Reviews:
Pyromania101: After everything they've been through, government types would be a minor roadblock especially one like Fudge who for all his stubbornness can be a pushover. Glad that the edits I made helped the chapter out and made it an easier read.
Greer123: Thanks. And I wanted to highlight the differences between magic in both worlds by showing that things like the Patronus don't exist on the Berserk side of things.
Hairul The Nightrage Beast: They'll be needing all the help that they can get before heading to Falconia. I have a lot in mind for what the battle will look like when it comes time to finally write it.
Guest: Short compared to the last one as it was the longest to date. Still happy you enjoyed it.
Tero7323: Yeah, this arc is the last one, sad to say, but things are getting wrapped up.
Necrogod: Not a problem, hope you enjoy this one as well.
erica phoenix 16: Thanks. This took longer than I anticipated, but I'm happy to get it out at last.
Disclaimer- Harry Potter is owned by J.K. Rowling and Berserk is owned by Kentaro Miura. I own nothing.
"I was told that Potter would come to me. You gave me that express assurance that he would come to me and our destiny would be decided." Voldemort found it hard to reign in the intense anger he felt pulsating throughout his body at the moment. He knew that he was dead if he actually decided to act on it. "He had returned to Hogwarts, he was there."
"And you, in turn, sought him out?" the voice of the God Hand in disguise was as smooth as ever. He left no trace that he was at all surprised by this.
Of course, I did. Potter was within my grasp! Is what he wanted to say - wanted to yell in fact, but he didn't. He maintained his composure with a mask of dissatisfaction still in place. "Yes, I did. I was under the impression that Potter had returned to our world, the one he has been away from for far too long. Was that not what you were referring to when you told me to be patient?" he would love to see how the God Hand would try and spin this. But he deserved an answer - he needed an answer. It was his destiny to have done battle with Potter, not that Swordsman.
Voldemort could still picture the man's face, a thing he had never done for any other muggle he had encountered as his time as Dark Lord. He never had any need before to ever consider someone without magical talent a potential threat to him. Yet he bore the scar above his right eye all the same from where that massive blade had made contact with his flesh. It was not so different than the one that Zodd creature had above his left eye; the thought of them being similar already left a sour spot in Voldemort's mind, but the real kicker was the fact that he had in fact been bested in front of a public crowd.
If it had been Potter he had faced, he might have actually taken the loss with a hint of dignity. Potter had bested him when he was but an infant and they were fated to do battle. But to a man like that... Guts had been his name. Whoever his mother was must have been a dumb whore to name him that. He could at least hope that those who witnessed it believed the man to have a magic sword; it would make the situation more bearable if those sheep believed that.
But even so, he now carried a scar of his own from that fight. A scar that refused to heal even with his new powers gifted to him as an apostle. Bellatrix was much the same from the wound she had sustained on her side from the battle. Her husband and brother had both been cleaved in half from that blade and she was just barely clinging to life. Voldemort had left her back at Malfoy Manor and instructed the house elf under a death threat to seal her wound as best he could. Bellatrix had failed him, sure, but she was still his most loyal follower. She would ensure that any who doubted his power would stay loyal.
The God Hand spoke again. "Causality works its power constantly. You were told that Potter would come to you, and he shall. Your mistake has cost you, but you still have your life. There is still time for the one you seek to fall into your clutches. Wouldn't you agree?"
He acts as if he knows everything. And maybe he did. It was another checkmark on the things Voldemort couldn't stand about this being. He too desired to know the full prophecy concerning him and Potter, but that was knowledge for himself. He had the right to know it, no one else. And here he sat across from a God Hand member who seemed to hold an answer for everything, even if it pertained to him as well.
"My life?" Voldemort repeated. "My life and my destiny both lie back in my world." For now, at least. "I have suffered an utter humiliation and most of my forces are in tatters. The giants whose allegiance I won are all but extinct now and I now carry a scar from a muggle of all people." His voice grew low and cold with every word spoken but he never yelled. "Everything I worked for, all the years of perfecting and studying forbidden magic to make a name for myself, that is on the brink of collapse."
"Better a scar on your head than missing a head on your neck," the God Hand spoke. How kind of him to point that out, he would have never guessed that for himself. "The one who gave it to you, he was missing an eye and an arm wasn't he." Voldemort knew it wasn't a question.
"Yes. You're one lackey already warned me about him."
"Then perhaps you should have heeded that advice," the one who called himself Griffith said. "He can be a troublesome one for certain. Many apostles have already fallen victim to his blade from what we heard. You should consider yourself quite fortunate."
"You admire the man?" Voldemort knew it would be the biggest insult if he said yes to that.
"He has a fine skill, but he is a nuisance. One that can perhaps be placated with the right incentive, but it is wise to avoid him."
Placate? Avoid him? Did a God Hand perhaps fear this man? It was unlikely, but it was a thought. "Had I known that he would be-,"
"-I thought you said you were warned of him prior to your attack," he was interrupted.
"I thought it to be an exaggeration," Voldemort nearly hissed out. "Muggles have always been an easy obstacle for magic to overcome." The corpses were always fresh proof of that.
"Such hubris." Such condescension. "Your magic is powerful, no doubt about that, but you faced someone who leaps from the stream of causality like a fish swimming upstream. That life is a struggle."
Voldemort kept silent for now. This all sounded far too... loose for his liking. The sheer sight of seeing the God Hand act like this was no big deal was already close to setting him off the edge. "I do not take solace in that thought," Voldemort finally spoke. "The idea that an ordinary mundane man can stand in the way of what is meant to be my fate is unbelievable."
"You doubt what I'm telling you?" his voice was even, but Voldemort could sense the slight behind those words. He had used that many a time when he was still at Hogwarts shortly before he discovered the Chamber of Secrets.
"I doubt the notion that something as powerful as fate can be overcome by just going against what is meant to be."
I do not like that notion either," the God Hand told him. "But do you distrust the results of the battle? If you had been victorious and the prophecy fulfilled, you would not be here right now." Those blue eyes seemed to turn red for a split second before staying their icy color. "And I trust you have not just come here to inform me of your failure."
Rub it in, go ahead. You all but said causality can't always be relied upon. If that's true, are you really as powerful as you claim? "No, it is not. As I am now, this body is inadequate. I need to be stronger if I am to kill that wretched swordsman before getting to Potter."
"Have you not listened?" he sounded almost bored. "You saw the result of acting too quickly and where it brought you. Do you wish to make the same mistake again?"
"I will wait," Voldemort told him. "I am not a fool that would go back charging when there are still too many unknown factors at play." That swordsman, he hadn't been alone. Potter surely had others following him as well. And if they were half as formidable as the swordsman had been, he needed more power. "The other members, where are they?" Voldemort asked. "I wish to speak to them as well."
Those blue eyes studied him without moving in their sockets. "They have not been reincarnated in this world as I have. Their forms are still that of their true selves. But with the tree in place, this realm is open to them. They are here on the lowest floor of the palace. Unless you have a behelit to make a sacrifice with, I doubt that they will heed whatever request you have."
"We shall see," Voldemort replied, his red eyes narrowing ever so slightly as a sign of his displeasure.
Almost sighing, the God Hand rose from his seat and took a step back. He placed the palm of his hand flat upon the ground. He flipped his hand so that his palm now faced the ceiling and slowly began to move it up. As he did, it was like the shadows on the floor were rising along with his arm, the once light-filled room now becoming plagued in a shadowy abyss. The temperature seemed to have dropped a few degrees as well, a tell-tale sign that a grand presence was getting ready to make an appearance. Sure enough, four distinct shadowy shapes had begun to take form on the walls surrounding them. As for Griffith, his white armor began to grow darker. His flowing, white hair was covered by a curved helm.
Anna had insisted that she not dwell on it. She told her that spending the day in the gardens planning out her wedding would be better. She was always in good health when she was thinking of Griffith. And she was thinking of Griffith; thinking about he had gone off alone with that visiting lord who was clearly less than pleased about something. From how his entourage had acted when he first arrived, she could only scarcely imagine what their lord would do when he was feeling angry.
But what was there to be angry about? Falconia was safe. They were all safe. Griffith saw to their protection and his band of inhumans were stronger than any army ever assembled before. She didn't find them comforting all the time, but Sir Locus, Grunbeld, and even Irvine had proven to be respectable. So why? What was there to be unhappy about?
She knew that she shouldn't worry. She especially had a lot to look forward to and be happy about with her wedding in a few months time and all. It was really the only thing that had been at the forefront of her mind since the war ended, and really, it was all she could ever hope for. This situation now, it served as an almost cruel reminder that not everyone was happy, not for her and most certainly not for Griffith.
It pained her to think about it like that. Things could and should always be nice. Whatever this was about, she knew Griffith would be able to handle it. And it also begged the question of why she was even standing outside his solar if she knew Griffith could handle it. She supposed that she could amount it to just wanting to be near him through thick and thin. It would be a question asked during their wedding by the High Pontiff and she would take those words to heart. She was queen as well; if someone had an issue, she did have a responsibility to deal with it alongside Griffith. She would have preferred the issue to be a trivial matter such as a property or legal dispute as opposed to... well, whatever it was that had this visiting lord so distraught.
Her hand reached out to knock on the door of Griffith's solar and she felt cold.
It was much more than a passing breeze from an open window and too sudden for it to have been a draft. She felt that if she were to exhale, she would be able to see her own breath cling to the air. Whatever it was, it swept over her entire body and it felt like it kept her from moving. Even her hand seemed immobile from just reaching the short distance to tap on the door.
She wondered if she looked the part of a statue right now with how still her body was. Probably. And it was embarrassing. Here she was going to stand faithfully beside Griffith, yet she couldn't even muster the strength to move. Even in her current state, she felt her heart beating rapidly against her ribcage. What if Griffith was in trouble right now? What if this cold was a premonition of some kind? That was an even worse thought.
The memories she had with Griffith, the ones that had cherished since he disappeared, she thought of them; wishing, hoping that it would give her a feeling of warmth to move. Slowly, her hand drew closer to making contact with the door, her senses coming back to her. And from the other side, she thought she heard a voice that belonged to neither Griffith nor the lord. It was... different but held some familial feeling to it that sent a shiver along her spine.
"Do you plan to intrude on him?"
That voice. She knew that voice that spoke from behind her.
Why? Why? Why? Why did he have to be here? The surge of warmth she had felt previous from her bout of courage was all but gone now. She was back to being scared stiff like a canary before a cat. She dared not turn around now, she felt that if she did she would be met with those terrifying eyes staring into her own.
"I... wish to see him." She managed to say that without much of a hesitation. She knew that he would only speak harsh words if she sounded weaker than she actually was.
"Do you know if he wishes to see you?" he asked. "You would be unwanted. This is not a matter that concerns you."
"Griffith is my... betrothed. It does concern me." She worried that it sounded more aggressive than she meant. The last thing she wanted was to provoke the beast of a man behind her. "What does that lord want?"
"That is not my concern either." Why had she even asked that? "His business here is greater than you or I. Leave it be."
Griffith was unchallenged, only a fool would deny that. But still... "I just want-,"
"-What you want is irrelevant." She flinched involuntarily. "Desire will only take a person so far. The will to act on it is a matter all its own. So what will you do? Will you follow through, or fall victim to your own cowardice?"
Why had he asked her that? She had been willing just moments ago to actually reach out until he showed up and frightened her so. What was worse was that she could feel those awful eyes on her as she just stood there. Cat-like eyes staring at her, judging her, waiting to see what it is she would do. As scared as she was by being watched, her hand reached out again, the hope of seeing Griffith giving her what she needed.
A single knuckle had barely touched the surface before she withdrew her hand in a panic. It was as if something had arced along her arm, forcing her to pull back. She thought she had seen something - a flash across her mind of someone, but it was gone before she could dwell on it. The eyes were still on her.
"You would do it?" he sounded less menacing than he had previously. "Whose strength did you draw from, his, or your own?"
"...I... wanted his to use mine." Griffith was stronger than anyone she had met. If she could not rely on hers through his own when need be, how could she call herself his queen once they were wed? She hoped that her answer would be enough to satisfy his question.
There was a rumble from his throat that might have been a chuckle if she wanted to interpret it as such. "Turn around, girl."
Her eye darted to the corner of her eye to see that she was indeed alone in the hall with the beastly warrior. She hated that they were alone. The fact that she could never know what was going through the other's head frightened her and she truly did feel like she was a bird before a fierce cat. It would have been easier to reach out and knock for Griffith to come to her rescue, but somehow that notion had left her head. The feeling from just touching that door scared her worse than facing the hulking figure behind her.
He leered over her, having to bend forward until they were on eye-level and red met with blue. "You cry."
She hadn't even been aware of the droplet running down her face until it was mentioned. She always felt safer when Griffith was near and now when he was so close, she hadn't the strength to actually open a single door. He would be ashamed if he saw her and she was thankful that Griffith was not here at the moment. No doubt she would face belittlement from the beast in human flesh. Her shame turned to horror as she saw him pull his sword from its scabbard. He actually meant to kill her. Before she knew it, she would be cleaved in half before she could even scream for help.
But he did not cut her. He held the blade with the flat side facing her, allowing her to see her own reflection in the metal. "What do you see?" His eyes were unblinking, demanding an answer.
"I see... myself." Her blue eyes were lined red as tears welled up in the corners of her eyes, but she looked the same as she always did. "I just see... myself."
"And you cry. Why?" his voice was not at all caring or comforting, but he expected an answer all the same.
"Because... I-I could not do... I could not do something simple to see Griffith."
"You did do it." His words shocked her. "You acted on your desire, but it did not matter. You will not go in because that is beyond you - beyond anyone here. And yet you cry. Tell me, what do you know of your ancestors?"
What did that have to do with anything? "I... know a rumor, but it is just a rumor. My family came from King Gaiseric's line."
"And what would he, an unrivaled warrior, think if he were to see you sniveling like a newborn?"
Must he be so blunt? "He... would be disappointed. But I am no Gaiseric."
"He would be, as am I. In all my years of existing, in all the wars that have broken out, I have only sided with your family once. A king with no taste for battle and yet he boasted of being descended from Gaiseric. He was a disappointment as well. And you are no Gaiseric."
"Why...?" She choked out. "Why tell me this? What does this have to do with Griffith?"
"Not a thing," he answered. "But I saw you act on your strength, that, from someone like you, deserves a merit." He put his sword away, much to her relief. "If your desire ever clashes with your source of strength, which one will you act on? Will you be a fool and trust where strength derives from like the petty king, or will you trust what you know as Gaiseric would have done?"
"I... cannot say I know what Gaiseric would do. He was... far before my time."
He stared at her. "Yet his strength carries on."
With that, he left her there as he went back to stalk about his usual activities. Her head swimming with all that she had just been told. A glance back at the door to Griffith's solar showed that it was still closed. She could still reach out and tell Griffith of what just transpired. And that cold, hostile feeling would return as well; the one that kept her away. Regret clenched at her heart as she instead walked away from the door that housed her beloved on the other side.
The potions master could feel a headache coming on after he had been dismissed from the headmaster's office. Dumbledore's injury could only be prolonged shortly before the rest of his body succumbed to the effect of the curse he had been struck with. While Snape might have disagreed with many decisions made by the headmaster in the past, the old wizard still did what he could to hold the wizarding community together as a whole.
Minister Fudge and his toad-spawn of a secretary certainly weren't going to be making things any less easier for the already strained headmaster. He had spotted the two Ministry bureaucrats heading to Dumbledore's office as he made his way back down to the great hall. It was still a bustling hub of activity. Madam Pomfrey no doubt got to all the people who needed attention but was probably keeping them there due to her own concerned nature. He would rather his Slytherin's return to their common room and be away from all this commotion, but he knew the matron would never permit it. A glance in one direction showed the Longbottom boy quietly discussing things with one of his Slytherin's and he found it hard to not roll his eyes. Leave it to a Gryffindor to try and show off after a battle.
But many others aside from the house of lions had participated in that fight. He himself risked his own safety as a double agent by aiding the students and staff of Hogwarts. There was no going back to the Dark Lord now and beg for forgiveness that would never come. No, he had thrown in his lot and would now have to face the consequences of it. The Dark Lord had never really had his true service anyway. The act of killing Lily was all the proof Snape needed to know that he would never make good on any word he gave.
Yes, he was, more or less, on the losing side of things now. He had made his choice and he would now be lumped in with the likes of Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, the rest of the staff, that vagabond swordsman, and, of course, Potter. The very son of the man who had been his main tormentor while at school. It was because of James Potter that he felt so humiliated while attending school. James Potter had helped drive that wedge between him and Lily and inadvertently push him towards the likes of the Death Eaters. It had been James Potter who had won Lily's heart. James Potter who he actually owed his life to for saving him that year from a werewolf Lupin. And that just made him hate it even more.
When he first saw the boy, it was like he was staring right back into the past without the use of a pensieve. He looked just like his father had while they were at school here. The same messy hair, the same lithe build, their voices sounded alike, and then the eyes. The eyes were the only thing that came from Lily that he could see but it was not enough to overshadow everything else. Snape had tried thinking back to the night he had gone with Dumbledore and McGonagall to investigate how the boy had suddenly vanished from his aunt's house and the living arrangements that had been assigned to him, a cupboard under the stairs. He never said anything, but he had felt a pang of sympathy for what Lily's son had been subjected to from her own blood no less. So he was sorely disappointed when he saw Potter act and speak in ways that would have made James Potter proud.
Snape's hopes had turned to disappointment. Potter was like his father before him. Seeing those memories and his actions on the battlefield only cemented that belief. And even still, because of Potter some of his Slytherins had been spared. That alone was worth merit. Not that he would ever say it. It would be like being rescued by James Potter all over again.
Why was he even thinking about Potter now?
"Professor." A familiar voice spoke as it approached him.
Snape turned around to face one of his pupils. "Yes," he drawled a bit. "What is it, Mr. Malfoy?"
The Malfoy scion looked the exact opposite of how he would normally carry himself. His shoulders were slouched, his pale blonde hair was disheveled, and he wasn't even making eye contact with his head of house. He appeared utterly defeated and it was no question as to why. Snape spotted Lucius Malfoy bound and watched over by two Aurors. Not that they needed to do much; Lucius was missing most of his wand hand.
"He lost the battle." Draco's voice sounded hollow.
"Yes, he did. That is quite evident." It wasn't like him to phrase his words in such a direct manner. He did so when making insults, but never when just having a conversation.
"And he's wounded. He retreated, probably back to my family manor."
"Perhaps," although it was logical. "Keep your voice down."
"Why?" Draco asked. "It's over, isn't it? He lost, he turned on us too. And my mother... she's still at the manor. I was saved by some... I don't even know her name. Who is it that's going to save my mother then?"
Draco finally looked up at him and Snape saw something he never would have expected from the fourth-year Slytherin; concern for someone other than himself. He had felt it for Lily back then as well and he knew instantly what the Malfoy boy planned to do.
The office of the headmaster had become increasingly more crowded with the inclusion of not only Harry, Guts, and their companions, Sirius Black, the deputy headmistress, and Madam Bones, but now with the man with a lime green bowler hat and a woman who looked to resemble a toad wither her plump stature and wide, thin smile that made her look like she was about to shoot her tongue out and catch a fly. And Harry felt the fly, in this case, was him.
"Minister Fudge," Madam Bones addressed the bowler hat man, "this is hardly the time or place to-,"
"-You are addressing your superior, Amelia," the toad looking woman spoke with a voice like sour honey. "It is not your place to tell the Minister where his restrictions lie." She followed that up a giggle that gave him goosebumps.
"Ease yourself, Dolores," the Minister politely ordered the short woman. "And, Amelia, you really are not about to stop me from offering a much-needed exchange of gratitude toward young Mr. Potter here, are you?" It didn't seem like the Minister was willing to listen to whatever Madam Bones would have said anyway as he continued on with a pleasant smile on his face. "Minister of Magic Cornelius Fudge, a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance, Mr. Potter." Fudge made a move to extend his hand. At the same time, Guts was moving to intercept and Dumbledore managed to stand from his desk, albeit with much difficulty.
"Minister Fudge, Secretary Umbridge," Dumbledore's voice carried a strength that his body lacked. "You said we have much to discuss, I will gladly answer whatever questions you may have."
Fudge spared a look over to Dumbledore, taking notice of how weak the other wizard appeared to be. "Well, I'm sure that you would, Dumbledore, but would it not be more fitting if you were to get some rest first? Your actions during the battle would take a toll on any wizard. A battle we were lucky to survive." He was back to looking at Harry now, but also noticing how close Guts was too. "I imagine the victory would not have been possible had you not been there, Mr. Potter."
Although Fudge was smiling and trying to be polite, Harry couldn't help but feel put off by the sickly sweet smile from the short woman standing behind the Minister. It was like she was waiting for him to say something she could use to her advantage. "You... really don't have to thank me," Harry finally said.
Fudge still smiled and shook his head. "So modest. An admirable trait of any."
"We are all thankful for the efforts put forth by Mr. Potter an company," McGonagall suddenly said. "However, Professor Dumbledore would like a moment of private if you don't mind." Harry thought he saw the stern-faced witch give him a knowing look from the corner of her narrowed eyes.
"If that is the case," the short woman spoke and her voice was as sickly as her smile, "then why such a large crowd? Surely you don't expect such an excuse to fly, Professor McGonagall?" she followed that up with a girlish giggle that made Harry feel like he was listening to nails on a chalkboard.
From his side, Sirius decided to step in. "It was private until the four of you showed up. Maybe you missed the sign that was posted outside, Madam Umbridge, it was in a high position to be seen so close to the ground."
"Now, now," Fudge said with a nervous smile as he stopped twirling his hat to pat the air. "Come now, Sirius, no need to be so harsh with your words. we bear no ill will at all. You-Know-Who is the real menace, wouldn't you agree? Why we only came by to check on the state of Professor Dumbledore, we heard he had been heavily wounded. We had no way of knowing that young Mr. P-,"
"-Just what in the hell do you want already," Guts seemed to have gotten tired of the talking. "You're clearly not here for the old-timer, so what do you want?"
Fudge took in the swordsman's appearance and just how much taller he was than the Minister. "What in... I don't see how that concerns..."
"Hem-hem!" Umbridge cleared her throat in the girliest way possible. Even Casca and Farnese seemed repulsed by it. "Excuse me, Minister, but this is the one I told you about. This is that... Guts. The one who broke my wrist and disfigured my nose."
'You did what?' Harry heard Casca ask through thought transference.
Guts' sole eye wandered over to the woman who was glaring daggers behind a sweet smile. "You look the same to me."
"Dolores received treatment at St. Mungos, her injuries were easy to heal," Fudge said, his smile lessened. "A bit unnecessary as she was only acting on my orders. If things had gone smoother, we could have spoken to young Harry in a better light as I only wish to offer him thanks on behalf of the wizarding society as a whole."
'That seems less genuine than what he intends,' Schierke did not sound too satisfied with his wording.
'I agree,' Farnese's voice joined in. 'My father does play with politics, and if Magnifico is any example, there usually is always a side angle.'
Wanting to be careful of what he said, Harry spoke up. "If you really want to offer thanks, you should be thanking Guts then. He's the one who actually fought Voldemort." As soon as Harry said the name, there was a shared flinch between Fudge, Umbridge, and to a lesser extent Madam Bones.
"Hm." Serpico curiously rubbed at his chin as he observed the reaction. Isidro was equally as confused, or maybe even a bit more than the rest.
Fudge sputtered a cough before speaking. "My... you certainly are very brave to say his name like that, Mr. Potter."
Now Isidro was even more confused. "What? Voldemort? That's his name, isn't it? What's bad about saying Voldemort?"
"Stop! Saying his name, please." Fudge's smile crumbled at hearing the name repeated. Realizing that he let his composure slip, Fudge let out a sigh before offering a weak smile. "Forgive me, but it is not often that one hears the name of the darkest wizard in a century thrown around all willy-nilly!"
"You mean Voldemort?" Isidro scratched his head.
"Yes!" Fudge hissed as he tightened the grip on his bowler hat. He took a deep breath. "Yes. That name."
"Huh? For once, your natural annoyance comes in handy.' Schierke mentally praised the boy.
Isidro folded his arms behind his head at her praise. 'It's a gift.'
Fudge really seemed to have a hard time keeping it together and he kept glancing at Isidro like he expected him to say the name once more just for the fun of it. Harry wouldn't put it past him at all, especially if Puck picked up the habit as well. "Apologies once more. But, uh... you surely must be downplaying what really happened. That is not at all an insult of this man's strength, but this is You-Know-Who. Surely he did not do it alone?"
"If you want someone to give the thanks to, give it to the old man," Guts pointed a thumb over to Dumbledore. "He's a loon, but pulled his old bones into action when he needed to. Might want to get to thanking him before he croaks."
His comment about old bones reminded Harry of the Skull Knight whom they had seen shortly before coming up here. He had been surveying the battle too; it was how he was able to catch that one wizard. Where exactly had he ridden off to now? He said something along the lines of scouting out more of this world with places of strong magical connection that the world would start to overlap at. It would just be one world then. One world, one ruler, one god. Skull Knight was out riding, Neo-Griffith was probably carrying on without worry, and he and the others were here listening to this Minister try and paint him like he was the savior of the previous battle.
"And everyone else too," Harry added to what Guts had said. "The students at this school all did what they had to do to live and that was even before I got in that fight."
"And good for them as well!" Fudge tried to smile brilliantly. "Not that I wish that they had to be put in such a dire situation, of course, but seeing you there surely helped in inspiring the masses."
"Hehe! Ha!" Sirius failed to stifle his laughter. "Minister Fudge, do you think that we're all idiots?"
Fudge looked taken aback while Umbridge glowered with a smile on her face. "I don't... what are you implying, Black?" Fudge sounded indignant.
"Outside of anyone here directly affiliated with the Ministry, do you really think people care about politics? No offense to you, Madam Bones." Harry couldn't put a name to the face she gave him as an answer, but it would probably be closest to 'just say what you mean.' "These questions you've been asking, they're just to give you something to unite the people behind, right? My political skills are a little rusty, must have happened in Azkaban."
"Are you not for a unity of the masses?" Fudge asked. "In a time of war, would you have us running around divided?"
"Unity is what I saw last night, Minister," McGonagall spoke out again. "I saw students of every house of every year together as one. That, was not something that was created from any political motive."
"And what of the rest of the community?" Fudge demanded. "What about them?" he turned to Harry with pleading eyes. "Harry, my boy, surely you understand what this all means?"
Yeah, he had a pretty good idea of what it meant. "I think I just might. But, Minister, if it's all the same to you, it would probably be best if we went back to the ship to check on the crew there. You know, to preserve unity." He didn't miss the grin Sirius gave. There were greater things going on right now than some political agenda.
"We leaving?" Isidro asked as he looked ready to walk past the Minister and his secretary.
"You would have no objection from me," Serpico was in agreement.
Fudge was looking between all of them before his eyes landed on Dumbledore. "Dumbledore, you cannot condone this-,"
"-Alas, Cornelius," Dumbledore lightly raised his blackened hand, "as I have said, if you have business, you can discuss it with me. I will be more than happy to offer answers where needed."
While Fudge's fingers started to turn red from spinning his hat, Umbridge was turning red in the face, her smile only faltering at the corner of her wide mouth. Before any of them could take their leave, she spoke. "Hem-hem! Dumbledore, may I ask why you are letting this woman walk off with the Sword of Gryffindor?"
Casca stopped as she looked down on the shorter woman. "This?" she pulled a bit of steel free from the scabbard. "He said that I could keep it."
"Keep it?" Umbridge repeated with another one of her giggles. "I'm sorry, but I'm afraid you must have misheard. Dumbledore, you did not honestly say that she could keep the Sword of Gryffindor, did you?"
Dumbledore's blue eyes twinkled faintly. "I did indeed. In a desperate moment, it came to her. I saw it as fitting."
"Satisfied?" Casca asked.
Fudge looked to have choked on a wad of his own saliva. "D-dumbledore!"
Umbridge, on the other hand, smiled sweetly like poisoned honey. "That sword is a relic of the goblin nation, Dumbledore, and was intended to be a part of this school's legacy. It is not your's to give away on a whim."
To that, Sirius actually snorted. "Oh yes, you care very much about the goblin nation and the rights of other non-humans." He made no attempt to hide his sarcasm. "You remember what happened to you the last time you were being stubborn." Guts moved to stand behind Casca for further emphasis.
"Are you threatening a Ministry official?" Umbridge demanded, trying to make herself seem taller.
"I think he was just giving you a reminder," Casca offered in a tone Harry recognized as being an irate one. She usually reserved that for Guts when he did something that angered her. "A threat would be something like, you can have the sword once you're run through since I need the practice. That would be a threat."
Isidro grinned. "Yeah, I like that second one better."
Umbridge's nostrils were flaring. "Why you-!"
The door to the office opened once more to reveal Snape once again. His sudden arrival cut off whatever Umbridge was going to say. "I hope I'm not interrupting something." He didn't sound sorry at all.
"What is the meaning of this, Professor Snape?" Dumbledore asked the twinkle was lost.
Snape stepped aside to reveal a pale, blonde-haired youth around Harry and Schierke's age. "Young Mr. Malfoy wishes to speak with a higher authority."
Casca seemed to recognize the boy known as Malfoy. "You... you were one of those kids from last night. The ones in the stands."
Malfoy regarded her. "Yeah. That was me." His voice seemed defeated.
"What is the issue, Mr. Malfoy?" Dumbledore asked of the student.
"The Dark Lord... I know where he's staying."
Sonia wanted to cry, she sat slouched against one of the walls of Falconia's vast halls clutching her head with her knees up to her chest. That man... she had seen him through Luna last night, he was the one to attack her school with his army. And now... he was here, talking with Griffith of all people. She would have expected Griffith to listen to her and run the man through with his saber, killing him for what he had done to Luna's school, but no.
Griffith had always valued her talent as a medium before and always made time for her whenever possible. She was comfortable around Griffith, at ease. So why? Why would he not listen to her now when there was a madman in their presence? She wanted to go run and track down Irvine or even Rosine and have them shoot or run him through for almost getting her friend killed last night.
But she knew they would never do that. Even if she considered the two demons friends, they were still loyal to Griffith and would not disobey his command. She would just have to have faith in Griffith like always and he would pull through for her.
"Griffith wouldn't disappoint," Sonia chanted to herself. "Griffith wouldn't disappoint. Griffith wouldn't disappoint." She dared not to try and get in contact with Luna now because Sonia did not want to bring up the potential of admitting Luna had been right about her suspicion of Griffith all along.
A/N: Sorry this took so long, I really have no idea why it took me this long to write this. Next one should be out sooner. Thank you for reading.