AN: Once again, another Vergilius storyline chapter. Do forgive me if these chapters seem dry.

JohnMonty: Give it two more chapters and it's back to Hogwarts. Harry would likely be doing the Dumbledore Army thing, but for his own personal reasons if he ever does.

Lilomaus223: Anya will be meeting the Order, no doubt about that :). That is basically brimming with potential character interactions to write about.

Chapter 30 - Hearing

Vergilius travelled east, slipping through miles of trenches before he reached the German heartlands. There were several places of attraction, but none as awe-inspiring as Italy. He had met a rising genius who went by the name of Gellert Grindelwald. He was young, ambitious and powerful, the Continental counterpart of the young prodigy named Albus Dumbledore. Even at their young age, they were said to be the upcoming Merlins of the twentieth century. Vergilius could respect that.

They traded notes as fellow academics, shared stories as Grindelwald eagerly sought out the words a senior had to offer, but Vergilius moved on. He had heard whispers further east, a stirring, change. He had to see it. Vergilius took the first international portkey he could get to Petrograd, Russia took one glance at his aristocratic status and welcomed him with open arms.

He walked the Muggle streets, always fond of seeing the other world. The week he spent in Ypres watching the Muggle armies fight filled his mind with countless thoughts. And as he travelled east towards Russia he began to slowly understand the global scope of Muggle wars.

Men from as far as Australia were fighting on Belgian soil against the Germans because an Austrian archduke was murdered.

The World War.

It was a name more apt than the 'war to end all wars'.

His sharp grey eyes scanned the place around him, the buildings, the people and the atmosphere. One thing stood out, brimming from the eyes of the common folk around.

Dissent. Dissatisfaction. Disillusionment.

The gloom blanketed the air, being with one with the people. It bore similarities to the streets of London back home, with the glaring difference that it was a thousand times worse in here. The toll of the Muggle war seemed heavier here, or it could have been that Vergilius grew used to London, having worked there.

It only took a few questions here and there before Vergilius realised the glaring problems of inflation and food shortage. The war had hit the Russian Empire hard indeed.

The frustration of it all was directed at the Tsar, Vergilius snorted at the discovery, always one to take enjoyment at the fall of aristocracy. The conditions here seemed all too similar to the French Revolution. The Muggle war only served to fan the flames of discontent.

What was that Muggle term? Russia was a powder keg.

Turning down an alleyway the Muggles seemed to ignore, Vergilius drew his wand and rapped it on a lamppost. On the metal surface of the lamppost was a drawing of an eye, scratched on the metal like the handiwork of a child. The eye blinked.

Vergilius continued down the short distance to the end of the alleyway where a door stood. If anyone tried to open the door without activating the lamppost, he or she would have been met with a dusty old bookshop manned by an old Squib working in the Russian Muggleborn Relations Office, waiting to welcome any Muggleborns new to the Wizarding World who did not know to activate the lamppost.

In Vergilius' case, the door opened to reveal a crowded street not unlike Diagon Alley. A panoply of sights, sounds and smells greeted him. Smoke of varying colours plumed from many of the buildings, vermilion, violet and viridian. As Vergilius walked, he could see many apothecaries and potion shops buzzing with activity, potions was one of the chief exports of Wizarding Russia after all.

However, though the streets were abuzz with activity, the stale air of discontent hung thickly. Vergilius could spot a tattered witch sitting at the roadside, her two children huddled in her arms. A group of squat wizards were muttering in angry tones, not the first group he had seen.

And amidst the crowds of normal wizards and witches, Vergilius could clearly make out the few individuals who strolled down the middle of the streets with impunity. Their confident gait and rich silks marked them out as members of Wizarding Russia's aristocracy. Vergilius could just as clearly make out the heated and venomous looks that the passersby threw at them.

Apparently, it was not just the Muggle side of Russia that bore ill will towards the aristocracy, the wizarding side had a similar climate. Vergilius did not know whether to smile or grimace, it was a powder keg indeed. A discontent Muggle populace was one thing, same can be said of a discontent wizarding populace. However, having both the Muggle and wizarding populace angry towards the same thing, that was the recipe for the French Revolution. This was about to be history repeated.

Vergilius took a turn into a food stall, digging into the coins in his pocket, not the ones from Gringotts but the local Russian wizarding currency. He spied the board and he could see previous pricings hastily scratched off by chalk, each price higher than before. Immediately, Vergilius could draw two conclusions.

Firstly, inflation was rampant even in the wizarding side. He had heard that several of the aristocracy were granted the authority to mint their own coins, a privilege that - despite its glaring economic problems - allowed various noble houses to form solid political relations due to the mutual trust the privilege created. A unique and unorthodox system, but one that had unified many of the Russian houses. However, the costs began to outweigh the benefits in recent decades.

Secondly, the fact that the stall owner crossed out the old prices with chalk instead of vanishing them spoke volumes of the level of education afforded to the masses. If this was the standard of spells among the wizards and witches of Russia, then Vergilius could easily understand why Wizarding Russia was always pushed around in the ICW.

International conflict between wizarding countries the current era boiled down to which countries being able to exert the most influence. This meant the calibre of the Aurors and Hit Wizards of a country, their control on the market of magical goods and the magical potency of the average witches and wizards of the country. If the average wizard could not cast a spell that was a core OWL requisite in Britain, then Russia did not nurture the witches and wizards required to become an influential country.

A loud cry brought Vergilius from his musing, he looked up to see a small gathering by the roadside. Curious, he made his way over. A wizard stood atop a crate, tall and proud with an even prouder beard. Vergilius snorted at the man's uncanny similarity to the Muggle Father Christmas, though standing with much more vigour.

"How much longer can we stand for this?" the man asked the crowd, his Russian sounding coarse to Vergilius' ears but his booming voice still clearly heard. "This inequality and injustice would only bring our country down! Look at the papers and the signs are clear, Russia is weak, our homeland is weak. Why? Because we spend every moment of our lives serving the aristocracy! For what? Their indulgence! They spend our hard work on their indulgence instead of making our country and our lives better."

A wave of mutterings spread through the crowd, Vergilius could see nodding heads all around.

"And should we serve them if this is how they treat us?" the man exclaimed. "The nobles serve us just as we serve them! We provide them our hard work and in return they provide us protection. If they do not hold their end of the bargain, should we? How is a country supposed to progress this way? How are we to live our lives if this goes on?"

Vergilius gave a silent chuckle and nodded his head in respect. That man had a point, the very point he had raised to his friend over dinner back in London. He would have to thank Scott for recommending him to travel around Europe for fresh air, the things he got to witness were worth it. But more than a point, that man had nerves of steel. Speaking out against the ruling party in broad daylight and in the centre of the Russian capital's magical district, that took courage, recklessness or sheer stupidity. That man truly was a firebrand, a rare sight among wizards and witches.

From the side, Vergilius could already see two Russian enforcers making their way to the crowd, wands at the ready. Vergilius pushed himself off the wall he was leaning on, making his way to intercept them. He blended into the crowd as though it was second nature, slipping swiftly between people.

A quick glance at the firebrand and Vergilius could see a furrowing of eyebrows and an angry twitch of the lips, he noticed the enforcers as well. Before the firebrand could do anything about it, Vergilius was already behind the two enforcers. Two deft flicks of his wand and the enforcers fell under his Confundus Charm, stumbling away.

Another glance at the firebrand, the bearded man was wearing a bright grin now, giving Vergilius a nod. Vergilius replied the nod and once more leaned against a nearby wall, continuing to listen to the man's speech as the crowd grew larger.

XXXXX

The lion chased the deer to its den.

Harry grimaced as the words Anne had spoken echoed in his head. A court hearing at the young age of fifteen. Well, if or when he had children, he sure would have stories for them. He did not feel safe, not one bit.

He never voiced his concerns to anyone, except for Sirius, he could count on him to not take him as paranoid.

"Sirius."

"Yes, Harry?"

"The hearing... I don't feel safe there."

"Relax, stick to the facts and they'll have to let you off."

"No, it's just that... I think it was the Ministry that sent those Dementors. They wanted to silence me after all."

"That's too far, the Ministry would never go that far, they're too cowardly. We already know the extent of Voldemort's infiltration, it was him."

"But... that still means someone in the Ministry had the capacity to order Dementors after me, be it under Voldemort's orders or the Ministry itself."

Harry remembered Sirius simply pondering over Harry's words. The next day, he passed him an emergency portkey, just like the one Anne had done for him.

"It's going to be alright," Sirius reassured Harry who was currently attacked by a comb in Mrs Weasley's hands. "Shacklebolt is going to be there, I've told him to keep an eye on you."

Harry nodded mutely, accepting the toast that Ron passed him. Stuffing it in mouth before he said something he would regret, he waved goodbye to the residents of Grimmauld Place before following Mr Weasley into the streets of London.

XXXXX

"That was rather kind of you," the tall firebrand approached Vergilius.

The crowd was almost clearing out but Vergilius had stayed put leaning against the wall.

"Small matter," Vergilius nodded, Russian words rolling off his lips fluently. "It would have been a shame to have your speech interrupted."

"Those pests grow more annoying with each passing day," the firebrand grumbled. "Silencing someone only proves they have something worthwhile to hide."

The firebrand delved into further grumbling before shaking it off with a booming laugh.

"Ah... it matters not. Where are my manners?" the firebrand offered Vergilius his hand. "Pyotr."

Vergilius took the hand. "Augustus."

"Come, Augustus, let me buy you a drink," said Pyotr. "I believe it would be refreshing to have a conversation with one such as yourself."

Vergilius allowed himself to be led by his new acquaintance, following the tall figure down the winding roads of Petrograd's magical district. The man seemed interesting enough and Vergilius certainly did not mind having a conversation with this man.

"What did you think of my speech?" Pyotr asked, eyeing Vergilius curiously.

"You raised valid points and delivered them passionately," Vergilius replied concisely.

Pyotr gave a rumbling laugh, shaking his head. "You could use that exact same line for many questions."

"And I have," Vergilius gave a slight grin.

A slight pause before Pyotr finally said. "And that meant I was asking you to elaborate."

"Well, you certainly have an open-minded way of thinking," Vergilius explained. "You see the waning benefits of the aristocracy and the requirements for a nation to progress."

"Anyone who is not part of the aristocracy could see their waning benefits."

"Indeed, but many people seem to forget that those who rule still serve those beneath them."

"True," Pyotr nodded. "Many do indeed forget. And just as many forget the importance of making progress in magic, they all think magic is absolute, that old spells are more than enough. But no! They are wrong, look at our country and how it fares in the ICW. We never progressed and now see how the other countries tear us up."

"It isn't the aristocracy that feels the pain," Vergilius shook his head. "That's why they don't change."

"Exactly!" Pyotr exclaimed. "And- ah, here we are."

Vergilius found himself standing in front of a nondescript red building, sandwiched between two apothecaries. Vergilius could not pick out anything special from it, although he knew the truth to be likely different. Following Pyotr, his breath was squeezed from his lungs as he approached the door.

He anticipated wards, but not of such a calibre. Recovering his lost breath, he followed Pyotr with much greater curiosity than before.

"Brothers!" Pyotr said without preamble as he threw the doors open. "I've found a new friend whose intellect you would all enjoy!"

Vergilius looked over Pyotr's shoulder to see a gathering of men squeezed into a cramped bar. The centre of the room was where Vergilius could assume where the men of importance were. The two men sitting by a large circular table had the aura of control to confirm that assumption. Near the centre sat men in wooden chairs, beside and behind the two, their knees touching from the lack of space. At the corners were people sitting on stools and even standing up on the far-flung tables to get a view of the centre.

"Were you not outside giving a speech?" someone asked.

"I was," Pyotr nodded. "Just as a couple of fools tried to disturb me, this fine man here sent them away with a spell. Confundus?"

Vergilius nodded as the crowd of what he could only assume to be firebrands turned their attention towards him. He gave a sharp nod and surveyed the people in front of him.

Many he did not recognise, some he had seen in the Daily Prophet and various articles that he had read up on.

"Your name?" one of the two on the centre take asked, a thin, balding man with a monocle.

"Augustus."

The man snorted, scrutinizing him before switching to English. "British?"

"Why do you think so?" Vergilius danced to his tune, switching to his native tongue.

"I've worked with enough of you people to know a British when I see one," the man drawled. "Those who come from the land which boasts the birth of Merlin all walk and talk with a certain air of arrogance."

There was a tense silence in the room as everyone watched the verbal exchange, many not understanding a single sentence. Finally, the monocled man gave a firm nod and Pyotr slapped Vergilius on the back, gesturing to one of the seats in the centre table.

"Come on Augustus, take a seat."

Vergilius moved to the proffered seat, shaking hands with those around him. Apparently he was now a guest of honour.

"So..." the monocled man began. "What does a British man think of our aspirations? I'm sure Pyotr here was quite vocal in our views."

"A British?" someone far in the back exclaimed.

Pyotr gave a smirk and leaned back on his seat, crossing his arms. The attention on him increased tenfold. Vergilius could spy someone from the side reaching for his wand. Just what did his new acquaintance drag him into?

Vergilius simply raised an eyebrow, poise was all part of his family, regardless of the fact that he hated them for being a part of the aristocratic problem Wizarding Britain - and much of the European Wizarding World - was facing.

"I will simply tell all of you what I have told Pyotr," said Vergilius, resting his elbows on the table and bringing his fingers together. "Your aspirations are sound and befits the current climate of the Wizarding World."

There were nods all around him and just as many grunts of skepticism.

"Pyotr here mentioned that magic had to be constantly improved," Vergilius gestured towards said man who gave a firm nod. "And that the aristocracy does nothing to aid it. As a person who works in that very field, words cannot describe how much I agree with that sentiment."

Ears perked up all around the room. Vergilius grin internally, if there was ever a bone to toss to these people, that was it.

"You work with magic research?" the monocled man asked, a hint of genuine interest seeping into his voice.

Vergilius gave a nod and he could feel a certain amount of respect growing from the crowd. From the side, Pyotr gave a roaring laugh.

"What did I say? I said he was an intellectual, like us. Did I not?"

"Yes, you did Pyotr," the monocled man sighed, facing Vergilius once more he spoke. "And as an... academic, how can you see this venom that the aristocracy brings?"

"All resources they have are only funneled towards their benefit, no one else's, not to others and not to society," Vergilius said bluntly.

"And then the progress of society grinds to a halt," the monocled man nodded. "You British might not feel it, but here in Russia the consequences are greater than ever."

Grim nods of confirmation were met all around the room.

"And what do you plan to do?" Vergilius asked.

"Change the system."

"How?"

A pause. Vergilius knew he was pushing the line with that question, but he had a gut feeling and he wanted to see what this group of firebrands were made of.

"I would turn that question around, Augustus. How would you change a system so corrupted until it becomes new and unrecognisable?"

Vergilius took his time to come up with an answer, an answer he already knew and in the end only one word left his lips.

"Forcefully."

His answer was met with stunned silence. For a long while, nobody spoke. Vergilius could see the monocled man gazing deep into his eyes and he allowed the man to see a glimmer of himself. Eventually, the monocled man signalled the barkeep who placed two glasses on the table. He pushed one of them towards Vergilius.

The monocled man raised his glass.

"Well spoken."

With that, he drained his glass in one shot. Vergilius took his and mirrored the action.

Out of nowhere, the room came to a round of applause and everyone began calling for drinks. From the side, Pyotr was yelling.

"What did I say? I was right! Men from other countries see our cause! And we have a master of magic here sympathising with us."

Vergilius gave a grin and he received several handshakes, though he could see some distrustful gazes lingering on him. Not that it mattered, he was interested in what this group had to offer.

XXXXX

Harry stayed close to Mr Weasley as they left the courtroom of the Wizengamot. As he exited the place he heaved a sigh of relief, cleared of all charges. He was keen on returning back to Hogwarts and being expelled simply would not do.

At the distance, he watched as a hint of flamboyant purple disappeared around the corner. He supposed that was the last he would see of Dumbledore. The Headmaster had kept himself away from Harry so far this entire summer, he had heard that he attended the Order meetings but not once did Harry catch a glimpse of him.

Even during the hearing, Dumbledore did not even spare a glance at him. Leaving immediately as soon as the hearing was over. Was this what Sirius meant by having words with Dumbledore?

As he walked past the many floors of the Ministry he could see a hive of activity. At the end of the corridor, Harry could see Malfoy and Mcnair talking to each other. Cold anger bubbled in his gut at the injustice of it. Murderers walking free in broad daylight, surely there was something that the Order could do to implicate them.

"Mr Weasley," Harry said softly.

"Yes, Harry?" Mr Weasley said distractedly, having been greeting a fellow colleague.

"Malfoy and Mcnair, they're right there."

"Talking to the Russians too," Mr Weasley narrowed his eyes. "That's not a good sign."

"Why's that?" Harry asked, already having a reason of his own. Anything to do with Russian could have something to do with Anne.

"Last thing we need is a third party acting as a wild card," Mr Weasley explained. "The Russians are very dangerous."

"Really? How so?"

"I forgot. I doubt old Professor Binns ever taught this in his lessons but did you know that the Russians once beat the ICW in a war?"

"What?" Harry's jaw dropped. "They won against the entire Wizarding World?"

"No, just an expeditionary force comprising most of Wizarding Europe. The ICW could have thrown its full weight, but the losses would have been too much. They signed a white peace in the end."

"Wow..." Harry gaped at that fact. "Is that why the St Helensworth Agreement took everyone by surprise."

"You've been reading the news," Mr Weasley smiled approvingly. "That right, Wizarding Russia was and still is on bad terms with the ICW since the war. That's why no one saw this surprise move coming."

"It was Lucius Malfoy who spoke in support of them," said Harry, a pit of dread forming in his stomach. "He wouldn't just speak for them without any reason."

"That's what worries me," Mr Weasley said grimly. "Come on Harry, the faster we get back, the faster I can bring this news to the others."

XXXXX

"So what are your chances?" Vergilius inquired.

"Quite good," Pyotr said proudly. "We have enough support to make a change."

"How much?" Vergilius raised an eyebrow.

He had spoken with this group of firebrands for the entire day and with each passing hour he could see promise in this group. They were not an everyday mob of jealous fools dissatisfied with the boons the upperclass had - well, a good number of them were.

Instead, this was a group headed by intellectuals who understand the importance of progress and the burden that the aristocracy were. And some of their words and ideas were daring, radical and most importantly, inspiring. Some of them view the world the same as he did.

"Look over there," Pyotr pointed a finger to a corner of the room. "See that man over there? That's Colonel Sarnovsky, head of the Fifth Auror Battalion. And I can assure you, his men are loyal."

"Isn't he a noble?"

"If he sees the unjustness of his people and chooses to fight against them, I will respect that."

Vergilius had to smile at that statement.

"And that man over there," Pyotr continued. "Ivan Reka, he is the head for the Russian Squib Union, accounts for eighty percent of the Squibs in Russia."

"Bah! What can Squibs do?" someone muttered quietly from the side, only Vergilius heard that comment.

Vergilius snorted softly, with his knowledge and the experience gained from all his travels so far, from Mediterranean to Baltic, he could think of several purposes for Squibs.

"It's not like there are that many Squibs, are there?" Vergilius asked.

"With our education system," Pyotr shook his head sadly. "There are wizards and witches who are practically considered Squibs."

"Anymore?"

"We have more," Pyotr nodded, giving Vergilius a wry grin. "But that would be telling too much."

Vergilius nodded in understanding.

"Of course," said Pyotr. "We are hoping for the aid of foreigners sympathetic to our cause."

"Me?" Vergilius chuckled.

"Why not?" Pyotr shrugged, but smiling nonetheless. "You see things the way we do, and you are a good fit. You want to know what I see, Augustus?"

"What?"

"I see a world needing to change, and if there was ever an opportunity in this era, just one opportunity. This would be it."

The monocled man cleared his throat loudly, calling for the attention of the room. All noise ceased and everyone gave him their fullest attention.

"Sorry gentlemen," the monocled man bowed gently. "But I'm afraid that our time here is coming to an end. We all have our own matters to attend to. But first, any words from our newcomer? Augustus?"

"Yes, your goals, though inspiring as they are, are not comprehensive enough. What all of you seek to do will not just affect Russia, it will affect the world."

Silence. Everyone sat in silence as they listened to Vergilius with rapt attention. He knew he was taking a gamble, but with the life he had been living, he would welcome the gamble.

"And this window of opportunity you are all creating provides so much more possibilities than righting the wrongs of our society. We can do so much more with this opportunity. All of you speak of progressing our society, progressing magic to compete with other countries. That is true, but with how the Wizarding World stands, we wouldn't be just competing against other countries. When was the last time the Wizarding World saw a Dark Lord? When was the last time wizards clashed with Muggles? They had centuries to develop while we sat down idly. What we have to prepare, is against the whole world. Cause when we make a change, the whole world will seek to turn it back."

Vergilius knew that the Wizarding World had to adapt and change. The Wizarding World had to be able to withstand the Muggles if they were ever exposed. Vergilius was not against the Muggles by any means, he respected them. But he was still worried that the Muggles were progressing faster than the Wizarding World. The wizarding aristocracy throughout Europe had stifled progress of society by focusing on their indulgence and court politics.

Vergilius knew that if push came to shove, the current climate would not hold, be it from Muggle or the next Dark Lord the Wizarding World would be shaken to the core. A bastion of wizarding progress had to be established. For that to happen, there had to be change.

And change was about to happen in front of his very eyes. Russia would be largely ignored, by the Muggles because of their war and by the Wizarding World because despite its vast size, Wizarding Russia was never really at the centre of attention. And if there was one thing Vergilius could rely on, was that the current wizarding aristocracy was slow to react.

The room took his words with shock, everyone took their time to stew. Several minutes passed before people began breaking into hushed tones, even Pyotr - with all his booming laughter - looked ruffled by his words.

The monocled man clasped his hands together. "You speak of much greater things, conflict with Muggles and the rise of another Dark Lord? Are you quite sure?"

Vergilius nodded.

"You have proved yourself an intelligent man. You have my ears. What are you proposing?"

If he could shape this change, immerse himself in it, he could change the course of wizarding history.