Firebird's Song: Book II of the Firebird Trilogy Chapter 13: What is Fair, a harry potter fanfic

A/N: Chap 12 review responses are on my forums.

Chapter Thirteen: What is Fair

At nine in the morning on the 5th of September, Headmaster Albus Dumbledore took a late morning tea with Professor McGonagall in his office while ostensibly reviewing the coming year's final budget. Minerva, however, was nervously tapping her fingers against the arm of the plush chair she rested in.

"Oh, how can you just sit there?" she finally said.

With a chuckle, the wizard said, "I am very old, Professor McGonagall. I find the more appropriate question to be how I can ever move."

The Deputy Headmistress snorted in an altogether unladylike manner. "Are you so sure they're coming?"

"Misses Granger and Finch-Fle…excuse me, Miss Finch, appeared before the Sabbat last night, you tell me?"

"Yes."

"What was the mood, would you say?"

"Well, the Sabbat was understandably upset," Minerva said. "Director Bones' report was, frankly, terrifying. She was actually Obliviating officials as high up as the Muggle Home Office and Downing Street itself. But the weapon—that these microwaves can pierce our magic is a stunning development. The Department of Mysteries reports that the exposure of this scheme may very well have saved the Ministry itself. The fact that the girls betrayed their own parents to do it, and that Miss Granger killed an acquaintance to save a fellow witch has gone a long way toward earning leniency."

"And yet?"

McGonagall sighed. "And yet, Dame Delia ordered her to stay away from Potter, and Miss Granger chose to ignore that order. Though it is a moot issue, with Potter bonded and gone, one does not disregard a Dame's word lightly. I will say I was surprised when Dame Molly stepped forward to take the girls in, both being homeless and penniless now."

"Molly may be brash and young, but she is not a spiteful woman, and felt some guilt over the girl's circumstances," Dumbledore said. "Fortunately the Muggleborn scholarship fund will help the girls resupply without any cost to the Weasleys."

"You sound certain they're coming back."

Before he could respond, his Floo in the distance flared green. A face appeared in the fire: "Headmaster, this is Dame Delia. I wonder if I and some colleagues might take a few moments of your time."

With a wink at Minerva, Dumbledore flicked his wand to release the wards. "You are most welcome, Dame Delia. Please come through."

Five witches appeared with a flash of fire. Dame Delia was accompanied by Dame Dolores Umbridge, Dame Elezeta Malfoy, Dame Annabeth Flint-Knight and finally Dame Carolyn Graham. The four women accompanying her represented the darkest, most traditionalist covens on the Sabbat. For Delia to walk openly with them was powerful testimony to how far from its origins the Griffin Coven had fallen.

"Ladies, welcome," Dumbledore said with a bow after rising to his feet. "You of course know Dame Minerva. Please make yourselves comfortable. Dinky, tea for our guests, please."

The house elf never appeared, but in moments a full tea service did. The visiting witches went through the proper ceremony of taking their tea, each settled into a plush chair that just happened to have been laid out around Dumbledore's desk in anticipation of the visit.

Once the requirements of propriety had been met, Delia leaned back in her seat and studied Dumbledore closely. "I have it from my sources in America that Potter and his bond-mate are attending school there."

"It would not surprise me," Dumbledore said. "The Dark Lord Morgan Murchison rarely targets children. I would be surprised, however, if the boy was not being thoroughly watched and guarded."

"Indeed. Tell me, Dumbledore, do you realize how powerful this boy is?"

"I've a mind," Dumbledore said with a smile. "It was never in doubt that he would form a coven, Dame Delia. However, it was expected he actually be of age when he did so."

"Age is irrelevant!" Dame Dolores said indignantly. "No wizard should be allowed to have such power!"

Delia looked straight at Dumbledore as her fellow dame spoke, and added, "No wizard indeed."

Dumbledore met her gaze evenly. "I understand there are at least two additional witches who would be willing to bond with him. Dependent, of course, on the Sabbat's vote regarding their future."

"Mudbloods!" Dame Elezeta Malfoy snarled. "Not worthy of the Potter name! The Sabbat will refuse…"

"The Sabbat will do no such thing!" Minerva snapped, cutting off the elder Malfoy wife. "The selection of additional spouses has always been at the sole discretion of the First Wife, Elezeta. Any ruling of the Sabbat to the contrary would violate our most sacred vows and a thousand years of tradition. We dictated he marry a pureblood, and he has done so. Who he takes as his additional bond mates will be at the discretion of his First Wife and no other."

"Assuming he is allowed to live at all," Dame Umbridge said darkly. "We do not believe for an instant that Potter was abducted! We know that Mudblood whore mother of his had dealings with the Apostate, and we know this whole bonding with Lovegood was cooked up between their traitorous mothers!"

"Not to point out the obvious, Dame Dolores," Dumbledore said with a dry tone, "but you do understand you are accusing two women who have been dead for over a decade of a conspiracy to see their children bonded."

"We all know Lily Potter had the sight," Delia said coolly. "And we know she was no friend to the Sabbat. So, let us get to the point. You want us to let Potter and his clique of friends to live. Why should we do that?"

"He is the Boy Who Lived," Dumbledore said. "The Wizengamot was not pleased with the Sabbat's decrees. Are you so eager to see a British schism to match the American one?"

Though Delia did not react, the witches around her visibly bristled. "Are you suggesting the Wizengamot would dare defy our orders?" Dame Annabeth, leader of the Knight Coven, demanded incredulously.

"I am saying, dear ladies, that when the leaders of the Wizengamot see an act of spite against a fourteen year old boy, it makes them angry. Whatever your justification, Harry Potter was no threat to the Covens, and he was fourteen years old. Your decree was needlessly cruel and without conscience. Now that he has done exactly what you asked, for you to continue to threaten him appears vindictive and hateful."

"The Ruling of the Sabbat is absolute!" Dame Umbridge said. "It has always been so!"

"Until by your actions you create another Dark Lord to challenge you," Dumbledore said pointedly. "Make no mistake that Voldemort is of your creation, just as Murchison is the creation of the American Sabbat. Dame Branwenn saw the same potential in Mr Potter. If you push him too far, he will break, and he will become exactly what it is you fear. And ladies, let me be blunt—Magical England cannot survive two dark lords. While the Ministry may deny it, we know that Voldemort has a new body and is even now recruiting again. You, Dame Elezeta, should be as aware of that as any, given your assistance in his revival."

Elezeta narrowed her eyes. "Prove it."

"Mr Potter's memories and testimony under Veritaserum would be sufficient to do just that," Dumbledore said with an amiable smile. "But of course, if he were to die, that would not be a concern, would it?"

"We're willing to compromise," Delia finally said. While the witches around her stared, she continued. "Nothing good is accomplished without compromise. In truth, the Mudbloods did us a true favour by turning on their parents. They abased themselves and pledged loyalty to witch-born above all others. Given their experiences, I believe they have learned their lesson."

Delia looked briefly at Elezeta before continuing. "During your brief to the Sabbat, you indicated that the Dark Lord Murchison would insist Potter and Lovegood be Obliviated if returned. We want the term of their Obliviation to be the entire summer back before the Quidditch Championship, and we want their Obliviation confirmed by a licensed Legillimencer who is not you, Headmaster. If the Legillimencer finds any trace of proscribed knowledge in either of their heads, they will be killed immediately.

"The Sabbat will release all future restrictions, current or proposed, on Potter provided he bonds with at least one other witch before he begins school. If he wishes to dilute the purity of his father's name with Mudbloods, so be it. Our main concern is that he is no longer powerful enough to present a threat."

Delia leaned forward with piercing dark eyes. "And finally, you and your Dame will step down from your current positions within our government."

Minerva sucked in a breath, while beside her the Dark Coven witches nodded and smiled.

"Ahhh," Dumbledore said without surprise. "I wondered when you would get to it."

"The two of you have held your positions since your defeat of Grindelwald," Delia said. "It has been long enough. Your coddling of the Potter boy is proof that it is time for a change. We could oust you both through a popular vote, of course, but such a process could be public and messy."

"It would be, indeed," Dumbledore said, smiling. "Rest assured that whatever you think you have on me, I have easily more on all of you."

The witches bristled, however, Dumbledore continued. "Be that as it may, I am quite old, and have certainly been feeling my years more than in the past. If the Sabbat were to do all you've said—full pardon for all my students provided those conditions you mentioned, the safe return of Mr and Mrs Potter to these shores, and no further interference in Mr Potter's life beyond the requirement to bond again, and I would agree to retire as Chief Warlock in the Wizengamot."

"And as custom dictates, I will step down as First Dame," McGonagall said, though in a much more hesitant tone.

"Then we have an agreement," Delia said. "Good day, Headmaster, Dame Minerva." She stood and started toward the fireplace with her entourage behind her. She paused and over her shoulder added, "Oh, and Headmaster, whatever Mr Potter thinks he knows, he had better keep it to himself. There soon won't be a Chief Warlock or Dame to coddle him further."

Moments later, they were gone. "Oh, Albus!" Minerva said. "Really?"

"It had to be done," Dumbledore assured his old friend. "After all, it is only fair."

Minerva did not understand why her old friend laughed so, as if his statement were the funniest of jokes.

~~Firebird~~

On Friday, September 15, at the end of his third week in American school and his Fourth Week of JMOC, Harry received a note to come to the principal's office. The note arrived in the form of a charmed paper airplane that made its way to the Quodpot Field, where he was drilling one-on-one with Sergeant White.

White saw it first and stopped their practise duel with a strong shield. "Hold!" he called.

Harry snapped to attention, wand across his chest by his left shoulder. "At ease, message coming in for you."

Harry plucked the note from the air and read it. "I'm to report to the Principal's office, Sergeant."

"Go on, then. We're done for the day."

"Yes, Sergeant." Harry turned and jogged back to the school across the scruffy, dusty grounds. He was never allowed to walk; and after a while, jogging just began second nature. He reached the school and found the halls empty since classes were in session, with one exception.

Luna stood near the door, waiting for him. Wordlessly, he offered his hand and she took it, and together the two walked to Arlene Vance's office. Somehow, Harry was not surprised to find Morgan Murchison himself in the office, booted feet propped up on Vance's desk, a brown bottle of beer in hand, and his cowboy hat cocked back on his head full of hair.

He did not rise when they entered. "Have a seat," he said, motioning to the chairs in front of Vance's desk. The lieutenant herself sat behind her desk, watching intently.

Harry and Luna sat together, conscious of the powerful wizard's gaze. "You've grown some since I last saw you, boy," Murchison said. "Muscles, too. Someday you might even be man-sized."

One did not talk back to Morgan Murchison, so Harry just smiled weakly. Morgan scratched at his artfully preserved 5 o'clock shadow and said, "Just got an interesting offer from the ICW special envoy. It may be 'bout time to send you two home."

Harry felt Luna's magic spike with hope, but he himself felt ambiguous at best. "What are the conditions, sir?"

Morgan nodded, happy with the question. "There's always something, isn't there? They're insisting on a complete memory wipe to before your tussle with Voldemort. That, and confirmation, which means you're gonna have to open those shields of yours. We'll preserve the memories, of course, and get around that easily enough, but it'll be troublesome in the meantime."

The president of the Western Confederation of America and known Dark Lord took a long swig of his beer. "More troublesome is that the damned witches forced Albus to step down. It was one of their conditions for letting you back. So, we've lost pretty much our only sympathetic ear in the ICW, but he has his own agenda, and I can't fault him for wanting you back."

"Is Professor Dumbledore alright?"

"He's fine, just old. Evidently a couple of your girly friends had a dust up with a Muggle hunter group that was firing up some fierce weapons against us. So, I've been assured your friends are okay, and will actually be returning to school with you. In fact…hell, boy, I don't approve of this kind of shit at all, but the Sabbat is demanding you bond again. That fight you had in Dallas, raised a few eyebrows."

"Let me guess, they have some forty-year-old hag all picked out for me," Harry muttered.

"No," Luna said, speaking for the first time. "The choice of subsequent spouses is mine alone, by custom and law. They can demand you take another bond mate, but they cannot say who. I was thinking Gregoria Goyle would be a good choice. You seemed friendly with her."

Harry stared at her straight, unsmiling face. "You're joking."

"Yes," she said, still without smiling. "I suppose it comes down to a question of Hermione or Justine."

Morgan muttered, "How many girls do you have lined up, boy?"

"At least two," Luna said. "I just…don't know how to let them bond."

Vance stood abruptly. "Come on, then. I'll show you. Might as well do it now while we have time."

Luna followed, leaving Harry alone with a wizard easily as powerful as Dumbledore.

"I understand you made a functioning wand this weekend," Murchison said.

"Yes, sir. It's not as pretty as one Mr Ollivander would make, but Sergeant White said it was nearly as good."

Murchison nodded and sipped his beer. "Mr Potter, I hope you understand that your mother's plan isn't going to work, at least, not without a great deal of bloodshed. Those in power are jealous of your power. The moment they realize what you're about, they'll remove the kid gloves and come out swinging."

"I've guessed, sir," Harry admitted. "I…well, thank you. For letting us stay, and for the training. I do appreciate it. I've tried my best."

"White tells me you'd be fit for duty in a year easy, and he does not give out praise." Murchison stood; Harry scrambled to his feet in response, and even then had to look up. Murchison easily had a foot and a half on him. "I wish I could do more to help you, Potter. I'd like nothing more than to send a TAC team into England to show those Limey bastards what a real fight is. But if I did that, the whole world would come down on us. So far, it's just been token attacks to show the EastCon that the ICW is there, but there has not been a concentrated effort to truly eradicate us on a global scale. But if we started interfering openly with other nations, that would change. We'd find ten thousand Hit Witches on our borders in a minute, and that would be the end of us."

"I understand, sir. I know it was a terrible risk, our just being here."

Morgan shrugged. "Boy, you remind me a lot of myself at your age. More balls than brains and enough power to be dangerous. Just remember, son, you're not going to win every battle. There's always going to be someone better than you, and sometimes running is the only way to win."

"I'll remember, thank you, sir. Sir, I…" Harry stopped and reconsidered what he was about to say.

"What is it?"

"Well, it's just, all this talk about battles, and that attack on Mr Ollivander's house. It just made me wonder, what does it feel like to kill?"

"It's different for everyone, Potter," Murchison said. "Some kill without blinking an eye. You—I think you'll tear yourself up about it until you have enough callouses built up around your soul to move on. But I have no doubt before the dust settles you'll have taken a life."

"That's what I'm afraid of," Harry whispered. "I guess…I guess I already have. I think I killed Barty Crouch Junior, though he was mostly gone already."

"You'll kill again," Murchison said with dark certainty. "Just make sure you kill the right people, and you have the right reasons for doing it."

"Yes, sir."

~~Firebird~~

Nicky Parsons very quietly reached for the Beretta she kept in the nightstand next to her bed and listened. From the darkness of her Washington, D.C. apartment, she heard the sound of footsteps.

"Who's there?" she demanded.

"Shhhh!" came a woman's voice. Nicky blinked in surprise and stifled a scream when a pair of gleaming eyes suddenly stared at her from the frame of her bedroom door, like a monster from a horror movie. The shadows resolved around a thin, pale face topped with curls of auburn hair. The…woman, for lack of a better word, had her finger to her mouth in a shushing motion. She lifted a stick, and Nicky realized she was looking at a witch.

It was September 17th, and Nicky was still on leave from injuries received in Dallas. The woman waved her wand about the room, whispering something Nicky could not quite catch, before sighing. "Your whole apartment was crowded with listening charms," the woman finally said. "English, at least two Mexican, one Bulgarian, a Norse spell, for Morgana's sake, not to mention all of the Yankee charms."

The woman with the odd gleaming eyes walked further into the room and held up her wand. "I'll put up mine if you put up yours."

"Could mine even hurt you?"

The witch shrugged. "Guns don't kill people, bullets do. If a bullet hit me, it has a fair chance of doing me great harm. The trick, of course, is not to let the bullets hit me. My name is Lieutenant Arlene Vance, First Broom Battalion, Western American Confederation of Magic. And I need to talk to you, Nicky Parsons."

"Fine," Nicky said. She remembered the police officers in Dallas. "Were you there, at the airport?"

"I was."

"Did you kill those police officers?"

"Yes," she said without inflection. "I was caught between hostile Mainliners and hostile witches. A bullet in the back will kill me as quickly as it would you—so I removed the easier target to concentrate on the harder. We are at war, Ms Parsons, and do not have time for the niceties."

"And those bystanders?"

"That, I'll admit, was our opponents. We WestConners don't make a habit of targeting non-uniformed civilians if we can help it. But again, there are exceptions if the circumstances call for it."

"What do you want?"

Lance reached into a voluminous sleeve—it looked like she was wearing a green bathrobe, only it shimmered like armour when she moved—and removed two glass vials filled with a faintly glowing mist. "We need you to get these to England."

"Why can't you do it?"

"Two reasons, really," Arlene said with a wry smile. "One, I'd never make it into England. Two, your contact is dead. Whatever he was doing was deemed a threat against all witch-born, and he and his entire operation were destroyed. Everyone connected to him in England is being watched. You, however, have not been directly linked to him yet. Your apartment is charmed not because they know you assisted Mr Potter, but because of your line of work. All of your fellows in the Intelligence community are monitored in the same fashion."

"All of us?" Nicky whispered, horrified.

"Don't feel too bad, child. At last guess, the White House had more listening charms than there are witches and wizards alive in the world, with similar numbers in Langley and the Pentagon. We'd listen to senators, but frankly not even centuries old witches have the patience for that."

Nicky reached over and turned on her light to get a better look at the witch. The woman's age was impossible to guess, save for the paleness, pearlescent quality to her skin. "How old are you?" Nicky finally asked.

"Let's just say I could have baby-sat your grandma," the witch grinned. The grin faded. "The Potter boy and his bride are in danger. We're negotiating for their safe return, but there's no way they'll get to keep their memories. So we've made arrangements to ensure their trip isn't a waste. Those arrangements, child, include you taking these to England. We've established a contact for you. We will reimburse all expenses, and pay an additional twenty thousand dollars as a bonus for your efforts, in cash. We don't want the money traced, of course. I'd recommend you use the money on things like groceries and save up on the difference. Be discrete."

"Is…is what I'm doing going to conflict with my official duties?" It was a stupid question, since it didn't really matter, but she felt compelled to ask.

Arlene sat down on the edge of Nicky's bed. "I had a boy, years back. Tow-headed … handsome in an off-kilter way ... Born with good, strong magic. Some vile bitch poached him from Miskatonic when he was twelve, before he was ready."

"I don't under…"

"She raped him, child. Male rape is common in magical society, since older witches prey on younger wizards. Most wizards of age are usually already bound. She raped and bound him, but he wasn't physically or magically mature enough. The bond shattered his magic and his mind. Do you think she cared? She had him placed in a long term hospital ward, and she and her friends used his body for the next twenty years to father their kids. That's why I left the Covens. Most of us in the West either have stories like mine, or know those who did. We're one of the only places in the world trying to fight a broken system. We're one of the only magical communities in the world that work with Mainline humans such as yourself, rather than treating you like pets or animals. If we win, it will be an end to a two-hundred year civil war, and the last great evil still pervading this land."

She placed the phials in Nicky's hands. "Get these to your people. They must be returned to the Potters."

Vance stood and turned to leave. "Wait!" Nicky said quickly. "You said…look, my superiors are not happy about this war. If they agreed to help you, would you help them?"

"Child, we are helping them," Vance said. "You tell your superiors that what happened in Chicago saved a lot more lives than it cost. But make sure you don't tell them that out loud. Brief, written notes that can quickly be destroyed are your best bet. And don't trust your email. The Brits are a bit slow in that regard, but the Yank Wizards have the entire government system cracked wide open."

And with that, the witch disappeared. Nicky took a deep, shuddering breath. "Holy shit."

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.