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For copyright and disclaimers, please see chapter one.
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15 – Week Thirty Four, Third Year
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Sunday, April 8, 2001:
Hogwarts, Slytherin dorms, third year girls: 07:08
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"G'Morning," Mattie told the girls as she entered. Yawning, she pulled off her outer clothing, staggering toward the loo.
A few minutes later, Alastair heard the shower running. "What was that black outfit Miss Wayne was wearing, and where is Miss Tonks?" he asked.
"It's a skinsuit," Connie said, yawning and adding, "Last night was a full moon, Sprink's wherever she goes to transform."
"Ah, that's right," the Hat said, adding, "Good morning, Miss Bones," as Ami stuck her head out from her bed's hangings.
"Who was that snoring last night?" she asked, stumbling toward the loo.
"'Twas Alastair," Anne said, as Connie tossed her a short denim skirt. She glanced at it, pulling it on, absently playing with her control panel, turning the arms of her suit transparent. There was a knock on the door, Anne calling 'Come'. Karen and Kelly entered, Kelly saying, "I so want one of those suits."
"By my figures, they're a little over 6800 galleons each, and they take a little getting used to," Mattie said, drying her hair. "For me, it's like sitting on one of those hard bicycle seats," she said, gesturing to her waist. "Once you're used to the feeling of the inserts inside you, which takes a while, it even takes care of most of the symptoms of PMS, with the med patch." She tapped the inside of her wrist, adding, "My tits still get bigger, though. Good idea, Anne, a denim skirt sounds right." She proceeded to dig into her trunk, popping her head out as a chime sounded from her bag.
Digging out a small pin, she fastened it to her suit, answering, "Yes, Alfred?"
"I am sorry to disturb you so early, Captain, but I thought you should know that two groups of ruffians tried to kidnap me last night."
"You're all right?"
He chuckled, "Of course. I merely set a trap, as we discussed, and they walked into it. However, the problem remains what to do with them. I am loath to kill them, as I used non-lethal force to capture them."
"Thank you, Alfred. Please keep them secured; I'll see what to do with them. I think I'll call, err, 'Aunt Sarah', to see if there's a spare dungeon available. Who are they?"
"Two groups, the first being CPA10, French air commando. The second is an unofficial American paramilitary group." He added, "They are stripped of their clothing and equipment, bound in cargo nets, and are currently in the cargo hold, which I have in zero gee and flooded with anesthetic gas."
"They're not going anywhere, then," Mattie chuckled. "Let me make some calls, I'll get back to you." She tapped her comm to disconnect.
"Had to happen," Karen commented. "Alfred's too juicy a target. Do we just make them disappear? We've got dungeons we're not using here."
"That... has possibilities," Mattie admitted as she paced. "The SAS is used to strange things, didn't they do police duty in Diagon alley last year?"
"The muggles are used to them," Kelly added. "They could operate openly, nobody'd say anything."
"Then if you'll excuse me, I'll go see the Headmistress. Alastair, would you like to stay or join me?"
"I do believe I'll join you, Miss Wayne. Interesting things seem to happen around you."
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Minerva put down her cell phone, and looked at Mattie across the table in the Staff Room. "Thank you for informing us, Miss Wayne. 'Aunt Sarah' thanks you for your call, and asks what phrase they should use with Alfred to prove their bona-fides."
"Alfred, you heard that?"
"I did indeed. Your choice, Captain."
"Um. How about, 'Top of the morning, Lord Alfred. It's a walk in the park,' for a recognition phrase?" Minerva smiled, turning back to her phone as Alfred said, "Excellent choice. Will I see you?"
"I don't know. I'll let you know."
Minerva closed her phone, "The lads from the twenty-second SAS regiment will meet you at Charing Cross station, Miss Wayne, then secure the prisoners and drive them here. Your recognition will be the reverse of the above phrase; you will counter-sign with the original." She gazed over her glasses at the girl, "You are only there to co-ordinate with Alfred, and you will not approach the prisoners. Is that understood?"
"I will endeavor to make certain she does nothing foolish, Miss McGonagall," Alfred said. "Will the Bundy ladies be accompanying Miss Wayne?"
"They may, if they observe the same strictures, Alfred."
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The four vans approached the hangars at the small airpark southeast of London. They stopped, parking a few hundred meters away, Mattie calling Alfred to let him know.
"Very good, I am cycling the air in the cargo hold. Please let me know when you are ready, I shall lower the cargo hatch and restore normal gravity. Our guests continue to sleep deeply."
Mattie looked at the CO, who nodded. "Ready when you are."
"I am opening the cargo hatch. You may open the hangar doors to help ventilate if you wish. Do not enter the cargo bay without protective gear for a few more moments."
The hanger doors slid aside, the SAS commander whistling, "That's a starship?"
"You were expecting the Enterprise, perchance?" Alfred asked. "Your troops may come aboard; the captured equipment is in a cargo net in the back. I expect you to return my nets, by the way. Miss Wayne, you and the Bundy ladies might come ahead, the guests remain asleep."
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The observer watched, lowering his camera as the four vans pulled away, whispering, "Merde! I do not want to inform Paris of this."
"No problem, mein herr," a voice said, followed by darkness.
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Sunday, April 8, 2001:
London, The Stroat Pub: 12:41
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Nigel entered the busy pub, looking for his contact. Nodding slightly, he stopped while the barman pulled a pint. While he waited, he overheard two blokes talking.
"O's the bird, mate?"
"The redhead in the short skirt? 'At's Eddi, th' owner."
"She don' look like no Eddie, mate. An Eddi, maybe."
"Don' let the skirt an' tits fool y', mate. 'Er real name's 'Edelbert', some legal thing. Never, ever call 'er that, she's got a right nasty hook, she does."
The barman passed his pint, he turned, cocking an eyebrow, he silently asked a question.
"Call me Dimitri," the fellow said in an Oxford accent. "Zaslon group of OZNAZ. We bumped into Herr 'Otto' from Kommando Spezialkräfte at an airpark in southeast London."
"Berlin and Moscow have the same opinion, it seems," 'Otto' said. "While we would both love to have possession of the contents of the hangar in question, for now, we offer our co-operation."
"As such, we offer presents," 'Dimitri' said. "The observers for the two groups your SAS chaps collected this morning. This project is of enormous potential benefit to everyone, as long as data is equally shared."
"I understand that is the intention of Her Majesty," Nigel said. "I will of course pass on your information, and your good intentions, to my contact for this project." He sipped from his pint, "I am certain we can work together." He extracted a pair of business cards, "Please give my office a call when we might collect the guests."
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Sunday, April 8, 2001:
London, The Strand, Bundy home: 15:10
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"That was interesting," Kelly said, asking, "Anne?"
"A bit of culture shock, I believe," Alastair said from atop Mattie's head. "Her London is quite different from this, or even my last visit in 1740. How far is your home?"
"Not far, a quarter mile or so," Karen said.
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"This is it, this is home," Kelly said with pride, hands on Kent's shoulders.
"What hath happened to it?" Anne whispered. "It 'twas a small farm, to be sure, but it was larger than this." She pointed shakily, "There was a barn there, our land ran to the riverbank, and now?"
"The Polish Embassy," Kelly said, looking at her siblings. "Why don't we come inside?"
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"This, this scullery at least I recognize, but the carriage house, the paddock? Gone..."
"We have needed to sell off land over the years, to pay taxes, and debts," Adam Bundy said, clasping his new daughter's hands around her teacup. "We have kept the main house, and as you can see, a modern city does not require horses."
"You have at least kept the family catacombs?" Anne asked sharply.
Adam nodded, "We don't know how to access them, though. The secret died with a great-aunt." Anne snorted, took another sip of tea, then stood, "I shall show you, then. 'Tis often enow I went below to bury family." Walking down stairs and along a corridor, she came to a section of stone wall, paused; placing her hand on one. The corridor rearranged itself, stone stairs leading down into the blackness. Taking a torch from a sconce which flared into life, she asked, "Art thou coming?"
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"'Twas not easy levitating coffins down here," Anne commented as she paused to read an inscription listing kin buried in the chamber, then moving on, deeper underground.
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"'Tis kind of them to reserve a space for me," she commented in the flickering torchlight. She held it closer to the ancient plaque, which read 'Anne Bundy, 15 April 1365 – '. "In any case, this is the chamber we seek," she said, placing her hand on the oak door. With a groan, iron that had not moved in centuries shifted, the door swinging outward as torches sprang to life in the small chamber.
"Greetings," one ghost said. "I thank you for bringing our daughter home to us. You would be her current kin?"
"Adam Bundy, my wife Elizabeth, son Kent and our two daughters Karen and Kelly, and a friend of Anne's, Miss Wayne," he said, eyeing the dozen specters that filled the small chamber.
"Thank you for reserving a space for me, Father," Anne said, patting the empty niche. "How are you getting on?"
"Reasonably well for being dead," Robert Bundy admitted. "Headmistress Oldridge visited in May," adding, "Be careful with your trunk, there. There is one of the new 'Pensieve' things in there; it contains her memories of the first of April. She was most touched by your naming a peak on the moon after her, and shared her memories of those ... she called them 'pictures' I believe, with us. Your current Headmistress shared them with her."
Anne's mother shook her spectral head, "We are somewhat jealous, dear, but we have watched this city change over the centuries. We have included privy letters to you, as has Headmistress Oldridge, in your trunk. We do love you so... now, sit, and tell us all you have seen and done!"
Adam cleared his throat, "We'll leave you be, then Anne. Come upstairs when you're ready." Robert floated over to him, "Please look after my little girl."
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Monday, April 9, 2001:
Washington, DC, The White House, Cabinet room: 08:07
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Mercy nodded, touching her earpiece, then smoothed her tiny skirt and leaned over to whisper in the President's ear. "Sir, Team S has not checked in. Base believes they are taken."
President Luthor nodded, "You know what to do, Mercy."
"Yes, sir," the statuesque blonde acknowledged. She stepped back, working her way out of the room as her sister Hope took her place. Team S had only a few minutes to live.
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Tuesday, April 10, 2001:
Hogwarts, Charms classroom: 10:55
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The class broke up, working on the new charm. Arthur sat across from Anne and Mattie, suggesting, "Add a little counterclockwise twist at the end of your swish," He slowly demonstrated, adding, "It gives you a bit better control."
"It does, thank you," Anne replied, eyebrow raised. Sprink sat next to him, commenting, "He's a bloody genius when it comes to Charms. Even if he is a Huffie..." she grinned, ruffling his hair as he tried to grab her wrist.
"How are things going?" Professor Flitwick asked. "Let me see you perform the charm, Miss Wayne, Miss Bundy." He nodded at Mattie's, then said, "Emphasis on the second syllable, Miss Bundy; like this: 'si-LEN-see-oh'. Please cast it on Miss Tonks." He nodded in approval, "Mr. Morton, a moment?"
Arthur followed the tiny professor to his desk, where he cast a privacy spell. "Yes, sir?"
"Mr. Morton, this conversation never occurred," Arthur raised his eyebrow, and nodded. "You are aware of the international situation regarding Miss Wayne's starship?"
"To some extent, sir. I've heard rumors, and I saw the SAS arrive on Sunday with some bodies. They went down to the dungeons."
"Hmm. Let me just say that the staff is very concerned. Various people are attempting to steal the ship, and they are not nice blokes." He thought for a minute, asking, "Your wand, Mr. Morton, and pay close attention. I'm going to remove the Ministry spells from your wand, which will incidentally increase its power quite a bit." He gazed directly at Arthur, "You will wish to be careful as to whom you share this information with. Perhaps only blood relatives and very close friends, eh?"
"Is my family at risk, sir?"
"I do not know, Mr. Morton. Best to be prepared, eh? Still, this will give you an adult's wand without your having to purchase new. I would also strongly suggest you attend the DA meetings." The professor looked up at him, "Strongly suggest, Mr. Morton. Now then, your wand, please?"
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Wednesday, April 11, 2001:
Paris, President's mansion: 08:07
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"M'suer Le President, the British Ambassador to see you."
The president rose as the lime... Brit came across the carpet. "You wished to see me about something discreet?"
"Yes, Mr. President," the ambassador said. He pulled out a small manila envelope, "I believe this belongs to you."
The president slid out a beret. "I do not understand," he protested weakly.
"I think you do," the ambassador replied. "Research contracts with French companies and universities are terminated, with cause. All materials, and I do mean all, and any research results are to be returned within twenty four hours." He sat back, twisting the knife, "They'll be assigned to German and Russian firms and universities instead. For what it's worth, there were no fatalities." He stood, "Good day, Mr. President."
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Wednesday, April 11, 2001:
Hogwarts, Staff room: 08:13
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"Well, now, if there isn't... Adelle?"
"Sorry to interrupt, Miss McGonagall, but I wished to inform you that I am taking a leave of absence," the tiny Muggle Studies professor said haughtily. "I have the opportunity for a sabbatical, a paid sabbatical, and I must seize the moment. I shall be gone through end of term."
She had already turned to go when Minerva asked, "Your classes?"
"They are simple enough to teach, I have no doubt that any of the..." scorn dripped from her voice, "... muggle-born instructors like Miss Croft or Mr. Potter might, with some effort, become proficient in their instruction. Good day." With that, she left, Lara Croft and Harry Potter looking at each other.
"I'm free Tuesday afternoons," Lara said, "If you'll help out, Harry, perhaps we can make something of that class."
"Perhaps she won't return," Callista said, and there was a muffled cheer from the staff.
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Thursday, April 12, 2001:
Hogwarts, DADA class: 13:00
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The bell rang, and Professor Harry appeared, tossing his robes over a chair and standing behind a lectern, "Good afternoon, everyone. Let me get the roll out of the way... Anyone not here, raise their hand." People groaned at the tired joke as the Cortez twins immediately did so. "Yes, Roshawn and Shaundra?"
"What's this we hear about Miss Carstairs?"
"Pro... well, she's taking a sabbatical to 'Update herself on muggle culture.' He said. "I'll be helping out Professor Croft until the end of term; hopefully we can make something of that class." Various noises and comments about the three of them were heard. "Well, since Adelle wrote the textbook in 1875, I think the curriculum might need just a bit of revision. I'm planning to sit down with Lara this weekend to do so, if you've ideas for the class, send me an email." He closed the folder he had taken roll from, "I was going to go over curses in any event, Miss Hansen, would you tell us about the trip you and Professor Lupin took last Saturday?"
Felicia swallowed, "We... we went to the moon last Saturday, for the full moon. We didn't take potion before; we wanted to see what direct contact would do."
"And..."
"We transformed, but aside from the cold, we both felt fine," she said as she shivered. "It was in a cave, about thirty below zero, I expected the moon to be colder than that."
"You were underground, during daytime," Mattie said. "On Farside, on the surface, it gets down to almost three hundred degrees below zero. The only thing we did was pressurize the cave; we wanted to keep variables to a minimum."
"I wish you had taken me," Sprink complained.
"Your mum didn't get back with her permission in time," Mattie replied. "Professor Lupin's an adult, and Professor McGonagall gave permission for Felicia. She watched from the cargo bay." She ruffled Sprink's head, "Let's see what happens next month with these two. If it works, you'll go, I promise."
"Is it a cure for lycanthropy?" Professor Harry asked rhetorically. "We don't know, but let's go into some other long term curses, shall we? The first one I'd like to discuss is from ancient Egypt, called 'The Mummy's Curse'. This one..."
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"Mr. Morton, a moment, please?"
Arthur followed Professor Potter to a corner, where he cast a privacy spell. "This conversation never happened, Mr. Morton." He nodded, "I understand Professor Flitwick was able to help on a wand problem? Good. I also understand you saw our SAS blokes on Sunday?"
"Yes, sir. What's going on?"
"We are concerned about the international situation, Mr. Morton. Are you familiar with the Cold War?" Arthur nodded again, "What we believe may be developing is colder than that, Mr. Morton, and even more in the shadows. However, the potential benefits to the whole of humanity are immense." He looked Arthur in the eye, "On the order of the discovery of fire and the wheel, Mr. Morton. Some want to keep it all for themselves; others to share the wealth. We believe a rising tide lifts all boats, or ships, Mr. Morton. As do our allies, the Germans, the Russians, the Canadians and Mexicans."
Arthur considered this information, "I notice you didn't mention the Americans."
"Or the French, Mr. Morton. Officially, at least. Unfortunately, that places some of our students at greater risk, especially given their homes and who they know at school. As such, I'll be emphasizing defensive spells over the remaining weeks of term. However, you might wish to pass on some of the more... creative spells I understand you've mastered. Including certain repair spells. Have you any questions?"
"I don't believe so, sir. Thank you for this new information."
"Thank you for coming to the DA Tuesday night, Mr. Morton," Professor Potter said as he banished the privacy spell.
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Friday, April 13, 2001:
London, Charing Cross station, DMLE courtroom: 08:12
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"Malfoy, Lucille, Case number 2001 APR1-1203a. Charges are Use of an Unforgivable, Attempted Murder, Manslaughter by Spell," the bailiff read as the defendant was positioned, then secured with a leg-locker curse. "How do you plead?"
"My client pleads not guilty to all charges, and I wish to file a motion to recuse myself," Roger Webster said from beside his shackled client. "I am a witness to these charges, and thus cannot represent her."
"You will turn over case notes and any discovery to the other solicitor, I presume?" Madame Bones said. "Does the Crown have an objection?"
"The Crown has no objection, Milady," the solicitor said, standing briefly.
"Before I address your motion, I will address your client," Madame Bones said, shooting a quick silencing spell at Lucille, who glowered.
"Miss Malfoy, and I use the term advisedly, this is one of those rare times where the law and common sense coincide," she said, steepling her hands. "We know, and can prove, Lucius Malfoy was bribing former Minister Fudge. However, since the late, unlamented Minister went along with the supposed 'death' of Lucius Malfoy in Azkaban, those charges cannot be tried. One must wonder at the seeming coincidence of Lucille Malfoy's appearance at the same time as Lucius' death, with no previous background for her. One must wonder who is actually occupying Lucius' grave – might it be one of his former Death Eater colleagues?"
She waved away an unspoken objection, "I am aware that Minister Fudge stirred the cauldron by not acknowledging Lucius' Death Eater activities, despite multiple witnesses recognizing him. Surviving witnesses, I might clarify, as Lucius was adept with the Unforgivables. The hair and nose is distinctive, traits you also share, Miss Lucille. However, that is water past the troll; Minister Fudge has provided you with a legal identification, which is the basis of the charges against Lucille."
Madame Bones picked up a printout, "You are charged with the AK which you aimed at, as best we can tell, Miss Martha Wayne, with intent to kill; thus the Attempted Murder charge. However, you actually hit Miss Cassidy Yates, killing her accidentally, which brings the Manslaughter charge." There was a mutter from the watching spectators.
"As such, the Court does not feel comfortable with granting you release under bond. You are therefore remanded to the custody of DMLE until trial, which is..." she flipped through her calendar, "Friday, the eighth of June 2001. Counselor, your motion for a recusal is granted with the stipulation that you continue to represent Miss Malfoy until other counsel is appointed." He nodded, the Court continued, "Miss Malfoy, I have placed a silencing spell on you for your protection, I would suggest you not speak with anyone but your solicitor. I have also ordered DMLE to keep you in solitary, as I doubt you would survive long in the general population." The gavel banged, "So ordered, next case."
The leg-locker curse was released, as the next defendant was brought forward.
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