11th August 2011 – The Unspeakable Fortress, Avalon
"All in all," said Neville, "I think that was a success, don't you?"
Harry shot a wry grin at him.
"Everyone accounted for?" asked Harry, shooting his gaze around the Apparition Chamber. Everyone was there, everyone except…
"Thomas and Whitehall."
A loud crack sounded as Luna rejoined them.
"Thomas and Whitehall, they're—they're dead," she said, and sobbed. She had been closer to the two men than he had, Harry knew; probably closer to them than anyone else on the island, actually, given the amount of time they spent together.
"Did they succeed?"
Luna nodded, between sobs.
"Oh, yes. Yes. They laid the—the foundations for the next phase of the trap. I—I can do the rest."
"Morningstar," said Harry, as the stern leader of the Unspeakables returned. She wasn't the Prime Unspeakable, but she more-or-less controlled everyone else. "I have the List. Are we ready to move on the Muggleborns?"
The night wasn't over. Now that they had the List the Unspeakables needed to retrieve the targets – the Muggleborn children and their families. They had done this once before, ten years ago, before locking everyone behind the damned fortress ward. They managed to save several whole cohorts of Muggleborns who would have otherwise been found by the Dark Lord.
Harry had been glad, then, that the Unspeakables hadn't been so selfish as to only save him and his friends. Now he was pushing for more. This time he wanted to save all of the Muggleborns before Voldemort got to them.
They could be taught just as well on Avalon as they could at Hogwarts. Better, probably, without the threat of Voldemort looming overhead. Assuming they could keep the island secret and secure, but then – it had stood for centuries and no one but the Unspeakables had known.
"In a moment. We need to—to breathe," she said. "When the others get back, we will send them out. You're not to go anywhere," she said sharply. "Your part in tonight's done, Potter." She paused. "But do stay on the island, at least until operations are over. Can you promise me that?"
Once, Harry would have told her to go fuck herself. Some time after that, he would have promised and then broken it. Now he merely nodded, and left the chamber to make room for those who were still returning. It was a staggered retreat designed to harry the Death Eaters and allow the Order time to escape.
Which was a good move on Hermione's part, especially since that had been a non-essential part of her mission. Or, well, a personal mission. Not Unspeakable sanctioned, as it were, but not entirely secret either, despite what she may have thought.
He was free, then, and there was somewhere he needed to see.
The road from the fortress was long and lonely, as the village – one of several on the island – was some distance away from the great castle on the rock that was the Unspeakable Fortress. Legend said that all the wizards on the island – and those included everyone, save the Muggles who had been brought here – were descended from nine sisters, and nine men who had wooed them.
Those nine men had given their names to the most prestigious families on the island. All nine survived to the present day, which Harry thought was interesting.
Caradoc, Lleyn, Llewelyn, Mathrafal, Mostyn, Rhos, Glas, Gwyn, and Ceredig.
The place Harry went to now, in the middle of the night, was the manor house (not that there was, precisely, a class system on the island) belonging to the Caradoc family.
He was admitted to the place immediately, as the warded gate opened to admit a trusted friend. He didn't even see another person until he entered the house proper, where he was met by Carys, the youngest daughter of the current head of the family.
"Rhys is upstairs," she said in Welsh.
"Thank you," replied Harry, switching to her language. It had been difficult at first, but they'd all had to learn how to speak Welsh in order to interact with most of the locals.
After a while he'd learnt that some of them spoke English, but insisted that he learn to speak their language. He had broken eventually and agreed they had a point, and he had learned.
He reached the top of the grand staircase and proceeded at once to Rhys's bedroom, which was more of a suite of rooms than a single room. He knocked on the door once, twice, and then entered.
A tall, impossibly thin, man rose from a plush armchair to greet him.
"Harry!" he said, but then he couldn't say anything more as Harry kissed him fiercely. He responded in kind, and then broke away.
"So you didn't die, then," said Rhys, looking Harry up and down. "Good. Icewine?"
Icewine was as unlike Firewhiskey as ice was unlike fire. It was cold, but delicious. In the heat of Ty Caradoc, which was kept always warm by its many massive fires, it was also necessary.
"Yes, please," said Harry. He took the place where Rhys had been sat, and sank into the armchair.
He waited until he'd been given a glass of icewine to speak.
"I saw her tonight, you know."
There was no need to say who her was. Rhys would know who Harry meant.
"So."
"So," agreed Harry. "It doesn't change anything."
"Please," said Rhys. "If it changed everything it still wouldn't matter. This couldn't last anyway: I'm marrying Rhiannon Llewelyn in three years. This is just sooner. We knew the fortress ward was the expiration date on this, Harry."
Harry had expected that. They'd discussed it several times. Rhys was the only son, the only male, Caradoc in existence. His sisters were multitudinous, but there were no other men prestigious enough on the island – save Neville and Harry – who would consent to take the House of Caradoc as their own. Not that Neville or Harry would consent to do that, because as lovely as Avalon was, Harry's interests lay firmly in the outside world.
Avalon had survived centuries of self-imposed isolation, with only trickles of immigration of any kind. That was their way. They had their own unique, interesting, and important culture and history which he would fight to keep free from Voldemort. But he didn't want to settle here.
"It still hurts," Harry said eventually.
"I know," said Rhys. He shrugged. "Me, too. But look at it this way: we don't, realistically speaking, have to stop until I get married or you—whatever you get."
Harry brightened considerably.
"That's true, and I think I have some time before I'm needed elsewhere… if you're interested?" Harry raised an eyebrow. It didn't matter. Of course he'd be interested.
11th August 2011 – Sanctuary
The younger Weasleys had survived the war and its aftermath through something quite ingenious, Hermione decided. Their political views had been questionable, to say the least, and they would have been considered war criminals if they attempted to rejoin society. The only younger Weasley who escaped this fate was Percy, who had never openly associated with Harry Potter or the Order of the Phoenix.
The elder Weasleys escaped mostly through the good fortune of being Purebloods who had raised a family of Purebloods – even if those children had been blood traitors.
But the younger Weasleys had banded together to—to build something. It was a home. A Sanctuary. Hidden on an Unplottable bit of the Cornish coast, with layers and layers of defensive wards and hexes and curses that she could see, was what Hermione could only describe as a very tiny village. A village of Weasleys, but also some other members of the Order of the Phoenix who'd had to go completely underground.
"You built this?" she said, wondering at the sight. There were several distinct cottages, which she assumed were for married couples, and then some other buildings which looked almost communal. They had a garden, and animals.
"We all did," said Ginny quickly, attempting to dispel the tension between Hermione and Ron, who hadn't uttered a single word since he'd seen her. Honestly, he'd only gotten married. So what if she was upset? She was a big girl.
"We're criminals of war, all of us. The only reason they stopped looking for us is because we don't go to the outside world anymore. Not since the Ministry fell."
"There's a lot I still don't know," admitted Hermione. "Is there anywhere we can go to—talk?"
Ginny nodded.
"Bill, get everyone together. We've got a lot to talk about." Then she turned to Hermione. "Follow me."
Hermione followed her towards the largest of the communal buildings, no doubt the one used by the Order to discuss anything relating to the resistance. Once inside, she was disheartened to see that there were not as many chairs as she would have thought, and the table was smaller, too.
"Where have you been?" said Ginny suddenly, once they were both inside and the door had been closed. "Just—tell me, please. Why didn't you come back?"
Hermione paused. On the one hand, the secret of Avalon needed to be kept. But on the other, she owed Ginny—Ron—an explanation.
"The Unspeakables kidnapped us. You remember that? Well, they took us to a fortress. There was a time-locked fortress ward in a place, an ancient defensive ward which will only break when the timer is spent, or under a specific – impossible – ritual circumstance." There, she decided. That was the truth, and it kept secrets which weren't hers to give, and it was hopefully enough.
"Oh, Hermione!" said Ginny, and she immediately embraced her. "You were kept as prisoners?"
She shook her head.
"No, not really. At first, it was a little bit like that. But after, when we understood what was at stake… Luna joined them. Properly, I mean. Harry and Neville and me, well, we're not quite there. But we've learned a lot, and we think we can destroy Voldemort—"
"Don't say his name here!" hissed Ginny. "He's put a Taboo on it!"
Hermione frowned.
"We didn't know."
"I bet there's a lot you don't know," said Ginny, suddenly angry. "You've been sat safe behind your fucking fortress ward when we've been here, fighting and dying. Do you know where Tonks is?" she demanded. "Do you even fucking have any idea?"
Hermione did not, in fact, know where Tonks was. But she had an idea, and it disgusted her right to the very core. Suddenly a concept which before had been horrible but abstract was now real and personal.
"I—"
"A fucking breeding camp, Hermione! Do you know how many confirmed Metamorphmagi there are within the families of the Death Eaters?" said Ginny, her voice sounding as if it were about to give out completely. "Seven."
She felt sick.
"That's why we're here now. Ginny, there was nothing we could do. We were trapped." But then she shook her head. "We weren't safe. There are—things—on Avalon which would put fear into any Death Eater. People we know died, and it was—personal."
It had been very personal. She had gone digging where nobody should have gone digging, and had caused a magical accident. People had died, and she had angered something the Unspeakables had only managed to placate in 1922.
"It's too fucking late, Hermione!" said Ginny. "It's over. He won."
"We can fight him."
Their argument was interrupted by the other Weasleys, and several other people Hermione recognised. Hannah Abbott. Katie Bell. Remus Lupin, looking more aged than Hermione had ever seen him. Susan Bones. Minerva.
"It is most excellent to see you again," said Minerva, drawing Hermione into a hug. "It has been so long. I assume you had a good reason?"
"I, yes—" Hermione started to say, but was interrupted by Remus requesting that everyone sit down.
"Sirius is engaged in an emergency session of Wizengamot," said Remus. "He apologises, but he must be there to be our eyes and ears. Now," he said, looking about the room. "Unless anyone objects, I think it would be appropriate to inform Hermione of everything that has gone on in her absence, so that she knows where we are. Then she can tell us her story, and we will both know everything. Agreed?" He didn't wait for anyone to agree. "Agreed."
"Shortly after your disappearance the Dark Lord claimed responsibility for the death of Harry Potter and several of his friends – yourself, Luna, and Neville. The Ministry fought against Voldemort for four and half more years, but in the end, his forces overwhelmed us. Those of us who didn't die were forced underground. Some of us—" he looked around the room awkwardly – "have been able to regain a measure of standing in society. Sirius is our eyes and ears in Wizengamot, as a member of the Mudblood Integrationists." He sighed. "Don't look at me like that, Hermione. This is the reality of now. You must accept that."
It rankled, but she did accept that. Ten years was a long time to be gone, with only scattered glances afforded them by the scrying pools.
"Pureblood ideology is everywhere. It permeates Hogwarts, the media, everything. There are rumours of breeding camps, but the official line is that these are 'new communities' for the 'new Purebloods' of the future. What little the Order can do, we do – but that amounts to stealing Muggleborns and sending them to France, or Canada. We've launched a few raids on the 'new communities' but… we don't have the numbers to do much."
He laughed, but it was hollow.
"It doesn't help that the regime sympathisers who now staff the Aurors regard us as terrorists. This is the problem we're facing, Hermione: we're now the terrorists. We're on the outside. The Death Eaters have replaced the Aurors, now, but they're more. They're like an army. Lucius Malfoy declared war on the Irish Court of Magic. But it wasn't a unilateral decision: Wizengamot voted to allow the war. This is a dangerous time, Hermione."
Some of that Hermione already knew. Some she didn't.
"I was kidnapped by the Unspeakables and trapped in their fortress for ten years," she said simply. "Under Unspeakable wards which only break when the timer ends. They were my enemies at first, but now we're friends." She thought that covered most of it. "We've come back because we believe we can defeat Voldemort now. We understand the threat he poses, and how to neutralise it."
The Unspeakables had another plan, a larger plan, which Hermione didn't fully understand. She didn't have enough information, but she suspected their plan was older than the threat of Voldemort and almost entirely unrelated – except insofar as Voldemort was an obstacle in its path.
"Why now?"
"There are some things I don't know," she said. "Then there are some things I know, but can't tell you. That said, it's because Voldemort is weakest now."
"Are you barmy?" Ron. He spoke for the first time since Hermione had seen him.
"He has lost control over the Death Eaters," Hermione said sharply. "They are too many, and the pursuits of occupation no longer interest them. They see Ireland, they see the 'tyranny' of Mudbloods and Muggle lovers, and Voldemort is using it to distract them."
"That doesn't change the fact that we're vastly outnumbered," said Katie Bell. "Horrible so, Granger."
"The Dark Lord brought a monstrous army with him from Europe," said Minerva, "and it has only grown since."
"Most of the population is sympathetic to the regime," spat Fred.
"That's not fair," insisted George. "Most of the population – the Muggleborns and loads of the Halfbloods – are enslaved, or imprisoned, or just gone. Everyone who's left is scared, or supportive."
"There are fifty-two Unspeakables at their fortress," said Hermione. "All highly skilled. Then there are – there are about three hundred more wizards and witches sympathetic to our cause willing to fight. I'm sure between us we can match—the Dark Lord, and inspire confidence in the remaining population." In the end, it would all come down to a fight between Harry and Voldemort. The regime would collapse, as the Dark Lord and Lady were the only things holding Britain together.
"We're working on a method of neutralising the Dark Lady," said Hermione. "The first steps were put in place tonight, in Hogsmeade." She didn't mention that had been more of an accident than anything else.
"We agreed no more fighting," said Susan tiredly. "We can resist in other ways, but—we agreed," she said. "Does nobody else remember?"
Ron squeezed her hand, and Hermione looked away. Let them have their happiness. Merlin only knew how hard that was to come by, these days.
"It's different now," suggested Ron, seeming almost unsure of himself. "Harry's back. Neville and Luna and—Hermione. The Unspeakables must have something up their robes, right?"
"That's right," said Hermione quickly. "We're stealing the Muggleborns. We took the List from Hogwarts. We did it ten years ago, and we're doing it again now. We'll keep doing it. We can hide them somewhere safe."
"The place that you were?" said Bill Weasley. That was fair enough, Hermione supposed.
"Yes. It's—safer there than anywhere else in Britain, I think."
"You keep saying 'we'," said Ron. "Does that mean you're—are you, I mean…"
"I'm not an Unspeakable. Luna is, but the rest of us aren't."
"Can we send a representative to the Unspeakables?" asked Charlie. "Someone we trust, who can see where you've been? You've been to Sanctuary."
"I think… I could arrange that. Who would you want to send?"
"I will go," said Minerva. "I haven't been anywhere else in near enough five years," she said. "You all have."
Hermione agreed quickly, because honestly, it was better than Ginny or Ron or any of the Weasleys, and Hermione understood how Minerva felt.
11th August 2011 – Cirencester
Luna had wanted to go welcome the Muggleborns, even before she had been given the task to do so by Unspeakable Morningstar. Some of the others were less understanding, less patient, but Luna understood how it felt from the other side.
Someone – a madman – comes bursting into your home claiming your entire family has to pack up and move somewhere else? It was tantamount to an act of violence, as far as she was concerned. She would be much nicer about the whole thing, even if she was turning up at a rather late hour.
She knocked on the door firmly, but slowly.
After a few moments a wary-looking man answered the door.
"Can I help you?"
"Hello, Mr Greaves, my name is Luna Lovegood and I'm afraid I have some interesting news for you. May we come in?"
His gaze shifted from her to her two Unspeakable companions – Oatley and Brown.
"Are you with the government?"
"Not exactly," she said, and shook her head. "May we come in? It really would be better to do this inside."
"I, well… if you must," said the man, and he allowed them inside.
He shut the door behind them and ushered them in to a spacious living room, where a woman – presumably his wife – stood anxiously, a Muggle device held in her hand.
"Shall I phone the police, Edward?" she inquired.
"Mrs Greaves, I have something that I need to tell you. It's about Alice, your daughter."
"What about Alice?"
Luna considered it.
"I think a demonstration would be appropriate, first."
Luna withdrew her wand and pointed it at the table. She Transfigured the glass table into a beautiful crystal swan, upon which rode a delicate fairy. She smiled.
"There is such a thing as magic, as I have just demonstrated, and your daughter is gifted with the ability to use it. She could make something as beautiful as this, one day."
"That's preposterous," said Mr Greaves, staring directly at the results of that preposterous thing.
"I—did you really need to come tell us this so late at night?" said Mrs Greaves, glancing at the clock. "Only, the news is on at ten, and there should be more information about the strange lights that appeared in Scotland. It could be terrorists again."
"That's actually part of my news, I'm afraid," said Luna. "There are other people with magic who think that your daughter shouldn't be allowed to have magic, and they will come and take her away from you. They might even kill you." She paused. "Don't be afraid. We want your daughter to learn how to use magic. And we want to protect all of you. We have a safe place we can take you, where you can be with other families like yours, and we can teach your daughter magic."
"If we believed you," said Mr Greaves, "and I am not quite sure that we do, it's all a bit sudden, isn't it?"
"I do believe him, Edward," said Mrs Greaves absently, still watching the clock. "You remember my cousin William, the one who died?"
"Yes," said Mr Greaves slowly.
"Well, I think he might have been a—wizard, that is the word, yes? There was that school he went to, very hush-hush."
"The one who died in a … terrorist … attack…" said Mr Greaves, his sentence dying almost as soon as he'd said it and realised the implications of that.
"His parents didn't have to leave," said Mrs Greaves. The next thing she almost whispered. "What has changed?"
"Everything," said Luna. "I am really very sorry that you have to be part of this," she said, "but there is no other way. There is a very dangerous man, and a very dangerous woman. They will come for you if you don't come with us. I don't want to frighten you, but I want you to understand that I am frightened of these people."
Honesty. It was important. There was a kind of magic in honesty.
"We don't have a lot of time. If you could gather anything you consider very important, we shall need to leave soon. Muggle—I'm sorry, your technology won't work where we're going. Please consider that before you leave – no telephones, no computers."
"Now? In the middle of the night?"
"I think it must really be so bad as they say, Edward," said Mrs Greaves. She had stopped watching the clock. "Essentials only, then. Can we bring the dogs?"
"Dogs?" said Luna, considering it. "I don't suppose that would be a problem, no. I can help with the packing, if you like?" she said, glancing at her wand, and then at the table.
"Ah, no," said Mrs Greaves, evidently not yet prepared for another display of magic. "Edward shall wake Alice, and I will pack the necessaries—you say there are others like us, Muggles, where we are going?"
Luna nodded.
"Then I'm sure we'll find some way of coping," she decided.
Luna smiled.
11th August 2011 – Glasgow
Neville hadn't been anywhere quite so sad before. He didn't know what was going on in Muggle Britain, or how they had perceived the return of Voldemort, but something about this whole area seemed, simply, sad.
The people were poor, as far as he could tell – the houses were poorly maintained, and many looked as if multiple families dwelled within one house, which had become two. His Unspeakable companions knew where they were going, so he had simply followed them, and that had given him time to merely observe.
Sometimes the choices made by few individuals could have effects on the many, even those who had no idea of the choices being made, and who had never met those making the choices. Such a thing had happened with Voldemort, and his war, and his return. Muggle Britain must have been devastated, but without any real knowledge of what had occurred. Terrible.
They arrived at their destination – although Neville couldn't tell how the Unspeakables knew, as every house looked exactly like every other house.
They rapped loudly on the door.
A woman screamed loudly at a child. The door opened, and a child stood in the doorway.
"Hello," said Neville quickly, before Whitetail could open his mouth. "Are your parents home?"
The child considered it, and then shook his head.
"I think at least one of them might be," said Neville. "Could you get her for me please? Only, it's quite important."
The boy closed the door, and Neville frowned.
Whitetail pointed his wand at the door, but Neville waved him off.
"There's no need for that," said Neville, and then he knocked the door again. And then again, when nobody answered it.
Eventually the door opened again, but this time a tired-looking woman stood in the doorway.
"What do you want?" she said. "Who are you?"
"I'm Neville Longbottom," he said, "and I'd like to talk to you about something very important."
"It's not about God, is it?" she said. "Only, we've got no need of him in this house, and it's a bit late, isn't it?
"No, it isn't about that," he said. "Can we come inside?"
She narrowed her eyes at him, but then nodded.
Once inside, she ushered them through a small living room – the floor strewn with a multitude of children's toys, and the children themselves scattered around them – and into a smaller kitchen.
"All right, what's this about then? What's he done this time?"
Neville frowned. 'He' surely meant the elder child, the first name on their list. Was he a difficult child, then?
"Ah, no. It isn't about anything anyone has done," he said, firmly taking over from Whitetail, whom he didn't believe would be able to handle this delicately enough. The man had literally kidnapped Neville, after all. "Magic is real, and your son – actually, all three of your children – have it."
The woman – whose name Neville still didn't know – sighed.
"Do you know him? My good for nothing husband?"
"I'm sorry?"
"Kingsley Shacklebolt," she said. "Said he was a wizard once, but I thought he was just having me on. Turned out he wasn't. All three of the kids are his," she added, "but the bastard disappeared six years ago. I was pregnant. Now he sends you here to, what?"
Neville wasn't sure he wanted to deal with this situation. If the names written down on the List had been Shacklebolt, he doubted the Unspeakables would have even targeted the family. They were only after Muggleborns – names nobody recognised.
"There's a war, Mrs…?"
"Miss Green," she said. "We never officially married, said he didn't believe in it."
"He's dead, Miss Green. I assume the reason for his disappearance was the resurgence of the war."
"What's this got to do with us then?" she said.
"We need you to come with us. You're not safe."
"I believe you. Where are we going to go?"
"We're taking you somewhere safe," said Neville. "There's a school there – we can teach your children magic, when they're ready for it."
"How much is it going to cost?"
"I—nothing," he said. "Nothing. No cost. There's—it's fine," he said, not wanting to explain the particulars.
"Get your things. We have one last stop here, to pick up someone else."
"There's another wizard here?"
"A witch, actually," said Whitetail. "We don't have a lot of time, Longbottom – Death Eaters."
Neville nodded.
"Quickly, Miss Green. Shall we distract the children?"
"No – they're playing, it's fine. Let me just… get some stuff together."
11th August 2011 – The Unspeakable Fortress, Avalon
"Welcome to Avalon, Professor," Hermione said to a woman she hadn't seen in nearly a decade. "This is the Unspeakable fortress on the island. The locals call it 'Caer Tawel.'"
The problem with Caer Tawel, Hermione thought, was that it wasn't especially grand. It was a reasonable size, and parts of it were older than Hogwarts, but it was most certainly not a grand building. It was a military fort, an outpost, and the Apparition Chamber had been an interrogation room at one point.
It was intensely magical, though, which Hermione supposed lent it a sort of gravitas.
"I see," said Minerva, looking about the room. "There's more, I assume?"
"Quite right, Professor," Morningstar abruptly, nodding to the elder woman in deference.
"Minerva, please, Miss Morningstar; it has been a long time since I was a professor," she said.
"I—of course, Minerva," said Morningstar. "If you would follow me through, we can discuss how your Order and the Unspeakables can work together to defeat the Dark Lord."
"We have some questions," said Minerva. "We understand you have answers?"
"We do," said Morningstar.
Hermione followed after Morningstar, who took the small group – herself, Minerva and Hermione – through a rather more circuitous route to the War Room than was strictly necessary. Along the way, they passed through several narrow corridors cut only with doors into wizardspace, which extended the floorspace available by a significant amount. The War Room was located in such a wizardspace atop the tallest tower of the fortress.
"So," said Minerva once they had all sat down inside the War Room, "is this the legendary island of Avalon, or a pretension?"
"Both. Neither. At this point, nobody can say for sure," said Morningstar cautiously. "There's a barrow the locals say belongs to Arthur Pendragon, and there's evidence of sidhe presence elsewhere on the island."
Evidence of sidhe presence indeed, thought Hermione.
"I see." Minerva paused then, but only for the smallest of moments. "And how exactly to you intend to atone for your actions in allowing the Dark Lord his victory? Miss Granger – Hermione – suggested that you had what you believed to be compelling reasons for your actions. That does not absolve you of your sins, as I am sure you understand."
"There was no other way."
Morningstar had never wavered, not once in the decade Hermione had known her. She wouldn't start now, although Hermione supposed that if anyone had a chance at breaking her, Minerva McGonagall was that person.
"We proposed a staggering number of approaches to the problem," she continued, "and of those, we calculated that this path would result in the best possible outcome, accounting for the long-term survival of our society." Then she sighed. "And there is the matter of prophecy, which I believe you know something about."
Minerva inclined her head.
"I understand there are more prophecies concerning the current situation?"
Hermione had told her something about those, although she had left the details out. Not everybody needed to know everything, as much as the truth pained her to admit.
"Yes, there are. We are actively working on the fulfilment of several; we do not require assistance in those matters. But now that the fortress ward has expired we need information, contacts and capital. We need to inspire a resistance in the minds and hearts of the people. We will require the assistance of the Order in this, and some other things – we have stolen the List from Hogwarts, and we intend to bring all of the Muggleborns on it to Avalon, where they will be taught at the local school."
"There's a school?" said Minerva. "As much as I am reluctant to say, I am too old to fight in this war. If I could teach?"
"Yes, of course," said Morningstar. "I'm sure the school board would agree to it!"
"What is your plan for bringing the fight to the Dark Lord? I'm afraid we have to be blunt in this: there's not much of a resistance left."
Morningstar nodded.
"We have a sizeable force, but we believe it shouldn't come to open war yet. I understand the legal status of the Death Eaters has changed? That may be difficult, if we are now fighting an arm of the Ministry state apparatus. And there is the war in Ireland to consider. We had some contacts in Ireland; we will call upon them soon enough."
There was a commotion at the door, and a young Unspeakable – an Avalon local, rather than a refugee – appeared as the door opened.
"The Voldemort – I mean – his Death Eaters have attacked one of groups in York. And the others I think."
He spoke in Welsh, which meant that Minerva hadn't understood the words – but she could understand the tone, since she had lived with it for years herself. And the name of the Dark Lord meant that was almost no ambiguity.
"We're going to have to go help the others," said Hermione. "Death Eaters are moving on the Muggleborns."
"One last fight, I think," said Minerva in a tone which suggested Hermione this was a bargain she'd made with herself numerous times.
11th August 2011 – York
"Amdiffynnai!" said Luna, casting an ancient Welsh defensive spell over her Muggle – and Muggleborn – charges. A soft halo of light descended upon them, and then faded. "Cwsg!" she said, casting a sleep hex at the attacking Death Eater. He fell instantly, the spell bypassing shield charms designed to protect against newer spells.
She had collected the families of three Muggleborns, and she would have to protect them all until some help arrived. Her companions were already fighting – they were outnumbered by the Death Eaters by a ratio of three to one.
"Os dissolutio," she muttered calmly, dissolving the femur of one of the attacking Death Eaters. Blood curses and ripping hexes were not the sort of introduction she should like to give to the Wizarding world, even if those spells would be more effective.
She had a duty of care, after all.
"Stupefy!" she said, ending the threat from that particular Death Eater.
Where was back up?
Luna danced out of the way of a particularly nasty Dark curse – an evisceration spell – and dissolved the wand hand of the offending Death Eater. A series of loud cracks gave her reason to relax somewhat, as she saw several familiar Unspeakables, Hermione and – oh, wasn't that lovely? – Professor McGonagall.
"If it isn't Looney Lovegood," sang one of the Death Eaters – more skilled than the others, and older, if he was using that particular insult. She knew him from Hogwarts, then. Who was he? He hid behind a hastily-Transfigured barricade he'd created out of the Muggle cars.
"Ddatgelu wyneb!"she said, using an old Welsh charm used to remove facial disguises – which should work on the Death Eater hood. The hood whipped off his face and disappeared in a bright flash of eldritch light, only to reveal an older and nastier Adrian Pucey.
"I'm not a little girl anymore, Pucey," she said calmly. "Galon llosgi," she said, casting the Burning Heart Hex at the vile man.
But then it didn't matter because McGonagall had Transfigured his barricade into a rain of glass shards, and he rolled away, out of range of the shards and her hex.
"Concussio magna!" shouted Hermione, fighting toe-to-toe with two much larger Death Eaters. "Lacero cordis!"
Luna checked in on her charges. Still safe, hidden from sight and protected from stray spells.
"Renideo," she whispered, casting a quick Resplendence Charm on them. It should bolster their spirits. The night was already won – it was just a matter of loose ends, as far as Luna was concerned.
Hermione wished she didn't have to resort to such a nasty curse as the Heart Laceration Curse, but that was the reality of war. She spun and shot off a stunner at Pucey, who was having a great deal of trouble dealing with Minerva's brand of battle Transfiguration.
Hermione kept the older woman in her periphery, although she knew Minerva didn't really need protection. It made Hermione feel better, at the very least.
"So the Queen of the Mudbloods didn't die," drawled a familiar voice, a voice belonging to a foul man who had just Apparated in. Draco Malfoy.
"Percello!" she said, flinging a morale-damaging hex at him and dodging his Cruciatus. Malfoy had gone far in the Death Eaters – his wife was Undersecretary to the Minister, and his father the Minister, but Malfoy the Younger was active within the Death Eater hierarchy. "Concussio terra!" she intoned, casting at the ground beneath Malfoy, which began to shake and tremble.
Luna peeled off then and began to erect temporary wards and enchantments around the battle area, ones designed to keep the surrounding Muggles safe – and hopefully, block them from seeing the details of what was occurring.
Sensing a trap – which the wards would be, with Luna erecting them – Malfoy called the Death Eaters off, leaving Hermione and the Unspeakables to deal with the mess they'd made.
Morningstar barked a set of orders to the Unspeakables still in the field, and then turned to Hermione and Minerva, who appeared shaken but still firm.
"We're not done for the night. Granger, Apparate to the location indicated by your coin. Prepare for the worst."
Hermione nodded, and grasped the coin within her pocket firmly, then Apparated.
New Farm, Somerset
Harry shot a stunner, a cutting curse, and bludgeoning hex in quick succession, then whirled to erect an old Welsh shield charm to soak up the Dark spells thrown at him.
A loud crack alerted him to Hermione, who had arrived to provide back up – a good thing, since he and Neville alone didn't make the best defence against nine Death Eaters. Three against nine was—a bit better.
The Death Eaters had already killed the other two members of the extraction team, but Neville had been able to prevent the deaths of Kingsley Shacklebolt's secret children before Harry had arrived.
"Hermione, these Death Eaters are First War stock," he hissed as soon as she came into earshot. "Be careful!"
She gave him a look which said, Honestly Harry, I've got this, before spinning away to lock one of the more dangerous of the lot – a Death Eater by the name of Evan Rosier. Harry grinned and shot off a series of linked ripping curses in the direction of a Rowle (he didn't know which, but they all had the same nose).
The Rowle – a youngish man, but still too old for Harry to have known at Hogwarts – ducked behind the defensive line they'd established and grabbed one of the Muggles. A long tendril of poisonous violet light connected Rowle's wand to the Muggle's head. Harry froze.
"Your move, Potter."
Harry ran through a number of scenarios immediately, but each time failed to come to a suitable answer. He didn't know what the spell did, how it connected the two of them, or what would happen if he tried to break it. With Rowle in the middle of the targets they were in a dangerous position.
And then the children started to writhe. Only those related to the woman Rowle held, but those were many – the woman had nine children, four of whom were magical. All of them soon began to shake and scream, and Harry was racked with indecision.
Then, just before he could attempt the Disarming spell on Rowle, Hermione acted.
"Adsulto cordis," she said stonily, aiming her wand not at Rowle but at the Muggle woman instead. Her heart leapt from her chest and ruptured. She convulsed, then fell to the ground, dead. Immediately her children stopped screaming, and Rowle Apparated away.
He looked at Hermione, then whirled away again to face off against another of the Death Eaters. No fucking time.
So the War was back on in earnest, then.