Harry Potter and the Icemaidens

London, King's Cross Station, Friday 23 June 1939 . . .

"I really wish you wouldn't go."

Hearing that pleading voice, the Japanese teenager tensed as he considered what to say in response to that, and then he sighed. "I'm flattered," he stated, his voice touched by the flowing tones of his native land, as he looked over his shoulder at the young raven-haired boy who had just disembarked from the Hogwarts Express onto Platform 9 3/4. Around them, students who had just finished the school year were disembarking from the old steam train, meeting family and friends before they would either apparate to their homes or pass through the barrier into the normal side of the station and return home by mundane means. "But you wouldn't be able to live full-time in my dimension, as much as I couldn't live full-time in yours." He then smiled as he knelt before Tom Riddle, reaching up to pat his shoulder as he gave the younger wizard a knowing look. "The society you became a part of last year has some rather odd rules. You obviously can't fully understand them now; you've only been here ten months." A wry grin crossed his face as he pointed to himself. "Look at me, Tom! I've studied here for a total of nearly seven years. In spite of all that, I still can't understand a lot of it!"

Hearing that, Tom laughed. "Is it that way where you come from?"

The older teenager took a deep breath. "In many ways, Tom, it's worse."

The younger man stared at him, and then he slowly nodded. Staring at Tom, Ryuuji Hirosaki could only wonder. The boy before him had endured so much in his twelve years of life. Born of a normal father doused with Amorentia by his near-squib of a mother -- Albus Dumbledore had told him that -- he had been effectively orphaned when Merope Gaunt died shortly after giving birth to him. Thanks very much to his father's understandable refusal to have anything to do with a child effectively created out of rape, Tom had been forced to live in an orphanage until Albus found him in the early spring of 1938 and exposed him to a whole different world. In that situation, facing a combination of a seriously overworked faculty with too many orphans to deal with and bullying from older orphans, it was understandable for Tom Riddle to fight back. His magic gave him a terrible advantage that he immediately grasped onto and had used ruthlessly. Even in his first year of classes, from what Ryuuji had seen, Tom had proved himself to be the perfect Slytherin; doing all to succeed and push forward his cause as best as he could. He could become one of the greatest wizards of all time . . .

. . . if he was nurtured properly.

A sigh. "Tom, I talked to Professor Dumbledore before I boarded the train in Hogsmeade. I told him to do his best to help you. He will try to get a wizarding family to foster you. But until that time, you have to remain in the orphanage."

Hearing that, Tom blinked, and then he nodded, an earnest smile crossing his face. "Thanks, Ryuuji. I really appreciate it." He then shrugged. "I can take care of myself, though. I'll be fine." He then offered his hand to the older teen.

Ryuuji smirked as he took Tom's hand in his own. "You take care, Tom." He then leaned over to whisper in the boy's ear, "Prove them wrong."

Tom blinked, and then he grinned. "I will," he vowed as he pulled his hand away from the older teen before gazing on the black crystal Ryuuji passed to him.

"Consider that a gift," Ryuuji stated. "It's from a crystal of alien origin in my dimension. I grew it here in this dimension, so you won't have to worry about it vanishing in the near future." He nodded at it. "You can sense its power."

Tom nodded. "I can. It's strong. Who gave it to you?"

"The man who helped me to come here in the first place," Ryuuji said, and then he winked. "Want to know a secret?" As Tom nodded, the visitor from another dimension -- to many in the wizarding world, Ryuuji Hirosaki had already earned the sobriquet "The Traveller" -- grinned. "Master Hosan is five thousand years old."

Tom's jaw dropped. "He's an immortal?"

"Hai," Ryuuji replied in his native tongue before going back to English. "But fortunately, he's not the type of immortal who dies by getting his head taken off with a sword." On seeing Tom wince as his free hand grasped his neck, the older teen chuckled. "Immortality, as the Master told me, isn't as enjoyable as one might . . . "

"Ryuuji!" a voice yelled out. "Shake a leg, lad! We gotta go!"

Ryuuji looked over. "Just a moment, Glaston!" he yelled back at his best friend, who was standing near of the apparation point, and then he sighed before gazing back at Tom. "Remember, Tom," he repeated himself. "Prove them all wrong."

Tom nodded. "I will." He then straightened himself and bowed to the older teen. "Doumo arigatou gozaimashita, Hirosaki-sempai," he said in Japanese.

Ryuuji nodded as he stood up and bowed in return. "Dou itashimashite, Riddle-san," he replied in his native tongue before nodding. "Gambatte. Sayonara."

"Hai. Sayonara."

And with that, Ryuuji headed off to join Glaston Tore. Watching him go, Tom felt a sad smile cross his face, and then he opened his hand to gaze on the glistening black crystal he had just been given. Immediately pocketing it, he reached for his trunk and moved to head up to the stairs and through the barrier to the normal world. As he headed up, he stopped on hearing a cheer from nearby. Turning to look, he then grinned on seeing Ryuuji and Glaston portkey away from Platform 9 3/4 to wherever they were going. Waving as the Traveller faded away, Tom climbed up the stairs and returned for his first summer back in the normal world in ten months . . .

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Harry Potter and the Icemaidens

By Fred Herriot

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Based on Harry Potter, created by J.K. Rowling; and Sister Princess - Onii-chan Daisuki, created by Sakurako Kimino and Naoto Tenhiro.

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Also including characters and situations from Mahou Sensei Negima, created by Ken Akamatsu; Star Trek, created by Gene Roddenberry; Bubblegum Crisis, produced by Artmic and Youmex; Highlander, created by Gregory Widen; and Urusei Yatsura, created by Rumiko Takahashi.

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Also including characters and situations from the fanfic series Urusei Yatsura - The Senior Year, created by Mike Smith and Fred Herriot.

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DISCLAIMER: This is a fan-fiction story written as one fan's salute to the creations of the above-mentioned writers and artists. It is not meant to infringe on any copyrights.

NOTE: Writer's notes for this story will be at the end of the story text (when the story is in one single file) or on a separate page (when posted to fan-fiction websites).

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Godric's Hallow, Saturday 19 September 1981 . . .

"Well, it doesn't seem too bad, James. Just put this on the wound for the next week or so and let it sit there for an hour before washing it off."

James Potter blinked as he gazed on the magical salve that had just been placed on his burnt right arm, and then he breathed out as he nodded his thanks to the man hovering over him. "My thanks, Healer St. John," he said with a nod as Hamilton St. John moved to pack up his medical bag. "That last burn curse stung like hell."

"Well, next time, make sure you're using the right shield spells if you run across any of Voldemort's people," the healer, a crusty man who was a peer of Poppy Pomfrey, said as he stood up from the chair he had shifted over so he could get a good look at James' arm. A recent retiree from Saint Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, Hamilton was currently setting up a private practice which was under the Fidelius Charm set by the other guest to the Potter cottage today due to his being targeted several times by Death Eaters because of his muggleborn origins. "And remember, you have a wife and child to worry about, too," he added as he wagged his finger at the lord of the Noble and Most Ancient Magical House of Potter of Taunton Deane. "Think about them as well! Alright?"

A nod and a grin. "I always try to remember that, Healer."

"Good man," Hamilton said before looking over his shoulder. "Florence?"

A pop! heralded the arrival of a beautiful raven-haired, blue-eyed woman in the modern uniform of a hospital nurse. "Yes, Master Hamilton?" she asked, smiling.

"Be a dear and take my bag back to the clinic, please."

"Certainly."

She took the bag, and then she popped back out. James watched her go, his jaw now hanging somewhere down around his waist, and then he stared at the man standing at the doorway to the cottage. "That was a house elf!" he gasped.

A laugh. "Don't be surprised about that, James," Glaston Tore said as he smiled. "I tend to go out among the normals a lot. How would I explain something like a house elf to them if one of them came out of nowhere to be with me?"

James blinked. "Isn't that what the Obliviators are for?"

Glaston's dark brown eyes flashed as a disapproving look crossed his face. "Lad, sometimes using solutions like that creates more problems than it solves," he warned. "The normals aren't stupid. Sooner or later, people out there will start to put things together and get answers many wizards wish they wouldn't get. Or, God forbid, technology will finally catch up and surpass the power of the magic we use to hide ourselves from them." He sighed. "I found out long ago that it was actually a lot easier and less stressful to conform to the ways of the normals. Those house elves who work under me and those who live with me don't mind it at all."

"That's a good point, Sir Glaston," a new voice then hailed from the stairs to the upper floor as footfalls echoed on the old wood planks.

"Hey, Lils!" James said with a grin as he watched his wife come down, carrying their nearly-fourteen month-old son in her arms. He then held up his hand for her to see before she came up to share a kiss with him. "See? Good as new!"

"I can see that. Now, are you going to listen to Doctor St. John?" Lily asked.

A nod. "Yes, dear. I'll listen to him."

"And make sure you sit on him when he doesn't, Lily," Hamilton said as he walked over to give young Harry an appraising look. "Well, he seems healthy enough."

"He eats properly and he's growing properly," Lily said. Hamilton had been the healer who had overseen the birth of Harold James Potter the previous July.

"Well, make sure that if there are any problems, you get them looked at right away," the healer said as he reached up to rub Harry's forehead, which made the young boy giggle as he tried to reach the older man's arm.

"We will," Lily vowed . . .

. . . just as a pop! echoed through the room and another elf -- this one shaped as a pale-skinned woman with long, wavy black hair and dark eyes, dressed quite normally for a muggle woman in modern-day Britain -- appeared next to Glaston. "Master Glaston, I'm sorry to interrupt you, but there's a problem," she said before she bowed politely to the Potters. "Master James. Mistress Lily. Master Harry."

James' jaw dropped even further, though Lily had smiled politely and nodded to the just arrived human-shaped elf. Glaston perked. "Oh, thank you, Tamara," he said as he straightened himself and reached for his folded umbrella. Gazing on him, Lily mused, one could mistake him for the actor Patrick Macnee playing the character of John Steed from The Avengers, save for the difference of hair style and the fact that Glaston Tore had a moustache and goatee on his face. "I do apologise to you both, but I'm afraid that duty calls," he said as he doffed his bowler hat at them. "If you'll excuse us, we'll be on our way now." He then gazed on Hamilton. "Coming?"

"Of course," the healer said as he stood up. "James. Lily."

"Take care," Lily said as James nodded, and then she reached over to make Harry waved. "Say goodbye to your uncle Hamilton and your grand-uncle Glaston, Harry?"

Harry giggled. "Bye-bye!" he breathed out.

Glaston laughed as he opened the door. "Bright lad there! If he doesn't get into Gryffindor, he'll be a Ravenclaw for sure!"

James laughed in turn. "He'll be a Gryffindor, Glaston! Bet on it!"

The older man -- Glaston was a Gryffindor who graduated from Hogwarts with his NEWTs in 1939, the same year the Traveller did -- nodded. "So I will!"

And with that, the two wizards stepped outside and apparated away while the elf popped away. Watching them go, James could only smile as he headed over to close the door, drawing out his wand as he whispered commands to the house's wards to return them back to full strength. In these dark times, taking every precaution was not just being smart. It saved people's lives. Once he had done that, he gazed back at his wife. "I have a question," he said. "Why do you always call him 'SIR Glaston?!'"

Lily smiled. "You need to pay a little more attention to the muggle world, love," she advised him. "Sir Glaston told me himself. He's a Knight Bachelor. Knighted by King George VI in fact, just shortly after he graduated from Hogwarts."

James perked. "Is that what muggles always call people like that?"

A nod. "Yes. Girls knighted that way are 'dame bacheloresses' . . . "

Suddenly, the fireplace flared. "James! Lily!"

James looked over. "What is it, Paddy?!"

The face of Sirius Black appeared in the magical fire. "Just got a floo-call from Albus," he announced. "He wants you two and Prongslet to get to Hogwarts right away! Albus just found out something and it's really bad!"

James blinked, and then he stared at his wife . . .

* * *

West of Glastonbury (25 kilometres northeast of Godric's Hollow) . . .

"So this is the whole of Trelawney's prophecy?"

"It is," Wilma Skegness said as she sipped her tea. She and her host were currently seated in the living room of the five-floor Martello tower-like structure atop a small knoll of land overlooking the east bank of the Beck River just south of secondary highway B-3151, and north and west of primary highway A-39. The hill was beyond the urban area of the town located near the Tor that was the burial site of the mortal remains of Arthur, scion of the Pendragon family that had seized control of the old Roman province of Britannia in the wake of the Empire's collapse in the fifth century after Christ. To the wizards of the Western World, he was the royal patron of the first truly great master wizard, Merlin Ambrosius himself. "It took me a while to get it copied from her subconscious mind. Albus did a pretty good job in obliviating her memories after her job interview. Atop that, he does his best to keep her movements confined to Hogwarts or Hogsmeade." The lovely middle-aged woman -- she had been a year-mate of Glaston Tore's and Ryuuji Hirosaki's -- then smirked as she gazed on her host. "But despite our former transfiguration professor's vast experience and knowledge, he doesn't have the power of the Kokujun behind him."

"No, he doesn't," Glaston stated as he held out his cup.

Immediately, Bessie, one of the five human-shaped house elves that helped keep the Reevetor -- the Reeve's Tower -- of the Loyal County of Somerset intact and clean, moved to pour him a new cup of tea. Japanese sencha green tea, which Ryuuji had got his best friend hooked on when they had been living together in the Reevewick -- the Reeve's Village -- of Somerset, Beckery-under-the-Hill, during the Traveller's seven-year stay in this dimension between the late summer of 1932 and the early summer of 1939. The elf cook then walked over to pour Hamilton St. John a new cup of tea. "So what does it say?" the doctor then asked as he moved to stir sugar into it.

"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches," Glaston quoted one Sybill Patricia Trelawney from over a year before. "Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies. And the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not. And either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives." He then took a deep breath as he placed the parchment on the table. "The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies . . . "

Silence fell over the room as the three people there considered what Wilma just brought to them. "Could be very vague or specific," Hamilton said. Divination wasn't his strong suit. "If we take it exactly as it says, given when Ms. Trelawney said it, it has to affect a child -- a boy -- born at the end of July last year."

"IF she was speaking of the current Gregorian calendar," Wilma objected. "The seventh month in classical times was September, not July. It's in the name."

Hamilton gazed on her, and then he nodded. "Well the part of 'those who have thrice defied him' is quite easy to understand," Glaston noted. "We've all watched the fighting between Tom's forces and Albus' forces ever since the insurrection started in earnest. There are a few couples under Albus' command and control that would fall under that." He then looked over. "Tamara, will you join us, please?"

A pop! heralded the arrival of Glaston's private secretary and chief clerk. "You wished to see me, Master Glaston?" she asked as she bowed to him.

"Go to the Scrying Room and compile up a list of names of all married and/or engaged couples belonging to the Order of the Phoenix and/or Her Majesty's Ministry of Magic that have engaged in direct conflict with the organisation of arch-traitors and insurrectionists calling themselves 'the Death Eaters.' From the first engagement to now, only give me those who are still alive at this time. Be thorough."

A deep bow. "Right away, Master Glaston."

And with that, she popped out of the room . . .

* * *

Balmoral Castle, Sunday 20 September 1981 . . .

"We are most displeased to hear of this information, Sir Glaston."

A deep bow. "I am truly sorry to be the bearer of such terrible news, Your Majesty," Glaston said as he gazed on the diminutive woman standing before him in the main reception room at Balmoral. "But it clearly does show one of two things. Either the potential end of the rebellion launched by the arch-traitor who calls himself 'Lord Voldemort' against Your Ministry. Or it could lead to even more intensive fighting, especially if this madman succeeds in locating the person this prophecy speaks of and eliminating him in a pre-emptive strike to remove such a threat against him."

"And you have identified the potential targets for Riddle to seek out?"

"We have identified two of them, ma'am."

"Tell me."

"The first of them that was born is one Neville John Longbottom. He is son of Lord Franklin Raymond Longbottom of the Longbottoms of Bournemouth and his wife, the Lady Alice Mary Longbottom. Born on the thirtieth of July last year; birth time was around 11:22 PM that day," Glaston explained from memory. "The other one is Harold James Potter. He's the son of Lord James William Potter of the Potters of Taunton Deane and his wife, the Lady Lily Elizabeth Potter. Born on the thirty-first of July last year; birth time was around 2:16 AM in the morning. Both lads were born at Saint Mungo's."

The lady that was christened fifty-five years before as Elizabeth Alexandra Mary of the House of Windsor -- known to all her subjects in the United Kingdom and fifteen other nations across Earth these days as Her Majesty the Queen, Elizabeth II -- took a deep breath as she gazed on the parchment she just received from her Wizard of the Realm, reading once more the lines written there. While she was not a true magical in the normal sense of the term, she did have considerable magic in her body, which was to be expected of the descendant of a true blue-blood royal family. Technically, in the eyes of the Ministry of Magic, she -- along with her husband (as one of the House of Schleswig-Holstein-Sonderburg-Gluecksburg [a cadet branch of the House of Oldenburg, who had provided rulers across most of Europe at one time or another in the last six centuries] which provided rulers to Denmark and had once done so to Greece), sister, blood-cousins, four children and current and future grandchildren -- would be seen as a squib. Of course, she held much greater power concerning most of the citizens of the wizarding world than the average squib even if she did exercise it.

And she could, too. Her Majesty's Ministry of Magic was -- unlike the normal elements of Her Majesty's Government governed under the direction of both The Honourable the Commons and The Right Honourable the Lords Spiritual and Temporal of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland in Parliament assembled -- directly answerable to her legally and could be compelled to obey her commands. Its ruling body, the Right Honourable the Lords Magical of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland in Wizengamot assembled (and before it, the Sovereign's Council of Wizards), had never agreed to the Magna Carta that had begun the development of true constitutional monarchy in England back in 1215. More importantly, because of that decision made by the Wizards' Council during the reign of King John, the Ministry of Magic was fully and absolutely answerable to her magically!

And while she could exercise that power at a whim -- and in the last few years, had become VERY tempted to do just that! -- the Queen normally didn't, trusting to her various Ministers for Magic and her many junior ministers to do their jobs. And from what she had heard through her many Magical Shire Reeves -- men and women who had sworn their magic and their lives to her direct service so as to protect ALL her subjects as well as ALL magical creatures living in the United Kingdom -- they had, over the years, done a pretty good job in keeping things steady for her magical subjects. But in recent years, as the insurrection launched by the man born Thomas Marvolo Riddle on New Year's Eve in 1926 (the Queen was older than the Dark Lord by eight months) gained steam and inflicted casualties on magicals and normals alike across the United Kingdom, her resolve had weakened when it came to allowing the Ministry to deal with this matter -- even when supported by Albus Dumbledore's Order of the Phoenix -- on their own.

And now to learn of something like THIS . . .?

To know that a baby could be the direct target of that madman . . .?

To believe the Blood-Purification War (as the Queen had long come to understand what Voldemort's insurrection truthfully was) could either end or become worse . . .

. . . all on the whims of an uncaring Fate.

"What do you think I should do, Glaston?"

Glaston blinked, and then he sighed. The Queen was no longer speaking to him as the Sovereign of the Realm, but as a very human woman who had suffered every time he or any of his peers reported the ongoing bloody tragedy among the wizards and witches of the United Kingdom. "If you feel it necessary, ma'am, we can do a country-wide repeat of Romney Marsh." That had been a vicious and sudden lethal application of the Kokujun ward stone network on the border between Kent and East Sussex two years ago. That action had slaughtered a whole raiding party of Death Eaters then intent on wiping out an isolated village of normal-born wizards and their loved ones, a village established away from the traditional wizarding habitation areas and the prejudices against "mudbloods" that was sometimes rampant in places like Hogsmeade. It had succeeded because the Magical Sheriffs had not done something like that before and it left a bleeding wound in Voldemort's fighting forces. "I've discussed this will all of your other Shire Reeves, Your Majesty. All it needs is four words spoken at the very same time." He icily smirked. "Gunjun: Morsmordre Avada Kedavra."

"'Shield of the County: Death to the Dark Mark,'" the Queen translated the mixed Japanese, Latin, French and Aramaic magical phrase.

A nod. "Correct, ma'am. Every one marked with Riddle's tattoo on their arms would be dead within a minute of the spell being unleashed. That would take care of all his wizarding fighting forces, a vast majority of his intelligence network and an equally vast majority of his financial support base. Once that happens, Riddle's allies will immediately conclude that he isn't as powerful as he's always made himself to be. They'll back away from him right then and there. And once they're out of the way, it becomes a mopping-up exercise. Granted, hunting down one man -- especially one with Riddle's expertise -- will be difficult, but without friends in wizarding society, he will have no one to hide behind when it comes time for him to face his fate." He then took a deep breath. "There is the other side of the equation, of course."

The Queen nodded. "The instant the Kokujun is unleashed in that matter, it will become glaringly obvious to all the wizards of Britain affiliated to the Ministry (and unaware of the existence of the Shield of Our Realm) that there is a 'third power' active in the land that is neither allied to 'the Light' or 'the Dark.' And while those who are normal-born or half-blood will realise that -- since I do legally and morally control the Kokujun -- I (through all of you) acted to save their lives from potential genocide, the 'purebloods' of the land might see things differently."

A nod. "Indeed, ma'am. Those who wouldn't die from the power of the Kokujun might come to see renewed 'muggle' interference in their society as the same threat -- either immediate or potentially long-term -- that ultimately drove them as a society and culture to separate themselves as much as possible from normal society when the International Statute of Secrecy went into effect in 1692 and the Wizards' Council evolved into Your Ministry of Magic." Glaston took a deep breath. "While I am more than sure that you personally would rule fairly -- as do those wizards within the Ministry such as Headmaster Dumbledore who do remember that they are legally and magically answerable to you as their Sovereign -- there will be a pool of resentment within the hearts of many. Yes, you are the Sovereign of this land. But you are a squib, too. The prejudices of their society run very deep, ma'am. A squib ruling over wizards? The very concept is repulsive even in the eyes of almost all purebloods that have remained true to 'the Light.'" He paused as he closed his eyes. "You would have to become, in many ways, what Riddle wishes to be at this time. A magical dictator."

"And I do not desire to become one," the Queen then said as she gazed once more on the parchment in her hand. "What do you believe will happen in this case?"

"It will be a two-pronged attack, Your Majesty," he replied. "Tom Riddle is arrogant enough that he will delegate the death of the child he perceives as the true threat to himself, and then send his best fighters -- the Lestranges, most likely -- after the other. As to when this will happen . . . " He paused as he considered that, and then he smiled. "The night of Hallowe'en. It is a time when the magics of Your Realm will be quite high. Most of your magical subjects view it as a fortuitous night. Riddle believes passionately in those concepts. I believe it will happen then."

"Which one?" she then asked.

Silence.

"I would say it will be Harry Potter, ma'am."

She blinked. "Defend that conclusion."

"The phrase And the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, ma'am. Harry is a half-blood; his mother Lily is normal-born. Neville Longbottom is a pureblood."

A nod. "Mister Riddle will be drawn to the one he would see as his spiritual equal, given that he himself is a half-blood, if what you told me of his ancestry is true." The Queen then hummed. "It amazes me that Albus Dumbledore has never released that information to the general public. He's long known of the true connection between Lord Voldemort and Thomas Marvolo Riddle. Any idea as to why, Glaston?"

A sigh. "Most likely because Albus knows of Tom being the direct descendant of Salazar Slytherin, ma'am. In effect, Tom is the last known lineal living descendant of any of the Founders of Hogwarts, who are practically worshipped as living gods these days. Even more so, Headmaster Slytherin has always been seen as the spiritual patron of the pureblood agenda." Glaston took a deep breath, and then shook his head. "That poor man's reputation has taken quite the terrible beating over the years," he noted before gazing once more on his Sovereign. "I'm sure Tom's earlier followers -- people such as Abraxas Malfoy, for example -- might have suspected the truth about him. But I think they would have seen his descent from Slytherin as being powerful enough, spiritually and magically, to erase his 'muggle' origins. And given how much he has changed in the years since his graduation from Hogwarts, if there's anything left of his father within him genetically, I will be personally quite surprised, ma'am."

She took that in, and then she sighed. "Very well, then." Turning around, the Queen then fixed her Wizard of the Realm with a steely gaze. "This is Our Desire, Sir Glaston. You and your peers will hold off -- save for protecting that which has always been under your direct charge -- until such time as the arch-traitor Voldemort makes his attack on either Harry Potter or Neville Longbottom. If he, by any chance, falls that night, We will allow Our Ministry to deal with the aftermath of it and allow things to return to as they were before this all started." Her eyes then narrowed as ice entered her voice. "If he succeeds, however, then you and your peers will unleash the Kokujun on his followers within the hour of the deaths of those poor boys. I want them all eliminated in one fell swoop. Do you understand Us, sir?"

He bowed his head. "It will be as you command, Your Majesty. And afterward?"

The Queen then sighed. "Once that is done, you will force Our Ministry and the Wizengamot at wandpoint to surrender to your supervision. We will issue Letters Patent that will strip the powers of Our Ministry and bestow them directly onto Us until a new Ministry can be constructed and the Wizengamot either reformed or forever disbanded. You will then do all to eliminate all the magical controls and restrictions Our Ministry has forced on Our magical subjects that violate their basic human rights. I will have a letter hand-carried by Sir Xavier Roper to Chief Director Ragnok at Gringotts that will declare Our Desire that all treaties between Our Ministry and the Goblin Tribe of Britain -- especially those that force restrictions on the goblins' magic and their ability to wage war in self-defence -- to be shredded, no longer given the force of magical law. To prove Our Desire, Dame Wilma will seize the Sword of Gryffindor from Hogwarts and publicly return it to the Chief Director. In effect, Sir Glaston, you and your peers are authorised by Us to do EVERYTHING in your power to totally crush ALL potential sources of future threats against Our magical subjects and all magical beings that live in Our Realm. Do you understand Us, sir?"

A deep bow. "It will be as you command, Your Majesty."

Once that was said, the Queen then took a deep breath, a weary look appearing in her eyes. "For so long, I have agreed to the ideas that forced the magicals of this land to separate themselves from the normals so long ago," she then said. "Even with the closing gap between magic and technology, I realise that there are still too many people in this land who would view wizards, goblins, house elves, dragons, centaurs and all the rest of those beings as too strange to accept even if people shouted themselves hoarse in an attempt to make all understand. Keeping a solid fence between magical and normal protects both sides. The theory is sound. And in practice, has often been proven to be sound." She closed her eyes. "But recently, I have begun to wonder if the wizards of this land are capable of ruling themselves. If they can't see what is so wrong with their society -- cronyism, racism, elitism, the complete inability to accept that change MUST come if they're to survive! -- and strive to repair it . . . " A pause, and then she turned away from him to gaze out a window, her eyes misting.

"If they behave like spoiled children, then We will force them to grow up."

Glaston nodded. "So we will, Your Majesty. So we will."

* * *

Near Glastonbury, later . . .

"You're JOKING!"

Glaston sighed as he sipped his butterbeer. "I wish I wasn't."

Staring at him, Hamilton could only shake his head before sipping his tea. Both of them were currently relaxing in the community hall of the small wizarding village north of Beckery Hill, where the Reevetor Somerset stood. The village was quiet these days. Despite rampant terrorist attacks all over the United Kingdom by Death Eaters, any attack on Beckery Hill and its surroundings was next to impossible. The wards that defended this place from outside normal observation also pretty much blocked it from observation by the Ministry of Magic and mainstream wizarding society. That had, for a long time, been facilitated by the hard work of Glaston Tore and -- before him -- his predecessors as Her Majesty's Magical Shire Reeve of the Loyal County of Somerset.

These days -- ever since the spring of 1939 -- the wards protecting Beckery Hill had been augmented with the power of the most remarkable and powerful defence system ever devised. The Kokujun, the Shield of the Realm. A combination warding and spell-transmission system invented by Glaston's best friend from his Hogwarts days, Ryuuji Hirosaki, the Traveller from Another Earth. A man who, thanks to his deep belief in his native faith of Shintou, viewed magic and its relationship with all living things in such a radically different way than what was seen as "normal" among wizards of the Western world that it simply guaranteed that everything he had created would be markedly different than anything even the best genius currently working for the Ministry of Magic's Department of Mysteries in London couldn't come close to conceiving.

A way of viewing magic that was based on the simple premise that ALL living beings, even those that would be seen as "normal," had magic in them.

Magic that could be tapped into.

Magic that could be then channelled to the service of all.

And it had to be ALL.

There could be NO break between magical and "muggle" in this case.

Reflecting on that, Glaston could only smirk.

Even the most radical thinker among the Unspeakables would NEVER accept that.

The average run of that lot would immediately scream "Heresy!"

And then urge the whole of "mainstream" wizarding Britain to move to destroy it.

What would happen then?

Gazing around him, taking in the presence of all the vast plethora of magical beings that called Reevewick Somerset their home, Glaston could only sigh.

There were too many selfish and self-centred people among Britain's wizarding population. Too many "mudbrains" -- Glaston didn't know who had first coined that interesting counter-insult to the ugly epithet of "mudblood," which was applied to purebloods (and those who pretended to be same, like one Tom Riddle) who couldn't see the reality of what was around them, both within and beyond wizarding society, even if it suddenly came up to smack them right in the face! -- in the world to muck things up. Too many people who would view ANY change in their lives as a dire threat to their sense of security, who would gladly grasp wands and fight with all their power to keep the status quo even in the face of a massive drop of pureblood births thanks to decades of inbreeding and a flat refusal to see the growing normal-born, half-blood and half-breed population of wizarding Britain as the true salvation for their society.

"Not everyone can be Albus Dumbledore, old friend."

Glaston perked, and then he smiled as he gazed on Hamilton. "True. And so much the pity. A toast, Doctor." He hoisted his bottle. "To Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore. The greatest Magical Shire Reeve that never was."

The doctor hoisted his tea cup. "To Albus."

They clinked their drinks, and then took a sip from them . . .

* * *

Hogwarts . . .

"AH-CHOO!"

Minerva McGonagall spun around. "Merlin, Albus! Are you alright?!"

The headmaster blinked, and then sniffed back the jarred mucus in his nose. "I'm not so sure, Minerva," he admitted before turning back to his paperwork.

The deputy headmistress hummed . . .

* * *

Beckery Hill . . .

"So when will you tell everyone else of Operation: Wizards Fall?"

Glaston smirked. "Is that what we should call it?"

Hamilton sighed. "Well, given that Riddle and his cohorts are now expressing the very same type of beliefs to all not like them as Hitler and his bastards did to the Jews, the Gypsies and everyone else four decades ago, Her Majesty may have made the right decision." He waved to himself. "Look what happened to me, Glaston. For decades, I dedicated myself to caring for all individuals that needed my help and I cared not what they were. That's the bloody oath all healers take when they become healers, for God's sake! And then Nancy Snagge got turned into a werewolf and the idiots that run Saint Mungo's these days wouldn't spend any damn coin funding my efforts in getting the materials necessary in helping her -- AND OTHERS LIKE HER! -- control her transformations just because she WAS a werewolf!" A snort. "What was it Lincoln said all those years ago? When it comes to this, I shall prefer emigrating to some country where they make no pretence of loving liberty," he quoted -- the doctor was a fan of the sixteenth president of the United States -- before finishing off what had been said in a letter Abraham Lincoln wrote in 1855, "To Russia, for instance, where despotism can be taken pure and without the base alloy of hypocrisy."

"But how many will suffer if we do that?" Glaston asked. "We're the guardians of the Great Wall between the magical and the normal, Hamilton. Are we going to be like Julius Caesar before he crossed the Rubicon and moved on Rome?"

"No, you're going to be Dwight Eisenhower when he led the formations to free Europe from Nazi tyranny. Or Douglas MacArthur when he led the formations to free the lands of the Pacific from the tyrants running things from Tôkyô in their Emperor's name." A sigh. "Deep down, I despise this talk, Glaston. I'm a doctor for Heaven's sake! The idea of killing someone sickens me!" He then breathed out, "But what's going to happen if Riddle does take a fall?! Nothing's going to change, Glaston! It's still going to be the same damned bigoted nonsense that I and every normal-born that's ever gone to Hogwarts or ever will go to Hogwarts have had to face!"

"Might not be that way for long."

A snort. "Oh, bloody hell, Glaston! The mudbrains aren't THAT stupid! Even if they DO clue in to how badly their birthrates are going down, they're not going to bend over for the 'mudbloods.' Not in a million years! They'll damn hell turn around and enact marriage laws to force poor girls to be with some old sod just to give up their wombs to birth a new generation of snobs so they can keep their glittering castles and all their gold! Even if we make all the normal-borns swear the oath to the Crown, it won't stop them! They'll try to find some way around THAT, too!"

A tired sigh escaped the doctor as he looked up at the ceiling. "I've been through a world war, Glaston. Not the hidden side of it Dumbledore and his friends fought against Grindelwald. A REAL war filled with MESSY and GORY death and destruction beyond what the eye could see! And a war that affected a lot of the magicals on the Continent! Most of them clued into Reality after 1945 and moved to make things more egalitarian. The idiots running Durmstrang might still be holding out, but the Norwegian Magidepartementet are on the verge of establishing a whole new school to take in the normal-borns so they don't have to go to Denmark or Sweden to study magic!"

The doctor sighed. "I'm afraid it has to happen here, too, Glaston. Shocking as it sounds coming from me of all people, it HAS to happen HERE!" He pointed down at the table. "Cut loose and wipe them all off the damned map! If Riddle goes down like that prophecy says will happen, I guarantee the Ministry won't crack down on people like Malfoy and those bastards! They've got too much gold in their vaults in Gringotts and they'll spend it to stay clear of Azkaban! What happens then?! Nothing changes . . . " A deep sigh. "And all the resentment and all the frustrations people like me feel will continue to build and build until people like me start migrating out of this country bloody hell en masse! What will the mudbrains do THEN?!"

Glaston smirked. "Maybe." He drank the rest of his butterbeer. He liked the philosophical arguments he often had with Hamilton St. John. Like Leonard McCoy was to James T. Kirk, Glaston looked on the doctor as his own personal moral compass, one he could fall back on to remind him of the REAL reason he had taken that oath back in 1939 to succeed his mother Avalona as the Magical Sheriff of Somerset.

Magic was a gift that ALL could use if they were given the chance and the gift to tap into it. Ryuuji Hirosaki had ruthlessly rammed that concept into Glaston Tore's head many times over the seven years they had been students at Hogwarts between 1932 and 1939. Coming from a society that viewed the gift of magic as a Gift of the Gods Themselves, Ryuuji had found the prevalent attitudes of the pureblood elite of British wizarding society shocking. To spit on the Divine Gift of the Gods was, in his eyes, a way of courting a future holocaust, Ryuuji had once told Glaston.

In Ryuuji Hirosaki's homeland on that parallel Earth, there were no "purebloods," "half-bloods," "muggleborns," "half-breeds," or "muggles." There were just the "gifted" and the "normals." Even the encroachment of his dimension's International Confederation of Wizards -- thanks to early European trade during the Tokugawa era having spread Western wand-style magical theory to a land whose natives based their magic on enchanted ofuda charms; furthermore, they often interacted frequently with that dimension's counterpart of the Mundus Magicus, the Magical World that orbited the Sun between Earth and Mars but was in a pocket dimension which was undetectable by magical means, to say anything technological -- hadn't changed that outlook on life.

Even better, the normals of Japan held the Shintou priests, priestesses and shrine maidens and the Buddhist priests, monks and nuns that were often the users of magic in that land with great respect. They never feared them as Western normals came to fear the wizards of their homelands. Without that fear in Japanese society, there could not develop the "fortress" mentality dominating Western magical societies to this day. The need to keep normals at arms' length that had, over the last three centuries, lead to the current situation that was now ripping apart the British wizarding world.

A sigh. "We'll just have to see," Glaston noted as he stood.

"Mark my words, old friend," Hamilton said before sipping his tea, a tired look crossing his face. "It will have to happen, Glaston. It will have to happen."

Glaston stared at him, and then he nodded, heading off . . .

* * *

To be continued . . .