Embers of Ruin - The Potter Chronicles
Authors Note - A fair warning here, this contains upsetting scenes about ¾ of the way through the story. It will become clear when its about to happen so I suggest anyone who is upset by heavy scenes to skip after the checkpoint scene.
With that being said, I hope you enjoy this next installment.
…...
His brow creased, Harry sat in his bed and scanned the headline of the evening edition of The Daily Prophet.
Anti-Pureblood Movement Gains Momentum on the Continent!
He huffed in frustration. Ever since Tom's death there had been an open discussion in magical Britain about a new order where blood status rights should be abolished. That had caused quite the upheaval, ultra traditionalist Purebloods were afraid to lose their privileges, while radical pro-Muggleborn activists complained that the changes the Wizengamot had brought about went not far enough. Yet those voices were few and in between, so far the moderate forces on the Wizengamot had managed to find a common ground that appeased the majority on both sides and kept the fragile peace after Voldemort's downfall.
Harry agreed that a new order was necessary for magical Britain, he had seen the effects of what zealot Purebloods could do and had done with their privilege. This new movement on the Continent, however… It sought to effectively swap the roles, Muggleborns at the top and Purebloods below. That wasn't equality or reform, that was replacing one problem with another.
"Huh, what causes my husband's forehead to crease into such deep folds of sorrow?" Daphne entered their bedroom, her hands fumbled with her left earlobe, unclipping her earring, and she shot him a smile.
A sigh escaped his lips, he dropped the newspaper on his lap and motioned with his hand towards the headline. "This; tell me, love, why does everyone always want to get even all the time? Does nobody wonder why peace never lasts? This Muggleborn movement in Europe is becoming more and more like the Death Eaters each day."
"That's a bit of a leap, don't you think? You know the papers always stretch a story." Daphne put her jewellery into a shallow bowl on her dressing table and disappeared into the bathroom next to their bedroom.
"I wish that were so on this occasion," he replied and glanced down at the newspaper in his lap. Beneath the headline was the moving picture of a crowd of angry wizards and witches standing in the atrium of the French Ministry of Magic.
"How so?" came the voice of his wife through the open bathroom door.
"This goes beyond Muggleborns merely demanding equal status to Purebloods, a notion which I support, as you know. It's these new demands, they want the Statute of Secrecy to be pulled down, to make ourselves known to the world."
"Madness!" Daphne gasped. She came out of the bathroom, now wearing her nightgown, and her eyes wide and round with unpleasant surprise. "Have they forgotten why magical folk withdrew from society? The witch burnings and the horrors back then? Please, tell me they won't get far with that." She walked to her dresser, sat down and grabbed for her hairbrush.
He searched for her eyes in the mirror. "You see my point? However, I think they don't dare to act, the IWC is united on this matter, any attempts to break the decree would be met with quite a show of international force."
At his words, her face lost some of its tension.
"Then why are you so concerned?" She pulled the brush through her hair. "If this demand has no political backing, then…"
Harry sighed again. "It's not as easy as that, Daph. You'll have to look at the whole picture. At a first glance, the demands of that new movement aren't unreasonable. Equal rights for Muggleborns is the least they can demand, right?"
His wife nodded.
"However, they don't stop at that. You'll have to dig deeper, listen to how they phrase their demands, and read one or two of their pamphlets, and then you'll discover that this movement isn't much different from the Pureblood supremacist movement. They are at the other end of the scale, they want to replace the dictatorship of the Purebloods with the dictatorship of the Muggleborns."
He slapped his hand on the newspaper on his lap. "They won't get far with their demands in Germany, Austria, Italy or even Spain. Those nations have learned their lesson about Pureblood supremacism during the war against Grindlewald and done their homework after that. Even we Brits have at last realised that we need a change after the last war. The French, however…" He gave the newspaper another frustrated slap. "They remind me of how we were before Tom's return, complacent, and convinced that nothing would ever change. In their complacency they don't listen to the reasonable complaints of the Muggleborn, they don't realise that they are rapidly becoming disillusioned with the French ministry." He broke off his rant and looked down on the newspaper.
"And that concerns you because?"
Harry raised his head to meet Daphne's eyes in the mirror. The hairbrush laid forgotten in her lap, and there was a slight crease between her eyebrows.
With another sigh, he picked up the newspaper and put it on his bedside table.
"Because history has shown that if words are ignored then violence normally follows."
"You think this will escalate?" The crease of worry between her eyebrows deepened.
He shifted his eyes to meet hers.
"The department is on red alert, meaning an attack is likely. As are the Germans, the Austrians, the Italians, and even Spain. The French are borderline itching to put down the protests by force but thankfully hold off."
Daphne let out a harsh laugh. "Yes, attacking protesters will just fuel the movement, I suspect."
"Quite, yet I can't help but think..." He paused, should he worry his wife with this? They were but his theories, after all, no real evidence to back up his claim. Yet.
She put the brush back on her dresser and stood up. "Go on, don't spare details for my sake." She walked around to her side of the bed and pulled back the covers.
He cast her a small smile of thanks that she was willing to be his sounding board. Had she an idea how much she helped him by being willing to discuss his half-baked ideas about a case with him? "It's a distraction for something, they draw away our eyes and concern whilst something else works in the dark."
"Are you sure you aren't just looking too deeply at this?" Daphne slipped between the sheets with an expectant look at him that told him she wanted his thoughts on his conclusion.
He pondered her question. He valued her feedback, it was always insightful, and never came across in the doubtful manner that Hermione and Ron used during school.
"I thought as much at first, but at court today, when the new members were introduced to the Wizengamot, that changed rather quickly. Did Anthony not tell you?"
Daphne pulled the sheet over herself and settled against his side with an unconscious, contented low purr.
"I only caught Father on the hop between two meetings this afternoon just after lunch. He did look concerned but didn't tell me why. He did mention you were brilliant in the session today, however, he is very proud of you."
Harry chuckled. "Well, I'm glad he approves, after all, we've been married almost six years and he has a granddaughter out of it." The good mood left his face and he pressed his lips together. "The moment the new members were sworn in things took... a turn. It will be in the papers tomorrow without doubt. They demanded that all Pureblood families pay reparations for the crimes during the war, regardless if they fought against Tom."
"What?" His wife pushed herself up on her elbow and looked at him with wide eyes. "What of those who suffered under his reign?"
"Well deserved apparently," he answered in a grim voice.
Daphne huffed and settled back beside him. "What do they think this will achieve? I imagine they were laughed out?"
"That they were, they were prepared for that, they knew this demand would never pass in the house. No, this was merely a move to fan the embers, show to the "people" that the high and mighty Purebloods still hold contempt of their "lesser" wizarding race."
The crease of worry once again appeared between Daphne's eyebrows. "Do you think it will work?"
"No, at least not here. Britain has made great changes since Tom, endorsed by myself, Hermione, Lady Longbottom, Susan, and your father. Public favour here is high, it won't work here. Elsewhere, however, especially in France..." He trailed off and ran his hand through his hair with a sigh.
"Then why are you and Father worried? Surely this is good news." She shifted her weight to look up at him.
"Because this little stunt will embolden the acts on the Continent. We have favour here, but from an outside view people might see what the faction wants them to see, and that could stoke trouble."
She hm-ed with agreement, then said, "Love, I don't disbelieve your train of thought, but have you voiced your concerns with Robards? These are things for him to worry over, not you."
"He is in the thick of it, his position is more political than action nowadays."
"Then let him lose sleep over it, not you." She smiled up at him. The crease of worry between her eyebrows had disappeared, although he knew her well enough to see some lingering worry etched behind her fine features, worries he would rather keep from her. Yet hiding these issues would serve no purpose other than delaying the possible.
"Wise words." He yawned, extinguished the lamps in their bedroom with a silent and wandless spell, then settled down next to his wife and pulled her closer to him. "How was Jessie's storytime? I noticed Ellie stalking off to her room earlier."
Their ageing border collie was sulking ever since they had mentioned introducing a new puppy to their household. How the dog possibly could have understood his and Daphne's talk was beyond him, yet she gave them the cold shoulder treatment and favoured their daughter's company instead.
"Yes, she jumped up on the bed and refused to look at me. She gets her brooding from you, I think." Daphne chuckled. "Jess disapproves of my storytelling, I don't do all the funny voices like her dad does."
Harry joined her laughter. "Firstly, that dog's brooding is a whole new level of brooding, secondly, I am the king of storytime, don't take it too harshly."
His wife snorted. "A king? Since when did you become all high and mighty?"
"Didn't dear Draco make it clear? Since I was born."
Daphne broke out into laughter. "That's a good one, Harry."
Her laughter eased his tension some more. She had had a hard time to overcome the scare the ferret gave her a couple of weeks ago, even though she did her best not to show. Making fun of Malfoy was a good way to help her cope. Funny, there had been neither hide nor hair of the ferret ever since then, even though at his request every Auror in Britain was looking out for him.
Daphne snuggled against him and slung her arms around his neck for a good night kiss, and the next second all thoughts of Malfoy or his uneasy feelings about what was going to come flew out of his head.
…
French Ministry of Magic
Paris
Two Days Later
Harry suppressed a yawn as he let his eyes wander through the conference room at the French Ministry of Magic. With half an ear he listened to the disagreement carried out by the French Minister for Magic, Philipe Durand, and the head of the French Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Suzanne Bernard. For the last twenty minutes, they'd been at each other's throats about the French share of the budget allotted to the International Task Force the biggest European countries had agreed on as a measure to counteract the uprise of a possible new Dark Lord right from the beginning.
"Trop d'argent! Voulez-vous équiper les Aurors d'uniformes brodés d'or, Suzanne?" Minister Durand huffed, crossed his arms in front of his chest, and yanked back in his chair with a glare at his department head. The gesture wasn't as authoritative as he might have hoped, his rotund figure, clad in baby blue robes, made him look like a sulking infant.
If Madame Bernard was as fed up with the discussion as the rest of the inhabitants of the room were, she didn't let on. She sat a bit straighter on her chair and gave the sulking Minister for Magic a stern look down her nose like Professor McGonnagal used to look at a student who failed to understand the simplest laws of Transfiguration.
"Non, Monsieur le Ministre, c'est le strict minimum -"
"Assez!" Minister Durand cut her off with a sharp motion of his hand. He leaned forward until his nose almost touched hers. "Je ne participe pas! L'Assemblée nationale des sorciers et sorcières ne tolérera jamais ce gaspillage d'argent!"
Madame Bernard turned to the other inhabitants of the room, a strained smile on her lips. "Please, excuse us for a moment." She pulled out her wand and cast a spell around herself and Minister Durand.
Harry recognised the movements of a Privacy Ward and let out a breath. That was about time, he couldn't have listened to their fight any longer without exploding. Couldn't the French do their homework ahead, as the delegations of the other nations had done?
He shifted in his seat, now he understood why some of the Senior Aurors had laughed when he was picked for close protection for Kingsley on this trip.
Behind the Privacy Ward, Madame Bernard had half risen from her chair and leaned into Minister Durand. Her mouth was moving rapidly, it seemed she gave the minister a much-deserved piece of her mind. Minister Durand didn't look as if he cherished the experience.
To Harry's right, Kingsley also shifted in his seat. Harry turned his head towards him, and Kingsley responded with an imperceptible roll of his eyes. Kingsley was serving his second political term as British Minister for Magic, but it seemed he still hadn't mastered the art of dealing with incompetence without showing any signs of his impatience. Neither had he changed his flamboyant style of clothing: his royal purple robes stood out brightly in the room.
The third member of the British delegation sat on Kingsley's other side and doodled with his quill on a sheet of parchment in front of him, seemingly oblivious to the ongoings in the room. That was an act, George Watson, Harry's fellow Senior Auror and current partner, never missed much. He had joined the Aurors a few months after Harry, a slight man with a youthful innocent face, which had earned him the nickname baby-face about the department.
The Spanish and Italian delegations had left their seats a few minutes ago, about mid-way into the discussion between Madame Bernard and Minister Durand, and stood near one of the windows, screened by their bodyguards. Behind a Privacy Ward the Italian Minister for Magic, Claudio Bertolli, described something to his Spanish counterpart with wide gestures. Manuel Sanchez doubled over with laughter, and the four bodyguards whose names Harry didn't remember, had broad grins on their faces. Harry suppressed a grin, he doubted their conversation had anything to do with the cause of today's meeting.
Their behaviour was a stark contrast to that of the German delegation, who sat opposite of the British delegation. Magical Chancellor Helmut Franz and his Chief of Security Nikolaus Struff, though the man favoured the name Klaus, had stuck their heads together and talked in low voices. The frequent glances they cast to their still quarrelling French hosts made it easy to gauge the topic of their conversation. They didn't look impressed, either.
Harry's eyes wandered back to Minister Durand and Madame Bernard. They were a mixed bag if he had ever seen one. Suzanne Bernard was a stern-looking woman, tall and slight with a haughty expression that came with good breeding. She gave off an air of supreme competence and the impression she would not suffer fools. The dressing down she just gave Minister Durand proved that. She reminded Harry of Madam Bones in her heyday, she would get the job done - if her government let her.
They could only hope that Minister for Magic Philipe Durand wouldn't turn out to be the French counterpart of Fudge to Madame Bernard. Harry watched the French Minister with a sinking feeling in his stomach. The similarities were baffling. Like Fudge, the man was rather heavyset, and just like Fudge, he had a penchant for unflattering robes in weird colours that did not complement his figure at all.
Harry bit on his lips to suppress the snort that welled up in him. Blaise would have a seizure if he saw the man. With an inward shudder, he remembered the long list of dos and donts with colours of male clothes and size, and especially business clothes, Daphne's best male friend had drilled into him when he forced Harry to go shopping for new robes not long after the Battle of Hogwarts.
However, his short moment of hilarity vanished as he continued observing the blustering French Minister for Magic. Just like Fudge, Phillipe Durand was a flamboyant and puffed up man whose only recommendation for his position was his pedigree as a descendant from an ancient household. It seemed the French favoured a bygone era of governance just like Britain, though the latter was seeking to remedy that. He sighed and remembered his talk to Daphne the other day, that didn't bode well for the future.
Behind the Privacy Ward, Minister Durand had pulled his wand and Summoned a carafe of water and a glass from the end of the table towards himself. He poured himself a glass, still in the middle of a rant at Madame Bernard, and his wand in his free hand. When he slammed the carafe down on the table, sparks emitted from his wand, and the Privacy Ward came down.
"You want how much more to handle these… vulgars? Are our Aurors so soft you cannot handle a rabble, Madam Bernard?" Minister Durand scoffed, resembling a petulant infant more than ever, and Harry suppressed a sigh.
Why had that pompous fool to bring down the Privacy Ward with his needless wand-waving?
Madam Bernard let out a sigh of long-suffering.
Harry grinned to himself. Was she even aware that the Privacy Ward had come down?
"As I told you before, repeatedly, Minister, we are trying to de-escalate the protests." She glared at the man. "Of course our Aurors could deal with them quickly, but that would be adding fuel to the fire. Unless you would like another revolution embroiled in this country, I suggest you heed my advice, Minister!"
Minister Durand huffed. "I shall put the vote to the house tomorrow for more force permitted, then." The minister waved his wandhand in a dismissive gesture, and more sparks emitted from his wand and singed the tablecloth.
This time, Harry didn't bother to mask his exasperated sigh. It was obvious that not a single one of Madame Bernard's logical arguments had got to the man. Was he even capable of understanding them? Another Fudge, indeed.
From across the table, Magical Chancellor Franz gave Harry a fleeting look full of understanding and turned to their hosts. "Are you sure that is the right course of action? As Madam Bernard has pointed out, you risk coming across as a tyrant with these actions, you'd play into whoever is behind these protests hands."
Minister Durand stiffened in his seat, and his face turned an unhealthy shade of puce. "I do not believe I asked for the German's input into French affairs, Chancellor."
Harry resisted the urge to cringe. Gods, what an idiot! And there he thought Fudge was bad.
Contrary to Harry, Magical Chancellor Franz had played the political game long enough not to show his irritation. "Mon cher Philipe, is it not commonplace for friends to offer each other advice? Is that not why we are-"
The blaring of an alarm siren cut him off mid-sentence.
Everyone In the room froze.
Madame Bernard sprung to her feet, her wand in her hand, and was already issuing orders in rapid French to the blue robe-clad French Aurors who stood guard around the room.
Klaus, Harry and George followed within a blink of an eye and shielded their charges with their bodies, wands in their hands, while the Spanish and Italian Aurors pushed the two surprised ministers in a corner of the room and formed a human wall in front of them.
"What is the meaning of this!" Minister Durand roared from behind the Aurors who sheltered him.
Madame Bernard marched to the door, her jaw clenched tight in grim concentration. "That alarm only sounds when there is a large magical output in the non-magical parts of the city." She held up her hand to motion them to keep quiet, listened for a moment, and yanked the door open.
On the other side stood a young Auror, his hand raised and balled in a fist as if to knock. At the sight of Madame Bernard's wand shoved under his nose he startled violently and blanched.
Harry and George exchanged a look. "Bet he just soiled himself?" George muttered from the corner of his mouth. Behind them, one of the Italian or Spanish Aurors sniggered.
The young Auror caught his bearings. "Il y a une attaque au Louvre, Madame, les premiers intervenants ont demandé de liaise'aide. To his credit, there was only a slight warble in his voice.
"Nombres?"
"Madame, inconnue."
"Réponse complète, alertez la garde du ministère d'être aux aguets." Suzanne dismissed the Auror and turned back to the room.
Minister Durand peeked out his head from behind the Aurors who still shielded him. "Well!" he demanded, his pompous tone a ridiculous contrast to his posture.
Kingsley let out a snort he hastily turned into a cough, while Magical Chancellor Franz bit on his lip and the Spanish and Italian delegations openly sniggered. Even George had to avert his face and Harry bit on the inside of his cheek.
The only one unperturbed by Minister Durand's involuntary comical performance - besides the French who seemed to be used to his antics - was Klaus Struff.
For the sake of the guests, Madame Bernard switched back to English. "There is a magical attack at the Louvre, unknown number of magicals involved, however, the first responders are requesting assistance. The ministry guards are to be alerted and put on watch, full Auror response is in order."
Harry's stomach dropped, this was not a small skirmish, considering the Aurors present requested assistance and got such a response.
"Gentlemen, this meeting is over. My team will ensure you and your protection details are escorted to the Floo Station," Madame Bernard said.
"What of the rest of the ministry?" Kingsley asked.
"The building is on lockdown, the last thing we need is panic on the street." Madame Bernard replied over her shoulder and motioned for them to follow.
Both Harry and George flanked Kingsley as they, along with the other foreign delegations and French minister and his guards, marched to the emergency exits, their wands at the ready. Minister Durand stepped into the fireplace with unsuitable haste and vanished, followed by Magical Chancellor Franz and Klaus, who both took the time for a short thanks to Madame Bernard and nodded goodbye to the other delegations. The Spanish and Italian delegations were next, they also took the time to thank the head of the French D.M.L.E. and bid their goodbyes.
Then it was their turn.
"After you, Minister." Harry gestured towards the fireplace.
"Thank you, Harry." Kingsley stepped forward. A faint rumble, followed by the shuddering of the ornate chandeliers above the Floo Network atrium made him stop in his tracks.
The ambient magic around them shifted, as if pushed aside by an invisible force, and
a loud cracking sound came from further down the corridor.
The hairs on Harry's neck stood on end. "Kingsley, go now!" he yelled and pushed the minister into the green flames.
The large wizard vanished in a flash of flame, and Harry let out a breath of relief.
BOOM!
The ground shook under his feet, the chandeliers groaned and swayed on their chains, there was an ominous crunching sound, and one chandelier snapped from its place on the ceiling and crashed to the ground. In the deafening echo of the explosion Harry struggled to gain his bearings, something heavy slammed into his side and sent him crashing to the ground, the weight that pushed him followed and forced the air from his lungs.
"Sorry, Harry! But you were about to be red paste." George's voice sounded as if it came from far away through the ringing in his ears. His focus adjusted, a large chunk of ceiling laid where he had stood when George Banished him out of harm's way. He raised his hand in a short, but heartfelt thank you at his partner. There'd be time later to get all shaky about his narrow escape, right now he had more pressing problems at hand. What in Merlin's name was going on? He shook his head to get rid of the ringing in his ears. It helped, somewhat. There was screaming and the sound of spellfire in the distance, and the barking of stern French nearby.
"What are you both doing here still?" Madame Bernard's voice pierced through the noise.
Harry pulled himself and George to their feet and looked at the Frenchwoman.
"We got the Minister out just before that explosion, do we know what caused it?"
"No, but I'm going to find out, you should go now."
"I will stay." He stepped forward to show his conviction.
Madame Bernard opened her mouth as if to protest, reconsidered, and worried her lower lip between her teeth. The conflict was plain on the older woman's face, she weighed the risk of a British war hero being killed on her watch against the needs of the Aurors under her command.
The sound of more spellfire and the echoing cries of the wounded tipped the scales. Madame Bernard straightened, her mind made up.
"It seems I have little choice, Mr Potter, we need all the wands we can get for now."
"I shall go, too." George stepped up beside Harry.
Madame Bernard just nodded and motioned for them to join the remaining Aurors who had not followed Minister Durand through the Floo.
While they hasted towards the noise of the spellfire, Harry took stock of their small force. There were seven of them in total, Madame Bernard included, and they had no idea what they were walking into. His heart raced, he didn't like the odds of this.
The French Aurors sprinted towards the sound of the spellfire without a thought of protecting themselves.
Harry and George exchanged a look while they followed them in some distance, as had been drilled into them at Auror Academy, and shook their heads. 'Protect yourself and your partner', that motto was deeply ingrained into them. A dead Auror was of no use for anyone, a bitter lesson the British Auror Department had learned during two gruelling wars.
The screams and cries were quieter now, and judging by the increased amount of smoke, they were not far from the scene. Harry readied his wand, a Shield Charm at the tip of his tongue, while he fought back the memories of the Battle of Hogwarts that came to the fore of his mind. The smoke, the rubble... The dead.
The French Aurors turned around a corner onto what appeared to be the main concourse of the ministry and ran into a barrage of spellfire. Two Aurors went down, the other two threw themselves back and pushed Madam Bernard behind the shelter of the corner.
A thick cloud of black smoke billowed towards them.
"Oh fuck!"
Harry's quick reactions threw up a shield just in time with the yellow spell that burst out of the cloud of black smoke. The spell shattered against it and dissipated. His blood raced and his legs were filled with nervous energy as he ducked and blocked incoming attacks. Beside him, George flicked a chunk of rubble between himself and a curse. The smoke ahead was blocking their view of their assailants. Harry cursed under his breath, he didn't dare let off anything serious in case any civilians were caught up in the battle.
The French Aurors were focusing on defensive spells also, clearly of the same mind as him. Madame Bernard twisted her wand above her head in a rapid motion and slashed it down towards the billowing smoke. A bright spell burst from the tip of her wand, raced towards the thick smoke and blew a tunnel through it. The oppressive black smoke swirled into thin twisters and dissipated at last, exposing ten figures, their faces covered in ragged cloaks.
When they realised their cover was gone, their attack became uncoordinated. That was all the Aurors needed.
Harry and George kept to modified Stunners, as by British Auror protocol. A dead assailant couldn't be interrogated, after all. As a result of the last war, however, their Stunners were a novel invention of the Department of Mysteries that couldn't be cancelled by a simple Renervate.
The French Aurors were not that charitable. The Auror next to Harry yelled something Harry couldn't understand, and the next moment a deep blue spell hit one of the assailants in the chest and flung him against the wall with an audible crunch. The rest of the assailants froze or cried in alarm, then turned around and fled into different directions and down various corridors.
The two surviving French Aurors made to run after them. "No!" A stern shout from Madame Bernard stopped them in their first step.
"We don't know how many are here, we need to regroup at the ministry entrance, if any of the guards are there they will have a better idea of what we are dealing with."
At least she used English for the benefit of himself and George.
"But Madame, they have run deeper into the ministry, we must pursue!" One of the two surviving Aurors, a youthful female with brunette hair, protested.
"Oui, Annabelle is right," said the other Auror.
Harry's fingers twitched, the longer this debate went on, the longer this threat went unchallenged.
Madame Bernard's expression hardened, and the young Auror took an involuntary step back.
Despite the adrenaline flooding his system, Harry had to grin. It seemed a tongue lashing was about to amount. He cast a surreptitious side glance at the female Auror. She was still young, she seemed barely old enough to have finished Auror Academy, and this was probably one of her first missions in the field. It wouldn't hurt to protect her from Madame Bernard's wrath and teach her a lesson alongside.
"Madame Bernard, Watson and I can go ahead to the entrance and see if anyone remains who can help, while your team can put some press on those fleeing." He offered the head of the French D.M.L.E. an alternative.
Madame Bernard pursed her lips, her eyes flicked between her Aurors and Harry.
"Fine, but you'll take Annabelle with you, she can speak to the guard. Hurry! Maillard, Watson, follow me!"
Madame Bernard, George and the other French Auror took off after their foes, leaving Harry and Annabelle in the main corridor. If the young brunette was aggrieved by the order she did not show.
Time seemed to have slowed to an agonising pace, the footsteps of the three pursuers faded in the distance and gave way to an unsettling, almost eery silence, a stark contrast to the normal hustle and bustle of the ministry.
A flicker of unease crossed Annabelle's face. The next moment she squared her shoulders and turned to Harry.
"Come on, there is a checkpoint station up ahead for this section of the ministry, if those men are here then it must mean-" She cut her sentence short.
Harry just nodded, she didn't have to elaborate. If the intruders had made it this far, the chances of finding an intact checkpoint were slim.
"Lead on, we came through the private Floo network earlier today, so I'm not familiar with the layout."
Annabelle took the lead and cast a look towards Harry as he kept pace. She gulped and flicked her tongue across her lips in a nervous gesture.
"I have deeper concerns if they have made it this far."
His stomach tensed. Sweet Merlin, what else was to come?
"Which is?" His calm voice didn't let on his apprehension.
"It was the annual family day today, all employees would be welcomed to bring their partners and... their children. The blast came from the direction of the entrance, the children's activities were held just after the check-in."
Her steps increased at each word, as did Harry's. An icy fist held his heart in an iron grip. What had those bastards done to the children? He closed his eyes in a quick prayer of gratitude to each deity that would listen. Today had been a quick follow-up meeting, scheduled for a couple of hours only, with the delegations returning home via Floo after that. Had it been one of the longer conferences, where he and Daphne often joined Kingsley during the obligatory banquettes as unofficial ambassadors for magical Britain, they would have taken Jessie with them, and Daphne would have taken her to the party at the French ministry to entertain her.
The further they travelled the worse the smoke got, and the more rubble they saw. Harry's trained Auror mind processed the information he gathered. Given the short amount of time between the alarm and the explosion, the attack must have been conducted with an incredible speed. How many attackers were involved to create such devastation in such a short time?
"The checkpoint!" Annabelle sprinted towards what seemed to Harry like just another pile of rubble. He sped to keep up with her, and they both reached the pile of rubble at the same time. The checkpoint, or what was left of it, lay charred and ruined, where once stood a guardhouse in the centre of the corridor now only remained a pile of masonry and glass.
Annabelle gasped, her hand flew to her mouth and covered it, while her eyes widened in horror. "Oh, sweet Circe!"
Five guards all lay dead, their lifeless eyes open. Three had their hands at their belts, one was mingled with the rubble, and the last lay on his front, his wand just out of reach.
"They were caught unaware," Harry murmured.
The French Auror whirled around, her eyes blazing with a sudden fury and unshed tears. "No! The guards here were not lax! They would've heard the explosion and they would've been ready!"
Harry raised his hand to calm the emotions.
"I do not doubt that, who is to say they weren't attacked just after the explosion? There would've been a second or two the men would've been vulnerable. Three of them are reaching for their wands, that implies this was unexpected." And it supported his theory of a blitz-attack.
Annabelle took a deep breath and calmed herself down. "Perhaps, it grieves me to leave these men like this, but we must make it to the entrance."
Harry nodded to her logic, even if it felt wrong to leave these men like they were, nothing more could be done for them, whereas they might be able to help elsewhere.
"How far?"
"Not very." The young Auror stepped away from the carnage with a last glance over her shoulder at her fallen comrades. She stared ahead as they jogged down the corridor towards the entrance. The chandeliers and wall sconces that usually lit the corridor had been blown out by the explosion, a line of tiny lights near the floor of both sides of the corridor gave a limited light, but enough for them to make quick progress.
The spellfire had ceased completely, all they heard was the crunching of the rubble under their feet, the echo of their footsteps in the corridor, and the noise of their breathing.
"It's too quiet," Annabelle muttered.
Harry's stomach tightened, and he clenched his jaw. She was right, he didn't hold much optimism for what they would find, either.
More unmoving bodies, dressed in the guard uniform, littered the rubble as they drew closer to the entrance. Annabelle and Harry exchanged a look and sped up.
An eery orange glow that cast long shadows into the dark corridor greeted them as they approached the entrance hall, and the smell of something burning reached their nostrils. At last, they reached the entrance hall and stopped in their tracks.
The once proud Tricolore flag was ablaze, clinging on by one hook in the centre of the hall, and cast a flickering orange glow around the room, which was enhanced by the fact that the two impressive crystal chandeliers that had lit the room both had crashed to the ground, and the light that seeped in from the tall windows at the front of the hall wasn't enough to light up the cavernous room. From earlier visits to the French ministry, Harry remembered a white marble swan fountain that adorned the centre of the hall, a piece of ancient magical art that delighted each visitor. The once glorious white marble swan fountain was shattered, its water flowing out of the rubble and onto the cracked floor.
Their eyes needed a few seconds to adjust to the flickering light.
Annabelle stiffened beside him. "No, no, no!" she whispered, her eyes glued to the carnage in front of them.
Strewn all through the hall were dozens of bodies, men and women lay about the ground, some still arm in arm, others appeared to be reaching out to the body nearest them as if to protect or seek protection. Between them were smaller bodies, one... two… five… ten… The number was beyond count, and there had to be even more in the depths of the hall that were right now obscured by darkness.
Harry's throat ached, and he almost buckled at the sight. His hand reached out for the nearest wall to support himself, and he took a deep breath. He wasn't allowed any weakness right now, he was an Auror and had a job ahead. He'd better make sure if there was anyone in that hall who had escaped the onslaught by some miracle and needed help. With another deep breath, he steadied himself and made a first, tentative step into the hall.
His feet moved on their own accord, the whispered despair of Annabelle drowned out by the deathly silence that consumed him. The first family he came across looked like the father had attempted in vain to shield his wife and daughter, as his limp body lay over their lifeless form. They wouldn't need his help anymore.
A few more steps, his wand limp in his hand.
A boy, perhaps eight years old lay on his front, his arms stretched out, his eyes closed. Had he tried to reach his parents for help when the deadly spell struck him? Where were his parents? Harry looked around, it was impossible to tell, it could've been any number of the adults who surrounded him.
His throat tightened, what sick bastards fought a war against children, for a warzone this was. He neared the shattered fountain, faintly aware of Annabelle's footsteps somewhere behind him, she said something, yet Harry did not hear it. His eyes were fixed to a little blonde girl with piercing green eyes... Jess! The breath left his lungs, and he made an involuntary step forward.
The sound of a piece of rubble falling from the ceiling brought him back to his senses. He squeezed his eyes shut and willed away the image of his daughter. He took a deep breath and opened his eyes again. The little girl clung to the arm of a woman. Her mother? It might well be, their hair had the same shade of blonde, just like Daphne's and - no, he wouldn't go down that path once again. The woman almost looked serene in death. His eyes drifted over her body, scanned for visible injuries, yet there was nothing. His breath caught when he noticed the slight swell at her stomach. Pregnant.
Everything within him was filled with cold numbness, and he swayed. He'd felt like this before, when had that been? Then the memory came back, he'd had this eery sense of detachment after the Battle of Hogwarts. That battle was brutal enough, this, however… Gods, whoever did this, they were animals. His throat constricted and his chest burned as his grip on his wand tightened until his knuckles went white.
"Harry?"
His head snapped to the source. Annabelle stood a little farther away, towards the main entrance. Her face betrayed grief, her eyes were slightly red, and there was a glistening of tear tracks on her cheek.
Harry did not blame her, were he alone, he also would have wept at the scene before him.
He cleared his throat. "Have you found anything?" His voice didn't even sound like his own.
Annabelle's face, vulnerable in grief and youth only moments before, hardened. She straightened back to full Auror mood and shook her head.
Good girl.
"The guards at the entrance were like that of the checkpoint, I guess they barely had a chance. And for the visitors - " Her voice choked, she pressed her fist to her mouth, her eyes squeezed shut, and stared ahead at the carnage with a lost look.
Harry averted his eyes to give her time to compose herself. She'd probably never seen anything remotely like this, so it was not surprising she had problems to hold it together. Merlin only knew that even he, as war-hardened as he was, found it hard not to break down and cry about the senseless loss of so many lives. How much harder had it to be for Annabelle? These were her people who she was sworn to protect, whatever sorrow he felt must be tenfold for her.
He stared into the darkness with unseeing eyes. A faint noise reached his ears. Was that a sniffle from Annabelle? Should he turn around and comfort her? He strained his ears, there it was again! The sound was not from Annabelle, it came from the shadows somewhere behind the destroyed fountain.
He raised his wand and scanned the room. Had one of the assassins remained behind to attack the support forces when they reached the scene and we're overwhelmed with the sight they found? He wouldn't put it past those bastards.
The flaming flag above gave a flicker of light. There was a small movement near to the fountain.
Harry's breath caught, and his fingers tightened their grip around his wand. Very careful not to step on any of the dead, and seemingly without a real purpose, he moved towards the fountain, while from the corner of his eye he still watched the spot where he had seen that small movement.
He stopped and listened again. The sound of quiet, yet rapid breathing was unmistakable. Someone was lurking in the shadows next to the ruin of the fountain.
His shoes splashed into the water leaking from the fountain as he leapt forward, ready to stun.
Then he saw her. A girl of no more than nine years old, wrapped in a soaking wet coat that was much too big for her, she was shivering. When she saw Harry advancing on her, she screamed and huddled herself into a ball.
Oh shit! Harry cursed himself and stashed his wand away. The next moment he crouched down beside the scared child.
"Shh, it's alright, I'm-" He stopped. The little girl was French, and his French was appalling. Maybe he could use the Translation Charm Daphne had taught him, it never lasted for more than two or three sentences, so it was useless for the conferences he had to attend at the French ministry, but it had proved itself quite handy when he and Daphne went shopping in Paris.
Mindful not to spook the little girl any more, he cast the spell on himself. "It's alright, little one. The bad men are gone. I am a friend, I'm here to help you." He kept his voice low and even, as if he was talking to Ellie or Buckbeak when something had spooked them, and reached out with his hand to stroke the girl's back.
The coat was sodden through, he had to get her out of that, or she'd catch a cold.
The little child froze at his touch, and the screams stopped.
He recast the Translation Spell and continued to talk to her in the same manner while he caressed her back.
It seemed like an eternity until she relaxed under his touch. She turned her head and peered up at him, her eyes still streaming.
Harry smiled at her. "There's a good girl. I am Harry. Will you tell me your name?"
She hesitated, then nodded. "Ann-Marie."
Her voice was so low he had to bend closer to understand her.
"That's a beautiful name." He cast her another smile and inched closer. "Listen, Ann-Marie, you are soaking wet, and if you stay like this any longer, you'll get sick. Will you allow me to help you out of that coat and cast Drying and Warming Charms on you?"
Again, she hesitated and looked up at him like a timid deer fawn. "You won't hurt me?"
"I'll never hurt a little girl." He held up the little finger of his right hand. "Big pinky promise."
She linked his pinky finger with his, and they solemnly shook three times.
Ann-Marie scrambled to her feet, her eyes never left his face as if she was ready to bolt at the first sign of danger from him.
He'd better not use his wand then, a simple Drying Charm and a Warming Charm were not beyond his wandless abilities. First of all, however, he had to get her out of that soaking coat. Ever so careful he reached out with his hands and pulled the coat off her.
Ann-Marie shivered in the soft draught that waved through the cavernous hall. As he had feared, her clothes below the coat were also soaked.
He held out his hand and applied strong Drying Charms on the little girl. The shivering stopped, and Harry let out a breath. Would that be enough? He reached out with his hand once again.
"May I?"
The girl eyed his hand for a moment and nodded.
Harry reached behind her neck, inside the collar of her shirt, and probed the temperature of her skin there, as Isabella had taught Daphne and him when Jess was just born, to make sure she was always warm enough.
The skin was still ice cold, but thankfully dry.
He leaned back, Warming Charms alone wouldn't be enough, he needed something to wrap her up in, so the warmth would stay like in a cocoon. He didn't want to use the oversized coat once more, Merlin knew where she had found it and what memories that would trigger, and he was only wearing his waistcoat and shirt, so he called, "Annabelle!"
"Oui, Harry?"
Harry almost jumped out of his skin, he hadn't realised that she had stepped behind him while he talked to Ann-Marie. He turned his head and looked up at her over his shoulder. "I need your coat, please."
Annabelle looked down at him with an unfathomable expression and didn't react.
"Your coat, Annabelle," he repeated with some more emphasis and a slight frown on his face. Couldn't she see the girl was in shock and needed to be kept warm?
She startled and her cheeks pinked. "Oh, sorry, of course." She shrugged out of the overcoat of her Auror uniform and held it out to him, now only clad in a pair of sharp blue trousers, a tight white blouse, and a tie in the colours of the tricolore with the crest of magical France embroidered on it in gold thread.
Harry took the coat from her with a short side glance at her and a nod of thanks. Rather absentmindedly he noticed she had a nice figure under the bulky robes, slim and delicate, very much like Daphne's. He cast a wandless Warming Charm on the insides of the coat and held it out to the little girl.
"Come on, little one, let's get you wrapped up."
This time, Ann-Marie didn't hesitate as he held the coat out to her, stepped closer, and allowed him to wrap her into the coat.
He gave her an encouraging smile and cast another Warming Charm on her. "Here we go!"
"Is she hurt?" Annabelle asked from behind him.
"I have no idea," Harry replied. "We'd better get her to a healer immediately, and ask for reinforcements to record… this." If there were any, considering the attack on the Louvre and the response Madame Bernard had sent, the French Aurors had to be stretched pretty slim. He'd better send a Patronus to Kingsley and inform him about what had happened, Kingsley would most likely offer the help of the British Aurors to their French partners. However, right now there were other things he had to take care of. He turned to Ann-Marie.
"Do you mind if I pick you up and carry you out of here? We should get you to a healer to make sure you are alright."
Instead of an answer, the little girl held her arms up to him from under the blanket.
He picked her up, and she slung her arms around his neck in an almost desperate grip, leaned her head against his shoulder, and closed her eyes. With the girl in his arms, he picked his way through the rubble and dead bodies towards the entrance.
Annabelle stayed by his side. As they reached the entrance and the light got better, she cast a curious glance at his charge, then gasped. "Ann-Marie!"
"You know her?"
Annabelle nodded and cast a Privacy Ward around them, so the little girl wouldn't listen into their conversation.
"She is the daughter of one of the minister's Auror guards, he was in the room with you today, he escorted the French minister to his home." The French Auror looked back at the little girl and a wave of sadness passed over her face.
"She was here with her mother... If she was here, then... Oh, my sweet child!"
Harry didn't need an explanation, a child had lost her mother today and a husband had lost his wife, and likely didn't even know it yet. Looking back at the dead he wondered how many families had been ruined, and the more disturbing question, why?
…
He arrived at their home a little after four in the morning.
As soon as he had delivered Ann-Marie to a healer, he'd sent a Patronus to Kingsley. According to the agreement their countries were forming, Kingsley had offered the help of the British Aurors to his French counterpart, and so did the ministers of Italy and Spain and Magical Chancellor Franz from Germany when they learned of the scale of the attack. Minister Durand had refused at first, probably out of some irrational national pride, but Madame Bernard had asserted herself and made him reconsider. An international team of Aurors had preserved the traces of the attack on the French ministry until the wee hours of the morning, he and George among them.
He trudged down the stone-flagged driveway from the Apparition Point just outside their wards towards their house, his legs heavy and his head hurting like hell. As always when he returned late in the night from Auror duty, Daphne had left on a solitary light just in the entrance-way.
Some of the ice around his heart thawed. These little gestures were so typical for their relationship, showed him how much she cared for him without much fuss about it. A quick kiss on his cheek when she passed him, a mug of tea put next to his hand when he was working on his overdue parchment work on the weekend… Or a warm light in the entrance-way welcoming him back home.
At least he still had a home with loved ones he could return to.
He opened the front door and stepped over the threshold. Within seconds there was the rapid sound of feet bounding on the carpeted floor, and Ellie appeared at the top of the stairs, her ears and tail up. When she saw her master, she let out a little whimper and bounded down the stairs, collided with him, and jumped up at him and then brushed against him.
He dropped to his knee and ruffled her fur, breathing in her scent as she tried to lick his ear.
"Urgh, you know I hate that!" Some more ice thawed.
He got a happy growl in response.
"Come on, it's late, to bed." He patted the collie on the flank, got up to his feet, and pulled himself towards the stairs. Every step was heavy and tiresome, he put his hand on the bannister and almost hoisted himself up the carpeted stairway.
He poked his head into his bedroom.
Daphne was fast asleep with her back facing the door, and he let out a small breath. She was still there. A warm glow ignited in his chest as he looked at his sleeping wife. He pulled back his head, he wouldn't wake her, not with the mood he was in. She'd want to hear about his day, they always talked about their days, and the last thing he could bear now was reliving the memories of the day he had had.
He closed the door and turned towards Jessie's bedroom. Ever since the attack, he had a strong urge to see his daughter. The memory of the dead children haunted his mind, he needed to check on her, remind himself she was still here. He gently opened the door to Jessie's room, careful not to wake the sleeping child.
She slept soundly, clinging to the pillow with a serene expression on her face, in blissful ignorance of the cruel world that lay outside her home.
Harry knelt beside the bed and stroked her hair with his palm. She was safe and so was Daphne. Merlin knew he would do anything in his might to keep them safe. He ran the tip of his index finger along Jessie's velvety cheek, and she smiled in her sleep. He swallowed, how many fathers would crave to do this simple action now? Yet went to bed alone tonight, their family gone in the blink of an eye.
He gulped against the lump in his throat, while the warmth of being back with his family wrapped around him like a comforting blanket and thawed away the last vestiges of the cold numbness the senseless attack had left in him.
He eased back, careful not to wake her, and slipped out of the room. He'd better go to bed and sleep off everything. His exhaustion probably blew everything out of proportion, he needed his rest to keep his senses.
He reached for the handle of his bedroom door, the lump in his throat grew until his throat tightened and his vision blurred. A torrent of emotion welled up inside him like a volatile potion as the memories of the day descended on him like a flock of harpies with sharp beaks and claws, tugging at his soul, and the reality of the day smacked him across the face.
His cheeks were wet with warm tears and a sob escaped his mouth. He slid down the hallway wall until he sat on the floor, his back and head leaned against the wall, and his body wracked with silent tears.
Something warm and wet brushed against his hand, then a warm canine body pressed up against him with a low whine.
Ellie sat beside him and offered her comfort in the only way a dog could, while in the shelter of the darkness of the hallway of his home, Harry Potter wept for those who were lost before their time.
It was just before the early morning rays kissed the horizon that morning that his tears were spent. Harry looked up to the hallway window. The darkness wasn't that oppressive anymore, a sure sign that the sun would rise soon. He took a deep breath and pushed himself to his feet. The despair of the night was gone, washed away by his tears, and had given way to a deadly calm, and within him, a new conviction was born.
He looked down at his faithful dog that hadn't left his side all night long.
"Come on, Ellie, let's get ready for the day. I have work to do."
…
Hope you enjoyed this first chapter. It was quite difficult to write given a friend of mine recently lost their daughter (Not to the same manner). Given the recent events in France I want any of my readers to understand this was written prior to this and this is not designed to cause any upset to any of my French readers.
I look forward to your thoughts.