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ACT4CH22 - Conspiracies In Action Part 2
🕑 Added 2024-05-21 15:56:09 +0000 UTCNarcissa had seen some pretty impressive pieces of architecture in her entire life. From the haunting and foreboding edifice that was the original Raven’s Isle in Transylvania, the seat of the Blacks before Phineas Nigellus’s time, to the enchanting and mesmerising grandeur of Hogwarts, the glass-like ethereal beauty of Beauxbatons, and the utterly bewitching ambience of Devil’s Tor, she had seen it all. Compared to that, the Hall of Prophecy was nothing but a very tall and very, very large hall full of nothing but towering shelves covered in small, dusty, glass orbs.
They glimmered dully in the light issuing from more candle-brackets set at intervals along the shelves, their bewitching blue flames ensnaring the senses, making the room somehow feel colder and darker instead of illuminating it. Between the rows were shadowy isles that appeared into the endlessness of the night, with absolutely nothing to see or hear around her. And despite following the greatest Dark Lord in history, Narcissa couldn’t ignore the feeling that she was being watched, like she was an injured fawn limping across a forest full of wolves.
“Calm yourself, Narcissa,” said the Dark Lord. “Utilise your Occlumency, or else these orbs shall ensnare you.”
“My Lord, if I might ask, why are we here?”
“Ah, I see, Lucius didn’t see fit to inform you,” said the Dark Lord silkily. “Let me correct that mistake. Do you know where we are?”
“...THe Hall of Prophecy?”
Lord Voldemort chuckled. It was odd hearing that sort of sound coming from those lips. it felt so… human. Narcissa didn’t comment on how the Dark Lord, ever since his resurrection, had acted exceedingly human, almost as if he was a peer rather than a god that towered over them all. and yet there was something about his power, something utterly intoxicating yet repulsive at the same time, something that both shone brightly yet extinguished everything in a pit of darkness… for someone like Narcissa, it was like she was interacting with two different magical entities that were utterly opposite to each other in all respects, and yet simultaneously coexisting in the same body at the same time with each of them having complete authority over the body. Like fire burning on ice, or light casting a shadow by itself. something utterly bewitching and paradoxical that Narcissa couldn’t wrap her mind around it. All she knew was rumours about how the Dark Lord, ever since the night of his resurrection, had gotten both impossibly stronger and tremendously weaker at the same time. How? she didn’t know, and she doubted she ever would.
“Ordinarily such ignorance should be corrected through punishment, but this one time, I shall not blame you. Do you know what the Unspeakables study, here in the Department of Mysteries?”
That one she did know. “I’ve only heard rumours that apart from the side projects, there are six major Rooms inside this place, each of them dedicated to a single subject. Space, Thought, Time, Mind, Love… and Death.” The last one sent shivers through her skin. She had seen the memory of what transpired that night in the cemetery when Harry Potter transformed into… that thing. Just thinking about what she had witnessed in the pensieve memory sent shudders down her spine. And if what the papers claimed was true, if the power of the Peverell Family Magic was indeed Death, then…
“It is an interesting mystery to be sure,” said the Dark Lord silkily. Here in the gloomy darkness of the Prophecy Hall, his voice felt almost spidery, climbing down her spine with a feather-light touch. “But your knowledge, like most, is incorrect, or rather, inadequate. There are seven Rooms inside this place — Space, Thought, Time, Mind, Love, Death and… Destiny.”
Narcissa stared at him wide-eyed, and then at the massive chamber full of orbs. Orbs that were supposed to contain…
“You mean, this is…”
“The fabled Chamber of Destiny,” said the Dark Lord. “Hidden in plain sight. A conjunction in Time and Space, where all prophecies come to stay in patient wait, a confluence with powers so powerful that even the slightest disturbance could cause massive dominoes across the Time-stream, which is why I must ask you to exercise your restraint, and not touch or even attempt to sense anything. For the entire duration of our stay, let us be like our muggle counterparts.”
Narcissa said nothing.
“Again,” said the Dark Lord. “Harry Potter deserves my gratitude. Originally, the idea was to manipulate the boy into coming here, and extracting the prophecy orb for me. Had I done that, the forces of Destiny would have been on his side, churning outcomes in his favour. Quite serendipitous, wouldn’t you say?”
“...As you say, milord.”
Narcissa followed him, both flustered and intrigued at what would follow. She did not know why the Dark Lord was so chatty or why he seemed so carefree about sharing essential information, but she would do her best to remember it all, and pay her utmost attention.
“Not many know this,” said Lord Voldemort. “Back in 1980, a prophecy was made by Sybill Trelawney to Albus Dumbledore. A prophecy about the one destined to have a power to vanquish me.”
Narcissa froze. Vanquish him? Did that mean… Potter?
“A faithful Death Eater overheard part of the prophecy and relayed it to me. In my madness, lost in the Haze of the Darkness engulfing my vision, I decided to act upon it. Little did I know what power I had decided to challenge. The powers that govern Destiny are subtle and terrifying, and they act in myriad ways, weighing millions of possibilities upon their scales, calculating all possible outcomes and their threads before identifying a single conjunction in the timestream where those threads join and form a confluence. In my hubris, I challenged the powers of Destiny, as well as this fabled power born to vanquish me, and acted without knowing the entire contents of the Prophecy, and that led to my downfall. I tried again, after ten years of patient wait, and again, I was thwarted by the same power. Had I known what I was tangling myself with, I would not, perhaps, have dared to touch Harry Potter’s blood, let alone carve this body out of it.”
He let out a cold laugh filled with mockery and disdain.
“But I am wiser now, and as powerful as I am, no magic can overcome the great annihilator of the universe, or so I am given to understand. No, to defeat Death, a power on its level must be summoned. A power that this room, and this prophecy will guide me to.”
“Destiny….” Narcissa breathed.
“The power that flows in Potter’s veins might be the End of all things,” said Lord Voldemort, “but Harry Potter still lives and breathes. He is mortal, and is not untouched by the tendrils of Destiny. No, I shall not kill Harry Potter, I shall subdue him, I shall bend and break him, and when I do…”
His eyes glowed. “I shall have conquered the last enemy.”
They turned and stood in front of the shelf, and Narcissa couldn’t help but stare in fascination at the orb before her, or rather, what was written on a plaque beneath it.
S.P.T TO A.P.W.B.D
Dark Lord and (?) Harry Potter
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Meanwhile at the DMLE, a roaring claxon went off, causing Amelia Bones to nearly choke on her sandwich.
Honestly, she thought angrily. It’s like they wouldn’t even let me eat in peace!
Quickly clearing her throat, she grabbed her wand and looked into the communication system and headed off to the main relay centre with the warning chimes. Seeing an entire squad of Aurors and Hit-wizards standing in shock already filled her with dread, which transformed into a pit of horror as she registered what she was seeing.
It was a distress signal, coming from the one place she had never imagined, not even in her darkest nightmares.
The Warden of Azkaban.
“ATTENTION!” screamed the message. “AZKABAN HAS BEEN BREACHED! SEND FORCES IMMEDIATELY!”
And with that, Amelia fell back into her element. “TEAMS ASSEMBLE HERE IMMEDIATELY! Get me Rufus!”
“He’s on his way,” said Hit-wizard Stebbins.
Amelia made a mental note to discuss Rufus’s delay in reporting for when she had the time. “Azkaban’s been breached and is under attack for about four minutes now. We’ll go in and help the Azkaban guard defend the prison and keep the prisoners inside. Use appropriate spells to retaliate. Is that understood?”
The group nodded in agreement.
“We’ll start at the normal entry point and work our way forward. We don’t know if there are any enemies on the island itself, and there is potential that we might get ambushed. Remember, no apparating or portkeying inside the wards. The dementors will treat us as invaders and attack us if we do that. We go in waves. Two hit-wizard teams will follow me. Williamson, you and Robards will take two teams each. Find Rufus and inform him of the situation. Kingsley is at the hospital site, so—”
She paused, as Rufus Scrimgeour, Head-Auror rushed into the room. “Sorry, I was delayed. We’ve got a — “
“That’ll have to wait, Rufus,” said Amelia sternly. “Azkaban is under attack and both Kingsley and Black are at the hospital site with two hit-wizard teams and Auror squad one. I need you and Savage to take auror squads two to six and —”
“That won’t be possible anymore, Amelia.”
“And why is that?”
The Auror met her glare with practised ease. “Senior Auror Dawlish came in a moment ago, and took Auror squads four to eight with him.”
“You are the Head-Auror.”
“And he had a writ from the Minister overriding my authority,” said Rufus with equal firmness. “They have already departed for the hospital site. That’s why I was late to arrive in the first place.”
“The hospital — but the hit-wizards and Black are already there. As is the Chief Warlock. Why would the Minister —”
“Amelia,” Rufus interrupted firmly. “Dawlish left with four of our squads to arrest Albus Dumbledore and Kingsley Shacklebolt.”
Amelia looked at Rufus with absolute incomprehension.
“.... what?”
“Yes!” said Rufus, almost snarling. “The Minister has overridden the DMLE authority by exercising Article 92 of the Wizengamot Charter, declaring a state of Emergency. The Departments have yet to get a missive because there was a little delay in the Conveyance Office and —”
Another deafening klaxon went off, and a neon red alert spread open for everyone to see.
“ATTENTION!” screamed the message. “DEMENTORS HAVE REBELLED AGAINST MINISTRY CODE! WE NEED HELP!”
“Merlin’s Bones,” murmured Amelia. “That’s not good.”
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“It feels like I’ve been dragged through time,’ muttered Newt, staring at the sight in front of him. Encased within a dome of golden flame, sat Neville Longbottom, down on his knees, with dense, black, amorphous fumes erupting out of his body, clashing against the golden flames, only to regress back, as the flames burned them upon impact. The sounds they made, it was something no sane man should ever have to hear. It was the sound of a soul gone mad. The sound of Magic trying to kill itself, and the outcome of this conflict smashing against Reality.
“What is that thing?” asked a young hit-wizard called Stebbins. “A curse?”
“It’s a dark parasitical magical force, known as Obscurus,” said Newt. “Neville Longbottom has inadvertently become what's called an Obscurial.”
“Dark magic?” exclaimed another.
Newt rolled his eyes. “I said dark parasitical magical force, dimwit, not dark magic. An Obscurus is created when a wizard child either consciously attempts to repress their magical abilities or if forced to do so through physical and psychological abuse. The magic within him grows and gets twisted, manifesting itself as a separate entity that could erupt in violent, destructive fury.”
As if to emphasise his point, another massive tendril of smoky darkness erupted right out of Neville’s head and smashed against the golden dome with the fury of a dozen blasting hexes —
And was instantly repelled back, as the flames gushed up in silent strength. An immovable object if there ever was one.
“But — but that’s Neville Longbottom! Augusta Longbottom’s grandson!” said another hit-wizard. “Augusta Longbottom’s a staunch supporter of the Light. She wouldn’t… abuse her grandson. Galloping gargoyles! She loves that boy! I’ve seen it with my own eyes and heard it with my own ears.”
“What’s your name, son?” asked Newt.
“Malcolm. Malcolm Baddock. Halfblood. I was actually sponsored by the House of Longbottom for my post my OWLs. I know Augusta Longbottom. She’s strict, yes, but abuse? No way.”
“I’ll take your word on it, son,” said Newt with a frown. The moment Albus had come clean about his role in guiding Harry Potter in this war, he had shared some key pieces of information that he thought was essential for Newt to know to make better decisions. One of them had been the fact that Neville Longbottom also fitted the prophecy that was made in 1981, before Lord Voldemort chose Harry Potter and marked him as his equal.
Newt was no expert, but even he knew how poetic it was for Lord Voldemort, one who supposedly returned to life despite being killed in 1981, had chosen his nemesis to be the wielder of Death itself. And yet the other contestant of the prophecy, Neville Longbottom, had developed an Obscurus inside him, just like…
His hands clenched.
The last time he had encountered an Obscurial, it had been during the onset of the Great War. Credence Barebone, or as he turned out to be, Aurelius Dumbledore, Albus’s nephew, had been a twenty-something young man with an Obscurus festering within him. Ordinarily, most obscurials perished before reaching the age of ten, and yes, he was quite aware that there was nothing ordinary about being an obscurial. That Credence had truly manifested his Obscurus so late into his twenties only spoke of the fearsome magical power budding within him that had not only kept him alive, but also manifested a titanic-sized Obscurus within, one that had done more damage to New York in a single night than Gellert Grindelwald had done during his entire war against the Statute of Secrecy.
According to Grindelwald, Credence, or rather, Aurelius, was the key to killing Albus Dumbledore. The raw physical wrath of the Obscurus was an effective counter against Albus, the transfiguration master.
Also, according to Grindelwald, Aurelius was the key mentioned in the prophetic writings of Tycho Dodonas, adding to the myth that the rise of a powerful Obscurus heralded times of great change.
In the same vein, Neville Longbottom’s Obscurus could serve as an effective counter against Harry Potter, whose Death-thaumaturgy made him immune to nearly every curse out there, but did nothing against physical blows. Neville was also an alternate candidate to the Trelawney prophecy that spoke of the power that could potentially vanquish the Dark Lord.
The parallels between the two Dark-lord situations were not lost on him.
“I have to ask,” said Stebbins. “What sort of shield is this? I have never seen anything this potent, especially without a wizard to constantly empower it.”
“It’s empowered by that,” said Baddock, pointing at the
Newt did not dare to voice out that the flaming orb reminded him a little too much of Grindelwald’s own display back at the Lestrange Mausoleum in Paris. “Whatever it is, Harry Potter cast it, and it’s currently holding back the Obscurus from escaping it. Trust me, son, whatever the orb’s origin is, pray it stays intact, because the alternative would be…”
Images of a devastated New York came to mind.
“... disastrous.”
The sound of resounding cracks behind him snatched his attention. Newt turned around, and found himself staring at the toad-like face of Dolores Umbridge, with half a dozen Aurors backing her, wands pointing at him.
“Professor Scamander,” croaked the vile woman. “Kindly step aside, or else I’ll have the Aurors take you in custody for obstruction of Law enforcement.”
“Professor Umbridge, I don’t think you quite understand —”
“Oh but I do,” said the woman in her sickly sweet tone. “We have nine witnesses to prove that Neville Longbottom is an Obscurial. As per the WPC, Obscurials are a threat to the Statute of Secrecy, and must be taken into custody, and if they resist arrest, should be taken down with lethal force before they cause any damage to the society.”
“Professor —”
“Senior Undersecretary Umbridge, if you please,” said the woman. “That thing over there already caused extreme damage to St. Mungo’s Janus Thickey’s ward and the newly created Mind Damage ward. So kindly move aside and let my Aurors take care of it for good.”
“Senior Undersecretary,” said Stebbins. “That’s Neville Longbottom! Heir of the Ancient House of Longbottom! You cannot possibly —”
“What that is, is a mad parasite capable of wanton destruction. Last I checked, Obscurials are classified as beasts, which puts them on the same level as werewolves, only darker and more deadlier than that lot. It’s unfortunate, but I’m afraid Neville Longbottom lost his status as the heir of an Ancient House and more importantly, a wizard, the moment he transformed into an Obscurial.”
“Madam Umbridge,” said Newt slowly, surreptitiously pulling his wand out. “If containment is your agenda, let me assure you. It’s very well contained. Harry Potter created this shield around it, keeping it from escaping.”
“Yes, and that’s all the more reason to secure it,” said the oblivious woman. “Mr. Potter is many things, but an expert on Obscurials he is not. The Ministry —”
“He might not be,” said Newt. “But I am. As a magizoologist that’s also a sitting member of the ICW, I can guarantee you that the moment you attempt to break that shield, that obscurial will escape and cause immense damage to Diagon Alley. And when that happens, it will be on your head.”
That made her pause, if only for a moment.
“If that obscurial attempts to cause damage, then by the orders of the Minister, the Aurors will take it down like the beast it is.”
Newt raised his wand. “I cannot let you hurt him.”
“I knew it!” hissed Umbridge. “I knew there had to be a reason why you showed up at Hogwarts after all these years, and it finally makes sense at last. It's for the beast, isn't it? After all, it isn't the first time you've protected an obscurial on Albus Dumbledore orders, isn't it, Newt Scamander?”
Newt did a double take. “Madam Umbridge, you're seriously mistaken —”
“Do not LIE TO ME,” snapped the woman with an almost animalistic snarl. “I know my facts! You protected an obscurial in New York city in 1926 on Albus Dumbledore orders, one that he later used in his favour to defeat Grindelwald in '45. And now, fifty years later, you show up at Hogwarts and most conveniently, there's an Obscurial? Do you think I'm stupid?”
Merlin’ s beard, she truly is a crackpot. She really thinks that this simple coincidence is actually part of Dumbledore’s nefarious plot.
Umbridge took a step forward, her wand raised. “As I am given to understand, you were previously declared a fugitive by the Ministry of Magic in 1930 with an Arrest-on-sight order, only to be revoked under Albus Dumbledore’s request. Given he is going to be taken into custody anytime now, I kindly suggest you step away and let the Aurors do their job.”
Her words were supposed to strike terror in Newt’s heart. Make him feel helpless. Surrender, and give up.
Instead, they made him laugh.
“Take Albus Dumbledore into custody, you say?” He gave her a lopsided grin. “On what grounds?”
“Preventing Law enforcement from doing its duty and protecting St. Mungo’s and everyone inside it.”
“That’s exactly what he is trying to protect, you blinkered little yumbo. Try to be reasonable.”
“Unfortunately, that’s not up to him to decide any longer,” said Umbridge. “The Minister has expressed complete lack of trust in the existing constitutional machinery and exercised the Bane of Discordia. Under this, all DMLE authority has been overridden and absolute command has been taken by the Minister himself. So as his official representative, I am very calmly asking you to step aside or be arrested. So despite all your insults, trust me, Mr. Scamander, I am being very reasonable.”
Newt sighed. Had he been younger, he’d have at least attempted to fight them. But with that many Aurors, not to mention the hit-wizards, even raising his wand would be foolish.
He cast a good look at the fiery orb sealing Neville Longbottom within it.
“Imperfect understanding is often more dangerous than ignorance,” he said at last. “But I suppose at times, history must repeat itself, for man never learns.”
And with that, he popped away.
Barely a minute later, an inferno of flame engulfed the roofs of five buildings in a massive explosion.
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History is truly full of strange coincidences. Seers all around the world often claimed that whenever significant, world-changing events took place, it was heralded by the use of magic empowered by the Anima. People that lived through the Great War of Europe knew the kind of devastation Gellert Grindelwald unleashed, from the Lestrange Mausoleum at Pere Lachaise in Paris, to the destruction on the streets of Germany, the rise of Nurmengard castle out of mysteries most ancient and esoteric, and finally the attack on the ICW Headquarters in Rome that sparked off open war between Grindelwald’s forces and the ICW.
A war that would have ravaged the entirety of Europe and America, if not for the strength of a single man.
Provided, of course, that there was anyone out there willing to consider Albus Dumbledore a mere man.
For some, he was Merlin reborn, walking the Earth to correct the wrongs of wizard-kind. For others, he was a force of nature given human form. For the British Ministry, he was the immovable object that had finally decided to move, heralding disaster everywhere he followed while he faced his childhood friend turned nemesis. The people of Germany swore that they saw the wizard single-handedly crush Aurelius Dumbledore, the most powerful Obscurial in history and one of Grindelwald’s top acolytes, and send him packing.
But the point that everyone agreed upon, was that Albus Dumbledore’s presence on the battlefield was pretty much equivalent to the Death's knell for his enemies.
And now, fifty years later, another powerful Obscurial had risen, and Diabolis spells, empowered by the Anima, were out in the open for others to witness, and Albus Dumbledore had been called to war.
“Albus Dumbledore,” intoned John Dawlish, holding a Ministry warrant. “Under the powers vested under Article 92 of the Wizengamot Penal Code, you are hereby arrested for obstruction of Ministerial decree, and preventing the protection and safeguarding of St. Mungo’s, one of Britain’s most prized institutions. Aurors, kindly relieve Mr. Dumbledore of his wand, and take him into custody.”
Albus sighed. “Back in 1941, I saw a man standing above everybody else. All righteous and confident about the powers that another corrupt politician had vested upon him. We ended up disagreeing. Today he’s known in the history books as the Disgraced Head of the German Auror Office.”
Dawlish responded to that by raising his wand. Half of the squad behind him followed his actions. The others looked utterly conflicted between following their orders, even if it meant raising their wands at the greatest wizard alive in entire Britain.
“John,” said Albus slowly. “If you do this, the only thing you will be doing is killing the people inside St. Mungo’s. People whose lives you took an oath to protect when you accepted your duties as an Auror of the British Ministry. People that I myself, Harry Potter and Sirius Black are currently trying to save. Do not let these people perish because of your close-mindedness.”
“Please sir,” said a fellow Auror. “Kindly step away. That way we do not have to…”
“It’s Hornby, isn’t it?” asked Albus. “Chaser of the Hufflepuff Quidditch Team. You graduated in 1991.”
Auror Hornby looked at him, surprised. “You… remember me?”
“I’m the Headmaster of Hogwarts. It’s my job to know my students well.”
“With all due respect, Headmaster Dumbledore,” snapped Dawlish. “The best option for you right now is to leave this place and return to your castle. If not, I will order my fellow Aurors to take you in.”
“Dawlish, I implore you,” said Albus, giving it one last try. “Kingsley has already gone to Hogwarts to fetch the elves. We can stabilise the runic circle, so that we might deconstruct it safely with minimal risk. If you truly care about these people, then please…”
Right then, Kingsley apparated back, with over two dozen elves alongside him, all of them dressed in various forms of rags, emblazoned with the Hogwarts banner on them.
“Dawlish? Proudfoot? What the bloody hell do you think you’re doing?” asked Kinglsey. “Dumbledore, the elves —”
“Kingsley,” snapped Dawlish. “I have orders from the Ministry to capture Dumbledore for obstructing our job.”
“Obstructing? He’s the one saving our arses, you dunder —”
“Enough! One more word and you’ll be losing your job, Kingsley.”
“Go ahead,” said Kingsley, bored. “When all this is over, and the Wizengamot convenes, I’ll make sure you’re the first one to be sent packing to Azkaban for siding with delusional fools like that Umbridge woman. Come on, John, don’t be foolish! Just let us —”
“Sir,” interrupted Macmillan. “Perhaps if we could —”
“NO!”
“But sir, if what Professor Dumbledore is saying is right —” began another who Albus faintly recognized as Jonathan Wood, elder brother of Oliver Wood, former Gryffindor Keeper.
“Shut up!” Dawlish shouted. “If any of your teeth come apart again to defend him, I swear, you’ll lose your job.” He turned and glared at Albus. “Final warning! Step away, or we will curse.”
All attempts to peacefully negotiate vanished from Albus’s face. Instead, he gave Dawlish that look — the one look that told everyone that the dotty old man had left the room, and the defeater of Grindelwald had taken his place.
When Albus Dumbledore gave anyone that look, they looked away.
Dawlish didn’t.
He really should have.
People say that the eyes are windows to the soul. Those people are right. And as every psychic master could vouch for, legilimency was always the easiest and fastest for people in heightened states of emotion. One could say that heightened emotional state was fertile ground for psychic manipulation.
But what Albus did was no Legilimency. Instead, he just grabbed the raw emotion that was oozing out of the barrier — emotion borne out of the suffering of those inside the barrier circle, the stench of the twisted, horrible magic that was feeding upon these collective souls, and the reflection of the agonising pain the trapped were going through right that moment.
He grabbed it all, and pushed them into John Dawlish.
The man let out a sharp, huffing cry and took a staggering step back. He stumbled and went down, catching himself awkwardly on his elbows and wrenching his neck. He lay there for a second, gasping. His visage had gone deathly pale, and he was staring at him like he had never seen anything more terrifying, as though he couldn’t even bear to be near him, as though he frightened him to his very core.
Which, Albus mused, wasn’t too far from the truth.
“Get me away from him!” Dawlish was trying to back away, and put distance between them, his wand already sent rolling who-knew-where, only he was shaking too hard to even make the motions properly. “Get me away! Get me away! GET ME AWAY!”
“What — what did you do to him?” asked an Auror, his wand shaking, as well as the hand that held it, as he pointed it at Dumbledore.
“I showed him the truth,” said Albus softly, looking at Dawlish with a mix of pity and regret. The rest of the Aurors were conflicted between raising their wands at him for attacking a law enforcement official openly, and looking at Dawlish who was reduced to a gibbering wreck.
“Rawlins! Proudfoot! Save me! Save me! SAVE ME!” Dawlish screamed. “Save —”
“Stupefy!”
A red beam of light shot out of a wand and hit the convulsing man and dropped him unconscious. Every single Auror in the vicinity looked in shock, not at Dawlish, or at Dumbledore, but at Hornby.
“What?” asked the young Auror. ‘It wasn’t like he was doing any good by staying conscious.”
“You attacked a senior officer,” barked Proudfoot. “Expect a court martial, or worse, suspension from duty.”
“My mother was a healer,” said Hornby. “Just like the people inside. And if the choice is between protecting those people or following this fool’s orders, I’ll gladly choose the former, even if it risks losing my job.”
“As will I,” said Macmillan.
“And I,” said Wood.
Proudfoot looked conflicted, looking at his own people, and the rest who had equally grave looks on their faces. And then he looked at Albus Dumbledore and came to a decision.
“Can’t tell you that unless we try,” said Albus with a weary smile. “But yes, at least this way, we have a chance.”
Proudfoot sighed. “Merlin’s frigging underwear. Fine, let’s get this started with. But just a question. Exactly what will those bloody elves do?”
The twinkling oceanic blue eyes was the only thing he received as a response.
