The warm sunlight bathed the platform in gold of the late-summer afternoon. A faintly cool breeze moved through the space, carrying the last of the settling dust and the ash.
On the arrival platform, not only the Ministry's delegation but the marchers and the onlookers beyond them, and the journalists at the far edges of it all, wore the same dazed, hollow expressions.
'That's it?'
The thought passed through several hundred minds in the same moment.
Not that anyone could be blamed for thinking so.
The earth-shaking force that had radiated out from the Shear brothers' about-to-explode bodies just moments ago—even those with little sensitivity to magical power had felt a swell of impending doom rise in their chests.
Yet the moment Mr. Watson arrived, no one could quite make out what he had done. The crisis was simply… over.
A dark figure came sprinting toward the centre of the platform at tremendous speed.
Sirius tensed and then his expression dissolved.
Thud!
Harry slammed hard into Sirius's arms. Godfather and son held each other in the middle of the platform in full view of everyone present, surrounded by the ash and the dust and the watching, dazed faces of several hundred people who had just come closer to death than most of them would ever come again.
"Take all of them into custody!"
Kingsley's voice was rougher than usual. He was still gasping slightly, his breath was not entirely recovered, his face showed a fury that he normally kept so well controlled. He swept his walking staff toward the marchers in a broad, decisive arc.
The Auror teams moved to comply but Bryan raised a hand to stop them.
"That won't be necessary."
Then he stepped away from Harry and Sirius and walked toward Amelia.
"How are you holding up, Amelia?"
Amelia looked at him for a moment. "Not well, exactly—"
She drew her wand and used it brushing the dust from her robes, directing it away from her in a short, precise sweep. Then she pointed the wand at her own head, and her dishevelled hair obeyed, sweeping itself back into the tight bun at her nape.
One of her fingers was bent at an unnatural angle likely broken when the Aurors moving at full speed without time for precision had tackled her to the ground.
From the uncertain look on her face, she didn't seem particularly skilful at healing injuries.
Bryan looked at her finger for a moment. Then, without making anything of it, he quietly took care of the small problem.
"Thank you—"
Amelia adjusted the monocle on her nose in a habitual gesture. Then she paused, and raised her voice.
"You've saved the Ministry of Magic once again, Bryan. The cunning of these Death Eaters has exceeded anything I had imagined."
Death Eaters. Yes. Exactly.
Bryan gave a slow nod, his expression remained composed and still.
Whether anyone in that crowd had been watching, whether anyone had coordinated with the Shear brothers knowingly, whether any part of the march had been intentionally seeded, all of that remained to be established. But the assassination attempt could only have been their scheme.
"Dumbledore has always warned us," Bryan said nodding slowly. "That Voldemort and his Death Eaters are extraordinarily skilled at plotting in shadow."
Across the platform, Harry and Sirius had finally drawn apart. Sirius kept one hand on Harry's shoulder. He was looking into Harry's face with an expression that had several things moving through it at once.
He noticed the damp eyes, and hesitated—started to ask something, thought better of it, and chose instead to smile. He reached up and ruffled Harry's hair once like he always did.
"What should we do with these people, Bryan?"
Sirius took Harry's hand and walked toward Bryan, raising his voice to ask.
"They're only—"
Harry started to speak, then caught a glance from Professor Watson and quickly retreated into silence.
"This is a fine opportunity. We can use the situation to our advantage—" Bryan said.
Amelia's brow drew together. "Meaning what, exactly?"
"The plan we discussed before…." Bryan lowered his voice. "You've always worried it would make the Ministry look too heavy-handed. That acting decisively on the situation might provoke a backlash worse than the problem itself. But you see, Minister—"
He let the pause remind her what the last hour had shown.
"—some problems cannot wait for the perfect moment to address them. Some problems, left to deepen, provide the gaps that the wrong people will find ways to fill."
All politicians—every last one could never entirely escape the fear of losing power.
This was precisely why even someone as courageous and decisive as Amelia had found herself mired in controversy over how to handle the widespread unemployment spreading through the lower classes.
In the end, however, Bryan prevailed.
"Settle this matter today." Amelia exhaled slowly.
"You can't be seen leading the negotiations directly. I'll take the helm."
Bryan said, his composure was a stark contrast to Amelia's tortured expression.
Amelia still had to consider the reputation of the Bones family within the wizarding world. He, born of Muggle blood, had no stake in any of it.
"You're—you're—where did John go?"
Having resumed her own form, Luna found herself swimming inside clothes that no longer fit. She had to hold up her sagging waistband with one hand while pressing the other to her chest.
Yet she didn't seem the least bit bothered by her predicament, nor particularly afraid of the reckoning that might follow a fifteen-year-old who had disguised herself as a protest leader and held Harry Potter at knifepoint in front of dozens of Aurors.
If anything, she looked tranquil, her clear silver eyes were moving through the crowd with their characteristic attention, finding their way, by small degrees, to the place where Professor Watson was standing.
But the villagers, utterly unprepared for the sudden transformation, stared at this vaguely familiar little girl with wide eyes, stumbling over each other's words to ask who she was.
"John is safe." Luna turned to the nearest cluster of marchers. "He's sleeping at my home right now. His wife and daughter are with him."
She tilted her head slightly, the distant smile that lived at the corners of her mouth was settling into its place.
"Oh, I recognize her!"
A stout woman near the front of the crowd suddenly pointed at Luna's face.
"You're the girl from the hillside—you're Mr. Lovegood's daughter! You're Luna Lov— oh!" Her voice dropped to something significantly smaller and more alarmed. "Mr. Watson is coming—"
Whatever organisation and courage had carried several hundred people through a wall and across a Ministry platform dissolved in the span of three seconds.
People who had, twenty minutes ago, been chanting in unison and advancing on trained Aurors now broke into a chaos that was entirely beyond anyone's capacity to manage.
Several burst into frightened, muffled sobs. Others tried to run, but their legs, apparently, had reached their own conclusions about what the body was capable of after the afternoon it had experienced. They crumpled to the ground instead, sinking into limp, trembling heaps staring up in despair as Mr. Watson approached with several Aurors, step by step.
"Don't be afraid, everyone!"
Luna's voice lifted above the sounds of panic clearly.
"Professor Watson won't hurt you—he's a good wizard. He'll fight for the rights you've worked so hard to earn!"
"Your confidence is—" Bryan arrived beside her, and the dryness in his quiet voice was not unkind. "—duly noted, Miss Lovegood."
He looked at the disastrous state of her borrowed clothing and, without pausing, flicked his wand once. The fabric adjusted itself not into anything fashionable, but into something that at least sat on her person.
He looked at her.
"What exactly happened here, Luna? Did you just—kidnap Harry?"
Sirius, who had been listening, levelled a glare at Luna that showed how he felt about the specific method she had chosen to resolve the afternoon's crisis.
"Or was all of this your scheme?!"
"We'll get to that later, Sirius—"
Bryan observed Luna calmly. He could piece it together well enough—Luna had done it to protect that family from Saint Catchpole.
"Go stand with Harry and the others—"
He gave the instruction, but Luna's eyes flickered uncertainly several times.
"I'd like to stay here with them, Professor Watson—"
Bryan didn't press the matter. He turned his gaze to the crowd of commoners.
The villagers gathered from magical settlements scattered across Britain all stared back at him in shivering apprehension, their faces were drawn with fear.
"There's no need for alarm, everyone—"
Bryan smiled at them. It was a gentle smile.
"Organising a march is within your rights. The Ministry will not hold that against you... Though of course, the Aurors will need to speak with everyone to confirm that none of you had any prior knowledge of, or connection to, the attack on the Minister's life. That is a formality that must be observed."
The platform erupted.
Hundreds of voices, all at once were shouting, swearing, appealing, arguing, imploring in overlapping rolls of panic and indignation. Every person was insisting, simultaneously, that they had known nothing, had suspected nothing, had never spoken to the Shear brothers about anything beyond the matter of wages and work and the rights that the Ministry owed them.
Bryan already knew the truth of it.
"I believe you are innocent," he said, when the volume had reduced enough for the words to carry. "That matter can wait for later. What we need to address right now is something else entirely."
"What is it, Professor Watson?"
Luna had assumed, with complete naturalness, the role of spokeswoman for the marchers.
Bryan looked at her for a moment.
Then he looked at the crowd.
"Why—resolving the hardships these villagers are currently facing, of course."
The smile faded from his face. His voice was steady and sure.
Moments later, the journalists from the watching crowd were summoned forward by Bryan.
"Mr. Watson, can you share your thoughts on these marchers?"
"Tell us about the attack, Mr. Watson—Minister Bones was seriously injured, wasn't she? We saw her leave under Auror protection in quite a rush!"
"Mr. Watson, some are arguing that the current wave of unemployment sweeping the wizarding world is a direct result of your reckless provocation of You-Know-Who and the Death Eaters. How do you respond?"
"Mr. Watson—how does the Ministry intend to address the survival crisis facing ordinary people? The families, the workers, the Squibs who have no safety net and no option and who today—"
Journalists were a peculiar breed of creature. They possessed an extraordinary capacity for setting aside the matter of life and death so long as there was a story worth telling on the other side of it.
The camera flashes were still going. The Quick-Quotes Quills were still moving. The afternoon could have ended in catastrophe and probably would have made for better copy than this, but this would do.
When Bryan raised a hand, the reporters fell silent at once. They gripped their quills in anticipation, poised to record every word from Bryan Watson.
"I have summoned you here—"
Bryan spoke with slow severity.
"—so that through the press, the entire wizarding world may bear witness."
"Bear witness to what, Mr. Watson!"
A reporter, practically trembling with the sense that something enormous was about to break, cried out.
"Bear witness to the fact that the British Ministry of Magic is not and has never been—a shield erected for the benefit of a privileged few.
On the contrary. The Ministry has always fought for the interests of ordinary witches and wizards. It has always fought so that more of the common people might live lives of dignity and of comfort."
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