Chapter 58 – Taking Chances
The Friday after the Battle at the Ministry, as it was now being called, the leaders of Wizarding Britain gathered in the largest conference room in the Ministry building to discuss the situation. In the days after the initial outbreak of violence, the Auror office had worked feverishly to not only protect the population as much as possible, but they had also spent hours investigating the assault on the Ministry building. The strategy session planned for that day would hopefully reveal the manner in which the Death Eaters had managed to gain such easy access to the building, and perhaps more importantly, why Voldemort's forces had been able to continue with the attacks, which were increasing in ferocity and frequency, if anything.
When Albus arrived, most of the leaders had already gathered; in addition to the Minister and the newly-appointed Senior Undersecretary, the heads of the DMLE and the Auror Department, as well as several senior members of the Wizengamot were all there. Jean-Sebastian was also present, representing the French, who it was hoped, would become allies in this battle against the Death Eater forces. Though Albus would have perhaps expected that more of the department heads might have been invited, in addition to opening it up to more Wizengamot members, he understood the need to keep the information to a small group. The fact of the matter was that there was still a rogue department head out there, and until they were able to separate the traitors from loyalists, it was prudent to keep their strategy sessions secret and closed, even to the more senior members of the Ministry.
"Albus," Amelia greeted him as he walked through the door and took his seat. She nodded to Shacklebolt, who Albus assumed would be running the briefing. It appeared that Albus had been the last to arrive.
Shacklebolt stood. "As you all know, the Death Eaters launched a major campaign against Wizarding Britain on Monday, with attacks against multiple targets, most significantly, of course, against the Ministry building itself. Since that time, there have been many more attacks—sometimes as many as ten to twenty per day. Here is the list of the major incidents."
Indicating a stack of parchments which sat in front of each chair around the table, Kingsley instructed each person in the room to open them. "Most of the casualties have been Muggleborns and their families, though they have been lighter per attack than they were in the first war. It appears that the populace is taking a little more responsibility for their safety this time around. The Portkey Office his been inundated with requests for portkeys and the new legislation permitting citizens to create portkeys for the purpose of their own escape have also been helpful. More often than not, those assailed by Death Eaters retreat at the first sign of trouble."
Lady Longbottom was peering intently at her parchment. "There have been several more attacks within the Ministry building itself," she noted.
"There have," Kingsley confirmed. "After Morgan was killed, Wizengamot members Joshua Franklin and Catherine Harrison were attacked and killed. In all cases, they were hit in out-of-the-way areas, and it appeared like whoever killed them was either known to them, or attacked them from behind, possibly with the use of an invisibility cloak, or the disillusionment spell, as there was no struggle. And after that, Icarus Kershaw was attacked by an unknown assailant, but managed to escape.
"The attacks are obviously an attempt to intimidate the Wizengamot members into at least abstaining in the important matters before the Wizengamot, though I don't know that they have had the effect yet that the Dark Lord intended."
"Eventually they will," Albus said quietly. "The level of panic still has not reached the heights of the first war, for all that the intensity of the attacks has risen."
Kingsley nodded. "At the very least, many of the attacks have been foiled by the possession of emergency portkeys. Of course when that happens, the family in question loses everything, as the Death Eaters invariably fire the house after they find it empty."
"The Ministry will provide assistance to those who become destitute," the Minister replied. "But if this continues, our resources will be severely taxed. I don't need to tell you all that we need a quick resolution to this conflict before Voldemort bankrupts us."
The Minister turned again to Shacklebolt. "What about the patrols in Diagon Alley, Hogsmeade and other high risk targets?"
"Thus far there has been little indication of Death Eater activity," Shacklebolt said. "But we would all be foolish if we thought that they were not planning something. The Death Eaters hit Diagon Alley more than two dozen times during the years of the first war. There might not be an attack until the end of summer, however—it is most vulnerable just before Hogwarts when the students are shopping for supplies."
"Speaking of Hogwarts," Amelia said, turning to Albus, "don't you have a Hogsmeade weekend approaching?"
"Tomorrow," Albus confirmed.
"And will it go ahead?" Arthur Weasley asked with a frown. With four children currently attending Hogwarts and of age to go to the village, Arthur was obviously concerned about the safety of his children.
"Is there any indication that Voldemort is planning to strike at the town?" Albus asked, looking at Shacklebolt.
"Nothing concrete," the Director replied. "There has been limited activity in all the major magical areas, but nothing specific to Hogsmeade."
Nodding, Albus turned back to the Minister. "It may be prudent to cancel it, but I have made no decisions yet. As you are all aware, Hogsmeade weekends were routinely cancelled during the first war. Protecting the children in Hogsmeade is uncertain at best."
Arthur nodded somewhat distractedly—he had been a student for part of that time and surely remembered the incidents as well as Albus did himself.
"Cancelling Hogsmeade weekend may very well be prudent," Tiberius Ogden spoke up for the first time, "though I do not doubt the students will be disappointed. I do have a question, though: do we have any indication of how long the Death Eaters will be able to sustain their current rate of activity?"
"Yes, what are our estimates of their strength?" Madam Longbottom spoke up. "Surely it cannot be long—their activities have already far outstripped their capabilities from the last war."
At this, Kingsley's expression became grim, signaling to Albus that something more was at work here, which the man had yet to disclose to those assembled.
"A very good point," Kingsley said, nodding to the two Wizengamot members. "This moves us into perhaps the most important subject for today's meeting.
"We have finished our interrogations of those Death Eaters who were captured during the Ministry battle, and a few who were taken on some of the other raids." Kingsley paused and glanced out over the conference room, his expression as serious as Albus had ever seen. "It appears that Voldemort has been recruiting foreign wizards heavily."
A stunned silence met this declaration, before everyone began speaking—or shouting questions really—at once. This development was certainly unexpected, though now that Albus thought of it, he supposed that he should not be overly surprised. True, Voldemort had limited his recruiting efforts to a certain subset of Pureblood supporters—augmented by a few others, such as Severus, who came to his attention via other means—during the first war. But Voldemort had always been about himself and his prejudices were more about appeasing his followers and assuaging his own vanity than any true belief.
Of course he did despise the Muggle world, mostly due to the fact that his father had been a Muggle and had abandoned him and his mother before his birth. But above all, he was a pragmatic man, who was not above using any tool necessary to bring about his victory. Wizards from other lands might be Pureblood to prevent offending his British followers' sensibilities, but if they were discreet, they would not even need to meet blood requirements. There was not much interaction on a day-to-day basis with wizards from other countries, Wizarding society being rather insular, which meant that the fanatics in his forces would likely not even know if someone from another land met their preferred level of acceptability as long as they did not broadcast what their true level of blood purity was.
"Where has he recruited from?" Albus asked loudly, making himself heard over the din. His words had the intended impact, as the noise died down in anticipation of Kingsley's reply.
"Among those captured," Kingsley said, looking at a parchment he took from the table in front of him, "there are a German, an Italian, an Austrian, a Brazilian, two Russians, and an American. We cannot be certain, but given the wide disbursement of those areas, it seems obvious that Voldemort has recruited heavily in not only those countries, but likely many others as well."
"All in the space of less than a year?" Madam Longbottom demanded.
This time, Robards took up the explanation. "It would seem to defy logic, and in this instance, you are correct, Madam. It seem like this effort has been going on much longer than the past year.
"Although the true extent is not known by any of those who were captured, it appears like Death Eater agents have been active in many countries, probably even prior to the Dark Lord's first defeat. The names Malfoy, Macnair, and Nott were well known to each of the prisoners, and Dolohov and the Lestranges also came up, though they haven't been active again until this previous February due, of course, to their incarceration in Azkaban."
"So these networks have been operating in the Dark Lord's absence all these years?" Amelia demanded, aghast.
"So it appears."
Shock colored Amelia's face. "How did we remain ignorant of this?"
"We weren't looking for it," Shacklebolt said simply. "Voldemort has always focused his efforts on maintaining a standard in his followers, namely that they were British and Pureblood. The thought of his looking for followers outside the country never really occurred to us."
"It should have," Albus interjected. "He successfully recruited Dolohov, who is Russian, and Karkaroff, who is Bulgarian."
"But they both lived in Britain for some time before they became Death Eaters," Arthur noted.
"And they were likely the ones who were instrumental in setting up his networks in those countries," Kingsley replied. "None of those foreign wizards we captured have been a part of the Dark Lord's forces since his first defeat, so the information is still somewhat incomplete. However, given what we have discovered, my guess would be that Voldemort began recruiting in most of these countries in the late stages of the first war. It may be that he hoped a sudden influx to his forces would topple the government.
"However, when the Dark Lord fell for the first time, it appears that these organizations went to ground, much as the Death Eaters in Britain did the same. They severed all communications with those Death Eaters here, but they continued to recruit on their own. It appears that Voldemort told his followers that he would return, even if he disappeared, and that they should wait for instructions, even if it should take decades. It seems that he was believed."
"And then when he returned the contacts were renewed?" Albus guessed.
"Yes. And then within a few months of his return, they began arriving, though in ones and twos in order to avoid attracting our attention.
"In addition to this," Kingsley continued, "we have credible information which suggests that many of Voldemort's assault teams have been created on ethnic lines so that they may better work together. For example, one Muggleborn family which recently escaped a Death Eater attack reported that their assailants had been speaking in French. Another reported some eastern European language and that, when they spoke in their own language, that they all appeared to understand one another. The same was reported by several people during the Ministry assault."
Amelia gazed at Shacklebolt with some displeasure, though Albus was certain that her anger was due in equal part to the fact that she herself had been director of the DMLE during those years when Voldemort had been disembodied. Likely she was seriously castigating herself for not discovering this earlier.
"What are we dealing with?"
Shaking his head, Shacklebolt replied, "At this point, it is difficult to be certain."
"Estimate."
"Several hundred at the very least. We know for a fact that at least two hundred wands participated on Monday, and we would be foolish to assume that they comprised the entirety of his forces, and that more were not on their way here. Given that fact, I would estimate that he has at least three to four hundred wands under his command, and that it is possible that more are arriving from other lands as we speak."
The room descended into silence while this new information was digested. It was not an insignificant force.
"Now, since there are more than one hundred thousand citizens in magical Britain, a force of only three hundred may seem paltry," Shacklebolt continued after a momentary pause. "But remember that Voldemort almost brought us to our knees with a force of approximately seventy during the first war. He has now more than quadrupled his strength."
"And remember Grindelwald," Albus interjected. "He was surrounded by a small cadre of loyal supporters, which he built into an army which threatened the very world. Though Voldemort may have more difficulty in doing the same given the fact that he deals with a prosperous country, rather than Germany of the thirties, if he is able to topple us, then he may be able to achieve the domination of British society as a whole through secrecy and stealth. In many respects, his methods may arguably be more dangerous than Grindelwald's."
"The other thing to consider," Robards said, "is that if the Dark Lord has as many as four hundred men under his command, then he outnumbers our entire force of Aurors and Hit Wizards."
That was a sobering observation, and Albus had never thought of the matter in those terms. It appeared that no one else had either, if the consternation around the room was any indication. He would need to speak with Severus and see if the man could get any more accurate indication as to the numbers of Voldemort's followers.
"And that does not even take into account his other forces," Kingsley added. "We know he has recruited among the remaining giants, the werewolves under Fenrir Greyback, vampires, and perhaps the worst of all, the Dementors of Azkaban. Just because none of these forces has of yet made any appearance does not mean that he does not have them at his disposal."
"I will contact my counterparts in other countries," the Minister said. "They should have some indication of what is happening in their own borders. Perhaps we can get some idea of how many, and even curtail their operations."
She turned to Shacklebolt. "Voldemort's inner circle has now mostly been executed. Will this have an impact on his operations in other countries?"
Kingsley pursed his lips. "Unknown at this time. If the network was extensive, then they will probably only be hampered by the loss of their regular contacts. I suspect that to be the case, given the fact that they operated autonomously for more than a decade."
"Very well. I believe that the necessity of ending this war as soon as possible has just become all that much more critical." Amelia looked around the room intently. "I will be looking for all of your input on how we might accomplish this."
"Madam Minister," Jean-Sebastian spoke up from where he had been quietly observing the proceedings. "If I may?"
"Please," Madam Bones replied with a nod.
"I believe it may be time to discuss a possible alliance between Britain and France. I am prepared to return and discuss the matter with my Minister."
"Yes, Ambassador," Amelia responded, "I had not forgotten your offer. What do you propose?"
"It will be up to the Minister to determine the specifics. But I've always been of the opinion that the problem of your Dark Lord is not one limited to Britain. It seems like the revelations of the day bear that out.
"The potential for this alliance is one of the reasons why I became involved with Mr. Potter last year. Stopping the Dark Lord now before he completely dominates your society will involve much less loss of life than after, and it will be much easier to do if our Aurors fight alongside yours."
"What will be required?" Madam Bones asked. Albus knew that she had never been opposed to this course of action, though for a time she had thought to handle it without involving other countries. The things they had learned that morning appeared to have done away with whatever objections she had espoused.
"I will need to speak with the Minister, and then he will need to bring it before our National Magic Assembly, as the Minister will not be able to complete this alliance without their approval. Once that approval is obtained, then I may act as a liaison between our two countries so that we can use our combined forces to their best advantage."
Amelia nodded. "Please do so. French assistance would be very welcome."
"If I may, Jean-Sebastian," Albus interjected, "I believe you should keep these discussions as secret as possible. The presence of a French force suddenly appearing in battle would be far more effective than if this alliance were reported in every newspaper in magical Europe."
"Agreed," Jean-Sebastian said with a nod. "We shall have to call a closed session and swear all attendees to secrecy, but I believe that it may be done."
"Then we had best get to it," Amelia responded, while rising to her feet. Events had been set in motion and Albus suspected that the boulder which was even now gaining momentum would not be stopped until it reached the end of the slope. Given the way the Death Eaters were even now attacking them, Albus could not imagine this ending in anything less than either complete victory, or total defeat.
Tired and irritable, Amelia made her way from the conference room, wondering what else Voldemort would see fit to throw at them. Truly, she could not imagine how Minister Bagnold had dealt with the Ministry in a state of war; after only a week of the experience, Amelia was exhausted. The thought of this continuing on for weeks, months, or even years, filled her with dread. She wondered how she would ever withstand it.
She was aware that part of her trouble was the fact that she had held, until recently, the position of Director of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and, as such, she still took a healthy level of interest in what they were doing to curb the Death Eater onslaught. Kingsley, and before him Rufus, had been longsuffering in his patience for her nosiness, but she could still detect times when his exasperation got the better of him. She was attempting to curb her interference—Kingsley was actually very good for the post and did the job well—but her old habits sometimes won out.
Another difficulty was the fact that Minister—and director, for that matter—was a job of many hats. There was no standing army in magical society and as such, she was required to oversee their efforts against the Death Eaters. Shacklebolt was not only in charge of their police force, but also had to act as a sort of general in the war, as they had no purely military personnel to assume the role. It made things difficult and overtaxed them all.
Thus, when Albus stopped Amelia immediately after the meeting let out, her first instinct was to snap at him in frustration, which she knew was borne of her exhaustion. Still, she was able to school her features and calm her pique, and listen to him. He was the foremost wizard in their society and possessed the wisdom of a long and productive life, and Amelia was well aware of the fact that had he desired it, he could have been Minister in her place, regardless of the arguments he had made when they had nominated her for the role. For that matter, he could have been Minister in place of Fudge, had he not eschewed the role for his other activities. If he had been, they would undoubtedly be further ahead in the fight against the Death Eaters than they were at present.
"Yes Albus?" Amelia replied to his query, well aware from the slightly admonishing expression on his face that she had not been entirely successful in forcing her pique away. Generations of wizards and witches were intimately familiar with that look, and she, having attended Hogwarts as a Hufflepuff, knew it well.
"I have a bit of information to pass on to you, if you have a moment."
Amelia peered at him with suspicion. He was intelligent, powerful, and experienced, but he was also well-known for protecting his secrets. The question was whether he would be completely forthcoming in what he was about to say, or if he would stick to his typical vague pronouncements and pleas for her to be patient.
Immediately after thinking this, Amelia felt a little guilty over having such thoughts. Dumbledore had been very helpful in not only dispensing his great wisdom, but also advising her whenever she had been in need of another opinion. And his importance in turning back the tide of the Death Eaters that previous Monday could not be underestimated.
"Very well, Albus," she responded, much more graciously than she felt.
Albus waited until the room had cleared before he turned back to her, and Amelia immediately sensed that whatever he wished to impart to her, it was not inconsequential. He often showed the world the persona of a kindly old grandfather, or a gentleman of a bygone era, but none of this was showing in his face on that day. He was the powerful wizard who had defeated Grindelwald, who had stood against Voldemort and matched him spell for spell. They had all attained an air of weariness and hardness, even in the short time since the Death Eater attacks had begun in earnest. In Dumbledore, it almost seemed incongruous, like he was meant for something better than harsh times and heavy cares.
The minute the room was empty, he lazily flicked his wand at the door and it swung gently closed. Then, surprising Amelia, he continued to weave his wand, casting a series of very impressive and powerful wards. Once he had completed his work, Amelia doubted there was an eavesdropping spell in the world which could penetrate his defenses without him being aware of it.
"I apologize if that display appears to be a little over the top," he said as he turned to her. "I assure you, it is completely necessary."
Amelia simply nodded, motioning for him to continue; she knew that he was not speaking idly.
"There is some information of which you must be made aware. I have obtained Mr. Potter's permission to do so, but I require your secrecy in order to be explicit."
"Mr. Potter's permission?" Amelia asked with a raised eyebrow.
"Since this information primarily concerns him, it was necessary to gain his approval."
"Very well, then," Amelia said. "You have my word that I will keep it secret."
"I am afraid that the information is protected by a series of oaths and protections," the Headmaster said. "You will have to swear them before I can tell you anything."
A lump forming in the pit of her stomach—after all, it must be bad if it was protected by such measures—Amelia motioned for him to continue. When she was able to think about it later, she could be nothing but impressed at the way the vows left no room whatsoever for a person to maneuver. Once sworn, the person was incapable of using the information themselves, or passing it on to someone else until they had sworn the same. It was the most impressive set of protections Amelia had ever seen in her life.
But all that paled in comparison with the information Albus proceeded to tell her. He began by informing her of his suspicions of how Voldemort had survived the night he had tried to kill Mr. Potter, then proceeded to explain the mission he had sent Mr. Lupin and Auror Tonks on, and finally took her through the terrible reality which was so much more horrible than the initial information had suggested. Finally, he told her of his efforts to try to find an answer to the dilemma, while chafing at the demands on his time with the renewed vigor of Voldemort's forces and his duties to three separate positions.
When his explanation was complete, Amelia stared at him in shock. "I can scarcely believe my ears, Albus."
"But it is true," was his simple reply.
With sorrow, Amelia turned her attention to the boy who it seemed could not catch a break in life, and who was now living under what amounted to a death sentence. "How is Harry holding up?"
"About as well as may be expected," Albus replied with a sigh. "While none of us want to contemplate his giving up his life to defeat the Dark Lord, I believe his mind is increasingly focused on just that."
"But is there not something we can do?" Amelia asked. "Perhaps we could somehow capture Voldemort's spirit, or capture him and keep him alive in prison?"
Albus sighed. "Though I would jump at the chance if it existed, you and I both know that there is no way to hold a spirit."
"Maybe the Unspeakables have some way to do so."
"It is possible," Albus said with a shrug, "but I do not think it likely. You may confide in one of them, as long as they swear the oaths, but it must not go any further. In the meantime, I will continue to attempt to find an answer.
"As for keeping him alive in prison, when he dies—as eventually he must—we would be back in the same situation. I do not consider it to be a true option."
Amelia's first instinct had been proven correct—this was as bad as anything she could have imagined. She desired the defeat of Voldemort as much as anyone, but could she, in good conscience, sacrifice the life of a young man, who had barely begun his life, in order to see Voldemort defeated? Logic would suggest that many lives were at stake—not only Harry's. She was sure Harry would agree with her, considering what she imagined his state of mind to be. But it as not so cut and dried as to be nothing more than a numbers game. Harry was a real person and his life was at stake.
Focusing on what was important, Amelia considered the situation. The attacks of Voldemort's forces had been severe and unrelenting, and surely there would be plenty of time after they had managed to regain an even footing to consider such matters. In the meantime, Dumbledore may actually accomplish the near impossible feat of finding a solution to the quandary. She was the Minister; she would focus on what was important to see Voldemort defeated. Dumbledore could take care of the rest.
"Thank you for telling me, Albus," Amelia said, affecting a serenity she did not feel. "The situation with the Dark Lord is worse than I could have imagined, but I can only focus on the fight against the Death Eaters."
"Agreed," Dumbledore replied with a nod. "You will have my assistance of course. I will also try to find a solution to Mr. Potter's problem…"
He trailed off and Amelia was shocked to see what she had never dreamed possible—Albus's voice shook slightly as he ceased speaking and from the corner of his eye, a single tear emerged, rolling down his cheek until it was lost in the vast expanse of his beard. Amelia could not but be moved by the emotions so little displayed, but keenly felt, by this man, and knowing Harry herself, she could not but commiserate.
"I will do all in my power to find the solution to this problem," he stated, though his voice still wavered a little. "I love Mr. Potter like a grandson. I assure you that I will not allow him to go quietly into the night if there is any possible means of preventing it."
"I know you won't," was Amelia's quiet reply. "I wish you luck."
Thanking her, Dumbledore rose to his feet and dispelled the protective magics upon the room. They left it together, each one silent, thinking their own thoughts and, Amelia was certain, considering the young man who was the true victim in all of this. It did not seem to matter what happened, but fate seemed intent upon ensuring Harry's misery. The young man seemed to be unable to catch a break.
So caught up was Amelia in her thoughts that when it happened, she had no notion of what was occurring until after it was over. Her companion made a sudden movement and his wand flashed in his hand. In front of her, a wooden plank appeared out of thin air, only to explode in a vicious hail of wood shards an instant later, which were quickly transfigured into flowers before they could do any damage to either of them.
Surprised by the sudden action, Amelia lost her balance and went down in a heap, looking up to see Dumbledore with a blazing mask of fury covering his countenance. He held his wand to his throat, intoning, "Sonorus!" before he then said, "Aurors, to the main conference room immediately!" He then cancelled the charm and held his wand in front of him, looking this way and that for any signs of danger.
"What just happened, Albus?" Amelia asked, feeling a little dazed.
"I believe you just survived the second attempt on your life since taking office," was his short reply. "I only happened to see the killing curse out of the corner of my eye, and was able to put up a barrier in time. If I had not we would be looking for a new Minister about now."
Swearing to herself, Amelia heaved herself to her feet, her wand now in hand as she joined him peering about with suspicion. It was at that moment that the approaching footsteps of several Aurors, as well as Director Shacklebolt, sounded on the tile floors.
"What happened?" Kingsley asked as he hurried up.
"Someone just tried to kill the Minister," Albus replied with a scowl. "He ran off in that direction," he continued, pointing with his wand.
Amelia was joined in her swearing by her director, and he immediately sent some Aurors off to seal the building and pursue the assailant. At his indication, several more of the accompanying Aurors formed up around Amelia, who had now begun to recover, and they made their way back toward her office, the hawk eyes of the escort scanning the area for any hint of danger. Once they had reached the dubious safety of her office, Amelia sighed with relief.
"Madam Minister," Shacklebolt said as soon as they had arrived, "I believe it is now time to assign some Aurors to protect you."
Scowling, Amelia shook her head. They had already discussed this before. They simply did not have the manpower to assign her guards. But before she was able to speak, Shacklebolt was making his case.
"I know we are short of manpower, but this is critical. If the Death Eaters manage to kill you, we could be facing the collapse of the Ministry. For the good of us all, you must be protected!"
"The Director is right," Dumbledore rumbled. "You are the leader of Wizarding Britain, and it is not a figurehead position. Frankly I am surprised you are not already protected."
"Are you ready to sweep the Ministry for Death Eaters?" Amelia asked, looking expectantly at Shacklebolt. "If we can remove all his sympathizers from the equation, I should be adequately secure."
"The Auror corps will be vetted tonight," Shacklebolt responded. "But that does not make the building safe. It does not cover the possibility of the Imperius, or even perhaps Polyjuice."
"Polyjuice does not cover the dark mark."
"I am well aware of that. The point is that though we will be closing off the building and inspecting everyone who comes in, there is still the possibility that a Death Eater could breach our defenses, and you are well aware of the fact that it is almost impossible to defend against the Imperius."
"Madam Minister," Dumbledore broke in, "Director Shacklebolt is correct. You must be protected more adequately than you have been until now." He smiled at her with those damn twinkling eyes and for a moment, Amelia wanted to slap the expression from his face. "Do you wish for me to convene a session of the Wizengamot and legislate your protection?"
Of course Amelia wished for no such thing. In her pique, however, she knew that she was not exactly thinking rationally. They were both right, much as she wished to dispute it—the Ministry had proven to be unsafe.
At that moment, an Auror walked up and knocked on the ruined remains of the office's wall. "Director, Minister," the man said. "The Head Auror reports that there is no sign of the assailant. Should we conduct an inspection of all wands in the building?"
Shacklebolt shook his head. "There is no point. My guess is that he cleared his wand immediately, and even if he didn't, he'll do it once he realizes that we are searching the building. Tell Robards to stand down the search."
The man bowed and left and Shacklebolt turned back to Amelia. "I assume you mean to catch him through your sweep?"
"That's the best way," Shacklebolt replied with a tight nod. "We'll do the Auror corps starting this afternoon, then the Department Heads, and the rest of the staff after. The check points in the Atrium will be in place by Monday and all personnel entering the Ministry will be required to use that entrance and submit to a search. The building will be as protected as we are able to make it."
"Good," Amelia stated. "Then I suggest we return to our sundry tasks."
As the two men walked from the office, Amelia sank wearily down on her chair, thinking to herself that it could not become much worse. Then again perhaps she should not say that—bad situations had a disturbing tendency to exceed expectations.
"Jean-Sebastian. I have been expecting to see you since Apolline left."
Nodding to the Minister's greeting, Jean-Sebastian stepped into the office and, after shaking his old friend's hand with a firmness that bespoke their long association with one another.
"How is Apolline?" Alain asked, with only a trace of a smirk.
Jean-Sebastian grimaced. "She is well as ever. The accommodations are not exactly to our liking, but we are making do." At his friend's curious expression, Jean-Sebastian felt the need to explain. "We are staying at Black Manor which is being used as a headquarters for Dumbledore's Order. Since they're historically a dark family, you can well imagine the state of the place and some of the things it contains. In addition, it is the home of a foul little house-elf who mutters and complains about intruders in his mistress's home, not to mention a crazy portrait of Sirius Black's mother who screams every time anyone makes even the slightest noise."
The Minister chuckled at Jean-Sebastian's droll portrayal of the accommodations. "Remember, you made the choice to go to England, my friend."
"And I still firmly believe that it was the right one," Jean-Sebastian replied quietly.
All levity forgotten, Alain peered at him. "How is the situation?"
"Not yet desperate, but not good either. You know of Monday's events, so I will tell you what you have not already heard."
Starting from the attack on the Ministry building, Jean-Sebastian began to explain the events of the last few days, including what had happened during the attack, to his removal to Hogwarts, Dumbledore's actions, as well as the meeting they had had at the Ministry that very morning. Of course he did not touch on the society, horcruxes, or anything to do with what Harry was now facing. Not only did he agree with Dumbledore that it was really Harry's decision about who to tell, but he also realized that the information should stay in as small a circle as possible. When he had completed his narration, Alain sat back and regarded his friend.
"I have already begun to draw up plans to sweep our members for Death Eaters," Alain finally said. "I'm sure Apolline told you, but since Alphonse was a Death Eater, we would be shortsighted if we didn't consider the possibility that there are other Death Eaters in our ranks. With this new revelation of your Dark Lord's recruiting in other countries, I suspect that he already has plans in the works for what he will do once he brings Britain to its knees."
Jean-Sebastian nodded with a grim smile. "We see alike. But I am curious—the British Ministry has seen no sign of Alphonse Richard since the attack. Has he surfaced here in France?"
The Minister grimaced. "Yes, but not in the manner you are thinking. His body was dumped at the entrance to the Auror department. He had been flayed alive, Jean-Sebastian. It was not a pretty sight."
"I would try to summon some measure of sympathy," Jean-Sebastian replied, his tone hard as the stone floor, "if he had not tried to hand my wife and youngest daughter to Voldemort."
"Understandable," Alain murmured.
"It's what one can expect if he fails the Dark Lord. It's the risk they take for displeasing him."
Alain nodded in agreement, before he peered at Jean-Sebastian intently. "I assume, then, that you are here to propose a possible alliance?"
Allowing a ghost of a smile to come over his visage, Jean-Sebastian reflected that it was good that they had such a close rapport between them. He had known the Minister since they were mere boys at Beauxbatons, and it made it easier to deal with situations such as this. They often completed each other's ideas, sometimes embellishing upon them and improving them, so close were they in character and personality. He was a good man—France was lucky to have him as Minister.
"I believe we must throw our lot in with the British, Alain," Jean-Sebastian stated, confident that his friend would understand the need. "The more dangerous Voldemort becomes, and the more pressure he puts on the British Ministry, the closer he comes to victory. If he does gain control over magical Britain, it puts us in a much less secure position. We can't afford to allow him to do so."
Alain watched him for several moments before he replied. "I will have to go before the Assembly."
"Then we had best make preparations to do it."
"Very well. I assume that you will address the Assembly as well?"
Jean-Sebastian grimaced. He had made his career as a politician, but addressing a large body was not something he enjoyed doing. He was not the orator—it was one of the reasons why Alain was the Minister, while Jean-Sebastian had never aspired to the post. Regardless, he knew it was required in this instance, so he gave his friend a tight nod.
"We should keep it secret, though," Jean-Sebastian stated.
It was obvious that Alain immediately understood why. "Of course. I will set it up and let you know when your presence will be required."
They spoke for a few more moments before Jean-Sebastian left to return to England. The moment for which he had planned and had originally become involved with the struggle against Voldemort had almost arrived. The French were about to go to war.
Harry had a bad feeling.
Or perhaps, it was more correct to say that the bad feeling was worse now than it had been in the previous few days. Or more than that, that Harry's feeling of trepidation was now focused on something more than Voldemort's damnable horcrux residing in his head which, though he knew was too minute in quantity to affect him, as Remus had told him, still seemed to sap his strength and beat his feelings down until he was convinced of his imminent mortality. It was silly and childish to a certain extent, but knowing as he did now of what a horcrux truly consisted, Harry could not help but feel its evil weight upon him like a canker on his soul. But melodrama truly did not suit him, he thought, and he rolled his eyes at his own fanciful thoughts.
Regardless, Harry had a bad feeling. And the focus of this bad feeling was, of course, the aforementioned Dark Lord.
Now, it was not to be wondered at that Harry espoused such feelings. He doubted there were many right-thinking people in the entire country who did not have a bad feeling about the monster masquerading as a mere man. The attacks had not abated, and the country was now under the grip of a miasma which was almost palpable, even in such a protected location as Hogwarts. Harry had heard whispers and rumors running rampant throughout the school, students speaking of family members who were not so well protected, others who had actually had family members attacked, and those who knew others who might potentially be at risk. Thus far, as far as Harry was aware, no one at the school had as yet lost anyone close to them to an attack, but he also knew it was merely a matter of time. It was inevitable, given the Death Eaters' high rate of activity.
But Harry's feelings were a little more subtle than just a fear for his family—if he had any—being targeted. He had been unable to truly get a good night's sleep since the revelation about the true nature of horcruxes, stuck as he was, worrying the situation over in his mind. The days of less than adequate sleep had begun to make him irritable and snappish, and perhaps more importantly, it had also begun to break down his mental defenses. Nothing as of yet had truly penetrated his defenses, but in the middle of the night and during the times in which he had actually managed to drop off for a while, he had begun to hear snippets, teasing little excerpts of conversations, or musing thoughts.
It all added up to one thing: Voldemort was up to something. And whatever that something was, it was something which had the potential to hurt many people.
Unfortunately, when he brought this up with his friends, there seemed to be a worried fatalism which had settled over the group.
"I'm sure it's just what's been going on lately," Hermione told him, though she had a concerned look on her face, which told him that she was not trying to be patronizing. It was a good thing, as his state of mind lately would not have allowed him to overlook such a response with any sense of acceptance.
"I'm telling you, Hermione, he's up to something," Harry insisted.
"What do you mean to do about it?" Ron asked. "It's not like we can really do anything. Let the Ministry handle it."
That answer did not sit well with Harry, but he made no further comment. Ron was right after a fashion; the Ministry was doing whatever they could to ensure the safety of its citizens. And Harry was, after all, still just a student.
But there was something that Harry could do, and though he had been told never to do it, once the idea began to take hold, the more it sounded like the perfect opportunity to get some intelligence. In the past, his visions of Voldemort had always come in the middle of the night during his sleep, or at those times when he was tired and his defenses were the lowest. He had never tried to open the connection to Voldemort consciously, but he knew it must be possible. The problem was, he was not exactly certain about how to go about it.
Harry knew what his girls or the Headmaster would say. In fact, he could probably recite verbatim exactly how they would berate him for foolishness should they ever learn of it. And learn of it they would, for if he found out exactly what it was and told the Headmaster, he would surely wonder where Harry had come across the information, if he did not figure it out the moment Harry opened his mouth.
But Harry had come to have a bit of a philosophical bent to his frame of mind the past few days; knowing that you were destined to die would do that to a person. Simply put, Harry decided that if he was not to live, then it was time to start taking a few chances. Hiding behind Hogwarts' wards would not see the Dark Lord defeated. Only bold, decisive action would accomplish that, and using every tool at their disposal was only prudent. And he had promised himself that he would see Voldemort defeated. He would not leave Fleur and Hermione to a world in which Voldemort was still a threat against them. He loved them too much to fail them.
Thus it was not without a sense of trepidation that Harry sat on the sofa in the Gryffindor common room, trying to build up the courage to actually try to seek out the mind of his greatest nemesis with conscious thought. He did not fear for himself—he feared more for what the Dark Lord could do if he ever discovered the existence of the link. Still, he was a Gryffindor, was he not? And defying his fear was what a Gryffindor should do.
Glancing around surreptitiously—and noting that none of his friends were paying him any attention—Harry closed his eyes and concentrated on his Occlumency defenses, hoping that whoever saw him would think that he had just drifted off. His friends had seen enough of him in the past few days to know that he was not well rested. It should not be difficult for them to believe that it had caught up to him.
He immediately found his center as Fleur had taught him, and began to push himself beyond his body. Of course, nothing happened. Trying again, he attempted to cast his consciousness beyond the confines of his physical form, but try as he might, nothing occurred. What he was trying to do was far beyond the boundaries of anything he had attempted before, and he did not have any idea what it was that he should do.
Pulling back into himself, Harry considered the situation, thinking about the Occlumency lessons his betrothed had taught to him. Occlumency was the art of hiding yourself and your thoughts from an invader, of keeping oneself secret from one who wished to do mental harm. Its opposite was, of course, Legilimency, and though Harry had no practical knowledge of the art, he knew that it was the act of projecting oneself into the mind of another in order to read their thoughts. The Legilimencer could enter the mind of one unskilled in Occlumency with ease, but it would be much more difficult to do so with one who was trained to defend himself.
Theoretically, since he and Voldemort were not in the room, it should not be possible for them to read each other's mind. Dumbledore had theorized that it was somehow a byproduct of the horcrux that his link between them existed. But since he did not have any measure of the skill and was not looking Voldemort in the eye, the traditional method of Legilimency was not possible. Instead, he would need to follow the link.
And that was when he saw it. Harry truly did not know how to describe it, other than to say that it looked almost like a thin, opaque line emerging from his own consciousness, going out into the ether. Latching onto this line, Harry felt himself being carried far away. And just as suddenly, he was in Voldemort's mind.
Expectation. Anticipation. A sense of malevolent glee.
These are the first feelings, the initial indication Harry has that he has successfully crossed the gap between himself and the Dark Lord. But this time, it is different. He is conscious of the fact that he is an outsider, looking in on the thoughts and feelings of another, so different from the other times he found himself in Voldemort's mind. Perhaps it is because he initiated the contact himself. Harry does not know. He only knows that he has been successful.
The room in which Voldemort sits is long and large, yet it does not have the splendor one would expect in a room which is obviously intended to be a throne room. Maybe he simply does not care.
It is of no importance. Concentrate! Harry is here for a purpose.
With his fledgling senses, Harry reaches out, attempting to read something of Voldemort's thoughts. Is this how one does Legilimency? No. He is already inside. Legilimency is the act of invasion. The invasion is already a success.
It is a curious thing, he decides, as he roves this way and that, attempting to read the thoughts of the Dark Lord. He is already where he needs to be, but try as he might, the Dark Lord's thoughts remain stubbornly hidden from him. Maybe he needs to do something else? Harry cannot be certain. He only knows that he would like to find something, so that this little adventure will not be in vain.
"…report on your progress."
Startled, Harry drifts out of the Dark Lord's mind, hovering outside, much the same as he did when he saw Voldemort at the Ministry. There are men in the room, as well as one woman—Bellatrix Lestrange—and Harry had not realized in his focus on Voldemort that there were others present as well. Maybe he can learn a little more from the conversation.
"The giants have been transported and are waiting nearby, My Lord," a man Harry does not recognize says. "They are difficult to control, but so far we have been able to keep them hidden."
Voldemort nods tightly. "That is to be expected. Instruct their handlers to take care; they will only need to be hidden for another few hours, but it is critical that they are not discovered."
Turning to another man, Voldemort asks, "What of the werewolf packs?"
"They have all received their instructions, My Lord," the man replies. "They are… eager to begin."
"As they always are," Voldemort says showing his teeth in what might pass for a feral grin. "Greyback prefers them that way."
Looking around at the gathered men, Voldemort fixes them with a firm stare. "You all understand the plan, correct?" he asks pointedly.
A murmur of assent meets his question. "Good. Remember, the werewolves and giants are to lead the attack, but should be kept in check until our objectives have been achieved. Once the primary targets have all been secured, they may be unleashed. I do not care if there is a single stone left standing on top of another after they are done; in fact, it is a greater object lesson if there is not."
Snickers sound throughout the room, leading Harry to reflect that Voldemort's replacement inner circle—if indeed that's what these men are—were a cruder lot than the outwardly polished Malfoy and his cronies. Malfoy would have considered such a response to be beneath his dignity and an affront to his outwardly sophisticated demeanor.
"Now, the targets should all be in the village by noon. The attack will commence immediately after." Voldemort pauses and peers about the room. "Get me some hostages. The Ministry will be forced to capitulate if we have their children in our grasp."
Gasping, Harry felt his consciousness rush back into his body, while the sibilant hiss of Voldemort's voice echoed in his mind.
"Hogsmeade!" he exclaimed, and he jumped up and ran from the common room, heedless of the scene he was making as he did so.
The information had to be passed on to the Headmaster, regardless of what his reaction would be to what Harry had done. In fact, within the confines of his mind, Harry felt a feeling of justification well up, as well as a feeling of pride that he had been able to discover the nature of what had been bothering him. This information could potentially save lives. In fact, if he could continue to spy on Voldemort, he could be of more use to the Ministry defenses than Snape who, in Harry's view, rarely imparted information of any value.
A few moments later he had reached the gargoyle guarding the Headmaster's office and, after explaining why he had come, the stone statue moved to the side allowing Harry to ascend the steps. Unfortunately, it was also when the girls caught up to him.
"What's going on, Harry?" Fleur asked as she jogged up.
Inwardly groaning—he knew Fleur and Hermione would like his spying on Voldemort as little as Dumbledore would himself—he shook his head and headed up the stairs, both girls close on his heels.
At the top of the stairs, Harry quickly moved to the door to the office and burst through it, blurting out, "Voldemort is planning to attack Hogsmeade!"
Surprised, Dumbledore peered at him over the top of his half-moon glasses. "What, Harry?"
Drawing on his patience and trying to avoid simply blurting everything out, Harry forced himself to calmly and rationally explain what he had seen. He left out the fact that he had consciously initiated the connection with Voldemort, knowing that Dumbledore would not be happy with him, but he explained everything else. When he finished, Dumbledore was peering at him with some speculation.
"Oh, Harry," Hermione said with a sigh. "You didn't."
Grimacing, Harry shot a look at his best friend, but she merely glared back at him. It was, of course, too much to ask that Dumbledore would be too immersed in thoughts of what Harry had just told him to be paying attention to Hermione's words.
"Did what?" he asked mildly, though Harry thought that the man already knew what Hermione was referring to.
"He was trying to tell us that he thought Voldemort was up to something," Fleur spoke up, directing a hard look at Harry herself.
"So you were worried and you opened up the connection between you," Dumbledore finished. His expression was positively annoyed by this point.
"I found out an important attack is set to take place tomorrow!" Harry snapped in reply, intent upon defending himself. "It's more than Snape gives us."
"Whether that is true or not," Dumbledore replied, "it is a very foolish and reckless thing to do. I have told you before, Harry—Voldemort is a master Legilimens. If he ever discovers the link between you, he will press you and goad you and give you no respite. He can make you wish you were dead. This is not a game, Harry. I would ask you to please never do this again."
Though he had no intention whatsoever of abiding by the stricture, Harry nodded tightly. Dumbledore watched him for several more moments—likely not believing that Harry was being completely honest in his agreement—before he rose from his chair.
"Regardless, thank you for bringing this to me. I will inform the Minister."
Accepting it for the dismissal it was, Harry removed himself from the office in the company of his female friends. Unfortunately, they would not leave him alone with his thoughts, berating him all the way back to Gryffindor tower for his foolishness.
By the time they had gotten close to their destination, Harry had had enough.
"Stop it already!" he commanded, turning on them with fury. "I understand you're not happy with me, but it's already done. Leave it alone!"
The girls shared a look between them and approached him with much more conciliatory expressions on their faces.
"Harry," Hermione stated softly, "we're just worried about you. Please don't be reckless."
Harry glared at them stonily. "You don't seem to remember that this stupid horcrux is a death sentence. If I'm not fated to live, why shouldn't I take some chances? We've got to defeat him, and if that's what it takes, I'll do it. Now leave off!"
Then, ignoring their shock, he turned and stalked away from them. He would do whatever it took to make sure they were safe. Of that he was determined!
Updated 06/04/2014