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Author Topic: Harry Potter and the Crystals of Atlantis (Rated T, AU, pre-DH canon)  (Read 804 times)

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Offline Lionheart

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A/N: This is an idea that I've been fumbling with since the release of Half-Blood Prince; an AU second war fic. I kinda abandoned it because of DH, but really, is it any secret by now that I hated the seventh book? Anyway, this fic would've even been considered semi-AU at the time because it deviates from JK Rowling's canon when it comes to the some technical details. Excellence is the name of my game here, so I ask you to nitpick the hell out of this. Oh, and I know Grindelwald's given name is Gellert in Deathly Hallows, but this was started before DH.

Summary: Dumbledore is dead and the enemy's forces are growing to massive number. In the wake of this threat, Harry and his friends set out to defeat Voldemort once and for all. Meanwhile, the Wizarding and muggle worlds are forced to reunite to combat the enemy.

Main Pairings: Harry/Ginny, Ron/Hermione, Remus/Tonks, Bill/Fleur, OC/Katie Bell (and more)

Disclaimer because of that fraction of a chance of facing a lawsuit: The Harry Potter universe belongs solely to JK Rowling. Other stuff has been influenced by history, mythology, and other things that will be cited as needed. The plot and original characters and locations are mine.

Part One: Fragments of a Mutilated Soul

Chapter One: Lord Voldemort's Assault

Havenwood Manor was a centuries-old estate hidden far away from the Village of Pilkington, Gloucestershire. Located in the vast Forest of Dean, it once offered the Squires who had resided there during the Victorian and Edwardian eras the privacy that they sought. Now the manor was merely a relic of a bygone era. The family that once reveled in the wealth that the manor had brought was long dead and the house fell into decay. Rumor spread throughout that small town that the old place was haunted since the days following World War I because of a dissatisfied butler having to deal with his late master's son working him like a slave because all the other servants either resigned or were killed in the War.

One night, his new master held a party and the butler had to endure a serious berating about how the food was overcooked. Towards the end of the night, he grabbed his trusty and secretly well-used Enfield revolver. Then he proceeded to kill his masters and their equally posh and arrogant guests. In an attempt to cover up his crime, he tried to set the house on fire, but was stopped by the police and later hanged at the Old Bailey.

No one had ever come to buy the estate, so it was allowed to just fall victim to burglars and the decay of time. However, in the two recent years, there have been reports of strange activity in old Havenwood. Idiotic trespassers would call on the place to steal whatever valuables were left, and they would never return from the house. Sometimes, hikers in the woods would notice lights in the distant manor behind the fence and smoke rising from the chimneys.

The strangest reports of all were sightings of figures in black cloaks and masks loitering about the property. The description of these cloaked figures matched that of the so-called Death Eaters, the ones responsible for the terrorist attacks that have started out in United Kingdom two summers ago, then spread throughout Continental Europe in late 1996, and then to America the following winter.

Like any honest-to-God English, the villagers of Pilkington did not even usually concern themselves with the politics of the rest of the country, let alone the world, but these incidences were just too weird to ignore. The patrons of the Dead Boar Inn, who would usually be enjoying a rugby or football game or a lighthearted sitcom on the telly after a hard day's work, were intently watching the BBC. There had been another attack, this time on the Duddeston Station in Birmingham, and Conrad Gordon, the new Prime Minister was giving a speech with empty assurances that the ones responsible would be caught.

"Wos'at tosser sayin' 'em Deff Eaters are, Willy?" a frequent visitor from London asked. He regularly visited Pilkington, and as soon as he would have enough money, he would move away from the city. London was just too expensive to live in. Willy Wilkins, the elderly landlord paused the cleaning of his mugs and placed his tongue on the inside of his cheek in thought.

"He made them out to be some kind of cross between a Satan-worshipping cult and a Neo-Nazi movement." Politics would usually be last subject of discussion. The patrons would usually talk about the weather, life's weekly struggles, problems with their spouses, or their day at work. The biggest subject of discussion was sports. They would come to celebrate the victory of their favorite football or rugby teams, or wallow in their defeat.

"Load o' bollocks if ye ask me," the Londoner grunted and took a drink of his whiskey. "There's somefink Gordon's hidin'. Jest 'oo's this 'Dark Lord' bloke they keep swearin' loyalty to, eh?" In some of these attacks, the Death Eaters would allegedly cry out something showing their loyalty to their mysterious leader who fancied himself as the Dark Lord.

One of the other patrons, a new biology teacher at the local secondary school, had turned to him. "Whoever he is, mate, he bloody well knows what he's doing. That attack on those three planes leaving Heathrow… government tried passing them off as poor runway conditions. I think that's when they started to openly claim responsibility. Now even the Yanks are at loss of what to do. I thought it was the IRA at first, since they've been getting ambitious lately, but[ i]these[/i] bombed the bloody Lincoln Tunnel in New York in heavy traffic! If I didn't know any better, I'd say it was those Muslim nutters, but this cult or whatever it is, is something completely different."

Willy nodded, making an incoherent noise of acknowledgment as he refilled the customers' mugs. "Reminds me of all those mysterious 'accidents' about twenty years ago," he said. "People are dying left, right, and center; and Gordon tries to pass these attacks off as accidents?" This was the first time the locals had ever seen Willy lose his temper like that. "Our options here are quite simple: either someone has declared war on us and they don't want to admit we're losing, or Gordon's ordering the attacks himself, and is secretly waiting for the right opportunity to establish some tin-pot dictatorship. Never did trust that self-righteous twat!"

"'He can't be trying to establish a dictatorship, Will," a customer from a billiard table countered. "If Gordon's trying to seize emergency power, then how do you explain the attacks in the other countries? Still wouldn't fancy our chances as long as that idiot's in charge. From what I hear, the entire world's gone to Hell..."

"Now, now, my dear foolish Muggles, he really had no choice in the matter," said a chillingly calm and aristocratic voice. Three strangely dressed people sat together in the corner of the bar watching the whole conversation with amusement. One was a man in his forties with a thickset build, and a sickly thin face. Another was thin man with a high forehead, long black hair, and a triangular goatee, giving the landlord the impression of a vampire. His swishy black robes and pale face further enhanced the 'vampire' image. The last one was an imposing woman with a gaunt face and heavily lidded eyes. In her prime, she would have been very good-looking, but despite her looks, she had a forbidding air about her, almost like a wicked witch out of a fairy tale.

"Your Prime Minister knows exactly who we are, but you Muggles would never believe him if he told you the truth."

"Who the hell are you?" Willy demanded, and he wanted to ask what a 'Muggle' was. The thickset man sneered as he and his companions drew themselves off their chairs to their full height. "Oh my God, you're…" It was then that Willy recognized the man with the high forehead and the woman as Antonin Dolohov and Bellatrix Lestrange respectively. Both of which were high-ranking Death Eaters responsible for some of the most grisly murders since the attacks began. Bellatrix in particular was considered one of the most dangerous. Every law enforcement agency in the country was after them, and here they were in his pub without any fear.

"Travers at your service," the thickset man bowed mockingly and procured what looked like a magic wand from his pocket. The other two copied that motion, and the patrons sat there, all having half a mind to run away. One man actually did make a run towards the door, but the dark haired woman raised her wand, pointing it at the retreating customer's back.

"Avada Kedavra!"

Once she spoke these strange words, a flash of green light temporarily blinded the patrons. Once everything was clear, screams of horror erupted in the bar. The man lay on the dusty floor unmarked, but certainly dead. Chaos took over the pub as the customers scrambled to get out, but the Death Eaters would not allow it. Dolohov aimed his wand at a rather old, bent man.

"Crucio!"

The old man slumped onto the floor shrieking, and the Londoner noticed to his horror, that his face was contorted in pain. The Londoner was instantly on his feet, running towards the Death Eaters, and grabbing the handle of his knife. "LEAVE 'IM ALONE!" The weapon was drawn in a swift movement of his hand and he slashed the blade across Dolohov's face, nearly puncturing his left eye. The Death Eater winced and inspected the bleeding gash with his hand, gazing at the crimson liquid dripping on it for a moment, as though he had never seen anything more beautiful.

Just as the Londoner was about to resume his assault with a lethal strike, Dolohov raised his wand, muttering something under his breath. Before the Londoner could make heads or tails of what was happening, he felt as though a powerful fist had slammed into his solar plexus, sending him crashing into a table, knocking it and the drinks over. The patrons at that table jumped onto their feet to try to fight the Death Eaters off, but then, two of the men sitting at the bar were on their feet as well. The teacher brandished a wand, and a black man in a leather jacket reached in and drew a pistol from inside the jacket.

"Halt where you are!" barked the teacher and the man with the gun ordered the other patrons to retreat. As they scrambled to escape, a knowing smirk spread across Travers' face.

"So you're an undercover Auror, eh, mate? What's your name?"

"McCormick," he responded shortly.

Bellatrix shot him a sneer at the mention of his name. "I've not heard of your surname! Your father would be a Muggle, then?" McCormick turned his wand on her.

"That's beside the point! Once the Ministry gets through with you, I promise you lot will beg to be thrown back in Azkaban!"

"Oh," Dolohov said dismissively. "A Mudblood, then?"

Hearing enough, the man with the gun stepped forward. "Drop your weapons or I'll shoot!" he said, flashing a badge at the Death Eaters. Fifteen years as a constable, and this was the first time he was forced to carry that hateful weapon. All the police in the UK were now required to carry guns, even those who had gone their entire careers without even touching one, let alone firing one. "You have three seconds!" However, Dolohov made a swiping movement with his wand, resulting in a loud crack from above McCormick and the constable. A beam was about to fall on them, and it took the reflexes born out of both men's intense training to avoid being crushed.

The constable slid backwards on his rear and squeezed the trigger as McCormick cried, "STUPEFY!" The jet of red light, which was intended for Bellatrix, was easily deflected with a casual wave of her wand. The constable's bullet only hit the back of one of the chairs. Dolohov and Travers both shot off Killing Curses at their foes that were not intended to strike and they certainly did not let them.

McCormick magically launched one long table at the Death Eaters, throwing them off their feet. "RUN!" roared the Auror, evading another spell, which struck the bar, setting it in flames. "I'll hold them off!" Astounded as he was to learn of the paranormal nature of the Death Eaters, he had his codes to follow and they did not include running away while an ally was in danger. He responded by giving McCormick a signal with a jerk of his head. "Reducto!" His wand was aimed at a beam supporting the ceiling above the Death Eaters, causing it to split and plunge down, and nearly crushing them.

Travers' reaction was quick. He levitated the rafters safely away, no longer sneering at them. The constable, who had managed to relocate himself further away from Death Eaters watched as they and McCormick were locked in a fierce duel where blinding spells were thrown at one another. It was then that he had come to the realization that these were – was it possible – wizards!

Cocking his gun, he took aim at Travers and fired. The round had hit him squarely in the neck, and he slumped to the floor in a puddle of his own blood never to rise again. The other two Death Eaters sprang around to the constable. Dolohov made a furious move towards him, looking more deranged than ever with blood streaming down the side of his face. "You filthy Mug-"

The constable fired at the Death Eater's rib before Dolohov could finish, making him clutch the wound and groan in pain. "Let's go, Bellatrix!" barked Dolohov, righting himself. "The Dark Lord's waiting for us!" The woman looked like she was going to refuse, but they both vanished into thin air, making the constable jump in surprise.

Both he and the Auror holstered their weapons and held each other's gazes for several long moments until McCormick finally broke the silence. "Thanks for your help. I don't think I'd be able to hold them off alone." He sighed heavily, muttering mostly to himself, "There's going to be a lot of paperwork to deal with once I report this to Chief Robards." He held out his right hand and the constable shook it. "Brian McCormick. Intelligence Operations Specialist, Her Majesty's Auror Agency."

"Ben Jenkins," said the constable, "Detective, Pilkington Police."

"Guess your agency also received reports of Death Eater activity here," said McCormick. "I must report to London immediately. If He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is here, it's only a matter of time before he retaliates! He won't take the loss of one of his lieutenants to a Muggle so lightly. I say it's only a matter of time before the Wizarding world's revealed." He added the last sentence sarcastically, but Ben didn't know what to make of it.

"What the hell are you talk-"

"No time to explain, go back to your headquarters and tell them what happened!"
***

While the exterior of Havenwood Manor was falling quickly into decay, the interior was refurbished into a temporary base of operations for the Dark Lord. Lord Voldemort sat there in the drawing room, his gaunt, skull-white face illuminated by the candlelight as he absentmindedly twirled his wand in his hand. An enormous snake lay coiled at his feet while his servant, Wormtail, paced the floor in front of the unlit fireplace. Voldemort would give them one more minute to return, and then he would have to summon them by force.

After a few moments, Voldemort turned to his servant and stated, "It seems that our entourage has arrived, Wormtail. Go welcome them and bring them all here."

"Y-Yes, my lord," Wormtail affirmed and set out of the drawing room. Voldemort could only hope for a certain group of Death Eaters' sakes that they had been successful, otherwise, he would be set back a long way. If they had failed, then he would not be able to carry out the plan he had been devising for the last year.

The dozens of Death Eaters soon started filing into the drawing room, and Voldemort arose from his armchair, scarlet eyes narrowing in disapproval. "You are all very nearly late," he hissed. "Take your places at once." Without word or preamble, each cloaked figure took his or her spot in a semicircle around their leader. "Where are Bellatrix, Travers, and Dolohov?"

Just then, the disheveled figures of two of the aforementioned Death Eaters stumbled into the room. Dolohov, Voldemort noted, was bleeding from his side and Bellatrix seemed out of breath. "Where is Travers?" he asked them coldly, paying no heed to his servant's wound.

"Dead, my lord," replied Dolohov. "We er… got a bit carried away at the pub. There was an Auror and Muggle policeman there."

Voldemort aimed his wand at the bleeding wound. "Accio!"

Dolohov screamed in agony as the bullet forcefully expelled itself from his body and flew to the Dark Lord's large, pale, long-fingered hand. "A bullet, Dolohov?" He furiously threw the small metal projectile to the floor, and turned his wand upon the wounded Death Eater again. "You, a Dark wizard who has powers that the Aurors or Dumbledore's lot could only dream of, was nearly finished by a Muggle weapon?" Nobody laughed. There was no mistaking the disgust in Voldemort's voice. "Crucio!"

At length, he lifted the curse and began to address the others, while Dolohov was recuperating. "Well, you have had five hours, you'd better have results!" He surveyed the Death Eaters: who would go first? "Severus?"

He spoke to a tall, sallow-faced man with a hooked nose, greasy black hair, and dark eyes. "He is dead, my lord," Severus Snape said. Draco Malfoy, the boy next to him, refused to meet the Dark Lord's gaze, and his master knew that he had not done the job. Snape was the one to do it.

He was dead. That was all that Voldemort needed to hear. Albus Dumbledore, the only one that he could truly call an equal, the only one holding him back from achieving his ultimate ambition was nothing more than a rotting piece of meat. It did not matter in the long run who had killed him; all that mattered was that Dumbledore would no longer hinder him. Now that that hindrance was eliminated, there was no time like the present to take the initiative!

"Everyone," Voldemort began, grasping his wand tighter. "Now that that Muggle-loving fool is dead, it is time to act. Even now, our forces are growing all over the world, and we are to redouble our efforts and recruit as many as possible. Several prominent Death Eaters are now in Azkaban, and we will release them from the Ministry's clutches. Not only that… Azkaban currently holds over eight thousand prisoners within its walls, and they will all join me or die! However, there is one in particular that I am determined to have joining me. Somebody whom Dumbledore had spared because he was too weak… this will be a fatal mistake.

"I hope that those of you who attacked Hogwarts realize that this was only a preliminary encounter. The true beginning of our cause lies before us! Once this is done, we are going to take our war to a whole new level! We set out tomorrow night!"

A collective war cry resounded in the enormous drawing room, and once it had died, Voldemort glared at Draco Malfoy, who was no longer afraid. There was nothing but a fierce determination in his gray eyes. "Lord Voldemort will consider the treatment that you and your family will receive based on how you perform in the coming battle. If you prove yourself a worthy servant, you will be rewarded beyond your dreams. However, if you display the same amount of weakness that you have shown earlier on top of the Astronomy tower, you will die. Is this clear?"

"Yes, master," said Draco firmly. "I won't fail you again. What of Potter, my Lord? Are you still going to go after him?" Voldemort's thin, lipless mouth curled at the mention of the name.

"If I know Harry Potter, he will be the one looking for me now. He undoubtedly wants revenge for his dear mentor. However, he will not find me until I wish him to. Then, when the moment is right, the Boy-Who-Lived will just become another passing page in history."

The next evening, Lord Voldemort led his followers, no, his soldiers from the mansion, and forward to war. After this night, everything would change. For the Wizarding world, the Muggle world, and unbeknownst to the Death Eaters, for themselves as well.
***

Not very far from Britain, on a small island in the North Sea, stood the mighty Fortress of Azkaban. This prison had seen hundreds of years of history. It was built in 1479 under the rule of Chief Warlock Gaius Camillus and the Wizard's Council to house dissenters and their families. This was a perfect way for him to keep the Wizarding community under his control. Thousands of witches and wizards had been executed there, the most famous being Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington and Sir Patrick Delaney-Podmore who had commanded a band of revolutionaries against Camillus' regime from April to October of 1492. Porpington and Podmore were two of many rebels to face the brutal mass beheadings that took place there every day. Some say both men had returned as ghosts in defiance of Camillus.

A few years later, the Dark Wizard Gorhaf overthrew the government, and the executions were abolished. A much more terrible and effective way to keep Wizarding Britain in order was introduced for those not killed in the purges. Under Gorhaf's rule, Dementors had replaced the prison guards. These demonic wraiths would entrap the unfortunate souls imprisoned there within their own misery. Another way that the enemies of the new regime were destroyed was by the Dementor's kiss, a weapon that would send the victim to a fate much worse than death. It was the fate that had awaited Gorhaf after his deposition at the hands of the resistance. With the fall of the Dark Wizard's tyranny, the Wizard's Council was reestablished with major reforms, resulting in Gaius Camillus and his henchmen being arrested, tried, and ordered to receive the kiss for their crimes against the people.

Even with the establishment of the Ministry of Magic in the seventeenth century, Azkaban was the last remnant of a dark past used to punish offenders. In Lord Voldemort's first rise to power, the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Bartemius Crouch tried to emulate Gaius Camillus by sending hundreds to this place. A number of the detainees were sent there without a trial or any proof whatsoever of them being involved with the Death Eaters. The Dementor's kiss was performed there on multiple occasions under Crouch's jurisdiction.

Azkaban retained its terrible reputation under Cornelius Fudge's Ministry, but had seen hardly any new prisoners, aside from petty criminals. Even in his final year in office, when he was swiftly marching down the path to dictatorship, not too many were sent to the Dementors. It was all thanks to Fudge that the Dementors had abandoned the prison to join Lord Voldemort, who was now using them for whatever sick ambitions he had. It was also thanks to Fudge and his desire to cling to power that some of the most dangerous of Voldemort's supporters had escaped.

Now, under Rufus Scrimgeour, there were two guards for every ten inmates, plus the Governor, the tower guards, and emergency defense units. These were wizards highly trained in combat with orders to strike first and ask questions later. The guard in tower three thought over this prison's dark and terrible history. From his post, he could see the spot where Nearly-Headless Nick had met his untimely doom at Wizard Council's hands. It wasn't until starting to work in this hellish place that he had grasped the seriousness of what had happened to the man who'd become the ghost he had befriended during his years at Hogwarts.

The guard wondered how Azkaban and the world would change once He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named would be defeated; or rather if he would be defeated. If Professor Dumbledore, the man who defeated the Butcher of Europe, Reichsmarchall Heinrich Grindelwald, had not been able to stop You-Know-Who, then who could?

Albus Dumbledore had been murdered the day before, so who could stop You-Know-Who now; A mere teenage boy who had survived several attempts on his life by mere luck and unexplainable circumstances? He was just a boy who probably wanted a normal life and would eventually go mad from how much the Daily Prophet – or the Daily Pravda as the guard liked to call it since 1995 – was talking about him. Not to mention Harry had the burden of having that psychotic bastard wanting to do him in.

"Bollocks," the guard scoffed. However, the guard knew to be careful not to express his cynical view on Harry Potter. Most of the Wizarding world saw him as the world's only hope for peace.

Shaking his head, the guard absentmindedly puffed on his cigarette. He gazed at the main building of the enormous prison, where the lights in the windows faded. If he could name one good thing about this wretched island, it was the night. Nights here were quiet, which was why he chose to take that shift. However, tonight was eerily quiet. Maybe it was just him, but the guard was starting to get very bad vibes.

No, this was not from inside the walls; his bad feeling was coming from the outside. The guard brandished his wand and hissed, "Lumos!" He pointed it over the wall like a searchlight and his heart froze. Over the horizon, approaching the island at top speed, were dozens of boats. One did not have to be a genius to know what was going on. The guard immediately sent a red flare into the air, and the alarm sounded throughout the fortress.

"Attention all personnel," the governor's magically magnified voice announced. "We are going to red alert! Death Eaters are approaching the south wall by amphibious assault*! All defense units report to your emergency stations immediately. All guards prepare to defend the interior. Lethal force is authorized on any escapee who refuses to surrender!"

The prison came to life instantly. The torches were lit, and there was an incoherent cacophony of voices. Within minutes, the green-clad emergency defense squad charged into courtyard by the gate and on the wall. The guards in towers two and four joined the guards on the wall. The one in tower three aimed his illuminated wand down at the approaching boats, and he spotted the many cloaked figures.

"Dim the torches!" ordered the defense unit commander, Major O'Keefe. The prison was once again pitched black. The guards simply waited for the enemy to arrive within their firing range. The boats were approaching, and the fear the guard in tower three felt was slowly dissipating. He tightened the grip on his wand, stretching out his arm further. The Death Eaters were only a few meters away, so why were the guards not attacking yet? On cue, Major O'Keefe's order came.

"COMMENCE FIRE!"

A myriad of curses and hexes hit home as they drew closer to the shore. The guard made a violent slashing movement with his wand, emitting a sheet of flame. Several boats caught fire, forcing the Death Eaters to abandon their vessels to swim to their target. One of the ones who had made it to the shore cried, "Confringo!" An explosion rocked the island as a huge chunk of the wall crumbled into to dust, sending several guards flying off the wall.

A jet of green light zoomed past the tower guard's head as he made to join his comrades on the main wall. "How about a little of this?" he fired several Killing Curses wildly. Dark Magic or not, there was a theory that he lived by concerning the enemy. In order to defeat them, you eliminate as many of them as possible. "Fluguris!" His wand vibrated as a rod of lightning emitted from his wand in an upward slant rising hundreds of feet in the air and then split into ten separate rods, descending at bullet-speed, encompassing several Death Eaters in a powerful electric wave.

He was going to launch another spell, but to his horror, the tower shuddered violently and crumbled beneath the guard's feet. He fell for what seemed like hours. The last thing he ever saw was tower one meeting a similar fate and the stone shrapnel crushing his skull. The guard was dead before he had even hit the ground.

* I think Azkaban would have defenses against magical entry like Apparition or Portkeys.
« Last Edit: May 20, 2016, 03:05:38 AM by Lionheart »
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Offline Fenix

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That was quite interesting. I definitely have a few opinions on things and maybe even some critique. Although I may have to re-read it to really organize my thoughts.

For now the one thing I just have to comment on is how weird it is to see muggles discussing about Voldemort's group by actually using what they call themselves, a bit vocal to the outside world if you ask me.


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Offline Lionheart

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That was quite interesting. I definitely have a few opinions on things and maybe even some critique. Although I may have to re-read it to really organize my thoughts.

For now the one thing I just have to comment on is how weird it is to see muggles discussing about Voldemort's group by actually using what they call themselves, a bit vocal to the outside world if you ask me.

Hey, the government's not covering it anymore, except the magical aspects of it :D. They think they're just regular terrorists. 
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Offline Fenix

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That was quite interesting. I definitely have a few opinions on things and maybe even some critique. Although I may have to re-read it to really organize my thoughts.

For now the one thing I just have to comment on is how weird it is to see muggles discussing about Voldemort's group by actually using what they call themselves, a bit vocal to the outside world if you ask me.

Hey, the government's not covering it anymore, except the magical aspects of it :D. They think they're just regular terrorists. 


Yeah but where'd they get the names like Dark Lord and Death Eaters from? Also I dunno how much of the UK government knew about the Wizarding World.


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Offline Lionheart

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The PM knows and I think the Royals know, but the DE's are getting more confident as you can see. They're proudly putting themselves out in the open, including their names and shouting out praises to No-Nose. At this point, MI6/MI5 just think they're looking for regular terrorists and these agents need names if they're gonna try and catch them.
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Offline Fenix

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Well if you're okay having the DE's out in the open, I just think back at how secretive the Wizarding World has always been and the fact that muggles don't even seem to be aware of the first war.


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Offline Lionheart

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Well, I guess I'm trying to show that the Muggles aren't as ignorant as it seems. I'm sure many would remember the cover stories from the first war. Also, I always loved the idea of the Muggle and Wizarding worlds reuniting. Anyways, on to chapter 2.

A/N: If the Prime Minister can be fictional, so can the royals (in 1996, the PM was supposed to be John Major in the real world, but the PM in HBP referred to his predecessor as a he whereas John Major's predecessor was Margaret Thatcher). The members of the House of Carrington belong to me but are very loosely based on the House of Windsor. The Queen will not be too important, but her second in line, Prince Andrew will be later.

Chapter Two: The London Summit

Queen Mary III and her consort, Prince Frederick, Duke of Edinburgh sat in their private suite in Buckingham Palace watching the BBC on their television. It had been quite a year for her and the Prime Minister what with all the terror attacks by the Death Eaters. What made it worse was that only she, Conrad Gordon, and their fellow heads of state and government knew the true identity of this enemy. It was keeping her up at night, and at her age, it was place a considerable amount of pressure on her. Well preserved indeed! she thought disdainfully at the epithet that people were labeling her with. The duties of being the monarch of sixteen sovereign countries were hard enough on the Queen, but dealing with a megalomaniac of a Dark wizard and his band of fanatical followers; it was beginning to take a toll on her heart.

A fortnight ago, the Queen had been out in the palace gardens playing fetch with two of her Border Collies while on break when her personal secretary, Lord Radcliffe came running to her out of breath. "Your Majesty!" he panted. Before the Queen could ask why her secretary had been running through the palace corridors, he bowed his head and gave the bad news. "It's the Prime Minister, ma'am. He wants to speak to you right away." Knowing this could not be good, the Queen followed the secretary to her office as quickly as she could.

"Prime Minister, what is it?" she inquired when she took the phone.

"It's bad, Your Majesty..." the Prime Minister responded in a tone that he was trying to keep even and dignified. "It's really, really bad. Rufus Scrimgeour's just been to see me. There's been another attack."

"Where?" the Queen demanded, clutching the phone tightly.

"Azkaban, ma'am…" Her heart skipped a beat at his shaking voice. There was once a happier time in her youth where she did not know about the darker aspects of the Wizarding world. This was when she was a little girl and her father, the late King Richard IV, would tell her fascinating stories of a secret world of magic where there lived wizards, witches, and most of all, magical creatures that most non-magical folk believed to exist only in fairy tales like unicorns and dragons. About twenty years after her coronation in 1948, she was visited by the Minister of Magic of the time, who told her that the Wizarding world was in a state of war with a Dark Wizard whose name he refused to say aloud and even refused to let her say. Instead, he chose to write it down: "Voldemort". When speaking about him, the Minister referred to him as "He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named''. Over the years, the Queen learned more of this Voldemort from Albus Dumbledore, the late Headmaster of the UK's magic school, Hogwarts. To think that a Dark sorcerer was hidden somewhere with clear intentions to do whatever it took to take over the world and rule it as an immortal being! It was so unnatural, so unchristian... so devoid of any form of morality that only a select few had achieved such pure evil ever since Man first roamed the Earth.

As the years went on, the Queen learned that Wizarding Britain had its own prison on an island in the North Sea called Azkaban. It was guarded by terrible creatures known as Dementors. Until 1993, it was said to have been inescapable. Over the years, she had learned otherwise. Sirius Black, a wrongfully accused convict had escaped and in 1995, there had been a mass breakout of highly dangerous Death Eaters.

"Your Majesty, they've broken out all the prisoners and set the prison on fire," the Prime Minister said, stating the obvious, but she knew something worse was going on here.

"Prime Minister," said the Queen slowly as she slumped into her seat. "I can tell this isn't the only reason you're phoning me. Please... tell me everything, I have to know."

She heard Gordon sigh heavily on the other side phone. "Scrimgeour says they've broken out a particularly dangerous wizard, ma'am. 'Grimwald', I think his name is. Something German-"

"GRINDELWALD!" the Queen cried, springing to her feet. "Heinrich Grindelwald?" Her heart began racing and she began to breathe heavily.

"Yes, ma'am."

The Queen closed her eyes and breathed slowly for a few moments. "Prime Minister, tell me again," she responded slowly. "Lord Voldemort is now working with Reichsmarschall Grindelwald?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"The same Grindelwald who was Hitler's extension into the Wizarding world… and the brains behind almost his whole operation from the very beginning?"

A few silent seconds followed before Gordon said, "Yes, ma'am."

It could not be. Other than Voldemort himself, there was no man in either the Wizarding and non-magical worlds more dangerous than Heinrich Wilhelm Grindelwald. He was the man who formed the Axis Forces, supplied them with massive amounts of weaponry and equipment, and even devised the blitzkrieg strategy. The Queen's father often said that Grindelwald had all the cunning manipulative skills of a diplomat and all the ruthlessness and cruelty of a medieval warlord. If he had joined Voldemort, obviously as his supreme military commander and strategist, then Britain had little time left. "Now you see here, Conrad Gordon: You are the Prime Minister! You were elected on a campaign promising more proactive measures against these terrorists! You cannot just sit there comfortably in Number Ten and watch our people dying by the hour while Parliament discusses these crises in a committee! Prime Minister, must do something now!"

"Your Majesty," he exclaimed, clearly affronted. "I have called for an emergency meeting of Parliament and also phoned all our allies, diplomatic partners, and even some we consider enemies. I wish to hold a summit of the Wizarding and non-magical worlds. Downing Street has been locked down; nobody but its residents and staff are getting through the enchantments there. We need to hold the summit in one of Your Majesty's residences."

"Very well, Prime Minister." Her elderly voice was dignified again. "You may use Clarence House." As soon as the Queen placed the phone back in the receiver, she knew without a shadow of a doubt that war was inevitable. Indeed, after a heated meeting in House of Commons with many shouts and insults thrown around, the Prime Minister had called for a vote on whether or not this convention should take place and the "Ayes" vastly outnumbered the "Nays". The House of Lords voted almost unanimously to hold the summit.

Within a fortnight, the non-magical and Wizarding leaders from the European Union nations, the Commonwealth, the United States, Russia, South Korea, and several other countries would be making their way to home of her heir, Prince George and his wife, Princess Bethany. It would be there where the decision to bring open war upon the world would be made. Taking one last drink of her tea, the Queen set the cup down on the table and rose to her feet.

"Mary, my love," the Duke said in his frail voice. "You need rest. You've been working non-stop for weeks."

The Queen lifted up a reassuring hand. "I need air, Fred. I shall return in less than an hour. You go to bed, dear." Truth be told, her husband looked rather weary as well. There were dark circles under his eyes and it seemed age had caught up with him as well. She placed a kiss on his cheek and left the suite. The Queen did not return to bed that night. All that she could think about, sitting on a comfortable chair on a veranda overlooking the palace gardens, was the upcoming convention at her son's home, what decisions were going to be made, and most of all the inevitable war with Lord Voldemort's legions and what it would mean for both the magical and non-magical worlds.
***

The foreign dignitaries; over sixty world leaders with their Ministers and Secretaries of Magic filed into the grand manor the morning after their arrival. It wasn't everyone that the Prime Minister had wished for, but it was more than enough. There was no time for pleasantries or public appearances, these men and women were in Britain for a very serious matter. Usually, the Prince and Princess of Wales and their two young heirs, Prince Andrew - who'd graduated from Cambridge University that summer with a degree in International Studies - and Princess Amelia would host a formal breakfast, but all these politicians had already ate and wanted to get this meeting underway. In fact, the only time the royals showed up at all was to greet them, but would not sit in on the meeting, keeping true to their family's purely ceremonial and representational roles. The politicians were seated at the long table in the dining room of Clarence House. Conrad Gordon sat in between the President of the United States and Rufus Scrimgeour. Directly across from them sat the President of South Africa and the President of Russia.

Standing up to indicate that he was going to speak, the chatter in the room died down immediately. "Your Majesties and Highnesses," he began and the two Kings and two Emirs acknowledged the greeting. "Honorable Prime Ministers, Chancellors, and Presidents," There were mixed reactions ranging from smiles, to waves, to curt nods. "And honorable representatives of the Wizarding world," The wizards and witches smiled politely. "I would like to thank you all for coming here on such short notice."

"Pleasure as always, Mr. Gordon," the Prime Minister of Australia replied.

"At least we didn't have to fly," the Chancellor of Germany commented and there were a few laughs.

"Very convenient, this Floo Powder thing," said the Prime Minister of Norway. "But I do prefer the air."

"Not me," the President of the United States replied. "Better to just walk through the fireplace." The President of China grinned and nodded in agreement. He'd usually have to fly eleven hours to get to London. The greetings went on until Rufus Scrimgeour cleared his throat. Gordon turned to him in embarrassment.

"Right..." he said, straightening his suit. "Now, our long time allies, diplomatic partners, and... those of us who put our differences aside..." the Iraqi President nodded curtly and the North Korean Leader seemed as though he was struggling not to roll his eyes. "We are gathered here in London today united by a single threat and with the same interests at heart. We wish to protect our people from the harm that this enemy will surely bring to us all." The Prime Minister sat down. "Intelligence says that our enemy's forces are growing in rapid speed with both manpower and equipment."

"Our sources say that he's been recruiting Muggles into their ranks," stated the Canadian Minister of Magic.

"You can't be serious," said the President of Russia with a frown. "I thought Voldemort," several of the wizards flinched, "hated us no-magical people."

"He does, Mr. President," the German Minister of Magic replied grimly. "But Heinrich Grindelwald has never underestimated the power of the Muggle world. You are far greater in number than the wizards could hope to be."

"Tell me about it," said the American Secretary of Magic coldly. "We have word that the enemy has been joined by the Crimson Dragon. He's pledged his support for Vol-"

"He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named!" Scrimgeour cut in sharply.

"Sorry," said the Secretary of Magic. "He recruited the Crimson Dragon who is supplying him with all his followers and weapons."

Many of the Muggle dignitaries in the room went silent. The so-called Crimson Dragon was the head of a dangerous terror onetwork in the Far East called 'The Restoration', a cell organization devoted to restoring the continent to its former glory before the West put its influence upon it.

The President of Vietnam lowered his head in disgust. "His name is Nguyen Thanh An. We should not do him the honor of not referring to him by his name. I served with him in the American War. He is a man without a conscience or any sense of remorse. The things I have seen him do to civilians in our southern villages... the cruelty was unreal. But he inspired pride in our country and culture and nothing but contempt for the West at the time. He always spoke about one day restoring Vietnam to its former glory before the West corrupted it."

"Sounds familiar, doesn't it?" muttered the Australian Minister of Magic.

"Many Dark wizards had a similar ideology about our world," the Dutch Minister of Magic explained to the Muggles.

"Actually," the Dutch Prime Minister replied folding his hands, "many extremists in general have an ideology like this."

"After the Americans withdrew," the President of Vietnam continued, "the government exiled Nguyen because his ideology included anti-communist sentiments. We would usually have had him shot, but he came from a very old and prestigious family. It was a big mistake on our part to let him go and now he's out there influencing people from all over the continent to his cause."

"It's not your fault, Mr. President," said the Israeli Prime Minister. "Nguyen is just one of our problems. Our own Wizarding intelligence found out that several Islamic fundamentalist groups have joined Voldemort as well."

"How dare you suggest we'd join this heathen?" the Iranian President snapped. "Blame the Muslims without evidence, wouldn't expect anything less from Zionist scum!"

"I'm not blaming you or the Muslims, Mr. President," the Israeli Prime Minister shot back tartly. "Nor was I suggesting you joined him. Whether you believe it or not, he has been joined by quite a few terrorist organizations including Khilafah al-Muminin*. Muhammad bin Abdullah Razavi has pledged his support to Voldemort."

"That's enough!" barked Gordon, his eyes flashing in anger. "Do I need to remind you both that we're here to put our differences aside to counter a very real threat to all our countries?" Both men muttered an apology.

"It's not just those with anti-Western sentiments, ladies and gentlemen," the Prime Minister of Canada said. "You've got extremists of all kinds joining Vol… sorry, You-Know-Who. Aryan groups are joining him… hell, I have never seen anything more similar to Hitler than this man's ideology. And you have all these other terrorists, radicals, and supremacy groups and their supporters. How he got all these extremists to put aside their differences, let alone fight alongside each other is beyond me."

The German Minister of Magic spoke again. "This brings us back to another one of our problems; Heinrich Grindelwald. There is no better emissary to use to convince people to join He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named."

Rufus Scrimgeour finally spoke. "We have reason to believe that You-Know-Who has recruited Grindelwald as more than just a diplomat and military leader. No, he wants him for something completely different. Grindelwald is supplying his forces with the lost technology of Atlantis." Several politicians laughed at this, whereas the wizards and witches all sat with defeated expressions. "Yes?" Scrimgeour said curtly.

"Atlantis is just a myth, isn't it?" asked the King of Jordan casually.

"It's not a myth, Your Majesty!" snapped Scrimgeour with such finality that no one dared to question it further. "This is highly destructive weaponry, some of which would make you Muggles' long-range nukes seem like simple fireworks, and Grindelwald had put most of his adult life into researching this technology."

They all sat there silently for several long moments. It was clear what the British were asking them to do. They were asking the world to break the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy that has been in place for hundreds of years. The only other time it had been broken was in World War II when both worlds were affected by the conflict. One could only imagine what it took to modify all those memories. However, this was to be a permanent breaking of the Statute. Not only that, they were also asking them to commit their militaries to war and even to call for conscription of young men and women to fight. Several of these countries were dealing with conflicts elsewhere in the world, and none of them were up to sacrificing their troops to a war where the enemy had no clear goal. All the attacks thus far had been random acts of terror, but now with Muggle extremists on his side and with Grindelwald at the helm supplying them with the means to initiate a war of aggression, who knew what was going to happen?

"We have no other alternative," said Gordon turning his head to look at the guests. "We must go to war. We must all call for a draft and build our forces before the enemy overruns us with theirs."

"'Ow will our people even believe us?" inquired the President of France. "We will 'ave to reveal ze Magical World to zem. 'Ow do we do zis?"

The French Minister of Magic responded something to her President in French. From the little he could remember, Gordon figured that they would have a wizard or witch perform real magic on live television when each head of government would reveal the Wizarding world. She also suggested that both wizards and Muggles be educated on each other's culture and way of life.

"Japan has not sent a single soldier outside its borders since our defeat in World War II," the Japanese Prime Minister said quietly. "Forget about the Statute of Secrecy, we would be violating our own Constitution by getting involved in a foreign war." His Minister of Magic nodded in agreement.

"Well, if you join this alliance, Mr. Shiretoko," the Chinese Minister of Magic countered evenly, "you will have redeemed your country of its past."

The Japanese Prime Minister struggled to keep himself from making an angry response, so he simply replied, "The Diet of Japan will have to vote on this and then we must hold a referendum among the people. You can guarantee a safe haven in our country. You may use our lands for bases and we will supply you with whatever weaponry you need, but we need a vote if we are to amend our Constitution if Japan will actually fight."

"Well," the President of South Korea said firmly, "the Republic of Korea will do whatever it takes to help defeat this threat,"

"You sure as hell can count on the United States, Prime Minister," assured the President of the United States. Of course, the Prime Minister thought with a slight smile. America and Britain always had each other's backs.

"And Russia." added the Russian President. "Ve'll remind this 'Dark Lord' exactly why no would-be tyrant has ever been able to defeat the Russian people. They've prodded the bear, and now they'll pay the price."

"France will fight too, mon ami!"

"I believe the whole Commonwealth of Nations will stand with Britain and her allies," announced the Prime Minister of Australia. "But I can bloody well guarantee Australia's help." The other Commonwealth leaders nodded in agreement.

"I never thought my country would face a war under my administration," the Prime Minister of Spain sighed in defeat. "But there is no choice. I will speak to the Cortes Generales and urge them to approve a conscription."

"Sweden is a neutral country and it's going to stay that way," said the Swedish Prime Minister. "But you can assure a safe haven for refugees and you may use our hospitals and resources."

"That goes for Austria too," the Austrian Chancellor added.

"And Switzerland."

"And Ireland."

Gordon nodded, knowing that some countries' politics wouldn't change so easily. "Right, we must now decide who will or will not join our alliance."

"We will need time to rebuild our magical forces," Scrimgeour revealed.

"What?" said Gordon sharply.

"When the Cold War started," the Italian Minister of Magic explained, "The Ministries of Magic in Europe decided to disband their Mage forces and not get involved in a Muggle conflict ever again. That was a mistake."

"Yes, I daresay it was, Mr. Napolitano!" Gordon responded in a harsher voice than he had intended.

"Anyway," Scrimgeour spoke again. "It will take us time to rebuild the Royal Mages."

"How much time?"

"Within a few months, we'll have a decent sized force, Prime Minister. However, it will take at least a year for us to have a fully organized, well-equipped military branch. Once we do, it will fall under the jurisdiction of the Ministry of Defense."

The Prime Minister nodded and asked, "Anyone have anything else to say?" Nobody spoke. They were all clear on what must be done. "Very well, ladies and gentlemen. You will each be passed a form and will state whether or not you will be part of our allied forces to defeat this threat once and for all. I apologize again for the short notice, but as you can plainly see, the situation is dire."

The politicians were all served with papers by the Prime Minister's staff with a single question. It took them less than half an hour to consider what they were signing to and the results were handed to Gordon.

Alliance of Free Nations Against the Legions of Darkness

Yes

United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland

United States of America

Russian Federation

People's Republic of China

Canada

Australia

New Zealand

Kingdom of Spain

French Republic

Italian Republic

Federal Republic of Germany

Kingdom of Belgium

Hellenic Republic (Greece)

Kingdom of the Netherlands

Republic of Korea

Socialist Republic of Vietnam

Republic of China (Taiwan)

State of Israel

Kingdom of Jordan

Republic of South Africa

State of Qatar (supplies and funds only)

State of Kuwait (supplies and funds only)

United Arab Emirates

Republic of Turkey

Arab Republic of Egypt

Republic of Syria

Lebanese Republic

Republic of India

Islamic Republic of Pakistan

Republic of Indonesia

Kingdom of Saudi Arabia

Republic of Poland

Kingdom of Norway

Republic of Albania

Federal Republic of Yugoslavia

Bosnia and Herzegovina

Argentine Republic

Federal Republic of Brazil

Republic of Portugal

Kingdom of Thailand




No (lands may still be used by Allies for bases and hospitals)

Republic of the Philippines

Republic of Ireland

United Mexican States

Swiss Confederation

Republic of Austria

Republic of Finland

Kingdom of Sweden

Kingdom of Denmark

Republic of Ireland

Republic of Colombia

Republic of Cuba




Abstaining

Japan (pending referendum)

Palestinian Authority

Union of Myanmar

Kingdom of Cambodia

Lao People's Democratic Republic

Malaysia

Kingdom of Nepal

Democratic People's Republic of Korea

Republic of Iraq

Islamic Republic of Iran

After the foreign dignitaries began to file out of the palace, Conrad Gordon and Rufus Scrimgeour walked down its corridors. "I'm surprised, Minister. You never seemed the type to view us non-magic folk as equals, if I may be so bold."

Normally, the Minister of Magic would get angry at such an accusation. He was short and to the point with everyone he spoke to, but he could understand the Prime Minister's misinterpretation, considering the patronizing way that idiot, Fudge treated Muggles. "You're not accusing me of the right thing, Prime Minister, and it will take me too long to enlighten you on the subject. However, let us just say that the Ministry and I had a very rude awakening with the fall of Azkaban. It reminded me exactly with whom we're dealing and where the Wizarding community went wrong over the years."

"I have to call for another emergency session of Parliament. I require one of your representatives to accompany me and reveal the Wizarding world to them. There I will make a motion to declare war. I'm asking you, Minister, to inform Her Majesty of our decision."

Scrimgeour nodded with a slight smile. "Very well, I shall send Arthur Weasley to your office the day of the meeting. In the meantime, I must arrange for tighter security for Her Majesty and her family." The two men shook hands and went their separate ways. As Conrad Gordon was driven back to Downing Street, he marveled on how the next few days were going to be very interesting indeed.

A/N: Yes, those who voted to abstain, aside from Japan, are or were at the time, enemies of the West. Some people's political feelings would never change XD. Also, remember, this was 1997, so Serbia was still officially Yugoslavia then. We'll finally get to Harry in the next chapter.

* This story's version of ISIL
« Last Edit: June 16, 2016, 03:21:11 AM by Lionheart »
Set by Waterlady


 

       
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