A/N: As usual, review responses for Chap 10 can be found in my forums. Thanks for reading.
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Chapter Eleven: 1st September
Hermione Granger stood at the window of her first floor bedroom, staring out across the grounds of the manor that had been both haven and prison for the past summer. On the far side of the field, near a rain-soaked copse of trees across the road, she saw a school bus flashing its lights as a small line of children waited to board.
It was the1st of September, and Hermione should have been on a train bound for Scotland.
She did not bother to wipe away the lone tear that ran down her cheek. She was not ever going to Hogwarts again, not according to the editions of the Daily Prophet that Justine's father smuggled in. According to the paper, the Ministry of Magic had convicted her in absentia for violating the Statute of Secrecy and for murder, and found her guilty. It didn't matter that Hermione cast a stunning spell at a man who was about to stab her best friend in the back; or that Sir Marcus had an entire team of tactical agents from MI5 attack and kill the wizard. All that mattered was that she gave the Ministry, and the Sabbat behind it, the excuse they were looking for to begin with.
Part of her wanted to blame Harry, but she knew it was not his fault, not really. Granted, it was all because of him, but it was not his fault. No more than her expulsion from Hogwarts was her fault.
"The Express should be leaving now," a young woman said.
Hermione, rubbing her shoulders against the sudden chill in the air, nodded. "It was always very punctual. I have to say that about it. I wonder what Harry is doing right now."
"Who is Harry?"
Brows furrowed, Hermione turned to ask Justine what she meant, only to freeze and stumble backward in shock.
A ghost stood next to her, staring at her with the blank expression common to the dead. "Hello," the ghost said.
Hermione stammered before gathering her courage and climbing back to her feet. "Hello, you gave me a fright."
"I'm sorry. I'm new to being a ghost."
"Oh, when did you die?"
The ghost was of a woman only a few years older than Hermione, with features too broad and blunt to be called attractive. "I don't know," the woman admitted. "What is the date?"
"1st of September."
"What time?"
Hermione consulted the clock by her bed. "Eight in the morning."
The ghost nodded and looked back out the window. "I've only been dead for a few hours, then. How odd, it feels as if it has been forever."
Hermione stepped closer and rubbed her arms against a chill that was not just being in the presence of the dead. "What's your name?"
"Sandra Shatley."
"Sandra…how did you die?"
The ghost looked at Hermione, and the hair stood up on her neck. The spirit loomed closer, her face warping into rage. "You did it!"
Hermione stepped back again. "I didn't! I've never seen you!"
"Nor did you help me," Sandra said, eyes blazing with cold, dead anger. "I screamed and screamed for help. The man with the cold eyes didn't care, and they…did…things to me. For days, they did things to me, until finally Morgana gave me release and I died. And it happened …right…here!"
Hermione's stomach clenched and her knees trembled. "Here?"
"Below this very manor! I chose to linger, so I could warn others. There's already another witch there, and they're torturing her just like they tortured me! And it's your fault! You're a witch. You owe it to your own kind to save us! It's your fault!" The last was roared out, and suddenly the ghost of Sandra Shatley flew through Hermione and disappeared, leaving her chilled to the bone.
When Hermione caught her breath, she ran over to her desk and grabbed the thick OWLs preparation guide before going to look for Justine. She finally found her friend in her own room on the second floor, lying on her bed with her hands over her face. Hermione didn't even bother knocking as she burst in.
"Go away," a thick-voiced Justine said. She too was grieving over her expulsion from Hogwarts.
"I need help," Hermione whispered urgently. "Do you remember the extra-credit questions in the Defence Against the Dark Arts OWL?"
"There were a hundred extra credit questions, Hermione," Justine moaned, "and I didn't memorize them all, unlike some people."
"Justine!" Hermione shouted. "Help me!"
Justine sat up and rubbed at her red eyes. "What is your problem?"
Hermione leaned down until her nose was almost to Justine's and whispered, "I just saw a ghost."
"So?"
"A ghost of a witch not much older than I am … who died in this house … hours ago!"
Justine stared for a second before her eyes widened, her cheeks paled, and she whispered, "No. He wouldn't, Hermione. He promised. He wouldn't."
"We need to know," Hermione said softly. She sat beside her friend, put an arm around her shoulder, and said, "We have to know for sure. Justine, the ghost said she wasn't the first, and she said there's another witch down there right now. We have to do something."
"But what?"
"Question fifty six is the disillusionment charm," Hermione said. "We need to learn it, now."
Learn they did—but it took the better part of two hours of constant practise before Justine disappeared entirely, while Hermione mastered hers after only an hour. Still, they felt confident enough to plan for that night.
~~Firebird~~
~~Firebird~~
As midnight rang from the church clock tower in St. Buryan to close the first day of September, a sudden blue fire burst to life in the centre of a ring of nineteen stones in Cornwall. Moments after the fire, dark-clad figures appeared in front of each stone. Two larger stones standing at a distance also had figures appear, though they stayed away from the circle of nineteen stones and nineteen figures. They represented the lesser covens of the Sabbat and voted only if there was a hung vote.
Each figure turned and tapped a wand against the stone, causing the stone to flash with white light. The figure at the north stone stepped toward the blue flame and in a voice that rang over the field, said, "The stones are wakened, the wards are set. The Sabbat is called."
With that, the figure pulled back her cowl to reveal the face of Minerva McGonagall. The other witches did the same, walking toward the centre of the circle where elves brought stone benches that appeared from thin air for the circle of women to sit. Within the powerful wards, the air was as comfortable as if they were in the Ministry itself.
"Well," McGonagall said dryly, "I suspect we are going to take up the same discussion we've had for the past month, and I'm sure that you, Dame Delia, wish to start."
"I've said my piece," the Dame of the Griffin Coven said. "The Potter boy defied the Covens and bonded a proscribed, infertile witch. To make matters worse, he then left the country without permission and travelled to the Western Confederation of America in clear violation of International and British law. Additionally, he fired curses upon officials of our allies in the Eastern Confederation. His Muggleborn friends committed murder, and are hiding behind obviously illegal wards of some kind. It is a conspiracy to destabilize the covens, and there is no other recourse but death."
"And I have already pointed out that this body, at no point, decreed that Potter could not bond with the Lovegood girl," Branwenna Lloyd, granddaughter of the recently passed Branwenn Lloyd, said. "There are no rules, nor even customs, that would prevent a proscribed girl from bonding. The Coven let it be known to the witches at large that we desired him bonded with a pureblood witch. And truth be told, he did marry a pureblood witch, whatever else may be true about her. The Lovegood line can trace itself back to the Oracles of Delphi. The fact that some members of this circle do not like his choice is, as far as the Lloyd Coven is concerned, irrelevant. As for his Muggleborn friends, we all know that Janush was a Death Eater. Dame Elezeta had him so bonded he was barely above a squib. I have no doubt the Muggleborn girl was merely defending herself. That IS the custom of the Sabbat. Anyone wielding a wand may defend themselves, even against the wishes of the Coven itself."
"None of that changes the fact that Potter travelled to the American West!" Dame Delia said hotly. "The boy has consorted with enemies of the Covens the world over!"
The circle chimed loudly. Minerva, First Dame, raised her head. "The Chief Warlock begs permission to address the Sabbat. What say you?"
It was an ordinary vote—many times wizards had to speak to the Sabbat, just as many times Dames addressed the Wizengamot. Once permission was granted and the wards opened, Albus Dumbledore walked into the circle of witches in his best lavender robes.
"Ladies," he said with that ever present twinkle in his eyes. "Thank you for letting me in. I see the discussion is still on-going."
"Any news, Albus?" Minerva said.
"Yes, in fact," the Headmaster said. "The ICW allowed me to open talks with the Dark Lord Morgan Murchison regarding the Potter boy, and the talks were surprisingly productive. The WCA Senate was not comfortable with how Harry was smuggled into their lands."
Half the witches in the Sabbat stood. "What?" Dame Delia demanded. "What do you mean, 'smuggled'?"
"According to Murchison," Dumbledore said, "the Apostate Ollivander felt he owed Potter a life debt. Given how very strongly the Western Americans feel about forced bonding—equating it to rape—he felt driven to bring the boy to safety. However, he did not have Murchison's or the Senate's approval to do so. They were unprepared for the political ramifications. They have offered to return the Potters, but have made some demands which must be met if they are to do so."
Opposite Dame Minerva, Dame Dolores Umbridge coughed. "Ahem! What, Chief Warlock, makes those barbarians think they have the right to demand anything of us?"
Around her, the dark and traditionalist Dames voiced their agreement to the statement.
Dumbledore's old blue eyes sparkled with magic. "Quite simply put, Dame Dolores, they have Harry Potter, and we want him back."
"Then we should take him back by force!" Dame Dolores said, again to the vocal support of her followers.
"Our allies attempted to intercept him, Dame Dolores, and lost their best team of hit-witches in the process," Dumbledore said with a touch of regret in his artfully modulated voice. "They then launched a full scale attack to retrieve him, only to be severely routed with heavy loss of life. In fact, the last four engagements the Eastern Confederation enacted against their western counterparts, they have lost resoundingly, as have their allies from Mexico and Canada. They are also seeing a greater number of illegal immigrants leaving their own lands for the Western Confederation. To be blunt—we don't have the wands to take him back by force, and further attempts may only strengthen Murchison's resolve."
"What is it that the Dark Lord is demanding, Chief Warlock?" Minerva asked, hoping to derail yet another endless and unnecessary debate.
"A declaration from the Sabbat and Wizengamot that Harry Potter will not be harmed for his unwilling presence in the Americas; and that his bond with Luna Lovegood will be given the Sabbat's sanction."
"I for one find this very convenient and pat," Dame Dolores said. "We all know very well why Ollivander is apostate. What guarantees do we have that Potter has not been infected with his brand of insanity?"
"Potter and his young bride are to be Obliviated of all their memories of the Americas," Dumbledore said. "Murchison insisted on that for his own country's security."
Dame Delia stood. "Thank you, Chief Warlock. This was a lot of information that we will need to discuss at length before we can arrive at a decision. We will alert the Wizengamot of our wishes."
Dumbledore bowed to her, and then to Minerva. "Thank you, and good night."
He turned and walked out of the circle, and when he was beyond the wards, disappeared with a pop.
~~Firebird~~
~~Firebird~~
As Dumbledore left the Sabbat circle, on the other side of the kingdom two disillusioned witches left pillows shaped roughly like bodies in their beds and made their way down the stairs to the ground floor, casting silencing charms to mask any stray creaks from the old steps. In fact, they only knew of each other's presence by pre-determined clues, such as opening one of Hermione's mum's romance novels.
When they finally found each other, they clasped hands not just for moral support, but to help make sure they knew where the other was, and headed for the door to the wine cellar. When they arrived, they realized their first problem—the door was gone entirely, replaced by wood panelling that looked as if it had been there forever. The two girls were already at a loss when the panelling clicked, and Samuel Watterson stepped out of the door followed by another man in a black three-piece suit.
"…in Middlesbrough."
"I'm on it," the other man said. "Same protocol?"
Watterson nodded. Hermione and Justine, still disillusioned and silenced, slipped to the side of the narrow passage for the two men to leave, and rushed forward to catch the hidden door before it closed all the way. The stairs were brightly lit with large cameras moving back and forth to completely cover the area at all times. Hanging from the ceiling were two large black half-orbs, each of them sporting twin barrels.
Hermione felt a thrill of fear run down her spine but said nothing as she tugged gently at Justine's hand and led the way down toward the next barrier. Before they reached it, however, they heard a click from above, followed by footsteps. Hermione let go of Justine's hand and flattened herself against one wall.
Watterson came back into view around the bend of the stairs with a card in his hand. He swiped it on an electric reader and then pushed the heavy steel door open. Hermione ghosted in right behind him, and felt, as much as guessed, that Justine came in right behind her.
Both witches stopped just beyond the threshold, stunned by what they saw.
When they arrived at the Manor during those first terrifying days in June, right after the bombing in the tournament and the assassination attempt on them, the girls had explored every inch of the lavish but mostly unfurnished manor. They remembered the wine cellar as a low ceilinged room with a few dingy, spider web crusted light-bulbs that little to illuminate the large space.
Now, everything was brilliantly illuminated by lengths of fluorescent lightning. Brick walls were now covered with odd, white plastic panels spliced together at four foot intervals. The area they emerged in was lined with computers and video monitors, at least four stations judging by the chairs. Dividing the space was a large wall of what at first looked like thick glass, enclosing an area almost as large as Hermione's bedroom.
Inside the glass-enclosed space were more white panels covering the walls, a long, low shelf on the far wall filled with sinister-looking tools, and two metal tables that looked a great deal like autopsy tables. On one of the tables, her chest cut open in a sacrilege of flesh, laid Sandra Shatley. Worse yet, her ghost stood right next to the profaned body, staring down sadly.
In the next table lay another woman, clearly a witch from the gleam of her eyes, staring at the ghost with tears running down her cheeks. Hermione could not hear what she was saying, but from the shape her lips were making, the other witch was telling the ghost she was sorry.
The surviving witch was still young for a witch-born, in her mid-thirties. Like Sandra, she was not overly attractive but thin and well-built. Hermione could see this clearly, since the witch was stripped down naked, with her wrists and ankles secured to the table. Blood trickled down her inner thighs, and her skin was mottled with various bruises and wounds.
"Did you get the eggs?"
Hermione tried not to jump at the shockingly loud voice. She turned and saw Watterson talking to a tall, balding man with a long, low face.
"I did, that makes samples from three subjects of various ages," the man said. He wore a white lab coat with a horrible pink neck tie. "Initial analysis confirms your anecdotal documentation regarding compatibility with humans. The organic radiation these beings emit has an astonishing effect on their genetic structure. It actually realigns their genome over time, producing a being that is no longer truly human. It's almost like living, breathing genetic engineering of a type I could never imagine."
"So, young witches can breed with humans, but not older ones?" Watterson asked.
"Exactly. I truly wish Sir Marcus would let us take a sampling from the two witches in residence! If my theory is correct, they would be almost completely human, save for the specialized stem cells in their marrow. I would love to analyse some of their eggs."
"Standing orders are to keep Sir Justin's girl out of it, but the other witch might be an option. Depends on how much Granger continues to push him or not. When are we scheduled to test the microwave weapon on the living witch?"
"Tomorrow night," the scientist said. "We are attempting to minimize the noise despite the sound muffling panels. Do we have another subject lined up?"
"Donna Whitehead of Weathersby."
"How old?"
"Nineteen."
The scientist grinned. "Excellent! Any chance of getting a male subject?"
"Not at present," Watterson said. "They protect the males like treasure. However, if we ever get Potter back, we might be able to at least get a semen sample."
The scientist nodded excitedly before he dismissed Watterson to make an entry into the computer. Watterson took one last look at the naked, living woman spread-eagled so cruelly on the table and shook his head. "Bloody witches," he muttered.
He turned and walked out of the lab, and Hermione could feel Justine right on her heels as they followed him out of the secured lab. He continued all the way out of the cellar and finally, out of the manor entirely through the servant's door. Hermione went back to her room, and only when she was under the canopy did she end the disillusionment spell.
Justine appeared right in front of her—the tall Hufflepuff's face was blotchy with tears. "Oh Morgana, Hermione, what do we do?"
Hermione shook her head. "Anything we do will get your parents hurt, Justine, and maybe us too."
Justine lunged forward, wrapping Hermione in a desperate hug. "You heard him, Hermione. That's going to happen to you, too, eventually."
Hermione returned the hug as Justine began to sob uncontrollably into her shoulders. In a grief-thick voice, Justine said, "I just can't believe it. Mummy and Daddy were always so good to me. He never hit me, never treated me badly. He didn't seem to mind that I was a witch. I just don't understand, what happened to him?"
Hermione, though, remembered the look in the man's eyes after he saved them from the assassin when school let out. It wasn't concern for his daughter and her friend; it was a cold rage and a determination to fight. "I think he's so mad at the magical world for threatening you, he doesn't care who he hurts anymore," she finally said. "I think he does love you, but…but he's willing to do anything to win. It's just like Luna said."
Justine leaned back, conjured a tissue, and thoroughly blew her nose. "I can't let him kill anyone else, Hermione. I don't care if he's my father or not. I love him, but I just can't sit back and let him hurt other people. He's already killed two witches no different than us. But I just… if we go into the magical world, they'll kill us before we can help."
Hermione conjured her own tissue and wiped her equally teary eyes. "Maybe. But Justine, this is a greater threat than just to us. Your father…he's threatening all witch-born. Did you see what they were doing? Lethal tests? Microwaves? They're trying to find better ways to kill us. To kill us, Justine. All witch-born. If we go to the Ministry, they…I don't know. I'm not even sure how to contact them."
"Susan's aunt is the director of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement," Justine suddenly said. "Amelia Bones. Wasn't she even Harry's magical guardian? Maybe we could find her."
"But how?"
Justine, though, suddenly turned and stared out Hermione's window. Hermione herself turned, and stared, dumbfounded, at the large snowy white owl perched on the edge of the windowsill. "Harry's owl?" Hermione whispered. "But…Harry said they left her with Luna's father. Why is she here?"
"Who knows?" Justine said. "Maybe she's been waiting for someone who needed her?"
The two witches shared a long, knowing look. "We definitely need her," Hermione finally said.
"Deus ex machina and all that."
Justine snorted. "Definitely authorial fiat."
The two girls laughed hysterically even as they cried, releasing unbearable tension. Hermione finally recovered enough to stand and let Hedwig into the room.
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Author's Note: Very special thanks as always to Teufel1987, JR and Miles for beta reading. If there are any major faux-pas, they are entirely of my own doing.
