CHAPTER 106: THE MUGGLE WAR, PT 4

"Mum," the girl said, looking panicked, her robes scorched and sweaty. "I can't talk now, I'm sorry." And then she and the golden bird were suddenly engulfed in a burst of flame and disappeared.



Roberta stared at the bodies lying in her living room, her heart beating rapidly. She counted eight teenagers; dead, unconscious or just wounded, she wasn't sure. One of them was missing his legs, another – an older girl, by the looks of it – seemed to have broken her spine.

"Hermione!" she yelled as her daughter appeared with more fire, depositing another bleeding child onto the floor. But Hermione just shook her head and disappeared again.

Eleven children later, Hermione did not come back immediately. Roberta waited long minutes, her stomach cold with fear but not knowing what to do, among the groaning and crying of the children on the floor. She wondered whether she should get her husband out of bed, or maybe call emergency services, but she didn't dare to move away.



And then her daughter returned, and collapsed onto the sofa while the bird opened its beak and produced the most wondrous sound Roberta had ever heard.

She ignored it, almost pouncing onto the sofa. "Hermione! What's going on?"

The girl was silent for a moment, her eyes closed, a peaceful expression briefly crossing her face as she took in the bird's song. The creature flew around, now, over the wounded children, water falling from its eyes. Roberta would have thought that the animal was mourning their inevitable deaths, but then she saw that where the tears fell, wounds healed.

"I'm sorry mum," Hermione spoke at last. "This was just the only safe place I could think of."

"Forget about that!" she exclaimed. "What's going on?"

"There's a war going on. We were attacked by a large group of Muggles. They had explosives, and I was supposed to get everyone out, but I was wounded, and by the time I came to they had taken down the shield. It all happened too quickly. I had to do what I could to get the wounded out."

"But your teachers..."

"There were hundreds of them! And – and I saw the corpse of Professor Vector, and –"



Roberta didn't need her daughter to finish. She just took Hermione in her arms and held her, while the child cried and the red-golden bird sang mournfully.

"I've got to go back," Hermione said eventually, wiping away her tears. "And take the others with me. A phoenix can heal, but broken or missing limbs need a Healer."

"Come back afterwards," Roberta pleaded. "Don't return to Hogwarts."

"Hogwarts doesn't exist anymore, Mum. The Muggle government dropped a bomb on it."

Roberta was entirely speechless.

"I can't stay here – it would be too dangerous. What if the neighbors realize what I am? And besides, I'm needed with the others."

She would have protested, if she hadn't just seen her daughter save nineteen other children from whatever battle was obviously going on. She'd seen all the news about attacks on and by "wizards", and worried a fair bit, but she hadn't believed it would get this serious.

Instead, she just asked the question that had been haunting her for most of the week. "You were saving people, weren't you? Last week, on Dark Monday? I saw these glimpses of someone who looked like you in the videos. And your father thinks he saw Harry Potter too." She hadn't believed it then – they hadn't heard of Hermione for weeks, supposedly because she was very ill, and there was no earthly reason why she would have been in Iraq – but looking at her daughter now, it seemed all too plausible.

Hermione just nodded. "Yeah. It's been a pretty heavy week."

"There has to be some way we can get you out of this. Children shouldn't be involved in a war."

A pained expression crossed her oh-so-young-daughter's face.

"I completely agree, Mum. Unfortunately, what is and what should be are not the same thing."

Twice nineteen flashes of fire later, all the children were gone. Hermione came back one last time to hug her mother, cast something at the floor to clean up the blood, and then she disappeared again.

Roberta felt her stomach clench. That had felt all too much like farewell.

Hermione woke up with the soft morning sunlight on her face. She kept her eyes closed for a bit, as she dreaded what she would see. All the events from the last night came back to her in an instant. Her sleep had been peaceful, at least, even if it hadn't been long – that was one of the blessings of a phoenix, that you were at least spared nightmares.

Voices and the smell of porridge penetrated her consciousness. Giving in to the inevitable, she opened her eyes.

It wasn't as bad as she had expected. Sure, the ground and trees were blackened, and many trees had been snapped in the battle, but the mild sunlight that was streaming through the foliage fell only on living children, asleep or just waking like she was. No corpses, crying or shouting. The whole scene was strangely peaceful. She sat up and looked around.

There were faint blue lines connecting all the children, she saw. And further away, people were moving – both children and adults, including quite a few Aurors by the looks of it.

Someone stirred next to her. She looked down and saw Harry, whom she hadn't noticed there yet. When she had finally fallen asleep last night, he hadn't returned from his mission with Professor Dumbledore yet.

"Morning," he murmured groggily.

"Hey Harry," she said. "Do you know what these blue chains are?" He also had a blue line around his wrist, connecting him to Neville. She noticed that there were no lines on her body.

"Sure," Harry nodded, now also sitting up. "Professor Dumbledore cast them when we came back. Everyone is connected in neat little groups of 45. Between you, him and Sally, everyone can be out of here in about thirty seconds."

"Sally? The American witch?" Harry nodded. "Well, it's good that she is helping out, because if they dropped another bomb now, I don't think I would know what to do in time."

"I don't think we really need to be afraid of bombs at the moment," Harry shrugged. "When we got back here, I saw Muggle reporters filming the mess. I don't know who got them in, but Burbage even spoke to them briefly – I bet the international news is showing this all over the world as we speak. Pictures of dead children tend not to go over very well with the common people, nor does international pressure go well with the ones in charge, so I don't think either the government or the military is going to be too comfortable throwing any more bombs around. That kind of coverage is also going to take the heart out of any ground offensive, so we should be good for now, at least until Riddle decides to spice things up a little further. Also, even if they do try to use another bomb, there's Aurors hidden around the forest who would detect a plane and warn us in time to get out."

That was some comfort, at least. "Do you know what they did with –"

Harry pointed in the distance. "They moved the bodies over there, covered by anti-decomposition charms. Dead attackers are a bit further away, and Aurors were portkeying all the live ones to The Hague. It's only really the UK where tensions are this high, after all, and the international court of justice might well consider the deliberate murder of innocent children as crimes against humanity."

Hermione nodded. She didn't really want to think about it any more, for now. "I'm hungry," she mumbled, a bit embarrassed that she could still think about such things.

With a *pop*, a House Elf appeared by her side balancing a pot larger than itself on its head, and a few bowls and spoons in its hands. "Would Mistress Student like some breakfast?" it asked politely.

Neville stood silently by the row of corpses. So many.

There wouldn't even be a farewell ceremony, not any time soon. It wasn't safe to stay in this forest any moment longer than necessary. Madam Pomfrey had quietly told him that Professor Dumbledore had arranged for the bodies to be sent to America for safekeeping, so the children and the two teachers could be given a proper funeral after the situation in Britain had calmed down. Meanwhile, the survivors were being evacuated as soon as there was family to pick them up.

Goodbye, Neville thought sadly. Then he turned and trudged back to his grandmother.

"I'm staying here," Harry was saying. "I think I may be needed."

"In the forest, Mr. Potter?"

"Wherever the remaining children are staying. And by the side of Dumbledore – and the Order."

"Very well, then. But remember, as a friend of Neville, and James's and Lily's son, you will always be welcome in our house."

"Thank you, Madam Longbottom. I may yet take you up on that. I'll send my Patronus if it's necessary."

The old woman nodded. Then she turned to him. "Come, Neville. Let's go."

"Can I talk to Harry privately for just a moment?" Neville asked meekly.

Madam Longbottom nodded and moved away, and Neville turned to face his general and friend, mustering up his courage for the conversation he'd been running over in his mind for most of the last week. He'd almost decided not to do it, but the hat had offered him Gryffindor, and Harry had helped him see that maybe he could be a little bit like that. With as much calm as he could muster, he spoke: "I know it was you."

"I know it was you."

Harry froze. "What?"

"You were the one who broke Bellatrix Black out of Azkaban," Neville said simply. There was no anger in his voice, just a calm statement of the facts. "I figured it out when Gran owled me about your trial. I don't think she made the connection, but then, she doesn't know what it means that you're suddenly pals with Lesath Lestrange."

"Neville, I –" Harry began, his voice dry, but he cut off, not knowing how to continue. How could Neville stand there so calmly?

"Don't say it," Neville commanded. "Don't pretend you're sorry, I know you're not." He swallowed, twice, and continued. "I even understand why you did it. That's the worst thing, I actually understand. But that doesn't mean I'm going to just forgive you." He breathed deeply while Harry was frantically trying to think of something, anything he could say that wouldn't be a lie. "I am angry with you. I was thinking of challenging you to a duel, actually, but I've had a few days to think about it, and I don't think it would really accomplish anything."

I'm sorry, Harry did not say. She didn't act of her own will when she hurt your parents. She was insane. He couldn't say it, because if he so much as acknowledged Neville's accusation, his friend could have him in front of the Wizengamot and sent to jail. Neville would even have reason to do that, now.

The silence between them stretched uncomfortably, a silence which betrayed him almost as much as any confession, but he couldn't lie to Neville, not like this. Eventually, the boy nodded silently to himself.

"I'm still going to kill her. And you can repay a fraction of the debt you owe to my House by not standing in my way."

Harry nodded mutely, then stopped himself. What am I promising here?

Neville sighed deeply. "I still consider you my friend, Harry, even if a part of me wants to hurt you a lot. Take care."

With that, he turned away.

"You know that you are welcome to come with us to Ukraine," Daphne told Hermione. Next to her, the Lady Greengrass nodded prettily. Daphne knew Hermione too well to think that the girl would take her up on that invitation, but her mother had insisted that she offer, and it did make a lot of sense to confirm their friendship before splitting up for who knew how long. "You could meet Astoria, my little sister."

Hermione shook her head. "You know I can't. They need me, or at least they need Xare."

Daphne nodded, then added on a whim: "I won't be anywhere near Muggles, so if you want to talk, or need a place to stay, it's safe to send your Patronus to me."

"Thank you," Hermione answered with a genuine smile. "I –" but she trailed off as Mad-Eye Moody suddenly Apparated into the forest. Everyone turned.

"Wizards just attacked a Muggle school!" the pockmarked man shouted loud enough for everyone to hear. "There are no survivors. Get the hell out of here!"

Before Daphne could parse what the man had said or its implications, her mother had grabbed her under the armpit and Apparated the two of them away to their ancestral manor.

Harry stared at the old ex-Auror, his thoughts jumping to conclusions.

This might have been Voldemort, or it might not have been. A lot of children had died today, and their parents might well have taken offense and decided to repay in kind.

(The blue chains binding everyone glowed and lost their vagueness. Children who had strayed too far from their group were pulled back, and knots in the chains resolved themselves.)

The wizards who wanted revenge didn't see that the group of Muggles who had hurt their children were a very specific set, not necessarily representative of the lot. They saw it as us versus them. And so they had hit a random Muggle school, possibly just because it was closest or easiest for them.

("Take everyone to the Wizengamot Hall!" Albus Dumbledore shouted.)

And now, of course, the Muggle media would no longer focus on the innocent wizarding children who had been murdered. They would show the Muggle children, who were nearer and dearer. Any sympathy wizards and witches held in the eyes of the country would largely disappear.

(Flashes of fire lit the air all around. Dumbledore, Sally and Hermione were using their phoenixes to the fullest extent.)

Would the Muggle government take this escalation in stride? Of course not. Assuming they were still functioning, they were likely to be entirely willing to fight a war against the magical beings in their midst, who had caused them so much trouble. When the voices of the people shouted for revenge, they would leap at the opportunity. And the magical government would retaliate, no matter how much Dumbledore tried to stop them.

(Harry felt himself burning up and was squashed together with the children near him as they arrived in the familiar stone hall.)

Negotiation had just become near-impossible, that's what had happened. No longer could anyone claim that it was just a few people on either side hurting the others: they had an all-out war on their hands. Tom Riddle finally had them where he wanted them to be.

Over the course of the morning, the Wizengamot Hall emptied, as children were either picked up by their parents, or delivered by phoenix to safe places where they could more easily be collected. Most of the Muggleborns, for whom going home would be far too dangerous, as well as many of the orphans, were taken in by the parents of their friends. Some of them would hole up in their houses and stay far away from Muggles; many others were planning to leave the country to stay with distant relatives, or simply try their luck somewhere safer.

Some remained. Not all Muggleborns had friends with magical parents, or their friends' parents mistrusted those with Muggle relatives too much to want to take them in. Some families already had too many guests to protect more children effectively. Some pure- or half-bloods lived in Muggle cities, and their parents feared for discovery too much to allow their children to come home now. Harry Potter and Hermione Granger had both stayed willingly to be able to help out if needed.

At last, only twenty-eight children remained in the most ancient Hall.

"What say Beauxbatons and Durmstrang?" Severus asked the Headmaster in a low voice.

"Both have closed," the Headmaster – or rather, former Headmaster – sighed heavily. "It is unlikely that they will be attacked, but the risk seems too great anyway."

Severus nodded. "One cannot blame them for being cautious. I would not have expected the Muggles to start with nuclear weapons even here."

The Headmaster looked around cautiously. There was a silence barrier around them, of course, but someone might still be reading their lips.

"I do not think they did it entirely of their own accord. Legilimency or the Imperius Curse might have been involved."

"You think the Dark Lord wanted this?"

"The attack on Hogwarts, certainly. It is well-placed to lead us into a war with Muggles, and yet keep all the tensions local to Britain."

"And yet, to start by targeting children... that is low even for him. Although I confess that I never noticed any particular humanity in him with regards to that." The Potions Master looked over at the remaining students, who were talking or just sitting silently or playing cards, waiting for whatever would happen next. "I feel responsible for these children. Twelve of them are in my house."

"So many? Your house has few Muggleborns."

"But many orphans, or with parents who reside in Azkaban. And those are the children with whom other Slytherins rarely want to be seen associating."

"Ah yes," the old wizard sighed. "Although I must correct you on one point: their parents are not in Azkaban any longer. All prisoners of Azkaban have been moved to prisons abroad in the last week, pending reforms. The last were taken on Friday, fortunately."

Severus Snape raised an eyebrow. "Fortunately? Was Azkaban attacked as well, then?"

"Oh yes." The old man smiled grimly. "The building is quite destroyed. It was a marvelous sight to behold, short-lived though the pleasure was. Perhaps I shall share the memory with others who have lost friends and family to Azkaban some day. Although I fear that now may not be the best time."

"To get back to the point," the Potions Master pressed, "I believe that the children we have left are few enough that those members of the staff who are still available can well take care of them. Perhaps we can arrange a house of some kind? An abandoned shop, perhaps?"

"To make a building mysteriously disappear now would be beyond foolish," the ex-Headmaster pointed out. "The Muggles will be on their guard for mysterious occurrences that could be signs of magic. No, I was hoping to occupy an abandoned wizarding dwelling."

"Do we know of any such buildings with proper wards? To be strong enough to withstand Muggle attacks, they will need solid protection, and those kinds of places are typically guarded even beyond the grave of their last owner."

"I was thinking of the ancestral house of the Black family, actually." He checked his watch. "Its last owner still lives, but is in no position to make use of the house. Yet it is a marvelous place. Large enough to hold the students and some members of staff without being too cramped, and guarded both from Muggle eyes and other wizards by ancient wards. I have checked the street outside, and no Muggles in Grimmauld Place seem to be aware of the existence of the building."

"You think Sirius Black would grant you access?" He could not keep the anger out of his voice at the mention of the name.

"Why should he not? Oh, I know I have little of good to expect from him." The old wizard sighed wearily. "Even if the face he showed us ten years ago was not all a lie, if there was any good left in him when he went to Azkaban, the Dementors will surely have destroyed it by now. But he has nothing to lose, and everything to gain. I daresay I can find a good bribe."

"Don't you dare offer him his freedom." He had never felt much love for the bully Sirius Black, but it had reached an all-time low some ten years ago. Anything else he might have forgiven the man for – he himself was hardly innocent, after all – but that he knowingly sold out Lily to Lord Voldemort. Even as he had wallowed in guilt and self-reproof for all those years, there had been the one point of comfort to Severus: that Sirius Black was in the Dementors' power, and would stay there until he died.

"I would not dream of it." The blue eyes pierced him. "I might be able to bribe him with as little as some books to pass the time. We must evaluate those matters regardless, in the light of the changed situation." He checked his watch. "The visiting hour in Nurmengard starts at one, so I must leave soon. Will you watch over the students, Severus? I have only one spin of my Time-Turner in reserve, so I cannot return immediately." Severus nodded curtly.

"Good. I shall instruct Miss Granger to follow your commands should any further relocation be necessary. Oh, and it may be a good idea to move the children into one of the smaller conference rooms soon. The Wizengamot will reconvene at four. Perhaps we can finally make some progress with the crisis, although I fear that such hope is slim regardless of recent developments."

It was past midnight when the ancient wizard came into the room where the twenty-eight remaining children were lying in blue sleeping bags on the floor, and one child was sitting invisibly in a corner. There had not been much opportunity for privacy: the children had spent most of the day dueling and trying out new spells and tricks, courtesy of Professor Flitwick. When they were sent to bed, all were tired enough to fall asleep quickly despite yesterday's trauma. All, of course, except Harry, who wasn't going to fall asleep until roughly 2am. So he had gone to the bathroom and worn his spare invisibility cloak; four hours later he would be able to drop back and go to bed with the others. Just waiting invisibly was boring (he hadn't dared explore too far, as wandering around the Ministry building invisibly by night might just set off some intruder alarms), but it was no worse than lying around in a sleeping bag unable to sleep.

Harry shuffled up to Professor Dumbledore, who nodded to him, and made a slight gesture with his head indicating him to follow.

In the Chief Warlock's office, Harry finally removed his cloak. "So, what's the news?"

"Nothing good," the old wizard sighed. "While there have been no further organized attacks, I fear that this is only a matter of time."

"No further attacks?" Harry asked, surprised

"No organized attacks. Today has seen constant scuffles. As you have surely imagined, the inhabitants of Magical Britain are not taking the murder of their children and the other attacks lying down. There have been quite a few witches and wizards attacking Muggles openly or in secret – or otherwise, going out in the open and thus provoking attacks to which they can claim they merely 'defended' themselves. And on the Muggle side, while I believe many Muggles have been a little cowed by the images from their media, the response from our world is quickly evaporating that sympathy. There are already several groups of zealots who seem to be acting completely independent from their government, with small militias and individuals lashing out at everything that appears to them to be out of the ordinary." He shook his head sadly. "The worst victims are not our kind, but their own: Muggles are not very adept at discriminating true magic from the merely unusual, and consequently there have been many brutal attacks on defenseless innocents. It is strongly reminiscent of the witch hunts. Do not mistake me! There have been some strikes on real magical dwellings as well. Many of our kind do not have the skill or fortune to adequately ward their house, or employ only very minimal protection, and thus it has come to some battles – but mostly the inhabitants have been able to flee in time. Several witches and wizards did lose all of their possessions as their homes were burned, however. Five are confirmed dead. And many more Muggles have died in the battles ensuing from such attacks."

Harry nodded, taking all this in. "What's the Wizengamot doing?"

"Absolutely nothing," Dumbledore said bitterly. "Although arguably a more interesting kind of nothing than yesterday's. Thus far, there were two camps, neither willing to give much ground. There was what you might call my camp, those who felt we should reach out in friendship: pass emergency laws which absolutely forbid any lethal magic used on Muggles, offer Auror protection, work with their army to respond to any violent elements, publicly punish people who deliberately harm Muggles... And then there was Lucius's camp, all in favor of taking the admirable efforts of our former Defense Professor just a step further, and conquering the Muggle world. Yesterday's events have shaken matters up dramatically, adding feelings both of revenge and fear into the mix. On the one hand, it appears that at long last our people have come to see the truth behind my warnings that Muggles are far more dangerous than our kind is wont to give them credit for. On the other, gentle emotions towards Muggles are rapidly losing ground, and I have more than once heard the viewpoint that if they are going to be our enemies regardless, we may as well do everything in our power to win."

He sighed deeply. "The sides are now split into four or five different groups, with some of those on Lucius's side campaigning to seek peace with the Muggles in order to avoid our destruction, and some on both sides clamoring for revenge for the wizard blood that was shed last night. And thus we argue in circles, as with so many parties it is impossible to remain on topic. What is more, none of the parties have a truly feasible solution; we merely argue against the flaws in each other's proposals. I, too, do not know how to end this, for I see no way to stop Voldemort's divisive tactics, and if the hostility does not end, how can the Muggles ever come to trust us? Yet if we do not establish a successful dialogue soon, I fear greatly for the consequences to the world."

"So, no resolution then," Harry summarized.

"Indeed not."

"I ask," Harry said sharply. "Because I was three rooms away for most of the afternoon. Learning spells, and being challenged to play such sophisticated games as Exploding Snap. I was, in short, completely having my time wasted while people in this country are needlessly dying in a stupid, pointless war. I tried to get into the Wizengamot, but the session was closed and there was no way to get in or even to make a formal request to speak with you or anyone else. I was this close to simply having Hermione transport me to parliament, giving a speech and letting the pieces fall where they may. The only thing that stopped me, in fact, was Hermione absolutely refusing to cooperate if I didn't talk to you first."

The old wizard heaved another sigh. "I am trying to see you invited, Harry, although not directly. I cannot be the one to propose it, for it would tar you with my brush. Does this mean that you have a solution to our current plight, then?"

"I've got a couple of ideas, although I haven't really had anyone to check them with," Harry shrugged. "For a start, why not ask the goblins to negotiate? They're a neutral party, and I bet they'd like the ability to trade with Muggles, although they might be more than a little shocked once they learn how the financial system works. Whatever wizards are doing will not reflect badly on them."

"True," the old wizard said with a frown. "But I do not believe it would help us much."

"They may be able to arrange conversations between Muggle leaders and the more progressive witches and wizards, as long as we can create a good incentive for them. Allow them wands perhaps?"

Dumbledore's eyes opened in wide-eyed shock. "The Wizengamot would never accept that!"

"Well, perhaps a financial incentive then," Harry shrugged. "I suspect peace is in their interest, as it tends to be conductive for trade. Or if the cultural prejudice against goblins is too great, maybe ask the centaurs, or even House Elves? Muggles have no qualm with the other magical races, and even if these talks won't help us, it would at least help them."

The former Headmaster smiled. "Yes indeed. But I suspect the Wizengamot would not accept any of these suggestions."

"Well, for a completely different idea," Harry said. "Keep enforcing the Statute of Secrecy – we cannot stop Muggles from knowing about magic, but we can stop them from seeing it. Have everyone go undercover. Is it at all possible to detect any magic cast on or near Muggles, maybe excepting magic cast by Aurors? That would neatly solve the Riddle-problem, as no one can hurt Muggles without Aurors popping in anymore. That might just make negotiations possible, although you need to hurry up with that before they're going to employ the next few bombs. Speaking of, have the Wizengamot already commissioned an intelligence mission as to the location and security of nuclear weapons? I'm not an expert, but I don't think it should be that hard – using Legilimency on the right people you should be able to find out where the weapons are stored and how the facilities are defended, especially if you use Muggleborn Aurors who understand how to act inconspicuously. Once you've figured those things out, it may be worth seeing whether we can reach and disable the worst of their arsenal without its being detected – or at least put detection charms on the bombs or the systems so we know when they might be about to get used." Although thinking about it, if that were actually possible, wouldn't Riddle have done it a long time ago?

"Trust in Muggleborns is exceedingly low at the moment, for obvious reasons," the old wizard spoke sadly. "But those are useful ideas, even if they will need some adaptations to be workable."

"Well, there's plenty more where that came from," Harry said coolly. "What about setting up some kind of warning signal, so witches and wizards can call in the Aurors for Muggle or dark wizard attacks? That would probably be a really good idea to have right about now regardless of what else the Ministry is doing. Or how about getting the United Nations involved if peace negotiations should fail due to mistrust? I daresay there are going to be some powerful Muggles there who will be very interested in the fact that a nuclear weapon got fired, especially if that happened without government approval, so it's in the interest of the UN to get this resolved as soon as possible. Just... get me into the meetings of the Wizengamot, okay? Because I swear, if I have to sit through another day like this, I'm going off on my own no matter how insanely Gryffindor that is."

The old wizard looked weary. "I will do what I can, Harry Potter. But now, let's get you to bed, shall we? There's a lot of work ahead tomorrow."

A fourth-year Hufflepuff girl, falling down in a pool of blood.

Padma, being blasted into a tree and lying still, her neck at an odd angle; yet Draco didn't even falter as he and Susan shot one sleeping hex after another at the attackers. This was just a battle, just a battle, they couldn't afford to hesitate and check whether she was dead...

Finding Pansy Parkinson's body right next to a Muggle without a gas mask, who was just a young man, a teenager who could easily have been a N.E.W.T. student. How could they not look like monsters?

A sudden burning pain in his side, and –

"Draco. Draco!"

Draco woke up, drenched in sweat, to see his father's concerned face. He was home, he was safe –

His father held him as he cried. "It's okay son. It was just a nightmare."

No it wasn't. All of it had really happened, just a bit over a day ago. The blood, the bodies, the terror... He remembered being excited about the stories of the Death Eater raids, but he couldn't imagine feeling that way anymore. It was all too easy to picture his own father in that forest, killing and fighting and dying –

"You never said it was like that," he said with a choked voice. "That war is like that."

His father stroked his hair. "It wasn't. We were never –" He paused, struggling for words. "There has been no battle of this scale for centuries, not since the goblin rebellions. The last war was nothing like this. It was never so arbitrary who got hit, and it was usually just a few of us, we had control even when things went badly..."

Draco curled up silently in his father's arms. He hadn't been held like this for years, but it felt good, now. Glancing at the window, he noticed it was already starting to get light outside.

"You'll have to go to the Wizengamot again today, don't you?"

His father sighed wearily. "Yes, much though I'd prefer to stay here. If we don't act swiftly, the Muggles will destroy us all. We must find a resolution, some kind of compromise, and yet if this endless bickering does not cease..." He shook his head in frustration. "I fear we have become far too complacent, since the last of the goblin peace treaties were signed."

They sat together for a while, watching the sun rise outside. Father looked thoughtful, Draco thought. And worried. It was not a good sign when father was worried.

It was Lucius who broke the silence. "Tell me about the Boy-Who-Lived."

Draco blinked. "Harry? What about him?"

"Did you restore your friendship with him?"

"Yes." Not that Draco really wanted to think about that conversation. He hadn't spoken to Harry at all after that, but the boy had been apologetic... he would probably still consider them friends.

"You said that he will hold great power when he grows up."

"Probably before," Draco said, staring outside without really seeing anything. "On Monday night, he –" for all the jumpiness and apparent paranoia he had displayed that night, Harry had been the one to realize the danger of the gas just before it hit. "– he probably saved a lot of lives, I mean, he was late, but –" but without that warning, no one would have had the Bubblehead Charm up in time, no one would have been able to cast quick emergency shields and help others...

"Sssssh." Father held him more firmly when Draco started to tremble, as the memories rose up again. "I didn't mean to bring that up."

Draco nodded, and forced himself to calm down and just concentrate on the conversation. "Anyway. he's really good tactically. He's better than me, hell, when he was putting his mind to it he was better than me and Granger put together."

"Which is impressive, given your own level of skill," father said with a hint of pride that made Draco's heart ache for the deaths he hadn't prevented yesterday. "And he understands the Muggle world very well. What about his maturity?"

The image of a stuffed chair covered in glitter appeared in Draco's mind, before it was replaced by the vision of Harry bound in a metal chair before the Wizengamot. The memory of a young boy being utterly irritating over Draco's alliance with Granger warred with Harry's grim face when he faced the two of them and Padma down at the end of that battle. And he thought of the two of them planning the strategy against Granger in the Christmas Wish battle, and Harry gazing absently into space when he was trying to figure out some difficult question Draco hadn't even seen yet...

"He can be really childish, when he wants to be, but he's only doing that when nothing's at stake. He loves to be surreal and he makes crazy plots, but –" but for all the inanity of his plotting, and for all his lack of experience, it had largely worked. "When he gets serious, he puts all that aside. He's really... not like a child, most of the time." He looked at his father's frowning face. "Why?"

The man was briefly silent before answering. "Dumbledore is playing some vast game, and I am not sure I understand it. It also makes me wonder whether he is the one being played..." He stared into space for a while. "Tell me more."

The work Dumbledore had spoken of, as it turned out, was cleaning. The former Headmaster had arranged access to an old family house, which they were all phoenixed into to avoid passing through the Muggle street it was in. The house had been abandoned for seven years, and all kinds of dark creatures and household pests had taken up residence inside it. Doxies, Puffskeins, garden gnomes... Professor Snape gave an impromptu lesson on dealing with Boggarts, and Professor Sprout, who had just been released from St. Mungo's, lectured about the dangers of a particular mold in one of the sitting rooms. The aged House Elf had apparently turned insane and wasn't any help, but Professor Dumbledore did something to keep him away from the students. No other House Elves showed up to assist; Harry suspected that this was a deliberate move to keep the students busy and stop them from wallowing in misery.

"So how much did this end up costing you?" Severus whispered to the ex-Headmaster as they overlooked the students' work.

"Surprisingly little," the old wizard said. "In exchange for hospitality in his house to any I permitted, Sirius asked only for a fair trial."

"What?"

"He did not wish to say more at the time, and I didn't press him on it. It seemed like a reasonable thing to ask, however, and it is in my power as Chief Warlock to grant. As he never received a trial in the first place, we do not need additional evidence to bring his case before the Wizengamot."

"Surely he doesn't think that the Wizengamot will free him?"

"That is extremely unlikely. I expect that he merely has something to say which he wants to be heard, and stored on public record."

The Potions Master nodded, his face tense.

"Severus..." the Headmaster pressed. "Don't think too much about it. We have other things to do."

"Like cleaning?"

"Like making sure the children are fed. I am quite certain they are getting tired of a diet of plain bread with preserves. We have a kitchen here, and some of the students may be able to cook. As for ingredients –" Suddenly he frowned and took out his mirror (since there were no longer enough Patronuses available to contact people, the DMLE had handed out communication mirrors to anyone who might be important enough to be needed on a moment's notice). "Yes, Emmeline, what is it?"

Severus didn't hear the message, as the mirrors were enchanted to only address one person, but he could see the ancient face darken.

"I'll be on my way," Albus said quietly.

"What happened?" he dared ask.

"Several new attacks by Muggle vigilantes," the old wizard sighed. "At least, probably vigilantes, the army may have been involved too, as the attacks seem to have been coordinated and extremely violent. However it may be, get food for the children, Severus. I'm sure Professor Burbage can pass for a Muggle sufficiently well to buy groceries."

And with that, he disappeared again.

Alone.

Michael looked upon the body of his wife, still stunning in death. She had not changed, not the slightest bit, despite being kept unfrozen for more than a day, and it ached to watch her. He had never realized just how much he needed her until now.

Mike Smith, as he now called himself, had brought his wife, 'Petra', into the hospital early on Tuesday morning, claiming to have no memories of what had happened or how she had come to be dead. The natural mistrust of the hospital staff had changed rapidly as the doctors examined her and tried to restart her heart, but failed. They were mystified as to what could possibly be wrong with her. There were no obvious wounds on her body, no reason at all why she was unresponsive to treatment. Magic was the obvious culprit. In the last week, there had been multiple magical fights in the country between the mystics of the indigenous population and the magical portion of the western immigrants, century-old tensions finally coming in the open as the threat of international retaliation had been lifted. Mike and Petra wouldn't be the first to be caught in the crossfire. That was why the Headmaster of Hogwarts had brought them to Australia, and he had gotten away with the story perfectly.

But for all that, Petunia was still dead.

"I will not have her buried or cremated," he spoke firmly. "I'm not convinced she's really dead."

"But the doctor –" the young man started to protest, but Michael cut him off.

"The doctors know nothing about magic! She's unharmed, isn't she? And is she decomposing?"

"Well, it's far too early to tell –"

"Then I'm not burning her, or sticking her underground where she might just wake up suddenly in a week or a month! Nobody has a clue what happened to her, so for all we know, it could be some kind of enchanted sleep. I don't care how you arrange it, but if there's any chance she's still alive, I will not throw it away for your convenience."

The young man mumbled something and shuffled off to consult his superiors. Michael briefly watched him go, before turning his eyes back on Petunia's body.

He was bluffing, of course. He knew perfectly well what had happened to her, and that this wasn't some kind of enchanted sleep. But he couldn't just give up, he couldn't. There was nothing obviously wrong with her, there was no reason why her brain wouldn't be intact, and that meant there had to be a way to save her. And he had time. The old Headmaster had cast something on her that would stop the body from decomposing, and he'd assured Michael that that also meant the brain would remain exactly as it was. The man hadn't said how long it would last, so it might perfectly well be permanent. That's why he'd stopped her from getting frozen in the morgue, which might have given her brain damage, that's why he wouldn't allow anyone to bury or cremate her. If he had to, he'd steal the body and hide her under the bed in the room he was renting.

Maybe the doctors couldn't heal her, maybe magic was helpless. But Michael clung to what his son had said: there was no way to bring back the dead, yet.

Harry had to admit that there were some advantages to Hermione having learned all her mother's cookbooks by heart. Between Hermione's vast choice of recipes and one of the older students' chopping charms, the entire orphanage (for that was how he thought of the house and the people in it) was fed an absolutely delightful curry.

Professor Dumbledore had been away for most of the morning, and had also not shown up to lunch. Although no one else was formally in charge, Professor Snape had sneered and insulted, and in doing so almost unobtrusively bullied everyone into productive employment. And he had, after minor nagging and when nobody was watching, dispensed pieces of information to Harry and Hermione.

There had been new attacks, apparently. Muggle groups had discovered the locations of an alarmingly large number of wizarding houses. The Aurors were not sure how it had happened, but the theory so far was that some enterprising Muggles had set up a watch to look out for owls. Most wizarding dwellings were not as well-protected as the house at Grimmauld Place was; many were not even hidden. The poorest part of the magical population generally had the least protection, and it was this part that was hit the hardest. Most who were attacked managed to flee, losing all their worldly goods and ending up homeless and unprotected. Others fought, causing large Muggle casualties before having to leave anyway. And while a competent wizard could kill Muggles by the tens or even hundreds if necessary, an incompetent one could not, and even the best wizards could be overwhelmed.

Amelia Bones was doing all that she could, but it wasn't enough to stop the bursts of retaliation. Groups of Muggles mysteriously disappeared. Bodies, apparently unharmed, were found in dark alleys. Around lunchtime, a group of masked men and women appeared in the places where wizard houses had been attacked, setting houses on fire and torturing random civilians. Snape said that he didn't think it was organized Death Eater activity; his dark mark hadn't given any signal, as it would have if the Dark Lord called his servants to him, and the masks did not resemble the ones Death Eaters used to wear. Rather, it seemed that new groups of extremists were forming rapidly.

It wasn't organized warfare; it was rioting. Most people did not get involved and were simply trying to get on with their daily lives or holing up in their houses in fear, but that wasn't how it felt, as more extreme groups of Muggles took to the streets. Aside from attacks on or by wizards, several cities also saw plundering, arson, knife- and fist-fights. Some people went to attack places suspected of being involved with magic, on very shaky suspicions. Some people merely continued the protests against their government's negligence, which had allowed its citizens to be unaware of the hidden magical world and still did nothing to move against it. Some, especially those with magical relatives or those who held a hope that magic might bring relief to the ailments of the Muggle world, were counter-protesting, and twice so far it had gotten to blows. And then there were quite a few people who just used the opportunity to make as much chaos as possible, plunder shops and torch the houses of minority groups. It was mob mentality at its finest. Perhaps in a few days it would wear off, but by that time the Muggle government was sure to have its response ready.

Harry waited. One more day, that was all he was going to give it. If the magical government didn't sort itself out today, he would simply step in, do whatever seemed sensible at the time, and see what would happen if someone actually tried to do the unexpected. It had to be better than doing nothing, and at the very least, it was sure to make Riddle adapt his strategy.