A large woman in a gray-green skirt and white blouse huffed along down the crowded Manhattan sidewalk, pulling a suitcase that was large enough to fit a smaller person inside. New York City in July was muggy and hot, making the press of people more difficult to endure. She bumped hips and ankles as she pushed her way through the crowd, but there was something fearsome about the beefy woman with the huge suitcase. Aside from rude words and glares, she continued on her way without confrontation. But she was clearly fatigued. She panted heavily, and sweat ran down her forehead and stained the armpits of her blouse.
"Granger!" she barked. "Granger, would you stop walking so bloody fast, for Merlin's sake?"
Ten paces ahead of her, her companion stopped, took a deep breath, and turned around.
The other woman wore a much less drab maroon skirt and sunny yellow blouse. Unlike the larger woman, she carried only a small leather purse. Her curly brown hair was tied back, revealing a pleasant face with just a touch of makeup. Sweat trickled down her temples too, but she wasn't perspiring as profusely as her companion.
"You should have left your luggage back in the hotel, as I suggested," she said.
As the woman with the suitcase caught up, New Yorkers continued flowing around them, some bumping against them and grumbling at the two women standing in the middle of a busy sidewalk.
"Don't trust Muggles," the bigger woman said. "Ain't leaving my wardrobe, my beauty supplies, my potions, all for some Muggle maid to poke through…"
"Honestly, Millicent, get over yourself. And—" Hermione Granger lowered her voice, though it was hardly necessary with the din of traffic and thousands of other people around them, "—stop talking about Merlin and Muggles in public!"
Millicent Bulstrode stared at her for a moment, and then threw her head back and laughed. It was a deep, booming sound, and several people turned to look at her.
Millicent dropped her suitcase, turned around, and cupped her hands to her mouth. "ALLO, NEW AMSTERDAM—I MEAN, NEW YORK! CAN ANYONE TELL US WHERE THE GOVERNOR-GENERAL'S OFFICE IS? WE'RE WITCHES FROM THE MINISTRY OF MAGIC, HERE TO STRAIGHTEN YOU YANKS OUT!"
Several people laughed. Someone yelled something in Bengali.
Hermione rested her face in one palm.
"They don't. Bloody. Care," said Millicent. "They had a dragon fly through their city, and they still carry on like usual. Muggles don't notice nothing."
"That's hardly true and you know it." Hermione dropped her hands to her sides and clenched her fists. "But if you insist on hauling your entire traveling ensemble with you through the streets, then it's your fault it's slowed you down, so stop complaining about my pace." She stuck her nose into the air, turned around, and strode down the street, back stiff.
"Bitch," Millicent muttered under her breath, and resumed dragging her suitcase along after her.
Hermione came to a halt in front of a massive bronze bull standing at the north end of a little park. Millicent sat on her luggage, taking deep breaths.
"What are you doing?" she asked, as Hermione took a small black phone out of her purse.
"Taking a selfie," Hermione said. "For Ron and the children." She walked over to the bull statue, held up her phone, and produced a beaming smile for the camera.
"Gag me," Millicent muttered. She frowned as she watched Hermione move to another position, between two couples also posing next to the bull. "Er, Granger? Granger!"
Hermione lowered her phone in exasperation. "What, Millicent?"
Millicent pointed at the bull. "Is it meant to be moving?"
Hermione turned around. The bronze statue was turning about to face her. The spectators watched with 'ooh's and 'ah's. The bull lowered its head and pawed the ground with a metal hoof, making a loud scraping sound.
Hermione placed her hands on her hips. "Well, this is just ridiculous! What is wrong with you Americans?"
None of the Americans were paying much attention to her. The ones who weren't backing away were taking pictures. Hermione stared the bull down, and said, "Finite Incantatem."
The bull shivered and settled back into immobility, resuming its original pose. Hermione whispered another incantation. Curses and surprised exclamations rose around her as everyone's devices blinked off or froze.
Hermione walked back to Millicent, who had not moved from her sitting position atop her suitcase. The larger woman clapped her hands. "Don't talk about Merlin and Muggles in public," she said mockingly, imitating Hermione's tone. "But using magic in front of about a hundred witnesses—"
"Well, you were a big help, weren't you?"
"You appeared to have things under control. What did you do to their walkie-talkies?"
"They're called mobile phones, Millicent. Stop pretending you don't know that. I used a spell to disrupt electronics in the area. Hopefully it will prevent any pictures from reaching the Internet."
Millicent snorted. "Little late for that, innit?"
"Well." Hermione looked at the once-more lifeless statue, and the Muggles frantically trying to restart their phones. "Just because the damage has been done doesn't mean we shouldn't try to avoid adding to it. And there is a lot of damage that's been done," she said grimly.
A block further on was the Office of the Governor-General of the Confederation. A nondescript brick building surrounded by other Wall Street offices, hardly anyone passing by gave it a second glance, though it was much older and smaller than its neighbors.
Hermione Granger and Millicent Bulstrode strolled through the front doors and looked around at the small, spartan lobby. There were no guards or receptionists, only two suits of black metal armor standing on either side of the entrance to an ancient elevator cage.
"I was expecting something fancier," Millicent said, eyeing the armor suits. Both of them clasped the hilts of their long swords before them, with the points resting on the floor between their feet.
"I understand the Confederation eschews ostentation in their government buildings," Hermione said.
"Really? I thought the Governor-General's mansion looked like a bloody imperial palace." Millicent snapped her fingers in front of the visored helmet of one of the suits.
"Before the Dark Convention burned it to the ground, indeed it did." Hermione straightened, drew her wand, and waved it over herself. Her skirt and blouse transformed into formal red and gold robes. "Shall we meet the Governor-General?"
Millicent waved her own wand, and her Muggle attire became robes of black, green, and silver.
"Are you actually dragging that with you into the Governor-General's office?" Hermione asked, gesturing at Millicent's luggage.
"Well, I'm not going to leave it sitting by the lift to be guarded by these fellows, am I?"
Hermione rolled her eyes and stalked over to the elevator.
An engraved plaque on the wall next to one of the armor suits said:
"Basement: Beings Liaison Office. Muggle Relations Office.
"Second Floor: New Amsterdam Visitor's Bureau. Department of Emergency Magical Services. Hazardous Spell Removal Office.
"Third Floor: Department of the Mint. Department of Magical Transportation. Department of Metereomancy.
"Fourth Floor: Confederation Census Office. Research Office Liaison. Headquarters of the New Amsterdam Regiment. Wizard Justice Department.
"Fifth Floor: Foreign Ministry Liaisons. Office of Inquisitions. Office of the Governor-General. Office of the Governor of New Amsterdam."
Hermione and Millicent stepped into the elevator, and Hermione pressed the button for the fifth floor.
"I know Americans fancy themselves quite egalitarian," Millicent said, as the elevator rattled upwards, "but I'm surprised they don't have a little more security."
"You did notice the Muggle-Repelling Charms?" Hermione asked.
"Why would I? I'm not a Muggle."
Hermione clenched her jaw. "Why did I have to bring you along, again?"
"For my charm and good looks," Millicent said, as the elevator doors opened.
They faced a short hallway, plushly carpeted, with doors on either side. A man with a short black cloak over a red vest greeted them as they stepped out of the elevator. He had a bald head and tanned, ruddy skin, with dark eyes that seemed to be taking in everything at once as he held out a hand.
"Mrs. Granger, Ms. Bulstrode. My name is Richard Raspire. I am Governor-General Hucksteen's chief deputy. You had no difficulty finding your way here, I assume?"
"No difficulty," Hermione said, taking his hand without smiling. "Although we noticed a bit of magic run amok in Bowling Green. I assume the Charging Bull statue isn't meant to animate for visitors?"
Raspire's expression didn't change. "No. Will you pardon me for just one moment?" He drew his wand, and silvery magic streamed out one end of it, briefly flickering into a serpentine form before flying through the floor. He put his wand away and smiled. "Thank you for informing me. I've passed the message on. An animation at a major landmark like that is… problematic."
"I should say so!" said Hermione.
"A little late to quiet the raging bull now," said Millicent. "Granger here already dispelled your little problem and bollixed up the Muggles' camera-mobile-thingies."
Raspire nodded. "As you may be aware, there was another terrorist attack here in New Amsterdam recently. Many areas of Greater Muggle New York remain cursed. Our Obliviators and Hazardous Spell Removal teams have been working around the clock since the Dark Convention's second attack, but unfortunately, incidents of this sort continue."
"We are very much aware of it," Hermione said. "You Colonials are exposing the entire wizarding world. The Confederation's ability to preserve the International Statute of Secrecy is in doubt."
"Is it? Well, I'm sure the Governor-General is eager to hear your advice on how to stop Dark Wizards from running amok, Mrs. Granger." He glanced at Millicent's luggage. "I could put that in a closet for you."
"No thank you," Millicent said. "I don't like to be separated from my personal items whilst I'm in a foreign place."
"Honestly, Millicent," Hermione whispered, just loud enough to be audible.
Raspire smiled. "As you wish. If you'll follow me?"
He turned and walked towards the large door at the end of the hallway.
Hermione leaned over and whispered to Millicent: "I don't like him."
"He can probably hear you," Millicent whispered back.
"I don't care," whispered Hermione.
Backs straight, they followed Mr. Raspire into the Governor-General's office.
Raspire took up position standing off to the side as Governor-General Hucksteen rose to his feet behind his immense, mahogany desk. It practically filled the room, which was actually a fairly small office. Besides the desk, there were crystal-paned bookcases and oak end tables, several ornate wooden seats, and one small sofa for visitors. Despite the modest dimensions of the room, the plush carpets and gilded lamps and picture frames on the wall conveyed an impression of both grandeur and gaudiness—a sharp contrast with the building's exterior. A window gave the Governor-General a view out onto Wall Street, from which they could hear the sounds of traffic, and on the opposite wall was a door to an adjacent room.
The Governor-General himself almost seemed to take up the rest of the space in the room. Tall, with an immense belly contained by sashes and a broad, shiny leather belt over a more ornate version of the vest Raspire wore, he was dressed in something vaguely uniform-like, with medals hanging on his chest. A tall black hat sat on a hatstand behind him, beneath a sword hanging on the wall. His white beard grew to his waist, and behind his beard and sideburns, his face was red and might have appeared jovial, except that his cold blue eyes, as he greeted his visitors, never seemed to approach room temperature.
"Governor-General, this is the delegation from the Ministry of Magic: Mrs. Hermione Granger and Ms. Millicent Bulstrode," said Mr. Raspire. "Mrs. Granger was kind enough to deal with another stray curse on her way here, this one right outside in Bowling Green."
Governor-General Hucksteen said, "Millicent Bulstrode, and Hermione Granger… the Hermione Granger. It's a pleasure to meet you." He held out a meaty hand.
Hermione allowed him to clasp her hand with an expression of grim distaste. "I wish I could say likewise, but our mission here is not pleasant, and we are not here to exchange cordialities. Forgive me, Governor-General, but I would like to get down to business immediately."
The Governor-General sat back down in his chair. "I was going to offer you tea, but by all means." He spread his hands. "We received very short notice of your arrival, which told me this probably would not be a formal state visit. We have been exchanging gulls with your Minister, and the tone of those, I presume, reflects the nature of your visit." He folded his hands, and regarded the two British witches with an expression of genial curiosity.
"Indeed," said Hermione. She stood straight, with her hands at her sides. "As you know, the entire wizarding world has become aware of your 'Deathly Regiment.' The Ministry of Magic—and here I do not merely mean our Ministry of Magic, but all Ministries of Magic, throughout the world—are shocked and appalled at what you have been doing. For centuries. To say it is an abominable practice, viewed with disgust by every civilized member of the magical community, would be an understatement. I cannot properly express my personal outrage, but I can assure you that the tone of the Minister's letters, as you put it, does not begin to convey the depths of his revulsion, a revulsion shared by every witch and wizard in Britain, and, I believe, the entire world."
There was a long silence. It grew until the tension became heavy.
Millicent suddenly began clapping. She looked back and forth, from Hermione, who was staring down the Governor-General with her face contorted in outrage, to the Governor-General, whose bland expression had not changed.
"That was marvelous," Millicent said. "Well done, I say! Wasn't it a bloody good speech? She practiced it a lot."
Hermione, the Governor-General, and Mr. Raspire all turned to look at her. Then Governor-General Hucksteen turned back to Hermione.
"So, you speak for the entire wizarding world, do you?" he asked.
"Not as such," Hermione said. "Although I believe I do accurately express the sentiments of the community."
"If so," Hucksteen said, "then the rest of the wizarding world is a pack of judgmental hypocrites who should put their own houses in order before presuming to look into ours. Every witch and wizard in Britain is filled with revulsion, are they? Even the former Death-Eaters? Even the purebloods who supported your Dark Lord, but suddenly found themselves believers in equality and blood diversity after he was put down once and for all?" His voice became almost a growl. "No one has clean hands, Mrs. Granger. No one!"
"That may be," said Hermione, "but unfortunately, I am not empowered to address all the sins, past and present, of the wizarding world just now. I am addressing you, as the Governor-General of the Confederation, who has overseen the continuation of the Deathly Regiment throughout your term of office. The responsibility for continuing this abominable practice, and the collective responsibility of all your predecessors, sits upon your shoulders, and I am here to hold you accountable."
"Really," said the Governor-General. His tone had become mild and pleasant again.
"Really. You may have forgotten this, Governor-General, but the Confederation Charter that made you an independent body establishes the monarch's royal prerogative in appointing—or dismissing—the Governor-General. In other words, you serve at Her Majesty's pleasure."
Hucksteen turned to his deputy. "Richard, is Mrs. Granger actually lecturing me, the Governor-General of the Confederation, on the Confederation Charter?"
Richard Raspire smiled thinly. "She does seem to like lecturing."
"Oh, you have no idea," said Millicent.
Hermione glared at her companion, then fixed her eyes on the Governor-General again. She reached into her robes, withdrew a rolled-up document, and held it out to him. "On behalf of Her Royal Majesty, the Queen, I hereby deliver to you, Governor-General Elias Hucksteen, this Royal Writ."
Hucksteen took the document from her and unrolled it. His ice-blue eyes revealed nothing as he read it.
"As stated in that Writ," said Hermione, "you are dismissed from office, effective immediately. The Confederation is hereby called upon to convene a Confederation Convention in which a new—"
She stopped as the document in Hucksteen's hands burst into flames. It was consumed in a flash, and Hucksteen made a sweeping gesture with his fingers. The window overlooking Wall Street slid open, and the ashes of what had been the Royal Writ swirled through the air and streamed out above the street.
"I'm impressed," he said. "You actually procured a Royal Writ. Hasn't been done in centuries, has it? A historical relic signed by a historical relic. Now that I think of it, I wish I'd preserved it to hang on my wall." Hucksteen laughed, and made a gesture with his hand. The window slammed shut again. "Do you actually think that the Confederation is going to abase itself before a monarch who has shown no interest in us—indeed, has been largely unaware of our existence—for three and a half centuries? As if we would ever accept a Muggle monarch having dominion over us? That section of our Charter is an archaic historical artifact which has never been invoked because your Ministry knows full well it carries no weight. It signifies nothing. In short, Mrs. Granger, you, the Ministry of Magic, and Her Majesty, the Queen can go pound sand." He thumped his fist onto his desk for emphasis.
In the thick silence that followed, Hermione stared at the Governor-General, the Governor-General stared back at Hermione, Millicent smiled, and Raspire remained watchful and silent.
Finally, Hucksteen said, "You didn't really think that was going to work, did you?"
"No," Hermione said. "And that is why I also brought this." She reached into the folds of her robes again, and brought out a second, larger document, this one a proper scroll on parchment. She unrolled it. "As I said before, I do not speak only for the British Ministry of Magic. Your Confederation is about to become a pariah in the wizarding world."
"We don't need the rest of the wizarding world," Hucksteen said. He spoke slowly, emphasizing each word, his voice once more lowering to a near-growl. "And neither your Ministry, nor all the wizard nations of the Old World, are a threat to us. The Confederation is mightier than you can imagine. We have Regiments with more officers than you have wizards in your entire Ministry. The Confederation Air Force has more dragons than remain in the whole of Europe. And the magical forces at our command—"
"—are powered by Dark magic, fueled by human sacrifice," said Hermione. "The sacrifice of children. Children, Hucksteen! Really, how dare you? How dare you? Have you no shame, no morals, not even a tiny scrap of humanity?" Hermione Granger's dignified calm broke, though she quickly collected herself again.
Governor-General Hucksteen remained cool and unperturbed as he stared her down.
He replied in a calm voice. "Just how do you think all those castles and manors and labyrinths and mountain retreats and wizards' towers and hidden villages and secret magical trains in Europe came about, Mrs. Granger? Do you really think all of that was just wished into existence, without any… sacrifices being made? Wizards in the Old World enjoy all the benefits of thousands of years of enchantments, and most never stop to think where it came from. Just because your sacrifices were made ages ago doesn't mean you don't have blood on your hands. We came here to a new world where we didn't have the benefit of a magical civilization that had been here since the days of Carthage, only untamed magical beasts and hostile Indians. We had to build everything you had from scratch. What took you a hundred generations, we did in less than three. That carried a price, Mrs. Granger, a price we are still paying off. I daresay there are corners of the Old World in which some of your folk are still paying off ancient debts as well. Then there is your more recent tradition of Dark Wizards who want to enslave half the wizarding world, to say nothing of their plans for Muggles. So spare me your sanctimonious lectures. We pay a modest price—very modest, in the greater scheme of things—in order to suffer far fewer sacrifices overall, and ensure the safety and security of our great nation."
Hermione glared at him, red-faced, no longer pretending to be civil or dispassionate. "Spoken like every tyrant who ever justified his atrocities. You could end the Deathly Regiment today, Hucksteen. And as for safety and security, how is your war against the Dark Convention going? How many Territories are on the verge of seceding?"
"There is no 'war,' only some warlock covens who think they're a movement," Hucksteen said. "We'll crush the rabble in short order, and the Territories being stirred to unrest with lies and sedition will be quelled soon. None of this is your concern, Mrs. Granger. Have you finished delivering speeches and empty threats?"
"Not quite." Hermione unrolled her scroll. "Realizing that you are unlikely to undertake a peaceful regime change and end the Deathly Regiment of your own accord, and lacking the will to engage in a wizard war across oceans—"
The Governor-General interrupted her with a snort. Hermione paused, and kept going: "You are correct in assuming that no Ministries of Magic are going to go to war with the Confederation. Instead, the assembled Ministries of Magic of Europe, as well as Australia, Egypt, Mali, Japan, Brazil, and Barbados, have signed this joint declaration, and hereby put you on notice, that should you fail to do as commanded by your rightful sovereign and step down, convene a Confederation Convention for the election of a new Governor-General to be ratified by Her Majesty, and most importantly, end the Deathly Regiment immediately, we are prepared to enforce… The Ban!"
Hermione turned her scroll around so the Governor-General could see it and verify for himself the signatures on it.
"My, my," Hucksteen said. "Did you hear that, Richard? The Ministry of Magic of Barbados is wroth. That's cause for concern."
"Scoff, Governor-General," said Hermione, "but we are very serious. The circles are already gathered. The rituals are being prepared as we speak. The Confederation will become truly isolated. There will be no magical transportation in or out of your borders, and no commerce with the rest of the wizarding world. And if the Muggle government carries out its threat of sanctions—yes, we know about that, Hucksteen—we are prepared to lend aid."
"As I told you," the Governor-General said, "we don't need the rest of the wizarding world. And we don't fear the Muggle government."
"Right. We figured you'd say that," said Millicent.
"However—" Hermione started as Millicent kicked her suitcase over. "Millicent, what are you—?"
"Get back, sir," said Raspire, drawing his own wand. Millicent's suitcase popped open and a large serpentine creature with the head and talons of a cock sprang out of it, screeching as it flapped onto the Governor-General's desk. Simultaneously a swarm of black, hairy winged creatures flooded into the office from the same open suitcase.
Hermione screamed: "That's a cockatrice!"
"Right you are," Millicent said. The Governor-General was backing away from his desk. He had drawn his wand and cast a curse at Millicent. With her wand, she cast a Shield Spell. The Governor-General's curse flashed and the room shook. Books tumbled off their shelves and the window rattled.
"Oof," said Millicent. She threw a curse back at the Governor-General, who retreated toward the office side door.
"Ah! Ah! Ah!" Millicent said. "Hama Colloportus!"
Hucksteen pulled at the door and ground his teeth when it didn't budge. He spun around while Raspire thrust his wand at the cockatrice. It leaped at him only to be thrown back by the force of his spell. Raspire cursed as doxies swarmed around him, distracting him.
"Granger! Get over here!" barked Millicent. The cockatrice was growing in size, and the two witches had to scurry out of the way as its talons tore up the floor. It snapped at Raspire again, who managed to repel the doxies and then the cockatrice with another flash from his wand. The thing was already the size of a pony.
Hermione stumbled over to Millicent, using her own wand to summon a gust of wind that blew doxies away from them. "Millicent, what—?"
Millicent raised a fist, holding some sort of floppy material that looked like a circle of cloth made of utter blackness. She wrapped her other arm around Hermione's neck in a headlock. "Down we go!"
She slapped the black circle on the carpet at her feet. It expanded, instantly creating a five-foot diameter hole in the floor through which they could see robed wizards and witches in an office below them. They looked up as Millicent, Hermione, and Millicent's open suitcase fell straight down. Millicent cast a Falling Charm. As they fell, Hucksteen was tracing a rectangle in the air with his wand. "Richard!" he bellowed.
Millicent's suitcase hit the floor below with a bang. Millicent reached up for the circular hole in the ceiling above them, through which they could see the cockatrice almost filling the Governor-General's office and Hucksteen and Raspire going through a door which had not been there a moment ago. The hole disappeared as the black circle fluttered down, along with a few doxies that had escaped through it. Millicent snatched the black circle out of the air.
"Bull!" she yelled.
They were in an office that took up most of the floor. About a dozen witches and wizards sat at desks piled high with scrolls and ledgers. A supervisor walked about, leaning over shoulders or looking at what was being inscribed by magically animated quills writing onto open books on raised podiums. All of them stopped what they were doing and stared at the two witches, except for those nearest where Millicent and Hermione had fallen, who jumped from their seats and began slapping at the doxies angrily buzzing around them.
The supervisor stared at Millicent and said, "What?"
Hermione also stared at Millicent. "What. Are. You. Doing?"
"Creating a panic," Millicent said. "Try to keep up, Granger." She waved her wand over her suitcase. It stretched and gaped wider, and then expanded enormously as something massive and gleaming came bursting out of it.
The nearest office workers screamed as a bronze bull came charging out onto the floor and smashed a desk aside, sending scrolls and papers flying everywhere. Its metal hooves left indentations in the floor.
"MILLICENT!" screamed Hermione.
Millicent began throwing fiery spells with abandon, setting desktops and racks of parchment on fire. As the bronze bull chased a wizard wearing red robes, Millicent strode between abandoned desks towards one of the books on the podium near the center of the room. She dragged her open suitcase behind her.
"Granger, come with me," she said.
"Come with you where?" Hermione demanded, using her wand to clear smoke and flames out of her path. The other people in the room were either running for the exits, or trying to get out of the way of the rampaging bronze bull.
Millicent grabbed the book on the podium and threw it into her suitcase, then pulled a carpet out of it. It unrolled by itself and hovered in the air. Millicent practically threw Hermione onto the carpet, before clambering awkwardly onto it herself.
"What—what—what are you doing?" Hermione gasped, still in shock, but collected enough to keep her wand ready. They could hear shouting on the other side of one of the doors. It flew open and wizards in red Auror vests and Regimental Officer Corps uniforms poured through.
Millicent pointed her wand at the nearest window and cast a Blasting Charm. It obliterated the window and much of the wall surrounding it. The magic carpet carried Hermione and Millicent through the hole, and out over a busy Manhattan street.
"What have you done?" exclaimed Hermione, as they shot down a concrete canyon, skyscrapers surrounding them on all sides. Behind them, pedestrians stared up at the smoking hole in the side of the building. Sirens wailed in the distance.
"I stole a copy of the Confederation Census, that's what I did," said Millicent. "The Ban don't have any teeth if all you do is Ban a few officials. But now… we'll be able to Ban every single Confederation citizen by name! We can prevent anyone from setting foot outside the border. They won't be able to sneak anyone out, and those warlocks from the Dark Convention won't be able to flee the country, as they'll surely try to do if the war goes badly for them." As Millicent spoke, they flew out over New York Harbor. Surprisingly few Muggles looked up at them.
Hermione shakily reached up a hand to brush away hair as the ocean breeze whipped it into her face. "Did we… did we just attempt to assassinate a head of state?"
"Yeah. Didn't work." Millicent shrugged. "But the rest of the mission was a success."
"Mission." Hermione stared at Millicent accusingly. "This wasn't a diplomatic mission. It was an espionage mission!"
"Brightest witch of your generation, you are," said Millicent.
"You used me!"
"Well, of course. It's not like you'd have gone along with it otherwise. Also, you're a terrible Occlumens." Millicent smiled at Hermione's look of shock and consternation. "Some things, a Slytherin can do that a Gryffindor can't. But if it makes you feel any better, don't worry; your precious Ron and Harry didn't know nothing about it. This was planned higher up."
"We were here as diplomats!" Hermione shouted. "We've become terrorists! We committed an act of war!"
"Yeah, well, like the Governor-General said, none of us have clean hands."
Fuming, Hermione turned away and looked across the water. There were still numerous vessels below them, but they continued flying further out to sea. "There's a ship waiting for us," Millicent said.
"Imposing a Ban will only isolate the American wizarding world further," Hermione said. "I was never in favor of it."
"And what did you think was going to happen, Granger? Hucksteen would just accept Her Majesty's dismissal and turn over the Confederation to a replacement, or maybe that Thorn fellow? What else can we do? The Confederation is too big and too powerful. We could never force a regime change on them, even if we wanted to. They already have a wizard war on their hands, and they're just going to have to resolve it themselves. Best we can do is stay out of it, and keep their troubles contained inside their borders."
"And every day, their Accounting Office will continue to tick off lives for the Deathly Regiment," Hermione said bitterly. "We aren't meant to stand by and watch, Millicent."
"No? Well, what would you like to do, go join the Thorn Circle? You miss running about the countryside as a rebel on the run, do you? From what I hear, Abraham Thorn isn't much better than Hucksteen. But go ahead, I'll turn us around and drop you off."
Hermione glowered indignantly at Millicent, who just glared back at her.
Finally, Hermione looked away.
In a kinder tone, Millicent said, "Hucksteen isn't some Dark Lord to be taken down by a band of teenagers. He and the Deathly Regiment are American problems, and the Americans will have to deal with them."
Hermione stared glumly ahead at the ocean stretching before them. "I know," she said. "And I believe they will. But I'm afraid it will get worse before it gets better."