Note 1: I will admit that I have never read the HP lexicon, nor glanced at an interview with JK, therefore the population of the Wizarding World and the ratio of Muggleborns to Purebloods is unknown to me. In this story, I've sort of portrayed that the population of the Wizarding World in Britain is around 100k, maybe more.
Note 2: You will see throughout the course of the story, the reactions and political positions of the various muggle and magical governments towards Voldemort and Harry throughout the story and you have already seen Australia's reaction in the newspaper article. While there aren't necessary to the plot, they make for an interesting side of the story.
A day after the raid, the sun rose from the east, casting a reddish glow over the flickering ocean sea, which glittered madly in the light. As noon broke over Azkaban Island, Harry Potter was walking briskly down one of the damp grey corridors, frowning over the latest casualty reports. Although they had soundly driven back the Ministry forces, there had been eighteen casualties for the Order, with seven in the hospital. While the Ministry had lost at least a hundred Aurors, the Order couldn't even match a fraction of their enemies numbers, and eighteen men and women gone was a great loss in terms of manpower to the small resistance group.
As Harry approached his personal office, he scanned his eyes over the list and let out a small noise of pain as he identified one of the dead members of the DAI as one of his personal favourites. Marks had been a natural flyer, and if it hadn't been that he was born to muggle parents, Harry could have easily seen him playing pro for the English Quidditch team.
"Sir?" A voice broke through his haze and Harry looked up from the parchment, seeing Christina, his secretary of sorts, standing in front of him. She smiled hesitantly, her eyes red and her face blotchy. Marks had also been Christina's boyfriend; in fact, Harry had introduced the two of them to each other.
"Christina," Harry greeted softly, his eyes flickering with sympathy and his usual hardened mask softening.
Christina sniffed softly, wiping a trickling tear away with the back of her hand, before handing Harry a rolled up scroll. Harry glanced down, noting the seal as coming from Azkaban Intelligence, which dealt primarily with Ministry movements and the reports from those sympathetic to their cause.
"It's a message from the Department of Magical Misuse," Christina offered as Harry tucked the parchment of the deceased under his arm and unravelled the scroll, opening it up and peering down at the quickly scrawled message. "I don't know why they sent it to you personally; usually Ron or Kingsley takes these out."
"Oh, I know why," Harry said in a strange voice, split between surprise, amusement and bitterness. He quickly rolled up the scroll, scrunching it up roughly and throwing it over his shoulder. He snapped his fingers and it disappeared in a flash of flickering flames, leaving nothing, not even ashes, while his emerald eyes darkened in thought, his face pensive and calculating.
"Sir?" Christina asked carefully.
Harry looked up and smiled briefly. "Thank you for that message Christina. I assume that this has already passed through to the Raider's?"
"It seems so sir," Christina said, flicking her wand and conjuring an extremely thick book, which hovered in front of her. She flicked her wand again, and the pages of the book turned madly in a flutter, until Christina paused on one of the pages. "Ah… yes. Kingsley's team is leaving in fifteen minutes to retrieve the muggleborn."
"Tell them not to bother. I'll take this one personally," Harry ordered and with one last brief smile, he swirled around, his cloak fluttering madly behind him, leaving behind a befuddled witch.
In one of London's outer suburbs, the sun was shining brightly. For English weather, it was a beautiful day, and the children currently returning home from the local primary school dallied, taking their time to scamper around, laughing and giggling with the innocence of youth and ignorance. One such child was a ten, approaching eleven shortly, girl, with blue eyes, with slightly chubby cheeks and long flaxen hair. After an enthralling ten minute conversation of Jamie Sutton's crush on the new transfer student from Scotland, the girl broke away from her friends and entered the carefully kept green lawn of one of the identical houses on the street, opening the door and stepping inside. As the door shut, she failed to notice the man dressed in casual jeans and a simple dark shirt staring at her with intense green eyes hidden behind a pair of glasses.
Harry watched the house in front of him for a few minutes, teetering between approaching and staying. It had been a long time since he had made contact with his muggle relatives. After his seventeenth birthday, he had left Privet Drive and never returned, along with some advice for his uncle and aunt to leave at once. They had left for a brief holiday, most likely due to Harry's threat to turn them into frogs if they didn't do what he said rather than their common sense, and when they had returned, they found their once-perfect house had been transformed into a smoking heap of rubble. That was the last Harry had ever heard of his muggle relatives, until this morning, when he had received a notice that a Blossom Dursley had been detected using accidental magic. Sighing, he drew himself up and approached the house.
Opening a red-painted gate, Harry took notice of the white-picket fence; the immaculate and well-trimmed garden beds and the 1950's nuclear-family style house and couldn't help but let out a soft snort, shaking his head in a mixture of bemusement and long-lost resignation to Dursley normalcy. He approached the porch and rapped smartly on the doors. A moment later, it was opened as the target of his mission- Blossom, opened the girl with a look of polite curiosity.
"Hey," She greeted politely. "Sorry, I'm really not interested in anything you have to sell."
She made a move to close the door, but Harry quickly wedged his foot between the door and the doorframe, and smiled calmly at her surprised and outraged look.
"Then I suppose it's a good thing that I'm not selling anything," Harry said calmly. "This is the Dursley residence, correct?"
"Yeah," The girl let out a slow drawl and rolled her eyes, making a quirky sarcastic motion with her mouth.
"And you are Blossom Dursley, daughter of Dudley Dursley?"
"Is this about his boxing? If you're some kind of weirdo reporter…" Blossom started.
"Blossom dear, who is it?" A woman called from inside the house. Harry waited as a middle-aged woman with blonde curls and a rather surprising attractive face appeared behind Blossom, scanning Harry's face inquisitively.
"It's some kind reporter mum," Blossom complained. "He jammed his foot in so I couldn't close the door."
"I'm afraid there's been a misunderstanding," Harry interjected quickly. "I'm not a reporter… or a salesman. I'm looking for Dudley Dursley."
"What about?" The mother said a touch suspiciously.
"It's been… a long-time since I've seen him," Harry answered, smiling crookedly. "And I have some urgent news for him. He's definitely not going to like it, but he needs to hear it."
"Well then, could I take a message?" The woman said flatly¸ clearly not trusting him.
"No, I need to tell him in person." Harry said apologetically. "Look, my names Harry Potter and I don't know if Dudley ever told you about me, but…"
"Harry Potter?" The woman gasped, taking a few steps back and shoving her daughter behind her. "Dudley's cousin? The criminal, the thief?"
"Yes, I'm Dudley cousin… thief? Is that what he told you?" Harry asked in surprise, taking the chance to step inside and close the door behind him. "I assure you, Mrs Dursley that I am not here to harm you or steal from you, or your family. It's quite the opposite actually."
"Dudley said… criminal… Saint something-or-other," The woman mumbled incomprehensively while Blossom was quiet, her cheeks pale.
"I grew up with Dudley's parents, my aunt and uncle, and we had a falling out when I was seventeen," Harry said quickly. "There was an accident at the house, and while nobody was hurt, there was a fire, of sorts, and it burnt down. I know for certainty that I was never forgiven."
The mother and daughter continued to watch him carefully and he sighed noisily, brushing a hand through his hair.
"Look, can I just wait for Dudley? It's very important… and it involves your daughter," Harry said quietly.
"Okay," The woman said at last, after regarding his seemingly open and honest face. "We'll wait in the kitchen. He should be home from the gym shortly, anyway."
Harry nodded his thanks and they trouped into the shiny and spotless kitchen. The woman wordlessly gestured for Harry to take a seat, and he did, shooting a quick smile in her direction, settling into the wooden chair, while Blossom settled into the one on the opposite end of the table, staring at him unblinkingly.
"How do you take your tea?" The woman said, breaking the near-minute silence that had stretched the room.
"I don't drink tea, thanks," Harry answered with a small polite smile.
"Oh," The woman mumbled, and settled into one of the chairs, averting her eyes away from Harry.
"Are you really my uncle?" Blossom finally asked in curiosity.
"Yes, I am," Harry answered.
"Oh." She uttered and fell silent again.
Suddenly the door to the house flew open with a slam, and a multitude of rough teenage voices echoed in the house.
"Alright Big D, we'll see ya around, man,"
"'K bro,"
"We need to do this again mate, smash open his face and that,"
"Yeah, what a tool, thinking he could mess with the Big D,"
"Later dude,"
"Right,"
The door slammed again and a tall youth, a teenager boy about eighteen, walked into the room. He wore baggy dark pants, but wore an extremely shiny silver jacket, as was the fashion. His sunglasses were perched on his spiked red-tipped hair, and he wore a look of complete arrogance and self-centeredness.
"Mum, I'm hungry. Get me something to…" The youth trailed off as he entered the kitchen, spotting Harry sitting calmly at the table. "Who's this?" He gestured rudely to Harry.
"This is your uncle, Derek, Harry Potter," His mother said tensely. "Please be more polite."
"My uncle?" Derek claimed incredulously. "The lazy no-good thief? What the hell are you doing here?"
"I've come to speak to your father," Harry said calmly as the boy glared at him haughtily, cracking his neck and knuckles theatrically.
"Well, piss off then," The boy said a touch angrily. "We don't want your kind around here. We're not criminals!"
"I can't leave until I've spoken with your father," Harry said, an insincere smile of apology on his lips.
"Leave, or I'll make you leave," The boy hissed, his face rapidly turning purple until he resembled a miniature Vernon Dursley.
"You'll make me leave?" Harry quoted softly, a hard look coming into his eyes. He gazed at Derek stonily, until the teenager shifted on his feet and glanced away, uncomfortable under the powerful green gaze. "I see that you're just as much as a bully as your father… and your grandfather, I suspect, was at your age."
"How dare you…" Derek hissed, moving quickly forward and raising a fist. "Insult my father!"
Harry jumped to his feet amidst the cries of Blossom and Mrs Dursley, just as the door opened and shut. Derek froze as a loud, booming voice entered the house jovially.
"Amanda, honey, I'm home!"
"Dudley!" Mrs Amanda Dursley, apparently, returned, with a slight quaver in her voice, while Derek lowered his fist and sent Harry a smirk that suggested he was in big trouble now.
Dudley Dursley appeared at the kitchen doorway looking vastly different than Harry remembered him as a youth. While he was still large, the bulky fat that had once made up his body had been replaced with hard muscles. His left piggy-like eye was hidden behind a nasty scar that stretched across his face, and his face seemed more relaxed and peaceful than it ever had. That was, of course, until he spotted Harry standing in the kitchen.
"P-Potter?" He gasped with a fearful expression. "What… how…?"
"Dudley," Harry said, smiling thinly. He gave a quick glance at Derek still standing in front of him, and spoke. "I suggest you restrain your son, before I have to, my way. "
"Derek," Dudley barked loudly. "Get away from him!"
The fearful tone in his father's voice was enough to spur Derek, and he quickly backed away from Harry as Dudley stepped forward, eyeing Harry carefully.
"What… what are you doing here?" He asked gruffly. "What do you want?"
Harry said nothing, but his eyes flickered in Blossom's direction. Dudley noted this action and purpled angrily, rage flickering in his eyes and his fingers clenching together to make a fist.
"Are you telling me… No!" Dudley spat out furiously.
Harry was undeterred. "Yes," He replied calmly.
"She will not be going to that freak school of yours!" Dudley hissed and moved forward, raising his fists. "I won't let you! That old crack-pot headmaster of yours will just have to accept that!"
"That 'old crack-pot' was murdered over twenty years ago," Harry spoke coldly, his eyes frosting over. He took a step towards Dudley, suddenly radiating a menacing aura. "And never disrespect him again!"
"Murdered?" Dudley stuttered, swallowing heavily
"Yes, murdered." Harry answered flatly. "And there's more to this than you know. The situation has changed in the time we've seen each other."
"Excuse me, but what's going on? What are you talking about?" Amanda interjected angrily.
Dudley and Harry ignored her. "Changed?" Dudley spat. "I don't care! My daughter will not be associated with you freaks!"
"It's already too late Dudley," Harry answered coolly. "They already know what she is, and they're coming for her."
"What do you mean by that?" Dudley whispered softly, half-fearful and half-furious at the seemingly deadly threat.
"When I left, you know that I was involved in a war. I was fighting against somebody," Harry asked him.
"Yeah, that Voribort who killed your parents," Dudley answered angrily. "But what has this…"
"I lost the war, Dudley," Harry answered heavily, and for once Dudley was speechless. "We lost the war. The Ministry fell, the Order of Phoenix was decimated of all but a few supporters. Lord Voldemort has been running my world for the past twenty years. He is in control of the Ministry, he is in control of Hogwarts, and he is in control of all of Britain!"
"Y-You l… lost?" Dudley spluttered.
"I lost," Harry echoed softly. "In a way Dudley, you're right. I am a criminal. There is a bounty on my head so large that you could sculpt a mansion from the gold. The remnants of the Order have only one place that is secure, and no less than two days ago, there was a battle there! Voldemort will not turn his attention to the other communities outside of Britain until he has wiped us out first. The Order of Phoenix is the only thing standing between Voldemort and an all-out world war, where Voldemort will win!"
There was a short silence in the kitchen of the muggle house. Although only two of the occupants knew what was being said, the rest knew that something deep and meaningful was being stated, something horrifying and dangerous was being discussed. The silence didn't last long as Dudley took a deep breath, and an echo of his sneer returned.
"Why do I care?" He snapped angrily. "You'll get no help from me!"
"Because you do not understand Voldemort's nature!" Harry snapped, feeling the ancient feelings of dislike and outright hatred for his muggle family come to bear. "He is a racist! He hates anybody with magical ability that was not born to magical parents! And your daughter, Dudley, falls under that category!"
"Magical?" Blossom said in surprise, interjecting in the furious discussion. "There's no such thing as magic!"
"There is," Harry answered her. "And it's more wonderful and horrifying that you could possible imagine."
"Dad?" Blossom asked, clearly not believing him, but when her eyes turned to her father, she found that he was pale, and flinched beneath her gaze.
"Dudley, is what he is saying true?" Amanda asked, but Dudley just sat down in one of the chairs and buried his face in his hands.
Harry took the chance to answer her. "In Britain, and most of the world, two societies exist side-by-side. There is a society of technology, your society, of non-magical people. And there is a society of magic, my society. There was a coup over twenty years ago, and our version of a Hitler took control of our government. He despises your society and despise when magical ability emerges in those who do not come from families of magic. Such children are taken away, and exiled or worse."
"That's bullshit!" Derek suddenly sneered. "You're talking shit! Piss off, you crazy freak, and leave us alone!"
Harry shot him a look, but Derek snarled wordlessly and leapt for him, raising his fists.
"Derek, no!" Dudley roared, but Harry moved quicker and with a snap of his fingers, Derek froze, his muscles tensing and his body quivering as he stopped by an overwhelming invisible force. His eyes bulged madly and although he could breathe, he wasn't able to speak or move. Amanda, Dudley and Blossom watched transfixed at Derek's frozen form.
"Sit!" Harry commanded roughly, and Derek felt the force move him along, dragging his feet backwards. His legs suddenly collapsed and he toppled into a chair as the force suddenly left him, landing roughly in the wooden seat and letting out a huge breath of air. He stared wide-eyed at Harry, who ignored him and turned to Blossom.
"Dudley, I need to take her," Harry said, and something like sympathy entered his voice. It was never easy, these missions, but it had to be done. "The Ministry of Magic cannot be allowed to take her away. It will result in her death, or worse."
"What's worse than death?" Amanda asked shakily, moving behind her daughter and pulling her into a hug.
Harry's haunted gaze struck her full-force. "A great many things," He whispered. "Believe me when I say that."
"A-Are you sure?" Dudley finally asked. He looked up, his eyes anxious. "That she's like… you. Are you sure?"
"The Ministry is, and that's all that matters," Harry replied firmly.
"I… I need to talk to my family, to tell them… about you, about what I know," Dudley said in a quavering voice.
"I need to use the bathroom, so I'll give you your privacy," Harry said after a seconds thought. As he turned to leave the room, he swung his head back at Dudley. "But don't try to run, to escape. You can't escape them, not without my help, and I can't protect you if I'm not there.
Dudley gulped, not so much because Harry had known what he was planning, but because of the terrible honesty and truth on his cousins face.
At the same moment five blue-robed Auror's apparated into the backyard in a series of soft cracks. They appeared in a small circle, their wands held firmly in their dragon-hide covered hands. After a few tense seconds, the tallest and graying Auror gave an audible sigh of relief.
"Maybe the Order doesn't know about this one," He said softly, referring to the frequent battles that occurred between Auror's and Order members of the acquisition of muggleborns. Many of the worst fights with the terrorist group had occurred in the house of a newly-discovered muggleborn that somehow the Order had detected before they had.
"Hopefully sir," A slender middle-aged witch replied just as softly.
"Alright, let's get inside; grab the mudblood, neutralise the family and leave!"
"You kept this hidden from me for nineteen years! You never told me once about this wizard cousin of yours!" Amanda shrieked.
"What was I suppose to say?" Dudley shouted back. "You don't understand how it was like!"
"I don't understand?" Amanda echoed in anger. "My darling Blossom is apparently in danger because of this… dirty family secret of yours!"
"This has nothing to do with me!" Dudley spluttered, his face purpling madly.
Blossom sat silent at the table, her mind a whirl of what she had been told. She was… magical? Magic existed? And she had a wizard for an uncle? Next to her, Derek sat stonily silent, still shaken up with the incredible ease his apparent uncle had stopped him, shivering every once in a while.
The argument was suddenly interrupted by a loud noise as the backyard door was slammed open. Dudley and Amanda stopped, swinging their heads to the entrance of the doorway as robed figures burst into the room, waving short sticks around menacingly. Blossom shrunk in her seat as she spotted their eyes, which were hard and tinged with disgust at the sight of her.
"Who are you? How dare you…" Amanda started, but the tallest of the strangely dressed man backhanded her viciously to the ground.
"Quiet, muggle filth!" He hissed, wiping his hands on his robes as if he had touched something dirty.
"You bastard!" Derek roared and leapt from his seat, but one of the robed men waved his wave, and Derek felt something blindingly hot strike his face, flinging him to the side. He collapsed to the ground, his eyes flaring up with white-hot pain, while Dudley took a step backwards in fear, grabbing his daughter and holding her trembling body behind him.
"What do you want?" Dudley asked bravely, fear laced throughout his voice and stance.
"Blossom Dursley," One of the Auror's stated roughly. "You are under arrest for the Improper Use of Magic by Lesser Bloods. Resist us, and you will suffer!"
"I won't let you take her!" Dudley yelled, his hand finding a small steak knife in the drawer behind him. He lunged forward, bringing the knife up to bear.
" Crucio!" The tall Auror cast, and suddenly Dudley was in agony. It was like a thousand whips were striking at him, all over his body. His fell to the ground, distantly aware that he was screaming incoherently as the pain rushed through him. It was like nothing he had experienced before as a boxer. No punch had ever touched so deep, no jab had ever caused this much agony. As he felt his mind literally giving up against the torrents of pain, it was suddenly gone, and another scream echoed in the kitchen. There were screeches of pain and shouted words. Flashes of light passed through his closed eyelids and the noises of battle drifted through him. Just as quickly as it had started, it was suddenly silent and he forced his head to move and turned it to see Harry in the doorway, his expression furious and grim.
Harry was in the bathroom, listening with a degree of amusement at the argument Dudley and his wife were having. He chuckled to himself lightly. Who knew that Dudley would take a wife with spirit and nerve? Suddenly the yelling stopped, and Harry stiffened a group of people pounded through the corridor and into the kitchen. There was a brief silence, until.
" Who are you? How dare you…"
" You bastard!"
Harry opened the bathroom carefully and quietly peeked down the stairs. He let out a silent breath of air as he saw the customary robes of an Auror guarding the stairwell suspiciously, taking no chances with her group's safety. Suddenly Dudley let out a piercing scream that intertwined with the loud sobs and screams of his daughter. Harry recognized the screams as those that came from one who was under the cruciatus curse, and raised his wand.
" Avada Kedavra!" He muttered quietly, pouring in his carefully constructed rage and hatred, and a coil of deathly-green struck the Auror guarding at the bottom of the stairs, blasting her crumpled body backwards. Feeling the adrenaline rush through his veins and his magic burn through him, he practically leapt down the stairs. His eyes took in the scene in front of him in a microsecond. There were four Auror's, one who had seen his comrade fall and was opening his mouth to yell and two watching their leader torture Dudley.
Sectumsempra! Harry thought silently, jabbing his wand viciously at the Auror using the Cruciatus on Dudley. The Auror never knew what hit him as the concentrated flash of silver burst through the back of his chest, blasting through the protection charms on the robes and killing him instantly. The other Auror yelled in warning, and Harry turned to him, his wand flicking through a series of rapid movements. The small table next to the base of the stairs stretched and dulled into a grayish colour as it was transfigured into stone and flew towards the Auror, who ducked in alarm as the stone table flew past his head and swung around to strike again.
At the same moment, the two remaining Auror's in the kitchen sent off a barrage of curses, sizzling blasts of scarlet, golden and silver light zooming towards Harry, who twirled his wand and deflected them with ease, batting the sparkling magic into the walls where they impacted, leaving scorch marks and small holes.
" Accio!" Harry muttered, directing his mind to the pots and pans behind the Aurors. Thick and heavy copper and steel pans flew from the kitchen bench, striking the Aurors from behind, whacking them across the head and confusing them greatly. As they conjured up silver domes that enveloped their bodies, Harry swished his wand and the flying stone table, which the third Auror had just tried and failed to destroy with a sizzling cackle of maroon magic, rapidly changed course and accelerated towards the kitchen door, striking the two Aurors shields. The shields, designed to stop small physical objects, such as bullets or flying kitchenware, faltered and the stone table slammed into the Auror's, pushing them backwards and pinning them up against a wall to the point where their very bones started cracking. But Harry didn't wait to see this and had immediately turned to a small shelf in the wall, directing his wand over three frames.
The frames wobbled forward and fell off the shelf towards the ground. But they never struck as they were transfigured into large black dogs with gleaming yellow eyes and long white teeth. Each dog landed on its feet just long enough to spring their legs, and jumped forward with a snarl. One of them dove in front of Harry just as a coil of green death burst from the last Aurors wand, sacrificing it's 'life' to save its creator, while the other two leapt for the Auror, who managed to quickly blast one back with a powerful banishing charm. The other dog latched onto the Aurors throat and dug in with its powerful jaw, effectively ending the wizard's life.
Harry vanished the dogs with a swipe of his wand and transfigured the two Aurors bodies into small bones, merely for the sake of Blossom rather than himself. He entered the kitchen, noting that Dudley was looking at him from his curled, fetal position on the ground, and that Amanda was hugging her son and daughter close to her as they huddled near the stove, transfixed by the sight of the stone table pinning the two crushed Aurors to the wall.
"Do you believe me now?" Harry asked quietly. "We can get you out of the country, get you somewhere safe. But you must come with me, all of you, now!"
"A-Alright," Dudley croaked as he stumbled up from the ground, shivering uncontrollably. "We'll come with you."
"Dudley," Amanda let out a soft noise of protest, her eyes weepy as she hugged her husband. Harry ignored them and raised his wand, leveling it at the kitchen table. A quick unspoken Diffindo severed one of its legs, although the table stayed upright, kept stable by Harry's magic. Harry summoned the long piece of wood to hover in front of him, and frowning in concentration, he tapped it with his wand, picturing exactly where he wanted to go, his eyes fluttering as he ingrained the destination into his magic, his wand moving in a arc.
" Portus!" he whispered. The table leg flashed blue and vibrated madly in the air as the magic seeped into it, turning into a one-way portal to a different destination.
"What did you do?" Blossom asked softly, her eyes wide as she stared at the hovering piece of wood.
"I made a Portkey, a device that will take us from this place to another almost instantly," He told her. "Now, everybody hold on."
Dudley, Amanda and Blossom slowly reached out to touch the hovering table leg, while Derek hesitated, then sighed noisily and placed a hand on it as well. Suddenly there was a series of cracks and Harry whirled around to face the kitchen opening, placing a hand on the table leg as he did so. As he activated the Portkey, he jabbed his wand once and let out two spells.
" Serpensortia! Impendimenta!"
The group disappeared just as Aurors stormed into the room and a hissing green snake burst from Harry's wand, flying through the air and wrapping itself around a startled Aurors neck, plunging its deadly fangs into the vulnerable flesh underneath the robes. Almost instantaneously, a shimmering Impendimenta hex washed over the Aurors, who were alternately tripped, frozen and blasted away. By the time the Aurors had recovered from the effects of the hex, the snake had already killed the unlucky Auror.
Later that day
The Prime Minister waited anxiously in his office, watching the fireplace burn and flicker in the darkened room. He nervously tried to avoid staring at the portrait that he knew was watching him. He was always being watched, always, and he hated it. Briefly, he wondered if there was ever a time that the Prime Minister of Britain wasn't under the control of the magical world. He knew that the current Lord had only been in power for twenty years, but to him, that was a lifetime ago.
Suddenly the fireplace flared green and a dark-robed woman with beautiful blue eyes and dark blonde wavy hair emerged. Her face was cold and her eyes hardened and they regarded the Prime Minister as if he were lower than scum, something that she wouldn't even step on to kill. The Prime Minister swallowed at her gaze and moved to the liqueur cabinet.
"Do you drink?" He asked, his voice only stuttering slightly as he reached for his bottle of scotch.
"Not any filthy muggle drinks," The woman answered with a sneer in her voice.
The Prime Minister violently flinched, the glass shaking in his hand as he poured his own drink, spilling most of it on the cabinet itself. The woman caught this action but her face remained expressionless.
"Why was I called here by the likes of you?" She asked softly, her voice little more than a whisper.
"I-I-I…" The Prime Minister started, before taking a deep breath. "There was a magical battle at a residence in Surrey."
"We know," The Death Eater said, her mouth twisting unpleasantly. "Six Aurors lost their lives to the criminal, Harry Potter."
"I-I see," The Prime Minister said, taking a large gulp of his scotch and welcoming the burning sensation that flooded down his throat and into the pit of his stomach. "Well, I have to m-make a stand on these sorts of things. I don't want…" Here hesitated, taking another gulp of scotch and finishing his glass. "I don't want anymore fighting near the non-magical parts of Britain." He finished with a tone of finality.
The Death Eater paused, seemingly shocked. "You don't want," She echoed slowly, taking a step forward. "You. Don't. Want. You, a filthy muggle, don't want."
The Prime Minister flinched at her words, taking stumbled steps backwards as she approached him.
"Mark my words Muggle, the only reason you still live is because you are of some use to us because in your snivelling pathetic little head, you comprehend the repercussions that would follow if you dared refuse us!" The Death Eater snarled quietly, raising her wand. The tip cackled with dark magic, which itched to strike down the Prime Minister where he stood. All he could do was stare into the beautiful eyes of the woman in front of him, and distantly, in some back part of his brain, he noted that she was extremely beautiful.
"Resistance is useless and ultimately, it would result in your kind's destruction," The woman continued, still staring at him intently.
The Prime Minister silently disagreed with that statement, knowing that at the very least, the non-magical world could fight back. Images flickered through his mind, of SAS troopers firing upon wizards, of sleek fighter jets sending their explosive missiles from over a kilometre away, of heavy battleships bombarding Wizarding locations, and the woman twitched.
"So, you believe that you're technology could defeat us," She mused softly, and the Prime Minister gave her a startled and fearful glance. She smiled in amusement, shaking her head as if she found something extremely funny.
"We could," He said strongly.
"No, you couldn't," The Death Eater said, still smiling and backing away. "Tell me Prime Minister, how would your bombs find targets they couldn't see? How would your bullets penetrate our most basic physical shielding charms? How can your battleships attack us if a single witch or wizard apparated on board and struck down everybody in their sleep? How could your soldiers shoot at enemies that are invisible, enemies that can yank their weapons from their hands, blast them apart with a mere flick of a wand, incinerate your tanks and mechanised infantry? How could your helicopters attack us when dragons spat fire at them and tore them apart with their teeth?"
The Prime Minister was shaking with fear, still staring into the eyes of the witch in front of him, the images flashing through his mind as she maliciously tore down his hopes. It wasn't until she broke her gaze that he realised what had happened.
"You looked into my mind," He said, swallowing heavily as he eyed the witch with a new dose of fear.
The witch smiled thinly. "I am proficient in what my kind calls Occlumency and Legillimency. There are none in Britain who are better, not even my Lord or the traitor, Potter. Listen to me Muggle, and listen closely. I, unlike most of my kind, have studied your culture, your technology, your science. " She spat the last word out as if it disgusted her. "I know what you are capable of and I know what we are capable of. For the sake of your life, and the life of your pathetic and inept world, I suggest that you place thoughts of rebellion and war into a small box in a dark corner of your mind, and never open it again!"
The Prime Minister nodded hastily and the witch sneered at him, before another voice intruded on their conversation.
"Avery, we require your presence," The portrait on the wall seemed to say, before falling still.
The witch, Avery, moved towards the fireplace and threw in a fistful of powder. The flames flickered green and she stepped in, taking once last look at the Prime Minister. "Remember what I said!" She said coldly, and then she was gone.
The Prime Minister sat in silence for a minute, before he sighed in weariness and resignation. As he stood up to get himself another much-needed drink, he wondered briefly why he, the leader of one of the most powerful nations in the world, suddenly felt like crying.