A journey begins with a single step. Or so the saying goes. Sometimes it's a small step, tentative and unsure. Other times, its a bold stride into the unknown, it might even be a big step for all mankind. The commonality of all journey beginnings is that you don't quite know what will happen to you along the way. Where we're going to has no bearing on the journey itself except as an endpoint. And it's not all that important either, our destination often changes as fate wills it. This, Jasmine Potter knew all to well. She glanced at her watch. 20 to 1. Time to get on the move. Getting out of her sofa, she crossed the room to heavily warded armoire. She flicked her hand and the wards fell. The dispelled magic causes a faint breeze to waft against her hair. Glancing inside, she took stock of the grey battle robes hung inside with the emblem of a pair of crossed wands within a triangle, that itself enclosed by a circle, on the left breast. Mounted on one of the doors, a sword with rubies the size of eggs on the hilt hung, gleaming, almost as if in anticipation.
On the other door a pair of wickedly sharp daggers hung. Sighing, Jasmine stripped off her outer robes, garbed in tunic and jeans. As she garbed herself, she ruminated on the events that had brought her to this. The aftermath of the War was not all smooth. The months of trying to undo the Dark Faction's legislative stamp had proved difficult and tedious. The supporters who had been given powers were hard to remove, as they had not been marked as Death Eaters, they could not be so easily tossed in a cell and so be dealt with. They fought using the law. And so it remained that the Muggleborn Registration Act was only dismantled a year after the fighting stopped. Other such pieces remained. However, as the months went by, and peace became the norm, they were forgotten as being as the past. Why stir up trouble where now none existed? And so the blindness which afflicted the Magical World settled back into place. The seeds of the next war were planted in the death of one man. And slowly over the years it germinated, leaving marks against the community as it grew. Attacks against muggles soared as the funding for the DMLE dropped.
Then came the first high profile attacks, the kidnapping of Hermione Granger, DMLE director, and the discovery of her body mounted in the middle of the main street at Hogsmeade. It tore at her, as if an integral part of her being had gone missing. That more than anything made her take notice of what was going on, had made her feel guilty. Was it her fault? That she hadn't stopped this growing menace? Jasmine had no doubt it was attributable to her inaction in those early days. She had no excuse for not recognizing. Finally garbed, she closed the armoire and walked to her fireplace. On the mantel, a row of pictures displayed her family. Touching her finger to her lips, she traced them over each frame. Contemplating the sacrifices of those before her, and the sacrifices to be made in the future. With a flick of her and the hearth blazed, grabbing some Floo Powder, she yelled "The Burrow!".
Spinning out of the Weasley's fireplace she took a look at the homely living room of the family.
No threats. Not yet. Striding out the back door, she turned her heel and apparated.
On a field far away, and almost a life time ago, a Quidditch match was held, a Quidditch match that saw the first reappearance, however unofficial, of her enemies, the Death Eaters. Jasmine appeared in that field with a quiet pop. Twisting her wand counter-clockwise, she muttered an incantation. A gong sounded, deep enough to shake her soul or so it seemed. With a rush, hundreds of pops sounded as people responded to her summons. Soon it ended and she gazed upon her army. The once humble Dumbledore's Army had grown into an all together different beast. Had shed it's milk teeth for fangs. The new army, for this new war. Robes flapping about her, she strode to the head. "You all know why you're here. You all know how this must end. To the Ministry." They disappeared.