Ten Days and Ten Nights

TEN DAYS AND TEN NIGHTS
By A.A. Yarrum

As usual, Harry Potter was in a frantic hurry, doing thirty things at once. The large, airy kitchen at his flat in west London was filled with the smells of violently frying onions, marmalade and toast, and luscious, red tomatoes. Harry often got up early in the morning and ate a large breakfast before setting off for work- a habit he had gained after seven years at Hogwarts.

The central table was covered in an array of ministry papers, quills, apples, bananas and kiwi fruits, while in the corner of the room were perched two owls. Allthorpe, the excitable, enthusiastic young barn owl, Harry had bought after Hedwig, the slightly grey owl sitting composedly beside the jumping Allthorpe, had retired. Hedwigs’ eyes, barely open, dignifiedly surveyed the room.

Harry threw his unusual yet tasty breakfast down his throat, before hurrying to apparate to the Ministry.

Standing in the portico of the doorway, looking down the communal stone steps of the block of flats, Harry concentrated his magic on the lobby of the Cloister.

Harry stood in the stairwell, waiting to disappear, but, unusually, he stayed exactly where he was.

Curious, he thought to himself. Usually, he had no problem with apparition. He tried again, but to no avail.

After trying for a third time, he began to get worried. Something must be wrong, he thought. This never happened- Harry had passed his Apparition test first time- surpassing even Hermione.

‘Everything all right, dear?’ said a voice behind him.

He turned around to see old Mrs Stephen from up stairs. Harry lived in a muggle flat- he always felt he was less conspicuous that way- not everyone knew who he was- or how powerful.

‘Oh, er, yes,’ he said.

‘Okay so,’ she said benignly. ‘Off you trot, then.’

Harry had no alternative than to walk out of the building.

Once in the busy street, there was no chance of apparating- even if he could. Instead, he flagged a passing taxi.

***

‘Harry!’ said Matilda, as soon as Harry entered the Cloister forty minutes later than usual. The Ministry HQ was a large mansion on the outskirts of London, and the driver had taken some time to get there.

‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘I had some problems apparating.’

‘I know,’ she said. ‘I invoked Clause 238 two hours ago.’

‘What?’ asked Harry. Clause 238 was a National Security strategy that disabled all persons from apparating within the United Kingdom.

‘There’s a meeting in the Burdock Muldoon Room in two minutes. I’m on my way there now.’ She looked fraught and worried.

‘What happened?’ he asked.

‘I’m not sure,’ said Matilda honestly. ‘All I know is it’s bad. Very bad.’

They walked out the door and down the corridor. At the end of the corridor beside the huge portrait of Elfrinda Clagg and the Golden Snidgets a wrought iron staircase lead to the lower levels of the Ministry.

Harry silently followed Matilda down the stairs, his heart pumping faster with every clank of her red leather boots on the stairs, dimly aware of the entourage of assistants and footmen that were following them.

He followed her down the dim, windowless corridor to the dark mahogany door. Beside the door frame was a small plaque proclaiming it to be the Burdock Muldoon Room.

Matilda breathed heavily before placing her hand on the door handle and stepping inside.

The large room centred around the long table in the middle, currently covered with papers and maps. People were hurrying around, checking the charts that hung on the black walls, shouting orders to others around the room, flipping through massive logs looking for information. They all stopped, however, when Matilda cleared her throat.

‘What’s happening?’ she asked. Everyone in the room remained silent.

‘Have a seat, Minister,’ said Anna Vyrubova, from her seat at the table head, surrounded by assistants and deputies. As National Security Adviser, this was her main office.

Matilda sat down in the largest chair reserved for the minister in the middle of the table. Harry sat in the seat directly beside her, and everyone else assumed his or her seats as well. As everyone sat down, the magical place name, which displayed their name and status to the rest of the table, slid into view.

‘What’s happening?’ repeated Matilda.

‘Minister,’ said Anna, her voice quavering slightly. ‘It became clear this morning that the Ministry of Magic in Bulgaria has been overthrown by an International band of Dark wizards. We have evidence to suggest that they have been operating under the façade of an independent industrial aid facility, namely The Developmental Research in Entrepreneurial Magic.’

‘That’s ridiculous,’ said Matilda. ‘The DREM helped finance my campaign! They’re the most powerful non-governmental group in magical Europe!’

‘Lucas has some evidence, Minister,’ said Anna. An old man in a tweed suit stood up.

‘Madam Minister,’ he said, in an upper crust English accent. ‘The DREM have been tightening their stranglehold on the authority-weak countries of Eastern Europe for some time- it seems they have infiltrated the ministries of Estonia, Latvia and Lithuania, either taking over slowly or running the system into the ground. Also, they have captured the Ministers of Bosnia and have replaced her with an unofficial deputy of their own choice.’

‘Why am I just finding this out now?’ asked Matilda furiously. ‘How long has this been going on for?’

‘Too long, Minister,’ said Lucas sorrowfully. ‘Too long, Madam, without our knowledge.’

‘Is that it?’ she asked. ‘You’ve called me in here to tell me that International terrorists have taken over Eastern Europe! Do you know how serious this is?’

‘Minister, we have to decide on a plan of action.’ Anna steered the conversation down a more productive route. There were a lot of people around the table- all of them were silent.

‘You’ve already invoked Clause 238- that should stop anything happening here. Might I suggest you recall all British nationals from Eastern Europe, Russia and the Middle East, and send an envoy to Vienna.’

‘Why Vienna?’ asked Harry.

‘Minister Fritz Blumen is the most powerful figure in that part of the world, and the only legitimate leader with whom we can negotiate a peace treaty.’

‘Harry, you go,’ said Matilda plainly. ‘What else?’

‘You should call the Ministerial ambassadors from Bulgaria, Bosnia, Macedonia, Bosnia, Latvia and Lithuania and ask them what’s going on, and then we’ll come up with a strategy from there.’

‘Okay,’ she said. ‘I’ll be back in two hours, and by then I want a detailed report on everything that’s going on there. Is that clear?’

‘Yes, Minister.’

‘Good. Harry, you can use the International Magical Shuttle to get to Vienna. Go now, and tell Blumen that he’d better be able to sort this out or else he’ll have me down his neck. Go now!

‘Anna, I want you to have someone monitor all international appartion records…’

***

Harry waited at the platform for the International Magical Shuttle platform, the light breeze fluttering his hair. Beside him stood Linda and the Deputy Minister for International Co-operation, Flint Axon. Deputy Ministers had little power and no real job to do, so their main occupation was accompanying delegations and hosting balls and dinners.

The purple train pulled up. It was modern and nothing at all like the quaint Hogwarts Express. The Express had been designed to create an experience for the pupils, whereas the IMS (International Magical Shuttle) was designed solely with purpose in mind.

Harry stepped on with his two aides, and the doors snapped shut behind them, as they sat down for a very short journey.

***

The party of three delegates from the British Ministry stepped off the train less than two minutes later at the Vienna station of the IMS. The platform was filled with business wizards and witches, hustling and bustling back and forth. An arrow above their heads pointed to the ‘Zaubererministerium’, which could be accessed by descending a staircase in the middle of the platform. Harry nodded to his two accompaniers to follow, and made for the staircase.

At the bottom, behind an ornate wooden desk, sat a receptionist, a woman wearing a blue business suit, which clashed horribly with her shocking pink hair, who sat filing her nails.

‘Entschuldigung,’ (Excuse me) said Harry to the woman. ‘Ich suche Minister Hans Glossberg.’(I’m Looking for Minister Hans Glossberg)

‘Haben Sie ein Ernennung?’ she asked. (Do you have an appointment?)

‘Ja, wir haben aus Grossbritannien gekommen.’ (Yes, we’ve come from Great Britain)

‘Eine Momente.’ (One moment) She leaned forward and tapped a microphone with her wand. ‘Yulia Raus, Yulia Raus, Kommen Sie zum Empfang bitte!’ (Yulia Raus, Come to reception please). She tapped the microphone again, and returned to filing her nails.

They waited for a few moments, before a tall woman with black hair stepped out from a doorway.

‘Mr Potter,’ she said, in flawless English with only a hint of German. ‘Welcome to Vienna! Minister Glossberg is waiting for you. I’m Yulia Raus, his Private Assistant.’

‘Hello, Yulia,’ he said.

She turned, and led the three Britons through the door she had come through.

At the end of a long corridor, was a set of double doors, which she led them through. Inside was a large square room with no windows (Harry suspected the whole Austrian Ministry was underground). It was set out spartanly as a sitting room. In one of the plain white armchairs sat an old, stooped man with a small grey moustache.

‘Ah, Mister Potter,’ he said hoarsely, again in flawless English. ‘Please, sit down.’ He motioned for Harry to sit down opposite him. ‘How is Minister Greymalkin?’

‘She’s very well, thank you,’ said Harry, as he removed his black cloak, revealing clean, sharp grey business robes underneath. ‘You know why I’m here, Minister,’ he said.

‘Yes, I do,’ said the old man. Behind him, Harry saw Linda and Yulia whisper in each other’s ears.

‘Then tell me the situation.’ Harry was getting straight to business, even although he felt the Austrian would have rather he small talked for a while as a prelude.

Sighing, the old man motioned for his assistant to pass him the folder, which contained the information Harry needed to see.

He pulled from it a scroll, which he unwound, showing a political map of Europe.

‘As you can see,’ he said, pointing out Britain, France, Germany, Belgium, Holland, Spain, Portugal, Italy, Norway, Sweden, Denmark and Switzerland, which all turned green when the tip of his wand touched them, ‘these countries have stable governments and have relatively little threat from Dark Forces compared with the scale during the Second Rise. However, all the ministries governing, Bosnia, Bulgaria, Latvia, Estonia and Lithuania have been overrun by Dark Forces, who over the past two years have tightened their hold on the economy and government of these countries under the guise of the DREM. Serbia, Macedonia, Hungary all have highly credible risks and, in the current situation, it looks likely that they will fall to the DREM. They have instilled themselves during a coup in Finland, although the government there is fighting back.’

‘What is the International Federation doing about this?’ asked Harry.

‘As you know, the Federation Building met here this morning, and it has sent peace envoys to DREM held countries. The Council of Warlocks sent it’s armies north to Finland from Geneva at midday to aid those fighting there.’

‘What do you think might happen?’ asked Harry. ‘Within the next few days?’

‘It is my prediction that Finland will fall tomorrow afternoon, by which time the DREM will have covered Macedonia and Serbia with their shroud. There is little we can do to stop that. The Greek Ministry, together with the Italian and Czechoslovakian, will try to appease the situation in the Balkan Straits.

‘What we must avoid at all costs, however, is the DREM taking over Russia. As soon as they reach Moscow they will have access to most of Asia and China, and from there they will have the Americas within their grasp. Once they manage to mobilize their Russian friends, who normally lie dormant during European squabbles, we will be hard pressed to stop them controlling the entire world.’

Harry sat back for a moment, unable to take it all in. The world was on the brink of collapse.

Finally, he sat up, and looked the old man right in the eye.

‘What can we do to stop it?’ he asked.

‘Certain steps must be taken immediately,’ said Glossberg. ‘When the Peace Envoys of the Federation fail, and they will fail, your Minister must enlist an army to travel to the Black Sea, where the International Federation War Office will be organizing a re-seizure programme.’

There was a flutter of wings behind him, and Harry faintly registered an owl landing beside Linda.

‘Is that all? Are we on the brink of war?’ He ignored the owl, and tried to keep his mind focused on the grim subject.

‘War, perhaps, but we are in the midst of an international wizarding crisis, that can only be solved, it seems, by force. We must brutally stamp on those trying to hurl us into their dark and dangerous precipice.’

Harry sat for a moment. He simply couldn’t take it in- this was worse than that night he had spent in the Hospital wing at Hogwarts knowing Voldemort was back.

‘Harry,’ said Linda quietly. ‘We need to leave.’

‘Why?’ said Harry tiredly.

‘The French Minister has ordered all French Nationals out of Russia.’

‘Come on,’ he said, standing up. ‘Thank you, Minister Glossberg,’ he said, turning to the old man, before heading for the door.

***

The Parisian Ministry, in contrast to the bland, Spartan Viennese Ministry, was decadent and Baroque. The International Magical Shuttle Platform was a block away from the Ministry building, so Linda and Flint had to jog to keep up with the purposely striding Harry.

‘Je veux parler avec ton ministre Pierre de Flambe, sil vous plaît,’ he said to the short black man behind the marble reception desk in the palatial reception hall to the Palais de Ministère Magique.

‘Ministre de Flambe est occupé. Vous devez attendre.’

‘Non, je dois parler avec le ministre immédiatement. C'est une question d'urgence grave.’

‘D'où vous sont?’ asked the short man, who, according to his gold badge, was named Emmanuelle.

‘Nous sommes les délégations du Royaume Uni.’ Harry looked the man straight in the eye, as if daring him to dispute anything. Fortunately, Harry could fluently speak both French and German, which was probably why he and been sent here.

‘Est-ce que vous pouvez pour un minute, sil vous plait.’ He got up, and hurried off through a doorway, presumably to fetch someone.

***

‘The Minister is requesting free airtime on all stations at seven thirty this evening,’ Harry told the press room, which was jam packed with people. ‘I will be giving an address for the Minister which is intended for the attention of every member of our society in Britain. Thank you.’

‘HARRY!’ The entire press room leapt to it’s feet, and a thousand hands shot into the air.

‘There will be no further press briefings until that time,’ said Harry with finality, and walked out the room.

The Cloister was filled with people examining maps, studying diagrams, leafing through massive books, all trying to find some kind of solution.

The meeting with the French Minister had went well- Harry had managed to dissuade him from ordering all French Nationals in Russia out, only in return that every British, French, German and Austrian citizen in DREM occupied countries return home immediately. Matilda was beside herself with worry.

‘Why are we only just finding out about this now?’ she shouted at some nervous clerks. ‘What’s the point in me shelling out half a million Galleons a year to finance an Intelligence section that doesn’t know when the whole of Eastern Europe is being seized by Dark Wizards?’

Harry, meanwhile, was at his best when in a crisis. After all, he had spent practically all his teenage years not at alcohol fuel parties, as would be expected of adolescent boys, but instead at meetings trying to find a way of overcoming the Second Rise. Sitting in his office, the magical quill was translating his thoughts onto parchment, for the briefing at seven thirty that evening, while he puffed nervously on a cigarette and drank the coffee that was being brewed all over the building.

‘Excuse me sir, you aren’t allowed to smoke in the building,’ said one of the clerks as they rushed in to collect papers for the minister.

Harry looked up at the watery eyed, middle aged man, his green eyes flashing. It was well known throughout the wizarding world not to mess with Harry Potter when his eyes flashed like that- a skill he had adopted from Minerva McGonagall and Albus Dumbledore during his stay at Hogwarts.

The clerk quelled, and left Harry to his work.

A few minutes later, Linda came into the room.

‘Harry, Anna wants to talk to you, Melissa and Matilda in her office now.’ Like Harry, Linda was always calm and level headed, especially in the midst of a drama, when everyone else around them was losing their heads. This was the reason they worked so well together.

‘Sure,’ said Harry, standing up. He had finished the briefing preparation anyway.

‘Also, Ron Weasley of Wizarding News needs to speak to you urgently. He’s in the press room.’

‘I’ll speak to him after I’ve talked to Anna…’

‘No,’ said Linda. ‘He says it’s very important- he was determined to speak to you right now.’

Harry was worried- it wasn’t like Ron to be so forceful. Shrugging, he thanked Linda, grabbed his briefing, and hurried along to the pressroom.

Ron was sitting in one of the chairs fiddling with a camera he had ready for the briefing, which was going to be in thirteen minutes, according to the clock on the press room wall.

‘Ron?’ said Harry. ‘Make it quick.’ There was no time for salutations and small talk.

‘Harry, I know.’

‘Know what?’ Harry was giving nothing away.

‘About the DREM seizing power in Eastern Europe. I know you were in Austria and France today trying to sort it out, and I know that’s why nobody around the country can apparate.’

‘Don’t make it public until the briefing,’ said Harry. He wasn’t really surprised that Ron had figured it out- he was, after all, one of the best investigative journalists in wizarding Britain.

‘Harry, this is the story of the year. I’m going on air in less than two minutes, and I’m going to tell the world. I’ve got to.’

Harry didn’t know what to do. Sometimes his best friend could be so stubborn. He decided to bring out the only weapon he had.

‘No, Ron, you’re job is not to tell the world, it’s my job, and it’s my job because I have a whole machine behind me that will make sure we don’t have a massive national panic attack. This isn’t a silly little story about who’s the new Correlation Officer or whatever. If we don’t manage this properly, we could find ourselves in a full scale war, as bad if not worse than it was in the Second Rise. And guess who’s job it is to manage this whole bloody mess?’ Harry could feel himself shouting, and he knew he shouldn’t be, but he didn’t care. ‘That’s right, Ron, it’s my job. And I am not about to sit and watch the Dark Side gain strength before my own eyes. I’ve had to live with myself after I done that in fourth year, and I’m not going through that again, and you are absolutely not going to let that happen either. Am I in any way unclear?’

Ron stood, shell shocked, apparently having lost the power of speech.

‘I’ll take it from your expression that you got the general gist of it,’ Harry said sharply. ‘I’ve got to go and decide what the bloody hell we’re going to do now, but I’ll see you at the briefing.’ The raven haired wizard swept out, his eyes flashing with purposefulness and adrenaline. As he reached the door, he turned and looked back at his friend, who was still standing in the same position.

‘Ron?’ he said. The boy he had first met on the Hogwarts express years ago turned to look at him. ‘I’ll give you first question.’ He walked out the press room, leaving Ron standing there alone.

‘What did Ron Weasley want?’ asked Anna, as Harry entered his office. Matilda and Melissa were already there.

‘He knew,’ said Harry. ‘But he won’t tell anyone.’

‘I know, we heard you shouting,’ said Melissa. ‘I don’t think even I could match that.’

Harry cringed. ‘What are we doing?’ he asked, changing the subject.

‘Well,’ said Anna. ‘When things like this are happening, one of the things we have to assume is that we are going to be taken over soon. All members of the DREM who do not resign within the next twenty four hours will be classed as Enemies of the State, and everyone who has a record of Dark Art involvement will be either put on Ministry Magical Surveillance or taken into a Holding Facility. If the DREM make any movements in Russia, then we’ll move to a national state of alert. As of the briefing, the Knight Bus and the IMS will be disabled, as will apparating powers. The Floo Network will only operate if the user is travelling within a two hundred mile radius. An Owl to the Department of Magical Transportation must report all travel outside a two hundred mile radius of a person’s place of residence as registered on their Ministry file. These will be issued by Ministerial Decree and will be made law immediately, and can only be revoked by ministerial command.’

She turned to Matilda, for the formal bit.

‘Minister, as your Aide Relating to Matters Concerning National Security, this is my advice. It is your decision to accept or not. Do you accept these proposals?’

‘Yes,’ said Matilda.

‘Sign here,’ said Anna, passing her a sheaf of parchment on which she had written all the points. Matilda signed her scrawl spiky signature, and the small Ministerial seal at the head of the sheet turned from black to gold, signifying the change to Magical Law. A copy would be adding itself to the Lexicon at the Council of Magical Law, six floors below in the sub-basement.

‘Okay,’ said Matilda, taking a deep breath. ‘We just restricted the liberties of every member of our Britain. That’s quite something.’

‘They’ll thank us one day,’ said Melissa. One of the things that Harry had noticed during the course of the day was that Melissa, however confrontational she may appear, was actually very, very good when she got down to actually doing her job.

‘I’ll go tell the world, then,’ said Harry, standing, up, and straightening his robes.

‘Good luck,’ said Matilda. She sounded nervous and breathless.

‘I’ll need it,’ said Harry. ‘You can watch me on every television station there is, if you want.’

‘Go,’ said Melissa. ‘Go, and show those DREM bastards that nobody messes with the Greymalkin administration.’

Harry smiled, and walked out the room. As he walked down the corridor, people shouted good luck, and flicked on their televisions.

As soon as Linda opened the door into the press room and Harry stepped through, he was blinded by the flashes of the cameras and the barrage of shouting.

‘HARRY!’ shouted every single one of the thirty odd journalists in the room.

‘Hold your questions, please,’ said Harry, assuming his place behind the press secretary’s desk and opening his brown Ministry folder, emblazoned with the Minister’s seal. ‘The Minister for Magic has asked me to make the following announcement.

‘During the course of the past week, hold your questions please, a group of international dark wizards have seized power in Eastern Europe…