Disclaimer: Once upon a midnight dreary, while Harry Potter pondered, weak and weary, over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore, while he nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping, as of JK Rowling gently rapping, rapping at his chamber door.
Chapter 23: A Tale of Three Cities
Cornelius Fudge sat at the head of a battered conference table. It wasn't exactly the spacious office he'd grown accustomed to. They were in a poorly-lit, underground room in the back corridors of the French Ministry of Magic that probably hadn't been used since Grindelwald's War. Now, it was Headquarters for the British Ministry of Magic in Exile.
A week had gone by since the attack. It had taken that long to organise the British refugees, find them suitable housing in France, and build anything resembling a functional societal institution, not to mention get any useful information out of magical Britain. There was still a lot of confusion. Some of the people had already left for other countries, and no one was quite sure how many people had got out versus how many were still trapped in the occupied British Isles.
Fudge could never have imagined when he started his term in office that he would end up here. He'd been elected as a peacetime Minister, presiding over a prosperous post-war economy and sweeping away some of the harsher policies of the Bagnold Administration. In fact, even one year ago, he couldn't have imagined this. When He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named had returned, he'd vividly imagined being tortured, murdered, and thrown out of office by an angry, desperate public (in no particular order), but presiding over a Ministry-in-Exile in Paris never crossed his mind. He felt more helpless now that he had at any point in his term—not when Lord V…well, when he had come back, and not when he first started and was constantly peppering Dumbledore with questions.
Dumbledore was still here, thank Merlin, though it had apparently been a close call. To many people, the thought that Hogwarts was lost to the Death Eaters and the great Albus Dumbledore himself sent running was an even bigger shock than the fall of the Ministry. A destroyed Ministry could be rebuilt. A usurped Ministry wasn't all-powerful. But losing the Ministry and Hogwarts in one stroke? Fudge himself despaired of recovering from this blow.
Still, he would try. Dumbledore and Harry Potter had impressed upon him the importance of truly serving the people, and besides, if he was going to salvage his legacy at all, he had to fight back.
The conference room gradually filled up. The three—now four, with Dumbledore—members of the ICW's "police mission" were there. (And boy, had that mission failed miserably.) They were joined by the French Minister for Magic, the Director of the Bureau of Magical Justice, his own Amelia Bones, and a representative from the ICW Headquarters named Aegidus Tell; and then, sitting at Dumbledore's right hand and looking very out of place, was Harry Potter—a fifteen-year-old boy who carried far to many of his nation's hopes on his shoulders for Fudge's liking.
Harry Potter, of course, was here because of the Top Secret file that Fudge was given on his first day in office six years ago—a file that contained a transcript of a prophecy about the fall of the "Dark Lord." For a time, he'd assumed (despite Dumbledore's warnings) that the prophecy was fulfilled on All Hallow's Eve of 1981, but now, it was very much still in play. Harry was here in part for public morale, and in part because there was a decent chance he would end up being the one to take down He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named for good, and he needed to be in on the situation.
"Let us make sure we are all on ze same page," Minister Lamarque said from the opposite end of the table. "In brief, what happened on ze day of ze battle?"
That part they'd already mostly hashed out. Fudge still couldn't help resenting Dumbledore a little bit for not being able to come to the Ministry's aid, though the tale of what had happened at Hogwarts was truly harrowing. There was a lot of sound and fury about the loss of Hogwarts and the Durmstrang Armada, and even more about Greyback's werewolf army, but he felt like they'd squeezed all the tactical knowledge they could from it by now.
Then, Dumbledore brought them to the present crisis. "You all have seen the transcript of the prophecies that were made at Hogwarts the day of the attack?" he said.
They had, and it was chilling how it had predicted how the battle would play out. "But zis prophecy," Lamarque said, "it sounds as if it was fulfilled zat night. It gave very little warning to you."
"Enough to avoid a far greater loss of life, Minister," Dumbledore replied, "but I call your attention to the final section: 'Europe will fall into darkness,' not just Britain."
"It feels like it's already falling into darkness," Amelia retorted, "what, with what happened in Germany and Scandinavia. This is already worse than the last war."
That was a sobering thought to all of them. Things indeed hadn't got this bad in the last war, by any measure. But Lamarque was strictly business: "Zat brings us to ze immediate situation for us here in France. What is ze threat here?"
Dumbledore shrugged. "Minister Fudge, Madam Bones, and myself will remain high-value targets," he said. "Kinani Ngeze is doubtless angry that Ambassador Grayson and I gave him the slip again. Young Harry, sadly, will not be safe even if he moves to New Zealand. And regardless of all that, it is clear that Lord Voldemort is not content to limit his ambition to the British Isles this time. He will need time to consolidate his rule there, but he does have a pack of werewolves and a horde of dementors that may not limit themselves to Britain. You yourself are in the best position to know how effective your border controls are, Madame Lamarque."
"Meaning it will be some time before we have to worry about any kind of organised attack, but zere could be raids at any time," she concluded.
"Well, dementor raids and assassination attempts," her Director of Magical Justice corrected. "Ze werewolves will primarily be an issue at ze full moon."
"Yes, and that brings us to the topic I vanted to discuss vith you," Aegidus Tell interrupted. "If I understand the situation right, Dumbledore, if Voldemort has taken over the British Ministry, he will be able to get the formula for Volfsbane Potion."
Fudge trembled. Amelia had of course thought of that and told him right away. With Death Eaters controlling the Ministry, there was really no way to keep them from getting the formula. Greyback's attacks over the past few months had made him nearly as feared as He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named himself, and unlimited Wolfsbane Potion would make him ten times worse.
"Alas, I fear there is no chance of avoiding that fate, Mr. Tell," Dumbledore agreed softly.
"Then vhat are we doing to prepare?!" Tell exploded. "The next full moon is in five days!"
"Please calm yourself, Mr. Tell—"
"No. You didn't see vhat happened in Vittenberg, Dumbledore. An entire magical community viped out! Europe cannot bear the force of a pack of lucid verevolves, and ve have no intel on vhat Greyback is doing or vhere he vill strike next!"
Dumbledore cleared his throat and gave Tell a reproachful look. "The situation is not so dire, it think," he said. "First, we have been given a small reprieve. Wolfsbane Potion requires a full moon cycle to prepare. Greyback will still have whatever supply he had already, but he will not be able to expand his operations until the night of…" He checked his elaborate pocket watch. "…the twenty-ninth of July."
"So ve have thirty-five days instead of five," Tell scoffed.
"But we have a far greater advantage," he continued. "Lord Voldemort does not want Europe to be overrun by werewolves any more than we do. An uncontrolled outbreak of lycanthropy would be just as disastrous for him as it would for us. As soon as Greyback has outlived his usefulness, which he may have done already, I would expect Voldemort to quickly dispose of him."
"Small mercies," Lamarque said. "In the meantime, I will ask ze Assembly to fund a full scale search for a cure for lycanthropy, as I believe zat has not been attempted for many years—"
"By the government, anyway." Everyone stopped and stared at Harry Potter, who had spoken up for the first time. "We've been campaigning for that for years, Madame Minister. Cor Humanum can't even keep up with the demand for Wolfsbane on its own, let alone do serious research. Mr. Tell, if the ICW is so concerned, perhaps they should join in."
The rather embarrassed Aegidus Tell muttered something about consulting with the ICW leadership. Fudge looked at Potter. He seemed more or less satisfied. Sometimes, Fudge couldn't believe the sheer pluck on that boy. After a brief, but awkward silence, they moved on.
"Amelia, what is your report on the situation in Britain?" he asked.
Amelia passed out several copies of a packet of information. "I've been gathering information the best I can since the evacuation," she said. "Mostly from refugees still escaping the British Isles. Details on the sources are in the file. Not much is known for certain. They sealed the exits pretty quickly, including the most frequented muggle routes. I can't get much on the Death Eaters' inner workings, for obvious reasons. We know for sure that there's a curfew in effect—Death Eaters patrolling after dark. And in all the major magical centres; their presence in Ireland is just as strong as in Great Britain. Some of his enemies have been locked in the replacement prison we built for Azkaban. He hasn't really touched Azkaban itself for some reason besides the demetors that attacked Hogwarts.
"Also, the Ministry leadership is being completely replaced. Augustus Rookwood is Minister for Magic. Romulus Mulciber is head of Magical Law Enforcement. Walden Macnair is Ambassador-at-Large. And they trotted out Lockhart for some kind of PR position."
"Merlin!" Fudge muttered. "Three of those were in Azkaban. It was hardly a silent coup, but they're being so brazen about it?"
"I believe it," Edward Grayson spoke up. "Voldemort—or I suppose it's the Dark Lord of London, now—he's following Grindelwald's model a lot more."
Fudge looked at him in confusion. Grindelwald was a bit before his time, and he was struggling to put the pieces together. Potter looked confused, too, but Amelia looked like she was catching on.
Luckily, Dumbledore clarified for him: "In other words, Voldemort could not hide the fact of his coup either from the people or from the ICW until he was stronger, as he doubtless would have preferred. Thus, his only option was to declare himself openly as the new regime with enough power behind him to give the ICW pause in intervening."
"That or pretend to lose and fake his own death," Grayson added, "but, you know, ego."
"Quite. It is nearer to the method that Gellert Grindelwald employed."
"Great," Potter cut in again with a groan. "So who's Chief Warlock? Malfoy?"
Amelia shook her head: "One hasn't been declared yet, as far as I know."
Fudge wondered at that. The Chief Warlock didn't actually do all that much, or rather, one wasn't particularly needed for the government to function. They had a lot of power, but a lot of it was ceremonial. But surely someone like Lucius Malfoy would want the job if he could get it, wouldn't he?
"What about Hogwarts, Amelia?" Dumbledore asked.
"Hogwarts was closed the day after the attack," she said. "It was only two days before the end of term anyway, so the official story is that they sent the students home, but there's some indication that the Death Eaters and the ones who fought with them are still there. Part of the Durmstrang Armada is still in the Lake, but we don't know exactly what's happening in the castle. There's been no word on what will happen this autumn."
"At least that's one thing we don't have to worry about right now," Fudge muttered.
Dumbledore cleared his throat softly: "And has there been any word about Hagrid?" he asked.
Amelia shook her head. "I'm sorry, Albus. We haven't heard much from the battle itself. There were reports of two giants chasing Death Eaters away from some of the evacuees. We haven't heard any news of them since, but the Death Eaters also haven't produced any bodies."
Small relief to Dumbledore and Potter, Fudge thought, for what little it mattered. He admired Hagrid's bravery, but they had larger concerns.
"What will they do about Hogwarts?" Potter asked. "They've lost nearly half the students and most of the teachers."
Fudge rolled his eyes. "Reopen regardless, probably, Potter," he said. "That's how magical schools work. They'll fill in the gaps the best they can and carry-on. It's just that they'll be following You-Know-Who's idea of a curriculum that worries me. Now, what's the ICW's stance in all this? Can we expect any help?"
"It's fractured," Grayson grumbled. "And no, I think we're it in the short term."
"What is ze problem?" asked Minister Lamarque. "Is it Allemagne?"
"What else?" he said.
Aegidus Tell cleared his throat. "More properly, the problem is Durmstrang, Ambassador Grayson," he corrected. "The rest of you might not have heard as much, but there still hasn't been any vord from Durmstrang—in the international channels, that is. In fact, it didn't seem connected at the time, but there hadn't been vord from them the whole veek before the attack. However, the reports from our people say that Durmstrang's students aren't being allowed home. Many fought vith Voldemort, but the rest—they're being kept there 'for their safety.'"
Most of the room was shocked, or at least very worried, but Tell seemed calmer—as if several dozen of his own country's children being held hostage was less of a concern than an uncontrolled outbreak of werewolves.
"Which is why Germany's officially declared neutrality," Grayson said. "Germany is filibustering any efforts to act against Lord Voldemort and his allies, and they've taken Holland, Flanders, and Austria with them. And of course, Scandinavia was already on Voldemort's side. Which means we're stuck with the original ICW mandate, which is only to get La Pantera out of there."
"Bloody hell," Amelia grumbled. "You-Know-Who really did it. He didn't topple Germany, but he sure as hell kept them off of our side."
"What about Switzerland, Mr. Tell?" asked Potter worriedly.
"Ve're already neutral, Mr. Potter. Our students at Durmstang know it, and Dolohov knows it."
"You should not rely on your neutrality to protect you indefinitely, Mr. Tell," Dumbledore told him. "Lord Voldemort does not allow anyone to stand idle."
"Then ve hope to have our students back before then, Dumbledore."
Fudge sighed and tried to take control of the discussion again. "Okay, someone has to go to the ICW and tell them to get moving. This is already an international conflict; they shouldn't have any excuse. Minister Lamarque, you should make sure your border is well patrolled, regardless."
"And do something about the muggle routes if you can," Potter jumped in. "If the Death Eaters are watching them, they can probably use them."
"Yes, that," Fudge agreed. "Amelia, Dumbledore, the three of us will have to try to keep our ex-pats provided for as best we can. Now, the final order of business: next steps. The British Isles are under occupation. What do we do about it?"
Amelia had some documents for that. "What's left of my Aurors have been drawing up plans for the infiltration of Great Britain, albeit mostly in the muggle world. It won't be totally safe, but we can probably exploit muggle transportation better than the Death Eaters can. That will let us get a team in to ensure the Prime Minister and the Royal Family are protected. Lord Black gave us spells for communication mirrors that we can use to talk to them directly—if they're written into the border wards at Calais." She looked pointedly at Minister Lamarque.
"Pass them to our Bureau of Mysteries, and we'll see it's done," she said.
Dumbledore added, "We should also do what we can to help additional refugees escape from Britain. Thanks to Lord Potter and his girlfriend, we have the only complete record of the magical children of Britain here with us. It should be invaluable in rescuing future victims of the Death Eaters before they become aware of them. Alas, a direct counterattack, I fear, will have to wait for ICW support."
"And I'm sure we'll have our hands full out here in the meantime," Grayson muttered.
"Indeed. However, there is one more thing—something that potentially be accomplished through stealth, though it will be much more difficult. Yet it must be done if we are to ultimately succeed?"
Fudge didn't like the sound of that at all. "What are you talking about, Dumbledore?" he snapped. "Is this about that mysterious master plan of yours? It doesn't seem to have worked very well."
"It has worked in large part, Cornelius," the old man replied, "but unfortunately, it was delayed." He surveyed the table carefully. "Lord Voldemort created horcruxes to preserve his life—to be clear, he created multiple horcruxes."
Horcruxes. Fudge had heard the word before in reference to some very dark magic, but he didn't know what it meant. Dumbledore's three peers weren't surprised, nor was Potter, but Amelia and her French counterpart were horrified. Lamarque and Tell both looked confused, like him. "What is this?" he said. "Amelia, what is a horcrux?"
Amelia glared at Dumbledore, for lack of more suitable targets. "Extremely dark magic," she said. "A piece of a dark wizard's soul separated from his body and hidden in a physical object. As long as it exists, he can't die. It takes a ritual murder to do it, and I've never heard of anyone creating more than one. How many, Dumbledore? And why didn't I know about this?"
"He created seven horcruxes. However, six of them have been destroyed. We've been very fortunate, all things considered. And as for why you did not know, the answer is secrecy. While I trust you implicitly, Amelia, we have seen that your department was not so secure."
While true, Amelia clearly didn't like to be reminded of that. "So you weren't just doing your little intelligence operation, Dumbledore?" she said. "You were running around destroying horcruxes, too."
"I was," he said with no hint of hesitation.
"And if something had happened on your little mission?"
"There were others who were fully informed from the beginning. There was no danger of the knowledge being lost."
"But if you'd had my Department's help—"
"Perhaps we would have stopped Voldemort before he rose to power again, yes," Dumbledore replied. "Or perhaps we would have tipped our hand, and he would have moved his horcruxes so that we would never find them. I believed it was safer to handle it quietly…As it is, his remaining horcrux is his familiar, a magically-enlarged viper he has named Nagini. He knows that we know all of this, so there is little point in secrecy anymore, although horcruxes in general are not something that should be public knowledge."
"True," Amelia conceded. "So as long as the snake is alive, he can't die. Great."
"Well, it could be worse," said Grayson. "It could be hidden in an Egyptian tomb or something. And it's probably incidental to taking back the islands."
Fudge was still pretty rattled by the revelation of that kind of dark deep magic going on, but he had to admit Grayson had a point. "Well, ladies and gentlemen," he said. "It looks like we're in this for the long haul."
Her Majesty Elizabeth II did not have a magical court. Most of her court didn't know about magic. But she did have a Royal Court Magician, whom she had tasked with assembling a full report of the attacks in her realm immediately after she was told of them.
"The report comes from Amelia Bones, with the help of several other members of the Ministry-in-Exile, ma'am," Maxwell Barnett told the Queen. "I've fact-checked what I could, but my freedom of movement is pretty limited. You can imagine how being the official liaison to the muggle Crown is received by Voldemort's Ministry. They hate me personally, but they don't want to poke a sleeping dragon."
"Which they may have done already, Mr. Barnett," the Queen replied formally. "This Voldemort has usurped our legitimate representatives and even now is carrying out hate crimes against our subjects. Is there anything we can do to stop these terrorists?"
Barnett shook his head. "I expected you would ask that, ma'am, so I spoke to Dumbledore. It's true that a battalion of muggle soldiers could probably overthrow most of the Death Eaters in an afternoon, but he insists they would be, quote, "slaughtered like sheep" by Voldemort himself. I'm not certain of that myself, but regardless, it would take months of ground work to be able to get that many muggle soldiers in at once, and it might collapse the Statute of Secrecy. We've already discussed why that is a bad idea, ma'am."
"And yet each year, the justifications grow thinner," she replied. "Nonetheless, I will provisionally accept his counsel. What of the possibility of a counterattack by your International Confederation of Wizards as was done against Grindelwald?"
"Ma'am, the ICW is ill-prepared for this. Simply put, they are not on a war footing, and this allows Voldemort to hold up any actions against him. When Grindelwald went to war, he had already been killing and conquering across multiple continents for years. They were already responding to him as a threat. However, Voldemort has kept his actions domestic until now. In fact, even now, he has allies, not conquered vassals, the British Isles excepted. I fear that by the time the ICW sees him for the global threat that he is, Britain will not be the only country that needs to be liberated."
The Queen's face hardened. She had seen enough of Grindelwald's War, not to mention muggle World War II, to know how disastrous that would be. When she decided on her next move, she spoke gravely: "Mr. Barnett, if I were to go to the ICW and personally appeal for their intervention, would it help our case?"
Barnett paled, and his eyes grew wide. "Ma'am…" he told her. "I think that might be unprecedented. Since the Statute of Secrecy, anyway. The ICW takes the separation of our two worlds very seriously—because of Grindelwald. Even though you are privy to magic, I suspect the delegates would take offence to your presence. And there is the risk of a response from Voldemort."
"From Voldemort?" she said sharply.
"As you know, I've been tasked with keeping the Royal Family safe, ma'am. I have resources I can draw upon, but again, the sleeping dragon. You're probably safe because the risk-reward ratio is too high. The Ministry-in-Exile is sending a team to protect Mr. Major. He's the greater target because he de facto controls your government's policy. But if you take an active role in the conflict, that could change."
"It is my job to be involved with the welfare of my people, Mr. Barnett. As you know," the Queen said coolly. "And surely Voldemort would not be so reckless as to attack me openly."
"No ma'am, but you could be impersonated," he countered. "Or cursed with something that would look like a stroke to muggle doctors. I will not stop you from getting involved even if I could, but you should know the risks."
The Queen leaned back and contemplated her Court Magician's words. After thinking for a couple minutes, she said, "You know, Mr. Barnett, I seem to recall the two of us had a very similar conversation twenty years ago."
Barnett twitched in recognition and smile a bit: "Your memory is very good, ma'am. I'm afraid I'd forgotten."
She smiled back a little, but quickly turned serious again. "It seemed like a good idea," she said. "In that war, the Ministry of Magic was in control the entire time, and it ended just before things would have fallen apart. This time the situation is not so rosy. This time, I choose to do my duty to my people. Speak to Dumbledore and Fudge about how my voice may be of assistance in the fight against Voldemort."
"As you say, ma'am."
Lord Voldemort's throne (and cleaned up and positioned properly, it was a throne) was none other than Albus Dumbledore's chair taken from the High Table in the Great Hall. Oh, the delicious irony.
His throne room, of course, was the Chamber of Secrets. It was high time he moved out of Riddle Manor. That muggle house wouldn't do for the Dark Lord of London…Dark Lord of Scotland? No, London worked better for a public face. Nonetheless, Hogwarts, which had once been his only home, then the stronghold of his greatest foe, would now be his seat of power.
The Chamber had been cleaned thoroughly over the past week, the grime and animal bones cleared away, the stone dried and polished. Voldemort's throne was in front of the statue of Salazar Slytherin, looking out over the Chamber. A bright flame now burned in the mouth of each of the great serpent-pillars in place of the dim gloom that had pervaded the Chamber before. In front of the pillars, a row of chairs lined each side for when his court was assembled. And between the pillars hung banners, alternating the Slytherin crest on green with his own Dark Mark on a black field.
The most difficult part was changing the entrance. The main entrance had been extended outward, beneath the secret door that was now a toilet (ugh!) in a winding path that brought it up through the floor of the Grand Gallery in the East Wing. Thus, visitors would be able to see Hogwarts' most impressive entrance before descending to his personal domain, and it would be farther from any disruptions by students once the school reopened.
And the school would reopen. Rookwood and even Macnair had made that very clear. Wizarding schools were expensive to operate, and the were one of a nation's greatest strategic assets. They didn't have the resources to move the students somewhere else, and continuity was important, even aside from the Slytherins and other allies who still slept here. He would just seal off the Grand Gallery from the rest of the school and leave it at that.
Hogwarts would need some restructuring, of course. Forbidden to most part-creatures if there were any still around. Open to muggle-borns only if they renounced their ancestry. Mandatory to all others—including werewolves for now; he had to keep Greyback happy. Dark Arts should be taught properly, and Lockhart could work out a "muggle studies" curriculum suitable for the new regime. And he would get rid of the houses. The crest of his noble ancestor would serve for all.
The one unknown was who to place in charge of Hogwarts. He certainly wasn't going to do it himself even from the Chamber. Severus would be the obvious choice, and he had proved himself in large measure, but a double agent was never the most trustworthy of servants, and Voldemort couldn't fully account for his movements during the attack on the Ministry. Besides, he might yet have need to send Snape abroad, back to Dumbledore.
Lucius Malfoy? Not ideal before and unthinkable now that his wife and son had turned traitor (however much Lucius insisted it was part of a devious plot). And at the moment, Voldemort's closest ally on the Board of Governors was Josefina Zabini. He laughed derisively. He distrusted her more than the other two put together—only slightly less than Lady Pantera.
"You know, in ancient times, these statues would have been painted, each as a different variety of snake."
Speaking of whom…
Voldemort looked up at the Chamber of Secrets, where Lady Pantera was milling about, examining the architecture with her hands clasped behind her back. Though he didn't much care to admit it, that wasn't a bad idea. He could transfigure the heads into the correct shapes, or failing that, attach new faces to them. A bit of colour wouldn't hurt, and it would probably be closer to what Herpo the Foul had done is his time.
"I shall take it under advisement," he said. "Now, for our current business…" He looked down the rows of chairs. The Chamber was more empty than not at the moment. This wasn't like the French muggle court at Versailles. His followers here were the ones he needed to keep an eye on, true, but most of them time, his favoured would be off doing the work of running the country, enjoying their high offices. "Greyback," he pointed to his first subject of discussion, looking uncomfortable and out of place in the formal atmosphere. "I assume your plan is still for another recruiting raid this week?"
The werewolf grunted. "Of course, since you couldn't get me any more Wolfsbane yet. I expect to have more ready for next month!"
"And so you shall. With control of the Ministry, it will be easy. And with Germany so docile, they will present an ample recruiting ground."
This would not be the message Voldemort would pass to the German Ministry through Dolohov. Further terrorising Germany would be helpful, but keeping them alert whilst encouraging Greyback's reckless behaviour would be the best way to continue to have werewolves available as shock troops while also keeping their population in line. He would have to keep an eye out for werewolves of similarly aggressive attitude to be Greyback's successor.
"Severus," he continued. "I trust the remaining students remain in line?"
Snape stood from his seat respectfully. "Of course, my Lord. The Slytherins who stay behind are eager to serve you. Those from the other house are less comfortable, but they have submitted to Death Eater leadership."
"Good. You will prepare a list of student leaders for the new year. With the end of the houses, the Prefects must needs be reorganised."
Severus nodded and sat down, knowing when he was dismissed.
"Graham Montague and Cassius Warrington," he called next, "the time for masks is over, my loyal followers."
The two young men stood and pulled off their skull masks to face him. The Death Eaters were no secret anymore, and many of them were in positions of power. There was little point in keeping their faces hidden.
"I have heard the reports from the night of the battle," Voldemort said. "I am told you both served with distinction." Retrieving the Book notwithstanding. They at least hadn't flinched when they had to tell him the news in person. "And you did excellent work in organising the fifth column…I admit that I have a good idea of where to place most of my veteran followers, but I am not as familiar with my younger ones. So tell me, what boon would you ask of Lord Voldemort as a reward for your faithful service?"
He could smell the anticipation in the air. It was rare he let his followers name their own rewards. Even Lady Pantera was intrigued. Montague and Warrington both stared with wide eyes, concentrating hard. They were surely trying to figure out what they wanted after being put on the spot and wondering how much they could get away with asking.
Warrington stepped forward first. "Master," he said, "my long-time ambition has been to fly in the Quidditch World Cup."
Interesting. Perhaps predictable for one so young. "Severus, what is your assessment of Warrington's quidditch skills?" he asked.
"Competitive, my Lord. I think he could make a good showing."
"Then I will ensure you are added to the team. Fly well, Warrington. And what about you, Montague."
Montague was a bit more nervous, but he hid it well. "Master," he said, "what I want most is…Beatrice Haywood."
Ah, the other thing a young man would ask for. Voldemort again looked to Severus.
"She graduated a year ago, my Lord," Severus told him. "She was infamous for being trapped in a painting during her first year. Half-blood. Hufflepuff."
So probably not wanted as a wife, then, unless she had some other redeeming quality.
"I know Beatrice, Master," Luisa Murk spoke up with a giggle. "She hung out with me and my sister during her rebellious teenager phase, but then she went back to being a boring Hufflepuff. Still, everyone said she was the most beautiful girl in school."
"Ah, thank you, Luisa," Voldemort said. "You and your sister will locate Beatrice Haywood for Montague. If she is still in the country, you will have her. Otherwise, we will have to make…other arrangements."
There were a few other minor matters of a similar sort before he turned to his returning "guest." Pantera wasn't one of his followers, but she was someone he needed to keep an eye on.
"So I hear you have another job for me, Voldemort," she said. "If I'd known you'd want this many rituals, I would've made you my apprentice. "Maybe you'd be less of a headache that way."
Voldemort flicked his eyes toward Bellatrix for a moment, but she didn't react much. Interesting—and possibly concerning. She used to be far more rabid in her defence of him. "You provide a useful service, Lady Pantera," he said. "Likewise, if you found yourself in need of a magical navy, I could be convinced to loan you mine for the right price."
She shot him a look that made it clear she had no intention of finding herself in that position. No matter. He had some control over her; she had shown she was less than comfortable around his displays of raw power.
"My question," he continued, "is, would it be possible to lay a spell over the rune stone network of the country that will alert me or my Death Eaters any time someone speaks me name? I have heard of such thing being done in other lands."
La Pantera narrowed her eyes. "Yes, you're talking about a Taboo Curse," she said. "Though 'Tom Riddle'—it might be too common to work."
Voldemort hissed: "Not that name. No, I have seen that some people do not have proper respect for the name of Lord Voldemort."
La Pantera's expression changed from disdainful to just plain incredulous. She muttered something unkind under her breath. "What is your problem?" she demanded. "You're trying to stop people from useing your name? You don't like your birth name. Fine. Meztli Ocelotl isn't very impressive either. But what on Earth possessed you to make up a new name for yourself if you don't want people to say it?"
"There is power in the fear of a name, Pantera. You have spoken to me of the power of religion. Do not many religions place a taboo on the name of their gods out of respect?"
"Fair point, but in case you haven't noticed, you're not a god, and you're also not the only dark lord in the world. Hell, give me a shot of Polyjuice, and you won't even be the only dark lord in this room!" That did produce some shouts of protest, but he waved them back. "And I say again, if you're trying to escape your birth name, you don't make up a new name and then forbid people from saying it."
"Then it seems we have a fundamental philosophical disagreement."
"I'll say."
"What will it take to do the ritual?"
Pantera sighed. "A ritual that big will mean another human sacrifice," she said. "And I'll need a Jobberknoll for the direction. And there's some chanting to organise. And coffee."
Voldemort started. "Coffee?"
"A Jobberknoll's cry can last for hours. I'm not going to start a ritual like that without coffee."
"Ah. Very well. Lucius, see to it. I must see to my other work."
He stood from his throne and went first back to the rear chamber. He studied the enclosure where a toad was sitting atop a chicken egg to ensure the magic was still working normally. Slytherin's basilisk had been killed and butchered by the Potter boy, but in a few more days, that loss would be remedied—that along with the ritual (one he did not need Lady Pantera's help for) that would make him and him alone immune to its killing gaze.
Potter. That was his other problem. The first thing he'd done after taking over the Ministry was to have Rookwood lead him down to the Department of Mysteries to listen to the full contents of the prophecy. Dumbledore was a fool not to have destroyed the record since he was the one who had heard it in the first place, but it didn't really matter. The power to destroy the Dark Lord? Potter knew about his horcruxes; that was power enough. Marked as his equal? Obvious. A power the Dark Lord knows not? Animagus, Occlumency, wandless magic, the horcrux that had been in him—he doubted Potter had another trick up his sleeve, but the prophecy still confirmed what he already knew—that Potter was one of his greatest threats, and that was reason enough to be wary. No cause to change his plans. It was almost disappointing.
The Death Eaters were filing out of the Chamber of Secrets when La Pantera softly called to one of them, "Hold on, Bellatrix."
Bellatrix Lestrage stopped and walked over to her. "Yes, Lady Pantera?" she said standoffishly.
"You served well in the last ritual your boss hired me to do. I think you should join us again.
Bellatrix's mouth opened silently. It took her a moment to collect her thoughts, and then: "I…I'll have to ask the Dark Lord—"
"Don't worry about your Dark Lord. I'll handle him. Do you want to join in?"
Bellatrix stared, clearly conflicted. At least twice, a flicker of anger crossed her face at the perceived disrespect, but she answered her, "Y-yes, Lady Pantera, I would like to join in again. That ritual was a work of art."
"Careful. Flattery might get you somewhere," La Pantera said, smiling enigmatically down at her. "But I'd like to get an honest answer if I can: do you really think this Taboo Ritual of Voldemort's is a good idea?"
The anger returned in full, now. Bellatrix sneered at her: "The Dark Lord is a very powerful wizard. He made nearly the entire country fear to speak his name, and that fear has served him very well."
"Except when it didn't, but I suppose that wasn't because of his name."
Bellatrix gave a hiss. "You are not worthy…You are…" She tried to think of a threat, but she couldn't seem to make it work. La Pantera could see a spark of fear in her eyes. Bellatrix Lestrange was not a woman accustomed to uncertainty.
"I'll do the job, Bellatrix. Have no doubt about that. But I still have to wonder why a man would choose a new name for himself if he doesn't want to hear it spoken."
Bellatrix continued to glare at her, but as they stared each other down, she seemed to waver. "I'm sure the Dark Lord has his reasons," she muttered. "He has a point about respect."
"I'm sure he does," La Pantera said with a cat-like grin and walked past her out the door.
The Granger Family were currently housed in a flat in the magical quarter of Paris. They'd considered a muggle flat; it would be more obscure, but it would also be less magically protected. They didn't know where they would be moving forward, but for the time being, they were safe.
Harry knew it couldn't last. Voldemort might have bigger problems than him right now, but he wasn't going to let the original prophecy or his past defeats go. He could only guess what form it would come in, but sooner or later, the war would come for him.
In the meantime, he could keep himself occupied with his hobby that had increasingly helped him process all the crazy stuff he got mixed up in. At the top of a sheet of parchment, he wrote:
Harry Potter and the War of the Serpent
"Still going for another book, then?" Hermione asked.
"Well, yeah," he told her. "I've been keeping notes since the war started. It's sort of a war diary already, except it's mostly us in school. I reckon this one'll be longer though. Maybe for the duration—or at least until we finish school."
"Ugh, God help us if the war goes on longer than that," she muttered.
"I know. I don't want to think about how long the last war lasted. Anyway, I like writing it out. I think it's therapeutic or some such, and I've already written all our other adventures."
"True, although publishing them is a bit stalled."
"Hey, I haven't given up on that, either," Harry insisted. "Voldemort hasn't taken over here. I can still publish it. I wanted to do Harry Potter and the Tournament of Doom this summer. It's just now we have to start over with a new publisher, so it's going to have to be Christmas again." He didn't like that his books always wound up coming out a year and a half after the events in them, but that was the publishing business.
"Well, if you say so, Harry," his sister said. "I guess the stuff from that year can't make things any worse at this point."