When he got the letter from Brazil the day after he sent his, he was rather surprised that the letter he'd sent had borne such quick fruit. Of course, the reason why was apparent as soon as he read it. The Brazilians had booted the ones sent there almost as soon as they'd entered.

However, they'd hopped on over to Argentina, where the reception had been less hostile, though still not cordial. That wasn't especially surprising, but it would have been nice to hear that they'd been kicked out there as well.

However, the investigations were proceeding apace. There was a bit more activity around the Fourteen and the Purestrain than usual, but nothing really suspicious. Well, except for the fact that Henry Cavendish had been seen in both places.

He grimaced. Cavendish was probably the most dangerous man in MACUSA territory. The Cavendishes were one of the oldest families in North America, and had had time to cultivate allies and influence everywhere. And Henry had dedicated his life to using that influence to turn the MACUSA towards taking over the whole country-and banning no-Maj-borns from learning magic.

He'd never come close to succeeding, of course. The New York Obscurus had done for any notion that no-Maj-borns could just be left to rot, and no one was willing to kill them outright.

He might have come off the loser then, but he'd gathered allies in the process, and ever since then he'd been setting things up as carefully as he could to keep out of trouble while still remaining visible.

And he'd done a good job of it, too, although despite the worries of some his initial base of support had never expanded beyond most of the Northeastern old families and wand trash. However, as long as he was alive, the magic and blood supremacy movement would live on in the MACUSA.

He sighed. He hated it when his suspicions were confirmed like that. He would have much preferred it if that raid on the Fourteen had cowed the blood-obsessed.

Oh well. There were still other matters to attend to, like looking for Fletcher. If they did catch him again, no plea bargaining unless he could prove he didn't know about those Death Eaters.

And that dossier on Norwalk had directly linked him to Cavendish, and to the woman who led the magical supremacists in the northwest, Morgana Fay-which, unsurprisingly, she'd named herself. Pretentious twits.

There was a knock on the door, and Andrew stepped in.

"There's some interesting talk in the underground." That was Andrew, straight to the point. "Says there's overseas work if you're willing to get your hands dirty."

That was unpleasant but hardly surprising. "Go on."

"Thing is, most know what it's about, and they don't want in. But the ones that do have a pretty bad rep."

William nodded. Among wizards, crime tended to jump straight from relatively tame stuff like carpet smuggling to mucking around with the dark arts and murder. Robbery, battery, and sexual assault were quite rare.

Well. Violent sexual assault was rare. Particularly strong love potions were less so. And those were lots of fun to sort out.

"Who?" he asked.

"Mark Gregson, Matilda Hutchinson, and Devon Burr that I know of."

William grunted. Those three would sign on for just about anything that involved violence. If it weren't for the fact that they were signing on with the Death Eaters, he'd say good riddance.

But they were, so he couldn't just leave it at that.

"I presume that no one's planning on doing anything about it?"

Andrew looked uncomfortable. "Not really. They just want to stay out of it, most of them. Plenty of folks don't have a problem with folk like those three putting an ocean between them and here."

William shrugged. Good enough for him. "If we see them anywhere near Norwalk, Cavendish, or Fay, we'll have a better idea of what's going on. If they disappear...well, we'll definitely know what's going on."

Andrew nodded, unhappily.

"Is there something wrong?"

"It's my cousin, Clearwater. I think he might be falling in with the Purestrain crew."

William winced. That had to be...unpleasant. and it would complicate things. Well, maybe.

"As I recall, you don't like him much. In fact, no one in your family does, except his mother, and I don't think y'all like her much, either." He paused. "If you want to be involved in this investigation, I don't see any reason why you shouldn't be."

"Thank you sir," Chantry replied, his shoulders slumping a bit in relief.

There was another knock on the door.

"Who could that be?" He wondered.

It was Mandy.

"There's someone to see you, Will. Says Joao is a mutual friend."

Well that was interesting. He wondered if it was someone he knew.

He looked at Andrew. "Anything else I should know?"

"No, sir. Not that I can think of."

"Good," William replied, then stood and lowered his voice as he continued. "Like I said, don't worry about your cousin. The blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb."

The man nodded gratefully and walked out. William didn't bother to mention to him that he knew Andrew wouldn't betray them because of how he'd met his girlfriend. Specifically, he'd beaten the tar out of his cousin Clearwater when he tried to assault her.

As he left, the Brazilian entered. William recognized him. Sebastian Lorca was a good friend of Joao's, and was in favor of better relations with the no-Majs. And they'd saved each other's lives during that incident with the wizard who tried to set himself up as a god in the rainforest.

"William! My friend! How is life!?"

He had yet to meet a Brazilian who didn't speak in exclamations.

"It is good," he replied. His Portuguese was as bad as Sebastian's English. "Did Joao send you?"

"Yes! With a letter! It will explain things!"

Although Sebastian did take it to a much more stereotypical level than Joao did. Also, why was Joao using Sebastian as a courier, especially after having just sent a letter to him? He suspected the answer was in the letter, and he took it from Sebastian's hand and opened it.

He wasn't surprised by most of it, as it was basically an expansion on the other letter, until he got down to the bottom of the letter. South America's wizards had split along the lines of the old colonial empires. As a result, there were only seven wizarding governments south of the border. The Peruvians, who held everything between Bolivia and Venezuela, were much like the Brazilians. The La Platans in the south had a bit of Durmstrang influence, though. Guyana, French Guyana, and Suriname had each set up their own, as well.

Then there was Mexico and Central America. One might have expected the wizards of the Aztec and Inca empires to have been able to hold out when the Europeans arrived. Unfortunately, they had adopted the practices of the no-Majs around them, sacrificial rites involving humans included.

As a result, the other wizards had signed on with the Spanish when they came in, and they had fallen at the same time at the same time as their no-Maj fellows.

At any rate, the news from South America was what he expected. The Peruvians had made it very clear that if you went to Britain you weren't coming home, and the La Platans had done the same after some arm-twisting. The smaller countries had done the same.

That was as good as it was going to get, honestly. The next question was what Mexico was going to do.

But that was more Hinojosa's department.

Joao's letter kept going beyond that, though. Voldemort's agents had been kicked out quick from Brazil and Peru, but not from La Plata. They weren't recruiting for Britain, though, and no one knew what they were doing. That was new information.

He looked up at Sebastian. "Did Joao tell you anything else?"

"No."

William looked at the Brazilian. "Does Sebastian expect you back with a message from me?

"Yes."

"Good. Give me a few minutes, if you would."

A month later, he was not surprised when he walked into the office and saw Norwalk sitting in front of Mandy's desk, trying to chat her up. William wasn't sure why he tried—everyone with eyes to see knew that she had eyes only for Ben, and he returned the favor.

Of course, that excluded Norwalk, he thought sourly as he stepped inside, except for anything involving bureaucratic infighting. And that last thing, he suspected, was why he was here. He'd probably twigged to what the MBI field offices outside the Northeast were doing.

Well, no, probably not. He'd twigged to the fact that they were doing things that weren't normal. If he knew what was actually going on he wouldn't be here-he'd be getting his patrons in Congress to drop the hammer.

He smiled then. He wasn't bad at bureaucratic infighting himself, he just didn't spend as much time on it as Norwalk. And the others would help-after all, their careers were on the line too.

"Good morning, Finley," he said cheerfully as he walked up to Mandy's desk. "What brings you to New Orleans?"

"A word with you, Pilsudski. I have some questions to ask."

"About what?"

"I would prefer to discuss it on your office."

"Of course. Right this way."

Once they were both settled in, Norwalk got right down to business. "Why was one of your agents in Asheville, the day before yesterday?"

"The agent assigned to the area was sick, and we were having a slow day. I offered to help. Nothing more to it."

"What I find peculiar," Norwalk said absently, "is that it's almost never Hinojosa or Roberts sending their agents to cover for you and Kessler. It's always the other way around. I wonder why?"

Pilsudski shrugged. "Strange things happen sometimes. I'll suggest to Hinojosa and Roberts that they make sure no one's hexed or cursed their offices. Is there anything else?"

Norwalk looked stymied for a moment, though Pilsudski knew he wasn't. He was only about to make his next attack, and he wondered what he was working up to.

He didn't have to wait long. "Unfortunately," Norwalk said, "there's been an outbreak of Protracted Putrid in the Boston office. The New York office is having to extend itself to cover the territory. Asheville and Chicago will be able to cover for them. Can you cover for Asheville and Chicago?"

Pilsudski maintained his poker face while cursing inwardly. His people were already covering for Asheville, but having to cover Chicago's territory would stretch them thin.

It was a clever move on Norwalk's part, and he had little doubt that, once enough time had passed for the outbreak to have come and gone, the New York office would come down with something. And no one would be able to say a word about it who wanted to.

All he said was, "Of course, no problem. These things happen, and I'm sure the Boston office would do the same if we had such a problem." He was actually sure of the exact opposite, but one had to maintain the proprieties.

"Excellent!" Norwalk said, beaming. "Well, I must be going over to California to talk to Hinojosa. Thank you for the help. So long!" And with that, he left.

Once he was sure the New Englander had gone, he took a few minutes to quietly curse the man before he turned to figuring out how to deal with this mess.

He sighed. They were almost certainly going to have to cut back on their surveillance of the Fourteen and the Purestrain. And he knew those idiots were planning something. He just had no idea what.

He expected a somewhat gloomy next meeting at the diner. He knew he wouldn't be good company, at any rate.

As the new year passed, he and the others waged an increasingly intense bureaucratic battle to give themselves enough breathing room to do what they needed to do instead of what Norwalk and his patrons wanted them to do.

And they were pulling out every weapon they could. Mandatory training days. Inventories. The New York and Boston offices both called in sick over Christmas and New Years Day.

It was a mess. However, despite this, they were still able to continue the investigation in fits and starts, largely due to Andrew and the info he was getting from his aunt.

Of course, if her son found out that said aunt was informing on him to the MBI, there would be trouble, but since Andrew wasn't that fond of her, he wasn't that worried. Of course, the man was still being careful.

After all, lone intelligence sources were not to be wasted.

At any rate, things were getting interesting over in Britain. Voldemort was gathering strength, and people were starting to go missing. The Death Eaters he'd sent to La Plata were still there, as they were apparently acquiring stocks of potion ingredients that were easily to find there but difficult in Europe.

Of course, there were ways to deal with that, but that was being taken care of by Ben's family, who saw no reason to let Voldemort's crew get their mitts on the stuff. And they were selling at cost to the Order and the Beauxbatons countries, and everyone here in the States who wasn't a pureblood supremacist. There were times when it was good to know rich people. Especially when it was something that could best be solved with money.

Although he wanted to solve it by going down to La Plata and arresting or killing the Death Eater's agents. It would be a bad idea, but he really wanted those guys off the board.

However, the list of ingredients they'd been buying up had helped the Order foil an attack on Ottery St. Catchpole before it even started. Apparently nazcaweed was only good for a particular recipe for shapechanging. So that was something useful they'd done.

The intel they were gathering on the Voldythizers, as Mandy called them, wasn't encouraging. They weren't growing in numbers, but they were training, and it was MBI training they were getting.

That explained where at least some of the New York and Boston agents were going when they were "sick." There were a couple of them that he knew Norwalk wouldn't trust-David Fisher from the Boston office, and Melanie Patterson out of New York-but most of the rest of the Northeastern agents were at least sympathetic to mage supremacy. Their opinion of no-Maj-borns, however, was a little different from their British counterparts. Their preference would be to kidnap them at birth and raise them in magical society. Well, most of them thought that. Norwalk was more of a Death Eater.

At any rate, he thought as he looked at the others, it had been a very interesting few months. And from what Hinojosa was saying, it was about to get more interesting.

"So now those anti-pureblood extremists are getting involved," William said with a sigh. Now there's a complication we don't need."

"I know," Hinojosa sighed. "If they decide to hit the Fourteen it's going to cause no end of problems. And if they find where the pure bloods have been training...well."

Kessler, the youngest of the four, leaned forward. "Why would this be bad?"

Pilsudski was about to speak, but Hinojosa beat him to it. "Because whoever draws first blood is at a disadvantage," he said flatly. "You don't want to be the one who starts it. Then people decide you're the aggressor, and your allies go neutral and the neutrals become enemies."

Kessler leaned back and thought for a moment, then nodded. "Like what happened in Kentucky."

"What do you mean?" William asked. For all that his family had assimilated to the US quite well, he was much more familiar with Polish history than American.

"When the no-Majs had their Civil War, which we kept out of, Kentucky decided it wanted to be neutral."

William blinked. "How did they expect that to be respected?"

"Thing is, it was, for months. Until the Confederacy invaded in order to secure the Mississippi River against a Union advance southward. Kentucky then joined the Union."

William shook his head. American history was a strange beast. Then again, they'd never been so foolish as to establish a governing body that required a unanimous vote for everything, unlike Poland, so he supposed he had no room to talk.

"Which means that now you have to split your efforts." He grimaced. "Fortunately, Norwalk won't have a problem with us investigating them."

The others snorted laughter at that. Norwalk would be ecstatic. If they told him.

They almost certainly wouldn't. For one thing, he'd certainly leak the report. This Pilsudski wouldn't have had a problem with, except for the part where Norwalk and his patrons had made sure little to no information about the magical supremacists had made it into the papers.

Of course, then again, two could play the leaking game, and he looked over at Hinojosa, who nodded. They'd keep this quiet as long as possible. And once they couldn't, they'd make sure everything hit the papers.

And they meant EVERYTHING.

"All right," Pilsudski replied. "We'll consider New Mexico and Colorado part of our territory from now on."

Kessler nodded. "We'll take Wyoming and Eastern Montana. Don't worry."

William sighed. He hoped to someday work for people who he didn't have to sneak around in order to do his job. Hopefully, that day would be soon.

As winter shifted into spring, it was pretty obvious that things were beginning to slide out of control. William's contacts with the Radet, the Stag and the Sejm were reporting that a lot of their rabid pureblood supremacists were missing.

Most of them had been spotted in England. A few, however, had dropped completely off the map. Well, until today.

William cursed as he lowered the no-Maj made binoculars. "You were right, Andrew. This isn't good at all." The man teaching the Americans was named Joachim Trabant, and he was known to the Stag as having pureblood supremacist sympathies and was suspected of having engaged in some pretty serious crimes against no-Majs all over Europe.

And he had a very intimate knowledge of the Dark Arts. Damn Durmstrang and their cursed foolishness. And, unsurprisingly, Gregson, Hutchinson, and Burr were there, as was Cavendish.

"What now?" Andrew asked.

"Hanged if I know," William said in disgust. "This would probably turn some folks against the purebloods, but then they'd know we knew where one of their training camps is. Don't think it's worth it."

Andrew shook his head. "I don't get it. Why do all this?"

William shrugged. "Some of them probably think of it as a big adventure. The rest? Just the slime of humanity."

Andrew grimaced. "So what are we going to do?"

"I'm going to talk to Hauser."

The other man nodded. Dietrich Hauser was the head of German magical law enforcement, and did not want to repeat Grindelwald.

"And then I'm going to talk to Moody. This is starting to look a bit more coordinated than I would like. If Trabant showed up in Britain before coming here, then things aren't that bad. If they have people coming straight from Durmstrang country to here, though..."

That would mean they were working together over the borders, and that would make the odds for the Order even worse than they already knew they were. At least Scrimgeour seemed willing to actually do something, but from the letters Moody was sending it was obvious that he was doing things just to be seen to be doing things.

President Hartshorn seemed to just want a lid kept on things here and for the MACUSA to stay out of Europe's business. While William understood that, especially after the mess that had been the Great Wizarding War, it still seemed shortsighted to him.

Oh well. They didn't pay him to make those decisions. Then again, there were a lot of decisions he'd been making that he wasn't paid to make.

He shook his head. Enough woolgathering.

"Let's get out of here," he said, and Andrew nodded. They slipped and slid back down the slope of the ridge to where their brooms waited for them.

"What do you want me to do?" the other man asked as they mounted up.

"Go to Asheville and talk to Roberts. It's his jurisdiction, but tell him I recommended not attacking now."

"Right. I'll see you back in New Orleans."

As Andrew lofted to just above treetop level and began to make his way through the West Virginia hills towards North Carolina, William sighed. The word from Hinojosa was that the anti-purebloods hadn't grown in numbers any, but they were getting antsier.

And while the purebloods' numbers hadn't grown any, their training was getting better. It wasn't great, thankfully, since it was only two weekends a month, but it was still there.

He wondered, for a moment, what would happen in the summer.

Gibbon was extremely nervous as he pelted down the stars. Yes, it was a great honor to be the one to cast the Dark Mark from the top of the tower. But he was still alone and he wasn't entirely sure if the others would just up and leave him behind if he didn't join them before everyone in Hogwarts realized what had happened and came after them with blood in their eyes.

He knew the others would say that what happened to him in America had made him too concerned about weaklings and blood traitors, who were of course not as brave as those who held to the old ways. He didn't care—he wanted to kill them all, but he knew it wasn't going to be a walkover, no matter what that psycho Lestrange said, and—

Oblivion.

As it turned out, summer was when everything went straight to hell. First, the news arrived from England that Albus Dumbledore had been assassinated in Hogwarts by Death Eaters. Second, he received a letter from Shacklebolt that contained the news that Mad-eye was dead. He'd always figured the man would fall in the line of duty, but he'd hoped it wouldn't be at the beginning of what was coming.

And something was coming, that he knew. Mad-Eye's last letter hinted that the Death Eaters were plotting a coup of some kind or other, and that he thought it would succeed.

He'd wanted the MACUSA to prepare to take in refugees, and William had gone to Garrett Johnson, who ran Immigration and was one of his old housemates from Ilvermorney, to see what might be done about that. If nothing else, if something happened elsewhere he wanted to know what procedures were in place—and what the role of the MBI might be. After all, it would be a good way to slip in spies.

As it happened, there were no procedures.

They met in Asheville, at the Three Wands Tavern, where Johnson told him the bad news. "There's no plan for it," he said flatly. "Norwalk's patrons are making it very clear that they don't want any British no-Maj-borns coming here."

Of course they wouldn't.

"And Hartshorn is going along with this?"

Johnson leaned forward and lowered his voice. "Hartshorn has...certain issues."

Oh. That mess. "They're holding it over him?"

"Like a club."

"Damn it." Hartshorn had a lot of difficulty casting spells, these days, after he hit his head in a fall.

That was the kind of thing that could end his career if it became widespread knowledge, though he doubted it would. However, Hartshorn was a bit of a coward. He wouldn't risk it.

"And I suppose that includes the kids, too."

"Yes." Johnson looked very unhappy, and William didn't blame him. His office would be the one denying them entry.

Then he spoke. "It's going to be like the '70s, isn't it?"

"Worse, Garrett. Far worse."

Johnson sighed. "We'll do what we can. But there's only so far we can bend the rules before someone notices."

Then, in the last week of July, things fell apart faster than anyone had anticipated. Scrimgeour was assassinated, no one knew how, and some schmuck named Thicknesse put in his place.

And then the laws started coming down. Pilsudski's parents had both been in Poland during the war, and he'd heard the stories of what the Germans had done. At least Voldemort couldn't force people to carry passes.

Still, though, what he was doing was bad enough. No no-Maj-borns were allowed to attend Hogwarts. All such who were adults were to turn in their wands until they were cleared of "stealing magic," presumably from squibs.

He estimated that they were about as likely to be cleared of the charges as he was to fly to the moon. Also, new laws were being passed regarding the status of non-human magic users—laws which, remarkably enough, affected neither werewolves nor giants.

It was, of course, purely coincidental that those were only groups who mostly backed the Death Eaters, though why was beyond him. Everyone considered both to be nuisances, but Voldemort wanted only humans to have magic.

Then again, werewolves were humans when they weren't wolves, and there were half-giants among wizards, so perhaps they counted?

No matter.

The Roths pushed to extend the same rules for no-Maj-borns born in Britain that there were for Durmstrang country. The Norwalks and their cronies blocked the proposal.

They hadn't, unfortunately, taken the fatal step of insinuating that there might be something to the charges. If nothing else, the math didn't work. There were far too few squibs to account for all the no-Maj-borns. Instead, they'd opined that it would be better if they went to Beauxbatons. Which might be true, but they should at least have the option of coming here.

They had even implied that perhaps it was time to end the program for no-Maj-borns from Durmstrang country. That had drawn down universal rancor, even from people who usually favored the old families.

However, it was very plain that there would be no British children at Ilvermorney this year, though at least no one had proposed preventing immigration from Britain. Had the blood supremacists been stronger, though, he had little doubt they would have tried it.

However, the Roths were still pushing for letting the no-Maj-borns in, which was why he was here talking with Ben.

"What are your parents trying to do?" William asked him over a beer in a bar well off Bourbon Street. "You know that the Congress will never go for it."

Ben shook his head. "Of course. The fools. But it's keeping attention on the situation, and the old families don't want that. My parents intend to force them to a deal."

"A deal? What sort of deal?"

"An...informal sort of thing. They'll stop making a fuss over the refugees if the old families will send the Durmstrangers home and agree not to send their volunteers over to Britain."

"Can we trust them to hold to that deal?" Pilsudski asked.

"If they made it with you? No. With us? Yes. For all that they dislike us, we are still of the old families."

William found this doubtful—the nobles of his family's homeland had turned against each other often enough—but held his tongue. It would not prevent them from watching the volunteers, at any rate. He knew the Roths well enough for that.

Summer passed into fall, and it became apparent that the Norwalks had accepted the deal, for the Durmstrangers went missing and the Roths fell silent. More and more no-Maj-borns were leaving Britain one step ahead of the law, and Pilsudski was glad that the MACUSA followed the no-Majs in saying that the only crimes that were a bar to entry were crimes under American law.

He was still getting letters from Shacklebolt, though they were coming through Georges Foch, over in France. Apparently the direct line between Britain and America was being monitored somehow.

Things in Britain were getting worse. Smuggling people out was becoming more and more difficult, and there were rumors that the Death Eaters would start targeting the young no-Maj-borns. Such was only rumor, so far, but after the New York Obscurus no one was willing to let someone with magic go untutored. And if they could not be tutored, killing them was the only option. One Voldemort would gladly take.

They needed to end this war quickly, because he saw it. The massacre of the Innocents, repeated on an individual scale, from now until Voldemort's reign was ended.

As the other field office heads read the letter, he knew they saw it too. He spoke. "At least when my parents and I had to leave Poland y'all only had to get them past the Soviets. And that assumes we'll be able to get to them before Voldemort finds them."

"Do you think Norwalk's crew would go for this?" Hinojosa asked.

Pilsudski paused. "I don't know, but if they've been listening to Cavendish I imagine they might."

The others simply looked grim.

"So what do we do now?"

"Sane thing we've been doing. Norwalk's still trying to keep us busy, but he's been less aggressive about it lately."

Truth be told, it worried him not a little. He didn't like it when his enemies were quiet-it meant they were plotting something.

A thought struck him. Could it be that...No, of course not. That would be pure insanity, and he couldn't imagine anything more harmful to Norwalk and his ilk and their cause.

Well, he could, but that was the worst plausible thing they could do, and he put the thought out of his mind. They needed to focus on what Norwalk and company would actually do.

Of course, the question was what they could do. He wasn't sure, honestly. It was possible that they would try and launch a coup, but that would be kind of ridiculous. Even if every wizard and witch in the New York and Boston offices joined in, which he doubted, they'd still be outnumbered once the others came in.

And he was pretty sure that they wouldn't have a lot of support from the rest of the government, either. They might be getting desperate, though, which could explain what was going on in Britain. The old families were losing their grip on wizarding society, and a lot of them wanted to hold on.

In which case, though, why had they agreed to the Roths' deal? Did they plan to renege? It might be true that ordinarily an old family wouldn't break their word to another, but these were not ordinary times.

Hinojosa's voice broke into his musings. "What do you think, William?"

William took a moment to go back over what the others had been talking about, remembered, and shrugged.

"For the life of me, I don't know what they're up to," he replied, and explained his reasoning to the others, hiding only his wildest speculation.

One that Kessler brought up. "Could they be planning to attack Ilvermorney?"

The others looked at him aghast, but William came to his rescue. "I thought the same thing," he flatly. "But I thought it absurd, so I kept silent. But since two of us have thought of it, perhaps it is not so absurd after all."

"But why? What could they hope to gain by it?"

"What did those two idiots in Oklahoma City have to gain by bombing a federal building with a day care inside it?" Roberts asked.

"Did they know it was there, though?"

"They damn well should have if they didn't," Hinojosa snapped. William nodded. That had been drilled into them from day one in MBI training. You made sure no innocents were caught in the crossfire before you went in.

Well, unless the guy you were going after wouldn't let them get out of the crossfire. Then you went in and prayed that your aim was true and the perp wasn't a total psycho.

But even something like what had happened to the no-Majs in '93 would pale compared to a strike at Ilvermorney. That would be a deliberate targeting of children, not just an act of negligence.

Then again...a thought struck him. Could they really be that ruthless and that blind?

Yes. Yes they could.

"Suppose," he said quietly, "that the pureblood supremacists thought they would have a safe refuge to flee to once their work was done. Suppose they wanted to cripple us for the war they think they'll fight in ten or twenty years."

He looked around at the others. "What better way to do that than to strike at Ilvermorney, to kill our children and gather theirs to them for their journey to Britain?

"Do you really think they would do that?" Roberts asked.

"I would hope not, but there's little we can do about it right now," Hinojosa replied. "All we have is guesses and conjecture."

He paused. "I'll talk to the defense teachers at Ilvermorney, they're friends of mine. They won't be able to do much, but they should be able to strengthen the school's defenses without anyone noticing."

William nodded. Matthew O'Rourke, Irene Kovacs, and Josiah Wright had all been good fighters before they turned to teaching, and all of them had been at the school for a decade or more. If any knew how to defend the place it was them. Although he might ask Hinojosa if he could come along—it had been awhile since he'd seen Irene, and it would be nice to catch up.

"While they do that, we keep on watching the Purestrain and the Fourteen and the anti-purebloods and hope no one does anything stupid."

That, William thought, was a vain hope indeed. Looking at the others, they thought so too.