The Oligarchy (After the Flaw: Oligarchy, Chapter 38)
Title: The Oligarchy (After the Flaw: Oligarchy, Chapter 38)
Author: kanedax
Spoilers: Previous Chapters
Rating: R for language, violence, and brief nudity
Summary: The Oligarchy make their case
Notes: I own these characters. The others belong to JK Rowlling.
Dualkey / Previous Chapters / Infiltration
They were surrounded.
Meghan was clutching Scorpius's arm tightly, and Rose could feel her friend pressed against her shoulder. She was shaking like a leaf. They were young. Rose recognized that they hadn't known true fear before now. She had heard that fear had a smell, that it had wafted off the body like a pheromone. She didn't believe it. But what she was smelling around her, Meghan, and Scorpius could be only that.
Three against three. Someone like Mum or Dad or Uncle Harry would like those odds. They hadn't been much older than Rose when they had gone into the Ministry of Magic and fought Lucius Malfoy, Bellatrix Lestrange, and the rest of Voldemort's Death Eaters.
But they had had help. And, unfortunately, Rose knew that she shouldn't expect Albus Dumbledore or the Order of the Phoenix to come bursting through the greenhouse door to save them this time. The closest thing they had to grown-up help was currently unconscious on the floor, bleeding to death.
They had to do something. Now. So why couldn't she move?
The horrible skull man was talking. Calling Meghan the next something. Scorpius was talking back. Rose knew he cared about Meghan, but why didn't he know he was only making them more angry?
Scorpius glanced over his shoulder, looking towards the woman with the white rune-covered cloth over her face. But his eyes met Rose's.
He tilted his head towards Meghan. And towards the door. Run, his lips said. He wanted her to take his girlfriend and get out of there. He was going to do something stupid to save them. He was going to... What was he going to do?
don't listen to him he's a Slytherin and he's a Malfoy he just wants to save himself and besides he doesn't know what he's doing
But that wasn't true. Scorpius was different. Meghan knew it, and Rose knew it. He wanted to save her. He was going to, what, sacrifice himself? Try to fend them off by himself?
You're not going anywhere. You're fighting with him.
But it's not like she knew what she was doing, either. She was just--
Scorpius made his move, one that took Rose completely by surprise. Instead of starting a duel, he ran directly at one of the witches, hoping to, what, knock her over?
Rose saw the sword pierce Scorpius's belly. Watched with horror as the long metal blade, once shining in the morning light, protrude from his back, now tinted red with his blood.
She tried to raise her wand. Tried to move her feet.
But she was paralyzed with fear.
Screaming. Meghan. Explosion. Rose skidded backwards. Wand from her hand. She was roasting hot, like the room was on fire.
Or like she was.
Sharp pain to the back of her head.
Darkness.
---------
"--work you've done, Airmid."
"Thank you, Steward."
"The Next is well?"
The Next.
Rose Weasley's eyes pulled themselves open. It was a bit of work. She felt weaker than she had ever felt in her life, her entire body had a warm, clammy feel to it, and her brain was stuffed with feathers. She looked left on a neck that was creaking like a rusted hinge. White. Right. White. In front of her. White. She was in a bed, surrounded by a white curtain. Hospital? Hogwarts? But who was talking?
"She is," the voice outside the curtain continued. "She was in fine health when I left her a few minutes ago. Unconscious, still, but in good health."
Who is that? She sounded so familiar...
"You do understand the importance--"
"Of course I do. But you must also understand that, as a nurse, Meghan Cullen is not my top priority at this moment. We brought three wounded back from Hogwarts. She may be more important in the long run, but right now Manbo and Rose require my attention before her."
Madam Hahnemann?
There was a smell now, sharp and pungent. It was that stuff Mum rubbed on her chest as a child when she was sick. If Crookshanks, Mum's old cat, had eaten a jar of it, along with a basket of raspberries, then threw the whole mess up on the floor, it would smell like this.
"How are they?"
"Manbo is improving," said Hahnemann to the mysterious female voice. "She was the lucky one. The explosion merely threw her through the plate glass. Broken bones, internal bleeding, some cerebral hemorrhaging. Nothing I cannot fix."
"No thanks to Atrytone," came another voice, deep, powerful, and angry.
"She took the needs of the Next over the needs of the Circle," said the female voice, the one Hahnemann was calling Steward. "Manbo would have done the same thing had their positions been reversed."
"I do not believe that is true," said the wizard, with a Scandinavian accent. "Nor do I think that you believe it, either."
"Such as it is," said the steward. Middle Eastern? "They both live."
Rose's face itched. She moved to scratch it. Her arms felt were made of cast iron, and she couldn't seem to even concentrate enough to will them to rise.
And then there was pain.
Rose cried out: A weak, mouse-like squeak was all she had the energy to release.
"She is awake?" asked the steward.
clop clop clop
The curtain was pulled back by Hahnemann, who now stood over Rose. She was dressed in black robes like the three that had attacked the greenhouse. Her head was covered from the nose up by a black bandanna, but the mouth, chin, and hair were distinctly the Hogwarts nurse.
And the room... The room was distinctly Hogwarts. The layout was nearly identical to the Hogwarts Hospital wing, just as well-lit and cozy. But there was one minor difference: No windows. The warm sun that drenched the room was coming from somewhere else completely. Or perhaps nowhere.
Rose could see the other two now, the two that Hahnemann had been speaking to before they had been interrupted. One was tall and imposing, a gold mask on his face and his robes filled with muscle. And beside him...
Rose's breath caught in her chest, causing another sharp bolt of pain.
A crocodile not an alligator, her rational, book-educated mind panicked. Alligators have rounder noses and their lower teeth are hidden by their upper jaw and their heads don't sit on human necks.
"Calm yourself, Rose," said Hahnemann as Rose's eyes were glued to the reptilian head poking out of the black hood. "Please. She is a witch, just like us. It's just a mask. Please..."
"where... where..." Rose tried to ask, but the packing materials in her brain refused to let her come up with a coherent second word.
"You're with the Oligarchy," said Hahnemann. "This is Ammit," she said, motioning to the crocodile, "Mask of Cairo and the Oligarchy's Steward."
"Do you think it's wise to--" the golden wizard asked, but the crocodile witch only raised her hand to silence him.
"And the other is Gungnir, the Mask of Trondheim," Hahenmann continued. "You were injured in the explosion, but we are taking care of you, and keeping you here for protection."
My protection or yours? she thought. Unfortunately, that disconnect between her mouth and her brain remained.
"You were burned quite badly," said Hahnemann. "Second and third degree in most areas, fourth degree on your right arm and right leg. We're using potions and such to help you heal, but it will, of course, take time. And we've cast various spells on you to make sure you don't move very much. It will only reopen your wounds."
Rose forced herself to look down on a neck that protested its every movement. She was on a bed, the sheets removed. Her Hogwarts robes had been removed, along with what appeared to be every other square inch of her clothing. Instead, she had been wrapped to the toes in tight bandages, soaked with some sort of blue-green potion. Some patches appeared brighter than others, some darker.
That's where I'm bleeding, she thought helplessly. Or... pussing?
She also realized that her face must be wrapped, as well. That would be why it itched so. She tried again to move her arm, only to discover that the spells weren't the only things keeping her immobile. She was attached to the bed by her wrists and ankles, leather straps keeping her arms and legs from moving more than an inch.
"Right now you are our patient," said Ammit. As she spoke, her long jaw moved as though it were her actual face. "But you are also--"
"prisoner..."
"Quite right," the steward nodded. "For now. You may serve a purpose for us yet."
"mum..."
"For one example," said Ammit. "But Airmid has spoken quite highly of you, Miss Weasley. We can speak of it later, but we could quite easily find a place for you here within the Oligarchy. With your intelligence and your--"
"never."
Rose tried to put as much venom behind the word as her body would let her. She thought she did a pretty good job, even if it came out as no more than a hissing wheeze. Ammit, however, merely shrugged. "Time may tell," she said, unimpressed. "Airmid, put her back down, will you? The struggling cannot be helping her injuries."
"Of course, Steward," said Mia, pulling her wand. As the steward turned away, moving towards the doors, Rose caught sight of Gungnir, the golden man, settling himself beside another hospital resident.
The other witch they had been talking about, Rose realized. The one thrown through the greenhouse windows.
Rose watched as the golden man took the woman's hand.
And she faded away again.
---------
She never really remembers what happens, but it comes to her at night.
She plays with the neighbor dog. She loves the neighbor dog. It's a big, black dog. Mummy and Daddy told her what kind it was once, but she forgot. All she knows is that the dog is nice and playful and it likes her.
Until one day when it's not and isn't and doesn't.
The Foxes' back yard. After school, while Mummy and Daddy and Mr. and Mrs. Fox are still at work. She's playing with the dog (Sparky, her name is Sparky). Throws a stick. Sparky brings it back. She wrestles it from her mouth. Throws it again. Wrestles it from her mouth. Wrestling.
A loud noise somewhere. A bang. She doesn't know what it is. Sparky is scared. Sparky bites.
Pain. For a split second she sees the jaws clenched tightly on her arm, blood pouring through Sparky's teeth. She shakes her arm, and the teeth tear away. Tear skin, tear muscle. Tears the dog away. The dog yelps.
There's a hole in her arm, big enough to fit a golf ball. Quickly filling with blood. The pain is there, but distant, numbed: She's in shock, but doesn't know it. Instinctively she puts her hand over the wound, to hold in the blood or to cover it from her eyes she doesn't know.
The pain fades. She pulls her hand away. The hole is gone. There is blood, yes, her entire arm is dipped in red, but there is no hole. It was her imagination. No hole made by Sparky.
Sparky. She looks up, afraid that the dog will attack again.
The dog is spread before her on the lawn. Her back half is three feet away from her front half. There is blood. And goopy stuff. Her insides. And more blood. Oh so much more blood.
She runs. She washes her arm, knowing that it was the dog's blood and not her own. How the dog's blood got on her she didn't know, it surely wasn't her own blood because when she washed her arm there was no hole, it must have had something to do with the animal that Mr. and Mrs. Fox say killed Sparky. It must have attacked then she was looking away, when she was hearing the loud noise that was nothing more than a backfiring lawnmower, something quick and... and...
She never really remembers what happened, but it comes to her at night.
She awakens to orange and yellow and red and smoke and heat.
Her room is on fire. Her wardrobe, her toy chest, her Mickey Mouse posters and her stuffed animals and her bed. All on fire.
She is hot, and she screams. Her father, her protector, crashes through the door. He looks around. For a moment, his eyes are unfamiliar to her. They are distant. Wary. He looks at her and she sees fear. Fear not of fire but of her.
But that can't be right. As soon as she sees the look in his eyes it is gone. He pulls her from the flaming bed. Takes her from the room and from the house.
She is unhurt.
The wiring was to blame, the fire people say. The wiring was to blame, her Mummy and Daddy say. She loses everything, they lose everything, and they move to Thurso to start a new life and they say the wiring was to blame and she sees Daddy look at her through the smoke and she sees him, for a split second, blame her.
She sees the sword pierce her boyfriend, her Scorpius, and is he her love? and she sees the hole and sees the blood filling around the giant metal tooth and she sees orange and yellow and red and smoke and heat and she never really remembers what happened, but it comes to her at night.
---------
She sees orange and yellow and red and smoke and heat and it is small now and she is standing in the middle of a room staring into a fireplace.
Meghan Cullen looked around the room in a panic. Why was she standing in the middle of... of...
Where was she?
Sleepwalking, she thought. A waking dream. You've had them a lot. Why not now?
But this wasn't a dream. She was fully awake now, yet the room remained unfamiliar to her.
It wasn't an uncomfortable room. In fact, it was very nice. The bed that she had apparently been sleeping in was tucked in one corner, its sheets kicked away in her sleep. Two plush velvet chairs were set in front of the fireplace, a small table set between them. The floor and walls were stone, without the ancient and rough-hewn feel of the rooms at Hogwarts. Her feet were bare, but the stone beneath them did not feel cold. The torches shown clean and brilliant instead of flickering like those at her school. There were no windows, but the portraits, beautiful portraits of watchful wizards and witches and graceful creatures, were framed with red velvet curtains. With the addition of numerous bookshelves, the walls had a feeling of fullness that didn't border on clutter.
She looked to her right to find a mirror hanging on the wall. She wore a robe of deep purple that came down to just below her knees. Patting herself up and down, she felt a pair of knickers beneath, but no brassiere. A furtive look around at the portraits to make sure that she wasn't being ogled, followed by a quick lift of the robes up to her shoulders confirmed this. It also confirmed that the knickers she was wearing were plain white, different than the blue with white spots she had been wearing earlier. For some reason, she had been changed out of the clothes she was wearing this morning, stripped down and redressed.
This morning, right? Was it still the same day? How long had she been asleep away unconscious?
Sword. Scorpius. Explosion, rending and tearing from her
The panic she had felt during the attack was returning. She was in a room she didn't recognize, wearing clothes that she hadn't been wearing previous. Scorpius and Rose were gone. She ran to the door. It was locked. She ran to the mantle. No Floo Powder. She looked to the bed, its sheets torn away violently from when she had pulled herself out while still asleep. There was a nightstand. There was no wand.
Ran back to the door. Shook the handle. Twisted. Turned. Locked.
Panic was stronger now. Her breath becoming ragged. Hyperventilating. She was trapped. Locked in. Prisoner? Probably.
"Help me!" she screamed, tears pricking her eyes as she rattled and pounded. "I'm trapped! Someone! Anyone! Help me!"
The door opened, and Meghan screamed. The man wore the same mask that she, along with everyone else in the world, had seen on the day that the world changed. She fell backwards, scraping her hands on the edge of one of the floor's stones. She pushed herself backwards, panic a full presence now.
"Meghan Cullen," came a voice from behind the mask. It was pleasant. With a smile to it. Like she was an old friend who had been out of his life for years and had finally been reunited. It didn't make her feel any better.
"W-w-who... Wwwwwwho..."
"My name is Prospero," said the wizard, stepping in and closing the door behind him. "Please, Miss Cullen, calm yourself--"
"Who are you? Where am I? What did you do to me? Where's Scorpius?"
"Miss Cullen--" said Prospero, holding out his hand to help her up.
"Don't touch me!"
"Augh!" Prospero flinched back, shaking his hand as though he had received an electric shock. "Miss Cullen, please," he said, his teeth clenched in pain, "I do not want to hurt you. Believe me, hurting you is the last thing I would ever want to do. Not after all this time. Everything will be explained to you, I promise. I only ask that you sit down," he motioned towards the chairs by the fireplace, "and we can have a chat. Please."
As though a token of goodwill, Prospero lifted his mask by the chin, allowing it and his hood fall back to reveal the face of a man about her father's age, with a round face, high hairline, and a small pointed beard on his chin. His expression appeared kind, but anticipatory, as he patiently held his hand to the chairs.
Meghan's eyes trailed down his arm, to his hand, and to the chairs. The warm fire. There were two cups on the table, with a pot between them and a plate of biscuits. Were they there before? Did Prospero just make them appear? Did they appear on their own, like the food in the Great Hall?
You're not going anywhere, she thought. You're locked in, he's bigger than you, and he has a wand. If he wants to talk, let him talk. If he wants to answer your questions, let him answer your questions. If he wants to hurt you, well, you can deal with that when it happens. Keep on your guard.
"Can I have a blanket?" Meghan asked quietly, feeling her bare feet and just a slight breeze against her legs and knowing that he couldn't see anything through the conservative nightgown that she was wearing, but still feeling very naked beneath his gaze despite the warmth of his smile. Almost like he could see through her, read what was rolling through her thoughts.
"Of course," said Prospero. He waved his wand at one of the chairs, and a plaid blanket was suddenly draped across its back. It looked warm, and long enough to cover Meghan from neck to toes with plenty of room to spare. Meghan spared one last look at the wizard, then walked slowly to the chair. She pulled the blanket down and sat down, sinking into the soft cushions. Her feet dangled inches from the floor, reminding her once again how short she was, and when she pulled the blanket over her she realized that she had suddenly made herself more vulnerable by covering her hands and arms.
"I can make it a Snuggie, if you want," said Prospero with a joking smile as he sat down opposite her. "It would be easier for you to eat. You ever have one of those?"
"My mum does," said Meghan, then started. "You know what they are?"
"I'm Muggle-born, Meghan," said Prospero, and with a wave of his wand, she had sleeves. "Can I call you Meghan? Miss Cullen feels so formal."
"Umm..."
"I was raised as a Muggle, just like you."
"You... You were?" Meghan said, taken aback. "Don't... But I thought you hate Muggles."
"Well, it's a complicated answer," said Prospero. "We simply want to reclaim our rightful position in the world. We don't want to hide anymore, and we want to use our abilities to make the world a better place for both wizards and Muggles. And you, Meghan, are the key to our plans."
"I... What?"
"You are the Next," said Prospero. "The next to lead the Oligarchy, and the next to lead the magical world into a new age."
Meghan's jaw dropped open. "That can't be right," she said.
"The prophecies have been quite clear," said Prospero, pouring a cup of what appeared to be cocoa from the pot and pushing it across the table to Meghan. "Our Diviners have been searching for you since before you were even born."
"I... I..." Meghan stammered. "That's... Look, please don't kill me, but you have the wrong person. You have to have the wrong person. I'm just... just... I'm just a Muggle-born. Or, well, half-blood, I guess. But I'm not anything special!"
"You are, Meghan," Prospero nodded. "You are something very special. You are an incredibly powerful witch, more powerful than you may even understand."
"No, I'm not!" Meghan argued. "I'm a screw up! I end up in the hospital more often than not--"
"Which is a matter of control and magical immaturity," said Prospero, leaning forward onto his knees, "not of power. Meghan, we have been watching you since you manifested. Protecting you. Your magical potential is astronomical. It is, in fact, more than anyone at Hogwarts can adequately deal with. But we can. As I said, we have been searching for you before you were even born and, now that we have found you, we want to protect you. Teach you. Maximize your abilities. You are so important to the world, and we want to make sure that you can comfortably travel the path laid before you. Are you sure you don't want to drink? I can get marshmallows, if you'd like."
"Professor Forseti says not to drink anything from a stranger," said Meghan quietly. "It might be spiked with something."
"A wise choice," Prospero nodded, pouring his own cup. "Professor Moody said the same thing to us. Well, I guess he was Professor Crouch, but that's neither here nor there."
Meghan sat silently, staring at her cooling cocoa and putting the pieces together. "So... You think I'm your new leader."
"We do."
"You kidnapped me because you think I'm your new leader."
"Yes," said Prospero, maddeningly patient.
"You kidnapped me, hurt people to get to me, because you think I'm your new leader?"
"This is a war, Miss Cullen," said Prospero. "In wars, people get hurt. In this war, in particular, one of our key participants was on the other side of the line. We did what we had to do to get to you, just as they did what they had to do to stop us."
Meghan swallowed. "Did... Did anyone die?"
"We lost four members of our leadership circle in the raid on Hogwarts," said Prospero, "plus numerous other members in the diversionary attack on London."
"The what?" Meghan said, sitting up in shock.
"We had to make sure that the Ministry's eyes were turned away from the school. There were twenty-three witches and wizards we were watching and protecting in England. Of those, you were the only one attending Hogwarts at the time. If it had been anyone else, we would have simply visited them in their homes. But you were protected by the various enchantments and faculty of Hogwarts. We did what needed to be done."
"Look, who are you?" Meghan cried out.
"We are the Oligarchy," said Prospero, leaning back in his chair. "We have existed for nearly one hundred years, following the teachings of Gellert Grindelwald and Albus Dumbledore, but are waging a war that has been fought since even before the creation of the Statute of Secrecy."
"Dumbledore?" Meghan gasped. "Dumbledore created you?"
"He did, in a way," said Prospero. "Granted, he and Grindelwald parted ways before we became a physical entity, but it is the theories and designs of the two wizards combined that brought us into existence. Grindelwald, our first leader, never let us forget that the Circle of Thirteen was as much Dumbledore as it was himself, even after the two battled for the last time."
"That's impossible!" said Meghan. "If Grindelwald created you, why have I never heard of you? You've never been mentioned in History class."
"No, we weren't," said Prospero. "The Circle of Thirteen was the secret brains behind the powerful body of Grindelwald's army, but our existence was never publicly known. Indeed, the Oligarchy itself did go under a different name during the War in the 1940's, but it was also a different army than the one we have today. Grindelwald chose quantity over quality. We prefer to think of the Oligarchy as the best of the best, while Grindelwald's method of action was to overwhelm the enemy with sheer numbers.
"Do not think that I disparage our founder, Meghan," he added, raising his hand. "He was a great leader, and very devoted to the cause. But when his armies were defeated after the War, and Grindelwald was sentenced to Nurmengard, the Circle had to rethink the tactics Grindelwald had preached. While Gellert Grindelwald had created a very public face to his campaign, we recognized that the Circle of Thirteen had to become a mere shadow, rearming itself in the centuries to come until the time arrived for us to strike again.
"And so we went underground. We recruited only those who we deemed to be the strongest of the strong, the smartest of the smart. We infiltrated the world's governments at every level, every center of magical education and every financial power. And we waited. We waited for you, our new leader. You are the one destined to take the reins from the fallen Gellert Grindelwald and to drive us into creating the new world."
"But... But... You're the bad guys!" Meghan said. "You've killed so many people! Why do you think I'd--"
"As I've said, Meghan, this is a war. People die in wars, leaders, soldiers, and the innocent. It is true for the victors as well as the enemies. Thousands died at the hands of the armies that had united against Grindelwald during the War, but those losses are rarely spoken of. And, yes, many have died in the last month because of us, and it pains me to have had a hand in each one of their deaths. But it was for the Greater Good. Without their sacrifice, we will not be able to bring about a better world for those they leave behind!"
"I would never kill anyone! I'm not like you!"
"But you have," said Prospero quietly. Sadly. "I'm sorry, but you have, whether you knew it or not. You killed your neighbor's dog all those years ago, and you killed two of the Circle of Thirteen this morning at Hogwarts. Altheda, the Mask of Sydney, and Yah-O-Gah, the Mask of Quebec, died in the explosion that you caused."
"No!" Meghan cried out. "I didn't... I... They were going to kill us! They tried to kill Scorpius and Professor Longbottom!"
"Scorpius Malfoy lives," said Prospero. "As does Neville Longbottom. And we were never going to kill any of you. We were simply defending ourselves. In fact, we did all that we could to make sure others were not involved in our raid by locking most of the school inside the Great Hall. It was your explosion that killed them, and put Manbo and Rose Weasley in the hospital."
"Rose..." Meghan gasped, covering her mouth. "I hurt Rose..."
"We are tending to her," Prospero said. "And please understand that we do not blame you for any of this. It wasn't you that killed them, but simply your lack of training. You are so powerful, Meghan, and we want to help you control the limitless power inside of you. The remaining members of the Circle of Thirteen, as well as those we will promote to replace the fallen, all agree that our first priority is to help you to ascend to your rightful place, and we have the experience and the talent to help you more than anyone at Hogwarts."
"But--"
"We're not the bad guys," Prospero added. "Even during the last two wars, we fought on the side of the Order of the Phoenix, even if they didn't know it. They were the bad guys, Meghan: Voldemort and his Death Eaters. They wanted to destroy not only the Muggle world, but those within the wizarding world who they deemed impure. We fought them, even after the wars ended. We believe all wizards are equal, and we also believe that Muggles should be allowed to live their own lives."
"Under wizard control."
Prospero shrugged. "It's evolution," he said, "in all aspects. Wizards are more powerful. Our society is stronger now than it has ever been. We are economically sound, we want for nothing. Why wouldn't Muggles want us in their lives?"
"But we're forcing them!"
"Still natural selection," said Prospero. "If the Muggles wish to remove us from power, they may do so. We are powerful, but they are many. If they defeat us, then they defeat us. It's that simple. The world has always been full of power struggles, Meghan. We just believe that magic should be allowed its chance to join that struggle."
Meghan closed her eyes. She felt her brain pounding from all the information that had been forced into her brain in the last ten minutes. They think she's a leader? A leader of some... some...
"Meghan, I know what you're thinking," said Prospero, leaning forward, "and I want to make one thing abundantly clear. You are the future leader of the Oligarchy. You will ultimately shape what we become. If you don't like how things are going, you can change it. What we are doing is handing you the keys to change. We want the world to change. And you want to the world to change. I know you do. I don't even have to read your mind to know it. Imagine what your life would have been like if you had known that magic existed before Neville and Dean stepped onto your doorstep two years ago. Imagine what your life would have been like if you had known who your father really was. If he hadn't had to hide his true nature from you and your mother for all these years. If you didn't have to hide who you really were from your old friends? Your neighbors?
"That's what happens with secrets. People get hurt. People are lied to. People grow to hate one another. We want to make all of that disappear. We want to help the next little girl truly know where she came from. You can help us with that, and we can help each other in achieving that ultimate goal."
He stood up, and walked to her. Held out his hand.
"Meghan Cullen," he said quietly, "will you join us?"
---------
"How do you think it's going in there?"
"I wouldn't know," said Atrytone as she and Yama, Mask of Delhi, descended the stone stairs into the further depths of the already subterranean Oligarchy headquarters. "As The Next, I would think that she would follow us..."
"But as Sangoma was always quick to point out," Yama interjected, "we can only put so much faith in prophecy."
"Exactly," said Atrytone as the two entered the dungeons. "She may not agree to our terms."
"It is a shame that Manbo was injured in the attack," said Yama. "Prospero is from England, and can speak for us well enough. But Manbo has a way with the younger recruits that could only help sway the Next to join us."
The witch and wizard walked down the hall, lined with barred doors. At this time, they were mostly empty. When the Oligarchy fought, they took prisoners only when absolutely necessary. In the room to their right was the former Secretary of Mexico, replaced by a Polyjuiced infiltrator soon before Project Beta was initiated. The wizard was shaved bald, his hair currently residing in a small box in his usurper's office.
As they continued their journey, the room to the left held a French dissident, formerly Protected and recruited to join the Oligarchy. She had had second thoughts, tried to leave, and, well, here she was.
Next up was a Norwegian wizard, captured by Gungnir's people for nothing more than attacking a group of Muggle school children. It seemed excessive to Atrytone that the wizard should be held prisoner for something so trivial, but Gungnir had convinced the Circle to take a more active role in pacifying unofficial demonstrations of violence between wizard and Muggle. It was a narrow vote, however, and Atrytone was anxious to re-visit the issue after Dola and the other dead Masks were replaced.
The next room was empty. Atrytone knew who it was reserved for. There was a bunk upstairs in the dormitory with the other under-aged female recruits that was awaiting the same person. Where she would soon reside would depend on what choices were made in the next few hours.
"You cannot honestly think that she would join us, would you?" said Yama with a snort, noticing Atrytone's gaze.
"No, I cannot," said Atrytone. "It is more likely that the Minister's daughter will be living in that cell very soon. However, Airmid has said that she and the Next are close. It is possible that one will join if the other does, in order to protect one another. Besides, neither of them are leaving alive, so in the end it does not matter."
"What will we do with the Next if she does not cooperate? We would not think to kill her, would we?"
"If it came to it," said Atrytone as they approached the cell they had come downstairs to visit. "We have done well without her, we could continue--"
"Blasphemy," Yama hissed.
"Not at all," said Atrytone. "We would just simply await the next Next. However, we have many more methods of persuasion before we call her a failure."
She pulled open the cell's small window and peeked in at the short man huddled in the corner, bruised and dressed in rags. As the light poured in through the small window, the man pushed himself even further into the corner.
"Did you hear that, Dennis?" said Atrytone, her glee barely contained in her voice. "Or Patrick, or whatever you're going by? You'd better hope that your daughter decides to join us. Otherwise, we're bringing you out. We're telling her what you did, what you were planning to do wizards and witches like her. Use you as leverage, perhaps, to make her see our side of things.
"And in the end? You'd better hope we kill you. Because once she hears what you did, she might just kill you herself."
Dualkey / Previous Chapters / Infiltration
Author: kanedax
Spoilers: Previous Chapters
Rating: R for language, violence, and brief nudity
Summary: The Oligarchy make their case
Notes: I own these characters. The others belong to JK Rowlling.
Dualkey / Previous Chapters / Infiltration
They were surrounded.
Meghan was clutching Scorpius's arm tightly, and Rose could feel her friend pressed against her shoulder. She was shaking like a leaf. They were young. Rose recognized that they hadn't known true fear before now. She had heard that fear had a smell, that it had wafted off the body like a pheromone. She didn't believe it. But what she was smelling around her, Meghan, and Scorpius could be only that.
Three against three. Someone like Mum or Dad or Uncle Harry would like those odds. They hadn't been much older than Rose when they had gone into the Ministry of Magic and fought Lucius Malfoy, Bellatrix Lestrange, and the rest of Voldemort's Death Eaters.
But they had had help. And, unfortunately, Rose knew that she shouldn't expect Albus Dumbledore or the Order of the Phoenix to come bursting through the greenhouse door to save them this time. The closest thing they had to grown-up help was currently unconscious on the floor, bleeding to death.
They had to do something. Now. So why couldn't she move?
The horrible skull man was talking. Calling Meghan the next something. Scorpius was talking back. Rose knew he cared about Meghan, but why didn't he know he was only making them more angry?
Scorpius glanced over his shoulder, looking towards the woman with the white rune-covered cloth over her face. But his eyes met Rose's.
He tilted his head towards Meghan. And towards the door. Run, his lips said. He wanted her to take his girlfriend and get out of there. He was going to do something stupid to save them. He was going to... What was he going to do?
don't listen to him he's a Slytherin and he's a Malfoy he just wants to save himself and besides he doesn't know what he's doing
But that wasn't true. Scorpius was different. Meghan knew it, and Rose knew it. He wanted to save her. He was going to, what, sacrifice himself? Try to fend them off by himself?
You're not going anywhere. You're fighting with him.
But it's not like she knew what she was doing, either. She was just--
Scorpius made his move, one that took Rose completely by surprise. Instead of starting a duel, he ran directly at one of the witches, hoping to, what, knock her over?
Rose saw the sword pierce Scorpius's belly. Watched with horror as the long metal blade, once shining in the morning light, protrude from his back, now tinted red with his blood.
She tried to raise her wand. Tried to move her feet.
But she was paralyzed with fear.
Screaming. Meghan. Explosion. Rose skidded backwards. Wand from her hand. She was roasting hot, like the room was on fire.
Or like she was.
Sharp pain to the back of her head.
Darkness.
---------
"--work you've done, Airmid."
"Thank you, Steward."
"The Next is well?"
The Next.
Rose Weasley's eyes pulled themselves open. It was a bit of work. She felt weaker than she had ever felt in her life, her entire body had a warm, clammy feel to it, and her brain was stuffed with feathers. She looked left on a neck that was creaking like a rusted hinge. White. Right. White. In front of her. White. She was in a bed, surrounded by a white curtain. Hospital? Hogwarts? But who was talking?
"She is," the voice outside the curtain continued. "She was in fine health when I left her a few minutes ago. Unconscious, still, but in good health."
Who is that? She sounded so familiar...
"You do understand the importance--"
"Of course I do. But you must also understand that, as a nurse, Meghan Cullen is not my top priority at this moment. We brought three wounded back from Hogwarts. She may be more important in the long run, but right now Manbo and Rose require my attention before her."
Madam Hahnemann?
There was a smell now, sharp and pungent. It was that stuff Mum rubbed on her chest as a child when she was sick. If Crookshanks, Mum's old cat, had eaten a jar of it, along with a basket of raspberries, then threw the whole mess up on the floor, it would smell like this.
"How are they?"
"Manbo is improving," said Hahnemann to the mysterious female voice. "She was the lucky one. The explosion merely threw her through the plate glass. Broken bones, internal bleeding, some cerebral hemorrhaging. Nothing I cannot fix."
"No thanks to Atrytone," came another voice, deep, powerful, and angry.
"She took the needs of the Next over the needs of the Circle," said the female voice, the one Hahnemann was calling Steward. "Manbo would have done the same thing had their positions been reversed."
"I do not believe that is true," said the wizard, with a Scandinavian accent. "Nor do I think that you believe it, either."
"Such as it is," said the steward. Middle Eastern? "They both live."
Rose's face itched. She moved to scratch it. Her arms felt were made of cast iron, and she couldn't seem to even concentrate enough to will them to rise.
And then there was pain.
Rose cried out: A weak, mouse-like squeak was all she had the energy to release.
"She is awake?" asked the steward.
clop clop clop
The curtain was pulled back by Hahnemann, who now stood over Rose. She was dressed in black robes like the three that had attacked the greenhouse. Her head was covered from the nose up by a black bandanna, but the mouth, chin, and hair were distinctly the Hogwarts nurse.
And the room... The room was distinctly Hogwarts. The layout was nearly identical to the Hogwarts Hospital wing, just as well-lit and cozy. But there was one minor difference: No windows. The warm sun that drenched the room was coming from somewhere else completely. Or perhaps nowhere.
Rose could see the other two now, the two that Hahnemann had been speaking to before they had been interrupted. One was tall and imposing, a gold mask on his face and his robes filled with muscle. And beside him...
Rose's breath caught in her chest, causing another sharp bolt of pain.
A crocodile not an alligator, her rational, book-educated mind panicked. Alligators have rounder noses and their lower teeth are hidden by their upper jaw and their heads don't sit on human necks.
"Calm yourself, Rose," said Hahnemann as Rose's eyes were glued to the reptilian head poking out of the black hood. "Please. She is a witch, just like us. It's just a mask. Please..."
"where... where..." Rose tried to ask, but the packing materials in her brain refused to let her come up with a coherent second word.
"You're with the Oligarchy," said Hahnemann. "This is Ammit," she said, motioning to the crocodile, "Mask of Cairo and the Oligarchy's Steward."
"Do you think it's wise to--" the golden wizard asked, but the crocodile witch only raised her hand to silence him.
"And the other is Gungnir, the Mask of Trondheim," Hahenmann continued. "You were injured in the explosion, but we are taking care of you, and keeping you here for protection."
My protection or yours? she thought. Unfortunately, that disconnect between her mouth and her brain remained.
"You were burned quite badly," said Hahnemann. "Second and third degree in most areas, fourth degree on your right arm and right leg. We're using potions and such to help you heal, but it will, of course, take time. And we've cast various spells on you to make sure you don't move very much. It will only reopen your wounds."
Rose forced herself to look down on a neck that protested its every movement. She was on a bed, the sheets removed. Her Hogwarts robes had been removed, along with what appeared to be every other square inch of her clothing. Instead, she had been wrapped to the toes in tight bandages, soaked with some sort of blue-green potion. Some patches appeared brighter than others, some darker.
That's where I'm bleeding, she thought helplessly. Or... pussing?
She also realized that her face must be wrapped, as well. That would be why it itched so. She tried again to move her arm, only to discover that the spells weren't the only things keeping her immobile. She was attached to the bed by her wrists and ankles, leather straps keeping her arms and legs from moving more than an inch.
"Right now you are our patient," said Ammit. As she spoke, her long jaw moved as though it were her actual face. "But you are also--"
"prisoner..."
"Quite right," the steward nodded. "For now. You may serve a purpose for us yet."
"mum..."
"For one example," said Ammit. "But Airmid has spoken quite highly of you, Miss Weasley. We can speak of it later, but we could quite easily find a place for you here within the Oligarchy. With your intelligence and your--"
"never."
Rose tried to put as much venom behind the word as her body would let her. She thought she did a pretty good job, even if it came out as no more than a hissing wheeze. Ammit, however, merely shrugged. "Time may tell," she said, unimpressed. "Airmid, put her back down, will you? The struggling cannot be helping her injuries."
"Of course, Steward," said Mia, pulling her wand. As the steward turned away, moving towards the doors, Rose caught sight of Gungnir, the golden man, settling himself beside another hospital resident.
The other witch they had been talking about, Rose realized. The one thrown through the greenhouse windows.
Rose watched as the golden man took the woman's hand.
And she faded away again.
---------
She never really remembers what happens, but it comes to her at night.
She plays with the neighbor dog. She loves the neighbor dog. It's a big, black dog. Mummy and Daddy told her what kind it was once, but she forgot. All she knows is that the dog is nice and playful and it likes her.
Until one day when it's not and isn't and doesn't.
The Foxes' back yard. After school, while Mummy and Daddy and Mr. and Mrs. Fox are still at work. She's playing with the dog (Sparky, her name is Sparky). Throws a stick. Sparky brings it back. She wrestles it from her mouth. Throws it again. Wrestles it from her mouth. Wrestling.
A loud noise somewhere. A bang. She doesn't know what it is. Sparky is scared. Sparky bites.
Pain. For a split second she sees the jaws clenched tightly on her arm, blood pouring through Sparky's teeth. She shakes her arm, and the teeth tear away. Tear skin, tear muscle. Tears the dog away. The dog yelps.
There's a hole in her arm, big enough to fit a golf ball. Quickly filling with blood. The pain is there, but distant, numbed: She's in shock, but doesn't know it. Instinctively she puts her hand over the wound, to hold in the blood or to cover it from her eyes she doesn't know.
The pain fades. She pulls her hand away. The hole is gone. There is blood, yes, her entire arm is dipped in red, but there is no hole. It was her imagination. No hole made by Sparky.
Sparky. She looks up, afraid that the dog will attack again.
The dog is spread before her on the lawn. Her back half is three feet away from her front half. There is blood. And goopy stuff. Her insides. And more blood. Oh so much more blood.
She runs. She washes her arm, knowing that it was the dog's blood and not her own. How the dog's blood got on her she didn't know, it surely wasn't her own blood because when she washed her arm there was no hole, it must have had something to do with the animal that Mr. and Mrs. Fox say killed Sparky. It must have attacked then she was looking away, when she was hearing the loud noise that was nothing more than a backfiring lawnmower, something quick and... and...
She never really remembers what happened, but it comes to her at night.
She awakens to orange and yellow and red and smoke and heat.
Her room is on fire. Her wardrobe, her toy chest, her Mickey Mouse posters and her stuffed animals and her bed. All on fire.
She is hot, and she screams. Her father, her protector, crashes through the door. He looks around. For a moment, his eyes are unfamiliar to her. They are distant. Wary. He looks at her and she sees fear. Fear not of fire but of her.
But that can't be right. As soon as she sees the look in his eyes it is gone. He pulls her from the flaming bed. Takes her from the room and from the house.
She is unhurt.
The wiring was to blame, the fire people say. The wiring was to blame, her Mummy and Daddy say. She loses everything, they lose everything, and they move to Thurso to start a new life and they say the wiring was to blame and she sees Daddy look at her through the smoke and she sees him, for a split second, blame her.
She sees the sword pierce her boyfriend, her Scorpius, and is he her love? and she sees the hole and sees the blood filling around the giant metal tooth and she sees orange and yellow and red and smoke and heat and she never really remembers what happened, but it comes to her at night.
---------
She sees orange and yellow and red and smoke and heat and it is small now and she is standing in the middle of a room staring into a fireplace.
Meghan Cullen looked around the room in a panic. Why was she standing in the middle of... of...
Where was she?
Sleepwalking, she thought. A waking dream. You've had them a lot. Why not now?
But this wasn't a dream. She was fully awake now, yet the room remained unfamiliar to her.
It wasn't an uncomfortable room. In fact, it was very nice. The bed that she had apparently been sleeping in was tucked in one corner, its sheets kicked away in her sleep. Two plush velvet chairs were set in front of the fireplace, a small table set between them. The floor and walls were stone, without the ancient and rough-hewn feel of the rooms at Hogwarts. Her feet were bare, but the stone beneath them did not feel cold. The torches shown clean and brilliant instead of flickering like those at her school. There were no windows, but the portraits, beautiful portraits of watchful wizards and witches and graceful creatures, were framed with red velvet curtains. With the addition of numerous bookshelves, the walls had a feeling of fullness that didn't border on clutter.
She looked to her right to find a mirror hanging on the wall. She wore a robe of deep purple that came down to just below her knees. Patting herself up and down, she felt a pair of knickers beneath, but no brassiere. A furtive look around at the portraits to make sure that she wasn't being ogled, followed by a quick lift of the robes up to her shoulders confirmed this. It also confirmed that the knickers she was wearing were plain white, different than the blue with white spots she had been wearing earlier. For some reason, she had been changed out of the clothes she was wearing this morning, stripped down and redressed.
This morning, right? Was it still the same day? How long had she been asleep away unconscious?
Sword. Scorpius. Explosion, rending and tearing from her
The panic she had felt during the attack was returning. She was in a room she didn't recognize, wearing clothes that she hadn't been wearing previous. Scorpius and Rose were gone. She ran to the door. It was locked. She ran to the mantle. No Floo Powder. She looked to the bed, its sheets torn away violently from when she had pulled herself out while still asleep. There was a nightstand. There was no wand.
Ran back to the door. Shook the handle. Twisted. Turned. Locked.
Panic was stronger now. Her breath becoming ragged. Hyperventilating. She was trapped. Locked in. Prisoner? Probably.
"Help me!" she screamed, tears pricking her eyes as she rattled and pounded. "I'm trapped! Someone! Anyone! Help me!"
The door opened, and Meghan screamed. The man wore the same mask that she, along with everyone else in the world, had seen on the day that the world changed. She fell backwards, scraping her hands on the edge of one of the floor's stones. She pushed herself backwards, panic a full presence now.
"Meghan Cullen," came a voice from behind the mask. It was pleasant. With a smile to it. Like she was an old friend who had been out of his life for years and had finally been reunited. It didn't make her feel any better.
"W-w-who... Wwwwwwho..."
"My name is Prospero," said the wizard, stepping in and closing the door behind him. "Please, Miss Cullen, calm yourself--"
"Who are you? Where am I? What did you do to me? Where's Scorpius?"
"Miss Cullen--" said Prospero, holding out his hand to help her up.
"Don't touch me!"
"Augh!" Prospero flinched back, shaking his hand as though he had received an electric shock. "Miss Cullen, please," he said, his teeth clenched in pain, "I do not want to hurt you. Believe me, hurting you is the last thing I would ever want to do. Not after all this time. Everything will be explained to you, I promise. I only ask that you sit down," he motioned towards the chairs by the fireplace, "and we can have a chat. Please."
As though a token of goodwill, Prospero lifted his mask by the chin, allowing it and his hood fall back to reveal the face of a man about her father's age, with a round face, high hairline, and a small pointed beard on his chin. His expression appeared kind, but anticipatory, as he patiently held his hand to the chairs.
Meghan's eyes trailed down his arm, to his hand, and to the chairs. The warm fire. There were two cups on the table, with a pot between them and a plate of biscuits. Were they there before? Did Prospero just make them appear? Did they appear on their own, like the food in the Great Hall?
You're not going anywhere, she thought. You're locked in, he's bigger than you, and he has a wand. If he wants to talk, let him talk. If he wants to answer your questions, let him answer your questions. If he wants to hurt you, well, you can deal with that when it happens. Keep on your guard.
"Can I have a blanket?" Meghan asked quietly, feeling her bare feet and just a slight breeze against her legs and knowing that he couldn't see anything through the conservative nightgown that she was wearing, but still feeling very naked beneath his gaze despite the warmth of his smile. Almost like he could see through her, read what was rolling through her thoughts.
"Of course," said Prospero. He waved his wand at one of the chairs, and a plaid blanket was suddenly draped across its back. It looked warm, and long enough to cover Meghan from neck to toes with plenty of room to spare. Meghan spared one last look at the wizard, then walked slowly to the chair. She pulled the blanket down and sat down, sinking into the soft cushions. Her feet dangled inches from the floor, reminding her once again how short she was, and when she pulled the blanket over her she realized that she had suddenly made herself more vulnerable by covering her hands and arms.
"I can make it a Snuggie, if you want," said Prospero with a joking smile as he sat down opposite her. "It would be easier for you to eat. You ever have one of those?"
"My mum does," said Meghan, then started. "You know what they are?"
"I'm Muggle-born, Meghan," said Prospero, and with a wave of his wand, she had sleeves. "Can I call you Meghan? Miss Cullen feels so formal."
"Umm..."
"I was raised as a Muggle, just like you."
"You... You were?" Meghan said, taken aback. "Don't... But I thought you hate Muggles."
"Well, it's a complicated answer," said Prospero. "We simply want to reclaim our rightful position in the world. We don't want to hide anymore, and we want to use our abilities to make the world a better place for both wizards and Muggles. And you, Meghan, are the key to our plans."
"I... What?"
"You are the Next," said Prospero. "The next to lead the Oligarchy, and the next to lead the magical world into a new age."
Meghan's jaw dropped open. "That can't be right," she said.
"The prophecies have been quite clear," said Prospero, pouring a cup of what appeared to be cocoa from the pot and pushing it across the table to Meghan. "Our Diviners have been searching for you since before you were even born."
"I... I..." Meghan stammered. "That's... Look, please don't kill me, but you have the wrong person. You have to have the wrong person. I'm just... just... I'm just a Muggle-born. Or, well, half-blood, I guess. But I'm not anything special!"
"You are, Meghan," Prospero nodded. "You are something very special. You are an incredibly powerful witch, more powerful than you may even understand."
"No, I'm not!" Meghan argued. "I'm a screw up! I end up in the hospital more often than not--"
"Which is a matter of control and magical immaturity," said Prospero, leaning forward onto his knees, "not of power. Meghan, we have been watching you since you manifested. Protecting you. Your magical potential is astronomical. It is, in fact, more than anyone at Hogwarts can adequately deal with. But we can. As I said, we have been searching for you before you were even born and, now that we have found you, we want to protect you. Teach you. Maximize your abilities. You are so important to the world, and we want to make sure that you can comfortably travel the path laid before you. Are you sure you don't want to drink? I can get marshmallows, if you'd like."
"Professor Forseti says not to drink anything from a stranger," said Meghan quietly. "It might be spiked with something."
"A wise choice," Prospero nodded, pouring his own cup. "Professor Moody said the same thing to us. Well, I guess he was Professor Crouch, but that's neither here nor there."
Meghan sat silently, staring at her cooling cocoa and putting the pieces together. "So... You think I'm your new leader."
"We do."
"You kidnapped me because you think I'm your new leader."
"Yes," said Prospero, maddeningly patient.
"You kidnapped me, hurt people to get to me, because you think I'm your new leader?"
"This is a war, Miss Cullen," said Prospero. "In wars, people get hurt. In this war, in particular, one of our key participants was on the other side of the line. We did what we had to do to get to you, just as they did what they had to do to stop us."
Meghan swallowed. "Did... Did anyone die?"
"We lost four members of our leadership circle in the raid on Hogwarts," said Prospero, "plus numerous other members in the diversionary attack on London."
"The what?" Meghan said, sitting up in shock.
"We had to make sure that the Ministry's eyes were turned away from the school. There were twenty-three witches and wizards we were watching and protecting in England. Of those, you were the only one attending Hogwarts at the time. If it had been anyone else, we would have simply visited them in their homes. But you were protected by the various enchantments and faculty of Hogwarts. We did what needed to be done."
"Look, who are you?" Meghan cried out.
"We are the Oligarchy," said Prospero, leaning back in his chair. "We have existed for nearly one hundred years, following the teachings of Gellert Grindelwald and Albus Dumbledore, but are waging a war that has been fought since even before the creation of the Statute of Secrecy."
"Dumbledore?" Meghan gasped. "Dumbledore created you?"
"He did, in a way," said Prospero. "Granted, he and Grindelwald parted ways before we became a physical entity, but it is the theories and designs of the two wizards combined that brought us into existence. Grindelwald, our first leader, never let us forget that the Circle of Thirteen was as much Dumbledore as it was himself, even after the two battled for the last time."
"That's impossible!" said Meghan. "If Grindelwald created you, why have I never heard of you? You've never been mentioned in History class."
"No, we weren't," said Prospero. "The Circle of Thirteen was the secret brains behind the powerful body of Grindelwald's army, but our existence was never publicly known. Indeed, the Oligarchy itself did go under a different name during the War in the 1940's, but it was also a different army than the one we have today. Grindelwald chose quantity over quality. We prefer to think of the Oligarchy as the best of the best, while Grindelwald's method of action was to overwhelm the enemy with sheer numbers.
"Do not think that I disparage our founder, Meghan," he added, raising his hand. "He was a great leader, and very devoted to the cause. But when his armies were defeated after the War, and Grindelwald was sentenced to Nurmengard, the Circle had to rethink the tactics Grindelwald had preached. While Gellert Grindelwald had created a very public face to his campaign, we recognized that the Circle of Thirteen had to become a mere shadow, rearming itself in the centuries to come until the time arrived for us to strike again.
"And so we went underground. We recruited only those who we deemed to be the strongest of the strong, the smartest of the smart. We infiltrated the world's governments at every level, every center of magical education and every financial power. And we waited. We waited for you, our new leader. You are the one destined to take the reins from the fallen Gellert Grindelwald and to drive us into creating the new world."
"But... But... You're the bad guys!" Meghan said. "You've killed so many people! Why do you think I'd--"
"As I've said, Meghan, this is a war. People die in wars, leaders, soldiers, and the innocent. It is true for the victors as well as the enemies. Thousands died at the hands of the armies that had united against Grindelwald during the War, but those losses are rarely spoken of. And, yes, many have died in the last month because of us, and it pains me to have had a hand in each one of their deaths. But it was for the Greater Good. Without their sacrifice, we will not be able to bring about a better world for those they leave behind!"
"I would never kill anyone! I'm not like you!"
"But you have," said Prospero quietly. Sadly. "I'm sorry, but you have, whether you knew it or not. You killed your neighbor's dog all those years ago, and you killed two of the Circle of Thirteen this morning at Hogwarts. Altheda, the Mask of Sydney, and Yah-O-Gah, the Mask of Quebec, died in the explosion that you caused."
"No!" Meghan cried out. "I didn't... I... They were going to kill us! They tried to kill Scorpius and Professor Longbottom!"
"Scorpius Malfoy lives," said Prospero. "As does Neville Longbottom. And we were never going to kill any of you. We were simply defending ourselves. In fact, we did all that we could to make sure others were not involved in our raid by locking most of the school inside the Great Hall. It was your explosion that killed them, and put Manbo and Rose Weasley in the hospital."
"Rose..." Meghan gasped, covering her mouth. "I hurt Rose..."
"We are tending to her," Prospero said. "And please understand that we do not blame you for any of this. It wasn't you that killed them, but simply your lack of training. You are so powerful, Meghan, and we want to help you control the limitless power inside of you. The remaining members of the Circle of Thirteen, as well as those we will promote to replace the fallen, all agree that our first priority is to help you to ascend to your rightful place, and we have the experience and the talent to help you more than anyone at Hogwarts."
"But--"
"We're not the bad guys," Prospero added. "Even during the last two wars, we fought on the side of the Order of the Phoenix, even if they didn't know it. They were the bad guys, Meghan: Voldemort and his Death Eaters. They wanted to destroy not only the Muggle world, but those within the wizarding world who they deemed impure. We fought them, even after the wars ended. We believe all wizards are equal, and we also believe that Muggles should be allowed to live their own lives."
"Under wizard control."
Prospero shrugged. "It's evolution," he said, "in all aspects. Wizards are more powerful. Our society is stronger now than it has ever been. We are economically sound, we want for nothing. Why wouldn't Muggles want us in their lives?"
"But we're forcing them!"
"Still natural selection," said Prospero. "If the Muggles wish to remove us from power, they may do so. We are powerful, but they are many. If they defeat us, then they defeat us. It's that simple. The world has always been full of power struggles, Meghan. We just believe that magic should be allowed its chance to join that struggle."
Meghan closed her eyes. She felt her brain pounding from all the information that had been forced into her brain in the last ten minutes. They think she's a leader? A leader of some... some...
"Meghan, I know what you're thinking," said Prospero, leaning forward, "and I want to make one thing abundantly clear. You are the future leader of the Oligarchy. You will ultimately shape what we become. If you don't like how things are going, you can change it. What we are doing is handing you the keys to change. We want the world to change. And you want to the world to change. I know you do. I don't even have to read your mind to know it. Imagine what your life would have been like if you had known that magic existed before Neville and Dean stepped onto your doorstep two years ago. Imagine what your life would have been like if you had known who your father really was. If he hadn't had to hide his true nature from you and your mother for all these years. If you didn't have to hide who you really were from your old friends? Your neighbors?
"That's what happens with secrets. People get hurt. People are lied to. People grow to hate one another. We want to make all of that disappear. We want to help the next little girl truly know where she came from. You can help us with that, and we can help each other in achieving that ultimate goal."
He stood up, and walked to her. Held out his hand.
"Meghan Cullen," he said quietly, "will you join us?"
---------
"How do you think it's going in there?"
"I wouldn't know," said Atrytone as she and Yama, Mask of Delhi, descended the stone stairs into the further depths of the already subterranean Oligarchy headquarters. "As The Next, I would think that she would follow us..."
"But as Sangoma was always quick to point out," Yama interjected, "we can only put so much faith in prophecy."
"Exactly," said Atrytone as the two entered the dungeons. "She may not agree to our terms."
"It is a shame that Manbo was injured in the attack," said Yama. "Prospero is from England, and can speak for us well enough. But Manbo has a way with the younger recruits that could only help sway the Next to join us."
The witch and wizard walked down the hall, lined with barred doors. At this time, they were mostly empty. When the Oligarchy fought, they took prisoners only when absolutely necessary. In the room to their right was the former Secretary of Mexico, replaced by a Polyjuiced infiltrator soon before Project Beta was initiated. The wizard was shaved bald, his hair currently residing in a small box in his usurper's office.
As they continued their journey, the room to the left held a French dissident, formerly Protected and recruited to join the Oligarchy. She had had second thoughts, tried to leave, and, well, here she was.
Next up was a Norwegian wizard, captured by Gungnir's people for nothing more than attacking a group of Muggle school children. It seemed excessive to Atrytone that the wizard should be held prisoner for something so trivial, but Gungnir had convinced the Circle to take a more active role in pacifying unofficial demonstrations of violence between wizard and Muggle. It was a narrow vote, however, and Atrytone was anxious to re-visit the issue after Dola and the other dead Masks were replaced.
The next room was empty. Atrytone knew who it was reserved for. There was a bunk upstairs in the dormitory with the other under-aged female recruits that was awaiting the same person. Where she would soon reside would depend on what choices were made in the next few hours.
"You cannot honestly think that she would join us, would you?" said Yama with a snort, noticing Atrytone's gaze.
"No, I cannot," said Atrytone. "It is more likely that the Minister's daughter will be living in that cell very soon. However, Airmid has said that she and the Next are close. It is possible that one will join if the other does, in order to protect one another. Besides, neither of them are leaving alive, so in the end it does not matter."
"What will we do with the Next if she does not cooperate? We would not think to kill her, would we?"
"If it came to it," said Atrytone as they approached the cell they had come downstairs to visit. "We have done well without her, we could continue--"
"Blasphemy," Yama hissed.
"Not at all," said Atrytone. "We would just simply await the next Next. However, we have many more methods of persuasion before we call her a failure."
She pulled open the cell's small window and peeked in at the short man huddled in the corner, bruised and dressed in rags. As the light poured in through the small window, the man pushed himself even further into the corner.
"Did you hear that, Dennis?" said Atrytone, her glee barely contained in her voice. "Or Patrick, or whatever you're going by? You'd better hope that your daughter decides to join us. Otherwise, we're bringing you out. We're telling her what you did, what you were planning to do wizards and witches like her. Use you as leverage, perhaps, to make her see our side of things.
"And in the end? You'd better hope we kill you. Because once she hears what you did, she might just kill you herself."
Dualkey / Previous Chapters / Infiltration