Chapter Four

1 "How will we even get into London?" Rolf said, frowning, looking from Hermione to Malfoy and back again.

It was evening again, and they'd once again gathered in the living room. They'd spent the entire afternoon talking their plans through, and even though this kind of thing was always tiring work, it was a million times better than just sitting around helplessly, in fear. That was something they all could agree on. As for the rest, they'd had to reach an uncomfortable compromise no-one was really happy with, but that was how a democracy worked. All of them would go to the capital, but they'd split up into teams once they'd reached the Ministry; each team would then have their own task to fulfil.

All of them had drawn the short straw, so to speak. Hermione and Malfoy would use the concussus to free the trapped wizards and witches, the most important of them being Ginny Weasley; she had the knowhow needed to use the amber against their greatest enemy. Luna, Rolf, and Daphne would then head into the Ministry of Magic Research Committee's offices. Their mission was just as important for very specific reasons: not only had that Committee investigated growing Muggle suspicions about magic, but also the rising Malleus Deorum movement, whose sole purpose was to raise awareness about magic amongst the Muggle population and then eradicate it. Back in the day, hardly anyone had taken this small group of loud fanatics seriously, until one day, it had been too late. The Committee had, after things had taken a turn for the worse and more and more areas had been subjected to some form of magic suppression, started research on how to reverse this process, on how to re-establish communications and transportations with other magical locations.

The last announcement to leave the Ministry, five years ago, had been about a major research breakthrough. There was little reason to doubt the veracity of the announcement, since Ginny had, by that point, served as head of the Committee. The plan now was to get Luna, Rolf, and Daphne into the respective offices, so they could gather what documents they could find. Since time was of the essence, it made sense to not only learn how to quickly get rid of the magic suppression system, but also to re-establish communications with other magical communities that might have survived. The sooner wizards and witches were able to cast spells again, the better. The Malleus would have their hands full, and Hermione and the others would then be able to focus on getting to Nox and eliminating him. Once he was incapacitated or dead, victory wouldn't exactly be easy to achieve, but it wouldn't be impossible anymore.

It was a suicide mission on its best day, yes, but now, at least they had a plan that consisted of more than just running, hiding, and being terrified.

"We can't just take the train into the city," Daphne said, frowning, twirling a strand of her hair around her right index finger. "The magic detectors would sniff us out before we even reached Eastbourne. We wouldn't be the first ones to risk it and fail." Nobody knew how this detection system worked, but it worked with frightening efficiency.

"We'll have to drive," Hermione said, leaning back against the sofa's backrest and rubbing at her forehead. "We'll take a car and risk it. Controls on the roads are sporadic, so it's not as certain we'll be caught if we go that way."

"Not as certain is not exactly encouraging," Rolf said. He exchanged a look with Luna, who only shrugged. "And how do we even get a car? Do we rent one? That would require documentation none of us has. Do we steal one? That would get the Muggle authorities on our trail. We can't drive. We can't walk, either, since that would take too long. Also, they'll have raised security ever since they failed to catch you, Hermione." He gloomily shook his head. "Everything's so hard these days. It's like the mountain we have to climb keeps getting bigger and bigger."

That was when Malfoy, who'd been quiet for the past half hour or so, straightened his posture, and said, "Do you want to do this or not?" He threw up his hands, clearly exasperated. "Good God! Stop whining! We made the decision to go through with this ludicrous mission, didn't we? It's time to stop whingeing! We need to come up with practical solutions, not more excuses! I'm sick and tired of finding reasons why we have to keep holed up in here, trembling in terror!"

Rolf glared at him. "That's what I was doing, and you're not helping."

Malfoy jabbed a finger at his own chest. He gave Rolf an incredulous look. "I'm not helping? I'm not the one sitting there and yammering on and on about how hard it all is, am I? Oh, woe is you, Scamander! Everything is so difficult! Boo fucking hoo. Grow up and either contribute, or stop getting on everybody's nerves."

"Maybe you have a bit of a point," Hermione said flatly, "but that tone of yours isn't exactly ingratiating you to anyone. Try to tone it down a notch, will you? Honestly."

He crossed his arms and snorted. "Well, if candour is offensive to your sensibilities, sweetheart, then maybe we should just all go back to la-la land and pretend everything is rainbows and fairy dust. Who knows? Maybe it'll all go away if we just wish for it hard enough!"

"We've already tried that, remember?" Luna said. "The result wasn't exactly what we hoped for."

Malfoy just shot her an irritated look, but thankfully kept quiet.

"I have an alternative to either renting or stealing a Muggle vehicle none of us knows how to drive, anyway," Daphne said, drawing everyone's attention to herself. "It'll be dangerous, but I think the risk is worth it."


2 It had been what…a week? A week and a half since Granger set out of camp to undertake her ludicrously hopeless trip to London? She'd insisted that this was the only way, that this plan of hers was the last resort, that they might as well A-K each other if they didn't risk it all on this one insane scheme. She'd also insisted that she go alone, as she didn't want to risk any lives other than her own. Most of the others hadn't agreed with her on that one, but by that point, everyone was so tired, so worn out, so done for, they didn't feel like arguing anymore. It probably didn't matter much, anyway. Even their little pocket of magic at the Afon Hepste was beginning to fail them. If the wizards and witches lost their ability to cast spells, to brew potions, and to charm objects, then they really might as well lay down and die.

A few days after Granger the Messiah sauntered out of camp to go on her great adventure or whatever the hell one might want to call it, a realisation hit Pansy Parkinson square in the face: they'd already given up – everyone but Granger, which was annoying all on its own. The woman might have some delusions of grandeur where her own competence was concerned, but at least she'd gone out to do something, to do anything. Meanwhile, the rest of the pitiful gang just sat around moping, Pansy included. Bill Weasley and his French wife did nothing except tend to his dying little brother. Parvati Patil and a bunch of her Gryffindor friends huddled together and wouldn't stop babbling about the good old Hogwarts days.

As for Pansy? With disgust, she had to admit that she was no better. She sat around, too, took gloomy and lonesome walks, felt sorry for herself. Sometimes, she'd join the others and listened to them whine, but that always started getting on her nerves very quickly. The problem wasn't, as she came to realise, that everyone else annoyed her. The problem was that she couldn't stand to be reminded that she too was mourning, that she too had lost people and property and happiness and hope. This was no life. They couldn't just stay here, camping in the woods, waiting for the Muggle shitheads who now ran the show to find and kill them. It was pathetic. At least Granger, as much as Pansy might dislike her, had never given up. Granger had run experiments, had come up with hypotheses, had worked tirelessly for years. She'd got off her butt and done something. Okay, she was probably dead or captured by now, but for crying out loud, at least she hadn't just waited for her time to run out.

Pansy then decided that she couldn't spend another moment just moping around like an overgrown baby. She needed to take action. Doing anything these days equalled taking an enormous risk, but Granger had annoyingly been right about that, too: either they risked it all and maybe got to win, or they'd already lost everything. Besides, the risk she wanted to take was no bigger than Granger's. There was no need to tell anyone else until she could report some kind of success. Therefore, she just went on one of her usual long walks, found a suitably isolated spot, took the right precautions to prevent a forest fire and too much smoke, and then lit an improvised fireplace – all right, it was a camp fire, but why be pedantic? Granger wasn't here to lecture anyone about how words had meanings and needed to be chosen wisely at all times, blah, blah, blah.

About a year ago, when they'd still been in Merthyr Tydfil, she'd been in contact with an old friend, her cherished former classmate Draco Malfoy. He, his wife, his sister-in-law, his parents, and a few others had had to leave Wiltshire behind and had taken refuge in a small East Sussex coastal town. After the flight from Merthyr Tydfil, nobody had dared to try reaching anyone via magical means of communication, for fear of being discovered. The fear was entirely justified, yes, but now, the metaphorical die had been cast, hadn't it? Granger was, if she was lucky and able to stick to her schedule, traipsing merrily through Wales and almost upon the Severn. She'd never get across the bridge, though. She'd never get anywhere near London – not without help.

Kneeling by her pathetic excuse for a camp fire, Pansy hoped to God that Draco and his family were still alive, were still in East Sussex, were still able to perform magic. When she was almost about to give up, her brown hair drenched in sweat and plastered to her skull, her face hot and sooty, a face appeared in the flames. Pansy managed to suppress a triumphant cry, but she did utter something between a laugh and a sharp exhale as she beamed at the drawn and haggard face of Draco Malfoy.

He, in turn, arched his eyebrows. "Pansy?"

She slapped her calloused hands to her mouth and shook her head in incredulity. Then, she reminded herself that they didn't exactly have the luxury to be gobsmacked. "Draco, I cannot put into words how wonderful it is to see you! You can still do magic where you're at?"

"Barely, and using the fireplace makes my companions twitchy, so let's keep it brief." He smiled. It was such a welcome sight. "How many of your group are still alive?"

"Twenty. What about you?"

For a brief moment, surprise showed on his face, but he quickly hid it again behind an unreadable mask. "Four."

"Oh. I'm sorry. Who-"

"Doesn't matter. I'm assuming you're calling for a specific reason?"

All right, then. If he didn't want to talk about it, then she wouldn't pry. "Yes. One of our intrepid survivors is Hermione Granger, and" – She briefly interrupted herself to snicker when he rolled his eyes at the name – "yeah, I know. She hasn't got any better, in case you're wondering. Anyway, she's on her way from Wales to England and should be attempting to cross the Severn today, probably early tonight."

His expression grew pained. "She'll never make it."

"I know. That's why I'm calling. Is it too much to ask if you-"

"If I could go risk my life to save Granger's? When do I leave?"

Pansy made a face. "Draco, I seriously would not be calling if it weren't important. You can trust me when I tell you that all our lives might be at stake, and no, I'm not being overly dramatic."

"You never were the type," he said, smiling a little again. "And I do trust you. Of course I trust you."

She was never going to admit that to him, but hearing him say this made her almost feel like crying. They'd been such good friends back in the day, hadn't they? So much time had gone by, and so much shit had happened, she'd almost forgotten about it. "Thank you. Now, I don't want you to risk yourself unnecessarily-"

"I'll go, and yes, I know how to look out for anyone crossing the damn bridge. I have a trick or two up my sleeve that might surprise even Miss Brightest Witch of Her Generation." Again, he rolled his eyes.

Again, she snickered. "I wish you were here – seriously, I do. You'd really bring some life to this sorry bunch."

"Naturally. Who wouldn't want me around?"

"I couldn't think of anyone worthwhile." She smirked at him. "Thank you, Draco, and good luck."

"I won't need it," he replied, and ended the spell.

For another few seconds, she just kept looking into the crackling flames, before she put them out, washed her face and hands in a nearby stream, and headed back to the camp. At least now they had a fighting chance. All she needed to do was convince everyone else to get their act together and forget to be paralysed by their own fears.


3 Being the highest-ranking field officer of the British government's peace-keeping organisation, Josh was pretty much entitled to any place to live anywhere in London. Most other officers of similar rank or government officials had flats in Central London and maybe some fancy country home where they could spend their holidays and unwind from the gruelling work that was keeping the United Kingdom – and, by extension, everything else – running. Josh, however, didn't believe that he should possess several houses or flats or whatever. No, he was perfectly happy to drive through the numerous security zones that led from his mother's family home in Ealing to the Palace of Westminster, if that was where he needed to be. Mostly, he was on the road, anyway, with Sarah, putting out fires and trying to root out monsters. Even though he hardly had time to be home, it felt a little weird to get back to the big, stately (empty, lonely) house his mom had grown up in, the house that had been her home until she'd met Josh's father at university and moved with him to Auburn Hills in Michigan.

Josh himself had done a large part of his growing up in small condos and rental homes. His parents had often switched jobs and moved around, mostly in the Midwest, but not exclusively. When people would ask him about his childhood and youth, he'd tell them that he spent about half his life in a car, listening to music cassettes on his Walkman, looking out the window, lost in thought. Oftentimes, people would then express their sympathies, and he'd have to explain that he didn't mean to complain. No, his childhood had been a happy one, and he enjoyed thinking back on it.

Nostalgia was a powerful thing.

His whole body felt heavy as lead as he stepped over the house's threshold and into the lobby. After kicking off his boots, he immediately headed upstairs into the master suite (or however the British called it), dropped his bag on the bed, and lurched into the bathroom to take a long, scalding shower. It had been a good day despite the fuck-up of those brain-dead goons in Wales. After he lost his temper, Josh often wondered whether he'd overreacted, but he was pretty certain that in this case, he'd done what had been necessary. After all, Mister Clean over there had been incompetent, lazy, and stupid, and he'd been a particularly bad influence on the other soldiers. It had been right to make an example out of him. Fortunately, most soldiers weren't as dumb as that one, but once in a while, a functional idiot slipped through the cracks and faked it well enough during the recruitment and training stages to be admitted into the Malleus.

If there was one thing Josh hated more than witches, it was bullies.

He didn't often talk about this to anyone, especially not Sarah, who then liked to point out that his anger management issues were just as bad. It was just another topic they had to agree to disagree on, because neither was fond of arguing with the other. He respected her opinion because she had a brilliant mind and never lost her cool, but she lacked passion and, as he felt, heart. She was a bit like a Terminator that way: smart, calm, collected, and frighteningly efficient. Those were qualities to be admired, and she and Josh complemented each other well, but there were things she simply did not comprehend. Yes, he had problems keeping his rage in check, sure. She, however, couldn't fathom how much more damaging certain types of behaviour were. It would not do for soldiers to bully and intimidate civilians just because they thought it was fun, because it made them feel powerful.

Power was an instrument, not a goal in and of itself. It shouldn't be abused, and it should definitely not be used in order to discriminate and mistreat. Josh himself held a considerable amount of power in his hands, but it wasn't something he lusted after. What he wanted was to use it in order to make the world a better place. He needed it so he could help his boss rid the world of the evils of magic once and for all. After that had been accomplished, they'd be able to focus on ridding humanity of all its other problems. Humanity was going through a tough time, but they'd all emerge victorious after collectively groping their way through the dark, cold tunnel of progress. In the end, even the malcontents would be grateful. That was what power was really for: to shape the world into something better, something grander, something stronger. Everything else was just foolish, which, in his opinion, included wasting resources such as Central London flats and country estates on a few greedy assholes. If it were up to him, he'd blow all their brains out and toss them into a shallow grave. Parasites. He loathed those almost as much as he loathed bullies.

As usual, he got dressed in his downtime clothes – jeans and t-shirt – without looking at the thick, ragged, pinkish scars on his chest. It wasn't because they were in any way disfiguring that he didn't like to look at them, but because of what they reminded him of: the worst day of his life. It never did anybody any good to dwell on painful memories, because those were paralysing and dragged a person down. Also, he couldn't help but feel disgusted with himself every time he indulged a bout of self-pity. Everyone had a past. Everyone had suffered loss. Everyone had pain. He was no different, and he certainly wasn't special. Still, he couldn't help but at least be reminded that this past existed every time he took off his damn fucking shirt. Nox himself had told Josh that there were ways the latter could get rid of those scars, but Josh had refused. The scars only bothered him a bit during certain kinds of weather, but mostly, he just kind of forgot they were even there. There was no need to waste resources on such a triviality, and there was no need for drama.

Thinking about his boss lifted his spirits again as he headed downstairs into the humungous kitchen (his mother had loved) to get himself something to eat. For many months, no-one had even seen a witch or a wizard, but those things were still out there, wreaking all kinds of havoc. In other countries, there'd been a number of terrorist attacks committed by sorcerers, as there were always holes in the global net of magic suppression. The wizarding menace was hard enough to contain in Britain, but ever since the Malleus had expanded their influence over most civilised parts of the globe, it had become harder and harder to root out and capture the enemy.

Now, a witch had been sighted, trying to cross the Severn into England. She'd gotten away, yes, but the fact that she'd risked being caught at all showed how desperate she had to be. Also, it wasn't too hard to conjecture that she'd try to get into London, in all probability to try to free the ones of her kind that were trapped in that amber-like substance. That was a good thing. Josh surmised that if the witch was willing to undergo such a huge risk, then she must know how to break people out of the amber. That in turn meant access to the Ministry of Magic.

Already, he'd ordered the patrols increased and security tightened. Tomorrow morning, he'd talk to Nox in person, tell him about his plan to catch the witch and make her tell him all she knew about those who were still in hiding. All he needed to do, really, was to set a trap and wait until the witch sprang it. Then, they'd be one step closer to final victory, and after that, humanity would finally know peace.