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Chapter Five: Motivation and Politics

Gertrude Appleby worked at the local Safeway in Consett, County Durham, as a stocker. Though her co-workers thought she was twenty five, in fact Gertrude was forty-five. She was a witch born of Muggles, and when no First Wives would consider her as a second wife and no wizard would even look at her as a first, she turned her eyes back to the Muggle World after leaving Hogwarts.

She snuck out quietly, hoping to avoid having her magic bound and a Veil permanently attached, and for the first few years looked around every corner in fear that she would be caught. But since she cast no magic, no one seemed to care.

She married Timothy Appleby of Consett in 1979. Death Eaters hunted them down and killed Timothy in August of 1980, almost a year to the day after they married. She tried her best to fight them, but the unbonded male wizards were far too strong for her. They left her broken and bleeding next to the body of her husband, her precious wand snapped into four pieces. She couldn't even attend his funeral, she was so badly hurt.

Without a coven to aid her, Gertrude was forced onto the dole for several years before she found work doing odd, menial tasks. In her day, Muggle Studies did not exist as they did in Harry Potter's day, and so she had little Muggle education beyond age 11. She went back to get her A-levels at least so she could do more than clean other people's houses.

Finally, after five hard years, she found work with Safeway, and switched stores every few years when people noticed she didn't seem to age as much as they did. She wore her veil twenty-four hours a day, seven-days a week, regardless of how it continually pained her. After Timothy and her own assault, she learned to live with pain.

She returned to Consett as a stocker last year, trying to avoid the places she and Timothy went. She let a small flat on the edge of the once thriving steel town, now reduced to a shell of its former glory by Thatcher's move to shut down the Consett Iron Company. The closure in 1980 gutted the town, destroying not just its economy but its very soul. It was a perfect place for an exiled, widowed witch to make a living.

Gertrude had a reputation among the town as being a bit of a slag, and to a certain extent this was true. She'd sleep with anyone willing for a few hours' distraction from the constant, low-grade itch and bother of the Veil, and for a brief echo of that precious year she spent with her Timothy. After all, it wasn't as if she had to worry about catching any Muggle diseases, now, did she? And while she took a few precautions when she was younger, she knew from the hot flashes during her fortieth year that she was no longer able to conceive with Muggles, so not even that was a concern.

Drugs did nothing for her, and alcohol only made her silly. It was all in all a miserable existence, but it was all Gertrude knew, and so she clung to it as hard as she could. And so, the reputation that Gertrude was a slag was true enough—she would sleep with any man at least once, but would rarely sleep with him a second or third time. She just knew if she truly gave her heart to another man, someone would come and cut it out again.

On the fifteenth anniversary of poor Timothy's death, after her shift, she grabbed a bottle of Cutty Sark Original because it was what she could afford, grabbed the new checker Donny Whitehead by the hand, and said, "Let's go have some fun tonight, love!"

Donny, being a rather pimply, simple-minded virgin, agreed wholeheartedly to this plan. Gertrude was not the most beautiful woman by any means, but she was a woman. For a rather pimply, simple-minded virgin, this was enough.

They took the bus, since of course neither owned cars, and walked from the stop to her flat in the twilight shreds of the day. Donny was nervous, but she laughed and joked with him. She was not a mean person, simply broken-hearted and lonely. She did not even see the two men in suits standing at the garden gate before the row of flats. Donny did, though, and said, "Who's that, then?"

Gertrude blinked and focused in on the two men. Each wore black slacks and jackets with a black tie over a plain white shirt.

"Donny, lad," she whispered, "maybe it'd be better if you go on home. Here, take the bottle. 'Least one of us will have some fun."

"You sure? I could…"

"Run on now, lad," she said. "Maybe tomorrow night."

With a last look at the two stony-faced men, Donny gave her a tight nod, took the bottle, and ran away. Gertrude took a deep breath and walked toward the two. "Well then, lads, do whatever you need to do."

The truth was that Gertrude was expecting a knife to the stomach. When the Sabbat sent men, it was usually former Death Eaters who had been bonded to the point where they were little more than squibs. This low level of magic, coupled with Sabbat custom, called for the use of the knife in killing those the Sabbat felt were not worthy of being dispatched by Hit Witches—people like Gertrude Appleby.

She was not, however, expecting one of the men to remove a strange black gun and shoot her at near point-blank range. Rather than a bullet, the gun shot out two wires that hit her chest like needles and then delivered a powerful surge of electricity.

What the agent firing the TASER was not expecting was what happens when electricity is forced into a magical core. Gertrude's veil dropped, she screamed, and her magic exploded outward in a purely instinctive release of defensive magic. Gertrude was not a powerful witch by any measure, but power of course is relative. The surge of instinctive magic—made visible by the crackle of the electrical current—blew both men into shreds, killing them instantly.

Two more men in full tactical gear ran forward firing a barrage of rubber bullets. Gertrude screamed again in pain and surged toward them, muscles buoyed by her desperate magic, rage and pain. She grabbed one terrified soldier by his armoured vest and threw him ten feet back into the car park. The second soldier, however, was more experienced. While as a witch Gertrude was physically stronger, she had no training of any kind and seemed to forget about the other threat for a moment.

While his companion went flying through the air, the remaining soldier ejected his cartridge of rubber bullets and replaced them with live ammunition, and then opened up to full automatic not on Gertrude's body, but on her legs.

Her left knee exploded under the barrage, which continued through her right fibula. She fell screaming and crying in pain, clutching at her ruined legs. The remaining soldier removed a pistol from his waist holster and fired six shots in quick succession. Six darts struck Gertrude in the chest, and after a moment her cries faded into drowsy silence.

The fallen soldier, who in fact was now a tactical agent of the Security Service, picked himself up with a groan and stumbled back to the now silenced, bleeding witch. "Fuck," the man said.

"Right," his companion said. "Sir Marcus is not going to like this."

~~Firebird~~

~~Firebird~~

Calliope Granger knocked on the door to the second floor East wing recover room, and when she heard a woman's voice call, "Come in," she did so.

Luna Lovegood stood completely starkers at a window, staring out into the cloudy, rain-swept morning. She turned to Calliope and shuddered. "I'm glad you're not Justine's father."

"I am too," Calliope said, unable to hide her scolding tone. "Why did you tell me to come if you weren't decent?"

"Decent?" Luna blinked large, silver-blue eyes. "I like to think I am a decent person. I don't intentionally hurt other people, and…"

"I meant you're not dressed."

"Well, that's true, but what does that have to do with decency?" the girl asked, genuinely confused. "I go skyclad at my home all the time. Many witches do, really. It is much more comfortable."

Just then Harry walked out of the loo dressed in a pair of old, overly large jeans cinched tight with a belt. The bandage over his shoulder was gone, though the curse wound remained as a large, black scab digging into the dip of his shoulder. Seeing him with the eye of a mother on behalf of her daughter, she was surprised at how well muscled the young man appeared to be. "Luna, could you help with me…oh."

He noticed Calliope studying him and blushed deeply. With a wince of pain, he managed to get the shirt on himself. Then he saw Luna, still naked, and said, "Why aren't you dressed?"

Luna blinked at him and started to tear up. "Do you think I'm so ugly I have to cover up?"

"Oh Merlin," Harry muttered. "No, Luna, I told you, you're beautiful. It's just not polite in the Muggle world to go starkers. Come on, love, put on a dress at least."

Huffing, Luna walked to trunk by the bed, opened it and dug out a plain floral print dress. She pulled it on and said, "Better?"

"Well, I don't mind seeing you naked," Harry admitted with a blush, "but I suppose it's better for everyone else."

He then turned and looked at Calliope. "Hello, Mrs Granger. Are Hermione and Justine okay?"

"They are," Calliope said, touched at his look of relief. He walked back to the ruffled, well-used bed and leaned against it while rubbing his arm. Hermione said last night his left arm was black and blue—this morning there was only the slightest hint of discolouration.

"Mr Potter," she began.

"Harry, please."

"Alright then, Harry. I want you to know that my husband did not realize what separating you and Luna would do. We would never have agreed to it otherwise."

"Justine's father would have," Luna said. "He would have liked to keep hurting me."

"Sir Marcus is not like that, Luna."

"Yes, he is. He's going to kill more witch-born, you'll see." Luna drifted to Harry's side and took his hand. "He's afraid of us, and men like him react to fear with hatred and violence."

Calliope shook her head and hugged herself against a sudden chill. "Are you…are you hungry? Sir Marcus isn't here, but Edwin is, and so are the girls and Mrs Finch-Fletchley. We have breakfast if you're hungry."

Luna's loudly growling stomach confirmed that neither had eaten properly in at least a day or more. "Food would be good," Harry admitted with a wry smile.

Calliope held out a hand to motion them out the door, but Luna mistook the gesture and accepted it in her own. The surge of shock that came from the contact was actually much stronger than Hermione's, and lasted longer, before a welcoming warmth flooded through her. However, she felt concern when she saw a trickle of blood from Luna's nose.

"Are you okay?"

"Just a probability headache," Luna whispered with a wan smile. Harry stepped across to the bed for a tissue. "Where are our wands?"

Calliope looked chagrined and said, "I'm sorry, Sir Marcus insisted we keep them safe for now. I don't even know where they are, but they're safe enough."

"But…" Luna began.

Harry gently squeezed her hand. "Remember the train, Luna. Justine's dad is probably just scared. I can't blame him, not really. Let's eat first then talk, okay?"

Calliope led the way for the young couple, purposely not looking at the few suited agents who guarded the home at Sir Marcus's insistence. Harry and Luna did notice, though they chose not to say anything about it. They went down to the first floor, and finally to the ground floor in the west wing of the manor when the smell of food reached them. Calliope led them into a spacious dining room and a table that could have easily seated forty people. Gathered around the near end were Hermione, her father, Justine and her mother.

Hermione stood and greeted Harry with a long hug. "I'm glad you're safe," she whispered.

"You too," he said. "Er, Hermione, this is…my wife, Luna."

"We met last night," Hermione said. "Are you doing better, Luna?"

"Yes, thank you. We had sex until the bonds stopped hurting. It was rather painful at first, but I must admit sex is getting better, and Harry is very gentle. I think you'll like it when it's time for you to bond with him."

Harry's cheeks virtually glowed. "Luna, we don't talk about that stuff in public."

"We don't? How odd."

"We don't talk about it in front of boys," Hermione amended. "Come on, you two, we've made breakfast."

Harry and Luna sat down and smiled greetings to Justine and her mother, before the two dug into the large pile of scrambled eggs, toast, bacon, sausage and beans. "Are you going to eat?" Harry asked.

"Just finished, thank you," Justine said, grinning. "Couldn't wait for you, it was too good."

Harry nodded his understanding, and then despite the audience, he and Luna devoured every edible morsel on the table—a meal that could have easily fed five adults. When they were done, Luna burped demurely into her napkin. "Oh, that's much better now. We haven't had decent food to eat since we first bonded."

Hermione cleared her throat, and with blushing cheeks aid, "Harry, I… Why Luna? I mean… I understand why it couldn't be me, now. I really do. But you've never even seen Luna. Why not Susan Bones, or Parvati Patil or someone you actually know?"

"Susan's going to bond with Neville," Harry said.

"How do you know that?" Justine blurted. "She hasn't told…oh. You saw it, didn't you?"

Harry nodded. "She and Hannah Abbott will bond with Neville. I bonded with Luna because…" He paused, looked to his wife and then shrugged. "It was always Luna. When I was a kid in the cupboard under the stairs, I'd try and dream about being somewhere else, and I dreamed of her. I couldn't quite see her face. Instead all I saw was her wedding crown. I've had visions of her on and off my whole life, only I didn't know for sure who she was until second year, when everyone told me to stay away."

"And I've had visions of Harry since I was a little girl," she said. "And so did Sybil Trelawney. I asked her about one of my visions last year, and she showed me a picture she drew of me on her wall."

"The picture was of her in my bedroom, Hermione," Harry said with quiet resolve. "It was a picture of Luna in my bedroom, and it came true. It was always Luna."

"But why?" Hermione asked, begging to know for sure.

"Harry and I are both actuating Aethers," Luna said.

"Mum told us in her book, Hermione," Harry said, explaining the code. "Because of Luna, bonds won't draw my magic down. I'm just as strong magically as I was before I bonded. And when I bond with you, you won't draw my magic down either. Mum did every ritual possible, dark and light, to give me every advantage in the coming war."

"Now wait one moment," Edwin began.

Luna interrupted him by saying, "You and your wife are going to have another baby."

Whatever protest Edwin was going to make died on his lips. Calliope stared at the odd witch with parted lips. "Excuse me?"

"You'll name her Paulina after the same play you used to choose Hermione's name. She'll be just and virtuous just like Hermione, and she'll grow up with Hermione and Harry's children as if they were siblings if we succeed. She won't live past her eleventh birthday if we fail." Luna smiled tiredly. "Beautiful children, if only we live."

"Our daughter is not going to marry anyone, not until she's of age," Edwin said, fighting through his shock at Luna's prediction.

"Actually, I probably will," Hermione admitted. "I've thought a lot about this, Daddy. One of the reasons Muggleborns find it so hard to compete for wizards is because their parents often try to prevent them from marrying. This makes the wizard's Dames angry at us for flouting custom, and really, once bonded we are already essentially married. If I bonded with Harry, but then didn't marry him, it would confirm every bad thing the Sabbats said about me in the minds of magical England. And I believe him when he says we are going to bond. I suppose…I suppose I want to bond him. Better to have some of him than none at all."

"What are you…?" Calliope began.

"Hermione knows she's going to be Harry's second bond," Justine said. "We both figured it out last year. And…and I suppose I'm going to be the third."

Allison merely regarded her daughter with a cool, collected expression. "And then what?" the immaculately dressed woman said. "Say you 'bond' these two other girls, Mr Potter. What then?"

"Then…I bond a fourth witch," Harry said, blushing at the thought. "I don't know who—the visions I've had are just bloody."

"Language, Harry," Hermione muttered.

"He means literally bloody, Hermione," Luna said. "I haven't been able to see her either, only that the bonding is a bloody one. I don't understand what it means either."

"And with four bonded witches, you declare a Coven," Justine realized.

"Explain to me how these covens work, will you?" Allison asked.

"They act almost like political parties," Hermione said, having read the most prior to the ICW Yule Ball. "Each coven has its cadre of supporters. While the core of a coven is made up of the coven founders or their immediate descendants, other families can choose to join covens that have similar goals or views. A good example is the Dumbledore coven. All of Professor Dumbledore's wives are dead, but because he still lives, the coven still exists. Professor McGonagall's family joined his coven, and as senior of that family she acts as his Proxy Dame. Despite the covens being ruled by women, traditionally the coven has to have a wizard to remain active. When he dies, if he doesn't have a male heir of direct issue, the coven dies with him. The Bones Coven died with the death of Susan's father and Amelia Bones's husband. Amelia remains, but her coven is gone."

"And these covens—anyone can form one?"

"Only a wizard who can bond four wives," Justine said.

"Not every wizard can do that?"

"Most wizards can only handle two bonds," Luna said from Harry's side. "An exceptional few can handle three. However, the fact that there are only nineteen major covens active in the United Kingdom, some of which are centuries old, should tell you how rare it is. Harry could have easily formed a coven on his own without me, but it would have reduced his magic too much to be able to defend himself against Voldemort. His war is on two fronts—the Sabbat, and the Dark Lord. For the one he needs a coven; for the other he needs magic. That's where I came in."

"So, let's just say that Mr Potter forms his coven with you and our daughters," Allison continued. "What will you do with this sudden political power?"

"Get more power," Harry said, meeting the older woman's gaze squarely. "We can quietly send out an invitation to every single Muggleborn or Half-blood witch in England that our coven will accept them. They can join our coven, and even if a Pureblood serves as their dame, they will have a voice for the first time at the Sabbat. With coven members comes the required tithing, so we'd have money to buy power. Within a coven, Dames and Elders are a law unto themselves. We'd be in a real position to help Muggleborn witches. And with that power, we can start pushing our own agenda in the Sabbat and Wizengamot."

"And what if that doesn't work?" Allison asked.

"It won't, not entirely," Harry admitted. "I've seen all of us fighting for our lives. It's going to be a battle, but most revolutions are. But the fight has to be couched in legitimacy. If I just start killing covens, I'm another Dark Lord. But if I am a warlock defending his coven from unjust attacks, by custom of the Sabbat itself I'm perfectly within my rights. If we are ever to sway magical England to our viewpoint, I have to have righteousness on my side."

The rest of the table stopped and stared at him. Hermione cleared her throat and said, "You've thought a lot about this."

"Actually, most of that came from mum," Harry said with a sudden, disarming smile. "But I agree with it."

"So, are you just going to grab Miss Granger there, or my daughter, and ravage them today?" Allison asked.

Harry's cheeks burned, but Luna giggled. "Of course not, we're still bonding ourselves," Luna said. "You can't bond two witches at the same time."

"Why not?"

"The first bond forms a barrier," Luna explained. "It is not possible to poach a wizard who has already bonded, because for a second witch to bond with him, they must be keyed into his magic by the first wife."

"How?"

Luna flushed herself and looked down. "I'm not entirely sure. Professor Hooch covered that in a separate class for purebloods who weren't proscribed. They don't teach it at all to Muggleborns. But I can learn if I must now that I am first wife. Professor McGonagall would teach me, or possibly Professor Sprout. It will be different for Harry and myself anyway."

Allison looked to her daughter. "Justine, what do you think about this?"

Blushing herself, Justine glanced at Hermione who smiled weakly. "Well, Mum, there really aren't that many boys to choose from, and lots of witches competing for them. As a Muggleborn, despite my pedigree, I don't really have a chance on my own. It's rather nice to think I don't have to engage in the games the other witches go through. And I do like him, Mum. He truly is a kind and brave boy, and his magic is exhilarating."

"Yeah," Hermione said, lost a moment herself.

"Allison, what are you thinking?" Edwin asked.

"I'm thinking what any peer would be thinking," she said. "Justine won't be the first Finch or Fletchley to be sold off for political or monetary gain, and at least she's not opposed to the idea. You and Marcus can play soldier all you want, Edwin, but even Marcus agrees that politics is my forte. And what I see is a means of securing our daughter to a potentially powerful political union through marriage while giving us a direct means of communication with the magical world."

"But it's not going to happen yet," Harry said quickly, hoping to hold off a full-scale contribution. "We need to find someone. Mum's notes said I needed to find someone named Garrick Ollivander."

"Do you know where he is?" Edwin asked.

Harry shook his head. "Only that he's not here in England. Mum's people smuggled him out after Voldemort fell since the Sabbat would have had him killed immediately."

"I'll ask Sir Marcus to make some inquiries," the other man said.

"Tell him to be careful, sir," Harry said earnestly. "The Sabbat still wants Ollivander dead. If they hear of anyone looking for him, they'll act."

"Now that that's done," Hermione said, "you need to tell us everything that happened after you disappeared. And I mean everything."

After a long, painful discussion, Luna and Harry were given a tour of the manor, which was surprisingly large. They did not know exactly where the house was; only that it was situated in a spacious field of clover, which was surrounded by low stone walls and old English oaks. The wards extended to a hundred feet beyond the house itself; Harry and Luna could both see the ward stones that were buried at the cardinal points around the estate.

Harry did not talk to Hermione or Justine again, though he saw them on several occasions. The hurt he saw on Hermione's face tore at him, but he knew there was nothing he could do. That night, he and Luna gave into the urges of their bonds, and afterword lay in the darkness of their room, staring at the ceiling. "Hermione hates me," Luna said.

"I sort of, well, kissed her last year," Harry admitted.

Luna looked at him tensely, a moment of jealousy passing quickly into her normal, abstract expression. "Well, she is very beautiful. I suppose I can't blame you." She took his hand. "But for now, you're mine alone, do you understand?"

"I do," Harry agreed.

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Author's Note: Very special thanks as always to Teufel1987, JR and Miles for beta reading. If there are any major faux-pas, they are entirely of my own doing.