Harry Potter and the Thunderstruck Muggles

The summer was gone, had been replaced by an autumn with unfriendly days and cold nights. Gone with the good weather were the Muggles around Hogwarts - most of them, that was. Some tents still could be seen when looking out the windows, however not enough to keep the medical service and the Witchcraft Information Centre running.

The change had taken away Pete, Sally, and the others, as well as all the guitar players. No more music, no more fun ... Whatever motivation kept the few Muggles in their tents, it wasn't the desire to exchange things with the wizards, or conversations, or emotions. Binns - temporarily re-baptized as Boasting Binns - was in the evenings no longer seen outside.

On the other hand, the change had brought Ron back into the Poison Balls project. The only schedules still to be administered were a patrol or two per day - across the Hogwarts territory and along the few remaining tents. The Muggles in them didn't play the game, they didn't greet, didn't smile - the idea of giving them medical treatment inside Hogwarts, should it be required, seemed ridiculous.

But there was something else on Ron's mind first. "I think it's high time to get our team settled and start Quidditch training."

Harry said, "No, I don't think so."

"What?"

"I don't see us doing training sessions outside ... I don't see us running a Quidditch cup - not here outside, in full view of the Muggles."

"Why not?"

"Because ... I'm not sure, it's just a feeling, but I'm ready to bet. I talked with a lot of people - Samantha, Armodéc - they all said we should watch out, and now - don't you read the newspapers? Something's coming."

Reading the newspapers, in particular the Daily Echo together with the original articles in the Daily Prophet, made clear that terms between Muggles and wizards were cooling rapidly. There hadn't been a summer at all - the initial spring, with excitement and hope on both sides, seemed to change straight into winter season. Negotiations between Muggle government and the Ministry of Magic were stuck in a deadlock, with no progress whatsoever.

Well, unsuccessful political meetings were hardly upsetting anyone.

But every politician without a saying of his own, every lobbyist, and many columnists in the Muggle press kept themselves busy pointing out that it was high time to get wizards and witches under control. To nobody's surprise, the same people had lots of suggestions how this should be done.

Wizards were using the same streets as anybody else, but did they pay taxes? No they didn't, bloody shame, that was. How long would the righteous citizens still tolerate such a parasitism?

The wizards refused to be treated by Muggle law. They claimed to be special. They payed taxes all right, oh yes, sir - to the Ministry of Magic, of course. No, they didn't know in detail what happened with that money.

The Taxpayer's Interest Group, one of those bigmouth congregations that could be found so richly among Muggles, apparently as large as unimportant, started a campaign to put pressure on the Ministry of Magic, claiming a percentage of that money to be delivered for public services. They never got an answer.

Encounters between Muggles and wizards started raising more and more conflicts. The number of complaints, filed from both sides, was growing every day. It seemed a dorado for lawyers, except that so far, all lawsuits were piling up in some office, due to lack of applicable laws. Everybody and his uncle had a story to tell, while the press reported only the biggest cases, or the most bizarre ones.

A row between neighbours had escalated to a case of arson and bodily injury. A Muggle, mad for years that the dry leaves of his neighbour's tree always came to rest in his own garden, had found out that this neighbour was a wizard. Suspecting some spell which sent the leaves the other way each autumn, one night he had used the axe to solve the problem once and for all. The wizard had come to tell his neighbour what he thought of such a behaviour - through the chimney of course, disappearing the same way after shouting insults. Unfortunately, the fire used for his leaving had caught a pile of newspapers, which in turn hat set the room on fire. In this turmoil, not only the Muggle had panicked but also his cat, leaving bruises and clawmarks in his face and neck.

A US citizen filed a complaint against a book store, about two million dollars, because he'd been bitten by a book, and there hadn't been a warning sign Attention! This book may bite when touched.

A group of real estate agents announced to sue the Ministry of Magic. They claimed to be the owners of the ground on which the ministry was built, presented old documents, and new ones, and announced to sue every shop in Diagon Alley as soon as this first lawsuit was won.

---

Maybe if the Muggles had seen immediate benefits for their own life ... But no such luck. Magical Tours, for example, with a direct connection London - New York, travelling time just a few minutes in the linkport, could have been the dream of businesspeople and tourists alike, good to raise a signal in the growing waves of upheaval.

Unfortunately, linkports didn't transport Muggles.

They didn't hurt them either, thank God - a Muggle just kept stuck in the gate cabin until the other passengers made room to let him walk out, with moans and shouts on both sides.

Magical Tours were working feverishly to find a solution. What a market, waiting to be opened!

It made Harry think about the problems in his Portkey Programming project. So far, he hadn't managed anything close to a portkey - not for wizards, that was. Wouldn't it be the biggest joke if, by some accident, one of his failures had been just what the Magical Tours engineers were searching so desperately?

Fat chance, really.

He visited Ray, who looked happy because he had nothing to do - literally, as the ministry was playing hide-don't-seek in public appearance. Harry and his unofficial teacher spent an afternoon with Ray demonstrating how to turn a wooden stool into an ejector seat - okay, not into the air, just to the other end of a large workroom, while Harry tried watching with all his senses.

Ray said, "Don't get me wrong, Harry, but I'd be deeply frustrated if you had already managed - it took me an awful lot of time to become an expert."

"Yeah, sure - although, imagine it would work now, then I could explain why it won't be a surprise ... I can apparate, I can pursue - not my own work either, the credit goes to Voldemort."

"That's a comfort, really, that is ... Try it."

Harry tried, sat down on the stool. It shot forward - just a few feet, enough to let him heel over. Thank God for favours like aikido training and practice in falling down from all positions without getting hurt.

He came up. "Well, a portkey's something else, but it might open a new technique - sending things rather than people. What do you think?"

Without answering, Ray moved to the stool, spread his arms for balancing, and sat down.

The stool trembled a bit, then was motionless again.

Ray stood up. "Not bad, Harry, not at all ... It doesn't stick yet, and your accuracy's poor. But still - you'll set a new speed record, no doubt."

Harry's other attempts were failures altogether. He couldn't even reproduce the initial effect. Maybe it had to be rated as an improvement in the sense of his true goal; at any rate, the frustration was entirely on his side.

He went to Swashbuckle Sweets - walking, to have a look at the street scene in the Diagon Alley. He saw nothing unusual, maybe less Muggles than recently.

The front room was empty.

"Yes," said George, "shop customers have dropped almost to zero - hardly a Muggle, few wizards." He grinned. "But don't you worry - mail order's booming. The Muggles don't want to be seen buying in a wizard shop, which doesn't mean they don't want wizard goods ... Sometimes we feel as though running a porn shop - all very secretly, no names, no faces."

They agreed that the small-scale investment had been a lucky decision, just the proper size, already paying off - mail order and wholesale business had exceeded the former shop business volume by far.

Harry wanted to know how the atmosphere felt with Muggle customers.

"There's almost none," said Fred, "no longer - those who still come give a damn for public opinion. And of course, the entire street is wizard territory, so any single Muggle, no matter how upset, would be careful how to behave."

George's face was sombre. "Unless they come in a mob."

* * *

The Poison Ball project offered a lot more fun with Ron. Since they had worked together in a weekend house near Burnham on Sea, with Ron as the visible part and Harry under his Invisibility Cloak, the air was clean between them. And Ron was careful with his remarks about dragons of either shape. Actually, he made none at all recently - about Cho, that was.

Maybe as a result of his tests with granite bullets, and his discovery of the gravity, Harry's score in hitting Ron's water balls jumped up to eight out of ten - good enough to try the real stuff, sulphuric acid from Ron and sodium bicarbonate from Harry.

It worked - provided Harry managed to conjure up real bicarbonate, which was not always the case.

"C'mon," said Ron, "concentrate a bit - sodium bicarbonate's really not the most complex combination, what are you going to do if we start with nitroglycerine?"

"Let's give it a try."

They did - blasting off huts and barns in the former Giants' camp, quickly learning to be very respectful with that stuff, and to size down the balls in order not to create deep craters in the ground.

Then they had to get rid of a Squad patrol, sent by Viktor at Dumbledore's order - the explosions could be heard in the school, and nobody had announced this kind of training.

Yes, Harry had trouble with the chemical combination. Only every third ball or so was really explosive, the others did no more than wetting the target.

"Just imagine the molecular structure," said Ron.

"Listen, I do what I can - it just so happens that I'm better in physics than in chemistry."

Ron grinned. "Really? Then please tell me, what's so special in the orbit coordinates of Uranus?"

"I'm talking about power, gravity, impulse ... Ready for a longshot contest?"

"That's unfair."

"Why?"

And Ron was at a loss to argue convincingly why such a contest between him and Harry had to be rated unfair. Yes, Harry had of course inherited a very indecent amount of magical power from Voldemort, but Ron had inherited a clear understanding of planetary orbits, electron orbits, molecular structures, and such. That's why each of his balls were explosive, only they didn't fly that far.

They were still discussing the issue at lunch. Ron had found his argument - inheriting from parents was okay, learning from teachers was okay, inheriting from Voldemort was unfair.

Hermione listened with little sympathy. "What a crap - you take it where you get it, and then you use it."

"That's your view!" Ron argued heatedly. "Mine's a bit more orderly and has a broader basis in ethics, if you get my bearing."

Challenging Hermione ... "What's so ethical in your five grand from Harry?"

Ron flushed. "That's ... Anyway, we were discussing skills, not personal favours."

"So you're better with the stuff, and Harry's better in shooting? Then why don't you combine your strengths - you making the balls, and Harry sending them off?"

Harry and Ron looked at each other, beaming. Their afternoon program was settled.

Harry smiled at Hermione. "Genius at work."

She looked satisfied. "Yes I am. And while on the subject - your next trip's due soon, so get your schedule settled."

The next trip to Haiti ... Harry had collected the results of the previous test pretty quickly, by telling Monsieur Armodéc that there would be only one dinner per test - when he brought the flasks, and that it would be a dinner, nothing else. The man had accepted with a smile, and a shrugging.

The results themselves had been different again. Caprien Marût reported some progress - the same effect as before, although considerably shorter. Monsieur Armodéc also reported the same effect as before, meaning none.

Harry turned to Hermione. "You know what I think? This Armodéc's drinks the potion, to figure out the taste, and then he uses something else to throw up again. He never planned to lose his condition."

Hermione looked thoughtful. She knew that Harry wasn't going to watch the man again, knew that something had happened, had some idea, maybe, but was clever enough not to stress the subject, fully aware that her deal with Harry had run totally out of proportion. Not that it made her feel guilty, no - just careful.

Then she grinned. "Doesn't matter. Give me time, Harry - I'll come up with a mix that works instantly, or at least that's adapted instantly so the body has time to respond to it. This man's not going to fool us all the time."

Of course not. Was nobody supposed to fool Hermione, least of all a tricky old loup-garou.

* * *

Next morning, sitting at the breakfast table and reading the Daily Prophet, Harry saw that the press - Muggles and wizards alike - had their first real sensation. Bank robbery at Gringotts!

Attempted bank robbery, to be precise. Twelve men had entered the building, had taken some hostages - customers in the hall - and had ordered the Goblins to fill the two waiting trucks with gold. The result was a bloodbath. Three hostages dead, two others seriously wounded. All twelve assailants dead, only four of the corpses complete enough to be identified. The number of dead - or wounded - Goblins was unknown.

Since then, as Harry learned a day later, the entrance to Gringotts was guarded by mean-looking Goblin warriors. They detected every Muggle who was trying to enter - nobody knew how - guided him into a room with a metal detector, and let him pass only after delivering everything that might be a weapon. Still worse, while inside, the Muggle was permanently escorted by an armed Goblin.

After the first shock, an outcry went through the Muggle press. Goblins! Mean, evil creatures, the wizards were responsible for them, didn't do their duty, a threat for every innocent citizen!

This news gave Harry reason enough to visit Mr Moroney as well as Mr Chang. He learned that the traditional business between Goblins, wizards, and Muggles hadn't changed at all, was running as before, contrary to the uproar in public. Which didn't help a bit - the pot was boiling.

The failed bank robbery provided the main topic in the conversation between Harry and Monsieur Armodéc - this and the Goblins' way of handling things. They speculated how Goblins might get along with the Muggles in the future, and Harry told stories of former encounters with Goblins - however being very reluctant to reveal details of his bond with them. He wasn't aware of any rule preventing him to tell, except that Monsieur Armodéc didn't strike him as the trustworthy type either. Not dangerous, not evil, not mean, no real risk - just someone toward whom this topic felt too intimate.

Monsieur Armodéc asked, "What's your guess, how will it continue between the Muggles and the Goblins?"

"I asked some people. They do business as before - and with the other Muggles, I'd say that's it. They won't have another chance to rob a Goblin bank."

"What makes you think so?"

"I've seen them fight, and I've seen them taking measures. They won't allow this happening again."

Monsieur Armodéc looked doubtful. "The wizard currency is based on gold - nothing but gold. Yes, galleons are made of an alloy, but only because pure gold would be too soft for practical purposes. And gold has weird effects on people ... Some hundred years ago, not too far from here, several cultures were extinguished for the greed of gold - the Aztecs, for example. A few dozen warriors, and all they had were muskets ... And now? The Goblins have bows and arrows, like the Aztecs, but today the Muggles come with machine guns and grenades."

Harry shook his head. "No, sir. The history of the Goblin wars shows what would happen if the Muggles tried. And the Goblins have more than bows."

"Such as?"

"They're not afraid of high technology - not at all. And they have us, the wizards."

* * *

Back in Hogwarts, Harry could read in press articles which were quoted in the Daily Echo that wizards - for years and years - had made fun of Muggles. They were selling them keys which vanished at the next worst opportunity. They liked to throw items in their path to make them stumble and fall. Another popular game of them was to block wastewater pipes, preferably at weekends, when the repair service was not available or three times as expensive.

The next day, he found new reports of the same kind. Wizards were selling trash on purpose - furniture which broke during installation at home, gold watches which turned to some cheap metal over night, auto polish and other chemicals which etched the paint off, rather than protecting the surface.

Harry visited the dragon camp, to deepen his understanding of dragon minds as well as to hear how Rex might get along with the new atmosphere.

Rex wasn't even aware that the wind had started blowing harsher than ever - with the camp officially counted as Muggle territory, nobody was bothering them. Carrie presented herself friendly but uncooperative. Pretty soon, she would have to guard her eggs. Samuel was more cooperative and more excited - flying with Harry, he had fun with a few close misses of roaring firejets. At least, Harry could ride him again, taking the opportunity to watch the movements of wings, body, tail during the flight - after all, who said that dragons could fly by themselves?

A leading tire manufacturer had to call back more than hundred thousand cars, due to some dangerous failure. The company claimed damage by wizards as the reason, denying any responsibility for that.

A leading software manufacturer explained the disastrous state of their main product with sabotage by wizards, offering error fixes together with a disclaimer that they were not to blame for subsequent malevolent changes by the same wizards.

Harry had taken to inform his friends about the latest rumours, giving a summary at breakfast, after having finished with his Daily Prophet. Hearing his newest report, Hermione giggled.

"My parents use it, in their offices and at home. They're cursing that thing about every other day ... What do you think, maybe they have rudimentary magic, enough for damaging computer programs?"

"Could be," replied Harry. "Technicians in TV stations are ready to believe that everybody can hex a microphone."

Ron grinned. "Hermione, if your parents have read that crap, they'll ask you to fix their softwear next time you're at home. And why not, should be a piece of cake for a genius witch."

Strangely enough, Hermione couldn't join the laughter of Ron and Harry.

Next morning, reading the newspaper, Harry couldn't laugh either when Ron asked, "Say, what crime did we commit today? Switching road signs, so people get lost? Hexing alarm clocks, so people don't wake up? That's what seems to happen with mine."

"No - worse. Today it's hexed toys - teddybears, puppets, that stuff."

Seeing his expression, Hermione stopped grinning. "And what's the effect?"

"They come awake at night, start moving, and frighten the kids. And of course, the moment someone else comes into the room, one of the parents, they freeze."

Ron no longer had fun. "Uh-oh, that's bad. I can remember how it was for me, in the dark room, and my toys weren't hexed, that's for sure."

Harry could remember his own fears as a child - real ones, of living people rather than toys, as he'd never possessed anything close to a teddybear. Even so, the thought of a loved toy turning into a threatening creature was enough to send a chill down his spine.

---

He travelled to Haiti for the new results. Caprien Marût looked friendlier than ever, the raised salary seemed to pay off, and the last potion had turned him back to human shape within fifteen minutes. Monsieur Armodéc - surprise - reported no effects at all, but he offered a drink to discuss the latest news. "Now you see, Harry, how the plot works. After the most secretive wizard has opened up, revealed himself, someone's spreading FUD."

"Fud?"

"Fear, uncertainty, disinformation - although one or the other details's true. But this is a controlled campaign to raise bad feelings among the Muggles. Pretty soon, they'll respond with some action. Harry, your old friend has placed his worst strike expertly."

Monsieur Armodéc's words were echoing in Harry's mind. If he was right ... Harry spoke with Dumbledore.

"I'm not yet convinced," said the Headmaster. "So far, this so-called press campaign has revealed a few harmless details, and a lot of nonsense. People are jumping the bandwagon - Muggle companies which find this a good opportunity to blame someone else for their own mistakes. I won't exclude the possibility, but there's more evil in the world than just Voldemort."

"If it's not him, then who else?"

"It's not a single person's doing, that much I'd agree with this Monsieur Armodéc. But why shouldn't there be different people behind, even different intentions? Imagine this - some people, with wizards as parents but without magical power of their own, are deeply frustrated, enough to undermine the efforts that kept us hidden. After the first reports, other wizards support the movement - with the best intentions, they want to bring the two worlds together. Then, when the first group realizes that the two sides are trying to come together, they spread rumours of the worst kind, and finally, Muggles start to blame us for everything."

"Erm - sorry, Prof, but it sounds a bit far-fetched for my taste."

Dumbledore nodded. "For mine too, but can you exclude it?"

"Certainly not - no more than I can prove Armodéc's theory."

"You may try another approach. Don't try to find the culprit - exclude the alternatives which are definitely wrong, or totally unrealistic, and see what's left. For example, I would exclude the Goblins as the guilty ones instantly, and not only because they were the first to suffer."

"The Goblins?" Harry felt perplexed. "They weren't even on my list."

Dumbledore smiled. "Of course, but there are wizards who suspect them - indicating that during the Goblin wars, they used similarly treacherous methods. It's just an example."

"What would be proof that it's Voldemort's doing?"

The Headmaster laughed humourlessly. "If he'd appear in a talk show, to describe what the Death Eaters did with Muggles." More seriously, Dumbledore added, "I don't think this will happen - but if there'd be some articles revealing more truth about how wizards treated Muggles, then I might accept the theory."

Not any wiser, Harry spoke with Marie-Christine. "It's possible," she said. "It's even likely - that's all I know."

"Why is it likely for you?"

"For two reasons. A simple scientific principle says, if you don't know what's happening, take the simplest explanation and keep it until it's proven wrong - or right. From Voldemort's perspective - he tried everything to make himself the leading power of the wizarding world, and what's the result? He's unimportant. And now he's trying to destroy this world, because that's all he still can do."

"And how would you prove that?"

Marie-Christine smiled. "Not at all, my dear 'arry."

"Why not? Aren't you interested in knowing the truth?"

"Sure, to some degree, but the only proof I can imagine is sending you to him, together with your snake, to ask him - and that's the last thing I'd do. I know better methods of using your time."

"Do you?" But Harry's mind was fixed on the current topic. "Where should I look for him?"

Marie-Christine shrugged. "In some nice, comfortable castle - most likely here in England, after all, this is his home country."

Scanning all English castles, plus those estates which came close enough, was an impossible task - even with a high-speed broomstick like Harry's Steel Wing. Maybe with the help of the Goblins - even Voldemort would need money, had perhaps a need for exchanging galleons into Muggle money ... He would use Wormtail for that, so the Goblins had to look for someone with a silvery hand ... Nonsense, Wormtail would wear gloves.

If Harry could travel through the void, and if he had a bearing that would mark Voldemort's position, or location ... The thought reminded him that the next step in his Dragon Animagus project, the spheric state, was waiting to be mastered, and he spent time on this.

Giving up your body shape - easier said than done.

* * *

Some days later, Harry found articles which described in detail how wizards were using memory spells after encounters in which Muggles had witnessed magical events.

The growling in the Muggle press grew louder and louder. It seemed like bitter irony - a large Muggle industry kept working day and night to invent lies and half-lies, as the only method selling stupid ideas and products, nobody seemed interested in the truth if another version would offer more excitement, or fancy - but memory spells?

The press called it brainwashing.

The initial reports were pretty realistic, describing scenes like Arthur Weasley's daily work. A garbage can couldn't fly - if it did, a watching Muggle was charmed to forget the scene. Then, naturally, thousands of Muggles claimed to be victims of such a brainwashing, after having witnessed something - from flying saucers to naked witches dancing around a cauldron.

Nobody cared about flying saucers, while naked witches made frontpage stories for magazines and TV stations.

Then the first report appeared which described how wizards maintained the habit of sacrificing Muggles for magic rituals.

Then a report appeared which described how wizards used to steal newborn babies, introducing a memory in the parents that the child had died, and sell the babies to the Goblins.

It was the spark to ignite the cloud of hate.

Wizards found themselves attacked in public places. Street gangs devastated wizard shops, with Muggle police watching idly. At night, Muggles came to known wizard homes to shout insults, to break windows, to throw fire bombs. It reminded Harry of the times when Dementors had done something similar.

He visited his step parents. The Burrow was undamaged; nobody had come so far. He visited the twins and saw that the shop was okay - however, it had a new glass pane. The Diagon Alley appeared locked against Muggles - by wizards from inside, by Muggle police from outside.

Next morning, Harry read about uprising and street fights in the Goblin quarter of Paris. Muggle police had stopped it - but only after Goblin warriors had started shooting Muggles. Several Muggles dead, among them a policeman, many wounded, the casualties at the Goblins' side unknown as usual.

Harry dropped the newspaper and turned to Ron. "There was some fighting in the Goblin quarter of Paris. I'm going to check on Fleur and Bill - now. Please excuse me in classes - family business."

"Wait - wait a minute." Ron was scanning the article, his lips tightening, cheeks pale. He looked up. "Let me come with you."

"I'm not going through linkports - takes too long." Harry saw his friend's expression. "Ron - it's not a good idea to walk through Muggle territory now. I'll apparate directly to the house."

"Shit - if I only could apparate." Ron seemed mad at Harry, who could apparate, and mad at himself because he couldn't.

Harry touched Ron's arm. "I'll be back soon - most likely, they're okay. I'm sure Fleur was in the house and Bill at Gringotts when it happened."

"Hopefully." Ron nodded. "Okay - come back quickly."

---

Harry couldn't find the patience required for walking to the Hogwarts Express platform, so he took his Steel Wing instead. Diving down to the platform, he wondered if it was possible to apparate from mid-air, at full speed on a broomstick. Something to be tried, though not now.

He appeared in front of Fleur's and Bill's house. All blinds were closed, probably as a protection against stones thrown by a howling mob. Had they been closed in time?

Walking to the entrance, Harry heard a shout from behind. By the time he had turned, his body was ducked low and his wand pointing.

He saw two figures - Goblin warriors, their crossbows ready and aiming at him. Then they seemed to recognize his wand - the bows dropped a bit.

He dropped his wand, too, and waited for them.

They reached him and examined him. One of them asked, "What are you doing here?"

"Visiting relatives, to check if they're okay. Are you guarding the street?"

The answer was another question. "Who are you?"

"Harry Potter's my name - it's this house here," Harry pointed, "and my relatives are Bill and Fleur Weasley."

He saw the glances at his forehead and registered the change in the warrior's voice.

"Harry Potter, you should go back where you came from. This is no good place currently. The house is empty."

"Empty? You sure? Do you know where they are?"

The Goblin didn't know.

"Mind if I have a look?"

A shrug - more French than Goblin style. The two warriors were already walking back to the street corner where Harry could see some more Goblins, and some barricades.

The door was closed. Nobody responded to his ringing, no echo in his scanning senses.

About to unlock the door with his mental power, Harry became aware that there was a simpler method. Next moment, he had apparated inside.

There was some disarray, like from people leaving in a haste, but nothing that would tell him where they had gone. He scanned some more rooms. Nothing broken, no signs of intruders.

What now? The Gringotts residence seemed the most obvious place to check, except Harry had never been there, which meant he had to walk through Muggle streets. But where was Fleur?

The Delacour castle! He apparated from where he stood.

A mean-looking figure stood inside the stable. Only its upper half was visible behind the half-height door, and a wand pointing at Harry. "Stop! One more step, and you're a fat cloud of smoke."

Harry raised his arms, slowly. "I'm a wizard, and a friend of the Delacours."

"Show your wand!"

He obeyed.

"Come closer, and don't - "

Rather than walking, Harry apparated the few steps, right to the door, face to face with the man. "Is that proof enough?"

A gasp, and a half-step backward. "Hey - slowly, young man - "

"Watch out for Muggles - I'm none." Harry turned and walked to the house.

Jean-Baptiste opened the door, his own wand in the other hand. "Oh - 'arry, come in."

"Salu, Jean-Baptiste. Please pardon my untidy arrival - is Fleur here?"

Monsieur Delacour wasn't smiling. "Yes, she's here." He had a strange expression in his face. "Upstairs, 'arry - Elienne's with her."

Harry felt his neck hair rising. "What's with her? Is she okay?"

"She's ..." Fleur's father bit his lips. "She lost her ... she had a miscarriage."

---

Fleur had been caught by a mob on her way back from shopping. Seeing her state, the men had done nothing, aside from shouting and waving their fists. Not so the women: they had grabbed her, beaten her, with shouts like, "Now you'll learn what it means to have a baby robbed from the mother."

Harry was standing there, breathing deeply, to master a wave of murderous hate. It wouldn't be helpful to meet Fleur in such a mood. He found Elienne upstairs and felt grateful that she left him alone with Fleur. Steadying himself, he entered the room.

Fleur was lying in bed. Outside, she looked almost normal. Inside, Harry found sorrow, pain, a wordless wondering - and some determination. He stepped closer and took her hand.

"Hello, Fleur. I'm so sorry."

A tiny smile. "Salu, 'arry - good to see you."

"Are you okay? Some other damages?"

"No, I'll be fine, the doctor said. We'll try again, Bill and I, when this madness is over."

That reminded him. "Where's Bill?"

"I sent him off, to the Goblins." Fleur smiled a bit more. "He was driving me crazy - either busying around me, or muttering dark curses against the Muggles."

The latter came pretty close to Harry's own feelings. "Would you recognize them?"

Fleur shook her head. "Even if I did, what's the sense? It wouldn't bring my baby back. They believed the stories, and it was my bad luck that there were women too ... 'arry, be careful with women, they're not shying off from anything, but I think I told you so in the past, didn't I?"

The joke was too bitter, or none at all. "Fleur, can I do something for you?"

"Yes, 'arry. Find the one who's responsible for these horror stories." A sparkling was in Fleur's eyes. "And if possible, bring him to me. If not, kill him as slowly as you can."

"You're not serious, are you?"

Fleur grimaced. "Don't count on it ... Okay, 'arry, just kill him. What I had in mind would be asked too much - you're a man, you can't be as cruel as a woman, in particular not as a Veela."

Harry swallowed. "You're probably right. Okay, I'll try ... Something else?"

"Er, could you find Gabrielle and send her - no, better you escort her on her way to the castle. It's completely within wizard territory, but I'd feel better."

"No problem. Er - should I tell her?"

"Yes - if you don't tell her why she should come home, she'll imagine still worse things until she's here. Can you do that? Thank you, 'arry."

Downstairs, he had a short conversation with Fleur's parents, and learned that the situation around the castle looked quiet, and that the man in the stable was more a precaution, and more self-appointment than order from Monsieur Delacour.

Then Harry had to wait until lunch before he could meet Gabrielle, because it hadn't been his intention to walk into Beauxbatons classes. Gabrielle took the news without losing much of her composure, in particular when hearing that Fleur herself was okay. It made Harry wonder if Gabrielle would have welcomed the baby as much as anybody else.

Ron showed some consternation, Hermione still more. Harry told them about Fleur's request. Hermione said, "You know who'd be glad to help you in that, don't you? Doing it slowly, I mean."

"You mean Rahewa?"

"Who else?"

"No thanks. She's just twelve - and besides, if Armodéc's right, she can't do it."

"What do you mean?"

"He thinks it's Voldemort's doing."

Ron and Hermione looked at each other, then at Harry. "And what do you think?"

"I'm not sure. But I'll follow Marie-Christine's advice."

For a short instant, the name raised a peculiar expression in the two faces looking at Harry. Then Hermione asked, "What did she say?"

"She said I should find him and ask him. That's exactly what I'll do - as soon as I have an idea how, and when."

* * *

Into the atmosphere of violent turmoil outside and tense quietness inside Hogwarts, Harry received an invitation to a shareholder meeting of Groucho Spectors. It came with the postal service of Magical Tours. The meeting would take place in Groucho's production building in Santa Monica, California, USA.

Travelling through Muggle territory ... Harry would wear his light-grey suit, common enough to look like an ordinary Muggle businessman. He hadn't seen yet this new building they had rented, bigger than the previous one, but he could apparate to the hotel and take a cab from there. The only trick was to appear unnoticed in, or in front of, the hotel.

Harry remembered an esplanade, bordered by trees. Shouldn't be a problem, weren't the Californians famous for ignoring everything that happened in the streets, from killings, over robbery and rape, to figures appearing out of nowhere?

Safety first. Harry apparated under the protection of his Invisibility Cloak and took it off only after checking around.

His suitcase made him look normal. Cash money, rather than a credit card, did the opposite. The reception clerk's face showed detest. "You're a wizard?"

"Hey, man, looking for trouble?"

Mugglese was a helpful language. The clerk's attitude changed dramatically; Harry couldn't help feeling that now he was confused with a gangster, another social group which maintained the habit of paying cash.

What a world, in which a gangster seemed better off than a wizard.

The cab driver kept talking a lot, in an angry tone, which was fine with Harry since he didn't understand Spanish, although the word magia could be heard more than once, indicating the man's topic. When Harry paid him, the man smiled - probably a sign that the tip had been too high.

Sylvie smiled, too, and Jesamine also. Three out of four aren't bad, thought Harry, and he was right in his calculation.

Cho Chang, chief executive officer of Groucho Spectors Ltd., the company holding the majority of Narita Spectors, opened the meeting, tough businesswoman that she was.

"Ladies and gentleman, today's meeting has two major topics on the agenda. First, there's the lawsuit from Helix - those bastards have filed an accusation of monopoly misuse, illegal usage of technology, violation of the Customs Technology Act, and violation of some patents they're holding. Then, we have to - "

Jesamine turned to Harry. "Are you informed about the details?"

"No."

Jesamine looked at Cho. "Then maybe we should explain it to him - how could he express a useful opinion without that?"

Cho didn't think so, mostly because she wasn't waiting for Harry's opinion, useful or not. But she said, "We'll come to that. Our second topic is the strategy paper from Narita, and the question they've asked us - how to deal with the current situation between Muggles and wizards. Okay, let's start with Helix."

Cho turned to Harry. "They returned the stolen equipment, except that it was badly damaged and almost useless. Obviously, they'd tried some re-engineering, taking apart everything to figure out how it works. They transferred a quarter of a million. It was announced as the first instalment, only the second never arrived. Well, since in the meantime that - "

She stopped with a small gasp, almost inaudible in the soft pop with which Harry had disappeared from his seat, her initial surprise giving room to something for which burning fury seemed a pretty inadequate term.

Sylvie recovered first. "Where did he go?"

Jesamine grinned. "I'd say - Mr Armstead can only hope he's not in his office - or maybe he can only hope he is, might be less expensive that way."

Cho tried to look undisturbed and suggested to continue anyway, with little success in the first, and none in the second attempt. The three women waited a few minutes, two of them with an expression like children at Christmas morning, the third looking more like the Chinese version of Santa Claus, after someone had stolen the reindeers and all presents.

And pop - back he was, dropping a plastic bag on the table, pushing it wordlessly toward Cho.

---

Sylvie squeaked like a ten-year-old. "Harry, what's in there?"

No answer.

Jesamine looked a bit bewildered. "Harry, is this money?"

"Yes."

"How much?"

No answer.

Jesamine turned to Cho. "Do you know what's up with him?"

Cho's cheeks were burning red. "We have an agreement ..." Every word came out as though from a high-pressure steam pot on which someone, only for instants, was opening a valve. "In business meetings, Harry's restricted to answering 'Yes' or 'No,' nothing else."

Jesamine stared at her, at Harry, back at Cho.

Sylvie steadied her face, wiping off a grin. "Okay - with respect to the latest developments, I demand a break in this meeting, a time-out." Without waiting for an answer, she turned to Harry. "Now it's unofficial, so we can talk. Harry, what's in there?"

"About two hundred grand - that's all Armstead had in his safe. I said it's okay, and helped him a bit with a cover story."

"What cover story?"

"To explain how the money had disappeared. I placed some nitroglycerine in the safe - it's amazing what explosives can do in a narrow space, even if there's steel and stone around. When I left, the remnants of his office were on fire, and this watering system from the ceiling had started."

Sylvie giggled. Jesamine asked, "Did you mention the lawsuit?"

"Er, yes, indirectly. I offered him a bid."

"That they'll lose? That's risky, Harry, the courts here have crazy ideas about such nonsense accusations."

Harry shook his head. "Not about the outcome, and I didn't threaten him to drop it - you know, this would've been a direct intervention from my side in Groucho business, which I'm not supposed to do ..."

Sylvie and Jesamine exchanged a glance, careful not to look at another member in this round.

"... no, I just said, Helix will need two dollars in damage repair for every dollar they might win from Groucho in court."

"No direct intervention, huh?" Sylvie started to laugh, joined a moment later by Jesamine. Harry was careful to keep his face expressionless, while Cho didn't know how to look. She was trying to hold her face neutral, without success.

Then Cho asked, "Can we resume our meeting?"

"Wait a minute." Jesamine turned to Harry. "The Narita people have a problem - two, actually. One's the picture control unit. If they build it with Muggle technology, the picture's sometimes jerking, and has a tendency to tremble. The other's the luminous gas in the spector sphere - the best they can come up with is a black and white picture, except it's red rather than white and nothing instead of black. So the only reaslistic chance is to use magic."

Harry looked baffled. "So? I thought that was clear, that was the idea from the very beginning."

"Sure it was ..."

Cho was talking with him!

"... only that things have changed. If they use magic now, spectors will have such a bad reputation that nobody's going to buy them. At least, that's what they expect."

"I see."

Cho snapped, "It's still break - you can talk freely."

"Freely, yes ... What are you going to do?"

"We have no solution. The gas - nobody can distinguish our gas from theirs, but the control unit ... Their own is an electronic board with these tiny pieces, transistors, resistors, or whatnot, while ours is just a large crystal that emits the proper pulses - a look into the device is enough for an expert to know it's wizard technology."

Harry laughed.

"What's so funny?" Cho looked angry.

"Wizard technology - that sounds like a joke in itself, because ..." Harry stopped, remembering his own experiments with single and double-layered charms in items - stools, for example. "But I think that's the solution."

"Huh?"

"Wizard technology - that's the keyword." He beamed at Cho, maybe a bit more on purpose than he really felt. "Narita builds electronic boards, with some crap, as cheap as possible, just with a crystal somewhere. These boards are sold to some Muggle company. The company tunes them, then sells them back to Narita - except that this company has a sub-contractor at the wizard side which does the real tuning in the crystal. And publicly, Narita lets the message drop that their spies have found out how the wizards do it, and their scientists have found out how it can be reproduced with plain Muggle technology."

"Of course - there are lots of Muggle companies just waiting for such an order, especially now."

Harry grinned. "Maybe not, but it can be founded. I know a man who'd do it - actually, he lives in London - an immigrant, has made some fortune in trade, married, has a daughter ..." He stopped, seeing in some faces that there was no need to continue.

Sylvie and Jesamine, both fighting to steady their faces, had the good sense to keep quiet, waiting for Cho's response.

Cho was chewing her lips.

Harry said, "You've found the keyword, and your father will make it working. He's a master of deception, isn't he?"

The sarcasm in Cho's voice was heavy. "Oh yes, and he'll burst of pride that his daughter has inherited that ... Okay, break's over - let's resume."

For the rest of the meeting, Harry kept silent. It was no problem - fifteen minutes later, the shareholders of Groucho Spectors were officially dismissed by the CEO whose name was so similar to this title, not longer either.

Harry walked to Cho. "Would you like to have dinner with me?"

The answer came instantly. "Did you stop having affairs with other women?"

"No comment."

"Well, then ... Bye, Harry."

* * *

He would have liked to do something big, and violent, for example tearing the complete Helix building apart. But they had payed, so Harry simply returned to Hogwarts - apparating into his hotel room, paying the bill, walking around the corner until he was out of sight, and apparating from there to the train platform. His business suit was too light for the weather in England, he had to warm hinself by walking faster and being angry.

Next morning, Harry's mood wasn't much better, thanks to a night shorter than usual - arriving late, not finding the bed first, not finding sleep then. But the headlines in the Daily Prophet wiped off his anger, to be replaced by deep concern.

It already had a name: the Tyler Massacre. Tyler, a town in Texas, USA, remarkable only for its wizarding school - one of four in the United States - and suddenly the topic in conversations around the world. Muggles had come to the school, so-called patriots, had declared it a place of evil and dark magic, and had demanded to inspect the buildings and everything inside. The school, currently hosting more than a few parents, had refused. The Muggles had come back - armed. In Texas like anywhere else in the USA, this meant the full range from a .22 pistol to a light machine gun, from a baseball bat to bazookas and handgrenades.

Of course, the people in the school had refused stronger than before, had ordered the Muggles to disappear, otherwise they would call the wizard police. Then someone had started to shoot. Then the other Muggles had joined the shooting.

Within seconds, about two dozen wizards were dead or seriously wounded. The others had retreated into the buildings, and from there, they had returned the fire with their own collection of spells.

Until the National Guard arrived, almost two hundred people were killed, most of them Muggles.

Their casualties resulted mainly from three types of spells. The Killing Curse turned out the rarest. More had been hit by rocks or other heavy items flying through the air, still more had died under projectiles similar to the explosive balls of Harry and Ron. And quite some had died from a broken neck - lifted high into the air by a spell, and then dropped.

It was a gruesome demonstration what to expect when an encounter between Muggles and wizards went out of control. Harry let the newspaper drop. "They have a new civil war in the States," he said.

As expected, Hermione was quicker to grab the newspaper, so Harry informed Ron what had happened in Tyler.

Hermione looked up. "Lunatics, all of them together. Texans ..." Her voice made clear that for her, there wasn't an exception from this rule.

Ron's head jerked up. "Really? What would you do if there'd be people here ..."

The rest of this angry remark was lost on Harry who had jumped up to talk with the only Texan he knew personally, the one who had been included in Hermione's statement so purposefully.

He found Samantha in the hut, together with Lousy, who today had no luck with his leather ball. "Sam, did you read the newspaper?"

"No, why? - Did they find out that us wizards are responsible for this mess of a weather?"

Harry told her about the Tyler Massacre.

Strangely enough, Samantha's comment sounded almost like a duplicate of Hermione's.

"That's what you'd have to expect from them people, Harry. Don't mess with Texas - what a crap. It makes me sick just hearing it. First shoot, then ask, that's been the rule there, and they're even proud of it. And of course, there's no difference between Muggles and wizards, they all think the same - except the ones use guns and the others their wands. I was always wondering why I left, to come into a country where people call this icy wind good weather - I guess I've found an answer."

"Couldn't the same happen here? You were the first to point out that the situation could blow up any time, when the camp people were still around."

"But we managed, didn't we? I'm awfully glad the firearms regulations are so tight here. In the States, a sixteen-year-old can enter a store and buy an automatic rifle - all he needs is a pile of dollars. While here - someone with a double-barrel shotgun counts as heavily armed."

Harry had his doubts. Samantha was certainly right, from a statistical point of view, but someone had shot at him right here. Okay, he'd seen some guns in California too, but some gangsters in business were one thing, not their current problem, while a crowd of Muggles coming to Hogwarts ...

After lunch, Harry picked Rahewa for a patrol out of schedule, to scan the few survivors of the camp people. They saw nothing unusual, except that there were some new tents. It was a bit disquieting.

Supper came with a little delay, because the Headmaster had an announcement. What he said was short and to the point. Upon further notice, the students had to keep inside the school area, of course with the exception of Squad members. In addition, Dumbledore announced a meeting of teachers and Squad members after supper.

Thinking about the Headmaster's instructions, Harry was fighting with a conflict of ethics. No - not ethics, they couldn't conflict, could they? Whatever - okay, it was a conflict between interests and ethics.

Students had to stay in the school - which meant, Harry wasn't supposed to jump through the world. Squad members were allowed to be outside, and he was a Squad member himself. Did this mean he was authorized to do more outside than flying patrol?

Not according to the obvious meaning of what Dumbledore had said. But then, the Headmaster wasn't famous for selecting his words carelessly. Was this a hidden door for him?

Harry looked at the teachers' table, studying the faces he saw. Concern, worry, only Snape's expression showed something like bitter amusement. Of course - this man had been fighting dark wizards for so long, and now he was confronted with a totally unexpected danger.

Then Dumbledore looked up and met Harry's stare for a second, before he looked away. Had there been a very, very short smile?

When in doubt, assume yes.

* * *

The other students had left, the remaining audience gathered closer. Dumbledore kept seating while he spoke.

"My dear friends, our meeting has one topic: what to do, and how to proceed so that what happened in Tyler won't happen here at our school. I used the time to talk with my colleagues in Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, to hear how's the situation with them. Here's what I've found ..."

Beauxbatons was guarded tightly - from wizard police inside, from Muggle police outside. After the events in the Goblin quarter of Paris, the French governments - Muggles and wizards alike - had taken measures. Hordes of French citizens, marching through streets in some uproar, were nothing new. Sometimes university students, sometimes farmers, sometimes civil servants, always furious about something or other. In the past, the issues had been money or tax laws, now it was magic; this seemed the only difference.

Durmstrang looked quiet. In a way, wizards were nothing new for Bulgarians - hadn't they always known they existed? And these horror stories, who would believe them? If you wanted to hear a real horror story, listen to vampire tales - and wizards were helpful against vampires.

"So back to ourselves," said Dumbledore. "How can we prevent a massacre at Hogwarts?"

Samantha said, "The Tyler statistics are about four dead Muggles on one dead wizard. That means, not shooting back reduces the casualties by eighty percent."

Some people looked at her with disbelief.

Samantha shrugged. "That's simple math."

Dumbledore asked, "And how to reduce the other twenty percent?"

Lupin said, "If we keep inside the buildings, just making sure nobody comes in, they have no targets. Then we wait until they go."

McGonagall asked, "And if they don't go?"

"Then we notify the Muggle police, or army, or whatever, that they come to protect us."

Trelawney asked, "And if they don't come?"

It was Samantha who answered. "Then we have a civil war, reason enough for another meeting and new rules."

Binns surprised the audience. "If they come, I'll go to them and talk with them - they can shoot at me what they want, it doesn't matter."

Just doing nothing - this idea didn't find unanimous acclaim, in particular from the Squad members. But the thick walls of Hogwarts were indeed the best shelter against an angry mob with shotguns, as Dumbledore pointed out. And this meeting was not planned as a council with one voice, one vote, so after a while, the Headmaster took his decision.

"All right, if they ever come, we'll just wait them out. Until then, Squad patrols all day long - even at the cost of classes missed."

With this, he had the Squad members at his side - until Viktor presented a schedule which made clear that they would miss very few classes. Two twin patrols alternating in the morning, two in the afternoon, two in the evening, and suddenly it was a lot of work, not at all the large pool of idle reserve teams they had expected.

For several days, all they recognized were a still growing number of tents, highly unusual at this time of the year, and very suspicious.

During that time, Harry read an article about a Muggle politician who demanded that all wizards should deliver their wands, and receive them back only after some examination, and signing of some papers - almost the same regulations as for firearms.

The next day, the Daily Prophet quoted a Muggle professor who had said, "According to this logic, all English citizens had to deliver their cars. The number of casualties from car accidents per year is higher than from all shootings and all magic together."

This professor had been very unwise to say that in public. As the press reported, since then he was exposed to harassments of all kinds.

Then Harry had a visitor.

It was Sally, the Muggle girl. "Harry, I'm here because you did me a favour, only one" - she smiled - "but I pay my debts. I've heard something - the weirdest people from the entire country are gathering. They think this is the right place and the right time to play with guns - with real targets. They believe nobody'd care because you're wizards. They could be right."

"What do you mean - the weirdest people?"

"Professional anarchists, scatterbrains, weapon fanatics, neo-nazis - that kind. It's not a bunch of farmers with shotguns - and they give a damn whether the stories about you wizards are true, it's just the right opportunity for them to make their worst dreams come true."

"But why just here - why Hogwarts?"

Sally shrugged. "Don't ask me what's driving these terrorists. Maybe some of them have been in the camp - probably so. It's pretty remote. Harry, those neo-nazis play war every weekend in some forest, they're only waiting to do it with live ammunition."

Harry felt alarmed. "Sally, thank you for that - I really appreciate it. Say, do you want to tell our Headmaster personally?"

No, she didn't want, not at all.

"You may do that, Harry, and please leave out my name - if those maniacs would hear about my coming, I'd be in bad trouble. No, I'll leave right now, and I'll use another way, before ... Harry, take them seriously, that's all I'm saying. Bye."

Harry went straight to the Headmaster and told him what he'd learned from Sally, describing her as "a girl I once cured from a sunburn."

Dumbledore called in another meeting with the same round and let Harry report the news, then asked if their strategy was still valid.

Lupin said, "So it's probably a bit more than shotguns. But even so, the walls can protect us, as long as people stay off from windows."

Samantha said, "There's still another difference. Just in case it doesn't work out as planned - may nobody believe those are righteous citizens, misguided by some articles in the yellow press. If the information's correct, these are criminals, potential killers."

Dumbledore looked at her sharply. "What are you trying to imply, Samantha?"

"If there's a mob of so-called normal citizens - I never met such an animal, but never mind - if there's such a mob, you can sometimes talk with them. And sometimes they see reason. But those right-wings - every word with them is wasted." Samantha met Dumbledore's glance. "That's what I'm saying."

* * *

Two days later, the morning patrol returned with alarming news. Cars - quite a lot, approaching Hogwarts, most of them off-roaders, all of them full to the last seat.

Hogwarts responded. Heavy blinds appeared at the outside windows. Viktor gathered the complete Squad on, or close to, the tower platform which had worked so well in the Battle of Hogwarts. The tactical staff, including Binns and Samantha, positioned themselves in the Entrance Hall.

For a while, nothing happened. Then the Squad could watch how cars arrived around the tents outside the restricted zone. Viktor, armed with binoculars, reported that many of those figures looked like soldiers, except they weren't - fatigues or combat dresses, but all of them different. And firearms.

Then a large group walked toward Hogwarts. They stopped almost exactly at the borderline of the restricted zone, marked by the signs. Was this a good omen?

"Binns's going to talk with them," said Viktor. He couldn't see it yet, nor could anyone else here on the tower - but there was a considerable improvement over the situation a year before. Viktor - no, Hermione had bought some cellular phones and had taken pains to buy a sufficient supply of monocells for them. Now Hermione stood in the Entrance Hall, talking over the phone with Viktor.

Then Binns appeared below, floating toward the group. They watched him reach the people, apparently talking with them. Moments later, they saw how he turned to float back to the building.

Having listened to the phone report, Viktor said, "They want to talk with a living human. They didn't accept him as a valid commissioner." In Viktor's face, amusement was fighting with concern.

Listening again, he kept silent for a moment. Obviously, the tactical staff downstairs was discussing the situation.

Then Viktor said, "Samantha's going."

The Squad leader's lips tightened, expressing pretty much what Harry was feeling. He remembered Samantha's words, how it was a waste of time to talk with them ... And now she was going to do just that.

The figure of the Texan ex-deputy appeared below. She was walking straight toward the waiting group.

Then she had reached them.

Viktor, binoculars at his eyes, was reporting. "She's talking ... Seems as if there are several people with which - she's shaking her head ... Oh no ..."

In the broad daylight, Harry hadn't seen a flash. But he saw how Samantha fell down.

It was no slow movement - nothing of the collapsing when a body was hit by a stunning spell. Samantha fell like cut by an axe, was already lying on the ground when the report reached Harry's ears.