A New Order Chapter 07 Movements, a harry potter fanfic

"A New Order"

Chapter seven – "Movements in the depths of Summer"

By the_scribbler

the_scribbler (at) shadowgard (d*) com

Pursuant to the Berne Convention Implementation Act of 1988 and the Digital Millennium Copyright Act of 1998, this work is copyrighted 2008 with all rights expressly reserved by its author unless explicitly granted. No portion may be reproduced in any fashion without the express written and notarized permission of the author.

CONTENT Disclaimer: This story may contain sexually graphic and explicit material and as such, it is not suitable for minors. If you are a minor, please leave now, as it is illegal for you to be here. If it is illegal for you to read or view sexually explicit material in the community you view such material, please leave now. This story and characters are purely fictional and any resemblance to events or persons (living or dead) is purely coincidental. These stories are just that, stories, and do not promote or condone the activities described herein

Note One: Canon? What canon? This story is an amalgam of several different story lines and does not adhere to any one particular AU. THIS IS A HARRY/HERMIONE/OTHER (eventually) SHIP. IF YOU DON'T LIKE IT, DISEMBARK!

Note Two: I've been accused of playing fast and loose with some of the things laid down by JKR. Frankly, I can't care less. I twist and meld facts to meet my needs as a story writer. If you don't like that, I don't want to hear about it. Go find a writer who's anally retentive and slavishly devoted to JKR. That's not me.

Note Three: I have chosen to adopt the names 'Aimee and Jean-Sebastian Delacour', in keeping with the story "HOPE", by the fabulous author Jeconais. jeconais (d*t) fanficauthors (d*t) net/Hope/1_Beauxbatons (d*t) php - If you've not read Tim's story, DO SO NOW. It's fabulous and a great read.

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From Chapter Six: "When castles fall"

Shacklebolt twirled his wand in his hand absentmindedly as he thought about how much he could tell the Prime Minister. As if he could see the hesitation in the younger man's eyes, the Prime Minister said, "Tell me everything. That's an order."

The senior Auror – a law enforcement officer with more than twenty-five years of experience, looked at the senior-most politician in the Kingdom and said stiffly, "You can't order me to do anything, Prime Minister. My oaths are to the Ministry for Magic and to the International Confederation of Wizards and they are magically binding. If I violate them, I will die. So, I will tell you as much as I can and you will have to be content with that."

Major leaned back, deflated, and said, "Well, use your magic and get me a brandy. I suspect that this could be a long conversation."

Shacklebolt chuckled, took out his wand, and did as bidden. It was going to be a long conversation, for sure, and the brandy would help.

With a snifter of brandy in hand and the report in the other, Major said, "Alright. Tell me as much as you can about this Riddle fellow and what you think I should do about him. Then I want you to tell me about how British magical society is structured. After that….well, we'll see what else I need to know."

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La Dolce Vita du Cote d'Azur – Sunday, July 16, 1995 – sunset

Merced tore up the pillows that had been layered carefully and artistically around the palatial room, in hopes of finding something, anything that might give him a clue as to where Minerva McGonagall had gone. This room was the most recent in a long string of places that had come up empty for him and he was beginning to grow weary of the chase. No one had ever eluded him for this long before. It was as if Minerva McGonagall had just up and disappeared off the face of the planet the night that she had absconded with the book and records. Albus Dumbledore had paid him to fetch them back for him and so far he was coming up short. It infuriated him and ate at his confidence. "Stupid bitch can't have gone that far. She's got to be somewhere on the continent" he thought as he made one last inspection.

Closing his eyes, Merced reached out with his senses and tried to 'taste' whatever magical signatures might still be lingering in the room. It was a peculiar talent – one that, in combination with his extensive training, made him a renowned and successful bounty-hunter. He quickly found that the Deputy Headmistresses' signature was nowhere to be found. It led him to believe that she had never been in the room at all and that perhaps he was being led blindly down a primrose path, in order to throw him off her real destination. But where? Where would she have gone? The Headmaster was certain that she had not left magical Europe and that she wouldn't, because she had family scattered all over. However, he had already 'visited' all of the foul woman's relatives and not one of them had seen her in more than six months' time. If she were hiding at any of the locations, he was sure that she would have been sussed out by his talent, Fidelius charm or not. Slowly spinning in place, Merced focused on his private office/training area, and disappeared with a moderately loud crack! It was time to re-think his entire pursuit-strategy and broaden the search area. To do so would take time and planning…and would eat into both his patience….and more importantly, his profits.

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Private residence, Prime Minister John Major – 10 pm., Sunday, July 16, 1995

"For the last time, Michael, no. I cannot tell you what you want to know, even though I do want to. You deserve to know."

"John, if this is a states' secrets issue…"

"It is, but there's more to it, Michael. I wish I could tell you more, but I can't. It's my life if I do. Please, understand, this is not something I anticipated."

"Is there anything you can tell me?"

"Yes. I can tell you that there is a civil war going on right now and it will be all our lives if I can't stop it."

The about-to-be-appointed Deputy Prime Minister stopped dead in his tracks. There was only one civil war that he knew about to which the Prime Minister could possibly be referring. "It wouldn't have anything to do with a certain castle in Scotland, would it?" he asked carefully.

It was John Major's turn to be flabbergasted. "How did you know that?" he said; his voice now trembling.

"My nephew is a wizard, John…and the only war that I know is going on centers on a certain castle in Scotland."

"You better get over here, Michael. Right now. I'll have someone there momentarily to get you. He's a wizard, too, and now my chief body-guard. His name is Kingsley."

Listening to the Prime Minister's end of the conversation from a few feet away, Kingsley Shacklebolt knew that he had just been asked to go get the soon-to-be Deputy Prime Minister from his home and bring him back. Closing his eyes, he focused on the large foyer of Heseltine's Buckley Hill Lane home in Sefton and in an instant, was there. Taking out his wand, he looked around. "Point me" he said quietly. The wand spun in his hand until it pointed to about 270 degrees – roughly left of where he was standing. Turning carefully, Kingsley entered the broad hallway which seemed to run the length of the home and walked until he heard a man's voice.

"Your man hasn't shown up yet, but I'll call you back when he does. I assume he's coming by apparition?"

Stepping into the well-appointed study, Kingsley said, "Yes, he is". Heseltine almost dropped the receiver the moment that he heard the older Auror's voice. Somehow he managed to say, "Never-mind. He just arrived."

Putting down the phone with a shaky hand, Michael Heseltine still had the presence of mind to check out the tall, handsome black man. He noticed that Kingsley wore a solitary earring in his left ear. Not many men in England had either the style-sense or the dignity to successfully carry off the look, but it seemed to suit the man well.

Proffering his hand, Kingsley introduced himself. "Kingsley Shacklebolt, pleased to meet you."

Heseltine did the same. "Michael Heseltine; pleased to meet you as well. You're the former Auror that Dumbledore assigned to John?"

"Yes sir, I am. Albus felt that the Prime Minister needed someone nearby who knew about magic and might be in a position to defend him if things went pear-shaped."

"Ready to go? John seemed to think that time is of the essence."

Kingsley nodded. "You might want to consider leaving your wife a note to tell her that you've left for London and you won't be back for a day or two. I don't know how long the PM is going to need you, but I fear that there is a great deal for the two of you to talk about."

Heseltine nodded and walked over to his desk, to write the suggested note. After two minutes, he appeared to be satisfied and then walked back to where the former Auror was standing. "Take my hand, sir and hold onto me. I'm going to apparate us directly to the PM's office. It will feel like you're being squeezed through a tube for a moment, but then everything will be back to normal."

The older man took the Auror's hand and felt the sudden, sick sensation of being turned inside-out.

A moment later, the two re-appeared in the private study of the Prime Minister; right about dead-center in the middle of the carpet that bore the seal of the republic. The chill of the transition faded and Heseltine found himself staring at the Prime Minister. "It's a hell of a way to travel, isn't it?" he asked.

"Not something I'd ever get used to, that's for sure" he said, before moving to shake the PM's hand. "I'm glad that I could get here. We've a lot to talk about, apparently."

Instead of saying anything, John Major thrust a report into Heseltine's hand. "Read this and then tell me what else I need to know. Kingsley here is bound by oaths of loyalty that can't be broken, but I suspect that you're not."

Flipping through the first few pages of the report, once past the index, the Deputy PM didn't say anything in response immediately. Instead, he stood and read; his expression growing more and more worried. Finally he looked up, closed the report, and said, "It's everything we've worried about since 1980, John. With Voldemort or Riddle or whatever he's being called now, in control of both the Ministry for Magic as well as Hogwarts, the magical world in Great Britain might as well no longer exist. Riddle doesn't have the forces to take on the Muggle world and he knows it. Nor does he have the power to go after our friends on the continent. The problem is that he's a psychopath and a megalomaniac and that makes him unpredictable. The last time he tried to take over, he was temporarily killed by Harry Potter. Now Harry's bailed out and taken all but the pure-blood families with him out of the country. If it's true that the Goblins have closed up shop too, then Riddle has no one to finance his army and no ability to feed his troops. That leaves him in a fairly desperate situation and we both know what desperate men are capable of doing. We need a plan."

Major inclined his head in silent agreement. "That was my take as well. However, with Harry Potter gone and Albus Dumbledore gone to ground, I'm not sure where to start."

"Prime Minister, if I may?" Kingsley found himself saying, before he remembered that he wasn't a decision-maker and didn't have a say in things, really.

"What is it, Shacklebolt?"

Realizing that he had overstepped his boundaries, but not knowing what else to do, he said, "I think that you are going to have to talk to the ICW."

"International Confederation of Wizards", Heseltine said, before his PM could ask the obvious question. "It's the international governing body, not unlike the UN in New York, which governs all wizarding matters, world-wide. They're mostly charged with protecting the International Statute of Secrecy and making sure that all member-countries abide by whatever rulings are handed down to further the statute."

"Can they do anything to help us?" Major asked, his curiosity piqued.

"Don't know. However, they have no love for dark lords of any sort, as they tend to create problems which threaten the statute. They were preparing to intervene militarily the last time Riddle became a problem and almost did, until Harry somehow destroyed Riddle."

"How do we get to them? Kingsley?"

"Don't know, sir. Albus would know, since he's the current Supreme Mugwump of the ICW"

"The what?" Major asked, not believing what he had just heard.

"The Supreme Mugwump, sir. Like…chief warlock if you will. He sits as the chairman of the council and leads the meetings. He's due to step down in three years' time, but right now, he's the one in charge. It's one of the reasons that Riddle wants him dead."

"So, if I wanted to speak to them, what would I do?" the PM asked.

"I would arrange it with Albus, probably. I don't know when the next meeting is, but I'd be surprised if he couldn't call an emergency session."

"Then do it."

Kingsley smiled. "Want to watch it happen?"

"You don't have to do anything dangerous, do you?"

"No sir. It's just that you've never seen this kind of magic performed before and I thought you might like to."

Heseltine was also intrigued, as his nephew had never had the chance to do magic in their home before, because of the Reasonable Restriction on the Use of Underage Magic – which he didn't think was reasonable at all – but couldn't do anything about.

Taking out his wand, Kingsley smiled for the first time and then pointed at an open space towards the middle of the room and said, "Expecto Patronum!"

A huge, almost-solid, silvery giraffe appeared in the middle of the room. It was breathtaking to look at and both the PM and the Deputy PM were completely goggled over it. Kingsley was immensely proud that he could conjure a fully corporeal Patronus, when so many other witches and wizards couldn't. He loved the feeling that it created in him and delighted in the fact that it looked so much like the giraffe that he and his family had once had as a pet in his native southern Tanzania, when his father was appointed as the magical protector of the Ngorongoro in the early 1950's.

Communing with it for a moment – which looked to the PM like he was nuzzling a pet or something – Kingsley made his Patronus circle the room once and then go on its way to Albus Dumbledore.

Both Heseltine and Major watched at the silvery beast melted through the far wall and disappear and both were left wondering privately how non-magicals could ever hope to stand up to power like that.

"For what it's worth sir, what you just saw me do is something that Riddle himself cannot do."

That startled the PM. "Oh? And why is that?"

"Because sir, Riddle is, for lack of a better way to say it, purely evil. A Patronus, which is what you just saw me summon, requires that the witch or wizard concentrate on the most loving, wonderful memory that she or he has ever had. In other words, a Patronus is the purest expression of the most strongly felt positive emotion that one can have. The ability to cast a Patronus is one way we are able to assure ourselves that those who work with us against Riddle are still pure of spirit and are on our side. If you can believe it, Harry Potter's Patronus is a thousand times stronger than mine – and he's only fifteen. That's why he's the most powerful wizard alive right now and not Dumbledore…and that's also why Riddle is so afraid of Harry."

Major looked relieved. "It's good to know, Kingsley. Now, I imagine that Michael and I have a great deal left to talk about. Why don't you kip off for a while and get back here fresh in say six hours?"

The ex-Auror thought about that and then nodded his acquiescence. "I'll be down the hall if you need me" he said, before moving towards the door.

As he walked out, two heavily armed and armored SAS officers moved into the room and took up stations on either side of the doorway. It was one of the changes that Major had instituted after his first conversation with the ex-Auror. The dragon-hide vests that the officers were wearing under their bullet-proof clothing were part of a set of six that were being rotated through the new protective detachment that guarded the PM. The officers had been told that the vests were a new type under development by the US Secret Service and that they had already been responsible for turning back much higher-caliber bullets than the standard vests could. The soldiers, for their part, were pleased that they got access to the very best that was on offer and wore the vests happily. The last thing that Kingsley did before turning in for the night was to seal the room magically against apparition and port-keys. There was no way that he wanted an uninvited guest dropping in during the middle of the night. Once the charms were in place, he laid back and was asleep almost as fast as his eyes closed.

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The Horse and Groom Pub, Epsom Road, Gilford, UK - 12:15 am – Monday, July 17, 1995

The Horse and Groom Pub was a notorious hang-out for all sorts of layabouts and assorted riff-raff, as well as the occasional Vogon, and so the two men who sat in the back, corner booth were, for the moment, reasonably inconspicuous. The notice-me-not charms with which they deflected the more curious, albeit inebriated bar-patrons, were the only telltale indicator that the two men were more than they appeared to be.

One clutched his single-malt scotch as if it were going to be his very, very last drink while the other attempted to make short work of the small bowl of semi-stale pretzels. They had been talking for more than an hour when, in between pretzel bites, the slightly taller man said, "C'mon, Albus. Surely you're not going to try to string me along with that cock-and-bull story. I've seen through your machinations for years and it's obvious that you're up to a great deal more than you're saying. I mean…this bullshit that you've been feeding everyone about how Minerva betrayed you, is really, really beneath you. No one buys it and frankly, it's making you look both stupid and pathetic."

Albus Dumbledore looked at his brother with something akin to hurt in his eyes, but it lasted only a minute.

"Oh stop it, Albus. That 'wounded puppy' look doesn't fool anyone. You're no more hurt than I'm the PM. If this is the shit you tried to pull on Minerva, I'm pretty sure that she was right for leaving."

For a moment, Albus thought about going for his wand, then decided against it when he felt the tip of his brother's wand poking him in the leg. Aberforth Dumbledore's tone was low and threatening. "Don't even fucking try it, Albus. I can shoot under a table just as well as I can above one. I know your tricks and I plan on walking out of here alive, with my brains and thoughts intact. In fact, hand over your wands, both of them, right now."

For a moment, Aberforth really thought that his brother was going to be stupid enough to try to go for it and he cursed himself for not having more room in which to operate. His years as an Unspeakable made him wary of not having full and complete control of the situation.

Finally though, Albus Dumbledore handed over his wands. When he did, Aberforth looked at them. He noticed immediately that Dumbledore's old wand – the one he took from Grindelwald – was gone. His eyes flicked up at his brother's face and he could see that there was genuine anger in his brother's eyes. "Lose your wand somewhere, Albus?"

"Yes, damn you." "What could ever have happened to separate you from your unbeatable wand?" the shorter man said with barely disguised glee.

"Potter" he said, half-choking on the name.

"What's that, Albus? Are you admitting that you were beaten by your own precious weapon? Is it possible that he finally caught on to your manipulations? Be still, my heart!"

The elder Dumbledore's eyes had lost any twinkle they might have had and his face had taken a very hard edge. It was all the proof that Aberforth needed to see. His taunts were finally getting to his brother and after all that Albus had done to those whose lives he had destroyed – always for the 'greater good' – Aberforth felt well-pleased.

"Are we done?" the disgruntled, former headmaster asked.

"Yes, we're done. However, I have one thing that I must do before I take my leave." Wondering what further abuse his brother was planning on bestowing, Albus Dumbledore watched in horror as his only living sibling snapped the more powerful of his two wands cleanly in half and dropped the pieces on the table. "That's so you can't go around with a sneaky back-up. The other one I'll leave outside the Pub."

Albus looked murderous. "You son of a bitch"

Aberforth stood and looked down at his only brother, smiling. "I'm not the goat-fucker in the family, Albus, you are. However, that's neither here nor there. The important thing right now is that you better hope that Riddle gets to you before Potter does, because once he finds out the complete truth of what you've done, you'll be grateful that he can kill you only once."

"You'll get yours" Albus snarled as he started to stand.

Seeing the former Unspeakable's only partially hidden wand come up level with his chest was enough to dissuade him from trying anything physical. Aberforth was not afraid of using the Cruciatus Curse, especially since there was no longer a Ministry for Magic around to prosecute him for doing so, and Albus knew it. "You killed Ariana, and for that you I hope you die painfully. She was my best friend and I loved her more than you can imagine. When your day comes, I'll take comfort in the knowledge that your pure-blood arrogance has finally come back to bite you in the ass." With that, Aberforth Dumbledore turned and walked out of the pub; closing the door behind him. He chucked his brother's remaining wand into the bushes to the right of the entrance-way before disapparating. If he was lucky, it would take his brother the better part of an hour to find it and if he was really lucky, it would take him all night.

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Vermont Studio Center Johnson, Vermont - Saturday, July 29, 1995

Elias Ollivander looked about his new shop and wondered if he hadn't accidentally stumbled over one of the best locations ever for someone in his line of work. Not only were there wood-workers of every type around, but there seemed to be an almost endless supply of powerful magical woods with which to work.

The shop itself was nondescript, a 15' x 25' room with a 10' ceiling, but the location within the complex was utterly amazing. The morning sun filled the bay windows of his new shop and warmed the back of the shop every evening. Plus, the mountain breeze brought nothing but positive energy into his shop as he worked. As he walked around the shop, he thought about his 'old' layout in Diagon Alley and whether it was practical or not to re-create it.

Looking at the high ceiling, he realized that he had a great deal of space to work with and that with just a little bit of tinkering, could actually give him two full floors – one for storage and the other for manufacturing and sales. Pleased with the idea, Elias Ollivander began to lay out, in his mind's eye, what the shop should have for a front/sales section. Not much to that, he realized. A couple of high bar-stools so that students who were being measured could sit up straight; a bench so that other customers could wait comfortably, and a long wooden counter so that customers could put packages down while they paid for their purchases. He also had to have a place where he could conveniently place his cash-register and his secure money-till.

Smiling, Elias walked outside to the large, sorted pile of dried boards to start picking the wood that he would need for his renovations. The sun was shining in a cloudless sky; there was a cool, refreshing breeze blowing across the mountainside, and he knew in his heart that it was going to be a very, very good day. An hour later, Elias Ollivander, who had quietly fled the United Kingdom - the only home he had ever known - and come to the United States not five weeks earlier, was once again a very, very happy man.

He stood amidst sorted piles of long, solid planks, as well as several solid, completely dry blocks of various woods and reveled in his good fortune. The other artists at the colony had gathered together all of the dry woods that they didn't need or thought he could use and had silently and wonderfully presented them to him as a welcoming gift. Their note, which had been strategically placed on top of one prominent 8' x 12' x 12" board of Cherry, had told him that all the wood in the pile was his to use as he saw fit and that they all – all sixty-five of them - wished him the very best with his shop. It had been a long time since he had interacted with Muggles and he found the experience to be quite refreshing.

These weren't British Muggles, but rather Canadians and Americans who had gathered together for the purpose of creating art – both (static) visual and performance-based – without regard to the background or upbringing of the artist. He was also delighted to find out, as he had the night before, that they even considered good cooking to be art and did it with the same passion that they did everything else.

Facing away from the sun and just about to start bringing wood into his shop, Ollivander was taken aback by an almost completely corporeal Patronus in the form of a Scottish highlands wild-cat that made its way between the carefully stacked piles; coming to rest at his feet. There were less than a dozen wizards and witches in all of the British Isles whom he knew to be strong enough to create a truly corporeal Patronus and he had committed all of their forms to memory. The one standing in front of him belonged to the extraordinary witch, Minerva McGonagall. "What have done, Minnie?" the old craftsman thought to himself, as he carefully reached out to touch the waiting Patronus.

"Safe. Need to know where you are. Cherry blossoms are out. Reply soonest" the Patronus said into his mind, the moment he touched it. Suddenly, dormant memories began invading his consciousness.

"Cherry Blossoms" was the trigger-word; known only to those within the mysterious 'Order of the Phoenix'. It allowed him to remember that there were others who were also prepared to fight against 'he-who-must-not-be-named' – Thomas Marvolo Riddle, a/k/a 'lord Voldemort' - and who had also taken oaths to act in the defense of the people of the United Kingdom, Muggle as well as magical. Minerva McGonagall was the head of the Order, if Albus Dumbledore was unavailable, dead, magically compromised, or captured. Using the activation words meant that Dumbledore was, most likely, dead. Somehow, the thought didn't bother the man that much. However, it did mean that he had to reveal to Minerva the secret that he and Albus had been guarding for more than ten years.

Taking out his wand, the wondrous magical craftsman summoned his best, most powerful memory and said "Expecto Patronum!" Ollivander felt the backwash of warm, happy love as the hugely oversized, silvery Bowtruckle emerged from the tip of his wand. The happy, magical tree-sprite touched its forehead to his and then turned and began running down the side of the mountain, leaving a wispy, silvery trail in its wake. Elias watched as it disappeared into the distance. Looking around, Ollivander decided that there was no time like the present to get organized. Hearing from Minerva had changed, in an instant, all of his priorities and made him think about all of the things that he might have to do in order to help Harry Potter and those who had pledged to help him to defeat Riddle once and for all.

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Manor Delacour, Forêt de Meudon, just east of Le Route des Bois Plantes; Meudon, France – Sunday, July 30, 1995 – just after dawn

The patter of small feet in the second-floor corridor signaled the start of another day with the hundreds of refugees that the Delacour family had taken in and it seemed to Fleur Delacour, as she quietly made her way to the first-floor kitchen, that they were going to have to find a way to relocate many if not all of their guests sooner than later. It wasn't as though they weren't welcome – because the guests they had taken in were both respectful and helpful in the extreme – but it would be nice to have the privacy back that they had once enjoyed.

The sun was just beginning to filter through the tops of the taller, thornless blackberry-bushes that lined the back of the garden and it casts a particularly gorgeous greenish-yellowish haze through and around the bushes. Fleur stopped and took a moment to take in the sight as she stepped into the manor's large, main living room; smiling softly as she did so. There were so many memories that had from growing up in the home and a great number of them centered on the blackberry bushes. They had provided a sanctuary of sorts when she was young, because she could hide under the bushes' shady, full canopy and not be found for hours. The bushes had also always been an enormously convenient place to snack on summer afternoons, when she was hungry after playing all morning with her sister and her friends. Fleur wondered if her daughters would ever have the chance to do the same thing or if the war that threatened to destroy wizarding England would spill over onto the shores of France. She prayed that it wouldn't and that her father and those who worked with him would be able to contain the problem before that happened.

Letting the peace of the scene fill her soul, Fleur thought about all the things that she was going to have to do before the morning was over. There were more than four hundred and seventy-six people, beyond those in her immediate family, who needed help. Food, shelter, clothing, advice, and contacts within the wider European community were tops on the list. She also wanted to make sure that for the children among the refugees, there was sufficient schooling offered so that the children didn't fall behind magical children everywhere else who were in structured classes. Her mother, Aimee, would contribute all that she could and she knew that her father would do the same, in terms of connecting the refugees to other families and magical communities in France and elsewhere on the continent. Once enough connections were made and firm commitments to help were obtained, the refugee families could begin leaving the Delacour estate. There was a long way to go though before that point was reached, she knew, and she prayed that her inner reserves would hold up.

"Blossom?"

Fleur turned around, her train of thought broken by the soft, gentle voice of her mother breaking the peace that the sun's first rays had brought her. "Yes, mother?"

Moving in close so that she could hug her daughter, Aimee Delacour savored the chance that she had to hug her elder daughter. There weren't enough chances to show her daughter just how much she loved her and so she took them when she could. "What troubles you so that you're up this early?"

Leaning her head against her mother's shoulder, Fleur thought about it before saying, "Lots of things to do, mother, and I worry….I worry about Harry and the others. Ever since daddy brought word that he's fled to Canada, I've worried that I'm not doing enough to help him. I know that you'll try to tell me that I'm doing quite enough here....but somehow, I don't think I'm doing enough to help prepare for what's coming."

Aimee Delacour wasn't sure how to take her daughter's admission. On the one hand, she felt pride in her daughter's straight-forward statement and on the other; she worried that her elder daughter might be lost to the war that they all knew was coming.

"I love you, Fleur" her mother said softly, "and I know that Harry and his friends affected you more than you've let on…" Aimee paused, unsure about she should phrase her next statement. "Your father and I are concerned about whether you really understand what might happen if war comes to the UK. The refugees that we're helping are only the first part of what might happen."

The young, stunningly beautiful one-quarter Veela turned and said, "Mama….please…..If I'm right, Harry's going to need all the help that he can get. You said it yourself – I'm a fully trained witch now. I'm not the simpering young woman that I was and I have to do my part. Besides, I owe Harry a life-debt, as does Gabrielle."

The older Veela looked like she had just been slapped. "Mon Dieu! Why did you not tell me!"

"Because I didn't think that it mattered until just now!"

Grabbing her daughter's petite wrists in her strong hands, the older, taller woman spun her daughter around so that she was forced to look up at her. "How did it happen? TELL ME!"

Gathering her magic, the younger witch pushed her mother back hard, so that her wrists were free and she was no longer being forced to look up. She did it so fast that her mother had no chance to prevent it from happening.

Aimee Delacour was caught off-guard and was therefore unable to prevent her daughter from breaking free. By the time that she thought to try to recover her control, she was staring down her daughter's already-drawn wand. "Don't mother. You know I can't talk about my life debt, or Gabrielle's. I don't like being controlled and I'm no longer a child that you can just order about."

Aimee Delacour's posture sagged as she realized that she wasn't going to be able to force her daughter to talk about anything that she actively chose not to talk about. Finally, she gave up and said, "I'm sorry, Fleur."

Lowering her wand-tip slightly, Fleur said, "It's alright, Mama. I understand why you're concerned. You just ought not be, that's all. It's not as though I'm rushing out the door to go join Harry. Part of me wants to very much, but another part knows that my duty, at least for right now, is here."

Aimee looked at her daughter and realized that perhaps she didn't know her as well as she thought. She wasn't expecting to hear about 'duty' and the girl's sense of place. For a moment, she hesitated to speak; wondering what she ought to say or what she ought to ask of her elder daughter. It came to her, after a moment, that she might not be the one to draw out of her all that the young girl had to say. "Fleur….I think that maybe you ought to talk to your father. You know he loves you…"

The tears that welled up in her daughters' eyes were proof enough that she had hit it right. Jean-Sebastian had always had a powerful connection with his daughters and truly loved them more than any father Aimee had ever seen. Anyone who knew the family knew, because they had seen it, that both of his daughters responded to that love in amazing ways. When Fleur was able to brush away her tears, she said, "I will, Mama, I will."

With that, Aimee turned and left the room quietly, so as to give her daughter some peace and solitude before the day truly started.

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Early afternoon on Monday, July 31, 1995 - Saint-Mathieu-du-Parc, 50 Km. north of Trois Riviere, Quebec, Canada; 8 km. east of Saint-Gérard-de-Laurentides

Harry Potter felt as free as he ever had as he bounded through the woods; hot on the heels of his one true love, Hermione Potter. They had chosen to take the day - Harry's fifteenth birthday - off to play and be together, after more than fifteen straight days of hard study and work. Running was one of their forms of play and both were loving it.

Hermione, for her part, had had enough of her books and was quite happy to be with the man she loved more than life itself for the day. It was not the typical way to celebrate a birthday she thought, but it was what he wanted and so she was at peace with it. Her pace was fast as she leapt from log to log in the forest and ran like a rabbit through the clear patches.

"Catch me if you can!" she yelled, as she bounded over a particularly long pine tree that had obviously fallen over within the previous year.

"Run Luke, RUN!" Harry yelled playfully, quoting one of their favorite movies, as he moved with incredible grace along an intersecting path, off to his wife's right.

Far above them, flying unnoticed at more than one hundred feet, two of their soon-to-be professors from L'ecole des Sorcier du Quebecwatched as the amazing couple ran along the forest floor. Neither could believe the ease of movement that the two showed and each wondered what the upcoming semester had in store for them.

Hermione thought she would make the designated finish-line with time to spare over Harry when she was suddenly bowled off her feet by her leaping, laughing husband.

"Harryyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy!" she screamed as she found herself flat on her back, with her husbands' face within inches of her own.

"Got you" he said as he grinned and lowered his mouth to hers.

"Oh yes….but I've got you" she said silently into his mind, as her hands wrapped around his back.

"You always have had me, love" he replied into her mind as his lips covered hers and the two ground themselves against the other.

"Make love to me?"

Harry replied by reaching down between his wife's legs and caressing her sex through her running shorts and knickers. She arched her back, trying to press against his hand.

"Oh god yes, Harry. Don't stop!"

Harry's hand slid under the waistband of her running shorts and into her soft, cotton knickers before he plunged two fingers deep into her sex. "Cum for me" he whispered into her mind as his lips ravaged hers and his other hand held her close to his body. They were both hot and sweaty, but at the moment, it didn't matter. Theirs was a special passion and Hermione was grateful that there was no one around to disturb them.

Thirty or so minutes later, Harry Potter lay in a lazy stupor on the forest floor, a soft, transfigured blanket beneath him, with his wife lying naked and asleep on his broad, muscled chest. The forest was quiet; its perfect peace disturbed only by the song of Chickadees as they flitted from branch to branch.

His thoughts were wandering pleasantly as he felt Hermione's warm breath on his chest. So much had changed in so few months that Harry could scarcely believe it. He and the woman that he loved were safely away from the civil war that had come to the shores of his native country; his friends and his godfathers were safe, he was the sole heir of one and a half massive fortunes, and he and his wife were going to attend a fabulous school of magic.

High above them, the two professors let their brooms drift close together so that they could talk and not be heard.

"So it's true, Alcide"

"It appears so, Isabelle. The boy certainly looks like the pictures."

"What about the girl?"

"Don't know, though I assume……."

Isabelle grinned. "I bet I know exactly what you're assuming, Alcide. Did I ever tell you what a dirty old man you've become?"

The older man laughed, which caused his broom to shake a bit under him. "Yes, many times, Isabelle. I don't suppose you want to go down there and get a better look?"

The young Canadian Auror-turned-defense professor laughed. "No, I think not. If that young woman is someone he cares about and not just a passing fancy, I think he might be understandably unhappy about my 'taking a look'."

Despite his somewhat raunchy outlook on life, Alcide Bertrand was a fairly cautious man and genuinely respectful of and caring towards the students in his care, even if he let the occasional lewd comment slip in front of his peers. He knew from the limited information that he had been given that the young man lying on the ground one hundred or so feet below him was not a typical young man and that he came from an entirely different background. He knew too that there were some pretty potent rumors floating around about the young man and that if even a few of them were true that he wasn't someone to annoy needlessly.

"You're a good woman, Isabelle. Do you think we've seen enough?"

The young, extremely attractive French-Canadian Auror nodded. "Yea, I think so. If he really is Harry Potter, then I think it best that he not know we've been here. Let's get back to the school and get in contact with the godfather and see what more we can get out of him. I don't want to start a class not knowing everything I can about someone who might in fact be more powerful than me."

The Muggle-born, nuclear-chemistry-professor turned potions-master looked at his lithesome flying companion and said, "I know the feeling."

Side by side, the two pointed their brooms east and south and took off; leaving the sleeping couple in peace.

The sun was beginning to fade in the western sky when Harry Potter felt his wife shift position on his chest. Craning his head so that he could look around, he realized that while they were still alone, there were shadows beginning to form in the forest and that it was probably time to get going homewards. "'Mione? Love?"

Hermione Jane Potter, still naked from their earlier lovemaking, snuggled closer to her husband; her ponytail off to one side and her arms intertwined with his. It was obvious to Harry that she was feeling content with the days' activities and didn't want to move, but he knew that the forest would be cold at night and that they owed it to both Sirius and Remus to return by nightfall. Both men would be worried about them if they didn't and Harry didn't want to have a confrontation with them for no good reason.

It was easier just to pretend that the two men had at least a modicum of say in when Harry and Hermione came and went. Reaching down her body with his somewhat free left hand, he clutched her bottom gently and tried to caress it in such a way as to wake her up pleasurably.

Soon, his fingers were exploring the sensuous cleft of her arse, pushing down towards her nether hole and then further between her legs, towards her wet sex. It didn't take long for her hips to begin to push down against his body, in that special way which is unmistakable. It was a good thing that just being in the same province with her was enough to bring him to full hardness, because he knew that he was going to have to wake her up in a more deliberate manner.

Slipping his hard manhood inside her sex, Harry pushed up with his own hips and buried himself inside her in one thrust. Her eyes snapped open and she looked at him with both surprise and undisguised pleasure.

"Oh! Oh yes!" she said as she kissed his face and pressed her cheek against his. "Now that you're awake, let's try this my way" he said into her ear as he flipped them over and thrust into her again. "Oh God, Harry! That's it…fuck me!" With her legs wrapped around his back and her heels digging into his arse; encouraging him, Harry thrust himself into her again and again. "I love you!"

Harry kissed her as he leaned into her; reveling in their coupling "Oh God, Harry….I love you. Don't stop!" Even if he wanted to, there was no way that he could because the pleasure that he was feeling was so intense. As he looked into her eyes, he felt his magic growing; surging out in all directions. Hermione's magic was doing the same and together, their magic coupled for its own wild, untamed dance into the heavens. There was nothing to stop the two from becoming one, again and again, or to stop their magic from doing the same. The only difference between the two was that while their magic might have gone on forever, Harry could not.

Soon, the joyous pleasure of filling his wife again and again was more than enough to make him roar out his climax and fill her with hot, sweet seed. When they were done, Harry stretched out and lay on his wife, before rolling the both of them onto their sides. "I can feel your cum inside me, Harry" she said into his mind. "I wish we could be working on making a baby right now."

Harry shared her wistfulness and gently replied, "I know, love. I know. I want it too. Soon, I hope. I can sense some things are coming together that will let us go home and make lots of babies together."

"I feel it too. Wish I knew why, but I feel it. Things are happening out there."

"If I didn't know that there are real prophecies, I'd think we're nuts….but you're right. Things are happening. I just wish that I had a stronger sense of how it will all happen."

Hermione let her laughter fill his thoughts. "Why do you think I dropped divination so fast? Most all of it is nothing but prattling nonsense and the stuff that is real is so hard to figure out. But, you're right. We've got to go with what we feel, because we know that there are real prophecies."

"Do you think we'd have had all this happen if there hadn't been a prophecy about me?"

"No, probably not. But, you never know. Something else could have happened or we could have discovered your heritage another way and that might have led us here….hard to say."

They leaned in and kissed and let their minds drift off for a few minutes; savoring the afterglow of their lovemaking before Harry said, "We need to get home. I promised Sirius that we would and I'd not like to disappoint him."

"I know. Let's clean off and get dressed and we can apparate back to the car. I'd like to stop at Traiteur Outre-Mer on Sainte Foy before we head home, so that we can get some plain crepes for tomorrow morning's breakfast."

"Yum. Good idea. Sounds better than anything Sirius might fix up. He's a horror in the kitchen."

Hermione grinned at her husband's observation, because she knew it to be true. Sirius had never been forced to cook for himself nor anyone else and so his entire repertoire in the kitchen consisted of not-quite-burned toast and poached eggs. She hoped that Septima would be able to do something about that problem, but she wasn't willing to lay a wager on whether it would happen in the near-term.

A half-hour later, Harry and Hermione walked out of the forest hand-in-hand across the gravel parking lot where their rental car sat parked. Hermione was glad that Harry had not insisted in purchasing a car once they had decided that Quebec was where they were going to stay, at least for the coming school-year.

It was one less thing that could be traced back to them and therefore made hiding that much easier. She explained, patiently, that a competent bounty-hunter could use public records to find them and that paying cash for all transactions made such a person's job that much harder.

Once he understood what she was trying to get at, he had quickly agreed to most of the limits that she set for them. Just days after that conversation, though, and with the help of Gringotts-Toronto and the kind word of Ragnok as support, he was able to create a work-around by creating a completely separate identity – that of "Harold Evans" – which he then funded using some of the monies from his Gryffindor inheritance.

Since only he, Hermione, Neville, his three wives, and a very, very select handful of others knew about his standing as Lord Gryffindor, it was the safest way to fund a new identity. Neville, on Harry's suggestion, did something similar for himself and for his three beloved wives, so that they could move about in Muggle society without attracting unwanted attention.

Driving turned out to be a great deal of fun for Harry and he enjoyed getting behind the wheel and exploring the area around Quebec City. It was a truly beautiful area with many fewer problems, as well as people, than Boston or New York might have offered. Hermione was just as happy to sit back and leave the driving to Harry, since she had a truly awful sense of direction.

Her mother had taken the time to teach Harry how to drive as an early present and he had learned all of the basic skills seemingly overnight. Since his 'cover' identity came with a Quebec driver's license which said that 'Harold Evens' was 18 on the 31st of July, Harry took full advantage of it.

Once they were headed towards the city, Hermione asked aloud, "What are we going to do if we can't find the other Horcruxes, Harry?" It was the first time she had brought up the subject since Minerva McGonagall had sat them both down, along with Remus and Sirius, and told them about the other artifacts which she, Filius, and the house-elves had destroyed at Hogwarts before abandoning the school.

Harry thought about it for a moment and then said, "I don't know, love. So far, they've accounted for the diary – which I destroyed – the Tiara, Riddle's school cup, and she said that Helga Hufflepuff's wand is probably another. Minerva said that she'd try to find Ollivander and get that one back, so that it can be destroyed. That means we've accounted for four out of the six. If Filius is right in what he told Minerva and Riddle's snake, Nagini, is the fifth, then we have to account for only one other. If we find that one, then we'll have it all wrapped up and Riddle will be mortal again."

Reaching out, Hermione took Harry's right hand in hers and held it; letting her thumb softly trace the back of his hand. After more than a minutes' silence, she said, "And then we'll go and kill him once and for all?"

Harry shook his head. "I don't think it's going to be nearly that easy. First, we have no idea how many followers Riddle has currently; secondly, we don't currently have anything like the kind of forces it would take to dislodge him from Hogwarts, if he's seized the school and can control the wards, and third, even if we had the manpower to do what needs to be done, I'm not an adult and it's going to take someone whom everyone respects to lead such an attack. I'll be there at the end, of course, because I have to be, but that doesn't mean I'm going to be able to do any of the stuff that would get us to where we need to be in order to take Riddle on without having our side massacred."

Hermione thought about all of what Harry had to say and then nodded her agreement. "So, what are we going to do?"

"Lay low. At least for the next year to eighteen months - we're going to just lay low. Everyone who matters to us got out of the country safely, either with us or shortly thereafter, which means Riddle has no leverage over us at all. He can go after neither your parents nor your grandmother, and he can't go after any other Muggles in a meaningful way without violating the International Statute of Secrecy, so he's basically stuck. Dumbledore has retreated for the time being, so we don't have to worry about him being a problem….so I'm thinking we enjoy the school year and learn and study as much as we can and not worry over the things about which we can do nothing."

As much as doing nothing sometimes infuriated Hermione, Harry's plan sounded much more reasonable than she might have ever thought possible. He had assessed the situation accurately and had laid out for her why he thought that doing nothing was the best course of action. He didn't have to mention the upside – which was that they would have at least a full year together, studying, learning, and loving each other before anything could be done about Riddle and his followers.

They talked as Harry drove and soon they were inside the city limits. Navigating the often narrow streets took some careful driving, but Hermione wasn't worried. Harry was as careful in a car as he was on a broom – at least when he wasn't chasing a snitch – and so she laid back and let him find a parking spot not too far away from the Crêperie. Dusk was a thing of the past and the stars were out by the time they were parked and he indicated that it was time to get out and walk.

"You're too good to me, Harry" she thought to him as he took her hand and led the way to the restaurant.

"No, I'm not, but I love you for thinking that I'm good to you." He squeezed her hand gently and pulled her closer. "Thank you for today….it was wonderful."

Hermione leaned into him and started humming happily. "I know. I loved it too. Now let's go. I want to get the crepes and get home." Taking her hand, Harry led her down the street to the crepe shop and wondered, as he did so, what things would be like in a year's time. He hoped that they would have the freedom to follow their dreams.

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Hogwarts School – just after dusk – Tuesday, Aug. 1st.

"Rise, Lucius, and tell me why I should not kill you."

Lucius Abraxas Malfoy rose to his feet as calmly as he could.

The confrontation that he had feared was finally before him; life or death, depending on how well he could explain to his lord why he had done what he had done. "My lord. I am your man. I always have been. We have a very hard situation all around us and I won't lie to you, I am uncertain. However, my lord, I am a Malfoy. If my actions displease you, I will die like a man." Voldemort considered what his right-hand had said. It was courageous, to be sure.

The question was whether it was what he wanted and had ordered. He knew that he wouldn't waste his servant's life needlessly. "Continue, Lucius. Your courage pleases me." His urge to run was almost overwhelming, but there was a part of him that truly wanted to impress his master and earn praise for what he had done.

"My lord….what I have discovered is what you already know – which is that we have a huge labor problem. There are about twenty-three thousand pure-blood families left here in the kingdom and approximately twenty-three hundred house-elves to serve those families. However, house-elves don't grow food or do many of the other menial tasks that are necessary for the adequate functioning of a society."

Voldemort interrupted him with a dismissive wave. "You are seriously trying my patience, Lucius. Rookwood has already told me much of this and I find myself annoyedat both your delay in returning to my side and in your failure to warn of these consequences. I do not suffer failure in my chief lieutenant well, Lucius." His voice was low and menacing.

"My lord! I know I have been away and I know that I resisted Rookwood when he came for me. I didn't have a choice. You expect solutions and that is what I was determined to bring you. I have that solution now and if you allow me, I will tell you what I can do and what I want to do, with your support."

The dark lord dropped his hand away, palm up, in a gesture that told him that he should continue.

Swallowing hard, he steeled himself and continued. "Thank you my lord! I promise that this solution will work and will get us to where we need to be." A voice in the back of the hall muttered only semi-audible deprecations; causing the dark lord to lift his wand in a casual way and send a hot, dark curse towards the source. There was a sudden scream and then silence. "Continue, Lucius. You will not be interrupted again."

"Thank you, my lord. As I was saying, what I am proposing is that we import from Eastern Europe and the Russian republic, a number of squibs to come and serve the families here. There is a slavery bonding ritual that can be used to bend a squibs' will to the person who has the correct control mechanism. I have refined the ritual so that it will allow a witch or wizard to control up to three individuals at a time. I believe that given our numbers – approximately 23,400 people – a total of 5,850 squibs or one for every four people - would be needed. Fortunately, there are easily twice that many currently working in the countries I have researched. The crucial thing that works to our advantage is that in most of the countries, squibs have no legal standing, so there is nothing standing in the way of our carrying this plan through to completion." Voldemort looked at Malfoy thoughtfully.

"You forget, Lucius, that we are having something of a money shortage right now. How do you propose to solve that?" It was the question that he had been expecting and the one for which he had the most satisfying solution.

"My lord! I have discovered where they dwell and I have recruited a team to send them a visitor. A most satisfying visitor, my lord!"

"Oh? Do tell, my slippery friend".

"The king of the serpents, my lord. I found a very, very old one living in a cave system in France and I have arranged for a team to go and immobilize it and bring it to the home of the Goblins. It will 'greet' them, my lord, until they accede to our demands."

For the first time, Voldemort smiled and Lucius Malfoy felt as though he might just have a chance to survive the encounter. "You surprise me, Lucius, and I like this kind of surprise. If only all my servants showed the kind of dedication that you have today. I can see that I was hasty in sending Rookwood to 'collect' you. Perhaps it is time to give you a greater hand in executing my overall plan."

Falling to both knees, Lucius could feel the relief flowing through him. "I'm not worthy, my lord, but….thank you." "No Lucius, perhaps you are not, but you are more worthy at this point than any of my other followers, save for Bella, and she serves me very differently than you do. I am well pleased with this plan. Go forth then and work my will." Rising, Lucius finally dared to look up and meet his masters' gaze. What he saw was a confusing mix of madness and satisfaction and it left him shaken as he made his way out of the hall. It never occurred to him he might not be the only one to see the madness in his lords' eyes.

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Regards,

the_scribbler