CHAPTER 1: A CALL TO ARMS
Location: Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
Time Frame: Toward the end of "Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire"
What does Headmaster Dumbledore want with me?
Jimmy O'Bannon had asked himself that question several times over the past couple of hours, since Ginny Weasley told him Dumbledore wanted to see him in his office at eight o'clock. He wondered if he could be in trouble for that prank he pulled with Fred, George and Lee, where they had the suits of armor around Hogwarts projectile vomit. But considering what the headmaster had told everyone at the Leaving Feast, he doubted the man would be concerned about some stupid prank.
"Cedric Diggory was murdered by Lord Voldemort."
A chill gripped his spine as he replayed those words in his head. It was almost too much to comprehend. The most powerful dark wizard in history back among the living. A man, a thing, that had wiped out scores of people during The Big War. He didn't want to believe it, but he couldn't imagine Dumbledore making up something like that.
When O'Bannon reached the gargoyle in front of the door, he said, "Cockroach Cluster."
The gargoyle hopped out of the way. O'Bannon walked up the spiral stone staircase until he reached the polished oak door at the top. He banged the brass knocker twice.
"Enter," Dumbledore called from behind the door.
O'Bannon opened the door and stepped inside.
"Headmaster. You wanted to see me?"
"Indeed I did, Mister O'Bannon. Please, have a seat." Dumbledore waved him to a couch near his desk. "We have important matters to discuss."
O'Bannon took a step forward, then stopped in surprise.
Fred, George, Harry, Ron, Hermione, Mireet Miradeaux from Beauxbatons, and Miroslav Harkorth from Durmstrang all sat on the ridiculously long, cushy red sofa. He sat next to Mireet, who gave him a quick smile.
"Well," Dumbledore began. "Mister O'Bannon, Miss Miradeaux, Mister Harkorth. This certainly has been quite a year, has it not?"
"Oui, Headmaster," Mireet replied in a subdued voice.
"Had circumstances been normal, I would have brought the three of you to my office to tell you that it has been an absolute pleasure and honor having you attend our humble institution. I doubt there are many other wizards and witches who could have represented their schools, and their countries, as well as you three. Even though your time here was brief, you have left an indelible mark on Hogwarts, and through your hockey team, have forged bonds and friendships that I have no doubt will last a lifetime."
"Thank you, Headmaster," O'Bannon said.
"Merci, Headmaster. I appreciate your kind words."
"Thank you, Headmaster." Harkorth nodded to him. "I very much enjoyed my time at Hogwarts."
"I am most pleased to hear that," Dumbledore said. "But I wish heaping praise upon you three was the only reason I had for calling you here. As I said at the Leaving Feast, Lord Voldemort has returned."
Mireet noticeably shivered. Ron went pale.
"These are perilous times we face. As I'm sure you know from your history classes, Lord Voldemort's reign of terror was not confined to our island nation. His followers perpetrated horrendous acts in every corner of the world, including America, France and Eastern Europe."
Mireet closed her eyes and hung her head.
"Even as we speak," Dumbledore continued. "Voldemort is marshalling his forces for a second war. But this time, it is my belief he will not move until he has gathered sufficient numbers of Death Eaters and other allies. This is time we must use to gather our own forces to put a stop to his plans. Unfortunately, the Ministry of Magic refuses to do this."
"I don't get it," O'Bannon said. "Why won't the Ministry do anything to stop You-Know-Who? I thought they were supposed to protect you guys, all of us, from stuff like this."
Dumbledore's shoulders sagged. "That is exactly what they are supposed to do, Mister O'Bannon. But you must remember, during the last war, terrible, terrible things happened. Whole families were murdered. Unspeakable acts of torture and depravity took place. Many witches and wizards still bear the scars, physical and emotional, of that time. There are those who do not want to believe those dark times can ever happen again, and some of them happen to be in positions of power, like Minister Fudge. It pains me to say that Cornelius has been scared into inaction, afraid that admitting Voldemort is back will upset the 'relative peace' of the Wizarding World. Afraid that taking certain steps against Voldemort will make him unpopular and jeopardize his position."
"You gotta be kidding me." O'Bannon scowled. He hadn't thought highly of the British Minister of Magic during his dealings with him before the Triad/Slytherin hockey game. Now his opinion of the man was in the toilet.
"This is inexcusable," Mireet said with breathless indignation. "How can someone in such a position be so irresponsible?"
"Forget this Minister Fudge." Harkorth gave a dismissive wave of his hand. "There are wizarding leaders in other countries who can deal with this."
"Unfortunately, Mister Harkorth," Dumbledore said. "Our Ministry is doing its best to control the flow of information out of Britain. No leader beyond our shores will know the truth behind Cedric Diggory's death, or the grave threat we all face."
O'Bannon's stomach turned into a cold ball. He couldn't believe it. Controlling information? Suppressing information? This sort of stuff happened in places like the old Soviet Union, not in Great Britain, for God's sake!
"That is why we need your help."
"Our help?" O'Bannon stared unblinking at Dumbledore.
"The Ministry of Magic will not tell the rest of the world of Voldemort's return, but you three can. You must try and convince as many of your fellow countrymen and women as possible. But be prepared. You will inevitably go up against those who will refuse to believe. They will be steadfast in their position. You must be just as steadfast in yours."
"I'll do whatever I can back in The States," O'Bannon said.
"I will do my part as well." Harkorth nodded.
"I, too, shall help in whatever way I can," declared Mireet.
O'Bannon looked over at her. He noticed her eyes, her entire face, radiating intense determination. He cranked an eyebrow. There seemed to be something . . . more behind Mireet's desire to help.
"Excellent." Dumbledore straightened in his seat. "But along with convincing your fellow students of Voldemort's return, you should also try and identify which students seem likely to join our cause, and which ones may want to join the dark side. Mister O'Bannon, Miss Miradeaux, report your findings to your respective headmistresses. Mister Harkorth, we shall try to arrange meetings between you and the Weasley twins' older brother, Charlie, who works in a dragon preserve in Romania. Understood?"
"Oui, Headmaster."
"Yes, Headmaster," said Harkorth.
"No problem, Headmaster." Jolts of excitement shot through O'Bannon. This kind of cloak and dagger stuff sounded like something out of a Tom Clancy novel. And he'd really be doing it!
"Now." Dumbledore pressed his palms flat on his desk. "Before you three arrived, we discussed certain things." He turned to Harry, Ron, Hermione and the twins. "We agreed that if you decided to help us, you should be made aware of the whole story."
"Whole story?" O'Bannon's face scrunched in bewilderment.
"I'll let Harry explain."
O'Bannon, Mireet and Harkorth all turned to Harry. He fidgeted for a few moments, then looked over at them.
"Voldemort's return," he began. "Well, he's tried it before over the past four years."
For the next ten minutes, O'Bannon listened in silent awe as Harry ran down one of the most incredible tales he'd ever heard. It turned out during Harry's First Year, Voldemort had taken possession of the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher at the time, Professor Quirrell, and tried to use something called a Sorcerer's Stone to create a new body. But Harry, eleven year old Harry, stopped him because Quirrell/Voldemort couldn't touch him without his skin burning. Something to do with the sacrifice of Harry's mother giving him magical protection.
Even more incredible was what happened to Harry his Second Year. Voldemort had transferred part of his soul into a diary and tried to suck out Ginny's life force in order to physically manifest himself. Not only did Harry stop him, but he also fought and killed a Basilisk. A friggin' Basilisk!
But Harry wasn't done there. He revealed that during his Third Year, he discovered his godfather Sirius Black, whom the Wizarding World believed sold out Harry's parents to Voldemort, was in fact innocent. Another supposed friend, Peter Pettigrew, had actually done the deed.
Oh yeah, Harry also saved Sirius from a hundred Dementors by casting a corporeal Patronus.
Damn. Just . . . damn. A kid had done all this. Okay, that kid had been the legendary Harry Potter, who survived a Killing Curse and vanquished Voldemort at one year old. But still . . .
Next came more recent history, from just the week before. Professor Moody had actually been Barty Crouch, Junior in disguise the entire year. Not only that, but the son of the Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation was a Death Eater!
Chills went up O'Bannon's spine. My God, he'd actually spent the entire school year in the same classroom as a Death Eater?
And I thought he was an awesome teacher.
Crouch, Junior, according to Harry, had killed his father, right here at Hogwarts, and rigged the tournament so Harry would win. The Tri-Wizard Cup, it turned out, had been a Port Key, which sent Harry and Cedric to a graveyard where Voldemort was resurrected.
"So where's Crouch, Junior now?" O'Bannon asked after Harry finished how he escaped from Voldemort.
"Fudge ordered a Dementor to suck out his soul, so no one else can ask him how he helped Voldemort."
O'Bannon slumped back into the sofa. A flicker of doubt rose inside him. Could this all be true? He studied the faces of Harry, Ron, Hermione and the twins, trying to find any hint that they had made up the entire tale.
Their grim expressions told him otherwise.
"I cannot stress this enough," Dumbledore said. "You are involving yourselves in something deadly serious, and I do mean deadly. Voldemort and his followers were merciless toward any who opposed them. But you must also realize the consequences for the Wizarding and Muggle Worlds should Voldemort win."
O'Bannon swallowed. Bile swelled in his stomach. What the hell am I getting myself into? Hell's Bells he'd come to Hogwarts because he thought it would be cool to study abroad for a year.
I didn't come here to be a resistance fighter. I'm a 16 year old hockey player from Boston, for God's sake.
Then he thought about Dumbledore's last words, the consequences should Voldemort win. He knew from his History of Magic classes that one of Voldemort's goals was the total extermination of Muggle-borns, and eventually Muggles in general. So if Voldemort won, O'Bannon had no doubt he'd be one of the first against the wall.
He didn't like that thought. He didn't like the idea of meekly accepting his death at the hands of some madman. Hell, he didn't want to die at all! But given the choice, he'd rather go down fighting than just stand there and let some friggin' piece of crap Death Eater Avada Kedavra him.
"I know there are risks, Headmaster. But I also know Muggle-borns like me and Hermione will be at the top of You-Know-Who's 'To Kill' List if he takes over. If I can do something to help stop that, then I'm in."
"My grandfather was Muggle-born," said Harkorth. "He and his parents had to go into hiding during Grindelwald's reign in Europe. I do not wish that to happen to other Muggle-borns. I will help."
"I feel the same as Jimmy and Miroslav," Mireet said firmly. "I will not stand by and let these horrors happen again."
"Very well." Dumbledore smiled and stood. "Thank you for your help, and good luck to the three of you."
He shook their hands. A minute later they filed out of Dumbledore's office. When they reached the staircase leading to Gryffindor Tower, Fred, George, Harry, Ron and Hermione started up it.
O'Bannon walked past it.
"Oi, Jimmy Boy," said Fred. "Wrong way."
"No, I was gonna walk Mireet back to the Beauxbatons carriage." He turned to her. "I mean, if that's okay with you."
"That is fine."
Harkorth looked first at O'Bannon, then Mireet. "Um, then I shall see you both before we leave tomorrow. Good night."
The Bulgarian nodded to them and walked off.
O'Bannon and Mireet waited a bit for Harkorth to get further ahead before they proceeded to the large archway that led outside. Before they started down the steps, O'Bannon said, "Mireet. Can I ask you something?"
"Oui."
He paused. "Well, um, I just . . . back in Headmaster Dumbledore's office, when you offered to help, it's just . . . I don't know, you just seemed to take it kinda personal."
Mireet's jaw quivered. She looked away from him.
"I'm sorry, Mireet. If you don't want to talk about it . . ."
She stared across the darkened grounds of Hogwarts for several seconds before turning back to him. "No. You are my friend. You deserve to know the truth."
Mireet stepped toward him. "You are right. There is something personal to all this."
After another long pause, she continued. "I was not yet two, and we were visiting my grandparents outside Toulon. It was my parents, me, my sister Monique, and . . . and my brother Markese."
"Your brother? You never told me you had a brother."
Mireet nodded slightly. "One day we all went to Marche d'Fraychot, the wizarding shopping district near my grandparents' home. A group of Death Eaters let loose a giant to attack the market. There was a panic. Markese, he was three. He . . . he got scared and slipped from my father's grasp and ran away. Father tried to catch him, but he ran into the giant's path and . . ."
O'Bannon bit his lip. His throat clenched when he noticed Mireet's eyes glisten.
"Father has never forgiven himself for that day. It caused him to drink, a lot. Every year, on July Seventh, Markese's birthday, Father hardly speaks. He spends most of the day in his study. Sometimes when I walk past, I can hear him crying. And Mother, she weeps openly. And I . . . this has gone on all my life. Every July Seventh. I do not know what to do to help my parents. There are times I am not sure how to feel. I never really knew Markese, being so young. But he was still my brother. Then there are times I get angry at You-Know-Who and his murderers for denying me the chance to grow up with my brother. Sometimes, God forgive me . . ." Her jaw quivered. "Sometimes I get angry at my father for not saving Markese."
A tear slid down Mireet's cheek. "When Headmaster Dumbledore offered me this chance to help, I had to take it. I want to avenge Markese's death in some way, and . . . I just don't want any other families to suffer as mine has."
She unsuccessfully tried to suppress a sniffle.
O'Bannon pulled her into a tight embrace. Mireet squeezed him to the point he feared he might suffocate. He didn't care. He continued to hold her, wishing he could do something to take away her pain.
O'Bannon closed his eyes and pressed his cheek against Mireet's hair. Would she lose someone else she cared about? Would he? Would he have to do more than just keep an eye on his fellow students at Salem? Would he actually be called on to fight?
A cold tremor went through him. What did the future hold for him? For Mireet? For everyone?
TO BE CONTINUED