Muggle Summer, Wizard's Fall
Author's Note: Thanks for patiently waiting for this update, and to clell and grenouille for reading and commenting on an earlier version of this update. I promise that the next update won't take as long (it can't since it's already half-written).
I would be remiss if I didn't mention that I knew when I posted the last chapter that "Waltzing Matilda" was not the national anthem of Australia. It was a joke, mates! Although I do note that WM was under serious consideration when the Aussies selected a national anthem back in 1974, and that nothing less than the National Archives of Australia recognizes the song as "the nation's unofficial national anthem."
Finally, a reminder that The Muggle Summer Portal Page hosts the revised, definitive version of this story…if anyone is new to this story, or wants to reread it.
Disclaimer: Not my characters, no money being made, etc., etc.
oo00OO00oo
Chapter 68: Lord High Steward
Friday, July 13, 5:00pm, Knockturn Alley
The teen-aged wizard who approached the entrance to his Knockturn Alley safe house had a spring in his step and a smile on his face. What he had just discovered was so massive…so magnificent…that he had almost forgotten that the information had been obtained while he'd been in the polyjuiced form of a two-sickle whore.
The lewd suggestions and rough fondling of the guard who stood just inside the doorway served as quick reminder. But Draco Malfoy merely slapped at the Death Eater's groping hands as he brushed by and burst into their hideaway's ersatz potions laboratory.
"Godfather!"
There was a slight hitch in the counter-clockwise stirring of a foul-smelling potion, but no other indication that he'd been heard by the dark robed wizard whose back had been to the door.
"The Ministry has gone into hiding!" announced the boy with baps.
The vocalized count shifted from baritone to hiss, but did not lag behind the stirring.
"The Alley is ours to play with!"
The Potions Master finished his count, and with back still turned to Draco, carefully wiped off the cauldron's contents from the two-foot long willow-wood spoon that he'd been using to stir.
"Do you understand what I'm saying?" demanded the presently curvaceous wizard. "The Ministry of Magic has disappeared! This is the perfect chance!"
Still silence…or relative silence, as one could still hear Draco's excitedly raspy breaths and the cauldron's soft boil. Then an explosion of sound, fury and movement…as Snape spun on his heels and smashed the side of his godson's head with the stirring spoon.
The young wizard cried out in pain and crumpled to the ground.
"Perfect chance to do what?" the Potions Master demanded, as he hovered over Draco. "Openly defy our Master?"
"But…things have changed since then," Draco retorted, as he cautiously pulled himself off of the ground. "There are opportunities that didn't exist before…"
The Potions Master growled and grabbed the front of Draco's witch's robes with one hand while raising the wooden stir stick with the other. The younger wizard winced and covered his head in anticipation of a strike that never came…but only because Snape was worried about the blood spray contaminating his brews.
The greasy-haired wizard settled for slamming his godson up against a wall.
"But nothing!" he raged. "Your persistent inability to do what you are told to do is going to be the end of you…..and the end of me!"
A face slap that dropped the younger wizard back to the floor served as Snape's sentence-ending punctuation.
"Insolent whelp! (kick to Draco's feminine arse)
"Stop!" the younger wizard begged.
Snape sneered. "If it weren't for promises made to your mother (kick to the shin) made necessary by your inability to finish off Dumbledore…(kick to the gut)…"
"Please, stop!"
"Simple cowardice (rib kick)…quite understandable in your case…but this reckless impatience? (two more kicks to the arse)
"Why are you…"
Snape reached down and pulled Draco up by the front of his robes, until his face was just a few nose hairs away from the potions master's face.
"It's not 'why are you,' you ponce (violent shake)…the correct question is, 'What are you….a Bloody (spewed spittle) Gryffindor?"
The former head of Slytherin again hurled the Malfoy scion against the wall, then turned away in disgust as Draco slumped to the floor and whimpered. Snape covered his face with his hands, and rubbed his forehead with the tips of his fingers as he fought to regain control of his temper. After several deep breaths, he turned back towards his godson and spoke in a tone of voice that, while lower in volume, was no less menacing.
"Barty Crouch Junior sucked down polyjuice potion and hobbled around on a peg leg for the better part of a year while he waited for the Master to determine the optimal time to strike. Do you think that he ever second guessed our Lord?"
"N-N-N-No…"
"Your Auntie Bella spent fourteen years in Azkaban…when the Dark Lord opened the door to her cell and freed her, do you think that her first words to him were, 'What took you so long?'
"Erm…."
"The correct answer is, 'I don't think so,' you idiot," hissed Snape. "And this past year, our forces had to bide their time and keep to the shadows while you dithered for months making repairs to that cabinet…didn't have anyone following you around whinging 'Can we attack Hogwarts now? Can we attack Hogwarts now?', did you?"
Draco shook his head.
"If you have any hope of surviving the summer…much less of successfully serving our Lord, you will learn to be obedient…and patient. Your orders are to follow my orders…and my current orders are to lay low, and do nothing more than get our injured back to full health. Speaking of which…where is the knotgrass?"
"Erm…didn't make it to the Apothecary," Draco whispered. "When I heard about the Ministry, and saw the lack of Auror patrols…thought we could just raid the shop and cart their entire inventory back…"
A dangerous hiss escaped from Snape's lips. He glanced over at an hourglass and gauged how many sand grains had yet to drop.
"You have fifteen minutes before the polyjuice wears off…I suggest that you use them to complete your assigned task…unless you would rather put that whore's arse of yours to work providing some…physical comfort…to our patients?"
Draco's eyes went wide at the threat. He shook his head violently, rose off of the floor, and bolted towards the door.
oo00OO00oo
A few blocks away from the site of Draco's beat down, Harry Potter and his five new houseguests all crowded into the Rookery's lift. The three Muggle secret agent "Angels" took up positions behind and to Harry's sides. He snorted when he spied the pouts on Lisa and Lavender's faces, and mouthed a silent thanks to the others as he used both palm print and wand tip to close the lift's doors and send it up towards his flat on the twenty-third floor.
When they passed by the fourteenth floor, Harry's thoughts drifted towards the Malfoy patriarch, who was still holed up in his Rookery apartment (based on continuous remote surveillance). The one-armed wizard hadn't left his flat since the day of his capture, but that didn't make Harry any less concerned about his presence now that his own flat was to be occupied.
When the lift came to a stop on the Queen Wizard's floor, "Jill," "Sabrina" and "Kelly" each pulled handguns out from Morgana knows where and adopted defensive stances.
"Stand down, and holster those weapons," Harry ordered. "The flat is secured with my own magic."
"Unless someone starts hurling cars towards it?" Jill asked.
Harry shrugged and pulled out his wand. "If it'll make you feel better, let me take point while I give you a tour."
Jill pursed her lips, and then nodded. "Fair enough. Kelly…you hang back with the bags and the bints."
"Hey, who are you calling a bint?" Lavender protested.
The Muggle woman replied only with a hard stare as the lift doors opened and Harry pushed out into the main sitting room.
"Oh, my!" hissed Sabrina, as she furtively glanced at the antique furnishings.
"Save the Roadshow for later, Sir Michael!" Jill barked.
"Yes, Mum."
"Shall we, then, Sir?" Jill asked.
Harry shrugged, nodded, and began his whirlwind tour of the flat. As the group of three made their way from room to room, he asked, "Can we drop the 'Sir' business?"
"You do outrank us, Sir," Sabrina tersely replied.
Harry snorted. "Not by my doing…so you're MI- 5 ¾, then?"
"On loan to MI-5…clears us to operate domestically."
Harry nodded as he led the two women into the bedroom hallway, and wondered how expansive the verb "operate" was with regard to their mission. His guests visibly relaxed once he walked them through the fourth and final bedroom; Jill reached up and pulled the wig of massive brown hair off of her head, while Sabrina sat on the bed and kicked off her high heels.
"Cor, I really hate dolling up that way," Jill sighed, as she rubbed her fingers through her short, spiky black hair. "Mind if we set up here, Sir?"
Secret Agent Potter shrugged. "It's Harry, not Sir…and you five can split up the four bedrooms however you want." He then turned to Secret Agent Sabrina, who was staring an oak washstand that sat opposite the large poster bed with something akin to lust in her eyes. When she jumped off of the bed and ducked her head underneath its front ledge, Harry asked, "Looking for a listening device?"
The attractive thirty-something Muggle pulled her head back out and shook it.
"No…I was looking for a maker's mark."
"A what?"
"A manufacturer's label," Jill explained. "Sabrina, here, has a kink for antique furniture."
"I certainly do not!"
"Okay, fine…you have a kink for shagging on top of antique furniture."
Sabrina rolled her eyes. "Pay no attention to my uncouth colleague."
Harry snorted.
"You've got an amazing collection here, Sir," Sabrina stated. "Assuming that everything else is as authentic as this piece seems to be."
"I wouldn't know," Harry replied. "It was all here when I discovered that I owned this flat."
"Really?" the brown-haired Muggle asked, as she dragged a finger along a rounded corner. "Do you know how old the building is?"
"Erm…built in the 1890's."
Sabrina nodded. "Right time frame for this Arts-and-Crafts style."
"If you say so," Harry replied. An idea then came to mind, and he pulled a shrunken portfolio from his ever-present, never-full knapsack. The two women startled when Harry's spell work returned the thick book to full size.
"Going to have to get used to all this magic," Sabrina muttered.
"Isn't that's what the bints out there are for?" asked Jill.
The Queen's Wizard was too busy scanning a "scroll-down" list of properties with his wand tip to pick up on the exchange. Once he found the Rookery, he "expanded" its description to provide an itemized list of rooms, and then, for each room, an inventory of his possessions.
"Let's see…bedrooms….last bedroom down the hall…furniture…."
Harry looked up. "So that's a washstand, then?"
When Sabrina nodded, Harry "clicked" on the word "washstand" with his want tip and a full description of the piece crowded onto the page of text. He showed the book to the secret agent and asked, "Does Charles Rennie Mackintosh mean anything to you?"
Sabrina squealed in delight.
Jill frowned. "Alright, luv…let's get back to the others before you start rubbing off on the woodwork."
"Yes, Mum," the brown-haired Muggle mumbled. "So anyone mind if I set up here in this bedroom?"
Harry shrugged. "You can have the Master, for all I care."
Jill snorted. "Is that an invitation to share a bed, Sir?"
Harry's eyebrows disappeared under his hairline. "Not at all…there's no need for me to stay here, now that I've got you into the building…right?"
"Depends if you're talking about mission needs, or what those two girls think they need."
"Well, since what I need are my bits not being hexed off by Agent Granger…"
"Which Agent Granger?" Sabrina snarked.
Harry chuckled and replied, "Take your pick."
oo00OO00oo
Sabrina's willingness to stay with the plan was severely tested when they returned to the main room and she took a second look at what she had originally assumed was a reproduction of one of Pissarro's Kew Gardens masterpieces.
Harry's willingness to stay with the plan was severely tested when they returned to the main room and Kelly casually asked him to help unzip her skimpy dress.
Secret Agent Potter tried to stay cool and not flinch at this request, thinking that a "real" James Bond-like secret agent shouldn't blush like a hormonally-charged teen-ager. Unfortunately, the lack of an observable bra strap as he pulled down the zipper didn't help.
Nor did the way that the dress slipped onto the floor, leaving the secret agent in only her knickers.
"Still acting like you're part of my harem, then?" he asked in an almost-breaking voice.
Kelly smiled as she covered her bare breasts with one arm and turned towards the young wizard.
"Sorry…but I hate wearing dresses, and I always try to stay in character."
"Watch it, Kelly," Jill warned. "His girlfriend outranks you."
"Pity, that," the woman replied, waggling her eyebrows. She then leaned down to her opened bag, pulled a skimpy t-shirt from the pile of packed clothes, and slipped it over her head.
As Harry's eyes drifted down the woman's frame, he asked, "Dare I ask where you three hide your holsters?"
Kelly laughed, and turned around to face the Queen's Wizard. She then lifted one leg, turned her knee outward, and said, "Probably the same place where your girlfriend hides hers."
Patriarch Potter risked a quick glance and was rewarded with a view of the secret agent's magical holster… stuck high up her inner thigh, almost touching the crotch of her blue bikini-cut knickers.
"Wally handed them out just before we met," Jill added from across the room. "Said that the twin wizards who made them had wanted to see to the installation themselves."
"Yeah, that sounds like them," Harry replied with a smile, noting that the other two Muggle secret agents had now opened their own bags. But the clothes that were subsequently pulled from these cases were thrown aside in a quest to get to what was hidden underneath.
While the three Muggle agents began to assemble broken-down sniper rifles and spotting scopes, Harry turned towards the two witches, whose dresses now also lay in a heap on the floor.
"What are you doing?" he demanded.
"Just getting comfortable, like she was," Lavender replied, as she waved her arm towards Kelly in a motion that caused a fair bit of jiggling. "Not that it matters."
"What do you mean it doesn't matter?" Harry asked.
The blonde-haired witch smiled as she reached over and helped unhook Lisa's bra. "It doesn't matter how much of me…or us…you see…or how much of you we see, because none of us are going to remember any of it once we leave this flat, right?"
Harry closed his eyes, let out a deep breath, and shook his head.
"The memory charms only work on guests…since I own this flat I'll remember everything."
"Oh," Lavender replied. "I must have misheard during the briefing…give us a few seconds, then."
Harry nodded, and waited patiently for permission to open his eyes again. But when that permission was granted the two witches were still displaying four bared breasts.
"Lavender!" Harry growled, as he averted his eyes.
"Alright you two…you've had your fun," barked Secret Agent Jill. "Go pick out your bedrooms, cover your bits, and get back out here immediately."
The commanding tone in the Muggle agent's voice acted just as well as any compulsion charm, and the two teen-agers dashed down the hallway with their bags in tow.
Harry resisted the temptation to check out his classmates' bums, and turned back towards the other three. As the women set their gear up on the balcony that overlooked Diagon Alley, he briefly reviewed Lucius Malfoy's tenancy within the building, and the remote monitoring and internal security systems that were in place to keep him at bay.
Once that topic was covered, Harry asked, "So that's a sniper rifle?"
Jill nodded. "It's a L115A…the latest and greatest."
The Queen's Wizard stepped forward for a closer look, totally ignoring the view that a hunched-over Kelly was offering down her shirt.
"The latest and greatest sniper rifle uses a bolt action?" he asked.
Jill snorted. "Thought you knew more about wands than rifles?"
Harry opened his suit jacket and revealed his own hand gun, resting in a magical holster that sat flush against his chest. "Crash course in multi-tasking."
"So it seems," Jill replied. "As for the bolt-action…it allows us to manually control the release of empty cases. There are times and places where the noise of an automatic case ejection would give away our location."
"Oh, that makes sense," said Harry. "How big a bullet?"
"A .338," Jill replied, as she pulled large bullets from a box and handed them over for the wizard's inspection. "Comes in three flavors…armor piercing, incendiary, and silver-tipped."
"Nice…so you can set targets on fire?"
"Sets what's left of the target on fire," Sabrina stated, while she dropped her head to look through tripod-mounted digital binoculars.
"Damn I hate this," she added.
"What?"
"Not seeing with my eyes what we see through these electronic binoculars."
"They aren't half as bad as this new digital scope," chimed in Kelly, as she settled in behind the rifle's sight. "Still having trouble adjusting for the extra weight."
"Well that's why they pay us all those pounds, girls," Jill replied.
This earned the woman a derisive laugh from the other two.
"Cor, you know that we could all make more in one freelance contract than we get paid in annual salary."
"And miss out on the chance to serve in Her Majesty's Secret Service?" Jill asked. She winked at Harry and then added, "Not to mention the fact that the job lets us work with handsome young men in fabulously furnished flats."
"Oh, no…not you as well," Harry replied.
"Why not?" Jill asked with a grin.
"Erm…because I outrank you, and so does my girlfriend?"
"Yes, there is that," Jill admitted with an overly-dramatic sigh. "Of course, I could have just been lusting over the furniture."
"Who are you trying to kid, Jill?" asked Sabrina. "I've sat on your flat's ratty sofas, and know for a fact that you'd rather have one of those two girls sharing your bed than Harry."
"Although both Harry and his girlfriend might be a different matter," chimed in Kelly with a laugh.
"Oh hush, you two," admonished Jill. "And stay on task."
"We're done," Kelly replied, as she stepped back from the rifle and grabbed her own pair of digital binoculars. "So what do you think Sabrina…two hundred yards to the near side of the alley, and three to that big white building at the end?"
"Sounds right to me," the antiques-lover replied. The two passed their binoculars back to Jill and Harry so that they could take a look.
"Almost close enough to not need a spotter," offered Jill, as she got her first "live" view of Diagon Alley.
"So you're set up to target Death Eaters if they attack the Alley again?" Harry asked.
"That's the mission at present time," Jill replied.
"But how can you be sure?" the Queen's Wizard asked. "There is a magic spell that could force innocent people to dress up that way and pretend to be a bad guy."
"Does it really matter if they're shooting lethal spells at other innocents?" Sabrina asked.
"Well…are you three good enough shots to target a wand hand, rather than a head?"
The dismissive "Harruph!" from all three women was taken as a "Yes."
"But we'd still need to be able to tell one way or the other," Kelly offered.
Harry dropped the digital binoculars from his eyes and stared through the Alley's notice-me-not wards. He still had his modified omnioculars with him, but he really didn't want to tie up Dobby full-time on a Dark Mark watch, like he did during the Garden Party. Lisa and Lavender could take turns scouting for Death Eaters in the Alley, but giving Lavender a way to peek underneath a wizard's robes seemed like a bad idea…until Harry realized that this was a case where the Rookery's wards would work in his favor.
The Queen's Wizard turned and called for the two witches. They bounced back into the main area wearing tight-fitting Muggle shorts and t-shirts.
"Yes, Harry?" Lavender asked.
"So, we were just talking about this mission," Harry explained, "and I was wondering what you've been tasked with."
"We're here to help these Muggles deal with a magical flat," Lisa replied. "Which is about all we can do right now, given that we left our wands behind at Azkaban, and neither of us got a really good match from those spares that Hermione had for us to pick through."
Harry nodded. "So what if I had an extra task for you two while you're here?"
Lavender shrugged. "Your wish is our command, milord."
"Oh, stop that," Harry snapped, "and come on over here to the window." He then passed his omnioculars to Lisa, and explained his idea.
After he was done, Lavender excitedly asked, "So, our new job is to stare at naked bits all day long?"
"Your job is to look for Dark Marks under robes, and to pass that information on to the other three," Harry corrected. "Keep to the window, so as to avoid frying their electronics on the balcony."
"And if we happen to see some bits…unintentionally, of course?" asked Lisa.
Harry nodded, and then smirked as Lavender fought to contain her pervy excitement.
"Don't get too worked up, girls," Jill offered. "You're going to forget anything that you see once you leave the building."
"Oh…yeah…good thing, that," Lavender replied flatly.
"So when do we start?" Lisa asked.
"No time like the present," Jill replied. "The three of us will be working in pairs using staggered shifts…sixteen hours on, eight off. Only need one of you on duty, though, so you'll have rotating twelve hour shifts."
"Unless Harry can round up one or two more volunteers for this bit watch," Kelly snarked.
"It's up to you two," Harry said, with a nod towards the teenaged witches. "Want to share the watch and work shorter shifts?"
Lisa and Lavender looked at each other, then turned back towards Harry and shook their heads.
"It might be rough, but I think we're up for the challenge," Lavender replied.
"Right, let me know then," said an amused wizard. He left it to them to decide who had first watch, and made his way to the flat's kitchen to see how well it was stocked. While estimating how much food was available, he heard Lavender curse out loud. He rushed back to the sitting room, and found her looking out the window with his magical spyglasses.
"What's that, Lavender…a Death Eater?"
"No, something worse…a hundred-year old wizard with a potbelly hiding his bits…was it too much to hope for something more pleasant to track?"
"You'll have to take the good with the bad, I guess," said Harry.
"Yes, I will," Lavender replied coyly, as she swung her magically enhanced gaze away from the window.
Harry had barely enough time to cover the front of his robe-covered crotch with a book pulled from a nearby shelf.
"Hey!" he protested.
"Fine," Lavender spat, as she lowered the omnioculars. "So Harry…making any shopping trips to the Alley any time soon?"
"Not as far as you'll remember," he replied nervously.
A badge call saved Harry from further embarrassment, and he jumped out of the apartment with the book still in place as a visual shield.
Thirty seconds later, an electronic chirping noise caused Lavender to startle.
"What's that?"
Jill rolled her eyes as she pulled out her mobile, and snorted when she read the text message that had just been delivered to it.
"We've been issued plain spoken instructions by Agent Granger to keep our baps covered and our hands off of her boyfriend.
"How plain spoken?" asked Kelly.
Jill looked back down at her mobile display and replied, "Quite plain…says that we'll be the test subjects of her modified 'bit-bogey hex' otherwise."
Lavender shook her head dismissively. "Never heard of that one…now if she'd said bat-bogey hex…that's a real spell..."
"Could have been a typo?" offered Sabrina. "What's a bat-bogey hex do?"
"It enlarges nasal discharges, and transfigures those discharges into bats that fly out of your nostrils and attack your head," Lisa stated.
Jill frowned. "So if her threat wasn't mistyped, and Agent Granger has modified that spell, then instead of having bats flying out of your nose they would be coming out of your…."
The draining of all color from Lisa's and Lavender's faces, and their reflexive knee clenching were more than sufficient responses to the question.
oo00OO00oo
Having ventured back out into public a second time and finally completed the task that had been assigned to him, Draco Malfoy slipped back into the Knockturn Alley safe house just a few seconds before the polyjuice potion wore off. As he delivered the potions ingredient to his Godfather, the blonde-again wizard tried to decide which was worse…the leers and lewd comments he'd once again endured from the entrance guard, or the fact that the Death Eater hadn't looked that much less interested once Draco had reverted to male form right before his eyes.
That kind of unwanted attention from other Death Eaters had never been a problem for Draco, given his father's position within Voldemort's Inner Circle. But by now it was an open secret that Lucius Malfoy had somehow lost favor with the Dark Lord, and no longer had influence. That meant that it was only his Godfather who stood between Draco and those Death Eaters who thought he had a pretty mouth…and that wasn't quite the same thing.
Draco tried to block all of this out of his mind as he escaped to his little corner of their cramped sleeping area and plopped down onto his assigned bed. He wanted it all blocked because he wanted to focus on the fact that he actually did have a pretty mouth…and pretty bits…at least when he had been disguised as a female prostitute.
It gave a teen-aged boy ideas…ideas that might have been put to use behind the drawn curtains of a poster bed, or a discrete notice-me-not charm. But Draco didn't enjoy that kind of privacy within the safe house…and he certainly wasn't about to relieve his…urges…with other male Death Eaters around.
"No," the Malfoy scion thought, "I'll slip out tonight and let a real girl satisfy those urges…now that there's nobody patrolling Diagon Alley."
It would have to be Diagon Alley…the witches out and about in Knockturn Alley were all quite adept at protecting themselves against any kind of magical compulsion to spread their legs. And if he couldn't find a pretty witch in Diagon…well, there'd be at least one or two wizards there that he could assault.
Not to assault sexually, of course…he was no poofter. It would be just a simple theft…to get enough galleons to return to Knockturn and properly hire a good-looking whore…a real witch with baps at least as large as his had just been.
5:30pm, Balta Sound, Unst, Shetland Islands
Had the Muggle crews of the three 33rd Squadron helicopters that had scrambled from RAF Benson not previously transported Harry Potter and his TPOMS squadron, they might have been more curious as to why they had been ordered to fly to an abandoned air station in the Shetlands and to wait there for passengers.
They also might have been more surprised when they spotted a motorbike flying towards them at a high rate of speed.
Harry pulled his charmed Bonny up to a ground-level hover next to an opened hatchway.
"Evening, Conan," one of the pilots called out.
The Queen's Wizard smiled at the airman's greeting, which he took to represent both the informality and acceptance that he'd sought during his short tenure within the British Military.
"Haven't been waiting long, I hope?"
"Not at all, Major."
"That's good…ready to get going, then?"
"We're under your wing, Conan…or handlebars, as it were."
Harry snorted. "Right…we've got about five miles to cover, heading up the inlet. Think you'll be able to find a place to land?"
The helicopter pilot laughed. "On these treeless rocks? Yeah, we'll manage somehow."
"Fair enough," Harry admitted. "Don't follow too close behind, or you'll hit a ward line and develop a sudden desire to empty the trash bins back home…Oh, and don't be thrown by the sudden appearance of your passengers, or how they'll be dressed."
"How many, then?"
"Forty-one, including myself."
"You won't be leading us home on the Bonny, then?"
Harry shook his head. "Better I be back in one of the cabins…some of our guests have never flown in a helicopter."
Picking up on the glint within the pilot's eyes, the Queen's Wizard quickly added, "And some of our guests are diplomatic V.I.P.'s, so ease off on the puke-producing joyrides, right?"
The pilot snorted, and replied with a reluctant nod of the head.
Five minutes later, the three helicopters touched down on a small uninhabited island that sat a hundred meters out into an inlet. Brisk winds held the attention of the pilots as their rotors spun, so it was up to the co-pilots and crew chiefs to gawk as Harry shrunk his motorbike, pocketed it, then walked into an open field and opened an invisible door. Their interest in Harry's magic quickly shifted over to the multiethnic stream of strangely dressed people that emerged from trat door, seemingly out of nowhere.
Aussies in slouch hats and khaki robes helped dark-skinned Swazi warriors stow their leather shields and spears into the cabin of the first helicopter. A half-dozen bare-footed and bare-chested Maori followed a team of blonde Norwegian wizards dressed in Muggle combat fatigues into the second.
And the Queen's Wizard led the Supreme Mugwump, the Emperor's Wizard, the King's Wizard, and a mixed bag of magical North Americans into the third.
Coarsely-worded orders barked over comm systems brought the Muggle crews back on task as the portal for the Norsca Network's Shetland Station disappeared behind the group of magicals. The three helicopters gently lifted off, and headed on a southwesterly bearing towards the Orkneys…where their passengers could use portkeys without tripping the British Ministry of Magic's frontier wards.
oo00OO00oo
7:00pm, Ministry of Magic, Fidelius-protected Location
The select group of residual Ministry personnel who had been invited to dine in the Minister of Magic's office were disappointed with the menu…most of them had assumed that a "working dinner" would involve better food than what was presently available within the house-elf-less cafeteria. But it was not the case, since Scrimgeour was suffering just as much as they were from the absence of Ministry house-elves. Of course, as secret keeper he was the one who might have been able to fix that problem, but Rufus was in no mood to stray outside of the Ministry's confines to track down the house-elves until he had to…even with the amped-up glamour charm that actively hid his contract-cursed gnomish figure.
So it was stale biscuits and spell-warmed tins of canned meat that were shared as the group reviewed the present state of the Ministry.
The skeleton staff and those family members who had been told the secrets and brought within the wards were focusing only on the most critical of services. Staffing within the Ministry wards was tilted heavily towards the Magical Surveillance Office, the WWN, and guard duty. Some thought this defensive stance was redundant, given the apparent robustness of the Fidelius charms that had been cast, but neither Scrimgeour nor his Senior Lackeys fully trusted the efficacy of the Dutch charms master's work (especially once his contract had become void and they'd shrunk down and ballooned out into Kabouter-scale figures).
The Head Unspeakable was no more forthcoming about the status of the Department of Mysteries than normal…he insisted that he had sufficient staff to guard their secrets and left it at that. Given this reticence, Croaker wasn't surprised when Scrimgeour asked him to remain once the meeting broke up.
"So…enough people to guard your Department, but none to spare for the common defense?" asked Rufus.
The Unspeakable shook his head. "Not after this morning's culling," he replied. "Lost many of my best witches and wizards…just because of their suddenly suspect heritage."
"Yes, well…given Potter's influence and power within the Muggle world…"
"Balanced against the years and years these Muggleborns and so-called half-bloods have spent within our world?" Croaker snapped. "It's crazy! Crazy, I tell you! It's as if we're doing the Death Eater's dirty work for them!"
"Now, now, it's not that bad," Scrimgeour insisted. "We haven't hurt them…or arrested them…and once this meeting in Carlisle is over and done with, and the ICW comes back on board, we can start to bring them back into the fold…"
Croaker snorted. "Right…there are a lot of assumptions within that timeline."
Scrimgeour shrugged his little shoulders, using a motion that was mirrored by his "normal" glamour charm-aided avatar.
"Speaking of timelines…how goes it with the Irish Annex?"
The Unspeakable frowned. "Slowly, given available staff…but we should have everything ready by tomorrow afternoon."
"Good," replied Rufus. He then pushed a scroll across the desk and added, "Here is the prioritized evacuation list."
The Head of the Department of Mysteries unrolled the scroll, scanned the order of names, and immediately protested.
"Where are my people on this list?"
"Mostly not there, obviously…somebody has to stay back to guard all those mysterious secrets, right?"
"And you can justify filling this list with family members…like Percy's little sister…because…"
"Because I'm the Minister of Magic?" Rufus calmly replied. "There is a certain logic to it, you know…unless your people can come up with a way of moving all of your secrets with you."
"But…"
"And there's a certain advantage to your Unspeakable status, don't you think?" Rufus asked. "If the worse happens, who could know what side your people were on?"
"How about the Unspeakables that we've already kicked out?" Croaker scathingly replied.
Rufus frowned. "Yes, well…it would seem that the fixing of this problem is entirely in your hands."
"And how am I supposed to fix this?" Croaker asked, as he waved the scroll in front of the Minister.
"Two ways come to mind," replied Rufus. "Either work to expand Annex capacity…or make sure that we don't have need of it by fixing that damn Orb."
Croaker closed his eyes, counted to ten, and then accepted Scrimgeour's dismissal. While neither option sounded tenable, there were more than a few hours remaining before Carlisle.
And many more than that, should his staff's efforts to repair at least one of their broken time turners bear fruit.
oo00OO00oo
9:30pm, Buckingham Palace, London
The black-haired teenager who wore Queen Wizard's Robes over Parachute Regiment mess dress startled when a gentle hand roused him from an unscheduled nap.
"Erm…what….Your Majesty?"
The Queen shushed her Wizard.
"Relax, Gryffindor…no cause for alarm."
Harry shook the cobwebs away, and took in his surroundings. He had been waiting for Hermione and her parents to arrive at Buckingham Palace, just as he had all those weeks before…waiting in the very same gold-trimmed room, sitting in the very same chair by the fire…and had apparently fallen asleep.
The Queen's Wizard sat up, and stretched as much as he dared stretch within the Queen's presence.
"Is it time for dinner, then, Your Majesty?"
"Well past, actually," the Queen replied with a smile. "But you were so tired; we thought it best to let you rest."
Harry frowned. "Thank you…I apparently needed it…although…"
The Queen saw through Harry's confusion over her presence and smiled. "We decided to wake you in person, rather than risk your sudden appearance at the reception with a drawn sword and…slightly less clothing."
The well-dressed wizard blushed and shook his head.
"I'm never going to be able to live that down, am I, Your Majesty?"
The monarch's eyes sparkled. "Not a chance, Conan."
Harry choked off a snort, as he stood and walked with the Queen towards the same drawing room where Hermione and he had been created Knights Protectors of the Realm. Along the way she provided a quick update on the negotiations between Her Government and the International Confederation of Wizards.
Chairs were pushed back and the assembly of guests all rose to their feet when the Queen and her Wizard were announced and entered the room. The monarch nodded her recognition as Harry quickly scanned the crowd.
It looked to be a far friendlier audience, in his opinion. Harry's Aunt and Uncle were nowhere to be seen, although Hermione's parents were there, dressed in their Order of Arthur kits. Most of the other Order of Arthur members were there (Ron was not, as he was still out cold from the Draught of the Living Death). The TPOMS squadron was there as well, having been relieved of sentinel duty by the International "Advisors" that Harry had ushered in from the Shetlands.
The current Prime Minister and his wife had risked a return to London, and had been chatting amicably with his predecessor's wife. The lines of succession had also been risked a bit by this gathering, with both the Prince and his younger son in the room. The latter was standing within a small, but powerful grouping that included the cricket-loving former Prime Minister, Gawain Robards, and the Japanese head of the ICW.
Members of the Household staff were on hand to guide those who would now serve the Queen as her Magnum Concilium in front of the Monarch. The Sword of Gryffindor was once again placed in the monarch's gloved hand as she restored to service an advisory panel that, for now, was limited to just three members...Harry, Robards, and the former Prime Minister.
Just how blurry the dividing line had become between the magical and mundane worlds was brought home to Harry as the Supreme Mugwump and other foreign witches and wizard stood in silent support while he swore the following oath:
You do swear by Almighty God to be a true and faithful Servant unto The Queen's Majesty as one of Her Majesty's Magnum Concilium. You will not know or understand of any manner of thing, whether magical or mundane, to be attempted, done or spoken against Her Majesty's Person, Honour, Crown or Dignity Royal, but you will lett and withstand the same to the uttermost of your power, and either cause it to be revealed to Her Majesty Herself, or to such of Her Government as shall advertise Her Majesty of the same. You will to your uttermost bear Faith and Allegiance to the Queen's Majesty; and will assist and defend all civil and temporal Jurisdictions, Pre-eminences, and Authorities, granted to Her Majesty and annexed to the Crown either by Treaty or Acts of Parliament, or otherwise, against all Enemies, be they either Foreign or Domestic, Magical or Mundane. And generally in all things you will do as a faithful and true Servant ought to do to Her Majesty. SO HELP YOU GOD.
The room burst into applause when the Queen brought Harry to her side and presented her newly installed Lord High Steward for the first time. He accepted both the title and applause with far more grace and poise than he might have earlier in the summer…until the Prince of Wales caught his eye with a wide smile and nine fingers raised in the air.
"Oh, Bloody Hell!" the Queen's Wizard whispered to himself.
Or at least tried to whisper to himself.
"Something wrong, Gryffindor?" the Queen asked.
"Erm, no…sorry, Your Majesty…The Prince was just reminding me that I now possess more titles than he does."
The monarch chuckled. "We believe the both of you to be too modest, if it matters…"
"Yes, Ma'am."
"And we remind you that your role as Lord High Steward is mainly ceremonial…at least until our meeting tomorrow at Carlisle?"
"Yes, Your Majesty."
The extent of the Queen's Wizard's newfound authority were tested not fifteen minutes later, when Harry's mobile chirped while he was glibly insisting (over drinks) that the Prince count up his ceremonial military commissions. The young wizard excused himself, walked to a slightly quieter corner of the room, and held a brief conversation.
The Prince watched the expression on Harry's face turn far too serious for his liking.
The Norwegian King's Wizard, who had spotted Harry's movement, approached the Prince and asked, "What's going on, Your Highness?"
"Not quite sure," the Prince replied. He watched the Queen's Wizard activate every ray on his Art Club badge, and then added, "But whatever it is warrants the involvement of the entire Order of Arthur."
More than just the King's Wizard and Prince realized something was amiss when Hermione Granger suddenly disappeared with a pop. That caught the attention of everyone in the room, and since "everyone" all had high level security clearances, the Queen's Wizard decided just to make a general announcement.
"If I can have everyone's attention, please," he called out. "A Death Eater has just been spotted in Diagon Alley. He hasn't attacked anything or anyone, and there is no indication of any other enemy activity at this time, but…to be cautious…"
The Queen's voice carried over the responding din of noise, as whispered conversations broke out and chairs were pushed back.
"My Lord High Steward…how may we all be of assistance?"
The room turned silent, as all eyes turned towards Harry Potter. He tried to sort out needs and priorities on the fly.
"Well, first off…might be prudent, Your Majesty…Hermione just apparated back to the Bunker, and could serve as an anchor for a return trip to Balmoral?"
"Makes sense, Your Majesty," the Prince interjected, as he glanced towards his son on the other side of the room. "Lines of succession, and all that?"
The Queen took in a deep breath, and then nodded. "We then leave the situation in your capable hands, Gryffindor…Mr. Wall…Miss Patil, your attendance?"
Secret Agent Steve and On-duty Witch-in-Waiting Parvati Patil followed the Queen out of the room as everyone one else bowed and curtsied. This allowed the young witch to apparate and the other two to badge jump to Balmoral Castle without generating undue interest.
The orderly evacuation of the Queen made it easy for those remaining to sort out where they were needed without too much prodding by her Wizard. Harry did pull aside the former Prime Minister, Gawain Robards, and the Norwegian King's Wizard (the designated ICW advisor to the Magnum Concilium), and led them towards MI-5 ¾'s auxiliary command post in the basement of Buckingham Palace.
"Keep your wands in your pockets, if you can," the Queen's Wizard asked, as they entered the room. "The electronics are rather touchy."
His three companions nodded in agreement (although only two actually had wands in their possession).
Harry walked up behind a Muggle agent that was sitting in front of a bank of monitors and clasped a hand on his shoulder.
"Good evening, Scott."
"Good evening, Sir."
Harry pointed towards one specific screen and asked, "That's the Rookery2 feed, right?"
"Yes, Sir."
"Can you get me an open channel to our colleagues inside, then?"
"Right away, Sir."
The Queen's Wizard turned and pointed out a few of the Diagon Alley landmarks on the television monitor while the electronics operator pushed a few buttons.
"Merlin!" Robards exclaimed. "How long have the Muggles been spying down upon us?"
"Now, now, Gawain, mind the pronouns," Harry replied with a grin. "We…and that includes you after that oath you just swore…we have had this equipment in place for a little while now. It's how we spotted the werewolves running during the attack on Fred and George's shop last week."
"Line's open, Sir," the operator announced.
"Thanks, Scott," the Queen's Wizard replied. He then raised his voice and called out, "Hello Rookery2…you there, Angels?"
"Hello, Charlie," one of the Muggle secret agents quipped.
"Who's Charlie?" asked a second female. "Could've sworn that was Harry's voice."
"Muggle joke, Lavender," Harry replied.
"Oh…Hi Harry!"
"Hello, Lavender…and before we get too much farther, I should let you know that I've got a few others here in the room listening in, including Head Auror Robards, and the former Muggle Prime Minister."
"Does that mean we can't tease you…and talk dirty?" asked Lavender.
"Depends on which former Prime Minister it is," the men heard a third female voice mutter.
"Wow, these microphones…they are so sensitive!" Harry quipped.
"Oops."
"Right, then," the Queen's Wizard pushed on. "We're looking at the live feeds from Diagon right now…where's the Death Eater?"
"Draco just slipped behind where Fortesque's used to be," Lavender replied.
"He just….wait…did you just say Draco, as in Draco Malfoy?"
"The one…and only, thank Morgana," Lavender quipped. "I'd recognize that ferret's face and blonde hair anywhere…and if that wasn't enough, his bits were miniscule."
"Too much information, Lav," Harry whinged. "Don't want to know how you could identify him based on bit size."
"Oi, what do you think I am?" Lavender protested. "I wouldn't touch that ponce's pouch with a two-foot telescope…which is what you'd need to see them, by the way."
"Lavender!"
"Just saying that it's clear that Draco has been compensating all of these years," the witch explained.
"More to the point…did he have a Dark Mark?" asked Harry.
"Oh yeah…that was much larger…easy enough to spot."
"So now that we've got that squared away…can anyone tell me what he's done so far?"
"Not much," Jill replied. "He slipped out of Knockturn Alley about fifteen minutes ago…kept to the shadows…looked like he was waiting for someone."
"Has there been a lot of foot traffic?" Robards asked.
"Negative," replied Jill. "Hasn't been much at all since we've been set up here, and once the sun set there hasn't been anybody out."
"Not surprised, given the absence of Auror patrols," Gawain noted.
"Hold on…here's someone just coming out of Gringott's," Jill announced.
Harry and the other men in the command post squinted at the monitor display.
"Your binoculars must be better than our cameras," Harry announced.
"Subject is a male, dressed in a hooded robe…maybe 190 centimeters tall…"
"And six inches long…"
"Lavender!"
"Sorry."
"Sure you are…eyes up, and tell us if he's marked…and I'm not talking about birthmarks, either!"
"Yes, Harry," the witch replied. "And no Harry…he doesn't appear to have a Dark Mark."
"Right then…let's see how this plays out."
By this point the image of the hooded wizard could be tracked on the remote monitor display. The Queen's Wizard and his colleagues watched as the pedestrian walked at a very quick pace away from Gringott's and towards the camera. Harry used this time to quickly brief in the former Prime Minister and King's Wizard on Draco Malfoy's rap sheet…a rap sheet that potentially grew longer when a red beam of light dropped the unmarked Wizard in a heap onto the street.
"What happened?" the former Prime Minister asked. "Did we just witness a magical murder?"
"Wrong color beam," Harry replied. "Killing curse is green…that was more likely a stunner."
"To what end?"
Draco Malfoy's motives became clear when he darted out from behind the building, ran to the unconscious wizard's position, and cut the victim's money pouch off of his belt.
"So it's a simple robbery?" asked the former Prime Minister.
"Looks that way," the King's Wizard announced. "Not exactly a capital offense…pity, that."
"Might have to provide a bit of incentive, then," Harry announced, as he activated his Art Club badge.
"Fred?"
"Yeah, Boss?"
"You in your shop right now?"
"Yeah…trying to get all the whiz bangs ready for tomorrow."
"That's good….Draco Malfoy is in front of the ice cream parlour right now. You up for bringing him down?"
"Absolutely."
"Still got a few of those barbed balls lying about?"
"Think so."
"Here's what I want you to do, then…"
After giving Fred his marching orders, and imploring him to keep himself safe, Harry spoke up to his disembodied all-female audience.
"Did you hear the plan, Rookery2?"
"Affirmative," replied Jill.
"Got the Death Eater target in your sights?"
"For now...he's heading towards Knockturn," replied Secret Agent Sabrina.
"Excellent," replied Harry. "Just take care to remember, then, that the wand in his hand is a lethal weapon."
"Understood," replied Jill. "And your friend Fred…."
"Is presently working for Her Majesty, and is attempting to keep Her Peace."
The former Prime Minister nodded, and then spoke up.
"And that means by any means necessary, Agent."
You could almost hear the snap to attention in her voice as the female MI-5 sniper replied, "Yes, Sir!"
oo00OO00oo
Severus Snape's godson would have already been in the clear by now, had he been focused more on his safety and less on whether he now had enough galleons to hire a threesome.
And thus formed his undoing.
Still thirty feet away from turning the corner, the blonde-haired wizard heard a voice shout out.
"Draco Malfoy, you are violating The Queen's Peace! Stop where you are, drop your wand and place your hands on your head!"
The teen-aged wizard's eyes went wide. "A Weasley?" he muttered. "This will be fun…"
The blonde-haired Death Eater spun on his heels, crouched down into an attack stance, and raised his wand, all while quickly trying to decide whether to first taunt the red-haired Gryffindor, or cut to the chase and AK his sorry arse.
The decision wasn't quick enough.
The left side of Draco's skull caved in, struck by a high caliber, high-velocity bullet.
He was dead before his body hit the ground.
"Sweet Merlin!" gasped Fred, as he watched the blood splatter. With a dragonhide-gloved hand still on his Art Club badge, and ready to jump at Avada's first syllable, the red-haired wizard began to walk towards the corpse.
"Don't dawdle, Fred," ordered Harry, who had watched it all play out on CCTV. "Don't want you anywhere near that bullet wound if that other wizard wakes up, or somebody else crawls out of Knockturn Alley to investigate."
"Erm…Roger that, Boss," the wizard weakly replied.
When he got to the sprawled out body, the Weasley twin kicked Draco's wand away from his hand. Only then did he move his own gloved-hand away from his badge…and only long enough to pull a barbed metal ball out of a shoulder pouch, and toss it towards Draco's head.
There was more than enough blood on the Slytherin Prince's face to activate the goblin-fashioned portkey, and the entire body disappeared.
And what had just happened…what he had just seen…was more than disturbing enough for Fred Weasley not to make a joke about having just delivered a take-away dinner to Fenrir Greyback.
He quickly badge-jumped away…to anyplace other than Diagon Alley.
Back in Buckingham Palace, the Queen's Wizard announced "Good work, everyone," with far too much steel in his voice for the liking of the Norwegian King's Wizard.
"Alright, there, Harry?"
The Queen's Wizard stared at the bank of monitors for a few more seconds, and then nodded his head and quietly replied…
"I ain't got time to bleed."
The former Prime Minister frowned at this bit of Muggle movie dialogue.
"Enough time for a drink, then…now that the threat has been neutralized?"
Harry sighed.
"Yeah…I've got a bottle of the Prince's favorite stashed upstairs in my Quarters…and there's a scale model of Carlisle Castle…we could go over tomorrow's plans over drinks. Guess we can…kill…two birds with one stone?"
The former Prime Minister sucked in a deep breath, and then slowly let it out. Patting Harry on the shoulder, he then declared, "We do what needs to be done, Gryffindor…only what needs to be done."
11:59pm, Carlisle Castle, Carlisle
The Treaty of Carlisle designated the grassy fields nestled within the junction of the Rivers Eden and Caldwell as the place where signatory parties or their successors would meet, should any of those parties see need. The choice was quite intentional, geographically speaking.
Carlisle was a Border Town, and its castle was originally a Roman fort and garrison that stood along Hadrian's Wall. The first "modern" stone fortifications, which dated back to the Eleventh Century, were raised less than ten miles from the Scottish border. It was therefore considered to be as close to "neutral ground" as one could get, especially considering the history of feuding and attack in the first seven centuries after its construction.
If there was anything curious about the choice, it was that the Treaty's meeting fields were located just under the shadow of Carlisle Castle's walls…a position of relative strength for the English monarch. That advantage had been seized upon in the days leading up to the meeting. The British Army had reclaimed the tourist attraction (which had served as the headquarters for an Army regiment up to 1959), and returned the castle to its original purpose. Goblin-constructed wards now protected a garrison of three-hundred active duty troops, armed with both high-tech weapons, and lower-tech alternatives that were less likely to fail around magic.
The fields identified by treaty were being closely monitored by these troops, using the same kind of digital cameras and electronic monitoring equipment that proved useful at Edinburgh and Salisbury. They didn't know what they were looking for in this area, which now hosted two football fields and the local cricket pitch, but had been told that they would know once they saw it.
That prediction came true at the stroke of midnight, when a dense fog spilled up and over the banks of the two rivers, and a powerful wave of magic washed up and over the castle walls.
The wailing of a World War II-era hand-cranked siren (pulled from the Regimental museum for just this eventually) brought the castle to life…and interrupted a therapeutic hot-tub consoling session inside of a magical tent that had been pitched in the Castle's Inner Bailey.
"Damn it, what now?" Harry complained, as he reached over the wooden tub's edge for his Art Club badge.
"Wally?"
"Hey, Harry…looks like a pulse of magical energy just hit your location…knocked out every camera and electronic sensor on the ground."
"We're under attack?" asked the Queen's Wizard, while his girlfriend and he stepped out of the water and dried themselves off with charmed bathrobes robes.
"No signs of one at the moment," replied Wally. "Still have raw video footage from the drone-mounted camera that is patrolling over your heads. "But hard to say, actually…there is a dense fog that has formed on the meeting fields…our infrared cameras should be able to penetrate…but can't, for some reason."
"Roger that, Wally…we'll check it out.
Harry and Hermione quickly donned black fatigues trimmed with Potter plaid, which identified them as loyal wand-wielders. Dobby popped into the tent and provided them with night-vision goggles and digital binoculars that he had retrieved from an EMP-hardened cache inside the Round Tower. The two teenagers ran up to the castle's walls with that equipment, and arrived just in time to see the fog back retreat back to the river bank…and to stare in wonder at what the fog had left behind.
A megalithic stone circle had been raised in the middle of the Treaty's meeting fields, and, on the far side of those fields…now stood a magical full-scale counterpart to Carlisle Castle.