Chapter Thirty-Three: The War Begins
Monday 11th July
Sarah Phillips, forty-two years of age, watched as her two children, Christopher and Jessica, rolled a ball back and forth to each other. They were only three years of age, twins and very attuned to each other. They had learnt quickly and could speak well. The ball rolled back towards Jessica and she pushed it towards her brother, but as she did so it began to spin hard and fast and then it shot suddenly towards Christopher.
Sarah watched in fascination as her son touched the ball with his fingertip and it stopped immediately and the ball rolled gently back to Jessica. What had happened? But she didn't have time to ponder that situation when three shapes appeared out of thin air in the middle of the garden. They wore long black cloaks that obscured their faces and in their hands they held sticks.
"Who the hell are you? Get out of here! Now!" she yelled, running forward.
One of the cloaked figures turned to her and lowered its hood.
Sarah screamed. She managed a whisper: "What are you?"
The man laughed, turned swiftly on his heels and uttered: "Avada Kedavra!" twice. One after the other two jets of light erupted from the end of the stick, hitting both children. They fell limply onto the ground, completely dead.
"No, my babies…" Sarah was sobbing. She didn't understand…what was going on? Who were these people and why were they attacking her and her babies? "Why?"
"Mudbloods do not deserve life in our world," the man whispered, his snake-like face grinning mirthlessly as he turned his attention back to Sarah, raised the stick again and uttered the same two words.
Green light flashed.
The last thing Sarah ever saw was green light before her soul was ripped from her body forever.
Tuesday 12th July 1995
A DAY OF DEATH
By Charles Palmer
It has come to the time when the Wizarding World once again fears for its survival. Once again we are being subjected to death and destruction. The dark arts have risen again. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named walks upon us once more.
His demands are simple: surrender Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, or hostilities will begin, however Auror Sirius Black refuses to hand over the boy he has been charged to protect by Harry Potter's late parents.
His refusal comes at a price: war has now descended upon the magical and Muggle worlds.
Yesterday afternoon, six muggle-born children, all with the ability to do magic were mirthlessly murdered for having the simple ability to perform magic. A six-month old baby was the first victim, followed by twins Christopher and Jessica Philips, then David Jenkins (10) and his younger brother Daniel (6) and lastly Gypsy Kiels (7). Their parents suffered the same fate for daring to produce children that had magical blood in their veins.
Is this price we must continue to pay for simply refusing to hand over an innocent boy?
Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge, refuses to comment, however Sirius Black left us with these comments: "We will fight to the end."
If that is what must be done, then so be it.
The-Boy-Who-Lived has never had a happy life until he was adopted by his Godfather; it is time for the Wizarding World to fight for him, even if it means death in all quarters of our world.
"At least the Daily Prophet is behind us," commented Sirius as he leaned back in his chair, flicking to the crossword page.
"Hmmm, well Cornelius is thinking about diplomacy however at his latest conference meeting he was shushed by the crowd for daring to voice that opinion!" laughed Kingsley. "We'll be getting a new Minister soon, mark my words."
"I hope so," agreed Sirius. "We need someone who doesn't mind speaking the truth. At least Fudge has now admitted that Voldemort is back…and these deaths are only just the beginning."
Kingsley nodded sadly, putting down his quill, of which he had been using to write a letter. "Do you think we will win?"
Sirius looked at him as if he was mad. "Of course we will win! Good always triumphs over evil."
Kingsley raised his right eyebrow. "We're talking about a fifteen year old boy…"
"Fourteen. Harry is fifteen on the thirty-first of July," interrupted Sirius.
"Doesn't matter," his mentor dismissed. "The point is Harry can't fight Voldemort and hope to win, especially not at his age."
"That's the point. By the time Harry comes of age when he will have to fight, Voldemort will be dead," explained Sirius, his dark eyes glaring at Kingsley.
"You don't intend for him to fight at all even when everyone in our world is relying on him to?"
"No, I don't. Harry doesn't deserve to lose his childhood, though he already has in a way. War is not a place for children to fight – I don't intend for Harry to fight unless he absolutely must. We are trained to fight monsters like Voldemort, not little boys."
Sirius leaned forward, placing the Prophet on his desk and sighed, running a hand over his face. He was tired and worried about Harry. He knew that Harry would have to fight regardless – it was his destiny after all, but his godson was just a child – but his personality was more adult then his father's had been at his age.
He didn't want to admit it, but he knew that his godson would face Voldemort before the end of the school year – things were just looking that way – and he wouldn't be able to stop it.
"Sirius, are you alright?"
He shook his head. "Just tired, is all," he responded.
"Go and get some rest. Heck, you need it. Spend time with Harry – it'll make you feel better." Kingsley tossed him a smile. "In fact take the next three days off, and come in for four hours on Saturday and Sunday, okay?"
"Is that an order?" Sirius arched an eyebrow.
"You could say that," chuckled Kingsley, as Sirius rose from his chair. "And I expect you to rest."
Sirius managed a smile. "I'll try."
"Good," Kingsley cracked a smile, watching as the former Azkaban escapee left his office.
"What are you doing back so early?" asked Harry seeing Sirius walk into the kitchen.
"I got sent home so I could spend some time with you," shrugged Sirius. "Also I need some rest, apparently."
"You do look tired," observed Harry.
"Not you too," muttered Sirius, hanging his head. "I'd rather be doing my bit against Voldemort rather than sitting here."
Harry frowned. "I thought you said you got sent home to spend time with me?"
Sirius shuffled on his feet. "I have…"
"Then let's do something," replied Harry, a grin plastering over his face. "Can't we play Quidditch?"
Sirius sighed. "You know we can't. It's too dangerous. We are in a Muggle neighbourhood. If we were back at Godric's Hollow then we could, but unfortunately we can't here."
"How about chess?" suggested Harry, sliding out of his chair.
Sirius shook his head. "Nah, you know I'm not a good player. I get too impatient."
Harry laughed. "Then how did you manage to wait in Azkaban for twelve years then?"
The subject of Sirius' twelve-year imprisonment had rarely been discussed between the two and Harry immediately felt bad for bringing that line of conversation up. "Sorry."
Sirius shook his head sadly. "It's alright. I've got over that period of my life now. Besides I didn't know where Wormtail was so I stayed in Azkaban. It's my fault your parents are dead...if I hadn't suggested to use Peter... I deserved to be in there, just for that reason alone. I only escaped when I saw that photo of Ron and Wormtail was on his shoulder. I knew where he would be. It gave me a purpose and I had to protect you."
"Ah… that's understandable," replied Harry, running his right hand through his messy hair.
Sirius sat down in the chair Harry had vacated giving his godson a weary smile. "How about we discuss something more important?"
"Like what?" Harry's curiosity had risen.
"Like your birthday for instance..."
"My birthday is not for another nineteen days!"
Sirius shrugged. "I know. I want to do something special for you."
"Like last year with the party and the Weasley's?"
"Yeah, along those lines but something entirely different," probed Sirius.
"Like what?"
"What would you like to do most on your birthday?" asked Sirius.
"Play Quidditch," offered Harry, shrugging himself. "But I know that is not going to happen."
"Not if we go to Hogwarts," pointed out Sirius.
Harry's face spread into a grin. "Really? Is that possible?"
Sirius flexed his fingers. "Well…I'd have to talk Albus around but it shouldn't be a problem."
"Can Ron and Hermione come?"
"Should be able to," said Sirius. "I don't see a problem with this idea…but don't get your hopes up. I still need to speak to Albus about this. Knowing him he will say you are much safer here then at Hogwarts during the holidays."
"I'll try not to get too excited," grinned Harry, "but now you've mentioned it you have got my hopes up!"
"God…you're just like James." Sirius rolled his eyes but laughed all the same.
Thursday 14th July
"A party?"
It was an understatement to say that Albus Dumbledore was completely surprised by Sirius' request to hold a party for Harry at Hogwarts – he had, after all, considered the idea himself.
Sirius shuffled on his feet. "I know Harry is restless in that house – believe me I can sympathise with him, having to have grown up there – and I just thought if he could come here for his birthday he could have the opportunity to play Quidditch with his friends, while at the same time getting out of Grimmauld Place," explained Sirius. No one deserves to be locked up in that place…he added silently.
"It's fine by me," the headmaster replied. "Harry does need time with his friends, however after his birthday the Weasley's and Hermione Granger will be staying in Grimmauld Place."
"Why?"
"I believe that since they are well known as Harry's friends they might be in danger. At the moment Voldemort is targeting Muggle-borns – young witches and wizards who have not yet reached the age to attend Hogwarts – however he does know who Harry is close to. You are at risk, as well as the Weasley's and Miss Granger."
"I understand." Sirius turned to leave the office but Dumbledore's voice stopped him.
"The next meeting of the Order will take place in two days time on Saturday night. Harry will have to wait in his room I am afraid. We've got important news to discuss concerning the war."
Sirius nodded. "Is there anything that I can do?"
"Just rest," instructed Dumbledore.
"Let me guess, you're the one who told Kingsley to send me home?"
"I might have been." Dumbledore twiddled his thumbs as he spoke. "You have been working too hard lately."
Sirius scowled but didn't say anything. It was nice spending time with Harry – and he had been working constantly within the Aurors and had felt tired. Still, he hated it when Dumbledore meddled in his professional life.
It did get rather annoying.
By the following morning, three more muggle families had been murdered; the message: THE PRICE YOU HAVE CHOSEN was burned into the walls of the houses. The statement was loud and clear: death and destruction would follow until his demands were met.
And so, the war that had ended on 31st October 1981 was resumed.
To be continued...