Year 7-02: Threat Assessment

Harry awoke to a sound he had not heard in quite some time: laughter. Pure, unbridled, raucous laughter, drifting from somewhere down the hall into his bedroom. It was a pleasant sound, but one that felt strangely anachronistic to the dire circumstances he found himself in. So Harry rose from his bed and left his guest room in the Delacour manor to investigate.

The source of the odd noise was just one door down from his, wafting out of Dahlia's own room. The door was cracked open, and Harry peered inside to see a mass of blankets and pillows dangling magically from the ceiling. Dahlia and Gabrielle were playing within their makeshift fort, racing around the enclosed space, ducking in and out of the nooks and crannies they'd created.

As a bemused Harry watched from the hall, a tiny pale face emerged from the linens, leering suspiciously at Harry. "Interdit aux garcons!" Gabrielle exclaimed, sticking her tongue out at him.

"Yeah, no boys allowed!" agreed Dahlia, joining her French counterpart with a raspberry in Harry's direction. The two girls giggled and dove back into the safety of their fortress, continuing their game of make-believe without Harry's input.

Harry chuckled and made his way downstairs, leaving the girls to their play. He hadn't seen his sister look so care-free and happy in quite some time – it was a nice distraction from the grim realities of war they'd just left in Britain. He would not interrupt their fleeting moments of happiness, knowing it may be the last ones they'd get to enjoy for quite some time.

He wandered into the kitchen, where he found Fleur's mother making breakfast. "Madam Delacour," he greeted her with a bow – he had not seen her when they arrived late the previous evening. "Thank you for welcoming us into your home."

"Please, dear, call me Apolline," she smiled at him. "You and your sister are always welcome in zis house."

"Thank you," said Harry, taking a seat at the table. He glanced around the space; two dirtied plates sat nearby, clearly belonging to Gabrielle and Dahlia, but no other places were set. "Where is the rest of your family?"

"My 'usband is at ze Ministry, making arrangements for ze summit tomorrow," said Apolline as she fixed Harry a plate. "My eldest is in ze garden – she says she was not 'ungry. She does not seem herself, but will not say why."

"I might have some idea," Harry sighed. "She, erm...broke up with her boyfriend last night."

"Ze cursebreaker?" Apolline sniffed. "Good riddance. She was too good for zat man anyway – I do not know what she saw in 'im."

"I think it's a bit more complicated than that," Harry shrugged. That was an understatement – the memory alteration and everything leading up to it had surely made things difficult for Fleur to cope.

"It always is," Apolline sighed. "Dating can be difficult for us part-Veela, but Fleur 'as a good head on 'er shoulders. She will be fine."

"I hope you're right," Harry muttered as he dug into his plate of eggs and bacon. Apolline gave him a curious look as he ate in silence.

"Fleur speaks highly of you, 'Arry," she said. "I do not know what she 'as told you, but she does not 'ave many close friends. Thank you for being there for 'er, so she is not so lonely."

Harry was surprised by this – he'd always assumed Fleur was quite popular among her peers, being her school's Champion and a talented, beautiful witch in her own right. "She's been there for me, too," he said. "We've both had to go through some real shite in the past few years."

"Yes, with zat dreadful war of yours," Apolline sighed sadly. "I wish my Fleur would come home and stay far away from all of zat, but she never could back down from a fight. I suppose she gets it from 'er father."

Harry couldn't disagree...Fleur had always had a fiery disposition, forthright and at times abrasive when she felt she was in the right. But he admired her candor and her lack of filter, never afraid to tell Harry off when she felt he was being foolish. It was always a treat to see her passionate about a topic, and similarly a disappointment to see her upset.

So he finished his breakfast quickly and excused himself out to the garden. He found Fleur sitting at the shore of the enchanted pond, tossing stones into the murky water. As he got closer, he heard her quietly sniffling to herself, muttering under her breath in angry French that he could not understand.

"Fleur?" he announced himself tentatively. Fleur's watery eyes snapped up to his, and she quickly wiped away her tears and got to her feet.

"Good morning, 'Arry," she said in a businesslike tone. "We 'ave much to discuss."

"It didn't look like you were in the mood to talk strategy just yet," said Harry.

"Never you mind that," Fleur snapped irritably. "Our time is short, and we must make plans for tomorrow and beyond."

Harry could sense that she did not want to talk about Bill. Clearly the abrupt end of the relationship was weighing on her, and considering his own complicated role in the break-up, he wouldn't press the issue. "Alright," he said. "Where should we start?"

"First, you will tell me what 'appened at Hogwarts that night," said Fleur. "And why I cannot leave you alone for one night without you causing mayhem!"

Harry chuckled at her quip. They strolled around the pond together, Fleur listening intently as Harry recounted the events after they had parted ways that evening. She gasped when he described the arrival of the Death Eaters, sighed forlornly when he explained his rationale behind killing the Headmaster, mumbled angrily at Neville's confrontation on the grounds, and exclaimed loudly when Voldemort entered the picture at Spinner's End.

"Then I went home," Harry concluded lamely. "And I've been laying low ever since."

"It is no wonder Bill was so worked up," Fleur remarked. "It sounds so incroyable without context. If 'e did not trust you before, 'e never would after all of that."

"So you agree it was the right decision to Obliviate him?" asked Harry.

Fleur hesitated before answering. "I know it was ze correct move," she sighed. "But I cannot 'elp but feel guilty. Everything we experienced together – all ze good times, before the war – just gone."

"All the bad times, too," Harry pointed out. "At least he won't feel the pain of losing you, since he never had you."

"I am sure 'is family will tell him we were so 'appy together," Fleur said bitterly. "'E always wanted to bring me around, to show me off to 'is family. But it was not so simple. I fear 'e will resent me now all the more for it."

"If anyone, it's me he'll be resentful of," said Harry. "I'm the one that Obliviated him, and he won't remember that you were there that night. For all he knows, I took those memories without your consent either. That's fine by me...he'll hate me either way, won't he?"

Fleur still looked troubled by the matter, but she did not argue the point. "You do not think 'e will be trouble for us in the future?" she asked.

"No more than any of the other Weasleys," Harry shrugged. "He doesn't know about the horcruxes, or that you and I are working together at all. The Weasleys will just assume I wiped his memory to cover my tracks about Dumbledore, and I can live with that."

"You will not explain to them ze truth?" asked Fleur. "You would allow them to believe you are a murderer?"

"That time will come," said Harry. "We have a more immediate concern right now. We need to convince the ICW to join us and make sure the Ministry won't be overthrown in a matter of days, if not hours."

"And if we fail?" Fleur asked worriedly. "If ze ICW will not 'elp us?"

"Then our job gets more difficult," Harry shrugged. "But our objective remains the same. We find the last three horcruxes, find Neville, and bring the fight to Voldemort."

"You realize we are the only two left who know about ze horcruxes?" said Fleur. "Now that Saul is gone, and Bill...well, you know."

"I think it's time we let my parents know about them," Harry sighed. "Hopefully we will still control Britain when things settle down in a few days. And if we don't...well, we'll need all the help we can get."

"You are certain?" asked Fleur, surprised. "I thought you did not want them to know."

"That was when we had things more under control," Harry sighed. "But we've run out of time. Once we secure the Ministry, we'll sit down with them and talk about it."

He'd given the matter quite a bit of thought over the past twenty-four hours. Even before Bill's treachery the previous night, Harry knew they needed more help in un-tethering Voldemort's soul fragments from reality. He didn't want to burden his parents with such a grave task before, but now, he was left with little choice. The job had gotten too big for him to manage alone, and now that he was nearly of-age, he felt more comfortable with coming clean about what he was really up to.

"And your other secret?" asked Fleur. "Do you plan on telling them this as well?"

That, Harry hadn't given as much thought to. He knew at some point he would have to explain who he really was, but it had been so long since that fact had been relevant to the war efforts that it slipped his mind. Was it really worth burdening them with that knowledge at such a critical juncture in the war? Should he wait until things calmed down to tell them the truth? Or was it truly now or never, with no guarantee of a tomorrow?

"I'll think about it," Harry sighed. "It's a lot to take in. I don't want to overwhelm them when they should be focusing on more important things."

Fleur chuckled and shook her head in amazement. "That is your fatal flaw, 'Arry Potter," she said.

"What is?"

"You consider yourself unimportant," Fleur clarified. "Surely you realize you are ze most important thing in your parents' lives? If they knew you were struggling with zis secret, they would want you to tell them straight away."

"I know," Harry huffed. "But things are a bit messy right now, aren't they? I can't exactly Floo-call my dad and say, 'Hey, I know you're recruiting for a critical battle that could come at any second, but want to hear my life story that doesn't matter right now?'"

"You do not 'ave to tell them today," Fleur acknowledged. "But do consider it soon. Perhaps you can tell your sister first? She will be the most understanding."

Harry could still hear Dahlia's and Gabrielle's laughter in his mind, a sound that he hoped would persist for the remainder of the day, if not longer. "Maybe," he shrugged. "She seems so happy today, though. I don't want to take that from her."

"You will know when the moment is right," Fleur nodded. "And if you want me to be there for support, you need only ask."

Once again Harry was stricken with gratitude at Fleur's generosity. "Thanks, Fleur," he said, pulling her in for a hug. "You've been an unbelievable help through all this."

"That is what friends are for," said Fleur, gripping him tight. "Thank you for 'elping me as well."

The tender moment was interrupted by a playful quip from nearby: "Ooh la la!" Harry and Fleur turned as Dahlia and Gabrielle fell out of a bush, giggling uncontrollably at the two of them. Clearly they'd been spying from afar.

"Gabrielle!" Fleur gasped, reddening in surprise. "What are you doing?!"

"Harry and Fleur, sitting in a tree!" Dahlia laughed in a sing-song voice, much to Gabrielle's delight. "K-I-S-S-I-N-G…"

"Why, you little—!" Fleur huffed, taking off across the garden after the two girls. Dahlia took Gabrielle's hand and sprinted away, Fleur and Harry running after them. It became a game of cat-and-mouse, with Fleur eventually pinning a cackling Gabrielle to the grass as Harry playfully hoisted a shrieking Dahlia over his shoulder and jumped into the pond with her.

The afternoon that followed was one of the most joyous and care-free that Harry could remember. The two pairs of siblings spent the day running around the grounds, playing childhood games and simply enjoying one another's company. All worries about the impending war back in Britain were momentarily forgotten as Harry made the most of perhaps his last day of normalcy for a long while. This was the childhood he'd been denied, after all...might as well enjoy it while he still could.

But the fun and games ended in short order when Sebastian Delacour returned home that evening, looking somber and weary. Harry and Fleur extricated themselves from their younger siblings and greeted him in the foyer as he entered the manor.

"What a mess," Sebastian sighed as he entered the parlor and opened a cabinet to retrieve a bottle of whiskey. "Ze French Wizengamot 'as been fighting all day about whether to approve Auror forces to Britain."

"Does it seem likely to pass?" asked Harry.

"Not the way things are currently going," Sebastian muttered. "Many believe it would be a waste of life to send them to die needlessly. If ze ICW does not join Britain's war tomorrow, I fear no nation will risk its own neck to save it."

That was certainly dire. Harry knew that James was banking on immediate assistance from individual nations like France and the United States, so it was concerning to know that they, too, were hesitant to join the war. It put into perspective just how important tomorrow's summit was.

"Have you spoken with Dale Greengrass?" asked Harry. "Did he attend the luncheon today?"

"Too risky," said Sebastian, as he sank into an armchair with his glass of liquor. "'E cannot tip Britain's hand that they are planning to petition for aid. Ze best we can do is make a compelling case tomorrow, and 'ope for the best."

Harry supposed that made sense. He remembered how Lucius Malfoy had made a casual appearance at last year's summit, no doubt to run interference on James and Dale's plans and report back to his master. Would Voldemort send somebody again this year? Would he even expect James to make such a move after feigning his disappearance from Britain? Did a trap await them at the summit tomorrow morning?

Clearly he was not the only person thinking along those lines. Dale Greengrass arrived via Portkey less than an hour later, looking as fretful and paranoid as Harry had ever seen him. "Monsieur Delacour," he greeted Sebastian as he was let in the front door. "Thank you for inviting me into your home once again."

"Always, Lord Greengrass," Sebastian greeted him. "I 'ope that this time will be more fruitful than the last."

"Ah, Harry," said Dale, spotting him across the room and approaching with a handshake. "It is good to see you, young man."

"Likewise, sir," said Harry, accepting his hand. "How are Daphne and Astoria?"

"Frightened, but okay," Dale sighed. "Daphne wishes to pass along her thanks for what you did for Mark Davis last week. She says you saved his life."

"The healers at St. Mungo's did that," Harry said humbly. "I just did what I could to get him there."

"All the same," Dale shrugged. "I have heard what people are saying about you, and I want you to know that House Greengrass stands behind you. What you have done for my daughters and their friends will never be forgotten."

Harry usually wasn't comfortable with receiving praise in such a manner, but it undeniably felt good to have such a show of support. After the betrayal he'd experienced from the Weasleys the night before – the first family he'd ever felt a part of in his last timeline – knowing that he still had people on his side was a relief and a great comfort.

"Mr. Greengrass!" Dahlia exclaimed, rushing into the room and giving Dale a hug. "How is Tori? She hasn't been responding to any of my letters!"

"Astoria is just fine, Dahlia," Dale smiled kindly. "We've placed owl wards on our safe house as a temporary measure, so she hasn't gotten them. But I'll be sure to reunite the two of you as soon as possible."

Dahlia nodded fervently at this suggestion. Harry saw a shadow of sadness cross his sister's expression, and knew she was undergoing her own personal hardships with her friend group. She'd learned of the Weasleys' betrayal from Harry the night before, and although Ginny had been absent, it seemed to confirm Dahlia's sense that her former best friend no longer wanted anything to do with her. That had to be taxing on any sixteen-year-old girl, much less one in such a life-or-death predicament.

Dale joined the Potters and Delacours for dinner that evening, which was a raucous affair with Gabrielle laughing and joking around as Fleur and Dahlia humored her. Dale fit right into the environment; as the father of two daughters himself, he knew all the best corny jokes to make Gabrielle giggle and roll her eyes. Harry enjoyed the playful chaos, which served as a much-needed distraction from the looming weight of what tomorrow would bring.

As the group finished up their desserts, Apolline stood to begin cleaning the kitchen. "Gabrielle," she addressed her youngest, "run along now and get ready for bed."

"But I am not tired yet!" Gabrielle whined. Dahlia, however, got the hint.

"Come on, Gabby," she said, taking Gabrielle's hand. "Let's get cozy in our fort while the adults have their boring talk down here." A look of mischief crossed Gabrielle's face, and she raced upstairs, Dahlia close behind her. Once they heard Dahlia's bedroom door shut, Sebastian turned to the remaining group with a somber expression.

"We should talk about tomorrow," he said. "I 'ave instructed ze French delegate not to spread word of what you are presenting tomorrow, Lord Greengrass. James suggested zat should prevent us from tipping our hand to ze Dark Lord."

"Yes, he told me as much in our last meeting," Dale muttered. "Does that mean we will have no time to petition for votes?"

"We can arrive early to greet ze other delegates on the floor," Sebastian suggested. "But we will 'ave only minutes, not hours. I 'ave told ze French delegate what we are planning, and 'e will try to recruit as well."

"Can we trust him?" asked Harry.

"Ze Frenchman? Oh yes, I think so," said Sebastian confidently. "'E owes me several favors and will do as I ask."

Harry once again wondered what it was that Sebastian Delacour did for work. He was not a Ministry employee, yet he seemed to have significant influence in France in the surrounding nations. Did he come from old money, like Lucius Malfoy, or had he built his reputation more recently? He would have to ask Fleur another time.

"What do you plan on saying at ze summit?" Apolline asked Dale.

"James gave me some forms showing increased troop movements in Britain," said Dale, pulling a bundle of parchments out from his robes. "I can provide evidence to the Confederation that there is an army planning to attack any day now. But whether they care or not is another question. I just wish James was here to speak instead of me…"

"You'll do just fine," Sebastian reassured him. "Just speak ze truth and prove your point. If it is meant to be, it will be."

A nice sentiment, Harry thought. But is it really that simple? They'd made a similar point at the same summit last year, to no avail...and that was with a whole additional day to prepare and many more allies on their side. What could have changed in the past year to sway people to their side? Dumbledore's death was the only factor that might play on the heartstrings, but even that might not be enough to convince other nations that Voldemort posed an existential threat to them all.

"James said that Harry will be coming with me in disguise, as a guard," said Dale, looking nervously to Harry. "Is there really a risk that I might be harmed?"

"Unlikely," said Sebastian. "The worst thing ze Dark Lord could do right now is cause an incident on foreign soil. It is only a precaution."

"A deterrent, more than anything else," Harry added. "And an extra pair of eyes, to see who might be watching you from afar. Voldemort sent Lucius Malfoy last year; it's possible he sends another spy or two this time."

"I would like to come as well, Papa," Fleur said decisively. "I can also be an extra pair of eyes."

"I fear you would only be a distraction," said Sebastian. "Some delegates felt manipulated last year, like you were using your Allure to sway their votes."

"I kept my Allure in check ze whole time!" Fleur protested. "'Ow can I help it if ze creepy old men lust after me anyway?"

"I did not say it was fair, mon fille," Sebastian commiserated. "But we cannot afford any distractions. We need every vote we can get."

"I can remain in ze gallery seats!" Fleur insisted. "And use a glamour! I am not good with them myself, but 'Arry can fashion me one—"

"You will remain here and 'elp me keep these two girls in check," Apolline said firmly. "It is a wonder they 'ave not destroyed ze house with their mischief yet."

"I'll tell you everything that happens afterward," Harry promised Fleur. "And we can plan our next steps together."

Fleur very clearly did not like being told what to do. But she felt her parents' stern gaze upon her, and she knew how important tomorrow's vote was, so she begrudgingly nodded her agreement.

Harry, Dale and Sebastian went over some last-minute planning before retiring for the evening. Harry tossed and turned in bed, mind playing over the many outcomes that tomorrow could bring. He couldn't bring himself to wonder what might happen if they failed to secure support for Britain, or if his father refused to leave the country. That was out of his control. The only thing he could do was hope for the best-case scenario, and prepare for the worst.

The next morning, after a quick breakfast, Harry, Dale and Sebastian took a Portkey to the French Ministry for the summit meeting. They met the French delegate in the foyer before entering the auditorium. Last year, Harry had merely observed the proceedings from the gallery above; today he was down on the floor, in disguise, mingling amongst the black-robed representatives of each member nation. Everyone besides their little group seemed to be in a jovial mood, not realizing the dire threat developing just across the Channel.

"We 'ave a few minutes before the meeting starts," said Sebastian. "Let us try and speak to our allies and convince them to join us before the proceedings begin."

The two Frenchmen headed off in the direction of the Eastern European contingent to try and stump for votes. Harry and Dale wandered in the other direction, searching for other friendly nations that might be willing to assist them, when an unfamiliar voice called after them.

"Lord Greengrass! A word?"

Harry and Dale turned; an American man was walking towards them, all smiles. He extended his hand to Dale, who tentatively shook it.

"Er...I'm sorry, I don't believe we've met," said Dale nervously.

"Name's Roger Jackson," said the man. "I'm accompanying the American delegate today. He's eager to speak with you."

"Oh," said Dale, surprised. "Last I heard, the Americans did not want to strategize with us."

"That's just Ministry talk," Roger Jackson said dismissively. "Surely we can work something out amongst ourselves! Speaking of which, I expected to see your Minister here with you...Potter, is it?"

"He's dealing with a family emergency," said Dale quickly, using the agreed-upon cover story for James' tactical absence. "I'm representing Britain alone today."

"Ah," said Roger, before turning to Harry. "And you are…?"

"Prewett," Harry lied smoothly. "Arnold Prewett. Just accompanying Lord Greengrass today."

"A pleasure," said Roger, though he turned dismissively away and back to Dale. "Delegate Sanders is just outside in the hall, if you would like to speak with him."

"Yes, that would be much appreciated," Dale nodded.

"Right this way," said Roger, extending his arm to motion Dale ahead to the exit.

Dale went to follow, but Harry froze, eyes trained on the man's outstretched hand. A long, faded scar ran down the length of Roger's palm, extending down below his sleeve. Harry had only seen such a scar on one man before. A man he'd faced twice in the underground arena in Knockturn Alley. A man who went by the moniker of Reaper.

"Actually," said Harry smoothly, grabbing Dale's arm, "we have other engagements to attend to. Your delegate is welcome to come and find us on the floor if he would like to talk."

'Roger' eyed Harry suspiciously, but a false smile quickly returned to his lips. "But of course," he nodded. "We'll be in touch." And he glided smoothly across the room, disappearing into the crowd.

"What are you doing?" Dale hissed once he was out of earshot. "We need the Americans on our side if this is going to work!"

"That man does not represent the American delegate," Harry said. "I recognize him – he's a mercenary, and a dangerous one. He's likely working for Voldemort."

Dale went white at this information. "What do you think he's doing here?" he asked.

"Looking for my dad, most likely," said Harry. "And keeping an eye on things. He probably intended to get you alone somewhere and find out what your intentions are for the meeting."

"Are we safe here?" Dale asked nervously, glancing at the sea of unfamiliar faces around them. "You don't think You-Know-Who would attack us here…?"

"No chance," said Harry. "You heard Mr. Delacour: he wouldn't risk causing a panic and uniting the international community against him. Just don't go anywhere alone and stay with the crowds."

Dale nodded uncertainly. Harry spotted Sebastian Delacour across the room, standing beside the French delegate, and led Dale towards them.

"Any luck with the other delegates?" Harry asked the French representative.

"Same as last year," the man sighed wearily. "No one wants to risk their own men for Britain. I 'ave tried to pull favors with our allies, but it 'as been difficult to convince them."

"Even knowing what this Dark Lord is capable of?" Sebastian groaned. "Even with Albus Dumbledore's death?"

"It is only human nature," the French representative shrugged. "No one wants to be ze first to stand up against evil. It is only once they feel threatened themselves zat they take action, and by then, it is often too late."

"Then we have to convince them that Voldemort is a threat to them," Harry said firmly. "We just have to. Lord Greengrass, you'll have to use your speech to make that case."

Dale once again looked uncomfortable. "I'm not a natural speaker like your father, Harry," he muttered. "I can't command an audience like he can."

"You have to try," Harry insisted. "The fate of the war could depend on it." That didn't seem to make Dale any more comfortable; if anything, he looked more tense and stressed out than before.

Sebastian beckoned Dale ahead to speak with other delegates before the meeting commenced. Harry hung back at a distance, giving the delegates room to speak freely while keeping an eye out for any potential treachery. But he remained confident that Voldemort would not try something so drastic as an attack at a public forum like this.

Still, Reaper's presence here made him uneasy. He spotted the man again a few minutes later, lurking around the perimeter of the crowd, alongside several other scary-looking blokes that had to be fellow mercenaries in disguise. All were leering in Dale's direction and muttering under their breath, no doubt figuring out their next moves.

"Pardon me just a moment," Harry muttered to Dale before crossing the room towards them. He marched directly up towards the mercenaries; they eyed him suspiciously as he approached, stopping directly in front of them.

"Leave," he ordered. "Now."

"Come again?" one of the mercenaries chuckled.

"You heard me," said Harry. "Britain will not be intimidated by you. Go back to whoever sent you here and tell them that. Or better yet, go home to your families and stay out of this war."

"Who does this guy think he is?" guffawed one of the men, subtly flicking his wand into his hand from under his sleeve. "You think you can take us five on one, tough guy?"

"He sure does, Viper," grinned the man that Harry knew to be Reaper. "I had my suspicions before, but this confirms it. I know only one man with the balls to threaten multiple men at once, and the talent to back up that confidence. Isn't that right, Phantom?"

Harry felt a chill run down his spine...Reaper had sussed him out from the fighting ring as well. But he still had a glamour intact, and Reaper had no way of knowing who 'Phantom' truly was. So he kept his composure.

"Who sent you here today?" he demanded. "Was it Crouch? Lockhart? Or one of the less important lackeys? I doubt the Dark Lord thinks very highly of you foreign freelancers."

"You need not concern yourself with who we answer to," Reaper grinned. "The real question is why a man of your talents decided to be an errand boy for the British Ministry. Surely you realize the Potter administration is doomed? Or do you not know what the Dark Lord is capable of, and what he'll do to all those who stand in his way?"

"You might think you're safe now, hiding behind such a man," Harry said coolly. "But your loyalty will not be rewarded for long. How many of you have Muggle relatives? Do you think you can keep them safe, just because you did the bidding of a monster for some gold? This is not a simple power struggle – this is a fight for the survival of the magical world. And Lord Voldemort cares about no one's survival but himself."

A few of the mercenaries looked surprised by Harry's fiery rhetoric. Reaper, however, remained unfazed.

"Consider this your first and last warning, Phantom," he said. "Join the winning side, or get out of the way. I take no pleasure in killing men of your talents, but I know many others who will. Do not fight the inevitable."

Reaper signaled to the other mercenaries, who filed out behind him towards the exit. Harry watched them go, feeling uneasy. Would they head straight back to Britain to report on Dale Greengrass' presence at the summit? Would Voldemort make his move against the Ministry sooner than later? There was little he could do about it if that was the case. Hopefully he could cause at least one of the mercs to reconsider their support of Voldemort's regime.

There was suddenly a shower of sparks from the front of the room, as the Supreme Mugwump took to the podium to commence the summit. "Please, be seated," he announced to the room. Harry returned to their designated table, taking his seat beside Dale as the other delegates settled around them. He glanced around at those sitting nearest to them; the delegates all pointedly avoiding his eyeline, not wanting anything to do with the British. That was not a promising sign.

"Welcome to the 574th annual summit of the International Confederation of Warlocks," said the Supreme Mugwump. "Before we officially begin, this body would like to recognize a great loss in our community. Albus Dumbledore, former Supreme Mugwump and famed 'Defender of Britain', tragically lost his life last week. We wish to express our deepest sorrow, and invite everyone to join us in a moment of silence in remembrance of his life."

A hush fell over the crowd as the delegates recognized the somber moment. At the very least, the respectful display seemed to be sincere; even those who seemed disdainful of Britain looked solemn as they recognized the fallen man. Harry knew Dumbledore was well-respected around the world, but it was never more clear than in this moment that he would be remembered fondly. With any luck, Dale could play upon that goodwill.

The Supreme Mugwump followed the moment of silence with a roll call, before moving on to general business. Dale fidgeted nervously beside Harry as various delegates stood to bring their issues before the voting body. The atmosphere was much the same as last year: hostile and un-receptive to change. Each new proposal was roundly mocked and booed before it could even be brought to a vote.

"Is there any other business to be discussed?" asked the Supreme Mugwump during a lull in the proceedings. Harry and Sebastian both gave Dale reassuring looks; the man nodded glumly and raised his wand in the air.

"Dale Greengrass, representing Great Britain, requests the floor," he announced. The Supreme Mugwump nodded his assent, and Dale stood to address the room.

"Last year, I brought forth the matter of a Dark Lord amassing power in our nation," said Dale nervously. "I fear that the situation has only gotten worse since then. It is our strong belief that this Dark Lord's takeover of the Isles is imminent, and we need immediate assistance to prevent that from happening. Britain is requesting the approval of fifteen hundred ICW troops to assist in the fight against—"

But Dale's statement was cut off by a loud chorus of boo's from the congregation. "Fifteen hundred?" shouted one delegate. "Preposterous!"

"Britain can solve its own problems!" said another.

"We are not the world police!"

"This matter was already resolved last year!"

"Order!" shouted the Supreme Mugwump, signaling for quiet. "The gentleman from Britain has the floor. Does he wish to provide more context? Perhaps, by telling us what has changed since last year?"

Dale cleared his throat as silence fell again. Harry saw the hostile eyes leering at Dale, and knew it would do no wonders for the man's confidence. "Erm…" Dale stammered. "It is true that the Dark Lord has not made any overt moves in the past year. However, terror attacks against our population have increased, and with Dumbledore gone, an attack may come at any moment—"

"Pure speculation!" someone scoffed.

"Fifteen hundred men, on a hunch?" said another.

"I can h-happily provide the information we've gathered on the Dark Lord's troop movements," Dale stammered, reaching for a stack of papers he'd brought with him. "We suspect he has at least two thousand fighters at his disposal, if not three—"

Dale accidentally knocked the stack of paper to the floor; the room erupted in mean-spirited laughter as he scrambled to pick them up again. Harry groaned internally...this was going about as poorly as it could.

"We have been hearing about this so-called Dark Lord for two years straight now!" said another delegate in an exasperated tone. "And still, not a single declaration of war! How are we to believe this 'Dark Lord' even exists?"

"He was seen, in the flesh, in our Ministry," Dale stammered. "And he has attacked our wizarding school, Hogwarts, twice in the past year—"

"But what is it to do with us?" demanded another delegate. "Dark Lords have risen and fallen in Britain before. Why should we believe this one will not fall as well?"

"You have not seen what he is capable of!" Harry piped up, unable to remain silent any longer. "You don't realize the immense threat he poses to our world, our way of life—"

Harry's exclamation was met with another round of boo's and mockery. "He is not authorized to speak!" somebody protested.

"This has gone on long enough!" said someone else.

"Order on the floor!" the Supreme Mugwump demanded. "A vote has been called by the British delegate. All those in favor of sending troops to Britain to fend off this Dark Lord?"

Dale thrust his wand into the air. Not a single other soul joined him. Sebastian Delacour glared daggers at the French representative beside him, but even he refused to stick out his neck, lowering his head and refusing to be associated with the British contingent any longer. Dale hung his head in resignation, and Harry felt a pit forming in his stomach as he realized that they had failed again.

"Very well," the Supreme Mugwump sighed. "The motion is denied. The floor is now open for any more general business, and if there is none, this summit shall be adj—"

"Point of order!"

The Supreme Mugwump paused, frowning at the interruption. All heads turned to the Bulgarian representative, who had raised his wand. "Would the gentleman from Bulgaria like the floor?" asked the Supreme Mugwump.

"He would," snarled the Bulgarian, standing to his feet and pointing an accusatory finger at Dale. "Bulgaria demands answers from Britain about a dangerous criminal who snuck into our country last March!"

"Er…" Dale stammered. "I'm not sure who you are referring to, sir."

"The dark wizard who participated in the underground fighting ring in our capital!" said the Bulgarian. "And escaped to Britain via Portkey! We do not take kindly to foreign meddling in our affairs!"

"We would like to add onto this point of order," another voice called out; heads turned to find the Egyptian representative standing as well. "Egypt, too, would like answers from Britain. Our Great Pyramid was partially destroyed by British dark wizards, and no compensation has been offered."

"B-Britain does not know the identities of these wizards," Dale protested. "We cannot be held accountable for every wrongdoer in our midst—"

But various European representatives were getting upset now, murmuring discontentedly and shouting out at Dale from across the room: "Stay out of our borders!" "Keep your civil war to yourself!" "Leave us in peace and we'll leave you be in return!"

"Order! Order!" shouted the Supreme Mugwump, shooting sparks into the air for quiet. "This is not the place to air petty grievances. Take the matter up with the European Council so that we do not waste precious time here. Now, on to our next motion—"

"We, too, have something to say."

The room instantly hushed as an unfamiliar wizard stood to speak. Harry realized why everyone was so surprised when he saw that it was the Swiss representative...according to James, Switzerland was infamously neutral in all matters, and rarely if ever spoke at summits, if it attended them at all.

"Does the Swiss representative have something to add?" asked the Supreme Mugwump, confused.

"He does," the Swiss man agreed. "We wish to raise a matter of grave importance to this confederation. Last week, Nurmengard Prison suffered a significant breach, and the suspect remains at large."

The room broke out into hushed murmurs at this revelation. Harry knew the fear that Grindelwald still inspired in continental Europe – most of the representatives appeared older, old enough to remember the man's war of terror half a century ago. This was highly disturbing news to them.

"Does the prisoner remain secured?" asked the Supreme Mugwump nervously.

"He does," the Swiss representative nodded. "But when interviewed afterward, the prisoner indicated that he had a prolonged conversation with the intruder – a British wizard – and the man showed no fear when confronted with dozens of ICW forces who arrived to arrest him. He evaded capture and used a Portkey to return to the British Isles."

Once again, this set off a chain of furious whispers as the representatives discussed this development. Harry overheard many of them nearby: "Does the Dark Lord seek to recruit Grindelwald?" "Could this be the start of another world war?" "Is there anyone left alive to stop him after Dumbledore's death?"

"That's not all," the Swiss man continued. "Recent surveys indicate that our giant population has dramatically decreased in the past two years. We fear that someone has been recruiting them and taking them abroad, and we believe these incidents may all be related to this rising Dark Lord in Britain."

Once again, panicked mutterings followed this dire proclamation. It dawned on Harry that he may have inadvertently stoked the very fear that was now percolating throughout the room. He was the one responsible for all three incidents being discussed: the Bulgarian fighting ring, the Egyptian pyramid collapse, the Nurmengard break-in. Sure, he had nothing to do with the giants, but that was an added bonus, drawing more attention to the danger Britain posed to the continent.

"Order!" the Supreme Mugwump shouted again, trying in vain to regain control of the room. "This body will come to order!"

Harry turned to Dale, giving him a fierce look. "Now's your chance to convince them," he muttered. Dale looked stricken for a moment, but he rose to his feet, emboldened by the recent shift in attention around him.

"Will the world make the same mistakes it did fifty years ago?" Dale shouted. "Will it allow a madman to run rampant over the innocent, turning a blind eye to injustice? Will it refuse to act until it is far too late?"

Silence fell on the floor again, but this time, it was a reverential one. Delegates looked to Dale with awe, fear still apparent in their expressions, taking him seriously for the first time. And Dale rose to the occasion, standing tall and proud, delivering the message that James could not.

"Do not let Albus Dumbledore die in vain," Dale urged the room. "He fought his entire life to prevent Dark Lords from imposing their will against the weak and powerless. Heed his warning, and do not let another monster ravage our world's most vulnerable before turning his gaze upon you."

Dale's words were met with a stunned silence as the surrounding delegates took in his message. For a moment, Harry was not sure if it had resonated with them. But then, the Austrian delegate leapt to his feet, raising his wand in the air.

"We demand a re-vote of the previous measure!" he shouted. This was met by a chorus of loud approval from the surrounding nations.

The Supreme Mugwump looked stunned by the sudden fervor in the room. "Very well," he stammered. "A re-vote has been called for Measure 97-G, authorizing ICW reserve troops to aid in the war effort in Great Britain. All those in favor?"

Dozens of wands shot into the air, causing Harry's heart to hammer with sudden anticipation. He could not tell quite how many there were – the vast majority of European nations had voted in favor, with most of Asia stubbornly sitting out. The African and American nations seemed torn, but after much cajoling from their European allies, most of them too raised their wands.

The Supreme Mugwump counted up the votes, nodding as he reached the last few hands. "Very well," he said. "Measure 97-G is approved. The Confederation hereby declares war against Britain's Dark Lord, and authorizes the requisition of fifteen hundred ICW troops to the Isles. May the campaign against this self-styled 'Lord Voldemort' be swift and decisive."

The room erupted in applause at this declaration. Reporters raced for the exits, no doubt to spread word of the development to their home nations. Dale sat stunned beside Harry, numbly accepting handshakes from the surrounding delegates. Harry, too, was in awe at the sudden show of support. He'd hoped, but dared not believe, that such a thing was possible. His father's mad gambit had paid off: Britain no longer faced insurmountable odds in fending off Voldemort, and finally had the support of the rest of the world to quell his rebellion.

For the first time in a long time, Harry felt that maybe all was not lost in this war against the most dangerous wizard alive.