Muggle Summer, Wizard's Fall
Special Ambassador, Part 1
By canoncansodoff
Chapters 32 - 35
Chapter 32 - Hooray for Holyrood
Sunday, July 8, 7:00am
Chamber of Secrets, Hogwarts
Remus Lupin woke from his post-transformation nap and took stock of his situation. Not finding any immediate issues beyond the usual aches and pains, he left the lair of the recently butchered basilisk and walked into Slytherin’s Apartment, where he had placed his Art Club badge for safe keeping. After activating the badge he asked,
"Tonks?"
"Depends on your perspective. How do you feel?"
"Sore, as usual, but the wolvesbane worked, the Chamber had room to run, and the goblin snacks hit the spot."
"Great...any venison steaks left for me?"
"Sure, if you don’t mind meat lathered in werewolf spit."
"Well, I have swapped spit with a werewolf before."
Tonks laughed into her badge. "Jump upstairs and I’ll show you."
"Thanks, but I’m still feeling rather wolfish."
"And that’s a problem because….?"
"Right. Are you in bed, or do I need to get dressed?"
"No on both questions…I’m in our suite, but you’ve got work to do, and the clothes you’ll need are up here."
Remus replied by badge-jumping to the Auror’s position. After a hug, he asked, "So what did I miss?"
"A lot," replied Tonks. She pointed towards a Muggle shirt, tie and suit that she’d laid out for him. "So get dressed…Wally will fill in some of the details when you get to 10 Downing Street."
"The Muggle Prime Minister’s?" Remus asked. "What in Merlin’s name will I be doing there?"
Tonks smiled as she handed him his Muggle identification badge. "Discovering that your MI-5 credentials are no longer fake, I imagine."
Lucius Malfoy woke from his miserable bit of rest and took stock of his situation. He then sat up within the only windowless room of his Rookery flat and called for the concierge.
The house-elf popped into the lavatory and looked down upon the one-armed wizard, who lay fully-clothed within an empty bathtub.
"You called, Patriarch Malfoy?"
"Yes, Gilbert…what has happened over the past few hours?"
The house-elf replied, "We have finished repairing the building’s structural damage, as well as the interior damage done to the dead patriarch’s apartment. The patriarch’s body has been taken away, according to the rules. We also took care of the body of the dead witch."
Malfoy nodded. Over the years three other patriarchs and more than thirty of their "guests" had died within the Rookery’s walls. Procedures were in place to move bodies out of the building in order to preserve secrets held by both the deceased and the other patriarchs.
"So how did this happen, Gilbert?" Malfoy demanded.
"We are…not certain," the house-elf replied carefully. "The Club is consulting with the goblins that designed the protective wards."
Malfoy shook his head. The house-elf had been tight-lipped about the attack, and refused to identify who had died, or even which floor of the building had been affected. That said, that same level of reticence was something he was counting on to keep his own presence there a secret.
"Is there anything else I can do for you, Patriarch Malfoy?"
The elder Malfoy nodded as he sat up in the tub. Deciding that he’d be able to manage most morning foods without need of a knife, he ordered breakfast-in-bath and spent the balance of the morning considering if there was a safer place to hide.
10:30am, Somewhere Hidden in Salisbury, Wiltshire
Lord Voldemort left his recently upgraded living quarters to join the Death Eaters that had portkeyed back with him to his hideout.
"What is the latest news?" he demanded, as the flaps of the stolen magical tent closed behind him.
"Still no sign of Rookwood and the Carrows, my lord," Bellatrix replied. She then added, "And we have still to hear from Fenrir, although…."
Taking comfort in the belief that her master still couldn’t hurl Unforgivables with impunity, she replied, "The Daily Prophet reports that the werewolf attacks failed."
Had the snake-skinned wizard actually had eyebrows, they would have risen towards his hairline (had he actually had hair).
"Well, several werewolves were found dead in the blood-traitor's Diagon Alley shop, but the blood-traitors still live." She then added, "And while the Prophet reports that their hovel of an ancestral home in Devonwas destroyed, their family still lives."
"So what of Greyback and the others?"
"The pack apparently attacked two Muggle farms, but there have been no other sightings."
Voldemort fingered his wand, but took no action. He turned his back to Bella and walked over towards the tables filled with the previous night’s plunder and stated, "No matter, the werewolves will soon all be dead."
The Dark Lord winced at the impudence of the Death Eater who had just questioned his assessment.
As the Death Eater approached the Dark Lord grabbed a beater bat taken from the Quidditch supply shop, turned, and clubbed the man in the face. Blood spurted out of the minion’s nose as he crumpled to the ground unconscious.
Voldemort set the bat down and reached into a robe pocket for a deck of cards that he himself had charmed the night previous.
"Is he still alive?" he asked.
One of his other Death Eaters nervously squatted down and felt for a pulse.
As the other Death Eaters rushed to obey their leader Voldemort pulled a specific card from the pack. Once the prone Death Eater was down to only his pants, the Dark Lord placed the playing card on wizard’s bare chest and touched it with his wand. The body disappeared as the code word activated the portkey.
"I wonder if he knows how to swim?" mused Voldemort.
"You sent him to the bottom of the sea, my Lord?" asked Bella.
"No, just the opposite," he replied. "A mile or so above it."
"Now...to answer the recently departed’s question," Voldemort said, "All magical beasts and beings were warned that the goblins would go to war with any that dared attack Muggles. Now that the werewolves are at war with the Goblin Nation, I expect that the packs will be culled most severely."
Bella choked down a question that would have asked if that was a good thing.
Not really wishing to kill somebody else just to reestablish his authority, Voldemort asked what Bella didn’t voice.
"And how many werewolf packs are there in Britain?"
The Death Eaters looked at each other. MacNair finally answered for them. "Besides Fenrir’s pack, there are at least a half-dozen packs of Muggle werewolves."
Voldemort nodded. "And do you think that the Muggles will know that they have werewolves within their filthy populations?"
"No," said the Dark Lord, answering his own question. "So let us assume that the goblins will be smart enough to attack the Muggle werewolf packs on any night other than the night of the full moon."
Bella’s eyes lit up in understanding. "The Muggles, and probably the Ministry as well, will think that the goblins are killing Muggle humans."
"And so their impudence is rewarded," Voldemort concluded. "The Ministry will go to war with the goblins if for no other reason than to keep the wizarding world’s secrets safe from the Muggles."
"Which takes their eyes off of us, and lets the Muggles think that any of our attacks or raids were done by the goblins," added Bella.
The Dark Lord nodded as he pocketed the deck of portkeys, grabbed the bat and asked, "So, does anyone else have a question?"
When (predictably) nobody responded, he began issuing orders.
"Nott, take the train back up to London and find out what is happening around the Rookery."
"Snape, you’ve got the potion ingredients you said you needed, so why aren’t you brewing?"
"I have three pots on the simmer now, my lord."
"Then go…as for the rest of you…I have some research that needs to be performed….MacNair?"
"Take a group of four up to the Ministry and start scouting for polyjuice targets."
"Bella, take the rest and figure out how to make a house unplottable….these dispersed accommodations and the inability to use magic freely are starting to annoy me."
1:45pm, Round Castle, Windsor Castle
Ron Weasley’s voice boomed through Hermione’s Art Club badge just as soon it was activated.
"Oy, Hermione, are they still serving lunch down in the Mess Hall?"
"Ssshhh!" she whispered into the badge. "I already woke Harry up once today!"
"Oh, sorry," Ron whispered back. "So…about lunch?"
Hermione shook her head as she folded and placed the last piece of packed clothing into her trunk. It wasn’t until she left their bed chambers that she replied to Ron’s question, and allowed him to badge-jump back from his quick trip to the wizarding world.
"Dobby left some food under stasis charms down in our common room," she told Ron.
"Thanks, Hermione," he replied, as he walked down the stairs to their quarter’s main floor.
"Good to see you too, Ron," Hermione replied.
Ron’s apology was muffled by his wizard robes as he pulled them over his head and threw them on the back of a chair.
"Oh, thanks, Hermione," he replied, missing the slight edge of sarcasm.
In between mouthfuls of shepherd’s pie, Ron told Hermione that his family was doing as best as could be expected. Headmistress McGonagall had opened up Hogwarts and placed them in guest quarters. Madame Pomfrey was now keeping an eye on both Molly and Fleur (whose shoulder had been struck by a cutting curse inside St. Mungo’s). Ginny had floo’ed to Fred and George’s shop to help them try to reopen for business, while Arthur and Bill were busy salvaging what could be saved from the Burrow.
"So how’d the rest of the meeting go?" Ron asked.
"Oh, I thought that it was very interesting," Hermione replied. "Still want to look at my notes?"
"Erm, sure…might help me shake off that last bit of pepper-up."
"You are such a git sometimes, you know?" Hermione said.
"Yeah, hear that a lot," Ron replied, as he wiped his face with his sleeve.
"Well mind the journal pages," admonished Hermione, as she disarmed her privacy spells and handed him her notebook.
"Let’s see what we’ve got," Ron said to himself. "King Edward I-I-I?" He looked up towards Hermione, who had taken out a laptop and was waiting for a Powerpoint presentation to load.
"Oy, Hermione, what kind of surname is spelled ‘I-I-I’?"
Hermione let out a sigh. "That’s Edward the Third," she replied. "I-I-I is the number three in Roman numerals."
"Roman numerals?" Ron asked. "What are those?"
"It’s the numeric system used by the Ancient Romans," she replied with exasperation. "I can’t believe…simply ridiculous…"
"That English wizards use Latin for incantations, but are completely ignorant of Roman numerals."
"Oh, well, it could just be me, couldn’t it?"
"Yes, that is a distinct possibility," Hermione admitted.
Ron went back to his reading, and did a fair job of distracting Hermione from her lecture review with his muttered commentary.
"Edward…Black Prince…Wars Over Roses…boring…even more boring…beyond boring…hold on, what’s this about a Scottish Royal Wizard?"
"What, aren’t my notes clear enough?"
"Well, yes, but…what does it mean?"
"Probably not too much," Hermione replied. "Scotland was a separate country at the time that the Treaty of Carlisle was signed, so they had to agree to having a wizard government that included Scotland as well as the rest of Great Britain. That meant that the Scottish sovereign also had the right by treaty to have a Royal Witch or Wizard."
"So that could be important right?" Ron asked. "What if there’s some other glowing orb out there, or a rogue royal wizard?"
"Relax, Ron," Hermione replied. "Though we don’t have all the facts, it’s unlikely that there ever was a Scottish Royal Wizard."
Hermione chuckled. "It’s a long story, but for most of the 140 years between the treaty signing and the formal Union of Scotland and England the two countries shared the same king or queen….and when Scotland did have a separate king, well…let’s just say that he made Harry’s Uncle Vernon look like a wizard-lover."
"Really?" Ron asked. "So who was that?"
"King James VI and I," Hermione replied. "As in King James Bible King James."
"Is that supposed to mean something to me?"
"Oh, probably not," noted Hermione. "But this is also the King James that ruled during the peak of the Scottish witch-hunts, and who wrote a treatise called "Demonology" that became the witch-hunter’s textbook over for the next century."
"So there can’t be two Royal Wizards now?" Ron asked.
Hermione shook her head. "The treaty obligations of the two countries were combined at the time of union," she explained. "Now, there could have been a new Royal Wizard when most of Ireland gained independence, but you can’t have a royal wizard without royalty, and the Irish were keen on forming a Republic."
Ron nodded…although he really didn’t understand the Muggle politics involved, he didn’t care to give Hermione an opportunity to ride him about that fact. So rather than continue down that conversational path he finished the notes associated with the Royal Historian’s expository. Ron then came upon notes from a completely separate meeting.
"Hermione," Ron asked, "What was this After-Action Report about?"
"Right…forgot that you missed that meeting as well," Hermione replied. "The Queen asked the Prime Minister to prepare a summary of last night’s attacks, and outline what the Muggle government is doing in response."
"Oh," said Ron. "What's all this?"
Hermione stood and walked over to Ron. "That’s who was at the meeting," she replied, looking over his shoulder. "Lot easier to use initials than to write out full names."
"So who are all these people?"
"Well, HRM is the Queen, of course," Hermione replied. "Then there’s the PoW Prince, P.M. for Prime Minister, Minister of Defense, Home and Foreign Secretaries, the heads of MI-5 and MI-6, the Metropolitan Police Commissioner, Harry and myself."
"Really?" asked Ron. He looked down at the list and added, "I get the HG, but which one is Harry?"
Hermione blushed a bit. "Erm, Harry is QWEGHBMSHP."
"So…QW is Queen’s Wizard…what’s the rest of them?"
Hermione laughed (a bit nervously). "Well, I was just making a joke to myself, you see, so the whole string stands for ‘Queen’s Wizard, the Earl Gryffindor, Hermione’s Boyfriend, Major Sir Harry Potter."
Ron’s eyes narrowed slightly as he snorted. "So now we can start calling him ‘Queeg-him’?"
"Didn’t realize that ‘Hermione’s Boyfriend’ was an official title."
"Oh sure it is," Hermione replied. Trying to make light, she added, "There was an investiture and everything."
"Must have missed it," Ron replied. "Not that I would want to watch the initiation ceremony."
"Stop it…any other questions?"
Ron scanned down the next bit, and smiled.
"So when did you start doodling hearts on the margins of your notes?"
Hermione looked at him cross-eyed. "Do you have any substantive questions?"
Ron smiled as pointed towards a line of notes and asked, "How do you even pronounce a word that starts with a number?"
The bushy-haired witch smiled. "The chemical is called ‘3-quinuclidinyl benzilate,’ but don’t feel too bad…most of the Muggles in the room didn’t know how to pronounce it either." She then added, "That’s why it’s called ‘BZ’ for short."
"And this is that gas that is being used to explain away the magic done in front of Muggles last night?"
"Q Branch’s bright idea," Hermione replied with a nod. "The Muggles are saying that it was the work of Muggle terrorists using a mild type of nerve gas…something that makes you loopy when you breathe it."
"Oh yeah, I was going to asked what ‘confabulation’ and ‘phantom behaviors’ were."
Hermione said, "Basically, it means you start seeing strange things, and doing strange things…rather perfect for the situation, since it can explain almost all of the hexes and jinxes."
"Including the running around starkers bit?"
"So what’s this part about Muggles buying the cover story?" asked Ron. "They need to pay for something?"
Sighing, Hermione replied. "Buying is another term for accepting the story," she replied.
"Couldn’t you have just said that?"
"Sorry, Ron, didn’t realize that I’d have an audience for these notes."
"Right, well…you’re saying that there’s seventy-nine Muggles who were told about magic because they couldn’t be convinced otherwise?"
"Why not just obliviate them?"
"Because that’s seen as a rather serious invasion of a person’s individual rights and liberties," she replied.
"But wouldn’t it be for their own good, not remembering running around with their bits on display, or having backwards knees?"
With a heavy sigh, Hermione strove for the perfect analogy. "Image that during a detention Snape forced you to kiss his bare bum."
"Ohhhh! Why’d you have to make me imagine that?"
"Because it’s relevant," Hermione replied. "Now, would you want that memory kicking around inside your head?"
"Of course not…except maybe for the fact that if Snape erased the memory before the detention ended, he’d be able to get away with what he did."
"Exactly," said Hermione. "Now, can you imagine that the Muggles who were attacked last night might feel the same way?"
"Erm…you mean that…but it’s not the same," Ron replied. "The obliviation isn’t to allow the Death Eater’s to get away with what they did…it’s to keep the wizarding world secret."
"But why would Muggles make that distinction?" Hermione asked. "Why would they care one bit about whether the wizard world stays secret?" She then added, "When you really think about it, having obliviator squads cleaning up after a Muggle attack keeps the Aurors from having to do anything….it is part of the problem."
"So, what’s this about getting paid to have memories erased."
"It’s compensation…the Muggles have already been victimized, why should they be forced to get attacked again with a obliviation spell without getting something in return."
"Makes sense," Ron agreed. "Although 10,000 galleons for every minute of erased memory sounds rather steep…can’t see the Ministry wanting to pay those kind of rates."
"That’s the idea," Hermione replied.
Ron moved on to the next section of notes.
A few minutes later, he looked up from the notes and asked, "You really like using initials, don’t you?"
Hermione shrugged her shoulders.
"So ‘H’ stands for Harry, right?" Ron asked. When Hermione nodded, he asked, "So who is HHr?"
Only slightly embarrassed at the question, Hermione replied, "HHr stands for Harry and Hermione together."
Ron snorted. "Very cute, Hermione…next thing you know you two will be sitting on pink cushions drinking tea at Puddlefoot's…so this bit about rental flats….we might have a lead on where the Death Eaters are hiding?"
Hermione nodded. "Rookwood registered the car they were using in his own name, and also used his name to sign rental agreements for Muggle flats in four different cities."
"And all we’re going to do right now is watch?"
Hermione nodded. "Want to make sure what’s inside before we knock on the doors."
Ron moved on to the "Analysis" and "Action Items" portions of the presentation and faltered. "Oy, Hermione, these notes make my eyes hurt…tell me what I need to know, please."
Hermione sighed, "Oh, well, first off, the Queen couldn’t be convinced to cancel her trip to Scotland."
"But wasn’t Edinburgh one of the ten o’clock cities?" Ron asked. "Is she stubborn or just daft?"
"I wouldn’t dare characterize the Queen as either," Hermione replied with a smile. "You’d be on safer grounds calling her an honorary Gryffindor…someone not about to hide when the going gets tough." She then added, "This ‘Holyrood Week’ is an annual event…it’d be a big deal if she canceled it."
"Guess she did sit there in the front row during the Dementor attack at Ascot," Ron admitted. "So the whole operation is packing up to go with her?"
"Pretty much," Hermione replied. "We did decide it best to keep the peanut butter brigade at their internship positions, at least for another week."
"Don’t want to tip your hand before the big confrontation?" Ron asked.
"Exactly…so that means business as usual for you and Neville starting tomorrow. My mum will also hang back to make sure that the Summer Institute gets off as scheduled."
"Another bit of Gryffindor courage?" Ron asked.
Hermione shook her head. "Actually, given the attacks, having the students board at Cumberland Lodge while they go to school might be the safest place for them to be…and mum’s checking on whether we can expand some of the living quarters so that we can house the students’ families as well."
Ron nodded. "What’s all this about a clamp-down on the wizarding world?"
Hermione replied, ""Just what it says, Ron…if the Ministry won’t enforce wizarding secrecy laws about using magic around Muggles, then we will. Anyone caught by Muggle police using their wands in public will have the wands broken on-the-spot."
"And just how are Muggles supposed to tell between good wizards and bad wizards?" Hermione replied. "It’s tough even for wizards to tell, especially if the Death Eaters are going to start attacking wearing Muggle clothing."
Ron shook his head. "Sounds like we’re going back to the days of witch hunts."
"No, I don’t think so," said Hermione. "More like we’re trying to prevent Muggle hunting."
"So how does this delusional gas fit into the picture?"
"BZ is a deliriant, Ron, not a delusion…ant?…that is to say, it makes you delirious, not delusional."
"Well…delirious means you act loopy…delusional means you look at a situation and make a loopy conclusion."
"So, that’s the same thing, right?"
Hermione sighed. "No Ron…look, if I inhaled BZ right now and the delirium caused me to strip down starkers, you would be delusional to think that it was some anvil-sized hint that I fancied you."
"Oh, well…if you say so," Ron concluded. "So back to the BZ excuse."
"Sure," said Hermione, "Wally’s idea was to use the BZ terrorist gas attack story to our advantage when we’re looking for Death Eaters in Muggle disguises."
"Word has gone out that these imaginary Muggle terrorists made the BZ gas themselves, and some of them breathed too many fumes while it was brewing. As a result, they now exhibit the same symptoms of delirium as their victims."
"So?" Hermione replied. "Think back to the Death Eaters parked in front of my parent’s house. How did we spot them?"
"Their clothing was a bit off, wasn’t it?"
"Exactly," said Hermione. "Acting or dressing strange, and appearing to suffer from severe memory loss are symptoms of BZ exposure."
"So whenever a wizard gets caught without a clue in a situation Muggles take for granted, like waiting for a toilet seat to rise on its own …"
Hermione smiled. "Or getting spooked by automatic doors at the grocers, or not knowing how to make change using Muggle money…"
Ron’s ears turned red. "Okay, okay, so I was a clueless wizard my first few weeks in the Muggle world…I’ve gotten better, haven’t I?"
"Yes, you have," Hermione admitted. "But we’re thinking that the Death Eater’s won’t be as clever. The Muggle authorities have used the telly and newspapers to ask that anyone spotting a person acting strange that way to call the Muggle police."
"But then what?" Ron asked. "What if they’re wizards, but not Death Eaters? Do they go to jail just for that?"
"Of course not, Ron," Hermione replied. "The police would just ask a few simple questions, and if the wizard cooperates they’ll be sent on their way."
"And if they don’t cooperate?"
Hermione’s eyes narrowed. "Well, presumption of innocence still holds true. But if the witch or wizard thinks they can get out of the situation by drawing their wands it’ll be a taser and then we’ll get called in."
Hermione nodded. "All of the Art Club witches and wizards will be on call to help sort out these incidents."
Ron shook his head. "I don’t think that the wizarding world is going to be to happy with this."
Snorting, Hermione replied, "Just like Muggles aren’t too happy being hexed while the Ministry keeps all of their Aurors at home to defend the wizarding world….if Scrimgeour won’t defend us, then he can take his complaints on how we choose to defend ourselves and jump in the lake."
Ron’s eyes narrowed. "Not that I’m disagreeing, Hermione, but did you just hear what you said? You’re throwing out words like us and we as if you’re a Muggle."
Hermione paused to consider Ron’s insight. "Well, do you remember back when Harry said that if protecting Muggle lives means violating magical secrecy laws then sod the laws?"
Hermione nodded. If sides needed to be drawn, then she had definitely jumped off of the centerline.
2:30pm Royal Mewes, Windsor Castle
Harry Potter woke from his kip with just enough time to cover the short distance from the Round Tower to the stables with a brisk walk. The secret meeting’s other attendee was waiting inside a designated empty stall.
The Queen’s Wizard spotted footprint-shaped depressions in the strewn hay and smiled. "I’d be careful about using disillusionment spells this close to the castle," he said as he reached out to shake the invisible Auror’s hand. "A roving Muggle army patrol might take a dim view of things if they spotted you."
"Even with my near-authentic identification?" the Head Auror asked, as he canceled the spell and held out the plastic badge at the end of his lanyard.
Harry snorted as grabbed hold of the badge. "Need to work on your transfiguration skills," he replied. "Plastic laminate doesn’t weigh the same as stone." He then added, "But to answer your question…even with authentic security clearances I’m not risking any magic use near the Muggle military after last night’s attacks."
"Can’t say I blame them for being on edge," the Head Auror admitted. "So, I need to emphasize that this unofficial meeting will involve an unofficial exchange of information."
Harry nodded. "I understand completely, and appreciate the risk you’ve taken just to meet under those terms…especially after what you did at the ten-o’clock attack sites last night."
"Yes, well, I understand that you did more than your fair share of avoiding open warfare between the magical and Muggle worlds yourself, Harry."
"Okay, enough of the mutual admiration," Harry grinned. "Some decisions have been made by the Muggle higher-ups that could well affect your Department."
"What about the rest of the Ministry?"
"Oh, well it will definitely affect them, but I don’t care nearly as much about the consequences," Harry admitted.
"So how can I help, Lord Gryffindor?"
Harry shook his head, but let the title pass by without comment. "First off, the Muggle Queen’s trip to Scotland is still on…her flight’s leaving in just a few hours."
"Even with Edinburgh one of the attack sites?"
Harry nodded. "Stiff upper lip, and all that…I wouldn’t put it past her to visit the attack site on her way in from the airport."
The Head Auror nodded. "We’ve got the Muggles sorted out on that one, haven’t we?"
The Queen’s Wizard replied, "Yes, but you’ve also got an Auror group there that’s doing a piss-poor job of hiding themselves."
The Head Auror shut his eyes and sighed. "Dawlish?"
Harry nodded. "Thought about throwing a swamp at him for old-time’s sake…suppose he was reinstated after he proved that he was more incompetent than disloyal?"
"So," Harry continued, "I probably can’t get you to pull your boys out of the city entirely, but could you at least get somebody up there that I can work with?"
Robards nodded. "I assume that Auror Moody fits that description?"
Harry smiled. "That would be lovely." He then passed a piece of parchment to the Head Auror. "Here’s the coordinates of a safe meeting place. We’ll arrange the cover story and uniforms, just like last night."
Gawain pocketed the parchment and nodded. "Patrols in the Edinburgh wizard’s quarter alright with you?"
Nodding, Harry replied, "That would be useful, so long as Mad-Eye holds them on a short leash."
"Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes," the teen-aged wizard replied. "Fred and George have sent along word that their attempts to clean-up enough to open for business tomorrow are being forcefully impeded."
The Head Auror shrugged his shoulders. "Well, Harry, it is a crime scene that needs to be investigated."
"True enough," the Queen’s Wizard replied. "But from what I hear, your investigators seem to be spending more time trying to figure out how the Twins took down the werewolves than investigating how and why the attack occurred in the first place."
"But Harry," the Head Auror replied, "the fact that they were able kill the werewolves without even being there…you’ve got to understand how exciting that is from a law enforcement perspective."
"I do," said Harry. "But you’ve got to understand that it wouldn’t be the first time that the Ministry tried to convict someone for trying to defend themselves against an attack by a magical creature."
"Tell you what," said Harry. "You find a way to get the Ministry out of the shop and I’ll talk with the Twins about sharing one or two of the relevant secrets with you."
"Deal," the Head Auror replied. "Anything else?"
Harry nodded. "Just one tiny thing."
The Head Auror squinted at the young wizard. "Why do I get the feeling that it isn’t going to be so tiny?"
Harry snorted. "Just talking about the possibility of eliminating a few layers of middle management at the Ministry."
"And what, exactly, would these management layers be?" the Head Auror replied cautiously.
Harry grinned. "Oh, just the ones between you and Her Royal Majesty."
And with that cryptic comment he passed along copies of a treaty and an official Summons, whose original would soon be nailed to a tree just outside of Carlisle Castle.
3:00pm, Outside the Leaky Cauldron
Secret Agent Lupin and Chief Inspector Miller approached the street entrance of the Leaky Cauldron with wizard robes draped over their arms in a manner that hid their drawn weapons.
"First trip to Diagon Alley?" Remus asked.
Kate shook her head. "When my brother got his Hogwarts letter we turned his first trip into a family outing."
"Thought it was scary enough for me never to want to go back," she replied.
Remus nodded as he noticed the scaffolding and barriers that had been erected on the sidewalk right in front of the pub.
"So this makes it look like the building is under construction?" he asked.
It was Kate’s turn to nod. "Sandblasting requires those protective tarps," she explained. "They also do a good job of screening the entrance from the rest of the street and justifying the closed sidewalk."
The two ducked under the tarps holding their identification out for inspection by the well-armed and wary guards that were stationed just inside. Once they’d cleared this hurdle, they approached the repaired door, and Remus introduced his partner to the utility of extendable ears. Not hearing anything of concern, Remus opened the locked door with some spell work. The interior was empty. After donning the robes they were carrying, Kate hid her revolver up a sleeve while Remus made short work of opening the hidden entrance to Diagon Alley.
The Chief Inspector’s second ever visit to London’s wizarding quarter started off a bit tense, as they were greeted by another set of stern-looking guards (this time armed with wands rather than automatic rifles). After Remus cautiously offered the Aurors an owl-delivered pass signed by Head Auror Robards, they were allowed on their way.
The goblins didn’t look any less scarier than they had years earlier, but Kate managed to make it inside the bank and through their introductions with Gringott’s bank personnel without wincing or wetting.
Clan Chief Ragnok was waiting for them in a conference room.
"No need to worry, Chief Inspector," the goblin grinned, after he had shaken her hand. "No goblin would think of harming anyone who is under the protection of Clan Chief Potter."
The policewoman gave Ragnok a confused look, prompting Remus to explain that the robe she was wearing identified her as Clanfriend to the Queen’s Wizard’s House.
Seeing the Muggle woman release a small bit of tension in her shoulders, the goblin Chief discussed the status of the werewolf "guests" who were being held beneath the bank. The bodies of the six werewolves who had either arrived DOA or died soon after had been segregated from the others, and were available for inspection. Fenrir and the other survivors had, of course, transformed back into human form, and were being kept naked and wandless in a rather cold vault.
Remus cautiously asked about the goblins' intentions with respect to their "guests." Ragnok replied that they were at Clan Chief Potter’s disposal, and that the goblins would be happy to do the disposal work. Remus thanked the Clan Chief for the offer, but conveyed Harry’s wishes that no harm immediately come to the prisoners. The goblin somewhat reluctantly agreed, and offered to extend hospitality to their "guests" for an indefinite period of time.
Ragnok then moved on to the Malfoy question. Remus and Kate told the goblin chief everything that they had learned about the Rookery attack. Ragnok, in turn, informed the two that goblins had been hired to examine the building’s wards, and to assist the house elves with heavy construction and body disposal. He then placed a small block of wood on the table.
"We customarily dump the Rookery corpses in Knockturn Alley," Ragnok stated. "But given the apparent cause of the Death Eater’s death…well, we think it best that wizards don’t get a chance to examine the corpse."
Remus nodded as he pocketed the block. "Thank you, Ragnok, your discretion is much appreciated."
The goblin nodded, and replied, "As for the Malfoy patriarch himself, please let your Clan Chief know that we received his proposal and agree with his plan. The Goblin Nation will make no further attempts to convince Voldemort to kill Lucius Malfoy."
"Excellent," Chief Inspector Miller replied.
"Wait, I didn’t hear about this one…can you fill me in?" asked Remus.
"Rookwood entered the Rookery in an attempt to kill Malfoy," replied the goblin. "Because of the building's wards, he can’t remember whether or not he succeeded."
"But if the goblins stop demanding that Voldemort kill Malfoy, then the Death Eaters will assume that Rookwood and the Carrows did get to Malfoy," added Kate.
Remus thought for a moment, and then smiled. "But Malfoy won’t know that, will he?"
The goblin shook his head and gave the werewolf a wide toothy grin.
Sensing that their meeting was drawing to a close, Remus asked one final, pressing question.
"Clan Chief, I heard that one of the messages sent by the Grand Council to Voldemort informed him that the Goblins would go to war with any magical beings or beasts that attacked Muggles. Is that true?"
Ragnok nodded his head, his smile less toothy, but still present.
"So, with Fenrir’s attacks last night, do I need to worry, about..well…erm…."
"Mr. Lupin, I’m disappointed," said Ragnok. "Why would you think that goblins would adopt the same racist attitudes adopted by the Ministry of Magic?"
"How’s that?" asked Kate. "Sorry, my turn to not understand."
"That is itself understandable, Chief Inspector," Ragnok replied. "The Ministry of Magic has in place rules and restrictions on werewolves that are based on the belief that if a wizard or witch is attacked by a werewolf and turned, then they are no longer human, and instead a magical beast."
"Really? Oh, that’s horrible."
Remus sighed in relief. "So werewolves as a group aren't covered under the Grand Council’s threat, because they consider me to be a wizard with a medical condition, rather than a magical beast."
"So," Remus mused, "do you think that Voldemort would see it that way?"
The goblin chief shrugged his shoulders. "Would you think it more likely that the Death Eaters take the Ministry’s position or ours on this matter?"
It didn’t take long for Remus to reach the obvious conclusion.
5:15pm, Palace at Holyroodhouse, Edinburgh, Scotland
Having made one final sweep of the castle grounds and buildings, the Queen’s Wizard and Wally walked out into the inner courtyard of the Queen’s official Scottish residence. Swapping normal glasses for prescription sunglasses, Harry asked, "Think we’re ready for this?"
"No, but what does that have to do with anything?" the agent replied. Wally then added, "You do know that those sunglasses don’t work at all with those robes, right?"
Harry looked down at his brightly colored garment, which was covered from hood to hem with the checkerboarded crests of the Queen, Scotland, and Clan Potter.
"Yeah, well at least I won’t be the only one dressed funny," Harry replied. The two secret agents then walked through the main gates of the castle, where local politicians and civic officials were gathered to officially greet the Queen and Duke of Edinburgh. Surrounding these men and women were super-sized contingents of police and military, including a mounted detachment of Household Calvary, a drum and bagpipe band, and one hundred members of the Highlanders First Battalion (dressed with full colours). Two hundred more infantrymen were in the surrounding area (dressed more for combat than for review), with an additional five-hundred troops stationed along the eight mile route from the castle out to the airport. This surface force was augmented by a full squadron of helicopters that patrolled the city’s skies, and a much-less noticeable cadre of British Army and MI-5 ¾ snipers positioned on rooftops surrounding the castle.
Harry and Wally headed towards a small group of men dressed in green tunics and Balmoral bonnets. Wally smiled as he reached out towards the group’s leader.
"Why, don’t you look dashing?" he asked, as adjusted the angle of the retired Auror’s cap. "You do know that The Stag offers discounts to men in uniform, right?"
"Gerroff, me, you," growled Moody dangerously.
"Hey Mad-Eye, nice pom-poms," grinned Harry.
The retired Auror’s magical eye gave Harry’s robes a full look over. "You should talk, Lord Major Fancy-Pants."
"Hey, I resemble that remark!" Harry complained.
"Now, now, Captain Moody," said Wally. "I was so certain that and your men would appreciate a Muggle disguise that wasn’t quite as garish as last night’s reflective vests."
"Not quite as garish, he says," Moody whined. "Bloody outfit has a sash and shoulder boards and feathered cap, but it’s ‘not quite as garish’…and don’t even get me started on these ridiculous bows and arrows."
Harry chuckled as he looked over the dress uniform of the Royal Company of Archers. "Would you rather be honorary Highlanders?" he asked, pointing towards the active infantrymen whose dress uniform included kilts, sporrans, and garters.
"At least those costumes let your bits breathe," Mad-Eye replied.
Harry shrugged. "Figured you and your men would be more comfortable holding long bows rather than rifles with attached bayonets."
"Well you got that right, at least."
Harry then asked about Gilmerton Close, the small wizard’s quarter hidden within Edinburgh’s Old City. Moody’s response was only partially discernible to Harry, as an in-bound report from his ear piece competed for the Queen’s Wizard’s attention.
A few moments later he talked into his shoulder, then gave Wally a nod. Harry then turned to Mad-Eye and said, "The Queen’s plane has been cleared for landing, and I need to head out to the airport. Promise me that you lot will follow the rules-of-engagement that I worked out with Head Auror Robards earlier today?"
"Yes, yes, we get to stand still and look pretty with these useless sticks in our hands unless all hell breaks loose."
Harry nodded, "And even then, you’d do best to sit on your wands…the Muggles are on the lookout for weird looking men with small wooden sticks in their hands. And for Merlin’s sake don’t cast any concealment charms…while our sharpshooters have been briefed on what you look like now, they’ve also been ordered to shoot anyone they spot in their thermal imagers using magic to hide."
"Still can’t get over the fact that their lot can see through glamour and disillusionment charms," Mad-Eye muttered.
Harry smiled. "Yes, well let’s hope that you don’t find out the hard way what else Muggles can do." And with that he headed to the street, where a small gaggle of men were fawning over his motorcycle.
"Yes, it’s a ’69 Bonny," he said, as he stuffed his robe into a saddlebag and took his "Seeker" helmet off the handlebar.
"I inherited it," he stated, as he strapped on the helmet and kick-started the engine.
"No, barely any modifications at all," he claimed with a straight face, as he revved the engine. TPOMS Muggles Stout and Blade rolled up on matching Yamaha FJR1300 motorcycles.
Nodding to the two men, Harry took advantage of their helmets’ charmed comm gear and asked, "What happened to New Six?"
A belly laugh rang in Harry’s ears. "Still out looking for what he calls a ‘real’ bike," replied Blade. "Didn’t think it’d be right for anyone named ‘Beemer’ to be caught riding a crotch rocket."
Harry shook his head as he looked down the Royal Mile and the start of an unbroken stretch of cordoned-off streets and motorways. "His loss, as far as I’m concerned."
"Couldn’t agree with you more, Sir," replied Stout.
And with sirens blaring the three men covered the eight mile distance between Palace and Airport in well under eight minutes.
5:30pm, Edinburgh International Airport
The Queen’s flight landed at Edinburgh International Airport without incident and taxied to a bit of tarmac that connected the main airport with RAF Turnbill, a former military air base used presently for cargo operations. Harry (who had pocketed his shrunken motorbike and thrown on his robes) was waiting along with a large police and military escort.
"Steve, the tarmac is clear of magic and magicals," Harry announced into his badge. "Excepting me, of course."
"Roger that, Harry," Steve replied. "How about the route?"
"Looked clean when I flew up from the Palace a few minutes ago," Harry replied.
"Flew as in ‘in-the-air-flying’ flew?"
"Nah, stayed on the ground the whole time," replied Harry with a grin. "Speaking of flying," he added, "how did Comet and Cupid enjoy the trip?"
"They were fine, once they were introduced to the Queen and Dramamine."
"Looking for my head on a platter, then?" Harry asked.
"Oh no, I took pains to caution them on the downsides of fragging," Steve replied smartly. "Of course, I wouldn’t rule out a good hexing from either of them."
"I’ll take that under advisement," replied Harry.
By this point in the conversation the jet doors had opened and a cadre of security men had spilled out with trigger fingers and steely gazes. As they walked down the mobile stairway three black limousines pulled up, sandwiched in between open-cab Land Rover Rapid Deployment Vehicles.
"We’re ready to go here," said Steve.
"Roger that," said Harry, as he stepped inside a small storage shed that he’d parked next to. Fifteen seconds later, he stepped back outside, accompanied by most of the Order of Arthur dressed in the same brightly-colored robes that Harry was wearing. The Queen’s Wizard then dashed up the mobile stairway as Hermione and Ron led the others to the open backs of the Land Rovers.
Harry found Steve waiting for him just inside the airplane’s opened door and shook his hand. Katie and Alicia were standing right behind the MI-5 ¾ agent; they, too were now wearing the same robes as Harry.
"So tell us again, Mr. Queen’s Wizard, why he have to wear these robes?" asked Katie.
"Because if you try and hex me whilst wearing anything else the snipers will shoot you?" replied Harry.
The young witch paused, and then replied, "So I can hex you now, then?"
Somebody behind Katie interrupted. "We would rather you wait until later in this evening to hex my Wizard, Lieutenant Bell."
Katie blanched as she looked over her shoulder and curtsied. "Yes, Your Majesty." She then turned back towards Harry, gave him a scowl, and whispered, "You best be getting your witches-in-waiting lined up soon, Potter." In a louder voice, she asked, "After you then, Major?"
Harry smiled, and fought back the urge to note that, given their respective ranks, he should be the one to issue orders. He turned and led the Queen and her entourage out of the plane and into the waiting limousines.
6:00pm, Holyrood Palace, Edinburgh, Scotland
The Queen and Duke of Edinburgh arrived at the Palace at Holyroodhouse on-time and unhindered by terrorists and nationalists. Harry and the other witches and wizards stayed in the background as the Royal couple walked from their car to the forecourt of the Palace, where the Lord Provost and other local officials were waiting to presents the keys to the city. The Queen smiled as she accepted the ceremonial keys, only to hand them back with words that she had memorized decades earlier.
"I return these keys, being perfectly convinced that they cannot be placed in better hands than those of the Lord Provost and Councilors of my good City of Edinburgh."
And with that 700-year old tradition dispensed with, the Queen and Duke reviewed the contingent of Highlanders as an artillery battery fired off a 21-gun salute. Hermione was able to quickly reach Moody’s side and reassure him that the Muggle weapons were not actually aimed at him.
The Queen finished her review and then engaged in conversation with Scotland’s First Minister (who, after devolution, was nominally Scotland’s chief executive). Harry didn’t need an extendable ear to pick out the politician’s strained politeness, particularly when the man expressed his "disappointment" over not being able to personally welcome the Queen to "his" country at the airport. Needless to say, the Queen was not amused. Taking in the sight of a busload of reporters and camera men that had just arrived from the airport terminal, she boldly suggested that the First Minister join her on a tour of the previous night’s attack site.
"But…but, Your Majesty," the politician stammered. "I am not certain that the area has been reopened, for fear of remnant pockets of poison gas."
The Queen's lips pursed into a tight smile as she turned towards Harry and asked, "Gryffindor, what say you on the threat of poison gas at Grassmarket?"
Harry paused for a moment, then smiled in recognition. "Your Majesty, I can assure you that you will not be threatened by a release of BZ at the site."
With that reassurance, the Queen turned back towards the First Minister, who offered additional protests. "But…but Your Majesty, can your….your wizard…speak with authority on this issue?"
The Queen smiled. "We have every confidence that Lord Gryffindor is well positioned to offer counsel on this matter." She then added, "Come now, First Minister, you did wish a photo-op, did you not?"
The Queen didn’t wait for a coherent sentence to emerge from the man’s lips. She summoned the commander of the troops that she had just finished inspecting and asked, "Colonel Cartwright, are my Highlanders up for a short march?"
The Colonel lost his eyebrows underneath his cap, but had the presence of mind to salute and reply, "Your Majesty, Your Highlanders are always at your disposal."
"Very good, then," she replied resolutely. "We shall leave in ten minutes time for Grassmarket Square." Turning towards the Scottish Minister, she said, "We assume that is sufficient time for you to acquire any protective equipment you deem necessary for your person."
"Erm, yes, Your Majesty," the First Minister replied quietly.
Cries went out for troops to form ranks and prepare to march on the Queen’s orders, as the gathering of politicians and soldiers scrambled to follow her lead. Harry discretely activated his Art Club badge and let the others (who were positioned around the perimeter of the forecourt) know what was taking place. After quick consultations with the MI-5 Agent and Defense Ministry Official in charge of the scene he walked back towards Mad-Eye and his men.
"What kind of madness is this, Potter?" the Auror asked.
"Easy, Mad-Eye," Harry replied. "There are far too many armed Muggles within earshot who wouldn’t take kindly to your opinions of their Queen."
"We’re visiting the attack scene about an hour later than I expected," Harry replied with a smile. "Later than we expected, actually."
"It means that that those employed to protect the Queen anticipated her desire to stand with her subjects in the face of terrorism," Harry replied. "We’ve already got boots on the ground, laid down television camera platforms, and cleared the site of all but a few carefully screened loyal subjects who are ready and waiting to be inspired."
Mad-Eye thought about what Harry said for a few moments. "So this really is a publicity stunt, then?"
Harry shook his head. "There’s a difference between planning and anticipating." He then added, "And given the breath of last night’s attacks, it’s no stunt for the leader of Great Britain to offer words of reassurance at this time of crisis."
The Auror let out a "Harrumph!", then added, "And she expects that the loyal subjects will listen?"
Harry nodded. "You should come along, Mad-Eye, and find out what it’s like to have a real leader rise to the occasion."
"Of course," Harry replied. "You are, after all, part of the Queen’s security."
Mad-Eye scowled. "Expect you’ll want us to ride in the back of those metal beasts?"
The Queen’s Wizard shook his head. "Wouldn’t think of it," he replied. "As the Queen’s Guard, you’ll get to run along side her motorcar."
"Run?" Moody asked incredulously. "On this leg?"
Harry shrugged. "It's that or riding on the metal beasts...your choice."
The Queen’s Wizard didn’t see the wooden bow raised as if to strike him, as he had already turned back towards his motorbike for a scouting trip in advance of the impromptu parade.
Monday, July 9, 6:00am,
Palace at Holyroodhouse
The Queen’s Wizard woke at his customary hour within an uncustomary bed. Resisting his body’s inclination to spoon closer to his girlfriend, Harry swung his legs over the side of the bed and headed towards the three owls that were perched on the opened windowsill. One of the three birds pecked at his hand sharply, and refused to let him untie the message fixed to its leg.
"Fine, fly over there, then," Harry said, as he pointed towards the bed. The owl took his advice.
"Morning, sweetheart," he said with a smile. "Apparently that message is for you."
Hermione quickly cleared the cobwebs with that comment, and tore open the message.
"Anything you care to share, there?" Harry asked.
The nightgown-wearing witch pursed her lips and shook her head. "Oh, nothing worth twisting knickers over."
"But worth my finger when I tried to open it?"
"Maybe," Hermione replied with an enigmatic smile. Noticing the suspicious look on Harry’s face, she added, "Can’t a witch keep a few secrets to herself, especially around her boyfriend’s birthday?"
Harry relaxed his shoulders and smiled. "I suppose so."
"So what was in the fancy envelope you opened, Harry?"
Looking down at the official message in his hand, he replied, "Formal response to the summons I nailed to the Carlisle tree."
"Oooh, did Umbitch seal it with a kiss?"
Harry winced. "Erm, no…that would have been a C.O.D. Howler."
"Yeah, the kind of message that makes the recipient howl when he opens it."
"Very cute…so who did send it?"
"Somebody from the Department of Mysteries, confirming next week's meeting."
Hermione raised an eyebrow. "Really? Well that’s interesting."
"Yeah," said Harry, "and it fits in with the Head Auror’s surprise when I gave him a copy of the Treaty yesterday afternoon."
"Well, I suppose that the agreement is something that nobody would want to speak about within the Ministry."
Harry nodded. "So now I’m wondering if Scrimgeour even knows that he was supposed to be keeping the Queen’s Peace."
"Well, if the Head Auror didn’t realize he was acting on the Queen’s behalf…"
Harry nodded. "So do you think that the Minister of Magic could be held accountable for violating a treaty that he might not have even known about?"
Thinking for a moment, Hermione nodded. "The Treaty was a magically binding contract. If that kind of magic forced you to compete in the Tri-Wizard Tournament when you didn’t even enter your name into the cup…."
Harry smiled. "It’s that’s the case, well…about time that kind of magic bit somebody else in the arse."
Realizing that there was limited amount of time to prepare for the day, the two deferred further discussions on that topic and continued to plow through their odd assortment of magical and mundane correspondence. Owl posts were read and responded to while laptop computers were accessed for e-mails. Magical mirrors, Art Club badges, mobile phones and MI-5 comm gear were tossed about as Harry and Hermione checked in with those they were in charge of, and those they answered to. Hermione typed the results of these messages and inquiries into the laptop, forming the guts of a daily brief that they would eventually submit to Queen and COBRA.
It was only after they determined that the world hadn’t gone too far to hell while they were sleeping that they had enough confidence to sit down for a private breakfast and read the Muggle and wizard newspapers.
"Looks like last night was a hit," said Harry, as he reviewed the coverage of the Queen’s ad-libbed address to the nation.
Hermione nodded as she sipped her tea. "Completely ignored by the Prophet, although that’s probably a good thing," she replied.
Harry set down his paper and picked up his PDA and the day’s schedule. "What time are you popping down to the Institute, then?"
Checking her own appointments calendar, she replied, "Eight-thirty, or so, unless I’m needed here…still think you’ll have time to speak at the assembly?"
Harry nodded. "The Duke’s pretty much out flying solo today," he replied. "Visits the University of Edinburgh in the morning, then the Royal Scottish Academy and Royal College of Surgeons in the afternoon."
"Yeah…private meetings with me and the First Minister, so that I can let him in on our world and run roughshod over the magical secrecy laws." He then sighed. "Merlin, I don’t care much for politicians."
"Present company excepted, of course," Harry added.
"No worries, Harry," Hermione replied. "It’s just as clear that some politicians don’t care much for the peerage, or for Royal Wizards."
Hermione chuckled. "I still love you, Harry."
"Well that’s something, isn’t it?" he replied with a grin.
Chapter 33 -The Ministry of Meetings
Monday, July 9, 7:00am
Ministry of Magic
Having recently celebrated his one hundred and twenty-third birthday, Archibald Oswald considered himself too damn old to be sleeping on the office couch. But as the freshly-minted Director of Magical Law Enforcement, he thought it important to lead by example, and if not being able to trust the floo network meant that most of his staff had to stay holed up inside the Ministry, then so would he.
On his return from a bland but filling cafeteria breakfast, Oswald found a half-dozen new memos flying in a circular holding pattern in front of his door. He sighed, then ducked his head as he opened his door and the memos buzzed by, joining a queue that was lined up for in-basket landings. Ignoring for a moment the sheer volume waiting his attention, he sat down and watched as the Ministry’s pecking order played out in spelled parchment. Correspondence from the Minister’s office and from other Directors were particularly vicious as they slapped lower status memos down within the stack.
What the Director wanted to see first that morning were memos that summarized troop strengths, analyzed the recent attacks, updated injury reports and detailed funeral arrangements for his fallen Aurors. But as these reports would be prepared by his staff, rather than from the Minister’s office or by the other Directors, they were buried in the stack, underneath “highest priority” memos, like the one written by Percy Weasley that proposed changes in the number of blueberry scones to be set out during Cabinet Meetings.
Director Oswald plowed through the stack of “highest priority” memos. There was, of course, nothing of significance within these documents…none of the Directors liked to tip their hands too far in advance of the meeting if there were power plays to be made, or blame to be assigned. But with decades of bureaucratic diligence drilled into his soul, the elderly wizard paid no mind as he initialed his receipt and scribbled a short note where needed.
Once the drivel was disposed of, Oswald fished out the reports prepared by his unit managers and reviewed them with a fine-toothed comb. He muttered during most of this process…there were still many unanswered questions about the weekend attacks…questions that he would need answers for.
The elderly wizard sighed, then fired off three quick memos requesting his direct reports's immediate presence. Based on past experience, he expected the three to trickle in over the next half-hour or so. Such was the level of respect he’d managed to garner during his short tenure as Director of the reorganized (and severely downsized) DMLE.
Under the Ministerial reorganization, much of the power that formerly resided within the DMLE was transferred to other Departments. Dolores Umbridge took control of the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes and renamed it the “Secret Security Office,” with broad authority to protect the secrets of the magical world from Muggles. In the process, more than half of the Auror Department was transferred, and assigned to either the SSO’s “Compliance Office” or to a “Rapid Response Squadron” of obliviators and magical reversal specialists. More staff were lost when the Magical Surveillance Office was taken from MLE and elevated to a Cabinet-level Department, and when Arthur Weasley’s office was transferred to his son’s control as part of the regulation of magical commerce.
Minister Scrimgeour had claimed that these changes were necessary, given that the Department of Magical Beasts and Creatures was to be folded into DMLE, but the mass balance didn’t work. Many of the B&C personnel had already been transferred out of the department to take positions formerly held by exposed Death Eaters, and the Minister’s Office had either left these positions vacant or backfilled them with school-aged interns. Some of these teen-aged students were even acting as section leads.
Two of the direct reports surprised Oswald by appearing several minutes earlier than he had expected.
“Wanted to see us boss?” asked Head Auror Gawain Robards, as he entered the Director’s glass-walled office.
“Yes, come in gentlemen, come in.”
“Should I get the door?” asked Hit Wizard #1.
“Still waiting for…ah, perhaps this is her now,” said the Director. With a beckoning wave he ushered the last meeting participant into the office.
After a surreptitious glance down at his org chart, he said, “So, it's your turn to play acting MB&C Director this week, Miss…Turpin?”
Lisa Turpin looked at the three wizards rather nervously and said, “Yes sir, Director Oswald.”
“So, how are things in the Spirits Division?”
“Well, rather busy, once I was informed that the Minister’s Office considers Dementors to be Spirits,” Lisa replied.
“Yes, well…I imagine that the Ministry wasn’t too particular about their classification when they were under our employ, eh ?”
Head Auror and Hit Wizard #1 snorted in unison.
“Right then, might as well start,” said the Director. “H.W., you can get the door, now.”
The Hit Wizard closed the door behind him as the Head Auror and that week’s Acting Director of Magical Beasts and Creatures took seats in front of their Director’s desk.
“I’ve read your reports on this weekend’s attacks, and need some additional information and, erm…clarifications so that I’m better prepared for this afternoon’s Cabinet Meeting.”
“Better prepared to save his own arse,” the Head Auror thought to himself.
Director Oswald then turned to Lisa and said, “Let’s start with the Dementor and werewolf attacks, then.”
Lisa nodded. “You should have both my report and the report prepared by the Werewolf Restraint Office."
“Yes, I read them this morning,” the MLE Director replied. “I’m a bit disappointed that we had to rely upon civilians to fight the Dementors in Inverness.”
“Didn’t have any choice, boss,” said Head Auror Robards, jumping to the young witch’s defense. “All of the Patronus-qualified Aurors were commandeered for obliviation duty.”
“Yes, well….these citizens have not yet been interviewed?”
“No, Sir,” Auror Robards replied. “Won’t be able to until I get my witches and wizards back into the fold.”
“That will be discussed this afternoon, I assure you,” Oswald replied. He then added, “At least there weren’t any casualties in those attacks.”
“What do you mean, sir?” asked Lisa.
“Exactly what I said,” Oswald replied. “It’s from your own report, Miss Turpin…no witches or wizards were kissed during the attack.”
“No, but more than two-hundred Muggles were, and that’s in the report as well,” Lisa retorted.
“Yes, well…I guess if you want to expand your casualty count that way…”
Lisa bit her tongue. She was rather incensed at the Director’s cavalier attitude towards Muggle deaths, but didn’t want to say anything that would get her booted from the balance of the meeting.
“Moving on, then…quite hard to believe that werewolves were immobilized and killed by Muggle chemicals.”
“I don’t think you need to call them Muggle, necessarily,” said Gawain Robards. “Colloidal silver is, I’m told, an ingredient in certain potions, and the spray was used in conjunction with magical, erm…swamps.”
Oswald snorted. “Silver-flavored water and swamps…any progress on tracking down the missing werewolves?”
“No, Sir,” Lisa replied. “But perhaps the Head Auror….”
Gawain nodded. “As you know, Director, we never did catch up with the pack that destroyed Arthur Weasley’s house out in Devon. As for the Diagon Alley pack, it appears that the four who peeled off from the attack and killed one of my men inside the Leaky Cauldron escaped into the Muggle world.”
“What of the other missing werewolf, then?”
Gawain shook is head. “We found no evidence within the joke shop of more than the seven carcasses that we recovered. There must have been eleven total, rather than the twelve that was originally reported.”
“And the Muggles…still no reports of werewolf attacks by the ones that escaped?”
“No, sir,” Gawain replied truthfully.
“Well maybe that part of the night actually worked out,” Oswald replied. “Moving on…H.W.?”
“Your Department was notified that at least three of the fugitive wizards on your Hit List were involved in the Diagon Alley, St. Mungo’s and Hogsmeade attacks on Saturday night. None of them were apprehended, yet you place the blame for this failure on other departments rather than on your own.”
“These other departments are under the control of Directors Weasley and Umbridge.”
“My point is that I need to be certain that this is that truly the case before I present that to the Minister this morning.”
“Director,” the lead Hit Wizard said, “One of my witches has a friend that was working in the Surveillance Office that night. She says that it took more than six minutes to notify the DMLE from the time that each of those Death Eaters cast their first detected spells. Six minutes!”
“Oh,” replied the Director. “I see.” He paused for a moment and then asked, “This anecdotal account, then…it involves some sort of whistle blower who spoke out of turn…presumably without authorization?”
“Hard to be a whistle blower if your information has been authorized for release,” quipped Director Robards.
“What, are you going to kill the messenger?”
”I imagine that I’d be standing in that line behind Madame Umbridge, if I disclosed that one of her people had talked out of turn.”
Oswald looked down at the Hit Wizard’s report. “Your teams also took more than eight minutes to mobilize from the time that you were notified.”
“Yeah,” spat the indignant Hit Wizard. “By the time we were notified, anti-apparition wards had gone up over the targets, so my team needed portkeys. But could we make them ourselves? No-o-o-o, of course not. Only authorized ministry personnel in the Portkey Office can make portkeys, and that ponce Weasley had understaffed the office Saturday night, because he didn’t want to pay the overtime! It ended up being quicker to ask Head Auror Robards for rides using his badge, and by the time our teams arrived on scene the targets were long gone.”
“Yes, well, I don’t think Head Auror Robards wants to be dragged into your mess…he’s got his own problems to worry about, eh Gawain?”
“Excuse me?” asked the Head Auror.
“Your own mess, well, it’ll be mine, actually….two dead and three wounded Aurors in Diagon Ally, delayed responses to the attacks at St. Mungo’s and Hogsmeade, no Death Eaters caught or killed…”
“And all of my pre-positioned Auror teams in those locations pulled away by Umbridge five minutes before the attacks occurred and ordered to join Oblivator Squads at the Muggle attack sites,” added the Head Auror. “Because Merlin knows that the wizarding world’s secrets are more important than the lives of the witches and wizards that live within it.”
“Well, yes, they are, aren’t they?” asked the MLE Director. “But frankly, I’m more worried about your actions after the attacks, Head Auror.” He pointed towards a stack of spent Howlers and stated, “Six different complaints from Madame Umbridge, stating that you overstepped your authority at the Muggle attack sites.”
“And she’d be wrong,” Robards retorted. “Those twelve attacks were obviously coordinated Death Eater diversions. And last time I checked, the Auror Department still has the authority to investigate Death Eater attacks.”
“Death Eaters?” asked Oswald. “What evidence do you have that the Muggles were attacked by Death Eaters? I see no reports of Dark Marks, or wizards dressed in Death Eater robes.”
“What evidence?” asked an incredulous Auror. “Twelve attacks all at the same precise time across the bloody country…what do you think it was, a massive coincidental dose of accidental magic?”
“Circumstantial, at best,” Oswald replied. “Since none of these twelve so-called Death Eaters were captured…”
“Not surprising, since it was Umbridge’s goons that were first notified by the MSO,”
“Head Auror Robards!” admonished his boss. “I’ll not have you talking that way about our colleagues in the Secret Security Office. You might think that your Order of Merlin is enough to carry you through this mess, but you’ll be lucky if I can save your badge." The Director then added, “Why should I try to keep what’s left of this department together? Merlin knows I didn’t get my hundred-year service pin by sticking my neck out.”
“Of course you didn’t,” Gawain quipped. “You regulated dragons.”
“Yes, well I haven’t found Umbridge and Weasley to be any less vicious,” Oswald observed. He gave the three subordinates a calculated glare, then said, “Look, I am well aware of why I was put in this position…they wanted to set someone like me up for failure, just so it’d be easier to gut what’s left of this Department and divvy up the spoils amongst the other Directors.”
“I wouldn’t go that far…” said Hit Wizard One.
“Why not, I do,” Oswald replied. “More I think about it, the more I want to just wash my hands of all this and return to my old job and pay grade.”
“Why not?” asked Oswald. “Dragons are far easier to work with than politicians. They’re both wily, calculating, deadly beasts, but at least when a dragon dies you get some new boots out of the deal…think there’d be much of a market for tanning Umbridge’s hide once she bites it?”
Robards snorted. “Well, toad skin is one of the more popular potion ingredients, isn’t it?”
The MLE Director shook his head dismissively. “Laugh now, but she might be your Director if I can’t hold my own this afternoon.”
That statement got the three subordinate wizards’s attention.
“So, Chief,” Gawain said rather contritely, “what can we do to help?”
Once the brainstorming session ended, Peanut Butter Brigader Lisa Turpin used the lift to return to the Fourth Level offices of Magical Beasts and Creatures. Along the way she stopped to use the witch’s lavatory, where, after determining that she was alone, she entered a lavatory stall, closed the door and pulled a single unstoppered glass vial from her purse.
Lisa sat down and concentrated on the complete memory of that morning’s meeting and the documents that she had read. Once she was certain that she had the memory properly segregated, she drew her wand and placed it against her temple. A very long silvery thread was drawn out of her head, and guided into the vial, which the young witch then corked. Lisa then used a sticking charm to hide the small vial behind the toilet tank, flushed the unused toilet, then made her way out to the washbasins. Thankful that she was the only witch using the lavatory, she straightened her hair, took a deep breath, and walked back out into the hallway.
Once Lisa returned to her desk she wrote a short memo to another Ravenclaw witch, suggesting that they meet for lunch. After folding the memo into a distinctive origami swan, she sent it flying off to its destination.
Five minutes later, a mailroom intern got the memo and penned an affirmative reply. She then told her supervisor that she was going to make her morning nargle inspection, and made her way to a pre-arranged dead drop location.
Luna had made it known within her office group that she preferred to inspect her navel and other body cavities within the Fourth Level Witch’s Lavatory. Her boss and coworkers accepted this excuse as a way for the young witch to steal a few minutes time visiting her boyfriend in the Goblin Liaison Office. The Magical Surveillance Office personnel who were in charge of monitoring the movements of known associates of Harry Potter did as well, so no alarms were raised when Luna took a detour after using the lavatory and knocked on Ron Weasley’s office door.
Luna walked into the office closed the door, then ripped open the Velcro-fixed flap in her robes and smiled.
“Want to check for ants in my pants, Ronnie?”
Her boyfriend smiled and nodded as he rose from his chair, walked around to the front of his desk, and dropped to his knees. As he reached inside her robes, Luna shook her head.
“I think that it will be easier to taste them than to feel them.”
Ron snorted as Luna reached out and pulled her boyfriend’s head towards her bared midriff.
“There’s one particular spot,” Luna said, as she encouraged him to search lower and lower. A few moments later, Luna pulled the wizard’s head away from her belly and began to rearrange her clothing.
“Well. Ronnikins, did you find any?” she asked with a smile.
Ron shook his head and replied, “Mmm-mmm.”
“Oh, I could have sworn…perhaps you should check later this afternoon?”
Ron nodded and gave Luna a thumbs-up.
Once Luna left the office, the tight-lipped Ron reached for his teacup, took a sip, then spit the contents of his mouth back into the cup.
A Ministry house-elf instantly popped into his office.
“This tea is cold,” said the wizard. “Take it away and bring me back something that’s at the right temperature.”
The house-elf’s eyes went wide as it took the teacup and plate. ‘Yes, Mr. Weasley, sir…right away, Mr. Weasley, sir.”
The house-elf popped away to the Ministry of Magic’s kitchens, where she reappeared within a small supply closet.
“Dobby!” the house-elf called out.
Harry Potter’s favorite house-elf popped into the closet.
“Mr. Ron Weasley’s tea was cold,” she replied.
Dobby started to fidget rather nervously. “I will be taking care of that for you, Smiley.” He took the cup and saucer from the other house-elf and popped to the Hogwarts kitchens. It took just a moment for him to seek out and find his target. With another pop he disappeared, and reappeared within the walls of a different castle located a few hundred miles to the south.
The Queen’s Wizard looked up from an intelligence report that he was reading in his guest bedroom at Holyrood House.
“Mr. Clan Champion’s tea was being cold.”
Harry raised an eyebrow. “Was it now? Well, perhaps I should see.”
“Yes, Mr. Harry Potter, sir,” Dobby replied, as he held out the teacup.
Harry looked inside the teacup and fished out the stoppered vial that had traveled from London to Edinburgh via a lavatory dead drop, Luna’s knickers, Ron’s mouth, a teacup, and two house-elves. He held the vial up to the light, noted the silvery string trapped inside, and nodded.
“Thank you Dobby, and please thank the other house-elf for me as well.”
“Yes, Mr. Harry Potter, sir,” Dobby beamed, then popped away.
Harry shook his head as he considered all of the cloak and dagger that had gone into that morning’s intelligence transfer. It would have been so much easier to have just badge-jumped into Ron’s office to get the memory, but there were some concerns that all of the interns, and Ron especially, were being watched.
Fortunately, there were far fewer concerns about monitored badge travel within the Muggle world. After a quick call to let Steve know that he had to be away from the Queen for a few hours, Harry badge-jumped to Windsor, retrieved his pensieve, and then jumped to 10 Downing Street, where he planned on sharing Lisa’s memory with Hermione.
Meanwhile, Smiley had returned to the Goblin Liaison Office with a replacement cup of tea.
“Thank you, Smiley,” said Ron. He took a sip, and then let a very satisfied smile creep onto his face as he thought about his little scene with Luna. While they had received some rudimentary training in dead-drops and other espionage techniques from their Muggle MI-5 ¾ colleagues, there had been no mention of passing off information via simulated oral sex.
That, of course, was Luna’s idea.
Ron thought it was rather brilliant.
Having finished preparations for his Cabinet Meeting, Special Assistant to the Minister Percy Weasley sat back in his office chair with the Ministry’s latest organizational chart in hand and assessed the latest threats to his upwardly mobile career. The floo shutdown happened on his watch, and there were bound to be complaints about the Portkey Office, but given all of the weekend issues associated with departments run by other cabinet ministers, Percey thought that there were opportunities to add to his square footage.
There had been a time, early on in his career at the Ministry, when Percy considered this type of exercise to be unnecessary…a time when he naively thought it was enough to work hard and play by the rules. But the fates of Barty Crouch and Cornelius Fudge had disabused him of that kind of idealism, and none too soon; had his ability to cover his bureaucratic bits not been well developed by the time he started to work with Madame Umbridge, she would have gnawed on them most severely.
Like Dolores Umbridge, Percy still clung to the Special Assistant title that made it clear to everyone that he was tight with the Minister of Magic. Clung to it so much, in fact, that he favored it over his official cabinet position, which was “Director of Magical Education, Transportation, Commerce and International Relations.” Of course, this preference was much more understandable given some of the contempt within the Ministry for his position…since his box on the org chart sat right next to the Department of Mysteries, more than a few of his colleagues and subordinates had come to call Percy’s domain the “Department of Knowns”.
Despite the nickname, Percy felt quite satisfied with his present position within the Ministry. Aside from the Unspeakables, he was in charge of everyone and every office within the Ministry not associated with the defense of the wizarding world. This included two of the original seven Ministry departments (Transportation and International Relations), as well as two new subdepartments that gave him supervisory or regulatory control over Hogwarts, his father, and twin brothers. With all that in hand, losing control of magical surveillance had been rather easy to swallow.
Percy stared hard at the organizational chart, looking for openings. The werewolf attacks fell under Magical Beasts and Creatures, which had been folded under Magical Law Enforcement, but it would be hard to argue that that division would be better off under his umbrella…it was far more likely that the MLE would be added to Madame Umbridge’s portfolio as part of an expanded Secret Security Office. But then most of the incidents that past Saturday had involved Muggles, and were under her purview, so she would be hard-pressed to claim that she was capable of taking even more on. A more reasonable scenario would be that the MLE Director would be sacked, and if that happened…..
Special Assistant Weasley counted boxes. While he held sway over far more ministry personnel than the MLE Director, the Ministry’s org chart didn’t reflect that fact; Director Oswald still had as many boxes linked to his name as Percy did. Which Percy thought was ridiculous…the Centaur Liaison Office, for example, still had a place on the chart, even though that office was vacant! Maybe, just maybe…Percy gathered his papers and made his way towards the MLE for some tactful negotiations.
10:30 Thames House, Millbank, London
After pulling into an open space within the car park underneath MI-5 Headquarters, Chief Inspector Kate Miller shifted her new “company car” into neutral and slammed her foot on the accelerator. The responding roar of the BMW’s 3.2 litre, 333 horsepower engine brought a satisfied smile to her face...nothing in Brixton Station’s motor pool could come close to making a sound like that.
Unfortunately, her passenger was more confused than enthused.
“Is that a required action whenever a Muggle car is parked?” Remus asked.
Kate turned and replied, “It is when you finally get to drive one of these lovelies.” She then killed the engine, unbuckled her seat belt and added, “Come on, Remy, we’re running a tad late.”
The former DADA professor rolled his eyes as he followed suit and got out of the car. CI Miller had given him the new nickname after deciding that “Remus” wasn’t sexy enough for a secret agent…and stuck with it, despite his protests.
“Hard to believe we’re late, given how fast you drove here,” he said.
“Yes, well, we did make a few wrong turns…figured you would have known how to get to your headquarters.”
Remus shook his head. “First time here…I’ve been swept up into this just as much as you have.”
Kate nodded as she pushed the remote door lock button on her key chain. She snorted as her partner flinched at the car’s chirped response.
“Getting better, Remy…didn’t draw your wand this time.”
Remus just shook his head, and mentally reviewed the list of pranks he intended to play on his partner once there was time for him to enjoy them.
The two made their way through automatic glass doors to a security checkpoint. Remus was amused by the fact that, as a credentialed MI-5 agent, he was given the responsibility of minding his partner during the Metropolitan Police officer’s visit to “his” headquarters.
“That necklace looks good on you, Kate,” he quipped, as they waited for an opened lift
The Chief Inspector looked down at red laminated badge that yelled out “GUEST” in big block letters and frowned.
“Would have thought the silver chain would have put you off,” she replied.
Remus smiled. “No worries…it’s Muggle made, so the chances of that being real silver are slim and none.”
Kate and Remus returned to business banter once the lift dropped them off at the appropriate floor. An escort was waiting there to take them through a second security check, and from there to a forensic pathology laboratory. Remus’s senses were assaulted by the combination of strong iridescent lighting and chemical odors, so much that he didn’t even notice the sharp drop in temperature as they entered the room. A lab-coat wearing Muggle was there to greet them.
“Ah-hah, here we are, here we are,” the Muggle announced, as he strode towards the entrance. “I’m Dr. Samsky, resident c-mug pathologist and xenobiologist.”
“Chief Inspector Miller,” Kate replied, as she shook hands, with the man. “And this is my partner, Agent Lupin.”
The scientist’s eyebrows arched slightly as he shook the werewolf’s hand. “I’m thrilled to finally meet you, Agent Lupin.”
Remus eyed the Muggle warily…the glint in the c-mug’s eyes looked slightly predatory.
“Now, Agent Lupin, I was told that you have something of interest for us?”
Remus nodded as he pulled the small block of wood from his coat pocket and handed it to the pathologist. Samsky examined the block and marveled. “So, there really is a full-sized body inside here?”
“No, Dr. Samsky, the block is the body.”
“Amazing, simply amazing,” the pathologist replied, as he walked over to the center of the room and placed the block on one of two gurneys. Remus noticed that another small rectangular object was resting on the other bed.
“So, Agent Lupin, if you could work your magic, we could get started then,” the doctor said.
Remus nodded as he drew his wand, then took a look around. “Might want to move all this back,” he noted, as he waved his arms towards the electronic equipment that surrounded the beds.
Having seen some rather expensive machines fried by stray magnetic fields, the MI-5 ¾ pathologist didn’t need to be told twice, and pushed the wheeled equipment off to the side. Remus then cast Finite Incantatum spells on the two small objects, returning them to original form.
“Fascinating,” the pathologist said, as two female bodies (one nude, the other clothed) appeared before him. He approached the gurneys and placed latex gloved fingers on the neck of each cadaver.
“Good heavens this one is still warm!” he exclaimed, as he turned towards the Alpha Bitch’s reverted form. “What time was this one shot?”
“Approximately 2210 last night,” stated Kate.
“Truly remarkable,” the c-mug exclaimed. “It is one thing to know that magic exists…quite another to see it in action like this.” He took a closer look at the bullet-riddled skull and stated, “These entry points look altered…different than the others.”
CI Miller nodded. “She was shot within a magical jurisdiction. Wizards don’t like the idea of guns being used around them, so the slugs were removed in the field.”
Wilson nodded. “That’ll make facial reconstruction a tad more difficult.”
“We could probably get you the original slugs, if that would help,” offered Remus.
“Thanks, but I think that we’ll be able to work with what we have.”
“No need to reconstruct this face,” Remus said, as he looked down at the other cadaver. “This is Alecto Carrow.”
“And she was a werewolf too?” Wilson asked.
Lupin shook his head. “No, she was born that ugly.”
The pathologist snorted as he walked over to the side of the room and began wheeling the equipment back towards the bodies.
“We’ll get started straight away on this facial reconstruction, then,” he said. “Now that the hocus pocus is done, I can bring in my MI-5 colleagues and get their help…should have a head shot and preliminary autopsy results for you in a few hours.”
Kate and Remus left the pathologist to his work and made their way to their second scheduled meeting within MI-5’s biometric laboratory. Once there, their retinal patterns and other body parts were scanned and saved into a top-secret database for future access to high-security areas, such as MI-5 ¾’s headquarters. The wizard was amazed by the Muggle technology, and said so. He didn’t, however, have the heart to tell the scientists and technicians who were gathering the data that a simple polyjuice potion would likely fool the machines.
After being poked and prodded, Kate and Remus made their way to the Ministry’s cafeteria for lunch. Dr. Samsky sent Kate a text message during their meal, indicating that he already had some results to report, so the two made their way back to his workspace. Classical music was playing in the background as the two entered the pathology lab, but it was the smell of death that caught their attention; Dr. Samsky and a colleague were wrist deep into the opened chest cavity of the female werewolf.
“Ah, welcome back, Chief Insector, Agent Lupin,” the pathologist said, as he pulled bloodied gloves off of his hands and tossed them into a red biohazard bag. He then led them to a computer workstation and sat in front of two large monitors. With a few deft keystrokes, passwords were entered and photographic images appeared on screen.
“We’ve had some initial success identifying “Werewolf Doe,” Samsky quipped. He pointed towards the screens. “The first photo on the left should look familiar…that’s how she looked before we started poking around in her skull. This second photo is a computerized reconstruction of what she probably looked like before she was shot seven times in the head.”
“How did you do that?” asked Remus.
“With the right equipment,” Samsky replied. “We used lasers to obtain a detailed three-dimensional model of the subject’s head, including all of the bullet holes. Then, based on bullet trajectories and depths, the computer pieced back together the broken bones and filled in the bullet holes, to show us what the subject looked like before she was shot.”
Remus nodded as he compared the computer rendering to an actual photographic image on the other screen. “And this third photograph, then?”
“It’s a potential match for the subject,” Dr. Samsky said proudly. “Once we had the rendering we searched our database of criminal records.”
Chief Inspector Miller nodded, looking at the text that accompanied the mug shot. “Maggie Stevens, age thirty-one, arrested and convicted of violating the Queen’s Peace three different times.”
“What did she do?” asked Remus.
Kate leaned over Dr. Samsky’s shoulders and used the computer keyboard to link to additional data. “Two minor assaults, involveing pub brawls, and the third…public indecency.”
Kate frowned. “According to the records, she was found passed out drunk and naked in the street back in 1996.”
“Really?” asked Remus. “What time of day was this?”
“Six-thirty in the morning…surprised she didn’t freeze to death, given the time of year.”
“January sixth,” Kate replied.
Agent Lupin thought for a moment, and then asked, “Can you look up historic lunar phases with that computer?”
Kate raised and eyebrow, then turned to Dr. Samsky.
“Suppose we could search the Internet,” he replied. The pathologist opened his browser and tried to Google search “lunar cycle 1996.” When the first couple of pages of results failed to turn up anything more interesting than how to do tarot readings, Kate suggested the search terms “full moon,” and “1996.” The second hit on that search produced a web page that listed the date of every full moon since 1940. Dr. Samsky scrolled down the page for the right year and said, “There you go.”
Remus looked over the pathologist’s shoulder and smiled. “First full moon that year was the fifth of January.”
Chief Inspector Miller turned towards her partner and grinned. “Hey, I’m supposed to be the detective here, not you, Remy.”
“What did I just miss?” asked Dr. Samsky.
Remus smiled. “Werewolves have a nasty habit of waking up naked and disorientated on the morning after a full moon.”
Kate chuckled as she printed out the mug shot and arrest records.
After two straight hours of watching his Cabinet Officers bicker and posture, Rufus Scrimgeour decided that enough was enough.
“That’s it,” he declared. “I’ll take all of the recommendations on revisions to the organizational charts under advisement.”
“But nothing, Madame Umbridge, I’ve had enough of the blame game. You will return all of the Aurors and Hit Wizards that you borrowed Saturday night to Oswald’s Department.
The former High Inquisitor narrowed her eyes, but gave an affirmatory nod. “And about the Muggle’s threat to break wands?”
The Minister of Magic stared at the toadish woman, then reached a decision. “We allow it for now.”
“But nothing, Dolores. We aren’t in a position to fight the Muggles over this so soon after they lost a few hundred of their own to magical attacks…at least not until we understand the Death Eater’s new tactics better. Work with the newspapers to get the word out to the public...we'll revisit this later on in the week.”
“You will provide me with options that will ensure that the floo network does not go pear-shaped, at least for prioritized use by Ministry officials.”
“And Oswald, you will keep the Head Auror on a short leash, and immediately post a Portus-authorized Auror team within Magical Surveillance.”
“Speaking of Magical Surveillance, Hopkirk…you will make arrangements for this Auror team to be immediately notified whenever a Portus spell is detected.”
The MSO Director nodded her head. “I’ll make it so, Minister Scrimgeour.”
“It goes without saying that your Muggle surveillance team will inform us if the secrecy situation deteriorates any further.”
“Let’s see,” said Scrimgeour, “who’s left?”
“The Department of Mysteries?” asked its Director.
“Ah, yes…is your Department in position to help the others with these tasks?”
"Well, the continue to do whatever it is that you folks do down there.”
The Head Unspeakable smiled. “As you wish, Minister Scrimgeour.”
There was a few moments of silence, as everyone waited for the next decision from the Minister. Rufus finally asked, “Are there any other issues not related to org charts that need to be discussed this afternoon?”
Percy let out a small sigh and said, “Minister Scrimgeour, we need to decide what to do about the Muggle Prime Minister’s notice…the three day grace period ends tonight.”
Umbridge frowned. “Why didn’t you dispose of the issue like we did the last time?”
“That avenue is no longer available,” Percy replied. “As I noted in my memos, our ICW branch office was officially disbanded when the new Supreme Mugwump was sworn in last week in Kyoto.”
The Department of Mysteries Director frowned. “I’m sorry, but is this something that we should have known about?”
“You didn’t know that the new Supreme Mugwump was Japanese?”
“No, I knew that,” the Unspeakable replied. “I was asking about the Muggle Prime Minister’s note.”
Minister Scrimgeour looked at the Unspeakable, then turned towards Percy and nodded.
“Last Friday, at a Cabinet meeting that you failed to attend, I reported that Lucius Malfoy allegedly tried to rob a Muggle bank. According to existing treaty obligations, the Ministry is required to send notice of this attempt to the International Confederation of Wizards.”
The Unspeakable nodded. “And how is the Muggle Prime Minister involved?”
“The Muggle Prime Minister sent an official notification of this alleged attempt by owl last Friday afternoon.”
“By owl?” asked the Unspeakable.
Scrimgeour nodded. “More of Potter’s handiwork, no doubt.”
“So what’s this about a last time?” asked Department of Mysteries Director.
Percy nervously looked towards his boss, and once again got a confirmatory nod.
“On the day after the attack on the Ministry,” he noted, “there was a separate incident involving a Muggle bank. The Ministry made the required notifications by hand delivering a notice to the Supreme Mugwump’s office down on the Fifth Level.”
“You mean Dumbledore’s old office?”
“But he’d been dead for some three weeks, right?”
Percy nodded. “Nevertheless, his office was still officially opened, as our certified date-stamped receipt proves.”
The Unspeakable scowled. “You didn’t want the ICW to know about the attempt, did you?”
“Whether we wished it or not, we complied with our obligations,” Percy noted.
“I see,” said the Unspeakable. “So what happened to that notification, then?”
Percy allowed himself to grin slightly. “We made arrangements for the former Supreme Mugwump’s office to be packed up and shipped off to Japan. Given all of the piles of parchment accumulated by Dumbledore over the years, one or two pieces of parchment may have been lost during this process.”
The Unspeakable rolled his eyes. “Fine, so we dodged an Unforgivable that time…but now?”
“Now that the office is closed, we need to find an alternative approach,” Percy replied.
“Why don’t we simply do the required notification?” asked the Unspeakable.
“Because we don’t need any of those foreign busybodies poking their noses into our business,” Umbridge declared.
“We’re still on administrative probation from the Quidditch World Cup attack,” Percy explained. “If we notify the ICW that a British wizard tried to rob a Muggle bank, they’ll bring in a full audit team to review our records and procedures.”
“And that’s a problem?” asked the Unspeakable.
Umbridge and Percy spoke in unison. “Yes!”
“The answer is kept on a need-to-know basis, I’m afraid,” Scrimgeour replied wearily. “Suffice to say there were certain advantages to having a British wizard installed as Supreme Mugwump.”
The Unspeakable sighed, and rubbed his forehead with his fingers.
“So, what if we simply ignore the incident?”
Scrimgeour nodded. “That would be the best of a series of bad alternatives. It certainly has worked in the past.”
“But the fact that the Muggle Prime Minister sent some sort of official notification?”
“Exactly,” spat out Umbridge. “That treasonous whelp and his mudblood whore are pinning us into a corner.”
“So, if they know enough about treaty obligations to pen the parchment for the Muggle Prime Minister, then they probably know enough to check whether we did the proper notification.”
“I wish I knew what games they’re playing,” the Minister said. He pursed his lips, and then said, “Percy, arrange an immediate meeting between Potter and myself…we need to get to the bottom of this.”
“Erm, yes, Minister,” Percy replied. “But how?”
“Use your goblin-loving brother,” Umbridge spat out.
Percy shook his head in disgust. “Fine.”
The Minister looked down at his watch. “Unless there’s anything else, then…”
“Well, actually, there is,” the Unspeakable replied.
Scrimgeour scowled. “Can it wait a day?”
The Department of Mysteries Director thought for a moment. “That would depend, Minister Scrimgeour.”
“On the status of one of your badges of office.”
The Minister furrowed his eyebrows.
“It’s a large pearl, set on the end of a silver necklace, set within a mount trimmed with dragons.”
The Minister frowned. “Percy?”
“I believe that you placed it within one of your lower desk drawers,” his Special Assistant replied.
Scrimgeour was muttering to himself as he ducked down and began to rummage through his drawers. A few moments later, he pulled out the thick chain necklace.
“Is this what you’re looking for?”
The Unspeakable nodded as he looked closely at the orb that dangled from the chain. He then drew his wand and cast a few diagnostic charms.
“So can it wait, or not?” demanded Umbridge.
The wand-wielding wizard frowned. "Minister, if you would indulge me, and place the necklace over your head?"
"You want me to wear it?"
"If if wouldn't be too much trouble."
The leonine wizard scowled. Hoping that quick compliance satiate the Unspeakable's curiosity, he did a quick check on the piece of jewelry. Finding it free of hexes and curses, he then slipped the silver chain over his head, and let the large pearl rest against his chest.
The Unspeakable sucked in a deep breath as he considered the inert orb. He then exhaled, and then replied, “No Madame Umbridge, at this point, I am afraid that further discussion can not wait.”
4:00pm Smithfield Market, London
Secret Agent Remus Lupin walked out of the meat market with a fresh lead on their case and a desire for raw steak. In contrast, his partner was presently entertaining an upset stomach and thoughts of turning vegan.
Remus pointed down the street and said, “Stake and Ale’s down that way, I think.” Kate nodded and they made their way to the pub where two of the meat market’s butchers had placed “Mother” Maggy Stevens as a barmaid.
“So,” asked Kate along the way, “all of those burly men with excess body hair in there were,….erm…”
“Let’s call them kin, given where we are,” Remus replied. “And yes, I’d say there were a good fifty or so at least in there.”
Kate shook her head. “It made sense when you explained it on the way over, but it really hit home when I saw all the blood and guts…”
“Yeah, makes you hungry, doesn’t it?” Remus said with a grin. “It is a rather ideal job for the typical London werewolf…not just access to the raw meat, but to the tunnels as well.”
The Chief Inspector nodded. Remus had told her that as London outgrew its walls in the Eighteenth Century cow paths were converted into city streets, and city dwellers within the neighborhoods that surrounded Smithfield Market began to object to having cattle driven to market under their noses. In response, the cattle drives were driven underground, within newly constructed tunnels that connected the market to the outer edges of the city. Years later, once cattle were trucked in on lorries, the tunnels were sealed off. Parts of the tunnel system were converted into underground storage, but much of the network was commandeered by the werewolf community, for use as a safe, anonymous area to run when full moons shined aboveground.
When Kate and Remus entered the Stake and Ale, they encountered a scene quite similar to what Severus Snape found when he had visited three days earlier.
Kate took in the rough-and-tumble crowd, their blood-stained boots, and hairier than average faces and quietly asked, “Are we okay here, Remy?”
Remus took a careful look about the room, let his were-enhanced senses kick in, and nodded. “More than one pack, no Alphas, mixed company…should be safe.”
“Should we talk directly to the publican?” Kate quietly asked.
Remus shook his head. “Let’s just take a seat, and get a measure of the place.”
Kate nodded, deferring to her partner’s instincts in that situation. She made her way to a high table off to the side of the bar, where she and Remus made small talk while they waited in vain for a server to take their orders.
“I do believe that they’re blowing us off, Remy,” Kate noted.
Her partner nodded. “Watch my back.”
The lycanthrope walked up to the counter and tried to get the publican’s attention. He was blatantly ignored by the barkeep, but not by a few of the patrons sitting alongside the rail.
“Oh look, it’s a West End Wolfie,” sneered one of the burly men, after taking in Remus’s attire.
“Slumming a bit, ain’t ya guv’nor?” quipped another.
Remus turned towards the two men and took their measure. They were both were-turned Muggles, probably mid- to lower-pack, and ran together. Not wishing to make a scene, he ignored them.
“Hey Mike,” one of the two men called in follow-up. “Make a run to the dairy…looks like we got ourselves another milk drinker.”
Amidst the laughter, the man’s buddy nodded towards Kate and said, “Nah, take a look-see, the bloke brought his own cow.”
Remus turned towards the heckler and scowled as the wolf boiled up inside of him. His eyes dilated with fury, adrenaline pumped into his veins and a musky scent poured out of his sweat glands in an almost tangible cloud. He reached out, grabbed the lycan who had insulted his partner by the scruff of his neck, and bashed his face down onto the bar.
Bar stools scraped back and voices were raised as blood started to flow freely from a cut over the now-woozy heckler’s right eye. Several of the pub patrons made a move towards Remus only to stop dead in their tracks.
Chief Inspector Miller was about to draw her badge and her gun to control the situation when she suddenly realized that her partner had, in his own way, somehow taken charge. All eyes were now drawn to Remus stern gaze, and all noses now drawn to his scent. After a few tense seconds, a murmur of voices was heard as the patrons all cast their eyes down towards the floor and backed away.
The original heckler grabbed his pint glass in one hand and his mate’s shoulder with the other. “Sorry, Guv’nor,” he said to Remus, as he pulled his bleeding mate away. “Just havin’ a bit o’ fun. Didn’t mean to offend.”
Remus nodded in response, as he let out a deep exhale.
The publican was suddenly more than hospitable. While he wasn’t a werewolf, enough of his patrons and staff were for him to recognize pack behavior.
“This here’s neutral ground, Guv’nor,” he said apologetically. “Nobody’s looking for a fight.”
Remus nodded. “My apologies…I don’t take kindly to having my partner insulted.”
The publican nodded. “So would you and your bird care for a drink on the house?”
“He said partner, not bird,” Kate announced, as she joined Remus at the bard. She flashed her badge and added, “As in ‘my partner, 'Metropolitan Police Chief Inspector Kathryn Miller’.”
A sharp silence followed this announcement, before the pub’s chairs and bar stools again scraped against the wooden floor, and the pub’s patrons suddenly all had better places to be.
“Well that was subtle,” Remus snarked, as the room cleared out.
“No more than the bloody nose,” Kate replied.
“Actually, that was a rather normal form of communication for this crowd,” the pub owner said warily. He then added, “So, what can I do for you, Chief Inspector?”
Kate looked at Remus, who shook his head in frustration, and pulled a photograph from his coat pocket. He placed it on the bar and asked, “Do you know this woman?”
The publican looked down, and replied, “She looks…vaguely familiar.”
“We have good reason to believe that she was employed here,” Remus growled.
“You must be mistaken, Guv’nor…I don’t have anyone looking like that on my payroll.”
Remus rolled his eyes and leaned forward. “But that doesn’t mean she wasn’t working for you on the sly, does it?”
Chief Inspector Miller’s eyes narrowed as she reached into her pocket for a business card. She slid the card across the table towards the bar man and said, “We’re not here to close down your business for hiring undocumented workers, or to get you in trouble with your customers. We do, however, need to find out where this woman lived and who her friends were. You help us with that, and the rest will go away.”
The publican looked at the card, then looked up at Remus.
“If you don’t mind me asking, what in the bloody hell is going on?”
Lupin glanced over at Kate, who shrugged her shoulders.
“Your world, your call, partner.”
Remus snorted, then turned back towards the barman. “Just how hooked into the community are you?”
The barman glanced around his now-empty pub and shrugged his shoulders. “I’m guessing you know well enough that I’m not turned?” When Remus nodded, the publican continued. “This pub’s been a favorite of the local meat packers since when my grandfather owned it. And since a few of those lot are, well…your kind…this pub’s always been friendly to them.”
“Friendly enough to hire one?” asked Kate.
The publican nodded towards the photograph. “What’s Maggie gone and done now?”
Remus replied, “She led at least part of her pack on an attack Saturday night.”
“Really?” asked the man. “Well, I wouldn’t know anything about that.”
“Didn’t say that you did,” replied Lupin. “How long has she been working here?”
“Off and on, six years,” said the publican.
“You know where she lives?” asked Kate.
The publican looked nervously towards Remus. “What’s a were doing cooperating with the Police?”
Remus snarled just a bit. “Trying to keep from seeing every police officer in the nation filling their guns with silver bullets next full moon.”
This comment drew the barman’s attention. “How bad?” he asked.
Remus shared another look with his partner, and with her agreement replied, “Ever hear of a bloke named Greyback?”
The barman nodded. “Aye, never seen him around here, but I’ve heard he’s a right nasty bastard.”
Nodding, Lupin said, “Well, he set his pack loose on Saturday…killed eight people, including seven….seven that are under the protection of the Metropolitan Police.”
“So they killed a wizard as well?” asked the publican.
Taking the question as confirmation that the man knew something about the wizarding world, Remus nodded. “Did you know that your barmaid ran with Greyback?”
The publican shook his head. “Like I said, I try to stay out of their politics…much healthier for business that way.”
Kate nodded. “We need to find her friends, and search where she lived.”
“Lived?” asked the publican. “You mean she’s….”
The barman’s face turned pale.
“Maggie she….I knew she changed packs a year ago or so, but not which pack.”
“Who did she used to run with?”
“Don’t know pack names…I told you that I try to stay out of it.”
“But did she have any friends here…people she might have run with before?”
The barman thought about the question carefully. “Can you keep my name out of this?”
The Chief Inspector replied, “Completely confidential…we recognize your situation.”
The publican reached a decision and nodded. “There’s a couple of blokes…names are Johnnie Hancock and Ben Pinckney. They’re regulars, come in right after morning shift over at the market…they might know where she lived.”
Kate smiled. “There, now…that wasn’t too bad, was it?”
The barman snorted loudly as he glanced towards Remus. “Yeah, not bit yet.”
“We’ll do our best to keep your involvement quiet,” the Chief Inspector replied.
As Kate and Remus turned to leave, the barman asked, “So the government, it knows about…everything?”
Remus glanced back towards the bar and nodded.
“At least the Muggle government does.”
Once the two left the pub, Kate said, “You do know that you violated a half-dozen police regulations in there, don’t you?”
Remus shrugged his shoulders. “Good thing I’m not a Muggle policeman, then.”
Kate shook her head in frustration. “Mind explaining why they all backed off once you bashed that bloke’s face?”
Remus smiled. “Guess I unconsciously established dominance,”
“Thought you said you weren’t affiliated with a pack.”
“Oh, so you just naturally radiate a bad-arse Alpha aura?” quipped Kate.
Remus nodded. “In a way, yes.”
As Percy Weasley made his way towards the Goblin Liaison Office, he was too worried about what the Head Unspeakable had revealed about the Treaty of Carlisle and the upcoming meeting to care that he needed to ask his younger misguided brother a favor.
“Come in,” Ron called out, when his brother knocked on the door.
“The Minister needs to speak with Harry immediately,” he declared.
Ron looked at his older brother and snorted. “What do I look like, an owl?”
Percy scowled. “He needs to speak with Potter straight away…don’t tell me you can’t get in contact with him.”
“Okay, so I won’t,” Ron quipped. “Still think it’d be faster to owl.”
“Yes, well…” Percy reached into his pocket and withdrew an envelope. “It’s all explained in this letter…there’s also a two-way portkey for his use.”
Ron shook his head dismissively. “After all of the tripe you’ve shoveled his way, why should he do you any favors? Why should he trust you?”
“Because he’s still a wizard, and still a part of our world,” Percy snapped back.
“Funny, you claimed that he wasn’t in the papers.”
“Really?” asked Ron. “I could have sworn that the ‘Anonymous senior Ministry official” was you….sounded like you talking out of your arse, at least.”
Percy, in a rather angry tone of voice, said, “Just get this letter to him.”
“Sorry, brother, but you’ll have to make arrangements with my supervisor.”
“What I’m ‘on about’ are the rules and regulations, dear brother,” Ron said with a grin. “Courier duty is not part of my official job description, and any assigned task that deviates from my official duties must be approved in advance by both my supervisor and Department Head.”
“Surely you aren’t asking me to go against the regulations that you yourself helped draft?”
Percy started to say something, then thought better of it. “Fine, who is the acting Department Head this week?”
Just as Percy began to storm out of the office a loud “gong” was heard.
“Yes!” Ron exclaimed, as he began to pack his bag.
“Where are you going?” Percy demanded.
“Five o’clock is official quitting time for all Ministry Interns,” Ron replied. “Unless you want to force me to work more than the normal eight hours.”
“Of course, then you’d be violating the work hour limitations established by the educational internship program guidelines…which would mean that you’d have to hire me on as a full time Ministry Employee, with both back pay and forward pay.”
Percy stared at his brother with an open mouth and shocked expression.
Ron smiled as he walked out from behind his desk, and patted his brother on the shoulder. With a wide smile, he pronounced, “He who lives by bureaucratic dragon dung, dies by bureaucratic dragon dung.”
“I’ll have you know that I’m a Senior Advisor, Ronald.”
Ron nodded. “Yes…a Senior Advisor that better be making a trip to the owlry, from the looks of it.”
And with a whistled rendition of “Weasley is Our King,” Ron made his way towards the outbound floo.
Chapter 34: Politics and Portkeys
Monday, July 9, 6:30pm
Gilmerton Close, Edinburgh
As Harry Potter watched Minerva McGonagall gracefully step out of the floo grate and dust the ashes from her cloak he once again thanked Merlin (literally) for his ability to badge-jump.
"Good Evening, Headmistress, and welcome to Edinburgh," Harry said, as he offered her his elbow.
Minerva nodded. "Thank you for inviting me." As she grabbed the Queen’s Wizard’s arm she noticed his Clan Potter robe and quietly asked, "The invitation said that I was to wear Muggle evening wear, right?"
The Queen's Wizard nodded as he took in the Headmistress’s black tea-length dress, and the tartan sash that was worn over her right shoulder and pinned with a gold brooch.
"You look fine, Headmistress…I’m wearing the robe for a lower profile within the Close."
Minerva chuckled as she glanced at the lightning bolt-shaped scar on Harry’s forehead. "As if a low profile was possible for you, Mr. Potter."
Harry rolled his eyes as he led his Headmistress through the main room of the "Thistle and Toad," the pub that guarded the entrance to Edinburgh’s small Wizard’s Quarter. He nodded at the barman as he passed by.
"I think we’re done for now, Kirk," Harry said. "Thanks again for your help."
"No trouble at all, Clan Chief, we thank you for the business," the squib replied.
As Harry and the Headmistress stepped through the Muggle entrance of the pub and into the daylight, she asked, "You’ve made some new friends whilst in town, Mr. Potter?"
The black-haired wizard smiled and shrugged his shoulders. "Never hurts to be friendly with the gatekeepers to the wizarding world." He then added, "And the Queen does like to use local caterers during her visits to Holyrood."
It was only a few steps from the pub entrance out to Lawnmarket, one of the four streets that make up the Royal Mile between Edinburgh Castle and Holyrood Palace. A black sedan sat double-parked waiting for them, with a driver who immediately opened the back door once he spied Harry walking out of the narrow alleyway.
McGonagall looked nervously at the Muggle automobile, and then up the street towards the Palace.
"Can’t be more than a half-mile walk," she noted.
Harry laughed. "That it is, Headmistress, but we don’t want to keep the Queen waiting, now, do we?"
"No, I imagine not," Minerva replied, as she reluctantly ducked into the vehicle.
Once the Queen's Wizard joined her in the back seat, the Headmistress looked warily at the driver. Realizing that she likely had some questions to ask, Harry raised the glass divider between the front and back benches.
"Muggle equivalent of a silencing charm," he explained. "We have a few minutes, if there’s something…"
Minerva shook her head. "Some background to this rather impromptu gathering, if you please?"
Harry nodded. "I’m sorry for the short notice." As he continued to talk he began to unfasten the front of his robes, revealing a white dress shirt, black tie, and bright scarlet jacket.
"Right, so there’s a few things going on tonight. First involves the Muggle government," the teen-aged wizard began. "I don’t know if you’re aware of it, but the Muggle Scots were granted some type of limited home-rule…they’ve got their own Parliament now, and a leader called the ‘First Minister’ that’s like the Muggle Prime Minister, only smaller."
Minerva nodded, prompting Harry to continue.
"So this First Minister, even though he’s the head of Scotland’s Muggle government, he wasn’t told about the wizarding world like the British Prime Minister was…at least until last night."
"Should he have been told?" asked the Headmistress.
Harry shrugged his shoulders. "From a legal standpoint, we think so…Great Britain is a United Kingdom of countries, and Scotland is one of those countries. But from a practical standpoint, I definitely think so…after all, the Dementors struck a Scottish city Saturday night."
"So the Muggle Scots weren’t told by the Muggle English why more than two hundred of our kith and kin were killed?" asked Minerva. "Ach, I don’t imagine the Scottish minister was too happy about that."
The Queen's Wizard frowned. "No, he wasn’t happy at all, even less so because he was told after the fact by me, rather than by the British Prime Minister."
"So how does this all relate to meeting the Muggle Queen?" the Headmistress asked.
"The Muggles call it ‘damage control’," Harry replied. "The Queen thought that if this First Minister were to meet more people from the wizarding world, including the headmistress of Britain’s finest school of witchcraft and wizardry…"
"Who just happens to be a Scot herself?" the Headmistress asked wryly.
Harry smiled. "You got to the heart of the matter much sooner than I did, I’m afraid."
"Yes, well, age and years of experience jockeying within staff meetings and with the Board of Governors will do that for you," Minerva replied.
Snorting, Harry noted, "There will also be a short award ceremony tonight. Ernie MacMillian and, erm…I…will be getting medals for bravery in Inverness, and all of the others that helped fight back the Dementors will be publicly thanked."
"Not that you don’t deserve it, Harry, but why would the Queen want to do that?" asked McGonagall.
Harry replied, "Her Majesty thought it important to let the wizarding world know that she appreciates the efforts of her magical subjects, even if the Ministry chooses to ignore them."
Minerva’s eyes narrowed. "That seems like a far more riskier bit of politics, Harry."
The Queen’s Wizard agreed with a nod. "That it is, Headmistress…that it is."
"Which brings us to your choice of attire tonight," said McGonagall, as she took in what Harry had been wearing underneath his robes.
The commander of Her Majesty’s only magical squadron glanced down at his "mess dress" uniform, worn by officers within The Parachute Regiment.
"Ah, you noticed," Harry replied with a weak smile. As the car passed through the gates of the Palace, he then said, "So, a funny thing happened after I was done with the Dementors Saturday night…"
There was scant time to explain the purpose of The Prince’s Own Magical Squadron before the car stopped and a liveryman opened the car door.
A young wizard was waiting for them, dressed just like Harry; a bright scarlet jacket with cuffs, epaulets and lapels trimmed in Regimental maroon, worn over a navy blue waistcoat, white shirt and black tie. The high-waisted navy trousers had cuffs that were buckled under black-heeled boots (known as "mess wellies")
The wizard saluted smartly, and then asked, "Major Potter?"
"Your aide-de-camp has a message for you."
Harry’s eyes lit up. "Ah, so the Ministry’s owl finally found me?"
Neville nodded. "Yes, sir, just as Captain Weasley predicted."
"Captain Weasley?" asked Minerva. "Which one?"
"Ron," Harry replied with a smile. "Fred and George are Lieutenants."
Neville held out his elbow for the Headmistress and said, "If you would allow me the honor of escorting you inside, Ma’am?"
Minerva shook her head in disbelief. Between the Queen’s invitation, the idea of her students commissioned within the Muggle army, and Neville’s display of impeccable manners, she didn’t know what to think.
"Thank You," the tartan-wearing witch finally replied, as she accepted Neville’s arm. "You look rather dashing tonight Mr….or should I say Lieutenant Longbottom?"
"Yes, Ma’am. Thank You, Ma’am."
Your grandmother would approve, I think."
"Erm, thank you for thinking that," Neville replied. "She does, by the way….and she’s already inside, if you wanted to discuss it with her."
With a nod from Harry, Neville began to walk towards the front entrance. "Yes, there are actually quite a few parents here tonight…the Grangers, and Spinnets, and Bells…"
Harry followed behind until he could slip into an unoccupied room off the front entrance of the Palace.
The only house-elf in unofficial service to Her Majesty the Queen popped into the room wearing an elf-sized version of Harry’s outfit, with the addition of the small maroon beret.
"Yes, Major Harry Potter, sir, ADC Dobby is here," the house-elf replied, as he held out an embossed envelope.
"Thank you Dobby," Harry replied. "You’ve checked that the portkey is inside the envelope, rather than the envelope itself?"
"Yes, Major Harry Potter, sir. It is safe for you to handle."
Harry nodded as he opened the envelope and spilled the contents out onto a side table. Leaving untouched a large black button, Harry picked up a piece of parchment and quickly scanned the letter.
"Just as Ron said," he noted, mainly to himself. He then looked down at the button and asked, "Dobby, is that portkey touch activated?"
The house-elf looked closely at the object. "No, Major Potter, sir. It be needing your wandtip touched to it."
Harry nodded. "So we can grant that they’re acting as they claim, at least for now."
Dobby nodded. "Will Major Harry Potter, sir, be needing to send a response?"
Harry retrieved a prewritten response from an inside coat pocket, then asked, "Was the ministry’s owl waiting at the remote drop?"
Major Potter reached back into a pocket for some owl treats, then handed them and the letter to the house-elf.
"Will you please give these to the owl, then?"
"Dobby can do that, Major Harry Potter, sir."
Harry smiled. "And then would you come back? If you don’t mind, there are a few more Muggles that I’d like to introduce you too."
Dobby nodded. "Would Major Potter sir like the portkey returned as well?"
Harry looked down at the button, and after a moment shook his head. Stuffing the portkey into a trouser pocket, he said, "Thanks, Dobby, but you never know when one of these might come in handy."
After meeting with his brother Percy, Ron Weasley had floo’ed from the Ministry to Hogsmeade; with his family temporarily staying at Hogwarts, he would have walked from The Three Broomsticks up to the Castle, had it not been for his badge. From an empty alleyway he badge-called Harry and Hermione, they used Hermione as an anchor point to badge-jump back to London for a debriefing with the Muggle Prime Minister. Harry’s prewritten response to the Minister of Magic’s request was developed during that meeting.
Needless to say, Harry’s response was not well received when the Ministry’s owl delivered it to Minister Scrimgeour.
"He has a previous engagement?" Rufus snarled. "Can’t meet until tomorrow afternoon, and then only at a neutral site?"
"Who does he think he is?" added Dolores Umbridge.
"The-Boy-Who-Betrayed Us," said Percy.
The three Ministry officials had been waiting for Harry’s arrival within the Minister of Magic’s Office.
Scrimgeour passed the letter off to Umbridge, then turned the now emptied envelope upside down.
"Didn’t bother to return the unused portkey, I see," he noted. He then turned to Percy and added, "That did have a limited time use window, right?"
Percy struggled to maintain a calm facade, despite the fact that he was screaming "Bollocks!" inside.
"Of course, Minister Scrimgeour," he lied smoothly. "I built it myself." (That part was true, at least).
Umbridge threw the response down onto the table and used her wand to reduce it to ashes.
Percy immediately whined. "Hey, I didn’t get a chance to read it…."
"Save it, Wetherby," she snarled back She then turned to the Minister. "He clearly is trying to force our hand on ICW notification."
Rufus nodded. "Whether it was intentional or not, the effect is the same." He then looked at his two assistants and asked for suggestions.
"I say we obliviate them," Umbridge stated. "Just give me the world, and I’ll have one of my teams so deep inside their heads they won’t remember their own names."
Percy rolled his eyebrows. "And just whom do you plan on obliviating?"
"Potter and his mudblood whore, for starters…and then their silly queen, and the Muggle minister…"
Percy snorted. "Yeah, sure…send one of your teams out to attack Potter and Granger… Because that worked so well the last time, and that was before Potter could legally do magic, and before they took control of their own wards."
Scrimgeour shook his head. "They’ll see it as an act of aggression if we’re caught going after the Muggle leaders."
"So that wouldn’t help move the conversation along, now would it?" jumped in Percy. "Whether that conversation takes place tomorrow at that neutral location, or at Carlisle Castle at the end of the week."
"I suppose, then, that you’ve a better idea?" Umbridge snapped back.
Scrimgeour turned towards his younger Special Assistant, as if he was waiting for a response as well.
Percy swallowed, and then asked, "What if we were to do nothing?"
"We do nothing," Percy replied, repeating the words with more certainty. "We don’t notify the ICW, we don’t respond to the Prime Minister’s notification, and we don’t meet with Potter tomorrow."
Scrimgeour squinted at Percy. "Where are you going with this, Weasley?"
"I think we should stall," the Director of Knowns replied. "Let’s say we ignore this attempted robbery, and the prime minister’s notification. They will probably ignore protocols and contact the ICW directly. But with the new Supreme Mugwump in Japan how long would that take?"
"At least a couple of days, assuming they have access to an international delivery owl," the Minister replied.
"So, two days to get there. Then, even if the ICW decides to immediately investigate, which is a big assumption since the letter is from a Muggle government, it would take them at least two days to look into the issue, right?"
Scrimgour agreed. "And another two days or so to draft a letter to us, demanding an explanation."
"And then we ignore that," Percy concluded. "Or we don’t, depending on how things turn out at Carlisle. The beautiful thing is that if they then wanted to sanction us, it would take a decision by the full assembly, and they aren’t scheduled to meet again until August."
Rufus smiled for the first time that day. "And what wizard would want to side with the Muggle government if they are threatening to violate the international secrecy acts?"
Umbridge shook her head. "I don’t like it…it leaves too many things in the hands of others."
Percy, reading the expression on his boss’s face, chose to say nothing in response. After a moment of silence, the Minister reached a decision.
"We go with Weasley’s plan," he stated. "We’ve already assumed the worst will happen at Carlisle, based on what the Unspeakables have told us. So even if the Internationals try to intervene on their behalf…"
"You know," interrupted Umbridge, trying to save face, "if we decided to lie about the ICW notification we’d likely gain even more time."
The Minister of Magic tilted his head in thought, and then shook it. "It wouldn’t gain us that much, and would trip us up if we wanted to claim that the Muggles were lying. No…we stay silent, and keep them guessing."
And with a nod filled with gravitas, Scrimgeour ordered his subordinates to devote their full attention to the upcoming meeting at Carlisle…and to the planned response tentatively labeled "Project Arcanum."
8:00pm Palace at Holyrood House, Edinburgh
Once the last of the invited guests passed through a reception line that included the Queen, the Scottish First Minister, the Queen’s Wizard, and Ernie Macmillan, Harry finally got his chance to congratulate his classmate.
"Well done, Ernie," the Queen’s Wizard said with a smile. "And thank you, I really appreciate the fact that you’re here with your parents."
"Not a problem, Harry," the Hufflepuff replied, as he looked once more at the "Queen’s Gallantry Medal" that had been pinned to the chest of his Muggle tuxedo jacket. "Not all pureblood families are intolerant of the Muggle world, and my folks were absolutely incensed at the lack of help from the Ministry during the attack."
Harry nodded. "Thanks for reminding me…they asked to meet with me as they passed through the line."
The Hufflepuff nodded. "And I promised to search out Hannah to find out more about this ‘witch-in-waiting’ job you just lined up for her." He then added, "Congratulations on your George Medal, Harry."
The Queen’s Wizard looked down at the silver medal that hung from a red and blue striped ribbon and nodded. "Not that I’d argue against the Queen, but I still think that you should have gotten the higher honor."
Ernie snorted. "Oh, please, Potter…I called for help and saved my family from the Dementors. You answered the call and saved an entire city from the Dementors."
Harry shook his head. "Agree to disagree, then," he replied. He shook the Hufflepuff’s hand once more, then turned towards the large gathering to prioritize his obligations. Between his MI-5 ¾ colleagues, his TPOMS squadron, and the families of nearly all of the friends and classmates that he had recruited that summer, there were a lot of people that he had promised to catch up with after the ceremony.
The Queen’s Wizard thought about coming to his liege’s rescue when he noticed that Luna’s father was peppering her with questions, but the Queen seemed to be holding her own. The First Minister, in turn, was chatting up Headmistress McGonagall about Hogwarts and historical influence of magic within the different clans. This allowed Harry to not feel too guilty about seeking out the company of his favorite witch.
Hermione was in a corner of the room with a colleague from MI-5 ¾’s Q Branch, discussing something that had her very excited.
"Harry!" Hermione said brightly, as he caught her eye. She pulled him into a kiss, and then introduced him to their fellow secret agent.
"This is Dr. Wembley," she said. "He’s the chemist that’s been examining the oil samples that we collected from the firth."
"Nice to meet you," said Harry, as he shook the Muggle’s hand. "I assume that you discovered something of interest, since my girlfriend looks like she’s about to pee her pants."
"Harry!" Hermione chided, as she slapped his shoulder.
"That might actually help confirm my hypothesis," the chemist said with a sardonic grin. "Being that urine is also fluorescent."
Hermione snapped her head back towards the chemist, but then grinned and nodded her head. "You are rather clever, aren’t you?"
"Will someone explain this cleverness to an ignorant wizard?" asked Harry.
The Q Branch chemist turned towards Harry and smiled. "The two crude oil samples were chemically identical, but then I considered their physical properties."
"One was orange and one wasn’t when we collected them," noted Harry.
"But when we submitted them to the lab they were both black, remember?" asked Hermione.
"So how does this relate to your pee?" asked Harry.
Hermione shook her head dismissively. "Both crude oil and urine, I presume, fluoresce, or glow in the dark, when exposed to ultraviolet radiation."
Harry squinted at Hermione, then turned to their colleague for confirmation.
"Except that urine fluoresces purple," the chemist said with a smirk. He then added, "But I digress…once I thought to check it was a simple matter to verify in the laboratory."
"You examined your pee in your laboratory?" asked Harry.
"No, Major Potter, the crude oil samples," the chemist replied. "Both of them glowed orange when exposed to short-wavelength ultraviolet radiation."
Harry paused, waiting for something more. When nothing came, he asked, "And so…"
"And so, Harry, your Patronus may have produced the same glow because it is comprised, at least in part, of short-wave ultraviolet light."
"Oh, Sweetheart," Hermione said with a sigh. "Muggles can’t cast Patronus charms, but they can create ultraviolet light."
"So you think that the ultraviolet radiation is the secret ingredient within a Patronus that scares off the Dementors?"
Hermione nodded and shrugged her shoulders. "We’d have to test the idea, of course, but just think if that’s the case!"
It was Harry’s turn to nod. "It’d be nice if it were true." He then turned towards the chemist. "Suppose you want me to catch a Dementor for you to do tests on?"
The chemist shook his head. "No, if it’s all the same, I’d rather the test be performed in the field, if necessary."
"We’re working on that," said Hermione. "Maybe we arm all of the Dementor patrols along the coastline with ultraviolet light torches, and have them try to scare them off with torchlight before casting a Patronus charm?"
Harry thought for a moment, and then shrugged his shoulders. "Can’t hurt, I guess, although I’d rather see something with a greater range than a torch."
"Some sort of flare?" asked the chemist.
Hermione got that certain look again. "Thanks, Harry, you’re brilliant," she said, then shoo’ed him off with another kiss, so that she could brainstorm with the chemist about different lighting sources.
The Queen's Wizard was on his way to the open bar, looking to refill his butterbeer, when he ran into two of the Muggle TPOMS members. They, like all of squadron members in attendance, were dressed in Parachute Regiment "mess dress."
"Excuse me, Sir," said Sergeant Beemer, as he drew himself close to attention.
"At ease, New Six, Coley," Harry replied with a smile and dismissive wave.
"Blimey Major," said Coley, "You never told us that you had been that much in the thick of it before you decided to join our little dance out on the moors."
Harry shrugged his shoulders. "Just doing my job."
"Yes, well…any man that says it’s not right for someone your age to hold that rank…"
"Man or woman, for that matter," added New Six as he nodded towards their magical partners. "Didn’t realize that Comet and Cupid cleaned up that well before tonight."
The other Muggle commando nodded. "We might just have to get to know our squad mates a little better."
The Queen’s Wizard followed New Six’s line of sight and chuckled. Katie Bell and Alicia Spinnet were also turned out in mess dress, wearing ankle-length navy skirts in place of trousers, and low-heeled pumps instead of dress boots.
"You do realize that Lieutenant’s Bell and Spinnet are dating the Weasley Twins, right?" asked Harry.
New Six shrugged. "Perhaps they just needed to get to know the right men."
Harry laughed. "I would advise against the attempt, gentlemen…the Twins are rather brilliant when it comes to pranks."
Coley scoffed. "No offense, Major, but New Six and I have always managed to overcome what’s been thrown our way."
"Really?" asked Harry. "And has anyone ever thrown a gender-reversing potion into your beer?"
The two commandos looked at Harry with a mixture of circumspection and shock.
"You’re not serious, are you Sir?"
Harry nodded. "Back in school their enemies had an alarming habit of growing tits and losing bits for a day or three."
New Six snorted. "Might actually improve Coley’s looks."
"Why New Six," said Coley, as he grabbed his mate’s arm. "I never knew that you noticed."
With newfound interest in getting to know Fred and George (and their pranking skills) better, the two Muggle commandos took their leave.
"Just remember to hang around," instructed Harry. "The Prince wants formal squadron pictures."
"Right, sir," the two replied.
The Queen’s Wizard started to make his way towards Katie Bell to give her some grief about no longer being a temporary witch-in-waiting, but was intercepted by Padma and Parvati’s parents.
"There you are, Major Potter," said Mr. Patil, with a melodic South Asian accent. "I was wondering if you could spare us a few minutes of your time."
Harry nodded warily. "Of course, Mr. Patil," he replied. Harry then turned towards Mrs. Patil, who was dressed in an elegant sari, and added, "I can see where Padma and Parvati got their beauty."
Mrs. Patil smiled. "So you are not only brave, but charming."
"Your daughters are no less brave and charming," Harry replied. "I was thrilled when they accepted the Queen’s offer to serve her as witches-in-waiting."
Mr. Patil waved off the compliment. "They were the ones that were thrilled, Major Potter…to have the opportunity to do something of consequence this summer."
Harry nodded. "I assure you both that they will get the best training that can be offered…training that will no doubt serve them well during NEWT DADA examinations."
The twin’s father shook his head. "If indeed it is the case that Hogwarts opens this autumn," he replied. "I fear that the Ministry will be reluctant to give up their interns and lose so much of its present workforce." The diminutive man then added with a scowl, "Not that their needs were so great that they bothered to include my daughters."
Harry nodded. "Yes, it seemed strange that Padma and Parvati weren’t forced to intern…I understand that your family’s pureblood ancestry goes back quite a ways."
"Nine generations," Mr. Patil said proudly. "But when inquiries were made we were told that the Ministry was interested only in British pureblood students."
Harry shook his head in sympathy. "I wish I could say that I was surprised, but given the Ministry’s record of bigotry…."
"Yes, yes, but perhaps we could move on to a more pleasant topic of conversation," said Mr. Patil. "Is it the case that you will turn seventeen later this month?"
"And that you will upon reaching your majority become Patriarch of the Potter family?"
"Erm…yes, Sir," said Harry, thinking it best not to disclose full truth.
Padma and Parvati’s father’s eyes lit up, and he grew visibly more animated.
"I am certain that you will have many issues to address at that time," he stated. "But I would encourage you to consider an alliance between our two families."
Mrs. Patil shook her head and let out a small sigh. "What my husband is dancing about is an open betrothal contract that he has offered your family."
Harry fought back the urge to wince, thinking that the smartest (if not bravest) thing to do in this situation was to play dumb.
"I’m sorry," Harry said, "but I’m not sure that I understand."
"An open betrothal contract," Mrs. Patil explained, "is an offer for an arranged marriage between yourself and either of my precious daughters."
"Or both of them, for that matter," Mr. Patil chimed in. "I understand that it is unusual, but still legal for multiple marriages within the British wizarding world."
Harry coughed, and then stammered a bit. "Erm, well…I am honored that you have even considered this…I don’t know what to say, though."
"But my daughters are truly beautiful, as you just noted?" asked Mr. Patil.
"Yes, they are," said Harry, chancing a glance towards the twins. Padma and Parvati were across the room, whispering furiously to each other.. They both blushed and turned away when he caught them taking interest in their parent’s conversation with him.
"And you have already asked one of them to a formal ball at your school?"
"Then, my boy, you are already ahead of the game. I did not even see my beautiful wife Rashmi’s face until our wedding day."
Mrs. Patil, sensing Harry’s discomfort, tried to intervene.
"Perhaps we should give Mr. Potter some space to think, Tarak."
Mr. Patil gave his wife a pained look…he did not know when he would have the opportunity to make his sales pitch in person again.
"Very well, Major Potter…just let me assure you that dowry is not an issue. I am a successful businessman, and I am well-prepared to ensure my daughter’s happiness."
"Then perhaps we should let the boy go, Tarak, before your not-so-happy daughters hex you," Mrs. Patil said with a smile.
Harry saw the opportunity and took it. Giving Mrs. Patil a small nod of thanks, he made his way back towards the bar for something stronger than butterbeer. Thinking single malt scotch to be an acceptable compromise, he asked for Talisker over ice.
"Don’t be letting your troops see you watering down your whisky," said a voice to his left. "They’ll think you’re soft,,.or even worse, a Yank."
Harry turned and snorted at the First Minister’s comment.
"Tell me, Sir...ever had a wizard's whisky?" he asked.
"Can’t say that I’ve had the pleasure."
A thin smile crept onto Harry’s lips as he turned and asked the bartender for two shot glasses of fire-whiskey. He handed one to the First Minister and raised the other up.
"To your health," he said with a smile.
The Muggle politician nodded as he matched Harry’s one-shot downing.
"It’ll need all the help it can get right about now," the young wizard then added with a grin.
The First Minister’s face turned beet-red and eyes bulged as he tried desperately not to cough. Harry thought he even saw a bit of steam come out of the man’s nostrils, but couldn’t be certain.
"Care for another?" Harry asked, as he casually placed his glass back down onto the bar.
"No…I’m good," the First Minister stammered.
Harry had to give the man credit; there was no complaining about the challenge, and it only took a minute or two for a more normal color to return to his face. The First Minister quickly begged off further conversation, citing the need to return to his office.
A smartly-dressed Remus Lupin approached Harry with a smile in his eyes.
"Don’t suppose you told that Muggle that a wizard’s magic dampens the effect of fire-whiskey?" he asked.
"What, and spoil the surprise?"
Remus laughed. "Speaking of surprises, dare I ask what the Patils were talking with you about?"
Harry shook his head. "If I said no would you do it anyway?"
"Probably," Remus replied with a nod. Turning his back to the bar rail, the lycantrope scanned the crowd. "Let’s see, we’ve got the Abbots’, and Susan Bones’ parents…I’m sure they’d love the chance to talk about open contracts as well."
"No thanks," Harry replied. He then asked, "So how is it going with the Chief Inspector?"
Remus smiled. "It’s going just fine, other than the fact that she drives like a banshee on a broomstick."
The younger wizard laughed. "Any progress?"
Nodding, Remus replied, "We id’ed the Alpha bitch, and tracked down where she worked. We’ve also got a lead on some potential friends…we’ll track those down tomorrow."
"Great," Harry replied. He then grabbed the lapel of Remus’s black dinner jacket. "So is this a different suit than what you wore at the track, or a transfiguration?"
"New suit," Remus replied. "Kate said you can’t be a proper British secret agent without a proper tuxedo, so she and Tonks teamed up…"
"Your partner and Tonks double-teamed you?" asked Harry with a smile. "Letting your inner Alpha hang out?"
Remus scowled at his former student. "Would you like to see that inner Alpha now, Harry?"
The Queen’s Wizard laughed. "Nah, save it for tonight, Remy…Tonks might want to play Little Red Riding Hood."
Ron, Luna and her father approached the two before Remus could fire back a witty response.
"Hello, Major Potter," Mr. Lovegood said, "and once again, congratulations."
"Thank you sir," Harry replied. "Have you gotten everything you need for the news article?"
The Quibbler’s publisher nodded. "Between the press release that your Miss Granger provided, and my exclusive interview with the Queen, I’m seeing another sold-out edition."
"That’s great," Harry replied.
"So you got the special delivery today, Harry?" asked Luna.
Harry thought for a moment, and then realized what she was talking about. "Yes, actually I did. Thanks for your help, Luna."
The young witch smiled as she snaked an arm around Ron’s waist. "No problem, Harry…I just wanted to make sure that my ants hadn’t gotten a free ride on the vial."
"Erm, Luna…" said Ron, trying to shut down the conversation.
"Yes, my ants," Luna replied, blithely ignoring her boyfriend. "Ronnie usually swallows them when he goes exploring down my pants, but a few of them might have hung on to the vial."
Harry would have been abashed at Luna’s comment, if he wasn’t so busy enjoying the look of embarrassed terror on Ron’s face.
"Luna," he said quietly, "I don’t think that your father, or Ron, or Professor Lupin need to know the details…"
"But it’s important for Harry to know," Luna insisted. "You wouldn’t want him to give my ants to Hermione would you?" She then gave a glance towards the corner where Hermione was still brainstorming and serenely added, "Maybe that’s why she decided not to wear any pants tonight?"
It was Ron’s turn to snicker at his friend’s embarrassment.
Harry turned towards the others…Remus was thoroughly enjoying the conversation, while Mr. Lovegood was following it as if it were the most mundane subject of conversation in the world. The Queen’s Wizard shook his head, and then replied, "I have absolutely no idea what Hermione is or isn’t wearing aside from that evening gown."
The blonde witch nodded. "Well, when you do stick your head down there tonight, you might want to check."
Harry over towards Hermione. Wishing to end Remus’s entertainment for the evening, he nodded quite seriously.
"I’ll be sure to do that, Luna," he replied.
9:45pm, Somewhere in Salisbury
Augustus Rookwood finally reported to his lord, almost two full days after he was assigned to kill Lucius Malfoy. As he strode into the ersatz basement throne room and bent on one knee before Voldemort, the other Death Eaters gave him wide berth (not wishing to become collateral damage).
"Ah, Rookwood," Voldemort said quietly. "So nice of you to finally join us."
"My humblest apologies, my Lord," the Death Eater replied. "I dared not report any sooner, for fear that I might be tracked."
The Dark Lord frowned (as much as a lipless magically-restored construct could frown). "And why would you have reason to fear that you would be tracked, Augustus?"
Rookwood proceeded to explain the events, as best as he could recall, starting with the sudden realization that he and Amycus Carrow were flying on broomsticks in Muggle London. He then described Amycus’s fall, his subsequent mid-air apparition attempt and the resulting splinches.
"So Amycus apparated to his safe house?" Voldemort asked angrily.
"Yes, my Lord," Rookwood replied. "I followed, guessing correctly that it would be his destination, and was able to reattach my splinched hand that he had taken with him."
"But Carrow was splinched as well?"
Rookwood nodded. "Yes, my Lord, he left behind a buttock."
Voldemort snorted, finding some humor amongst the dangerous screw-up. "So then what happened?"
"Thinking it not safe to return to retrieve Carrow’s butt, or even knowing for sure where he had left it, I applied a magical suppression charm on what was left of his arse and fled the house for fear that the apparitions would be tracked by the Ministry."
"Don’t forget the spell that you used to reattach your hand."
"Yes, my Lord," Augustus replied, wishing that Voldemort had indeed forgotten that fact. "Fearing that the splinching would serve as a beacon for the Accidental Magic Reversal Squads, even with my suppression charm, I drove to Bath, and rented a room in a small Muggle motel. We have been there ever since. I have reapplied the charm several times, apparently with some success, since we have yet to attract visitors from the Ministry."
"Yes, my Lord…I left Amycus in Bath, and spent twice the normal time to drive here, so that I could ensure that I was not being followed."
"But the suppression charm is not a permanent solution, is it?"
"No, my Lord, which is why I thought it worth the small risk to report back and receive your orders."
Volemort shook his head in frustration. "Tell me, Rookwood, did you successfully follow my previous orders?"
"My Lord, I am…I am sorry to report that I do not know if I did."
"Because, my Lord, I was attacked by some sort of powerful memory charm. Over the past two days I’ve been trying to recover, and piece together what might have happened, but it is powerful magic."
"I see…so what do you remember?" asked Voldemort.
"I remember that Amycus and Alecto Carrow and I were tasked with bringing you Lucius Malfoy’s head on a plate," Rookwood replied. "I remember knowing where Malfoy was located, and that we had a plan to attack him, but…no more from that to where I found myself flying on a broomstick."
Voldemort thought for a moment. "You don’t remember that Malfoy was within a building known as the Rookery?"
"You don’t remember what happened to Alecto?"
"Or that you and the Carrows traveled to Diagon Alley during the attack and appropriated three broomsticks from the Quidditch supply store?"
"No, my Lord, although that would explain why we were riding broomsticks later that night."
Voldemort let out a deep sigh. It seemed as if the memory charm had been applied either by someone within the building, or by the building wards. If it were the latter, Rookwood and the Carrows could have killed Malfoy but then had their memory swiped. The fact that the goblins hadn’t sent another demand to kill Lucius would be consistent with that possibility.
The Dark Lord thought about casting a Legimens spell on Rookwood, before remembering where he was. With need to do that kind of spell work away from their hide-out, he reached inside his robes and pulled out his card deck of portkeys. Selecting one from the pack, he returned the others to his pocket, pulled out his wand, and said, "Come Rookwood, we will investigate this."
"Yes, my Lord," August replied, as he nervously grabbed hold of a corner of the playing card.
The portkey that Voldemort activated with his wand tip took them out into the cool night, and to a small, uninhabited valley within the Welsh countryside.
The Dark Lord pulled out a new deck of cards from his robes, and handed a joker to his minion.
"Use this card to fashion a portkey that will take us to Amycus," he ordered.
Rookwood took the card, and asked, "And the Ministry’s sensors, my Lord?"
"They will no doubt detect our spell use, but we’ll be long gone from here before they send anyone out to investigate."
"Yes, my Lord," said Rookwood, giving himself a mental kick for challenging his master’s orders.
As the former Unspeakable turned the joker into a portkey, Voldemort used the opportunity to fashion a replacement portkey for the one used to get them away from their hide-out. Once the spells were finished, Voldemort pocketed his card and reached out for Rookwood’s portkey. Hoping to make up for his prior stupidity, Rookwood said, "My Lord, if we think that the Ministry will send Aurors to this place because of the Portus spells, perhaps we could arrange for some sort of destructive welcome?"
Voldemort thought the idea over. "The suggestion has merit…for the next time. For now, though, let us visit your buttless sidekick."
"Yes, my Lord," Rookwood replied, as he activated the portkey with his wand.
The portkey deposited the former Unspeakable and his Lord into a dingy, dumpy motel room outside the city of Bath. A blanket-covered lump on one of the two beds suggested where the "buttless sidekick" was located.
Augustus scowled as he stepped up kicked the lump off the bed with the heel of his boot.
"Get up, fool, and bow before our Lord!" he barked.
Amycus’s head popped up from under the blankets, and he quickly crawled over to where Voldemort was standing.
"Thank you, my Lord," he whimpered, as he kissed the Dark Lord’s boots. "I knew that you would come."
"Of course, Amycus," Voldemort replied sweetly. "I am here for you." He then drew his wand out and said, "Look up, Amycus."
As soon as the Death Eater followed his master’s orders, Voldemort hit him with a massively overpowered Legilimens spell. Carrow cried out in pain, but had no defenses against the attack. Voldemort ripped through Amycus’s mind with little care for delicacy; having cast another spell, they were on potentially borrowed time.
It took no time at all for Voldemort to discover the massive memory block. It was definitely ward-based, and extremely strong, as it was drawing power directly from Carrow’s magical core. The blocks themselves were also integrated into the protected memories, and woven so tightly in and around that Voldemort could only get fleeting glimpses of what he sought.
The harder Voldemort pushed against the charm, the more power it drew from Amycus’s core, until the breaking point was reached…the breaking point of the host’s brain, that is, rather than of the defenses. Large portions of Carrow’s brain began to shut down, forcing Voldemort to withdraw lest he become trapped inside his minion’s ravaged mind.
The Dark Lord staggered backwards, causing Rookwood to jump out and catch Voldemort before he fell over. A sheen of cold, clammy sweat covered the Dark Lord’s reptilian face, as he wheezed and coughed in a fight for air.
"Alecto’s dead," Voldemort declared. "I saw you leaning beside her body, with a large hole in her head. You were in a flat, and there was a wizard’s dead body under a pile of rubble."
Voldemort shook his head. "I couldn’t tell."
Rookwood turned his attention to the other Death Eater.
"The memory block shut down his brain…he’s a vegetable…no use to us anymore."
"Yes, my Lord," Augustus replied.
"Unless…." said the Dark Lord. He drew his wand and cast a diagnostic charm on the body that now lay on the floor. "There’s enough core there to hot-wire a connection."
"You spoke of booby-traps earlier tonight," replied Voldemort. He then took Carrow’s wand from the side table and placed it in the vegetable’s hand. After wrapping the fingers around the wand, Voldemort cast an obscure and extremely dark spell on the wand.
"What is that, my Lord?" Rookwood asked.
"I’ve linked the wand core directly to what’s left of Carrow’s core," Voldemort explained, as he placed the wand and hand against Amycus’s chest. "Help me to carefully roll him over."
"Yes, my Lord," said Rookwood, as he helped trap the wand underneath the Death Eater’s shell of a body.
The two wizards then stood, and Voldemort retrieved the portkey that would return them to their hide-out.
"Now," he said, "we just have to bait the hook to make sure that the Ministry comes to investigate."
"More Portus spells, my Lord?"
The Dark Lord shook his head, then quickly pointed his wand towards the former Unspeakable.
Rookwood dropped to his knees in agonizing pain as the Unforgivable set his nervous system on fire.
Voldemort held the spell long enough to express his displeasure, but not so long as to do much permanent damage.
As Rookwood whimpered in residual pain, Voldemort held out the playing card.
"The hook has now been properly baited. Come worm, I might need you on other fishing trips."
"Yes…my…Lord," Rookwood said softly. He grabbed hold of a corner of the playing card, and was swept away to Salisbury.
Five minutes later, the Auror team that had been dispatched to Wales to investigate two Portus spells cast in the countryside was redeployed to the location of a detected Unforgivable curse. The sensors could only pinpoint spell use down to a twenty meter area, so the Aurors apparated to a spot behind the motel that sat outside of Bath. While the recon expert cast out detection charms to pin down locations of magical activity, the team lead did his own search. It only took a few moments for the leader to bark out orders to follow his lead.
"Thought your eye can’t detect residual magical energy," whined the recon expert.
"It can’t," replied Mad-Eye Moody. "It can, however, see well enough through walls and clothing to find people missing body parts."
"Sir?" asked one of the junior Aurors assigned to learn under the retired Auror’s wing.
"Three doors down from the first automobile," Mad-Eye growled, as he led them around front of the motel. "There’s a man lying on the floor of his room who is missing a buttock."
"Like the one that the Muggles found in the West End Sunday morning, you idiot," Mad-Eye barked.
With wands drawn, they approached the door to the room in question. It was locked, but yielded to a simple Alohamora spell. On Mad-Eye’s word they burst through the door and into the room.
A quick search revealed pretty much what Mad-Eye said that they’d find…a Death Eater lying face down near the bed, with his robes drooped down over where a rather large butt cheek should have been.
"Is he dead?" asked Mad-Eye, as he team performed different diagnostic spells.
"He’s alive," reported one of the Aurors, "but his mind is gone."
"What, he’s missing his brains as well as his arse?"
"No, sir," the Auror replied. "No signs of brain activity, and his magical core….mostly gone as well. What’s left is acting rather chaotic."
"So," Mad-Eye said, slipping into lecture mode, "We know that there were at least two spells cast in this room…an overpowered Legilimens and a Cruciatus.
"The mind probe could have destroyed the Death Eater’s brain, and maybe caused the erratic core readings," one Auror offered.
The Auror shook his head. "No residual signs of that curse on the body."
Mad-Eye then noted, "Two portkeys were made in Wales, and a few minutes later a Death Eater’s mind was raped in Bath, and left for dead. Scenarios?"
"Somebody portkeyed to Wales…"
"Two, at least…the portkeys were made at the same time," the Auror replied. "One of the portkeys was used to transport them here, while the second was used to whisk them away just before we arrived."
"And ‘who’ are we thinking was here tonight?" asked Mad-Eye.
"Well…the Carrows were with Rookwood, and if this is the male Carrow then one of the two would have been Rookwood."
Mad-Eye nodded. "Rookwood saw Amycus splinch himself, figured he had tried to apparate to that house in Bristol, then followed. They then drove from Bristol here, and waited to make sure they couldn’t be tracked."
"So Rookwood then goes and gets help?" asked one of the Aurors.
Mad-Eye nodded. "Probably Voldemort himself…not too many wizards alive with that much skill and power, if the detectors are to be believed."
"Voldemort and Rookwood were just here a few minutes ago, then?" asked the most junior Auror. He didn’t like the idea of that kind of proximity, even if it was temporal.
Mad-Eye nodded. "Looks like it. Rookwood brings him here, Voldemort casts the mind probe."
"And the Cruciatus as well?" asked the Junior Auror.
Moody rolled his eyes. "What’s the alternative…that Rookwood cast the Unforgivable on his master?"
"Wonder what they were looking for in Carrow’s head," wondered one of the Aurors.
Mad-Eye had a pretty good idea, but since that idea was formed in part by information passed along by Harry he stayed quiet.
"Maybe Prior Incantatum will tell us something," said the most junior Auror, as he kicked at the prone body to roll it over.
Mad-Eye would have barked at the Auror for altering a crime scene, were it not for the fact that he was thinking about why Voldemort had left the body behind…Death Eaters almost always took their casualties with them as they left a battle.
As the body was rolled over Mad-Eye noticed the arm that was trapped underneath, with wand in hand. As Carrow’s frame was set on his back the arm fell away from the body. It would have fallen all the way to the floor and released the wand, were it not for the fact that the bed was in the way.
Something then clicked in Moody’s brain…a memory of a Muggle training film that he had once viewed…a film that warned of unpinned hand grenades that the enemy would prop underneath the bodies of their fallen comrades. There wasn’t a hand grenade under the death eater, but a wand where one might have been…
Moody quickly cast a diagnostic charm on the wand. The results prompted him to yell out a warning just as the Junior Auror pulled the wand from Carrows propped-up hand.
"Shields!" Mad-Eye shouted, as Voldemort’s constructed connection between wand core and magical core was broken. This caused all of the magical potential energy remaining within these cores to be released.
The two-second delay between the broken connection and explosion was just enough time for everyone but the junior Auror to throw up a shield. Even so, strength was necessarily sacrificed for speed, and the shields that were hastily conjured were able to absorb only part of the explosion. The rest of the released energy threw the Aurors about the room like rag-dolls.
Moody's resulting internal injuries, broken pelvis, and shattered ribs earned him a week-long stay in St. Mungo’s.
Chapter 35: Potter Plaid
Tuesday, July 10, 8:00am
Palace at Holyrood, Edinburgh
On the morning after the incident at Bath, Harry Potter struggled not to yawn as he left the morning Palace security brief for a summons by the Queen. A quick badge-call to Steve placed the monarch in a sitting room within the State Apartments.
Once announced and ushered into the room, he found the Queen standing on a small raised platform, wearing a heavy green robe, and a floppy black velvet hat decorated with a plumage of large white feathers. Seamstresses and other household staff were flittering about, taking tassles, chains, and other adornments from a velvet-trimmed chest and adding them here and there to the outfit.
“Good morning, Gryffindor,” the Queen said, as Harry walked towards her. “This shan’t be more than a minute.”
“I am at your disposal, Your Majesty,” Harry said, as he bowed low and swept an imaginary hat off of his head. The others in the room thought the affected response and his rakish grin to be slightly scandalous, but not unexpected…the Queen enjoyed Harry’s playful approach towards formalities and protocols. In fact, the Prince had even playfully complained that the Queen made more allowances for Harry’s behavior than those she provided her own children.
The Queen’s Wizard moved to one side of the room, joining Steve and Susan Bones, the Queen’s Muggle and magical guards for the morning.
“Merlin, Harry,” Susan whispered. “You really do have her wrapped around your little finger.”
Harry chuckled. “Jealous, much?”
“Hell, yes,” Susan replied with a playful slap on his arm. “Spent the last few days doing nothing but studying and practicing the proper way to act in the Royal presence.”
With a nod back towards the Queen, Harry asked, “So what’s all this, then?”
“Her costume for the Order of the Thistle,” Steve replied.
“She’s going to wear all that until the service?” asked Harry.
Steve shook his head. “They’re just making sure they’ve got all the bells and baubles in place, and that alternations aren’t needed before it’s all sent over to the Signet Library.”
The three watched as the last bit of Royal bling was retrieved from the storage container and arranged on the Queen’s robes. The attendants then stepped back, and after a few whispered discussions, announced that everything was good to go for later that day.
The Queen sighed happily as the rather heavy costume was removed piece by piece, revealing a tea-length cream-colored dress underneath. She dismissed all of the costume evaluators save for her personal seamstress, who withdrew to a position next to a second unopened chest. The monarch then sat down in a leather winged-back chair and summoned her Wizard. Susan and Steve remained watching from a discrete distance.
As Harry approached, the Queen stated, “We have read your brief on last evening’s events and a few questions, Lord Gryffindor.”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” replied Harry, coming to a stop a few feet in front of the chair.
The Queen asked, “Has there been any change on the casualty count at Bath?”
“No, Your Majesty,” Harry replied. “The two dead and four injured still appear to be wizards.”
“So the Ministry of Magic will claim no harm, no foul, and that the memory charms used on the constable and fifteen civilians were standard operating procedures?”
“That’s right, Your Majesty,” said Harry. “The Oblivator Squads have been doing this sort of clean-up operation for years.”
“And there is nothing to stop them from doing this same sort of cover-up on incidents that do involve attacks on Muggles? Incidents that we might not even know about?”
Harry replied, “Yes, Your Majesty…we were rather fortunate last night. Had that constable not been near the incident and able to report the arrival of the Obliviator Squadron before he himself was obliviated, we wouldn’t have been able to get the helicopter to the scene.”
“That was useful…how was it that the helicopter pilot and cameraman wasn’t affected by these Muggle-repellents?”
With a small smile, Harry replied, “The wizards only applied the repelling wards on the ground…they didn’t think to ward over their heads.”
The Queen paused, and then asked, “So what led to the explosion?”
“We don’t know just yet,” said Harry. “The wizards had repaired the building damage and left the scene before Hermione and I arrived. Our people inside the Ministry are aware of our interest, and we may learn more over the course of the day.”
With a sigh, the Queen then stated, “It would seem that we are still forced into a mostly reactive position, so long as the Ministry refuses to share its intelligence with us.”
“I’m afraid so, Your Majesty,” Harry admitted. “We have tried to make inroads within their Magical Surveillance Office, but they’ve so far done a good job of keeping our people away, and have staffed that office with witches and wizards loyal to the Minister’s office.”
“Yes, well, perhaps all that will change after Carlisle,” the Queen replied. She then shifted topics. “What of the search in Salisbury, and the two suspected safe-houses?”
Harry nodded. “Hermione was hoping to see an update about those issues at their morning COBRA meeting at 10 Downing Street. As far as I know, nothing has changed at the suspected safe houses…we’re waiting to see if Rookwood or one of the other high-level Death Eaters shows up at either location before acting. And the lead we had on the Death Eater wishing to take a taxi to Salisbury hasn’t produced anything actionable…but then again, we haven’t shared that bit of intelligence with the Ministry, and the focus of our magical resources have been on your safety here in Scotland this week.”
The Queen smiled. “Ah, yes, that you for reminding us….Lucinda, if you would?”
The seamstress who had been quietly standing to one side retrieved a tape measure and small notebook from her pocket and replied, “Yes, Your Majesty.” She then gestured towards the platform that the Queen had been standing on and asked, “Lord Gryffindor, if you please?”
“We understand that there are some ongoing security issues that my seamstress will be able to address,” the Queen replied with a smile.
“I’m…I’m afraid that I don’t understand,” Harry replied.
At this point Steve and Susan came forward.
“Just get up on the box, Harry,” said Susan. “It’s your turn to be kitted out.”
Harry raised an eyebrow, but followed the Hufflepuff’s orders. As the seamstress wrapped the tape measure around his waist, Steve offered up an explanation.
“You know that there’s been concern about friendly fire, especially tomorrow during the party, right Harry?”
“Yes, we hit on topic this morning,” Harry replied. “The best we’ve come up with is for our Order of Arthur witches and wizards to be wearing MI-5 jackets if they’re called on to draw their wands during an attack.”
“But the problem is that your Magical Squadron and Order of Arthur members won’t be the only ones on our side with wands,” Susan replied. “Take me, for example…you aren’t thinking that I’ll wear that jacket over a dress during the party, do you?”
“Well, no, but you four should be well-enough known to our Muggle security forces.”
“In ideal circumstances, perhaps,” Steve countered. “But if there is an attack, there will be chaos, and I wouldn’t put it past our snipers to get nervous and start shooting at anyone with a wand in their hand.”
“Okay, so…what’s this about then?” Harry asked, as he nodded towards the seamstress as she measured his left arm’s sleeve length.
“We would be pleased to provide you and all of the other witches and wizards within our service with a highly visible outfit suitable for the occasion,” the Queen said.
Harry nodded. “An outfit more visible than my Queen’s Wizard’s robes, Your Majesty?”
“No, not quite,” the Queen replied with a smile. “But one that could be worn by more than just the Queen’s Wizard.” She then waved towards the unopened chest and asked, “Agent Wall?”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” Steve replied, as he walked over and opened up the trunk. Inside were several bolts of a bright red and gold wool fabric.
The Queen nodded. “As our historians were unable to find historical precedent, we would be pleased to offer the Potter Clan one of our reserved tartans for its own use.”
“Oh, my,” Harry replied, as he looked at the fabric’s bright pattern. “Well, there won’t be any mistaking anyone wearing a jacket made of that cloth.”
“It’s not intended for a jacket, Lord Gryffindor,” the seamstress replied with a smile. She then ran her tape from his waist down to one knee.
“You don’t mean a kilt, do you?” asked Harry.
Susan nodded as she walked up to Harry and patted his arm. “Don’t worry, Harry, you’ve got great looking legs.”
“Suck it up, Harry,” Steve admonished with a grin. “And look at the bright side.”
“You’ll have plenty of room underneath for an extra wand.”
9:00am Somewhere Hidden in Salisbury
The Dark Lord Voldemort sat rather restlessly as those members of his inner circle that were still with him in his Wiltshire hideaway reviewed readiness reports and minion deployments. The extracted memory of the apparent bullet hole in Alecto Carrow’s head worried him.
“What cells are ready and capable of another offensive?” he asked.
The inner circle Death Eaters looked at each other, hoping that someone else would risk replying. When nobody did, the Dark Lord sneered, “Lestrange?”
“Yes, my Lord,” Rodolphus replied. “All of your forces are ready and eager to follow your commands instantly. That said, we have Nott and his group out at the Rookery, MacNair and five more scouting the Ministry, and Bella took Rabastan and six others with her to flush out unplottable locations for your use.”
“What of the safe-houses under your command, Rodolphus?” Voldemort demanded.
“My Lord, as you know I have most of our injured comrades in Severus’s care in Knockturn Alley,” the Death Eater replied. “But I have at least fifteen that are capable of joining me in executing whatever plans you may have for us.”
“How about you, Rookwood?” the Dark Lord demanded.
“I have twelve within my two remaining safe-houses,” Rookwood replied. “All are eager to serve as their Lord sees fit.”
Voldemort considered his options. There were another thirty or so he could call upon, but thought it best to keep the male Lestrange occupied…he got antsy whenever his wife was deployed out into the field.
“Rodolphus,” he said, “I want you to lead your fifteen into the biggest, baddest, deadliest attack you can devise against the Muggles.”
“Yes, my Lord,” Rudolphus said proudly. “Have you any particular target or town in mind?”
The Dark Lord nodded. “Something spectacular…something that would force them to consider attacking the wizarding world as a whole.”
“While your sick and injured heal,” Voldemort explained, “I want the Ministry’s forces more worried about the Muggles, than us.”
He then turned and said, “Rookwood, you’re the closest thing we have to a Muggle, I’ll leave it to you to decide the target, and to develop a plan of attack with Lestrange for his teams to execute.”
“Yes, my Lord,” the former Unspeakable immediately replied. He didn’t care to be verbally abused by his master, but it was better than getting Crucio’ed any day of the week.
“Within the next 48 hours,” Voldemort stated. “And Rookwood?”
“Take care that you return with memories of a successful attack.”
11:30am, Palace at Holyrood, Edinburgh
Harry’s hopes that the custom tailored kilt would take some time to fashion were dashed when the Queen’s seamstress arrived at his Palace office with a large box.
“We’ve got your outfit ready, Lord Gryffindor.”
Lucinda nodded. “The Queen said that she would be pleased to see you wearing it at the Order of the Thistle service, so my staff and I dropped everything else.”
“Wonderful,” Harry replied, with a tone of voice that suggested otherwise.
“If you would try it on, please, Lord Gryffindor?” the seamstress asked. “I’ll just step outside for a few minutes.”
Harry sighed, but nodded his head in acceptance and removed his suit jacket. Once the seamstress left he closed the window blinds, opened the box, removed its contents, and stripped down to his t-shirt and boxer shorts. The white silk tuxedo shirt and black bow tie were by now familiar to Harry, and near identical to what he wore in his mess dress uniform. There was also a black Argyle suit jacket and matching vest that were similar enough to “normal” clothing. But then there was the worsted wool kilt…
Without a manufacturer’s label sewn into the back of the waistline, Harry struggled to recall that the other kilts he’d seen worn had the flat aprons in the front. Once that decision was made, there were leather straps and buckles to secure on each hip, and two wide loops in the back to accommodate a large black belt, whose huge silver buckle bore the royal crest. Once the kilt was in place, Harry donned the long cream-colored wool socks, held up by special tartan garters known as “flashers.” Black tongue-less leather shoes know as “Ghillie Brogues” completed the basic outfit.
Leaving the silver kilt pin and the waistpack-like sporran in the box, Harry called the seamstress back into his office. She entered and immediately began to inspect her handiwork, pulling at this and that piece of fabric.
“Not bad for a first go, Lord Gryffindor,” she said with a smile. She grabbed the kilt pin from the box and dropped to her knees in front of Harry. “This keeps the apron neat,” she noted, as she put the pin in place. Dragging her hand across the kilt's apron, presumably to flatten it, she added, “And your socks should have a wider cuff.” She then reached out to fix the offending hosiery. It was then that she noted a horizontal line across the pleat of his kilt.
“That’s strange...the interior lining shouldn’t show that way, unless….” She got up from the floor and announced. “I’m expecting that Her Majesty would expect the Queen's Wizard to wear his kilt in the traditional manner, Lord Gryffindor.”
The seamstress smirked and replied, “It means that you’ll need to remove your boxer shorts.”
Harry’s head jerked back with a startle. “Really?”
“Yes, Lord Gryffindor…come now, I haven’t all day.”
“You mean I need to remove them now?”
“Unless you’d wish me to do it for you,” the seamstress said with a waggle of her eyebrows. “Here, I’ll turn my back.”
Once she turned, Harry rather sheepishly reached up under the kilt’s hemline and removed his underwear. After wadding it up into a ball and hiding it inside his trousers, he said, “Right, then, I’m set.”
The seamstress turned back around, looked down at Harry’s waist, and smiled. “Much, much better,” she decided. She then reached for the sporran and the chain that held it up.
“Almost a shame to cover up the lovely way you dress left,” she quipped, as she wrapped her arms around Harry’s waist and fixed the sporran to its chain.
Harry had spent enough time around Wally the clothes hound to know what the seamstress meant by “dress left,” but didn’t allow her the pleasure of knowing that he knew.
The seamstress nodded. “The Queen suggests that your badge be fixed to the front of the sporran. Other than that, you’re good to go for this afternoon.”
“Are you certain that I’m supposed to wear this today?”
The seamstress nodded. “We’re rushing to finish the skirts and shawls for the ladies, and if they’re to wear them today, then you should too.”
Just then, Harry’s mobile chirped. He reached over to his trousers, which were draped over his desk chair, and fished the device from the front pocket. Noting the caller ID, he apologized to the seamstress for needing to take the call and answered.
“Yes, Steve?” he asked. “She does?….When?….You mean Right now, Right now?….Right, then.”
Harry shook his head as he ended the mobile call. He looked at the phone, then down at his outfit, and frowned.
“You’ll find the sporran has more than enough room for your mobile,” the seamstress said with a smile.
Harry snorted. “If you’ll excuse me, the Queen requires my presence.”
“What a surprise,” the seamstress said with an impish grin. “I’ll be seeing you then, Lord Gryffindor,” she added, before leaving the office.
Realizing that the Queen had set him up for a fashion show, Harry shook his head and sighed as he slipped his wand up the sleeve of his new jacket, and made his way back to the State Apartments.
Once the Queen and her witches-in-waiting gave their stamps of approval on Harry’s attire, she indirectly asked, “We were wondering if there was any change in the bank robbery notification issue.”
Harry shook his head. “No, ma’am, still no contact from the Ministry.”
The Queen nodded. “We have been considering the potential next step this morning,” she announced. “We understand that the magical U.N. is now located in Japan?”
Harry nodded. “Yes, Your Majesty. There isn’t a permanent base, but there is an official office kept by the magical ministry of the Supreme Mugwump’s home country or region, and the new Chief is Japanese.”
“And are you aware of the state of relations between the Japanese Muggle and magical governments?”
“Not specifically, ma’am,” Harry admitted. “I understand that was a wide range of responses when the Prime Minister’s Office and MI-6 informed their counterparts that Saturday’s attack involved magic, rather than WMDs…some of the other Muggle leaders had already figured it out on their own, some had been told by their own wizard leaders, and others didn’t know what the heck we were talking about.”
The Queen smiled. “So we learned from the Prime Minister, Gryffindor. The reason that we ask is that we are well acquainted with most of the world’s monarchs, and are good friends with more than a few. The Muggle Emperor of Japan is one of these friends, and a Stranger Knight of the Order of the Garter. We would consider asking for the Emperor’s assistance, were it thought advisable by my Wizard and his Consort.”
Harry raised an eyebrow at the Consort reference, but held his tongue on that point.
“I think that it would be a great idea…would you like me to check with Dame Hermione?”
The Queen nodded, swatting away the recognition of Harry’s lapse of protocol with a mental shrug. She expected Harry to ask for her leave, but was only mildly surprised when he activated his Art Club badge and immediately rang-up Hermione.
“Harry?” asked Hermione once she answered. “What’s wrong?”
“Can it wait? Because I’m in the middle of a COBRA meeting…”
“So are all of the big wigs there?”
“Yes,” Hermione hissed. “Except, of course, for your boss…”
“Well, that’s okay, because I’m with her right now, and she was wondering if her giving her good friend the Emperor of Japan a call might help things with the new Supreme Mugwump.”
There was a moment of silence, and then Hermione said, “Merlin, why didn’t we think of that?”
“It is pleasing to know that we are of some utility on occasion, Dame Hermione,” chimed in the Queen.
“Eep!” said Hermione over the badge. “My apologies, Your Majesty, I wasn’t aware that you were actually there, erm… I mean, within hearing range.”
“Not a problem, Dame Hermione,” the Queen replied warmly. “We trust that your somewhat casual demeanor was influenced by Lord Gryffindor's rather cavalier attitude towards a fuller description of your audience.”
“Oops,” Harry said with a grin.
“Oops is right, mister,” said Hermione. “If it were to please Your Majesty, I could step back into the meeting and query the Prime Minister?”
“Please do, Dame Hermione,” the Queen said.
While Hermione went off-line to pose the question to the COBRA members, the Queen instructed Harry to inform her staff if the couch in his guest suite required bed linens that evening. Susan and Steve were delighted with the Queen’s sense of humor.
Harry…less so.
1:30pm, 10 Downing Street, London
The Prime Minister of Great Britain was sorting through his messages. half-listening to a conference call with his political party’s leaders when an new e-mail message popped into his in-box. Given the sender’s address, he immediately read it, typed in a curt reply, then begged off the balance of the conference call citing need to take care of an urgent issue.
“I’ll be out for a few minutes, Millie,” he said, as he walked out of his office and past his administrative aide.
The Prime Minister walked half-way down the hall that approached his office, checked that no one else was in the corridor, then open a coat closet door, pushed a aside a few jackets hung on hangers, and stepped inside. An overhead lamp fixture turned on, shedding just enough light for him to find the umbrella that needed to be pulled from its stand before he could walk through the false back wall. Behind this charmed wall was the magically-expanded, brightly lit office of his Senior Advisor and Special Ambassador to the Wizarding World.
Hermione was sitting behind her large oak desk, talking on the telephone.
“So you think you’ll have how many of those UV lamps ready by tonight? Twelve?” she asked. “Well, that’s a start, I guess….call Wally or Harry when they’re ready and they’ll see that they make it up North for evening patrol.” She then looked up, realized that she had a guest in her office, and suddenly said, “Sorry, I’ve got to go, call me back if there’s anything else.”
Hermione hung up the telephone, and said, “I’m sorry Prime Minister, I didn’t hear the bell when you entered the closet.”
“No worries, Hermione,” the Prime Minister replied.
“That was Q-branch,” she noted. "They’ll have a dozen high-intensity ultraviolet lights ready to test out tonight on the Dementor patrols."
“Excellent,” he said. “Hermione, The Lord Chamberlain just sent me an e-mail, requesting that I release you from work in order to attend the Order of the Thistle service up in Edinburgh.”
Hermione looked down at her watch, and frowned.
“Yes, Sir,” she said. “I just need to finish revising my brief for this afternoon’s COBRA meeting….”
“No, Hermione, you don’t understand,” the Prime Minister said with a smile. “That was a tactful way for Her Majesty to order me to kick you out of your office and up to Scotland.”
“I’m sure that your brief is fine the way it is, Hermione.”
“Oh, I almost forgot,” said the Prime Minister. “The Lord Chamberlain thought it important for me to mention that you should use Wally as an anchor point, and that Sir Harry is presently wearing a kilt.”
Hermione’s eyebrows rose up towards her forehead.
“He is, is he?” she asked. She quickly stood and reached for her bag. Gathering it to her chest, she looked at her boss, who was still standing in front of her desk.
“Oh, by all means, go,” he said with a smile. “I can find my way back to my office.”
Hermione smiled. “Thank you Sir.” She then activated her badge, called Wally, and jumped to Scotland.
“It’s about time, love,” Wally said, once Hermione had materialized in Holyrood and caught her bearings. “Sir Harry is already at the Signet Library with the Queen.”
“Yes, well, duty does call on occasion,” she replied.
Wally had stepped out of the control room that monitored the Palace’s CCTV network to give Hermione a discreet drop zone. Noticing the empty room, Hermione drew her wand and began thinking about transfiguring her attire into something more appropriate for the occasion.
“Oh, don’t’ worry about your outfit, Dame Hermione,” Wally said with a smile. “I left something out for you to wear on your bed.”
Hermione smiled as she shook her head in disbelief. “So it’s not enough for you to play dress-up only with Harry?”
Wally chuckled. “Let’s go…I don’t want to be gone long from the control room.”
“I can dress myself, you know,” Hermione stated.
“Yes, yes, now let’s get you upstairs and get you out of that boring gray,” Wally replied.
Five minutes later Hermione stepped out of her bedroom and into the sitting room that made up part of their guest suite. She was now dressed in a plain white long-sleeved blouse with lace ruffled cuffs, and a calf-length knife-pleated red and gold tartan skirt. A black bonnet was on her head, and a tartan shawl was draped over her right shoulder and pinned into place with her Order of Arthur badge.
“I’m amazed that it fits,” she noted, as Wally looked her over.
“We took the liberty of borrowing from your wardrobe to get an idea on sizes,” Wally explained. “You look very nice,” he added, “Except that the shawl should be worn on the left shoulder.”
“Really?” asked Hermione. “But last night the Headmistress wore hers on the right side.”
Wally shook his head, and tsk-tsk’ed her. “Sure, go ahead, make that mistake, I’m just the one that’s worked in the Royal Household for years and years.”
“Okay, okay,” said Hermione, as she switched the shawl around.
With a whispered warning that he was in the presence of unaware Muggles, Harry asked Hermione to wait until he called her back before she used him as a anchor. A few seconds later he gave her the all-clear, and she badge-jumped into a rather lavish water closet.
The first thing that blurted out of her mouth when she saw Harry’s outfit was, “Oh, how cute, we match.”
Harry laughed. “No we don’t,” he replied, after pulling her into a welcoming kiss, “my skirt is a lot shorter than yours.”
Hermione smiled. “You know, if you had told me that you were wearing a kilt I would have been here hours ago.”
“That’s why I didn’t tell you,” Harry replied with a grin. “Your work is far more important that the opportunity to view my knobby knees.”
Hermione reached down and pinched Harry’s bare leg just above one of those knees. “I’ll be the judge of that, Lord Gryffindor,” she said.
As she slowly dragged her hand up Harry’s leg she saucily asked, “So tell me, what’s worn underneath a wizard’s kilt?”
Harry’s eyes sparkled. “You should know better than anyone, Hermione."
Harry nodded. "Yes...nothing is worn underneath…everything is in perfect working order.”
A pout flashed over Hermione’s lips as she pinched some flesh on his thigh. “Oh, that’s a terrible pun, Mr. Potter.”
The Queen’s Wizard leaned forward and nuzzled his nose against Hermione’s. “So tell me that I’m not the only one going regimental today.”
Hermione chuckled as she moved her hand out from underneath Harry’s kilt and used it to press down on the lapel of his jacket. “Let’s go, Romeo, before more than my hand dives under that kilt.”
“Promises, promises,” Harry replied, as he walked over to the water closet door. After making sure that the coast was clear, he shoo’ed his girlfriend out into the hallway.
Hermione noticed some strange reactions from women that they passed in the hallway, but attributed it the “his and hers” matching tartans. This thought was challenged when they entered the antechamber to the Queen’s dressing room, and found Susan Bones and Hannah Abbot wearing outfits identical to her own...save that their shawls were hung from their right shoulders.
“Hi, Hermione,” Susan said brightly, as she rushed forward and gave an unexpected hug. “I’m so happy that you decided to join Harry’s harem.”
Harry snorted, but wiped the smirk off his face when Hermione looked at him crossly.
“She’s joking, aren’t you Susan?” he asked.
“Sure, Harry, whatever you say,” said Hannah, as she walked up, kissed his cheek, then grabbed his other arm. She leaned towards Hermione and said, “No worries, Hermione, all of us expect you to be the primary wife.”
Harry chuckled, despite himself.
“Relax, Hermione,” he said. “This tartan is the new uniform for the witches and wizards in service to the Queen.”
“Swatches of this fabric have been distributed to every Muggle sniper looking over Parliament Square this afternoon,” he explained. It’s a 'don’t shoot me if I draw a wand' signal.”
“What was wrong with the robes we wore when we arrived?” Hermione demanded.
“Not enough of them,” Harry replied. “Head of security wants everyone on our side to wear the same colors…I expect the Headmistress to be wearing the Potter tartan at the Garden Party tomorrow.”
“Headmistress McGonagall?” asked Hannah. “It’s your harem, Harry, but don’t you think she’s a bit old for you?”
“Stop it, Hannah,” Harry admonished.
The Hufflepuff witch dropped her eyes demurely and curtsied. “Yes, Master.”
The doors to the dressing room opened at that point, saving Harry from additional teasing.
“Oh, there you are, Lord Gryffindor…we’re ready,” said the attendant. The matronly woman then looked at Hermione with the same sort of look that they’d received in the hallway. Except that those other women didn’t say, “Forgive me, Lady Gryffindor, but I was unaware of your blessed elevation. My heartiest congratulations.”
Thinking that the attendant was in on the harem joke, Hermione quipped. “Thank you, Ma’am, but if my Lord is to have a harem, then I insist on being his first wife.”
The Muggle women pursed her lips, then turned them into a tight-lipped smile. “Yes, my Lady. If you please, Her Royal Majesty requests her Wizard’s presence.”
“Okay, sure,” Harry replied with a nod. “Shall we, ladies?”
“Oh, yes, Master,” said Hermione, with mock devotion.
As Harry led her inside, she didn’t see Hannah and Susan giving each other puzzled looks. What she couldn’t help but see, though, was the Queen dressed in full Order of the Thistle attire, laughing heartily as they entered the room.
“Oh, my,” the Queen said in between chortles. “We are so pleased that you could attend us, Dame Hermione…or should we say Lady Gryffindor?”
Hermione smiled politely and moved her lips just enough to whisper to Susan Bones.
“So the Queen is in on your harem joke too, Susan?”
The witch-in-waiting snorted. “Actually she wasn’t, and neither was her attendant.”
Hermione began to panic. “My apologies, Your Majesty, but I am not yet Lady Gryffindor…was there reason to suspect otherwise?”
The Queen raised an eyebrow that disappeared underneath her foppish black hat. “Your sash, Dame Hermione…only the wife of a clan chief wears her tartan sash over the left shoulder.”
Hermione gave the other two witches a curt look. Susan shrugged her shoulders. “We just followed how the Headmistress wore it last night. If we had known, we would have put them on the left side just to add to the harem prank.”
The Queen smiled. “What of this so-called ‘harem prank’, Gryffindor?”
Harry smiled. “Your witches-in-waiting thought it would be funny to pretend that wearing the Clan Potter tartan signified membership within my harem.”
“Really?” asked the Queen. “Well, we are not certain what your Weasley Twins will make of their kilts, then.”
Harry laughed and nodded. He then turned towards his girlfriend, who had a calculating looking in her eyes.
After a moment, his Consort shook her head. “I’m sorry, but I was just sifting through a variety of potential pranks for the person who insisted that I wear the shawl this way.”
The brightest witch of her generation nodded, and then said, “It’ll be easy enough to hex Wally’s skin scarlet red…it’s adding the gold tartan pattern that will be the tricky part.”
5:00pm, 10 Downing Street, London
The sides of the gray business suit jacket that Hermione had changed back into upon her return from Edinburgh fluttered in the headwind as she briskly strode out the afternoon COBRA meeting and made her way to her office. She dumped her leather portfolio onto her desk, and replaced the meeting briefs with an expanding folder marked “EVIDENCE.” Grabbing hold of a parchment letter that she’d written just before the meeting, she checked her office for anything she might need, then locked the door and walked down the hall to the Prime Minister’s Office.
“You can go right in,” his administrative aide said from behind her desk. “He’s waiting for you.”
“Thank you, Millie,” the young witch said, as she walked past the aide’s desk, knocked twice (despite the clearance to barge right in), and politely waited for an invitation before she opened the door and stepped inside.
“I’ve got the ICW notification that needs your signature, sir,” she said, as she approached the Prime Minister’s desk.
“Oh goody, I get to practice my calligraphy,” the Prime Minister replied, as he pulled open a desk drawer and retrieved a quill and ink pot.
A Great Horned owl caught sight of the pen and parchment from his corner roost and began to bob and stretch out his wings.
Catching this motion in the corner of his eye, the Prime Minister turned and apologized to his owl. “Sorry, Beckham, but I've asked Ambassador Granger to deliver this letter to Japan.”
The owl stared at both Hermione and the Prime Minister. Having years of practice reading Hedwig’s body language, Hermione knew that Beckham’s feelings were hurt. As the Prime Minister carefully signed his name to the bottom of the letter, she walked over to the roost and petted his feathered back.
“Beckham, you are such a strong and reliable owl…we know that you could deliver the letter for us,” she said with reassurance. “But it would take you at least two days to get there, and two days back, and the Prime Minister needs you here…in case he needs to contact the Minister of Magic. You’re the only one he’d trust to deliver such important letters.”
Hermione then leaned forward and spoke softly into the owl’s ear.
“Now I’m going to be away for a little while,” she noted, “and I need someone that I can rely upon to look after the Prime Minister and his family. Would you do that for me?”
The owl turned his head to look at Hermione, rotated it 180 degrees to stare at the Prime Minister, then returned its gaze and bobbed its head up and down.
“Thank you, Beckham,” Hermione cooed. “If there’s any trouble, you fly straight to my Harry for help, okay?”
Again the owl nodded, and leaned into the scratch that the young witch was giving behind his ear.
There was a knock on the door, and the administrative aide stepped inside with a large thick envelope.
“Ambassador Granger’s travel documents have arrived, Sir,” she said, as she set the envelope down on the desk next to the parchment. Whatever interest she had in the fact that her boss had an eagle feather quill in his hand was kept to herself.
“Thank you,” said the Prime Minister.
“Let’s make sure that my Special Ambassador is sent out into the world properly,” he said, as he opened the envelope and dumped out the contents.
“Do you give this level of attention to all of your ambassadors, sir?” asked Hermione.
The Prime Minister looked up, smiled, and shook his head. “No…but then again you are my only teen-aged envoy, this is your first diplomatic mission, and the Queen’s Wizard would hex me if I allowed you to get hurt.”
Hermione sighed. “Has he said anything to you specifically?”
The Prime Minister shook his head. “Doesn’t need too…I feel like I’m sending my own daughter out into harm’s way.”
“No worries, Prime Minister,” she replied. “And, thanks…I’m..erm…honored that you think of me that way.”
The Prime Minister waved off the comment as he looked down at the envelope’s contents. “So, a plane ticket to Oslo…good, they’ve put you in Club Class…your diplomatic passport…a stack of Krone, two stacks of Yen…” He looked up at Hermione and asked, “What about wizard money?”
His Senior Advisor shook her head as she approached the desk and slipped the bank notes into the inside pocket of her jacket. “I’ve already got a bag full of galleons, sir, and a Gringott’s draft drawn on the Queen’s account in case I need extra.”
“Good, good,” the Prime Minister said. “Are you all set then?”
“Yes, Sir, I think so,” Hermione replied. “I packed an overnight bag, just in case, and the evidence and supporting documentation are in my portfolio.”
“And you aren’t going to carry your sidearm, right?”
Hermione nodded. “It would cause too many problems if it was discovered. Not too worry, though…I’ve still got my wand, and I’ll swing by Q Branch before I leave to load up on toys.”
As the Prime Minister nodded in understanding, Hermione picked up the soft burgundy-colored passport, noting that it differed from her old passport only in that the word “DIPLOMAT” was embossed in gold on the cover.
“I do hope that the lack of travel documents from the Ministry of Magic won’t be an issue,” the Prime Minister said.
Hermione shook her head. “We should be fine there,” she replied with a smile. “Amazing what kind of doors are opened when Her Majesty rings up a few of her colleagues and asks for help.”
“Yes, indeed,” the Prime Minister replied. “I’ve met the Norwegian king and Japanese emperor myself, and it’s only because of the assurances that they’ll look after you that I’m letting you go.”
“Thank you, Sir,” Hermione replied. “It’s actually rather exciting…the thought of traveling halfway around the world in a few minutes’ time.”
The Prime Minister nodded as he stood and took hold of the signed parchment. “Well, I see that your flight leaves in a few hours, and if you’re stopping by MI-5 ¾, then I should let you go.”
“Travel out to the airport arranged?”
Hermione nodded. “I can arrange for a car at Windsor.”
“And you do have a satellite phone, right?”
“Good,” said the Prime Minister. “Then I’ll be expecting calls from both Oslo and Kyoto.”
Hermione nodded. She was certain that the Prime Minister wouldn’t be the only one to insist on that level of communication. Fortunately, she would be able to talk to her parents and Harry at the same time using their badges.
Holding out his hand, the Prime Minister said, “Good luck, Ambassador,”
“Thank you, Prime Minister,” Hermione replied, as she traded a firm handshake. “I won’t let you down.”
Later that evening, Harry Potter insisted on escorting his girlfriend to the airport.
“I don’t want you to go,” he stated, as an armored car whisked them the short distance from Windsor Castle to Heathrow.
“Harry,” Hermione said, “Let’s not start this again, okay? If anything, I’m more worried about your guest appearances with the SAS tonight.”
“We’ll be fine,” Harry replied. “Twenty commandos, plus most of TPOMS, against a dozen junior Death Eaters spread out between two houses…”
“Yes, well, I’ll be fine as well,” Hermione replied. “I’ll only be on my own for the first leg to Oslo, and with luck I’ll be back in Britain before the morning.”
Shaking his head, Harry said, “I still don’t like it.”
Hermione turned and pulled Harry into a hug. “I know you don’t...but you’ve got your job, I've got mine, and we both need to let the other do what they can do to make the best of all this.”
“Yes, Dear,” Harry said with a smirk.
“Hey!” he yelled, as the previous quip earned him a punch in the arm.
“I love you, Harry,” said Hermione with a warm smile.
The Queen’s Wizard eyes went wide, and then he leaned forward to deliver a tender kiss.