Summary: All is seemingly well in Wizarding Britain as the last aftershocks of the War against the Dark Lord fade away, but a series of murders lead ace Auror Daphne Greengrass to a threat that may throw her world yet again into imbalance.
Chapter 14: The Fate of Marcus Flint
The sun was starting to set when Madam Bones and Daphne apparated to a small Muggle town not far from the Bridge of Menai. The west sky was flushed crimson and towards the east, the first stars of the night were starting to appear. Their journey was westwards though, towards the dying light. A cool breeze blew behind them, towards Ynys Mon.
The Muggle town had shaken the effects of the Ministry's wardmaster's spells and was winding down for the evening. Its inhabitants were out in force, enjoying what was left of their shorter-than-usual day and the good weather. After the sweltering heat of the morning, it was a pleasant change.
Madam Bones huffed to keep up with Daphne. Most wizards and witches didn't take particularly good care of their bodies, choosing instead to rely on spells and potions to reverse the ill effects of their lifestyles on their bodies. Daphne, however, was very particular about her fitness.
It was really a matter of attitude, she thought. Most wizards believed that magic was innate to their bodies, so they trusted magic to take care of their bodies. A small minority believed that humans weren't born with magic, but magic was gifted to them. Daphne didn't care either way. She had observed significant improvements to her spellcasting ability and her stamina in duels at the Auror Academy because of the mandatory fitness regimen. After graduating, she had kept up the routine where most of her classmates had stopped sooner or later, and the results had showed.
They crossed the bridge on the footpath the Muggles had made for walking. Daphne tried not to jump every time a Muggle vehicle passed her; she had been exposed to them during her various cases, but there was little that unnerved her as much as the Muggle automobile.
"Where to now?" asked Madam Bones as they stepped onto Ynys Mon. It was exactly an hour since they had left Turpin, and in the distance Daphne saw the sun hit the horizon.
"Follow me."
They started to hear the voice, the voice of a witch who had disappeared long ago from Magical Britain.
"Hermione Granger," Daphne said.
"Daphne Greengrass," answered Granger primly. She was dressed in a hooded white robe unlike any other wizarding robe Daphne had seen. When she made eye contact, Daphne saw a power blazing in her eyes that made her wish very strongly that she was anywhere in the world but Ynys Mon. A quick glance at Madam Bones revealed a fearful look on her face as well.
Granger turned around and headed towards a glade of trees, beckoning at the pair of British witches to follow her. More than once, Daphne felt the feeling of unknown Magic washing over her, but she ignored the sensations and kept her eyes firmly on Granger, who was gliding in front of them ... gliding, Daphne realized, much like a dementor. A white dementor.
They reached the glade, and as they stepped through it, the earth itself seemed to shift around them, and they found themselves standing in the middle of a medium-sized clearing. In the center of the clearing was an altar, pristine and made of gold. It was identical to the one Daphne had seen in the village square where the Muggleborns were residing. The Muggleborn Council, clad in the same white robes as Granger, stood behind the altar, and behind the Council, bound and gagged, were the forces of Magical Britain. They looked unharmed for the most part, although Daphne noticed that Ron Weasley had a giant bruise on his cheek.
"Welcome!" cried Turpin in a voice that made Daphne feel not welcome at all. "As you can see, here are your wizards and witches. Now the parchment, please?"
Daphne glanced at Madam Bones, who nodded encouragingly at her. The parchment flew out of her robes and into Turpin's outstretched hand. Turpin broke the seal, unfurled the parchment, and read it loud.
"The Ministry of Magic of Great Britain (Ministry) recognizes and affirms the right of the Council of Ynys Mon (Council) to govern the Isle of Ynys Mon within the jurisdiction of Her Majesty, Queen Elizabeth II, Queen of this realm, pursuant to the following conditions:
"The Council shall release all witches and wizards in the employ of the Ministry to the Representatives of the Ministry bearing this scroll, and shall henceforth cease all unlawful actions in lands under the Jurisdiction of the Ministry.
"At the next session of the International Council of Wizards (ICW), the Council shall provide a delegation empowered to treat with the Ministry regarding the terms and conditions of entry and conduct of the citizens of Ynys Mon in the lands governed by the Ministry and vice versa. Until then, citizens of Ynys Mon are barred from entering the jurisdiction of the Ministry."
Silence reigned in the clearing. Daphne was startled - she had not known that the Ministry had tacked on extra conditions. Turpin, for once, seemed unsure of herself as well, and Daphne saw her sneak a glance at Granger. Granger herself was unmoved.
"We didn't authorize these extra conditions," said Turpin at last.
Madam Bones stepped forward.
"They are not for you to authorize," she said calmly. "You wanted independence, did you not? That means you are no longer citizens of Wizarding Britain ..."
"We are still subjects of Her Majesty, the Queen," cut in Finch-Fletchley.
"Perhaps you would like to bring that up to Her Majesty," shot back Madam Bones, icily. "And while you do that, pray that Her Majesty doesn't ask questions about vigilante attacks against, and the cold-blooded murder of her subjects."
Turpin opened her mouth to argue, but Granger stepped forward and laid a calming hand on her arm.
"We understand the necessity on your part, Madam Bones," she said softly. There was an edge of power in her voice as it resonated through the clearing. Daphne realized in that moment what was happening - Granger was being used as a vessel for the Magic on the island. What could they be doing? "As subjects of Her Majesty, we maintain our right to roam her country. However, as a sign of goodwill and respect, we will refrain from entering non-Muggle communities until terms can be agreed upon at the ICW meeting."
"Very well," said Madam Bones, and to the shock of the British witches, a wave of vibrant, visible magic swept through the clearing, washing over them and over the Council.
"What was that?" hissed Daphne, edging closer to Madam Bones.
"A magically binding agreement," answered Turpin. Daphne started, for Turpin was several yards away and ought not have heard her. "We will now begin the transfer of the prisoners."
Granger was standing in front of the altar, head bowed, murmuring words. The magic in the clearing surged as her murmurs grew into words - words in an unknown language - and the words grew louder into a chant. Overhead, thunder crackled and magic surged through Daphne, making her feel alive in a way she had only felt in the forest outside the village on Ynys Mon.
Another Council member - Daphne recognized her as the kindly-faced lady who had reprimanded Finch-Fletchley, stepped forward and handed Granger a pouch. Granger extracted several glass vials, each filled with a dark red substance. Uncorking each of them, she poured it over the altar, staining the beautiful gold with the colour of blood.
"It's blood of course," said Turpin cheerily. She had walked over towards Daphne and Madam Bones, looking very pleased with herself. "The blood of your prisoners. Our little ritual here will make sure none of them can ever set foot on or cast any magic against Ynys Mon again."
"That wasn't part of the agreement," said Madam Bones, looking very upset. "Involuntary blood magic is against ICW regulations!"
"Oh that's why we took care to make sure it was voluntary!" said Turpin with a huge smile on her face. "Almost all of your prisoners agreed the moment we put it forward as a condition for them ever leaving the island."
If Daphne had ever seen the look she saw now on Madam Bones' face while working under her, she would have fled the Ministry and not returned until she knew the storm was over. Hufflepuffs never dealt well with deception.
Granger had by now finished pouring out the vials, and the altar was thoroughly stained with the colour of blood.
Her incomprehensible chanting continued - except now Daphne was sure that she heard several times a familiar name.
Marcus Flint.
Finch-Fletchley dragged forward Marcus Flint, who was very tightly bound and gagged. Much more so, Daphne noticed, than the other prisoners. With shock and horror, she watched as Granger extracted Flint's right hand and placed it on the altar. With a swift motion, she chopped his hand off. Flint howled, so loud that Daphne could hear the scream despite the gag over his mouth. Blood squirted from his hand, covering the unstained parts of the altar in crimson red.
Nor was blood the only thing flowing. Daphne would sweear that she saw something else - something intangible flowing out of Flint.
"Was that part voluntary too?" asked Madam Bones through gritted teeth.
"In a manner of speaking," said Turpin grimly. "You should put some Veritaserum in old pa Flint - they aren't as bad as the Notts were, but they were quite awful. There's more than one Muggleborn they've tortured and raped who is now a citizen of Ynys Mon. Marcus was tried, and the verdict was delivered against him."
"I see," said Madam Boes icily. "And was he given counsel and tried by an impartial court?"
Turpin smiled at them benevolently.
"Is that how your Ministry conducts its affairs?" she mocked. "The Wizengamot is not known for its impartiality. For what it's worth, Flint was given counsel - precious hard as it was to find someone willing to defend him - but even that counsellor had little to work with. Flint was uncooperative, and in the end one of the wonderful things about magic is that truth potions tell the truth, is it not?"
"Did anyone else have to go through these 'trials'?" asked Daphne.
"There were three who did. Zacharias Smith has no magic any more - he will be returned with you, along with Flint," she smiled benevolently. "Ginny Weasley was also charged, but found not guilty. See Madam Bones? You'll find our justice is far more just than what your Ministry hands out."
A quick glance revealed to Daphne that Ginny Weasley was not in the group being released. She opened her mouth to say something when she was distracted by Granger casting a spell on Flint's arm. The flow of blood ceased immediately, and with it Flint's howling. He was dragged back to the prisoners by Finch-Fletchley, who then shoved a potion down his throat.
Granger now thrust her palms onto the bloody altar and cried out one final, incomprehensible sentence. Magic, visible magic flew from her into the altar, and the altar glowed, highlighting the blood it was coated in, and then disappeared. When Granger looked up again, her eyes were back to normal.
"You may take the prisoners," she called out quietly. "After they leave here, they will not be able to come to Ynys Mon again, at the expense of losing their magic."
Daphne didn't need to hear anything else. She touched her wand to the ground, and then to the length of rope she had brought, creating a portkey using her family magic. She passed it to Madam Bones, who looked uncertain until Finch-Fletchley muttered a few words and the ropes binding the prisoners' hands and feet fell off. They stepped forward, single file, heads bowed, spirits broken. All except one.
"Where's my sister, Granger?" hissed Ron Weasley, looking around.
"Go home, Weasley," said Granger in a bored voice. "Your sister will be dealt with."
They were so close being done that Daphne wasn't about to let Weasley, who was now shouting expletives at Granger, ruin their chances.
"Shut up Weasley!" she roared. Weasley did shut up, more out of shock than anything else.
"How dare you!" he spluttered. "I'm your commander, you snake, I ..."
"I am trying to save your arse," interrupted Daphne. She felt a vein in her head throbbing. "Now get your arse home and I'll discuss your sister with Granger."
Madam Bones chose that moment to thrust the end of the rope into Weasley's hands, and with a muttered password, the group of prisoners and Madam Bones disappeared with a quiet pop.
"Why wasn't the Weasley girl amongst the prisoners?" she asked, keenly aware that she was surrounded by enemies of the state. "Turpin said she was tried, but found not guilty, so she should be free to go."
Granger winced.
"She refused to take part in the ritual. We explained to her that the ritual required a certain volume of blood - volume that we were able to acquire easily from Flint."
"Why Flint?"
"He agreed to it in order to commute his life sentence," she answered. "Unfortunately, the Council has voted to not free Ginny Weasley until we are able to find a means to secure Ynys Mon against her. It may take a few weeks, but we will release her eventually as promised."
Daphne took a moment to collect her thoughts. Granger looked nervous, which meant that either Ginny Weasley was dead, or ...
"You realize the agreement was for the return of all prisoners," said Daphne quietly. Granger's eyes widened. Finch-Fletchley looked triumphant. Even Turpin's nonchalant mask faltered. That was it, then. "Very well."
She turned around, but then hesitated.
"May I have a word in private?" she asked.
"Absolutely not," shouted Finch-Fletchley. "Hermione, we're not going to let you walk away with her - for all we know, she might kidnap you!"
He was so hot-headed at times, he might as well have been a Gryffindor.
"Have you ever heard of a Privacy Ward, Finch-Fletchley?" asked Daphne dryly. Finch-Fletchley spluttered in response, but a stern glare from Granger quietened him.
She took Daphne aside and murmured a few words. Daphne thought she saw a movement beneath Granger's robes and something in the air next to them shimmered. Had Granger put up a Privacy Ward? Daphne had no way of recognizing the magic, so she kept her voice low.
"Did Harry make it to you okay?" she asked. "Oh, don't give me that look - he was my partner, I have some interest in his well-being."
"He is well," answered Granger, folding her arms. "I am keeping him in a safe place for now."
A hint of defensiveness in her manner indicated to Daphne that she should ask no more. She had debated not bringing it up in the first place, but she had wanted to know that Harry it out safely. That was one load off her mind.
Perhaps she would be able meet up with him again soon, though if hostilities with Ynys Mon continued - and she foresaw that they would continue - she didn't know how that would be possible.
"Thank you," she murmured, bringing a green stone out of her pocket. With a flourish of her wand, she created a portkey and let it take her away to the Ministry.
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The prisoners were immediately taken to St Mungo's upon arrival to the Ministry. A quick check-up by the Healers had verified that they were a little roughed up, but otherwise physically and magically fit.
All of them except for Zacharias Smith and Marcus Flint. Not even magic could regrow limbs, and even if it could, Marcus Flint didn't have enough magic left in his body to support even the slightest kinds of magical healing. He was worse off than a squib. Zacharias Smith's magic was mildly responsive. His Healer had given him a wand, and his Lumos had produced a slight flicker from the wand. The Healer was confident that with his own wand, Smith might be able to survive in the Magical world, at least, though he was barely one level above a squib.
Daphne's question about how their magic had been removed was met with grim looks from the Healers.
"It's hard to tell," said the Chief Healer at last. "Mr Flint has no magic left in his body, at all. He is a muggle for all intents and purposes. Mr Smith still has all magic in his body, but he can't seem to access anything but the barest trickle of it. It's quite odd, and all we can do is keep them in for further examination!"
He seemed quite excited at the prospect of keeping them in the hospital, and Daphne didn't want to be the one to dash his hopes and tell him that Lord Flint would be taking his son out of St Mungos before you could say Quidditch. The Flints were a notoriously private clan.
And soon, the Flints would be gone too, mused Daphne. Old man Flint wasn't getting any younger, and Marcus was his only heir. They would be gone in the way of the Notts, the Doges and the Conners - casualties of a civil war that was wiping out the few families left intact by the last war.
"Thank you," Daphne said to the Chief Healer. "Please keep me apprised of anything you discover."
"Madam Greengrass," Madam Bones interrupted them. "Is there something I can help you with?"
Daphne nodded, thoughtfully.
"Our Aurors will need new wands," she said. The Muggleborns had snapped their wands, she had been told. "Take them to Diagon Alley to get wands - have it charged to the Department's account. After that, I want them reporting to the Department in the regular staffing schedule."
"Very well," said Madam Bones.
"The rest of the patients are in a ward to themselves," said the Chief Healer. "I will take you there, Madam Bones."
He offered Madam Bones his arm, and Daphne noticed that Madam Bones turned just a little pink as she accepted it. She was about to head towards the fireplace, when she heard her name.
"Greengrass," croaked Flint.
The Healers had constructed a special hospital ward here, for Flint and Smith. Smith was still unconscious - his Lumos charm had tired him out apparently - but Flint was awake.
"Flint," she said sadly walking over to him. "I'm sorry."
"I am too," he coughed, his eyes watering. "We were daft, weren't we? Who would've thought - you and I following the Weasleys into a battle against Muggleborns."
She wanted to laugh, for he was looking at her expecting something, but her fake laugh died in her throat.
"We were," she agreed. She studied the wall behind him furiously, not wanting to look at him.
"Don't pity me, Greengrass," he said at last. "They were going to kill me, after their farce of a trial. Granger came to me and offered me a way out - my magic for my life. That ritual was a damn powerful one; Granger explained it to me. It originally used to need human sacrifice, but she thought she could adapt it so that it would only need my magic."
"And you let her do that?" asked Daphne incredulously. To a wizard, losing their magic was worse than losing their life. What was life without magic? "They would never have made you a human sacrifice, the ICW would have outlawed them in an instant!"
Flint laughed hoarsely. "I wasn't to know, was I? Besides, I'm no Gryffindor, Greengrass. I'm a coward, and I chose my life. The Mudblood bitch who charged me - she was satisfied too. She thought it would be a greater punishment to let me live without magic. I had hoped that the Healers would be able to return my magic, but it doesn't sound likely."
"It might still be possible," said Daphne, trying to comfort him. "What did you do to the girl?"
"I fell in love with her," Flint said in a bitter voice. Daphne gasped. "Don't get me wrong, I had my way with her more than once - a few times despite her wishes, I'll admit, but she was getting food, shelter and an allowance out of it too. I didn't see her complain when I gave her galleons to spend on pretty trinkets. In the end, I got her with child. I should've killed her then - dad always said to clean up after my messes - but I didn't. I had fallen in love with her.
"I couldn't have married her - dad would've killed me - but I wanted her to stay with me in the Manor as my mistress. I even promised her I'd legitimize the child once Dad had passed. She was really happy about that, but once word started spreading about Turpin's little group, she vanished one day, 8 months pregnant. I was heartbroken. The next I heard from her, it was at Ynys Mon, with my kid in her arms, and she was accusing me of raping her."
"But the truth potion?" asked Daphne. "How come that didn't come out in the truth potion."
"Oh, they just needed a charge flimsy enough to put the truth potion in me," said Flint with a laugh. "You know how it was in Slytherin, Greengrass. We've done enough to Muggles and Mudbloods that there were excuses aplenty for the Mudblood filth to do what they did. Here's the kicker though: a lot of people in that group the Mudbloods released have raped or wronged Mudbloods and Muggles in the past. Do you know why the Mudbloods let them go?"
"Why?" asked Daphne with bated breath.
"Because they don't want to antagonize the Ministry," said Flint grimly. "Even if they think they can beat us at every turn, they prefer peace - or some of them do, at least. Granger would rather have peace, I can tell, but Finch-Fletchley would wipe the earth with us. In the end, they needed a sacrifice for their ritual, so they let slip my name - Granger, Turpin and Finch-Fletchley all knew I kept company with the Death Eater crowd at school - hoping someone would come forward."
"So they probably didn't even release the names of the other prisoners, in case there were demands for justice from their other citizens," realized Daphne.
"Nope. It was very Slytherin of them," said Flint wryly. He coughed again, and Daphne could tell he was getting tired. "Just mine. I was chosen as their sacrifice."
"I'll let you rest," said Daphne, turning around. "What you did in the past was wrong, but it's also wrong what they did to you. No one has a right to take anyone else's magic away."
Flint said nothing, but out of the corner of her eye, Daphne saw a single tear leak down his eye. With renewed determination, she marched to the fireplace and floo'd out of St Mungo's.
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AN: Update Policy: My current goal is to update every other week.
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