Subversive

Voldemort had won. The war that was meant to decide the fate of the wizarding war ended not in victory, but in total subjugation. Voldemort had taken the Ministry, claimed the throne, and obliterated any resistance with a chilling efficiency. The Order was no more. Harry Potter was dead. The Dark Lord’s reign had begun not with a bang, but with the quiet collapse of every hope they had held onto. A defeated and disquieting realization had fallen over those who had fought against the Dark Lord, a horrifying understanding that they had lost. Though many in the Resistance had voiced their fears and worst-case scenarios, deep down, they had believed they would win

The streets of England were no longer filled with the sounds of rebellion, but were silent and empty. Oppressive. And it wasn’t just England. The regime of Voldemort was spreading, Death Eaters pushing into the other European countries, and even crossing to North America, taking over and enforcing the Dark Lords rule. But London was the worst. It seemed to be Voldemort's personal favorite city to enforce his law. The most extreme city, banners bearing the Dark Mark hung everywhere, any sign of opposition extinguished briskly. Public punishments were dolled out in the streets, curfews magically enforced. The Muggles left in London knew of Voldemort, magic, and the war. The International Statute of Secrecy discarded. The Ministry, once a symbol of justice, was now an instrument of Voldemort's control, the laws bent to serve him, its leaders mere puppets in the cold, harsh hands of the Dark Lord.

The days of fighting were long over, the Resistance flattened and turned to whispers and rumors. Voldemort's victory five years ago had crushed any hope that remained. The few who still resisted, still believed in fighting back, were shadows, hiding in the dark corners of a world where almost all light had disappeared.

Hermione Granger ran her finger down the disappointingly short, crumpled piece of parchment that was spread out on a cracked and water-damaged wooden table.

“Twenty-seven.” She breathed out, her shoulders dropping.

“Only twenty-seven resistance fighters are still in London. In all of London. Twenty-seven.” Hermione sighed, slamming her palms down on the table.

“Twenty-seven, including us, that we know of. There’s probably more who are willing to join us, but they’re just hiding.” Cho Chang mumbled, coming up behind Hermione and placing a hand on her shoulder.

“We’ve tried to contact people. There’s nothing.” Hermione spoke, turning to Cho.

Cho Chang, who Hermione hadn’t been very close with in school, had become one of her closest friends. Cho, who had been one of the prettiest girls in Hogwarts during their school years, now bore a large burn scar on the right side of her face, her right eye drooped slightly with the stretched and twisted flesh of her cheek, and the shiny ropes of scarred skin extended down her neck, disappearing below her shirt collar. Her hair, which, up until she was 19, had been long, straight, pitch black, and shone gorgeously, was now cut short and messy, barely reaching her chin, and was a dull black. Streaks of her hair had turned silver gray from the stress, contrasting sharply with her dark natural hair color.

“Remember a few weeks ago, when you were thinking this same thing, then just a few days later we made contact with Lee Jordan?” Cho spoke softly, holding each of Hermione's arms and peering at her.
Hermione sighed heavily, and ran her hands over her face, then nodded. Cho smiled kindly.

“See? We’ve got more people than we did a few months ago. And I’m certain, in a few more months,” Cho pushed a stray strand of curly hair out of Hermione's face, “we’ll have even more.”

Hermione nodded again, and turned back to the parchment, quickly reading over the names once more, and making a mental note of where each “member” was. She thought of them as members, because most of them were previous members of the Order, but the Order was destroyed. The names on the list were allies, companions, maybe even co-rebels. But they weren’t members. Not really. There was nothing to be a member of. Just a vague shadow of what had once been the Order of the Phoenix. Hermione was making an effort to bring back some semblance of the Order. A genuinely organized resistance. Her, Cho, Ginny, Ron, Minerva McGonagall, and Filius Flitwick were the main six who were pushing and urging for this initiative.

Hermione and the other main six figureheads of the resistance were staying at the home of Andromeda Tonks. It was one of the few safe houses in all of London, guarded with spells and charms. Many of the allies were spread throughout all of London, but were careful with disclosing their whereabouts, fearful of Death Eaters intercepting their methods of communication.

Ginny Weasley was very vocal about her opinions on those who wanted to resist, but wouldn’t actively make an effort and commit. When one of them particularly pissed Ginny off with their response, or unwillingness to fully join them, she could be heard practicing dueling in one of the upstairs rooms, and when she’d come back down she’d be red faced with exertion, her eyes bright.

Hermione of course felt this same annoyance with those reluctant members, but she could understand why they were afraid. Those who were recognizable as old Order members had to walk the streets under heavy disillusionment charms, Polyjuice potion disguises (although Polyjuice potion was incredibly hard and expensive to make during these times), or other disguise spells. If prominent supporters of Harry Potter were discovered, they would be quickly and efficiently captured and imprisoned, most likely to be sent to the highest security prison facility, tortured for information and for fun, and/or sent as gifts or prizes to Voldemort's favorite Death Eaters to do with as they please. If regular people resisted Voldemort's regime, even slightly, they would be apprehended and sent to a labor or detention camp for a specific amount of time. The Muggles who weren’t in hiding were in labor camps, or worse. Experimental facilities, and even death camps. The streets of London were now populated by Death Eaters, Purebloods, Halfbloods, and occasional Muggleborns and Muggles who were pretending to be of “higher status”. It was required that everyone, even Death Eaters, carry identification papers with them at all times, stating their blood status, family, and affiliations. Dean Thomas ran a sort of program out of the safe house, forging identification papers for Muggleborns and Muggles.

A sudden and loud crash snapped Hermione from her thoughts, and she and Cho spun around from their spot in the kitchen to see Daphne Greengrass, along with Ron Weasley, bursting into the house.

Hermione instinctively rushed forward, expecting one of them to be gravely injured, but stopped short when she saw Daphne's face split into a wide smile. Daphne Greengrass was a Pureblood, part of the highly respected, all Slytherin, Greengrass family. It had been quite a surprise to all when she showed her true allegiance was to Harry Potter and the Order during the war, which resulted in her being disowned by her family. Many Death Eaters who knew her in school had made it their personal mission to find and torture her for her betrayal, so for her safety, she faked her death. Now she was an incredible asset to the Resistance, one of the main allies who went out on missions, and contacted others. She was believed to be dead, killed in a duel three years ago, so her appearance (which had changed) wasn’t flagged to Death Eaters.

“What is it?” Hermione questioned, looking between Daphne and Ron, who was also grinning.

“The contact in the Ministry,” Daphne breathed out, grabbing Hermione's shoulders, “they’re gonna help us get to those deeper levels of the Ministry, and get some real information.”

Hermione pulled Daphne into a bone crushing hug, burying her face into the taller girl's neck.

“I honestly don’t know what we’d do without Daphne.” Ron spoke, running a hand through his hair. “I mean, the contact is Tracey Davis, her old friend from school.”

Hermione thought for a moment, before remembering the name. Sure enough, she had been a Slytherin, Halfblood, in their year. She had fought on their side during the battle of Hogwarts.

“And we can trust her?” Hermione spoke, biting her lip. “I mean, didn’t she openly fight on our side? Wouldn’t they know she’s not loyal to Voldemort?”

“She's made quite the show of reforming to his side. So much so that she works in what is now the Department of Public Order and Security. Not as one of Voldemort's secret police, but she helps manage the Dark Register. What keeps track of suspected Resistance members. And,” Daphne pulled off her long black coat, “where captured ones are.”

“So she has access to the files on us, and those in the Resistance who have been captured.” Cho murmured.

“Exactly,” said Ron as he walked further into the house, “so we can make a plan to break out those of us who’ve been caught. Like Charlie.” his voice was strained.

Hermione chewed on her bottom lip for several seconds, processing what they were telling her. She’d gone on missions into the Ministry before, undercover, but never to a department as highly secured and crucial as the Department of Public Order and Security. It would be incredibly risky and dangerous for whoever did it, but Hermione could already feel herself forming the beginnings of a plan.

“Tonight then. We’ll have a meeting. With us, and Ginny, and Minerva and Filius, and anyone else we think should be there.” Hermione finally said, looking around at Cho, Daphne and Ron in turn, all of which had a deep resolve written into their faces.

Hermione nodded, but something about this felt too easy.

She pushed the thought away.