Chapter 61: Foreign Solutions
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Chapter 61: Foreign Solutions
'Augustus Malfoy's failed plot to blow up the Wizengamot spelled the end of what has come to be known as the 'traditionalist pureblood movement' in Wizarding Britain. By planning to murder not just his enemies, but his allies, even his own kin, Malfoy betrayed the very ideals - blood, honour, tradition - for which he claimed to be fighting. His actions did not just discredit his entire faction, but also allowed Sirius Black to portray his own movement as the only reasonable alternative to a complete takeover by the muggleborns. Such a portrayal would have otherwise been very difficult for any member of the Black family, even more so for a wizard with Black's radical history. It is quite ironic that the very attempt to prevent Black's takeover of the Wizengamot instead greatly facilitated it. This is one of the reasons some of my colleagues consider the Malfoy bomb plot as the end of the Second Blood War - especially if they consider the bombing of Malfoy Manor to be its start - despite the fact that this requires one to ignore several significant events which are undoubtedly part of that conflict.'
- Excerpt from 'Wizarding Britain in the 20th Century' by Albert Runcorn
West of Savanna-la-Mar, Jamaica, April 7th, 1997
For a moment, Augustus Rookwood considered retreating. It was obvious that he had lost the element of surprise. But if he did, he would lose more than a week's work - some of the ingredients for the potions he had used were nigh-impossible to come by as a civilian unless one had lavish funds. And while money could be acquired, contacts who were unscrupulous enough to deal with Britain's most wanted wizard without betraying him to the authorities were another thing. Further, he wouldn't be able to repeat the same tactic again. So he pressed his lips together and dismounted, sticking the broom to the wall outside. He could do this - he was prepared and had a plan.
One of the markers was coming at him from behind, two from ahead. A flick of his wand transfigured the planter in the alcove in front of him into a vaguely humanoid figure while he stepped into another alcove on the other side of the corridor. With a twist of his wand he conjured a giant snake behind him. A Disillusionment Charm hid it from view as it slithered to cover his back.
Just before the two markers in front reached the corner ahead, he opened a vial in his pocket. The slight hissing noise was drowned out by an explosion that blew a large hole in the transfigured planter. An amateur's mistake. And he hadn't seen a spell - that had been a vial of Exploding Fluid.
The first marker would be the apprentice then, Augustus concluded - the mambo wouldn't make such a mistake, nor would she use a vial instead of a spell. Which meant he didn't need to take that one alive. The apprentice - a boy, Augustus noticed - turned the corner, his wand covering the row of alcoves, but he hesitated, not wanting to repeat his mistake, just long enough for Augustus to strike.
A Reductor Curse blew a hole in the floor just behind the boy, causing him to stumble - straight into Augustus's Fire Whip. The boy - or maybe girl; the spell illuminated their face long enough to show they were younger than Augustus had expected, barely of an age to attend Hogwarts - couldn't even scream before their head was torn off.
Augustus took a step back, taking cover in the alcove as he cast a Shield Charm. The second marker was about to turn the corner behind him - and the third in front of him. That one would be the mambo, which meant his disillusioned snake should be able to take care of the second apprentice.
He heard a yell, cut short, behind him, and glanced back. A figure seemed to be struggling with an invisible snake, then it went limp. Grinning, he turned his attention to the front. A bout of nausea hit him, but he fought it down. Not now, not so close to victory.
The third marker was right at the corner, hiding out of sight - but not out of range of his detection spell. A Blasting Curse would wreck the corner and shower her with splinters…
He hesitated. This was too easy. No experienced witch would fight like this. Not in her own home. His stomach tried to rebel again, and he bent over, panting. He shook his head. No matter; she was a threat.
He blew the corner to smithereens and heard her cry out in pain, then saw her body collapse in a shower of blood, shredded by the stone shards. Not even a Shield Charm? And he hadn't encountered any of the defenses and curses he had expected. Gasping, he once again retreated into the alcove and pointed his wand at the limp body behind him.
"Accio wand!" he whispered.
Nothing.
He pointed his wand at the headless apprentice in front of him.
"Accio wand!" Louder this time.
Nothing flew or leapt towards him. But he had seen the wand in the boy's hand… the vial! The mistakes!
Those had been zombies! Decoys! He had to escape!
"Accio broom!" he shouted, his spell overpowering the weak charm with which he had stuck the broom to the wall outside. He saw the broom flew towards him. His Human-presence-revealing Spell showed no enemies nearby. He reached out to grab the shaft…
… and skeletal arms tore through the walls, floor and ceiling, smashing into his shield, battering it down and forcing him back into the alcove, where more bone limbs grasped at him.
A Blasting Curse blew a hole in the phalanx of bone limbs, opening an escape route - but the blast had been too close, and the force of the explosion also shattered his Shield Charm. Before he could recast it or take more than one step towards his broom - held by other skeletal hands, he now saw - dozens of the limbs descended on him, smashing him to the ground.
His wand arm erupted in pain, broken - or even shattered. He screamed, desperately struggling, trying to escape despite the pain, despite his wand being lost, but his efforts were futile. The convenient cover the alcoves had provided, the hasty reaction - it had all been a trap, he realised.
Immobilised by dozens of skeletal hands, he felt his stomach rise again.
He was panting, trying not to smell the stench of his own bile and snot as it formed a puddle right next to his head, when he heard laughter. Looking up, hissing at the pain the movement caused his hurt body, he saw a dark-skinned woman wearing thin, white and scandalously short robes, approach.
She flicked her wand, and he saw his own wand fly towards her. She caught it with her left hand. She stepped closer, forcing him to crane his neck further so he could keep her face in view.
"Are you the one who murdered Markus?" She had a heavy accent. A native mambo, then. Not a mudblood raised as one.
"Who?" He played dumb.
She snorted and waved her wand. At once, the skeletal hands gripping his broken wand arm tightened, and he screamed. It felt as if shards of his own bones were being driven into his flesh and through his skin.
"Are you?"
"Markus Williams? I killed him, yes," he spat. He gulped down air, the smell of blood mingling with the stench of bile despite his nose running. He felt his stomach rise again, and dry-retched several times.
"Disgusting."
He glanced up and saw a faint shimmer around the mambo's head. A Bubble-Head Charm. Behind her, he saw a young man turn the broken figure back into a planter. That would be her apprentice. He didn't say anything, just continued to breathe heavily. If she noticed the slight hissing sound…
"Who are you?"
"You don't know me?" His forced laugh turned into a cough that wracked his body with pain each time his chest moved. He just had to endure this a little longer. But if she hurt him any worse… "Rookwood. Augustus Rookwood," he quickly said. "I'd bow, but…" His grimace might be called a smile if one were blind and squinted.
The mambo's own smile reminded him of Lestrange's. "You're the last British Death Eater."
"Not quite," he said. How much longer did he have to endure this?
She frowned. He saw her apprentice step up behind her. "Mistress?" he asked in the same accent. "The three decoys are dead. Too damaged to serve further."
Augustus saw a frown appear on the mambo's face. "Dispose of them!" She spoke without turning her head to look at the man, her attention focused on himself.
"As you co…" the man bowed, then staggered, trailing off. Augustus saw him blink, his lips moving, without saying a word.
This time, the mambo turned around, just in time to see her apprentice collapse. She whirled back, not bothering to check on the man, and time seemed to slow down for Augustus while he watched her wand swing to point at him. If she…
But she didn't cast. Instead, she shivered, then pulled something out of a pocket of her robes, swallowing it. A bezoar, as expected. But that would only treat the symptoms.
Once more her wand moved towards him, and once more her expression reminded him of Lestrange. And then her face went slack and she collapsed.
He let out a relieved breath, before another coughing fit shook his body. He didn't have much time left. And he was badly hurt, and still held in the vice-like grip of these skeletal hands. He moved his left hand.
"Accio wand!"
Wandless magic had never been his forte, but failure was not an option - his spare wand had been crushed along with his right forearm.
He saw the wand, his wand, twitch and roll an inch across the stone floor.
"Accio wand!"
Another inch.
"Accio wand!" he yelled as loudly as he could, putting everything he had into the spell.
The wand rolled towards him, bumping against a bone shard, then rolling over it, closer and closer, until the fingers of his left hand closed around it. Even exhausted and in agony from his wounds, he smiled.
"Evanesco. Evanesco. Evanesco."
It took a dozen Vanishing Charms to free him from his bony bonds. His arm sent waves of excruciating pain through his body when released, flopping down on the stone floor before he could numb it.
Sweat ran down his brow, and his vision started to dim. Grinding his teeth, he closed the vial in his pocket. He couldn't afford even more poison spreading, even though there couldn't be much left anyway. A repurposed household charm blew the poisoned air around him away with a steady breeze. Retching, he pulled out his potion case, opening it with a flick of his wand, then fumbled for the blue vial. When the cork seemed stuck he cursed with frustration, then ripped it out with his teeth before gulping down the liquid inside. He had to purge his body of the antidote to the airborne poison before it damaged him further.
For a minute, he simply rested on the floor, shivering, until he could see clearly again and didn't feel like puking his guts out any more. He vanished the blood-soaked right sleeve of his robes and winced at the sight of mangled flesh pierced with bone. The Bone-Mending Charm wouldn't be enough to fix it.
He could deal with it later. He hadn't much time left; reinforcements could arrive at any minute - the missing second apprentice might be off seeking help. He muttered a few curses. If he had the time to loot the manor… but he wouldn't even be able to restock the potions he had used, and would use to recover from this.
Ah, well… he told himself that he wouldn't have been able to use the same trick twice anyway, even if he had another pair of vials of the poison and antidote left. A flick of his wand stripped the mambo of her robes and sandals, and anything else - he wouldn't make her mistake, and leave her with the tools to escape. A few spells later she was bound, wrapped in ropes, blindfolded and silenced.
A Killing Curse followed by a Vanishing Charm took care of the apprentice, before he levitated his captive and mounted his broom. The skeletal hands had scratched the shaft, but it seemed otherwise undamaged. Which was a good thing, seeing as he had to fly it one handed.
He landed at the wardline and shrank the broom, stashing it inside his robes, then turned around to stare at the manor. For a moment, he hesitated. He knew that there were rare books inside, exotic knowledge to be had, unique spells to be found.
Augustus shook his head. He pointed his wand, and cursed green fire sprang up behind the broken windows of the first floor.
London, No. 12 Grimmauld Place, April 7th, 1997
Sirius Black looked up from the amber liquid in his glass when the door to his living room opened. When he saw Vivienne entering, he smiled. "How did it go?"
"We can meet my family tomorrow, as planned," she said, walking towards him. "With our 'guest'."
He nodded and put the glass down. It was too late to drink liquor anyway. "Do they expect any trouble?" His cover should have held, but the French Gendarmes might have caught a lucky break.
"No." She shook her head then sat down on the armrest of his chair. "The Gendarmes might suspect us, of course - we're known to be Dubois's main rivals at the Court, together with the Delacours - but they lack any proof."
"And the Delacours?" They had facilitated his cover story with carefully forged documentation.
"I trust that they will 'ave covered their tracks. They certainly have the influence and experience to stall an investigation for a few more days." She shrugged, and Sirius couldn't help thinking that the d'Aigles and Delacours might not be as close as he had thought.
"And the audience?" he asked, wrapping his arm around her waist. He had to meet the Duc in person in order to take the man's measure. And to impress upon him the folly of further meddling in British politics.
"Arranged for the evening. Although the Duc insisted on receiving you in the Chateau." She winced. "'E refused to meet you on my family's estate."
Sirius took a deep breath through clenched teeth. "A private audience - a secret one. He could easily make me disappear."
"'E wouldn't do that." Vivienne shook her head almost violently. "It would be dishonourable."
"As dishonourable as me seducing Dubois to kidnap her?"
He saw her flinch in response, before she raised her chin. "It was justified. She wanted to plunge Britain into another war. And 'er plans for the French muggleborns…"
"The Duc might think a small betrayal justified as well, in response to my actions against Dubois. Or to exchange me for her." If Dubois had been the Duc's lover, as some rumours claimed, then the leader of Magical France might very well decide to hold Sirius hostage to ensure Dubois's survival, no matter the diplomatic consequences.
"If she survives she'll do all she can to take revenge," Vivienne said. "And if the Duc would go to such lengths to save 'er…"
"...then she has his ear. And probably his heart too," Sirius finished for her.
"No. The Duc is not that sentimental. If she was 'is mistress, maybe. But a former lover? Who was kidnapped by 'er current lover? No." Vivienne shook her head. "'E would appear not just weak, but foolish to risk a war for such a witch."
"Are you certain?" Sirius was a Gryffindor, so his bravery was not in question, but if the Duc took him hostage, Harry and his friends might react in a rash and violent manner.
"Yes. While we do not elect our leader, a Duc who loses the respect of the Court and the aristocracy cannot 'old on to 'is position for long."
It seemed French politics were even worse than British ones, Sirius thought. They hadn't had two civil wars since Grindelwald's war, though. He nodded. "Alright. So, will he sacrifice Dubois then?"
"Yes." After a moment, she added: "That is the opinion of my family as well."
He'd have to trust their opinion, Sirius knew - he wasn't an expert on French politics. He sighed. He eyed the glass again, then vanished its contents with a flick of his wand. "You know, I didn't want to, didn't like seducing her. I still don't like it."
"She's a 'orrible witch." Vivienne nodded.
"It's not that." He noticed a flicker of doubt, and maybe hurt, on her face, and took a deep breath. "It felt as if I was cheating on you." Well, according to pretty much everyone he could think of, sleeping with another witch was cheating on your lover.
She didn't answer right away. And when she did, she wasn't looking at him. "I knew what you were doing. What you 'ad to do. It was my idea."
He didn't say anything, just held her closer. He could feel how tense she was.
In a whisper, she went on: "I 'ated it, though. To know you would be in 'er arms, making love to 'er…" She was clenching her teeth, her whispers gaining a screeching undertone. "I 'ate her even more because of this!"
He put his right hand on her thigh, squeezing gently. She was close to transforming, or so he thought. There were no feathers sprouting yet, though. He was tempted to change into Padfoot - that usually broke any tension. Or at least redirected it. But she deserved better than him making light of this. "I won't do it again."
She didn't answer, but she slid into his lap and held him, and he could feel how she slowly grew less tense as he rubbed her back.
London, Diagon Alley, April 8th, 1997
Ron Weasley ducked when he entered the twins' shop, but no rubber chicken tried to attack him, nor did anything else dreamed up by his brothers hit him while he stepped through the fast-drying Thief's Downfall installed at the entrance.
"Ah, we trained him well!"
Ron shot the chuckling Fred a glare. "Better safe than sorry." Growing up with the twins certainly had taught him that. He glanced around reflexively. To one side, a customer, a young wizard, was talking with the clerk the twins had hired. Or trying to flirt with her, Ron couldn't tell. He kept an eye on them anyway.
"Bah! Where's the fun in that?" Fred shook his head. "Safe!" He scoffed. "Are you a Gryffindor or not?"
"He's been with Hermione for too long; he's starting to think like her!" George, standing in the doorway to the back room, added. "Soon he'll read real books instead of Quidditch magazines!"
Ron rolled his eyes. "Very funny."
Fred grinned. "We do our best. Or worst."
"Definitely your worst," Ron said. When his brother opened his mouth again, he held up his hand. "Let's go into your workroom."
Fred closed his mouth and nodded, then turned his head and yelled "Clarice! Take over the counter!"
The witch looked over at them and nodded. "Alright, boss."
"Is she calling you boss because she can't tell you apart?" Ron asked as he followed his brothers to their workroom. "Or are you actually becoming respectable business owners?"
"That was definitely your worst attempt at a joke," Fred shot back.
"Respectable? Us?" George shook his head.
Then the door closed, and the twins grew more serious. Fred leaned against a work bench filled with all sorts of knick-knacks and cast a privacy spell.
"I guess you want to know how far along the 'Bone Busters' are," George said.
Ron nodded. He also hadn't seen the twins for some time, but that wasn't something that he'd admit to anyone.
"We're about to finish testing, add a few tweaks, then start production." George picked up what looked like a Bludger. "And we've improved on the concept." He grinned. "This will seek out your enemies, trying to ram them like a normal Bludger. Just without the Cushioning Charms." His grin widened. "It would kill someone if it hit their head."
"And while the target is dodging the Bone Buster - or shielding - it will release the potion into the air as an almost invisible mist," Fred added, looking smug.
Ron nodded. "So… you adapted one of your inventions, and put it into a Bludger with the safety charms removed." It was devious. Skeletons and bone walls wouldn't try to dodge, and houngans would have to worry about getting smashed by the things. And should their limbs break, and their bones become exposed...
Fred pouted. "It wasn't quite that simple. We had to adapt the spells a lot so it would only attack enemies."
"And how does that work?" Ron wanted to know. He didn't want to get hit by one of them.
"A charmed pin will keep it away," Fred said. "The charm can be cast as well, but a General Counter-Spell would put an end to it."
And the Bludger would probably put an end to them soon afterwards, Ron thought. "We'll still want to learn the spell too. We might lose a pin, or there might be other people in the area of effect whom we don't want to get hurt."
"You can also command it to stop," George said. "We tweaked those spells too, though. If someone tries the usual Quidditch spells on them…" He bared his teeth. "Let's just say they'll receive a surprise."
"What kind of surprise?" Ron stared at them. He'd rather not discover what the thing did in the middle of a battle.
Fred frowned. "Now you sound like Hermione too. If that's the result of your special Resistance training, then I'm glad we didn't get to go."
"What does it do?"
"It makes the Bone Buster focus on the caster of the spell," George answered. "After slowing down for a moment, to make them think they succeeded."
"Ah." Ron nodded. He didn't think that would be very useful, but it was a nice addition. "Good work. We can definitely use that."
Fred narrowed his eyes. "So… does that mean you're planning to fight houngans?"
"We want to be ready for the next time we encounter Reid or his friends," Ron said. "I hope he doesn't return to Britain, though - we're still dealing with Malfoy and Runcorn's arrests."
"That shook up the Wizengamot," Fred remarked with a chuckle. "Their honourable and generous friend planning to kill them all!"
"Greengrass and Davis revealed that, right?" George asked.
Ron nodded. "Yes. They managed to completely fool Malfoy until after he told them his plan." He saw that Fred was glaring at George, who in turn was frowning at his brother. Ron didn't know what was going on there, and he didn't think he wanted to know.
Outside Paris, Château d'Orléans, France, April 8th, 1997
Sirius Black didn't let any lingering nervousness - he was a Gryffindor; he wasn't afraid - show as he stepped out of the fireplace in the entrance hall of the seat of the Duc d'Orléans. He was an emissary of Wizarding Britain, on a diplomatic mission officially sanctioned by the Chief Warlock. It would be a breach of protocol unheard of in recent times should he be detained, or worse.
Unheard of, but not entirely impossible, he told himself as he cleaned the soot from his robes. He glanced briefly at the guards in the hall, then turned and held out his hand when the fireplace flashed behind him. Vivienne stepped out and took his hand in hers with practised ease while she smiled at him. Her mother, Marie, was next, followed by Fleur's father. Antoine Delacour didn't show any sign of his close brush with death four months ago in the catacombs of the Bastille.
As was customary, the chamberlain waited to greet them until all had removed the soot from their clothes. "Welcome to the Château d'Orléans," the elderly wizard said in French, bowing deeply. "The Duc awaits you in the western salon."
They nodded in response and followed the man through a corridor decked out in marble. Sirius had to restrain himself from glancing at every decorative pillar or curtain-covered alcove they passed - half an army could be hidden there. He had yet to release Vivienne's hand.
The western salon was a rather large room for a private audience - the largest room in Sirius's home could have fit twice into it. The windows were covered with thick curtains. The furniture, though, had been chosen with care for the meeting, he thought - there were two couches facing a single seat, separated by a low table. Almost intimate, even, Sirius thought, for a meeting with the Duc. He couldn't spot the guards he knew had to be around - probably hidden behind fake walls and curtains.
The Duc himself was standing when they entered, dressed in dark robes with purple trim. He was about ten years older than Sirius, tall and slim, and with an immaculate mustache and goatee - much like Sirius's own style. And, judging by the Duc's faint smirk, he had not missed the resemblance.
"Welcome, Marie, Antoine, Mademoiselle d'Aigle, Monsieur Black." The Duc inclined his head in greeting. Apparently, Sirius didn't need an introduction.
In response, everyone in his group bowed deeply.
"Please sit down." The Duc gestured at the two couches.
A house-elf brought some refreshments as they took their seats. The little creature had stepped out from behind one of the curtains, and Sirius made a mental note of the location - there would be a passage for the elves behind there. In a pinch, Padfoot could fit through one as well.
Marie and Antoine made some idle chat while the elf served wine - a good vintage, Sirius noted. He refrained from testing for poison; if the Duc wanted to harm him he'd have too many other opportunities, and without breaking protocol.
"You asked for a private meeting," the Duc finally said. "With a foreign envoy." He glanced at Sirius as he spoke, but addressed Marie and Antoine.
"Yes, we did. Sirius has informed us of a grave matter which could have a severe impact on relations between France and Britain." Marie nodded at Sirius.
The Duc raised an eyebrow, though Sirius couldn't tell if the man was surprised at the quick deflection or not. He cleared his throat. "Indeed, Monsieur le duc. You might be aware that there have recently been several attacks against civilians in Wizarding Britain." The Duc nodded, and Sirius went on. "We have discovered that those attacks were instigated by a member of your court, in an attempt to destabilise my country."
The Duc took a short, hissing breath, but didn't show any other reaction. "I assume you speak of Isabelle Dubois."
"Yes."
"And you have taken her into your custody."
"Not officially," Sirius clarified.
"Ah." The Duc slowly nodded. "Not yet, you mean." He looked at Marie and Antoine.
Vivienne's mother nodded. "We thought it best that this delicate situation be resolved with some discretion."
"Otherwise Isabelle's actions could have grave consequences, given the volatile situation in Britain," Antoine added.
"Isabelle was kidnapped by her current lover - an American in exile, or rather, a man posing as an American in exile." The Duc was staring at Sirius, and his tone left no doubt that he knew who had been posing as Isabelle's lover. "Such an act might have grave consequences. The French do not suffer foreigners kidnapping members of the Court."
He hadn't denied the accusations against Dubois, Sirius noticed. He shrugged. "She brought it on herself. If she hadn't been trying to plunge Britain into another civil war, she wouldn't have been taken into custody." He leaned forward. "And should her plans for the French muggleborns be revealed, I gather that a great deal of violent unrest might result here in France."
He saw the Duc's eyes widen in apparent surprise at that. Either he hadn't known about that or he was an excellent actor. "What plans?"
"She planned to murder the best and brightest of the French muggleborns, to curb a hypothetical rebellion before it could start," Sirius explained. With a feral grin, he added: "Should this become known I fear that it would cause the very rebellion she feared."
The Duc had been clenching his teeth while Sirius had been speaking. "Others might take that threat as proof that Isabelle's apparent fears were not groundless."
Sirius leaned forward. "Which fears? That the French muggleborns might demand equal rights? And an end to discrimination? And that they might look to Britain for support?"
"Yes."
He scoffed. "We just fought a bloody war - the second war in less than twenty years. We have no desire for another one."
"Some might think that currently you're simply too weak to fight another war." The Duc was focused on Sirius.
"They would be wrong. Dead wrong." Sirius met the man's eyes and bared his teeth. "The Ministry's losses were terrible. The Death Eaters and their supporters were all but wiped out. But the Order of the Phoenix and the Muggleborn Resistance? We're actually stronger than before." It wasn't quite true - while the Muggleborn Resistance had recruited more than they had lost, the new members were not yet trained to the level of the veterans and the Order hadn't replaced its losses. But Sirius had no doubt that should it come to war with France, recruiting more Order members would be far easier than recruiting more Aurors. "Any country so foolish as to attack us would find out very quickly that we're ready for war."
"A muggleborn-ruled Britain would be facing the entirety of Europe united against them."
He snorted. "And do you think the European muggleborns will sit out such a conflict? They flocked to Grindelwald in the past and he was the aggressor. Should Europe go to war for pureblood supremacy, the muggleborns will rise and you'll find yourself besieged by your own people. People who will have learned from the Resistance's example."
"So you have plans, then." The Duc's face was no longer expressionless; he was baring his own teeth now, his anger plain to see.
"Of course we have plans - we'd be fools not to be prepared for that - but we have no intention of starting a war." Sirius shook his head. "We know how terrible it is, and we do not wish it on anyone." Not on anyone sensible, at least. "We went to war because the Death Eaters wanted to oppress and murder all muggleborns." And if anyone else tried the same, they'd go to war again - covertly, or overtly. He lowered his voice. "Stop trying to meddle in Britain, don't murder your own muggleborns and there'll be no war, and no scandal."
"I cannot ignore Isabelle's kidnapping. She has too many friends at Court."
Marie put down her own glass, a slight sneer appearing on her face. "No one would be surprised if her plots and affairs caught up with her. A scorned lover hiring an assassin to take revenge on her would be plausible enough to deflect suspicion away from us."
The Duc turned towards the Veela. "And you would arrange that?"
"Not directly," she answered, tilting her head slightly.
"A few words to the correct people, a few hints at what danger Isabelle has been courting with her foolish course of action…" Antoine spread his hands, the large ring on his hand catching the light from the chandelier. "She has overstepped her bounds, assumed she was acting with support you never gave her. A lesson others would do well to learn as well."
The Duc looked from the Veela to the wizard and back, then glanced at Sirius. "Are you trying to push me into following his example?"
His tone had changed, and he had grown rigid, Sirius thought. He saw the two French nobles stiffen as well.
"We're not the ones who tried to create a fait accompli and drag France into a war no one wanted but them," Antoine said. "We're not the ones who tried to hide their actions from you, assuming you would condone them after the fact - when you'd have no other choice." He shook his head. "You know me, us, better than that, Louis."
"I thought I knew Isabelle better than that as well," the Duc retorted, and Sirius couldn't help but think that the Duc wasn't entirely convinced of Dubois's guilt.
He felt Vivienne, who hadn't said anything yet, tense up. "We have a memory of her confession, Monsieur le duc."
The leader of Magical France glanced at her and Sirius, then shook his head. "She was, according to your own words, acting out of fear of a muggleborn rebellion. And you are using the same threat in an attempt to dictate policy to me - while working with a foreigner allied to muggleborns."
"Dubois was working with foreigners as well - with purebloods willing to murder the entire Wizengamot, the heads of all the Old Families, to further their own goals." Sirius smiled thinly. "Purebloods who still follow the orders of the Dark Lord - the foreigner who dared to lay a trap in the Bastille and corrupt your people. Neither I nor my allies have done anything against France."
"You kidnapped a member of my court."
"In response to her orchestrating attacks on my country." Sirius glared at the Duc.
"What is more important, the fate of a witch, or the fate of our country?" Antoine cut in. "We are on the brink of war - a situation Dubois brought upon us. Supporting her means condoning her actions against Britain."
The Duc pressed his lips together for a moment, before he answered. "I do not condone her actions, and I do not wish to go to war." Sirius clenched his teeth and squeezed Vivienne's hand. "But neither do I wish to let foreigners dictate to me how I rule my country. Or members of my court. France's internal affairs are no one else's concern."
"The muggleborns disagree," Sirius said. He ignored the glances from Marie and Antoine. "There are lines that, if crossed, will cause them to react. During the time of Grindelwald's War, the muggles fought a great war as well."
"I'm aware of that. Muggle France fell to the Prussians. Some took it as an omen of things to come when facing Grindelwald's army." The Duc sneered. "They were proven wrong."
"The British and French muggles fought a regime of criminals who murdered millions of people for no other reason than their blood," Sirius went on. "Ever since then, muggles have considered similar actions to be a crime so severe it merits an intervention by the international community."
"What do you wish to say?"
"I'm saying that should you start murdering your muggleborns, the British muggleborns will consider you a criminal of the worst sort. And they wouldn't be the only ones in Europe," Sirius explained.
"You threaten me with war, then, should I not bow to muggleborns?"
Sirius wanted to tell the Duc that that was exactly what he was doing, but Antoine spoke up before he lost his temper. "He's warning us that mass murder is not the solution. It didn't work for the British, and it will not work for us. Quite the contrary."
"Appeasement didn't work for the British either," the Duc retorted.
"No amount of appeasement other than unconditional surrender would have satisfied the Dark Lord," Sirius said. "The muggleborns, by and large, simply want the same rights as purebloods." Which implied democracy, but he didn't want to open that can of Flobberworms. "Why do you think that Dumbledore pushed for muggleborn rights in Britain after he had defeated Grindelwald? He knew that that was the only way to avoid another war."
"And yet Britain suffered two Blood Wars, whereas France has remained at peace."
"Those wars were the result of the Dark Lord's desire to take over Britain. The muggleborns were just a convenient scapegoat. If circumstances had been different he would have followed Grindelwald's example and recruited muggleborns." Sirius had his doubts - Voldemort must have known that such a course of action could have brought most of Europe down on his head.
"You demand that France stays out of your internal affairs, yet do not offer the same courtesy." The Duc glared at him.
"Our courtesy ends where mass murder begins." Sirius met the Duc's eyes without flinching.
"No one is planning such a crime," Marie cut in. "No one but Dubois, at least."
"The purpose of this meeting was to defuse the crisis Dubois created. I think we are all in agreement that war has to be avoided, and that Dubois's actions are not supported by France." Antoine smiled. "We are also now aware of the views of the future government of Britain as far as muggleborns are concerned, which will have to be considered by the Duc."
"Indeed," Marie added, "we can deal with the other issues at a later date."
Sirius nodded. The main goal was to avoid a war right now. "If you stop your people from stirring up trouble in Britain in the future we'll consider Dubois's actions unsanctioned by France and let you handle the matter discreetly."
The Duc scowled, but nodded slowly. "I can agree to that."
Sirius smiled as they shook hands, but he had a feeling that the Duc wasn't entirely convinced that he couldn't mess with Britain in the future. Or that he couldn't oppress the French muggleborns.
He wasn't too worried, though - they could do something about that once they had handled the current crisis and taken over Britain.
Near Spanish Town, Jamaica, April 8th, 1997
Augustus Rookwood, sitting in the living room of his tent, watched his captive stir on the carpet. The poison he had used had finally been metabolised enough for her to regain consciousness. If only he had had more of the antidote left, to speed up the process… He shook his head. Such thoughts did nothing but distract him. He had to focus on the task at hand.
The mambo opened her eyes and blinked rapidly. She would still have trouble focusing her gaze, he knew. She tugged against the bonds that held her, but not for long - she knew that she wouldn't be able to break them.
"Good evening, Madam." He smirked at her expression. If not for the gag, she'd be swearing at him. "I have a few questions for you." He pulled out his vial of Veritaserum. Her eyes widened, then hardened - that wasn't the reaction he had expected.
Frowning, he cast a full Body-Bind Curse, then vanished the gag in her mouth. But then he hesitated as he was about to let three drops fall into her open mouth, still thinking of her curious reaction. What if she had taken precautions to prevent the use of Veritaserum? Something that reacted with the potion to kill her? He had heard of such projects when he had been working at the Department.
Sighing, he stashed the vial again - and watched her eyes track it. Was that relief, or regret? With her face frozen, it was hard to tell. No matter, there were alternatives. He pointed his wand at her.
"Imperio!"
Paralysed, she showed no sign of struggling, other than a glint in her eyes that might have been his imagination. But when he ended the Body-Bind Curse, she didn't do anything except stare at the ground - as victims of his curse were wont to do without orders.
"Tell me your name."
"Ezola Grant."
"Tell me the truth. Are you a member of the island's ruling council?"
"Yes."
So he had the right kind of witch. He allowed himself to smile, before continuing the interrogation. "Did you expect me to attack you?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Ricky had disappeared."
The thug's death had not gone unnoticed. Augustus had been sloppy. "Who else knew about this?"
"My apprentices."
"How many did you have?"
"Two."
Which meant one was left. "Can the surviving apprentice track you?"
"No."
That was good news. "Can anyone else track you?"
"No."
Even better, though he had expected that - what kind of wizard or witch would allow others to gain the power to track them? That clause in his contract had been the worst drawback to becoming an Unspeakable. That left another weakness, though. "Can you track the skulls of the Library of Souls?"
"Yes."
He hissed with sudden fear. "How?"
She started to explain the spell - the ritual. Sacrifices, duration, range… why hadn't they found him? A few dead muggles would cover the entire island. "Did you search the island already?"
"Yes."
"When?"
"When we discovered that a skull was missing, and after the attack on Williams."
He blinked. He hadn't left the island after that attack, so… Of course! The Dark Lord would have taken steps to prevent the houngans from finding the skull he had taken from them. He sighed with relief. "Are you cooperating with the British?"
"No."
"Will you let them on the island?"
"No."
He relaxed. The Department could track him - but not from Britain. He was safe. Relatively, at least.
"Tell me all you know about the Library of Souls."
Augustus leaned back in his seat and took a deep breath. The thug 'Ricky' had been surprisingly resistant to interrogation, but his current captive was worse. Trying to break into her mind left him feeling as if he had headbutted a stone wall.
But he had no choice - the information she had been forced to reveal while under his spell had been spotty and purely verbal. If he had access to a Pensieve, he could have forced her to donate her memories, but as things were… if he wanted to study the layout and defences of the Library of Souls before actually venturing there, he needed to see it in her memories. He couldn't even potion her to reduce her wits, since that would render her memory unreliable. And ordering her to open her mind hadn't worked.
So he was forced to match his mind against hers as he tried to overpower her defences. A thoroughly exhausting and painful process - he hadn't suffered such a headache since his own Occlumency training.
He shifted in his seat, reaching for the cup of tea he had prepared in advance. Taking a sip from it, he glanced at the skull resting on a low table nearby. If only he had the time to study the skull properly - one of the enchantments on it had to have been added by the Dark Lord to prevent the houngans from tracking it. If he could analyse it, he might be able to counter the hold the Department had over him.
He might not even need to find a cure for the Withering Curse to be safe… He shook his head. He had already come too far to give up now. And he didn't want to spend the rest of his life in hiding; he wanted a pardon.
And he wanted the knowledge from the Library of Souls.
London, Ministry of Magic, April 9th, 1997
"Jamaica has accused us of attacking another of their houngans?" Amelia Bones frowned as she dropped the most recent missive from the ICW on her desk and looked at Fawley. "Do they offer any proof for their accusations?"
Britain's delegate at the ICW shook his head. "No, Madam, they haven't. All they are claiming is that since another houngan has been attacked in her manor, it has to be the work of the same culprit as the earlier attack. They have not offered any detailed description of the attack either."
"Which means it wasn't done with muggle explosives." Amelia shook her head. "It doesn't mean the culprit wasn't the same, of course. But I wouldn't put it past the houngans to settle some rivalries and blame us."
Fawley nodded, then cleared his throat. "Ah… do we know who was behind the attacks?"
She was certain it was Rookwood, but she had no proof a court would accept. And she didn't trust Fawley not to leak the information to others. So she shook her head. "There's only conjuncture, nothing solid."
He remained silent for a moment, before speaking up again: "What about the muggleborns? Could they be behind the attacks?"
Amelia wouldn't put such an operation beyond the Resistance's capabilities, but she doubted that they'd be able to launch such attacks without their leader, and Granger hadn't left Britain long enough to lead such a mission. And if Fawley spread such rumours, Britain's trouble with a number of foreign countries would grow much, much worse. So she shook his head. "No. All the muggleborn suspects able to do such a thing are accounted for."
"Oh." The wizard sounded disappointed. "I've been told - in private, of course - that a number of countries approved of our efforts to continue Dumbledore's policy towards Jamaica."
Of course they would. For decades, Dumbledore had been the reason Jamaica had been playing nice with its neighbours. "We haven't, so far, changed that policy. You can tell them that. But don't claim that we are behind these attacks."
Once the wizard had left, she closed her eyes and leaned back in her seat. Rookwood was still working on getting a cure for the Withering Curse, she was certain. A cure that would cost a pardon for one of the worst murderers she knew. The same sort of pardon another mass murderer had received thanks to Dumbledore's influence.
She shook her head. She would be damned if she let a Death Eater escape.
London, Ministry of Magic, April 11th, 1997
"The chair recognises Mister Avery."
"Honoured members of the Wizengamot! While the accusations leveled against Augustus Malfoy and Philius Runcorn are shocking - although we have yet to see and judge for ourselves the evidence for said accusations - it would be a grave mistake to condemn all of the goals the two stood for in reaction. If the worst of dark wizards thinks children shouldn't be hurt, does that mean such a sentiment is wrong just because he shares it? No! I say our traditions are not tainted by a desperate man's folly..."
Hermione Granger rolled her eyes as she listened to Avery's doomed attempts to stop the Wizengamot from burying the bigots' agenda. Since the majority of the Wizengamot members cared about themselves first, their families second, and the rest of Wizarding Britain a distant third, they had taken Malfoy's plans personally. Very personally. Who would have thought that the very reason the Wizengamot was so corrupt and easily misled would turn out to provide the impetus for the last push needed to reform it?
"What an idiot," she heard Ron whisper next to her. "I've got a mind to hex him." She glanced at him, and he grinned. "Just joking."
She scowled. This was serious. They were about to make history! She was about to point that out to him when he touched her thigh.
"Relax. You heard Sirius and Doge - it's a done deal. This is just posturing."
She sighed and nodded, putting her hand on his. They were so close, though, and she longed to shut the idiot up. She wasn't the only one - other members were jeering and shouting, and even waving their wands. No one hexed him, though - that wasn't done.
Finally, Avery sat down again, head held high, but teeth grinding, and Sirius raised his wand.
"The chair recognises Mister Black."
"Honoured members of the Wizengamot! You have heard what Mister Avery said. Even faced with proof of how corrupt his ideology is, he cannot bear the truth. And why is that? Because he's afraid. Afraid of muggleborns. Afraid of losing his position. Afraid of any change at all.
"But Britain needs to change. The current system is not working. A country where the majority of the people have no voice in government is a doomed country. Why should people listen to a government that doesn't listen to them? To a Wizengamot that excludes them?
"It's not as if the Wizengamot has proven to be particularly wise. The Muggleborn Laws were passed despite Dumbledore arguing against them - a mistake caused by fear. And we all know the results of those laws. War and death.
"We cannot allow this to happen again! No longer can we let a few families have the power to decide our country's fate! If Britain is to prosper, we need everyone working together - and that requires everyone to have a stake in the country.
"The proposed changes to the Wizengamot in the Reform Act will achieve this. Instead of representing themselves and their families, members will represent far more people - people whose support is shown by their votes.
"Some claim this is 'muggle nonsense'. Something against all our traditions. To those I say: That is a lie. For what I propose - elections - are how we have chosen the Minister for Magic for centuries. Like the Wizengamot elects a minister, the people will elect the Wizengamot."
Hermione rolled her eyes again when she saw how that rather absurd argument was actually swaying some of the more conservative members. But as long as the needed majority was gained, she wouldn't complain. She raised her wand as well.
"The chair recognises Madam Granger."
"Honoured members of the Wizengamot! I fully support my esteemed colleague's proposal!" She had written most of it, after all. Judging by some grins, people knew it as well. "And I dare say that every muggleborn supports, no, expects and demands, it as well. Muggleborns, half-bloods, purebloods - we all fought for our country during the war. And yet people would claim that we have fewer rights than the Old Families? We bled and died the same as them, as everyone who fought in the war will know." That should make the others realise that there was more at stake than old privileges. "Hogwarts, the oldest and finest School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, has been open to any student no matter their blood ever since it was founded. All of us were students there. By what right should we then be treated as lesser once we graduate? It is past time to right this wrong, before we are dragged into another war. I ask every one of you to vote for the Reform Act."
She sat down again. A few of the Wizengamot members were staring at her with blatant fear. Others - fewer - scowled. She didn't care, as long as they won the vote.
"The chair recognises Madam Myerscough."
Another witch rose, middle-aged. Hermione tuned her out as soon as it was clear that she supported the Reform Act. She hoped that there wouldn't be too many other speakers until the vote.
"The ayes have it. Mister Black's proposal, the Reform Act, has been passed."
Hermione wasn't the only one who cheered at the results. She shot up from her seat, her fists balled in triumph, and turned to hug Ron. They had done it. The first general election in the history of Wizarding Britain would be held on August 1st, 1997.
Plenty of time to plan a visit to Jamaica and handle the houngan problem.
'Augustus Malfoy's failed plot to blow up the Wizengamot spelled the end of what has come to be known as the 'traditionalist pureblood movement' in Wizarding Britain. By planning to murder not just his enemies, but his allies, even his own kin, Malfoy betrayed the very ideals - blood, honour, tradition - for which he claimed to be fighting. His actions did not just discredit his entire faction, but also allowed Sirius Black to portray his own movement as the only reasonable alternative to a complete takeover by the muggleborns. Such a portrayal would have otherwise been very difficult for any member of the Black family, even more so for a wizard with Black's radical history. It is quite ironic that the very attempt to prevent Black's takeover of the Wizengamot instead greatly facilitated it. This is one of the reasons some of my colleagues consider the Malfoy bomb plot as the end of the Second Blood War - especially if they consider the bombing of Malfoy Manor to be its start - despite the fact that this requires one to ignore several significant events which are undoubtedly part of that conflict.'
- Excerpt from 'Wizarding Britain in the 20th Century' by Albert Runcorn
*****
West of Savanna-la-Mar, Jamaica, April 7th, 1997
For a moment, Augustus Rookwood considered retreating. It was obvious that he had lost the element of surprise. But if he did, he would lose more than a week's work - some of the ingredients for the potions he had used were nigh-impossible to come by as a civilian unless one had lavish funds. And while money could be acquired, contacts who were unscrupulous enough to deal with Britain's most wanted wizard without betraying him to the authorities were another thing. Further, he wouldn't be able to repeat the same tactic again. So he pressed his lips together and dismounted, sticking the broom to the wall outside. He could do this - he was prepared and had a plan.
One of the markers was coming at him from behind, two from ahead. A flick of his wand transfigured the planter in the alcove in front of him into a vaguely humanoid figure while he stepped into another alcove on the other side of the corridor. With a twist of his wand he conjured a giant snake behind him. A Disillusionment Charm hid it from view as it slithered to cover his back.
Just before the two markers in front reached the corner ahead, he opened a vial in his pocket. The slight hissing noise was drowned out by an explosion that blew a large hole in the transfigured planter. An amateur's mistake. And he hadn't seen a spell - that had been a vial of Exploding Fluid.
The first marker would be the apprentice then, Augustus concluded - the mambo wouldn't make such a mistake, nor would she use a vial instead of a spell. Which meant he didn't need to take that one alive. The apprentice - a boy, Augustus noticed - turned the corner, his wand covering the row of alcoves, but he hesitated, not wanting to repeat his mistake, just long enough for Augustus to strike.
A Reductor Curse blew a hole in the floor just behind the boy, causing him to stumble - straight into Augustus's Fire Whip. The boy - or maybe girl; the spell illuminated their face long enough to show they were younger than Augustus had expected, barely of an age to attend Hogwarts - couldn't even scream before their head was torn off.
Augustus took a step back, taking cover in the alcove as he cast a Shield Charm. The second marker was about to turn the corner behind him - and the third in front of him. That one would be the mambo, which meant his disillusioned snake should be able to take care of the second apprentice.
He heard a yell, cut short, behind him, and glanced back. A figure seemed to be struggling with an invisible snake, then it went limp. Grinning, he turned his attention to the front. A bout of nausea hit him, but he fought it down. Not now, not so close to victory.
The third marker was right at the corner, hiding out of sight - but not out of range of his detection spell. A Blasting Curse would wreck the corner and shower her with splinters…
He hesitated. This was too easy. No experienced witch would fight like this. Not in her own home. His stomach tried to rebel again, and he bent over, panting. He shook his head. No matter; she was a threat.
He blew the corner to smithereens and heard her cry out in pain, then saw her body collapse in a shower of blood, shredded by the stone shards. Not even a Shield Charm? And he hadn't encountered any of the defenses and curses he had expected. Gasping, he once again retreated into the alcove and pointed his wand at the limp body behind him.
"Accio wand!" he whispered.
Nothing.
He pointed his wand at the headless apprentice in front of him.
"Accio wand!" Louder this time.
Nothing flew or leapt towards him. But he had seen the wand in the boy's hand… the vial! The mistakes!
Those had been zombies! Decoys! He had to escape!
"Accio broom!" he shouted, his spell overpowering the weak charm with which he had stuck the broom to the wall outside. He saw the broom flew towards him. His Human-presence-revealing Spell showed no enemies nearby. He reached out to grab the shaft…
… and skeletal arms tore through the walls, floor and ceiling, smashing into his shield, battering it down and forcing him back into the alcove, where more bone limbs grasped at him.
A Blasting Curse blew a hole in the phalanx of bone limbs, opening an escape route - but the blast had been too close, and the force of the explosion also shattered his Shield Charm. Before he could recast it or take more than one step towards his broom - held by other skeletal hands, he now saw - dozens of the limbs descended on him, smashing him to the ground.
His wand arm erupted in pain, broken - or even shattered. He screamed, desperately struggling, trying to escape despite the pain, despite his wand being lost, but his efforts were futile. The convenient cover the alcoves had provided, the hasty reaction - it had all been a trap, he realised.
Immobilised by dozens of skeletal hands, he felt his stomach rise again.
*****
He was panting, trying not to smell the stench of his own bile and snot as it formed a puddle right next to his head, when he heard laughter. Looking up, hissing at the pain the movement caused his hurt body, he saw a dark-skinned woman wearing thin, white and scandalously short robes, approach.
She flicked her wand, and he saw his own wand fly towards her. She caught it with her left hand. She stepped closer, forcing him to crane his neck further so he could keep her face in view.
"Are you the one who murdered Markus?" She had a heavy accent. A native mambo, then. Not a mudblood raised as one.
"Who?" He played dumb.
She snorted and waved her wand. At once, the skeletal hands gripping his broken wand arm tightened, and he screamed. It felt as if shards of his own bones were being driven into his flesh and through his skin.
"Are you?"
"Markus Williams? I killed him, yes," he spat. He gulped down air, the smell of blood mingling with the stench of bile despite his nose running. He felt his stomach rise again, and dry-retched several times.
"Disgusting."
He glanced up and saw a faint shimmer around the mambo's head. A Bubble-Head Charm. Behind her, he saw a young man turn the broken figure back into a planter. That would be her apprentice. He didn't say anything, just continued to breathe heavily. If she noticed the slight hissing sound…
"Who are you?"
"You don't know me?" His forced laugh turned into a cough that wracked his body with pain each time his chest moved. He just had to endure this a little longer. But if she hurt him any worse… "Rookwood. Augustus Rookwood," he quickly said. "I'd bow, but…" His grimace might be called a smile if one were blind and squinted.
The mambo's own smile reminded him of Lestrange's. "You're the last British Death Eater."
"Not quite," he said. How much longer did he have to endure this?
She frowned. He saw her apprentice step up behind her. "Mistress?" he asked in the same accent. "The three decoys are dead. Too damaged to serve further."
Augustus saw a frown appear on the mambo's face. "Dispose of them!" She spoke without turning her head to look at the man, her attention focused on himself.
"As you co…" the man bowed, then staggered, trailing off. Augustus saw him blink, his lips moving, without saying a word.
This time, the mambo turned around, just in time to see her apprentice collapse. She whirled back, not bothering to check on the man, and time seemed to slow down for Augustus while he watched her wand swing to point at him. If she…
But she didn't cast. Instead, she shivered, then pulled something out of a pocket of her robes, swallowing it. A bezoar, as expected. But that would only treat the symptoms.
Once more her wand moved towards him, and once more her expression reminded him of Lestrange. And then her face went slack and she collapsed.
He let out a relieved breath, before another coughing fit shook his body. He didn't have much time left. And he was badly hurt, and still held in the vice-like grip of these skeletal hands. He moved his left hand.
"Accio wand!"
Wandless magic had never been his forte, but failure was not an option - his spare wand had been crushed along with his right forearm.
He saw the wand, his wand, twitch and roll an inch across the stone floor.
"Accio wand!"
Another inch.
"Accio wand!" he yelled as loudly as he could, putting everything he had into the spell.
The wand rolled towards him, bumping against a bone shard, then rolling over it, closer and closer, until the fingers of his left hand closed around it. Even exhausted and in agony from his wounds, he smiled.
"Evanesco. Evanesco. Evanesco."
It took a dozen Vanishing Charms to free him from his bony bonds. His arm sent waves of excruciating pain through his body when released, flopping down on the stone floor before he could numb it.
Sweat ran down his brow, and his vision started to dim. Grinding his teeth, he closed the vial in his pocket. He couldn't afford even more poison spreading, even though there couldn't be much left anyway. A repurposed household charm blew the poisoned air around him away with a steady breeze. Retching, he pulled out his potion case, opening it with a flick of his wand, then fumbled for the blue vial. When the cork seemed stuck he cursed with frustration, then ripped it out with his teeth before gulping down the liquid inside. He had to purge his body of the antidote to the airborne poison before it damaged him further.
For a minute, he simply rested on the floor, shivering, until he could see clearly again and didn't feel like puking his guts out any more. He vanished the blood-soaked right sleeve of his robes and winced at the sight of mangled flesh pierced with bone. The Bone-Mending Charm wouldn't be enough to fix it.
He could deal with it later. He hadn't much time left; reinforcements could arrive at any minute - the missing second apprentice might be off seeking help. He muttered a few curses. If he had the time to loot the manor… but he wouldn't even be able to restock the potions he had used, and would use to recover from this.
Ah, well… he told himself that he wouldn't have been able to use the same trick twice anyway, even if he had another pair of vials of the poison and antidote left. A flick of his wand stripped the mambo of her robes and sandals, and anything else - he wouldn't make her mistake, and leave her with the tools to escape. A few spells later she was bound, wrapped in ropes, blindfolded and silenced.
A Killing Curse followed by a Vanishing Charm took care of the apprentice, before he levitated his captive and mounted his broom. The skeletal hands had scratched the shaft, but it seemed otherwise undamaged. Which was a good thing, seeing as he had to fly it one handed.
He landed at the wardline and shrank the broom, stashing it inside his robes, then turned around to stare at the manor. For a moment, he hesitated. He knew that there were rare books inside, exotic knowledge to be had, unique spells to be found.
Augustus shook his head. He pointed his wand, and cursed green fire sprang up behind the broken windows of the first floor.
*****
London, No. 12 Grimmauld Place, April 7th, 1997
Sirius Black looked up from the amber liquid in his glass when the door to his living room opened. When he saw Vivienne entering, he smiled. "How did it go?"
"We can meet my family tomorrow, as planned," she said, walking towards him. "With our 'guest'."
He nodded and put the glass down. It was too late to drink liquor anyway. "Do they expect any trouble?" His cover should have held, but the French Gendarmes might have caught a lucky break.
"No." She shook her head then sat down on the armrest of his chair. "The Gendarmes might suspect us, of course - we're known to be Dubois's main rivals at the Court, together with the Delacours - but they lack any proof."
"And the Delacours?" They had facilitated his cover story with carefully forged documentation.
"I trust that they will 'ave covered their tracks. They certainly have the influence and experience to stall an investigation for a few more days." She shrugged, and Sirius couldn't help thinking that the d'Aigles and Delacours might not be as close as he had thought.
"And the audience?" he asked, wrapping his arm around her waist. He had to meet the Duc in person in order to take the man's measure. And to impress upon him the folly of further meddling in British politics.
"Arranged for the evening. Although the Duc insisted on receiving you in the Chateau." She winced. "'E refused to meet you on my family's estate."
Sirius took a deep breath through clenched teeth. "A private audience - a secret one. He could easily make me disappear."
"'E wouldn't do that." Vivienne shook her head almost violently. "It would be dishonourable."
"As dishonourable as me seducing Dubois to kidnap her?"
He saw her flinch in response, before she raised her chin. "It was justified. She wanted to plunge Britain into another war. And 'er plans for the French muggleborns…"
"The Duc might think a small betrayal justified as well, in response to my actions against Dubois. Or to exchange me for her." If Dubois had been the Duc's lover, as some rumours claimed, then the leader of Magical France might very well decide to hold Sirius hostage to ensure Dubois's survival, no matter the diplomatic consequences.
"If she survives she'll do all she can to take revenge," Vivienne said. "And if the Duc would go to such lengths to save 'er…"
"...then she has his ear. And probably his heart too," Sirius finished for her.
"No. The Duc is not that sentimental. If she was 'is mistress, maybe. But a former lover? Who was kidnapped by 'er current lover? No." Vivienne shook her head. "'E would appear not just weak, but foolish to risk a war for such a witch."
"Are you certain?" Sirius was a Gryffindor, so his bravery was not in question, but if the Duc took him hostage, Harry and his friends might react in a rash and violent manner.
"Yes. While we do not elect our leader, a Duc who loses the respect of the Court and the aristocracy cannot 'old on to 'is position for long."
It seemed French politics were even worse than British ones, Sirius thought. They hadn't had two civil wars since Grindelwald's war, though. He nodded. "Alright. So, will he sacrifice Dubois then?"
"Yes." After a moment, she added: "That is the opinion of my family as well."
He'd have to trust their opinion, Sirius knew - he wasn't an expert on French politics. He sighed. He eyed the glass again, then vanished its contents with a flick of his wand. "You know, I didn't want to, didn't like seducing her. I still don't like it."
"She's a 'orrible witch." Vivienne nodded.
"It's not that." He noticed a flicker of doubt, and maybe hurt, on her face, and took a deep breath. "It felt as if I was cheating on you." Well, according to pretty much everyone he could think of, sleeping with another witch was cheating on your lover.
She didn't answer right away. And when she did, she wasn't looking at him. "I knew what you were doing. What you 'ad to do. It was my idea."
He didn't say anything, just held her closer. He could feel how tense she was.
In a whisper, she went on: "I 'ated it, though. To know you would be in 'er arms, making love to 'er…" She was clenching her teeth, her whispers gaining a screeching undertone. "I 'ate her even more because of this!"
He put his right hand on her thigh, squeezing gently. She was close to transforming, or so he thought. There were no feathers sprouting yet, though. He was tempted to change into Padfoot - that usually broke any tension. Or at least redirected it. But she deserved better than him making light of this. "I won't do it again."
She didn't answer, but she slid into his lap and held him, and he could feel how she slowly grew less tense as he rubbed her back.
*****
London, Diagon Alley, April 8th, 1997
Ron Weasley ducked when he entered the twins' shop, but no rubber chicken tried to attack him, nor did anything else dreamed up by his brothers hit him while he stepped through the fast-drying Thief's Downfall installed at the entrance.
"Ah, we trained him well!"
Ron shot the chuckling Fred a glare. "Better safe than sorry." Growing up with the twins certainly had taught him that. He glanced around reflexively. To one side, a customer, a young wizard, was talking with the clerk the twins had hired. Or trying to flirt with her, Ron couldn't tell. He kept an eye on them anyway.
"Bah! Where's the fun in that?" Fred shook his head. "Safe!" He scoffed. "Are you a Gryffindor or not?"
"He's been with Hermione for too long; he's starting to think like her!" George, standing in the doorway to the back room, added. "Soon he'll read real books instead of Quidditch magazines!"
Ron rolled his eyes. "Very funny."
Fred grinned. "We do our best. Or worst."
"Definitely your worst," Ron said. When his brother opened his mouth again, he held up his hand. "Let's go into your workroom."
Fred closed his mouth and nodded, then turned his head and yelled "Clarice! Take over the counter!"
The witch looked over at them and nodded. "Alright, boss."
"Is she calling you boss because she can't tell you apart?" Ron asked as he followed his brothers to their workroom. "Or are you actually becoming respectable business owners?"
"That was definitely your worst attempt at a joke," Fred shot back.
"Respectable? Us?" George shook his head.
Then the door closed, and the twins grew more serious. Fred leaned against a work bench filled with all sorts of knick-knacks and cast a privacy spell.
"I guess you want to know how far along the 'Bone Busters' are," George said.
Ron nodded. He also hadn't seen the twins for some time, but that wasn't something that he'd admit to anyone.
"We're about to finish testing, add a few tweaks, then start production." George picked up what looked like a Bludger. "And we've improved on the concept." He grinned. "This will seek out your enemies, trying to ram them like a normal Bludger. Just without the Cushioning Charms." His grin widened. "It would kill someone if it hit their head."
"And while the target is dodging the Bone Buster - or shielding - it will release the potion into the air as an almost invisible mist," Fred added, looking smug.
Ron nodded. "So… you adapted one of your inventions, and put it into a Bludger with the safety charms removed." It was devious. Skeletons and bone walls wouldn't try to dodge, and houngans would have to worry about getting smashed by the things. And should their limbs break, and their bones become exposed...
Fred pouted. "It wasn't quite that simple. We had to adapt the spells a lot so it would only attack enemies."
"And how does that work?" Ron wanted to know. He didn't want to get hit by one of them.
"A charmed pin will keep it away," Fred said. "The charm can be cast as well, but a General Counter-Spell would put an end to it."
And the Bludger would probably put an end to them soon afterwards, Ron thought. "We'll still want to learn the spell too. We might lose a pin, or there might be other people in the area of effect whom we don't want to get hurt."
"You can also command it to stop," George said. "We tweaked those spells too, though. If someone tries the usual Quidditch spells on them…" He bared his teeth. "Let's just say they'll receive a surprise."
"What kind of surprise?" Ron stared at them. He'd rather not discover what the thing did in the middle of a battle.
Fred frowned. "Now you sound like Hermione too. If that's the result of your special Resistance training, then I'm glad we didn't get to go."
"What does it do?"
"It makes the Bone Buster focus on the caster of the spell," George answered. "After slowing down for a moment, to make them think they succeeded."
"Ah." Ron nodded. He didn't think that would be very useful, but it was a nice addition. "Good work. We can definitely use that."
Fred narrowed his eyes. "So… does that mean you're planning to fight houngans?"
"We want to be ready for the next time we encounter Reid or his friends," Ron said. "I hope he doesn't return to Britain, though - we're still dealing with Malfoy and Runcorn's arrests."
"That shook up the Wizengamot," Fred remarked with a chuckle. "Their honourable and generous friend planning to kill them all!"
"Greengrass and Davis revealed that, right?" George asked.
Ron nodded. "Yes. They managed to completely fool Malfoy until after he told them his plan." He saw that Fred was glaring at George, who in turn was frowning at his brother. Ron didn't know what was going on there, and he didn't think he wanted to know.
*****
Outside Paris, Château d'Orléans, France, April 8th, 1997
Sirius Black didn't let any lingering nervousness - he was a Gryffindor; he wasn't afraid - show as he stepped out of the fireplace in the entrance hall of the seat of the Duc d'Orléans. He was an emissary of Wizarding Britain, on a diplomatic mission officially sanctioned by the Chief Warlock. It would be a breach of protocol unheard of in recent times should he be detained, or worse.
Unheard of, but not entirely impossible, he told himself as he cleaned the soot from his robes. He glanced briefly at the guards in the hall, then turned and held out his hand when the fireplace flashed behind him. Vivienne stepped out and took his hand in hers with practised ease while she smiled at him. Her mother, Marie, was next, followed by Fleur's father. Antoine Delacour didn't show any sign of his close brush with death four months ago in the catacombs of the Bastille.
As was customary, the chamberlain waited to greet them until all had removed the soot from their clothes. "Welcome to the Château d'Orléans," the elderly wizard said in French, bowing deeply. "The Duc awaits you in the western salon."
They nodded in response and followed the man through a corridor decked out in marble. Sirius had to restrain himself from glancing at every decorative pillar or curtain-covered alcove they passed - half an army could be hidden there. He had yet to release Vivienne's hand.
The western salon was a rather large room for a private audience - the largest room in Sirius's home could have fit twice into it. The windows were covered with thick curtains. The furniture, though, had been chosen with care for the meeting, he thought - there were two couches facing a single seat, separated by a low table. Almost intimate, even, Sirius thought, for a meeting with the Duc. He couldn't spot the guards he knew had to be around - probably hidden behind fake walls and curtains.
The Duc himself was standing when they entered, dressed in dark robes with purple trim. He was about ten years older than Sirius, tall and slim, and with an immaculate mustache and goatee - much like Sirius's own style. And, judging by the Duc's faint smirk, he had not missed the resemblance.
"Welcome, Marie, Antoine, Mademoiselle d'Aigle, Monsieur Black." The Duc inclined his head in greeting. Apparently, Sirius didn't need an introduction.
In response, everyone in his group bowed deeply.
"Please sit down." The Duc gestured at the two couches.
A house-elf brought some refreshments as they took their seats. The little creature had stepped out from behind one of the curtains, and Sirius made a mental note of the location - there would be a passage for the elves behind there. In a pinch, Padfoot could fit through one as well.
Marie and Antoine made some idle chat while the elf served wine - a good vintage, Sirius noted. He refrained from testing for poison; if the Duc wanted to harm him he'd have too many other opportunities, and without breaking protocol.
"You asked for a private meeting," the Duc finally said. "With a foreign envoy." He glanced at Sirius as he spoke, but addressed Marie and Antoine.
"Yes, we did. Sirius has informed us of a grave matter which could have a severe impact on relations between France and Britain." Marie nodded at Sirius.
The Duc raised an eyebrow, though Sirius couldn't tell if the man was surprised at the quick deflection or not. He cleared his throat. "Indeed, Monsieur le duc. You might be aware that there have recently been several attacks against civilians in Wizarding Britain." The Duc nodded, and Sirius went on. "We have discovered that those attacks were instigated by a member of your court, in an attempt to destabilise my country."
The Duc took a short, hissing breath, but didn't show any other reaction. "I assume you speak of Isabelle Dubois."
"Yes."
"And you have taken her into your custody."
"Not officially," Sirius clarified.
"Ah." The Duc slowly nodded. "Not yet, you mean." He looked at Marie and Antoine.
Vivienne's mother nodded. "We thought it best that this delicate situation be resolved with some discretion."
"Otherwise Isabelle's actions could have grave consequences, given the volatile situation in Britain," Antoine added.
"Isabelle was kidnapped by her current lover - an American in exile, or rather, a man posing as an American in exile." The Duc was staring at Sirius, and his tone left no doubt that he knew who had been posing as Isabelle's lover. "Such an act might have grave consequences. The French do not suffer foreigners kidnapping members of the Court."
He hadn't denied the accusations against Dubois, Sirius noticed. He shrugged. "She brought it on herself. If she hadn't been trying to plunge Britain into another civil war, she wouldn't have been taken into custody." He leaned forward. "And should her plans for the French muggleborns be revealed, I gather that a great deal of violent unrest might result here in France."
He saw the Duc's eyes widen in apparent surprise at that. Either he hadn't known about that or he was an excellent actor. "What plans?"
"She planned to murder the best and brightest of the French muggleborns, to curb a hypothetical rebellion before it could start," Sirius explained. With a feral grin, he added: "Should this become known I fear that it would cause the very rebellion she feared."
The Duc had been clenching his teeth while Sirius had been speaking. "Others might take that threat as proof that Isabelle's apparent fears were not groundless."
Sirius leaned forward. "Which fears? That the French muggleborns might demand equal rights? And an end to discrimination? And that they might look to Britain for support?"
"Yes."
He scoffed. "We just fought a bloody war - the second war in less than twenty years. We have no desire for another one."
"Some might think that currently you're simply too weak to fight another war." The Duc was focused on Sirius.
"They would be wrong. Dead wrong." Sirius met the man's eyes and bared his teeth. "The Ministry's losses were terrible. The Death Eaters and their supporters were all but wiped out. But the Order of the Phoenix and the Muggleborn Resistance? We're actually stronger than before." It wasn't quite true - while the Muggleborn Resistance had recruited more than they had lost, the new members were not yet trained to the level of the veterans and the Order hadn't replaced its losses. But Sirius had no doubt that should it come to war with France, recruiting more Order members would be far easier than recruiting more Aurors. "Any country so foolish as to attack us would find out very quickly that we're ready for war."
"A muggleborn-ruled Britain would be facing the entirety of Europe united against them."
He snorted. "And do you think the European muggleborns will sit out such a conflict? They flocked to Grindelwald in the past and he was the aggressor. Should Europe go to war for pureblood supremacy, the muggleborns will rise and you'll find yourself besieged by your own people. People who will have learned from the Resistance's example."
"So you have plans, then." The Duc's face was no longer expressionless; he was baring his own teeth now, his anger plain to see.
"Of course we have plans - we'd be fools not to be prepared for that - but we have no intention of starting a war." Sirius shook his head. "We know how terrible it is, and we do not wish it on anyone." Not on anyone sensible, at least. "We went to war because the Death Eaters wanted to oppress and murder all muggleborns." And if anyone else tried the same, they'd go to war again - covertly, or overtly. He lowered his voice. "Stop trying to meddle in Britain, don't murder your own muggleborns and there'll be no war, and no scandal."
"I cannot ignore Isabelle's kidnapping. She has too many friends at Court."
Marie put down her own glass, a slight sneer appearing on her face. "No one would be surprised if her plots and affairs caught up with her. A scorned lover hiring an assassin to take revenge on her would be plausible enough to deflect suspicion away from us."
The Duc turned towards the Veela. "And you would arrange that?"
"Not directly," she answered, tilting her head slightly.
"A few words to the correct people, a few hints at what danger Isabelle has been courting with her foolish course of action…" Antoine spread his hands, the large ring on his hand catching the light from the chandelier. "She has overstepped her bounds, assumed she was acting with support you never gave her. A lesson others would do well to learn as well."
The Duc looked from the Veela to the wizard and back, then glanced at Sirius. "Are you trying to push me into following his example?"
His tone had changed, and he had grown rigid, Sirius thought. He saw the two French nobles stiffen as well.
"We're not the ones who tried to create a fait accompli and drag France into a war no one wanted but them," Antoine said. "We're not the ones who tried to hide their actions from you, assuming you would condone them after the fact - when you'd have no other choice." He shook his head. "You know me, us, better than that, Louis."
"I thought I knew Isabelle better than that as well," the Duc retorted, and Sirius couldn't help but think that the Duc wasn't entirely convinced of Dubois's guilt.
He felt Vivienne, who hadn't said anything yet, tense up. "We have a memory of her confession, Monsieur le duc."
The leader of Magical France glanced at her and Sirius, then shook his head. "She was, according to your own words, acting out of fear of a muggleborn rebellion. And you are using the same threat in an attempt to dictate policy to me - while working with a foreigner allied to muggleborns."
"Dubois was working with foreigners as well - with purebloods willing to murder the entire Wizengamot, the heads of all the Old Families, to further their own goals." Sirius smiled thinly. "Purebloods who still follow the orders of the Dark Lord - the foreigner who dared to lay a trap in the Bastille and corrupt your people. Neither I nor my allies have done anything against France."
"You kidnapped a member of my court."
"In response to her orchestrating attacks on my country." Sirius glared at the Duc.
"What is more important, the fate of a witch, or the fate of our country?" Antoine cut in. "We are on the brink of war - a situation Dubois brought upon us. Supporting her means condoning her actions against Britain."
The Duc pressed his lips together for a moment, before he answered. "I do not condone her actions, and I do not wish to go to war." Sirius clenched his teeth and squeezed Vivienne's hand. "But neither do I wish to let foreigners dictate to me how I rule my country. Or members of my court. France's internal affairs are no one else's concern."
"The muggleborns disagree," Sirius said. He ignored the glances from Marie and Antoine. "There are lines that, if crossed, will cause them to react. During the time of Grindelwald's War, the muggles fought a great war as well."
"I'm aware of that. Muggle France fell to the Prussians. Some took it as an omen of things to come when facing Grindelwald's army." The Duc sneered. "They were proven wrong."
"The British and French muggles fought a regime of criminals who murdered millions of people for no other reason than their blood," Sirius went on. "Ever since then, muggles have considered similar actions to be a crime so severe it merits an intervention by the international community."
"What do you wish to say?"
"I'm saying that should you start murdering your muggleborns, the British muggleborns will consider you a criminal of the worst sort. And they wouldn't be the only ones in Europe," Sirius explained.
"You threaten me with war, then, should I not bow to muggleborns?"
Sirius wanted to tell the Duc that that was exactly what he was doing, but Antoine spoke up before he lost his temper. "He's warning us that mass murder is not the solution. It didn't work for the British, and it will not work for us. Quite the contrary."
"Appeasement didn't work for the British either," the Duc retorted.
"No amount of appeasement other than unconditional surrender would have satisfied the Dark Lord," Sirius said. "The muggleborns, by and large, simply want the same rights as purebloods." Which implied democracy, but he didn't want to open that can of Flobberworms. "Why do you think that Dumbledore pushed for muggleborn rights in Britain after he had defeated Grindelwald? He knew that that was the only way to avoid another war."
"And yet Britain suffered two Blood Wars, whereas France has remained at peace."
"Those wars were the result of the Dark Lord's desire to take over Britain. The muggleborns were just a convenient scapegoat. If circumstances had been different he would have followed Grindelwald's example and recruited muggleborns." Sirius had his doubts - Voldemort must have known that such a course of action could have brought most of Europe down on his head.
"You demand that France stays out of your internal affairs, yet do not offer the same courtesy." The Duc glared at him.
"Our courtesy ends where mass murder begins." Sirius met the Duc's eyes without flinching.
"No one is planning such a crime," Marie cut in. "No one but Dubois, at least."
"The purpose of this meeting was to defuse the crisis Dubois created. I think we are all in agreement that war has to be avoided, and that Dubois's actions are not supported by France." Antoine smiled. "We are also now aware of the views of the future government of Britain as far as muggleborns are concerned, which will have to be considered by the Duc."
"Indeed," Marie added, "we can deal with the other issues at a later date."
Sirius nodded. The main goal was to avoid a war right now. "If you stop your people from stirring up trouble in Britain in the future we'll consider Dubois's actions unsanctioned by France and let you handle the matter discreetly."
The Duc scowled, but nodded slowly. "I can agree to that."
Sirius smiled as they shook hands, but he had a feeling that the Duc wasn't entirely convinced that he couldn't mess with Britain in the future. Or that he couldn't oppress the French muggleborns.
He wasn't too worried, though - they could do something about that once they had handled the current crisis and taken over Britain.
*****
Near Spanish Town, Jamaica, April 8th, 1997
Augustus Rookwood, sitting in the living room of his tent, watched his captive stir on the carpet. The poison he had used had finally been metabolised enough for her to regain consciousness. If only he had had more of the antidote left, to speed up the process… He shook his head. Such thoughts did nothing but distract him. He had to focus on the task at hand.
The mambo opened her eyes and blinked rapidly. She would still have trouble focusing her gaze, he knew. She tugged against the bonds that held her, but not for long - she knew that she wouldn't be able to break them.
"Good evening, Madam." He smirked at her expression. If not for the gag, she'd be swearing at him. "I have a few questions for you." He pulled out his vial of Veritaserum. Her eyes widened, then hardened - that wasn't the reaction he had expected.
Frowning, he cast a full Body-Bind Curse, then vanished the gag in her mouth. But then he hesitated as he was about to let three drops fall into her open mouth, still thinking of her curious reaction. What if she had taken precautions to prevent the use of Veritaserum? Something that reacted with the potion to kill her? He had heard of such projects when he had been working at the Department.
Sighing, he stashed the vial again - and watched her eyes track it. Was that relief, or regret? With her face frozen, it was hard to tell. No matter, there were alternatives. He pointed his wand at her.
"Imperio!"
Paralysed, she showed no sign of struggling, other than a glint in her eyes that might have been his imagination. But when he ended the Body-Bind Curse, she didn't do anything except stare at the ground - as victims of his curse were wont to do without orders.
"Tell me your name."
"Ezola Grant."
"Tell me the truth. Are you a member of the island's ruling council?"
"Yes."
So he had the right kind of witch. He allowed himself to smile, before continuing the interrogation. "Did you expect me to attack you?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Ricky had disappeared."
The thug's death had not gone unnoticed. Augustus had been sloppy. "Who else knew about this?"
"My apprentices."
"How many did you have?"
"Two."
Which meant one was left. "Can the surviving apprentice track you?"
"No."
That was good news. "Can anyone else track you?"
"No."
Even better, though he had expected that - what kind of wizard or witch would allow others to gain the power to track them? That clause in his contract had been the worst drawback to becoming an Unspeakable. That left another weakness, though. "Can you track the skulls of the Library of Souls?"
"Yes."
He hissed with sudden fear. "How?"
She started to explain the spell - the ritual. Sacrifices, duration, range… why hadn't they found him? A few dead muggles would cover the entire island. "Did you search the island already?"
"Yes."
"When?"
"When we discovered that a skull was missing, and after the attack on Williams."
He blinked. He hadn't left the island after that attack, so… Of course! The Dark Lord would have taken steps to prevent the houngans from finding the skull he had taken from them. He sighed with relief. "Are you cooperating with the British?"
"No."
"Will you let them on the island?"
"No."
He relaxed. The Department could track him - but not from Britain. He was safe. Relatively, at least.
"Tell me all you know about the Library of Souls."
*****
Augustus leaned back in his seat and took a deep breath. The thug 'Ricky' had been surprisingly resistant to interrogation, but his current captive was worse. Trying to break into her mind left him feeling as if he had headbutted a stone wall.
But he had no choice - the information she had been forced to reveal while under his spell had been spotty and purely verbal. If he had access to a Pensieve, he could have forced her to donate her memories, but as things were… if he wanted to study the layout and defences of the Library of Souls before actually venturing there, he needed to see it in her memories. He couldn't even potion her to reduce her wits, since that would render her memory unreliable. And ordering her to open her mind hadn't worked.
So he was forced to match his mind against hers as he tried to overpower her defences. A thoroughly exhausting and painful process - he hadn't suffered such a headache since his own Occlumency training.
He shifted in his seat, reaching for the cup of tea he had prepared in advance. Taking a sip from it, he glanced at the skull resting on a low table nearby. If only he had the time to study the skull properly - one of the enchantments on it had to have been added by the Dark Lord to prevent the houngans from tracking it. If he could analyse it, he might be able to counter the hold the Department had over him.
He might not even need to find a cure for the Withering Curse to be safe… He shook his head. He had already come too far to give up now. And he didn't want to spend the rest of his life in hiding; he wanted a pardon.
And he wanted the knowledge from the Library of Souls.
*****
London, Ministry of Magic, April 9th, 1997
"Jamaica has accused us of attacking another of their houngans?" Amelia Bones frowned as she dropped the most recent missive from the ICW on her desk and looked at Fawley. "Do they offer any proof for their accusations?"
Britain's delegate at the ICW shook his head. "No, Madam, they haven't. All they are claiming is that since another houngan has been attacked in her manor, it has to be the work of the same culprit as the earlier attack. They have not offered any detailed description of the attack either."
"Which means it wasn't done with muggle explosives." Amelia shook her head. "It doesn't mean the culprit wasn't the same, of course. But I wouldn't put it past the houngans to settle some rivalries and blame us."
Fawley nodded, then cleared his throat. "Ah… do we know who was behind the attacks?"
She was certain it was Rookwood, but she had no proof a court would accept. And she didn't trust Fawley not to leak the information to others. So she shook her head. "There's only conjuncture, nothing solid."
He remained silent for a moment, before speaking up again: "What about the muggleborns? Could they be behind the attacks?"
Amelia wouldn't put such an operation beyond the Resistance's capabilities, but she doubted that they'd be able to launch such attacks without their leader, and Granger hadn't left Britain long enough to lead such a mission. And if Fawley spread such rumours, Britain's trouble with a number of foreign countries would grow much, much worse. So she shook his head. "No. All the muggleborn suspects able to do such a thing are accounted for."
"Oh." The wizard sounded disappointed. "I've been told - in private, of course - that a number of countries approved of our efforts to continue Dumbledore's policy towards Jamaica."
Of course they would. For decades, Dumbledore had been the reason Jamaica had been playing nice with its neighbours. "We haven't, so far, changed that policy. You can tell them that. But don't claim that we are behind these attacks."
Once the wizard had left, she closed her eyes and leaned back in her seat. Rookwood was still working on getting a cure for the Withering Curse, she was certain. A cure that would cost a pardon for one of the worst murderers she knew. The same sort of pardon another mass murderer had received thanks to Dumbledore's influence.
She shook her head. She would be damned if she let a Death Eater escape.
*****
London, Ministry of Magic, April 11th, 1997
"The chair recognises Mister Avery."
"Honoured members of the Wizengamot! While the accusations leveled against Augustus Malfoy and Philius Runcorn are shocking - although we have yet to see and judge for ourselves the evidence for said accusations - it would be a grave mistake to condemn all of the goals the two stood for in reaction. If the worst of dark wizards thinks children shouldn't be hurt, does that mean such a sentiment is wrong just because he shares it? No! I say our traditions are not tainted by a desperate man's folly..."
Hermione Granger rolled her eyes as she listened to Avery's doomed attempts to stop the Wizengamot from burying the bigots' agenda. Since the majority of the Wizengamot members cared about themselves first, their families second, and the rest of Wizarding Britain a distant third, they had taken Malfoy's plans personally. Very personally. Who would have thought that the very reason the Wizengamot was so corrupt and easily misled would turn out to provide the impetus for the last push needed to reform it?
"What an idiot," she heard Ron whisper next to her. "I've got a mind to hex him." She glanced at him, and he grinned. "Just joking."
She scowled. This was serious. They were about to make history! She was about to point that out to him when he touched her thigh.
"Relax. You heard Sirius and Doge - it's a done deal. This is just posturing."
She sighed and nodded, putting her hand on his. They were so close, though, and she longed to shut the idiot up. She wasn't the only one - other members were jeering and shouting, and even waving their wands. No one hexed him, though - that wasn't done.
Finally, Avery sat down again, head held high, but teeth grinding, and Sirius raised his wand.
"The chair recognises Mister Black."
"Honoured members of the Wizengamot! You have heard what Mister Avery said. Even faced with proof of how corrupt his ideology is, he cannot bear the truth. And why is that? Because he's afraid. Afraid of muggleborns. Afraid of losing his position. Afraid of any change at all.
"But Britain needs to change. The current system is not working. A country where the majority of the people have no voice in government is a doomed country. Why should people listen to a government that doesn't listen to them? To a Wizengamot that excludes them?
"It's not as if the Wizengamot has proven to be particularly wise. The Muggleborn Laws were passed despite Dumbledore arguing against them - a mistake caused by fear. And we all know the results of those laws. War and death.
"We cannot allow this to happen again! No longer can we let a few families have the power to decide our country's fate! If Britain is to prosper, we need everyone working together - and that requires everyone to have a stake in the country.
"The proposed changes to the Wizengamot in the Reform Act will achieve this. Instead of representing themselves and their families, members will represent far more people - people whose support is shown by their votes.
"Some claim this is 'muggle nonsense'. Something against all our traditions. To those I say: That is a lie. For what I propose - elections - are how we have chosen the Minister for Magic for centuries. Like the Wizengamot elects a minister, the people will elect the Wizengamot."
Hermione rolled her eyes again when she saw how that rather absurd argument was actually swaying some of the more conservative members. But as long as the needed majority was gained, she wouldn't complain. She raised her wand as well.
"The chair recognises Madam Granger."
"Honoured members of the Wizengamot! I fully support my esteemed colleague's proposal!" She had written most of it, after all. Judging by some grins, people knew it as well. "And I dare say that every muggleborn supports, no, expects and demands, it as well. Muggleborns, half-bloods, purebloods - we all fought for our country during the war. And yet people would claim that we have fewer rights than the Old Families? We bled and died the same as them, as everyone who fought in the war will know." That should make the others realise that there was more at stake than old privileges. "Hogwarts, the oldest and finest School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, has been open to any student no matter their blood ever since it was founded. All of us were students there. By what right should we then be treated as lesser once we graduate? It is past time to right this wrong, before we are dragged into another war. I ask every one of you to vote for the Reform Act."
She sat down again. A few of the Wizengamot members were staring at her with blatant fear. Others - fewer - scowled. She didn't care, as long as they won the vote.
"The chair recognises Madam Myerscough."
Another witch rose, middle-aged. Hermione tuned her out as soon as it was clear that she supported the Reform Act. She hoped that there wouldn't be too many other speakers until the vote.
*****
"The ayes have it. Mister Black's proposal, the Reform Act, has been passed."
Hermione wasn't the only one who cheered at the results. She shot up from her seat, her fists balled in triumph, and turned to hug Ron. They had done it. The first general election in the history of Wizarding Britain would be held on August 1st, 1997.
Plenty of time to plan a visit to Jamaica and handle the houngan problem.
*****