There was a knock at his door as Colonel Hacksaw leaned inside and said, "General?"
Hammond looked up from his paperwork at open door.
"I think we found the anomaly again." He stepped inside. "It moved to a position not that far from where it was before and at the same height of nine hundred and sixty kilometres. It's hovering over fifty-five point five degrees north, zero hours, four minutes and thirty seconds west. Almost directly between the Isle of Man and Scotland to the north." He paused and gave Hammond a long look. "Almost the geographic centre of the English Isles and Ireland."
"So, it's definitely something about the U.K. and Ireland, then, that has their . . . interest."
The colonel nodded. "Uh-huh. It appears so. And there have been no more explosions at Uranus beside those two."
"Keep watching. Both locations."
"That's what I thought, too."
Hacksaw hesitated.
Hammond leaned back in his chair. "What?"
"Well, we've been watching for anything unusual in the U.K. and something very odd is happening."
Hammond raised his eyebrows.
"They've suddenly had a sharp increase in the number of cancer remissions. Complete remissions — as if they had never been sick. All children."
Hammond sat up and stared in astonishment.
"It started with five, then jumped to ten cases, then twenty a night. Scattered all across the U.K. and Ireland." He took his cap off and ran a hand through his hair. "No hospital reported more than one at a time every couple of days. Some of the smaller wards have been completely emptied. Any patient they bring in for more than two nights ends up with a remission — no traces of tumours, at all. Several hospitals have started a practice that every out-patient under twenty-one coming in for a scheduled day-treatment must now stay at least a week, in ward. Some of the larger hospitals are transferring patients to smaller hospitals with empty wards in the hope that the 'miraculous' remission will reach them faster. So far, it's been working. Normally, almost two hundred children a year die from cancer in England — one almost every other day. As of last week, every case that would have had a child die in the next twelve months is cancer-free. If things continue unabated, the estimate is that in five years there won't be anyone below the age of twenty-one with cancer, except new, just admitted, cases."
"Completely cured?"
"Yes. And now they're starting to see remissions in older patients. The doctors are going mad with trying to determine what the actual remission vector is." He sighed. "Nothing else has changed, that we can tell."
It appeared, to General Hammond, that "zats" were not the only items the people from the future had discovered with the help of what was rapidly becoming apparent were aliens. But why England? The group he had met were clearly Americans. Unless it was a situation similar to NATO. Multiple groups of different nationalities working for a common cause.
He leaned back in his chair. "Do we have any cancer patients in Lakenheath?"
"Not that I know of. Standard Operating Procedures are to transfer military families back to the U.S. for treatment as soon as cancer is detected."
"I'll see if the Chief of Staff will consent to sending a few child cancer-patients to Lakenheath, and ask a London hospital for assistance in setting up a new ward. If those patients start a remission, we'll enlarge the hospital and start sending all the military cancer patients there."
He gave Colonel Hacksaw a lopsided smile, "If the anomaly is responsible, there's no reason we shouldn't take advantage of it, too, is there?"
And he could think of worse ways for aliens to introduce themselves than offering a cure for cancer! He pulled out a sheet of paper from his drawer and began making notes for another letter to the Chief of Staff. He had several important points he wanted to make.
It was just too bad that they couldn't send a recon probe to Uranus. If he understood what had happened in 1969 properly, the team he had helped would be getting together long before any probe could reach the gas giant, especially as a N.A.S.A. probe would take the better part of eight years to get there. And that was assuming they managed to get a probe built and launched in only few months instead of the years such a project normally took. Even attempting as short a journey as possible would still take a year to develop and four years of flight time.
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While Harry was still in classes that Friday, and Lee was waiting to show him the X-wing fighters and their simulators, the twins were also busy.
"Chivvy along, you bloody snake," Fred said as he watched the drone's projected view.
"Patience, Forge, patience!" chided George, standing beside and fidgeting just as badly.
"Yeah, but this is the bloody snake that bit our dad!"
"I know, I know," commiserated his brother. "Soon to be a dead snake, though," he grinned maliciously.
"Yeah," said Fred savagely and with much relish.
The snake blithely continued on its way through the brush just outside Walden Macnair's mansion. It was currently headed away from the building and was apparently hunting. The twins were simply waiting for it to get far enough away to make their portkeying the snake away a bit more private. It was chilly out, but not enough for snakes to go into hibernation. Not yet, at least. That Tom had cast a warming charm on the snake before it headed outside was certainly helping it cope well with the temperature. With luck, he wouldn't expect the snake back until much later, hopefully tomorrow or the next day. They were hoping that he wouldn't notice anything had happened to his pet until much later than that.
They had been watching the snake almost non-stop since discovering it last week.
Soon enough, their patience was rewarded. The snake made its way into the woods that surrounded Macnair's home. It was thoroughly hidden from any who might be watching.
"Ready? Now!" Fred said.
Two drone-portkeys swooped down and attached themselves to the snake.
"Portkey Snake One, activate!" he crowed.
As soon as the drone reported arrival at its new location, beside the third, dinner-plate-sized, stationary drone eight thousand miles above the Earth and beside the Requirement, George quickly said "Portkey Snake Two, activate."
Then they watched the world spin as the snake writhed and wound in the vacuum of space, at the fourth drone's location, sixteen thousand miles above the Earth. If it wasn't carrying a homing portkey, their own would be able to bring it back.
The warming charm kept the snake from boiling and then freezing, but the lack of air soon saw its movements slow and then stop.
They let it drift slowly, the three drones kept it motionless with regards to the Earth, holding it up and preventing it from beginning to fall victim to gravity. Warming charms had never been designed to overcome the deep cold of space.
After an hour, the twins decided they had waited long enough. It was time for the snake to return to its first destination. One side was frozen at minus two hundred and eighty degrees and the other baked at two hundred sixty degrees. Whomever found the snake would be mightily confused.
"Portkey Snake Two, return!"
The snake appeared eight thousand miles above the Earth with the three drones and at the third drone's location. The third drone attached itself to the snake.
"Portkey Snake One, return!"
A very dead snake appeared on the ground in the woods outside Macnair's mansion. The cold on one side of the snake quickly killed the grass and bushes that were close to it as the air temperature around it dropped precipitously. The grass on the other side wilted, browned, and died under the heat radiating from the snake.
Using the visuals provided by the drones, George portkeyed to the location, cast a quick and powerful cutting curse to chop the snake's head off, grabbed the four drones, and then portkeyed back to the ship.
Because the snake would be found inside the muggle- and wizard-repelling spells that surrounded and protected the property, Tom would assume one of his Death Eaters had done the deed. Instead of planning attacks on half-bloods and pure-blood traitors, he would waste his time and energy interrogating his people. He'd probably kill more than one for perceived "mistakes" and "betrayals." Which would, perhaps, drive a few away, never to return to his service. Not that that would save them from the twins. They had attached cloaked comm-stones to the masks and robes the Death Eaters always wore. They would be able to track them anywhere they went.
Once George was back, they quickly spread the word on the comm-links that the snake had been dealt with.
Then they began their celebrations. They would tell the Captain the complete story of their success tomorrow.
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Saturday was a trial for Harry.
He could only roll his eyes when The Daily Prophet arrived with the owl parliament. The story in it that Stan Shunpike had been arrested for "suspected Death Eater activity," was laughable on the face of it. The wizard didn't have it in him to be that mean, Harry thought. Also, according to the twins, he had never made an appearance at any of the Death Eater gatherings.
On the other hand, he thought, the number of disappearances had dropped almost to none, unless you counted pure-bloods who supported the pure-blood-uber-all philosophy. For some reason — Harry had to giggle at the thought — Tom's supporters were becoming fewer and fewer. Oh, the ones remaining might support the pure-blood philosophy very vocally, but they were decidedly unwilling to back their words with actions. Anything beyond sneering and lifting their noses in disdain was seen as too risky.
Plus, the few attacks since the start of school had been handily interrupted by the aurors.
Balancing that though, were the dementor attacks. Those were a real problem. Normal curses just didn't affect them. It really worried Harry. Not all of their "marines" could cast an adequate patronus. The squibs definitely couldn't! He wondered if there was a hand-held version of the plasma cannons. It wouldn't have to do much, a few thousand degrees instead of millions, but that should make quick work of a dementor.
They were susceptible to fiendfyre, after all.
The problem was getting one to experiment on.
Maybe they could use the portkey-drones to portkey the dementors into a sealed Runabout, and crash that into Jupiter, or the sun, instead? If they could survive either, getting back would be quite the chore. The dementors had a definite limit to how fast they could move, or no one would have the time to cast a patronus to protect themselves! What little the books told them about dementors indicated they couldn't travel faster than about fifty miles an hour — there were several stories of wizards or witches out-running the creatures on brooms. Plus, that top-speed required a bit of time for them to build up to it.
If that upper-limit was true, and with the Earth's distance from the sun, it would take a couple of centuries for them to return from there.
At one point eight billion miles, for Jupiter, even at a hundred miles an hour it would still take millennia for the creatures to make their way back to Earth — and that was assuming that that was at Earth-Jupiter's closest approach! It also supposed that they could escape from the gravity of either body.
He doubted they could survive the temperature of the sun, much less come back.
Also, during breakfast, Hermione explained to him that, despite his view that he was pretty average, or even below-average, in looks and charm, the witches in the school considered him interesting and handsome. Some even regarded him as "quite the catch." He hadn't believed her.
Hermione used the Quidditch try-outs to prove her point that quite a few of the witches in the school were interested in Harry. Harry could only shake his head at the tremendous crowd of witches and wizards at the try-outs. Most weren't even in Gryffindor, for Merlin's sake, and some had tried to get a position on the team! The only reason they could have for showing up was to watch him.
What. A. Fiasco.
It was a sobering, and disappointing, view of his future if he joined a professional Quidditch team, or anything in the public limelight.
Permanently living on the Requirement was becoming more attractive by the day!
Dealing with Hagrid's wobbly, later, at the three of them for not taking his Care of Magical Creatures Class, was tiring. Discovering that Aragog was sick was not pleasant. Aragog was the only thing standing between the school and the spiders, as he and Ron could attest. Once the head spider was gone, Harry was unsure for how long the spiders would be content to stay where they were, and leave the students in peace.
On the other hand, he knew they wouldn't survive a portkey to eight thousand miles, and the subsequent drop — hitting the atmosphere at nearly ten miles a second would ensure nothing but ash reached the ground. He had to grin at the thought of what the muggle scientists would say at the unusual and brief "meteor shower" of several hundred spiders falling from space.
He decided that tonight, after his detention with Snape and curfew had arrived, when everyone was on the Requirement, he would throw the dementor and acromantula problems out for discussion.
The only really good news was that Slughorn had agreed to brew Felix Felicis in the quantity they needed. Handing him a trunk filled with gems had squashed any qualms he may have had about the quantity Harry requested. Ironically, most of them came from the Malfoy Vault and Manor and not the Room of Requirement.
The twins had been very thorough in looting both locations. Burning the manor to the ground had revealed more than one hidden cache.
Harry had explained to the Professor that he wanted to give the one-ounce vials to his friends — all one hundred of them. He had even offered to give a wizard's oath that he only intended to keep one vial for himself.
Slughorn would have been a fool to refuse.
Slughorn was not a fool.
A smarmish manipulator only interested in knowing the rich or powerful for his own benefit, but not a fool.
No doubt he had kept more than one vial for himself, in case he was ever attacked by Death Eaters. Harry made sure to hint the professor might want that insurance.
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To Harry and Hermione's disappointment, the Goblins said there were still two items left that contained portions of Tom's essence. Apparently, the snake had not been a carrier, not that they cared about making that mistake. Just knowing what it had done to Mr. Weasley reassured them that the twins had been correct in eliminating the creature.
The Wizarding World settled into an uneasy state of waiting. The pure-blood philosophy appeared to have stalled out. Many of its major proponents had disappeared. Without Goyle, Crabbe, Nott, Malfoy, Rowle, and many other rich wizards supplying bribes, threats, and loud declamations against the "muggle-lovers, blood-traitors, and inferior half-bloods," in the Wizengamot, things had quieted down. The regents replacing the lost Family Heads kept to low profiles. Most didn't yet have the political acumen to navigate the shark-filled political waters of the Wizengamot. Or were afraid that making any moves closer to the pure-blood extreme would see them mysteriously "disappear."
In the Ministry, dozens of poorer pure-blood supporters of that philosophy had stopped coming to work — many were dead, according to Gringotts, the rest had simply disappeared. Or were in Azkaban for having been caught wearing Death Eater robes on a raid, with no rich pure-blood patron to bail them out — the remaining rich patrons were being very circumspect in what they did.
As a result, a number of the Ministerial employees previously declared redundant, or insufficient, were being rehired. A surprising number were no longer in Britain, or interested in leaving their new jobs to return to their old ones.
The biased laws, however, were still difficult to change. The remaining pure-bloods didn't want to lose their privileges, so many of the neutral Wizengamot members, and a few of the so-called Light Wizards, refused to allow the unfair laws to be reconsidered. The regents acting for the under-age Head of Houses always voted for the status-quo — nobody could criticize them for that, they hoped.
Numerous Hogwarts' students were now Head of Family, positions they hadn't expected for decades, at least. Many had never even dreamed they would reach such a lofty position, being only cousins to the main family. They didn't want to rock the boat, either.
Most understood the implicit threat that if they followed their father's, or relatives', footsteps, the next in line behind them would be receiving a Change of Head of Family letter.
The implied warning to the pure-bloods in Tom's organization was clear: you could yell all you wanted, but the moment you put on a Death Eater robe and mask, your freedom would soon be curtailed — permanently.
Tom Riddle raged in the background at the enormous setbacks to his plans, and declaring vengeance on those who had "deserted" from his ranks.
Then it happened.
Early one morning, a wizard who had been missing for weeks floo'd into the Ministry, and walked up to the Security desk. "I'm here to speak with Madam Bones about false rumours that I've committed a crime," he said to the auror seated at the desk. After tendering his name and getting his wand weighed, he left for floor two, and Auror Headquarters.
"I would like to see Madam Bones," the visitor said imperiously, looking down his nose at the secretary just outside Madam Bones' office.
"Do you have an appointment, sir?" the witch asked sharply, not intimidated in the slightest.
"No, but I'm here on important business. I've been accused of being a Death Eater, and I demand the opportunity to clear my good name by taking veritaserum in front of impeccable witnesses!"
The secretary stared at him a moment, then jumped to her feet. "I will tell her you're here, sir," she said politely, and hurried into her superior's office.
"Madam Bones," she said, carefully closing the door behind her. "I have a Frances Gibbon demanding that you put him under veritaserum and prove he isn't a death Eater." She gave her boss a look of disbelief. The aurors had already arrested him once, with several of his friends, throwing spells at muggle-born's house. His family had insisted it was a mistake. He and his friends had accidentally apparated to the muggle-born's house, they claimed, and not their friend whom they had intended to prank. The "grease" paid out by Malfoy had helped see that the wizard didn't spend the night in the Ministry.
That he was here, now, insisting to be interrogated was more than a bit suspicious. Plus, while pure-bloods were exempt from being forced to take veritaserum, he had volunteered. What was behind this scheme?
"Have an auror requisition some veritaserum from the Unspeakables. I'll escort him to an interview room." She went out to meet the wizard. Five minutes later, the two of them, and three other aurors who would act as witnesses, took seats around the interview table.
The Head of the D.M.L.E. tapped the recording crystal in the middle of the table. She verbally listed everyone in the room, as well as the date and time. Then she turned her attention to the wizard across the table. "Now, Mr. Gibbon, while we are waiting for the veritaserum, would you please give us an explanation, for the record, of why you are here?"
"It's quite simple," he said in an offended pretentious tone. "I am here to clear my good name!" He straightened his sleeves and smoothed a crease in his robes. "Someone has spread a rumour that I am a Death Eater! That is a lie! While I believe that pure-bloods are naturally superior to half-bloods and mud-bloods, I am not a member of that illegal group."
She exchanged disbelieving looks with the others in the room. She tapped her finger on the table. "And you agree to take veritaserum, knowing that we will ask questions regarding that very subject? That by agreeing to take veritaserum, all information gathered while you are under its influence can be used in court and cannot be contested?" she asked, more than a bit incredulous and suspicious. "That while veritaserum can be beaten by powerful wizards, cannot see through an obliviate, or detect missing memories, any confessions are legally binding?"
The wizard did a bad job of hiding his smirk.
"Plus, there are potions that can override it," she continued. "Because of these reasons, it cannot be used to prove the guilt or innocence of another person. Neither can it prove the subject's own innocence, only their guilt — after all, it cannot coerce a false confession, only the truth, and thus, admitting to a crime is a confession that cannot be dismissed."
"Yes, of course, of course!" he said forcefully. "It is the only way I can counter those vicious rumours." He looked down his nose at them. "And being able to say I was given veritaserum will put those rumours to rest!"
An Unspeakable entered the room and held up the vial.
Shaking her head in disbelief, she indicated the wizard. "The Unspeakable will now administer the standard three drops of veritaserum to Frances Gibbon. You do consent to such action, correct?" she asked one last time.
He nodded, "Yes, yes, yes," he said irritably, "I've already said I agree!"
After verifying the veritaserum was working correctly, and that Gibbons was indeed sitting in front of them, she asked, "Are you a Death Eater?"
He sat still for a moment, blinked a few times, then said, "N-Yes," in the flat tone veritaserum imposed on those to whom it had been administered.
They all started and stared at each other. One of the aurors lifted his wand and cast finite incantatem at the dosed wizard. He looked back at his boss. "Just wanted to make sure this wasn't someone under a glamour or imperiused to falsely confess."
She nodded and described what had happened to the recorder. She repeated her question to Gibbon, and received the same answer.
Then she asked, "Please list all the crimes you have committed, starting with the most recent, and including all the details." The answer was a very informative and long. It required several applications of the truth potion as the previous ones began to wear off and he began to refuse to answer questions. They ordered lunch brought in.
Several of his crimes required lengthy prison sentences. Combined with his complete lack of remorse and insistence that he had every right to commit those crimes? No one had any doubt that this wizard was going to be sentenced to The Kiss.
He also named many names, two of whom were aurors.
That led to a mid-afternoon shake-up in the D.M.L.E., and two more prisoners in the D.M.L.E. holding cells.
Almost as an aside at the very end, late that afternoon, she asked, "Why did you come in here today, knowing you could only tell the truth under veritaserum, and the questions we would ask?"
"Because I knew I could beat the potion," was the answer he gave the incredulous aurors. "One of the Dark Lord's inner-circle handed me a potion, brewed by the Dark Lord himself, and told me that the Dark Lord had ordered me to clear my name."
The next morning, a second missing wizard floo'd into the Ministry. It was almost an exact repeat performance of the previous day's interrogation. He, too, had thought he could beat the veritaserum with a potion his Dark Lord had provided.
Not surprisingly, much of his testimony corroborated what the first wizard had given, meaning each, independently, verified some of the crimes the other had committed.
The two pure-blood aurors taken prisoner the previous day demanded that they be given veritaserum to prove their innocence.
It was a very busy, very long day in the D.M.L.E. offices.
The following morning, a third missing wizard floo'd into the Ministry.
With each new confession under veritaserum, a few more names were given of followers and supporters of the pure-blood agenda. An interesting pattern began to emerge. Each pure-blood arrested by the aurors vehemently insisted they were innocent. And then the next morning insisted that they be given veritaserum to prove their innocence of committing any crimes.
They always said, at the end of their interrogations, that one of the Dark Lord's inner-circle had brought them a potion that would allow them to resist the veritaserum. The aurors assigned to watch over the prisoners insisted no one had entered or left the cell-blocks during their shifts at night, and the anti-portkey and anti-apparition charms on the cells prevented anyone entering unseen.
Half-bloods had no such protections against veritaserum, and, in most cases, strenuously resisted its application. That they didn't in this situation was almost too good to be true, Bones repeatedly said.
To the surprise of everyone, several of those arrested hadn't committed any crimes, or the crimes were so petty as not to be a problem. The time they served in the holding cells was usually deemed a sufficient sentence of punishment, with a minor fine. They were released right after the interrogation.
The "wrongfully accused" Death Eaters coming in and demanding veritaserum were completely unaware of any of their predecessors doing the same. They all acted as if they were the very first to do this. They had all clearly been obliviated of any knowledge about current events, and what or where they had been since they had gone missing.
This continued for the rest of September.
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The Full-moon was the twenty-sixth of September. On that day, Remus had barely a dozen werewolves show up, primarily women and children. Remus used a Runabout illusioned to look like a bus to pick them up in London. Once it was far enough into the country-side, the windows were blacked-out, and the Runabout made the trip to Uranus. An unused, as yet, storage room on the space station had been converted into looking like the inside of a car-park, and the corridor and attached rooms to look like a hotel. The hotel windows provided the view of a thick forest outside.
To say they were stunned to spend a comfortable night was an understatement. To return to home the next day, completely relaxed, was stunning. The mother's were actually crying at sparing their children the pain of the transformations.
They never knew they had left the planet.
"Harry," Remus said after they had returned and he was reporting the results. "Why can't we just set up a permanent village on the Station for them? They wouldn't have to worry about needing jobs just to get enough to eat. We could set up a school there for the children and adults so they can learn how to use their magic, properly."
Harry shrugged. It was no bother to him. Housing, feeding, clothing, and paying them certainly wouldn't be an issue, not with the massive materializer that made up the station. Considering how werewolves were usually treated around the world, it would be offensive to deny them a safe haven when it cost nothing.
"I don't see why not," he said. "But now that the full-moon isn't such a burden, having them go to the station for a single night would have almost no impact on any jobs they might get either in the muggle or magical worlds. They would always be fresh and relaxed the next day instead of exhausted and surly." He grinned. "They could just tell friends they were visiting relatives that one night a month."
Remus smiled wryly. "I think most would much rather learn the magic they have been denied. And the rest would enjoy living like normal wizards and witches without fear of exposure and shunning."
Harry shrugged again. "If they'd rather live on the station and not deal with that whole thing, then sure. I already said I had no problem with any of them choosing to live there. I know Neville would be glad to have more help in his greenhouses. If anyone gets bored with the schoolwork, I'm sure other jobs will crop up as well — like a pub, library, store, or something. We have more than enough muggle-borns who would be happy to use their magical skills to provide teaching services."
He paused and thought a moment. If they truly wanted to explore the galaxy, they needed crews for their ships. Maybe the weres would be willing to do that? "They could even join the crew of the new ship and help us explore space, if they wanted," he suggested. Or, perhaps, a ship with only weres as the crew would alleviate any uncomfortable feelings about being with non-weres at that time of the month. Even if they didn't turn every month, anymore, there was always that little bit of doubt at the back of the mind for the even the most liberal of wizards and witches, and werewolves, he was sure.
"Why don't you and Sirius take care of that? Coordinate with Hermione and Lee on the replicator usage? The first Fuel Station should be finished in three weeks and then Uranus Station is available to finish the new ship. Perhaps they'd be willing to get training on how to navigate and pilot a smaller ship, with Runabouts and some fighters? A year should be enough training time before they go off into the wild unknown."
Remus nodded slowly, giving him a calculating look. "Padfoot is occupied mostly with the Wizengamot, trying to get the laws brought in by Tom Riddle's supporters reversed, but he'd probably love the distraction this would provide." He paused a moment and a pensive look came across his face. "You know, if we get all the weres on board with this, we could wipe out werewolfism with this generation. Now that Fenrir and his supporters are dead, any new were's will be by accident — and being at Uranus Station removes that possibility."
Harry shrugged. "Pass the word, then, we're looking for people willing to be star-explorers, and we'll provide the wands, training, and ships. Also, Alicia is looking for help in finding the best-prepared muggle meals for selling in Quark's, so anyone who wants to become a food expert should see her. She's pretty much topped-out on British cuisine."
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In October, the Malfoys walked into the Ministry to demand their shot at proving themselves innocent. Draco made his appearance on the fourth, his mother on the seventh, and his father on the eighth.
Draco Malfoy was only guilty of being a member of an outlawed terrorist organization and the rape and murder of a muggle child, the last of which was currently not considered a "real" crime under the laws previously passed by the pure-bloods. However, he was still a minor, becoming seventeen next June. Unfortunately for him, the exceptional circumstances of his father's rank in the illegal organization, the fact that Voldemort had used the Malfoy mansion as his headquarters for the last year, and that he would soon be of majority age, had the Wizengamot decide to judge him as an adult. His listing of the various things he had done to half-bloods, blood-traitors, and muggle-borns while participating in "Professor" Umbridge's Inquisitional Squads did not win him any favours.
It netted the boy a one-month sentence in Azkaban.
Unfortunately, the island prison, now that the dementors had fled, wasn't nearly as horrible as it had been when Sirius was there. Physically, though, it was still a miserable place in which no one should ever have to stay.
His mother was more fortunate. As the dutiful wife of a pure-blood, she claimed she had no influence over her husband's decision to invite in the Dark Lord. She did not have the Dark Mark on her arm. Neither had she every been a member of the Dark Lord's organization.
She was released from the Ministry's holding cell with a full apology.
She was not happy to hear that the Ministry had discovered that the Malfoy mansion had burned to the ground in a tragic "accident," breaking the unplottable charm on it, during the months she, her husband, and son had been "missing." She was even unhappier to see, when she arrived at Gringotts, that the Malfoy vault was decidedly bare of galleons, sickles, and knuts. It was still full of Malfoy-family portraits, furniture, heirlooms, and other miscellaneous items, however, so all was not lost. She then discovered that the family jewels were also absent. As were the deeds to their other properties, such as the ocean-front cottage in Southern France, their farms, and their orchards.
All of which had been sold off by unknown persons hiding behind several layers of companies owning other companies.
In a word, she and her son were broke, and homeless. She would have to sell many of the family's remaining possessions to earn enough to live on until the family's investments from their business partners started to come in. The income would be barely enough for her and Draco to survive on, considering they now had to pay for a new home to be built. Building the Malfoy fortune back up to its former glory would take decades of hard financial work.
Her husband, however, was not nearly as fortunate as his son. He admitted to killing fourteen pure-bloods for the sin of not wanting to join his Dark Lord's organization back during both the first War and the current one. It became a forgone conclusion that he wouldn't leave the Ministry except through the Veil in the Death Room. Especially because he was personally responsible for the "extinction" of five pure-blood lineages, one recently — he had killed the last remaining member.
Listing his other crimes was done merely for the sake of providing closure for the survivors of the Dark Lord's pure-blood "cleansing" efforts.
The conservative pure-bloods in the Wizengamot now numbered in a small minority. As a result, some of the more outrageous laws that had been passed in the previous year were getting reversed. But not all. The bigots still managed to preserve the special privileges that were not actively subjugating the half-bloods and muggle-born. Certain ministerial positions no longer were exclusively reserved for pure-bloods, they merely preferred pure-bloods for that those positions. Meaning, the only way a half-blood or muggle-born could get the job was if no pure-blood was interested enough to apply.
All jobs which were occupied by a non-pure-blood were to come up for a regular performance review in which a pure-blood could take over the job if the non-pure-blood's performance was "sub-standard." No definition was given for sub-standard. All such reviews were to be conducted by pure-blood superiors.
Tom Riddle raged in the background as his resources and influence continued to wane. His Death Eaters' ability to instil fear had fallen sharply, as had their numbers and his ability to strike at those he considered his enemies.
The snake's death was rapidly becoming moot.
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In the middle of October, the twins came up with a solution to the entire Voldemort problem.
"We do what we did with the snake," Gred said enthusiastically.
"Drop two portkeys on Tom while he's sleeping," said Forge.
"Let him fall instead of suspending him."
"By the time he's close enough to try apparition,"
They almost weren't letting the other finish his sentence before speaking.
"He will have frozen to death!"
"Even if he hasn't,"
"He will be falling so fast that he will smash him into jelly when he hits the ground after apparating," Gred said, slamming his fist into his other hand
"Or burn up as he re-enters the atmosphere!" Forge concluded triumphantly.
Harry ran his hand across the back of his neck and sighed. "Sorry guys, but that won't work." He looked down for a moment. "Killing him will leave him as a wraith, just like last time," Harry explained. "He could still possess someone. Like he did Professor Quirrell, remember?"
The two scowled heavily.
"Tom would then use another ritual to return to life," he concluded.
They were all silent for several minutes.
Finally, Harry said, "We need is a way to get rid of the wraith, too. Or confuse it enough that he won't be able to figure out where he is, or who he could safely possess."
He glanced back and forth between them. "Talk with Hermione. If she can think of a way to get rid of Tom permanently, then go for it, as quickly as possible!"
He paused a moment, thinking about some of the things Dumbledore had said. How he seemed convinced that only Harry could solve this problem. "No matter what you do, guys, you have my blessing to do it." He gave them a wry, half-smile. "Whatever you do, you're acting on my behalf, as my hands, at my instruction, as it were," he finished.
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