"A New Order"

Chapter nine – "Revelations"

By the_scribbler

the_scribbler (at) shadowgard (d*t) 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.

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Harry Potter characters. All characters are creations of Joanne K. Rowling, © 2007, to whom I am deeply indebted.

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 (of mine) 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: Most all of the geography described in this particular chapter actually exists. I do a great deal of my research on GOOGLE-EARTH and rely on the pictures and cartography found there to more adequately describe things for this story. If you have a question about a place or thing that I have mentioned, please email me.

Note Three: The Headmistress of the Quebec School of Magic is named "Madame Thérsèse Renaude Lapointe" and not Madame Thésèse Renaude Lapointe, as I had it spelled previously. The "R" in her first name makes a difference!!


Early in the morning of August 22, 1995 – in the village of St. Monique, Quebec - just off Rue St. Adolphe

Minerva McGonagall was in her element in the village of St. Monique. It was a farming village and didn't boast much in the way of amenities, but it did have one very good and very accommodating café, in which was served some of the best croissants and coffee that she had ever had. More, she had discovered, from her wanderings as a cat, that the locals were both very friendly and very amendable. More people had put out food for her as a cat than had ever happened in London or its environs.

She had come to the village on Harry's behalf, in search of a large area of land that could be purchased for the twin purposes of providing a magical training area and a Quidditch pitch plus stadium, similar to the set-up at Hogwarts. It was also her hope that she might be able to find a place to call her own. It was the one thing she hadn't had since her husband was killed and she longed to have a garden and a place to which she could retreat when things got to be too much to bear. With the war coming, she knew that there might be many such days in her future and she wanted to strike while the iron was hot.

During her wanderings, she had found that there was a powerful feeling of magical energy in the area. She couldn't figure out why that might be, and it became something of a priority with her to discover its source. However, it was early in the morning and while the café was open, there were few patrons to interrupt her thoughts. She had just taken a bite of her chocolate croissant when she felt the telltale tingle of powerful magic being used nearby. Looking around, she realized that she was, for the moment, alone in the café, save for the owners themselves, and they were out back, in the café's small kitchen. Taking a chance that her disapparation would not be noticed, she stood, took her coffee and croissant in hand, and disappeared, save for a faint 'pop'.

She reappeared in the unused alley between the café and the village's little library, her wand out in an instant. Turning around, she used her own magical core to seek out the powerful feeling again, like the magnet in a compass trying to seek true north. For several long moments, she thought that maybe she had lost track of it or that the magic had somehow been dispelled during the precious seconds it had taken her to apparate, but then she got lucky: the feeling began again in the pit of her stomach and she looked across the river, where a silvery light was moving fast in her direction. It was someone's Patronus; moving up the river and right at her. The only thing was….she didn't recognize it, which was saying something, because she thought she knew the Patronus form of every single person who she knew was capable of one.

As the Patronus drew closer, she could see that it had a long, sleek form. At first, she thought it was Hermione's original Patronus – which had been an Otter – but then she realized that with Hermione's bonding to Harry, there was every reason to believe that her form had shifted to something new. Finally, the Patronus was at her feet and she realized that it was a European Mink, which was type of weasel. Reaching out, she touched it; allowing all the good feelings and magic that come with Patroni to flow into her.

As she magically embraced the Patronus, she let the message which the Patronus had carried enter her thoughts. What surprised her most was the voice that bore the message:

"Dearest Minnie" the voice said, "if you are taking in this message, then I have succeeded in doing the thing that may change this war. I pray that you are safe and that Harry and Hermione are as well. It is for their sake that I am sending this message. I want you to know that there are many things that I regret, but none so much as what happened between my two youngest and Harry. I fear that I let them and my wife get away with doing things that were despicable for far too long. That has changed, now that I know the truth. I am sending you this message because Harry has to know the truth… He has to know the full prophecy. I cannot reach you now, given what has happened, but I will do everything I can to make sure that the two tyrants, who seek to control our beloved country, don't succeed. Here is the prophecy, in full:

"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches...Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies...and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not...and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives...."

-- JRK; HP & OoTP

"Minnie", the voice of the Weasley Patriarch continued, "I have made new friends here and have found an old friend as well, whom I thought had been killed years ago.

However, things are bad here and getting worse: There have been 57 unexplained deaths of Muggles in southwestern Scotland in the last three days. The best that we can tell, Riddle has either made a pact with the Dementors or is, perhaps, planning on using Muggles' souls for some kind of foul ritual. The problem is that there aren't enough of us to really investigate properly. The other thing that has gone horribly wrong is that it has become obvious that Albus doesn't know what to do and has become at best an ineffectual leader. Most of the loyal survivors from the Ministry follow him blindly, because they have no idea what Albus has done to try to manipulate all of us, but there are those of us who have become seriously disaffected. Aberforth is trying to organize a fifth column and I've decided to support him….and support Harry. There was a time when I thought that Albus could do no wrong, but know I know better. Riddle is still afraid of him, but that will end, sooner or later, and when it does, I fear for all of us.

We can't risk our contact being compromised, so don't respond to this. Have Hermione arrange for a wanted-ad – maybe for a slightly used Phoenix? - To be placed in this coming Friday's circular for the London Daily Mail. One of our number here is muggle-born and will suss it out for us. That will tell us that you got my message.

There are so many things I want to say to you, but many of them will have to wait for a better day. The one thing that I must say – the thing that I can't say strongly enough - is that you MUST protect Harry and Hermione AT ANY COST!. All our lives depend on it AND FOR GOD'S SAKE, DON'T LET HIM COME BACK HERE UNTIL HE IS REALLY READY!

Just as soon as it had started, the message ended and Minerva McGonagall was left to ponder about a number of things, not the least of which was the sudden and rather dramatic switching of sides by her former pupil. Last she knew, he was working directly for Dumbledore and had been present but silent when Ron Weasley had attacked Harry Potter in the Headmaster's office.

While she hadn't given it a great deal of thought, she wondered why Arthur had chosen to align himself with Dumbledore, even after it had become obvious that the old man had done something rather dramatic and foolish to alienate Harry Potter. She had always known Arthur Weasley to be an extremely reasonable, thoughtful, and generous man – even if he had always been given towards being much more forgiving than was prudent with his children. For a moment, she let her mind wander and remembered back to when Arthur was a student. He had been amazing; a master at both charms and transfiguration, and had gone on to work for the Ministry (probably, though she didn't know for certain) as an Unspeakable. She had always thought that he would rise quickly within the Ministry – until the Ministry itself was eliminated and their world fell apart.

The air was still cool, even though it was only the end of August, and as the last of the morning fog burned off and the sun was fully revealed, Minerva decided that she was going to have to get the information about the Prophecy to Harry, Hermione, Sirius, et al. as quickly as possible, so that they could decide what to do with it.

Before disapparating, she sipped her coffee (which she had zapped to re-heat) and then nibbled on the tail-end of her croissant. There was no point in racing off, as it was entirely likely that Harry and Hermione were still asleep and would not appreciate such an early-morning visit.

The last bit of the delectable pastry was just past her lips when something occurred to the powerful witch: she still hadn't contacted Amelia to tell her where she was. Shaking her head at her oversight, she automatically called up her very best, most thrilling and most loving memory before she cast. 'Expecto Patronum!'

The massive, silvery Scottish wildcat which she had always favored leapt from her wand and then rubbed up against her legs, before she touched her forehead with the tip of her wand to extract the thoughts that she wanted to send to her dearest, life-long friend. Once the silvery strands of thought were wound around her wand-tip, she carefully placed them on the forehead of her Patronus. The creature seemed to glow extra-bright for a moment before turning and disappearing to the east.

Satisfied that she had rectified her mistake, she checked herself for crumbs; finished the last swallows of coffee, and then quietly disappeared, without so much as a pop!


In the early hours before dawn, Friday, August 25, 1995 – ½ mile above Lake Orestiada, on the far-eastern side of Kastoria Peninsula, Western Macedonia

Lucius Malfoy stopped and smiled in the darkness. At just after 0330 hours, he was usually asleep…but not this particular morning. All around him were his men…ones he had hand-picked for this important mission. They were the best that dark magic had to offer and he knew that if any team could pull off the operation, it was this one.

***

The three thousand year-old caves, dug at a time when the people of the Hellenic world were still playing with bronze and fighting wars across the seas by boat, lined the northern flank of the Kastoria Peninsula. They were closely guarded secrets; each cave protected by a modified Fidelius charm that worked only for Goblins.

Lucius knew about the area because he had carefully suborned information from some of the Macedonian and Greek traders who had done business occasionally with the Goblins. While they had not been able to give him precise information regarding the location of the main caves, they had none-the-less pointed him in the right direction. Veritaserum hadn't even been needed! They had given up the information willingly – because the local Goblin leaders had ignored their entreaties for a more formal arrangement.

By a process of elimination worthy of any good Muggle scientist, the elder Malfoy had been able to make a series of logical deductions that led him to a much more exact location. After that, all it had taken was several days of silently watching the comings and goings of Goblins in the area. So used to being unnoticed, the Goblins had grown somewhat lax in their own security. Step by step, his men had tightened the observational noose until, beyond a certain point; the Goblins' wards had taken over and repelled them. However, what he and his team had learned up until that point had been quite enough to make him certain of having found the Goblins' home.

***

Some caves, especially those used as living spaces, were heavily (physically) guarded and magically warded and each cave employed a slightly different mix of the two. The only thing that was consistent from cave to cave was that they were dug down, into miles of the underlying Carboniferous Pieria Granitoid Complex (CPGC) rock, which because of its high density and almost diamond-hard carbon content, shielded the caves completely from the types of magic employed by human wizards. It was for that reason that Lucius Malfoy had jumped at the chance to employ a very special team of ward-breakers – disaffected (male) Veela who, because of the restrictions that the ICW placed on them and the Goblins rigorously enforced, had every reason to hate the Goblins.

As the three teams, twenty-strong each, made their way up the mountain, the twenty- to thirty-foot high Macedonian pines cast the entire mouth of the cave into almost total darkness – save for the occasional flicker of moonlight that made its way between the trees. For the Veela, this wasn't an issue, because they could see very, very well in the dark. For the death-eaters though, it was a problem and many of them found themselves stumbling over rocks and roots. For some, the result was a simple, twisted ankle or scrapped shin-bone but for others it was more severe. Lucius swore as two of the wizards from team two fell. One had a broken ankle and could no longer walk, while the other had a broken knee – the result of falling forward in the dark and landing on a rocky out-cropping.

Lucius paused the assault at 0415 hours, which just long enough to send the two men back to their headquarters via portkey. He was disgusted that wizards under his command could be so sloppy and he cursed himself for not taking greater care to see to it that his men knew the terrain. The cold, hard fact was that if the mission failed because they were two wands short of having enough manpower, his life was probably forfeit. It was frustrating too, because he knew very well that the Muggle government's military had technology that could see perfectly in the total dark…but magical people could not use it because the electronics that made it possible did not survive in the presence magic or magical creatures.

He didn't dwell on the matter though because he had to focus on the here-and-now. The two eastern European wizards, parselmouths both, who were commanding (and containing) the basilisk in its special, protective cage, had to be protected at all costs, lest they lose the ability to release the terrible creature at the most opportune moment. It was his teams' responsibility to get the two men close enough to the entrance of the cave that their release of the basilisk would be successful and all of them could get away from it without being killed by its uncontrolled gaze. His master's orders had been very clear on the matter – break the Goblins and make them comply with his wishes and he intended to do just that.

The third team was in charge of killing whatever sentries there might be and making sure that no one came up behind them, in a pincer movement. More, they were to see to it that no one could apparate in or out and there was sufficient portkey suppression. Anti-apparition and anti-portkey wards worked against pretty much all wizards, save for the very most powerful, including Dumbledore. It was unknown whether Potter could break through such barriers, but Lucius Malfoy didn't put it past him. He had seen Potter duel his master and live to tell the tale – something that no other wizard, except for Albus Dumbledore and James Potter, had ever achieved. It was not something to take lightly.

Shaking his head to clear the distraction away, in the same manner as he would rid himself of a cobweb, Malfoy watched as the remaining team members moved in orderly fashion to surround the mouth of the cave. They were in a line that was roughly twenty-five meters across, at just over an arms' length apart from each other.

With a series of hand-signs, he ordered the holding/warding team to fall back by thirty paces, so that they couldn't be seen and so that no one who was hostile could get a close-in shot at their backs without being seen in turn by his men. The other two teams, his included, moved in closer. After a moment's coordination, the thirty Veela wizards began incanting; creating a luminous blue field. Their principal job was to take down the rest of the cave's defenses, while providing coverage for the two with the basilisk.

Almost immediately, Lucius knew that something was wrong. He didn't see the Veela wizard farthest away from him fall, but the blue field flickered for a moment before regaining its full strength. Fearing that they hadn't accounted for everything, Lucius signaled to one of his trusted lieutenants who, in turn, drew his wand and made his way into the darkness. A moment later, there were shouts and flashes of angry spells being exchanged and Lucius heard the screams of men being cut down. A wand in both hands, he threw caution to the wind and made his way as quickly as he could towards where the spell-fire was most violent. Just as he made it to the skirmishing line, a blazing, terribly hot spell missed him by inches; smashing into the short pine to his left. It made him duck and return fire blindly. A hand suddenly pushed him right.

"Get your fucking head down, Lucius!" one of his lieutenants hissed; risking the insubordination.

Too concerned about what was happening to be angry at the disrespectful words, Malfoy said, "How many?"

"No idea. Lukovitch suddenly screamed and I turned to find out what was happening when someone snapped a curse at me."

A moment later, another curse snapped over his head and plowed into a tree somewhere off to his left.

Taking a risk, Lucius pointed his wand straight up and said "Lumos Solara!"

Immediately, a massive flare, bright as the sun, leapt into the sky, to a height of 100 ft. It lit the entire area; showing the elder Malfoy what, exactly, he and his men were confronting. It was either going to get them all killed or allow them to see what they were facing and deal with it effectively.

Thankfully, it did exactly what he had hoped: the burst of light illuminated a dozen or so half-human/half-goblin guards and four wizards, dressed in gray fatigues. His men, trained for hour after hour on spell-accuracy and rapid delivery, dropped all of the defenders immediately. Lucius then canceled his spell and total darkness immediately returned to the area. It was a dramatic, if rather comforting difference, and each of the remaining wizards breathed a momentary sigh of relief.

Remembering his training and his goal, he ordered each of the team leaders to report. When they did so, he discovered, to his pleasure, that only one of his men had been really hurt and that field first-aid had saved the man's arm and made him fit to continue the assault. The news, however, didn't take any of the urgency out of the moment.

Speaking quickly, he urged the Veela to finish the job and bring down the rest of the wards that defended the caves, so that the Basilisk could be sent among the Goblins.

Without the spell-fire to distract them, the Veela rushed to resume their efforts and soon the blue, coronal field was once again at full-strength and working to take down the magical barriers which were the last line of defense for the caves.

Lucius watched as the Veela poured themselves into the effort of destroying the Goblin defenses and had to smile inwardly at the sheer, dumb luck which had led him to recruiting the tall, perfectly blonde, almost unnaturally handsome wizards. He thought for a moment about his beautiful Narcissa and the gorgeous blonde Veela, Dani, whom they had brought to their bed as a playmate. She had been such an extraordinary lover for the two of them – aggressive, playful, and completely perfect for their intimate play. She had also been an amazing, unexpected goldmine of information about the Goblins and had led him to talk to her brother, Stephan.

It was Stephan who, more than anyone else, had made the assault possible. He had organized the other, full-blooded Veela wizards and delivered them as a packaged solution right to Lucius' front door.

The other Death Eaters around Lucius watched as the golden field – the semi-physical manifestation of the ward around the inner mouth of the cave - began to flicker wildly. Once it was gone, the two parselmouths would have to position the crate containing the Basilisk as close to the inner entrance as possible; release the horrible creature, and then return him to his full size once it was out.

With one hand, Stephan signaled to Lucius that the ward was almost down and that the two parselmouths needed to be ready.

It was the thing that they had trained for most intensely and every single one of his men stood to the ready; guarding each other's backs and making sure that the two wizards could work their magic quickly and without interference.

Gesticulating wildly with his free hand, Stephen signaled silently, "5 – 4 – 3 – 2 – 1…NOW"

Once the defensive field collapsed, the two wizards did exactly as they had been trained to do. They raced forward with the crate between them; placed it on the ground with the magical gate facing the cave, released the gate and lifted the back of the crate off the ground – speaking in Parseltongue as they did so. §Go forth and kill all the dark-skinned ones ahead of you. Eat until you are content. Destroy all who oppose you! §

More slowly than any of them liked, the great Basilisk slithered out of its cage and tasted the air with its great, forked tongue. The two wizards backed away from the animal; enlarging it to its true size, before beating a retreat into the darkness. As a precaution, Lucius had given the two men special portkeys that were available for use only once the magical door of the crate had been lifted away. The moment that the two knew their job was done, they portkeyed away; finally safe from the baleful, lethal gaze of the most terrible of snakes.

***

Ordering his men to fall back into the darkness, Lucius watched the tail of the almost seventy-foot Basilisk disappear down into the cave. It might be hours or days before the results of the nights' assault were fully manifest, but he was sure that he had scored a major victory on behalf of his master and their cause and for once, he was well-pleased.



Three days earlier (August 22nd), mid-afternoon GMT, near No. 12, Calle Silverio Alonso; San Cristobal de la Laguna, on the northern end of the Island of Tenerife

Amelia Bones was a woman feeling happy and safe; as far (more than 1,950 miles) away from the United Kingdom as she had ever been. Having taken to wearing a long brown, traditional jijab over her muted, mustard-yellow-ish pants and full-length top, she blended into the mostly Muslim population, with nary more than a passing glance from anybody she encountered. It was oddly comforting, especially after working and living in London where she was so well known among the wizarding population, to be able to walk totally unnoticed among the crowds that swelled in the markets in the late afternoons or along the street outside of the quiet, non-descript apartment where she had taken temporary refuge after leaving France.

Normally, the heat of the afternoon would have sent her indoors, to her cool apartment and to her dark bedroom for a mid-afternoon nap…but this particular day found her walking along the street outside. The stone wall, which was waist-high and decorated at irregular intervals by graffiti written in Arabic, Spanish, Kiswahili, and several other languages that she didn't know.

There were birds singing, though not with the same gusto as they did in the early morning outside her window. She smiled as she remembered that she had been tempted, during her first few mornings, to cast a silencing charm on them, but thought better of it. It took some getting-used-to, to be sure, but she was acclimating quickly.

Stopping for a moment to rest her feet and to smell one of the beautiful orange flowers that covered many of the bushes that lined the back side of the stone wall, beneath the ubiquitous palm trees, Amelia Bones – former Minister of Magic for the United Kingdom – realized that she was happy not being burdened by the obsequious sycophants that populated the upper levels of the Ministry bureaucracy. She had money, her wand, her health, a fairly vast private magical library (though it paled in comparison to the one that Minerva had 'borrowed' from Hogwarts), and the means to get about – including her own Nimbus 2000.

At the moment, Amelia needed two things: food and a good book. Both could be had for something approximating a song (given the exchange rate between Galleons and the local currency) within an easy walking distance of the apartment. Turing northeast, she started walking again.

She had gone maybe ten or eleven steps when she felt the tell-tale tingle of powerful magic up and down her back. Immediately she slipped her wand into her hand, crouched down, and put her back tight to the wall, so that she'd be less exposed if attacked. It was a bit awkward, but she endured it, because she wasn't planning on dying any time soon and it was better to be safe than sorry.

She looked up and down the street; trying to catch a glimpse of whatever had set off her 'magic' radar and for a moment, saw nothing. Then, as she concentrated on what her magic was telling her, she saw it: the silvery, spectral image of an enormous Scottish wildcat coming at her fast from down the street. She might have missed it because of the glare of the sun, but it became visible during the moments when it passed through the shadows cast by the 30 ft. trees that lined the northeast side of the street.

It didn't take any kind of genius to realize to whom this particular Patronus belonged. It could only be the product of one Minerva McGonagall; transfiguration professor and Kneazle extraordinaire. The moment the Patronus was close enough, Amelia touched it with a finger-tip and absorbed the message that it bore, so that she could dissipate the spell. Even as far away as she was from the Ministry, the ICW, and all the 'normal' authorities, she still felt the normal compunction to protect the message that the Patronus bore was short, sweet, and to the point:

"Bonsey!" her friends' voice said clearly, "Things are progressing nicely here…but it would be great to have some more girlfriends around. Come to the Plains of Abraham. Send message the normal way when you get here. We'll find you! Lots of love, Minnie"

Standing, Amelia leaned against the trunk of the palm tree that shaded the section of street where she had stopped and took in what she had just been told. The Plains of Abraham, she knew from her University days, was in Quebec City, Quebec and was the site of a massive battle between the French and British on 12 September 1759. It was battle that was largely responsible for breaking France's hold on all of its territory within eastern North America over the following four years and for the creation of the country of Canada.

If Harry and Hermione were in Quebec, then her niece Susan was there too, along with her husband, Neville. She smiled at the thought of seeing her niece again and hoped that marriage hadn't wrought too many changes in her – a thought which, correctly translated, really meant that she hoped her niece wasn't already pregnant. Going to Quebec also meant rejoining the group of people, including Minnie, who knew her best and had known her the longest. It was a comforting thought on one hand, but slightly sad on the other, because it meant that she'd have to give up her wandering ways and what might be her only shot at seeing places like Tenerife that she might never otherwise have visited.

After being confined by her Ministerial responsibilities for so long, she had found to her delight that she really liked traveling and seeing new places and not having to be answerable to anyone else save her own conscience and budget.

She knew that she didn't have to answer Minnie immediately, as she had not included any of the precious code-words that they had worked out over the years, so she turned with a grin on her face and made her way towards her original destination.

In a week or so Minnie would get her answer, the former Minister of Magic decided, but not right now. There were books to read (always) and places/events to explore – like the Fiesta de Nuestra Señora de la Candelaria – that celebrates the patron saint of Tenerife. She had loved the fact that the entire fiesta was centered on the re-enactment of the appearance of the Virgin Mother – which the islanders thought marked a turning point in the fortunes of the island. There was also the Fiesta de San Bartolomé de Geneto – which she planned to attend, two days hence.

As she thought about it, she realized that her not wanting to leave boiled down to the fact that she simply wasn't ready to pass those things by. Fighting Tom Riddle was important – maybe more important than anything else she had ever done in her life - but so was not forgetting to live while she had the opportunity and she had that opportunity. All she had to do was seize it. Carpe diem, as the saying went.



Late afternoon, Thursday, August 31, 1995 - Centre Hospitalier Universite Laval; section Magique

Bethany St. Bertrand watched as her only patient for the last month got up out of her wheelchair and walked the last fifty feet towards the front doors of their facility.

At first, the staff had been unsure as to whether she was truly ready for discharge, but those fears had been overcome by the woman's dogged persistence and willingness to push herself during her physical therapy sessions. She watched from the shadows as Harry Potter, in the company of another, taller, ruggedly handsome, black-haired man and an amazingly beautiful brunette met Isabelle with hugs and smiles and then walked her out of the facility.

A voice said, "She said she'd do it and so she did. You should be proud, Bethany. You made it possible." The young, beautiful nurse turned and said, with a blush in her cheeks, "Thank you, Dr. Laval"

Edmond Laval, the great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great grandson of the man for whom the hospital was named – Francois de Laval – smiled at her softly. "There's something that I was asked to give you, Bethany, though I'm not entirely sure how you're going to feel about it."

Curious, she looked into his radiant blue eyes and almost lost herself in their perfection, before she steadied herself mentally and said, "What….what do you mean?"

"Come with me to my office, Bethany, and I will show you." He said, turning and holding out his arm in what was an unmistakable gesture. She took the proffered arm and the two walked past the reception desk and over to the private elevator which served the executive offices of the Hospital.

Once the doors were closed, he pressed the button for the top floor and then disengaged a little bit before saying, "There's something I need to ask you, Bethany, and it's not a question I can ask in public."

She knew that a question phrased that way usually meant that what was about to be asked was a question of a very personal nature and it set off her personal alarms. However, she thought of herself as a professional and was used to dealing with difficult questions from patients, so she bucked up her courage and said, "What is it that you want to know?"

In a move that was uncharacteristic, Edmond Laval ran his hand through his hair and then stepped back from her, so that he could gather his own fortitude. Just as he was about to do so, the elevator stopped and the doors opened. Signaling that she should go first, he pointed towards the mahogany double-doors at the end of the hallway.

"Through the doors, Bethany. Then take a seat. I don't know how long this is going to take."

She nodded and did as he asked. When they got to the doors, he flashed a magnetic pass-card at the door and there was an audible 'click'. Bethany turned the handle and opened the door; seeing the Executive office for the first time. It was every bit as nice as she had thought it would be. It was also every bit as understated as its current occupant and that too, she thought, was as it should be.

Taking a seat as instructed, she was soon joined by her boss – who had an enormous mug of tea in hand. Seeing her eyes follow the mug he said, "I gave up the late-afternoon drink years ago, when my father said that it was a dangerous habit. I've been drinking tea ever since. Just as bad a habit, but with far fewer side-effects."

She smiled at that. "My weakness too, I'm afraid."

"Good. Now, let me ask the question that I was gearing up for in the elevator."

As if prompted by some unseen force she said, "I'm single and straight, if that's what you wanted to know"

Edmond Laval snorted into his tea and tried to prevent it from spilling all over his lap.

For a moment, Bethany was horrified that she had said the wrong thing or that she had mistaken his intentions. However, when he looked up at her, there was a very strong, honest smile on his face. "You almost got me with that, Bethany. I'm going to have to be careful around you, I think." His smile disarmed her; allowing her to let go of some of the tension she'd been carrying in her shoulders.

Taking a deep breath, she let it out slowly and then asked, "Then what is it that you need to know?"

"Are you a witch?" Bethany had been ready for many, many things…..but not that. Never, ever that. Her face gave away her answer, even before she could formulate a lie. He sagged.

"That's what I thought"

Feeling like she didn't have a choice, she deftly drew her wand from the hidden holster between her shoulder-blades and pointed it at him and said in a very steady, unwavering voice "Give me one reason that I shouldn't make you forget that I was ever here."

She watched him swallow hard; set down his tea, and then raise both hands, palms-out, in a motion that said, "I surrender".

The wand flicked once and the doors made a squelching sounds. Another flick and the curtains closed by themselves. She flicked it a third time and it suddenly became unnaturally quiet in the room. "No one can hear us, see us, or get to us now and there is absolutely nothing stopping me from wiping your memory of my existence. Now, tell me why you know about our world."

His eyes no longer were as friendly as they had been. He was scared and she knew it.

She could tell that he was thinking about what his options were and she didn't want to hurt him, so she said, "Before you even consider whether you could disarm me, know that since I heal people for a living… I know exactly how to do the opposite as well. All you have to do is tell me how you know of our world and we can end this nicely."

The soft, demure girl that she presented to the outside world was gone; replaced by the hard-edged girl who had been top of her class in Defense against the Dark Arts.

"I…..I heard the two men today talking, before they knew who I was and before they introduced themselves. They must not have known how close I was or that I could hear what they were saying. One of them, the younger one, Harry I think his name is, was very concerned about what had happened to Ms. Gatineau. He called himself something else at first….Harold Evens I think….anyway, he said to the older man that he hadn't known that a wandless compression spell could do what it did to her. The taller man, I didn't get his name, said that he was surprised that Ms. Gatineau had survived at all and that she was very lucky that the other woman – Hermione, I think – wasn't hurt worse."

Bethany nodded. A compression spell did indeed make sense to her and fit the injuries that she had seen when Isabelle Gatineau had been brought to the hospital. That Harry had done it wandlessly….spoke of power beyond her comprehension. No one, not even the great Albus Dumbledore, was said to have that kind of power (though, in point of fact, no one really knew what his limits were and no one wanted to find out).

"Bethany….who are they? Who are YOU?"

She smiled, weakly. "You know who I am….well, sort of. My name is indeed Bethany St. Bertrand, though I'm thirty years older than I look. Witches and wizards don't age the same way non-magicals do. I will look this way for….well, you'll be long since dead before I look middle-aged. Anyway, I'm a forth-generation witch…meaning my mother, her mother, and my mother's grandmother were all witches as well. That young man you saw today? His name is Harry. Harry Potter. He's the most famous wizard currently living. He comes from a family that has been magical since at least five hundred years before Jesus was born. He's also the most powerful wizard alive – which in your terms means he's as close to being a god as you could possibly imagine."

"What do you mean? A god? That's nonsense." Laval said.

"No, it's not, Dr. Laval. Harry Potter can do anything you can possibly imagine, except raise the dead. That's magic's only limitation."

"I don't believe you."

"Fine. That will make erasing your memory easier." She lifted her wand and pointed it at his head.

"No! Wait. I have something I have to give you. It got here two days ago, with your name on it."

"Where is it?"

"In the safe."

Bethany smiled. She looked over at the wall-safe; pointed her wand at it, and incanted silently, "Alohamora!"

The safe sprang open and there was indeed a large, manila envelope with her name on it. She summoned it with another flick and it sailed across the room to her waiting hand. She opened the envelope and took out a sheet of paper. Attached to the paper was a small key, which she recognized instantly as belonging to a Gringotts vault. At the top of the paper was a short note. It said:

August 29, 1995

Dear Bethany:

There are not enough words to express our thanks for what you have done for Ms. Gatineau over the last month, so I will keep

this brief. I have attached to this letter a key and hope that you will, as soon as time allows, take yourself to Gringotts-Toronto

and there present yourself to Toothbender. He has been asked to expect you and to show you every courtesy. It is our hope

that what you find in your new vault expresses, better than this letter ever could, our appreciation for your dedication and

professionalism. Thank you for all you've done.

Regards,

Harry Potter

Hermione Potter

Lord Sirius Arcturus Black

Bethany sat stunned at what she had just read. It was a signed note from Harry Potter himself – and countersigned by both his wife and Lord Sirius Black. Bethany was sure that it had been the new Lord Black himself who had accompanied Harry to the hospital. She was surprisingly grateful, in a way that she never expected to be, for the time that she had been forced to put into studying the great magical families of Europe – of which the Blacks were one of the most prominent.

After folding the letter and placing it carefully into her magical pocket, she again took up her wand and said, "I'm sorry to have to do this, Dr. Laval, but there's too much at stake for you to be wandering around, knowing about us and our world. I'm going to call a friend of mine right now and have her come and modify your memory. When she's finished, all you'll remember of me is that I'm a dedicated, trustworthy employee who's never given you any problems and just gets her work done. You'll also remember that we once had a very nice coffee together and that you enjoyed it."

"You sure that it's necessary, Bethany? I could be a help to you in your career…" Bethany looked at him and then threw her head back and laughed.

***

Twenty minutes later, Bethany St. Bertrand walked out of the Executive Offices of the hospital feeling a great deal more secure. Her bosses' memory had been successfully modified and she no longer felt as though the Statute of Secrecy was in danger. Moreover, she had earned the thanks of the most powerful wizard alive – which was never a bad thing. She walked towards the elevator and then stopped. Looking around and seeing that there was no one in the hallway, she disapparated. Her last thought before disappearing was that there was a great deal to do and there was no time like the present.



Early morning, Friday, Sept. 1, 1995 – in a non-descript apartment off Slade Road; Ottery St. Mary; Devon

The static of the Wizarding Wireless broke into the comforting sounds of the first broadcast of the WW's version of BBC4's "News and Papers" show, telling Molly Weasley that it was Five am.

Always a morning person, Molly was first one up in the house and she had long since settled into a routine. It began with hot tea – always Harrods No. 14 English Breakfast tea – that Mundungus Fletcher obtained for her, using funds that she had squirreled away over the years. The scones that she always took with her tea were her own; made with fresh lemon zest, ground almonds, sugar, a pinch of salt, a half-teaspoon of cinnamon, one half-cup of buttermilk, baking soda, baking powder, and two cups of flour, along with a generous half-cup of sweet, unsalted butter. Sometimes, if she were feeling particularly decadent, she smeared a generous teaspoon of Caffe Florian's Chocolate & Hazelnutspread on a warm piece, which was her other private Harrods treasure.

As she hummed to herself and went about her routine, which included cleaning up after her husband, Molly Weasley thought about how much things had changed. The first was that only two of her children were at home – the rest having abandoned the family. The second change was that Arthur was no longer working at the Ministry, which meant that he was around and 'under foot' more often – to her considerable consternation. They had been forced to abandon the Burrow, because of the constant threats against their lives by Riddle's forces.

To make matters worse, not only had she been shamed and silenced by her husband repeatedly either before or after the Resistance movement meetings, but things had turned positively toxic at home. She had been openly and sometimes caustically disrespected by her only daughter, who seemed to be taking her father's side in the increasingly frequent (and bitter) family arguments.

Topping it off, it had become obvious that Ron was pretty much a miserable failure as a wizard; even though Molly had done everything she could in order to get him to practice his magic and improve himself academically. He was a true embarrassment. Because he was unable discipline his mind and focus, he couldn't even conjure even the smallest objects permanently. On top of that, his charm work was pathetic and his potions skills were ghastly. To his father's shame, Ron had no feel at all for transfiguration and would never be able to even consider becoming an animagus. It was as if he just didn't care about being able to use the skills that his lineage had given him.

Ron's one, redeeming skill was Quidditch…and Molly knew that meant that he'd be jobless for pretty much his entire life, if things didn't get back to normal in wizarding England. Her need for control over all things precluded even considering sending him abroad to play. His only hope lay in marrying a smart witch who would support him.

Molly ground her teeth and stopped her chores for a moment as she thought about all the things that had 'gone wrong' in her life. She cursed, not for the first time, the girl at whose feet she laid many of her complaints: Hermione Granger.

To Molly's way of thinking, Hermione had left her youngest son and had gone off with Harry Potter – betraying them all and leaving her and her family to suffer, broke and disgraced, under the new regime. In truth, Molly was experiencing her own private version of hell.

Peter Pettigrew, on the other hand, was living his dream. He had a protector and he had freedom. Freedom to do things his way, within reason, and the ability to live without constantly looking over his shoulder for Aurors. He had a simple mission: Find the Weasleys and kill them all. It was clear-cut and unambiguous, which made life a great deal easier for him, as thinking was not exactly his strong suit.

It had taken him several months to track down the Weasleys, after finding the Burrow, like many other wizarding homes, had been abandoned and was disturbingly quiet. He was surprised when he eventually did find their modest home, that they had chosen to hide in plain sight among the Muggles, like just one more tree in a forest, instead of moving to a heavily warded estate. It might have worked of course, if the Dark Lord had chosen anyone else for this mission...but he hadn't, and that would be the death-knell for the blood-traitors.

As the first rays of the sun hit the eastern sky, the rat-animagus found himself sitting under a bush, on the edge of what passed for a lawn. The small house had two entrances. The one to the right had a long walkway that led up to it from a smaller, secondary building while the one to the left had but a short set of stairs in front of it and emptied out onto the side of the house by the garden. Pettigrew knew that all that was left to do was to pick the best way in. It was obvious that at least one person was awake and he suspected that it was the Weasley matriarch. Of all the people in the house, she was the one whom he wanted to face least, as she was known to have a temper and might in fact be capable of using the Unforgivables, if pressed to it.

Looking up at the building and seeing that there were no good second-floor entrances to be had, the would-be assassin decided that either of the ground-floor entrances was risky and that he just had to pick one. He opted for the one that had the better approach, which was the one to left.

Making his way from bush to bush, he got as far as the walkway before transforming. A moment after he did so, a bright beam of light that seemed to come from a point above the left-hand door lit up the whole area.

Panicking, the rat took the six steps ahead of him two at a time. With a quick flick of the wrist, he blew the handle off the door and opened it. Unfortunately, doing so created a fair bit of noise – more than was drowned out by the newscast on the wizarding wireless in the kitchen.

Inside, Molly Weasley was just about to sit down to enjoy another bite of her scone and a swallow of tea when the racket began outside. Taking her wand off the table, she made her way across the kitchen and towards the back door. She was about there when the door blew inwards; knocking her backwards and causing her to scream. That was her last living act. Peter practically screeched "Avada Kedavra!" as he pointed his wand at her. The green death leapt from his wand and snuffed out her life.

It would have been alright for him and he might even have survived if Arthur Weasley hadn't been coming down the stairs at that exact moment. But he was and it placed him directly behind Pettigrew. That was all the advantage Arthur needed. His wand was out before he was consciously aware of having reached for it. The first thing that came to mind was what left his lips: "Avada Vito!"

The sickly red curse struck the rat-animagus square in the back, just to the left of his heart, and like its Unforgivable cousin, caused the balding, twisted, evil sycophant to topple forward, stone dead. The difference was that ever bit of energy; every bit of magical core that Pettigrew possessed in life left his body and was transferred to Arthur.

The transfer took Arthur by surprise, as he had never experienced it before, even though he had been warned about it during his days as a senior Unspeakable. It was a heady experience and he realized that there was a reason that it had been classified by the department as 'Most Secret'.

As his newly expanded magical core began to settle out and his sense of balance returned, Arthur looked down at the body of the woman who had been his wife for so many years.

Kneeling down next to her, his eyes suddenly wet with tears, he rolled her over gently and looked at her face. Gone was the harshness that had plagued her and gone too was the fire that had lit her eyes in so many moments.

"I loved you Molly" he sobbed as he held her now cold hand in his.

***

He knelt beside her, talking to her, even though her essence was already gone. After he rose, he made his way up the stairs and knocked on his children's doors and when they opened their doors, he gathered them in his arms and told them what had happened and that he loved them….and for a very long time, the rest of the world didn't matter.


Fistral Beach, Newquey, UK, Friday, Sept. 01, 1995 - late morning

There are times when a man just needs to be alone, either because of or irrespective of his duties and his family. Albus Dumbledore was such a man; alone and needing to be so, because of the weight of the world that he felt pressing down upon his shoulders.

As he walked along the surprisingly warm, sandy beach that lay on the leeward side of the Pentire Peninsula, the former Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry thought about the things that had happened and tried to see in them some kind of over-arching pattern or rational. Without his great, runic Pensieve, thoughts – thousands of them – competed for space in his mind and left him unable to discern the one tree that he sought from the thousands of trees around it. It was maddening.

Stopping for a moment, he looked down at the sand between his toes and wondered whether his life any longer mattered at all or if it was truly time to begin thinking about the 'next great adventure'. Everything he had touched recently had either blown up spectacularly in his face – like his plans for Harry – or his attempts to control and guide the loyal Ministry employees and others who had fled into hiding with him when the Ministry and Hogwarts fell.

Above him, a gull squawked and for a moment, his attention fell on the bird as it turned into the wind and let itself be lifted higher into the sky by the early-morning breeze. He watched it bank and dip without apparent effort; it's long, white wings slicing through the air perfectly. 'Abe can do that' he thought, surprised that the observation came without the rancor that he might have felt earlier in the summer.

"Have I grown so old?" he thought to himself as his attention once more fell to the ground by his feet. He knew the answer, but it was something that was hard to acknowledge, especially for a man who had always defined himself by the enormous powers that he had always wielded.

He was just about to turn and walk back the way he had come when a small, gray owl, no taller than his hand was long, landed softly on his shoulder.

Albus smiled at the owl. "What have you got for me, my feathery friend?" he said softly, as the owl held out his leg and allowed the aging wizard to remove the scroll that was contained within a small, leather tube attached to it's right leg.

Not thinking about what he was doing, the Headmaster wandlessly and silently summoned a small, wriggling fish from the sea and fed it to the owl. "Go my friend, and eat well." The owl gave a soft 'hoot' and flew off to a piece of driftwood that stuck up out of the sand near the high-tide mark.

As he watched the owl fly off, his fingers automatically unrolled the piece of parchment. The two, sparse sentences were enough to almost bring him to his knees….and for the first time in a long while, he allowed himself to feel the bitter sting of tears and the sadness of a pain shared.


September 1, 1995 – In the Cathedral of the L'ecole des Sorcier du Quebec – 4 pm.

Unlike the great majority of its counter-parts in Europe, L'ecole des Sorcier du Quebec had a massive, light gray-green granite cathedral as the main focus of the campus. The building itself, an "almost-twin" of the National Cathedral in Washington, D.C, had three sets of tall, magnificently detailed stained-glass windows that were lit best, and most brightly, in the morning sun. Eight feet high each, the three sets of double doors at the front of the church, below each set of windows, were made of solid and extremely rare American Elm (Ulmus americana), and they were set with solid brass strappings, fasteners and hinges.

The cathedral itself was an architectural wonder – though it didn't have some of the more interesting features of the one in Washington D.C (such as the fact that there is a sculpture of the dark lord of the Sith, Darth Vader, on top of the National Cathedral's west tower). It was designed by Francis Rattenbury, the famed Canadian architect, almost immediately after he had been graduated from L'ecole des Sorcier in May, 1884. It was his very first commission - even before he had been asked to design the Parliament Building in Victoria, British Columbia. If asked, the school's principal chaplain told anyone who'd listen that the Cathedral was a testament to Rattenbury's ability to weave wards into every bit of the work, so one never knew where one ward started and another stopped – making it one of the safest and most heavily guarded buildings in all of North America. No force of evil, no matter how determined, would ever get past its great doors.

***

One of the things that set the school apart from Hogwarts Sirius knew, and had told both Harry and Hermione, was that a great many of the students actively participated in religious activities on campus, which included singing Vespers ('Evensong'), morning prayers, and other religious observances. There was an active Jewish contingent on campus, as well as groups of Buddhists, Hindus, Sikhs, Catholics, Eastern Orthodox Christians, Native Americans, and various species of Protestants. It was very much a living, breathing space, as most all used space in the cathedral from time to time, except for the Haudenosaunee (Iroquois) (both staff and students), Buddhists, and Sikhs. They created, to the delight of many of the staff, their own beautiful, dedicated spaces in which to practice and continue their faiths; adding to the tremendous diversity on campus.

Along with the other almost seven hundred students (and their parents), Hermione Jane Potter sat twelve rows back in the enormous church with Harry and her parents to her left and Sirius, Septima, Remus, Tonks, and the Twins on the other side as the Headmistress entered the cathedral, at the head of the procession of professors. Each was dressed in his/her (doctoral) alma mater's colors – with the exception of the school's Shaman, who was dressed in the tradition of the Onondaga Tribe - and Hermione thought that they looked wonderful. She saw, to her surprise, both Oxford's and Cambridge College's colors as well as Harvard University's, which she thought were pretty cool, given that it was deep crimson – one of her two favorite colors. She thought it was interesting, as well as ironic, that the wearing of academic regalia was a tradition that originated in Oxford and Cambridge, had become a part of not just colleges, but secondary schools like L'ecole des Sorcier, both in the UK and in most of the rest of the western world.

Once the procession of professors had made its way to the front of the Cathedral, the pipe organ – which Septima had discovered was one of the largest in all of Canada – began playing the Kyrie from Beethoven's Missa Solemnis. The elder Grangers both thought that the music was extremely fitting and were impressed with the restraint that was being shown during the whole ceremony. Harry simply sat and enjoyed holding his wife's hand in his while talking to her across their bond-link. Hermione knew, because she could feel what he was feeling, that he really wanted to be able to stretch out and rest his head on her lap, so that she'd run her fingers through his hair as he drifted off to sleep. Not that he was bored really…but just because good music, along with her touch, always made him content and sleepy. For her part, Hermione thought that there was nothing better than napping together, just as he envisioned it, and that just as soon as the convocation was over, that was exactly what they were going to do. All they had to do was stay awake and attentive enough long to avoid giving offense to their new schoolmates and professors!

Fifty minutes later, the recessional music began and both Harry and Hermione roused themselves to a slightly higher level of wakefulness, so that they could both stand, along with everyone else, as the Headmistress and professorship of the school passed by. Hermione noticed, which she hadn't before, that the school had its own flag – one that complimented both the flag of Quebec - four fleur-de-lis on blue background, against a white cross -and the national flag of Canada – traditional red maple-leaf on white background with red bars. The school's flag was something altogether different. It had a Griffon (rampant) with crossed wands in one claw and the both the maple-leaf and fleur-de-lis in the other, on a white background. Around the Griffon's neck, in the fashion of a necklace, was the magical symbol (as well as Muggle) for eternity – the sideways or 'reposed' figure-eight. It was intended to represent the idea that magic was forever and Harry had earned himself a playful slap on the arm from his young wife when he had taken some pleasure, during the latter-half of one of their long study-sessions, in pointing out that he had gotten to the information first.

It took the crowd a long while to filter out of the cathedral through the three doors and out into the early evening sun. By the time Harry, Hermione, Remus, Sirius, Septima, the Twins, and the Grangers had re-assembled, it was pushing five-thirty.

"Dinner, anyone? I'm starved and I bet the rest of you are as well."

Miranda Granger looked at her husband and nodded. "Where to?"

Hermione grinned. "Vieux Montreal. I know of an absolutely fabulous restaurant on Rue St. Paul est."

Harry looked at her and smiled. He knew exactly the one she was thinking of. It was a very upscale, and completely delicious place to eat; not to mention the atmosphere and the incredible deserts.

"How then?"

"Port key. Harry, want to do the honors?"

Grinning, Harry looked at Sirius and said, "No problem. Anyone have a string?"

"Will this do?" Miranda said, holding up a piece of thread that she had just snatched from her husband's somewhat tatty sport-coat.

Smiling, Harry said. "Only you, Miranda. Only you."

One quick 'Engorgio' later, Harry had enough thread for all of them to hold onto comfortably. Then he did the slightly harder part. Creating a round-trip portkey for this many required a great deal of power and he had to focus. Taking Hermione's hand in his, Harry touched the string and whispered, "Portus". Opening his eyes, he realized that he didn't feel as tired as he expected to.

"I felt that, Harry" Hermione said to him silently.

Before he could get her to explain, Remus (who was always the hungry one in the bunch) said, "Right then. On Three: One, two, Three…"

The blue-and-white vortex of a properly created portkey formed around them and they all felt themselves falling down the proverbial rabbit-hole.


Dawn, September 2, 1995 - 2,924 miles away – Great Hall, Hogwarts Castle

The eagle crossed onto the grounds of Hogwarts silently; its wings making barely a ripple in the wind. The breeze lifted it high into the sky and carried it over the roof of the Great Hall.

Like many post-birds, the eagle was guided by magic and compelled to find its designated target and its target this morning was the dark lord himself. Dipping to one side, the eagle let gravity guide it into a slow, downward spiral until it was able to enter the upper-most window of the Great Hall.

'Lord' Voldemort – a/k/a Tom Riddle Jr. – sat, as he often did, on the thrown that was once the seat of Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore; former Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot and current Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards. Around Riddle knelt many of his followers; all of whom were desperate to see whether or not the Goblins were going to cave into their lords' demands and free up the money that they needed in order to return to the lives of privilege that they had expected, once Riddle took over the Kingdom.

The eagle led gravity carry him into the hall, so that he didn't have to flap, except once, in order to release the black, steaming envelope that he carried in his bill.

Once it released the envelope above the dark lord's head, it flew hard for the ceiling, so that it would not be caught in the blast, either figurative or literal, that was coming.

Snatching the envelope from mid-air, Riddle knew that it didn't carry good news. A black envelope from Gringotts always meant either a demand for payment or something worse – a declaration of war.

The envelope opened itself the moment that Riddle touched it and all over the hall, the voice of Ragnock, King of the Goblin clans could be heard.

"TOM RIDDLE, YOU HAVE DECLARED WAR ON THE GOBLIN NATIONS…AND YOUR MEN HAVE FAILED. NOW WE DEMAND THE HEAD OF THOSE RESPONSIBLE FOR THE ATTACK ON OUR HOME OR WE WILL EXACT OUR OWN REVENGE. YOU HAVE TWENTY-FOUR HOURS."

The Hall grew silent as the envelope shredded itself. No one had ever declared war on the dark lord before and not a single one of the Death Eaters knew what his/her lord was going to do. It was completely uncharted territory – but many felt like the walls were suddenly closing in on 'their cause'. The Goblins' previous rebellions had only been put down at great cost, with all of the wizards in England united behind the cause. Now, only 20% of the population was left and that was far from enough to resist the kinds of forces that the Goblins were known or suspected to posses.

Riddle seethed. Not only had his best hope been cast aside or defeated, but his own people had heard the evidence of his failure. He knew, like most generals did, that 90% of winning a war was having both the element of surprise on your side and having troops that were motivated and confident. In one fell swoop, the Goblins had cut the legs out from under him. It was an unmitigated disaster.

Just as he was about to stand and deliver some kind of speech to the sixty or so Death Eaters who were gathered in the Hall, another bird – a very, very large, but nondescript owl – flew into the Hall and dumped a burlap bag at his feet before flying away.

With a flick of his wand, the bag opened and the bloody head of Peter Pettigrew fell out of it. Attached to it, via a dagger stuck through one of the animagus' head, was a note.

He was about to summon the note when Arthur Weasley's voice rang out from the dead man's mouth, magically amplified so that it filled the hall.

"YOU'VE FAILED, RIDDLE. YOU KILLED MY WIFE AND IN RETURN, I'VE KILLED YOUR PATHETIC SERVANT. NOW I, ARTHUR PERCIVAL WEASLEY, ON BEHALF OUR CLAN WEASLEY AND CLAN PREWITT, DECLARE BLOOD WAR AGAINST YOU AND YOUR DECENDENTS, UNTO THE FIFTH GENERATION. FOR HER SAKE, I WILL KILL YOU. YOU ARE A COWARD AND A MURDERER AND NOTHING MORE."

The moment that the voice stopped, the head exploded, sending trans-sonic bits of bone into more than a dozen of Riddle's followers; killing three instantly and wounding a dozen more. Finally, the dark lord had had enough and screamed his frustration. "FIND HIM! KILL HIM! ALL OF YOU! OUT. DO NOT COME BACK UNTIL HE IS DEAD. FIND HIS CHILDREN AND KILL THEM TOO!"

Those Death Eaters who hadn't already done so scrambled to their feet and made for the doors. It was either that or risk being crucio'd by their master. Not a single one of them disagreed with his order, but his rage sometimes got out of hand – though not a single one of them would ever admit it publicly.

Though the dark lord didn't see them, four ghosts circled the Hall and each had his/her own reasons for wanting to keep an eye on what was happening. They were in agreement on what might very well have to be done and though no one of them regretted the decision, each thought that it was tragic that it had come down to the one final and irrevocable act.


This is the last chapter I am going to write before returning to Vox Corporis: Rebirth. I am determined to finish that story by the end of March, 2010 so that I can move on with this and other stories that I am working on.

As usual, I would ask you to please, please leave a review. Reader-reviews are the life-blood of this kind of writing and I need/want them no less than the next person. Plus, it gives me a sense of what's working and what isn't.

Regards,

the_scribbler