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Power Plays Chapter 31
🕑 Added 2024-03-04 16:59:01 +0000 UTCThunder cracked in the sky and Cyrus was simultaneously terrified and in awe. Lord Delacour—Emile, he mentally corrected himself—wielded terrible, tremendous power, but Cyrus doubted that the man would be able to put it to good use without proper guidance. And that was why he had to be here for this.
Emile hummed quietly to himself as he weaved his wand through the air back and forth like a conductor leading a symphony. Cyrus couldn’t quite pick up on what exactly it was that the man was humming, but it didn’t really matter. The song was happy and cheery, in sharp contrast with the dark night sky and the swirling clouds overhead.
Another crack of thunder sounded off, and Emile cackled in delight.
“It’s getting closer,” Emile announced, probably to himself.
The creature had no idea what was in store for it. The wards that Emile was empowering shielded his intent from the creature and allowed it to be drawn in close without worry. It was a very tricky piece of magic, one that Cyrus knew he was incapable of performing himself due to the fast reactions that were necessary to carefully manipulate the power into each ward within the cleverly-laid ward scheme. Normally, it would take a group of accomplished warders—perhaps three—to manage such a feat, but Emile was doing it all on his own.
The wind was starting to pick up. The grass around Cyrus shifted, billowing in various directions as the swirling winds battered it from all sides. Emile’s robes began to stir too, but the man didn’t dare break his concentration for even a moment to smooth them back out. Stray leaves brushed across his bald head, and again, Emile didn’t brush them away. His wide eyes just stared into the sky, watching the approaching storm with a child-like glee.
“Come to me,” Emile cooed at the sky. “Come, my precious Thunderbird.”
A bright light flashed in the sky a moment before the thunder roared. In the dark clouds above, Cyrus saw the white outline of the Thunderbird. The majestic creature had its wings extended out with thick bolts of lightning firing out from its feathers.
Rain came crashing in next, and Cyrus’ eyes immediately snapped to the offering laid on the ground before Emile.
“The rain will wash away the sacrifice,” Cyrus pointed out hastily.
“Let it,” Emile laughed. “The Thunderbird will still come.”
Cyrus watched as the rain mingled with the pool of blood in the open chest cavity of the witch they’d killed earlier today. She was one of theirs, a true disciple of Voldemort, but she’d sacrificed herself to help further the cause. The rituals they’d tried to resurrect Lord Voldemort had all failed, and thus they needed to shift to more drastic measures.
Tomorrow, they’d pursue the old families in the streets of Paris and get the pure blood that they needed for the ritual.
Tonight, they’d get the last piece of the puzzle. If even the old families didn’t have pure enough blood to resurrect Lord Voldemort, they’d forcibly purify it with this Thunderbird.
A painful-sounding screech forced Cyrus’s eyes to look back up towards the sky. It was the instinct of prey being hunted, and it chafed to know that a magical creature could command his baser instincts like this.
“There,” Emile grinned. “She’s coming.”
The clouds above broke as a bolt of lightning pierced them. The bolt travelled faster than Cyrus could see until it suddenly engulfed everything around him.
Cyrus opened his mouth to scream only to realise that the lightning wasn’t actually hurting him. The bolt vaporised into nothingness against the shield Emile had placed on him before he began this ritual, leaving only a burning scent in the air around him.
The Thunderbird was diving down, chasing the trail that the lightning had left in the skies. It was plummeting faster and faster as it grew closer to the ground, and just a moment before impact, its wings extended and flapped.
Cyrus was buffeted by the powerful gusts of wind that the Thunderbird created, but he managed to stay standing on his own two feet. Emile looked like he hadn’t even felt anything. He was just holding his hand out lovingly to the Thunderbird.
“Come here, little one,” he cooed.
The Thunderbird was anything but little; it towered over both of them. The Thunderbird cocked its head to the side as its feathers shifted from white to a vibrant, electric blue.
“So pretty,” Emile gushed. “Could I see your feathers up close?”
Emile took a step closer to the Thunderbird, and the creature squawked at him. Emile paused mid stride, staring up at the creature with outstretched arms.
The Thunderbird and Emile were locked in a staring contest for a moment before the bird looked down at the offering Emile and Cyrus had left it. The blood in the chest cavity of the corpse was diluted, but the enticing smell remained. Emile had seen to it that the blood would be as irresistible to the Thunderbird as possible in order to draw the creature in. It had taken over a week to draw the only free Thunderbird in Europe to France, and now they were so close to finally achieving their goal.
“That’s it,” Emile sighed contently as the Thunderbird moved closer to him. The Thunderbird wasn’t even paying attention to Emile anymore; it seemed transfixed by the blood. “Just a little closer.”
Suddenly, Emile’s wand transformed. The tip of it turned to steel and formed a thin blade.
Emile leaned in closer as the Thunderbird lowered its head down to the body.
“Drink up,” Emile told the Thunderbird as his arms tried to encircle its neck. It was too thick for him to get his arms around entirely, but it did bring his wand right where he wanted it to.
The Thunderbird dipped its beak into the blood, and that was when Emile struck. He jabbed his wand right into the Thunderbird’s neck. The creature squealed and squawked in pain, but it remained stuck in place as the blood spewed out of its neck. Then, the squeals and squawks faded. The Thunderbird was completely frozen as its life slowly drained from itself.
Emile acted quickly. He drew as many vials as his hands could hold and filled them all with blood.
Cyrus was much more cautious. He paced around to the creature’s back, feeling its eyes watching every step he took. The Thunderbird didn’t know why they were doing this, and it was silently looking to Cyrus for help.
But Cyrus wouldn’t offer the creature a single thing. He needed to do this. He needed to bring the Dark Lord back to life.
Cyrus plucked a dozen feathers from the Thunderbird’s tail—five more than they actually needed. He stowed them safely within his robes and walked back around to find Emile finishing bottling his vials. They had everything they needed now.
“Rest,” Emile hushed the Thunderbird as he patted its beak. The Thunderbird’s eyes stared at each of them, watching and judging until life faded from it completely.
A hollow sensation sunk into Cyrus’s chest. They’d just killed a magnificent creature, and while it was for a good cause, it still hurt.
Emile’s hand clasped his shoulder. “We should go now,” he said in a chipper tone. “We’ve got to get these ingredients under stasis back at our base. And then it’s off to Paris for the bloodbath!”
Cyrus just nodded, still staring into the Thunderbird’s vacant eyes.
PAGE BREAK
“Are you sure that you’re okay with me leaving?” Harry asked Daphne, across from the breakfast table.
Daphne hesitated a moment, stirring her toppings into her porridge. “I just want you to come back safely to me,” she answered sincerely. “Just… don’t take any risks.”
Harry knew that he couldn’t promise her that. His work as an Auror required him to make split-second decisions that could put his life in danger. He’d long since accepted this fact, and although Daphne had been relatively understanding, she’d still retained her reticence. It had been one of the aspects of their relationship that had made Harry more confident in their future together: she truly wanted him to stay alive and be by her side.
“I won’t,” Harry assured her, knowing that it was partially a lie. Aurors took risks all the time, but they rarely told their partners as much. It would be too much on them to consistently wonder if their partners would come back from each and every job they went on.
Daphne didn’t seem entirely mollified by his answer, and Harry wouldn’t be surprised if she was fully aware of the danger he was walking into thanks to her deep contacts within the Ministry, but he didn’t have the time to question her over the issue.
“I love you,” Harry told her sweetly.
“I love you too,” Daphne replied with a kiss. “I’ll be visiting Tracey at St Mungo’s, so I won’t be home for your floo check-in.”
Between visiting Tracey and helping her sister and her mum with their appointments, Daphne was at St Mungo’s most days of the week. It wasn’t an unexpected thing for her to miss out on their lunchtime floo calls.
“Tracey’s still not better?” Harry asked gently. “The last time I visited with you, the healers seemed hopeful that she’d be better soon.”
It was a difficult topic, and one that was doubly so with Daphne. Harry was still plagued with nightmares of the night that he killed her, the night that Susan died. Daphne paused in the middle of her stirring and looked up at him.
“Their most recent guess is that it’ll still be a few more months yet,” Daphne sighed audibly. “But she’s getting stronger every day. Her magic is coming back, and she even managed to finally cast a proper lighting charm the other day, but anything else is still beyond her for now.”
Harry nodded sympathetically. He couldn’t begin to understand how difficult and frustrating it must be to not be able to cast spells. Tracey was still stuck in St Mungo’s, and she’d be stuck there until she fully recovered. At least Astoria and her mum were able to go back to their homes after their appointments and find some degree of comfort and relaxation.
“Tell her that I’m wishing her well,” Harry said to Daphne as he kissed her again. “And I’ll try to visit again once I’m back in England.”
“I’m sure that she’ll be happy to hear that,” Daphne smiled at him.
Daphne saw him off at the floo, waving goodbye as he disappeared in a rush of verdant flames.
Harry was spat out into his private office at the Ministry. One of the perks of being the Head Auror was that he didn’t have to go through the main entrance at the Ministry anymore. His office was neat and tidy, just as he’d left it.
The morning passed by smoothly as Harry handled all of his last minute tasks. He checked in with all of his Senior Aurors and ensured that they had everything that they needed from him before he left, visited several other departments and checked in with the Heads to confirm that they were aware that Tonks would be taking over for him in his absence, and finally arranged the team that he was taking with him to France.
Unlike how Dawlish operated, Harry allowed anyone to volunteer for the position rather than him forcing it upon them. He understood that people’s personal lives were often complicated, and although an opportunity like this was bound to be beneficial for anyone’s career, sometimes it just didn’t align with what was going on in the rest of their lives.
Thankfully, he’d received an overwhelming number of requests to join his team, so Harry had the pick of the litter.
Kingsley had said that he could take eleven Aurors alongside him to France, so Harry structured the group into three teams of four. He would lead one of the teams when he went out into the field, but they’d otherwise act as support for the other two teams. Those teams would each be headed by a Senior Auror and filled with regular Aurors.
It hadn’t taken Harry particularly long to come up with his team. He needed people who were either familiar with combat or excellent duellists, but preferably the former. While it was still unknown exactly how competent the remaining Death Eaters and their new recruits were, Harry didn’t want to have anyone acting as a liability on this joint operation. So, he made his choices very quickly and decisively.
“Are you all set to leave soon?” Harry asked as he knocked on Elwyn’s door.
Elwyn, the middle-aged Auror who’d been a vocal supporter of Harry back when he was arguing a lot with Dawlish, was just in the middle of finishing clearing away his desk. He’d recently shaved his head bald after the last of his hair had finally begun to leave him, and he was looking much better as a result of it. He turned to face Harry, his Senior Auror badge gleaming in the light.
It had surprised Harry that he’d chosen to promote Elwyn to be one of the newest Senior Aurors. Despite his long tenure with the Auror Department, he’d been one of the men who kept his job when Voldemort’s forces came into power. A deep examination into his actions after the war proved that he wasn’t a pure-blood supremacist or even a Death Eater sympathiser; Elwyn was simply a man who was deeply loyal to the Ministry and the chain of command. So, his position had been returned to him, and he’d proved himself to be kind and supportive to Harry over the years.
Elwyn was a middling Auror. His wandwork wasn’t anything special, nor was his deductive or reasoning skills. What he did have going for himself though were his years of experience. Elwyn had seen so much that he was incredibly adaptable into any situation he was thrown into. Sure, he might never be as effective as some other Aurors could be, but he’d never fail the way some Aurors could either. He was consistent above all else, and that consistency was what Harry had rewarded when he’d promoted him to become a Senior Auror.
And now Elwyn was going to be leading one of his teams in France.
“Aye,” Elwyn nodded, almost sounding a little grim. “I’ve checked in with the lads, and they’re all ready to go too.”
Harry had let Elwyn have some input in whom he worked with. He’d chosen four names from the pool Harry had offered him, and Harry had agreed to all of his choices.
“Good,” Harry replied as he glanced down at his watch. “Have them meet up at the floo point at half past four. We’ll be leaving then.”
“You got it, boss,” Elwyn said.
Harry trusted Elwyn to have everyone and everything in order by the time they needed to leave, so he continued his route around the office. As he did, Harry was somewhat surprised to see how dejected some of his Aurors looked. Upon questioning them, a few revealed that it was because they were worried about how the office would be while he was away. They’d enjoyed the changes he’d made after Dawlish was removed from power, and they just didn’t want things to change.
It heartened Harry to learn that his efforts weren’t entirely in vain. There’d been some pushback from those who’d been loyal to Dawlish at the start, but eventually everyone had come to terms with the fact that Harry was going to make the Aurors take on a more proactive role in stopping crime in Britain. The Wizengamot would have to come around eventually, but for now, it was enough to know that his Aurors were on his side.
Harry crossed round to the offices on the far side of the Auror Office, and he knocked sharply on a door before entering.
“Zacharias? Are you and your team all ready to leave later?” Harry asked the blond-haired man.
Zacharias Smith glanced up from the letter he was writing briefly. “Almost,” he said, quickly finishing his sentence and dropping his quill back into his pot of ink. He folded up the parchment and stuffed it into an envelope and dropped it on his desk. “Malcolm still needs to visit the Department of Magical Games and Sports about a case he’s wrapping up, but everything else is taken care of.”
If there had been one man whom Harry assumed he’d never work with again, it would be Zacharias Smith.
At Hogwarts, Zacharias had been a generally unpleasant person. Between his excessive criticisms of Harry in the D.A. to his snide comments during Quidditch matches, Zacharias had been a mild thorn in Harry’s side for a long time. Neither he nor any of his friends particularly liked the Hufflepuff, and that only worsened when he learnt about Zacharias’ activities during the Battle of Hogwarts.
Unlike most people that had been in the D.A., Zacharias hadn’t helped defend the school from Voldemort’s attack. In fact, he fled the school entirely, even going so far as to push young students out of the way so that he could escape first. It had been a cowardly move and one that hadn’t left him with many friends after the war, but it had also been a wakeup call to Zacharias.
He’d joined the Aurors at the same time as Harry and several others from their year. He’d expressed remorse over his actions and a desire to genuinely help people instead of behaving the way he had. While Harry had been sceptical at first, Zacharias had proved himself to be a competent Auror who wasn’t afraid to step into the line of fire if need be. He’d turned things around so much that Dawlish had even promoted Zacharias to become a Senior Auror just a couple months before Harry had taken over the Head Auror position.
Zacharias hadn’t overly endeared himself to Harry during his time as an Auror, but he hadn’t been that same unpleasant person that Harry remembered. He seemed to focus on keeping his head down and getting his work done, and his training under Harry in the D.A. had obviously stuck because he was more than competent in a fight.
Harry had chosen Zacharias to lead the second team because he was one of the stronger duellists that they had on the force at the moment. Given the fact that Voldemort and his cronies had wiped out so many good Aurors, that meant that the old guard that had been left alive tended to be weaker in many respects than the new recruits the department had gotten since the war. Harry trusted Zacharias to do his duty with his team and lead the vanguard into any fights they encountered with Death Eaters.
“Glad to hear it,” Harry told him. “We’ll be meeting at the floo point at half past four.”
“Understood,” Zacharias nodded.
Harry left him to it. He still had so many check-ins and brief appointments throughout the day that he couldn’t spend more than a few minutes with any one person. Having the Head Auror leave like this was unprecedented, and the Ministry was still in a bit of a tizzy over it all.
The hours passed by, and Harry hurried along to finish tidying things up to the best of his abilities. As the time drew closer to the end of the day though, Harry felt anticipation begin to bubble up in his belly. He was excited about what was to come, and he wanted to just charge out and get back into the fight. Raiding pure-blood manors was easy, and he hadn’t been in a real duel since Bellatrix.
He hoped they’d find the Death Eaters soon. He wanted to finish off their ilk once and for all.
Harry waited until five minutes before the departure time before he started heading down to the private floo point within the Ministry. He never liked waiting around like some Aurors did, so he always tried to wait until the very last minute before arriving for missions like this.
Naturally, the cavernous room already had everyone waiting for him. The fireplaces were ready, and everyone was dressed in freshly-cleaned robes.
The room went silent when Harry entered, and his Aurors quickly divided themselves into their separate groups. Elwyn and Zacharias each headed theirs, and then there were the three Aurors waiting for him: Cloyd, Tansy, and Gareth. Harry gave them a sharp nod.
“Thank you all for volunteering for this mission,” Harry began. “The reports out of France are concerning, but there are fewer Death Eaters than there have ever been. They are recruiting from disenfranchised dark witches and wizards in France, but their numbers are still small. Between us and the French Aurors, we should be able to handle this issue without any trouble.”
Harry slowly began to pace back and forth. “Once we arrive at the French Ministry, we’ll be brought to our accommodations. Tomorrow, we’ll start working on the case with the French Aurors. You’ll be operating independently from them, but Mr Delacour and myself will be coordinating our respective teams together. If he gives an order that doesn’t countermand one of mine, then you will follow it. Is that understood?”
“Yes, sir,” came the chorused reply.
“This will act as a translation charm for you,” Harry said as he pointed to the small silver pin on the lapel of his robes. “It will allow you to hear French as English and it will relay your words in French whenever you speak—you won’t hear it, but others will. You’ll be expected to keep this on you at all times, and you’ll have a couple of spares in case you lose yours.”
Harry could see a few thankful faces for that. He pulled out a box of pins from inside of his robes and tossed it to Elwyn.
“Take three and pass the box along,” Harry told him.
Elwyn nodded and did exactly as he was instructed. The box made its way around the room as Harry continued his speech.
“Remember that we are guests in France. While we technically hold the same status as their Aurors while we are there, we must be exceedingly cautious to not overstep,” Harry reminded them. “We don’t want to stir up a diplomatic incident that causes issues between our governments. So, if a member of the public comes up and accosts you for example, back away and let one of the French Aurors handle it.”
“But when it comes to the Death Eaters and their followers, anything is on the table,” Harry said with a pointed look to each of them. “Our Ministries have approved the use of the killing curse on this mission, but I expect all of you to use restraint. It’s better for us to take in prisoners who we can question instead of corpses who can’t answer a thing. I trust all of you to act intelligently and to respond to whatever situation you’re in with an appropriate level of force.”
“Mr Delacour and I are planning on a small joint exercise between our Aurors to help you mingle and get comfortable working with each other,” Harry announced. “That’ll take place tomorrow after our briefing, so be sure to get a good night’s rest.”
“Yes, sir,” they all replied when it was clear that Harry had nothing more to say.
“Good,” Harry nodded at them. “Then let’s get going.”
Everyone lined up at the three fireplaces they had to use. Harry grabbed a handful of floo powder and threw it into the flames as he called out: “French Ministry of Magic: Auror Bureau.”
The flames turned green, and Harry stepped into them.
There was a rush of flames around him as he was sent along the Trans-national Floo Network. It was a special, private network used to link together the various Ministries of Magic throughout the world. Diplomats often used it as it was a very secure and direct way of travel directly into a Ministry building itself, and Kingsley and the French Minister for Magic had allowed Harry and his Aurors to use it. It was much like taking the floo normally except for the fact that the trip was much longer.
After nearly thirty seconds had passed, Harry finally felt himself being spat out of the connecting fireplace. He opened his eyes and coughed away the ash that had accumulated on himself.
“Mister Potter!” A panicked voice called out.
It took Harry only a moment to reorient himself. He was in a gorgeous domed room with glass walls covering gorgeous artwork. Neatly ordered desks filled the room, and several archways led into connecting corridors.
In the midst of it all, dozens of French Aurors were in a panic, including the young woman in front of him.
“Yes?” Harry asked her.
“It’s the Death Eaters!” She exclaimed as her eyes went wide. “They’re attacking Paris, and Mister Delacour has already taken his men out to engage them.”
The fireplaces behind him continued to spit out his Aurors one by one. There was no time to get settled in right now, something had to be done.
Harry spun on his heels and turned to face them all. “Looks like we’re going to be starting work a bit sooner than expected. Elwyn, Zacharias, both of you will be leading your squads into combat right now. You three,” he said, looking at the three members of his team. “You’ll be staying behind here to help coordinate with the staff on site and to get caught up to speed on everything that’s been happening. I’ll be going into the field by myself.”
Comments
Arctis_Shox
As noted in the chapter: "It had taken over a week to draw the only free Thunderbird in Europe to France." I expect it's likely that magical zoos, smugglers, or magizoologists would have brought non-native species over from America to Europe. Although Thunderbirds are powerful magical creatures, given the fact that we've seen Dragons be transported from mainland Europe to Hogwarts, I don't think it's out of the realm of possibility for one to have been brought from America to Europe. As for how it was free, given it's power, it's possible that it freed itself, either on purpose or by accident, and simply managed to evade trackers. I don't think it's unplausible that there is one free Thunderbird in Europe. As for why the Thunderbird didn't attack Emil, that was due to the magic he was performing. I deliberately tried to have it be poorly explained due to Cyrus's lack of understanding of the magic (like how he previously failed to understand the intricacies of Emil's ritual at the start of Part 2 of the story). I agree that the Thunderbird was easily killed. Again, the ritual drew it in close, and the blood offering was designed to paralyse it. Of course, the question of whether or not stabbing it would actually hurt it is up for debate. Some magical creatures have powerful hides that resist physical attacks like this, but as far as I'm aware, the Thunderbird has not been described as having anything like this canonically, so I made the choice for it to be vulnerable in this way. As far as resurrecting Voldemort goes, just wait and find out. However, to clarify the genre, this story is and will continue to primarily be a political thriller. Harry's quest for power as he climbs the political ladder will be the main focus of the story.
Kevin Thunder
I really don't think a Thunderbird would be that easy to kill. They are exceptionally powerful magical creatures, so like Nundus and dragons, they would have extreme magical resistance. It didn't even attack him after Emil struck him. These things can shoot lightning. Besides, what is it doing in Europe? They call the America's home. They are native to Arizona. It's your story, of course, but I hope you don't actually resurrect Voldemort. No offense, but it's preposterous idea. This fic is really good but it's at its best as a mystery/political thriller. Voldemort, like Darth Sidious, should stay dead.
