Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty
Day Fifteen
Primary Refugee Group (British Camp #12)
“Well this is going to be just a bit of rubbish, now isn’t it?” Rolanda Hooch didn’t bother to keep the thought to herself as she sat back against a rock conveniently located on the bank of a shallow river, chucking pebbles in the water running through the channel. Her companions, Poppy Pomfrey and Irma Pince also leaned back on the just large enough rock, both grim faced and every bit as disgusted.
Irma Pince put it far more bluntly. “It’s going to suck balls, is what. Let’s not be putting a nicety on it, ladies, we’re screwed.”
Poppy Pomfrey snorted. “If only the students could hear you now, Irma. They’ve no idea what a foul-mouthed termagant you can be.” She sighed appreciatively despite the situation they found themselves in. “I’ve missed it.”
“You’ll no doubt be getting to hear a good bit more of it in days to come. I’ve always known Dumbledore was a bloomin’ arse with an agenda he supported on the quiet, now he’s a bloomin’ arse who’s giving visible support to all the new twaddle that’s being flogged about by Fudge and Umbridge.”
The ladies all exhaled. Two weeks. It had only been fifteen days and already they saw how the winds had shifted. It had taken just a single meeting between all the representative country leaders on day five to have every country present unanimously move to exclude Britain from all future gatherings. Fudge and Umbridge had been an unbeatable team, managing to insult every “foreign” person present, seemingly without effort, despite the fact that they were all technically foreign. They hadn’t stopped there, going on to vent their spleen at those responsible for bringing “creatures” with them. The Veela contingent from France had felt twice insulted, given that Umbridge was staring directly at them while she sneered out her complaint. As Dumbledore had been the only other person there representing Britain, and he hadn’t so much frowned in disagreement; to the contrary, his usual twinkle being brighter than usual. There hadn’t been anyone else available to change the revolting impression the British Ministry had left.
Within two days of that fateful meeting, the non-British Unspeakables had gathered themselves together and opened a portal to a spot several hundred miles away, ushering everyone through. As no one had bothered to inform the British population, they awoke the next day to a much altered camp site. Where once regiments of wizarding tents marched in orderly rows, now only their pitifully few remained, blackened fire pits all that was left behind by the several thousand refugees who were not inclined to linger near such poison.
Poppy had been the first of them to hear more than rumor about what had happened, an owl from one of her healer acquaintances reaching her two days ago with the tale. He’d been horrified beyond belief at his secondhand hearing of the backwards and xenophobic vitriol coming out of the British Ministry, although he owned he wasn’t overly surprised. Poppy could just about hear the words lift off the page as she read “We ‘ave no intentions of putting up wiz ‘zat, ‘zat, ‘zat… absurdité! Owl me if you manage to détruire zem. Bonne chance, mon amie.”
Of the roughly six thousand wizards in Britain, only thirty-seven hundred had made it out. They’d been packed into groups of two hundred and fifty or so, each with its own campsite and they’d been assigned willy-nilly into any available wizarding tent. Each camp had subgroup “security” wandering about, ostensibly to keep down any incidents, but it was disturbing that they wouldn’t allow you to leave the camp. Poppy had been in receipt of a narrow eyed look from one such security guard when the owl looking for her had flown in. The fact that intergroup communication was already being eyed with suspicion only added fuel to the paranoia creeping up on Irma.
There had been a subgroup meeting this morning with Albus Dumbledore. He’d done his usual bit of patronizing hash slinging, Irma having to lower her head to hide her sneer. Phrases like “We must protect ourselves”, and “our children deserve to represent Britain at its best” and tossing in repeated references to “British ideals” were clear as Christmas to the librarian. No, this was it, she was getting out now, while she could.
Irma knew her history, wizarding and muggle. Quickly seeing where the recent rhetoric would lead, she’d wasted no time rounding up the other two ladies, moving them to the edge of the camp where a river ran, and sat them down. Brusquely, she laid it out. “We’re about to be a captive population, ladies, and they’ll sell it to us as being for our own good. We need to get out, and we need to take those who are of the same mind with us. I’m thinking we’re not going to have much time before someone gets the idea to set anti-apparition wards over the subgroup camps, that’s going to spell the end of our options. We all know there’s a walloping great chunk of bell ends in this country that are going to be pleased as punch with the dog’s dinner it’s about to become, but there are those who won’t. We need to create a plan, figure out how to spread the word fast and how to determine who to send those words to. I’m supposing we have two weeks at the outside, but having said that out loud, I think that’s probably being optimistic, we might be down to days. With the house elves having scarpered off, we can’t use them to pass messages on the quiet, and owls are already getting a side eye from certain quarters.”
It was, surprisingly, Rolanda who came up with the answer. “Quidditch players. We talk to the quidditch players. I’ve seen a couple of the Cannons in our group, and they’ll know all the other players, no matter the team. They’re already supremely pissed off that they’re not being allowed pickup games, and we’ve all heard rumbles that the League will be disbanded. If we encourage that thought, and I’m pretty sure we’re not wrong, they’ll be thrilled at the thought of jumping ship. If we have a Cannons player from here send out a single owl to one player in the next camp, who then goes and talks to the other players in that camp, they can send another owl to another player, and so on. If long as they use a short term secrecy charm when recruiting, we’ll hopefully be golden. We’ll need to move fast if we’re trying to coordinate a mass exodus from the camps. Who’s got a quill and parchment then?”
Years later, looking back on it, everyone involved felt shaken and frightened to the core at just how close they’d come to being completely restricted to the camps and held under what was clearly becoming a regime of oppression. They’d had an incredible piece of luck early on in their plans when one of the players managed to reach out to the international group via a friend of a friend of a friend on the Toyohashi Tengo team, which, as it turned out, was made up entirely of Japan’s Unspeakables. Apparently, they all played quidditch to escape the stress of their jobs and were good enough at it to have created a professional team. Although they’d left with the rest of the international refugees and were not part of the British camps, they knew their history too. And so, with the help of a few additional International Unspeakables, they’d managed to smuggle a portkey into each of the fourteen British camps, leaving it with the primary contact for that group. They’d get word to the key holder when they had the arrival location ready.
Day Twenty
Primary Refugee Group (British Camp #12)
Poppy looked up as an owl swooped down at her. Seeing a guard quickly turn and head her way, she hastily removed the letter and pocketed it, moving a decoy letter into her hand. She tossed the owl back up with a quickly muttered, “Hurry!” at the avian, hoping Security wouldn’t go so far as to try to down the animal. She frowned furiously at the guard, making a show of trying to keep the paper, until he grabbed and twisted her arm, forcing her hand open. He took the paper, then looked her dead in the eye with a nasty sort of smirk and continued to twist her arm until there was a stomach-churning crack. Poppy gasped and cried out, Irma and Rolanda, both having been lingering nearby, rushed over to pull Poppy away from the guard, who stepped back with that smirk still in place, looking the other two over with eyes that held too much glee at what he’d done.
Shepherding Poppy into the tent they shared with fourteen other single ladies, Irma pulled out her wand, the one that had a newly applied trace on it, courtesy of the law passed this morning and implemented this past hour by the new crop of ministry stooges. She cast a spell that splinted Poppy’s arm, then quickly rigged a sling out of a scarf she was handed by Rolanda. “You’ll have to do the fixing, or find someone else to, I’m complete pants at healing, and Ro’s not much better.”
Her face white with pain, Poppy just nodded. “Pocket,” she managed, teeth clenched. The guard had broken her dominant hand, she wasn’t going to be able to mend it on her own.
Irma pulled the letter from Poppy’s pocket, being careful to avoid bumping or jostling, The letter contained only the words “Camp Twelve Go”.
The ladies shared a grim look. “It’s time. Rolanda, I’ll get your gear.” Irma said, passing the list of those who were with them to Hooch. “You go tell your Cannons friends to gather everyone up and meet us on the riverbank, we’re leaving in thirty minutes. Poppy, you’re going to have to go with that broken arm, let me find something to strap it down with. If you have a pain potion left, now’s the time to use it.”
Poppy shook her head, determined despite the sweat beading on her forehead. “Confiscated, all of them. Just strap it, then let’s go. Can you get my trunks, too?”
Day Twenty
Primary Refugee Group (International Site)
They arrived at their location, a painfully small group of thirty. Irma Pince thought sadly of those remaining. She knew there would be those who had turned them down who would no doubt change their mind in the future and want out, now she could only wish them godspeed and good luck. Looking about she could see other British camps had already arrived, more were yet inbound. The area they were in was marked with a large number twelve, and a young gentleman stood alongside the number. He addressed them with in light Spanish accent, “Hello all, and welcome. If I could please have your names and occupations, please? Also,” he motioned to Poppy, “I can see you are injured. I’ll request a healer come by immediately.” He sent off a patronus to what Irma supposed was their hospital or equivalent.
He also asked the group if they had any immediate needs, or if there were any members of the group who had been separated from family, he’d have someone check the lists as they became available if that was the case. Only one from their camp spoke at that. “I’m Katie Bell. We were on vacation when we got word, and during the scramble to get to London, we got separated and my wand was broken. Someone in Lisbon had a reusable group portkey that took us to Gringotts, who sent us to Hogwarts, and I got knocked through the portal when everyone rushed out of the Hogwarts arrival floo towards it. I had a Patronus from my mom shortly after arrival, but it didn’t say much or who else was here, and I’ve not heard from her since.” Luis let Katie know he’d put the word out looking for her family, and he’d ask about the wand situation. He wasn’t sure if they had a wandmaker in regular business yet, she might have to wait a few days.
Once the rest of them had given their information, he announced that there were many positions open, and some few of their group could be slotted in immediately, should they wish to be. He did frown slightly at the number of those who had listed quidditch as their primary occupation. There were twelve Cannons players as well as some of their support staff in their group, totaling eighteen. He noted that while they could still play as they liked on their own, it wasn’t possible to have it as a primary occupation at this time, it had been agreed that if you were able, everyone must have meaningful work. Those with issues preventing them from working would be asked to help in small ways if they could, things such as reading to children or the like. The quidditch players nodded, they understood, although they all looked a bit morose at hearing it so bluntly. Still, considering what they’d just managed to escape, they set the disappointment aside and took in a deep breath, straightening. Babe Carlin, chaser and team captain, nodded firmly in approval at her team, saying “We’ll put in some thought to see what occupations we’re fit for. Can we come find you in the next day or two, or is there someone else we should contact?”
Luis, who had introduced himself as Luis Andrezzano of Cadiz, let them know there was a job office established alongside the main camp housing area, where they would also find a cafeteria of sorts and a medical building. The status of the refugees from the British camps was still somewhat questionable, but so long as they found a job within two weeks there would be no issues. He’d be dropping off his list of names and occupations there, they should expect to hear from someone in a day or two if the job fit was confirmed. They could get one meal a day free for the next thirty days, a cafeteria annex was set up near the holding area they’d be occupying, and here Louis handed them all a small green card, instructing them in its use. Other meals would have to be paid for, but when he mentioned the cost, it was nothing but a token amount.
During this, Poppy had been pulled aside by a new arrival that apparated in with a quiet crack, a healer in pale yellow robes who cast a numbing charm that nearly had Poppy wilting in relief. Portkeying with a broken bone meant she had nearly lost what little she had in her stomach and her senses had been swimming since. Another charm had the bone snapping back into place, the healer replacing the sling and giving instructions to rest the arm for a week, before apparating out before Poppy had thought to ask her name or even say thank you.
Luis had asked if any had housing with them. They would be able to be moved into what was available, but supplies were scarce, and the British wizards weren’t yet cleared to fully mingle with the rest of the immigrants. He emphasized that it wasn’t due to lack of trust. More so it was a case of they each would need to undergo an interview to ensure they were aware of the international laws in general, and what was behavior was expected in the current circumstances.
Only one group had managed to bring the large fifteen person tent they were in, essentially stealing it, as everyone occupying that tent had elected to escape. Two other people had an expanded tent in their luggage. Each of the smaller tents was meant to sleep four, but they were willing to fit in as many as possible, if no one objected to sleeping on whatever surface they could. They could fit in in any overflow from the larger tent.
Luis nodded; clearly glad his group was covered on housing. Waving at them to follow him, he escorted them through the other groups, telling them all the British groups were all going to be escorted to the same area and they’d be free to catch up at that time. For the next few days, contact with the international group proper could be made via owl and once their interviews were complete, so long as no issues were noted, they would be free to mingle as they chose.
Day Forty
Primary Refugee Group (International Site)
The international (non-British) wizarding community had managed to rescue nine thousand five hundred and eighty eight people, with those who fled from the British camps bringing the contingent to over ten thousand. The now twice escaped Brits currently numbered seven hundred and six. Of the six thousand estimated wizards rescued from Britain, only about twenty percent had opened their eyes to the state the Ministry had decided was acceptable and said, “Bugger this, I’m off out.” Irma , Poppy, and Rolanda had spent quite a lot of time since being equally horrified and despairing that four fifths of the people they’d spent most of their lives surrounded by were fine with the Ministry agenda.
Poppy Pomfrey had been all but hugged to death by the healers in the hospital, she’d been working ten hour days since. The job search hadn’t gone quite so well for Rolanda Hooch and Irma Pince; they were working in the cafeteria. The current schooling setup did not yet allow for athletic coaches, nor were there any openings for a librarian. They’d taken the first jobs they found, neither feeling particularly enthused about it, although they were certainly glad to be out of their previous snake pit. Rolanda had taken her meager spare time and buried herself amongst the Quidditch Teams, offering her expertise to referee what pickup games were able to be scheduled, helping players run drills, conditioning exercises, and in short, leaving herself no time to dwell.
Irma had as yet found no hobby or way to occupy herself during her free time, her unoccupied mind returning again and again to dwell on her dissatisfaction. Her normally active and insightful brain kept urging her to find something, anything, but her bruised heart wanted nothing so much as to hide away and repair itself. She spent her off duty time wandering from place to place, making her way through the constantly busy streets, watching the nonstop construction that had buildings going up in jig time. In the last three weeks she’d seen the framework of a sizeable town rising all around her. People were already moving into apartments and houses; the tent city was dwindling day by day. The nearby forest was suffering their depredations, the need for lumber pushing the tree line back, then back again.
Turning off the center avenue to walk down the main street of what was clearly becoming the business district, she spotted Gringotts’ new building, looking much more finished than the last time she’d been in the area. She saw several people enter and exit, and assumed they must be open for business, at least to some degree. Making her way to their door, she hesitantly stepped inside. She had no business to transact, simply wanting to see the interior, and she found herself pleasantly surprised. She had assumed it would still be rather rough and ready, but instead it was alive with skilled craftsmanship on display. While clearly not yet finished, the pieces that were in place were of beautifully carved wood and stone. One wall had several goblin artists sketching out what looked to be a pair of large murals, with another wall in the process of developing half a dozen smaller ones, two which were nearing completion. She was very surprised that the first mural showed an easily recognized Harry Potter and a female goblin wearing a royal circlet, shaking hands across a desk. The second was apparently quite detailed as they were still sketching it in, and the third was of that same royal goblin plus one other, the new goblin wearing a crown. It wasn’t difficult to discern that it must have been King Ragnok. Both were shown standing in front of Gringotts’ marble portico, one on either side of the open door, heads bowed. A crowd of goblins stood behind them, heads also lowered. One of the artists working on the smaller paintings appeared to be taking a break, so she ventured closer to ask, “Please excuse me if I’m interrupting, Master Artist, but may I ask about the murals you are working on? Is there a story being told through them?”
“Indeed there is, wizard. These paintings here will show the story of our departure and our regained freedom. The first panel is Goblin-Friend Harry Potter bringing word to Queen Eltiebs, allowing us to organize ourselves. He showed us great honor and respect, trusting Gringotts to spread the news and working together with us to plan out emergency needs and first responses. His speed in sounding the alarm enabled Gringotts to provide a safe transition from all surviving branch banks. Once the warning was received, we lost no goblin lives bar three.”
“Those three will be honored amongst goblins, their story told in the second panel. They were lost in the Bucharest branch; the guardian dragon having been targeted by an opportunistic team of poachers. Three cart drivers saw the danger and rushed in to save a group of children who were being escorted through the cavern. The three did not survive, being caught in the path of the poacher’s spells and returned dragon fire, but they succeeded in turning the dragon to face away, saving the lives of more than thirty children. Honored be their memory.” Saying that, the goblin briefly bowed his head.
“The third panel is Her Majesty Queen Eltiebs and her son King Ragnok. It represents much of our feeling from that moment; saying goodbye to our home of centuries, sorrow for that which would of necessity be left behind, a blessing to Harry Potter, wishing him providence for his group and good fortune with our legacy. We named him Goblin-Friend and left him the only thing we could, transferring to him ownership of The London Branch. Early that first day, one of our seers had a brief image of the new world Friend Potter would find, she saw the building in that new place with Friend Potter standing before it. Sending a piece of our history with him felt… appropriate.
These next six panels will be our travel story, the remaining three scenes have yet to be decided upon.”
Irma Pince blinked in confusion. There was a great deal of new information she’d just taken in, and some of it was startling in the extreme. “I do apologize Master Artist, I was unaware there was a group separate from our own. You say they did not come to this world at all, that they went to one completely new?” How on earth did Potter manage that? Harry wasn’t particularly studious and Irma would know, though there were those intermittent bouts of library time with the most peculiar reading matter. “And you say he was able to take Gringotts’ London building with him?” That there was magic yet to be discovered Irma did not doubt, but they’d had only days. Just… how?
“My apologies, wizard, but I must return to my work. You might consult the house elves, several of them were working with Friend Harry prior to our leave taking.”
He turned to walk back to his painting, but turned back when Irma asked with surprise, “Oh! Do you know where I might find one of the elves to ask, Master Artist? I fully understand why they immediately left, they should remain free and without bonds if that is their wish, but I would like to be able to tell those concerned that they are well.”
The painter called another passing goblin over, and with a murmured conversation, she was motioned forward to follow her guide. “Well met, Master Artist, and may your work be as blessed as your fortune.” Irma nodded her head in respect, the surprised artist returning the gesture.
Irma was led to an area further in, this time seeing more of the unfinished nature of the building, into a room containing several elves, who looked up from their work with wide eyes.
*-*-*-*
Several hours later, Irma was in her room in the tent, briefing Rolanda and Poppy. “-and I can’t believe we never noticed Harry Potter was missing! The elves were clearly holding back additional information, but…” She stopped short, noticing the guilty look Rolanda was sporting. “What? What did you see before we did, Ro?”
“Well, I can’t say I noticed the lack of Potter either, but it’s been the talk of all the quidditch players that out of the fourteen British League teams, the top five are unaccounted for. There are a few of their reserve players we’ve located, but all they know is that the team starters took off to play some last pickup games and they were adamant that the missing teams knew about the deadline. Those we spoke to were those who’d elected to give it a miss as they still had other things to do. It’s been an ongoing mystery, but now… what’ll you bet the missing players are part of Potter’s group?”
Poppy snorted out a laugh. Then another, dissolving into helpless giggles. “Oh, just think of it, an entire society based on nothing but quidditch fanatics!” She continued to laugh, finally flopping back onto the bed they were sitting on, and sighing. That has got to be the most in shape group of wizards ever. Wonder if they regularly play shirts and skins?” Her dreamy eyed look at the roof had the other two breaking out into their own snickers, Irma’s comment on Poppy’s thought, “Are you wondering if they need a healer?” dropping them all into howls of laughter.
Babe Carlin stuck her head in the door, drawn by the first really cheerful laughter she’d heard since arriving. “Room for one more? I could use a good laugh; I need a break from wondering why the best job I can find is barmaid.”
Rolanda reached out a hand and pulled her onto the now crowded bed, all four laying back, feet dangling over the side. “We might have solved The Great Quidditch Disappearance. Word went from the elves to the goblins to Irma; it seems there was another small faction headed up by Harry Potter that found their own way out and may have nicked the missing players. Also may have taken the bank, but that’s its own story. No proof, but it’s a nice thought, don’t you think?”
“Oh, that’d be tickety boo, that would. Nothing but quidditch as far as the eye can see!” Babe waved her hand in a dreamy arc, as if picturing a bluer than blue sky filled with the excitement of multiple quidditch games. “As it is, even though we’re allowed to play, we’re all tired and heartsore, the teams are scattered, everyone has different work schedules, and there’s not much public support for establishing a new league. Trying to coordinate a game has been naught but guilt that we should be doing something “important”. I just want a chance to play for the joy of it, have all my teammates feel the same, yeah?”
“Well, pass the word that if they can find a way to get in touch with Potter, maybe he’ll open Quidditch World to a few more players.” It was a throw away comment, really. Irma hadn’t been serious, because how could you be serious about sending a message to a different world? Babe, however, stopped breathing for a solid minute then sat bolt upright, her eyes wide, lips parted. “Oh. Oh, oh, oh, we could… and then… Oh, YES!” With a fist pump and a smacking kiss to Irma’s cheek, Babe bounced off the bed, grabbed Rolanda’s hand, and hauled them both out of the room, Rolanda tripping over her feet trying to get herself coordinated.