13th August 2011 – Sanctuary
Harry cast his gaze around the room, grinning to himself quietly. The roaring fire had calmed down, some candles had burnt out, and the food had disappeared hours before. Almost everyone had gone to bed by that point, given the late hour. Minerva dozed loudly in her chair, drunk hours before and too tired to keep herself awake.
Ron had no doubt used up a great deal of marital bargaining power in order to stay up with the more-than-a-little drunk guests, whilst Fred and Katie had been the ones to keep the party going on in the first place. Remus too had gone to bed, given that the state of the moon made him somewhat tetchy, and the large communal space was almost empty.
"We should probably head back to Avalon soon," said Hermione quietly, leaning into him. "It's been lovely, but…"
"Mm," said Harry in agreement. It had been lovely, but he had a bed of his own back on Avalon, and the night was over. Neville and Hannah had disappeared some hours before, not that Harry could really blame them; that did however mean Neville likely wouldn't be returning to Avalon until the next day.
"Is a bit late, isn't it?" mumbled Ron tiredly.
Just then, a Patronus sailed through the open window and moved immediately towards Minerva, who snored at it.
"Wake up!" demanded the silver creature, a gentle and elegant doe which spoke with the less gentle and less elegant voice of Severus Snape. "There is important news and I do not have the time to wait around for knackered old nags!"
Immediately Harry reached into his robes for the vial of Clarity Draught he always kept with him, downed it, and caught the attention of the Patronus.
"Snape," he said. "It's me, Harry. What's the news?"
The Patronus turned towards him then, and spoke again – which was downright unnerving, considering that Snape's voice came out of it and that the doe probably represented his mother.
"Good. This will be far more efficient." There was a pause which Harry took to mean Snape was considering what to say next. "There was a raid on the Irish wizarding enclave of Augur Alley tonight, carried out by the senior Death Eaters of the Inner Circle."
"Is it still happening?" asked Hermione, reaching inside of her own robs to pull out her own stock of the detoxification potion.
"It is over," said the Patronus. "It was not possible to provide forewarning for this raid; my position would have been compromised. Only the Marked, trusted agents were sent on the mission tonight. I have a message for you, Potter," it continued. "Daphne Greengrass requires a meeting on August 16th at Carousel. She believes she knows the location of something you desperately want to find."
Horcruxes. It had to be those, Harry decided. Or one of them, anyway. The Court of Fools had operatives all over Europe and rarely lacked access to sensitive or secret information.
"Thanks," he said simply. He wasn't sure if Snape really knew about the Horcruxes, or what he knew if he did, but now wasn't the time to ask.
"How many deaths?" asked Hermione quietly. "What was the purpose of the raid?"
"Occupation and forced resettlements," answered Snape immediately. "I acted to minimise deaths and traumas where possible, but for much of the night's festivities I was detained by Miss Greengrass and her companion."
"The Unspeakables are planning a raid on the new communities," said Luna. "You should be prepared for that eventuality."
"My thanks," said Snape. "I will send more information later through the regular channels," he continued quickly, "but you should know now that several atrocities have been committed. They will never make the papers of course, but I will provide memories at my earliest convenience."
The Patronus flickered out of existence.
"I hate this," said Ron wearily. "It's the same every time. 'I can't compromise my position', 'the raid was unavoidable'."
"He's a greasy git," said Katie, "but we can't afford to lose him, you know that."
"She's right," said Fred, accepting the vial of Clarity Draught offered to him by Luna. "If Snape leaked information only given to the most trusted Death Eaters he'd be fucked, you know that. Can you imagine Draco Malfoy defecting to the Order?"
"I know," said Ron, sighing.
"We'll make Voldemort pay," promised Harry. "We're moving on the camps within the fortnight."
"So soon after coming back?" said Ron, clearly surprised. Harry supposed the view of the Unspeakables would be that they were slow and cautious, afraid of making moves too quickly lest they be the wrong moves. That was true in many ways but the time for caution and slowness was past, according to the Unspeakables.
Their plan was swift, calculated, and designed to take advantage of their long waiting period. Now that they had options the Unspeakables would take those options.
"Their plan was always to act immediately after the fortress ward fell," said Hermione. "It's a plan we didn't agree with, but it was the only plan available to us."
It was just repetition now, Harry knew. If they said it enough maybe it would sink in.
"I personally retrieved the locations of the new communities," continued Hermione, "including those not known to the public. I'm going to put an end to them all," she said, eyes blazing with righteous fire.
She would do it, Harry knew. Hermione could do anything she wanted to do, and she did.
"Anyone fancy a post-party, extremely risky and dangerous recon mission to a Death Eater controlled zone?" said Harry cheerfully, looking around the room.
13th August 2011 – Belleek
Harry had been fully prepared for what he would find in Belleek. He'd studied this conflict in great detail, in this world and in others, and so he knew what Voldemort and his Death Eaters were and what they could be capable of.
He still didn't like seeing it in his world.
The small group of them – him, Hermione, Fred and Katie Weasley – had Apparated swathed in many protective layers of concealing enchantments and spells. Belleek – or more properly, Augur Alley, the wizarding enclave – was now occupied by the Death Eaters. Occupied by the British Ministry, in effect.
He doubted most in Britain would accept the stark reality of what had truly occurred that night, the first proper night of war.
The Muggle town centre had been completely destroyed. Bodies littered the streets – bodies of men, women, and children. All Muggles.
He heard someone – Katie, he thought – retch at the sight of a pair of skinless Muggle children impaled upon a spike. He grimaced.
Around them, weaving in and out of the Muggle and wizard areas, were the Death Eater cleanup teams. Occasionally Harry spotted an exhausted Obliviator – there were many of them, all faceless and nameless – as they worked to ensure complete and utter secrecy.
It made Harry more than a little sick to see, and definitely angry. He wanted nothing more than to hex the offending Death Eaters into the Otherworld and back, just so he could do it again and again and again. He had seen realities where the veteran Death Eaters had defected to him. He had seen a reality where Lucius Malfoy bent the knee and swore himself to a Gryffindor Lord Potter, for Merlin's sake.
But that reality would never be this reality, and Harry wanted nothing more than to assassinate the man and be done with it. He wouldn't do that, though. He would make the man a Squib. He knew it had to be possible. If nobody had figured out how to do it then Harry would figure it out and he would do it.
He could honestly think of no more fitting end for Lucius Malfoy. Death was too kind, too—transient. Squibhood would be forever, and to a man like Lucius Malfoy it would be worse than Muggle Hell. It would literally be Muggle Hell, he supposed.
"The Muggles aren't going to have a clue what's happened," muttered Fred. "There'll be riots."
"I'm more concerned with what's next," said Hermione. "Has nobody considered the real consequences of a war between wizarding realms?" She appeared positively scandalised by the whole concept, and Harry agreed with her.
Voldemort had never been a shining example of rational thought, true, but it also couldn't be said that he was an unintelligent man, either. That was part of the problem: his massive intellect, coupled with his capacity for obsession and superstition and his complete disregard of anything approaching human decency, made for a very dangerous man. He knew how to manipulate and charm, and how to effectively dominate others. He had probably dismissed the consequences of a wizarding war, and that in itself was nuts, simply because it would be the best way of effectively controlling his Death Eaters.
"Wizengamot voted for war," said Katie bitterly, "so I'd think not."
"Astoria Malfoy is here," hissed Hermione suddenly through closed teeth. "Look!"
At the edge of town, at the border between the Muggle and magical worlds, stood a tall, elegant woman in sleek robes. Astoria Malfoy. She was not that far away, thought Harry, although too far to hear. She was speaking quickly, too quickly for him to read her lips.
Harry screwed up his face.
"She was never like this at school," he said. "Daphne would have hexed her into the Otherworld before she let it get this far."
"Daphne Greengrass has been missing for the last three years," said Katie.
"Nah," said Harry easily, "she's been exactly where she's wanted to be."
She'd been at Carousel, most likely. At least for some of that time.
Hermione muttered something about 'bumbling jesters in garish motley' but Harry just grinned at her.
"Give me a minute," said Fred, sneaking off quietly but deliberately in the direction of Astoria Malfoy. Within moments he dropped behind an upturned car and pulled out a long, thin device. Harry watched as Fred peered intently at Astoria, then beckoned for one of them to follow. Harry took up his offer and soon enough found himself kneeling next to Fred, with the sudden ability to clearly and accurately hear every word out of Astoria's mouth.
"There will be a population exchange shortly," she said. "You must be prepared." Her tone suggested she thought the man would not be prepared even with her warning, but she continued on regardless. "The Muggles will pose no problem."
"How do you mean?" asked the man. "We've got to be careful, the Statute and everything…"
"Over the next few years the Muggles will begin moving away from this area. We will see to that. You needn't worry."
"And, well, it's not just the Muggles is it?" he offered, unsure.
"There are enough Aurors here to provide a formidable defence against the Irish, Auror Crup," insisted Astoria. "As soon as the protections around the Alley are re-established there shall be no danger here."
Harry glanced around. Night was swiftly giving way to day, and all the Disillusionment in the world wouldn't help them against a keen eye and the sun. He almost wished he had his Cloak. They'd heard enough, though, and seen enough of the devastation. He looked to Fred, who nodded, reeled in his listening device – which Harry thought resembled the old Extendible Ears, but better – and stood quietly.
They crossed the small distance between them and the others easily, and then stood to confer for a few moments.
"We'll head back to Avalon. You go back to the Order," said Harry. "I want a meeting with Sirius as soon as he can possibly do that. Can you arrange it?"
Fred nodded.
"Great. We'll have to arrange a visit to Avalon for you," he said, and then Apparated away.
13th August 2011 – Caer Tawel (Large Meeting Room)
"A Death Eater raid took place last night on the wizarding enclave of Augur Alley, in Ireland," said Harry. "I received this intelligence from Severus Snape, just a little bit after the completion of the raid."
The entire Council of Seven had convened for the briefing. Hermione didn't think the elderly Unspeakables had seen this much activity in decades. She wondered if they enjoyed it, or if it was a bother. They had probably engineered the long-term plan of the Unspeakables, so Hermione assumed they were at least prepared for it even if it wasn't something they'd class as enjoyable.
The problem was that all three of them were utterly inscrutable. They betrayed almost nothing of what they thought or felt at any given time.
"The Muggles suffered significant casualties," added Hermione. "Snape says he'll provide us with memories of the events when he's able."
"We have been making overtures to the Irish Court," said Morningstar, her mouth twisted into a slight frown, "but thus far we have not met with success. Potter, we believe that if you were to make the next contact it would be more productive."
Harry nodded.
"All right. Tell me where and when, and we'll see what I can do."
"Good. As preparation, you'll make contact with the Muggle Taoiseach later on today. Lovegood can brief you en route. She will be accompanying you."
To be the eyes and ears of the Unspeakables. It was difficult sometimes to differentiate between Luna their friend and Unspeakable Lovegood, although Luna had managed thus far to prevent any major distancing between herself and the others. Hermione didn't think she would have been able to do that, herself.
Of course, Luna seemed more able than most Unspeakables to break the oathpact, so perhaps it was more that she was a bad Unspeakable than anything else.
"Granger, there is still the matter of the Otherworld portal to discuss. The matter of Ireland and the Irish War has complicated matters greatly, and we should like to make concrete gains in that regard. To that end there is a man living in Newcastle we should like you to visit. He is not dangerous but he is unable to respond to anyone else."
"Why?"
"He is a former Unspeakable. For reasons I will not discuss with you, it is not possible to send one of our own agents to receive this information."
They had done something Unspeakable to his mind, then, Hermione decided.
"When should I go?" She wanted nothing more than to sleep. She'd snatched some scattered bits and pieces, but nothing so substantial as a proper eight hours of restive sleep.
"When we are finished here. You can sleep through Sunday and Monday; that's not a problem. Take a stimulating potion to tide you over."
Hermione hadn't been surprised to discover the Unspeakables didn't know spells which could simulate a full night's sleep, or potions to do the same. She had been disappointed, mostly, to find that their response to the problem was merely to throw drugs and potions at it until the need had passed.
So, essentially what everyone else did. Too long on some of the available potions was actually worse than going without them, and no substitute for a proper sleep. Still, Hermione hadn't been that sleep-deprived to begin with. She nodded her consent.
It wasn't as if she wanted to go to the Otherworld – at least, not to be tempered at some Altar of Queens in the Land of Always fucking Winter – but it seemed like one way or another, that's what would happen. The Unspeakables had been training her for this purpose, after all. Prophecy could choose another, but why would it range far when a perfectly crafted instrument existed already?
"Of course."
"Longbottom, you're to join up with the Muggleborn extraction teams. There are some names we didn't get to."
"All right," said Neville. "Also – my fiancée is coming to live with me."
He wasn't asking. They'd long ago stopped asking the Unspeakables for permission to do things. Some things, obviously, they did – matters relating to security, prophecy, those sorts of things – but not in issues relating to their personal lives.
Which Hermione hadn't thought would be a problem, except that it had been.
At first. It wasn't anymore.
"What's the revised timeline?" she asked, since nobody else had thought to.
"Unstable," said Morningstar. "It is impossible to know at this stage; so many things still need to occur. But if Potter makes headway with the Irish Court we'd like to work on the distraction phase by the end of August."
"And for the prophecies?" clarified Hermione. She wanted to know when she could expect to visit the Otherworld. Harry had taken his place in the prophecy. Luna was assumed to have taken hers, although Morgana only knew why. 'The one who always was'. What did that even mean?
"We have several leads. Your mission will help us advance the timeline on your particular prophecy," confirmed Morningstar. "We must gain access to the Otherworld, and you must be tempered at the Altar of Queens."
"Or I'll die, yes, I know," said Hermione, and rolled her eyes. They had considered that sending her to the Otherworld might be the reason she would die, of course. It had just been calculated as an acceptable risk, and Hermione couldn't argue with that.
The arithmantic and mathematical calculation had shown her that. She had calculated it according to a formula she had derived herself based on decades of Unspeakable research. To lose faith in the formula would be to admit that it didn't represent anything meaningful, and she rather thought that it did.
"I have a meeting with Daphne Greengrass on the 16th," said Harry. "We're to meet at Carousel. I think it's about Horcruxes. Do we have news or a message for the Fools?"
"A general request for assistance should do nicely for now, I think," said Morningstar, glancing only briefly to her companions. None of them did anything as far as Hermione could tell, so she supposed it was an acceptable suggestion.
"We're done, then," said Morningstar. "Granger, if you'd stay for the details of your next assignment…"
Hermione nodded and watched as the others left the room, no doubt to sleep,even if just for a little while. She dug inside her robes for her stash of Endless Waking potion and downed it.
"The relevant details are contained upon this parchment," said Morningstar, levitating a small square a parchment over to Hermione. She scanned it, committing the details to memory, and then burnt it. Standard operating procedure, even within Caer Tawel.
It's not as if she would forget what had been on the page, after all.
"Avoid direct references to any living or dead Unspeakables when you speak with Horatio. He will be unable to account for why he knows what he knows. We think you're best suited to extracting the useful information without—well, without ripping apart his mind."
Hermione frowned.
"But if that's the only way to get it I won't shy away from the task, is that it?" she responded. Luna probably would have done it too, since she understood the particulars of the Unspeakable oathpact better than Hermione. But Hermione would have more motivation to not tear the man's mind into pieces, at least if she could prevent it.
Mostly because she hadn't made any silly oathpact and so didn't think it was fair to essentially kill someone because they had wanted to retire but still possessed important information. Why hadn't they just made him write it down? Operational security, of course, but memories in a pensieve… although, the Unspeakables hadn't been able to remove everything important from the Department of Mysteries Were Hermione to be totally fair she would suggest that perhaps this information had been lost then – but she doubted it somewhat.
More likely it had been locked inside Bulstrode's head, and the man sent away to live quietly until – if it ever happened – the Unspeakables needed what he knew.
"I'll get going," she continued, and Apparated into the street where one Horatio Bulstrode – retired Unspeakable – resided.
Newcastle
Hermione hadn't expected a member of the Bulstrode family to live in a brand new Muggle development in the middle of the city of Newcastle, but that was where she had Apparated to, and it was where the parchment had indicated she should go. She didn't bother transforming her robes: it was barely a decent time of day yet, so anyone who did see her would probably assume she wore some kind of strange dressing gown.
The man had to bear some relation to the Millicent Bulstrode she had known at school, though probably not so close as a father – a great-uncle, perhaps, or cousin, or some other more distant relation.
Hermione navigated her way inside the Muggle building – which didn't have anything in the way of security – easily, and rode the lift up to the seventh floor. When she had arrived outside of number 722 she rapped her knucles against the door forcefully and waited.
After a few moments of nothing, Hermione tried again. It was still early; Bulstrode likely wasn't awake yet.
Eventually a fairly robust-looking elderly man answered the door and, upon seeing her robes, invited her inside immediately. Grey Unspeakable robes shouldn't trigger whatever dreadful things the Unspeakables had done to his mind – many wizards and witches wore grey.
It didn't do for wizards to stand around outside in Muggle areas, after all.
"I assume you already know who I am," said Bulstrode, "so I shall leave you to introduce yourself."
"My name is Hermione Granger. I've come to ask you some questions. I'm not from the Ministry or… otherwise affiliated."
"A Muggleborn, then," said Bulstrode. He relaxed and lowered a wand Hermione hadn't realised he'd been holding. "I assume you wish to discuss my former research projects?"
Just what exactly did Bulstrode remember? He obviously wasn't poorly disposed to Muggleborns given that one had turned up at his door, and he didn't seem to want to alert the Aurors… though, Hermione supposed that as a retired Unspeakable he would have been opposed to Voldemort regardless. Perhaps he had retired because he didn't feel able to fight – Hermione couldn't really blame him if that were the case.
Sometimes she wished she could retire, but if she did that the Unspeakables would simply find another to fill the role of the Lioness, one who hadn't been trained the way she had, perhaps even one less likely to survive the ordeal.
"That's right."
"You'd better come in and sit down, then," he said, leading her through a narrow hallway into a spacious room which had no doubt made liberal use of wizardspace. She assumed his mind would be whirring, picking apart the pieces of information he had been given to judge the strange woman before him. Muggleborns with wands generally meant foreigners (rarely – Hermione had been led to believe foreign Muggleborns avoided Britain in its entirety; funny that) or terrorists… or, perhaps, to a former Unspeakable, Unspeakables.
Hermione took a seat on a plush armchair opposite a much more worn seat which stank of the older man's magic. He'd probably never sat anywhere else in the room. He sat opposite her in his favoured chair and simply waited.
"I have recently become interested in the concept of ancient sidhe artefacts' putative function," she decided to say, because that was essentially true and the sort of thing an interested academic would want to know. It was also the thing that she wanted to know, so it would be best to start there regardless. "Specifically, when the sidhe fled to the Otherworld, from what place did they go, and how?"
Horatio leaned back into the chair and stroked at his marvellous grey beard.
"That is a difficult question. The Otherworld is roughly analogous to the British Isles, you understand? It is these islands, yes, but shaped by the powers and will of the sidhe. It is a construct. In the old days nearly every place in these islands was a doorway to the Otherworld: sacred groves, pools of water, streams, and places in the hills and in the mountains. No so after the betrayal of Morag Muir!"
The Otherworld as a construct created by the sidhe was something she hadn't encountered before. The Otherworld was a different magical plane, a reality positioned at an angle to their own such that they intersected only rarely. Except… that view didn't actually preclude what the former Unspeakable had told her, did it?
"How was it created?"
"That's between the sidhe and their gods, I suppose," said Bulstrode jovially. "I couldn't possibly comment. Still, how they fled this world was different in essence and in nature to how they had left for the Otherworld before that time. Muir of course sealed off the Otherworld, and the only mode of access remaining were the scattered portals, henges and rings left behind."
"So the megaliths, the ancient artefacts of the sidhe, may be portals to the Otherworld?"
The information seemed to confirm what the Unspeakables already knew, which worried Hermione because the artefacts on Avalon all contained some disembodied but ultimately malevolent Otherworld entity.
"Some of them, yes."
"How would one go about activating them?" she dared ask. She was skirting dangerously close to making him betray the oathpact, she feared. Most things she had asked so far had revealed on non-sensitive information. The Unspeakables would have prevented their former comrade from revealing anything specific, if indeed he had ever known that – sometimes, she wanted to hex the Unspeakable who had decided against writing everything down. So much unpleasantness could be avoided if the Unspeakables took more expansive records. Such as the whys and hows as well as the whats. It would make the archives less secure in the event of an attack but it would stop the threat of knowledge being lost purely because someone had died.
That was what writing was for.
"I'm not sure one would. You see, I am quite sure that the gateways will only open during an equinox or solstice period, and even then I am quite sure that of all the verified sidhe artefacts, none are intact."
Except, perhaps, those on Avalon… Everything led back to Avalon, of course. She'd been silly to assume that it wouldn't, really. The Unspeakables of old had chosen the island for their headquarters for a reason, even if that reason had been lost to the mists of time. Avalon was ancient and intensely magical, and secret, and isolated – perfect for the Unspeakables. Its people revered the ancient sidhe places and monuments like the Greeks revered the Parthenon. If any of their portals remained intact it would be located on Avalon.
"Hypothetically, if one were intact?" she pressed.
"Then you would need to speak the ancient words of activation as day fades into night on the equinox or solstice. Failing that, a large enough sacrifice at the appropriate time should suffice. I thought I remembered… ah, but it doesn't matter; this is all theoretical, no?" he said, eyes twinkling. "Would you like a cup of tea? Herty should have popped in with some tea by now…"
Suddenly, a petite house-elf popped into the room with a tray holding a kettle, two mugs, and a stack of yellow, buttered toast. She vanished without a word.
"The silly thing disapproves of my work on the sidhe. Can't for the life of me figure out why; she won't say a thing about it. She just refuses and then tries to punish herself – which I won't allow, of course." said Horatio after pouring Hermione a mug of hot tea. "I hope you take your tea with milk."
"It's fine, thank you," said Hermione, sniffing at the mug surreptitiously before drinking. It might be poisoned.
"What did you say was your interest in this subject?" continued Horatio.
"Academic, mostly," she said. "Some friends and I are somewhat interested in this topic…"
Horatio would remember that he had once been an Unspeakable. He would remember the words and content of the oathpact, and what it meant. He knew to avoid triggering its negative consequences also, if Hermione gave him the right hints. The problem was that she couldn't simply come out and say 'I'm working with the Unspeakables' because that would trigger a series of associations which could end with Horatio's death.
Not just from talking about the Unspeakables, of course. But that's where it would begin. Better to skirt, better to hint and suggest, because at least then there would be reasonable doubt.
"I see," he said simply. "Sidhe magic is quite dangerous. I'm sure I don't need to tell you not to go playing around with things better left alone." He said it anyway, of course. Because it wasn't the sort of thing anyone left unsaid, just in case.
"Of course not," she said. "The world is a dangerous enough place as it is. I'm not the sort to go looking for more danger, I can assure you."
Well, now, wasn't that a bare-faced lie and something more besides?
"Oh, I'm sure," said Bulstrode. "It is an interesting hypothetical, isn't it? If one were to locate an intact sidhe circle, and if one were to know the ancient words or be prepared for a sacrifice… then one could enter the Otherworld, the first in one thousand years to achieve such a thing. A captivating thought, isn't it?"
Hermione made a non-committal sort of noise, one she thought would be appropriate. She was probably going to go to the Otherworld. She would likely be the first human to enter its eldritch borders in almost a thousand years. It would be exciting if it weren't so ineffable a scenario.
"Did you know Stonehenge is a fully human construction?" said Horatio. "Yes, it's really quite brilliant…"
The elderly man then went on to tell Hermione just why he believed this, and just why it was brilliant, and despite the more pressing concerns she had, Hermione gladly accepted another mug of tea, and even nibbled at a piece of toast.
13th August 2011 – Tithe an Rialtais(Dublin)
Harry had never been to Ireland before. Not even Northern Ireland, the Muggle bit that was still part of Britain. The Dursleys hadn't ever gone there of course – that had been during the Troubles, so Harry had heard all about how the Irish were all terrorists and dirty layabouts, not even proper Christians really. He'd just assumed all Irish people must be interesting and friendly if the Dursleys hated them so much.
Still, he had never been to Ireland before. There were no international controls on Apparation and portkeying, even floo, between the two wizarding nations, but Harry had never had any reason to go. Apparently the whole island had calmed down a lot since he'd been away, which was especially nice considering he was about to visit the Irish Prime Minister in his office.
The government buildings had been rather nice to look at, in a sort of early 20th century way; large and official-looking, if not grand like Hogwarts or ancient like Caer Tawel.
Their contact mission was made rather more complicated by the fact that the Taoiseach had only recently come to office – Luna had said something about March – and the Irish Court hadn't seen fit to brief him on much of anything, not even the existence of magic. His predecessor should have done that, but then… well, since speaking to the man, Harry was coming to see that the Irish Court had been neglecting the Muggles for decades.
"You're telling me that magic, wands and witches and broomsticks and all that, is real?" said Mr Enda Kenny, leaning back away from his desk. "And what you've shown me isn't just lasers and holograms? This is one of those camera shows, isn't it?"
"It's definitely not one of those, Mr Kenny. Taoiseach, sir," said Harry, unsure of the proper form of address.
"We really are witches. Or, a witch and a wizard," said Luna. "We actually thought you would already know this information before we got here: you were supposed to have been told."
"By the Irish Court of Magic," explained Harry. "They're the wizards who run magical Ireland. We're from Britain."
"The British magical government?" asked Kenny. Harry shook his head.
"No, not that. Merlin, not that."
"You've made everything we're about to say a lot more complicated," said Luna. "Our government has declared war on the Irish magical government. This is a bad thing for everyone involved, but it is a very bad thing for you and your people."
"Our government's sort of gone a bit haywire," said Harry. "Sorry about that. We've got a bit of a Hitler situation at the moment. I'm—we're—part of a group working to overthrow the current government to prevent any further atrocities from occurring."
"That mess up near the border was your lot, wasn't it?" said the Muggle darkly. "What do you want from us, exactly?"
"Nothing. You can't really help us with this. We just wanted to be assured you knew everything that was going on. If you could circulate some pictures… you know, of people you should avoid? Put them on television, in the papers, everywhere you can think. Be subtle about it," said Harry.
The Unspeakables had prepared a dossier. It contained pictures of known and dangerous Death Eaters, criminals and British Ministry officials who should be avoided by Muggles at all costs. It contained other things too, but most of it had been boring to Harry (who knew the information because he was living it) so he hadn't bothered reading through it all.
It was for Muggles, anyway.
"I don't really understand," said Enda Kenny. "What's this war about?"
"Control," said Luna simply. "The Dark Lord doesn't need land. Wizards have all the land we could ever need. He wants bodies. He has a need to dominate and control, to bend and twist the world around him to his own needs and devices."
"The Irish voted against joining up with us a few hundred years ago," said Harry, "so when he came to power in our world, he failed to claim Ireland and the Irish. But there are a lot of wizards in Ireland – more than in Britain, even proportionally – and he wants them now."
"What's this Court doing about it?"
"That's the problem," said Harry. "Not a lot. The wizards in Tara have this powerful magic spell which will protect them against any attack, but there's hundreds who don't live in Tara but who live scattered amongst your people. The Dark Lord will go after them, and hurt your people in the process. The town in the north is just the first example."
"But we don't… how can we defend against wizards? Our army's not the best, we'd have to notify NATO…"
"Don't do that!" Harry said, immediately alarmed. He wasn't aware on the particulars of Muggle diplomacy – and this thing he didn't blame on the Unspeakables, since he'd probably know even less about Muggle affairs without them – but he did know that NATO was the Muggle world's largest military alliance.
If there was something all wizards could agree on it was that under no circumstances should Muggles be allowed to turn their weapons against wizards. Not even enemy wizards. It set too dangerous a precedent.
"There's no need for that just yet," said Luna calmly. "In any case, I doubt the alliance would respond. Muggle leaders all over the world know about magic, Mr Kenny. Mr Cameron has already been alerted to the current situation."
"Muggle weapons would do more harm than good, I think," said Harry. "Considering that the majority of magical settlements are inside Muggle towns."
"Why weren't we told?" said Kenny. The poor man had turned completely white. Harry supposed it was a bit much to just turn up and tell him about magic, tell him about the war, and then expect him to play nicely about it all.
Just then, a portrait in the room began to stir. Harry didn't notice it at first, having been too concentrated on the Muggle Taoiseach, but Luna drew it to his attention after it had begun silently flapping its arms at them. It was ostensibly a painting of a Muggle, but that couldn't be right because there it sat, waving at them to be quiet.
"Mr Kenny, the painting behind you is in fact a wizard painting. Right now it's telling us to be quiet. I think it's meant to be keeping tabs on you," said Harry. As soon as Enda Kenny turned around the portrait went still again.
"I'll have the damned thing taken out of the room immediately!" promised Kenny.
"No, don't do that," said Luna absently, "he is supposed to be here after all. It's the wizards who are at fault here. Why don't you go tell them that?" she said, speaking to the portrait. The man inside the frame huffed loudly, provoking a small jump from Mr Kenny, before disappearing from the portrait.
"Well, we've sorted out that problem," muttered Harry. No doubt a representative from the Irish Court would turn up within moments. That wasn't exactly part of the plan – contact was going to be made tomorrow, or at least attempted – but he supposed it was actually an improvement rather than anything else.
"I don't understand," said Mr Kenny. "Where's he gone? How can he move? I suppose magic…"
An irate-looking wizard in bright yellow robes popped into the room.
"How dare you! This is most peculiar, what remit do you even have to come barging in here like this?" said the wizard, and then Harry pushed aside his messy hair to reveal his scar.
"Hi," said Harry. "I'm Harry Potter. Mr Kenny here tells me that he's never been introduced to the existence of magic, and that his predecessor neglected to inform him as well."
"I'm sure it was just a mistake because he was only recently elected," said Luna, smiling.
Harry fished around his robes – the pockets of which had been extended using a charm of Hermione's – for the dossier, then dropped it onto Kenny's desk.
"This is the information we can give you in a more digestible form," said Harry. "I think we have another appointment now, though?"
He glanced at the Irish wizard who nodded.
"I'll Side-Along you both; can't pass through the Centenary Ward otherwise," he said, and then sighed.
"We'll send someone by in a few days' time," said Luna warmly, "just to check in."
"Mr Potter, if you'd like to come first?"
Newcastle – Horatio Bulstrode's Flat (Flat 722)
The retired Unspeakable was, in Hermione's opinion, a thoroughly interesting and congenial man. Despite the Unspeakable things done to his mind the man retained much of his knowledge – if sometimes he was a bit fuzzy at the edges – and had provided Hermione with a veritable hoard of information of a wide range of topics.
They had discussed the nature of house-elves and the magic which bound them to service (although Hermione still didn't fully understand it; she would need to do some of her own research in that area), the origin of hags, and a lot of other things besides. If Hermione had her own way she'd stay sat in the man's flat for the rest of the day, discussing esoteric and obscure fields of magic with him.
But a quick tempus charm had alerted her to the fact that she had already stayed too long. If she spent the better part of the next week with the man she still didn't think she'd be able to tease out everything from his mind that the Unspeakables had locked away.
There was simply too much stashed away inside. She wondered if the Unspeakables knew more or less about magic than Dumbledore; in aggregate, probably much, much more. If any single living Unspeakable held as much knowledge, though, Hermione decided that it would have to be Horatio Bulstrode.
After all, one did not simply retire from the Unspeakables. That the Unspeakables let him go, but protected the information within his mind, said rather a lot about the man. It would be tantamount to a crime against humanity to allow the knowledge to pass from his mind without being written down for future generations. To that end, Hermione had attempted to extract everything she could from the man, going so far as to set up a Dictaquill to transcribe the entirety of their conversation.
She couldn't abide the thought of missing some important piece of information, delivered only off-hand as an aside, merely because she hadn't thought to or hadn't had the time to write the words down.
"I really should be going now," she said, glancing just one more time at the third tray of tea (this time with some light cakes) Herty had brought them. She was tempted to stay just for another round of cakes, but if she couldn't justify staying to learn rare pieces of knowledge then she certainly couldn't justify staying for some cakes.
Or could she? No, Hermione decided. She really had better leave. Horatio had given her a lot of information, information it would take quite some time to sort through and analyse. At least she would have helpers and assistants with that task; some years ago Morningstar had assigned two junior Unspeakables to her service, and they had never been given another assignment.
Hermione actually felt rather sorry for them. Cataloguing her notes and analysing her scattered thoughts couldn't be the most exciting assignment for a new Unspeakable, at least not in the middle of the largest existential conflict their society had ever seen.
"Before you go, Miss Granger, I think I have remembered something pertaining to our earlier discussion," said Bulstrode, pausing only to nibble at one of the cakes. "I hesitate to actually say it because I can't for the life of me remember where I read it, and you seem like the sort of woman who values evidence and primary sources, but I shall tell you anyway."
"Please, any information you have would be an excellent starting point," she replied. No doubt he remembered exactly where he had learnt the information: as an Unspeakable. The problem was that he wouldn't be able to remember who had told him, where he read it, or why. Much of his knowledge lacked context, which meant that he would rarely access the memories because he had forgotten their experiential component.
Hermione had reminded him, though. At least in part, which was why he kept offering her scattered pieces of information, knowledge which she had come here to obtain but couldn't ask outright.
"Calan Awst, a pagan festival at the beginning of this month, has been suggested as the date of departure of the remaining sidhe," he said. "But I think the best time for wizards to open the portals would be during the autumnal equinox, or at a push, Hallowe'en. The nature of sacrifice, harvest, and so on, you understand?" It was a question and also not a question. She understood what he was getting at in the main, if not in detail. It gave her something to work with, however, something very real and tangible…
They had 41 days to prepare, if they were able to open the portal in time for the autumnal equinox. A festival occurred on Avalon during that time: a harvest festival, a festival of sacrifice…
"Thank you very much for your time this morning, Mr Bulstrode," said Hermione. Then she stood. "Would you mind if I Apparate out from here?"
"Of course not, my dear. I wish you the very best of luck in your endeavours," he said. "I am certain we will see great things from you, in the future. If ever you find yourself in the area please do not be afraid to call in unannounced."
If everything went to plan, thought Hermione, you'll be seeing great things from me before year's end.
"I should like the opportunity," she said sincerely. "Thank you for everything you have told me today. I hope to see you again."
If of course she didn't die. With that as her final, morbid thought, Hermione Apparated back to Caer Tawel.