A few days after Christmas, the DA was once again meeting in the ballroom on Firewall. This was their first meeting since the holidays and there was one topic on everyone's mind.
"Before we begin, I'd like to welcome Maxwell and Georgia Dunbar to the DA," Harry said, introducing the couple.
"Thank you, Harry."
"If you have any questions, feel free to ask."
"We'll just observe quietly," Maxwell said. "We're still trying to get up to speed."
"Take your time," Harry said. "We're just glad to have you."
They had agreed to join the DA as non-combatants. It would be a huge help to have them on hand when it came to discussing various projects and ideas. Fay had been the one to extend the invitation and she said the talk had gone very well.
Apparently, they were the envy of the other adults on the island; invitations to join the DA and learn exactly what they were up to were rather coveted.
"We're happy to be here."
"We are," Maxwell agreed, echoing his wife. "It's an honor."
"Now, I know there's only one thing on everyone's mind," Harry said as he straightened up and glanced towards the corner of the ballroom that the mercenaries tended to gather in.
"Yes, I think we've avoided the elephant in the room long enough," Lucas Masson said dryly.
"What's the verdict on sending Brock in as a spy?" Ron asked forwardly.
"He's blunt but, yeah," Harry said as he looked around. "We have to make a decision on that now. We can't put it off any longer."
"I'm still against it," Amelia said immediately, crossing her arms.
"And I still think it's too valuable of a chance not to take," Lucas said a little less defensively than the DMLE head.
Clearly, they hadn't been able to reach a decision yet. Sending Brock in as a spy within Voldemort's forces carried as many risks as it did rewards. There were a lot of conflicting opinions within the DA about that and now they had to make a decision within the length of this meeting.
"Sutler would never suspect me," Brock pointed out. "We have an in here and I think we should take it; we won't get another opportunity like this."
"Sirius and Remus gave us all the notes they had on their two way mirrors," Nigel Wroxton said. "I've already got a rough working pair that you can bring in as well, I think."
"We could Fidelius it when we do the other stuff," Bill agreed.
"So we'd have the earbuds, journal, mirrors, and patronus as potential communication methods," Harry summarized. "I like the odds of at least one of those working from behind their wards."
"So do I," Brock said.
"That doesn't change the fact that we'll be going in blind," Amelia pointed out.
"Someone always has to go in blind," Brock said cooly. "That's how intelligence gathering works."
"You could die."
"If I die, I know my sister and her kids will have a good life, eh?"
"We'd take care of them," Harry confirmed seriously. "Though let's hope it doesn't come to that."
"Aye," Brock agreed.
"You can't possibly be this blasé about your own life," Amelia said with a stubborn set to her jaw.
"Ma'am, are you not the head of the DMLE? Don't you send aurors into dangerous and deadly situations every day?"
"Yes but those are aurors."
"Right, they signed up for it," Brock said. "But so did all of us here — I doubt I need to remind you that this group has done a damn sight more for this war effort than the Ministry has insofar. I might be Australian but I've lived here for a long time and so does my family. I'm willing and able to do my part in protecting them up to and including risking my own life."
"That's a risk anyone on a combat squad is willing to make," Harry pointed out.
Amelia was silent at that before her jaw seemed to unclench and she sighed.
"You're right," she sighed. "And I respect your willingness to do so as much as I wish it weren't necessary."
"I truly believe we need more intelligence if we're going to win this," Lucas spoke up, having been mostly quite while Brock said his piece. "I think it's our responsibility to take every chance we get."
"If I'm willing to do it, I don't see why we're still going back and forth on it."
Despite that, they did go back and forth a little longer. There were a few more points that everyone wanted to hash out. In the end, however, Brock's words rang true. All of them wanted to win the war and all of them knew that inside knowledge would be the leg-up they needed to stay on top of the hit-and-run terror tactics.
"So we're doing it?" Hermione asked.
Harry looked around, gauging the general consensus.
"We're doing it," he finally said.
"Alright," Brock said, expression shifting into what some recognized as his game-face. "I'll need to send word to Sutler tonight."
"I'd like to discuss a few more contingency plans while we're at it," Amelia said. "Secure rendezvous points and the like."
"Sensible. I took the liberty of pre-writing the message to Sutler," Brock said, pulling the folded square of parchment out of his pocket.
"What's it say?"
"S," Harry read out. "I'm in. B."
"You sure have a way with words, Brock," Megan Jones joked. "All four of them that you used."
"Two of them were just letters," Harry muttered.
"Thanks," Brock grinned. "I thought so too."
"We can make some more plans once we see what his reply is."
"I already know what it'll be," Brock said.
"How?" Gareth asked curiously.
"Standard procedure," Lucas Masson answered for him. "He'll send a date and time accompanied by an untraceable portkey."
"Yep. Or sometimes coordinates," one of the Murphy brothers agreed. "For the more trusting folk."
"Well Voldemort is anything but that," Harry snorted.
"That was my thinking as well," Masson agreed. "Which is why we expect a portkey rather than apparition coordinates."
"Let's get started then," Harry said with a serious expression.
…
From there, things moved quickly. It started with sending Brock's agreement.
"What owl should we use?"
"We don't use an owl, sheila," Brock chuckled at Hermione's question. "I'll pass it through a couple acquaintances of friends of our mutual friends."
"That's pretty indirect."
"Works better for everyone that way, no trace of contact."
"I see," Hermione said thoughtfully.
Brock set the ball rolling after that, making a trip into the seedier parts of magical London. That meant, of course, that he went into Knockturn Alley to drop off his note.
"For Sutler, got it?"
"Sure, sure, sonny," the hag rasped as she casually accepted the palmed-off note. "Looking for a tip on a fresh kidney bean?" she asked with a sharp-toothed grin.
"Is this bean already harvested?" he asked with some consideration; he knew a guy who was always willing to trade a favor for a good lead like that.
"No," she said with an even wider grin that reminded him rather uncomfortably that hags were cannibalistic. "It's ripening on the vine, shall we say?"
"Afraid not then," he said, already walking away. He wasn't in the business of actually harvesting any kidney 'beans'. "No time."
"Sure, sonny," she rasped before going back to hawking her highly questionable wares to the people passing by.
"Get out of here, hag," an angry barman shouted as he opened his door and shook a broom at her.
"Hiss!"
"Go on, get on with you!" he continued, unbothered by the way she bared her yellow teeth and growled. "Shoo!"
Brock was already long gone as the hag began to scurry off deeper into the alley. She rounded a few corners before bumping into another hag.
"Sutler," she whispered before screeching at the other hag to watch her step.
Used to these goings on, none of the patrons of the dark alley spared them a glance.
Though the DA was unaware, the letter was then passed off to a seedy looking wizard who gave it to a nondescript wizard who passed it off to a shopkeeper in Diagon Alley. From there, it went out through the Leaky Cauldron and into muggle London through various hands.
It ended up in King's Cross, rode on two different trains to the far north of Scotland before taking three more back into London. From there, it ended up back in the Leaky Cauldron and, indeed, in the hands of the same shop keeper in Diagon Alley. A few more exchanges saw it end up in the hands of a certain broom-shaking barman.
"Oi, Sutler," he called as he finished chasing off yet another hag.
"Quit your yelling," the rough looking wizard growled. "This hovel you call a bar isn't that huge."
"Yeah, yeah," the barman grumbled.
To be fair, he ought to consider moving shop. While the various drunks and bums weren't so bad since they passed on messages for him, he could do without the hags. They were useless and just scared off paying customers with their organ-stealing ways.
"What're you yammering at me for then?"
"You've got mail."
"Let's have it then."
The bartender handed him the crumbled, greasy envelope. It contained a small scrap of parchment that could've only contained a few words based on how quickly the rough looking mercenary read it.
"Let's have the tab then."
"Leaving so soon?"
"Gotta run to the post office."
"Bad news?"
"Nah, good news," he answered as he pulled a few gold coins from his pouch to pay the bill. "Another recruit joining the team, so to say."
"Ah, you're one of those headhunters for those overseas companies, eh?"
"Something like that."
So the very next day after Brock sent word to Sutler, a nondescript owl could be seen winging it's way into a sleepy muggle village.
After making sure the letter and silver sickle were nothing more than a letter and portkey as expected, Brock detached them from the post office owl and shut the window of the small muggle house.
"Hey, it's Brock," he said as he activated his earpiece.
He sat down on the surprisingly comfortable couch in the middle of a small, neutral sitting room.
"Everything alright at the safe house?" he heard Harry's voice respond in seconds.
"Yeah, it's fine here," he answered.
Brock had packed his supplies up and moved into one of the muggle safe houses the DA owned under shell companies unrelated to any of their other ventures. If someone had tracked the owl or him since he left magical London, they'd have tracked him to a nondescript safe house. That's exactly what they would expect from him so it wouldn't arouse suspicions.
"They've made contact," Brock told Harry.
"So soon?"
"They work quick."
"Portkey and date?" Masson asked over the headset.
"Portkey and a time," Brock corrected.
"What does that mean?" Harry asked.
"It means ASAP," Brock answer. "It says 15:00 so that means three o'clock tomorrow."
"They really do work quick," Harry whistled.
Ron managed to close himself off in his room at the Burrow (a difficult task with his mother running slave-driver the way she had been). They could hear him whisper into his comm.
"No other information?"
"Just a silver sickle portkey."
"Remember to leave your comms on the entire time so we can hear your end," Ron said.
"Will do," Brock agreed.
Amelia didn't comment from within her office at the Ministry. She couldn't with there being two other people in her office for a lunch meeting (which never actually involved lunch, it just filled the time slot).
"Gotta go," Ron muttered, hearing his mother shouting in the background.
"I'll check in before the portkey activates tomorrow," Brock said, signing off.
"Let us know if you need anything before then."
"Will do," he said. "I'll use the house-elf here, Dot, if I need any supplies sent."
Said house-elf was quite pleased to finally have someone staying in the safe house even if only for a short time. It required very little maintenance most days and there was only so much work around Firewall for all the elves to share.
Dot wondered if Master didn't maybe have other places for the elves to do work. They would all really like a bit more to do. Hmm…it might be worth looking into, Dot decided. He would have to find out.
…
Harry and Hermione (with her ever-present journal full of notes) stood in front of the Château de la Flamme, as Fleur had named it, with impressed expressions.
"Wow, I would think it's complete," he told her. "Aside from the lack of glass in the windows. When are the goblins set to be finished?"
"Apparently they're finishing the ceilings in most rooms and the inner walls of the tower," she answered. "They finished installing the largest fixture in the ballroom yesterday."
"I thought the goblins didn't do that?"
"They typically don't," Hermione said.
"Then why are they?"
"They're doing the walls because we were able to arrange space expansion runes to be engraved within the stones," she said as she flipped through a few pages of her journal. "It'll expand the towers considerably since they're rather small."
"The goblins can do that?"
"Mhm," she answered.
"How does that work?" he asked. "How are the runes charged?"
He knew enough about Ancient Runes to know you couldn't just carve a fancy symbol and expect it to last forever. You couldn't get something for nothing, even with magic.
"The independent ward scheme for the chateau will power them."
"It has one of those?"
"Yes, so does the Lovegood Lighthouse," she answered. "Mostly basic ones to protect the structure from damage or repel pests. That last one is too broad to put over the entire island without scaring off important parts of a healthy ecosystem, like insects and small animals."
"And I'm assuming there's a benefit to having the goblins handle the space expansion stuff instead of letting Maxwell do it like he's done the castle?"
"The expansion is more stable since it's runic and not charm-based," she confirmed. "As long as the runes remain powered and intact, they'll last several lifetimes instead of requiring reinforcing a couple times a year."
"That's interesting."
"Yes, so they're going to build the inner walls for most of the towers and living quarters," she continued. "And the Dunbars have already started the painting, wall papering, and window installation on the lower floors."
"Oh alright," he said. "What about the light fixture? Why did they do that?"
"They only did the one in the ballroom."
"But why?"
"Nagnok didn't feel comfortable entrusting the installation of it to wizard-builders and risk ruining all of the work his team put into the glass ceiling."
"The what?" Harry asked blankly.
"Hm?"
"The what?" he repeated again.
"Once they saw the plans for a domed ceiling, the goblins had some ideas," she admitted. "I never realized that they had special builders just for more aesthetically pleasing projects."
"It makes sense," Harry mused. "The caverns to the vaults are rough but the bank lobby is a work of art."
"Actually, the same clan of goblins that designed it still designs many caverns for the Goblin Nation."
"So they have artists too?" he asked, blinking in surprise.
"Oh yes," she agreed. "I feel a little ignorant for not realizing that sooner. I guess I never thought about everything in Gringotts being goblin made and didn't appreciate it beyond a surface glance. It's very interesting. I wish I had the chance to ask more questions but they're rather tight lipped about what all lies beneath the bank, especially their art and culture."
"Wizards have been doing their level best to repress goblins for hundreds of years so I'm not surprised."
"I know," she sighed. "It's just disappointing."
"We just have to keep changing the wizarding world as much as we can," he said.
"Yeah," she nodded in agreement. "Wait until you see what they've done with it though. If this is what they can do just for a job, I would love to see what they do in their own homes."
"Let's go inside then," he said.
He let Hermione pull him through the grand, arching doors of the main entrance.
"I think the goblins will be done with the ceilings and towers within the first few days of the year," she said as he took in the entry hall. "The house-elves finished the kitchen and large dining hall yesterday. The ballroom is one of the last rooms on the ground floor that needs to be completed; Maxwell only has to hang a few more chandeliers."
"Huh?"
She cast him a sidelong look.
"Well," she amended. "He actually has to hang six more that go around the dome but they're quite small."
Harry blinked.
"Okay," he said slowly, brain still trying to catch up.
"He's quite relieved the goblins are doing the large one, he said," she rattled on. "Apparently he was very nervous about coordinating levitation charms with his team on so much delicate crystal."
"I…did I miss a meeting?"
"I don't think so," she said thoughtfully.
"You sure?"
"Fairly sure."
"I feel like I would have remembered discussing seven crystal chandeliers, Hermione."
"Hm?" she said, pretending to be distracted. "Oh look at that!"
Despite her weak distraction, there was a lot to see as they walked through the foyer and through one of the arches to the right of the grandiose, bifurcated staircase.
"It's definitely very French."
"Is that all you can say, Harry?" Hermione snorted.
"Sorry, I'm not that huge on architecture," he defended.
"Obviously," she snorted.
"It's beautiful," he said.
"Fleur said it feels like a little piece of France already."
"All the art helps," he said as they walked down a hallway wide enough for a car to drive alongside them. "How much is furnished like this?"
"Just the main rooms of the first floor, I think."
"It's like a museum, almost," he said as he looked around, taking in the tall ceilings and narrowed windows.
"The upper floors are a little cozier in my opinion."
"Where'd we get some of this art?"
"Some of it's from your vaults," she answered. "Mostly the landscapes and a couple animal portraits. We left any personal family portraits and the like alone."
"I don't think any of my ancestors would own anything that French," he said with a nod towards a marble statue of a mostly naked, crouching woman in flowering foliage.
"There are a few French-speaking portraits from the Ravenborough vault," she said. "But some things were brought in by the veela."
"Fleur brought them in on the decorating?"
"Yes, it seemed like a good idea."
"Well it's too much for one person to do alone," he said.
"When the war is over and it's safe to return to France, they'll take some of their art with them but the majority of the chateau will remain fully furnished. To be honest, I'm not sure all of them will want to leave."
"That's fine by me," he shrugged; he had no problem letting a bunch of beautiful women stick around.
"Have you seen the…"
He let Hermione show him around, babbling on about the various different aspects of the chateau until they reached their destination.
"Welcome," she said grandiosely.
They were standing on the edges of a huge, round ballroom. A few curved steps led down to the dance floor and were placed between all of the delicate columns supporting the ceiling above them.
"Maxwell has to finish the lighting here," she said as she pointed to the spaces marked out equidistantly around the edges of the room.
"I see."
"Not yet you haven't," she said with a grin. "Come on."
"Okay, okay," he said with a laugh, watching his feet on the steps as she tugged him between the columns.
Suddenly, the entire room opened up. The chateau was five stories tall and the domed ceiling curved up even higher than that above their heads. Balustraded balconies ringed the upper floors, looking down on the ballroom.
"Woah," he said.
"I know," she grinned.
The columns around the edges of the room were decorated with delicate gilded vines that stretched up the walls and curled around the balcony railings. They faded into the gilded crown moulding that marked the beginning of the dome.
The dome itself was formed from thicker golden vines with panes of glass in the spaces between them. They were so realistic that he could almost believe they had grown naturally if not for the symmetry they somehow achieved. Though he wouldn't say it out loud, it reminded him of a beautiful birdcage.
"This is…"
"Amazing, right?"
"I mean yes but how bloody huge does a chandelier need to be?" he asked as he gaped at it.
"Well," Hermione hedged. "The architect had a very clear vision."
"What the hell was the vision?" Harry asked with wide eyes. "The bottom of a coin purse, scraped dry?"
"That's a little dramatic," she muttered.
The chandelier looked as if the vines on the dome had met in the middle then grew downwards. Delicate strands were wrapped around the very long chain that supported the multi-story crystal monstrosity.
"It's like four stories tall."
"A bit less," she hedged.
"Hermione."
"Hm?"
"It actually looks kind of familiar," he said as he squinted at it.
Hermione nervously scuffed her foot on the floor before stopping, not wanting to leave a mark on the beautifully inlaid marble.
"Hermione?" he asked with a raised brow as he looked between her and it.
"Yes?" she asked as she glanced away.
"You wouldn't happen to be the architect, would you?"
"Of the chateau?" she laughed nervously. "Of course not."
"Of this particular room?" he pressed in a leading tone.
She held his gaze impassively for several long moments.
"Oh alright, I might have had some input," she cried out. "Just on a few small things."
"Did you think I wasn't going to notice?"
"I had hoped," she muttered.
"The Phantom of the Opera is literally the only play I've ever seen," he said incredulously. "We went with your parents that one summer. They said you'd seen it eight times. You told me like twenty different fun facts about the set and chandelier."
"I know, I know," she said. "It just seemed to fit so well."
He gave her a mildly exasperated look.
"Oh alright, I couldn't resist," she said. "And it's not like there wasn't going to be a chandelier. I just made sure it was this one."
He finally cracked and laughed before shaking his head ruefully.
"I live in fear of the price tag," he said drolly.
"I was worried about that initially but then…"
"Luna?"
"Luna," Hermione agreed. "Did you know she's doing something in the muggle world with stocks?"
"I did," he agreed.
"I knew there was no way she was making so much money in the wizarding world," she said. "But I do wonder if its really ethical to use her unique…inclination for divination to manipulate muggle markets. It seems like it would be frowned upon by the government the same way insider trading is."
"Eh," Harry shrugged. "It is but what they don't know won't hurt us. I like how you did your very best not to acknowledge that she's an actual seer though."
"That would mean believing in all of the things she sees," Hermione grumbled. "Like snorkacks and nargles and wrackspurts."
"But you can't say that she doesn't see real things," Harry chuckled. "Because she's making us millions."
"She's making you millions."
"I prefer to see it as an us," Harry grimaced. "I don't want to be a war profiteer. It's something I've talked to Luna about."
"You don't need to worry about that, Harry," she said, shaking her head. "The war and all the preparations you've made for it have lost you much more money than you've gained."
"Luna's actually managed to equalize that," he admitted. "She argued that the Potter's spent hundreds of years building their fortunes and that I shouldn't tear it all down in one generation."
"She has a point."
"I know," he agreed. "I don't worry about it anymore. Luna told me that she 'foresaw' her gift for finance ending when the war does."
"That's very responsible of her."
"She seems rather miffed by it, actually," he said with a grin. "She was hoping to finance an underwater expedition to look for dabberblimps."
Hermione let out a nearly silent huff through her nose (she'd tapered it down from the bone-deep one it used to be before Luna grew on her).
"I see they sent their thrones ahead," he said with a nod towards the back wall opposite of the grand entry doors.
Seven familiar chairs were placed along the curved stretch of wall there, delicate tapestries and golden sconces hanging behind them.
"Recreations, actually" she admitted. "But Fleur and I thought they were a nice touch."
"They are," he agreed.
Looking up, he looked at the various balconies a little more. All of them had delicate arched doorways covered in dark blue velvet curtains. They led to various hallways on almost every floor of the chateau.
"From what Fleur said, the Matriarchs often gather everyone for communal meetings," Hermione explained. "I thought they might like to do so here; with the floorspace and the balconies, they should be able to talk to everyone at once."
"We use our ballroom for DA meetings, it'll be nice for them to do the same."
"That was my thought as well," she admitted.
"It's not as nice as this though," he muttered.
"They are both very nice," she disagreed. "They're just very different aesthetically."
"Maybe the ballroom in the castle just isn't as French."
"French isn't synonymous with nice."
"Fleur would disagree," Harry joked.
They looked around a little bit more before Hermione consulted her journal.
"Would you like to see one of the towers?" she asked. "Maxwell said the southernmost one is safe for us to walk through unsupervised. It's quite nice having him in the DA and with his own journal to update now."
"It's cut down the reports by half, I think," Harry agreed.
"No kidding."
"Let's have a look then."
They looked around for another half an hour, passing through the kitchens on their way out. To their amusement, many elves were present adjusting things to their liking and organizing their supplies even though there was no one to cook for yet.
"They're more particular about their stocks than I realized," Harry chuckled as they walked down the steps leading back into the gardens.
"Maybe that's why they hate sharing the kitchen."
"You might be right," Harry agreed. "Speaking of kitchens…"
"Hungry?"
"Yes," he said emphatically.
"Let's go to dinner then," she said. "I need to write back to Ginny afterwards."
"She doing okay?"
"Oh, they're both barely hanging in there the way you hear them tell it…"
…
The night and a day spent waiting for Brock's portkey to activate would later be recognized as the calm before the storm. Though the decorations were still up, the jolly Christmas spirit had faded for the DA.
"We've got transcripts of all that, right?" Ron asked grimly.
Brock had been portkeyed to a remote location half an hour ago. He'd been able to activate his earpiece beforehand so they'd been able to hear quite a bit.
"Already on it," Morag answered tersely, hand scribbling furiously.
"Morag's on it," Harry relayed into the comm.
A number of them were communicating through the comms from various locations. Since the ballroom of Firewall Castle held so many people, Harry was their mouthpiece of sorts to keep chatter to a minimum.
"I'm on my way," Amelia said tersely as she left her office at the Ministry. "Auror Tonks, you're released from your duties early for a medical appointment."
"Thanks," Tonks said, already hurrying towards the portkey and apparition point.
It was a good excuse considering she'd taken some sick days before Christmas vacation for her trip to Albania and conceivably spent the holidays recovering from a nasty bout of the Black Cat Flu.
"I'm on my way as well," Bill Weasley said as he strode out of Gringotts with a grim look.
"See you soon," Harry said shortly.
Like many around him, he looked extremely concerned.
Brock had just been accepted into the ranks of Voldemort's newest mercenaries. The Dark Lord himself was present again and it left everyone listening feeling quite tense.
Unfortunately, they'd had a good reason to be.
Hiring mercenaries was a tricky process in the magical world. If you wanted to assure their loyalty, the obvious solution would seem like a loyalty oath. However, those only worked if you were willing to be that beholden to someone other than yourself. You also had to be willing to divulge your real name which most mercenaries weren't willing to do.
No, instead Voldemort had to insure their loyalty through professional reputation, coin, and legilimency.
While that was a nasty trick, Brock was prepared for it. If Snape could do it, he definitely could. Despite his inflated ego, Snape was just a potions master turned Death Eater; he was not of the same caliber as a trained wizard-hunter.
Still, it was far from a painless process. The sound of Brock's screams would probably haunt all of their dreams.
"His approach…it sounded barbaric," Chie shuddered.
"It is," Harry said with a frown. "I can personally attest to that."
"He's not particularly skilled with the mind arts, is he?" she grimaced.
"No, but he is powerful. He relies on brute force."
Brock's success banked on Voldemort believing him to be too blinded by the pain to put up a defense. The Dark Lord would believe the false memories because he would believe no one was able to concentrate through the mental agony.
"Did it work?" someone at the back of the room whispered quietly.
"I don't know," someone else said nervously.
The mercenaries and hit-wizards in the room looked even more concerned; most of them had known and worked with Brock for many years.
"Someone say something," Hermione prayed.
In what had to be the only instance of Voldemort answering someone's prayers, they heard a sibilant voice hiss:
"Very good…"
Their plan had worked. Everyone could breathe a collective sigh of relief. From there, however, things took another turn. Brock took another portkey and this time, his earpiece cut out.
They didn't panic but key people like Amelia and Tonks, who had auror experience, and people like the Weasley twins and Bill (who helped design and fine-tune the newest iterations of their earpieces) began moving towards Firewall at haste. Once they arrived, the meeting began in earnest.
"From what we can guess, it sounded like Voldemort spoke with at least eighteen people," Harry said.
"And those are just the ones we heard scream out during his legilimency attacks," Morag winced.
"We have no idea where the first portkey took him and no idea where the second portkey dropped him off," he said, scrubbing a hand over his face. "Do we have any good news?"
"Aside from knowing his false memories probably worked?" Chie said.
"The life monitor hasn't cracked," Zara said.
It was an hour-glass shaped device made of silver. Instead of sand, thick red mist filled it.
"He's still alive," Amelia murmured. "That's good news considering the company he keeps."
Harry could agree with that. Brock had placed some of his blood in the old pureblood device before leaving. It was normally used by parents for their children and would break if he died.
"I wish it could tell us more," Harry said with worry written across his face.
"I assume he crossed a more powerful ward threshold," Bill said. "I'm hopeful the failsafe was activated to prevent it from setting off any alarms."
"If that's the case."
"He can turn it back on."
"Whenever he wants," the twins finished for their older brother.
"We just have to wait then," Harry grimaced.
"Waiting is always the worst part," Amelia told him.
"I'm starting to see that."
…
Thankfully for Harry's sake, they didn't have to wait for too long. Within an hour, they could hear a staticky sound.
"Only have a moment," Brock's voice came in clearly.
There were cheers of relief around the ballroom.
"Safe enough," he continued quickly. "Looks like we're in a muggle warehouse in a pretty large shipping district. There's a meeting soon."
They heard the sound of a door slamming open as Brock let the subtle silencing bubble fall from around him. The DA could hear the indistinct voices of men filtering in now.
"Oi, laddie, you ready?" someone called. "Or you need more time to powder your nose?"
"Fuck off, Sutler," Brock grunted. "Just dropping my bag."
"How do you like your new home away from home?" Sutler asked in a tone that implied he didn't really care. "We have the place to ourselves; some of those Death Eaters are off their fucking rocker."
"Like you're not," a scar-faced woman grunted. She was one of the few females that had been recruited.
"I've slept in worse broom cupboards," Brock answered.
"I've slept in bigger broom cupboards," a scar-faced man grumbled.
"Let's go then," Sutler said, ignoring the complainer. "The meeting is somewhere else. We don't want to be late."
Yet again, they listened as Brock and the group of Voldemort's newest recruits were portkeyed away. Brock's earpiece cut out again.
"So they're being kept separately," Masson immediately said.
"We can start narrowing down cities they could be in," Lisa Turpin said immediately. "They're near water if there's a shipping district. It's gotta be a large enough city for muggles not to notice a whole building disappearing or strange wizards around."
"Start there," Harry agreed. "We obviously expect them to be around Britain but we should broaden the search."
"Include places within the national portkey radius like Ireland or the Isle of Man," Amelia suggested.
"Hopefully Brock can help us narrow it down when he contacts us again."
"Hopefully he's able to; he needs to be careful not to appear suspicious and constantly privacy warding his room and checking for listening bugs would be suspicious," Hermione pointed out.
"Yes and no," Masson disagreed. "We're a paranoid sort; it's almost expected that we routinely examine our temporary lodgings for anything dangerous or nefarious like listening charms or monitoring wards. No one would react kindly to finding any."
"On paper, staying undercover in a situation like this is easy," Kitty said, crossing her arms and leaning back. "In practice, it's the mentality and the full-time persona you have to maintain. A single crack where you look worried where you should look indifferent or seem reluctant to participate could destroy your cover and credibility."
"Suspicion alone is enough to destroy a cover; more people mistaken as spies have been executed than actual spies," Masson agreed.
"He should still exercise caution," Amelia said. "And keep contact to a minimum; there's nothing more suspicious than whispering to yourself in an empty room under privacy wards."
They all nodded in agreement from there. The meeting lasted for several long hours as they discussed what so many new recruits could mean when fighting the Dark Lord's forces. Lisa also put together a group familiar with the muggle world to start the search.
"Unfortunately, I doubt we'll find any other places of interest to the dark side in the same place we find this warehouse," Lisa admitted.
"No," Hermione agreed. "It's likely they're keeping the mercenaries far away from their actual base of operations."
"It's still important to know where it is if we need to get aid to Brock," Harry reminded them.
"We can get a safe house nearby," Amelia agreed. "And come up with a viable extraction plan."
They discussed this a bit more before various journals spread out across tables or tucked into pockets began to vibrate.
"We've got a message from Brock," Masson said immediately.
"What is it?" Harry asked as everyone practically leapt to grab their journals, flipping pages rapidly.
His own was inside of his DA trunk which was currently shrunken and attached to his necklace like a tiny charm. If someone didn't answer him soon, he might have to pull it out.
"What?" he asked impatiently as he saw concern began to grow on everyone's faces. "What is it?"
"Look," Hermione said urgently as she turned her journal towards him.
For security, Brock had a new journal that was entirely blank. In everyone else's journal, there was a special section for communicating with him. There was only one thing written there.
"Expect significant attack — targets unknown."
As they watched, a few more words were scrawled out on the page.
"Around the new year."
There were gasps now but Brock's invisible hand was still scrawling words across page.
"20 new mercenaries."
The ink smudged slightly at the end as if the page didn't have time to dry before being slammed shut. For a long moment, there was silence in the ballroom.
Then, there was an outburst of noise and chaos.
…
It took almost two hours to get some semblance of order in the ballroom. The clamor had died down quickly but the rapid fire conversations had taken awhile to reach a workable resolution.
"My first instinct is to flood every possible target with personnel," Amelia frowned.
"Doing that would immediately compromise Brock after less than 24 hours," Masson said as he glared at her.
"I know," she said, pinching the bridge of her nose.
The debate continued. Amelia had scrubbed her hand over her face so many times that her monocle hung around her neck, long-forgotten.
"There's no reason the DA can't stay mobilized and ready," Kenny Markham, a seventh year Gryffindor, argued.
"This isn't like the Bulstrode's or the Diggory's," Tonks said, shaking her head. "The aurors will respond and their reaction to a new group in weird outfits is going to be to shoot spells first and ask questions later."
"Our outfits are not weird," Lavender protested immediately.
"I meant weird as in unfamiliar," Tonks amended. "There's a lot of confusion when you portkey into the middle of a fight and its easy to mistake friends for foes."
"She's not wrong," Marcus Theron agreed.
"We could wear auror cloaks," someone suggested.
"You are not impersonating aurors," Amelia said immediately with a flat-faced frown.
"We could blend in if we arrive after aurors respond," Gareth mused. "The response team will assume we're backup, the backup will assume we were part of the initial response team…"
"It could work," Ron said.
He spoke through the comms, able to hear courtesy of an active earpiece in the center of the table. He and Ginny were hiding in their dad's shed under the guise of de-gnoming the garden.
"Absolutely not," Amelia restated. "On top of being a crime, it's a bad idea. If one auror gets suspicious and thinks you're a Death Eater in disguise, it could sow confusion in our forces and lead to friendly fire."
"We could use the notice-me-not charms on the hoods and cloaks," Nigel offered.
"Aurors are trained to see through that," Tonks disagreed.
"When they're looking for it," Marcus said. "In the heat of battle, it might pass under their notice."
"If the Order of the Phoenix shows up, Mad-Eye Moody could see right through us," Ginny pointed out over the comms.
"I'm not sure if we have something for that yet," Nigel admitted.
"We can look at our notes on the stealth bomb," George offered.
"I think we could adapt something from there," Fred agreed.
Plans were discussed, partially formed, and discarded. Eventually, it all came down to deciding on the best way to act on the information without compromising Brock.
"Hey, what about that article?" Sophie Roper muttered to Colin.
"The one about-" he made a hand gesture.
"Yeah," she confirmed.
"Well we'd have to adjust-"
"Yes obviously," she nodded.
"And the-"
"Uh huh. But it'd work if we did, right?"
"Yeah, yeah it would," Colin nodded, eyes sparkling a little. "You're a genius Sophie."
"Erm, what just happened?" Ron asked. "Did the audio cut out?"
"No, they had their own conversation that was half hand motions and half eyebrows," Megan snarked. "What was that about?"
"Sophie wrote an article ages ago about the way the DMLE used the endowment from Lord Ravenborough," Colin began to explain.
"We ended up filing it away without publishing it," Sophie continued. "But I think we can rewrite a few parts and use it now."
"We'll make it sound like a followup," Colin said. "Write it as a transparent attempt from the DMLE to scrape up some good press; throw in a quote from Madam Bones about how the aurors are readier than ever to face the New Year, amazing response time in their drills, etcetera etcetera."
"For more effect, we can talk to some of the Wizengamot members that live on Firewall," Sophie said. "For quotes on how impressed they are with the DMLE's new war footing."
"We could talk to some of the other parents too, flesh out the article with some quotes from average people about feeling safer than ever."
"Isn't that a bit too much like propaganda?" Hermione asked with a scrunched nose.
"Maybe," Lisa shrugged. "But historically, only the propaganda from the loser is frowned upon."
"Frankly, it's a tool in our arsenal that we need to use," Sophie said.
"I think it could work," Colin decided.
Amelia and everyone else looked thoughtful.
"It could," she acknowledged. "But we'd have to do it immediately. It would need to be in the morning edition of the papers."
"I'll go to the Cathedral now to pull the file," Sophie said as she hurried to her feet.
"Okay," Colin agreed.
After Sophie activated her portkey, Hermione had a question.
"Isn't telling them this only going to encourage the Death Eaters to send a bigger attack force?"
"The Dark Lord just got a whole new group of mercenaries, more than we expected," Harry answered. "If I know him at all, he'll want to use them in some grand show of force."
"The attack window is only a few days wide," Ron said over the comms. "He doesn't have enough time to muster any more forces beyond what he has on hand."
"Ron is probably right," Gareth agreed. "We're expecting a minimum of twenty hostiles here."
"He's not going to send the mercenaries unattended," Harry said. "He'll send Death Eaters to supervise them and probably inner circle members to supervise all of them."
"The article might put him on the defensive," Masson said. "But it'll ease any spy-suspicions because they'll be expecting a stiff resistance."
"I was able to classify the exact number of our standing auror forces," Amelia said. "And since I've been recruiting new people, pulling in younger retirees, and activating the reserves, not even the average auror knows exactly how much manpower we can draw on."
"I still think that means it'll only be easier to sneak one of our squadrons in wearing auror cloaks," Dean said.
"That's a bad plan," Amelia growled.
"It's a good idea," he defended.
"It's a crime," she growled.
"Lots of things are but we don't tend to care if it'll save lives," Dean pointed out.
"I am not signing off on that," she said with finality.
Though Dean had the urge to remind her that she wasn't the head of the DA and thus didn't have to, he bit his tongue when Harry held up a hand.
"We'll leave that as a last resort," he said firmly. "The entire purpose of getting the auror department on a war footing was to make sure they're able to do their jobs. We don't need to get in the way unless it's an emergency."
Amelia looked somewhat vindicated by that and Dean was satisfied that his idea was at least remaining on the table.
"I'm back," Sophie said as she strode back into the ballroom with a light flush on her cheeks.
"Did you run?" Blaise asked with amusement.
"Only from where my portkey landed," she answered.
"I've never seen you run before," the Slytherin chuckled.
"Shut up," she growled back at her housemate.
"Let me see it," Colin said, reaching for the file in her hand as he stood up from his seat and walked over to a smaller table nearer the fireplace. "Thanks."
"We're gonna need a team to help," Sophie said as she followed him.
"I'm in," Lisa said, standing up to join their table as well.
"How are we going to publish this?" Amelia asked speculatively. "No offense, Xeno, but it's not going to get the attention it needs if it's only run in the Quibbler."
"None taken," Xeno said with a serene smile. "Not everyone can be so enlightened, I understand."
"That's right," Luna agreed, patting her father's arm with a matching smile.
"We'll run it the usual way," Colin said with a wave of his hand.
"I'll start writing the letter to Mr. Cuffe," Luna said as she stood and moved over to their table.
"The Prophet editor?" Amelia asked with surprise.
Barnabus Cuffe had been the editor of the Daily Prophet for several decades. Many people were of the opinion that he would cling to the position until his grubby little palms were too greasy to hold on anymore.
"We reached an…understanding at the end of last summer," Colin admitted.
"Between Harry and all of the other DA friendly families, we have a significant portion of the Daily Prophet stock within our control," Daphne explained, crossing her arms with a predatory look. "While it's not a controlling interest, it's enough to make Mr. Cuffe sweat."
"You can control what they publish?" Amelia asked incredulously.
"No," Daphne answered. "Like I said, it's not a controlling interest. We can't even stop him from taking bribes to write Fudge-sympathetic articles."
"Then what can you do?" she asked with a furrowed brow.
Luna grinned. "We made him give us a job."
"What?" Amelia asked blankly.
"It was actually Scarlett's idea," Colin said with a gesture towards Scarlett Lympsham, the sixth year Slytherin, who nodded back in response.
"Obviously, we don't trust him enough to let him know or even suspect who exactly he's working with. We asked the goblins to set up another identity for us, similar to the one they gave Harry for Lord Ravenborough," she explained. "Then we made Mr. Cuffe hire it as an independent reporter."
"He publishes any articles we send him under that name and gives us any headline we want," Daphne explained. "No questions asked."
"Well he did try to ask a few questions," Colin winced.
Daphne grinned predatorily.
"The hit his pension took because of it means he's now five years further from retirement," she smirked. "He's since stopped asking questions."
"Wait, really?" Harry asked with wide eyes. "That's a little dark."
"Please," Daphne snorted. "The amount of bribes he has tucked away means he could have retired fifteen years ago."
"I stopped feeling bad for that snake after I saw the estimates on how much he made crucifying you and Dumbledore," Colin admitted.
"He was a Hufflepuff, actually," Zara said as she buffed her perfectly manicured nails.
"Huh," Daphne said with a look of surprise on her aristocratic features. "I wouldn't have expected that."
"You shouldn't underestimate a badger," Zara said as her pale-pink painted lips pulled up into a smirk. "They pull snakes from their dark little holes and eat them."
Daphne blinked a few times while Blaise tried to subtly shift his chair away from the terrifying Hufflepuff heiress.
"Duly noted," Daphne said slowly.
"I think I like Hufflepuff's more now," Ron muttered to Ginny, the sound faintly audible over their earpieces.
"Shut up, Ron," they heard his sister huff clearly.
"Anyway," Harry said. "Publishing it isn't a problem."
"The Quibbler will also publish the article," Xeno said. "As we've also hired the pseudonym as an independent reporter."
"Who actually does all the writing?" Amelia asked, surprised she hadn't known this before.
"We all do," Colin answered as he gestured towards the people like Zara, Scarlett, Luna, Sophie gathered around the smaller table already deconstructing and reconstructing the article. "It's a group effort."
"I help with it as well sometimes," Susan admitted.
"What name do you publish under?"
"Lindaly Danvers," Luna answered proudly.
"Interesting," Amelia said thoughtfully, running that name through her mind.
"It was supposed to be Clark Kent," Colin grumbled.
"Using Superman's secret reporter identity is not entirely subtle, Colin," Hermione said in a way that made it obvious she'd had this conversation many times.
"Which is why I suggested Kara Danvers."
"The secret reporter identity of Supergirl, Superman's cousin, is not that much better," Hermione told him with a shake of her head.
"Says you," Dean said with a commiserating look at Colin.
"We compromised on using the name Linda Lee Danvers," Hermione reminded him. "That's still a Superman reference."
"But hardly anyone will understand it," he protested. "At least Kara was also a reporter."
"Which is a good thing," Hermione rolled her eyes while the DA watched with amusement. The moment of levity was appreciated. "We don't want it to be an obviously fake identity. Linda Lee was the better choice."
"We didn't even use Linda Lee Danvers," Colin pouted. "Luna wrote it down as Lindaly."
"I think it's a beautiful name," Luna said simply.
"It does sound like some wizarding nonsense name," Dean agreed. "Like Fleamont or Euphemia though not as bad."
"You've got a point," Colin agreed. "It's not like we can change it anyway. Lindaly Danvers already has some articles published."
"Wait a second," Amelia realized. "Isn't that the reporter who covered the Longbottom Ball?"
"Yes," Colin agreed with a grin.
"She also wrote one of the sidepieces on the press conference," Augusta pointed out.
"Rita Skeeter got the main headline there," Daphne acknowledged. "Some things are too big for Barnabus to budge on."
"It's fine though, we still have her on a tight enough leash," Hermione remarked.
"We'll finish this article by tonight," Colin said.
"I'll work on getting statements from some of the wizarding parents," Sophie said.
In this case, it would be odd to have statements from muggle parents as most articles got their quotes from randomly asking passers-by in magical areas.
"We'll talk to some of the Wizengamot members," Daphne said after a brief nonverbal conversation with Zara. The two girls with startlingly blue eyes only needed a few seconds to communicate what needed to be communicated. "Starting with our fathers."
"We probably won't quote them," Zara said. "But they can point us towards more obvious light-leaning names to draw on for best effect."
"Good idea," Harry agreed.
From there, the conversation continued.
Their possible responses needed to be considered. If the Dark Lord went for a string of smash-and-burn attacks as he had in the past, the aurors might be overwhelmed. If he attacked Diagon Alley, too many people could be hurt.
The older members of the DA could lurk around potential targets in plain clothes, surely, and defend the people around them. That had its risks though. And what if the Dark Lord went after a muggle target? What would be their response then?
None of them were willing to adopt a wait-and-see approach. All of them were arguing for intervention to save as many lives as possible even if there were good reasons for them to lie low (like protecting Brock and their own anonymity).
The discussion went on into the wee-hours of the night before Harry finally dismissed them.
"We can meet back here in the morning," he said. "Since I'm assuming we're all going to want to be on hand."
"The article is almost finished," Colin said, looking up from the table of bowed heads and furious scribbling.
"We'll send it to Cuffe by house-elf so he can work it into the morning edition on the second or third page maybe," Sophie said.
"Alright," Harry nodded. "Get some sleep everyone. It's already the thirtieth of December; that means we're within the window of 'around New Year's.' We all need to stay well-rested."
There were some murmurs of agreement before most of them began filtering from the room. Harry, Hermione, and the informally named press squad were the only ones who remained.
"It'll be okay," Hermione said, seeing the stress written on her friends face.
"You can't know that," he said logically.
"No, but I can have faith," she said earnestly. "We're more prepared than we had any hope of being before thanks to Brock. Thanks to the money you gave to the DMLE, the aurors are prepared too."
"That's true."
"The Dark Lord has already faced far more resistance than he did during the last war," she pointed out.
"I'm just worried."
"I know," she said as she rested a hand on his shoulder. "We all are."
"I wish Ron were here," Harry admitted. "Gareth and the Sally's are great but there's something comforting about the way he makes plans for his plans' plans."
"Like he has a strategy for every avenue of attack," Hermione agreed. "I normally only see it when he's talking about Quidditch plays but you're right, it's reassuring with something like this."
He nodded in agreement.
"I'm sure he'll be doing that anyway though," Hermione said. "I've already seen his scribbles in the journal."
"I wish Mrs. Weasley were a little more…"
"Reasonable?" Hermione suggested.
"Yeah."
"She's overprotective," Hermione agreed. "But I understand. She lost so many people in the last war and her family is even bigger now and heavily involved already. The odds of losing one of them is terrifying for her."
"I know," Harry said. "It just seems so…arbitrary, them being pretty much grounded while we're trying to anticipate a Death Eater attack and save lives."
"Ginny and Ron want to be here," Hermione said. "But it was important to them to spend Christmas with their family."
"I understand, I really do," he said. "Mrs. Weasley would have been heartbroken otherwise; no one wants that. I just wish that she would realize her children aren't just kids anymore."
"I don't think she'll ever realize that."
"Probably not," he laughed. "Not according to Bill and Charlie, at least. They got the third degree all through Boxing Day, apparently."
"The twins too but they're used to it,"
"Come on," Harry sighed as he stood up. "Let's get to bed."
"I think I might stay and review the article," she said with a shake of her head. "But I'll go up soon enough."
"Don't worry about it," Daphne told her. "You were up early for the meeting with Lady Delacour."
"You sure?" Hermione fretted.
"Positive," Daphne repeated.
"Get out of here," Zara said, waving a hand. "You can read it in the morning's paper."
"Alright," Hermione agreed; she was rather tired.
"I'll walk you to your suite," Harry said, offering her an arm.
"Thanks," she said as she accepted it with a wan smile. "Goodnight."
Everyone gathered around the table said various goodnights.
"Thanks, everyone," Harry said as they walked out.
"That's what we're here for," Colin said with a tired grin, the group around him making sounds of agreement.
"Just don't expect us up too early," Scarlett said. "Since we're gonna help Xeno print the Quibbler overnight."
"No worries," Harry said.
"I was able to upgrade my presses," Xeno assured them. "It shouldn't take more than a couple of hours," he said before pausing with a wince of consideration. "As long as nothing sparks again."
"Oh God," Harry heard Zacharias Smith groan as the ballroom door closed behind him and Hermione. "There had better not be another explosion."
"The last one was quite small," Xeno defended.
Harry shared a glance with Hermione as they made their way towards the stairs.
"Building Lovegood Lighthouse was probably one of the smartest decisions we ever made," Harry said with confidence.
"We would have had to build a whole new castle by now if not," Hermione said, remembering the foundation-shaking explosion from the erumpet horn. "There were already a few close calls."
"Maxwell assured me that the fire suppression wards on the lighthouse are some of his best work."
"I sure hope so…"