It struck everywhere, at the same time. On every broadcast medium. Every radio. Every phone. Not even GPS devices were safe. Television sets were the most susceptible. And now, having gotten their bearings, Mulligan and Jeremy watched the broadcast.
It began with a white screen. Then a faceless voice spoke. „Men and women of planet Earth. You are guilty. Guilty of lies and murder."
Images began to flash on the screen, woodcuts, old prints from the medieval times. Texts in Latin and German and Old English. Testimonies against heretics. Witches and sorcerers on trials, drowned, burned at stakes. „For centuries, there lived among you a race of people with unique gifts. Men and women who were called the cunning folk, or witches and wizards. Their gifts were rejected and they were shunned, persecuted," the voice went on, as the images of atrocities continued. The seal of the Tribunal of the Holy Office of the Inquisition flashed several times on the screen.
„These men and women of power decided that you did not need or want their gifts. In 1689, they rightfully withdrew from the affairs of the world at large, leaving in their place only fools and charlatans. But something then happened, likely not intended."
Faces then began to be displayed one by one, first as 17th century engravings, then as paintings, then as grainy black and white photographs. Each time the change was accompanied by a click, as if an old projector was being used to switch between slides. „Humanity is warlike by nature. Divide a group of people into red and blue and they will fight each other over colors," the voice spat contempuously. „Wizardkind is no exception. Having separated themselves from baseline humanity, some began to view their former persecutors with resentment. They wished to enact revenge for the atrocities committed against their people, whether through enslavement or outright extermination."
The faces flashed faster and faster. Among them all, Jeremy and Mulligan recognized only two. Gellert Grindelwald and Tom Marvolo Riddle. But who were the others? Grindelwald and Riddle were dark wizards. Were these others dark wizards as well? Possibly even precursor dark lords? But neither of them had ever seen or heard anything about them before.
Other faces now emerged to replace the previous ones. Faces of Ministers for Magic former and present. Hermione was there. Kingsley Shacklebolt was there. Pius Thicknesse was there. And so it went, on and on, cycling through the previous ministers. When the presentation ran out of British ones, it switched to German ones, and when it ran out of those it moved on, seemingly displaying every wizard politician of every era in history.
„The wizardkind was also divided amongst itself, however," the voice explained. „Just as there were wizards who wanted to rule openly, there were wizards who wanted to rule secretly, and their methods of rule have been proven far more effective over the long centuries, infinitely subtler. They have been changing your memories," it revealed with barely contained glee.
Again images began to flash on screen, as well as clips seemingly taken from surveillance cameras, recorded on phones, instances of intrusions of magic into the world of non–wizards. Breaches of the Statute of Secrecy now existing solely as these recordings. „Now, I can already hear them say they have only been doing this for protection, yours and theirs. We know better, don't we? This kind of protection becomes indistinguishable from control. We know that if a group of people can change your memories, they can change your past. And then they can control it. Control your future. Control you. But don't take it from me, take it from Britain's own Minister for Magic. Hermione Jean Granger."
They watched. They watched a 2019 recording of her exiting 10 Downing Street. They watched her now sit in a chair, petrified and blindfolded. They watched her reject Greymist's demands for unconditional surrender, in effect condemning London. Finally they watched Greymist take the blindfold from her eyes and point at the camera which had recorded the entire exchange.
„You have just given them another reason to hate wizards," he explained to her as comprehension began to dawn on her, as her eyes darted frantically between him and the camera. „You have just killed every muggle in London."
He stood a little straighter now, dressed in white. Eyes wide and slowly understanding what she had just been a part of, Hermione was dragged away out of sight. Greymist now addressed the camera directly, and through it his viewers.
„I am Dark Lord Malachi Greymist. The Minister for Magic has decided. On New Year's Eve I shall address you again. What I tell you to do then will be done immediately. Whoever disobeys will perish. Now, some of you may be convinced this broadcast is nothing but a prank. Others still may be trying to mobilize against me even now, so I will give you this warning: remember London. That is all."
Jeremy realized then, why Hermione had given them such a huge shelter. She expected this might happen, and the shelter was not just for him. It was for the citizens of London, as many as he could find, as many as he could save.
The Auror bolted out of the building. Mulligan followed. „HEY! OVER HERE! HEY, YOU! GET INTO THE SHELTER, QUICK!" they were shouting to whoever might hear them, and the people followed unquestioningly. Whole families evacuated their still moving cars in a frenzy, people were running out of their apartments, abandoning the small businesses that were lined up opposite East Ham Library. Soon hundreds of people were crowded around the entrance to the tunnel, but Jeremy realized something. They did not have the capacity for all of them. He would have to seal off the entrance, but when? How? Thankfully he was spared the burden of decision when the floor of the library began to slide back into position of its own accord, sealing them from the increasingly desperate and violent crowd.
As the darkness closed around Jeremy, Mulligan and the few hundred they had managed to usher inside the shelter in time, the Auror remained where the entrance had been, forcing himself to endure, to listen to a sound drifting from beyond the safety of the bunker.
It was screaming.
It was the song of London's death.