The Will of the Wands


Chapter 8 – Quidditch and a Death


"So who do you think'll win?" Madison asked eagerly three days later. She and Alexis were sitting amongst their fellow Ravenclaws at their House table the morning of the rescheduled match, careful to choose spots slightly apart from the others.

"I'm not sure," Alexis said truthfully, spooning herself some eggs while trying to memorize uses for various feathers in everyday potions. "Can you believe that Snape had the nerve to assign homework on a weekend?"

"Wouldn't be the first time," a voice said, cutting off Madison. They both looked up to see the lopsided grin of Ron Weasley. "Harry told me to tell you, eight o'clock, the R.O.R. We're going back over hexes and the like." He shuddered. "I don't really fancy being Stunned again, but don't tell Harry that. See you at the match!"

"Cool," Madison said, watching the elder student's retreating back. "I wonder why Harry didn't tell us?"

"I dunno," Alexis replied, flipping pages in her book. "Come on, are you going to study for this exam before Snape gives it, or after?"

"Actually, I was thinking of doing it after," Madison grinned at Alexis' shocked expression. "It'd save time, wouldn't it?" Alexis drew herself up, and brushed her red hair away from her face as she began her 'you'll never learn anything in accordance to the teacher's plan if you don't make an effort to study' rant, something that Madison heard so much she could recite parts.

"Okay, okay, okay! You win! I'll study." Glancing at Alexis' triumphant face, she added, "If I can find time."


"And Malfoy comes in with decidedly dirty play, nothing new," the Gryffindor commentator, an Irish boy Madison didn't know, announced over the purple megaphone. Both Madison and Alexis were dressed in their Ravenclaw scarves and waving miniature flags, courtesy of Luna Lovegood, a nice but decidedly strange fifth year in their House.

"Boo!" They yelled together. Malfoy righted himself on his Nimbus 2001 with a smirk- he'd just prevented the Ravenclaw Chaser from catching the Quaffle by grabbing her broom tail.

"Cummings passes to Harrison, Harrison swerves up the pitch, dodges two Beaters, can't tell which one's Crabbe and which one's Goyle, but that doesn't matter- and Beechtree snags the Quaffle! Ravenclaw in possession..."

Katrina Beechtree, a blonde second year, bolted up the pitch with the Quaffle tucked under her arm. She grinned at Goyle (or was it Crabbe?), and tossed the ball back to Fiona Michaels, who immediately put on a burst of speed and hurtled it at the Slytherin goalposts.

"And Michaels shoots...c'mon, Fiona...it's good!" A surge of cheers sounded from the Ravenclaw stands. "Slytherin in possession, Buchanan tosses it to Montague, Bulstrode gets it to- oh, nice grab, there, Michaels! Ravenclaw in possession-"

A loud 'boo' rose from the stands; either Crabbe or Goyle had taken their Beater's bat and hurtled it at Fiona, who caught it directly in the stomach and nearly fell off her broom.

"And it looks like it's a penalty shot for Ravenclaw..." Seamus was saying. Fiona put it in the goal, no problem, and the game continued. Bulstrode, apparently angered by how easily Fiona scored, snatched the Quaffle and bolted up the field. She swerved around Fiona and Katrina, headed straight for the third Chaser, Amy Wu.

Loud hisses of disgust rose from the stands, drowning out the strained cheers from the Slytherins. "Ooh, and Bulstrode deliberately checks Wu," Seamus was saying angrily, "C'mon, ref, open your eyes!"

Professor McGonagall started at this, and attempted, like she had many times with Lee Jordan, to snatch the purple megaphone away from the enraged commentator. However, like his predecessor, Seamus kept a firm grip on it, promising that he would keep his tongue in check.

"Ravenclaw in possession, Wu streaks up the field...and throws the Quaffle at Bulstrode!" Amy Wu glared at Millicent, who was hunched over in pain. Amy smirked, her dark eyes flashing, as she returned to her post. Seeing this, Malfoy quickly directed Cummings and Harrison up the field.

"Harrison with the Quaffle...what's wrong, Willy? Can you think for yourself, or does your fearless captain have to tell you to breathe as well?" Harrison jerked at the sound of his name, and dropped the ball in alarm. Draco threw his arms up in frustration as Millicent streaked after the ball on its way down.

Unfortunately for her, Katrina was a bit faster, as she snatched the Quaffle from her outstretched hands, and passed to Amy. Back and forth, up the field, like a well-oiled machine, the Ravenclaw Chasers mowed down every opponent. As they neared the goalposts, Matthew Buchanan readied himself. Amy faked a throw to the left post, and then put in the right.

"Ravenclaw scores, making it thirty to zero!" As Seamus announced the score, a wild scene started to unraveled. Finally spotting the Snitch hovering around the left Ravenclaw goalpost, Cho Chang had began hurtling toward it, causing the Keeper, Topaz Valisari, to duck out of the way. She had almost gotten it when Draco interfered. Thrusting his arm upwards, he knocked her leg off the end of the broom, making it difficult to control her balance. With a screech, Cho began to slip off the end of her broom, managing at the last second to hang on.

Taking advantage of her inability to fly, Draco moved in on the Snitch himself. However, it seemed to realize what he had done to Cho, for it immediately took off in the opposite direction. Cursing under his breath, Draco followed the snitch, not taking note that Cho had steadied herself on her broom once more and was tailing him.

The only thing going through Draco's mind was, 'Get to the bloody Snitch before Chang does.' Never once, during his chase, did he suspect that she would be able to adjust herself in time. It came to a great disappointment then, as well as a great surprise, that she knocked his hand out of the way at the last second and nabbed the Snitch for Ravenclaw to secure the win.

"Ravenclaw wins!" Seamus was shouting over the megaphone as the school cheered below. Blinded by his rage, Draco threw himself at Cho, catching her off guard. Abandoning all restraint, his fist connected with her face as Madam Hooch blew her whistle and Professor McGonagall shouted at him with the megaphone.

The end result was quite a sight- Draco had a bloody lip and a scratch running from his left eye to his ear, courtesy of Cho's long fingernails, while Cho suffered a bloody (and most likely broken) nose. As they floated guiltily down, they braced themselves for what was bound to come their way.

"Of all the disgusting, foul, unsportsmanlike things to do," Madam Hooch shouted, hands on her hips. "You both could have caused some serious damage! Mister Malfoy, do you realize that Miss Chang could have broken her back when you jumped on her broom? And Miss Chang, of all people, putting up a fight! I'm very disappointed with the both of you! I'm removing you from your respective teams until further notice, and you both will receive a month's worth of detention, to be served every other night. Do I make myself clear?"

The two nodded meekly. "All right, then. To your dormitories, both of you!" They left obediently, taking great care not to walk too close to one another.


As soon as Cho stormed through the common room entrance, her fellow Ravenclaws erupted in cheers. Cho stopped in her tracks and looked about sheepishly. A banner that flashed the Ravenclaw colors read, 'Ravenclaw Eagles Fight to the Death!', complete with an illustration of a horrified-looking Draco wrestling with a smug Cho. She made her way through the crowd, albeit slowly, as people kept congratulating her on 'finally putting Malfoy in his place,' to a table laden with food, where Madison and Alexis sat.

"Awesome job, Cho," Madison greeted her with a grin, holding out a plate for her. Cho accepted it gratefully, and began filling her plate with the food that someone had gotten from the kitchens.

"Thanks," she said, scooping some ice cream into a dish, "I wouldn't have lost it if that-" -here she mumbled a few choice words under her breath- "-hadn't jumped on my broom. Anyway, you shouldn't have heard that. So, how's your first month been? It seems like I haven't seen you in ages."

"Well, we're supposed to be taking pri-" Alexis began, before Madison clapped her hand over her mouth. "-Mpph wwpph thwt," she finished. Cho raised an eyebrow, surveying the two first-years over her cup of pumpkin juice.

"I see." She drained the cup, and then stood with her plate in hand. "Excuse me, but I have to speak with a few people. I'll see you later, okay?"

As soon as she left, Madison turned on Alexis. "Stupid!" she said. "We're not supposed to tell anyone about that!"

"Sorry," Alexis replied angrily. "Though I don't see what the problem is, really." Madison rolled her eyes.

"You, a Ravenclaw. Honestly! We can't say anything because-" Madison lowered her voice, glancing around the common room, "-Harry said that Voldemort has spies everywhere, and we have to be careful, no matter where we are."

"Speaking of which, when's the next 'you-know-what'?"

"I dunno," Madison said thoughtfully, picking a croissant off her plate. "I guess we'll see."


"I swear, if Snape tells me to redo this essay one more time…OOF!" Dakota scowled at a laughing Hermione from underneath a pile of large and very dusty library books, all of which had fallen on her moments before. Hermione offered a hand, which the peeved Indian girl gratefully took.

"You were saying?"

"Right. If Snape tells me to redo this bloody essay one more time, I swear by Harry Potter's Firebolt that I'll write it all in Sri Lankan, just to spite him." She grimaced, realizing how much of a mess she made. "I mean, look at this mess! All to get this stupid 'Five Thousand Ways to Brew Sheep's Eyes,' which, of course, just had to be on the top shelf..."

"You should have asked for help," Hermione said lightly, settling down in an armchair, pulling the dusty tome towards her.

"Hermione, do I look like the type to ask for help?" Dakota asked, hands on her hips. The look the small girl gave her reminded Hermione of her friend Harry, who, at the moment, was late.

"No, actually," Hermione began, wondering how much she should say. She chose her next words carefully. "Right now you remind me so much of Harry, I don't think it's even funny. Perhaps you two have been spending too much time together, and he's rubbing off on you."

"What d'you mean?" Dakota asked suspiciously, eyeing the older girl. "Are you saying that I'm acting like Harry?"

"Well, not really-" Hermione began.

"Hi, sorry I'm late," Harry cut her off, throwing his bag down in the seat next to Hermione. "I just got out of detention with Filch." He held up his hands, which were raw from the exposure to hot water and floor polish. "Anyway, what were you saying about acting like me?"

"Nothing," Hermione said. "Dakota asked if she really seemed like the type to ask for help, and she reminded me of you."

"I see," Harry said, his eyes narrowing. "So, where are the others?"

"Well," Hermione began, twisting a lock of bushy hair between her fingers, "I thought we'd meet here, and do some homework, since we're not able to have our training session with them tonight." She paused. "Y'know, Prefect duties and the like."

Harry cocked his head, searching Hermione's eyes intently. For the past week and a half, they'd been dodging Dakota and Millie in the corridors, when they were on their way to meet with the D.A. in the Room of Requirement. Harry had told Hermione that he felt horrible, leaving them out of the loop, but the scholarly girl surprised him with an explanation bordering on what he'd thought when he was walking Dakota to the infirmary.


Two weeks previous

"Well, normally I wouldn't approve, since they're our friends, even if they're a lot younger than us, but there aren't any first years in the D.A. After Edgecombe, I'm still wondering if the second and third years are trustworthy," she'd said.

"Why wouldn't they be?" Harry had asked.

"They're still trying to figure out their way around the castle," Hermione had replied carefully, as if she were speaking to a small child. "If they forget how to get to their classes, then who's to say they won't forget to keep quiet about the D.A.?"

"Dumbledore knows," Harry had retorted, pushing his glasses up his nose. "Who else is there to be afraid of?"

"Fudge," Hermione said matter-of-factly. "He and his men do routine checks in the school, haven't you seen the Ministry officials loitering outside the gates at random times? He's got some sort of invisibility cloak or something. So we've got to be on the alert. If he's prowling the school unseen, then we don't know whether or not he'll hear people talking about the D.A."

"Hermione," Harry had said slowly. "You and I are talking about it right now."

"Harry, we're in the Room of Requirement. And you have the Marauder's Map with you."


Reflecting on that brief conversation, Harry wondered if 'Prefect duties and the like,' was just that, or really code for a D.A. meeting. Not wanting to cause Dakota (or Hermione, for that matter) to suspect something, Harry pulled the D.A. galleon time-changer out of his pocket. Sure enough, the date of the next meeting was that very evening.

He looked down at the coin, then back up at Hermione, who was holding a quill and stabbing at Dakota's parchment, correcting the misspellings and grammar.

He clapped his hands together, causing Hermione to jump. "Erm, can I speak to you a moment?" He glanced at Dakota, who was engrossed in the thick volume in front of her, occasionally scribbling something down on the paper next to her. "In private?"

"Er, okay," Hermione said slowly, giving Harry a shrewd, calculating glance, much like the ones that Snape was constantly using, except for the obvious lack of loathing. If he'd looked closely enough, he'd seen that she was almost certain of what he was going to say.

Once Harry had led Hermione away from Dakota, outside the doors to the library, he leaned against a stone wall and ran his hands through his hair.

"Harry, what is it?" Hermione asked.

"How are we supposed to handle this?" Harry wondered aloud. "I feel like I'm turning traitor. I can't lie to them, they're on our side." Hermione opened her mouth, but he stopped her. "The training sessions and the, well, you know," he said suddenly, as a group of older Hufflepuff students stalked past, noses in the air, "the point is, they run the same way, we do the same stuff. We all have that in common. I don't see the point of doing the same thing twice. Dumbledore said...er, rather, the Sorting Hat said that if we don't try to work together from within, we'll never do anything remotely good for the cause."

"Harry, I know," Hermione began. "We can't be sure they'll like the idea of a big group. They seem to enjoy their own little sessions, why can't we-"

"Because," Harry interrupted. "We'll never know if we don't try it. And, when we finally do tell them, if we ever do, they'll wonder what else we're keeping from them. They'll feel like we've been hiding something for the whole time we've been trying to help them. I know them, they will. He stared at her. "Especially Dakota."

"Okay," Hermione sighed. "I'll tell them. One condition, though. If they don't want it, don't push."

"Fine," Harry said.

"I just don't know how the conversation's going to go," Hermione said under her breath, as she followed Harry back into the library.


Her opportunity arose during the weekend three weeks later. Dakota and Millie were playing chess by the fire, and Hermione was working at a table nearby. During a break, Millie asked, "What's that, Hermione?"

"Oh, this?" Hermione said as she tried to calculate prices in her head. "S.P.E.W."

"Spew?" Dakota pressed her hand to her mouth to suppress a giggle.

"No," Hermione replied exasperatedly. "It's S.P.E.W. It stands for the Society for the Protection of Elfish Welfare." She shuffled her notes, and stuck them in a manila folder. "Hey, would you two like to join?"

"Nah," Dakota said immediately. "I'd rather join a club to fight Death Eaters." She moved her queen in to check Millie's king. "I win."

"Would you?" Hermione asked, in a tone she hoped sounded innocently casual. Millie eyed her strangely.

"Yeah," she replied for her friend, shooting the older girl a questioning glance.

"Why?" Dakota asked, scooping chess pieces into her hands, depositing them in a silk drawstring bag.

"Er," Hermione began slowly, "Harry and Ron and I..." she glanced at the people sitting nearby. It was only Ginny and Colin, arguing over Chocolate Frog cards, so she continued without hesitation. "We haven't really been quite as honest with you as we should have been."

"How so?" Millie demanded quietly.

Hermione blushed, then began describing the circumstances leading up to the initial formation of Dumbledore's Army.


Hundreds of miles away, as the night sky loomed over one of the most famous architectural monuments in the world, wizarding and Muggle alike, screams could be heard from somewhere beneath seconds before silence overtook them.

Exactly on hour before, a man in his late forties, with thinning hair and starched robes, hurried to an office beneath the hustle and bustle of Paris' prime attraction. Pressing a key, small enough to fit beneath a fingernail, into its slot, he waited as the door jumped open with a faint hiss. Smoke billowed from the opening, and chilling air seeped through. He vanished, the door sliding shut behind him, but not before three men in black cloaks entered without a sound behind him.

The balding man walked briskly down flight after flight after flight of cold metal stairs, pausing after a few moments to make sure he wasn't being followed. Satisfied that he was alone, he pushed through a second set of doors, using the same tiny key to open them.

By then, he had to have been a thousand feet underneath the Eiffel Tower, beneath oblivious Muggles and their flashy tourist getups and gadgets. Finally reaching his destination, the man sunk into a leather chair behind an antique desk, regarding a map behind him, swiveling back and forth as he thought out loud.

"If the German Minister is dying, then elections will begin, more powerful than ever," he mused, hand stroking a nonexistent beard. "After all, Karkaroff knows what it's like to be the head of something important, doesn't he?"

His hazel eyes grew wide. "Karkaroff is what they've wanted! Exactly! I told those idiots down at Floor One that that stupid message wasn't to be taken lightly. I wonder..."

The Frenchman was so engrossed in his thoughts that he didn't realize that he was reaching for a framed photograph of a young girl, brown pigtails framing her smiling face. She had to be no more than five, clutching a stuffed dragon. Snapping out of his reverie, the man glanced down at the photograph and smiled. "Sophie," he said softly. He glanced at another, and reached for it. "Maria," he said. The girl was older, much older, than the other one, perhaps seventeen or eighteen, brown hair falling stylishly at her chin.

"Sir!" The man's head snapped up in surprise, and looked around wildly, immediately reaching for his wand.

"Who's there?" He rose unsteadily, wand at the ready. His calloused hand gripped his wand tightly, sweat dripping from his forehead.

"Sir, it's General Addams," the voice said calmly. "The fireplace behind you, sir."

Sure enough, when the frightened man turned to face the fire, the distinguished face of the Head Auror of the French Ministry smiled up at him.

"Er, hello, General ," the Minister said sheepishly. He cleared his throat. "Any news?"

"I'm afraid it's not of the friendly sort, sir," General Addams said gruffly.

"Well?" the Minister demanded. "What's happened?"

"Sir, Karkaroff's been found." The Minister breathed a sigh of relief.

"What's horrible about that?" he wanted to know. "You should be celebrating!"

"Not yet, sir," the man said sadly. "The German Minister is dead, sir. Gregor Fimmel died at eleven-oh-three this very night, sir. And Karkaroff has been elected the new Minister."

The French Minister gasped, and sank back into his chair, clutching his chest. Things had progressed faster than he'd thought possible. He had known that the German Minister was sick, slowly wasting away from some unknown cause that even the experts at Saint Mary's Research Institution couldn't fathom. He knew that someone wanted Karkaroff in power.

"Sir?" General Addams pressed.

"What?" he asked tiredly.

"Action?" Addams asked.

"Send spies to investigate Karkaroff," he replied at once. "I want to know exactly what he'll do with his power, and I want to know before he does it. Next, send an urgent owl to Fudge. Maybe now the blithering idiot will listen to me. Hasn't returned a single message. These British, they're all the same, power-hungry, but not willing to do a thing themselves to get it."

"Right away, sir," Addams repeated. He turned to bow out, but the Minister stopped him.

"Wait. How did Minister Fimmel die?"

Addams hesitated. "Caldari poisoning, sir."

Of course, the Minister thought bitterly. Ancient...India, was it?He couldn't remember, exactly, but he recalled his governess speaking briefly of the drug, and what dastardly things it could do. It controls the body by squeezing the veins, like the Devil's Snare squeezes it's prey when they wriggle too much. No wriggling required when Caldari's concerned. All you have to do is fight the control, and it kills you. Slow. Painful. Something only Karkaroff would dare to use.

"Very well," he said finally. "Find out as much as you can pertaining to the whereabouts of the Caldari plant. You are aware that it's only rumored to be found near the most sacred shrine for Buddha, which in itself, is nearly impossible to find, are you not? On record, the last time someone found the Shrine, it was over a thousand years ago."

The general nodded meekly.

The Minister slammed his fist down on his own knee, and instantly regretted it. "I want to know where it is, and I want to know NOW."

Addams nodded again, this time tipping his hat. "Yes, sir. And, now that I've given you the news, may I suggest something, sir? As a friend, and not your second-hand man?"

The Minister nodded suspiciously.

Addams smiled wanly, then said, "Andre, you need sleep. Go home to Mrs. Grandmaison and your kids. We'll have a report first thing in the morning. Good night, sir." His head disappeared from the glowing fire, and Andre Grandmaison slumped in his chair, holding his aching head in his hands.

A gentle tap on the back made him stir again, and, thinking it was his assistant, Celeste, with his Pepperup Potion, he turned. His mouth had barely opened to scream when an iron press loomed towards his chest, which was bare, his robes lying ripped and in shreds on his shoulders. The last thing the French Minister of Magic saw before seeing complete and utter darkness was the Dark Mark, embedded in the iron, sizzling hot, coming closer and closer to his chest, burning his bare flesh. Then, his eyes burned and everything went black.

Fifteen minutes after three cloaked men emerged from the private offices of the Minister, a young woman who appeared to be in her early twenties strode through, accessing the security with ease. The hidden forms of Macnair, Williams, and Malfoy watched with explicit eagerness as they watched the woman begin to descend to her living nightmare.

"This is all too perfect," Williams breathed, brushing his dark hair back from his glittering eyes.

"Yes," Lucius drawled, "How suitable that the daughter of the former Minister was summoned to his private offices no less than-" he checked his silver wristwatch, "-sixteen minutes after his death?"

They slid out of their hiding spot, gliding across the polished floor without a sound. Three stories under them, Maria Grandmaison, laden with a later-night dinner sent by her mother, entered the office without a greeting. She regarded her father's turned back, and realized he'd probably not heard her come in.

"Papa, I've brought you some dinner," she said, setting the packages of roast beef and salad on his desk. He didn't answer.

"Papa?" she tried again. The man didn't move. Sensing that something wasn't right, the younger Grandmaison moved towards her father, hand outstretched. She laid her hand on his shoulder and turned him to face her. A look of absolute horror spread across her face, and she bit her knuckles to keep from screaming. She slid to the floor in shock.

Her father's corpse, propped in his leather chair, gave a sudden jolt at her movement, and his head, which had been stuck to his neck with his wand, fell to the floor and rolled towards his daughter. The eye sockets faced her, as if the eyes were fixated on her, if they had remained intact, and it was only then that Maria Grandmaison dared to scream.


A/N: Well, there's part the eight for you. Dastardly way to end it, don't you think? OH, I think that a sudden shock such as this will reap more faithful reviewers...hopefully. Oh, so your method to getting people to review is to put sick and twisted death into our story! It's not sick and twisted...well, not quite. On the verge, maybe. But not quite. This was your first shock of what's to come. Gulp. I don't want to know what happens next, really I don't. Hehheeeheee! It won't be as bad, or as personal. Groups, maybe. I'm still working the details. Thank Dan Brown for my sick and twisted ways. HA! You confess that you're sick and twisted! Well...okay, okay, you win. I'M SICK AND TWISTED! (Dufoli turns to Siaryst and glares.) Are you quite happy now? Yes. (Siaryst gloats.) Fine. Review! The Sick-and-Twisted Minds of Siaryst & Dufoli