In Hogwarts, breakfast began with steam and clatter. Platters slid into place. Tea breathed against the lamps. Owls beat the high air once and settled. Then the doors of the Great Hall opened wide and a line of red cloaks came in at a marching pace. Boots hit stone in a steady count that rolled along the tables and took the talk with it.
Students twisted on benches. Spoons paused. The point man carried the DMLE crest on his chest and a stance that needed no voice. A second rank fanned to the left, a third to the right. Wands were down but ready. Staff rose from the high table. McGonagall stood straight, napkin set aside, mouth already a flat line. Snape lifted from his chair with a billow of black that did not quite hide the way his eyes tracked the exits.
Rufus Scrimgeour stepped clear of his file.
"Minerva McGonagall. You are taken into custody for questioning in the matter of the kidnapping of Heir Potter. You face charges of aiding a dark wizard and of endangering a magical minor." He held the charge scroll where all could see the seal.
A rustle moved the length of the Gryffindor table. Harry Potter sat midway down, elbow to elbow with Neville Longbottom. The boy went still from shoulders to shoes. His eyes narrowed as if distance had turned sharp in an instant.
McGonagall's chin rose a fraction. "On what evidence?" Iron under the words.
"Memories of one Albus Dumbledore," Scrimgeour answered. He inclined his head and two Aurors came to either side of her. They did not touch her. She allowed the move and kept her dignity like a robe.
Scrimgeour's gaze slid to Snape. "Severus Snape. You are taken into custody for questioning on your allegiance to Dark Wizard known as 'You Know Who'. You face charges related to the deaths of James Potter and Lily Potter and to operations conducted as a double agent without disclosure to the Ministry."
A wash of whispers crossed Slytherin and hissed out. Snape's mouth shaped a thin smile that did not find his eyes. "On what evidence?" The words fell soft, a challenge in velvet.
Scrimgeour lifted a second scroll. "Warrants signed. Memory from another dark wizard, certified by Department of Myteries."
Potter did not breathe for a count of three. Neville's hand found his shoulder and pressed once. "Keep it together," Neville murmured without turning his head. The words landed and held.
Snape took one step down from the dais. Robes whispered. He glanced at the students only long enough to leave a sting, then fixed on Scrimgeour with a brittle calm. "My actions have served former chief Warlock, I did not act without his supervision."
Scrimgeour did not answer. Two Aurors closed and formed a tight escort. They confiscated his wand and escorted him back to the gates.
McGonagall faced her lions. "You will proceed to first lessons. Professor Flitwick will direct schedules." The voice carried to every corner. She let the children see that she was not afraid. Then she turned and walked between the red cloaks with her mouth set and her eyes bright.
The Aurors moved the length of the hall and out. Doors closed. The echo ran off along the stones and was gone. For a breath the school had no sound at all. Then talk returned in ragged pieces that did not join.
Scrimgeour stayed, he turned to Corvus first and nodded to greet him. Afterwards his gaze roamed the dais. "DMLE will be back to search the office of the former headmaster."
Corvus nodded back and watched the senior Auror as he left. He rose from the high table and turned to Flitwick first, then to Sprout. "We need to ask for help." He kept his voice for the staff. "Formal support from the Ministry. Immediate cover for the vacated classes. I will write the request if we all are in accord."
Nods were given in silence. Flitwick's mouth twitched in quick thought. "We hold lessons," he said, sharp and small, like a bell. "No more cancellations."
Pomona nodded once. "I will split Potions with Professor Black. We can put four houses together to adjust the time table." she told Flitwick.
Corvus pulled a square of parchment and wrote in a tight, decisive hand. The lines came swift. Request for interim appointments and Auror presence during transitions. A ward review for entirety of the castle. Some other, more private suggestions for the positions of Potions, Transfiguration, and Defense. He sanded the ink and folded the note. "Umbra."
The raven dropped from a beam and landed on his forearm with a neat grip. The message went to the leg. A small touch to the feathers. "Straight to grandfather." Umbra launched and vanished into the high blue beyond the chandeliers.
Around them the children gathered their things with hands that tried for steadiness. Gryffindors looked to one another as if the red on the Auror coats had stained the table. A prefect called names and got them standing. Harry pushed back his bench and rose with Neville. He did not look at the high table. He kept his eyes forward and walked.
At Slytherin the mood was not quiet. Two sixth years stepped into the aisle and cut toward the staff before the shuffle could carry them out. "Professor Flitwick," one began, careful courtesy, hands at his sides. "We request that Heir Black be appointed Head of Slytherin House." He did not raise his voice, but the block behind him lifted chins in the same motion, a small wave.
Pomona met the boy's eyes. "Headships are not filled by petition," she said, even and firm.
The boy did not wilt. "He teaches here already, He is a Potions Master as well. He understands our traditions better than most. Hence, we prefer him." The last words came with the barest edge of pride.
Flitwick drew breath to answer. "I hear you," he said. "But Professor Black is officially of Durmstrang. He is a Foreign Instructor teaching here because of the ICW issued laws, thus he cannot hold the position of Head of House. The Board of Governors will arrange someone for that position. Until then me and Sprout will be in charge for orders. You can look forward to have Professor Black for lessons in Defense, Potions and Transfiguration until the vacancies are filled."
A murmur of assent moved through the green and silver. Not joy, but from the looks a plan was already brewing in the heads of the upper years.
Timetables began to change in midair as Flitwick moved his wand and summoned the sheets. Names slid. Rooms shifted. The parchments resized themselves and snapped to a stop with small pops.
Vacancies will be filled by Professors Sinistra, Babbling and Vector. Professor Black will assist and take some classes accordingly as me and Professor Sprout will do as well. Pomona lifted her chin toward the tables. "Prefects, walk your years to class follow the new timetables. Keep the corridors calm."
The benches scraped. The hall emptied by currents that had a new line in them.
Pomona blew out a breath she had kept since the doors opened. "We need help," she said. "We cannot continue like this."
Somewhere high above, Umbra was already a dark comma against the pale sky, arrowing for London. The Great Hall settled into the sound of books and shoes and the faint, unreal quiet that comes after a storm.
--
Devon woke to a run of Apparition cracks that pricked the morning fog. Ward chimes shivered along the hedgerows and settled. Fog lay low over the fields. The Burrow rose out of it like a stack of odds and ends, windows warm, kettle on the sink. Boots touched down in the yard in a neat ring and set frost to crack.
Molly Weasley reached the back step with a tea towel over one shoulder. Arthur came behind her he was finishing his breakfast before going to his office. Red cloaks fanned and held. Wands stayed lowered. Badges caught the pale light.
"Arthur Weasley. Molly Weasley." The lead Auror held a warrant that wore the Minister's seal. "You are taken into custody for questioning. You are accused of being members of Order of Phoenix. An organisation ruled by a dark wizard."
Molly stared at the parchment. Not able to say anything even when an auror approached her.
The yard took the rest of the noise. Ginny's face showed at the stairs, white as milk, then vanished. Molly set the towel on the rail and squared her shoulders. "We will come," she said. She reached for Arthur's sleeve. They went without fuss. The house watched them go with the patience of timber that has been through storms before. Three Aurors staed to seach the house.
In a narrow lane off Charing Cross Road a purple spark drifted up from a chimney and died as a squad sealed a door. Dedalus Diggle opened it with soot on his nose and a wand tucked into a bouquet of paper flowers. "I am sure there is a mix up."
"There is not," the Auror said. He pointed with two fingers. "Trunk. Desk. Mantel. The hat too." The hat belched a moth and gave up a lock pick when turned over. Diggle looked hurt on its behalf.
At a tidy cottage near a green in Little Norton, Emmeline Vance watched blue chalk lines bloom across her sitting room as curse breakers set anchors along the skirting. A parchment list lengthened at her elbow. She read each entry and signed once at the bottom with a hand that did not shake. "You will return what is lawful," she said. "And you will leave my roses alone."
"We will leave your roses," the breaker said. He meant it.
By noon the tally board at DMLE had lines of chalk that reached the frame. The Order of Phoenix sat next to the names of Death Eaters and the list of lesser cults that never quite get going. The clerks wrote murmuring to himself. "As if Wizarding Britain did not have enough terrorist organisations, now even the Chief Warlock started to joind the fashion."
Another team was putting the Anti Apparition wards down near Moody's townhouse. Gawain Robards was still having troubles, thinking how two dozens from their ranks were in holding cells. He could not understand. Why would they join the newly discovered organization. Now he was to bring in Moody. He sighed and hoped the old man would not go mad on them.
--
While the gears were turning, Arcturus Black stood over a table that showed Britain in low relief. Hills rose under his palm. Rivers glinted. Pins marked chosen ground like small nails driven into a map. He had three sites set for wizard families, each far from a main road and tucked into old earth that was on or close to ley lines. One valley in the north, one folded coast where cliffs ate the sea a bite at a time. One bowl of land behind a beech wood in the west that had kept secrets since Rome gave up.
He had a fourth pin for vampires, a place with cold soil and no curious neighbors. He had a fifth for werewolves, a swath of heath with a line of hills. He had a sixth for centaurs, a forest set aside on crown land, meant to sit as a sister to the Forbidden Forest. The herd at Hogwarts would remain where it stood. This would give their cousins another range.
"I want all of them warded by week end," he ordered the chief of logistics. The man reported from the doorway. "Rune stones will arrive by tonight. The builders wait on our go."
"Do not let the builders start untill the wards are in place," Arcturus said without looking up. "We raise clean lines. No Muggle will know about these settlements. Make sure each and every one of the workers are under oath."
Piles of parchment lay to his left. Budgets. Land law. Compensation schedules for Muggle owners who would think they had sold to a trust with a dull name.
Ignatia Travers slipped through the gap between two clerks and set a leather folder on the clear strip of table near his hand. Ink still shone on the top page. "Yearly meeting with the Muggle Prime Minister in two days," she said. "Notes from the last talk. He asked for an update on cross border incidents and on the summer disturbances in Bristol. He does not know they were ours. Fudge never informed him of these."
Arcturus opened the folder with a thumb and let his eyes walk the points. "I do not like the idea of 'informing' muggles. I want Lord Rosier with me in this meeting." He tapped the page where the previous Minister had promised cooperation and delivered glitter.
Ignatia nodded. "I will inform him, sir."