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Muggle Summer, Wizard's Fall
Special Ambassador, Part 2
By canoncansodoff
Author Notes:
Chapters 36 - 38
Disclaimer: Not my characters, no money being made, etc., etc.
Chapter 36: The Norsca Network
Tuesday, July 10, 2000 GMT (8:00pm local time)
15 Dingle Grove, Liverpool, England
The Domino’s pizza guy walked up to the door of the nondescript terrace house with cautious optimism. He’d delivered pizzas to that particular address three times over the past week; each experience had been bizarrely unique, but also highly profitable.
A curtain parted on a side window when he rang the bell…a few seconds later, a lock was unlatched and the door slowly opened.
"What do you have there?" demanded a fat-faced man.
"Erm…pizza, sir…you ordered two exta-large Onion and Meat Pies and a large Americano?"
The pizza guy nodded as the fat-faced man held the door open to let him in. Neither noticed the stifled snort of laughter as Harry Potter slipped out the open door under cover of his invisibility cloak.
The Queen’s Wizard walked down to the end of the street at a brisk pace, towards a small van that advertised plumbing repair services. A knock on the rear door gained him entry; inside he found two men and the cover needed to discretely remove his invisibility cloak.
A masked man dressed in black showed little care to hide his scorn when he asked, "Your report, Sir?"
Harry looked at the SAS team lead, then turned towards a far friendlier (and less covered) face and rolled his eyes.
"Still the same crew of Death Eaters, and the pizza guy is still robbing them blind."
"You failed to notice anything new?" asked the SAS man.
Harry turned back to the soldier and frowned. "Well, as a matter of fact, I did. The pile of dirty dishes in the sink is six inches higher, there’s a hole smashed into the upstairs telly screen, and they’ve finally figured out how to replace empty bog rolls."
"I meant anything of consequence to the assault, sir."
Harry scowled. "Well, I wouldn’t know about that would I? Seeing as how I still haven’t been told how we’re going in and when."
The SAS soldier snorted. "Right, then…I think it’s time for you to hocus-pocus off to Cardiff…Team A is expecting you."
When the soldier’s dismissal was capped off by a sarcastically crisp salute, Harry replied in kind, and bolted out of the van with New Six close behind. As soon as their boots hit the ground the van sped off.
As Harry watched the vehicle disappear with a hard left turn, he said, "Let me guess, New Six…you were taught manners somewhere other than Sport and Social’s finishing school?"
The TPOMS member who had stepped up to serve as the Queen’s Wizard’s liaison to the SAS team in Liverpool smiled.
"Oh, don’t mind Roberts, Major," he replied. "He treats every officer in the British Army that way."
"Nah, you’ve seen them New Six," Harry replied. "They all have that crappy attitude towards me."
"Comes with the territory, Major," New Six replied. "SAS is the best of the best…they think everybody in the regular army are useless gits."
"Right, then, I'm off," Harry said, expecting no better treatment from the counter-terrorism team staked out at the Death Eater safe house in Wales.
Tuesday, July 10, 2030 GMT (9:30pm local time)
Oslo Airport, Gardermoen, Norway
When the pilot of the Oslo-bound British Airways flight announced that it had been cleared for landing, Hermione Granger slipped the briefing documents that she’d been reviewing into her case.
The Club Class flight attended approached the young witch and asked, "Can I stow that for you again, Ambassador?"
Hermione smiled thinly and nodded; as she had been assigned the front row aisle seat, there was no seat in front of her under which a carry-on bag could be tucked. With hands now free to clutch the arm rests, Hermione closed her eyes, took a few deep breaths (for she liked flying in airplanes only slightly better than flying on broomsticks), and mentally reviewed her mission.
Her primary goal was simple…deliver the Prime Minister’s letter and supporting evidence to the Supreme Mugwump and return home as quickly as possible. There was to be no lengthy discussions or negotiations, or direct requests for aid from the ICW; things were too fluid in Britain and their knowledge of how the international wizard community worked too uncertain to risk overplaying their hand.
The Queen’s assistance had done much to facilitate this mission. That afternoon, Hermione had received telephone calls and offers of aid from both the Norwegian King’s and Japanese Emperor’s personal wizards. That Hermione was now on a flight to Norway reflected the fact that the Norwegian King’s Wizard had suggested viable methods of transportation, and offered to escort Hermione during her trip.
This first leg of that trip to Japan would be both the shortest in distance, and the longest in time length. While it would have taken no more effort to apparate from Edinburgh to Oslo then to London, the international boundaries between magical sovereign states were highly warded, and there was simply no way one could apparate or use a portkey across the frontier without the Ministry of Magic being made aware of the fact. Once Hermione was outside of Britain, however, the British Ministry of Magic could no longer track her movement.
As the plane touched ground and began to taxi towards the terminal, the flight attendant returned with both Hermione’s portfolio and a message.
"The flight deck has received word from the tower that your escort will meet you within the jetway."
"Thank you," Hermione replied, slightly embarrassed for all of the personal attention. That embarrassment only grew when the captain purposely kept the "fasten seat-belt" lights on after the airplane came to a full stop, just so the flight attendants could escort her to the front of the plane even before the cabin door was opened.
A tall man smartly dressed in a gray suit, open-collared dress shirt and a well-trimmed white goatee was waiting on the other side of the cabin door. A look of surprise washed over his face when she stepped out of the airplane, but he quickly recovered, held out his hand and greeted Hermione using fluent English.
"Welcome to Norway, Ambassador Granger. My name is Ole Thorson…we chatted on the telephone this afternoon."
Hermione nodded. "Thank you," she replied, as she warily shook his hand. "How is your Uncle Olav?"
The man smiled as he opened up his suit jacket and revealed the Grand Cross Badge and Star, a medal that signified membership within the Royal Norwegian Order of St. Olav.
"And you have some rather remarkable jewelry as well, Dame Hermione?" he asked.
The young Ambassador returned the smile as she opened up her own suit jacket to reveal her Order of Arthur badge. With identities thus confirmed, the man led Hermione up the ramp towards the terminal building.
Along the way, Hermione’s escort asked, "How is it that Britain’s Special Ambassador to the Wizarding World is so young, and so beautiful?"
Hermione raised an eyebrow, wondering if she had another flirty Sir Evan on her hands.
"And how is it," she asked in reply, "that the Norwegian King’s Wizard speaks the Queen’s English with an American accent?"
The King’s Wizard looked at his young charge and chuckled. "It appears that we both have stories to share along the way."
Hermione nodded. "I’m looking forward to it."
By this point they had reached the immigration control station, where two uniformed men waved them by at the sight of her diplomatic passport.
"They don’t need to mark my passport?" Hermione asked.
Thorson shook his head. "Even Muggle diplomats get waved through on occasion…plenty of times when you don’t want your travel to sensitive meeting locations documented within your papers."
Hermione nodded, noting that her escort was leading her down an empty hallway.
"Your flight was diverted to a special gate," the elderly wizard noted. And as they turned the corner and entered a much larger concourse Hermione did see the typical patrons of a busy international airport.
Her escort led her to a door marked as a family lavatory.
"Don’t mind the subterfuge," Thorson said, as he gestured towards the door.
"Oh," said Hermione, "if you’d excuse me, I promised the Prime Minister that I’d call…probably should do that when a satellite phone still works."
The elderly man nodded in understanding as Hermione stepped a few paces back up the hallway to make the calls. She then joined the Norwegian escort inside the empty loo, where he drew his wand and walked over to a drop-down baby’s changing table. When he tapped the picture of a koala in a five point sequence, the table folded into the wall, revealing a fireplace floo connection.
"Direct link to Dyrrheim," explained Thorson, as he lit the fire with his wand and gestured towards a pot of floo powder. "So don’t worry about tripping your tongue over the Old Norse."
Hermione nodded as she threw the powder into the fire and, once the color changed, stepped into the flames. It only took a few seconds for her to be dumped out into a cavernous underground complex that resembled a Victorian-era train station. Except, of course, for the clear signs that this was a magical transportation hub…robes instead of jackets, levitation charms instead of luggage carts, and goblins instead of ATMs or electronic currency exchangers. And above it all was a free-floating sign that announced she was now within "Dyrrheim Station."
The Special Ambassador to the Wizarding World stepped to one side of the fireplace and pulled a miniature piece of luggage from a pocket. When her escort stepped through the flames she asked for someplace to switch into robes, and was led to an area with individual changing rooms. Once inside, she swapped out her two-piece suit for silk Clan Potter robes, and replaced low-healed pumps with soft leather boots. Hermione smiled when she checked her appearance in a magical mirror…it was a lot easier to ignore its disparaging comments about her bushy hair when they were made in a language that she didn’t understand.
During this time Hermione prioritized questions to be asked of the King’s Wizard. Many of those questions had to do with the two huge wall maps that hung above the ticket counters. Once she stepped out of the changing room she reexamined those maps.
On one side was a geopolitical map of the Muggle world, while on the other was a corresponding projection of the wizarding realm. There were relatively few differences within Europe… the most obvious, based on the maps’ projection, was that Scandinavia was united under the name "Norseland." Meanwhile, the other continents were a wash of different colors and rearranged boundaries. The Incas, Mayas and other ancient empires lived on this map, along side major continent-wide confederations; Sub-Saharan Africa was mostly one color, as was that portion of North America north of Muggle Mexico.
Population centers on these maps were linked by an interconnected series of lines that formed an expansive hub-and-spoke network centered on stations in Oslo, Stockholm, and Copenhagen. Hermione noticed that almost all of the line segments on these maps were the same length.
The young witch's escort stepped out of his changing room wearing navy blue robes trimmed with red and asked, "Have you figured out those maps yet?"
"A magical transportation network," Hermione decided. "Each of those small segments must be about two-hundred and fifty miles apart?"
The King’s Wizard nodded. "Closer to three hundred, actually."
"And that’s the practical distance limit for single apparition jumps," Hermione noted.
"It is indeed," the wizard said with a smile. "Welcome to the central hub of the Norsca Network…from here it’s literally a hop and a jump to just about anyplace in the world."
Hermione nodded as she dropped her gaze back down to the people walking about the station. The mixture of robes, skin tones, and languages reminded her of the tent camp established outside the Quidditch World Cup stadium.
Her escort looked down at his Muggle watch. "It’s 2100 GMT, and Japan is plus nine hours…we are to meet the Emperor’s Wizard at Kyoto Station in exactly two hours and forty five minutes. Would you like to take a few minutes to look around, or to get a cup of tea?"
The young witch snorted. "I think that I could spend hours just in front of those maps," she replied.
As the wizard led Hermione towards a coffee shop, he couldn’t help but notice Hermione’s continued interest in the map of the wizarding world.
"I gather that they don’t teach geography at Hogwarts, then?" he finally asked.
Hermione shifted her gaze from the map back to her escort and laughed. "No, the only time that the British wizarding world ever seems to be interested in what lies beyond our shores is during Quidditch World Cup."
Thorson nodded in acknowledgment. As they passed by a small bookshop he suddenly decided to pull Hermione inside.
"How did you know I was a book-lover?" she said.
The wizard only smiled in reply as he spoke a few words of Norwegian to the bookseller. The witch nodded, and pointed towards a specific bookshelf, from which a specific book was selected and paid for.
"A present in honor of your first diplomatic mission," Thorson said, as he handed Hermione the book.
"A Concise History of the World of Witches and Wizards," Hermione read. "By…." She then looked up with a raised eyebrow.
The wizard nodded. "I teach Magical History at the University of Oslo," he noted. "I turned my lecture notes into a textbook thirty years ago…some folks think that it is pretty good."
Hermione’s eyes let up as she skimmed over the table of contents.
"Thank you Dr. Thorson," she replied. "Our history classes at Hogwarts rarely go beyond the Goblin Wars."
The kindly wizard nodded and smiled, as if he were well aware of his ghostly colleague’s syllabus. He then led her to a coffee shop whose round tabletops were each charmed to provide a view of the Norsca network overlain on a polar projection of Earth. With a swish or flick of a wand, a witch or wizard could zoom the view in or out, and change the view to hover over anyplace in the world.
Hermione was torn between diving into the book and playing with the tabletop. Finally deciding that it would be harder to take the table home with her, Hermione chose to examine the map
She pointed down at the table and asked, "So we’re taking the long way to Japan?"
The wizard nodded. "We’d have to break up the trip either way…portkeys aren’t very reliable beyond 6,000 miles."
"We’re traveling by portkey rather than apparition?"
Thorson nodded. "We’d run out of magical reserves over Greenland if we tried to make that many jumps in a row."
Counting up line segments between Norway and North America, she asked, "Ten apparition jumps from here to North America?"
"That’s right," the wizard replied. "From Dyrrheim to Bergen on the Atlantic coast, and from there to the Shetland Islands…from the Shetlands to the Faroe Islands, then to Iceland, and Greenland…around the coast of Greenland and over to Baffin Island, and finally to North America proper. Six jumps from Baffin Island and you could be eating my mother’s hot dish back home on the shores of Lake Wobegon."
Hermione’s eyes sparkled. "That brings us back to how an American became a Norwegian King’s Wizard."
Thorson nodded. "I was born and raised in Elgurland…that’s the northern two-thirds of Muggle Minnesota and Wisconsin," he replied.
"Were your parents both magical?"
"No, only my father was," the wizard replied. "It’s hard for Norwegian wizard farmers to find witches willing to live on the edge of the prairie, don’t you know?"
"A wizard farmer?" asked Hermione.
Dr. Thorson nodded. "We grew magical herbs that could be sown in the fields, and collected what only grew wild in the Big Woods."
"So did you study magic at Salem?" asked Hermione.
The wizard shook his head. "Salem’s a fine school, but it was founded by Hogwarts alumni, and follows the British system," he replied. "I attended a Muggle primary school, then learned magic at the Elgurland Academy, where the Norse methods are emphasized."
"How did you end up living in Norway?"
"After the Academy, I traveled back to the Old World for an apprenticeship…earned a Mastery in Magical History. Got a job in 1938 as a Lecturer at the University of Oslo’s wizard’s campus, and was there when both the Muggle and magical Germans invaded in 1940."
Hermione’s eyes grew wide. "So Grindelwald and Hitler's troops worked together?"
Thorson nodded. "It was a nasty bit of business back then. The Norseland Ministry was officially neutral during the war, but it looked the other way when Grindelwald’s forces got involved. A few of us at the University decided to level the playing field, and that eventually put me in the right place and time to help the Norwegian Royal Family escape to England."
"So that’s when you were made King’s Wizard?"
"But you’re still teaching at the University?" Hermione asked.
The King’s Wizard nodded once more. "It’s not as much of a full-time job as your Lord Gryffindor’s current duties," he explained. "I’m more or less on call when the need arises."
"Like it did today," Hermione said.
"Indeed," agreed Thorson. He then glanced back down at his watch, finished his coffee, and placed the cup back down onto the table.
"But enough about me…you’ve got more questions about the Network, right?"
When Hermione nodded, the elderly wizard stood.
"Always easier to show, then to tell," he said. "Come, I’ll give you a tour on the way to the jump point."
The first stop on Thorson’s station tour was the ticket counter. After learning that Hermione was Muggle-born, he felt free to lecture using Muggle world metaphors.
"Think of portkeys as airplane flights, and apparition jumps as train trips. Portkeys are much faster, cover far more distance, don’t run the risk of splinching, and don’t drain the passenger’s magical reserves. But they are also much more expensive, and can only take you to designated international arrival points. So it’s often the case that an international traveler might combine both methods…use a portkey to get them to the right general area, and then apparate to their specific destination."
"Just like someone wishing to travel from Oslo to England might fly to London, and take a train from there to, say, Brighton?"
"Exactly," Dr. Thorson replied.
"But how does your floo network fit into the mix?"
"To a very limited extent," the wizard replied. "There are local floo networks in the major cities and surrounding areas here in Norseland, but the distances across Scandinavia are far too great to support an integrated floo system."
"So…for a Muggle comparison, it’s used like a subway?"
"But why would somebody pay to apparate?" Hermione asked.
"You don’t pay for the right to use an apparition spell," the wizard noted. "You pay for the magic that puts the target into your head, and reduces the risk of splinching."
When Hermione bit her lip in apparent confusion, the wizard guided her past the ticket counter and into a departure hall. In many ways, it resembled an airport concourse with multiple gates. Every twenty feet on either side of the hall were jump points…scribed circles each with five tall rune stones along the edges. The two stopped to watch one such circle in operation. A half-dozen witches and wizards were waiting in a line as a ticket agent called out, "Final jump call for Gothenberg...all passengers wishing to apparate to Gothenberg must present their tickets at this time."
When nobody stepped forward, the agent pulled out her wand, pointed towards the stones, and muttered an incantation. The spell that was cast moved the position of three of the five stones to different parts of the circle. Once the stones finished moving, a sign against the wall changed from "Gothenberg" to "Soderham".
"Soderham," the agent called out, "Now taking priority passengers to Soderham."
One wizard who had stood apart from the other five approached the agent with ticket in hand. The witch smiled and wished the wizard a good trip as she ripped off half and returned the stub. The wizard then walked into the middle of the circle, and, ten seconds later, disapparated.
"Last call for priority to Soderham?" the agent then stated. When nobody else approached she nodded to the first person in the remaining line and the process was repeated.
"First class passengers on apparition jumps?" Hermione asked.
Dr. Thorson nodded and gestured down the hallway. "As one of the largest stations on the network, Dyrrheim has ten jump platforms. Each can only point towards one destination at a time. Now, as you can imagine, there are lots of destinations within a three-hundred mile radius of Oslo, so there has to be some prioritization." He then led Hermione a little farther down the hall.
"Given traffic volumes, and the fact that circles with fixed stones are easier to create and operate, four of the ten circles are dedicated to single destinations…each north, east, south, or west from here." The King’s Wizard then pointing towards different areas of the hall, noting the circles dedicated to travel to Stockholm, Copenhagen, Bergen and Trondheim.
Nodding back towards the first circle, Thorson said, "Now another four of the circles cycle on a schedule of different destinations, almost exactly like different Muggle airplanes using the same gate at an airport. But since there’s only a fixed window of time scheduled for each target locality, there may be cases where not everyone who wants to travel to a place can do so during the allotted slot."
"So a first-class ticket allows you to jump the queue," Hermione reasoned.
"What about the last two circles?" Hermione asked.
"Those are for the least-requested destinations," Thorson replied. "Once you reach the front of the queue, the agent will move the stones to put you exactly where you want to be, give or take ten miles…that line moves a lot slower, for obvious reasons."
"But I still don’t understand what the rune stones do," said Hermione.
"Ah, well, let’s show you, then," the wizard replied. He then led the young witch up to "Trondheim" circle, which wasn’t currently being used. After the flash of an identification badge and a few words, the agent smiled and gestured towards the circle.
"Have you ever visited Trondheim, Ambassador Granger?" Thorson asked.
"Would you consider a blind apparition there?"
Again Hermione shook her head.
"Well, step inside, relax your mind, and see if that changes."
With a shrug of her shoulders, the bushy-haired witch stepped within the rune circle, closed her eyes, and tried to clear her mind of the hundreds of thoughts that were competing for her attention. After a few moments, she felt a warm, safe presence almost ask for permission to enter her mind. When she mentally nodded her head, imported thoughts immediately began to fill her consciousness.
"This is strange," she said out loud. "I can now clearly picture a different stone circle…I know that it’s in a city called Trondheim, and I have all the confidence in the world that I could apparate there right now if I wanted to."
"Wonderful," Dr. Thorson replied. "Now if you’d open your eyes and leave the circle, we’ve got a different destination to travel to."
As the two made their way to the portkey departure zone, Hermione asked, "I see on the maps that we’re within both Norway and Norseland, and that the latter includes most of Scandinavia."
The King’s Wizard nodded. "Most magical governments gave up trying to mirror their Muggle counterparts centuries ago…the boundaries of Norseland were established more than a thousand years ago, and haven’t changed even as the number of Muggle countries and their borders have changed within that same area."
Hermione nodded. "Ah, so it’s like the British Ministry of Magic…it rules over magical Ireland even though the Muggle Republic of Ireland has gained independence?"
"That’s right," Thorson agreed.
"So are you the King’s Wizard in Sweden, or Denmark as well?"
The King’s Wizard shook his head. "Each of the Muggle monarchs has its own liaison with the Norseland Ministry."
"So the Swedish king has his own wizard?"
Thorson nodded. "Witch, actually. Same with the Danish Queen and her witch. The Finns gave up on their monarchy a century ago, so they’re on their own."
Hermione snorted. "So how many Royal Witches and Wizards are there in the world?"
"Twenty-one, if you add Sultans and Emirs to the list," Thorson replied.
"Wow," Hermione said. "And here we thought Harry was balancing in this unique position between Muggle and magical worlds."
"Not at all, Ambassador," the King’s Wizard said with a smile. "We actually all get together a few times each year to compare notes. Next meeting is in Swaziland this November…Sir Harry should be expecting an invite."
As the two approached a short queue to gain entry to the portkey departure area, they switched over to a less sensitive conversation topic.
"Could you talk more about North America and Elgurland?" Hermione asked. "Was it a Viking colony, and how does it fit in with the United States, or the Confederation?"
The King’s Wizard smiled. "Elgurland’…elgur is ‘moose’ in Old Norse by the way…was originally just a Norsca Network station on the northern shore of Lake Superior…near the present-day Muggle city of Duluth. When it was built in AD667 it was the end of the line…ambient magic levels on the prairies of Iowa, or Illinois, or the Dakotas were far too low to power stones carved with the rune sets that were available at the time."
"So it was a frontier outpost that developed into something more?"
The professor nodded. "It was originally meant to be only a trading post…a place where wizards within the Native communities could interact with and barter with their European counterparts. But when the Scandinavian Muggles and Christianity began making life difficult for the homeland’s wizarding populations, many decided to immigrate to North America, and made the area around Elgurland Station their home."
"So it became a Norse colony, then?"
The professor shook his head. "The witches and wizards that came from Europe to North America did so as immigrants, rather than conquerors. Colonialism never happened on a major scale within the wizarding world."
"Why was that?" asked Hermione.
"Well, I’d like to say that it was because the wizarding world is more egalitarian and tolerant of other peoples and cultures, but I can’t," the wizard admitted.
"No, you certainly couldn’t," Hermione murmured to herself.
"The real reason had more to do with the timing of first contact," continued the King’s Wizard. "When the Muggle European powers colonized the rest of the world, there was a huge disparity in technology between themselves and the native peoples they subjugated…guns and metal plate armor against spears and bows and arrows. But in 634, when the first Norse arrived in North America, the witches and wizards that they encountered were roughly equivalent in power."
"No, they didn’t…but neither did Norse witches and wizards until the Ninth Century," replied the Professor. "It took a few bloody encounters, but after neither side was able to dominate the other the first immigrants joined the Confederation of Native wizard communities, rather than try to defeat it."
"It wasn’t just Scandinavian witches and wizards that moved, though, was it?"
"Indeed not," replied the Professor. "The Norsca Line was used to relocate entire wizarding communities from across Northern Europe. For example, many Druidic Old Believers settled in what is now Muggle New England, French wizarding communities formed along the St. Lawrence River, while witches and wizards from the Germanic tribes struck out west from Elgurland and formed their own communities in the Rocky Mountains."
"So this Confederation is the wizard equivalent of the United States?" asked Hermione.
"In style, it is similar, but in terms of territory it is much larger…it also is much more of a collective, with devolved powers residing within Elgurland and the other provinces."
Hermione nodded, then started to focus more on the purpose of her trip as they entered the restricted area marked "Portkey Departure and Arrival Zone." This smaller concourse consisted of a half-dozen departure platforms on one side, and a series of duty-free magical shops on the other.
"Dyrrheim is one of four designated international portkey access points within Norseland," Dr. Thorson explained. "Trying to use an international portkey outside of one of these areas would trigger an alarm within our Ministry and earn you a hefty fine, or maybe even jail time."
Hermione nodded. "You said that we needed to take two portkeys to reach Japan…I assume that the midpoint is another station like this one?"
The King’s Wizard nodded. "Ice Station Alaska," he stated, as he pointed to the spot on a nearby wall map. "We’ll have to layover there for an hour or so, in order to avoid portkey lag…not that a layover is a bad thing when the salmon are running."
The King’s Wizard smiled. "It’s always good to bring gifts when you visit someone in Japan."
Thinking the idea strange, Hermione asked, "Wouldn’t flowers, or a bottle of wine be more appropriate gifts than raw fish?"
The elderly wizard squinted a bit at Hermione, and then shook his head as he removed a piece of rope from his pocket.
2130 GMT (9:30pm local time)
Plasnewydd Square, Cardiff, Wales
The Queen’s Wizard knocked on the back door of an unmarked lorry, and once the door was opened for him stepped up and inside the container.
This vehicle was far more high-tech then the one used by the Team A lead in Liverpool. It took a few seconds for his eyes to adjust to the dim red running lights that cast a eerie glow over the banks of electronic surveillance equipment. Meanwhile, he had to listen to a talking head within one of monitors scold him for his tardiness.
"My apologies, Mr. Home Secretary," said Harry, as he sat down in front of a camera and a full bank of monitors filled with the faces of COBRA team members down in London. "The Team B lead here in Cardiff took just a little longer than I expected to debrief me."
"Find anything surprising, Agent Potter?" asked the MI-5 Director.
Harry shook his head. "Just that the table manners of some of my former classmates have only gotten worse now that they’re Death Eaters."
"No higher level targets of interest at either location, then?"
"But you are certain that they are all terrorists?"
Harry took a deep breath, held it for a second, then exhaled as he nodded.
"Yes sir. Confirmed the tattoos with my omnioculars."
"Right, then," said the Defense Minister, as he joined in the teleconference conversation. "Major Potter, you and all of your magical "advisors" are to return to base immediately."
"Fall back, Major," the Defense Minister said. "You’ve read in the two SAS teams on what they’ll face, done the final reconnaissance for them, and now it is their turn."
"You don’t want my witches and wizards and me to swoop in at the same time?"
"That’s the last thing we want," said the Home Secretary. "None of our magicals are to be anywhere near those two safe-houses when the attacks commence."
"But I don’t understand," Harry lamented.
"Yours is not to reason why, Major," the Defense Minister said sharply. "You have your orders."
Harry stared at the bank of monitors for a few seconds, with an intensity that caused the hairs to stand on end on the neck of the surveillance technician that was sitting next to him. The flickering electronic images on the displays indicated that the communication equipment was bathed in just as much magical tension as it rolled off of Harry in waves.
Channeling the most stereotypically exuberant attitude that Harry ever witnessed within the British military, he fired off a crisp salute and yelled out, "Sir, Yes Sir!"
"Calm down, Harry," the Prime Minister said. "This isn’t an ideal solution, but it’s the best we’ve got right now. We need to move on these houses before we risk their involvement in another attack, particularly with the Garden Party tomorrow afternoon. And with our relationship with the Ministry of Magic tenuous at best, and with Ambassador Granger on her way to meet with this Supreme Mugwump, we want to make sure that there isn’t even the appearance of impropriety in how Her Majesty’s Government relies upon magical assistance from you and your people….And that being said, it really would be ideal if you were to be seen in a public place over the next few hours…even a magical public place, if possible."
"Exactly, Lord Gryffindor," the Prime Minister replied. "Let’s have you keep your nose clean, especially when it doesn’t directly involve the Queen’s safety."
The Prime Minister shook his head.
"Just let us know when you’ve cleared out your troops," the Defense Minister said.
Harry scowled, then gave another sarcastically rousing "Sir, Yes Sir!"
2200 GMT (1:00pm local time)
Ice Station Alaska, Nome
The international portkey deposited Hermione and her Norwegian escort within an area similar to (but smaller than) the portkey concourse in Oslo. The two stepped off of one of the arrival pads and walked up to an immigration control checkpoint, set up underneath a sign that said, "Welcome to the North American Confederation of Magical States."
"So, here’s Alaska," Thorson said flippantly, as the joined the end of a short queue. "It’s GMT –9 here, so it’s still this afternoon."
"And the next jump will take us into tomorrow morning," added Hermione.
"Exactly," the professor replied. He then added, "Now if all we were going to do is wait to use that second portkey, we wouldn’t have to clear customs."
"But we’re not, because we’re going to go fishing?"
The professor nodded. "Won’t take more than the hour’s time, and there is still twice that to kill before the Japanese Ministry of Magic opens for business…unless you’d rather just sit and wait it out."
Hermione thought for a few moments. "No, let’s go…it’d be hard for me to claim I have visited Alaska if all I did was sit inside this terminal."
"That’s the spirit," Thorson replied.
Once more, all it took was the wave of two Muggle diplomatic passports to get past immigration. As they entered a brightly-lit room with a high domed ceiling, Hermione asked, "This is still a wizard-run facility, right?"
When her escort nodded, she followed up with, "So why aren’t they bothered by Muggle passports, much less diplomatic passports?"
Thorson somewhat cryptically replied, "As you gain more international experience, Ambassador Granger, you’ll discover many countries and regions whose magical and Muggle governments aren’t as separate as yours."
The King’s Wizard appeared well acquainted with the facility as he led his young charge to a magical shopping mall within the terminal. At the far end of this area was a small shop whose sign read, "Ellsworth’s Adventures – Guided Tours for the Discerning Wizard Since 1423." The ringing bell attached to the doorway announced their presence to a wizened old man, who looked up and said, "Ah, Ole, what an unexpected pleasure… good to see you again."
"You too, Alex," the King’s Wizard replied. "How’s business been?"
"Excellent, excellent…just sent a dozen Aussies on a Yeti expedition this morning, and I’ve got six different ice dragon reserve visits scheduled over the next month. But I bet you’re not looking for that sort of thing are you, Ole? And who his your lovely companion? And does your wife Lena know about her?"
The King’s Wizard laughed as Hermione’s eyes narrowed. "My name is Hermione Granger, Mr…Ellsworth, I presume."
"Yes you may presume, my dear," the outfitter said with a large smile.
"We’re just traveling on business, Alex," Dr. Thorson said. "Ambassador Granger has an appointment with the Supreme Mugwump in a few hours, so I thought I’d let you give her a chance to catch some omiyagi."
"Supreme Mugwump, you say?" asked the old man. "Well, them Japanese are crazy about their fish, that’s true enough. Pity you weren’t here a month ago, the Copper River run was the best in fifty years."
"Yes, Alex, I know, I was here, remember?"
"What?" asked the old man. "Oh, so you were, my mind these days….how much time do you have, you say?"
"Only an hour, sir," Hermione insisted.
"Ah, well then, that rules out the halibut and king crab trips…not that it’s any fun to travel with those buggers in your bag"
"I was thinking King salmon, down on Cook Inlet," Thorson suggested.
The wizard nodded. "Just had a client catch an eighty-pounder down there, if it’s size you’re looking for…but they aren’t the quickest fish to find…come on into the back room and we’ll take a look."
Hermione and Thorson followed the wizard’s instructions, and walked into what appeared to be a dimly-lit office. The outfitter grabbed a clear crystal bowl and placed it on his desk surface. After an Aguamenti spell filled the bowl with water, he reached into a pocket and withdrew a large silver fishhook that dangled from the end of a thin silver chain. The wizard looped one end of the chain over his wand tip, then lowered the fishhook into the bowl of water.
As the outfitter stared into the water and entered into a trance, the King’s Wizard whispered to Hermione that the wizard was using a method of divination known as scrying to determine where the fish were biting.
A few moments later, the outfitter broke the trance, turned towards the other two, and announced, "There’s going to be a tidal blast of sockeye on the Lower Kenai ten minutes from now."
The King’s Wizard’s eyes went wide with excitement. "What are we waiting for, then?"
Hermione looked at the two wizards, then down to her robes, and asked, "How about a change in clothing?"
With the charter fee negotiated and Hermione’s robes now tucked inside chest waders, the outfitter closed up his shop and held out a fishing rod that had been charmed as a two-way portkey. It deposited the three onto the grassy banks of a large, shallow river, about four hundred miles south of the portkey station. While Thorson’s eyes were immediately drawn to the water, Hermione’s took in the breathtaking beauty of the rugged Alaskan coastline. There was a cool wind in the air that made her glad for the jumper she was wearing, but the sun was shining and American bald eagles were coasting on thermals overhead.
The two wizards allowed Hermione the time to take in the scenery as they walked fifty yards down the shoreline in opposite directions in order to cast Muggle-repelling charms. The tranquility was broken by the chirp of her satellite phone. She activated it and asked, "Hello?"
"Hey, Hermione, this is Wally," said the voice on the other line.
"Anything wrong? How’s Harry?"
"Nothing’s wrong and he’s fine," the MI-5 ¾ agent replied. "I was just calling to find out why your GPS tracking receiver says you’re currently sixty miles southwest of Anchorage, Alaska."
"Because that’s where I am, Wally," Hermione replied glibly.
"Have an hour to kill in between long-distance portkeys," Hermione explained. "And apparently, my escort is an avid fisherman."
Wally laughed on the other end of the line.
"Have you ever fished before, Dame Hermione?"
"No," she replied. "I’ve read about it in books, of course, but…"
"Well, that’s more than enough reason to have chosen me as your guide," the outfitter said loudly, as he returned to Hermione’s location. As she ended the call and pocketed her phone, he reached into a bottomless bag and pulled a number of different rods and reels. After choosing one for the King’s Wizard, the outfitter selected a slightly smaller rod for Hermione.
"Got a few minutes to practice casting," he said, as he showed the young witch the proper way to cast out hook and line. It was slow going, and Hermione had yet to get her hook wet on her own when the divined run of large red sockeye salmon began charging upstream.
Hermione was almost too mesmerized to fish, as the surge of fish darted up along the banks in response to their relentless drive to spawn. Her travel companion didn’t have this problem, though…with a whoop and holler he cast out his line, and within a minute landed his first fish.
Their guide had been working on detangling Hermione’s line when the King Wizard’s catch was landed, but she encouraged him to help Thorson. The outfitter happily abandoned Hermione in favor of the sockeye salmon, taking it off the hook and carrying it by the gills as he walked back to a staging area away from the river bank.
After successfully landing his third fish in ten minutes, the King’s Wizard turned towards Hermione, noted her struggles, and shouted, "Think of the rod as your wand, and cast a flame whip spell."
Hermione looked at the wizard, then down at the bird’s nest of fishing line that had clogged her reel, and cursed.
"Think I’m going to think of my wand as a wand," she decided, as she threw the fishing rod down onto the ground in frustration. Looking down into the water, she pointed her wand towards the largest flash of red she could find and shouted
"Accio Sockeye!"
A look of satisfaction came upon her face as a fifteen-pound hooked-jaw fish flew up out of the water and dropped down onto the shore by her feet.
"That’s not very sporting," said the King’s Wizard with a disappointed tone of voice.
"But it is much more efficient," Hermione countered. As the fish that she had "caught" flopped around she asked, "Now what?"
"Levitate it back towards Alex, and he’ll take care of it from there," the elderly wizard said with a sigh.
Hermione followed these directions and brought the fish back to where Alex had conjured two waterproof rectangular boxes.
"Oh, that’s a nice one, miss," the wizard said. "Let’s get him comfortable."
She watched as the outfitter grabbed the floating fish, canceled the levitation charm, and dropped it gently into one of the boxes. He then cast a spell Hermione had never seen before…some conjuration that produced a globe of water around the salmon’s head and gills.
"It’s a bubblehead charm, only reversed," the old man explained. "Gives the fish an hour’s worth of water."
"Ingenious," said Hermione. "But why are you casting it?"
"The key to great sushi is fresh fish," the King’s Wizard declared, as he walked back from the bank with both his rod and Hermione’s. "Can’t get any fresher if it’s still flopping about when the knives come out."
Hermione watched as the guide packed up the gear and covered the boxed fish with fresh seaweed.
"An awful lot of work just to give somebody a present."
The King’s Wizard looked around at the scenery, took in a deep breath of fresh air and said, "Hard for me to think of this as work."
As Hermione watched the bald eagle swoop down and grab a fish out of the water with its talons, she was forced to agree.
Thirty minutes later, Hermione was back at the transit station with a long fidgety box under her arm (she had been warned that there was flavor loss if the fish was magically stunned). The outfitter was keeping one of the other three fish for Thorson until they could be picked up on the return trip to Norway. The other two were presently boxed under his own arms, just in case (he had told Hermione that based on his experiences visiting Japan that it was best to bring two more gifts than you expected to give).
On the way back to the portkey departure area, Hermione spied a small market with a sign in its window announcing the availability of live fish.
"Don’t tell me that I could have just bought one of these over at the shop," she said.
The King’s Wizard looked over at the storefront window and smiled.
Hermione pouted. "I thought that you were supposed to be helping me in my mission?"
"But I am," Thorson replied. "How much more appreciative will the receiver of the gift be when he learns that you caught the gift yourself?"
The fish under Hermione’s arm swatted its tail hard against the side of the box, causing her to almost lose her balance.
"For your sake," she warned, "it better be a lot."
2330 GMT (11:30pm. local time)
Thistle and Toad Pub, Gilmerton Close, Edinburgh
The Queen’s Wizard had followed orders and pulled his troops out of the areas where the two Death Eater safe houses were located, and taken the extra step of ordering them to make sure they had ironclad alibis for the evening. Not wishing to leave apparition traces near the safe-houses, the Art Clubers badge-jumped to Holyrood using Wally as an anchor point, then apparated from there. The others flew back to Edinburgh aboard separate RAF transport helicopters.
It had only been a short walk from the helicopter landing pad next to the Palace down to the pub that served as the gateway to Edinburgh’s small magical quarter. Katie, Alicia, and Lee used the floo to meet Fred and George at the Leaky Cauldron for a very late dinner, leaving Harry and his Gryffindor dorm mates behind to sample the Thistle and Toad’s pub grub and butterbeer.
They had only been there a little while when Ron tried to get his mate’s attention.
"He asked if you wanted to call it a night," said Seamus, who was sitting at the table along with Neville and Dean.
"No," replied Harry. "Wally was going to call with the all-clear, but hasn’t yet."
"Oh," said Ron. "So…fancy a game of exploding snap?"
Harry gave Ron an incredulous look. "With all of the things that are….don’t you think we’re a little to old for that game?"
Ron looked over towards the other three Gryffindors; in unison they all turned towards Harry and replied, "No."
"Okay, then," said the Queen’s Wizard, deciding that there was nothing better to do. "First charred face buys the next round."
Ron smiled as he pulled a deck of cards out from a pocket. Between his mate’s worries over his globe-trotting girlfriend, and the fears over the purely Muggle military operation against the safe-houses, there was little doubt who would be distracted enough to be buying.
2345 GMT (8:45am. local time)
Kyoto Station, Kyoto, Japan
The King’s Wizard, Hermione, and their three fish arrived at the international portkey station in Kyoto at precisely the agreed-upon time.
The first thing Hermione saw once her eyes adjusted were two men standing in front of her. One was short and bald (shorter than even she was), wore a tall black brimless hat and dressed in a formal male kimono that didn’t look all that different from wizarding robes. The other man was slightly taller, much skinnier, and dressed in a western-style day suit (complete with tails). Both bowed low towards Hermione and her escort as they stepped off of the platform. She followed her escort’s lead and returned the bows.
The King’s Wizard said something to the men in Japanese and gestured towards Hermione. The two men bowed once more, which Hermione parroted. The gesturing and bowing were then repeated as the shorter man said something to the King’s Wizard in Japanese. Finally, after a very frustrating few seconds, this shorter man switched to English and said, "His Majesty the Emperor welcomes Ambassador Granger to Japan, and offers his apologies that he could not be here this morning to greet you personally. I am what you would call the Emperor’s Wizard, Matsuhisa Yukihiro."
Hermione bowed (didn’t know if was needed, but figured it was better to bow too low and too often, rather than not). She then responded with a greeting that had been suggested by the Foreign Secretary earlier that day.
"I am Her Majesty’s Government’s Envoy to the Wizarding World, Hermione Granger. I wish to apologize for imposing on you and His Majesty the Emperor with this visit, and to express our gratitude that His Majesty the Emperor has offered aid to the United Kingdom in its hour of need."
The bald man nodded slightly, then frowned when his companion whispered something in Japanese.
"This is Mr. Erizawa," Emperor’s Wizard said with a rough wave of his hand. "He is my Muggle minder, tasked with ensuring that I embarrass neither His Majesty the Emperor, the Imperial Household, or myself when I make my forays into the Muggle world."
The thin Muggle grimaced slightly, but quickly returned his face to a neutral position and said in heavily accented English, "Welcome to Japan, Ambassador Granger. The Imperial Household will do its best to ensure that the goals of your visit are smoothly met without incident."
"So are you going to follow her into the Muggle loo to make sure she flushes, like you do me?" the Emperor’s Wizard asked gruffly (in Japanese).
Thorson snorted as the question caused the Muggle man’s face to turn beet red.
The two Japanese engaged in a terse exchange of words, while Thorson turned towards Hermione and whispered, "Matsuhisa-sensei loves yanking the chain of this minder almost as much as he loves sushi…if you don’t mind, I suggest you give the minder your fish to give to the Emperor, then use one of mine for the Supreme Mugwump."
Hermione nodded, happy at the thought of getting the squirming box out from under her arm. The man accepted the gift with a bow of respect
"Only about forty minutes left on that fish-bowl charm," Thorson noted to the Emperor’s Wizard. When the wizard raised an eyebrow, the King’s Wizard smiled. "Sockeye salmon, and yes, one of these are for you, sensei."
"Sugoi!" the wizard exclaimed with delight. "Then let us meet presently with the Supreme Mugwump, so that this wonderful present might soon meet my knife."
The Japanese wizard and Muggle led Hermione and Thorson through the transit station, which from an architectural standpoint looked rather modern and Muggle. When Hermione asked about this, the Emperor’s Wizard explained that they were presently underneath Kyoto’s JR train station, and that the magical transportation hub had been moved there so as to facilitate transfers between Muggle and magical modes of travel.
The small group once again breezed through customs, with the diplomatic passports and Erizawa’s comments drawing deep bows from checkpoint officials who were dressed more like samurai than security agents.
Two young women were waiting for the party just beyond the barrier. Each was dressed in a high-waisted ankle-length red split skirt worn over a white kimono with long, wide sleeves. Each also had a large flat box in their hands, which they offered to Hermione and Thorson with deferential bows.
The Imperial Household Agency’s Muggle stepped up to explain.
"Ambassador Granger, as we will be traveling in and out of Muggle areas of the city, we are happy to offer you attire that will be less…. conspicuous."
Hermione looked inside her box and found an outfit somewhat similar to what both of the young women were wearing. With a nod in understanding, she said, "If it’s my robes that stick out, I can just switch back to my Muggle business suit."
The Muggle bowed and replied, "We are pleased to offer the Ambassador the attire that is traditionally worn by those that the gods have blessed with magic."
Hermione thought for a moment, then drew her wand. "Thank you, but it would be a lot quicker and easier for me to transfigure my robes into something similar."
The Muggle minder winced slightly. "The young women would be pleased to help you quickly and easily change, Ambassador."
Hermione frowned, then turned to the Norwegian King’s Wizard, who was watching the exchange with a bemused expression on his face.
"You will find, Ambassador Granger, that there is a certain flow to doing things within this country. In most cases, it is easier to go with the flow than to swim against it."
The confirmatory nod and chuckle from the Emperor’s Wizard convinced Hermione of the correct path through this minor impasse. She nodded with a small bit of resignation, and allowed herself to be led into a private changing room by the two young women.
The fact that Hermione’s two young assistants didn’t speak of word of English didn’t keep them from engaging in a running commentary as they helped her out of her Clan Potter robe and the Muggle clothing that she wore underneath. The Japanese women actually tittered when Hermione’s crimson thong was revealed underneath her skirt; she needed to use some rather forthright hand gestures to indicate that she wasn’t about to take it off so that they could get a closer look.
Once down to her bra and knickers, Hermione’s new outfit was built up piece by piece. At first she thought that she'd look identical to her attendants. But after donning white tabi socks, a white kimono, and the high-waisted pleated red split skirt (that could almost be thought of as wide-legged trousers), the attendants wrapped a white wide belt around her waist, and pulled a white wide-sleeved jacket out of the box.
One of the two women said something to the other about this jacket, and pointed towards the Clan Potter crest on the robe that now lay folded on a chair. The second woman nodded, took the jacket and robe, and excused herself with a deep bow. When she returned two minutes later, the jacket that she presented to Hermione now had the Clan Potter crest woven into the silk fabric in five different places…on the back in between the shoulders, and on the front and back of each sleeve.
"It’s beautiful," Hermione said in admiration, as she slipped her arms into each jacket sleeve. She was, however, decidedly less enthusiastic about the final piece of her new outfit.
"Absolutely not," she declared, when she was offered a gold headband that held a bouquet of long-stemmed flowers against the front.
The women frowned, said something to each other, then offered the headpiece a second time. When Hermione shook her head and folded her arms in front of her, one of the women left the room in order to fetch the Emperor’s Wizard. The short bald man entered the private changing room and smiled.
"You are a vision of beauty, Ambassador Granger."
"There’s no way I’m wearing that bouquet of flowers on my head," Hermione stated.
"Am I to understand that all Japanese witches walk around wearing flowers on their forehead?"
"Only when they allow my minder to dress them," the wizard said with a laugh. "It is what you call in English a prank."
"Thank Merlin," Hermione exclaimed.
The wizard exchanged some words with the two women (although much of what the wizard appeared to be saying in Japanese sounded to her more like grunts and groans). After reaching some sort of decision, the Emperor’s Wizard asked,
"Would it be acceptable, Ambassador Granger, for your hair to be worn braided down the back, and tied with a white sash?"
Hermione looked at the wizard and arched an eyebrow. "Do you happen to know a spell that would straighten my hair?"
The wizard chuckled. "Japanese women do not usually have that type of problem, but I will ask the miko." He then translated Hermione’s question into Japanese, causing the two young women to look at Hermione and shake their heads. Their comments caused the wizard to laugh out loud.
"What’s so funny?" Hermione asked.
The Emperor’s Wizard replied, "It is their opinion that the devils that possess your curls are too strong for their magic, and asked if I would aid them with an exorcism."
Hermione looked at the wizard with disbelief, then allowed her own chuckles to escape past her lips.
"Well," she replied, "if this exorcism works any better and faster than Sleekeazy’s Hair Potion, then be my guest."
Hermione hobbled out of the dressing room atop a pair of very uncomfortable wooden sandals. She found the wizard from Lake Wobegon dressed as a male Shinto priest, with a dark green jacket over his white kimono, and a eight-inch tall brimless black hat capping his six-foot two inch tall frame.
"Think you’ll be ducking much?" Hermione asked with a smile.
"No more than usual when I visit here," the King’s Wizard replied. "I must agree with my colleague, Ambassador…the kimono only enhances your natural beauty."
"Thank you, Thorson-sensei," Hermione replied. "I rather like the outfit, although these wooden sandals are…now, what would the diplomatic term be?"
"A pain in the arse?" asked the Emperor’s Wizard.
"Thank you, Matsuhisa-sensei," said Hermione. "I couldn’t agree more."
A red-faced protocol officer led the small group to a bank of lifts. When one of these lifts opened its doors, another young girl dressed in white kimono and red skirt emerged. She gestured towards the lift interior with white-gloved hands, and bowed politely.
Once they stepped inside, the Muggle minder withdrew a white silk scarf from his coat pocket and used it to cover his eyes.
"He can’t deal with actually experiencing magic," Matsuhisa explained with a smile.
When the young girl touched part of the lift compartment’s wall with a very short wand the doors closed and the lift slowly began to rise. After a short trip that Hermione guessed traversed only a few stories, the doors opened to reveal a solid wall.
"Chotto matte kudasai," the girl said in a lilting voice.
"It’s an illusion," Thorson explained to Hermione. "Just need to wait for the all-clear before we can leave."
When a three-note chime sounded, the girl bowed and gestured towards the wall. The Emperor’s Wizard winked at Thorson and Hermione before gruffly pushing the blindfolded Muggle through the faux wall. They then followed the Muggle’s path, exiting into an empty hallway. Once the Muggle minder removed his blindfold he took on an air of authority and barked out a order to the Emperor’s Wizard.
"Let me guess," Hermione whispered to Norwegian wizard. "We’re now in Muggle territory, so he gets to take charge."
Thorson smiled and nodded in reply as they were led into a very busy corridor of a very busy train station. As they walked, Hermione remembered her promise to phone home and pulled out the satellite phone from a pocket sewn into the lining of her kimono jacket. After waiting only a few rings, the Prime Minister picked up on the other side.
"Hello, Prime Minister, this is Hermione…I’m sorry for calling so late at night."
"That’s quite alright, Ambassador…I did ask you to call once you arrived in Kyoto…you are in Japan, then?"
"Yes, sir," she said. "We’re in transit to the meeting place."
"Good, good…so who are you with right now?"
"Erm…the Norwegian King’s Wizard, the Japanese Emperor’s Wizard, and someone else from the Imperial Household."
"Excellent," the Prime Minister replied. "And you’ll be in their company for the next thirty minutes, at least?"
"I believe so, Prime Minister," said Hermione. "Is there a reason why that’s important?"
"Yes, actually, there is," the Prime Minister replied. "We’ll talk later about it."
"Erm…okay," said Hermione. "Anything else, sir?"
"No, no…I should let you go, Ambassador. Stay safe over there."
"Yes, sir, I will…good night, sir."
"Good night, Ambassador Granger."
When she heard the click on the other end, Hermione ended the call from her side and pocketed the sat phone. The call had left her a bit frustrated…it was clear that the Prime Minister was keeping something from her, but she couldn’t think what that might be.
It wasn’t until later that Hermione learned that two SAS counter-terrorism teams had been waiting on her call, as the Prime Minister had refused to authorize the assaults against the Death Eaters until he was certain that his Special Ambassador had an iron-clad alibi, half-way around the world.
A uniformed driver was waiting for Hermione and her three escorts next to a black luxury sedan. He bowed, then gathered the three boxed fish and deposited them in the boot. Meanwhile, the Muggle minder got into the front passenger seat, and the other three slipped into the back. The Emperor’s Wizard leaned forward to give instructions to the driver, then sat back and engaged the glass divider between front and back. Once the barrier was in place he sat back and smiled.
"Ah, finally I can relax a little," he said. He then turned to Hermione and asked, "Is this your first visit to Japan, Ambassador?"
"Then you must promise to return when there is better weather," the wizard replied, as the driver pulled the car out from under a protective canopy and into a misty gray morning. "Monsoon season will be with us for at least another week."
"Did I hear you say that we were heading to Kami-Gamo Jinja rather than the Ministry?" asked Thorson.
The Japanese wizard nodded. "The kappas have been acting up again at Tadasu no Mori," he explained. "They’re giving the Muggle golfers more of a water hazard that they’ve wished for…and since the Supreme Mugwump is still the High Priest at that shrine, he’s handling the situation himself."
Thorson nodded as the car splashed through puddles on its way north from the station. "Hard to believe that golfers would be out in this weather."
The Emperor’s Wizard laughed. "Thorson-san, how many times have you visited Japan…and still you know nothing of our culture?"
The Norwegian King’s Wizard caught Hermione fidgeting in his peripheral vision. "Matsuhisa-sensei, Ambassador Granger wishes to display both her keen mind and the ill-effects of an appallingly myopic curriculum at Hogwarts. Would you be willing to answer a few questions for her?"
"Of course, Thorson-san," the wizard said. He caught Hermione’s attention, and then asked, "How might I help, Ambassador?"
The frown on Hermione’s face that had been generated by her escort’s low opinion of Hogwarts was overcome by curiosity.
"My apologizes, Sir, but it does seem that this trip has revealed my ignorance of the wizarding world beyond Europe."
"It is the fault of the sensei, and not the student," the Japanese wizard replied. "What has piqued your interest?"
"Well, the idea of kappas attacking Muggle golfers, for sure, but a more basic question involves the relationship between magic and religion in your country...is the Supreme Mugwump really a high priest?"
The Emperor’s Wizard nodded. "He is indeed, Ambassador, as am I. Nearly every Japanese witch and wizard is involved in some way with Shinto."
"But…isn’t Shinto also a religion within the Muggle world?"
"Isn’t that a problem in terms of protecting secrets?"
The Japanese wizard smiled, shook his head, and once more dove into the brief lesson that was always necessary when a Western wizard first visited Japan.
"The magic native to Japan is very different than what is taught in your schools. Shinto magic is closer in style to what your Druids practiced, before the Roman wand wavers imposed their type of magic across Europe and Northern Africa."
The wizard paused for Hermione to process that statement, then moved on. "Shinto magic is used by the Japanese mage…or miko if they are female…to maintain the harmony of nature. It is power given by the kami…you call them spirits…to restore imbalances."
"So what type of imbalances are you asked to fix?" Hermione asked.
"Mainly those between the Muggle and magical worlds," the wizard replied. "For example, the kami recognize the right of even non-magical people to live and thrive…but it is hard for the people of Japan to coexist with our magical beasts…there is so little flat, arable land. So the kami allow balance…we use magic to strengthen buildings against earthquakes, and magic to boost rice harvests, but only in areas outside of where the tengu and other magical beasts run free."
"Don’t forget about keeping the devils in bounds as well," Thorson replied with a smile. "Remember that one time you and I chased that oni up and down the mountain side?"
"Yes, Thorson-san, they were good times," the wizard replied warmly.
Hermione then asked, "So you don’t live separated from the Muggle world, then?"
"Yes and no," the wizard replied. "We do live amongst the Muggles, but are schooled separately within the shrines. The Shinto mage has a public face that Muggles see when they visit the shrines, but also the private face that we use for magically restoring the balances."
"Sort of like being a secret agent," said Thorson with a smile. "Not that you’d know anything about that, right Ambassador?"
"Erm, right," said Hermione. "So do the Muggles know that some or most of the Shinto priests and priestesses are really witches and wizards?"
"There are many who have faith in the powers of Shinto priests and priestesses," the wizard replied. "But faith isn’t the same as certain knowledge, and there are many more whose faith extends only far enough to justify the purchase of good-luck charms and protective talismans at our shrines."
Hermione nodded. "So I’m interested in this golf course, and the kappas…."
The Emperor’s Wizard smiled. "Kamigamo Jinja and Shimogamo Jinja are shrines built on the edge of a magical forest known as Tadasu no Mori, which is home to many magical beasts. The shrines are staffed by Shinto mages and mika charged with keeping a harmonious boundary between the two worlds. Many years ago, when the game of golf became popular, the Muggles wished to construct a new course on the edge of the forest. They asked the High Priests, because it was the shrine that owned the forest lands. After much consultation with the kami, this golf course was allowed to be built…although it forced us to relocate some of the magical creatures that called the area home, it provides enough income for the Shrines to support more than two hundred mages and mikos. And if the mages and mikos don’t need to use magic to put a roof over their heads or food on the table, there is more time and opportunity for them to maintain the balance elsewhere."
Hermione nodded. "So I gather that the kappas weren’t necessarily in agreement with this arrangement?"
The Japanese wizard nodded. "That is a worthy understatement, Ambassador."
Wednesday, July 11, 0030 GMT (12:30am. local time)
Thistle and Toad Pub, Gilmerton Close, Edinburgh
The vibration of his Art Club badge caught Harry by surprise, even though he was hoping or expecting calls from at least two different people. He begged off the current hand of cards, getting by the protests with the promise that he would yet again buy the next round, and stepped out into the night.
Although he probably shouldn’t have done it for security reasons, he eyes immediately shifted to a window across the street where he knew MI-5 ¾ had established a surveillance station. Checking up and down the street, he found a quiet corner and pulled out his mobile.
"Hey, Harry, I just tried to call you on your badge."
"I know…I’m out where it’s less conspicuous to use my mobile…what’s going on?"
"Just wanted to let you know that it’s over at Cardiff and Leeds."
"Over? As in 'they’ve gone in and gotten back out' over?"
"Oh…so have you been authorized to tell me what the hell happened and why I couldn’t be trusted to be there?"
"Harry…calm down," Wally pleaded. "You still at the pub?"
"What was the body count, Wally?" Harry asked pointedly.
"Four dead DE’s, eight gone missing…all safe and accounted for on our side."
"Bollocks!" Harry swore. "I told them that the Death Eaters would apparate out if given a half-second’s chance."
"And they believed you, Harry…turns out that the gas they pumped into the houses didn’t knock the bad guys out like it should have."
Harry shook his head. "Wouldn't be surprised if witches or wizards weren't affected...we're immune to most Muggle diseases...so I imagine the houses are crawling with Ministry types by now?"
‘Not that I’ve heard," Wally replied. "They pulled out the bodies and sanitized the sites as quick as they could, but so far, no Aurors or other magicals have come snooping."
"So all that concern about keeping me and the others from going in with the SAS…didn’t matter if alibis were the reason, huh?"
"But if there was some other reason, like the government not trusting who’s side we would be on, or not wanting us to see how the boys in black go about their business…"
"Harry, I think you’re overreacting," Wally replied. "Those "boys" as you call them aren’t used to going in with anyone they haven’t trained with…Say, I’ve sent a car along…why don’t you pay your tab and head back here to wait for Hermione?"
The Queen’s Wizard’s eyes narrowed as he spied the black sedan parked with its engine running a few yards down the street.
Thinking that he’d been ordered about and led around by the hand far too much for his liking that evening, he informed Wally that he’d just as soon walk back to the Palace alone.
0100 GMT (10:00am local time)
Kamigamo Jinja, Kyoto, Japan
When the car carrying Hermione and her escorts arrived at the main gate of the shrine complex, the driver was redirected to a location further down the road. The Emperor’s Wizard rolled down the divider, and asked a question in Japanese. He then leaned back onto the seat and announced, "The Supreme Mugwump is still on the golf course."
After a short drive, the sedan pulled up to the fanciest looking club house that Hermione had ever seen. The driver grabbed three umbrellas, and opened one for each of the rear seat passengers as they climbed out of the car. Hermione struggled to keep up on her platform sandals as the Emperor’s Wizard led them to the golf course’s first tee, where nearly sixty golfers were standing underneath large bright umbrellas, waiting for the chance to tee off. The Japanese wizard once again asked for directions from a groundskeeper, then returned to the group.
"The Supreme Mugwump is out on the fourth hole, and the course is closed until he gives the all-clear," he stated. "I said that we have come to help. Follow me."
Hermione looked at a wooden sign next to the tee box that showed the course layout. "Oh, no," she said quietly. "No way I’m going to walk that far in these sandals." She then turned to the Norwegian wizard and asked, "So how come you don’t have a problem wearing these geta?"
"Lots of practice," the wizard replied. "Oh, and I guess there’s always that charm I use to make them feel like a pair of trainers."
Hermione’s eyes went wide. "Oh, you….." She pulled the green-kimono wearing wizard behind a large bush and demanded, "Fix…mine…now."
"Yes, Ambassador Granger," the older man said with a smile.
With the charm thus cast, they returned to the first tee, where a brisk pace down the fairway allowed them to quickly catch up with the other two. Ten minutes later, they discovered the Supreme Mugwump standing fifty yards away from a large pond, dressed in formal High Priest robes. There was a golf club in his hand and a caddy by his side.
"Let me approach him first," the Emperor’s Wizard said. He then walked the last few yards up to the other wizard and politely announced his presence. After formal greetings were exchanged, the Emperor’s Wizard asked,
"What are you doing, Aoki-sensei?"
"Testing my efforts to calm the water spirits," the elderly Supreme Mugwump replied. "They have been quick to anger these past few days, rising up whenever they are showered by golf balls."
The wizard tossed a golf ball onto the ground and, without much thought, lined up his shot and swung. He scowled as the ball sailed over the water.
"It appears that the kami are insistent on helping me lower my handicap," he lamented.
The Supreme Mugwump turned towards the Emperor’s Wizard. "You don’t golf, do you Matsuhisa-san?"
"No sensei…but perhaps one of my companions does?"
The gray-haired wizard looked over his colleagues shoulder.
"Who are they, Matsuhisa-san?"
"The King’s Wizard from Norway, and an emissary from the Muggle government of the United Kingdom."
"Muggle government?" asked the Supreme Mugwump. "Is she magical?"
"Yes, sensei…Ambassador Granger speaks on behalf of the British Prime Minister, and is the consort of their Queen’s wizard."
"Is that so?" the Supreme Mugwump asked. "Well, this is her nation’s sport…perhaps the young witch could aid us?"
The Emperor’s Wizard bowed. "I will ask, sensei."
The short bald wizard walked back to Hermione and her escort.
"The Supreme Mugwump wishes to know if you golf, Ambassador Granger."
"Really?" asked Hermione. She watched as the Supreme Mugwump swung his sand wedge and lofted yet another golf ball straight towards the pond. As the ball reached the apex of its flight path, a strong gust of wind carried the ball forward, where it landed forty yards beyond the water hazard.
"I’ve played a few times with my father," she replied. "Why?"
"The Supreme Mugwump spoke with the kappa that live in that pond this morning, and they promised to behave," said the Emperor’s Wizard. "He is now trying, rather unsuccessfully, to test the strength of that agreement, but the wind is lifting every ball he hits over the hazard."
"And he’s asking if I can shank a golf ball into the water?" Hermione asked.
When the Emperor’s Wizard nodded, the young witch thought about the situation.
"It is true that I am better at hitting water than fairways," she noted. But then she remembered reading about the web-fingered monkey-like beasts in question, and nodded.
"I think that I might be able to help," Hermione told the Emperor’s Wizard.
As the others followed behind, Hermione approached the head of the ICW and bowed towards him and his acolyte caddy. When the caddy returned the bow and held the golf clubs out for her inspection, she reached not for a short iron, but for the Supreme Mugwump’s telescoping ball retriever.
Once a spell pinned the hem of her garments up against her bared knees, Hermione slipped off her socks and sandals, then walked barefoot up to the bank of the pond. Once she spotted a white golf ball she waded into the water and scooped the ball out of the mud. Hermione then spied a second ball a few feet further down the shoreline, and waded towards it, splashing water in the process.
After making a complete circuit of the pond’s perimeter, the young witch returned to a bemused Supreme Mugwump with a dozen balls cradled in the folds of her robes. She conjured a small wicker basket, then dumped the balls into it and offered them to the elderly wizard.
"It appears, at least to my untrained eye, that the Supreme Mugwump has indeed restored balance and brought peace to these links."
The old man smiled and nodded in appreciation of Hermione’s ingenuity. As kappa tended to attack those humans who waded along a water body’s shoreline, she had tested the passivity of the kappa better than any golf shot could have done.
Once Hermione unpinned her robes, fetched her socks and sandles, and returned the ball retriever to the caddy, she bowed again to the Supreme Mugwump and introduced herself.
"It is rare these days to get magical visitors from Britain," the wizard noted. "What brings you half-way around the world, my child?"
"I bring greetings from Her Majesty’s Government, and congratulations on your election to the vaulted position of Supreme Mugwump." She then looked back towards the protocol officer, who had been tasked with holding one of the boxed fish. When he stepped forward she added, "I also have a small gift to offer…omiyagi, I think it’s called?"
"Thank you," the wizard replied, as he took the long rectangular box from the Muggle’s hands. Once he opened it up and spied the still-flapping fish, he arched one eyebrow and asked, "Is this salmon native to Britain?"
"I am not certain about salmon in general," Hermione replied. "This fish, though, was caught in Alaska, in between portkey jumps."
"A witch with many talents…you catch fish in Alaska, and golf balls in Japan," the old man quipped.
Hermione waited until she heard the Emperor’s Wizard’s laugh from behind before she allowed herself to smile and nod in recognition of the Supreme Mugwump’s joke.
"Come, Ambassador," the elderly wizard said. "Walk with me to the clubhouse. The sushi chef there will do honor to your gift, and you can tell me the real reasons behind your visit."
Thirty minutes later, a kneeling Hermione Granger squirmed in pain as the Supreme Mugwump silently reviewed the evidence that she had placed before him. They had been shown to a private tatami-matted room within the golf course’s clubhouse, and the thin cushions that served in lieu of chairs were meant to cushion knees, rather than bums. Seeing the tell-tale signs of legs falling asleep, the Norwegian King’s Wizard took pity on her and caught her attention . Drawing his wand from his sleeve, Thorson pointed it towards his knees and silently jerked his head her way. Hermione raised her eyebrows, and nodded as she mouthed the words, "Yes, please."
The limbering charm that was wordlessly cast instantly soothed the pain in Hermione’s legs, and earned the elderly wizard a smile and a mouthed "Thank You!"
Having finished his careful review of the documents and photographs that detailed both the successful and unsuccessful bank robberies, the Supreme Mugwump turned his attention to two stoppered vials.
"These vials…they hold memories, to be viewed in a…you call them pensieves, no?"
The ancient wizard frowned. "We do not use this type of magic in Japan…did you bring the viewing device with you?"
Hermione’s eyes darkened with worry. "No, Sir, I am sorry…I did not."
Waving off her concern, the wizard replied. "Do not worry, child…it is my opinion that the documents and affidavit from your goblins are sufficient to begin an official inquiry."
"Thank you, Sir," Hermione replied. "May I arrange for a pensieve to be delivered here for your use?"
The Supreme Mugwump shook his head. "These memories…they may be reviewed in your country by the team sent to investigate." The elderly wizard then turned towards the other three in the room and began speaking in Japanese.
"I would be pleased to see you released from your duties within the Imperial Household for a few days, so that you might lead this inquiry."
The Emperor’s Wizard looked towards his minder. Though he would have ignored the Muggle’s protests had they been expressed, he was pleased to see the man give him a curt nod. The wizard then bowed towards the Supreme Mugwump and asked, "When do you wish me to leave for Britain, Sensei?"
"As soon as possible, Matsuhisa-san," the ancient wizard replied. "I leave selection of the other investigators to you."
"I am honored by your confidence in me, Sensei," the Emperor’s Wizard stated. He then added, "Are our eyes to be focused only on the issue before you?"
The Supreme Mugwump sighed, and then replied, "The eyes of the wizarding world have been diverted from Britain for far too long, Matsuhisa-san…go there with sharpened blades and eyes wide open."
The Supreme Mugwump then switched back to English and turned to Hermione. "I have asked the Emperor’s Wizard to assemble a team to investigate this issue for me. May I count on the cooperation of your country’s Muggle government?"
"Thank you Sir," Hermione replied. "I will do all that I can to ensure that the investigators have a pleasant and productive visit."
With a nod of his head, the Supreme Mugwump clapped his hands together. A rice-papered door slid to one side of the wall, and two beautiful kimono-clad woman bowed low as they placed a huge boat-shaped platter in the room. The women then climbed up onto the raised platform floor, and carried the tray over to the table.
Hermione’s eyes were immediately drawn to the tray, where the head of the fish that she had given to the Supreme Mugwump sat as the centerpiece to an ornate display of sushi and sashimi.
Thick slices of dark red salmon were arranged in small fans of flesh, while other pieces of salmon meat sat on small beds of rice as pieces of sushi. There were also seaweed-wrapped pieces of sushi topped with raw red eggs, leading Hermione to suspect that her catch had been female.
When she heard the men and the room grunt and groan with excitement she thought that they were ogling the two women, but when Hermione looked up she realized that her companion’s eyes were zeroed in on the tray of food.
Looking at the eating utensils set on the sides of the tray Hermione became nervous. Though her parents were well-off dentists and she had eaten out quite often as a child, she had never taken to chopsticks, and always insisted on eating Chinese food the way that "normal" English restaurant patrons did.
"We hope that it is not too early for your lunch, Ambassador," the Emperor’s Wizard said, as he handed her a table setting.
"It’s actually closer to a midnight snack, given the time difference," she replied. She then took hold of the wooden utensils and looked at the King’s Wizard with slightly pleading eyes.
"Sorry, Ambassador," he said. "I don’t know any chopsticks charms."
Wednesday, July 11, 0315 GMT
Palace at Holyrood House, Edinburgh
Harry Potter’s vibrating Art Club badge woke him from the restless sleep that had claimed his consciousness. He sat up, lifting his head off the opened page of a briefing book, and activated his badge.
"Erm…hullo?" he asked groggily.
"Hey, Harry, it’s me…Hermione."
"Oslo?" Why didn’t you call sooner?"
"I’ve been trying, but you fell asleep, silly," Hermione replied.
"Oh...So when do you think you’ll be back home…I mean here at Holyrood?"
"Oh, Harry…you know that home is wherever you are…and I’ll be there in a few seconds if you let me use you as an anchor point for a badge jump."
Hermione suddenly appeared in their guest quarters, still dressed in kimono, and carrying a large bag.
"Hey, Honey, I’m home," she said, dropping the bag and holding her arms out towards her boyfriend.
Startled at the sight of the wide white sleeves that hung like wings from her arms, the Queen's Wizard asked, "Hermione, why do you look like an angel?"
"Oh, Harry, you say the sweetest things," his Consort replied, as she wrapped those wings around him. She then added, "These are the robes that witches wear in Japan."
Nodding, Harry sleepily asked, "So how did it go?"
"It went great," Hermione replied. "I did a little fishing, played a little golf…"
"Ssshh," Hermione replied, as she kissed him on the cheek. "We can talk in the morning. Right now we should try to sleep…busy day coming up."
"Okay," Harry replied, as he pulled back from Hermione and plopped down on the bed. He looked once more at Hermione’s outfit through heavy eyelids and asked, "So that’s what you wear when you’re a witch in Japan?"
"How about changing into…what you wear…when you’re a witch…in our bedroom?" he asked, yawning in between words.
The Special Ambassador the Wizarding World cocked her head to one side, then smiled. Not even trying to undo all of the knots to her outfit by hand, she banished her Japanese attire into her wardrobe.
"Yea!" Harry said with a sleepy smile, as Hermione walked over to the bed dressed only in her red thong.
"You are too cute when you’re half-asleep," she noted, as she pulled down the covers.
"I’m sorry," Harry said softly. "Too…too…too tired to catch the snitch tonight."
Hermione smiled as she banished Harry’s clothes to a hamper and pulled him into bed.
"That’s okay," she replied, as she pulled his head to her chest. "Just catch some sleep instead."
Chapter 37: Going to Ground
Wednesday, July 11, 3:00am
Somewhere Hidden in Salisbury
Augustus Rookwood had just entered REM sleep when the mobile sitting on his nightstand chirped. It took some non-electronic encouragement for him to answer the phone.
“Stuff that bloody bird!” yelled Dolohov, as he threw his pillow at the former Unspeakable from across the bedroom.
The answer to this one word question came from the still-ringing mobile. A glance at the Caller ID number cleared his head far more effectively than his bunk-mate’s curses. He pushed a button, held the receiver to his ear, and barked, “Report.”
“This is Marcus Flint…here at our Recovery Point,” replied a weak voice on the other end of the call. “Seven others…Cardiff, Liverpool got visited.”
The former Unspeakable cursed.
“What’s your current situation?”
“Hit with some sort of gas attack,” Flint replied. “Took us a while to move from Rally point to here…doesn’t look like we’ve been tracked or followed.”
“Not sure…two, maybe three hours ago….”
Rookwood cursed again, then ordered Flint to lay low until help arrived.
Once he pocketed the mobile, a now much more awake Dolohov asked, “Problems?”
The former Unspeakable nodded as he quickly dressed himself and grabbed his rucksack. “My two remaining safe houses were attacked…I need to find out how and why.”
“You’ve got that right…I’m heading out to assess the situation. You should wake our Lord and tell him the news.”
“Yeah, right,” replied the Death Eater. “It’s your problem…why don’t you tell him?”
Rookwood sighed deeply. “You idiot…there’s no time…”
But Dolohov was rather insistent on not being the bearer of bad news. Realizing that he needed to gain more facts before facing Voldemort, the former Unspeakable activated a portkey and disappeared.
3:10am, Nottingham Caves, Nottingham
It was thought by Albus Dumbledore that almost all of the Dark Lord’s focus during Harry Potter’s fifth year at Hogwarts had been on retrieving the prophecy from the Department of Mysteries. This was a mistaken belief…while there was a concerted effort to gain the prophecy, even more attention was paid to laying the groundwork for the successful conquest of wizarding Britain.
No small part of this groundwork involved work underground. With Ministry spies and sympathizers in place that could either ignore or bury evidence of magical activity in non-magical areas, Voldemort’s Inner Circle had developed a network of hideouts, safe-houses, and re-supply posts. For security purposes, each of the senior Death Eaters worked independently, and kept a portion of the network secret from the others. And a portion of these secret sites were made even more secure when Voldemort memory charmed his subordinates, so that he alone was aware of these locations.
This level of paranoia paid off when Inner Circle members were captured in the Department of Mysteries, and subsequently interrogated with Veritaserum. All of the commonly known locations were compromised, along with those locations known only to the captured Death Eaters. It was only the sites known solely to Voldemort, and to those (like Bellatrix) who evaded capture, that remained secure.
The ability to rebuild the network of magically-enhanced hideouts was crippled when all of Voldemort’s operatives within the Magical Surveillance Office were exposed during the recent failed assault on the Ministry of Magic. The Dark Lord was therefore rather stingy when it came to sharing the locations of the remaining hideaways, and had relied upon newer safe-house locations in the aftermath of Ascot. Only three of the old sites were released by Voldemort for minion use, and designated as Emergency Recovery Points. Each Death Eater was provided a portkey to a rally point near one of these locations. If their primary safe house was compromised, a Death Eater was told to portkey to the rally point, wait there for others who might have escaped, and then travel on foot to the Recovery Point. A pay-as-you-go mobile was hidden at each recovery point entrance; it was this mobile that Marcus Flint had used to contact Rookwood with the bad news.
The former Unspeakable’s portkey delivered him straight to the entrance to Recovery Point Gamma, located on a hill slope just above the city of Nottingham. It took a few seconds for him to get his bearings…he was in an abandoned quarry, next to a hanging wall of soft sandstone. A cool breeze struck him from behind. When Rookwood turned towards this breeze, he spied a wand pointed at his heart, held by a wizard standing at the mouth of a hand-dug tunnel.
Once passwords were exchanged, the younger wizard dropped his wand, and led Rookwood past Muggle-repelling charms into the tunnel.
“Mind your step, it’s bloody dark in here,” Flint said. “One of the Cardiff blokes broke his leg when he fell into the shaft.”
The former Unspeakable shook his head in resignation as he reached into his sack and retrieved two Muggle torches. He flipped them both on, then handed one to his companion.
The former Quidditch captain nodded his thanks, then headed deeper into the tunnel, to a spot where the end of a long wooden ladder jutted out from a hole in the ground. Flint pointed out the ladder, swung his arm out and said, “After you.”
The system of hand-dug caves and tunnels underneath the City of Nottingham was the most extensive in all of Britain, with some excavations dating back thousands of years. During the Eighteenth Century, the city’s poor both worked and lived within these dark, fetid excavations. Conditions were so horrific for the indigent cave dwellers and tannery employees that the Muggle Parliament passed an Act in 1845 banning the use of subsurface structures as rental housing. Almost all of Nottingham’s caves were abandoned at that time…with only a few kept open for use as a modern-day tourist attraction, a rifle range, pub cellars, and (during the Second World War) air raid shelters.
Oh, and for a Death Eater hide-out as well, but this was something that the Muggles didn’t know about.
The wooden ladder that Rookwood descended was propped up against the wall of a vertical shaft that opened up into a chamber that was roughly thirty feet long, twenty feet wide, and ten feet high. Charmed wooden torches lit the room, revealing two six-foot high doorways within opposite walls, and a handful of drowsy Death Eaters sprawled out on the cave floor in their nightclothes. It appeared to Rookwood that it was only the pained cries of the injured Death Eater that were keeping these others awake.
The former Unspeakable ignored the pleas for help from the injured wizard as he tried to quickly assess what had happened. The stories were notably identical, regardless of which safe-house the Death Eater had been in.
Thinking with a sense of urgency, Rookwood ordered the men to move farther into the cave network in case room was needed for more arrivals. The best he could do for the injured wizard was splint the leg and dispense a vial of pain-relief potion…Skelre-gro was a proprietary potion that was in short supply within their ranks, and one of the potions that Snape was trying to create on his own using materials gathered during the attack on Diagon Alley.
After promising that the group would not be forgotten, Rookwood touched a reusable portkey and returned to Voldemort’s lair.
The Dark Lord was not a happy camper when he was woken in the middle of the night.
“My apologies, My Lord,” Rookwood said, with eyes cast down to the floor at Voldemort’s bedside. “But I must report that the safe-houses at Cardiff and Liverpool were attacked tonight, and I fear that this location may have been compromised as well.”
“What?” Voldemort demanded. “Who attacked, and how…and how were you made aware of this?”
Rookwood swallowed down some bile, and tried to answer the questions in order.
“It was most likely Muggles, who used some sort of poison gas. Eight of the twelve within these two houses managed to portkey to their rally point, and make their way to Rally Point Gamma. They used the Muggle communication device hidden there to call me, and I just returned from interviewing them.”
Voldemort frowned as he thought over the response. Some Occlumancy was needed to quiet all of the voices within his head offering suggestions on how best to torture the minion before him.
“Why do you think that this location may be at risk?” he demanded.
Rookwood paused. He really didn’t want to answer the question, but figured that it would be less painful then having the answer ripped from his mind by a Legilimens attack.
“My Lord,” said Rookwood, “You and I were the only ones that knew where all of the safe-houses under my control were located. We know that my memory was modified when I flew out of the Rookery on Saturday night. We also know that Muggles may have been involved there. If these Muggles, or the goblins, or Potter…if somebody was able to capture the memories that were scanned by the building’s wards…”
“Yes, Rookwood…that does seem to be the only possible explanation….other than the possibility that you have betrayed me.”
The former Unspeakable very nervously tried to speak in his own defense. “My Lord…were any of your Inner Circle to betray you, would it not make sense that this location would be a higher-priority target than safe-houses filled with low-level supporters?”
“Indeed,” Voldemort replied. “”That is a conundrum.”
The former Unspeakable bowed his head down. “Which is why I believe we must consider abandoning this position.”
Voldemort stared at Rookwood for a few seconds, until he was able to bring the urge to hex under control. He then nodded, reached into his pocket, and removed his pack of portkeys. He scanned the deck of playing cards until the King of Hearts came up. Holding this card out to the former Unspeakable, he ordered him to take hold, then activated it.
The portkey deposited to two wizards into the alleyway near the Avebury stone circle. Rookwood followed his master out of the alleyway, and into the center of the magical megalith.
“Give me your arm,” Voldemort quietly demanded.
Rookwood knew well enough what his master wanted, and braced for pain as he rolled up his sleeve and offered his left arm. Voldemort jabbed his wand tip into the black tattoo and summoned his Inner Circle. They arrived by portkey within moments, in various states of dress and with varying degrees of alertness.
“The locations of Rookwood’s safe-house locations have been compromised and subsequently attacked,” Voldemort stated matter-of-factly. “We are going to ground. Make arrangements for everyone to abandon their current positions and to fall back to their respective Recovery Points.”
“Are we to abandon our provisions in these safe-houses, My Lord?” asked Nott.
Voldemort thought for a moment. “Take what you can. Have your charges use minimizing spells, but only at the last moment before you portkey out.”
Snape stepped forward. “My Lord, the potions that I am brewing will not travel well, and many of the cursed and injured under my care won’t survive a portkey trip.”
“Good point, Severus,” the Dark Lord replied. “Yaxley…travel with Snape back to his safe-house. Collect the emergency portkeys of anyone too ill to travel, and obliviate their memories of any of our rally or recovery points.”
“As you wish, My Lord,” the Death Eater replied. “Does that include Severus?”
The Dark Lord nodded. “Memory charm everyone who stays behind.”
Severus Snape didn’t like that response one bit, but was smart enough to keep his comments and his thoughts to himself.
“My Lord,” said Rodolphus Lestrange, “I have moved my men into position for today’s Muggle hunt…should they be pulled back as well?”
“Hmmm….who has portkeys to travel to Salisbury?” Voldemort asked.
Nearly everyone there raised their hands.
“Give them to Rodolphus,” the Dark Lord ordered. “Bella, my dear?”
“Yes, My Lord,” the female Dark Eater cooed.
“Travel with your husband to Edinburgh. Collect all of the emergency portkeys, distribute the Salisbury portkeys as replacements, then obliviate the lot of all knowledge of our safe-houses and fall-back positions…and yes, that includes your husband.”
“Rodolphus,” Voldemort stated, “Monitor your Muggle radio for the signal to abort…it will mean that Salisbury is no longer a safe haven. Otherwise, once you have successfully completed your task, portkey with your men to Salisbury and wait there for further instructions.”
“Other issues?” the Dark Lord asked.
“My Lord,” said Nott tentatively, “Were any of our troops killed or captured during these attacks?”
Voldemort turned to Rookwood and signaled for him to answer.
“Four didn’t make it to the Rally Point,” the former Unspeakable said. “We don’t know their status.”
The elder Nott nodded. “These four…they would have had their emergency portkeys with them?”
“Doesn’t that put Recovery Point Gamma at equal risk of detection, then?”
Rookwood looked nervously at his master, who didn’t look very pleased that he hadn’t raised this issue beforehand.
“The portkeys were well disguised, and might be overlooked if their pockets were emptied out,” Rookwood replied. “But even if the portkeys are discovered, there’s no way for anyone else to know their destinations, and only a fool would blindly take a Death Eater’s portkey to an unknown location.”
“You speak as if there are no fools within the Ministry,” Nott replied, earning a nervous laugh from his audience.
Rookwood replied, “The portkeys take you to the Rally Point, not the Recovery Point itself. Each of my wizards knew how to get from one point to the other, but didn’t know exactly where they’d be…and the Rally Point was selected to be easily defended. Perhaps…”
The Death Eater looked back towards his master for input.
“Nott,” Voldemort said, “Your cadre is assigned to Gamma…set up a small welcoming committee at the Rally Point to deal with any uninvited guests.”
There were no other immediate questions, so Voldemort dismissed all but Pettigrew and Rookwood.
“Wormtail,” he said, once the three were alone. “You will travel with me to Salisbury, and will remain behind to monitor the location in your animagus form. Should it be attacked, it will be up to you to send the signal to abort Lestrange’s mission.”
Peter, eyes firmly on the ground in front of him, acknowledged his master’s orders. The Dark Lord then turned to the former Unspeakable.
“I am very disappointed in you, Augustus, but I sense more incompetence than disloyalty.”
“The idea of Muggles attacking our forces is as intolerable as it is unfathomable,” said Voldemort, as he handed the other Death Eater a portkey.
“You are to observe the attack this afternoon. Do not participate. Take note of all defenses and responses, then use this portkey and wait at its destination for further orders…understood?”
“Yes, My Lord,” replied Rookwood. “I do not deserve your generous trust in my abilities.”
The Dark Lord smiled thinly. “No, you don’t.” He then held out his wand and cast a memory charm on the former Unspeakable that was much more painful than necessary.
Once his follow-up mental probe determined that he had wiped out all of Rookwood’s knowledge of Death Eater hide-aways, he sent his minion along on his appointed task, then used his own portkey to travel with Pettigrew back to Salisbury…there was no way that he was going to leave behind his magical tent when he relocated to a well-equipped location known to no one but himself.
6:30am, Palace at Holyroodhouse, Edinburgh
Hermione Granger walked over to the large guest-bedroom window while her draft report was printing and watched as an army of caterers placed row after row of crystal and china on white linen-covered tables underneath long white tents. When her badge chirped she turned her attention to a much smaller, fully enclosed white tent.
“Yes, Harry?” she asked, after activating the badge.
“We’re done here,” the Queen’s Wizard replied. “I’m coming up.”
“Too tired to walk?” Hermione asked.
Harry waited until the badge jump into the guest bedroom was completed before he answered.
Hermione nodded. “Construction all set, then?”
“Queen’s Tent tube is finished,” Harry replied. “Irongrip and his crew think that they’ll have two others ready by noon…would have already been done if they didn’t have to avoid contact with the caterers.”
“They are setting up the tea tent rather early aren’t they?”
Harry snorted as he walked to the window and watched uniformed wait staff stack teacups and plates on tables underneath the tents. “Well, service for 8,000 takes a while to prepare if you aren’t using magic.”
“Are we really expecting that many, given the Ten O’clock Attacks?” asked Hermione.
With a nod, Harry replied, “Stiff upper lip, and all that…the Buckingham Palace garden parties were well-attended after the terrorist attacks last year, and there’s no way in hell that the Scots will allow themselves to be viewed as any less brave than the English.”
Hermione shook her head. “Still wish there had been more time to expand out the ward lines.”
A sigh escaped from Harry’s lips as he pulled Hermione into a hug. “You’ve done the best you could do, given all of your other time commitments.”
“We can’t do everything, and even if we could it’s starting to look like they wouldn’t want us to.”
It was Hermione’s turn to sigh.
“You’re starting to use that tone of voice again.”
“That disdainful ‘they’…it’s the same way you talk about the Ministry of Magic.”
“Well if the shoe fits on the Home Secretary’s foot…”
“Harry, I’m on the COBRA team as well…have I become part of the problem?”
Shaking his head, the Queen’s Wizard replied. “Of course not…it’s just that…well, they took you for a ride as well last night.”
“Yes, they did,” Hermione replied. “But from their perspective, I can understand why…doesn’t mean that I have to like it.”
“Now, Harry,” Hermione replied. “Look…we’ve got another insanely busy day today. You’ve got the Garden Party to protect, and I’ve got the Emperor’s Wizard and friends showing up in London this morning…”
“So when do we take a good hard look at whether the Muggle government is using us?” asked Harry sharply. “Before or after we help them take back control of wizarding Britain?”
“Harry….you need to calm down,” Hermione replied. “That’s one of the reasons why I’m so happy that ICW is paying us a visit today…the King’s Wizard has had his job for sixty years. That’s got to give him some perspective on how to balance between the worlds, right?”
Harry snorted. “Yeah, alright…you will have time this afternoon to join me, right?”
Hermione smiled. “If the alternative is leaving you free to roam about the garden with your harem…”
“Hey,” Harry chided. “Just because Susan and Hannah decided to prank you doesn’t mean that I’m interested in either one of them.’
“Yes, or both,” Harry said with a sigh. “As much as I look forward to my birthday this year, all of those contracts to deal with…”
“You could always tell Mr. Patil and all the other patriarchs that you’ve got a Consort,” Hermione said with a grin.
“I’d be better off simply saying that I was already engaged,” Harry muttered, as he pulled her close to him from behind.
Hermione raised an eyebrow, turned her head, and kissed Harry’s cheek
“Yes, I think that you would too,” she replied. “But only if it were true.”
Harry raised an eyebrow, but saved the witty response for fear of being accused of some more passive-aggressive behavior.
7:50am, Ministry of Magic, London
Susan Bones stepped out of the floo connection and into the Atrium of the Ministry of Magic, trying to mask her nervousness as she began her day as a pure-blooded intern within the Ministry’s Department of Transportation. She joined the flow of other interns and employees making their way from the inbound floos towards the Security Gate. Neville Longbottom was waiting for her on the other side.
“How are you, Nev?” she asked, as if she hadn’t just seen him fifteen minutes ago at a meeting with Harry and Hermione up in Edinburgh.
“I should be asking you that, Sue,” he replied with a smirk, as they began walking towards the bank of lifts. More quietly, he added, “After all, you were the one that called in sick yesterday, right?”
Susan snorted. “Sounds like I might need to suffer a relapse, depending on how things turn out.”
Neville nodded seriously, then tried to lighten the mood. “So is it safe to kiss you or not?”
The Queen’s witch-in-waiting waggled her eyebrows as she pulled him into a crowded lift and pressed her ample chest tight against his side.
“Guess you’ll just have to risk it to find out, Buzz,” she replied coyly, almost purring as she voiced his TPOMS nickname.
Neville’s embarrassment and the throat clearing of some of the older ministry workers within the lift car kept the banter from going any further. The car made the short trip up to Level Seven, where Neville “worked” within the offices of the Official Gobstones Club. Just before he stepped off, Neville turned towards the Hufflepuff and hugged her close.
Susan nodded. “Thanks, Neville,” she said, as she gave his hand a squeeze. “See you at lunch either way.”
The lift continued its upward path, stopping at the Fifth Level for Special Assistant to the Minister Percy Weasley. He quickly glanced around to see if there was anyone on board that he should either suck-up to or talk down to. Susan Bones fit into the latter category.
“Feeling well enough to work today, Miss Bones?” he asked, as the doors closed and the car began to move.
Susan bit her lip in an effort to remain civil. “Yes sir, Director Weasley…thank you for asking.”
“Not a problem, Miss Bones,” he replied haughtily. “I make it a point to take interest in everyone that works for me.”
Percy’s eyes narrowed. “You are aware, I’m sure, of the requirement to document all illnesses resulting in lost time at work?”
“Erm…yes, Sir,” Susan replied, pulling out a piece of parchment from her pocket.
The Special Assistant snatched the parchment from Susan’s fingers, looking for potential irregularities. The note stated that she was ill the day previous and treated by her family healer for “feminine issues.” This caused Percy’s face to flush with embarrassment. He returned the note too quickly to realize that Susan’s note was signed by “H. Abbot”.
“Yes, well, erm….everything appears to be in order,” he stammered. “Take care that you give that note to your supervisor.”
“Yes, Director,” Susan said with a sly grin.
Susan and Percy were the only two within the lift traveling up to Level One, as long as you didn’t count the airborne memos hovering overhead. When the doors opened Percy followed the flock as it darted towards the Offices of the Minister of Magic, while Susan headed off to the much smaller area that was home to the rarely used International Portkey Terminal.
Back in the days of relative peace and tranquility, between the fall of Grindelwald and the first rise of Voldemort, the Ministry of Magic’s gateway terminal was, if not flourishing, at least used on a fairly regular basis. But after Voldemort’s two reins of terror, and the Ministry’s belligerent attitude towards foreigners, the terminal was now about as busy as the Centaur Liaison Office. The size of the facility matched the infrequency of its use…while it once occupied the entire first level of the Ministry, it now had a footprint only slightly larger than the average-sized Hogwarts broom closet (with Cornelius Fudge having commandeered the balance of the space to accommodate expansive chief executive offices whose square footage more closely matched the size of his ego).
At present, Susan’s official workplace consisted of a ten-foot diameter target platform and two wooden desks. She shared the immigration control desk with a sixth-year Ravenclaw (who typically worked second shift). The other was used by Susan’s supervisor…an elderly wizard who doubled as the overnight watch. It was his shift that was coming to an end with the Hufflepuff’s arrival.
“Good Morning, Mr. Jarvis,” Susan said as she approached the first desk.
“Morning, Miss Susan,” her supervisor replied, as he placed a slip of parchment into the Muggle novel that he was reading. “Good to see you today.”
“Thanks, and sorry for needing to call in like I did yesterday.”
“No matter,” the wizard replied, as he pointed towards a short stack of paperbacks on the opposite desk. “Gave me the chance to finish off that ‘Gunslinger’ series.”
Susan smiled. Her supervisor loved to read serialized Muggle novels about the American Wild West, but could only do so at work, as his snooty witch of a wife forbade him to keep the “filthy” books at their house.
“Oh, that reminds me,” she said, as she pulled a slightly dog-eared paperback out of her bag and slipped her excuse in between the pages. “Here’s my medical excuse.”
The supervisor’s eyes lit up at the sight of the Zane Gray novel. “Susan, you know me too well,” he said, as he took the book in hand. “Just to be sure…this isn’t an attempt to curry favor with your boss, right?”
“Absolutely not,” Susan replied with a straight face. “Just think of it as a very thick envelope for my parchment.”
The wizard smiled at the unspoken quid pro quo. That smile turned into a frown when a bell clanged, indicating that his shift had officially ended. He looked at the wall clock, then down at the book, and finally back up to Susan.
“Are you sure that you’re feeling well enough to work today?” he asked. “I really wouldn’t mind covering for you, if you needed to rest….”
The young witch quickly replied, “I’m feeling fine right now Sir, but I won’t hesitate to call you back if I suffer some sort of relapse.”
‘I’ll hold you to that, Miss Bones,” the wizard said, as he reluctantly slipped the new book into his desk drawer and collected his cloak.
As her boss left the room, Susan sat down at the desk with her own bit of private (and anticipatory) Muggle reading laid out on the desk…the August issue of “Modern Bride.” She flipped through pages with one hand, while her wand was clasped firmly with the other…just as one eye was trained on the clock while the other scanned the pages.
Susan had just started in on “100 Romantic Honeymoon Hideaways” when a cascade of bright lights signaled multiple portkey arrivals.
The sight of the five persons appearing suddenly on the platform startled Susan…not having attended the Quidditch World Cup, she had never been exposed to the faces and clothing styles of the wizards and witches now standing before her.
A short bald man dressed in a forest green kimono stepped forward and ran head-first into an invisible barrier before Susan could warn him about the magical restraining field. Three of the other four immediately raised their wands towards Susan, while the other raised his right hand in an open-fingered claw, as if he was about to deliver a slashing strike.
“We are here on official ICW business,” the kimono-wearing wizard said loudly as he held out an embossed scroll. “You are obligated to release us immediately.”
Susan gave the group a furtive nod, then held her opened hand out in a “wait” signal and looked nervously over her shoulder. When there was no immediate response to the alarm, she turned back and asked, “So why were the salmon running?”
The group relaxed visibly as the Emperor’s wizard raised an eyebrow.
“To avoid the water hazard on the fourth hole.”
Having received the correct answer to Hermione’s unique challenge question, Susan nodded. “Give me a few seconds.” She then made her way over to her supervisor’s desk, where a set of magically-charged crystals were glowing. She wasn’t supposed to know the authorization sequence, but her boss had been just a little too trusting of his favorite supplier of illicit Muggle fiction.
The correct pattern of wand tip touches caused the barrier to come down. The five new arrivals immediately stepped off of the platform. A tall blonde witch and white-haired wizard spread out into a defensive position that covered both Susan and the doorway that led out into the Ministry. A slight South Asian wizard, and the large heavily tattooed Maori sorcerer who had held a claw fist stood shoulder-to-shoulder with the bald Asian wizard.
“I’m Susan Bones, one of the Queen’s Wizard’s crew, and I just broke enough rules to land me in Azkaban for a few years,” the witch said nervously. “They’ll be Aurors here soon responding to a silent alarm, so welcome to Britain, and I’m out of here.”
The Emperor’s Wizard bowed. “I understand. Thank you for your assistance, Miss Bones.”
Susan ran over to her desk, where she shouldered her bag and ripped the last page out of her magazine. Wand in hand, she activated this hidden portkey just as Percy Weasley and a group of Aurors rushed into the room.
“What is the meaning of this?” Percy bellowed. “You are supposed to be on the other side of the barrier! What have you done with Susan Bones!”
“Is that how the Ministry of Magic treats every official delegation from the ICW?” asked the Emperor’s Wizard. He stepped forward and held the Supreme Mugwump’s writ in front of a suddenly paled-face wizard.
“I am Matsuhisa Yukihiro, charged by the Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards to investigate an alleged serious breach in secrecy,” the wizard stated. “Where can we find the official named Percy Weasley?”
The red-headed wizard was too shocked to stammer out a response, leaving it to the Aurors to give Percy up with pointed fingers.
“Not yet…not supposed to….” he stammered. But then the bureaucratic git within him took hold and demanded that the Special Assistant grow a pair. Percy stiffened both his back and his resolve, and declared, “According to ICW protocols, the Ministry has 48 hours at the start of any inquiry period to review the warrant and assemble relevant documentation.”
The Emperor’s Wizard turned to his South Asian colleague. “Jay?”
The tan-skinned wizard nodded. “What he says is true, but only so long as the Ministry officially accepts notice of the inquiry.”
The Japanese wizard turned back to Percy. “You don’t look like someone important enough to have that kind of authority…fetch us someone who does.”
The Special Assistant to the Minister frowned at the insult. “I’ll have you know that I am a member of the Minister’s Cabinet, and most certainly do have that level of authority.”
“Prove it,” snarled the Swedish witch from across the room.
Percy scowled at the King’s Witch as he indignantly held his wand tip to the writ.
“I, Percy Weasley, Special Assistant to the Minister of Magic, do hereby accept possession of this writ of inquiry.”
The parchment glowed in response.
Sanjay “Jay” Tiwari smiled. “The waiting period has now begun,” he intoned. “You must, of course, inform your staff of the magical penalties that will automatically fall upon any Ministry employee that knowingly destroys, hides, or alters any evidence associated with the inquiry?”
Percy took in a deep breath, and let a silent string of curse words worthy of his mum’s soap spells play out inside his head.
“Of course,” he replied. He looked up at the wall clock and said, “You will be welcomed back to the Ministry on Friday, at precisely 8:26am.” Percy then gestured towards the platform. “Until that time, then?”
The Emperor’s Wizard shrugged off the attempt to get rid of them. “We will, of course, stay within the country during the waiting period,” he declared.
Percy gave a curt nod in reply, knowing full well that he couldn’t legally force the delegation to leave.
“Would you like the Ministry to make arrangements for your stay?”
The heavily tattooed Maori sorcerer snorted once more, causing Percy to jump.
“Thank you, Special Assistant to the Minister,” Matsuhisa said with a shallow bow. “We will arrange our own accommodations.”
The red-headed wizard nodded. “Aurors,” he said loudly, “take these people directly to the outbound Floos. Make sure that they each throw enough powder into the fire.”
“Yes, Sir,” said one of the Aurors. The group formed ranks around the foreign witch and wizards and led them out of the Terminal.
Percy followed close behind, veering off towards the Minister of Magic’s office when the party reached the lifts. He then barged brazenly into his boss’s office, ignoring the complaints of Scrimgeour’s administrative assistant that her boss was in the middle of a floo call.
The former Auror was rather angry when he pulled his head out of the fireplace.
“This had better be important, Wetherbee.”
“I’m afraid that it is, Minister,” Percy said with resignation.
Taking the writ that Percy held out, the Minister of Magic quickly scanned its contents.
“How were they able to serve you these papers?” Rufus asked pointedly.
“I don’t know, Sir,” Percy replied. “The barrier was down when we arrived, and none of our people were in the room.”
“Damn…one of Potter’s spies, no doubt,” Scrimgeour swore. “And you actually accepted it?”
“Didn’t see that I had a choice,” Weasley replied defensively. “It was the only way to buy us some time.”
Rufus growled, but reluctantly agreed with the assessment.
“And there’s nasty magic ahead if we try to bury the evidence against us?”
Percy nodded. “What are we going to do, Sir?”
Scrimgeour scowled. “Gather the evidence, for now…meanwhile, Project Arcanum’s implementation date just got pushed forward.”
“But Sir…we’ve been having problems finding a vetted wizard that’s both powerful enough and willing to do the charm.”
Rufus snorted. “Then look harder, and sod the vetting.”
Percy nodded nervously. “Knockturn Alley, then?”
Scrimgeour rolled his eyes. “No, you fool…do you actually think you’d be able to find a powerful enough witch or wizard there that wasn’t already a Death Eater?”
“Yes, sir,” the Special Assistant replied. Taking the lack of any follow-up statements as a dismissal, Percy left the Minister’s office with a worried expression on his face.
8:50am, Cabinet Office Briefing Room A, 10 Downing Street, London
Senior Advisor/Special Ambassador/Secret Agent/Order of Arthur Member Hermione Granger struggled to stay awake as the Muggle Defense Minister finished his presentation on the previous night’s SAS missions. She found the most effective stimulant to be her reconsideration on whether the defense of her colleague’s competencies had been premature.
The meeting had started with her report on her trip to Japan, the meeting with the Supreme Mugwump, and the inquiry that was to take place when the Emperor’s Wizard and his colleagues portkeyed from Oslo to London. Then, she commented on the MI-5 forensic review of the four Death Eaters who had been killed in the SAS attacks on the two safe-houses, and was asked to explain why portkey destinations couldn’t be unraveled without actually using them, and why using a dead Death Eater’s escape portkey wasn’t a very smart idea. And that discussion led into the Defense Minister’s droning, half-hour long recap on the SAS’s Counter Revolutionary Warfare mission itself.
“To sum up,” the Defense Minister stated, “The CRW teams successfully engaged the enemy, killing four of the terrorists without taking any casualties on our side. That more of the terrorists weren’t apprehended is regrettable, but no fault of the troops who acted on inadequate intelligence.”
Hermione’s ears perked up at the accusation. “Excuse me, Minister,” she stated, “but are you suggesting that Agent Potter gave you bad intel?”
“Not as such,” the politician replied. “It wasn’t that he provided bad information so much as he failed to provide enough good information.”
“How so?” asked the MI-5 Director.
“Agent Potter stressed the need to incapacitate the targets before they could magically escape,” the Minister replied. “But he failed to inform us that the incapacitating agents used during covert entries would be ineffective against magical people.”
Hermione sighed. “And why was he expected to anticipate you needing to know that fact? You never told him that you were going to try and anesthetize the targets…I mean, it’s not like he’s a mind reader.”
“Really?” asked the Home Secretary.
“Okay,” Hermione admitted, “maybe he is, but he didn’t.”
“The SAS doesn’t care to share its tactics with just anyone, Miss Granger, and we had no reason to expect that the physiology of magical humans was any different than ours.”
“Doesn’t seem possible that it would be,” muttered the Home Secretary.
Rolling her eyes, Hermione reached into a pocket, retrieved a stoppered vial of pepper-up potion, and swallowed its contents. The standard side-effects took hold after a few seconds, sending long plumes of hot steam out of her ears.
“Don’t try that at home,” the young witch said dryly.
“We could have used that information in advance,” the Defense Minister stated.
“And you would have had it, had you enough sense to trust us,” Hermione retorted sharply.
“When have we not asked for your views or not trusted your advice?” asked the Foreign Secretary.
“When you played Harry and myself last night,” Hermione replied. “When Harry was told that ‘yours is not to wonder why’.”
“But that was the military mission…you had no part of that…” objected the Defense Minister.
“But Harry did,” Hermione replied. “And if you didn’t already realize it, we came into governmental service packaged together.”
“And you don’t see any need for maintaining an effective chain of command, Dame Hermione?” asked the MI-6 Chief.
“Oh I do see such a need,” the young witch replied. “But only when those making ‘need to know’ decisions are in the know in the first place. And only when you trust us just as much as we’re expected to trust you!”
“Now there’s some cheek,” the Home Secretary whined.
“Would you please explain that statement, Agent Granger?” the Met Commissioner asked.
Hermione shook her head. “I’m sorry…perhaps I should just leave and try to get back some of the sleep I lost last night.”
“No, please, Hermione,” the Prime Minister asked. “Have we….have I done something to cause you to lose some trust in us?”
Biting her lip, Hermione thought about her response. She really didn’t want to cause more of a scene that she had already, but then again, she was a Gryff for a reason.
“Excluding our magical forces from the planning and execution of last night's attack, Sir,” she finally replied. She raised her hands, anticipating the justifications from those that had made that decision, and added, “I appreciate the reasons behind the decision, but springing the news on Harry at the last minute, then expecting him to blindly obey orders…well, that’s a problem.”
“Harry’s got some bad history with boneheaded politicians and authority figures who thought nothing of using him like a pawn on a chessboard in the name of the greater good,” Hermione explained. “He’s been treated like a child, and told what to do and when to do it by his so-called ‘betters,’ even as these betters place the burden of saving the world on his shoulders….what happened last night…it just played into the same kind of manipulative control that he’s faced for years.”
“And that’s affected your ability to trust as well, Agent Granger?”
“Yes, Sir,” Hermione replied. “It was the first time…up to now, we’ve had nothing but unwavering support from the Queen and her government…we’ve been treated like the responsible adults that this war has forced us to become...and it’s been brilliant.”
“So if you don’t get to always play the game by your rules, you complain and want to take your ball home with you?” quipped the Home Secretary.
“Oh, pipe down, Chisholm,” said the Prime Minister. “The fact is…Sir Harry, Dame Hermione and all of the other magicals on our side do have their own set of rules that they have to mind…isn’t that right, Hermione?”
“You mean the magical secrecy laws, sir?”
“Exactly,” the Prime Minister replied. “Chisholm, you might not appreciate the balancing act that we’ve forced Agents Granger and Potter to make, but it’s there nonetheless. What I’m interested in is ways to raise the level of familiarity and trust all around.”
“You know,” the Defense Minister said, “it would have helped if our CRW lads had been able to see more of what they were up against, rather than just be told.”
“But the magical detection and surveillance issues would be a problem, wouldn’t they?” asked the MI-5 chief.
Hermione nodded in agreement. “We could set up some demonstrations at Windsor, where the shields are in play, but that’s a rather high profile area…”
“What about Camp One?” asked the Prime Minister.
“The SAS’s main training base,” the Prime Minister explained. “If you were to erect your shields over a remote training area, the troops could experience coming under spell fire without ‘mom’ finding out.”
“That sounds like a great idea, Sir,” Hermione replied, smiling at the feminization of the Ministry of Magic’s acronym. “I’m sure that TPOMS would benefit from that kind of facility as well.”
A vibrating Art Club badge inside Hermione’s jacket pocket caught her attention.
“Excuse me, Sir, but this might be the call we’ve been expecting…”
When the Prime Minister nodded, she opened her jacket and activated her badge.
“Go ahead Dad, erm…I mean Agent Granger.”
“Your guests have arrived at the Leaky Cauldron checkpoint, Hermione.”
“Thanks, I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
The Special Ambassador looked to her boss as she deactivated the badge.
The Prime Minister nodded. “I think that we’re done here,” he declared. “We’ll pick up the issue of Camp One this afternoon. Until then, ladies and gentlemen….”
The meeting thus adjourned, Hermione walked up to ground level, and out onto the street. Two Land Rovers were waiting there, ready to make the short trip down Charing Cross Road.
The MI-5 ¾ agents stationed outside of the Muggle entrance to the Leaky Cauldron informed Hermione that her father had secured a private room for her guests. She walked inside, and (not finding anyone in the bar) called the publican’s name. The bald-headed owner answered back, and came out from the kitchen wiping his hands on his apron.
“How are you today, Tom?” she asked.
“Busy, thank Merlin and thanks to you and your Mr. Potter,” he replied. “Don’t know how I’d been able to stay open were it not for the take away business that your people have been providing …can I get you some breakfast? Tea?”
“No thanks, Tom,” Hermione. “I was looking for my dad, actually.”
“Room One, right around back,” the publican replied.
Hermione thanked the bar man and made her way back to the largest of Tom’s private rooms, where the five foreign magicals were extolling the quality of English tea as readily as they were dissing the quality of English cuisine.
The King’s Wizard rose from the table when he spotted Hermione and moved to shake her hand.
“Well, you’re looking far more chipper than I feel, Ambassador…sure you and I were on the same trip?”
Hermione nodded. “The power of pepper-up, I’m afraid…I’ll be paying for it later tonight.”
The elderly wizard smiled. “Wish these old bones could handle that kind of jolt to the system.”
“So how was the trip?” she asked.
“Uneventful,” Thorson replied. “Matsuhisa-san and I got a few hours sleep at Dyrrheim while we waited for our companions…which I should introduce you to.”
The King’s Wizard introduced Hermione to Anna Glantz, who was the King’s Witch from Sweden, Sanjay Tiwari, a senior bureaucrat from the Indian Ministry of Magic, and Rongo, a Maori Sorcerer.
Hermione’s attention (like her father’s) was inexorably drawn to the quiet New Zealander, who at 6 foot 4 inches height and nineteen stone would have been an imposing presence even without the geometric tattoos that covered his face like a mask. And then there was his attire…an All Blacks rugby jersey over a beaded flax skirt (called a piupiu) and plastic flip-flops.
“Welcome to Britain,” she said, “and thank you for coming to our assistance on such short notice.”
“It is we that should thank you, Ambassador Granger,” replied the Indian wizard. “There are many who have worried for years about the situation in Britain, but always without the means to do anything about it. You may have provided just such an opportunity.”
Hermione blushed a bit. “Well, I was really just the messenger.”
“But a messenger that knew, or knew where to find out about ICW regulations, yes?” asked the Swede. “And the courage to seek out an inquiry despite the risk that some of her own actions may be at odds with certain secrecy statutes?”
“Now, we’ve been very careful about maintaining secrecy,” Hermione replied defensively. “It’s been a rather tall order to keep a lid on things, given how the Death Eaters have attacked the Muggle world.”
“Relax, child,” the witch replied. “We are well aware of just how narrowly we dodged an Unforgivable this past week with those multiple attacks…and we certainly don’t think that it was your Ministry of Magic that had the level-headedness and creativity needed to come up with the idea of nerve gas as a cover story.”
Hermione didn’t much care for the idea of being called a child, but not enough to risk offending her guests. The King’s Wizard helped by stepping into the conversation.
“Well, we ought to have enough time over the next two days to explore that…no need to get into the specifics right now.”
“Your Ministry has invoked the right to collect inquiry-related documents over a two day period,” Tiwari stated. “We can not start an investigation into the specific charges until this time period has ended.”
Hermione looked to Thorson and Matsuhisa for confirmation.
“Sorry, Ambassador, but I’m afraid that he’s right,” said the Emperor’s Wizard. “I forgot about that aspect of the writ when I explained the process earlier this morning….or last night, depending on your time zone.”
“Oh, that’s alright,” Hermione replied. “I know that things have to work at their own pace.” She paused, and then asked, “Have you made any specific plans for the next 48 hours?”
“Not really,” the Japanese wizard admitted. “We might use the time to gather general observations about conditions within the British wizarding world.”
“Perhaps you have suggestions on constructive uses of our time?” the King’s Wizard asked.
“Well…” Hermione replied, “this might be foolish on my part, but we’ve started a kind of summer school for Hogwarts students that were excluded from the Ministry’s internship program because of blood status.”
“Your Summer Institute, yes?” asked the Emperor’s Wizard.
Hermione nodded. “I’ll admit up front that it doesn’t have official Ministry authorization, but all of our instructors are current or former Hogwarts staff…and given the possibilities that Hogwarts might not open in the fall, it would be the only way these students would get to practice defensive spells, because we know that the Death Eaters are going after them and their families…”
“Excuse me, Ambassador,” the Indian wizard said. “You are concerned with possible violations of law regarding underage magic use?”
“Then your concerns may be unwarranted,” the wizard opined.
“But,” noted Hermione, “the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery…”
“Is a bylaw of the British Ministry, not the ICW,” Tiwari noted. “It is how your Ministry has decided to enforce the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy, which is an ICW law.”
“Each magical government is allowed to set its own path to keeping our secrets,” Matsuhisa added. “We are not here to enforce Ministry laws…in fact, the ICW can only intervene if the Ministry’s bylaws and decrees fail to hide our presence from the world at large.”
“So tell me, Ambassador,” said Thorson. “Is the use of magic at your Summer Institute making the existence of magic known to the Muggle world?”
“No,” Hermione said, relieved that the discussion was going in a safe direction. “The Summer Institute is hidden so well that even the Ministry doesn’t know about it.”
“There you go,” the King’s Wizard concluded with a warm smile. “No harm, no foul.”
“Is there a reason why you raised the issue, Miss Granger?” asked the Swedish witch.
“We learn so little about the outside wizarding world at Hogwarts…Professor Thorson has written a book on the history of magic, and one of the DADA instructors we had lined up is still hurt and in St. Mungo’s…”
“I think that my daughter is wondering if any of you would be willing to give a guest lecture or two,” interrupted Roger Granger.
Hermione bit her lip as she nodded. “We would be happy to offer honorariums, and could offer you room and board there…I’m sure that our students and staff would be more than willing to talk about their experiences if you wanted to learn more about conditions here in Britain…”
“That sounds like a marvelous opportunity all around,” suggested the Indian wizard.
The Emperor’s Wizard looked around the table, and after getting affirmative responses (three head nods and a grunt from the Maori who still hadn’t spoke a word since his arrival), accepted Hermione’s proposal.
“Is there a way to reach this Summer Institute without magical travel?” asked the King’s witch. “I’m certain that our magical signatures were scanned when we floo’ed out of the Ministry this morning, and I’d like to be able to travel without being tracked.”
“I’ve got Muggle vehicles waiting outside,” Hermione replied. “Going against the rush, we’d be at Cumberland Lodge inside of forty minutes.”
“We?” asked the King’s Wizard. “I thought that you had plans to be in Scotland with the Queen this afternoon?”
“I do,” Hermione admitted, “but I can get up there quick enough on my own.”
The Japanese Wizard then said, “The Emperor asked that I convey his regards to Her Majesty the Queen, and I would enjoy the opportunity to meet the newest royal wizard.”
The Norwegian King’s Wizard grinned. “Same here, and I’d love to take a look at the rune sets that you’re using on those attenuated wards.”
“I bet you would,” Hermione said with a smile. She looked down at her watch. “What do you think, Dad?” she asked. “Flight times to Edinburgh?”
“Hour and fifteen…hour and a half,” Roger replied. “RAF Northrup is not that far from Windsor…we could see if air transport could be arranged during the ride out.”
“Excellent,” replied the Japanese wizard. He stood back from the table and added, “Are we done here?”
Mr. Granger looked at the half-eaten plates of food and asked, “We could box up your breakfast, if you wanted.”
The Emperor’s Wizard looked down at the table, then at the others, and shook his head.
“This food is certainly filling, but….”
“But he wishes we that the three of us did some more fishing on the return trip,” the Norwegian said with a smile.
Hermione snorted. “We do have fresh fish here too, you know.”
The Emperor’s Wizard smiled and bowed towards Hermione. “I would be grateful to experience that fact, Ambassador.”
9:20am, Haven’s Head, Milford Haven, Wales
The portkey magically attached to the three of clubs deposited Voldemort into a rusted-out shipping container perched on top of a pile of construction debris. He squatted down, with wand outstretched, listening for any sounds of activity outside of the steel box. Hearing none, he carefully pushed the container door open and stepped out into the sunshine of a fine summer’s morning.
Fine, that is, unless you were a Dark Lord on the lamb.
This was the second time that morning he had tried to go to ground. His first choice had been a remote cave on the northern coast of Scotland…which would have been a fine place to hide, had it not been for the presence of a squatter who apparently hadn’t gotten the memo that said that man-eating quintapeds only lived on the unplottable Isle of Drear. It was the thought of a much more mugglish, more hospitable hideaway that caused the Dark Lord to hastily retreat to his present locale…a rogue waste dump located on a bluff known as “Haven’s Head,” above the Welsh coastal town of Milford Haven.
From his vantage point, Voldemort could look down onto the coastal community known as the best deepwater port in Britain. But the Dark Lord wasn’t there for the views of the docks…he had arrived to make use of a facility that had been created because of those docks.
In the 1930’s, the Muggle military had exploited the port’s ability to host large oil tankers and built a system of underground storage tanks within the bluffs that overlooked the bay. The tankers could off-load refined heating oil and aviation fuel directly into these tanks through pipelines that connected bluff to bay. While the advantages of underground fuel storage were obvious during German bombing raids during the Second World War, the RAF continued to use these tanks after the war ended to fuel a Cold War-era bomber base. But when this base closed down in the 1970’s the tank farm and pipeline were abandoned, and became one of the more larger examples of the coastal structures built to defend Fortress Britain.
It was a ten-yard walk from the container to a concrete blockhouse, and a tunnel that hosted four 12 inch diameter pipelines. The locked steel gate that protected this tunnel entrance had been replaced with repelling and tripwire wards keyed to anyone who wasn’t a Death Eater. Beyond this opening, a rectangular, concrete-walled tunnel sloped steeply upwards for fifty yards before leveling off…while stairs had been cut into the floor, a magic carpet (stolen from a Light family manor) provided alternative transport for those who knew how to use it.
A wand touch to a particular rock wall activated a set of charmed, flame-free lights (the first Death Eaters to have explored this tunnel had learned the hard way that blue bell flames weren’t good ideas when there was a smell of aviation fuel in the air). Voldemort climbed aboard the carpet (stashed behind a low cinder block wall) and compelled the carpet to climb up the tunnel.
The smell of petroleum grew stronger as the tunnel leveled off to a horizontal drift some hundred yards long. Five different alcoves led to individual storage tanks. The Dark Lord turned off at the second alcove and leaned down close to the carpet so that he could pass through the opened inspection hatch and into the tank proper.
The air began to freshen within the 100-foot diameter, 27-foot high tank just as soon as Voldemort closed the hatch behind him…when the site had been converted for Death Eater use ventilation holes had been blasted into the tank roof. These holes also let in rain and groundwater, and caused the tank to fill a foot deep with water. But the Death Eaters had anticipated this, and built an island of rock and debris in the center of the tank, creating a twenty-foot diameter patch of ground dry enough to pitch a tent.
Voldemort floated over to the island and stepped off the carpet. The magical tent that was strapped to his back pitched itself, once he set the corners down, and he walked inside, eager to wash off the filth and sweat he’d collected along the way. Once he emerged from the shower he toweled off, threw on a lightweight robe, and checked the kitchen pantry. Voldemort pulled out a meat pie, warmed it up on a charmed hot plate, and sat down to a late breakfast.
He figured that there was about three weeks worth of provisions stocked in the tent…five weeks, or so, if he rationed.
As the Dark Lord sat there, alone at the table eating his pie, he wondered if that would be enough time for him to figure out just what in Merlin’s name the Muggles were capable of.
Chapter 38: Garden Party
Wednesday, July 11, 9:30am
Official Gobstones Club, Level Seven, Ministry of Magic
Neville Longbottom was “working” at his desk and worrying about his girlfriend when a certain blonde-haired mailroom clerk arrived to hand deliver an All-Ministry memo.
“Hey, Luna, what do you have there?” he asked.
“A memo announcing that an intern up on Level One is a wanted criminal,” the witch replied. “Thought I better deliver your copy by hand.”
“What? Why?”
Luna smiled serenely. “So you would stop worrying, of course. By the way, I just heard that your Crumple-Horned Hufflepuff was just spotted at Hogwarts.”
“My Crumple-Horned Hufflepuff?” he asked. Neville’s eyes went wide when he realized what Luna’s coded message meant. “Oh…thank Merlin…and thanks for letting me know.”
“No problem, Neville.”
The Longbottom scion opened his desk drawer and retrieved a Skiving Snackbox. Upon opening the container he carefully selected an individual confection.
“Excuse me, Luna, but I have a sudden need to vomit on my boss’s desk.”
The Ravenclaw smiled and nodded her head. “Will I see anything colorful if I tag along?”
Neville frowned. “Not particularly….just some partially-digested porridge.”
“Darn,” Luna replied. “Oh well, say hi to your girlfriend for me then.”
Neville smiled. “Aren’t you skiving off as well?”
Luna shook her head as she absently-mindedly opened the Velcro’ed flap on the front of her robes and scratched her bared midriff. “The Art Club needs Ron as a anchor within the Ministry, and I need Ron as an ant inspector within my pants.”
The young Gryffindor blushed, wondering just how well his candy’s magically-induced nausea would work in conjunction with Luna-induced racy thoughts.
oo00OO00oo
Portkey Control Office, Department of Transportation, Ministry of Magic
Percy Weasley stepped off the lift with a scowl on his face. Lacking a worldwide directory of Charms Masters, he had needed to barter away a “favor to be named later” to a DoM researcher in exchange for the name of a Dutch mage with the skills necessary to implement Project Arcanum.
A magical door chime sounded as he entered the office and brushed by the receptionist.
“I need a portkey to Amsterdam, straight away,” he called out to the first wizard he saw.
The older balding man squinted at Percy and sighed.
“You have the proper parchment forms completed, Director Weasley?”
“Of course I do,” Percy huffed, as he threw a scroll onto the wizard’s desk.
The portkey maker looked the authorization form over, noting that Percy had not only signed it, but gotten the Minister of Magic’s countersignature as well.
“Amsterdam, you said?” he asked.
“Yes, yes…it’s clearly laid out for you right there on the parchment.”
The wizard snorted. “You do know that the Dutch have banned all direct in-bound portkeys originating from Britain, right?”
“No, when did they do that?”
“Two days after we banned in-bound portkeys from the Netherlands,” snarked the wizard.
“So how am I supposed to get there?” asked Percy. “This is critical Ministry business!”
“I’m sure it is,” replied the portkey maker dryly. “As I see it, you’ve got two options….use Muggle transportation, or make a connecting trip to one of the portkey terminals that still accept in-bounds from Britain.”
“Well, that’s an easy choice…I’ll just make the connecting portkey trip,” replied Percy. “It would take forever to get to Holland by Muggle automobile.”
The portkey maker was almost certain that Percy thought it impossible for cars to traverse the Channel without a ferry, but rather than give him grief over it, decided to cover his posterior.
“I wouldn’t be too sure that Muggle methods would be slower,” the wizard offered.
“How could they not be?” Percy demanded. “What are my terminal options?”
“Oslo or Albania.”
“That’s it?”
“No, but those are the only two places where it’d theoretically be possible to get same day connecting portkeys fashioned.”
“Can’t you just make me the two portkeys?”
“Of course I can’t,” the wizard replied with a huff. “We’re only licensed to make international portkeys that originate within Britain.”
“Fine,” Percy replied. “Just give me a portkey to Dyrrheim Station, then.”
“Are you certain, Assistant Director?”
“Yes, I don’t have any more time to waste.”
“As you wish, Sir,” the wizard replied. “But I really think you should consider Muggle….”
“Can you make me a portkey to Oslo or not?”
“Harrumph!” the portkey crafter huffed indignantly. He reached into his desk drawer for a length of rope, concentrated for a few moments, then cast a spell that created a brief bluish glow around the object.
“Here you go,” the smug wizard said as he handed Percy the portkey. “Have a nice trip.”
The Director of Knowns snatched the bit of rope from the man’s hand and turned on his heel, whining about how much time it had taken to get a simple portkey made.
“What a git,” muttered the portkey maker to himself. “He deservers whatever awaits him in Oslo.”
oo00OO00oo
Longbottom Manor, Oxfordshire
Neville's fingers were working his mobile's keypad just as soon as he tumbled out of the floo connection.
“Come on…come on, Susan…pick up…”
“Neville?”
“Susan? Thank goodness you’re safe….you are safe, right?”
“I’m fine Nev…everything went more or less to plan.”
“So where are you now?”
“McGonagall made me a portkey to Edinburgh,” the witch-in-waiting replied. “Where are you?”
“Back home…just long enough to find a ride up there.”
A different voice called out Neville’s name. Having heard the chime that announced an authorized inbound floo arrival, his grandmother had joined him in the entryway.
“Neville?” she asked, “Why are you home?”
“Just a minute, Grandmum,” he replied, placing the telephone against his ear. “Susan, I have to go…talk to you in a bit, okay?”
“Can’t understand why a floo connection isn’t good enough for your wooing efforts, young man,” Augusta stated, adding, “So what are you doing here in the middle of the day?”
“Sorry, Grandmum, just one more call…promise,” Neville replied, as he pressed a different speed dial number.
“Harry?…this is Neville.”
“Hey, Neville, how are you doing?”
“Much better after talking with Susan.”
“So you’re out of the Ministry?”
“Yeah…just got to the Manor.”
“What flavor this time?”
“Puking Pastille,” Neville replied. “So, Harry, as long as I’m available…”
“There’s a helicopter ready and waiting for you next door.”
“Thanks, Harry,” said Neville. “Be there as soon as I can.”
“I’m sure you will,” Harry said with a chuckle.
As he pocketed his mobile, Neville noticed that his grandmother wasn’t very happy with what she had heard.
“What are you scheming, Neville?” she demanded.
“Can’t tell you,…you know that, Grandmum,” he replied. “Enough to say that Harry Potter needs my help.”
Mrs. Longbottom shook her head and sighed. Having reached the age of majority there was little she could do to tie down her grandson, and she was not-so-secretly thrilled that he was following in his parent’s footsteps as a fighter for the Light. But that didn’t mean that she wasn’t worried about losing him like she had her Frank.
“When do you think you’ll be back?” she asked.
“Should be tonight,” Neville replied. “I’ll owl if it’s any different.”
“You take care of yourself,” his grandmother replied, as she pulled him into a hug.
“I will,” he replied. Having grown tall enough to look over his grandmother’s shoulders when embracing her, he snuck a peek at his wristwatch while he hugged.
“I have to change,” he said. “My ride is waiting for me.”
“Flying aboard one of those Muggle contraptions again, I suppose?”
Neville smiled. “Wouldn’t do to have my floo travel traced if I’m supposed to be home in bed, right?”
He ran upstairs to his bedroom, thankful that he was a wizard…without magic, there was no way he could have changed into his TPOMS fatigues so quickly.
Dressed to kill, from his maroon beret down to his polished black leather boots, Neville grabbed his charm-protected never-full rucksack. After making certain that his unconventional (for a wizard) weaponry was all there, he pulled out a single-seated broomstick, closed the bag up, and raced downstairs and out the front door of the manor (making sure that he gave his grandmother a kiss on the way out.). Within seconds, Neville was racing west towards the manor’s wards.
oo00OO00oo
That Longbottom Manor shared a property line with an Royal Air Force base was more than simple coincidence.
As the Royal Historian had explained to Harry and Hermione earlier that week, the Duchy of Cornwall was formed in the Fourteenth Century by separating out all of the English lands that were magical in nature. While the removal of these properties from Muggle eyes and tax rolls helped preserve the wizarding world’s secrets, this royal protection came at a price. When a wizarding family accepted the Duchy’s protection, they retained control over most of their property…but a negotiated portion of their lands were handed over in more than name only, for use as the Duke of Cornwall saw fit.
For centuries, the Duchy saw fit to work the lands ceded by the Longbottom family with agricultural leases to Muggle farmers. But when the Royal Air Force began to build airbases in the 1930’s in advance of World War II, the Duchy donated land to the cause, and RAF Benson was constructed next door to Longbottom Manor.
This proximity was put to good use sixty years later when the Clan Air Force became more than a one-time gathering in the defense of Little Wizarding. Neville’s estate gave the Phoenix Teams a place to train where flying broomstick formations wouldn’t be noticed (by either Muggles or the MoM). RAF Benson, in turn, provided a home base for those Phoenix Team Muggles who weren’t Art Clubbers. The short distance between the airfield’s housing complex and the Manor was an easy commute for the Muggle commandos, who typically jogged from one place to the other wearing goggles that cancelled out the repelling wards.
Of course, the TPOMS squadron had faster ways to traverse that distance when necessary. It took Neville about a minute to weave through the trees that stood on the western part of the Manor and to reach the wardline. He pulled up at the end of the forested area, dismounted, and walked straight through the barbed-wire fence (or more precisely, through the illusion that had been set up similar to the barrier at King’s Cross). Neville’s Phoenix Team partner was waiting for him on the other side.
“Morning, Lieutenant,” the Muggle said with a grin, as his partner climbed into the passenger seat of the jeep.
“Morning, Andy,” Neville replied. “Surprised to see you ready to go so soon.”
“It’s the Major’s doing,” the Muggle replied, as he turned the vehicle around and sped back towards the tarmac. “Once your little witch turned up in Edinbugh, he reckoned that you’d be wanting to head that way soon enough, and passed word along.”
“He knows me too well,” said Neville.
“No, he just cares about his troops,” Andy said, as he pulled up short of a helicopter that was fueled up and ready to go. “Wish there were more of his kind in the officer corps.”
Neville nodded as he pulled his flight helmet out of his bag, opened the vehicle door, and followed his partner in a crouched dash against a rotor-generated wash of air.
oo00OO00oo
Dyrrheim Station, Oslo, Norway
Assistant Minister Weasley was rather excited about his trip to the Norseland, despite the hassles involved with getting the international portkey. He had visited Oslo once before, for an international conference on uniform cauldron thickness standards, but that was as Barty Crouch’s assistant. This time he was traveling alone, as the Minister’s personal representative, on a mission vital to the Ministry’s very existence. That he had been given this responsibility became more of an honor each time that Percy thought about it.
Percy’s pride and determination were immediately put to the test when he stepped out of the portkey’s array of colors and onto solid ground. Rather than arrive at the main international portkey platform that Hermione had used the previous night, the former Head Boy was shunted to a secured area that looked more like a jail cell than an arrival area.
The frown on Percy’s face had only halfway formed when a full-body bind froze it in place. Unable to voice his indignation with unmoving lips, it was only through his darkened eyes that his anger could be displayed as two huge hobgoblins walked through the shimmering wards that spanned across the cell entrance. Each held the sharp tips of their halberds underneath his chin. Following behind the hobgoblins was a stern looking heavy-set witch, dressed in the uniform robes of an immigration and control officer.
“Passport, please?” she asked using the Queen’s English.
Percy, of course, was in no condition to satisfy the request.
The witch’s eyes twinkled and her lips pursed into a tight-lipped grin.
“It seems like our visitor needs some assistance …do find his travel papers for me, won’t you, boys?”
The hobgoblins howled and nodded vigorously as they rough handled Percy and stripped him down to his tighty whities.
Percy’s Ministry of Magic-issued diplomatic passport was discovered within the never-full money belt that he had been wearing underneath his robes, along with a little more than twenty thousand galleons of Ministry funds (to be used to secure the services of the targeted Dutch mage). The passport, money belt and Percy’s wand were handed to the witch, who furrowed her eyebrows as she inspected the passport.
“I’ll be back shortly,” she said, more for the hobgoblin’s benefit than Percy’s.
Once the witch left the room Percy considered his limited options. Apparition was a wandless, silent spell that he could cast despite the full-body bind, and he was within range of the Scottish coastline. But he would lose not only his wand, but the twenty thousand galleons as well, and that wasn’t a viable option (even if there weren’t anti-apparition wards in place, which there were). So the Assistant Director decided it best to wait for this mess to be sorted out properly.
Ten minutes after she left the holding cell, the Norse official returned to the cell with her wand in one hand and a fist-sized rock in the other.
“I’m about to partially remove the full-body bind, so that you can answer a few questions,” she said. Tossing the rock up in her hand, she added, “Choose your responses wisely, or I’ll let the hobgoblins stuff this return-trip portkey into the body cavity of their choice.“
Percy’s eyes dilated at the thought, and tried (but failed) to nod in understanding, as the immigration official’s spell only allowed his jaw, tongue and lips to move. The first words out of his lips, however, didn’t help his situation much.
“I am Percy Weasley, a Senior Cabinet Member of the British Minister of Magic who is traveling under a diplomatic passport. Your treatment of me is abominable, completely unacceptable, and worthy of a strongest possible protest filed with the ICW.”
The witch’s eyes narrowed. “Your claim of identity will only bear out once there’s time for any Polyjuice potion you may have taken to wear off. As for your reception…if you are, in fact, Percy Weasley, and currently in charge of the British Department of Transportation, you’ll surely realize that it is no different than how all Norseland witches and wizards have been received into your country for the past two years.”
“I assure you that I am Senior Undersecretary Percy Weasley, and that we treat foreign diplomats far better than you are presently treating me.”
The official snorted. “We’ve got pensieved memories that show otherwise, so by all means, file that protest with the Supreme Mugwump…I’ll bet that the new one won’t be nearly as sympathetic to your cause as the old one was.”
Percy scowled, but knew that his situation was dire enough to justify an alternative approach.
“Madame, I am on a mission that is vital to Britain’s ability to preserve the wizarding world’s secrets. Surely you don’t want to hinder my government’s ability to comply with ICW statutes?”
“You’re having problems keeping our world’s secrets?” asked the witch. “Even more reason why your threats to protest to the ICW are toothless. What exactly is your mission?”
“I am not at liberty to say,” Percy replied, looking nervously towards the hobgoblins.
The witch followed Percy’s eyes and smiled.
“Boys, give us a few minutes, will you?”
The hobgoblins cackled as they nodded their heads vigorously.
Percy winced as the head shaking caused the halberds to jiggle just enough to draw blood underneath his chin.
Once the witch and Percy were alone in the cell, she asked, “What is your purpose to travel?”
“I just told you that I am not at liberty to say, nor am I obligated to do so.”
The witch sighed. “What are your plans within the Norseland?”
“I plan on staying only long enough to secure an international portkey to Amsterdam.”
“Why not travel direct?” the witch asked with a smirk.
“I’m sure you know why,” Percy responded.
The immigration official gave Percy a calculating look.
“I have a strong sense that it will take a week or three for your application for an international portkey to be processed. During that time you’ll remain here in this holding cell as a potential terrorist threat.”
“A week or three?” Percy asked. “That’s outrag….I mean, I really don’t have that much time.”
“Yes, that’s what you said.”
Percy tried to slump his shoulders, and had to settle for a sigh. He knew what was going to be necessary.
“Isn’t there some way,” he asked, “for the process to be…expedited?”
The witch smiled at Percy.
“I may be in a position to help you,” she replied. “Of course, there would be certain fees charged to expedite your transit.”
“What kind of fees?” Percy asked.
The witch smiled as she fingered Percy’s money belt. “Nothing that you can’t afford, given the undeclared funds that you tried to smuggle into our country.”
“Undeclared?” asked Percy, “You didn’t give me any opportunity to declare how much money I was bringing into the country.”
“That’s your story,” the witch replied with a nod. “You would be within your rights to submit a complaint to my supervisor, and to get a hearing before our Wizengamot on the matter…their next scheduled meeting is in September.”
Percy scowled, knowing that his negotiating position was weak.
“So…what will it take to get a portkey to Amsterdam today?”
“Hmmm…..a ten-percent penalty on undeclared funds is about right.”
“That’s more than two thousand galleons?”
“Yes, I think that’s correct,” the witch replied with a grin. “Don’t worry…with that charmed money belt you won’t even feel the loss in weight.”
“Fine,” said Percy, seeing no choice but to give into the bribe.
“Excellent,” the official said.
Percy almost cried as the witch cast a transfer spell that sent more than two thousand gold coins flying up out of his money belt and into a charmed never-full pocket on her robes. Once the arc of gold ended, the witch gave the wizard a smile as she buttoned the pocket shut and pointed her wand towards his briefs.
“Portus,” she intoned, causing Percy’s underwear to glow bright blue.
“What did you do?” he asked.
“Gave you what you wanted,” the corrupt official replied. “Your shorts are now a time-activated one-way portkey to Amsterdam.”
“My shorts?”
“Yes,” said the witch, as she fully released the body-bind on Percy and tossed his passport, money belt and wand down towards his feet. “You’ve got five minutes to get to the International Portkey Departure Area, or else your undies will leave without you.”
“Five minutes?” Percy cried out. “How long will it take to get there?”
The witch laughed as she took down the ward guarding the cell entrance. “A minute and a half if you run, but that’s just to the immigration desk. Once there, you’ll have to present your passport and portkey to the officials at the gate..”
“Present them my underwear?” cried Percy.
The witch nodded. “Hope for your sake that there isn’t too much of a queue…and hope for their sake that your shorts are relatively clean.”
Realizing that he’d already lost twenty seconds time and guessing that the witch was just evil enough to have done what she claimed, a nearly naked British Undersecretary quickly gathered his possessions into his arms and ran barefoot out of the cell and across the busy station.
oo00OO00oo
37 Royal Park Terrace, Edinburgh
A smartly-dressed thirty-something mother scolded her three young children to stop short of the street curb as an armored Land Rover passed by. The soldier riding shotgun in the front seat looked out his window at waved at the family.
“Let’s all be friendly to the brave army man, children,” the mother said quietly, as she smiled at the soldier.
The two boys and one girl nodded heads and returned the hand wave as the army jeep passed by.
“Now hold hands while we cross the street, children,” the mother said.
“Yes, mum,” the three replied in unison.
As they made their way across the crosswalk, one of the boys watched the Land Rover turn the corner and exclaimed, “Merlin, that was close!”
“Charles!” the mother hissed. “Muggles don’t start sentences with the name Merlin! Now let’s go…we’ve got but a few minutes remaining.”
“Yes, mum,” the boy replied.
The four covered the last two hundred meters of their walk as fast as the children’s little legs could take them, and walked up the front steps of a lavish red-bricked row house that backed-up to Holyrood Park. The mother fished her housekeys out of her purse, opened the door, and urged the children to quickly enter the building.
After closing the door behind her, the young woman cuffed the ears of little Charles and hurled out a string of curse words that would have made a Royal Marine blush.
“Oh, lay off, you ugly cow!” the boy sneered.
“Idiots…the lot of them,” the woman fumed, as the three made their way to the telly. She walked through the foyer to the kitchen area that sat at the back of the house. A man dressed in black robes was there, looking out a kitchen window with a pair of high-powered omnioculars.
“Have a nice walk, Dear?” he asked.
“No, Dear” replied the young mother, “those three almost got us….”
Rodolphus Lestrange turned away from the window and watched as a reverse transformation kicked in and the Muggle woman morphed mid-sentence.
“You were saying, Rookwood?”
The former Unspeakable shuttered, glad to be back within a male body. “It went fine until your idiots almost got run over by an army vehicle.”
“But you were nice enough to return them to me safe and sound, yes? I do hope it was worth using up the last of our polyjuice potion.”
Rockwood nodded. “It was. The entire route was crawling with Muggle police and army.”
“And did you show them where they need to apparate?”
“Yes, as well as the guard post they’ll need to take out.” Rookwood paused, then added, “Those three can apparate, right?”
Lestrange snorted. “You let me be the one to worry about my men…your job is done here.”
The former Unspeakable shook his head. “Not until you brief your group…who knows what kind of stupid questions they might ask about the Muggles?”
Bellatrix’s husband scowled. He didn’t like having Rookwood around messing with the operation that was on his head, and couldn’t wait to get rid of him.
“Fine, then, let’s get it over with,” he said. He called out for everyone to gather in the sitting room. Lestrange then opened the basement door and called down to the guard who was minding the shackled homeowner and the real mother and children that had just been doppelgangered.
“Wilson, get your arse up here,” he called out. “You can play with that bint later.”
The Death Eater guard reluctantly walked up the stairs and joined the seventeen other Death Eaters who had been cramped into this row house for the past day and a half.
“Right then,” said Lestrange, as he rolled out a parchment that contained a hand-drawn map. “Time to fill you in on our plans for the day.”
“Our objective is quite simple…kill the Muggle queen and as many of her party guests as we can.”
Rookwood thought that there should have been a surprised gasp from the audience at this announcement, then decided that the group was too ignorant as a whole to know that that meant.
Lestrange held up the morning newspaper that had been delivered to their door and pointed to a front page picture of the taken during the Order of the Thistle ceremony.
“This is the Queen,” he stated, pointing to her picture. “This afternoon, she’s going to have a little party, and has invited thousands of Muggles to join her for tea and scones just down the street.”
The Death Eater pointed towards the map and identified the Palace, its grounds, and the surrounding area.
“We’ll be splitting into three groups, all dressed up like Ministry Aurors,” he stated. “I’ll take six of you and portkey straight into the tented area. We’ll find the Queen, kill her, then start creating chaos…we’ll get the Muggle crowd good and panicked, and they’ll go screaming for the exits….and that’s where the rest of you fit in.”
Rodolphus turned towards Terrance Hicks, an up-and-coming Death Eater.
“Hicks!”
“Yes, sir?”
“You’ll be in charge of five others in the second group,” he stated. Pointing towards the line of trees that bordered the eastern edge of the party area, he added, “You’ll wait until I send up a stream of red sparks into the sky, then direct-line apparate to these trees and massacre the Muggles as they try to escape towards the open lawn.”
“Where will we be to see your signal?”
“In the kitchen, fool,” replied Lestrange. “Why do you think I’ve been spending all of this time looking out the back window with my omnioculars? You can see the tree line from here.”
“Right,” Terrance replied. “So what if something happens and you don’t give us the signal?”
Lestrange paused, then said, “In that very unlikely event, wait five minutes, then apparate to the tree line and start hurling hexes…our Master wanted massive numbers of dead…one dead Queen is just the pudding.”
“Hex until when?”
“Until there aren’t any more Muggles to kill, idiot,” Lestrange replied. “That, or green sparks…that’ll be the signal to use the portkeys that we handed out this morning. Oh, and you lot will be wearing our concealment cloaks…try not to soil the insides.”
“No worries there, Sir,” Hicks replied bravely.
“Right,” Rodolphus replied skeptically. He then pointed to the main entrance to the Garden Party along the southern margin.
“The other escape route the Muggles will try to use is the front entrance to the grounds. The last three will ambush this area…they just came back from a little tour, and now know where they need to go and what they need to do…right?”
The three Death Eaters who had been forced to impersonate Muggle toddlers all nodded.
“So…any questions?”
“Yes…what about the Muggle guards and their weapons?”
Rodolphus scowled. “You afraid of a Muggle or something?”
“No, but….”
“Look, the Muggle guards will have their fire sticks, but they won’t fire into a crowd of Muggles and they can’t fire at something they can’t see. Stay hidden and you’ll be fine.”
There were a few muttered comments, but until one of the wizards asked, “So why are we going to wear Auror robes instead of our normal get-up?”
Rodolphus stared at the questioner. “Because I say so isn’t good enough for you?” He raised his wand and had a curse on his lips before remembering he needed to limit magic use before the attack.
“The purpose of wearing Auror Robes is to confuse the enemy.”
“The Ministry Aurors will be there?”
“No, idiot, but the Potter boy probably will be there,” Lestrange replied. “He’ll think twice before ordering the Muggle soldiers to mess with Aurors, and once we start killing them he’ll think that it’s the Ministry that is attacked, instead of us.”
“But won’t we cast the Dark Mark?”
“No, we won’t cast the Dark Mark,” Rodolphus mimicked with a sneer. “Any other stupid questions?”
When met with silence, Lestrange nodded. “First wave will leave just as soon as we hear Big Ben chime two…and we won’t be coming back here, so if you need to play with our Muggle hosts, do it now.”
Rodolphus shook his head as a line quickly formed down the basement stairs. He had nothing against debauchery, and recognized it as a necessary component of his carrot-and-stick leadership style, but wished sometimes that his men would be more interested in evil activity performed on a grander scale. He looked up at Rookwood and asked, “Don’t you have somewhere else to be?”
Rookwood shook his head dismissively. “Good luck, Lestrange….I think that you’ll need it.”
The former Unspeakable then removed a portkey from his pocket and activated it.
oo00OO00oo
MLE Director’s Office, Ministry of Magic
A little more than two hours after Susan Bones escaped from her Ministry internship, Head Auror Gawain Robards was called into his boss’s office to provide an update on his investigation. The MLE Director chose not to offer Robards a seat during their meeting...after the painful negotiations conducted on behalf of his subordinate, Oswald wasn’t very happy the Head Auror.
“Robards,” he said, “I’ve just spent the past hour and a half trying to get you the Magical Surveillance Office records that you’ve requested.”
“How did it go, Sir?”
“Better than I expected, actually,” the Director replied. “It will be an independent review of spell use over the past few months.”
“Independent of the Auror Department?”
Oswald nodded. “And that was only after I leaned on my nephew Rufus and offered a wizard’s oath that none of my people would be provided direct access to the parchments.”
“So when do we get the results?” Robards asked excitedly. “And what kind of results can we get?”
The Director rolled his eyes as he stood away from his desk.
“Follow me, young man,” he said, leading the Head Auror out of the door.
Oswald walked down the length of cubicles to a hard-walled office that had stood empty since its last occupant had revealed himself as one of Voldemort’s Ministry spies. Pulling out his wand, he touched its tip against the door handle. The restrictive wards recognized the authorized wand signature, and allowed the door to swing open.
“Don’t lean into the doorway,” the MLE Director warned. “That ward line will give a nasty shock to anyone not authorized entry.
The Head Auror nodded as he took note of both the magically expanded walls and the mountains of parchment scrolls piled high behind a row of small desks. Sitting behind these desks were a half-dozen Ministry house elves, each reviewing a scroll that provided the “what,” “where,” and “when” of every magical spell detected by the Ministry over the past two months.
“They dumped everything on us, didn’t they…tried to bury us in data?” the Head Auror asked.
“It looks that way,” Oswald replied. “And these six house elves are all I could get assigned to the task of finding portkey makers in amongst the food warming charms and hair grooming spells.”
“Can we narrow the search down to certain weeks, or certain regions of the country?” asked the Head Auror.
Oswald shook his head. “I don’t think so…the scrolls were dumped helter-skelter, and have been charmed to be spell resistant.”
“So we can’t use indexing and data gathering spells?”
Agreeing with a head nod, Oswald said, “A fine example of how to comply with Minister Scrimgeour’s direct orders without making our task any easier.”
Robards snorted. “So have the house elves found anything yet?”
The MLE Director looked expectantly at one of the house elves, who looked up and said, “No Portus spells yet, Mister Head Auror, Sir.”
“How many scrolls have you reviewed so far?” Gawain asked.
“Twenty-nine, Sir.”
“And do we know how many total scrolls there are?”
“Two hundred sixty-three thousand and forty six, Mister Head Auror, Sir.”
Robards swore under his breath.
“You’ll be getting interim reports on the research results,” the MLE Director stated.
“Directly, or after they’ve been filtered through the Minister’s office?”
“Does it matter if you still get the data you need to complete your investigation?” Oswald asked.
The Head Auror thought for a moment, then shook his head. “Not so long as I can get some assurances that none of the relevant data will be edited out for….political purposes.”
The MLE Director nodded in understanding as he shut the. “I’ll make sure that your concerns reach my nephew’s ears, Mr. Robards…now, you do have other things to do while you wait for the results, yes?”
“Yes, Sir,” the Head Auror replied. “Thank you for your help, Sir.”
“You’re welcome, young man,” Oswald replied, pleased that he had once again been able to defuse a politically challenging situation.
The Head Auror considered his next steps as he watched the satisfied wizard walk back towards his office.
Once Oswald turned the corner and disappeared, Robards developed a sudden urge to get an update on the Dementors situation from that week’s Acting Director of Magical Beasts and Beings.
And if, during the course of that conversation with Lisa Turpin, the Head Auror were to share a memory or two, and lament about being that close to full access to MSO archives, well…one was allowed to commiserate with colleagues, right?
oo00OO00oo
11:15am, Palace at Holyroodhouse, Edinburgh
As Neville’s helicopter approached Holyrood he was provided an excellent overview of the defensive positions established in advance of the Garden Party. The party tents were pitched on the grounds immediately south of the Palace, with SO14 Royal Protection Group Units stationed at the main entrance (along side a British Army tank), the separate street entrance to the party, and up on the Palace rooftop. Regular army positions were established all along the perimeter of the Palace grounds, and were also dug into the high ground of Salisbury Craggs and Arthur’s Seat to the South. The local constabulary formed the outermost defensive shell, and were deployed on checkpoints along the city streets that approached the Palace from the West. During the Party, these police would shut down all vehicular and pedestrian traffic within one-quarter mile of the event.
A temporary heliport had been established on the far end of the Parade Grounds (a wide expanse of lush green lawn behind the Palace), and it was here that Neville and his Muggle Phoenix Team partner were dropped off. The Gryffindor was pleased to discover that both Harry and Susan were waiting for their arrival with a Land Rover and driver. After a smart salute to Harry and a hug for Susan, Neville took aim at the bright red kilts that both his girlfriend and Harry were wearing.
“Should I be worrying over the fact that you two are color coordinated, Major?” he teased.
“I’ve got one with your name on it, if you want, Lieutenant,” Harry replied with a smirk.
“Thanks but no thanks, Harry,” said Neville, as they all piled into the vehicle. “So how did you manage to get away from the Palace…would have thought you’d be far too busy right now to take the time.”
“Time to brief the troops,” Harry replied. “This was on the way, and I figured you’d appreciate the company during a ride up to your posting.”
Neville grinned as Susan squeezed his hand and leaned her head on his shoulder.
“We’re already deployed, then?” asked Andy.
Harry nodded. “It’ll take a few minutes to get there, given the terrain.” He then turned towards his friends and added, “A few minutes, at least, for you two to catch up.”
Neville took the hint, and spent the balance of the trip up Whinny Hill chatting with his girlfriend.
oo00OO00oo
When the jeep reached the top of the hill, Harry and Andy piled out, giving Neville and Susan enough privacy for a good-bye kiss before she made the return trip with the driver to the Palace. It took a few minutes to pick their way down the steep north-facing slope to where Lee Jordan’s Muggle partner had set up a sentry.
“Who lives in a pineapple under the sea?” Stout Downey demanded.
Harry smiled and turned to Neville.
“You’ve got honors here, Lieutenant.”
“Do I have to sing it?”
“You bet your arse you do!” replied Stout with a grin.
Nevil sighed, then sang out the correct answer in a childish falsetto.
“Sponge Bob, Squarepants!”
As the Muggle Phoenix Team member saluted and allowed them to pass Neville asked, “What happened to all of the Monty Python challenges? I liked those a lot better than these Yank Muggle cartoon references.”
Harry laughed. “These are a lot safer, Nev….there’s always the chance that a Death Eater would actually know the airspeed velocity of an unladen swallow.”
“I suppose,” Neville groused, as they reached the rest of the squadron.
The magical paratroop squadron had deployed to Whinny Hill, which looked down upon St. Margaret’s Loch and the Parade Grounds immediately behind the Palace. There were better views of the Garden Party tents, and shorter sniping distances from the Army’s positions, but the TPOMS position provided cover for their brooms, and the best spot to deal with any magical party crashers that tried to drop in.
Neville and Andy’s arrival made for five complete Phoenix Teams…an all-Gryffindor line-up of pilots that included Katie, Alicia, Lee Jordan and Seamus. Harry’s arrival gave Fred Weasley an anchor point, and he badge-jumped to the TPOMS position from Diagon Alley so that there’d be at least one Art Club badge on the hill. Fred left his brother behind as an anchor point for Diagon in case of an attack there. As for the others…Ron was at the Ministry, Dean Thomas was at Windsor (as an enrolled Summer Institute student who was also helping his Phoenix Team partner Emily Granger with security), and Roger Granger was on guard duty at Charing Cross. In a pinch, though, all but Dean could be summoned in a near-instant through their badges.
“Right,” said Harry, once they arrived. “So, the new arrivals should talk with the others after the briefing…they can fill you in on what happened this morning when I tested the ward shunt.”
“Still think you should have gone all out and taken the dive, Sir,” quipped New Six.
“Yes, well, the water isn’t that warm, and a seventy foot drop into the lake is still a seventy foot drop,” Harry replied.
The Gryffindor pilots all nodded. The anti-apparition and anti-portkey wards that enveloped the Palace and its immediate surroundings included a shunt that would cause any would-be intruders to materialize over the loch, some 500 yards southeast of the Palace.
“So, just to be clear,” Harry added. “Wands and stunners only if the wards trip and uninvited guests show up over the water, unless you’re ordered otherwise.”
“Aww…can’t the gunnies pick off the bad wizard birdies as well, Sir?” asked New Six.
Harry shook his head. “Not unless ordered to do so, sergeant…. we can’t discount the possibility that some idiots at the Ministry might try to crash the party.”
“Yes, Sir,” the soldier said.
“And take care of your aim…we will have wands on the ground down there.”
Alicia Spinnet led the other squadron members in a good laugh. “No chance of mistaking you for a Death Eater in that outfit, Major Potter.”
Harry scowled at Alicia for a second, then joined in on the laughter. She and Katie had transfigured the squadron’s camouflage outfits to match the colors of the weathered rocks that surrounded him. The Queen’s Wizard’s crimson and gold tartan kilt stood in stark contrast.
“I’m sorry,” Alicia said, “You look very handsome in that skirt.”
“Would look better flying overhead on a broom, though,” Katie added. “We’d get to see whether Harry was going traditional, or not.”
“Now Lieutenants,” said New Six with mock seriousness. “Within the British Army it is considered bad form to cause your commanding officer to blush.”
“But on the Gryffindor Quidditch team it was par for the course,” Harry replied with a grin, adding, “Just be sure to switch over to tartan if you go airborne.”
The Queen's Wizard then asked, “Are you set for lunch?”
Sergeant Beemer nodded. “We can wait until after the party is over, Sir.”
“Nonsense,” Harry replied. “You’ve got some time now...Dobby?”
Harry’s ADC popped up a few feet away from them, wearing a pair of omnioculars around his neck and full elf-sized kilt that matched Harry’s tartan.
With an exaggerated salute, the house-elf announced, “ADC Dobby is here, Major Harry Potter, sir.”
Major Potter returned the salute. “Everything set at the gate, Dobby?”
“Yes sir, Major Harry Potter, sir!” Dobby replied. “Dobby has the perfect place to check for Dark Marks.”
“Great,” Harry replied. “I’ll swing by later…but in the meantime, would you please bring the squadron some of those box lunches that are set out under the tent?”
When his ADC’s eyes bulged out a bit, and he bit his lip, Harry knew that something was up. “What’s wrong, Dobby?” he asked.
“Sorry, Major Harry Potter, sir, but…but does Major Potter sir know what is in those white boxes?”
“Erm, not really,” Harry replied. “Please tell me.”
“Yes, Major Potter, sir…those boxes be containing white bread and cucumber sandwiches.” Dobby then leaned even closer to Harry and loudly whispered, “Dobby does not want to say bad things about Major Potter’s Queen’s Muggle cooks, but they forgot to put the crust on the bread!”
“Hmmm,” said Harry, “Not very filling, I agree…then Private Dobby, will you see to it that my squadron is fed a proper lunch?”
The ADC jumped up and down as he nodded, giving the pom-pom on his knit cap quite a workout. “Yes, sir, Major Harry Potter, sir.”
“Oh, and bring an extra box, for me, will you?” asked Harry. “I’d take a ploughman’s lunch over cucumber sandwiches any day of the week.”
oo00OO00oo
The TPOMS squadron was halfway through their lunch when Alica’s Phoenix Team partner thought to ask about something about Harry’s ADC.
“Major Potter?”
“Yes, Coley?”
“What kind of binoculars did your aide-de-camp have around his neck?”
“Magical ones,” Harry replied. “They’re called omnioculars.”
“And the marks that he’ll be looking for, they’re tattoos on the left forearm, right?”
When Harry nodded, the sergeant added, “So those omni-whatevers give you x-ray vision?”
“That’s right,” replied Harry. “They’re specially modified…normal omnioculars don’t allow you to see through clothing.”
“Hold on, Harry,” said Fred. “So Dobby is going to be able to see every guest like they were walking around starkers?”
“More or less,” the Queen’s Wizard replied.
“Harry!” Katie exclaimed. “You can’t be serious!”
“I’m deadly serious when it comes to the Queen’s protection…I’ll not have marked Death Eaters crashing the party if I can help it.”
Shaking her head, Alicia said, “So it was considered too invasive to have guests scanned by soldiers using thermal imagers, but it’s not too invasive to have Dobby getting a naked eyeful?”
Harry sighed. “That’s exactly why Dobby’s the right man, erm….right house-elf for the job….do you think he’ll care about seeing 8,000 naked human bodies?”
“No, but…”
“He’s a house-elf, Alicia…he won’t make a big deal of it.”
“But that doesn’t mean….”
“Look,” Harry said with a bit of exasperation. “Would you get all hot and bothered if you were asked to look at 8,000 naked house elf bodies? Could you even tell the difference between the males and females?”
“Erm, probably not…”
“How about 8,000 nude goblins?”
“Now, that’s downright unsettling.”
Harry grinned. “I’m sure that they’d think the same were the roles reversed.”
After a pause, Neville asked, “But what about the playback feature?”
Furrowing his eyebrows, Harry said, “Oh, yeah…didn’t think of that.”
“Sure you didn’t,” New Six said with a grin. “So by the end of the day, you’ll have naked pictures of everyone with an invite….got a guest list handy?”
“Dare I ask why you ask?”
“Well,” the Muggle warrior replied, “I’m wondering whether it’d be worth my time to volunteer to review the tape afterwards…just in case the little guy missed something.”
“Oh, you are a perv, aren’t you New Six?” stated Katie.
Harry chuckled. “Not that you’d have any interest in monitoring Full Monty’s, eh Katie?”
“Harry!”
“You did know that Sean Connery is on the guest list, right?”
Alicia laughed. “The old James Bond bloke? What’s he…a hundred and two?”
“Watch it, erm…Lieutenant,” said Sergeant Colbert. “There’s only one Bond…all the others that came afterwards are pale imitations.”
“Nothing pale about that new one in the chair scene, except maybe his hair color,” quipped Katie. “So is he coming, Harry?”
“Who?”
“Daniel Craig,” said “Blade” Easton.
Harry frowned. “Don’t think so…he’s English. But Obi-Wan will be there.”
“Ooooh, baby!” said Katie. “I’ll volunteer to examine his light saber for dark marks!”
“Star Wars fan, Katie?” asked Harry.
“Of course,” she replied. “Just because I’m a witch doesn’t mean I’ve stopped going to the Muggle cinema.”
“Thought Sir Alec was dead?” said New Six, shaking his head in disgust.
“The younger Obi-Wan,” Harry replied. “Ewan McGregor.”
New Six rolled his eyes. “You kids…turning your backs on the great actors of the day.”
“Great in your day, maybe,” Alicia replied. “And shouldn’t it be ‘You higher-ranking kids’?”
“Ma’am, yes, Ma’am,” the Muggle replied with a rakish salute.
“She does have a point, though,” said Blade.
“How’s that?”
“Well, if you got some x-ray glasses on your hands, who’d you rather ogle…Princess Leia or Padme?”
“But….in that slave outfit, with the ear-muff hair…Princess Leia was hot!” protested New Six.
“Yeah, she was hot…twenty-five years ago,” Blade noted. “But we’re talking today…a fifty-year old Carrie Fisher or a twenty-something Natalie Portman?”
“Hmmmmm…”
“Well, don’t get your hopes up,” said Harry, as he reviewed the short-list of VIPs that were to be admitted to the Queen’s private tent. “Neither of them got an invitation that I can see.”
Katie made a reach for the list. “Oooh, can I see that, Harry?”
The Queen’s Wizard smiled as he snatched it away from Katie’s grasp. “Need to know, Lieutenant Bell,” he said with a grin.
“Yes, Sir.”
Harry’s badge flashed with a call from Hermione that kept him from sinking any further down into flirty trouble with his troops.
“We just deplaned, Harry,” she stated.
“Great…our cars are waiting for you?”
“Right in front of us,” Hermione replied. “Got a few minutes to ride in with us?”
Harry looked at his troops and smiled. “Let me know when you’ve reached the shed.”
After deactivating the badge, he said, “I’m heading out…I’m going to do my best not to do any magic, just so my Muggle comm gear keeps working. But if all hell does break loose, well, that’s why Fred is here. I want him to be the squadron’s comm specialist…with his Art Club badge, he’ll be able to contact me and the others even if magic fries all of the electronics.”
“Right,” Fred replied. “So they answer to me, then?”
Harry rolled his eyes. “No Fred, they’ll talk to you if their radios fail.”
The Queen’s Wizard’s badge then lit up with word that it was safe for him to badge-jump.
“Stay safe, you guys.”
“Sir, Yes Sir!” replied the Phoenix Teamers.
oo00OO00oo
Harry badge-jumped to Hermione’s anchored position within an airport shed. Not wishing to keep their guests waiting, they kept the welcome snog modest, and were soon on their way with the ICW delegation towards the Palace.
The short trip gave both Harry and the group of foreign magicals scarce time to size each other up, but first impressions were positive all around. Along the route, Harry pointed out the different layers of security that were in place, along with the location of Gilmerton Close and the MI-5 ¾ observation post that sat opposite.
Once the group arrived at the Palace, Harry passed out lanyards and security credentials to the guest witch and wizards, then led them straight to the State Apartments, where the Queen was preparing for the Party. She seemed genuinely pleased to meet the foreign witch and wizards, and to have the opportunity to personally thank both the Emperor’s Wizard and King’s Wizard for responding to her request for aid. The Queen wasn’t startled at all by the imposing presence of the Maori sorcerer, and greeted him with a few words in his native language. This struck Harry as odd, until Hermione reminded him that his boss was still the Queen of New Zealand and its Head of State.
When the group of foreign magicals accepted the Queen’s invitation to stay for the Party, she called on one of her Muggle retainers to provide them with appropriate “Potter Plaid.” Neither the Emperor’s Wizard nor the Maori sorcerer were all that interested in changing out of their native garb, and expressed those sentiments once their audience with the Queen had ended. Harry was sympathetic.
“Look,” he said, “I’m not thrilled with wearing this costume either, but it’s a security issue…I’ll be more than happy to take you up to the roof and point out for you all of the snipers who have standing orders to shoot anyone wielding a wand that’s not wearing our tartan.”
The Emperor’s Wizard smiled. “So it’s the use of a wand that is objectionable, rather than using magic itself?”
Harry nodded. “We want to make it as easy as possible to identify the magicals on our side.”
“But what if my Maori friend and I don’t use wands?”
Harry pursed his lips, and turned to Hermione.
“Sounds like a viable exception to me,” she replied.
“Excellent,” replied the Emperor’s Wizard.
“So if I learn how to do wandless magic, I can get out of wearing kilts?” asked Harry.
Hermione smiled. “Did you really need that kind of incentive?”
Harry shrugged his shoulders. “No, but every little bit helps.”
oo00OO00oo
While the King’s Wizard, the Swedish witch, and Bengali wizard were being kitted out in tartan, Harry briefed the ICW on the Order of Arthur, and Hermione badge-jumped to the Round Tower to retrieve copies of the Official Secrets Act and the Treaty of Carlisle. She considered these documents to be a good place to start if the ICW had questions about how Harry and Hermione had handled the wizarding world’s secrecy statutes.
When Hermione returned to Scotland there was still a bit of time before the gates opened for the invited Garden Party guests. The group therefore decided to split up. The King’s Witch and Bengali wizard were given use of a meeting room to begin their document review, Hermione took Thorson on an inspection of her wards, and the Queen’s Wizard led the Japanese and Maori wizards to the Palace’s rooftop for a bird’s eye view of the grounds and their established defenses.
Harry’s tour started with the Muggle sniper and SO14 observation posts established along the roofline. Matsuhisa and Rongo both raised an eyebrow at the level of interaction between the Queen’s Wizard and the Muggle security men, but held off asking questions until the three were standing apart from the Muggles.
“Are all of these Muggles card-carriers, Sir Harry?” Matsuhisa asked.
“Please, it’s Harry,” the Queen’s Wizard asked. “And the only one that’s aware of the wizarding world, as far as I know, is that spotter over there with the thermal imaging equipment attached to his helmet.”
“But they were all addressing you as the Queen’s Wizard?”
“Yes they were,” Harry explained. “But they think that means that I’m a Muggle magician, rather than an actual wizard.”
“Why, then, did they act so deferential?”
“Because it’s….well, it’s rather complicated,” Harry replied. “The Muggles that are part of the Royal Protection Unit all think that I am an undercover MI-5 agent, posing as the Queen’s Wizard.”
“So you’re pretending to be a Muggle secret agent who is posing as a Muggle magician?”
Harry replied, “No, I really am a MI-5 agent…at least on paper. Haven’t gone through their secret spy school or anything, but the position is the only way a scrawny teenager like me can get any respect from this crowd.”
“And why, exactly, do you need their respect, if I might ask?”
Harry paused, then replied, “Because I’m in charge of the protection of the Queen against magical attack, and since we can’t expect the Ministry of Magic to come to our aid, I can’t do that job without the help of Muggles.”
“So…I’m sorry Harry, but I am just trying to understand,” the Japanese wizard said. “You are using Muggles to fight against magical threats that they know nothing about?”
“Not quite,” Harry replied. “I’m using Muggles to help fight against magical threats that they’ve been told are Muggle threats.”
“But how?”
Harry began to explain about thermal imaging equipment, electronic sensors, and the Muggle terrorist threats within Britain that existed independent of Voldemort, when he felt a tug on his kilt.
“Excuse me for a moment,” Harry said, as he took a piece of parchment from an invisible hand. “Thank you, Private.”
“Yes, Sir, Major Harry Potter, Sir!” whispered the invisible house elf before disappearing.
The Queen’s Wizard opened up the parchment and learned, via a chain that included the Head Auror, Lisa Turpin and Luna’s knickers, that a half-dozen house elves within the MLE now had access to the records of the Magical Surveillance Office within the Ministry. Thinking it best not to discuss the message with his guests at that time, Harry decided to raise the issue with Hermione after the Party and pocketed the memo.
“Are we keeping you from something, Harry?” asked the Emperor’s Wizard.
“No, no…just a message delivered by my Aide-de-Camp.”
While Matsuhisa’s magic had enabled him to detect the Dobby’s presence, he chose not to ask why a house-elf was working for Harry as a military aide.
“So,” the Emperor’s Wizard said, as he turned back to a view of the tents below, “you really expect to fit thousands of Muggles within that small area without magic?”
Harry smiled. “Well, to be honest, there will be a few witches and wizards within that number, but yes, that’s the general idea. They won’t be down there all at once, though…we convinced the Queen to open up portions of the Palace that aren’t normally available to the general public. We’ve also had a military band set up within the Palace courtyard…between that and the tours, we hope to have a fair number of guests protected by the Palace walls at any point in time.”
Matsuhisa frowned as he looked down at the Palace’s stone walls. “Do you expect the structure to protect them from magical attacks?”
“No…more like I hope that they’ll be protected from being seen and targeted using magical attacks,” Harry replied. “And if there are party crashers, and magic starts flying about, there will be that many less people in need of a memory charm.”
The Emperor’s Wizard nodded, impressed with Harry’s planning. “The tents are within Ambassador Granger’s wards, aren’t they?”
“Yes,” Harry replied. “So that should keep the bad guys from popping directly into the crowds…but that said, we don’t have any “Lines of Death” set up to keep a Death Eater from apparating just outside of the ward line and either casting spells through the wards, or walking through them and getting to the crowd that way.”
The Japanese and Maori wizards considered Harry’s words as he pointed out the perimeter of the wards. There were already foot patrols in place along these boundaries, involving both thermal imagery device-wearing army troops and police K-9 patrols.
The Emperor’s Wizard then asked, “Is there anything we can do to help, Harry?”
The Queen’s Wizard thought for a moment, then nodded. “If any of you would be willing to mingle down there during the Party, we could always use a few more defensive shields in case of an attack. Other than that……”
Harry looked up at the sky and frowned. The afternoon rain showers that the Muggle meteorologists had predicted hadn’t materialized yet, and he had thought that a good downpour might keep the guest numbers down, or at least more inclined to take cover under the tents or inside the Palace.
“Either of you two happen to know a good rain charm?” he asked.
The Shinto shaman looked over at the Maori sorcerer and they both smiled.
“Rongo should be able to help you there, Harry,” Matsuhisa replied.
oo00OO00oo
A dispirited cheer rose from the long queue of guests when the wrought-iron gates to the Palace grounds swung open at precisely one o’clock that afternoon. A heavy rainstorm had come almost out of nowhere to soak the crowd as they huddled beneath umbrellas. No one in line picked up on the fact that the most intense rainfall came from a low-hanging black cloud that (unlike all of the other clouds) inexplicably stayed firmly in place over their heads.
The rain had caused only a few of the guests to abandon the line…if the threat of terrorist attack wasn’t enough to frighten them away from the event, then a little inclement weather certainly couldn’t. Those that did pass through the gates, however, found that the rain decided to follow them, and (exactly as Harry had hoped) did make it a point to cram into the tents, and to linger during the Palace tours.
The Palace staff positioned at the head of the line were protected by their own small white tent, under which each guest was required to produce their official invitation and picture identification card. Once past that checkpoint, the guests were escorted past the watchful eyes of the Royal Protection Unit, as well as a small, waist-high metal box and a heavy black curtain. Behind the curtain stood MI- 5 ¾ agent Helen Wall, brought in for the day to hold the same dowsing rod that had been used to locate Hufflepuff’s Cup within the Muggle landfill. Within the metal box that was warded with a weak notice-me-not charm stood Dobby, who was getting an eyeful of human flesh as he held the special omnioculars to his eyes.
These magical sensors provided overlapping coverage…the omnioculars were great for spotting certain tattoos, but couldn’t be set to detect magical objects at the same time. In turn, the dowsing rod that Steve’s mum held was great at blindly catching magical objects from beneath the curtain.
There were more than a few people with magical objects on their person that gave Agent Wall’s dowsing rod a sharp jerk as they passed by the curtain. Whenever this happened, Helen gave a signal to a card-carrying colleague, who isolated the targeted guest from the others and politely escorted them to a separate, closed wall tent for a little chat with the Headmistress of Hogwarts, who greeted those who were recognized as Hogwarts alumni and quizzed the rest.
Remus Lupin was stationed within this separate tent to cover Minerva’s back, and provided Harry an anchor point when the Queen’s Wizard badge-jumped to the gate just a few minutes before the Queen officially arrived at the Party. He appeared within a small curtain-walled changing room.
“Bit of a tight fit, isn’t it?” asked Harry.
The lycanthrope shrugged his shoulders as he led his former student out into the tent proper. “It’s beyond prying eyes.”
Harry nodded as he looked around. They were standing at the back of the tent, about twenty feet behind Headmistress McGonagall, who was seated at a table in front of the tent entrance. She was presently explaining to a witch and wizard who were on the guest list why they needed to either change into Potter Plaid or check their wands at the gate for the duration of the Party.
“So, have there been any Muggles here yet?”
“Yes, one,” Remus replied. “A Muggle man came through wearing a charmed signet ring that he didn’t know was magical.”
“What kind of magic?”
Remus smiled. “Fertility and sex selection charms…poor man probably hasn’t a clue why all of his children are boys and why condoms break every time he tries to use one.”
“The kind of ring a wizard Head of House wears to ensure an heir, then?”
“Minerva thinks so,” Lupin replied.
“So what was the Muggle doing with that ring, and why would it work on him?”
“We think he’s part of a clan whose magical line died out a few centuries back,” explained Remus. “And the man was probably born with just enough magical core to unknowingly charge the ring.”
“Sort of a Muggle-born squib?”
Lupin thought for a moment. “Something like that.”
“So what did you do?” asked Harry.
“We let him pass,” replied Remus. “The ring was relatively benign…at least to us…and not really a security threat.”
As Harry and Remus were talking, a mousy-looking middle-aged witch emerged from a changing room wearing horned-rimmed glasses and a Potter Plaid ankle-length skirt and shawl. The scowl on her face disappeared just as soon as she spotted Harry wearing the same tartan.
“Oh, my word, it’s Harry Potter!” she exclaimed, as she walked towards him.
“Erm…yes?” asked Harry.
“How exciting,” the witch exclaimed. “I thought that this was just a rude prank, but to see the Boy-Who-Lived in the same plaid….is it really the Potter Clan tartan?”
Harry sighed…fan girls were bad enough, but fan spinsters?. “Yes, it is…Ms…?”
“Litella,” the witch replied. “Emily Litella.”
“So what brings you to the Garden Party, Mrs. Litella?”
The witch grabbed Harry’s arm. “It’s Miss, but you can call me Emily.”
Harry nodded. “I apologize for the necessary change in wardrobe, Miss…erm, Emily, but we must not have recognized your name on the guest list as someone who was magical.”
“I’m not surprised, Harry….oh, I’m sorry, is it okay for me to call you Harry?”
Sporting a tight-lipped grin, Harry nodded.
“Well, you see, Harry,” the witch continued, “I was raised in London as a half-blood, but Papa was French, and simply insisted that I attend Beauxbaton instead of Hogwarts.”
“How interesting,” Harry responded politely. “And now, you’ve become involved in the Muggle world?”
“Oh, yes,” the witch replied. “As a child I became enthralled with Muggle literature…loved it so much that after Beauxbatons I received a Muggle University degree in English at Aberdeen, then became a writer of children’s stories.”
“I see…and it’s your work as a Scottish author of Muggle children’s books that brought you here?”
“Why I imagine that it is,” the witch replied. “This is my third invitation, but the first, of course, with you as Queen’s Wizard. I was so excited, but also a little afraid given the attacks, so I brought my wand along, just in case.”
Harry followed the witch’s hand as she pointed towards her hair, which was rolled up in a tight bun and pinned in place with a wand. Realizing that it was almost time for the Queen and Prince to appear, he then said. “Well, it was very interesting to meet you, Miss Litella, and I appreciate your cooperation with our security.”
The witch’s cheeks flushed. “Thank you, Harry. Would you….could I get your autograph?”
Remus was failing miserably in his attempt to contain his giggles. Harry did his best to ignore his former DADA Professor and remember that this sort of thing was now part of his job as Queen’s Wizard. He pulled a ball-point pen out from the inside pocket of his Argyle suit jacket and signed the witch’s invitation. But then the witch opened her purse and pulled out a black Sharpie marker and asked, “And the shawl, as well?”
Harry grimaced, but took the marker from her and reached towards the loose end of the garment.
“Oh, Harry….if you don’t mind….could you sign where all of my friends could see?” the witch asked.
“And where would that be?”
The witch smiled as she pointed to the patch of tartan that covered her chest. “Front and center, if I could be so bold?”
Remus had to turn his back and cast a silencing spell on himself. Figuring it was the only way to get rid of the spinster, Harry took a deep breath, lightly grabbed the length of shawl that draped across the witch’s breasts and held it taut, so that the pen could mark the wool cloth without pressing down against the witch’s bits.
“There you go,” said Harry, noticing that Miss Litella had closed her eyes and held her breath in anticipation of physical contact.
The woman opened her eyes, looked down at her shawl, and sighed. It wasn’t exactly what she wanted, but it would do.
“Thank you, Harry,” the witch said, much too breathlessly for his liking. Too flustered to ask for her marker back, the woman turned and walked out of the tent with a Cheshire Cat-sized grin on her face.
Remus Lupin wordlessly cancelled the self-applied silencing charm and asked, “Oh, Harry, will you autograph my kilt too?”
Harry switched the grip on the marker to something more like a knife grip and gave his friend and mentor a murderous look. Acting as if the Headmistress (who was within earshot) could still give him detention for foul language, Harry bit his tongue, and promised that he’d be more than willing to give Remus his autograph “at a later time and place of my choosing.”
As the Queen’s Wizard stepped back inside a changing room to badge-jump back to the Palace, Remus wondered whether he had just asked to be pranked in a very big way.
oo00OO00oo
At precisely 1:30 pm, a military band played “God Save the Queen” and the monarch and her consort stepped out of a side door along the south wall of the Palace. More than a few guests noticed that the heavy rains stopped just as soon as the Queen appeared and considered it a fortuitous coincidence. The Queen’s Wizard, who stepped out right behind the Queen, knew better.
The Royal Company of Archers, acting as the Queen’s ceremonial bodyguard whist at the Palace, formed two separate corridors in front of the Queen and Duke of Edinburgh by linking arms and long bows together. These corridors formed a “meet and greet” line for each of the Royals, so that they could say a few words to a very small number of preselected invited guests.
The corridors formed separate circuitous routes around the tented area, ending up at the small enclosure known as the Queen’s Tent, where the Royals would spend almost all of their time during the event with the First Minister, the First 007, and forty or fifty other VIP’s. Harry and the Japanese wizard followed behind the Queen at a polite distance, while Hermione and the Norwegian wizard did the same within the Duke’s route. Despite the different routes, and the seemingly variable amounts of time spent by the Queen talking with her selected subjects, both she and the Duke arrived at the Queen’s Tent at precisely the same time. Once inside, Harry made note of this synchronization, to which the Queen simply replied, “Years of practice, Lord Gryffindor.”
Rongo, the rugby shirt-wearing sorcerer, watched this process from the roofline. Once the Royals were safely under roof, he got back in touch with the clouds, and encouraged them to give the Palace grounds a good soaking that forced almost all of the guests to run for cover.
While the Queen and Duke made the rounds inside the tent, the Japanese wizard pulled Harry aside and pointed to the tent walls.
“This material is canvas, isn’t it?”
“I think so,” Harry replied.
“Has it been charmed?”
The Queen’s Wizard nodded. “Beefed up shields and fire suppression charms.”
“Good,” Matsuhisa replied. “I was going to offer to work with the material myself, but it’s always more difficult for me to commune with dead plant matter.”
Harry nodded. “I’m sorry, but I don’t know much about your style of magic…it sounds a bit like what our druids used to use.”
The Japanese wizard nodded. “Very much so, Harry…both Rongo and I work with the elements as well as the spirits within plants and animals.”
Harry might have been as enthusiastically interested in learning more as Hermione would have been, but did wonder if there was something there that might constitute “The power the Dark Lord knows not.” But that conversation was for another, less stressful time, and Harry excused himself to scan the crowd of VIPs and do a radio check with his forces, both Muggle and magical.
oo00OO00oo
Rodolphus and his crew were huddled around the radio within the kitchen of their uninvited guest house, when the top of the hour was reached and the BBC announced the time with the toll of Big Ben’s bells. “That’s it, then,” he said firmly. “The attack is on.”
Turning to his troops, he promised to kill anyone who didn’t follow their orders, grabbed hold of a small wooden hoop along side the rest of the primary attack team, and activated the portkey.
oo00OO00oo
Hermione and Harry were within the Queen’s Tent, engaged in a rather playful conversation with Prince Harry and his girlfriend Penelope (who had traveled up for the party) when two loud gonging noises sounded, one after the other.
“Bollocks!” Harry quietly swore, as he drew his wand from his jacket sleeve.
“I’ll check the wards,” Hermione announced, crouching down to lower her visibility as she popped away. He then looked for the Queen. She was hard to find, given that Secret Agent Steve and five other burly security men had drawn their guns out and surrounded the monarch and her four witches-in-waiting, who had woven their strongest shield spells together into a protective shell that enveloped the Queen.
This sudden reaction to the loud noise created panic within the rest of the tent. Steve tried to calm them down when he loudly announced that there had been a possible breach in security, and that given recent events they were being overprotective of the Queen and other members of the Royal Family. He then asked everyone to stay put, and wait to be escorted out of the tent.
As Steve was making his announcement, Harry calmly hit the “all call” button on his badge, put his hand up to his Muggle earpiece and barked out, “All right people, what have we got?”
“Harry, this is TPOMS,” Fred replied over his badge. “We’ve got…five…make that six splash-downs, I repeat, six splash-downs…I think that one more disappeared on the way down…and they’re wearing Auror robes.”
“Auror robes?” asked Harry. “Merlin…are they all stunned, then?”
“I think that we got them all but the one who disappeared mid-air,” the former Gryffindor replied.
“Roger that,” said Harry. “Wally?”
“Yes Harry…confirm seven arrivals and six splash-downs from CCTV.”
“Local radar?”
“Checking….air space is clear, Major.”
“Hermione?”
“Looks like they all used a single portkey…shields are holding and not under present attack.”
“What about inside the ward line?”
“Give me a second,” Hermione said. “I’ll go to the roof and see.”
“There’s nothing except a lot of nervous guests,” Wally chimed in, based on the video coverage.
“Get them under cover,” Harry yelled. “Either to the Palace or inside the tents!”
“The Royal Archers have already reformed ranks and cordoned off the evac route,” Wally reported.
“What about the Queen, Harry?” asked Hermione.
The Queen’s Wizard looked over at Steve. Without spell fire, and with the Auror Robes, this could be a false alarm.
“We need a positive identification on the party crashers,” Harry decided. He then called Ron on his Art Club Badge.
“Hey Ron, we just had a half-dozen wizards bounce against the Holyrood wards dressed in Auror robes,” he said. “Can you run up to the DMLE and ask Robards if he sent them?”
“You got it, Harry.”
Not wishing to wait very long for an answer, Harry then got another bright idea.
“Dobby?” he asked.
His aide-de-camp immediately arrived at his side.
“Yes, Major Harry Potter, sir?”
“There are some wizards floating in the lake. I need you to take the omnioculars and see if you can tell if they’re Death Eaters in disguise.”
The house-elf’s eyes went wide at the thought of the responsibility that he’d just been given. He was so excited that he forgot to salute as he disappeared with a pop.
Harry quickly spread the word that the kilt-wearing house-elf that just popped over to the loch was friendly. He then looked up, heard some of the shocked comments from the Queen’s guests, and realized that he had just jumped all over the magical secrecy laws.
It was a quickly passing thought, all things considered.
Ten seconds later, a dripping-wet house elf popped back inside the tent.
“They all be having the bad mark on their left arms, Major Harry Potter, Sir,” he replied.
Harry swore, then conveyed the message using both his badge and Muggle communication gear.
“We’re evacuating the Queen’s tent now,” he announced.
“Roger that,” said Wally.
“Remus, Tonks…get to the front gate with McGonagall,” Harry ordered. “Everyone else…watch for others that may have arrived outside the ward lines.”
“You got it, Harry,” replied Remus over his Art Club badge.
“Fred!”
“Yes, Harry?”
“Pass word along to the TPOMS gunnies that they’re authorized to shoot anything in that lake that does anything more than float.“
“Copy that, Major.”
Harry looked around the tent, and almost cursed at the fact that the magically strengthened tent walls kept him from surveying the scene.
“Hermione, are you on the roof yet?” he asked.
“Just,” she replied over the badge.
“I can’t tell what’s going on so long as I’ve got the Queen’s back…need you to be our eyes and ears.”
“Understood, Harry,” she replied. “The Royal Archers are moving people into the Palace’s through the back door.”
“How long do you think it’ll take to clear the grounds?”
“I’d say five minutes, not counting anyone presently under a tent, unless some curses start to light fires under their bums.”
“Well let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” Harry replied.
oo00OO00oo
As the evacuation got underway outside of the tents, Harry and volunteer witches and wizards who had been posted in the other tents began to execute the evacuation plan. Harry turned towards a long buffet table and pushed it back with a mild banishing charm. Tea cups and saucers crashed to the ground as a large, goblin-excavated sloped tunnel was revealed. When a second spell magically pushed another nearby table backwards, a stack of carpets came into view. Harry grabbed the carpet at the top of the stack, and threw it down on the lip of the opening,
The Queen’s Wizard was about to call for Steve when Prince Harry got in his face.
“What can I do to help?” asked the Prince.
“Are you armed?” Harry asked.
Prince Harry nodded, and opened his jacket to reveal a full shoulder holster.
“Great,” Harry replied. He then motioned towards the carpet and added, “Climb aboard, Cornet Windsor, you’ve got the point.”
The young prince nodded. “C’mon, Penelope,” he said, as he dragged her towards the open hole. He sat down on the carpet, leaned back, and said, “On you go.”
“How?”
Harry didn’t give the Prince time to explain, choosing instead to pick the young Muggle woman up and dump her into her boyfriend’s arms.
“Mind your head,” he ordered, as he pointed his wand at the couple and magically nudged them. Given the mirror-smooth polished surface of the goblin-excavated tube and the liberal use of lubricating charms, the mild banishment charm was enough to send Prince Harry and his girlfriend flying down the hole and out of view.
“Where…where did they go?” asked the Emperor’s Wizard, who was now by Harry’s side.
“Down a slide and into an old air raid shelter underneath the Palace,” Harry replied, as he grabbed another carpet and threw it down onto the edge of the hole.
“Steve!” he yelled.
“I’m there, Harry,” the MI-5 ¾ agent replied. The tight circle of guards surrounding the Queen opened up as Agent Wall dashed towards Harry and dove head first onto the waiting carpet. His inertia was enough to power the carpet ride without magical aid.
“We’ve got rug duty,” two of the other guards said, as they took up Harry’s position next to the pile. A few moments later Steve called up using his badge.
“Shelter is secured and the landing zone cleared,” he said.
“Right then,” said Harry. He turned towards the witches-in-waiting. “Hannah, you’re up.”
The Hufflepuff nodded as she ran over and dropped down on the carpet in a prone position. Padma Patil was right behind her, replacing Harry as the magical mobilizer. Her banishment spell caused Hannah to scream as she rocketed out of sight.
“Calm down, Padma,” Harry said, as he shot a spell down the hole that slowed down Hannah’s speed. “We don’t have crash helmets to dish out.”
“Sorry, Harry,” she replied, trying to center herself with a deep breath.
By this point the next carpet was already ready to go, and with three armed guards securing the landing zone it was time for the Queen to evacuate.
“Your Majesty?” Harry called out.
The monarch nodded as she strode over to the hole and allowed the two Muggle guards to help her sit down onto the carpet. She leaned back, then turned and looked up towards her Wizard who was squatting down by her side. Despite the tense situation, she gave Harry a smile.
“Lord Gryffidor,” she said with a wink. “We are pleased to note your adherence to Regimental standards.”
“Erm…what?” he asked, crouching down to her side.
The Queen chuckled to herself and shook her head. “God bless and protect you, Sir Harry.”
The Queen’s Wizard nodded, and sent his boss on her way down the chute. It wasn’t until later that he realized that by squatting down next to her, he had provided an upskirt view underneath his kilt.
oo00OO00oo
Terrance Hicks had assigned one of his crew to call out the time as he kept Lestrange’s omnioculars to his eyes and waited for Rodolphus’s signal.
“Four minutes,” the wizard called out.
“Damn,” Hicks swore. “Looks like the boss has buggered things up…second and third groups, prepare to jump.”
“You sure?” asked the timekeeper.
“Of course I am,” Terrance replied. “Unless you want to be the one to explain to our Lord why we ran away without trying to kill a few Muggles.”
“There’s always the five downstairs,” somebody suggested.
Hicks scowled at the coward. “Everyone apparates to their assigned positions at five minutes or I’ll come after you myself, got it?”
“Yes, Sir,” the Death Eaters replied.
“Make ready, then.”
The others followed Hicks’s lead as he checked his gear. He had few more toys than the average Death Eater…a spare wand, a shield amulet, foe glass, and a length of charmed climbing rope (all graduation gifts from proud parents when he took the Dark Mark). The young Death Eater smiled as he folded up the omnioculars and placed them in a robe pocket…if Lestrange had fallen they would make a fine addition to his kit.
Pulling the hood of his concealment cloak over his head, Hicks drew his wand and started to focus on his destination…last thing he wanted to do was splinch. When the timekeeper called out five minutes time since the first group left, Terrance and the other eight wizards disappeared from the kitchen.
oo00OO00oo
Hicks’s group apparated in a spread-out line parallel to the trees. His arrival point was the furthest north (and closest to the Palace). As soon as they hit the ground each crouched down into a ball, hoping to maximize their level of concealment as they assessed the scene presented to them.
Instead of the chaos and panic that Lestrange had promised, Hicks spied the almost completed orderly evacuation of Muggles out of exposed positions and into the stone-walled castle. With no sign of the first team of Death Eaters, it was supposed to be up to Terrance to decide whether or not to open fire on the crowd. But a Muggle K-9 unit patrolling the ward line down from his position caught scent of one of his wizards, and started to bark aggressively. The nearest Death Eater got spooked and fired a silencing spell at the dog.
That his canine partner’s bark had been quieted even as he was straining against the leash was all that the Muggle needed to call in the contact as he unleashed his partner. The dog closed the few meters’ distance between himself and his target and leapt into the air.
A Reducto spell hit the German Shepherd, leaving little more than bits of bone and fur. A second curse felled the dog’s partner just as the Death Eater was spotted by soldiers using thermal imagery equipment, and struck down by Muggle snipers using electronic sighting scopes.
The combination of dog barks, Death Eater’s death cries, and gunfire was enough for Terrance to realize that his cover was blown. Looking for any available protection, he was bright enough to cast his eyes upwards. As another of his men fell to gunfire, Hicks quickly pulled his rope from his belt and tossed it up towards an overhanging tree branch. The rope animated and wrapped itself securely around the branch, then pulled the young Death Eater up into the foliage.
As a third not-quite-concealed-enough Death Eater fell to sniper fire, Hicks climbed further up into the tree. That he himself wasn’t hit by a high caliber head shot was due lucky coincidence…he disappeared into the branches and foliage at roughly the same time that the two surviving members of his team activated their emergency portkeys and bugged-out. The Muggle spotters who were tracking the group assumed that Hicks had also retreated, and the fog of battle conspired to keep the former Slytherin safe for the moment.
When the young Death Eater found a tree branch that overlooked the Garden Party grounds he was dismayed to see just how few Muggles there were left to shoot at. His clearest shot was at a half-dozen Royal Archers, who were holding the evacuation route open next to the Queen’s Tent (not that the Death Eater recognized it as such).
With no better target available, and a strong desire to prove himself worthy of stepping into Rodolphus’s potentially vacant shoes, Hicks let loose an Incendio spell.
oo00OO00oo
Inside the tent, Harry heard a loud “whoosh” as a fireball smashed against the eastern exterior wall. He could feel the heat on the side of his face as he turned and took note that the fire-suppression charms had worked.
“Queen’s Tent under attack from the East,” he yelled into his microphone.
“Copy that, Harry,” replied Hermione from the roof. “I think that the spell originated from the trees, where those other tangos popped up, but I can’t see for sure.”
“Great…tree-climbing Death Eaters,” said Harry. Wondering if the leaf canopy could mask body heat, he asked if anyone visuals on the spell source. Nobody responded with a positive spot. Not that that kept the Royal Archers from returning fire as they covered their dead and wounded. Four men demonstrated that their longbows were more than just window-dressing as they notched arrows aimed in the general direction of the attack.
Within the tree, Hicks scrambled to cast a protective shield to stop the projectiles. He had been smart enough to use a defensive spell developed in direct response to the use of Muggle longbows in the Middle Ages. The Death Eater was amazed at just how accurate these Muggles were, despite the visual cover, and was forced to maintain his shields under the onslaught. As he looked for an opening to switch over to offensive magic, he pulled his emergency portkey out just in case.
Meanwhile, Harry turned back towards the huddled mass of V.I.P.’s. He had planned on moving most of them above ground, using the Royal Archers route, but that option was now cut off. Figuring that the crowd stack up in the shelter as easily as within the tent, he called out, “Everyone queue up on me…we’ve got an escape route here.”
As the Muggles complied with the Queen’s Wizard’s orders, he asked, “What’s going on with our tree climber?”
“The Archers are firing into the tree with bow and arrow,” Hermione replied. She cast a detection spell, then added, “Looks like it’s one wizard, presently using a projectile shield.”
“Can’t we get something a little more powerful heading his way?” asked Harry.
“To much of a chance of collateral damage without a firm visual,” Wally replied. “And it looks like we’ve got a developing situation at the front entrance.”
“Oh, Merlin,” Harry replied.
There was a light tap on his shoulder. “Perhaps I can help?”
Harry turned to the Japanese Emperor’s Wizard and thought. As much as he wanted to jump out of the tent and attack the Death Eater positions, he had to guard the tunnel’s surface opening from attack (as it led directly to the Queen’s present position).
“If you’re willing, that’d be great,” Harry replied. “Just remember…no invisibility or concealment spells….the snipers are keyed into that sort of thing.”
The Emperor’s Wizard smiled. “I may not have to leave the tent.”
Harry squinted at the Japanese priest, wondering how he would pull that trick off. He then focused his attention back onto the tunnel mouth, where a Baroness was trying to maintain her modesty as she sat down on a carpet.
“Oi!” he yelled. “You didn’t see the Queen grabbing hold of her hemline, did you? Move it!”
oo00OO00oo
While Harry was herding gentry, the Emperor’s Wizard was looking for a patch of bare ground. Seeing nothing but plush red carpet inside the tent walls, he ran to an edge and pulled back the rug to reveal a section of yellowed (but still living) lawn. Placing both hands on the bared ground, he concentrated on all of the living things below. Ignoring the nematodes and insects, Matsuhisa pushed his senses farther out, until they met tree roots. Quickly calling out to the spirits within the trees through their roots, he asked for aid in dealing with the evil perched within the tree branches.
He got a favorable responses from the tree spirits, especially when Matsuhisa promised to stop the arrows from flying after the threat was neutralized.
A thick branch next to Terrance Hick’s hidden perch suddenly animated, sweeping sideways and striking the wizard in the back of the head. The Death Eater lost the grip on both wand and portkey as he tried to hang on to a branch, but fell towards the ground anyway. Not content to strike once, the tree’s lower branches came to life and caught the wizard in their grip. The tree spirit then asked the Japanese wizard what he wished to do with the captured evil doer. Matsuhisa thanked the tree spirit and asked the spirit to use its own judgment.
The Japanese wizard pulled back from his connection with the tree spirit before learning of the Death Eater’s fate. Hermione, however, was able to watch with morbid fascination as the tree limbs folded back on themselves and crushed the doomed Death Eater in a lethally smothering hug.
“I think that tree just ate the Death Eater,” she reported to Harry.
“Well I hope it chews its food,” he replied grimly.
oo00OO00oo
By this point in the attack all of the sloping tunnel slides that connected the large white tents to the bomb shelter underneath the Palace were seeing heavy use. Harry had gotten the idea of escape chutes from the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets, right down to the use of sliding carpets. The initial stacks of pre-positioned carpets within each tent were quickly exhausted. With no time to get carpets back up the tunnels for reuse, Potter Plaid-wearing witches and wizards within each tent were transfiguring table linens into rugs. With all of the panic and confusion within each of the tents, none of the Muggle guests noticed the difference.
oo00OO00oo
The “developing situation” that Wally had reported involved the remaining three Death Eaters in Rodolphus’s crew, who had decided that Hicks’s spell fire was their signal to let loose. They did a direct line-of-sight apparition from a hiding place underneath the Craggs to a sandbagged British Army machine gun emplacement directly across from the south entrance to the grounds. The four regular army soldiers who were stationed there didn’t know what hit them as they fell to severing curses and bone-crushing hexes aimed at their necks and heads respectively. With all of the activity on the other side of the fence, nobody noticed as the Death Eaters transfigured their robes into rough approximations of Muggle army uniforms and took the places of the fallen Muggle soldiers. From their new vantage points they were but twenty meters away from the tent that stood at the gated entrance to the Garden Party.
Despite orders to wait until their surprise attack could cause the most damage, one of the Death Eaters got nervous and fired at two Muggles who had run out of the entrance despite warnings from the palace security agents to stay inside the fence line. While the Death Eater’s flame spell turned the couple into burning lumps of flesh, it also revealed their location. Remus and Minerva McGongall, who had moved from their initial postings to a defensive position within the tented entrance, saw the spell and fired off curses at the Death Eater position. They were forced to shield, and the magical battle within this part of the party was now on.
MI-5 ¾ agent Helen Wall had also been at the front gates, and used her Muggle comm gear to call in for magical reinforcements. Within moments, the ICW witch and wizards had made their way towards this entrance (excepting Rongo), and were standing shoulder to shoulder with Minerva and Remus as they erected defensive shields in front of the gates.
The three Death Eaters were casting wide-area effect spells, hoping for multiple casualties with single casts. But once they discovered that this Muggle gathering was actually being defended by more than one witch or wizard, they switched over to point curses that stood a better chance at breeching the magical shields.
At the first sight of a sickly green Avada Kedavra spell, the defending witches and wizards dove for cover, and yelled for everyone else to do the same. The King’s Wizard and Swedish Witch then began conjuring granite slabs, while McGonagall reached the same endpoint by transfiguring tables and chairs into stone.
Steve’s mum had the presence of mind to act as a forward observer and call in the location of the Death Eater’s position. There was some confusion when it was realized that the spot was supposed to be a British Army position, but after a call to Remus confirmed Helen Wall’s report, the order was given out for the Army to retake its lost ground.
The Challenger 2 Main Battle Tank that was parked in front of the main Palace gates responded to the order, and fired up its 12-cylinder, 1,200hp engine. By the time the tank had pivoted and started south down Queen’s Drive, the coordinates of the Death Eater’s position had been downloaded into the digital firing control computer that targeted its 120mm rifled main gun. With an armor-piercing projectile preloaded, all the Muggle gunner needed to do was wait a few seconds until the tank could cover the distance between Palace and point of fire.
oo00OO00oo
As the tank lumbered down the street it approached a natural history museum whose striking profile was dominated by a football-pitch sized oblong white tent roof. Clinging to the top of one of the huge poles that supported this structure was a concealed Death Eater who had been instructed to observe, rather than fight.
Voldemort’s orders for Augustus Rookwood were tested as he spied the Muggle tank approaching the Death Eater’s position. He suspected it very capable of blowing this last group of Death Eaters to pieces, and had a clear shot at the tank…but that shot would likely reveal his position, and what he had seen and needed to report to his lord was far more important than the lives of three Death Eaters.
He held his wand and watched as the tank recoiled from the blast of its main gun and the last attackers were all killed within a blast of fire and smoke.
Rookwood held his breath, not in hope of survivors, but to avoid breathing in the thick black smoke that rose from the blast zone. This smoke provided him cover, but also kept him from gathering any more information from the field of battle…not that there was any more battle to see. Deciding it time to make his escape, the former Unspeakable drew the portkey to Salisbury from his pocket and thought about taking a parting shot.
The Dark Lord had told him to not to be involved in the attack…but what if there was a target of opportunity destroyed just before he portkeyed to safety?
Hoping to add a little more to the positive side of the ledger when he made his report to Voldemort, Rookwood turned to the north and raised his wand against the building that was supposed to be the new shining symbol of Muggle Scotland. It only took a short series of blasting and incendiary spells to set the unwarded Parliament building into flames.
Rookwood activated the portkey and disappeared from the rooftop before anyone realized where the spell fire had come from.
oo00OO00oo
With the last of the Queen’s Tent occupants evacuated and the tunnel sealed, Harry Potter had left the protective cover and was tending to injured Archers when word came from Wally that the Scottish Parliament building was on fire. He got confirmation from Steve that the Queen was safe, and from Hermione that there was no immediate battles being fought. So, as soon as Muggle medics arrived to take Harry’s place he decided to see for himself and badge-jump to the rooftop.
By the time he got there, Rongo had made arrangements for a cloud to move over the Parliament building and release a smothering deluge of rainwater
“Wow,” said Harry. “It’s wonderful to see you take that kind of initiative.”
The heavily tattooed sorcerer turned to Harry and smiled.
Thinking of possibilities, and the fact that the fire had only lasted a few minutes, he asked, “Is there any chance you could arrange for a thick fog cloud to envelop that building?”
When the Maori turned to Harry and silently arched an eyebrow, the Queen’s Wizard decided to elaborate.
“If there’s fog too thick to see through, we could go in and magically repair the building and the Muggles would be none the wiser.”
The sorcerer tilted his head in thought, then nodded his head and smiled. Raising his hands towards the rain cloud, he then silently asked it to extend down towards the ground.
Harry and Hermione watched with fascination as the cloud complied.
“Thanks, that’ll be a great help,” said Harry.
The Queen’s Wizard then turned his attention to the south, and to the field of battle below. He winced at the sight of bodies being covered in sheets by Palace security as medical personnel evacuated the wounded, and his grief was only partially countered by calls to Steve and the other Art Clubbers to gain assurances that the Royal Family and all of his witches and wizards had escaped harm.
As that call took place, Harry spied Army lorries as they rumbled up the road that ran in between the Parade Grounds and the lake. Once the vehicles parked next to the Loch Margaret, Remus, Tonks, and a large group of masked Muggle troopers spilled out and made their way to the shoreline. Under the cover of the TPOMS squadron from above, and from a perimeter of SAS sentinels on the ground, the two Art Clubbers cast another series of stunning spells on the six Death Eaters who were presently floating in the water. No account was made for the fact that three of these six bodies had been floating face down.
Gaffes were used to fish the bodies out of the water. Regardless of whether the Death Eaters were alive or dead, Remus and Tonks Accio’d clothes, wands and anything else the Death Eaters had been carrying until they were stark naked. The troopers then threw the bodies into the back of the lorries and climbed in themselves. The vehicles barreled down towards the helipad, where they threw the marked Death Eaters into a cargo helicopter that immediately lifted away from the Palace grounds.
Harry ordered the Phoenix Teams to evacuate their positions and return to the Palace…while there was always the chance that somebody else would bounce against the wards, there was a better chance that the stunning spells that they had used in that area would attract the Ministry’s attention.
Worrying that there could be Obliviator squads stupid enough to try and apparate within the Palace grounds, Harry got on his badge and had Ron give the Head Auror’s office a set of apparition coordinates within a Palace outbuilding located beyond Hermione’s wards. The Ministry personnel who were stupid enough to recklessly leap onto the scene found themselves surrounded by a group of heavily armed MI-5 ¾ c-mugs, alongside four international witches and wizards. This mixed escort guided the Ministry people at gun and wand point across the street to help undertake repair work within the fogbank.
The Obliviators were taken aback by the fact that the ICW Delegation was working in conjunction with Harry and the Muggles, and made sure to report that fact when they later returned to the Ministry.
Perhaps to no one’s surprise, the Minister of Magic’s office considered this information far more worrisome than the fact that there had been another massive Death Eater attack that day.