Disclaimer: The Battle of Hastings belongs to William the Conqueror, but Armand Malfoy belongs to JK Rowling.
A/N: Once again, if anyone wants to write out The Battle of Hastings as a meta-fic, please feel free to do so, and PM me so I can read it.
Chapter 10
After Halloween, knowing the dementors and Death Eaters were out attacking people indiscriminately, Harry wasn't the only one trying to step up his game. Everyone wanted to learn to defend themselves better against what was out there. Professor Grayson still had them doing practical drills once a week in Defence. One week, they would have a Gryffindor versus Ravenclaw mass duel—still a free-for-all with no organization, but at least with coherent sides. The next week, he would break them up for four-on-four duels, or worse, four-on-two. "All's fair in love and war," he would say with a laughed that sounded unsettlingly like Mad-Eye Moody. He mixed it up quite a bit from week to week.
Remus was doing much the same in the Duelling Club. Most of the time was still dedicated to regular duelling, but every meeting, they did some exercise or other that was a group duel. For the club, Remus would mix and match groups from different years so that the older students had to protect and, if they could, find a useful role for the younger ones. That was more true to life in a real fight, he said, where any group of wizards would have a range of skills and ability levels.
It wasn't Ender's Game, and Hermione and Harry didn't particularly want it to be. They were teaching civilians to defend themselves, not soldiers to fight a war, even if Harry was both, to a degree. But it gave everyone some more varied experience so they wouldn't be blindsided by a situation they hadn't encountered before.
"No, Mr. Finnigan," Professor Grayson said, "we do not need to appoint Mr. Potter a 'general', dress his 'army' in military fatigues, compete for points, or devise overly-complicated rules for dealing with simulated traitors. That situation would assuredly dissolve into unmitigated chaos in the corridors and plans within plans that even the people who came up with them couldn't figure out."
"Aw," Seamus said, disappointed.
"Look on the bright side, Seamus," Harry said. "If I ever do become a general, I'll put you, Justin, and the Weasley Twins in charge of the 'blowing stuff up' division."
"Gee, really, Harry?" he said.
"Sure."
"Merlin help us," Grayson said. "That might be enough to scare Voldemort away on its own. Alright, listen up, everyone," he told the class as they stood out on the lawn. "As I told Mr. Finnigan, we will not be building armies here, but this is an exercise where teamwork is important: 'Let my armies be the rocks and the trees and the birds in the sky.' I want you to focus on the terrain manipulation spells we've been studying for the past couple weeks. If you can't get to cover, as is the case here, raising barricades to block and hide from the enemy can mean the difference between life and death. Using your environment to attack and distract the enemy can be more effective than casting spells directly. This was a critical part of our strategy in Rwanda, and powerful wizards like Voldemort and La Pantera love to use big, area-effect attacks like that on their enemies, which you'll need to be able to counter."
The Gryffindors and Ravenclaws huddled briefly to discuss what to do, and they took their places across the open field. This was where the Ravenclaws really had a chance to shine. They could organise and plan a strategy faster and more effectively than the Gryffindors could. About half of them raised various shield charms while the others shifted earth to make a low ridge and something resembling a trench behind it to provide them cover. The Gryffindors, on the other hand, were haphazard about it. They tried to raise mounds or pillars, conjure walls or physical shields, and in a couple cases, paired up with one partner shielding and the other casting. Hermione and Harry were one such pair.
"No, no, no! Mobility is better!" Hermione called. "Quick, flank them!" Even in the magical world, trench warfare was usually a bad strategy. The other Gryffindors followed their lead, which nearly turned it into a rout in their favour, but the Ravenclaws regrouped quickly. They beat a hasty retreat, enlarging the grass to hide their movements and eventually taking cover behind the Gryffindors' own pillars. Banished rocks and transfigured birds and bugs flew alongside spellfire on both sides to distract the enemy. Conjured wind and fog made the duel even more chaotic. When the dust cleared, the Ravenclaws had won, but Harry thought it was a good exercise all around.
"Very good,'' Grayson said. "Now, that's what I'm talking about. Let's go back in and discuss what went right, and more importantly, what went wrong."
Now this was how Defence class was supposed to run.
As December rolled around, the students became excited for Christmas, as always, but before that, for a few days, the real buzz was around Harry and, more notably, his latest book release. On the morning of the fifth, he received a sizable package by owl that had everyone wanting a look: a box set of The Real Harry Potter Adventures, Volumes 1-3.
Harry's latest book release, Harry Potter and the Year of the Wolf, had what he considered the silliest cover illustration yet. It showed himself half-transformed into a cat and pouncing on an enormous, rabid wolf with one eye who was circling and fighting a smaller wolf and a black dog. It was especially silly because Harry was the one who clawed out Greyback's eye after that point in the fight. But still, it got Sirius and Remus on the cover, and it definitely looked cool. He was just disappointed that they couldn't work Cedric in somehow.
The first two books in the set, Harry Potter and the Philsopher's Stone (himself and Hermione defending a red stone from a wizard in a purple turban), and Harry Potter and the Heir of Slytherin (himself and Neville fighting a giant snake with a sword), proudly proclaimed on their covers that they were new 'Expanded Editions', which would get a lot of attention by itself.
"Wow, you look good, Harry," Ron said jokingly, indicating the half-cat cover.
"I look ridiculous," Harry countered.
"No, really—like some kind of super cat-wizard."
"What have you been reading muggle comic books now?"
Hermione giggled: "That would be good: The Adventures of Catman."'
"Oh, no you don't," Harry pointed at her. "If that nickname hits the papers, it'll be The Adventures of Catman and Ottergirl by sundown."
"You wouldn't!" Hermione mock-gasped.
"Don't try me, Mione."
The pair's friends just laughed at their antics. "So these 'new editions'? They've got all your cat stuff in them?" Ginny asked.
"Yeah, we added all the stuff I did as a cat back in," Harry said. "Book Two didn't really make sense without it."
"Yeah…I kind of noticed," Ginny said, blushing. "I mean, I understood it because…you know…" She shivered slightly, and Harry noticed Colin squeeze her hand. "But it left a lot out."
"Well, it should be a lot clearer now," Harry agreed.
A few other people had got owl orders for the books in today, and a lot of others were huddled around them. One of the few things Harry appreciated about his fame was that it was easy to get the real story about what happened out when it mattered. He didn't want to think about what would have happened if he couldn't have convinced Fudge of Voldemort's return. "Hmm," he mused, "I wonder if I should step it up and try to get Harry Potter and the Tournament of Doom out next summer."
"Harry, that one's all about Voldemort," Hermione protested. "I'm not sure it's safe to write that one at all."
"But telling the truth about him is important, and it's better to do it sooner before he can get more power, isn't it? Besides, he already wants to kill me. What else can he do?"
Hermione stared at him with a deadpan expression. "Do you really want me to answer that?" she said. Her brother looked a little uncomfortable and wisely didn't respond. "Besides, do you even have time to get it done that fast with everything else we're doing?" she added.
"It actually doesn't take that long with a Dictaquill. If I can finish a draft over Christmas holidays so I can get it to Dumbledore to be redacted—"
Hermione rolled her eyes: "Whoa, slow down, furball. Let's talk to Mum and Dad before you go all crazy on me."
"Fine," he grumbled.
Harry did have one other notable piece of mail that day—an official-looking letter on muggle paper. He frowned as he opened it.
"What is it, Harry?" Hermione asked. "Is something wrong?"
Harry skimmed the letter to confirm what he expected: "Uncle Vernon got out of prison."
Hermione gasped. "Are you okay?"
"Yeah. I knew it was coming this time. I remembered Aunt Petunia got out at the same time last year."
"Are you sure? I know he was worse than your aunt."
"I'm fine, Hermione. He doesn't mean anything to me anymore. He couldn't hurt me even if he knew where to find me."
"Well…alright, then," she said. "Are you…are you going to contact him? Warn him about Voldemort?"
"Hell no!" he spat coldly. "He can fend for himself. If Aunt Petunia wants to warn him, that's her business."
Hermione and much of Gryffindor Table stared at Harry uncomfortably, and she had a feeling that he wasn't feeling quite as alright inside as he said. Although, the fact that even Luna didn't tell him to turn the other cheek in this case was very telling.
That issue aside, Harry was cheerful during the holiday season, as was the rest of the school, as much as they could be with the spectre of Voldemort looming over them. The paper spoke daily of rumours of Death Eater attacks, sightings of Voldemort and La Pantera and even other powerful wizards who had supposedly sneaked into Britain to join their cause. Most people didn't believe too many of them, but the ones they did were enough.
The Christmas Leaving Feast was the traditional time for people to exchange gifts if they weren't going to see each other over the holiday. Harry was going to see Luna and many of his friends at the Diagonal Theatre's Christmas play and at Sirius's New Year's party, so he only really had one that he needed to give. However, he was more worried about the gift that was placed in front of him: a large, gift-wrapped box with the Weasley Twins standing over it, grinning.
"Seriously, guys?" he said.
"Of course, Harrikins," Fred replied, his rather scary grin not wavering for a moment.
"We couldn't let you go home without a proper Christmas gift," George said. They both stood there, staring at him, making it clear that they weren't going to back off unless he opened the box.
Harry looked down at his present and back up at them. "You know if there's catnip in this box, I'm throwing you out the window," he informed them.
"Certainly not," Fred said.
"We learnt our lesson there. Honest," George agreed.
Harry scanned the box thoroughly regardless and was surprised to find no active magic on it, nor any obvious potions. This only made him more suspicious. He could think of any number of pranks that didn't involve magic—a pie on a spring, perhaps. Thus, he stood off to the side and opened if from arm's length. Everyone near him took a large step back just in case.
Nothing jumped out at him when he opened the box, but he groaned softly when he saw what was inside. Harry reached in and lifted up an enormous ball of yarn nearly as large as a Quaffle. Everyone around him laughed while he merely rolled his eyes.
"What do you think?" asked the Twins in unison.
"Well…this is awkward," Harry said.
"Why?" the Twins asked.
"Mr. Potter!" Professor McGonagall called from the High Table. "This is not appropriate." She was holding up a similar ball of yarn—her gift from Harry.
Luckily for Harry (or maybe unluckily), that got even more laughs than his own gift, so things worked out.
"I think I'm a little bit offended, Georgie," Fred said.
"Why's that, Freddie?" his twin replied. "We've got Harrikins pulling pranks."
"Yes, but not only did he copy our gag, but he got more laughs than when we pulled it on McGonagall in our first year."
"Ah, indubitably, brother," said George, "but as you know, timing is the soul of comedy, and we totally set him up for that one."
"You guys are dorks," Harry said.
"We prefer Pranksters Extraordinary and Plenipotentiary," George said. "And we totally did give you a boost on that prank."
"Fine, I admit it," he said. "Still, the ball of yarn is not cool after you started the catnip thing."
"Aw, I think it suits you, Harry," Luna said from behind him.
"It suited me when I was five, Luna," he replied. "I really don't think—" He trailed off and hummed to himself as Luna reached up and started scratching him behind the ear. Wow, he was tenser than he thought these days.
Fred and George sniggered at the couple along with most of their friends. "I think little Luna's outmatched us, George," Fred said.
"I always said she was a smart cookie. She knows how to pick 'em and how to tame 'em."
"It's all the experience working with magical creatures," Luna played along.
"Well, Harry is definitely a magical creature," Hermione agreed.
"Hey, cool it, Ottergirl," Harry said. "Luna's the only one allowed to call me that."
"Don't try me, Catman," Hermione said, and Harry groaned.
As always, the Diagonal Theatre's Christmas play was the social event of the year. Even the simmering war couldn't stop all the rich purebloods from coming out and flaunting their wealth, and given the subject matter, the Malfoy family was the centre of attention even more so than usual.
When the Grangers walked into the Theatre, they saw the Malfoys standing with the Brocklehurst Family looking far more cordial than they had in previous years—or at least Narcissa and Draco did. Lucius was standing a little ways back with a serious expression on his face. They weren't sure what to make of that. Narcissa Malfoy's dress robes, they noted, looked like an elegant evening gown that conspicuously left her forearms bare, and if that wasn't a statement in the present climate, they didn't know what was.
"Ah, Lord Potter," the ancient Ethelred Brocklehurst called Harry over. "Glad you could make it."
"We wouldn't miss it, Lord Brocklehurst," Harry said, shaking the old man's hand. "The Company's plays are always entertaining."
Luna was on Harry's arm (her father standing close by in his capacity as a reporter), and she also shook his hand and said, "My favourite was The Voyages of Odo the Hero." Probably the least relevant play they had done since Harry had started going, but that was Luna.
"Thank you, my dear," Lord Brocklehurst said. "Ah, and Professor Lupin," he spotted Remus, "the inspiration for tonight's performance."
"Well, I can't take all the credit, Lord Brocklehurst," Remus said.
"Nonsense, Professor. The letters to the Company expressing interest in new historical plays began pouring in the very week you began teaching History at Hogwarts. My own great-granddaughter, Amanda, said that she actually enjoyed the subject for the first time in your class."
"Well, thank you—"
They heard a woman clear her throat. Rita Skeeter was skittering about the event and naturally soon came upon the most famous cluster of wizards in the room. "And of course, here we have the other inspiration for tonight's performance," she said. "The Noble and Most Ancient House of Malfoy. Good evening."
"Good evening, Miss Skeeter," Lucius Malfoy said disinterestedly.
"So how do you feel, Lord Malfoy, about this renewed focus on your family's early history?" she asked. It was her usual gossip-mongering in part, but quite a few people were interested in what he had to say. Family history was a touchy subject these days, and the Malfoys hadn't made a statement on the play yet.
"I admit I was sceptical when I heard about the subject matter of this year's play," Lucius said. "But Narcissa and Draco counselled me to reserve my judgement, so I expect it will be a very enlightening evening."
"Oh, I'm sure you'll enjoy it, Father," Draco spoke up. "After all, I helped write the script."
Harry's jaw dropped. So did Lucius's. So did a lot of people's, in fact. And Rita—well, actually, she was smart enough to see that Draco had set that up, if she wasn't in on it already, but she wasn't going to look a gift hippogriff in the beak.
"You helped to write the script, young Mr. Malfoy?" Skeeter asked. "I didn't know any of the House of Malfoy were involved in the project."
"Just a small advisory role, really," Draco clarified, "ensuring the accuracy of the subject matter and so forth, making sure it upheld the honour of the Malfoy name…" He turned to look at his parents. "My Christmas gift to you, Father," he said.
Lucius looked genuinely surprised. Narcissa, interestingly, didn't. "Why, Draco, I am touched. I was pleased to see you taking an interest in our family heritage, but I am especially gratified to see you taking an active role in our present affairs." He turned to his wife: "Did you know about this, Narcissa?" He had a bit of an edge to his voice there.
"I did, Lucius," she said. "It was Draco's idea, and I thought it would be a wonderful Christmas gift for you."
"Well…it certainly was. I'm definitely looking forward to it now."
Harry and Hermione both stared at Draco, wondering what he was playing at. The Company had leaned quite pro-muggle in the past, but with the Malfoys getting actively involved with it, they wondered if something had changed. But neither of them could really ask before the show started. They would just have to watch and find out.
The play opened with a sweeping overture, as always, and Armand Malfoy, a powerful, albeit not well-liked wizarding nobleman in France, making his way to the muggle Duke of Normandy and approaching him with an audacious plan: the conquest of England in the wake of the death of Edward the Confessor.
Edward's successor, Harold Godwinson, Malfoy claimed, was a weak ruler who had taken the throne in a suspect political power grab and would be easy to subdue. To sweeten the pot, Malfoy told Duke William what his Seers had allegedly told him: that King Harald Hardrada of Norway would also invade England in a few months, further weakening Harold's grip. Even with this news, though, Duke William was initially hesitant, but Armand Malfoy then revealed his secret weapon: Mordred, the bastard son of Sir Arthur Pendragon, and a powerful wizard in his own right who was hellbent on revenge.
"King" Arthur—the real Arthur—was Sir Arthur Pendragon, squib half-brother to the Dark Lady Morgana and Sovereign of the Round Table, a chivalric order of wizards and muggles that had taken it upon themselves to unite the wizards of Great Britain under one banner. Sir Arthur was covertly allied with the muggle rulers of the time, including King Cnut of England and Malcolm II of Scotland at the start of his tenure. In the wizarding stories, he was most famous for his later dealings with Macbeth and Edward the Confessor. In the muggle world, however, fictionalised accounts of his reign set in the post-Roman period began leaking out in the ensuing centuries, as first codified by Geoffrey of Monmouth, which was why the material was so unfamiliar to the Grangers. Dan and Emma learnt more about the real history of "King Arthur" from the play than they had ever known before.
Armand Malfoy's plan was simple enough. Mordred and his followers would attack the Sir Arthur and the Order of the Round Table, taking them out of the fight, giving Duke William the opening to attack Harold Godwinson. But that was only two of the three legs of England's defence, for Sir Arthur had a magical ally of his own: Merlin.
Merlin Ambrosius, or Myrddin Emrys, was a powerful Welsh wizard who was part of Salazar Slytherin's inaugural class at Hogwarts, graduating, it was believed, in the year 997 after performing feats of magic that dazzled even the Founders. His story was even more nebulous than Arthur's in the muggle accounts, with Geoffrey having given him only a small (and inaccurate) role in his Historia, but to wizards, he was one of the most famous mages in history. When he came on stage, the preternaturally young-looking Merlin was portrayed as a long-time friend and ally of Arthur, and a powerful enchanter the likes of whom had not been seen before or since.
It was clear from the beginning that Malfoy was playing a larger game than he was saying. First, he warned Mordred sternly not to attack Merlin and his allies and to focus on Sir Arther. Mordred was bitter and revenge-obsessed and clearly needed someone to reign him in, but Malfoy was the cool calculator and played precisely that role for him. It was hard to tell just what he was up to, but he genuinely did seem to be trying to win the war with little bloodshed.
It began to be clearer, though, at the end of the first act when he gave a soliloquy on how Sir Arthur was weakening his court and, by extension, magical England. Arthur's natural flaws, along with those of Dame Guinevere and Sir Lancelot, he said, were threatening to undermine the entire Round Table, while England's magical lords, among them the surviving Founders of Hogwarts and increasingly even Merlin himself, were being shut out of the decision making. No longer wanted in France and looking to make a new life for himself, Armand Malfoy vowed not just to conquer England, but rebuild its magical society there in the process—with himself at the centre, of course.
The special effects in the play were brilliant, as always—effects that dazzled even the magical audience as Merlin shapeshifted with an ease that would make a Metamorphmagus jealous (the scholars were divided on whether he was one), conjured up vivid images of the future, and performed great feats of nature magic in a duel with Morgana. Similarly, the magical and muggle armies amassed by Malfoy, Mordred, and Duke William seemed to stretch into the distance behind the stage, and the audience could feel the salt spray when their fleet crossed the Channel.
When the Battle of Hastings came, it was stunning. The whole time while Malfoy's forces battled the English wizards, the sights and sounds of the muggle battle were running in the background. Amazing feats of magic were performed on both sides, and at the climactic moment, Mordred killed his father with a dark curse. But then, there was a sudden reversal: Mordred forgot Malfoy's orders and attacked Merlin. Malfoy himself opposed him, and the battle turned into a three-way duel between Mordred, Merlin, and Malfoy. Malfoy landed the fatal blow on Mordred, ending the mad wizard's campaign, but then, in yet another reversal, Merlin defeated Armand Malfoy in seconds and threw him to the ground.
It looked like it was all over, but even as he lay on the ground with Merlin's staff at his throat, Armand Malfoy began to speak. "My own defeat means nothing, Lord Merlin," he said. "Arthur Pendragon and Harold Godwinson are dead, and Duke William is now King of England."
"It will mean something if you can do no more harm to this land," Merlin told him. "Arthur's loss will not go unavenged."
Malfoy shook his head: "I am truly sorry that your friend could not be saved, but we both know he made his own bed with his son. You saw that I myself could not control Mordred, and if he had not done it, one of Arthur's other enemies would have killed him soon enough. As for myself, I have no wish to spill any more magical blood this day."
"Easy to say for the man whose blood it is to be spilt," Merlin said coldly. "Hold your silver tongue, Lord Malfoy. We both know you have come to England to overturn the Round Table."
"Have I?" Malfoy replied smoothly as he tied together the hints that had been foreshadowed in his earlier scheming. "The Round Table would have collapsed under its own weight within five years even without my help. Its leadership was rotten to the core. You knew this. You warned them yourself, and they did not heed you. But Britain has powerful wizards aplenty who could replace them. Think how much more we could do if we were allied together."
"And you would make yourself one of us?" said Merlin. "You who attacked us in our homeland?"
"I who could demand your surrender solely by virtue of the muggle army at by back," he corrected. "You are the superior warlock, Lord Merlin—possibly the greatest who has ever lived. I do not dispute that. But you are only one man. Your Lord Gryffindor and Lady Hufflepuff are old and have not your power. Could even you stand alone against twelve thousand men?"
For the first time, Merlin began to show indecision. Slowly, he lowered his staff, and Malfoy seized the opportunity.
"I do not seek conquest, Lord Merlin," he said. "I am no would-be king like Arthur was. But I offer my wand, as does the House of Peverell and your old friends, the exiled House of Slytherin, in the service of a new, stronger, magical Britain—one insulated from the petty wars of succession of the muggles, their inevitable conflicts with Scotland and France—one that will not need to involve itself in wars like this one—one that can live at peace."
Merlin scoffed at these words, but then he looked out at the twelve thousand men and was forced to reconsider. Malfoy was right: no wizard could stand up to an army that powerful. He also consulted with Godric Gryffindor and Helga Hufflepuff, and they agreed it was a fairer offer than they could hope to get from the new King William, and so, while they still didn't much care for Armand Malfoy, they accepted his deal and gave him, Argos Peverell, and Franco Slytherin a role in the founding of the new Wizard's Council, ushering in a long period of peace in magical Britain.
Unusually for a Christmas pageant, the play was steeped in moral ambiguity. Both Merlin and King William were well-liked figures in the wizarding world despite being on opposite sides, while Mordred certainly was not, and Armand Malfoy and his actions were nothing if not controversial. Perhaps it was the tenor of the times that made people morbidly interested in such stories.
Harry was surprised that Draco Malfoy had been involved in such a play, portraying his family in that way. And when it was over, he was equally surprised that Lucius Malfoy seemed reasonably pleased with it. But then again, perhaps Armand Malfoy's scheming to take out his competition and gain a position of power without excessive magical bloodshed was exact the sort of thing the Malfoy Family stood for. It was certainly better than the bloody civil war that Voldemort had started in modern times, at least to wizards. He'd have to keep an eye out to see what they were up to.
The Death Eaters—those who weren't at the social event of the year because they were poor or wanted by the law or both—affected a belief in Yule (it was easier to get around that pesky "peace on Earth and goodwill to men" thing that way), but in practice, it was really just another Christmas celebration. It was something they had done on an annual basis during the last war, though not at Riddle Manor, and it wouldn't have been notable except that this year, their revelry was interrupted.
A man entered Riddle Manor who was not privy to its concealment spells, walking right through Lady Pantera's Chameleon Ward and up to the throne room. Voldemort was given only a few seconds after his Alarm Charms went off before the door crashed open, and the torchlight flickered across the man's face.
The man was large, broad-shouldered, and easily as tall as Rowle, the tallest of the Death Eaters. He wore a loose-fitting cloak over a bare chest, and his skin was dark and heavily lined with tattoos. His eyes glowed with a faint blue cast, just as Voldemort's did with a red one—a feature he had not had the last time he had been seen: the Evil Eye.
All talking and merriment ceased as Voldemort and his followers stood at once to face him.
"It seems we have an unexpected guest…" Voldemort said. There was a pregnant pause as everyone waited for the other shoe to drop. "…unexpected…but not uninvited," he finished. "Kinani Ngeze, the Invincible would-be Dark Lord of Kinshasa. I see you have received my summons."
"I am summoned by no one, Voldemort," the visitor said in a deep, accented voice. The Death Eaters tensed, as only La Pantera had called the Dark Lord by his name so casually. "But I received your offer to work together against your enemies. I am here to take you up on that offer. I have unfinished business with that dog Edward Grayson."
Voldemort smiled. That wasn't a good sign. "And you will have the opportunity to finish that business before the coming year is out," he said. "Come. We will discuss with Lady Pantera our plans for tomorrow."
"And what is happening tomorrow, Voldemort?" Ngeze said.
"A strike at the very heart of my enemies that will make them quake with fear before me…Incidentally, how are you at wardbreaking, Lord Ngeze?"
