Didn't own Harry Potter yesterday, won't own it today.
Snippets From The Future
Comprising a fragmented narrative of the Dark Lord's rise, his reign and his subsequent downfall, as well as some of the events that transpired in the meanwhile
One.
A-One, two.
A-One, two three four.
Guess who's back, guess who's back, guess who's back again
His face is lit up by a swarm of flashes. The reporters are here, and he faces them. His face is calm, assuring, despite the tumult of emotion raging underneath. It may be the end of his career, and even now, faced with the truth, he blames Dumbledore.
Smiles. Cornelius Fudge is a man of the people. He does what he can, but he is tired. Tired from not having slept in the last two days. Trying to save his career.
"Please calm down," he says. "I'll be brief."
And here it comes.
"It is with great regret that I must confirm that the wizard styling himself Lord — well, you know who I mean — is alive and among us again…"
So it goes.
The children of the night are calling
England has a new night. It's been here before. Everybody knows its taste now, even the ones that don't remember it from before. It fills the air like a mist that isn't there, except for in your heart, where it feels like it's made of lead. It sinks in. It is home now, you are its home. It means to stay.
It's fear.
There is an entire generation to which he was a boogieman, a horror story to be whispered late at night as the wind plays with unseen branches. Too scary to be real except in a fairy tale, so you can't help but wince when you see his name mentioned in a history book instead of in the Fiction section.
So the parents let their children grow without their scars. Let his name be a warning, and never anything more. Their birthright is a future without him. They have earned it through the blood of those that came before them, and were destroyed. Now, the true rebuilding can begin. A generation that never saw him rise, that has no memory of horror movies becoming life. The world has been rebuilt by the survivors; now the human race can be as well.
But now, the children of the night are calling, and things are going bump in the night.
Don't Let It Happen To You
Low music, creeping. Hollow bass sounds, like a piano played by a Dementor in a metal tube.
It takes the Auror Fast Response squad an average of six minutes to respond to a distress call. Within that time, a gang of Death Eaters can curse your entire family to a grim and grisly death. You owe it to them to be ready. You owe it to them to be safe.
Reassuring, now.
At Dewey's Defence Hexes, we understand what it's like. We have families as well, and nothing troubles us more than the thought of all the things that could happen to them, now that You Know Who has come back. These are uncertain times, and we must be prepared for everything. That's why we've prepared a wide assortment of defensive measures to protect those close to us. Trip-wire curse launchers. Dark mark detectors, absolutely reliable. Ready-set wands, absolutely no skill required, preloaded with Disarmament Charms that even your children can use.
Wipe your house right off the map.
Invisibility Cloaks, no re-assembly required.
Don't let it happen to you. Drop by Dewey's Defence Hexes. You owe your family that much.
The Hotel California
And in the master's chambers,
they gathered for
the feast
they stab it with their steely knives,
but they
just can't kill the beast
You're listening to Hogwarts FM, the only underground magical radio bringing you the best tunes all the time. Dumbledore, if you're listening in, don't try to find us. We'll find you. Now here's another number called "Need you around" by the Smoking Popes. Those Muggles sure know how to rock.
Luna and Harry, Sitting in a Tree
"Where are you, Luna?" Harry asks, mildly irritated.
"Somewhere over here," Luna Lovegood replies. She is sitting on a branch high up the tree, and her hair is thick with sap. Her hat hangs from a branch nearby, and The Quibbler on another. Harry climbs.
"This is a strange place to meet," he says. "We could have just talked in the Hall, you know. Nobody would mind."
"It has to be here," Luna says. "They're blind here"
"They?"
"The Ministry of Magic. You know, they send out bees to spy on us. That's where the phrase a little bird told me comes from. It's a code," she adds, seeing Harry's disbelief.
"Luna…I really don't have time for this. There's quidditch practice and I still haven't written half my essay for Potions…"
"He who fights and runs away can live to fight another day. I think that's in the Bible," Luna says.
"Luna, you called me here."
"Yes," she nods, agreeing very eagerly. "Yes I did."
"So tell me why you did."
"Oh." A pause.
"Well?"
"My father, who-"
"-runs The Quibbler, yes, I know that," Harry interrupted.
"-runs The Quibbler, sent me a package for you. He said I have to give it to you in secret so that" and here she gives him a meaningful wink, though the meaning itself is clear only to her, " they won't know you've received it."
"Oh," says Harry. "Is that it?"
Luna looks disappointed. "It's very important."
"Alright, then," Harry says. "Where is it?"
"Oh," says Luna, touching her brow in a comical thinking gesture. "It's in my room in the Ravenclaw Tower."
"WHAT?"
"Well, come on! Let's go get it!" she says, and leaps from the tree. She falls twelve feet and crumples on impact.
"Luna!" Harry shouts, and she does not reply. He climbs down quickly, certainly quicker than he has thought possible, only to find her sitting under the tree in silence, staring at her left leg, which is quickly growing redder and redder.
She slowly turns her head towards him, closes her eyes and says "Ow."
Stares at her leg again, then picks up her wand and points it at the ground next to Harry.
"Accio package," Luna says.
The children of the night enjoy a barbecueNight-time. Only thing darker than the sky are the figures that walk beneath it.
A little house on the outskirts of Bristol. What folk in the Ministry would mistakenly call a Safe House. The Death Eaters are here to point out that phrase is about to go out of circulation. Go forth and kill, says Lord Voldemort, so here they are, packing dark magic and one ton of killer instinct.
If their info is correct (and it is, nobody lies when they're being questioned by Voldemort, he has ways of making death seem a very pleasant alternative indeed), then they by far outnumber the Aurors inside. Still, no reason to be careless, particularly when you're killing people.
They slowly encircle the house, and some of the younger DE's, the ones that're doing this for the first time, have to fight down the urge to shout you're surrounded! Come out with your hands up and your legs behind your head! Those with more experience feel nothing at all. Not yet.
Now they are ready. Now is the time, and the sign goes off, and the dark night becomes green with emerald skulls. Somewhere, a storm is brewing, but it might as well be brewing here.
Next comes the fire. The house is instantly in flames as each of the dark wizards fuels the flames to magical strength. Stone begins to run and concrete crackles and burns, and metal twists and chars. Smoke pours like black vile through the collapsing windows. Stage one.
Now the Aurors emerge, disoriented and coughing. They can see nothing; the smoke and fire have blinded them, and it is dark outside. In the shadows, the Death Eaters see clearer.
Most are cut down where they stand, the death-bolts of Avada Kadavra killing them instantly. Some, but very few, manage to dive for meager cover, or launch themselves at the Death Eater lines in a frenzy, hoping to take as many with them as possible. These are taken down as well, but not without losses. In the end, the death toll is ten Auror dead, with the Death Eaters two dead and five incapacitated. The Aurors are tossed into the fire and left to burn, all save for one. The Death Eater dead are gathered and taken away, to be discarded elsewhere; let the Ministry believe none were killed.
The eldest Death Eater, a man forty years old, with a thin beard and sagging mouth that looks like a librarian, produces an ornamental dagger and inscribes something onto the chest of the remainging Auror.
It is graffiti of the flesh, a vulgar urban declaration of territorial victory.
I AM LORD VOLDEMORT.
They move on. The night is not over yet, and there are Safe Houses to burn.
The children of the night enjoy their barbecue, and in the morning, the papers do as well.
FoolishPeople are inherently good.