December 2009, Ravenscroft Manor, Kent.
The Fellowship of 1986 is to reunite at Weathertop with Gandalf. The spared orcs have been quietly suppressing the Hobbits, and the Númenóreans have ignored it. There must be a second Fellowship.
Snorting in amusement as he read the note, Harry glanced at his puzzled squad mates, arrayed around the room. Had it not been that if he hadn't accepted the post and promotion with it, he would still have been a colonel and quite happy to get involved in a good firefight. As it was, he was a brevet brigadier and the Director of Special Forces, although he had another brigadier handling the paperwork, the public side of things and being Harry's yes-man.
"It's a note from Hermione. People who attended Hogwarts around the same time are meeting at Hogwarts with Dumbledore. The purists who were not at Little Hangleton have been, once again, oppressing the first-born magicals. She reckons we need to make a concerted effort against this." Harry explained. "Couched in Tolkienesque rubbish to confuse and delay cracking if intercepted by anyone who might have an interest in us."
"So, what shall we do?" asked Nicholas Zacarias, a Staff Sergeant of Filipino birth.
"Do? We'll do nothing as yet." Harry frowned sharply; "The first thing I'll do is meet with Hermione and work out a date for the meeting, I'll undoubtedly try to be there, or bug the meeting to get an idea of the lay of the land. Don't forget I have only attended one wedding, a murder and a funeral in the magical world since I left Hogwarts."
"What can we do to prepare?" asked Amy, his Special Reconnaissance Regiment officer, and the one of them least susceptible to jumping the gun or suffering from blood lust. "If it comes to conflict."
"The bomb and the shell is the best way of dealing with such a situation. The purists are much beloved of their great homes, which make fair targets." Harry said thoughtfully, ignoring the irony that he was sat behind the thick walls of his own great manor, once a castle of great power; "Though ambush tactics work well enough if you can lure an enemy into a crossfire at sufficient range to render the wand a useless weapon. Thoughts for another time, I don't want another bloody war. Sirius should be of some use if I can drag him out of whichever nudist utopia he's living in."
"Amsterdam." Jock interrupted.
"Lovely." Harry muttered, turning to a couple of boardgames of some great age, one of chess and one of tafl. The moves were irrelevant and he rarely played, but they were symbolic objects, reminders that there was always a game to be played. And it wasn't of ivory and ebony upon a wooden board, but of flesh and fire.
December 2009, Hogwarts Castle, Scotland.
"Radio check, radio check, over." came the whispered words over the headset Harry was listening to, concealed in one of the many secret places he knew of in the castle.
"Five by five, crystal clear Hermione. I have visual from the locket camera." he replied, glancing at a small screen velcroed to his left wrist.
"I'll be going silent soon. We're about to meet in the Great Hall, with students on holiday, Dumbledore's cleared it for our meeting with him." Hermione informed him.
"Good." Harry stated, not informing Hermione that he even knew a secret way into the rafters of the hall.
A few floors away, descending gracefully from his office, stepping off the revolving staircase and passing the saluting gargoyle, the headmaster, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore adjusted his black-and-white checked robes. He didn't usually go for something quite so dull, but as he was moving the pieces into position on his board, he felt it ironic. It hadn't been hard to work out why the most influential students of their generation wished to meet with him, after all, he was quietly allowing the purists to further their agenda, mere pawns to flush out a powerful and unpredictable queen which lay somewhere beyond the confines of his board. Harry Potter.
He tapped into the orb set in the Headmaster's throne, an seeing stone of ancient make. Already assembled were those who had called this meeting. Hermione Granger, who, if his suspicions were right, was at least still an acquaintance if not working for the queen in question and therefore a valuable piece in herself.
Then there was Lady Regent Daphne Greengrass, Lady Regent Astoria Malfoy, the fifteen-year old twin sons of the latter. Ronald Weasley, a successful Quidditch Manager and journalist, Katie Bell, an influential philanthropist and captain of the Holyhead Harpies. Frederick and George Weasley of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, successful inventors and businessmen, their wives, also Harpies, Angelina and Alicia Weasley, and the wife of Ron, Lavender Weasley, a fashion designer and wealthy in her own right. Lord Neville Longbottom, philanthropist, nobleman, politician, gardening journalist and occasional herbology lecturer, and his wife Hannah. Lady Susan Bones, Auror First Class. Justin Finch-Fletchley, politician and lawyer. Anthony Goldstein, investment banker. Ernest Macmillan, political commentator. Colin Creevey, photographer and journalist. Ginevra Weasley, another player of Quidditch. Luna Lovegood, employee of the Ministry of Magic's Beings Division and possible Unspeakable.
As Dumbledore entered, he was pleased to note that they rose from seating around a table to allow him to join him, giving him all due respect of a wizard of his stature. Though the table was round, which meant it had no head. And apart from one for himself, there was another empty seat.
"Good morning to all of you, it is indeed a rare pleasure to have so many former students return to our beloved Hogwarts after their time as students in these halls." Dumbledore greeted them.
"Headmaster, thank you." the batting opened from an unexpected direction with the cold, sharp and crystal clear tones of Daphne Greengrass, the Regent Head of her family; "I believe you have some idea of why we're here."
That caught him off balance. Being left with the conversation in his corner, Dumbledore either had to plead ignorance and lose some of his power with the sacrifice of his omniscient aura, or admit that he knew what the problem was.
"I carefully studied the situation since I received your request Lady Greengrass." he replied graciously; "I have heard disturbing rumours about increases in taxes on the homes and businesses of the muggleborn, the tightening of laws to preserve the traditional ways of the magical community."
"Indeed." Dumbledore felt caught in a narrow-eyed gaze; "I had feared Headmaster, that as your concentration with your school increased, that your attention to the politics necessitated by your positions outwith these hallowed halls had waned." that was a painful barb. She was inferring that either he was neglecting his positions, or neglecting Hogwarts.
"A student once told me, that no matter what I do in the great chamber of the Wizengamot to change laws, to change minds, it could all be done twenty, thirty years earlier in this very castle." Dumbledore stated, remembering a very sharp comment made by his queen one day. "That, if not every, then a goodly number of mistakes made in adult years stems in one fashion or another from other's mistakes in younger years."
"Nonetheless, some of these mistakes rest with not merely the mistaken, but those who nurtured them." Daphne countered; "I see with no little sadness that peers of twenty years ago are now opponents."
"Ever will rivalry grip at humans, striving to make themselves more powerful, richer, more prominent, than another human. It is part of the human condition." explained Dumbledore, despite hearing no sadness in his sparring partner's voice, only a hint of mild contempt, and was that... excitement?
"Professor Dumbledore. What holdings I have in the magical world would be subject to these restrictions, and become a financial burden on me." Hermione Granger took over the grilling; "My actions would be a swift liquidation of assets into gold currency and from there into non-magical money. However, if a hundred or a thousand of my ilk, muggleborns, were to do the same, flooding the magical market with cheap property and draining gold reserves from Gringotts, what do you think would happen?"
"I believe the phrase is, Miss Hermione, financial upheaval. All sorts of crisis can occur from such an event." Ernie Macmillan offered. "Not to mention the loss of workers in the form of the muggleborn, for they take many jobs that the aristocracy would not touch. A glut of workers, the collapse of much business and trade..."
"There comes a point, Headmaster, when the preservation of magical traditions, a worthy cause, can come to the point that we are slowly dragging a blade across our own throats, as is happening now." Daphne Greengrass returned to leading the discussion.
"Then why not stand against it?" asked Dumbledore, though knowing fully why.
"Between us, we cannot muster the political power. Seated at this table there are, excluding yourself, the Wizengamot members, myself, my sister, Lord Longbottom and Lady Bones." Daphne riposted; "Nor do we have the power to unite the factions in the wizarding world, many of whom will disagree on the weather simply to spite one-another. However, we know how the Blood War began. The Dark Lord's men in politics slowly crushed the muggleborn, sapped trade, sapped money from the ministry, and then struck."
"We have no dark lord." Dumbledore pointed out; "Whatever remained of him arrived at Hogwarts on the night of the last task of the Triwizard Tournament, along with many of his marked, and Peter Pettigrew. Each dead, Pettigrew suffering the blood eagle and impalement, with Voldemort flayed alive and impaled."
"Pettigrew was a traitor and crossed the Potters." Katie Bell interrupted; "Voldemort, and yes, I can say his name for he is twenty years slain, was a murderer. A just vengeance and justice was exacted that night."
"I feel then you look to the wrong one to bring about this unity you wish, Lady Greengrass, for what would you have me do?" the aged, slightly frail look appeared on Dumbledore.
The elder of the twin sons of Astoria Greengrass shot to his feet.
"We would have you speak with us. Not for us, but alongside us." he challenged across the table, a very familiar tone ringing about the hall. Dumbledore scrutinised the young man very carefully. Dark brown hair, almost black, brushed somewhat flat, though it still retained a roguish waviness. Piercing green eyes that blazed with challenge at him... the old wizard snapped to his younger brother and found such similarities. He began to put a few thoughts together.
Draco Malfoy, married Astoria Malfoy and got her pregnant on their wedding night. He drunkenly stumbled out of the manor on that Winter Solstice, having drunk such great quantities of an American distilled grain spirit that he had alcohol poisoning such as rendered his liver unusable. The alcohol lowered his body temperature until he suffered multiple organ failure, yet somehow still lived long enough to come back in, fall down the stairs into the ballroom, breaking his neck on the edge of a great punch-fountain and toppling into it, drowning in the process. And of all the guests, who would have happily killed the groom and bedded the bride?
"I fear Lord Adrian, that my assistance is of little use, for now, though I retain posts and titles of courtesy, my bones are weary and my voice no longer commands wizards as once it did. My deeds grow faint of memory and my adversaries no longer command fear when their names are uttered." Dumbledore slowly shook his head, deliberately changing his posture to shrink into his chair.
"Nonetheless you still command respect among any who have learnt from you." Adrian Malfoy countered evenly; "Do not think less of yourself as the years progressed. Fading memory does not make actions better or worse."
Dumbledore made a show of slightly straightening his back and sitting taller.
"I take your words as great comfort." he stated with a slight smile of approval. He did indeed approve, and also the boy was solidifying his theory. Nothing he had said was entirely a compliment, for every blade had two edges. Adrian Malfoy was given to cautious words but with a hint of bite about them, 'actions better or worse' did not express universal approval of him. "I fell nonetheless that it must be from a younger generation that a leader must be chosen."
"Professor, I'm an Auror, a noblewoman, politician and I try to do my bit for the people." Susan Bones stared him down; "If I was to stand forward as a leader here, there is a chance I'd be accepted. But I would be of no use before the Wizengamot, laughed at as a woman, a woman doing a man's job, a noblewoman playing the lesser part of an Auror, a mere employee of the Ministry. Look around the table here, are there any here with the experience at the negotiating table, fighting or leading men. I've not had more than a few backstreet duels in nearly fifteen years of being an Auror during this watchful peace, I've not led men in combat, I am not capable of leading a force of change like this. And if any other believes they can truly do so, then I ask they stand up."
None stood.
"I fear then this is a decision you must take, and look further and deeper for leadership." Dumbledore sighed.
"It does not take a fool to see to where you would lead us Headmaster." the younger twin commented, Aidan Greengrass, evenly watching Dumbledore but tapping out a pattern on the table with one hand, his right leg crossed over his left as he sat at an angle in his chair. "But your protégé left the magical world for parts unknown nigh-on twenty years ago. Left in a flurry of blood and upheaval, only returning once, four years later for my mother's wedding, and that for less than two days before he once again vanished."
"The name Potter nonetheless has power." Dumbledore countered.
"The name Potter commands power in the forms of fear and respect, yet it is but a formless phantom for it has no substance, none who bears the name has been seen in a decade." Aidan stated.
"There are those amongst us who are learned in the ways of magic, there are those amongst us who were counted by him as friends, some as more than that, and can none of us seek him out?" Dumbledore asked, staring over the rims of his half-moon spectacles at those seated at the table.
Hermione was too well-trained to shift in her seat as the gaze swept over her.
"Harry was ever a person of secrets." Katie Bell admitted; "That he had many secrets was one secret not kept from his friends. It was something you accepted or you did not get close to him. It was also no secret that if Harry did not wish to be found, that he could not be found."
"Agree to try and find me, but delay it." a small voice ordered in Hermione's ear, the one ear covered by her hair as it was styled to cover that side and her shoulder.
"Harry, however, had associates and his own patterns that we could try and use to make contact." Hermione said thoughtfully; "I heard that the day that the Wizengamot banned half-giants from working in wizarding jobs, that Hagrid received a new job outwith Hogwarts. Harry was always fond of Hagrid. Sirius Black is another, though the Ministry still has yet to officially pardon him or dismiss the charges against him. Remus Lupin a third. Find one, even better if we find more and we could track down and make contact with Harry."
"That would be excellent Miss Granger." Dumbledore beamed at one of his favoured students.
"Headmaster, do not think that I will attempt to force or pressure Harry into anything. Twenty years gone and I still count Harry amongst my dearest friends, one of my first." Hermione said severely. "I hold dear the years we spent together at Hogwarts, he was a significant part in making me what I am today, a debt not easily repaid."
"If my heart wasn't a chunk of black ice encased in granite, I'd almost be touched." that horrid little voice in her head commented. Hermione made a mental note to smack Harry over the back of the head next time she saw him.
"I would have Harry lead you, because he balances an old name of great prestige, a great deal of respect, and a touch of fear of him alone, and he always had that natural charisma to which people flocked." Dumbledore explained.
"Professor, Miss Granger, would it not be simpler to contact the estates of the Potter Family, or their representative at Gringotts bank?" asked Anthony Goldstein, the investment banker.
"The Ministry only has a record of estates founded after the creation of the Ministry." Dumbledore shook his head; "Nor indeed is that complete. The Potters were ever too cautious to allow such information to lie around. You'll find no such files there, and their representative at Gringotts is not one known to anyone outside of the bank and thus cannot be contacted. No responses are filed to any messages left with Gringotts for the Potter estates."
"Then it is up to our skills..." began one Weasley Twin.
"And our knowledge..." the other finished.
"It is indeed gentlemen. I shall offer what assistance I can give you, and what advice I can offer." said Dumbledore; "The first is that you agree something of an inner circle, the most crucial, most powerful of you who can speak on behalf of you all."
He already had a fair idea who that would be. Hermione Granger the clever, Daphne Greengrass the cunning, Neville Longbottom the dependable, the brothers Weasley, that is the twins, purveyors of chaos. Maybe even the sons of Lady Astoria, maybe Susan Bones. They were all useful and respected, and despite their protestations and his own, some were not exactly poor leaders. They were useful knights, bishops and castles with which to flush out their own queen. Astoria's twins however... while not quite queens in their own right, yet, they were powerful pieces indeed if nurtured right.
Dumbledore turned over a card in his hand. One side was a joker, the other was a crest, formed around a blood-red eagle spreading its wings. A reference to one of the more unsavoury habits of the Potter family, and a memento of their ruthlessness. It was an interesting experiment, if his theory was right about Astoria's twins. Nature and nurture. Personally, the old headmaster thought it was a combination of both.
He was unaware of a pair of tactical binoculars up in the rafters switching views between him, a few members of the group and the Greengrass-Malfoy twins before being lowered and their bearer retreating as the meeting broke up.
'Interesting, very interesting indeed.' Harry thought to himself as he packed up his gear and fled through a series of secret passages which would allow him to exit the wards defending Hogwarts, to a location from which he could disapparate.
December 2009, Ravenscroft Manor, Kent.
The long-expected return of Harry was greeted with the roar of a pair of powerful jet engines, the thud of fifteen tons of metal and fuel hitting the two-mile dead-straight driveway of the house. Jock McCabe watched as the Phantom disengaged from the wire and taxied around the RUBB and pulled in, shutting down once inside the structure. Harry soon climbed out of the cockpit and left the fabric structure, still wearing his flying suit, as the floor began to sink down, taking the aircraft into an underground hangar.
"Gen?" asked Jock as Harry walked over to the open-top Land Rover.
"Gen's good. The 'Fellowship' is from many walks of society, cliques and castes." Harry replied shortly; "I operated the RF-4E out of Aberdeen and got a good series of photo-reconnaissance runs on Hogwarts for us to build a 3D image of the castle and fill out the interior off my father's map."
"Something's bothering you." Jock noted as they reached the open-top Land Rover that was being used as an estate runabout, and had their colleagues perched on it.
Harry hoisted his briefcase onto the bonnet.
"Listen in!" he barked at the others who quickly made their way over. He opened up the briefcase to reveal a laptop, as well as a number of glossy photographs of the Greengrass-Malfoy twins. "What do you reckon the chances of these two being related to me are?"
Their analyst, Amy, spent about twenty seconds looking at them before delivering her verdict.
"Without precision equipment to analyse these, I'd say ninety-percent chance. Bone structure matches, eyes match. Similarities in hair." she commented.
"The question is, did you sleep with their mother?" asked Jock with a roll of his eyes.
"Once." Harry replied. "Well, several times on one occasion. And before you ask, I found out that they're in Fourth Year, so should have been born during the '95-'96 academic year, which makes it a possibility."
"Was that the one whose husband you bumped off?" asked Bill, frowning slightly in concentration.
"Yeah, security risk and he was basically forcing a marriage on the girl." Harry shrugged; "Astoria Greengrass was actually my partner and co-conspirator in his assassination. She got the Malfoy name, and with it land and money, while not having to suffer Draco Malfoy who suffered a series of terrible accidents."
"Well, looks like you've got a couple of offspring." a vindictive smirk appeared on Amy's face; "And let me be the first to congratulate you and remind you that we're never going to let you forget this."
"I hate you all." Harry growled as they all burst out laughing. Apart from Jock who couldn't resist the opportunity for a snide remark.
"Given the number of times you've slept with Harry, I'm surprised there aren't more Potters running about." Jock gave Amy a look.
"Unlike Lady Malfoy, I have the good common sense to use contraceptives." Amy replied with an angelic smile. "For now."
Harry just reached for his cigar case. It was times like these that he was glad that in 1992, he'd taken over the position of majority shareholder in Robert Lewis and James J. Fox, cigar merchants, merging them into JJ Fox Ltd of St. James. He never found himself without a supply of cigars to hand.
"Okay, enough." he stated quietly, raising a hand to silence them; "We are to assume that operations will commence involving the Ministry of Magic. We need staging bases. Jock, find me a location within three miles of Great Scotland Yard, which is on top of the Ministry. I want it sufficiently large to operate heavy-lift helicopters from. Best infrastructure possible."
"On it boss." agreed Jock.
"Amy, I've already acquired Admiralty House and Admiralty Arch, they're less than a mile from the Ministry. I need you to take Nick and Jack, go and recce the locations and work out how many men we could move through there if force were required to be utilised against the Ministry." Harry ordered; "Bill, get back to Credenhill and rummage through the files, shortlist those you think could be brought in on Secret M, and when done, send it to me to review."
"Aye, mind if I borrow a plane?" Bill replied, inclining his head towards the two-seat Sea Fury sat nearby.
"Not at all. I can probably fly you over to Credenhill, I need to see Page, check he's doing his job of balancing paperwork while I'm off-base." Harry smirked before turning away and sitting down, staring at the sunset, Jock perching on the bonnet of the Land Rover next to him. "Go and get some food, we'll go our separate ways in an hour or two."
He did have his own duties too. The SAS, SBS and SRR men, and the SRR women operating under his command were the envy of the world's elite unconventional warfare community. Harry also had a shadier lot on his side. What he nicknamed in communications 'the East India Trading Company' were a group of loosely affiliated ex-services private military companies. The start-up capital for these companies came from his pockets, a small percentage of their profits returned to him, and he smoothed over a lot of bureaucracy for them. It allowed Harry to also have access to their skills and manpower when he needed to keep state forces out of a situation.
The training he subjected those under his command to was pretty harsh, every operational member of an operational patrol had to be rated 'excellent' in two trades. That meant if the patrol marksman was taken out, and they weren't doomed if the medic was killed because there would be a backup. Harry also insisted on daily use of the kill house and rotating squadrons through their training grounds at Pontrilas.
One thing Harry needed to flush out and crack down on were leaks from the SAS itself. A bit too much beer, or a brag in a quiet corner and classified information flooded the internet. He was perfectly happy with some leaking, after all the terrifying reputation of the SAS came from their operational history.
However, even if he had to send some of his shadier men after the tank-chasing lawyers, he was going to have the investigations into his men shut down and the phantom of trial by hysteria banished. If one of his men did commit a war crime, it was something that Harry would handle himself. It was a man's duty to shoot his own dog if it went rabid. Absolute discipline was necessary when you led a band of somewhat renegade veteran soldiers. That said, it didn't mean that there weren't times when he'd been tempted. Majar-al-Kabir, where he and a team of about a dozen SAS men backed by the Parachute Regiment had suffered significant injuries trying to extract six Royal Military Police in the early days of the Iraq War. He had counselled Lamb to call in Fast Air and raze the town to the ground like they did during Barras, and salt the earth.
"Deep thoughts?" asked Jock as the others headed off to go and do their jobs.
"Mmm. I've been concentrating too much on fighting wars. I need to turn my eyes back to Hereford and the men." Harry sighed, explaining his thoughts; "I don't know if you've heard about the law firm that's almost spamming the MoD with cases against serving soldiers. It's gutting the morale of the soldiery and even the UKSF men are becoming hesitant to take action without some kind of reassurance that they won't get locked up for a few centuries for kicking someone's door in."
"How could I not hear about it?" growled Jock; "It's spread across the fucking Guardian. Someone needs to shut them up before they crush the spine of the armed forces."
"It's something I'll be working on Jock." Harry sighed; "Something I probably should have nipped in the bud years ago."
"Years ago you were in the shit as much as the rest of us, just one more poor bastard trying to keep his head from being blown off by some cunt with a Kalashnikov." Jock snorted in contempt; "I heard a quote by one of the tank-chasers. It essentially went that Britain was the most democratic nation because the taxpayer, through the government, was paying him money to attack our armed forces."
"You know, if I had the opportunity to go back in time, I think I'd go back to the 1890s, join the Royal Navy and stop Britain becoming an, at best, second rate country." mused Harry; "Look where we are, our allies are the ever-renegade Israel, the Saudis who are undoubtedly funding extremist Islamist organizations, the Turks who go with the highest bidder, the Americans with their oil obsessions and jumping at shadows in the night."
"God we're fucked." Jock moaned.
"Aye, I'd say Britain's been fucked since the Washington Naval Treaty in 1920, or maybe even further back, when the concept of the big gun battleship was first proposed." Harry agreed; "It doesn't matter now though. We can but try our best to claw a foothold where we are, rather than falling even further."
"So, what to do?" asked Jock.
"First step, the orders I gave. Second step, I've already sent out instructions to men in my employ to rebuild RAF Madley as an operational airfield with capability for Special Forces operations." Harry explained evenly. "I think I may also see about sowing the seeds of chaos in Whitehall. I also need to expand UKSF transport capability significantly."
"We need more Hercs, too many are on duty with other units, or off duty undergoing maintenance and repair." Jock grimaced.
"I can get us twenty H-model C-130s." replied Harry; "Not quite as new or good as the Js, but they're undergoing a big rebuild to give them extra hours and more modern equipment, and more than double the assignment of Hercules to the UKSF and up the RAF's total from thirty-eight to fifty-eight airframes."
"That'll be a very useful, and major, increase in our capabilities. No more waiting for an aircraft to be available." Jock noted; "It won't change the fact that the loadie is the most hated of all breeds of airmen."
"Heh, if only we had access to genuine loadies. The RAF's manpower is fucked, I'm using my own men for this." Harry shook his head; "So it's good either way. We don't have to suffer the militant wing of British Airways, but we still get the Hercules."
"We also need more equipment on the ground." commented Jock bluntly; "We need heavy machine-guns, we need more gimpys, we need Charlie-Gs, we need mortars, we need vehicles."
"I can get the former pretty quickly, as long as people don't mind using some Yank M60s and Spandaus, I've already tried getting more MAGs, and the factory is churning them out at maximum rate for other countries." Harry shrugged; "And before you ask, BAE have already stopped producing the L7, fullstop. As for mortars, I've got about a hundred of the American M252s, which are a license-built version of our L16s. I can dig out a few hundred Carl Gustavs. As for vehicles, I can get hold of more transports for use back here, but for war zones they'd be no use."
"That'll be a start. There's equipment back here that would be of use in war zones, if we can replace it with non-crucial gear, then we can actually utilise it." Jock agreed; "We just need to work out how to get a shitload of ordnance safely to Hereford."
Harry just smirked, looking around him.
"Funny you should say that..." Harry commented, looking at the ploughed fields around them, planted with winter barley. "You remember when we were all convinced that when I was asked to hand over command of the SAS that I was going to be retired..?"
"Aye?"