I did have a very long author’s note to accompany this chapter, but in the end I scrapped it as I figured nothing was going to save me from the flames/death threats that will be coming my way shortly. Seriously, I may end up being the most hated writer in HP fan fiction after this chapter, especially if my beta’s reaction to it is any indication.
Before you all start hammering out your angry missives damning me to hell, I would ask one thing from you. I’d like you all to ask yourselves something after you finish reading this chapter: what should Harry and his friends do now? This story so far has been something of a morality tale - Harry accepted a little darkness into his soul and, for the most part, it worked out pretty well for him. But now, with what happens at the end of the chapter, what can he do that won’t result in him becoming everything he hates and has fought against? This story is completely finished and, of course, I know what will happen, but I’d like you to ponder what his reactions should be.
Huge thanks as always to Arnel, despite the fact that I seem to have sent her apoplectic with this. How do I tell her that things are going to get even worse in the next chapter?
Right, equipment check: asbestos coveralls? Pitchfork resistant stab vest? Ant-spam software set to filter out any e-mail containing the word ‘disembowel’? Get ready, kiddies, things get rough from this point.
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Category: Alternate Universe Characters:Harry/Ginny, Hermione Granger, Luna Lovegood, Neville Longbottom, Ron Weasley Genres: Action/Adventure Warnings: Death, Disturbing Imagery, Intimate Sexual Situations, Rape, Violence Story is Complete Rating: R Reviews: 369 Summary: It started with a surprising proposals from an unexpected source, but that was only the beginning. Soon, Harry finds himself dealing with forces beyond his imagination and dreams, and ultimately finds that the world is not what he believed it to be. Hitcount: Story Total: 99078; Chapter Total: 3571 Author's Notes: |
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Not quite trusting themselves to draw on their magic for the moment, Harry and Ginny wearily began to walk back towards the Entrance Hall. Neither of them spoke, as words seemed superfluous at that moment. They just held hands as they trudged back, taking comfort simply in each other’s presence. Both of them felt slightly stunned by the events of the day and neither could quite believe that it was all finally over. Voldemort was defeated and the magical world could once again live in peace. Perhaps it was thoughts like that which made the shock of what they found at the Entrance Hall all the more devastating. As they approached the large doors, they noticed a few people bustling about outside. When one of the forms revealed itself to be Arthur Weasley, Ginny gave a cry and ran forward. She hugged her father in relief. “Ginny?” Arthur gasped as his daughter embraced him tightly. “Oh, my love, we were so worried. Is it done? Is the Dark Lord gone?” “Yes, Mr Weasley, Voldemort is dead, and this time for good,” Harry informed him. “Unfortunately, he took Dumbledore and Snape with him. Dumbledore was a true hero in the end. I dread to think what damage would have been caused if he hadn’t sacrificed himself to take down the evil bastard.” “I’m afraid they weren’t the only casualties,” Arthur said sadly. “Come inside you two.” Ginny gave Harry a worried glance, and hurried after her father. With a sinking feeling in his gut, he followed on. They entered the hall and for a second Harry could only stare in horror. There were bodies everywhere. Some were dressed in the green robes of Aurors while others were all in black. At a rough guess, he estimated there must have been fifty bodies lying mangled around the room. As he looked about, a cold fear began to settle in his stomach. “NO!” Ginny’s scream made Harry start, and he turned in time to see her run towards a small group of people huddled to one side. His eyes dimly took in Mrs Weasley on her knees, sobbing uncontrollably and Ron, clutching Hermione as if is life depended on it. Bill and Charlie were at the edge of the group, looking drawn and grim. But it was the sight of George that really caught his attention, on his hands and knees howling as if in pain. Harry walked forward a few steps before stopping abruptly as he caught sight of what was causing the Weasleys such distress. Laid out, side by side, were the bodies of Fred and Percy, battered and bloody. Harry took a shuddering breath and turned away. Instantly, guilt began to assail him. Why hadn’t he been more insistent that the others stay out of the battle? Why had he suggested they assault the Death Eaters from the rear? Dimly, in the back of his mind, that more cynical and hardened part of him that use to be Tom Riddle sneered at him for his stupidity. Even if he’d told the twins to stay behind, what were the chances that they actually would have done so? As for Percy, Harry hadn’t even known he was part of the Ministry forces. How could he have saved him? Although he still felt terrible, Harry accepted this reasoning gratefully, glad of anything that would elevate the awful guilt he was feeling. Suddenly, it occurred to him that he didn’t know where Neville and Luna were. Quickly, he hurried towards the mass of bodies, desperately hoping that they weren’t amongst them. He didn’t find his friends, but instead he had another terrible shock. At the top of the stairs, he found the body of Tonks wrapped in a deathly embrace with Bellatrix Lestrange. The two witches both had knives in their hands and it looked like they had stabbed each other to death. Harry stood and looked at the cousins in horror, imagining their last frenzied moments as the pair of them blindly thrust their blades into the other, oblivious to everything other than their burning desire to kill each other. “Harry!” He looked up to see Luna racing towards him. He felt the briefest surge of relief that she’d survived, before he became overwhelmed by the misery of it all again. He felt the small witch slip her arms around him and hug him tightly. Tears began to fall down his cheeks as he clutched at her desperately. “Is Neville alright?” he managed to sob. “He’s fine,” Luna assured him. “He’s helping move the wounded to St Mungo’s.” “I…” he began before realising he had no idea what to say next. “Ginny’s brothers…” “They were very brave,” she interrupted. “We only just got here in time. The Ministry staff were being cut to pieces. The Death Eaters caught them by surprise and were behind cover, while all the Aurors were out here in the open. We hit them from the rear and that gave the Ministry forces time to charge them. Fred was brilliant and took three Death Eaters down by himself before he was hit. We think he must have seen Percy fall, because he just went mad and charged into the enemy ranks alone. Poor George; he’ll be terrible sad.” Harry could only nod. Words failed him at that moment. “You can’t blame yourself, Harry,” Luna said firmly, apparently able to read his thoughts. “We had no idea that Voldemort still had so many followers and, remember, it was these people’s jobs to fight evil.” “It wasn’t Fred or Percy’s,” he disagreed. “Yes, it was. I’ve heard you say it yourself: evil grows when good people sit back and do nothing. Well, Fred and Percy were good people, and neither of them were content to stand back and let others fight their battles.” He could only nod. In truth, he was relieved to hear Luna say that. She, at least, didn’t blame him for all the death and destruction here. Somehow, his strange friend always knew exactly the right thing to say to him. “Now, I know you must be hurting badly, but Ginny needs you right now. You should go to her,” Luna said firmly. Stepping back from her embrace, Harry smiled in agreement. On impulse, he leaned forward and gently kissed her. “Thanks, Luna,” he said simply. “You’re welcome, Harry. Now, go to Ginny!” He almost laughed at her commanding tone in her voice, but instead it came out as a sob. Filled with foreboding, Harry turned and headed back down the staircase. The Weasleys were still gathered where he’d last seen them, standing forlornly around the bodies of their two fallen members. Mrs Weasley was hugging Ginny tightly and, as he approached, he could hear both witches sobbing. As he drew near, Ginny looked up, apparently sensing his approach. She pulled herself from her mother’s grasp and looked at him with a tear-streaked face. Not trusting himself to speak, he merely opened his arms and she rushed into his embrace. Harry hugged her as tightly as he could, and he could feel her small body shaking against him. Gently resting his cheek against the top of her head, he looked at the other Weasleys who he found were staring at him and Ginny. Molly offered him a sad smile of approval, before she knelt down and pulled George into a rough hug. Arthur dropped to his knees, and folded his arms around both his wife and distraught son. If this was victory, Harry thought, he hated to think what defeat would have felt like. HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP “ Is she asleep?” Mr Weasley looked tired, Harry thought, more tired than he’d ever seen the man. He was slumped at the kitchen table of Grimmauld Place with a cup of tea in his hand and an untouched sandwich on a plate beside him. “Yes, I think she cried herself to sleep,” Harry replied. He’d just left Ginny tucked up in one of the spare beds upstairs. It had taken her a long time to drop off and he was glad that she now had a brief respite from her grief. “Molly was the same,” Arthur confided. “I had to get her with a Sleeping Charm in the end. Bill and Charlie are keeping an eye on George. Fleur’s up there, too. I have no idea where Ron is; probably with that clever little witch of his.” “Hermione will look after him,” Harry said confidently, flopping into a chair opposite the Weasley patriarch. He felt shattered, but didn’t think he’d be able to sleep anytime soon, not without nightmares, anyway. Harry looked over at Mr Weasley, who seemed to have slipped into a trance. He hated to think what thoughts were going through the man’s head. “Mr Weasley,” he began hesitantly, “I’m so sorry about what happened. I know that if I’d been…” “If you’re about to try and take the blame for the deaths of Fred and Percy, or anyone else on our side, then I will come over there and box your ears, young man,” Mr Weasley said, snapping out of his stupor. “If anything, it’s my fault. I permitted Fred to be in the castle during the attack, knowing full well that he’d manage to get himself involved. As for Percy, if we hadn’t had that stupid row I don’t think he would have been so keen to try and prove himself in battle. I think… I think he was trying to redeem himself.” “I suspect Dumbledore was the same,” Harry admitted sadly. “He was trying to make up for all the suffering he inadvertently put me through.” “Dumbledore was dead already,” Arthur said with surprising harshness. “Sacrificing himself was just a way of sparing himself more pain.” Harry could only nod. Clearly, Mr Weasley was bitter at the loss of his two sons and not feeling very charitable. With a sad smile, Harry realised that he no longer felt any resentment towards Dumbledore, despite all his manipulations. The man had been forced to make some difficult choices and had simply tried to do the best he could. Harry had accepted this and forgiven him. For some reason, despite all the pain and misery, he felt better for realising this. “So, what happens now?” he asked in an effort to change the mood. “We’ve voted Shacklebolt in as temporary Minister,” Arthur explained, before a frown came on his face. “Do you know, I’m now one of the most senior Ministry officials, hence why I had to vote? I’ve been trying to avoid that level of responsibility all my life! Still, never mind, it can’t be helped. Anyway, Kingsley is the right man to get us all back on our feet, I’m sure. Hopefully, he’ll gather enough support to stay on in the role permanently, assuming the pureblood factions don’t stick their oar in. Assuming there’s enough of them left to worry about, of course. Rather a lot of them seemed to be on the Dark Lord’s side.” “Kingsley is a good bloke. If there’s anything I can do to help him, I’d be more than willing,” Harry replied truthfully. “I’m sure that just hearing you say that will count for a lot. After all, the word of the young man who defeated Voldemort will carry some weight, you know,” Arthur smiled. “What about you, Harry? What are your plans now?” A small grin came onto Harry’s face. He knew exactly what he wanted to do. “I want to finish my education without having to worry about people trying to kill me,” he confided. “I’d like to ensure Gryffindor win the Quidditch Cup again, and I’d also like to spend some time with Ginny, preferably while we’re not having to desperately train how to defeat some evil wizard.” Arthur chuckled softly. “That sounds like a good plan to me,” he agreed. Little did they know, Harry wouldn’t have the chance to carry it out. HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP “To the Prime Minister of Muggles. Urgent meeting required!” The Prime Minister looked up from the report he’d been reading in irritation. Whenever that damnable portrait spoke it always heralded bad news. Perhaps, however, that Scrimgeour man could shed some light on all of the terrible things that had been happening of late. “Very well, I’ll meet with him now,” the Prime Minister said firmly, sitting back in his chair and adopting a stern expression. He watched the fireplace expectantly, but was rather surprised when a tall, dark man stepped out of the green flames. “Kingsley?” the Prime Minister exclaimed at the sight of his former bodyguard. “What are you doing here?” “I’m afraid a lot has happened in a very short time, Prime Minister, and not all of it good,” the big man rumbled. “I’m sorry to tell you that Rufus Scrimgeour has been killed and I’ve been elected to take his place, at least temporarily.” “You? But I thought you were just a kind of policeman,” he protested. “That I am, but I do have a fair bit of governmental experience and, frankly, not too many other people want the job at the moment.” “Hmm, very well,” the Minister said grudgingly. “Now you’re here, perhaps you can offer some explanation regarding some recent events which have, shall we say, a magical odour about them.” “Ah, yes, that’s exactly why I’m here,” Shacklebolt nodded. “I believe my predecessor explained to you about the problems we were having with a certain Dark Lord, yes?” “Yes, that was explained to me, but I was assured that the matter was being taken care of,” he snapped before waving the report he’d been reading in the man’s direction. “No doubt that this is his work! Railway bridges demolished while trains are on them, random disappearances with no explanations, and, now, whole villages being devastated with huge loss of life! Is this the work of your supposed ‘Dark Lord’, Kingsley?” “Yes, sadly it is,” Kingsley admitted. “Two hundred and four people died at Williton, you know! People are calling it the greatest tragedy to hit the country since the war! Just how many more have to die before you bloody wizards finish your own little private conflict?” “Hopefully, none,” Kingsley replied firmly. “The Dark Lord, Voldemort, is dead. He and his followers were led into an ambush by Ministry forces and eliminated. Harry Potter finally managed to vanquish his hated foe once and for all.” “Harry Potter? Who the hell is Harry Potter?” the Minister practically spat. “Didn’t Rufus mention him? Or Fudge? No matter. Harry is the young hero who has been fighting Voldemort practically since he became school age. Despite being only sixteen, he and his girlfriend managed to defeat the Dark Lord while the rest of us engaged the man’s followers. It was an epic battle, I can tell you.” “Sixteen? Only sixteen, and accompanied by his girlfriend? Do you people make it a habit to let schoolboys take on homicidal warlords?” the Minister gasped. “Well, no, but you have to understand that Harry is immensely powerful. He might just be the most powerful wizard since Merlin, himself,” Shacklebolt beamed. “And this Potter slew this Voldemort fellow, did he? He seems a little young to start killing people, don’t you think?” “I’m not sure if Voldemort even counts as people,” Shacklebolt disagreed. “Besides, Harry didn’t have a choice. A prophecy was made before he was born stating that he would be the one to vanquish the Dark Lord, and that’s just what he did. He saved hundreds if not thousands of lives by doing so, I should add.” “I see, and what happens to this Potter fellow now?” the Prime Minister demanded. “What do you mean?” Kingsley asked in confusion. “Well, as I understand it you have some sixteen-year-old wizard who is insanely powerful, and who apparently has no qualms about killing if required, running about without supervision. Has this lad at least been taken into custody for questioning?” “Taken into custody? Prime Minister, Harry Potter just saved all our lives! I’m not about to start treating him like a criminal! Besides, Harry is a fine young man, without a bad bone in his body. I have no worries about him, at all.” “Hmm, if you say so. I suppose if it was just this Voldemort fellow that he killed he can’t be held responsible for… what was that look for?” the Prime Minister demanded when he saw a frown appear on Shacklebolt’s face. “I admit, Harry and his friends also had to take down some of the Death Eaters, that is, Voldemort’s followers. But that was during the final battle, oh and when the Death Eaters were attacking a magical village called Hogsmeade. Those murderous thugs were killing and raping women at will, until Harry stopped them. He had no choice.” “Good God, man! Do you lot still think we’re living in the Dark Ages, or something? Do these Death Eaters think they’re Viking raiders? Why didn’t the magical police, or whatever you call yourselves, stop all this? Why was it necessary for a schoolboy and his friends to go on a killing spree to stop it? In short, what sort of barbaric, murderous society do you people maintain?” the Minister shouted. “Minister, it’s been a dark time in our history, but I can assure you…” “You can assure me, can you? Just like your predecessor assured me that your big, bad Dark Lord was under control? I’m supposed to take comfort from the fact there’s a schoolboy with more power than the most famous wizard in history running around killing people with his bloody girlfriend? You think that’s alright, do you?” “Prime Minister, can I…” “No, Shacklebolt, I’ve heard enough! Maybe you wizards think you can just carry on any bloody way you like, but normal, decent people won’t stand for it, do you hear?” the Prime Minister raged. “Now, I want you to go and magic yourself back to wherever you came from, and if I hear of one more suspicious incident involving anything freaky, I assure you there will be trouble. Do I make myself clear?” “Yes, Prime Minister,” Kingsley replied in a defeated voice. “Good, now get out of my office.” The big man departed without another word. Still angry, the Prime Minister stood and went over to where he kept a small drinks cabinet. He pour himself a large measure of Scotch, before walking over to the window and staring out over the back gardens of Downing Street. He’d been too passive about all this, he realised. The revelation that magic existed and there was a whole secret society existing side-by-side with the mundane world had shocked him so much that he had meekly allowed the wizards to maintain their own jurisdiction over matters. Clearly, that had been a mistake. Gulping down his whisky, he returned to his desk and keyed the intercom to his secretary. “Susan? Can you get me an outside line, please? I need to make a call to America.” HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPH PHPHPHP “…and we project a twenty per cent growth in that sector over the next five years. The recommendation is that a move into bio diversity should offset potential drops in income from the petro-chemical sector that are being forecast.” Scribbling some notes absently, Jeff Mayer, or Jeffrey H. Mayer to give him his full title, let his thoughts drift. This week’s debrief from his various company heads and advisors was proving more tedious than normal. These men (and women, he reminded himself, diversity being all important these days) had no feel for business, he felt. They could rattle out facts and figures, endlessly discuss projections and balance sheets, but they had no intrinsic feel for how big business worked. They had no gut instincts for cold, hard cash. That was how he’d made his money. He’d started in the oil trade, given a boost by his father who had been in that line of work all his life but had never made much profit from it. By hard work and ruthless efficiency, he’d singlehandedly turned the family’s small company around until it was now one of the largest businesses in the world. He hadn’t stopped there, either. Jeff knew potential when he saw it, and had expanded his operation by the purchase of other firms, often working in very different areas of expertise than he was used to. The purchase of a struggling software business twenty years ago, against the advice of all his Yale educated advisors, had netted him billions of dollars. He was now, quite literally, one of the richest men in the world. And with money came power and influence. “That sounds good to me, Bobbie,” Jeff drawled, cutting off one of his senior staff. “You prepare the acquisition documents and I’ll look them over on my flight to L.A. tomorrow. Now, while you’re all here, I’d like to discuss the problems they’re having over in England.” Worried glances met his words. They all knew he was slightly obsessed by this particular subject, but he didn’t give a damn what they thought. Damn heathens, the lot of them. “Are you really sure that’s something we need to get into?” a voice asked nervously. “I mean, those magic users have been blowing each other up for years. Why do we need to start worrying about it now?” If money bought power, that power was maintained and enhanced by information. Jeff Mayer was a master at obtaining information, and from a multitude of sources. His desk was currently littered with reports from all corners of the globe and from all manner of authors. Jeff was privy to information from big business, the police, the military, various political factions and a number of data collection agencies, several of which he had set up personally. Nothing happened anywhere in the world that he didn’t know about eventually. More to the point, if those events weren’t to his liking, he had the influence to do something about it. Due to his diverse range of sources, Jeff knew about organised crime in the Philippines, military exercises in North Korea, even bribery in the Zimbabwean parliament. He even knew about all the witches and wizards out there… and he hated them. To Jeff, magic was an abomination. Raised in a good catholic family, he considered what they did to be ungodly and evil. Their secret society, outside of normal regulation and laws, made him deeply suspicious, too. Over the years he’d devoted a lot of time and resources to monitoring the magical community and he didn’t like what he saw one bit. “I’m absolutely certain,” Jeff said in a voice that instantly shut up his underlings. “Two days ago, I had a call from the Prime Minister of Great Britain, who happens to be an old friend of my family. He spent a couple of years over here in the states when he was younger and I got to know him quite well. Anyway, he knew my feelings about these so called magical types and he wanted to alert me to several disturbing incidents that have occurred in his country. Simon, would you pass round the reports, please?” Simon was Jeff’s personal assistant and frighteningly good at his job. With crisp efficiency, the slim young man handed a slim, blue file to everyone. They all opened the reports and began to leaf through them. “If you’d all like to firstly turn to pages three and four, you’ll see pictures of a small English village that has been virtually flattened recently. The British press spun the incident as a result of a fire at a chemical storage facility, but the truth is that this was caused by Magicals.” “Magicals? But why would they do this?” someone asked curiously. “Apparently, this group was led by a deranged maniac who considered all non-magical people to be vermin in need of extermination. That means you and me, folks, in case you missed my drift. The real cherry on the cake was that this bastard was enormously powerful and could blast whole buildings apart with a wave of his little fairy wand.” Jeff paused to let this information sink in before he continued. “Fortunately, this rat bastard was defeated a week ago and is now pushing up the daisies but, and get this, he was killed by some teenage kid who is apparently even more powerful than this goon was! It wasn’t the first time this kid had taken life, either.” “Jeez, don’t those Brits know how to handle this kind of thing?” someone said disdainfully. “It ain’t just the Brits who have this problem,” he replied. “A similar situation occurred in Brazil just a few years ago, and half of West Africa was dragged into a magical war just last year. From what I can tell, these conflicts pop up all over the world with alarming regularity.” The assembled group all shared a look of disquiet. “In this one incident alone over two hundred people died. Good, honest god-fearing souls, cut down simply because they couldn’t pull a goddamn rabbit out of a hat! This was only one such atrocity amongst many, I should add. The British P.M. estimated over one thousand citizens lost their lives in this recent conflict. Back in the mid-seventies there was an even bigger war over there, and over two and a half thousand were killed in that. The one in Africa cost nearly twenty thousand lives, apparently.” “So what can we do about this problem?” a voice called out. “That’s the question, isn’t it? With this ‘secret society’ of theirs, they can act any damn well way they please,” Jeff raged. “The witch hunts of the medieval era were the last time normal folks tried to assert any control over the Magicals, and that didn’t work out too well. To my mind, these guys are nothing less than terrorists trying to destroy our way of life, and they should be treated as such.” “What are you going to do?” someone asked. Jeff smiled. “The G8 summit is due to start next week. I think I need to have a little talk with a few people there.” HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPH PHPHP Wearily, Jeff threw his suit jacket over the back of a sofa and dropped gratefully into a nearby chair. He glanced out of the window at the lights of Denver, spread out before him. The Four Seasons Hotel really did have a great view, he mused. “How did it go, sir?” Simon asked politely. “Excellent,” Jeff smiled. “I had no idea so many countries were as worried about the Magicals as I am.” “You made some useful contacts, then?” “More than that, I’m pretty sure the Russians are preparing to start ‘processing’ their own magical community soon, irrespective of anything we do.” Although the G8 was principally a gathering of Western industrial nations, with the addition of Japan, the Russian Federation had been invited for the first time. In addition, representatives of many other nations, including China and many of the Gulf States, also attended. Occasionally, when Jeff was feeling whimsical, he went onto the internet and typed in ‘Illuminati’ and then sat back and openly laughed at all the crackpot conspiracy theories he found. That’s not to say there wasn’t a group of people controlling the world order, it’s just that they weren’t secret. They were all out there, in plain sight, on the boards of multinationals or in public records listed as the heads of huge merchant banks. Money equalled power, and in the crowded conference halls of the Denver Public Library, some of the most power people in the world had gathered that day, and Jeff had access to all of them. “Oh? I thought Magicals were well liked in Russian. They are quite traditional, after all,” Simon pointed out. “Yeltsin is losing power,” Jeff confided. “He’ll be out in a year, two at most. No, the real power in Russian is in the hands of the former State apparatus: the KGB’s bastard children and the army. The KGB always hated anyone with magical abilities. Too hard to control, you know. Anyway, a few Magicals have been making bids for power in the normal world and its upset some very powerful people. The Russians will back our proposals fully.” “And the rest?” Simon asked. “The Brits are already in, and the Germans seemed quite keen, too. France seems a little hesitant, but I know exactly where to apply pressure on that front. The Chinese have been suppressing Magicals for years, and I swear the Japanese only tolerate them because they know it upsets the Chinese. After the wars in Africa, no one there gives a rat’s ass about them there, and South America is going that way, too. That evil wizard in Brazil really spooked a lot of folk.” “Then we’re practically guaranteed global support! Providing the President goes for it, of course.” “Ah, you leave old Bill to me,” Jeff grinned. “If he causes any trouble I have enough on him to see him impeached and imprisoned. Nah, the only sticking points that I can see are some of the East European nations and a few places in Asia. I can’t see India going for this, at all. Still, once they see the way the wind is blowing they may fall into line.” “Wonderful, sir,” Simon said. “Were you successful in your talks with the British Foreign Minister?” “I was indeed, my young friend. I have now been appointed official advisor to the British Government during this crisis. I’ll be leaving on Tuesday for a meeting with the P.M. so can you have that intelligence data ready, please?” “Of course, Simon nodded. “Oh, and I’ve arranged a call with your wife in twenty minutes. She’s very excited about Roger’s exam results and keen to tell you all about them, so I’d recommend that you pretend you don’t already know them.” “Naturally,” Jeff smiled. Like there was any information that he didn’t know. HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP The lank-haired youth shifted uncomfortably in his chair. Clearly, the young man couldn’t quite believe he was in a room with so many faces he’d probably only seen on television. Perhaps sensing the man’s uneasy, the Prime Minister cleared his throat. “Perhaps we could begin?” he said. “Mr Mayer, perhaps you could kick things off?” Jeff gave his best winning smile. “Of course, Prime Minister,” he agreed. “Firstly, I think introductions are in order. This fine gentleman is Mr James Lambert and he is, for want of a better description, a wizard. Mr Lambert has agreed to help us following the death of his parents, killed by other wizards during their recent conflict. Mr Lambert, you are, I believe, something other wizards refer to as a Muggleborn. Can you explain what that means?” “Yeah,” the young man agreed nervously. “It means my parents weren’t magical, at all. If your parents were a witch and a wizard, you’re referred to as a Pureblood. If only one of them was then you’re a Half-blood.” “Is this significant in any way?” Jeff asked. “Oh, definitely. Purebloods look down on Muggleborns as being inferior. Half-bloods too, to a lesser degree. The Purebloods are the aristocracy of the Wizarding world and believe they’re automatically superior. All the best jobs are reserved for them, too.” “Interesting,” Jeff nodded. “And what is the opinion of the average Pureblood of non-magical people like us?” “We call you lot Muggles, actually,” Lambert supplied. “Most Purebloods think of Muggles as little more than animals. That’s one of the reasons You-Know-Who managed to gather so much support, because he wanted to wipe out you Muggles completely.” “You-Know-Who was the name most wizards used to describe the recently defeated Dark Lord,” Jeff explained to the group. “Apparently, he was so feared no one dared utter his name.” “Don’t laugh!” Lambert snapped when this comment raised a titter amongst the assembled group. “You wouldn’t have dared say his name either if you’d ever have seen him in the flesh. Mind you, you’d have probably been dead shortly afterwards.” “And this youth that managed to kill You-Know-Who, this Harry Potter. What of him?” “Dunno, really. The press have made him out to be this big hero, but they were calling him a delusional maniac just a short while before,” Lambert explained. “He was in this competition a few years back, called the Triwizard Tournament, which he won. The thing is, one of his main competitors ended up being killed and they never did get to the bottom of how it happened, exactly.” “So, this Potter might be dangerous?” Jeff pressed. “He killed bloody You-Know-Who and a bunch of his Death Eaters, so of course he’s dangerous!” Lambert exclaimed. “Not that it did my parents any good. Those bloody Death Eaters cut them down without mercy. They were defenceless! But that’s the thing; to them lot my parents weren’t people, they were just cattle.” “How were they killed?” the Foreign Secretary asked kindly. “They used the Killing Curse. That’s a spell that will kill anyone stone dead with just a wave of their wand. It’s one of the Unforgivables: that’s three spells that are supposed to be completely illegal and will get you a life sentence if used. The thing is, all three of them seem to have gotten a lot of use lately and I haven’t heard of too many people getting banged up for it.” “What are the others?” the Chief of the General Staff asked. “There’s the Imperius Curse, which allows the person who casts it to completely control their victim. I heard one story about a teenage girl who stabbed her own father to death in the street under its influence. Course, she killed herself shortly after when she realised what she’d done. The other spell is the Cruciatus Curse which inflicts incredible pain on someone. The Death Eaters regularly use it to torture people into insanity.” “Good God,” the Home Secretary muttered. “What other weapons can they use against us?” a Rear Admiral asked. “A Fiendfyre Spell can create a magical inferno that can level an entire village, and they have other spells that can blow just about anything apart,” Lambert started to explain. “They also have all sorts of beasts that can be unleashed: giants, trolls, huge spiders, ghoul-like creatures that can suck your soul out, dragons. Oh, and they can re-animate the dead into something they call Inferi who mindlessly do the bidding of whoever created them.” “They can unleash a zombie apocalypse on us? Sweet Jesus,” the Home Secretary gasped. “Mr Lambert, I think that will do for now,” Jeff interrupted. “Perhaps if you’d like to go with this gentleman here and review our intelligence regarding the capabilities of the average witch or wizard. I’m sure there’s much you could teach us.” “Yeah, my pleasure,” the man agreed, standing up hurriedly. “We’re very sorry for your loss, Mr Lambert, and will do everything in our power to bring to justice the vile people who murdered your family,” the Prime Minister added. “Thank you,” Lambert replied simply and went willingly with one of the Civil Servants in attendance. There was a mutter of disquiet as soon as the man left. “Ladies and Gentleman, I think you can begin to see just what a threat these Magicals pose to us,” Jeff said in a loud voice, bringing everyone’s attention back to him. “These are not idle threats, either. We estimate wizards have killed thousands of UK citizens in the last twenty years in various secret wars, but that is the tip of the iceberg. Can you all turn to page sixty-four of your briefing document?” There was a flurry of paper turning and the room went quiet as they all began to read. It didn’t take long to get a reaction. “Are you telling me that Hitler rose to power with the help of a wizard?” an army general exclaimed in horror. “Indeed, a wizard named Grindelwald oversaw his rise and actively helped him many times. Grindelwald was at the time making his own grab for control of the Wizarding World, and used the conflict in the normal world to aid his cause. The concentration camps weren’t only for Jews and gypsies, but also his opponents. Yes, a war in which over sixty million people were killed was started by a wizard intent on world conquest.” There was a stunned silence. “Ladies and Gentlemen, I hope you now appreciate that the Magicals are in fact terrorists. Possibly the foulest, most dangerous terrorist that ever existed and ones that threaten our very existence,” Jeff said passionately. “Other nations around the world have already come to this conclusion and are taking action. China has for years executed any Magical it discovers and I understand that in Russia a similar order has recently been passed. Even America has agreed that we must handle this matter with ruthless efficiency.” “I spoke to the President last night and he confirmed this,” the Prime Minister chipped in. “What are we talking here? Genocide? Do we have to start slaughtering babies in their crib just because they might be magical?” the Foreign Minister demanded. “No, definitely not,” Jeff confirmed. “Without education and training these magical powers mean nothing. If we can eradicate the current control structure and prevent it rising again, the next generation of Magicals will have no means of harnessing their powers. It takes years of training to become a witch or wizard, and if we can destroy their education and control system, we can prevent future generations gaining these terrible abilities. They might seem a bit weird to you or me, but that will be it. No, we just have to eliminate the current generation of witches and wizards and this threat will be removed forever.” “How do we do that, exactly?” someone demanded. “I mean, these people look exactly like us.” “I’m not saying it will be easy, and we face a long and difficult task. However, there are large concentrations of these Magicals, and if we strike quickly and decisively, we can take out the majority of them in one go. Simon? If you would.” A large screen flickered into life against one wall. Everyone turned to look at it. “What you are looking at, Ladies and Gentlemen, is an image captured from a US military spy satellite. As you will see, it covers most of the United Kingdom and it shows the electro-magnetic spectrum. In short, this shows all major electric output over the entire country. Notice how it’s particularly dense around all the major cities. Now, also notice how in certain areas there is almost no electrical activity, at all. There’s a very large patch up here in Scotland, for instance. This, we believe, is where there is a concentration of Magicals.” “How do you tell them apart from just uninhabited areas? I can see big gaps in Wales and around Dartmoor, for instance,” a voice called out. “Next slide, please,” Jeff called. The screen changed, still showing a picture of the UK, but rather than patches of blue, there were now large blotches of red everywhere. “This is from the same satellite, but was taken with a thermal camera. If you look at the area of Scotland I indicated earlier, you’ll see a large thermal signature indicating a settlement. Overlap that with the electro-magnetic shot, and we can clearly see where our pesky Magicals are hiding. It’s just a matter of identifying the areas with large heat signatures but no electrical activity.” “Human intelligence backs up these findings,” the Head of MI5 confirmed. “We’ve got them, then,” an unidentified voice declared. “But how do we deal with them?” someone else demanded. “That area in Scotland must be huge.” Jeff smiled. “If you would all turn to page ninety-eight in briefing you’ll find an action plan laid out.” After a few minutes there were several audible gasps of surprise. “You can’t be serious!” the Home Secretary exclaimed. “You propose this, on our own soil?” “There’s no other way,” Mayer insisted. “We need to make sure none of them escape. Besides, it will fit our cover story portraying them as terrorists perfectly. We’ll just claim they were responsible.” An uneasy silence descended on the room. No one, Jeff was pleased to note, was arguing, however. HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP HP Rosmerta leant against the frame of the side entrance to The Three Broomsticks and sighed contentedly. This was her favourite time of the day when she could just take a little time to herself, secure in the knowledge that the kitchen staff were already hard at work preparing for the lunchtime rush, and the bar was fully stocked and ready to go. She could just enjoy her coffee and relax. Frankly, after the last few months she’d had, she needed some rest. Sniffing the air, she savoured the rich late-Spring scents that were being carried on a gentle wind. From where she was standing, Rosmerta could clearly see the back garden of the Post Office which was meticulously maintained by old Mrs Halfpenny. While Rosmerta was distinctly lacking in horticultural skills, she always appreciated the riot of colour that was the old woman’s garden in the summer. This year would be no exception. With a glance at her watch, she realised it was time to head inside and start on her preparations for lunch. She had just finished the last dregs of her coffee when something caught her eye. At first, she thought it was someone on a broom, but she quickly realised it was moving too fast for that. Intrigued, she watched the object as it flew rapidly towards the castle. Then it exploded. Mercifully, Rosmerta’s brain barely had time to register her eyes being dissolved into liquid and her hair shrivelling in the intense heat. The massive third degree burns barely had time to form on her exposed skin before the massive shockwave hit her, carbonising her instantly. Behind her, the pub was flattened in the blink of an eye, as was every other building in Hogsmeade. To the North, the firestorm enveloped Hogwarts Castle, tearing down every tower and ripping the roofs off every other structure. Unable to withstand the blast that moved at over three hundred meters a second, the marble staircase tower collapsed in on itself, wreaking terrible damage around it as it fell, and killing most of the teaching staff who were in the Headmistress’s office at that moment conducting a meeting. Huge chunks of masonry crashed through the ceiling of the Grand Hall, virtually levelling it. Further out, the huge wave of fire reached the lake, causing a massive cloud of steam to form and super-heating the water, killing every living thing within it. Hagrid, sleeping late in his cabin never knew what hit him as he and everything he owned was incinerated instantly. The citizens of Hogsmeade would probably have been surprised to learn that the nuclear warhead that had detonated over their sleepy village was quite a small devise by most reckoning — less than five kilotons, but it would have provided them with little comfort. In less than twenty seconds, every living thing within a half-mile radius as wiped out of existence. The first shot of a global war had just been fired. |
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