Harry Potter - Hellion!

 

November second, 1981.

The Queen woke up at dawn on November second, 1981, well before her staff expected her to even move. it was around six-twenty-two on her nightstand clock. She got up, dressed herself quietly, and made her way to Buckingham Palace’s kitchens to get a cup of tea and something light to go with it. Her arrival in the darkened kitchen went unnoticed, except by a few mice that were disturbed by her shadow passing over them, eliciting some frightened squeals.

What a day from Hell this promises to be, she thought. I will probably be a serious contender for Henry VIII’s title of the bloodiest monarch in British history by the end of the day. I wonder how many terrorists have been caught alive and how many were stupid enough to resist? And it is been only a full day since Lord Potter and his family got decimated by that fellow, Voldemort. Ah, the tea is ready. And here are some crumpets from yesterday. That should sit relatively well on the stomach. I do not feel for a heavy breakfast, especially since I will have to sit on the executions as the axe falls. That Captain’s suggestion of a through for the heads to roll off from the block is a good one. I think I shall also implement his idea of using the top of the steel fence posts encircling Buckingham Palace as pikes. Gruesome, but I think it will get the message across that We are not to be trifled with. Dad really understated it when he told me that to be an effective monarch, you needed a stronger stomach than steel. I shall take that tea pot, the cup, and the crumpets back to my parlor. I need some quiet to focus. Reading the laws of Camelot under which the magical world operates would give well-thinkers a heart attack, but I admit Arthur went for efficiency. No appeals, no long-winded lawyers, no complicated back and forth. Facts, facts, and only facts. We lost something when the wizards took to the underground to escape the witch hunts. I plan to stick to that method today, and beware long-winded barristers! Foresworn? Dead! That is it. Murderer, torturer, child abuser? Dead. Death-eater? Dead. I think I shall extend that to the mundane world as well. I suspect prisons would suddenly find themselves empty of their most dangerous elements. When I think we have forty or so terrorists in jail waiting for parole. Do to what? To blow up another school? Not on my watch! That Voldemort fellow was good for something, at least: he allowed me to take back control and disband Parliament, allowing me to roll back too permissive laws that allowed criminals to escape just punishment! The toll of Justice will ring loud and clear today! Ah, here is the plateau the maid uses to bring me morning tea and breakfast. Now... That holds the tea pot, this holds the sugar cup, this the cream cup, there goes the drinking cup, the pincer for the sugar cubes, the stick to mix everything. I have everything, I think. Oops! The crumpets go in that large saucer with the buttering knife and jelly. Now, off I go. Better turn that boiler off, no need to have the palace burn down. I shall be burning enough asses today without burning my own.

---

At Hogwarts, quite a few students did not sleep any better than the Queen. Some had seen close friends carted away, others were shocked at discovering their house harbored death-eaters, and quite a few wondered what they had missed by being boxed in the boarding school. The reduced teaching staff had been mum on the events, not that they knew any more than the students. Most half-bloods and quite a few pure-bloods planned to write home to inform their parents of the events at Hogwarts and ask for guidance and get outside information.

The staff had been confined to their rooms by the occupying forces, and unable to exchange rumors. Yet, that in itself fed speculations, from ‘all Slytherins are dead’ to ‘I heard the muggles will use gas chambers to kill us all’. When morning came, the teaching staff was in a tizzy, even more unnerved than the student body, whom had, for a good ¾, muggle-born to fall back on for basic information. The only exception to this were the Slytherins, whose isolationism was now coming back to bite them in the bum. Morning never came fast enough for everyone. By six, well before the house-elves were ready for breakfast, all the common rooms were abuzz with activity. By seven, the common room doors were opened, and the military escorted the students and teachers alike to the Great Hall. The house elves had taken to making breakfast an hour early, under the request from the military muggles.

"Military rule: Breakfast at seven. We are under martial law. Prepare a lot of juices to drink. Inaction leads to disorder, we will keep them running figuratively and physically until they fall. These kids look like they would lose a foot race with slugs. We know what you guys do behind the scene. Quite a few of us are back to our old school and remember things clearly. Do the maintenance for the school, but we plan to impose a serious disciplinary reform here. They clean themselves up, they clean their common room up, they clean their dorms up, they replace the bed sheets, they do their own beds, or they will learn the feeling of a leather belt on their bare bottom, in the Great Hall. Discipline by example is the rule of the day."

As the students tried to lazily make their way to the Great Hall, they heard commands that made them wail.

"Come on, you sleazy bums! Stiffen up those backs! Run down on the double! The last one of each house in the Great Hall gets a taste of a leather belt on the bums! One hit by second of delay! Get moving! One! Two! One! Two!"

Things got worse after breakfast and the public spanking administered on dangling bums at the staff table by a man that did not mince his swings. The colonel stood on the dais and spoke.

"As you see, we mean business! You are to go back to your dorms, remove the bed sheets, replace them by fresh linen, clean up your dorm from top to bottom, clean up your common room, shower, and stand beside your bed for inspection! The rule for boys is no head cheese, no brake traces (for the pure-bloods, no shit in the rear!), for girls, no fish smell, no brake traces. We are not running an aquarium! The beds better be tight and square: the inspectors will drop a pence on it, and it had to rebound a foot high. The corners got to be folded under the mattress properly, well-centered. They will be redone until the inspector is satisfied! The inspectors will wear white gloves and inspect any flat surface, handle, or crack for dust by running a finger along them. Your personal belonging will also be inspected. You will sort them properly, fold your clothes and put them in your lockers with care. And for God’s sake, open the windows. These rooms smell worse than a gymnasium after a fight with a bear! Fresh air will not kill you! We noticed that the fireplaces have never been cleansed. There is enough ash in them to act as ice melt! You will be cleaning them up! Buckets will be supplied, as will shovels. I suggest you do that first in the dorms and then in the common rooms as carrying ash is dirty. And no, you will not get your wands back, not until we are sure you are trustworthy to carry a weapon! Got it? When we are done with you, you will either be fit or dead and you will have learned how to take care of yourselves! Later in the week, you will learn how to repair your clothes, using needles and thread. The muggle way! You need to at least be able to pass for one of us if you are to survive! In a month, the house elves will teach you how to cook, prepare animals for consumption, and how to grow your own food, or hunt it. Survival is the name of the game! Converting a matchstick to a needle is useless if you do not even know how to thread it! Now, stand, and run to your dorms. You have thirty minutes to do everything before inspection. I suggest you use teamwork. Bickering and individualism only leads to more beltings!"

---

At the dog pound adjacent to the Royal Veterinarian Society of London Hospital, a dazed dog gradually emerged from general anesthesia. He felt constrained, and opened an eye to look around. He found himself on a thick cotton blanket, in a cage twice his size. Where was he? What happened? He noticed men in long white coats reminiscent of those worn by healers at St-Murgo’s. He was in a hospital for pets? Why? As he tried to stand, he felt his world spin, and decided to lay flat. And there was that damn pain in his chest. A look down revealed his thorax was tightly enveloped in a carefully made bandage. He had been hurt badly in his dog form. He was somewhat relieved he had not spontaneously reverted to human form in the cage, otherwise he would have been in a world of hurt, or dead. Wow, that dizziness! Nap time, doggy, nap time! He would deal with his foggy memory when things stopped spinning.

---

At the Ministry for Magic, employees that had been away on the weekend returned to a shock! Muggles armed to the teeth occupied every level, including the sacred Department of Mysteries! Those that had been there during the invasion had not been allowed out, disarmed, and tied up before being parked in the Wizengamot’s central floor, under the watchful eyes of a platoon of gorillas. A few bodies were also on display in said hall, their death mark clearly visible.

As each person flooed in the fireplaces around the hall, or apparated at the different apparation points, they were quickly laid to the ground, their wand confiscated, and their hands handcuffed before they could even say a word or blink. They then were moved out of the way for the next incoming visitor. The elevator doors were also under watch, and so was the Minister’s fireplace, where one very shocked Lucius Malfoy was apprehended as he strutted out of the fireplace as if he owned the office. By nine AM, the flow of ministry workers dwindled to nothing. The flow now consisted of visitors having business at the ministry, whom were also disarmed, registered, and stripped. No one, not even children, escaped the process. Now began the real logistical nightmare: How to bring these people to Buckingham Palace to stand judgement at the Queen’s Bench?

One of the muggle-born suggested establishing a port-key at a convenient location, probably the lower basement of the palace, but one officer a maniac of history, and whom had patrolled said palace, mentioned the basement was locked tighter than the Bank of England’s vaults, watertight, dry as a bone in the Sahara, and dark as a gnat’s ass hole, all this so as to preserve archives dating from the foundation of the first kingdom in and around Londinium, the Roman Empire’s name for the city of London, founded by Emperor Hadrian to harbor the Roman Legions headquarters stationed on the Island since Julius Caesar. The City’s patent letters were even signed by Hadrian and carried the Imperial Seal of Rome, allowing the establishment of a Legate, a Legatio Judiciare, with right of Lower and Higher Justice, to levy taxes for his needs and for Rome’s, and pay a militia, a sort of Baron, the first in England. The step from Baron to King was rather low at the time, and the collapse of Rome during the germanic invasion was the push needed to institute an independent kingdom.

"Major, the private’s idea is not all bad. We may not be able to bring them down there, but the port-key has merit. We just need to select another target. Since you know the ins and out of Buckingham Palace, why not suggest some place? I would not suggest the floo, as it is too easy to escape by stepping out early and finding one-self in out-of-reach places. After all, all these light flashes are potential exits, and if most are locked, some are deemed public, such as stores and pubs, hospitals and brothels. At least, the port-key can be targeted precisely, timed, and tied to the individual."

"Lieutenant, your remarks are interesting. Let me think. There is a small hall, on the side of the Throne Room, where dignitaries are held in waiting for a Royal audience. There are chairs, a table, and two double-doors, easily guarded. One leads to a hallway with two security checkpoints located, if I remember right, at an angled corner and at the end of the outer branch. The other door leads to the security hallway that finally opens, via very ornate golden doors, into the Throne Room. There, in the centre, about twenty-five feet from the first step leading to the dais that holds the Imperial Throne, is a cushioned alter, where those that are to be knighted knee to be knocked out of their senses and to receive their patent of the blade. Behind it are three chairs, late Elizabeth I style, and probably eaten to the bones by fleas, where the two witnesses, and the future knight, sit before the ceremony. Around the throne room are a collection of pikes, armor, axes, and swords positioned in X, held in place by shields that display the colors of the peers of the kingdom, some of which have not been heard from since an eternity. We might discover these ones took to the underground after Mary and Elizabeth betrayed their vows and forced them into hiding. If my history is correct, it is also on that alter that the condemned knelt for judgement before being led out in the court-yard for their meeting with the executioner’s axe, a mean-looking Lochaber."

"Are not all axes mean-looking, especially to those that are to be shortened by a head?"

Everyone within hearing range snickered.

"I will go and mark the room for the port-keys. I heard it is easier on the mage if the target is marked. Major, sir, would you accompany me so as to justify my presence? I suspect the Royal Guards are rather nervous, and a dead wizard can not justify his presence. I will side-along apparate you to the front gates of Buckingham Palace, and let you do the talking after that, sir."

"A good idea, private. I suggest we apparate, as you call that mode of transport, in the woods in the park behind the castle rather than right in front of them."

"How about near the swan pond? The swans will be unnerved by the noise, but their sudden flight will distract anyone from the thunder we will cause on suddenly appearing there."

"I wonder why this is?"

"I wondered too, but sound is caused by the displacement of air. We will suddenly displace our body volume of air, creating quite a bang, at both ends of the transport. After all, when we leave, we create a vacuum equal to our volume. Side-along is not very comfortable. It is like traveling in a hose... But the feeling disappears immediately, just as you think your lungs get emptied of air."

The Major blinked, and nodded.

"Hold tight, sir."

---

The two disapparated in a bang that broke a couple of glass panes, to reappear in the park, amongst of a volley of unnerved swans, dropping guano on take-off.

"Holy shit!" said the Major.

"Nothing holy there, sir. It is guano, bird shit. Let me clean us up." The man pulled his wand out and did a quick scourify on both, removing any trace of the bombardment they had been submitted to.

"That must be useful."

"Yes, the spell does have its uses. Let us see, that is the trail that leads to the rear gates. We better move off before the guards find us and associate us with the bang. I am sure the ‘It was a thunderbolt’ will not cut it with a clear blue sky."

The two military made a run for the nearest bush, and dove in it, just as a dozen guards made their way to the pond.

"Let us play idiots, Sir. We act like we cut through the woods toward the source of the bang, ‘short’ on breath."

"Private, you are on your way to getting promoted to corporal."

"Maybe, but I doubt I have the fiber for an officer. I am too independent of mind. That caused me a slew of problems at Hogwarts. I took to the army rather than to robbery in order not to starve."

The two made a lot of noise in the bushes, like they were running, broke a few twigs and tree branches, and exited at the far edge of the pond.

"What is all the fuss and noise?" called a leaf-covered Major.

"We do not know, sir." said the platoon leader as he eyed the ‘disheveled’ duo suspiciously. "And what are you doing in the park?"

"We are headed to Buckingham Palace from Baker’s street armory. Papers. You know the kind."

"Yes, paperwork, the bane of the administration."

"And its blood."

"Are we far from the palace?"

"No, take that path, there, and you will end up at the central rear entrance. We will continue searching for the cause of that noise. Three minutes to the park’s exit."

"Thanks. Good luck."

The two military took to walking briskly to the path and disappeared behind the bushes.

---

"Funny, these guys."

"Why?"

"They ‘ran’ and were not even breathless."

"You are getting paranoid, Baker."

"Would you not be given what the TV showed?"

"They are ours, and I see no reason to put their words in doubt."

"It is on your head."

"Anyway, search pattern Zebra. Let us move."

---

The Queen, after an addendum to her light breakfast, took a bath, got dressed in her finest with the help of her ladies-in-waiting, made her way to the Throne Room and put on the Crown, Damn, that thing is heavy, she thought. Stiff neck my bum, if I even bend said neck, it will break! And the one that made that throne would be the first to fall to the axe if he was still alive! I might as well be sitting on a stack of needles! Some school boy must have glued tacks on it, like Charles did at Eaton, on the headmaster’s dining chair no less, the little devil! Ah, who are these two?

The Major and the private had made their way into the throne room by mistake, a wrong turn that had them enter by a side door.

"Oops! I think we took the wrong turn at the La Brea tar pits, Major. That looks like the Throne Room you described to me, not the waiting room."

"What are you talking about?"

"You are not a fan of Bugs Bunny, I gather. Every time the rabbit gets lost, it is because of a wrong turn at the La Brea tar pits, found somewhere in California, if I remember right."

"You are right, private. Charles burned my ears deaf with those cartoons I learned them by heart from repetition. And you are in the Throne Room. What are you looking for?"

The two military snapped around, shocked to see the Queen on the Throne. They kneeled rather awkwardly, and the Major swallowed hard. "We... We are looking for the waiting room for dignitaries, Your Majesty."

"And what for?"

The Major looked at the private to take over explanations. If looks could kill!

"Your Majesty, we need to put a port-key anchor in it to help bring the mages to into Your presence. It has two major advantages: it is far enough that the port-keys’ arrival noise will be minimal for those in this room, and it is easily guarded. Another, secondary advantage, is that the entrance to this room from the other room is designed to impress, and we need to impress."

"Ah, you want to use the Dignitaries’ antechamber. That is fine. Proceed. How long before We see the first ‘customer’ for a tight hair-cut?"

Both military men were abashed by the macabre sense of humor of the Queen that day. It did not bode well for those that pissed her off.

"For us, about a quarter of an hour, Your Majesty. I have to set up the anchor, the security, and return to the Ministry for Magic to give the wizards there the signature to create the port-keys. Then, one of us will accompany each batch by said port-key and return upon completion of the task at hand here. As we have no knowledge of how long each batch will take to process, we can not put in timed port-keys."

"We did notice that Scotland Yard has a dozen crab baskets waiting outside. We saw them through a front window as we tried to make our way to the antechamber, Your Majesty. I suspect they will begin to bring them in shortly."

"On your way out, tell the security officers to park the lot in the maids’ sitting room on the left side, no more than two at a time. One gets in, as one gets out. That way, it prevents troubles. Tell them We are ready to pass judgement."

"At your command, Your Majesty," they replied, bowing and backing away before doing a perfect about-face. The two military opened the double-doors and exited the Throne Room, surprising the Castle’s security.

"Her Majesty is waiting on you guys. Get in there and take your assigned positions, on the double. Can someone get two from the crab baskets and bring them to the left maid room while the others arrange themselves properly? The Queen said no more than two in that maid room, one goes in, one goes out. We got work to do in the Dignitaries Antechamber. Do not be surprised if you hear noises. Those held at the ministry or other magical enclaves will be port-keyed in there to face the Queen’s wrath. By the way, gentlemen, walk on eggs. The Crown weighs heavily today on Her Majesty’s head and she is in a bloody temper," said the Major, in a voice that broke no arguments.

---

It was eight AM before the crab basket that took the marked students off Hogwarts reached Scotland Yard’s delivery garage leading leading to the tank. They were unceremoniously extracted from said crab basket and hosed down in icy water. They had been sick, shat and peed on each other, and were in rather shabby condition.

"Down that hallway!" ordered the gaoler, before opening a wide door and telling them to walk in. The tank was full to the brim already with death-eaters, members of the Order of the Phoenix, ministry officials of all creed and sex, aurors, hit wizards, and ordinary citizens caught in the magical enclaves the night before. Their arrival created a shock wave.

The number of "Dad?" "Mum?" and "What are you doing here? We hoped you would be able to get us out of this mess!" from students were matched by "Son?" "Daughter?" "What happened?" from parents.

As the quiet returned, someone began trying to put the strings together.

"So, they took Hogwarts without resistance, totally silently?" After a volley of nods, the same person continued: "You say everyone was stripped and those with the dark mark specifically targeted for transport out of Hogwarts, in horrible conditions?" Another volley of nods. "And that Scramender got beheaded right in the Great Hall after blabbering on murdering a muggle scum?"

"Torturing, castrating a little muggle boy, and glorifying the acts, yes. He always was a loud-mouth."

"At least, his dad will not hear it. He died fighting."

"You sure?"

"Never heard someone without a brain to be very alive, boy. It spattered on me and a few others."

"What about the shields? Protego and the others?"

"Might as well have used parchment. They used weapons that tore them to confetti."

The door opened again and a Sergeant called out:

"All those new guys, against the wall! Now. Water and breakfast is being served. You will eat, and feed those currently tied up. Who goes by the name Dumbledore?"

"I do." said the old geezer, totally out of touch with reality since coming back in less then two minutes after the students had completed their report from the far end, and invisible to him from his locked-in position.

"And who goes by the name Bagnold?"

"I do," replied the Minister for Magic.

"You two, and six others will be moved out after you get fed. Feed these eight in priority."

"Where are we being taken?"

"You will find out in due time."

"We are dirty!"

"Lady, the new ones proved the efficiency of our washing methods."

He then moved to the side and a train of trolleys with food was pushed in.

"Do not make us wait. We are on a tight schedule, and your time is short."

"Can I go with them within the six?" asked Molly Weasley. "I got kids to take care of, and my older ones are not at home and those that are are not that trustworthy."

"Sure. Far from me the idea of depriving children of their mother... if she is trustworthy to the Crown, that is."