Chapter VI

The inn was rather nice, though to be truthful, Daphne had little to compare it to. Her experience with muggle lodgings had been greatly expanded since starting this journey but her familiarity was still lacking. At least she no longer needed 'Nox' to turn off the lights - 'Progress!' she thought with a wry grin.

Dumbledore had been gone for several days already, no doubt tracking down the last of the Sibittu and preparing to confront it, leaving her alone with an unconscious Harry. The boredom was grating; the muggle picture box in their room had offered some mild interest, but much of its content was too culturally foreign for her to really enjoy, even if she were able to speak the local language. She couldn't even practice her magic, for fear of drawing attention.

Astoria had provided news about the things happening in Magical Britain, along with a few suspicions she held about things that Sirius, Tonks, and Neville were up to. She dreaded the idea of telling Harry about the demise of the last of the Bones family, given his own attachments to that name. Hopefully, he wouldn't immediately storm back to Britain on the warpath when he found out everything that happened over the summer.

Of course, that wasn't the thing Daphne was dreading the most at the moment. While the healer that Dumbledore had hired had repaired the damage from his magical exhaustion, Harry still needed bandages changed and general washing. She'd never wished for a wand more than she did at this moment, soaking a washcloth in a bowl of soapy water.

'There's no point in delaying any longer' she told herself. Besides, he was starting to smell. Daphne divested him of the cheap brown robes that the healer had provided, his own being a total loss after the battle. She neatly folded the robes and set them on the nightstand next to the bed, her face heating up in a fierce blush as she turned to regard his nude form.

Just as quickly as it appeared, though, her reddened cheeks drained of color and she numbly sat down on the bed, her eyes locked on his abdomen, where a thick scar ran almost six inches, from below his navel up towards the base of his ribs. What drew her attention though, were the dark brown lines that spider-webbed away from that scar, curse marks from Erra's dagger disfiguring his pale skin.

Daphne traced each line with her fingertips, tracing the pattern over his body with a light touch. 'It's just like my own scars' she mused, her prior embarrassment vanished in the face of her idle curiosity. For the first time since… since that night, she didn't feel that self-conscious about her own body. Harry had never commented on his injury, never told her-

'But why would he?' It's not as though they'd had any reason to discuss what they each looked like under their robes-

Now her flush was back. It wasn't that she'd thought those sorts of things about him, not for a long while. There wasn't any reason to feel embarrassed. It was just surprising, that's all. She hadn't expected to see those marks on him.

But her fingers kept running over his curse lines, as though acting of their own volition. It was-, it felt really… nice. Similar to how it felt when they joined their magic, but at a much more diminished level. For a few moments longer, she contented herself just touching Harry. Finally, she removed her hand and reached for the washcloth.

"Daphne?"

"Oh!" Gods, please don't let him have been awake for that! "The healer said you wouldn't wake up for a few more days. How do you feel?"

"Okay," Harry made no move to sit up, squinting in her direction. "Weak, I guess."

"That makes sense. Do you- wait," Daphne leaned in close to his face, so close that a strand of her loose hair moved towards him as he sharply inhaled. "Look at me."

"Uh, what are you-"

Ignoring how uncomfortable he looked, she stared deeply at him. "Your eyes - they're different."

"What? Different how?"

She took in the flecks of gold sprinkled in his brilliant emerald eyes. "The color is a little different."

"Well, I'll conjure some temporary glasses once I'm feeling better and take a look then."

Daphne decided to let that go for the moment; after all, it was rather inconsequential compared to everything they'd gone through. "How much do you remember? About what happened in Mikebuda?"

He didn't respond and were it not for his open eyes, she might have thought that he'd drifted off once more. The silence stretched, Daphne sitting on the edge of the bed holding a dripping rag, and Harry lying there staring at the ceiling.

"I remember." Just two words, but so laden with emotion their weight settled over the both of them like a thick blanket.

"You know that wasn't- you weren't in control. It was the Berserker's Frenzy."

"I know."

"So you shouldn't blame yourself. It was, it was something that happened." Her excuses felt flat, even to her own ears.

"Where are we?"

Daphne accepted the topic change, placing the washcloth back into the water. "Outside of Bratislava, just over the border from Hungary."

"Dumbledore?"

"He left in pursuit of the Rot of Decay. He's been gone for three days."

Harry frowned but gave a short nod nonetheless. He lifted one hand, the digits trembling with effort, and touched where her own fingers had been just moments before. "Am I-, uh, where are my clothes?"

"I couldn't handle your stench any longer, so I was going to clean you. Now that you're awake, though, I think you can manage that yourself." 'And thank Merlin for that!'

"There are spells for that, you know."

"Of course I know that! But I can't manage the proper charms."

"Neither can I," he agreed, the barest hint of amusement in his voice. "Can you help me to the bath?"

"Err… right. Here, hold on," she instructed, looping one of his arms over her shoulder, ignoring that same sensation from before as his arm brushed against the back of her neck. She staggered under his weight, taking several quick steps before steadying him against her. "Gah! You're heavier than you look."

"Can we get going? I'm kind of naked here," he mumbled, his eyes on the floor as she walked him into the bathroom.

Daphne helped him into the bath and started the water, ignoring his yelp of protest while the water took a moment to heat up. She went back to retrieve the washcloth, bringing it to him before taking a seat on the edge of the tub, keeping her eyes locked on the opposite wall.

"What- you're just going to stay there?"

"Grow up, Harry. I did undress you and bring you in here, didn't I?"

"Still… a bloke needs some privacy."

She couldn't hold back a short laugh, the absurdity of their conversation, and this situation in general too much for her to contain. "In a minute. There's some things we need to talk about."

"It can't wait?"

"I guess it could but I'm going to tell you now anyway," she said, taking a deep breath. "The ICW overthrew the Ministry the day after we left. Fudge was killed, and American aurors have occupied Britain ever since."

The gentle sound of the washcloth through the water halted. "What?"

"They said that it was because of the inability of our Ministry to contain all of the high-profile breaches to the Statute of Secrecy."

"But you think otherwise?"

"Dumbledore says they're after you, specifically. They searched Grimmauld Place the day after they took over. Longbottom Manor was also on their list." She chanced a look at Harry, seeing him sitting stock still in the bath, washcloth held limply in one hand.

"Is everyone okay? Sirius, Neville, the girls?"

"They're fine, but-, well, there was another attack last month. Madam Bones was killed."

She let Harry digest that news, returning her gaze to the faded paint on the walls. When he did respond, it was with the question she'd been expecting from the start. "How did you find out?"

"Sirius gave Tori and I a pair of enchanted mirrors. We can communicate with each other using them. She told me the day that it happened."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Dumbledore asked me-, he wanted you to stay focused. He thought that if we were able to defeat the Sibittu, you could approach the ICW to seek a reprieve."

She hadn't intended to sound so defeated but Harry had no problem reading between the lines. "But that's not an option any longer?"

"He doesn't think so, no."

"And… and they killed Madam Bones looking for me? Why? Why her?"

"Isn't it obvious? They know how close you were with Susan before-, before…" she wasn't sure how to finish that thought. "There's more. Luna's disappeared."

"What?! How could you not tell me that?"

"I only learned about that a few days ago. Tori said she'd been having a hard time, but no one expected her to vanish like that."

"We have to go back!"

"I know, and I'm sure we will. But we have to wait for Dumbledore, he'll have a plan." 'I hope' "I'm sorry. I wanted to tell you, but… It sounds so stupid, now, but I thought Dumbledore was right."

"It's fine."

It wasn't, that much was obvious from his tone. "If I had known things would happen this way, I never would have-" she halted, deciding the excuses weren't worth it. "It won't happen again."

"I know. Is there anything else?"

She stood up. "No, that's everything. Call for me when you're ready to come out."


Alfred Abbott stepped out of J. Pippin's Potions in Hogsmeade, deciding to walk to the Floo at the Hogs Head rather than apparate home immediately. His meeting had gone well; with all of the upheaval, as well as the ICW occupation, Pippin had been in need of a new supplier for potion ingredients. And with the preferred status that Abbott Estates had been provided, there was no one that could match his wholesale prices.

The streets of Hogsmeade were quiet for mid-day, similar to how he'd seen Diagon Alley. Everyone hurried to where they were going, conversations were hushed, and suspicion was present on most faces that turned his way. Magical Britain was creaking under the pressure of the last year.

Stepping into the Hogs Head, he smiled and nodded at Hagrid, who returned his greeting with a wave. He made idle chit chat with Aberforth for a few minutes, but it was too early for a drink and soon enough he was departing into the fireplace to head home, ready to get out of these uncomfortable robes and have a cup of tea.

Unfortunately, his parents were entertaining guests when he got home, one of whom was examining the paintings in their parlor.

"Morag?"

"Hi, Al. How's things?"

"Fine. I hadn't realized your family was going to stop by today."

"We only just arrived. I think your mother arranged it." That made sense. Delilah had been disconsolate since Amelia's death and Susan's disappearance.

"They're in the dining room?"

"No, the sitting room." Morag had been a guest often enough to be quite familiar with Abbott Estates. "I'm glad you're home, maybe I'll have someone to talk to now."

Both families greeted him as the two sat down and pleasantries were exchanged all around. Alfred relayed the result of his meeting with Pippin, and the Minister looked pleased to hear that their business was benefiting from his patronage. It was a bit of a role reversal after years of the MacDougal's depending on the Abbotts.

There was a bit more idle chit-chat, questions about which NEWTs Morag would be pursuing, how Mrs. MacDougal was adjusting to being the Minister's wife, whether the mild summer was a sign of a harsh winter. Through it all, his mother was growing more and more anxious, her nervous energy clearly written across her features.

"Edward, ask him."

"Delilah-"

"Do it, Edward!"

His father sighed, and the Minister looked on in confusion. "What is it?"

"My family and I have some concerns over the tone of the occupation as of late."

"It's not an occupation, the Americans are only here to assist in stabilizing Britain after the Ministry's losses."

"Randolph." The look on Edward's face clearly displayed his feelings at being fed 'the company line'. "The Bones and Abbotts have been allied for centuries. Delilah's grandmother was a Bones."

"Yes, I'm well aware of that-"

"And what's more," Alfred's father continued, "Amelia was a dear friend to our family. It is hard to accept her being cut down in her own home with no cause. We'd like to know more about what happened."

MacDougal had clearly been expecting something along these lines, as his expression was carefully schooled. "The aurors were sent to conduct a routine search based on suspicion that Madam Bones may be harboring a fugitive in her home. Unfortunately, it would appear that things somehow escalated into violence."

"'Somehow'?" Alfred murmured, just loud enough to be heard. "You mean that you don't know the circumstances?"

Randolph gave his wife and daughter a glance, as though internally weighing how much to say. "What I'm about to tell you cannot leave this room. Do you all understand?" There were nods from the Abbotts. "Every auror that the Americans sent to search the Bones residence was killed. Twenty-five of them, in total. Whoever was responsible for defeating them also took her body to Knockturn Alley, where it was discovered."

There were gasps of shock. "Merlin! Twenty-five aurors?"

"The ICW is being rather tight-lipped about it, for fear that it will create more unrest."

"Was there anyone else at the manor?"

"No one alive, no."

His mother stifled a cry, and Alfred exchanged a glance with his father. "Among the dead, did you- was there anyone else discovered?"

Randolph cast a speculative look at their family. "I'm not sure who you're referring to."

Delilah, now openly crying, turned her imploring gaze on the Minister. "Is Susan dead? Did those Merlin-forsaken Americans kill her? I have to know!"

His father put an arm around her, shushing her and leading her out of the room, while Alfred ran a hand over his eyes. 'Great'

"Susan Bones is alive? Why was she reported dead at the Battle of Azkaban?"

Unsure how to reply to that, Alfred hoped his father would return soon. "Madam Bones hid her niece's survival out of concern over her involvement with-, uh…"

"With Potter, you mean," Morag's voice was dripping with fury, prompting confused looks from around the table.

"Yes. She would have been present at the time of the Americans' attack-"

"It wasn't an attack, just a search."

"Of course," 'You weak fool' "Madam Bones had approached my parents last month and confided the secret of Susan's survival to us."

"As you might imagine, my wife is most concerned with what could have happened to her," Edward said, returning to the sitting room "As am I."

MacDougal shook his head. "Why didn't you tell me? I thought we had agreed that you would cooperate-"

"This was Family business, Randolph. Besides, Susan has nothing to do with the Ministry or your search for Potter."

"How can you say that, after what happened? Potter must have been there-"

"Morag, be quiet." The Minister's stern voice and accompanying glare silenced his daughter, and he turned back to Edward. "You've put me in a very difficult position."

"Should we expect aurors at our gates, then?"

Randolph frowned at Alfred's question. "I understand that Madam Bones was a close ally of yours, but no one anticipated violence."

"I can't help but notice you didn't answer my son's question."

"How long have we known each other? Do you really believe I would turn on you in that way? After everything I've done to protect you since I took office?" The Minister eyed the skeptical expressions on the male Abbott's faces. "I see no reason why this information needs to leave this room. I told you I'd protect you, Edward, and I will."

"But Susan-"

"She wasn't present at the Bones family home, alive or otherwise. Whatever happened to her, she disappeared following the battle."

"Thank Merlin."

"You understand, if I'm to keep your involvement a secret, I cannot request that an investigation be conducted for her."

"Yes, I know," Edward replied. "We will mount a search of our own. I'm sorry for doubting you, old friend."

Farewells were exchanged, and the MacDougals departed. Once they'd returned to their own home, though, Morag could hold her tongue no longer.

"You're just going to cover for them? Why?!"

"Our family owes the Abbotts a great deal. We'd still be herding hippogriffs if it weren't for their patronage."

"So all of that business about a new Ministry, a new start for Magical Britain was just hot air, then?" Morag spat. "You're going to block the ICW from pursuing Potter just because it might reflect badly on your friends?"

"Morag!" Her mother gasped.

"What? If Susan's alive, it's practically a guarantee that she knows where Potter is, assuming she isn't with him herself!"

"What exactly is your interest in the search for Harry Potter? I think you're more motivated to see him caught than the Confederation is!"

"He's a killer, Dad! He has to pay for what he's done!"

"His methods were inexcusable, certainly, and I happen to agree with the ICW that Potter is too free with his use of grand magics, but it was a war. You-Know-Who and his followers weren't taking prisoners, either. I'd have thought you'd realized that when so many of your classmates were killed."

"Potter killed my classmates, too! You have to report Susan to the ICW!"

"Excuse me? I don't take orders from you, young lady. Go to your room, and when you come out, I expect you to respect my decisions. Are we clear?"

"Of course, Minister," she snarled, storming away and slamming the door to her room with all her strength.

How could her father be so- so corrupt? It was obvious that Potter was with his little Hufflepuff toy. The very idea that he - who had killed Draco without a second thought - could get away because her father didn't want the Abbott's complicity to come to light was infuriating! She couldn't let this stand. Potter had stolen her future with Draco from her; she'd just have to make sure that she returned the favor.

Grabbing an empty roll of parchment, she inked a quill and began to write. 'I wonder what Mr. Senio would think of Susan being present at the site of twenty-five of his auror's death?'


Dumbledore let out a deep breath, resting his back against a tree. He'd spent the better part of several days tracing alchemical symbols into this grove. It was a good thing that the Rot was so much slower than the others; it would have been a nightmare trying to accomplish this in a hurry.

The method he was employing was one that Nicholas had first suggested. The ICW had relayed to the revitalized alchemist reports of each of the Sibittu, and when he'd summoned Dumbledore for a meeting, it had been to propose this strategy of countering the Rot.

This demon deployed an aura of advanced decomposition around it, essentially 'aging' everything to death. Buildings would weather and crumble, living matter would wither and decay. It was immaterial, so no curses or transfiguration were effective against it. While the Confederation did not share the apathy of some of its member-states and had actively engaged in battling the Sibittu, nothing they had tried worked against it.

Nicholas and Dumbledore had worked out a solution. The idea was that by utilizing the life force of this small forest, he would be able to produce a 'circle of regeneration' using alchemical energy, one that would hopefully counter the Rot's aura and banish it using forces that were counter to its very nature.

He'd brewed the necessary potions to draw the symbols with, and had painstakingly drawn the alchemical symbols into the trunk of every tree in concentric circles. It had been decades since he'd utilized alchemy on this scale, and Dumbledore found himself walking through the woods, checking and rechecking his drawing to make certain that there were no errors. He was ready, as much as possible for what amounted to a hunch.

It wouldn't be long now. He'd done all he could, and he carefully stepped outside the outermost circle, watching closely for the arrival of the Sibittu. As birds fell from the sky, small animals dropped from trees, their bodies shriveling and wasting away, the symbols drawn on the trunks of each tree began to light up as the Rot's aura decomposed them.

There was little fanfare, none of the dazzle or grandeur that one would expect from battling a demon thousands of years old. The more that the Rot of Decay decimated the grove, the more alchemical energy built up around it, until with a simple flash of light, every tree in the forest vanished. All that remained was a straight line of brown, rotted underbrush and the remains of animals from the Sibittu's path of arrival.

'If only every victory had been so painless' Indeed, compared to every other encounter with the Seven, this was the only one that hadn't ended in tragedy. Their enemy had been defeated, their mission accomplished. He should inform Nicholas.

Calling Fawkes to his side, Dumbledore cast one final look around what was now a clearing. The legacy of Erra had now been cleansed from the world. Now, all that was left was to find some way of salvaging Harry's. Fishing out the portkey Nicholas had provided from within his robes, Dumbledore disappeared.


Nicholas Flamel looked up, hearing his wards chime an announcement of an incoming portkey. The list of potential visitors was very limited, so he continued his reading, and soon enough Albus popped his head into the study.

"Al, come in, come in. Seeing as how you're in one piece, I presume that our strategy was successful?"

"Indeed it was. The Sibittu are no more."

Flamel closed his book. "Excellent! That is a great relief."

Dumbledore nodded, taking a seat across from his mentor. "Yes, I'm sure the Confederation will be relieved. Have you considered what we discussed earlier this summer?"

"I have. Oh, don't look at me like that; it didn't work when you were my student, and it certainly doesn't work now that you're nearly as ancient as I am," Dumbledore chuckled in reply, and Flamel went on. "I will meet with him to hear his side of the story as you ask."

"Excellent! Harry is currently recuperating, but I can return in one week-"

"That won't work. I have some business to take care of. It will be a… considerable delay."

"How considerable?"

"Six weeks."

Dumbledore's eyebrows went up. "Six weeks? What are we supposed to do in the meantime? You're aware, of course, that Harry is under threat from the ICW. Spending more than a month on the run is asking a great deal."

Flamel waved his hand as though that were inconsequential. "You'd be under the same threat regardless. I told you I would meet with him, that is when the meeting will be."

"Very well."

"Here - take this portkey. In six weeks, it will activate at noon. Be sure that Potter is with you."

"Thank you, Nicholas. You won't regret meeting with him."

"That remains to be seen."


Hermione stood among the other muggleborns and their families, holding onto her parents with each hand, seeing her own fear and nervousness reflected on their faces. Aurors had come to their homes early in the morning, rounding up all of the refugees, magically gathering their belongings and transporting them to a field in Calais, the English Channel visible from where they stood.

"Your attention, please!" A slight woman wearing the white uniform of the French magical gendarme spoke with a sonorous charm in place. "You will be provided portkeys to the British Ministry of Magic in groups of up to a dozen. We have coordinated with your provisional government to arrange an orderly placement into temporary housing in the muggle world."

There were murmurs of relief, of confusion, or concern following the announcement. Hermione agreed with all of it but the relief; after everything that happened, she was positive that she and the other refugees were nothing more than a political tool that the French Ministry would employ to achieve their goals. What goal was being served with this move, though?

She waited with her parents as the line slowly moved forward, finally taking hold of a long section of rope with two other families and feeling a jerk behind her navel as the portkey activated.

All of the muggles in their party looked ill upon landing, and one woman actually threw up. Hermione quickly cast a cleaning charm, then looked around. They were in a large room, and a number of wizards and witches in blue and white robes were leading the refugees away.

"Where is this?"

"Portkey arrival zone in the Department of International Magical Cooperation. This way, please." They followed the young man, who looked like he was barely out of school into a corridor where a Floo passage was open, the green flames steady and unchanging.

"Through here is a shelter for returning families. Those of you that are of age will be offered aptitude tests for placement within the provisional government; school-age children will be provided a stipend to purchase school supplies for the coming year at Hogwarts."

"What about our families? How are they supposed to integrate?"

"What do we look like, some sort of Nomaj employment service? They'll have to make do, be grateful that they're even allowed to stay on magical land."

Hermione reeled from the intensity of his scorn, recognizing for the first time the American accents of all of the wizards present to greet their arrivals. The jarring experience continued, as the Floo took them to a large tenement constructed on a lovely and well-manicured set of grounds. She and the other families were told to wait in a large reception hall for the reset of the refugees to arrive.

Once everyone was present, a wizard from the French Ministry assured everyone that they still retained their dual-citizenship, and that there would be a detachment of aurors provided by France to guarantee their safety and to hold back any anti-muggleborn sentiment that might rise with their return.

Next, an American walked to the front of the room, speaking loudly and slowly, the one would speak when trying to instruct a small child or an intelligent pet, about the Statute of Secrecy and the importance of hiding magic from the 'Nomaj'. It was less of a refresher course and more of a blatant threat, as most of his speech focused on the penalties in place for anyone who exposed the existence of magic.

None of the muggleborn, not even Hermione, spoke up. It had been an exhausting - indeed, even traumatic - day, one where their entire lives had been uprooted. They found themselves thrust into an unknown situation, pawns in some unknown game where not even the players controlling the board seemed to agree on the rules. At least, that was her impression based on the conflicting attitudes of the French and Americans in charge of their relocation.

Still, she was finally back in Britain. Once she and her parents arrived in the small flat they'd be living in, she unlatched Hedwig's cage, looking into the owl's amber eyes. "Hey girl, feel like taking a letter to some old friends?"

A/N: Another chapter down. This one was short, but honestly I didn't want to dive into something huge and really delay putting it out. I don't have much to say here - been a rough start to 2021, but I'm confident we'll all be enjoying better times in the future!

As always, thank you all so much for reading/reviews!

Stay safe, healthy, and happy! ~Frickles