A/N: Thanks everyone who has reviewed, followed, and favorited this story. I'm glad so many are enjoying it. And a special thanks to Bonnie and Mainsail for beta reading this and thus improving on the original. If you have questions or concerns about what's going on, feel free to include them in a review or a PM — I'll try to answer.
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, JK Rowling does.
Recommendation: This chapter's recommended fic is "Hiding in Plain Sight" by Clell65619. After putting an end to Voldemort, Harry returns to Hogwarts for his sixth year and has fun playing with a curious aspect of blindness among pureblood wizards and witches. But when Hermione finds out about it, things start to get interesting. Harry/Susan.
Italics: a person's thoughts.
Chapter 14 - Shipping up to Hogwarts
Tuesday, August 31, 1995, Evening.
Albus Dumbledore stood before the open door of the muggle house with both anticipation and regret. He knew that tonight he would get something he'd long sought after, but he also knew that he wouldn't obtain it easily — or without burning a few bridges. The time had long passed, however, when he could afford to play nice. He'd been searching for this location all day, and now that he'd found it, he wouldn't be leaving empty handed.
He slowly opened the door and lit the hall before him with his wand. Everything was a wreck, and it just got worse when he entered the main living room. He looked across the debris, and when his gaze reached a large, overstuffed armchair, he frowned. In quick succession, he cast three strong stinging hexes at it, causing it to leap in the air and yelp in pain. Quite uncharacteristic for armchairs, he thought, but not so for...
"Albus!" the armchair complained as it stretched and morphed into the recognizable figure of Horace Slughorn.
"Good evening, Horace," the Headmaster said genially, though none of the good humor reached his eyes.
"What do you think you're doing? What's the meaning of this?" Slughorn demanded indignantly.
"I need something from you, Horace," Dumbledore said, "and I mean to get it. Tonight."
"What the devil are you talking about?" Slughorn asked, confused and more than a little upset.
"I assume you're aware of what happened to young Miss Potter last term? Why, of course you are," Dumbledore went on without waiting for a reply. "Otherwise, you wouldn't be here. Hiding." He fixed the heavyset wizard with a stern glare. "He's back, and you know it. He was stopped back in 1981, and at great cost, but it was only temporary because he did something that enabled him to return."
Slughorn gulped audibly and stared wide-eyed at the older wizard, who still had his wand raised.
"What's more," Dumbledore went on, "you know how he accomplished that. We both do. However, you still know something I do not."
He tried to protest, "Albus, I assure you—"
"DO NOT LIE!" Dumbledore thundered. Gone was the kindly old grandfather, the man who seemed more than a bit barmy to his students. This was Albus Dumbledore, the wizard who defeated Gellert Grindelwald in single combat. "You know, Horace. You know. What's more, you've known for decades; but rather than share that knowledge with those who could use it for good, you've kept it hidden."
Dumbledore stepped closer to the other man, who was visibly trembling in his shoes. "I had been willing to give you time to come to me on your own, but I can see now that it was probably a mistake to wait for so long. Well, the time for keeping such secrets is at an end. He's back, he's on the move, and I need to know what you have known for so long."
"Bu-bu-but Albus, I—"
"I will have that information, Horace," Dumbledore said, allowing his magic to fill the room. It gave the impression that he towered over the man as if he were a giant, bent double in a small hovel. He knew he would regret this use of power later, but it needed to be done. "We can do this the easy way, or we can do it the hard way. I'm long past caring which."
When the muggles who owned the house returned from vacation the following week, they never saw anything which would suggest that something unusual might have transpired in their home while they were gone. The husband, though, would for years after swear that his favorite overstuffed armchair would occasionally shudder slightly, as if a large truck were passing by outside.
It seemed to happen most often when he was eating candied pineapple.
Wednesday, September 1, 1995, Late Morning.
Jasmine let her mind drift as she listened to the monotonous clickety-clack of the train wheels and watched the equally monotonous scenery pass by outside the window. She hadn't wanted to think or do much of anything after Dumbledore had told her about the prophecy, but her friends pushed her to keep going, to keep moving. Now she was moving — or rather, the train was moving — without any effort being required on her part, and she wished it could stay that way. Prophecies, politics, and more prophecies, she thought. How am I supposed to deal with all of that?
It was cramped in the compartment with so many people — in addition to her, Hermione, Ron, Ginny, and Neville, they were also joined by Fleur and Gabrielle. Jasmine didn't mind how crowded it was because it was an excellent excuse to have Hermione squished up against her — at least when none of them was out patrolling.
Fleur wouldn't normally have been there, since she was going to be a professor rather than a student, but Dumbledore had asked her to ride along as an extra security measure. Gabrielle was only too happy to make the trip rather than floo in directly if it meant she'd be there to help protect Jasmine and Hermione.
Shortly after Ron and Hermione had returned from the prefects' meeting, Jasmine felt her girlfriend nudge her with her elbow. When she looked over, she saw Hermione raise her eyebrows in a questioning look. Jasmine knew what that meant: Shall we tell the others about the prophecy now? They'd debated for a good part of Monday about whether to tell Sirius and finally did so yesterday evening. In the end, they'd concluded that if anyone deserved to know, it was him. Maybe he could even help.
After a bit of pleading on his part, they agreed that he could pass the information along to the portrait of his mother, but no other portraits unless absolutely necessary. As helpful as the conversations with Elladora Black had been, not to mention the one session with the two duelling masters, Jasmine and Hermione were still a little uncomfortable with magical paintings knowing their secrets.
Jasmine sighed and nodded to her girlfriend. It was time. Hermione sealed and silence the door while Jasmine cleared her throat. "Sorry to interrupt," she said, "but we have something the rest of you need to know. Dumbledore told me about it on Sunday and I'd like you to know — but only you, no one else. Not yet, at least. I'll need a promise from you that you won't repeat it."
Everyone looked around a bit nervously, unsure about what could be so serious. "Do you want an oath?" Neville asked.
Jasmine shook her head. "No, I trust you all. I may not be willing to tell you all about every deep, dark secret I have, but I certainly trust you enough for this."
Once everyone had given their promise to keep the information to themselves, Jasmine explained to them what Dumbledore had told her. It was a short story, given how little of the prophecy he'd recited, but it was enough to stun everyone into silence. The one thing they didn't include was the fact that the prophecy could have referred to Neville — they thought it would be better to explain that to him in private later.
After a long minute during which everyone tried to process this news, Ron finally said, "Wow... that's... I guess that kind of explains a lot." When Ginny frowned at him, he tried to explain, "Well, look at everything that's happened to her — all the times he's come after her. Look at how much he focuses on her. It makes sense now, or at least some sense. Without the prophecy, it seemed a bit ridiculous that he'd be so obsessed with a young girl."
"Creepy would be a more accurate word," Hermione said, "but otherwise you're right."
"And it means that he's going to keep coming after you, right?" Neville asked. When Jasmine nodded, he went on, "That just makes it even more important that we be prepared."
"Prepared?" Ron asked.
"Defense training," Neville responded. "Last term, those of us who were in the same study group with Jasmine started training to use defensive and offensive spells, though Ginny and I started even before that. We were going to continue it this term, right, Jasmine?"
"Right," Jasmine answered. "And we'll probably expand it as well, perhaps in conjunction with S.P.E.W., though I expect more wizards to participate in defense training than the few who are part of S.P.E.W." Ron grimaced at hearing that name; luckily for him, Hermione didn't notice.
Movement outside the door caught Hermione's attention, and she said, "I ought to unseal the door because friends of ours will want to visit. Does anyone have any questions first, though?" When no one did, she continued, "We can talk about this again at Hogwarts. We'll probably want to tell our study group some time soon as well — they've proven themselves fairly trustworthy." Once she unsealed the door, her comment about friends wanting to visit was proven to be true because Susan and Hannah were already waiting to greet the Gryffindors. They were soon followed by Padma, Daphne, Tracey, and Blaise.
One surprising bit of information which Hermione had brought back from the prefects' meeting was how many of their group had been made prefects: Daphne and Blaise in Slytherin, Susan in Hufflepuff, and Padma in Ravenclaw. With the exception of Blaise, all squealed in happiness at seeing their friends and wanted to hug, something Jasmine still wasn't used to.
"Alright," Daphne said loudly, once everyone had exchanged greetings, "We witches in the study group have something to talk about. So if all the wizards would please leave?" Blaise rolled his eyes and simply stepped back, since he was already out in the corridor. "Sorry, Ginny," Daphne said, "but you, too, if you don't mind."
Neville looked at the other Gryffindor witches, who simply shrugged as if to say, "Not a clue." Ron's ears reddened. "Neville and I were here first," he started to say before he was interrupted by Daphne.
"We aren't kicking you out permanently, I promise you — this is just for a short conversation." She then turned to Jasmine and said, "It's important. Really."
Jasmine sighed and looked at the two Gryffindor wizards. "Please?" she asked. "I'm sure it won't take long." Neville and Ginny agreed graciously and Ron a bit less so, but they followed Blaise down the passage while the witches squeezed into the compartment.
"There's not enough room in here!" Hannah complained.
"So double up!" Tracey suggested, plopping herself on Daphne's lap. No one had any better ideas, so they started following suit: Gabrielle on Fleur's lap, Hermione on Jasmine's, Tracey on Daphne's, and Hannah on Susan's. And it was still a tight fit.
"The reason I wanted to talk to you all," Daphne began, "is because—"
"Hands up," Tracey interrupted, putting up her own hand, "everyone who has magical boobs!"
"Magical what?" Hermione asked, completely confused, while Daphne hung her head in her hand.
"Magical boobs!" Tracey said happily. "My boobs grew after that Midsummer's Eve ritual, and we want to see who else—"
The rest was lost as Daphne put her hand over Tracey's mouth. "Although her delivery leaves quite a bit to be desired, that is indeed the question I wanted to ask. Though, as I keep telling her, it's about more than just boobs growing. We also grew a bit taller and stronger. So who else has experienced rapid development, especially right at the end of last term?"
One by one, the others started raising their hands. Only Jasmine, Hermione, Fleur, and Gabrielle didn't. Hermione looked thoughtful for a few moments, then said, "Actually, now that you mention it, all last term I was developing a bit faster than I would have expected. I didn't think about it much at the time, but I did participate in three rituals before Midsummer's Eve." She turned to Jasmine and asked, "The same happened to you, right?"
Jasmine nodded. "I don't think I noticed it happening until after... uh, that Beltane ceremony that we so didn't go to. At all." Tracey snickered while Hermione rolled her eyes and asked the same question of the French witches.
"Oui," Gabrielle responded, "I was maturing all zrough last year, and it accelerated after Beltane. Which, I can assure you, I definitely attended." She got a dreamy smile on her face that made everyone incredibly curious — everyone except Jasmine and Hermione, who kept trying to look everywhere but at the young veela.
Fleur huffed. "Zat was only because you begged Maman for three days straight!"
"It worked, didn't it?" Gabrielle replied with a cheeky grin. She then turned and gave Jasmine an indecipherable look as she added, "And it was definitely worth it, because ze goddesses blessed us all more zan we could have hoped for."
Jasmine squirmed a bit, not sure what Gabrielle was getting at. "Are you sure? I mean... really?"
"She is right," Fleur said, unable to see the intense look Gabrielle was giving Jasmine. "I have never even heard of a ritual zat produced so much power. Everyone who attended agreed zat it was most impressive."
"I'm guessing you didn't expect this?" Daphne asked, torn between getting the conversation back on track and learning more about what happened during Beltane. When Jasmine and Hermione assured them that they had no idea, and hadn't even made the connection between the rituals and their own physical changes, Daphne continued, "That's fine, I don't think any of us mind, it was just... well, unexpected."
"Mind?" Padma asked incredulously. "I love it! I exercised this summer to get in shape for the DA this term, and because of those changes I started much more fit than I expected to be even by the end of hols."
"Does anyone think that it will happen again if we participate in more rituals?" Tracey asked. "I was hoping we'd be invited to more regardless, but this side effect has me looking forward to them even more."
Hermione shook her head. "I have no idea. It might, but it might not. We also don't know if the effects are simply an accelerated development of what would have happened to us anyway, or if we're going beyond what our normal development would have been."
"Well," Daphne said as they started to get up to leave, "I guess we'll simply have to try to find out."
"Before we all go, I can't help but wonder..." Susan said. When everyone stopped and looked at her, she asked, "What do you suppose happened to Professor McGonagall?"
Eventually they were alone again, and the compartment had settled into a comfortable silence. Hermione was leaning into Jasmine, Gabrielle was leaning into Fleur, Ginny and Neville were both sitting close, whispering to each other, and Ron looked like he was trying to figure things out. Before long, they received a visit they never would have expected: Theodore Nott, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle. None of them looked happy, but Crabbe and Goyle looked downright furious.
"Well, Potty," Nott sneered. "I'm surprised you had the guts to come to Hogwarts this term. You know that—"
"Wait, wait," Jasmine said while holding up one hand. "What are you doing?" Everyone else in the compartment tried to subtly get ahold of their wands. Fleur couldn't, though, because she was holding Gabrielle's arm to prevent her from jumping up and attacking the boys in the doorway.
"What do you mean, what am I doing?" Nott demanded. "I have every right—"
"No," Jasmine interrupted, "I mean, this is Malfoy's schtick. I thought that once I sliced, diced, and flambéed his ass, I wouldn't have to put up with this shite anymore, but here you are, filling in for him in his absence. Why?"
Nott just sputtered, apparently thrown off balance at Jasmine's nonchalant description of what she'd done to the blonde ex-Slytherin.
"It's like he's a second-string Malfoy replacement," Hermione observed. "Oh, and, language, Jasmine."
"A second-string ferret," Ron corrected with a smirk. "Not good enough to play in the game unless your main ferret is sick or injured." Nott's face kept getting redder and redder.
"Is that what you are, Nott?" Jasmine asked with mock sympathy. "A second-stringer who's been thrown into the big game because ickle Draco got beaten up too many times by witches?"
"What makes you think you can do any better?" Ginny asked.
"Shut up!" Nott said, finally losing his temper. "Just shut up, you scum! Mudbloods, half-bloods, and blood traitors, the lot of you. When the Dark Lord gets through with you, you'll be on your knees begging for death. I'll personally—"
"I wouldn't finish zat, if I were you," Fleur said, her eyes narrowed in anger.
Nott scowled at her and asked, "Who asked you? Who are you anyway?"
"I am Fleur Delacour, and I will—"
"The creature from France?" Nott asked. "You were sent home where you belong. You shouldn't be here, you aren't even human." Nott started to draw his wand, but he and his minions suddenly found seven wands already drawn and pointed at them.
"As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted," Fleur continued as she stood, "I will be your Defense professor zis year." Nott and the other two paled at hearing this. "And zat will be fifty points from Slytherin and a week of detentions for insulting a teacher. Do it again, and I will double it."
"Maybe you should leave while you're still ahead... well, actually you aren't ahead anymore, it's too late for that," Jasmine said. "So why don't you just leave before you make things even worse for yourself." She was sure he was going to stamp his foot in anger before he turned on his heel and stalked off.
"Sweet Morgana, I thought we were done with that sort of thing," Hermione said once the Slytherins had left.
"Maybe Nott is making a play for Malfoy's place in Slytherin?" Neville suggested.
"I won't pretend to understand Slytherin politics," Jasmine said. "We can just ask Daphne, Tracey, and Blaise when we see them next. If they don't already know, they'll probably know by then.
A little while after Ron and Hermione had returned from their scheduled patrol time, Fleur announced that she should go make her second patrol of the trip. Gabrielle took the opportunity to say that she needed the loo; once in the corridor, she motioned her sister to follow. After a furtive glance to make sure they were unobserved, they just barely squeezed inside the girls' loo, with Gabrielle sitting on the toilet so they'd both fit. Fleur sealed and silenced the door and asked, "So, what is it that you needed to talk to me about?"
"I had hoped that we wouldn't be sitting with so many people," Gabrielle replied. "I have important information from Maman. She says that a treaty has been signed with the goblins. It's quite extensive — more so than the Theledrion had hoped for, in fact."
"Will they be helping?" Fleur asked.
"Not directly," Gabrielle answered. "According to Maman, most of their treaties with wizarding governments forbid them from interfering with those governments — or wizarding politics at all — outside of their banking responsibilities as spelled out in the treaties."
Fleur sagged a little against the door. "And helping two witches who are expected to radically reform magical society would break those treaties, yes?"
Gabrielle nodded and said, "They think so and are reluctant to take the chance. However, they're willing to provide covert help because they support the cause."
"So what will they do?" Fleur asked, now curious.
"I'm not sure about the details," Gabrielle said, "but I got the impression that they would provide just about anything that the Theledrion asked for, so long as the veela take responsibility for using it and provide something in trade."
"Deniability," Fleur said sourly. "If it doesn't work out, they can pretend they weren't involved." Gabrielle nodded in agreement.
"So no direct help, then?" Fleur asked.
"Two things," Gabrielle said. "First, in an emergency, we can all seek sanctuary in Gringotts. If we can get in the door, they will protect us — but we are not to use this except as a last resort because it might lead to war. Second, there is a goblin agent in the castle who will make themselves known to you at some point. They will provide covert aid if they can."
Fleur's eyebrows went up in surprise. "An agent? In Hogwarts? That is unexpected. I hope they will be useful."
"As do I," Gabrielle said before wrapping her sister in a tight hug. "I've missed you, sister of mine!"
"I've missed you, too," Fleur said with a smile. "Are you feeling alright? You seemed rather... on edge. Intense. Back in the compartment, I mean."
Gabrielle cocked her head to one side as she regarded her sister. "Of course I'm fine," she said. "I was simply protecting our witches."
"Very well," Fleur sighed. "You'd better get back before they wonder if you've fallen in and send out a rescue party."
"Prat!" Gabrielle exclaimed as she poked her older sister in the stomach.
"Oi! You're lucky you haven't been sorted yet, or I'd take points!"
Gabrielle stuck out her tongue in a dignified manner that only a veela could achieve before she unsealed the door and left.
Wednesday, September 1, 1995, Evening.
When the train arrived at Hogsmeade, Gabrielle was sent to ride the boats with the firsties (though according to Hermione, she was grumbling in French about being "too old for this sort of thing" as she stomped away). The others were surprised to see that Hagrid wasn't there to lead the first years across the lake. The half-giant had been a Hogwarts fixture since before their parents' days at the castle, and his absence was more than a little concerning. Unfortunately they didn't have time to ask about it as they were caught up in the throng of students moving towards the carriages that would take the upper years to the castle.
Jasmine didn't pay close attention to the Sorting Hat's song this year — it was something to do with inter-house unity — and barely noticed the sorting itself until Hermione gave a significant nod towards Professor McGonagall. At the reminder, Jasmine looked more closely and had to agree that their professor was indeed standing a bit taller and moving more easily than usual. A quick glance around the Great Hall told her that the other witches in their study group had been watching the Deputy Headmistress as well.
Soon McGonagall announced Gabrielle's sorting, and the obviously curious crowd grew even more hushed and attentive than usual. As soon as the Sorting Hat was placed on her head, it acquired what one could only call a surprised expression, followed by a look of intense concentration as it began its task.
My, my, this is the first time I've ever sorted a veela. And one of the few times I've ever had to sort a student of your age.
Is that you, Mr. Hat? Gabrielle asked, suddenly alarmed at the voice in her head.
Indeed it is. And so polite you are, too.
How are you speaking French? she asked, bewildered.
Technically, I'm not speaking at all, the hat responded. I'm communicating in your mind — and since it's your mind, the language is the one you are most comfortable using.
That is very interesting! The enchantments on you must be amazing!
They are at that, the hat responded a touch smugly, but we are not here to talk about me and how amazing I am. We are here to get you sorted, as it were.
And how do you do that?
I sort students based on how the Founders would have sorted them. Much, though not all, comes from studying your personality. Given how much older you are than the students I usually deal with, though, that might be a bit more complicated.
Do you inform others about what you learn? she asked cautiously.
Absolutely not! the hat replied indignantly. No matter what I see in here, no one learns about what I find. That restriction was created to ensure absolute neutrality on my part.
Good. Then put me in Gryffindor, please.
Oh? So sure, are you? What makes you think that Gryffindor is the best house for you?
It is where I am needed. It's where Jasmine and Hermione already are.
I can't sort you into a house simply because that's where your friends are. Well, unless it's Hufflepuff, but that's neither here nor there. I cannot accept such reasoning and will make my own determination after examining your—
They may be my friends, Gabrielle interrupted, but I am their shieldmaiden. I cannot fulfill my duties if I am in another house!
Shieldmaiden? the hat asked in confusion. What makes you think you're a... oh... oh, my. The hat fell silent for a moment, then continued, That is interesting. You are a subject of a prophecy that is about as old as Hogwarts herself, and yet you have accepted it without complaint. You threw yourself into incredibly advanced training to do who-knows-what in defense of a couple you barely knew at the time. You have no idea what obstacles or enemies you will face, yet you're willing to do whatever it takes to help that couple fulfill their destiny. You... oh, dear.
What is it? Gabrielle asked.
Nothing, nothing, the hat answered quickly.
Don't try to lie to me, Gabrielle said with a mental scowl. This is my head, and I can perceive deception. Need I remind you that veela are capable of conjuring magical fire with their bare hands?
The hat would have gulped if it could. It's just that, well... you do know that something's not quite right in here?
Oh, that, she replied a little hesitantly. I... do not think that it is a problem. Much.
Truly? the hat asked a bit skeptically.
I am confident that I am what I was always meant to be, Gabrielle insisted. I cannot imagine being any other way — not any more, at least. And my being this way is the will of the goddesses. Who are you to gainsay them?
Indeed, the hat said dryly. Well, with courage and dedication like that, the only house you could possibly belong in is...
"GRYFFINDOR!" shouted the hat, and the entire Gryffindor table cheered in response. Gabrielle trotted over to the table and received hugs from several Gryffindors she didn't know as she made her way to a place between Ginny and her two charges.
After the feast, the headmaster made his customary announcements, including the introduction of that year's Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, Fleur Delacour. He pointed out that she and her sister were both veela and used the opportunity to reiterate the school's stricter policy on bullying and abuse. "Any taunts, insults, bullying, or abuse aimed at anyone's blood status, heritage, nationality, ethnicity, gender, or anything similar will not be tolerated," Dumbledore said firmly. "Violations of this policy will be met with the harshest of punishments — up to and including suspension and even expulsion for repeat, unrepentant offenders."
He let that sink in before going on. "You don't have to like or be friends with everyone else in the school. You do, however, have to show at least a minimal amount of courtesy, politeness, and respect. You do have to refrain from abusing others simply because they differ from you or fail to meet some set of standards you have. If you cannot do this, you do not belong here and will not remain here for long. Am I understood?"
When he saw the majority of the student body nod, he smiled again and led everyone in the customary singing of the school song before dismissing the students to their dorms.
"Dear Maman and Grandmere," Gabrielle wrote as she lay in her new dorm bed, "Classes don't start until tomorrow, but I wanted to write to let you know that I arrived at Hogwarts without any problems. Although the train takes much longer than using the floo like they do at Beauxbatons, it's a nice way to meet other students. I've never had a chance to just sit and talk casually with Jasmine and Hermione before, and I was nervous at first, but Fleur helped me relax around them."
Gabrielle stopped and bit her bottom lip in an unconscious imitation of what she had seen Jasmine and Hermione doing on the train. "I was of course sorted into the Gryffindor house with Jasmine and Hermione. You might not believe it, but the sorting is done by a hat — a hat that mimics sentience! It spoke to me in my mind and examined both my personality and memories to decide where I belonged. I'm not sure that even our best enchanting houses could produce an artifact like that. I wonder if you could get permission to examine it?
"Fleur has offered to let me spend time in her quarters if I start feeling uncomfortable like she did when she was away at school, but that would put me too far away from our witches. I intend to stay as close to them as possible. If Fleur could bear the discomfort last year, then I can do it this year! We already failed them once by not coming to their aid over the summer, and I refuse to let them down again. At least they don't hold that against us, but I swear that I'll make them and you proud of me.
"It's been a long day of travel and I need to sleep for tomorrow. Give my love to the rest of the family! Love, Gabrielle."
As the Hogwarts students laid down to sleep, their bellies full from the welcoming feast, far to the north, in the middle of the cold, unforgiving sea, an even colder and more unforgiving wizard ordered his servants to begin their attack on the fortress-prison which housed the rest of his most faithful servants as well as a few potential recruits. We had expected to have more time to build up Our resources before taking this step, he thought to himself. But given Our recent losses, We need these troops more than ever... even if their care and rehabilitation will stretch what little We have to the breaking point. Hopefully Severus was right that he'd be able to handle them all when he suggested doing this so soon.
It was a move of desperation, but he labored hard to conceal that, lest he be thought weak.
He looked around at his assault force and ordered them to begin their run. He just hoped that none of those being broken out tonight became aware of his recent health problems or magical weakness. They may be some of Our most faithful followers, but after so many years in Azkaban, they won't be the most sane or stable followers We've ever had. Not that Bella was ever quite right in the head.
The dementors had already agreed to switch allegiances to him — some nonsensical complaint about their brethren being sent off to be killed had been the deciding factor to abandon the Ministry — so all that was necessary was for the walls to be breached and the pitiful auror guard force overwhelmed. Instead of attacking at the front gates, where the walls were strongest, he sent his servants on brooms to strike at the roof, where apparently no one had ever anticipated an attack. Stupid purebloods, he thought, and not for the first time.
He himself hung back, ostensibly to observe the whole operation in order to judge how everyone fought; only he knew it was because he wouldn't have been nearly as effective in a fight as he should have been.
Once a massive explosion had opened a large hole in the roof, everything seemed to move much faster. The auror guards were overwhelmed in a few minutes, especially with the dementors inciting fear from behind them, and his servants started releasing people from their cells — only those who agreed to follow him, of course. The rest were simply killed. They may not have been threats, but they were witnesses, and their deaths would inspire fear in others.
When the facility was secure, he made his grand entrance. With Bella cackling in the background, he strode through the central courtyard, inspecting both the assault force and the rescued faithful. He was pleased to see that there had been no casualties among his Death Eaters — well, none except for a new recruit who had lost his leg to a cutting curse from one of the aurors.
Very shortly, Azkaban's warden was brought forward and pushed to his knees. Voldemort sneered down at the quivering man. "I don't suppose you'd be willing to join our cause? To take the Dark Mark and help us rid the magical world of filth and vermin?"
The color drained from the man's face, then he steeled himself and shook his head. He could have spoken, but evidently he didn't trust his voice. Voldemort considered ordering the man to be tortured to death, but time wasn't on their side. "Very well," he said. "Under other circumstances I'd consider leaving you alive to tell the world what happened here, but I'm afraid that I can't do that in this case."
He looked up to Walden Macnair, then looked away, knowing that the man was too much of a sadist for this situation. Finally he picked out the form of Nott and motioned for him to come over. "Make it quick," he ordered, then walked away while Nott executed the warden. In short order, everyone was aloft on the brooms and heading back for the Malfoy estate.
Thursday, September 2, 1995. Morning.
When Jasmine and Hermione came down to breakfast, everyone seemed to be in a good mood, anxiously looking forward to the first day of classes. Shortly after they sat down, they were joined by their friends, with Ginny sitting next to Neville and Luna next to Ron. It didn't escape their notice that Ron's ears were just a touch red, a sign that he was embarrassed about something. Jasmine smiled at Hermione, and they silently agreed not to say anything about it.
Soon owls started arriving with mail and newspapers, and it didn't take long for the girls to realize that something was very wrong. More and more people fell silent as they started reading the Daily Prophet, while those conversations that continued took on a different, darker quality. It was only when copies of the Daily Prophet reached the Gryffindor table that they finally learned the cause of the unrest.
Across the front page in large letters was the headline:
AZKABAN BREAKOUT! DEATH EATERS ESCAPE!
MINISTRY HAS EVIDENCE SIRIUS BLACK TO BLAME
"I can't believe this!" Jasmine hissed. She wanted to rant and rave, but she couldn't without admitting that she had been in contact with her godfather.
"It'll be alright," Hermione said, putting a hand on Jasmine's arm. "It's just a lie, and the truth will come out soon enough."
Yeah, and in the meantime the hunt for him will just get worse, Jasmine thought bitterly.
As she looked around the Great Hall, she noticed that some students weren't particularly upset: over at the Slytherin table, she saw quite a few faces that looked positively gleeful, and she wondered how many of them had been expecting this news. Nott in particular looked awfully pleased, and Jasmine resolved again to watch out for him during the coming term.
Returning her attention to the Gryffindor table, she noticed how Ginny seemed to be trying to comfort Neville without doing anything too overt. I guess their relationship has progressed a bit further than I had realized, she thought with a smile. Shifting her gaze, she saw how Luna kept looking at Ron as she ate, and wondered just what the young Ravenclaw's feelings were.
"Let's just finish our breakfast and get to class," Hermione said resignedly. "There's nothing we can do about this now."
"True," Jasmine agreed, "but that doesn't mean that there's nothing at all we can do. These escaped Death Eaters are the worst of the worst." Neville nodded fervently. "They'll be coming for us and our families sooner or later," she continued, "and we need to start getting ready."
Neville looked a bit ill but was clearly determined. "Just let me know when and where," he said grimly.
Jasmine was prevented from answering when Hermione got an idea. "Say, Luna," she said, "how are you with Defense Against the Dark Arts and dueling?"
"Oh, I'm OK," she said somewhat airily.
"Don't let her fool you," Ginny said with a snort. "The twins gave up trying to prank her when they discovered just how creative she could be with common household spells." Luna didn't respond to that, but she smiled as if she were remembering something fondly.
"How would the two of you," Hermione said to the two younger witches, "like to receive lessons on more and advanced spells for Defense?"
Albus Dumbledore smiled at the surprised faces of the fifth-year Gryffindors and Slytherins as they entered the Potions lab on the first day of classes. He had hoped that he would have been able to successfully convince Horace Slughorn to at least fill in for Severus over the coming months — he had a feeling that his Potions professor would end up being called away quite a bit for his other duties. Unfortunately, negotiations hadn't gone quite as smoothly as he'd hoped, and he'd had to get rather forceful near the end. That meant that Horace would be unavailable for substitute teaching duties — or much of anything else, in fact — for the foreseeable future. But at least he's safe from Voldemort and his minions, Dumbledore considered.
Since he didn't want the Ministry to use this as an excuse to foist one of Fudge's flunkies on him, he decided to take over himself. Becoming an alchemist required advanced potions study, so he was more than qualified — on paper, at least. It had been years since he taught, and even then his subject had been Transfiguration, so this was going to be an interesting experience. For everyone.
"Welcome, welcome," he said as the last students filed in and took their seats. "Your Potions professor is indisposed, so I will be taking over for a couple of days. Unfortunately, I'm not certain where Professor Snape intended to start, so I've chosen to begin your year with the Draught of Peace — it's required knowledge for your OWLs at the end of the year, and you should all be capable of brewing it."
Dumbledore then proceeded to explain how the potion was brewed, some of the most common pitfalls, a tip for getting past a particularly tricky step, and why certain techniques were important. Curious, he thought once he'd told them to get started, all of the Gryffindor students seemed surprised to be hearing such information... not the Slytherins, just the Gryffindors. It's almost as if no one had ever bothered to explain such things to them!
He dismissed that as nonsense, though, and began to walk around the room, offering helpful advice and corrections as he went. That, too, seemed to surprise the Gryffindor students, but Dumbledore chalked it up to a trick of the light.
Thursday, September 2, 1995. Afternoon.
Voldemort threw the Daily Prophet across the room in anger. On the one hand, he was pleased that the breakout of Death Eaters from Azkaban hadn't been linked to him, thus allowing him to continue working from the shadows. On the other hand, his pride wouldn't accept the fact that such an audacious act — one long thought to be impossible — had been attributed to someone else. We are the greatest wizard to ever live, he fumed silently. We planned and executed that raid. We should receive accolades for the deed!
Before his anger could build any further, the doors to his throne room opened and Severus Snape stepped in. He glanced briefly at the torn newspapers before approaching and kneeling before Voldemort's throne.
"What news do you bring Us, Severus," the Dark Lord asked. "Are your efforts to heal Our servants meeting with the success you promised Us?"
"Yes, my Lord," Snape answered. "For the most part, everything is going just as I predicted."
"For the most part?" Voldemort asked dangerously.
"Yes, my Lord," Snape said. "The potions I am administering are healing their bodies just as I promised you. However," he hesitated just a little before continuing, "the mental state of some of your servants is proving to be... a hinderance."
"Explain," Voldemort ordered.
"Some insist that they don't need potions — that their faith in you all these years has sustained them, and that simply being in your presence once more will be more than enough to repair their bodies," Snape said quickly.
"Some?" Voldemort asked in a voice that was now tinged with exasperation.
"Bellatrix, mostly," Snape admitted, "though some of the others have started agreeing with her. While I of course share their faith in you, my Lord, I believe that they would heal faster if they..."
"Yes, yes, you're quite right," Voldemort reassured his potions master. Sighing deeply, he moved his hand to his face as if to rub the bridge of his nose... but then he remembered that he didn't have a nose, which just worsened his mood. "I'll speak to them."
"Thank you, my Lord."
When the man didn't make to leave, the Dark Lord asked, "Is there something else?"
"Yes, my Lord," Snape answered. "I assume you saw today's Daily Prophet?"
"Yes, what of it?" Voldemort growled out, feeling his recently developed patience wearing thin and wondering if he should just cast the Cruciatus curse now and get it over with.
"While it is unfortunate that we are not yet able to proclaim to the public how you masterminded that glorious deed," Snape said fawningly, "this arguably creates an opportunity to further direct people's attention away from you, while discrediting both Dumbledore and Potter even more."
"How?" Voldemort asked.
"A small Death Eater raid, including a few of the healthiest and, ah, sanest of those broken out of Azkaban," Snape explained. "They can cause a little mayhem and destruction while proclaiming their allegiance to Sirius Black. Everyone will redouble their efforts to find him, and whenever someone like Dumbledore insists that you have returned, people will be able to point to hard evidence showing that it's Black who's creating mayhem, not you. Then your servants can start to act more openly because people will automatically associate them with Black. You will remain in the shadows, hidden from view, but your servants will be marching towards your ultimate victory."
Lord Voldemort smiled for the first time that day.