Muggle Summer, Wizard's Fall
Author's Note: This chapter introduces "Sir John," a cricket-loving former Conservative Party PM into the mix, and alludes to two princesses high up in the line of succession. I should therefore reiterate that all characters in this story are fictional, although they may resemble real life counterparts. Some real life persons who "should" have fictional counterparts in this story don't necessarily have them (don't expect to see somebody named Camille, or references to somebody named Diana, for example). Also worth repeating is that the story takes place in the summer of 2006, rather than 1997, with a timeline pushed up nine years from canon. So, Prime Minister "Tony" has been living at Number 10 for a while now, after chasing "Sir John" and the Tories out of power in 1997. Oh, and The Princesses York….they are 18 and 16 years old, respectively.
Next…stats from ffn suggest that 80-85% of my readers are from the U.S…which means that most of you don't have a clue about rugby, the All Blacks, and the haka. I highly recommend that you check out this youtube video (or this one, or this one) to get a sense of what I'm talking about.
Thanks to clell, fenriswolf, and grenouille for their beta work on this chapter.
Finally…the Python reference is pretty obvious, but how about the nod to Fawlty Towers?
Disclaimer: Not my characters, no money being made, etc., etc.
Chapter 65: Taking Offense
Thursday, July 12, 10:15 am, The Round Tower, Windsor Castle
The Queen's Wizard carried a bag of deluxe owl treats with him as he badge jumped to Windsor Castle. It had been a few days since he had been "home" to the Round Tower, and he felt rather guilty for it. His familiar was quick to remind Harry of that fact, and didn't let the treats stand in the way of nipping his ear. She also showed no inclination to let Harry out of her taloned grip, which is why the Queen's Wizard entered the State Apartments and was announced to The Prince with an owl perched on his shoulder.
"Ah, Good morning, Sir Harry…come in, come in. Oh, and I see that Hedwig is joining us….welcome to you both."
"Thank you, Your Highness," Harry replied. His familiar responded with a bob of her head that was almost as easy to interpret.
"How are spirits holding up at Balmoral?"
"Pretty well, Sir…they flew the Queen's corgis up from Edinburgh last night, and that's helping keep things lively down in the Bunker."
"And what of the morale of my magical squadron and its commander?"
Harry snorted. "They've settled into the new mission. As for me, well…no shortage of surprises to hold my attention."
"Yes, I imagine that to be the case," The Prince replied, as he waved Harry towards a pair of high-backed chairs. "Shall I have someone bring in a perch for your friend?"
Harry winced as Hedwig tightened her grip on his shoulder.
"Erm, no thank you Sir, Hedwig seems to be happy right where she is."
"I see," The Prince said with a smile. "So…what is your opinion of the Balmoral defenses?"
"They seem impressive, Sir," Harry replied. "I can't imagine that it's all that comfortable for Her Majesty to be holed up in the Bunker, even with her pets…but I also can't imagine a safer place right now, unless we could put her under a Fidelius…makes me think that you should be there as well, frankly."
"Yes, well there's still a rather robust defense here at Windsor," The Prince replied. "And the Lines of Succession must be preserved."
"Sir?"
"Need to keep the Queen and those of us nearest in line to the throne apart," The Prince explained. "It wouldn't do to have all of us in one place these days, in case the next attack were more successful."
"Which is why you weren't in attendance at the Garden Party?"
"Exactly."
"So Prince Harry, then?"
"He's stationed at Buckingham, while my oldest son is out at Sandhurst. Meanwhile, my younger brother has been dispatched to Sydney for a Commonwealth financial conference, and my two nieces are presently on hols visiting their mum in New York…that covers the next six in line."
Harry snorted. "Five different places on three different continents? Nothing half-done about that level of detail, except…"
"Yes?"
"Well, Sir, we've only got TPOMS at Balmoral…Sir Evan being posted here gives us an anchor to your location, but we don't have any magical protection for the others."
The Prince nodded. "You've got enough on your plate, Sir Harry."
"But I'm to protect the Queen and her family, Sir."
"And you've done a smashing job so far," replied The Prince. "As for Andy and his Princesses…I had opportunity to meet with some of your foreign witches and wizards when they returned to London yesterday, and they offered to pass along word to their overseas counterparts."
Harry nodded as he swallowed his response.
"You don't look pleased."
"No Sir…I mean, it's not that I'm not pleased, but I feel responsible for…."
"Harry, you aren't the Prince's Wizard, are you?"
"Erm…no Sir."
"How about the Princess's Wizard? I understand that one of my nieces might wish it were so, but it's not the case, is it?"
Harry frowned, and tried not to wonder which of the Royal teen-agers The Prince might be talking about.
"No Sir, I'm the Queen's Wizard."
"So let others worry about the rest of us, then…it isn't as if you aren't having even more dropped into your lap."
"Sir?"
"I was referring to our meeting this morning," replied The Prince. "Have you been briefed in?"
"Just from the bit that Her Majesty mentioned this morning, Sir…Hermione has been sent to Carlisle to scout out the location for Saturday's meeting, and I'm to take her place and help you inform the Shadow Government about magic and recent events, in case the Prime Minister gets sacked."
The Prince nodded. "That covers it, save for the fact that Her Majesty has called in reinforcements for us."
"Sir?"
"Exactly," The Prince replied with a wink. "Sir John should be here shortly. The drive into town should give us enough time to bring him back up to speed."
"Back up to speed, Sir?"
A low-pitched chuckle escaped from The Prince's lips. "Sir John was in a position to know about the wizarding world before he retired to the cricket fields of Surrey. With any luck he'll bring a few bats along to keep his party's Young Turks in line for us."
Harry arched an eyebrow, and then smiled as he solved The Prince's riddle. He had heard the former Tory Prime Minister's name disparaged dozens of time on Privet Drive…Vernon had never forgiven the man for losing Number 10 to Hermione's "Socialist" boss.
The Prince stood, and the Queen's Wizard followed suit.
"Harry, you have had perfectly good reasons to be cautious when dealing with politicians, but I do hope that you give Sir John a chance…he's a decent chap."
"Yes, Sir," the young wizard replied. "My Uncle Vernon cursed the former Prime Minister almost as often as he cursed his replacement…so that's got to be a good sign, right?"
The Prince laughed as he led Harry out of the room and into the courtyard. Nodding towards Harry's familiar, he added, "Well, then, it appears that all that is left is to apologize to Miss Hedwig."
"Apologize, Sir?"
"We're meeting the Shadow Cabinet in the Opposition Leader's offices within Parliament," The Prince explained. "And I am afraid that there is a tradition that animals are not allowed on the grounds, other than seeing eye dogs."
Harry turned his head to say a few words to Hedwig, only to watch his familiar launch herself off of his shoulder and towards the top of the Round Tower.
"Guess she likes these sorts of meetings almost as much as I do," Harry said with a chuckle.
The Prince smiled and nodded his head. "Proving yet again just how amazingly intelligent certain magical creatures can be."
oo00OO00oo
11:00 am, The Minister of Magic's Office
The meeting between Rufus Scrimgeour, his Special Assistants, and the Dutch Charms Master had gone south rather quickly (or north, if you have an antipodean perspective).
"Refusing to provide a cost estimate up front? There is no way that we should work with this boy under these conditions," spat Umbridge.
"Fine, suit yourself," replied the Dutch Wizard. "As soon as you make the transfer into my Gringott's vault I'll be on my way."
"What transfer?"
"The one that Percy here agreed to make when he signed my consulting contract," the Charms Master said with a shrug of his shoulders.
"I don't remember singing any such contract!" Percy objected.
"I'm not surprised, given that it was after you ordered that third plate of brownies."
"What are you....where is this contract?"
The young Charms Master smiled as he pulled a thick parchment scroll from his coat pocket.
"Give me that..."
"Ah, ah, ah!" chided Peter, as he snapped the document away from Weasley's grasp. Drawing his wand from a sleeve, he used a duplication charm thrice over, and handed out copies.
The Dutch wizard enjoyed watching the faces of the three Ministry officials fall as they got further and further down the scroll.
"What? This is outrageous!" Umbridge hissed.
"This must be a forgery," whined Percy. "I would have never signed this kind of contract."
"That is your signature down at the bottom, isn't it?"
"Well...."
"And you did say over and over again that as Special Assistant to the Minister, you had the authority to sign on the Minister's behalf..."
"He did, did he?" asked Rufus. "If that's the case, it won't be the case much longer...."
"Of course I wouldn't have said that I had that kind of authority, Sir," said Percy.
"Section 4, subpart 6 suggests otherwise," noted the Former High Inquisitor, as she worked her way through the document.
"Must not have been in my right mind," Percy muttered (he was more right than he knew). He then turned towards the young Charms Master and said, "You tricked me, or magically coerced me...either you or Katja...."
"Who's Katja?" Rufus demanded.
"She's....." began Percy, who suddenly decided that he didn't want to finish. Peter decided to do it for him.
"She listed under 'Miscellaneous Expenses' on Percy's report."
"Why would a witch be itemized...," muttered Scrimgeour, as he glanced over at Percy's financial reckoning. "The name Katja isn't written here."
"Oh, really?" asked Peter. "Maybe it's under her nickname."
"What's her nickname?"
"A good time."
"Two hundred galleons 'for a good time'…what in Merlin's.....Percy?"
"Yes, Sir."
"Might you explain why you spent 200 galleons for 'a good time'?"
"Erm, not really, Sir...all a bit hazy."
"Just like your employment status is a little hazy, right?"
"Now Minister, don't be too hard on the boy," replied the Dutch 'consultant.' "If he hadn't been willing to get naked in Oslo or Holland, I wouldn't be here now."
"What's this about getting naked…there's nothing about that in your report!"
"Erm…well…it's not something I was comfortable reporting, Sir...not that there's room on the expense report for it. But between the hobgoblins, and turning my shorts into a portkey...."
The Minister of Magic reached for his wand. But rather than hex Percy, he cast a silencing spell on Umbridge...it was the only way that was going to be able to think this situation through.
Rubbing his temples in a futile attempt to ease his burgeoning headache, he finally stated, "There will be a full investigation...after our business with Mr. Vanderwood has been completed."
Rufus then turned to address Madame Umbridge, who was turning blue in the face with frustration. "Yes, yes, I know...we'll discuss a revised organization chart in the near future. But for now...as one-sided as this contract appears, it does stipulate at the risk of Mr. Vanderwood's magic that he is capable of casting a Fidelius Charm."
"Ah, well said, Sir...no wonder you're in charge here," Peter said with a smile.
The Minister of Magic winced, wondering how much longer that statement might hold. "Yes, well...perhaps Mr.Vanderwood, you might explain why we needed to pay more for your consulting services than for your charms work."
"Oh, don't be too sure that the actual magic won't cost you more...depends on what secret you decide to protect."
"But...more than this 15,000 galleon consulting fee? You mean that the charm is priced separately?"
Peter shrugged. "It's all spelled out in that contract."
"But why...."
"Because there have been too many situations where either my father or I have been blamed for failed charms that were really the client's fault."
"How could we be held at fault if you can't cast a proper charm?" demanded Percy.
"I thought that you went through this already with my dad?" the Dutch wizard asked. "Some secrets can't be protected by the Fidelius Charm, no matter how powerful the Charms Master is."
"And why is that?"
"Because magic is a bitch that demands balance," quipped the young wizard.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, Sir...there is no single, all-powerful spell, or all-powerful spell caster out there. Every use of magic has its limitations...by design."
"Could you be a little more specific?"
"Right...we're talking about the Fidelius Charm, so we'll use it for an example. Do you have any idea just how powerful I would be if there were no checks on my ability to cast that specific charm?"
Scrimgeour rolled his eyes. "No...just how powerful would you be?"
The Dutch wizard responding by nicking a quill and piece of parchment from the Minister's desk. He wrote a quick line of text, folded the parchment in half, and passed it across the desk.
"So let's pretend...Abracadabra-hocus-pocus-Fidelius....I've just pulled the secret that I've written down on that bit of parchment out from the world and placed it inside you, Minister. You are now the only person in the world that knows the secret."
Rufus opened the note and read, "Lord Voldemort is a Wizard."
"So if I am the only one that knows that fact," he mused, "then he doesn't, right?"
Peter nodded. "Do you know what they call a wizard that doesn't know he's a wizard?"
"No, what?" asked Percy.
"A squib," stated Scrimgeour.
"Hey, that's pretty good," admitted the Dutch wizard. "No wonder you're the one sitting behind that desk."
"We've not time for flattery...though at your billing rates it should be expected."
"Fair enough...so what if I cast a new charm about the statement 'There are British-born witches and wizards'?" How much do you think the French Ministry would pay for me to cast that spell?"
"Yes, yes...so you aren't omnipotent...why should we have to pay for you to reveal your limitations?"
"Because I know them, first off," Peter replied. "Secondly, I can usually do a good enough job of suggesting the right secret...so long, of course, as the client is forthcoming."
"What do you mean 'right secret' or if 'the client is forthcoming'?"
"What I mean is what I said," the young wizard replied. "I know what level of magical opposition I can overcome when I cast the charm, but I can't guarantee success if I'm not told what kind of opposition exists."
"That's rather a cloudy answer."
"Fine, let me be specific...no extra charge for that, by the way," the Dutch wizard said with a grin. "You want to hide the Ministry of Magic's location from others, right?"
"How did you...I never told you that!" Percy exclaimed.
"You didn't need to," Peter quipped. "So why do you need to hide?"
"What business is that of yours?" asked Percy.
"Have you been listening at all to what I've been saying? Never mind...the answer to that question is 'no' and the answer to my previous question is because you want to keep an ICW delegation from gaining access to Ministry files."
"How did you...."
"Time is money...am I wrong?"
Scrimgeour cast his eyes back down onto the parchment in front of him.
"You are contractually bound to client confidentiality?"
"Magically bound, too," Peter said with a nod.
"Let us assume that you are partially correct, then," replied Rufus. "How does that impact your work?"
"Percy here has agreed to allow this ICW delegation to visit the Ministry tomorrow morning and gain access to your files, correct? Don't bother asking how I know, am I wrong?"
"No."
"And did he do this willingly?"
"No, I had to acknowledge the Writ of Inquiry," Percy explained. "But it's really not my fault, when you think about it…."
A spell caught Percy mid-sentence, and struck him as silent as Umbridge.
The Dutch Wizard glanced at the Minister's extended wand and smiled.
"Thanks, he was beginning to get on my nerves as well…and I've only been with him for a day. How do you manage to put up with him for longer than that?"
"Practice," Rufus said with a sigh. "Practice…and judicious use of the Obliviate spell."
He then cast two separate memory charms that sent his "Special Assistants" scurrying out of the office in the belief that their meeting had ended and that the Minister asked for briefs outlining their proposed changes to the Ministry's org chart.
The Dutch wizard let out a low-pitched whistle. "Wow, I like how you operate."
"I don't, but I seldom have any choice in the matter," the Minister replied gruffly. "Now where were we?"
"The Writ of Inquiry," Peter replied. "Do you have it?"
Scrimgeour nodded, and pulled open a desk drawer.
"Oh, and while you're at it, you might as well show me the Orb."
Rufus arched an eyebrow, but did as he was asked. There would be opportunity to learn how the Dutch wizard learned about the Orb later on.
The young Charms Master dropped the necklace almost as soon as he touched it.
"Yeow….burns my hands just at the thought of it!"
"At the thought of what?"
"Trying to cast a Fidelius that would overpower the magic that went into the making of this artifact, and the treaty that stands behind it," Peter relied. "I'd die trying to protect 'The Ministry of Magic has lost its home rule authority over Magical Britain and Ireland' …not that you'd be saved from paying my fees were that to happen, mind you."
"So…are you saying that it's impossible to hide the secret…or just that it's impossible for you?"
"The former," the young wizard said seriously. "You could bring in another Charms Master and ask his opinion, but given all of the time and effort that it took to get me here…"
"Right…what about the ICW's Writ of Inquiry?"
The frown that formed on the Dutchman's face was almost as intense as the one produced by his handling of the orb. It wasn't until he finished reading through the document that Scrimgeour saw a glimmer of hope in his eyes.
"Well?"
"This is a tricky one," Peter replied. "The way that this writ is worded…I doubt that I could match its power right now, but maybe once you've provided them initial access?"
"What?" asked the Minister of Magic. "I don't understand."
The young wizard sighed. "Most of the magic bound within this document is likely linked to allowing the ICW delegation access to the Ministry and its records. If you asked me to protect the secret that 'The Ministry of Magic has documents that the ICW would want to review' then I'd be butting head-on with this writ."
"But…."
"But once you meet the initial obligations, most of the power attached to this writ should dissipate."
"Most?"
"While it isn't spelled out on this parchment, there is a tacit assumption that the ICW delegation would be allowed access to the Ministry not just tomorrow morning, but any time afterwards, so long as access was needed for their work, right?"
"Yes, I would think so."
"So, it would be easier for me to cast a successful Fidelius Charm if I was only overpowering an implicit promise, rather than an explicit one."
"So….," drawled the Minister, as the gears ground in his head. "We wait until tomorrow morning, let the ICW in the door, and then kick them out just as soon as you cast the charm?"
"Charms."
"What?"
"Charms, plural," the Dutch wizard replied. "You are going to need two of them."
"Why would we need that…just so you get paid twice over?"
"No….well, okay, yes…that would mean I'd get paid twice, but the fact is that you'll need two charms because you've got two separate problems."
"Yes, but can't you solve both problems with the protection of one secret?"
"Like what?"
"Like…I don't know, something like, 'The Ministry of Magic is located beneath Central London'."
"That's something that I could do, once you let the ICW in, but it wouldn't completely solve your problem."
"Why wouldn't it?"
The young wizard rolled his eyes. "I went through this with your flunky last night…how does your floo network work?"
"What do you mean…they don't have floo's in Holland?"
"Of course they do…look, for all that I know, we are presently underneath High Street in Bolton, right now, rather than Central London."
"Why would you think that?"
"Percy and I stayed in a Muggle hotel last night. This morning, he took me to his flat, so that we could floo here."
"And…?"
"And what address do you think he told me to use?"
"It would have been to 'The Ministry of Magic,'
"Right…not 'Six Stories Beneath a Telephone Box in Central London'."
"Why would…oh, now I see your point," the Minister admitted. He shook his head and let out a deep breath.
"So what bright ideas do you have, then?"
The Dutch Charms Master replied by writing two statements down on separate pieces of parchment. He folded each slip once, and then pushed them across the desk. Scrimgeour opened each slip and held them open for a few minutes.
When a smile crept onto his lips, the Dutch wizard asked, "So what are you thinking?"
Rufus vanished the two slips of paper with a spell, and then leaned back in his chair.
"I'm not thinking, so much as wondering," he finally replied.
"What are you wondering, then?"
"Whether, when the time comes, these secrets have to be shared with my two Special Assistants."
oo00OO00oo
12:30 pm, The Palace at Westminster, London
"Right, well that was lovely, wasn't it?" asked The Prince as they left the meeting room.
Not waiting for an answer, the man with almost as many titles as Harry turned to an attendant stationed just outside of the door.
"Be a good chap and inform Sir John when he is finished that Lord Gryffindor and I shall be in the Peers' Dining Room, would you?"
"Of course, Your Highness," the man said with a bow.
"This way, Harry," The Prince then said, leading his young colleague by the arm. "There's a round-about route that will avoid most of the crowds."
"Sounds good to me, Sir," Harry replied.
A five-minute traverse of one of the many long corridors of the Parliament complex brought them into a restricted area open only to the members of the House of Lords and their guests. Though it was called "The Peers' Dining Room," most of the space was taken up with a long mahogany bar with brass railings and several shelves of liquor bottles behind it.
"Good afternoon, Basil," The Prince called out to well-dressed man who was standing behind the bar. He then added, "It is afternoon, isn't it?"
"Yes, Your Highness," the man said with a curt nod, as his arm automatically arched out towards a bottle of The Prince's favorite single malt whiskey.
"Doubles, if you will?"
The bar man didn't flinch at the request for two glasses full of neat whiskey, but The Prince knew what the yeoman was thinking well enough.
"No worries, Basil…I daresay Gryffindor needs a drink more than I do right now."
"Of course, Your Highness."
The Prince's assessment was true enough in Harry's mind as the burn of alcohol hit the back of his throat. A deep sigh escaped his lips as he placed the half-full tumbler back down onto the bar.
"Need I concern myself with the ease with which you downed that drink, Gryffindor?" The Prince asked.
"Erm…don't thing so, Sir," Harry replied with a smile. "Wizards hold their liquor better than muggles for some reason."
"Because of the magic?"
Harry shrugged. "Hermione thinks so, but I reckon it might have more to do with the fact that we're served in wizard pubs beginning in Third Year…not that this Scotch didn't hit the spot, Sir."
"It's Cornwall."
"Sir?"
"Things are slightly less formal inside this room…members refer to each other by simple title…Cumberland, or Argyle…or Gryffindor."
"There's some choice in your case then, Sir?"
"It's Cornwall, Gryffindor."
"Erm, yes, Sir…I mean, Cornwall…why not Wales, then?"
The Prince shrugged. "Switched a few years back, when it began to remind me of my expanding waistline."
Harry chuckled at the first thing he'd found funny over the past few hours. Dying to talk about the meeting they had just held with the Shadow Cabinet, he looked over his shoulder and around the room."
"Safe to talk, here… Cornwall?"
The Prince nodded. "In general terms, yes…peers come here when they want a bit of space."
A shout came from across the room.
"I say! Cornwall!"
The Prince winced a bit, and then muttered, "Although there are notable exceptions to the rule."
Putting on a brave face, he turned to greet a white haired man who was hobbling towards them with aid of a cane.
"How are you, Melbury?"
"Excellent, Cornwall, excellent," the man replied. Finally noticing Harry, he asked, "Who's your friend, then?"
The Prince smiled thinly.
"Lord Melbury," he replied, "May I introduce to you Her Royal Majesty's Wizard, The Right Honorable Earl Gryffindor, Major Sir Harry Potter."
There was a pause as the old man looked over Harry's mixture of military and tartan attire and whispered the title to himself.
"Royal…no…Wizard….no, not that either…Oh! Gryffindor! Yes, yes…I remember it now," he loudly proclaimed, holding out his hand. "That's quite a stylization for someone your age, isn't it?"
"Yes, well…" Harry replied, as he shook the man's hand. "Had I the choice, 'Just Harry' would be perfectly fine with me."
"Figures," the old man muttered. "Young not appreciating….I've heard about you, you know!"
"You have, Sir…erm, Melbury?" Harry asked.
"Of course I have!" the man shot back. "Your Letters Patent caused quite the stir…hasn't been a peer created that was under the age of twenty-one in centuries!"
"Wasn't exactly by my choice, Sir," Harry protested.
"So, how did you manage it, Gryffindor?" the old man asked. "Get cozy-rosy with one of The Princesses?"
Harry choked in response.
"Gryffindor was reestablished when Harry here became Queen's Wizard," The Prince explained. "He has neither been cozy nor rosy with any member of the Royal Family."
"So far as you know, eh Cornwall?" the man replied. He laughed at his own wit, and then added, "So…Her Majesty has finally gotten around to sending out the Writ of Summons? Giving Gryffindor a tour of his new offices?"
The Prince smiled. "No writ yet, Melbury…Gryffindor and I needed a bit of respite after a meeting with 'The Chameleon' and his lot."
"Ah, that explains the doubles, then," the old man said with a nod. "Damn Commoners, thinking they can push the Upper House around…"
"Yes, well, Melbury…it was a pleasure seeing you again," The Prince stated, lying through his teeth.
"Oh, I'm sure that it was," the old man replied. He then turned his head sharply, frowned, and began to wander off in a rather aimless direction.
"So, Melbury is a Member of the House of Lords?" Harry hissed, once some distance was gained between the table and the old man."
"As far as he can recall," The Prince replied with a smile. "Best justification I've ever seen for booting twits like him and all of the remaining hereditary peers from the Upper House."
"But…you said that I've got a hereditary peerage as well?"
"That's right," The Prince noted. "So when The Lady Gryffindor and you have a child, they'll inherit your title."
"Oh, Hermione isn't The Lady Gryffindor yet," Harry stated.
The Prince smiled. "I'm afraid that I was speaking in general terms, Gryffindor…or is there reason for me to expect that Dame Hermione will soon gain that title?"
Harry blushed. "How did we get on the topic of my love life?"
"I was trying to steer clear of talk on the Shadow Cabinet."
"Oh…well it worked, then," Harry had to admit.
"So how were your accommodations last night, Gryffindor?" The Prince asked with a slight eyebrow waggle. "Wasn't too much of an imposition to share a room?"
Harry shook his head in disbelief. "That story has made its way down here already?"
The Prince snorted. "I'm afraid that I know first hand just how efficient the gossip network is within the Royal Household."
"Erm, right…sorry, didn't mean to offend."
"You aren't Gryffindor, you aren't….I was the one trying to lighten the mood with allusions to witches-in-waiting and potential harems."
The self-admission that The Prince had indeed lightened the mood didn't mean that Harry didn't want to change the topic.
"So what's this Writ of Summons that Melbury was talking about?" he asked.
"A letter from the Queen, inviting someone to become a Member of the House of Lords."
"She can do that?"
"Absolutely," The Prince replied. "All but ninety-three hereditary peers are appointed by the Queen, on the advice of the Prime Minister."
"Okay, then….she would do that to me?"
The Prince let out a laugh. "Relax, Gryffindor…the Queen has other plans for you."
"Other plans?" asked Harry nervously. He decided that this was a good time to finish off his drink.
"Buck up, Harry," The Prince chided. "It's nothing more than the contingency plans for reconvening the Magnum Concilium.
"Oh…the ones where the Queen's Wizard plays a very small part in advising The Queen on the rule of her magical subjects?"
"Yes, those plans," The Prince replied. "And on a related note…what's your impression of Sir John?"
Harry arched an eyebrow. "I like him…seems far more even-tempered and reasonable than the others at that meeting…but why is the question a related note?"
"Because the Queen has plans for him as well," The Prince said enigmatically. "Unless you'd like to make a pitch to become the first Lord High Steward in five hundred years?"
"Erm, thanks, but no thanks," Harry replied quickly. Noticing some activity at the door, he added, "Speaking of which?"
The Prince followed Harry's glance to where someone was blocking the entrance to the room.
"Oh for heaven's sake," he muttered, before calling out in a much louder voice, "He's with us, Melbury!"
"Oh, right then…carry on," the old man said pompously, as he stepped back and allowed the former Prime Minister of Britain to enter the room.
Sir John gave the peer a thin-lipped smile as he adjusted the placement of his glasses on the bridge of his nose, and walked past him.
"Sorry about that," The Prince said. "You know Melbury…"
"Far too well, I'm afraid," Sir John replied.
Basil didn't have to be asked whether a third glass was needed, or whether the first two should be refilled.
Harry waited until Sir John put down a long draw on his single malt.
"So did things end any better than were they stood when we left?" he asked.
The former Tory Prime Minister nodded. "They've agreed not to push for a no confidence vote, and to openly support the current Prime Minister's efforts against the terrorists."
"They came to reason, then?"
"No," the retired politician admitted. "They finally came to realize just what kind of mess they'd be getting into if they were to gain power right now."
Harry rolled his eyes. "It was as if Percy had a twin muggle brother."
"Percy?" asked Sir John.
"Oh, just somebody within the Ministry of Magic that has far too much power for our own good," Harry explained.
"Yes, well…that may change, from what I understand?" asked Sir John.
"It may indeed," replied The Prince. "Which reminds me…might we impose on you for a few more hours, Sir John?"
"Well…of course. What do you have in mind?"
"A stop on the drive home to Surrey…there's some people at the Cumberland Lodge that we'd like you to meet as part of our contingency planning."
"Planning for what, if I might ask?"
The Prince glanced around, and then lowered his voice.
"Planning that might bring you out of retirement, Sir John."
The former Prime Minister stared at The Prince for a moment, then let out a very small (but audible) sigh as he finished off his drink.
"As Her Majesty commands," he finally replied.
Harry couldn't help but smile, and reached out to offer a consoling pat on the back.
"If it helps any, Sir John," he offered, "I know exactly how you feel."
oo00OO00oo
2:30 pm, The Summer Institute, Cumberland Lodge, Great Windsor Park
There was nothing lovely about The Queen's Wizard's attitude when he bolted from his next meeting. Hermione, who had shared a spot at the table after completing her tour of Carlisle Castle, was right behind him, and near enough to hear as he activated his Art Club badge.
"Emily?"
"Yes, Harry?"
"Is there a bar within Cumberland Lodge?"
"Erm…not that I know of…this is a school, after all…"
"Right, sorry to have bothered you."
"Wait…Harry…is something wrong?"
"No, nothing that a stiff drink or a flash of sword might fix."
"Harry?"
The Queen's Wizard turned on his heel.
"They've got to be kidding, Hermione!"
"Harry…I know it seems like a lot, but what the Emperor's Wizard said did make sense…"
"But why me?" he asked. "Okay fine…the ICW thinks it best if the new Lord High Steward were magical…why can't it be you or Tonks…or Ron? He's short a few titles, I'm sure that he could use an extra one."
"Harry?"
A rather distraught young wizard let out a deep breath.
"I'm sure that Sir Evan has some gin at the Tower," he muttered. "Although…why waste time with the weak stuff? Dobby?"
His aide-de-camp was immediately by his side.
"Yes Sir, Major Harry Potter, Sir?"
"Can you bring me a bottle of firewhiskey? Don't bother with a glass."
"Don't listen to him, Dobby," said Hermione. "Firewhiskey is the last thing he needs right now."
Harry gave Hermione a sharp look that was cut short only when he heard Dobby's nervous whimpering.
"Oh, what to do…Private Dobby knows he must be following the Great Major Harry Potter, Sir's orders, but…but…the Great Harry Potter Sir should be listening to Harry Potter Sir's Hermione's orders, too!"
"Thank you, Dobby…I always knew that you know what's best for Harry," Hermione said with a smile.
A look halfway between a frown and snarl grew on Harry's lips.
"Well, if that's the last thing I need, then what's the first thing?" he asked.
Hermione bit her lower lip in thought, then pushed Harry into an unused classroom and locked the door.
"Get undressed," she ordered, as she as took off her jacket and began to unbutton her blouse.
Harry lost his eyebrows to his hairline.
"Honestly, Harry," she said dismissively, as she pulled her shirt out from her long Potter Plaid skirt and slipped it off her shoulders. "Who taught you that a stiff drink was the best way to deal with stress?"
The Queen's Wizard caught his breath at the sight of his girlfriend's black dragonhide vest that was doing double duty as a skintight undergarment.
"Erm…The Prince?" he replied.
"Well, I'll just have to have words with him, then," Hermione muttered, as her skirt slipped to the floor.
The thong, black stockings and hold-ups that Hermione wore underneath the skirt weren't as protective as the vest, but Harry found it difficult to find fault with how they looked.
"Words with The Prince?" he asked. "Might want to cut him some slack…it's not like he could hold my attention like you are right now."
"Hold your attention?" Hermione asked with a smirk, as she slipped off her shoes and rolled down her stockings. "Is that why you think I'm taking off my clothes?"
"Erm, finding it hard to think coherently about much of anything right now."
Hermione shook her head and smiled.
"This isn't going to work if I'm the only one doing this, you know."
"Why not?" Harry said with a roguish grin. He then grabbed hold of the hem of his kilt, lifted it several inches towards his belt and added, "Kilt-wearing commandos are always ready for action."
"Fine, keep your kilt on…I'm sure that some of the other boys will as well."
"Whaa….other boys?"
Hermione waggled her eyebrows. "Why not? Potter Plaid kilts are now part of their Summer Institute uniform, after all."
Harry narrowed his eyes. "Are we talking about the same thing?"
"Probably not," Hermione replied with a giggle. She then called out, "Dobby?"
The house elf popped back in.
"Hermione…but you're barely dressed!"
"So? It was your idea to…tell me, Dobby, how many naked human bodies did you see yesterday at the Garden Party?"
"Seven thousand, eight hundred and fifty two, Miss Harry Potter's Hermione Ma'am."
"There you go," she stated with a declaratory hand wave.
"So what is that, then…Dobby is going to stand here and watch us?"
"That's up to him," Hermione decided with a grin. "Dobby…would you bring us our physical education kits?"
The house elf bobbed his head emphatically.
"Dobby can do that!" he exclaimed, before popping away.
A moment later he returned with two separate boxes. Hermione thanked him, and opened the one on top.
"This one's yours," she announced, passing Harry the box. "Another early birthday present."
Harry arched an eyebrow, then shrugged his shoulders and pushed the tissue paper away from a short-sleeved black rugby jersey. The number 8 was sewn on the back, below a nameplate that read "Just Harry."
"Hurry up," Hermione ordered. Rongo's got a class of upper years starting in a few minutes." She then pulled her own All Blacks jersey from the other box. It read "Potter 7".
"Potter?" Harry asked.
"Always wanted to wear your Quidditch jersey," she said with a smile, as the shirt slipped over her head.
Harry snorted as he stripped off his shirt and tie and slipped on his own jersey.
Harry snorted much louder when Hermione pulled out a pair of Potter Plaid spandex shorts, looked down at her thong, and banished it to her purse.
"Erm…mmmm….Hermione?"
"What?" she asked, as she wiggled her bare bum into the skin-tight pants. "I don't care for panty lines when I wear spandex…do you?"
Harry let out a low-pitched belly laugh and stepped up so that he could pull her into a tight hug from behind.
"I think that Luna's rubbing off on you," he whispered huskily into her ear.
"Is that a complaint?" Hermione purred.
"Certainly not," Harry replied, as he dragged his hand up her thigh. When his fingers passed over a thin rectangular bump underneath the fabric, he asked, "What's this?"
"My GPS beacon, hidden under a patch of dragonhide."
"Why do you have it pasted on down there?"
"Thought I'd see if the electronics would last any longer if I kept it farther away from my wand."
."Hmmm," Harry growled. "Shall we check to see if my wand causes interference if it gets too close?"
"I think we already know just how well you wand is working, Mister," Hermione replied, as she rubbed her bum against his front. She then grabbed his hands and stepped out of his embrace. "And if you don't get it holstered, then everyone else in class will know as well."
Harry took a step forward and waggled his eyebrows. "Well, I think that my wand would fit quite nicely in your holster, Hermione."
"Come on, Harry," Hermione said with a smile. "Rongo might have something useful to teach us, if what I learned about Carlisle pans out."
"Okay fine," he replied. "Are you sure that Dean and the other guys are going to be wearing kilts in the scrum?"
"Yeah, they're calling it the Highlander Look," Hermione said brightly. "The other girls like the look, and the kilts aren't that much different than what Rongo's wears with his jersey."
"So what look do you prefer, then?" Harry asked.
Hermione waggled her eyebrows as she walked up to Harry, grabbed the spandex shorts that were still in his uniform's box, and tossed them aside.
"I can't wait to watch you play the eight man in your kilt."
"Eight man?" Harry asked. "Where did you learn about rugby positions?"
"A book."
"Of course….so that explains my number. But why put me at the back of the scrum?"
"Bent over in the last row while I play the back line…where else would I want you?"
"Back in Hannah's bed?"
"You mean Parvati's," Hermione replied with a smile
"What?"
"It's Parvati's turn for third shift tonight."
"Wouldn't put it past her to skive off and join us," Harry said with a grin.
"In your dreams, Potter."
Harry nodded. He thought to inform Hermione that it was actually their kids that joined them in his dreams, but that just brought him back around to his nightmares.
"What's wrong, Harry?"
"What? Erm…nothing."
"It didn't look like nothing."
"Oh, well…you mentioned dreams, and that got me thinking about the nightmares…and that family in Edinburgh…and why we can't chase after the Death Eaters that abused them."
"Now Harry…we've been through this, right? Am I going to need to gather up those captured portkeys and hide them from you?"
"No, I suppose not," Harry replied. A glance back towards Hermione's sexy uniform gave him reason to smile.
"Nice patch line, sweetheart."
"What?"
"No panty lines…but I can see the outline of your dragonhide patch," Harry replied, pointing towards the front of Hermione's shorts.
She looked down and shrugged her shoulders.
"Well, can't be helped, unless I was going to swallow it."
"Not a bad idea, actually."
"What…to swallow my GPS locator?" Hermione asked with surprise. "And are you going to be the one fishing for it in a day or two when it pops out?"
"No…I was thinking about something less messy," Harry replied. "Like Malfoy's portkey tooth."
"Don't fancy the thought of giving up one of my molars, for…..Harry? Why do you think that's a funny thought?"
The Queen's Wizard shook his head. "A different idea, Hermione…I was thinking of….these finders…they still work after a portkey is used, right?"
"Yes, we tested that the other day…why do you ask?"
"Because…Tonks is on-duty for a few more hours, still, right?"
"Yes, why?"
"Need to talk with her about our prisoners," Harry replied. "One of them just might be lucky enough to earn a pardon tonight."
"Earn a pardon?" Hermione asked. "And exactly what will they need to do to earn their release?"
"Put us on the offensive again."
oo00OO00oo
10:30 pm, The Palace at Holyrood House, Edinburgh, Scotland
The low-level Death Eater woke up face down on a cold stone floor, with a high-level headache, a sore arm, and a foggy memory.
"What the…where are…."
The reach for his wand came up empty.
"Looking for something, wizard?"
The Death Eater rolled over and pushed himself up into a sitting position facing the questioner, who stood on the opposite side of jail cell bars. The man dressed in a muggle police uniform had a smile on his face as he twirled a wand in his hands.
"Who are you?"
"I'm your worst nightmare, wizard….somebody who knows the truth about you lot."
The Death Eater frowned…he had no memory of where he was, or how he had gotten there. The last thing he could remember is apparating with Rodolphus LeStrange into the attack, but appearing not in the middle of the muggle crowd, but in mid-air.
Stalling for time, he asked, "And what truth is that?"
The policeman snorted.
"That wizards are weak and pathetic creatures who hide in the shadows, waving their wands about. And that you wizard…you tried to kill my Queen."
"I…I did nothing of the sort."
"Oh, so you just showed up with your friends and crashed the party because you fancy the cucumber sandwiches?" the jailor snarked. He then looked over his shoulders, and smiled.
"But no matter…I'm so glad that you finally decided to wake up."
"Why is that?"
"Because I dislike killing scum like you without there being a bit of sport to it," the policeman replied casually. To emphasize this comment, the man stopped twirling the Death Eater's wand and pulled his handgun from its holster.
The Death Eater's eyes went wide. Thinking the situation desperate enough to risk a bit of magic, he closed his eyes and focused on the "three D's."
He went nowhere.
"Something wrong, wizard?" the policeman asked with a smile.
"Erm…please don't kill me…I haven't done anything wrong…"
"Right, right…I believe you," the muggle replied. "So we'll just call this an experiment."
"Experiment?"
"Yes…a test to see what is more powerful…a wizard with a wand, or a real man with a gun."
The Death Eater raised an eyebrow as his own hopes for escape rose just a bit. If this muggle was that stupid or that arrogant…
A list of painful hexes began to form in his head.
The wizard's spirits rose even higher when he slipped a hand into his robes and took hold of the candy wrapper portkey that his captors must have missed when his wand was taken from him. He now had a clear way out, once he had that wand in hand…and made this muggle pay for his hubris.
Masking his emotions as best he could, he asked, "So some sort of duel?"
"Yeah, you against me…what do you say?"
"I'd say that you have me at a disadvantage, Sir," the Death Eater replied, as he nodded towards the wand in the policeman's hand.
"Oh, right…you want your wand back, huh?" the Muggle said with a grin. He then held the wand out perpendicular to the floor and pressed it against two of the jail cell bars.
"Oh, darn…it doesn't fit through!"
"What?" asked the Death Eater, wondering whether this Muggle was really that stupid. "Just slip it through the other way."
"Oh, right," the jailor replied. He then rotated the wand a half turn and pressed it back up against the bars. "No, it doesn't work when it's pointed in that direction either."
"Merlin," the Death Eater muttered. "Here, I'll take it…."
The wizard only got a step towards the front of the cell before the Muggle pushed hard enough on the wand for it to snap in half against the bars.
"Ah…there it goes," he said with an evil grin, tossing the two pieces through the bars. "All yours."
"You…."
"On the count of three, then?"
"What?"
"We'll open fire on the count of three," stated the Muggle. "One…."
The Death Eater swore as he scrambled to pick up the two pieces of his wand. It had broken closer to the handle, so that there might be just enough….yes. There was faint warmth when he grabbed the larger piece by its thicker end.
"Two…"
Thinking quickly, the Death Eater decided that he couldn't risk a misfired hex…or risk that he could even cast a hex. But there might be just enough magical power within the wand to make his escape. He shoved his broken wand tip into his pocket, touched the candy wrapper portkey, and cried out the activation word just as his opponent yelled out "Three!"
He disappeared before learning whether the Muggle had fired his weapon.
He reappeared in a place where the odds of being shot were only slightly lower.
"Stay where you are!" yelled a wizard whose wand was pointed directly at the Death Eater's heart.
"Wait, don't fire…it's me…Jacobs! I'm one of you!" he called out.
"Then why are you wearing Auror Robes, then!"
Rodolphus LeStrange entered the room that the Death Eater had portkeyed into, quickly assessed the situation, and then cuffed the wand-holding sentry on the back of the head.
"Because we were dressed that way when we launched the attack, you dolt!"
"Oh, thank Merlin, Rodolphus…at least you believe me…"
"Don't take a step from there, Jacobs…or whomever you are," Lestrange shouted, as he drew his own wand out and plopped down on a chair.
"But Rodolphus…it's me…I escaped from the muggles…"
"Or you are Potter on Polyjuice," Lestrange replied. "Strip down naked…let's be sure that you aren't hiding anything under those robes."
The Death Eater bit his lip, but complied with the order.
"See…Dark Mark and everything," he said, showing the other two in the room his left forearm.
"No different than what somebody's arm would look like if they nicked a strand of hair," the senior Death Eater replied. "Now…we're just going to sit tight over the next hour, and have a little chat. You tell us what happened, and we'll decide whether or not we should wait for the full hour before we AK your sorry arse."
"But…you can't…the Master forbade us from using magic within a safe house!"
Rodolphus arched an eyebrow. "True enough…and a bit of trivia that speaks in your favor." He then turned to the other Death Eater and said, "Go check downstairs and see if we've still got the beater bats…just in case."
"Yes, Sir."
Rodolphus return his steely gaze to the naked Death Eater in the center of the room.
"It won't be as quick as an AK," he said with a thin smile. "But that's okay…I could use the exercise….now start talking."
The Death Eater nodded grimly, and began to tell his tale.
oo00OO00oo
A far less tense atmosphere could be found back in the faux jail cell underneath the Palace at Holyrood House.
"Outstanding acting job," Harry said, as he slapped Roger Granger on the back. "I was hoping that you'd slip into the Dirty Harry routine, or some Python, but…."
"I was too nervous to think of it," Roger admitted, as he stripped off the uniform that he'd worn as the Death Eater's pretend jailor.
"But I was in the corner the whole time, underneath my cloak, right?"
"Yes, well…still…"
A flash of Harry's Art Club badge interrupted the banter.
"What's the good news, Wally?" Harry asked, after "picking up" the call.
"It's working," the MI-5 ¾ agent replied brightly. "Got a location lock on the bastard in Salisbury."
"Right where Lucius wanted to go before we nicked him," Harry said with a nod. The excitement over the fact that his plan had apparently worked was tempered by a sudden realization.
"So this might be headquarters," he stated softly. "Maybe even Voldemort in residence…."
"We'll know more when surveillance sets up, Harry," Wally replied.
"Won't take that long, since we'd already been looking in Wiltshire, right?"
"Yes, had that team on standby…should be at the address within ten minutes."
"Great," Harry said, fingering his wand. "And all they are going to do is watch, right?"
"Yes, Harry."
"Not going to be any SAS teams barging in and mucking things up again?"
"No, Harry…not unless you want them too."
A smile crept onto the Queen's Wizard face. He'd sat around enough meetings that day, and was looking forward to the possibility of some exercise of his own.
oo00OO00oo
Friday, July 13 2:30 am, 25 Meadow Road, Salisbury, England
Harry couldn't decide which hat he was wearing as he surveyed the target through his field glasses. There were elements of both the Order of Arthur and TPOMS at the scene, but as everyone was comfortable with the idea of Harry's leadership it didn't really matter…at least inside the perimeter established by a ring of heavily-armed muggle sentinels.
From a literal standpoint, the answer was obvious. Harry, along with the rest of his team, was wearing a black balaclava that coordinated with the rest of his black commando "night operations" kit.
The Queen's Wizard handed his binoculars to Roger Granger, and shifted his gaze from the run-down row house to the display of a high-tech electronic device that Hermione was monitoring.
"Looks like this one's settled down after the trip to the loo," she whispered, as he pointed towards the bright false image display of a detailed thermal profile of the structure's entire interior.
Harry nodded. The secret agent surveillance device clearly showed four people inside the house…three sleeping upstairs in two separate bedrooms, while the fourth watched late-night telly in the ground floor sitting room.
"What do you think?"
"Neighbors have been evac'd," Hermione noted. "Maybe we should send the robot in??
"Make it so, Number One," Harry intoned, in his best Picard voice.
Hermione rolled her eyes as she called for their Muggle MI-5 ¾ colleagues who had established a perimeter line to send in the robot. They both watched as a small, remote controlled electronic device normally used for bomb disposal slowly made its way to the front steps of the house and then back again. That it made this trip without having its very sensitive insides shut down by the interference of magical wards suggested that there weren't any.
"Right then," Harry said, mainly to himself. He then turned to Roger and said, "Give us a shout out on your Badge if you see anything on the display that we should know about."
"Yes, Sir," Roger said with a combination salute/smirk.
"Right behind you, Captain," Hermione replied.
"Thought I was a Major?"
"Thought you were stealing bits of Trek dialogue?"
Harry shook his head, and then stabbed his face forward so that he could steal a kiss from his heavily armed girlfriend. Hermione had just begun to whisper a protest when a flash of white swooped down and landed on Harry's shoulder.
"Ouch!" Harry hissed, as Hedwig's talons dug in. "What's that about?"
Roger smiled. "Maybe she doesn't like the idea of my daughter being your Number One."
"No, but what…Hedwig, why….do you have a message for me?"
His familiar looked down at her unladed legs; then back up again at Harry, and shook her head.
"Okay, okay…stupid question," Harry hissed. "Look, Hedwig…if it's about me not spending enough time with you…now isn't the best time to be asking…."
The white owl shook her head, and then glanced over at Hermione.
"Yeah, sometimes I wonder, too," she whispered conspiratorially to the bird.
The owl nodded once, and then launched herself up towards a perch on the highest chimney top along the street.
"Think that's an omen, or something?" Harry asked.
"Yes…it's a sign that you shouldn't take the women in your life for granted," Hermione said with a smile.
Roger leaned over to give his daughter a hug, then did the same to Harry."
"Stay safe, you two," he ordered.
"Yes, Sir," Harry replied smartly, with a crisp salute and smile. He then gave the thermal imager one last glance, and activated the "party line" feature of the Art Club badge.
"Okay, folks, let's show Sport and Social how it's done properly."
"Sir, Yes, Sir!" Fred and George Weasley whispered back.
Harry ignored the faux respect as he double checked his goody bags and scabbard and then slipped his invisibility cloak over his head. Hermione did the same, only with a high quality concealment cloak. She then followed Harry as they made their way to the front of the building on silenced-charmed boots.
The Queen's Wizard pulled out the Portable Hole that had served him so well on Privet Drive and pressed it against the exterior wall of the house. He flinched as the television's sound escaped out through the hole, but didn't flinch enough to catch the notice of the Death Eater who was sitting with his back to them.
It was a challenge to slip through the hole on one's hands and knees whilst underneath an invisibility cloak, but Harry had actually practiced this maneuver, and was able to execute it flawlessly. Once clear of the magical entrance, he crawled over to the front corner of the room and waited for Hermione.
Meanwhile, portable holes had been slapped against the walls of the two upstairs bedrooms, where the assigned tasks for Fred and George on one broom, and Remus and Tonks on the other, were a bit simpler. Placing these holes high up on the walls gave the assault teams clear shots towards the three sleeping Death Eaters, without need of entering the building.
The operation had been necessarily stripped down to simple elements that had already been proven in battle, in order to gain authorization from the highest of "higher-ups" (i.e. The Queen, The Prime Minister and the COBRA team). But even the simplest of military plans rarely survives first contact with the enemy, whether due to the quality of the plan, the cunning of the enemy, or sheer bad luck.
It was bad luck that turned this plan pear-shaped. The telly-watching Death Eater, wondering whether he could bully the next watch into taking his shift early, looked up at a wall clock just as Hermione entered the hole. The clock didn't betray her presence, but the mirror next to it clearly showed a round hole in the wall where it shouldn't be.
Had Harry been in position to see the Death Eater's eyes narrow, or his hand reach for his wand, he would have jumped and fired first. But the Queen's Wizard was still hidden behind the wizard, so his first indication that they'd been caught out came only once the Death Eater flipped around in his chair and fired a blind spell towards the hole in the wall.
"Reducto!"
"Hermione!"
"Bollocks!" swore Remus across the badge line. "Open fire!"
While stunning spells flew upstairs, Harry Potter flew into action downstairs.
The invisibility cape sailed off of his shoulders as his left hand drew the Sword of Gryffindor from his shoulder scabbard, matching the wand already held in the right.
"You bastard!" he shouted, closing the distance between himself and the Death Eater in a flash.
The target turned and swept his wand arm out for the start a second blasting curse. It was met by a slash of silver metal that caught the Death Eater's arm in mid-air. The blade struck so sharp fast and true that the wizard finished the wand motion and yelled out "Reducto!" before realizing that the spell wouldn't work without his wand.
Or the severed hand that had been holding his wand.
The momentum behind Harry's sword attack, and the ease with which the blade cut through the arm caught him off balance…literally. Thrown forward with the swing, his instinct was to follow it in a shoulder roll that carried him past the Death Eater. But having practiced this move as well, he came out of the roll on his feet, and immediately turned on his heels in a motion that facilitated the start of his own spell casting.
"Diffindo!"
The Death Eater, who had been staring at the stump of his arm in disbelief, didn't see it coming. He therefore didn't see anything ever again, as the spell struck his neck and he slumped to the ground dead.
Harry stared at the Death Eater's body until his brain could catch up with his body. He then turned back towards the front wall of the house, and caught sight of a much larger and more ragged hole than what he had used to enter.
"Hermione!" he yelled out in anguish.
"I'm here, Harry," said a soft voice to his side.
He jerked around, in a motion that swung his sword in a dangerous arc.
"Harry!" Hermione yelled more loudly, as she ducked under the sword blade. "It's me…it's me!"
Harry stared at her for a moment in disbelief…there wasn't a scratch on her.
Too relieved to wonder how that was so, he dropped his bloody sword and pulled her into a bone-crushing hug.
"The mission," Hermione murmured into his shoulder. "Need to secure the scene."
"Upstairs is clear!" Remus called out on his badge.
Harry glanced down at the body near their feet.
"Downstairs clear," he said with a shake of his head. Whatever else might have been said was lost as he pulled Hermione's balaclava from her head and buried his face in her bushy brown hair.
oo00OO00oo
It was the smell of too many humans out too late at night that first alerted Peter Pettigrew that something was off as he scampered back towards the safe house in his animagus form. He had gone out for a late night meal…something tastier and more filling than the scant rations that had been left behind when his Master had abandoned the location a few days past.
Keeping to the shadows, he crept forward for a closer look. There were muggles surrounding the house…muggles and their firesticks! But they weren't doing anything more than standing guard, and there were other smells and other voices coming from the house itself.
He caught the whiff of blood just before he smelled werewolf. A specific werewolf, to be exact.
A rat-sized whimper escaped from Peter's rat-sized lips and he shuddered in fright. They had been found out….found out in the safe house that the Master had ordered him to keep under watch! This was not good….not good at all.
He had to see what had happened, on the off chance that this information would save his life when he reported to the Dark Lord. It was risky, but the risk paid off as he safely made it past the Muggle sentries peered inside the large ragged hole in the house's wall.
"I knew that these badges would come in handy," said a red haired boy that Peter knew all too well.
"Yes, well it worked for Sir Evan…badge-jumping was all that I could think to do when I was on my hands and knees and heard the spell cast," said Hermione Granger.
The other boy…Potter!…was holding the witch tightly with one arm. "Yes, well, I'm just glad you were smart enough and far enough away to duck when I turned."
"It is supposed to transport us to a safe location by the anchor point, right?" asked the witch. She shook her head and smiled. "Not that it wasn't scary enough."
"Yeah for us both," Harry replied.
Hermione pulled Harry into a kiss. "Speaking of which…think you can let me go long enough for me to find a loo? I should check if my knickers need a Scourgify spell."
"Thought that you weren't wearing any today?" Harry asked with a grin.
"Too much information…la-la-la-la…" said Ron, as he covered his ears.
Peter watched as the witch separated from the two wizards and left the room. There were others there, but they were muggles. Well, except for LeStrange, who was clearly dead on the floor. A nearly-headless LeStrange. He could smell Lupin, and the witch that wore Lupin's scent, but it was feint…perhaps they were either upstairs, or down in the basement.
What to do?
Tired of worrying about the life-debt he owed to Potter or Potter's witch (he couldn't remember which), and terrified of what would happen to him should he be the bearer of this bad news, Wormtail decided to risk acting. He scurried behind the sitting room sofa that Harry was standing in front of, transformed back into human form, and rose up to cast a non-verbal spell that he would only dare use in Snape's absence.
"Sectumsempra!" Wormtail thought, with a slash of his wand.
Ron was the first to make sense of what was happening, and reacted with far more instinct than premeditation.
"Harry!" he yelled, as he dove towards the Queen's Wizard.
The momentum carried Harry out of harm's way, and dropped him to the ground.
Most of Ron went with him.
"Aaaaarrgh!" he yelled, as blood sprayed in an arc from his head up towards the spell-severed ear that had been left behind.
TPOMS squadron members New Six and Coley were almost as quick to respond, and fired off a spray of bullets towards Pettigrew's head even before the ear hit the ground. They would have hit their mark, had Peter's head not already been shrinking down to rat-size.
"Where'd he go?" yelled New Six, as he pulled his combat knife and dove behind the couch. He froze for just a fraction of a second at the sight of a silver-pawed rat running away from him. That delay was all it took for Peter to escape out the large hole in the wall before the thrown knife could catch up to him.
The muggle warrior was immediately on the radio relaying the news and calling for everyone to be on the look out for either a wizard or a rat.
Wormtail had beaten the odds of being found out when he scurried into the safe house. He hadn't noticed the owl who had been keeping watch over the area, so he didn't know just how incredibly lucky he been on the first run.
He wasn't so lucky the second time. The baffled feathers of a white owl's wings allowed for a silent approach as a very hacked-off familiar swooped down from the rooftop.
Hedwig and the other owls that had patrolled the skies of Little Wizarding and Windsor had been given specific instructions concerning the capture of the silver-pawed rat…he was to be captured alive. Harry's familiar had followed those orders once, and where had that led? The rat was captured, released, and allowed to attack her human again. So this time….
Had she ever been asked, Hedwig might have been forced to admit that she had swept down on Wormtail just a little too fast, and dug her talons into her prey just a little too hard. And banging the vermin's head against the ground until its neck broke?
The owl shook her head, and would have smiled if she could. Her human companion was so silly, to think that he didn't need her around to keep him safe!
oo00OO00oo
By the time that Hedwig decided to proudly show off her catch her human was gone. Harry had gathered Ron and his ear and used Emily Granger as an anchor point to badge-jump them to the Hogwarts Infirmary (she had been pre-positioned there for just this kind of medical emergency).
"Poppy!" Harry called out. "I need help now!"
"What is it…oh my," the Hogwarts Matron said, as she ran towards the two blood-covered boys. "What happened?"
"Sectumsempra, I think," Harry announced, as he lifted Ron up to a bed and rolled him onto his side."
"Oh my! My Ron! My Ron! Not My Ron!" shouted Molly Weasley, from a bed across the way.
She fainted before a magical sedative could be administered. The results were the same…Madame Pomfrey was able to work without interruption.
"Fetch the blood replenishing potion, Mr. Potter…over there on the shelf."
"I've got it," announced Arthur, who was in the room and closer to the medicine. "How many?"
"As many as we have," Poppy announced, as she began to cast intricate coagulation spells towards Ron's head.
The situation was touch and go for a few minutes, and required the administration of Draught of the Living Dead to keep Ron from bleeding out. Finally, Madame Pomfrey was able to lower her wand, exhale deeply, and announce that she'd managed to stop the flow.
Harry smiled, and let out his own sigh of relief. He then turned to Arthur and announced, "He saved my life tonight, Mr. Weasley…definitely need some subtraction from that list that you insist on carrying about."
Arthur nodded. "What happened, Harry?"
The Queen's Wizard was about to describe the raid before a separate thought came to him.
"Madame Pomfrey…I brought the ear along for you," he announced, grabbing the bloody bit of body from where he'd set it next to the bed.
Poppy shook her head. "I'm afraid there's nothing that can be done with it. That horrid spell is so Dark…there's no way that I'd be able to reattach it."
"Are you sure?" asked Arthur.
"I'm sorry, Arthur," the Matron said with a sigh.
Harry furrowed his eyebrows. "Madame Pomfrey…how exactly does the curse get in the way of your healing?"
"It actively fights my healing magic," Poppy responds. "That's what makes the spell so much more dangerous than a simple Diffindo."
"So if we were to…." Harry mused. He then activated his badge phone.
"Hermione?"
"Go, Harry."
"Poppy stopped Ron's blood loss, but says the curse's magic will fight hers if she tried to reattach the ear…think that the MI-5 trauma team could give it a look?"
"That's what we had them on call for," Hermione replied. "Give me a few seconds to get there."
"Roger that," he said. He then looked over towards Arthur. "Mr. Weasley…if the curse is effective because it fights against magical healing…there's a chance that muggle healing might not be affected."
Arthur's eyes went wide, then immediately went towards his wife's bed. Thankfully, she was still unconscious, and couldn't voice her opinions.
"So…they could reattach the ear?"
Harry shrugged. "I know that they're capable of reattaching fingers, and arms…even legs sometimes, depending on circumstances."
"So they'd get out their sewing kits, like when I was bit by that snake?"
"I'm not entirely sure," Harry replied truthfully. "But if the sewing doesn't take hold, he'll be no worse off than he is now, right?"
Arthur pursed his lips. "Poppy?"
"I don't even want to imagine what they might try to do," she said with a shake of her head. "The worse that could happen would be for them to bugger up the magical blood clotting…not that I'd know how they could manage it."
"But if you were there, Poppy…if that were possible…then you could step in?"
The Matron turned to Harry and raised an eyebrow.
"Well?"
"I think I have enough sway to make that happen," he said with a thin smile.
When Hermione called back with word that she was ready to receive the patient, Arthur helped Harry pull Ron up to his feet (for fear of further injury if Ron jumped from a horizontal position).
"We'll get you down there as soon as possible," Harry told Arthur.
"Thank you, Harry," the Weasley patriarch said.
The Queen's Wizard didn't take time to argue over who should be thanking whom, and jumped to London.
They arrived in a mostly empty room. The magic behind their Art Club badges didn't play the kind of games that had landed Harry outside of Hermione's bed the night previous, and placed Ron stretched out on the wheeled gurney that had been waiting for him.
Their anchor point was kitted out in medical scrubs, a mask, and a cloth cap that did a poor job of constraining a mass of bushy-brown hair.
"Let's go," Hermione told Harry, as she began to push the gurney towards a pair of swinging doors.
"Hermione? Why are you dressed like a doctor?"
"Just push…I'll steer," Hermione replied sharply.
"Had to keep the magic away from the electronic medical equipment," she explained, as they wheeled Ron down the hallway.
Ten seconds later, they were met by a pair of surgical nurses who were dressed similar to Hermione.
"We've got him," one said. "You're to follow, then, Agent Granger?"
Hermione nodded, and then turned to Harry.
"Somebody needs to be there in case the magic interferes," she explained. "What's he been given?"
"Four units of blood replenishing potion, and some Draught of the Living Death," Harry replied.
"So that solves the question of anesthesia," Hermione announced. "How long ago?"
"Ten minutes, maybe?" Harry asked. "Poppy could tell you for sure…she and Arthur wanted to come down to help."
"Good idea," Hermione replied, as she headed towards the operating room. "Have Tonks and Remus apparate them to the front gate and meet them there to clear the checkpoint."
"Erm..right…I'll do that," Harry said…mostly to himself, as Hermione had already disappeared into the operating room.
There would be a time later on when Harry would replay events, and decide that Hermione was not only the brightest witch in her generation, but at times the most assertive. But for present purposes, Harry had some magical transport to arrange. He activated his Art Club badge, and called out, "Tonks…Remus?"
oo00OO00oo
The Muggle aide assigned to lead Harry, Remus, Tonks and Arthur to a waiting area didn't have high enough clearance to know about magic, or the nature of MI-5 ¾'s work. Still, she was used to seeing odd injuries and odd situations whenever "normal" secret agents were brought in for emergency repair, and therefore paid no mind to the group's strange attire, and even stranger conversations.
She paid a little mind to the blonde haired girl who was waiting for the group at their destination, but who wouldn't notice someone who was reading an upside-down newspaper while her MI-5 credentials hung from a butterbeer cap necklace?
"Luna!" Harry exclaimed, as he pulled her into a hug. "I'm so glad that you're here….but...how did you know? How did you get here?"
"The thestral knew where I was needed," she replied simply.
The Muggle aid ignored the comment, and announced, "There's coffee over there, and water for tea, if anyone needs it."
"Thank you," Harry replied, as he glanced over towards a small kitchenette. "You'll be back when there's word, then?"
"Yes, Sir," the aide announced, as she eyed something strange over his shoulder. But she said nothing of it, and left the room.
Harry turned to find Arthur Weasley opening and closing a refrigerator's door.
"They have a light…a light that turns on and off whenever the door opens!" he said with amazement. But once he noted that they were alone, he focused his interest where it was most needed.
"So, Harry…can you tell me what happened tonight?" he asked.
"Yes, Harry…I would like to hear, too," added Luna.
Harry nodded, and gave a brief recount of their actions, up to the point where Ron stepped in front of a curse meant for him. The story was then interrupted by a badge call from Hermione's dad, announcing that he had something to share with Harry, and that TPOMS was demobilizing from the scene at Salisbury.
"Good…I was just getting to that point in the story," Harry replied. "Can you jump in to provide an update?"
"Is it safe?" Roger asked.
Harry looked around. "Yeah, the kitchen appliances don't look all that high-tech."
Roger laughed, and appeared in the surgery's waiting area a few moments later.
"So what happened after I left?" Harry asked.
"Not much…after-action mop up," Roger replied with a thin smile. "Although magic worked far better than a mop against that blood on the floor. Looks like Ron was the only causality on our side."
"How about the DE's?"
"Two dead, three captured," said Roger.
"And Rookwood wasn't one of the ones sleeping upstairs?
"No, he wasn't there," said Roger. "But Pettigrew was…he's the one that shot that curse towards you."
"Too bad that he got away," said Harry. "Hold on…you said two killed?"
Remus stepped up and grabbed Harry by the shoulder.
"The rat bastard is finally dead," he announced. "Can't decide whether I wish him to hell, or worse."
"Worse than hell?" asked Arthur.
"I think it would be, for him at least…if Peter ended up where Sirius could prank his sorry arse for all eternity," Remus said with a grim smile.
"How did we get him?" Harry asked.
"Close air support," Roger said with a smile.
"Air support…what kind?"
"A very familiar kind, Harry," Tonks quipped. "Hedwig must have been keeping watch over you tonight…she spotted him and swooped down before he got away."
"Yeah, she was there…and you're sure that it's not a regular old rat?"
"A were-enhanced sense of smell," Lupin said sagely, tapping the side of his nose.
"Not that a regular old witch's sight couldn't have determined the same," chimed in Tonks. "Unless there are other rats out there with a silver paw?"
"Wow," Harry said, as he slumped into a chair. "Guess I owe Hedwig a deluxe bag of owl treats."
"That you do."
They sat quietly for a moment, before the stress of a very long and difficult day got to him.
"So, Roger…you sure it was Peter Pettigrew, and not just some parrot resting after a prolonged squawk?"
Hermione's dad arched an eyebrow, and then broke out into a brilliant smile.
"This was a dead Peter, Harry…not a dead parrot."
"So it wasn't just pining for the fjords?"
Roger shook his head. "Pining for the fjords? Only Norwegian Blues do that, Harry…beautiful plumage, the Norwegian Blue."
"So it was really a dead Peter?"
Roger winked. "If he wasn't nailed to the perch he'd be pushing up the daisies."
Harry and Roger broke out into loud laughter, leaving everyone else in the room very confused.
Well…almost everyone.
Which became evident when Luna Lovegood began to sing softly to herself as she continued to read her upside-down Quibbler.
"Spam, spam, spam, spam… Spam, spam, spam, spam…"