Sunrise Over Britain :: Chapter 18 - Whispers in the dark

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Fred and George stepped out onto the stage and approached the podium.

"Ladies and gentleman, presenting the Amazing Weasley Brothers!" said a typical TV narrator's voice.

The two men looked out at the packed audience in confusion. Behind them a line of dancing technicolor penguins wearing tutus, high kicked their way onto the stage carrying hockey sticks.

Fred looked at the teleprompter, then elbowed George, who had been staring at the penguins in shock.

"Oh, right. The award for the best standard disclaimer is given annually to the fan fiction author or authors who manage to convey the idea that they are not JK Rowlings, and that they don't own Harry Potter or the rights to the Harry Potter universe," George said.

Behind him the penguins were dancing in a frenzy.

"That's not what you told that girl last night, George," quipped Fred.

"OY! Shut it, you. We're live!" muttered George angrily. "Just read the nominees, will you?"

"I can't. The envelope won't open," Fred shot back.

"Well, you're a wizard, aren't you? Use your wand!" George said, then he smiled nervously for the camera. The number of penguins behind them had tripled in only a few short moments and he was getting worried.

Fred waved his wand at the envelope and it transformed into a huge fish. The twins stared at it in confusion for a moment.

The sound of dancing birds stopped for a moment, then was replaced by a rumbling sound.

"PENGUINS!!!" shouted Fred as the hockey stick carrying penguins clubbed him to the ground, trying to get to the fish.

Behind the stage curtain, Amy giggled insanely, never noticing the penguins sneaking up behind her.

Sunrise Over Britain
Chapter 18

Padfoot Manor (November 1st)...

Harry and Draco helped Neville into his bedroom and onto the bed. Behind them walked a silent Ginny, whose eye was just beginning to darken and swell. Neville rolled on the mattress and groaned. They'd been sparring and Neville had landed a good shot, resulting in Ginny's black eye. According to the rules, they were supposed to back off and see that a medic looked over the eye. But something had gone wrong. Neville had relaxed and started to back away when Ginny retaliated with a kick to his groin. That kick, well, his scream really, had alerted the medic.

To their joint dismay, Harry allowed the medic to look both of them over, but wouldn't allow the medic to heal either of them. He had been watching the two of them spar and he was angry at what he saw.

Ginny walked over to the bed, looking suitably contrite. She moved to help Neville when Harry stopped her.

"I want to know exactly what went on out there today," he said. His expression was thunderous, his body tense and his eyes shined with suppressed magic. He was angry and it was clearly obvious.

Neville sat up painfully on the bed and Harry shot him a concerned glance but said nothing.

"Harry... I..."

"No, Nev. It was my fault, really," whispered Ginny, her eyes glistening with tears. "I suppose we shouldn't have been sparring today. We were fighting while we were mad at each other."

"I wasn't mad, Ginny. I was just frustrated by your refusal," Neville shot back a bit forcefully, then he looked ashamed with himself.

"Now we're starting to get somewhere," Hermione sent him.

"Indeed."

"Refusal? So you two were fighting and you decided to take it to the sparring mat? Neville..."

Neville winced hearing the reproach in Harry's voice.

Ginny's eyes flashed angrily. "Don't you blame it all on Neville..."

"I don't," Harry said icily. His glare froze her in place for a moment before she shrank away, unsure of herself.

"We're preparing for a mission where thousands of lives are depending on us and you two are having a marital spat on the training floor? I have half a mind to cut you both and send you back to basic for refresher training," he told them scathingly. Facing Ginny once more, he pointed to the bed. "Sit!"

Ginny scrambled onto the bed next to Neville. The two looked up at him uncertainly. Despite the pain he was in, Neville put a protective arm around her.

"I want to know what was so important that you'd tried to cripple your husband, Ginny."

Ginny shrunk back.

"Harry, mate, that's not entirely fair," protested Neville.

"No it isn't! You're trained better than she is. You of all people should have known better! Now, obviously this little fight was important enough to both of you that you let it affect your work. Therefore, I think I have a right to know what it's all about."

Neville looked at Ginny. When she nodded at him, he turned to look at Harry. "She felt something, mate. I've been trying to get her to talk to you about it. That was why we were fighting."

"You felt something?" Harry asked her, a bit confused. "What kind of something?"

"Something bad has come into Haven. It's almost like when the sun goes behind a cloud, leaving an area in shadow. It's something really bad, but I can't locate it and it's frustrating! I didn't want to tell you about it because I can't give you any real information," Ginny said with a sob.

Harry exchanged a glance with the others, then conjured a few chairs and motioned for everyone to sit.

"Ginny, your gift... your ability to sense dark magic is vital to us. Maybe you can't tell us what and where, but even a bit of a warning is better than none at all," Harry said.

"It's true, Ginny. I can start my people and O'Dalley's looking for changes over the last few days, maybe see if we can pin something down," Draco commented.

"Ginny? Is it a person or an object? Can you tell that much?" Harry asked, pressing her.

Ginny closed her eyes and concentrated on the feeling. "It feels evil. I don't think it's alive, but there is a consciousness about it, twisted, malignant and evil." She shivered and opened her eyes.

"It's a start," murmured Draco as he stood. "I had better get over to the Ministry and talk with O'Dalley. The only recent change I'm aware of is when they broke ground for your factory, Harry. Maybe it came in then."

Harry nodded and watched him leave the room, then he looked back at Ginny and Neville, frowning.

"I'm not happy about you holding back like this, Ginny. You need to learn to trust your feelings. We'll run with the information you've given us and see what happens," he said, then he stood and banished his chair.

Reaching into his pockets he pulled out two small pots. He handed one to Ginny and one to Neville.

"The salve in the pots will heal your injuries. Ginny's salve will heal Neville and Neville's will heal Ginny. It's only fitting that since you caused the injuries, you should each heal the other. I'd suggest doing Ginny first, Nev," he said, unable to suppress a smirk.

Harry turned to Hermione and offered her an hand up. She took his hand and they walked from the room.

"You know what Ginny applying the salve to Neville's injury will result in, don't you?" she sent.

"Yes, I know. It's called make-up-sex. Besides, it will stop their fighting, at least for a little while."

"When did you get so wise?"

"It's not wisdom," he sent back to her with a laugh. "If we'd been fighting, I'd want to end it by making wild passionate love to you, too."

Hermione laughed and gently hugged his arm before leaving him standing in the hallway.

"I meant it," he called after her. Then he shrugged his shoulders and apparated to his office.

Johansen's Farmhouse...

Olga had just closed the door to the toddlers bedroom room when she heard the knock at the front door. With a frown, she rushed to answer it, hoping it didn't wake the little ones. They'd had problems sleeping the last several days due to the talk of the older children, and she was at a loss as to how to sooth their fears.

Pulling the door open, her frown became a smile. "Melinda! Come in, my dear girl," she invited, stepping back from the door and waving the younger woman in.

"Good afternoon, Olga. I hope I didn't catch you at a bad time," Melinda said as she entered the house and closed the door behind her.

"Oh, no. I just put the younger children down for a nap. Little Linda is having such a terrible time sleeping. All the younger children have been. But come. We can talk in the kitchen, hmm?"

Leading the way, Olga soon had her guest seated and served tea and cake. Sitting back on her chair, she smiled. "What brings you by today?"

"The children, actually," Melinda told her as she put her cup down on the table. "The older children have had their inoculations, what with school starting and all. But the younger children still need theirs."

Olga grimaced. "Oh, they won't like that. I wish I had known you were stopping by today. I would have held off on their naps for awhile."

"It's alright. I have time. You said something about the children having a hard time sleeping? I thought the nightmares were getting better?" Melinda asked, concerned.

"They were. But these are new, and not the same thing. The older children, they carry tales, you see? They hear things in the village, then come home and tell the young ones what was said. The old nightmares, I was able to reassure, to sooth, yes? But this new situation? I find myself lost and unsure how to help them. How can I, when I don't understand myself?"

"What situation? Olga, what are the older children saying?"

"Oh, they come home from school with all sorts of stories. Usually the young ones are entertained. But lately, these new stories are different, and a bit frightening, even for the children telling the tales. Oh, I am rambling, yes? I am sorry, Melinda, but this is all very confusing and alarming."

"Take your time," Melinda told her gently.

"Yes, well. Mark came home from school several weeks ago and told everyone that he'd learned that living among 'muggles' would drain his magic from him. Sven and I were able to wave that away by pointing out our son, Johan, who is even now going to the Haven School as a wizard. Mark was relieved to hear it. But since then, the stories he and the other children have come home with have gotten worse."

"Worse?

"Yes. Someone is telling our children loathsome things, Melinda. Things no child should have to hear. They are being told that Sven and I will hurt them, that we hate them and are jealous of their power, and that..." She trailed off, to choked up to speak.

Melinda stood up and rushed around the table to Olga. Kneeling down, she reached for the older woman's hands, offering comfort.

Olga squeezed Melinda's hands, then looked into her eyes. "The children are being told that we hurt their real parents, that we took them because we want their magic. They've been told that if they don't protect themselves from us, we will make them disappear, like we did their real parents. Oh, I don't know what to do!"

Melinda wrapped her in a hug and scowled. Who would say such things to children? But then, it's not just the children being hurt by this, she thought.

"I know where we can start," Melinda told her as she leaned away and look at the tearful woman. Rummaging through her pockets, she pulled out a handkerchief and offered it to Olga.

While the woman dried her tears, Melinda stood up. "Dilly?" she called.

A small elf appeared with a quiet pop, and smiled. "You did call for me, Miss? What can Dilly be doing for you?"

"Would you bring Arthur Weasley here for me? He should be at the Ministry building."

"Oh, I don't think we should be bothering him," Olga protested.

"Hush now," Melinda told her. "He'll want to know about this." She turned back to the elf, who was bouncing from foot to foot.

"Dilly will be bringing him, Miss. And Dilly will be quick, too!"

She vanished before Melinda could thank her.

Department of Magical Relations, Deputy Minister's office...

Arthur looked up when he heard a small popping sound. Glancing around, he saw nothing and shrugged in annoyance. He had stacks of paperwork to get through and did not wish to be disturbed.

"Mister Minister must come with Dilly now," a little voice pipped up.

Startled, Arthur looked up once more, but saw no one. "What the devil?" he muttered, tossing down his quill. "Dilly?" He stood up and saw the elf.

"Yes, Mister Minister. You must be coming with Dilly now," the little elf said as she walked around his desk.

"Dilly, I'm very busy at the moment. What is this about?" he demanded. Sitting down once more, he scowled at the creature.

She frowned back at him. "Miss says you must come. Miss sent Dilly to fetch you, so Dilly is here."

"Miss? Do you mean Melinda?"

"Yes, Dilly's Miss is known by that name."

"Is there something wrong? Is she hurt?" he asked, alarmed.

"No, Miss is not hurt. But she did tell Dilly that Dilly must bring Mister Minister to her," the elf told him, now shifting from foot to foot.

He thought she was nervous.

She thought he was wasting time.

"Alright, Dilly. Tell Melinda I'll stop by after work."

"No! Miss did tell Dilly to bring Mister Minister to her. Dilly likes Miss and will do as Miss said!" Then, reaching out her hand, she grabbed Arthur's arm and disappeared, dragging him along for the ride.

Johansen's Farm House, moments later...

The small popping sound of Dilly's arrival was nearly drowned out by the shout that came with it. Dilly appeared with Arthur, her hand still wrapped around his arm. Unfortunately for Arthur, he had been seated when Dilly had grabbed him, but she hadn't taken his chair with them.

Landing on his ass in the middle of Olga Johansen's kitchen, he looked around and spotted Melinda. "What the hell is going on here?" he growled, then turned to glare at the elf responsible for his current undignified position.

The elf in question stomped her foot in annoyance. "Dilly told you! Miss wanted you to come here, and told Dilly to fetch you."

"Melinda?" he asked, swiveling his head around to look at her. "What is this all about?"

Melinda bit her lip. "Oh, dear. I did tell her to bring you here, Arthur. I'm afraid she took me quite literally. I should have told her to ask you to come here. I'll remember that in the future."

"I should think so!" he exclaimed.

Another popping sound was heard in the kitchen, and Dobby appeared. He scowled furiously at Dilly. "Yous do be knowing better than to drag a wizard away from his work!" he told her angrily.

"Miss did tell Dilly to get him," Dilly protested, yanking on her ears in frustration. "Dilly do be a good elf. Dilly does what Dilly is told!"

"Dilly does not be bonded to Miss," Dobby said. "Dilly shoulds be knowing better." He trotted to Arthur and tried to help him to his feet.

Olga sat at the table, mesmerized. She'd had little experience with house elves, and found the whole situation disturbing, yet rather comical.

"Dobby," Melinda cut in, "she was doing me a favor. Dilly is my friend. It was my fault, not hers. I should have worded my request differently."

Dobby's eyes widened and he let go of Arthur's arm, sending the man crashing back to the floor with a curse.

Dilly turned to Melinda, her eyes tearing. "Miss be Dilly's friend?"

Melinda rushed to her side and knelt down. "Of course I am. How could you doubt it?" She turned to Dobby then. "Please don't be angry with her. This was all my fault, really."

Dilly looked at Dobby. "Now does Dobby be understanding? Dilly did say that Miss was like Dobby's Harry Potter."

At Dobby's stunned nod, she turned back to Melinda. Placing her small hand under Melinda's chin, she raised her head up so she could meet the woman's eyes.

"Oh, Merlin's balls!" Arthur laughed when he realized what was happening.

Melinda's eyes widened as she felt the subtle connection being made. "Dilly, what..."

Dilly clapped her hands joyously, then launched herself at Melinda, wrapping her arms around the witch's neck and hugging her. "Dilly did be thinking that Mistress had a kind heart! Now Dilly does be knowing. Dilly can feel it!" She pulled away then, and beamed. "Dilly will be going home to make dinner for Mistress to take to work so that Mistress need not eat nasty, vile slop at hospital."

She rushed over and hugged Dobby, then danced away. Laughing musically, she disappeared with a small pop.

"Oh, bullocks," Melinda murmured, a bit dazed. "What just happened, Arthur? For Merlin's sake, stop laughing."

"Dilly be bound to yous now, Miss," Dobby told her over Arthur's laughter. "Dilly dids say that she likes Miss and thought Miss be kind."

"Bound? Wait, are you saying Dilly's my house elf now?" she asked, shocked.

"Yes, Miss. Yous did say Dilly was yous friend," the elf reminded her.

Arthur laughed harder and pointed a finger at Melinda. "I t-t-told you," he sputtered.

Fists on her hips, she glared down at him. "Told me what?" she demanded.

"About the hope that the elves would take a more aggressive role in the bonding," he chuckled, pushing himself up straighter. "You've just experienced it, first hand."

"Yes, but I didn't ask her to bond with me!" she told him in frustration.

"But yous did!" Dobby protested, looking agitated. "Yous told Dilly that yous was her friend."

Melinda whirled to face him, then frowned in thought. "Well, yes, I did. But how does one go from being a friend to being a... 'Mistress'?"

"All elves be knowing it be better to bond to a friend," Dobby told her. His expression said this should have been obvious.

She closed her eyes, grit her teeth and took a deep breath. "Yes, I can see that. Thank you for correcting me, Dobby." Opening her eyes, she glared at Arthur. "Oh, do stop laughing! And get up off the floor, you lazy man," she muttered.

When Dobby rushed over and helped Arthur to his feet, Olga shook her head and stood up.

"This is all very confusing, yes?" she asked her guests. "Sit, sir. Sit down. I'll get you a cup of tea."

"I's be going back to the manor now," Dobby told them. When they nodded, he frowned one more time at Melinda, then popped away.

"Merlin! I just wanted to be her friend," Melinda said as she fell back into her chair. "I didn't want her to bond with me."

"You can free her," Arthur told her as he sat down. He smiled at Olga when she placed a cup of tea in front of him. "But you'll break her heart if you do."

"I don't want to hurt her. And I do appreciate her help at home. It's just..." She shrugged helplessly. "I never thought I'd have an elf."

"They are useful creatures," Olga commented as she sat back down. "And they seem to enjoy their work."

"Most elves do," Arthur said, "if they like those they serve. If they truly care, however, the relationship can be quite extraordinary. Just look at Dobby and Harry, for example."

Olga, who didn't know Dobby very well, sipped her tea and remained quiet. Melinda nodded. She understood what Arthur was saying.

"Now, ladies, unless you wanted me here to witness Melinda's bonding, what can I do for you?" Arthur asked, looking between the women.

"I am sorry about that, Arthur, but this is something you need to know about," Melinda said, then went on to repeat Olga's tale.

When she was through, Arthur turned to Olga and frowned. "How long has this been going on?"

"A few weeks. But the stories the children are bringing home are getting worse. Sven and I have told the older children not to tell such tales to the youngsters, but I think they believe we are trying to hide the truth. They tell the babies anyway and their nightmares are getting worse. Sven and I do not know how to combat such things. We don't know where these things are coming from or how to fight such loathsome tales!" Olga began to weep then. Her children meant everything to her, but she didn't know how to protect them from this.

"This is the first I've heard of it," Arthur said, scowling. "There's always been a muggle bias among some elements of wizarding society, but I'd hoped it had been pushed aside in the face of a common enemy. Naive of me, I realize now."

"Something must be done, Arthur," Melinda said quietly. "The children are having nightmares about this and have become afraid of their own parents."

"Something will be done," he replied firmly. "I'll speak to the Minister and O'Dalley, as I'm sure they're unaware of the situation. In the meantime," he said, turning back to Olga, "I want you to call on me if anything else happens. We'll figure this out, Olga. I promise."

Wizengamot Building, Office of Amhar Coeur de Lion...

"Councilor," Amhar said icily, staring at the woman standing in the doorway.

"Councilor," replied Agatha Umbridge in an equally icy tone.

"So, what can I do for you? I am, after all, a busy man," Amhar said pompously.

"I'm here bearing a message Councilor," Agatha said. Her tone was both soothing and slightly chiding.

"Oh? What might that be?"

"We are aware that you have spoken with Mr. Amos about his recent firing and the incident involving Lady Potter. It would be against your interests to follow up on the matter," Agatha told him smoothly.

"Do not presume to threaten me, Councilor. That mudblood injured a respected member of the community!" Amhar exclaimed, standing from his chair and leaning over his desk.

"That respected member was fired with cause, Councilor, by his own immediate superior. Then he attempted to draw a wand in a room full of school children. We have the statements of fifteen sets of parents, as well as offers of their Pensieve memories of the event. Further, I will remind you that we are not on our home soil. What happened took place on land owned by Lord Potter and is covered under the laws of our host, the Irish Ministry of Magic, who have already investigated the matter and consider it closed."

"That mudblood insulted a respected pureblood!"

"That mudblood, as you call her, happens to be married to the man who pays your salary! Now, unless you want Lord Potter to call in his marker and bankrupt the Wizengamot, you'll let this pass!"

Amhar growled and sat back heavily on his chair, staring at Agatha. She had a point he couldn't argue against. In his deal to fund the Wizengamot, Potter had set up the money under the control of a trust fund with himself as chief trustee. He personally authorized the monthly salary payments from the fund and it was within his rights as the chief trustee to withhold funds if he deemed it necessary.

"Councilor, the Ministry is aware of your dislike for Lord Potter, but like it or not, he has personally built Haven from his own funds, and on his own lands. We are guests here. This is not Britain. This is not Diagon Alley, nor your estates in Essex. We are on foreign soil and most of us are trying to help the Ministry so we can go home. Your actions might, in some circles, seem treasonous," Agatha told him quietly, her eyes narrowed.

Amhar's fists clenched in anger. He knew this warning wasn't coming directly from the Potters, and that angered him even further. If there was one thing he couldn't stand, it was to be ignored, and Harry Potter continued to ignore him as if he were a non-entity, unworthy of notice. That the warning had to come from the Ministry rankled him. He'd find a way for both the Ministry and Potter to pay for this further insult.

He took a few calming breaths. It was too soon, too early for revenge, and he couldn't do anything until there were more sympathetic members of the Wizengamot.

"Very well, Councilor, I will overlook this matter. After all, it is rather trivial. Who among us really cares about the job of a school teacher? Besides, I have committee business to occupy me as you are aware," Amhar said in a smooth voice.

"Yes, I am and believe me, I do understand," Agatha said, her eyes widening. Amhar's offer was a subtle one. He'd back off on Hermione if they'd stop fighting him over the chair for the committee. She didn't want to give up the chair to him. However, aggravating Harry by bringing charges against his wife would surely bode ill for everyone.

Amhar smiled and Agatha felt the need to bathe. His smile seemed tainted, his casual discarding of Amos, slimy. Here was a man who would allow nothing to stand in the way of his climb to power.

The two councilors talked for a few more minutes before Agatha made her excuses. Frankly, she couldn't really blame Lady Potter, although she was surprised that someone as intelligent as Hermione could resort to violence so easily. The simple fact was, Lady Potter had prevented what could have been a disaster. Her actions were legal, but only barely. And because of that, Amhar was able to blackmail a position of authority for himself. He could have tied the Potters up for months in judicial hearings.

Hogwarts Castle...

"Master, Lucius is here to see you," uttered a Death Eater.

"I will see him immediately," Voldemort hissed.

Despite his scarring, Lucius Malfoy walked proudly into the Great Hall. He was one of a handful of wizards who had the ear of Voldemort. One of the few wizards whom the Dark Lord trusted, as much as he trusted any wizard.

He walked up to Voldemort's throne and bowed deeply. "Thank you for seeing me, Master," Lucius said.

"Well? What news have you for me?"

"Several items of interest, my Lord. First, we have developed a source of information inside the British Ministry of Magic in Ireland. It seems that a child of one of your servants is now working as a student volunteer inside the Ministry," Lucius paused to glance at Voldemort.

"Those fools will trust anyone! Tell me, what has this child discovered?"

"She has managed to pass us some interesting information. According to her, the Saudi Arabian and the Egyptian Ministries have sent Aurors to aid the British Ministry."

"WHAT?" roared Voldemort. He pounded his fist against his throne. "I thought the Blood Jihad was supposed to be keeping the Mid-East from aiding Britain?"

Lucius looked down at his feet for a moment. "Yes, well, it seems that the Blood Jihad was doing more than that, my Lord. We had turned down their last request for funding. As a result, they concocted a wild scheme to raise money by robbing the Library at Alexandria. Their plot was discovered, their top leaders captured and most of their membership scattered."

"So how many Middle Eastern countries have offered aid to the British?" Voldemort asked in a deceptively calm tone.

"I am aware of Egypt and Saudi Arabia, my lord. However, there are rumors of offers of aid and monies from four other countries," Lucius reported. He knew he was on thin ice and that Voldemort's temper could explode at any minute. He was grateful that the Dark Lord didn't ask how the Blood Jihad's plot was foiled. The last thing he needed to hear was that his allies had been destroyed by Harry Potter, again.

"What of the continent?" snapped Voldemort.

Lucius smiled. This was a different matter entirely. "Ah, things on the continent are going better than anticipated. The French are not actively cooperating with the British. One could say that France is ambivalent to Britain's plight. According to my sources, the French would have been a bit more active against Britain, but the Americans stepped on them quite firmly. Several Ministries have sent token forces of less than a hundred Aurors. I think most are keeping their forces for when we break out of Britain."

"You sound very sure of yourself, Lucius."

Lucius bowed deeply. "Not of myself, my Lord, but I am sure of you. Potter's ward will not hold you forever."

Voldemort smiled briefly. "So what do you think of your new source of information?"

"I am inclined to trust it for the moment, my Lord. We have verified what she is telling us via other sources. That implies she has access to good information. My primary concern is that she is just a child," replied Lucius.

"Yes, there is that." Voldemort eyes narrowed in thought for a moment. "Send word to her that we are pleased, but that she should do nothing that will endanger her position. I do not want her caught due to some teenage fit of recklessness. She will be amply rewarded for her loyalty when the time comes. Remind her that she is not alone. She is not the only source I have in Haven."

Lucius was surprised, though he did his best not to show it. Voldemort admitting he had someone, perhaps more than one person, working for him inside Haven?

"What else does our little spy have to say about Haven?"

"She reports that the Wizengamot has reconvened and is giving the Ministry considerable difficulty. The opposition to the war is centering around several of the pure blooded members who refused to join our side and were sent to Azkaban for their impertinence. She doesn't go into a lot of detail because the Council is barely operating."

Voldemort rubbed his hands together. "Excellent. Perhaps it might be to our advantage to get a hold of some of our Irish friends and see if they can help the opposition in some way."

"I will see to it, my Lord. Our control of the continental drug cartel is solid. We can afford to throw some galleons at them," Lucius replied.

"What other news have you for me?"

"My lord, I am hesitant to bring this issue up, but Mulciber has drained me of my Wizarding forces. I now have barely enough men to control the muggle army. As a result of this action on his part, I have lost the large force of muggles I had sent north to reinforce Inverness. I am unable to send a Wizarding force, as I lack any to send. Any additional muggle forces I send would be attacked by the Muggle navies now blockading our country."

Lucius cringed and waited for Voldemort to explode, but it never came.

"Send for Mulciber," he said. One of the Death Eaters standing nearby ran from the room.

Lucius moved to one side to await the arrival of his rival. Voldemort sat quietly, contemplating the situation and caressing Nagini, who lay next to his throne.

Mulciber hurriedly entered the Great Hall. He paled when he saw Lucius' smirk and increased his pace to Voldemort. He had been ignoring Lucius' demands that he return his men to him and Lucius had apparently done the unthinkable and taken the problem to the Dark Lord!

Mulciber bowed deeply. "You sent for me, my Lord?"

"Ah, Mulciber. Why have you taken most of Lucius' wizards?" Voldemort asked in deceptively mild tone.

"Training, my Lord. After Azkaban I decided our forces needed to know how to fight better," Mulciber replied.

"And are they now trained?"

"Mostly, my Lord. Lucius has not seen fit to send me the rest of his forces. He has refused outright," he said, glaring at Lucius.

"I see," the Dark Lord replied. As Mulciber's eyes lit with triumph, Voldemort pointed his wand at the man. "Crucio," he said softly.

Mulciber collapsed on the floor, writhing and screaming in agony. Voldemort stood and walked around the man who shrieked and flailed about on the floor, keeping the curse on him.

"Do not presume to second guess me or my designs, Mulciber. I gave Lucius those men to help him maintain control over the muggles and you have seriously weakened that control. Because of you and your jealousy, he now struggles to hold that which he won in my name," the Dark Lord thundered. He then lifted the curse and watched as the man continued to spasm and twitch.

"You should have come to me to approve any training, Mulciber. You should not have weakened Lucius' position. I expect you to return the bulk of his men to him by tonight. And Lucius? Training is a good idea. When you receive your men back, release those who have not undergone the training to Mulciber. He will return them to you when he has finished with them."

Lucius bowed. "It will be as you command, my Lord."

Lucius smiled to himself, having escaped the Great Hall in one piece. Mulciber, on the other hand, would require several days to fully recover from the day's audience.

South of Inverness Scotland (Nov 2nd)...

McHardy collapsed the portable antenna and stowed it in the carrying case. The radio's what they described as man portable, meaning it takes one man most of his strength to lug it around, he thought wryly.

Since the tenth of last month his outfit had been steadily resupplied as they hid out in this location. While still a fraction of it's normal strength, the unit was now two hundred strong, having absorbed the Royal Marines who had been air dropped, as well as several other remnant units that had gone covert when the government fell.

"Well, Laddie, do you believe me now?" asked Moody.

McHardy eyed the strange, peg legged man who seemed to have capabilities beyond his understanding and nodded. Moody had single handedly delivered tons of weapons, food and other equipment until the underground storage rooms were overflowing with needed supplies.

"I reckon I'll have to believe you, Mr. Moody. Now, if I understand you properly, these twenty men you're going to bring with you will have the same abilities as those black robed men helping the rebel government," McHardy said warily. This was something he didn't understand, but he was told quite firmly by his own command not to question these men too deeply.

"That's true, lad, but don't be frightened of them. They are like you and I, citizens of the United Kingdom," Moody replied, then glanced over his shoulder towards the tree-line.

He sat with McHardy in the middle of a field. Nearby, four of McHardy's men lay in the autumn grass, their weapons pointed outwards. They were guarding their commander and the entrance to the abandoned underground base they had taken over.

The base, an old RAF station left over from World War II, had a large underground storage facility. The runways had long since been torn up and the underground bunkers emptied, but an access point to the underground bunkers remained, and that was what they were guarding.

Moody signaled and the twenty men left the tree-line, causing the men on guard to tense.

The nineteen Aurors and one Healer had been men Moody had found hiding in southern England. Each had been sent to Ireland and asked if they would volunteer to come back and help to spread the underground movement. Each man had lost family to Voldemort and had readily volunteered.

"At ease," hissed McHardy. "They're on our side."

Moody nodded satisfactorily at the men who cautiously made their way to him.

"Colonel McHardy, meet Mathias Thrawkmort, commander of your 'helpers'," Moody said.

McHardy nodded briefly to Thrawkmort. The man wore a strange combat uniform with the Union Jack on one arm and a patch with a crossed wand and sword overlaid atop a Celtic cross on the other. There was no rank insignia anywhere on his uniform or on the uniforms of his men.

Moody decided to take pity on McHardy. "Laddie, it's real easy. Before you plan any raids or attacks, just ask Thrawkmort what they can do to help. Then you'll be able to plan accordingly."

McHardy nodded. Moody had helped him and his men a great deal. He didn't understand the man or his abilities, but he trusted him implicitly.

Moody clapped him on his shoulder. "Good lad! Well, times a wasting and I need to be going. I'll see you again in a week. Keep to your contact schedule. Times are changing, lad, and we're the ones doing the changing."

McHardy smiled and turned to give the order to open the entrance to the base. When he turned back, Moody was gone.

Hogwarts Castle, Snape's Potion Lab...

As the young girl's screams rose in pitch, Snape smiled darkly. He'd known twenty minutes ago that this wouldn't work. The test subject showed all the same signs as the failures who came before her. But there was no reason he should not get pleasure out of the experience, and her screams were, after all, quite exquisite.

"Girl! Get in here!" he yelled to his slave.

An obviously emaciated young woman scurried into the dungeon and flinched at the sight before her. Another young woman from the slave pens was being tested, and the result looked to be as horrific as the first.

"Yes, sir? What can this girl do for you?" she asked as she dropped to her knees in front of Snape, doing her best to ignore the screeching from the test subject.

Snape backhanded her, hard. He nodded in satisfaction when she simply sat back up and watched him carefully.

She didn't bother to wipe away the blood that now trickled from her split lip. She'd learned her lesson well.

He looked away from her and smiled darkly when the test subject, bound in chains and suspended from the ceiling, began to thrash about wildly. "The end is near. You know your duty," he commanded the kneeling woman.

Trying very hard not to grimace, she reached out, unzipped his pants and murmured, "Yes, sir."

Five minutes later, as the test subject screamed in horror and felt her soul dissolve from her body as it was forcefully ejected, Snape groaned in pleasure. After one final thrust, he pushed the girl at his feet way and tucked himself back into his pants.

"Adequate," he murmured, his eyes still on the now dead woman. "I would have thought you'd be better at this by now." He looked down at her then, and smiled when he saw the shame bloom in her eyes.

"Clean up this mess," he ordered, waving at the test subject, "before the stench becomes unbearable." Then he strode from the room, muttering to himself about his research.

The woman turned then, still on her knees, and studied the woman hanging from the ceiling. It was becoming harder for her to recognize the test subjects as individual women, as there had been so many sacrificed in such a way.

Oh, he didn't think she knew what he was doing, but he was wrong. She knew he was trying to find a way around the limitations that monstrous ritual imposed. He tested his theories on the woman of the slave pens, leaving her to clean up his failures. As if that weren't enough, he took pleasure in their horror, their pain, and he took his pleasure with her.

She spit on the floor then, trying to remove his foul taste from her mouth. Standing, she thrust her shoulders back and marched towards the dead woman.

Everyone had a breaking point, and when hers came, he would pay. They would all pay!

Haven Operations Center Briefing Theater...

"ATTENSHUN!"

Caleb shook his head and walked out onto the stage to the small podium. "Sit," he said, as he looked up at the men and women crowded into the darkened theater. Over seven hundred people were jammed into the little theater. Many were standing in the back, as there weren't enough seats.

He gestured with his wand and an aerial photograph appeared behind him on the wall. "I will try to keep this brief so the folks in the back don't have to stand too long. Your unit commanders will provide more detailed briefs as the training progresses.

"Behind me is an aerial shot of Leeds, one of two principle camps maintained by Voldemort and used exclusively for housing Wizards. Leeds is also a family camp. You will find men, women and children in these camps. And make no mistake, ladies and gentlemen, the conditions in these camps are even more brutal than those we found at Azkaban.

"We have three primary objectives. First, to hit the camp and overwhelm the guard force stationed around it. Second, to evacuate all civilians from the camp, by force if necessary. And finally, to hold the camp and bloody the noses of any reinforcing wizards who might arrive to help fight us off. After we've bloodied their noses, we'll give them back their precious camp, empty of prisoners."

Caleb looked up when he heard the mass rustling of the crowd. He gestured again with his wand and the image changed. The photo became greatly enlarged and specific areas were now labeled.

"The camp is surrounded by a concrete wall twelve feet high with concertina wire embedded in the top. There are four guard towers, usually manned by four wizards. Each tower is at a corner of the camp. Notice there are two entrances, the northern most entrance and an eastern one..."

Caleb paused and his expression darkened. "The eastern entrance leads to a mass grave before hitting the main road leading into Leeds.

"The two large buildings just outside of the northern gates are guard barracks. We estimate a force in excess of two hundred guards for this camp. Elf scouts report there are usually as many as fifty guards inside the camp at any given point in time. Add to that a group of Dementors housed in this building here," he said, pointing to a building inside the camp.

"Inside the camp there are four rows of five blockhouses each. If our scouts are right, we could be seeing at least eighty people per blockhouse. That's a total of two thousand prisoners in this camp.

"The camp is warded against portkeys and apparation. We will have to come in away from the camps and their wards and assault them from the outside.

"At the same time this attack is occuring, another will take place at the camp in Wilmslow. The nearest large British Army presence capable of interfering is in Manchester. The muggles have promised that they will handle the British Army."

Caleb waited while copies of the photos were handed out to everyone, along with parchments outlining the mission in greater detail.

"Your unit commanders will give you more detailed briefings as we approach the time of the attack. In the meantime, we'll start training on a full sized mock-up of the camp. All unit commanders are to take a complete inventory of your equipment and draw from supply, if needed."

Caleb nodded to the sergeant, then he turned and walked off the stage.

"BRIGADE! ATTUNSHUN!"

Harry waited until Caleb had left the room before turning to Hermione. "Have the company commanders report to my office at twelve hundred tomorrow to begin fleshing this out," he told her quietly.

Padfoot Manor (Nov 3rd)...

Hermione reached out and found she was alone. It took her a moment to transition from sleep to being awake. Harry had left the bed. She glanced at the clock and grimaced.

"Harry?"

"I'm in the study, love. Go back to sleep," he sent back.

"What are you doing? It's two in the morning!"

"I'm going over these reports on the Leeds camp again."

Hermione sighed and threw on her robe and slippers. She walked quietly from their bedroom to Harry's study. He stood staring at a model of the camp on a table behind his desk. He reached absently and Dobby appeared, placing a cup of hot tea in his hand.

Dobby sent her a pleading looking, hoping she could get him into bed. Even house elves needed sleep!

Hermione paused in the doorway. "You know, you're going to be real impressive meeting your company commanders tomorrow. I can see it now. They wait with bated breath for words of wisdom from the mighty Harry Potter himself, only to see him drooling on his mission notes and snoring loud enough to rattle windows."

He shot her a sour look. "I need to flesh out a plan before we meet. We got lucky at Azkaban. I don't think we will be so lucky this time around," he told her.

"What do you mean?"

"Think about it. Azkaban was on a narrow island and the only source of reinforcements were blocked from entering the camp. The camp itself was lightly guarded compared to this place. And we don't have any Angels to support us this time..."

As Harry spoke, he stared down at his model. Hermione came up behind him and wrapped both arms around him.

"Have you worked out your plan?" she asked.

"Pretty much," he replied, laying his arms over hers.

"Then come back to bed, my heart. You need your sleep and staring at that model of yours isn't doing you any good," she cajoled.

Harry sighed and turned in her embrace. He tilted her chin up and leaned down to kiss her. It wasn't a passion filled kiss, and yet he poured all of his love into it. When he finally pulled back, he smiled as Hermione flushed and swayed a little in his arms.

"What was that for?"

"Do I need a reason to kiss my wife?" he answered with a lopsided grin.

"When you kiss me like that, leaving me breathless and weak in the knees, I would say yes!"

He laughed and apparated them back to their bedroom. He scooped her up in his arms and gently laid her in the bed, then he crawled over her to get to his side. Hermione rolled over and propped her head up on her hand.

"Well, aren't you going to answer me?"

He leaned over and kissed the very tip of her nose. "Nope," he replied as he rolled over on his back.

"Oh, you... you man!" she huffed at him.

"And you love it don't you."

"Not when you tease me like this!" she sent back indignantly.

She gripped her pillow and was about to smother him with it because of the laughter she sensed over the bond.

"I kissed you like that because I wanted to. I love you, you know."

Hermione rolled onto her back and huffed to herself. She hated it when he got the last word, even if it was a mental word. Then she brightened. He may have had the last word, but she'd gotten him to answer her, hadn't she?

Miss Finch's Class (Nov 5th)...

Miss Finch stood at the front of the room and smiled at her students. "Today, class, were going to try something new. Robert? Joey? Would you both come stand up here with me?"

The two boys, both very similar in appearance, looked at each other. Each was wondering what they'd done wrong. Standing, they moved rather slowly to the front of the room, dragging their feet and keeping their eyes downcast.

Miss Finch smiled at the boys, then turned them around to face the other students. "Now, class, I want you to look at both boys, and tell me how they are different."

Robert and Joey looked at each other again, then Joey shrugged. "Maybe it's a new game," he whispered to Robert.

"At least she didn't find out about the mouse we put in her desk," Robert whispered back.

As the class continued, students called out visible differences between the two students. Wasn't Joey taller? And didn't Robert have darker hair?

"Excellent work, all of you," Miss Finch told the class. "Now, in what ways are Joey and Robert the same?"

As the students began to call out similarities, the boys began to grow impatient. They shifted from foot to foot. Robert crossed his eyes and grimaced hideously, while Joey stuck his tongue out at the class.

Sensing the trouble brewing, Miss Finch stepped in. "Nicely done, class! Just a few more minutes, then we'll let these fine fellows sit back down," she told the students as she placed a hand on the shoulder of each boy, reminding them to behave. "Now, there was one thing each of you missed when pointing out the differences between Robert and Joey. It's not an important difference, really, but it is a difference. Shall I give you a hint?"

While the class nodded eagerly, Robert and Joey looked at each other, trying to spot the difference.

"One of these boys is a muggle, the other is a wizard. Can you tell who's who?" Miss Finch asked her students.

The children looked at the two boys carefully, but none volunteered an answer.

"No one?" Miss Finch prompted her class.

"Miss Finch?" A small, blond girl called as she waved her hand energetically.

"Yes, Sara?"

"What difference does it make?" she asked, her west Texas accent thick. "They both have cooties!"

The girls in the class all squealed in horrified delight, while the boys scowled.

Miss Finch shook her head and smiled. "They don't have cooties, Sara," she said with a laugh. "But you're right. Muggle or wizard, it doesn't make a difference. We are all part of the same community, and we take care of each other."

Wizengamot Investigative Committee (Nov 7th)...

"Mr. Weasley, you used to be the manager of the Department of Misuse of Muggle Artifacts prior to the evacuation of the Government, did you not?" asked Amhar Coeur de Lion.

"Yes, Mr. Chairman, that is correct," Arthur said, then he glanced around at the other committee members. The five person committee consisted of mostly neutral Councilors, with only one person actively supporting the Ministry.

"Why don't you tell us about the days following the evacuation, Mr. Weasley. Enlighten us," suggested Amhar.

Arthur leaned forward on his chair. "There isn't much to tell, Mr. Chairman. Our principle goal at the time was to safeguard the students of Hogwarts and their families. There was considerable confusion following the fall of Britain, both here and abroad.

"Lord Potter was the first one to suggest reforming the Ministry around Madam Bones, and the Irish were quick to formally recognize it. It gave them a place to focus their efforts, and it provided us with a means of directing ours."

"Tell me, Deputy Minister, when the Ministry was reformed, why wasn't Azkaban attacked then? Why were so many forced to wait?"

"With all due respect, Mr. Chairman, military matters are not my area of expertise. I was not involved with the planning of, nor the attack on the island," Arthur replied politely.

Amhar scowled and made a note on the parchment in front of him.

"Deputy Minister, I'm curious as to why the Minister of Magic would assign you such an exalted rank when, only a few months prior, you were under investigation for illegal activities according to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement."

"Mr. Chairman, I must protest this line of questioning and ask it be stricken from the record. We have no purview or authority to investigate matters prior to the Ministry's evacuation of Britain," said Trenton Largo.

Amhar frowned and waved a hand dismissively. "I believe the information is relevant," he replied condescendingly. "Now, answer my question, Mr. Weasley."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Chairman, but I'm afraid I must agree with Councilor Largo. This line of questioning is beyond the scope of our charter," said Lillias McFerrson, one of the neutrals on the committee.

"Oh, very well. Court reporter, strike that last question. The witness does not have to answer," he snapped.

Amhar shuffled his notes, cleared his throat and looked at Arthur once more. "Mr. Weasley, as Deputy Minister of Magical Relations, it is your job to oversee our diplomatic efforts, is it not?" he asked.

"That is correct, Mr. Chairman."

"Then kindly explain how our first contact with the Irish was managed and maintained by a known dark creature," Amhar said in a triumphant voice.

"Dark creature? Oh, you must mean Lupin. Mr. Remus John Lupin was a lycanthope until recently. He made first contact with the Irish when they started asking what Lord Potter was doing by buying up the land around the manor and building so many housing units.

"Mr. Lupin was one of the people instrumental in setting up Haven as we now see it. And while Mr. Lupin's input and assistance was invaluable to the Ministry, our office quickly relieved him of his burden.

"Finally, for the record, Mr. Lupin is not a dark creature any longer. His Lycanthropy was cured shortly after our arrival in Haven."

"Are you suggesting that Mr. Lupin has been cured somehow? All the world knows that there is no cure for Lycanthropy," said Andrew Korwin, another of the neutrals on the committee.

"With all due respect, Councilor, I am suggesting nothing. Healer August has studied Mr. Lupin's case thoroughly and has stated, for the record, that there are no signs of his disease remaining. Mr. Lupin has not told anyone how he was cured and, to be honest, it's none of my business. Healer August's word is good enough for me and, I might add, is a matter of public record, available to anyone interested," Arthur replied.

Korwin nodded and added a note to the paperwork in front of him.

"Yes, well, while Mr. Lupin might be a special case, isn't it true that you argued to relax the Ministry hiring rules to allow for the hiring of dark creatures like Mr. Lupin?" asked Amhar, trying to recover from his blunder. He should have researched the werewolf!

"Councilor, might I remind you that we are guests here in Ireland? Our Ministry's hiring rules must conform to Irish law until such time as we return to Britain. The Irish have no such reprehensible laws against these people.

"There are a total of eight known lycanthropes in Haven. All are gainfully employed in meaningful jobs and all receive their Wolfsbane potion. Why persecute people because they are afflicted with a terrible disease? It wasn't something they chose for themselves. So yes, I pushed to overturn the hiring rules. Had we conformed to them, the current Ministry would only have a handful of people working for it and we might have alienated the Irish," Arthur said. He tried to tell himself to relax, but some of the questions were becoming downright unsettling.

"Tell me, Mr. Weasley, were you involved in bringing Egypt and Saudi Arabia over to our side?" asked Amhar.

Arthur frowned. This line of questioning was making him look like an idiot. "No, Mr. Chairman. The Egyptians came to favor our side as a result of the actions of Lord Potter," he replied.

"Forgive me for saying this, Deputy Minister, but isn't that your responsibility?" Amhar asked with a slight sneer in his voice.

"Ordinarily you'd be right, Mr. Chairman, but I've discovered that Lord Potter is a force unto himself. However, in regard to the Middle East, we did have people trying to work on the problem. My department is still quite small. I have less than twenty people working for me and less than half of them have diplomatic experience.

"Lord Potter stumbled onto a plot to destroy one of the Egyptian national treasures and foiled it. In the process he was badly wounded. His actions impressed the Egyptian Ministry, which led to their offer of aid."

"So, let me see if I have this straight, Mr. Weasley. We had a dark creature make the first friendly moves to our host government, and then we let a seventeen year old boy sway the entire middle east to come to our aid. Excuse me for asking, but what exactly do you do around here?"

"I'd like to remind my esteemed colleague that Mr. Weasley is not on trial here," Largo said angrily.

"Of course, Trenton. We are all aware of that," Amhar replied soothingly, smiling at his fellow Councilor. Turning back to face Arthur, his eyes hardened. "However, we are still awaiting your answer, Mr. Weasley."

"Mr. Chairman, thanks to my efforts we have accepted help from nearly forty nations. Some countries, like the United States and Canada, have bent over backwards offering us aid. There are now nearly six thousand people in Haven, many of whom have come here through the auspices of the Department of Magical Relations.

"My office might not be as fully staffed as previous administrations, but we're doing the best we can under difficult circumstances. And our efforts are ongoing. In order to support the upcoming operation..."

Arthur trailed off and kicked himself mentally. He should not have mentioned anything about future operations!

Amhar leaned forward. "Yes, Mr. Weasley? Do continue."

"No, thank you, Mr. Chairman. I'm finished," Arthur replied, then he shot an appealing glance at Largo for support.

"I'm afraid I must insist, Mr. Weasley. You were obviously about to say something," purred Amhar. He could almost smell the blood in the water.

"Mr. Weasley, would it be wrong for me to assume that what you were about to say might be covered under the Official Secrets Act?" asked Largo, interrupting Amhar.

Arthur nodded weakly. "Yes, Councilor. That would be correct."

Largo nodded then turned towards Amhar. "Mr. Chairman, Mr. Weasley is bound by the Official Secrets Act. He does not have to answer any further questions on this topic."

Amhar shot Largo a look of loathing. "Very well then, Mr. Weasley. Let us turn our attention to the role your department has played in enlisting aid among our European Allies. The French, for example, seem most reluctant to aid us in our plight."

Arthur opened the folder in front of him and pulled out his notes. This is going to be a very long day, he thought.

Hogwarts Castle (Nov 10th)...

Ernst Blofeld was a minor Death Eater, a wizard of mediocre talent and had an over inflated opinion of his own value. He had arrived at Hogwarts from Germany, where he had been a minor enforcer for one of the German pure blood societies.

Blofeld had arrived in Britain with fifty other 'volunteers' willing to accept the mark in order to stamp out the stain of mixed blood and muggle born from society. The initiation process had been brutal and he had loved every minute of it. As a final test, he'd had to kill a muggle. The zeal, inventiveness and sheer brutality he had displayed in completing the final test had brought him to the attention of Horatio Mulciber, who had placed him in charge of a Death Squad.

Blofeld stood on the Astronomy tower and looked out over the landscape in the direction of the abandoned town of Hogsmeade. The burned out skeleton of the rail station was clearly visible, as was what remained of the Hogwarts Express.

The Engineer had tried to use the train to escape Hogsmeade when the final attack came. The engine had been destroyed by the combined efforts of multiple wizards and several of the cars had been derailed. The Death Eaters involved in the destruction had been laughing over the wreckage when the 5:05 commuter rail train plowed into what remained of the Express.

The resulting explosion killed most of the Death Eaters who had been crawling over corpse of the Express and the carnage was visible everywhere he looked.

Blofeld shook his head and smiled. He remembered picking over the wreckage for souvenirs before coming up to the castle.

He turned then and looked towards the area where Quidditch pitch used to be.

Rather than green grass, he saw mud. The pitch now contained a large, open air cage in which the pleasure girls who serviced those in the castle were kept. They were muddy and befouled by their own waste, but that mattered little, as each was hosed off before being used.

Each of the three hoops at the ends of the pitch contained the corpse of a girl, strung up spread eagle. Their rotting bodies were a warning to the slaves below — resist your masters at your own peril.

What a waste, he thought as he stared at the dead women. Letting them die of exposure, rather than enjoying the pleasure of killing them? He let the fantasies of wrapping his hands around a tender young throat and of plunging a dagger between a woman's legs as she screamed in agony, play through his mind.

As he reached into his pants to stroke himself, he staggered suddenly, then screamed when his other hand whipped up and smacked him in the face.

He yanked his hand out of his pants and grabbed the railing to steady himself as he looked around wildly. Seeing nothing, he tried to back away from the edge of the tower, but his feet refused to move. When his hands rose on their own, he trembled and strained, attempting to prevent their movement. He watched in horror as one hand held up his wand and the other grasped the tip. Despite his efforts, his muscles bunched slightly and he snapped his own wand in half.

Blofeld stared at the broken pieces of his wand, his eyes wide in shock and fear.

"Mien Gott!" he muttered. Then his jaw snapped shut, biting off a chunk of his tongue. He moaned as his mouth began to fill with blood and his feet moved, shuffling towards the edge of the tower. As the railing dug into his stomach and he felt his feet begin to leave the ground, his eyes bulged. He tried to scream as he pitched forward, but his body was no longer his to command. While his three hundred foot plunge to the ground was silent, his landing was not. He hit the grass below the tower with a meaty sounding thump, then bounced once.

A diaphanous shape appeared on the tower where Blofeld had stood.

"Excellently done, my dear," boomed the Baron as he joined the figure.

The ghost of Penelope Clearwater smiled shyly and she bobbed a curtsy to the Baron.

"Let us return to the crystal and talk about what to do next while you recover your strength," the Baron told her.

As the two ghosts faded from sight, a crowd began to grow at the base of the tower, surrounding the body of the Death Eater.

Padfoot Manor (Nov 14th)...

Harry shuffled into his office and sat down heavily on his chair. Hermione passed him a packet of letters that needed his attention while they waited for everyone to arrive for the morning briefing.

She watched him worriedly. He was tired. The training schedule included using a time turner to get extra training in each day and it was taking a heavy toll on him. Hermione knew his leg was bothering him more than usual and he wasn't sleeping well. He often got up in the middle of the night to look over his plans for the attack on Leeds.

Harry perked up slightly when people began to arrive, but they knew better. For all his smiles, he couldn't hide the dark circles under his eyes.

"Harry, are you getting enough sleep?" Amelia asked worriedly.

"I'm fi..."

"No, he isn't," interrupted Hermione. "But he isn't the only one, is he?" she asked, her gimlet eyes on Caleb.

"What's this?" Amelia asked, alarmed when she saw Caleb flinch back from Hermione.

Harry wiped his face tiredly. "I'm afraid my wife thinks our schedule is too ambitious. We've been arguing about it for the last two days. I'm beginning to think she's right, however."

Caleb nodded in grudging agreement, then sat down tiredly. "Stanton told me the same thing two days ago."

Amelia arched an eyebrow at him, then turned back to Harry. "How many hours sleep are you getting a night, Harry?"

"Four," he replied.

"Three," Hermione corrected. "Sometimes even less." Her voice lacked any emotion and her words were very precise.

"Caleb, would it hurt if we pushed the date back by two weeks?" Amelia asked.

Caleb shook his head. "No, it wouldn't hurt. I'm afraid this is really my fault, Minister. I wanted to get the attack in before December, but the training schedule is too much. I did a little checking after I spoke with Stanton and I've discovered that we're currently seeing a thirty percent absenteeism due to exhaustion. I'll order the units to stand down for a three day rest and we'll push the attack back by two weeks."

Draco, who was sitting next to Caleb, closed his eyes in relief. The training schedule had been brutal. As much as he hated to admit it, he, too, had suffered from it.

Amelia looked at the others in the room. Remus looked fine, but then his werewolf form gave him endurance that exceeded that of normal humans. Harry and Caleb were obviously exhausted and Draco was slumped on his chair, looking tired, rumpled and unkempt. Even Hermione had the beginnings of dark circles forming under her eyes.

Amelia stood. "I think it would be best if we cancel this mornings briefing. Mr. Newman, I expect to see an updated attack order on my desk before noon today. Deliver it personally, Mr. Newman. You and I have some things to discuss," she said sternly.

"I'll be there, Minister," Caleb said with a wince.

Hermione watched everyone file out of the office. She should have felt happy about the canceled meeting, but she was nearly as tired as Harry was and couldn't work up the energy. She stood and took Harry's hand. "Come on. Let's go back to sleep for a few more hours."

Harry nodded and let her lead him back to their bedroom. Once there, he quickly stripped down to his boxers and climbed into bed. Hermione joined him a moment later and was pleased when he wrapped an arm around her and pulled her close.

Within minutes, both were asleep.

Outside Remus' Office...

Remus winced with remembered pain as he watched Harry and Hermione walk up the stairs to their bedroom. He remembered a time when an exhausted James and Lily had done almost the same thing. It had been right before they moved into the house at Godric Hollow and the two of them had been working like demons at their jobs. Once home, they'd had to deal with a cranky baby Harry, who'd seemed to pick up on his parents unease.

It had been a very stressful time for everyone. James and Lily knew that someone close to them had betrayed them, but they didn't know who. It had put a tremendous pressure on their friendships. James had wondered if Remus had betrayed them, while Lily suspected Peter. As neither had any proof, there was nothing that could be done.

Remus paused just outside the door to his office and closed his eyes. "James, Lily, you'd be so proud of him right now. He's grown into a wonderful man," he said softly.

"I agree," said a voice behind him.

Remus turned and smiled at his wife. When he pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped his eyes, she frowned.

"Hey... are you alright, Remy?" she asked, reaching for him.

He nodded and let her pull him into her embrace. "I'm fine, really. It was just a painful memory. Even after all these years, it still hurts sometimes," he whispered.

Tonks held him tightly and her hair cycling slowly through a multitude of colors. When she stepped back, she looked at him closely. "So, is is true? We're on a five day stand down?"

"Five day? It was supposed to be three!" Remus exclaimed.

"Yeah, but three days would take us into the weekend, so it's really five days," she said. "So, what are we going to do with all this free time?" She grinned impishly and her shirt began to stretch as her breasts grew large enough to strain the buttons. When she was through, she raised an eyebrow at him and waited.

Remus stared at her chest. "Ummm... Well, I was going to walk over to check out how things were going at the construction site for Harry's Portals. After that, I am your willing servant, my dear." When she began to chuckle, his eyes flicked up to hers. It took a moment, but he blushed brightly when he finally realized he's been addressing her breasts.

She wrapped an arm around his arm, deliberately brushing her chest against his arm. "Well, lets go look over Harry's factory. Then we'll see how well the old wolf is up to serving."

Remus smiled inwardly and led Tonks out of the manor and in the direction of the new construction. She had a way of turning his moods around in a flash and her overt teasing both embarrassed him and left him stunned that such a wonderful woman would be interested in him.

Reaching the construction site, they walked around the outside of the building before entering. Tonks kept up a steady stream of sexually laced teasing and he kept blushing and trying to change the topic.

"Behave yourself," he hissed at her as the chief engineer approached them. Tonks snickered and leaned against him, making sure her breasts brushed his arm again.

"Mr. Lupin! Come out to inspect the site?" asked the approaching man.

"Er.. Yes! Mr. Stiles, meet my wife, Nymphadora," Remus said, then grinned when she glared at him for using her first name.

Stiles shook Tonks' hand, then turned to face the building. "We're actually a little a head of schedule, Mr. Lupin. The foundries were fired up for the first time yesterday for testing. We still need to do a little tweaking on them, but I don't anticipate any problems."

Stiles led them into the building where dozens of wizards were transfiguring, levitating and generally transforming the interior into a working factory.

"You know, a muggle factory of this size would take months to build, and it wouldn't include most of the needed equipment," Stiles said conversationally.

"When do you expect it to be completed?" asked Remus.

Stiles paused for a moment in thought. "Oh, I'd say we'll be done in another twelve days, thirteen tops. Then we'll be ready to turn it over to your staff."

Remus looked pained. "Yes, well, that's something I still need to do."

Stiles looked at him knowingly. "You haven't had time to hire on staff?"

"No, not yet. I've had other concerns of late," Remus replied evenly. He wasn't about to explain how training and the war effort had eaten up most of his time.

Stiles nodded. "You could hire yourself a manager and let him handle the little details like staffing the plant. But that's not really my area, is it? I just build buildings," he said, looking around proudly.

Remus smiled. Stiles had just inadvertently solved his problem and he had a perfect candidate in mind for the position! Thanking Stiles for his time, Remus led Tonks back towards the manor.

Tonks had been impressed with the specialized spell-work involved in building the factory. After all, it wasn't something one saw on a daily basis. Not in the wizarding world, in any case.

Tonks watched Remus carefully on the walk back. He didn't speak and his thoughts were obviously elsewhere. As she had plans for him, she felt it was time to bring him back to the present.

"So, what will it be, Remy?" she asked as she morphed into a buxom blond. "Blond and busty?" she purred, "or something a little more athletic?" She morphed again, this time into a slim, black haired, dark eyed seductress.

Remus turned to face her. He was frowning and his eyes were serious. "How many times since we've been together have we ever used a different body shape, Nymph?"

"I don't know. Not many," she replied, shrugging.

"Right. And do you know why I insist on it being you?" he asked intently.

Tonks sighed. "I know we've talked about it before, Remy, but I still don't understand..."

"That's right. You don't understand. You can be any woman I desire and every night you offer me just that, even when we both know we're just going to sleep. Strangely enough, you offer me any woman I want, except the one I want the most. Nymph, don't you see? All the women you've offered to be only make me feel as though I'm cheating. I don't want them. I want you."

"It's just a game, Remus," she said, a bit defensive. "Sex is supposed to be fun."

"A game is a feather duster and a rubber chicken!" he exclaimed, drawing his wand and conjuring both items in frustration. "A game is not a different woman in my bed every night."

"They're all me, Remy, not different women! But that's fine. You want mousy old Tonks? Here you go!" She morphed quickly into her natural appearance.

Remus smiled and reached out, touching her face. "You're natural form is all I've ever wanted, Nymph, and more than I ever expected to have." He stepped closer and leaned down. "You're beautiful," he murmured as he bushed his lips against hers.

"And when you say things like that, it makes it difficult for me to stay mad at you," she said, jutting out her lower lip in a mock pout.

"I know," he whispered, then bit her lip gently. When she groaned, he smiled. "Now, why don't we go back to the manor and I'll show you just how much I love you when you're au naturel?"

As he began to lead her back to the manor, she glanced back for a moment. Seeing the items he'd conjured laying on the ground, she shook head and grinned. "Ah, Remy? What was that about a feather duster and a rubber chicken?"

The Town of Haven (Evening of November 15th)...

It was late and the magical gas lamps that lined the town square of Haven threw dancing shadows against the buildings. The pubs were closed and most of their patrons had gone to bed, hoping to sleep off their overindulgence. With few exceptions, the people of Haven was asleep. A few lights burned in the Ministry building as the night staff manned certain departments.

Conall Brennen stumbled and landed on all fours. He laughed to himself and ruefully admitted he'd had too much to drink. Miriam is going to kill me, coming in so drunk, he thought. But a man only receives a bonus like this a few times in his life. A little celebrating is expected, isn't it?

Conall worked at Granger Publications. He was the sales director for the Americas and had just signed a contract to supply the Magical Education system there with first through seventh year spell books based on Dan Granger's original design. The three year contract was worth twenty five million galleons a year.

Mr. Gallagher, the general manager of Granger publications, had been suitably pleased and gave Conall a ten thousand galleon bonus for his hard work and that was worth celebrating. The money would pay for their son to attend Haven's school, so he could grow up to be the wizard his squib father always wanted to be.

Conall staggered to his feet. He laughed to himself and moved unsteadily towards the next street lamp. He'd almost reached the dark point between the two lamps when an arm wrapped around his neck from behind.

"Muggle filth," a voice hissed in his ear.

Padfoot Manor...

Ginny twisted on the bed and whimpered loud enough to wake up Neville. He reached for her, pulling her close to him. She trembled in his arms, but never woke from her sleep.

With one last whimper, her body relaxed against him. He was asleep a moment later. He'd not been awake enough to wonder what had disturbed his wife.

The Town of Haven...

Conall's eyes widened and his chest exploded in pain. He tried to scream, but the arm around his neck was holding him too tight. The pain intensified and he tried to shrug off his attacker. He felt something slide from between his ribs and then the world went black.

Conall's body slumped to the ground. A figure stood over him for a moment, then reached down and wiped a long blade on Conall's cloak, removing the blood. Straightening, the figure looked around furtively, then moved away from the body, heading towards the school.

An hour later, Michael O'Dalley woke up when someone called his name.

He shook his head groggily and stared at this wife. "What are you doing, woman? It's late. Go back to bed!"

"One of your men is here; he says it's important."

"It had better be," he replied, sitting up and throwing on his robe.

He walked out of the bedroom and didn't return for nearly twenty minutes. When he did, it was only to dress.

"Michael?"

"Go back to sleep, darling. I have to go out," he replied tersely.

"But it's late!" she protested.

"I know. I'll be back as soon as I can," he told her.

She sat down on the bed and watched him, noting that he unlocked the small box on his dresser. When he pulled out the shoulder holster and pistol, she twisted her nightgown between her fingers, but remained silent. It was something he had worn occasionally during his days as an Auror for the Irish Ministry. She never thought she'd see him wear it in Haven.

Less than an hour after being awoken by his wife, Michael O'Dalley inspected the crime scene. The body was cordoned off by a visible triggering ward. Anyone crossing the light beam would trigger an alarm.

"Have the Irish been called yet?" asked O'Dalley.

"No, not yet, sir."

"What do we know at this point?"

"The victim is one Conall Brennen; he works for Granger Publications. He's an Irish national and a squib with two magical children. We haven't had a forensic healer look at the body yet, but I'm guessing the cause of death was a knife wound to the heart."

O'Dalley closed his eyes. A squib! He had resisted Lord Potter's suggestion to use some of the Aurors to patrol the town, but if things like this continued, he'd have no choice. As it stood, the Irish Ministry was expressing deep concern about the level of anti-muggle violence rising in Haven.

He opened his eyes and looked at his subordinate. "Barney, let's get a photographer here. Have him document the scene thoroughly. Once he's finished, call the hospital and have them wake up the forensic healer, then contact the Irish. I'll be in my office."

"Aye, Michael, I'll get right on it," replied Barney.

O'Dalley nodded and apparated to the front of the Ministry building. This is going to be a long night, he thought.

Padfoot Manor (Nov 16th)...

Harry leaned back on his chair and sipped his tea. While he hadn't been exactly working these past few days, he had been keeping an eye on the sick reports. The number of exhaustion cases was down and he was content that the unit would be ready to restart training in a few more days. For now, he was going to enjoy breakfast with his wife while they watched a house elf outside getting mobbed by squirrels looking for peanuts.

"You know that's not good for them, Harry. I won't even go into the fact that peanuts aren't native to Ireland," Hermione said primly.

"I know, but it's only a few handfuls," he said in protest.

"Still, it's not part of their normal diet," she said, chiding him gently while looking out the window. "Is that a new elf?"

"Yes. Dobby told me he used to work for a Wizarding zoo, feeding the animals. Poor thing ended up with the name of Feeder, if you can believe it," he said, frowning. Down on the lawn, Feeder was being chased by a mob of squirrels. The little elf was screaming and waving his hands over his head, one of which happened to contain the bag of peanuts.

Hermione craned her neck and watched for a moment, then she leaned back on her chair and shook her head. "I don't think too much of Dobby's recommendation."

The squirrels swarmed over Feeder, pulling him down and pouncing on the bag of nuts.

"Hey, it wasn't a bad first attempt. He'll get better. Besides, he's used to feeding magical animals, not vicious normal creatures like dangerous squirrels."

Hermione sipped her tea and looked at him over her cup. "Right," she said, drawing the word out.

Harry was about to retort when Dobby appeared and handed him a note. He unfolded the parchment and read it.

"Well? What is it?" Hermione asked.

He glanced at her, then back to the elf standing beside him. "Dobby, bring him up here, please," he requested. With a nod, Dobby vanished.

Harry put the note on the table. "It's from Michael O'Dalley. He's asking to speak with both of us as soon as possible."

She started to stand up, but he motioned for her to remain seated. "Dobby will bring him up here. We're both dressed and Winky has already made the bed. It's not like we have smelly socks or your knickers lying on the floor," he said teasingly.

"Harumph! I'll have you know, my lord, that I have never left my knickers on the floor. On the other hand, someone's socks are frequently left lying about," she replied.

Fortunately for Harry, O'Dalley chose that moment to enter the room, saving the Boy-Who-Lived from digging a deeper hole for himself.

"Michael, please pull up a chair and sit. Can we get you something? Coffee? Tea?" Harry offered.

Refusing the offered chair, O'Dalley shook his head."No, my lord. I'm here on official business. Sometime after midnight last night, Haven experienced its first murder. The victim was a squib employee of Lady Potter's parents."

Hermione gasped and went rigid.

Harry glanced at her before turning back to O'Dalley. "Michael," he said a bit hesitantly, "this is out of my realm of experience. If you have suggestions about what to do, I'd like to know them. We certainly can't protect all the muggles and squibs in Haven individually. That's nearly fifteen hundred men, women and children."

"My Lord, a constabulary is accustomed to handling local matters such as domestic violence, public drunkenness, even disturbing the peace. But in a matter like this we call in the government, in this case the Irish Ministry, and ask for assistance. I have already taken that step, as we lack the necessary investigative unit to investigate this crime.

"That is about all the constabulary can do for now. However I am going to talk with the Block Wardens about organizing a neighborhood crime watch. Many of the foreign nationals started out as Aurors before switching to the military. I didn't want to go this route; it's basically an admission that I've failed in my duties..."

"Nonsense, Michael!" protested Harry, scowling.

"I agree with Harry, Michael. You haven't failed in your duties. But I do think it's time we beef up the constabulary. We tend to forget we're at war, here in Haven," Hermione added.

Harry glanced at Hermione and nodded; her comments were valid.

"Michael, why don't you put together a plan for upgrading our force? Maybe we can hire some of Brogan's Aurors away from him. Once you have it planned out, I'll help you pitch it to Amelia," Harry offered.

"Yes, my lord," O'Dalley said with a satisfied look. Nodding to Hermione, he then turned on his heel and walked from the room, leaving Harry and Hermione to ponder this latest change to their lives.

Wizengamot Building, Office of Amhar Coeur de Lion...

Amhar looked up and scowled at the woman bringing him his mail. Incompetent woman, he thought. I should never have hired this colonial slut. She is totally useless and has the gall to reject my advances!

He would have been shocked to the core to know that Stephanie, his secretary, hated him nearly as much as he hated her. She was the wife of a Canadian Auror who had brought his family with him when he had been sent to Haven. It had taken a lot of fast talking and a great deal of persuasion to convince Jacques, her husband, not to kill Coeur de Lion the first time she'd told of his advances. She wasn't so sure she'd try talking him out of it a second time.

Stephanie laid the morning mail on his desk and walked out without a word. She had made up her mind; she would quit as soon as she found another job.

Amhar flipped through his mail, noting that most of it was junk. One envelope caught his attention, however. It was heavier than the others. He opened it and a shiny golden key fell out and onto his desk. Surprised, he opened the enclosed letter.

Dear Councilor Coeur de Lion,
We were extraordinarily pleased to discover you had survived your little stay at the English resort and even more pleased to hear about your efforts to bring the British Government back to where it belongs.

As much as we'd like to meet with you personally, such a meeting would perhaps be inappropriate at this time. For now, please accept, with our gratitude, this little token of our esteem. I'm sure you will find good use for it in the weeks ahead.
Yours,
Marne Murphy

Amhar stared hard at the letter and key. Marne Murphy was the witch who controlled the local drug trade in Ireland, and she was reputed to be a supporter of Voldemort.

He glanced at the key and waved his wand over it. A second later, glowing number appeared and he gasped. Twenty thousand! What he could do with access to twenty thousand galleons!

Amhar reached for the key, then paused. What am I doing? he asked himself. If I accept the money, I'll be guilty of treason! I should call what's his name, that Irish fellow, O'Dalley, and turn this over to him. On the other hand, I'm sure Murphy made the money and the account untraceable.

Amhar wavered for a long moment, weighing the pros and cons before he finally snapped up the key and placed it in his pocket. The first thing he was going to do with the money was go out and celebrate. He stood and walked from the room, wondering where he could find a polyjuiced prostitute.

Padfoot Manor...

"Again! Only this time, do it right!"

Harry grimaced and looked across the room at Eocho. Suddenly multiple opponents appeared between them. At some unseen signal, the opponents started to attack, using both knives and spells. Harry conjured a wall to shield from the knives, then he put up another shield behind the wall. The pattern repeated itself several times, each time getting faster and faster.

Eventually, one spell came at him from an odd angle and he was forced to tuck and roll away from it, causing his shield to falter and bringing him under heavier spell fire. The tip of his staff began to glow and he spun it in his hands. He used the staff to bat away spell fire, while he dodged the knives coming his way.

He batted one spell blast back to the caster, who exploded. He ducked a thrown knife that nicked his shoulder, mostly cutting fabric. Slowly he killed off his opponents until only a few remained.

Harry stepped inside a thrown knife and reached out with his free hand, gesturing at his opponent. The figure crumpled to the ground soundlessly.

"NO! NO! NO!" Eocho shouted and the opponents vanished.

Harry conjured a towel and wiped his sweaty face before he looked at Eocho.

"What are you doing wrong?"

"I gestured again," he replied with a sigh.

"Exactly! Maglios, you must learn to do away with the need for gestures and words. These are crutches for your real magic. Learn to focus your mind and your enemies will have no clue you're even casting a spell until it is too late."

"It's a hard habit to break, Honored Teacher," Harry told him, a bit sheepishly.

"And break it you must, Maglios. You must learn to cast without giving away your actions," Eocho replied.

Harry hung his head. "I understand that, but it's like a block. I can't see to get past it."

Eocho looked at him for a moment. "Then we must devise a way of breaking that block."

Harry nodded and walked back towards the bench.

"How fairs your planning for the attack?" Eocho said, drifting along beside of him.

"Good, Honored Teacher, but I am concerned about the casualties."

Eocho nodded. "Such concerns are what makes the role of Maglios different from the other Warrior Kings in my time. Always our Brotherhood looked to winning without staining the land with blood. You are in good company, although I daresay it gives you little comfort."

Harry sat and looked up at his spectral mentor. "It is scant comfort, Honored Teacher. I know I can't prevent the casualties; all I can try to do is minimize them. We'll have to deal with Dementors on this mission and that worries me. We won't have Angels along with us this time."

"One cannot always count on allies, Maglios. To do so would be to risk becoming complacent. The Angels are a wondrous thing, but they are creatures of thought such as you or I. It would not be good to force them into our fight. We did it once and then let them go their own way. For good or ill, the Angels have played their role, for now. What the future holds for them none can say."

Eocho was right, the Angels were pretty much on their own now. As much as he'd like their help, he had no right to demand it of them. Besides, if Luna was to be believed, the Angels had paired up and were breeding. Harry didn't want to do anything that would interfere with that.

"You're right, of course, and all I can do is try to minimize the casualties as best as I can."

"And what of your mate and the other Brethren? Will they not also be exposed to battle?"

"Yes, but there is little I can do to change that fact. I must rely on their training to see them through unscathed. I have seven hundred people who will look to me for guidance. I cannot abandon them for the sake of a few, even if those few are my brethren."

Eocho nodded approvingly. "Now you are coming to understand the role of Maglios. Far too often people envy the role of leader, not realizing there is little to envy."

Harry nodded and stood. His training with Eocho was done for the day. With a slight bow to the ancient spirit, he turned and walked from the room.

Dalcross/Inverness Airport, east of Inverness, Scotland...

One of McHardy's men pointed a strange looking device at a structure in the distance. The device was small and rifle like, with a telescopic sight. He depressed a trigger-like button and gave the man behind him a thumbs up.

The second man turned to Colonel McHardy. "Sir, target is acquired," he said.

"Very good. Send the signal and keep sending until acknowledged," McHardy replied tensely. He didn't like the fact that they were sitting in high weeds less than a mile from the airport.

Command hadn't told him why they had to do what they were doing. But like any soldier, he also knew not to ask. It was the type of mission where a smart man kept his mouth shut and did as he was told. And that was why he and his ten men were up here. He had sent teams of men all along the coast with express orders. Most of the teams were sent out on sabotage missions; a few were out to gather intelligence.

McHardy looked at his radio operator as the man sent the signal.

"Red rock one, Scots one six. Target is painted. Repeat, target is painted," the operator sent. He repeated the signal several times before a reply was received.

"Scots one six, Red rock one. Acknowledge, package is away."

McHardy held his breath, his ears straining. When the siren began to wail at the airport, he lifted a pair of binoculars to his eyes and scanned the area. "Shit! There's a Rapier at the end of the runway!" he hissed under his breath.

The Rapier was a semiautomatic anti-aircraft missile platform and was bad news for any aircraft in the area. McHardy reached for his radio operator, gripping his shoulder tightly. "Send an anti-air warning, now!"

The man nodded and reached for his handset just as two missiles fired off at the end of the runway.

"Fuck!" cursed McHardy as the missiles passed through the cloud cover and vanished.

High above he heard a boom, then came another, much closer explosion. He blinked and looked at the air field. The control tower was engulfed in flame. The tower, with its radar dome, tilted crazily and came crashing down.

"Sir, I think he's in range," said one of McHardy's men.

McHardy glanced at the man, noting his MILAN anti-tank missile launcher. "Good man, Johnny! Send him a message he won't forget," he replied savagely.

The man quickly unpacked his launcher and set it up, fiddling with the controls for a moment. With a sudden gout of flame, the missile was away. Ten seconds later, the Rapier exploded, scattering the men on the runway.

"Time to go, people! I want us ready to move out in three minutes," McHardy said, as he began to pack his gear.

The war was definitely heating up.

Padfoot Manor, (Nov 17th)...

"You wanted to see me, Remus?" said a hesitant voice from the doorway.

Remus looked up to see Charlie Weasley poking his head in. He'd only been to the manor once, after the incident with Albus Dumbledore. He had jumped at the job Harry had given him. He'd thrown himself into organizing the block wardens and and completed it in record time.

"Yes, Charlie. Come in and take a seat."

Charlie sat down and glanced around nervously. He was still worried that he'd blown his chance to stay and help with the war effort.

Remus appraised the man sitting before him. He was nervous, though much changed from the arrogant berk he'd been before the start of the summer. "How much has your family spoken about what's going on with the war effort?" he asked.

"Not much, Remus," he replied. "It will be a while before they trust me again, I think."

Remus nodded. "Perhaps, but I think they'll come around. For what it's worth, we know of your performance in setting up the block wardens and getting the shelters built. Harry thinks you did a wonderful job. That is why I've asked you to come here today."

"Sir?" Charlie asked, a bit bewildered.

"Harry was impressed with your performance and your ability to manage a difficult task. With that task completed, you're basically twiddling your thumbs. We want to change that by giving you something challenging to do."

Charlie sat up straighter, looking attentively at Remus. It was not what he had expected to hear, but it was very welcome!

"Harry has developed a device similar in nature to a portkey, in that it allows you to move people and material from one point to another. The large building under construction near Granger Publications will be the factory to build the devices on a large scale. This is a joint business venture with Gringotts. It will give them exclusive rights to the portals for freight shipping, while Potter's Portals will retain the rights for residential use, like a floo network.

"That's a very brief overview of what the Portals will be used for, of course, but we'll also be using them in the war effort.

"The remaining twenty percent of the factory's industrial capacity will be reserved for war projects by Q Branch."

Charlie nodded and absently sipped a cup of tea. He had been so engrossed in what Remus was saying, he'd never noticed the elf placing the cup in his hands!

"We, that is Harry and myself, think you would be a perfect candidate to manage the factory. It would be your job to hire on people and oversee production."

"But I've never done anything like this!" protested Charlie.

"True, but you oversaw the construction of four new shelters, and managed to redesign the community kitchen in such a way that it can be used as an overflow shelter, if necessary. You also organized over forty block wardens, set up evacuation routes and even ran drills. We now know that, should we be attacked again, we stand a very good chance of minimizing our injuries because of your work. And you did it all from a manager's perspective, Charlie. You jumped in, selected people, told them what to do and they did it. Both Harry and I feel you'll be able to handle this, and you'll be taking an active role in the war if you do."

Charlie ran his hand through his hair nervously. He needed to think. What would his family say? Was this his path to being accepted fully again?

"Take the job, Charlie," whispered a familiar voice.

Both Charlie and Remus leapt to their feet, looking around wildly. From one corner came a giggle, then a whispered counter to a disillusionment charm.

"Ginny!" exclaimed Remus, shakily putting away his wand.

"I'm sorry, Remus, but when I saw Charlie enter the manor I followed him to see what was going on," she replied, then turned to her brother. "Take the job, Charlie. This isn't about paying for your sins or about redemption, it's about feeling good about yourself again. Ever since Dumbledore you've felt uncomfortable around us. I'm so familiar with the feeling. I felt that way for nearly two years after the Chamber. If you feel good about yourself, everything else will click into place."

Charlie reached out and took his little sister's hand. He searched her face for a moment, then he turned back to Remus. "I'll do it," he said quietly.

Ginny squealed happily and grabbed her brother with both arms. He looked down at her fondly before glancing back at Remus, who was smiling at the pair.

"Excellent! I'll go gather up the information I have and we'll start going through it," Remus said before turning to one of his filing cabinets.

Ginny walked from Remus' office with a spring in her step. Charlie had been lost for a long time and was now on his way back to them. I'll have to think of something nice I can do for Harry to thank him, she thought. Or maybe I'll just ask Hermione to do that for me. I wouldn't want to send the wrong message.

Wizengamot Investigative Committee (Nov 18th)...

"I do hope that you now have the time to talk to us, Madam Minister?" asked Amhar superciliously.

"Mr. Chairman, as I explained in my letter to the committee, I meant no disrespect. The duties of my office prevented me from meeting with your group any sooner than today," Amelia replied calmly.

Amhar looked unconvinced, but let the matter drop.

"Now, Madam Minister, am I correct in the belief that Lord Potter suggested that you become Minister of Magic? And that he then asked if the Irish Ministry would be willing to recognize a Ministry in Exile?" asked Amhar.

"You are correct, Mr. Chairman. Politically, it was a sound move since it would make it that much more difficult for Voldemort to claim a legal government." Amelia paused and suppressed a smirk while the committee members shuddered at the mention of the name.

"But why you, Minister?" asked one of the neutrals.

"I would ask you to consider our circumstances, Ms. McFerrson. By the end of April we had just over three thousand people in Haven and nearly half were children. I was the senior surviving member of the old Ministry and I had contacts among the muggle government. While I was surprised when Lord Potter suggested the position, in hindsight I have to admit I was the only possible choice."

"I still fail to see why Potter's suggestion would hold so much weight with anyone," protested Amhar.

Amelia eyed him stonily. "Mr Chairman, there isn't one nail, one plank, not one drop of water or glass of pumpkin juice, not a single thing in this town that isn't here because Lord Potter put them here. He was building Haven and making plans for us before the government fell. Most of us feel we owe him a life debt that can never be repaid."

"If he knew the government was going to fall, then he could have prevented it!" snapped Amhar.

"No, sir, he could not!" Amelia replied heatedly, loosing her cool for a moment. She leaned back on her chair and took a deep, calming breath. Losing her temper would only hurt her case.

"Councilors," she said more calmly, "Lord Potter was constrained by the bounds of prophecy, which prevented him from stopping what was to happen. I will also remind my fellow Councilors that it was we in the Wizengamot who allowed for this situation to arise in the first place. We blindly allowed Fudge to continue with his head-in-the-sand policies. We had warnings years in advance that Voldemort would return and we ignored them. Now we have to pay the piper, much to the woe of our fellow countrymen.

"No, sir, you cannot lay the fall of the government at the feet of Harry Potter. He knew only a few short months in advance and did everything in his power to make sure we had a place to escape to. While Lord Potter was spending millions of galleons to build Haven, we elected Richfield, a Death Eater, as the new Minister of Magic! The government was lost from that moment."

Amhar cringed back from Amelia and her impassioned speech.

Trenton Largo, one of the Ministry's staunch supporters, smiled with glee and leaned over his desk. "Minister, how would you describe Lord Potter's relationship with the Ministry?"

"Until recently, Lord Potter has tried to stay out of politics. He despises his fame and wants nothing more than to be allowed to do what prophesy says he must; fight, and hopefully kill, Voldemort. Every time he has had to deal with our host government in an official capacity, he's taken great pains to ensure that either I or my Deputy is present and taking a major role in those proceedings.

"It wasn't until his honeymoon, and his subsequent actions in Egypt that led to his bringing the middle eastern ministry's over to our side, that I realized we were ignoring a valuable resource and made him an Ambassador at Large. It wasn't a role he wanted. It took a considerable amount of persuasion by not only myself but several others to get him to agree. He does not want to be involved in politics, but his role in the war demands it.

"Lord Potter's role is unique. He is an anachronism; the very ideal of what we want our heroes to be; modest, humble and noble. Yet he hates his fame and his titles. He wants nothing more than to be just Harry Potter."

"And yet it's a known fact that every morning you attend a briefing at his manor!" Amhar snarled.

Amelia blinked and adjusted her monocle. "Yes, that's quite true. I do attend a meeting every morning at the manor. However, you are mistaken if you think I take orders from Lord Potter. If anything, those meetings are more like meetings of a town council. The range of topics discussed cover not only the war and political matters, but also things like building another primary school and opening a center for advanced studies and apprenticeships for the Haven School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

"Since Lord Potter is the largest land owner and landlord for most of Haven, his presence is only right at these meetings. His efforts have brought us a Gringotts branch, Granger Publications, which employees several hundred of our citizens, Marjorie's Herbs, also a large employer, and several other companies."

"So these meetings are more like a town council? Then why aren't they held in open session like a regular town council?" Amhar asked snidely.

"Because, Mr. Chairman, there are occasions, depending on who happens to be present, when we discuss items covered under the Official Secrets Act," Amelia replied firmly.

"Is it true that Lady Potter stands in as the recorder for these meetings?" Andrew Korwin, one of the neutrals asked.

Amelia frowned at the man. "Yes, it's true. She acts as Lord Potter's personal secretary, as well as official recorder."

"And Remus Lupin often attends, as well?" asked Korwin.

"Yes. Mr Lupin is Lord Potter's seneschal, his chief of staff."

"And a member of Potter's brotherhood?"

Amelia stiffened. "Mr. Korwin, I'm afraid I can't answer that question as it is protected by the Official Secrets Act."

Korwin frowned and glanced at Amhar before leaning back on his chair. "Very well. How did Lady Potter, a mudblood, get clearance for Official Secrets?"

Amelia's expression darkened. "Mr. Korwin, in committee you might be immune from prosecution, but should I ever hear you use that term outside of these four walls I will see you fined under the Muggle Protection Act."

Korwin bounced back against his chair as if he had been slapped.

"For the record," Amelia said frostily, addressing everyone, "Lord Potter, his wife and his chief of staff, as well as a number of other individuals, have been granted full security clearance by His Majesty's government. I do not think it necessary to remind everyone present, especially you Mr. Chairman, that His Majesty's government has always taken the leading role when it comes to matters of national security and integrity. Nor do I need to remind anyone that the Ministry has traditionally acknowledged the wishes of His Majesty's government when it comes to matters of state secrecy. Or do I?" She raised an eyebrow and stared at Coeur de Lion.

Amhar looked as if he'd just swallowed something very sour. Because of his lineage, he made much of the royal prerogative. He couldn't go against His Majesty's wishes without appearing to be a hypocrite. It's time to switch tracks, he thought.

"Madam Minister, I am curious as to what brought about the reasoning to remove the Ministry's hiring restrictions. Need I remind you that those practices had been in-place for nearly eighty years?" Amhar asked, sounding nothing more than slightly curious.

Amelia removed her monocle and absently cleaned it for a moment before putting it back on. "Mr. Chairman, discounting the fact that those same hiring practices were grossly unfair to muggle born and others, at the time we were reforming the government, we were dealing with a much reduced labor pool and the candidates available simply would not have been acceptable under the old hiring standards.

"Now, in retrospect, it becomes obvious that we have prospered by discarding those old standards. We have a Ministry that is a fifth of its former size and nearly three times as efficient. We have employees who are happily doing their jobs and who want to work for the good of our people, rather than to line their pockets or to mark time until retirement."

Korwin looked sourly at Amelia, but he refrained from commenting.

"When the Ministry returns to Britain do you expect to resume its hiring standards?" asked Amhar.

"No, Mr. Chairman, I do not," she replied firmly.

"Why ever not?" blurted Korwin.

"Because it's not good for the Ministry or our people, Councilor," Amelia added smoothly.

Korwin sat back, crossed his arms and scowled at her.

Hmmm, Korwin, Amhar thought. He looks ready to come over to our way of thinking. Perhaps I should arrange a nice meal for him, maybe a few benefits. It shouldn't cost too much to bring him over to our side.

"Madam Minister, let us now turn to the Ministry census figures for Haven and talk about the muggle to magical ratio..."

Amelia rooted through the papers in front of her and sighed. She was beginning to regret her suggestion that Harry fund the Wizengamot.

Padfoot Manor, (Evening of Nov 19th)...

Harry spotted the couple from the window and smiled. "Hermione, come here for a moment," he called softly.

Hermione marked her place in her book, stood up and walked to the window where he stood.

"What's the matter, Harry? Oh!" she gasped.

Harry smiled and Hermione laughed softly.

"They look so cute, don't they?" she whispered.

He nodded. "So what do we do?" he asked.

"What do you mean?"

"You know that, despite what we've told them, they'll think they need our permission. I wish we could get them past that point, but we seem to be stuck," he said, turning to look at the couple holding hands in the moonlight.

He smiled as Dobby leaned down and kissed Winky.

Hermione's expression darkened. "You don't think they're hiding this from us, do you? Afraid that we might say no?"

Harry scowled. "Merlin, I hope not. Shall I call them in here and we can talk to them?"

"I don't know. Should we disturb them? I mean, look at them."

"I know, I hate to interrupt. But look at it this way. Considering how our schedule's been lately, when will we get the chance again?"

She nodded reluctantly and moved to sit at the breakfast table. He conjured two elf size chairs before sitting down next to her.

"Dobby? Winky? Can we speak with you for a moment?" Harry called.

The two elves appeared nearly instantly in response to his call. And while he wasn't sure an elf could blush, he was sure the darkening around their ears was the elf equivalent.

"Please, sit down," Harry said with a smile.

Dobby nodded and sat down quickly. He was often invited to sit with Harry and no longer found it uncomfortable.

Winky, however, looked at the chair uneasily and hesitated.

"It's alright, Winky," Hermione said. "Nothing bad is going to happen."

"Dobby, Hermione and I have noticed that you and Winky have grown... close," Harry said, only to frown as the eyes of the elves filled with unshed tears.

"Please, Master Harry! Don't takes away my Winky!" Dobby wailed as he jumped off his chair.

Harry leaned forward and placed both hands on Dobby's shoulders, stopping the little elf from dancing around.

Dobby looked up at Harry, his eyes huge and worried.

"Dobby, neither Hermione nor I would ever do that to you. We're asking because we wanted you to know that if you were thinking of having a relationship with Winky, we'd approve whole heartedly. You're members of our family, and your happiness is important to us," Harry said gently.

Winky stopped yanking on her ears and looked to her mistress for confirmation.

Hermione nodded, then grinned when the elf began to dance with joy.

"I only asked, Dobby, because I don't know elf traditions. Do you get married? What's involved?" Harry asked.

Dobby jumped back onto his chair and bobbed his head. They'd had many serious conversations like this. Harry was woefully ignorant of the life of a regular house elf and Dobby had helped fill in the blanks for him.

"Elves don't gets married like Masters do. All we needs is permission from Master to court. Then later, Master gives permission for us to have little ones," Dobby said seriously.

"That's barbaric!" protested Hermione.

Harry shot her a quelling glance.

She knew they couldn't change the life of the house elves overnight. They had to work within the framework of existing traditions to fix things.

"Dobby, you and Winky will never need our permission to get married or to have babies," Harry said softly.

When Winky looked at her mistress questioningly, Hermione nodded emphatically. "We like the idea that you two want to be with each other," she said quietly, looking first at Winky, then at Dobby.

Winky slid onto her chair and the Potters couldn't help but smile when she reached for Dobby's hand.

Author's Notes:

"Hey cue the ominous music! It's time for the Author's notes!" Bob hissed at Alyx.

She nodded and turned away for a moment.

Bob strode purposefully towards the podium and faced the packed crowd. Behind him, Alyx began to hum, badly, using a kazoo.

Bob blinked and looked at her in shock. "That's ominous music? What happened to our ominous music maker?"

"We couldn't afford to keep leasing it. We spent our budget on the technicolor penguins," Alyx replied calmly.

"But they were in black and white!" protested Bob.

"Yes, but they were a very colorful black and white," she told him firmly.

"You're killing me here," Bob whined. "How can I do Author's notes with no ominous music?"

Alyx took pity on him. "Oh, don't worry. I've arranged additional funding from the National Science Foundation. We now have a grant to see how long it takes to drive a Fan Fiction author insane by dropping ping pong balls on his or her head."

Bob eyed her evilly for a moment, then shook his head against the idea. As annoying as she could be with her kazoo, she was too appealing to share a bed with. Besides, she already had a fascination with sharp objects. What would she do when she was insane?

"So, who's our victim?" he asked.

"Oh, Viridianprime or Musings_of_Apathy will work for me," she replied.

"Cool! Now, can I do the author's notes?"

"I suppose," she replied in a long suffering voice.

He stepped back to the podium and grinned as ominous music started to play. He glared at Alyx and she quickly hid her kazoo from sight.

We have a request to include akmusique32 in our author's notes. So here she is. She has a little brother named Eli who is for sale on Ebay and she has interesting career goals. AK, if you reach those goals, we want pictures... or video.

Jamie: Switch the meds, man (or is it woman?). You're seeing things that aren't there.

Colin Creevey is now a sixth year student at the Haven School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. He is also president of the photography club and owner of the peep hole system into the girls' locker room. One five minute look for a galleon, see Dennis for details.

The Great Pumpkin thing was a little fluff to lighten up the chapter. We try to keep the chapters from getting overly dark, although it's not always possible. Don't read too much into the symbolism of the legend. Personally, Alyx and I thought it was funny, and it was a great way of showing Halloween outside what we've seen in Hogwarts.

MarinePotterfan; I will bow to your experience and hurl my Crucios at the federation of American Scientists who published on their website this information:

CBU-87 contains 202 bomblets and a single munition covers an area 200 yards by 400 yards.

Bad FAS Bad! Die! Crucio!

A lot of people are asking questions about Dumbledore. So, let me put that issue to bed once and for all time. Yes, yes, yes, maybe, no, yes, sometimes, and only on Fridays in a hot tub with two guys named Bruce.

Ahem... Snoopy is not an animagus. Woodstock is. Nuf said.

Like it or not, folks, the Wizengamot is here to stay and will continue to be a monkey wrench in the mix. See my post in our Yahoo group for more information on this Wizengamot.

No, Robert, I never kid anyone with such a cool name. (Bob)

ES, how can one soundtrack possibly fit? I actually envision multiple tracks, like the theme song from Mission Impossible for whenever the twins are playing a prank, and the Addams Family theme for Amy. The brotherhood? Easy, Queen's We are the Champions. Grin...

Musings, to a large extent the muggle governments are unwilling to directly attack the wizards in Britain. They are afraid that such an attack might ignite anti muggle sentiments elsewhere, which explains why they are sticking to strictly muggle targets and letting Harry handle the wizards.

Sean, thank you for your comments. You have no idea how tickled that made us. I consider This Means War to be one of the best pieces of fan fiction out there and to be compared to it made our day. Thanks!

Coming next chapter...

Words! Sentences and (gasp!) paragraphs. Same bat time, same bat channel!

Back to:: Harry Potter » Sunrise Over Britain

Sunrise Over Britain
Chapter 18 - Whispers in the dark

By Bobmin

Sunrise Over Britain Chapter 18 - Whispers in the dark

By Bobmin

Sunrise Over Britain
Chapter 18 - Whispers in the dark