CHAPTER 5: A Man of Wealth and Taste (Part 4)
Red and blue flashes lit up the street, glares in the dark night from abandoned cars littered throughout the block. The scene was already filled with the Muggle police, dozens of them moving around the place, contaminating the scene, involving themselves in a situation where they had no business attending. They were gathering the evidence and questioning the witnesses, retrieving the corpses and apprehending the suspect, unwittingly risking the entire country as they went through the same due process Rufus had been doing since he joined the DMLE. They had shut down the whole place and quartered it off, using only a thin line of tape that held back the mass of civilians demanding answers from the police. Reporters loudly yelled out questions while camera flashes captured every dark corner of the street.
As Rufus looked at the chaos surrounding him, he couldn't help but see the thousands of possible leaks that would only propel them to the inevitable war. It had been creeping up on them ever since the night of the sieges, and every day it felt closer than ever.
Attacks like this had only begun growing more common in the past months. It had happened in the previous war as well, wizard on muggle violence wasn't something new, but the number of attacks since early May was already nearly half of the attacks recorded during the near decade of the First British Wizarding War. Obliviating Muggles and taking over crime scenes wasn't an option any longer, not without risking further leaks and cracks within the Muggle population than there already were. They were now forced to work with the Muggles, infiltrating the scene by dressing as them and relying on their findings. Notice-me-not charms and others of the sort made it so that Rufus could pass through the tape lines without being noticed, or that the Muggles didn't notice they were talking to a tall, a hundred-year-old man with a long, white beard dressed in a police uniform.
It was a system that worked, but not one that was perfect. It would crumble, maybe even cause further damage to the Statute of Secrecy. The line was already beginning to get too muddled. Rufus had been waiting for this eventuality, he just didn't think it would come this soon.
He noticed the Aurors already in place. While Albus was easy to spot and almost too ridiculous in that outfit, the other Aurors selected for this assignment were harder to spot. He found Shacklebolt analysing the scene itself, taking in the corpses and occasionally talking to the Muggles. Dawlish stood on the other side of the street, interviewing two women who were sitting in the back of an ambulance, completely away from the rest of the police. Rufus had worked with them for years, and if he was still the Head Auror he might have joined them in the investigation. But coming here while the Wizarding World was already in an uproar was wasting enough time.
"Evening, Albus," Rufus greeted him as soon as he was alone.
"Minister," Albus acknowledge calmly. The world around them was still in chaos, sirens could be heard in the distance, and policemen were moving all around them. But all the sound from the outside seemed to drain as they were left alone inside the madness.
"What do we know?"
"Magical residue indicates that the victims were the Loggs and the Cranes. We're contacting their extended families as we speak so that they can identify them, but there's no mistaking it, these were wizards."
"What about their wands?" Rufus immediately asked.
"Retrieved. Auror Scamander should have delivered them to the Ministry by now."
"Good," he breathed out, feeling his body relax slightly. "Anything else we should be concerned about? Enchanted objects, tampered robes, anything that might contain a trace of magic?"
"A Remembrall from one of the children, and a sealed deck of Exploding Snap cards. Auror Shacklebolt managed to retrieve them before they were found by the Muggles," Albus gave a dejected sigh. He had been Headmaster for most of his life now, there was no doubt that he cared for the children in his care. Seeing their corpses like that, especially in the brutal state they must have been in… no amount of warfare can desensitize you from such a sight.
"Do any witnesses need to be handed over to the Department of Mysteries?"
"No, it doesn't seem so. The shooter didn't give them enough time to retaliate, no magic was used."
"Very well," Rufus nodded, though mostly to himself. "I'd like your full report as soon as possible. On my desk, Albus."
Raindrops were beginning to fall, and though there wasn't any thunder yet, Rufus could feel a storm was coming. He turned around and began walking away, scanning through the scene for the last time, his muscle memory kicking in, searching for clues as if there were any left to find. He didn't make it far before Albus' words caught up with him.
"The shooter mentioned it," he said hollowly. "Witches and wizards… Magic… the Children of Hopkins. He was ranting about it. Yelling it out on the street for everyone to hear."
"Another leak we missed," Rufus replied without turning back. "There's nothing to do, it's too late to obliviate him. We'll let him discredit himself."
"To most, he already has. But there are those who will listen, and if we're right, he has already told them how to find each other."
The red and blue lights grew brighter. The camera flashes, snapping faster and faster. And on the street in front of them, standing atop the rooftops, was a lone figure looking down on them. Hands in pockets, hair flowing wildly, gazing straight down at Rufus.
"Then it's your job to find them first."
He could feel the dry blood sticking to the bottom of his shoes, and hear the cracks of the glass under his feet. The corpses had been covered up already, but he could still see pieces of them splattered over the street. Of all the times Rufus had headed into the Muggle world, this was the first time he saw what kind of carnage a single Muggle could cause. And though murders like these were nothing new to him, it still felt like a dark omen in the sky, a glimpse of what would come to pass. It was moments like these when his conviction faltered, and he wondered if he should have passed on the position of Minister to whoever Fudge had next in mind. He was a soldier trying to avert a war, and if dealing with the intricacies of politics wasn't enough of a challenge, new factions that aimed to tear down everything he was working for seemed to form with every day.
The walls were already closing in around him. This would only be the latest incident that would be levied against him. And knowing his luck, he would have dozens of demands from the ICW by the time he made it back to his office. But with nothing he could do at the moment, Rufus was forced to compartmentalize it all as he crossed the tape line and apparated away.
Potter wasn't spooked by his sudden appearance, he didn't flinch or even acknowledge his existence. His face was a cold mask as he stared down at the police below them.
"Your buddy Flint told you, I presume."
"No," Potter shook his head, still unwilling to tear his eyes away from the scene. "He didn't have to."
He stayed quiet, and Rufus knew exactly why. These battles for dominance between them were getting annoying. They served nothing except wasting time on their pettiness. But even knowing this, Rufus was unwilling to bow down. It was his pride, he knew that for a fact. He hated Potter, hated him to his very core, and the fact that he knew he couldn't deny the boy for much longer only made him want to do more. Rufus had met men like him before, he'd watched them rise and fall. To be forced to depend on someone like that felt like dealing directly with the devil, and as much as he tried looking past that, he couldn't fully bring himself to do it.
But the truth was there was little he could do any more. It was better to have the boy close, have him working with them, because the moment he went off on his own and lost track of him was when he was at his most dangerous. From the moment he had taken the role as Minister for Magic, he had promised himself he wouldn't hand out too many favours to Potter, that he wouldn't bend the might of the Ministry to the boy's every whim, but just like all the other times before, he found that he was left with no choice. If he was going to come out of this war victorious and keep Potter in check, he would have to put his pride aside and give the boy what he wanted.
Rufus only wished he was certain it was only his pride he was giving away.
"Take my arm," Rufus commanded.
Potter finally turned towards him and raised an eyebrow before doing what he was told. Turning on the spot, Rufus yanked the both of them away from that abandoned rooftop and apparated them into a large office. It was dark, empty, and a little too cold for his taste. The walls were beige and the furniture expensive, there were too large windows on either side of the large desk and a chandelier hanging from the ceiling. It was the perfect picture of royalty and plainness all at the same time. There was nothing of magic or grandeur in the place, and though being accustomed to the wizarding world might give him a biased perception, this was unlike anything he had expected of the Prime Minister's office.
He took a seat on the leather chair behind the desk and watched as Potter carefully walked around the room, keenly observing everything around him, coming to the obvious conclusion. Once he figured it out, the boy snickered, trailing his hand over the books on the shelf. "Any reason why you brought me here?" He asked.
"You wanted to be involved."
"In the case, not the politics of it."
Rufus fought the urge not to scoff at the boy. "Your role, whether you like it or not, will always fall back to the politics. Having you here will at least show me how prepared you are for August."
Potter turned to him, almost looking surprised. "So you were serious about it."
"When have I ever not been?"
"Still…" Potter continued. "Involving the Muggles like this, is that really a good idea? I thought one of our main problems was the Statute of Secrecy."
"It's only a leak if we can't control it."
The door to the office suddenly opened, and a man stepped inside. He was dressed in a grey suit with a white shirt and wearing oversized glasses. It took him a moment to spot them through the darkness, and by the time he had, Rufus had already slammed the door shut, locked it, and cast enough privacy charms to make sure they would not be disturbed. The man's eyes widened with horror, his entire body began shaking, and before he could cry out a scream, Rufus slashed his wand in the air and silenced him. He then snapped it forward and pulled out the chair in front of him.
"Minister, please take a seat."
Having his ability to speak taken from him startled him further, but soon enough, the man regained his composure enough to nod and take the offered chair. He looked at Rufus nervously, and for a moment, he even turned to Potter, as if trying to see if he would be of any help. But the boy only gave a sardonic, almost dangerous smile back before he apparated away, only to appear right behind Rufus.
"Minister, I have to know you can keep your calm once I give you back your voice. Even if you scream, no one would hear you, but I would find it particularly annoying. Can I trust you to keep quiet?"
His words only seemed to terrify him more, but in the end, he nodded once again. And it was only after lifting the silencing charm from him that Rufus realized how hard the man was breathing. He had never seen someone as horror-stricken as the man before him, much less been the cause of it, and though it made him feel uncomfortable, he knew he didn't have any other choice. Pushing all that down, Rufus cleared his throat and started with the matter at hand.
"Trust me when I tell you, Minister, that neither of us want me here right now. If not for the state of the country, I would have left you alone. Unfortunately, after tonight, that is no longer a choice."
"The- The state of the country?" The man stuttered. "What are you talking about? Who… who are you people?"
Rufus heard as Potter laughed behind him, scaring the Muggle even further. It was immature, and it told him exactly what he knew, the boy wasn't ready for the assembly, but in this case, it worked to Rufus' advantage. "Concerned citizens."
"Co-concerned citizens? What do you-"
"Minister, earlier tonight there was a shooting at Charing Cross Road," Rufus cut him off. "Have you heard of it?"
The man shook his head.
"I didn't think so. See, over the past few weeks, I've been hearing a rumour floating around here and there. A sort of cult growing inside your country. Does the name The Children of Hopkins ring a bell?"
Once again, he shook his head.
"That's perfectly understandable, we don't know much about them either. What we do know is that the shooter from tonight mentioned them. He all but declared this massacre in their name. I need you to understand, Minister, this is now a very real concern, one that cannot be ignored any longer. These people, whoever they are, cannot be allowed to roam free. Not any longer. If we let them organize, if they continue going out like this, it could very well change the world as we know it."
"This- this is something for the police, not the Prime Minster. What… what on earth do you expect me to do about a shooting?"
"I want you directly involved in this case, you and the men you personally trust. Remove the police from the case, shut down any stories on the shooting or the Children of Hopkins in general. This is one story we can't afford to let out."
"I… how do you want me to do that?"
"You're Prime Minister," Rufus replied coldly. "You have all night to figure it out. Once the police have been removed, it's on you to find these Children of Hopkins. Infiltrate them, lure them out, I don't care how you do it. But I want their names and I want their addresses. All of them."
The Prime Minister scoffed. "And what… what will you do with them once I find them?"
Rufus pulled out his wand and from underneath the desk, he began casting a constant stream of low-powered banishing charms against the desk. It wasn't powerful enough to move it across the room or blast it up to the ceiling, but it made it shake hard enough for the Prime Minister to remember who was in charge of the conversation. "This isn't a suggestion. I'm not asking for a favour. We know where you live. Where your family lives. We've been tracking your every move for months now, enough to know you'd be alone tonight. This is an order, Minister, and you will comply. Have I made myself clear?"
It took nearly an hour before Scrimgeour apparated them out of the Prime Minister's office and into the Ministry of Magic. It was unnerving seeing Scrimgeour as cold and unforgiving as he had been with the Prime Minister. Even after being hunted by the man, it was a side of him he had never seen before, but it was one that he respected. If he was honest, Harry had thought he would have been forced to step in and take the role of the arsehole once Scrimgeour inevitably gave in to the Prime Minister. He was glad that hadn't been the case, and though this proved Scrimgeour could still very much be a threat after the war was over, it at least meant he was competent enough to get through it.
"Something to say," the Minister practically barked at him from behind the desk.
"Are you sure that was a wise move?" Harry asked calmly. "Antagonizing the Prime Minister, involving a Muggle into this in general."
"By doing this, we're reducing the amount of Muggles involved in the investigation. It limits the damage. After we are done with this cult, we'll obliviate the Prime Minister and the others involved."
"Yeah, I get that, but wouldn't it have been better to use our assets already in the Muggle government to conduct this investigation?"
Scrimgeour took a deep breath. "Those assets are exactly where they need to be. They are our failsafe if everything goes wrong. We're stretched enough as it is. Unless you have a better idea on how to fight this war on all fronts, then I suggest you let me do my job and trust that I know what I'm doing."
The pressure was already getting to him, it was clear his behaviour at the Muggle Minister's office had affected him more than either of them had realised. Furthering this argument would accomplish nothing except burning the few bridges he had managed to build with the man. Still, he'd involve Dumbledore and Bedivere in the loop, just in case. Having a few Unspeakables watch over the Prime Minister or even some Order members following up on their investigation wouldn't be the worst idea. Somehow, Harry didn't think Scrimgeour's men would be enough to control this situation.
"What do we really know about the Children of Hopkins?" Harry asked.
"Up until today, barely anything. Like I told the Muggle Minister, we had heard rumours of them, Muggles who had somehow kept their memories gathering together. We know there have been leaks, Bedivere has been working on containing them, but we had chalked up this level of organization to hearsay. Once the Muggles hand over the shooter from tonight, we'll be able to get much more on the group."
"I don't think so."
Rufus glared down at him. "What do you mean?"
"You saw what he did. This bloke opened fire in the middle of the street, knowing what would happen once the police caught him. He targeted children just because they were magical. Someone like that would rather die than give anything away."
"Are you saying the Muggles should be the ones interrogating him?"
"God, no," Harry scoffed. "After how you threatened the Prime Minister, having an extremist like him in his ear is just sloppy. But don't expect to get anything out of him."
Scrimgeour grumbled, but didn't fight against his argument. "We can't let this extend further. If we don't deal with these fanatics soon, the whole situation could blow out of proportion."
"We can contain the fallout. It's what we've been doing with the Death Eater attacks."
"I wouldn't be too sure," Scrimgeour replied. "The Death Eaters are hunting down the Muggles because of something they did nearly five centuries ago. What do you think they'll do once they see Muggles rising up to them this very moment?"
He was early. It wasn't something he had meant to do. With everything going on, he barely had a few minutes to spare, and yet here he was, wasting his time at a filthy Muggle coffee shop when he didn't have to. There was a time when he would have never been caught dead in one of these. When he wouldn't have continued grovelling for weeks and weeks for a simple meeting with a boy he could easily find on his own. But things were different now, and he knew, deep down, that if he tried surprising Harry again, he wouldn't take it so easily any more. Any remnants of the goodwill he had built with the kid had been burnt away after the night of the sieges. He was no longer his mentor, he was no longer his friend, and Barty was well aware that the only reason why Harry had accepted a meeting was because he wanted a favour from him.
The type of disrespect was something he wouldn't tolerate from anyone else. He had punished his own people for less. But the stakes were beyond his petty pride. Time was running out. If Harry was at least willing to hear him out in exchange for a reasonable favour, Barty would take that chance.
Barty ordered a black coffee for himself, and despite knowing what Harry would have ordered, he abstained from doing so. By the time he had finished the small cup and the watch on his wrist signalled exactly eleven thirty, the bell at the door rang and Harry stepped inside. Barty had seen him from afar, through pictures in the papers and even as he stalked him whenever he went to Diagon Alley, but even after all this time, he wasn't used to the boy before his eyes. With his hair short but messy, and that gaudy leather jacket he wore over his dress shirt, he looked completely different to the person he had mentored and watched grow throughout his year at Hogwarts. It only made it clearer to him that he was dealing with someone completely different from who he knew.
Without a word of greeting, Harry pulled out the chair in front of Barty and sat down. And when the Muggle waitress asked him for his order, he simply batted her away.
"I won't be here long, so let's get this done with, yes?"
He skipped past any small talk Barty might have tried to start before he could even get the chance. He wasn't even giving him the same courtesy he'd give to Scrimgeour or Albus, even after all they've done to him. Any attempts at establishing any familiarity had just been thrown out the window. Even though Barty had felt the last thread of their relationship snap that night at the atrium, having it confirmed like this wasn't any less painful.
"Very well," Barty cleared his throat.
"No," Harry interrupted him. "You tell me what I want first, then you can start."
Barty took a deep breath and centred himself again. Harry wasn't his friend. He wasn't his ally, even. This was a simple trade of information. Nothing more. "Go ahead. Though I do not know what type of information you expect me to be willing to give up."
"Nothing too important, don't worry. You heard of the shooting from last night, I assume."
"Of course," Barty said stiffly. Everyone had heard of it by now, it was the cause of many of his problems, at the moment. It wasn't surprising that the beasts were already fighting back, nonetheless, it was something that alarmed much of the wizarding world. On one hand, it was something they foresaw before enacting the sieges, something that would strengthen the plight of the Dark Lord. On the other, the fact that the entrance to Diagon Alley had been so easily found was unsettling. "What of it?"
"What's your response?"
"My response?"
"The Death Eater's response," Harry snapped. "You've been openly Muggle hunting ever since the sieges. Something like this doesn't go unpunished."
"And it shouldn't be," Barty replied coldly. "That bastard gunned down good people. Honourable people."
"How would you know?" Harry asked haughtily. "As far as I'm concerned, you've never even met them."
"Are you defending him? After what he did to them? To those children?"
"I'm not defending him."
"Then why aren't you condemning him," Barty demanded.
Harry didn't reply. Not initially. Instead, he gave a deep sigh before leaning forward. "What about all the children you killed? This bloke, he killed what? Eight people. Nine people. How many died the night of the sieges? Fuck, how many did you kill personally?"
"Enough for a one-way ticket straight to hell," he replied. "We all are. Once again, you miss the point. This isn't about morality, it's about survival. There's no right. No wrong. There's only us and them. Wizards and Muggles. That's it. Two separate races that cannot coexist. We've proven that already time and time again. One day - one day soon - it'll be us or them, and doing what I do is what's going to make sure it ends with us still alive. And whether you like it or not, you are a wizard. You're not one of them."
"You're right, I'm not. And fuck, maybe if I had gone a little bit madder, and you had kept your hooks on me for a lot longer than just a year, I would have eagerly agreed with you. But to be honest, I just don't care."
"You don't care?" Barty echoed.
"Muggles kill wizards. Wizards kill Muggles. The cycle goes on and on and on. Trying to focus on the morality of that, defining which is the right side and what is the honourable thing to do at any given moment, it's just… so… exhausting. It's not my place, that's not why I'm here."
"Then stop. If you really don't care and if you want out, I can give you that out. I can take you out of the country. Out of the continent. We could go somewhere else, and start fresh away from this. You don't have to be involved, you don't have to do something just because the prophecy says so. The Dark Lord has agreed to leave you alone if you abandon Britain. He's given me his word."
Harry snorted. "Then he's lied to you. I'm the one fated to kill him, there's no universe where he knows that, and he lets me live."
"Perhaps, but it gives you enough time to prepare," Barty urged. "He's older than you. Smarter than you. More powerful than you. Harry, you don't even have a wand. How do you expect to make it out alive like that? You said you don't care about the war, that you wanted out-"
"I never said I wanted out," a small smile started appearing across Harry's face. "I don't care about the ideals or whatever twisted evolutionary morality you have brainwashed yourself with. But the moment Fate chose me, it made the decision to choose a side inconsequential. Voldemort wants me dead. Forever. That's not changing."
"I'm telling you it doesn't have to be that way."
"And I'm telling you that I want it to be that way." There was something unsettling in the way Potter was looking at him. A manic, almost crazed glint in his eye. "I'm bored, Barty. Normal life just… it doesn't cut it any more. It- it's… boring. Unfulfilling. Empty. And I know there's something wrong with me, I know that I'm probably fucked in the head in the head by now. That everything you did to me, everything you all did to me, that it made me this way somehow. But I can't fix it, can I? Can't change it, can't go back in time to prevent it. So I'm just going to have to embrace it. So when I tell you that I want this war, I mean that I want it."
"You don't know what you're talking about."
"Don't I? Tell me, what part of war don't I understand? The killing? The torture? Everything that comes with it? I've been on both sides of it by now, so if anyone knows what they're talking about, it's me."
"We're talking about the life of countless people, all over the world."
"Even if I step down, people will die. There will be rebellions, there will be fighting. There will be a war even without me there. People are going to die either way. I'd even say more people will die if I don't get involved."
"This isn't a game, Harry," Barty snapped.
"That's exactly what this is." Harry leaned back in his seat. "War is the game we play when we decide ensuring our future is more important than having one. I spent my entire life on my knees, and for the first time in my life, I have true in my hands. The power to change the world. The power to rise to the top. The power to make sure no man ever puts me on my knees again. By the time I'm done, I'll ensure all three and more."
"Harry, you've outdone yourself time and time again. You've risen above every challenge, picked yourself back up and kept fighting, and you've done it wonderfully. But Graham, Elijah, Dolohov… they were children messing around in a playground. None of what they could do will compare to even the power of the Dark Lord or the rest of the Pantheon."
Harry's eyes glazed over, they stopped focusing for a moment as a broad grin spread across his face. There was hunger, anticipation, almost desire at the thought. Everything but what Barty wanted to elicit from the boy. "I know." And then it was gone, his face shifting in a second as the Harry Potter he was doing business with only a few minutes ago resurfaced. "So, what are the Death Eaters planning in response?"
Castle of the Fhuidhir
8:3o p.m.
Castle of the Fhuidhir was a rather self-important name for what was a mediocre estate. Maybe it would have seemed grand if he hadn't been raised the way he was, a conflicted notion in of itself given how far the Notts had fallen out of grace in the last century or so. It was certainly bigger than his father's house. Older, too. The frames of the portraits were coated in gold, and there were enough sets of armour to rival even the halls of Hogwarts. He had visited the truly impressive manors of the country. He had stayed nights at Blackstone, played Quidditch at Malfoy Manor, and listened to the adults plan around the Horcruxes at Parkinson Palace. This was far beneath any of them. Despite the intentions of the hosts, the elegance was lost once the desperation became apparent. The estate was filled with tacky displays that would impress everyone but the people with real power.
It was no wonder this was his father's crowd.
Theo could feel him behind him. He was squeezing his shoulders with a little too much force as he guided Theo around the manor. They'd stop occasionally whenever his father found someone important enough to greet, and when Theo would stay silent, his father would tighten his hold and force him to involve himself in the conversation. He would do so, especially when there were other kids involved. "Don't ever stay quiet," his father would say. "Never blend into the background. If you don't make friends, no one will ever be there for you. Not even when you've made it to your grave."
It was easier when he was at Hogwarts. Without his father breathing under his neck, he would have done so without a second thought. He was already friendly with most of the people here, enough to where they'd occasionally hang out or even help out with a thing or two. But this wasn't Hogwarts, and it all felt so different here. And every time his father squeezed or whispered in his ear, it made Theo want to shut down even further. Unfortunately, this was one of the times when he was forced to comply. Angering his father over something so stupid like that had never worked out for him.
"Ah, Titus, glad you could make it," a voice boomed, and before he knew it, his father practically shoved him aside and shook the man's hand.
He was tall, nearly a head taller than his father, and just as large as well. He looked, oddly enough, like the gamekeeper Hagrid, only squeezed down to a more normal size and dressed in overtly expensive red robes. His beard was large but tamed, his hair long but sleek, and there was something about his golden eyes that made him almost look like one of those Muggle kings from centuries ago. Something done on purpose, Theo assumed, but by the way his father was embracing him, he knew there had to be real power behind the charade.
"Edward," his father laughed. "Thank you for having us! Just being here in your home, it's such an honour. Have you met my son, Theo?"
The fat man turned down to him and smiled. "Theodore, of course. Richard!" He abruptly bellowed, gaining the attention of a young man from afar who looked familiar to Theo. "Come here, boy. Yes, of course. I haven't had the pleasure myself, but he has made quite an impression on my boy."
"Father," the young man said as he joined the group. Having him up close, Theo finally recognised him. "Theo, I didn't know you would be joining us."
"Dick," he replied politely. "Having a good summer so far?"
"Going by too fast, if you ask me. Can't believe this is going to be my last year at Hogwarts."
"Richard, this is Titus Nott," Edward said, as he
"Good to meet you, sir."
"It's good you two boys know each other," the man continued. "In times like this, it's important to know who your friends are."
There was something almost superior about the way Richard was smiling at him. It wasn't scary or unsettling, it just made him look like more of an arse.
"Of course," Theo replied automatically. "Families like us must stick together, after all."
It wasn't until nearly ten minutes later when Mrs McNair informed her husband that all the guests had already arrived, that Theo was freed from the infernal conversation. The McNair's were some of the very worst that Britain had to offer, a family of self-obsessed supremacists who not only believed themselves above Muggles, but most other wizards as well. This meeting was filled with them, families who weren't smart enough to hide their bigotry or powerful enough to pose a significant threat on their own. The Mulcibers, the Goyles, the Blishwicks, the Travers, the Rosiers. It was almost pathetic how full of themselves they were. He'd heard enough of Draco and Daphne mocking them to know what the actual powerful families really thought of them.
"You seem quiet," his father told him as they took their seat at the table.
"It's nothing, Father," Theo answered politely. "Just hungry."
After everyone had settled down and conversation began flowing through the table, Edward McNair stood up and clinked his glass with a fork until he had everyone's full attention. "Before we start, there's a subject we need to discuss."
Immediately, the entire room went silent, and most of the levity was lost as the adults grew serious. He watched some of the other kids look around in confusion, and he was glad he wasn't the only one out of the loop.
"Last night there was an attack. A Muggle," he spat, "gunned down two wizarding families just outside the Leaky Cauldron." Angry mutterings began rising from the crowds. "They have been confirmed to be only half-bloods, no one of importance, really. But the threat is very real. The Muggles are arming themselves, preparing themselves, this is a declaration of war in of itself!"
Shouts of agreement began filling the room. People began standing up all around him. Even his own father began smiling as he hit the table.
"This is an outrage!"
"Where is this Muggle?"
"We'll kill him!"
"We'll kill all his family!"
"The Ministry has taken custody of this man," Edward shouted over the crowd's chants. "The Minister himself is conducting the interrogations, we cannot touch him. But an act like this cannot be forgotten. The Muggles are forgetting their place. They think they can attack us without repercussions. That there is no one who will stand against them. But they are wrong."
"Have you consulted the Dark Lord?" A man Theo did not recognise asked.
"The Dark Lord will understand, he has encouraged us to continue our attacks."
"The attacks aren't enough," his father bellowed from beside him. "We do them every night, and yet they do not understand. If we want to make them hear us, we'll have to give them a reason why."
People were beginning to hit the table so hard it was shaking. The cries and screams blended until they became unintelligible. In this room sat a full army of people desperate to spill more than a little Muggle blood. And from the head of the table, Edward McNair smirked at his father.
"Aye, Titus, you're right. We'll have to make sure we leave our mark."
Thank you for reading! Hope you guys enjoyed this new chapter.
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