Chapter 11: The War Resumes
A/N: Made a small typo in the last chapter. Abbott should have two t's, not one. I'll fix it soon after uploading this chapter for consistency's sake.
Also, this chapter will be late and, for that, I can only apologise. I have a large abrasion on one eye which effectively means my writing time is down to less than an hour before I have to stop for the night. Healing is slow going but, it should be complete within the next month.
After five years the world had changed considerably, both on a global scale and on the personal stage for the man that was born Harry Potter.
The island of Nysa was no longer a pipe dream or small bolt hole. Instead, it was a major economic power in both worlds (though thanks to several systems in place long before its founding the muggle world was, as of yet, largely unaware of that fact). Its mix of magical and muggle citizens now numbered nearly one hundred and twenty-five thousand and its people were far wealthier than those of most other countries.
More than that they were made up of many races and were from all over the world. In other eras, this might have been a sign of how good the island had it. It was that but, it was also one of the many signs that the rest of the world wasn't doing so well.
Most did know that the island sat below the ocean, that the glass shield protected them from the outside world, but what they didn't know was that, thanks to certain things agreed upon and enchantments, they couldn't speak of that if they were off the island.
With its almost 1,420 square mile radius (though mainly due to the fully functioning permanent expansion charms) and expanded height meant that, even if they did know, they probably wouldn't care. Its expanded height was nearly 2,700 feet at its maximum distance from the ground. They would care if they knew that, if you refused the invitation to come to the island, all memory of the visit was wiped from your mind.
The reason that they hadn't been told was simple. The security and the safety of Nysa came at a cost and, though Harry and the rest of the Council tried to make that cost as small as possible their anonymity was a cornerstone of it.
It was a shield that they all knew would fail eventually but, these past five years had only been possible because of it. Before the world intruded on them they had to be ready and, though they couldn't fight off an entire country for long, in theory, they wouldn't have to.
The woods were wild and teeming with life, both magical and not (be it animal or fauna), and it flourished underneath the strong green canopies of trees that had been fast grown with magic. The youngest planted trees had the appearance of ones that had been there for a decade at a minimum.
As of three years previously, the farmhouses that dotted throughout the land and against the edges of the forests themselves had finally got enough House-elves to help maintain the farms. In fact, around half of the farmers were muggles that had grown used to doing their work with the help of the useful beings.
Since the first harvest of that year, Nysa had not only enough raw foodstuffs to feed its people but, it had become a major player in certain food markets and it was all thanks to a weakness that had been shown to them by the Nation. It turned out that the majority of the magical word grew no raw materials that were not magical in nature, instead they bought it from the muggles.
Hardly a hardship for them, given the value of raw gold to the muggles. It was also a market that could be exploited and, somehow, no one had. That then, is what Nysa did.
As for magical markets, Harry's company Rare Resources specialised in hard to grow and find ingredients for difficult or hard to make potions. Nysa Mining was providing a carefully balanced amount for a return in both markets so they did not saturate either with their goods (gold and silver for the magicals, copper, gemstones, oil and natural gas for the muggles) or draw too much attention to themselves.
Oddly enough, they could work more easily in the magical markets than any others in that final sense.
Nysa Mining was the largest supplier of jobs on the island as the mining, though made easier with magical tools, could be done by anyone and, frankly, muggles tended to keep themselves more fit than their arcane cousins. It did share its profits, as the Council intended though, as after it had paid its workers and subtracting all of its other running costs (Harry's debt had been paid back to him long before) it went back to the people.
As with any business that wasn't privately set up (those followed the same breakdown but only using ten per cent of their profits) ten per cent was set aside for Government and its costs, five per cent went to public works and maintenance and five per cent went to education and healthcare.
In private businesses the ratio was different, being more like two, one, and half a per cent for the remaining ones each.
Because of these facts, all healthcare on the island was free. Basic food and clothing were also provided without cost and there were no student loans or tuition fees for any segment of their education system. Actual taxes had not yet been needed to be imposed and even the homeless, thanks to all of this, were all but non-existent on the island.
Still, that did not mean that they were living on some sort of eutopia as the Hawks still existed and they had plenty of work to keep their skills sharp. The island even had a prison though it was rarely used for anything other than misdemeanours. The harshest penalty that they had, outside of treason, was a complete memory wipe of their time on Nysa and permanent banishment from its shores. Treason was still a death sentence though
Neither sentence had yet to be carried out.
On the other hand, firesilk was now a success, despite some sceptical noises from the other Council Members at first. It remained, to this day, one of the better ideas that Harry had when he had agreed to become a silent minority partner in that business (he owned three per cent of its shares and Hermione a further two). It was at a time when Neville was first struggling to perfect the idea. Frankly, Nysa couldn't have survived without it as it was this business that enabled the flow of money into the country that financed (or helped to finance) all others that came after it.
It was also the most common fabric seen on the island. Thanks to its magical nature it was one of the most veritable fabrics in existence. With the right runes and enough layers, it could be a very decent light armour that was very spell resistant and yet by itself it could easily be turned to the consistency of cotton or wool (as it was at least partly from an Ashwinder it came out magical hot and malleable because of that) with a very simple spell as it was cooling. If one wanted silk, for scarves or shirts it was even easier as no spellwork was required.
The only thing that they were struggling with was reheating the fabric so that it could be recycled from one form into another. Still, the hybrids lasted far longer than their magical parent and bales of all types were being created and the beautiful cherry on top was that the silk production line (outside of startup) required no active magic and so it was primarily also run by non-magicals.
Despite what its name might imply it was no predominantly red. It could be any colour the client wished through a simple colour-changing charm added to those that might be placed on it while it was cooling (the silk line used rune-covered poles that could be twisted to different colour schemes to hit the bales as they cooled) and the most prominent colours on the island were actually light blues, blacks, greens and pastels.
Even better, for their money situation, it was rarely sold off the island and this meant that they not only controlled the supply line for a very in-demand product (every other magical fabric had issues with the rarity of the beasts, their natural protections, their aggression or some mixture of all three), it also meant that prices between the island and everywhere else changed wildly. On the island a good quality embroidered scarf could cost you a handful of sickles and yet, that same scarf off of it would set you back anywhere between one and three hundred galleons.
Supply and demand were such lovely words.
As for the people, nearly one third were not magical but had relations who were. Aside from the jobs already mentioned (and given the lack of traditional roads), there was a flying taxi service based loosely on both the flying carpets of the Middle East and the Ford Anglia that Mr Weasley used to have. There was even a public bus service based on the Knight Bus and anyone, be they magical or not, could drive all of them. The only difference was that, instead of buying a bus ticket, you ordered a specially tuned light stone to summon it or the taxis.
In short, the people were thriving and there were still many jobs to be had. Nysa had even registered their first International Quiddich team and had six local ones to draw from. They were not ready for the World Cup yet, though as it was 2005 they still had three years until the next one and they had a chance to compete, although no one really expected such a young team to win.
They were also tentatively trying to set up a second level to their government on the island. The proposal was for one made up of those that were voted in, rather than allowed in by virtue of their birth. To simplify, the Council of Ten would function almost like the House of Lords once had and this new theoretical body would work like The House of Commons although their law-making powers would be reversed. Still, it was only theoretical for the moment and much could change before it was implemented.
The world outside the island had only grown darker even as Nysa had prospered especially in what was Magical Britain. All the eyes of the I.C.W. were on the cold war that threatened to erupt into a new and bloody catastrophe at any moment.
The magical landmasses of Wales, Scotland and England had broken away from each other and the I.C.W. had, however reluctantly, accepted both the dissolution and the new individual states into its governing body. It was part of an ultimately futile attempt to control the situation.
The signs of that naive plan failing were already there for anyone to see. The I.c.w. Had imposed sanctions for travel in and out of those states, limiting it to officials and small groups. Whenever anyone did leave they were also carefully watched.
Ireland was contested by all and currently was a bloody, fractious space where there was often a rolling skirmish. Rarely was there a death though as all sides had grown adept at bolting before that stage or before they could be arrested even as the I.C.W's Hit Wizards had improved in their response time accordingly.
Magical Wales had closed its borders to everyone as they tried to wait out the conflict. They hadn't even sent a representative to the I.C.W. as that would mean leaving a hole in their defences that could be exploited.
No one had heard from them in three and a half years.
The I.C.W. had enforced restriction after restriction, sanction after sanction and all of it was to no effect. Things were far beyond that though and it showed more as time went on. It was like watching an explosion in slow motion and being unable to stop it or save anyone because no one would admit the truth.
Diplomacy had failed.
In Scotland, Dumbledore was, on paper, the Head of a diplomatic Council and Government-in-exile. In reality, largely due to the fact that there were far too many followers in the Magical World, he was a king in all but name. They flocked to him as if he would save them from the dar of Voldermort and he was some sort of all-powerful angel and they sheltered under his metaphorical wings.
The truth of the matter (which was often discussed by those not directly involved in the war) was that Dumbledore wasn't saving them. All his dubious protection was doing was delaying and distracting Voldemort and one of the main reasons for that was the fact that, even now, he resisted killing his enemies. A nice idea in concept, but terrible in execution, especially in wartime.
He was still trying to make his interpretation of the prophecy come to pass. He was sacrificing almost all offensive capabilities and hunting for anything that could make his revision a reality. He wanted to rehabilitate and redeem rapists and murders and, for that alone, Harry would hate him even without everything else he had done but no one could prove.
As ever, the man was a polarizing influence on the greater stage. His few die-hard international supporters defended his every action and his detractors found more to fault him with almost daily. The difference that five years had made was to the scope of feeling and the neutral elements. They had gone from ambivalent over Dumbledore's and Voldemort's actions, to concerned and disgusted only to stay there.
The question was, when would it become enough for them to act?
In Non-Magical Britain, it appeared nothing had changed but, like most things in the world, it wasn't the plain unvarnished truth. People were disappearing, the Prime Minister and the Royal Family controlled by magic to preserve the illusion of normalcy, countless Muggle-borns killed or taken either as experiments or turned into Werewolves and the Death Eaters were now a law unto themselves.
This kept the Statute intact, if barely, though historically such things didn't last long and made the situation far more complicated to fix instead in the long run. The I.C W. knew this (it was one of the many original motivations behind their formation), but after so many years since its founding, the once superb organisation had grown bloated and exploitable, at least to an extent, for a determined mind let alone the twin intellects of Dumbledore and Voldemort.
So they continued to argue in circles as countries fought, people bled and families were destroyed. A breaking point was coming, all involved knew that, and when it happened the cost would be far higher thanks to the political dithering.
Lady Abbott had finished her time as the had finished her time as Head Councillor this year and taken up the role of liaison to the Director of The Department (who themselves were colloquially called the Council's Hand or, more commonly, just Hand). The new leader of the Council was far less reserved than her, more proactive and arguably more invested in the greater world than she was.
Then again, Daniel Granger was a very forthright man and he worried about his family that now included a three-year-old magical son whose name was Thomas. Given that and the fact that he felt a certain kinship to the muggles of the UK, he wasn't willing to sit back and build like Robin Abbott nor was he willing to wait for the I.C.W to make up its mind.
The Delacour's would continue to push for intervention there, from both countries even as several small teams would (off the books as it were) enter Britain to help where they could discreetly. This was not a true war though and they couldn't be found without causing an international incident and, for that to change in any way they would need the sanction of the International Confederation of Wizards. There was also no conscription on either the island or France and they didn't call in any debts that they might have gained over the last five years, even those in the Towers of Sunrise and Sunset.
Instead, this would be a war of clandestine raids, of bloody back alley combat. They did plan to get some legitimacy from the I.C.W. but, it would be the barest and no one expected it without a few dozen arguments and problems. Hopefully what they learned would gain them relief and much-needed support.
France was one country, as was Gringotts and neither could afford to devote full resources on their own against a presumably war-ready Voldemort. No matter what Nysa had done recently it was still a relatively small island that would likely be finding the true scope of its power for the next few decades so all three could use the official backing of the larger, not only to save making waves but also to shoulder the supply and logistics that would come with making a larger push.
Besides, neither France nor Nysa could afford to make too many enemies at once, and the I.C.W would always outclass them in numbers if not necessarily quality.
-HPCOD-
Lord Harry Emrys had filled out in the last few years and this was evident in the way that his muscles rippled on his shirtless form even has he finished crafting another wand for another eleven-year-old about to start at the Tower of Sunset. This act was all the more impressive because, not only did it take years normally to do what he was doing but he was also doing it without using any foci except his will and the occasional gesture or caress from his hands.
The fact that the soon to be new owner was a goblin pup wasn't even worth mentioning. The rules against them owning wands did not exist on Nysa after all, they still weren't allowed to teach (thanks to the exact wording of the prohibition forced upon by the I.C.W.) but no one was asking them to do that.
"I like you shirtless," said a new voice through the slightly dusty and stuffy air of his workshop even as Harry turned to smile at his wife of a little over two years.
Both of them looked good as, aside from one day in a fortnight for date night, they had not slowed their pace or physical training and merely shifted what they would learn. Harry, for example, was standing before her in simple dark firesilk trousers and looked every inch the type of housewife's dream that was often illustrated on the front of trashy romance novels. His hair had grown long to the small of his back as he found it more manageable like that when it was short and was kept back and under control by a custom made shampoo coupled with a leather hairband.
To the magically sensitive, like Veela, he was even more attractive past his flesh. While crafting his magic was tightly controlled but, it was also released and playful around him showing both his skill and depth of power.
He was also one of the first graduates of the Towers university extension, called Sanctuary, with a Masters in both Combat and Ritual Magic and managing to finish a Sorcerers Degree in both Runes and Wandcrafting. Very long days, followed by a minimum of rest and an intense physical fitness regime could achieve a lot.
He enjoyed the work and was more than a little amused that his hobby was a critical profession for the island as he was their only full-time wand crafter. It was not surprising as, even for magic, creating wands was far more an art than a science.
The years had also been kind to Hermione and allowed her natural beauty to grow and shine through. She was not only a certified Healer but also a very respected researcher, despite only being in the field for a very short time compared to her peers. She was also a passionate advocate for the rights of everyone who lived on the island and had done her best to keep a foot in both sides of the natural divide between the Non-Magicals and the Magicals and had in fact been away until this morning as she was busy mediating a dispute between two of the races that called this place home.
"How are the Sirens and the new sect of Veela settling in?" Harry's question was spoken even as he towelled his slightly sweaty body and moved to hug his wife with a hungry gleam in his eye.
"Settling in nicely, once old grievances were aired and thanks to Fred and George's bracelets. They may always be pranksters but, their skills have been sharpened by that and they are really helping," she replied even as she laughed at his antics and moved backwards.
"That almost seems like you approve of pranking," he teased her. "Three separate Veela colonies joining our home and all thanks to the fact that they had to find something that blocked the smell of dungbombs."
"How dare you!" Hermione's mock outrage was ruined by her grin as she spoke. "Still, it does take a genius to twist the runes that dampen magical smells to do the same for magical pheromones. Granted, that's not all the allure is but, it will take the edge of even the most uncontrolled and accidental spike and that doesn't even take into account what they did for the Sirens either."
"The twins are impressive. They surprise me too, though for me it's more the fact that they are so successful. The Fred and George from when we were younger had the heart to run a business, the brains even, but not the discipline. These days almost a third of our manufactured goods go through their businesses to the outside world (except for the firesilk trade) and that means they and the quality of their goods are known to the Veela Nation."
"Now who seems approving of the devil twins?" Hermione teased him right back.
Some of the heavy stress that had plagued her for the last few weeks seemed to slide from her shoulders at their easy banter, exactly as Harry had hoped it would, as despite how light they made the issues seem, negotiations had been very hard on all parties. That was even with Fleur as another negotiator and bridge between them and she was very glad that it was, for the present, over.
"So what plan of attack did you two come up with? Or is it a state secret that even I'm not allowed to know?" Harry asked, even as they had moved far enough back, in this amorous dance of theirs that they were now inside their home.
The warm golden glow of that, of something that was theirs and away from the world outside enveloped them
"It was simple really, we approached them as Veela and not as beasts or demi-humans and were very respectful both of their culture and our intrinsic differences. We didn't treat this like glorified blow-up dolls or people with a shameful habit that is automatically looked down on. Essentially we stuck a good middle ground with them. They'll make their homes in the mountains where they won't have to wear the bracelets and their young can truly let loose as they learn about themselves and what it means to be a Veela."
"Something that they haven't been able to do without safeguards...not properly...not in centuries," Harry added.
"Exactly and, thanks to our devils, even their very young will be able to control their allure enough that they will be able to form proper, deeper and longer-lasting friendships than they normally can until their control has settled. It'll also help those like Fleur an easier time in finding their match without their nature clouding the issue too much."
"I think most people, both horny young men and jealous women, will be wanting to send the twins a very large gift."
"Like you did when the first few clans of Sirens moved in and agreed to help protect our borders?"
Harry managed, somehow, not to chuckle as the memory replayed in his mind. Images of five full cases of firewhiskey (Harry's gift), angry Siren elders, partially clothed young female Sirens, their half-clothed bodies screaming for help and Harry's own swim to the rescue of the twins. Thankfully, Fred didn't get in trouble for this escapade as, unlike his twin, his reason for being less than fully dressed had more to do with the weapons swiping at him rather than anything more sordid.
Instead of replying to that (or the fact that the Scottish Merfolk refused to even talk with Nysa as they were still offended by the way that Harry had shown them up during the Second Task), he took a second to bask in the knowledge that they were both home together. With their busy lives and the multitude of responsibilities they had, it was sadly not that common and he felt that it should be fully enjoyed when the opportunity arose.
In regards to their home, given that Harry was one of the island's founding Lords and the unspoken fact that he was also the most powerful magic user on Nysa you might think that the powerful couple lived in a mansion or castle.
Nothing could be further from the truth as there was no flood of servants to greet them, no grand ballroom, no entrance hall and no objets d'art littering their home. They lived in a well made but modest three-bedroom cottage that was surrounded by a vast woodland, a small stream that was both magically purified at the property line and provided the water for the house as well as his workshop that was nestled just inside the treeline.
His lifestyle and hers were simple compared to many others of a similar station off the island. Their clothes were tailored but, other than that, not any different from others that lived on Nysa, any jewellery they wore was exquisitely well made but not ostentatious and gave a sense of understated elegance rather than stinking of wealth.
In fact, the only real sign that he was anything special on his person was a goblin forged dagger resting in a plain and unassuming sheathe at his side and clipped to his belt by sticking charms. It was one of ten like it and each was a gift from a grateful Goblin Nation to each of the Founding Families of Nysa. The only ornamentation (if you could call it that) on each weapon was the name of that particular family engraved on the handle. From a distance they looked like the blades that so many workers carried and used in their daily tasks but, no one on Nysa would mistake one of them as a simple tool and everyone knew the legends of the people that carried them.
It was a point of pride for Harry and Hermione to live this way. Every piece of furniture in their home was at least partially constructed by him and sometimes Hermione with their hands and magic. Every small imperfection and embellishment was more than a reminder that they had made it themselves and attached to a memory of home, life and love together. It was a gentle reminder of all that they had been through and what they were still fighting for.
"So," Harry asked later after they had...reacquainted themselves with each other, "did you at least manage to eat?"
"I," she began, only for her stomach to grumble and a sheepish look steal across her face, "ate a little?"
"Well," answered Harry unconvinced by his wife's questioning tone, "it's a good thing that I had this under warming charms isn't it?" Even as he spoke he pulled a large pot of lamb stew from the counter and, using his wand, he moved two bowls, utensils and condiments to the table. As a last flourish, warm fresh baked bread and real butter came from the pantry at his command and arranged themselves artful near the stew.
"I love you," she said while sighing softly and nearly drooling at the sight in front of her.
"I know. I'm very loveable," he replied cheekily even as he smirked.
"You arse," she chuckled.
"Love you too, you know," he said finally and with every ounce of feeling that he possessed even as they both tucked into the food with a pang of true hunger. The world was forgotten for the rest of the day.
-HPCOD-
The next morning they were both awoken, naked and covered only by a dark firesilk sheet that was interwoven with comfort and temperature charms, by three loud and pounding knocks on their front door.
"Fuck," Harry groaned softly.
"Not again Harry," Hermione mumbled from beneath her sheet and pulling a pillow over her head. "Sleeping."
Harry thought of teasing his still-sleeping wife, even as he slid from their bed and began to get dressed both efficiently and quickly. The knocking began again even before he was done.
"Wake up Hermione. You know who knocks like that and he won't wait or give a shit that you're naked, except that it would put you off balance."
She groaned from underneath her cover and quickly nodded (though to Harry it was more like a sharp ripple in the dark fabric) even as she prepared to get up. Neither of them were very happy people in the mornings and, it being the first full day they had together in a long time, were less so today.
Within minutes she had risen and dressed. Then, they had descended the stairs together and, like all British people tend to do at an early hour of the morning, they sat around the kitchen table slowly drinking strong tea.
"Sometimes, I think that the only thing that you don't check before drinking it, that you haven't made yourself, is our tea," Harry began.
"How did you know that?" Moody asked, wanting to solve a puzzle that had bugged him since he had first started training the young man before, at his silence, conceding defeat. "It's probably true. I'd like to think that, if my protégé wanted to kill me he would be more imaginative than a single poison. You would never tarnish my legacy that way."
"Of course not, it would have to at least be a binary poison," replied Harry with dark humour even as Moody barked out a laugh, "something dark, painless and rare."
"I demand nothing less than a glorious or enigma filled death, I've earned that at least and I trained you better than that anyway."
Alastor Moody was once both their teacher and a heavily scarred individual but, the influx of wealth into Nysa and frankly, his sense of renewed purpose had changed the man more in the last five years than most others. Now, he was their boss under certain conditions, their friend and unquestionably loyal to his new home.
His face was no longer scarred (thanks to a simple and very expensive ritual as well as the lives of three pigs) though his eye was the same as it ever was. His leg had not been healed as, like Cedric, certain wounds cannot be fixed by magic. That being said they did replace the prosthetic with the newest model that Nysa had to offer and that was both enchanted and offered as much functionality as a normal limb.
Thanks to early versions and their descendants (like the Combat Leg Mark IV that Moody wore) that were all made of the same enchanted copper both of the Lords Weasley were making waves in the medical communities around the globe. Their only downside was the fact that it was more vulnerable to electrical attacks of any sort as they were made of metal though they were far superior to anything the Magical World had seen before, they even had fully functioning toes. It even had the temperature of real flesh.
Moody may have changed a great deal but, he was still a paranoid bastard through and through and he still hated the Dark Lord Voldemort. It was likely this that informed his next comment.
"Head Councillor Granger has authorized our work on British soil at last."
"Mine or his?" Hermione asked, lowering her teacup and giving him a frank look.
"Both actually. Dennison is barely skilled enough but, he will fill in for Harry in the short term, it's only selling the current batch anyway. If your husband has kept to his normal schedule he would have finished his last wand yesterday. I need both Alpha and Septimus teams ready to leave within the hour."
Both knew that, even for their work, this was a short timetable to logistically get things ready. However, they were well trained and, despite the constraints, they could do it. They had worked with less time in the past though it wasn't a common thing.
They were both trained as spies of course, as it was their job, but each had their strengths and specialities. Hermione had excelled in that training, she was the quintessential Spymaster with her analytical mind and desire for the facts. It was clear to those that knew of such things that she would likely become Hand one day and she could find the best strategic use for the information she uncovered, given enough time. She was also a very well trained Healer, both of first aid and (if there was no one else available) more comprehensive and long term care.
Harry, on the other hand, though a good spy did not excel in that to nearly the same degree. He was much more in the moment than she was, more tactically aware, and he used this to allow his gifts out to devastating effect. His speciality was what Moody had once referred to as ungentlemanly warfare.
"Here are your coordinates," Moody said in his gruff way while placing a piece of parchment on the table, "you know the drill. Create portkeys from the Node. Sept will make a command post and field hospital three miles outside of Portsmouth, it would be best if you would memorise both Harry. Alpha will take an infiltration kit and imbed, a cleanup crew will be on standby if needed but, given political concerns, it would be best if they weren't. Further instructions will follow through the usual channels."
"Time frame?" Harry asked.
"In flux. Part of Alpha may be recalled as there is a meeting of the International Confederation of Wizards and, if all goes well or as well as we can reasonably expect it to anyway, a Talon of Hawks (a team of three as were most combat units) and some Shadows (up to five) will be needed to answer questions and protect our chosen representative."
"Who will that be?" Hermione asked, just as succinct as her husband.
"Chief Judge Amelia Bones," Moody replied and, without another word, he apparated out of their home as abruptly as he had awakened them.
The two sighed and shared a soft look. They knew that spending time together would have to wait and they knew that this was the cost of their new home. They had both chosen a life of service and, often, that had to come first but, they also knew that if they could choose they would always pick each other.
They finished their tea in silence and, when they were done, moved to a blank section of wall in their house. When they were there they tapped a seemingly random pattern on it and the wall shimmered briefly before disappearing.
A shallow alcove was revealed and, inside, were two very distinctive hooded grey robes that would remind any British person of the Department of Mysteries. They were designed off of them after all but, these were of far better quality and far more useful than their counterparts from their former homeland.
For a start, they were primarily of firesilk that had been treated to look and feel like wool. The magically impregnated material had been further enhanced by being interwoven, on a thread by thread level, by one of the few imports to Nysa, dragonhide. They also had runes for stealth, damage resistance and scent dispersal stitched all over the fabric, so small that they were hidden by the warp and weft of the clothing itself.
The face masks melded at the bottom with the hood and looked more like darkened muggle breathing masks than anything else except they stretched to cover the entire face and they had runes to negate poison and purify the air that would be breathed in. On the hoods themselves, there were runes to negate body heat when needed and others to meld the masks to the hood when desired.
Once they had put on the main part of their uniform and drew their hoods up, they pulled at the slightly thicker fabric above the top part of the breastbone and below the chin to release the masks. When that was done and they had been put in place, magic melded them with the hood and their faces disappeared.
Harry's then turned a deep black, like ink spilt into the water before settling into a deep black even as Hermione's remained a soft grey.
After that, it was simply a matter of taking the last items, a pair of kits, from the alcove before it shimmered and became a wall once again. His looked like a box that shimmered on his hip, before fading away and Hermiones was more like a satchel bag that someone might carry books in.
The Shadows were going to work.
-HPCOD-
Septimus Three landed and took stock of her situation even as the other members of her five-man team were already there and putting the final touches on their base of operations. As with all of them, it was both temporary and designed to blend into the surroundings. In this case, it was tunnelled into the side of a hill being that they were in rural farmland and that there was only light woodland and farmhouses around them.
No wards were used as they might be detected. Instead, they merely closed the hill behind them and created the base inside the existing hill and, in that way, the muggles wouldn't notice them and all magic inside was blanketed by the runestones they carried so they were unlikely to be found by the enemy wizards as well.
The basic square footage was already done. Sept One was unpacking their rations in what passed for their kitchen, Sept Two was setting up their communication stones that were based off of linked protean charms, Sept Four and Sept Five were finishing laying traps that could be activated in the unlikely event that they were found and establishing an escape plan.
Sept Three moved towards the blank wall that would become their infirmary and, with an ease that spoke of long practice and training, emptied the majority of her satchel there before using her wand to set it up to her satisfaction.
Finally, she Four and Five worked to connected everything they could together into a seamless whole. Then they took the ends of their working and connected it with the land and a map of Britain on the wall with the lightest of touches that they could manage.
'Not bad, for a crude detection grid. No magical wastage, no flux in the power flow and it blends nicely with the ambient magic around us. Function follows form and, sometimes, form follows function,'
She felt a spike of regret at that moment. Never had she worked so well with any group, not once, and she had worked with these people for years but they would never know each other's names or faces. Hell, she didn't even know the sound of their voices, thanks to charms to make them all sound the same and it was only the fact that they had worked together so long that she was reasonably sure they were all the same people.
Reasonably.
Such was the nature of their existence.
-HPCOD-
Alpha One got to work as soon as his feet touched the ground as, unlike their sister branch or the Unspeakables from which they drew some of their basic foundations, they often worked with no one but themselves despite nominally being part of a team. He had no doubt that Alpha Two and Alpha Three were doing exactly the same, playing into their strengths and idiosyncrasies to complete the first stage.
Helping that was the fact that his clothing was keyed to his magical signature. This meant that it was laughably easy for him to transfigure them into something different but conversely it was very difficult for anyone else to do so.
Added to that, they had been trained by many people including Robin Abbott who was a very competent (if former) Unspeakable and she had helped teach all the Shadows the Unspeakables version of apparition. It was called shimmering and it was named simply because it made your body shimmer like you were in a heat haze before you faded away.
This meant that the range by which the Shadows could travel was increased by quite a bit. It also meant that there were no visible twisting of the wizard's body or telltale displacements of air but, it was also virtually soundless.
In this kind of work, the first step was often the same, regardless of the overall desired outcome. Embed, integrate and observe. That mantra was drilled into them from the first time they had started to train for this kind of work and he in particular had taken to it like a duck to water.
It appeared that so many years of hiding parts of who he was had paid off in unexpected ways.
He didn't enjoy the more distasteful areas of his work and he would rather that they weren't needed but he did understand that they were. After all, if a team like his had dealt with a young Tom Riddle then he would likely be home with his wife while his parents were taking care of at least one child.
After transfiguring his clothes and making them something that a muggle wouldn't look twice at he pulled a dose of polyjuice from one of his pockets. Then he created an empty to-go coffee cup with a flick of his fingers and placed the dose inside while tossing away the vial.
Then he walked down the busy muggle street that he easily turned on to from the alley that he had turned up in. He moved through the crowd, weaving amongst the masses with ease and seemingly lost in his own world.
He then collided, apparently at random, with a young twenty-something muggle man and then, apologising, moved on. The cup that he was holding hissed softly when he did and a faint, but foul, odour came from it.
Less than ten minutes later, he was in another alley that was round the corner from the Leaky Cauldron and in a new outfit once again. This time it was in dull and unremarkable robes that wouldn't raise any eyebrows as he went to take stock of how the wizarding side of Britain had changed in the last few years.
Looking not like himself but, rather the spitting image of a young muggle who hadn't even noticed some of his hairs being taken.
-HPCOD-
Even as the man sat at a restaurant in the middle of Diagon Alley, he began to draw certain conclusions even as he slowly ate his meal. His eyes skipped over Gringott's Bank knowing that (thanks to treaties that applied here) no help would be forthcoming from them outside of their grounds.
'If it wasn't for those damn treaties, there would be no Goblin's here at all. Especially with what I can see happing in the alley.'
In his old life, before he had become what he was now, this place had been the beating heart of a community. It was this, far more than the Ministry that theoretically served them, that allowed the people to express themselves and it was a unifying place. No matter your blood status or rank you had to shop for your children, your potion supplies and your clothes.
If the Ministry was the brain of the Wizarding World, this was its heart.
He could still remember seeing laughing wizards as they gave their children ice cream or as the more cerebrally inclined hurried from the bookstore with a new book or two. He could almost feel the hustle and bustle of life all around him except but, only if he closed his eyes and thought hard.
Now, it had become a mockery of what it once was.
Wanted posters of Dumbledore, McGonagall, Lupin, Harry Potter and others like them littered almost every corner of the once bright and vibrant place. The beggars that occupied the small nooks of the Alley would dart their eyes away from anyone that came near them even while trying to earn a living. They tried to live but they acted as if, every second, they were expecting a beating or worse.
Of the average shop goer, Alpha One saw little and those that he did see kept their heads down low and moved quickly. With every sound, they flinched like a spell was about to hit them and the most they saw of the now depressing Alley seemed to be their feet as they desperately tried to not draw any attention to themselves.
The was always another side to the coin though. Those in power walked around proudly, with their heads held high. They wore the finest robes and laughed with each other, uncaring of those that they were crushing beneath their feet, feet that were clad in expensive shoes whose only purpose was to scream comfort and astronomical wealth. They didn't even care if they walked into someone, merely giving the unfortunate soul a look of utter disgust because they didn't get out of the way while flicking imaginary dirt from their garments.
Still, neither the random uber-rich nor the dispossessed suited his purpose and so, he was hunting other prey. When he found someone who fit the bill, he couldn't quite believe his luck nor the irony that seemed to plague his life.
Percy Weasley was walking out of Gringotts Bank.
He quickly paid for his meal, fluidly stood (stretching his muscles as he did so) and moved to follow his former prefect. Tailing him, he kept him in sight as Percy moved down a side street towards a store that used to specialise in hard to find books. Now, it appeared, it had been turned into some sort of seedy Gentlemen's Club, maybe even an outright whorehouse.
It was imaginatively named The Ever-Flowing Cauldron and it was one of the few bright buildings in this new drab and depressing place. He could see the garish sign, the silhouette of a very well endowed woman draping herself against an oversized Cauldron that was spilling some sort of liquid all over her.
It was Percy's destination but, he would never make it there. He would never go anywhere ever again.
-HPCOD-
When Percy awoke, it took him a moment for him to remember pieces of what happened. Someone had called his name and then there was a flash of an unfamiliar face and, as he turned to the unknown person, there was nothing but an indescribable pain in his side… then only darkness.
Only to be awoken by a demon made flesh.
Although his twin brothers had disappeared, his eldest brothers had fled the country forever and his father had sided with the radical that was Dumbledore, not all Weasley's were traitors or cowards in his mind. His two youngest siblings and his mother had done the right thing and sided with the Ministry.
Although he had was aware Molly had only done so, at least at first, only to protect Ginny from what she thought of as the most dangerous sort of men, it had all worked out for the best. His family had risen to heights unheard of in all of their long history and he was now one of the best and brightest that the Ministry had to offer under their rightful Lord and King.
He was even head of a new department in the Ministry. He wasn't a flunky that worried about cauldron thickness anymore, no, he had power and was to be respected and feared in equal measure as Head of The Office of Purity and Power.
This office was key to the new way of looking at things. It was designed to make sure that the bloodlines of England remained pure and that desirable matches were made to further the cause. It was also the office that hunted down frauds and pretenders to make sure that their mixed blood didn't pollute the vision that they were shaping and get in the way of what, he honestly believed, was a new Golden Age.
'It was a clerks dream, keeping information on so many families and filing away the lines (and the lives) of those he considered unimportant,' thought Alpha One, once known as Harry Potter and more lately as Harry Emrys. 'Where else did I expect Percy fucking Weasley to end up?'
Still, his new and vaunted position did mean that he was in the know on certain confidential meetings that could be of use. He had seen images of the type of man that stood before him and the fear that leaked from the traitorous Weasley was almost bleeding into the air.
"Shadow," he spat the name like a curse. "How dare you treat a Ministry official this way?"
"Your arrogance is impressive," replied the hooded and cloaked Harry and even as he spoke his voice was muffled and metallic sounding through his mask. "There you sit, chained to a chair and in a place that you don't know, Merlin knows where and your first thought isn't self-preservation but righteous anger? I'd say that you are brave but, we both know that the brave Weasley's flew the coop a long time ago. I dare, you utter moron, because I can, because you can't stop me and because you willingly chose to become bathed in the blood of countless innocents when you chose to be the Dark Lord's butt-monkey. You facilitate genocide, rape, murder, paedophilia and much more besides and you have the gall to judge me?"
Percy's eye twitched at the tirade and the stench of his fear deepened but, aside from that, he was blessedly silent for the moment. "Oh? In case you were wondering...we know about the Taboo if you were hoping for the Aurors...sorry the Death Eaters to show up. I have also made it impossible for you to say any of the Dark Lord's names that would activate it. Being unconscious is relatively shit for mind-reading but...it's easy enough to stop you talking about things that I don't want you to."
"The Dark Lord," Percy couldn't help but open his fool mouth, "is reformed. He merely advises the Minister and was unanimously made a figurehead King for his services to our kind."
Harry couldn't help but laugh, loudly and darkly, at that idea.
"I often wondered if you were a complete idiot, thanks for letting me know the answer. Reformed? You imbecilic twat. Dark Lord? It's all in the name, you useless arsehole. He advises nothing, the Minister only has the power that the Dark Wanker allows."
Before Weasley had a chance to pollute the air with utter stupidity once again, Harry flicked his wand and ended the conversation very effectively and whispered "Legilimens."
Percy's mind was very orderly but, ludicrously, without shielding of any kind.
Harry tore it apart for every scrap of information that he could and he was not gentle about it. He didn't, couldn't care about the damage that this was the twin's brother or that Percy's screaming was swiftly muffled by the fact that blood began to pour freely from the man's eyes, nose, ears and throat.
This was, official or not, war and Percy was not only an enemy but he was also a traitor to everything he was supposed to stand for and in Harry's way. He had betrayed everything that he was supposed to stand for, done it with a smile and (whether he admitted it to himself or not) had done so mainly to increase his power and standing.
If nothing else happened to the man, he would likely recover from this attack. By recovery, that meant that he would return to functionality, it did not mean whole as he would likely have mental scars and problems that no one could fix and it would be the work of years.
Harry grimaced in displeasure as not only would that not affect Percy's views on the world (and his place in it) but what Harry had to do next was distasteful to him. He was not a Death Eater or a simple assassin and he took no pleasure in what he had to do next but, it had to be done.
Still, because of who he once was, because of what his family once was, and before his views were twisted under Percy's lust for power and the fact that his family meant something to him once (as the twins still did) he cut a large gash on the man's chest.
Percy squealed like Harry was removing a limb, but he ignored the man and any other sounds or protests that he might make.
That cut would make what was about to happen act much faster and thereby limit the pain the Percy would feel. It did this by breaking the normal (and very resistant) barrier that started at the skin. It made the introduction of foreign magic, one that would battle his own, smoother and was, therefore (in some small way), merciful.
He placed his palm on the wound and his making moved like a striking cobra. Instead of injecting venom though, it drew in Percy's magic and didn't stop until every single speck of magic that the Weasley scion ever possessed.
Weeks after this, his body would be found. When it was fished out of the river Thames it would be unnoticed by even the most observant magical, as it was seemingly completely muggle.
The muggles however would be continually baffled by the enigma, books and articles would be written about the strange case of the husk-like remains of a man that tests showed to be both at least seventy and yet, fully preserved as some sort of grotesque mummy.
-HPCOD-
Alpha Two took a leaf out of Voldemort's book when she embedded herself at Hogwarts but then, as had always been her way, she thought in zigzags. She chose someone to replace that was often overlooked and that neither of the powerful men would ever expect that anyone would want to replace.
Someone in the background, ever-present but barely noticed.
Supplies to keep the fact that she was there would be easy to come by, given where she was going and the biggest annoyance to her would be getting used to having a penis...at least temporarily.
'On the bright side,' she thought, 'I might understand my husband more at the end of all this.'
-HPCOD-
Alpha Three arguably had the most boring beginning of all of the team. It was out of necessity though as, at least in the early days, his job would be the most important and that all came down to who his target actually was.
The Editor of the Daily Prophet Barnabas Cuffe was not a good man. Objectively, he was greedy, self-indulgent, delusional, embittered over his two divorces and such a prideful arsehole that others like him would call him a dick.
He also had a distasteful need to frequent high priced magical prostitutes. These men and women, often enslaved by magic, blackmail or both, would use special potions to assume any shape and any role that the client wished. It cost them years of their life though, which was why many, if not all, had to be in some way forced to do the job in the first place.
Orders were orders though and, just because he procured their services, it did not mean that he had to partake.
'The propaganda machine of the enemy must be monitored before it can be neutralised and the best way to do that was from the inside. Until my orders change, nothing in it will be altered...at least for now.'
-HPCOD-
Alpha One had found his true long term target as, though he would have been useful, Percy Weasley was too high profile for any long term purpose, too well known and too well watched at his work.
He would have found the security in the Ministry's Hall of Records a particularly bad joke if it didn't help him so much. The wizards inside the building had become quite lax, after the victory at least, and were content with simply strengthening the intent wards on the building and standard Auror guards.
None of which stopped him from looking through documents that only had the most ancient and basic of other charms prohibiting documents from being taken from the room in which they were stored as an added form of protection. Hell, it only took Percy's pilfered Ministry identification to break the magical lock on the door of the room in which they were stored.
As he didn't even entertain thoughts of harming the Ministry (and even if he did it would have been a simple yet mentally taxing trick to bury that thought in his mind) the wards didn't even react to him.
All of which meant that, after barely three minutes in the building, he was rooting through the unlamented Weasley's file room looking for something, someone, in particular. Once he had what he needed, it was even simpler to simply walk out the way that he came.
Which was why, less than ten minutes after that, he found himself at the home of one Joseph Braddock.
The man was many things, according to his confidential personnel report, most of which made him an ideal candidate for Harry's purposes. He was abrasive, arrogant, a loner, an impoverished pure-blood (obviously), had no family to speak of, bitter, friendless and essentially a non-entity in the 'Golden Age'.
Which made him perfectly suited for the Shadows purpose. That was only enhanced by the fact that Joseph's job was as the morning shift wand weigher at the Ministry of Magic, with his standard shift starting at four am and ending at nine-thirty. He even had a serviceable, though small flat in Diagon Alley.
All of the Shadows had long been grateful that the Shadows version of polyjuice lasted twelve hours (unless they took the counter agent) and it was a little more resistant to attempts to dispel it. It also didn't need the subject to be alive for it to work, though in that case it merely lasted the standard hour and could only be used when the 'ingredients' were fresh.
Due to its...grey… nature, all three were only issued it when it might be needed and were under oath to not divulge information about it or use it except in the course of their duties.
Soon, the Shadows were ready and awaiting their orders.
-HPCOD-
Dumbledore looked out on what passed for his domain and was deeply worried.
To protect the people that had followed or fled to him he needed the strength of the Hogwarts wards. To do that he had twisted them to extend far beyond what they were originally designed to do and thread a Dark Mark ward in amongst all of the others.
The downside of doing this was that they were weaker than they had ever been and yet, they were good enough for the job so far thanks to the vast amounts of power that run through the grounds of the school. They had also managed to accumulate a small percentage of that power since the schools founding in 996 AD.
The strain was telling though, and the wards would fail simply from misuse and power consumption within the next decade. Not even he could be totally sure when it would actually occur (magic hardly lent itself to precise measure at the best of times and, the more that there was, the harder it was to do) but the longer this cold war went on the more likely a wardstone would crack or the magic would fail.
'Tom, for all of his faults is not stupid. He has been many things but, he was always brilliant. He knows that all he has to do is build his forces and wait even as I can not afford to do the same. Even if the wards weren't failing I would still need to act as, to maintain my position as the Leader of the Light, I can afford to do nothing else. So I send my people out, to save as many as I can, and bring them here while there is still protection to be had.'
Of course, by this point, Hogwarts was relying on magic to function just as much as it was the land on which it was built.
By extending the wards to cover as much of Scotland as he could it may have protected everyone under their power but, it also cost them precious power. Each new person required charms for their homes, fertility charms to increase their relatively meagre supply of food and a plethora of other enchantments and charms that not even he could begin to follow.
Most of which were anchored into the leylines beneath the Earth and acted like so many tiny leeches that diverted the magic from where he thought that it needed to go. He couldn't stop them however because it would both shatter his image and, more importantly for the stalemate, weaken the few fighters that he had as they expended their own power to renew what the Earth could do naturally.
His only long term hope was Harry Potter. Before, he believed with all of his heart that this was the case but now, like a rat trapped in a cage, he needed it like he never had before. They all needed it.
His only other hope was a request, sent in desperation, to the I.C.W. for aid. That being said it was unlikely for two reasons. The first was that it would be difficult enough to try and lay the blame for the many minor breaches to the Statute of Secrecy more on Voldemorts shoulders than his own. He was sending his people against Voldemorts, crossing through muggle territory and largely unconcerned with who saw what on the English side of the border after all.
The second was the nature of that august body itself. They might conclude that he needed help more than he needed punishment but, such a controversial decision would take far longer than the average time in which the I.C.W. usually made a decision (and that, at best, was almost a year when it came to things like this) which was far too long for the people under his care.
He really had no way to truly account for how long it would take beyond a guess as he was effectively cut off (as was Voldemort) from the wider world except for official meetings. The thing that hurt the most, for him, was not the fact that he was cut off from the world but that he was cut off from Severus Snape, his spy in Voldemorts ranks.
'This is a tightrope that I never wanted to walk. More than that, the cost of failure is so high that I can't afford to slip.'
His footsteps echoed as he paced the halls of Hogwarts and worried about the problem that seemed to have no solution, as it always hadn't or at least not in the last five years.
He was distracted by it, which went a long way to explain why he didn't notice Alpha Two watching him intently with cold eyes.
-HPCOD-
Edmund Parkinson whistled softly as he entered the Ministry. He was, as ever, thankful that his Master was not one for the actual bureaucracy of ruling as that meant that (barring an emergency or a rare order here or there) he was the master and power throughout all of Magical Britain and soon, Scotland, Ireland and Wales as well.
What the Dark Lord did with his time, he neither knew nor did he care. As long as he was free to run things the way that he wanted and didn't cause problems that would mean that the Dark Lord questioned whether he needed to be replaced both he and, by extension, those he cared about would be safe.
In a paradoxical twist, he knew that it was simply because he was ambitious in his job and yet knew his place. Unlike the now long deceased Malfoy family, he had no illusions that he could be above Voldemort, the tattoo that he had taken rashly in his youth prevented from him directly acting on that desire and there was no one powerful enough left to do it for him.
'Still, I am first among his servants,' he thought as he strolled lazily to the wand weighing desk, 'and I'd be lying if I said that didn't have its perks.'
"Good morning Minister."
The voice behind the desk was relatively new and filled with a warmth that was rare in these halls of power. It also had just the right dash of respect for him mixed into its tone that it caught his attention. He also detected a note of kindness that the cynical man knew this place would wash out of the other man soon enough.
"Good morning… Peter isn't it?" He asked, struggling to place the man who had a relatively handsome face and with the nagging thought that he had seen him somewhere before but, irritatingly for a man who prided himself on taking care of the details, he couldn't place where.
"Joseph Sir, Joseph Braddock. I've been promoted from swing shift (certain new Departments needed the Ministry open at all hours) from the night duty just last week. I'm still adjusting myself."
"Starting at four and ending at nine-thirty can't be easy," Parkinson said with a smile and a lot of false sympathy as he had never worked a proper day in his life. "Are there any special deliveries for me?"
"Yes sir," Braddock replied as he passed them over. Everyone knew that, in the new way of doing things, bribery was both more open and an accepted practice when you were trying to move up the ladder. The Minister didn't have time to personally accept the majority of those directed to him and so, as a perk of his job, he was able to pick them up here. It had the added bonus that they were checked for nefarious charms and compulsions by the staff, further limiting the risk to him.
It was also used, for a fee, by those that were unskilled or didn't have a House-elf so that they didn't have to check the packages either. The new Ministry was not a place that fostered anything more than superficial trust and it was just another way for people to skim off the top.
"Anything special?" Parkinson asked.
"An elf made wine that spells show is over three hundred years old and untouched from the Macmillian family, a rare tome from Potion Master Snape, sugared plums from a Mr Slughorn and Lord Avery has gifted a goblin made broach for your wife. All have been tested by the D.M.L.E. and then by our service. The… correspondence has been checked as well but, of course, has not been opened."
"Thank you, Mr Braddock," Parkinson said, pleased at the man's competence even as he took a large box from him. He then swiftly shrunk it, nodded and left with his wand unchecked.
Business as usual for him.
He didn't look back and therefore didn't notice Braddock's almost imperceptible smirk at the box as he walked away.
This scenario, sometimes without the smirk but more sometimes with it, of collecting mail and donations for various Lords and Ladies throughout the day. Braddock felt a surge of satisfaction with each special box that he handed out.
-HPCOD-
Ronald Weasley, the internationally contested but British confirmed Heir Weasley as Percy was Lord, was as happy as a young man in his position could be. The last five years had been good to him and his remaining siblings and the others, in his mind, didn't matter or was dead to him and likely everyone else as well.
His loyal branch of the family had been rewarded many times by the Ministry. Though the original intention had been to give them a portion of the Potter family wealth and knowledge but, they had found the vault empty when they had opened it via a freshly penned Ministerial Decree. Many others had disappeared too, including the Longbottoms and the Abbotts.
A smarter person than Ron would realise that was why the Nation hadn't caused a fuss when that was done and would also know that they couldn't push it much further without consequences, so soon after they stopped trying to open Vaults.
Not before they had managed to do it to several less prominent families as they had released the decrees all at once rather than in sequence. It was this that both took the sting out of not being able to get one over on Potter and catapulted his family from mediocrity to affluence. So many lesser families had been broken by the act that it was a trivial thing for the Weasley's to gain heirlooms, artefacts, wealth and power.
The foundation of what had become the Ancient and Noble House of Weasley was one of theft disguised as justice. They had, to Ron's delight, even been afforded Potter's former family seat on the Wizengamot.
'And now,' he thought smugly, 'far from being Harry's shadow or sidekick I am wealthy, respected and feared. I dress well, own part of a Quiddich Team with my own top box and eat the finest foods. I live in a mansion, not some muggle hovel, and I even have two pets waiting for me at home.'
The pets that he thought of were two muggle-borns that had been caught before they could even think to flee. Their parents had been killed for the crime of producing them and they had their magic bound and were given, as a gift for their loyalty, to House Weasley. In short, they were his to do with as he pleased and he pleased to do quite a lot even though they were only fourteen and fifteen respectively.
What they thought about their situation he neither knew nor cared about in the slightest. As far as he was concerned they had no rights to thoughts on the matter at all as they were living and breathing furniture to him, property to be owned. He didn't ask his sofas opinion when he sat on it, he would never think or be concerned about theirs either.
He was a poster child for the new Ministry and for the up and coming pure-bloods of this new Britain. He was shallow, selfish, vain, lazy and prideful. Arguably he was always that but, he had never been this wealthy nor had he been given status and position that he could abuse to this degree. If not now, then soon, he would become a budding rapist and killer but he was less concerned about that than he was about his team not putting in a serious bid for the Quiddich National Cup.
Whether he had always been like this or whether the circumstances had made him this way and amplified the darker parts of his personality was beside the point now. This was the path that he had chosen and this was the man that he had become.
It was also one that he enjoyed immensely.
He was just on his way to see if the firesilk shirt that he had ordered (he didn't believe, for a second, that Harry or Neville had anything to do with that business as he thought them too stupid) when someone bumped into him. It was rude, to him, to his station and he intended to teach them a lesson for their disrespect.
"Watch where you are going," Ron half snarled and turned to see the glaring eyes of Amos Diggory, Lord of a tarnished and Minor House and (in his mind at least) far below his station. "Lord Diggory," he said, barely managing to remain polite.
"Heir Weasley," Amos didn't respond in kind and the vitriol that he put into the first word was so toxic that, if it was a physical thing it would have torn clean through the younger man's throat like a rabid animal.
"Diggory," Ron reiterated, even all false politeness fled from his voice, "is that the way that you should be talking to me?"
"That is exactly how I should talk to you. Lest you forget, you are only an Heir and I am a Lord. Remember your place," the man spat. "Your father would be ashamed of you, now get out of my way."
"Maybe you haven't heard, my Lord," Ron replied with a soft and deep viciousness to his voice. "But, station is not the only form of power and my family has powerful friends."
"Oh, I know," the man laughed, "Everyone knows Weasley. Ours is a small community after all and some have to wonder if your sister really does enjoy her job as Undersecretary to the Minister. By the sounds reported from the office, she loves it."
"Be careful what you say to me Diggory," Ron growled. "You are talking to the newest Inquisitor at the Office for Purity and Power."
At the revelation of that new position, Diggory blanched bone white.
It was a fact of everyone's lives now that when the Inquisitors came for you, it never ended well. That was unless you liked torture, seizure of your familial assets (those that they could get hold of anyway) and, in the worst cases, the obliteration of your familial bloodline. It went without saying that all were either Death Eaters or would be once they were asked to take the Mark."
"Wanting the same tattoo that your brother has, are we little Weasley?" Amos knew that it was a very bad idea to provoke Ron but, like many in the country he had already had a bellyful of the new status quo and he couldn't stand the youngest male Weasley. The tremor in his voice though, that told anyone who was listening that he knew how close to the knife's edge he was putting himself.
"Leave Diggory and never insult the honour of my family again, lest the Dark Lord and the Minister hear from me about your blatant disrespect of your betters. It would be a shame if the records showed an error and your blood turned out not to be as pure as everyone currently believes wouldn't it?"
Even though he offered the warning and Diggory left quickly enough, Ron had no intention of letting this insult go. Before two days had passed, the Diggory Manor would be confiscated and sold, all family heirlooms would be shared amongst the aggrieved parties and every venture they had seized by the state.
As for the family themselves? Officially they would escape to a magical no man's land like Wales, Russia or South America but, unofficially, the entire family would be buried in shallow graves not two hundred feet from the front door of their spacious manor.
'No one messes with my family,' he thought darkly before another idea popped into what passed for a brain in his head. 'Too bad that Potter is either dead or a coward. I would have loved to have seen his face as I put that mudblood in her place…. I would make him watch every second of it.'
He would find out how wrong he was about that idea eventually but, it would be far too late for the Diggory family and far too many others like them. All were casualties of a brutal and unforgiving regime that cared nothing for any of them except how they could help the new order… even if it was with their deaths.
