SHAMELESS PLUG!
My first original novel, Strangers In Boston, is now available on Amazon under my pen name, T.S. Mann (get it?). It's free to Kindle Prime members and $4.99 to people who want to download the Ebook. Paperback copies are available for $12.99. The audio book version will be available soon. Check it out, and if you like it, please leave a review. Work on the sequel—Strangers In Dallas—proceeds apace. Chapters will be uploaded to my website and available for preview to patrons on the first of each month.
Sam Gabriel, the voice actor who is performing the audiobook of Strangers in Boston, is also reading Prince of Slytherin as a side project! The goal is an eventual (and 100% free) POS audiobook. More details on that later as they become available. He is nearly through Harry Potter and the Secret Enemy, and reads additional chapters live on the Discord server every day, with the full backlog of raw recording sessions available for free.
We now return you to your regularly scheduled fanfic.
Harry Black
and the Resurrection Game
Harry Potter and all associated characters and situations are the property of J.K. Rowling. I make no claim to ownership.
Chapter 9: The Quidditch World Cup (Pt 2)
13 August 1994
The Department of International Magical Cooperation
Office of International Portkey Arrivals & Departures
9:59 a.m.
Bartemius Crouch, Director of the DIMC, checked his pocket watch and then glowered even more than usual. This was astonishing to Percy Weasley, who'd worked for the man all summer and had thought Crouch already glowered as much as any human being possibly could. In addition to his long-suffering intern, Director Crouch (he'd had the "Sr." struck from his official stationery years before after the incarceration of his Death Eater son) was flanked by a number of other Ministry personnel: Chief Auror Amelia Bones and DMLE Director Corban Yaxley, along with every Hit Wizard and Auror not already on-site at the Quidditch World Cup. Chief Warlock Dumbledore was on hand as well, though Percy suspected his presence was meant to keep the British wizards from doing something stupid rather than to deter the "diplomatic envoy" from doing … well, whatever it was everyone else was afraid that the legendary Dark Lord McAvity was going to do.
Privately, Percy thought the show of force was ridiculous overkill. Whatever McAvity had done back in the 1960s to warrant banishment from Wizarding Britain, he was presently the Director of the Australian Department of Magical-Muggle Relations and the fourth highest figure in the Australian wizarding government. More importantly, he had complete diplomatic immunity, which made the British Ministry's show of force even more farcical. Unless McAvity fired off an Unforgiveable immediately after his Portkey arrival, none of the assembled law enforcement officials would be able to touch him.
"Or them, as the case may be," Percy thought to himself as the wizard's Portkey finally delivered him to the scene ... along with his sizeable entourage. Apparently, like Dumbledore, the Australian delegation had been (justifiably) worried about the Ministry doing something stupid. Suddenly appearing within the Portkey staging area were more than twenty people all holding onto what looked to be fifty feet of garden hose to which the Portkey Charm had been affixed. The arrivals were arranged in somewhat concentrically, with Alexander McAvity in the very center, ten or so other diplomatic personnel clumped around him, and a dozen Australian Aurors in the outside. Oh, and what appeared to be an odd-looking canine with a yellow "Team Australia" bandana wrapped around its neck. The visiting Aurors had their wands drawn but not yet pointed at anyone.
Percy, whose wand was not drawn, had a brief frisson of panic as he wondered who would be best to duck behind for cover if the curses started flying. "Probably Dumbledore," he thought. Thankfully, violence did not erupt, and the visiting Aurors relaxed and put their wands away.
"Expecting trouble, McAvity?" Crouch growled angrily.
"Not at all … Crouch," said the infamous Muggleborn. "But it's my first time in Britain in decades. And considering how excitable your Ministry gets whenever my name is mentioned, well, my security detail insisted on extra caution."
He looked past Crouch to the score of British Aurors and Hit Wizards behind him. "As I'm sure you understand."
Then, his attention was drawn to Dumbledore who stood just behind Crouch and was resplendent in his mauve and yellow robes. McAvity grinned broadly.
"And it's wonderful to see you again, Supreme Mugwump. How long has it been?"
"Just shy of two years, Alexander," Dumbledore answered amiably. "And I have asked you repeatedly to call me Albus when the ICW is not in session."
McAvity laughed. "Do forgive me, sir, but I just don't think I have it in me to be so familiar with you. Shall we compromise? I'll just call you Headmaster."
With that, McAvity opened up his coat to reveal that in addition to his "Team Australia" Quidditch jersey, he was also wearing a somewhat worn Ravenclaw scarf that Percy thought must have been from the older man's school days. The blue and bronze clashed wildly with Australia's yellow and green color scheme. Percy fought to keep a smile off his face, as he wasn't about to share his amusement at "the Muggleborn Dark Lord" while standing so close to his irascible boss.
Meanwhile, visibly alarmed at how this "diplomatic exchange" had already gone off the rails, Amelia Bones stepped forward.
"Director McAvity, I am Amelia Bones, Chief of the British Auror Corps. On behalf of the Fudge Administration, I would like to formally and officially welcome you to Wizarding Britain."
McAvity smiled at her warmly. "Thank you, Madam Bones! On behalf of Wizarding Australia, we are all honored to be here."
Amelia turned and gestured to Yaxley, who was beside her.
"And this is Corban Yaxley, Director of the British DMLE who will be overseeing on-site security for the Cup."
Yaxley took a step forward and bowed. "Director McAvity," he said simply.
McAvity continued to smile, but Percy immediately noted that it was suddenly not nearly so amiable.
"Yaxley, is it? I went to Hogwarts with a Vespasian Yaxley back in the day. He was a Fifth Year Slytherin when I was Sorted."
"Vespasian was my father," the other man said.
"Ah, and how is your dear father?"
Yaxley frowned slightly. "He died during the war, Director McAvity."
"Oh? I'm so terribly sorry to hear that. Whose side was he on?"
"Well anyway," Crouch interrupted before a visibly angry Yaxley could respond. "Now that the diplomatic pleasantries are over …"
"Really?" interrupted McAvity. "I hadn't realized they'd ever started."
Crouch sneered. "As I was saying. The portkey to the Cup facilities leaves in one hour. Before you can go, however, you and all your … people … will have to register your wands. As required by the QWC public safety regulations, you understand."
"I fully understand the regulations, Director Crouch," said McAvity with a bland expression. "Seeing as I helped write them back when we held the Cup at Uluru in 1986. Though I am curious as to why you're actually bothering to enforce them against the Australian delegation when, as I understand it, you pretty much just waved all the other nations through."
Crouch started to snarl a response when McAvity interrupted.
"Nevertheless, rules are rules, and we will, of course, comply with your registration requirements."
"Good," the other man snapped. "Now if you'll excuse me, I need to oversee the arrangements to transport the Goblet of Fire for its installation at the Cup Stadium."
"Oh, yes," McAvity said merrily. "I saw a picture of your Goblet thingy in the papers. It's very nice."
This time, Crouch did snarl. "Weatherby! Get everybody's wands registered!"
With that, Crouch turned and stalked off, with Yaxley and Bones close behind. Percy frowned at his boss's use of the wrong name for him (for the fourth time!) but merely nodded rather than correcting the older wizard. Dumbledore shook his head and clapped Percy on the shoulder before turning back to McAvity.
"Alas, Alexander, I will not be attending the Cup. To be brutally honest, if I don't have students involved, I find Quidditch frightfully dull. But you have a standing invitation to come visit me at Hogwarts while you're here in Britain."
"I shall take you up on that, Headmaster."
Dumbledore shook the man's hand and made his own way to the nearest Floo back to Hogwarts. McAvity turned to Percy.
"Well then, Mr. … Weatherby, is it?"
"Weasley, actually," Percy said with some embarrassment.
"Uh-huh. So does Crouch not know your name, or is he just being a wanker?"
Percy's eyes bulged slightly, and he took a moment to clear his throat. "Ahem. If you would step this way, Director McAvity," he said diplomatically.
Percy handled the processing with his usual efficiency, and the wand registration took less than fifteen minutes for the entire delegation. Near the end of the process, two people moved forward together, an older man in a somewhat weathered Auror's coat and a young woman in Muggle civilian attire. The canine came along with them. With her black hair pulled back into a ponytail, the girl looked to be not much older than Percy himself. She also seemed slightly nervous, though Percy attributed that to the scene that Crouch and McAvity had put on earlier.
"Name, occupation, and wand?" he asked the older man politely.
"Macmillan. Buck Macmillan. Senior Auror, retired. Eucalyptus with a Bunyip hair core." Then, he gestured down to the animal.
"And since my familiar can't rightly speak for himself, I'll answer for him. Reggie MacMillan, short for Reginald. Tasmanian wolf. No wand but a hell of a bite."
As if to prove his owner right, Reggie opened its mouth in a wide yawn. Percy's eyes widened, but when it became clear that the creature was not about to tear his throat out, he shrugged.
"As I recall, Auror Macmillan, Muggles believe Tasmanian wolves to be extinct. Can I assume that you know the proper Charms to conceal Reggie's true nature from any Muggles you encounter?"
"Yeah, there's a Charm on his bandana that will cause Muggles to see him as a Jack Russell terrier."
"Works for me," said Percy. Then, he and Buck each touched their wands to the card which Percy had placed on the table between them. Instantly, the card verified Buck's statements before transfiguring itself into an ID badge on a lanyard which represented both Buck's diplomatic attaché status and his ticket to the VIP box at the Cup.
"You said you were retired?"
"Yup! I was happily splitting my time between training my apprentice here and fly-fishing when I got reactivated for this job."
Percy glanced at the pretty young woman standing next to him.
"Oh! You're an Auror Trainee?" he asked.
"No," she said. "I may apply in the future, but right now, I'm just working for a DADA Mastery."
Percy tilted his head. The girl's accent sounded Australian to his untrained ears, but it was different than Macmillan's. He slid another card in front of her.
"Name?" Percy began going through his list of questions.
"White," she said with a smile. "Delphini White.
Norvegicus,
Target 3 has arrived at Ministry. Target 1 to be relocated to Dartmoor within the hour.
Misericorde
The QWC Stadium
11:30 a.m.
"That is … not nearly as impressive as I was expecting," said James Potter as he looked dubiously at the fabled Goblet of Fire. Nearly every Auror and Hit Wizard had been assigned to work security either for the Cup grounds or for the arrival of the Australian delegation, the latter of which was a ridiculous waste of manpower in James's opinion. Accordingly, the Misuse of Muggle Artifects Office had been temporarily deputized so that there would be at least someone who knew how to handle a wand on hand when the "priceless relic of a forgotten age" was installed prior to the start of the first quarterfinals match (Australia vs. Uganda) at two o'clock.
When asked, James jumped at the chance to deliver the Goblet to its installation site just below the VIP box at the stadium.
"Funny," he mused to himself. "A year ago, I'd have thought this beneath me. And now, I'm happy to volunteer for scut work just to get out of that sweltering office for a while. Plus, I at least get to see the stadium even if I'll miss all the matches."
Shaking off that lingering disappointment, James regarded the infamous Goblet of Fire. He'd expected something grand, or at least imposing, given its history. But it was, in fact, a rough-hewn wooden cup, completely unadorned and standing less than two feet tall. Most would be forgiven for thinking it was completely unmagical other than the soft glow of blue flames emanating from inside. But when James opened up its container and reached down to grab it, he suddenly jerked his hand back. For just a second, he was startled by the magical power that radiated from the Goblet of Fire. And also the brief sensation of being judged by a powerful yet not remotely human intelligence.
More hesitantly, James picked up the Goblet and handed it over to Percy who also blanched and shuddered upon touching the artifact. Then, he in turn handed it off to Joseph Abbot, the Squib who oversaw the Ministry's Maintenance Department. Joe, as his friends called him, did not appear to feel anything at all emanating from the Goblet, and he shrugged before placing it gently on the white marble column that had been placed here for display purposes.
"Okay, Young Mr. Weasley," he said. "How does it look?"
"It looks fine, Mr. Abbott," Percy replied. "And please do call me Percy! You've known my family since I was in short pants!"
"Aye, and I'll be happy to call you Percy when we're off the clock. But right now, we're not. And there's appearances to be maintained, so you'll be Young Mr. Weasley."
Percy grimaced. "Very well. If you insist, Mr. Abbott."
"Please," the Squib said amiably. "Call me Joe."
Percy rolled his eyes, while Joe turned his attention to James.
"And what do you think, Chief … Sorry, no disrespect intended."
Potter winced slightly. "None taken, Joe."
"So," Joe continued respectfully. "What do folks call you now, if you don't mind me asking?"
James opened his mouth and then paused. After a second, he turned quizzically to Percy. "What's your dad's official title, Percy?"
The young man was surprised at the question. "I'm pretty sure it's just … Mr. Weasley."
James nodded and turned back to Joe. "You can call me Mr. Potter then, Joe. Though I hope you'll call me James when we're 'off the clock' as you put it."
Abbott nodded with a smile. "Will do. And now that we know what to call one another, how do you think this overrated brandy snifter looks? Does it need any adjustments? I mean, once it's in place, no one's going to be able to get to it for a while."
"Oh?" James asked. "Why not?"
Percy spoke up. "The Goblet is enchanted to light up fully at the conclusion of the Minister's opening speech. Just pyrotechnics, though. None of its more … legendary properties will be invoked. Thereafter, it will remain lit from then through the closing ceremonies that will be held on the Sunday after the final match on 27 August. And until then, there will be a network of protective wards around it that will prevent anyone from getting close to it or interfering with it. It is a priceless historical artifact, after all."
Joe snorted. "It's made of wood, Young Mr. Weasley. I'm pretty sure I could whittle something more impressive than that in a week or two if you gave me a big enough block of pine. Well, I mean, you couldn't set it on fire or whatever you plan to do with it, but still!"
Percy coughed in embarrassment. "Yes, well, it's a 3,000-year-old piece of wood with a host of magical properties. It doesn't have to look impressive."
His last comment was belied by his doubtful tone. The Goblet's appearance was indeed rather dull when compared to its lurid history.
"Wait, so there's no way to get to it if something goes wrong?" James asked in mild concern.
"Not easily," Percy answered. "The only person keyed into the ward scheme is Bertha Jorkins, and she's out sick with Spattergoit."
"I'd heard it was Black Cat Flu," Joe interrupted. Percy shrugged.
"Regardless, unless she recovers and returns to work in the next few days, the only way to get through the wards before Sunday would be to get a half-dozen cursebreakers in to disassemble the ward scheme."
"Why are the wards keyed just to Bertha Jorkins, though?" James asked. "I'd have assumed that both Ludo and Barty would have insisted on having sole access."
Joe laughed. "They did! They argued for a week over who would get the honor, and whether it was the responsibility of the DMGS or the DIMC. And finally, Bertha, who was working for both departments, lost her temper and linked the ward scheme to her own bio-something whatsit …"
"Biomagical signature," Percy supplied.
"Yeah, that. Anyway, she used her own signature without telling either of them. The way I heard it, both Barty and Ludo each nearly blew a gasket over it!"
James looked at him in confusion.
"Gasket, Mr. Potter," Percy explained. "It's a Muggle thing … though I don't know anything about them except that it's a bad thing when they … blow."
Joe laughed. "Heh. Purebloods," he muttered, though he was careful to speak quietly enough for neither to overhear.
To all,
Target 1 is in place. Security protocols activated.
January
Blackstone
2:00 p.m.
After consulting with all of his adult advisors, Harry finally said yes to Teen Witch Weekly's request for an interview. When he mentioned that he had no idea why anyone would want to interview him, Artie just laughed before going through the list of fame-worthy things Harry had done in just the last year. In any case, it helped that the interviewer would be a friendly one. While Harry's fellow Wizengamot Lord, Daniel Greengrass, split his time between politics and international shipping and finance, his wife, Winifred Greengrass had found herself with lots of free time once her two daughters had started school. Prior to marrying Daniel, the former Winifred Abbott had been a journalist writing for the Daily Prophet, specifically for its Fashion and Living sections. Thus, when she applied to work at Teen Witch Weekly, her status and resume meant that she had no problem getting the job.
The fact that Lord Greengrass privately bought a controlling interest in the magazine probably didn't hurt.
Lady Greengrass ("Please, Harry, call me Winnie!") arrived just before noon, and she joined Harry for lunch in the solarium. She praised the boy for his good taste in the architectural and design changes he'd made to the former Potter Manor before getting down to business. They talked all through lunch and for an hour afterwards about a range of topics: Harry's death-defying aerial duel against a trio of werewolves and his earlier death-defying aerial duel against a pair of cursed Bludgers the previous year. (He was appropriately modest.) His astonishing performance in front of the Wizengamot when he claimed the dormant Wilkes seat. (He was self-effacing.) His views on various aspects of British Wizarding politics. (He was politely evasive.) His relationship with his godfather, Sirius Black. (He was full of praise.) His relationship with his birth-parents and his twin brother. (He deftly changed the subject.)
As the interview drew to a close, Harry had some questions of his own.
"Lady Greengrass, er, Winnie, I am curious. What led you to approach me about this interview?"
"Several reasons, Harry," she answered casually. "To be honest, one of them is spite. You see, the Boy-Who-Lived has steadfastly refused to give us an interview since House Greengrass purchased the magazine. Or more accurately, his mother has refused to approve an interview. I assume she's afraid that Teen Witch Weekly will now have Slytherin, if not outright Death Eater, sympathies." She scoffed. "As if the Death Eaters ever cared about fashion!"
Harry nodded. "I see. So you want to try and build me into a media personality on par with Jim as a way of getting back at House Potter?"
"Would it be a problem if I said yes? And at this point, don't you want to be a bigger media personality than Jim Potter?"
Harry said nothing at first. On one hand, the Oath of Enmity he was under made him mildly angry at the idea of being asked for an interview solely as a way to get back at the Potters. On the other, that same Oath of Enmity made the idea of becoming more famous and admired than Jim Potter somewhat attractive.
He frowned and took a moment to focus his Occlumency on his feelings to see which ones were genuine and which were the result of Sirius's ill-considered oath. The results were surprising, as he quickly deduced that Winnie Greengrass's offer of fame and popularity was ultimately just a distraction.
"So that's one reason, Winnie," he said easily. "What are the others?"
Winnie smiled. "Well, I must confess—another big reason is that my daughters asked me to. Both Daphne and Astoria are quite fond of you. And in light of your extraordinary achievements, they both encouraged me to reach out to you and see if I and my magazine could help you get the credit and recognition you deserve."
Harry nodded. "And I'm certainly grateful. And also happy to hear that about your daughters. We drifted apart a bit last year what with all that business about Theo No-Name."
Lady Greengrass winced slightly.
"Yes, I was rather upset to hear from my daughters that the unfortunate business had driven a bit of a wedge among the Houses of our alliance. Although I gather your good friend Neville Longbottom was also affected by that and just as strongly, and you have clearly forgiven him for it. I hope you will find your way to be just as forgiving to Daphne and Astoria now that the Ultimate Sanction has been withdrawn and those affected Purebloods in your circle no longer hold their former hostility to young Master Theo."
"Well, I'm certainly glad to hear that Daphne and Astoria are no longer ... so affected." He paused and chose his words carefully. "But tell me, Winnie, what do you think about that whole Ultimate Sanction business. I mean, a single Wizengamot Lord maliciously invoked a law written centuries ago against his own son that affected the minds of every other Wizengamot member along with most of Wizarding Britain. Does that not … trouble you?"
She shrugged almost dismissively. "Harry, I certainly do not defend the actions of Tiberius Nott, and Daniel was more than happy to join you in repealing the Ultimate Sanction provision. But … Magic is Magic. And the price we pay for the right to use Magic as our birthright is that we agree to be subject to its authority. So it was for each one of us from the moment a wand chose us."
"Still, Winnie. Surely you agree that mind control magic should at least be better regulated. I guess I'm having trouble seeing why the Imperius is considered Unforgiveable—as it should be—but not, say, a Confundus, even though the latter Charm can be used to violate a witch or wizard's mind just as easily."
She nodded slowly. "Well, it is still illegal to use a Confundus for a criminal purpose. But I think I see where you're going with this. You would see stronger penalties for illegal Confundus Charms and perhaps a broadening of the circumstances in which a Confundus might be considered illegal."
"That and other similar Charms. For example, I understand how Memory Charms are needed to preserve the Statute of Secrecy, but I still think they're subject to abuse, and I'd like to see the Wizengamot address that. As I understand it, there is no penalty for erasing the memories of a Muggle who witnesses a wizard breaking the Statute of Secrecy in some way. The general attitude seems to be 'if I breach the Statute but erase the memories of all witnesses, then no harm was committed.' But … I consider mucking about with the memories of someone who can't defend themselves to be a harm on its own. I think that, at a minimum, using a Memory Charm on a Muggle in order to cover up one's own misconduct should be considered Misdemeanor Muggle Baiting even if the underlying conduct isn't illegal. That would encourage wizards and witches to be more circumspect in dealing with Muggles, and it would help preserve the Statute while also being more ethical."
Winnie's eyes widened and she smiled. "That's a very interesting way to think about things, Harry. And I applaud your concern for the safety of Muggles. However, such changes to our laws would require a larger and stronger alliance than you presently have. How amenable are you to gaining new allies? And what steps are you willing to take to achieve such goals?"
Harry's eyes narrowed slightly. "What do you mean by that?"
She took a sip of tea as she prepared her thoughts. "This brings us neatly to the third reason I set up this interview: I wanted to butter you up as the Muggles say. I have received an overture from House Selwyn."
That caught Harry by surprise. "The Selwyns? My impression from Daphne was that House Greengrass and House Selwyn were rather antagonistic."
Winnie smirked. "At the time Daphne held such opinions, House Selwyn was attempting to pressure House Greengrass into an unfavorable fealty arrangement. Things have changed, however. We are both Ancient & Noble Houses now, even if House Greengrass has held that status for just a year or so compared to the untold centuries that House Selwyn has enjoyed it. Our two Houses are on an even footing, and as a result, the Selwyns have adopted a more conciliatory tone. This should not surprise you. They did join with our alliance to strike the Ultimate Sanction, after all."
Harry nodded slowly. The entire Selwyn alliance did join with Harry's network, as did House Nott. Of course, Lucius Malfoy essentially blackmailed them into it by holding over them the threat of Sirius using the Sanction on Narcissa Malfoy.
"So what do the Selwyns want now?" he asked.
"Put simply, they wish for the support of our alliance in elevating one of their four Cadet Houses to the status of Ancient & Noble House."
Harry did a double-take. "That's … a lot to ask, Winnie. While they helped us with the Ultimate Sanction, I think the Selwyns are opposed to most of my views about what Wizarding Britain should be. Their conduct during the last war …"
"Was the result of one family member, Berith Selwyn, falling in with the Death Eaters and putting several other family members under the Imperius Curse, Harry. For which Berith made a full confession before dying in Azkaban. If we are judging Houses by their past associations with He- Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, it would be odd for you to reject overtures from the Selwyns while you remain closely allied with House Malfoy and House Black, don't you agree?"
He grimaced. "Still, what are the Selwyns offering in exchange for such an incredible boon?"
"It's not as incredible as it sounds. Honestly, it's just them protecting their vote totals, I think. Uriah Travers is elderly and in ill-health, and he's likely to pass within the next few years without leaving a viable Heir. His death will mean the end of House Travers, thereby costing the Selwyn alliance five votes. By elevating one of their other Cadet branches, they will gain an additional five votes to offset that. And let's be honest. In the modern era, the Ministry of Magic holds far more power over the day-to-day lives of wizard-folk than the Ancient and Noble families. As a practical matter, the extra five votes are the only benefit to be gained by elevation. Plus, the Selwyns are offering to offset their increased voting bloc by giving us the chance to do the same."
Harry blinked. "Oh? How so?"
"Before I married Daniel, I was Winifred Abbott of the Common House of Abbott. If we support the Selwyns in elevating one of their Cadet branches, they will support us in elevating House Abbott to Noble status, thus bringing an additional five votes to our bloc. While traditionally Pureblooded—Sacred 28, in fact—House Abbott is generally a progressive House that staunchly opposed You-Know-Who. Indeed, my own father was an Auror personally murdered by You-Know-Who in 1978!"
Her voice rose slightly at the end. Harry thought it wise not to share that he'd seen the memory of Auror Abbott's death in Alastor Moody's memories. She took a moment to compose herself.
"And for what it's worth, when I married Daniel, I made him take an oath that he would never support the Death Eaters. But I digress. House Abbott is wealthy enough to pay Noble House dues. The putative Lord Abbott, should the House be elevated, would be Gilbert Abbott, my uncle. He's the founder and owner of Quickspell and a self-made millionaire. My cousin, Sam Abbott, who would likely be the Heir, is a Junior Auror. I believe he was present during your encounter with Gilderoy Lockhart at the end of your Second Year. He spoke to me of your bravery in pursuing that lunatic even if you were unable to apprehend him."
"You have another relative who's a Hit Wizard, yes?"
Winifred nodded sadly. "My cousin Lester. He's … he's currently in St. Mungo's. He was one of the Hit Wizards affected by the Toymaker's cursed object."
Harry nodded while the woman dabbed her eyes with a napkin.
"I'm sorry to have raised such a sensitive topic. Hannah Abbott is in your family too, right? She's in my year."
"Yes, Hannah is the daughter of Cousin Joseph. He's a Squib, but he married a Muggleborn named Pamela Cresswell. Her brother Dirk is head of the Goblin Liaison Office." She smiled. "So you see, the Abbotts are historically Purebloods, but we still look after our Squibs. Despite his blood status, we made sure that Joseph stayed in the Wizarding World, got a good-paying job at the Ministry, married a witch, and had a magical child. And in the process, House Abbott has embraced a family of Muggleborn siblings."
Harry sat back in his chair and thought. He'd held a bit of a grudge against Hannah Abbott just because of her membership in the CPS, but he had no reason to think she was terribly active in it. He made a mental note to talk with Amy about whether Hannah showed any signs of Pureblood bigotry even though she was a Halfblood herself. Voldemort was a Halfblood too, after all.
"You've made a good sales pitch, Winnie. But I need to talk it over with my advisors before I commit to anything."
"Fair enough. Perhaps during the Cup competition, you will do us the honor of dining with us one night. The Greengrasses, Abbotts, and Cresswells are sharing a tent."
Harry smiled. "I look forward to it."
After a bit more discussion about the proposed alliance, Winifred got back to the official reason for her visit and engaged Harry in an animated discussion about his expectations for the QWC, the quality of the tent that the Blacks and Malfoys would be sharing, and, of course, his thoughts on new developments in hair care products.
Later, after Winnie had left, he relayed all that they had discussed to Sirius and Regulus. He also told them the sad story of Lester Abbott and the other Hit Wizards cursed by what was obviously a dark object powered by Parselmagic, and he asked what, if anything, he could do about it without exposing his own secrets.
Nimrod
Targets 4, 5, and 6 will be on-site for entirety of QWC beginning on 8/15. Target 5 to travel by Muggle means.
Vespertine
8:30 p.m.
FINAL SCORE
AUSTRALIA 410
UGANDA 350
As the victorious Aussie Seeker made her lap around the stadium holding the Snitch over her head, the Australian section—nearly 5,000 wizards and witches from Down Under—screamed their jubilation at the victory. Australia was now in the Cup quarterfinals. In the VIP section, Alexander McAvity ecstatically embraced his fellow Aussie dignitaries. Finally, the Seeker flew to the center of the field, faced the Australian section and cast the Amplifying Charm on herself.
"AUSSIE, AUSSIE, AUSSIE!" she chanted.
"OI, OI, OI!" the Australians roared in response.
And perhaps none among them did so more boisterously than Regulus Black, who now wore a face that was an amalgam of three different London newsreaders he'd combined in hopes of being as nondescript as possible. Despite himself, he wiped tears from his eyes. Before his wife and son had died, the White family had already been making plans to attend the 1986 Quidditch World Cup when it came to Australia. While not as big a Quidditch fan as her husband, Matilda White was a patriot through-and-through, and the thought of how she'd have loved to see the Australian national team rise to such heights, and on English soil no less, made the celebration bittersweet.
As the cheers died down, Regulus made his way towards the exit. He planned to rendezvous with Buck for a celebratory beer, followed by a meetup with "Delphini White," the newly discovered cousin to the late Lazarus White. They had a lot of catching up to do, especially since he didn't yet know any of the cover story that Buck had invented for her.
So intent was Reg on his own mixed emotions of joy, melancholy, and curiosity about his new (old) cousin, he paid no attention to the undercurrent of anger that could be detected among the home crowd sitting in the nearby British section.
14 August 1994
Blackstone
Regulus did not return to Blackstone after Australia's victory. Having had "one too many," he contacted an annoyed Sirius by mirror to drunkenly announce that he would be "crashing on Buck's floor" but would return the next day to help Sirius make his way to the stadium site. Somewhat angrily, Sirius told his younger brother to remain there and that he would make his own travel arrangements.
The next morning, it turned out that Regulus was not the only one who had overdone it in celebrating Australia's exciting victory. For today was the day that Ludovic Bagman and Gwenog Jones were coming to provide audio commentaries for the Eye-Spy recordings of the charity matches staged at Hogwarts eight days earlier. And to everyone's annoyance, Ludo himself showed up an hour late and still badly hungover. Getting yelled at for his unprofessionalism by the ever bombastic and usually profane captain of the Holyhead Harpies did not help his disposition, although the hangover remedy provided by Dobby did.
Once the furor had died down, Hestia Jones stepped forward with some contracts for both Ludo and Gwenog to sign, while Harry observed. He was aware of the tense relationship between the Jones sisters but had never met Gwenog before today. Seeing them together was illuminating. Indeed, Harry might not have realized they were related had he not known beforehand. For one thing, Gwenog still had a very noticeable Welsh accent while Hestia spoke what Vernon Dursley would have called the Queen's English. For another, Gwenog was dark-skinned while her younger sister was light-skinned and, in fact, somewhat pale.
Whatever their differences, Hestia was completely professional as she went over the contracts. Ludo and Gwenog would be paid the sum of 50 galleons each to sit and watch the edited Eye-Spy recordings of the two charity matches and provide an audio commentary which would be inserted into the recordings, as well as 5% each of the profits from any recordings sold. While not a princely sum to people as well off as Jones and Bagman, the Harpies Beater agreed to do it as a favor to her little sister. Despite the friction between them, Harry intuited that they were actually quite close, and their relationship reminded Harry of that of Fred and Percy Weasley in some ways. As for Bagman, it was well-known that the gregarious DMGS Director had a bit of a gambling problem and was always on the look-out for something to bring in a little extra cash.
Six hours later, Jones and Bagman had completed their work under the guidance of Harry, Anthony, Sue, and a starstruck Ginny Weasley (who had threatened Harry with bodily harm if he denied her the chance to meet Gwenog Jones). Gwenog was quite impressed with the potential of the Eye-Spies and asked if she could tell the owner of the Harpies about it and see if he was interested in marketing recordings of their games. Harry eagerly assented. But that was nothing compared to Bagman's response.
"So how long does it take you to set up these Eye-Spies to record a game?" he asked.
Harry shrugged. "Not long at all, really. I think it took us an hour or two to get set up to record at Hogwarts."
Bagman nodded sagely. "So assuming I can get it approved tomorrow morning, would you be able to set up to record the Cup matches starting tomorrow?"
Harry's eyes nearly bugged out of his head, and he suddenly felt weak at the knees. Behind him, Anthony and Sue looked at one another in shock and then delight.
"Um, I would have to consult with my associates and our solictor, but … probably?"
"Splendid!" Ludo said jovially. "Have her drop by my office around 10 o'clock tomorrow, and we'll see what we can put together."
"D-Definitely," Harry said, still nearly speechless. In truth, he'd wanted Bagman to see what the Eye-Spies could do as a proof of concept. Getting an invitation to record the Quidditch World Cup was something beyond his wildest dreams at this point. If things went well, this might be the start of "Harry Black: Media Mogul."
As Hestia escorted the two Quidditch personalities back to the Floo, they were met by Sirius Black who was headed out as well. Despite himself, he froze in surprise at the sight of Gwenog … and her sister Hestia. While Sirius had resolved to be a perfect gentleman and avoid even the appearance of hanky-panky where his attractive young solicitor was concerned, he still suspected that Hestia might harbor some ill-will over his long-ago one-night fling with Gwenog. But that did not prepare him for the reaction of Gwenog herself.
"Well, now. Sirius Black as I live and breathe!" said the Quidditch star.
"Gwenog Jones!" he replied easily. "It's a pleasure to see you again. How long has it been?"
"Far, far too long, Blackie," she said with a cheeky grin. "So, are you all recovered from Azkaban?" she asked with her characteristic bluntness. "Everything back in working order again?"
"Gwenog!" hissed a scandalized Hestia.
"Oh hush, Baby Sister," the other witch replied. "Blackie and I go way back together. Four violent years smashing Bludgers at each other's faces. Plus one night of fumbling teenage passion that I for one remember well. Do you still have that little parting gift I left for you?"
Sirius Black blushed for the first time in over a decade. "Um, possibly. I'm not entirely sure what happened to all my … Hogwarts mementos after I went to … well, you know."
Gwenog moved closer to the flustered Sirius and grinned at his discomfort. "Well, Blackie, you should know, I still have the parting gift I took in exchange."
Then, she winked at Sirius before stepping into the Floo and departing with a confused Ludo Bagman following after. Hestia, meanwhile, simply glared at him with her arms folded.
"Might I inquire as to what my sister was talking about, Lord Black?"
He coughed delicately. "Well, you know how you referred earlier to the stories that got bandied around Hufflepuff about how I kept Gwenog's undies as some kind of boorish souvenir after we … you know."
"Go on," Hestia said in an icy tone.
Sirius grimaced and adjusted the collar of his shirt. "Well, it would perhaps be more accurate to say that she willingly left her own underwear behind in exchange. She left the room where we, um, did it while I was asleep and took my boxers with her. For, um, her collection."
He smiled nervously while waiting for Hestia's response. The solicitor stared at him for several long seconds before giving out a long-suffering sigh. She turned and headed back towards Harry to discuss the contract negotiations with Bagman.
"This is why I left Wales," she muttered loudly to herself as she exited.
Sirius watched the witch depart and then smiled to himself. His school days dalliance with Gwenog Jones was a fond memory, if in some ways an embarrassing one. After a moment spent in reminiscence of happier days, Sirius headed into the Floo himself.
"Granger Residence!" he shouted before disappearing in a burst of flame.
The Home of Dan Granger
Thirty minutes later
Dan regarded his house-guest dubiously. "You want me to pose as a Squib for the next two weeks? Just so I can accompany my own daughter to a sporting event? Seriously? Is bigotry against us … Muggles really that bad?"
Sirius winced. From Dan's emphasis on the word Muggle, it was plain that he thought the word itself to be offensive.
"And to be honest," he thought. "It kind of is, I reckon."
"The issue isn't bigotry per se, Dan," he said aloud. "It's more like … paranoia. The wizards running the World Cup have to balance the fact that they're running the single biggest magical sporting event in the world with the fact that the Statute of Secrecy is the most important magical law in the world. If you say that you're a Squib who was raised abroad and have even a passing understanding of wizarding culture, no one will look twice at you. But if you broadcast the fact that you're a Muggle? At the World Cup? At a minimum, you'll have people looking at you funny the whole time you're there. At worst, someone might panic and try to Obliviate you. Plus, it might risk some kind of diplomatic incident. With the Bulgarian team doing so well, there will be a lot of people there from the Balkan Alliance. They … don't do well with Muggles."
Dan blinked. "The … Balkan Alliance?"
Hermione spoke up. "That would be the political and economic alliance of those Wizarding nations whose territories overlap a number of Eastern European countries, including the the former Soviet Union and several of its satellites, Daddy. I gather they're rather … insular compared to Britain. Understandably so, I guess, since for them, being a Muggle has meant living for decades under a repressive dictatorship. Outside of Hogsmeade, there are no wizarding settlements in Britain that aren't hidden within Muggle towns and cities. In Bulgaria, it's the other way around. Most wizard-folk live in hidden enclaves as far from Muggle society as they can get. They try not to interact with Muggles at all, and don't think very highly of societies that do."
Her father nodded slowly and finally acquiesced. "Okay, what do I need to do then? Put on one of those dresses like most of the blokes in Diagon Alley wore the last time I went there?"
"They're called robes, Daddy," Hermione said reproachfully.
"And, ironically, you don't!" Sirius added quickly. "The Cup site is on a large open part of the Dartmoor National Forest and is relatively near Muggle towns, so there are strict orders for everyone attending to 'dress Muggle.' Your normal clothes will be fine."
"Uh-huh," said Dan. "So if I'm dressed like 'a Muggle,' or at least whatever wizards think Muggles dress like—I've seen Diagon Alley, after all—then how will I be acting any different from normal?"
"Basically, you'll avoid references to Muggle culture and politics, you won't mention the word 'dentist,' and if anyone asks how you got to the stadium site, you'll say the eccentric Lord Black hired a Squib of his acquaintance to be his driver."
"Your … driver?" Dan asked in confusion.
"Yeah," Sirius replied sheepishly. "I've sort of been taking advantage of the Muggleborn kid I hired as my personal assistant by making him drive me places. But I'd promised him some time off and then realized I don't have a way to the Cup."
The Muggle looked at him in confusion. "Don't you lot just teleport wherever you want to go?"
"Tele-what?" asked a nonplussed Sirius.
"Wizards call it Apparition, Daddy," Hermione explained. "If they do it under their own power, anyway. There's a similar technique called the Portus Charm, but it has to be cast on physical objects called Portkeys. Unfortunately, Muggles can't use either of those techniques for travel."
"Well, technically, a Muggle could get an experienced wizard to Side-Along Apparate him," she added, "but there's a non-trivial chance of the Muggle losing a body part, so …"
"WHAT?!"
"It's called Splinching," said Sirius gamely as if not discussing a form of mutilation. "Mostly harmless so long as you can find the missing body part and stick it back on. First time I tried Apparating, I lost three toes and an ear, but I was right as rain ten minutes later."
Dan gaped at his guest, while Hermione squinted her eyes shut.
"But anyway," the wizard continued. "As it happens, I am unable to travel by those means either. I'm still in recovery from my recent and totally unjustified incarceration in Azkaban Prison, a side effect of which was to give me a form of magically-induced claustrophobia. And since both Apparition and Portkeys cause the physical sensation of being sucked sideways through a drinking straw, I can't use either of them without … well, bad stuff happening."
Dan leaned back in his chair. "So, in other words, in exchange for me driving you to this shindig, you will do me the kind and generous favor of telling me how to be just enough of a Squib (which sounds like a racist term to me, if I'm honest) so that no one will realize I'm actually a Muggle (which also sounds like a racist term to me)."
"Yes! Exactly!" Sirius exclaimed while totally ignoring the Squib-slash-Muggle's comments about wizarding racism.
Dan gave Sirius a long baleful look before glancing over to Hermione and taking in her hopeful expression. He sighed.
"Alright. But you're paying for the petrol there and back! And in Muggle money!"
Sirius waved his hand dismissively. "Not a problem, Dan. Not a problem at all. I mean, it's just from London to Dartmoor and back. How much could it cost? A thousand pounds at most, right?"
Dan stared at the other man for a few seconds before smiling. "Yeah, I reckon that should about cover it."
15 August 1994
The Quidditch World Cup Quarterfinals
Despite his first impression of Sirius Orion Lord Black ("Please, just call me Sirius!"), Dan Granger took a shine to the man over the course of the four-hour drive to Dartmoor. Not only could Dan drive, he had a luxury SUV that he'd purchased over his wife's objections for all the camping expeditions he'd wanted to go on but never found the time. Sirius rode shotgun—which also required Dan to explain what "shotgun" meant in this context—while Hermione rode in the back. On the drive, when he wasn't fiddling excitedly with the power windows, Sirius explained what Dan's "backstory" would be. He also answered Dan's many questions about wizarding culture, albeit in ways that frequently made Hermione cringe. Granted, Dan had already learned the year before about little details like "marriage contracts" and so didn't drive off the road in a fury when the topic came up by happenstance. But he still was more than a little dubious about whether Wizarding Britain was still someplace he wanted his little girl to vanish off into some day.
The trio left early that morning and arrived at noon. To everyone's surprise, there was a designated parking area, though it only had three other cars. They were met by a dour Muggle by the name of Roberts who seemed delighted to meet Mr. Granger and his daughter ("First normal looking people I've seen in days!" he exclaimed), though he did give a jaundiced eye to Sirius's long hair and asked if he was "one of them hippies!"
Sirius blinked. "I … don't think so?"
"Don't mind him, Mr. Roberts," Daniel said forcefully. "This is my nephew. His mother sent him to Cambridge, and now he has dreams of being a stand-up comedian."
"Ah!" Roberts nodded knowingly. "Well, I'm sure he'll shape up once he gets older."
With that, Dan paid Mr. Roberts thirty pounds (of Sirius's money) to leave his SUV here for the duration. Then, he led an amused Hermione and a befuddled Sirius towards the campsite. Once they'd passed a certain invisible boundary, Dan stopped and gasped. From a distance, the campsite had looked like the sort of grounds one might expect at the FIFA World Cup. But then, suddenly, everything shimmered for a second only to be replaced with a veritable city of tents like something out of a Middle Eastern bazaar. Indeed, some of the tents were truly massive two-story affairs. Sirius had warned Dan that upwards of 100,000 wizards and witches were expected to attend, and now, the Muggle could certainly believe it.
"How will we ever find what we're looking for?" he asked.
"Easily, Daddy," Hermione said before pointing off in the distance. "Just look for the one with the flag that says BMW!"
Dan did a double-take when he looked in the direction his daughter had pointed. For indeed, one of the biggest tents he could see in the distance had a banner-like flag sticking out of the top that waved in the breeze while bearing the letters BMW.
"What? Like the car company?" he asked in confusion.
"I wish," Sirius replied. "Stands for Black, Malfoy, and Wilkes. Our three houses decided to go in on a tent together."
"Blimey! You call that a tent?! It's bigger than my house!"
Sirius laughed. "You think that's impressive, Dan? Wait until we get inside! Then, I'll introduce you to the miracle of Spatial Expansion Charms!"
"And what does that mean, dare I ask?" the Muggle inquired suspiciously.
"It means, my friend, that the inside is big enough for each of us to get his or her own room!"
"SIRIUS!" cried out a nearby voice with a Scouse accent that caused the trio to turn. "Uh, I mean, Mr. Black! Er, Lord Black, I guess!"
Sirius turned and grinned. It was Marcus Flint in his Auror Trainee robes.
"Marcus! Good to see you, lad! And it's Sirius to you, got it?"
"Yes sir. I mean, yes, Sirius." The young man grinned and shook Sirius's hand before giving Hermione a friendly nod. Then he turned to Dan, and Sirius quickly introduced him.
"Dan, this is Marcus Flint, a future Auror. That's what we call … well, policemen … sort of. Anyway, he's also a fine young man I'm proud to know. Marcus, this is Daniel Granger, Hermione's father."
Marcus moved to shake the older man's hand when the significance of the introduction hit him. He turned to Sirius in confusion.
"But if he's Hermione's dad, doesn't that mean he …?"
"Yep," Sirius replied with a grin before putting his finger over his lips. "Shhh, though. He's here undercover."
Marcus blinked. "Is … is that … legal?" Then, he shook his head. "Ya know what? Nobody's told me it's illegal, so I'm not gonna worry about it." Then, he shook Dan's hand without reservation. "Welcome to the Quidditch World Cup, sir! I hope you enjoy yourself!"
"By the way, Marcus," Sirius continued. "I'm a bit surprised to see you here and in uniform. You've only been in the program for a few weeks, haven't you?"
"Yeah, but they pulled in everyone they could for this. Apparently, Fudge, Bones, and Yaxley looked into things and found out that neither Bagman nor Crouch had allocated any money for security. Just one poor sap whose job was to keep that Muggle what owns the land Obliviated every time he gets suspicious. So they reassigned every Auror and Trainee they could to patrol the place in shifts. Not that I'm complaining, mind you. I was scheduled to spend the next week freezing my arse off while pulling monitor duty in some little Scottish hick town called Thurso. They also deputized half the DMLE and assigned them to temporary field duty, so now we've got a bunch of duffers from the Department of Intoxicating Substances running around like they're bloody Hit wizards. The Ministry also put up a huge network of Notice-Me-Not Charms so that the poor Muggle bloke wouldn't notice wizards acting like fools."
Then, he looked rather quizzically at Dan. "They don't seem to be affecting you though, Mr. Granger."
"My father has Squib heritage," Hermione explained. "He can see through most forms of Muggle-Repelling Charms."
"Oh, well that's alright then," Marcus replied. Dan frowned but said nothing.
"Anyway, I need to get back to my patrol so I can clock out in time to see Egypt clobber Luxembourg. Goooo Sphinxes!" he said, finishing with a pro-Egyptian cheer.
Sirius laughed. "You're a fan of Egypt, Marcus?"
"Eh, not really. I just hate Luxembourg, which all right-thinking people do. Worse than the bloody Australians, and that's saying something!"
Then, the Auror trainee gave a jaunty wave before heading off into the crowd, while the trio continued on towards the BMW tent. Halfway there, Hermione was surprised to hear a familiar voice calling out.
"CORNISH PASTIES! GET YOUR CORNISH PASTIES! FRESH AND HOT!"
Hermione moved ahead of the two men and led them towards a nearby stall adorned with a large sign saying "MOLLY'S MAGICAL MORSELS" with a large crowd in front of it clamoring for food. In addition to Cornish pasties, the booth also offered "German Frankfurters," "Egyptian Shawarma," and "American Hamburgers (Warning: does not contain ham)," as well as several other examples of "fairground food" representative of the competing nations. She wondered idly what sort of street vendor food was associated with Luxembourg but was soon distracted by the red-haired, freckled boy who was loudly hawking Molly's wares.
"JIM?!" she yelled in surprise.
"What?!" the magically gingerfied Jim Potter responded in denial. "No, no! My name is Barny! Barny Weasley! I'm Ron's cousin from Liverpool!" Then, he grinned madly.
"Oh, are you?" she replied with amusement. "Yes, I can tell from your thick Liverpudlian accent."
"Friend of yours, Hermione?" Dan asked as he and Sirius drew near. Jim's eyes widened at the sight of the powerful wizard who'd sworn a magical enmity against his entire family. The witch looked back and forth between Sirius and the suddenly nervous Boy-Who-Lived.
"Oh … no, Daddy," she lied quickly. "This is my friend Ron's … cousin Barny. I thought he looked like someone else at first."
"Barny Weasley, huh?" said Sirius with narrowed eyes. Jim gulped. Then, Sirius abruptly shrugged and looked up at the board. "Let me try one of those shawarma things."
Ten minutes later, the trio finally arrived at the BMW tent, where Lucius Malfoy was on hand to greet them, immaculate in his robes of black and silver brocade.
"Miss Granger," he said silkily. "A pleasure to see you again. And you must be Mr. Granger, Lord Black's distant Squib cousin. Or something along those lines."
"Um, yeah, that's me. Everybody's favorite Squib cousin."
Dan found himself unaccountably awed by Malfoy's presence. Sure, he'd spent plenty of time over the last two days with Sirius. But while Sirius Black was a wizard, Lucius Malfoy was a wizard, perhaps the very first magical being who Dan had met that he felt might be both inclined and able to turn him into a toad. He glanced around nervously.
"So … are those real peacocks?"
To all
All targets have arrived. Target 2 is in disguise, albeit poorly.
Direction
Nimrod
Targets 4, 5, and 6 are all staying with my former husband. You may consider him an unofficial Target 7 if the opportunity presents. Do not share that with the others, darling.
Direction
Thurso, Scotland
10:30 p.m.
"And that concludes Day 7 of the 422nd Quidditch World Cup, with an exciting 380-250 victory for Luxembourg over Egypt! The Wizarding Wireless Network's Cup coverage will continue tomorrow with the special exhibition match featuring Britain's own Tutshill Tornados taking on the Toyohashi Tengu from Japan! Then, on Wednesday, quarterfinals competition will resume with Ireland taking on Transylvania! Hopefully, those plucky lads and lasses from Eire can avenge their English cousins for last week's humiliation at the hands of the Transylvanian team. Until then, this is Smash McLaggen of the Wizarding Wireless Network signing off!"
With an idle flick of his wand, Peter Pettigrew turned off the Wireless. Then, he resumed his study of the ancient papyrus resting on the table before him by the light of both his wand's Lumos and the full moon overhead. A white rat named Socrates was perched on his shoulder. Presently, both Pettigrew and Socrates were about five miles outside Thurso proper. His attention was split between practicing an incantation written in Apophic Egyptian, a magical language that had been dead before Rome was a city, and making sure his new friends were both contained and fed.
The Death Eater shivered slightly before casting another Warming Charm on himself. If he'd had his druthers, he'd be practicing for his part in the plan somewhere indoors and better lit. But after his last visit to Thurso, he decided it was best to oversee things personally. Pettigrew yawned and shook his head before pouring himself another cup of coffee from the Muggle thermos he'd brought with him. He also fished a cracker out of his coat pocket and fed it to Socrates before resuming his studies. It was difficult to concentrate, however, what with the sound of bones crunching and flesh tearing from nearby.
Suddenly, there was a pop from nearby. It was Rookwood, who paused only briefly and without fear when the half-dozen werewolves nearest his arrival point pulled themselves away from the dead cow they were devouring to focus on the scent of manflesh. The largest of them turned fully in Rookwood's direction and prepared to spring.
"NO!" Pettigrew snapped without looking up from the papyrus. "You have your food already! You will eat what I've given you!"
The alpha wolf snarled angrily in Pettigrew's direction which finally caused the Animagus to look up. He scowled at the disobedient creature before slashing his hand with his wand and flinging a spatter of blood in its direction.
"Obey!" Peter snarled. The werewolf sniffed the air before bowing its head submissively and turning back towards the dead cow. Rookwood observed all of that impassively.
"You're quite sure they're under control?" he asked. "You'll need a Blood Replenishing Potion at this rate."
Peter snorted. "I don't have the bond with them that I had with Fenrir's pack, but I can control them. Besides, it's only for tonight. After the full moon is over, they'll do what we want because we pay them if nothing else."
The older wizard nodded. "Good. All targets are in place by now. Everyone is in position."
Peter's face grew sullen. "I still don't think Nimrod is up to fulfilling his assignment. Honestly, I doubt he's a match for Harry Black, let alone Sirius."
"The assignment is his. I know you want revenge on both of them, but you have your own task, one far more important than Nimrod's. The Blacks and the Wilkes girl are merely targets of opportunity, after all."
He glanced down at the papyrus. "And speaking of your assignment, how's your Apophic coming?"
"I've pretty much got the incantation down, but I'm still trying to wrap my head around the ritual itself. It's a Selwyn ritual, and you know what those are like. Gory and unsettling. But I'll be ready when the time comes."
Rookwood grimaced. "You'd better be, Peter. You must be able to perform your part of the ritual flawlessly when the stars come into alignment on the night of the 27th. You're the only one who can do it."
Pettigrew sighed. "I know, Gus. But in case you've forgotten, I'm also the only one can do all this," he said while gesturing towards the surprisingly docile werewolf pack.
"True, but they are but a diversion and are expendable. You, my friend, are irreplaceable. If you fail to perform the ritual properly, Peter, everything we've been planning will be set back for years. And I … I will not be able to protect you."
The Animagus looked up fondly at his mentor. "It's okay, Gus. Everything will go fine. Don't worry."
And by the light of the full moon, Peter Pettigrew's face broke out into a broad grin.
"I am his greatest servant, after all."
Next: The QWC Continues! And by the way - what the heck is a Veela?
AN1: Check out the Sinister Man's web presence on the POS wiki, the POS TV Tropes page, and my Discord server (through which you can see advance previews of this story as it is begin written). Also, the Sinister Man would be profoundly grateful if you checked out my P*****n page and supported my original fiction. Patronage is not necessary to get the free POS previews via Discord.
AN2: The part of Alexander McAvity will be played by Colin Mochrie. The part of the mysterious Delpini White will be played by Maisie Williams (specifically, as in her performance as "Me" in the Doctor Who episode "Heaven Sent").
AN3 (What the Sinister Man is reading):
The Merging by Shaydrall has updated after a long hiatus. Squib by dhulli has as well, as has All in the Family by bookhater. Also, there's a new story. Peter Pettigrew and the Deathly Hallows by AverageFish is an odd but interesting redemption fic in which a surprisingly likeable and penitent Peter dies and his soul merges with that of an apparently autistic 5-year-old Harry Potter.
AN4 Special thanks to my Discord editors: BlueWater5, Bob, casewobble, Eclipse, EssayOfThoughts | Aich, FeatheryMinx, GentCrowCruisin' (Gods of Irony), Jennifer the Green Chaos Duck, justanotherrandomhuman, kean, Krisni, Mr. Z, Nemo's Flower Song, ProfessionalDragonslayer, Rubric of Ahriman, Sakkiko, SiriusBarkingMad, The Green Pyromancer, and TNT. Thanks, guys!
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