Chapter Four ~ The Lightning-Struck Tavern
HARRY
Harry had only an instant in which to exchange looks of panic with Ron and Hermione before his arm was seized and he was dragged unceremoniously into the suffocating sensation of Apparition. He came out gasping and disoriented on the pavement next to the Ministry of Magic employees' entrance. Lavinia Blishwick dropped her grip on him, releasing Ron and Hermione with her other arm and brushing dust from her robes.
"What the hell was that about?" shouted Ron, bent double. "Everyone is still back there!"
"We need to get you into a Ministry safe room at once," rasped Blishwick. She kicked open the Ministry door and shoved them forward. The public toilets of Voldemort's reign had thankfully been dispensed with, so Harry was merely engulfed in cool flame for a moment before staggering out into the Atrium.
"But we need to know what happened back there!" said Hermione. "Who attacked us? What happened to—"
"Your family and friends are well," said Blishwick.
"But—"
"It is imperative that you take cover immediately."
"No," said Harry.
Blishwick narrowed her eyes. "No?"
"Not until you tell us what's going on."
Blishwick looked mightily impatient, but after a moment she pulled them away from the hustle and bustle of the Atrium to speak to them behind the relative cover of the ornate frame of a fireplace.
"You three have irrevocably broken the International Statute of Secrecy," she said. "There is no greater offense. You have condemned our world to a period of great chaos. There is no telling how the Muggle or Magical governments will react. It is in your best interest to lie low for the time being."
"But this is mad!" said Ron. "We haven't condemned anything. There were hardly that many people at the cathedral. They'll be Obliviated and go on their merry way."
But Hermione had gasped. "The cameras," she said. "They were broadcasting live?"
"Precisely," said Blishwick. "The footage will be rebroadcast before the Ministry can contain the situation. Thousands have already seen. Given the notoriety already attached to your names, the scandal will be monumental."
"Why are you helping us?" asked Ron.
"Because I was in a position to do so."
Ron and Hermione looked to Harry for approval.
"All right," said Harry grudgingly. "Where are you taking us?"
"The Department of Mysteries," said Blishwick. "No one will seek you there. When you are secure, you may contact your family and friends at your leisure."
Without giving them the chance to argue further, Blishwick set off for the lifts at a brisk pace. Harry, Ron and Hermione followed behind her, casting looks left and right and half expecting to see fingers pointing accusingly in their direction.
"Keep your heads down," Blishwick hissed at them.
They entered the lifts an awkward, huddled mass. Harry did not register the cool voice reeling off the designations of each floor. He could not forget Ginny and the others, still at the cathedral. Had they even seen Blishwick Disapparate with Harry, Ron and Hermione, or were they wondering whether the attackers had absconded with them?
When they arrived at the floor where Harry had once attended a disciplinary hearing for underage magic, they disembarked and strode to the locked door of the Department of Mysteries.
"How are you going to get us in?" asked Hermione. She was watching Blishwick very closely. Harry assumed she must have read something about the ex-Auror, or she would not have trusted a complete stranger. Ron and Harry had heard Kingsley recount the number of times Blishwick had saved his life and were inclined to take her at her word.
"I have a key," said Blishwick. She withdrew an ornate skeleton key from her pocket and unlocked the door, ushering them in.
They found themselves standing in the circular room Harry remembered all too well, lined with a dozen identical doors. Harry closed his eyes, and for a moment he could hear high, cold laughter ringing through his head again.
"What?" said Ron.
Harry felt Hermione shuffle next to him and turned.
"Nothing," she said hastily.
There was a muted rumble beneath their feet. The walls began to move, and soon the doors had blurred, spinning at a vertiginous speed around them. When they finally settled, Blishwick remained standing with her back to them, staring at the wall.
"Er, now what?" said Ron.
"Now," said Blishwick, still without turning, "we begin the great work."
"Sorry?" said Ron.
Blishwick's shoulders seemed to lurch in the darkness, and her entire body was wracked by a shiver. Harry's fingers tightened around his wand in his pocket. He looked to Ron and Hermione. Both had reached for their wands as well.
"On three," he whispered out of the corner of his mouth. They nodded.
"Ms Blishwick?" said Hermione loudly. "I was wondering. How did you know the cameras at the cathedral were broadcasting live?"
"One," murmured Harry.
"How?" Blishwick repeated.
"Yes. We only saw them for a moment. No one spoke to the cameramen. How did you know?"
"Two."
"Expelliarmus!" cried Blishwick, turning with frightful speed.
They were ready for her. At the same moment, Harry, Ron and Hermione moved in perfect synchronization, casting the most powerful shield charms they could muster. Harry felt his wand slip from his fingers, but tightened his hold and managed to keep it in his grasp.
"Look at her eyes," said Hermione urgently.
"She's Imperiused," Harry agreed.
Blishwick snarled at them. Without speaking, Hermione waved her wand and conjured a blinding yellow light, distracting the Auror. Harry and Ron cast twin stunners which combined to defeat Blishwick's shield charm. She crumpled to the ground, unconscious. Her mouth was opened wide in shock.
"We shouldn't have followed her," said Harry, conjuring ropes to bind her hands and feet. "There was something off about her from the start."
"Do you think whoever Imperiused her attacked the cathedral?" asked Ron.
"Never mind that now, we have to get out of here! There might be more of them!" said Hermione.
"How? We don't know which door we came through."
"That one." Hermione pointed at the door directly to their left. A small gouge mark was barely visible on the doorknob. "I marked it when we first came in. That's what you heard me whispering."
"Brilliant!" Ron gave her an admiring squeeze.
But he had spoken too soon. There were a series of metallic clicks, and the eleven remaining doors opened to reveal cloaked figures with their wands raised.
Ron cursed under his breath. "You were saying?"
Harry's mind was racing. He could see no way out of this. He had fought his way out of so many tight corners before. It seemed impossible that he would be undone by a half-baked plot to lure him to the Department of Mysteries. He had fallen for that once before, and once was enough.
How many of the cloaked figures could he take out with that fiery lasso curse Kingsley had taught him? Perhaps enough to give Ron and Hermione a chance to get away.
Before he could try, the entire Ministry shook on its foundations. Harry was knocked flat. He blinked stars from his eyes and managed with some effort to lift his head and assure himself that Ron and Hermione were conscious. Massive blocks of stone had fallen from the ceiling and crushed eight of the eleven cloaked figures into oblivion.
"Impedimenta," croaked Harry, pointing his wand at the remaining three. The spell hit one of them in the chest and sent them flying back into another, so that they both cracked their heads against the wall and collapsed. Ron hit the last figure with a stunner.
It was not until he tried to get up to assess the damage that Harry realized his own right leg was pinned under a rock the size of an icebox. Blood rushed to his head and with it searing pain. His stomach threatened to empty itself.
"Wingardium Leviosa," he said, flicking his wand. The boulder floated some distance away and fell to the ground with a thud. Harry's trousers were already soaked in blood.
"Oh, Harry," said Hermione, crawling over. By now her hair was so full of dust and rubble that she looked slightly crazed. "I can mend it, but it will hurt."
Harry nodded, gritting his teeth. "Just do it."
Hermione launched into a lyrical incantation while Ron stood to check that all of the cloaked figures were really unconscious. Harry could feel his broken bones knitting themselves back together. It burned like a red-hot brand.
"Don't recognize any of them," said Ron, throwing back hoods left and right. "Who the bloody hell do you reckon is after us now?"
"There are a lot of people with grudges against us," said Hermione shakily. She siphoned the blood from Harry's leg. "There. It might not be perfect, but you should be able to walk."
"Thanks," said Harry gratefully. He stood, testing it out, and found that he could lean most of his weight on the leg with only an uncomfortable twinge.
One of the wizards whose head had hit the wall stirred. Ron stunned him anew.
"C'mon," he said. "We've got to clear out."
Hermione opened the door with the gouge mark. To Harry's immense relief, it led to the Ministry corridor they had vacated minutes before. He could hardly believe things had gone awry so fast.
"But what do we do now?" Hermione asked, sealing the door to the Department of Mysteries behind them for good measure. "I mean, if this many impostors could infiltrate the Ministry, they could be anywhere. We're not safe here."
"Kingsley's office," Ron suggested.
Harry shook his head. "Kingsley's still in Amsterdam, remember? We need to leave the Ministry."
"And go where? We can't go back to the Burrow with maniacs after us. We'd lead them right to mum and dad."
Harry agreed wholeheartedly. He thought of Grimmauld Place, but he had offered Sirius's old family home up as a halfway house for families devastated by the war while he was abroad. It was likely to be crawling with people.
Hermione gasped.
"What?" said Harry, alarmed.
She pointed at his shoulder. Ron's eyes widened. Harry looked down and barely stifled a groan.
A large beetle with square markings around its eyes was perched on his shoulder. It spread its wings and hovered in mid-air at his eye level, waiting expectantly. When Harry jerked his head in a curt nod, it flew ahead to the end of the corridor and into courtroom ten. The door to the empty courtroom was ajar. Harry followed the insect inside and crossed his arms.
"Hello Rita," he said in a clipped tone.
"Now, is that any way to greet an old friend?" said Rita Skeeter, who stood in the space occupied by the beetle a moment ago. She looked ominously pleased with herself, her shade of lipstick an assault on the eyes and her every hair perfectly in place.
"What do you want?" asked Harry aggressively.
"To help, of course," said Rita. "And if you don't mind my saying so, it looks as though you need it."
"Why would we ever trust you?" said Hermione.
"I don't particularly care if you trust me, Little Miss Perfect," said Rita, turning suddenly cold. "I'm offering my assistance. If you don't want it, why don't you try your luck out there with the multitudes hunting for you?"
"How are you going to help us?" asked Ron.
"I know a secret passageway out of the Ministry. How else would I have passed in and out unnoticed, after Little Miss Perfect threatened to use my secret against me? It'll take you right out into Muggle London."
"In exchange for what?" said Harry.
Rita's smile turned wolfish. Her gold teeth glimmered in the torchlight lining the stone walls.
"You paint me as so crass, Harry," she said in a voice of mock hurt. "I simply wonder whether, after I've helped you, you might find yourself in the market for a biographer."
"No way!" Harry exclaimed.
"Harry, keep your voice down," Hermione implored.
"I see," said Rita, calmly examining her own fingernails. "Well, good luck out there, then…"
Harry gritted his teeth. "Fine," he said desperately, "but I get to decide what you put in it—"
"Harry, Harry, Harry," Rita tutted. "It's hardly a subject's place to impose on the creative process."
"Fine!" Harry repeated. "Fine. Write what you want. See if anyone believes you."
"Oh, I intend to." Rita's grin widened. "I have your word?"
"You have my word that I'll sign my biography rights to you if you get us out of here unseen," said Harry. The words tasted bitter on his tongue. They shook hands.
"Excellent!" said Rita. "To business, then. Follow me."
She led them around the Wizengamot benches to the minuscule chamber in the corner that was reserved for the scribe to stow his notes. Inside, she tapped her wand four times against the ceiling. A hole large enough to fit the average person opened up with a hollow creak.
It occurred to Harry that he might be about to step right into another trap. But some deep instinct told him unerringly that Rita Skeeter was the kind of person who worked alone. He nodded.
"After you," said Rita.
Harry and Ron laced their hands together and hoisted Hermione up through the opening. Once she was safely through, she reached down to steady Ron as he stepped on Harry's back for a boost. The two of them then pulled Harry up together. Rita simply transformed into a beetle again and flew up through the opening.
The cramped space around them sloped up into a dark staircase. Harry lit his wand and followed Rita as she led the way upwards. The walls were damp earth and radiated cold. Harry wondered how far underground they were. It seemed as though they climbed for hours, until at last they came to a wooden door. Harry hesitated, then tapped his wand against it four times. The door vanished.
The heavy London air that hit Harry's nostrils had never been so welcome. He emerged into the street next to the visitor's entrance and kept his head down as a precaution. He noticed that the streets seemed a mess, even by central London standards. In the distance a dumpster had been upended, its contents scattered across an intersection in the road. Several shop windows were broken. Had their exploits at the cathedral really had such an immediate impact?
"Right," said Ron. "We can Disapparate from here and find somewhere we can make a better plan."
"Do not Disapparate," said Rita.
"What?" Ron spluttered, gaping at her as though she were insane. "What do you mean, don't Disapparate? What are we supposed to do, walk?"
"Walk, run, fly," said Rita. "Just don't Apparate. They have ways of tracking Apparition."
"That's impossible," said Hermione.
"Hang on," Harry said. "They? You know what's happening here, don't you?"
"Don't point your wand at me, you silly boy," said Rita in a steely tone, for Harry had raised his wand in anger.
"Tell us what you know, then."
But Hermione shook her head. "Not here," she said. "We have to find cover."
They ducked into a nearby coffee shop. Harry could not help feeling a strong sense of deja-vu. It might have been only yesterday that they had sat in a diner in Charing Cross road debating whether Harry could still have his Trace.
"Close down shop and take a lunch break," Rita told the waitress, who looked only too happy to vacate the premises after Rita handed her a handful of Muggle fifty pound notes. What with the state of the streets, Harry would not be surprised if she stayed home altogether.
"Colloportus," said Rita, sealing the door.
"Start at the beginning," said Harry.
Rita regarded him, looking pensive.
"If you want to blame someone, blame yourself," she told him sourly.
"What?" Harry exclaimed. "I didn't do anything!"
"Severus Snape: Scoundrel or Saint? sold very poorly after those public comments you made."
At Kingsley's behest, Harry had gone on the record with everything he had seen in Snape's dying memories. The public outpouring of lamentations for Snape's supposed suffering had been powerful and unnerving.
"I was telling the truth!" said Harry. "Snape was a spy for the Order all along."
"Yes, yes, and we should all exalt him and ride unicorns to heap flowers on his grave," said Rita impatiently. "The point is, I had to find myself a new subject, and fast. Little Miss Perfect, I suppose, is familiar with the Founder's Crossroads?"
"The Founder's Crossroad, the cross-continental journey Salazar Slyterin took after leaving Hogwarts," Hermione recited at once. "Slytherin was supposed to have left behind some sort of sign portending to a great trouble that would plague Hogwarts."
"The Chamber of Secrets?" said Ron. "But that's old news."
"No," said Hermione. "This was something different. We know Slytherin blamed Gryffindor for what he saw as the school's weakness. Apparently, he became very paranoid and claimed that Gryffindor had brought great evil down on the school. He went to the other wizarding schools of Europe to ask for help opposing Gryffindor, but he was turned away."
"Was he, now?" said Rita with relish.
Hermione frowned. "Well, yes. All the history books say that—"
"You, Little Miss Perfect, with your elf crusade, must know above anyone that history books lie like a broken Sneakoscope."
"You've found your next big scoop, then, I take it?" said Harry. "And it's to do with the Founders? What, did Gryffindor steal the discovery of the twelve uses of Dragon's blood from Ivor Dillonsby?"
"Oh, this is more than a scoop," said Rita. "What I've uncovered will turn the wizarding world upside down, right side up, and upside down again."
"Well? What is it, then?" said Ron.
"You don't think I'd dish the dirt that easily, do you? Sufficed to say that those who believe Gryffindor was the most honourable wizard of his age are in for a rude awakening."
"What does any of this have to do with us being chased through the Ministry?" interjected Hermione.
"Patience, Miss Prissy. That bushy hair isn't crushing you flat just yet. As I was saying, I needed a scoop. In the course of my research I was brought into contact with some—shall we say—unsavory characters."
"I'll bet you were," muttered Ron.
"Earlier today, as I waited to meet one such unsavory person in an equally unsavory establishment, I overheard a very intriguing conversation." Rita drummed her lacquered nails against the table. "It seems that an attack against Saint Paul's cathedral was impending. Naturally, being curious, I used my talents to follow those discussing the attack to its location."
"You didn't try to warn anyone?" said Hermione, outraged.
"The fun was already started when I arrived," replied Rita, shrugging. "There was no time to raise an alarm. When I saw the news vans, I put two and two together and knew what was about to happen."
"And you knew you'd be there to report on the results like the vulture you are."
"I still don't understand," Ron interrupted. "Why is everyone so riled up about those video caramel things?"
"Video cameras," corrected Hermione. "Ron, do you know what live broadcast means? Anyone watching the news saw our duel while it was happening. There's no taking it back. You can't Obliviate twenty thousand people."
"They can do that?" said Ron blankly.
"So you know who attacked us?" said Harry, steering the conversation back to the more pressing point.
"I haven't a clue," said Rita calmly. "I saw Lavinia Blishwick Disapparate with you, took a guess, and came right to the Ministry. Happily, I was right. You three have made yourselves some powerful enemies."
"What a shock," said Harry.
"This doesn't explain why we can't Disapparate," added Ron.
Rita leaned back in her linoleum chair, a calculating look on her face.
"You think there's a connection, don't you?" said Hermione. "Between what happened to us today and your scoop?"
"The contacts I was to meet with today have been buzzing for some time about some kind of upheaval in the Muggle world," admitted Rita grudgingly. "Supposed experiments with Muggle technology to interfere with magic in the Prime Minister's office. Of course, it's generally believed to be urban myth. These sort of stories crop up all the time. But as a reporter you learn to spot the ring of authenticity…"
"Hang on!" cried Ron, holding out his arms as though they had all begun speaking Gobbledygook. "What do you mean, Muggle experiments to interfere with Magic? Until an hour ago, the Muggles didn't know about magic!"
"But the Muggle Prime Minister does."
Ron looked more perplexed than ever.
"Ron, I gave you the abridged version of A History of Magic for your birthday," said Hermione reproachfully.
"I remember vividly."
"The Minister for Magic reveals himself to the Muggle Prime Minister at the start of his or her term," Hermione went on.
"So Gryffindor supposedly brought some great evil on the school, and Slytherin went around Europe recruiting help to stop him. And now the Muggle Prime Minister is plotting to interfere with magic, and you think someone who knows about it attacked us at a funeral and in the Department of Mysteries," Harry recapped. "I don't see the connection."
"I saw with my own eyes," Rita told them. "A Muggle I followed into a room full of strange equipment pointed to a blinking circle on a computer grid and said 'Look! One's just Apparated!'"
"No, impossible," said Hermione staunchly, though she was betrayed by a thoughtful crease in her brow.
"Well, he said 'Look! One's just Apparitioned!' But his colleague corrected him."
"Ridiculous," said Ron, shaking his head. But was it? Harry had been witness to a thousand things he might once have thought impossible since the age of eleven. Was it so unlikely that technology might have its place in the sphere of impossible things?
"How would this mistake of Gryffindor's have caused Muggles to plot against us now?" Harry asked. He did not like to think of Gryffindor in such ungenerous terms, but there were a hundred possible explanations for the Founder's actions. And besides, Slytherin had not exactly been known as a paragon of integrity.
Rita's gaze turned positively fiendish.
"That's what you're going to find out for me," she said. "Your first stop, much like Slytherin's, will be Durmstrang. And then Beauxbatons. It will be excellent colour for your biography. A bestseller, I daresay."
"You can forget it," Harry told her. "We're not running errands for you. Stir up trouble on your own time."
"You aren't safe in the hands of the Ministry," Rita countered. "I doubt you will want to return home and risk bringing your attackers down on your loved ones. I wouldn't be surprised if the Muggles had struck up a nationwide manhunt for the three of you within the week. What, pray tell, do you plan to do if not leave the country until the local climate cools?"
Harry, Ron and Hermione looked at one another helplessly. There was far too much truth to Rita's words.
"As a gesture of good faith, I will bring messages to all the redheaded friends you wish," offered Rita. "You won't want to risk sending them your little Patronus telegrams, what with the Muggle menace. I'll bring you their responses when I meet you at Durmstrang."
"We'll… think about it," Harry hedged.
Rita stood. "Oh, yes, think all you like. You'll do it. You three are the hero type. I'll see you at Durmstrang. You have until All Hallow's Eve. And Weasley," she added, "love the hat."
MILLICENT
Two figures entered the smoke-filled barroom side by side. The first was a very old, very tall black woman with keen eyes. Everything about her, from the handsome cut of her midnight blue robes to the dignified way she waved to the barman, spoke of command. The second was an even older, stooped woman with flyaway silver hair and a childlike expression.
Together they took the booth closest to the bar and waved down a pair of drinks. The barman, a youth in patched-up robes that matched the décor of the tavern, tripped over himself in his haste to serve them.
"Usual order, Mrs Bagnold," he said, placing two glasses of brandy on the table.
"Alastair, I absolutely forbid you to call me anything but Millicent," replied the first woman, tipping him an impressive number of Galleons and winking. Alastair hurried away to hide his furious blush.
"That boy reminds me of my fourth husband," said Millicent fondly. Seeing her companion fidget, she added, "Not to worry, Cake, dear, the others will be along in two shakes of a Krup's tail."
Proof of her prescience, the tavern doors opened again and a small group of patrons came through. Each one was more grey-haired and lined than the last. Alastair looked faint.
"Over here!" called Millicent, patting the seat next to hers in the booth. "What did I tell you? Lighting-Struck Tavern, best spot in all of Diagon. You sit yourself down right next to me, Becky."
The most outlandishly dressed of the newcomers looked wryly at her host over square-rimmed spectacles. "I'll thank you not to call me such nonsense, Millicent," she said, but took the proffered seat. "And I am still not interested after all these years," she added, swatting away the arm Millicent was attempting to wrap around her.
"Celestina prefers to hear her full name spoken as often as possible," Millicent told Cake in a stage whisper. "She thinks it might conjure up autograph seekers. Becky, this is Cake," she added to Celestina. "She is one of my oldest friends."
"Cake?" said Celestina.
"Not her given name, naturally," supplied Millicent, because Cake gave no sign that she intended to speak for herself. "It came about because of her love of lemon cakes. Isn't that right, Cake?"
Cake nodded. "My cat is missing," she said in a tone of vague confusion.
"Yes, yes, quite a shame," said Millicent.
"The eyes," said a grizzled wisp of a man, taking a seat next to Celestina and examining Cake closely. "She almost reminds me of…"
"Finish that sentence, Barnabus, and I'll hex your lips shut," said Millicent sharply. "Don't even think it."
For the first time, Cake looked slightly perturbed.
"Well, begging your pardon, Missus," said Barnabus. "It's a pleasure to meet you."
"Cake, Barnabus Cuffe," said Millicent. "Editor of the Daily Prophet, and absolutely incapable of keeping his Senior Correspondents in check."
"Ah, Millie," said Barnabus without rancor, "we both know Skeeter thinks more highly of herself than the rest of the world combined. Let her have her fun, if it'll keep us in Firewhiskey and roast beef."
"Such integrity deserves a toast," declared Millicent. "Alastair! Bring us a second round. And another to wash it down."
She continued to effectuate introductions while Alastair hastened to prepare their drinks. First was Dragomir Gorgovitch of the Chudley Cannons, who looked rather like dejection personified. Gideon Crumb, a very small Malaysian man who played Bagpipes for the Weird Sisters, sat himself between Cake and Ambrosius Flume, owner of Honeydukes sweet shop. Griselda Marchbanks summoned a barstool, which she climbed with some effort. Gwenog Jones of the Holyhead Harpies took a seat as far from Gorgovitch as the room allowed.
"Poor Dragomir lost a bet to the Transylvanian Minister for Magic in 1973," Millicent explained to Cake. "He's had to throw every match he's played in since. The Cannons are the only team who'll take him anymore."
"Let's just keep our fingers crossed and hope for the best," Gorgovitch chanted the Chudley Cannons slogan dully.
"Is Twycross coming?" asked Gwenog Jones, eyeing Gorgovitch with disdain.
"Old Destination, Determination, Deliberation?" said Millicent with a laugh. "No, no, he's in Saint Mungo's recovering from a bad case of spontaneous Disapparition. Can't keep himself in one place any longer. I always told him it would happen if he kept on for too long. We've only one more person to wait for. Ah, here he is now!"
The door opened to reveal a round-faced man in ill-fitting violet robes, whose age ran contrary to form. He was still relatively youthful, but looked far more downtrodden even than Gorgovitch.
"Ludo, so good of you to come!" exclaimed Millicent, ignoring his discomfort and the obvious dissent from many of her other guests.
"You invited Bagman?" scoffed Gwenog Jones. "Merlin's beard, should I hide my gold earrings, just in case?"
"I was under the impression that several weeks remained on his probation at the German Ministry," squeaked Griselda.
"I called in a few favors and had the probation terminated early," said Millicent. "Ludo is here at my request, because I believe he is in contact with some people who may be of assistance to us. Now, isn't this a treat? The old guard all back together—Except for Slughorn, of course, who could not be dislodged from his comfortable retirement with a thousand summoning charms."
"The old guard!" said Gwenog scornfully. "Not fine enough a guard to rate membership in the Order of the Phoenix, apparently."
"The Order of the Phoenix, pah!" said Millicent, absently patting the back of Cake's hand. "Who would have them? The Order was all sweat and no flash. We know better than anyone that real results require a little greasing of the wheels."
"Results?" said Celestina. "Millicent, you talk as if we're back in the midst of the first war."
Millicent Bagnold steepled her fingers and surveyed them all. The group's attention sharpened.
"Two hours ago," she said, "the Boy Who Lived exposed our world on live Muggle television. Every Ministry on the globe is going to be demanding an explanation. And the Muggle world will all the more so. The days to come are going to be… unpleasant."
"What, you mean that trifling little riot?" said Barnabus. "In my time we called that Friday night at the Hog's Head."
"Babby, ever the optimist," said Millicent. "You never could sense an oncoming storm. My friends, the Statue of Secrecy is fallen. That is the plain truth of the matter."
"Impossible," said Gwenog Jones dismissively. "The Ministry will simply make use of the Obliviator squad."
"And Obliviate the hundreds of thousands of people worldwide who have already seen the truth? And the millions more who will hear it from them? I think not."
"Then what are we to do?" said Alastair, who had unexpectedly sidled up to the table. "What's to become of us?"
At this, Cake looked up and gave a gap-toothed smile.
"We have a plan," she said.
