Chapter 21: The Eastern Front
Remi was still shivering. The assault on the Bastille had been the biggest battle he had ever been in - the first real battle, to tell the truth. Until then he had fought in a few skirmishes, but nothing like this nightmare of death and destruction. There had been no clean, or even gallant duels, no matching spells and wits with an opponent, just a brutal slaughter, often in shadows and darkness, at knife fighting range, where most who had died had not seen what had killed them, much less who. That he had survived that was a miracle. And yet some of the légionaires and the British looked like they wanted another go at the enemy, especially that redheaded devil of a Wizard, Weasley. He shook his head at that. He didn't doubt the stories of three kids beating the worst Dark Lord since Grindelwald anymore.
Around him the freed hostages who had been checked out for spells and other traps were levitated, still stunned, out of the cells, towards the apparition point set up outside the wards, to transport them to the medical facilities near the staging areas. Remi stared at each and everyone, looking for Francois' sister, Désirée, but so far he hadn't found her. If she was not among the rescued prisoners… the thought of telling Francois that his sister was dead made him almost throw up. She couldn't be dead… Francois couldn't have lost all his family that quickly… there! He spotted a glimpse of blonde hair, the right height… "Désirée!" he shouted, and ran towards the floating girl, pushing past a burly French soldier whose protests he didn't even notice. It was her! "I'll take her to the medical area!" he told the wizard with her, his tone allowing no dissent. Francois' little sister was alive! Now he just had to find Francois!
Ron ran a hand over his head, then over his neck, wiping at what he knew was dried sweat. That had been a nasty bit of work, as one of his military instructors would have said. Too many dead, and he felt guilty for being alive, for having led this mission. Passing through the staging area he glanced at the arriving hostages. At least they had saved them. He noticed his guide, Remi, arrive, with a girl in tow, and head towards the medics. Looked like he got lucky, saved the girl. Ron knew that Remi's friend Francois had been killed in the French Ministry, poisoned by a trap, but didn't want to be the one to tell him that and ruin his day. He was expected at the Chateau of the Duc, or the ruins of said Chateau, anyway, so he had an excuse.
An apparition later he was staring at the rubble while he gave the guards the password. Wow… he knew that appearances were deceiving when it came to such ruins, but he didn't think anyone inside could have survived that.
"Ron!" he turned his head, just in time to recognize Ginny sprinting towards him. His little sister hugged him, hard enough to prove she was Molly's daughter, and started telling him of her bombing run. Fortunately she was so excited she released him, to have her hands free to demonstrate her angle of attack and flight, and he could breathe again. Merlin! He just realized - his little sister did that. And was terribly proud of it. Had she always been such a bloodthirsty one? Though the important thing was that she was safe and whole. He realized she probably had been worried about him, the tales of the attacks in Paris must have reached the forces at the Chateau already, and he hugged her, reassuring his little sister - she'd always be his little sister - that he was fine, and that the hostages were safe. He didn't go into details about the fighting, of course. Thank the Founders that Ginny was with the broom corps, and not the strike teams who might have to fight a similar battle again!
Hermione looked at the body, or what was left of it, of the Duc d'Orléans as it was levitated out of what looked like the remains of a luxurious bedroom. Crushed, burned, mangled flesh. They would have to do some DNA testing to make sure it was the Duc, and not some double. While she doubted the pureblood noble had thought of such a ruse, one could never be sure. Hopefully he was the biological father of Marie d'Orléans, currently a prisoner in Britain. Given some of the purebloods' tastes, one couldn't be sure of their parentage. She spotted the corpse of what was assumed to be the Duc's wife, and winced. The fire had reached the woman as well. In order to distract herself from the sight and smell, she ran through a few forensic spells in her head that could be used on the bodies, until Harry took her hand and reminded her that they had a meeting with the French leadership.
She wasn't looking forward to that - the mission hadn't gone off as planned, and it was partially her fault, for not making sure they had a better plan. The two had discussed the operation with Ron already, though not really in a proper debriefing, as both he and herself had noted, to the amusement of Harry. In short, they had been lucky to win this battle. The planning had been rushed - due to the pureblood ultimatum, though - and neither the French soldiers nor the French muggleborns taking part in it had been really trained for magical warfare, not like their own forces had been. In Ron's opinion - she wasn't sure she shared it, he was a bit too critical when it concerned his own performance - they had only taken the Bastille thanks to having British soldiers and wizards trained and experienced in such battles, better equipment, and the fact that the French had lost too many of their own experienced aurors in earlier battles, and of course the surprise entrance. Even so the trap almost got the prisoners. The home advantage had proven decisive in the Ministry, the attacking force had run into a prepared ambush since their ruse to gain entrance had only taken them inside along an expected route of entry. At least the Chateau had been a battle where they had been able to use their biggest advantages - longer range thanks to modern weapons, and modern explosives- to great advantage. Hermione winced - they had certainly forgotten that even purebloods wised up sooner or later, and shouldn't be underestimated. Well, they wouldn't make that mistake again.
She glanced at Harry, noticing how he forced himself to smile at the soldiers and wizards they met while walking to the apparition point. He had taken the results from the battles the hardest, feeling guilty for staying behind and not leading the charge. Hermione had spent hours arguing, in private of course, until he had very grudgingly accepted that he was needed far more as Chief Warlock than as a soldier and had promised not to do anything foolish. Of course he had demanded the same promise from herself, which she had been happy to give. Researching spells that could be used in battle wasn't anything like rushing into battle, after all, and not covered by her promise! She just needed more time for her research.
Hermione smiled at her love, wrapped her arm around his waist - he had filled out some since his teenage years - and simply enjoyed their brief moment of peace until it was time for their meeting with the French Président and the Prime Minister and what representative the French muggleborns had sent.
Harry thought the French Président either had a slightly cavalier attitude towards human life, or was very apt at seeing the positives of everything. Or he was just used to losing soldiers in military operations. In any case he certainly was quite pleased about the outcome of the operation, brushing away Hermione's not-quite-apology about less than perfect planning. The enemy had been driven out of Paris - out of France entirely, if the reports from Beauxbatons that many of the pureblood children had left the school for the borders were to be trusted - and the Republic of France was no longer sharing its sacred soil with a magical aristocracy.
The Chief Warlock glanced at the representative of the French muggleborns, Remi Dubois, and hid a frown. The man looked like he was still shaken if not shocked by the battle in the Bastille, and the loss of his best friend, Francois Verrier to the bungled up attack on the Ministry, and seemed quite ill-prepared for this meeting. Certainly not prepared and determined enough to stand up to the leader of France. Harry thought that the only thing that had kept the French Président from outright annexing Magical France was his warning about the possible problems that could cause with the ICW. Even without the Republic completely taking over, Harry didn't doubt that the muggle government would run most of magical France soon enough - the French muggleborn barely qualified as a resistance movement and were simply not organized or strong enough to take over their own Ministry. The closest they had had to a well-known leader had been Verrier, and he had to go and die in some foolhardy attack.
Harry knew he was unfair. He himself certainly had done things that had been much more foolhardy in the War against Voldemort, and even if Verrier had survived he might not be in a better position than Dubois here, but he couldn't help but feel some resentment - having a muggle government rule a magical nation was bound to cause problems, not just with the ICW, but also with Magical Prussia, where a still strong Grindelwald faction would certainly object to muggles ruling over magicals. At least the Prussians had stopped their attacks on France according to the latest reports, once they had heard of the fall of the pureblood government. Harry wasn't naive enough to assume that meant the Prussians were their allies - he was sure they had stopped because they had seen pictures of the Chateau of the Duc d'Orléans reduced to rubble. Despite some efforts by the British Ministry and even the Secret Service, they still lacked dependable information about the inner workings of Magical Prussia. Harry started to suspect that not even the Prussians themselves knew what they were doing. And they couldn't contact the German Chancellor without the Prussians being aware of it.
His musings were interrupted when the trap in the French Ministry was mentioned. They still hadn't identified the poison that had been used. While it wasn't basilisk poison, it certainly had similar properties. The victims had been partially dissolved as well as poisoned, indicating a very strong acid component. Nasty stuff.
Hermione cleared her throat, a sign of her hesitation to touch the subject she was about to speak about, as Harry knew. "Technically, this trap by the French purebloods could be considered chemical warfare, and their leader could be charged with a war crime, once we apprehend him."
The room fell silent for a moment as people gathered their thoughts. The Prime Minister was the first to speak. "If we classify this as chemical warfare we might cause the purebloods to take notice of our own history of chemical warfare. There are still vast amounts of such agents in storage, especially in the former soviet union, and if magicals get their hands on them… even an accident with nerve gas has the potential to cause a horrendous number of civilian deaths."
The French Président agreed. "The French pureblood leaders already are doomed for their crimes against the citizens of France. And the possible consequences of the use of chemical weapons in any European state are too grave to take this risk."
It was understood, but left unsaid, that there would not be any plans to retaliate in kind. Harry knew that Hermione had made plans - she had mentioned some contingencies to him - but she hadn't written them down. No one wanted to risk the use of weapons of mass destruction in this conflict. If the Russians found traces of Sarin, or VX, on their soil...
The meeting concluded with talk about bases in Frances to both secure the borders and the magical areas, and to prepare for a possible attack by Russia. Even though the Tsar's forces were busy fighting the Prussians, and would be even busier when the Prussian forces who had been attacking Magical France were moved to the eastern front, they couldn't rule out some disruptive or terror attack by small forces, if only to keep them busy with defensive measures and unable to fully support the Prussians. It was what Harry would do in their place.
Hans Steiner, Chancellor of Magical Prussia, was angry at a lot of people. At his own aurors for not defeating the French before the British swooped in and took over France. At the British for waiting until the French had been weakened enough fighting Prussia's forces so they could steal their prize and take France for themselves. At the Russians for attacking Prussia and forcing a two-front war on them. At the French for fighting so hard against Prussia, only to roll over for Britain. And at his Minister of the Interiour, Herbert Kruge, who was late for the meeting of his cabinet. What was Herbert thinking? He sent his secretary out to summon Kruge, post-haste. They had a war to fight, tardiness was not to be tolerated!
He looked at the other members of his cabinet. No one seemed particularly nervous, but they would be able to hide even the most sinister plots - or they would not have risen to their current positions. "Even with Herbert absent, we'll start. How goes the Polish Plan, Ottokar?"
Ottokar Mannstein cleared his throat. "The Polish mudbloods are ready, even eager, to throw off the yoke of the Russians, but they do not trust us enough to let us move troops into Poland. So far I have not heard of any contacts to the British, but I suspect they are counting on British help, especially after the quick fall of France." Hans almost growled at that. France again. Mannstein didn't seem to notice as he continued. "I expect the uprising in the next few days. I also have heard that the Bulgarians have become even more hesitant to do their part for the eastern alliance. The number of their volunteers are dwindling rapidly, and Russia is pressuring them to draft more wizards. And both the British and French have asked us for a formal armistice with intent to begin negotiations for a peace settlement." He didn't add "again" - everyone knew that Hans had ignored the first such demand. Making peace with the French before knowing who held the reins in Magical France was not something he wanted to do, one or the other faction would end up blaming him for betraying the Fatherland.
He listened to Mannstein going on about British forces in France - all estimates - and that the French pureblood government in exile had been sighted in Russia - they were of no consequence now, after their defeat - and there was still no Kruge! Where was that man?
His secretary entered, and Hans knew from the expression on the woman's face that she had bad news. He was right - Kruge had been attacked in his home, and was in critical condition in the Hospiz. Hans was about to double his own security, then hesitated. What if he had traitors in his ranks counting on that? Who could have gotten to Kruge? And why? Had he gone too far in keeping the factions in check? Hans snarled. He couldn't trust anyone right now, not with his brother still the Prussian delegate to the ICW, and unable to help out at home.
Makary Bercik took a last look around the dusty side street of Warsaw he was on, then straightened and entered the dive that served as the entrance to Warsaw's magical quarter - or what was left of it after World War II. Inside he spotted his friends, and fellow revolutionaries, at their usual table. Half of them wore the robes of aurors off duty, like himself. Just a few muggleborns having a beer or three, to wind down from their last mission in the war. At least that was what they should look like to the informers. Soon it wouldn't matter anymore. It probably wouldn't matter if one informer ratted them out right now - the wizards and witches of the Polish National Army should be in place already, poised to storm the corrupt Ministry filled with lackeys of the Russians and corrupt pureblood parasites. Makary almost smiled at the thought of how the communist rhetoric he had grown up with fit the situation so well, even though his parents' country had already regained its freedom from the communist oppressors.
Makary was aware that what they were about to do was very dangerous. Poland was a major battleground in the war between Prussia and Russia, even though toppling the polish pureblood government would be easy - he was an auror, and knew how many of the other wizards and witches sworn to protect Magical Poland were fed up with their government. Not all of them were muggleborns or half-bloods, even a sizeable number of the purebloods were disgusted with Poland being a client state of Russia. They too remembered their proud history of independence until Grindelwald had smashed half of Magical Europe while Hitler's armies had devastated the muggle nations. No, the Ministry would fall easily. Forcing the Russians out and keeping the Prussians from moving in would be difficult though.
Makary knew though that this would not keep them from doing what they had to. His great-uncle had been killed fighting German Panzers. Makary still hated that the Nazi propaganda of polish cavalry attacking tanks with sabers and lances had persisted, turning the heroic resistance of the Polish Army, outnumbered and outgunned, yet defiant, into a joke. And yet they had resisted the Nazi War Machine until the Russians had stabbed them in the back, while their nominal allies England and France had sat the war out. His grandfather had been murdered at Katyn. Neither his Grandfather nor his grand-uncle had even suspected there was a Magical Poland who was crushed by Prussian Storm Wizards while they died, Makary owed it to them to do his part to free the last part of Poland still occupied by foreign forces. He just hoped that the British would honor the debt they owed Poland for their betrayal in the past, for the polish gift of the German Enigma machine that did so much to win the war, to support them this time. But even if they didn't - Poland would stand and fight alone, if it must. Better to die fighting for your freedom than to die fighting for Russia.
After finishing his beer he stood up. "Time to head back into the Ministry. Walk with me there?" he asked his non-auror friends, who nodded. Nothing suspicious there, just a group of friends taking a stroll down the street. In the street Makary noticed more groups casually moving towards the ministry.
The plan was to move inside as if going to work, then take control of the building in one fell swoop. But as Makary neared the entrance, he saw this would not work. The guards on duty were arguing with another muggleborn auror, claiming he should be with his troop at the forward base, waiting for his next mission, not back here at the ministry. Makary frowned. The guards were expecting to deal with a coward or deserter, and were holding up everyone at the gate.
No plan survives contact with the enemy, he told himself, and stepped up. They wouldn't expect an organized attack though. It would be more bloody, more dangerous than expected, but that would not stop him or his friends and comrades.
"Bóg Honor Ojczyzna!" He shouted, and took one of the guards down with a piercing hex. The other guard had barely turned when he too was struck. The war cry was taken up by dozens, and the gates were thrown wide open while the revolutionaries stormed the Ministry, Makary leading them. "Bóg Honor Ojczyzna!"
Viktor Krum was sitting in his parents' home, twisting an empty bottle of Butterbeer in his hands. He had grown fond of the drink during his time at Hogwarts, and had gone to some lengths to find a supplier in his home country. The seeker was deep in thought. His family was still mourning the death of his cousin Marius, killed at Hogsmeade. Hermione Granger had been kind enough to arrange the transfer of the body through muggle means so he could be buried at the family plot. Marius had volunteered to fight - someone from the family had to uphold the family honor after all - when Viktor had cited his friendship with Hermione as a reason not to fight the British. As Viktor had expected, the war against the British had been a disaster. Not many of the Bulgarian forces involved had managed to return.
Then the Prussians had entered the war, and everyone in Eastern Europe had remembered Grindelwald's forces. It was one thing to attack a distant island for the Russians, but another to fight the Prussians. But even so fatigue had set in, fueled by death notices and rumors of Russians using the war to rob Bulgaria of their best and brightest wizards, to keep it weak and under their control. Viktor had done his best to appear apolitical, hadn't mentioned his opinion of the British and their chances of victory to anyone - his known special relationship with Hermione Granger already was reason enough for the government to keep him under close observation. He also knew, Durmstrang had taught him well, that in the face of a disaster, the first impulse of those in power was to look for a scapegoat. And as the supposed lover of the British Minister, he was the perfect "traitor" to sacrifice. He was sure that if not for his Quidditch fame, he would have been arrested and probably executed already.
And now France had fallen, in a single day. The Russians were in an uproar, suddenly facing all of Prussia's forces, in addition to the British. Bulgaria had it worse though - between the fear of the heirs of Grindelwald, and the British muggleborns conquering Europe and massacring purebloods, no one was sure what would be the best course of action to keep Bulgaria safe.
It was no real surprise that a number had turned to Viktor, hoping he could negotiate an agreement with "his love" to keep his country safe. Some idiots even proposed to make him Minister of Magical Bulgaria to secure the support and protection from Britain. Viktor scoffed at that nonsense - he was a Quidditch player, a star seeker, a Triwizard Tournament Champion, and an accomplished wizard, but he was no politician, nor had he the desire to become one. Not to mention that he knew Hermione Granger well, and knew that for all she was a lovely girl, she was absolutely ruthless when she deemed it necessary. She wouldn't commit her country to an alliance and risk a war with Magical Prussia out of personal friendship or even sentimentality. Now, if Britain was at war with Prussia things would be different, but as it was Prussia seemed, if not an ally of Britain, then at least a country fighting the same enemy.
Viktor blinked when he heard loud voices from downstairs. Why was his mother, usually very calm and quiet, yelling? And at whom? He opened the door to the hallway, and listened. His eyes widened - his parents were arguing with a group of aurors, come to arrest him. They were loudly claiming he wasn't here. Viktor smiled. They wanted him to leave. He could take his chances with the aurors - he had been a Triwizard Tournament Champion for a reason - but it would endanger his parents. So he disillusioned himself, summoned his broom, and left through the window. It seemed that the government had decided they needed a scapegoat, after all. Unless someone was stupid enough to think that they could use him as a hostage to force whatever concessions they wanted from Hermione. Some of the older men in power did seem to think women were prone to such sentimentality. He scoffed at the thought - they certainly didn't know Hermione Granger.