Remember, remember, the 5th of November,
Harry Potter scurried down the service corridors of the ministry, bottles clinking in the satchel at his side. He tried not to cough as he disturbed decades of settled dust on his way to his destination.
Gunpowder, treason, and plot.
Harry reached the first intersection and looked up, seeming the dim light of the ministry after working hours filtering down above him. He pulled out three jars from the leather bag. Small, and filled with a glowing green liquid that seemed to roll and snap as he carefully placed them down onto the ground below. He uncorked them, pocketed the corks, then took a left at the crossroad.
I see no reason,
He grasped more jars and continued his journey, zigzagging along below the ministry corridors, knowing full well that his companions would be above and below him, copying the motions of placing, uncorking and moving on. He grinned to himself, hands shaking with nervous excitement.
Why gunpowder treason
It was the night after all. Careful hands, bewitched hands had already removed anything of value from the building, anyone who needed to be given a sign to not arrive for the event had been informed. It was, quite literally, show time.
Should ever be forgot.
Bag empty, Harry picked his way carefully back out and up the staircase, seeing other shadowed figures emerge, each with a different mask covering their face, at the prearranged meeting spot. He brushed knuckles with one, and grinning a toothy smile at another, before ushering the group up the stairs, making sure he would be the last to leave. He turned back, hands reaching down the pull him up, and withdrew his wand from its holster. He whispered a quiet spell and swept his arm across the darkened corridor in front of him. He smiled.
Guy Fawkes, Guy Fawkes, ‘twas his intent
All over the ministry, small glass jars of green suddenly shifted into blue, dulling from their previous neon glow, small sparks of something drifting lazily across the shimmering sheen on the surface.
To blow up the King and Parliament
Harry took the hands, and pulled himself up and out of the grate, and started to stride after his fellows. A tattered poster was ignored as they walked past, they had all seen it before of course. “Loose Lips Sink Ships.”
Three score barrels of powder below
He fists bumped the figure beside him before apparating away, appearing on a familiar doorstep. He quickly removed his face covering, tucking it away and flipped his cloak inside out, before entering the building. He greeted the people inside, the warm glow of the fire flickering across the walls, in stark contrast to blackened walls and green jars, as dinner was served to the inhabitants. When asked about where he had been, he only smiled.
Poor old England to overthrow
Harry’s friends smiled alongside him. Triumphant and jubilant. They ate happily, no-one noticing the sweaty palms or the trembling hands.
By God’s providence he was catch’d
A magical eye turned and watched, but did not care about the lies they told, certain in their assessment of their abilities, after all, what trouble could a couple of kids make?
With a dark lantern and burning match.
The sun rose, and the groups gathered, thinner than expected, but all the right people were there. Black robes and skull tattoos were posted at the doors, watching each person enter. A friend was hugged, and tears were wept, before the friend stood listening to chatter above them, shadows passing over the small grate, awaiting the main event.
Holler boys, holler boys, let the bell ring
The speech began and the friend began to count.
Holler boys, holler boys
The crowd cheered, and the friend grasped his wand, hands steady and pointed it at the jars, before saying one word and one word only.
God save the King!
“Bombarda.”