a/n: Fulfillment of the 2024 Harmony Summertime Madness event. Not sure how many chapters this will be. There are twelve planned and outlined.
Prologue
Smoke was thick in the air. Green flames tangled with purple as competing fires consumed everything in its path. Buildings, crops, people, it didn't matter. The destruction was indiscriminate. Screams pierced the night. Terror was a physical presence. Dymas hugged Persephone close to his chest. He found the small child clinging to her dead mother. She'd been directly in the path of the otherworldly fire. The war was over. The Ionians had managed the impossible by doing the unthinkable. The matter of winning was no longer a distant hope, they needed to concentrate on survival. Running through the town center, he had hope for the latter. Their relics, their texts, their tablets. None of them were burning. Despite the darkest magic used against them, the enchantments refused to give. Dorus was right. The Source was ancient and immortal. It was why it was feared.
An explosion erupted in Dymas' path, debris and cinder rained down on him. He felt the burns from the embers landing on his skin. He hunched over, protecting the child. The girl and those like her needed to be protected at all costs. A wall of the nearby shop collapsed, blocking the way ahead. Breathing heavy, he tried to find another way around. Nothing was obvious. Time wasn't on his side. Steeling himself, he turned his back on the flames, a shield against them to spare his charge injury. Walking backward limited his speed. Entering the fire, he felt the sharp pains on his legs and back. Yelling out in pain, he pushed through it. As he neared the other side, his heel snagged a beam. He was falling backward. "No!" he yelled, terrified he had failed.
A soft cushion of air caught him. A strong gust of wind pushed the flames away.
"Dymas. Dymas, by Zeus! You're alive," Hera said, rushing to his side. She made a pushing motion with her hand and the fire was redirected. "You're hurt. Let me… oh. Persephone. You saved her. We feared the worst," she said, helping the heavily armored man up on his feet with very little effort.
His heart lifted with the action. "Is Archimedes safe?" he asked her, not sure he wanted to know the answer if their son was gone. He might like to die believing the child would live on.
"He's here," she said, supporting him, leading him up a short walk down a trail that appeared to dead end in the hillside. "Áperxe," she said. The cliff opened up, revealing a small gathering.
Dymas let Hera take the child from him and collapsed on the ground. It was over. He felt the futility consume him. Hera rushed back to him to treat his burns. He waved her off. "It wasn't supposed to end like this."
"This is not the end," a calm voice said. Amalthea. It was hard not to blame her for their demise. She tried to make peace. Peace hadn't been an option the moment the Ionians learned about their magic. The Dorians didn't need potions or staves or wands to channel magic and that made them a threat. Their writings couldn't be read by anyone else. Their knowledge wasn't shared. There could be no peace under those conditions.
"Look around you, Thea. We're not coming back from this," Dymas said. "Xuthus exchanged the soul of his entire people to conjure the magic that destroys us now. The blood magic can't be stopped. Dorian states are falling across the land. Our Kingdom is over."
Thea rested her hand on his chest. A warmth spread over him, pushing the pain away. "You heal me only to give them another chance to kill me," he said, angry. Sitting up he noted the congregation of children, blessedly including his son, being cared for by the oracles. Persephone was with the others now, looking dazed but calm. "What are you doing?"
"We heard from Corinth. They got a message before they were overrun," Hera explained, sitting next to him.
He longed to feel her touch one last time. Pulling her into an embrace he listened. Not sure what fresh horrors she'd share.
"The Ionians are making every child who survived drink Lethe Water. Then they're taking the kids before slaughtering every adult left. They're exterminating us."
He assumed the end was ruthless. He didn't understand the acts toward the children. "What are they doing with the young ones?"
"Giving them to the geōmoroi," Hera said, referring to the non-magical peasants. "They need the extra hands to tend to the farms."
"And it will dilute our magic," Thea interrupted. "The artifacts won't respond to their touch without knowledge of The Source. Our culture will be destroyed without waiting generations."
"What good is The Source if it can be forgotten so completely?" he shot back.
Thea shook her head and motioned toward the gathering of children. "It won't be forgotten. We're sealing the knowledge within the little ones. Lethe Water won't touch it, but neither can they. For their protection. It will appear as if the Ionian's plan was successful. But the seal will be passed down. Our descendants will know The Source again."
~~/~~
May 1996 | Department of Mysteries
A large crate sat untouched in the mailroom. Everyone knew not to touch packages addressed to Bogdan. There wasn't a single unspeakable who cared to know what was inside. Atticus walked in and glared at the monstrosity that was blocking the assignment board. "This has been here for three days now," he grumbled, shot a look at his partner. "Has anyone seen Coval lately? If he dies in his vault will we even know?"
"I have a self destruction spell set," Bogdan muttered coming around the corner.
The witch and wizard stared at him, not sure if he was joking or not. "Did you actually leave the ministry?" Atticus asked.
Bogdan rolled his eyes. He'd been an unspeakable before they were out of diapers. He didn't care to change their opinion of him. "Not that it's any of your business, I took a vacation."
"Good for you, mate. Hopefully some place with sun. Living down here can't be good for your health. Got another tablet?" Atticus asked, motioning toward the crate that was levitating out of the room.
Bogdan waved the wizard away. So what if he spent more nights in his office than his flat. Using a locomotion charm, he headed back to his vault with his crate. He exited the door across from the staff area. It opened up to the door hub. He waited patiently for the spinning to stop so he could find his door. It was a flashy display of a completely useless security feature. It was none of his business. Poking his wand out, a yellow light flew from the tip and hit a door to his right. Letting out an unhappy grumble, he walked through it, into the time room. The desks were full of researchers reading historical records. Looking for evidence of illicit time travel. Just because the British Ministry of Magic regulated time turners didn't mean other countries were so responsible.
"Hey Bogdan," a black haired witch waved at him from her desk.
He had a soft spot for Lucy. She was a hard worker and was kind to everyone. "Miss Blake."
She got up from her desk, lifted a large book into her arms, "I was getting worried. Were you in the field?" she asked, nodding toward the crate trailing him toward his vault.
He shook his head. "No. I took some time off. This was sent to me from a friend in Greece who keeps an eye out for interesting items."
"I'm still working on your books. I haven't even been able to figure out how to open them," she chattered on, placing her tome on a bookshelf next to his office door. "This one about the Dorian Invasion doesn't exactly line up with the historical record."
The book she had been reading was a muggle text. He didn't have the heart to tell her that the reason it was so inaccurate was likely because he had collected most of the antiquities the muggles would need to put together an accurate record. "Thanks for checking it out. If you find anything that can't be translated, I'd like to see it."
"I'll keep looking. Glad you're back," Lucy said, pulling another book down and returned to her desk.
It was a long walk to the back corner of his vault. His home away from home. The crate found a spot near a work bench as torches lit up in response to Bogdan's return. His domain was deep within the British Ministry of Magic. It was perfect. Surrounded by artifacts and books. No one bothered him there. No one made demands or made him leave. He'd spend weeks on end within the private collection. He had one job and it had been his job since becoming an unspeakable forty years ago—discern the magic protecting the items. They all had curious similarities. It didn't matter if they were stone tablets, used parchment, or bound tomes. They had the same mysterious language which had no interpretation and they were indestructible. The creators of the pieces went to considerable effort and used powerful magic to protect them but did nothing to ensure the message or purpose could be known. It was a magical oddity with no known benefit.
His fellow unspeakables mocked him for getting such a useless appointment. He ignored them. His supervisors offered him new assignments many times through the years. He refused. He knew there was something powerful held within his collection. He just needed to release it. With a flick of his wand, the wood surrounding the tablet disappeared. "Got another tablet," Bogdan mocked Atticus. This one was important. Some muggle archeologists stumbled upon it. A perfectly preserved sandstone tablet in a cave. The mysterious language was present but so was some Greek text. Bogdan hoped it could be a rosetta stone of sorts for him. Levitating it up to his workbench, he cleaned his glasses. Disappointment hit him right away. It appeared to be a list of names. "The Descendants of Dorian." It wasn't the first time this group of classical Greek sect was implicated in his inventory. They were eradicated by the non-magical Ionians. Not a good sign that they were powerful mages.
The contents of the text might not be enlightening, but he thought the Greek translation could be of use. Picking up a quill and parchment he translated the Greek to English. From Archimedes to Persephone, he shook his head. There would be no way to trace these descendants without access to historical records from the Greek Ministry of Magic. They hated him. And what would he say… Tell me all the Persephones in history? How would he sort out the right familial line? And would they even be that important to his mystery.
~~/~~
Hermione. There was something he was noticing. Harry couldn't put his finger on it. The way she looked at him. The trust she had in his ability. No one believed in him like she did. There was something he was noticing. It was all the little things. The way her brow furrowed when she was working out a problem. The way she made him feel safe when everything got to be too much. The way they complemented each other. He was noticing.
Sitting in the library studying, he liked how serious she was about learning all she could.
"Harry, you're not going to get the marks you need on your transfiguration's O.W.L. if you don't study the theory," Hermione said, not looking up, but noticing his noticing.
"What happened to your jumper?" he asked, not bothering to pretend to study.
Setting her quill down, she gave him her attention.
This stomach did a funny little jump.
Her eyes followed his. There was a greenish-blue clover shape on the right cuff of her wool jumper. She smiled, "A potion splashed up when I added the fairy wings. I liked the color," she explained, running a finger over the stain. "I wanted to find a shirt this color."
He laughed. Not in a patronizing way, but in a way to show her he thought it was a sweet quirk. "Are you going to fix it when you find what you're looking for?"
"Uh, no. I don't think I will. It was a really good potion. It deserves to be remembered," she said, getting back to writing.
He tried to focus on the transfigurations' text. He knew he had to get at least an exceeds expectations if he had any hope of becoming an auror. Reading and rereading the same paragraph for the fifth time, he leaned back in his chair. Staring out into the forest, he shook his head. "We should tell Ron about the Hagrid's secret," he said with a whisper.
Hermione looked up again. Letting out a big sigh she bit her lip. "The fewer people who know about that, the safer Hagrid will be and you know it."
She was right. That didn't make it right. "We don't keep secrets from Ron. He'll understand that we didn't want to ruin his celebration. But if we wait much longer, he'll think we didn't trust him."
"I didn't mean that… that's not what I meant," she started quickly. "I think… I can't believe he's gone and done that."
Harry could. Not just that Hagrid had proven time and again that he made decisions without thinking about the consequences, but family was family. Harry understood. He'd do anything for Sirius. That connection was instinct. He had it for Sirius, and the Weasleys… and Hermione.
She saw the sentimental looking in his eye. Misread it for sympathy for Ron. "Well, let's go find him then. He needs to study to and he probably isn't," she said, gathering up her things, looked out the same window Harry had been. "It's a nice day. Let's find a spot outside. We can listen to him embellish the quidditch match one more time and then we'll break it to him."
Harry wasn't sure what set him off down memory lane. It seemed like a quaint problem to have now. He longed for a day where the worst thing that could happen was Hagrid getting sacked over hiding a giant in the forbidden forest.
The stale air of the tunnel bunker was getting to him. He needed fresh air. With a flick of his wand, he moved his name to the patrol schedule on the assignments board. The tunnels were quiet this time of the night. An artificial peace. Winding is way past the underground intersections, he knew where he wanted to go. His feet knew the way. It cleared up his mind to think about all the mistakes he made. If he had gone back to Snape to practice his occlumency lessons, he wouldn't have been tricked into going to the Department of Mysteries. His world wouldn't have fallen apart. Their world wouldn't have fallen apart. Turning right at the signs pointing toward London apparition points, he pushed his self-pity away. It merely made room for guilt to fill the void. At the end of the path, several branches led to different locations around the city. He knew where he was going. It was a frequent stop for him when he was out looking for weaknesses in the enemy's defenses.
Walking through a foggy arch, in a blink he stood on top a crumbling building. It was the highest point left near the Ministry that was still outside the enchantments of the expanding headquarters. It was as close as any of the Order dared to tread. The ministry building used to be plain and unassuming. Through the years, it was transformed into an authoritarian fortress. Guard towers pierced the sky. Blinding light was projected onto the pavement all around the compound. An intimidation tactic to keep the muggles in line. The real security couldn't be seen. He wondered if it had changed much inside. He assumed it had. Ten years was a long time to be under Voldemort's control. His influence was everywhere. Curfews, wanted posters, abandoned public spaces. Then there were the unseen effects. Underground networks, secret markets, hidden rooms. The muggleborn witches and wizards who hadn't gotten out before the lockdowns were left to run and hide. Or fight. Such as the resistance was. It was too little too late. The denial that Voldemort was back had managed to create an environment that invited him to infiltrate multiple points of power before finally revealing himself. By then it was all over. And Harry could point to the moment it all went wrong. Inside the ministry at the end of this fifth year. At the end of his life at Hogwarts.
Harry felt a presence behind him. There were a handful of people who would recognize a late night excursion outside the safety of their makeshift headquarters wasn't about patrolling.
"Harry," Sirius said, laying a hand on his godson's shoulder. "You shouldn't be out here alone. You know that."
Nodding, he did. "I just wanted to…" he trailed off, motioning toward the ministry. It was the symbol of failure. On every level. The place where this war started. The place that cultivated ideas of supremacy for generations. The seat of Voldemort's reign. And unfortunately taking it down would simply be symbolism at this point. Voldemort's ideology was pervasive. His control systemic. Toppling the building would only be a symbolic victory. "She's in there." Maybe it was the memories that had been creeping through his mind. Or the dreams that had him longing for the past. Something gave him the courage to say the words aloud. Silence hung between them. Harry looked back, and saw the pained expression on his godfather's face.
"You can't still think that. After all these years," Sirius responded, not unkindly.
Something deep with him made him hang on to that hope. Some part of him was certain he'd know if she was really gone. No matter how illogical it was to believe Hermione Granger was alive and trapped inside the lowest level of the ministry of magic he knew it was true.
"Harry. They searched every inch of the Department of Mysteries for weeks after she disappeared. There were any number of dangerous items that could have killed her without leaving a trace," Sirius tried to gently remind Harry of the reality of the situation. "Even if she somehow survived some accident, it's not possible she's managed to survive for ten years."
Shaking his head at the idea, Harry felt tears burn his eyes. "You don't know that. You don't know what we saw down there."
"If the unspeakables couldn't find her, I don't think anyone could. I know this is hard, and I'm sorry we lost her, but Hermione isn't coming back. You can't keep beating yourself up over it."
Swiping at his eyes, Harry got angry. "It's not like it's holding me back from anything better. If I could move on from losing the best part of my life what would I have left?" he asked, motioning toward the transformed skyline. Evidence of magic and Voldemort was everywhere the eye could see. "We're already talking about abandoning the country. Leaving it to Voldemort and hoping the ICW can contain him to Europe."
Sirius held his hands up in a sign of peace. He was sorry he sent Harry over the edge he'd been teetering on for weeks. Something had been itching at his mind, giving him hope. Visiting him in his dreams. He was going crazy was the answer. Harry understood the truth of Sirius' words. Hermione was gone. Forever. He'd been clinging to an impossibility because to kept him from accepting the catastrophe around him. He sank to his knees and finally cried. The pain that washed over him knowing he'd never see her again. Never hear her voice or feel her touch. Knowing he'd been the reason she was taken from him and the reason Voldemort conquered the wizarding and muggle world in Great Britain overwhelmed him. What was the point of fighting.
