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Intervention Part II: Il Nemico del mio Nemico by fenriswolf
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Intervention Part II: Il Nemico del mio Nemico

fenriswolf

Intervention Part II: Il Nemico di mio Nemico

by FenrisWolf

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DISCLAIMER - Harry Potter and all ancillary copyrights are the property of JK Rowling and her authorized agents. I own nothing but the original characters that are the products of my fevered imagination. If I could make money off this, I wouldn't be working for Walgreens.

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AUTHOR'S NOTE: Just a warning that there will be little or no action in this chapter, just a lot of Harry's thoughts and reflections over the events of the summer, as well as some of his resolutions for the coming year. This is to set the stage for the upcoming events, as well as to explain some of the changes in Harry's personality since the Bonding.

PS: I know this was supposed to be called 'The Enemy Of My Enemy"; unfortunately someone else snagged that title before I did. Since the concept is from Machiavelli, I simply translated the phrase into Italian.

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Prologue: Introspection

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The grey, pre-dawn light slowly increased, gradually transforming the indistinct shapes into the recognizable forms of the bedroom's furniture. At such an early hour the Burrow was quiet, the silence only slightly disturbed by the occasional chainsaw snores emanating from the bedroom shared by Ron Weasley and Luna Lovegood. All the garden gnomes that had snuck back in after the previous day's de-gnoming were snug in their holes, and even the ghoul in the attic was silent, having exhausted itself with a prolonged bout of chain-rattling the night before.

But while the Burrow was quiet, not all its inhabitants were sleeping. Resting, yes, but not asleep. In one upstairs bedroom a young man with jet-black hair and piercing green eyes lay awake, his unfocused gaze staring into the uncertain future, one arm propping up his head while the other unconsciously held close his girlfriend's sleeping form as she cuddled against his side.

Harry Potter had learned early in his life to do with far less sleep than the average person. When he was younger, it was a necessity forced on him by the unrelenting cycle of chores thrust upon his shoulders by his uncaring relatives. If one is given a choice between completing one's chores, no matter how unreasonable, or being starved and beaten, one learns to get the job done, even if it requires working past midnight and rising before dawn. By the time of his eleventh birthday and the subsequent discovery that he was a wizard, Harry had learned to get by on as little as three hours of sleep a night for weeks on end, and to be fully rested after only five.

Learning he was a wizard and travelling to Hogwarts did little to disrupt his routine. At first Harry used the extra time provided by his ingrained sleep patterns to stay up late or rise early, usually using the time reading for pleasure or, if Hermione was being particularly insistent, catching up on his studies. However, as the years passed and his sleep started to be troubled by nightmares, he found his ability to get by with minimal sleep stretched to its limits as he wrestled with the visions that Voldemort (and his own guilt-wracked conscience) created to torment him.

This summer had started out as the worst yet; the events at school had left deep wounds in his spirit, the constant mental attacks by Voldemort had torn those wounds wider, and the debacle at the Department of Mysteries, where his friends almost lost their lives and his godfather actually did lose his, ripped those wounds wide open. And then, on top of it all, to have the person he thought of as almost a grandfather admit that he had kept the truth from Harry, knowledge that could have circumvented the chain of events that led to Sirius's death, had been the final blow, shattering the frayed strands of Harry's control over his emotions.

With his control gone, he'd lashed out, destroying Dumbledore's office with his pain and his grief, stopping only when his rage was temporarily exhausted. Afterwards he was numb; he went through the motions, escaping into the routines established over his years at Hogwarts, but his stability was an illusion. The surface calm was a thin layer of ice over a raging torrent of emotion that was waiting to drag him under, and any misstep was likely to shatter that calm and sweep him away.

His memory of the next month was, at best, hazy. He vaguely remembered travelling on the Hogwarts Express, and had a sharp memory of some of the Order confronting the Dursleys on his behalf. Of his return to Privet Drive he had no memory at all, and only spotty flashes of the weeks that followed until he was picked up and brought to the Order's headquarters at 12 Grimmauld Place. That he'd been brought there the week before his birthday he knew because Hermione had asked him about it after she saw him at the Burrow, but that week was a blank. Apparently the experience of being in the House of Black, where every sight and sound reminded him of his loss, was too much for his bruised psyche to accept. A Muggle psychologist might have diagnosed Harry's symptoms as being typical of a prolonged fugue state, but there were no psychologists in the Order's ranks, just well meaning witches and wizards who tried to do their best by him.

Harry's first clear memories of the summer began after he arrived at the Burrow by Floo. There was the vertigo and disorientation that were the trademark sensations associated with that quintessentially wizarding method of travel, and then he was being crushed in a hug from a squealing figure with bushy, brown hair. Just the feel of her in his arms and the smell of apple blossom shampoo that lingered in her hair was enough to ground Harry more firmly in reality, and for a while the ice beneath his feet grew strong enough to support his weight…but only for a while. Hermione's presence, as well as the presence of the Weasleys, was enough to drive the nightmares away for a short time, but all too soon they came creeping back, making his nights hell and his days not much better. The ice was cracking again, and he knew that once he fell through he'd be lost forever. In his more rational moments he was frightened by how much part of him longed for that oblivion, but even that was not enough to break him out of his downward spiral, and the moments when he was free of his ever-darkening depression were coming further and further apart.

And then IT happened…or rather, SHE happened. Hermione's declaration of her feelings for him, and his subsequent realization that what he felt for her was a great deal more than just friendship, was one of those moments that only be described by that over used term, 'epiphany'. And as for what followed, now he knew why second-rate romance authors were so fond of the clichés they ran into the ground. Phrases like 'he felt like he was struck by lightning', or 'he was overwhelmed by the power of her love', finally made sense, because that was how he felt about Hermione.

He'd thought that moment at the lake had been beyond anything he could have dreamed would happen to him, only to have that experience eclipsed by what occurred a short time later in the Weasley's Heart Circle. Not the sex, as incredible as that was, but the risk Hermione had taken just to keep him safe. She'd enacted the Bonding without his knowledge, knowing Mrs. Weasley would be furious, knowing he might be as well, but daring to do it so that Burrow's wards would consider him part of the family and extend their full protection to him, in the hope that he would never have to endure his relative's emotional and physical abuse again. And Molly had been beyond furious, but how could he be, once he'd understood what she'd done and the reasons behind her actions. The depth of her commitment to his happiness humbled him, and an ache in his heart that was so old, so much a part of him that he wasn't even conscious of its presence until it vanished, went away.

For the first time he could remember, Harry felt…balanced. Something that he didn't know was missing from life had been found, a void that he'd always subconsciously known was there had been filled. Instead of feeling like he was standing on a surface that could collapse at any moment under the heavy burdens that weighed down on him, he felt as if the ground beneath his feet had the solidity of bedrock; not only solid but as if he had a connection that extended down into the bones of the earth, a connection through which a boundless energy flowed.

'Listen to me, waxing all poetic,' Harry thought to himself wryly as he realized the well-worn path down which his thoughts were once again travelling. The metaphors didn't matter, what mattered was that the love he shared with Hermione completed him in ways he couldn't have begun to imagine as little as a month ago. Before then he'd been adrift, foundering, unable to see anything ahead for himself but a short, bleak existence followed by what would probably be a painful death at the hands of the madman who hated him. Now, though, there was an alternate future beckoning to him, one with the girl he loved at his side, with their children and grandchildren providing the family for which he longed so desperately. And all he had to do to attain that future was defeat the most powerful dark wizard in existence, one that was obsessed with attaining immortality and had already cheated death once.

Harry's thoughts shifted from reminiscing over the last few weeks to considering his future plans. Whether it was the result of the Bonding's empathic side effects, or of the grounding his love for Hermione granted him he didn't know, nor did he really care. What he did know was that his thought processes were sharper, clearer, and that he was able to think about what lay ahead in a far more analytical fashion. For too long his life had been dictated by the actions of others. If what the prophecy inferred was the truth, he could no longer simply react to events, he had to start initiating actions of his own, otherwise Voldemort could pick and choose the time and place when he would destroy the thorn in his side that was Harry Potter.

He looked down and smiled; Hermione had shifted slightly, and he could just make out her features in the dim light. A little crease had appeared between her eyebrows, and her nose was crinkling in the way it always did when she was annoyed. Obviously something in her dreams was irritating her; perhaps Dream Ron or Dream Harry was skiving off on his homework again, or her dream roommates were nattering about boys and makeup. He leaned forward slowly, so as not to wake her, and pressed a gentle kiss on the crown of her head, and then watched as the frown vanished, replaced by a contented smile that softened her sleeping features, making her look innocent and vulnerable in a way that she rarely showed when awake.

The sight of it roused every protective instinct that hundreds of thousands of years of evolution had pounded into his hindbrain. He imagined some Death Eater or their spawn, or worse, Riddle himself, laying their filthy hands on the girl he loved, and for an instant blue fire danced in his eyes. The idea of anyone laying their hands on her against her will filled him with an icy rage that burned in his veins like cold fire, and once again, as he had done every time the thought occurred to him, he vowed that he would everything within his power to protect her. He still had no desire to become a killer, but he no longer flinched from the idea, not if that was what it took to keep Hermione safe from harm.

'I have to start training,' he thought to himself as he considered what the future might hold for him. 'Not just schoolwork, but real combat magics. Tom has decades of experience on me, I can't just keep relying on luck to see me through. If the Headmaster won't teach me, I'll have to find someone who will.' He snorted quietly at the image of what Albus's reaction to such an ultimatum would be. 'And I need to find out what exactly 'the power he knows not' is. Dumbledore seems to think it's love, but how do I defeat the most powerful Dark wizard in existence with love? As a defense, sure, especially if he doesn't understand it, but a weapon? Doesn't the very nature of love preclude using it as a weapon?'

A quiet murmur and a slight stirring of the young woman in his arms distracted him from his thoughts about the future. Smiling, he placed another soft kiss on the crown of her head and felt her snuggle more closely to him, the feel of her nude body pressed again his sending little shivers up and down his spine. Every time he thought about Hermione he was amazed all over again that she had chosen to be with him. Briefly, he tried to imagine what his life would have been like without her in it, but the images that conjured were so bleak he immediately abandoned the effort.

More than any other person, she had always been there for him, always supported him even when she thought he was in the wrong. Even the incident in their third year when she'd turned in the Firebolt Sirius had sent him had been done out of concern for his welfare. When it seemed that even Ron had turned against Harry out of jealousy, she'd believed in him. She'd been the best friend that anyone could hope to find, and now she was that and so much more. When he tried to picture his future it was always with her at his side, any other outcome was, quite literally, unthinkable.

A small frown creased Harry's forehead as some of the other possible ramifications of his relationship with Hermione returned to haunt him. They'd talked about it, of course, and his fiancée made it very clear that she was not going to allow his fears for her safety to come between them. Knowing her stubbornness all too well after five years of friendship, Harry had bowed down to the inevitable, but that didn't stop him from worrying…but unlike past years when his fears would have paralyzed his ability to think clearly, now it just inspired him to make plans that would, if not eliminate his concerns, at least reduce their numbers.

There was not much he could do personally beyond training as hard as he could and exercising Moody's 'Constant Vigilance!' to counter whatever plans Tom or his followers might concoct, but so long as they stayed within the confines of Hogwarts grounds the wards would prevent most methods of direct attack the Death Eaters might use. Anti-Apparition wards had always been in place, and after the disastrous end of the Tri-Wizard Tournament, new wards had been added that prevented any portkey other than those fashioned by Dumbledore himself from working. But while the wards would protect them from magical infiltration and attack from without, they provided no protection from direct physical assault from within. Too many members of Slytherin House were the children of known Death Eaters not to believe that some of them weren't already actively in the Dark Lord's service, no doubt with Malfoy as the chief rat in the pack.

He considered that, turning over the possible scenarios in his mind, and once again came to the conclusion that an object lesson might be needed before the faction in Slytherin house that supported Voldemort's goals took his warnings seriously. And while he was far more willing than in the past to use whatever means were necessary to keep those he loved safe, Harry knew that blatant acts of violence were likely to create as many problems as they solved. Subtle acts of violence, however…Harry turned the idea over and over in his mind. Pranks, after all, could be said to be in his heritage, and nothing in the Marauders' Code said that a prank couldn't serve as a warning as much as it did as source of amusement. In point of fact, some of the best pranks his father and friends had played had served just such a purpose, taking own their own generation's versions of Draco and company a peg or three. With Voldemort out in the open and the war heating up again, it might be time to re-initiate a little Marauder style blitzkrieg of his own…

His musings were brought to a close by the stirring of the lithe form of his fiancée. Harry felt Hermione's arms tighten around his waist before they slipped away long enough to allow her to stretch. "Morning, sleepyhead," he murmured with a smile. "Did you sleep well?"

Hermione's stretch froze, and she turned her face towards his with a smile of her own. "Good morning to you, sir, and how could I not sleep after the way you wore me out?" A delightful shiver ran through her body, engendering all sorts of interesting sensations wherever her skin came in contact with his. He felt himself twitch in response where her thigh was pressed against him. "I see someone else is awake," she purred, a mischievous gleam appearing in her eyes.

Harry groaned as a small hand slipped down his chest and stroked his rapidly hardening length. "Merlin's ghost, Mione!" he moaned, marveling once more at this side of her that only he got to see. Who would've thought that under studious and somewhat prissy exterior of Hermione "Bookworm" Granger there was a wildcat waiting to escape? His lips quickly found hers, and for a time they engaged in the very best wake-up call of all.

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Some time later, after a passionate round of lovemaking that tested the limits of the silencing and strengthening charms Harry had placed on their room (the last thing either of them wanted was a repeat of the time they'd been forced to come up with an explanation as to just how the legs of their bed came to be driven through the ceiling of Mr. and Mrs. Weasley's bedroom), a quick shower with a minimum of antics led to them being dressed and in the kitchen making breakfast before the rest of the house was stirring…well, Harry was making breakfast. Hermione's O+ score on her potions OWL did not extend to the kitchen, where magic actually made it possible to achieve the old saw about burning water. A few disastrous attempts on her part to overcome that lack in her skills had led to the current division of labor, namely Harry did the cooking and Hermione did the cleanup afterwards, whether it involved rinsing a few plates or scrubbing a sinkfull of pots and pans. Fortunately for her soft hands, her lack of skill with cooking charms did not extend to cleaning spells, and a simple 'scourgify' took care of 90% of the work.

Hermione watched as Harry efficiently went about the task of whipping them up a couple of omelets and what appeared to be a small mountain of bacon, taking small sips of the just short of scalding, black coffee that was one of the many things she would have to get used to doing without once they returned to school. A small frown appeared as a concern that she'd been rather pleasantly distracted from mentioning earlier returned to bother her. "Harry?"

"Hmm?" he replied distractedly as he expertly folded the fluffy omelet in the pan.

"How long were you lying awake this morning before I woke up?" she asked bluntly, hoping to elicit an honest response. She wasn't disappointed; she noted that his practiced motions froze for an instant before he continued the Breakfast Preparation Ballet.

"Oh, not too long," he finally replied evasively, "maybe half an hour or so."

"You've been doing that a lot lately," she pressed, studying his expression as best she could to try and get a feel for what he was thinking.

Harry just shrugged, using the serving of their meal as an excuse not to answer. He laid out the platters of bacon and toast alongside their omelets, as well as the crocks of orange marmalade and fresh butter. The keep-fresh charms on the various serving dishes preserved everything at its optimum temperature, making certain that there wasn't a piece of cold toast or dried out bacon in sight. "Pepper?" he asked, lifting the gigantic pepper mill that could easily double as a battering ram if they ever needed to storm a castle.

"Harry," Hermione warned, ignoring her plate and letting him know in no uncertain terms that she wasn't going to let the matter go. "You promised to talk to me if something was bothering you, remember? So what's wrong? Why aren't you sleeping?"

Realizing he wasn't going to get out of this talk easily, Harry sighed and put aside the pepper mill before taking one of her hands in his. "Really, Hermione, there's nothing wrong," Harry replied as earnestly as he could. "What's weird is, the reason I'm not sleeping more is that everything's right for a change."

Seeing the disbelieving look on her face, he elaborated. "I know you're afraid I'm not sleeping because of my nightmares; heck, after the last couple of years, you'd be crazy not to worry! But ever since we Bonded, those nightmares, the really bad ones that had me waking up the whole dorm screaming, have stopped!"

"I've heard you muttering in your sleep, Harry…" she replied, still looking doubtful.

"Sure you have," Harry agreed easily, "and I've heard you. But those are normal nightmares, love, the kind we're supposed to have. You know, forgetting your homework, walking into the Great Hall in your knickers, that sort of stuff." He chuckled as she blushed. "But you remember what it was like when I first got here; you've been sharing my bed since we Bonded, do you really think you could sleep through one of those terrors of mine, not even mentioning getting pummeled when I started thrashing around?"

"Well, no," Hermione admitted, and then frowned. "So why are you always awake before me?"

At this Harry shrugged depreciatingly. "I just don't need all that much sleep; got out of the habit back growing up with my relatives, and just stayed that way. As long as Tommy isn't making it impossible to rest, I do fine on four hours' sleep a night, five if I'm really knackered." He smiled, trying to make her believe him. "Honestly, do I look like I'm not getting enough sleep at night?"

Hermione studied his features critically; he certainly looked better than he had earlier in the summer, she admitted to herself. That pinched, tired look he always seemed to have in the morning was gone, along with the sallow complexion and bags under his eyes. He looked…healthy, and she realized, well rested. She felt the knot of worry start to ease, but she still had a question or three. "So you're telling me you just lie awake in bed every morning for what, two or three hours? What on earth are you doing?"

"Well, aside from watching you sleep, which I'll never grow tired of," Harry began, smiling as he elicited a blush from his fiancée, "mostly I've just been thinking, and as much as possible, making plans."

"What sort of plans?" Hermione asked, curious.

He paused a moment as he framed his response. ""The war with Voldemort is only going to heat up, and whether I like it or not, I'm in it up to my neck. I know, I'm not alone in that, but thanks to the prophecy we know that in the end, it's going to come down to me and him facing off, and if I lose, not only will I die, but probably everyone I care about will die as well. Sirius's death was hard enough to deal with, but realizing that the same thing could happen again, to my friends, to the Weasleys…to you…well, you know what I was like the beginning of the summer."

"Yes, I remember," Hermione whispered, squeezing his hand. "And now?"

A faint smile appeared on his face as he squeezed her hand in return. "The problems are the same, but for the first time I can look at them clearly without being overwhelmed by it all; you've given me the strength I need to keep the pressure from dragging me under. Instead of spending all my time stressing over what might happen, I can focus on coming up with ways to keep it from happening."

Understanding blossomed on Hermione's face. "So that's what you've been doing, making plans?"

"Not so much plans, but thinking about alternatives," Harry answered, nodding. "There's too much I still don't know to make any firm plans beyond some general ideas, but at least I have some idea what steps I think need to be taken."

"As in…?" she prompted, beginning to feel more than a little irritated by the way he was dragging out his answers.

Harry sighed; he'd been putting this conversation off because he had a feeling she wasn't going to be happy with some of his conclusions. "Up to now all I've been doing is responding to the events surrounding me; the Philosopher's Stone, Riddle's Diary, the Tri-Wizard Tournament, last year…all of that was me reacting to plans Voldemort and his supporters put into action. And while I don't know all they've been doing, I get the feeling that the Order of the Phoenix hasn't been doing much better. Nobody ever won a war by hunkering down in a defensive position and letting the enemy do what they want. I can't just keep reacting to things as they happen, Hermione, I have to start taking a more active role in preparing for what's coming. Leaving all the initiative in your enemy's hands is the surest way to lose a war."

Hermione winced a bit at the grim terminology her fiancé was using. "Harry, I'm sure Professor Dumbledore knows what he's doing…" she started before he cut her off with a frown.

"Does he? Lately I'm not so sure. Oh, I think he's doing the best he can, but he's made mistakes, he told me so himself. Just because he's the most powerful wizard on the side of the Light doesn't make him a good strategist or tactician; the decisions he's made in manipulating my life is proof of that, if nothing else."

"He just wanted what was best for you," she replied, though she had her own doubts. Harry hadn't gone into great detail about his childhood, but she knew it had been nothing like her own, or for that matter like that of most children.

She knew she'd chosen the wrong tack when Harry snorted in response, releasing her hand and clenching his own together. "I really have a hard time believing that growing up with the Dursleys was the best answer, Hermione, but what happened once I started at Hogwarts was even worse." At her puzzled look he continued. "Instead of keeping me in the dark, I should have been training as hard as I could for what's coming. It was only dumb luck that neither you, Ron nor I were killed over the years. All of us ended up with scars we could do without, and all in the name of allowing me to have a 'normal childhood'.

"Well, I never had a childhood, normal or otherwise, the Dursleys made sure of that. And once I was back in the Wizarding world, all of Tom's supporters started crawling out of the woodwork, each with their own idea of how to turn my life, and the lives of anyone close to me, into a little slice of Hell. So given a choice between what might have happened if I'd been told the truth, and what did happen because I was kept in the dark, I think I'd choose knowing the truth. Maybe that way I'd have at least known enough to keep my friends from getting hurt just for being my friends."

"Does that mean you regret being friends with Ron…and me?" Hermione whispered, her gaze cast downward, afraid to meet his eyes and read his answer there.

An instant later she was pulled out of her chair and gathered into a bone-crushing hug. "Gods, Hermione, no, I didn't mean that! I will never regret knowing either of you; it's the one thing that's kept me going as long as I have! The only thing I regret is how often the two of you were hurt because you were my friends and were dragged into all my idiot adventures!"

"Harry, those weren't your fault, and we chose to be there, you didn't drag us into anything," Hermione said firmly after a sniffle or three, relieved that he wasn't slipping back into the mindset where he wanted to distance himself from everyone who might get hurt by being near him.

"I know that, love, I do," he soothed, stroking her back with gentle circles as he continued to hold her. "And I suppose I shouldn't complain too much about the past, since it led to us being together like this. But that doesn't mean I shouldn't learn from what did happen, and try and keep from making the same mistakes. I just hope Dumbledore doesn't decide to get sticky about some of the ideas I've come up with."

"I think that's the third time you've mentioned that," Hermione said, her tone a bit nettled. "Are you planning on sharing those ideas with me any time soon, or are you waiting for some special invitation before you tell me what you're planning?"

"Sorry, I guess I am kind of dodging it, aren't I?" Harry admitted, a touch of nervousness in his voice. His expression grew serious as he continued, "Basically, I need to make Dumbledore understand that as it stands, I can't learn what I need to know at Hogwarts."

Hermione frowned for a second, and then paled. "Harry, you're not-you're not dropping out of Hogwarts? Harry, no! You can't, where would you go, it's not safe-mmph!" His hand covered her mouth, silencing her before she could rouse the house.

"Mione, I don't plan on dropping out; I'd only do that as a last resort, and I'm pretty sure the headmaster would do whatever it took to keep me from going through with it. But I need that as a threat to hold over his head to get what I do need-training in battle magics."

Reassured that he wasn't planning on haring off in some impulsive manner that would get him killed, Hermione considered his words. "Battle magics…do you mean like an auror or hit wizard? You want auror training?"

"Sort of, but the aurors and hit wizards are more or less just civil servants, like Scotland Yard or MI5. I need someone who can train me in the wizarding version of the SAS anti-terrorist squads; not just me, but anyone who wants to fight effectively against Voldemort.

"Once I was able to think about what happened at the Department of Mysteries, I realized that even the Order of the Phoenix members have no concept of group tactics. They all fought as individuals, even the ones like Moody and Tonks who should know better. The only reason they won was that they knew more than we do as individual wizards, not that their tactics were any better."

Harry stood and began to pace back and forth, burning off some of the nervous energy the discussion was building within him. "I realized when I got to thinking about it that, other than the Goblin Wars, there's very little mentioned about wizard warfare. I looked through a few of the wizarding history books that are floating around the Burrow, and found the same thing: nothing aboot any kind of a military structure among wizards since the Middle Ages, and darned little before that."

"Well, but maybe that's not a bad thing," Hermione countered. "Look at how destructive wars have become in the Muggle world; can you imagine how much damage a Wizarding arms race could produce? Magic doesn't have the same limitations that Muggle science has, I mean, look at what happened to Atlantis!"

Harry shook his head. "You're missing my point. It's not the lack of a military itself as what it represents. Wizards used to have a sort of feudal system in place, with the heads of the major families raising and training their own small armies of retainers. They'd work together when something like the Goblin Rebellions came along, but for the most part each family was its own private kingdom. But that all changed when the Wizarding world decided to separate itself from the Muggle world."

Harry paused for a moment and left the kitchen, returning in a few minutes with a huge, leather-bound book, the covers latched closed with a massive bronze hasp. "When I asked Mr. Weasley if he had any other history books besides those on the shelves in the living room, he went up into the attic and brought down a trunk that had belonged to his grandfather. Most of what was in it covered the same things as the more recent editions-wizarding textbooks don't change very much over the years-but this was at the bottom." He carefully opened the hasp and lifted the cover. Inside Hermione caught a glimpse of hand-lettered pages illuminated with colorful illustrations rendered in a style that she recognized as dating to the 1400s.

"This is an eyewitness account, written by the head of the Weasley family at the time, about the decision to fully separate the Wizarding world from the Muggles. Apparently wizards were always somewhat reclusive, but there was still a fair amount of contact between the two societies. That's why there are so many Muggleborns, there used to be a lot more intermarriage between the two groups. Apparently there was a lot of debate even then about just how much contact there should be between the two worlds, but very few people were pushing for complete separation."

"I don't understand, why isn't this covered in the History of Magic courses?" Hermione asked, more than a little miffed that such important knowledge had been left out of the course syllabus, especially since she was one of the few students who actually listened through all of Binns' boring, sepulchral lectures.

Harry flipped through a few more pages before closing the volume. "I'll let you read through this yourself; I've already asked Mr. Weasley, and he's agreed to loan it to me indefinitely, which of course means you get to see it, too. The gist of it is, though, that there was a catastrophic event that convinced wizards all over the world that Muggles and Wizards were better off separate, and that strict laws needed to be enforced to protect Muggles from interference."

"What happened?" she asked, almost afraid to hear the answer. What could have been bad enough to cause such a rift between the two cultures?

"A Chinese dark wizard who called himself Negra Khan happened," Harry said grimly. "He saw the way the Muggle population in Europe was expanding, and how rapidly it was changing compared to the static society in his homeland. And after meeting a rather famous Muggle by the name of Marco Polo, he realized that it was only a matter of time before the two cultures clashed, and while China was far too large to ever be conquered by Europe, he believed Western ideas would ruin his homeland. So he took steps to prevent that from happening. He altered a disease that was already dangerous into something far more deadly, and then released it into the Muggle population in Europe, his own 'Final Solution'-the Black Death."

"Oh, my God," Hermione whispered, her face going pale. The combined toll of the Bubonic and Pneumonic Plagues that swept through the Muggle world in the mid-1300s was estimated at a minimum of 25 million deaths, and was probably much higher. A quarter to a third of the population of Europe had perished, and that was just the average. In some communities the fatalities had run as high as 90%, resulting in some parts of Europe reverting to wilderness with too few people left to maintain the land. And to discover that it was a wizard who was responsible, and not a capricious act of nature…no wonder there was no record of it in the histories, the wizards of the time were probably too ashamed.

A question occurred to her. "You said he attacked the Muggle population; weren't wizards affected as well?"

Harry shook his head. "You know we don't catch most Muggle illnesses, the same thing that makes us sensitive to the flow of magic protects us. Even so, Negra Khan didn't want his weapon to attack his own kind, so he engineered it specifically avoid anyone with wizarding blood, even squibs. What he didn't take into account was the amount of intermingling between the Wizarding world and the Muggles of Europe; China was and still is heavily stratified by caste and position. He based his estimates for Muggle death rates on what would happen in his country, which is why as many Muggles survived as did."

Comprehension dawned on Hermione's face. "Of course! With all the intermarrying, Muggles with no magical abilities still had enough wizarding blood to protect them from the Plague."

Harry nodded. "That's also the reason why, even after the Wizarding world chose to separate itself from the Muggles, there were more Muggleborn wizards of European descent than any other; the Plague thinned out the gene pool, making it easier for Muggleborns to crop up in the general population."

Now that she had enough pieces of the puzzle, Hermione's keen intellect jumped ahead to the conclusions it had taken Harry several days to work out. "Once they realized where the Plague came from, the Wizarding world must have been horrified; even today, most wizards who look down on Muggles as being less than they are don't want them wiped out, and the ties between wizards and Muggles were a lot closer then. They must have decided that the best way to prevent a repetition of Negra Khan's attack was to separate the two societies as much as possible."

"Pretty much," Harry agreed. "Oh, there were a lot more bells and whistles involved in working it all out; it took close to a hundred years to really implement the change, but that was the start of it all."

Hermione's face took on a contemplative look. "I'm guessing those so-called 'bells and whistles' make a pretty amazing story in their own right, but I don't want to get side-tracked. You were explaining why you think our current system developed the way it did."

Harry nodded. "Well, the rest I've come up with all pretty much guesswork. The history books I have here are still pretty vague, but with the Weasley chronicle as a base I can come up with a few ideas about what happened, at least on the British Isles.

"Basically, the Wizengamot was the group that selected the representatives that traveled to the Great Council, where the treaty was created that founded the separation of our society from the Muggles. Once the representatives brought the treaty back and the Wizengamot accepted it, they were magically bound to implement its provisions. That's when the Ministry of Magic was created, with its main purpose being the separation and concealment of our world from the Muggles. All the departments grew out of that mission statement."

"So, with the Ministry of Magic in place, you think all the Wizarding families just gave up their personal armies? That's kind of far-fetched, isn't it? I mean, can you see the Malfoys giving up their retainers?"

"I think they were probably encouraged to do so," Harry answered with a smirk, "probably rather forcefully. There are a couple of passages towards the end of the journal that mention a few of the families being 'compelled to submit to the will of the Wizengamot'. My best guess is that the families who agreed with the changes turned their forces over to the Ministries. Then, as Wizarding society accepted the changes, they reduced the standing forces and changed their duties until we ended up with what we have now, the Auror's Department; wizards who are trained to face individual Dark wizards, not an organized threat like Voldemort. And that lack of foresight has been costing unnecessary losses of life for generations."

"What do you mean?" Hermione asked, not seeing the connection.

Instead of answering, Harry asked his own question. "How many Dark Lords have there been in the last two hundred years? I'm not talking about small-time ones like the Malfoys, but the real nutcases like Grindelwald and Voldemort?"

"I'm not sure," she admitted. "Let's see, there's the two you mentioned, before Grindelwald the was Morgana, and before her was, what did he call himself, the Iron Duke…"

"I'll save you some time," Harry interrupted. "There were seven who caused real trouble; the longest period between them was forty years, the shortest ten. Every single one went through the same pattern as now; building up power, building a following, using murder and torture to try and take over control, and then, eventually, defeat at a great cost in life.

"Most of the time it's been some small group like the Order of the Phoenix that ends up fighting back. The Ministry can't handle it, they aren't set up for it. The current system makes it too easy for someone like Fudge to get into power, and too damned hard to get them out once they're in there. By the time the people who should be handling the problem are willing to act it's almost to late, and a lot of people who shouldn't have to end up giving their lives to save everyone else."

Harry rose from his chair and began to pace again. "What makes me so mad is that there's no excuse for this to be happening! It's not like wizards have been living in a vacuum; we live side by side with Muggles, even the Purebloods are dependent on Muggles for everything from food to thick-bottomed cauldrons! We live longer than they do, you'd think we could learn from their mistakes, but no! The ones holding the power, the old Pureblood families, are so sure that they can't learn anything from 'mere Muggles', they're willing to sit back and do nothing to correct the flaws in the government. They won't do anything to create a means to deal with these would-be dictators before they get rolling, probably because they're afraid they'd lose some of their own political power in the process. And that leaves a void where someone like Grindelwald or Voldemort can step in, because individually we're not strong enough to stop them."

"But they are stopped, Harry," Hermione pointed out. "Professor Dumbledore stopped Grindelwald, and you stopped Voldemort's first rise to power. Eventually-"

"Eventually's not good enough!" Harry snapped. "Every day we wait for eventually to come along, people are dying, and sometimes…sometimes it's people we care about." His eyes bored into hers intently. "I don't want to wake up some morning while we're waiting for eventually and find out one of them was you; I wouldn't…I couldn't…there'd be no point in going on if that happened, don't you understand?"

Hermione felt the intensity of Harry's emotions echoing though their bond, saying the things he still had difficulty putting into words, and her expression softened. She rose from her chair and approached him slowly, making him stop his nervous pacing by slipping her arms around his waist."I understand, Harry, but you have to as well; I feel the same way about you." Her features shifted as she put on what Harry teasingly referred to as her 'determined' face. "So keep in mind, whatever plan you're cooking up in that Quidditch-addled brain of yours had better include you staying alive, because if you get yourself killed, I'll-I'll raise you from the dead and kill you again myself! You hear me, Mr. Potter?"

Harry felt his own sombre mood lifting in the face of her fierce determination, and he chuckled as he hugged her before giving her a peck on the tip of her nose. "I hear and obey, Miss Granger; no dying allowed on either of our parts. And I promise, no haring off on some bloody quest without at least talking to you about it first. "But," he added, his demeanor turning serious again, "that doesn't mean I'm going to leave everything in Dumbledore's hands, either; I wasn't kidding about that part. Unless there's something else he's keeping from me, it's my job to stop Tom, if anyone can."

"All right, Harry," she sighed, accepting his determination. "I won't pretend I'm thrilled with the idea, but I can see your point. Once we get back to Hogwarts, I'll dive into the restricted section and see if I can find any more information on Wizarding warfare methods, maybe there are some old treatises on tactics and battle magics hidden away."

"That's my girl," Harry smiled, pulling her close for a kiss and then holding her close as they each became lost in their thoughts.

Their musings were interrupted by the sound of flapping wings as two postal owls entered the kitchen through the owl port above the kitchen door. Each carried with them a copy of the Daily Prophet, since both Hermione and the Weasley family maintained a subscription.

"Awfully early for the paper," Harry noted as he fished out some owl treats while Hermione retrieved the papers. "I wonder what the occasion is?"

Hermione handed one of the papers to Harry. "They seem lighter than usual; a special edition?" she wondered, and then gasped as she saw the headline:

"DEATH EATER ATTACKS ROCK WIZARDING WORLD!"

~~~~~~