A/N: Thanks to all those who have reviewed, followed, and favorited this story. I'm glad that people have been 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.
A lot of people thought that the appearance of Cheyenne Mountain in the previous chapter was a reference to Stargate, but it wasn't intended as such. Instead, it was simply the appearance of NORAD command, nothing more. If it was a reference to anything, it was to Tom Clancy novels.
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, JK Rowling does.
Recommendation: This chapter's recommended fic is "Wizards Fall" by Bobmin356. This is probably one of my favorite stories and partially inspired what I've done with Iris Potter in my Witches of S.H.I.E.L.D. series. After killing Voldemort, Harry Potter decides to leave the wizarding world behind. He can't deal with all the corruption, hypocrisy, and stupidity. Just when he thought he was out, though, he gets pulled back in — not to save the wizarding world this time, but to destroy it, and start over with something new.
Final Countdown: 10...9...8...7...6...5...4...3!
Chapter 48 - Another Brick in the Wall
Tuesday, May 2, 1996, Morning.
"So, where were you two all day yesterday?" Neville asked quietly as they walked to breakfast.
"We were... busy," Jasmine responded.
"You were told what Beltane is like," Hermione added.
Both Neville and Ron went scarlet. "All day?" Ron asked hoarsely.
"All night, all day, and all night again," Jasmine corrected him, causing Ron to gulp audibly.
"And we left early," Hermione said. "I'm so glad our portkey allowed us to leave from where we were. I'd have hated to have to pick my way through... all that. Again."
"Yeah, but you weren't the one who had to... interrupt first Fleur and then Gabrielle so they could take the portkey with us," Jasmine muttered under her breath.
"Pick your way through all what?" Neville asked.
"There were over thirty thousand witches there," Jasmine explained. "Mostly veela. Use your imagination."
Both Neville and Ron stumbled as those words impacted their brains.
"Oi!" Ginny cried. "Don't break my boyfriend! I'm still trying to train him!"
"What about Ron?" Hermione asked, glancing at the dazed boy.
Ginny waved her hand airily. "He's already broken."
"Oi!"
Tuesday, May 2, 1996, Evening.
"So," Jasmine said, "That's the, uh, simplified explanation of what happened after you left."
"There's more?" Tracey asked innocently. "What's the more complicated version?"
"Nothing that we feel comfortable talking about," Hermione said hastily.
"Was it good, at least?"
"Tracey!" Daphne exclaimed, elbowing her friend in her side and causing Blaise to snicker.
"If they kept at it for over twenty-four hours, it better have been good," Hannah remarked wistfully. Both Jasmine and Hermione went red while Tracey struggled to keep from laughing out loud.
"Alright, alright, it was good," Jasmine finally said. "It's a shame that we couldn't stay for the whole thing."
"Whole thing?" Padma asked.
"It was still going on when we left super early this morning," Hermione answered, "and from what we were told, I wouldn't expect it to end until some time tomorrow night at the earliest."
"Wow," responded several of them in quiet whispers.
Thursday, May 4, 1996, Late Night.
"So, what is it?" Sirius asked tersely. "It was a long Order meeting, and I'm not in the mood to stay up late for trivial matters."
"Cygnus came and made a report," Walburga answered without preamble. Sirius was willing to interact with her for official family business, but no more. And even then, he was barely civil when he did it. "He couldn't stay long because he didn't want to risk missing anything important, so he gave it to me to pass along."
Sirius gestured for her to get on with it, so she continued, "On Sunday night, something happened that caused heavy damage to... the place where the Dark Lord is staying. He can't tell how badly, but from what he can see it's quite significant. Even some of the portraits are damaged — all portraits of the worst of the, ah, resident family. He doesn't know if that's a coincidence or not, and his own portrait wasn't touched at all."
"Sunday night?" Sirius asked, now sounding interested. "That was Beltane."
Walburga nodded. "Cygnus heard screams of pain from all over the house for maybe half an hour, then nothing. In fact, nothing at all happened until this morning. Apparently everyone fell unconscious and didn't start waking up until today — and even now, they seem to be injured or ill. That includes the Dark Lord, who appears to have suffered the most, if the whispers Cygnus hears are to be believed. Everyone is in such a bad state that some attacks which Cygnus didn't previously know about and which were supposed to start this week had to be put off."
"Well, Jasmine said that if Voldemort were ever in range of one of the rituals, he might end up being affected," Sirius responded. "At least, that's what she was told by someone who's supposed to be an expert in such things. If Jasmine and Hermione did something on Sunday night, that could explain what happened. It's a shame this information didn't come in before the meeting — Albus was here and would have wanted to hear about it."
Walburga smirked slightly. "Elladora reported that those two left their dorm on Sunday afternoon and didn't return until Tuesday morning. She said that they looked very, very happy."
Sirius smiled back and said, "Well, I guess that proves... wait, what? Tuesday morning? That long? I'm... impressed. And rather jealous. I'd never have been able to last that long."
"Not for lack of trying, I'm sure."
Sirius started to laugh, then caught himself and frowned. He rose from his chair and stood there for a moment, then sighed and sat back down. "This," he said as he gestured with his hand vaguely, "is still difficult for me. I've hated my mother for as long as I can remember. I don't have a single fond memory of her from my childhood — not a one. Yet now I've come to respect the portrait of that same person. I don't entirely trust her, but I do trust her about some important things."
Walburga waited, not wanting to interrupt him. This was the most he'd said to her since her confession, and it was certainly the most he'd ever opened up to her about his personal feelings.
"I'm honestly not sure how to reconcile the two," Sirius continued. "I was managing before because I assumed you were merely a portrait, but now that I know you are her soul — even if not all of her soul — I can't use that excuse anymore."
When he remained silent for a while, Walburga risked saying something herself. "If it helps, I had similar difficulties, at least early on."
Sirius raised one eyebrow, and she took that as an invitation to continue. "I knew who I was, that my soul was in here. At the same time, I often didn't feel entirely like myself — I could tell something was missing."
"Was?" Sirius asked, appearing interested.
"Mostly," Walburga answered. "The feeling still comes occasionally, but it's much rarer than it was when I first awoke. It's as if... as if..."
"As if empty spots are being filled in?" Elladora suggested, surprising the other two as they hadn't seen her arrive in her frame. "Filled with new experiences, new ideas, new goals?"
Walburga nodded, and Elladora continued, "You're a soul in there, which I think makes you a person. Unlike a portrait, a person can learn, grow, and change. I believe that's what's going on: the worst of you was stripped away, which left holes in who you were as a person. Now those holes are being filled in with new things."
"Making me... a new person?" Walburga asked.
"That hardly sounds likely," Sirius said, causing Walburga to look a bit put out.
"Well, if she isn't a different person, why don't you treat her as you would your mother?" When Sirius looked confused, she clarified, "Based on everything you've told me about your relationship with your mother — your original, living mother — I'd expect you to simply burn her portrait the first chance you got. So why don't you?"
Sirius stiffened, and Walburga went still in her frame. Finally he said, "I... I don't want to do that. It doesn't feel right."
"Because she's useful?"
"No!" he said angrily. "I mean, yes, she is, but that's not why it would be wrong."
"It's because she's a different person now," Elladora said persuasively. "Everybody changes, Sirius. You are not the same person you were two decades ago. The difference for Walburga is that she was forced to change much faster than normal. Instead of layering new ideas and experiences on top of old ones, which usually produces a slow change, she had new ideas and experiences fill in the gaping holes left when parts of her soul were stripped away. In the absence of the old prejudices to provide resistance, the new thoughts became established much more quickly and deeply than they would for a normal person."
Sirius grimaced. "How can somebody 'forget' that they're an evil bigot? That's the part I still can't get past."
Elladora shrugged helplessly. "There's no question that this is unprecedented; perhaps it would help if you thought of it as a kind of amnesia. Regardless, you know in your heart that she is different — it's why you can't destroy her portrait. Now you need to decide if you'll allow the memory of the old Walburga to ruin any chance of a better relationship with this new and much worthier person."
Sirius looked thoughtful. Walburga remained silent, knowing better than to say anything to him just now. Yet as she watched her son, for the first time, the resignation in her eyes was tempered by something that might have been hope.
Friday, May 5, 1996, Morning.
Before entering the Great Hall for breakfast, everyone was greeted with a new decree.
Educational Decree Number Forty-Five:
Proper dress and decorum must be maintained at all times.
"What the bloody hell is that supposed to mean?" Ron asked.
Before Hermione could chastise him, a voice from behind said, "Five points from Gryffindor for foul language." They all turned and saw several Slytherin members of the Inquisitorial squad standing behind them. "And another five points from Gryffindor for wearing an improperly tied tie, Weasley," Adrian Pucey continued.
"What?" Ron said, looking down and grabbing at the knot in his tie. "It's tied right!"
"It's tied sloppily," Miles Bletchley responded, "not that I would expect a blood traitor who lacks even rudimentary class or breeding to know that. Oh, and another five points from Gryffindor for contradicting one of your betters."
Ron's face had gone crimson, but before he could respond, Jasmine and Hermione each grabbed an arm and dragged him into the Great Hall, closely followed by Ginny, Neville, and Luna.
"Let me go," Ron said furiously as he struggled between the two witches. "He can't get away with saying that to me!"
"Actually, I think he can, big brother," Ginny replied as she looked around the Great Hall, noting all the dour faces. "Something tells me that they've been up to this all morning."
"They've been given their authority by Umbridge," Hermione pointed out. "What else should we expect but the same nastiness and bigotry we get from her?"
Ron sagged a bit in his seat as Jasmine and Hermione sat him down. "This is going to be bad, isn't it?" he asked.
"I'm sure we'll manage," Luna said dreamily. "As bad as things look now, I'm sure they'll get better."
Friday, May 5, 1996, Evening.
Alessandra Zabini stretched out in her tub and relaxed in the hot water. She should have done this the previous night when she first came home, but she had been so tired that she simply fell into bed and slept for twenty-four hours. Now she was paying for that with muscles that were even stiffer than they had been. She was aching in places she didn't even know existed a week ago!
Despite the pain, and despite the fact that she generally considered herself completely straight, she didn't regret a single thing she'd done. So, maybe she wasn't quite as straight as she'd always assumed. She'd gotten to know her old friend in ways she'd never expected, and then she'd... branched out a bit. And received an up-close-and-personal lesson in veela biology she wouldn't have imagined in her wildest dreams.
And she knew she'd do it all again in a heartbeat if invited to another one.
I thought our Beltane celebrations were a bit on the wild side, she thought as the hot water began to melt away the soreness. I'm not sure how many of our people would be able to accept anything so extreme as what I experienced, but there's no denying the power — not just the power produced and spread across the land, but the power of the communion and how it brought everyone together. When I was told that the veela hadn't had any internal unrest in millennia, I thought they were simply bragging. Now, though... I don't know if they would work as well for mixed-gender groups, but if they're even half as effective at bringing people together as they are for the veela, the impact on our society would be mind-boggling.
Saturday, May 6, 1996, Evening.
"So, Amelia, to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?" McGonagall asked as the two witches sat down in the Transfiguration professor's office. "It's not because of Susan's grades as you told Umbridge, because Susan is doing well as always. And it can't be that you're looking for Albus, because I've already had to give a magical oath that I don't know where he is."
"I'm here to talk about what you and your friends were doing Sunday night," Bones said sternly, watching as the older witch hesitated ever so slightly while pouring tea for the two of them. "Albus assured me that what was going on wasn't a threat, and I was willing to believe him; but after Sunday night I can't take that chance anymore."
"Albus?" McGonagall asked. "I knew you two talked, but he didn't tell you that...?"
"No, I already knew about your involvement. In fact, it was our investigating your involvement that led him to contact me and then our discussion. But he's gone now, and the Ministry is still recovering from a massive attack that no one can account for — no one but me, that is. So that's why I'm here talking to you."
"What happened, exactly?"
"As near as anyone can tell," Bones explained, "a massive wave of magical energy passed through the Ministry at around 9:30 PM on Sunday night, causing all monitoring devices to overload — including those we use to monitor international magical travel in and out of Britain. We didn't get them working again until Thursday, so for over seventy-two hours the nation was completely open and vulnerable — an army could have been portkeyed in and we wouldn't have even known about it!"
"Oh, my," McGonagall whispered.
"That's putting it mildly," Bones said. "Such a breach of national security is intolerable, and I know you were involved. You were lucky that I didn't have you tracked down Sunday night and arrested with all your associates. That could still happen if I don't get answers that I like."
"Well, it wouldn't have been too hard to find me," McGonagall responded. "I was in my office at that time."
Bones' eyes widened in genuine surprise. "You were... but I thought... the signature of the energy wave that hit us matched what we found around at least one site where we knew you had been."
"I'm not saying that I was in my office all night," McGonagall amended. "I was indeed out earlier, but returned to the castle and was in my office a little before 9:30 PM."
"So... you were not involved in anything that would cause a massive burst of magical energy?"
McGonagall considered the question for a moment, then said, "Not to my knowledge, no. At no point during my time outside the castle did I see anything like that, nor was I engaged in any activity that I've ever known to damage or even disrupt magical devices."
"That's a very carefully worded answer," Bones observed, "but I'll accept it for now, especially since nothing you've been involved in before Sunday seems to have caused any damage anywhere. Are you aware of anyone who might know more about this? Who might have been engaged in anything nefarious after you were gone?"
McGonagall's expression became indignant. "Nefarious? Certainly not!" She then visibly forced herself to calm before continuing, "I might be able to learn more, I'm not certain. But I can assure you that none of those whom I might ask would have been doing anything to deliberately put magical Britain at risk as you described."
"Even if it was an accident, it's still dangerous enough to be a threat," Bones pointed out. "It's my job to investigate such threats and put an end to them."
McGonagall slumped a bit in her seat. "I know, and you're justified in being upset. Just... let me ask around. It will be difficult to get people to open up even to you, considering who's in charge at the Ministry."
"I can't say I blame them," Bones conceded, "but they'll need to talk to someone official, and better me than the alternatives. Right now the Unspeakables are also looking into this, and while they may not be in Fudge's pocket, they have their own agenda that I wouldn't necessarily trust."
"Can we talk again in a week?" McGonagall asked. "No, make it Sunday night, that would be better. Can you wait that long? I can assure you there's no chance of it happening again before then."
Bones sighed. "I can work with that, I suppose." She finally took a sip of the tea that had sat untouched on the table beside her. "Now, tell me, how is Susan doing?"
Sunday, May 7, 1996, Morning.
"Report!" Voldemort demanded when Rookwood bowed low before him.
"My Lord," Rookwood responded. "I was finally well enough this morning to check on the fake prophecy sphere I left in the Department of Mysteries. It... it's completely blackened and does not respond, no matter what I do. I fear that it has failed and was perhaps even discovered."
"Crucio!"
Rookwood writhed in agony for the minute Voldemort held the torture curse. "Your punishment was not for failing with the sphere," he announced when he cancelled the spell, "because We honestly doubted that it would succeed in time. No, your punishment was for possibly exposing Our interest in that part of the Ministry."
"I... apologize, my Lord!" Rookwood gasped.
"Macnair!" Voldemort snapped, and the masked Death Eater knelt before the throne. "What's the news on the target?"
"He's outside Hamburg," Macnair reported. "Our agents haven't lost him for more than a couple of hours at any time since they started tracking him."
"Good," Voldemort responded. "Have him picked up — it's time to put the secondary plan into effect. Contact Severus and instruct him to make as much Wolfsbane as he can."
"Yes, my Lord," he said as he backed away.
"Bellatrix!" Voldemort called out next. "Begin getting everyone ready — We don't care what kind of shape they are in. We will move on the night of the next full moon. That night will herald Our ultimate victory, like on the night when Our new body was created."
"What of the people you wanted to kidnap?" Rodolphus asked.
"You will still try to get a few key Ministry personnel," Voldemort answered, "but they can't be a priority. Since We don't know if We were hit by a deliberate attack or not, We can't afford to keep waiting."
Once everyone had left his throne room, Voldemort got up slowly and stiffly and lay down on the couch he had disillusioned in the back of the room. The torture curse was a difficult spell, no matter how much one meant it, and even that one minute of casting it had taken a lot out of him. Ever since waking up on Thursday, he'd been enduring crippling pain and was having even more trouble with magic than he'd had before.
Even worse, just to add insult to injury, it appeared that all of his marked Death Eaters were recovering faster than he was! It was embarrassing, and he was doing all he could to conceal that fact from his servants.
Sunday, May 7, 1996, Afternoon.
"We have a problem," Minerva announced without preamble when Jasmine and Hermione arrived for their "remedial Transfiguration lessons."
"Umbridge?" Jasmine asked.
"Worse — Amelia Bones," Minerva answered. "She paid me a visit yesterday; apparently the reason the Headmaster talked to her was because she had been investigating the large amounts of magic being produced at several sites around Britain... and I had been identified as one of those involved."
"Oh no!" Hermione exclaimed. "How?"
"I have no idea," Minerva said as she shook her head, "but that's not the real problem. The real problem is that the Ministry of Magic was hit by a wave of magical energy on Sunday night. It overloaded all of their magical sensors, including those responsible for monitoring international magical travel. For several days, our borders were completely open."
Jasmine gave a low whistle. "That sounds bad."
"You have no idea," Minerva said gravely. "Madam Bones had been willing to accept the Headmaster's assurance that these rituals weren't a threat, but no longer. She may be willing to believe that what happened wasn't a deliberate, premeditated attack on the security of the nation, but even as an accident, she rightfully regards what happened as a national threat."
"Do we need to turn ourselves in?" Hermione asked quietly.
"It hasn't gone quite that far, yet," Minerva said. "First, do you know what happened?"
"We assume that it was like the previous Beltane, only bigger," Hermione replied. "There were more participants, it was on a magically powerful site, and of course our soul bond was already complete this time."
"We, uh, weren't paying attention to what was happening around us at the time," Jasmine added.
"I'm sure," Minerva said dryly. "How likely do you think it is that this will happen again?"
"On the next Beltane?" Hermione asked. "That depends on how many people are there and where we are. It's obviously possible. On the next ritual, which is Midsummer's Eve? Not likely."
Minerva nodded. "I thought that might be the case, though you should contact the veela leaders and ask their opinion. I believe that if I can assure Madam Bones when I talk to her again next Sunday evening that what happened was due to an unusual confluence of events which won't even be possible until the next Beltane, then she may be willing to hold off a bit longer on demanding answers. She understands that we don't trust the current Ministry leadership, but she can't sit by and do nothing if she thinks the security of magical Britain is at risk."
"We'll have Fleur send out a message tonight," Hermione said. "We should also talk to Susan to see if she has any insights on how to best deal with her aunt."
"On a slightly more positive note," Minerva went on, "it's finally ready." Jasmine and Hermione looked at each other in a mixture of satisfaction and trepidation. All they needed now to put their plan into motion was for Voldemort to show himself.
Tuesday, May 9, 1996, Morning.
"It's absurd," Ginny said, complaining about Educational Decree Number Twenty-Six, according to which, "Boys and girls are forbidden from being within six inches of each other." Jasmine and Hermione were using it as an excuse to slide closer to each other, saying that they had to ensure they were far enough away from the boys around them.
"I know," Ron agreed. "What are they going to do, walk around with a measuring..." He frowned as he looked at the Slytherin who was standing behind his sister, holding something out. "Oi!" he shouted. "What are you doing?"
"That'll be ten points from Gryffindor for disrespecting your betters, Weasley," Urquhart responded. "And for your information, I'm checking to be sure that your sister and her squib boyfriend are far enough apart." He squinted at the measuring tape in his hands and said, "Aha! I knew it. You two are only five and a half inches apart. Ten points from Gryffindor for violating the latest Educational Decree. Each."
Luna put her hand on Ron's arm to calm him down as Ginny and Neville scooted apart. Then Urquhart moved over, did the same thing between Ron and Ginny, and announced, "You and your sister are only three inches apart. Twenty points each from Gryffindor for violating the latest Educational Decree!"
"But she's my sister!" Ron complained.
"So?" Urquhart asked. "It's not as if blood traitors like you care about such things." He paused and narrowed his eyes at Luna's hand on Ron's arm. "And another ten points each from Gryffindor and Ravenclaw. You don't know when to quit, do you?"
Luna had to grab hard on his arm and put one hand on his mouth to keep him from going after the Slytherin as he walked away laughing.
"It'll be alright," Luna insisted. "It'll get better soon — you'll see."
Tuesday, May 9, 1996, Afternoon.
Tonks lay flat on her back, gazing at a clear blue sky framed by the grey, imposing megaliths of Stonehenge. She'd taken a chance on apparating right into the middle of the site, figuring that no one would still be here. She had been right, but the ambient magic was so thick, so heavy, and so intoxicating that she'd immediately collapsed into a smiling, bleary-eyed, and oh-so-randy heap.
She thought about how she should start casting her detection spells, but she simply couldn't be bothered. All she wanted to do was find Remus Lupin and shag him silly. Pity he was still away on that mission for Dumbledore.
She thought about how she should contact her boss and get help, but she didn't care. Instead she considered whether it would be easier to track down Charlie Weasley, her Hogwarts sweetheart, and shag him silly.
One thing she didn't think about was how the ambient magic might be affecting the muggles, and no one in the magical community noticed when Amesbury and all the surrounding muggle communities experienced a massive baby boom nine months later.
Thursday, May 11, 1996, Morning.
"Interesting news from your parents?" Jasmine asked, noting how intently Hermione was reading the letter which Fleur had dropped off earlier.
"Uh, yeah," Hermione answered softly so they wouldn't be overheard. "Remember when you suggested that my parents find some way to help us in the muggle world so they wouldn't feel completely left out?" Jasmine nodded. "Well, I suggested some little things," Hermione explained. "Stuff that a couple of dentists could easily do in their free time, like joining organizations that promote equality."
"And?"
"They discussed it with the veela, and somehow the idea snowballed, and now... well, now they've started their own organization!"
"That's great!" Jasmine said. When Hermione didn't respond, she added, "I mean, it is great, isn't it?"
"I guess so," Hermione answered. "It seems so sudden. They've never been activists of any sort, but now they are running their own group — one that has enough funding that they already have one office opened in London and are planning more offices all over Britain and beyond."
"Wow, that's impressive," Jasmine said. "It sounds like they might be able to make a real impact. What's it called?"
"Er... it's called the Foundation for Equality," Hermione said awkwardly. "Now, at least."
"Now?"
"Yeah, Dad says that Mum wanted to name it the British Institute for Lesbian and Gay Equality, but they overruled her."
Jasmine stared at her in horror. "Your mum wanted to name it BIL—"
"Don't say it!" Hermione said, holding up her hand and looking a bit embarrassed. "Look, my mum has a... problem when it comes to naming things. Don't even ask what she originally wanted to name their dental practice!"
Jasmine shook her head and sighed. "Well, at least you come by it honestly."
"Come by what?" Hermione asked, her voice sharp.
"Your own... uh... problem," Jasmine finished lamely.
"I do not have any such problem," Hermione insisted as she held the letter back up to continue reading. "It's my mum who has the problem."
"It ain't just a river in Egypt..." Jasmine muttered under her breath, but she shut up when she noticed Hermione glaring over the top edge of the letter.
Saturday, May 13, 1996, Late Afternoon.
Jasmine and Hermione were once again able to use the hidden training area with Professor Flitwick. With McGonagall's help, Umbridge was expected to be tied up all day with staff meetings — something she had been resisting but couldn't put off forever if she wanted to maintain the pretense of being headmistress. That Flitwick claimed to be ill was taken by her as a blessing rather than as a reason to be suspicious.
When the time came for him to offer them another chance to duel him, the two witches said that they thought they were ready. They'd learned the hard way that using spells against the person who taught them to you was a sure way to lose, and now they seemed to have a new plan.
"Three," he counted, and the girls crouched slightly.
"Two." Both Jasmine and Hermione gripped their wands more tightly.
"One." Flitwick's eyes narrowed when he realized that the two witches had cast some sort of wandless spell on their faces or heads with their off-hands.
"Zero." Flitwick moved, suspecting a surprise of some sort. He was right, but it wasn't the sort of surprise that could be avoided by dodging.
"Fulgur Maximum!" incanted Jasmine, who was followed almost immediately by Hermione's "Tono Grandissime!"
The first spell created a flash of light so bright that it completely blinded him, a problem he immediately forgot when the second spell produced a crash of thunder so loud that Flitwick could barely hear himself think afterwards. Protection for their ears and/or eyes, he thought. That must have been what they cast on themselves. Clever girls!
Fortunately for him, he didn't need to see or hear in order to fight, especially against two inexperienced witches. Before he could reposition himself, he heard a muffled incantation through his ringing ears and suddenly felt himself sliding across the ice that had formed under his feet.
Fine, he thought, I've bruised both my bum and my ego, but moving was my goal anyway.
Once he regained his feet, he rolled to face where the two witches should have been. Several fast spells didn't seem to produce any results, telling him that either a shield had been cast or some sort of cover had been created. Just as he thought his sight had recovered enough that he might be able to distinguish between light blobs and dark blobs, a cry of "Fumus Maximus!" caused everything to go dark again.
Hah, he thought, smoke like that affects us both, leveling the field. That was your first mistake.
He flipped through the air to reposition himself, cast a few spells, then rolled away once more. He could see his hand and wand, barely, so despite the thick smoke he knew that his eyes had recovered. His hearing wasn't entirely back, though. He was in the middle of a triple back-somersault and considering the advantages of blowing away the smoke when he heard a voice incant something indistinct. He thought he caught the words vespa and mandarinia and decided not to take any chances, immediately doing another somersault in the other direction, then casting several spells toward the voice before jumping out of the way of any possible return fire.
Once back on the ground, he stilled, waiting for some sign of where his targets were. At first there was a faint buzzing which he didn't understand, so he jumped and rolled to take up a new position. The buzzing came again, forcing him to conclude that he'd better get rid of the smoke in order to find this new threat, but before he could cast he saw several... bees. Well, they looked like bees, except for the fact that they were longer than his hand was wide.
Hmm, he thought as the half-dozen insects hovered in front of him. Looks like Minerva's lessons have produced some fruit, not that this is much of a threat.
"Incendio!" he incanted, sending a stream of fire to incinerate the bugs. When he cancelled the spell, he was startled to find that the bee-things were still there. And looked... angry. Before he could contemplate what it took for an insect to look angry, he was startled again by the fact that the insects were being joined by friends. Lots and lots of friends.
That was when he cast a quick and dirty shield before running, because he saw the size of the stingers on those things and didn't want them anywhere near him. Once he got a little distance, he cast several more comprehensive defensive and shield spells, thus protecting himself from the cloud of angry-looking bee-things. Unfortunately, maintaining those spells distracted him so much that it took him almost twenty more minutes to find and incapacitate his two opponents.
"Will you please call these things off!" he cried once he woke the witches back up. Nothing he'd tried had gotten rid of them; on the contrary, his attempts had only made them angrier, and he wasn't sure how much longer he'd be able to keep up his defenses.
"Sorry," Jasmine said with a sheepish expression as she dispelled the transfiguration, causing several hundred pebbles to fall on and around the diminutive professor.
"What in Merlin's name were they?" Flitwick asked as he canceled his defensive spells and sat down to catch his breath.
"Asian giant hornets," Hermione answered. "We read about them in a muggle book Luna received for her birthday."
"We added in a little extra size plus some fire resistance," Jasmine added. "Those were my ideas!"
Hermione rolled her eyes. "She wanted to make them twice as big, but at that size they couldn't fly anymore. After a lot of trial and error, we discovered that about fifty percent larger was as big as we could go." When she saw Jasmine pouting, she added, "The fire resistance was good, though."
"And a strong aggression charm, I take it?" Flitwick asked.
"Oh, no, that was all them," Hermione insisted. "We have to make sure that their aggression is aimed properly so we don't get targeted as well. Unfortunately they aren't intelligent creatures, so complicated compulsions don't work well. In this case, we simply had them target the shortest potential threat."
"There are stories of them spraying venom right into their targets' eyes, but we haven't figured out how to get them to do that yet," Jasmine added.
"Not that we would have done that to you anyway," Hermione hastened to add. "Their venom... well, it melts human flesh. It would probably destroy an eye, assuming our transfigured hornets have venom that strong. They'd certainly have a lot of it, given how large they are."
"Sweet Merlin," Flitwick whispered. "And this is a muggle creature? Not magical?" Both witches nodded simultaneously. "Maybe I should borrow Miss Lovegood's book," he said half to himself as he got out the portkey to take them away.
Sunday, May 14, 1996, Evening.
"As I indicated last week," McGonagall said when Amelia Bones was seated, "no one involved knew that anything so large would happen, much less that anything or anyone at the Ministry would be negatively affected. They are all extremely sorry."
"That's not much comfort, considering how much more harm could have been done if anyone had known how vulnerable we were," Bones said grimly.
"They know that," McGonagall said, "and they have all promised not to speak of it to anyone. They believe they know why it happened and are certain that the only time the same circumstances would come together like that is next Beltane — but even then, it's not guaranteed to recur."
"I take it that these circumstances involve sex and Stonehenge?" Bones asked. When McGonagall looked at her in surprise, she continued, "The auror doing the investigation on this apparated to Stonehenge to check it out. She collapsed immediately from the residual magic and spent the rest of the day lying there, fantasizing about sex. By the time she managed to crawl far enough away to concentrate sufficiently to leave without splinching, she was so randy that she only took enough time to write me a short note before locking herself in her apartment and spending the next day trying to 'relieve an itch.'"
"Oh, my," McGonagall said, wincing slightly.
"Then she admitted herself into St. Mungo's the following day because she had overdone it." Bones finished with a frown. "I'd like to charge someone with assault on an auror, but the worst part is that she's not even upset about it. I'm pretty sure she'd like to be there for the actual ritual next time, though she hasn't said it outright. I sent her back to St. Mungo's to check her for mind-altering spells or potions, but the results came back negative."
McGonagall coughed delicately. "Although I was not there myself, it is my understanding that Beltane is an exceptionally... transformative experience."
"Is it, now?" Bones said sourly, crossing her arms. "And the other rituals?"
"Also transformative," McGonagall answered. "Just in smaller ways."
Bones rolled her eyes heavenward and sighed. "Based on what I've learned, I'm willing to hold off on demanding that anyone come in for official questioning. Consider it a sort of probation, but it's conditional on nothing like that happening again — if it does, I'll throw so many criminal charges at them that they'll drown in them before even going to trial. And they'll have to voluntarily come in soon after the current Ministry leadership has changed."
"If you're concerned," McGonagall said hesitantly, "perhaps your investigating auror could attend the next ritual? It's nothing like Beltane, so there are no worries there. If they took an oath to reveal nothing of the participants' identities until they did so themselves or until you leveled charges, I think that would satisfy them."
Bones considered that. "She'll know them by then, so if I do have to haul them in, it will be a lot easier. And she'll be able to tell me if any laws are broken. On the other hand, I'm worried about how these rituals affect people."
"Beltane is an unusual case," McGonagall tried to assure her. "One reason why I left was because... well, I had no suitable partner."
"Ah," Bones said in understanding. "The magic played havoc with her because she neither had anyone like that with her nor had one to go home to." After a brief silence, she said, "Alright, I'll ask her, though I won't order her to do it. If the others you know agree, I'll have the auror contact you directly."
Monday, May 15, 1996, Evening.
Although McGonagall saw little point in it, she couldn't not hold a career advice meeting with Jasmine Potter. It would have been too suspicious to skip over her — especially since Umbridge wanted to be present.
"So, have you given any thought to what sort of career you might like, Miss Potter?" McGonagall asked, trying hard not to scowl at Umbridge, a looming pink presence in the corner. "Something in the Ministry, perhaps?"
"Hem, hem," Umbridge said, refusing to wait even half a minute before injecting herself into the discussion. "I'm sure that the Ministry would never consent to hiring such a blatant rule-breaker as this."
McGonagall was going to argue the point before Jasmine piped up to say in an uncharacteristically demure and quiet voice, "That's fine, I wasn't looking to have a career anyway."
"You weren't?" McGonagall asked, taken aback.
"No," Jasmine replied. "I think I'd like to settle down, get married, and be a housewitch. I'd like to find someone to love and raise lots of green-eyed magical babies. I can't think of anything better to do with my life."
"You... you would?" McGonagall said weakly, wondering where she was going with this and noting that Umbridge looked even angrier now than she did before.
"Do you think that's likely?" Umbridge asked, her voice dripping with scorn. "Do you think you'd be able to find anyone who would be willing to put up with you? Who would be willing to... to... to breed with you, a jumped-up half-blood?"
"Why not?" Jasmine asked earnestly as she turned to look at Umbridge. "You did, right?" When Umbridge simply glared at her, she went on, "I mean, surely you found someone who would love and cherish you for who you are, just as much as you love and cherish them. Someone who supports you in all you want to accomplish. Someone who puts you first in their lives because they think you deserve to be?" She blinked at Umbridge with wide, innocent eyes.
Without a word, the pink witch got up and stomped out of the office.
McGonagall had to choke back her laughter. "That was risky, Miss Potter."
"Oh, I don't think so," Jasmine said, making no effort to suppress her own grin. "There was no way she'd admit that none of that ever happened for her, and there was no way she'd admit that I got to her. In the end, retreat was her only option."
"Well, now that she's out of the way," McGonagall said, "let's talk a bit about your plans..."
When Jasmine entered the common room later, she were surprised to see Hermione sitting with the twins — visibly angry twins. She'd never seen them angry about anything, not even Bagman when he effectively defrauded them of their life savings. They had both been sad and even a bit depressed after their father died, but that was about the only time she'd seen the two with an emotion very far off of happy. They were much like their father in that regard.
"What's wrong?" Jasmine asked when she walked up to their table.
"It's the latest two Educational Decrees," one twin answered.
"We're certain that they're targeted at us," the second added.
Jasmine tried to remember what she'd read that morning, but aside from them being stupid, she couldn't recall anything about them.
"Number Thirty-Eight bans 'non-educational toys and games' while Number Nine threatens expulsion for any student possessing 'sweets from unauthorized suppliers.'" Hermione recited automatically.
The problem was obvious now. "Oh, your joke products!"
"That's right," the second twin said. "We've been developing them for the store we want to open."
"If we can't create and test them here in Hogwarts, it'll be a lot harder for us to get started with the store once we graduate," the first added.
"What are you going to do?" Jasmine asked.
"We're tempted to just leave now," the first twin responded.
"But we have been promised funding for our store if we finish Hogwarts with good grades on our NEWTs," the second said.
"Oh?" Hermione said. "Who would do that?"
The brothers stared at each other for a moment, then one of them answered, "Sirius. He found out about what we were doing last summer and said that we reminded him of him and his friends."
"During the Christmas hols," the other continued, "after... well, after Dad died, he contacted us with his offer."
"So we jumped at it," they said in unison.
"Well," Jasmine said, "there's nothing saying that you can't use this time to test out some of your more... dangerous or unstable products."
"Oh?" one twin asked, suddenly perking up.
"Jasmine!" Hermione hissed, but her girlfriend ignored her.
"You've got a whole bunch of students wearing Inquisitorial Squad badges who are begging to become unwilling test subjects," Jasmine continued. "Plus one pink Ministry official."
A slow, evil smile spread across the boys' faces simultaneously, and a shiver went up Jasmine's spine.
"Just remember that you can't get caught," Hermione cautioned them. "If you are, you won't have to suffer anything so minor as point deductions or detentions — you'll likely be expelled, and then you'll lose your funding."
"Oh, don't worry," one twin said confidently, "we know what to do."
"We'll just need a little help that only you can provide," the other added.
Tuesday, May 16, 1996, Evening.
Cornelius Fudge skimmed through one report after another, then finally threw the entire stack against the far wall and cursed the name of Albus Dumbledore. It had been nearly a month since his escape, and thus far there hadn't been a single clue as to his current whereabouts or activities. As happy as he had been to finally get the old man out of the castle, he needed an arrest and conviction to shore up his flagging political fortunes.
If I can't find him, Fudge considered, maybe I can find a way to get him to come to me. But what would he value enough to... Potter! Of course! Fudge immediately began sorting through piles of parchment until he came across his earlier plan to lure Potter out of Hogwarts in order to arrest and expel her. After looking over his notes, he concluded that the plan was still sound and would only need a few minor modifications to adapt it to using Potter to then capture Dumbledore.
The first of the month is a full moon, he thought as he reviewed his calendar. That's the perfect time to launch important new projects. I need Dolores to bait Potter so she'll come rushing to the Ministry on the night of the first, where I can arrest her for trespassing, among other things...
Friday, May 19, 1996, Morning.
The first exchange in the Battle of Hogwarts was initiated that Thursday when Educational Decree Number Thirty-Seven announced that "boys must keep their hands on the outside of their school robes at all times." By the next morning, whether outside their robes or beneath them, none of the Inquisitorial Squad could stop themselves from repeatedly grabbing their crotches with both hands.
On the 22nd, Educational Decree Number Forty-Six banned "any literature by non-wizards or half-breeds." Within two days, every member of the Inquisitorial Squad was complaining that they couldn't find any books other than their Hogwarts texts. Even when people held up their non-school books in front of their faces, all they could see were regular class texts.
On the 25th, Educational Decree Number Thirty-One expanded the distance boys and girls had to stay apart from six to eight inches. By the next day, members of the Inquisitorial Squad were thrown violently into nearby walls if they got within eight inches of anyone, regardless of gender — and even if it was the other person who was responsible for getting close to them. They were all in the hospital wing before lunch with multiple injuries because most of the students took great delight in getting as close to the squad as possible. To make matters worse, Madam Pomfrey couldn't even treat them properly because she couldn't get closer than eight inches either.
Umbridge was livid by this point, but she couldn't figure out how it was happening or who was doing it, and none of the Hogwarts professors were the least bit interested in helping her. Had she been more skilled of a witch, she might have discovered that the problems were all tied to the badges that members of the Inquisitorial Squad were wearing, though it's unlikely that she ever would have guessed that they were being stolen at night by two house elves and delivered to the Weasley twins for cursing.
On the 27th, Educational Decree Number Thirty-Five banned "any items deemed not of educational value." The next day, members of the Inquisitorial Squad stopped being able to see any of their school texts as well; everything was replaced with copies of PlayWizard or PlayWitch. Just to ensure that they got no enjoyment out of it, however, the male members were forced to look at PlayWitch and the female members, PlayWizard.
On the 29th, Educational Decree Number One Hundred Thirty-Three announced that all "unauthorised textbooks" would be confiscated. The next day, Squad members were forced to duck repeatedly as textbooks, both authorized and not, randomly hurled themselves at the members' heads. Most had been to the hospital wing at least two or three times by late afternoon.
The only exception to this was Pansy Parkinson. Unbeknownst to all but a few, the curses on her ended within a couple of hours, and three of her classmates helped keep up the image that she was suffering like the rest.
Wednesday, May 31, 1996, Morning.
The final straw came at the end of the month.
"Look at this," Ron said, pointing to the latest decree.
Educational Decree Number Sixty-Six:
Due to continued student intransigence, all desserts are henceforth cancelled.
"It's a lot tamer than most," Ron said, "though it's still annoying." He looked over at Luna, who normally tried to reassure everyone that these decrees weren't nearly as bad as they seemed, but he was shocked when he saw how furious she was. He could almost feel the anger and magic rolling off of her. He and everyone else standing nearby — even Gabrielle — instinctively took a step away from the outraged little Ravenclaw.
"No... pudding?" she rasped. "No... more... pudding?"
"Now, Luna," Ron said in an attempt to calm her, though he was smart enough to still keep his distance. "I'm sure it will be alri—"
"Don't you try to placate me, Ronald Weasley!" she half shouted at him, her hands balled into fists at her sides. Fortunately for her, none of the Inquisitorial Squad members were healthy enough to be around to take points. "This is unacceptable!" she cried. "This is completely beyond the pale!"
She turned back to stare at the offending parchment and said quietly. "Oh, that bitch has so got to go."
And thus did Dolores Umbridge seal her own fate.