Benson
Oxfordshire
Once Captain Ron Weasley had completed his mission brief and dismissed the Phoenix Teams, Hermione and the Prince announced their need to return to London and Windsor, respectively. A RAF officer attached to the Prince led him towards his waiting helicopter, while Hermione gave Harry another strong hug and some tender kisses before disapparating back to 10 Downing Street.
Not having any other immediate battles to fight, Harry climbed into a transport vehicle that was to carry the others out to the two SA 330 Puma helicopters primed to carry them into battle. He made a point of sitting next to Hermione’s parents, whom he noted had carried rather grim expressions during the meeting.
“Alright, there, Mr. and Mrs. Granger?”
Emily, who was sitting to Harry’s left, started to put her arm around his shoulder. She stopped short, though, and asked, “Will I get in trouble if I give my commanding officer a hug?”
Harry shook his head dismissively and wrapped his own arm around her waist. “I’ll hex the person that tells me you would, Mrs. Granger.” He gave her a squeeze and said, “I heard about the werewolf attacks, and…I’m sorry that you’ve both been brought into all of this.”
Roger Granger, who was on his wife’s other side, leaned over and said, “Don’t worry about us, son…we were just glad we were in the right place at the right time with that silver ammunition.”
“Still,” Harry said, “I know how hard it is to deal with the first time you…”
“And we are sorry that someone as young as you has necessarily faced that situation as well,” said Emily. "How are you holding up, Harry?”
The Queen's Wizard shrugged. “So far all I’ve tangled with tonight are Dementors, and there’s no bad feelings watching my Patronus take them on. Quite the opposite, actually. Now Hermione, on the other hand…”
Roger nodded. “We know…we had a chance to talk with her before you arrived. Afraid that she’s on automatic pilot, and that it might all fall apart once she has a chance to catch her breath.”
“At least she didn’t see her werewolf transform back to human form,” added Emily, as she shuddered. “Makes me think about Remus, and how it could have been him.”
Harry nodded in understanding, even as he disagreed with her fears. “You two both need to realize that even though those werewolves weren’t in their right mind at the time…they did have a choice. Remus made sure he was tucked away safe before the sun set tonight, and they could have done the same.”
Roger and Emily replied with silence, as they thought about Harry’s words.
“Not that it makes it any easier,” he added.
By that time their transport vehicle had come to a full stop, and the Phoenix Team members jumped out of the back of the truck. The two helicopters were parked next to a hanger, within which were tables stacked with personal gear and various mission supplies. Harry shook his head in disbelief at the sight of his own pile of goodies, topped off with a aviator’s flight helmet with the nickname “Seeker” scripted across the top. As he swapped out his beret for the helmet, a Muggle supply sergeant handed him a helmet customized for Hermione. Thanking the corpsman, Harry stuffed it into his never-full rucksack.
As the rest of the group donned their own flight helmets and stocked up on ammunition, Seamus Finnigan pulled Harry aside and asked for a moment of his time.
“What’s up, mate?” Harry asked
Seamus looked down at the insignias on his flight suit, then back to Harry. “Why did it have to be the bloody First Paras?” he asked quietly.
“This army unit, Harry,” Seamus explained, waving towards the others. “Why did they put us in the First Battalion of The Parachute Regiment?”
“Erm, because the Prince is the Colonel-in-Chief of the regiment and I’m Queen’s Wizard, I suppose… what’s the problem?”
“Bloody Sunday,” Seamus said quietly. “They were the ones that killed the thirteen unarmed protesters in Derry on Bloody Sunday!”
“Yeah…my Republican Muggle dad would think it the same as me signing up with the Death Eaters.”
Harry nodded, finally understanding Seamus’s concerns. “Look,” he said quietly, “I don’t know much at all about Muggle politics, but I don’t want to force anyone to do something they’re uncomfortable doing. Right now, I’m worried about getting to the werewolf pack that tried to kill the Weasleys tonight, and we could really use your wand out there.”
“Yeah, I know that Harry, it’s just…”
“They didn’t swear you into the Army while you were waiting for me, did they?”
Finnigan shook his head. “They said it was a field appointment, and that all the other official stuff would come later.”
“So you aren’t too far gone just yet,” Harry concluded. “Would it help if, before we go to much further down this road, I arranged a little chat with you and the Prince? Or maybe we all sit down with your mum and dad and explain things?”
Seamus looked appraisingly at Harry. “You could arrange a visit between the Prince of Wales and my parents?”
Harry shook his shoulders. “Don’t see why not, particularly if that’s what it would take to keep you with us.”
The Irish-born half-blood sighed, looked down again at the First Battalion insignia on his jacket, and nodded. “Thanks, Harry…dunno if it will help, but it means the world to me that you are making the effort.” He then pressed his hands down the length of his jacket, stood up straight, and gave the hanging edge of his beret a tug. “Let’s do this, then.”
Harry smiled and slapped his friend on the shoulder. “Thanks, mate, and be careful.”
“About showing your mature side too often. You’re scaring me.”
Finnigan laughed, and gave Harry a cheeky salute. “Yes sir, Major Queen’s Wizard, sir!”
The Queen’s Wizard mobile phone chirped, interrupting the retort that had been gelling in Harry’s mind. With a nod towards Seamus, he stepped away and took the call. After a terse conversation, he turned and scanned the group with a concerned expression.
“Ron and Fred, front and center,” he called out.
The two Weasley brothers broke off a conversation with George and his Muggle co-pilot and strode with a purpose towards Harry. They shouted out “Sir!” and snapped their fingers in salute against their helmets (labeled “Keeper” and “Freater”.)
“Knock it off, you two,” Harry admonished. “A few stray Dementors are causing trouble again up North. Fred, you and I are off to Fort George.”
“Sure you wouldn’t rather have George go to Fort Fred?” Ron snarked.
“Very funny, 'Keeper'…just for that, you’re in charge.”
Ron nodded, then asked, “I’ll be flying solo, then?”
“Yeah,” replied Harry. He paused for a moment, then added, “You might want to go with one attack squadron of five, and put PT2 and PT3 in a scouting role. ‘Driller’ and ‘Painless’ are still a little shaken, and they have had the least time to train with the rest.”
“Makes sense,” said Ron. “Might take a bit longer, but that would allow me to fly topside and keep track of things.”
After exchanges hugs and crisp salutes made only partly in jest, Fred and Harry disapparated into the night, while Ron let the others in on the change in battle plans.
Scotland Yard’s newest Chief Inspector was having a devil of a time getting past what were obviously SAS troopers guarding the Prime Minister’s residence.
“Yes, I know my badge says that I’m only an Inspector, but I assure you that I am the very same Kathryn Miller whose name is on your admittance list.”
“Sorry, Ma’am, but you need to step away from the gate…”
“It’s alright boys, she’s with us,” said a voice from over the guards’ shoulders. The harried looking constable who made that statement pushed her way through the line of troops waving a plastic identification card in front of her. Once explanations were made about the very recent promotion, and the Prime Minister’s need to meet with the Chief Inspector straight away, Kathryn was allowed to pass through the gate.
“Constable Jenkins, Mum…pleased to meet you.”
“Kate Miller, and thanks for the help…it’s been a nightmare getting through all of the security.”
“No worries, Chief Inspector,” the aide explained, as she handed Kate the identification card that bore her image and new rank. “I’ll need your old ID, Ma’am.”
Kate nodded as she unclipped her old badge and offered it to the aide. She was then led unchallenged into the Prime Minister’s residence, nodding at the Met Police guards who saluted as she walked past them and down into the bowels of the building. Sir Robin Babbitt, the head of the Metropolitan Police Department, was waiting for her outside of a conference room whose opened doors were labeled “Cabinet Office Briefing Room A.”
“Ah, there you are Chief Inspector,” the man said. “Thank you for joining us on such short notice.”
“It is an honor, Commissioner Babbitt,” Kate replied, as she shook the offered hand. “I must say, a bit of a surprise, though.”
“That’s understandable, Chief Inspector,” the man replied with a smile. He waved inside the room and noted, “The meeting will start in a few minutes…you'll be sitting between the Home Secretary and myself.”
“Thank you...Sir,” Kate replied absently, as she gaped at the jaw-dropping array of titles printed on the name cards scattered around the table.
The Commissioner took note of the CI's expression. "They're all just like you and me, CI Miller...trousers and legs one at a time, and all that." Retrieving a small box from his pocket, he added, “Before I forget…”
Inside this box were two diamond-shaped pins, which he fixed to the shoulder straps on Kate's jacket. He gave her a salute, shook her hand, and said, "Congratulations, Chief Inspector."
"Thank you, Sir," Kate replied, as she turned her head to look at the sets of three diamonds on each shoulder that indicated her new rank. "Don't know that I deserve the honor..."
"Oh, you do," Sir Robin replied. "And you will by the time we've sorted through this mess, I'm sure of it."
Kate nodded stiffly as her stomach decided to twist another knot. “Is there time for me to straighten my tie?”
The Met Commissioner smiled. “Down the hall, second door on the left, I think.”
The Chief Inspector was in front of a washbasin splashing cold water on her face when she heard a loo flush behind her. A few moments later a stall door opened and someone stepped out wearing black combat fatigues and a gun strapped to her hip. The young woman (still a teenager, perhaps?) was struggling a bit as she adjusted her black leather equipment belt and thigh packs. She was armed to the hilt, and would have fit right in with the SAS guards on the fence line. Except, the Chief Inspector noted, for a few accessories that were decidedly not standard military issue – a wooden wand strapped to a black leather arm holster, a silver dagger strapped to her leg, and a starburst-shaped brooch fixed above her left breast.
The woman looked up, and after a moment’s pause said, “Chief Inspector Miller, I presume?” She started to extend a hand, but thought better of it and made her way to the washbasin. “My name is Hermione Granger...I’m a Senior Advisor to the Prime Minister.”
The police inspector nodded. “Kate Miller,” she replied, as Hermione washed her hands. “Metropolitan Police Force, and now, apparently, the Home Office.”
“Yes, I know,” Hermione replied, as she dried her hands with a towel. “I’m looking forward to working with you.”
Kate nodded. The teenager was so serious, with her hair tied back severely and her eyes red and tired-looking. “You’re friends with Harry Potter, the Queen’s Wizard, right?” she blurted out.
When Hermione squinted her eyes Kate added, “Sorry for asking, but my daughter subscribes to a few magazines and, well…I’m trying to make sense out of my sudden promotion and summons to this meeting.”
Hermione seemed to accept the explanation. “No worries…and to answer your questions, Harry Potter is my boyfriend, and the fact that you are the Met’s senior-most card-carrying Muggle officer outside of SO14 did have much to do with your summons. Not so much with the promotion, mind you…from what Sir Robin says, he’s had his eye on you as you’ve moved up the ranks for some time.”
“Thank you, erm…Senior Advisor Granger.”
“Oh, please call me Hermione…at least in private,” the Senior Advisor asked. “Or Agent Granger, if need be…that’s what I’ve been using with this crowd.”
The Chief Inspector caught Hermione in a quick yawn.
“It’s been a very long night, hasn’t it?” she asked.
Hermione nodded, looking rather blankly at the mirror in front of her. Kate took in that expression, combined it with a sidearm that was sitting a bit off in its holster, and reached a conclusion.
“You’ve been in the thick of it tonight, haven’t you?” she ventured.
Hermione’s eyes darted towards Kate’s. “Do I look that bad, or have you been chatting with someone?”
Kate snorted. “Sorry, you don’t look bad at all, it’s just…well, I thought I recognized the look of someone who has just come under fire.”
Hermione let out a small sigh. “I had the chance to skim through your resume, Chief Inspector…you’ve been there as well, right?”
Kate nodded. “Six years ago.” She took a step closer to Hermione and said, “If you need someone to talk to about, you know…unless you’ve already made arrangements...”
Hermione’s lips pursed into a tight smile. “Thanks for the offer…right now, it’s all I can do to keep things straight that are straight ahead of me, but maybe we can sit down for tea later on?”
The Chief Inspector smiled. “I’d like that, Agent Granger.” She then turned back towards the mirror and as she straightened her tie, asked, “As for what’s straight ahead, any hints on what I’ll be doing?”
Hermione snorted as she looked at the Chief Inspector’s holster. “Let’s just say that we’ll need to check on our stock of nine-millimeter silver bullets before you go back out into the night.”
Fort George, Moray Firth
Ardersier, Scotland
Harry and Fred apparated into a casement-turned-command post within what had, up until a few hours previous, been the mightiest stone fortification in the world never to have come under attack. Ernie MacMillian was there doling out broomsticks and assignments to a small queue of witches and wizards.
“Can’t cast a Patronus, eh?” they heard him ask a elderly wizard at the front of the line. He looked down at his map and said, “Well then, take a broom and cross the firth, aiming for the Muggle lighthouse. Just past there are two campgrounds. Make sure they’re still clear of Muggles, and check on the repelling wards set along the road to Fortrose. You see any Dementors, use your wand to cast red sparks up into the sky, then fly away from’em.”
“But what if the Muggles see it?” the wizard asked.
“That’s the idea,” Ernie barked with annoyance. “The Muggle Aurors will be looking to see where they need to evacuate. Now off with you!”
As the wizard headed towards an open window the soon-to-be Seventh Year Hufflepuff spied Fred and Harry.
“Found time to visit a tailor, eh?” he asked.
Harry looked down at his military fatigues and shook his head. “We got drafted into the British Army.”
“Well good,” Ernie replied. “Might make it easier for us to deal with the Muggle soldiers upstairs.”
“So where’s the fire, Ernie?” Fred asked.
The Hufflepuff pointed at a spot on the map in front of him. “The town’s called Cromarty… northside of Black Isle, about seven miles north of here.”
“And there were three, you said?” asked Harry.
Ernie looked down at his wrist watch. “Yeah, as of ten minutes ago…there’s two ‘silver-misters’ keeping them at bay, but…”
“Understood,” Harry replied. He reached into a jacket pocket and retrieved a miniaturized Firebolt. Fred was just a heartbeat behind as he enlarged his own broom and yelled, “Up!”
“Rank before beauty, Lord G,” Fred said with a grin.
Harry snorted as he mounted his broom and flew out a window. Fred followed close behind, as they took a moment to orient themselves over the open water.
Fort George was a massive 18th Century fort built on a spit of land about eleven miles up the coast from the city of Inverness. The fort had been built on the east side of Moray Firth, at the point where the inlet broadened into what was essentially open sea.
Harry and George flew their broomsticks across the firth then turned north, following the cliff edges that formed the southern shore of a peninsula known as “Black Isle” After a few minutes of 80 mph flying they climbed up above the cliff face and turned west. As this part of the “isle” was less than two miles wide, it took almost no time for them to reach the opposite shoreline of Cromarty Firth. A cold sense of despair beckoning to the north was clear sign that they were on the right track.
They came upon two broom-riding wizards who were nervously patrolling the coast just outside of the town of Cromarty. These two “silver-misters,” as Ernie had called them, had been able to cast weak Patronus spells, generating just enough silver mist to keep the small group of Dementors away from the inhabited parts of the Isle. The wizards directed Harry and Fred farther north towards the Isle’s end.
The group of three Dementors had come upon a merchant tanker that had been bound for Inverness with a half-million barrels of fuel oil. Five minutes and a kissed-crew later, the now unmanned single-hulled ship had run aground and ruptured, spilling its cargo out into the sea.
A large oil slick was threatening the coastline by the time Fred and Harry had arrived on scene. The Dementors were still there, perhaps waiting for fresh souls to arrive on salvage and rescue ships. The two wizards cast Patronus spells on the fly...Harry’s stag and Fred’s hawk used the brooms’ forward momentum to fly towards their targets at unheard of rates of speed.
Harry and Fred pulled up short of the ship with wands drawn, ready to conjur additional Patronuses as need be. But there was no need …after a brief battle the stag and hawk returned to the spell casters, with Prongs seemingly prancing atop the thick mat of oil. The conjurations bowed to the two wizards before dissolving into the darkness.
As they cautiously approached the ship, Fred asked, “So what’s all this then?”
“Oil,” Harry replied. “It’s what the Muggle burn to heat their homes, and as fuel for their cars and airplanes.”
Harry nodded as he looked down towards the see. “Strange thing, though…it’s as if you can see Prongs' hoof prints on top of the slick.”
Fred took a look and said, “Kind of a strange orange color, isn’t it?”
“Yeah…I’ll have to ask Hermione about it when we get back.”
A quick inspection of the ship revealed the smoking black cloaks of three “dead” Dementors and the soul-less shells of the entire ship’s crew. They tried to magically seal the breeched hull, only to watch it rupture again as the tide carried the ship back against the rocks. Without the magical strength required to push the tanker off of the rocks and back out to sea, the two found that the best they could do was banish the oil as it leaked from the ship. They called for both Muggle and magical help managing the situation, then went back to the task of keeping the potential environmental threat from getting any worse.
Cabinet Office Briefing Room A
10 Downing Street, London
The Prime Minister of Great Britain reconvened the latest incarnation of the civil contingencies committee (better know the British public as COBRA) and made introductions for the few who, like Chief Inspector Miller, had just joined the group. The principal parties included the Home Secretary, the Defense Minister, both intelligence department chiefs, the Met Commissioner, Kate Miller and Secret Agents Wally and Hermione. Various aides and secretaries were seated behind their bosses, which made the fact that she was sitting at the big boys’ table seem all the more surreal for Kate. Both Kate and Wally were introduced as lead Investigators for the terrorist activity that had caused so much chaos across the country.
The Prime Minister then said, “I’m afraid that we’ve put Chief Inspector Miller at a severe disadvantage, as she has no doubt had little opportunity to review the tasks ahead of her. Am I right?”
“Yes, Prime Minister,” Kate replied.
“Right, so perhaps a quick review is in order,” he replied. “Chief Inspector Miller you should know two things. First, everything discussed here in this room is covered under the Official Secrets Act.”
“I understand, Mr. Prime Minister.”
“Yes, well as for the second key point…that fact that everyone in this room is cognizant of the existence of magic and the wizarding world is, in and of itself, covered under the Act.”
Chief Inspector Miller sucked in a shallow breath as she glanced around the room. “Yes, Sir, understood, Sir,” she replied.
“Wonderful,” said the Prime Minister. “Now, Wally, if you would…”
“Yes, Sir,” the agent replied, as he stood up and walked towards a large video display screen that displayed relevant graphics and photographic images.
“Early yesterday afternoon three Inner Circle members of the Death Eater wizard terrorist organization, were spotted milling about an apartment building on Shaftesbury Avenue in the West End. Intelligence reports indicated that the three were likely looking for a rogue Death Eater named Lucius Malfoy, who has taken up residence inside the building. Given the likelihood for a magical attack upon Mr. Malfoy, a decision was made to evacuate the area under pretense of a fake car bomb. This extreme measure was undertaken in a desire to limit both civilian casualties and the need for wizarding police forces to attempt memory erasures on a massive scale.”
“Excuse me, Agent Jackson...am I to understand that Aurors were notified and were on the scene?” Kate asked.
“Yes, Chief Inspector Miller,” Wally replied. “Unfortunately, the team of five Aurors were ordered away from the evacuation zone in response to the coordinated attacks at 2200 hours across the country.”
“They were all magical attacks, then?” Kate asked.
Wally nodded, showing a map with dots over the affected cities. “Twelve separate cities, including Glasgow, Edinburgh, Reading, Bath, Southampton and Norwich. All of these incidents appear to have been the work of lone attackers.” He then proceeded to provide updated causality statistics, and noted that Aurors at each of the scenes had completed their work reversing the magical injuries and repairing, to the extent practicable, the associated property damage.
“Has the issue of memory modification been resolved?” the Home Secretary asked.
Wally turned to Hermione, who replied, “Not as such, Mr. Home Secretary. Our incident commanders are still negotiating with the Obliviator Squads on the necessity and feasibility of preserving wizarding world secrets through mass memory erasures.”
“Do these oblivatiors have any authority to mess with the minds of the injured parties?” the Defense Minister asked.
“As a matter of practice, I’d have to say yes, Sir,” Hermione replied. “It has been standard practice for hundreds of years, and justified under the home-rule authority provided the wizarding world by treaty.”
“But aside from the questionable ethics involved, does this memory erasure work?”
“If you’re asking whether memories can be magically erased or modified, the answer is yes,” Hermione replied. “As for whether the process is effective in keeping knowledge of the wizarding world away from the non-magical citizenry…well, that’s clearly a separate issue.”
“I’d say that based on the video coverage these events have already received the answer to that question is an emphatic no,” stated the MI-6 chief.
“It is doubtful that we’ll successfully resolve the issue until our wizarding world counterparts are engaged,” stated the Prime Minister. He turned to Hermione and asked, “Still no word from the Ministry of Magic?”
“None officially, Prime Minister,” Hermione replied. “We have, though, heard from reliable source inside the Minster’s office that they plan on stalling for as much time as possible before they reply to your inquiries.”
“For what purpose, do you think?”
“So that can make up a story, and endeavor to get said story straight,” the Home Secretary opined.
“Moving on, then., any new attacks or counterattacks to report on, Agent Granger?”
“Yes, Sir,” Hermione replied. “TPOMS-1 is in transit to Dartmoor to address the werewolf attacks in Devon, and there are still sporadic Dementor attacks outside of Inverness.”
“Which the Queen’s Wizard is handling in his elegantly efficient manner, I presume?” the Prime Minister asked with a smile.
“Yes, Prime Minister,” Hermione replied. “Agent Weasley and he are presently on Black Isle, containing a oil spill associated with an oil tanker that ran aground after an attack incapacitated its crew.”
“Which Weasley, Agent Granger…the one that tried to gas us?”
Hermione shared a smile with the MI-5 and MI-6 chiefs, despite the pressures they were all facing. “The very one, Mr. Home Secretary.”
“Better there than here, then.”
“Moving right along,” interrupted the Prime Minister, “what’s the latest on the flying cars?”
“I can answer that, Prime Minister,” the Met Commissioner replied. “Over the last hour we have learned that the three motor vehicles involved in the Shaftesbury building assault were stolen from a South London parking garage at 2205 hours. We have secured the CCTV images from the facility, and I have the relevant few seconds of tape available for your review.”
The Met Commissioner nodded to Wally, who opened up a new MS-Powerpoint presentation on the laptop computer linked to the display. While Wally was doing this, the head of Scotland Yard stated, “Interviews with the vehicle owners established that they had parked adjacent to each other on the uppermost level of the facility. The last of the three vehicle owners to enter the garage positively identified the three Death Eaters suspects, placing them loitering on the rooftop at approximately 2018 hours. Here’s a rather grainy CCTV clip with that date stamp.”
Wally clicked on the flash presentation embedded within the slide, showing Rookwood and the two Carrows leaning on the rooftop railing of the garage, looking north towards Big Ben and Westminster. Once that clip ended, he moved on to a second bit of video.
“This next clip comes from a few minutes past ten. From what Agent Granger tells me, it is somewhat miraculous that the camera remained operative with all of the magic being cast about.”
The next video clip played out, showing (from a distance) Rookwood hexing Amycus, then all three of them shrinking down four vehicles and pocketing them before disappearing from the rooftop.
“So they did that disappearing trick that Agent Granger’s been doing all night?” the Home Secretary asked.
Hermione sighed almost inaudibly then answered affirmatively.
“So four cars were stolen, but only three were used in the assault?”
“Yes Prime Minister,” the Met Commissioner replied. “The fourth vehicle appears to have owned by the suspects.” Wally clicked on the next slide, showing a static image of the Mini Cooper as it entered the garage. “The suspects drove the vehicle into the facility at 1745 hours.”
“It was a getaway car that they kept shrunk in their pockets, then?”
“That scenario is consistent with available facts, sir. We’re running the license plate number now.”
“Good work, Sir Robin,” the Prime Minister stated. “Do keep us updated.”
“On to the werewolf investigation, and Chief Inspector Miller’s assignment?”
“Yes, Prime Minister,” Hermione said. She stood, gave Kate a reassuring glance, than dove in.
“Apart from the already discussed attacks there were multiple incidents involving two small packs of werewolves. The timing is synchronous, suggesting that they were linked in some way. One group of approximately fifteen werewolves attacked a wizarding household in Devon, just outside of Ottery St. Catchpole.”
“It was the family home of Sir Ronald and the Weasley Twins, correct?” asked the Prime Minister.
“Yes, Sir,” Hermione replied. “Ron and five family members were successfully evacuated from the home before it was overrun by the pack. The werewolf pack then appears to have run towards Dartmoor National Park, stopping along the way to attack two Muggle households. Three Muggle civilians were killed in these two attacks.”
“So they are in Dartmoor’s woods, Agent Granger?”
“Yes, Sir,” Hermione replied. “But perhaps the Defense Minister should…”
“Quite right, Agent Granger,” the Defense Minister replied. “A MI-5 ¾ agent apparently tracked the progress of the werewolf pack from the Weasley residence to the forest.”
“Excuse my interruption, Sir,” said Hermione, “but we should note that Luna Lovegood, the witch who tracked the werewolf pack by broomstick, is not employed by the government in any capacity that I am aware of.”
“At least not until we can get our hands on her,” the MI-5 chief noted, as he shared a wink with his MI-6 counterpart and Hermione.
“Merlin help Her Majesty’s Government,” Hermione muttered under her breath.
“Yes, well, as I was saying, this Ms. Lovegood reported the position of the pack to Agent Granger, who passed it along to the Defense forces. Surveillance and Apache attack helicopters were deployed to the area, and have managed to constrain the pack’s location to a one-square kilometer area. It is to this location that TPOMS-1 is transiting, via 33 Squadron Puma helicopters.” He looked at his watch, then added, “Their ETA is approximately fifteen minutes from now.”
CI Miller had worked hard at keeping quiet, but couldn’t help but ask, “I’m sorry, sir but what is TPOMS-1?”
“The Prince’s Own First Magical Squadron,” the Defense Minister said with a smile. “A mixed wizard-Muggle broomstick-flying cavalry unit attached to The Parachute Regiment.”
Kate shook her head slightly as she tried to contain the chagrin on her face.
“You find that funny, Chief Inspector Miller?” the Home Secretary asked.
“No Sir,” Kate quickly replied. “It’s just that…well, as you all seem to know, I’ve known about the wizarding world almost all of my life, but thought that I had to guard that secret with my life for fear of hurting my Muggle-born wizard brother. Now, I find out that this wall of secrecy between the Muggle and wizard worlds isn’t as strong as I’ve been told.”
“Quite all right,” the Prime Minister replied. “Many of us have had to deal with drastically changed perceptions of our world as well…Hermione, we need to move on to CI Miller’s assignment.”
“Right, Sir,” Hermione replied, not as confident as she otherwise had been. “The second werewolf attack originated in Diagon Alley, the wizard quarter of London hidden behind Charing Cross Road. The primary target again appears to have been wizard-related, but sometime during the attack four of the werewolves split off and made it out onto Charing Cross. Security forces guarding the Muggle side of this exit killed three of the werewolves and injured the fourth. They then proceeded to track down the fourth werewolf to a location four blocks away, and killed it before it could escape into the Muggle population. Fortunately, and perhaps not coincidentally, the werewolf attack occurred within the evacuation zone created in response to the Shaftesbury Death Eater sightings.”
There was a pause, and then Kate asked, “How were our Muggle security forces able to kill these werewolves?”
“Silver bullets,” Hermione replied. “Two of the agents involved in the incident were card-carrying Muggles who knew that it was a full moon.”
Kate nodded. “So we have silver bullets and four dead werewolves…transformed back into human form, I presume?”
“Five actually,” Hermione said softly. “One of the werewolves that remained within Diagon Alley was shot dead and its body recovered as well.”
The MI-6 Chief piped in, “Agent Granger, you are far too modest.” He turned to Chief Inspector Miller and proudly stated, “She put seven slugs into the creature’s skull as it approached her at a dead run.”
Hermione looked down at her briefing papers. “Yes, Sir.”
Sensing Hermione’s discomfort, the Met Commissioner said, “Chief Inspector, we’ve brought you on as lead investigator into the werewolf attacks both in London and Devon. We want to know who these people were, why they attacked, and who ordered them to do so. Your status as a card-carrying Muggle will make it possible for you to liaison with the wizarding police forces that will no doubt also be involved.”
“Yes, Sir,” Kate replied. “I should say straight out, Sir, that I know nothing about werewolves, other than that they really exist.”
“Quite all right, Chief Inspector,” her boss replied. “I’m told that we have some excellent tutors available to get you up to speed, and you’ll be working with someone that has, shall we say, first hand knowledge of the condition?”
Kate’s eyes went wide at the implications of this statement.
“No worries,” Wally quickly said, having taken in her concerns. “Remus Lupin might be a tad furry, but he’s on our side.”
“Time for a break, I think,” the Prime Minister concluded. “Some of us have another oversight meeting to attend to…we’ll reconvene in one hour.”
The committee members and their support staff all stood, with many scurrying off to get updates from their own departments. This gave Wally an opportunity to wrap Hermione into a one-armed hug, and offer words of support. It also gave the Prime Minister the opportunity to walk halfway around the table and quietly cut into his MI-6 Chief.
“Rather bad form calling attention to Agent Granger’s first kill, don’t you think?” he whispered.
The Director General cast a nervous glance towards Wally and Hermione before replying, “Yes, Sir…sorry, Sir.”
“I don’t think that I’m the one you should be apologizing to,” the Prime Minister said. “You seem to forget that for all of her brilliance and competence, Agent Granger is still a seventeen year old school girl whose parents are about to go into battle for the second time tonight.”
The MI-6 chief nodded and let out a deep sigh.
“I do hope that you have counselors on hand that can offer her more than a teaspoon’s worth of empathy,” the Prime Minister stated.
“Yes, Sir…should I bring them in now?”
The Prime Minister let out his own sigh as he shook his head. “Unfortunately, Agent Jackson’s sympathetic shoulder will have to do until we’ve got Dartmoor and Inverness under con…”
The sudden and unexpected appearance of a broom-borne Queen’s Wizard above the conference room table kept the Prime Minister from finishing his statement.
“Bloody Hell,” the Home Secretary shouted, as Harry inched the broom forward and down, so that he could pull Hermione into an embrace.
“Ah, I see Wally has called in reinforcements,” said the Prime Minister. He paused, and then added, “Not that it should keep you from begging forgiveness in the meantime.”
The Prime Minister nodded, as Hermione whispered something into Harry’s ear. The Queen’s Wizard smiled, looked over his shoulder, and said, “Sorry for the interruption, Prime Minister.”
“Not a problem, Major,” the Prime Minister replied. “Here to offer an update on the Dementor situation, then?”
“Erm, yes Sir,” Harry replied, a bit sheepishly. “No contact in the past few minutes, and my old Quidditch captain has shown up with his teammates from Puddlemere United with their brooms. So we’ve got broom patrols covering eighty miles of coastline…and Fred’s still up there in case we need to tangle with them again.”
“Good show, Major Potter,” the Defense Chief said.
“Yes indeed, Agent Potter,” chimed in the MI-5 chief, not wishing to be left out of the loop.
“Thank you, Sirs,” Harry replied.
“Harry, you can get off of your broomstick, now,” Hermione chided gently.
“Well, actually…” Harry replied. He turned back towards the Prime Minister and asked. “Would you mind if I borrow your Senior Advisor for a few minutes?”
The Prime Minister smiled. “Not at all, Harry.”
“Are you sure, Sir?” Hermione asked, shifted glances between Harry and her boss.
“Get some fresh air, Hermione,” the Prime Minister said. “Agent Jackson can provide both a communications channel and a secure travel link, right?”
Hermione was still hesitant, prompting Harry to ask, “You’re not afraid of the broom, are you Hermione? Because if you are, I’ve got just the thing…” He then opened his magical rucksack, and retrieved her personalized flight helmet.
Hermione frowned when she took the helmet into her hands. “And just who was it that decided on my nickname?”
Harry turned sheepishly towards the Prime Minister, who smiled and said, “It was a group decision, although I must confess to having originally suggested it.”
A curl came to Hermione’s lips as she loosened her ponytail holder just enough to allow the personalized helmet to fit on her head. “Well, I guess I can’t complain too much, then,” she said. “Thank you for the compliment.”
And with that issue decided upon, “Seeker” pulled “Chequers” up onto his broom, and the two badge-jumped into thin air.
Chapter 31 - Wolf Hunt
Sunday, July 8, 4:30am
Moray Firth, Scotland
Harry and Hermione badge-jumped to the Scottish coastline, where Fred was still busy banishing crude oil as it flowed from the wrecked tanker’s hold. Hermione used a satellite phone to confirm that Muggle salvage and clean-up vessels were on their way. Knowing that there’d be little that the Muggles could do to quickly contain the oil slick, she suggested that they disillusion themselves and remain on clean-up duty even after the Muggle ships arrived.
Harry agreed in part, noting that they still had a few minutes until the Phoenix Teams would arrive at Dartmoor. But he also observed that Fred was managing well enough on his own, and told Hermione that there were a couple of other reasons why he had rescued her from the Prime Minister’s war room.
His first stop was a few hundred yards off the tanker’s port bow, where a bit of crude oil had escaped Fred’s notice. After hearing a description of the mysterious glowing footprints that had been left upon the petroleum, Hermione suggested an experimental reenactment. Sure enough, the Patronus that sprang from Harry’s wand left dull-orange marks behind as it pranced along the slickened surf.
As Harry swooped down for a closer look, Hermione lifted up her legs and cried, “Mind the boots...it’s not like we’re wearing surfsocks!”
The Queen's Wizard looked over his shoulder and smiled. “As Ron might ask,” he replied, “are you not a witch?” He then pointed his wand towards his passenger and cast a head-to-toe Impervious charm.
Hermione let out a deep sigh as she leaned down to get a closer look at the orange goo that was drifting along with the waves. “Look Harry,” she said. “The color is fading once Prongs moves on.”
Her boyfriend looked farther up the trail and agreed. “The footprints also look to be bigger than his actual hooves,” he added.
Drawing her wand out from a rubber sleeve, Hermione reached down and poked the glowing material.
“Doesn’t physically act any different than the other oil,” she noted. “We should grab samples and let Q-branch take a look.”
Conjuring a couple of capped plastic bottles, Harry made the gallant gesture of getting his own hands dirty and skimmed both orange and black versions of the oil slick. He loaded the containers into his rucksack (which Harry always transfigured into a saddle bag when he flew), and asked, “So we’re good to go, then?”
“I think so,” Hermione replied.
“Good,” said Harry. “Because we’ve got one more spot to visit.”
The Queen’s Wizard smiled. “To a place where moonlight is still a good thing.”
The pod of Atlantic bottlenose dolphins was only a mile or so from where Harry had first come upon them earlier in the night. They weren’t at all difficult to spot as they jumped into the air under the full moon, and slapped their tail fins down on the sea’s surface. It was as if they were unaware (or, if Douglas Adams was correct, uncaring) of the night’s troubles for their land-bound mammalian cousins.
“They’re beautiful,” Hermione sighed, as Harry marked the pod’s speed and bearing from a respectful height.
“Want to join them?” Harry asked with a grin.
Hermione shook her head. “Oh, we can’t…it’s against the law.”
“Yeah…funny bit of law…it’s illegal to approach wild dolphins by boat, but it’s not illegal for them to approach you.”
“Don’t imagine the dolphins would care too much even if it were,” Harry replied. “Like a boat, eh?” he added, as he drew his wand and cast a shield spell against his lower legs.
“Harry?” Hermione asked. “What are you doing?”
“No worries,” he replied. A slight shift of his weight altered their position, until they were about thirty feet to the right of the lead dolphin.
“Far enough distance?” Harry asked, as he once again matched the pod’s speed and bearing. When Hermione nodded, Harry dropped the broom tip down until he could drag his toes in the water. The magical shield of air anchored to his legs cut through the water, creating a noticeable wake and no small amount of spray.
“What are you doing?” Hermione cried out, as she squinted over Harry’s shoulder.
“Pretending to be a boat,” Harry replied, as he conjured two pair of swim goggles.
With a burst of acceleration Harry raced ahead of the lead dolphin, as if they were riding a magical jet ski. The dolphin didn’t fail to notice. Thrilled to find a new way to play, she changed course and led the pod into the wake formed on either side of Harry’s feet.
Hermione let out an unabashed cry of glee. “I’ve seen this on vacation!” she shouted. “They can swim faster when the wake helps carry them along.”
Harry shared his Consort's delight. He really hadn’t expected the dolphin’s reactions (as the Dursleys left him at home whenever they made their day trips to the shore). He got even more excited as some of the dolphins began to leap into the air as they followed along.
“Wow, look at that, Hermione!” he exclaimed. They’re almost jumping high enough for me to…”
A sudden burst of speed ate the balance of Hermione’s warning, as Harry timed a nearby dolphin’s jump and zig-zagged straight under it. As a different dolphin jumped to their left Harry veered course and shot the gap under that one as well.
Hermione’s anger over Harry’s recklessness was quickly squashed by her respect for cetacean intelligence (not to mention her own unabashed pleasure).
The dolphins weren’t afraid of Harry’s flying…in fact, they seemed to encourage it, with five or six offering him multiple targets as they played a form of leap-frog along the Scottish coastline.
“If they’re having fun,” she thought to herself, “then why can’t I?”
Harry had hoped that this brief escape from the night’s stress and strife might boost Hermione’s spirits. He worried when it seemed as though he was enjoying things more than she was, and didn’t relax until he felt her squeeze tight up against his back, reach her hands down between his legs to grab the broomstick, and begin to nibble on his left ear.
“Am I distracting you, Harry?” she shouted into his ear.
He laughed as he leaned into a corkscrew roll.
Aboard “Phoenix 2”
En route to Dartmoor National Park
The “thump-thump-thump” of the rotors rang in Lee Jordan’s ears as he made the return trip from the helicopter’s loo. A bit of turbulence caused the aircraft to lurch and he fell into Katie Bell’s lap.
“Sorry about that Cupid,” he said with a weak smile.
“No worries, Rasta,” she replied.
The dreadlocked wizard righted himself and headed back towards his seat, not catching the glare that Katie sent across the cabin towards her friend. Alicia responded with a “Who, me?” grin that might have provoked a minor jinxing, had there not been the risk of frying their tranport’s electronics.
When the Clan Air Force’s Muggle co-pilots had announced that all of the squadron’s witches and wizards needed proper nicknames, Alicia claimed “Comet” before anyone else could, using her first broom for inspiration. Once Seamus’s Phoenix Team partner “Blade” heard that, Katie’s nickname was set in stone.
Her only consolation was that the nickname “Prancer” had been reserved for Angelina, should she ever join the squadron.
Lee’s broom-buddy, “Stout” Downey, offered up an opened barf bag as the queasy-looking wizard strapped himself back into his seat.
“Here you go, Rasta…wouldn’t do to get puke on any of that lovely hair of yours.”
Lee scowled at Stout. “That’s Rasta, Sir, now isn’t it?”
“Oh yes, Sir, sorry, Sir, won’t happen again, Sir!” the Muggle replied with a smile.
That all of the teen-aged Phoenix Team witches and wizards now outranked their Muggle counterparts had been something they all laughed about when the announcement was made. It was established tradition that only commissioned officers could pilot British military aircraft, and the Clan Air Force’s brooms were obviously aircraft. Fortunately there were no hard feelings; they had already flown and trained together, and come to respect each other’s skills and capabilities.
“You do realize, Sir, that now that you’re official Army you’ll need a proper haircut?”
Lee smiled. “Got that cleared up straightaway, Stout,” he replied. “Since my work with you Muggles is classified, I’m a secret agent wizard, right?”
“So if I followed your example and shaved my head to look just like my arse, everyone would want to know why and I’d blow my cover!”
Neville laughed at the banter, appreciating the joke a bit more than the others. The boys had been especially proud of selecting “Buzz” as his nickname, playing on the irony so often used in these situations. Just as a short soldier was nicknamed “Legs,” or a bald airman, “Curly,” someone with the surname “Longbottom,” needed to be called some variant of “Short-top.” The consensus choice, “Buzz,” reflected not only the preferred military hairstyle (short back and sides), but also Neville’s job as a pilot. And that “Buzz Longbottom,” wasn’t all that far off from the Toy Story character’s name….well, that put the nickname in the running for “moniker of the year.”
“Alright there, Rasta?” Neville asked.
“Been better,” Lee muttered. “Blasted bouncing about.”
Neville tried to lighten the mood with a self-deprecating story.
“Hey Lee, I’d ever tell you how we got from Hogwarts to the Department of Mysteries?”
Lee shrugged as he leaned back into his seat. “You flew, right?”
Neville nodded. “That’s right, but not on a broom.”
“What did you use, then?” asked Scott “Andy” Anderson, Neville’s partner.
Lee’s eyes went wide. “No bloody way…thestrals?”
Neville nodded as his partner asked, “What’s a thestral?”
“It’s a kind of flying horse,” he replied. “Ugly as sin…skin feels like a snake’s…I couldn’t see’em, but Harry says they look like a ‘goth pegasus,’ if that makes any sense to you.”
“What, they pull a carriage, or something?” Lee asked.
Neville shook his head. ““No, we flew bareback.…so anyway, I don’t know if was the flying bit or the fact that we knew we might be heading straight into a trap, but I was sicker than a kneazle the whole trip.” Nodding towards the barf bag that Lee still held, he added, “Those things would have been right handy that night.”
“Why is that? Couldn’t you just lean over to the side and let the puke fall to the ground?”
“Yeah, I tried that…but half ended up on Ginny flying next to me and the other half hit my thestral’s wing and snapped back to hit me in the face.”
Lee laughed at the image. “Clumsy git…no wonder you never had a chance chasing that witch last year!”
Neville got a bit chuffed. “Hey, I’d like to see how much control you’d have when you’re hurling vomit off a thestral’s back at ninety miles an hour.”
Andy jumped in. “Wait a minute…I’d like to think I’ve gotten used to the idea of your world, but….you’re saying that you rode on the back of an invisible flying snake-skinned horse from Scotland all the way to London?”
“And that once you got there you still had enough in you to knock off a pack of Death Eaters?”
“Well,” Neville replied modestly, “it wouldn’t have turned out nearly as well if we hadn’t gotten some help once there.”
The Muggle warrior shook his head in disbelief, and chided himself once again for forgetting that at least some of the kids he’d been assigned to work with were battle-hardened veterans.
Momentarily forgetting his ill-ease, Lee looked over at Katie’s snoring broom-buddy.
“Oy, Stout,” he asked, “How in Merlin’s name can ‘New Six’ fall asleep with all the noise?”
His partner wryly replied, “Better now than in the middle of it, eh?”
“Rather noisy, though, isn’t it?”
The Muggle shrugged his shoulders. “Me, Andy and New Six have had a few years of practice.”
Neville squinted at his partner; for all of the training that they’d undertaken over the past few weeks, he knew precious little about Sergeant Major Anderson’s background.
“So, Andy, that’s why your maroon caps don’t look like they came right out the box like the rest of ours?”
The wizened warrior grinned. “Noticed that, did you?” he asked. “Good spot, lad…we were Paras before The Regiment came calling…still are, depending on who is asking.”
Having received a crash course on Muggle military and counter-terrorist unit organizations, Neville was able to make sense of this response.
“So you three were in The Parachute Regiment when the SAS recruited you, which was where MI-5 ¾ found you and asked you to join the Clan Air Force, but now that the Phoenix Teams are regular army attached to The Parachute Regiment, you’re back where you started?”
“Bit of a boondoggle, eh, Buzz?” his partner asked. “When ‘Sport and Social’ invites you to visit Hell and back, it’s all Official Secrets-like, so on the books it’s like you never left your old unit.”
“That means…your undercover assignment is to act like you’re assigned to your official unit?”
The army man laughed. “Gotta give the REMFs some paperwork to push across their desks, now, don’t we?”
The helicopter started to drop and banked to starboard. Katie’s Phoenix Team partner woke instantly, as if the directional change was an alarm clock. He immediately checked his gear and began searching his jumpsuit for more places to stuff silver bullets.
“Oy, New Six, sure you’ve got enough spares?” asked Katie.
Sergeant Beemer looked up at his partner and smiled. “You know what they say, Cupid…you can never have enough ammo, beer or sex.”
“Hey, New Six,” Andy called out, “Mind their tender ears.”
“Oh, sorry, forgot,” the Para replied with a grin. “Never have enough ammo, fizzy drinks and feel-ups.”
In response to his partner’s fish-eyed glare, New Six muttered an unapologetic apology. “Sorry, Cupid.”
Katie chuckled. “No worries, New Six…just take care to remember what my boyfriend can do with his wand.”
“Didn’t think you the type to kiss and tell, Luv…erm, sorry…Ma’am,” her partner replied sheepishly.
As Katie and her Muggle partner were bantering, Sergeant Major Anderson looked out the cabin window and spotted a green flare shoot sparks up into the darkened sky. A quick radio exchange with Ron, who was in the other helicopter, confirmed that they’d arrived at their destination. He stood up in the aisle and grabbed a chair back for balance.
“Alright Ladies and…Ladies,” he growled (acknowledging Katie and Alicia’s presence within the cabin), “we’ve got the go to land…make sure your food trays are up and seats locked in an upright position.”
Three Apache attack helicopters hovered as protective guards as the two 33 Sq transport helicopters discharged its passengers onto the top of a large hill that overlooked the hamlet of Bellever. As the rock outcrops that sat atop this tor were too uneven for a hard landing, the Phoenix Team members had to load all of their gear onto their backs and jump down a few feet whilst their helicopters hovered just above the surface.
Sergeant Major Anderson took point and headed for the hilltop, with Ron and the others close behind with wands and rifles drawn. They were met by Luna and the squadron leader of a Royal Marine commando unit (deployed from their nearby barracks in Plymouth). Captain Ronald Weasley found it hard to salute to the marine commando and hug his girlfriend at the same time. That he chose to kiss Luna before acknowledging the squadron leader didn’t do much to improve on the Muggle military man’s first impressions of the teen-aged Deputy Commanding Officer.
“Suh!” he shouted. “Lieutenant Nightsong, Four Two Commandos, Suh!”
Ron shrunk back a bit from the shouted greeting, then recovered just well enough to approximate a responding salute.
“Erm…Ron… Captain Ron Weasley, First Paras…nice to meet you.”
“Suh, the landing zone perimeter is secure…ready for your additional orders, Suh!”
Ron thought for a moment as he scanned the horizon and took in the positions of the helicopter gunships. “Are the tangos still down there in the woods?”
Luna interrupted while Ron was looking over the potential field of battle. “Danny, why don’t you be a good little color and go back inside your tent before the pixies come back?”
The burly Royal Marine gave the witch a frightened look. “Yes, Ma’am,” he replied. He then turned towards Ron.
“Dismissed, Lieutenant,” said Neville’s broom-buddy.
Too scared at the thought another “pixie attack,” the commando ran off without realizing that an NCO had dismissed him.
Sergeant Major Anderson, who had come to enjoy Luna’s eccentricities over the few times that they’d met, turned to her and asked “Good little colour?”
The witch nodded. “He did say he was a royal marine, didn’t he?” she asked. “Although I can’t see how a Muggle could be two shades of blue at the same time.”
“Where did you send him off to, then?” Ron asked.
“Oh, he has a tent set up on the other side of the hill,” Luna replied. “He called it an ‘empty-tent,’ which was weird since there seemed to be plenty of things inside of it.”
Anderson grinned at the reference to the “EMP-tent,” a mobile structure designed to protect electronic communication equipment against pulses of strong electro-magnetic radiation. Whilst originally designed for the nuclear battlefield, the same principles were involved when it came to screening sensitive electronic gear from disabling magical energy.
“The tent’s where they’ve got the Muggle communication gear set up,” he explained to the witches and wizards. He then asked, “Is there a reason why he’s worried about the pixies?”
Luna smiled, “Not really…the werewolves have scared them off of the moors, at least for tonight.”
Ron nodded as he activated his Art Club badge. “Time to bring in the others,” he said. Fred, Harry and Hermione popped in a few moments later. Once Hermione arrived she immediately sought out her parents for a group hug.
“So what have you got for us?” Harry asked.
Luna smiled as she led them to a large wooden box. “Your goblin friend dropped this off about a half-hour ago…it was the funniest thing when Danny the Muggle thought the goblin was a Cornish pixie.” She then added, “Well, I thought it funny, even if Earchewer didn’t.”
Ron laughed as he opened the lid of the container. “Okay the goodie bags are here, one per team,” he announced.
The Muggle members of each Phoenix Team stepped up to the box, swapped out their cow-leather gloves for dragonhide, and threw a dragonhide bag over their shoulder. Within each bag were quaffle-sized silver balls, each covered with sharp barbed hooks.
“What do you think, Andy…something you guys can work with?” asked Harry, as Neville’s partner hefted one of the balls in his hand.
“Bit heavier than our frags, but we should be able to manage…any flash when these go off?”
“Don’t think so,” Harry replied. “They activate on contact, but there’s no explosion.”
“Well that’s good,” Andy replied. “Won’t have to worry about the thermal’s blinding us.”
“Don’t have to worry about the shrapnel this way, either,” Ron added. He then turned towards Fred, who was still flying solo with Brian in hospital.
“Think you can fly and bomb at the same time, Lieutenant?”
Fred snorted at his younger brother’s cheek. Fishing out a beater’s bat from the equipment cache, he replied, “Like a day on the pitch, Captain Ickle Ronnikins.”
Harry smiled as he looked towards the lightening eastern horizon and then down to his watch. “Right, we’ve got forty minutes at best before daybreak. Hermione…any chance we can get anti-app wards over the forest in time?”
The bushy-haired witch looked over towards the woods and shook her head. “Need a good hour and a half, and that’s with us getting some help from the goblins.”
“Fair enough,” said Harry. He turned towards Ron, and gave him a tight-lipped grin. “Let’s go, Captain.”
Ron returned the smile and saluted. “Yes, Sir!” He then turned towards the others. “Oy, you heard the Major, grab your brooms and mount up!”
The Phoenix Team pilots, who had already spread their gear out in preparation for this order, all stepped over to their modified Bluebottles and yelled, “Up!”
The brooms that would carry them into battle that night were a bit different from the Firebolts that Harry had provided the Phoenix Teams for their first mission. While the racing brooms could accommodate two riders, they were really designed for solo flights above a Quidditch pitch. Having found it difficult to maintain turns and near impossible to provide the co-pilots the space needed to perform their tasks, the Clan Air Force had switched over to Bluebottle Nines soon after the Battle of Little Wizarding.
The Bluebottle family of broomsticks were something like the minivans of the wizarding world. At close to seven and one half feet in length, they weren’t pretty and couldn’t travel half as fast or maneuver a third as well as a racing broom. Bluebottles were, however, just the thing for the magical family intent on safety and comfort. Standard features in the Nine line included three rows of bench-style cushioning charms, never-full saddle bags, semi-permeable windshields, surround-sound WWN, and six cup-holders (ever-full pumpkin juice cups optional). Given the intended customers, these brooms were also incredibly durable and reliable, with intensive internal shielding in place to ward off accidental magic (something not uncommonly discharged from infant witches and wizards when they’re flying about with mum and dad).
The Weasley Twins had been scheming big schemes on how to adapt these brooms for military use, but with only a few weeks of time (and AK-resistant armor a more pressing priority) they had only been able to make a few simple mods to the seating and steering.
The front bench of each Bluebottle broom was replaced by a single pilot’s seat, and pushed back a good two feet down the handle (almost to where the ripped-out middle bench use to be). The steering zone was then expanded significantly, so that the pilot could fly the broom with hands positioned anywhere along the first three feet of broom handle. This allowed the broomstick pilot to fly either sitting upright mid-handle, or to lie down in an aerodynamic prone position (with chests magically cushioned along the top of the handle).
While the upright flying position was more comfortable, once the enemy was engaged the pilots leaned forward and flew by their bellies. This not only gave their co-pilots a clear forward field of fire from the rear bench, but got their trigger fingers within reach of the belt-fed M240B machine gun that was fix-mounted just off the handle. Each of these machine guns was fed from a never-full saddlebag stuffed with an obscenely long split-link belt of 7.62 mm bullets that offered more than twenty minutes of sustained rapid-rate fire. The broom’s gun mount also had a dragonhide scabbard attached to it, from which the wizard or witch could safely store (and quickly retrieve) their wand.
As the pilots and co-pilots of each broomstick swung their legs over and belted into their cushions, Ron gave Luna a flight helmet (with the moniker “Radish”). With a smile and kiss she grabbed her own bag of equipment and hopped behind Ron. After a Muggle and magical communication check, The Prince’s Own First Magical Squadron lifted off the ground.
They were barely ten feet off the ground when the Muggle soldiers began humming a tune over the radios. Hermione couldn’t help but laugh when some of the witches and wizards joined in.
“So I take it that viewing Apocalypse Now was part of Phoenix Team training?”
Sergeant Major Anderson replied. “Yes, Ma’am…just a bit of introduction to Muggle arts & entertainment.”
“Dare I ask what other bits of Muggle culture you’ve exposed them to?”
Roger Granger laughed at his daughter’s question. “Of course you should dare, you are a Gryffindor, aren’t you?”
“Don’t you dare, Roger,” Emily chided.
“Yes Dear,” he replied. “Guess it’s up to you, then, Dean.”
“You got it, Doc!” replied his wife’s broom-buddy, using a voice that, to Hermione, sounded a bit cartoonish. She soon found out why, as her fellow Muggleborn led the squadron in singing Elmer Fudd’s adaptation of the Wagnerian aria.
“Kill da wee-wolf! Kill da wee-wolf! Kill da wee-wolf!”
The mission was vitally important, but also relatively simple, which suited the Phoenix Teams just fine.
Ron had given Luna a warning just before bugging out to St. Mungo’s, and she had responded by grabbing her broomstick and flying over to the Burrow. From there she was able to track the werewolf pack on broomstick to Dartmoor, which was the largest and wildest expanse of open land within all of Southern England. Fenrir Greyback had planned on waiting out the night with his pack in the Park’s moorlands. But as it happened, Luna shared message mirrors with Ron, whose Art Club badge connected him to Hermione, who had spent most of evening under 10 Downing Street elbow-to-elbow Britain’s Minister of Defense, who had his own ways of communicating with those under his command. And so it came to pass that several hundred soldiers and marines who were presently training at Dartmoor’s commando training center, wilderness survival school, and artillery training grounds were hastily mobilized for an unplanned live-fire exercise.
As Her Majesty’s Armed Forces were a bit short on silver ammunition, the immediate orders for these ground and air forces were to guard the inhabited areas that bordered the Park until wizards could arrive. Helicopter gunships were sent aloft, and tasked with keeping visual contact with the pack (using thermal imaging video equipment), as well as encouraging the werewolves to stay together within an uninhabited portion of the Park.
There had been a brief, but spirited debate on whether silver weapons were really needed when an Apache helicopter pilot was armed with twin machine guns that delivered 30 mm bullets at a rate of 10 rounds per second. There was little research on the regenerative rates of werewolves, and an overwhelming desire to keep the werewolves from scattering (the last thing anyone wanted was werewolves running off in fifteen different directions), The question was therefore tabled for future examination, and the helicopters were ordered not to fire directly on the Pack.
The Apache gunship pilots quickly learned that the werewolves paid no heed to warning shots, and could only be shepherded away from inhabited areas with strafing fire that drew blood. The werewolves, in turn, learned that large caliber bullets stung like hell.
Fenrir took two bullets in the shoulder the first time he ran into a spray of canon fire, and a third to his thigh a few moments later. Without an obvious way to retaliate against an unseen opponent, he quickly decided to run for forest cover. The gunships followed along, using their guns as airborne sheep dogs. By the time the Phoenix Teams arrived on the scene, nearly every Pack member was licking a bullet wound or two within an isolated area of plantation woodlands (which, by strange coincidence, was owned by the Prince of Wales and the Duchy of Cornwall).
Had this been a natural woodlands, Fenrir’s pack would have been safe even from magical attack. For despite aspirations and comparisons with Luke and Leia’s Speeder chases through Endor’s forests, TPOMS’ broomsticks and their pilots weren’t nimble enough to bob and weave around trees haphazardly growing within a “normal” woodland…especially at night.
But this wasn’t a wild woodlands…it was a managed tree farm, with conifers that were planted in straight rows and trimmed of all branches less than ten feet from the ground. In addition, each Phoenix Team member was wearing the same kind of thermal imaging eyewear that the gunship pilots had used to find and track the pack. As so it was quite manageable to have one-half of the Prince’s Own broomstick cavalry enter one end of the woods and to act as Muggle “beaters” by driving the pack out to the other side, where the balance of the squadron would wait with silver weaponry.
George, Katie, Alicia and Lee peeled off from the squadron and formed a four-abreast line that swung gracefully around and down towards the ground surface just south of the woods. Neville, Seamus, Fred and Dean continued on and swung down into a four-abreast position on the opposite side of the plantation. Ron and Luna hovered above the “beaters” while Harry and Hermione stood sentinel above and slightly behind the “catchers.”
Harry counted out thirty-five rows of trees that formed thirty-four different corridors. “Oy, Keeper, any intel on which of these rows the tangos are holed up in?” he asked.
“Negative, Seeker.” Ron replied. “We’ll need to scout ‘em out.”
He then ordered Katie and Alicia to fly into the woods, just far enough to determine how well their thermal imagers could spot targets in adjacent rows. Two minutes later, Ron announced that the heat signals of adjacent broom pilots could be spotted six rows apart.
“Roger that, Keeper,” said Harry. He then ordered Neville and Dean to fly down the east and west forest margins, checking for tangos along the plantation’s edges. When they reported that no heat signals could be spotted from the sides, Hermione did the math.
“Ron, line the beaters up five rows apart, starting from the tenth row.”
“Tenth row from which side, Hermione?”
“Doesn’t matter,” she replied, swallowing her annoyance at Ron’s inability to logic out the answer himself.
As the beaters spread out and started to fly down the rows of evergreens, the squadron heard Lee’s partner call out a warning.
“Be vewy, vewy, qwuiet…..we’re hunting wee-wolfs. eh-eh-eh-eh!”
“Pipe down, Stout,” admonished Seamus’s partner, “or you’ll be hunting fwoaters on watrine duty.”
“Woger, that, Bwade,” the Muggle warrior replied cheekily.
Katie Bell announced contact before the dialogue could deteriorate any further.
“Got two piles of tangos, three rows to my right and about two hundred feet ahead.”
“Targets confirmed,” announced Alicia, who, being on Katie’s right wing, spotted the werewolves a few rows to her left.
“Can’t tell for sure,” Alicia replied. “They’re in two dog piles…I’d say at least ten total.”
“Comments?” Harry asked over the radio.
Sergeant Major Anderson took this as a request for advice and replied. “Have the flanking beaters continue down their rows to check for strays or sentinels. Then have them pull back and take attack positions in rows between Comet and Cupid.”
“With the catchers all waiting on one end,” Sergeant Beemer added, “might also want to have the gunships cover the east and west flanks, in case they run sideways.”
Radio silence indicated to Hermione that the squadron’s Muggle cultural training hadn’t included Star Trek, The Next Generation.
“He means you, Ron,” she stated.
“Oh.” The wizard strategist paused for a moment. “Sounds like a plan to me, Major.”
“Well, then Number One,” Harry quipped. “Engage.”
When military historians were finally allowed, several decades later, to compile an official history of The Prince’s Own First Magical Squadron, great care would be taken to accurately and honestly portray the group’s exploits. As a result, there would never be references made to a “Battle of Dartmoor,” as that would imply having an enemy that actually fought back, or an encounter in which injuries were sustained.
In reality, there was neither.
George and Lee’s reconnaissance of the enemy’s flanks confirmed that Fenrir and his pack were huddled within adjacent open paths in the near center of the plantation. They pulled back to the south and, with Katie and Alicia on their wings, reentered the forest along the target rows. Without any real need for fancy acrobatics Lee and George were able to steer one-handed, such that they could wield barbed silver portkeys along with their co-pilots.
The werewolf pack was quite literally in the dark, and licking their wounds gained from the Apache’s gunfire. The magical energy that usually powered their were-enhanced senses was instead being used to heal non-lethal bullet wounds and manage the associated pain. When coupled with the assault's silent, above-ground approach from the downwind direction, the werewolves never saw, nor smelled, nor heard what hit them.
The four Gryffindor pilots pulled their brooms up to a full stop about a hundred feet away from and ten feet above the two groupings. The high-tech Muggle thermal imaging equipment that was strapped onto their helmets fed high-definition false-color images of not only the targets, but each other. It was therefore easy for all eight members of the four attacking broom teams to follow Stout’s hand signals, as he silently counted down from three, to two, to one.
George and Lee watched the signals from prone positions that gave their broom buddies a wide-opened field of fire. When the count went to zero they tossed their spherical portkeys underhanded towards the targets. Not waiting to see whether they were on target, the two immediately urged the brooms forward, closing the distance to the packs in order to make any follow-up shots easier to complete.
Grenade training ensured that the portkeys lobbed by the SAS-trained co-pilots sailed true, with each striking the flank of a resting werewolf. The silver barbs drew blood that immediately activated the portkeys, and sent the target off towards Gringott’s. But as the targets were part of a pile, and in direct contact with several others in the pack, these initial two portkeys bagged a total of seven victims.
The remaining pack jumped up off the ground and separated. Half of the werewolves turned tail and ran in the opposite direction, where they were met by the catcher’s hurled portkeys. The other half decided to stand and fight, and leapt towards the attacking beaters. This, however, placed them within the sights of the broom-mounted automatic rifles, which, unlike the helicopter’s guns, were loaded with silver bullets.
In the end, none of the werewolves managed to get within twenty feet of a broomstick. Four were instantly killed by gunfire; two more died from silver bullet wounds after they were transported to the secured vault beneath the goblin’s bank. The balance, including Fenrir Greyback, were tagged by silver balls and swept from the field of battle.
Not wishing to drag the werewolf carcasses out of the words, or to risk a surprise regeneration, the Phoenix Team sent the now-transformed bullet-ridden were-cadavers off to the goblins with portkeys tossed towards them from point-blank range. The squadron reassembled atop the tor, where Danny the Royal Marine informed them that their transport was waiting for them at Camp Okehampton, some five miles west.
The eastern horizon was a mixture of greys and light blues as the squadron left the moorlands. Calls to London established that there were no ongoing battles, or need for the Phoenix Teams to immediately deploy elsewhere. Harry, acting as the squadron’s Commanding Officer, therefore ordered the squadron to report to Windsor Castle for some much needed breakfast and rest.
As the others loaded their equipment and flew off to meet their helicopters, Hermione asked Harry, “Think we have enough room in the Round Tower to house all of the troops?”
Harry smiled. “Oh, I imagine the Queen might have a few spare bedrooms, if need be.” He then added, “Pity you weren’t offered a commission, or I’d order you straight to bed.”
“So you’re assuming,” Hermione replied, “that they’d have offered me a lower-ranking commission than yours?”
Harry snorted. “Well, I am the commanding officer.”
Hermione stepped forward and pulled Harry into a hug. “What you seemed to be forgetting, Major Potter, is that the Britsh military serves the Queen under the direction of her civilian government.”
“So? You aren’t Prime Minister yet,” Harry teased.
Hermione reached down and gave Harry’s bum a squeeze. “No, but I am the Prime Minister’s Senior Advisor…shall I put in a call and ask him to order you into my bed?”
“I wouldn’t? After all, Tony is a close friend of the family.”
“True…but wait…this is the same bed we’re talking about, isn’t it?”
Harry looked off over the moors. “So how long will it take for the Pumas to get the Squadron back to Windsor?”
“Oh,” said Harry, “I was just thinking about having a bit of fun in the water.”
Hermione shook her head in disbelief. “Haven’t we played with the dolphins long enough for one night?”
Harry looked down, shook his head, and waggled his eyebrows. “Sounds kinky, but I don’t think that they’d all fit.”
And before she could banter back, he pulled Hermione close and side-along apparated her directly into the Love Shack’s hot tub.
Sunday, July 8, 5:30am
Round Tower, Windsor Castle
It didn’t take Hermione Granger very long to determine that Harry had brought her straight into the Love Shack’s hot tub. It also didn’t take her very long to express her displeasure over the fact.
“Harry James Potter,” she shouted, “if you think that you can just side-along me wherever you want whenever you want…”
“What, don’t you like surprises?”
“Not when they get my spare ammo all soggy.”
“Well, we can take care of that presently,” Harry quipped, as he reached to undo her equipment belt.
Slapping his hand away, Hermione stepped out of the tub and pulled her flight helmet off of her head. “Don’t even think about it,” she replied. Cocking her head towards the front of the tent, she added, “Besides, we’ve got company.”
“What?” Harry yelled, unable to hear her clearly now that she’d removed her charmed helmet.
Hermione looked towards Harry, shook her head, and put her helmet up against her mouth. “WE’VE GOT COMPANY!”
Harry winced as his hands flew to his helmet and pulled it off.
“Didn’t have to shout,” he muttered. “Besides, not for another forty minutes, right?”
“Clean the hormones out of your ears and have a listen, Major Potter.”
Harry followed her orders. He then shut his eyes, shook his head, and reached for his Art Club badge.
“Hermione and I have redeployed to our Round Tower apartment…any particular reason why it sounds as if we’re billeting an army battalion?”
The MI-5 ¾ agent chuckled. “Actually, now that the House Cav’s Scimitars are in place, it’s more like two battalions.”
“Yeah…might be worth a look from your roof. I understand that the Prince is up there right now.”
“Makes sense,” Hermione said, as Harry stepped out of the tub. “This is, after all, part of the Castle’s defenses.”
Harry shook his head in disappointment. “Promise to hop back into the tub with me just as soon as we get back?”
“With or without our ammo belts?”
“Without, as in ‘without wearing anything’,” Harry quipped.
“Middle of a war,” muttered Hermione, “and he’s got a one-track mind.”
“Would you want me any other way, Sweetheart?”
Hermione smiled, grabbed Harry’s hand, and reluctantly shook his head.
“I thought not,” said a grinning Harry, as they walked out of the tent.
Even with Steve’s warning, they were surprised by the armed challenge as they made their way up the Round Tower’s spiral stairway. The situation was rather tense, as the troopers weren’t part of the Windsor’s normal security detail, and didn’t recognize the two teens. It took a call into “Castle Command” to sort things out.
The soldier who made that call soon regretted the decision, as the doors behind him opened and His Royal Highness the Prince of Wales stepped forward still dressed in his Parachute Regiment uniform.
“Is there a problem here, Lance Corporal?”
The soldier looked over his shoulder and nearly wet his fatigues.
“No Sir…sorry Sir, I mean…colonel, erm..Your Royal Highness…it’s just that…well, this man’s maroon beret and uniform scream out ‘British Army’ but his security badge reads “MI-5.”
The Prince chuckled. “You might consider a situation where one man wears more than one hat…like me, perhaps?” He then stepped past the sentinel, extended his hand, and said, “Or seven or eight, for that matter…welcome back, Major Potter, Dame Hermione.”
“Thank you, Your Highness,” Harry replied.
“I trust your latest foray was a success?”
“Yes, Your Highness,” Harry replied. “At least that little part of the problem has been taken care of.”
“Excellent,” the Prince replied, as he escorted Harry and Hermione towards the roof. “On such a horrible night, every bit of good news helps.”
The guard stationed at the rooftop exit saluted smartly and opened the door, allowing the early-morning sun to spill in with the sounds of a castle’s defenses coming alive.
The rooftop was buzzing with activity. Two-man sniper teams armed with binoculars and Barrett rifles shared space along the ramparts with artillery scouts and anti-aircraft batteries armed with surface-to-air missiles. A staging area had been established away from the roofline, where men were busy offloading a palette of supplies that had just been delivered by helicopter.
Harry and Hermione were introduced to the Prince’s military aide-de-camp and three other smartly dressed officers who were liaisons between the Royals and the troops currently protecting them. As they were given a tour of the ramparts the Prince pointed out units and recounted their overnight deployments.
“These men on the roof and those below guarding the Upper Ward and the gates are with the Foot Calvary battalion based in Victoria Barracks,” he noted.
“We had the snipers in place early yesterday evening, when the West End was evacuated. Once all hell broke loose at ten the balance of the battalion was mobilized.”
Taking in all of the heavy equipment now positioned on the Round Tower’s rooftop, Harry asked, “How did they get all of this equipment up here?”
“Helicopter transport,” the Prince replied. “Wally thought it’d be best to wait for Dame Hermione to adjust the Tower’s protections before we started running troops through the front doors.”
“Make sense,” Hermione replied. “Is there still public access to the Castle?”
The Prince shook his head. “Authorized personnel only.”
“Good idea,” said Harry, “although I bet Dean Conner’s not going to be pleased about Sunday services.”
“Oh, he assured me that they’ll still be held,” the Prince replied. “And that he’s expecting to see you in the pews if at all possible.”
“That….actually sounds like a good idea,” said Harry, thinking that the vicar might offer some additional support for Hermione’s post-battle stress. He then pointed towards the missile batteries stationed along the ramparts, and asked, “What type of weapons are these?”
“The platform-mounted systems are Starstreak HVM’s, Major Potter,” one of the liaisons replied. “Primarily used for short range surface-to-air attacks.”
“And those bigger missile tubes on the ground?”
“Short-range, fire-and-forget light anti-tank missiles,” the liaison replied.
“Thinking of certain targets, Your Highness?”
The Prince nodded, and noted, “You did have giants and dragons on the list of possible adversaries.”
“Then we might want to look at punching power, sir,” Harry replied, as he looked closely at the SAM battery launch tubes. “Dragonhide might be a little tougher than metallic fuselages.”
Smiling, the Prince asked, “Don’t suppose you have a dragon laying about that we could use for target practice?” Without waiting for a response he then turned towards his aide and instructed him to look into the installation of heavy-duty wire-guided TOW missiles.
Looking out beyond the castle’s walls, the Prince then picked out roadblocks associated with an outer perimeter. “Those boys are with the armoured reconnaissance squadron out of Combermere Barracks. Up above, of course, we’ve got Joint Helicopter Command keeping watch.”
Hermione and Harry were pleased to see that the checkpoints at each of the Castle’s main entrances were just inside her attenuated wards. “How tight are they monitoring the authorized personnel that are coming into the castle?”
“Complete lockdown,” the Prince replied. “We’re taking your warning about Imperius curses seriously…the only way into the castle right now is by helicopter transits flying out of RAF Northolt.”
“Excellent,” Harry replied. The mention of helicopter transit prompted him ask about the Phoenix Team helicopters. The RAF officer representing the Joint Helicopter Command informed Harry that the two Pumas had already been cleared to land on the helicopter pad that had established in the Lower Ward’s courtyard.
“Hope you don’t mind, Your Highness,” said Harry, “but I thought it best to bring the Phoenix Teams here for the time being.”
“Quite all right, Major Potter,” the Prince replied. “We hadn’t gotten to a discussion of where exactly TPOMS would be stationed, and the extra wands will be welcomed….which reminds me that we need to consider augmenting the magical side of the Queen’s security.”
“You mean beyond the Queen’s Wizard?” asked Hermione.
“Precisely,” the Prince replied. “While having a Order of Arthur member permanently assigned to her security detail means that you two are only a badge-call away, Agent Wall can’t be expected to work 24/7, and there are situations where he can’t be expected to be by her side.”
“Harry,” Hermione chided gently, “Start with the Royal dressing rooms and use your imagination from there.”
“Oh, yeah, guess you’re right,” Harry replied. “So we’re talking about a witch, and preferably one that can more or less move into the Castle and travel with the Queen at all times?”
“That’s one possibility,” the Prince replied. “Were it not for the fact that Dame Hermione’s talents were currently being so brilliantly exploited by the Prime Minister’s office and his Intelligence Ministers, we’d ask her.”
Hermione blushed. “You are too kind, Your Highness.”
“Not at all, Dame Hermione,” the Prince replied. “He said as much himself just an hour ago when Her Royal Majesty broached the topic.”
“Yes, really, Dame Hermione…from the way he was zealously guarding your time and talent I half expected him to announce intentions to adopt you and offer the spare bedroom above Number 10.”
“Oh my,” the red-faced witch replied. “I’m afraid that my parents might object to the adoption.”
“And I’d object to the change in bedrooms,” Harry whispered, earning himself an elbow to the ribs.
Harry, Hermione and the Prince of Wales were at the helicopter-landing pad to personally greet the Phoenix Teams as they arrived. They even helped off-load their equipment. And if anyone wondered why the Prince of Wales was walking within the castle grounds carrying a seven-and-a-half foot long broom, they kept it to themselves.
There was more than enough magically-supplied hot water between the Round Tower’s three magical tents to offer each of the Phoenix Teams members the chance to clean up. Sir Evan, who was now back from his Rookery deployment, was happy to host Andy and the other Muggle military men. They, in turn, were more than happy to closely examine Sir Evan’s artwork as they waited their turn to shower and shave.
The Grangers offered up their magical lavatory to Fred, George, Katie, Alicia and Lee, which allowed Harry and Hermione to show off the Love Shack to Luna and Harry’s four Gryffindor dormitory mates. Needless to say, the tacky-romantic décor created quite an impression, and no small amount of grief to be delivered onto Harry’s shoulders by his male friends.
“Bloody hell, Harry,” said Dean, “this is the same tent you had pitched on Privet Drive, isn’t it?”
“Did it come this way, or did you and Hermione doll it up this way to suit your moods?” asked a smirking Seamus.
“It came this way, thank you very much,” said Harry.
“Where did you get it?” asked Dean.
“Headmistress gave it to me,” Harry replied.
“Really?” asked a smirking Neville. “Reckon I might like the way the new Headmistress will run Hogwarts when we return, then.”
With all of their teasing, the boys failed to notice Hermione as she slipped into the back room with Luna. By the time that Harry tried to show them in the door was locked, and it was only after a five-minute wait that the locking charm was removed and they were allowed inside.
Harry Potter was used to seeing two trails of clothing leading from the bath house door towards the hot tub. That said, he was not used to seeing bras and knickers included within both sets of discarded garments.
Ron and Harry took in the sight of their girlfriends’ heads floating just above the water’s surface and simultaneously uttered their first names in disbelief.
“Hop in, Ronnikins,” the Ravenclaw witch replied.
“Just make sure you wash first,” added Hermione with a smile.
“Erm you want us to strip down and wash first?” asked Harry.
“That is how we generally do it, isn’t it Harry?”
“Erm yeah, but…not when we’ve got company.”
“Oh pish posh, Harry…weren’t you the one that made me promise to jump in with you just as soon as we got back?”
“Luna, I should know better than to ask what you’re wearing, right?” asked Ron.
“Yes,” Luna replied matter-of-factly.
“Sweet Merlin’s shorts,” uttered Dean Thomas.
“Wait a minute…you two girls expect us to strip down starkers and jump in with you?”
“No,” Hermione replied patiently. “We also expect you to scrub yourself clean somewhere in between stripping and jumping.”
“Oh, you…boys,” Hermione sighed, as she reached for her wand. The bit of naked shoulder exposed by this movement drew in more breaths as she turned and fired Obscuro charms on each of the five young wizards. This spell played with the light rays as they reflected off of each wizard and his clothes, so that they, or anyone looking at them, could only see a blurred image.
Harry thought it similar to the pixilated soft-core porn that he’d once caught Dudley trying to make sense of on a partially-blocked telly channel.
“There, happy now?” asked Hermione. “Luna and I can’t see your bits as you wash….oh, and Harry, be sure to show them how to use the scrub brush.”
“Erm…yes Dear,” he replied, just managing to remember the proper response to that situation.
As Luna and Hermione watched the five blurry Gryffindors strip down and wash up they decided that the blurry images were highly entertaining. The obscuring charms affected the wizards themselves, so scrub brushes didn’t always land where they were supposed to. The spells also played havoc with depth perception, and made it hard for each of the boys to keep to their own spaces. Combine these vision problems with soap suds and a slickened floor (which may or may not have been made more slippery by a discrete spell cast from the peanut gallery), and the boys found themselves falling all over themselves. (to their embarrassment and to the Hermione and Luna’s amusement).
Finally, after five minutes of slipping and sliding the boys were allowed to join the witches in the now-expanded hot tub. Ron and Harry made sure that Luna and Hermione were sitting next to each other and that they were by their respective boyfriend’s sides.
As the group finally began to settle down, Hermione leaned towards Harry and whispered into his ear.
“So, is this as fun as you thought?”
“Planning on surprising me again with a side-along apparition into the tub?”
“Good,” Hermione replied, squeezing his upper thigh for emphasis.
Harry slumped down into the water and considered the possibility that Hermione’s Slytherin streak was just as strong as his.
Especially when Hermione scooted next to him and he felt the fabric of her strapless bikini top scrape against his chest.
By the time that they had finished their soak, reapplied obscuration charms, and gotten dressed, a House Calvary Unit’s quartermaster had arranged for Muggle tents, cots and other supplies to be set up in the Round Tower’s upper floor. They had decided to convert this upper story into a barracks, with facilities not only for the Phoenix Teams but for the Muggle military troops that would now be stationed on the Round Tower’s roof. Harry had been all set to tuck into some serious conjuring and transfiguration remodeling work, before Hermione quietly reminded him that the expended magical energy might negatively interfere with the laser-guided target acquisition systems and other sensitive electronics now positioned on the roof.
The Prince had arranged for a fresh set of uniforms to be left on each cot, not realizing that the magical hampers installed within each of the three tents had cleaned and pressed the uniforms that had been worn into the field. Luna was surprised to find that a fresh set of black fatigues had been discretely set out for her use inside the Deputy Commanding Officer’s tent. On top of this clothes pile was a plastic identification card attached to a lanyard necklace.
Ron snickered when Luna brought this to his attention.
“M…I….5,” Luna sounded out, as she looked at the badge. “What does that mean, Ronny?”
“Ask Hermione,” he replied brightly. “I’m sure she’ll be thrilled to tell you.”
Once they’d reassembled, Harry asked for a show of hands on the issue of rest vs. rations. Ron was ready to argue that his growling stomach deserved its own vote, but this wasn’t necessary, as the post-combat high was still in place and food won out.
Given the Castle’s augmented security forces, the mess had geared up in its own way and changed over from menu service to a buffet line, and from individual tables to long, Great-Hall style seating. Fortunately, the quality of food didn’t diminish, as Ron was all too eager to state as heaped food on his plate.
Neville Longbottom ended up sitting across from Harry and Hermione, which gave opportunity to address something that had been nagging him all night.
Gesturing at his uniform, and down the table towards the Phoenix Teams, he asked Harry, “So…what’s all this mean now, after last night?”
Harry shared a look with Hermione, then replied. “Don’t really know myself, Nev…was there something specific?”
“Well, lots of things,” Neville replied. “But maybe I should start with asking what it means to be Lieutenant Longbottom, and a wizard within the Muggle army.”
Harry sighed. “When I talked with The Prince last night, he said that the Muggles wanted to be sure that the Phoenix Teams couldn’t get into trouble for what happened in the woods with the werewolves.”
“What kind of trouble…and from whom…the Muggles or the Ministry?”
“Both, I think,” Hermione replied. "In the Muggle world, people can’t just go out and kill werewolves, or wizards, or each other, unless it’s a clear case of self-defense. Even then, very few Muggles are allowed to carry the kinds of weapons we have to defend ourselves.”
Hermione nodded. “That’s a huge difference between the Muggle and wizard worlds, Neville…in the wizarding world, everyone can legally carry a concealed, lethal weapon.”
“Exactly,” Hermione replied. “Muggles who don’t have permission to carry a gun can be sent off to Muggle prison if they get caught. And Muggles who don’t have permission to use guns against criminals or terrorists can get into even more trouble.”
“So….if you’re in the Army you’ve got permission to carry and use weapons?”
Hermione nodded. “To a limited extent, yes….so long as you are doing your job and follow orders.”
“Oh,” Neville replied. He then asked, “So what happens if the Muggles say our job is to kill wizards?”
“It won’t happen, Nev, unless it’s fighting Death Eaters who are trying to kill us,” Harry replied. “But if it did happen….well, Muggles have a different set of laws to cover those cases.”
“Moral laws,” Harry replied. “Killing innocent people is morally wrong, and if a soldier is ordered to do that he can say no and refuse to carry out those orders.”
“But won’t he get in trouble?”
Hermione shook his head. “The soldier would only get in trouble if they obeyed.”
“So how do we learn when it’s okay to follow these types of orders and when we have to refuse?”
Harry thought for a moment. “My first thought is that you don’t have to learn that kind of thing, Neville….because you already know the answer. You know what’s right and wrong, you fight for the light….you just know.”
Neville responded with a contemplative nod. “And second thoughts?”
Harry turned to Hermione, who replied, “Neville, the Muggle army has a Code of Conduct that it has to teach you before it can expect you to follow the rules. And as for what’s moral during wartime, well…Harry and I are actually working with someone on that.”
“In fact,” Harry added, “if we’re not too terribly busy later this morning we’ll introduce you to Dean Conner.”
“Thanks, Harry,” Neville replied. “I think I’d like that.” After a moment’s pause and another bite of food he asked a related question. “But what about the Ministry?”
Harry chuckled. “Well, I think that the Prince and Prime Minister will be keeping the Ministry occupied for the next few days…why?”
“The internships,” Neville replied. “Today’s Sunday, but tomorrow it’s the start of another work week for all of the pure-bloods that were drafted into becoming the Ministry’s house elves.”
“Ah, I hadn’t thought about that,” Harry replied. “Well, my first response is to tell the Ministry to sod off.”
“Probably my second response as well,” said Harry with a grin. “What’s the penalty for calling in sick?”
“Hmm, there’s a fine and if you skiv off long enough they say they’ll arrest you.”
Harry nodded. “Well, we can cover any fines, if need be, and if the Aurors think they’ve got enough time on their hands to play truant officers, well….”
“What Harry is trying to say is that we’ll raise the issue with our bosses,” interrupted Hermione. “For now, consider TPOMS to be the same kind of part-time job as the Clan Air Force.”
“Thanks, Hermione,” Neville replied. “Not that I wouldn’t miss the grunge work, but there have been one or two good things about that internship program.”
“Lunch dates with Susan,” chimed in an eavesdropping Seamus.
As Neville blushed, Harry raised an eyebrow, “Really, Nev?”
Hermione swatted her boyfriend’s arm. “Oh, shush, Harry. You’re the Queen’s Wizard, not the Queen’s Gossip…it’s Neville’s business, not yours.”
“Yes, dear,” Harry replied with a smirk.
Mention of the Queen brought Harry’s mind back to an earlier conversation, and the need to expand and rearrange his white board.
“So, Neville, you’ve been talking with Susan last couple of weeks?”
When Neville smiled and nodded, Harry followed up. “Do you think she likes being an intern, or that she only likes it for the same reasons you do?”
Neville sighed, then admitted that Susan hated her job, but seemed to enjoy her lunches.
“So,” Harry reasoned, “if TPOMS were based here, at the Castle, and you were living in the Tower and taking your meals here in the Queen’s Mess, and we found a way to offer Susan a job that would do the same…”
“Oh, Harry, quit playing yenta,” Hermione said. “Although….it’s not a bad idea…haven’t got Susan on your org chart yet, have you?”
Harry shook his head. “Nope, not her, or Padma, or Parvati, or Hannah Abbot…”
“Thinking about more than one magical bodyguard, Harry?” Hermione asked.
Nodding, Harry explained, “Well, if the whole point is to find a way to get Neville and Susan some quality time together, then it’d hardly do to have her spending all her time with the Queen, right?”
“Harry,” Hermione replied, “Are you planning on bringing the entire Peanut Butter Brigade onto the Royal payroll?”
The Queen’s Wizard shook his head. “No, not at all, just minding my responsibilities.”
“Responsibilities to the Queen?”
“No, silly,” Harry replied. Giving Neville a wink he said, “To my troops.”
“Planning on housing these witches-in-waiting in the Tower as well?” Hermione asked.
Harry shrugged his shoulders. “We’ll see…it would be up to the Queen. Although…we do have that spare bed in the Love Shack to offer. What do you think, Nev?”
Hermione thought to kick Harry’s shin, as Lieutenant Longbottom choked on his Cheerios. The call out of “Attention!” and the scrape of chair legs as the mess hall sprang to its feet saved Neville from further teasing.
“As you were,” the Prince called out, as he entered the room and strode towards Harry. The Royal Historian trailed closely behind, looking extremely worried and wringing his hands together as he muttered to himself. When he caught sight of Ron dressed in his captain’s uniform the man let out a sharp cry.
“Hush, Mr. Baxter,” said the Prince, “We’ll soon get to the bottom of this.”
“Is something wrong, Your Highness?” Harry asked.
The Prince nodded. “There may be…I’m afraid that I gave our Royal Historian quite a shock when I saw him in the hall just now and mentioned your commissions.”
“The orb, Your Highness,” the historian begged.
“Ah, yes,” the Prince replied. He turned towards Harry and said, “Mr. Baxter is afraid that certain actions taken on our part may have caused some difficulties with treaty obligations.”
“Well…we are not quite certain, but it has to do with your Queen’s Wizard’s necklace. You don’t happen to have it with you, do you?”
“Yes, Your Highness,” Harry replied. “It’s here in my rucksack…would you like to see it?”
“If it isn’t too much trouble, Major.”
Harry shrugged his shoulders as he set his rucksack on the table, opened the top flap, and rummaged through the expanded interior. After a few moments he muttered, “There it is!” and fished out the symbol of his station.
“Put it on, Sir Harry, please?” begged the Historian.
“Erm, sure,” Harry replied. He held the huge pearl in one had as he slipped the heavy gold chain over his head with the other. Once he let the orb dangle against his uniformed chest it began to glow with the same amber light displayed when the Queen elevated him to the position of Royal Wizard.
“Oh, thank goodness,” the Royal Historian cried, as he held a hand to his heart. “I was so certain that…can’t imagine why it wouldn’t….”
Harry shifted his confused gaze between the Prince and the Royal Historian.
“Major Potter, there is an explanation, but perhaps it best be provided elsewhere?” asked the Prince.
“Of course, Your Highness,” Harry replied, as he closed his rucksack back up. “Might Ron and Hermione join us?”
“Oh, certainly,” the Prince replied.
Harry turned to Neville and said, “Lieutenant, once everyone’s eaten the squadron can stand down in the Tower Barracks.”
“Yes, Sir, Major Potter,” Neville replied with a smirking salute.
The Prince led the three teens and the historian out of the mess hall and down the walkway towards the State Apartments that housed the Royal Family. Finding an empty sitting room just inside the entrance, he asked an assistant for tea and bade the others to sit.
“Mr. Baxter, has your heart rate slowed to the point where you can talk again?” the Prince asked with a smile.
“Yes, Your Highness,” the historian replied. After a moment he said, “Sir Harry, your right to wield magic as the Queen’s Wizard was established by the Treaty of Carlisle signed in the year 1567 by Queen Elizabeth I.”
“Yes I remember…you mentioned this back when we met on Privet Drive,” Harry replied.
“Yes, well you might also remember me saying that this was a negotiated treaty, with terms and conditions that each of the signature parties, or their successors, were obligated to fulfill,” said the historian. “One of those conditions was that the Muggle monarchy would disband her wizard military forces, and authorize the Ministry of Magic’s Aurors and Hit Wizards to work in their stead.”
“And so,” offered Hermione, “you thought that the creation of The Prince’s Own Magical Squadron violated that condition?”
“Exactly, Dame Hermione,” the historian replied.
“What’s that got to do with Harry’s gaudy jewelry?” Ron asked.
“Quite alright, Dame Hermione,” the historian quickly said. “The question was one of treaty enforcement,” he stated. “Since the magical and mundane worlds were to be separated, there were concerns at the time of signing about how each side could verify that the other side was honoring its obligations.”
“So, according to what I’ve read within the treaty’s ancillary documents, a magical way was created to ensure compliance.”
“And that has to do with the necklace?” asked Harry.
“Yes, Sir Harry,” the historian replied. “That necklace and one other was created with magic linked to the treaty. Based on what I’ve read, so long as the orb on the Queen’s Wizard’s necklace glows, he has the right and authority to do magic for the Queen.”
“So if the Queen or her Wizard violated the treaty’s terms or conditions, his necklace would stop glowing?”
“So…what does that mean?” Harry asked. “Based on what you’ve said, it should have stopped glowing, right?”
“Not necessarily,” the historian replied. “It’s possible that there’s some sort of loophole about the military commissions that you’ve been offered. But…”
The historian paused to sip some tea. “It’s more likely that this is the result of other concerns at the time of signing…fears that one side or the other would at some point knowingly abrogate the treaty in order to make it unenforceable.”
“This was the treaty that basically created the Ministry of Magic,” the historian explained. “Before this treaty, all British wizards and witches were subject to direct rule by the Muggle monarch, just like their Muggle counterparts.”
“So,” Hermione reasoned. “The wizards were afraid that some future king or queen might want to go back on the agreement, disassemble the Ministry of Magic, and bring the worlds back together again?”
“Exactly,” said Baxter. “So the solution was this. If one side violated the treaty, it lost the rights they gained by treaty, but the other side got to keep their own treaty rights, as well as any rights they had previously given up.”
“I don’t think you want to know, Harry.”
The Prince, who had followed the conversation closely, suddenly reached the same disturbing conclusion.
“Because Sir Harry,” he explained, “there is the distinct possibility that you have just gained yet another title.”
“Let me guess,” snarked Ron. “Harry is now the Minister of Magic.”
“Oh no,” the historian replied. “As the Queen’s proxy ruler over the wizarding world, I believe that his correct title would be Duke.”
Ron learned the Heimlich maneuver.
Once it was determined that the Queen’s Wizard would not choke on his latest potential title, the Prince quietly conferred with the Royal Historian, who then made a quick telephone call. He was pocketing his mobile just as the Queen’s Wizard regained the ability to not only breathe, but also talk.
“Ruler of the wizarding world?” asked Harry. “Duke?”
The historian cast a nervous look towards the Prince and replied. “Pardon me, Sir Harry, but I may have gotten ahead of myself. My first thoughts were that by governing the magical world in the Queen’s stead you would be the Duke of Cornwall.”
“Duke of What?” asked Harry sharply.
“I’m sorry,” said Hermione, as she glanced towards the Prince, “but isn’t that title already taken?”
The Prince chuckled. “Yes, it is, which is why we’ve asked our local expert to join us.”
As of on cue, a matronly woman was shown into the room.
“Come in, Madame Secretary, come in,” welcomed the Prince. “So sorry for asking for your help on an early Sunday morning.”
“Quite all right, Your Highness,” she replied. “I was staying over with the lockdown in place.”
“Madame Secretary,” the Prince said with a smile, “may I introduce you to the subjects of your latest research project?” He held an arm out towards the teens.
"We've already met,” the Queen’s Wizard said, as he reached out his hand. "You were explaining things to us before we were knighted first night of hols, right? Although, I guess we were never formally introduced."
“Yes, milord,” the Secretary primly replied. “I’m Purity Exposition, Secretary to the Central Chancery of the Orders of Knighthood.”
The Queen’s Wizard blushed and said, “Just Harry is fine, Madame Secretary.” He then introduced her to Ron and Hermione, who had a slight curl to her lips.
“You wouldn’t happen to be related to Basil Exposition over at MI-5?” she asked.
The woman smiled. “He’s my younger brother.”
Hermione nodded, as the Prince explained that Purity’s job involved heraldic research and the administration of the various Orders of Chivalry.
“And you’ve been doing research on me?” Harry asked.
The Secretary replied. “Yes, milord, I’ve had a very busy time keeping track of the honours you’ve accumulated over the past several weeks.”
“You’re not the only one,” Harry muttered.
Taking note of Harry’s uniform, the Secretary said, “Added a military commission, milord?”
“Erm, well, yes,” Harry stammered, as he glanced towards the Prince.
The Secretary smiled as she turned towards the Historian. “No wonder you called for help. His military rank needs to be placed in between ‘Earl Gryffindor’ and ‘Sir’.”
Harry choked on some residuum within the back of his throat.
“What’s all this about Earl Gryffindor?” asked Ron. “Thought he was Lord Gryffindor?”
The Secretary explained, “Well, Sir Ronald, within the British Peerage the title ‘Lord’ refers to any member of the ranks. When Her Royal Majesty restored the House of Gryffindor and created your friend Lord Gryffindor by Letters Patent, his title-behind-the-title was Earl, just like Godric, the last Earl Gryffindor.”
“Oh, Merlin, so I’m an Earl, too?” asked Harry.
“It’s not so much a new title, but a different way of noting an existing title,” the Prince said with a smile. “So that one doesn’t really count.”
Nodding, the Secretary said, “While you can be addressed as Lord in conversation, your title on paper must include Earl.”
Ron asked, “So what is Harry’s paper title, then?”
The Secretary replied, “Well, with the new addition of his military rank, the Queen’s Wizard should now be addressed on envelope as 'Her Royal Majesty’s Wizard, The Right Honorable Earl Gryffindor, Major Sir Harry Potter'.”
“Merlin, how would you ever fit that on parchment?” Ron asked.
The Prince chuckled, and replied, “With very compact handwriting.”
“So where can be addressed as ‘Just Harry’?” the Queen’s Wizard asked.
The Secretary replied only with a knowing smile.
“Where does this Duke part fit in?” Ron asked.
The Secretary raised an eyebrow towards the Prince. “Giving me some more work to do, Your Highness?”
“Perhaps, Madame Secretary,” the Prince replied. “We were considering the possibilities should Her Royal Majesty once again exert direct rule over the wizarding world of Great Britain.”
“Oh, my,” the Secretary replied, with almost feral gleam in her eyes. “That would change things, wouldn’t it?” She then added, “It’s been some time since we’ve had need of a Lord High Steward.”
“Actually, I was thinking about the Duchy of Cornwall,” the historian replied.
“Oh, pish posh, Baxtor,” the Secretary said. “That wouldn’t apply in Lord Gryffindor’s case…you should know better.”
“So I won’t be a Duke?” Harry asked hopefully.
“At least not under those circumstances,” the Secretary replied. “Allow me to explain.”
As the Queen’s Wizard let out an audible sigh, Purity Exposition began to pace back and forth in front of the others as she adopted a lecturer’s tone of voice.
“The Duchy of Cornwall is a kingdom-within-a-kingdom established in 1336 by King Edward III, who named his son Edward the first Duke of Cornwall.”
“Edward, the Black Prince?” asked Harry, who had received a smattering of English history at his Muggle primary school.
“The very same,” Purity replied. “Famous for his nickname, not so famous as the last wizard in direct line for the English throne.”
“Really? Well…there’s a story behind that I imagine,” said Hermione.
“Quite a story,” the Prince agreed.
Ron, whose interest level was holding just above that reserved for Binns’s lectures, stifled a yawn. “Erm, no offense, Your Highness, but…” He then turned towards Harry and asked, “Would it be alright if I read Hermione’s lecture notes later on? I’d like to check in with Mum, and see what’s left of The Burrow.”
Harry nodded. “Of course,” he replied. “She’s still at St. Mungo’s right?”
“Yeah, with Dad and Ginny…probably Bill and Fleur still too.”
Realizing that transportation might be an issue, Hermione suggested that Ron badge-jump to Wally’s location at 10 Downing Street, and get a ride from there to the wizarding hospital. Harry mentioned that if The Burrow’s fireplace had been destroyed that Ron’s family could use The Farm’s floo connection. Ron liked that idea, adding that from there he could drive his family to The Burrow using one of the Farm’s vehicles.
With the audience head count down, but the average attention level up, Hermione asked more about the Black Prince.
The Royal Historian replied, “Yes, well, as you probably know, by the Fourteenth Century there was a rather strained relationship between the Muggle and magical populations. The arranged marriage between King Edward III and Phillippa of Hainault was designed to fix this situation.
“Yes,” interrupted the historian, “Witch and princess from the Flemish royal family.”
“So Edward III was a Muggle and they were hoping that their first-born son was a wizard that would rule with support from both worlds?” asked Harry.
“Exactly,” the historian replied. “And it actually worked, at least at the start. The crown prince displayed accidental magic at the age of six, and his father celebrated by creating the Duchy of Cornwall out of all of magical lands within the Royal real estate portfolio.”
“So,” Hermione reasoned, “as the Duke of Cornwall, Prince Edward held dominion over parts of the wizarding world even without becoming king?”
“That’s right,” the Prince replied. “The idea was to get The Black Prince immersed into the wizarding world, and to get the wizarding world more interested in the idea of being loyal subjects of the Crown.”
“So did he go to Hogwarts, then?”
The Royal Historian nodded. “Slytherin, Class of 1347.”
“So what went wrong?” Harry asked.
“Well, nothing, other than the fact that Edward was a loyal son whose father lived too bloody long,” the Prince said with a smile.
The historian picked up the narrative. “This was at the start of The Hundred Years’ War between England and France,” he explained. “Edward shared the aspirations of his father to fully conquer both Muggle and wizard France, and as a result spent much of his adult years in military encampments on the Continent while his father ruled from home.”
“Did he fight against both Muggle and wizard France?” asked Harry.
The historian nodded. “He was supposedly equally versed in sword and wand, and rather successful on both battlefields.”
“Making him rather popular, right?” asked Hermione.
“Certainly within Muggle England,” the historian replied. “But much less so amongst English wizards.”
“He was allegedly very ruthless, particularly against wizard warriors,” the historian replied. “But perhaps more importantly, his success threatened the magical power bases of pure-blood families in England.”
“The plan was working too well,” the Prince answered. “The largest and wealthiest pure-blood families stood to lose much of their power if the Muggle monarchy could rule from a strong position over not only Muggle and magical England, but France as well.
“So let me guess, they offed him?” asked Harry.
The historian nodded. “The Muggle history books say that he contracted a nasty illness in Spain, but in reality Edward was hit with a painfully slow-acting curse that killed him before he could be crowned King.”
“At the same time a separate, much more powerful curse was placed against the English throne,” the Prince added. “As a result, no child in direct line of succession has been born with magical abilities for over six hundred years.”
“Wow,” Hermione replied. “I wonder how this curse would have worked when there were disputed successions.”
“Actually, Dame Hermione, there is reason to believe that the curse might have actually influenced the outcome of the War of the Roses.”
The historian nodded. “Richard III’s son, Edward of Middleham, was born a wizard. But this didn’t go against the curse, since neither Edward nor his father were in direct line for the throne at the time.”
“Richard’s older brother, King Edward IV, already had a son,” the Secretary added.
“Let me guess, Edward V?” asked Harry.
Sensing the slightest edge of sarcasm in Harry’s voice, Hermione reached over and slugged his shoulder. “Stop it, Harry, this is interesting.”
“Erm, yes, Sir Harry, it was Edward V,” the historian said. “King Edward V, actually, for all of two months once his father died in 1483.”
“His uncle usurped the throne,” said Hermione, “and declared himself King Richard III.”
“Indeed,” said The Prince. “Richard threw his two nephews into the Tower of London, and after an Act of Parliament was crowned king in July of 1483.” He then added, “Richard’s magical son, Crown Prince Edward, died under mysterious circumstances at the age of eleven the following April.”
“Probably a few months short of getting his Hogwarts letter,” Harry mused.
“And Richard himself died without an heir one year later at the Battle of Bosworth Field,” Hermione concluded, “which ended the War of the Roses, and started the Tudor Dynasty.”
“Exactly, Dame Hermione,” the historian beamed. “I thought they didn’t teach English history at your school?”
“Oh,” Hermione replied, “I may have read a book or two on the subject.”
Harry’s snort earned him a second punch to his shoulder.
“Can we return to the Duke of Cornwall situation?” he asked.
“Oh, yes,” said the historian. “Well, not much to say after that…when the Black Prince died in 1376 his squib son Richard was first in line for the throne, he became Prince of Wales, and the Dukedom was recreated for him.”
The Secretary added, “A charter was eventually signed in 1421 that automatically passes the dukedom on to the Sovereign’s oldest son and heir, and it’s been that way ever since.”
“So, I can’t be the Duke of Cornwall because we’ve already got one.”
“Yes,” the Prince replied. “And by secret codecil it was declared that in the absence of magical abilities, the Duke of Cornwall yields dominion over wizarding Britain to the existing sovereign.”
“Who, by convention,” added the Secretary, “governed magical Britain on the advice of the Royal Wizard and Magnum Concilium.”
Translating the Latin, Harry asked, “Where did this Great Council come into play?”
“Ahh,” said Mr. Baxter. “Separate bit of history…we’ll need to jump back a few centuries.”
Harry stiffled a sigh, looked to Hermione, and yielded to her enthusiasm.
“Well, if there are no other pressing issues…” he said slowly.
“I think we have a few minutes, right?” asked Hermione. “Now, from what I remember, wasn’t the Great Council sort of a proto-Parliament?”
“That’s a separate Great Council,” Baxter replied. “That council has origins back to the Magna Carta, and is now known as the Privy Council…which, now that I think of it, might also hold relevence to the question of magical rule.”
“Well, as you probably already know, King John II was forced to signed the Magna Carta in 1215 by a group of barons who had revolted under his rule. The most powerful magical Patriarchs were invited to sign the Charter as well, but they declined.”
“Does that mean that the Queen’s dominion over the magical world was never constrained by the Magna Carta?”
The historian nodded. “I think it was the first clear break by the wizarding world as a whole.”
“But moving on,” the Secretary interupted, “King John II’s son, Henry III got along better with these barons, who had grown to distrust their magical counterparts, and had insisted on some say over how wizard England was ruled. Henry III therefore created a Magnum Concilium, or Great Council of peers of the realm to advise him on wizarding world issues.”
“So, if I may summarize,” asked Harry. “The Prince of Wales is the Duke of Cornwall, and the Duchy of Cornwall includes some amount of magical properties across England. When the Duke isn’t a wizard, control of the wizarding world resides with the sovereign, as advised by the Queen’s Wizard and this Magnum Concilium, except there wouldn’t be much advice to offer, because Queen Elizabeth gave the wizarding world Home Rule back in the Sixteenth Century based on the Treaty of Carlisle.”
Baxter the historian nodded. “In fact, the Magnum Concilium hasn’t been convened since 1630.”
“So,” Harry continued, “Let’s say that the Ministry of Magic screwed up their end of the treaty, and have lost their right to home rule…doesn’t the power to rule fall back to the Queen?”
Hermione had been processing the conversation to the point where she could ask, “Could the Queen reconvene the Magnum Concilium?”
“Of course,” Baxter replied. “And as Queen’s Wizard, it would be Sir Harry’s job to lead that council.”
“Not necessarily,” the Secretary stated, “although I agree that the Queen’s Wizard is by convention Lord High Steward of the Magnum Concilium.”
“Just as the Privy Council is led by the Lord President of the Council,” said the Prince.
As much as she enjoyed seeing Harry get teased, Hermione thought it might be productive to address a related issue.
“This conversation is predicated on the idea that the wizarding world has lost its right to Home Rule,” she noted. “How do we determine not only if this has happened, but how it happened and what needs to be done about it?”
The Prince looked towards the Secretary to the Central Chancery and decided that “Need to Know” issues were about to be addressed.
“Thank you for your time and assistance, Madame Secretary.”
Knowing a dismissal when she heard it, the Secretary took her leave.
“Excellent questions, Dame Hermione,” said the Prince, once the Secretary had left. “Particularly as we try to work through the question of jurisdiction over last night’s magical attacks.”
“You said that my glowing orb signaled my right to be Queen’s Wizard,” said Harry. “I assume that there’s a similar signet for either the Minister of Magic or the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot?”
The historian agreed. “The Minister of Magic holds it in his or her capacity as the Queen’s Magical Justice of the Peace…it’s a necklace quite similar to yours, except that the pearl is mounted with dragons guarding either side.”
“Mmmm,” said Harry, “Don’t think I’ve seen Fudge or Scrimgeour wearing anything like that.”
“I doubt that it’s something that they would want to show off,” Hermione noted. “It would be a reminder that their power to rule over the wizarding rule was derived from the Muggle monarchy.”
“Good point,” said Harry. “So how do we force him to let us see whether his orb is glowing or not?”
“There is a formal process outlined within the treaty,” the historian replied. “Any of the parties can summon the others.”
“Others?” asked Harry. “Aren’t there only two signatories?”
“No, Sir Harry, there were three signatories,” the historian replied. “At the time of the treaty signing, Scotland was a sovereign kingdom.”
“So that explains the location of the signing,” reasoned Hermione.
“Scotland had its own Royal Wizard and orb, then?” Harry asked.
“It did, right up to the union of England and Scotland,” said the historian. “So, back on point, when a summons is issued, the instruments of power must be displayed during the resulting meeting.”
The Prince looked at his watch. “Well, we should present this to Her Royal Majesty later today, then.”
The historian asked, “Forgive me, your Highness, but the sooner we issue the summons….”
The Prince shook his head. “Issuing that summons might set in course a chain of events that we should consider most carefully.”
Looking down at the tea leaves at the bottom of his cup, he then added, “We’ve already had one civil war in this country, and we would do well to take steps to avoid a second.”