AN: Woot, might just be getting back into my groove. At least, let's hope so.
Anyway, this chapter is possibly the shortest one yet, but I blame that mainly on the fact that I didn't want to cram the "Peacetime Arc" all in one chapter. Though, I say arc...but really, it's more like a couple of chapters-so more like an interlude. In any case, don't expect much action here-mostly character growth.
Also, a quick note: I have updated several of the previous chapters in an attempt to correct several mistakes pointed out by helpful reviewers. This includes correcting terminology, adding scenes, or just fixing grammar. As always, help in these aspects are eternally welcome-though do try to be nice about it? No one likes a flamer.
Liverpool, United Kingdom, January 30th, 2011…
If Harry had ever thought that securing the king under his power would resolve the conflict between him and the Chiefs, he was sadly mistaken.
Not two days after the Birmingham Incident, as it was now known, the Chiefs of Staff, hearing of Harry Potter's victory over Bartel's forces, dispatched a massive force to retrieve the king form Harry's protection. Given the size of the detachment, and Taylor's presence commanding it, it didn't take a genius for Harry to realize they were meaning to take back the monarch whatever the cost.
Knowing his depleted forces could in no way stand up to the Chiefs, Harry ordered a full retreat back to his territories in the north, where he knew they'd be (relatively) safe. At the very least, he was sure the Chiefs wouldn't risk launching an all out war against him just yet—not with the midlands undergoing total anarchy.
Nonetheless, having the king in his possession did change things for Harry—for one, the capital was officially declared relocated to Liverpool, not coincidentally Harry's seat of power. With that came the unexpected surge of migrants from throughout the British isles into the northern territories—mostly loyalists or refugees who saw Harry's northern lands as being far more stable than the south, Scotland, or Northern Ireland.
Naturally, this brought a great many headaches to Harry's administration, as they were forced to strain their infrastructure to deal with the sudden boost in population. Already, the rationing measures they'd imposed at the beginning of the crisis had to be made even more severe while resources were scrounged.
Cars were all but outlawed, given that what valuable petrol was left in storage was all needed for military operations and public transportation. That in itself had caused quite a few public protest marches, though William was able to successfully talk them down after many days of negotiation, resulting in the requisition of more buses for public transportation.
At this point, however, Harry intervened with a brilliant idea—expanding on the roles of mages in the infrastructure. While those military mages not on active duty had already been deployed to increase crop production throughout the northern territories—thereby successfully staving off a food crisis—all military mages were now being deployed to deal with the construction of additional infrastructure to better accommodate the rising population.
To that end, Harry saw the king as a blessing, since his presence as a legitimizing factor in his government meant that the Chiefs had to tread carefully, or else come across as traitors and lose whatever support they were skimming off of. That meant a reprieve, and Harry sought to use it to his full advantage.
Thus, military mages were deployed to every corner of the northern territories, using their powers to repair and rebuild, where necessary, the infrastructure of the region. New roads were built, old ones were repaired, sewer systems were upgraded to deal with the greater population, and residential buildings rose up as quickly as necessary to meet the demand from the newcomers to the region. The only thing they were unable to help with, in truth, was electricity, for which Harry deployed every engineer in his forces to deal with.
Even then, however, the administration of the north knew they were facing a major power issue—the technology of the day simply failed to provide a cost-effective method of providing power that didn't rely on their dwindling supply of petrol or biofuel, whose raw materials were needed to feed the growing population.
The most obvious solution was, naturally, to cause rolling blackouts to manage the power being supplied. Yet, everyone with half a brain knew that this would prove to be greatly unpopular, bringing everyone to terms with the fact that they needed a new method of creating electric power.
Which was why when Elicia asked to meet the Royal Council—Parliament's temporary replacement in absence of elected officials following the London Massacre—none of them were prepared for her announcement.
"Flue powder?" asked the king confusedly. "What does powdered disease have to do with the current problem, Miss Eisenheim?"
"Floo powder, Your Majesty," Harry corrected patiently from the monarch's side. "F-L-O-O. It's a material the mages use in their mass transportation system," he explained. "It allows for near-instantaneous teleportation from one fixed location to another."
"And you propose we use this…Floo powder to create the same for the populace?" asked Joshua as he eyed the female scientist standing in the gap of the crescent table at which the Council was seated.
Elicia shook her head, her blonde curls swaying with the movement. "Not at all, Lord Minister Warwick," she addressed him by his formal title, now that he was officially invested as Minister of the Masses. "Rather, this powder," she brought up a transparent zip-lock bag full of silver powder. "may be our solution to the energy crisis."
"How so?" asked Sirius, a little excited to hear, for the first time, the results of the research he'd been funding for the past few years. Ever since its inception before the Anglo-Spanish war had started, Elicia had been jealously guarding its results, leading Sirius to believe that perhaps the experiments had gone nowhere.
Apparently he was wrong.
"After a year and a half of research, I discovered the way Floo powder works in regards to the mass transportation system known as the Floo Network," she stated as she went from seat to seat and handed each member of the Council—Joshua, Sirius, William, Harry, Curtis, Speirs, and the King—a folder containing her results. Almost immediately, all of them opened the folder and began skimming its contents. "Basically, the Floo Network operates based on three distinct factors: One," she raised a finger. "Fixed transportation locations based on runic apparatuses to ground the transportation sequence. Two," she raised another finger. "The presence of a magical gene in the transported person, thereby locking out anyone non-magical from ever using it; and three, " she raised a third finger. "Floo powder."
"Of these, Floo Powder," she continued, "is perhaps the most crucial. It is not, however, a derivative of the fuel crystal, as we had initially been led to believe," she informed the council. "But rather a powdered form of the Floo plant—at least, initially."
"Initially?" asked Harry curiously as he stopped his reading.
Elicia nodded. "Floo plants, while able to be grown, nonetheless take time in doing so, and mass amounts of it need to be powdered to create the appropriate exothermic reaction needed to fuel the magical transportation sequence," she explained. "This made it highly inefficient. As such, I have discovered that modern day Floo powder is actually a compound of powdered fuel crystal and the extract of the Floo plant."
"So?" asked Speirs, a little out of his depth with the conversation. He hadn't even bothered to read past the introduction of the brief. "Sorry if I come across as too blunt, but I still don't see how any of this fixes our problems."
Elicia eyed the man for a moment before smiling and nodding in understanding. "Please be patient, General," she urged him. "I will be getting to that," she added before returning to her train of thought. "This compound is several orders of magnitude more powerful than the original Floo powder derived from the ground up plant," she continued. "Which, as distances between fixed Floo locations increased, became greatly necessary."
"What changed?" asked William—he'd been keeping up with her exposition without any trouble whatsoever, unlike his military colleague.
"The fuel crystal," she answered, motioning for her assistant—a pale, young man in a lab coat much like hers—to bring forward a piece of it for the Council to see. "What the Floo plant lacks, the fuel crystal provides—raw energy. Much like magnesium, the fuel crystal is capable of high-intensity exothermic reactions when ignited. The problem, however, is that in its natural state, the exothermic reaction in question is massive and uncontrollable, and very much non-magical."
"Meaning a big boom, I imagine," Curtis observed wryly, her arms now crossed under her breasts, the folder lying open before her. She'd read through it in record time, and didn't pass up on the opportunity to give Speirs a gloating smirk. "Not very useful for transportation."
"Not in its present state, no," agreed Elicia. "Which is where the Floo plant extract comes in. With its magical properties, it contains the energy output of the crystal as well as gives it its magical properties. With the runic apparatuses functioning as a sort of catcher's mitt for the magical energies of the Floo powder, this means the uncontrollable burst simply propels you, much like a catapult would, towards your destination."
"At the risk of repeating myself, how does this solve our energy crisis?" Speirs asked again, glaring at Curtis as he did so.
"In its mass manufactured form, Floo powder burns quickly," Elicia explained. "However, I have discovered that, by increasing the dosage of raw Floo extract to the compound, we can drastically lower the burn rate to our purposes. I have, in fact, designed a suitable machine to extract electricity from vapour produced by solid Floo powder rods dipped in water coolant," she elaborated. That clinched it. Everyone's attention was fully on her now.
"Have you tested it?" asked Joshua, his stare betraying the rising excitement he was feeling. "Does it work?"
Elicia made a so-so gesture with her hand. "We've managed to successfully test a smaller version of the design in our lab," she stated. "Its electric generation was also well within success parameters. However, there is no real telling how it will perform on a larger scale until we test it appropriately," she warned.
Even with her warning, however, Elicia could practically see the gleam in the eyes of the Royal Council as she all but handed them a solution to the budding energy crisis.
"Excellent work, Miss Eisenheim," the king praised her with a weary smile. "I dare say if this works, the people shall thank you from the bottom of their hearts."
Elicia blushed at the praise from the crippled monarch, only getting worse as the rest of the Council clapped and added in their own words of praise. Harry, in particular, gave her a look of such pride she feared her cheeks would spontaneously combust.
"The appropriate construction crews will be assigned to aid you in building the functional-sized prototype, Miss Eisenheim," Joshua told her then after eying Sirius, who'd nodded back. He then looked over to Harry. "I assume Military Mages will also be requisitioned for the project?" he asked.
Harry nodded. "Of course—we must put full effort behind this project," he agreed, Speirs and Curtis nodding in agreement. This wasn't just a lifesaver for the civilian population, after all—the more of their precious petrol reserves they could save, the better for the war machine. "We shall have three squads of mages ready by tomorrow."
The king nodded, smiling as affably as he could as he presided over such smoothly-proceeding discussions. He had heard many a horror tale from his grandparents and parents regarding state discussions, and was pleasantly surprised to see the group working together so well. Of course, it was only later that he'd find out that his Royal Council was, in fact, pretty much made up solely of Harry Potter's closest confidantes.
"Thank you for your hard work, Miss Eisenheim," the king thanked her sincerely. "You are dismissed."
With an appropriate curtsy before the august gathering, Elicia nodded at her assistant and proceeded to clear out her presentation props from the room; only once the door closed did the Council renew their discussions again.
"It was fortunate that we had the laboratory transferred to Liverpool prior to the Birmingham Incident," Sirius opined as he straightened the sheets of paper in front of him. "Otherwise, there'd be no telling how long it would have been before we could evacuate its contents from Grimmauld Place without alerting the Chiefs."
"Agreed," concurred Harry. "This is just but one solution to one problem, however—let's not forget that," he reminded the Council before they slipped into satisfied complacence. "Speirs, what's the word on Nottinghamshire?"
The man beside him coughed as he straightened up and picked up the appropriate dossier from its place on the table. "Rebels have completely overtaken the region," he reported. "They're completely refusing to acknowledge Crown authority, due to what they claim to be mage-induced mind control in the government."
"Sounds like the same tired line from the London Riots," Joshua sighed, referring to the post-Great Reveal riots. "Any connection?"
"Nothing quite so organized," Speirs replied. "Rather, it seems that they were just discontent up until Birmingham. The capital's relocation to Liverpool tipped the fence-sitters over the edge."
"Have they declared support for the Chiefs?" asked Curtis.
"Not as far as Xeno has managed to ferret out," Harry replied for Speirs, having reached that portion of the report in his own dossier. "Then again, the man is quite stretched right now. Perhaps we should lift the hiring freeze."
"We're already tight-roping the budget," William pointed out calmly. "The last thing we need is to create an unsustainable deficit, and Elicia's project is already going to cost the state a pretty penny."
"If we had the resources of southern England, this wouldn't be a problem," Curtis grouched. "I say we forget all this nonsense and bring the guns to bear."
"To do so would invite catastrophe," Sirius objected. "We are still just recuperating from Birmingham, and with the Ministry about to topple in the North, we can hardly afford to divert our military forces from our border with the mages."
"The Welsh would be quick to jump into any civil war we spark off, too," William added. "The nationalists in the north would likely try to strike at our capital."
"Then what? We sit on our asses and wait?" Curtis demanded angrily, slamming a fist onto the table. She then glared at Harry, completely ignoring how utterly barbaric her manners were in front of the king. "I thought you had more spine than that, White!" she snarled.
Harry, who had opted to sit out of the age old argument—honestly, a single session didn't go by where Curtis didn't want to ram the North's military might down the Chiefs of Staff's collective throats—now gave his colleague a withering glare in return.
"What forces do you suggest we use to take out an army twice our size, hmm?" he asked her pointedly. "Should we use the remnants of the Liverpudlian regiment? What about the Birmingham's Finest? Maybe the Leeds Battalion would like a shot at the Chiefs."
Curtis winced at the names Harry was throwing at her. Each of the mentioned fighting groups had suffered dearly during the Birmingham Incident. The Liverpudlians, whom she knew Harry had served with practically all his military career, had been one of the hardest hit. He had lost many friends in the fight.
"There's got to be a better way than sitting idle," she protested weakly, unwilling to completely give up.
"Unfortunately, no," Harry said decisively, glad the king had chosen to stay out of this military discussion. "Birmingham weakened us dearly. We must use this breather to rebuild our forces and solidify our grasp in the north. With Ellie's invention, we may even be able to become self-sustaining. Patience is key right now."
"Nothing good ever comes from rushing things, General Curtis," the king wheezed after an uncomfortable pause had come about following Harry's rebuttal. "In fact…have you ever heard of the Trinity test?" he asked the group.
He was met with unanimous negatives—even from Harry and Sirius, both of whom tended to be the most well informed people in the room.
"Neither did I—not until I was raised to the throne," the king admitted as he leaned back, his features weary as he recalled those days. "It was one of the many things my position gave me access to…Project Trinity."
"It was a joint project between us and the Yanks back during the Second World War," he recalled. "Mostly Yank funding and technology…but we helped here and there, mostly with our best and brightest minds."
"What was the project about?" asked Speirs curiously.
"Nuclear weaponry," the king answered after a pause. "It was to be the weapon to end the war," he elaborated before giving a small chuckle. "Of course, that didn't happen. The Yanks got too hasty, pushed too hard…and the scientists failed the test."
The rest of the story needed no telling for everyone in the room, as they could all remember their high school history classes. The Japanese being the only enemy force left standing, the Allies staged a multi-front invasion of the Japanese mainland…with horrendous results.
While the invasion did eventually succeed, the cost had been horrifying.
To this day, veterans of the Invasion of Japan refused to speak of it.
Thus, hearing that there had been an initiative to spare the world the horrors of that botched operation was shocking to the Royal Council—especially the military half. After all, who knew how the world might have been different if Trinity had succeeded?
Sufficiently grasping the magnitude of the lesson invoked, Curtis nodded at Harry, pale-faced. "I…guess you're right," she reluctantly conceded. "Rebuild, then conquer."
Harry eyed the king for a moment, only half-listening to Curtis' words. The way the monarch had interfered with the discussion had been skilfully timed and with precise results, belying a sense of perception he had yet again underestimated from the crippled king.
Not for the first time since the king had elicited a promise from Harry, the mage general wondered who it was that was using whom.
Netherley, United Kingdom, February 20th, 2011…
"It's good to see you again, Ellie."
Elicia smiled at her companion as she brought up her teacup and sipped from it, enjoying the warm brew. "It has been a long time, hasn't it, John?" she agreed as she set her cup back down on the table.
John Lyles, one of her and Harry's oldest friends in the world, smiled wearily at the pretty blonde. "How's Francis been?" he asked.
Elicia eyed her friend for a moment. Even after all this time, he still refused to call Harry by his birth name, having known him all his life as Francis White. In a way, it was John's method of keeping their shared past at Liverpool College alive.
"You know him," she said with a wry smile. "Plotting away, trying to rule the world…"
John chuckled tiredly before drinking from his own cup. "He always did have his head in the clouds," he agreed as he set the cup back down. Sitting back, the man folded his hands on his lap and closed his eyes, enjoying the afternoon breeze. It was a good choice of his to pick an outdoor teahouse, as it turned out, even though it was still mid-winter. Thankfully, the day had been rather warm throughout—a rarity during English winters.
"He misses you," Elicia informed her friend. "He misses his oldest friend."
"And I miss him," John admitted as he opened his eyes and gave Elicia a tired smile. This was a discussion they both knew would not end the way they wanted to, but had to be done. "But he can't expect me to get involved with all the shite he's started, Ellie. I'm a married man—I've got a son to look after."
"Baron Warwick is married and with children," Elicia pointed out, smiling at the mental image of the stiff upper-lip Baron's two daughters. To her pleasant surprise, they were far more relaxed than their father. "And he's still involved."
"He's also a noble, and sort of a wanker, from what I've heard," John countered with a wry smirk. "And he loves that kind of crap. I don't."
Elicia sighed as she looked around, taking in the sights of the sleepy, boring little suburb that John had moved to following Harry's release from prison. "You could still visit," she tried another route. "Maybe just drop by for a chat—goodness knows William could use someone like you to loosen up!" she said with a giggle at the end.
John laughed at that one. He still remembered meeting Harry's brother for the first time—he'd had a good laugh at Harry and Elicia's expense. "I don't think anything short of a good shag could get that boy to loosen the stick up his arse," he said with a rueful grin. "And besides, you don't think I've tried to get in touch? Francis is always moving about—makes it hard on a bloke to 'drop in', as you say."
Elicia had to concede victory there. Even now, when military operations had all but ground to a halt, Harry was still on the move all the time, constantly giving presence to all of the major projects his administration was performing in the north. If there was a major construction site lagging behind, he was there. If a new hospital was being inaugurated, he was there. Heck, he dropped by the construction site of her experimental Fuel Crystal Energy (FCE) Facility almost every other day, just to glare at the backs of his mages so they'd work faster and more efficiently.
"The life of a leader is never quite still, is it?" John asked rhetorically before finishing the contents of his cup. "You know, I always knew Francis would go places," he remarked.
Elicia smiled, thinking back to her Liverpool College days. "I guess I always did, too," she admitted, eliciting a wry grin from John.
"You mean, after you decided you wanted to jump his bones, not bash his head in?" he asked with a saucy wink.
Elicia burst out into a laugh at the remark. "Oh…" she finally said after regaining her breath. "Oh my…those were good days. I can't believe how much we used to bicker!"
John chuckled. "If you two don't now, I'm worried," he said before helping himself to one of the complimentary biscuits.
Elicia waved away the concern. "Oh please…with the way he is? Of course we still argue. Someone has to keep him grounded," she said with a smile before finishing her now-lukewarm tea. "How's Annie doing, by the way?"
John smiled at the mention of his wife. "She's doing well. Stays at home with little Johnny while I work. We do take turns, though—she's part of some sort of women's group here." he told his friend before taking out his wallet from his back pocket and picking out his family picture and showing it to her. "Took that one maybe a week ago."
Elicia smiled longingly at the picture. "They look happy," she noted softly.
John eyed his friend in silence as she observed the offered picture. He hadn't been her friend for ages without getting to know how she thought—mostly. "You and Francis still on this on-and-off business?" he asked.
That snapped her out of her daydreams regarding a happy little family with Harry, living in the suburbs. "Sort of," she admitted as she handed the photograph back. "It's complicated."
"No, it's not," John countered as he crossed his arms over his chest. "Ellie, you love the man to death, and he's absolutely nuts about you. Why won't you both just admit it and make honest folk of each other?"
"It's complicated," Elicia reiterated through gritted teeth.
The two friends descended into silence after that, though not for long. Sighing, John rubbed his forehead—wrinkles had already started appearing, much to his dismay and Elicia's amusement. "Ellie, you do know what's going to happen if you two don't un-complicate this, right?" he asked her tiredly.
Elicia's downcast eyes told him she did. Still, someone had to voice it.
"Ellie, if it's not you, it's going to be someone else," John said bluntly, hating the fact that he'd basically struck Elicia's weak point with such surgical precision. She needed to realize how precarious her position was, however. "If—and this is a big if—Francis manages to reach the very top, he's going to need a successor. An heir. And that heir has to be acceptable to everyone with power. Now, I'm no politician, but I'm fairly sure that if Francis and you had a child out of wedlock, that kid wouldn't be acceptable."
"What's your point?" Elicia snapped, already knowing full well what it was.
"He's going to get married, Ellie. If not to you, then to someone else," John stated simply. "He knows he has to, you know he has to—hell, I know he has to, and I'm not even part of this gimmick!" he exclaimed.
"I know," she admitted quietly.
"And you're just going to let it happen?" John asked sceptically. "That's not the Elicia Eisenheim I knew back at LC," he remarked.
"Things have changed since then," Elicia pointed out. "We were kids. We had to grow up at some point."
John gave her a sceptical look. "…if you say so," he said noncommittally, realizing she'd never budge.
Nottingham, Nottinghamshire, February 25th, 2011…
"I'm bored."
Xenophilius sighed as he watched his agent all but throw a small tantrum in the dilapidated hotel room they were using as a meeting spot. Normally, he wouldn't take this sort of mission, but with reconstruction in full swing in the north, it was all hands on deck.
"Not every mission is going to involve mind screws and murder, Josefina," he chastised the 20-year old. Sometimes, he wondered if she'd ever grown out of her teen years. "Sometimes it's just going to be a slow day at the office. Even for spies."
Josefina glared at him. "So send me back north to Scotland. I'll bet I can really mess things up there for Harry," she suggested. "As a matter of fact, why am I here? Nottinghamshire's just a speck on the map! Not even really a big obstacle in the war with the Chiefs! I'm wasted here, Xeno," she whined.
Xeno palmed his face as she kept her diatribe. She'd been like this since he arrived. Well, he was also irritated she insisted on calling him by his name, rather than the agreed codenames—he knew she was never that unprofessional when actually at work, but it seemed that since they were now technically meeting off-hours, she reverted back to speaking to him as she did before he officially took over Harry's black-ops division.
"After that latest mind screw you pulled on Dumbledore's faction, I doubt they'll be that careless again," Xeno informed her before pouring himself some of the scotch he'd brought in his luggage. "And there's absolutely no way we're infiltrating you into the Death Eaters. Mages only for that operation," he added.
Josefina pouted at his response, a little ticked that her talents weren't being put to better use. To Xeno, however, her attitude was a wonder to behold—two years ago, she would've been on the verge of a panic attack just by being in the same room with a man—alone. That she was able to mouth off at him in this way truly spoke of her wonderful recovery from her near-rape in Spain.
"Anyway, Nottingham might not be the most exciting place in the country right now, but it is important," Xeno stressed. "The M1 crosses through here, and we'll need that highway under our complete control if we want to launch a speedy strike at London."
"But it's so boooooring!" she whined again. "Seriously—everyone here wears their damn thoughts on their sleeves! It's no challenge!"
Xeno sighed before fixing the girl with a reproachful glare. "Look, Harry personally wanted you to take care of this place," he reminded her. "That means he has big plans for this route. I don't expect you to like your assignment, but I do expect you to do it. Understood?"
Josefina sighed. "Fine, fine," she reluctantly conceded.
Xeno nodded with a satisfied smile. "Good. Now, report on the situation."
The change that overcame Josefina was impressive, to say the least. The moment he finished giving the order, Xeno watched as the slouched girl straightened up and her expression was schooled into the perfect image of professionalism.
"Not much to say," she admitted. "The City Council is still determined to launch strikes into our territory, despite heavy losses. They seem to think that their tenacity will inspire neighbouring regions to support their rebellion against Harry specifically," she reported before pulling out a folded scrap of paper from her jeans pocket and offering it to Xeno. "Places, dates, and sizes of upcoming raids, as requested."
Xeno nodded gratefully as he took the folded paper and unfolded it, silently reading its contents and committing them to memory. "Where are they getting their weaponry?" he asked.
"Surplus stashes, mostly," Josefina reported with a shrug. "Though I've got my suspicions one of the City Council members has ties to other regions, which are providing underground support for Nottingham's efforts."
"Suspicions?" he parroted, eyeing Josefina over the top of the paper.
Josefina had the decency to blush a little. "I was never able to get certain confirmation," she admitted. "The member in question got paranoid and almost made me when I was tailing him to the alleged meeting spot," she explained before giving a small growl. "He's increased his security since. It's getting harder to keep tabs on him."
"Have you tried a personal approach?" asked Xeno as he continued reading.
"Of course—I'm not his type," she said flatly, making Xeno's eyebrows rise. Josefina was a very pretty girl, and if the man in question didn't appreciate that, then he had to wonder about the man's taste. "He's gay," she added.
Well, that explained it.
"Managed to worm out a few things from his aide, though," she continued as she pulled out a small notepad from her back pocket and flipped it open. "He's the driving force of the Council's initiative against us, and he's the wealthiest member. He has substantial investments in the local real estate, and before the country went to hell he had strong ties to the City of London. Now, most of his wealth relies on the fact that he's paid rent by practically a quarter of the population."
She flipped a page.
"He likes his partners to be about his own age, and he never chains himself down to just one. He likes golfing and boxing, and frankly, if it wasn't for the fact that he's one of our worst enemies, I'd say he's an okay guy," she finished with a frown. "Honestly, even his aide has no idea why he's so staunchly against us."
Xeno blinked at that, stopping his reading to stare right at Josefina. "What do you mean?"
Josefina gave an exasperated sigh and ran a hand through her long, black hair. "His aide told me his attitude makes no sense. Sure, he's something of a man-whore, but beyond that he's supposed to be pretty easy going. The fact that he's the most trouble for us is something of an oddity," she elaborated.
Xeno nodded silently, carefully considering the information. He could think of a few reasons why this shift in personality had come about, but he was more curious to see where Josefina's thoughts lay. "How sudden was this seeming shift in attitude?" he asked as he leaned forward and steepled his hands before his face.
Josefina had a gleam in her eyes that told him she felt rather strongly about this. "Pretty sudden," she replied noncommittally. "Too sudden."
Xeno nodded again, pretty certain he could guess her line of thought. "You think there's magic involved." He didn't ask.
Josefina shrugged. "It would make sense," she said before flipping the notepad closed and tucking it into her back pocket again. "His staff don't know what to make of his change in attitude, and from what they're telling me, it was pretty damn sudden—one day to another fast, in fact."
"You want permission to investigate and neutralize the mage responsible I'm guessing," Xeno observed.
She placed a hand on her hip and regarded her superior officer with a stare. "Of course," she answered idly. "I found the evidence of something wrong, I should get the hit. Plus, if we get this guy out of mage control, we could cripple Nottinghamshire's ability to raid our territory."
"What about his fellow Council members?" asked Xeno. While he was more than happy to deal a lethal blow to the Nottinghamshire opposition, he wasn't about to authorize a one-man op to neutralize one member if it meant another would just take his place.
Josefina waved away the concern, however. "They're small fries for the most part. This guy's the big fish. Plus, the power vacuum would mean infighting, which the guys at Liverpool can use to launch a strike to annex the place."
Xeno nodded, satisfied—for now. It was a good idea, and having Josefina undertake the mission, while risky, would also mean less stress on his already stressed resources. Harry might not like the risk she was taking, but as far as Xeno was concerned, Josefina was his soldier now, and he deemed her ready for this task.
Xeno folded Josefina's list and tucked it into his inner suit pocket. "Permission granted," he told her as he stood up. With a flick of his wrist, his wand shot into his hand and with another flick, the scotch bottle flew back into his carry-on. "Determine if a mage is responsible for our troubles here, and then report to me first," he stressed the last word, knowing Josefina could just as easily interpret his orders differently if he didn't say it outright. "If there is a mage, I'll authorize the take-down, with back-up," he added quickly, having noticed her growing grin. Almost immediately, it became a frown.
"You don't think I can take down a mage?" she asked, sounding a little offended.
Xeno sighed. He knew she could—heck, she scored better than her entire class when it came down to mage take-downs, a fact he chalked up to having lived with one for a year. "I do think you can," he reassured her. "But if there is a mage around, I want there to be back-up on hand in case they have their own."
Josefina frowned at that, but nodded eventually—albeit reluctantly. "Fine. I guess that's fair," she conceded.
Xeno sighed again—this time in relief.
Leeds, United Kingdom, February 28th, 2011…
"His Majesty, the King!"
With a chorus of shoes hitting concrete, the twenty thousand persons crammed into Ellan Road Stadium stood from their seat as the King of the United Kingdom was wheeled onto the platform in the middle of the field. It would have been a pathetic display, were it not for the fact that the king's expression was every bit as proud as his ancestors had been. Add to that the presence of his Guardian, Harry Potter (or Francis White, depending on one's preference) and several other high-ranking members of both the civil administration and the military administration, and no one had even half a mind to laugh at the sight of the monarch being wheeled into position in front of the microphone.
"Please sit," the monarch spoke calmly, his tone solemn. With the immediate effect of a military order, there was a chorus of noise as everyone retook their seats, with the exception of the men and women who stood at the king's back.
"Firstly," the monarch began, "We would like to welcome you all to this historic event," he said with a proud smile. "For the first time in the recent history of our great nation, we will be holding mass entrance examinations for the civil service in order to better deal with the tragic circumstances in which our country finds itself," he announced.
"To work in the civil service is to give oneself to duty," the king reminded his audience. "To do one's duty is to serve the state. To serve the state is to protect the people's wellbeing—this is the code of the civil servant, and one We expect each and every one of you to comply with should you pass the examinations."
Harry nodded along as the king gave his speech, having already read it beforehand. Nonetheless, he was quite impressed by the crippled man's ability to speak, as his diction and tone control was quite refined. A glance at his sides told him his fellow administration colleagues were also suitably impressed, and the lack of any signals from the legion of examiners spread throughout the stadium to prevent cheating told him they at least had the audience's attention, for now.
"You will be tested on every subject matter your desired position will deal with," the king continued. "Public Works will deal with engineering; the Foreign Office, International Relations; Business, with commerce. Let Us remind you again that this will be a challenge for you to prove yourselves worthy—those who do not succeed, will not be approached for a position. We do not have the luxury to coddle in this grave time of need."
Harry nodded somewhat more firmly at this assertion. With reconstruction occurring throughout the north, it had become apparent—mostly through a report presented by Sirius, but apparently prepared by Luna—that the administration in the north was woefully deficient, due in part to the collapse of authority that had followed the attacks in London. It wasn't that the old system didn't work—it had for decades, if not centuries. Rather, it was just that the new circumstances demanded a new form of doing things—one better suited for the resources and situation they were currently in.
Thus, adopting Luna's recommendations following a vote of the Royal Council, each locality of the northern territories implemented the mass entrance exams for the civil service, so as to immediately fill the necessary bureaucratic positions with competent workers. Perhaps at a later date they would loosen regulations a bit, but for now this was the necessary path to take.
"And now, to present the details of the exam, I would like to introduce to you the new Minister for the Civil Service, Sir Michael White," the king finished before getting wheeled out of the way and clapping along with the stadium audience.
From his position on the other end of the row of officials behind the king, Harry watched as Sirius stepped forward and went to give the king a handshake in gratitude. His appointment as head of the civil service had come no more than three days ago, when the order of the day for the Royal Council had been to begin filling the various ministerial positions that were urgently needed. Joshua, as Minister for the Masses, had been the first to be appointed—way back in January. That had been necessary to control the flow of information. Now, as reconstruction was in full swing, a head of the bureaucracy was needed, and Sirius fit the bill.
Originally a post equated with the office of the Prime Minister, the Royal Council's existence eliminated the need for such an figure, thereby limiting Sirius' ministerial powers to the civil service alone. That was fine with the man, as the task of rebuilding and reorganizing the civil service would be a singularly difficult task to begin with.
As Sirius began to speak, Harry sighed as he prepared himself for an even longer speech.
Man…he'd never thought he'd miss the battlefield.
Northumberland, United Kingdom, March 3rd, 2011…
"A little more to the left!"
Neville nodded as he kept his wand pointed up and directed a large block of construction material into position, easing it into its groove delicately—or, at least, as delicately as he could.
"Perfect!" he heard the foreman call out from atop the budding wall.
Letting go of the block with his magic, Neville let out a tired breath he hadn't known he was keeping in. Wiping the sweat from his brow, he took a deep breath and stretched his arms—the action managing to let out some of the painful tension he'd been feeling from so much work.
"No, no, no! Your right, not mine!" he heard another foreman cry out, making Neville sigh. He glanced to his left and saw that one of his mages was having trouble following directions—though he could also see that the foreman wasn't exactly being very helpful.
Shaking his head, Neville refocused on the wall before him. It was one of the many, many projects the Royal Council had decreed into being. This one, codenamed Project Babylon, was supposed to be a modern reconstruction of Hadrian's Wall—effectively sealing off Scotland from the English territories. The order had been passed down the moment it became clear the Ministry of Magic was on its last gasp, effectively meaning that Scotland was lost to the mages of either the Order of the Phoenix or the Death Eaters.
Unwilling to allow either faction easy access into England, the Royal Council had decreed the construction of what many were calling Hadrian's Wall 2.0, and to ensure its speedy construction, Harry, Speirs, and Curtis had enlisted any mages not currently working on projects in the north to help out.
It was quite the experience for Neville, who was used to fighting, fighting, and more fighting. For once in his adult life, his biggest enemy wasn't a rogue mage or enemy soldiers, or even militia—it was the dreary routine of getting up early, punching in, doing manual labour, punching out, and going to sleep—rinse and repeat.
He'd been among the many who protested their assignment to the construction project—his own particular worry being that he'd become weaker if his training time and operational status was cut down.
That had earned the protesting mages a personal visit from the Military Triad—Speirs, Curtis, and Harry himself.
Neville could still remember that day.
The protesting mages had been gathered at the parade grounds of Liverpool and made to wait until all three high officials of the military had arrived. Speirs was first, and by the look on his face, he was quite displeased at having to even deal with this sort of situation.
Curtis was next, and she looked downright pissed.
When Harry arrived, however, every mage in the parade grounds knew they were in trouble from the absolutely blank expression on his face. His vivid emerald eyes bore a hole in each and every dissenting mage, including Neville's. He hadn't needed to say a word to any of them for all of them to know he was beyond furious at them.
He'd Apparated in—not an oddity in itself, since he had to travel a lot now that the army was on down time—right in front of them, his hands already clasped behind his back and his blue-and-silver military mage uniform impeccable. His jaw was set, and his stance wide and imposing as he stood before his mages—and he considered them his, for he had been their founder.
"I am to understand," he'd said, "that you all find the orders of the Royal Council to assist in Project Babylon to be beneath your abilities."
No one had dared to say a single word—it would have been suicide. Even though he didn't even sound angry, there was no mistaking the clipped way he talked.
"The first soldier," Harry began, "was a farmer."
Everyone in the crowd of dissenting mages had been utterly confused by the non sequitur. Most had expected him to yell at them until he was hoarse, followed by disciplinary measures that would make them regret the day they crossed him. Even Neville had no idea what to make of the speech.
"A man who grew food, but was called to fight others with the very same tools he used to cultivate the land," Harry continued, never even moving from his spot, his eyes still judging each and every dissenting mage. "And so he did, and so he became a soldier. But when the fighting stopped, he did not remain so—he returned to farming."
"We are all weapons," Harry then said. "Each and every one of you, as well as myself and your comrades who are already helping the north rebuild itself after this horrendous period of anarchy, have the ability to cause such devastation that the world would recoil in horror a thousand times over," he reminded them. "But that is not all we are."
He unclasped his hands and brought up both fists. "With these hands, I could kill every man, woman, and child in this city," he stated, and everyone knew that to be true. While he wasn't at the front lines anymore, there was no doubt that Harry remained a very powerful mage. "But I can also make their lives easier. I can build, repair, heal, and grow. Am I less of a warrior for doing so? Am I any less dangerous? No," he stated. "I would simply be choosing to honour the people whose lives I protect when I fight in another way—the way of nurture, of growth."
"We mages have brought much devastation to the world," Harry had reminded them. "And there are many who hate us for what we have done—myself in particular," he added, having no illusions that he wasn't still hated in some parts of Spain. "And so, we must prove to them that we are not mindless weapons of mass destruction—that we can and will help out like any decent human being would following a devastating war."
"But what is it that separates us from normal mages, you ask? Why not have those of us who do not choose to be soldiers perform these mundane tasks?" he had asked then, uncurling his fists. Within moments, both hands were glowing with power. "The very same thing that separates us from them—magnitude."
Without a word, the broken stonework underneath the feet of every mage began repairing itself, as well as the façade of every building in the immediate vicinity. Broken windows, broken tiles, broken bricks…everything put itself slowly back together under the power of Harry's unspoken, wandless spell. Many of the mages jumped in surprise as they felt the ground shift beneath them, only to realize that it was simply repairing itself.
"Magnitude—it is what makes us military mages," he'd reminded his subordinates. "Where a mage uses a spell to lift a feather, we lift a tank. Where a mage lights a candle, we burn a city block to the ground," he added. "You have all been trained to become mages of a magnitude of power higher than the average mage. That is why you are required—because with your skills, we can rebuild our homes faster by several orders of magnitude."
After such a display of magic, no one had dared defy the order anymore.
Of course, Neville knew better than to think of Harry as some sort of God of Magic. Having sparred against the de facto head of the Northern government and military, Neville knew that he was on par with him, if perhaps slightly beneath him. That wasn't to say Harry wasn't strong—the average mage would easily lose to the General of the North without him breaking a sweat—but rather that, as strong as he was, he wasn't the strongest by far. However, that was purely going by raw magical power. Harry had another weapon at his disposal that Neville felt put him on a level far above the rest.
His mind.
It was easy to forget that Harry hadn't grown up being taught at Hogwarts; yet, the way he weaved his magic spoke for itself. Developed in the midst of war, his magical talent was almost completely destruction-oriented, and his instincts had been honed by his experiences on the battlefield. Furthermore, what Harry lacked in raw firepower (ironic, considering his infamy for his liberal use of Fiendfyre), he more than made up in battle tactics and strategy. Whenever Neville had thought he'd had the General in his grasp, Harry would initiate a plan that would completely reverse their positions, even if Neville had more magic at his disposal by then. Combine that with almost perfect control of his magic, and the General of the North was a truly horrific opponent to go up against.
In the end, there was simply no way to beat Harry's battlefield experience, other than gaining some of his own.
Unfortunately, it wasn't as though he could just go out and pick a fight with a hostile nation. Even with relations between the world's nations at their worst since…well…ever, all of them had their own issues to deal with, thereby pretty much guaranteeing that there wouldn't be mass conflicts the likes of the Anglo-Spanish War in a while. Even the French, who seemed constantly poised to declare war on the United Kingdom, had their own insurrections to deal with.
"Oi, Wenshi!" his assigned foreman was shouting at him, breaking Neville out of his reverie. "You done playing in la-la-land? We got work to do!"
"Yeah, Yeah," Neville grumbled, suddenly very aware of how sticky his clothing was from the sweat—even though it was March. On a whim, he decided to take off his shirt, revealing his well toned physique, and applied a small warming charm on himself to avoid going down from hypothermia when the cold really did kick in.
Stretching his arms, he gazed at the stack of blocks he was supposed to lift and seal into the budding wall. The sheer amount made him want to groan lazily, but in the end, he did have work to do—and respect to recover from those of his colleagues who'd heard of his initial dissent.
Neville sighed before lifting his wand towards the stack of blocks. There was nothing for it.
"Wingardium Leviosa!"
Liverpool, United Kingdom, March 30th, 2011…
It had finally happened.
The Ministry of Magic, now based in Inverness, had collapsed.
It hadn't been a surprise to anyone, of course—the writing had been on the wall for quite some time, and its collapse didn't exactly mean absolute anarchy. Instead, its holdings had pretty much become split between the Order of the Phoenix and the Death Eaters, both of which had held infiltrated the Ministry in an effort to control it from the shadows.
The former Minister, Scrimgeour, had managed to flee the Ministry in time before it was overrun by both forces, finally ending up in the care of the Order of the Phoenix. The Death Eaters, under the ostensible leadership of Lucius Malfoy and Bellatrix Lestrange, were able to swallow up most of the Ministry's assets, though the Order was able to secure quite a bit of land for themselves as well.
Either way, Scotland was well and truly lost.
Not that it mattered to William, as he stood waiting at the Liverpool John Lennon Airport's Arrivals terminal. The situation in Scotland had long ago been predicted, and the appropriate countermeasures had been enabled to deal with the anarchy up north. One of those, he heard, was nearing completion, as Project Babylon was finally in its third stage of construction—meaning less than a tenth of it remained to be built. From the briefings at the Royal Council, he even knew that round-the-clock garrisons were already manning those parts that were already finished.
As far as the Royal Council was concerned, however, the biggest threat was not the mages' civil war, but rather the Chiefs of Staff—still. Even though the king's presence in Liverpool all but enforced a tenuous truce between the north and south, it hadn't stopped the two camps from slowly swallowing up the rest of the non-aligned regions of the United Kingdom.
The first to fall before the power of the North had been Northern Wales, whose separatist faction had declared independence. Under the banner of putting down a rebellion, a force under Speirs had been dispatched to retake the rebel regions—a feat the general performed admirably and with impressive speed, managing to put down the rebellion in less than a month.
Curtis, the third member of the military triad, hadn't been idle, however. With Project Babylon already partially finished, she had taken command of the northern frontier, playing guardswoman against any mage incursions. Of course, she had also been Babylon's greatest vocal opponent, having vocalized the one question that did seem to slip everyone's mind when they first envisioned the project.
How does a wall stop a mage from Apparating or Portkeying to the other side?
It was a question that Harry had solved—though with considerable help from Elicia and a small army of magical theorists. The details of the Apparating/Portkeying Countermeasures were classified above top secret, of course, given that any leaks of such information would mean a massive breach in the national defences.
They still hadn't quite gotten around the problem of waypoint-Apparation/Portkeying, though. However, the same team that had developed the Babylon defences assured the Royal Council that they were hard at work in fixing this breach.
So it was that every member of the Council was up to their eyeballs in work—Sirius with the Civil Service, Joshua with controlling the flow of information, Harry overseeing the southern defences and construction projects, Speirs pacifying the Welsh regions, and Curtis overseeing the northern border.
William, however, had a task different from the others, though no less important. Effectively, he was the government's liaison with the Goblins—officially so, now that the Goblins had left London and re-established themselves in Manchester. However, he was also the government's liaison with every ally they had—thus why he was now waiting in an airport.
These arriving allies had been in the shadows for a long time, keeping their presence minimal but their contributions generous. In fact, in a way, William doubted that Harry's little revolution could have ever come into being without this group of allies.
One reason for this was that they were not, as opposed to the Goblins, in the United Kingdom. Sure, Gringotts had branches elsewhere in the world, but their charter as a bank effectively limited their ability to act on Harry's behalf without severely undercutting their clientele numbers. This group of allies, however, had no such problems.
Thus, they moved from country to country, fanning the flames of discord between the local mage population and the non-magical citizenry. It wasn't the most pleasant of jobs, but it was the most critical. Thanks to their efforts, William and the rest had been able to move the pieces in the British Isles without foreign interference. The French were too occupied with their paranoid fear of the Germans and the mage insurrections. The Germans had to deal with violent mage uprisings and French aggression. Spain was only just beginning to rebuild from the devastating war. Italy and Switzerland, caught between the two major continental players, were frozen and bunkered down, refusing to do anything that would upset the status quo. Russia was still a mess following the fall of the Soviet Union, and with the accusations levelled at the new democratic government of being under mage control, discord was rife.
Europe was at its lowest point in history, barring perhaps only the medieval ages.
And that's where Harry wanted it.
That was why William himself had to greet these allies—these fine people who had managed to solidify the effects of Harry's great reveal of magic. No one else had been available to do it—not even Xenophilius.
Of course, there was another reason for him to be here at the airport, waiting on these allies. After all, he could have just greeted them at his office, where it anyone else.
As the terminal doors slid open and let out the arriving passengers from Customs, William immediately caught sight of his awaited guests and, on instinct, bowed his head slightly in both greeting and humility, his hand reflexively curling into a fist and bringing it up to his heart.
His allies, seeing his greeting, smiled exasperatedly, thinking him far too formal for this reunion.
"Father, mother, sister," he greeted with the same solemnity of his head bow, straightening up immediately thereafter. "Welcome home."
Post-AN: Yeah, yeah, I know. Where's the fighting at? Where's the action? Well, not every single second of a conqueror's life is dominated by war. They also have to build their country, and create a stable base from which to launch future conquests.
Anyway, as previously stated above, this is just part 1 of the whole interlude-y theme of this chapter. At the very least, I hope you all enjoy knowing that the Potters are finally back together again.