Resurgence
Summary
The murder of Ginny Weasley, the assassination of the Minister of Magic and the apparent death of the Chosen One catalyses a series of changes across the wizarding world. Events unfold with great speed and are influenced by a large number of parties with their own aspirations and interests.
This story is quite heavily influenced by the Bourne Trilogy, Black Hawk Down and the Hunt for Red October. This story is influenced by a number of authors such as Robert Ludlum, Tom Clancy, Robert North Patterson etc. I would also like to acknowledge the influence of a number of reviewers from and . Their advice has proven invaluable despite the multiple iterations that this story has had to take. My style of writing, as can be seen between the prologue and the first chapter has changed quite substantially.
As always, I welcome all reviews.
Prologue
28th July 2009
Wraxton Theatre, Diagon Alley
Ginny Weasley was a well trained actress. She had the right level of lip quivering down to a pat and could do that stiff upper lip in tripe. Ask her to warble and she would make you swoon. Method acting was her forte, the muses her divine. One didn't race past Celestina Warvick's chart position on debut without talent, sheer beauty and an enchanting personality. She was the toast of high society, a fabled actress, her theatre show booked for the entire summer.
It had taken her 10 years, a brief spell in the Quidditch ranks, and a network of contacts to reach this status of celebrity. She had her string of auror fiancées, quidditch one night stands and stalkers already. The fame had pitfalls too. The Daily Prophet kept highlighting her as an airhead and her numerous dalliances had already sparked an anti-Weaslette morality squad. As with any other major celebrity, she had had her death threats and love notes reported, highlighted and crossed off.
It had been a hard day's work for her with punishing schedules. A power nap was required.
It was a peaceful world now. Ten years of rebuilding and renewal had its discouraging moments, but this was a society that had recovered from that terror. There was a population boom ongoing with new immigrants pouring by the dozen and romance in the air.
Ten years had however proven stale the theory that personalities with opposite characteristics could be a perfect match for each other. To the surprise of some and the grim prediction of others, Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley were finally completing their long drawn divorce. It had taken them a decade to determine that puppy love and declarations of love in the heat of battle didn't imply a successful long term relationship. There had always been rumblings of discontent and fissures of despair in this courtship. Ignoring long term disputes however was an art that both of them had perfected and a lack of communication made this even worse.
Ron Weasley's numerous failed attempts to rise from being a mediocre Quidditch goalkeeper for the Cannons had played its part in his recent bout of depression. Things had not quite turned out as the Mirror of Erised had proclaimed. There had been the Quidditich captaincy and winning the hand of the fair maiden. His recent shin injury had cast him out for the rest of the season and boredom never suited him well. Hermione's recent successes in the Department of Magical Investigation, on the other hand, had exacerbated his insecurities and his paranoia. Ginny had tried to pull him out of his endemic insecurity but her successes had intensified his gloom.
Hermione was now a Class 1 Investigator, able to authorise investigations into cases dealing with major personalities or the public interest. Going on wild goose chases was a skill she had developed at Hogwarts, and this career had seemed appropriate. The cases weren't as exciting (working on recovering Lucius Malfoy's untold and unaccounted wealth was not really the same as hunting him down) as hunting for a philosopher's stone but the pay was good, the post was prestigious and the publicity allowed her to push her own causes. The House Elf Foundation was a non starter and was currently in hibernation due to a lack of funding but it was on Hermione's to do list. Her interests ranged from publishing her own column in the Daily Prophet to meddling in Ginny's romantic life. Despite numerous requests from Ginny for her to back off, the introductions and invitations kept coming. Ginny suspected Hermione was attempting to live her fantasies through Ginny's dalliances.
Bill Weasley was now a happily married man, sleeping with the most desirable woman in all of France. Fleur Delacour was obnoxious, stuck up and yet quite obviously in love with Ginny's eldest brother. Tolerating her was something that Ginny had gotten used to. Bill still loved being a curse breaker for Gringotts, travelling across the world on myriad trips to bring back long forgotten treasure. There had been a hair-raising escapade in the Amazon last week, but his arrival back home had been one of intense physicality. Fleur was now working as an assistant professor at Hogwarts for Charms, giving that class a ready boost in popularity. The gender ratio for that class was now heavily skewed and absences were nowhere in sight.
Charlie Weasley, on the other hand, was celebrating 15 years of bachelorhood with a month long stag night. Romanian witches were notorious for letting their hair down for anyone closely linked to dragons and this promised to be one of those nights that would be talked about for years. Ginny had already received an owl from Charlie detailing his apologies for being unable to attend her premiere due to the numerous kegs of butterbeer, dragon's breath and strip snap sessions being played over the next week. Getting married to that vampire for one night in a Transylvanian chapel had been the highlight of his week so far. His half chopped off ear from the Great War had been surprisingly attractive to a colony of vampires based near Constanta. Travelling across the Carpathian range to monitor dragon migration patterns had lead to lack of revelry and that intoxicating mead was too good to resist. As they say in vampire lores, one bite led to another and that chapel was readily boarded.
Percy Weasley was happily married to Penelope Clearwater in a traditional wedding blessed by the honorary ex minister Cornelius Fudge. Percy had always maintained a soft spot for the beleaguered politician and was careful to keep his political networks alive to enable him to make his next leap. Ginny had not met up Percy for a while now, primarily due to clashing timetables and general reticence on both sides to overcome the awkwardness of events based in the distant past. Percy now worked as a deputy for Rufus Scrimgeour, the leader of the Wizengamot, second in line, in the chain of command. He was considered a rising political protégé, one whose speeches and public events could only grow in recognition. He offered an ideal platform for the public to reach out to – a young, fresh orator with a happy family, and a long pedigree of political experience and an extended family of pureblood Order of the Phoenix members. Ginny thought he was still a stuck up prick.
Fred & George had expanded their ongoing public concern, the Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes to encompass two further branches based in Hogsmeade and Paris. Tricking those French veelas into parting with their fortune and virtue was an activity that both of them revelled in. On the other hand, meddling in their sister's romantic liasions was now considered passé for them, a fact that Ginny was grateful for. The investment made by Harry had paid off substantially, with returns exceeding initial investment by the second year of running.
And thinking of Harry…
"Ginny!!!". Ginny awoke from her musings, the pixie voice highlighting its pleading. Pondering over ten years of history was not the way to spend her small breaks between rehearsals. The opening was tonight, the culmination of two months of a million galleons worth of spending. This was to be the greatest theatre act ever displayed in the wizarding world. The Parable of Nicholas Flamel – it was to be a tribute and a celebration, of the man who began the original pantheon of current wizarding heroes. Casting for the role of Perenelle had been highly competitive, and her contacts needed to be fully utilised for a role of this magnitude. For a public nostalgic on the golden past and the upcoming decade celebration of the end of the Great War, this could be a critical cultural success.
"What?"… stated Ginny, sleepily. Ethel, her stage manager, was really getting on her nerves today. Running through 10 rehearsals in a week was sheer madness, even for a play of such magnitude.
"Your guests have just arrived" stated the wizened old witch.
"Huh.. There's still an hour for the show. They were supposed to be walking into the premiere with me?" frowned Ginny.
"Alright, fine. Who's here anyway?" she said.
"Well there's that depressed redhead, then those two annoying twin redheads with their bulging pockets, the redhead with that gorgeous Veela, and that investigator. " stated Ethel with a straight face.
It had a nice half hour nap and now she had the ribbons to cut, autographs to sign and sultry pouts to make. It had been a nice reminiscence. Reminding herself of the need to actually make an effort to wear something slutty and yet oozing class, she rifled through her wardrobe. After spending another half hour searching, preparing and wearing a her long black dress, it was time to leave. She closed off her wardrobe and then heard a book fall. She opened up her wardrobe again. There was a little black book at the bottom of the shelf, one that she hadn't seen before. It had a dark binding and was plain. It looked a bit worn down from use. Ginny Weasley never used diaries.
She sought to pick it up and then shrunk away. Her memories of her first year were still embedding an innate fear of strange books in her. She wrested her paranoia away and held the book. Her wand was drawn for any strange activity. She opened it up. It was blank. It was a blank diary.
Shaking her hands, she searched for a pen, a pencil, anything… She found an unused quill at the end of her chair. She picked it up and started writing, ready to curse the book to oblivion if she felt even a hint of tremor. The first words she wrote stayed on the pages. She stared at them for a few minutes, willing them to stay on and not sink down deep inside the book. The ink was a bit smudgy but stayed put. She kept on writing, mixing incoherence with panic. The ink stayed as it was, not a hint of activity. There were no voices calling back to her, no words oozing out of the ink used by her, not a menace in sight. She flipped through the pages in a hurry, back and forth; try to chance down even a hint of activity. The book stayed put.
She put the book down and breathed a gentle sigh. She started giggling, a low murmur that eventually became a full blown laugh. It was ironic, a nightmare of her childhood, that could actually come back and still haunt her. Those deep manipulated words still haunted her. Their impact was still prevalent. She picked up the book and chucked into the bin. It must have been either a sick joke or an innocent prank. There were no more monsters and no more dangers to make her paranoid. Constant vigilance really was not needed in this age.
Ginny ran out of the room, late already for an event for which she had to be late. She failed to notice, a dark green gleam from the bin, highlighting her room briefly.
The photo session with Daily Prophet had been bearable enough. Inane questions were asked about what she looked for in an ideal date, her favourite dress, her motives, her ability to act, her fears and loves and finally, her designer dress. The headlines tomorrow seemed likely to be positive, catapulting her into a level of celebrity that she had been aiming for ages.
The play started smoothly enough, with her role requiring her to play the supposedly grieving widow, preyed on by unworthy suitors, unable to turn them down and unable to turn them away. The first half of the play was coming to an end. A cliff hanger was in sight, with the appearance of her on stage husband, as a dark hooded suitor. Her lines were completed; she had to stay mute for another five minutes. Allow the heroes to be heroes and the villains to be villains and her to play the fair damsel in distress. She looked into the audience for a reaction till now. The audience were glued to their seats, seated in expectation. Everyone was intently following the story. A critical reception seemed valid. Hermione sat rapt in attention, trying to understand the complexities involved in the story. There were other friends too, back from her school days. Michael Corner was watching her intently, following her every move and every expression. He had been distant to her since a decade back, a sign that ex boyfriends should be kept as ex.
The scene ended and the audience stood up in a standing ovation for the halfway break. There was a further hour to go, but this reception was the culmination of her dreams. She had finally arrived. People started moving to the front of their seats seeking autographs and pictures. This was her moment and she took it with relish. She was hugged by her family, congratulated by her friends and gazed at distantly by Michael. She stood on the stage and waved him over. He moved slowly, shifted around and started walking lankily towards her. He was a few metres away when a loud bang interrupted the proceedings.
She turned around. It was simply Fred showing off some new merchandise. Those two were marketing geniuses. She turned back around. Michael was close to her personal space now. "Michael" she stated. He dropped in and briefly touched her lips. She felt cold. Something was scrapping off, tugged to her lips. She came back and felt skin flakes on her lips scraped off Michael's face. Michael pulled back, his face melting down. His hands start condensing, a colloidal mixture of flesh and bone arising. There was alert stride about him, almost ready to strike.
Michael swung back, took out a small metallic object and fired two clicks. It seemed like one of those "guns" that her father termed muggle wands. They hit her point blank, one in her chest, and one in her face. The lacerations induced by the collision were deep. The shock hit her first. Her breathing stopped and her lungs started to collapse. Her brain started shutting down. She fell down and started breathing her last sighs, coughing up blood. Her nervous system started shutting down, one axon after another. All those dreams and all those battles were now fought. These times were finally changing. This was her moment. Her proudest day and here she was, amidst the adulation, down on her feet. The last sight she saw prior to closing her eyes was Michael's face, stripping off, with skin hanging down and flashes of green light.