Harry Potter and the Knights of Chaos

Chapter Five: The Pureblood Doctrine

November 12, 2002

"What?!" Dumbledore exploded uncharacteristically. "Minister Gudgeon is dead? How? Does the Ministry have any leads?"

"I don't know!" McGonagall shouted back, equally out of character. "I just got an urgent Messenger Charm signed by Percy Weasley to tell you that Gudgeon is dead and the Wizengamot requires your presence immediately to help sort things out! Bring Harry if you must!"

Harry, who had watched the preceding with silence, noted McGonagall's use of his first name. She very rarely used it, and only then when something terrible had happened.

"We must leave immediately!" Dumbledore called, shooting to teapot sitting on his mantle. "Grab some Floo, Harry! Do watch out, Minerva! We are, as the Muggles say, coming in for landing!"

Harry threw his pinch of self-inflicted nausea into the flames and called "Ministry of Magic!" before disappearing into the whirl of grates and colors that would fool any hippie into thinking he had just taken a substantial amount of LSD.

* * *

When Dumbledore and Harry arrived at the Atrium seconds later, they quickly saw that pandemonium reigned. Reporters from all sorts of Wizarding publications ran around, shouting questions at harried-looking Ministry officials and camera flashes went off so frequently that Harry was scarcely able to see. Shaking his head to clear it, Harry followed Dumbledore as best he could to the meeting rooms of the Wizengamot, located in the same hallway as the Minster of Magic's office.

"Dumbledore! Splendid to see you!" Madame Bones, a longtime supporter of Dumbledore's and member of the Wizengamot exclaimed when he strode in. "And...oh my, is that...?"

"Yes, Amelia," Dumbledore told her in his I-Am-The-Leader-voice. "It is Harry Potter, and he is here as my guest. Now, can we forget the boy's scar for a moment and get down to business? We have a leaderless Ministry at the moment, do we not?" Dumbledore stood and raised his voice so the whole busy chamber occupied by the Wizengamot could hear. "I need the file on his death! I want crime-scene photographs! I need the files on anyone who has been nominated as a replacement! Quickly, people! We have a job to do!" Harry was, as he always was at the time of a crisis with Dumbledore present, astounded at the power that blazed from the old man's eyes.

"You!" Harry called suddenly, pointing to an extremely young intern who was probably just out of Hogwarts. "Get me the reports on Gudgeon's death! I want suspects, people!" Dumbledore gave Harry a short sideways glance and moved over so that Harry could read the files over his shoulder. With his impressive talent for speed-reading, Harry finished the passage first.

"I'm going to his apartment, Dumbledore," Harry declared, already fastening his jacket and removing his wand. "I need to see this for myself. This can't be true! I've heard all about Gudgeon's Werewolf Equality Act, and there's no way that-"

"Harry, I know, I know!" Dumbledore interrupted. "But you can't just Apparate to his quarters, Harry, there're wards and it will be crawling with Aurors..."

Harry waved his wand and a small, triangular badge appeared out of thin air.

Harry Potter, it read.

Special Committee For The Investigation Of Political Assassinations

Clearance Level: Red

"Clever," Dumbledore allowed. "If highly illegal." Instead of an admonishing look, Harry found himself on the receiving end of an expression of great respect. Needing now further encouragement, Harry changed into his phoenix form and disappeared in wreath of flame, wishing to avoid Apparition in case there were wards up as Dumbledore claimed.

* * *

When Harry arrived outside Gudgeon's apartment several seconds later and had transformed into a human it was to a grim silence that Harry was all too familiar with. The reek of violent death hung in the air like the breath of some foul predator fat on many successful kills.

"Who's there?" a startlingly familiar voice called. Harry spun and found himself nearly face to face with Ron Weasley. Harry quickly rapped himself on the forehead with his wand, the unpleasant sensation of cold egg running down his body. Diving to side, Ron's combat boot-entombed foot narrowly missed contract with Harry's temple. Had Ron ever mentioned being chosen for Auror training? Probably, but then again, Harry rarely (if ever) exchanged correspondence with his old school friends.

"Who's there?" Ron repeated, glaring suspiciously at the blurry space that Harry occupied. In his right hand, a different wand than the one Harry was accustomed to seeing him with (must have needed a more powerful one, Harry reasoned) glowed ominously in the telltale sign of the Inferno Curse. In his other hand he held a one-handed axe that was probably meant for throwing. Harry noticed it was the same one that he had taken to wearing under his robes the last four month of their Hogwarts tenure.

The moment stretched in seeming hours. Ron's pale blue eyes narrowed in an intense glare, as if he were trying to see through an Invisibility Cloak. The large ears that he had been famous for in his school days perked up, alert for the slightest hint of sound and his long, now-crooked (Auror training, Harry reckoned) nose flared as if trying to smell him out. Harry stood there, not daring to move, breathe or even think.

Finally, the moment passed. Ron turned and stalked off down the hallway, his tasteful but inexpensive robes billowing behind him like a maroon shadow. Strange, Harry thought. He always hated maroon. It was of no matter anyway. Harry had work to do at the moment. Catching up with old best friend/blood brothers would have to wait.

Cautiously, Harry broke the numerous Locking Spells on the door and proceeded to enter the dark interior of the Minster's Quarters in a wealthy section of London. Inside, he found the crime scene perfectly preserved since its moment of discovery. Actually, it was more than perfectly preserved. At its discovery, the standard British Auror procedure was to perform a temporary Time-Freeze Blockade that would slow the flow of time one million-fold for several hours. As a result, Harry saw nearly the exact same thing that whoever discovered it (Harry made a mental note to ask Dumbledore as to who actually did report it) nearly an hour ago.

Harry had seen death and dead bodies before, both ones gruesomely disfigured by Dark Magic and the bodies of loved ones. Still, such was the utmost brutal nature of Minister Gudgeon's body that Harry felt his new stomach turn with disgust and nausea. Whatever had killed the young politician could certainly not be human.

Gudgeon's neck was chewed two-thirds of the way through by a mouth Harry instantly recognized as canine. The teeth were shockingly large and Harry's estimation of the size of an animal with a jaw this big would have to at least be the size of a small bear.

Other wounds covered Gudgeon's body as well. There were deep scratches all along his shoulders, some so serious little bulges of muscle could be seen hanging slack outside the skin. A vaguely diamond-shaped bruise had formed, yellow in death, across his left pectoral. Discovery of the body couldn't have been more than a few seconds after death.

The window, Harry noted with peculiarity, was completely intact. If a werewolf had truly done this deed (and by the size of the bite and wounds inflicted, it certainly could have been no less than a full-sized werewolf) then it surely would have leapt from the window in its moon-crazed rage.

Caught his reverie, Harry did not realize the largest clue was quite literally right in front of his face. On the wall directly in front of him, there was a message written in blood.

GUDGEON GOT WHAT HE DESERVED:

THE FREEDOM HOUNDS TAKE NO CHARITY AND NO INSULTS!

LUPUS LIBERABIT, MAGUS MORTE!

Harry read the message, feeling an equal mix of rage, shock, sadness, and distaste for the Freedom Hounds' amazingly poor Latin. It seemed there could be no other explanation for Gudgeon's murder. Only a werewolf could have inflicted the injuries Gudgeon carried and the ones who did it had signed the deed. How could they be so stupid? Minister Gudgeon was a Ravenclaw in school, but a very good friend of Remus Lupin's. When he discovered Lupin's case of lycanthropy, he had not abandoned Lupin, but reconsidered his views of the half-breed creatures. As a result, Gudgeon became the best friend of Non-Wizard Part-Humans in the Wizengamot. He was probably the fairest wizard aside from Dumbledore in the country. His Werewolf Equality Act should have been the shining hope of werewolves, vampires, and other like creatures everywhere. Instead, this happens.

"Idiot Hounds, how can you be so stupid?" Harry whispered regretfully. Had the Freedom Hounds really have taken the Act as an insult? It didn't make logical sense. They were campaigners of equal rights. Why would they murder the wizard who tried to give it to them?

Harry knew a decent amount of the Hounds' activities. The Council considered them a Class II organization: potentially dangerous, but not overly so. Harry knew that they formed when Communist Russian wolves, outlawed from their own country in 1991 as the Soviet government began to fall, got together and decided to organize a group that was essentially a charity for destitute wolves (i.e.: 94% of all werewolves). From there, they had grown into a terrorist organization with ties to nearly forty large countries. They stockpiled stolen Muggle AK-47 rifles and the much rarer stolen wand shipment at several caches across Western Europe. How could they have taken the best thing they could have hoped for and turned to murder? Assassinations had never been their style. The few attacks made by them at all were mainly public-place bombing.

"Why?" Harry whispered again, softly, regretfully. There was no way he could even try to salvage the WEA now. Nine Minister-elects out of ten would make repealing it a first priority once they planted their bottoms in the Minster's Chair.

Suddenly, Harry felt a sharp change in the air currents of the room. Normally, he would be unable to, but Harry's new skin was still extremely sensitive to changes in temperature. So when the door to the apartment opened, a cool breeze suddenly played across Harry's arms and he knew he it was time to leave.

"ALL RIGHT!" a voice that didn't belong to Ron Weasley bellowed. "WE KNOW YOU'RE IN THERE! THROW YOUR WAND TOWARDS ME AND COME OUT OF THE APARTMENT WITH YOUR HANDS UP!"

Maybe his skin wasn't as sensitive as he thought.

"YOU HEARD THE MAN!" Ron's voice suddenly burst out. "WAND ON THE GROUND AND HANDS UP! YOU'VE BEEN CAUGHT RED-HANDED AT THE SCENE OF THE CRIME!"

Though the transformation to his Animagus form only took half an instant, Harry felt that he had never before changed so quickly. For the second time that day, Harry concentrated on his internal phoenix magic and disappeared in a wreath of flame just as Ron was shouting "YOU HAVE TWO SECONDS TO SURRENDER!"

* * *

"Has it been done, Draco?" The Master asked, folding his hands into a tent shape and tapping his fingertips together plaintively.

"Yes, Master," Draco answered from his prone position, bowed on one knee before the Master's gigantic throne. Although Malfoy's right knee had an artificial cap, he felt no pain in kneeling in the carpet that was nearly ankle-deep.

"Is the Minister I have selected ready?"

"Yes, Master. His nomination has been accepted and the Wizengamot vote will be held within the hour. I have taken stock of the Wizengamot myself and I say without any hesitance that your candidate will win, Master."

"And the legislation I have prepared?" the Master prompted, still eyeing Draco with gaze that was almost perplexed, his silvery disks of eyes flashing in the dim light of the throne room.

"It is to be announced tomorrow in the early evening, Master, and will go into effect immediately."

The Master fell silent for a moment, the gears of his head turning at magnificent speeds. His gaze traveled and blanked out; the Master seemingly became fascinated with the curtains covering the windows over Draco's head.

"When will the Army of Chaos be ready for mobilization?"

"Two weeks, Master."

"And when will my new Ministry be ready to establish itself as a temporary dictatorship?"

"Approximately one month, Master. I have assigned a detachment of one-tenth of the Army of Chaos to conquer France and, if the Ministry needs convincing, Spain. The Minister will ask for a vote of temporary dictatorship as stated in the Roman procedures that make up the majority of the British Constitution of Magical Peoples. Once dictator of Great Britain, our Minister will establish the Army of Chaos as Britain's own and win back control of France and Spain. After that, the Minister will make treaties with every other country in Europe to unite into one Wizarding nation. Once we have Europe, Master, we will soon be joined by Russia and China. After that, it is a simple matter to take the rest of Asia, Australia, and the Americas. With the Army of Chaos and hordes of Oriental militias at our command, the entire conquest of the world will take an estimated six months to a year. Within four years, the weapon you have ordered will be ready, and your final plan will be executed."

The Master was silent for a moment, considering Draco's plan. His brow furrowed and the argent orbs he called eyes searched Draco's own for lies or deceptions. The Master was, as far as Draco could tell, the most advanced Legilimens in the world.

"Yes," the Master whispered so softly Draco thought that at first it was a snake's hiss. "Yes, Draco. A goof, solid plan. You have served me faithfully for three years now, have you not?"

"Yes, Master. Four years this March."

"Hmm...and yet I have never had to reprimand you. That is to be commended. Unlike your former master, I reward my servants, Draco. What would you like? Name your price."

"The rule of what is now called Italy, a legitimate wife so that I can continue my line, a sum equivalent to the combined worth of my family fortune before it was taken from me, and the restoration of my family's noble name." Draco spoke flawlessly, not even taking a moment of hesitation to think. He had planned his request for a reward since the first day he had joined the Master of Chaos and his glorious goal of wiping the abomination of Muggles from the world.

"A reward worthy of such a faithful servant, Draco," The Master told him, nodding once to show his approval. Malfoy felt a surge of pride. Voldemort had never been one to reward good work when his servants had done so. The Master truly was the epitome of what it meant to be a wizard: powerful, daring, cruelly fair, and utterly superior to any Muggle's brainpower.

"Since you have proved your worth to me time and time again, Draco, I ask your opinion now. What cities do you think I should keep when the Muggles have been eradicated? Some, I fear, are too soiled with their non-magical presence to keep. What ones would you deem worthy to keep?"

"Master?"

The Master sighed. "Did you think I would be satisfied with the world as it is? I won't go to the lengths of killing the Muggle race only to leave their touch upon this world alone. After the Muggles are dead, I will of course terraform the planet as I see fit. What cities would you have me keep?"

"Well, Rome of course," Draco began, his mind whirring to stay ahead of his tongue. "As well as most of the other cities in Italy that were prominent Wizarding homes during the heyday of the Empire. Then of course Moscow, St. Petersburg, Beijing, all of Hong Kong, Kyoto, Tokyo, London, Hogsmeade, Boston, New York City, Jamestown-"

"Yes, yes," the Master interrupted, waving his wand in bored motion. "None of which were already on my list to keep. I suppose you've at least reaffirmed my decisions. Very well then, go attend to your tasks. You have a war to win me, Draco. Go."

With a silent bow that lasted nearly a minute, Draco strode down the long corridor that was the Master's throne room to set his own minions about their tasks. He chuckled to himself as he so often found himself doing as of late. It was excusable, of course. After all, who wouldn't be in a good mood after working to make everything he had ever wanted come to pass?

* * *

"I don't believe it for a moment," Harry said as soon as he reappeared at Dumbledore's side. "None of it adds up. Tonight wasn't even a full moon, for Christ's sake!"

"I concur," Dumbledore concurred (a/n- sorry about that, it was irresistible). "I've reviewed the findings and files myself and I am confident that the Freedom Hounds are one hundred percent free of any guilt whatsoever." Harry noticed he spoke much louder than he need to and the whole Wizengamot must have overheard him. This, of course, was the old man's plan all along. He wanted to get a feel for the sympathies of the members.

"Who's the foremost candidate for replacement?" Harry asked wearily, conjuring a paisley armchair and collapsing upon it. It had been hard day and harder night, so far.

Dumbledore's eyebrows shot up at Harry's impressive Transfiguration (the pattern was perfect and stuffing genuine) but he declined comment, answering on his question.

"Right now it appears to be one William Tavington. Pureblooded for six centuries, graduated Hogwarts three years before Arthur Weasley. He was a Ravenclaw prefect, though not Head Boy. I had him all seven years; I was impressed that his extra hours of study made up for his rather average talent."

"Interesting family history?" Harry prompted, talking just as fast, leaning his elbows on his knees.

"Not particularly," Dumbledore shot back, skimming his file rapidly. "His first Wizarding ancestor was one Marcus Cornelius Calvus who lived in Rome in the fourteenth century. He had two daughters, one of whom died in infancy. The other one, Cornelia Tertia, was arranged to marry a full-blooded Englishman of minor nobility named Gregory Tavign-tonne. The couple moved to London after the birth of their first son and the Tavingtons have been a middle/upper-class Pureblood family and habitual members of the Wizengamot since. Most of them were Ravenclaws, though in recent generations there were a fair amount of Slytherins as well. Both William's parents and his maternal grandfather were in Slytherin."

"Which way did they usually vote in the Wizengamot?"

Dumbledore paused for a moment, skimming his own memory rather than yellowed parchment in front of him. "They were always fairly conservative, but both William and his father, Aeneas, were open supporters of Lucius Malfoy and usually voted whatever way he did."

"So Tavington is your typical Pureblood racist?" Harry's tone held a distinct note of defeat. Any pureblood would surely revoke the new rights of werewolves, vampires, and half-breeds."

Dumbledore sighed as well. "I'm afraid so, Harry."

"And he's most likely to get the elect?"

"He leads the only other candidate, Amelia Bones, by sixty-five percent as of thirty seconds ago."

"Damn," Harry muttered softly. "Is there anything else I can do here?"

"Well, no," Dumbledore said truthfully. "You're welcome to stay and wait for the vote to be carried out, of course, but I'm afraid you've done all you can, Harry."

"Good," Harry replied. "Then I'm going to go write out the letters to summon the Army of Phoenix officers. Is Central an acceptable place for the meeting?"

"Why, yes, certainly Harry," Dumbledore agreed. Central was a room located the floor above the Great Hall at Hogwarts and was identical to it in size. It had been, in earlier days, devoted to the numerous honor-duels and magical exhibitions before such things were banned. In his last two years at the school, Harry had opened it once more in order to have a headquarters for the Army of the Phoenix, once known as Dumbledore's Army. "Although I must admit, when you disbanded the Army the doors to Central locked again. The room is probably in quite a state."

"Will the old password still work?"

"Ah, yes, the old password," Dumbledore remembered with a twinkling of his eye. "Since no one has changed it, I presume so."

"Thanks," Harry called over his shoulder as he sped from the Wizengamot chamber and into the area where Apparating was allowed. "I'll send Hedwig with a letter after the meeting is done if you still haven't returned. Goodbye, Professor!"

And with that, Harry disappeared with the faint hiss of a candle being snuffed out, gone before anyone in the Atrium could recognize him as the Boy-Who-Triumphed.

* * *

November 13^th, 2002

Hermione Granger's Cottage, Bristol.

Hermione Granger sat at her desk immersed a thick copy of a dull book entitled Wizarding Physiology, working diligently on a medical report she was publishing after Yule. It was, as all her works were, a highly technical treatise on the theoretical applications of an obscure spell that no one except her superior, Healer Wainsworth, understood. She was nearly finished with the day's work when her curtains blew open to reveal a post-owl.

No, not a post owl, Hermione corrected herself. It was a peregrine falcon that had been specially bred to carry post. It dropped its letter on Hermione's lap and flew out of the window as quickly as it came. Hermione paused before opening the letter. There was only one person this could come from. She was best to get it over with. Letters of this type were known to explode violently if not opened quickly.

Her hand shaking, Hermione opened the letter sealed in ruby-red wax with a muttered incantation. Instead of just melting, the coat of arms the wax bore; a majestic phoenix in flight, simply detached itself from the paper and sung a few bars of phoenix song, igniting briefly when it was done until all that remained was ash.

To Hermione Granger, it read. Deputy Officer of Gryffindor House,

I hope this letter finds you in good health and of sound mind, Hermione, because I am afraid I have chilling news. I cannot write exactly what is happening in case this owl is interrupted, but I can tell you this: the situation at hand, if unchecked, will spawn leagues of wizards that make Voldemort look like Argus Filch in terms of power. Due to the dire nature of this problem, I am hereby calling you to order. There will be a meeting at the usual place tonight at 6:00 sharp. Uniform is required. Failure to attend will result in immediate and dire consequences. I hope the problem can and will be solved soon, but in case it isn't, I suggest you make draw up necessary legal documents in the event of your death. I do not mean to frighten you, but I implore you to understand the gravity of the situation at hand. Tell no one of this letter. Bring the Army roster, but under NO CIRCUMSTANCES are you to reveal its contents to ANYONE until the meeting as begun. The security of the parchment is up to you.

Commander H. J. Potter,

(Order Of Merlin, Second Class

Order of Excalibur, First Class

Sorcerer of the Grey Arts, Grand Warlock

And a multitude of other

Even more pointless honors)

Hermione didn't know what to think. On one hand, she was ecstatic about Harry's return. He wasn't dead! On the other, there was this matter of "dire urgency." Harry would never send a letter like this if there was anything but.

Rummaging through her desk for the old Army of the Phoenix roster, Hermione checked the clock on her wall. Half-past four. She didn't have long.

* * *

Ronald Weasley was sitting as his desk, preparing his conclusion to the investigation on Minister Gudgeon's death. He was just signing his name and stamp of approval to it when he heard a soft avian cry.

Looking up, the large Auror saw a bird he never thought he would see again. It was the peregrine falcon Harry used to use for official Army of Phoenix business. What was it doing here?

As the bird landed on his desk, dropping his parcel on Ron's lap, Ron had the good mind to fish an Owl Treat from his pocket and toss it to the dark iron-colored bird. He had a small network of faint scars on his left forearm from forgetting to feed the bird once. Tal, as the bird was called, (short for Talon- one of Ginny's better animal names) was notorious for going to any means necessary to get a bite to eat.

Once the bird had finished scarfing down its snack, it took wing again, giving another sharp avian cry. Ron, however, was already too horrified by the letter to even heard.

To Ronald Weasley, student Officer of Gryffindor House,

I hope this finds you in a good mood, old friend, because I have some bad news for you. You might want to sit. (Ron sat back down) An order of Dark wizards powerful enough to make Voldemort look like a Squib has been gaining power steadily throughout the last few decades. I can't give details in case the owl is interrupted, but know this: if we can stop them soon, then we will save the world from a fate much worse than anything Voldemort ever had in store.

In light of this, a meeting of the Officers has been called. This is your oath to order, Ronald Weasley. The meeting will take place tomorrow night at usual place and will begin at six o'clock sharp. Uniform is required. Also, due to the extremely dangerous nature of this situation, it is probably in your best interests if you put together a legal document in the event of your death. You are expected to bring the Wizarding Emergency Procedures and the Apocalypse Contingency Plans you and I authored. The security of these documents is imperative and I have complete confidence that their security will not go neglected. Informing anyone of this letter will active the Napalm Curse that has been cast on the room you opened it in and most likely destroy it utterly.

Commander H. J. Potter,

(Order Of Merlin, Second Class

Order of Excalibur, First Class

Sorcerer of the Grey Arts, Grand Warlock

And a multitude of other

Even more pointless honors)

Ron gaped at the letter for several seconds before realizing he was doing an amazing impression of a goldfish and shutting his mouth to stop. What time was it? Four o'clock. He'd have to go to the Burrow to get the documents Harry spoke of; they were stored in the fourth level of the basement behind an old Muggle printing press Ron's father acquired some time ago.

Taking a pinch of Floo powder from the jar on his desk, Ron threw it into the fire, trying, as he always did when traveling by Floo, not think of Harry as the flames turned as emerald as his eyes.

"The Burrow!" Ron yelled, stepping into the warm embrace of the fire.

* * *

Back at Hogwarts, Harry sighed and leaned back in his chair, exhausted. That was the last letter. Sealing it with the charm he used for official Phoenix business, Harry tied it to an obliging leg stuck out by Tal.

"This one is to Justin Finch-Fletchley," Harry whispered to the falcon. "And you need to hurry, friend." The falcon gave Harry a reassuring little caw and took off through the small window in the room given to Harry by Dumbledore to use as an office. It wasn't a very large of handsome room (in fact Harry suspected to be a large broom closet) but it was only a two-minute walk to Central from it. In Harry's case the convenience was more important than impressing anyone.

Finally, he was done. Harry had spent all yesterday and much of today getting Central back into the shape he wanted it in. He probably could have asked Dobby or any of the other house-elves he knew to do it, but Harry had a very particular setup he needed to accomplish and he was afraid to let the chance that Dobby may make a mistake arise. As it was, Harry had a little over four hours to wait until the meeting began. Taking several minutes to dress in his Arm of the Phoenix uniform, Harry Summoned his agenda and meeting notes from the desk across the room and hastily began to reread them. Everything appeared to be in order. Now all Harry had to do was wait...

* * *

"All right, all right, quiet everybody," Harry tried to speak over the din of his officers. "I SAID QUIET!" Harry shouted, resulting in immediate and complete silence. Harry waited a moment longer for everyone to take their seats at the large table he had brought from the floor below. When all were seated, he spoke.

"I apologize for the abrupt arrival and cryptic nature of the letters I sent to all of you," he began in his I-am-the-leader-and-I-hate-it voice. "And I suppose you're all wondering where I've been the last few years." Several voices, the loudest of which was Ernie Macmillan's, muttered their assent. "I didn't go crazy (Ron had the good grace to blush). While you guys moved on with your lives, I decided to throw a tantrum. Fortunately, because I was too busy pouting to talk with anyone in the Wizarding world as you all know it, I got a position as an operative with the White Council." Several gasps traveled up and down the room, especially the pureblooded members of the Army. "No, they are not a legend," Harry reassured them. "I spent four years working with them. Several weeks ago, I discovered a threat to the human race that makes Voldemort (discontented murmurs broke out at hearing his name) look like a Knight bus conductor on strike."

"Come of it, Potter, and tell us what's going on," said Blaise Zambini, the only Slytherin Harry knew of who didn't fill Harry with the instant desire to vaporize. Daphne Greengrass, his female counterpart, agreed, though less vocally as Blaise. Daphne had always been quiet.

"He's getting to it, Zambini," Ron growled, defending Harry in his old reflex. "Let him tell us on his own terms."

Zambini had the good grace to back down, leaving a relieved Harry to continue.

"Thank you, Ron, Blaise. I guess some of us did mature since seventh year." Chuckles filled Central. Harry was right, of course. Had that happened when they were still in school, either Ron or Blaise would have ended up in the Hospital Wing. "Continuing now. On my last assignment for the council, I found a heavily protected document in the Paris townhouse of Draco Malfoy. Upon further study, I have concluded that the document is what it claims. I found, my friends, the proclamation of the return of the most dangerous order of Dark wizards to ever live. I have called you hear tonight so we can try to stop them before they get too far. I'm afraid, fellow Officers, that if they ever reach the powers they once had, the world as we know it will cease to exist."

"That's all well and good, Potter, but one question: who the hell are you taking about?" Blaise Zambini demanded, rising from his seat. "Cut the cryptic crap!"

"Sorry, Blaise," Harry said easily. "But I didn't want to alarm anyone. The name of the order that has resurrected itself is the Knights of Chaos."

Before she could stop herself, the usually silent Daphne screamed shrilly. Shocked, everyone in the room looked at her.

"You idiots!" she shrieked again, her large, expressive eyes full of fear. "Haven't you ever heard of the Knights of Chaos?" No one moved to answer, not even Hermione. "They were the first Dark Wizards to ever exist! They practically invented the Dark Arts! They took over the entire world and no one could even challenge them for centuries! Even then, it took a traitor from within to bring about their defeat! These are the people who single-handedly hunted the High Elves into extinction! Am I the only one who knows anything?"

No one spoke, not even Harry. Never before had Daphne Greengrass spoken so much or with such emotion as then. Even her own parents had never heard her say that many words at once. The silence stretched for several minutes more until Harry broke it by awkwardly clearing his throat.

"Uh...err...right. You heard her," Harry fixed each of them with am emerald eyed stare. "And she's not exaggerating. We- that is, Professor Dumbledore and I- have reason to believe they'll be mobilizing very quickly. The recent assassination of Minister Gudgeon is most likely the first move on their part."

Ernie Macmillan raised his hand. "I thought the murder of Gudgeon was done by that werewolf extremist group."

Harry shook his head grimly. "'Fraid not, Macmillan. Dumbledore confirmed it last night- the murder was done by a breed of normal, everyday wolf. The wolf happened to be half again as large as the largest one currently on record, judging by the claw scratches in Gudgeon's arms, so we have reason to believe it was an Animagus or a creature capable of possessing animals that did it." For several long moments, the officers were silent. After taking a deep breath, Terry Boot, Officer of Ravenclaw House, raised his hand tentatively.

"I don't suppose there's any chance of the Ministry taking that evidence into consideration, is there?" Harry looked at the oddly melancholy Boot and remembered his little brother, Robert, had been bitten by a werewolf in Harry's sixth year. "Or that the Werewolf Equality Act will stay in effect?"

"Sorry, Terry, but the chances of that are slim and none." The expression on Terry's face sent a pang through Harry. This was why he hated leadership.

"Then it seems what we need, Harry, is a plan," Luna Lovegood spoke dreamily from her seat next to Terry. "Perhaps Ronald, with his position as an Auror, can feed us information from the inside like his father did during the Second War."

Harry spared a quick glance to Ron, who nodded briefly, before continuing. "That sounds like a good idea. Any others? Yes, Hermione," he pointed to where his old best friend had her hand raised, looking for all the world like she had the seven years she attended Hogwarts.

"I have the roster you requested," she began. "And I could have roughly 80% of the Army here in less than week if you needed me to. What kind of things would we need to do to stop this, anyway?"

"Well, to answer the latter, intelligence. We need ears everywhere. In the Ministry, in Knockturn Alley, in the Hog's Head. In short, everywhere they might be Dark activity. As for the roster, I don't think we'll need to call a full Oath to Order. Dumbledore and I have spoken and we don't even think the Order of the Phoenix will be needed for this one. I've alerted you officers to make sure you let all the soldiers who were in your House know. Since this is a matter of intelligence, it falls mainly under the jurisdiction of Ravenclaw. Boot, Lovegood. Any thoughts?"

"Like I said," Luna began. "We'll need lots of people with their ears open everywhere. I think we should activate the Sleeper Cells."

"I concur," Boot said slightly pompously. "Sam Fisher is currently playing Quidditch for England and their next match is in Transylvania. He's uniquely suited to pick out information."

"Hermione," Harry directed. "Get Sam Fisher his letter. Instruct him to keep his ears open for any mention of Dark activity. Make sure he knows permission for lethal force is allowed should anybody find of his assignment. This is war, ladies and gentlewizards, and we can't afford foul-ups. The goal of the Knights of Chaos is world domination and the complete extinction of the Muggle race. They mean business and so do we. Any other suggestions?"

"I think we should activate one of our own Sleepers," Zambini suggested. "The one I'm talking about, Aurelia Fiorella, lives out near there with her half-brother Ignatius, who is a vampire. If we can get a vampire intelligence source, we'll be that much more likely to hear something. After all, any Dark wizards will probably send envoys to any and all Dark creatures that might aid him."

"Permission granted," Harry said shortly, ordering Hermione to send a letter to Aurelia Fiorella.

"Mister Harry Potter Sir!" a tiny voice suddenly squeaked from Harry's elbow, nearly causing Harry to fall out of his chair.

"Dobby!" Harry exclaimed, returning his wand to his inner robe pocket. "I told you not to come in here during meetings!"

"Yes...Harry Potter is telling Dobby that...but..." Dobby's long ears dropped at being chastised. "But Dobby is having important news for Harry Potter!"

Harry gritted his teeth. If this was about articles of clothing that went on feet, Harry swore he was going to punt the little elf into the lake. "What is it?"

"A release from the new Minister, Mister Harry Potter! Dobby is seeing it in the newspaper, and he is knowing that Harry Potter would need to hear it, sir! It is being very important!"

"All right, Dobby, let's see it," Harry reached for the parchment in Dobby's hand. Upon reading the first few lines of it, Harry's face drained of all color, becoming whiter than even the crisp parchment in his hands.

"What is it?" Justin Finch-Fletchley asked, looking over Harry's shoulder to read it. "What does it say?"

"Read it for yourself," Harry told him, thrusting the parchment down on the table. He buried his face in his hands. How could it have come to this? This was even worse than the worst-case scenario Dumbledore had reasoned the previous night. The document read.

The Pureblood Doctrine

The Minister of Magic, William Ogden Tavington, doth proclaim on this 13^th of November, in the year of our Lord 2002, that the law regarding the blood of Wizards in Great Britain and Ireland shall now be as follows:

1: From this point on: Pureblooded wizards are to pay 25% less in yearly tax, may vote in any and all legislation measures, be allowed to teach their children magic and buy a wand for said child before the age of eleven and the child's attendance at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

1A: A Pureblood is herein defined as:

Any wizard or witch who have had wizarding parents for at least three generations, not counting their own.

2: From this point on: Full-Blooded wizards are to pay 12% less in yearly tax, may purchase a lower-power 'training wand' before their child's attendance of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and will receive 25% less in wages than a Pureblood at equal level in said career. They are only permitted to vote in legislation measures of moderate importance.

2A: A Full-Blood is herein defined as:

Any wizard or witch who have two wizarding parents for less than three generations.

3: From this point on: Half-blood wizards will pay no difference in yearly taxes, are not allowed to equip any offspring with a wand of any type or teach said offspring any magic before attending Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and will receive 50% less of the wages given to a Pureblood at the same position. Half-bloods may vote only on legislation measures of dire importance.

3A: A Half-Blood is herein defined as:

A witch or wizard who does not have two magical parents, i.e.: one magical parent and one Squib or Muggle parent.

4: From this point on:

Any Muggle-born witch or wizard is required to take a two-year course on Wizarding Culture upon their acceptance to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, must pay 125% of the standard yearly tax rate, and will receive 35% of the wages given to a Pureblood of equal stature. Muggle-borns may not vote under any circumstances except for declaration of War.

4A: A Muggle-Born is herein described as:

Any witch or wizard born of either: two Muggles OR: one Muggle and one Squib

5: From This Point On:

No witch or wizard of any kind may marry a Muggle without first gaining permission from the Ministry of Magic. Squibs may marry as they please.

6: From this point on:

Any non-human, no matter his bloodline, will have equal legal rights to Half-Bloods, though they will receive 65% less in wage than a Pureblood of equal position in said career. This law includes werewolves, vampires, half-breeds of all types and any other type of non-wizard-part-human creature.

These Are The Words Of The Minister of Magic

"Audio et Iubet"

"You Hear and Obey"

"My God!" Ron exclaimed when he finished it. "How could Tavington get away with something like this?"

"He probably had full support of the purebloods and fullbloods," Boot said darkly. "I know that my mom's side of the family would have voted in favor of them. Most of them were Slytherins, you know."

"Well, what do we do, Harry?" Ernie asked, turning towards Harry, who still had his head cradled between his hands.

"Harry?" Luna Lovegood asked, gently laying a hand on his shoulder. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah," said Harry suddenly, snapping to attention. "I'm sorry, it's just so much so fast..." he shook his head to clear it. "Rescind my previous order to not activate the Army of the Phoenix. With the release of this document, I wouldn't be surprised if we have to deal with riots in the next few days. Hermione, send out the Oath to Order. Require all soldiers to meet here within two weeks and to be prepared to engage in drills. If necessary, threaten them into coming. That's right, people," he said over the murmuring of complaints that began to sound. "Like it or not, we will be facing a crisis situation soon, and I'll not have the Army sitting on its hands if there's anything we can do to help." Harry was in his element now. There were supply lines to organize, squadrons to plan, duels to be had, and training to be done. He began to snap orders, springing from his chair and pacing back and forth at the front of the room.

"The Army will be divided into four parts," Harry decreed. "Gryffindor will be our air support, mounted on brooms. Ron, order four dozen of the most advanced broom on the market, whatever it is now. Charge it to the Army account. Hufflepuff will be infantry, the bulk of our force. There are still more Hufflepuffs than any other House, right?" He looked to Justin, who confirmed it with a nod. "Good. Start stockpiling weapons. Buy anything you think could be useful. As long as there's no open conflict, the Hufflepuffs can mainly stay at home and go about their lives, although they are expected back at Central twice a week and during the entire weekend to prepare. Slytherin will be our underworld and upper-crust eyes. Blaise, Daphne, get word to all loyal Slytherins to gather as much information they can about any and all Dark activity."

"What about Ravenclaw?" Boot asked.

"Ravenclaw will also be gathering intelligence, though in your case, they'll be more active than the Slytherins. I'm commissioning all Ravenclaw soldiers to be ready to be sent off in three weeks. I'm sending pairs of three to everywhere I can think of that might gain us a clue. Luna, I want you to take your group and go to every library you can think of that might have information on the history of the Dark Arts and learn what you can. I want there to be at least one Invisibility Cloak for every group of three Ravenclaws. If the Army account runs out of money, here's my approval to use the money left over from my school vault." Harry scribbled a brief note and signed it with a flourish, handing it over to Boot. "Well, what's everyone waiting for?" he asked, pounding on the table. "Get to it!"

The officers of the Army of the Phoenix jumped up, running to do their assigned tasks. House-elves were summoned, parchment was conjured, and quills, ink, and sealing wax were demanded. The air of Central quickly became filled with shouts and orders, once more the busy headquarters it had been in Harry's last two years at school. Harry stood back away from the center of chaos for the moment content to let everyone do their own jobs. There'd be plenty of time for his own involvement later.

Worried about the future, Harry turned his eyes upwards to the ceiling, praying to anyone who occupied the heavens to get him through this. After he finished that, he took a more concrete course of action and ducked out of Central to find Dumbledore and seek his opinion on this recent turn of developments. Harry just hoped this was the end of Tavington's ambitious legislation.

History would later go on to happen the complete opposite of much of Harry's hopes.

Fin.