The holidays were fun and a nice break from everything. The kids were particularly excited about playing games and having real holiday dinners. Their faces when they saw they had presents were priceless and Hermione was glad she could immortalize it with her video camera. She made sure to take lots of pictures and pushed all thoughts of the war from her mind until the last piece of wrapping paper was cleaned up and the leftovers were put away. Sirius really went all out for the kids and Mrs. Weasley knitted them something personal, thrilled to have little kids to fuss about now that her own brood was grown and out of the house. Hermione's parents sent in board games and other group gifts so the kids could play together more.
It was like a fairy tale, but all fairy tales had to come to an end.
Hermione was getting ready for her workout when her bracelet spun.
S.O.S. SEE IMN
Hermione ran over to her desk and sifted through the IMNs, finding messages from Shaylyn.
Emergency, she scrawled. They're culling St. Mungo's. My position is compromised. Going into hiding, but will make my way to you.
Hermione inhaled sharply.
"No time to waste!" she said, turning to Cedric. "They're culling St. Mungo's!"
Cedric looked furious and nodded, running out to sound the alarm. Hermione hated scaring awake the kids with the emergency bell but she would have to make it up to them later. She put on her armor in record time and strapped her weapons down.
"LOOK ALIVE!" she called, projecting her voice through the house. "We have no time to lose! Prepare for battle and meet in the library! Go! Go! Go!"
While they prepared, she tried to think up a plan and had some semblance of one once they were all gathered.
"Right," she said. "Listen and listen well, I can only say this once. No time for questions or comments. I received word from our source that the Death Eaters are going to start culling patients of St. Mungo's. This is a blatant attempt to draw us out, but I refuse to let those people die. We're going to apparate there, which will alert them of our presence so be ready to go in fighting. Cedric, I want you in charge of the van. We are going to create a tunnel of sorts and move all the in danger patients to here. We'll keep them in the medical wing Biggs and Bix just made for us. Biggs, Bix, I want you two front line at the entrance since you have immunity to the killing curse. The rest of us will be divided between moving patients with the Healers or defending the movers from being attacked. If you're on this side of the room, you're a mover, if you're on that side of the room you're a defender. Penny, Chiara, I want you here and ready to accept the patients. Cedric, as soon as the van is loaded up, call to me and I'll apparate us home. Does everyone understand?"
They nodded, alert and ready to go.
"Right! Let's move out! Get to the van!"
Hermione jumped into the driver's side and waited until Tonks hit the side of the van to tell her they finished loading. She backed up and floored it, apparating to St. Mungo's in London. She hit the brakes and careened around, sliding to a stop with the back of the van more or less in line with the entrance doors.
"My life flashed before my eyes," said Cedric.
"Let's move it!" said Hermione, throwing the gear shift into park and hopping out.
She ran into the hospital to find the Healers lining up for a fight.
"Friend or foe?" Hermione asked, drawing her scythe.
"You are here to help?" asked the lead Healer.
"Yes," said Hermione. "We refuse to let the Death Eaters cull the patients. If you could kindly load them up in the van?"
A puff of magic came from outside. The Death Eaters were here.
"They just want the long-terms," said one Healer. "They might let us live if we give them up!"
Millicent Bulstrode stepped forward. Hermione braced herself for a fight.
"We made an oath," she said, her voice trembling just slightly, giving away her fear. "I'll make sure everyone in danger is sent along."
The sounds of fighting rose up. Hermione nodded and motioned the movers to follow Millicent, then ran out to support the front line. She flinched seeing someone crumpled on the ground, but couldn't focus on who it was at the moment.
Instead, she drew her scythe and roared.
~o0o~
The restaurant was bustling. The winter holiday crowd was just starting to dissipate, but being so close to the beach meant Manny's diner was a convenient spot. Especially for families. He had accidentally understaffed for that day and rather than ask someone to come in on their day off, he went in to pick up the slack. Amalea insisted on coming too and was helping by bussing tables. Manuia was glad for that, it was her last night home before returning to school. He had hated being left at home while his mom went to work or left on one of her magic retreats.
Being left alone like that was a shitty feeling and one he never wanted his kids to experience.
Amalea sat down at the bar looking worn out.
"What you need?" Manuia asked calmly.
"Fast acting," she said a little shakily as she checked her glucose monitor.
Manuia set down the drink he was mixing and poured her a child-sized cup of soda. Amalea settled on an empty stool and sipped it.
"You don't have to keep pushing until the last second," he said.
"I don't, Dad," she said. "I'm still just not used to checking."
At least it got easier when they were able to get her a continuous glucose monitor rather than rely on the finger pricking.
"Do you want to go home and eat or get something here?" he asked.
"I'll eat here," she said. "My ushe."
Manuia smiled and stuck the meal order in the window before picking back up the order he was working on. It was a good night. Good tips. He usually liked saving up his share to distribute out to the workers for bonuses.
Things were okay here. Normal. The news sometimes talked about the bigger disasters happening on the other side of the world and how they thought a girl who was declared dead was the cause of it all. Well, that news didn't gain much traction after Manuia made a dozen calls yelling at these news sources for slandering his 'deceased' daughter's name, sobbing over how he only had her back for less than three years before someone decided her life was worth nothing.
It was easier to play the grieving father than it should have been.
The fact that she did actually kidnap a dozen kids was irrelevant.
God, he wished he could have kept Herminia home. Each call she made she looked worse for wear and it broke his heart. She truly looked like she was carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders and yet she cared only about keeping her family safe. She never complained, asking only if they were doing okay. It was his job to worry about her, not the other way around.
Though he had been quietly apprehensive about taking in Roger and Beatrice Granger (now Walter and Jacqueline Wilkins since their 'deaths') he now didn't mind the decision for them to live with him and Hana permanently. The house was redone to accommodate their two families and they were actually really easy to cohabitate with. Manuia wanted to hate them at first. Wanted them to not be all that great so he could keep his daughter home. It was selfish and only Hana knew the full extent of his feelings, though he was sure Roger and Beatrice suspected he would never fully accept that they had adopted Herminia. After all, due to them adopting her, she was missed by her family by a minute.
"Walter and Jacqueline" had opened up a practice in town in which they catered to low-income families for cleanings, exams, and dental surgery. Maybe it was dangerous to keep with their old professions but they didn't want to do anything else.
When the war ended, they'd probably stay in Hawaii, expanding that house, raising little Chibuzo and discussing on fostering or adopting more kids. Or even taking on Herminia's kids so she could focus on her young adulthood.
Cedric returning and being her partner again was a surprise, but not unwelcome. It was the dream Manuia had wished when he was still pining for Nachelle. Before he reconnected with Hana. That she would change her mind and show up out of the blue declaring her love. That, of course, was before he knew all the details of the curse. Now, he understood why she left and kept her distance.
Herminia loved Cedric, it was obvious, and Manuia knew he would give the scary dad 'break my daughters heart again and you'll regret it' talk before wrapping the kid up in a massive bear hug.
Manuia hoped that nothing too horrible would happen to her this January. Maybe just a bad case of the flu or just a bad day where the food got burnt and the household ran out of toilet paper kinda bad luck.
He prayed every spare second that the war would end soon.
"Here you are, precious," he said, setting Amalea's dinner down in front of her.
"Thanks, Dad."
Half the bar groaned in protest as the college football game was interrupted for a news story.
"Probably a slow speed chase," Dave scoffed.
Manuia turned around to make sure it wasn't an earthquake or anything that would require immediate evacuation.
Instead, shaky footage of a street was plastered onto the TV. The tag read: London, England 6:23 a.m. and the subject was complete bedlam. The restaurant fell silent and Dave turned up the volume so they could hear what was happening.
"Are you seeing this?!" a reporter asked off camera. "BLOODY SHIT WHAT IS THAT?!"
There was an earth shattering roar and a massive troll with four arms swung a large war hammer with two hands and dual swords with the other two at a dozen people wearing black clothes and skull-like masks. Death Eaters. Manuia blinked back the battle and focused on the background. They were in front of a shutdown department store. A van that looked like it belonged to a pakalolo, painted bright purple with a unicorn riding a rainbow on the side, sat in front of it. There was a row of people, pointing something out while other people in lilac and mint robes wheeled out people on stretchers and wheelchairs towards the van.
A red light hit a nearby building, creating an explosion.
"MOVE IT!"
Manuia pressed his hand to his mouth as the camera focused on a woman. His daughter. She wore mottled-green armor and a long cloak and wielded a wicked looking scythe. She belched out a jet of flames, catching one of the Death Eaters, the mask melting like it was made of wax.
"Oh my God! Bloody hell!" the reporter gasped.
Herminia whipped her head around and her eyes widened.
"You shouldn't be here!" she snapped and stormed towards them. "Go! Get out of here!"
"Not until you tell us what's happening! Are you one of the terrorists? What are your demands?"
"My demand is that you—"
She flinched and groaned horribly, stumbling forward.
"I've got you now, Mudblood!" one of the Death Eaters shouted. "You act tough but beneath it all you're just a scared little girl! Surrender now. What would you want with these parasites on society anyhow?"
Herminia turned around, revealing a sharp knife sticking out of her back. Manuia stifled a scream while Amalea behind him did scream.
"They're human beings you ASSHOLE!" she shouted.
"They're scum, just like you! The Dark Lord will install a new world order and put those like you in their place." He spotted the camera crews. "An audience. We will show the world who their new masters are. Avada Kedavra!"
The green light narrowly missed her, but her face fell and she cried out. Someone else had been hit. She hissed smoke and pulled the hood over her head, disappearing in thin air.
"COWARD!" the leader bellowed. "The leader of the rebellion is nothing but a cowardly whore—"
The reporters and camera crew screamed as his head rolled. As did half the people in the restaurant. The troll—several trolls—roared. Herminia pulled her hood back and picked the head up, lobbing it into the middle of some Death Eaters.
"GO BACK TO YOUR MASTER!" she roared.
"The Grim Reaper exists!"
Half retreated, the other half yelled at them to stand in fight. A whistle pierced the air.
"Time to go," she said and looked to the camera. "You! With me now or they will kill you!"
What else could they do but obey her commands? She was forceful, they might have jumped off a cliff if she had commanded it.
"Let's go! Hurry! You lot too! Retreat!"
The cameraman and reporter clambered into a van and were pushed down a slide into a space created to hold those rescued from St. Mungo's. It was immediately apparent that these were mostly the people who would need assistance the rest of their lives. They were being tended to by Healers and the rest of the space was crowded with the fighters, but the footage was already staticky and faces couldn't be made out except one who approached the camera.
"What are you doing here?" Harry asked.
"We were ordered by—"
And then there was static. The bar was silent and the footage cut to a newscaster staring in open-mouthed shock.
"I… is this real?" she asked, looking at someone. "Can you reach them?"
"Their mics cut out," someone said faintly.
She looked back at the camera. "There are no words to describe the footage we have just shown you. Once we have answers we will share them."
Manuia jumped at a hand grabbing his arm.
"Go home," Dave muttered. "That knife wound looked bad."
It did… He turned around to Amalea. She was stiff as a board, staring at the TV, the blood drained from her face.
"Let's go," he said.
She nodded and took a couple bites of her sandwich while he hurried to clock himself out and grab his keys and jacket. They hurried home to find Hana, Roger, and Beatrice sitting on the couch in shock while Chibuzo, six years old already, was playing with toy cars on the carpet.
"We saw," said Hana, breaking out of it. "Nia."
She got up and hurried over to the mirror, which was kept safe in the server. She opened it.
"Nia," she said and brought it over to the couch. "Nia, are you there?"
Beatrice turned the volume of the television down. Right now it was just local news trying to make sense of what the footage was. Whether it was real or not and what they had just seen.
There was no answer on the other side. Manuia sat down on the floor, shaking. Please answer. Please. He couldn't get the images out of his head.
All of them tried, calling out to her over the course of an hour and just when they began to fear the worst it was picked up by Cedric.
"Oh, thank God!" said Manuia. "Is Nia okay? That battle was on the news!"
"She's going to be alright," he said and looked over. "Love, it's your parents. The footage was apparently global."
Herminia shuffled into view, her arm in a sling. She sat down and looked at all of them. She looked more terrified facing them than she had the Death Eaters.
"I never wanted you to see that side of me," she said. "Please tell me Chibuzo didn't see."
"No," said Beatrice. "He didn't see. Promise."
"Good." She sighed and worked her jaw. "I consented to an interview. The statute of secrecy wasn't broken by them coming in, it was obliterated. Maybe now the I.C.W. will do something, send aid, accept refugees. I don't know if they'll play the interview locally or globally."
"Nia, please come home!" Manuia begged. "Please! You're nineteen you shouldn't have to fight like this."
"Rule One, always finish the fight," she said. "If it helps, I won't be going back out for a while. The home base needs me."
"That doesn't help! Come home right now young lady!" Beatrice snapped.
"I can't," she said, not looking at them. "I'm in too deep. Look, I have to go and keep things running. I'll call you soon. I love you."
Their reflection looked back at them. Manuia swallowed back a curse and leaned back.
"That girl," he muttered. "She gets it from her mother."
"Can we still ground her at that age?" Beatrice asked, rubbing her temple.
Hana looked over at Amalea. "You're forbidden from becoming the leader of a rebellion, by the way."
"Can I still attend protests?" Amalea asked.
"Not until your sister ends the war," said Manuia firmly. "I can't be scared for your safety too, Lea."
Amalea sighed and nodded. "Okay, Dad. Hey, look! Nia's on TV again."
Roger fumbled with the remote and turned the volume back up.
"Our crew has interviewed the woman who seems to be in charge," said the newscaster. "And just to clarify, they do not know her current location or the names of the people she was with. We are uncertain why she consented to an interview, but we will play it for you in hopes that it answers some questions."
The clip played. Herminia sat backwards in a chair with a blank wall behind her. A medical masked woman with white hair was standing behind her.
"Why don't we start off with your name?" the reporter asked.
"My name is Aurora," she said, using a clipped, posh accent. "Though I go by other names. 'Grim Reaper' seems to be popular."
"One, two—" the white witch pulled the dagger out of her back and dripped what was probably dittany on the wound. "Three."
Herminia groaned and inhaled sharply.
"Here, love." Cedric handed her a red potion, which she downed, and unfastened her armor for her.
"Do you take knives to the back often?" the reporter asked incredulously. "We can reschedule."
"No," said Herminia, allowing herself to be bandaged with her arm set in a sling. "The second you leave this place, you will have no memory of being here."
"We don't even know where we are."
"And I intend to keep it that way," she said. "Once again, my name is Aurora and this is my partner, Storm."
Cedric stood next to her looking no less haunted and… well, Manuia had seen a feral dog once and Cedric had the same look in his eye that dog had. Tense and ready to bite if necessary. A look he hid well during calls home.
"How long have you two been partners for?"
"Thirteen years," she said.
"And six months," Cedric added, resting a hand on her uninjured shoulder.
"Alright, and care to explain what exactly happened today?" the reporter asked.
"Not really, but I'd rather speak the truth now rather than let them run some lie," she said. "If my word isn't taken and you want to believe that I'm some terrorist looking to destroy civilization as we know it well… at least I didn't take it lying down and made an attempt to tell my side."
"And who are you really?"
"I'm the leader of an anti-fascist organization known as the Weather," she said. "You might remember us from that radio takeover a year ago that was dismissed as a hoax."
"Yes, I remember that. So who are you fighting against?"
"They call themselves the Death Eaters," she said. "They've been pushing the envelope for three years now. That jubilee bridge collapse? That was them. Those deaths and disappearances, strange green glows that have been dismissed as atmospheric discharge, buildings collapsing, freak hurricanes? All them and all covered up. We here at the Weather have been pushing back for about two years now, at first quietly and now actively."
She answered a few questions about the Death Eaters and what their goal was.
"Why hasn't the government spoken up about this?"
"To prevent panic," she said with all the grace of a queen. "They can't do anything about this. It's not a matter of 'want' it's a matter of 'can't'. How do you wage a war against people you can't even track? People who can disappear with the flick of a wrist or kill you with one word and not leave a trace of how it's been done. I could easily dismiss this as a hoax. That you stumbled onto a movie set with very good practical effects, but let's be honest very few would actually believe it."
"Why would we have never heard of you before? Why all the secrecy."
"We're a very small population," she said. "Theoretically one in ten are born like us. We're not all powerful and are very much human. All the world's problems tend to be shifted to one small demographic of the world's population. Why? Discrimination, the fact that if there is one singular blame then perhaps one big action can bring the end of those problems, rather than be faced with the fact that it would take hundreds of smaller ones to actually change things. That in many cases, there is no one Big Bad and it's all an interconnected network.
"The fact of the matter is that if the country goes hungry, we do too. If there is a world war, we are affected. Famine, pestilence, pollution, poverty. Just cause I can do this—" She waved her hand, creating a flock of fluttering butterflies— "doesn't mean that if this knife went two inches to the left I wouldn't have died. There are very minor physiological differences between you and I. A doctor would examine me and see an odd gland next to my heart or that I have denser bones than expected."
"And what did he want with those people today?"
"He was going to kill them," she said and her rage was barely contained. "The people we rescued today are disabled, sick, unable to lead normal lives and spend their days being cared for. And if you look at history, people have had a tendency to see those lives as expendable." She shook her head. "Not me. My team knows that I am in the business of saving lives."
"Well, surely someone can do something about this!" said the reporter. "The Prime Minister. The… the EU! Somebody!"
She shook her head again. "Back when Hitler invaded Poland, do you know what a lot of countries said? 'Why should we help? This is Poland's problem. This fellow isn't a threat.' And why did they say this? Because they believed the 'right sort' meaning Jews, Romani, and Queers were the only ones to suffer. Then, only when they realized his plans for world domination, did they get off their asses and take action. Here, we have the same issue. This is the U.K. and Ireland's problem. Why should anyone else get involved?
"The lead terrorist, Tom Marvolo Riddle, the son, grandson, and killer of the Riddle family of Little Hangleton, is mainly killing those that society looks down upon. He rose to power because our government never reformed the first time he tried to take power. Bigotry and apathy paved this path. Once he has free reign of the U.K. and Ireland, he's going to set his sights elsewhere. And by the time someone who can end this does something about it, it'll be too late for the people before who mattered. Honestly? I wouldn't be surprised if they decided to intervene if only to stop me from speaking the truth."
"You're a hero," said Cedric bitterly. "And all you get in return is hatred."
"Well, I don't think any statues will be erected in my honor," she replied and didn't seem bothered by it.
"If all you get is backlash, why bother?" asked the reporter.
She looked at her like she asked a stupid question.
"If I don't, who will?" she replied and sighed through her nose. "Listen, I need to get back to work. My people will drop you off at the station."
"One last question! How old are you?"
"It's rude to ask a lady her age," she said and stood up with a small wince. "Interview is over. Do with it what you will."
Cedric supported her and the clip ended.
Manuia turned off the TV not caring about what the No-Maj news had to say about it. What he cared about was waking up tomorrow to find the I.C.W. declaring her a fugitive of the law for breaking the statute of secrecy.
"What do we do now?" Amalea asked.
"Keep calm and carry on, I suppose," said Beatrice. "And pray that things end sooner rather than later."