A Little Devil at Hogwarts (Follow-up to Harry Potter - Hellion)

 

Harry popped on the west wing front lawn of the White House, hidden in a bush of cherry trees. He watched the press corps move to sit in a disorganized fashion as they waited for the President to make his appearance. There were quite a few members of the Secret Service, easily recognizable by their omnipresent ear buds and miniature microphones. Where’s the secret if their ear buds indicate whom to target, though Harry. He then moved to just under the window of the Oval Office, where he watched the President talk to a group of men, before sending them away and standing up. Harry thought of going in and intercepting the man, but figured he would learn more by eavesdropping on the internal communications of the White House, so he waited for the President to leave, and then popped inside the office. He looked at the phone lines and noticed one turn busy. Hoping to learn some information, he lifted the receiver, pressed on line four, and gently put the phone to his ear, making sure to keep a hand on the microphone.

"... He’s off to the front lawn to talk to the Press." Harry heard. "To where?" asked a feminine voice, to which the same masculine voice that had been talking previously replied: "I am moving down with my family... To the situation room, damn it! Where else! Has General Westmoreland arrived?" "Yes, along with the House and Senate Speakers, sir." answered the same feminine voice, a bit put off. "Good. I will see you shortly." The secretary hung up, and Harry heard a whispered "in Hell, Bitch!" from the now dead line. He felt something was up, so he decided to go to that Situation Room. Reading the information from a passing Marine, he ported to the elevator and disillusioned himself just as a rather thickset man called it to open.

Harry listened as the man talked to himself while the elevator dropped rapidly below the surface.

"... That old fool thinks it is time to negotiate with Devil Spawns... He is off his rockers!.. We will see who wins this battle of wills... I want them British incinerated! We won our independence and we will not lose it to Satanists!..."

It became clear to Harry that the man was part of the conjuration, and was willing to go as far as needed to win. Now, who was he? The secretary had not identified his station in the line of command, but clearly, he was a high-up, even if he was going down! Trying to read the man’s mind was futile. He was clearly in a virtual universe, totally lost to this world. All Harry could read were dreams of power and destruction, of enslavements, of burning cities and smoking ruins. BRR!

The elevator door opened and the man walked out, followed by an invisible and silent Harry. He moved to a rather huge room with big tables displaying troop positions, missile launch sites, submarine locations in different oceans, and Strategic Air Bombers in the air. Troops were either blue, yellow, red, or green. On the side of a wall, Harry read the legend: Blue: American troops; Green: Allied troops; Yellow: opponent allied troops; Red: Opponent troops. It clearly showed that, for the Americans, the were faced with an overwhelming opposition: NATO nations were in red, as well as British troops and bases; Russians were yellow (surprisingly, given they used to be the red brigade!). Even Canada was in red! There were few green spots: Australia, Italy, Saudi Arabia and adjoining nations, Israel. Enough opponents to stop any president from sleeping at night! Apparently, the diplomatic corps of the United States had been busy assessing the position of every country and contacting their administrations to figure out their position. A big slash of Grey was in Africa. As Harry wondered what it meant, the man he had followed asked the exact same question.

"They are neutrals, sir; they neither oppose us or fight with us. They feel they have nothing to lose..."

"I will make them lose something! Put them in red! There is no such thing as neutrality in that Holly War! Where are we in our preparations? Is everyone worthy in the bunker?"

"Yes. You were the last one, sir."

"Lockdown!" the man ordered.

Immediately, the ventilation systems sealed, separating the bunker from the exterior. The elevator dropped to the bottom of the well, and the cables disconnected before being pulled up into the barrel drums and the mechanism pulled down below the surface. The well was then closed by a five feet thick concrete slab.

"Lockdown completed, Mister Vice-President!"

"Call me President. The one top-side will be incinerated by our enemies. Begin launch sequence Alpha."

"Yes, Mister President..."

"Robert?"

"I am ready to act, on your command," replied a portly man whom could well have been bearing triplets for the past ten years if his belly was any indication.

"Mister Secretary of Defense?"

"Initiate launch sequence Omega."

Harry figured they were preparing a nuclear attack, and, inferring from what was said, that the legitimate President had been bypassed. What to do? He figured the best solution was to involve the Mages: after all, they were the targets! He moved off to a closet, and began sending patroni around the United States military installations with a simple set of instructions: SABOTAGE EVERYTHING! Thousands upon thousands of these invisible messengers sprung out of the closet, and moved out, repeating the message to every Mage they crossed path with.

Shortly, the first traces of Harry’s reply sprung to action: Power lines fell, generators were shorted, radio stations were disabled, magical power surges froze turbines and rendered generators useless. Even battery-powered radios died down. Nothing containing electronics survived, from car starters to ballistic missiles. Ships were left without any way to move, launch, or even tell the world they were stranded. Mages had obeyed their King, and exposed everything to magical surges, thus bringing the United States back to the time of the musket! As the generators in the bunker failed and the lights turned off, the mundanes began to ask questions about the cause of the cascade of failures. The last thing to turn off was the Strategic Positions Monitor, as each ship suddenly disappeared from view one after the other, and the submarines followed; next, the land based military bases vanished, and the last asset to go was the Strategic Air Command. Finally, total silence reigned in a tomb-like blackness.

"What happened?" asked a woman, in a shrill, panicky voice.

"I wish I knew, Amanda!"

"Amanda? I thought your wife was Cecilia?" was heard from the darkness.

"If you think I was going to spend the rest of my life with that haridelle! She and the four Porcupines she called my children can roast as far as I am concerned!"

Harry recognized the voice as belonging to the usurper ‘president’. He decided to give them a tip as to their destiny. Speaking from the ceiling of the tall room, well out of way of any suspicious floor-dweller, and hanging upside-down, feet glued by magic up there, he took a spooky voice more appropriate to the Grim Reaper than to an eleven and a half year-old child.

"You tried to destroy Magic. Magic retaliates! You will be left here, in a coffin of concrete, to die by lack of oxygen. No mercy shall be given. Unrest in Hell, for I will not allow you passage to Heaven nor the mercy of peace!"

Harry then ported out of the Situation Room and the bunker, ensconcing the entire complex with a series of wards that would block any magical intervention, or, for that matter, any mundane one either. Once finished, he moved to where the actual President, unaware of the events below his feet, was busy explaining to the Press the situation as he saw it.

"... We have no reason to believe the British Crown plans on invading the world. After all, militarily, they are has-beens. However, we did get reports of some troop movements on their soil. But what can we say about them? After all, the Tommies can not walk on water, and the Atlantic is choppy at best this time of the year! Yes?"

"Mister President, Wanda Thompson, from ABC. What about the resurgence of the Knights of the Round Table and... Magic?" said a lady wearing a high hair bun and spectacles that gave her the look of Samantha’s aunt Clara from the television series ‘Bewitched!".

"Come on! Magic! You know as well as I do how much folklore impacts the daily life of the British! After all, they use horse-drawn carriages dating from Queen Victoria in Royal ceremonies, for God’s sake! I am sure it is just such a case of ‘let us dream of our past!’ thing. As for lords wearing tin cans, it is their prerogative. After all, their judges wear powdered wigs, in the hope of looking more mature; for me they look more ridiculous! Next!"

"Mister President, Tommy Nope, CBS. What about the numerous deaths reported around the country? Has there been any explanations as of yet?"

"It is hard to find the exact cause of these deaths, as all we find is fine dust that is hard to pinpoint the exact cause of death when this is the case. We have at least sixteen thousand reported deaths of the sort in the forty-eight lower states of the United States. If it is spread uniformly, another two thousand should be reported across Hawaii, Alaska, and the territories and military bases around the world. As we have no reported video recording of a disappearance, only eye witness reports, which are, unfortunately, consistent and independent, we are left to speculate."

"A follow-up question, if you allow, Mister President?"

After a nod, the same individual asked "How come we have no video recordings? After all, a good lot of these events occurred in public areas, such as airports, train stations, subway stations, malls, and on side-walks. And what about the guy in New Zealand?"

"For some reason, the surveillance cameras recorded snow during the events. They recorded the individuals walking, then snow, and when the image cleared, the panic of the crowd but no sign of the individuals, except for the fact that the crowd seemed to give a wide birth to the area where the person was standing. Followed calls to 911 by patrons that brought the police and Emergency Medical Transport to the site, some times several hours after the event, as there were numerous simultaneous events and the Emergency Response Teams were overloaded. As for the Bonze, fake news, I am sure of it. Next!"

"Mister President, Nadia Carmichael, MTV. I know you do not like speculating, but could you please do an exception?"

"The best I can see is a mass suicide done by a group of religious fanatics, much like the Jones group some years back. As to how they managed to synchronize the event, what really happened, or how they did it, is still a total mystery to the Administration. Next and last question?"

"Adam Smith, ABC. There was a shootout less than an hour ago at the Washington International Airport in the International terminal tarmac. Has there been any news as to whom was targeted, his or her health, and whom might be responsible?"

The President looked at his Secret Service agent, perplexed. A whispered exchange lasted a few seconds, and the President spoke.

"Damn, guys, I wonder if I should not hire the Press to keep me informed! You brought this to my attention and the news has barely reached the ear buds of the Secret Service! So, no, we have no information as to who was targeted, or by whom."

"Mister President! Do you think it has anything to do with the aircraft carrier in orbit? We have a photo clearly showing it is the USS Enterprise! How did it get there? Where is the crew?"

"I am meeting the military in the Situation Room shortly. Maybe they have an explanation and will tell me what happened to the crew. Ships can be built, crews can not be recreated! I do hope they are not on-board or their hours are counted. Have a good day."

The President turned around, entered the White House, and walked quickly to the elevator that led to the bunker. He was so worried it took him several seconds to realize that the button calling the cabin had not lit up. Perplexed, he pressed on the button several times, with the same result. Unsure of what to do, he moved to the Oval Office and sat down at his desk, signaling for the bunker. All he got was a dead tone.

"What the hell?"

"The Hell is below, Mister President. The Hell is your Vice-President overriding your nuclear security protocols with the complicity of your Secretary of Defense. They are now in the bunker, consuming their reserve of oxygen at a fast clip by yelling recriminations at each other. I could have put them on that aircraft carrier, but I decided to keep them closer to their master."

The President jumped up, sending his chair flying hard against the back wall.

"Who are you?"

"Oh, I did not introduce myself, did I? I am Harry James Potter, King of Magic, and leader of the tin cans, more politely known as the Knights of the Round Table."

"How did you get the aircraft up there? And more importantly, what happened to the crew?"

"Second question first: your crew is safe and on board ships of the Sixth Fleet. You will be able to talk to the Admiral shortly, as he is in Washington. As for the first question: Magic."

"He is?"

"Yes. He was the target of the shots at the airport. I saw to it that not only he escaped unscathed, but so did your Chief of Staff."

"So that was the explosion I heard from my office. I thought someone had a flat tire or backfiring engine! It must have been quite an explosion to be heard from here."

"Given the number of broken window panes within twenty miles, I would say so. The thing is, the disposal team was a bit generous with the C4, and the explosive expert forgot to ground his circuit... insuring the accumulation of static electricity... that triggered the explosive device as he completed the installation...and killed every member of the squad, while reducing the car to shrapnel."

"I see... Let us focus on the why you are here?"

"Wilkes, your ex-ambassador to the British Crown, seemed a bit too cooky for his own good, and dared threaten my own of nuclear retaliation on a perceived slight. The Court of Camelot has no diplomatic relations with the United States. Your relations are with the mundane Crown, not the magical Crown. And furthermore, there is no such thing as diplomatic immunity in the magical world. You have to assume your words as words have power in our world."

"I think I see..."

"So, he lost his life for threatening me. And I ported his body, well, what was left of it, on the deck of the USS Enterprise with a message for your Administration. To make my point clear, the message gave the commanding officer fifteen minutes to vacate the ship. The Admiral did not hesitate and had the entire crew in canoes within the imparted time. I then ported the ship in circumpolar orbit. The Admiral contacted your chief of staff and they agreed to meet at the airport. Unfortunately the Chief of Staff aide was in the coup and had his boss, General Wolf, and the admiral targeted for murder. Both attempts failed, as I told you earlier."

The President whistled, in shock.

"Hey! I am no lady in heat!"

"Oh, sorry! I whistled to express my shock."

"To complete the story, after saving the two, I moved to the White House and listened on the phone as your Vice-President enquired about the arrival of key members of your cabinet to the Situation Room. I followed him down there, and saw him and the Secretary of Defense order the launch of the nuclear strike forces. I intercepted the transmission by destroying the communications network, ordered my people to declaw the United States, and saw to it that you no longer have power down there or, for that matter, on the entire power grid. The Television crews will find out when they try to even drive to their respective stations that no lights work, much less transmitters of any sort. As far as the United States is concerned, as you put it for the British, you are has-beens. Not a single one of your triad of nuclear power is functioning. My people are everywhere. We have been living within your mundane population without being detected since the signature of the Magna Carta. And all your shenanigans and territorial wars have not affected significantly the unity of my people as they are bound by a vow to Magic that predates homo sapiens sapiens, modern man, himself. A vow that has been in effect for over fifty thousand years, mister President. Your estimate is of sixteen thousand dead; ours is over one hundred thousand traitors to their vow to magic. They are dead. Magic does not do into footy work. When I called my people to war, they either came or they died."

"Jesus!"

"Thanks, but no thanks! By the way, my people are hunting down the conspirators. They will find them and kill them. There is no half-ground, no half measures. A war has been declared and I intend to win it by reducing my enemies to ash. Call it genocide if you wish, but I could not care less. There is no hiding from us. We read minds, and we will assess the thoughts of every mundane in your country, of every American around the world. You either grow up and learn not only to tolerate differences but to accept them, or you will be removed. The Salem Witch Hunts have left deep traumatic marks in my people, mostly because they had begun to trust and believe in the nice words of your Founding Fathers only to be betrayed by them due to the populace’s pressures. No more!"

"There were witches caught in those horrors?"

"A couple. Most of those caught were children, and quite a few were simply mentally ill, with not even an inkling of Magic in them. Your people burned the mentally ill, and children. We value our children, Mister President, and we value the gift of Magic. We are back in the open, and believe me, woe the day your people try to rekindle a witch hunt! Once divided, now united, Magic will stand! The mundane world stands divided, as we once stood, but Magic is now united under my governance, united and as strong as ever. We know no boundaries, no mundane government, no treaty. By declaring war on Us, you have forfeited the right to self-govern guaranteed by the Magna Carta. It is now by Our will alone that you govern, and We will no hesitate to put Our foot down to get Our message across. Even Elizabeth II recognizes this fact and now sits to Our left at the Round Table, to receive Our directives! She knows her Throne is subsidiary to Ours, and acts accordingly. Ah, they found a pair of horses! Expect the General and Admiral around in an hour or so. They will come in riding horses, as no car will start. Well, I better be going. I have things to do in Camelot. I have lost enough time with your governing body’s coups and stupidity. See to it that the cleanup and redress of your situation goes smoothly. You would not like what would happen if I ever have to come back any time soon."

Harry then popped out of the Oval Office, shocking the President into a meditative silence.