CHAPTER 102: THE MUGGLE WAR, PT 1

Wednesday morning, in Westminster Palace. Thomas Johnson sat in the packed audience benches. Yesterday evening, the Minister of Magic Cornelius Fudge had visited the Prime Minister, and in a rare show of consideration offered to address the House of Commons. Thomas had barely managed to secure a seat, but as a high-ranking official in the Ministry of Defense, he had some leverage.

Perhaps it was unfair. He already knew all about magic, and had even been reading the Daily Prophet every evening for the last three years. Being married to a witch had many perks, even if it meant lying to his friends and family because of the silence vows. But Sarissa had told him that the Minister of Magic was a blustering fool, a puppet controlled by the more powerful players on the political field, and he wanted to see this for himself. The live broadcast might not work for long, as too much magic disturbed electronic devices, a problem which he had encountered far too often in their household. (Fortunately, Sarissa didn't have much need for magic at home, her day job researching spells in the Nimbus company giving her an outlet for her witchy urges.)

Minister Fudge was supposed to deliver a speech at ten in the morning.

It was now 10:02.

People were shifting uncomfortably, the Prime Minister looking livid. The supposed Minister of Magic was nowhere to be seen near the palace, and if the man didn't show up, it would reflect badly on him. Even if he did, the lateness was a sure sign of disrespect towards the governmental body.

Finally, at six minutes past ten, a man suddenly appeared in the center of the room with a loud *pop*. All conversation ceased amidst gasps.

The wizard drew himself up with a pompous look on his face. A portly man wearing a pinstriped suit and a lime green bowler hat, he looked positively ridiculous. The man cast a surprised look around the room.

"Ah, good morning, Minister Fudge," the Prime Minister spoke.

The Minister of Magic nodded briefly. "What's with all these people, Prime Minister? I expected to speak just with you and your ministers."

The Prime Minister's face briefly flashed in consternation, but then quickly smoothed itself again. "These are the elected representatives of the lower House of parliament, sir." He wisely forgot to mention the spectators on the Strangers' Gallery, Thomas thought. Not to mention the cameras.

"Yes, well," the wizard grumbled. "I'm already breaking the Statute of Secrecy as it is, just by being here. It needn't get any worse."

"I assure you, sir, all the people in this room are aware of magic. It's been rather hard to miss, these past few days." His voice held just a hint of reproach.

"Oh, I suppose." The man flicked his hand dismissively before turning to face the Assembly, and cleared his throat.

"I've been asked to inform you of the current situation. Well then. The attacks on Monday and earlier this month were done by a dark wizard, Quirius Quirrell or something like that. Don't ask me why, he probably just has it in for Muggles. You may rest assured that we are taking the matter very seriously, and the Department of Magical Law Enforcement is doing all in its power to apprehend the man." After a pause he added, in tones as though he were bestowing a great favor upon his listeners: "I can also offer you a thousand doses of bone, muscle and tissue regeneration potion to help with the aftermath of Monday's... of Monday."

There was a brief silence, then the Minister of Public Health cleared his throat. "There are over five thousand heavily wounded, sir. Perhaps a little more ...?"

The wizard started, and stared at the man who had spoken. "This is an extremely generous offer! A thousand such potions would take a Master Potioneer over half a year to make, you know."

Thomas groaned silently. Just point out that most of those people don't need limb regrowth, you fool. A thousand potions seemed to be about the right figure to help the people who had third-degree burns in public places, needed amputations, or had ruptured internal organs beyond repair. The offer must have been designed to cure those people who were beyond the abilities of Muggle medicine to help. Unfortunately, it didn't seem like Fudge was about to explain this reasoning.

The Minister of Public Health seemed lost for words for some moments, but quickly recovered. "Thousands of people will suffer for much longer than half a year without the help, sir. Perhaps you might consider...?"

The wizard snorted. "We are already giving you more than half the current supply of St. Mungo's! I'd think you'd be grateful!"

"We do appreciate it, sir," the man answered, with a definite edge to his voice. "But one of your citizens hurt our people, and your offer of assistance only accounts for a fraction of the wounded!"

"Well, that's hardly our problem, is it?" The portly man blustered. "It's not like we sent the man after you!"

There was a buzz of indignant muttering and several angry exclamations at that. The Speaker called for order, and the Minister of Defense stood up.

"Before we continue this... discussion," he spoke in a deep voice, "I was wondering. What is currently being done to apprehend this dark wizard? I see little point in haggling over healing potions if this man is just going to pull a similar stunt next week."

"As I said," Fudge said haughtily, "we are working on it."

"Yes, sure, I understand," the man continued. "But that is a phrase we have heard many times in these chambers, and it may carry many different meanings. Would you be able to tell us how you are progressing? Do you know his residence? Where he will strike next? His methods? Whether he is acting alone or is part of a larger network?"

"He wasn't even sure of the man's name," a woman interjected bitterly. "Or what he wants."

"I'm the Minister of Magic, not the Head of Magical Law Enforcement! It's not my job to concern myself with details like that."

"If a criminal from my country killed and wounded over a million people in one day," the Minister of Defense spoke harshly, "I would damn well hope that the Prime Minister knew his name, at least! And from your response, it sounds like you either have very little clue what's going on in your own Ministry, which would speak volumes about the quality of your magical 'government' if true, by the way, or you simply don't want to admit that you have absolutely no leads on this dangerous individual who seems to be targeting non-magical people in particular."

"Excuse me?" Fudge exclaimed.

"Look," the man continued. "We can help. This is obviously an urgent matter of national and international importance. If you or someone else can illuminate what your people know about this... this terrorist, his motives and especially his abilities, we can dedicate several teams of our best police force and army groups to his capture."

The wizard snorted. "You seriously think Muggles have a chance at finding and defeating a wizard? That's preposterous."

The Defense Minister ground his teeth. "Muggles, as you call us, are not so helpless as you seem to think. Send us someone to explain, or even better, demonstrate magical abilities, and we'll employ our most advanced spying and engagement technology. With an understanding of what magic can do, we may be able to develop both defenses and weapons. Even if it turns out we truly cannot take him down ourselves, it is sheer arrogance to believe that our help could not be useful at all."

The Minister of Magic bristled. "Now see here, I'm not going to teach a bunch of Muggles what magic spells look like! The very idea! If I had know you would be so demanding I wouldn't have come here!"

"You expected us to say 'yes sir, no sir' and lap up everything you said, didn't you?" The woman who had spoken up before asked. "Do you really expect us to sit and wait while you get your act around and handle this terrorist? And for that matter, I find it really hard to believe that a single terrorist could wreak such damage. He cannot possibly be working alone."

"Believe what you will," the Minister of Magic answered coolly.

"Very well then, I shall tell you what I believe," the Muggle woman answered back. "I believe that there's a group of highly dangerous individuals out to wage a magical war of terror on normal people. I believe that you and your magical Ministry are either on their side, or covering for them because you're too afraid of what we might be able to do to you if, heaven forbid, we should come to learn how magic works. I believe you are not going to expend any more than a token effort at uncovering this group, because you don't give a toss about what happens to Muggles. You don't feel anything but contempt for us, do you?"

The wizard glared at her. "I see no reason to respond to that."

"Is it true?" Another asked. "Are you just planning to stand by and let us get killed?"

"I hardly expect it to make a difference," another man, Lee White, sneered. "If the rest of his people share the incompetence of their leader, we might as well be on our own."

Thomas flinched. Lee White was an idiot, a troublesome back bencher with little political experience and no sense of diplomacy. His attention-seeking and "plain speaking" antics were bad enough normally, but the leader of the magical side of the country was not someone whom it seemed wise to insult.

Cornelius Fudge stared at the man. "How dare you speak to your superiors in such a way?" He demanded.

"Superiors?!" Someone else shouted, shocked. "Are you mad? Who made you –" and then cut off as the Prime Minister frantically signaled for him to shut up, as the pompous little wizard turned red hot in anger.

"I see that I have given the wrong impression by coming here tonight," the man finally said in what was probably supposed to be a cool tone, but quite failed to hide his loss of composure. "Just because I deign to explain a few things to you doesn't mean that you have the right to question and judge me!" He briefly tipped his hat in a gesture of goodbye.

"Wait!" One of the women stood up and yelled to him. "Wait, please, sir! Please, what about the children?"

The Minister of Magic turned to her. "Children?" He repeated.

"The school children from the Saint Mary's primary school. The Prime Minister has informed us that they might still be alive?"

"Oh, them," the wizard said. "Yes, I forgot to mention that. I suppose we might as well send them home now."

"Thank you, sir. And... are they all right?"

"They're all missing a leg," the man shrugged, looking somewhat calmer now that he was being addressed in properly deferential tones. "But otherwise they're unharmed, last I heard."

"What did you do to them?" A man asked, and then added, grudgingly, "sir?"

"I did nothing," the Minister of Magic replied in a prickly tone. "This Quirrell guy apparently went and cursed their legs off. We've just moved them to the Ministry for the time being."

"But why did you take them away in the first place?"

"Well, they were all missing a leg! We could hardly leave them there. The International Confederation would never stand for such a breach of the Statute of Secrecy."

"So you kidnapped three hundred and twelve children," a woman said hollowly. "Made their parents believe they died in a horrible explosion, and now hold them prisoner against their will in this Ministry of yours, presumably never to return home. And you did all this just to keep the public from discovering the truth?"

"What else would you have me do?" Fudge blustered. "We can't just violate our most sacred law for a bunch of Muggle children!"

"What about our laws?" Another man shot. "The laws of this country? And no," he added loudly to the person sitting next to him, who had nudged him and shot him a warning look, "I'm not going to be all 'yes sir' and 'please sir' and 'thank you sir', and pretend that this man who didn't even get elected by the public is somehow above me, just to stroke his ego."

"And I am not going to let some uppity Muggle lecture me!" Cornelius Fudge almost shouted. "You will hold your tongue, mister, if you like it where it is!"

"Are you threatening me?"

"Please remain calm, sir," The Speaker requested.

"If you live on British soil," the man continued after a brief pause, cold dripping from his voice, "you should follow British law, and not hide behind ungoverned institutions."

"That's a little presumptuous, sir," the wizard answered in similar tones. "Perhaps you should follow our laws instead."

"You would seek to rule us?"

"Well, I wasn't going to bring it up, but if you insist on pushing the point, then yes, we just might!"

Lee White jumped up. "You realize this means war, don't you?"

"Mr. White, you forget yourself!" The Speaker barked. "You do not speak for this assembly!"

"No, it's fine," Cornelius Fudge said, his cheeks red with anger, his voice shaking. "I see now that Lord Malfoy had the right idea all along. I should never have come here. The only proper way to treat the lower sorts is to kill or subjugate them!"

He nodded firmly, and disappeared with a crack of Apparition.

The Minister of Magic appeared in the Wizengamot Hall, where those of them who had bothered to show up were waiting.

"Ah, Cornelius," the Chief Warlock boomed. "How did it go?"

"Well, I'll say! Those arrogant... Those presumptuous..."

Amelia's heart sank. Just how badly has it gone wrong?

"What happened, Cornelius?" Albus Dumbledore asked.

"Those arrogant Muggles had the audacity to declare war on us. On us!"

"What made them do so?" Dumbledore demanded, over the gasps of surprise. "What did you say?"

"I delivered the message, just like you asked me to! And then they got all unreasonable, saying they didn't believe me and demanding more! The very idea!"

The Chief Warlock frowned. "Muggles have every reason to tread carefully in our presence, and little reason to take offense to an explanation, a gift and an apology for not being able to do more. Did you say something that could have provoked them, Cornelius? Perhaps a misunderstanding?"

"More likely," Lucius Malfoy cut in, "the Muggles perceived him to act weakly, and saw it as an invitation." He smiled wryly. "This is what I've been saying over and over again. We cannot live peacefully side by side with Muggles. Either we establish our superiority, or they will try to dominate us! Today we have seen where trying to reach out a friendly hand leads us, will you listen to me now?"

Amelia sighed in frustration as the arguments flared up again.

Thursday afternoon found the House of Commons in uproar again.

"Look, I'm just saying," Zack Scott spoke elaborately, "it is obvious that we cannot fight these people. They have magic, for God's sake! If we want to survive, the only thing we can do is submit. The next time they come to us, we apologize, show them the respect they want, and accept whatever demands they make."

"We don't even know that they are going to make any demands," Rita Reham pointed out wearily once again.

"But we must agree on the response if they do!"

The Prime Minister looked ponderously at Zack Scott while people argued around him. The usually calm, manipulative man was behaving uncharacteristic of himself. Of course it was possible that the shock of the revelation of magic, and then the superior attitude of the Minister of Magic had caused his current behavior, but, well...

Could magic be used to take over someone's mind, or impersonate them down to the very fingerprints?

He'd been wondering for the last hour. During a break in the discussions, he had approached Zack and asked him a personal question about his wife, and Zack had looked him squarely in the eyes and given him an answer only the real Zack Scott would have known. So it had to be him, and yet... something felt off. Unfortunately, despite knowing about magic for several years now, he'd never seen many hints of what it was capable of.

A loud cough in the doorway; his personal secretary stood there, looking disturbed. He nodded his apologies and left his place, quickly stepping over to her as curious glances followed him. The woman silently passed him a note.

Zack Scott's wife on the telephone just now. He was found bound and comatose half an hour ago. Currently in hospital.

With a jolt he looked up from the paper, staring at the man who had been addressing the assembly.

The impostor met his eyes, raised an eyebrow, and sneered. Then he whirled around, and disappeared with a soft *pop*.

On Thursday night, the Palace of Westminster went up in flames.

Life went on. Despite the nation-wide panic, you couldn't just drop all your responsibilities and take to the streets – and what would that accomplish, anyway? So, after reading the morning paper, and worrying quite a bit about all the recent developments, Mary drank the last of her coffee and went to the hospital to start her shift. She wondered idly whether Zack Scott would wake up today. The politician who had been found naked and unconscious in the cellar of an abandoned building while to all appearances he was speaking in parliament at the time was in one of her wards, and it was intriguing, even if more than a little scary, to be so close to the events that were shaking the country.

Mary clocked in and walked to the ward to inspect the patients, but she stopped in her tracks right before the entrance.

Blood was seeping out from underneath the door.

Shaking, fearful of the sight that might meet her eyes but knowing that someone would have to do it, she opened the door and gasped at the blood, and the body of her colleague lying mutilated on the floor.

"Were you the one who sounded the alarm?" A creepy voice whispered in her ears. She whirled around, but there was no one there, no one still alive. Panic rising, she tried to run, but then realized she couldn't move.

"I think you might have been," the creepy voice decided.

"N-no," she whispered, only to be met with a throaty laugh from the same invisible source.

"Crucio."

On Friday afternoon, a group of rioters broke into old Tom's antique store, accused him of being a wizard, and set the place on fire.

"What the –"

Marco jumped back in shock as he entered his garden shed to put away his tools and found it already taken. A writhing mass of tendrils and vines covered every inch of the floor, wall and ceiling, and most of the space in between as well. What was more, the moment he opened the door, it almost seemed like the plant was turning to face them, absurd though that idea was.

He hesitated only a second, then turned on his heel and ran. Or he tried to, but the move only made him fall over, his left foot already ensnared by a thick green vine.

He struggled and screamed as the plant drew him inside and wrapped itself around his torso, but all his efforts only seemed to make it worse. The last thing he heard before darkness claimed him were the shocked yells of his neighbors.

On Friday night, when the pubs closed, large groups of drunken people took to the streets, terrified and very, very angry.

Patrick stood on the pavement between houses 19 and 23, laying out a large pile of wood and tinder.

The people in the neighborhood had always assumed that it was a mistake that the houses on the odd-numbered side of the street skipped number 21. Someone had brought up the suggestion to renumber the houses, a few years back, but it would simply be too impractical for the people living in the later houses to change their addresses. So it had been left, a strangeness everyone overlooked for convenience.

But with the recent developments, Patrick figured there might just be something more going on. There was magic in the world, wizards attacking the government, and didn't wizards have to live somewhere too? Why would a street engineer just miss a number, and then not correct it before people moved in? Sure, there were explanations, but perhaps the most natural one was that the house wasn't missing at all. If wizards could impersonate a secretary of state to the point of knowing irrelevant personal details, might they not also be able to hide a house?

His mother thought he was crazy when he brought up this theory in the morning, but he wasn't just going to spend his weekend staying at home and doing homework like everything was fine. He was going to get to the bottom of this.

He poured oil on the wood, and threw a match. With a large woompf the fire flared up.

Patrick waited. The bane of invisible items, he had learned from his regular D&D group, was smoke. An invisible person standing in smoke would leave a gap. Other people could see that. And a house might be a slightly different thing, but it was worth trying.

He stared at the divide between houses 19 and 23 as smoke from the slightly wet wood wafted by. Absolutely nothing weird showed up.

Wait, no. The smoke was moving a lot more towards the 23 door than towards 19; it hardly seemed to move in that direction at all. Yet there was no wind. Even though his mind insisted that nothing looked strange at all, when he considered the movement of the smoke there was evidently something going on.

"What do you think you're doing, you little vandal, lighting fires in the street?" An angry voice demanded behind him. Patrick jumped, and turned. A middle-aged man stood there, arms crossed, eyes flashing.

Patrick stamped down on his reflex to run, and instead smiled brightly. "It's all for a good purpose, sir. I've just confirmed the presence of wizards in our street."

"Paul? What's wrong?"

Paul stared up at his co-pilot. "All the instruments have gone haywire all of a sudden!"

The woman blanched. "Well. I guess this is where we put our training to the test."

Around dinnertime, Patrick was no longer alone. A crowd had gathered around him, and the more people were there, the more ideas got brought up and accommodated.

They had tried to determine the exact divide between houses 19 and 23, and got a headache for their efforts. They could mark two places on the walls which seemed quite close to each other, but they couldn't manage to stand exactly between them, even though they could walk from one to the other in a single step.

Now, some people had created a good hundred Molotov cocktails. The inhabitants from houses 19 and 23 were not at all pleased with the plans, even despite their discomfort with the idea of living next to a wizard, but they didn't get much of a say in the situation. The police was wisely staying well away, and a number of people had brought fire extinguishers to stop any fire from spreading, just in case. A journalist with camera crew stood a bit to the side, capturing every moment. Other neighbors had reviled Patrick and the others for their stupidity, and fled their houses for safer ground, far away from where magic might be happening.

Patrick smiled broadly. This was his moment.

With a flick of his arm, he hurled the first bottle right at the center between the two markers they had been able to place. It exploded, not quite at the wall although he wouldn't have been able to say exactly at what point it did, and then the fire almost instantly died out.

The crowd roared – if they had still needed any more confirmation, they had it now. Patrick was pushed aside as the others joined in, and bottle after bottle was flung at the divide. Every time a bottle hit there was a brief explosion, and then the fire quickly died (except twice, when the thrower missed and hit one of the houses on either side, but these fires were both extinguished before any harm could be done). The wall on the outside of the markers became more and more charred, but the center remained perfectly clear.

At the thirtieth bottle, there was a sudden shimmering in the air, but nothing more than that.

The next thirteen bottles had a similar effect. And then, at the forty-fourth bottle, there was a flash of light and the group suddenly found themselves standing in front of house 21. Patrick blinked. He had suspected, but to see it happen like that was... was something else entirely.

There was a chuckle behind them. "Impressive."

Patrick spun around rapidly. Behind them stood a tall, muscular man, wearing gray robes, a piece of wood held loosely in his hand. Wand, Patrick mentally filled in. The air around the wizard was shimmering with a strange blue light – some kind of arcane shield?

"This was my mother's old house," the wizard spoke softly. "The wards haven't been renewed in ten years. Still, I wouldn't have expected a bunch of Muggles to take them down so easily. So, congratulations on your achievement."

Mrs. Jones, who lived at number 41, didn't wait. She grabbed another bottle and hurled it right at the wizard. The man, however, merely waved his wand and the projectile was flicked to the side, falling harmlessly on the street. Then he pointed his wand at the woman. "Sectumsempra."

Blood spurted from Mrs. Jones's face and chest, as though she were slashed multiple times with a sharp sword. The woman collapsed in a pool of blood, the assorted people staring in shock.

Patrick didn't want to look, but he couldn't tear his eyes away. Holy shit.

"Oh, you little fools. You haven't got a clue what you got yourself into, have you?"

The man's left hand dipped into his pocket, and then he threw something to the right, then to the left. On either side of the crowd, a wall of dark red mist appeared in the street, blocking any escape they might have contemplated.

"Let's have some fun, shall we?"

Patrick glanced to the sides, suddenly frightened. There was no going back from what they had started; the mist was probably dangerous, they couldn't flee anymore. Yet the wizard didn't seem to have any fear at all.

He made a snap decision and grabbed two bottles from one of the boxes even as William, who lived three streets over, was already flinging another bottle at the wizard. The man merely pushed it away again, right into another bystander. William roared, and tossed another bottle, and then a third from the box by his feet.

Too much was happening at once. The screams from the burning man, the whimpering from the slashed woman, and not too far away, a man yelling in some kind of agony after he had stepped into the mist. People were throwing Molotov cocktails at the wizard, staying as far away as they could, but he just flung them aside, until finally someone managed to hit him from behind.

The wizard merely stumbled as the explosive hit his shield, and he turned around and yelled "Reducto!" The man who had thrown the projectile just exploded, but Patrick, not one to miss an opportunity when it presented itself, threw his two bottles in quick succession at the back of the wizard, then ran to another part of the street to avoid being targeted immediately.

Some of the others had seen it too, the weakness, and they scattered. Can't stay too close to each other, he'll just fling our weapons back at us and set us on fire in groups. But if they could surround him, he couldn't defend all sides at once. If enough explosives could bring down the protections of a house, wouldn't they be able to take on a person too?

The wizard snarled as blast after blast tore into his shields, and he aimed his wand and cast "Reducto" and then "Reducto" again, each time exploding one of his opponents. But he had made a crucial mistake, Patrick thought. He had given them no choice, hemming them in and blocking their escape. They would all fight to the death, even grumpy old Mrs. Wind who always complained about the loudness of his music.

It was Patrick's friend Kim whose bottle hit the wizard's right-hand side, shattered the shield with a large flash and snapped his wand.

There was a brief moment of shock as the man stared in horror at the broken piece of wood, then looked at the people who were dying around them, half still alive, still standing. This is it, Patrick thought, wishing he still had explosives. They can be beaten.

With a scream of pain, the wizard was engulfed in flame as another bottle hit him from the back, and then he suddenly disappeared.

Patrick looked at the camera, the reporter and crew lying dead nearby. It was amazing how steady his voice was when he asked no one in particular: "do you think it's still running?"

On Saturday night, all the news stations covered the near-defeat of an extremely murderous wizard at the hands of a group of civilians.

Lisa was looking at the repeat of the news when suddenly the television went black. The digital clock on the stereo went out, and from upstairs she heard a frustrated yell from her father.

All the electrical devices in the house? She tried the kitchen lights. Nothing.

Standing in front of the kitchen window, however, she saw a large plume of billowing black smoke in the distance. That was probably related...

She was still staring at the smoke as her father thundered down the stairs half a minute later.

"Pack some clothes honey, quickly! We're getting out of here."

"What –"

"They blew up the power station! It's not safe to stay here."

Suddenly, the events on television seemed a lot less exciting, and a lot more frightening. "But where is it safe?"

On Sunday afternoon, large protests were staged in the streets, while new crowds gathered around those places where mysterious hints – like missing house numbers or building sites that had been wrecked for as long as anyone could remember – suggested that perhaps magic might be at play. At the same time, innocent nature healers, gothic teenagers and people outside the common social structure were abused or even outright attacked. Three people were killed in fights, and the police had to break up many more.

"Things are spinning out of control rapidly."

Amelia nodded grimly at the old wizard sitting across the table. "Yes. They are."

"I should never have agreed to let Cornelius deliver the message," Albus Dumbledore sighed bitterly. "Five thousand Galleons' worth of potions, paid from my own vault, and he manages to turn it into an insult. And then he bungles what we all agreed would be a simple explanation and honest question-answering by insisting on establishing his superiority. I suppose it was naive to think that the fool would do something quite so sophisticated as following instructions."

Amelia smirked. "Yes. You always were the optimist, Albus. But do not blame yourself too much." She sighed wearily. "I agreed to it, too. I do not believe there was much choice in the matter; the Wizengamot would not allow you to go, and once Cornelius offered there was no way to send me instead. You know the kind of offense he takes at people he believes are trying to usurp his position."

Albus stared into space. "I wonder whether I should go regardless. Explain things, extend a hand of friendship, without the Wizengamot's blessing if need be."

She could have slapped the old fool. "No! You know they will never accept that! Once upon a time, perhaps, you might have got away with brashly flaunting the Wzengamot's will, but right now your public support is lower than it's ever been, especially with so many thinking that you're the kind of person who would send young children to die to your plots. If you defy its decisions now, you will be ousted from the Wizengamot, ousted even from Hogwarts. It will be the end of you, don't you see?"

Albus just shook his head. "Perhaps it is worth the end of my political career, if I can only stop this war in its tracks."

She rolled her eyes. "You won't stop the war in its tracks, at best you'll add a moderating influence for a while. But then what will we do? After your fall from grace, Lucius will hold the vote in the Wizengamot, and will be all but uncontested in his call for dominion over Muggles. How will your sacrifice stop the war, if that's exactly what Lucius will pursue?"

He closed his eyes. "I know. I just... wonder, whether I couldn't do what is right for once, rather than merely what is politically expedient."

She looked at his face, old and weary. "What would you tell them, anyway?"

"That we're not all like that," Albus Dumbledore breathed. "That most of us want peace, just like they do. That we – some of us – will help them, when we can. That what they're seeing is merely the consequence of a single man we have no way of controlling, and a divided government fearful of change."

Amelia snorted. "That would be lying – it isn't a single person anymore, not by far. There are various elements in our society who are taking every advantage of the current hostile atmosphere they can, to get away with being cruel towards Muggles. We've arrested Willy Widdershins this morning for enchanting whole streets full of Muggle doorknobs to bite off fingers, and I think he's only the tip of the iceberg. I don't know who was responsible for the Devil's Snare, or for the sudden infestation of flesh-eating slugs in York, but both of those bear the classical hallmarks of Muggle-baiting taken too far. And did you hear what Macnair did to the people who managed to break the wards to his mother's house?"

Albus nodded. "Will he be punished for it?"

Amelia shook her head sadly. "We've taken him in for questioning, but the law does state that a wizard has the right to defend his house. Perhaps you might say he used excessive force, but the fact is that they were attacking him, and actually managed to take down his shields and break his wand. He can argue any defense was justified, given the power they demonstrated."

"So we cannot even tell them that the perpetrators are being punished."

"No," she agreed, "we cannot. And Albus, surely you realize that such a message wouldn't do any good at all? Even if every Muggle heard you, if your message was heartening and loving and convincing, it would soon be forgotten amidst all the other things which are going on. A hand of friendship is easy to ignore when it stands among people hurling curses at you. And you know he will not stop. No matter what we try, it's never going to work unless we can stop him. So if you have any suggestions..."

"I have no wisdom on how to kill Voldemort," Dumbledore spoke sadly, looking at his hands. "None at all, nor any clue how to even find him. I can think of only one thing to give him pause, that may at least still the bloodshed for now., and yet even that might not be achievable."

"Might not sounds better than is not," Amelia pointed out. She had little patience for mystery. "Tell me more."

On Monday morning, the ferries to Calais and Dublin both sank at the same time.

"Good afternoon, Lieutenant General Darrens."

"Welcome, Brigadier Johnson. Please, have a seat."

Thomas did as he was bid, looking curiously at his companions. There were six men in the room so far, only four of whom he knew, all high-ranked officers in the British Army, Royal Marines and Royal Air Force.

The door opened and two other men came in. The Lieutenant General bade them to sit down too, and locked the door.

"We're complete now," he said. "Thank you all for coming."

"What's this about, sir?" the last newcomer asked.

"The wizard threat, of course," Darrens answered. "You are all men of a certain influence. Together, we can set a course of action to save our country."

"Have we been commanded to act?" Major Meldon asked, surprised. "I have not received any notice. The government –"

"– is compromised," Lieutenant General Darrens cut in. "Didn't you hear what happened on Thursday? If they pulled that kind of stunt once, I won't believe for a second that they haven't tried it again, and without leaving a trace behind this time. And parliament knows it. Can't trust anyone anymore. Why do you think no orders have come from above, not even to disperse the riots in the streets? If they haven't yet been taken over completely, the atmosphere of distrust is making the government fully ineffective, that's why."

"They probably got the Prime Minister," one of the men Thomas didn't know spoke up. "Seeing how he told everyone not to risk their lives playing the hero when that mob almost managed to kill a wizard in the weekend."

"Right," the Lieutenant General nodded. "So we're on our own. Without the guidance of the government, the military has to be willing to take matters into its own hands. Are you willing, men? To do what it takes to defend our people?"

Major Meldon coughed. "How do you know we can all be trusted?"

"None of us are important enough to warrant specific enemy attention," Lieutenant General Darrens explained calmly. "So I'm going to guess none of us have their minds controlled. It's a gamble, I know, but there's sufficient power in this group to make a real difference, even if one or two of us should be compromised."

"I'm with you, sir," another of the men spoke firmly. "They've attacked our people. They've compromised our government. With all airports closed for fear of further interference, and now the boats, they've even taken away our chances to flee the country. They've started attacking our power plants – what if that was just a trial run, and they're taking down all of them next, including the nuclear plant over in Sellafield? We need to do what we can, while we can still do it."

"But what can we do?" Another asked.

"Well, I am sure as hell not prepared to roll over and accept our new magical overlords." the first speaker asserted.

Thomas looked concerned from one face to the next. His loyalties were divided, but he couldn't show that, here. "Are we really sure of who or what is the enemy, here? For what that supposed Minister said, this all might just be the work of a single terrorist."

Major Sandon snorted. "A single terrorist who systematically works on taking over control in the country? Bollocks. What if he succeeds, what's he planning to do, continue to wage war on them? No, if there is a single terrorist, he knows that they'll let him get away with it. Where are the good guys fighting this supposed bad guy? No one teleported into Westminster Palace to expose the impostor, no one stopped innocent hospital personnel from getting tortured, and no one came to arrest that madman when he exploded ten people on Saturday. So no, I'm not gonna give any credit to that bull."

"Agreed," Lieutenant General Darrens nodded. "So, men, are you willing to do what it takes, even without explicitly being given the order?"

There were nods around the table. Even Thomas slowly nodded. If he refused, they would think he was also "compromised", and do who knew what to him. At the very least, he would be asked to leave, if they dared to let him go, and he wouldn't learn what they were planning to do, and whether Sarissa might be in any danger. They had an international portkey to flee abroad if necessary, but he wouldn't be able to reach her until she got home from work in the evening.

"Right," the Lieutenant General spoke. "We know our disadvantages, including that we don't actually know all the things they can do. But there is one large advantage which I am willing to bet we have over them."

"Numbers," Major General Smith said grimly. "If there's one thing I gathered from the glimpses we saw, it's that there really aren't that many wizards. Their Minister thought that a single potioneer working for half a year was a lot – you don't say that sort of thing when you've got thousands working under you. I'm going to hazard a guess that there's a lot more of us than there are of them. That's why they have to resort to subterfuge rather than outright attack."

"Agreed," the Lieutenant General nodded. "I think we can safely say that the enemy controls our government – if they don't already do so, then they will doubtless succeed before the end of the week. But they could never control all the people. We have anarchy, gentlemen, but this doesn't have to be a disadvantage. We have seen this weekend that ordinary civilians can form a real threat to a wizard. Those people had only hand-made weapons – just think how much could be accomplished with proper explosives, grenades, dynamite, or even with handmade weapons designed to fight humans, like smoke bombs?"

"Hold on," one of the men who hadn't yet spoken piped up. "Do you want to arm the general population?"

"Yes," the Lieutenant General said simply. "It's our best hope. We'll open up our military bases, hand out proper weapons to willing citizens, tell them that the government is likely compromised, and pass on the word how to make Molotov cocktails, smoke bombs and pepper bombs. No matter what the wizards pull, there will always be people left who can resist them unless they manage to wipe out sixty million people."

"But the consequences!" The man protested."Putting weapons in the hands of untrained people –"

"– is better than having those same people completely defenseless," the Lieutenant General said authoritatively. "Yes, accidents can happen, but even if we lose ten of us for every one of them we can kill, that's a win."

"But what about afterwards? If you give the people weapons, you can't just undo that, they'll always be out there, accidents or abuse waiting to happen!"

"We can worry about the future after we reassure that we have one," Darrens bit. "It really isn't that big a deal. We'll still exercise some discretion as to what weapons are handed to who, I'm not proposing we hand a barrel of guns to the first lowlife who asks for it! The main thing is that we spread the power around the country, to allow enough people to give a good fight. If, in the future, anyone wants to run amok with heavy weapons in peacetime, they can already make explosives themselves anyway."

"What you're suggesting is a complete civil war," Major Meldon spoke carefully. "With wizards controlling the government, but ordinary citizens forming militias... neither side is going to win that easily, it's going to be long and bloody. I suppose, compared to the alternative, it may be preferable because it allows a shred of hope of freedom, but... Unless you're counting on UN interference?"

Lieutenant General Darrens shook his head. "I don't expect the UN to intercede, no. There's wizards in other countries too, and somehow I don't think they'll be on our side. It's entirely possible that the UK is just a test run, that the end goal is wizard domination across the globe, so the other countries will have their own hands full. Also, the UN really doesn't have much to offer that we don't already have by ourselves. No, my suggestion was going to be a preemptive strike."

"With what target?" one of the other brigadiers asked.

"Every target," Darrens stated with fire in his eyes. "We'll take down every single magical place we can find in one big sweep. It'll devastate them enough to buy us time, and if we capture some of the enemy, we can use that time to experiment with their abilities. The teleporting makes it difficult, but maybe they can't do that if they're tied up? Or if we keep them drugged? I'm sure the scientists can figure something out."

"How will you find such targets of opportunity?" Major General Smith said sceptically. "Looking for missing house numbers?"

"No, I was thinking of somewhat larger targets." The Lieutenant General reached for his bag and drew forth a number of maps. "You must realize that magic can be detected. As that teenager over in Winsford figured out, it's all about noticing anomalies, like a missing house number. Over the years, many people have reported such anomalies. Strangely dressed people arriving and mysteriously disappearing on a London train station every year on the same day, to name an example. Or a pub that certain people can only see from the corner of their eyes. And then one of my computer experts got some very peculiar results when analyzing satellite images in Russia, and she wrote a little program to look for more such apparent errors before word came from above that it was 'known, and highly secret'. Then there's the fact that a number of people – maybe one in a hundred, or in a thousand, I never tested it properly – can see things in such places when they know there's something special there. Like a pub, or a weird monument, or an extra street."

"So you want to send in the soldiers who can see those places and abduct any wizards they come across?" Thomas asked with a frown. Squibs, he realized. They wouldn't be able to get into all the places, but they should at least be able to see Diagon Alley, and probably St. Mungo's too. But how did Darrens know that? There weren't that many Squibs. Had he actually been experimenting with this for years? To what end?

"Where necessary," Darrens nodded. "Ideally, we try to use explosives to make those areas visible first, like the Winsford mob did. Unfortunately, quite a few of those places are in busy areas, so we're a bit limited in how much we want to do. Here, for example," he rifled through the maps and put one of London on top, "there is the pub I mentioned, and if I estimate correctly, there's something big behind it. These places over here –" he pointed at two other small circles "– are too close to normal people too. But where possible, we should send in the soldiers, or use heavier artillery. I've got the codes to launch nuclear missiles."

"Woho!" One of the men Thomas didn't know jumped out. "Are you frigging nuts? Throw atomic bombs on your own country?!"

"A few of these places are far from civilization," the Lieutenant General pointed out. "It would serve to make an excellent point and have relatively little ill consequence for our people."

"I, too, would rather avoid nuclear missiles," Thomas said sharply. "I do not believe this is warranted, and if we actually go down that path we'll have nuclear radiation issues for years in the future!"

"That, or the wizards contain it," Smith suggested. "They have magic, don't they? And if they cannot handle that, we might just have something to use against them. I say it's a good idea, if we can keep the contamination in hand somewhat. One thing though, I think we shouldn't hit all the areas we know about, because then the survivors will just hide in the ones we don't know anything about. We don't want them feeling safe. Hit some areas hard, really hard, but leave a couple others open. Save those for later. Make them paranoid. That kind of atmosphere might help to create a route for negotiation."

Thomas looked helplessly around the table. He had one ally, maybe, one sane person. The others looked all too eager; they wanted revenge after the brutal killings, torture and a few days of tactical warfare. He could protest, but he wasn't going to be able to stop this insanity. Perhaps that was what Darrens had intended, when he invited exactly this group, to create legitimacy in numbers while remaining unopposed? None of the other men Thomas knew were of a cautious nature.

But then why am I here? Had something – faith, perhaps – conspired to get someone on the side of the wizards invited to this meeting? Had Darrens mistaken him for a man as unrestrained as the others?

"That's a reasonable tactic," Major Meldon agreed, "but what targets do we hit? I see a lot of circles here, but it doesn't say what is there. I don't really want to hit a hospital or a school or something."

"They didn't care about burning a hospital with patients still in it," Sandon bit. "Why should we? I say go for it."

Darrens was already grabbing another map, one of the whole island this time. "All right then. I'd propose these areas for nuclear and regular strikes."

Thomas's heart skipped a beat when the man pointed at a small figure eight shaped spot in the Scottish Highlands.

-o-o-o-o-o-

Author's Note: With regards to the session in the House of Commons: unfortunately, I know next to nothing about how such sessions normally go, so I apologize for any strangenesses that don't really fit the British system, and hope I got it roughly right. :)

The Speaker (as some helpful readers explained) is a formal chairman-like position. While normally all conversation would go via the Speaker, I think that in this case it makes sense to simply have the members of parliament directly address Fudge, as he is an outsider giving an information session.

Some readers brought up that it's strange that Fudge wouldn't know Quirrell's name. However, Quirrell was introduced to him as something on the lines of "the Hogwarts Defense Professor (claiming to be Quirinius Quirrell, although that's probably just an assumed identity) who seems to have gone rogue, supposedly the same person as David Monroe, although Albus Dumbledore is saying he was actually Lord Voldemort all along". As such, Fudge has a good reason not to remember the first name, but that isn't something he can easily explain to Muggles.